Into the River Lands (Darkness After Series Book 2)

by Williams, Scott B.

  “I just wanted my baby! DON’T YOU TOUCH HER!” April screamed, looking at the one who was now holding her gun and her bow.

  “We don’t want anything to do with your kid,” Wayne said. “I just didn’t want you to get any ideas about doing something funny with that weapon. A man can’t be too careful around strangers these days.”

  “You are the ones who came uninvited into our camp brandishing weapons,” April replied. “I’m not dumb enough to try something stupid like that with the four of you standing there with guns in your hands. I just don’t want you frightening my child!”

  When the other man had reached for the carbine, David had stepped back out of the way with Kimberly putting her even farther out of reach. April knew there was another rifle under his blanket, a bolt-action Winchester .270 that had been issued to him by the church members for his duty as a defender, but with their child in his arms she knew he wouldn’t make a foolish move for it. She was glad that it was out of sight, but it was useless to them now whether the men saw it or not. What could either of them do with one bolt-action rifle against three men armed with semiautomatics who were standing over them at the ready? And although the talkative one, the one called Wayne, carried that weird, high-tech bow instead of a rifle, he was also wearing a Glock in a low-slung holster strapped to his thigh.

  “Ruger Mini-14,” the one who had picked up the gun said as he held it up for the others to see.

  This elicited another chuckle from the rest of the men. “Piece of worthless junk for hunting,” Wayne said. “You probably couldn’t hit a deer broadside with that thing at eighty yards.”

  April knew better but said nothing. The rifle had already accounted for more than one man who’d decided to use the circumstances as an excuse to revert to indecency and savagery.

  “I don’t know what the hell this stick is for,” the other man said, holding up her bow in his other hand.

  “Why that’s a homemade longbow, Jared. It’s just not strung. So, who’s the archer?” Wayne turned to David. “Is that your stick bow?” He had an even bigger grin on his face as he viewed the simple wooden weapon with obvious contempt. From the machine-like contraption he carried, April knew he wouldn’t appreciate the careful craftsmanship Mitch had put into making the traditional weapon he loved so much. She didn’t care what this jerk thought though, really.

  “I am,” she said.

  “Really? Can you hit anything with it? I’d like to see that!”

  “I don’t have any arrows left. But look, we were just getting ready to pack up and leave. We’ve got a long way to go today and we need to get on the river early. If you don’t trust me with my carbine, then just unload it and give it back to me. We’ll just paddle away and you’ll never see us again. But we really need to get going.”

  “It didn’t look like you were in a hurry to me,” Wayne said, glancing up at the sun. “It must be nearly nine o’clock by now. Your husband and the baby girl were still sacked out and you were just rekindling the fire. You can’t tell me you weren’t going to have some breakfast first, and probably coffee to go with it, especially on a crisp morning like this. I’ll bet you’ve got coffee in your bags there, haven’t you? We haven’t had our coffee this morning. In fact we haven’t had any coffee in so long I can barely remember what it tastes like. Why don’t you put some water on to boil and let’s all sit down and visit over a cup or two?”

  “We don’t have coffee! Really, I’m telling you the truth. We barely got out of Hattiesburg with enough food for just a few days. Wherever you guys have come from, you know as well as I do how scarce things like coffee are by now. It’s hard enough just getting something to eat.”

  “I’m sure it is, with that crappy Mini 14 with iron sights and a homemade bow; not to mention a lazy husband that sleeps past sunup!”

  “Hey! I’m not lazy!” David said, a touch of anger in his voice. “We paddled all day yesterday. We didn’t get any sleep the two nights before. I was just catching up a bit.”

  Wayne just shook his head and looked at April again with that grin that was totally dismissive of anything David had to say. She was getting really creeped out by this guy and what she wanted more than anything was for him and his friends to just leave. But she already knew that wasn’t going to happen, at least not as quickly and painlessly as she wanted it to. What was happening was that a highly uncomfortable situation was developing, and it was shaping up to be a problem that would soon be out of control. Wayne and his friends weren’t leaving until they got what they wanted, and April was beginning to realize that what they wanted might just be her.

  Eight

  THE VOICES MITCH HEARD were too far away for him to understand any of what was being said, but as he stood motionless listening, he had no doubt that they were real and not some trick of gurgling water in the nearby creek. From Jason’s expression, Mitch knew he could hear them too. Mitch didn’t want to make a move though until he knew if the speakers were stationary, coming closer or moving farther away. As he listened he could pick out several distinct tones that told him the conversation was an exchange between more than just two people, and that at least one of them was a female. That was odd, because all of the four sets of tracks he’d been following since finding the place where the unknown archer had rejoined his companions were made by man-sized boots.

  The voices were clearly coming from the direction in which the tracks led, so Mitch felt it safe to assume that at least some of those he could hear speaking were the same who had passed this way in company with the archer. If that were the case, they hadn’t traveled far since wounding the deer late yesterday. The only explanation for that was that they must have camped nearby and perhaps even now were still at their campsite. Mitch wanted to know for sure, and to do that, he had to get closer, but Jason was a liability for that kind of reconnaissance. Although he was an eager student and Mitch had been patiently teaching him ever since he’d recovered from the brutal beating he’d received from the Wallace brothers who had kidnapped their little sisters, Jason still had a lot to learn. The art of stalking, in particular, was something Mitch had been perfecting since he was six or seven, when he first began pretending he was an Indian while playing games in which he tried to sneak up on his father in the woods and around their farm. He had practiced those skills from the time he began hunting with BB guns until he graduated to real firearms, and ultimately, the traditional bow and arrows he now favored above all else. It would be impossible for Jason or anyone else just starting out to approach anything near Mitch’s level of competence in a few short months.

  Realizing this, and considering the potential dangers of the situation, Mitch wasn’t taking any chances on Jason making a misstep or otherwise alerting these strangers to their presence. It simply wasn’t worth the risk. Stepping close to his friend so he could whisper into his ear, Mitch told him of his intentions and then led Jason to a hideaway in a bay thicket between the creek and the trail the men had made yesterday. Giving him instructions to stay put and keep a sharp lookout unless called, Mitch then slipped off into the direction of the voices, a broadhead arrow nocked and ready on his bowstring.

  Mitch had no intention of confronting the trespassers, and certainly hoped he wouldn’t need the arrow or the handgun strapped to his side. Ideally, he would observe them without being seen and hopefully ascertain that they were just passing through the area on their way to someplace else. Once he knew they were moving on, he could forget the incident and he and Jason would pack the remainder of the venison back to the house.

  With Jason waiting behind, Mitch could move fast while still making little discernible sound. The key to moving quietly through the woods—he’d discovered through trial and error and diligent practice—was learning to scan the way ahead each time he stopped to look and listen. Doing this, he could pick in advance the best route for the next twenty or so steps, avoiding the worst patches of crackly, dry leaves, fallen branches and other obstacles to stealthy movement. Mi
tch did this instinctively now with little thought, weaving silently among the thickets and around trees in the path of least resistance as effortlessly as a city-bred pedestrian navigated busy streets and avoided getting hit by cars.

  He was quickly out of Jason’s view in a few moments, melting into the greenery in his head-to-toe camouflage. Mitch knew that whenever he paused to look and listen it was impossible for anyone to see him at a distance beyond a few yards. The form-breaking effect of the tree bark and leaf pattern camo was quite effective. Movement and only movement would allow him to be seen by either humans or wildlife, and so each time before moving again he carefully scanned his surroundings to make certain he was still alone. And when he did move, it was deliberate and fluid, with none of the quick or jerky patterns of the inexperienced and impatient that would announce his presence to every living thing within a hundred yards.

  As he closed the distance to the source of the voices, it became apparent that the speakers were stationary rather than approaching or moving farther away. This was good news to Mitch, as it meant he could approach them on his own terms, getting as close as needed to observe them and establish their intentions. Each time he stopped to listen, a little closer than the last time, the individual voices became more distinct and he could begin to make out a few words. It was then that he realized this was not a normal conversation among friends. He could hear the tension in the voices as he listened, especially that of the woman or girl. He also heard for the first time the crying of a small child, as well as at least two or three distinct male voices. But he was still too far away to make out enough of it to figure out what the commotion was about. There was anger and fear in the exchange, of that he was certain, and the way it seemed to be escalating prompted Mitch to move as fast as he could while remaining stealthy. Something intense was happening, and though it wasn’t his concern, he couldn’t help his natural curiosity to find out what this was about.

  In recent weeks survival on the Henley property had settled pretty much into an easy routine. It had been awhile since there had been any drama of any kind, much less real danger. Now all of a sudden with the discovery of the wounded deer, it seemed a lot was happening all at once. Even if the argument was a squabble over something that was none of his business, Mitch found it an interesting game to stalk closer and observe. Like when he was a kid playing such games every day, this was grand entertainment in a world where such diversions were few and far between.

  The sounds of the voices were leading him along the creek bank now, and as he got closer, he became quite certain that whoever these people were, they were on the sandbar on the opposite bank from him. It was a sandbar he knew well, since it was so close to the house and this part of the creek was his extended backyard. He was glad of this really, because it meant they were out in the open where he could easily see them, but the bank on his side was heavily wooded and would make it easy for him to stay hidden.

  It was only one more bend in the stream before the sandbar would be in view, so Mitch kept his approach slow but stopped less frequently now that he knew for sure where they were. Before he reached the beginning of the bend, he walked right into an area where the strangers had obviously camped for the night. That seemed odd, since he’d assumed they must have camped on the sandbar, since they were there now, this early in the morning. But the cleared away vines and other undergrowth, as well as the compressed leaves and scattered trash, left no doubt someone had slept here. Mitch picked up a torn MRE wrapper. There were three more on the ground nearby. Whoever these hunters were, they apparently still had supplies from before the collapse. Maybe that was why they hadn’t bothered to try and track the deer, or maybe they were simply unskilled at hunting and were still living off stockpiles of survival food such as this. Mitch figured that was it, especially considering all the noise they were making now. Anyone with survival knowledge and experience would keep their voices lower, even if they were arguing and fighting. But even so, Mitch wasn’t about to take it for granted that they were completely unaware or stupid. He left the campsite with as much caution as before as he neared the sandbar. He hadn’t gone ten yards when he was stopped in his tracks by a scream from the woman he’d heard mixed in with the other voices. This time he could understand clearly what she said:

  “DON’T YOU TOUCH HER!”

  He heard the baby crying too, as well as the laughter of several men. Mitch began to wonder if what was going on was more than a simple domestic squabble. He’d followed the tracks of four men who’d clearly slept on this side of the creek that night, but now there was a woman who sounded sincerely distressed on the other side. Could she be another traveler not connected to these men at all and now the victim of a random attack? If so, it sounded like it was escalating even now. Mitch worked his way through the undergrowth as fast as he could without making noise, keeping his bow with the already-nocked broadhead low and to the front and ready as he moved.

  When he at last reached the area adjacent to the downstream end of sandbar on the other side, he saw a single aluminum canoe pulled up on the sand, a line from the bow tying it to stump. The lettering on the bow identified the canoe as one that had belonged to the rental fleet in the town of Brooklyn, twenty miles upstream. Mitch figured most of the boats there had been taken by now, stolen by refugees desperate to get away from the dangers of the highways and roads. Few people could survive long out here in the wilds without supplies though, and if they kept going far enough downstream they would end up in a even more desperate situation on the urbanized Gulf coast. It didn’t make sense that the four he’d been tracking were connected to the canoe, however, unless there was another one tied up around the bend upstream. These seventeen-foot Grummans were designed for two paddlers; three adults could fit in a pinch, but not four men.

  The exchange seemed to become more heated as Mitch crept farther upstream, staying low in the cover of the undergrowth until at last he could see what was going on. There were four armed men with their backs to him, forming a rough semi-circle on his side of a smoldering campfire in the sand. Facing them from the other side of the fire were three people—a man, a woman and a small toddler that the man was holding in his arms. It was they who likely paddled the canoe here, Mitch surmised. And it was now clear the arguing he’d heard was a confrontation between the four he’d been tracking and these other strangers who must have spent the night there on the sandbar.

  Mitch watched and listened; hoping to hear enough to determine exactly what was going on. It was not until the woman lunged to try and reach the child that Mitch got a clear view of her face. When he did, he felt a rush of adrenaline wash over him as he tensed and squeezed his hunting bow in a white-knuckle grip. How and why she was here he had no idea, but right there before his eyes, was someone he never expected to see again: April Gibbs!

  Nine

  APRIL’S MIND WAS RACING as she played out various scenarios of what might happen next and what she and David might do when it did. With her carbine already in their hands and the .270 out of reach under David’s blanket, April was effectively unarmed but for her knife. Though she’d used it to great effect that first week of the blackout, this was a far different situation. For one thing, Kimberly was with her this time and equally in danger. For another, there were four of these men and they were all armed, not to mention no doubt hardened by the trials of survival as anyone who’d lived this long since the blackout must be. While she wouldn’t hesitate to use the Spyderco as a last resort, and would make anyone who attacked her and Kimberly pay in blood, she doubted she and David had much of a chance if it came to an all-out assault from four men. What she hoped she could do was diffuse the situation and somehow get the men to go away.

  “Look, I’m really sorry we don’t have any coffee. If we did, I’d be glad to share some with you. But we don’t have much of anything.”

  “We’ll see,” Wayne said. “Gary, see what’s in those packs! And check the blankets too.”

  “You don’
t have any right to go through our belongings!” April said, trying to hide her apprehension, as she now knew for sure they weren’t going to simply go away. At the very least they would take what little rice and other staples she and David had, and she knew they were going to discover the other rifle too and would certainly take that as well. Without it or her carbine and bow, she and David would have nothing with which to defend Kimberly or hunt for food, even if the men did nothing else to harm them.

  “Our right is the right of survival,” Wayne said. “In case you haven’t heard of it, there’s this concept called ‘survival of the fittest.’ That means whoever is bigger, badder or has the most guns wins. It’s the law of the jungle, sweetheart, and we’re in the jungle now!”

  “We don’t have anything worth taking,” David said. “We’re just barely getting by, and what little we have isn’t worth your time to bother with.”

  Wayne just looked at him with a smirk on his face and then turned to stare April up and down in a way that David could not misinterpret. “Oh I think it’s worth my time all right! It must have been worth yours too, considering that rug rat you’re holding.”

  April lunged to grab Kimberly from David, but Wayne quickly stepped between them, cutting her off. At the same time, the one searching their belongings, the one he’d called Gary, found the hunting rifle and held it up for the others to see. When David tried to move around Wayne to get to April’s side, Gary jabbed the butt of the rifle into his stomach, doubling him over, and barely missing Kimberly, who he was holding against his chest. Before David could catch his breath and straighten up, Gary swung the stock up in a swift uppercut motion that connected to the side of his head, causing him to collapse into the sand, dropping Kimberly as he fell. The child cried out in terror as April screamed and tried again to lunge for her. But Wayne knocked her aside with a backhand slap, sending her to her hands and knees in the sand. At the same time, Gary snatched Kimberly up and began backing away with her in his arms.