Frontier Justice - 01 (19 page)

Mason said nothing as he looked out into the night. He was thankful that she couldn’t see the relentless procession of “what ifs” that were marching across the parade ground of his mind.

“How did you get so good with a gun?”

“I train,” he said, simply.

“I wouldn’t have thought it possible for one person to defeat four.”

“You’re forgetting about Bowie,” he said, leaning down and patting the dog. Bowie started to rise for more attention, but Mason motioned for him to lie back down.

“Even without your dog, those men never stood a chance.”

Mason shrugged. “Most people don’t realize that reaction is slower than action.”

She looked confused.

“It just means that the person who moves first generally wins.”

“So, you move first.”

“I try to.”

She reached over and laid her hand on his.

“I admire your humility. Most men would be stomping around boasting about their victory.” She sat quietly for a moment, never removing her hand from his.

“Is Fran going to be okay? Nothing broken I hope.”

“She’ll be fine. I think it bruised her spirit as much as her arm. She certainly fared better than her attacker.”

“When a man the size of a boxcar starts bullying an old woman, he deserves everything he gets.”

“Have you ever killed anyone before?”

“Yes.”

“Many times?”

He thought of the bodies decomposing at the bottom of the ravine near his cabin.

“Yes,” he repeated.

“Do you mind if I ask how it makes you feel when you take a life? I’ve heard soldiers say it gives them a feeling of power, even elation, at having overcome their enemy.”

Mason shook his head, slowly.

“I take no pleasure in killing.” He paused, collecting his words. “But I don’t feel much remorse either. To be in front of my gun means a person has made choices that can’t be undone, or even forgiven. It becomes a moment of reckoning, a moment of justice.”

She squeezed his hand, apparently satisfied with his answer.

“You’re a good man, Mason Raines, a strong man.”

He looked over and saw that she was crying.

“Ava, what’s wrong?”

She smiled and wiped the tears away.

“I’m sorry. I’m behaving like a little girl.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at me, holding your hand, searching for some sign of strength and security in a world filled only with death and suffering.” She pulled her hand away and sat up straight. “I’m sorry. You don’t need this baggage.”

He reached over and put his arm around her.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. We’re all trying to find hope. Despite the death, there is also life, purpose, and maybe even love.”

She looked up at him, the tears still trickling down her cheeks.

“You really think so?”

“I do.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am.”

Ava leaned over and laid her head against his chest.

Mason pulled her close, smelling the soft hint of her perfume as it mixed with the freshly burnt gunpowder still swirling through the air.

CHAPTER

17

T
he morning following the shooting at the hospital, Mason called his four volunteer deputies together to discuss the security of the town. They met at the Boone police department, one of the few remaining buildings that hadn’t been ransacked. The front window and glass door were cracked, but they were covered with bars that helped keep them structurally intact. Fortunately, retired Police Chief Blue still had keys to the station and was able to let everyone in without any difficulty.

The inside of the small police station looked pristine, as if the departing officers had simply locked it up for the night. Portable radios sat in chargers, and papers were stacked in neat piles on the three desks. The holding cells were empty, except for long metal benches and stainless steel toilets. The town’s seven police officers had all died from the virus, but they were to be saluted for closing the facility in an orderly fashion, and with a sense that, one day, it might be needed again.

Mason and his deputies sat in a small interrogation room that had also served as a break room for the town’s officers. A large coffeemaker was sitting on a side table, Styrofoam cups neatly stacked beside it. Coon, the scruffy hillbilly who seemed most out of place, was slowly breaking one of the cups into small pieces and then lining them up on the table into a makeshift jigsaw puzzle.

Chief Blue said, “Marshal Raines, I heard what happened last night. It’s good to see you’re still standing.”

“Apparently, this is the second time they’ve hit the hospital for drugs. We obviously need to stop that sort of crime.”

“We’ll have to set up patrols,” said Deputy Sheriff Vince Tripp. “There are only five of us, and we’ll all need down time, so coverage is going to be spotty. Best we can do is probably half on and half off at any given time.”

“Agreed,” said Don Potts, the Army MP. “If push comes to shove, we can always call for all hands on deck.”

“I want everyone to keep in mind that our goal at this point is to prevent violent crime,” Mason pointed out. “We need to start by rooting out the worst offenders. If we can do that, the townspeople will largely step up and take care of the petty criminals.”

“A sense of security will go a long way to helping everyone get back on their feet. No pun intended,” Don said, patting his prosthetic leg.

Mason grinned. Don seemed to be a man who could not only take care of himself but also take a joke. Such men were rare.

“Chief Blue, you know your way around this station. Can you get it up and going? We may have to bring in a few prisoners, even if just to put a scare into them.”

“Sure. There are two holding cells. We could probably get three people in each if needed.”

“That should be plenty. I don’t expect hardcore criminals to surrender to our makeshift police force. They’ll call us out instead.”

“The convicts are holed up over at the Walmart,” said Vince. “Evidently, they broke into the store and are now using it as a de facto headquarters.”

“That’s actually not a bad move,” said Don. “Plenty of supplies. Food, drinks, clothing—even some over-the-counter meds.”

“The question is what do we do about them?” asked Chief Blue. “Just occupying the store isn’t a violent offense in itself.”

“It is if they use it as a base from which to attack innocent people,” countered Vince.

Mason thought for a moment.

“I think we can all agree that Boone is better off without these criminals. Let’s tell them it’s time to leave town.”

“They’re likely to just shoot us on the spot,” said Vince.

“Could be.”

“We should wear uniforms,” said Don. “It will give us a bit more credibility.”

“I have my deputy sheriff’s uniform,” said Vince.

“And I still have my old police uniforms, assuming I can stuff this belly into them,” Chief Blue said with a chuckle.

Don rubbed his chin, thinking. “I don’t have a civilian police uniform, but I suppose I could put on my old Army BDUs.”

“If you guys want to wear uniforms, that’s fine,” said Mason. “At a minimum, everyone should carry a badge. Chief, do they keep spare badges here in the station?”

“Let me check.” He hopped up and left the room. In less than a minute, he returned holding three badges and an armful of portable radios. He set everything on the table.

“I found the badges in various desk drawers. I still have mine at home, so I won’t need one.”

“And I’ll wear my Marshal’s badge,” Mason said, as he passed the three badges out to his deputies. “I don’t plan on being a permanent member of Boone’s police force anyway.”

“You’re not here to stay?”

“I have other obligations. I’ll help to put the town back together, but then I’ll have to move on.”

The chief nodded.

“Those radios could come in handy,” Mason added. “Can they be made to work point-to-point with disposable batteries, or are they part of some bigger trunked system that requires a base station?”

“These particular radios haven’t been used since before I left office. Unlike the more complicated systems in the cruisers, these can be made to talk unit to unit by simply selecting one of the GMRS channels. If we can drum up a few batteries, I’m confident that we can get them to work.”

“I’ve got a huge stockpile of batteries that I grabbed from one of the hardware stores,” said Don. “I’ll take on the job of getting the radios up and running.”

“Excellent.”

“What about police cars?” asked the chief. “Three of them are parked right out front. It might be a good idea if we used them to patrol the town.”

“Agreed. Keys?”

“Hanging on a peg board at the check-in desk.”

“I’ve still got my sheriff’s cruiser,” volunteered Vince. “That gives us four vehicles.”

“Which leaves us one short.” Don looked at Mason. “Are you going to stick with your truck? I’m assuming you have a light and siren on board.”

“My truck will be fine.”

Mason paused to size up the men who would likely be holding his life in their hands. Each of them stared back at him with a sense of purpose. All except for Coon, who was busy polishing his badge by first breathing on it, and then wiping it with his dirty shirt.

“You haven’t said much, Coon.”

He looked up. “Sorry Marshal. Not much to say, I guess.”

Mason smiled and nodded. He had no idea how much he could trust Coon. What would he do if they came under fire? Could he operate with any sense of authority? Or would he be a renegade hillbilly who proved impossible to control or trust? While Mason appreciated every available hand, Coon instilled a nervous energy that wasn’t entirely welcome.

“The water’s on!” Father Paul shouted, clapping his wet hands together as he rushed into the cathedral.

Mason sat at a small table, cleaning his Supergrade, and Bowie was lying at his feet trying to nap the day away. At Father Paul’s sudden exclamation, both looked up.

“Throughout the whole city?”

“Should be,” he said, rubbing his wet hands against his face. “I’m going to take a long shower. It’ll be cold for sure, but still a shower. This is truly God’s work!”

“The work of God or a few hard-working townspeople, who’s to quibble,” Mason said under his breath.

Not hearing him, Father Paul turned and dashed back toward his room, already starting to pull the vestments over his head.

“Praise God!” he exclaimed, one final time as he disappeared around a corner.

Just as Mason finished reassembling his pistol, Chief Blue entered the church.

“You ready, Marshal?”

He worked the action a few times, reloaded the weapon with a full magazine of hollow-point rounds, and holstered it.

“Ready.” He looked down at Bowie. “You should probably stay here.”

Bowie rose to his front paws, his ears up straight. Even sitting on haunches, his head was well above Mason’s waist.

“I mean it,” he said. “If you come along, you’re only going to get yourself shot.”

The dog leaned over and pressed its head hard against Mason’s stomach. He reached down and scrubbed the dog’s neck.

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Chief Blue, Mason, and Bowie left the church and found the other three deputies leaning against their newly acquired police cruisers parked outside.

“Does everyone have their long guns?” asked Mason.

All three men nodded.

“I’ve got my deer rifle,” Coon added. “I trust it over any of those fancy assault rifles or shotguns we found in the police station.”

“Fair enough. I can appreciate the importance of knowing your weapons.”

Coon smiled, showing off his crooked front teeth.

Looking from one man to the next, Mason said, “For this to work today, we have to keep them off guard. If it ends up in a shootout, we’re going to lose, plain and simple. So, unless it all falls apart, keep your eyes open but your finger off the trigger.”

Everyone nodded, except for Coon, who saluted.

“Chief Blue and I will give you ten minutes to take your positions. Try not to get spotted.”

With a few final parting words, Don, Coon, and Vince left in a caravan of police cars heading east.

Mason retrieved his M4 and two spare thirty-round magazines from his pickup truck. He set the rifle in the rack in Chief Blue’s cruiser and both spare magazines on the seat between them.

“You ready?”

Chief Blue was sweating even though the temperature was barely in the sixties.

“I haven’t shot a man in nearly twenty years.”

“It shouldn’t come to that.”

“But it could.”

“Yes, it could.”

“I hope I don’t let you down, Marshal.”

Mason turned his gaze out the window.

“Don’t worry, Chief. We’ll get it done.”

The distance from the Church of the Fallen Saints to Boone’s Walmart was only about two miles. With the gridlock of abandoned cars, however, it took nearly half an hour. Chief Blue was a careful, methodical driver, and, as he drove, he pointed out various points in the town that had been of interest over the years. There was the famous donut shop that had won a contest for serving the best coffee in the state, the clock tower that hadn’t worked in more than twenty years, and the park that college students rolled with toilet paper after every sporting event, all of which were now completely irrelevant in a town that was just trying to stay alive.