by Nick Randall
“There’s only three, maybe four of them at the most,” said Ben. “A dad, a mom, and one or two kids. And I think the dad was the only one doing any fighting. We take him out, the whole place will fall real quick and easy.”
Ojo thought about that, scratching his chin. Then he said: “Then tomorrow, we will destroy them and take everything in this world that ever belonged to them!”
“Screw that!” groaned Jerry, one of the gang members. “We haven't seen what these people are capable of. They’re monsters, damn monsters. Do you want to know what we should be doing? We should be making for the west coast and getting in a boat to Mexico instead of getting picked off by these forest people — ”
An earsplitting BANG and Jerry's face snapped back in a crimson spray of blood before he crumpled to the grass. Ojo’s smoking revolver was in his outstretched hand, his eyes swimming with a dark fury once again.
Just like that, there were now fourteen remaining members of the gang instead of fifteen.
“Would anyone else like to humbly express their concerns?” Ojo politely asked as he wheeled on the crowd with his gun raised dangerously high.
The gang members stayed silent. Even though they were each armed and could easily gun down Ojo right then, none of them moved a muscle. He was their leader and that was that.
Ojo proceeded to deliver a little speech to them: “Anyone who leaves is my enemy, and I will shoot you. But, I am not so unfair, and anyone who comes can keep all the loot they can carry. We’ll attack the homestead again at night, and this time we’ll all do it together. Benny’s right, there can’t be many more than three or four of them but they are well defended and their supplies aren’t in places that can be reached by little thieving monkeys. We will have to somehow destroy or get past their defenses and their booby traps. Any of you got any ideas?”
Ben felt oddly compelled by Ojo’s passion. He may not have felt any compassion for any members of the gang, but he still did feel terrible to see them getting killed.
“Let’s attack them from all sides at once!” someone called out.
“Duh,” Ojo retorted. “That doesn’t help with getting past their armory of booby traps, dumbass. Any other genius ideas?”
Now that the total confidence of the gang had been secured, Ojo strode in the center of the group. He nudged the legs of the corpse that once belonged to Jerry out of his path so he could pace continuously in a circle while brainstorming.
Without speaking a word, Python hefted his beloved chainsaw over his head and revved the engine up to communicate his idea. The crowd cheered and egged him on as an evil grin twisted on his sunken face.
Ojo was not amused and he quickly made it known by shouting down those who cheered Python on.
Ben fidgeted next to Jerry’s corpse with his Glock in his hand, the idea of firing it in combat seeming unreasonable. Guns to him felt more like a status symbol. At this point it was still possible he would choke when the moment came to pull the trigger.
Even if he did, Ben didn't have the gang experience like most of these people. He would have to think about another way.
He looked up to everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to say something, some of them starting to whisper to each other with a wolfish look in their eyes.
Ben thought to himself: Say something quick, say something that will make them scared. Be scary, like Ojo. People respect Ojo and what are you, you are not something to be feared – just a pawn, a tool.
“Any ideas, Benny boy?” Ojo asked.
Ben started to grit his teeth before saying, “Well, I guess we could try and burn it down to smoke them out.”
The words came out as a whisper but there was no doubt if they had been heard. The crowd got very anxious. It wasn't the response he had expected, and Ben frowned.
One voice from the back cursed him in Spanish before challenging his plan: “You’re crazy! What about the food and supplies in the house we need, you're just going to burn all that down too?!”
The crowd responded to the challenger like he had hoped they would respond to him, with hoots of laughter and approving nods.
“Shut up!” Ojo yelled, his eyes wide and wild. “Burning that damned house down will be beautiful. Beautiful, I tell you. It’s just what Dominic would have wanted. Gather closer around, amigos. I already have a plan.”
Chapter 9
Later in the morning, Josie sat with Alex at the kitchen table. Alex was writing on a sheet of lined paper, speaking out loud as she wrote. Josie leaned in next to her and held a book open, with several of the words underlined.
“Sound it out,” Josie said, smiling encouragingly and putting her finger on Alex’s place on the page.
Alex nodded, fighting to keep her eyes open. She was getting weaker by the day, her body working hard to compensate for the decreased levels of insulin. She found it harder to concentrate, and her time spent in bed was growing longer and longer. Her eyes drooped, and Josie snapped her fingers underneath Alex’s nose.
“Hey, sound it out,” she said, smiling to hide her concern.
Alex looked at her mother and scanned her face. She wasn’t fooled.
“When can I go back to school?” she asked, the stress and trauma of their situation showing on her face and in her voice.
Josie knew what she really was asking: When are things gonna go back to normal? She shook her head and looked down at the floor, and took her daughters hands.
“I don’t know, it might be a real long time,” she said, fighting back tears as she came to the realization herself.
She looked back at her daughter and reached out and stroked her hair. “I’m not gonna lie to you, you’re a big girl now. This might be the way it’s going to be for a long time. Maybe forever.”
Alex leaned over and put both arms around her mom, hugging her close and patting her on the back. “It’s okay, mom, I’ll be okay. Dad will protect us, he’ll do a good job. And I’m here, too.”
Josie closed her eyes. How good of a job is too good? Roy had already crossed so many lines. She leaned back and held her daughter’s face in her hands.
“Did you remember to take your insulin today?” she asked, trying to change the subject.
Alex nodded, sitting back down on the chair.
Suddenly there was a moan from outside. A faint, desperate cry for help. Josie stood up and guided Alex to the hallway.
“Go to your room, and stay there,” she said urgently.
Roy stomped up from the basement as Alex passed him in the hallway. Josie stood at the kitchen window and looked outside.
“Roy, there’s a man out there, he looks like he’s hurt pretty bad,” she said, nervously glancing from her husband to the window and back. “He’s crawling towards the front door.”
Roy already had his Beretta drawn. He paused in the kitchen, looked between her and the door, then started to unlatch the door.
“Go to Alex’s room,” he said in a low voice.
She didn’t move.
“What are you going to do?” she asked suspiciously, fearfully.
“Go to Alex’s room, I said,” he replied in the same low tone.
“What are you going to do, Roy?! The man needs help, he clearly needs help. I asked you if we would also help people who came to us and you never answered me; what are you going to do with him?!”
The cold frown on her husband’s face gave her goosebumps.
“Go be with our daughter,” he said simply, before opening the door.
“Hands on your head! Do not move a muscle!” she heard him say.
She stayed by the kitchen window, watching as Roy advanced on the man, both hands on his weapon.
Upon closer inspection, Roy realized that the man was one of the attackers from the previous assault who he thought he had killed. He had just been unconscious the whole time.
The gravely wounded man squirmed and looked up at Roy, his face twisted in pain, his skin pale and sweaty. Roy walked behind him and lifted h
im up by the collar of his shirt, which was unbuttoned.
As he brought the man onto his knees, the open shirt revealed multiple puncture wounds seeping blood, which trailed down his torso and stained his pants.
He had a poorly done tattoo of what Roy thought was meant to be an eagle, but instead looked more like a raven.
Roy paced, circling the man with the Beretta at his side. He looked very sick, struggling to keep his balance as he knelt, keeping his hands on his head as instructed. His lips moved, speaking words Josie couldn’t hear.
Roy made another circle around the back of the man, then leveled his pistol at the man’s head and pulled the trigger to end the wounded man’s life.
Josie shrieked and clapped her hands over her mouth. Roy glanced up at the kitchen window, then holstered his pistol and began patting down the body.
He pulled a knife, some candies, and a pair of aviators off the man, then dragged his body by the feet around the side of the house.
Roy walked back into the kitchen and Josie kept her eyes closed as she spoke.
“What in God’s name is wrong with you?” she said, almost in a whisper.
The fight was gone from her words, and now she had only the whisper of disbelief and resignation.
Roy shook his head and crossed his arms.
“He had a punctured lung, and had already lost a lot of blood. He was dead anyway, nothing we could do. I just aided the departure.”
Josie just stood there staring at him, hands on her hips, defiant.
Roy explained: “They’re convicts. The group that has been attacking us? They’re all criminals escaped from the prison in the next county. They don’t know what happened to the world either, but they’re starving and they know we’re well stocked. That’s what he said.”
She just kept staring at him, tight-lipped and narrow-eyed.
“Ain’t no room for kindness or feeling sorry for these types. This is war. Plain and simple. And we’re lucky they’re not a trained army.”
Josie just shook her head slowly. She turned and left without a word, and went to Alex’s room.
Chapter 10
Night had fallen over the homestead. The corpses of the slain gang members still lay scattered across the yard, flesh and clothes still clinging to the bones not yet picked clean by the crows and coyotes. There was no moon and no noise, but instead an unusually strong wind.
Josie lay in bed, trying to fall asleep. She stared at the ceiling and let the darkness form shapes above her head.
She couldn’t call the police or any of her friends or family for support; Roy was right. They were by themselves, and only had each other. A coldness swelled up inside her. She had never felt so truly alone and helpless in her whole life.
Suddenly, a hissing sound followed by a loud pop snapped Josie out of her thoughts. The house became illuminated with a red light.
Roy, who had been standing watch downstairs in the living room, swore loudly and called for her.
“Josie, now!” he shouted.
His voice had a frantic tone that gave her chills. She leapt out of bed and sprinted down the stairs to join Roy. She looked out the window he pointed to, and clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.
Across the front yard, just outside the fence, stood all fourteen of the gang members in a horizontal line: Ojo, Ben, Python, and the other eleven.
Every one of them was armed with some kind of club or bludgeon, most had handguns or shotguns, and a third of them were even wearing black riot gear stolen from the prison.
The gang members all raised their arms and pumped the air, jeering and shouting at the top of their lungs, making their presence obvious.
“Mom, dad!” Josie could hear Alex call out from her room.
Roy aimed and fired one shot from his AR-15, and one of the gang members instantly went down, reducing their number to thirteen.
The rest scattered, half running towards the fence and the other half circling around the perimeter. Ojo stayed where he was, and once half the attackers had reached the fence, he lifted his hand and hollered out to give a signal.
Suddenly, the attackers at the fence hurled a series of small fires towards the house; Josie realized what they were as glass bottles full of alcohol smashed against the walls and roof of the house. Molotov cocktails!
Fluid and fire spilled over the boarded up windows and began licking at the fortifications. Roy recoiled with a shout of frustration as the window next to him shook, struck by a cocktail that then ignited the boards into flames!
“Go get Alex and make sure she’s safe, then come help me!” he barked, moving to the next window.
Josie peered through the same window and saw a pair of bright headlights turn on.
An old 1980s Dodge pickup truck, with some sort of battering ram on the front and a ramshackle metal box covering the bed, roared to life and kicked up a cloud of dust as its back wheels spun and hurled it around the side of the house.
“Is that old Margaret’s truck?!” Josie asked out loud, incredulous.
“I don’t know!” Roy responded, moving to the den. “Now go!”
Before he could position himself, a hail of semi-automatic gunfire coming from a gang member in the truck peppered the side of the house. Glass and splinters from the windows exploded inward, and Roy turned his head just in time.
He stayed crouched against the wall as the truck moved around the back of the house, the volleys of gunfire continuing to hammer the house.
Josie and Roy both ran upstairs to Alex’s room. Josie dove in and picked up her crying daughter and rushed back into the hallway.
Through the bedroom window, Josie could see the truck tear around the corner of the fence and shoot off up the hill into the darkness.
A moment later, the headlights turned around, the engine roared again, and the truck came charging right for the back fence. Josie ducked through the hallway and ran down the stairs to the bunker door.
She returned to Roy’s side just in time to see the truck plow through the first fence like it was made of toothpicks.
The perimeter had officially been breached!
Suddenly, all four of the truck’s tires exploded, tossing dirt and debris in all directions, as it ran over the nail boards Roy had set up.
The truck’s momentum carried it through the second barricade, dragging the first and second fences with it. The lengths of barbed wire coiled into the undercarriage as the truck lurched to a stop.
Josie carried Alex through the house down to the safety of the bunker while Roy leveled his AR-15 at the truck, but he was blinded as the row of fog lights and front-end high-beams turned on.
He jerked his head to the side and swore out loud, putting a gloved hand over his eyes and pulling off his tactical goggles.
“Dammit!” he yelled.
The walls started shaking around them as the occupants of the truck piled out and started shooting round after round at the house.
Roy recovered his vision partially and squinted out the window just in time for a round of buckshot to punch through the glass. Roy’s face was showered in glass shards and wood splinters that ripped through skin and flesh on his face and neck!
He spun around, both hands up at his face, making a nonsensical shrieking sound. His painful swearing was cut short as a pistol round zipped through the shattered window and punched him square in the back.
Roy got knocked to the ground, saved by his solid ceramic back plate, but began writhing in panic, unable to breathe from the impact of the bullet knocking the wind right out of him.
Josie returned from the bunker as the barrage started, and crawled over to her husband who now lay bleeding through his fingers as they grasped at his face.
“Roy!”
Josie knelt next to him and pulled his hands away to see that the right half of his face was badly wounded and bleeding tremendously from the shards and splinters.
Josie clenched her teeth and stood up to start hauling him towards
the bunker, their final place of refuge.
“Hold on!” she shouted over the sound of roaring wind, screaming assailants, and gunfire.
Just as she started to pull him by the straps of his tactical vest, she heard the familiar but ungodly sound of a chainsaw revving up.
The sound got closer and closer, accompanied by the heavy thud of enormous feet running towards the back door.
Moments later the door frame shuddered, and the four-foot blade of an industrial chainsaw tore through the top of the door and started dragging its way towards the floor.
