Dark Secrets
Still Surviving Book 5
Boyd Craven
Copyright © 2019 Boyd Craven III
Dark Secrets, Still Surviving Book 5
By Boyd Craven
Many thanks to friends and family for keeping me writing!
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
About the Author
Prologue
Paranoia had been sweeping through the homestead. Spider knew things only the inner circle of our group knew. We’d already caught one traitor, but there were more. Spider had even said as much, that it was somebody in my inner circle, on top of one or two others. Had they been the ones to set the thermite charges that had almost burned down the barn?
Were they the ones who’d been ‘snatched’ by Spider’s men when the attack happened? I was in-between two schools of thought: that we’d had people planted with us during the slave revolt and escape, and that they were the ones who’d started the fire, then faded into the night and killed the lookouts on the way. That way it made it look like a covert ops team had got in close, set the fire, kidnapped our people and took out our lookouts. On the other side of it, maybe it really had been a covert ops group.
Me and many of our defenders were not police or military. We were just good old country boys who knew how to hunt, fish, and worship God and Jesus on our own terms and in our own ways. The more and more I thought of religion, the more I realized how much I’d been missing out in life. Since her mother left, Mary had been asking me to read the Bible to her. The wording of the King James version made her giggle sometimes, but it made me slow down and think about what I was reading and saying.
Spider had once asked me about Psalm 145. I hadn’t thought of looking it up until Mary had asked me to read to her from the Bible. I had flipped to that first, and found what I thought he was talking about.
4 One generation shall praise thy works to another and shall declare thy mighty acts.
5 I will speak of the glorious honor of thy majesty, and of thy wondrous works.
6 And men shall speak of the might of thy terrible acts: and I will declare thy greatness.
7 They shall abundantly utter the memory of thy great goodness, and shall sing of thy righteousness.
8 The Lord is gracious, and full of compassion; slow to anger, and of great mercy.
9 The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works.
10 All thy works shall praise thee, O Lord; and thy saints shall bless thee.
11 They shall speak of the glory of thy kingdom, and talk of thy power;
12 To make known to the sons of men his mighty acts, and the glorious majesty of his kingdom.
It was a perversion of the word to think of himself as a God. I recalled him around the fire at the Crater of Diamonds, seemingly preaching to a group of people before I’d started my attack. He was smart, wicked smart. He was a soldier who led a private army that seemed to grow day by day. He had his own ideas about what he was doing and how he’d be seen by future generations. If he wasn’t such an evil bastard, he’d be the stereotypical super villain out to take over the world. Or, in this case, a good chunk of Arkansas.
1
I woke up entangled, arms and legs, with Jess. We’d been up late consoling Mary for the previous two days. Last night, though, she’d fallen asleep on the couch with Raider, and we’d had a chance to go to bed somewhat earlier. Sleep we had not done, though. We’d blown off the building tension that seemed to be affecting everyone as best as a couple could do.
There was a scratch at the door and a whine. I untangled myself from Jess and pulled on my clothes quickly before tucking my pillow in the spot I had been in and pulled the blanket over Jessica. When I cracked the door, Raider was sitting there, his tail making swishing noises on the floor.
“Good boy, you want to go outside?” I asked him.
He chuffed quietly and got up and followed me as I went down the short hallway and into the living room and kitchen/dining area. Mary was still asleep on the couch, only the top of her head visible. I could hear soft snores coming from her direction. I cracked the door and Raider took off like a shot towards the chickens. Foghorn let out a surprised squawk, cutting off his morning crowing. I watched as my pup barked happily, scattering chickens, not chasing them, but running for the joy of running.
Two other canine forms loped from the cracked rolling door of the barn and started after him as well. Yaeger and Diesel had slept with Linda last night, or in the barn. Since Raider was always with me and Mary, we’d been trading which dogs came in and which ones stayed in the barn with the others. For many of the kids in our group, the dogs represented something they could hold onto from their old life, something normal. It also didn’t hurt that both were on the razor’s edge of training. They would die protecting their packs, just like Raider had nearly done protecting and working with me.
“Morning, Wes,” Sheriff Jackson said from the chair to my left; Grandpa’s spot, I noted.
“Morning, Sheriff,” I said. “It’s gotten colder.”
“Fall weather.” Sheriff nodded. “Might even get snow in a month or two.”
I shuddered at that. “What do you think we should do about the folks in the barn?” I asked him simply.
“Unless you pushed out the walls of the house, I don’t see that you could do anything. I reckon if we put some plastic and insulated bubble foil stuff on the inside walls and ceiling and get a pot-bellied stove of sorts working in there, we can make do easy enough.”
“You think that’s enough?” I asked him.
“Most of us would be out in the cold, or in the cities where the government is holding folks.”
“Or stuck with Spider,” I said softly.
“Or that. It’s not the prettiest of situations, but it’s the best one we’ve got right now. Salad crops have been coming in good, and your grandma’s medical garden might be ready soon…”
“You’ve been checking on it?” I asked him, an eyebrow raised.
“Let’s just say I wasn’t always a lawman.” The sheriff grinned, tilting his hat my way.
I chuckled and watched the dogs chase each other. Yaeger had found a long stick and was running, both Diesel and Raider chasing after him in a canine version of keep away. Diesel and Raider were both still slow from their injuries, even though both were mostly healed. Some of the kids were up already, and sitting around the never ending cookfire, with one of the mothers stirring the big cauldron. As far as meat went, we were in good shape, having gotten two pigs in the past week and a half, if I had my timing right.
“You think maybe we should get ahold of somebody in the government and let them know about Spider and his folk?”
“We’ve tried. There could be a few reasons why: either our communications aren’t getting through, or nobody’s listening,” Sheriff said quietly.
“How could they not get through?” I asked him.
“We’re in a relatively small area. It could be our antenna and signal aren’t powerful enough, and it wouldn’t take much for Spider and his men to jam our signal down here. If he really was working with FEMA and Homeland Security boys for a time before the bottle went up, he probably knows how they’ll respond to this area, and how to stop us from communicating with them.”
“You think the government is working with him?” I asked, speaking aloud the question that had been haunting me.
“No,” he said simply. “Most good decent people wouldn’t allow that to stand, unless they had a gun to their head. Law Enforcement and the military boys and girls take an oath. One that never expires. Spider? He falls under the domestic enemies portion of that oath.”
“How could we get through to them?” I asked him simply.
“Probably by getting closer to the government forces and out of the range of the jamming equipment, if that’s what they’re doing,” the sheriff said, bringing a tin mug to his mouth and drinking what smelled like coffee.
The door opened a crack, and Grandma appeared. “You boys want some coffee and eggs?”
Sheriff looked at me, an eyebrow raised, and I gave him a smile and a nod.
“Sure thing, Mrs. Flagg.”
“Good, Wes, be a good boy and go get me some eggs, and if your fool dogs hurt my baby, I’m going to blister your ass and peel the skin back with hot tarpaper!”
“I … ok,” I said, trying not to grin, then whistled for Raider.
He broke off from the chase, but my whistle got the attention of the other two who ran to the porch and sat at the bottom of the steps, looking up at me.
“Go get Foghorn,” I commanded and pointed to the fence pole Foghorn was perched on top of.
“Westley!” Grandma thundered.
I ducked and ran off the porch, cackling like a fool.
2
Mary woke up to the sound of Grandma cracking eggs and the sizzling of some pork belly that we were using in place of bacon. It was smoked, but not cured. It tasted amazing after time spent with no bacon. Why hadn’t I stored some of that canned bacon? Price? I should have, but was glad that Marshall and the boys were taking over the trapping portion of our food production. As long as game was around, we had a chance, but didn’t know if that sounder was from around here or moving through, pasture to pasture.
“Uncle Wes…”
I looked up to see Mary had pushed the blankets off and padded over on bare feet, silent as a ghost. “Yes, Miss Mary?”
That made her grin. “I had a dream about my mommy.”
I patted the chair and had her climb up next to me. Sheriff took a drink of his coffee while Grandma fussed over the food, but she shot the little girl a look, then looked at me questioningly. I didn’t know, so I shrugged. “What was it about?” I asked her quietly.
“That she went hunting for the bad men, and the bad men caught her.” Mary’s voice was quiet.
“Your mom would never get caught by the bad men; she’s too ornery,” Sheriff Jackson said, trying to help.
“They caught us once already,” Mary shot back.
Sheriff Jackson winced, forgetting that portion, and nodded. “You’ve both gotten tougher, kid.” It was all he could say to make things right.
“Sometimes,” Grandma said, stirring the eggs in the big cast iron skillet with a wooden spatula, “dreams are what we’re afraid might happen. Doesn’t always mean it will happen.”
“Really?” Mary asked hopefully.
“Really.”
“What happened in the dream after your mom was caught?” I asked her.
“She killed the main bad guy, and then I woke up. I don’t know what happened to her.” Her words were quiet.
“You ever hear us grown-ups say, “It’s just a dream?””
“Yes?”
“It’s just a dream. We don’t know where your momma went, and she asked us to give her time so she could get better.”
“I hope she’s gone after her medicines,” Mary said quietly.
“What do you mean?” Sheriff Jackson said.
“She has a bag of medicines she used to take. Daddy always called them her funny pills. When the bad guys took us, she didn’t have them anymore.”
I thought about that. Funny pills? Emily had always struck me as slightly unhinged. Had she been on psych medications? If she hadn’t, she probably should have been. My healing arms were a testament to that; she’d scratched the hell out of me when I’d pinned her in place until her fit of rage had subsided.
“Did she have … mental health issues?” I asked her, knowing the little girl might not know what I was talking about or…
“Did she take medicine to feel better?” Grandma asked her, almost apologetically.
“She sometimes called them her happy pills, but Daddy called them funny pills. Said she took them so she wasn’t sad or angry all the time.”
“You know, Wes,” Grandma interrupted, “your mother used to take those back in the day.”
Sheriff Jackson grunted and looked over at Grandma. “You don’t say?”
“Oh, William,” she said using his first name, “you darn well know it. Remember the time she tried to run you off, and your dad had locked her up until Bud could come bail her out?”
“Yes, ma’am. Liz was a spitfire, that’s for sure,” he said with a look on his face, a smile on his lips.
“Did you and my mom ever date?” I asked him suddenly.
The sheriff looked at me, startled. “No, no, we never—”
“Not for a lack of trying on his part!” Grandma said, pointing the wooden spatula his way and cackling.
Mary grinned at the old cop’s discomfort. My mom would have been younger than Sheriff Jackson, but not by a whole lot. She’d be a little older than Linda Carpenter., and the sheriff was probably five or six years older than that. Watching the lawman turn red was funny, and when Mary giggled, we all had a quiet laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Jess asked, padding out of the hallway, wearing a pair of sweatpants and one of my cotton flannel shirts, pulling the mass of tangles out of her hair.
“Mister Sheriff Jackson wanted to ask Wes’ mom out on a date.”
“I didn’t want to ask her out—I did ask her out,” he said, still red faced but grinning. “Turns out, she shot me down. I was gonna be a lawman, and she was worried about me having to choose and decide whether or not her shenanigans were worth it.”
“Oh, she didn’t mind you so much, but she was trying to keep the family business under wraps. Cops don’t make good family members when running shine.”
“Or growing an illicit garden patch?” he asked her.
She turned, opened her mouth, closed it, then went back to the eggs. “I remember when you were a kid. What happened after you and the Samson twins were caught behind the milking barn? What was it you were smoking again?”
“I think I need to go refill my coffee mug. I’ll be back,” Sheriff Jackson said as Jessica and I chuckled.
Grandma had a long memory and probably knew all the gossip from the last forty years like the back of her hand. Sheriff Jackson? Twins? Holy cow. I knew the sheriff was a pretty solid dude… but he got twin sisters partying with him? Braver man than me. I was still struggling to figure out the love of my life. No way I’d want to have two… then almost chuckled to myself, because a lot of the homestead had assumed I did have two girlfriends, while Emily had been here still.
“You make coffee yet?” Jessica asked, taking Sheriff Jackson’s spot.
“No, ma’am, I woke up early and got the dogs out and running, then got eggs. I’ve got the percolator going,” I told Grandma.
“Then you can use that frenchie thing if you want,” she snapped back.
“French press, and it makes sure there are no coffee grounds… you can actually brew right in it—”
“Frenchy press … no coffee grounds in your coffee. Bah.
”
“Is Grandma angry this morning?” Mary asked me quietly.
“No, she just likes to grumble,” I answered her, hoping I wouldn’t be overheard.
“Just like Wes and I pick on each other,” Jess whispered.
“Oh.” Mary looked confused.
“Linda, Michael, what would it take to jam our signals from getting out?” I asked.
“A jammer,” Linda replied. “The Keggers have been using them off and on since they’ve taken over the area. It hasn’t really affected our short-range stuff because it’s line of sight, and they don’t have anything too awful close to us, but we can’t reach out as far as we should be able to.”
“What do they look like?” I asked.
“You’re wanting to take them out?” Linda asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Possibly. I mean, can they selective jam, or does it work—?”
“What you’re looking for are the antennas,” Jay said, coming up.
“How hard are those to find?” I asked.
“I’ve got some ideas,” Michael said, “but I’m new to this and learning, so I can catch up fast.”
“I know how to operate the equipment,” Linda said. “But I wasn’t much on theory.”
“Same,” Jessica agreed.
The kids started laughing about twenty feet away as Marshall read something funny to them. We all turned to look, a smile on our faces. We’d done this. We’d given them a safe space. Sometimes, it had to be enough.
“Why?” Linda asked me simply.
“Mom, what would the government do if they knew what was going on?” Jessica asked.
Still Surviving (Book 5): Dark Secrets: Page 1
