The Survivalist (Freedom Lost) Read online

  Mason climbed from the trailer, and Bowie hopped down beside him.

  “I guess I’ll find out. Either way, I appreciate the lift.”

  Bartley glanced back at the RV.

  “Hoss wants me to ask you again about the drugs. You sure you ain’t willin’ to make a trade? He said you can take your pick of anything on the trailer.” He reached down and dusted off a case of Hormel Chili. “Got some good stuff in here.”

  Mason shook his head. “It’s for the kids, remember?”

  Bartley let out a frustrated sigh. “Yeah. Thing is, Hoss don’t really care much for kids.”

  Mason slipped his pack over his shoulders.

  “That’s okay. I’m sure they don’t care much for him either.”

  Bartley bit at his lip, obviously hunting for words that would close the deal.

  Mason patted him on the shoulder.

  “He’ll get over it.”

  “I’m not so sure,” he said in a low voice.

  “Listen. You and Kyle don’t seem like bad men. Maybe it’d be better if you made your way without Hoss.”

  He gently shook his head. “Nah. Last thing our mother ever said was that family’s all we got.”

  “Hoss is family?”

  “Half-brother. Same as Kyle, only different daddy.” When he saw the puzzled look on Mason’s face, he said, “My mother, well, some might say she got around a bit.”

  Mason chuckled. “At least you have family. That’s something, I suppose.”

  “Now you understand why Kyle and I don’t really have a choice.”

  “You always have a choice. No man gets a pass on that.”

  Bartley looked away. “Take care of yourself, Marshal.” With his head hung low, he turned and trudged back to the RV.

  Mason and Bowie stood, watching as the junkers wheeled the RV around and headed back along Cowpen Neck Road. When they were finally out of sight, Mason turned in a slow circle, surveying the farmland that stretched in every direction. The only house within sight lay a few hundred yards to the east.

  He looked over at Bowie. “I guess we’ll start there.”

  Mason kept to the road, hoping to avoid having to slog his way through soft dirt and overgrown fields. As they approached the home, he noticed that the farmland directly beside it was much better maintained. The ground had been recently tilled, and it looked like seedlings were beginning to push up through the rich soil. He couldn’t tell what was being grown, but someone was obviously giving it attention.

  Hoping to avoid startling the homeowner, Mason approached along a small paved walkway that led up to the house. The structure itself was nothing special, a single-story farmhouse painted a pale shade of gray. There were, however, several banks of solar panels lining the roof, as well as an amateur radio tower and water tank stationed along the right side of the house. A weathered gray barn easily twice the size of the home sat to the rear of the property. Visible within was a faded yellow Air Tractor AT-501 crop-dusting airplane.

  As Mason traversed the narrow walkway, he heard singing coming from around back. The voice was soft and warm, and the melody friendly.

  Bowie looked up at him.

  “Anything that pretty can’t be too dangerous.”

  Together, they detoured around the side of the house only to find themselves staring at billowing white sheets blowing in the morning breeze. A long clothesline ran the length of the yard, and nearly every inch of it was being used. A young woman stood with her back to them, hanging the last few items as she sang to herself. She wore a white blouse and faded green skirt, both of which looked handmade. Her sandals and a Browning 20-gauge pump-action shotgun sat next to a wooden bench that overlooked a small herb garden.

  Mason stood for a moment, listening to the young lady sing. For a moment, he was reminded of Connie West, a lover who had once invited him to stay with her and live the life of a farmer. He had declined the offer, not so much because of the lifestyle but rather the vengeful nature of the one doing the asking.

  Feeling a bit like an uninvited voyeur, Mason cleared his throat.

  The woman wheeled around, her eyes darting over to the shotgun.

  He raised both hands, palms out.

  “You won’t need it.”

  She took a moment to study him, and he couldn’t help but do the same. The woman was barely out of her teens, her sun-soaked skin slick with a glossy sheen of sweat. She had strawberry blonde hair pulled up into a simple bun, thin strands hanging down in front of one eye. The top two buttons of her blouse were undone, and bare breasts pressed against the thin fabric.

  Before she could say a word, Bowie wandered closer, his tail wagging from side to side as if he was trying to squeegee a windshield. He pressed his wet nose against one of her hands, and she giggled.

  “Well aren’t you the friendliest thing,” she said with a beautiful southern accent.

  “Sorry,” Mason said, walking toward her. “Bowie’s not one for formal introductions.”

  She stroked the dog’s enormous head.

  “That’s quite all right. We’re not very formal around these parts.”

  He extended his hand. “I’m Mason.”

  The young woman quickly wiped her hand on her skirt and gave him a firm shake.

  “Jessie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jessie.”

  “Can I help you with something?”

  “I hope so. I’m looking for Jack Atkins. I believe he may live around here.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you looking for Jack?”

  “I guess you could say we’re old friends.”

  “You and Jack are friends?” From her tone, she didn’t seem to believe him.

  “Okay, ‘friends’ might be stretching it a bit. Truth is, we’ve talked a few times on the radio.”

  She caught sight of the badge on his belt, and a tentative smile came to her lips.

  “Wait a minute. Are you Marshal Raines?”

  “In the flesh.”

  Her face lit up. “Oh my goodness, he’ll never believe you’re here!”

  “You know Jack?”

  “Of course, I do, silly! He’s my father.”

  “Your father?”

  “That’s right. And he told me all about how you helped to save us from the likes of President Pike.”

  Mason shrugged off the compliment. “Honestly, I think all I did was make a mess of things.”

  “Brave and humble.” She clapped her hands together with excitement. “I love it.”

  Jessie’s smile was contagious, and Mason found himself beaming like a proud schoolboy.

  “Really, it wasn’t like I—” He stopped in mid-sentence. The shine in her eyes was not going to be dimmed by anything he said, and even if it could, he didn’t want to be the one to do it.

  Jessie suddenly seemed to realize that they were standing in front of her family’s clothesline.

  “Daddy would never forgive me for being so impolite. Come,” she said, turning toward the house. “I’ll get you something to drink.” As they passed the small bench, she snatched up her shotgun, popped open the breech, and draped it across her shoulder the way experienced hunters often did. “We don’t get many visitors out here,” she explained. “And those we do aren’t always welcome.”

  “I understand.”

  She pulled open the screen door and motioned for him to go inside.

  “Make yourself at home. We don’t have much, but the least I can do is offer you a place to rest your feet.”

  “Much appreciated,” he said, setting down his pack and M4.

  Bowie didn’t make it through the door before it swung shut, and he stood, staring in through the screen.

  “You and Jack live here alone?” Mason asked as he sat down at the small kitchen table.

  Jessie never broke stride as she lifted two glasses from the cupboard.

  “Ever since Momma passed, nearly five months ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”r />
  She returned to the table, carrying glasses of iced tea, minus the ice.

  “She’d been battling cancer for the better part of two years. Once the hospitals closed, Momma never really stood a chance. Daddy and I did what we could for her, of course, but cancer is what it is. She made us promise not to cry for her when she was gone, and I’m doing my best to keep that promise.”

  “She sounds like a strong woman.”

  “Oh, you have no idea,” she said, shaking her head. “Momma wouldn’t back down from no one. I once saw her run off two coyotes in nothing but slippers and a bathrobe.”

  He grinned. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

  “Nope. It’s just me.” There was a liveliness to Jessie’s voice that filled the room like a warm campfire. “Momma was much younger than Daddy, and I suppose they were hoping to have a boy somewhere along the way. It didn’t happen, and so they made do. What about you? Any siblings?”

  Mason shook his head. “Single child. Same as you.”

  “And your parents, are they…?” She hunted for a delicate way of putting it.

  “Both alive as far as I know. My mother’s living with the Amish, up in New York, and my father’s back at our cabin, in the Blue Ridge Mountains.”

  “I suppose your daddy’s a marshal too?”

  “No, he’s… something else.”

  She offered an understanding smile. “Even so, the Good Lord put us all here for a reason, don’t you think?”

  Mason thought of all that Tanner had done for young Samantha.

  “I suppose.”

  “When I was a little girl, Daddy used to tell me that I was put here to bring a little sunshine into the world. That was his nickname for me—Sunshine. Silly, right?”

  “Fitting, I’d say.”

  She smiled. “I never figured you to be so sweet. Truth is, I imagined you being one of those hardnosed stuffy types, like Daddy and I used to watch in his old westerns.”

  Jessie picked up her glass and took a long drink of the tea. Mason took the opportunity to do the same. He was thirstier than he’d thought, and when he turned the glass down, it was half-empty.

  Bowie let out a little whine.

  “Now where are my manners?” Jessie said, hopping to her feet. She filled a bowl with water and carried it out to him. When she returned to sit at the table, they could hear the big dog slurping water like he had just hiked across the Mojave.

  “Thank you.”

  “Not at all.” She looked over at Bowie. “I imagine he’s your best friend in this whole world.”

  The words surprised Mason. He couldn’t remember a single person, not even Ava, ever saying something like that. Now, after having heard them aloud, he realized just how true they were.

  “That he is.”

  “Me, I love animals—cats, dogs, pigs, you name it. Have, all my life.”

  “From what I can tell, they seem to love you back.”

  “I’ve always thought that animals can tell what’s inside a person.”

  “Bowie’s been a pretty good judge of character, even if I haven’t always heeded his advice.”

  She looked out at the wolfhound. “Have you had him a long time?”

  “Going on a year.”

  “And before that?”

  “Before that, he was a military working dog.”

  “I believe it. His eyes are almost as serious as yours.”

  Mason cracked a smile. “I have serious eyes?”

  Jessie leaned forward and rested her chin on her hands, studying his eyes. It made Mason’s stomach tie into a strange little knot.

  “Are you kidding?” she said. “It’s like looking down the barrel of a gun.”

  Mason tried his best to avoid staring back into her rich brown eyes, reminding himself that she was probably fifteen years his junior, not to mention the daughter of the man whose help he was soliciting.

  “In case that was meant as a compliment, thank you.”

  “Oh, it was.” She batted her eyes playfully. “What about mine?”

  “I’m pretty sure your eyes could melt frost on a windshield,” he said with a chuckle.

  She giggled and sat back up. “That’s sweet. Momma always said that my eyes were my best attribute.”

  Glancing down at the firm breasts straining against her thin blouse, Mason wasn’t sure he agreed.

  “They are beautiful.” He cleared his throat, hoping that it might help to clear his mind as well. “So, is Jack home? I had a favor to ask of him.”

  “No,” she said, her face losing some of its cheer. “Daddy’s not home at the moment.”

  Mason waited for her to say more.

  “Truth is, he’s been gone a couple of days.” She wasn’t quite able to hide the concern in her voice.

  “Mind if I ask where he went?”

  “Up to Grey’s Point Camp.”

  Mason wrinkled his brow, unfamiliar with the name.

  “It’s a big RV campground where folks gather to trade supplies. To hear Daddy tell it, it’s become something of a hub for preppers, survivalists, and anyone else who managed to find their way through the worst of it.”

  “Why didn’t he take you with him?”

  “He says it’s no place for a lady, not that anyone’s ever accused me of being any such thing.”

  “Did he go there for supplies?”

  She nodded. “Lately, he’s been going once a month, but this is the first time he’s been gone for more than a single night.” She waved it away, obviously putting on a brave face. “I’m sure he’s fine. Just running a little late, right?”

  “Could be.”

  She took a deep breath to collect herself.

  “You said you needed a favor. Maybe I can help.”

  Mason wasn’t at all sure about making himself at home in another man’s space.

  “Please,” she said. “It would help to get my mind off all this worrying.”

  “All right,” he said. “Does Jack still have his HAM radio?”

  “Are you kidding? Daddy’s radio is probably the one thing in this house he loves more than me.”

  “Is there enough power to run it?” Mason thought of the solar panels lining the roof.

  “Oh sure. We’ve got a whole bank of car batteries that’ll give you plenty of juice.”

  Bowie raised his head abruptly from the water bowl and gazed toward the side of the house. Both Jessie and Mason took notice.

  “Are you expecting company?”

  “It must be Daddy!” She hopped up and hurried out the back door.

  Bowie bounded after her, equally as curious about who was approaching.

  Mason chose to be a bit more cautious, stepping into the living room and pushing aside curtains that covered the front window. A familiar silver RV sat parked along the road, and three men approached along the walkway with shotguns in hand. Hoss was leading the way.

  Shit!

  Before Mason could decide on a course of action, Bowie and Jessie rounded the side of the house. The junkers swung their weapons up and began shouting commands. Bowie instinctively crossed in front of Jessie, the hair on his back growing stiff as he began barking ferociously.

  Mason glanced back at his M4 lying next to his pack inside the back door. Even if he had it in hand, it wasn’t going to solve the problem. His best chance at preventing bloodshed was to try a little diplomacy, even if it did put him in harm’s way.

  He pushed open the front door and stepped out. Hoss immediately shifted his aim to cover him.

  “You should have made that trade when you had the chance, Marshal.”

  Mason shrugged. “A man should have the right to choose what he keeps and what he gives away. I would have thought you of all people understood that.”

  “What I think is that you’re an asshole who didn’t know what was good for him.”

  Mason turned to Bartley and Kyle.

  “Is this how you two want to live? Taking what you want at the point of a
gun?” Both men seemed unwilling to even look at him as they kept their weapons trained on Jessie and Bowie.

  “They do as they’re told,” snarled Hoss. “And if you’re smart, you’d better start doing the same.”

  Mason said nothing more. It was clear that the three men held a bond that wasn’t going to be broken by a few choice words from a stranger.

  “All right. How do you want to do this?”

  “Start by tossing your pistol.”

  Mason took a moment to size up his chances of shooting all three men before one could get off a shot. Not good.

  He lifted out the Supergrade with his thumb and index finger and gently lobbed it onto the grass a few feet away.

  “What is it you want?” Jessie said, her voice more determined than afraid.

  “He knows. Don’t you, Marshal?”

  “My pack’s inside on the kitchen floor. Go on and take what you want.”

  “You’re damn right I’m gonna take what I want. Now get!” He motioned with the muzzle of the shotgun for Mason to lead the way.

  Mason glanced over and saw Jessie staring at him.

  “It’s going to be all right. I found some medicine that these men want. Once I give it to them, they’ll go.” He turned back to Hoss. “Isn’t that right?”

  “I’m not promising you a damn thing.”

  Bowie turned toward Hoss, his lips pulled back into a snarl.

  “Bowie!” shouted Mason.

  The dog quieted, studying his master.

  Mason shook his head. “Not this time.”

  Confused, Bowie turned back to face Bartley and Kyle. Jessie squatted down and wrapped her arms around the giant dog. Her embrace seemed to calm him, and he reluctantly settled against her.

  Hoss lifted the shotgun to his shoulder and growled, “I won’t tell you again, Marshal. Move!”

  Mason turned and led him into the house, moving carefully so as not to alarm the big man. They passed through the living room and into the kitchen.

  He motioned toward his pack. “Do you want me to get them, or do you want to do it?”

  Hoss eyed the M4 leaning next to the backpack.

  “You just sit your ass down in one of those chairs and hope I don’t get a wild hair to redecorate the walls.”

  Mason sat, his hands resting in his lap.

  Keeping the shotgun trained on him, Hoss sidestepped over to the pack. He squatted down and flipped open the side pocket. The fentanyl lozenges were inside. Holding the shotgun with this right hand, he reached across to fish out the small plastic housings. Several fell from his grasp, and he glanced down to pick them up.