by John Grit
“Like my dad says, you have only one life, act like you value it. I used to think he didn’t know anything. That was before the world went to hell.”
Ramiro’s smile broadened. “Ah yes, every son starts out worshiping his father, then goes through a stage when he thinks he has the worst father in the world.” He cleared his throat. “Then he grows up.” He jumped back across the ditch and into the road. Heading for the still running truck, he spoke over his shoulder. “We will go to the farm first. You two need to be with your people, protecting them.”
Nate climbed onto the back of a flatbed. He made sure Brian sat down just behind the cab, where he would be best protected from bullets.
The convoy rattled along at fifteen to twenty miles per hour for many miles, coming to a sharp curve in the road where a creek crossed under a decrepit bridge. Nate was standing, watching the woods on both sides of the road, looking over the top of the cab. He pounded on the roof. “Stop!”
Ramiro hit the brakes. He yelled out the side window. “What is wrong?”
Nate jumped from the truck onto the dirt road. “This is a bad place.”
“A bad place?”
“I mean it’s a perfect place for an ambush. Wait until I have scouted the area before you approach the bridge.”
Ramiro had his head half out of the window, looking back at Nate. “We went through here the other night with no problem. Any place along the road could be an ambush. We will never get there if we keep stopping.”
Brian jumped down and walked into the road, away from the truck. He stood there, looking around.
Nate took several quick steps, reached out and grabbed Brian by the shoulder, pulling him back to the truck. “Stay down, beside the wheel.”
Brian’s eyes rounded, he held the carbine tight. “Did you see something?”
Nate reached over, grabbed Brian’s pack, and handed it to him. While putting his own pack on, he said, “Buzzards. On the blind side of the curve. I smell trouble.”
Brian looked up for the first time and saw the buzzards. “There are bodies around from the fighting before.”
“No. It’s a fresh kill,” Nate said.
Ramiro started to open the truck door, its squeaking sounding loud in the silent tension. Just as he put his left foot down onto the dirt road, a bullet struck the windshield. He slid out of the seat, hit the dirt on his side, and rolled under the truck.
Everyone on the flatbed jumped down and sought cover. Several in the other trucks raced into the woods. Bullets screamed by, impacting in the dry clay down the road. One man grunted, stumbled, and fell. “Son of a bitch!” He held his side. Blood flowed between his fingers. He tried to crawl to the ditch, but collapsed after moving only three feet.
“One rifle so far,” Nate yelled out. “He’s not a very good shot, but is close enough to get lucky. Don’t expose yourself if you want to live.”
Brian pressed his body against the truck’s back wheel. “It’s going to be hours before dark.”
Nate turned his head to check on Brian. “Relax. We’re going to be here a while.”
Brian blew out a lung full of air. “Yeah.”
Ramiro was forced to yell over the chatter of the other men. “What does this killer want?”
“Good question, but who knows?” Nate answered. “It’s hard to believe a lone gun would take on a force this large. There must be more than one.” He got up on his haunches.
“I’m afraid the shooter is keeping us pinned down so a killer squad can come up on us through the woods.” He prepared to jump up and run. “On the count of three, have your men lay down cover fire. I’m going to try for the woods.” Nate looked at Brian and saw him coiled and ready. He pointed, his voice rising. “You stay where you are!”
Brian was not ready to give in. “I can help.”
Too afraid to chance Brian not obeying him, Nate got his binoculars out and scanned the trees. He had a feeling the sniper was shooting from up high. He could not be that far away. The road curved to the left, limiting the distance to the farthest trees.
He swept his binoculars slow and smooth, scanning the trees up high, finding nothing. He scanned lower, just six feet above the ground. He stopped short, dropped the binoculars, and brought his rifle up to his shoulder. Two seconds later, he fired.
Ramiro yelled, “You got him! I saw him fall out of the tree on the far side of the curve.” He started crawling out from under the truck.
“Stay where you are,” Nate said. “I still need you and your men to provide cover fire while I run for the woods. We don’t know for sure he was alone.”
“Say when.” Ramiro got ready to shoot.
“Tell your men to get ready.” Nate set himself to jump up and run. He pointed at Brian. “You stay there. Don’t move an inch!”
Brian nodded.
Ramiro spoke in Spanish and then English, telling his men to be ready to provide cover fire for Nate at his command.
Nate yelled, “Now!”
Everyone but Brian shot. He could not see from where he sat behind the rear wheel of the truck.
Nate ran across the road and disappeared into the woods. To Brian’s relief, no one shot at his father or the others.
Twenty minutes went by. Brian grew more impatient with each passing moment. He kept checking his watch. Nearly an hour spent in silence but for the heavy breathing of several men who had taken refuge behind the truck eroded Brian’s resolve to obey his father. He scooted around and got on his stomach, trying to see by looking under the truck. He was just in time to see his father stagger out of the woods where the bend in the road started and fall to his knees.
“Dad!” Brian exploded from around the truck and ran all-out toward his father.
Ramiro started to yell for him to get back behind the truck, but stopped short. Brian was already halfway there. Instead, he shot into the woods a few times in case someone was out there aiming at the two. Most of the other men followed his example.
Brian stopped a few feet from his father, expecting to find blood, but there was none. Instead, he saw bewilderment and pain on his face.
Nate’s eyes were distant. “It was Carrie. I killed her.”
Brian could not comprehend what his father was telling him. He stood there frozen, staring.
Nate dropped his rifle and opened his arms.
Brian rushed to his father. “It wasn’t your fault. How could you know?” He blinked, and then his eyes rounded. “She was shooting at us.”
Nate held his son. “I’m tired, Brian. I’m tired.” He held his son to him for several minutes, seemed to catch his breath, and released him. He stood. “Tell them there are no other shooters and that they can drive on up here.”
“What happened?” Brian looked up at him, still not understanding.
Nate touched his son’s face with his callused open hand, as if he were a small child again. “She broke. I guess she couldn’t live with it any longer. For some reason…I fear what we will find at the bunker.”
Brian backed away, shaking his head. “No! She wouldn’t.” His eyes looked inward. “They would never let her get her hands on a gun.”
“We don’t know what happened yet. All we know is she is out here alone, she shot at us, and I killed her.”
Brian looked up into the sky to his left. “The buzzards.”
“We’ll find out.” Nate walked up to him and put his left arm over his shoulder. “I’m sorry about being weak a minute ago.” He shook his head and sighed. “All I did was make it worse for you. It didn’t change anything. It’s just that killing her…I thought she was getting better, and now this.”
The rattle of trucks approaching alerted them. They turned and watched Ramiro drive the lead truck, heading toward them. All the men had left the woods and climbed on. They surmised the danger was over.
Ramiro opened the squeaky door and got out. “You two look like you have seen the devil himself.”
Nate swallowed and cleared his throat. “I
just killed one of our own people. A teenage girl who had been through hell. She wasn’t right in the head. I don’t know why she shot at us, why she was out here, or what has happened at our place.” He looked at Brian. “I fear the worst.”
Ramiro made the sign of the cross. “I am sorry.”
“So am I,” Nate said. “Will you bury her while I scout around the curve?” He pointed. “She’s just back in the trees over there.”
“Yes.” Ramiro nodded. “We will do that, and pray over her.”
“Thank you.” Nate motioned for Brian to follow. “We will be back in an hour or so.”
The two of them disappeared into the woods.
Nate walked fifty yards and stopped.
Brian caught up with him.
“I’m not expecting trouble,” Nate said, keeping his voice low. “There probably are no more people out here. It’s the buzzards that have me worried. We can never be too careful, so stay back thirty yards except where the woods are too thick for you to see me. Even then, stay back as much as possible.”
Brian nodded. “You think she might have killed someone out here?”
“All I know is there is something or someone dead over there.”
They made their way through the woods, Nate stopping often to look and listen, never moving fast, and always with fluid motion.
Brian followed behind, watching his father and learning more about hunting the most dangerous prey. He kept his thumb on the carbine’s safety switch.
Nate kept back from the woods’ edge, swinging close enough to see from the woods every thirty minutes and checking the road. When they were on the back side of the curve, he could see half a mile down the dirt road. Nothing moved but the buzzards above.
After they got closer to the area the buzzards circled, Nate was able to see there were not one but four items of interest for the buzzards on the ground. He could not see what had died, but knew their approximant location in the weeds beside the road because of the mass of buzzards moiling around and over them, hiding whatever was dead from sight.
They made their careful way, moving closer.
Nate stopped and used his binoculars to scan the area, not dwelling on the dead. The dead cannot kill you. Besides, he could not see that close to the ground because of the weeds and the mass of buzzards feeding and fighting each other for scraps.
There were more buzzards perched in trees. “Nothing moving out there but buzzards as near as I can tell.” He let the binoculars hang from his neck.
Brian stood behind a three-foot-thick pine tree. He had the carbine shouldered and at the low ready position.
“Use that pine for cover and overwatch while I see what has died.” Nate took one step and stopped. I will come back to you. There is no need for you to move from this spot.”
Brian nodded as Nate walked straight across the road and stopped when he was close enough to see what was lying rotting in the sun. The flapping of the buzzards’ wings as they reluctantly took off alerted other buzzards perched in nearby trees, and they too took off to rise above and circle in a thermal draft. He turned and headed down the road to see what was under the next mass of buzzards.
Again, Nate took a quick look, keeping his distance, and went down the road to the next buzzard gathering.
The next and last gathering of buzzards was behind a burned-out pickup. He took a quick look after scaring the buzzards away and headed back to Brian.
When he got within twenty yards of Brian, he shook his head. “Just dogs.” He kept walking, into the woods, toward Brian. “They probably attacked her. I noticed she had a rag tied around one hand. The country is probably full of starving dogs roaming the countryside in packs.”
Brian took his hat off and mopped his forehead with his jacket sleeve. “We still don’t know why she shot at us and what she was doing out here.”
“But we have an idea.” Nate put a heavy hand on Brian’s shoulder. “It will be tomorrow before we know. Until then, don’t let it eat you up. There’s no point in going through it but once.”
“What if they’re alive but hurt? We should get there fast.”
“We would kill ourselves just to save a little time that will make no difference.” Nate motioned with his head for Brian to follow. “We will ask them to take us to the farm and then we will go straight down to the river and use the canoe. It’s the fastest way.”
~~~~
Nate and Brian found no sign anyone had been at the farm. All doors and windows were still secure from weather if not thieves and vandals.
They spent only a few minutes there before saying their good-byes to Ramiro and the others and going on to the river, moving quickly and quietly through the woods. They found the canoe where they left it hidden in brush during one of their many trips between the farm and Mel’s bunker.
Nate handed Brian a paddle. “I don’t like traveling by canoe in broad daylight.”
“I know, but we need to get there as fast as possible.” Brian sat in the rear.
Nate sensed Brian was afraid he would wait until dark before traveling farther, but he had no intention of waiting. He shoved off and leaned into his first stroke with the paddle. “Keep your eyes and ears working and stay quiet. We will keep to the right side of the river until the sun is low and producing a shadow on the west side, then we’ll cross and hug the western shore.”
Brian said nothing but put all his strength into paddling. They found the river current to be weaker than usual and made good progress, reaching the creek in record time. Nate thought they would be there before sundown. Impatient, Brian kept the canoe going too fast for safety. It had gotten to the point Brian was doing all the paddling. Nate just tried to steer clear of snags.
Nate finally spoke up to warn him. “You’re pushing it too hard. There are too many submerged logs. We’re going to be in the water if you keep it up. Slow down.”
“It’ll be dark soon.”
“We will be there before dark. I want to know too, Brian, but it either is or it isn’t. Getting there ten minutes sooner will not change a thing. Turn this canoe over, and we will get there later, not sooner.”
He listened to his father’s words, and they made it farther up the creek than ever before until they reached a point where the creek became so choked with logs and other debris they could go no farther. Nate turned the canoe toward shore that was only four feet away, and where the creek was narrow.
Nate got out and pulled the canoe halfway onto dry land with Brian still in it. “We’ll have to walk the rest of the way.”
They traveled at three miles per hour. Still, Nate refrained from bulling his way through thick brush and making enough noise to alert anyone in the area.
Sunlight streamed in at a steep angle, struggling to penetrate the treetop canopy. Wide areas of the forest were cloaked in dark shade, other, much smaller spots, were bathed in warm yellow sunlight, casting freckles on the forest floor. Nate avoided the light. Shade is life when being hunted in the woods. He did not know if danger lurked near or not, but he did know they were getting close to the bunker. The closer they got, the slower he walked. Brian followed impatiently behind.
Stopping in mid-step, Nate lifted his nose and took in the smell of food cooking, along with the smell of hickory smoke. They're alive! Maybe. He motioned for Brian to come closer. Whispering in Brian’s ear, he said, “You overwatch for me. I’ll make my way around to the front of the bunker and yell out while staying behind cover in the woods.”
Brian nodded. “Someone is cooking. I smell it. They must be okay.”
Nate shook his head in disagreement. “We still do not know who is in there. I don’t hear the kids playing.” After placing Brian where he wanted him, Nate started his stalk.
Slowly easing his way through the woods, Nate turned to his right, heading for the front of the bunker. Something on the ground caught his attention.
Blood.
On closer examination of the forest floor, he found drag marks and more blood
. Then he found another blood trail and more drag marks. His heart jumped up into his throat. Following the trails led him to a depression that seemed to be filled with loose debris. The branches had been cut from nearby brush. He pulled the covering aside and saw a little hand. Frantically, he pulled more of the covering debris away and found what he was afraid he would find. He staggered back, his chest heaving. All of them, Martha, Cindy, Tommy, and Synthia, lay dead in front of him. There was a man too. He appeared to have been nearly disemboweled. Nate had an idea what happened to him and what had caused Carrie to go off the deep end. His grief already overcome by rage, he headed back to Brian, dreading what he was going to have to tell him.
Brian knew as soon as he saw his father’s face. “No!”
Nate put a hand over his son’s mouth. “Quiet. Carrie got one of them, but we don’t know how many more there are.” He could see hate washing over Brian. “That’s my job.” He motioned for Brian to follow. “We will back off until we learn what we are up against.”
“They’re dead,” Brian hissed.
Nate turned to him. “Sshh.”
They moved back into the darkening woods as the day died and faded into night.
When Nate found a big root they could sit on and stay off the wet ground, he stopped, took his pack off, and told Brian to do the same. They held each other in silent grief. The night did not compare to the darkness in their hearts.
Nate thought out loud. “If there’s only one left, he’s got to sleep sometime.”
Brian wiped his face. “But the bastard’s in the bunker.”
“If we catch him sleeping, we can get to him. We could shoot him through a loophole. The trouble is there’s no way to open the door if he has it barred. We can’t kill him while he’s inside, or we’ll never get back in that bunker again.”
“Might be able to put something through a loophole and lift the bar out of the hooks. It would sure be a lot safer to shoot the bastard through a loophole while he sleeps.”
“I’m thinking there is more than one. We could shoot two just as easily, but I fear we would never be able to lift that heavy bar off the hooks by sticking something through a hole. It would have to be a long rod, and the leverage would be wrong. I doubt there’s a rod in the cave or at the farm. There’s some rebar in the barn, but it’s not long enough. No. We will just have to wait for them to open the door for us.”
