The Abandon Series | Book 2 | These Times of Retribution

by Schow, Ryan

  “Thank you so much, Connie,” he said.

  She pulled him up with a fair amount of strength and said, “Hold onto the shelf to stabilize yourself. Let me clean some of that egg and blood off your face.”

  “Blood you said?”

  “Yeah, it’s smeared all over your nose.”

  She pulled out a handkerchief, unfolded the cloth, and started to wipe his face. The second she opened it, Colt saw the dried-yellow smears and flaky-brown evidence of a formerly-blown nose.

  He didn’t want to say anything. He couldn’t bring himself to embarrass her. But when Connie started to rub him, Colt felt the scratching on his face, and it was too much.

  Shrinking back, he said, “Connie, there’s a hardened booger tearing up my skin.”

  Flustered, she turned the hanky around and said, “Oh my, I must have grabbed my husband’s handkerchief.” She started blotting his nose with the clean side. She showed him the blood and said, “That hurt?”

  “Only when you press on it.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Actually, I think it all hurts,” he said. He gently, politely pushed the booger cloth away. Looking down in his basket, he saw the banana puree and the smashed eggs, and he sighed. “I need to get some more eggs, and bananas, too.”

  “Are you okay?” one of Kroger’s employees asked. Colt looked over at the kid talking to him.

  The world was still swimming, but only when he turned his head too fast. The rashy-faced kid with hair the color and texture of straw had a scared look on his face. He suspected the fear wasn’t for Colt’s well-being but for something bigger. The guy who beat him up…had he done something else? Had he hurt or threatened the staff?

  “I’m fine,” Colt said.

  “I’ll get you some more bananas and another carton of eggs,” the kid said, reaching for Colt’s basket.

  “I’ll pay for what’s in the basket, too,” he said. “This was my fault.”

  The employee looked at what was inside and said, “I’ll check with my manager, see if we can comp them.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Colt said, his legs under him now. Looking around for the scumbag and his girl, he wondered where they were, and if they were leaving.

  “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” the kid asked again.

  Colt nodded, then he turned to Connie. “I got it from here, thank you.”

  “I’m not sure, Colt.”

  “It’s okay.”

  He followed the kid, slowly at first, then more steadily. The more he walked, the more secure he felt, but that didn’t mean his head or nose felt better. He ran his tongue over his front teeth to make sure they weren’t loose or chipped. How many times did that guy ram his face into the ground? His teeth felt fine, but his head ached something fierce. For a second, he got really scared thinking about seeing them again, but then it passed, and he tried to keep his temper in check.

  Around the corner, he saw the Kroger kid putting six more bananas into a new basket. He turned to the glass windows, looked outside. The same ghoulish gathering of kids remained. Was the guy who beat him up with them? He knew the answer to that. Yes, of course. So what was he going to do when it came time to leave?

  The Kroger kid walked over to the eggs and set a fresh carton inside. When he came back, Colt was embarrassed about what had happened. He forced a smile anyway, fought back the darkness—that part of him that wanted to right this wrong with his fists.

  He looked out at the crowd of kids, counted seventeen of them. Even if he changed his tack, even if he dove headfirst into the darkness inside him and went after that idiot who took his hat, Colt was sure the other ghouls wouldn’t just stand by and let the beating happen.

  The Kroger kid handed Colt the new basket, took the old one from him, and said, “If you want to talk to Sheriff Garrity, I noted the time of the incident and we have video surveillance. My boss is cool, so he’ll probably let him watch it without a warrant.”

  “I appreciate that,” Colt said. “I have to pick up a bag of flour. But thank you for your kindness.”

  Seeing this kid’s response, Colt didn’t know what to make of it. He clearly felt bad for Colt, but teenage kids shouldn’t have to feel bad for grown adults. It was awkward and a bit pathetic on his end. As he walked back to the baking aisle, his head lowered in shame, he realized he had gotten his butt kicked by a guy he would have killed back in the war. He would have gutted him without a second thought.

  Slowing his pace, hoping the guys outside would leave, he got his bag of flour, then walked his groceries to the clerk to pay for them. A quick glance outside had him shaking his head in dismay. The scumbags were still outside. What gives?! He felt that familiar knot returning to his stomach. Was he about to get a second round with these clowns?

  He hoped not.

  The clerk must have known what had happened. She comped the purchase and said, “I’m so sorry, Mr. McDaniel. Those guys are jerks.”

  He realized he still had egg goo in his hair and blood crusting his nostrils.

  “Yeah, well, not everyone is as nice as you,” he said with a sad smile. “I appreciate you taking care of the groceries.”

  “Do you want me to have someone…escort you out? Because those guys…”

  “No, I’m okay, thank you.”

  Swallowing hard, he took his groceries, repressed his pride, and walked out into the parking lot.

  The twenty-something guy wearing Colt’s hat put his arm around his red-faced girl and pulled her close. Leaning his back against his Jeep, a smug, sanctimonious grin spread across his face.

  “Your hat fits fine on my head, although I had to loosen the strap. Big brains and all. Or perhaps you’ve just got a small head. Do you have a small head, old man?”

  Sickened by this slimy puke, but refusing to take the bait, Colt walked to his truck, mentally writing off the hat.

  “Alright then,” the guy called out. “We’ll see you later, egg head.”

  “Good one, Keaton,” someone laughed.

  Everyone else started to laugh and heckle him, but Colt brushed them off, ignoring the onslaught of ridicule. They weren’t worth it. Not with everything going on in the world today. And certainly not after receiving Walker’s prized rifle and the letter.

  Glancing back at them one last time, he set his jaw and felt that darkness trying to rise inside him. Shaking his head again, he thought, You can’t give in to that. If he let his inner animal out of its cage, if he channeled that person Walker told him to be, Colt would likely end up in jail, or beaten to death by a pack of maggots and incels at a freaking Kroger, which was about the most pathetic ending a good man like him could imagine. So he kept that animal caged, and he told himself the only way to deal with guys like these was to put them in his rearview mirror.

  Chapter Six

  Colt McDaniel

  On the way home, as Colt replayed the events in his mind, he realized he’d taken the idea of Southern charm as far as it would go. When guys like that flexed their egos, he’d have to watch what he said a bit better, maybe even tread a little lighter.

  Huffing out a depressed laugh, he could only imagine what his older brother would say to that kind of cowardly thinking. If the roles were reversed, Walker would have cut out his spleen.

  He rolled down the window, hung his head out, and blew his nose into the wind. It was clogging up with dried blood and getting hard to breathe. Or maybe that was the tissue swelling inside. The first thing he was going to do when he got home was take three ibuprofen. The second thing would be to avoid talking to Faith while sneaking out to the man-cave to watch some more fishing, or perhaps see if there was a boxing match on TV.

  He wouldn’t be able to do that, though. Not with his ever-observant wife. That had him scratching his head and plumbing the depths of his imagination. The question of what to tell Faith ran through this head endlessly. Eventually, he’d have to come clean.

  When he got to his house, he drove up the driveway and
saw the sheriff’s car parked in front of the porch. The lawman was waiting on the porch swing with a half-full glass of lemonade in his hand.

  “What happened to you?” Garrity asked, standing up and setting his drink aside.

  “Got caught flat-footed by a bunch of knuckle-draggers at the Kroger.”

  “Wow, they really got one over on you,” he said. He studied Colt’s face, and then he frowned. “Aren’t you going to say something like ‘you should see the other guy’?”

  Colt shook his head.

  “Tell me you at least got him with a shot or two,” Garrity probed.

  “I got sucker-punched, Lance. And then sucker-punched a few more times.”

  The sheriff fixed his eyes into a contemplative stare. “Walker said you have the same darkness in you that he had, but that you’re just better at tucking it away.”

  “I stuffed that part of me so far down into my soul, I’m afraid that even if I need it, I won’t be able to get a hold of it in time. Today is a perfect example.”

  “You want to file a complaint?”

  “Naw, just a bunch of passersby’s. You know the type. Little baby gangsters, but with old cars, questionable girls, and most of their teeth.”

  “Old cars you said?” Garrity asked, perking up.

  “Yeah. Junkyard types.”

  “You see a Jeep in the mix? Old, like from the sixties or seventies, bigger tires, hardtop?”

  He had seen the Jeep. “Yeah, I did.”

  “Off-road wheels?”

  “You know them?” Colt asked, making a casual attempt to fix his hair.

  “If they’re who I’m thinking about, I ran into them earlier today on the highway. They forced a woman in a Honda Pilot off the road, scaring her and her kid half to death.”

  Shaking his head, Colt said, “So, twice in one day…”

  Moving on, Garrity turned the conversation back to Colt’s brother. “Walker wanted me to come by with the box and give it to you, you know, just in case you…I mean, he just asked that…”

  Colt was watching him speak, and then the sheriff couldn’t find the words. Taking a deep breath, he feared he knew what this was about.

  “It’s my brother, isn’t it?” Colt said, setting the grocery bag down. “That’s why you’re here?”

  “Yeah,” Garrity said.

  Colt couldn’t look at him. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, turning his attention to the lush, green landscape surrounding them, he said, “I always loved the Spring here. It just smells fresh, you know? Like the world took a bath, powdered up, and is now ready to tackle summer with some grace.”

  “I never really saw it like that,” the lawman said, suddenly choked up.

  “What happened?” Colt asked, closing his eyes.

  “Some guys blew up the house he was staying in,” Garrity said. “But not before he put them through hell.”

  “Where was this at?” Colt asked.

  “My rental in Harrodsburg.”

  “Wait a minute,” Colt said, opening his eyes and turning to him. “He rented a house from you?”

  “For a couple of months. He asked me not to say anything, which is why I was weird earlier. But, also because…your brother and I grew pretty tight. I mean, after the Army, we stayed in touch, but lately…well, lately we’ve been talking.”

  Colt’s eyes started to water, but he couldn’t stop them. “How bad was it?” he asked.

  “Pretty bad,” Garrity said.

  He sniffed hard, then turned and coughed. He was either clearing his throat or trying to suppress his emotions. Colt suspected it was the latter.

  “He put most of them down, according to witnesses. It was a freaking war zone, Colt. Maybe ten or twelve dead from what I could see. The house is nothing but a pile of rubble, but the body count isn’t official. I’ll get the report maybe later today, or tonight. I can unofficially pass those details along to you, but only if you promise me they’ll never see the light of day.”

  “Yeah,” Colt said, wiping his eyes. “That would be good.”

  Inside, his heart was breaking. The last thing he and Walker had done before parting ways was argue with each other. He never wanted that. He hated arguing. But after that day, he’d been unable to find his brother. The guy made a science of living off the grid, or more likely, off of the continent entirely. Now he was dead.

  “What did he get mixed up in?” he heard himself ask the sheriff.

  “Some stuff,” he said. That was all he could say. “I shouldn’t tell you, because…well, I shouldn’t tell you. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  Slowly, accepting this, he nodded his head.

  “One day, maybe,” Garrity said. He drew a deep breath, blew it out hard, then joined Colt at the railing, staring out at the fields below. “Your brother loved to mix it up with guys. All he ever wanted was to be in a bad situation so he could fight his way out, you know?”

  “My dad said he was a cat,” Colt laughed. “You know how they always bat their toys into places they can’t get them out of, then they sit and try to get them back for like an hour? My brother was like that. Of course, my dad calling him a cat just made him mad.”

  “He thought he was calling him a pussy,” Garrity said with a grin.

  “Something like that,” Colt laughed.

  “What was in the package?”

  “His M82 Barrett.” He looked up and saw Garrity nodding his head like it made sense. “He left me a letter, too. He said we’re in trouble. I’m not sure if he meant us as a nation, me and Faith, or us and the kids.”

  “The man had a way of turning ‘vague’ into an art form,” Garrity said. “But if he sent you a warning, it’s probably best if you heed it. Especially in light of current events.”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled to himself, self-conscious of the blood in his nose and irritated at the egg mixture that had dried to his head. “I’ll get right on that.”

  The front door opened. Faith saw him and said, “What happened to your face?”

  “I’d best be going,” Garrity said.

  Colt stuck out his hand, Garrity took it in a firm grip, and the two men shook hands, something they’d never done before.

  “I appreciate the things you did for him,” he said. “I just wish I could have said good-bye.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out about these morons you had a run-in with, make sure this thing doesn’t blow out of control. Faith, the lemonade was amazing, thank you. And Colt, again, I’m sorry.”

  Colt gave a sad nod, felt that awful ache setting in at the thought of his brother being murdered.

  When Sheriff Garrity left, Faith asked, “Why are you bleeding?”

  “I had an episode,” he said under his breath.

  “What kind of episode?” she asked.

  He paused, not sure how to phrase it. No matter what he said, he was going to sound like a wuss.

  “Come on in, let me clean you up.”

  “It was the kind of episode where I turned the other cheek, but it didn’t work. Or maybe it did, I don’t know.”

  “You got beat up?” she asked, astounded.

  He smiled and said, “I prefer to think of it as de-escalating a bad situation with my face.”

  She gave him a deep, disappointed frown. “Sometimes, I swear Colt, you’re way too nice.”

  “I know,” he said. “My brother is dead.”

  She grew very still, the news hitting her hard. Her eyes became really glossy, but then she turned away, went and fetched a warm washcloth. When she returned, it was to wipe the egg and blood off his face. When he was clean again, she handed him two ibuprofen and a glass of water. “How’s your nose?”

  “Hurts.”

  She dabbed it carefully to catch that last bit of crusted blood.

  Deep down, the agony continued to spread. He suffered a sharp prickling behind his eyes, felt his shoulders start to shake, and then he began to cry. Faith never said a word. She di
dn’t need to. Instead, she held him, and he let his emotions run their course. When he finally stood back and wiped his eyes, Faith asked, “Where is your hat?”

  “The guy who was kind enough to feed me an egg and banana breakfast seemed to think it looked better on him than me.”

  “You love that hat,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “Why didn’t you take it back?” she asked.

  “He sucker-punched me.”

  “So?”

  “So, when I got to a place where I could get even, he had all his little friends around him. He looked like he was playing mob boss to the incel brigade, or whatever. He was just a scumbag.”

  “What’s an incel again?”

  “Involuntary celibate. A guy who can’t get laid. They get all angry at the world, start a kill list, end up shooting up schools, or blowing things up with pipe bombs.”

  “Nevertheless, I wish you’d learn to play rough again.”

  “Walker played rough,” he said.

  She considered this in silent contemplation. Then: “It’s so sad that he lost his way.”

  “It’s sad for all of us.”

  Looking at him, her face overly serious, she said, “Were they associated with the Hayseed Rebellion?”

  “The guys who killed him or beat me up?” he asked.

  “Either.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “This crap has to end, Colt. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Walker warned us about this. Now it’s happening.”

  “I know.”

  “Now he’s dead, and you got beat up.”

  “The two events aren’t intertwined,” he replied.

  “Sometimes, what we think is random is just our destiny unfolding.”

  “And what is my destiny?” he asked, starting to get bothered by her trying to tell him to be different when he didn’t want to be anything but who he was.

  “Your destiny is to stop taking the opposite position as Walker just because you guys did what you did in Afghanistan. You have to forgive yourself, Colt. You have to stop suppressing that which comes naturally to you.”