about securing more than just the cabin.”
Bowie raised his head and watched as squirrel ran up a nearby tree. When he was satisfied that it was outside his reach, he flopped back down on Mason’s lap. Unlike his newfound master, he didn’t have a care in the world.
“We could turn this place into a fortress and try to ride things out until the government gets back on its feet,” Mason continued. “A good defense is sometimes enough, yes?”
Bowie looked up at him and gave a short woof.
While it sounded logical, Mason wasn’t entirely convinced. For one thing, the condition of the government was unclear. Some officials had almost certainly been sequestered in time. The broadcasts seemed to confirm as much. But when and how they would emerge to take charge was anyone’s guess. The lack of broadcasts on the police scanner suggested that law and order had broken down, at least in his immediate area. People were operating in survival mode with every person out for himself. The stability that had taken hundreds of years for the country to establish was destroyed in a few short weeks.
The good news was that people were still alive; the human race hadn’t been wiped out. Decimated perhaps, but not exterminated. There were still people like Carl, Jules, and Father Paul, who were out there working to ensure that mankind would carry on. It made sense for Mason to do his part as well. He needed to help systematically establish the rule of law. That might be a tall feat, given the current demographics, but it was nonetheless necessary.
Boone seemed a reasonable place to start. It sat too close to his cabin to allow it to remain lawless and violent. It would only be a matter of time before another group of men stumbled onto his retreat and either cleared it out while he was away, or, worse, cut his throat while he was asleep. Cleaning up Boone was an important step to ensuring his own security.
Once Boone was safe, Mason could turn his attention to bigger challenges, including checking on his father in Talladega’s correctional facility and his mother in New York. He could also try to get word to the Marshal Training Center in Glynco that he was able to assist, assuming there was anyone there who even cared. Or anyone there at all.
CHAPTER
12
M ason 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
Bowie raised his head and watched as squirrel ran up a nearby tree. When he was satisfied that it was outside his reach, he flopped back down on Mason’s lap. Unlike his newfound master, he didn’t have a care in the world.
“We could turn this place into a fortress and try to ride things out until the government gets back on its feet,” Mason continued. “A good defense is sometimes enough, yes?”
Bowie looked up at him and gave a short woof.
While it sounded logical, Mason wasn’t entirely convinced. For one thing, the condition of the government was unclear. Some officials had almost certainly been sequestered in time. The broadcasts seemed to confirm as much. But when and how they would emerge to take charge was anyone’s guess. The lack of broadcasts on the police scanner suggested that law and order had broken down, at least in his immediate area. People were operating in survival mode with every person out for himself. The stability that had taken hundreds of years for the country to establish was destroyed in a few short weeks.
The good news was that people were still alive; the human race hadn’t been wiped out. Decimated perhaps, but not exterminated. There were still people like Carl, Jules, and Father Paul, who were out there working to ensure that mankind would carry on. It made sense for Mason to do his part as well. He needed to help systematically establish the rule of law. That might be a tall feat, given the current demographics, but it was nonetheless necessary.
Boone seemed a reasonable place to start. It sat too close to his cabin to allow it to remain lawless and violent. It would only be a matter of time before another group of men stumbled onto his retreat and either cleared it out while he was away, or, worse, cut his throat while he was asleep. Cleaning up Boone was an important step to ensuring his own security.
Once Boone was safe, Mason could turn his attention to bigger challenges, including checking on his father in Talladega’s correctional facility and his mother in New York. He could also try to get word to the Marshal Training Center in Glynco that he was able to assist, assuming there was anyone there who even cared. Or anyone there at all.
CHAPTER
12
M ason 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
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