Conflicted Home (The Survivalist Book 9) by A American (learn to read books TXT) 📕

turtles and waterfowl in the river. A land of plenty. Made me want to go in and see. It’d be a great place from which to base operations. And it was for that very reason that I was sure it had to be occupied.

I soon got my answer when the entrance to the park came into view. A large truck, an old military deuce and a half sat blocking it. Several men in various patterns of camo boldly stepped out from behind it and stood watching us as we passed. They talked animatedly amongst themselves. Dalton kept his weapon trained on them and I looked in the rearview mirror to see the big gun on the Stryker moving around on them as well.

“Keep an eye on these clowns”, Sarge barked into the radio.

But they kept their weapons slung, making no threatening show. Though, when I passed, they did point excitedly at the tanker. It made me uneasy. Even if they did nothing, now.

“That was one clannish looking crew”, Jamie called over the radio.

“I was thinking the same thing”, Sarge replied. “They was so inbred, they might as well be a sandwich”.

It made me laugh. And he was right. They looked as though their family tree had a transformer hanging from the top of it. They would certainly be a group to keep an eye on. And my tension was ratcheted up when Ian called over the radio.

“A motorcycle just came out of Juniper Springs and is following us. He’s staying pretty far back. But he’s definitely following us.”

“My guess is they’re interested in the fuel.” Sarge said. “When we make the turn onto nineteen, I’m going to pull off into the woods as soon as I can and me and Dalton will waylay his ass and figure out what he’s up to. The rest of you keep going. Just keep it slow in case we need backup.”

“Roger that, boss”, Ted replied.

And that’s just what happened. When we turned onto nineteen, Sarge swerved the Hummer off the road and into the light brush off the shoulder. He pulled into it, knocking it over before backing out, turning around and backing into the hole he created. I laughed at the thought of the ticket he’d be facing in the old days.

We slowed down, but kept moving enough to be making a little distance. It didn’t take long before I saw the motorcycle make the turn onto nineteen. The rider was obviously surprised by how close he was to the convoy. He slowed down, which gave Sarge the opportunity he needed. The Hummer raced out of the brush. The rider looked over and saw it, but when he tried to speed out of the way, he lost traction on the wet road.

The truck slammed into the bike, sending the rider sprawling to the ground. I stopped the truck and walked back towards them, watching as Dalton scrambled out of the truck and pounced on the man. I could hear shouting but couldn’t tell what was being said. Dalton grabbed something from the man and tossed it into the road. Then I watched as a rifle was likewise sent skittering across the asphalt.

When I got to them, Dalton was holding the man down in the road and Sarge was squatted next to him, talking.

“…..to see where you were going is all,” the man moaned.

“You said that already,” Sarge replied. “But I asked you why?”

To emphasize the question, Dalton applied a little tension to the man’s arm. He cried out in pain and said, “We were just curious who you were is all!”

Sarge ran his hand over the back of his neck. “You know. It ain’t too neighborly to be following someone like that. Personally, I think you wanted to know where that tanker was going. I saw that deuce you had. Probably needs fuel I would imagine.” He tapped the young man on the head and asked, “You were looking to try and score some fuel.”

“No!” The man replied. Then Dalton torqued his arm again and he cried out, “Maybe! Maybe!”

Sarge patted his shoulder and replied, “That’s what I thought.” Then he looked at Dalton and said, “Let him up.” Dalton released him, and he rolled onto his back, wincing at the pain in his shoulder as he worked his arm back and forth.

“What do you want to do with him?” Dalton asked.

Sarge looked down the road as he stood up. “He’s no threat to us. Let him go. But make sure that bike don’t run. I don’t want him getting back to his people real fast.”

“Aw come on. Don’t mess up my bike,” the man pleaded.

Sarge keyed his radio, “Mikey, come down here and run this motorcycle over.”

“With pleasure!” Mike replied.

I walked over and picked up the rifle Dalton had tossed away, as well as what turned out to be a Baofeng radio. It was on and I turned it off. “Dalton, did he make a call on this radio?”

He shook his head. “No. He was too busy for that.”

The rifle was a nice SKS. I opened the box magazine on the bottom and dropped the rounds out of it before closing it and cycling the action to get the chambered round out. Slinging it over my shoulder, I said, “If you want your rifle and radio back, it’ll be at the police department in Eustis. You can come there and try to convince me you weren’t up to no good.”

“Don’t take my rifle. That ain’t right. I didn’t do anything to you,” he complained.

“Maybe not,” Sarge replied. “But I got a feeling that was the idea. You can walk back and let your people know, we know what you’re up to.”

“We’ll be distributing some food in town,” I said. “You’re welcome to come in for some of it.” He looked up at me, confusion painted on his face. “We’re here to help people,” I pointed to the truck and trailer. “We went and got all that to help people. Your