No Direction Home: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series by Mike Sheridan

Author:Mike Sheridan [Sheridan, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-06-03T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 18

Russ Willis stood beside his Suzuki V-Strom 1000 and peeked his head around a bend on Cookson Creek Road, a pair of Steiner binoculars raised to his face. Three hundred yards away, at the end of the line of vehicles, a red pickup truck sat parked lengthways across the road, blocking the way. Behind it, a man armed with an assault rifle was in a discussion with Walter and another guy. A second armed guard stood looking on.

From the animated gestures Walter’s companion was making, it looked like he was doing all the talking. The occasional shake of the guard’s head told Russ that whatever he was asking for, he wasn’t being granted. Presumably, to be allowed access up to the lake. Why else would the convoy have come off Route 411 and driven up this remote country road? It was the only thing that made sense.

“Come on, guys,” Russ muttered disconsolately. “Let them through. I want to go home.”

Tired and hungry, he was at least grateful for the liter bottle of water he’d managed to grab along the way after leaving Knoxville. He’d been following the group for over three hours now, and hoped they’d reached their final destination, then he could head back and give Mason the news.

The previous afternoon, after Walter and his friends had fled the Chevron station, Mason had sent Russ off in search of them, with instructions not to come back until he found them. Scouring the city, he saw no sign of them. Nor that morning, where for hours he’d traveled up and down the city’s highways. Around 11 a.m., from an above overpass, he’d spotted a green Chevy Malibu hurtling west down Interstate 40.

“Dammit, I know that piece of shit!” he said excitedly, gazing through the Steiners. It was the same vehicle that, from out of nowhere, had driven down the back of the Chevron station and rescued Walter and his friend.

He’d ridden down from the overpass and trailed the Malibu. After a few miles it turned off the freeway and pulled into the parking lot of the city’s main Toyota dealership on Parkside Drive. Watching from a discreet distance, he saw Walter get out of the front passenger seat. Then a tall, skinny kid with shoulder-length brown hair stepped out from behind the wheel. Russ was pretty sure it was the same one who’d saved Walter’s ass the previous night. A moment later, Pete got out the back door.

“Hot damn!” he exclaimed. “Mason’s gonna love me. I’ve found all three pieces of shit!”

Twenty minutes later, a white Tundra pickup and two Tacomas pulled out of the lot and headed back in the direction of the city. Next stop had been the Tennessee RV Supercenter, where a short time later the three vehicles emerged from the lot, each with a twenty-foot trailer in tow.

From there they had driven to the Guardian Armory. At the far side of the parking lot, Russ watched the three men meet up with a group of nine people.

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