Read Project - 16 for Free Online

for
winter meat. There was so much to do back at home that I was glad
I'd finished the job and could now return to it.
    I thought about driving through the night but decided against
it. I'd drive out of the city and find somewhere to hang the
hammock. One last night, then on to the South to debrief at Fort
Washington before heading home. I'd resupply there while I was at
it. I was eager to relieve myself of my macabre cargo and the
thoughts of a young girl slowly dying as the sun sank into the
horizon.

2.
     
    Fort Washington was situated a few miles south of what was
once Birmingham before the missiles landed with the level of
destruction you could only achieve through mass bombardment. Nearly
all the major buildings had been levelled and their falling rubble
had brought down a great many others that hadn't. I'd never been
anywhere near the middle of the chaos simply because the slightest
vibration might set off another chain reaction like a line of
dominoes, toppling the fragile remains of a once thriving hub of
existence.
    From an elevated position you could see the crumbled skyline,
the odd resilient structure here and there and sometimes the smoke
from some subterranean fire, a burning vat of spilled chemicals or
something. That's as close as I'd ever been - the concrete walls of
Fort Washington and all that was behind them.
    The gates were set at the start of a narrow corridor made
from concrete slabs about waist height, interspersed with
barbed-wire barricades set in stages so that anyone driving in
couldn't approach it directly. Two guards stood watching me pull
up, several more waited on a raised platform made of steel girders
where they trained their weapons on me without much
enthusiasm.
    I stopped at the gate and the engine spluttered. I was on
fumes and I'd used most of my fuel getting there. I knew that I'd
have to take a trailer full back home if I was to see out the
winter. The gate guard motioned for me to stop with his free hand
and the other began to walk slowly towards me with the effort a man
might have if he didn't give a shit. Which I knew he
didn't.
    “ I.D?” asked the guard as he approached the driver's side
window. He was in DPM and wore a heavy looking helmet that covered
most of his face. I passed him my wallet and he flipped it open,
checking the photo against the real me a few times before being
finally convinced I was the same guy. “What's in the back?” he
asked.
    “ Three dead,” I replied.
    “ Treasure hunters?”
    “ Nothing as glamorous as that - but yeah.”
    “ Okay,” he sighed, bored with the whole process. “You
armed?”
    “ Yeah,” I said. “It's on my hip. Can I get it?”
    “ Slowly now.”
    I slid the pistol out of its holster with my thumb and index
finger and held it up. I could see his grip tighten around his own
rifle. Bored soldiers tend to make dangerous checkpoint guards. I
slowly began to eject the clip, pulling back the slide and
releasing the single round in the chamber. I passed it all to him
and he nodded to his partner.
    “ Please get out of the vehicle,” he said, stepping back. I
opened the door and jumped down onto the tarmac, my hands open and
loose by my sides. He gestured to the Guard cabin set back behind
the far gates, the ones into the compound, and his partner jumped
into my 'Rover, driving it through the barbed-wire
chicanes.
     
    We walked into the small room that served as shelter for
those on duty and straight away I could smell the coffee in the
percolator on the desk, bubbling away with its heady caffeine
goodness.
    “ May I?” I asked, pointing to it.
    “ Sure,” said the Guard as he opened a small safe and put my
pistol inside it. I took a white ceramic cup from the side and
poured myself some of the hot brew. It'd been there a while but it
was still nice. There were biscuits in a packet on a plate so I
took three when the guard's back was turned. He sat at his desk
filling in the relevant paperwork with a stubby pencil.
    “