by David Achord
The flooding situation wasn’t looking good. Melvin glanced at his watch and then looked around. He spotted a house up on a hill. It was a rustic, two-story farmhouse, a barn barely visible behind it. The field was not overgrown, which was the norm these days. It had either been cut or cattle had been grazing. He looked over at Savannah, who was still asleep, and decided they were going to wait out the night and see if the floodwaters receded any in the morning.
He started up the truck and found the driveway to the house. There was a gate blocking it and it was padlocked. But, whether by oversight or by design, the hinges were simple in design. They were commonly called bolt and strap hinges. Old-timers called them pintle hinges. All one had to do was lift the gate straight up and off of the bolt portions which were secured into a thick wooden post.
Melvin grabbed the gate and picked it straight up. The hinges lifted off of the bolts easily. He set the gate aside, got in his truck, and drove through. Stopping, he got out and eyed the house. There was still no movement. There was a stirring in the truck. Savannah had awakened and was watching. She started to get out, but he motioned her to stay put.
He replaced the gate back in its original position and got in.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“A little ways off of the interstate. This might be a good place to stop for the night.”
He slowly started driving up the gently sloping driveway. As he approached the house, he couldn’t help but wonder if someone was aiming a rifle at him. On a whim, he flashed his lights, hoping it would be interpreted as a signal of a friendly greeting.
“Hello?” Melvin called out as he knocked on the front door. There was no response. He tentatively tried the knob. It was locked, and the ground-floor windows were boarded up. He walked around to the back and spotted cattle grazing in the field. There were also three donkeys grazing with them. Melvin remembered Burt telling him that donkeys were good at protecting cattle from coyotes and other predators. The fencing had been moved so the cattle could not be seen from the roadway.
All of it added up; the place was occupied. He walked back to the front door.
“Hey, I’m not here to cause trouble, just need a place to stay for the night. I’m going to park my truck out of sight, and I’ll be on my way first thing in the morning.”
He waited for a response, didn’t get one, and walked back to his truck. Savannah had ducked down and was peeking over the dashboard.
“Who are you talking to?” she whispered.
“There’s somebody in the house,” Melvin answered. “I don’t think they’re interested in making friends, but so far, they haven’t started shooting.” He started the truck and drove around beside the barn and parked. When he turned the truck off, he saw someone standing at the back door.
“Company,” he said to Savannah.
Chapter 20 – Priss
I’d been here four days before I found out this place had a weight room nestled away in the back of the gym. It was of moderate size, I’d guess only about ten people at a time could comfortably work out in it, but at the moment, I was the only one present. I guess there weren’t many people here who were early risers.
My running buddy, Sarah, was gone, so I thought I’d change things up a little bit. The last time I’d actually worked out with weights was with Sarah back home in our barn. The reason? Life had become busy. We had a lot going on, and there was so much work requiring physical activity I didn’t waste the energy on the weight pile.
Now, I found myself with spare time on my hands. I was warming up with a set of jumping jacks when the door opened.
It was Ensign Boner. He’d never gone out of his way to speak to any of us, and I guess I’d been reticent as well in not looking him up. Ever since his little tussle with Justin, he hadn’t been all that sociable, or so I’d heard. His pride had definitely been wounded.
“Good morning,” I said.
“You’re with the group from Tennessee,” he declared gruffly.
“I am. I’m Zach. Zach Gunderson.”
“Yeah. I’m Ensign Lawrence Boner. I’m the OD, that’s Officer of the Day, and I’ve got you scheduled for guard duty this morning.”
Lydia, the Mount Weather taskmaster, approached us at dinner yesterday evening and doled out work assignments. She smiled warmly at Kelly and Maria as she assigned them to the daycare. She assigned the others and then came to me. She gave me a choice, guard duty or latrine duty. I tried to talk her into farming, but she didn’t relent, claiming it was too risky. I chose guard duty.
“Zero-seven-hundred, correct?” I asked.
“Roger that. It goes without saying not to be late.”
I didn’t bother responding. After all, the man didn’t know me. If he did, he’d know my punctuality would not be a cause for concern.
Boner didn’t wait for an answer and donned a set of bright red headphones. For the next thirty minutes, the only sounds were the clanking of the weights and an occasional grunt from one of us.
I went with a CrossFit-style workout. Boner chose a more traditional routine of doing a set of heavy weights for six or eight repetitions and then resting for a minute or two before moving on to another set. Justin, Sarah, and I had talked about the various kinds of workouts and agreed any workout involving heavy cardio was optimal in a post-apocalyptic world.
By the time I finished my first revolution, I was winded and sweating heavily. I bent over with my hands on my knees and spent a minute or two recovering. When I’d gotten my breath back, I stood and wiped my face with a towel. I looked over to see Boner watching me curiously.
“I’m going to do one more revolution, you want to get in?” I asked.
His response was an apathetic grunt. I guess that meant no.
“Don’t be late,” he repeated and walked out, nearly bumping into a woman who was walking in. They swapped hateful stares for a second before he walked out and she walked in.
I recognized her immediately. Senator Rhinehart’s daughter, the thief. She was wearing a designer gym outfit with fancy name brand running shoes. Back in the day, the ensemble probably cost more than I made in a week. When she spotted me, she glared.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” she demanded.
“Stupid question,” I answered.
I could almost see her brain churning, trying to come up with a way of ordering me out. But, she came up dry. She continued glaring as she conceded she’d have to share the weight room with me and put her own set of earbuds in. I guess everyone around here preferred to cut themselves out of talking to other people, or even more important, removing their ability to hear what was going on around them. I thought it was shortsighted and naïve.
I stretched a minute, keeping a wary eye on her. She in turn pointedly ignored me, which I took as a good sign, figuring she wasn’t going to try something stupid. I took a deep breath and started on round two.
I must admit, I wasn’t as focused on my workout this time. The little thief with her perky tits had me on edge. She was still making a show out of ignoring me, but the two of us kept sneaking peeks at each other in the mirrors. When I was fairly certain she wasn’t going to try to hit me upside the head with a dumbbell, I found my focus and finished my workout in twenty minutes.
I collapsed on the floor when I finished and lay on my back, trying to catch my breath. Priss chose that moment to walk over and stand over me. I looked up, wondering if I had the strength to handle her if she tried to get violent. From my viewpoint, the yoga pants she was wearing left little to the imagination.
I didn’t want to admit it, but she was a good-looking woman. I guessed her height was about five-four, cinnamon-colored hair cut short, hazel eyes, lean but shapely legs, and a nice set of C-cups. Maybe even D, but I didn’t want to stare too long. I sat up quickly.
“My ass is still bruised,” she said with a petulant glare.
“Serves you right,” I replied. “Your parents should have taught you long ago it’s wrong
to steal.”
“My mother’s dead,” she replied with a tone suggesting I’d breached some sort of rule of etiquette.
“So is mine,” I replied quickly. Grabbing my towel, I stood and wiped off my face.
“You smell like an animal,” she chided.
“Yeah, most likely,” I said. I guess the insults were going to continue as long as I was in the same room with her. She was looking for a fight, but I wasn’t going to oblige her. She stepped closer and I prepared myself for her to try to kick me in the groin again.
“What’s your name?” she demanded in a tone like I was an underling. Perhaps she thought she was going to order me to clean her toilet or something.
“Zach, and I’ve already been told who you are. It’s Pissilla Hindfart, right?”
Her eyes burned into me. “Priss,” she retorted. “Priss Rhinehart. And don’t you dare call me Priscilla.”
“Oh, okay.”
“You were ogling me just now; what are you, some kind of pervert?”
I gave her a withering stare before walking out.
“Crazy damn woman,” I muttered.
Chapter 21 – Guard Duty
I’d gotten cleaned up, put on my military gear, and found the armory. It was on the first floor behind a heavy steel two-section door. The upper section of the door was open and Ensign Boner was behind it, sitting in a chair with a bored expression on his face. When he saw me, he stood and looked me over with seeming indifference.
“Reporting for duty,” I said.
He spotted my rifle. “You brought your own weapon?” he asked.
“Yep, I already have it sighted in, so I’d prefer to use it,” I said.
He eyed me coolly for a moment longer and then motioned for me to hand it over. I ejected the magazine, cleared it, and handed it to him. Boner gave it a casual inspection and then handed it back.
“I assume you know how to use it.”
I nodded as I reloaded it. “A couple extra magazines couldn’t hurt though,” I said.
“Do you have any prior military experience?” he asked.
“Nope, but, I’ve had some training and a lot of practical experience.”
“Alright,” he said slowly. “Is this your first time pulling guard duty?”
“For Mount Weather, yes,” I said.
He continued with the stare for a few additional seconds before grunting. I guess that was his way of acknowledging I wasn’t going to cause any problems. He turned to a metal table. It was cluttered with a mixture of tools, reloading equipment, and what not. He picked up a clipboard and turned back toward me. I noticed there were a couple of laminated pages attached as he handed it to me.
“Those are your general orders, special orders, and SOP. You’re expected to know them and follow them to the letter. We have a shortage of handheld radios, but each guard post has a working field phone. Refer to your special orders sheet regarding when to call in.” He paused a moment as he looked into a crate lying on the floor. Making a decision, he reached down and came up with two loaded magazines.
“Roger that,” I said as I glanced at the orders. “Which post do you need me at?”
He looked at a dry erase board behind him and then a smirk slowly formed on his face.
“You’ll be at post three, with Rhinehart.”
“Wonderful. I’ll try not to kill him,” I said, looked at one of the pages showing the location of each guard post, and headed out.
Guard Post three was in the southwest section of the compound. It was a simple fortification of wood and the same earthen bastion barriers used at the main entrance. It was elevated six feet off of the ground and placed about ten feet from the fence line. It had a slightly pitched roof, a window that was propped open, and an entry door on the back. I expected something more fortified, for some reason.
There were two people waiting for me whom I had not yet met. They introduced themselves as Lois and Norman Marnix, a middle-aged married couple who had worked for FEMA in some capacity they didn’t bother specifying.
“Where’s the other guard?” Norman asked.
I shrugged.
“Who is it?”
“Rhinehart, I don’t know which one, I assume it’s the punk boy.”
Norman’s eyebrows arched in surprise and Lois snorted in contempt.
“A royal pain in the ass, that one is,” she said. “There are people here who’ve been wanting to do what you did to those two for a long time now.”
“There’ve been other thefts the past year,” Norman said. “They’ve been suspected, but nobody has been able to prove it. Until you caught them, that is.”
She chuckled. “I’m glad you did what you did, but I’m afraid you’ve made an enemy of the Rhineharts.”
Norman looked somber now. “You watch out for that boy, Zach,” he added. “There’s something not quite right about him. His father is one to harbor a grudge as well.”
“What about the daughter, Priss?” I asked.
“She’s a spoiled little bitch,” Lois said, and started to say more, but stopped when she looked back toward the main compound. “Speak of the devil.”
I looked around and saw a golf cart approaching. It was being driven by someone I didn’t know, but the passenger was Priss. So, she was the one I was going to be stuck with, not her brother. She was wearing a small pair of tan cargo shorts, expensive-looking hiking boots, and a tight-fitting black tank top. She had an assault weapon similar to mine, but the way she was holding it made me believe she’d had little training with it.
Norman patted me on the shoulder. “Good luck with that one,” he said.
“It was very nice meeting you, Zach,” Lois said with a smile. They walked past Priss without acknowledging her presence, climbed on the golf cart, and were soon out of sight. Priss walked up to within a couple of feet before stopping and staring at me in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Boner paired us up,” I said. “I guess he thinks he’s being cute.”
“We’ll see about that,” she said, and stomped up the stairs and into the guard shack.
I followed behind her, which inadvertently gave me a good view of her backside. She made a beeline to a field phone mounted on one of the corner posts while I inspected the interior. There were two chairs, a pair of binoculars, and nothing else. And it smelled. Like dirty socks and sweaty armpits. At least there was a good field of view. No range cards though.
When Boner answered the phone, Priss unleashed a torrent of threats and obscenities, and even though I couldn’t hear what Boner was saying, I got the opinion he was telling her too bad. She slammed the phone against the post and stared outside. After a minute, she turned toward me and glared.
“I take it he didn’t give in,” I said. She didn’t respond. I gave a shrug. “Listen, I can handle this guard duty, you can take off.”
“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you,” she retorted. “As soon as I leave, you’ll report me to Boner.”
I took a breath. “Alright, we’re stuck with each other for the next eight hours then. There’s no reason we have to be hostile toward each other. I’ll keep out of your way and you keep out of mine.”
“Fine,” she replied.
And, for the next hour, there wasn’t a peep out of her. The only sounds were birds chirping and the occasional crow cawing. At least there was a gentle breeze, which helped with the smell.
Post three was required to phone in hourly at five minutes after the hour. I stood, stretched, and made the call. Ensign Boner sounded like he’d been sleeping.
Priss stood and stretched as well. “I have to go pee. Don’t be a perv and watch me.”
“As long as you have a loaded weapon in your hands, you better believe I’m going to keep an eye on you,” I said. She glared at me a moment, she liked to glare, and then tossed her weapon at me. I caught it before it clattered to the floor. Her glare changed to a smirk before walking out.
A
pparently, she’d only stepped immediately outside the open entrance to the shack. I heard her zipper. I glanced out the open door and saw her squatting, not five feet away. I suspected she did it on purpose to get a reaction out of me. Not rising to the bait, I turned away and focused on her assault rifle. Unloading it, I field stripped it and gave it a once over. It was filthy.
“Figures,” I muttered, reached into my backpack, and retrieved my cleaning kit.
When she walked back in, she stopped and stared incredulously at her disassembled weapon.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.
“Relax, I’m cleaning it.”
“Why?” Her tone had changed, but she was still wary.
“Because it’s dirty.”
She rolled her eyes. “Big deal.”
I stopped in the middle of running a cleaning rod through the barrel and looked at her.
“Answer me honestly; have you ever been in a firefight?”
“I’ve killed a few zombies,” she answered haughtily. “I know what I’m doing.”
“Okay, that’s good, but have you ever been in a firefight? You know, where there are dozens of them, maybe more, and you’re shooting continuously for hours? Have you ever been in something like that?”
“Have you?” she retorted.
“Yes,” I replied. “A few times. The point I’m getting at is this; your life, and the life of your friends, depends on your weapon functioning properly and not jamming up at the wrong time due to it being dirty.”
“I know that,” she snipped.
The petulance was still there. It was getting irritating. I tried hard to be patient and gestured at her weapon. “M4s and M16s are great weapons, but they’re finicky, you have to keep them clean.” I showed her my dirty hands. “This one hasn’t been cleaned in a while.”
“Not my fault. I signed it out of the armory like that.”
I gave her a look; I’m sure what she said was true, but it was a lame excuse. Instead of saying so, I kept quiet and resumed cleaning. When I was through with the upper receiver, I set it down and started on the bolt assembly. She picked up the upper receiver and looked at it.
