The End Time Saga (Book 5): The Holding

by Greene, Daniel

  She dug her boots into the line and heaved herself upward over and over. Her arm shook and quivered with her effort. The wind blew her, her body swaying with each frigid gust. Her fingers were beyond feeling. More like numb clumps of flesh attached to her hands. Her back and shoulders screamed in pain, pain she forced deep inside. Pain she refused to accept.

  “Come on, Marine,” she said to herself. Clenching her legs, she propelled herself upward. Hands grasped her shoulders and waist yanking her. Her heart leapt.

  Riddle’s face leaned over and a smile enveloped the corners of his eyes. “Just like the O-course on Parris.”

  She shook her arms, relieving the tension in her blood-filled muscles. “A bit slower than I would have liked.”

  “Ain’t that a bitch.” Riddle glanced at the sleds.

  “Yes, it is.” She swung her carbine off her back and into her fatigued icy pins-and-needles hands. “Let’s heat that ice up.”

  TESS

  Camp Forge, IA

  Her most trusted Sable Pointers stood around the firepit built in the center of the barn turned dormitory. Larry added scraps of wood shavings into the flames as they rippled higher. The fire greedily digested the wood fuel.

  Tess picked up a few Meal, Ready-to-Eat tan bags and shoved them into her pack. It was black and only suitable for a day hike. She clipped two water bottles to either side. She tapped the handle of her Colt .45 1911, reached across her body, and touched the baseplates of two magazines that strapped into her shoulder harness. A box of fifty rounds lay in the bottom of her pack, but she was banking on not needing the extra firepower. She could sense their eyes watching her every move.

  Her dark eyes moved to Trent. His goateed mouth pursed, searching for some missing chewing tobacco. His camouflage ball cap sat a little tilted on his forehead. His hunting rifle rested between his legs. She shifted to the man next to him. Larry ran a hand over a completely bald head. No hair had even remotely grown on his head, not even his sideburns since she’d known him. Nathan sat next to him, his collared formerly white shirt saturated with sweat and grime. He wore a tan overcoat, making him almost look like an old-time detective. His face was unamused.

  “What?” she said.

  “You shouldn’t go by yourself,” Nathan said.

  Trent jumped in. “Nate’s right. Between the infected and Jackson and god knows what else, it’s too dangerous. No place for a lady to be alone.”

  “Give me a break. You’re all acting like I’m some sort of Susie homemaker.” She slapped her chest. “It’s me, Tess. I been through plenty of shit.”

  Worried eyes stared back at her. Harriet gulped, squeezing a small boy closer to her body. Her auburn curls shook. “Nobody should be by themselves out there. Not even the Red Stripes go alone. Always in pairs.”

  “I told you. I’m going and alone.”

  “I’ll go.” Trent gave her a half-smile. “I got plenty of wilderness experience.”

  Tess touched the center of her chest. “Your lack of confidence is disturbing. No, Trent. They may be looking for you for timber duty, but not me.”

  “Steele will look for you.”

  “Nah, that knuckle dragger is tired of hearing from me.” He’d practically chewed her head off when she even hinted that Thunder might be involved in treachery. I must go. That idiot Steele won’t listen, so I’ll get the only person he’ll listen to: Gwen. “He won’t come looking, and you can’t tell him I left. Nor anybody else. If they ask, tell ’em I’m sick and not to be disturbed.” She peered over her shoulder at the other tarps and stalls in the room.

  Her voice hushed. “Tell no one I’m gone.”

  A confused look engulfed Larry’s face. “You mean no Sable Pointers?”

  Tess tilted her head for a moment in anger at the man’s stupidity. “You’re lucky we keep you around for your good looks.” The bald man who closely resembled a primate ancestor looked at the others around the fire.

  “Nobody not here right now,” she hissed. “Especially Rick.”

  The small group exchanged glances with one another. “What did Rick do?” Harriet asked.

  Tess shook her head. “Just don’t tell him shit. He’s not to be trusted by any means.”

  Nathan nodded. “Okay, Tess. We got it, but what are we supposed to do while you’re gone?”

  Tess leaned her head back. “What you normally do.” She sighed. “Larry, did you get the horse saddled?”

  His bald head bobbed. “Yes, ma’am. He’s waiting.”

  She slung her pack over her shoulders. Pulling hard on the straps, she tightened them so the it rested snuggly on her back.

  “If I wait too much longer, it’ll be daylight.” She put on her gloves and secured a knit hat over top her short-haired head. “Trent, you made sure the guards are ours?”

  The hunter scratched at his goatee. “Mason and Emmet know you’re coming.”

  “All right, you did good.” She nodded to them. “You look out for Steele. I can’t say what, but something ain’t right in this camp.”

  Her people stared at her with concerned eyes. In the end, all they had was each other, and they were closer than any family she ever had. Survival has that effect on people. It binds them. “We will,” Harriet said.

  Tess turned and Nathan shoved open the barn door as quietly as he could. Frigid air swept inside and Larry led her to the horse corral.

  The beasts—some standing, some lying on the ground—slept with blankets wrapped around their bodies.

  Larry clicked his tongue. A gray horse leisurely stood. It was the only one saddled. He patted the horse’s snout.

  “His name is Willie.” He stroked the horse’s nose repetitively with a gentle hand. “He’s old and we don’t use him often. Mostly for short jaunts.”

  “All right, Willie.” She’d never ridden a horse or been so close to such a large animal. She tentatively reached a hand for him.

  The shadowed gelding jerked his head to the side and let out a loud snort, smacking fleshy lips. Tess pulled her hand away as if the animal had tried to bite her. “What the heck?”

  “Shhhh,” Larry said, petting Willie’s neck.

  “They bite?” she asked.

  Larry gave a short laugh. “Yeah, they can and it hurts.” He led the horse out of the corral and next to Tess.

  “Maybe, I’ll just walk.”

  He ran a hand over Willie. “You said this is important. If you walk, it’ll be cold and long. You can’t take Rhonda. Steele would know.”

  Tess sighed. He was right. “How do you steer these things?”

  “Well, let’s get you up there, and I’ll teach ya.” He gestured at the horse’s stirrup. “Get your foot into there.”

  She fumbled but got her foot slipped through the metal stirrup.

  “Now pull yourself up with the pommel.” She gripped the leather knob-like pommel and pulled herself into the saddle. “Get your foot in the other stirrup.”

  She wrapped her legs around Willie; he was wider than he appeared from the ground. Swiping her foot back and forth, she finally tucked it through the other stirrup. The horse stamped a hoof into the soft snow.

  “Now, you give him a little kick with your heel to go, and you pull those reins to make him stop.”

  Larry grabbed Willie’s bit and she practiced a kick. The gelding stamped his foot again. “He won’t go.”

  “Don’t be mean but let him know you’re the boss.”

  She dug a heel into the horse’s side, and he tossed his head in the air with irritation but started to walk.

  “There you go,” he led the horse forward.

  “He’s doing it,” she whispered excitedly. They crossed the enclosure, the horse’s hooves crunching the ground beneath them along with Larry’s booted feet.

  “‘Course he is,” Larry muttered. “He knows what to do.”

  She scowled in his direction. They passed windowless cabins with smoke eking out into the nighttime sky. The half-finished walls rose a
bout five feet, and two dark forms stood guard near the wall.

  “Larry,” a shadow grunted. A short thickly muscled African-American man emerged in the darkness, his black beard curling off his chin almost to his chest.

  “Emmett.”

  They had found the two men south of Gary, Indiana, during their flight from Michigan south and west. They had joined the caravan in silence and had picked up the slack when needed and not asked questions.

  A man stepped up from the other side, his beard the color of a penny. He was taller than Emmett and almost as wide.

  “Mason,” Larry said.

  “Larry.”

  “All right, Willie, take care of her,” Larry said and patted the horse’s flank. He admired her from below. “Take care of yourself, Ms. Tess.”

  “You too. I’ll be back in a few days and remember what I said.”

  “We will.”

  Tess gave Willie a heel kick and the horse begrudgingly walked forward. The smell of burning wood from the fires entered her nose along with the cool night air. She eyed the camp over her shoulder. The wall rose, a dark mass in the night, farther behind it the roofs of cabins and the far white farmhouse.

  “The things you do for love.” She spurred the horse onward. “Come on, Willie.”

  MARGIE

  Mississippi River, IA

  Her vision was hazy as if she were staring into car headlights everything in unfocused. She used a wooden spoon to shift around a mound of scrambled eggs in her cast iron skillet, cooking them to a soft scramble on low heat. The smells of the onions and green peppers mixed in made saliva pool under her tongue.

  Brian walked through the kitchen to the coffee machine, pouring himself a mug of the black liquid. A newspaper was tucked under his arm.

  “Kids are making all sorts of racket down the street. Hollering their heads off.”

  She didn’t look up. “Kids are just being kids. It’s the weekend. Let them play.”

  Her husband sat down in his seat, and she could hear him slurping his coffee.

  The crinkle of paper folding and unfolding made her look over her shoulder. “How’d the Tigers do last night?”

  Brian bent the newspaper in half and peered down through his reading glasses.

  “How would I know? This is yesterday’s paper. That damn kid can’t even deliver the paper. See if he’ll get a tip for Christmas this year.”

  “He’s just a kid.”

  “The news said the Tigers cancelled again.”

  “Again?” She lifted the skillet and took it over to Brian, spooning scrambled eggs on his plate and went back to the oven to pull out the bacon.

  Brian shook his head. “Yeah, it’s that flu getting everyone spun up. Gerry said the plant should be open next week, but I dunno. All this news has got me worried.”

  Putting on a checkered oven mitt, she bent over, pulling out the thick center-cut meat. “I wonder about Katy and Kevin. I hope they don’t come down with anything.” She used tongs to place the bacon on a plate lined with paper towels.

  “They’ll be fine. Weird season for the flu. I’m more worried about how we’re gonna pay for their school if the plant stays closed.”

  She sat down next to him, setting the bacon in the middle of the table. “I could go back to work to help.”

  His walnut-colored eyes regarded her over his glasses. They were the same eyes that she had fallen in love with over twenty-five years ago. It was only the rest of him that had changed. She hadn’t known while it was happening because aging is a slow process. But one day she looked at him, really looked at him, and he had changed. They both had changed. More weight had appeared along his chin and cheeks. Wrinkles had formed around his eyes. She used to think it was the stress from work, but it was time. His belly sagged with additional weight. His hair had faded atop his head, but his eyes were the same. “You could, but I don’t want you to have to do that.”

  She munched a piece of bacon, its salty and savory flavor tasting delicious in her mouth. It made her feel something, an ounce of pleasure in the routine. She wiped her lips with a napkin. “Nonsense, honey. Now that the kids are out of the house, I figured it would be a good time for me to think about making some extra money before you retire.”

  He nodded his head. “I just didn’t want you to have to do that.” He smiled at her apologetically. “Good eggs.”

  “Thank you.”

  They sat in silence for a minute, each eating and not speaking as people that had been married for a long time did. Brian had never wanted her to work even if she wanted to. She found so much gratification raising their children she never really complained, but as they got older and began creating distance, her purpose seemed to diminish with each passing day. It would be nice to get back on her feet, find something to fulfill her again.

  “Should be nice this week. Mid-seventies every day.”

  “I suppose we should enjoy it before it gets too cold.”

  The weather. Brian’s favorite past time. One might have said he was obsessed, but then again, it was the only changing thing in the stale structured world their marriage existed in.

  “That’ll be lovely.”

  “Maybe I’ll get out to cut the grass.”

  She smiled and picked up her fork. The kitchen door thudded, and she jumped in her seat. Brian glanced from his newspaper.

  “What the hell? Goddamned kids and their stupid basketball.” Something thumped the door again. Brian shook his head in anger. “Those little punks. This isn’t some sort of gymnasium.” He threw his paper on the table and marched out of the kitchen. His voice rose in the next room. “I’m calling your father!”

  The thumping continued. Each thump more violent and louder than the last. Margie carried her plate to the kitchen sink. She sprayed the plate with the hose-attached nozzle.

  Brian’s voice rose in anger from the next room. “Get the hell out of here.”

  Sounds of struggle and grunting came out of the doorway.

  Margie stopped spraying her plate, looking over her shoulder.

  “What is wrong with you?” Brian screamed.

  Margie dropped her plate and dashed for the front door. Brian wrestled with a dirty man on the floor. They rolled back and forth.

  “Call the police,” Brian yelled at her. His assailant growled as they fought, biting into his arm.

  “You, you, psycho!”

  Margie ran for her phone in the kitchen. Her hands shook as she tapped 911. Boo-R-Eee. “I’m sorry, your call cannot be completed as dialed. Please hang up and try again.”

  She slammed her finger into the phone again, rushing back into the living room. Boo-R-Eee. The phone uttered its mocking tone of disconnection. She lowered the phone, her hand visibly vibrating. The woman’s voice was muffled as the prerecording repeated itself.

  Brian had gained the advantage on the other man, rolling atop of him. Another form staggered into the doorway. His chin dropped and he emitted a deep ominous moan.

  “What in the hell?” Brian shouted.

  Margie dropped her phone.

  “Get the gun!” Brian’s glasses were on the ground. His eyes were wide. She sprinted the carpeted stairs, her feet pounding each step with fear. She ran into their bedroom and to his waist-high cedar chest with gold handles. Ripping open his underwear drawer, her hand stabbed into his white and gray boxers, feeling for the revolver she knew he kept in there. She hated having that thing in the house. It was like he was hiding a viper in his underwear drawer that could rear its ugly head at any moment. Just knowing it was there made her cringe.

  Her fingernails scratched the bottom of the drawer until her fingers wrapped around the cool handle of his two-inch barrel Smith and Wesson .38 special revolver. It was heavier than she expected. Her hands shook under its violent weight.

  “Ahh,” Brian screamed from below.

  She dug around his drawer for a small rectangular box of ammunition. Rounds clattered on the dresser top. They rolled in small semicir
cles of freedom. Fumbling, she tried to slip a cartridge into the revolver.

  The soft sound of tearing, like someone gently tore a shirt in two but wetter, traveled the stairs. She stopped holding her breath, tears running down her cheeks. Her breathing came in sharp pangs as she picked up her phone. As quietly as she could, she typed in 911. The phone rang. “Oh my god, yes,” she uttered.

  “Nine. One. One. What is your emergency?”

  “Men have broken into my house and attacked my husband.”

  “I’m sorry, but we are going to have to put you on hold. All units are currently engaged.”

  “Men are in my home,” she said louder. Please God don’t let them hear me.

  “Remain calm and please stay on the line.” The dispatcher’s line went blank. No sound came from the receiver, only dead air.

  “Hello? We need help.” Silence answered her. She could hear the footsteps of a person below. She set the phone down and raised the small pistol. Maybe I can scare them away. Trying to get enough air into her lungs, she breathed in and walked without a sound, her entire body shaking, for her bedroom door. She quietly pushed the it open.

  “Brian?” Her voice echoed down the stairwell and crashed into a wall of tension. There was silence then the sound of feet. But no response. Knowing that someone was there and not making a noise raked over her with spikes of fear.

  A man appeared. He stared up the stairwell with eyes like the freshest white snow. Crimson blood ran from the corners of his mouth, dribbling down his chin and to his shirt. He opened his mouth wide, showing bloodstained teeth and let out a low-pitched moan. “OOOOooo.” He charged up the steps.

  She took a step back into her room and slammed the door. The man’s body crashed into the barrier at her back. “No,” she cried at it. The body thumped again, and the door trembled. She put her back against the door and sobbed, holding the empty gun in her hand.