Odd Billy Todd (67 page)

“Billy, is that. . . .?”

“Yep,” Billy nodded grimly. Lying on the table in front of him was a Barrett Rifles M82. Several box magazines were spread out alongside the big rifle.

“Where did you get that?” Pete asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“My daddy left it to me,” Billy told him. “Never thought I’d have no use for it, but. . . .” He shrugged, as if to say I was wrong.

“So this is what you meant when you said you were taking your rifle?” Pete asked.

“Well, no,” Billy shook his head. “Truth is, I ain’t. . .see, I can’t see how we’re gonna be able to carry ever thing we need,” he admitted. “I want to carry my 700 too, and I reckon we’d better carry our M-4's, ‘count o’ we may need’em, we get into a sure ‘nough fight. But that’s a lotta stuff to carry. Hard to move with all that.”

“It is,” Pete nodded. “It’s an age old problem, Billy. You just have to look for the best compromise you can come up with.”

“I ain’t come up with one as yet,” Billy admitted.

“Well, let me see if I can help you.”

*****

“So that’s what we’ll do,” Pete finished.

“I like it,” Billy admitted.

“That will be our first priority, then, when we get there. We’ll stash supplies in several of the outlying houses. None of them looked to be used when we were there. We’ll waterproof the stashes, so we can hide them outdoors, too. That way, we don’t have to hump so much stuff all the time. When we get low on food, water, or ammo, we’ll just head to one of those stashes, and resupply.”

“Kinda like cache tubes, but purpose built, like,” Billy nodded.

“Yeah, just like that,” Pete replied.

“Well, reckon we’d better get to work on that, then.”

*****

They were ready. At least as ready as they could be. Terry, George and Jerry were standing with them, going over last minute things.

“We’ll start workin’ on the road tomorrow,” Jerry told them. “Hope you boys can find your way home,” he chuckled.

“We’ll be back,” Billy nodded.

“Look, I still say this is a stupid idea,” Terry cut in. He wasn’t in the mood for any jokes.

“And I still say it’s all we got,” Billy shrugged. “I don’t like it neither. I ain’t never. But we can’t let them people find us, Terry. We can’t beat’em. Not here. And you know that, better’n I ever will.”

Terry sighed, refusing to acknowledge that Billy was right. He’d studied the terrain, figured on everything they had available, the people who were able to fight. There was no way to defend the valley against them. None.

“You guys watch yourselves,” George told them.

“We will,” Pete nodded.

“So you’re leavin’ out first thing?” Jerry asked.

“Fore day light,” Billy nodded. “We wanna be well on our way ‘fore the sun’s up.”

“Good idea,” Jerry agreed. “I wish I was twenty years younger. I. . . .” he stopped. He wasn’t, and nothing would change that. He looked at Pete.

“You had better come back,” he warned. Pete smiled.

“Do my best, sir.”

“And you too, Billy,” Jerry turned to his young neighbor. “I think we’ve proved this place can’t hardly manage without you.” Billy flushed at that, but merely nodded.

“Good luck,” was all Terry could manage. He wanted to go. He wanted them not to. He wanted things to be normal. He wanted to keep bad things from happening.

And he had never felt so powerless as he did right now.

*****

Morning was still dark when Billy walked out his front door. Rhonda followed him, tears falling silently down her cheeks.

“I will worry myself sick until you come back,” she told him.

“I know,” he nodded. She would.

“Please, Billy, don’t take so many chances,” she pleaded. “Come home.”

“I plan to,” he promised. “I really do.” She stood on her toes and kissed him, then suddenly fled into the house. The Hummer was waiting, Pete behind the wheel. He had experienced a similar morning.

“Ready for this, Billy?” he asked.

“No, but I reckon it’s got to be,” Billy admitted. Pete nodded, and put the truck in gear.

“Here we go, then.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

“Looks like three,” Pete whispered. Billy nodded, looking through his rifle scope.

“Which one you think looks like the leader?” he whispered back.

“I’m going with the one on our right,” Pete replied after some consideration. “He looks like he’s giving orders.”

“Works for me,” Billy answered.

They had been in position for almost three days. Arriving without any problems, the two of them had first looked for, and found, a secure place for the Hummer. A garage on the south west corner of town in a neighborhood that looked like it hadn’t seen any visitors since the virus proved to be just fine. There was a small loft above it, and they decided to make a stash there as well.

The next two days had seen the two running scout all over their side of town, and eventually making an entire circuit, leaving small caches of supplies in the least likely places they could think of. GPS was still working, at least for now, so in addition to written notes and map notations, they entered the coordinates of each one as well.

They weren’t really anything special. Ammunition, MRE’s, a knife, a multitool. Water. First aid kit. Socks. Things that someone might really need in order to get out of a bad scrape. Even if they didn’t use them, the cache’s would be here the next time.

Finally, they had spent an entire day looking over the center of town, where the activity was concentrated. The two men had selected five houses that had upper levels, giving them a good view of their surroundings. In addition, there were a few multistory buildings that would give them good vantage points.

The trick, the key, was to stay hidden.

*****

“Reckon we start with him?” Billy asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Pete shrugged. Before he could add anything, the huge rifle split the atmosphere in half.

Below them, two men stood stunned, and speechless, as the man they took their orders from disintegrated in front of their eyes. One minute, he was there, and everything was normal. The next, he was in several pieces, with blood and bone and body parts everywhere on the sidewalk.

Before they could recover, another one met the same fate. The third, realizing he would be next, took off running back in the direction from which they had come.

Billy let him go.

They needed someone to tell the story, after all.

“Time to move,” Pete noted, gathering their things.

*****

Rather than strike again that first day, Pete and Billy elected to watch the reaction to their attack. The ‘mess’ was cleaned up by very hesitant people, each looking around them frantically, as if they could somehow ward off the destruction if only they could see it coming.

Everyone who came to the scene left terrified. Which was just what Billy and Pete intended.

The next day, almost a mile from where they had first struck, the big rifle boomed again. One moment a young girl was being forced down the street by the woman Pete remembered from the bus, the next moment the girl was alone, her captor spread all over the sidewalk.

The girl screamed. Men and women came running from every direction to the noise of the shot, and the scream. One man, who might or might not have been in charge, they didn’t know, hit the girl in the face, knocking her down. He screamed at her to tell him what had happened or he would kill her, and drew his gun to emphasize the point.

Three seconds later, his head exploded, along with most of his shoulders, covering his ‘friends’ in a mist of bone fragments, blood, and parts of their former leader. Everyone ran for cover, leaving the girl unattended.

Pete and Billy were on the move again before everyone found a hiding place.

*****

They didn’t limit their damage to the people, either. Billy’s rifle put six vehicles out of commission over the next three days. Broken engine blocks were hard to replace, and the big fifty caliber rounds went through even the toughest blocks. They only targeted the moving vehicles, a fact not lost on the people in charge of the town.

Also not lost on them was the two deaths and three injuries caused by the exploding engine blocks and over penetration of the heavy rifle rounds. By the seventh day, no one was driving anywhere.

Search parties were sent out looking for the shooters. Billy and Pete moved each time they shot, and often moved yet again before taking another shot. When whoever was in charge wised up and sent almost every man and woman out to search, they withdrew, watching until the search parties returned, carefully counting each one to make sure no one had stayed behind to ambush them.

“I would have left at least two men out here, lying low, to watch for us,” Pete told Billy. “Either no one down there knows anything about tactics, or we killed the one who did.”

“Makes it easier for us,” was all Billy said.

*****

They took the next three days ‘off’, setting up in a good location, and taking no shots. The idea, Pete told Billy, was to let them relax, think it was over. Gradually, they would relax their guard, and try to get back to whatever was normal for them.

“Once they get back to their beat, we’ll start again.”

So they watched, and they waited for three days. The time wasn’t wasted, as they observed the comings and goings in the town. Slowly but surely they started to get an idea of what they were up against.

There was no set group of people. That was something that stood out. The thugs running what was left of the town were from all walks of life, if their dress was anything to go by. A few wore leathers that reminded Billy of biker gangs. Pete had recognized two different army patches among those wearing military style clothing. A few were dressed as farmers, or ranchers.

“We can’t really be sure, though,” Pete mused. “They could have taken those clothes from anywhere. The two guys I saw with the army patches, though, they sort of look the part. Still, if they had any experience at all, they’d be laying in wait for us, not walking around town.”

They had narrowed down where the prisoners were being kept as well. The men were being held in the old jail, they were sure. A few had been brought in and out to perform one menial task or another, always under heavy guard.

They were also fairly certain that the women and children were being held in what had been a hotel. There were always men on guard there, as well as some tough looking women. Neither wanted to think what went on inside the hotel.

“Reckon there ain’t much we can do for them,” Billy lamented.

“I know,” Pete agreed. “But we’ll keep a look out. If we get the chance, we’ll try and spring them. I’d say try to get the men, first. If we can arm them, they might be of some help.”

*****

While Billy and Pete were working to keep the gang in Franklin off balance, the others were working hard at home. The morning the two had left, Every able bodied man and woman reported to the community building. Soon, they were headed into town. It took a few hours, but they managed to get three additional dump trucks running. They took the trucks back to a small hillside near the gravel pit, and started loading them with dirt, using a front end loader.

Soon, the trucks were moving back and forth to the highway, what was considered the ‘back’ way into the valley. Starting at the edge of the right-of-way, the trucks started dumping load after load of dirt. As the small dozer they were using spread the dirt out, others walked behind, sewing hay seed. With any luck, the roadbed would soon match the fields around it, flowing with hay.

They worked for three days, almost non-stop. Most ate on the road, or when they were waiting for new dirt. It was hard work, and grimy in the hot sun, but no one complained. Everyone knew what was at risk. If they wanted to live, to survive, they had to hide.

By noon of the fourth day, they had covered the mile-and-three-quarters of road that ran to the tree line. Five people spent over an hour trying to see the road from the highway, from every angle they could find. Terry finally lowered his binoculars, and pronounced the job done.

“Take about three weeks, or so, for that alfalfa to start risin’,” Jerry remarked. “After that, I reckon no one that don’t know that road’s there will be able to find it.”

The next day, they started the process over in Cedar Bend. The job there was both easier, and more difficult. Easier because of the small rise that would hide the rest of the road, once they had covered what was visible, and harder because more work was required to camouflage the street. The road sign was pulled from the ground, as was the highway sign that indicated an intersection ahead.

In the end, a small shed was moved from elsewhere in town, and filled with and odds and ends assortment of hand tools and wire. The things that a small shack like that would have on a farm or ranch. It took two days to complete on this end, and the result was just as good.

This time bluegrass was used, instead of hay. It would look good, and grow fairly quickly. Once it was growing, nothing would remain to suggest that a road had ever been there. The last touch was a cattle gate, secured with a rusty looking lock. It wasn’t actually rusty, but only a close inspection would reveal that.

“I think this is actually better than the other side,” Jerry approved. “Heck, I been livin’ here all my life, and if I didn’t know there was a road there, I’d never suspect.”

“Good,” George nodded, wiping his brow with a gloved hand. “That’s the point, right? So what’s next?” he asked Terry Blaine.

“Tomorrow we start working of defensive structures.”

*****

Terry had found a geographical map of the small valley, and used a copy machine to enlarge it and make extra copies. They used the machine sparingly, since they didn’t have much of the toner the machine needed, but this was something they needed.

“We’re going to build some defenses along a rough ring around the houses,” he told the assembled valley folk. “We have a few heavy weapons, and we’ll sight places for them where they’ll do the most good. In addition, we’ll construct some dead-fall roadblocks that we can move into place given a few minutes warning. We’ll also look at booby trapping certain areas where we don’t go, and others might use to sneak up on us. It’s important to keep the children away from these areas,” he reminded everyone. “Right now, we’ll concentrate on fighting positions. They need to be strong, well concealed, and offer good fields of fire.” He paused, looking them over.

“The only way we’ll beat off a determined attack is fighting from cover, and inflicting as many casualties on our attackers as possible. We don’t have the manpower, or the equipment, to face a large group in the open. So, we learn the terrain, we stash weapons and ammunition in places around the valley that can be accessed in an emergency, and we train to use them.”

“Once our defenses are in place, we’ll run some drills. See how fast we can respond, and what works and doesn’t. We’ll likely have to make adjustments after the drills, but that’s what they’re for, so don’t worry about that.”

“We’ll start here, here, and here,” he told them, pointing to where he’d made red dots on the map. “We should be able to get those done tomorrow. These will be the places we’ll set up our heavier weapons. Once that’s finished, we’ll start creating supporting positions.”

“So everyone get a good night’s sleep. We’ll start bright and early in the morning.” He ignored the groans of protest. He agreed with them.

But it had to be done.

*****

John Easel, known as ‘Big John’ to everyone in what was left of Franklin, was a thinking man. Not many would have guessed that, since he was a huge, hulking brute, and cultivated the reputation of an ignorant bully. No one challenged his leadership of the group because of that, and the three men who made sure he stayed in charge.

But he wasn’t dumb. Not by a long shot.

He’d lost seven people so far to the Shooter. That’s what his people had taken to calling the sniper that had plagued them for the last week. Seven killed, and three that were left useless, arms or legs lost to the heavy rounds. Those three wouldn’t make it much longer. There was no place here for people who couldn’t do their share. They’d be dealt with, and soon.

Meanwhile, he was experiencing a reluctance among his followers to get out and work. The Shooter hadn’t struck in three days, though, and Big John’s patience was wearing thin. So he’d ordered everyone back to work. He had to replace the ruined vehicles, for one thing. There were plenty around, but getting them running wasn’t always easy. None of his men were real mechanics, and John wasn’t either.

Times had been hard over the winter. So hard that he and his followers had crossed a line that few men crossed. There had been revulsion at first, not merely reluctance but outright refusal. He hadn’t worried about that. Sooner or later, everyone gave in to a hungry belly.

In hindsight, once they had crossed that line, no one seemed to care anymore. It was as if their last vestige of humanity had left them. No longer concerned with civilized behavior, the people he led had given themselves over to the depravity that often accompanied such acts.