by James Hunt
Then Katie’s eyes landed on the crucifix hanging high on the wall in the kitchen. It was an old piece, but kept in good condition. The polish of the metal shined and reflected the candlelight.
“That’s beautiful,” Katie said, pointing to the crucifix.
“That’s been in my family for five generations,” Beth answered. “It’s always been passed down to the eldest daughter in the family.”
“Do you have any daughters?” Katie asked.
“No, just Billy and Joey.”
“I’m sure it’ll be hard giving it away to one of their wives once they’re married.”
“No, I won’t be giving it to their wives.”
“Why?”
“That crucifix doesn’t just represent the blood of Christ, it has the blood of my family. It’s been with us through wars, droughts, depressions, and no matter what has come our way we’ve always survived. My family has always found a way. It’s never easy pushing through hell, but we did it, and we’ll keep doing it. Some woman from the outside wouldn’t understand that. They wouldn’t appreciate what that pain means.”
Beth pulled the flask back out and took another swig. Katie thought it was an odd statement to make, but agreed that the pain you went through to push forward couldn’t truly be appreciated unless experienced firsthand.
There was an exultation that came from conquering that pain, but when Beth spoke, her tone had no hope, no redemption. It was as if the pain was there not to make you stronger, but make you callous.
“I’ll run and grab you ladies some sheets. I’m sure the boys will be back soon. It’s been a long day,” Beth said.
Beth pushed her chair back, and it squeaked along the wooden floor boards. Anne reached for her arm before she left, and Beth whipped around to her.
“Thank you for helping us,” Anne said.
When Beth was sure she was out of sight from the kitchen she leaned up against the wall. In the dark hallway she felt the guilt wrestling in her conscious. She knew what she had to do, but the conflict raging inside her intensified.
She pounded her fist into the cushioned back of the chair next to her. She punched it over and over again. Each hit, submitting to her guilt.
She brushed the loose strands of her hair out of her face and regained her composure. She walked to the end of the hall and pulled open a closet. The shelves were lined with blankets, pillows, and sewing supplies. She reached into the corner and pulled out a shotgun.
Beth made sure the gun was loaded, then tucked the shotgun under the crook of her arm and walked back to the kitchen.
***
Ken didn’t say anything on the way up to the cabin. The only noise the two of them created was the creak of the cart’s wheels as they hauled it through the forest.
Nelson kept touching the side of his pant leg, feeling the outline of the pistol. He wasn’t sure why Anne had given it to him. Was she worried about what Ken might do? Could he be trusted?
He shook the notion out of his mind. Of course he could trust Ken. Mike wouldn’t have cooperated with him if he didn’t believe it. He was overthinking. His imagination was getting the better of him.
Nelson hadn’t done much exploring since he’d been at the cabin, but the times he did go for a walk he couldn’t help but see the beauty around him. Aside from the circumstances that brought him here, he felt like he could be on vacation.
The forest was different at night. During the day he could see all of the details, the small nests in the trees, the bushels of fresh berries, the squirrels and birds traveling from branch to branch. Everything was so green, lush, and full of life.
The walk during the night was cooler though. There was a crisp lightness in the air. But in the darkness Nelson couldn’t see the green leaves or the bushes bearing fruit. Everything was lumped together in shadows.
Nelson felt the cart jerk to a stop, and he stumbled forward a bit. He hadn’t realized they were already at the cabin.
“C’mon,” Ken said.
Nelson made sure to let Ray know who it was before he approached the door. He didn’t want to get a belly full of lead.
“Ray?” Nelson asked, walking through the front door.
“You alone?” Ray asked.
“No, Ken’s with me. We’re here to grab you.”
Ken pushed his way inside. Ray sat in the dark corner of the living room, aiming the rifle at the two of them.
“We load the ammo first, then we grab him,” Ken instructed.
Ken didn’t wait for permission, or for Nelson, as he made his way to the basement door. Between Nelson and Ken, it only took them twenty minutes to load all of the ammunition into the cart, but Ken insisted on gathering as much of the other supplies as they could.
Boxes and cases of different caliber rounds weighed the cart down. Nelson couldn’t believe how much Mike was able to stockpile. It was enough bullets to supply a small army. The rest of the space in the cart was occupied by first aid kits, a few tools, and food rations.
“That’s the last of it,” Nelson said.
Ken followed Nelson back inside. When Nelson grabbed the rifle from Ray and threw his arm around his shoulders to steady him, Ken aimed his rifle at the two of them.
“What are you doing?” Nelson asked.
“Slide the rifle over to me,” Ken said.
“You son of a bitch,” Ray said.
“No hard feelings, boys, but I couldn’t just let all of these supplies go to waste, not after the bikers finish off the rest of your group.”
“We don’t even know if they’re dead or not. They could still be alive,” Nelson said.
“The gang wiped out the whole town. They killed everyone. Your people walked into a meat grinder. They’re not coming back,” Ken said.
“What about your deal with Mike?” Nelson asked.
“I was going to kill him tomorrow, but it looks like the bikers saved me some trouble.”
“You can’t do this.”
“I can.”
If Ken was going to kill them, then what would happen to Nelson’s family? He just got his wife back, and now he was going to lose her. His son would probably suffer the same fate as him.
He couldn’t let that happen, not after everything they’d been through, not after they were finally together again.
“Well, get it over with then,” Ray said.
Nelson looked down. The rifle rested at his feet. The butt of the gun faced him and was slightly elevated off the ground. By the time Ken realized what Nelson was thinking, it was too late.
Nelson kicked the rifle up and sent it flying toward Ken, who dodged out of the way and fired in their direction, hitting Ray in the shoulder. Nelson pushed both of them to the floor and reached for the revolver in his pocket.
When Ken got up, Nelson fired a few rounds, missing Ken completely, but it caused Ken to retreat down the hall, looking for cover. It gave Nelson and Ray enough time to crawl and drag their way through the kitchen.
If Nelson could get to the back door and make it in the woods, then they might have a chance. Nelson gave Ray the pistol.
“I’ll pull, you shoot,” Nelson said.
Nelson grabbed Ray by his shoulders and pulled him through the dirt toward the trees. Ken appeared in the doorway, and Ray squeezed a few rounds off.
The kitchen window’s glass shattered, and Ken shoved his rifle through the opening, firing shots in their direction.
Nelson gave one last heave and pulled both he and Ray behind a tree, shielding themselves from the barrage of bullets splintering the oak’s trunk.
Ray kept reaching for his leg, wincing. When Nelson tried to adjust the splint, Ray screamed and smacked his hand away.
“Sorry,” Nelson said.
Ray’s breath was labored. Nelson didn’t know what to do. There was no way he could drag Ray through the woods, not in the condition he was in.
“Just go,” Ray said.
“What?”
“I’ll hold him off as long as I can.”
“Ray, I’m not going to leave you here.”
“If you don’t go and warn Mike, then his family’s going to die, if they haven’t killed them already.”
Ray pushed Nelson backward, pointing for him to run. Another spray of bullets peppered the tree behind them.
“You’re not being a coward for leaving me here, Nelson. This is my choice. Now, go,” Ray said.
Nelson grabbed Ray’s hand and squeezed tight.
“Good luck,” Nelson said.
“You, too.”
Ray gave Nelson some cover fire as he disappeared deeper into the woods then checked the revolver, seeing how many bullets he had left.
Two.
He knew his fate the moment he chose to stay behind. Ken had an unlimited supply of ammo within an arm’s reach, and Ray couldn’t hobble more than a few feet without crashing to the ground. He was a sitting duck.
“Hey!” Ray shouted.
The firing ceased. Ray pushed himself off the ground with his good leg, using the tree trunk to help give him leverage. His leg felt like it was going to explode.
“You go back on your deals that quick?” Ray asked.
Gunfire blasted the tree again. Ray ducked, trying to shield himself from the ricochet.
“Guess so,” Ray mumbled.
After a moment, everything was silent. Ray aimed the pistol at the cabin, switching targets between the door and the kitchen window, but he couldn’t see Ken.
“Drop it,” Ken said.
Ray froze. The pistol hit the ground and he put his hands in the air.
“Where’d he go?” Ken asked.
Ray said nothing. He wouldn’t let his last breaths in life betray the people who helped him.
“You think I’m a bad man, don’t you?” Ken asked.
“I think you’re a coward.”
Ken laughed.
“You people. In all of your self-righteous bullshit you think that the act of sacrifice is so noble, that we should all elevate ourselves to your level. Well, this is what you get for your noble deeds.”
The barrel of the gun pressed firmly against Ray’s forehead. It was hot, burning a circle into his skin. Ray didn’t move; whatever pain Ken would put him through he wasn’t going to give him any satisfaction of showing that he was hurting.
“Surviving without a soul isn’t living,” Ray said.
“Neither is having a bullet in your brain.”
Ken squeezed the trigger, and Ray’s body hit the ground.
Night of Day 13 (the Town)
Mike wheezed; the pain in his side was sharp. He stood above his father’s body. There were bits of bone and splashes of blood strewn around Ulysses’s head where the bullet entered and left.
The gun Ulysses used on himself lay by his side. His eyes were still open, staring up into the night sky.
Nothing seemed real at that moment. This town Mike was in couldn’t exist. That wasn’t his father dead on the ground. This wasn’t his broken body he was trapped in. That wasn’t his daughter who was almost beaten to death. This wasn’t his life.
“Mike?” Sam asked.
The graveyard where his mother was buried had an empty spot right next to her. That’s where his father should be right now. He wanted to take him home, away from this hell he died in.
“Mike, we need to get you checked out. Your daughter’s over at the pharmacy,” Sam said.
“What?”
“Your daughter.”
“Right.”
He couldn’t dwell on the pain he was feeling now. His daughter was still alive. He still had a family to protect. He still had a job to do.
The town felt quiet after the gunfight. There wasn’t any motion in the town now. At one point in time this place was filled with people enjoying their lives, people with a purpose.
When the biker gang came through, all of that was replaced with fear and death. Now that the bikers were gone, the town was filled with neither fear nor purpose. It was just there, a shell of what it used to be, frozen in time.
Mike’s Jeep was still flipped on its side. On the sidewalk next to it Jung rocked Jenna back and forth in his arms. Mike could see the pain on his face, and when he thought to himself that whatever pain Jung received was justified, he felt no guilt.
Most of the pharmacy was barren. The bikers had come through like locusts, pillaging the stores, stealing supplies, destroying what they wanted.
Kalen sifted through the bottles and supplies thrown on the ground. When Mike walked in, she turned around.
The only thing worse than seeing his daughter beaten and bloody was the knowledge of what she had seen. He knew the bruises would fade, the bones would mend, and the wounds would close, but the violence she’d been exposed to, witnessing evil in its most terrible forms and letting it become a part of you… that was a scar that would leave its mark for a very, very long time.
Mike picked up a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a bag of cotton balls. He led Kalen over to the counter. She hopped on top of it. Mike dumped some of the peroxide onto the cotton ball.
Kalen winced when the peroxide made contact. Mike ran the cotton ball gently along the cuts on her face.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Kalen said.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. Grandpa’s dead, you’re hurt, everyone is hurt. I shouldn’t have come here. It was stupid.”
Mike knew whatever words left his mouth now would have a deciding factor in the type of life his daughter would have moving forward. He knew the guilt she was feeling. It was a guilt that could consume her life, send her into a spiral that she wouldn’t be able to come out of.
“You came here because of what these people did. You stood up to those who tried to hurt you and the people you care about,” Mike said.
“Your dad’s right,” Mary said.
Mike hadn’t seen her when he entered. He couldn’t make out the features on her face, but the tone of her voice made her sound older than she was.
“Whatever we lost today, we gained more by not having that gang here anymore. All of them deserved to die,” Mary said.
“When someone pushes you to the brink of killing, when it comes down to your survival or the survival of your family, then you do what you have to do,” Mike said. “No repentance.”
Kalen nodded and leaned into his chest. He hoped the words reached her. It would take time, he knew that, for her to accept it, but he wanted it to be sooner rather than later.
Sam helped patch them up as best he could. Most of the injuries would heal over time. When Sam checked Mike out he agreed that one of the ribs punctured a lung, but only time would tell how bad it really was.
Jung was still on the sidewalk, his children on either side of him. His kids were crying, but he wasn’t.
Mike wanted to hurt him, even more than the pain he was going through right now. All of those talks Mike had with Jung about trusting people, about having faith, were all erased by what he did.
Ulysses always taught Mike that he needed to have something to stand for; he needed a line in the sand. Every man did. That value was your guiding path, and no matter what, you never went back on it.
And that was exactly what Jung did. The line in the sand he so proudly towed, all of it was a lie.
“Mike,” Jung said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Mike said nothing. He simply turned his back and started the long walk back to the cabin.
“You’re just going to leave them here?” Sam asked.
“Yes.”
“What about the kids?”
Mike knew what type of fate he would be leaving them to, but that was his line in the sand. He wouldn’t sacrifice the safety of his family for the well-being of others.
“It’s a father’s job to protect his children. That’s his responsibility. Not mine,” Mike said.
Before Mike left, he wanted to bury Ulysses. He grabbed some shovels from the hardware store and picked a spot on the edge of town by the tal
l grass. Sam helped him dig the grave, and once they were six feet down, he wrapped his father’s body in a tarp and carried him to the spot. This was as close to a funeral as there was going to be.
“My father was a good man. He loved his family, his work, and the Pittsburgh Pirates,” Mike said.
Everyone gave a slight smile.
“He was a man who always stood up for what he believed in, no matter the cost. He couldn’t be bribed, threatened, or beaten into anything he didn’t want to do. In his last moments on Earth, he held true to that belief that he was in control of everything he did. He had a choice, and he made the choice to keep his family safe,” Mike said.
