Roland: Reluctant Paladin Read online

  ROLAND:

  RELUCTANT PALADIN

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  ROLAND

  by N.C. Reed

  Published by Creative Texts Publishers

  PO Box 50

  Barto, PA 19504

  www.creativetexts.com

  Copyright 2015-2017 by N.C. Reed

  All rights reserved

  Cover design by Laura Roth

  This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

  The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual names, persons, businesses, and incidents is strictly coincidental. Locations are used only in the general sense and do not represent the real place in actuality.

  ISBN: 978-0-692-60587-5

  For those who rise to the occasion.

  For those who protect the helpless.

  For those who do.

  ROLAND

  by

  N.C. Reed

  CHAPTER ONE

  From the field diary of Roland Stang;

  How did it come to this? How did we get here, from being the most powerful nation on Earth?

  I mean, no one else is any better off, mind you. Some nations don’t even exist anymore except as vaguely defined territories between the lines on some map. But we’re still in bad shape. For us it’s worse, in a way. Many other nations were accustomed to the violence. The bloodshed. Random, pattern less, mind numbing, blood and chaos. Even now, as I try to write this, to leave some kind of record of what we’ve been through, I shudder at some of the things I’ve seen in the last two months. Seen? I shudder at some of the things I’ve done in the last two months.

  Things I had to do to survive. To help others survive. For the first time in my life, I’m glad I don’t have any family. I’m glad I’m alone. Glad I don’t have to watch as my children suffer from hunger. When they cringe at the sound of gunfire, or the approach of a vehicle.

  When they stoically nod their understanding when daddy or mommy don’t come back. When they don’t come back because they died trying to find something for their children to eat. Or worse, when they just keep walking, leaving their children among an ever growing group of orphans, abandoned by parents who ‘can’t take it anymore’.

  Cowards. Only the most callous and uncaring coward could abandon these kids. Some of them barely out of diapers, most in their tween years, along with a handful of teens who simply don’t have anywhere else to go.

  And how the hell did I wind up looking after them? That’s a question I keep asking myself over and over. There are still a few adults around, but I’m having to watch them pretty close. There are three teenage girls in the group that the men are starting to look at in ways I don’t care for. And even the women are looking at the kids as if sizing them up, considering what they could get for the kids if they sold them.

  None of them bother looking my way, and so far, I haven’t encouraged them. The less they think about me, the more surprise I’ll have when they make their move.

  And they’ll move soon, I think. The food is almost gone. Maybe another three, four days. One couple has already voiced that the ‘rug rats’ shouldn’t be getting as much, since they aren’t doing anything. Again, I said nothing. But I’ve made sure that the kids are eating as well as I can. And I’ve put one of the teen girls in charge of making sure that all the kids get vitamins I nabbed from a drugstore I cleaned out a while back.

  I’ve got caches, if I can get to them. Enough to help get these kids away from this hell hole of a city, and into some kind of safety. If I knew where that was. God help me, there’s twenty-nine of them, and one of me. The teenagers, the three girls, and three boys, will probably be of some help, but I don’t know how much. One of the boys is a loner, quiet and tough. He’s already backed me a couple times, silent but ready. I think I can consider arming him when we go, but the others I’ll just have to hope will watch the kids for me while I try to get us somewhere safe.

  Safe. It’s like a bad joke. Where is safe, anymore? With hordes of gangs, or ‘tribes’ as many have taken to calling themselves, everywhere, killing indiscriminately. It didn’t take long for the worst in society to come out and play.

  I guess I’m one to talk. Twenty-four years old, and a stone killer. Two tours in Afghanistan, another in Iraq, and one more in Africa in seven years. I guess technically I’m AWOL, but no one seems to be keeping up with that anymore. The Army stood strong for a couple of weeks, but without effective leadership, it began to melt away as soldiers left their units to take care of their families. In the end, I was the only one left in my platoon, so I started caching things I might need later, and looking for a hole to hide in. Big bad soldier boy gonna hide till the monsters are gone.

  Pathetic. It’s all I can do to look in the mirror.

  And then I stumble across this outfit. And these abandoned kids. Who look at me so desperate, so hopeful. Like I’m going to save them from all the bad things that are happening. Like since I’m here, everything will be okay.

  That’s how it came to this, I guess. For me anyway. I saw plenty of kids abandoned in other countries. Left to die, sometimes sent to die, being used as a soldier, or a weapon. Dammit, this is America. We’re supposed to be better than this.

  Here comes the ‘quiet’ one. James, I think his name is. He rarely comes to me at all, and speaks even less, so something must be up…

  “Sir?”

  Roland Stang looked at the tall, rangy teenager.

  “Yeah, kid?” he smiled briefly. “James, right? What’s up?”

  “Yes, sir,” James nodded. “I could be wrong, but I think that bunch are up to something. Something bad,” he added, using his head to indicate the group of adults now gathered by the door. Stang looked over at them casually, letting his eyes take in the whole warehouse, rather than settle on them.

  “What makes you think that?” Stang asked, keeping his motions casual. He stretched, allowing his hand to come to rest where his gun was lying out of sight.

  “They were talking a little loud, earlier, sir,” James replied. “And Wright, the big one with the hygiene issues? He’s been a little. . .insistent about the girls, if you know what I mean. I’ve heard him and his little buddy with the hat mention what ‘something like them is worth’. I think those were their exact words.”

  “I’m concerned,” he admitted. Stang had ‘known’ James for two weeks. Concerned was a word he’d never heard the youth use before.

  “Well, I admit I was expectin’ this,” Stang confided in the teen. “Was hoping’ it was a little further down the road, though.”

  “You expected it?” James’ voice was calm, but questioning. Not suspicious, but interested. Like he was trying to learn something.

  “Yeah. Look kid, that bunch ain’t exactly the cream of society, ya know? The best of ‘em is worse than most people I’ve known in my life. The fact that it took ‘em this long to work up to something shows us a little about their lack of intestinal fortitude. I think we’ve stayed here about as long as we’re gonna be able to.”

  “I was thinking that too, sir,” the teenager nodded seriously. “But we won’t get far with them following.”

  “They won’t be following,” Stand said grimly. “I want you to find Maria, and tell her to announce its candy time to the litt
le ones. The rest of you help her round up the little ones, and move them toward the back. I think it’s time we rid ourselves of that bunch.”

  “Do you need any help?” James asked.

  “Nah, I think I got it. Appreciate it, though. Go on, now, and do like I said.” James moved away, going on his errand.

  Soon the teens were corralling the smaller children toward the eating area, with the promise of ‘candy time’, the white lie they had invented to get the kids to take the vitamins. The fact they were candy flavored had helped with that.

  But it seemed that at least one of the group’s malcontents was paying attention.

  “Hey! Greaser girl! Where d’ya think you’re goin’?” Wright bellowed at Maria, a pretty Latino girl with her hair in a long pony tail. She looked at Stang, fear in her eyes. He nodded to her, and she kept going.

  “She’s taking the kids to get their vitamins,” Stang replied in her stead. “Nothin’ to worry ‘bout.”

  “Who the hell put you in charge?” Wright demanded.

  “Nobody,” Stang shrugged. “Just tryin’ to take care o’ the ones that can’t take care o’ themselves. That’s all.”

  “Well, it’s time they earned their keep,” one of the women, Juney, Stang thought, piped up. “We been takin’ care o’ that pack o’ brats, and it’s time we got ours back.”

  “In what way?” Stang asked, nothing but curiosity in his voice, though his hand tightened around his gun.

  “We’re gonna start tradin ‘em off, that’s what way,” Wright informed him. “Startin’ with that little wetback!”

  “I don’t think that’s gonna work out for ya,” Stang said slowly, smiling ever so slightly. “Fact is; I don’t think that’s healthy for ya at all. Best just let that idea go, and you folks pack it on up and head for greener pastures.” He was giving them a chance. They probably wouldn’t take it, but Stang was giving them a chance to save their lives.

  Just the one, though.

  “Say what?” Hat man asked, a look of incredulity in his face. “Who the hell do you think you are, anyway?”

  “I’m the fella protecting’ these kids,” Stang smiled. “Ya’ll move on, now.”

  “There’s six of us, and one o’ you,” Wright sneered. “And that rifle o’ yours ain’t loaded,” he added. Stang chuckled.

  “Oh I know that,” he surprised them. “I knew the minute you tampered with it. That’s why I’m using’ this.” He brought an ugly looking shotgun out from under the tarp next to him. “And I assure you, it’s loaded. To the gills, in fact.” He flicked the safety off as the short, wicked looking KSG suddenly got the drop on them.

  “You’ve got one chance. Take it, and go,” he ordered.

  “You won’t shoot,” Wright bluffed. “And we ain’t leavin’ here without them girls, at least.”

  “You had your chance,” Stang sighed, and pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It took almost an hour to calm the little kids down. The older children, especially the teenagers, seemed more relieved than anything. I guess I had underestimated how much attention they were paying Wright and the others. Sometimes I don’t pay enough attention to things like that, I guess. But what do I know about children, anyway? I was raised in an orphanage for the most part, when I wasn’t in and out of foster care anyway.

  I joined the army as soon as I could get someone to sign for me. I was still seventeen, but had a diploma, and the orphanage people were glad to be rid of me, it seemed like. I hadn’t been a trouble maker, but I really wasn’t one to ‘toe the line’ either. I never have liked bullies, and don’t let anyone tell you that bullies don’t work for Social Services, cause it’s a damn lie. They do.

  We can’t stay here in this warehouse. If it was just me, or me and the teens, maybe we could make it, but the younger kids, they need to be where they can get fresh air, and sunshine once in a while. My recent encounter with Wright and his happy little band pretty much proved this wasn’t a place for that.

  What a mess. There’s no way to walk out of here, not with the little ones. They just can’t make it. I’ve got a HUMVEE stashed nearby, but there’s no way to cram them all inside. What I need is a bus. And a shop. If I could find a working bus, and then spend a few hours in a good vo-tech school working on it, I could get them out of here.

  But to where? I’m looking at my map, and we’re a long way from anywhere that would be even remotely safe. Nashville was a good town before things went crazy, but now it’s just over run with people like Wright, and some a whole lot worse. And I’m just one guy. I guess even worse, in a way, is that all I’ve ever had to be responsible for was me. Now, because of some genetic pre-disposition to be a do-gooder, I’ve saddled myself with nearly thirty kids. Kids that need to be fed, clothed, and educated. Sweet mother, I have no idea what I’m gonna do about all that.

  First things first, though, I guess. I need to get us out of the city.

  -

  “Any of you guys know where we could get a bus?” Stang asked, looking at the assembled children.

  “A school bus, or a public transit bus, either one. School bus is better, though.”

  “There might still be buses at the service center,” one of the girls spoke up. Dinah? Diana? Deanna? Hell with it.

  “What’s your name again?” Stang asked.

  “Deena,” the little brunette said shyly.

  “Okay, Deena, do you know where this service center is?”

  “Yeah, but it’s pretty far,” she admitted.

  Of course, it is, Stang thought to himself. Why wouldn’t it be?

  “Anyone else?”

  “They were using buses to evacuate people from schools, when things first went south,” James mentioned. “Might find one at any of the evac points. But there’s no guarantee of that.”

  “Anyone know where the nearest school is?” Stang asked.

  “Prater Elementary is only a mile or so,” one of the other boys chimed in. Ralph, maybe?

  “Ralph, right?” Stang asked, and the boy nodded.

  “Okay, Ralph, think you and me can make it to that school, Prater you said, and see what’s there?”

  “Yes, sir,” the boy nodded. He didn’t look too enthused about it, but then Stang wasn’t either.

  “All right, here’s the deal,” Stang announced. “Ralph and I are gonna see about finding us a way outta here. Maria, you’re in charge of the kids while I’m gone. I hate to do that to you, but you’re good at it. I expect the rest of you to help her. James, I want you on look out. If someone tries to get in, hide, and stay quiet. I’ll deal with it when we get back. Everyone good?”

  “We need to try and let the little ones eat,” Maria suggested. Fine girl, that Maria.

  “That’s fine, just do it quietly. Hopefully we’ll be out of here soon enough. Ralph, let’s make tracks.”

  -

  “I don’t believe it,” Stang almost breathed it. Ralph nodded his agreement.

  Sitting right there, in front of the school, was a fairly new Bluebird school bus.

  “I wonder if somethin’s wrong with it,” Ralph asked, ruining Stang’s good mood.

  “Way to jinx us, Ralph,” he muttered. “You may be right, though. I can’t see another reason to leave the bus here. Let’s check it out. Be careful, and keep your head on a swivel, kid. We want to see trouble before it sees us.”

  “Amen,” the boy nodded, his head already turning to scan their surroundings. Roland made his way to the bus without difficulty, and opened the door. The bus smelled of stale air, but nothing worse, which had been a real possibility. Easing onto the vehicle, he cleared it quickly, then motioned for Ralph to join him.

  “Well, the keys are here, anyway,” Ralph pointed. “It might start.”

  “One way to find out,” Roland nodded, and sat down in the driver’s seat. He turned the key, and the diesel engine spun. It was slower than he liked, but it was turning.

  “Well, that’s something, anywa
y,” he shrugged, and tried it again. This time the engine caught, sputtered for a moment, then died.

  “Maybe it’s out of fuel?” Ralph suggested. Roland looked.

  “Half a tank, if this gauge is right. Let’s try it again.” The key went forward, and Roland was rewarded with a sputtering cough, a backfire, and then a running engine.

  “Man, this thing idles rough,” Ralph noted.

  “Hasn’t been run in a while,” Roland reminded him. “Let’s get outta here. We’ll take it slow, and maybe the engine will smooth out some.”

  -

  Roland had intended to modify the bus at least some, but realized that might not be so easy without power. If he could find a place with a generator, that would help. Of course, then he’d need fuel for the generator, and he needed more fuel for the bus.

  Sighing, he took out a notebook and started making a list. The ride back had been uneventful, and the bus was now inside the warehouse. But they were far from safe.

  “You wanted to see me, sir?” James asked. Roland looked at the boy and nodded.

  “Can you drive, James?” he asked.

  “I don’t have a license, sir,” James replied evenly.

  “I don’t think anyone cares about that anymore, buddy,” Roland laughed. “Can you drive?”

  “Yes, sir,” James nodded. “Almost anything. Including that bus, if you need me to.”

  “Really?” Roland was surprised.

  “Really.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. You got any idea if the others can drive?”

  “I don’t really know them very well, sir,” James shook his head. “I only met them when all this started.”

  “How’d you come to be here, James?” Roland asked, curious. “You have any family?”

  “Not that I know of, sir,” the boy answered reluctantly. “I was in foster care. My foster parents didn’t come home from. . .from whatever started all of this.”