by Reed, N. C.
Jose sighed, waiting a beat before trying to frame a reply.
“Look, I can see how this would look from your perspective. . ..”
“Can you?” Clay asked. “You aren't the one who gets slammed every time something just has to be done or absolutely can't wait another second or whatever the hell else is going on. I am. And I'm tired, man. I'm tired of having all this shit thrown at me and then, even after I make the decision everyone asks for, no one listens. If you guys are going to do whatever you want to do anyway, then just go on and do it without involving me, okay? Just. . .let me be. I could use the rest.”
“You know, not everyone is running around just doing their own thing, man,” Jose tried again. “I mean some are, but usually just to try and take the heat off of you.”
“How does that take heat off of me?” Clay looked astonished. “You realize now that the death of Josh Webb will be placed squarely on me because of how he reacted to me refusing to race over to his farm when he wanted us to?”
“You didn't-,”
“You think that will matter to these people?” Clay cut in. “Or to his family? I said we couldn't do it because it would leave us vulnerable. Webb went ballistic over his family and pulled a gun on me, at which point Heath ended him. I think it was Heath,” Clay frowned in thought.
“It was,” Jose nodded, “and that wasn't his fault.”
“No, it wasn't. But who do you think is going to catch the blame for all that? Webb? Not hardly. Not even Holman. No, I’ll be the one blamed for it because I didn't load up and run right over there into an ambush or else leaving this place open for an attack. But later on, as if proving I don't know what I'm talking about, three men under my command, at least in theory, did just that and managed to rescue two people. Which again is going to be thrown in my face later on.”
“Well, just tell them the truth,” Jose shrugged. “Tandi and Jody went AWOL doing something against orders. The fact that they rescued two people is beyond the fact that they shouldn't have gone to start with.”
“You don't see it, do you?” Clay buried the ax in wood he'd been splitting and picked up a towel to wipe his sweat away. “The people who are against me are going to point at exactly that. That three of my men, who I said weren't going to go, went anyway and managed to retrieve two people still alive. The fact that they did it, without losses, shows that I should have done it with the full crew. Next will be 'how many could he have saved if he had gone right away', and after that will be 'he didn't do it because Joshua Webb blamed him for Mark's death' followed by 'he never wanted them here to start with' or some other horse shit. And finally, the accusations will come that if I hadn't taken the gear and weapons we had issued them to defend this place, they could have fought off their attackers on their own.”
“We all agreed that those weapons and that gear were for defending this place,” Jose argued. “We can't… couldn't… just let them haul it away when we need it here!”
“Good point,” Clay nodded. “And I'm the one who gave the order. You think the surviving Webbs will remember that everyone else was up there to see to it we got our gear back? Or just remember it was me who was in charge?”
Jose was beginning to realize what Clay was saying and it brought points to light that he, Jose Juarez, had not had to consider. He was responsible for what happened at the Troy farm and to a lesser extent to the people living in the apartments, but a lot of that also fell on Clay.
Clay had that, plus his family, two farms, and the people that Leon had brought in as well. Not to mention the overall responsibility for defending the entire place and the people who lived there. Sure, the rest helped like planning defensive sites and strategy suggestions, but ultimately things fell to Clay, just as they had in the bush when he was in command. They still leaned on him as 'the Boss', but they more and more were branching out and doing things that he didn't want done because they thought those things needed doing. If they succeeded then all was good and they looked like heroes. If they failed, it would rest on Clay to explain what happened and how. And in this case, Clay was made to look like the bad guy because three of his men had sneaked away to do something he had deemed too dangerous to be attempted. The last time that happened was his idiot niece running into town to 'save' her friend.
And once again all of them had disobeyed his orders, led by John Barnes, and followed him to town where they had rescued a number of people and killed a good number of people who needed killing but at the loss of Big John, whose loss Jose could see was still affecting his commander.
“Clay, this shit ain't your fault, mano,” Jose blurted suddenly. “Big John led the group into Peabody, man. And Tandi and Jody thought they were taking pressure off you by helping out where you really couldn't. They knew you had to answer the way you did, and thought if they slipped away they might be able to do what you wanted to do yourself, but couldn't allow it. Don't read some kind of disobedience of disrespect into that!”
“Tell me something, Pancho,” Clay was stacking wood now, ricking it where he could cover it for later. “Say that Tandi and Jody were killed. Maybe Zach too. We lose the Cougar and a Ma Deuce. The next attack comes and we're down three good men and a MRAP with a big fifty on top. How many people do you think die in that attack?”
“Are you talking about them or about our-,”
“Our people of course,” Clay sounded irritated for the first time. “I don't give a shit about theirs. I mean us, right here,” he pointed to the ground, indicating the farm Jose assumed. “How many people you think die during that? How many people you ever see take a round from a fifty and live?”
The answer of course was none. There was a reason the BMG round was used in sniper rifles.
“Right,” Clay nodded as if Jose's hesitation was enough of an answer. “None. So, we just hand over a M-2 to our enemy along with an armored car to fire it from, and they come tearing through here again. If we win, and that's a mighty big if, the damage will still be incredible. The death toll will be high as a cat's back and leave us a hollow shell of what we were. Leaving us a ripe target for the next group. The idea was that we would rally here, dig in, and wait for things to settle down. Protect our own and make sure we could make it. Remember that? Remember that plan?”
“I remember,” Pancho nodded.
“Then what the hell happened to that plan?” Clay demanded. “I mean first my family fucked it up, for which I take full responsibility. That was on me. I finally get them to heel, at least mostly, and what happens? Damned if some of the team don't do the same exact shit. I can't win. And here in a few days when the Webbs start coming around and realize what's happened, you can bet your ass I’ll be given a big hunk of the blame for it, wait and see.”
-
John Webb had been more fortunate than any of the others in his family, save his youngest brother and sister. While he had two flesh wounds, neither were life threatening nor had they resulted in a great deal of blood loss. As a result, he was able to be around by the next day after his arrival. He had been relieved to see his mother and eldest sister-in-law had been brought in and were being cared for, even if the outlook on his mom wasn't great.
It was when he went outside in search of his father that he learned Josh Webb had been killed. Apparently, Sanders had refused to go to the aid of the Webb family and his father had snapped, drawing a gun and threatening him, resulting in his being shot and killed.
John learned that after Clayton Sanders had refused to drop everything and run to the Webb family's rescue, three of his men had snuck away during the night and did the very thing that Clayton Sanders had said they couldn't do, rescuing Daisy and his mother. It seemed as though his father had died for nothing thanks to Clayton Sanders.
He was still stewing on that when Gordy walked up to him while doing the ground watch.
“Hey man, you doing okay?” Gordy asked. “You look a lot better than you did yesterday. Mom and them get you fixed up okay?”
�
��Yeah, I'm fit as a fiddle,” John nodded absently. “Can't same the same for my dad, of course.”
“I heard,” Gordy was instantly on edge. “Is your mom any better?”
“Do you really care?” John asked, looking Gordy right in the eye. “I mean, you guys were just going to leave her there, after all.”
“You got that all wrong, man,” Gordy wasn't going to take that. “You and your dad are the ones that left them there, remember? Not us. We didn't leave you anywhere. You had a safe place here, at least as safe as we could make it, and you decided to go back home. Then, three weeks later you show up in a truck we gave you with two gunshot wounds, Jasmine looking. . .well, and you, your brother Seth, your sister Lila, and your dad looking fresh as daisies. Not a scratch on them and not much on you, either. You guys are the people who left the rest of your family behind. That had nothing to do with us.”
“You should have went right then and got them!” John all but growled.
“Why?” Gordy asked, calm despite his own rising temper. “Why should we leave our own families unprotected to go check on someone else who had it just as good here as we do but threw it away?”
“You owed us for Mark!” John shouted. “It was your fault Mark was killed!”
“How?” Gordy asked. “What was it we did that caused Mark to die? He didn't get that assignment from us and neither did the Jessup boy. That was all on your dad, Franklin George and Jessup's pa. Wanting his boy to be a man or some shit like that. Nothing whatever to do with anyone in the Sanders family. So, no, we didn't owe you for Mark getting killed.”
“You Sanders think you're really something, don't you?” John challenged. “You got all this stuff and think that makes you special. Don't it?”
“We worked for all this stuff, John Webb,” Gordy replied evenly. “Worked hard for it over generations. No one gave us a damn thing. And as to what we think of ourselves? We don't think nothing other than we want to survive. We want to live. That's what we concentrate on. And that includes not running off and leaving this place and the people on it unprotected just ‘cause someone needs help. You guys could have stayed here. Should have stayed here. What happened to you wouldn't have happened if you had, maybe. We had strength in numbers until you ran out.”
“So, it's our fault,” John snorted.
“Yep,” Gordy was tired of this line of conversation. “It was. Now unless you got something else you want to unload on me, I got a patrol to make. As a guest you don't have to make one. Come to think of it you never had to make one when you lived here, neither. I guess you got used to being carried and thought it would bleed over toward home? Anyway, I gotta go.”
With that Gordy sauntered away leaving a furious John Webb behind.
-
“I don't think we need to let Mom or the rest be in there without protection,” Gordy told Pancho fifteen minutes later. “He is pretty pumped up over this and blames us for pretty much everything. Not everybody, mind you, just us Sanders. We're the real enemy,” he finished with a snort.
“Clay said it would be like that,” Pancho sighed. “I’ll go and talk to him, see if he can be reasoned with. If not then. . .I don't know. We’ll have to go from there, I guess.”
“I'd keep my eyes open and watch his hands,” Gordy nodded. “And as long as he has that attitude I don't want him around my Mom or anyone else in my family. Period.” The message was clear. The younger Sanders was letting Jose Juarez know that 'talking to him' wasn't enough and that Gordy would hold Jose responsible if his mother or anyone else was hurt.
“I got ya.”
-
Jose found John Webb sitting outside of Building Two, where the clinic was located. With so many of his family there it wasn't a surprise, but it could be concerning to the others. Perhaps it should be concerning, too. He would have to try and find out.
“John, how are you?” Jose asked carefully. “Wounds healing okay?”
“Mine or theirs?” John nodded toward the door into the clinic.
“Yours,” Jose replied.
“I'm fine,” John admitted. “Wasn't too bad and they fixed me up good. Sammy and Luke are doing pretty good according to Miss Kaitlin. Daisy. . .well,” he shrugged. “Her and Jasmine had it bad, but Daisy is a lot worse. And my mom. . ..” he trailed off, just shaking his head.
“I know,” Jose nodded. “Patricia gave us a report yesterday. Your mom has a serious head injury. There's nothing they can do other than treat her and hope she recovers.”
“Patricia, huh?” John's voice was full of scorn. “I guess the Sanders run the medical office here too, then.”
“What's in your craw about the Sanders family, John?” Jose asked. “Patricia has treated every member of your family and done a damn good job. Your brothers are healing and will recover thanks to her efforts. She's done everything physically she can for your sisters-in-law, and is monitoring your mother's condition hoping to see a sign of improvement or find some way to help her. She also examined your younger brother and sister to ensure they were fit. Beverly has talked to them and is trying to help with Daisy and Jasmine.”
“They've opened their homes to you and your family for a second time, and helped you when you were in a bad place. So, tell me,” Jose's voice turned hard, “what is it that has you so angry at the Sanders family after all they've done for you?”
“Done for me?” John all but snarled. “Which Sanders was it that went running over to our place to rescue my mother again?”
“None of them,” Jose replied bluntly. “And the three men that went weren't supposed to go, either. We had an agreement between all of us that the protection of this place took precedence over everything, including ourselves. Our families, our children are here and we swore that we would put their safety above even our own. Those two decided to do what they did on their own, violating that promise and roping Zach into it by letting him think it was an official job, which it wasn't.”
“So, there was never any plan to help my family at all, then?” John snorted in anger. “Figures.”
“What help did we owe you, John?” Jose asked him. “Your entire family were here, dug in and well cared for. We had to work for it, that's true, but we were strong and we could have survived. When your brother died all of you left, and left with your father blaming the Sanders for everything from the sun sneezing on us to the general state of the union. Every word of that was a load of shit, too.”
“My brother-,” John started.
“Your brother died protecting his family,” Jose didn't bother to let him finish. “I'm getting tired of hearing him used as a battering ram, too. He deserves better than that. Just like he deserved better than to be stuffed into a hole with a child who was too scared to shoot. There were grown men aplenty up there who could and should have been in there with Mark when the balloon went up, but your father was one of the very people who let it be the Jessup boy. And the Jessup boy, in case you ain't heard, ended up eating his gun the afternoon all of you left. Blew the back of his head clean off because a bunch of adults let a kid think it was his fault that your brother was dead.”
“None of us should have had to fight anyway,” John retorted. “That wasn't the way it was supposed to be!”
“You expected us to do it all for you?” Jose asked. “All your entire group had to do was protect your homes and families. We didn't ask any of you to help protect this farm or anyone else on it. Just look after yourselves and nothing else. There were more of you up there trained and equipped than climbed that hill to attack you. Where were they, huh? Where were they while the thirteen of us were fighting over fifty men to protect this farm and everyone on it?”
“That ain't the point!” John yelled back, getting to his feet.
“Then what is the point?” Jose asked, not backing up an inch.
“What about how the Sanders treated us when we came asking for help!” John yelled. “And killing my dad!”
“The Sanders didn't kill your father,
” Jose told him flatly, “one of us did when he drew a weapon and aimed it as Clayton. We take a dim view of that sort of thing. And your father came here trying to lure us into a trap, John. He made a deal with the devil to get all of you out and away from your farm. His part of the deal was to get Clay and the rest of us to come to your place and walk into an ambush, leaving this place wide open for an attack.”
John looked at him in shock.
“Hadn't heard that part, had you?” Jose let scorn enter his voice for the first time. “Well, he did. And when he was called on it, he pulled a gun and threatened to kill Clay. A sniper saw it and took your father down, defending the people on this farm. That's the way things like that work. And that's why no one went running to the rescue. The rest of your family was dead the minute you were out of sight. The fact that your mother and sister-in-law were still alive was nothing short of a miracle. Your father made a deal with Holman and took you and the others that came here with him in exchange for selling us out, and that's the truth of the matter. The Sanders had nothing to do with that, John. That was all on your dad.” Jose took a step closer to him.
“And while we're on the subject, had the rest of you stood up to your father and refused to leave here, none of that could have happened. Had you stayed here, where it was somewhat safer, that bunch could never have gotten to you like that. If they could, they would have hit us again already. Instead, they watched and waited and got you instead, once you left here and were on your own.”
“So, you need to watch how you throw those accusations around, boy,” Jose's voice had taken on a much harder edge now as the soldier, the killer in him, came to the fore. “Because someone is going to take exception to that and put your ass down for it. Get me?”
