Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“I need to find him, Madam President. And Marty, too.”

“Please call me Hannah. I’m Hannah Starkes.”

“I need to find them, Hannah.”

“Yep. You and me both.”

“They were here, Phoenix. At least a party of ten, maybe fifteen.” Having already assessed the area along with his junior trackers, Luke Killington confirmed that many men had stayed at least a week in residence at the Youngtown steel mill. And, he noted a pretty decent and conscientious effort directed toward concealing this fact.

“You sure?”

Luke was growing pretty tired of such questions from both Phoenix and Larry Reed. Reflectively, he took in the view of the mill once more from his spot atop the huge pile of rusting steel. At his side, Phoenix kept his eyes roving the area, creating a mental map; Larry just looked tired.

“They were here. Left not too long ago, maybe a day. Maybe two, but spent some time, waiting.” The stale presence of the men who’d recently vacated the area along with the slight tang of many old cooking fires filled Luke’s nostrils well above the wash of unclean men and horses quickly converging into the mill. He was surprised the two men beside him had to ask, since the stale smells of the strangers were still so strong in the air.

“Waiting for what or who?” asked Reed.

“Don’t know. Just that they were waiting… before they left,” said Luke.

“Uh, huh.”

“Give me another hour and I’ll tell you where they headed.”

“Take your time, Luke. We still have about an hour daylight left. Uncle?”

“Yeah?” said Larry.

“Set up camp and have the men settle in for the day.”

“I’ll let the Brigade Commanders know.”

“Post extra guards and tell ’em to keep a sharp eye out for the Bitch and her bird.”

“Yep.”

“Don’t forget she and her team can run at night.”

“Nope, I won’t.” Larry left to attend to the orders, leaving Luke and Phoenix atop the rusting steel billet.

Pleased at mission progress, but recognizing the furious pace he had put on his men, Phoenix sat atop the steel stacks, sweeping his binoculars slightly northwest. Close by, a faded street sign declared they had entered on Martin Luther King Boulevard leading into the main front yard of the old, crumbling mill. Farther down the weed-infested road, his 620 men began assembling onto the mill grounds. With satisfaction, he tracked all five well-trained Pride Brigades, each in loose, but separate forty-man formations. Granted, many men had had to merge with new units after the firefight back in Cleveland, but they did so almost seamlessly. Searching the front and outer edges of the approaching men, he spotted several of his nineteen man trackers, not counting Luke, making their way into the mill yard.

“Look at that shit, huh?” Phoenix whispered to himself.

The trackers decided camp was on and that the expedition would settle in for the night. Phoenix inspected his men more in depth. Interspersed throughout, his forty-man logistic/supply managing team was easily located, since each wore the requisite Cleveland Brown bandanna. Already, the “log-sups” as they were called, were passing out MREs and water. And, several were busting up old pallets and scrap lumber and dragging them to a central area for a large community fire. A fire that would be used for the twenty-five geese, six doe, and pack of plump, wild dogs they’d managed to scrape together today while in transit to supplement their food supply. Staring farther into the mix, Phoenix caught the intense energy of his Brigade commanders screaming out orders and assigning night patrol. Luke cleared his throat and Phoenix turned. For a moment, he’d forgotten about the man, he was so quiet, like a wolf eyeing up his next meal and waiting to strike.

“How’re you handling third in command for this mission?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It’s good, sir.”

“Make sure the men do what they need to do.”

“That won’t be a problem, sir.”

“See that it’s not.”

Phoenix had promoted Luke passed several Pride Brigade commanders. By doing so, Phoenix wanted to ruffle a few feathers, and stress to his men that he rewarded for results and results only. Luke and his team had nearly taken the escalators of the Hall of Fame under heavy return fire and at great risk during the surprise assault. Besides, Luke had risen quickly in the ranks to top tracker since his arrival in Cleveland. And, based on his reported ability to handle the shipping docks as a lead foreman back in Long Beach before the Sickness, he’d developed a knack for keeping hard-minded men in tow. Which, his men certainly were.

“How far have we come today, Luke?”

“We made a good twenty-five today.”

“Hmmm.”

“Couldn’t be helped, sir. Those pickups we’re running are both a treasure and a pain.”

“That they are. All sixty of ’em.”

“Well, fifty-nine, sir. We lost one today. Had to leave it on US 422 after the rear axle blew.”

“Oh yeah. Larry told me about that.”

“We might be able to recover it on our return trip.”

“Maybe. We’ll see,” said Phoenix.

“Pushing through all those traffic snarls on the interstates sucks ass.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why we set ’em up with winches.”

“Hardly seems worth it for the time loss, maybe?”

“Hmm… did Larry tell you we lost two quads today?”

“He did, sir,” said Luke.

“It’s damn near impossible to keep those damn engines runnin’. And that high octane gas they suck up is a fuckin’ nightmare to make,” said Phoenix.

“Uh, huh.”

“I’m told we’re almost out of the boosting stabilizer.”

“You talkin’ ’bout that red crap they put in the tanks with a teaspoon?”

“Yeah, Luke, the stuff Gus made.”

“Oh.”

“So far though, not bad losses in equipment for the mission.”

“Nope.”

“See to it that we drop both quads off the trucks here at the mill. We’ll try to recover them on the return trip if our route back supports it.”

“Okay.”

Phoenix became lost in thought. After a few moments, Luke spoke up.

“Anything else, sir?”

“No, Luke.”

“Okay then.”

“Stay on task. See what else you can find about those men that were here. Let’s hope it is, in fact, this Connor MacMillen and not some wild goose chase.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, let the Brigade commanders know we’re leaving at first light.”

“Yes, sir.”

Luke climbed from the steel.

Phoenix was alone for the first time the entire day. He assessed the men prepping the camp below and caught several stealing glances in his direction, but pretended not to notice. Instead, Phoenix beamed with satisfaction as he took in the view of the huge fighting force he had painstakingly amassed during the past five years. Always with a quick mind toward logistics and math, he double-checked the status and inventory of his army’s roadworthiness:

1: Pickups. Fifty-nine well-maintained running diesel, each with an extra thirty-gallon tank stashed in a lightly armored bed. Experienced drivers for each vehicle with a soldier riding shotgun.

2: Full quarter-inch armor plating protecting both cab and rear windows of all pickups.

3: Two spare tires per truck with a few basic replacement parts, electronics and hoses.

4: A total of forty-five working CB radios installed. Five others under repair and in recovery.

5: Breaker bars on all pickups. Three-quarter horsepower winches mounted on twelve vehicles.