The Survivalist - 02 by Arthur Bradley Read Free Book Online Page B

motioned for Cletus to move over near Blacksmith.
    Nursing his injured arm, he scooted along the ground to sit beside his partner.
    “I swear to God I’m gonna kill you!” Blacksmith shouted, trying to stop the flow of blood with his hands.
    Mason turned to Bowie.
    “Watch them.”
    The dog started toward them, growling.
    “Hey,” he said.
    Bowie paused and looked back.
    “I said watch them. Don’t eat them.”
    The dog turned back and eyed the two injured men. To their relief, he stopped his advance.
    Mason dug through the supplies on his truck and pulled out a thick white bandage. He tossed it over to Blacksmith.
    “From the looks of it, I didn’t hit the femoral artery. That’s good news for you. Keep some pressure on it, and the bleeding should stop before long.” He turned to Cletus. “And you better keep that bite clean if you don’t want to lose the arm to infection.”
    “You’re a dead man,” Blacksmith said through clenched teeth. “You’re so goddamned dead—”
    “Save it,” Mason said, holstering his pistol. “I let you off easy this time. If there’s ever a next time, I won’t be so kind.”
    Blacksmith continued to mumble threats as he tore open the bandage and began to wrap it around his leg. Cletus had nothing to say as he shook the fabric of his trousers with his good arm, hoping to help them dry a little faster.
    Watching the big man work to stem the flow of blood, Mason wondered if he had made the right decision. Leaving an enemy behind who might be inclined to follow was never a good idea. On the other hand, killing in cold blood wasn’t something he could do either. He had opted to shoot for the leg, and he would have to live with that decision.
    Resigned to leave things the way they were, he lowered the tailgate and motioned for Bowie to get back into the truck. Once the dog was settled in, he went around and swung open his own door. Before he climbed in, Blacksmith issued one last threat.
    “This ain’t over, lawman. I promise you that.”
    Mason nodded.
    Shifting the gold to the floorboard, he climbed in and started back down the highway. Glancing down at the blue case, he couldn’t help but consider how many people had been killed throughout history for the shiny metal. Whether it had all started with the Spanish ransacking of the Incan empire, or many thousands of years before that, gold and blood were never far apart.
    He caught a final glimpse in the mirror of Blacksmith and Cletus struggling to get to their feet and decided that carrying around such a large cache of gold coins would only invite more violence. He would need to hide his newfound treasure.

     

 

Mason traveled down a small county road that weaved through Kings Mountain State Park. Tall oak trees towered above him, shadowing the single-lane road as the sun slowly began its descent to the west. The park was barely ten minutes out of his way, and it appeared uninhabited, save for the wild turkeys and occasional deer. It seemed an ideal location to bury the gold because it offered the right compromise between isolation and convenience. Certainly, the park was better than an urban area, which would all but invite discovery with the widespread scavenging underway.
    He followed the road until it came to a dead end directly in front of Lake Crawford. Based on the tall grass and potholed road, the lake had not been a big attraction even before the world’s demise. Its only parking was a small gravel lot that allowed would-be fisherman to try their luck.
    Mason parked his truck and carried the box of gold and a length of paracord with him down to the lake. He wasn’t exactly sure how or where to hide the gold, but he thought that something would probably present itself. Bowie ran ahead, barking, his ears flapping in the wind. The dog never complained about riding in the truck, but it was easy enough to see that Bowie was happiest when running free, rolling in the grass, and smelling the planet’s most