The McClane Apocalypse Book Eight

by Kate Morris

  “No, ‘bout what?” her little friend asks and secures a stray wisp of black hair behind her ear.

  “Simon’s going to be coming over to Dave’s compound to live and work for a few weeks. Maybe Cory, too.”

  “What?” Sam asks, a lopsided sneer of discomfort slowly causing her mouth to turn down. “Why?”

  “They want me to study peds with your uncle and for Cory and me to help establish and work on a new clinic site.”

  “We don’t need your help,” Sam argues, surprising Paige.

  “I tried to explain that, but the idea was shut down,” he tells her.

  “It would be great, though,” Paige says, trying to make them both see the light. “Simon needs the study in pediatrics, and you guys need help getting a clinic up and running.”

  Sam sighs long and with great melancholy, leaving Paige to guess at her unhappiness. She would’ve thought her brother living over there for a few weeks would make Sam happy. Her assumption was clearly wrong.

  “Great,” Sam says softly and turns to go.

  “Sam, wait,” Simon says and follows her from the room.

  Paige just shakes her head with confusion. Then she peeks down the hall and retreats into the storage room again. She quickly takes the slim item she needs, conceals it in the pocket of her cargo pants, and places the box back on the shelf. She knows how closely they monitor every single item in the supply boxes at the clinic because they’ve been robbed before, but she hasn’t gone on a run where she could find one without anyone seeing. She just hopes they miscount this one when they do the inventory. She doesn’t want the whole family knowing about the missing item or why she needs it.

  Chapter Two

  Sam

  A few days after the bad news at the clinic in town that Simon is going to come over to the compound for a few weeks, Sam doesn’t think life could get worse. Then it does.

  At four-thirty in the morning, something awakens her. She sits upright in her bed, her covers pooling around her waist. She looks around, rubs her sleepy eyes and waits quietly to see if another noise comes. She’s not sure what it was precisely that had awakened her, but it sounded like a door shutting. Everyone in the long room is still sleeping, several snoring. She strains to see if anyone is moving around. The windows above people’s bunks are mostly all open, but she does not hear anything troublesome happening outside. It is quiet and peaceful, this still part of the night before dawn. Perhaps someone rose to use the restroom. No other noises come, and nobody is walking around their bunkhouse. Crickets continue their songs outside. Sam swings her legs over the side of the bed and leans toward the window near her. She can see a lantern in the distance near the dairy barn. One of Dave’s men. She frowns and sits back down on her bed. She’s just jumpy, unused to her new surroundings still. She used to sleep so much better at Grandpa’s farm.

  She was so sure that a noise had awakened her, but maybe it was a dream about her family again. These seem to be coming with more frequency since she left Grandpa’s farm and moved to Henry’s. They always leave her feeling melancholy and longing for her mother’s loving embrace. She rises and pulls on a clean shirt and the same jeans she wore yesterday. A quick glance around the sleeping barracks again lets her know that nobody else is awake or has come out of the bathroom, so she reaches under her bed and pulls out her small box of art supplies. Then she takes her sketch pad and box of erasers and charcoal pencils and places them in her messenger bag, something Cory found for her years ago so that she could transport her art supplies around the farm.

  “Hey, what’s going on?” Courtney whispers with a sleepy voice.

  “Shh, go back to sleep,” Sam tells her. “Just going for a walk.”

  “Is everything ok?”

  “Yeah, fine,” she lies. “Just too hot.”

  Courtney rolls over and is back out again within seconds. She’s not sure her friend was even fully awake. Sam sneaks out of the building, closing the door behind her. She walks toward the horse barn, collects a can of crimped oats and makes her way to the end of the barn. She opens a stall door. She enters and takes her usual seat in the corner, which is a bucket, to observe the horse. This particular mare gave birth the other day to a stud colt. She started a drawing of him since it is not every day that there is a newborn baby available. He’s in a stall with his mother still, so it works even better that he cannot run off when she wants him to stand still for his first official portrait. The mare nickers through her nose in greeting. She feeds her an apple she took from the cellar yesterday. The colt is skittish and distrustful of her and mostly tries to hide behind his mother.

  “Hey there,” she says to him. He tosses his head to let her know that she isn’t welcome. Sam chuckles. “You’ll come to love me soon enough, little one.”

  With the single wall sconce turned on outside the stall in the aisle, it is difficult to see her drawing, but Sam works for a while on it anyway. It gives her something to do to keep her mind busy for a short reprieve. Something had awakened her, but she’s not sure what it was. It wasn’t as if Huntley’s mother came to her in her sleep like he had experienced the night of the tornado. It was just a noise. Not that it really matters. Sleep here on this compound is usually fleeting for her anyway. Plus, she needs these short breaks away from everyone, even if they don’t last nearly long enough. Solitude is not the worst thing ever, she’s learned. The mare finishes her grain and comes over to inspect her drawing, her baby stuck to her side like glue.

  “No, no, mama,” Sam warns softly. “Don’t get your slobber on this now.”

  The mare loses interest in Sam’s lack of more food and walks a few feet away, forcing her baby to stand closer to Sam. He does not seem happy about his new position and tosses his head with anxiety.

  “Settle down, silly boy,” she scolds gently. “I bet you’ll make a fine stallion someday, won’t you? Or a gelding. Perhaps you’ll be a gelding. We’ll just have to wait and see. If you end up gelded, you’ll probably grow a little taller. Did you know that? No, of course, you don’t. Not yet. Most stallions are a tad shorter than geldings. Of course, you’ll have fewer girlfriends if you’re gelded.” She chuckles at her own joke and gets a tiny nicker from the rascally boy.

  Although his mother is a gray, he looks like he’ll end up being a dappled gray. It’s still too early to tell. He does share her long legs and shorter neck. Henry has an Arabian stallion that he’s been breeding to quarter horses and thoroughbreds. He says he thinks the smaller stallion breeding with the bigger brood mares makes it easier on the mares to give birth. He’s probably right, but he’s not going to keep the height of the taller breeds of mares. The stallion is also older, so Sam’s not sure what he looked like in his prime. He’s mellow, though, which makes him easy to handle. This little guy might be his father’s replacement in a few years.

  “Knock, knock,” Henry says, tapping the stall door so as not to startle her.

  “Hi, Henry,” she says, trying not to be disappointed that he is there. Henry is very kind, but she just wanted some time alone with her art, her feelings, and the animals.

  “That’s really good,” he praises as he enters the stall.

  “Thanks,” she replies.

  The colt allows Henry to pet his neck, which surprises her. Although he is a veteran of the Marines, Henry has a gentleness about him, which the baby must recognize.

  “The medic said you checked the mare last night,” he comments.

  “Yes, she seems to be doing fine, no fevers or swelling, or anything else that I could see,” she answers. “We had an OTTB…”

  “A what?”

  “Oh, yeah, an off-the-track thoroughbred like her at the barn where I used to take lessons. She had a little colt, too. She wasn’t a gray, though. She was a big, dark bay with four white socks.”

  “Is that where you learned so much about horses?”

  “Yeah, pretty much,” she answers. “I took lessons from an early age and hung out just about every fr
ee day I had at the barn with the coaches and trainers. I never took courses or veterinary classes or anything. I read a lot of books about horses and horse care, though. I was still in high school when, well, when everything went south.”

  “Maybe you woulda’ became a vet,” he says.

  “No, I didn’t really want to go into medicine, not animal or human. In retrospect, that just seems like what someone else wanted for me now.”

  “He has his ways, huh?” he asks, referring to God.

  “Yep,” she answers.

  He leans against the oak wall of the stall and says, “Well, I for one am glad that you were a little barn rat growin’ up. I don’t know a whole lot about horses, so havin’ you here on the farm is helping all of us. Our poor medic’s been trying to study whatever he could get his hands on for the past few years.”

  Sam chuckles, trying to imagine Sonny studying horse veterinary care. It just doesn’t fit.

  “I’m a dairy farmer, born and raised, so I can handle the cows’ vet care but don’t much about horses. Were you going to do something in the horse field?”

  “I liked show jumping. That’s what I wanted to do.”

  “You were lucky to know at such a young age what you wanted to do with your life. Seems like that would’ve been an expensive endeavor.”

  “Oh, it was,” she says, remembering her parents fondly. “My mom and dad would argue about it a lot. It was costly. My coach was expensive, the horses and their upkeep, the travel. It all added up, but my dad was the one who wanted me to stay with it. I don’t really think my mom liked me doing it at all. I think it made her nervous. She was scared I’d get hurt badly.”

  “I can see that,” he says.

  “Did you always want to be a Marine?”

  “Yeah, I guess I did. My uncle was in the Marines and was killed in Afghanistan when I was just a kid. I figured I’d put some time in and then come back here and run the farm so my pops could retire. He was getting up there, and the farm was taking its toll.”

  “All farms are a lot of work,” she says. “We only had my horses, but they were a lot of work and money and time. Dairy farms have to be the worst, though. The milking schedules, never being able to go on vacation because the cows have to get milked twice a day. What a pain!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he comments with a crooked grin.

  The mare nudges Sam’s knee with her nose, causing her to chuckle.

  “Ok, hungry mama,” she says and rubs her velvety muzzle. “I’ll get your hay. I know you’re eating for two.”

  “I’ll get it,” Henry volunteers.

  “No, that’s fine,” she says, slightly frustrated of never being able to do anything around his farm. The men on Henry’s farm are chivalrous and outnumber the women, so she hardly gets to do any barn chores, which she actually enjoys. “I’ll get her hay.”

  “I’ll come with you. Kind of dark up there,” he says.

  Henry follows her to the bank barn next to the one-story horse barn. A fog has settled in on his farm, causing everything to be coated with a blanketing of white mist. The grass is dewy and slippery as she climbs the small hill to the double doors.

  “Careful,” he warns.

  “I got it,” Sam returns, hoping he doesn’t try to hold her arm.

  She leaves the big doors shut and goes in through the small man door to the left of the double doors. Henry is carrying a lantern for them, but she still uses her small flashlight, as well.

  “Are you on watch duty?” she asks as she inhales the smell of minty hay. The hay on his farm is more abundant in alfalfa than on Grandpa’s. Most dairy farmers usually planted more alfalfa for their dairy herds than on other types of farms so that their milk production was more plentiful, the cows fatter and more heavily nourished to boost their output. She learned a lot about hay hanging around farms during her youth. Horses don’t need straight alfalfa. They’ll eat just about anything, and unless they are doing work like training or pulling a cart or plow or nursing young, they don’t necessarily need heavy calorie dense hay. A balanced mix of Timothy is plenty.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answers as Sam walks toward the hayloft.

  “Aren’t your friends going to wonder where you are?”

  He chuckles. “There’s six of us on, so I think they can manage.”

  “Hm,” she says noncommittally.

  “Let me kick one down from the top,” he says before she can object.

  He leaves his lantern beside her on the floor of the old barn and begins climbing the massive stack of square hay bales. A barn swallow flies overhead from one colossal beam to another likely catching mosquitoes and flies, causing her to look up. The sights and sounds are so familiar to her and make Sam wish she was back on the McClane farm. A gentle breeze pushes through the hallways below them and up through the slats on the floor and through the open hayloft door that looks down over the first floor. It tufts her hair and cools her. She tries to see the little bird. This is the time of year when the mother swallows should be teaching their newborns how to chase pesky flying insects in the barns. Her flashlight catches a swatch of white in the rafters. She peers closer. There is something up there, up high and moving. A light, gossamer strip of white material flutters in the soft breeze. Sam shines the light directly on the object. Her eyes narrow as she focuses in. Sam’s entire body breaks out in gooseflesh before she even realizes what she’s staring at. The bumps on her skin are not from the light breeze. Her reaction is borne of sheer horror. Then she drops her flashlight and elicits a scream.

  “What is it?” Henry asks, climbs down in a hurry and runs to her.

  Sam covers her mouth with both hands and refuses to look up again. She simply points in the general direction. It takes a moment, but he must see the same thing.

  “What the…?” he says. “Oh, my God. Oh my…”

  Henry pulls her physically from the barn. Her body is shaking uncontrollably in his arms. The tears that can’t be helped are running endlessly down her cheeks as the image flashes through her mind repeatedly.

  “Don’t go back in there, Sam,” he says.

  She can’t even respond, nor does she understand what Henry is saying to her.

  “Do you hear me? Don’t go in there!” he yells more firmly, squeezing her shoulders with his hands.

  Sam nods shakily. She doesn’t need to be told. She has no intention of ever going back in his barn.

  “Stay here,” he orders and sprints away shouting and calling to his friends who are also on night duty.

  Within seconds, Dave the Mechanic and four other men are running full speed toward the barn. Sam does not go with them into that place of horror.

  “Goddammit!” Dave yells from inside. Then others are cussing and swearing, as well. One man comes outside and runs around the side of the barn to vomit. He is young, probably closer to Sam’s age than anyone else.

  Dave comes out a second later and says to her, “You ok, kid?”

  She nods, unable to form words.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says as if it is his fault. “She just wasn’t dealing with the death of Bruce. I never thought she’d do that or I would’ve put someone on her at all times.”

  Sam just walks away. She can hear the men swearing again and Dave issuing orders. Someone will have to climb up there and cut Reese down from the rafters where she has hung herself. Sam knew that her new friend was having trouble handling Bruce’s death, but she had no idea that Reese was going to kill herself over it. He was killed the night he was with Simon in the city. So was Annie. It was a tragic night, one that the whole compound took hard, and Derek was left maimed for life. This is worse. Bruce had helped Reese during her recovery, had sat in the old Victorian house in town across from Grandpa’s medical clinic while she was in a coma and had not left her side. Reese was young, only a few years older than Sam. She knows that her friend was severely abused at the sex camp. She was very pretty, probably why she was so popular there and in such hi
gh demand. Her life would’ve been so miserable while she was a captive there. Sam knows this firsthand. Sam and Courtney were starting to hang out more with her, especially since Bruce’s death. She’d seemed depressed, but just a few days ago Sam had felt like Reese was getting better. She even laughed and smiled a few times and had taken a shower and cleaned herself up a bit. She must’ve been hiding it from them. Perhaps she had this planned. Perhaps having fun with them the other day in the chicken coop holding the baby peeps had been a false front she’d put on for them so that they wouldn’t hover so much and she’d be able to sneak away to do this. Her body was still slightly swaying at the end of that rope, causing Sam to wonder if she’d only just hung herself moments before they’d discovered her.

  Was it Reese she’d heard leaving the bunk that had awakened her? Had she only just exited, the door softly clicking, her light, bare footsteps on the concrete floor padding as she made her escape to seek her own death? The more she dwells on it, the more Sam realizes that it is a very real possibility, although she doesn’t want it to be so.

  Sam walks on wooden legs back to the bunkhouse, all thoughts of art and feeding the mare gone from her thoughts. She doesn’t even stop at the barn to pick up her bag lying outside the mare’s stall. Before she enters, Sam changes her mind and keeps on walking. She starts running and ends up at the edge of Henry’s farm where the fence ends. She climbs through the wires and hikes into a dense copse of trees where she plunks down at the base of an old elm. She pulls her knees up to her chest and presses her forehead into them, rocking gently and trying to make sense of it all. She’ll never get the image of her friend dressed in a long white nightgown swinging from the gallows and a hangman’s noose of her own making high up in the rafters of Henry’s barn. Sam wishes that she could keep running all the way back to Grandpa’s farm.

  Chapter Three

  Cory

  Simon is leaving in the morning to go over to Dave’s compound to help with building a new clinic for Sam and her uncle, so they are taking one last run for building supplies to make further repairs to the farm. The cow barn took the hardest hit, and they’ve worked nearly day and night to rebuild the roof. The chicken coop was mostly leveled, and Cory has been working during his night watch shift with Lucas trying to build a new coop. The chickens have been sleeping in temporary nests in the horse barn in one of the empty stalls while their coop is in process. His stallion had escaped the tornado’s wrath unscathed, but other horses were injured, two quite severely. All but one horse was recovered, and they have looked for it for days to no avail. He can only assume it is dead. They also lost three goats and six beef cattle that were grazing in the top pasture. Doc said he thought the cows might have been struck by lightning since they were huddled under a tree. The missing goats and horse are just gone. He’s not sure if they were literally carried away by the twister or if they ran off in fear.