The Jared Chronicles | Book 4 | The Devil's Bastion, page 17
part #4 of The Jared Chronicles Series
By midmorning the entire hole was covered with the planks, and Quinten had begun pushing dirt onto the exposed wood. Each man used a shovel, rack or hoe to spread the dirt evenly across the top of the planks until there was two feet of earth covering the top of the hole. They left a small opening large enough to allow a person to exit the hole, and then used the tractor to drag all manner of debris and unserviceable ranch equipment to cover the freshly turned earth. When they were finished, the area looked like a place old and unusable things had been discarded over the years.
It was here John knew they would make a last stand if things didn’t go well. The children would be kept in the basement from the start, and if the house were overrun, the men and women involved in the fighting would fall back to protect this place. Quinten scrounged two pieces of wire mesh they would use to cover the openings so no hand grenades could be lobbed through the opening Rip was just now finishing.
Any attempt on the part of the soldiers to remove the mesh would be rewarded with lead. John didn’t like being backed into a corner, but if this happened, he wanted to make it as difficult on the attackers as humanly possible. If Carnegie possessed gas, John and his friends were in for a rough go of things, but if all they came at them with were rifles and grenades, John would make them pay.
The mesh was also being secured to the access area leading from the house to the basement. They would mesh the doorway and string barbed wire down the staircase, making getting into the basement hazardous duty for any of Carnegie’s soldiers. Shooters would be placed on both portals to welcome anyone who poked their heads into the openings. If the fighting ended up at a stalemate with John and his friends in the basement and the soldiers trying to get to them, John felt he had more bullets than Carnegie had soldiers.
John hoped it would never come to fighting inside the ranch house and that the battle would be decided before they ever left the trenches. John also knew hoping in combat was a fatalistic mindset. He shook these thoughts from his head, instead refocusing on his plan—or Jared’s plan—to eliminate a large number of Carnegie’s soldiers before the battle ever started.
When the day’s work was concluded, John pumped some water from the Thackers’ well and splashed the cold liquid across his face before going to the barn. Inside, Barry was in his usual spot, only Barry was tapping away at something. John didn’t bother with Barry as he climbed the ladder before making his way back to where Devon stared out the back of the barn. John dipped his chin as Devon acknowledged John. If there were anything to report, Devon would already have done so.
John was so damn tired he really didn’t feel like talking and was grateful for Devon’s silence as the two gazed out across the expansive pastureland. The ticking continued below in the barn, and John wondered what in the heck Barry was doing now. John could only assume there were a million and one tests that Barry would undertake during the process needed to bring anything electronic to life. The ticking was no doubt some low-level connectivity test, John mused to himself.
“You good? I’m beat, but I can relieve you for a bit if you need to get out of here,” John offered, breaking the conversational draw.
Devon shook his head, but didn’t say anything as he focused on the faraway tree line. John hovered for a moment longer before returning to the ladder, where he tiredly climbed to the barn’s floor and exited through the large barn doors, leaving Barry to click away at whatever he was clicking away at.
It was late afternoon as Carnegie sat in his tent like a Civil War general, the only difference being his pen didn’t need dipping in ink. A radio sat atop the table he worked on, Carnegie monitoring the infrequent traffic on the small portable. A slight clicking had begun on the band and had continued for the past ten minutes, when a soldier approached his tent.
Before the soldier could speak, Carnegie looked up. “What’s wrong with the comms?” he barked irritably.
Carnegie had never been a communications expert nor had be worked in that specific field, but he had used radios on operations dating back three decades. Carnegie knew they were not using a repeater system, so the incessant ticking on their band was beginning to anger him. Were his situation different, Carnegie would have switched the portable radio off, but with so much on the line, he didn’t dare disconnect for fear of missing some key bit of information only he or Josh would understand the meaning of.
The soldier hesitated for a second before stepping closer. “The, ah, the ticking sound started about ten or fifteen minutes ago, and Josh sent Rankin around to have everyone shut down their radio, one by one, to see if we could isolate the problem radio.”
“Make your point, soldier,” Carnegie snapped impatiently.
The man’s posture jerked a little straighter as he continued, “Nothing, not on any of our radios. Then I started listening a little closer.” The soldier paused for dramatics and to allow the colonel to know the upcoming information, whatever it was, had been his discovery. The soldier quickly realized this self-importance-improving tactic wasn’t something to be used on Carnegie. “It’s Morse code,” the soldier said, beaming with pride.
Carnegie’s face remained placid. “And what is it telling us?” he asked, the tone of his voice telling the soldier to present all the information at once or suffer the colonel’s wrath.
“Ranch—Have information—Come to you—Send signal—John Buckley.” The soldier concluded, repeating the message haltingly.
Carnegie drew a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, studying his large hands that lay resting on the table’s top. “Can you communicate back?”
“Dunno, we could use the mic to simply key it up using the same code, but I am not sure the sender has the ability to receive our signal. I mean, Morse code is pretty crude to begin with, and the way I see it, if the sender could receive, why didn’t they just transmit in the open using their voice?”
Carnegie leaned forward, clasping his hands together. “Get Talley up here, now.”
The soldier, who’d thought he would elevate his position with the colonel when their conversation started, was more than glad to leave, now realizing Carnegie was immune to brownnosing.
“You come back with him, record everything that’s sent, and send nothing back,” Carnegie ordered as the soldier hurried off to find Josh.
Five minutes later, Josh arrived with the soldier in tow. “What do you think, trick, some kind of ruse?” Josh asked as he entered the tent, sinking into the chair opposite the colonel.
“No, no, I don’t. I think there are two very smart guys down there when it comes to electronics. I think that if you’re one of the smart guys like these two, it wouldn’t take much to figure out you’re fucked—or going to be, soon. I imagine Buckley is down there trying his very best to prepare them for what we are about to do. What he is having to do in preparation will preclude him from being able to candy coat much. I’d wager one of those tech kids down there is scared, wants to live, and found a way to join the winning team before game time.” Finishing, Carnegie stared at Josh, waiting for his man’s input.
Josh was silent for a long moment before speaking. “I just don’t trust John. He’s one of the most resourceful guys on the battlefield I’ve ever seen.”
“Okay,” Carnegie said, leaning forward, “what’s his angle?”
Josh drew his lips so tight across his front teeth, the flesh whitened slightly. “I don’t know, I’ve gone over it, and I just can’t see how sending one guy over here would help them. They lose a gun in the fight, and John has to know we aren’t going to just let someone from down there in here and not lock ’em up. He also has to assume we will search anyone who comes over, so that cancels any ability to send information back. I just can’t see anything positive, but I know John, and he was always full of surprises.”
Carnegie retrieved a pen and paper from his desk and scribbled on it for thirty seconds before sliding it across to Josh. “Send that, and if there is a change in what they’re sending us, we will know it is a two-way conversation. If not, we send a signal, get whoever it is on the other end over here.”
Josh took the note and looked it over. What’s your name?—How will you come over?—When will you come over? Josh handed the note to the soldier. “Send it.”
During a pause in the incoming clicks, the soldier sent Carnegie’s message. A minute later the incoming clicks resumed, to which Carnegie’s raised eyebrows conveyed to the soldier he’d better translate.
“Same as before, no change, don’t think they can hear us on their end,” the soldier said hurriedly.
Carnegie ignored the soldier, turning to Josh. “There ya' go. They know we’re here, that much is obvious, so it won’t matter how you signal.”
Chapter 16
Smoke billowed in the distance, bringing Devon to his feet and the binoculars to his eyes. He couldn’t see fire, but he could see a lot of white smoke. Although the optics were ten power, Devon was unable to locate the source of the smoke. Devon could only see that the smoke was billowing at the foot of the hills near where the soldiers were set up. Devon didn’t delay long before scrambling down the ladder and rushing past a bewildered Barry, who for a change turned and took notice of Devon’s sudden departure from the loft.
“What’s happening?” Barry asked as Devon rushed toward the barn doors.
Devon slowed, turning at the doors. “Smoke, there’s smoke out there near the hills.” Without further explanation, Devon disappeared from the barn, heading toward the ranch house.
Barry set down the screwdriver he’d been using to tap out his message, and moved to the rear of the barn, where he saw the giant cloud of white smoke wafting across the pastures in the far distance. “The signal,” Barry breathed to himself, feeling a little like Judas, but pushing the feeling away with a strong belief that his betrayal would ultimately lead to his survival.
Barry was a lot of things, and now he realized he could add traitor to that list. He’d focused singularly on creating a way to communicate with the soldiers after his trip with John into the surrounding hill country. Barry was convinced the Thacker family, along with Jared, John and the rest, would be overrun and murdered after seeing the sheer numbers of men and women this madman in the hills had at his disposal. Barry kept telling himself he wasn’t a traitor, he was a survivor, as was the case when he’d escaped John’s recovery team all those months prior.
Barry had immersed himself so deeply in the work of getting a functioning signaling tool up and running, he hadn’t thought much about what he would do if his plan were set into motion. Now as the smoke roiled across the landscape, carried to the west by a light breeze, Barry realized he would not enjoy the comforts of the winning side without being asked to provide valuable tactical information that would make the colonel’s mission easier and save some of the lives of his men and women.
Almost as if in a trance, Barry turned back to the pile of electronic equipment and tapped out one last message. Motorcycle—Signal received. After Barry finished, he stared at the motorcycle along with the pack lying next to it. Fear swept through him as Barry realized that the transition period of his plan would place him at odds with both parties for a short time. Barry was pretty sure John would shoot him on the spot if he knew what Barry was doing. Not for leaving or even changing sides, but for what Barry would do once he was with the colonel.
Barry didn’t care for John all that much although they’d lived, fought and struggled together for the better part of a year. This didn’t mean Barry didn’t respect the man; hell, John was one of the most principled men Barry had ever met, which was why Barry knew John would kill him before he allowed Barry to do something that would hurt the group. The time to leave was now or never, Barry knew, which did nothing to ease the tension he felt.
Barry was banking on confusion on the part of anyone at the ranch when he suddenly up and left on the motorcycle. If they knew what he was doing, someone might have the presence of mind to shoot him in the back. Barry reached down and hefted the pack on his back, pulling the straps tight just as the sound of approaching voices accosted his ears. His chest tightened as he realized his escape could be blocked by anyone standing in the barn’s doorway. If he waited for John and Jared to pass, he would have a better chance of getting the motorcycle out the door, but standing there wearing the backpack would definitely elicit some unanswerable inquiries.
Barry loosened the straps and dropped his pack just as Devon led John, Jared and Quinten through the large front doors. Barry tried to appear confused as he stood next to the worktable.
“You see the smoke?” John asked as the men began one by one ascending the ladder to the loft.
“Ah, yeah—what’s going on?” Barry answered, trying his best to control his voice.
“Fuck if I know, Barry,” John shot back, wondering why the man wasn’t at the very least looking out the back of the barn at the mysterious appearance of smoke.
John was the last up the ladder and therefore the last to see the still rising cloud of white smoke. When he reached Devon’s OP, his face darkened. “That’s not a fire, it’s a smoke grenade.”
“Why would they be setting off smoke grenades?” Jared asked, perplexed.
“Accident, dry run, I don’t know, but that’s no fire,” John said, squinting at the white cloud in the distance.
The sound of a motor below them caused everyone in the loft to strain to see through the smallish opening in the OP. They didn’t have long to wait as Barry, loaded with his pack, rocketed out and across the pasture from below them.
“What’s he doing?” exclaimed Quinten as Barry’s figure grew smaller in the distance.
John hefted his rifle to his shoulder and drew a bead on Barry’s retreating back. He held his aim for a second before dropping the sights from Barry. Suddenly, Jared turned and rushed back to the ladder, where he nearly slid down rather than climbed.
Once on the ground level, Jared reached Barry’s worktable in three easy strides and began going through everything. “Devon, come down here, please,” Jared called without turning his head.
Moments later, all who’d been up in the loft stood next to Jared, staring at the heap of electronic gear on the table.
“What is it?” John asked, breaking the silence.
Jared’s head twitched slightly. “I think it’s a transmitter, high-band stuff maybe,” Jared responded slowly, his mind drinking in everything on the table. A pad of paper caught his attention, but didn’t make sense as he plucked it from the tabletop, studying the writing.
On the pad were notes Barry had written down that Jared did understand, but the part he didn’t was a series of dots and dashes.
“Morse code,” John said over Jared’s shoulder. “The guy’s been sending Carnegie messages using Morse code.”
Jared’s mouth opened slightly at the thought of Barry communicating with Carnegie. “Why?”
Quinten’s deep voice answered, “He didn’t think we could win.”
“So, he changed sides,” John finished, his face covered in a deep scowl as he looked over all the electronic gear Barry had used to signal their enemy. “I should have shot him,” John growled.
Jared looked back over his shoulder, frowning. “Why, ’cause he’s scared and decided to leave?”
“You don’t defect without bringing something to the table. Doesn’t work like that,” John growled. “Carnegie will wring every detail about what we’re planning to do out of him. Jesus, man, he knows about the thinning operation.”
Jared’s heart raced as the realization hit him—they had just been dealt a severe blow. Down a body, plus their entire strategy exposed. Suddenly, Jared felt sick to his stomach. Maybe he should run too, Jared thought to himself. After all, Barry was only trying to stay alive, so why didn’t they all get out of Dodge, slink into the night, and just go until Carnegie could no longer reach them? No, Jared thought, steeling himself, they couldn’t do that. There would always be a Carnegie, and if no one stood up to these men, their lives would have little more meaning than the life of a rat.
“We need a new plan, bro, plan B,” John muttered, stating the obvious.
“What’s plan B?” Jared inquired defeatedly.
John snorted. “I don’t have one, man. The thinning op was what I considered a pretty far-fetched plan, and now that’s gone.” John kicked at the dusty barn floor and wagged his head in frustration. When John looked up, his face had hardened. “If things were different, I’d crawl up there and shoot Barry tomorrow.”
Jared started as Shannon’s voice sounded from the barn doorway. “What did Barry do?”
Shannon and Stephani were standing in the doorway, their expressions betraying their concern at the little bit they’d overheard. Jared stepped up and explained what had happened, or what they thought had happened. After ten minutes of exchanging bits of information, it seemed everyone had seen or heard things, but failed to make a connection. When their conversation ended, it was evident Barry was selling them out to save his own skin.
Slowly, the group departed the barn and returned to the house, leaving Devon back in the loft to cover the OP. Inside the house, Jared dropped onto the couch, where he felt an overwhelming and unexpected fatigue wash over him. His appetite also seemed to have departed along with most of his energy as he sat staring at nothing in particular. His mind raced, but with no viable options, his brain was like a wheel spinning uselessly in the mud, unable to propel its attached vehicle.
Shannon came inside, helped Margie prepare some food, then made sure Essie and Salvador were fed before wandering out, where she slid onto the couch next to Jared.
