Bug Out! Part 9: RV Ambush Read online

  “We did,” Kurt said, “but it could have been a carp.”

  Jeb cracked up. “Well, if it was, I’ll bet Rosie knows how to cook it.”

  “I’ve got my heart set on some largemouth bass,” Kurt said.

  “I should have picked up some fishing line when we were in town,” the Sheriff said, looking at his line as he attached a lure. “This is getting pretty old.”

  “Walmart,” Charlie said. “We can make a run.”

  The Sheriff cast out a bass plug, and started slowly reeling it in.

  “So, when are the bounty hunters showing up?” Charlie asked.

  “This afternoon or tomorrow morning,” Kurt said. “Hope this is going to work out alright.”

  “Me too,” the Sheriff said, a grim look on his face.

  “You aren’t happy about this, are you, Sheriff?” Charlie asked.

  “It may be fine, but we need to be really cautious around these guys,” he said. “I agree that we aren’t their targets, but these guys are nuts. They take chances, and it might lead to one of us getting killed.”

  “Wow!” said Kurt in a loud whisper. “Just got a strike.”

  “Good,” Charlie whispered. He had his lure on, and cast out the first time, over on the right side of the opening they were in, amongst the reeds.

  “Got one!” Jeb said, his pole bending. He loosened his drag, and fought it carefully, bringing it up to the shore. It was a medium sized largemouth, about three pounds, its green-gold scales shimmering in the morning sun. Jeb pulled the hook out and tossed it on the bank behind them. “There’s one.”

  “Nice, Jeb,” Charlie said, as he cast out again.

  “You see Dobie and Gabe take off this morning?” the Sheriff asked.

  “Yeah, they were leaving as I was walking away from my rig,” Kurt said. “Hope they’re careful.”

  “I don’t think there’s any bad guys around,” Charlie said. “Been watching the app. Nada.”

  “Got one!” Kurt said. He fought it in, his reel bending and bouncing. He got the fish to shore and unhooked it, throwing it onto the bank by Jeb’s fish.

  “That one’s a little bigger,” Jeb said.

  “I’m going to walk over to the other side,” Charlie said. “I like the look of those reeds over there.”

  “Okay,” the Sheriff said. “I’ll probably move in a few minutes too,”

  Charlie picked up his tackle box and carried his pole, the lure dangling on a few inches of slack at the tip. There was another opening to the shore about twenty yards away, with dense brush and reeds on either side of it. He changed lures, picking a color that was similar to what Jeb was using, and cast out. Something bumped his lure, causing Charlie’s heart to pound. He reeled the rest of the way in. There was a little grass on the treble hooks of his lure. He pulled it off, and then cast out again. Bam! A fish attacked. His pole bent down hard, and his drag squealed. He slowly worked the fish in. It was larger than Kurt’s, looked to be about five pounds. Charlie turned to toss it onto the bank, and then saw that it was too steep, so he walked back past the reeds and set it down on the trail.

  Then it caught his eye. Against the curtain of reeds. Black plastic.

  “Uh oh,” he said to himself, setting down his fishing pole. His fish flipped on the dirt, startling him. His heart was pounding harder. He walked over to the bag and looked down on it. It was torn and weathered. He squatted down next to it. There was a twig sitting on the ground. He picked it up and poked at the remains of the plastic, pulling it back. There was a bony hand on the end of a forearm. No skin was left, but part of a sleeve was still around the bone, the cloth weathered and rotten.

  “Sheriff!” he cried.

  “What?” the Sheriff called back.

  “Better get over here,” Charlie said.

  Chapter 2 – Camp in the Canyon

  The Sheriff ran over, followed by Jeb, and Kurt.

  “What’d you find?” the Sheriff shouted. Then he saw Charlie kneeling by the black plastic.

  “Some of Scott’s handiwork, I suspect,” Charlie said. “Looks like an upper arm, wrist, and hand. Years old. No flesh left.”

  The Sheriff kneeled down next to him and took a close look. “Son of a bitch. Look at the silt in the bottom of that bag.”

  “Could have been rain washing sand in,” Kurt said.

  “Yeah, but it also could have been in our lake there. Maybe some boar drug it out,” Jeb said.

  “Does this lake feed our water system?” Charlie asked.

  “I doubt it,” Kurt said. “There’s that reservoir at the back end of the park. I saw a two inch pipe coming into it, and there’s a stream flowing out, down the back side of the park.”

  “We should double check that,” Charlie said. “Might want to avoid telling the women about this until we’re sure.”

  Jeb chuckled. “Yeah, you got a point.”

  “So what now?” Charlie asked.

  “I’m gonna go trace that pipe back to see where it’s coming from,” Kurt said. “I say the rest of you guys keep fishing, for now.”

  “I’ll help you,” Charlie said. “By the way, look at that monster I caught.” He pointed to the fish.

  “Damn, that is a monster,” Jeb said. “I’ll take it over by the others.”

  Charlie followed the men over to where they were fishing, and set his pole and tackle box down. He and Kurt walked over towards the reservoir.

  “I hope you’re right,” Charlie said, “about the water source, that is.”

  “I think I am. Maybe we ought to rig up a grappling hook to the backhoe and drag that lake,” Kurt said.

  “I’d let the authorities do that after we’re out of here,” Charlie said.

  “Yeah, probably a better idea,” Kurt said. They were almost to the end of the lake. There was a small stream flowing in, heading off towards the park.

  “Uh oh,” Charlie said.

  “Look at the flow. It’s going into this lake, not coming out of it. The reservoir is feeding the lake, not the other way around.”

  “Oh, I see,” Charlie said. “You’re right. Good.”

  It was another couple hundred yards to the rear end of the park. As the two men approached, they could see the large pipe coming in from almost straight behind the park.

  “There it is,” Kurt said. “Let’s follow it back.” Charlie nodded, and they followed the pipe.

  “Look how far back that goes,” Charlie said. “It’s up in that little hill there, where the trees are.”

  “Yeah,” Kurt said. They continued to walk. The pipe went for a good 600 yards, disappearing into a rock outcropping on the little hill. The two men climbed up.

  “This is it, alright,” Charlie said. There was water coming down the rocks. Behind the rocks was a stainless steel box, submerged in a pool of water. Water was trickling out, feeding the trees and shrubs on the little hill. The pipe was connected to the bottom of the box.

  “Nice setup,” Kurt said. He opened the stainless steel top of the box, laying it back on its hinge, and stuck his hand in the water. “Damn, this water is cold.” Then he laughed.

  “What?” asked Charlie, straining up to see into the box.

  Kurt pulled back his sleeve, and stuck his arm into the water, shuddering at the temperature. He came out with a bottle of gin. Then he went back in, and pulled out a bottle of vermouth.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Charlie said, laughing. Kurt went in one more time, bringing out a martini glass and a jar of olives.

  “Maybe Scott wasn’t all bad,” Kurt said, laughing. “Sorry, I guess that’s kind of sick.”

  “Seriously,” Charlie said, shaking his head. “What now?”

  “I’ll just put this back,” Kurt said. He put the martini makings back into the spring box and closed the lid.

  “So, we know our water is safe,” Charlie said. “How about those fish?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Kurt said. “You know what they feed tilapia at t
he fish farms, right?”

  “Don’t tell me,” Charlie said. “I love tilapia.”

  Both men chuckled, and started walking back towards the lake.

  “It okay?” Jeb asked as they walked up.

  “Yeah, that reservoir in the back of the park feeds this lake, not the other way around,” Kurt said.

  “Good,” Jeb said. “Look.” he nodded over at the bank behind him. There were three more bass sitting there.

  “Wow,” Charlie said. “Nice going.”

  “I think we ought to play up the fact that we found the body parts outside of the lake,” the Sheriff said, chuckling.

  “Yeah,” Jeb said. “C’mon, boys, get your lines wet. We need more to feed everybody.”

  In the clubhouse, Frank was looking at the PC, making notes, a smile on his face. His long range close in view program was working. The last compile had to be restarted, but it finished successfully, and the program was working well enough to distribute. He pulled his cellphone out.

  “Jerry?”

  “Yeah, Frank, what’s up?”

  “How far along are you with the firewall?

  “I’m about done,” he said. “Why?”

  “I got the program working, so bring the flash drive over here, and I’ll load it on.”

  “Excellent,” Jerry said. “Nice work. Be over in a few minutes.”

  Frank waited for a few minutes, then decided to take a look at a couple of news sites.

  “Shit,” he said to himself as he read about Denver. The enemy was making progress, getting themselves dug into the western suburbs. They controlled several neighborhoods now, and were causing a lot of havoc. Most of the citizens in the occupied areas were either dead or gone. The few that were still alive were being killed if they didn’t agree to convert. Lots of beheadings and torture.

  “Hey, Frank,” Jerry said, walking over with the flash drive in his hand. He noticed the concern on his face. “Uh oh, what’s wrong?”

  “Just looking at the news from Denver,” Frank said. “Why is the army letting these creeps burrow in like that? They’re taking over whole neighborhoods, and they’re doing that convert or die crap again, too.”

  “I can’t explain it,” Jerry said. “We ought to drop Mexico like a rock and flood the Denver area with troops.”

  “Wonder why we aren’t?”

  “I don’t know,” Jerry said. “I used to spend time looking at the news sites. Lately it just pisses me off. I thought things were going to get better after the Administration was brought down, but in some ways, things are worse.”

  “Let’s see who’s hanging around Washington D.C. these days,” Frank said, bringing up his new program. “Wow, more enemy personnel in the Pentagon now. How are they pulling this off? You think they’re turning people?”

  “Check the offices around Congress,” Jerry said, looking over Frank’s shoulder as he navigated over.

  “There,” Frank said.

  “Son of a bitch,” Jerry said. “Look at all those hits.”

  “You know what this tells me?” Frank asked.

  “What?”

  “Two things,” he said. “One, this infiltration has been going on for years. And two, the President may have been the least of our problems. Wonder if he had a chip?”

  “There’s a good question,’ Jerry said. “Wonder where he’s being held?”

  “Might be worth looking into,” Frank said. “Let’s check the White House.” He navigated over there.

  “Not as many as congress or the Pentagon, at least,” Jerry said.

  “I count eight,” Frank said. “Mixture of 3s and 10s.”

  “This is far from over, isn’t it?” Jerry asked. “Even with your apps.”

  “I wish I wouldn’t have been so hasty with the publish date,” Frank said.

  “You can’t stop it, can you?”

  “Nope,” Frank said. “I allowed for the chance that we get taken prisoner before the apps get released. I didn’t want the cretins to be able to force me to stop it.”

  “Oh,” Jerry said. “Actually, I think that’s still the good play.”

  “I know, I agree, but I didn’t have any idea how many bad guys were hiding in D.C.”

  “You think they’re going to de-chip themselves as soon as this hits?”

  “Yeah, Frank said, “but all isn’t lost. We just make sure that everybody who’s still alright checks for bandages and incisions. I wish I could get into that damn enemy system. It sure would be nice to know the names of the traitors. Then the timing of the apps won’t matter nearly as much.”

  “Maybe you should continue to work on that, then,” Jerry said.

  “Oh, I will,” Frank said. “Hand me that flash drive.”

  Jerry gave it to Frank, and he plugged it into his USB port. Then he copied the files over.

  “Here you go,” Frank said, pulling the flash drive out and handing it to Jerry. “There’s a self-extracting file, so go for it.”

  “Alright, Frank. Good luck with hacking.”

  “Thanks,” Frank said. “I did get an idea last night about Daan’s security, when I was lying in bed. I’ll try it.” He watched as Jerry walked out the door, and then closed all of his programs, and brought up his development screen.

  In Sidney, Nebraska, Malcolm drove into the truck stop, followed by George and Heidi. They pulled into the pump lanes, and started to top off their tanks. Heidi went to the store again, as Malcolm walked up to George.

  “Well, I got a reply from Jane,” Malcolm said.

  “Any news?” George asked.

  “Naw, it was just an acknowledgement,” he said.

  “Anything from Ted?”

  “Not a word,” Malcolm said.

  “We going to stay here tonight?”

  “I don’t know,” Malcolm said. “I don’t mind hanging out in these joints for a quick overnight, but it’s only about 2:00 pm. “Maybe we should see if there’s any boondocking areas on the east side of town, or a good RV Park.”

  “Hey, guys, what’s up?” Heidi asked as she walked up. “We really going to stay here? This place kinda sucks.”

  George was looking at his phone. “There’s a huge RV Park on the southeast side of town,” he said. “Maybe we ought to go there. It’s got Wi-Fi.”

  “I’m good with that,” Malcolm said. He looked over at Heidi, and she nodded.

  “Alright, then, it’s settled,” George said. “It’s right where I-80 meets Route 17. You can’t miss it. Look for the big water tower.”

  They got finished fueling up, and drove through Sidney, seeing the RV Park on the way out of town. They pulled into the staging area, signed in, and got their space assignments. Malcolm led the way. Their spaces were nice big pull through sites. No need to unhook their toad vehicles.

  “Wow, this is nice,” Heidi said as she came down the steps, looking around. George put out the awning, watching it unroll itself, and then followed her outside.

  “I’m getting the chairs set up out here,” he said. “Maybe it’s time for a beer or two.”

  “Sure, I don’t see why not,” Heidi said, grinning. “You’ve been a good boy.”

  Malcolm walked over, an open beer already in his hand. He helped George get the chairs out of his storage compartment. They carried them under the awning.

  “Already started, I see,” George said, laughing.

  “I’d offer you one, but I know you’re still hung up on that IPA stuff. I wanted something a little lighter.”

  “Yeah,” George said. “Be right back.” He went into his coach, and came out with a bottle of Sculpin IPA.

  “Wow, expensive tastes, I see,” Malcolm said.

  “This stuff is primo,” George said, taking a deep swig out of the bottle.

  “Where’s Heidi?”

  “She wanted to check this place out,” George said. “It looks pretty nice. Maybe we should hit it again on our way home, and stay a day or two.”

  Malcolm looked around. �
�Yeah, it does look kinda nice. It’s owned by that big sporting goods chain, you know.”

  “Thought I recognized the name,” George said.

  Heidi came back to the space, grinning. “They have really nice showers. Think I’ll go use them,” she said. “I feel a little grimy.” She disappeared into the coach.

  “That’s not a terrible idea,” Malcolm said. “I could use it. Later, though. I want a few beers first.”

  “Likewise,” George said, taking another swig.

  “I’ll see you guys later,” Heidi said, coming out of the coach in her white terrycloth robe, with two towels in her arms, and a bag of toiletries. She walked away.

  “How’s she doing?” Malcolm asked.

  “We’ve had some time to talk. We’re okay.”

  “Good,” Malcolm said. “We’ll have to be careful around the folks at the RV Park.”

  “We aren’t going to hurt them,” George said.

  “I know, but we’ll also have to get their trust. That won’t be too difficult in your case, but a lot of people know of my exploits.”

  “Never going to live down the Red Dagger thing, are you?” George asked, chuckling.

  “Probably not,” Malcolm grinned, “but it has been good for the game. I had no idea how many friends that creep had.”

  “Well, maybe not friends, but admirers.”

  “Earl was a partner, and Jason was a friend,” Malcolm said.

  “True, but do you really think there are still people in that clan out there? The Red Dagger thing was fifteen years ago.”

  “Yeah, George, I think the person we’re targeting now is close, and I suspect that there’s more than one generation involved. Look at how long the killings have gone on. Early 60s into the 2000s. No way is that one guy. That’s 40 years.”

  George took a big swig of his beer, and thought for a minute. “Alright, you have a point. You’re thinking father-son?”

  “Yeah, or uncle-nephew,” Malcolm said. “I think the second generation is still active. I think they moved east. There are some unsolved events in New Jersey, also around Philly, and Baltimore. The most recent have been in Ohio.”

  “Somebody moved to Ohio on purpose?” George said, laughing.

  “Be nice. Ohio isn’t that bad,” Malcolm said, taking a swig of beer.