Avalon: The Retreat Read Online Free PDF

police officer directing traffic. He put a hand to his forehead, just above his eyes, as if to shade them from the sun, and he moved his head from left to right. All the time, he pointed his other hand out in front of him with his index finger extended.
    The signal meant to keep a good lookout for “unfriendlies” because the group was vulnerable here. An ambush could go down at any moment without warning and they had already witnessed a great deal of senseless violence. One-by-one they started to cross.
    The going was difficult, as all of them were packing a load and the bikes were a little off balance. When Caroline was across the river, she did the same as Mike by putting her sub-machine gun, or SMG, at the ready. She was guarding the area ahead of them and assumed a position with her back to Mike’s, each of them watching the other’s rear. Those still on the other side of the river watched in every direction as well.
    Everyone understood that if Mike fired, they were to drop immediately. He wouldn’t miss, but it was better to give him as much room to fire as possible. Sam was next to cross and he guarded west while Greg watched east. Once they were all on the other side, they took a bearing before continuing on in order to pinpoint their position.
    The surroundings in which they found themselves were largely overgrown and covered in blackberry bushes, making the going slow. They knew they needed to travel through the thicket because the riverbank was simply too narrow and steep, and it would expose them to potential unfriendlies.
    Mike and Sam cut a path through with two of the machetes they had recovered at the last cache. Some of the bushes were ten feet tall, very thick, and they could lay a person open with some nasty cuts.
    The disagreeable job lasted about a half hour, but they were soon on their way again and past the onerous bushes. The turnoff to the cave was the next waypoint on Mike’s GPS, so he stopped to see how everyone was doing. They had been riding long enough for his butt to go numb and he thought theirs might be too.
    The short rest brought out idle conversations; it always did. They talked about what they had seen in their travels thus far while they absentmindedly finished off the last of the pemmican. The drizzle continued and everyone looked forward to arriving at the cave and getting a good fire going. There were enough of them now to post a guard so the rest could sleep safely.
    The group decided to spend the night at the cave and continue on to the next cache the following day. It was important to get off the trail, get out of the drizzle, dry out, and eat. Mike led the way. Twenty more minutes of riding found them at the turn off and he sent all but one of them ahead. He cut a few branches from a large bush and covered the bike tracks as best he could while Greg stood lookout. Satisfied with the concealment effort, they mounted up and followed the group. It was getting dark.
    The bushes that hid the cave entrance were much taller than the last time Mike had seen them months ago. He grimaced when he saw the tracks the others had left and covered the ground leading to the entrance.
    He surveyed the layout of the approaches to the cave with his back to the entrance and surmised that placing Claymores in a sweeping arc in the direction where he looked would block any surprises during the night. Walking out a hundred feet on the left, he placed one in the ground and away from there about twenty feet; he set another by gently pushing the spikes into the ground.
    Having set four more that completed the large arch, he strung and attached a trip wire to each of them and began the tedious task of removing the safety pins. He placed the pins in a small pocket on his vest to use again later; he didn’t want to lose those babies.
    When his defensive perimeter was complete, he walked over to his bike and pushed it behind the bushes that hid the entry to the cave. As he stepped into the “Roach