Collective Retribution

by Edwards, D. S.

  Nirsch chuckled again.

  Crack!

  The shot rang out from the valley floor and echoed its way up through the timber.

  Crack!

  Another shot, then another. Nirsch spurred his horse and plowed down the mountain. “Let’s go!”

  They tore off the hill in a storm of flying hooves and slapping leather.

  “Spread out,” Nirsch yelled, “and stop just inside the trees in front of the house!”

  At the brush at the edge of the Hansons’ driveway, Nirsch jumped off his horse and peered ahead. A man was stomping across the driveway toward a small shed.

  Another shot echoed. Nirsch could tell it came from Brett’s direction. The man tumbled to the ground in a cloud of dust.

  “Aaaaarghh, my leg! Barry, I’m hit! Help me, Barry!”

  “Stay down, Carlo, we’ll get to you.” The voice came from the house.

  “I see one of them, Barry. He’s up—“

  Crack!

  This shot came from Pat’s position. Carlo’s neck shredded into hamburger as a .270 round tore through his Adam’s apple and bounced off his spine, mushrooming into a hot lead pancake. The shot was answered by a barrage of bullets from inside the house, flying into the night air, trying to find their mark on unseen assailants.

  When the shots died down, Nirsch shouted down from the trees.

  “The house is completely surrounded. You need to come out with your hands above your head where we can see them. If you don’t, I can promise, you will be just as dead as Carlo here. There’s not one man among us that will not hesitate to put a bullet in your brain. Now come out, all of you. If I see one weapon, we will kill you. If you try to run, we will kill you. If you as much as sneeze, we will kill you.”

  “Who are you?” came a voice from the house. “What do you want? You’re trespassing. This is our house and we will defend it. You have no right to be here.”

  “We just came to talk. If you come out, we can talk. No one else has to die.”

  Nirsch motioned Larry over to the Aspen providing his cover. Nirsch leaned down and whispered in his ear: “Slip around the other side and work your way to the window just to the right of the back door. Be ready to move in through the window. When you get in the window, the living room is to your right. I think they’re all in there. Don’t try to go through the door, it could be locked. The kitchen window is your best access point.”

  “How will I know when to go in?”

  “When I say, ‘It’s time to end this.’ Now go. I’ll stall them till you’re set up. I don’t think they’re going to come out on their own. Be careful and don’t hesitate. I’ll be coming in the front. Don’t shoot me.”

  Nirsch yelled to the house again.

  “We’re tired and hungry. We just need a place to crash for the night and we’ll move on. What do you say, Barry?”

  “We don’t have any food and we’re not interested in having any guests. Now go away and leave us alone.”

  Nirsch motioned to Bill and yelled out again. “Why don’t you come out and we can talk without shouting. I won’t shoot.”

  “That’s not going to happen and you’re not getting in here. Now go away!”

  Bill crawled over. “I need you to slip out,” Nirsch whispered. “Lead your horse for at least fifty yards and then mount up. I don’t want them to hear you riding away. You need to ride up to the ridges at both ends. Talk to Pat and then Brett. Find out how the shooting started. Tell them when we start shooting to fire into the windows of the house until I yell for them to stop. They’ll need to create a diversion so Larry and I can get in and take care of this. Go quickly. You have five minutes to make contact and get back here. When you get back, I’ll slip up to the front. When I get into position, start firing into the house.”

  Bill nodded and crawled back into the trees, out of sight. Nirsch waited till he heard faint hoof beats and yelled out again.

  “We’re in no hurry. I don’t care if it takes all night to get in, but make no mistake about it, Barry, we’re coming in. If it takes till morning, it doesn’t matter. I used to work graveyard. I can sleep during the day! What do you say, Barry? You want to come out and visit with me? We can share this house.”

  “I’m sure there’s some other house you can find. This one’s mine. I took it and I’m willing to kill to keep it! If you know what’s good for you, walk away and leave us alone. If you don’t, you’ll end up like the people who lived here.”

  Nirsch’s heart sank. Charlie and Lorraine were good people. They didn’t deserve what they got. They would have helped these people. There was no need to kill them.

  He shook his head. These men had to be stopped here or they would kill again. When they ran out of food and other resources, they would move on, and someone else would get killed for what they had. These were not the type of men who were willing to work to survive. They knew only how to take. They probably wandered east out of the city when everything collapsed, killing and taking as they went. For them, there was no law except survival. It was up to Nirsch and his neighbors to stop them.

  Nirsch wondered how many people they’d killed before they got to the Beckers. He also wondered how many more like these men would end up here when summer finally came and they could travel across the mountains. Nirsch realized he would definitely need to be more vigilant. He would have to get together with more of the neighbors and organize. They needed to keep a close eye on each other.

  A branch snapped behind Nirsch. He whirled, weapon raised. Bill crawled out of the brush, and Nirsch lowered his weapon.

  “We’re ready,” Bill said. “Brett shot the man in the front yard, the one they called Carlo. He’d just watched him take a plate of food to the woodshed. He handed the plate through the door, and it came flying back out, covering his face in hot food. He walked to the house, got a shotgun, and started back toward the woodshed. Brett shot him. He figured the Beckers were probably in the shed and about to get shot. Pat finished him off when he was about to give their position away.”

  Relief washed over Nirsch. There was a chance the Beckers were still alive. He looked back toward the house and studied it for a minute. I’ve worked with the best men Uncle Sam could train, he thought, and these men, my friends and neighbors, outshined ‘em all.

  “When I get into position,” Nirsch said, “I’ll wave, and you start shooting.”

  Bill nodded and knelt down, raising his rifle.

  “Come on, Barry,” Nirsch called. “We’re cold and hungry. Just let us in. We’ll sleep and then we’ll leave.”

  “Go away!”

  Nirsch crawled across the driveway, crept onto the porch, and crouched to the side of the front door. He took a couple of deep breaths and stood in front of the door.

  Nirsch yelled and motioned to Bill simultaneously: “Let’s end this thing!”

  Shots rained down on the house. Nirsch heard Larry smash through the back window. Nirsch threw his shoulder against the door and tumbled into the house. He rolled into a crouch, raised his rifle, found a target, and fired, shooting through the man’s left eye. He found a second target and blew out the back of another skull.

  Two shots sounded from the kitchen. A short, wiry man stumbled out backwards. Blood sprayed from his chest as he fell at Nirsch’s feet. Nirsch had to sidestep to keep the man from falling on him.

  He heard a noise to his left and turned in time to see two men disappear into the stairwell. Their footsteps echoed as they scrambled to the second story. Nirsch moved to the side of the kitchen door.

  “You clear, Larry?”

  “Clear!”

  Nirsch slowly swung open the door and motioned for Larry to come out. They swept the lower level of the house and checked on the three men they’d killed. Nirsch pointed at the stairwell, pulled two mini Mag lights from his fatigues, and handed one to Larry.

  “You go low, I’ll go high,” Nirsch said.

  They switched on the flashlights and stood on either side of
the stairwell. Nirsch pointed to the upstairs and counted down from three on his fingers. On one, they shone their flashlights into the stairwell.

  Empty.

  Nirsch waived his hand, palm down, over his head, signaling Larry to cover him. Larry swung his gun and flashlight back and forth as Nirsch slowly climbed the stairs. Nirsch got to the top of the stairs, then Larry followed. Nirsch pointed Larry to the left; he went right.

  Nirsch flashed back to a mission in Africa. His team was sweeping a house, trying to root out a tribal warlord. The thug had booby-trapped the top floor. A rookie had hit a tripwire, detonating a Claymore mine and separating three men’s legs from their upper bodies.

  “I hate this,” Nirsch hissed under his breath.

  Nirsch cleared the first room and moved on to the second. There was no sign of anyone. He moved to the end of the hallway and paused outside the final door. Nirsch looked over his shoulder. Larry emerged from the last door on his side, saw Nirsch, and shook his head.

  Nirsch signaled Larry to join him. They framed either side of the door. Nirsch pointed at Larry, then down. He pointed to himself, then high. Larry nodded. Nirsch counted down on his fingers again, and they crashed through the door.

  A man was climbing out of the window. He turned and raised a pistol.

  Nirsch and Larry both fired. The man tumbled back into the room into a heap, his torso no longer a solid mass. Bullets had shattered nearly every bone in his midsection. With no bone structure, his body jiggled like Jello from nerve spasms.

  Shots rang out outside. “I got him!” Bill shouted.

  Nirsch and Larry faced each other, catching their breath.

  “I’m pretty sure there were only six,” Nirsch said. “I think we got ’em all, if that was one they just got outside.”

  “I found a body in the room at the other end of the hall,” Larry said. “An older man. I don’t know what Charlie looks like, but I think it might be him.”

  They went to the other end of the hallway. The body was definitely Charlie. He’d been beaten and had his throat cut. From the looks of the dried blood around his neck and his bloated and stiff body, Nirsch guessed he’d been dead two to three days. The fact that Lorraine wasn’t with Charlie gave Nirsch a spark of hope. Maybe she was still alive in the shed.

  They went downstairs. “We’re coming out!” Nirsch yelled. “The house is clear. Don’t shoot!”

  They walked into the courtyard. Bill stood over the body of a man in his twenties. The man had a single bullet hole in his cheek.

  Nirsch and Larry ran to the woodshed and ripped the door open. Lorraine Becker was chained to the corner of the shed. Her face was nearly unrecognizable. Her left eye was swollen shut, her lips were both split, and blood had dried under her smashed nose.

  They removed the chains. “Can you stand?” Nirsch said.

  “I think so.”

  With help, Lorraine raised up on wobbly legs.

  “They…came in four days ago,” she said. “There were just two of them at first, and they were hungry, so we took them in and fed them. After they ate, they hit Charlie in the back of the head, and dragged me out to the woodshed. Four more came out of the shadows and went into the house.”

  Lorraine paused and starting sobbing and shaking.

  “I heard them yelling at Charlie in the house. They kept saying, ‘Where’s the guns, old man?’ I could hear him screaming. Pretty soon he stopped screaming, and I knew he was dead. I could hear them…laughing…as they tore up our home.”

  Lorraine’s knees buckled and Nirsch caught her. She’d fainted.

  “Go and drag the bodies out of the living room,” he said to Larry. “Put them over in the trees. We need to get her inside where it’s warm until morning. I don’t think she needs to see dead people in her home. Cover any blood spots with blankets or something. As soon as it’s light and it warms up, we’ll take her back to the ranch. Michelle can nurse her back to health.”

  Nirsch and Larry carried Lorraine into the house and removed all the bodies, including Charlie’s, from upstairs. Pat, Bill, and Brett returned a short time later and went to work digging graves.

  “Make sure you bury Charlie in a nice spot, as far away from the scum as you can get him. We’ll build him a nice marker later and have a service for him. I’m half tempted to drag the low-lifes into the meadow and let the coyotes and buzzards feed on them, but we’d better not. Just bury them deep.”

  As soon as the graves were dug, Nirsch sent the three diggers back to the ranch to fill in the women. He and Larry settled Lorraine in for the night on the couch, stoked the fire, and took turns keeping watch. When morning came, Nirsch rummaged around in the kitchen looking for coffee and something for breakfast. All that was left in the kitchen were a few stale biscuits. He went to the chicken house and pulled a few eggs. After a light meal, they were ready to leave.

  Larry saddled a horse for Lorraine. “You think you’re well enough to ride?” he said.

  “I think so,” she said. “I’m pretty sore, but I’ll manage.”

  “Good. We’ll get you back to the ranch, and you girls can gossip. You’ll be back up and about in no time, and then you can decide what you want to do. Whether you want to come back out here or stay with us.”

  “What about Charlie?” Lorraine asked through tear-filled eyes.

  “Charlie is resting over by the apple orchard. We’ll come and have a service for him when you’re feeling better.”

  They managed to get Lorraine into the saddle and rode out as the first rays of the warm spring sun peeked over snowy mountaintops.

  25

  AUSTIN, TEXAS

  APRIL 23

  DEBBIE NIRSCHELL ROSE FROM A CUSHION ON THE CONCRETE floor of the windowless basement where she and her nine-year-old son had locked themselves in five months earlier. She placed her ear against the door. She hadn’t heard anything from the outside for at least three weeks. Debbie picked up her old double-barrel Ithaca 12-gauge, checked the chambers, and put a few extra shells in her pocket.

  “What do you think, Jake?” she said. “Are you ready to take a look outside?”

  “You think it’s safe, Mom? What if there’s still bad guys out there?”

  “I haven’t heard any shots for days, Jake. And…we’re almost out of water.”

  That wasn’t the only reason Debbie wanted to go out. They still had enough water for at least a week. The truth was she couldn’t stand the smell any longer. The porta potty bags in the corner were starting to pile up. Their aroma, mixed with the eye-stinging stench of unwashed bodies, made staying down here one more day unthinkable.

  The lack of sunlight had also taken its toll on Debbie’s sanity. Jake was at least five shades paler than when they’d locked themselves in, and Debbie’s head ached constantly from the effect of flickering candles. No matter how well they’d prepared to survive physically, they hadn’t been ready for the psychological effects of underground living. They’d stocked up on supplies after reading the book The Revelation of Preparation. Her Uncle Nirsch had met the author at a church in D.C. He bought the book and sent it to her with a note:

  Dearest Debbie:

  Your aunt and I want you to have this book. I know people don’t like to think about disasters or the possibility of societal collapse, but the threat is real. This book shows the things a person should have to survive or to help others. We really wish that you lived closer to the ranch, but we understand you have to live where you can provide for Jake. Just know this: if anything ever happens, you are always welcome at the ranch in Seneca. Your aunt and I love you very much, and we pray for you often.

  Love, Uncle Nirsch

  Debbie’s parents had died two weeks before Jake was born. Jake was only three when Tom was killed in Iraq. Debbie tried her best to raise Jake without a man in their lives. She taught him all the guy things she knew. Her husband had insisted that she learn how to protect herself in case he didn’t come home from Iraq. She’d taken Tae-Kwon-Do an
d learned about weapons and tactics. She was quite capable of protecting Jake. She was even an expert in knife throwing. Her aunt and uncle had been there for her, to wipe away her tears and help her with parenting advice, as well as financially when money was tight. The gift of the book had saved their lives. The question now was what kind of life would that be?

  Debbie unlatched the basement door, removed the heavy steel bar, and slowly swung it open. Daylight flooded in, temporarily blinding her yet lifting her spirits.

  “Wait here a minute,” she said, “and lock the door once I get upstairs. Don’t come out until I tell you it’s okay.”

  She took a cautious step as her eyes adjusted to the light. Her refrigerator and her washing machine lay in the stairwell. Someone had tried to use them as a battering ram to break down the basement door two weeks earlier.

  “So that’s what was slamming into our door.”

  She crawled over her once beautiful, functioning appliances and started up the stairs.

  “Mom!” Jake hissed into the dusty sunlight. “Wait. I-I-I’m scared. I want to go with you.”

  “No!” Debbie snapped, instantly feeling guilty when she noticed the terror on his face and the single tear rolling down his cheek. Sometimes she forgot how young he was. He’d been through a lot of grief in his short life, and had grown up much too fast. She turned, walked back down the stairs, and climbed over the appliances again. She hugged him tightly.

  “You’ll be fine,” she said. “We’ve planned for this and talked about it. You have to stay here until I make sure it’s safe outside. You have a very important job. You have to make sure our supplies are safe. You are the man of the house.”