PLUS
CHAPTER SIX
SHANNON SLEPT NO more that night. He also froze. He knew that Johann the Hessian would never return. In fact, he'd probably freeze to death in the snow. But he hadn't survived thirty-five years by believing what he knew was necessarily what happened. So the fire stayed glowing brightly in the root cellar below, while he huddled in his blankets, gun ready, waiting for dawn.
It came as a gray through the whirling snow. Chilled through, Emmett took a chance and went down into the cellar and built up his fire. He slowly melted snow in his kettle and had a hot drink. More snow was melted, and he dumped chunks of beef and potatoes into the pot for breakfast. Then, one eye on the lowering horizon, waiting for the farmers to return, he searched the ruins.
The two-story main farmhouse had collapsed on itself. All that remained was the wreckage of a few blackened walls. Shannon oriented himself, found the main entrance and walked through, imagining he was in the half-remembered and now mentally reconstructed house. Nothing in the ruined hall.
A crunching spill of china in the parlor. Then his first discovery—a large, charred wooden case. He tomahawked the chest open, and a smile grew across his face. He muttered a prayer, a thank-you and a vow never to murder any Germans or anybody else who crossed his trail—unless they deserved it—as he lifted out: underclothing! Heavy trousers! A linen shirt! They smelled of smoke, but there were only a few burn holes marring them. Then a great miracle—a half-caped horseman's overcoat! Why wasn't somebody wearing it?
Maybe it was the wrong color or fashion. Maybe he was too fat to fit. Emmett had never lived in a world where any of these was an option, but he assumed every sort of riches on the part of the absent van VotefTer. Emmett searched on, and found a pair of work boots. Praying once more, he doffed his moccasins and tried the boots. They almost fit. Back to the chest, and he found two scarves that would serve as stockings.
A crunching spill of china in the parlor. Then his first discovery—a large, charred wooden case. He tomahawked the chest open, and a smile grew across his face. He muttered a prayer, a thank-you and a vow never to murder any Germans or anybody else who crossed his trail—unless they deserved it—as he lifted out: underclothing! Heavy trousers! A linen shirt! They smelled of smoke, but there were only a few burn holes marring them. Then a great miracle—a half-caped horseman's overcoat! Why wasn't somebody wearing it?
Maybe it was the wrong color or fashion. Maybe he was too fat to fit. Emmett had never lived in a world where any of these was an option, but he assumed every sort of riches on the part of the absent van VotefTer. Emmett searched on, and found a pair of work boots. Praying once more, he doffed his moccasins and tried the boots. They almost fit. Back to the chest, and he found two scarves that would serve as stockings.
The next "room"—or above it—would have been a bedchamber. Burnt, wet feathers. And the ruins of blankets. Ruined for civilization perhaps. But perfectly fine for him. His own lice carriers would stay here. Emmett again oriented himself and strode over beams toward the kitchen, where he found a trove. Under the burnt slab of the huge kitchen table he found not only a broken-stemmed clay churchwarden, but an unsinged pouch, half full of leaf tobacco.
He was tempted to stop for a smoke—but the morning was moving on. A baked ball. Shannon broke it apart and scooped flour into his knapsack. Kettles, pots, broken glass, cutlery, and then an un-smashed, corked cruet. He uncorked it and sniffed: vinegar. This was where the farmer had kept his medicines. At that point Emmett went on his hands and knees, sorting inch by inch through the debris.
He found what he was hoping for— a small black brick that might have been charcoal. It was not. The resin on the brick's surface, bubbled up by the heat of the flames, smelled most sweet. Opium.
He was tempted to stop for a smoke—but the morning was moving on. A baked ball. Shannon broke it apart and scooped flour into his knapsack. Kettles, pots, broken glass, cutlery, and then an un-smashed, corked cruet. He uncorked it and sniffed: vinegar. This was where the farmer had kept his medicines. At that point Emmett went on his hands and knees, sorting inch by inch through the debris.
He found what he was hoping for— a small black brick that might have been charcoal. It was not. The resin on the brick's surface, bubbled up by the heat of the flames, smelled most sweet. Opium.
That was enough luck for Emmett. He took dried peas and beans, plus four potatoes from the root cellar. He scrabbled through the ruined smokehouse and found a double handful of now doubly dried beef, forced all this into his bulging knapsack, and went away from the nightmare farm, through the driving snow.
Emmett eventually was forced to shelter on a lee slope, pushing himself under the snow-laden boughs of a tree to its trunk. One blanket made a tent. He didn't dare light a fire—even if he'd been able to find, somewhere, dry wood. But,, thinking of his treasures, he gnawed dried beef and a raw potato and slept rough but content.
He woke to rain and forced himself to strip raw. He stood for a few icy moments in the downpour, rubbing himself with the last of the Valley Forge soap. Luxuriously, he dressed in the new undergarments and pants of cloth, instead of the crotch-grating canvas. He beat his hunting shirt against a tree, at least terrifying its lice, and tugged it back on. Then the wonderful warmth of that coat, with a blanket over his shoulders. Even wet, the wool was heaven. Shannon shouldered his gear and moved back onto the road, almost content with his lot.
* * * *
His pace quickened the next few days as the weather grew warmer. The continuing, occasional rain was tolerable. Also, he ate well, not from the provisions from the farm, but on fresh beef. The first calf surprised him. Dead beside the trail, its skull cloven by a hatchet. The renegades. They were on this road, still ahead of him but moving fast—faster than he could travel on foot.
Any animal that slowed would be killed and, if the renegades had a moment, quick-butchered. That provided not only a moving quartermaster for Emmett, but reassurance that as long as he found dead steers, and, as the weather continued above freezing, hoof-prints, he didn't have to worry.
Any animal that slowed would be killed and, if the renegades had a moment, quick-butchered. That provided not only a moving quartermaster for Emmett, but reassurance that as long as he found dead steers, and, as the weather continued above freezing, hoof-prints, he didn't have to worry.
He vaguely hoped the renegades would continue their successful escape until, perhaps, the Hudson. At which point a patrol of regulators would encounter them. It did not take that long. Emmett was moving along quite briskly on a bright, chilly morning, the road paralleling a thawing swamp when he smelled cow shit. At first, it reminded him of home, then he realized its meaning and went into the brush once more. Cow shit did not stink forever, at least not in this weather. After a time he moved toward the stink.
The head helped him understand what had happened. It leered down, dirty and bearded. A spike had been driven through its forehead, fixing it to a tree trunk. Below that someone had axed bark from the tree and knife-carved: cow BOYS WARND.
Shannon quartered the small clearing beside the road, once again reading tracks. He returned to the nailed head. Odd that he had not found the body that would have gone with it. Odder still that he had a vague recollection that the face—or at least what remained of it between the spike and the .75 ball that had gone in through the temple—was somewhat familiar.
He dug out the stub of a pipe, crumbled leaf tobacco into it, and sparked the tobacco to life. The hoof- and footprints on the ground, the blood trails, the cow shit, set the scene for him. The renegades had driven their cattle here. Maybe this happened at dawn, after they'd nighted in this place. Or perhaps they were taking a meal.
Others had come down the road toward them—from Easton. Militia? Regulators? British or American dragoons? Perhaps a bigger band of thieves? The last was unlikely, because of the warning carved into the tree.
Others had come down the road toward them—from Easton. Militia? Regulators? British or American dragoons? Perhaps a bigger band of thieves? The last was unlikely, because of the warning carved into the tree.
Questions would have been shouted. Rifles would have come up from across saddlebows. One man killed—the man whose skull would bleach on that tree. Other men were shot. Shannon found two, possibly three blood trails. Horse tracks scattered into the swamp. "His" renegades had lost the skirmish—else the head would not have been where it was. Whoever had won had gathered the cattle and pushed back the way they came.
Satisfied, Emmett knocked out his pipe and started out once more. On the one hand, he was pleased the renegades had met vengeance and sorry that every one of them was not decorating a tree.
But on the other, this meant the band's survivors, if they regrouped, would be leaving almost no trace, without the cattle. They could be moving ahead, or—and Emmett inadvertently glanced behind him—following him.
But on the other, this meant the band's survivors, if they regrouped, would be leaving almost no trace, without the cattle. They could be moving ahead, or—and Emmett inadvertently glanced behind him—following him.
The dawning spring suddenly meant nothing. Shannon moved onward, rifle at half cock, ready for battle.
NEXT: The Forgotten People
*****
S.O.S. ALLAN'S NEW NOVEL
Between February and May of 1942, German U-boats operated with impunity off the Florida coast, sinking scores of freighters from Cape Canaveral to Key West and killing nearly five thousand people. Residents were horrified witnesses of the attacks—the night skies were aflame and in the morning the beaches were covered with oil and tar, ship parts and charred corpses. The Germans even landed teams of saboteurs charged with disrupting war efforts in the factories of the North. This novel is based on those events. For my own purposes, I set the tale in the fictitious town of Juno Beach on the banks of the equally fictitious Seminole River—all in the very real Palm Beach County, a veritable wilderness in those long ago days. Among the witnesses were my grandfather and grandmother, who operated an orchard and ranch in the area.
Click here for the paperback and Kindle Versions
Click here for the audio version - Read By Ben McLean
*****
A DAUGHTER OF LIBERTY
The year is 1778 and the Revolutionary War has young America trapped in the crossfire of hatred and fear. Diana, an indentured servant, escapes her abusive master with the help of Emmett Shannon, a deserter from the desperate army at Valley Forge. They fall in love and marry, but their happiness is shattered and Diana Shannon must learn to survive on her own. From that moment on she will become a true woman of her times, blazing a path from lawless lands in the grips of the Revolution, to plague-stricken Philadelphia, to the burning of Washington in the War Of 1812.
Click here to buy the novel. Paperback, Kindle or, audiobook.
*****
TWO NEW AUDIOBOOKS ONLY $4.95!
S.O.S. ALLAN'S NEW NOVEL
Click here for the paperback and Kindle Versions
Click here for the audio version - Read By Ben McLean
A DAUGHTER OF LIBERTY
*****
TWO NEW AUDIOBOOKS ONLY $4.95!
Tales Sometimes Tall, but always true, of Allan Cole's years in Hollywood with his late partner, Chris Bunch. How a naked lady almost became our first agent. How we survived La-La Land with only the loss of half our brain cells. How Bunch & Cole became the ultimate Fix-It
Boys. How an alleged Mafia Don was very, very good to us. The guy who cornered the market on movie rocks. Andy Warhol's Fire Extinguisher. The Real Stars Of Hollywood. Why they don't make million dollar movies. See The Seven Pi$$ing Dwarfs. Learn: how to kill a "difficult" actor… And much, much more.
Boys. How an alleged Mafia Don was very, very good to us. The guy who cornered the market on movie rocks. Andy Warhol's Fire Extinguisher. The Real Stars Of Hollywood. Why they don't make million dollar movies. See The Seven Pi$$ing Dwarfs. Learn: how to kill a "difficult" actor… And much, much more.
THE TIMURA TRILOGY: When The Gods Slept, Wolves Of The Gods and The Gods Awaken. This best selling fantasy series now available as trade paperbacks, e-books (in all varieties) and as audiobooks. Visit The Timura Trilogy page for links to all the editions.
NEWLY REVISED KINDLE EDITIONS OF THE TIMURA TRILOGY NOW AVAILABLE. (1) When The Gods Slept;(2) Wolves Of The Gods; (3) The Gods Awaken.
*****
A NATION AT WAR WITH ITSELF: In Book Three Of The Shannon Trilogy, young Patrick Shannon is the heir-apparent to the Shannon fortune, but murder and betrayal at a family gathering send him fleeing into the American frontier, with only the last words of a wise old woman to arm him against what would come. And when the outbreak of the Civil War comes he finds himself fighting on the opposite side of those he loves the most. In The Wars Of The Shannons we see the conflict, both on the battlefield and the homefront, through the eyes of Patrick and the members of his extended Irish-American family as they struggle to survive the conflict that ripped the new nation apart, and yet, offered a dim beacon of hope.
*****
NEW: THE AUDIOBOOK VERSION OF
THE HATE PARALLAX
What if the Cold War never ended -- but continued for a thousand years? Best-selling authors Allan Cole (an American) and Nick Perumov (a Russian) spin a mesmerizing "what if?" tale set a thousand years in the future, as an American and a Russian super-soldier -- together with a beautiful American detective working for the United Worlds Police -- must combine forces to defeat a secret cabal ... and prevent a galactic disaster! This is the first - and only - collaboration between American and Russian novelists. Narrated by John Hough. Click the title links below for the trade paperback and kindle editions. (Also available at iTunes.)
*****
THE SPYMASTER'S DAUGHTER:
A novel by Allan and his daughter, Susan
After laboring as a Doctors Without Borders physician in the teaming refugee camps and minefields of South Asia, Dr. Ann Donovan thought she'd seen Hell as close up as you can get. And as a fifth generation CIA brat, she thought she knew all there was to know about corruption and betrayal. But then her father - a legendary spymaster - shows up, with a ten-year-old boy in tow. A brother she never knew existed. Then in a few violent hours, her whole world is shattered, her father killed and she and her kid brother are one the run with hell hounds on their heels. They finally corner her in a clinic in Hawaii and then all the lies and treachery are revealed on one terrible, bloody storm- ravaged night.
BASED ON THE CLASSIC STEN SERIES by Allan Cole & Chris Bunch: Fresh from their mission to pacify the Wolf Worlds, Sten and his Mantis Team encounter a mysterious ship that has been lost among the stars for thousands of years. At first, everyone aboard appears to be long dead. Then a strange Being beckons, pleading for help. More disturbing: the presence of AM2, a strategically vital fuel tightly controlled by their boss - The Eternal Emperor. They are ordered to retrieve the remaining AM2 "at all costs." But once Sten and his heavy worlder sidekick, Alex Kilgour, board the ship they must dare an out of control defense system that attacks without warning as they move through dark warrens filled with unimaginable horrors. When they reach their goal they find that in the midst of all that death are the "seeds" of a lost civilization.
*****
TALES OF THE BLUE MEANIE
NOW AN AUDIOBOOK!
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Venice Boardwalk Circa 1969
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In the depths of the Sixties and The Days Of Rage, a young newsman, accompanied by his pregnant wife and orphaned teenage brother, creates a Paradise of sorts in a sprawling Venice Beach community of apartments, populated by students, artists, budding scientists and engineers lifeguards, poets, bikers with a few junkies thrown in for good measure. The inhabitants come to call the place “Pepperland,” after the Beatles movie, “Yellow Submarine.” Threatening this paradise is "The Blue Meanie," a crazy giant of a man so frightening that he eventually even scares himself.
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