The Jared Chronicles | Book 4 | The Devil's Bastion, page 25
part #4 of The Jared Chronicles Series
Shannon’s face softened as she took Jared’s face in her hands, pulling it to hers. She kissed him long and passionately on the mouth before turning him loose. “I’m sorry it didn’t happen in a more organic manner, but Ess has a way of hurrying things along.”
Jared smiled, allowing some tension to drain from his shoulders. “That she does.” He sighed, thinking of Essie’s scintillating personality.
Chapter 22
Devon pulled up short as he topped a small knoll. He was walking through the hills at close to fifteen hundred feet above sea level, so he had a fairly good view of the surrounding area. Devon took a knee and pulled out his binoculars, scanning the road as it snaked its way through the rolling countryside. Devon saw nothing to indicate the presence of any other humans as he searched the road and then the hills to the east as they dropped away toward Del Valle Reservoir.
Devon stopped on the park’s guardhouse, studying the structure for a full two minutes before continuing his visual exploration of the area. After assuring himself there was no one near enough to cause him harm, Devon ventured forward toward the guardhouse. Halfway to the little shack, Devon stopped short. He had an unfettered view of what seemed like the entire lake and all the campgrounds on the eastern shoreline.
Again, Devon sat back and spent ten minutes combing the reservoir’s shoreline and campgrounds for any sign of John and the rest of the group. When he found no sign of John or other less desirables, Devon made his way down to the guardhouse. After ensuring no one was in or about the shack, Devon scurried over and grabbed a map from the plastic container hung on the wall. With map in hand, Devon crossed the road and headed east into the neighboring countryside until he felt he’d traveled far enough to sit down and enjoy a little peace of mind while he perused the navigational aid.
When Devon finished reading over the map, he knew two things. John and the rest of his people were probably on the other side of a creek to his west, and in order to get there, he could cross the bridge, which he wasn’t planning on doing under any circumstances. No, Devon would move southeast and drop down into the creek well south of the bridge. When he reached the campsite, he suspected his friends were using, he’d identify their location and then carefully make contact.
It took Devon two hours to pick his way through the heavily vegetated area south of the bridge, but finally he sat atop the highest point in the immediate area. Carefully Devon pulled his binoculars to his eyes and rose slightly like the periscope of a submarine. Keeping his head low so he was looking through some of the branches, Devon performed a cursory security check. Immediately he spotted a man on a hill across the bridge.
Rather than ducking quickly out of sight, Devon remained steady, focusing his optics on the man’s face. A sigh of relief escaped Devon’s lips as he realized he was looking at Raul across the bridge. Five minutes later, Devon spotted Carlos off the side of the road next to the entrance to the bridge on the opposite side. Devon gave the area one last check before slithering on his belly south underneath all the brush. Nearly one hundred yards later, Devon changed course, heading west toward the campground.
Shortly after adjusting his course, Devon reached the slope leading down into the creek, where he stopped and again went through the observation exercise. Fairly quickly, he spotted the VW parked near a row of five cabins. Devon saw Shannon emerge from one of the cabins, followed by Essie, and knew he’d found his tribe. He was too far to whistle, being roughly three hundred yards from the row of cabins.
Devon slid carefully down the embankment, landing in the bottom of the creek bed, before continuing across, heading toward the cabins. He used a large public restroom building to shield his approach, moving in a crouch with his rifle slung on his back in the event Jared or John were in the area and spotted him. Devon didn’t want to present himself as a threat with John still unaccounted for.
Five minutes later, he was within sixty yards of the cabin Shannon had come out of. Suddenly he heard voices, and Shannon exited a different cabin, headed back in the direction of the original cabin she’d come from. Devon rose to a standing position and whistled, causing Shannon to freeze momentarily until she spotted Devon’s waving figure.
“Devon,” she exclaimed in shocked relief, “get over here.”
Devon covered the sixty yards at a jog as Margie stepped out to see what all the commotion was about. Essie and Salvador appeared from behind one of the cabins, Essie clutching her rifle tightly, eyes narrowed her lips a tight slit on the front of her face. At the sight of Devon, Essie broke into a run.
“Devon, where have you been?” Essie hollered as she ran out to meet the returning teen.
“John sent me out to look around,” was all Devon said as Essie approached, pushed the rifle to her back, and gave Devon a bear hug.
“I saw Carlos and Raul,” Devon advised. “Where’s everyone else?”
Margie lowered her head, turned, and began walking back to her cabin, unable to hear the news of her husband’s death again, even if it was to inform a returning member of the group. Devon shot Shannon a perplexed look, wondering if he’d said something wrong. Shannon waited respectfully until Margie was inside her cabin before addressing Devon.
“We had some bad luck, Devon. Her husband and Rip were killed when they went after the soldiers,” Shannon explained. “Jared, John and Stephani made it out, but the other two had to be left out in the fields, and then we all had to get off the ranch,” Shannon finished, her face a mask of regret.
“What about all the trenches and the holes we dug?” Devon countered, his mind not yet registering the loss-of-life news.
“John and Jared both agreed that crazy colonel would be so angry he might just send all his soldiers at us. I guess with Rip and Quinten gone, John felt we didn’t have a good enough chance of survival to merit staying at the ranch. I mean, the reason we all stayed at the ranch was because Quinten refused to leave,” Shannon said, glancing over her shoulder to ensure Margie couldn’t hear her conversation with Devon.
“Rip’s dead?” Devon asked, his voice distant, imitating a hollowness.
“Uh-huh,” Shannon confirmed with a sad nod of her head.
Essie stood by with Salvador, both children listening to this very adult conversation in silence. Kids were changing from what they’d been a year ago, when they’d interrupted adult conversations, thrown tantrums over the most trivial matters, and been more of a burden at times than anything else. Now these two kids stood respectfully listening, processing and, in Essie’s case, occasionally sweeping the area with her inquisitive eyes, looking for any sign of a threat.
“Where are John and Jared?”
“They went with Stephani to look for Calvin and Cody,” Shannon answered. “Why don’t you eat something, Devon. Your face gets thinner every time John sends you out on one of those sneak jobs.”
Shannon turned and headed into her cabin, where she rummaged through some things and returned with an entire can of beans and a gleam in her eye. “Eat it, don’t ask where it came from, and for God’s sake, don’t tell anyone you ate the whole can.”
Devon smiled awkwardly as he took the can of beans. “Thanks, Shannon.”
After thanking Shannon, Devon moved away from the cabins and began digging a hole. He dug down roughly a foot before digging a second hole. When both holes were finished, he used a sharp rigid stick to tunnel between the two holes. When he’d finished tunneling, Devon sat back and admired his work. John had taught him how to construct a Dakota fire hole a few months before, and now Devon had created one in order to hide the flame of the fire he intended cooking the beans over. He was usually a simple person, not the type to want or even need many of the finer things in life, but today after all the walking, he wanted hot food.
Devon gathered tinder for his fire, placing it at the bottom of one hole. Once the fire was lit, the tunnel leading to the non-fire hole would provide the oxygen needed to keep his flame burning. The fire would actually burn hotter deep down inside the hole, creating less of a signature and more heat. The Dakota fire hole was also good when Devon found himself in windy conditions and in need of warmth. The fire burned down in the hole and was therefore not affected by the winds above ground.
Devon had only done this twice before, once when John showed him how the Dakota fire hole worked, and one other time when he’d been out alone back in March when the weather hadn’t quite warmed up with the coming spring. When the flame licked the top of the hole’s rim, Devon opened the can of beans, but did not detach the top, leaving a quarter inch in place so he could flip the top up.
Next, Devon tied a piece of twine around the jagged edge of the can’s lid and lowered it partially into the hole with the fire. The other end of the twine, Devon secured to a large rock in order to hold the can of beans in place over the heat of the little flickering flame. Five minutes later, Devon was eating delicious hot canned beans, his back resting against a medium-sized oak tree. He hadn’t even taken his pack off, and his rifle lay across his lap, but Devon felt more content than he could ever remember feeling since he was a small child.
A rustle off to his left brought his head around and a hand to the rifle. A white flash darted at him like an arrow from the string as Crank came sliding to a halt next to Devon. The dog’s tail wagged so fast it looked like a malfunctioning windshield wiper. The dog was obviously in a conundrum on what to do first, lick Devon or go after the food the teen held high above his head. Crank chose a quick lick of Devon’s face and then began dancing around his friend in an attempt to either beg or steal some of whatever was making the delectable smell in the air.
Devon fought through most of the can before holding it to the ground, allowing the little terrier to jab his snout into the can and let his tongue do the rest. When the can was silver on its interior, Devon dropped it into the hole with the fire and filled both holes in. It would have been easier to pour a little water on the fire, but this would have created an abundance of smoke. This way, Devon disposed of his trash and left little indication there’d been a fire while extinguishing the flame, all by pushing the mound of dirt he’d dug out back in the holes.
Finished with his meal and reunited with his pal Crank, Devon went to find Shannon. He wasn’t the type of teen to sit around twiddling his thumbs; he was driven to have a purpose like keeping watch or scouting for John. Devon found Shannon inside her cabin, with both children hunched over pads of paper, pencils scribbling away.
“Hey, Shannon.”
Shannon looked up, smiling at Devon as he stood in the doorway. “You finish it all?” she asked with a mischievous grin.
Devon nodded slightly and then tilted his head in Crank’s direction. “With some help.”
“Oh, that dog eats more than any of us,” Shannon warned needlessly.
“What should I be doing until John gets back?” Devon inquired, getting right to the point.
Shannon shrugged; her face puzzled as if she’d not thought about Devon needing to have purpose instead of sitting around playing with the overfed dog. “Well, I guess you could go up and relieve one of the guys at the bridge; let ’em come back and unpack.”
“Thanks,” was all the teen said before retreating from the doorway and allowing Shannon to get back to the kids’ schooling.
Barry woke to the sun streaming through the ranch house windows, and was instantly assaulted by pain from what seemed like every single nerve ending in his body. His head throbbed like a native drum while his right hand felt useless. He was quickly reminded of Devon when he swung his legs off the couch and onto the ground, gasping in agony as the jolt shot through his wounded leg.
The pain served to clear his head slightly as he thought about Carnegie sweeping into the ranch and finding him lying on the couch. He had to get moving, and he needed to do it fast. Barry struggled to his feet and staggered to the bathroom, where he relieved himself, then gingerly touched the mangled area formerly known as his ear.
He wanted to change the bandage while he had a mirror, but felt any delay could cost him either another beating, a gunshot, or his life. Barry returned to the barn and gathered as many first aid items as he could carry, stuffing them inside a backpack he’d pulled off a hook screwed into the barn’s wall. Completed with his medical supply foraging, Barry returned to the ranch house in search of food. Other than two cans of green beans and a sandwich bag of dried venison, the house had been stripped of nourishment.
No weapons were left behind, no food, and precious little bandaging materials for his damaged chassis. Taking a moment to come to terms with his situation, Barry stood on the front porch, blinking in the early morning light at the hills he knew were home to a viper of a man. Slowly, he turned and stumbled down the stairs, heading up the driveway toward Mines Road. When Barry reached the road, he turned left, walking south down the center of the paved street.
At this point, Barry didn’t really care if he were set upon. Who would want to do him more harm? Anyone he came in contact with would find precious little other than the bandages he’d taken for his hand, leg, and ear wounds. Barry struggled mightily to walk with the nice little gift Devon had left him with. The kid only carried a .22-caliber rifle, but the bullet had wrought a tremendous amount of havoc with Barry’s ability to walk a straight line, never mind make anything closely resembling good time.
The morning Barry left the ranch, Carnegie received ten additional soldiers along with materials needed to maintain the base camp in the way of the Humvee and two pickup trucks. The men back at Stockton had resurrected another older model Ford truck and sent it out to Carnegie, full of supplies.
Carnegie refused to allow any of the three drivers to return to Stockton while he worked on a plan to clear the ranch. Josh had spent the entire previous day stalking and observing the grounds surrounding the ranch and had seen no sign of life, including the horses John and his people kept. Josh was convinced everyone at the ranch had left the night they’d heard the VW leave, and Carnegie had to agree.
By midmorning, Carnegie’s mind was made up; he would send troops into the ranch and find out what was going on. Josh would head the operation up, and when it was over and if the ranch was empty, Carnegie would move his operations to the ranch. He was damned tired of sleeping in a tent on a creaky uncomfortable cot. Carnegie summoned Josh to his tent, then sat back and waited for his attack dog’s arrival.
Josh swept into the tent, a look of question on his face. He’d been busy keeping the lid on things out on the front lines after the drumming they’d taken a day and a half ago.
“What’s up?” Josh started, getting directly to why he’d been summoned.
“We’re taking the ranch. I want an operations plan drawn up and back here on my desk in an hour,” Carnegie fired back at Josh.
Josh stopped short hearing this new directive. “Okay, ah, we can do that. I don’t think anyone is down there, so it should be a breeze.”
Carnegie’s face remained serious. “Plan it like Buckley’s lying in wait, trooper.”
Three hours after being given the order to take the ranch down, Josh was loaded in the front passenger seat of the Humvee, heading straight at the ranch from the foot of the hills near all their observation positions. The two pickup trucks moved on Mines Road in a flanking maneuver while Josh pushed up the gut. The Humvee crashed through three separate barbed-wire fences on its way to the ranch.
Scan as he might, Josh never saw a sign of human life as they raced across the uneven ground of the surrounding pastures. In the distance to his right, Josh saw the two trucks turn up the driveway. The Humvee reached the ranch house several hundred yards ahead of its flanking partners. No shot had been fired, lending an eerie feel to the deserted property. Every soldier in all three vehicles was now a combat veteran, some having fought the Navy SEALs months before while others had been part of the skirmish where Buckley had attacked their OPs.
Josh held his soldiers in the Humvee until the trucks arrived, bringing with them twelve additional soldiers. As the trucks skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust, Josh exited the Humvee and began directing the soldiers toward the house and barn. These were the two largest structures and therefore the most likely to house a threat. Josh took ten soldiers to the house and sent five to clear the barn. Lastly, he ordered the remaining two soldiers to lock down the other smaller outbuildings and keep an eye out for anything hinky.
Josh placed himself fifth in the stack of soldiers to enter the house. Gone were the days of being the first through the door now that medical evacs were like dinosaurs and field medicine was commensurate with American Civil War health care. The door was unlocked, making the breach much quieter. The ten soldiers entered through the front door and swept carefully into the house, searching and whispering to one another as slowly they cleared the entire residence.
The five tasked with searching the barn were finished a few minutes before Josh and his team stepped out onto the front porch. A couple of minutes later, the entire property had been searched and deemed void of the interminable John Buckley. Josh left sixteen of the seventeen soldiers at the ranch when he returned to report to Carnegie the condition in which he’d found the ranch.
Back at the base camp, Josh jogged up the hill to Carnegie’s tent, where he found the colonel sitting at his desk, waiting impatiently.
“Place is deserted, fucking ghost town. I think they have another wounded though; we found a shit ton of blood and med supplies in the barn and inside the house like maybe we killed two the other day and wounded at least one more,” Josh advised.
Carnegie sat thoughtfully for a beat. “Or maybe our traitor went there and spent the night while he tended to his wounds.”
Josh shrugged. “Maybe, but he wasn’t there.”
“How does the place look for a base camp?” Carnegie implored.
