She didn’t hear any other older women, so she wasn’t sure where Kellie or Katie was in the shelter. She wanted to know where Kellie was most of all. She was the one who’d shot her and on whom she wanted to exact the most revenge. All Cheryl had was a knife and she didn’t want to have to face a gun with just this make-shift weapon. She didn’t have a lot of time either.
Randy had said Tia would be here in less than an hour and that had been 10 – 15 minutes earlier, and the little girl who had just gone in the camper might be back any time and see Cheryl lurking outside the shelter. Cheryl wasn’t sure how much time she had available to her.
She looked past the shelter to make sure no one else could see her. She heard the closing of an oven and the sounds of pots and spoons and the smell of hot food. The shelter got quieter. They must be eating. That would be good. It meant everyone must be at the table and focused on their meal. The guns would be in the safe by the door or at least down and not cradled in someone’s hands.
The table they ate at was beyond the gun safe, which was next to the door on the left. Randy had described the entire layout of the shelter to her over the course of two days of careful questioning.
She’d hoped to be able to get in when no one was there, but she couldn’t wait. Time was wasting before more people would soon be here.
She heard the distinctive sounds of people eating and figured this was the best time to move. She ran through the door of the shelter and grabbed the first person she could reach. It was a young girl, maybe seven or eight years old. In the heartbeat it took her to choose, the little girl kicked and screamed as Cheryl puller her by the hair.
Kellie lunged to protect the little girl, ignoring her own safety as Cheryl swung the knife at her. She was able to get herself between the attacker and young Hannah and pushed the little girl to the far side of the table.
Cheryl grabbed at the older woman who stumbled as she pushed the little girl away. What good luck it was for her that it was Kellie. Using her training, she dragged Kellie away from the table by the simple expedient of throwing her arm around her neck and pulling back. The surprise at the table was complete and more of the kids started screaming.
Katie, who killed two or three zombies the previous day, stood up from the end of the table to reach for her .38 in its holster. Cheryl put the knife to Kellie’s throat. “Sit down hero or I start cutting.” Mrs. deJesus reached up, put her hand on the woman’s shoulder and whispered something to her Cheryl couldn’t hear.
Katie sat down slowly but the other kids were still screaming. “Shut ‘em up grandma or I will,” she warned Mrs. deJesus. The older woman encouraged the kids to a quieter crying and fear. Katie pulled John and one of the twin girls so she was between them and Cheryl. She motioned Hannah, who had been sitting next to Kellie to move back behind Katie.
“No one has to be hurt, I just need a couple of things before I leave,” Cheryl said, still choking Kellie, who was struggling for breath. Cheryl’s forearm across her neck felt like it was crushing her throat.
Cheryl backed up, pulling Kellie with her, until the gun safe was beside her. She was making up her plan as she went. Keeping an eye on the kids and not letting go of Kellie, she told the woman she had in the stranglehold to pull out a rifle and load it.
“Can’t…breathe,” Kellie was able to get out and Cheryl loosened her grip slightly, but kept the knife right up to her throat.
“Not that one. One with a scope,” Cheryl ordered. Kellie loaded it. “Set it down.” Kellie did as she was told. “Now a pistol. Fill the magazine. Hurry.” When Kellie looked as if she might aim the gun over her head and try to shoot Cheryl in the face, she pushed the knife deep enough in her neck to draw blood. “Don’t try it lady or your neck will have a new hole and then I’ll grab one of your kids.”
Cheryl told Kellie to hold the pistol by the barrel right in front of her own face which she did carefully. She then tightened her grip on Kellie’s neck until the older woman started to struggle. Cheryl dropped the knife and grabbed the gun in a smooth motion. She then released and pushed Kellie away and Kellie fell to the floor, hitting her head on the corner of the table. Molly started barking in earnest.
“Just leave,” Mrs. deJesus pleaded. “These children do nothing to you. You have what you want. Please don’t hurt these poor babies.”
Feeling better and in more control with a loaded pistol in one hand and a rifle in the other, Cheryl looked at the frightened children who were crying or hiding their faces in the folds of Mrs. deJesus’ clothes or behind Katie. Both adults were looking with pure hate at the intruder. The black Cajun Jamal looked ready to leap at her, which he might have done, had Katie not had her hand on his shoulder.
“You’re right, they didn’t. But she did,” at which time as she aimed the pistol at the woman bleeding on the floor. “This is for my brother. You never met him, but you killed him in cold blood.” Kellie recalled how she’d shot through the door, in fear of her and her friends’ life 11 days earlier.
She saw the pistol in Cheryl’s hand aiming down at her and the woman’s finger looked like it was about to twitch so she rolled, but the bullet got her anyhow. Kellie groaned and doubled over in pain.
Danny came running into the shelter hell bent for leather with his .45 caliber revolver out less than a second after the gunshot. He didn’t see Cheryl, hidden as she was by the door of the gun safe, and when he realized he’d run right by the gunman he turned quickly.
It was too late. Cheryl pulled the trigger two more times and Danny didn’t have a chance with the first round going into his gun arm and the second grazing his skull, knocking him out cold. He fell onto Kellie’s prone and bleeding body.
The children were all screaming and crying again. She heard another voice from outside calling for Danny and the big dog barking. Someone was coming, and they were coming fast, maybe more than one. She had the upper hand now, but if there were more people with guns, she couldn’t kill them all. She didn’t know it was Marissa, just heard the voice calling and decided it was time to run. Boomer, who had been sleeping under Tia’s motor home, was racing to the shelter too.
Cheryl saw the spiral staircase Randy had told her about. She ran up the stairs two at a time. The top hatch was open and she climbed out, accidentally dropping her handgun. She was about the reach for it when she noticed the big dog Boomer, who was standing with the little girl by the door of the shelter, had seen her. He went from looking into the shelter with the girl to breaking into a full gallop, working his way up the hill to get at her.
Cheryl ran. She’d gotten a gun and also the woman who’d shot her. Now she needed to get away. She wasn’t done with this bunch of yokels. She didn’t think the dog would catch up with her but she wasn’t taking a chance. The stupid animal did follow her, but she was able to get off a shot in his direction.
The dog wasn’t running in a straight line which was fortunate because she would have killed the dog without remorse. He was scared off his straight-on attack, giving her enough time to get to the garage.
The van was where Randy had left it in the garage. She looked over at the barn where she’d been held prisoner and saw the door of the barn still closed. She was sure she’d killed Randy as she drove as fast as she could down the driveway. She’d hit him hard and he’d dropped face first onto the concrete floor. There had been blood immediately. Kicking him in the groin felt good to her too. If he wasn’t dead, she hoped she broke what he’d been thinking with for the past two weeks.
Cheryl thought about the blood that flowed from Randy’s mouth. She thought she might have cracked his skull with how much blood there’d been. Yeah, she thought to herself, that boy was as dead as the major who had her court martialed her and ended her military career.
Driving wildly, she raced away from the farm. She knew she’d be back to take this farm from that hillbilly. She didn’t know how and she didn’t know when, but she knew she’d come back. Considering the living conditions she’d bee
n made to live in for the past weeks, they’d been living in comfort.
It wasn’t fair.
She’d make them pay for treating her unfairly, but right now, she was free. There was no one from the farm who could catch her. She had gotten away and there was no way she’d ever let anyone control her again.
Cheryl looked at the gas guage and it read full. She knew could go a long way in the minivan, but she needed to go somewhere where she wasn’t living on some farm, digging in the dirt to subsist.
“No,” she said to herself as she gunned the little van onto the interstate. “I’ve had enough of that farming bullshit. Time for me to take bull by the balls and get what should rightfully be mine.”
~ ~ ~
The spacemen were uncomfortable. They had been in space for more than three months. They’d exercised for more than an hour every day to maintain muscle tone and bone density, but still, the return to gravity wore on them. It’d be weeks before they felt back to normal again.
Something Jerry hadn’t foreseen was the seating for the return trip to his shelter. There was plenty of room in the two vehicles, but none of it was that comfortable for the people who’d been in space.
A solution presented itself when the two-truck convoy was 30 minutes north of Gulf Shores. They had to leave the interstate because of the collapse of the I-10 interchange. Jerry weaved through the wrecks and concrete, circumvented the rebar and broken street lamp foundations.
They’d come through here early this afternoon, but then they were excited about reaching the coast. Now they were thinking about the long drive home. All three astronauts were both tired and uncomfortable and it was difficult to engage them in conversation while they were in such shape.
Juan saw it first. The sun was going down and a half hour from now, they would have missed it. Sitting between a stack of crushed semis at a truck stop and a brick garage was a tour bus.
“That’s a Prevost,” Juan said, a little bit of aw in his voice. “I bet the spacemen would be comfortable in that thing. Jerry didn’t know what a “Prevost” was, but he saw the bus, protected from the storm by the 18-wheelers and the brick and steel building that had only partially collapsed.
Jerry called Eddie on the walkie-talkie and told him they were stopping to take a look at the bus.
Jerry, Rusty and Juan walked up to the 45-foot bus. Rusty had his 9mm in his hand and Juan had a shot gun under one arm. Jerry had the Desert Eagle his son had given him out and ready. They weren’t taking any chances.
All three walked around the bus. It must have been here for repainting because it was covered in a primer gray basecoat. All 10 tires were inflated which was good. The men had to remove some wood and sheet metal debris from beneath the bus if they were going to move it.
“Prevost makes the best tour busses for celebrities,” Juan told them. “I saw Allan Jackson’s in Houston and these are rolling mansions.” He pulled on the door handle and surprisingly, it opened. The keys were in the ignition.
Juan turned it over and after cranking for a few revolutions, it started up with a plume of black smoke from the pipes. He pulled it out of where it was parked and drove beside the SWAT truck. Jerry and Rusty were looking in wonder at the comfort someone who rode in this bus enjoyed.
“Full tanks,” Juan told him, “if the gauges are correct. They probably are. I bet this was here to be refurbished and painted. I bet it was sold to someone new.”
“Damned if it don’t look new,” Jerry said, sitting on the six-foot long leather couch. “This is better than the house I owned.”
“Probably cost more, too,” Juan said. “These can go for more than 300 grand.” The bus was decked out with twin sinks, a shower, beds, stove and refrigerator, empty as Juan found out, and a well appointed living area. Everything in the bus was brand new, including the linens. “I’d live in this if we weren’t giving it to the spacemen. It’s got to be 45-feet long if its inch.”
“If we find another, Juan, it’s yours. Or maybe Tia found something for you and the missus,” Jerry told him, patting him on the shoulder.” The old man shook his head and walked back to the front of the bus. “I get to drive it though. Better than the passenger seat of your old truck,” he said lightly.
Jerry grinned at the man’s comment and walked through the very well-appointed bus. Eddie and Monica joined him. When they got to the back of the bus, where the master bedroom was located, Eddie poked Monica in her side with his elbow. “Wanna test out the bed?” he asked with a wicked smile.
Jerry, who’d thought Monica and Tony would eventually hook up, or probably already had with them sleeping in the same room back at the shelter, thought Eddie was being rather tactless. The blush that turned Monica’s face and neck red told another story. “Oh my God, Eddie. Not in front of the children,” she replied, punching him in the shoulder and pointing at Jerry.
Jerry could tell the young lady was not offended, but just embarrassed at the timing of the comment with Jerry in the room. They must have been talking some real trash in the SWAT truck. He left the two to whatever they were going to talk about and walked back to the front.
This bus might be primer gray on the outside, but inside, it was immaculate with no expense spared on the cupboards, counters, seating, entertainment center and other living arrangements. It made what he’d done with his shelter look like a six-year-old with Lincoln Logs. “Have you ever driven something like this, Juan?” Jerry asked the elderly Mexican-American (not just Mexican, not just American, but Mexican-American as Jerry had been told). “I used to drive a corrections bus. This is a little longer, a little nicer on the inside, but I think I can handle it,” he said with a smile.
“Let’s get the spacemen over here. There’s plenty of room and it’s a lot more comfortable than the SWAT truck,” Jerry told him, again looking over how nice the whole bus looked on the inside.
Twenty minutes later, the astronauts were relaxing in the back of the bus. They told Juan and Jerry it was better than the transfer bus NASA made them ride in from the prep room to the shuttle. The two Americans took the queen bed, the female Canadian took the single couch/bed.
~ ~ ~
Back on the road, Jerry was in the lead by himself. Rusty and Monica had decided to ride in the bus with the astronauts to get some sleep on the twin bed that folded out of a wall. They’d take over driving duties at the next rest break in three hours.
With his headlights on bright and speeding along at 45 miles per hour, Jerry felt good. He could see the bus between him and the SWAT truck that was bringing up the rear of their little convoy.
Without anyone else in the truck, he had time to think.
He thought about Tia and the crew she’d taken with her to Anniston. She might be a little pissed when they drive in with a bus because that’d mean she hadn’t needed to go to Anniston under-manned. He prayed no one had been hurt. The bus would be helpful because they needed more living space. Danny and Jamal were still living in a tent and so was Rusty.
The deJesus’s were sleeping in the cellar of the shelter so they were also one step up from sleeping on the ground. Katie, Josh and his daughter Marissa were sleeping in a camper on the back of a Chevy truck that was so crowded, it wasn’t funny.
No, he decided. Tia would understand they needed the room and a motor home was the quickest and easiest way to provide good shelter. The bus would be a bonus.
Jerry thought about his relationship with Kellie. He liked her a lot and she made him feel like he could be who he was. He didn’t have to impress her or be someone he wasn’t. He never intended to start a relationship with her. Things just developed and he wasn’t going to complain. This morning, he almost told her that he loved her, but he held back. If he had, and she’d said nothing, or something like “How sweet,” things would have been uncomfortable and awkward in the shelter.
Jerry spent a lot of time thinking about his son. He loved his boy unconditionally and was always worried he didn’t do a very good job raisi
ng the boy. He hadn’t been a firm father, like Tia was, and maybe Randy would have been a different person, more independent and have a better work ethic if Jerry had been harder on him.
No matter how things turned out in this new world and with new people now living on his farm, Jerry was going to make sure Randy knew how important he was to his dad.
“Hey, let’s pull over. I gotta piss,” The call from Juan over the CB nearly scared the piss out of him, so he thought he might better pull over.
“Roger,” Jerry responded and pulled on to the shoulder of the highway to switch drivers, stretch the muscles and take care of other personal needs. The bathroom in the bus worked, but no one knew if the septic tank had solution in it, so that was off limits for now.
Everyone who was awake got out of the vehicles and took care of business wherever they found convenient.
Jerry, feeling like what he’d done today was possibly one of the best things he’d done in his life, looked skyward. The world of his yesterday was so gone.
But seeing the Milky Way with a clarity like he’d never seen before the fall of civilization, he believed the world he was helping put back together would be okay.
He would be home in a little more than two hours.
He was looking forward to a peaceful sleep in his own bed.
Coming Soon:
Hell Revisited
Look for availability date at www.ramblingdad.com
Exerpt from Hell Revisited:
They were losing the farm to soldiers with training and experience. Jerry knew the odds were against them before the first HUMVEE crashed through the fence across the driveway.
He only wanted to live here in peace with his son and friends and they were trying to defend themselves. Chances were slim and not getting better with at least one of his friends already dead, one of their vehicles being shot up by fire from the .50 caliber machine gun, and now three more HUMVEEs coming through the back gate.
Hell Happened (Book 1) Page 26
