Broken Lines Omnibus: A Tale of Survival in a Powerless World

by James Hunt

  Jung tossed Nelson some zip ties.

  “Tie Ray up, then Fay.”

  Nelson tied Ray’s hands and legs together then fastened Fay to the solid oak table. Once they were secure, Jung tossed one of the zip ties to Anne.

  “Now, tie Nelson up,” Jung said.

  Anne looped the zip tie around Nelson’s wrists, then another one at his ankles.

  “Good. Now, where are the keys?” Jung asked.

  “They’re in my room,” Anne said.

  “Katie’s still in there,” Nelson said.

  “As long as I get the keys, then nobody gets hurt. I just want to get my family out of here. That’s all.”

  Jung walked behind Anne, staying close enough to where he could easily shoot her, but far enough away to make sure she didn’t try anything stupid.

  Katie got out of the bed when Anne entered, but when she saw Jung follow her in with the pistol in his hand she sat back down.

  “Don’t move,” Jung said.

  Anne opened one of the drawers to the dresser and pulled the keys out.

  “Now, you two, help me get Jenna into the Jeep.”

  The two women carried Jenna from her bed down the hallway. Jung gathered his kids and led them down the hallway, making sure they kept their eyes closed as he guided them.

  Anne and Katie propped Jenna up in the passenger seat of the car. They strapped her in and closed the door. Jung put Claire and Jung Jr. in the backseat.

  He marched the two women back into the house. He had Anne zip-tie Katie, then Jung tied Anne’s hands up.

  “Jung, listen to me. You don’t know what you’re doing,” Anne said.

  “I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m doing what your husband taught me to do. Keep my family safe.”

  “Not like this, Jung. You’re making a mistake.”

  Jung turned to leave, but before he made it to the door, he stopped, turning back to the people behind him.

  All of them were restrained. These people helped him. Each of their faces looked betrayed.

  “I’m sorry,” Jung said.

  “Coward,” Ray replied.

  Jung looked at the pistol in his hand. It was shaking. He placed it on the windowsill next to the front door before he left.

  When he got in the Jeep, he cranked the engine to life and told his kids they could open their eyes.

  “Where are we going, Daddy?” Jung Jr. asked.

  “To get Mommy some help.”

  Day 13 (the Farm)

  Ken stashed the bullets in one of the kitchen cabinets. Beth was getting lunch ready and yelled for the boys to come inside.

  Billy and Joey came running in from the front yard, chasing after one another and laughing.

  “Enough, you two. Sit down,” Beth said.

  The two boys pulled their chairs out from the kitchen table and sat down. Ken sat at the head of the table while Beth set their plates down.

  “What’d those people say?” Beth asked.

  The soup dribbled down Ken’s chin as he slurped it up. He spoke with his mouth still half-full.

  “They want food,” Ken answered.

  Ken continued to shovel the food into his mouth as he spoke. Joey mimicked his father, taking down big gulps. Billy didn’t eat.

  “They have enough ammo stashed in that cabin to last for years,” Ken said.

  “So they made good on the deal?” Billy asked.

  “Yeah,” Ken replied.

  “I think they’re good people,” Billy said.

  Ken laughed as he brought the bowl to his mouth and downed the last of the soup. When he was done he slammed it on the table.

  “They’re naïve,” Ken said.

  “You think we can take them?” Beth asked.

  Ken shook his head, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

  “No, there’re too many of them right now. The only way we’re going to beat them is to pick them off one at a time. We can use the bikers in town to our advantage. When I take Mike out tomorrow for the hunt I’ll take care of him, then blame the gang. I’ll say they came after us,” Ken said.

  “You can’t do that,” Billy said.

  Ken cocked his head to the side. His son had never spoken to him in that tone before, never questioned him.

  “I’ll do whatever I want, boy,” Ken said.

  “You can’t just go back on your deal like that. It’s not right. They’re good people. They could have killed me when I shot that guy’s wife, but they didn’t. They brought me back here. They kept me alive.”

  “And what do you think I’m doing? You don’t think I’m keeping you alive?”

  Ken rose from the table. He walked over to his son. He glanced down in his soup bowl, still half-full. Billy recoiled into his chair, with his father towering over him.

  “Or maybe you think you’d be better off on your own? Getting your own food, protecting yourself, living out in the woods with no bed, no water, nothing. You think people just get things? That they just happen? No, if you want something in this world, you have to take it. And you have to be strong enough to be able to make sure nobody takes it from you once you have it. If you don’t, then you die. End of story.”

  “Dad, they’re not trying to hurt us. They’re trying to help.”

  Ken looked back at his wife.

  “You see the crap that preacher filled his head with? You see what it’s doing now? It’s made him weak.”

  “I’m not weak,” Billy said.

  Ken slapped his son across the face, sending him out of his chair and onto the floor. Billy crawled away from his father advancing on him.

  “You are weak because you trust people. You can’t trust anybody, you understand? If you do, they’ll take advantage of you. That’s how the world works, boy. Even your God knows it. That’s how he controls you. That’s how he makes sure you stay weak.”

  Ken raised his hand again, and Billy braced himself for another blow. Ken didn’t hit him. He smiled.

  “Hard to believe you’re any son of mine. Finish your lunch. You’ve got work to do.”

  ***

  Joey helped Billy pull the cart through the pasture. They’d walk for a while then dump some of the hay in a pile for the cows and horses to circle around.

  “Why’d you have to go and make Dad so mad earlier?” Joey asked.

  Joey was five years younger than Billy. He’d always looked up to their father in a way that Billy never did. There was always a disconnect between Billy and his dad. Billy was afraid of him. Joey wasn’t.

  “It’s not something I do on purpose, Joe,” Billy said.

  “He gets angry at you a lot.”

  “I know.”

  Both Billy and Joey were homeschooled. The town had a school, but it was small. Their mother made the decision to keep the boys out of public school. It allowed her to teach what she wanted them to learn, and it opened up more time for the boys to help with the farm work.

  “You think Dad will let me go hunting with him tomorrow?” Joey asked.

  “Probably not. There’s too much work to do around here.”

  Billy tossed the last of the hay into the pile and then set the cart down for a break. Joey hopped up into the back of the empty cart, and Billy handed him some of the water he had.

  “I could do it,” Joey said.

  “Do what?”

  “I could kill them.”

  “What?”

  “Those people at the cabin. If I needed to, I could do it. To keep us safe.”

  Billy grabbed the water from Joey’s hand. He placed the other on his younger brother’s shoulder. He knew his brother always wanted to please their father and that the two of them shared a similar frame of mind, but he refused to believe that his brother was the same man as their father.

  “Joey, you don’t mean that.”

  “I do. I could do it. It’s like Dad said—you can’t be weak. And I’m not weak.”

  “There’s a difference between being weak and doing the ri
ght thing.”

  Joey shoved Billy’s hands off him and jumped off the edge of the cart.

  “Dad’s right. You are weak. You’re not strong enough to do what needs to be done.”

  Joey started walking back to the barn. Billy tried calling out to him, but Joey ignored him.

  Maybe Joey and his father were right. Maybe he didn’t have what it took to keep his family safe. But what did that mean? Did that mean he would have to change who he was? What he believed in?

  Whatever Billy did now he would have to live with for the rest of his life, and he wasn’t sure if living in what the world was now was even worth it.

  ***

  Ken spread the parts of the rifle along his workbench. He ran the cleaning rags along the creases of the inner workings of the gun.

  It was completely torn apart. Ken oiled the firing pin around the edges of the barrel and placed little drops along any surface where metal grinded together.

  He’d had that rifle for more than ten years. It brought down more deer, boar, and turkeys than any other gun he’d ever owned. That rifle was his prized possession.

  It wasn’t because the rifle was expensive. He purchased it for five hundred dollars. He made a few modifications on it, upgrading to a better scope, switching out the stock for one that fit against his shoulder better, but the dollar amount wasn’t what made the gun so special to him.

  When Ken was out hunting, tracking game, he felt alive. Out of all the things he’d ever done in his life, hunting was what he loved. There wasn’t anything else like it.

  He never understood how people could just sit behind a desk or push paper for a living. He couldn’t grasp the concept of working at a bank or a store. He had to be outside. He had to be in the woods. He had to hunt.

  The first time he went was when he was nine. He remembered his father getting him his first rifle. It was just a little .22-caliber, but when his hands felt the wood and steel and the power it gave him, he was never the same.

  The moment he had his hands on the gun he was out the door and running for the woods. He had to try it out, see how it felt to finally go shooting.

  Ken had been hunting with his father before but was never allowed to actually shoot anything. His father told him he had to earn that right. Once he did, he would be given his own gun.

  He learned everything he could in those lessons with his father. He watched how he walked through the forest, the way he carried his gun, his alertness, and the way he noticed even the smallest detail.

  As much as Ken hated his father, he did give the old man one piece of credit. He wouldn’t have become the hunter he was without him.

  Ken’s dad taught him how to track anything and everything. He always told Ken that any fool could aim a gun and shoot an animal, but it took a hunter to find them.

  Hunting wasn’t luck. It was a skill, one which Ken had been mastering for the last forty years.

  That first day when he was in the woods by himself, he ran across a pair of deer tracks. As soon as he saw them, his face lit up. He kept himself upwind, maneuvering through the forest, tracking the animal.

  It was almost an hour before he finally came across them. A mother and her baby were grazing between the trees. The fawn must have only been a few weeks old. Its legs wobbled underneath it.

  He knew the .22 wouldn’t be able to bring the mother down, but he knew he’d be able to take the fawn.

  Then he remembered what his father told him about the hunting laws, how you could only shoot a deer that was a certain size. He was conflicted. He knew what he wanted to do, but he also knew what he wanted was wrong.

  The fawn pranced around its mother aimlessly. Ken could feel the itch of the trigger, just waiting to be pulled. He wanted to do it. He wanted to show his father that he was just as good as he was. He wanted to prove that he could do it, that he was worthy.

  When he finally squeezed the trigger, the mother ran and the fawn collapsed to the ground.

  It took him nearly twice as long to get back to the farm, dragging the deer carcass with him. He left the deer outside by the gutting station and rushed inside to find his father.

  When Ken brought his dad outside, the look on his father’s face was one he never forgot. His father was disgusted. He snatched the rifle from Ken’s hands and told him that he wouldn’t get it back until he learned that hunting was a privilege, not a right, and that he had to learn and understand the laws and abide by them.

  The surge of pride he felt from killing the deer deflated out of him and was replaced with anger.

  His father taught him something very valuable that day. No matter what you do or how you do it, there is someone out there who can always take away the thing you want the most. And at that moment, he vowed to never let anyone take away the things he wanted ever again.

  ***

  With all of the chores done for the day, Billy came back into the house. His mother was in the kitchen, getting dinner ready.

  “Mom, have you seen Joe?” Billy asked.

  “I think he’s with your father.”

  Billy lingered in the kitchen. He wanted to speak with his mother, try and get some perspective on everything that was happening, but he knew she would always side with his father.

  “Mom,” Billy said.

  The knife sliced through the carrots, each time a thud hitting the cutting board in a melodic rhythm.

  “What?” Beth asked.

  “I think Dad’s wrong.”

  The chopping ceased. Beth wiped the blade clean on her apron and set it on the counter.

  “They haven’t done anything to us. Hurting them could hurt us in the long run,” Billy said.

  “Billy, your father made his decision. Now, drop it.”

  She went back to preparing dinner and dumped the carrots into a boiling pot of water.

  “And you agree with him?” Billy asked.

  Beth was a small woman, but when she was mad about something she looked larger than her size suggested

  “Listen to me. The decisions your father makes are to keep us alive. That’s what he does. You may not like it or agree with it, but it’s something that has to be done. All you have to do is have the backbone to go through with it, because if you don’t, then it could be your brother who dies. Is that what you want? To place other people above your own family?”

  “No… I… that’s not what I want, but there has to be a better way.”

  “What makes you think they won’t try and steal from us? You think they’re better than us? Is that it?”

  “Mom, no, that’s not what I’m saying.”

  “That’s because you don’t know what you’re talking about. Listen to me, Son, if you don’t wipe that idealistic bullshit from your mind, then the only thing that you’ll get in return is a bullet from somebody who knows how the world works. How it really works.”

  Billy didn’t have a rebuttal, no counterpunch. He was stuck in a world that he didn’t understand. Whatever he thought was bad before all of this happened wouldn’t hold a candle to what was going to happen moving forward.

  Night of Day 13 (the Town)

  The Jeep bounced back and forth as Jung maneuvered the dirt road. He was going faster than what was safe, but he didn’t care. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and the cabin as possible.

  The headlights on the Jeep illuminated the path through the winding trees. It was pitch black, with the trees blocking the light from the moon. The headlights were the only guidance that Jung had.

  Jenna’s head bobbed back and forth from the dips and curves of the road. Her whole body was limp.

  “Hang on, honey,” Jung said.

  When Jung finally saw the road ahead, his heart lightened. All he had to do now was follow the road, and the signs would take him to Cincinnati. He turned west onto the highway. He was going to make it. His wife was going to live.

  ***

  Mike could taste the metallic fluid filling his mouth. He spit the blood on the
ground and forced himself to stand up. The biker gang circled him. He could see his daughter, his father, and Mary tied up on the ground watching the beating.

  Frankie and Jake had taken turns with him. Whenever one got tired, he would tag his partner in to take his place.

  Mike landed a few blows in the beginning, but the arthritis in his hands was starting to get the better of him. He could barely form a fist, and each time he did, it felt like jagged glass digging into his joints.