Families First: A Post Apocalyptic Next-World Series Volume 4 Hard Roads

by Lance K Ewing

  “I am more concerned with the response we will need to give them when they don’t leave,” added Mac.

  “We then have no choice,” said Cory, “than to do it ‘Mrs. MacDonald style’ and let them know we mean business. We get most of our team up there and in position by 11 a.m. and hope they proceed as usual, even though they missed the deadline. Then we hit them with the gas while the kids are outside, and we lay them down.”

  “What do you mean by laying them down?” asked Mac.

  “Well, we deliver the smoke bombs and then put them down riot-style—face down in the dirt with a rifle in their back. It’s scary for sure, but it sounds worse than it is. We need them to believe that this is it, and there is no returning back to this property without confrontation and grave consequences.

  We had to do this in town a few times in the past, with guys who violated their restraining orders with wives or girlfriends. It worked then, and it can still work now.”

  “That makes sense,” replied Mac.

  “As for the children,” Cory continued, “most of them already know Whitney and she can take them a little bit up the road and play a game, so they don’t have to see it. Let’s just keep Mrs. MacDonald away from them all, or she might take matters into her own hands!” he added.

  “Agreed on that last point for sure!” Mac replied.

  * * * *

  Mac tasked Drake to spy on the group from 8-10 a.m. They were likely to miss the deadline on purpose but would no doubt be more cautious at that time. He also didn’t want a group who was, on the off chance, intending to leave but was running late to suffer consequences they couldn’t reverse. By 10 a.m. he would surely have his answer.

  All available security, including the MacDonalds and Whitney, met at the machine shop at 8 a.m., right after breakfast.

  Willie was not happy about his only granddaughter being used to divert the children, but with Cory’s promise she would be covered and with her grandmother’s insistence, he didn’t have a choice in the matter.

  “It’s going to be just fine,” Whitney told him. “They already know me, and I was up there for a few days by myself. Now I have nearly a small army behind me. Plus, it may be the one thing that keeps the children safe.”

  Drake was in position at 8 a.m., on the same cliff he had perched on more than 100 times over the years.

  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary as the men, women and children walked aimlessly about, sticking close to the house.

  He wondered if they even knew Cory had given them a deadline of just half an hour from now to leave with their belongings and never return.

  Drake’s mind wandered, and he thought about his mom and dad and his only brother. How could I lose them all in less than two weeks? he thought.

  Whitney slowly crept into his thoughts. He’d thought about her a lot since seeing her again. He had always felt something for her, even in the early days, and he realized he had come back to this very spot over and over for years, just to see if she had returned.

  Could she like a man like me? he asked himself. I mean, I’m a country boy for sure. He hoped she hadn’t already found someone down at the Ranch. Now she had returned to this mountain and was likely to live in this very house with her grandparents, only a few miles from his place.

  You had better give her a home to come back to, he heard from behind him, turning quickly and raising his rifle. Scanning the cliff and surrounding trees, he saw no one.

  “It’s them,” he whispered aloud. “You’ve been gone a while,” he added. Nobody else knew about them except for his younger brother. They had seen the round metal discs that made no sound fly over the mountains dozens of times since they were children. Some were as fast as turning on a light in a dark room, and others lumbered along like a blimp over a football stadium. But all of them were quiet…deadly quiet.

  His father had been with them on several occasions and dismissed the objects as “the damn government,” occasionally throwing a rock or stick towards them, and once even firing a 30-30 rifle round in a disc’s general direction.

  Only Drake could hear them speak. Not every time he saw the disc, but most times, and even when he could see nothing, like this morning.

  You had better give her a home to come back to, he heard again, now snapping him back into focus.

  Drake had looked at the watch, loaned to him by Mac for today, and realized it read 8:33. He jumped, feeling foolish for not paying attention to his surroundings like he usually did. Had he missed something, a clue at exactly 8:30? he thought.

  Mac would be expecting an update soon. He focused intently for the next 20 minutes, blocking everything else out of his mind.

  Everything was the same; the people walked around unafraid. It was as if the ultimatum had never been given and this was to be their new home forever.

  At 8:52, he quietly radioed Mac, giving a brief account of what he had observed. “People are casually walking around, with no signs of packing up or preparing for a fight,” he reported.

  “Okay,” replied Mac. “Good job not getting spotted. I guess we have our answer. Give it another 30 minutes. Radio me if anything changes and, if not, head straight back down here.”

  “Let’s get ready,” Mac called to the group, all still at the machine shop. “It looks like they have no intention of leaving.”

  Mac, with Cory’s help, reviewed each participant’s duties, down to the minute.

  It was determined that everyone participating would meet up on the cliff at 10:30 a.m. for one last observation before initiating the mission that, once started, could not be undone.

  “Once the smoke starts,” said Mac, “we’re committed 100% to the safe removal of the entire group. Whitney will get the children playing outside together, away from the main house. She will be covered by Drake on the ground and those of you up here. Cory and I will be in front of the house when they exit the front door. Drake will chain the back doors only to ensure they all exit the same way. Firecrackers set off behind the house will drive them forward without injuring anyone, and the smoke bombs will be set, one at a time, just inside the back window. I’m sorry, Willie…if the window is not open, I mean. We can have the glass replaced before nightfall, though, if it comes to that.”

  “If you get our house back, you can bust out any window you want,” replied Willie.

  “When they come out,” added Mac, “leave that part to Cory and me. We will still offer them the new home and provisions, but not before we let them know they can’t return. This is the riskiest part of the operation, right as they are heading out the door. Cory and I will be positioned behind this large boulder right here,” he pointed on the map, “and I’ll set off the firecrackers from the front as we step out from the rock. If it works to plan, they will be driven out all at once and stopped in place before they can scatter.

  “One of Cory’s old officers will be on the cliff and will call ‘Loveland Police Department’ over the megaphone, ordering them to lay facedown on the ground. They need to see the rest of us armed on the cliff, but there will be no shooting from our end. I’m hoping that no one is dumb enough to take us all on with a pitchfork or deer rifle. Understand, many things can go wrong, or at least not to plan, but we have no choice in the matter now. Let’s be safe and pray for both sides of this.”

  By 10:30, everyone was in position, with Whitney and Drake out of sight behind the barn.

  “Are you scared?” he asked her.

  “No, not really. I walked all the way here from town by myself, traveling only at night, and then spent a couple of nights right here in this barn. I engaged the children during the ritual hour three days in a row. Now, I’m doing the same thing but have a ton of people backing me up, and even a cute guy.”

  “You mean like Mac or Cory?” he asked nervously.

  “Gross!” she said, “I mean…they’re like 40! No, I mean you, Drake.”

  Drake’s face turned red. “I uh…I…well, I guess we should be keeping an eye out.
Don’t wanna get caught with our pants down, I mean… No, that came out wrong. What I meaned was...”

  “It’s okay, Drake; it’s just us here,” she replied, smiling.

  “Drake, you’re up in 15,” Mac chirped over the radio.

  “Yes, sir,” he replied, relieved to have something to keep him from saying any other dumb stuff.

  “I’ll get in position,” he told Whitney, “and I’ll cover you and the kids.”

  The bell rang at 11:03, according to Mac’s watch. Over the next few minutes the children poured out the front door and immediately started to look for Whitney, in hopes of games to be played.

  This day she would lead them quietly behind the barn and out of view of the house, hoping no adults would notice.

  It surprised her the first time she saw them. They all seemed to be between the ages of three and thirteen.

  She had asked the children before about any babies and was told there were none, but what about older teens? What about people my age? she thought. She hadn’t thought to ask until just now, and she hoped it was just a coincidence and not that they were participating in whatever happened before noon every day.

  “All right, Drake,” instructed Mac, “the children are out of the way. You’re up.”

  Drake snuck behind the back of the house, observing the window shades pulled closed, just as before. He heard a rhythmic chant, like at the only baseball game he had ever been to with his dad and brother a few years back, but instead of chanting “Rockies, Rockies,” this was colder somehow, lifeless and ominous.

  Birds stopped singing in the trees, and his hair stood on his prickly arms. The house seemed to ache with trembling walls, and the doors he was about to chain shut clanged together one time after another. Clang! Clang! Clang!

  Drake had seen and felt a lot of things over his long life, but never something like this.

  Mac felt it too. He looked at Cory. “Something’s not right in there,” he said. Feeling his nightmare in the daylight, he envisioned a powerful force rolling over the land, crushing everything in its path.

  “I feel it too,” Cory replied. “Even the birds won’t chirp… There’s evil in that house.”

  “Ready in three,” Mac called over the radios.

  “One, two...”

  Drake lit the first of four firework bundles using his old Flippo, all-metal lighter. His father had carried it every day until his last. Black Cats, they were known as by every boy, and they made a racket at 660 firecrackers per box.

  Pow! Pow! Pow! They ignited, one after the other, from the single wick. The back doors shook briefly as he dropped the first smoke bomb into the slightly opened window.

  The curtains opened abruptly, and he stared into the eyes of a crazed man. Or was it a woman, he thought, donning the mask of a goat’s head with horns and bright red eyes?

  The staring contest of sorts was short-lived, as smoke filled the main room of the house.

  “Another round,” came the call from Mac over the radio. Only a few people had exited the front door. “Double it up!”

  Drake lit two more firecracker bundles, followed by two smoke bombs.

  Within a minute, most of the adults came out the front door, confused and disoriented. Many were dressed in clothing one might see at a dark Halloween party, and a variety of masks even Bourbon Street shop owners in New Orleans would find disturbing.

  Most appeared to be unarmed. Mac lit the firecracker bundle from behind the boulder, and he and Cory stepped out from behind the large rock.

  “Loveland Police! Put your hands behind your head and lay facedown on the ground!” was the call from the megaphone on the clifftop.

  More than a few looked up to see rifles pointing towards them, and one after the other they complied with the repeated demands.

  Drake ran to check on Whitney and the children, who couldn’t help but overhear the commotion.

  She was singing them a song from a popular children’s movie called Minions, and for the moment they seemed unfazed by the events going on just outside their line of sight.

  “Stay facedown,” shouted Cory. He and Mac weaved in between the members, rifles at the ready.

  “Is this everyone?” asked a deputy over the loudspeaker.

  “No,” shouted Cory. “I don’t see Ralph.”

  “Ralph!” called Mac loudly when the fireworks had stopped and most of the smoke cleared. “Come on out!”

  There was no response. He scanned the crowd, now all lying on the ground, one more time.

  “Ralph,” he called again, “do you need help coming out?”

  “Nope,” came the quick answer. “We’re not going anywhere. Now take your coward self and your worthless friends off of my property before I...”

  He trailed off, and Mac, growing more irritated and angrier, waited a full 30 seconds before responding.

  “Before you what?”

  “Before I have you and your crackerjack outfit thrown off of my land,” Ralph replied.

  Mac asked a few of the facedown women if there was anyone else left in the house.

  “Only Ralph and his main security guy,” said one. Another woman agreed.

  “No one else? No women or children?” he pressed.

  “No, just those two,” they said.

  “Drake,” he called over the radio. “Light it up!”

  Doing as he was instructed, Drake dropped the first tear gas canister through the same partially opened window and quickly stepped back.

  The sound reminded him of letting the air out of a car tire. The steady whish of air from the canister was sure to penetrate the entire house.

  He waited for instructions from Mac, who would surely tell him all was clear, but they did not come.

  The radio crackled once again.

  “He’s upstairs, Drake, where they had Joshua before,” said Cory. “You remember the room?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Bust the window if you have to, and get him out.”

  Drake did as instructed, climbing the tree he had been up before only a few days ago while trying to save the boy.

  This time the window was shut tight. He had heard somewhere that tear gas could be harmful, and even fatal to people with respiratory conditions and other health problems, but it was more likely to injure someone by hitting them or burning them.

  With a woman or child, he would have been hesitant and even subordinate, but it was Ralph, the one man who held the cards.

  He got close and launched the tear gas hard and straight at the window, smashing it.

  “Oh, no,” yelled Drake watching the can bounce back and fall 15 feet to the ground as it hissed and jumped.

  Smoke rose quickly under him, and he put a bandana over his face.

  The decision was simple. He could climb back down the tree as quickly as he had come up, and likely have minimal exposure to the gas. Then he could throw another one into the broken window.

  He looked down at the ground as the smoke poured out of the twisting can.

  His decision was made. He couldn’t fail on his second mission in this very same tree.

  “Pow!” said Ralph, catching his attention back to the window just before the first shot.

  Drake turned just in time to see the flash of light from the pistol that a smiling Ralph had pointed towards him.

  The bullet caught Drake in the left elbow, dropping all but one of the remaining canisters from his shoulder bag.

  With his arm stinging and useless, his legs clamped down on the sturdy pine branch, and he swung the last canister in his right hand towards the open window. This time it flew inside, missing Ralph’s head as the second shot rang in his ears. He lost his leg grip on the branch and began to fall.

  “No!” screamed Whitney, running out from behind the barn. He fell 15 feet and hit the ground with a thud.

  Gas poured through the upstairs of the house and out the open window.

  “Drake! Drake!” she called out. “Help me, it’s Drake!”
she screamed.

  “Mac, you got this?” asked Cory, already heading to the side of the house.

  “Yeah, but be careful.”

  Cory ran quickly but cautiously around the side of the house.

  Drake lay motionless on the ground. In most other circumstances, he would have been careful to find out what happened and call for the paramedics before moving someone, in case of a spinal injury or brain trauma.

  Today, he had no choice. Whitney was choking and crying out in pain. Today the former Chief of Police dragged his unconscious man by the shoulders, yelling for Whitney to follow. He held his breath and closed his eyes as best he could, keeping most of the gas out.