by John Grit
The gravelly voiced man threw his arms up and yelled in a high-pitched scream, “I surrender!”
Nate emptied his head and swung on the last has he turned to run, shooting him twice in the back and out his chest. Blood and pieces of lung sprayed a palmetto frond. He fell, made a gurgling noise, and died.
A tinge of guilt hit Nate. He slammed a mental door in its face. This isn’t about justice or fairness; it’s about them coming to kill my family.
He tied their long guns on his pack. Picking up the pistol, he noticed Property of Leon Co. Sheriff’s Dept. was engraved on the slide. He took the holster with its magazine pouch too.
In a hurry to get to Mel’s cache and drugs, and then back to Brian, he didn’t take time to search their pockets, but he did open their packs and dump everything out to quickly check for anything useful. He found the personal items of their past victims; mostly cash and jewelry, dirty clothing, and enough canned goods to last two or three days only. They had not figured out that cash is no longer king and gold is not going to fill your stomach. If they had any sense and knew of Mel’s cache, they would not bother with the farm. Or was it all personal for Chuck Shingle?
With so little supplies, if they were waiting for Chuck Shingle and others, they expected them soon.
Nate ran. There was no time to waste. He had miles of rough country to cover, then the long trip back. As he ran, he thought about dumping the extra guns and emptying his pack, but pushed the thought aside and kept running.
The adrenaline surge faded and with it his energy, but he pushed himself and made it to the cave sooner than expected. His clothes were drenched in the thirty-six degree weather. He approached the entrance only after circling and checking to be certain no one was around or had been recently.
After worrying through all of Mel’s security, he rushed into the cave and headed for a sealed plastic container marked MEDICAL SUPPLIES. It was the size of a small closet, and Nate hoped that meant it contained a virtual pharmaceutical warehouse. What he needed would have been difficult for Mel to buy, as it is normally restricted, but Mel had his ways of getting such things. He knew Mel even had weapons cached somewhere that were not exactly legal under federal and state law. When Mel started to mention what he had, Nate interrupted him and warned he did not want or need to know about anything illegal he had purchased and cached away for the end of the world. “You’re a good man, and I hope you never need them or get into trouble,” Nate told him. “And the fewer people know about it the better. Also, if I know about you doing something illegal, I could get dragged into any legal troubles of yours.”
Nate found a shelf marked ANTIBIOTICS. Working feverously, he dumped everything out of his pack and left the killers’ weapons by the pile on the floor. After taking everything he could find that could be an antibiotic, he searched for information on how to use them. He found what he was looking for on the same shelf. Handwritten across the cover was: ANTIBIOTIC DOSES; INDICATIONS; CONTRADICTIONS. Under that was: (When and how much to use and when not to.) He put the manual in his pack with the medication.
He dumped a handful of syringes in with the antibiotics and started to pick his pack up but stopped short. Searching the shelves again, this time for pain killer, he grabbed most of what was there and slipped the bottles in a side pocket of the pack. Sweat dripped from his face as he leaned over to secure the top flap. He slammed the pack on, slipping his left arm under a shoulder strap. After bolting and locking the cave door, he started back to Brian in a sprint.
Thirty minutes of plowing through the brush left him gasping. He pushed on at reckless speed. If Shingle and his fellow convicts were in the area, he might blunder into an ambush. Charging up a steep bluff, he reached the top out of breath and careened down the other side. A rock rolled under a foot and nearly sent him tumbling. Fear of rolling on the pack and breaking the bottles of medication that may save Brian’s life went through his mind. He grabbed a sapling and managed to land on his butt. He slid the rest of the way down in that position.
At the bottom, he pushed up from the ground and stood gasping. Slow down! You’re going to break a leg. Then you will be no use to Brian.
The thought of Brian lying in bed and those killers getting there before him spurred him on, but he did slow enough to be more careful. He kept reminding himself what he heard the killers say about the others arriving later. Certainly it would not be today. But how could he be sure?
* * *
Brian slept peacefully. The book about home remedies was open on his chest. He left the wounded leg uncovered because it felt hot. The towel under his wound was soaked through, staining the sheet under it. From the knee down, his leg felt numb, and the room smelled of something for which he had no comparison.
Many times he had thought there was nothing left to live for, he had no future. His father insisted he did, but he still saw little to live for and had wished himself dead several times. This morning he dozed off worrying about his father. What if he did die? His father would be alone in all this.
He dreamed he heard voices. Something, he did not know what, woke him. Opening his eyes, he looked around the dark room. Little afternoon sunlight found its way in through the shutters. The backdoor! He reached for the shotgun. The hammering told him it was not his father. All drowsiness vanished as his heart pounded. He thought he would never get enough air, his chest heaved.
Someone pounded on the shutter covering his bedroom window. It was an ax. Twice, the blade came through. Someone drove it through again and turned it in the wood, splintering a piece off.
Brian aimed the shotgun and waited. His heart beat against his chest.
The ax cut through again and a larger piece was levered away. Again, it drove through and was twisted. This time the handle broke, leaving the blade in the wood. Pounding came from the other end of the house.
There had been voices, but Brian could not hear what was said. Now he heard someone cussing. “You broke the handle. Idiot!”
“I’ll get it open, Chuck. Just keep watch in case someone shows up before I get in.”
“Just remember there’s a chance they left the kids inside.”
Brian saw a hand reach in and grope for the latch. He fired and the hand was removed at the wrist.
All hell broke loose. Bullets started coming through the shutter, splintering it further. Screaming and gunfire filled Brian’s ears.
Brian slid himself to the foot of the bed to take refuge behind the steel plate Nate put up. His leg was on fire again, but he hardly noticed. He jacked another round in the chamber and cowered behind the steel, wood splinters flying, some landing on his bed.
Screaming was all Brian heard above the ringing in his ears when the shooting stopped. Then the pounding on the front and back door started again. How many are there? Terror shook him to the bone. He knew now he wanted to live. How stupid was he to think of just giving his life away! No. He will fight for his life and never again think of giving up.
He fired through the open window and worked the slide, then rolled off onto the floor. A jolt of fire raced up his leg, and he fought back an urge to throw up. Another torrent of bullets came crashing into the room. Beside his bed was the 30/30. He grabbed it and crawled on his belly into the hallway with a gun in each hand.
The shooting stopped but the pounding on the doors didn’t. They were handmade by his grandfather of solid oak. As sturdy as they were, they could not withstand the onslaught forever.
Outside, the man had stopped screaming. It seemed to Brian he was at the west end of the house because he was moaning every minute or so.
Brian could hear the front door splintering. They had gotten another ax, or perhaps a pickax, from the barn. There were plenty of tools for their choosing. He started to crawl for the living room. He would be there to greet him with buckshot.
A distant pop, followed by a thwack, came to Brian’s ears. The man started to scream again. More distant pops, and the man’s screaming seemed to move to the
front yard. As he ran, the popping continued, interspersed with more bullet impacts on his body.
A renewed torrent of gunfire roared from both sides of the house. They were shooting at someone in the woods. He knew that. But who? The girl. She has the .22 rifle from those men at the river.
He crawled back to the bed and pulled himself up. Leaving the shotgun in his lap, he shouldered his father’s bolt-action and pushed the safety off. There was no time to get the shooting platform back in place.
A man bolted for the tree line on the west side of the field. Brian tried to get a shot but the man stumbled just before he pulled the trigger. A pop came just as he fell, and Brian knew the girl had hit him. He jumped up and ran for the barn. Brian took too long to find him in the ten power scope. The range was too close. Brian realized he should have used his 30/30 instead.
There was more popping, and the man was hit at least once more before he got behind the barn. Brian could not see it from his angle, but he heard the impact and the man yell out, “Oh, shit!”
After five minutes of silence Brian was nervously wondering what next. Catching movement in the tree line along the right side of the field, he snatched up the binoculars and scanned the shadows.
Brian’s eyes rounded and he dropped the binoculars in his lap. Shouldering the bolt-action, he took careful aim. Oh, hell! He lowered the rifle and checked the range card.
Five hundred yards. Brian read the card showing holds for different ranges. Minus 1.25 mils.
It took Brian five seconds to find them again through the cope. They had walked another twenty yards, moving fast considering one of them was wounded. He estimated that meant he needed to aim one half a Mil Dot low with a six-hundred-yard zero. The shot left his ears ringing again. I think I hit him. Checking through the scope after chambering another round, he could see nothing more of the men.
Time ticked slowly by. Brian reloaded the shotgun and rifle, his hands shaking. He wondered if he had hit the man in the woods. I hope the girl is okay. She sure saved my ass. He glassed the western tree line, but saw no sign of her or anyone else. Stuffing a pillow between him and the headboard, he leaned back to rest his aching muscles. His leg was throbbing. Looking down, he saw it was oozing fluid faster than before all the trouble started. Blood mixed with clear and yellow seepage and flowed onto the mattress. He was worried about his father. Did they kill him before they got here?
* * *
Nate ran as fast as he could, bulling through the brush and weaving through the trees. Fatigue had forced him to slow his screaming legs down, but the sound of gunfire coming from the direction of the farm slammed him into high gear. He even thought he heard a .22. Had Brian run the more powerful weapons dry and been reduced to the .22 rifle?
Coming up to the last half mile, he heard one more shot. He was certain it was his bolt-action. The silence that followed could not give him hope: it told him little.
Blood pounded in his head as he slowed to a walk. The closer he got to the farm, the more he forced himself to slow. As much as he wanted to keep running all-out, he knew better. His training would not allow him to rush into a firefight not knowing the strength and position of the enemy. He slowed still more, until he was in hunting mode.
Again, Nate found his senses on high intensity. A mosquito buzzed by his ear sounding like an airliner flying by. There was no wind, and the woods were listless death itself. He went into the highest stage of alert, stopping to stand and not moving again until he had searched every inch, every shadow, every tree, bush, or stump that could give refuge to waiting death. In less than seventy yards, he would see the back of the house. But he must see anyone waiting in ambush and put a bullet into him before he had a chance to do it to Nate. It should have taken an hour; he rushed it and was peering into the backyard from thick brush in forty-two minutes.
Nothing. Not a sound. No movement.
Nate saw the back door had been hacked into. He was relieved to see it was still intact. No one had entered through there at least, or anywhere else on the back side of the house.
Nate worked his way around, staying back in the brush, to the east end of the house.
Nothing. All the shutters seemed untouched. No one had entered here. He searched the near end of the barn, finding nothing. Slowly, he turned and searched the woods, his eyes straining to penetrate deep into the shadows. Still no movement. Nothing.
Turning back to the house, Nate saw red on the wall near the front corner. His heart skipped into high gear. Losing patience, he backed deeper into the brush, seeking shade and bullet-stopping cover. He yelled out at the top of his voice, “Brian, I’m coming in the usual way.” Then he instantly dropped to his knees, half expecting to be answered with shots from the far woods.
Brian’s voice came from the broken bedroom window. “Come on. I think they headed for the river.”
New life shinned in Nate’s eyes. He’s alive!
Chapter 9
Brian had a lot to say and wanted to say it all at once. He was not making much sense until Nate told him to slow down.
“They were breaking in,” Brian said. “One hacked a hole in the shutter and put his hand in. I shot it off with the shotgun. They shot through the shutter and I got behind the steel plate.” He stopped for air. “Someone shot from the woods, sounded like a .22. Must’ve been the egg thief. She scared them off.”
Nate looked him over while he gushed. Brian’s leg looked terrible, the bed was soaked with blood and other fluid from his wound, but otherwise he seemed unhurt. “It’s cold in here.” Sunlight slanted in the open window from the right. “This bed is filthy and littered with wood fragments. I’m taking you back to your bedroom.”
Brian was still excited. “No way! Someone has to guard the window.”
“Calm down. They’re not crawling through that window today. When a dog runs yelping from a fight with his tail between his legs, he’s not going to come back too quickly. Might try something early morning…three, four AM most likely…but I will be waiting.” He pulled Brian to the edge of the bed.
Brian resisted. “Leave me here while you check on the girl. They shot at her a lot. She might be hurt.”
Nate hesitated. “How far away do you think she was when she shot?”
Brian’s eyes looked out the window, but Nate knew he was really looking through a thick fog of memory. “I think at least a hundred yards, probably more. The popping was real weak.”
Nate relaxed. “I doubt they hit her then.”
“But they might’ve. She was a long way off though. The bullets hitting the men was louder than the rifle. If she had a more powerful gun, she would have killed two of them.”
Nate was preparing to lift him, but stood straight, his face showing pleasant surprise. “She hit two of them?”
“Yeah. The one I shot in the hand. She got him many times when he was against the house moaning. And another one who ran behind the barn cussing.”
“Good,” Nate said. “That means two are wounded, maybe dead. There should be two more. I will deal with them later.”
Brian’s face showed surprise. “How do you know how many?”
“I heard three more of the gang talking about killing us and taking the farm. They planned to camp by the river not far from Mel’s and meet with four others later. Evidently your bunch.”
“What did you do?”
“What do you think I did? They escaped from state prison. I heard one talking about killing a deputy. Afterwards, I ran to Mel’s, got the drugs, and ran back here. Heard the last of the shooting and snuck up ready for a fight. Only the fight was already over.”
He pulled Brian closer and lifted him.
Brian protested. “No. You got to check on the girl first. I owe her.”
Nate carried him down the hall. “She’s proven to be no fool. I guarantee you she was behind cover and concealment before she fired the first shot. Those killers were firing blind into the woods. You’re right about owing her—both of us.”
>
It took Nate two hours to clean Brian up, read the information in Mel’s drug manual, give him an injection of the proper dosage, and get him to stop talking about the events of the afternoon long enough to eat. The drug was out-of-date, but the manual said it could still be used if it had not turned dark. This information was a notation of Mel’s. He prayed Mel was right. If Brian’s leg did not appear much worse, Nate would never have taken the chance.
“If your leg is bothering you too much to sleep, you might as well take one of the pills.” Nate felt Brian’s leg to see how hot it was and sat back in his chair. “We have plenty of painkillers now. I grabbed all Mel had when I was there.”
Brian was still nervous. “We can’t sleep, they’ll come back tonight.”
“If they do it’ll be hours from now. And I was talking about you sleeping, not me. You can stand guard tomorrow.”
“I would rather be awake when they come.”
Nate laughed. “That seems reasonable. But they may not come back tonight or tomorrow. How long do you think you can go without sleep?”
Brian sighed with frustration and pain. “I don’t see anything funny.” He crossed his arms on his chest and looked away.
Nate smiled. “I’m just glad you don’t have any more holes in you. Now that we have the drugs, you have a good chance.”
“I hope the drugs work.” Brian looked at his father. “I changed my mind about wanting to die.”
Nate stopped rubbing his aching calf muscles and looked up from the chair. “You don’t want to leave me anymore?”
“I never said that.” Brain’s voice was tinged with anger.
“Result would be the same.”
Brian closed his eyes and swallowed. He said nothing.
Nate saw the change on his face. “After all that’s happened, here we are in one piece and at ninety-eight point six degrees. I am grateful.”
Brian opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. “So am I.”
Every muscle in Nate’s body ached, but as he sat there looking at his son, all the pain and weariness inside washed away. But he knew it would return. This hell is just beginning, and Brian’s leg isn’t well yet.
