Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Is it a compound?”

“I’m not sure you’d call it a compound, but it’s well defended. Fifteen years ago, his dad died and left him the place. When his dad owned it, Mac wasn’t ever there unless it was hunting season, but when his dad died, he started spending a lot more time there. He got to know a lot a people up here and they all like him. His place is self-sustainable—even before the Cuckoo Flu. Right now, Terry’s in charge of the place.”

“But it’s his place?”

“Yes, ma’am. Worked hard at setting up a plan in case some shit hit the fan. It was a serious hobby with him. His family ended up following his plan when the Sickness hit, but he wasn’t here to participate.”

“What else can you tell us, major?”

“I guess Mac was active a lot in the military ’cause we didn’t see him very often for the few years before bird shit hit. But, when he was here, people noticed.”

“What’s that mean?” asked the colonel.

“Colonel, I’ll give you a little back story on my end, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Yes, ma’am. You have to know about the people in the Laurel Highlands. In the mountains, it’s common practice to keep to yourself. It takes years—sometimes decades—for mountain people to warm up to outsiders. But, Mac was well liked from the start.”

“I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Keenan.”

“Yes, ma’am. In the mountains, you’re judged by how well you can stay outta people’s business. Nobody wants you sticking your nose in where it don’t belong. But Mac was trusted from the beginning. I don’t know how he did it, but there aren’t many in the mountains that wouldn’t stand up for him, I guess. Lemme give you an example. Here’s one I recall. Let’s say your well-house pump is broken. You got no water. The well-house pump supplies water to ten houses around you and of those ten houses, maybe you’re the one, like Mac, who gets up earliest.”

“Okay, I’m with you, so far,” said Starkes.

“Since you’re the early riser, you’re the first to discover there’s no water. So you go down the road to the little well house to check out the pump and you meet up with John Tittleman who lives a half mile away. He showed up ’cause he doesn’t have any water either. You nod your hello and shake hands for the first time. Turns out you both know a little something about blown circuits and both realize after checking over the breaker box that a thirty-amp fuse needs replaced. So, you take the fuse assembly and drive the forty miles into Uniontown and you buy a new one for about fifty bucks. You come back two hours later and John’s still waiting there. You put the fuse in, the pump kicks on and starts to work, you shake hands with John, and go on your way. You go back to your business and John goes back to his. During all this, you haven’t spoken more than a half dozen words to John and he hasn’t spoken more than that to you. And that’s it. Unless there’s something else brings you into John’s company again, you leave him alone and he leaves you alone.”

“Major McLoy, I’m afraid you’ve lost me,” said the colonel.

“I understand it, ma’am,” said Major O’Malley. “He’s saying Colonel MacMillen is in good standing and has a reputation as a stand-up guy.”

“Yeah, O’Malley, that’s right. But there’s more to it. Mac’s got… I dunno… him and Mark—General Harmon—they’re people who everyone sorta looked up to, I guess. Sometimes we call them people ‘fixers’—when they’re outta earshot.”

“Fixers?”

“Yes, ma’am. Guys you can put your trust in—you know, guys who’ll make it happen. Like General Harmon. He stepped up in a big way when the Sickness hit. And, Mac would’ve organized the hell outta us if he were here… as it is, Terry, Andy, and Ryan are all a big part of rebuilding the entire area.”

“I see,” she said, looking down at the map at the intersection of Dinner Bell Road and Route 40. “Keenan? Let’s radio your commanding officer.”

“Yes, ma’am. Captain, please go get the radio.”

“Yes, sir.”

“They’re hemmed in pretty good, Phoenix. They’re about a half-mile out, sittin’ behind an overpass. Over.”

“I can see the overpass. I don’t see much else. Over.”

“I think we got the bastards. We’ll hand their heads to you on a silver platter. Over.”

“I admire your confidence, Luke, but they’ve been runnin’ since they left Cleveland. They have some stayin’ power—we can’t get ahead of those fucks. Over.”

“We’re on them now, Phoenix—I’m sure of it. Over.”

Phoenix didn’t bother responding. Instead, he surveyed the two-pronged approach of his army converging on the overpass. Phoenix was disappointed his search of the wheat fields hadn’t turned up the Rat Pack. They had continued on their way after firing numerous rounds at his men. He had considered the possibility, knowing they favored Route 51 for quick travel and had hoped to catch them aiding the invisible townies. To make matters worse, that sniper was still around. He heard the shots—one every minute or so. It was nearly paralyzing his men—the guy had yet to miss.

“I want that weapon!” he yelled into the radio.

“What’s that, Phoenix?” asked Larry Reed.

“I said I want that fucking sniper’s weapon!”

Reed ignored his nephew’s frustration. Instead, he raised his binoculars to study the convergence of the army near the overpass. “We’ll get it for you. All units are in place for the final assault.”

“Yeah, I see that. Tell me something I don’t know.” Phoenix thought tactically and recognized Luke and his team were keeping the sniper pinned down near the overpass with their aggressive pursuit. He raised the radio with a smile, ready to issue orders, but stopped when he heard Luke’s voice.

“Luke here. They’re jammed up behind the overpass. At least, their cover team is. I think the rest of the team’s runnin’ or ridin’ outta range. One of them’s hit, for sure. I don’t know about the others. Over.”

Phoenix knew he was close, very close. “I want ’em alive, Luke. Especially the leader. And, the boy Renaldo. What else you have to report? Over.”

“I see you’ve sent teams coming up on both sides of the overpass. Over.”

“Yeah, Luke, that’s right. They’re closing in on ’em to pin ’em down. Over.”

“Phoenix, sir, they seem to have some idea of slippin’ around the overpass. Tell ’em to hold back—things are lookin’ way too easy right now. Over.”

Phoenix studied the two-pronged attack, thinking his men were progressing to his satisfaction. He grew irritated and raised the radio. “Explain yourself, Luke. Over.”

Luke was in a supine position beside the front bumper of a Grand Am. He stared at the overpass fifty yards away and sensed in his gut that there were several men still hiding somewhere on the other side of the overpass, hiding in the dense weeds. He hadn’t seen anything, so he wasn’t sure. “Where are you, you bastards?” Earlier, he had caught faint movements in the area, but between the smoke from the flairs they had launched and the fires brewing in the distance, he remained unsure of what he had seen. It was like they hadn’t been there. In his gut, he knew they were probably the same bunch of guys he’d come across on Brownsville Road. “I’m gonna find you,” he growled.

Two of his men nearby glanced at him. Luke recalled how he had lost good men to this foe—he vowed it wouldn’t happen again, he wouldn’t walk into another trap. He scanned the area right beneath the overpass again and considered it a perfect pinch-point to impede the progress of a significant force. He wondered if the enemy was planning to blow the overpass to create enough rubble to delay them indefinitely. “Dammit!”