Mason understood that his mission in Boone would require more than a single lawman riding in and doling out justice like he was at the O.K. Corral. He hoped to start with a quiet, unobtrusive survey of the situation. People who survived the pandemic would be frightened. Rolling in and haphazardly shooting lawbreakers on sight would only make matters worse.
Before the outbreak, there had been roughly seventeen thousand people living in Boone. If Jack’s estimate was anywhere near correct, Mason might expect to find a thousand people still alive. Hopefully, that would be enough to establish a viable society that could sustain itself until the larger government got up and going. If not, they would suffer the same fate as many of the early settlers, the vast majority of which starved or died of disease.
For the third time in less than a week, Mason spent the morning loading his truck with supplies. Once again, there was no guarantee that he would make it back to the cabin in a timely manner, so he packed plenty of extras, including food, water, fuel, and ammunition.
He also added a double-magazine pouch to his belt. With eight rounds in each spare magazine and nine in his Supergrade, that would hopefully be enough for him to fight his way to his rifle. He loaded five magazines for the M4, each with thirty steel-tipped 5.56 mm rounds. While Mason had always been more proficient with a pistol than a rifle, he nevertheless appreciated that rifles put out far more firepower, and at longer ranges. He had told his students many times that the primary purpose of any pistol was to help them fight their way to a rifle or shotgun.
When Mason got everything loaded and ready, he and Bowie set out on their trip to Boone. They drove all the way to Sugar Grove without encountering a single traveler. When he arrived at the convenience store where he had found Bowie, Mason spotted a white Toyota Corolla sitting in front of the fuel pumps. The driver’s side door was open, and a body was lying on the asphalt a few feet away.
He slowed to get a better look. The corpse was that of a young man who couldn’t have been much older than twenty. His skull and face had been crushed, and the ridged impressions from a framing hammer were clearly visible on the bone. The man’s arms and legs were sticking out at awkward angles, stiff with rigor mortis.
Mason stopped the truck, grabbed his rifle, and stepped out. He motioned for Bowie to follow. The dog immediately began smelling the ground, making its way to the Corolla. Mason followed, keeping an eye on the convenience store. The car’s backseat was filled with supplies—bags of cereal, jugs of water, blankets, and an assortment of clothing. The passenger seat had a yellow sweater draped across the back. There were two open bottles of water in the cup holders, along with a large open bag of beef jerky sitting on the center console. Whatever had happened to these people, it had occurred with little warning.
Mason walked around the front of the car and felt the hood. It was cold. He turned to Bowie, who had his snout buried in the bag of jerky.
“Hey.”
Bowie looked up at him, a piece of beef jerky sticking out of his mouth.
“Stay here and watch the truck.”
Bowie took a quick look around, and when he was satisfied they weren’t in any danger, turned his attention back to the food.
Mason walked around the outside of the building looking for signs of what had happened to the missing woman. He didn’t find any. His best guess was that she might have been taken by the three men who had invaded his cabin the previous night. There was no way to know whether she was still alive, but based on what he had overheard, it didn’t seem likely. He did a quick search of the store, but she wasn’t inside either.
Mason didn’t want to leave when someone might need his help, but he resigned himself to the fact that he couldn’t possibly right all the wrongs of the new world. He returned to his truck and whistled for Bowie. The dog came running, although, at its size, it looked more like a horse galloping in the derby. Bowie scrambled up into the cab of the truck as if fearing he might get left behind.
They pulled out of the service station and back onto Highway 321. Mason glanced in his rearview mirror to take one final look at the abandoned car and dead body. He suspected that it wouldn’t be the last time he would feel a sense of helplessness.
Highway 321 changed names and became King Street at the edge of Boone. As were the other roads, King Street was cluttered with cars, many of which had been pushed to the shoulders and up onto sidewalks to allow a single lane of traffic to pass. Some of the cars were empty, but many were filled with swarms of blowflies that buzzed about like evil shadows trying to find a way out into the world. Both sides of the street were lined with a variety of shops that had once sold sporting goods, books, ice cream, and souvenirs. Mason had always found Boone to be a quaint place with the kind of charm only found in small towns that had a longstanding history behind them. In this case, the history revolved around the life of Daniel Boone.
The street was not entirely deserted. A few people were searching through stores and cars, undoubtedly looking for supplies. Fortunately, no one seemed particularly dangerous. Mason wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, perhaps a cross between Dodge City and Fallujah. As it turned out, there was no overt violence anywhere. Not at the moment anyway. People were just out trying to meet their basic needs by good old-fashioned scavenging.
Having been through Boone several times before, he knew that the town was only about three miles across. Much of it directly or indirectly supported the Appalachian State University and the Appalachian Regional Medical Center. He suspected that the medical center in particular might be useful. While he doubted that the hospital was still operating, there might at least be a valuable assortment of medicines and supplies, assuming they hadn’t already been pilfered.
At the center of downtown was the Church of the Fallen Saints, a historical landmark that was over one-hundred-and-twenty years old. Mason had passed it at least a couple of dozen times in the past but had never gone inside. As he approached the church, he wasn’t surprised to see Father Paul’s Impala parked out front.
Mason drove his truck up over the curb and onto the grass directly in front of the church. He and Bowie got out and surveyed the area. A woman and a young boy were across the street watching them with obvious concern. Mason waved. The woman put her arms around the boy, and they quickly ducked into the closest store. So much for small-town hospitality.
Turning to the church, he gave the massive oak door a push. Despite its size, the door swung open with surprisingly little effort. Bowie pushed his way in and Mason followed. Things were not as he had expected. The smell of human decomposition was nearly overpowering, causing him to retch from the stink. While there were only a few bodies within sight, the floors and pews were covered in dried blood and cadaver island stains, which resulted from the release of fluids during decomposition. A lot of people had died in this building.
Mason grabbed a hymnal and propped the front door open—anything to get a little fresh air circulating.
An excited voice sounded from deep inside the church.
“Marshal Raines!”
Mason turned to see Father Paul hustling toward him. He was wearing a black union suit and elbow-length rubber gloves covered in blood and hair.
“Good to see you, Father,” said Mason, his voice sounding a little nasal as he forced himself to breathe through only his mouth.
“And you, my friend.” Father Paul worked off the long gloves and draped them over a nearby pew. “I had a feeling that you and I might cross paths again.”
“It’s funny you should say that. I felt that way as well.”
“I am often reminded that all things are connected like the strands of a spider web.”
“Careful. You sound a lot like my dad, and he’s a devout Buddhist.”
“Do you know the difference between a Buddhist and a Catholic?” the priest asked with a warm smile.
“No.”
“Nor do I. Whether we call it God’s divine plan or the world’s oneness, the results are the same.”
Mason nodded, looking around the church.
“I hate to be the one to tell you, but you’ll never get the smell of death out of this place.”
“And yet, we try in all things.”
“Indeed we do. In fact, that’s why I came to Boone.”
Having checked out the ground floor, Bowie suddenly appeared from around the corner of a pew. Father Paul immediately backed away, mumbling some sort of prayer to act as a protective incantation.
Mason said, “It’s all right, Father. Bowie is a friend.”
The priest stopped retreating but couldn’t take his eyes off the dog.
“That animal is a beast of war if I’ve ever seen one.”
Bowie approached the priest, slowly and cautiously, obviously sensing the man’s fear. When he got close enough, he hopped up on his hind legs and placed his front paws on the priest’s shoulders. The dog’s head was a good six inches higher than Father Paul’s.
The priest let out a shriek. He stopped when Bowie lowered his head and licked the man’s face with his huge tongue.
“What in the world?” exclaimed the priest, wiping globs of slobber from his cheek. “How can a creature be so fearsome and yet filled with so much love?”
“He’s just trying to find his way in this new world. A world in which violence and love are both needed.”
Bowie nuzzled his snout against Father Paul’s neck and whined. The priest reluctantly put his arms around the beast and gave him an awkward pat. Bowie dropped back to the floor, circled the priest one time, and returned to stand beside Mason.
Father Paul approached and put his hand on Mason’s shoulder. “My friend, I think you came to see me for a reason. How can I be of assistance?”
Mason was still struggling to breathe with the awful stench and motioned for the priest to follow him to the open doorway.
“I’d like to help the people of Boone get back on their feet. Specifically, I want to help them put in place a rule of law that is followed and enforced.”
Father Paul rubbed his chin in thought.
“To do that, we would first need to ensure that basic necessities are met. Without food and water, people will do what they must to survive. Unfortunately, that has meant taking things from others, sometimes at the point of a gun.”
“Then we’ll start by setting up the necessary infrastructures.”
“Besides the violence motivated by necessity, we also have a serious problem with a large gang of criminals.”
“Convicts?”
“That would be my guess. They certainly weren’t here before this crisis.”
“Do you know how many?”
“Thirty or forty, I’d guess. I’ve heard that their leader goes by the nickname of Rommel. Taken, I suppose, from the famous general in World War II.”
Mason rolled his eyes.
“Criminals and their nicknames.”
“He’s reputed to be particularly ruthless, but what else would you expect.”
“Then I’ll start with him. My experience is that, if you cut the head off the snake, it dies rather quickly.”
“True, but these are hard men,” warned Father Paul. “None are going to cower at the sight of a single lawman.”
“I’ve dealt with hard men most of my life.”
Father Paul smiled a sad smile.
“I believe you. And I also believe that you are exactly what this town needs. Why else would God have brought you to us?”
“And here I thought it was my idea.”
The priest patted him affectionately.
“He works through each of us in different ways, but always with gentle nudges. The choices are ours to make.”
“Fair enough.”
“How do you plan to deal with these criminals?”
“I’ll start by kicking the hornet’s nest and see what happens. In the end, blood will almost certainly be spilled. I want you to understand that going in.”
“The hand of righteousness must sometimes be called to strike down evil. I have no illusions about that.”
“I’ve found that violence is never far behind me. The same has always been true for my father as well.”
“Oh, is he a lawman too?”
Mason thought a moment before shaking his head.
“No, but I suppose he could have been. He’s as tough as nails to be sure. Unfortunately, he’s also an angry man, and that ultimately landed him behind bars. Given the president’s initiative, I’m not sure if he managed to find his way out of prison, or…if he didn’t.”
“I’m sorry. I pray that he finds his way to peace, wherever he might be.”
“I’m sure he would appreciate that.”
Father Paul clapped his hands together.
“There’s much work to be done. Are you willing to lend a hand?”
“I am. I wondered if we might start by calling the townspeople together. Perhaps even bring them here?”
“That’s an excellent idea. The Lord’s house is always an appropriate venue to bring hope to those who are suffering.”
“Do you have any idea how we can get the word out?”
Father Paul thought for a moment, and then a big smile came over his face.
“Follow me.”
The sound of church bells rang out over the town of Boone like the song of angels over a bloody battlefield. At first, people merely stared in the direction of the church, uncertain of what it could mean. Then, a few at a time, they came. Christians and atheists alike gathered their loved ones and sought solace in their community’s oldest establishment. Some were motivated by simple curiosity, most by faith and hope.
After three hours of incessant ringing, the entire church was filled to capacity. There were easily three hundred people in the building and another hundred outside leaning in to listen through doors and opened windows. Those who gathered spanned every demographic element: old and young, mothers and fathers, wealthy and poor, black and white. They looked tired, dirty, and afraid, but they also shared an excitement, like miners who’d been freed from an underground grave.
Even before Father Paul got up to speak, the huge room was buzzing with activity. People hugged, talked, and cried. When he finally walked up on the dais and raised his hands in the air, the priest looked like the ringmaster at a traveling circus.
“Brothers and sisters,” he said, “may I have your attention, please?”
The room slowly fell silent.
“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Father Paul.”
Several people clapped and shouted words of encouragement.
He smiled and gestured to them.
“Let me begin by saying thank you for coming. Whether you are a Catholic, Protestant, Jew, or atheist, no one can doubt that we are living in a time unlike any before. If ever there was a moment to gather in fellowship, it is now.”
One man shouted, “Christ is coming!”
Father Paul smiled. “He is indeed. Whether that is now or later, no man knows. What I do know is that the town of Boone, and indeed the rest of the world, is suffering.”
Several people said, “Amen.”
“You are probably wondering why I have called you here. The truth is that I need your help.” He held his hands out before him as he had done countless times before when asking people fill the church baskets with their tithing.
The huge mass of people fell silent, waiting for his request. Waiting to see if any of this even mattered.
“Our town is filled with unspeakable horrors—bodies lying in the streets, cars and homes filled with death and decay. Violence at every turn.”
A woman started to sob loudly, mumbling something about her late husband.
“But we are still here,” continued Father Paul. “Many have died, but we did not. God chose us to be here.”
More amens filled the room.
“Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know why. All I know is that we are being called upon for a nearly impossible task—
to rebuild our families, to rebuild our town, to rebuild our nation!”
A long round of applause sounded.
When it quieted, he continued.
“God wouldn’t have left us here without the tools and resources that we need to survive. We must, therefore, set aside our fears and rise to His challenge. Indeed, there will be sacrifice and suffering. But there will also be joy and victory.”
A man stood up near the front of the church.
“Father, will the government help us rebuild? We can’t do it on our own.”
“Perhaps one day, but for now, we are most assuredly on our own. We must work together to establish our infrastructures: food, water, and electricity. Even more important, we must regain the trust of our neighbors and learn once again to depend on one another. God is reminding us that we are all brothers and sisters. It’s time we listened.”
People clapped for nearly a full minute.
“We can do this!” one man yelled.
A beautiful woman with thick, black hair and naturally tan skin stood up from the middle of the church. She was wearing medical scrubs.
“We must also provide at least some basic level of medical care. People are suffering from dehydration and infection. We can’t afford to lose any more. Each life is more precious than ever.”
“I couldn’t have said it better,” said Father Paul. “Miss, are you a medical doctor?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I’m Avany Moura. I worked at the ER center.”
“Dr. Moura, we are delighted to have you here,” Father Paul said, nodding his head to her.
“Please, call me Ava. The time for titles and other formalities has long passed.”
“Indeed.” He turned back to the audience. “Do we have any other doctors here?”
An old man near the back of the room stood.
“I specialize in cardiac care.”
Another man pushed in through the door.
“I’m an obstetrician.”
Ava said, “I know of two other doctors and several nurses who also survived. We’ve been treating the sick and injured at the hospital. It’s not much, but we’re doing what we can.”
“God bless you for that,” said Father Paul.
“What about the gangs?” a woman shouted from the back of the church. “We’ll never be safe with them roaming the streets. They killed a young man in front of my children yesterday.”
Several people shouted their agreement, and the room became chaotic as everyone started talking among themselves.
Father Paul raised his arms again.
“Your attention, please.”
The talking continued but in more hushed tones.
“Yes, we must deal with the violence,” he continued.
“How?” the same woman shouted. “No offense, Father, but sharing God’s word isn’t going to work with these thugs.”
“No,” said Father Paul, “such men are not easily convinced to change their ways. That is why I have asked Marshal Raines to help us.” He motioned for Mason to come up on stage.
When Mason and Bowie moved up beside Father Paul, the entire room came alive. Everyone seemed more concerned by the giant dog than comforted by the marshal’s presence.
Mason leaned over to Bowie and said, “Announce yourself.”
Bowie looked at him, and then back at the large audience. When Mason continued to stare at him, the dog finally let out a loud woof!
A few people in the front row shifted in their seats, looking around anxiously for a way out of the packed church. Nearly everyone fell silent.
Mason grinned. “That’s Bowie, and I’m Deputy Marshal Raines. We’re here to help you take back your town.”
A heavyset man shouted, “How you gonna do that, Marshal? One man and a dog ain’t near enough.”
“We don’t want no trouble!” yelled a black woman from the back of the church.
“If you make them angry, they’ll kill us all for sure,” said an older lady sitting, in the front row.
Ava stood up again, and Mason found his gaze drawn to her. She met his eyes and spoke.
“Marshal, people are afraid that you will somehow make things worse.”
“I understand,” he replied. “There’s no question that there’s a choice to be made. The townspeople of Boone can hide in the shadows and hope that these thugs will eventually tire of raping and killing—”
Several people started to grumble at his words. Ava grinned, never breaking eye contact.
“Or,” he said, raising his voice, “they can push back and tell these men that nothing will come easy. That, for every life they take, the town will demand two.”
“An eye for an eye,” said the old woman in the front row, nodding. “That’s God’s way.”
“Call it what you want,” said Mason, “an enemy does not become more of an enemy when you fight him.”
“Will you help us to fight them?” Ava asked, her voice soft, as if it were just the two of them sharing a private conversation.
“Yes, I will fight them.”
“And you’re good at that?”
“I am.”
She nodded and sat back down.
A man with his arm in a sling struggled to his feet.
“Marshal, no disrespect, but there are dozens of criminals. Even you and that beast can’t possibly stand up to all of them.”
“That’s true,” Mason said, reaching down and petting Bowie. “Even with a friend like Bowie, I can’t triumph over forty men. Are there others here with experience in law enforcement who would be willing to stand with me?”
Mason stood quietly, looking at the townspeople, wondering if anyone would find their courage. After nearly a minute of silence, a man in his sixties stood up in the front row. His wife was tugging at him to sit back down.
“I’m Max Blue. I was the police chief here in Boone until I retired a few years back. I’m not as fleet of foot anymore, but I can help.”
A man wearing a sidearm got to his feet.
“I’m Vince Tripp. I was a Watauga County Deputy Sheriff, and I’ll stand with you, Marshal.”
A third man, fit and muscular but balancing on a prosthetic leg, rose.
“Don Potts. I spent four years as an MP in the army. And if you don’t mind this,” he said, patting his leg, “I’ll fight at your side.”
Finally, a wiry man wearing an old plaid shirt, dirty blue jeans, and a straw hat stood.
“My friends call me Coon on account of I’ve been known to eat one on occasion.”
Several people snickered.
“I don’t have any law enforcement experience to speak of, but I can hit a squirrel in the nuts at a hundred yards. If you need shootin’ done, I’m your man.”
Mason nodded. These brave misfits would be his deputies.
Chapter 13