Raging Storm

by Vannetta Chapman

  When she’d finished, he handed her several of the gauze pads. She squirted antibiotic ointment onto the first and pressed it to the wound, then covered that with another pad and yet another.

  “Help me lay him back.” She repeated the procedure on the front of the wound.

  “Will I…will I…lose my arm?”

  “No. I don’t think so, Tate. Must have been a small caliber bullet—clean entry, clean exit, and I don’t see a lot of damage. Can you wiggle your fingers?”

  When he did so, a wide smile replaced Georgia’s concerned expression.

  “You boys, you’re living in a different time now. A time when sneaking off to see a girl could get you killed.” She shook her head and motioned for Carter to help Tate sit up as she wound a bandage around his shoulder—under the arm, up and over, back and around. “Isn’t fair, but it’s something you’re going to have to accept.”

  Carter thought again of Kaitlyn, thought of what he would have done to see her, and felt a sudden empathy with Tate.

  “Yes, Mrs. Berkman.” Tate refused to meet her gaze. He continued to shake, but already his color was better. “Same thing my pa said.”

  “Well, your pa is right, and he needs you around here. So does your brother. So no more stupid stunts.”

  As Carter bagged all of their soiled towels, Georgia asked Tate if he felt well enough to drink some water. He’d stopped shaking, which Carter thought must be a good sign. Georgia helped him to drink from the water bottle, and then she pulled the covers up and turned down the lantern. “We’ll send your brother in, and I’ll come back around lunchtime tomorrow to check on you again.”

  Tate’s father drove them home in silence. It wasn’t until he’d stopped in front of Georgia and Roy’s house that he turned to her and said, “Thank you.”

  “Of course, Andy.”

  “I’m indebted to you. If you ever need anything, please just let me know.”

  Instead of answering, she patted his hand. Together Georgia and Carter walked into the house. Roy must have seen them coming, because he already had hot water heating on the stove. He placed a cup, saucer, and bag of tea in front of Georgia as soon as they sat down. “Water will be ready in a minute.”

  He kissed her on top of the head, and Carter looked away, suddenly embarrassed by the affection that passed between the two of them.

  “Hot chocolate?” Roy asked Carter, which made Carter smile. His mother would never have offered that.

  “I’ll just have some water.” But he was suddenly ravenous and gladly accepted a cold biscuit and the jar of peanut butter.

  “Is the boy going to be okay?” Roy asked.

  “I think so, though I wish I had antibiotics to give him.”

  “Maybe Shelby and Max will bring some back.”

  “We could go house to house and round up old prescriptions.” Carter popped half the biscuit into his mouth, surprised that he could be hungry after treating someone with a gunshot wound.

  “Not a bad idea,” Georgia admitted.

  “It’s what we did in Abney. Mom, she collected all of ours in this bin—I think she was hoping to trade it in Austin. But Mayor Perkins, asked everyone to bring what they had to the hospital, so it could be dispensed to folks who need it.”

  “Sounds like your mayor has a good head on her shoulders.” Roy poured the hot water over the tea bag and sat down next to Georgia.

  “I guess. Some people refused, saying they had to look out for their own families. Others, though, realized they might need something they didn’t have, so they gladly donated.”

  Georgia dunked the tea bag up and down, and then she wrapped it around a spoon and pressed it against the side of her cup. “I imagine someone around here has some leftover penicillin. Even a few days’ worth would be a big help in Tate’s recovery.”

  “Maybe Carter can start going house to house tomorrow.” Roy grinned at him as he sat next to his wife, folding his hands around an old coffee mug. “Now tell me about Tate.”

  Georgia sighed as she rubbed at a muscle on the back of her neck. “God was watching over that boy tonight. He’d snuck out after his father thought he was in bed—wanted to go and see a girl. On his way back, someone ambushed him at the low water crossing.”

  “So he went outside our perimeter?”

  “Not on the road—he drove across a few pastures and then down into a spot in the river where the cattle cross. Stupid thing for a boy to do.” Georgia sighed. “What was he thinking?”

  “He wasn’t.” Carter finished another biscuit and gulped down the cup of water. “When Kaitlyn was alive, I would have done something like that. I didn’t…I didn’t understand how much things had changed.”

  Roy and Georgia waited. He loved that about Max’s parents. Somewhere along the way, they’d learned to wait, to listen, to allow a person to work through things in their own time.

  “After she died?” Carter shook his head. “Well, then I understood that this was our life for good. That things weren’t changing back—even though a part of my mind already knew that. But inside, I guess I was still hoping.”

  “Hope is an important thing,” Georgia said.

  “Maybe. But it can also get you shot.” Carter stood and walked to the door, stopped, and turned back. “Where did you learn that? To patch up gunshot wounds?”

  Georgia smiled, and though it held a good bit of sadness in it, the expression lightened something in Carter’s heart. “Max wasn’t always the careful person he is now. That boy had more stitches by the time he was twelve—”

  “Was he ever shot, though?”

  “No. We were spared that. Same principle applies—clean the wound, swab on some sort of salve, and bind or stitch it up.”

  Carter said good night and walked back over to his cottage. Georgia and Roy were something else. They took whatever came their way with such calmness and faith. He wasn’t sure he could ever be like that. He wasn’t sure he had any faith left. But maybe that, as well as staying calm, was something he could learn. Setting his rifle next to his bed, he didn’t bother taking off his shoes, and as soon as his head touched the pillow, he sank into a deep sleep.

  SIXTEEN

  Shelby decided that Max had lost his mind. She shook her head, unwilling to concede defeat, but their group quickly folded. First Patrick and then Bianca put their weapons down. She noticed that Bhatti waited, his eyes on hers.

  “Put it down, Shelby.” Max’s voice was calm, and the look in his eyes assured her that what he was doing made sense. But it didn’t make sense.

  The numbers were now eleven to two—correction, five to two. Micah and five of the other men had dropped their weapons. Why would they do that unless they were trustworthy? Except the odds were still in their favor. Perhaps Max had a plan. She set her .22 on the ground, and Bhatti immediately did the same with the Glock Max had given him.

  The group around them didn’t hesitate. Each person holstered their gun or set their rifle against the wall.

  “Good. It’s good to see that we can all be reasonable.” The leader ran his fingers through his beard, and seemed to come to a conclusion. “We can discuss our next step here or go back to my place.”

  “Here,” Max said.

  “All right.” The man held up his hands in a surrender gesture. “But we can’t do it like this—watching to see who will reach for their weapon first.”

  “If you meant what you said, you don’t have to worry about that.”

  “He didn’t say anything.” Shelby wanted to grab Max and shake him. The cuts on his face looked superficial, though blood continued to drip from his wounds. Had he lost too much blood? Maybe he’d hit his head. He was not acting sensibly.

  “My name is Clay Gilbert,” the old guy said. “Would you feel more comfortable if I instructed some of my men to move outside? They could keep an eye on the perimeter. Wouldn’t want any surprises while we’re having our powwow.”

  “We’d appreciate it,” Max said.

&nbs
p; As if they’d done this before, six of the group picked up their weapons and trooped outside.

  Clay nodded toward their circle of crates. Two of his men headed that way, pulling up bales of hay to sit on. Max and Patrick followed without hesitation. Bianca shrugged and followed Patrick. Only Bhatti and Shelby held back.

  “Best come hear what he has to say,” Max called back to her.

  She hurried over to his side and whispered, “You don’t even know this man. Why are you trusting him?”

  “Because he’s part of the Remnant.” Max sat down with a groan, pulled his backpack closer, and fetched a clean washcloth. He blotted the blood from his face, but didn’t expound on what he’d said.

  Bianca snatched the cloth from his hand, shone her flashlight on the largest cut to be sure there was no glass still in it, and applied pressure to the wound. “The Remnant? What is that?”

  “A group of folks who are still trying to do the right thing,” Clay said.

  “You fired on us.” Shelby practically spat the words. “Just look at Max’s face.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You could have killed us.”

  “My men would not have shot you unless I gave the order.” Clay was sitting on a crate, but he leaned forward to study Max. “Are you okay? We have some first aid supplies.”

  “The cuts sting, but they’re not fatal.”

  “Don’t want to risk infection. Best clean it up first, and then we’ll talk.”

  Max didn’t resist when Bhatti brought over his doctor’s bag, slipped on a pair of gloves, and began examining the wounds. After ten minutes, he’d cleaned each one, applied a topical ointment and bandages. Only one required a butterfly strip.

  “Don’t guess this will help my chances with the ladies.” Max was speaking to Bhatti, but looking directly at Shelby.

  “I have heard that women are actually attracted to a man with a scar or two.”

  Patrick laughed at that, and Shelby wondered if they’d all lost their minds. Maybe the pressure had become too much. They were making jokes, treating wounds, and having a powwow with strangers who moments ago threatened to shoot them.

  Once Bhatti had repacked his supplies into his small medical bag, Clay cleared his throat.

  “We have a lot of folks who shelter here in this barn. Most never see us coming. They’re just looking for a place to rest for the night. When that’s the case, we let them be. Usually the next morning they move on.”

  His gaze drifted around the circle. “Your group is obviously different. We saw you—” He looked directly at Patrick. “You were doing regular perimeter sweeps.”

  “So you have night vision goggles.” Patrick was studying the man closely.

  “And scopes.” Clay nodded toward their weapons, which one of his men had gathered up and set in the middle of the circle. “As do you, I see. That’s good. You came prepared.”

  “I don’t understand,” Shelby said. “You normally allow people to stay in your barn, but when you saw that we were as well supplied as you, that was when you decided to move in?”

  “We couldn’t know what side you’re on.”

  “And if we’d been on the other side?” For the first time, Bhatti spoke directly to the man.

  “We’d escort you back out to the highway and watch until you were out of sight.”

  “That’s risky.” Max stuffed the bloody washcloth into a plastic bag and pushed it down into his pack. “Someone could circle back.”

  Shelby found her attention split between Max and Clay. Max was obviously fine, so she pushed away the panic that had clawed at her throat since seeing the glass in front of him explode. She turned her attention to Clay, still unsure whether she trusted him. The two men who flanked him looked like guys she would see at the local diner. One had a farmer’s tan, and the other had dark black skin. Both wore soiled ball caps and sported wiry builds. Neither spoke, letting Clay tell their story in his own way. Obviously, they’d done this on more than one occasion.

  “It’s happened before that someone has circled back,” Clay admitted. “When it does, then we have to take more drastic measures.”

  Bianca shifted on her crate. “You kill them.”

  “Yeah, and don’t think that’s an easy thing. It keeps me awake some nights, sends me back into God’s Word. Taking another man’s life—even in self-defense—is a weighty thing.”

  “God’s Word?” Shelby felt as if her head were going to explode. Who were these people?

  “She doesn’t know,” Patrick explained. He shifted his gaze to Bianca and Shelby. “Pastor Tony took us aside before we left and told us there was a group—the Remnant—who might be able to help us.”

  “But it wasn’t like they’d be wearing T-shirts that proclaimed what side they were on.” Max actually grinned at her. “Instead they have code words. Micah five.”

  “Micah, that’s your name…” She turned toward the man on Clay’s right, the man that Clay had told to put down his gun along with five of his men.

  The man grinned, “Actually, my name’s Jamie. Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

  “And you didn’t think that maybe you should share this with us?” Shelby turned on Max. “You didn’t think we should know?”

  “Hey. We’ve had a busy twenty-four hours. There hasn’t exactly been time. And I think…well, the thing is that we weren’t sure such a group actually existed. Seemed like a reach to believe anyone could have formed up so quickly.”

  “Desperate times,” Clay said.

  “Why Micah five?” Bianca sat forward, staring at Clay. “Why that reference? And what does it mean? What do you all do?”

  The other man flanking Clay answered. “Name’s Kenny, and I can answer that, or part of it.”

  Shelby thought he was probably in his early thirties, the youngest of the group as far as she could tell. His skin was a dark black and his hair trimmed short. “In the Old Testament of the Bible, Micah chapter five, verse seven, says, ‘The remnant of Jacob will be in the midst of many peoples like dew from the Lord, like showers on the grass, which do not wait for anyone or depend on man.’ ”

  Shelby stood and began pacing between her crate and Max’s. “You’re some extreme religious group?”

  “Depends what you call extreme,” Clay said.

  Kenny continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. “When things went bad, which happened within hours of the flare, some of us understood that the government wasn’t going to step in and fix things…at least not for a long while. We would need to defend ourselves, but we also wanted to be able to help others. The problem is that once you declare yourself to be on a certain side, then you become a target for people who would oppose you.”

  “So we came up with a code,” Jamie said. “Almost immediately after the grid went down, preachers were proclaiming that we are in the last days. Now, I don’t know if I believe that, but I do know that what we’re facing is unprecedented, and that many people…well, many good people have already lost their lives.”

  “Declaring ourselves the remnant of God didn’t seem like such a far-fetched idea.” Clay shifted on his crate, moving his right leg out in front of him and massaging his knee. “I pretend that Jamie’s name is Micah, and we throw out the number five. I could tell that you two recognized those words immediately.”

  “Thought I was hearing things,” Max admitted.

  “If there’s no reaction, then we follow plan A—move people out of our area.”

  “But if they recognize the words, then we try to help.” Kenny leaned forward now. “So tell us. How can we help you?”

  Perhaps too much had happened too quickly. Shelby prided herself in being resilient, in handling whatever was thrown at them. The remnant of Jacob? Operating out of a barn? She couldn’t take it all in. Instead, she leaned forward, propped her elbows on her knees, and covered her eyes with her hands. The others continued to talk, but what they said was garbled, distant.

  She only raised her head wh
en Max said, “It’s a lot of information in a few minutes.” Max glanced at her, and she straightened as he continued. “I realize we have decisions to make, but perhaps we could take a fifteen-minute break. There are things my group needs to discuss, and I know you won’t mind that we need to do so privately.”

  SEVENTEEN

  Everyone agreed to disperse for thirty minutes and then reconvene. Max laid a hand on Shelby’s shoulder, glad to see she seemed to have recovered somewhat. As the shell-shocked look faded, though, it was replaced by an intense scrutiny aimed in his direction. Max tried to convince her he was fine, but she continued to stare at him as if he might sprout a bullet hole in his forehead at any moment.

  “You’re lucky it wasn’t much worse,” Bhatti muttered. “And do you actually think you can trust these people?”

  “We have to trust someone,” Max said.

  “Do we?”

  “What options do we have? We weren’t making a lot of progress on our own. We can’t go south into town, and it’s not safe on the secondary roads.” He told the rest of their group about the people he and Shelby had hid from while making their way to the rendezvous point, as well as the man he’d hit with the lug wrench.

  “Did you kill him?” Bianca asked.

  “Maybe.” Max swallowed and shook his head. “I’m not sure. All I knew was that he was threatening Shelby, and we could hear others closing in. So we grabbed our stuff and ran. We didn’t stop to check for a pulse.”

  “Probably ragtag groups like that are all over town,” Patrick said. “It’s what we expected.”

  “Expecting it is one thing,” Bhatti pointed out. “Actually encountering it can be completely different.”

  Shelby turned to look at Bhatti. His usually placid face was creased in a worried frown.

  “So we’re going to tell these people what we’re doing?” Bianca asked.

  Max studied each of them before he said, “I don’t see how it can hurt.”

  “It does make sense,” Bhatti agreed. “They might have ideas for how to get into the city.”