Broken Tide | Book 6 | Breakwater

by Richardson, Marcus

  "Morgan," the bedraggled man at the front said. "You from around here?" he asked as they neared the pile.

  "Yeah…I think. If I knew where here was."

  "I heard one of the guards called this place the Braaten Forest Preserve. Never heard of it myself. I'm from Beaufort."

  “Braaten Forest Preserve?” Reese said as he missed a step. He was even closer to home than he’d figured. His heart raced and his hands grew sweaty as he thought of the implications. All he had to do was find a moment to slip away.

  Everything clicked into place. The large clearing, the gravel parking lot, the piles of tools and supplies that appeared to have been left outside for years. It was the nature center! Reese shook his head and frowned. "Why didn't I see it sooner?" he muttered to himself.

  “See what?" Morgan asked.

  "Nothing—hey, we gotta get outta here."

  Morgan hissed over his shoulder. "Keep your voice down. They’ll shoot you if they hear you talking like that! I’ve seen it happen three times already."

  "What?" Reese asked in a whisper. They trudged across the gravel parking lot, their shoes crunching on the loose stones.

  “You heard what I said,“ Morgan replied. "There's no point in trying—I started to, but they convinced me to stay when they shot the State Trooper who brought us up from Beaufort, right in the face."

  "Oh, my God…” Reese blurted. “That’s…but—”

  "I know, I know—there's only a handful of them with guns…they can't possibly shoot us all, can they?”

  Reese wiped the sweat from his face and looked across the clearing at the closest guard, busy haranguing some poor soul. “So, you're staying with these pyschos?”

  Morgan dusted his hands and looked up at the sky as he tried to catch his breath. "Ain’t got a choice, do I? That ain’t much of a life…but everybody I know is already dead or missing. What’s the point? Tsunami took my wife, and whatever else was left of my life was wiped out by the hurricane. I got nothing, man. Nothing but my life.”

  "This isn’t a life," Reese said under his breath as they turned and headed back toward the forest. "It's a freaking prison camp."

  Morgan shuffled off into the forest, his head down and shoulders forward. A man defeated. "Yeah, well…you can only be a prisoner if you're alive.”

  Reese clenched his jaw as he walked into the woods after Morgan. "I ain’t goin’ out like that."

  He worked his way back to the pile of freshly cut logs and selected two smaller saplings. He hefted one over each shoulder and followed Morgan, who grabbed one about four inches in diameter. They joined the queue of other men with logs headed back to camp and marched in silence. Morgan slowed from the man in front, and Reese matched his pace, keeping a careful eye on the two armed guards.

  "If you try and run, they’ll catch you,” Morgan muttered.

  "Thank you, but I’ve got to try," Reese replied in a hoarse whisper. “I can't stay here. I've been through too much."

  "Shut up!" one of the guards called out up ahead.

  Reese dropped his eyes and watched the ground pass beneath his feet as they shuffled forward. Once out of earshot of the guards, he looked askance at Morgan, who marched on as if he didn't see anything in front of them.

  "I survived the tsunami,” Reese revealed. “I fought my way south for a thousand miles to get here. I survived the hurricane at sea and being shipwrecked on Fort Sumter. I will not be stopped, not this close to my house, not by this bunch of inbred thugs or anyone else.”

  “They catch you saying that, they’ll cut your tongue out."

  Reese shook his head. It was no use. Morgan was a lost cause. He glanced around and considered speaking to one of the others.

  Reese's spirits fell throughout the course of the day as he searched the faces of the other men, looking for any sign of resistance, any strength left—and found none. Every one of the men who hauled the logs from the woods to the camp looked deflated, beaten down, used up…defeated.

  "Why is nobody resisting?" Reese whispered to another man in the middle of the afternoon.

  His eyes bugged open as he glared at Reese. "Shut your mouth! They got my family back at the camp. You know what they'll do to my wife if I try to run?"

  Reese looked at the ground. "Sorry, I didn't know.”

  The other man ignored Reese for a while, then turned to him after they dropped their logs off at the pile. "Look, I know you’re new, so I’ll go easy on you…lemme give you some free advice: don't try to be a hero, don't try to escape. You're lucky you didn't tell somebody else—there's rewards out there for anybody who snitches. That's how they keep everyone in line. We rat out somebody, and our families might get a little extra food, or might get protection for a few days from the other guards."

  Reese stood there as the man walked off. “I’ll just have to do this on my own then.”

  He waited all the rest of the day, patiently fulfilling his role as slave labor, dragging log after log back to camp. As the day wore on, his energy flagged along with the others, and he was given a few slices of what he thought was homemade bread, and a cup of warm, dirty water. It wasn't much to go on, and in fact was more akin to a starvation diet, but he took it with thanks and trembling, blistered, bloody hands—just like all the others.

  He tried to make conversation with a couple of the other men on their afternoon break, but no one wanted to listen to or even interact with him. Most of them just stared down at their hands, lost in their own misery. A few glared at him and moved away. Morgan made eye contact, but every time Reese looked up, he shook his head as if to warn him to stop.

  By the time the sun crept toward the horizon, Reese did.

  He waited until the guard turned to watch the man in front of him head back toward camp with the last load of the night, then tossed one of his saplings into the bushes nearby. The guard spun away from Reese, raising his weapon at the bushes. At that moment, Reese gripped his remaining sapling like a baseball bat and prepared to swing

  A subtle click—eerily similar to the sound of a pistol’s cocked hammer—echoed in his ears. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, mister,” a quiet voice whispered.

  Reese froze, then turned and looked at the stranger who held the pistol pointed at his face. In the dim light, he recognized the man as the quiet one who’d captured him “You…” Reese muttered.

  "Don’t bring a stick to a gunfight," the man said with a smirk. His face hardened. “Drop it, or I'll drop you."

  “I—I was just getting ready, in case a coyote or something came out of the bushes," Reese lied.

  "What the—” the guard said as he turned and swung the big shotgun toward Reese.

  "I got this," the wiry man said in a weary voice. "Follow the others."

  The guard nodded and shuffled off to follow the last of the work crew back to camp.

  The wiry man—Jenkins, Reese recalled—lowered his pistol. As Reese’s mouth opened in surprise, Jenkins holstered the weapon and crossed his arms. “Been meaning to have a little chat with you." He glanced left and right and lowered his voice. “I heard you been trying to rustle up trouble among the others. That true?"

  "Well…I-I mean…” Reese stuttered, sweat beading on his forehead.

  Jenkins laughed and raised a hand to stop his pathetic rambling. "It's fine. I would too, if I were in your position. I was about to let the guards handle you when one of the workers I was talking to told me what your name was."

  Reese swallowed. "It's Reese," he said.

  "Yeah," Jenkins said. "Reese Lavelle."

  "Yeah…?” Reese asked, drawing out the word. "So what?"

  "You wouldn't happen to have a wife named Cami…and a daughter, with red hair?" Jenkins held out his arm. “’Bout yea high? Real cute…maybe in college?"

  Reese felt the blood drain from his face and his skin grew cold. His hands became clammy, and his heart skipped a beat. He took a step back and blinked at the grinning devil before him. "What….what did you do…?” h
e breathed. Reese almost hoped Jenkins wouldn't speak, for fear of being unable to bear the answer.

  "Well, nothing permanent if that's what you want to know. We didn't have time for anything else," Jenkins said with a frown. "Your wife caused…some trouble. That's why we’re going after Bee’s Landing.”

  "Wait—what?" Reese said recovering from the shock. “M-my wife?”

  "We had ‘em,” Jenkins continued with a far-off look. “Both of them, your wife and daughter—not at the same time, though," he added conversationally as he ignored Reese’ questions. "Your women are not easy to control."

  Reese snorted before he could catch himself. He wasn't about to be friendly toward a man who’d just admitted to doing…something…to his wife and daughter. His hands clenched into fists.

  "Simmer down now, cowboy. I didn't lay a hand on either one of them. But Cisco…” Jenkins said with an arched eyebrow. "You got a problem with somebody in this camp, it's him."

  "Why are you telling me this?” Reese demanded through clenched teeth. His body hummed with a righteous rage that flowed through him like liquid fire. If he had a weapon—anything from an ax to a stick and everything in between—he would've attempted to remove Jenkins’ head on the spot.

  "I see that look in your eyes—you ain’t broken yet, not like the others. That's good. I can use you after all.”

  Reese, a good six inches taller than Jenkins, took a step forward, ignoring the pistol at the man's hip. "What makes you think I would help you?"

  Jenkins slowly smiled, his teeth white in the dim twilight. "Because I'm about to give you a chance to kill Cisco."

  Chapter 20

  Lavelle Homestead

  Bee’s Landing Subdivision

  Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina

  A knock on the door frame made Cami look up from the list of supplies she'd given out to homeowners since the big reveal. She frowned as Darien Flynt filled the doorway. "What is it? You come to gloat, too? Wait, let me guess—you need something, too?”

  “Well, now,” Jo said with an appraising look from the kitchen table where she was helping Cami go over supply lists. “Who’s this?”

  Flynt glanced at her, then ignored the newcomer as he leaned againts the doorway. "No one of consequence. I just think it's funny."

  “Jo, Darien Flynt. Flynt, this is Jo, my husband’s travelling companion.”

  Flynt snorted.

  "What's so funny?" asked Cami.

  Jo narrowed her eyes at Flynt and frowned. “I ain’t sure how, but you made that sound dirty.”

  When he spoke, it was only to Cami. "It's funny that Harriet’s got spies over here in your camp, but you don't know what's going on across the street."

  Cami sighed and leaned back in her chair she massaged her wounded thigh. "Okay, I'll bite. What are you talking about?"

  "What you're doing here is noble," Flynt said as he nodded at the paperwork on the table. "There's a lot of people out there that are grateful you're sharing."

  “Amen to that,” Jo quipped. “It’s mighty lean out there in the wilds, I tell you what.”

  Cami looked at Jo. "Well…I don't see much else I can do about it. No one else seems to care that my husband and I worked hard to make the money that we spent putting into these preps. We didn’t go on vacations, we didn't buy big fancy cars or multimillion dollar houses. We didn't blow our money on frivolous stuff. We were responsible, we saved away for a rainy day…and brother, that rainy day’s come.”

  “No arguments here,” Flynt said as he raised his hands.

  “Seems like a reasonable move…” Jo muttered.

  “And what did we get for it?” Cami continued. “Nothing but grief and recriminations." She shook her head. "You’d think those people out there would thank me for even having this stuff in the first place, instead of demanding that I just give it away." She looked up at him. "Not like I tried to steal it from anyone.”

  She was gratified to see the wince on Flynt’s face, but immediately regretted her choice of words. He’d done nothing but work tirelessly by her side to protect her daughter and her house ever since coming to the realization that Cisco was their common enemy.

  "I'm sorry," she said with a sigh she put her elbows on the table and rested her face in her hands. "That was uncalled for—you’ve been a huge help around here, Darien. I don't know if my daughter would still be alive if it weren't for—”

  The sound of a chair scratching across the floor as Flynt pulled it from the table silenced her. He sat and rested his own arms on the table. "Cami, don’t worry about it. You ain't offending me. I've done plenty worse in my life than what I tried to do here.” He sighed. “I consider this my…repentance, I guess you could say.”

  “Do tell,” Jo said, leaning forward, not intimidated in the last.

  He looked at her, then at Cami. “Trust me—I'm here to tell you we got a serious problem on our hands. I'm not talking about the idiots that didn't bother to stock up and prepare for bad times, I'm talking about the problem sitting right across the street."

  Cami looked toward the front door and sighed again. "Harriet."

  Flynt nodded. “She's called the HOA to order again, and about a dozen extra men backin’ her now. You probably don’t want to hear some of the suggestions I've heard over there."

  "I thought you and Harriet…” Cami grinned to see a flush creep up Flynt’s bull-like neck.

  "We were. At least I think…I don't know. It's complicated.”

  “Always is,” Jo said with a knowing shake of her head. “If I had—” she began.

  “All I know is,” Flynt said, deliberately talking to Cami, “I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't give you at least a fair warning.”

  “Warning?”

  Cami was all ears and leaned forward. "Warning about what?"

  “I’m sorry,” Flynt said shaking his head. “Does she need to be here?”

  “Jo was with my husband just a few hours ago. Yes, she needs to be here. Now say what you need to say or let me get back to work.”

  Jo smiled like a cat eating cream. Flynt sighed. "Some of the more serious suggestions over there gaining traction call for an armed response to what you’ve been doing over here: hogging all the resources of the neighborhood to fortify your own house, sittin’ on top of a horde of supplies—”

  “But I'm not!” Cami blurted. "Don't they understand? I’m already giving away a ton of stuff—and the wall only goes around my house because this seems to be the focal point for every attack! We’re not planning on just stopping it here. We’re going to circle the whole neighborhood! They’re missing the point—there's plenty of work to keep everyone busy for a while, but we gotta start somewhere, dang it!"

  Flynt raised a hand. “Preachin’ to the choir, sister. I know that…you know that…and everybody over here knows that. But those idiots across the street are so wrapped up in jealousy, they can't get it through their heads. They’re fixin’ to do something mighty stupid."

  "You're serious, aren't you?" Jo asked.

  "Yes!" Flynt blurted. "Serious as I've ever been!” He turned to Cami. “The hotheads want to come over here and start trouble with you and yours. They want what you got, and they're not willing to wait for a handout, or take no for an answer."

  “They’re no worse than Cisco…is this how he got started?"

  Flynt shook his head. “Not Cisco. He's a lot worse than this, but it sure is startin’ to sound like a broken record, ain’t it? Those that think they have a right to somebody else's stuff are always tryin’ to take."

  Cami clinched her hands into fists. “They can try.”

  “Who’s Cisco?” Jo asked.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Cami said in a flat tone.

  "We got us another storm brewing, Cami,” Flynt said in an ominous voice.

  She shook her head. "We don't have time for this," she exclaimed as she gestured toward the open door to the back deck. "The first section of the wall will be c
ompleted this afternoon. Everybody's working their butts off. The people out there are just now getting used to the idea that they can all have as much ice as they want, provided they take their turn."

  Flynt shook his head. "Ain't gonna matter to the people on the other side of the street. They're coming for you, and they want your stuff. In their mind it's fair recompense for keeping it hidden from ‘em throughout this whole mess."

  “Sounds like exactly what’s going wrong out there in the back country from here to the coast,” Jo whispered.

  “Amber was right," Cami said as she leaned back and pinched the bridge of her nose. She closed her eyes shut tight. "Heaven knows I'll never hear the end of it when she finds out about this."

  “The only question is, what are we gonna do about it?" Mitch said from the other side of the kitchen.

  Cami opened her eyes and looked at her friend. "You heard?"

  "Not all of it," he said with a wary eye at Flynt’s back. "But enough. I haven’t lived here like you guys have," he said as he pulled out another chair at the table and sat. "But dad and I could tell right from the get-go that your neighbor Harriet was a bad seed. She's like a cancer, waiting to spread, undermining everything and making the whole system collapse."

  "Yeah, but you gotta admit, she's easy on the eyes," Flynt muttered under his breath.

  “Are you kidding me?” Jo blurted. “Is he serious?” She looked at Cami. “Y’all know you look like movie stars to the poor flea-bitten wretches trying to survive out there, right?” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder toward Charleston. “I think I washed a foot of mud off me when y’all let me clean up a while ago. You—"

  Cami smiled and raised her hand to stop Jo’s tirade. "It's the end of the world—I get it. We have a madman on the loose who wants to kill all of us, and a crazy woman across the street wanting to rob us blind…and that's what you're thinking of, Darien?"

  Flynt laughed. "You said it—it's the end of the world. What red-blooded male wouldn't think of that at a time like this? Am I right?” he asked Mitch.