Outlaws of the Midwest | Book 2 | Panic Ensues Page 4

  “I don’t know anything.”

  “That’s a pity. That really is a pity. You see, I was hoping you were different. I would have thought you would want to help your fellow Americans.”

  “You’re not an American. You’re a disgrace to the flag.” Davenport spat at the dirt near Morgan’s feet. Davenport’s wife tried to tell him to be quiet but he wouldn’t listen. “No. I won’t be quiet. You speak of helping but what have you done to help? Enslaving the community, turning coat on your own people. I should…”

  “Be careful. That’s what you should do,” Morgan said, closing the gap. He wanted him to feel pressure, to know that he held his life in his hands. One word and they would gun him down in an instant. “Now I want answers. Names. Locations. I know the Hunter was here. I know you hid some of those prisoners until they were able to travel to the militia’s outpost. Now where are they?”

  Truth be told, even though Morgan had managed to infiltrate the militia, for the longest of time, he still didn’t know where the settlements were. Anyone who he’d managed to get inside was either killed or never heard from again. He’d hoped the new influx of prisoners from the airport would provide different results. It hadn’t.

  August, however, had given up the location and they had raided it the day after the airport attack, but come up empty. He’d said they’d fled into the caverns and could be anywhere, and the PLA weren’t stupid enough to follow. These people had grown up in these parts, they knew the cave system like the back of their hand. After the loss of PLA soldiers, Yong wasn’t prepared to lose more. No, they had to do this another way. Santiago had already come up with an idea but in the meantime, they wanted to deliver a blow to the resistance by taking out anyone who had assisted them. That included entire families if need be.

  “C’mon, Mr. Davenport. You are wearing my patience thin. Names. Locations.” He clicked his fingers.

  “To hell with you!”

  Hands clasped behind his back, Morgan lifted his chin and sniffed the air and closed his eyes. “Very well. Shoot the kids,” he said backing away.

  Rifles went up. Davenport stepped in front of one of his sons, while their mother got in front of the others, pleading for their lives.

  “If you want them to live, give me answers!” Morgan yelled at them, losing his cool.

  “They were here,” his wife blurted out.

  “Geraldine!”

  “I won’t let them die for anyone. Not even the Hunter.”

  A smile crept across Morgan’s face. “Geraldine. That is a beautiful name. Well, Geraldine. Who took them?”

  “A man named Grady Sullivan.”

  “Which way did they go?”

  “They didn’t say.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that your final answer?” he said in jest with a grin like he was some game show host.

  “It was north, somewhere near—”

  “Don’t tell them,” Bernard said cutting her off.

  Morgan got closer, his eyes narrowing. “Ah, so you do know.”

  “No, I mean…”

  “Geraldine,” Morgan said in a condescending manner. “Are you telling me the truth? It’s important you tell me the truth. These lovely children of yours are relying on you, Geraldine.”

  “I heard one of them say Jacob’s Cave or something like that.”

  He smiled, thinking about what August had said. The use of caves to stay one step ahead of the PLA. It would make sense. There was lots of woodland surrounding the caves. It wasn’t easy to get to, and with those looking for the PLA, they could vanish quickly in the subterranean system.

  “You just threw them under the bus, woman!” Bernard said angrily.

  “No, I saved our kids. I told you we shouldn’t have gotten involved.”

  “You should have listened to her, Mr. Davenport. Women know best. They are smart and devious creatures. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.” He laughed. “Right, well you have been very helpful.” He turned toward Santiago and his men and thumbed over his shoulder. “Kill them and burn the place to the ground.”

  “What? No. I…” he heard Geraldine say as he walked back to the Humvee. He didn’t look back as the angry chorus of gunfire mixed with a few final screams filled the air. Instead, he took out a cigar from his pocket, chopped the end off, and lit it, looking out over the golf course and thinking about what his last score was and pondering if he could build a golf course at the back of his home.

  The door was opened for him and he stepped inside as the sloshing of gasoline could be heard followed by the whoosh of a flame as it ate its way toward the resort.

  It was one of several he’d burned to the ground.

  Yong was adamant that resistance sympathizers were to be shown no mercy.

  4

  A convoy of weathered trucks kicked up dirt along a trail as they roared out of Camdenton toward a hazy horizon. Miles was reviewing footage on a trail cam strategically positioned near Highway 5 north of the town.

  While he had spent many a night in the woods observing the comings and goings of troops, it would have been an absolute waste of manpower to rely on that method alone. After the raid on the airport, they were expecting some form of retaliation so they had set up multiple camouflaged trail cams in key areas around the perimeter of the town. One set of batteries was more than enough to last up to twelve months and it would capture footage day and night. This would then be reviewed in the field by opening up the cam and playing it back through the small color screen. The alternative would have been to take the SD card back and use it on a laptop Gunnar had stored in a Faraday cage.

  After reviewing the footage, they would reset it and place it back on the tree.

  “Still nothing new,” Miles’ voice cut through the silence of the forest after leaving the outpost hours earlier. He’d hoped he would spot something, anything with August, but over the past few weeks, all he’d seen was Chinese troops and wildlife.

  He rose from the crouched position, reset the camera, and put it back. Gunnar was on the east side checking some more trail cams.

  Besides the snorting of his horse that was tied to a tree, it was quiet in the forest, no one else was around. Miles stretched, feeling tiredness overtake him, before collecting his horse and continuing on.

  Over the past month, their group had each taken turns to explore the area, check cameras, and update the settlement on intel retrieved from those living on the perimeter of the town. While they had hoped to see the PLA abandon the town after the raid, trail cam footage showed a continuation of occupancy.

  It would have been easy to lose heart. It had been five years of battling with the Chinese and now reports of Russians moving in to offer assistance were only adding to the disappointment.

  Miles grimaced behind the black American flag mask that had one time been used to protect his identity. Now there was no point in wearing it. They knew who he was and the flag, well, faith in what it meant was debatable.

  For some, surviving meant surrendering and living under the rule of the PLA, for others, it meant never giving up. He wasn’t sure what it meant to him anymore.

  He’d never intended to inspire anyone. The hat, the mask, those were his father’s, the last few remaining things he had of his life after the nation went dark.

  Peering out across a hilly landscape of green, he felt a cold wind nip at his cheeks. It wouldn’t be long before winter was upon them and many of the trees would lose their leaves, thinning out what cover they had. What then? Would they have to retreat into the caves and hibernate until spring?

  He shook his head as he tried to imagine the discussion between Arianna, Grady, and Gunnar as they tried to determine the direction of the group. “We’ll use the caves,” she would say, sticking to her game plan of staying hidden and alive.

  One month was all it had taken to see how divided the people were. Everyone had an opinion on how to move forward.


  What bothered Miles was how many of the group looked to him for answers. After the raid and the influx of new people, Grady along with others had stopped listening to Arianna. It was clear it bothered her. For so long she’d been at the helm, guiding, instructing, and now they were expecting Miles to know what to do.

  They still addressed him as the Hunter. It annoyed him. That wasn’t a name. It wasn’t even something he’d called himself. Hearing it only made him feel uncomfortable so he’d told them to stop.

  Then to add fuel to the flames, giving orders to seasoned guys who’d run with the militia for years just felt plain awkward. Gunnar had told him to go with it, that it had worked so far, but he couldn’t help think he was operating below his pay grade.

  Miles continued on for several miles before he jerked the reins and eyed the slopes covered in thick underbrush. Planting trail cams was one thing, finding them was another.

  When they had originally set them up, they had created a small guide. He fished out a crumpled map and took a look. It was rough, like the kind of thing a kid might have drawn with X’s to mark the spots of trees, lines for rivers and gullies, and zeroes for specific landmarks that let him know which way to go. Miles took out a compass and checked his bearings before continuing on.

  Six trail cams later and he wanted the reconnaissance mission to be over.

  The cold was getting to him despite his thick hunter’s jacket, and a light rain had begun to fall. He could feel the damp weather getting under his skin, but he’d chosen to go out; he had made it his responsibility to find August or at least discover if he’d been taken north to the railway.

  From his conversations with locals, and based on the trail cam footage, there was nothing to indicate anyone had been taken out of the town.

  The PLA was now on high alert, expecting to be attacked any day, and they couldn’t afford to lose more of the townsfolk or there would be no one to man the farms.

  The farms, well, that was something to behold.

  It was mostly the strong that was put to work tending crops like soybeans, corn, wheat, apples, peaches, potatoes, anything that could be harvested and shared throughout the town and sent further afield to troops.

  To ensure no one tried to escape, boots were removed from workers, leaving them to do arduous work in bare feet. There were reports that they’d even scattered broken glass as a deterrent in areas they were unable to monitor. It was all about control and with propaganda being fed to workers of the PLA’s accomplishments in the war, morale was at an all-time low.

  The horse continued on with another nudge.

  As he reached the top of another grassy slope, Miles was about to radio Gunnar when the horse stopped as if sensing trouble. He squinted for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the glare of the sunlight. The scent of burning wood reached him before he saw the trail of smoke rising into the gunmetal sky. Miles swept his hand to his belt and snatched up a pair of binoculars.

  A hard breeze blew against him, stealing his breath as he adjusted the focus. The smoke could have come from one of the campsites run by troops operating on the outskirts of town. With the rise in the number of communities under occupation, barriers had been erected using chainlink fencing as well as checkpoints to prevent anyone from entering or leaving, however, that still left open large areas where homes were nestled into the surrounding woodland. So in an attempt to prevent the resistance from entering by foot or horseback, they had posted guards in groups of ten at self-erected campsites.

  It had worked.

  It was one of the reasons why Miles had been unable to get into town and verify if August was there.

  The PLA was getting smarter. They had also taken to keeping a log of how many collaborators were operating at any given time, where they were assigned, and what task they were given. All of which meant Gunnar had been unable to continue wearing a collaborator uniform.

  Miles focused on the smoke and adjusted the binoculars until he could see a blazing inferno in the distance. It was burning out of control. Flames licked the sky, the rest chewing their way through a multi-story structure. If he wasn’t mistaken, that was the Davenport residence. The same old-timer that had told him he’d seen August only a few weeks earlier.

  The horse shuddered at the sound of a crash as the roof collapsed. It snorted and backed up a little, its hooves clopping the ground, its rear end veering as if trying to move away. Miles patted the animal’s mane, trying to calm the horse. “Steady, girl, it’s just a fire,” he said. The horse calmed a little as he brought the radio to his mouth. “Gunnar, you there, over?”

  Static crackled from the receiver. Then his familiar voice came through. “Loud and clear, Miles. What’s your SITREP?”

  His voice was calm and friendly. He thought back to when they first met, in that godforsaken pit. They’d come a long way in their friendship. Although he’d gotten to know many others, good people, strong folks that were part of the militia, Gunnar remained the only one he could trust.

  “Nothing new. Checked all the cams. No sign of August. No change with the PLA. You?” Miles asked, pressing his mouth to the radio.

  Gunnar’s voice came through slightly distorted due to the distance. “I’ve installed a few more. The others just show the usual. I think it’s time to head back to the camp.”

  “I still have a few more to check,” Miles replied, his eyes still focusing on the twisting column of smoke rising above the trees and structure. “Listen, Davenport, the guy who runs that resort over in the Village of Four Seasons, his place is up in flames. I want to go down and check it out.”

  “I’ll head that way. Meet you there.”

  Sliding the radio back into a holster on his hip, Miles patted the horse. He knew the animal didn’t like fires but he had to check in on the old man. He’d been a great asset to the resistance, hiding Americans and even saving his ass on one occasion after hitting a food supply truck. “Let’s go!” He gave the animal a nudge but the horse was pacing, shifting back and forth. They were still a fair distance away. Miles gave another firm nudge and it finally moved on.

  It took roughly twenty minutes at a full gallop to get close to the resort that was situated on the shore of Lake of the Ozarks. The air was thick with black smoke from the rubble where the roof had collapsed in. Clouds of smoke were being dispersed over the landscape by a strong northern wind.

  Miles glanced over his shoulder to see Gunnar approaching. He gradually slowed and took in the sight. They’d seen many a building destroyed in the war but that was usually from mortars or air attacks. This looked out of place, specific, targeted.

  Among the carnage were the lifeless, partially charred bodies of Davenport and his family, the mother was still clutching her children, their bodies peppered by gunfire.

  The horse trotted around a path that led up to the vast structure that was now nothing more than a few blackened beams. Miles swung his leg over and slid down. He got close and crouched beside them, and shook his head as he looked at Bernard.

  “He’d seen August,” Miles said. “A few weeks ago.”

  That’s why he’d been coming out. Despite what others had said, he had a strong belief he was still alive even if he was being held a prisoner by the PLA.

  “We need to get back and alert everyone,” Gunnar replied.

  “I don’t think he knew where we were taking the group.”

  “We don’t know that for sure. Besides, we shouldn’t stick around just in case soldiers are nearby.”

  Miles nodded as he returned to his horse. “Damn this war. Look, I need to check the rest of the cameras nearby, maybe it picked up what happened here.”

  “They don’t cover this area.”

  “But they might have caught where the troops went after.”

  Gunnar yanked on his reins. “Make it quick then get back.”

  “I’ll be right behind yah,” he said as they took off in different directions.

  Anger rose inside Miles as he thought about the brut
al killing. What did the PLA have to gain by wiping out this family? They could have taken them and used them on the farms. It made no sense. While he’d witnessed the depravity of the army when they encountered resistance or sympathizers, how could they have known about Davenport’s involvement? He was one of many resort owners in the area. Miles couldn’t help wonder if Arianna had leaked it out and this was her way of helping the PLA. A few gains here, a few losses there. It would give them a sense they were making progress when in reality they weren’t.

  Miles reattached a trail cam back into position, gave it a tug to make sure it was secure, then got back on the horse and turned to head back to the camp. The horse galloped up a steep incline and made its way through a trail until it came to an abrupt stop. It snorted a few times and Miles snapped the reins. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

  But the horse wouldn’t have any of it.

  “What is it?”

  His eyes surveyed the leafy green environment as the horse paced, snorting, and turning. “No, we have to go that way,” he muttered tugging on the reins but the horse was intent on going in another direction. Miles felt uneasy. A spike of fear shot through him. It wasn’t just that he was alone but he was aware that horses had a keen sense of danger. The animal was trying to alert him to something but he couldn’t see anything.

  As he twisted to remove the radio from his belt, his eye caught the sight of something slithering, that’s when the horse thrashed within his grip, rearing back, then twisting, and bucking like a bull.

  Tossed, Miles went head over heels like a rag doll, out of control, tumbling through thick brush, colliding with multiple trees. He continued gaining speed, his body flipping hard before he came to rest at the bottom of a ravine.

  Pain, that was all he could feel.

  Was he alive or dead?

  Seconds, minutes, it was hard to tell when he went unconscious, only that when he blinked for the final time, he saw a shadowy figure approaching, withdrawing a knife from a sheath.