She barely hesitated. "None. In this primitive setting, there's little we can do for him. He's lost too much blood and he's in shock; his body is shutting down. It's a miracle he made it back. He had to be running solely on willpower."
Carmen's cheeks were wet as I asked, "Can Vivian come in and stay with him?" She nodded then turned away.
I stumbled out of the caregiver's way and into the adjoining room. Vivian stood and looked at me pleadingly. I shook my head, then pulled her close and hugged her tight. Over her wails of pain, I said, "You can go in and stay with him. I believe you're the only reason he made it back here."
I sensed her inner strength as she straightened and moved away from me. She hesitated at the doorway with her right hand on the doorframe before she took a deep breath and then entered the surgery. The door closed behind her.
My family was with Vivian's. They'd all seen and heard my bad news delivery and their spirits were crushed at the thought of losing such a wonderful father and friend. He and I had always been as close as natural brothers, and my kids even called him Uncle Shane. This was an even bigger personal loss than the day Ed was taken from us.
Hours later, I don't know how many, Carmen, Marcie and Verlie joined us. Shane had passed on.
Dusk was still a few hours off. I whispered to Kira then left. At the tool shed, I selected a sharp spade and walked to the knoll where our other friends were buried. I scratched lines on the ground to form a rectangle several feet from Doc's grave and started digging. It was hard to see the rectangle through blurry eyes. Before long, five other men joined me. There was no good-natured banter between us. When one tired, another quietly jumped in the hole and took his place without being asked.
As we cleaned and oiled the shovels to put them away, I announced, "The burial will be tomorrow morning an hour past dawn. Pass the word to everyone. As soon as it's done, I'd like Richard, Mitch and Larry to saddle up with me and try to find where Shane was attacked. There's a man-eating bear close by, and it needs to be killed before it attacks anyone else."
Before going home to eat supper, I went to Morgan's cabin and spoke to him. "Tomorrow after the funeral, will you ask Jesse and Vernon to begin plowing the garden plots? I'll ask Tony Osmond to get Barlow and Able Jones to start with another team. The ground is dry enough and should turn well. When they're far enough ahead, Tony can start behind them with the disk and harrow. Glen and his boys should be available, too. I expect to be gone at least all of tomorrow maybe two days; I'm taking a crew to the area Shane told me he was going to hunt. We need to find the bear that attacked him." Morgan agreed, and after speaking to Tony, I headed home.
Shane's funeral was a somber and sobering affair because it vividly pointed out how precarious our daily existence was. We'd gotten past the zombie threat, and no renegade humans had found us at our new homesite, but then a damn'd wild animal attacked and mangled the best male friend I'd ever had. Kira held a position above all others as friend and lover.
After testimonials, prayers and several hymns, more than enough help stayed to fill the grave. As soon as the hastily carved marker was driven into place, the four of us saddled up and headed out. I had mixed emotions about the task at hand. On one hand, our mission was to ensure the safety of all our survivors; on the other hand, a less noble feeling drove me. I wanted that damn'd bear dead as my personal revenge for it killing my best friend.
It was about forty degrees as we rode up ridges and descended into valleys. I recalled details of when I'd first learned Shane was injured. The packhorse and both of his weapons were missing. Had the other horse been killed? Had Shane wounded or even killed the bear before escaping to make his way home? Questions, but no answers. Speculating would do nothing; we'd learn the details only if we found the site where Shane was attacked.
The sun rose in the sky and was nearly overhead when I looked across the valley we were moving downward to and saw movement. A pair of black bear cubs wrestled on the steep hillside. Three other sets of eyes focused after I waved my left arm overhead then pointed at the cavorting black balls of fur. I raised my binoculars. Farther up the valley to our right, a horse lay on the ground, its halter tethered to a sapling in front of it. The carcass of a deer was tied across its back on the pannier. The horse's head moved; it appeared to be alright.
We dismounted near the packhorse and tethered our mounts. The packhorse struggled to stand before Mitch and Larry removed the deadweight from its back. They gave the animal water and grain while Richard and I got our bearings and made a plan.
Huddled closely, I told our party, "The cubs up the ridge indicate the mother is likely nearby. She could be dead... or wounded and pissed off. We'll go up the hill thinking the latter and that she might charge out of the underbrush at any second. Stay alert. If she charges, shoot and keep firing until she's on the ground and bleeding out. She'll likely be so close there won't be time to aim, so point at the center of her chest and shoot. Let's go, and don't hurry."
We fanned out six to eight feet apart and advanced up the steep grade to where we'd seen the bear cubs. Richard and I were in the middle, Mitch on my right flank, Larry on Richard's left flank.
We couldn't avoid making noise as the four of us clambered upward toward the top of the ridge. Trees and bushes provided handholds while loose rock and dirt let our footing slide away. At the sight of us, the pair of cubs stared, froze and then scampered off out of sight.
In another minute, I saw Shane's M4 on the slope right in front of me. Ahead was a relatively flat space on the hillside. Slightly below the flat there was a groundhog hole. Dark brown blood stained the surrounding dirt, and a deep scuff mark led downward into the hole. As we rose above the flat space, blood was strewn around a large area. Shane's .45 caliber Glock lay a few feet ahead of me. Three bullets were missing from the magazine.
Suddenly, a mighty and ferocious roar bristled the hair on my neck. It was so close, it sounded like it was almost on top of us. From our left, another loud outcry followed seconds later. It was louder that the first and approached that of a human screaming from pain and fear. I froze in place and stared in the direction of the angry bear noises. As if appearing out of thin air, the female black bear charged, running low on all four legs. Her first leap from twenty feet away spanned half the distance to us. Mitch was slightly downhill behind me and didn't have a clear shot. Larry, Richard and I fired our assault rifles from the hip at the carnivore's torso and shoulders. The bear continued its horrific growl as it charged the last few feet. The bitch stumbled and fell. Its nose hit the dirt, and then it tumbled end over end directly toward Larry and Richard. Larry turned and scampered down the hill, one arm flailing wildly. He was barely a foot or two ahead of the large female. The bear tumbled down the hill, tripped Larry, and rolled over his prostrate body. He yelped loudly as the bear's heavy, pliant carcass continued tumbling down the slope another twenty feet until it wedged against a tree trunk and stopped. Larry rose as he sucked in several breaths to replace the air squeezed from him by the three to four hundred pound bear crushing down on him. Red-faced, he swiveled his upper torso around and gave us a surprised, sheepish grin.
We gathered on the flat ground and solemnly stood where Shane had been injured. I walked to where the bear had appeared. Richard followed me. There was a narrow cleft in the hillside where rain water had washed dirt and rock away over the years. Blood soaked a small portion of the ground. Forty or so feet past the cleft, a den was dug into the hillside. Both cubs huddled in the near dark and growled at us weakly.
We rejoined our friends. "I'm guessing Shane was walking along the flat spot and his left foot slipped in the mud. It skidded down the slope and into that groundhog hole. He was thrown off balance and fell sideways breaking his leg. He surely screamed in pain from the compound fracture, and the bear heard him; he likely lost his rifle then. Later, after he'd worked his leg free, blood was flowing, and the hungry bear smelled him. It and the cubs would have recently woken from hibernation and w
ere hungry."
Richard said, "The bear probably charged him like it did us. His drew his handgun and fired several shots before it got him. The blood back there where the bear was laying proves he hit it."
Harshly, Larry said, "Lets skin that damn'd bear and cut it up to take home. We'll eat it in honor of dad."
Another doe was shot and field dressed on our way back. Dusk was upon us when we got home, and we had lots of fresh meat to distribute. Excess meat was hung in the smoker before the fire was started, and then we headed our separate ways.
Kira and our children met me at the door. Instead of eating supper right then, I opted to read a story to my young-uns. When the story ended, I helped Kira wash them for bedtime. With the kids down, we were alone. Kira sat beside me on the couch as I ate; she seemed absorbed in thought. She remained quiet as I relayed the details of our bear hunt.
When I finished, she snuggled and looked at me with moisture in her eyes. She couldn't keep the pain from her voice, "Vivian is pregnant. She'll start showing soon. I can't imagine what she's going through."
The next morning, I took a team of draft horses and continued the plowing that had begun the previous day. The twenty acre field lay across the road from our cabins. Martin Radcliff Jr. joined me a quarter-hour later. At mid-morning it occurred to me that I'd only noticed a few people out and about for the last hour or so. I stopped the team for a short break and walked to the edge of the field for a drink from the one-gallon plastic jug I'd placed there before starting to plow. A strong breeze carried the sound of singing from the cabin area to me. A large number of voices were singing hymns. I squatted on my haunches in the warmth of the sun as I slowly swallowed several drinks of water. I rose at the same time people began to emerge from the horse barn. That was the first organized church meeting I was aware of. There was work to be done, so I went back to the horses and watered them. Shortly, Tony joined me in the field with another team.
Our next monthly group meeting was scheduled to take place in six days. As the days crept by, many of our group seemed unusually reserved. They surreptitiously avoided me and Kira. I learned Richard's family, Vivian's family, and several others were purposely shunned also. I'd tired of all the innuendo crap and longed for the confrontation that was building. Some of this group had been my closest friends starting over twenty years ago; we'd faced countless dangers daily for over ten years and now they were acting like cowardly strangers. In the last three or four years, some of us had drifted apart, and I'd formed close relationships with others. Still, I resented their behavior and felt they should have known they could broach and discuss any subject with me. An errant thought took hold of me suddenly; the conspirators had also singled out my present closest friends and supporters. Their complaints had to concern major issues if they were applied not only to me but included my friends.
Time passed quickly, and we were soon into the first week of April. Our entire group was busy from dawn to dusk every day. The garden acreage was plowed, disked and harrowed and divided into twelve equally-sized plots. Some eager folks had even begun planting.
Kira reminded me one morning that our monthly meeting was scheduled for early that afternoon right after lunch time.
About half the people were already in the horse barn when my family arrived. Folding chairs were still being placed in the open area between the stalls that bordered both sides of the barn. I took my place in front of the group and waited. Morgan and Andrea were the last members of the Leadership Committee to arrive and be seated on chairs at either side of me.
I stepped forward and the chatter dissipated. "Before we start, let's take a moment in memory of two great friends who passed away recently. The first was our doctor, Ira Sparrow. And more recently, we suffered the loss of another great friend of the group, Shane Holescheck. Both of these men were a positive influence on the group and assisted their neighbors in any way they could help. Each of them will be sorely missed for different reasons." I waited an appropriate amount of time with my head bowed before continuing. "We're entering the beginning of our sixth year at our new home site. Once again, it's planting season, and hopefully we'll raise another bumper crop as we saw last year at harvest time. Thank you for all your hard work.
"The Leadership Committee met several weeks ago and gave its approval for the production and distribution of wine in limited quantities. The making of alcoholic beer and whiskey is still prohibited along with smoking materials..."
"That's pure bullshit!" Jesse Pitchford jumped up and pointed straight at me. "I'm tired of you running this group like a dictator."
"Jesse, I don't run the group, the committee does. What specifically is your complaint?"
"If I want to smoke or drink alcohol, that's my business not yours. You're still up my butt because I won't do the group exercises."
I looked across the whole group. Several adults had gained weight over the years and were looking portly. "Doc pushed the exercise routines and good eating habits to help people stay healthy. We remind folks of the exercise programs that are held three days a week, but for several years no one has been mandated to attend."
Kelly tugged at Jesse's belt and he sat, but he continued to glare at me hatefully.
"Now, can we move on, or does anyone have more issues to address?" I was ready to speak when John Alton rose and stood beside me.
"Tom, there is another thing a majority of us take issue with." I waited and glanced at the committee members on either side of me. Several looked anxious. Doc's last conversation played in my mind. "Several of you, both men and women have continued to carry sidearms. Since the zombies have been eradicated, we feel that is unnecessary and want the practice changed. We don't want to live in an armed camp as if danger is expected every minute of the day. It's time for everyone to relax."
The breath I'd been holding slipped out; at least their feelings were finally in the open. "While you're getting things off your chest, are there any other issues you want to bring up?" I knew the answer and was ready to deal with it. To hell with political correctness.
John stood taller and looked pointedly at me. "The heavy weaponry: assault rifles, machine guns, RPGs, hand grenades and so on. We want those and the ammunition for them destroyed."
I'd been warned but still couldn't believe the naivety of what he'd said. Surely the shock I felt at it being exposed to everyone was reflected in my expression. Before I could reply, several of my supporters rose.
Richard spoke next to me above the hubbub. "What the hell is wrong with you people? Have you lost your mind? I don't know that the danger of outlaws has passed and neither can you."
I whistled shrilly to cut through the multiple loud voices. "Stop it, all of you quiet down. Try to stay calm and speak one at a time. Richard, do you have more to add?"
He glanced at the faces surrounding John and Marcie before he focused on his brother, Barlow. "This is so off the wall ridiculous. Are you people so arrogant as to believe we are the only zombie survivors left in the world? How can you think we're all that is left, or that if others survived, they will all want to be our friends. Haven't our past encounters with renegades taught you anything?" Richard shook his head before he stepped back and sat.
I heard another movement behind me. Andrea stood beside me and spoke in a subdued tone but loud enough for all to hear. "Tom, thank you for your leadership over the past years, but..." She paused for a deep breath. "I'm tired of the fighting and killing, sick of it. I didn't attend church during or after college, so it's not like I've been a religious zealot my whole life. That's not who I was or am now. But I believe there has to be a higher authority, and I can't continue to place my safety and salvation in weapons that kill. I have to trust that a kind and benevolent God will provide for us and look after us. I believe what John says makes sense." I watched several people nod in agreement and silently mouth the word Amen.
From the crowd, Kira respond forcefully, "Your God didn't prevent the zombies from destroying the world He s
upposedly created, and He didn't protect us from them. We protected ourselves and used firearms to do that. As much as I like you, Andrea, in my opinion, your position doesn't make any sense."
Shandrea Jones stood before Kira finished talking. "Please, let's all stay on friendly terms. I agree that in the past the use of firearms was necessary. But that time has passed, and we're no longer in danger. I'm not comfortable living with people packing guns around as if we're in constant danger, and I don't want my children raised in an environment akin to a war zone."
Kira quickly countered her, "Since we've moved here we've not seen any zombies, humans or tornados. But that doesn't mean there aren't still pockets of zombies or evil humans or that a tornado won't hit us before the day is out. I can't fight back at storms, but I can against the other two, and I'm keeping my weapon with me at all times."
Several people spoke at the same time. I whistled and waved them down. "John, when you say we, who are you speaking for? I'd like a show of hands of those adults who stand with John."
Cautiously, glancing around as if fearing reprisal, people stood. I counted twenty. "Now will those against John's proposal please stand. I counted seventeen with me and Kira. I was disappointed but not surprised.
Into the ensuing silence, Mitch stood and spoke. "I understand your longing for peace, I really do. But I saw my father turn to the bible and start preaching to others who wanted to believe something would rise to protect them. It didn't. He and all of the people who followed him died horrible deaths. We've got to use common sense and look out for ourselves, because no one else has or will come to our aid."
The discussion was going nowhere, so I deemed it time to shut down the meeting. "I think we should table the proposal until the next meeting. Think about it in private, and discuss it with people on both sides of the issue. We'll take it up at our next group session."
Outnumbered (Book 6) Page 3
