Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and in the meantime, send three advance scouts out east to track this Connor MacMillen and his men.”

“Already put that in place, ’fore dawn.”

“Excellent. Find Larry for me, Luke.”

“Yep. Yes, sir.” Luke Killington left the cooler air of the command tent. The warmth of the windy September morning blasted his face as the tent flap closed. He sniffed deeply. Smiling, he enjoyed the pulsing wind wafting so many subtle smells into his nostrils. Gear oil. Rusted steel. Red-clay dirt. Roasting campfire meat. The stink of clustered men. He walked toward the west end of camp where the horses were stabled. Glancing around, he caught sight of several men furtively glancing his way, before they broke off eye contact. He ignored them, knowing his recent promotion to third in command was a cause of envy for many of the men.

“Fuck ’em,” Luke said under his breath.

Most men of Phoenix’s army were much older than Luke and had lived in Cleveland for many years, fighting. But he knew he was different. He knew he scared most people simply by the fearless and animalistic way he moved, like a caged lion, and the fact that his fierce, nearly colorless gray eyes had a piercing quality that refused any outside exploration into his soul. His well-trimmed black beard covering a strong, lupine jaw gave further credibility to his having grown up wild, surviving in the woods. Awkward and ill at ease with any social probes, he’d always distanced himself from most humans; never had a true friend of either sex. On the other hand, he knew men and their purpose and general intent; he knew how to control them when needed. He’d found the solution simple: men respected power and fearlessness, and such men were now under his orders within the new command structure established by Phoenix.

“Fuck ’em all.” Luke stopped, again, scanning the area out of ingrained habit. The wind brought new smells of algae and rotting pond gas, quickly reminding him of growing up as a young boy in the deep woods of Wisconsin. There, he’d fully perfected the art of tracking animals and men under the intense scrutiny of Muddy, a crazed Vietnam vet and the only man he’d ever truly loved. And there, deep in the woods, he discovered his desire for deep silence and distance from people, especially his drugged out mother and alcohol sodden, abusive father. Growing older, he left his parents for good at ten, living full time in Muddy’s woods, spending his days tracking and hunting throughout the next eleven years. And, it was here, that he’d refined his almost supernatural ability to detect prey.

“You got the good eye and the nose for this kinda work there, Twiggy,” said Muddy on one rainy day near his twenty-first birthday. “Plus, you got the brain pan and ain’t afraid to use it.”

It was grudging praise that a wiry Luke Killington held dear to his heart, but kept hidden from the prying eyes of others. In fact, this remembrance of the solitary praise he’d ever received in his life would only rise in his mind when the smells in the air were just right. Coming upon the stables, he cleared his head. He sought and found Larry Reed.

“Sir?”

Larry Reed was talking with four cavalry commanders who had, essentially, encircled him and were each seeking to gain favor. Mildly annoyed at their obvious fawning efforts, Larry relished the interruption. “Hey Luke.”

“Phoenix wants to see you when you can.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Sure, sir.”

Luke turned to leave, but was stopped.

“Anything going on?”

“Not much, sir. I told ’im that this Connor MacMillen fellow went east yesterday. Mid-morning. Had a crew of about ten.”

“You sure about that?”

“Sir?”

Larry waited for an answer. The four battle-hardened cavalry soldiers looked on, interested in the exchange. Clearly, they’d yet to accept the young upstart as one of their new masters. They were wondering how Larry Reed would handle the new third man in charge. Especially, when it became apparent that Luke Killington felt it unnecessary to respond. Looking into those cold, colorless eyes, Larry Reed sensed the obvious challenge to his command. Posturing, he decided to push for an answer.

“Luke?”

Sensing the rising tension, the commanders waited. The tension in the barn increased. A horse snort behind them was the loudest sound nearby. Staying calm, Larry forced himself to wait for an answer. With building irritation and feeling a newfound need to establish himself, he brought Luke’s subtle defiance out into the open.

“Luke, I just asked you a question.”

“Sir?”

“Don’t pull that ‘sir’ bullshit with me. Answer the damn question.”

Initially, Luke was outside the circle of men, five feet from Larry Reed. In a split-second, he closed the distance to less than a foot, never losing eye contact. And, he never brushed against the cavalry commanders on his way into the tight inner circle. Calm and focused, he stood face-to-face with Larry Reed. “Ain’t used to answering the obvious… sir . But, yes, I’m sure, sir.”

“I’m…”

Luke left as quickly as he entered. Stunned and intimidated, Larry lost the opportunity to call Luke back before the four cavalry commanders scooted away to find other matters to attend to. Larry refused to shiver in front of the men, but sensed a determination rising inside. He knew he would have to kill that boy soon.

“All weapons must be checked at the door before entering,” said Brad Greencastle.

“That’s not going to happen,” said Terry.

Andy smiled at the firm conviction in her voice. Ryan and Kevin stood behind them, keeping emerging grins well hidden.

“I understand your concern, but don’t worry, Terry, we’ll take good care of them, ma’am.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will, but not yet, Mr. Greencastle… we’ll not relinquish our weapons… not until I speak with Mark about it.”

“Mr. Harmon’s inside. You know the rules as well as anybody… no one comes onto Nemacolin property until all weapons are safely stowed at the door.” Ten fully armed men behind Brad Greencastle listened to the exchange. Sensing a potential conflict, they increased their watchfulness. Ryan nodded in greeting to a few men that he knew fairly well. All waited and watched the verbal exchange. Ryan winked. Terry continued to insist.

“Yeah, I think me and my men will keep to ourselves and ours, Mr. Greencastle. That is, until I gain a bit more confidence in you, you know, based on our last visit with you guys.”

“I’m—”

“You do recall out last encounter, Mr. Greencastle?”

“Sure. But, I’m now in charge of security, ma’am. I can assure you your full safety.”

“I believe you, Brad.” Smiling, Terry extended her open hand and Brad Greencastle stared for a second before releasing the two-handed hold of his Uzi. He sensed she was messing with him for some reason.

“You know the rules, ma’am. Why give me a hard time?” Brad took Terry’s slim hand, shaking it gently. A slight bead of perspiration settled above his brow and the top of his bald brown head glistened. Slowly, Terry pulled her paddle holster from her belt, relinquishing her 9mm. Andy, Ryan, and Kevin quickly did the same with their weapons, handing them to the men nearby.

Terry slipped closer to Brad and stretched toward his ear. “It was Ryan’s idea to bust your balls,” whispered Terry.

“Ma’am?”

“What, you think I shouldn’t talk like that?”

Greencastle stared hard at Ryan, hiding in the back of the bunch. “No, ma’am. It’s not that.” Feeling more at ease now that obvious weapons were not in play, the tension left his demeanor and the men beside him relaxed. Ryan took the initiative, walking up to Brad and held out his hand. Immediately, Greencastle grasped and they embraced like brothers. Under his breath, Greencastle whispered, “You prick bastard—”