Age of Survival Series | Book 2 | Age of Panic Read online

  After a time, Peter called the others back to the house. He let Larry give the account of the arrival of the trucks in town, of what they’d learned of the riot the day before, and whatever other news and gossip they’d gathered.

  Once all the news had been delivered, Irene tapped Larry on the shoulder. “Let’s you and I grab some shovels, take care of something that needs to be taken care of. Peter, you wanted a home-cooked meal. Why don’t you help your mom get that set up.”

  “Sounds good,” Bill said. “We’ll take patrol.”

  With everybody going off, Peter and his mother had some more time together to talk while they puttered around the kitchen, assembling a slightly belated midday meal. Peter took a mental inventory of their stocks as they worked, trying to picture what they’d had the day the Williamses and Roths came out to live with them, and from there, guess how much time they had left at their present rations.

  It wasn’t particularly hopeful, but he didn’t think there was any need to panic yet, either. He remembered conversations about going to some of the fields that were rented out or leased to big operations and hand-harvesting some of the crops that would otherwise be left to go to seed or rot with all of the big machinery being bricked. Hunting was also on the agenda for the coming weeks, to start getting some fresh meat back on the table.

  Peter reminded himself that was business for another day. There was a different hunt that had been put off too long already.

  As soon as lunch was finished, he rounded up Bill and Irene. He selected Bill because he was a lifelong game hunter. If anybody in the homestead could pick up a blood trail and follow it, he was the man. Irene simply had a good eye for detail and things that didn’t fit right. She was also one of the two that had engaged the second man on the property the night before. He hoped she’d have some memory of where she’d last heard him to narrow down their search.

  When they got out to the little spot where Irene and Larry had hunkered down during the fight, Irene lay down and adjusted herself, holding the same rifle she’d had then. “All right. This seems about right. When I heard him yelp, I didn’t have to move any to fire at the sound. I’d say straight out from here is where we look.”

  Bill stood over her shoulder and peered out. “Got it,” he said. “Let’s target that big leaning tree out there. I’ll make straight for it; you guys go about ten feet either side of me. Keep pace with each other, and call out anything that looks odd. It’ll take some time, but less time than missing something on the first pass and having to go back.”

  “We need eyes outward while we’re looking down,” Peter said. “Larry. Get over here.”

  With Larry covering them, the other three came online with each other and started pacing toward the tree line. They moved slow through the unmown section, as it would have been easy for the long grass to hide anything that had fallen to the ground. Peter was surprised at how much easier the search was once they got into the trees. Once under the shade, there was a lot less grass, and the ground cover thinned out a lot. The leaning tree Bill was aiming for was just a short way into the woods. When their line hit it, he stopped and looked back.

  “Damn,” he said. “Your position from last night blends really good.”

  Peter looked back and could see no sign of where they’d started from. “Hop back quick so we can get our bearings,” he told Larry.

  Bill took a moment to look around and feel out the lay of the land along the line from the tree to Larry.

  “There’s no good throw to where the Molotovs were landing from here,” Peter said. “Best view into the yard from this distance would be upslope a bit?”

  “Yeah. Begging your pardon,” Bill said to Irene. “We can’t take this line as an absolute, just a good guess. You guys were out here, I was watching the front. Do you think the shots and the bottles were coming from the left or right of here?”

  Irene closed her eyes and concentrated. Her arm slowly swept to her right. “The shots from here kept circling toward the back of the property, away from the house. He was definitely drifting that way.”

  “All right,” Bill said. “Larry, come on back and shadow us.” He crouched down and peered into the trees before slowly pointing out into the distance. “We’re going to have to start gridding, I think. This is a good starting landmark. Let’s use that scrawny walnut there as our next target. We find nothing there, we fan about ten yards directly to its left, then come back to this starting point. Lather, rinse, repeat.”

  “I think he was farther out than that tree,” Irene said.

  “Not if he was throwing things into the middle of the yard. Even if he had the arm to cover more distance than that, he’d never have gotten all of them on target without hitting branches from farther out.”

  Following Bill’s lead, Peter and Irene flanked him out to the walnut tree, without catching sight of anything. On the transit to a new starting point, Bill suddenly stopped. At his feet was a fresh, white shot cup from a smaller-gauge gun. “There,” Irene said, pointing to a spot a few feet away. Two shell cases, green and red, one twelve gauge, the other twenty.

  “Real close to each other,” Bill said. “Can’t say for sure, but I’d hazard a guess both guns were fired from the exact same spot.” He stepped up to a tree just to the left of the two cases. “Been warm and dry. Not going to find footprints in the dirt.”

  “There,” Irene said.

  The ground may have been hard and firm, but once she pointed it out, Peter could see a trampled fern about ten feet back. Once he saw the first one, he was able to see more. “Coming or going?” he asked.

  “Going,” Bill said. “Assuming he worked steadily toward the back of the property.”

  With three pairs of eyes, the faint trail was not too hard to follow, and eventually led to a payout. Dried, rust colored flecks on the leaves of a bushy, sapling oak. A few feet away, there was a clear disturbance in the layer of dried leaves on the ground, including a dark stain. From there, the trail became easier to follow, between the sporadic spots of dried blood and the much clumsier traverse of their quarry.

  The trail eventually ended at Grand View Road. There was another spot in the gravel shoulder that looked like somebody had sat and bled for a bit, but the hard concrete gave up no further information.

  “Do we check and see if there’s any sign of life at any of the cabins up here?” Bill asked. “Finish it up, once and for all?”

  “No,” Peter said. “We had the advantage last night because we had the defense. Cover, concealment, knowledge of the property. We go onto others’ property, we lose that.”

  “Well, if I’m reading right from your trip into town, the guy we’re tracking isn’t local. You said Grossman’s brother is being held down in town, and that he was probably up here with a couple of his flatlander buddies.”

  “That’s a decent guess based on incomplete information. Nothing I’m willing to risk anybody else’s life on. Besides, even if he doesn’t have good knowledge of the land he’s on, he’s still got the advantage of a building to defend.”

  Larry chimed in, “Yeah, and there might be other cabins up here that are occupied as well. And after those Army trucks came cruising up here, anybody in them might be on alert and on edge. Just look at how we’re reacting.”

  “Good point.” Bill sighed. “I’d still like to get this settled once and for all, though.”

  Peter remembered that Sally had been caught out in the yard when the property had been hit. He could easily see where Bill was coming from. “Well, it’s just one guy left from the original three now, and he’s been repulsed twice. Maybe that’ll get him to give up on us entirely.”

  “Or change his tactics,” Bill said. “Every time I’ve been out of the house today, I’ve felt the itch between my shoulder blades, wondering if he’s still out there, looking to take a pot shot.”

  “So far, they’ve only had shotguns,” Irene said. “Not the tool to use for sniping.”

  Bill shrugged hi
s shoulders. Peter had to give him that. The one time he’d seen the guy clearly, he was impulsive, brash, and just plain mean. He didn’t seem like the type that would back down after getting slapped back. He seemed like the type that would get up and come back swinging harder. And despite what Irene was saying, a shotgun from the shadows at close range could kill a person just as dead as a high-powered rifle from farther out.

  Hunting the guy down and settling the matter for good would make the homestead a lot safer. Peter just couldn’t see a way to do it that wouldn’t get some of his own people hurt or killed in the process, and he wasn’t sure he had the heart to go and actively seek somebody out with the intention of killing them.

  He turned the problem over in his head a few times. “Well. Grossman knows his brother was up here, and that his buddies have come on our land twice now. Maybe we turn this over to him. Let the local law handle it?”

  “You heard Grossman this morning. We’re outside his jurisdiction here,” Larry reminded him.

  “Hmm,” Peter said. Larry was right. Another thing he hadn’t considered was that Grossman’s brother knew about the homestead and was already in custody. He imagined Jerry Grossman would keep quiet about the homestead, since he’d come on the property and killed one of the owners. Presumably, he didn’t know that one of his buddies had been killed the night before either. But calling in Bowman’s police, or the newly arrived state and military authorities, to deal with the third man would very definitely draw way more attention than Peter felt was safe at this point. He felt deep in his bones that staying under the radar as long as possible, to see what was actually going on, was the best course of action.

  Peter let out a quick breath. “I think we’ve got some decisions to make, that involve all six of us. Let’s head back.”

  6

  After visiting each of the people being detained, Prange had gone back to talk to the mayor again. He paid attention to the doors he passed in the hallway and compared the name plates to the people he’d met already. There was one pointed discrepancy, the town’s Secretary/Treasurer.

  When Prange mentioned it to Grossman, he told him that the man had been out of state when the Event happened, and that Cathy Berkman, the admin he’d already met, had taken over the job in the interim. Since Berkman had her own office, Prange suggested that he and Carter be allowed to use the vacant one for the duration of their stay.

  It was one of the things that Prange was very good at, using careful words and well-honed body language and tone of voice to make any sort of request seem completely reasonable. He was pleased when Grossman seemed to gladly offer the space.

  “Just let me get his desk cleaned up and all his files moved out for you,” Grossman had said.

  “Oh, no need. His things won’t be in the way. As you can see, we’re traveling light. We just want a place where we can put our heads together and focus when we need to.”

  “No trouble,” Grossman had countered. “Besides, Cathy needs access to them, since she’s wearing his hat as well as her own. This way, she won’t have to interrupt you if you need anything.”

  Prange had made one more protest that it wouldn’t be a bother, but when Grossman called someone in to go clear the office, he opted not to push his luck. He suspected that having access to whatever records were in the room would have given him and Carter a very definite advantage in figuring out the best angles on the town. It just didn’t seem like enough of an advantage to justify raising any suspicions with the mayor at that point in the game.

  The mayor was the first thing on the agenda when he and Carter retired to the vacant office after dinner. It wasn’t very big, but with the desk cleared and the filing cabinets moved over to Grossman’s office, it was comfortable enough for two.

  “The mayor’s a problem,” Prange said as soon as they’d closed the door behind them.

  “Yeah,” Carter agreed. “He’s clean, honest, by the book. At first glance, I can’t see any leverage points to use against him.”

  “I talked to the guys that got that mix-up yesterday started. They were trying to show how weak he is and indecisive by not putting the boot down. Yet, somehow, he’s come out on top. Got people inspired to go all Cub Scout and turn the town into a big group hug. People blaming the rabble rousers for the deaths.”

  “The chief’s got a lot more we can work on. He wants to lay down the law, go the whole way. Yesterday really rattled him. I think he’s halfway in favor of taking the rest of the shop owners out back and shooting them for hoarding.”

  “See any leverage on him?” Prange asked.

  “Nothing yet. I think if we can get him working with us, though, he’ll do something that won’t sit right with people if it gets out. I don’t think we’d need to set him up. Just give him enough rope and he’ll tie his own noose for us.”

  “And the fire chief? That ugly Viking guy?”

  “He’s a big softy, lives to save lives,” Carter said. “Totally the mayor’s man, if you ask me, but he needs people to appreciate and approve of him. Ten minutes in, I pegged him. He does what he does because he wants people to like him, and he really thinks Grossman is the shit. Where Grossman goes, he’ll go.”

  “Unless we can put a wedge in there. Let’s put something on the back burner, some way to get the mayor to step in it, betray Thorssen’s trust.”

  “Do we really need him on our side?”

  Prange considered this. “You tell me. How are his skills? Just as a medic in case we need to get somebody patched up. How much weight does he carry in town?”

  “Hmm…” Carter said, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. Prange knew that was his deep-thinking pose. “He’s good at his work, dedicated. He’s got a couple people who caught some lead yesterday that are in real rough shape. He’s been working on them nonstop, and doesn’t look like he’s flailing. Like, he knows what needs to be done, and he knows where he doesn’t have the know-how or gear to do it, but he just keeps on driving on with what he’s got.”

  Prange started to say something, but Carter held up a hand. “As far as how people feel about him. Once he found out we didn’t have any medics with us, he made it clear he had no use for me, but he made plenty of time for family and friends of the wounded. I think people look up to him.”

  Carter paused, with a look on his face that told Prange he still had more to say. “I think he’s a risk. He knows that me and every one of our ‘soldiers’ should have at least basic first-aid training, and not one of us does, except the couple guys that were actually in, and I don’t think any of those dumbasses remember any of it. He’s got high school kids hanging out at the fire house that know more than I do. It’s going to make him suspicious.”

  Prange did not like hearing that. He rolled his chair back from the desk. “Tell you what. You make sure all our little grunts stay way too busy with other things to help out at the fire station. I’ll take over dealing with Thorssen. You go out of your way to make yourself useful to the police chief, keep finding ways to make our guys useful to him.”

  “I can do that. Need me to see what I can find for leverage with Thorssen in the meantime?”

  “Yeah. If he’s as good as you say he is, it’ll be better to have him at least ambivalent to us, in case we need him to put somebody back together.”

  “So, what’s our next steps?” Carter asked.

  “I think I need to have coffee with the fire chief, get a feel for him myself.”

  “They’ve got surprisingly good coffee here.”

  “One of the few things I can appreciate about this place,” Prange said, gesturing to take in the whole of northwest Wisconsin. “Seems like every one of these dipshit little towns has somebody that knows how to brew a proper pot of plain black coffee and make boring-ass American food interesting.”

  Carter bobbed his head. “There was this little town about twenty miles out of our farm up in Rusk County. Had this little café owned by some dude from Belgium or Holland or something. W
ent to culinary school in Paris, ended up as head chef at some place in Manhattan that served up thousand-dollar meals. Got burnt out, told New York to suck it, and moved in with some distant cousin. Learned to deep fry perch and grill brats and pour Bloody Marys. He didn’t try to fancy any of it up, but I swear, he did everything to this standard of perfection that was damn near superhuman. People didn’t know what they had up there.”

  “But you did?” Prange asked.

  “Yeah. And made sure to show my appreciation. Opened the door, and I was able to move a lot of product through his place.”

  “Think you could do the same on the guy that owns the joint across the street?”

  “Maybe. I think all the cooks in town are working over at the school cafeteria. Haven’t had a chance to meet any of them yet.”

  “Spend some time on that tomorrow. For now, I’m going to have a chat with the police chief. Grossman’s been cockblocking me all day on that, but it looks like he’s been dragged off to deal with something else.”

  “Want me to come along?” Carter asked.

  “No. Let me get a feel for him one on one.”

  Prange went down to the first floor and found six people waiting in line outside Schuster’s office. As soon as the door opened to let another person in, he made sure to lean in enough to be clearly seen. He got a curt nod of acknowledgement as the next person in line stepped in. It was enough for him to suffer through a barrage of questions from the other people waiting about what was going on in the outside world. While annoying, the unorganized nature of being in the midst of scared and curious people did work to his advantage. With everybody talking over everybody else in their rush for information, he was able to just keep repeating the bare surface layer of his cover narrative until the office door opened again.

  “Sorry to bump you all,” Schuster said, “but I imagine our friend here has some important business to discuss that I need to handle right now.”

  “I promise I won’t take much of his time,” Prange said, doing his best to look sheepish and guilty for cutting in front of them.