The Abandon Series | Book 2 | These Times of Retribution

by Schow, Ryan

  Leighton glanced at the ragged, bloodied torsos like they were nothing. Buck did the same. She didn’t stop him. Then again, she was the one who killed them, getting the jump on them before Hudson had even seen the ambush. Knowing they were almost killed had shaken Hudson, but seeing how dangerous Leighton was, he was pretty sure he should be shaken by her even more.

  When she got her balance, the blond glanced at Hudson and gave him a nod. She had dried blood all over the side of her face and blood-spatter on her clothes.

  To Buck, Leighton said, “Let’s go inside and get you something to eat.”

  Hudson saw the garden and decided to take a closer look. “Someone did a number on the crop.”

  He didn’t see the girl in the shed with the gun pointed at him. But Kenley did. Later she’d tell him she froze for a second, unable to speak. But then her paralysis broke. She whipped out her weapon and closed the distance between her and the threat. “Step out of there or I shoot you through the door,” Kenley said.

  Hudson spun around, saw the gun on him, and said, “Who do we have here?”

  The would-be shooter popped her head out enough to see Kenley and the gun pointed at her. She slowly lowered the gun, enough for Hudson to see the threat had been hollow. Hudson kept his weapon trained on her, though.

  “Come outside with both hands up.”

  The strawberry-blond looked a little trashy, and beaten up as well. Was she a squatter? A guest?

  He glanced over at Leighton, who was walking up the porch steps with Buck. Buck reached for the door handle, pressed his little thumb down, and pushed on the door. He couldn’t get it, though, so he turned and said to Leighton, “I can’t get it.”

  “I’ll help you,” she said with a smile.

  “Oh, God,” the strawberry blond said, sheer terror in her eyes.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Diesel Daley

  Diesel, Booger, and the two guys he picked up back in town rode into the rental house. When he arrived and saw the place empty, but shot up, he frowned.

  “He took half of Keaton’s head off with a sniper rifle or something,” Booger had said.

  “Let’s go see if there’s anything worth a shit left in this place,” Diesel groused. On the porch, there was a bloodstain where someone bled out. Remington. He shook his head, stepped around the dried pool, then walked inside the house he’d arranged for Keaton and his crew to rent.

  In the distance, he heard a couple of engines—a truck and a motorcycle. He popped his head out the door and said, “You two clowns got your eyes on?”

  “Yes, sir!” they both replied, giving him a measure of peace.

  “Find out what that’s about,” he said. He planned on checking on the house first, then crossing the street and dealing with Colt and his wife directly.

  He walked through the kitchen, which looked like it had been tossed, then told Booger to check out the rest of the house.

  Booger came back a second later and said, “They took our weapons.”

  He felt his jaw tighten and flick. “Head up the hill, kick in the McDaniel’s front door, kill everyone in sight.”

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “I’ve got your backs,” Diesel said, even though he wanted to see what happened before rushing in at the risk of his life.

  Booger said, “I’ve only got a few rounds.”

  “Make them count, then.”

  Outside, to the two clowns, he said, “You two go with Booger. When you’re done with Colt and his wife, I want them dragged out of there by their eyelids.”

  “I told you,” Booger said again, standing his ground, “I’ve only got a few rounds left.”

  Frowning, Diesel handed him his spare pistol, even though the mag only had a few rounds left. He kept the VP9 for himself. After Walker took the weapon the first time, he vowed never to let it out of his sight again.

  Booger took the weapon, then said to the newbies, “Let’s go.”

  When they went to the door and pounded on it, he stood by the roadside, the weight off of his stabbed foot. He waited with bated breath. Then the house erupted into a fiery explosion that echoed down the canyon so hard he sucked in a surprised breath. Moments later, the McDaniel house was on fire.

  Did Colt just blow up Booger and the boys?

  “Son of a bitch!”

  He wasn’t going to get personally involved, not with his bum foot, but it didn’t matter anymore. Throwing caution to the wind, he started across the road but stopped when he saw an approaching four-wheeler.

  The quad stopped in the road a hundred yards back, a brute with a big beard pulling a rifle off his back. Diesel couldn’t run for squat with his stabbed foot and his other injuries, so he dropped into a sloppy, improvised shooter’s stance and opened fire.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Trixie Millsap

  Trixie saw the blond girl and her son on the porch and freaked out. If they opened that door, they’d blow up. She quickly said, “Don’t touch that door! The house is wired to blow!”

  Kenley screamed, “Leighton, no!”

  But to Trixie, it looked like the girl was deaf. She didn’t even register the warning. Instead, she moved the boy over and took the handle.

  “Buck, stop her!” Kenley screamed.

  That was when they heard the motorcycles. The boy—Buck—glanced at Kenley, and then he looked down the hill. When he saw the motorcycles pulling into the driveway across the street, Buck tapped the pretty blond girl on the arm.

  She looked down at him; he pointed down the hill.

  Leighton followed his eyes, then turned to Kenley, who anxiously waved her over. Leighton held up her hand, asking her to wait for a second, then she reached for the handle again.

  Everyone screamed, “NO!” at the same time.

  Buck grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back, then looked back to the group for direction.

  Hudson ran up the porch and said, “Booby-trapped door. Your parents are gone.” It looked like the girl’s face went completely pale.

  Trixie hurried to the porch and said, “Those guys across the street, that’s Diesel Daley.”

  “Who is that?” Kenley asked.

  “He’s one of the founding members of the Hayseed Rebellion,” Hudson said, more than aware of who he was. Looking at Trixie, he said, “First off, how do you know that? And second, why would he be here?”

  “I know it’s him because I know the motorcycle,” she said.

  Hudson asked, “But how did you know he was one of the founders?”

  “I knew both founders personally,” Trixie said.

  “There were two?” Leighton asked.

  She nodded. “Diesel Daley and Walker McDaniel.”

  Leighton’s face turned bone white and she staggered backward. “Where is…where is Walker now?”

  “Diesel killed him,” she said. “We need to hide, because if he sees us…he can’t see us. The guy’s a freaking nightmare on wheels.”

  To Leighton, Kenley said, “Isn’t your last name McDaniel?”

  She nodded, but the news was still taking a toll. Chandra went to her, held her to keep her from falling down.

  “He’s…he’s my uncle,” Leighton finally said, tears bubbling in her eyes.

  “We need to go,” Trixie said. “I’m serious, we need to hide, now!”

  Ezra and Buck ran back to the truck with Kenley and Hudson in tow. Chandra helped Leighton until the girl was alright on her own. They had just managed to sneak around the back of the house, hiding behind Ezra’s truck, when three guys crossed the road and started up the driveway.

  Hudson scooched down, pulled out his gun, and prepared to shoot them, but Trixie said, “Wait.”

  “Wait for what?” he hissed.

  “Gator rigged this place to blow.”

  “You know Gator?” Leighton asked, tears running down her face.

  Trixie turned and said, “He and Colt helped me.”

  The three guys went to
the front door, knocked, their guns out. No one answered, so they knocked again. The three of them looked at each other, then one of them moved past the other two and opened the door.

  The second the door opened, a blast of heat, fire, and shrapnel blew the men’s bodies apart. Ragged strips of clothing and flesh shot out everywhere, the whole affair like a bloody party favor. Red gore soaked the ground, the bodies reduced to hundreds of burning chunks.

  “My house!” Leighton said. She got up and started for the house, but Hudson grabbed her and shook his head, no.

  Down the hill, Trixie saw Diesel walk into the street, gun in hand, a blank look on his face.

  “Oh, my God,” she said.

  “What?” Chandra asked. The raven-haired beauty was holding Buck, who was tucked so far inside of her they looked like one body. He was crying, holding one of his ears.

  “He’s coming,” Trixie heard herself say.

  The very sound of those words in her ears chilled Trixie’s blood. She began to hyperventilate, thinking of who he was, of what he had done. The man would kill you or buy you dinner. He’d get you a date or he’d cut your dick off if you disappointed him.

  In the street, Diesel suddenly turned, then dropped down and started shooting.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Gator

  When Gator saw the man, he knew it was too late. Regardless, he hauled the rifle off his back, leveled it on the man, and fired too fast. The creep dropped sideways, fired the second shot. Thankfully it went wide. Gator’s next shot didn’t. He hit the man right in the gut.

  Falling backward, trying to keep his balance, he dropped his pistol, then he sat down and just stared at Gator.

  Gator got off the four-wheeler, walked to the man with a pistol in hand. He glanced up at the burning house and frowned. The frown turned to a smile when he turned and saw Trixie appear at the top of the driveway.

  She started down the driveway, breaking into a jog. Gator wanted to tell her to stay back, but he was pretty sure he’d punched this guy’s ticket.

  “That’s Diesel Daley!” she cried out from ten yards away.

  “So?” he said, not sure how she knew him.

  “He’s the head of the Hayseed Rebellion.”

  “The original HR?” he asked, astounded. She nodded. “You know him?”

  “‘Course she knows me,” the man grumbled.

  She arrived, out of breath, but at his side. Diesel’s skin was badly burned, his face full of pain.

  “I know him enough to know he’s a monster.”

  “Look at you, hussie,” Diesel spat, wincing from the effort. “All filled with useful information and whatnot.”

  “Can we use him?” he asked Trixie.

  She nodded her head and said, “In the movies, when they take a prisoner—someone really bad like this cockroach—he always manages to turn the tables and get away. Don’t let him turn the tables, Gator. Don’t let him get away.”

  “This ain’t the movies, dummy,” Diesel said. “And I ain’t no cockroach.”

  Gator glanced up the driveway, saw what looked like Leighton, a girl with black hair, a thick cowboy and a boy, as well as a redhead and some other dude.

  Returning his attention to his prey, he knelt down, grabbed hold of the guy, rolled him over on his belly. Diesel started cursing and fighting, so Gator stood up and stomped on his head, kicking some of the fight out of him. A moment later, Diesel started to complain about the pain in his gut, right where Gator had shot him.

  “That’s lead poisoning, Diesel Daley, soon to be deceased head of the Gayseed Rebellion.”

  Diesel started to say something, but Gator dropped onto his back with a knee and grabbed an arm. He wrestled it out in the open without much fight. “Let me help you with your stomach pain.”

  He pulled out his pistol, shot him right in the elbow, then sat back and listened to the screaming. He did the same thing with the other arm, and he felt just as good. It was like he was drinking a bottle of fine wine. After a minute, Gator rolled him back over so he could see his face.

  “Are you really like this?” Trixie asked.

  “Cruel and decisive, yet strangely attractive?” he asked her out of the side of his mouth.

  “Something like that,” she said.

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  To Diesel, he said, “Can’t feel the pain in your tummy now can you, Sunshine?”

  Diesel mumbled something unintelligible, which might have been a few well-placed threats and some vicious f-bombs, although he wasn’t quite sure because he was going into shock.

  When the Hayseed homeboy was done fighting, Gator looked at Trixie and said, “I can’t tell if you’re insulting me, or complimenting me.”

  Trixie looked at him funny, almost like she’d just snapped out of a daze.

  “What?” she asked, stricken.

  “You asked if I was really like this,” Gator said. “I’m asking if that was an insult or a compliment.”

  “I meant it as a compliment,” she said. “I wish I could be like that.”

  “Vicious?”

  “Unrelenting,” she said.

  “You can be.”

  “How?”

  “If you want to take charge of your life, then put an end to this.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded, never more sincere. She looked down at Diesel, his arms useless, shot through the gut, a bloom of red expanding in his stomach.

  “Tell him how badly he screwed this country up,” Gator said.

  “You’re a disgrace to your country,” she said.

  Diesel started to laugh at her.

  “Tell him he ain’t leading squat in the future and that his little band of morons is all but extinct,” Gator said.

  Instead of speaking, she dropped down on his throat with her knee, caught herself to keep from falling over, then put all her weight over her body, crushing his Adam’s apple.

  Gator watched the man squirm and gurgle; Trixie found her perfect balance.

  “Take your time,” he said. “Savor the flavor.”

  The man didn’t die right away. He was dying though, painfully, his face a blistering red.

  “If you watch his eyes,” Gator said, “you’ll be able to see the blood vessels bursting.”

  “Already happening,” she said. Speaking to Diesel, she said, “You and Keaton took my life away, and my…my…when you die—just like Keaton died—it’ll be mine again.”

  When Diesel finally died, the strawberry-blond got up and said, “I think…I said those things…but…but, I—”

  She started to cry, so Gator held her. She wasn’t one for emotion, though, as evidenced by her ability to pull herself back together. Fixing her hair, she looked at him and said, “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For falling apart for a minute.”

  He wiped a tear from her cheek and said, “There’s nothing wrong with that.” Looking up the hill, he said, “I take it you met Leighton McDaniel?”

  “The blond?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “I’d say it’s good that she’s here,” Trixie said, still trying to dab her eyes, “but when her parents try to find her, if they don’t give up looking, they could be out there forever.”

  “Let’s hope Colt is smarter than that.”

  Trixie looked like she had something on her mind. He waited for her to find the words. Then: “When Diesel took my daughter, all I wanted to do was get her back. He gave me to Keaton, who said he’d straighten me out. But later, when my daughter sunk her teeth into Diesel’s hand, he shot her in the head. He didn’t even think about it, he just shot her then said to get rid of her, like she was an old blanket or a mangy dog.”

  Her eyes were overflowing with tears again. Looking down, she said, “See?”

  In the meat of Diesel’s hand, between his thumb and forefinger, were four perfect teeth marks formed of scar tissue.

  Now he understood the rage, t
he pain. He pulled her close, held her tight. “We can’t stay here, not with the house on fire. We need to get up to my place.”

  “And then what?” she sobbed into his chest.

  “Pray this train doesn’t go completely off the rails.”

  When they started to walk up the driveway, she took his hand and the two of them went and met Leighton.

  “Gator,” Leighton said. She grabbed him and hugged him tightly.

  He was glad that Leighton was there, but he wondered about Colt. If he didn’t find Leighton, he’d head into Ohio in search of Rowan. With his only son in the big city and Constanza pregnant, they wouldn’t dilly-dally long, but Gator knew the decision to leave NKU would eat at both him and Faith.

  “Where are my parents?” Leighton asked.

  “Headed for you first, then for Rowan and Constanza. If we hurry, maybe we can catch them.”

  A grave expression fell over her face and she looked like the color bled from her cut and bloodied features. She started shaking her head, her body trembling, panic bleeding into her eyes.

  “I…I can’t go back through that. I won’t.”

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Bad things in Lexington. And bad things with the people fleeing Cincinnati,” she said. “It’s a waking nightmare we almost didn’t survive.”

  She glanced back at the others, who wouldn’t look back at her.

  “Is that why you’ve got blood all over you?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “What exactly happened?”

  “One day I’ll tell you,” she said. “All I can say is Walker would be proud.”

  When she started to cry, he lifted her face to his and said, “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m scared for my parents.”

  “Your dad is in the right headspace,” he said. “The dark side of the McDaniel blood is back in charge. That makes him very dangerous to others, and it means he’ll protect your mother and his family with his life.”

  She started to nod, sniffling but pulling up her tears, so to speak. Then she looked up at him and said, “I let that same darkness into me, Gator. That same dark McDaniel blood, it’s in me now.”