by N. C. Reed
“I know,” she said again. “And I told him that, too. I thought I had reached him, but...”
“You have no idea what was said to him after he left,” he squeezed her shoulders. “You have no idea what occurred to him on the walk back up that hill, or what he was thinking. For all you know he had already decided to do it before he came to see you and was just good at hiding it. And let’s be honest a minute; if his parents weren't involved, what more could you have done? Could you have made him stay here?”
“No. I couldn't. He made it clear he was done talking for the day.”
“Well, did you tell someone that you were worried about him?” Mitchell kept at it.
“Yes. Or I was doing that when we heard the gunshot.”
“So what else could you have done? And I mean actually done. Knowing what you knew when he left, what else was there that you could have done? Even if the world was still working the way it was supposed to, what could you have done?”
“Nothing,” she admitted after a minute. “There's only so much that can be done.”
“And you did it all,” he nodded, kissing the top of her head. “You did everything you could. And his parents didn't do anything at all, apparently. So, stop beating yourself up over it. It's okay to be sad or feel bad about it but stop blaming yourself. This isn't on you.”
“You're pretty smart for a grunt,” she looked up at him, sniffling slightly but trying to smile.
“Yeah, that's what all the girls say.”
“That better be all they say.”
“Well, I mean I can't be blamed if random women just. . .ow…ow… ow!”
–
“Did you know that every star we see is actually just like our own sun?” Zach asked. “With its own system of planets, just like ours?”
Startled, Vicki looked to where his form was vaguely visible on the ground behind Building Two.
“How did you know I was here?” she asked, moving toward him.
“I could smell your soap,” he replied. “And every one of those star systems has the potential to have life in it?” he went on as if she hadn't spoken.
“I read that somewhere, yeah,” she sat down beside him in a lotus position. She was barefoot, the new grass feeling good on her soles.
“I wonder if any of those stars ever hiccup and ruin the life on any of their planets?” Zach wondered.
“I would imagine the possibility is there,” Vicki replied, nodding even in the dark.
“We'd never know it though, would we,” it was more of a statement than a question. “I wonder if the aliens know what happened to us?”
“What aliens?”
“On those distant planets,” he waved his arm to encompass the sky. “If all of those stars have the potential to have planets with life on them, then a few of them probably have some form of intelligent life, wouldn't you say?”
“That's a little above my pay grade,” Vicki chuckled. “What's got you waxing so philosophical this evening?”
“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Sometimes I just do. Looking at the stars usually makes me relax, but it also makes me ask questions that can't really be answered. Sort of cancels each other out.”
“I can see that,” she laughed.
“So how was your day?” he asked.
“You're seriously asking how my day went?”
“Well sure.”
“Why would you care?” she asked, somewhat bewildered.
“Why wouldn't I?” he asked.
“Well. . .no reason,” she admitted. “Most just don't care, one way or the other.”
“Most who?” Zach asked.
“Most guys,” Vicki replied. “Most guys don't care.”
“Oh,” he replied after a pause. “I see.”
“See what?”
“No, I just meant I understand,” Zach said. “I’ll have to work on that.”
“Work on what?”
“On the not caring part,” he smiled into the night.
“You really are a complete and total smart ass,” she sighed, lying down beside him.
“I really am.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
-
It was three weeks to the day since the Webb family had departed, Joshua Webb having decreed in a fit of anger that his family would no longer be a part of the small community of survivors. No one in his family agreed with that decision, but all followed him regardless because he was the Patriarch.
One day shy of three weeks since sixteen-year-old Bryon Jessup had taken his own life, plagued by guilt and by either real or imagined persecution over his inaction during the battle that had claimed Mark Webb's life.
A great deal can happen in three weeks.
So can nothing at all.
The nothing at all route wasn't really available on a farm, but in terms of anything non-farm work related things had been quiet.
Work had continued on the natural barrier around the ranch with cuttings from hedgerow trees, brier bushes and brambles, anything with a thorn or the potential to lock itself to another plant. The work was slow for a number of reasons but had been steady as everyone put in whatever time they had to help. The Sanders' ranch and farm was a large place and no one imagined it would be either quick or easy to surround the entire place with such a barrier, but they had nothing if not time. Or so they hoped.
They had chosen the most vulnerable spots to plant first, but in truth it would be two years or more before such a barrier would begin to be effective. Still, it had to be planted before it would grow. They would work on it when they had time and had material. When they didn't have the time and material then whatever they had already planted would still be growing.
Rains had given the new crops and new gardens a good start, plants already shooting forth into the open and reaching for sunlight. This looked to be a good sign that they could perhaps hope for a strong showing from the year's crop. Everyone looked forward to gardens coming in and providing fresh vegetables for the table.
The Jessup family had not taken part in much of late and no one tried to force them to. Mourning the death of a child under any circumstance was hard enough and the circumstance of Bryon Jessup's death was especially difficult. Nadine Jessup usually just sat and rocked back and forth staring off into something only she could see. While she wasn't catatonic she had all but shut down since Bryon's death. Her younger children were thankfully old enough to care for themselves more or less, but they were also missing a brother and didn't quite understand why 'Bubba' had gone away. When neither of the Jessups had offered to explain to their children what had happened, Dixie Jerrolds and Beverly Jackson had been forced to do so.
It had not been a pleasant experience. Neither woman imagined that this had crossed Bryon Jessup's mind. Had he considered the impact on his younger siblings, it might well have prevented his suicide. Some comforting or reassuring words from his father might have done the same, of course. With both parents seemingly out of it the rest of the people had stepped in to try and help. It was all that could be done.
The children's home (no one liked the name 'orphanage') was running more smoothly after a few weeks of trial and error. There were still no mattresses and Angela had accepted that there wouldn't be for the foreseeable future, but no one was complaining. All of the women were grateful to be out of the clutches of Hyatt Holman, or more accurately the thugs who worked for him, and all the children were happy to have full bellies and be able to play with others without being yelled at, frightened or beaten. The young women working there assured 'Mrs. Sanders' that they were more than comfortable even without mattresses.
Angela had spent a good deal of time talking to all four women over those three weeks and had learned a great deal. It was an eye opener to listen to what the women and children in that home had been through since the lights went out. Clayton had been right in saying that she had no idea what was happening off this farm. She thought she had, but she really hadn't. These young women told her horror s
tories of their time in Peabody and even then, it was clear they weren't actually telling her everything. The fact that they were keeping the worst of their tales back from her wasn't lost on Angela either. She had suggested that they all think about talking with Beverly Sanders at some point. They sorely needed it.
Clayton had been true to his word and had not returned to her table since leaving it in exasperation three weeks ago. Lainie stayed away as well, going so far as leaving for lunch when working at Angela's house and then returning when lunch was over. It was infuriating, but Angela had done it to herself. She wasn't going to admit that of course, but that made it no less accurate.
Nor had she made any effort to apologize. In her mind there was nothing to apologize for. She could tell that everyone else felt there was, but she wasn't going to give in.
She was right. They'd all see it eventually.
Meanwhile, her son and his girlfriend stayed away from her table.
–
It was early evening on that day, three weeks to the day from the battle they had fought. The sun was still barely peeking over the trees to the west, its light slowly fading. Torches were lit in a few areas in preparation for nightfall both to give light and drive away insects. Fires were started in fire rings here and there as night was still chilly on occasion and many liked to gather around those fires in the evening to visit.
But it wasn't yet dark.
“Bossman, Bossman, come back.”
“Go for Bossman,” Clay answered.
“One vehicle approaching at a high rate of speed, from Jordan,” Jody reported. “No other vehicles in sight. Be advised I think this is the truck we sent with the Webb family.”
“Roger that. Stay sharp on the other approaches. Let’s get everyone into position as a precaution.”
Others began to check in as they raced to occupy fighting and lookout positions around the home areas in case this was a prelude to an attack.
Just because it looked like the truck given to the Webb family didn't mean it was. And if it was, that didn't mean one of them was operating it. The Webbs had been gone for three weeks.
A great deal could happen in three weeks.
“Truck is slowing,” Tommy reported. “Approaching the farm now.”
“I hear it,” Clay replied. “I'm waiting for it at the drive.”
Clay positioned himself where he could clearly be seen. Not quite in the road and not actually in the drive, he was still in a place where he couldn't be ignored by someone coming to the farm. He also had the concrete post the mailbox sat on between him and the approaching vehicle. Just in case.
The truck continued to reduce speed as it came into view of the drive and the headlights came on. Clay could make out three figures in the cab, or at least it looked like three, noting that one looked very short. As the truck neared the driveway the right-hand turn signal actually came on and Clay almost laughed. Whoever was driving probably hadn't been driving for long.
By the time the truck reached the drive Clay could see that it was indeed the same truck they had given the Webbs. He could also see a pattern of starred glass across the windshield that indicated at least two bullets had struck that windscreen at some point.
The truck came to a stop at the edge of the driveway and with the headlight no longer in his face Clay could see who was driving.
“Mister Sanders!” Seth Webb almost yelled. “Mister Sanders, my brothers are hurt bad!” he pointed frantically to the bed of the truck. Clay looked and could see Samuel and Luke Webb lying there, both bleeding from apparent gunshot wounds. John Webb was trying to stem the flow of blood from the two, while a bloody woman he finally recognized as Jasmine, Matthew Webb's wife, sat in the corner in a daze. Clay looked back to the cab and realized that Lila, the Webb's only daughter, was in the front seat sitting next to Seth. Leaning on the passenger door was an apparently unconscious Joshua Webb.
“Pull up to the building where the clinic is,” Clay pointed. “We’ll get some help to move them into the clinic. Is anyone following you?” Clay didn't bother to ask where the rest of his family was.
“Not that I know of,” Seth shook his head. “We snuck away.” With that, the teenager drove the truck down the drive and toward the clinic.
“That truck is the Webb's,” Clay said over the radio. “Samuel and Luke are in the bed, shot. John and Jasmine are in the back, trying to take care of them. Seth, Lila and Joshua Webb are in the front. We need medical staff to the clinic on the double and we need people to help unload the wounded. And I want everyone on alert. Whoever did this may try to follow them in.”
-
People began appearing even as the truck came to a stop. Jake Sidell and Greg Holloway were waiting and grabbed Samuel first, hustling him into the clinic. John hopped down from the bed and he and Clay carried Luke inside. Jasmine Webb stumbled from the bed of the truck and simply sat down in the drive, a vacant stare on her face.
When Clay emerged from the building, Seth and Lila were trying to get Joshua Webb awake while John tried to get Jasmine on her feet.
“Was he injured?” Clay asked Seth.
“I don't think so, but when we got inside he just sort of went to sleep, like,” the youngster shook his head. “I don't. . .” Clay popped a smelling salts capsule and placed it under the older man's nose. In just a few seconds he was awake and starting to come around. Leaving him to get oriented, Clay moved to the rear of the truck where John had succeeded in getting Jasmine on her feet and seated on the tailgate of the truck.
“What happened to her?” Clay asked, noting the young woman's torn clothing and disheveled appearance.
“I…I don't know for sure, but I know what I think happened,” John told him, voice soft. “She needs to be examined when Miss Patricia or Miss Kaitlin get time.” The look in his eyes told Clay much more than those few words. Gordon, Angela and Robert were arriving and Angela went to try and talk with Jasmine. Amy Mitchell came outside and once she saw what was happening went over to where Angela and Jasmine were. Soon Jake and Greg came back outside as well.
“What's going on?” Robert asked softly. “Is this all of them?”
“Samuel and Luke are inside,” Clay told him. “Both are in rough shape. Gunshot. Pat and Kait are working on them. Tandi is helping too.”
“Pa, you need to-” they heard Seth Webb saying and looked to see Joshua Webb lurch from the cab and stand upright. He looked around him in confusion for a moment but when his eyes settled on Clay and the others he started right for them.
“You have to help my family!” he demanded. “You need to get them soldiers loaded up and get over to my place right now!”
“Tell us what happened to you Joshua,” Gordon spoke up, preventing Clay from having to.
“We were attacked day before yesterday,” Joshua replied. “I don't know how many but it was a bunch. I…we had put the truck out of sight, saving the gas in case we needed it. That's the only reason we're able to get here. Now you need to go and help my family!” he turned back to Clay.
“You were attacked you said?” Clay asked. “By how many?”
“There was a bunch of 'em,” Joshua said. “They're holding my family, the rest of us, prisoner! Now stop talking and start doing something about it!” he demanded.
“What would you suggest I do?” Clay asked quietly.
“You need to take these soldiers o' yours and go rescue my family, that's what!” the older man demanded.
“You can't even tell us how many there are,” Clay replied evenly. “And to go and do that I'd have to leave my own family vulnerable to the same attack. I'm sorry Mister Webb but I can't do that.”
“Now you listen here,” the older Webb grabbed Clay's shirt and shook him once. Abruptly, Joshua Webb found himself on the ground with Clay atop him, knife in hand.
“Clay, Clay, Clay!” Greg and Jake both tackled their friend and took him to the ground, Greg grabbing the hand with the knife in it to prevent injury to any of the th
ree.
“Calm down,” Jake grunted as he fought to get his friend under control. “Clay! Damn it Clay, ease up! He's just an old man and his family is in trouble! Get a hold of yourself!”
Gradually Clay began to calm down and finally regained control of himself and his senses. He nodded to his two friends, letting them know he was okay. They got to their feet, Jake pulling Clay off the ground as easily as if he were a child. Greg returned his knife and Clay sheathed it, patting each of his friends on the shoulder.
“Thanks,” he told them quietly. “Appreciate it.”
“You always was a hot tempered little shit,” Jake smiled at him and Clay had to return it. Jake was infectious that way.
Gordon and Robert were helping Joshua Webb back to his feet, Robert giving him some sage advice.
“I probably wouldn't do that again, Joshua,” the elder Sanders brother said simply.
“So, you're not gonna help my family?” Webb ignored Robert and Gordon to confront Clay again.
“We're helping your family right now,” Clay pointed out. “Samuel and Luke are getting the best care we can provide them. Jasmine will be next as soon as your sons are stable and Mom and Amy are helping her as much as they can right now.”
“That ain't what I mean and you know it!” Webb all but yelled.
“Mister Webb, you have yet to tell me what happened other than a 'bunch of ‘em attacked you,” Clay looked at the older man calmly. “You've given me no number, told me nothing about how they're armed, explained nothing about the situation. Like how you and the others got away, for example. Or why no one is following you. And you clearly expected us to go running away from here to help your family no questions asked and leave ours here, defenseless. Demanded it in fact. So, would you care to explain what happened, and maybe answer these questions for me?”
