Gary’s weak voice came back after a moment’s hesitation. “I think so.”
Brandon opened the passenger door, the pistol out in front of him. “Did I hit anyone?” he asked.
John edged closer, his AR in the low ready position.
Brandon’s question was met with laughter from the one with the mohawk. “Not even close, kid. But I think you gave a squirrel in that tree over there a heart attack.”
His buddy next to him also chuckled.
“You did fine,” John told Brandon before turning back to the men in the black pants. “You wanna tell me who they were?” he asked, ignoring any pleasantries.
“How about you cut these zip ties off us first?” the blond guy next to Mohawk said.
John looked down at the dead man and slid his rifle away with the tip of his boot. He told Brandon to collect the other man’s weapon.
“Where I come from, the guy with the gun makes the decisions. They called you two insurgents.”
Mohawk grinned. “We been called worse. Domestic terrorists is my personal favorite. Let’s just say we’re part of a movement against anyone who thinks they can come along and take what’s ours.”
“They’re here on behalf of the Feds,” the blond man said. “Don’t make no difference to me. We were living peacefully, trying to get by without power just like everyone else, and then a bunch of these government spooks show up demanding we hand over our weapons.”
Gary was at John’s elbow now. “They did the same to me. Killed my wife.”
Mohawk’s gaze settled on John. “What’s your story? Just a Good Samaritan passing through?”
John grinned, squeezing the dimple in the center of his chin. “Seems we’re all in the same boat. My family was taken and it looks like I may have just killed the very men who could have led me to them.”
“Hell, there’s plenty more where they came from,” Mohawk told him enthusiastically. “Oneida’s full of ’em. That’s where they’re headquartered.”
“How do you know for certain?” John asked, not wanting to get his hopes up.
The corners of Mohawk’s lips rose in a smile. “You heard it from the dead man’s own lips. We’re insurgents.”
Chapter 11
“Listen, I’d love to keep chatting,” Mohawk said, “but we should probably get off this road before more of those government goons show up. Wanna cut these ties off?”
They were both eyeing John’s BK9 Bowie knife.
“I got one better,” John replied, eyeing their zip ties. They weren’t law enforcement or military grade, which would make escaping so much easier. “I’ll show you a simple way to get out of zip ties, just in case you find yourself in the same bind sometime down the road. Push your arms as far back as they’ll go, then bring them forward against the small of your back while pushing out with your wrists.”
Both of them did it two or three times without success.
“Put some muscle into it,” John suggested, demonstrating the motion with his own arms.
They did it again and there was a popping sound as they broke free.
“Not a bad trick,” Mohawk said, rubbing the red mark on his wrists.
“Glad I could help,” John told him.
“I’m Moss.”
The one with the blond hair nodded. “Sullivan.”
John and the others introduced themselves.
“Glad that’s taken care of,” Moss said, pointing to the truck the dead men had driven up in. “Now that we’re no longer strangers. I hope you’ll excuse us while we liberate this here vehicle.”
John headed back to his truck, his mind on the road ahead. Now that they knew the people who took Diane, Kay and the kids were headquartered in Oneida, it seemed like the logical place to start looking, albeit carefully.
“I hope you’re not thinking about heading into that hornets’ nest,” Moss stated matter-of-factly.
Brandon and Gary were already inside and doing up their seatbelts. John was in the act of pulling the driver’s side door closed when he stopped.
“You just saved our skin,” Moss told him. “So let me give you a piece of advice that may just save yours. You head in there now, with nothing by your side but a boy and an unarmed man, and you might as well start digging three graves.”
John always prided himself on plotting a careful, logical course. Emotions got you killed, a sentiment Moss was echoing at this very moment. But he couldn’t just sit by planning when he knew the ones he loved were in such grave danger. With no authorities to call, John would need to become his own law enforcement. He glanced over at Brandon and Gary.
“If either of you want out now I won’t hold it against you. You should know that where we’re going, people are gonna die and there’s a chance it could be us.”
“What other choice do we have?” Brandon asked. “Stand around while my mom and sister are killed?”
John’s gaze turned to Gary, who swallowed hard. “All right,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. “Let’s do this.”
“I appreciate the heads up,” John told the men outside. “But we don’t have much choice in the matter. I hope you understand.”
Moss shook his head and John wondered even then if he was making a terrible mistake.
The main road into Oneida was marked with the occasional car wreck. Many of them looked abandoned, some smashed from collisions, most left to rot after the EMP. All of them had been nudged off the road and onto the shoulder. That told John a certain amount of traffic passed this way.
Approaching the town by vehicle would draw far too much attention, so John pulled off the road when he found an opening in the forest where he could stash Betsy. She didn’t need to be more than a few feet in, since the camo net would keep her from being seen by anyone passing by.
Once stopped, John got out and opened the hatch at the back. George eyed him suspiciously.
“I’m not here for you, big fella,” he told him, removing a box of 5.56 green-tipped rounds as well as some .40s for his pistol. Those were the only weapons they had and the few remaining rounds, but John knew their biggest asset would be the intel they were about to gather. The plan was to walk the few miles to town and find a nice spot from which to observe the comings and goings. Depending on how many residents they saw walking around, there might even be an opportunity for John to slip in amongst them undetected, his S&W concealed in his back waistband.
Taking a page from his colleagues in the Special Forces, he understood that a successful mission was often one where shots were never fired. Bring the weapons along, sure, but pray you don’t need to use them. As soon as rounds went live, the chances for a successful conclusion dropped exponentially.
John communicated the emerging plan as they walked through the forest, shadowing the road. He handed Brandon the keys as they went, keeping his voice low as he spoke.
“What are these for?” Brandon asked.
“In case we run into trouble. You double-time it back to Betsy and get yourself to safety.”
The flash of doubt that swept over the boy’s features made John wonder whether bringing him along was such a good idea.
Nearby, a woodpecker knocked away at a dying tree.
John pulled to a stop.
“You hear something?” Brandon asked.
“Just birds,” Gary answered, even though the question wasn’t directed toward him.
John turned and faced the boy. His heart was telling him taking the boy along was a mistake. “Go back to the truck,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what I’m about to do goes against all of my training. My emotions are screaming for me to charge into Oneida and free everyone. My training is telling me to lie low and watch for the place for a few days.”