Authors: Arthur Bradley
“This is WA4RTF. How are you, Marshal?”
Mason recognized the voice as that of Jack Atkins, a prepper who lived in Gloucester, Virginia.
“Hey, Jack. Good to hear your voice.”
“It’s been a few weeks, Marshal. I was afraid something might have happened to you.”
“No, I’m all right. I’ve just been out assessing the situation. How are things on your end?”
“The missus and I are fine. Although we did have a run-in with a neighbor last week.”
“What happened?”
“He was hungry, like everybody. He thought it only fair that we turn over some of our supplies.”
“I’m guessing that didn’t work out so well.”
“I ran him off with a shotgun. I only hope for his sake that he doesn’t come back around.”
“Just stay safe, Jack. Desperate people do desperate things.”
“I’ll do my best. What about you, Marshal? What can you tell me now that you’ve had a chance to check things out? Are things as bad as they look?”
Mason’s thoughts flashed past everything that had happened over the last few weeks—run-ins with militias, convicts, mercenaries, and petty criminals, not to mention the hordes of bloodthirsty infected survivors.
“Worse, I’m afraid.”
“That’s what I figured,” mumbled Jack. “You got any kind of good news to report?”
“I’ve seen some towns pulling things together,” Mason said, thinking of Boone, York, and now Chester. “Also, I heard a broadcast saying the government is planning to establish a few colonies.”
“We heard that as well. One of them is going to be over in Norfolk, barely thirty miles from us.”
“Are you planning to move there once they get it set up?”
“Probably not. A place like that will draw all sorts of unsavory folk. We’ll take our chances out here in the real world.”
“I can’t say as I blame you. History has shown that, when desperate people seek government handouts, there tends to be a lot of chaos.”
“Our thoughts exactly. Anyhow, what can I do for you, Marshal?”
Mason smiled. Jack had been around long enough to know small talk when he heard it.
“I was wondering if you might do me a favor.”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“I’m looking for anything you can find on a General William Hood.”
“Never heard of him, but I can ask around. I’ve made contact with plenty of service folks over the past few weeks. Someone’s bound to know something.”
“Thanks, Jack. And be careful when doing the asking.”
“I appreciate the warning. Did this fella cross you, Marshal?”
“In more ways than one.”
“It sounds like you’re looking to pay him a visit.”
“I am. But first, I need to find him.”
“Understood. I’ll do a little digging. A general shouldn’t be too hard to locate. I guess you already heard the news about President Glass.”
“What news?”
There was a pause as Jack chose the right words.
“She was killed today.”
Mason sat up in his chair.
“Come again. Did you say the president was killed?”
“That’s what’s being broadcast. Details are sketchy, but the scuttlebutt is that she was assassinated by someone in her own government.”
“Any chance it was Vice President Pike?”
“I don’t think so,” Jack said, laughing. “He was sworn in about an hour ago as the new President of the United States.”
“Oh, man,” Mason said, rubbing his chin, “that’s not good.”
“I wouldn’t think so either. Pike always struck me as a bit of a loose cannon.”
He might be a lot worse than that, thought Mason.
“Thanks, Jack, I appreciate the head’s up.”
After they signed off, Mason sat in the radio room for several minutes, thinking. Nakai had said that he suspected Pike might be involved. But it was just an unsubstantiated hunch. Perhaps General Hood was as high as it went.
Then again, maybe it went all the way to the top.
After finishing dinner, Mason headed into the bedroom. A large handwritten note lay neatly folded in the center of his bed. He quickly unfolded it and saw his father’s signature at the bottom of the page. Tanner had never written “Dad” in his entire life, preferring instead to pen his first name.
Mason carried the note, along with a lantern and what was left of his coffee, out onto the porch. He leaned back in his favorite rocking chair, and Bowie came over to lie at his feet. He took a moment to breathe the cool mountain air before turning his attention to his father’s words. It was written in simple clean lettering.
Mason,
I wasn’t at all surprised to hear that you were alive and out saving the world. I would have expected no less. While I have never been guided by the same moral compass, I have always respected you. I’m free now, not only from prison, but from everything. I hope that men coming from two different walks of life can meet in the middle to make a difference. I’m sure that our paths will cross soon enough. Until then, know that you are in my heart.
Tanner
The words hit Mason harder than he thought they would, and he had to sip the coffee to get the lump out of his throat. It had been more than a year since he and his father had last spoken, and their conversations were never without contention. The fact that their paths had crossed in such a violent and tragic way did not at all surprise him. Violence traveled alongside his father like his oldest and dearest friend. Not always of his own making, perhaps, but it was there nonetheless, waiting patiently in the shadows for any opportunity to step out into the light.
His father was right about the two of them being different. Mason had chosen to follow a path of justice, to instill order where there was chaos. Whereas Tanner felt compelled to fight every type of authority, to rely on no one but himself. Their differences had at times kept them apart or even at odds with one another. But as Mason looked over at the bullet-ridden helicopter, he accepted that he was still his father’s son. Both of them were willing and able to fight with vicious purpose when situations dictated the need.
The death of Agent Sparks and his men should have brought a sense of closure. But as he sat listening to the millions of insects telling their own tales of woe, he realized that it hadn’t. There were still questions to be answered, people to be held accountable. Getting to a man like General Hood would not be easy—let alone President Pike, should it come to that. They would be well protected, not to mention dangerous.
Good, he thought. It’s better that way. There was no room in Mason’s heart for forgiveness, and having adversaries deserving of his rage seemed only fitting. The situation with Hood would not be resolved in a day or a week, but the closure he sought would eventually come. One day, he would stand beside Ava’s grave and tell her that justice had finally been done. Of that, he was certain.
To accomplish his task, he would need help. Not only from good men like Vince and Don, but also from men who could walk the ledge of the pit without falling in, matching every ruthless deed with one of their own. Men like that were rare indeed. But as he looked down at the paper one final time, Mason thought he might know of one such man.
Until then, he would continue putting the nation’s house back together, one brick at a time. Some fights would be won, and some would be lost. The losses would always be painful, but he would persevere, no matter the setbacks. Mason was perhaps the nation’s last living marshal, and as such, he was determined to do his God’s honest best to make the Service proud.
Look for the next book in the Survivalist series, coming Summer of 2014.
Also, if you enjoyed this book, drop the author a note at:
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