“Deal it is.” She smiled under her cigarette. “Go on.”
Margie snatched her knife back, holstering it. “How do I know you’ll stay true to your word?”
Red Clare inhaled smoke, and the cigarette flared orange. “Can’t see how’d you know?”
“Swear to something.”
Smoke drifted from her mouth in robust ringlets that hung in the air. “I’d swear to God, but I’ve seen men swear on that and kill a man a second later. Don’t mean much.”
“Your club, your sisters, your colors, swear on them,” Margie spat.
“Fair enough. I swear on the Seven Sisters I’ll uphold my word.” She put a hand on her patch and nodded. “There.”
A wrinkled hand stuck out, wavering, and Margie took it. Strongly gripping her palm, Red Clare pulled her close. “You never answered. Did you mean to miss?”
Margie held her gaze. “No.”
A yellowing smile spread on Red Clare’s lips. “That’s my girl.”
AHMED
Northern Missouri
The flames leapt like yellow sunflowers in a storm, fluttering from windows. The house blackened around the windows and doors as the fire fought to free itself from the confines of the structure.
Jim jumped from his horse, and Ahmed stumbled from the saddle behind. Both men sprinted for the house.
“Sadie!” Ahmed screamed.
He glanced at the open-eyed body of Kelly lying in the snow like she’d fell asleep while walking outside. Jim put his jacket up to his face, leaning inside the burning house.
“Barb!” he shouted. “Betty! Charley!”
The ceiling bellowed as it sunk inward and Ahmed gave it a worried eye. “Sadie!” Covering his face, he ducked through the doorway.
Inside, it was like an oven; the heat almost overwhelmed him. The fire swirled, a snowdrift filled with oranges and yellows.
“I’ll check the bedrooms,” Ahmed yelled. The ceiling sagged downward, struggling to maintain its form. Nodding, Jim dodged into the kitchen.
The roar of the inferno dominated any other sound in the house. A line of fire formed, blocking his path. Ahmed gathered his feet beneath him and jumped it, kicking his feet high, the lapping tongues of scalding heat slicing at him from below. Bounding to the end of the hall, he stuck a foot into a closed door. Fragments of wood burst, revealing a bedroom empty of people. He turned around and kicked another door. A bed and nightstand and no people. “Sadie!” No one answered his call.
Behind him, the blaze expanded its quest for oxygen and fuel, growing taller and reaching chest level. He would never make that jump back to the front of the house. The flames spread along the ceiling in a spiderweb of orange and gold.
He fled for a bedroom. The windows were boarded with random two-by-fours and plywood forming a crisscross wooden barrier. They blackened beneath the fiery onslaught, charring and smoldering in response.
Ahmed planted a foot into the wood, and it bounced off like it was rubber. He kicked again and again, his boot beating his way through the boards to freedom as the fire came for him.
Light shone through the smashed holes. His hands blazed as he tore at burning pieces. Black smoke filled his lungs like a breathable evil forcing him to cough hysterically. He threw wood to the side, trying to breathe. Smoke inhalation would always bring you down before the fire. His lungs sputtered violently for reprieve from the black cloud.
He forced his body through the hole in the wood, squeezing into the window frame. The flames inching across the room licked at his feet and legs.
“Come on!” Fear drove him and the innate desire for survival. His shoulders free, he threw himself out the window. He toppled into the half-inch of accumulation and rolled from his back to his stomach over and over.
The snow watered and steamed as it embraced him, cooling his fiery body. He patted himself, crawling away from the building. His breath came out in fits and starts, his mind still in shock that he almost had burned alive for Sadie. Putting his hands into the white reprieve, they were met with frigid ecstasy, and he stood.
Walking around the other side of the house took him back to the other men.
“Ahmed,” Jim said. Anger hung around the corners of his eyes. “I was hoping you’d found them.”
Sucking in clean air greedily, Ahmed shook his head no. “I didn’t.”
“Bodies? Dogs?” Jim gulped. His face was coated in black soot.
“No bodies. No dogs.”
Jim’s chest heaved. “They have them. Fuck.” He crouched down and wiped the hair from Kelly’s neck. Her face was cool and pale and her eyes unblinking, glass marbles with blue centers.
Lee’s voice carried from the timber nearby. “I found Barb.”
Jim jumped upright. Lee held out a hand stopping anyone from coming closer. “She’s gone, Jimmy.”
“Traitors,” Jim whispered. He stood facing his men. “They soiled the truce of the Grossman Farm.”
“It could have been Macleod,” Ahmed said softly.
“Could it? Sly is his fucking bitch. He had a hand in it.” His eyes stared off into the distance. “This is a war of extermination, and we are on the losing end of it.”
Lee placed an arm around Andy, holding the young man. “Where are we going to go? Foxworth house isn’t too far.”
“No. There’s only one thing left. Finish them before they finish us.” He blinked, the whites of his eyes reddened and distant. “You always knew it would come to this.” Final absolution settled in his eyes. Ahmed could see it. He’d seen it in men since the outbreak, never before. But everyone he knew before wasn’t facing life and death every day, kill or be killed situations. Victory or death. It was like being trapped into a singular purpose that would lead to death or mental burnout, a state of shell shock.
“If there aren’t bodies, they have the others. That means they want to come to terms.” Eyes drifted toward Ahmed. Every man had heard Macleod’s speech. In all their eyes, he read the same thing: if we turn him over our troubles disappear. Even if it meant subservience to the likes of Macleod.
Ahmed gulped down his rising fear. This wasn’t the first time men had thought about turning on him, an easy scapegoat for all the world’s woes. But he knew if these men turned on him, he wouldn’t survive. He was dependent upon their good faith. “I know what you’re thinking.” Ahmed leveled his chin. “Do what you have to do.”
The Singleton party stared at him. Andy looked away. Jim’s icy eyes bored him. “I won’t be played and I ain’t given you to dem. That’s just one less gun. No. We end this today.” Jim looked at the ground for a moment. “Foxworth boys. Go home. I appreciate the sentiment. You’re good folk, but this ain’t your fight.”
Paul stood firm. He was the oldest of the three brothers and in his late thirties. He had a lithe farmer’s build and was taller than his two brothers, Brett and the youngest, not even eighteen, Ford. “We’re in it now. Sly and that biker saw us. If they don’t come for us now, it won’t be long before they burn us out. Better to see it through.”
Jim nodded. “Good boys.” He gestured with a hand. “At least let Ford go back and let the lady folk know.”
Brett Foxworth gave a short nod. “Boy, go back to Ma.”
“I’m not running away.”
“You ain’t runnin’. I told you to do it.” He shook the teenager. “You go and take care of Ma. Tell her to get west to Aunt Carol’s. You hear? Aunt Carol’s. I’ll come for you when we’s done settling the score.”
“But, Brett. I can fight.”
“No buts. You can fight. You’re a brave lad. Go. Aunt Carol’s.”
Ford wiped his eyes and hopped atop his mount. He steered him away and heeled the horse hard. The horse and rider disappeared into the forest. Then there were six men all affiliated with the Singleton’s clan. Cold men with rosy cheeks who’d been outside for too long but had no place to go other than their rival’s homestead to warm themselves on the flames of their enemies’ corpses.
An action that meant a fight to death, and with such low numbers, Ahmed was sure their mission was a fool’s errand.
Without a word, the men mounted their horses. Jim swatted his horse with the reins. Ahmed followed suit, whipping the leather back and forth on the beast’s neck as its hooves beat the ground, speeding up until they were galloping.
Thunder rumbled in the air as the group pounded the hard, crisp snow-covered earth with hurried hooves. Each man kept his eyes on the indentation of the road, making peace with his god while knowing there wasn’t much time left for peace.
STEELE
Camp Forge, IA
“They’re not there?” Steele said into the microphone. The fire danced on the lightless Christmas tree. Red and green balls and silver bells and gold-sided ornaments reflected the flames. Homemade popsicle stick and macaroni keepsakes from Gwen and Becky’s childhood and a crayon-drawn candle made by Haley the year before embodied a Christmas spirit that refused to die.
“Affirmative. Your troops have not arrived. Captain Heath has waited long enough. He’s sending a single company north to discover what happened at Outpost Barron.”
“I don’t know why they haven’t shown.”
Steele held the radio mic to his head, tapping it. He hadn’t relayed Thunder’s betrayal to the colonel, feeling it was best left until he had decided what to do. The room was empty save for him, and it was odd to be having the conversations with Kinnick without his trusted lieutenant, Thunder, there to advise.
The radio rested silent for a moment. “Captain Heath will be looking forward to their arrival.”
“As will I.” He studied the map, looking at the river and talking to himself. “What happened, War Child?”
“Oh, and Captain Steele.”
“Yes sir?”
“Have a merry Christmas.”
A short grin formed on Steele’s face. “Merry Christmas, sir.”
“Enjoy it, okay? Try to forget this bullshit world and enjoy it.” What he’s really saying is that this is going to be our last Christmas here on earth, so make peace with that and spend it the best you can.
“I will, sir. You as well.”
There was a bit of mirth shrouded in sadness in Kinnick’s voice. “I will, Captain. I’d be lucky if we find a can of spam for us to feast upon.”
Steele was acutely aware that he was going to be dining on roast pig. “You need to come our way, Colonel. We’re roasting a pig.”
Mirth filled Kinnick’s voice. “Did you clear that with your commanding officer?”
“I’d have to ask him to clear it with my to-be wife.”
Kinnick’s chuckle came through the earpiece. “That is quite the occasion. Sorry to miss it.”
“I’m sorry you’ll miss it too.”
They sat in silence on either end of the radios. Neither man knew what more to say. A somber reflection of their ongoing struggle settled upon them, keeping them quiet.
Kinnick’s voice won over. “Keep us abreast of any developments.”
“Yes, sir.” Steele hung the microphone back on the side of his radio and flicked the power switch off. The battery life on the device would only last so long.
He eyed the fire crackling in the fireplace. War Child’s unit could have befallen anything. Boat trouble. The infected. Jackson’s men. Hell, literally any number of things could have caused their failure to arrive and Steele didn’t have any idea.
“Something must have happened, or they are making a real slow go of it.”
A knock on the door pulled him away from his thought. He stood and listened as Lydia answered. “Pastor.”
Steele moved away from his desk and into the doorway off the foyer.
The tall wraith-like man, wearing a heavy black coat, filled the doorframe. His air and appearance gave one the impression of a slender Puritan judge ready to disseminate swift biblical justice. A long-fingered hand gracefully gestured. “May I, Mrs. Reynolds?”
Lydia gave a slight bow of her head. “Of course, Pastor.”
He removed his outer garment and hung it on the coatrack next to the door.
“Pastor,” Steele said, watching the man with distaste. “Come in.”
Steele led the way inside the parlor and moved back around to his desk. He sat down and leaned back in his chair. “Why don’t you take a seat by the fire and get warm?”
The pastor took his time finding a seat, meandering around the Christmas tree. He studied the decorations with a closemouthed smile.
“What a joyous sight in such troubled times!” He clasped his hands in front of him, sending a sharp little barb his way. “I didn’t take you and the Reynolds for the religious type.”
Steele kept his mouth tight. “We welcome the celebration of Christmas and the joy it brings to everyone.”
Nodding, the pastor said, “I see. Christ’s birth is a cause for joy and celebration.”
“So are weddings,” Steele said with a smile. “Gwen and I are getting married.”
The pastor showed him some teeth now. “A very joyous time indeed. Go forth and populate the earth. We are blessed by the relative peace in this turmoil.”
“Yes, we are. We can’t stop living life because times are hard.”
“Very true. Where’s your bride-to-be? I must thank her for the medicine. Many of my people grow stronger every day because of her tenacity.”
“She is with her grandfather picking out hogs and other food for the wedding feast.”
“She will be glowing I’m sure.” The pastor folded his hands together and rubbed them. “With all this talk of happiness, I hate to bring this up, but my reason for stopping was to discuss the fate of the Red Stripes.”
Steele cleared his throat. “Go on.”
The pastor’s mouth stretched downward in a frown and his voice grew somber. “Over the past week, I’ve lost nine people to the flu, including four children.” His lower jaw trembled. “Children.” He averted his eyes for a moment toward the tree. “They were taken far before their time. And for what? Greed and wanton lust for life. Thunder and his men sat on that medicine for days until the venerable Ms. Tess discovered their treachery.”
Steele eyed the distraught man. “I’m sorry for your losses. Many others are very ill. We almost lost Haley because of their deception.”
The pastor’s voice grew stronger. “Justice must be served. Innocents have perished because of Thunder’s treason. I know I have been quick to pass judgment on those I’ve found guilty in the past.” He folded his hands in front of his body like he was about to start a prayer. “I recognize there are other ways now and that God shows himself in many forms. But I urge you, these men are vile and have proven their untrustworthiness.”
The Red Stripes’ defection still soured his gut like he’d eaten a bad piece of meat. Every day the group of loyal men that surrounded him shrank, and they inched a bit closer to defeat. “Justice should be served.” He paused, his gut churning. “What do you think is fair for the crimes?”
“You see, Mr. Steele. I am not in charge here. That decision does not fall on my shoulders.”
“But I’m asking for your advice. What would you have me do?”
“In the past, I would have them burnt at the stake.” The pastor’s answer was flat and honest with no hint of duplicity. And Steele wholeheartedly believed the man.
“Admittedly, I have grown since then, but does this case not warrant an eye for an eye? In this camp alone, eighteen people have died and some of those were children. Some may still not pull through. This is a grievous act and I believe it warrants punishment of the most capital kind.”
Sighing, Steele said, “This deserves punishment.”
The pastor spread his fingers wide. “If we don’t want to punish them with death, we could exile them into the wild like you did the soldiers. That way you can wash your hands of them and let God’s elements do their work. A banishment if you will.”
Steele stroked his beard. The flames danced in the firep
lace. “Let me think on this. These men have been reliable in the past.”
The pastor leaned forward. “I think you should move sooner rather than later. Your position looks weak by not punishing them. I’ve heard rumblings throughout the camp.”
“Like your sermons in the fields?”
The thin-cheeked man tilted his head to the side as if Steele’s words hurt him. “If you heard any negative speak, it was out of frustration not genuine malice. I sing your praises for your quick resolution of the matter.” He dipped his head to Steele in a bit of acquiescence.
“My position is not weak, but it is weaker than it was. The fortifications are a great help in hardening our position against the dead or otherwise. We can fit hundreds if not thousands more inside the camp if we need to. Please try to quell any rumors of weakness. If we don’t stand together, there is no chance for us.”
“Of course.” The pastor dipped his head again. “But what are you going to do?”
Steele got to his feet. “It’s the holiday season. I’m getting married in a couple days. Let’s decide their fate when tempers have calmed. Let them experience one more Christmas.”
The pastor copied him, rising. “I understand your decision.” He offered Steele his hand. His palm was damp, and a general coolness surrounded the man. A grin overtook his lips. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Steele. I look forward to your coming wedding and give my sincerest regards to your bride.”
“And Merry Christmas to you.” The fire crackled and popped, and the men released hands. “I will tell Gwen she has your warm regards.”
“Please do.”
ALVARADO
La Crosse, Wisconsin
“Rasmussen is going to take Riddle and the rest of the team across to Captain Butler’s command.”
Riddle shook his head with vehemence. He knew where she was heading with her orders already. “No, Major.”
“This is going to be a running fight and you can’t run. I will not debate this.”
The sergeant’s jaw set. “Then let me distract the bastards while you get planted.”
The End Time Saga (Book 5): The Holding Page 27
