The next voice Cricket heard was Sister Marie’s talking to the man in camouflage.
“We lost Paul. I’m a close friend of the Hastings’. I’m Sister Marie Boulding and I’m a nurse.” She finished the introductions and, except for Cricket, they all climbed out of the car asking questions.
Tony held on to Uncle Tommy, who spoke first.
“Are you folks staying the night? I’d like to rest these tired bones. I know there’s nice cabins here.”
“Stay at your own risk,” the bald man said. “There’s only a few families that made it. Dozens were supposed to be here today. Someone knew about the event and ambushed a lot of good people. I think they’re the same ones who hit a distribution center less than twenty-four hours ago. Two of our folks helping out the Guard were killed.”
He turned away, his face lined with worry, listening, like he was hearing more terrible details from the survivors. Then he eyed Cricket, still sitting in the Barracuda. “I think the bastards will come back tonight and finish off whoever’s here. I’m familiar with the trails that lead to nearby farms. We’re headed to one of them in the next hour. It’s unsafe to be on the road.”
Ron and Tony argued back and forth about their decision to ride along. Tony started to swear, calling it a big mistake.
Down the wooden walkway, several children and their mothers solemnly approached the car and said hello to Cricket.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be running,” Cricket announced, pushing the heavy door open and climbing out of the Barracuda. Ron and Tony stopped arguing.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” the bald man said. “You expect us to fight with a handful of adults and a few guns? These thugs are everywhere. Chief Hastings’ dream is over. We have to disappear. Do what’s right for our families. Maybe the Air Force will make a show. We heard the jets today. But we can’t count on them.”
Cricket’s voice wavered, saying, “My dad had a purpose. Not just survival. We need to remember who we are, what we believe in. Uncle Tommy was supposed to read the Declaration of Independence today. It’s the Fourth of July. We can start by him reading it and having something to eat and then making plans.”
“Are you crazy? We’re going to be attacked again!”
“We can be attacked anywhere,” Cricket said, and Sister agreed with a slow nod.
“A lot of ways to die,” Tony blurted.
“Who’s this?” the man said.
“He’s a friend,” Cricket answered.
“That he is.” Uncle Tommy waved the pages Cricket had printed out for him, no longer toting around the large American history volume he had used for years. “Helped to bury my nephew with honors. So by all means, I’d be happy to read Jefferson’s great words.”
The bald man said, “No time for that, old fella. We’re leaving.” He and his family turned their backs on the new arrivals and started walking into the shadows.
“Where will you go?” Sister Marie said.
The man faced them one last time. “Directly north of here, maybe five miles, is a smaller campground, actually deserted years ago and never found by the locals. There’s a big cabin on a large tree-covered hill. You can’t even see the place from any direction until you’re on top of it. We’ll go there for the winter. You’re welcome to come with. And Miss Hastings, I’m very sorry about your dad.”
Cricket eyed the man sadly and took a seat on the hood of the Barracuda, resting her rifle across her lap. Uncle Tommy was escorted by Sister Marie to a flat sandstone rock alongside the creek. There was still enough light, and Uncle Tommy slowly made his way through the Declaration. Cricket pulled a pocket-size copy of the Constitution from her jeans and followed her uncle. This was all she had looked at since the EMP attack, putting on hold her eclectic range of books from mystery/crime to Roadside Geology of Ohio.
Sister tapped Cricket’s shoulder during the reading and gave her a handful of cashews from a small Tupperware container she kept under the front seat. Ron looked astounded that they were taking time for the reading. He fidgeted with his wallet, wanting to respond, question, lambast, Cricket wasn’t sure. However, Tony seemed to be weighing every phrase on some forgotten scale of conduct.
“…with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.”
No one clapped, but Sister Marie walked up to Uncle Tommy and kissed him on the forehead.
“We’re losing time,” Ron said. “Do we stay here, or do we run?”
“Run where?” Tony challenged. “You ran for years back at Salem. Where did that get you?”
Cricket and Sister Marie saw a fight coming, and each laid a hand on the men’s shoulders.
Ron said, “That’s not fair, Tony. I made my beliefs known.”
“Bullshit, you believed what everybody else believed. Why do you think I busted your balls all those years? Only now you see how crazy the campus radicals were.”
“Please, you two, we need each other,” Sister Marie said.
“Sister’s right,” Cricket said. “Okay, in twenty-five words or less, what happened—tuition too high?”
Tony laughed: “I like this chick. She would have spit right in their faces.” His face darkened, revving up for the story. “The Feminazis controlled everything, and old leather-ass here let himself be led around by the nose—”
“Untrue, you little bastard.” Ron moved aggressively toward Tony.
“Stop it,” Sister Marie said, craning her neck, staring at Ron, holding on to his arm.
“She’ll clobber both of you if you’re not careful,” Cricket added. “She’s itching to use that gun on her hip.”
“Cricket!” Sister Marie said. “That’s terrible. You think I’m capable of shooting someone because they’re arguing?”
“Why did you two leave campus?” Cricket asked. “A while back my dad and I heard it had plenty of food and medicine.”
“The Feminazis made common cause with a Muslim group that supplied the muscle for whatever fairy-tale path they were traveling down.”
“A strange combination,” Cricket muttered.
“We needed protection,” Ron said. “Gangs from Akron were swarming over campus…”
“So they went with the strongest gang,” Tony said bitterly. “Wish your dad and his officers had decided to come.”
“Not how I see it.” Ron remained firm.
Cricket said, “The Feminazis don’t take prisoners.”
“A misunderstanding,” Ron said.
Tony made a cutting motion across his throat.
Ron sighed. “They got carried away with their power.” He shuffled back and forth and sighed even louder. “Tony saved my old leather-ass.”
Automatic weapon fire in the distance froze the group. Shotgun blasts followed. Everyone looked at each other, thinking of the families that had left in the same direction of the gunfire.
Cricket said, “Let’s head to your cottage. The place no one will ever find.”
Tony saluted her: “Aye, aye, Captain.”
7
Lights Out
Cricket drove with the lights out, making everyone nervous. Stars galore; the crescent moon had been christened “Bull Horns” by her dad on one of their deer hunting trips, long before the sun was up. Ron kept asking politely if she could see well enough and Uncle Tommy—squeezed between Ron and Tony—was snoring. She kept the speed at about fifty, and more than once an “Oh, Cricket, be careful” came from Sister Marie, while Tony remarked as often—“the chick’s got great hands,” which made Cricket smile for the first time since her father had fallen from the sky.
The hills, curves, and dark line of the road held her attention with magnetic force. Her scan included quick glances in the rearview mirror, side roads, and woods close by for concealment of the Barracuda or a potential ambush.
Tony leaned forward.
“In about three miles you’ll make a right on a dirt road that you can�
�t even see until you’re on top of it. Take that back two miles, and the last mile is across two large, open fields. Stay to the right, to the north side. The ground’s pretty smooth.”
Cricket nodded and continued to scan the dark landscape for trouble ahead. However, trouble came from behind. Headlights struck ahead across the treetops at a sharp curve in the road.
Cricket sped up—
“Good girl, always accelerate,” she heard Tony say.
Her next action surprised even her. She switched off the ignition and, thankfully on the Plymouth classic, the steering wheel remained free. She had made it to seventy heading downhill. The car was full of whispers, Ron’s the loudest; rapid fire between him and Tony.
She pointed to the right, to a dense clump of trees a half mile distant or what appeared to be trees, and the passengers knew she was coasting them into hiding. The speed dropped as the road’s incline lessened—sixty—fifty—forty. The car behind them came over the ridge, and their headlights struck above the Barracuda.
Cricket started counting, a habit begun in childhood to get through a tight spot, or simply be aware that she had more time to get something done then she imagined.
Now she wasn’t sure if the potential hideout was just a deep shadow or ditch, or some low row of bushes that wouldn’t conceal them. The car lights would soon spot them if they hadn’t already, so she braked and left the road, aiming for a row of tall arborvitae. The car bottomed out once, and they coasted to a stop behind the tall evergreens.
“Everyone out of the car.” Uncle Tommy still slept.
She heard the car approach and through a space between the trees saw that they had doused their lights as well and were slowing. Cricket made sure Tony and Ron were armed.
Uncle Tommy awoke, and Ron leaned into the car and pressed an index finger to his mouth for quiet. Cricket instructed Diesel to lay still alongside Sister, who knelt in the wet grass.
The car’s speed decreased as they passed Cricket and her troop. Her hand shook pulling the Glock from its holster. Her racing heart anticipated the car suddenly braking hard. But they were thinking, looking, and finally gliding toward the opposite side of the road, where they pulled into a driveway.
“Uncle Tommy, we need to keep our voices down,” Cricket spoke softly. “I’ll be gone for a few minutes. Sister and Diesel will stay with you.” Sundowner’s made him unpredictable, with loud outbursts on some nights.
He nodded, resigned to his current fate. He called her back with his finger and whispered, “I’m tired, Cricket. When can I sleep?”
“Soon.”
The darkness shadowed the faces of Ron and Tony, and she didn’t know what expression they wore. Yet she was leading and they were following. She looked up, expecting some guidance from her father in the canary-yellow Cub; instead she had inherited a world of shadows.
They walked just inside a row of pines and crossed the road opposite the driveway. The car was further up a long driveway, and there was no movement near the vehicle. Cricket stopped them with an outstretched arm.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she said quietly.
“Now you tell us,” Tony answered, even more quietly.
Cricket blurted, “I didn’t even ask if you knew how to fire these weapons.”
“We’re vets,” Ron said. “Nam for both of us. And we both hunt, target shoot—”
Tony said, “Didn’t know his sorry ass back then. Otherwise I’d have fragged him.”
She caught a light reflected in Tony’s eyes. She had at least one hunter at her side.
Voices popped into the night. Then a scream and a volley of fire. The shooting stopped and more screaming. The screams of children.
“When we see them we shoot,” Cricket demanded.
The trio ran in the direction of the screams and gunfire, Cricket leading.
“We could be shooting innocent people,” Ron said.
Before Cricket answered, more yelling and gunfire. They were snuffing out lives with the ease of killing mosquitos.
Ron was frantic: “What is your plan?” He grabbed her shoulder.
“Plan A: Shoot left to right; Tony, right to left. I’ll blast whatever lies straight ahead. No Plan B.”
They quickened their pace. When they saw two men running to the car that had passed them on the road, Cricket started firing. Two men jumped in, cranked it over, and the lights came on. They started to back up, and Tony and Ron sprayed the back windshield and the car jerked to a stop. Tony trotted stiffly to the right and fired as the rear door swung open and a tall shadow fell backwards into deeper shadows. Fire from a large handgun handled by someone in the front seat brought Ron and Cricket to bear on the shooter. Cricket emptied her magazine at the target as well and reloaded. Moans came next and someone calling out that he was hurt bad.
Ron gripped Cricket’s arm. “Ask how many of them there are.”
Cricket said, “They’re going to tell us?”
Tony said, “RSVP.”
“Just do it,” Ron said. “Let them hear a woman’s voice.”
She got it.
“Hey, how many of you are there?”
“Three! Two down. I surrender. We’re following her orders.”
Ron and Tony opened fire. A silhouette along the side of the car screamed and kicked loudly in the gravel driveway before growing still. Another fired only once before Tony ended the attack with two rapid pulls of the trigger.
“Thanks,” Cricket said.
“They had no intention of surrendering,” Ron said, his voice trembling, needing to first convince himself, Cricket thought.
“I know,” she said.
They approached the car slowly and found all three men dead. They were older, two whites and a black guy, a lot of gray hair, perhaps career criminals.
“Let’s get their guns and ammo,” Tony said. Without a word, Ron joined him and Cricket watched for more trouble.
“What were they stealing?”
Tony went through their pockets and checked the back seat. “Money, a few pieces of jewelry.”
“They weren’t there that long,” Cricket said. “You two stay here and watch for others. I’m checking on the house.”
What she found sickened her. Two adults and two kids, one maybe ten, the other a toddler in pajamas, lay in twisted, bloody heaps on the front porch and across the door’s threshold. The father had been shot at close range. She checked the parents’ IDs, a purse on the kitchen table and the father’s wallet. He had an ID for University Hospital and was a doctor.
Cricket found a small automatic under the father.
She came back to Ron and Tony. Nothing had changed. Eternal quiet from the car.
“A massacre,” she said. “I don’t think this was just a robbery. He’s a medical doctor. Probably needed him for drugs. The father had a gun, and it all went down badly, really quick. We need to get to your place.”
They started down the road, Cricket occasionally walking backwards, ready for more surprises.
“Hey, he said her orders,” Cricket mentioned to both men.
“Maybe it’s a woman,” Ron said. “It could be anybody. I mean, I’m taking orders from you.”
“It’s not anybody,” Tony said. “It’s the Brazilian.”
“Who?” Cricket asked.
Tony said, “Let’s get to the cabin.”
8
Rumors
After she made sure Uncle Tommy was tucked in, Cricket took a hot shower thanks to the cabin’s propane-fueled water heater. Sister Marie and Tony prepared and packed some food for the morning, or the possibility of having to leave in the middle of the night.
Wearing a long flannel shirt of Ron’s, and Tony’s sweatpants that didn’t reach her ankles, Cricket emerged in the main room of the cabin softly lit by kerosene lanterns, darkened by blinds, drying her long hair, twisting it into a side braid.
She was famished, and Tony fed her soup and homemade bread that she smeared with jelly. It
was delicious, and she said so a number of times. She said a quiet prayer and also thanked her father for surviving the day and seeing to it that she had the comfort of a shower and good food and good people she could trust. A thought rose quickly: her dad had died strong. Staring down at her clean plate, Cricket’s mouth trembled and she tasted her tears. She tried to calm herself with a question:
“Who’s the Brazilian?”
“A myth,” Ron blurted, frying a mess of eggs for his guests over a small gas stove.
“She’s taken over the east side of the city,” Tony said, feeding Diesel, who took to roaming between his human benefactors for pets and treats. “A health nut gone berserk. She’s got a body that won’t stop and can send an evil thought right through a concrete wall. I heard she predicted the solar flare. Anyone who sleeps with her better keep one eye open. Woof. Sorry, Sister.”
“No problem,” Sister Marie said, bringing Uncle Tommy another blanket for his bed at the end of the living room lined with bookshelves and a guitar leaning against the tallest bookcase. He had complained of being cold. “We need to understand the world, and our world is changing quite rapidly. Understanding people’s motivations is important in determining our reality. I’m all for acquiring empirical evidence.”
“Nobody is organizing or controlling anything,” Ron said. “It’s chaos out there. Those guys we shot up, hoodlums, gang members, people on a lark, whatever, they’re taking what they want because they can. There’s no malevolent force … some army of demons listening to some mysterious woman.”
“What do you base this on?” Cricket looked to Tony. The room’s warmth departed. Who did she see at the edge of the woods? Some weirdo roaming the countryside dressed for a Vanity Fair photo shoot?
“You think it’s an accident that practically no one made it to the Ledges?” Tony asked.
“Absolutely,” Cricket said. “Bad people doing bad things. I agree with Ron.”
Ron waved his arms—“thank you”—and a bit of scrambled eggs on the end of his spatula hit the wall.
Pulse of the Goddess: American Blackout Book One Page 4
