by Connor Mccoy
Tom looked at the drink label. “Bourbon,” he said, “Texas Bourbon. I guess Camilla isn’t big on you drinking this?”
“Actually, she’d probably drink up half the bottle. There’s a couple of incidents I’d rather not go into,” Conrad said as he popped off the seal. Then he poured some into each glass.
Tom snatched up his glass, while Liam just stared at his. Conrad hesitated before picking up his drink. “Something up?” he asked his son.
“I just realized this is the first time my dad ever poured me a real drink before,” Liam said.
“I could have poured you one when we were living together, but I’d probably have been arrested for giving alcohol to a grade school kid,” Conrad said as he sat down. “That, and your mom would have killed me instead of just divorcing me.” Then he turned to the back door. “In fact, she still might. Damn, I might have messed up by giving her those shooting lessons.”
Liam chuckled. “Thanks, Dad. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’s fine with me drinking now.” He picked up his drink and took a swig. Then suddenly he drew back a little as the bourbon hit his taste buds. “Wow. That…that really is good.”
“Strong stuff, isn’t it?” Conrad laughed.
Tom drank some as well. “Reminds me of the stuff they passed out at a party once in Omaha. Never thought I’d ever taste anything that good again.”
The three men downed another batch from their glasses until Liam spoke up again. “So, are we getting the Daily Drake?”
“The what?” Conrad asked.
“You know, the daily report of the ranch,” Tom spoke up. “You always take us out here to tell us how the day went. I already know about the shooting part. Anything we miss?”
“Oh, that.” Conrad sat back in his chair. “Well, as it so happens, today we crossed an important finish line. Sarah canned enough veggies to last us through the winter. Add in the beans, corn, peas, potatoes, all the rest, and we’re sitting pretty.”
Tom smiled. “Remarkable. Sarah’s almost like a machine with those cans.”
Conrad had taken another drink before continuing. “I wondered how’d she take it out here. I always thought a place like this would be her worst nightmare, especially after we parted.”
Tom sat back. “Was that all about your family?”
“I think that had a lot to do with it.” Conrad scratched his chin. “Of course, she was born and raised in the suburbs. The country can be a strange place to live if you’re not used to it. My family didn’t exactly give her the best impression.” Conrad poured himself more bourbon. “But at the time, I was living in the city. I thought maybe I could give up that life. I think Sarah thought so, too.”
“I guess it was just in your blood,” Tom said.
“Yeah. I tried growing a garden in the backyard. She didn’t understand why.” Conrad pointed his thumb behind him. “Just hop in the car and go get some tomatoes if you want them. That’s what she would say.” He chuckled. “Well, it was just all about doing it myself, getting my hands dirty. It was like if I knew the crop was growing before my eyes, I knew it’d be there for me.”
Tom looked at his now empty glass. “Never could picture Sarah worrying about growing a crop in the backyard. If I tried that, she’d probably take me to the doctor’s.”
Conrad turned to Tom, still holding his glass. “So, how’d you first meet Sarah?”
Tom put his glass on the table. “It was actually online. It was a small chat room on local garage sales. Turned out she was looking for cheap stuff, since she had just moved to Redmond. We talked for about three months before we actually met each other. I asked her to dinner, she said yes, and then…well, my whole life changed after that.”
“What about you and Camilla?” Liam asked.
Conrad drank the last bit of bourbon from his glass. “I met Camilla in South Dakota. There was a convention up there, a gun show, ham radios, sports gear, all that stuff. I sort of bumped into Camilla, actually. Wasn’t watching where I was going. My head was filled with all kinds of things. At the time I was looking for transmitters. Turns out so was she.”
“So, you two hit it off,” Tom said.
Conrad picked up his now empty glass and looked into it. “No, we actually kind of sniped at each other. It wasn’t a nasty fight or anything like that. As you know, Camilla has a tongue about her, and I wasn’t exactly looking to make any lady friends. I probably forgot my manners. That didn’t help.”
“So, what happened?” Liam asked.
“I got to know her. I learned more about where she was coming from. She was on the road, just staying in a hotel nearby.” Conrad turned his glass over and studied it. “We understood each other a lot better after a while. Turns out we both were lonely. When I left, came home, I didn’t think I’d see her again. Then a couple of weeks later, she shows up at my front door.”
“You did give her your address, right?” Tom asked.
Conrad looked at Tom, but didn’t answer the question. Tom didn’t press the issue further. Liam on the other hand laughed and said, “I’m sure Dad did.”
“Well, it’s been a good few years since,” Conrad said, “We never had the sun go down on a day when we were still angry with each other.”
Tom exhaled loudly. “I almost didn’t realize how much Sarah changed my life until I lost her. Worst thing I ever did was hand her over to Marco and his goons.”
“But she forgave you, didn’t she?” Conrad asked.
Tom nodded. “Most definitely. Did Camilla forgive you for going off by yourself?”
Conrad poured himself a fresh glass. “Probably not.” He then drank a big swig of it.
Tom and Liam looked at each other, trying to discern whether Conrad was joking. Finally, the two of them just laughed.
Tom then raised his glass to Conrad’s. “Here’s to our women.”
Conrad clinked Tom’s glass. “Here’s to them.”
HOOPER CITY. The sign resting just off the road was clean, free of vandalism. That was a good indicator for this town.
As Lance drove down the street into the community, he noticed the looks and occasional excited shouts from pedestrians. But so far, nobody accosted his vehicle. Nobody was out and about burning down homes or shooting citizens in the street. This didn’t seem like a town run by mobs or gangsters. Another good sign.
A middle-aged man in a blue flannel shirt beckoned to him from an upcoming intersection. After applying the brakes, Lance rolled down the window. “Hello there.” The man sounded friendly. He didn’t greet Lance with a pistol. Yet another good sign. “See you got working wheels there.”
“Yeah.” Lance suddenly coughed. His throat was drier than he realized.
“Easy. You okay?” The man frowned. “You seem like you’ve skipped a few meals there. I was just curious how that truck’s running. It’s been a week since we’ve seen a working vehicle. Are you from around here?”
“No.” Lance coughed again before speaking. “No, I’m new. Looking for work.” He coughed once more. “Damn. Sorry. I need work, food, a place to sleep.”
“Calm down,” the man said, “if you’re looking for provisions and shelter, check out Hooper Feed. Nigel Crane owns it, and he’s one of our leaders.” The man pointed to the intersection. “Take a left there and keep going for three more blocks. You’ll find Hooper Feed, no problem.”
“Thank you.” Lance even smiled, to his own surprise. The man simply nodded and backed away.
Lance was amazed that he should be astonished over feeling good, but he quickly understood why. He just had concluded a conversation where no one barked at him or insulted him. Who would have thought common civility could be in such short supply?
A SHORT TIME LATER, Lance arrived at Hooper Feed. Nigel Crane and Jeff Clement, an employee and friend of Nigel’s, emerged from the store and greeted him. So far, the people of Hooper City seemed pleasant and welcoming, and more importantly, stable. Still, the number of looks Lance got from pedestrians unnerved
him. Lance had heard stories of people mobbing automobiles that still were functioning, and he feared he could suffer a similar fate.
“This truck’s still running.” Jeff looked the vehicle over as Nigel paced in front of Lance in the small lot in front of Hooper Feed. “Pretty old model.” Jeff rubbed his balding forehead. “Not too old, but it sounds like it’s been refitted.”
“Yeah,” Lance said, “I mean, I don’t know. It’s not mine. I, uh, I took it from some guys that were holding me. Imprisoning me.”
“Really?” Nigel asked. “Well, you do look banged up. What happened?”
“I was looking for work in Davies. And then…” Lance held off on telling them about how they wanted his help finding Conrad. At least, Lance wouldn’t reveal the name. “…they took me out of town in the truck for a job. They tied me up. But they got into a fight with another rancher. I took the truck during the fight.” Lance then stumbled. He quickly caught himself. Even talking that much exhausted him.
“Hold on there. You need some water and food in that belly,” Nigel said. “You can give us details later.”
“Really? I mean, do you need me to work for it? I can. Just…” Lance gasped. “Just tell me your town isn’t run by psychos.”
Jeff chuckled. “No, I don’t think so. Although I don’t ask what our council does on Saturday when they’re all behind closed doors and we don’t see them.”
Lance’s eyes widened.
“That’s a joke, kid. We may have suffered through the apocalypse, but we still can laugh once in a while.” Jeff pulled his oversized flannel shirt taut. “Hooper City is run by a city council. It’s not much different now then it was when the lights were on. We had to make some adjustments when everything shut down, but we’re pulling it together.”
“You want to work? We could use extra guards for the crops,” Nigel said. “When you get your strength back, you can help us dig the wells. Food production’s picking up, but the water supply’s a little weak, and if our population starts surging, we may have a problem.”
Lance laughed. “I can dig. Yeah, I can do it. Anything.”
“You’re eager. That’s good.” Nigel turned to Jeff. “Help out our friend. Reg can give him a place to sleep.” Nigel scratched his right cheek as he peered over at Lance again. “Oh, I forgot to ask. Can you handle a firearm?”
The back of Lance’s neck tensed up. “Um, yeah.” Damn, why’d you say that? Lance fumed at himself. Thanks to his horrible time at Conrad’s ranch, even thinking about picking up a gun again gave him jitters. He didn’t want to jump right back into a situation where he’d need to shoot somebody.
“Good. Like I said, we need guards for the crops. We’ve had problems with thieves recently. Some of them are gunmen who have been raiding ranches. But I think we got enough men that we can put them out of business, at least in Hooper City.” Nigel gently slapped Lance’s arm. “Don’t worry. I won’t put you on the front line right away. Actually, we can use callers, people who sound an alarm when there’s trouble. Without any phones, we have to do it the old-fashioned way.”
Lance nodded. “Yeah.”
Jeff led Lance off to get something to eat. For the first time in ages, he felt as if he finally had escaped danger. This place was warm and welcoming. Perhaps he could settle down here. There was no way Vander, Blake and Juan could find him in Hooper City. The road that had taken Lance here branched off several times along the way, leading to any number of small towns. Perhaps the three men all were dead, and in any case, it would be tough for any of them to track him down. It’s not like GPSes worked any longer.
Maybe the nightmare’s finally over, Lance thought.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE FRONT DOOR to the Wellinger house suddenly flew open after being shut for about three days. Several men stepped through, single file, slowly, with guns drawn. Five of them wore masks over their faces. The sixth, however, did not. He was content with his long coat with a big collar and the hat that covered his scalp. Hunter was feared enough by those who knew him, and for those ignorant of his reputation, they would find out soon enough why even the men didn’t want to cross him.
The house smelled rotten. Flies buzzed around the living room. Yet, there was no sign of anyone. The room lay empty of any human life.
The men looked in the kitchen. An adult male lay on his belly on the floor, his hand outstretched for the side door. Yet, the limb lay limp on top of a small stepstool that got in the man’s way. A trail of dried blood followed his legs toward the entrance to the living room.
One of the men kicked the body over to reveal the face. His eyes were open, his mouth closed. He likely had perished crawling through here. The stomach area of his shirt was dark red, indicating he was either shot or stabbed in the abdomen.
“Blake,” Hunter said.
The men exchanged frowns. Clearly, they wouldn’t be getting any answers from this guy.
They left the kitchen and proceeded down the hall, but with greater caution. Now that they knew one of their own had been killed, they realized danger still could be lurking around any corner. From here, the rotting smells grew worse. The hallway walls also were riddled with bullet holes. Hunter looked down. Dark powder occasionally appeared near their boots, with the occasional tiny bits of broken metal. A gun battle had taken place.
One of the men pushed open the door to a bedroom. Judging by the size, it was likely this house’s master bedroom. The door’s parting only assaulted their nostrils further with additional stench. It was not hard to see why. Two adult males lay draped across the bed. Their shirts were coated in dried blood. One of them was a muscle-bound hulk, while the other was much thinner and looked sickly. Yet, each was clutching a nasty-looking hunting knife. The big guy also had a gunshot wound in his right shoulder.
“Vander,” Hunter said.
One of Hunter’s men pointed to Vander. “Looks like somebody nailed him.”
“That didn’t kill him. It only slowed him down.” Hunter leaned over Vander’s opponent. “The gunshot may have evened the odds. These two then killed each other.”
“Damn. Never thought anyone would take out Vander,” said one of the men behind Hunter.
“But three of them left with that kid, whatever his name was,” said a tall, bald-headed man.
The group’s attention was drawn to another man, Behr, who dashed into the room. “Hey! I found another guy dead in the backyard. Had another trail of blood behind him just like Blake, but he wasn’t one of ours.”
“Shit,” said the bald-headed man, “If they’re all dead, we got nothing.”
Behr brushed his oily red moustache. “Yeah, this place is a slaughterhouse.”
Just then, a voice shouted from the hall. “Hunter! Hey, I found Juan!”
Hunter quickly pushed his way past Behr to make way into the hallway. “Is he alive?” Hunter shouted back.
“Yeah, but not for much longer. He’s screwed up badly. You gotta come quick.”
The team filed out of the bedroom and followed the voice to the house’s den. The man who called Hunter beckoned to a thin adult male lying on the floor. The group encircled him.
Juan was practically at death’s door. His eyes were half-open and unfocused. Sweat covered his body. His pants were soiled, with the accompanying odor to confirm it. Crumbs dotted his shirt collar and face near his mouth. A rag was wrapped tightly around his right arm. It was soaked with blood, which gave it a brownish color.
Fallon, the man who called in Hunter, gestured to the arm. The skin had turned green around the rag. Juan had been injured, yet survived. However, he did not treat himself for his wounds, or perhaps could not find the necessary medical supplies to bind his wounds and treat possible infections. He likely was too badly hurt to leave the house under his own strength, and the nearest town was hours away on foot. Since the truck Blake, Juan and Vander had driven here was gone, Juan likely was marooned here.
“Juan. Hey, Juan!” Fallon called. “What t
he hell happened here?”
Juan’s eyelids fluttered. “Hey…Fallon…you…bring…the beer?”
“He’s out of his damn mind,” snapped Behr.
“Juan, what happened?” Fallon raised his voice. “Vander and Blake are dead. We can’t find that kid you took along to get Doctor Darber back. The truck isn’t here.”
“The kid…Lance…he stole…stole truck…stole truck and fly away.” Juan giggled, showing off his dirty teeth.
“Where is the doctor?” This time the question came from Hunter.
“He go somewhere, I don’t know.” Juan laughed again.
“Where is he?” Hunter roared.
Some of the men stood back, giving Hunter space. Juan, however, was too out of it to be afraid of Hunter any longer. “Lance-y show us on map. He know. I not remember.” Juan then coughed. It was a long, dry hack, followed by an elongated sigh. Finally, he said, in a labored whisper, “Hey. When you bring doctor? I don’t feel good.”
“You damn fool!” Hunter fished out a small switchblade from inside his coat. “We have no time for this. Tell us where the doctor is, or I’ll cut out your heart and shove it in your mouth.”
Juan didn’t answer right away, taking about half a minute before saying, “It’s like this…” His words now were slurred. The next few sentences were unintelligible. Then Juan started moaning, which sounded almost like laughter.
That all stopped when the top of Juan’s head suddenly burst open. Blood and small bits of skull sped off in many directions.
The men all looked to the doorway. A lone figure in the hall just beyond the doorway clutched a gun with fresh smoke pouring from the barrel. Everyone stood at attention. No one moved an inch.
“There is a town nearby,” the shooter said. “We’ll renew our search there. Take two hours to ransack this ranch of anything immediately useful to us, then get back to the truck.”
