by Bobby Akart
Alex began running toward Snowflake, holding her paddle holster to keep it in place. She’d almost reached her horse when the unmistakable wail of an air horn reached their ears.
“Trouble!” yelled Chase.
Javy and a ranch hand sped past them in a full gallop toward the northernmost part of Shiloh Ranch. Both the Wyatts and the Allens were given the air horns found by Alex and told them to use them only in the event of a gunfight. The alarm meant all hands on deck.
Alex and Chase were halfway to the gate when one of the Wyatts’ farmhands greeted them.
“Please fetch Miss Emily. We’ve got a man down. Please hurry!” He immediately turned his horse and raced back in the direction of the Wyatts’ west gate.
Pop—pop—pop!
Pop—pop—pop!
Chase looked at Alex, who nodded back. “You go. I’ll go back and get your mom. Be careful!”
“Thanks!” he shouted back to her as he brought his horse up to full speed.
BOOM! BOOM!
It sounded like a war zone!
“C’mon, Snowflake. We need to fly!”
Snowflake took off at a full gallop, ears pinned back and air filling her nostrils. She didn’t slow as Jake and Colton sped past them from the east.
“Whoa, whoa!” urged Alex as the high-spirited horse had difficulty slowing down.
“Emily!” shouted Alex. “The Wyatts have a man down. He’s been shot. Hurry!”
Emily and Madison ran to the main house. Alex shouted to Maria to fetch Emily’s horse from the barn. Snowflake continued to dance around out of excitement. Alex was trying to calm her, but the Appaloosa was feeling strong and alive. In the moment, Alex made a mental note to ride her mare at full speed from time to time. She had a little thoroughbred in her.
Her mom and Emily emerged from the house, carrying a trauma bag and a backpack with more supplies.
“Do you need me?” asked Madison.
“No, there’ll be plenty of hands up there to help,” replied Emily. “Lucinda is a vet and will have medical experience too.” Maria helped Emily mount and Alex carried the trauma bag.
It took seven minutes of hard riding to reach the Wyatts’ main gate, where a crowd had gathered around one of the Wyatts’ farmhands stretched out on the ground. Lucinda was already there, applying a chest compress.
Jake cleared the area to allow Emily and Alex inside the circle. Alex surmised that the shoot-out was over because the gunfire had stopped and everyone appeared to be there, including Chase. She glanced around for any other wounded or dead bodies.
Emily ran to the victim’s side and Lucinda immediately began to fill her in. “He’s alive, but he has heavy bleeding. His breathing is labored, but I don’t see any signs of a collapsed lung.”
Lucinda lifted the cloth over the chest wound and blood began to seep out. She reached behind her and John provided her another folded-up tee shirt to be used as a compress.
“Has he been conscious?”
“No.”
“Exit wound?” asked Emily as she rooted through the trauma bag to pull out some large gauze patches. She quickly applied them to the open wound and placed Lucinda’s compress back in place.
“I forgot to look.”
“Okay, real easy like, let’s roll him slightly so I can see,” said Emily. The man, who was wearing only a plaid felt shirt, began to revive as Emily searched for a hole in his back. He then lost consciousness again.
“Crap, no exit wound.”
“Jake, Colton, I need you down here to help hold this man still if he wakes fully,” said Emily. “We don’t need him panicking and wigglin’ around.”
Jake and Colton took up positions on each side of the victim.
“Alex, grab me a blanket and some water.”
Alex looked around and asked one of Javy’s men to use his wraparound baja. The man didn’t hesitate and offered it to Alex. Water bottles were offered up from several sources.
“Chase, go find out what kind of bullet the shooter used.”
“I already know. It was a .270.”
“Does anyone know whether a .270 fragments easily?”
“Probably thirty percent,” replied a voice from the back of the crowd.
Emily wrapped the man in the blanket to help avoid shock and then cut away his bloody shirt. She removed the tee shirt compress and irrigated the wound, immediately replacing clean gauze over it. The blood was oozing out of his chest slowly.
She rechecked the flow of blood and asked Alex to look into her trauma bag for the Celox.
“What’s this for?” asked Alex.
“Celox is used to control bleeding in a trauma situation like this one,” replied Emily. “It’s used by military medics around the world. Good stuff.”
After a moment, the bleeding slowed and Emily applied a generous amount of antibiotic ointment to dress his wound. She strapped tape across the gauze and relaxed somewhat.
“We need to get a stretcher and take him to the house. An interior door will do, with some blankets as padding. Bring a pillow also.”
Several men mounted their horses and took off for the Wyatts’ farmhouse. The others began to pepper questions in Emily’s direction.
“Aren’t you going to remove the bullet?”
“He’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”
“It’s just a shoulder wound.”
She stood and removed her latex gloves. “Listen up, everyone. Nothing is gonna happen out here on this gravel road. He’s stabilized, but I need to get him inside to a warm, clean environment. There is no exit wound, so the bullet is still inside his shoulder area. Because I don’t know which direction the bullet entered his body, I can’t go rootin’ around looking for it. That might make matters worse.”
“Like I said, it’s just a shoulder wound. That’s good, right?”
“Well, let’s hope so,” started Emily. “What folks don’t realize is that there are a lot of huge blood vessels around the shoulder and collarbone. If they’re not damaged, he should be fine by leaving the bullet inside his body. But if those vessels have been punctured, that’s life threatening.”
The sounds of horses returning from the house caused the onlookers to stand back to make room.
Emily continued. “He’s bleeding but not profusely. That’s a good sign.”
Lucinda gave Emily a hug. “Thank you, Emily.”
“You and I have made part of our lives the ability to save another’s life. Let’s start with this gentleman right here. Whadya say?”
“Deal.”
Chapter 20
10:00 a.m., October 15
Hog Lane
Hurley, Tennessee
“I don’t know, Chase,” started Alex, lowering the binoculars and handing them back to Chase. The two remained in a prone position. “Those horses look well fed. Besides, they told us not to cross over Highway 22. That’s why we blocked the road, remember?”
Chase let out a sigh. He liked to be alone with Alex, but sometimes she was too much of a rule follower. He preferred the thrill of the hunt. “Of course breaking into people’s homes is risky, but if we don’t take the risk, we won’t get what we need and someone else will,” replied Chase. “Look around. This guy must run a lawn service. I mean, how many riding mowers do you need? Also, do you see any cars or trucks?”
Alex shook her head. “No.”
“That means that nobody’s home and the welcome mat has been laid out for us. Let’s go.”
Chase took off before Alex had a chance to argue. He who hesitates is lost, or something like that. Out of habit, he looked both ways before crossing the street and ran behind a large oak tree. Alex quickly joined his side.
“Should we check out the garage first?” asked Chase, nodding toward the oversize white structure, which was adorned with vintage signs bearing the names Esso, Gulf Oil and Quaker State.
“I doubt anyone is in there,” replied Alex. “The same is probably true of the barn. Let’s try the ho
use first.”
“Okay. Let’s skirt the perimeter like always and meet at the back door. I’ll poke my head in the barn on the way, just in case,” said Chase.
Chase darted between several trees and rounded an overgrown row of boxwoods. Alex methodically moved from oak to oak toward the left rear of the red brick rancher. An American flag continued to wave from a thirty-foot flagpole in the middle of a flower bed. The home had been well maintained prior to the collapse.
The barn was a typical gambrel design with a hay loft door in the upper level. It was gently swaying on its rusty hinges as Chase pressed himself against the wall. The sound of a horse inside spiked his adrenaline and he immediately readied his bolt-action hunting rifle. He wanted an AR-15 like Alex’s, and although he never said it to her, that was the primary reason he wanted to scavenge so much. He understood that the ranch had certain priorities, but his was a prime battle rifle like hers.
The wind blew from the north and his nostrils caught a stench similar to what they had experienced at Mrs. Keef’s place. Death. Chase walked around to the backside of the barn, upwind, and slowly looked through a six-inch crack in the barn doors.
Movement!
His heart raced as a shadow crossed the opening. It was too small to be a horse, yet somehow it was out of place. It slowly crossed again. Someone was inside, probably pacing the floor.
“Chase, where are you?” he heard Alex say in an under-the-breath whisper. She repeated herself with the sound of concern in her voice. “Chase!”
The shadow crossed the opening again. He had to do something. If he shouted back to Alex, she’d be exposed at the rear of the house and he would give away his position. He had to use the element of surprise.
Chase moved back to the front of the barn along the side closest to Alex. He waved to get her attention and put a finger to his lips, indicating she needed to be quiet. With hand signals, he instructed her to take cover around the side of the house.
A horse was exiting the barn. Casually, hoof after hoof, a black stallion emerged without a care. He turned toward the adjacent field to join three others. Chase wiped his brow. He’d never encountered anyone in their homes on their prior runs. He’d thought this home was empty, and he was wrong.
His mind raced. Should he sneak off and get Alex out of this situation? Should he catch the homeowner off guard and shoot him? There wouldn’t be any witnesses, and he could swear the other guy drew his gun first. This house had horses and probably plenty of gasoline. There might even be guns for the taking—like an AR-15.
He inched closer to the door and heard a creaking sound. He looked up to see if the noise was coming from the loft door. It was still, as was the wind. Chase caught a glimpse of Alex peeking around the corner of the house. It was time.
Chase gathered his courage and burst into the barn. He pointed the barrel of his rifle wildly in all directions, intending to shoot anything that moved. His sudden movements startled a flock of barn swallows. Dozens of the small blue birds, which had nested in the barn, swooped down toward Chase and passed him on their way through the barn doors. Chase lost his balance and fell backward into a pile of loose hay and horse manure.
That was when he saw the source of the movement. High above him, swinging from the rafters, was the body of a dead man. The creaking sound was made by a rusty pulley, which was probably used for lifting motors out of old cars or farm equipment. The old farmer, dressed in his Sunday best, had opted out.
Chase studied the body for a moment as it gently swayed and swirled from the noose holding it a dozen or more feet off the ground. He wondered how long it had been there. The body was thin and the man’s face was barely recognizable. His black suit and white shirt were soiled from dust and the droppings from the swallows nesting in the rafters. It was a rude way to treat someone who was so distraught that they were willing to take their own life.
He stood and exited the barn, kicking rocks in the dirt as he left. He quickly debated whether to tell Alex. They could look through the home and then the garage. He could lie and tell her the barn was empty, but she was too stubborn to accept his deflection. Besides, Chase thought to himself, it’s written all over my face.
Alex emerged from the corner of the house and walked up to Chase. She noticed immediately that something was wrong.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah, well, not really,” Chase replied. “I found a dead body.”
Alex raised her weapon and began to scan the surroundings.
“No, he’s been dead awhile. Suicide, I think.”
“Oh, God,” exclaimed Alex. “How sad.” She gave Chase an unexpected hug and he held Alex close to his body. They’d never had this much physical contact before and it felt right. He and Alex had become partners in their foraging and security activities. Of course he was attracted to her. She was beautiful and a real guy’s girl. But the circumstances prevented him from trying to take it to another level. Besides, the Rymans and Allens were like family. Until this moment, he’d looked at her more like a little sister than someone he would fall in love with.
She broke their embrace and started for the back door. “Let’s make sure the house is empty and then let’s give him a proper burial. Whadya say?”
“Yeah,” replied Chase sheepishly. He couldn’t figure out why this man’s suicide affected him so much.
The two entered the small home and went through their routine. Pictures of the man and woman were found on the fireplace mantel. He wore United States Navy dress whites together with his gloves and a sword. His lovely bride was dressed in a beautiful wedding gown.
Photo frames filled with smiling kids and grandkids were displayed throughout the home. The youngest of the children were photographed riding ponies. This was a happy family before tragedy struck.
A shotgun and a .38 revolver were found in the couple’s bedroom. Chase found this odd because a handgun was certainly an easy method of committing suicide. For some reason, the man couldn’t bring himself to use it.
The master bath was filled with a variety of medications that neither Chase nor Alex could identify. Several prescription bottles were scattered on the bathroom countertop. Names like Xeloda, Trexall, Zofran, and Fentora were prevalent, but all were empty.
After the two solemnly swept the home for anything of value, they retrieved the horses, two colts and a couple of ponies, and led them back to the barn. Alex suggested that they close the ponies in the barn with plenty of hay and water. They’d be fine until retrieved later. She thought the ponies might become unruly being led by Snowflake and Chase’s horse.
For the next half hour, the two saddled up the man’s horses and loaded them down with supplies and fuel cans. Other than the tragic find of the body, this had been a good haul for Chase and Alex.
They dug a grave in some soft dirt under the American flag in the front yard. Chase insisted and didn’t care that they were exposed. The man had been in the military and deserved a proper burial.
In the barn, Alex helped Chase lower the man’s body into a wheelbarrow. They contemplated burying him in his naval uniform, which they found in the closet, and decided against it. If this gentleman had wanted to die in his dress whites, he would’ve worn them in the first place.
“He didn’t want to disrespect his service,” concluded Alex as she cut the noose from his neck. “Maybe that’s why he didn’t use a gun.”
Chase positioned the decaying body into the wheelbarrow and then spotted a piece of paper sticking out of his shirt pocket. He pulled it out and then glanced at it. It was a suicide note.
“Should we read it?” asked Alex.
“What do you think?”
“He wrote it for a reason,” she replied. “Do you want me to do it?”
“No, let me.”
Chase gulped and unfolded the one-page piece of faded parchment. It was stationery probably used by his wife in writing letters to family or friends. Embossed at the top of the page were the words From the hearts
of John and Emma Young.
Dear God and our family. Please extend your hands of forgiveness to me for taking my life. I will proudly stand before you and be held to account, but at this time I am too weak to continue.
My dear Emma has passed, as the cancer consumed her body. Her life was devoted to loving me, our children, and grandchildren. She was devoted to your Son and the Church. I’ve prayed for her and look forward to joining her in Heaven.
God, you gave me life and purpose. Throughout, I put my life in your hands. When I strayed, I asked for forgiveness. As I forsake you once again by taking the life you’ve given me, I beg you to understand. This is not a life for me. I am alone. My feelings of despair consume me daily. I wander this empty home, begging for my Emma to return. I cannot live life without her.
You have been my strength since her passing, but I can no longer survive. I hope that you will find it in your grace to forgive me and allow me to join the love of my life beyond Heaven’s Gate.
Your humble servant in this life, and beyond. John Young.
Chapter 21
5:00 p.m., October 15
Cherry Mansion
Savannah
Creak—creak—creak.
The Brumby Rocker moved methodically atop the decking. Ma Durham, wrapped in a wool blanket, stared across the river, which had finally receded after several days of flooding. The Tennessee River flowed in front of Cherry Mansion at a steady pace. Like life, the river dictated that you go with the flow. Ma believed going against the flow took effort. Throughout her life, she’d learned that deciding to walk away from a problem or persevere was difficult. She’d only walked away from a problem once—the night her home burned down with her drunk husband Leroy on the sofa. That decision worked out for the best. Now she faced another choice. Sometimes, going against the flow was necessary.
“The problem we have now is lack of weapons to support the number of new deputies,” said Wild Bill Cherry as he continued his assessment of Ma’s operations. She was a quiet woman and maintained a steady nerve. She was not known for vocal outbursts. When you made her mad, you’d know it from the steely glare her gray eyes provided you. People feared Ma, not because she was a menacing physical presence, but because they knew she was capable of administering any form of punishment without compunction. Those within her charge toed the line.
