by E A Lake
That was it; somewhere in my last life I’d been in a sauna. Why? That remained unknown.
I shut the door and opened my mouth to say something when the rain picked up again. Damn it, we needed a break.
“Everyone should get some sleep while it’s still raining,” I shouted over the cacophony of rain and thunder.
“Even her?” Morgan called out, thrusting a thumb towards the kitchen at Charolette. Why she was scrubbing the sink I’d never know. But she seemed happy and not wracked with fear like someone else I knew.
“Leave her be,” I replied, snuggling in next to Morgan. “She’s not hurting anything and I’ll probably have to carry her anyway.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
When I awoke, it was still dark. Score one for us. I listened closely and didn’t hear any rain on the roof. Score two for us. Glancing around the dimly lit living room, I counted five bodies besides myself. Score three. That meant Charolette had finally given up on her maniacal cleaning and fallen asleep. Maybe I wouldn’t have to carry her all the way to Pimento.
I eased off the couch, stretched for a second and made my way to the window. Damn it, morning had already broken. At least I think it had. The picture window was covered in a thick layer of condensation, making it hard to tell what time it was. I decided to check outside and see if the rain was truly over.
I let my head fall forward as I opened the door. Double damn. The world outside was cool, and damp, and covered in a blanket of fog so thick that I couldn’t see more than 20 feet.
“Well this is a mess,” someone behind me said, making me jump. When that someone stepped next to me, I saw that it was Morgan.
“Quit sneaking up on me,” I scolded. “I’m getting sick of that. And yes, this is a problem.”
She looked at me and grinned. “A problem or a solution to a problem?”
“We can’t see shit out there,” I replied. “We could walk right into a trap.”
Morgan nodded and stepped out further on the porch. “No, we can’t see very much in all of this.” She extended an arm forward and turned to stare at me. “Of course, neither can anyone else.”
I opened my mouth to counter her misguided wisdom. But then again, she was right. She was dead right.
We hustled through the shrouding of white like a group of six escaping a mad king. Of course, that was exactly what we were doing and the fog provided us with excellent cover.
Twice we’d heard the clomp of horse hooves coming our way and both times we scurried into whatever cover we could find to let the threat pass. Neither appeared malicious to me, though the second man did have a rifle across his saddle. Or a stick and the reins from his horse. It was little hard to see very well.
Hours passed and we continued our trek northward to safety. I was able to carry our injured waif some but not a lot. The lack of food was taking its toll on me and Charolette’s foot suffered the consequences. We paused again to let her catch her breath and evaluate the injured body part.
“We must almost be to Farmersburg,” I said to Morgan, Sara and Liv as we stood in the ditch. “We passed that sign a while ago that said two miles. When we get there, we have to remember to be real quiet. We don’t want to take any chances this late in the game.”
“That means we’re probably within a couple hours of Pimento,” Sara piped, sounding optimistic for the first time in a while. “I can’t wait to get there. I’m so hungry and sick of walking that I could puke. I just really want to get there now.”
“Me too,” I replied, stroking her shoulder. I glanced at Liv and Morgan but neither seemed as happy as Sara.
“You’re not excited to get there?” I asked the pair as they stared at me as though I’d said something offensive. “Liv, is something wrong?”
She peeked at Morgan and then back at me, or maybe past me. Morgan took a step closer to me.
“There’s a man on a horse behind you,” she whispered. “I can see a rifle in a scabbard on the left side of his horse. He’s just staring at us, but he’s only 10 feet or so away.”
Shit!
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
I locked eyes with Morgan, nodding slowly to show I understood the situation.
“Reach into my pocket,” I replied softly. “Pull my gun out and give it to me after Liv takes the canteen from my hand.” I nodded at Liv and she nodded slightly. “I don’t want to make any movements until I turn around. Got it?”
Morgan slid her right hand into my coat pocket as she took the canteen with her left. When she placed the cold steel weapon into my right hand, I felt both of her hands squeeze mine.
“Be careful,” she whispered. I heard the pain in her voice and took a deep breath, nodding once.
I spun quickly, raising the weapon and snapping the safety off in one fluid motion, almost as if I’d done it a thousand times before. When I zeroed in on my target, he cocked his head to the left as he stared at me.
“Is that you, Quinn?” he asked in a passive voice. He stared harder, his facing twisting in disbelief. “Why you pointing a gun at me, man? We’re friends.”
I didn’t say a word, instead choosing to focus on the sights which I had pointed at the center of his chest. Funny, the guy didn’t seem overly concerned.
“Who’s that you got with you, Quinn?” he asked, leaning forward in his saddle.
Huh, he used my name as if he knew me well. And his lack of concern told me he may be a friend that I couldn’t remember.
I reached back and grabbed an arm, pulling Morgan forward. “Do you know this woman?” I asked sternly.
The man shrugged. “Can’t say I do.” He scratched his face beneath his short, dark beard and sat back again.
“Do you know this man, Morgan?” I asked, keeping my eyes and gun trained on the intruder. “Is he one of Shaklin’s men?”
“I don’t think so,” she answered from behind. I did a quick check and noticed I’d pulled Liv forward instead of Morgan. Oops, my bad.
“Do you recognize him, Liv?”
“No,” she answered. “He ain’t one of Shaklin’s men.”
That made the man to laugh. “Tony Shaklin? As in the Tony Shaklin down by Hymera? Hell, Quinn. I’m your neighbor up in Pimento. I ain’t from Hymera.”
I lowered the gun slowly. “My neighbor?”
“That’s Ronnie Hamilton,” Charolette said stepping forward. “Hey Ronnie. It’s me, Charolette Weber.”
Ronnie or whoever the hell he was jumped in surprise. “Well saints be thanked. No one’s seen you for the last three or four years. Damn girl, you’re all grown up. Look at how beautiful you turned out. Just goes to show your Aunt Jess was always right; every homely caterpillar turns into a beautiful butterfly someday.”
Okay, I was confused.
“You know her?” I asked as I stepped closer to the man I didn’t recognize.
“She’s my aunt’s sister’s youngest,” Ronnie replied, sliding off his horse. He extended a gloved hand to me and I shook it meekly. “Been a while, Quinn. You’ve been gone a lot longer than you said you would be. People are starting to worry you’re never coming back. They’re going to be excited to see you.”
I went to say something, but Morgan slid between us.
“He’s had a concussion,” she said. “Lost most of his memory for now. It should clear up sometime soon.”
Ronny looked deep into my eyes. “You don’t remember me?” I shook my answer. “Or my wife DeeDee?” Another head shake. “Or her blueberry buckle or my three girls you play with all the time?”
I shrugged, uncertain what he was saying was true. “Sorry. But you say we’re neighbors?”
He slapped my shoulder and gave me a mighty hug. “Well, I live in a shit hole like most people do up in Pimento. But you got a nice place. We all make sure you’re well taken care of. We look after you. The whole town is gonna be happy to see Quinn Reynolds again.”
He had the right name; I just wasn’t sure he had the right person. I guess we’d all
find out when I made my return to Pimento, triumphant or not.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX
As we walked and Charolette rode on Ronnie’s horse Lucky — yes, the same name as one of Shaklin’s kids, and thankfully the girl was off my back — my new best old friend explained to us a few facts we hadn’t realized.
First off, somehow in the fog and our confusion, we’d already passed Farmersburg. So much for any of us, much less me, being alert to our surroundings. Then there was the fact that most places north of Shaklin’s farm were loyal to freedom and knew of his evil ways. Only a few wide spots in the road wanted anything to do with Shaklin and his one-sided trades, much less his employment practices.
The biggest shock Ronnie gave me was when he told me that Terre Haute was overrun by gangs and people who sold drugs, booze and slaves. That last one made me more sure than ever that I was living in an ongoing nightmare, being planted in the deep south before civil war times.
“The only way to source drugs and booze is to kidnap people and sell them,” Ronnie told me as we slowly made our way the last mile to Pimento. “Hell’s bells, for some of them it’s the only way they can eat.”
“So Shaklin can get new people from them then,” I replied, not liking the idea. Ronnie snickered.
“Hell, Shaklin would never go to Terre Haute,” he countered. “There ain’t no one there that likes him. Like I said, none of his trades add up. Once people figured that out, they wouldn’t deal with him no more. Even thieves have a code of honor.”
“So where does he get his workers from then?” I asked. “I thought Terre Haute was the only large city around here?”
Ronnie stopped and turned me by an arm to face him. “Shaklin’s operation has maybe a hundred people. He usually needs one or two people at a time at the most. He can just steal them off the road or lure them in with food. It’s not that difficult, not no more.”
Thus, the lovely consequences of living in the apocalypse. People would sell their soul for a meal. They’d probably sell their kids for a side of beef.
“So, we should be able to put together a group of people and go free the rest of the women down there,” I stated with authority. “I mean, most of his men are slaves as well, so—”
Ronnie’s shaking head said something different. “Most people mind their own business nowadays, Quinn. I guess you just don’t remember that yet. There’s enough death everywhere that no one feels the need to take a chance of getting killed trying to free some other person. Most people don’t go after folks they know; they sure as hell aren’t gonna go after a bunch of strangers. The world ain’t like that anymore.”
I nodded, uncertain if I agreed with his logic. “Then why do you suppose I went down there?”
Slapping my shoulder, Ronnie pointed me up the road before us. “Because you are that kind of guy, Quinn. That’s exactly who you are. And that’s why everyone loves you.”
Huh, I was well liked. Go figure. Again, maybe that was true or perhaps it was all part of a gigantic plan to lure me into something else. The truth, I decided, remained to be seen.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
The closer we got to town, the more the fog dissipated and the sun came out. By the time I could see the low scattered buildings of Pimento, we found ourselves walking in a beautiful late summer day.
The first thing I noticed about Pimento was that it wasn’t very impressive. No, that made it sound like I’d actually want to live there.
The first few homes on the outskirts of town were nothing more than thrown together tenements. Boards of all colors decorated one as if they’d been stolen from a hundred different places (which they probably had been). The second shack was small and no more impressive than the first. Neither had any windows that I could see.
“Hal Johnson lives there,” Ronnie informed us as we strolled past empty front porches. “And Bennie Wilson lives there.” Good; two more people I had no idea of who they were, though our guide made it sound as if I should.
“Here comes old Mary Hubert,” he said, pointing ahead and waving at the woman clothed in a baggy blue dress. “Hey Mary, look who I found. Your old buddy’s back.”
The woman screamed and smiled, throwing her arms in the air. She came running directly towards me and nearly knocked me over as she hugged me tightly.
“You’re back,” she cried. “You’re really back. This place just hasn’t been the same without you. Thank God you’re alive.”
I forced the woman back to arm’s length and peeked at Ronnie. “She’s kinda like a surrogate mother to you. Ever since Carla ran off with that asshole Shaklin, old Mary here has made a lot of meals for you.”
The woman was missing half her teeth and had the same odor as one of Shaklin’s barns. But she was happy.
“You come quick,” she said, taking my hand and pulling me along at a trot. “People are going to be so surprised. Hey look, everyone! Look who’s finally back! It’s Quinn!”
Much to my surprise, people came running from every direction. There were waves and shouts of joy. Four different women kissed me, two on the lips no less, and everyone wanted to shake my hand. I may have had no idea who I was, but they sure seemed to know me.
“Give him a little room,” Ronnie said, clearing a path for me and my group. “He’s had a little bump on the head, so he might not recognize any of you yet. So just give him some room to breathe and a little time to adjust. He’ll be back at work in no time I bet.”
I went to ask my neighbor just what I did here that made me so popular, but Morgan cut me off.
“You are quite the man,” she said, giving me a kiss on the lips — which seemed strangely out of place at the time. “I guess everything we heard about you was true.”
I stared at her and her smug expression for a moment. “And tell me, Morgan. Just what is it that I do around Pimento?”
“Holy sheep shit!” a new voice shouted. When I turned, I saw the strangest of men running my direction. “Holy Jesus, Mary and Joseph. It’s Quinn!”
I watched the older gentleman stop before me. He looked to be 60, maybe a little older. He was a good nine inches shorter than me and a few inches less than Morgan to boot. He wore a short-sleeved light blue pullover and a sheep skin vest on top of that. Below he had on a pair of worn jeans shorts that hung to his knees and bright green sneakers.
The funniest part was his hair, or lack thereof. He was bald and tanned on most of his head with a shock of white hair sticking straight out just above his ears. The hair made a semi-circle around the back of his head and ended rather askew on the other side.
He shook my hand like he was my best friend. I had assumed Ronnie already had that role but remembered he was my neighbor and had never claimed to be anything but that.
“Thank God you’re alive, Quinn,” the new player said, smiling from ear to ear. “The place ain’t been the same without you, Sheriff.”
I felt my body begin to rock slightly as I turned to face Morgan again. “Huh, I do believe he just called me sheriff. What do you know. Some things never change, do they Morgan?’
She snaked an arm through mine and didn’t miss a beat. “That was the last one,” she claimed in a happy tone. “I promise.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-EIGHT
“Well, here’s your office,” Art said proudly. “Best building in town for the best sheriff around, everybody says.”
He’d introduced himself once he was informed I didn’t have any recollection of anything. Arthur P. Snappingchat — yes, his actual last name, he promised. And the P stood for Pegasus; as in the winged mythological horse. He was, to say the least, quite a character.
The faded brown brick building stood two stories tall, though I noticed that the second story’s windows were boarded over. The door was faded white and stood open as we stepped inside. Art explained the building had been built as a high school for the area back in 1925 but had been abandoned for years as of late.
It smelled just as expected: old and musty. But I h
ad to admit, there was something familiar in the smell and the place.
“Just how long have I been sheriff here?” I asked as I pulled Morgan along. She had wanted to go with the other women to get cleaned up and have a meal. I insisted she come along for the tour, since she was acting in place of my memory until it returned.
“Oh, about four years now,” Art replied, scratching at that gray stubble on the side of his face. “Maybe a little longer. Once your wife left with that rat bastard Shaklin, you jumped right into the job. Well, right after the third sheriff got himself killed.”
My eyes scrunched shut as I squeezed Morgan’s hand tightly. “That would be year three then, right?”
“End of year two, maybe beginning of year three,” Art replied matter-of-factly. “But those other three cowards couldn’t hold a candle to you. No sir, nothing compares to Sheriff Reynolds when it comes to protecting.”
“Protecting…or killing?” I asked quietly.
Art seemed confused by the question. “Well, one in the same I suppose, Sheriff. Bad people show up, create a fuss, try to overrun the town and make us all their bitches and you get rid of them. The first three had a tough time keeping them away. But you ain’t had much of a problem in two years. Not ever since you wiped out the Baker gang in two days.”
I shot Morgan a sarcastic smile. “Did you hear that, sweetie? I wiped out the Baker gang.”
She nodded, attempting to remove her hand from mine. No doubt she wanted to make a getaway. Fat chance of that happening anytime in the next 10 years or so.
“I’d heard some rumor about something like that,” she replied, shooting me a tight smile.
“Tell me, Art,” I continued. “How many men helped me wipe out the Baker gang?”
Again, he looked confused. “Just you and Luke Collins.”
