The Survivalist (Frontier Justice)

Chapter 12

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.