by J. B. Havens
“Ugh, woman, you have so much blood and dirt in your hair it’s going to take a good dunking to get it all out.”
Shockingly cold water ran down my face in rivulets, finding their way onto my neck and chest. “Cold…”
“I know. No help for it. The cold will help with the swelling anyway. Do you have any painkillers here?”
“Yeah, somewhere. Kitchen prolly…” I trailed off. Not bothering to finish my sentence. The frigid water felt good now that I’d gotten used to it.
I let myself drift off, lulled into a half-sleep by the rhythmic movement of the cloth on my face and neck.
Chapter 7
Tucking the blanket around her shoulders, Richard resumed his vigil. It was okay if she slept, but he needed to wake her often. Make her drink water and keep an eye on her pupil reactions. If she had brain damage there wasn’t much he could do for her anyway.
Her dark hair was sweaty and still dirty, sticking to her scalp. There wasn’t much more he could do outside of a full bath. He’d wiped down her face, neck, and arms, but didn’t want to change her clothes. She’d be pissed that he’d undressed her, whether he liked boys or not.
His stomach rumbled with hunger and he remembered the dinner he’d been set on making before their visitor showed up. Heading back into the kitchen, he found a pot and beef stock. Adding vegetables and dried beef he started a fire in the stove. The heat was intense, but there was no help for it. He didn’t want to risk a fire outside. The broth in the soup would be good for Molly anyway.
His mind wandered back to the body outside and the job that lay ahead of him. Making sure the fire was good to go and dinner wouldn’t burn, he quietly left the cabin. With no shovel that he knew of available, there was no way to bury the man. But neither did he want the corpse anywhere near the cabin. Animals would be drawn in by the scent of blood and rotting flesh.
The body was already drawing flies, luckily there wasn’t much smell. Yet. Gritting his teeth, Richard grabbed the man’s ankles and pulled. Ace wasn’t big, but dead weight was called that for a reason. He was damn heavy. Grunting and heaving, he dragged the body in to the woods. Sweat was pouring off him, soaking his shirt and even the waistband of his pants. Unwilling to strip down for this filthy task, he kept tugging and walking backward.
The muscles in the small of his back were screaming and his knees ached with the force he was putting on them. The cabin had long since been hidden from view by the thick trees. Looking around, he tried to find a depression in the ground, anything in which to put the body. To his left was a tree that looked as if it’d fallen decades prior. It was hollow and covered in moss and ferns.
“Perfect.” Dropping Ace like a sack of rocks, he stomped on the log, breaking open a space big enough to stuff the rapist. The cracking of dry and rotting wood was overly loud in the otherwise quiet forest. Birds took flight and squawked their displeasure.
Grabbing the body around the middle, he dumped him head first into the log. Pushing and shoving on his back to get the rest of him to pop inside. Shoving downward Richard got the legs in.
“Fucking finally.” Glancing around, there were branches with leaves still attached all over. Picking them up, he filled in the space in the log. Packing the material inside as tightly as he could. You’d have to be standing right over the log and looking down to spot the body. A person walking through would never see him.
“Not that I’m worried about a murder charge. Some backwoods, hillbilly rapist isn’t going to be missed by the cops. Well, not that there are cops anymore.” Talking to himself was out of character. The last few days had been chaotic at best. A little mental slip here and there was expected.
Once he arrived back at the cabin, he stripped down to his boxers and washed at the pump. The water was icy cold and he was grateful his boyfriend wasn’t here to see the unfortunate result of cold water on his male anatomy.
His mind tried to flash back to the last time he’d seen Greg. Refusing to follow that painful train of thought, he went back inside. Quickly dressing upstairs he descended back to the main room to check on Molly. Her breathing was steady and even.
“Soup is burning,” she mumbled without opening her eyes.
“Shit!” Running over to the stove, he grabbed the handle of the pot only to drop it on the floor. Searing pain enveloped his palm. “Fuck. Shit. Dammit. Fucking hell. Fucking mother fucker.” The curses kept pouring out. The soup was all over the floor and his hand was already blistering.
“Sounds like it hurts.” Molly’s laughter filled voice just irked him even more.
“It was your fucking soup! Now I have to start all over. Where’s the first aid kit?” He was clutching his hand helplessly. The intense pain was making his eyes water.
“Under the sink. Where else would it be?”
“You must be feeling better. Your sarcasm button is still working. Keep pressing that shit, woman. You can kill the next rapist all by yourself.” Locating the kit and jerking it open, he smeared burn cream on his palm. The relief was immediate, but short-lived. Carefully wrapping gauze around his hand, he stood perfectly still attempting to will the pain away. Burns suck… so bad.
“I killed the first one. You got the second. We’re even.”
“Fair enough.” She heaved a heavy sigh and sat up. Followed by immediately laying back down. “Okay, that was stupid. But not as dumb as you grabbing that pot.”
“Bitch.”
“Dick head.”
“Oh, because I haven’t heard that one before. Real original. Go the fuck back to sleep. It’s obvious your brain is fine.”
“You’re so busy being pissed at me that you forgot about your hand though, didn’t you?” Laughing softly, she kicked the blanket off and settled back into the couch. Presumably to go back to sleep.
Realizing she was right, he swore some more and knelt to clean up the mess. He was starving and was ready to eat something cold, right out of the can. Wouldn’t be the first time.
After eating he climbed into the loft and collapsed into bed. The sun was just beginning to descend on the second full day of martial law. Two days that had changed his life and that of his country forever. Remembering seeing a radio in the bunker, tomorrow he set himself the task of trying to discover what was going on in the rest of the country.
Chapter 8
The pain woke me first. Followed quickly by buzz-saw loud snoring. If I’d been in the loft, I’d put a pillow over his face. As it was, I had an urgent need to pee.
Carefully holding my head with both hands as to keep it from falling off and rolling away, I sat up by inches. Nausea returned, but quickly abated.
“Okay, feet next.” Slowly swinging them around, I gingerly stood. “Seems okay…” One step, followed by another and I wasn’t falling down or throwing up. All good things. I picked up the pace, needed to get to the outhouse sooner rather than later.
Finishing up, I noticed the flattened grass where Ace’s body had been. Richard must have taken care of it while I was out yesterday. The light wasn’t that bright, but it was burning my retinas all the same. My mouth was dry and sore with a nasty taste coating my tongue. God only knew how bad my breath smelled.
Back inside, I dipped a glass into the bucket of water and rinsed my mouth several times. I had toothpaste here somewhere but this was a good start. Spotting a bottle of Tylenol on the shelf near the stove, I swallowed three. The gap in my teeth was sore and swollen, running my tongue over it I checked to make sure it was knocked out cleanly. Last thing I wanted to deal with was an abscessed, half-broken tooth. My tongue touched an empty hole. Good.
The snoring stopped, followed by a cough and feet hitting the floor above me. The ladder rattled as he descended.
“Morning, sleeping beauty.” I couldn’t help but pick on him.
“Morning yourself. If I’m sleeping beauty then who are you? You look like the troll from Billy Goats Gruff.”
“Funny. I need a bath, I know. I smell like blood and wor
se.”
“Just stay downwind from me, okay?”
Giving him the finger, I grabbed a toothbrush and set about getting the awful taste out of my mouth.
“I saw a radio downstairs. We should try and figure out what sort of state the country is in.”
Spitting and rinsing, I turned around to face him. “I forgot about the radio. Hope it works.” Leading the way to the rug, I kicked it aside. Without being asked, Richard lifted the hatch and led the way down into the bunker. A small amount of light filtered in from above and the beam of Richard’s flashlight allowed me to see just enough to find the breakers. The box was on the wall beside the stairs, fairly well hidden. Flipping the black switches, lights buzzed and blinked on in a row down the entire bunker. The LED bulbs were good for years and drew very little power.
“What the?” Turning in surprise, Richard’s red hair looked almost orange under the bright lights.
“There is a generator in the other room. It’s soundproofed so you can’t hear it. It’s old and there isn’t much fuel so it’s only for emergencies. Not every-day use.”
Richard was looking around like a kid in a candy store. The radio was on the pseudo kitchen table. “Got it.” Sitting down at the small table, he expertly turned on the radio and began tuning it. A low hum filled the bunker and static crackled.
As if by magic, a voice rumbled out from the radio.
“This is Charlie, can anyone hear me? Over.”
“Charlie, we read you. Over.”
“Hey man! Boy is it nice to hear someone’s voice. I’m in Chicago, where are you? Over.”
“Backwoods of PA. What’s it like out there? Over.”
There was a long pause before Charlie responded. “I’ve been hearing reports from all over. Here half the city is burning. What’s not on fire is being looted by gangs. You can’t go out. The stink of the bodies and smoke is terrible. It’s damn dangerous out there. L.A. is gone. Riots are keeping the Guard busy in all the major cities I’ve heard from. Most small towns are silent or… just gone. America is burning.”
“Dammit. I was afraid of that. You should get out of the city if you can. Over.”
“No can do, my friend. I’m in a wheelchair, have been since ‘Nam. No, sir, ‘ol Charlie ain’t going anywhere. Over.”
“Fuck.” It was like a punch to the gut. My beloved country, the one that my father sacrificed so much for, is crumbling into ashes. In a matter of two days, the United States has descended into chaos and anarchy. Everything our founding fathers fought and died for was gone in an instant. Hundreds of years of greatness falling to the wayside under the boot of a dictator and its own people.
“Thanks Charlie. Hang tight man. Over and out.” Richard flipped the switch and the buzzing static stopped, silence once again weighing on us. “What now?”
“Not much we can do. We have food here, but not enough to last the winter. We need to hunt and do what we must to ensure our survival. We have to bolster the defenses and prepare to defend this place. It’s unlikely anyone will find us here, but it’s best to be prepared.”
“I agree.” Resting his head on his arms, he groaned. “The world has gone mad.”
“The world was always mad, Richard, it has just finally slipped its leash.”
The End.
About the Author
J.B. Havens lives in rural Pennsylvania, and is a wife and mother of three, a boy and twin girls. She has a love for a good cheesesteak and anything that involves coffee or chocolate. When she’s not caring for her family, she is busy researching and writing her next novel.
Other Books by J.B. Havens
Steel Corps Series
Core of Steel
Hardened By Steel
Forged By Steel
Beyond the Night
Connect With Me!
Facebook - www.facebook.com/jbhavens
Twitter @havens_b
Or on her website www.jbhavens.weebly.com, where you can find character bios and even a short story or two. She loves to hear from readers, so reach out and tell her what you think!
