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I help Scrap hoist both flags on the pole extending from Bessy’s roof, then I pull on a double holster with my two Magnum Desert Eagles. My belt is heavy with extra cartridges. Makes it damn uncomfortable to sit back against the seat to drive, but I’ll deal. When we roll out along the smooth, groomed gravel of the rural ranch road, it’s with the expectation of peace on the outside and the security of force on the inside.
“How soon do you think they’ll send out the welcome wagon?” I ask Rev.
“If they’re anything like us, they’ll have picked us up on cameras in town. My guess is they’ll be on us any minute. Keep it under twenty. We respect their road and their territory until they give us reason not to.”
I ease off the gas until it feels like we’re crawling along. Rev has the binocs glued to his face, and the radio under his chin.
“What do you see up there? Over.” Brawn’s voice comes over the talkie from the missile truck.
“Ja,don’t keep us in suspense? Is anyone out there?” That’s Shep in the Humvee with Grim and Cora.
Rev clicks the button. “Nothin’ yet. It’s quiet up ahead. Who knows how long this road is, though. Could be miles to the homestead—wait. I see movement.”
“Cattle?” I ask.
“A truck.” He’s looking through the binocs.
I squint into the distance but see only road disappearing past the range of Bessy’s headlights.
“Its lights are off,” Rev says.
My fists tighten on the wheel.
“Hold steady,” Rev says.
“Roger that.” I’m trusting him, but it’s not easy. My thoughts are with Cora. “I hope this detour turns out to be worth it,” I mutter as the roadblock comes into view.
There’s a semi-truck parked across the road, and on either side are barbwire tipped fences at least ten feet high stretching to the left and right. If this fence goes all the way around the ranch, that’s a hell of a lot of barrier to maintain. I can’t help being impressed.
In front of the truck, three armed men have their boots planted in the road. They’re in full tactical gear and have their weapons drawn.
“Slow and easy,” Rev says to me. Over the radio, he says, “Roadblock and three survivors armed like they mean business. We treat them like friendlies, understood?”
Brawn and Shep acknowledge the command.
“We’re making our approach,” Rev says into the radio. “Safeties on, weapons holstered. No one draws a weapon unless I give the command. When we come to a stop, everyone sits tight except Doc and Grim. You two’ll come out and flank me, and we’ll get to know our new friends here.”
I swallow hard as I ease Bessy forward. It’s been a while since I met armed men head-on, but my nerves remember the feeling well. Looking down the barrels of three semi-automatics and not knowing how itchy the fingers on those triggers are—yeah, it’s not fun.
“Easy,” Rev says as I inch us closer.
I can make out details now. I can tell the gear these guys have on is military issue, including the face shields that hide their features. I can tell they’re big men, like us, all three well over six feet. If there’s more of them, they’d be a formidable enemy, if it came to that.
When the center survivor holds up a gloved hand, palm out, it’s clear he wants me to come to a stop. The survivor to his right speaks into a radio, telling me there are more of them than just the three we see. How many more is anyone’s guess.
Rev is out his door before I can get the truck in park. Arms over his head, he strides forward, all long legs and disarming smile. He left his holster on the seat.
Palms sweating, I scramble out and join him. Behind me, Grim jogs to catch up.
“We mean no harm,” Rev says, loud and clear as Grim and I flank him. “We’re from Montana, and we’re on the hunt for our leader. Goes by the name Jud. He was taken in a raid on our territory by a guy named Raptor out of New Orleans.”
“You’re a long way from the Big Easy,” the central survivor says. His voice is deep and commanding, and he has a Texas drawl. I recognize the sound of a military man who’s used to being in charge.
“That we are,” Rev says. His arms are still up, but he’s lowered them so they’re more out to the sides than over his head. His voice is friendly, engaging. He’s showing these men in every way possible that we’re not here to throw down. “We’re armed for bear to get our leader back, but none of this is a threat to you. You have my word. Name’s Rev, and I’m in charge. We’re six men strong and peaceable. Our convoy is three vehicles, including a missile truck, but we ain’t got any warheads armed. Not until New Orleans, that is.”
He doesn’t mention Cora. Which is good, because I’d have to punch him in the face if he gave her away. Letting on we have a female survivor with us could be a death sentence. At least, if my assumption is correct that women are as rare down south as they are up north.
“We don’t exactly advertise our settlement,” Front-and-Center says. He’s lowered his weapon an inch, but only an inch. The other two could squeeze off a shot in a tenth of a second if he so much as flicked a finger their way. “How’d you find us?”
