Avalon: The Retreat Read Free Page B

empty PVC pipes quickly, not being quite as meticulous as before, but instead covering up the area with tree limbs and debris from the surrounding area. They were now equipped with rifles and had only 150 miles left to travel. Most importantly, Mike’s group had grown from one to four. They left a predetermined signal the others would recognize if they showed after this group was gone. It essentially meant “do not dig… all was uncovered and removed.”
    They waited an extra hour and, when no one else came along, they left for the next cache and rendezvous spot that lay another seventy-five miles ahead. With only a couple of hours of daylight left, they had to move quickly to avoid getting get caught out after dark.

    The trip moved along without complication. The group passed several burning houses as they traveled, but soon their small band had to deviate a little. Up ahead, they would need to enter and travel the state highway for a short distance. It was the best and fastest route, but it was dangerous and would leave them completely exposed. It was for that reason they tried to limit these trips to the shortest durations possible and only when absolutely necessary.
    Just ahead on this road was a railroad trestle that passed over a large river, which they needed to cross to get away from the road. They would cross the river there first because it skirted the highway for another several miles. After crossing on the trestle, they would be able to move back down off the beaten path. Mike scanned the surrounding area to ensure there was no ambush, and the small group moved as quickly as possible to the other side.
    Not long after they crossed, they came to a car with the doors wide open and stopped for a moment to investigate. They saw a man and woman slumped in the front seat, obviously looters. The car was jammed full of multiple personal and household items and the backseat and trunk were packed full, as well, with silverware, canned food, and various other goods. Someone had turned their pockets inside out… probably their killer.
    Nobody spoke, but they were all thinking the same thing. Someone had caught up to them and ended their looting binge. Caroline checked their pulses and knew from their fairly cool body temperatures that they were dead. Rigor mortis had not set in yet, which meant they had not been dead for more than a few hours. The bad guys had been at it in short order, especially since it had not been that long since the sirens had begun to blare.
    Someone had delivered them to Heaven or Hell with a single shot to the head and one to the chest. Double tapping was the sign of someone who knew what they were doing. Mike knew about that; he was an ex-Navy SEAL and that was one of several ways it was done. Professionals always made certain their enemies couldn’t follow them later at an inopportune moment.
    Greg kept watch while the others searched for weapons and ammo, but there were none. The gas tank was siphoned dry and whoever did this had taken almost everything of practical value. Mike and his group took the rest of the food and loaded it on their bikes but left the items that were monetary in value and, thus, worthless to the group. There wouldn’t be much use for anything that couldn’t be eaten or used for defense if things continued to deteriorate more than they had already.
    They checked their own tanks and topped them off with the spare gas each of them carried. Greg checked his wristwatch and mentioned that without any further delays, they still had about another thirty minutes to go before reaching the next cache. After taking a moment to scrutinize their loads for balance, they were satisfied with the cursory check and were off again, moving down into a semi-wooded valley off to the left.
    Several minutes later, they saw smoke over toward the highway and Mike told the group he wanted to investigate the cause. He parked his bike and made his way up to the crest of the hill a couple of