“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
Connor walked toward the men. “We good?”
“Yeah, I think so. Tawny’s cramping up a bit. She’ll need to rest for a few while I rub her down.”
“Huh.”
“She gets like that sometimes, Mac. Every so often, when she’s not had enough salt and hydration.” John McLeod glared at Jason, not happy. “Son, let’s make sure to give her some salt and water right away, okay?”
“Yes, sir. Sorry.” Jason had the grace to apologize, realizing he’d forgotten to let Tawny drink her fill in the early morning.
“You know, those horses travel with us better than I expected, I’m continually impressed,” said Connor. He knew little about horses and never expected they’d be a part of his team.
“Give BB the kudos for that.” He nodded toward BB who was helping Rhonda pull out lunch from the packs.
“That right, John?”
“Yeah. He’s spent some time training them the past year. He has some background with them.”
“Hmm. I will say they still leave a broader hint of our tracks than I’d like.”
“Can’t be helped.”
“Yeah, well. I’ll keep thinkin’ on it.”
Rhonda and Roger moved around the group passing out the small lunch of jerky, dried apples and a moist mash of tomato, zucchini and spices that everyone had grown to appreciate.
“Thanks, Rhonda,” said Connor. He began eating with purpose and hunger.
Marty, BB, and John McLeod nearby did the same. The rest ate more slowly, their hunger not as apparent. Once done, the team traversed the Liberty Bridge onramp mindful of the many huge, gaping holes punched clear through the bridge decking. Though still a sturdy span, there was damage by at least one, if not two, large tank battle engagements near the downtown ramp. As they made it onto the main span of the bridge, the rushing water far below made it clear how high they were should they stumble and drop through a hole. A blackened and crumpled Abrams A-1 tank had taken a huge hit to its hatch and was jammed sideways on end, resting against the concrete guardrail. With one track ripped off, it lay in shambles and three Humvees and a Bradley near it were in no better condition. Across the bridge, at the other end, two more tanks stood blackened and bruised with both hatches left open.
“Let’s take our time making it across, guys,” said Connor, “No hurry. Let’s stay safe.”
“Yep,” said McLeod.
“Wow, there was some kick-ass shitstorm went on here, Mac,” said BB.
“That there was.”
Clearing the concrete Jersey barriers put in place to block access midway across the bridge, Connor took one last glance behind him at the cliffside river view of a barricaded Duquesne University campus. Sitting high atop a natural bluff within the downtown city limits, the college campus seemed to have at least survived the onslaught of H5N1 and all the decimation brought with it. Like old times, when the campus was nothing more than a bustling small enclave of the Holy Ghost Fathers, the small, Catholic university pushed beyond the devastation. Without the use of binoculars, coordinated human activity was evident up on the ‘Bluff’ as it was called, particularly near the ‘Old Main’ administration building. Smoke fluttered from a large fire in front of Old Main, while small stick-like figures in bright red cloth moved nearby with purpose. Studying the campus from a military perspective, fortified guard stations were well placed along the riverside cliff, suggesting the rest of the campus area was probably just as well protected against marauders or those unwanted.
“That boat’s flying! That’s some engine.” Jackson pointed upriver.
“I see it,” said McLeod.
“Yeah, I got it,” said Connor.
“What kinda boat is it? It’s fast… loud,” said Cody.
“I, uh, I think it’s a Bayliner. Probably twenty-two foot or more,” said Roger, “Here give me those.” Roger examined the boat approaching from about 200 yards upriver. “Yeah! That’s a Bayliner 335SB Cruiser with Twin MerCruiser 8.1s. Oh man,” said Roger, “That thing can move.”
“You know your boats,” suggested John McLeod.
“Hah!” yelled Rhonda, approaching her husband. “He’s wanted a Bayliner since he was sixteen.”
“I see four men with guns on that Bayliner,” said Roger.
“Stay down. Everyone. Rog?”
“Right. Yes, sir.” Roger remembered to duck below the rail. A few hundred feet below, the crystal clear water of the Allegheny River flowed past and the Bayliner slipped beneath the bridge making its way downstream, likely to the Point. After the boat passed, they crossed the bridge, reaching the entrances to the Liberty Tunnels or ‘Tubes’ as they were commonly called. They took their time assessing the gaping black inbound/outbound tunnel entrances. They’d reached their primary goal for the day by 16:00, an hour ahead of schedule.
“There’s signs of recent activity here, Mac,” said Marty.
“I agree. What’re you seeing?”
“A fresh minicamp to the left near the inbound entrance.”
“Good catch.”
Rusting cars clogged both tunnel entrances as they stared the one hundred feet of visible distance into the tunnels ahead of them. Looking further into the tunnels, cars were packed all the way in until darkness shrouded any further assessment. Using binoculars, there was the proverbial light at the other end.
“You want us to go through that? I’m not liking that idea,” said McLeod.
“What about we go left down that ramp there? How ’bout that?” said Jackson.
“Huh,” said Connor.
“You said we’re going south of Pittsburgh, wouldn’t that way do it?”
“Ahh. Yeah, Jackson, your bearing is right.”
“Don’t much like the idea of running into that tunnel. Gives me the creeps.”
“Yeah,” volunteered Jason in agreement with Jackson.
“What’s on the other side of the tunnel, Mac?” asked Roger.
“Hmm, yeah, we could take that road down to East Carson and out that way like Jackson suggests, I guess,” said Connor, thinking, “But, you know guys, I’d love to revisit my hidden cache of weapons and supplies.”
“A weapons cache?” asked McLeod. His eyes sparkled with a sudden interest.
“Yeah.”
“What you talkin’ about?” asked Marty.
“Well, I socked away a decent stash of supplies from before the Sickness.”
“For real?” Marty remained skeptical.
“Not too far off of Route 51 on the other side.”
“No shit?” said Marty.
“Is that right, Mac?” asked McLeod. His face perked up at the possibility.
“Yeah. Route 51 runs north/south on the other side of the Tubes,” said Connor.
“Tubes?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s what we call the Liberty Tunnels in Pittsburgh. It a local nickname.”
“Uh, huh,” said McLeod, “ and you have a cache on the other side somewhere?”
“I do. I stockpiled a nice batch of stuff hidden behind a wall in a coal cellar at 910 Brownsville Road.” Connor looked to Cody. “Cody, keep binoculars focused on the Tubes for me. Let me know if you see anything.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Connor Mac.”
“Sir is fine, Cody. Please, just call me, sir.” Connor smiled.
“Yes, sir.” Cody beamed at this new development.
Keeping the area around them secure, the team settled close and listened, waiting to hear more. Connor studied the tunnels, particularly the right side outbound tunnel. He turned to the team. “Marty, you and I could scout it. Come back if the Tubes are clear.”
“Okay.”
“Tell me more about this cache, Mac?” asked McLeod.
“Ahh, it’s just a little something I hid away for a rainy day.”