Aftermath [Book 2]

by J. S. Donovan

  “I had no issue with them until they were starved and treated like slaves,” Naomi replied.

  Allen’s mask broke. He boiled. “I do what I need to do to keep this place running.”

  “Yet you can’t stop a thief from breaking in who knows how many times?” Naomi goated. “Security was your job, and you failed me, my daughter, and yourself.”

  Allen stomped toward her and glared down at her with an intense gaze.

  Naomi looked at her brother without a hint of fear. “We’ll go after this thief to keep up the show that we’re desperately needing these supplies. If the Ryans prove themselves to be useful allies, then we open the basement for all of us.”

  A vein bulged on Allen’s forehead. “Those are not your supplies to give.”

  “I can tell them right now if you like?” Naomi taunted.

  Allen frowned. “Why do you care so much about these people?”

  “Because they are human beings.” Naomi left the room. It was not until she was out of the room that she felt sick to her core. She hated talking to her brother like that. Knowing that they were living on a mountain of supplies should’ve been good news. Instead it was just another ticking time bomb.

  Anger caused her whole body to tremble. She went to the study and locked the door behind her. She slouched in the leather desk chair. She closed her eyes, hoping that her head would stop aching.

  A knock on the door woke her up. She sat up. Her stomach growled. Hunger formed hollow shapes in her belly.

  Fatigued, she opened the door, seeing Calvin dressed in his outdoor winter jacket. “Ready?”

  “For dinner?” Naomi asked.

  “To go out scouting,” Calvin replied.

  Naomi looked around the dark cabin. The old source of light was the hand-cranked lantern they’d saved from Philadelphia. “What time is it?”

  “Six a.m.,” Calvin said sympathetically. “You didn’t miss much. Dinner was soup like every night.”

  It would’ve been better than nothing, she thought to herself.

  She went to her room and slipped on her dark blue insulated jacket that smelled of smoke. It had good padding and formed to her figure nicely. She hadn’t bathed in a few days, and the sickness made her so skinny that she could see her hipbones when she stretched. She put snow pants on top of her long johns and hiking boots over two layers of socks. Slipping on black gloves, Naomi joined Calvin back in the hall. Together, they exited out the upstairs balcony. After hiking down the exterior stairs, they joined the others in the yard. Dean was in hunting gear, Conner had a black turtleneck, a heavy down jacket, and a big backpack, and Allen wore snow camo with his automatic rifle slung over his shoulder.

  Becca and Cathleen watched them leave from the window. As much as Naomi wanted to drive the Rover, it wouldn’t do them much good in tracking the woman.

  Allen led them through the woods a few miles to a clearing that was deep in the heart of the forest. Rays of morning sunlight breached the tree line. Naomi’s boots sunk into the muddy dirt with the occasional brushes of days-old snow.

  Allen breathed in the crisp winter air. “This is where we lost track of her.”

  Trees bordered them from all sides and extended far into the massive snow-capped mountains.

  Warming her hands in her pockets, Naomi told them to look for broken twigs, leaves that had been knocked loose off a bush, and disturbed dirt and snow. She coughed briefly. “The woman’s good at covering her tracks. Be on the lookout for places with extra leaves, too, as she might have used them to hide her footprints.”

  With a game plan in place, they began the long process of combing through the woods. Vertigo came in waves. Naomi went off by herself to dry heave and hack up warm spit. It was hard to tell if the concussion caused these side effects or if it was the mysterious illness that had killed Fergus.

  Calvin saw her return to the area of interest. The other members of their posse spread out throughout the woods like nomadic gatherers. Naomi squatted down next to a bush, noticing a broken twig. It could’ve been from a deer. Calvin slipped in next to her. He lowered himself and spoke with quiet concern. “You can stay back at the house if you want to.”

  “It’s not a matter of want,” Naomi glanced back at the Ryan brothers. She leaned in close to her husband and whispered. “They don’t trust you or Allen. I need to keep the peace.”

  Calvin looked at her understandingly. He kissed her on the forehead. “Tell me if you need anything, okay?”

  “I will,” Naomi smiled weakly.

  Calvin went back to his search.

  Naomi stifled a cough. Her head started pounding again. She shut her eyes for a moment before continuing her search.

  By midday, Naomi found a female’s footprint buried beneath leaves. Before revealing it to the others, she went off by herself to throw up. Feeling lightheaded, she rejoined the party.

  They followed the trail all day, making small talk to keep awake. Naomi and Allen kept on task more than the others, but once the others knew how to track, they were a big help. It was late in the day but before sunset when they reached the edge to a cliff and got to their bellies. From the forty-foot drop, they overlooked a vast scrapyard surrounded by thick trees. A chain-link fence enclosed a cluttered scrapyard. Sharp barbs sparkled on the three lines of razor wire topping the fence. At the middle of the scrap yard was a pill-shaped workshop with two sliding doors on the front and another man-sized door on the side. Muddy roads as wide as two trucks sank through mounds of junk cars and rusted metal, eventually ending at the clearing around the workshop and the small house next to it. A half-mile away, a lonely mansion with imposing white colonnades looked down upon the yard. Only its front was visible behind a forest of trees.

  On wet dirt and scooted elbow to elbow, Naomi and her party watched for movement.

  Conner looked to Allen. “You know this place?”

  Allen shook his head as he pulled out his binoculars.

  Dean spoke up. “We should go there, finish this, and get back home.”

  Calvin clicked his tongue. “That would be easy if we knew that she was down there.”

  “She is,” Dean said matter-of-factly. He pointed to the upstairs window of the small house.

  Naomi squinted, seeing the feminine-shaped silhouette changing clothes behind the window glass.

  Allen adjusted the focus of the balcony. “It’s a woman, all right.”

  Conner smiled lustily. “Give me a peek.”

  Allen didn’t surrender the binoculars.

  Suddenly, the front door to the house opened. Everyone’s attention turned to the man with combed back dirty blond hair. He wore a sheepskin bomber jacket with heavy blue jeans and high-laced work boots. He had a well-defined face with trimmed eyebrows and a thin blond beard. In no particular rush, he made his way to one of the two roll-up doors at the workshop and gave it a rhythmic knock. A moment later, the gate opened. Inside were multiple tables and bunks, where men and women sorted supplies on tables. Some tables had canned foods, some had water, and one had weapons: dozens of firearms of all different varieties, though there was nothing military grade.

  Calvin gawked. “They have their own militia.”

  Blond--the man who exited the house--approached the weapons table. He talked to one of the dozen or so men inside. The man chuckled and handed him a shotgun. The Blond rolled it in his hands, impressed by the weapon.

  Conner scowled. “That’s my gun. He has my gun.”

  The arms-manager, if you could call him that, tossed Blond a single shotgun slug. Feeding the ammunition into the weapon, Blond walked outside and looked at a row of birds on the power line. Smirking, he picked up a rock from nearby and tossed it at the birds. They took flight. He took aim.

  Boom!

  The scatter shot dropped three of the flock.

  Blond lowered the barrel, reared back his head to the arms-manager, and said something to make him laugh.

  Calvin pointed to the gate at the yard’s
entrance. A group of three men biked to the sliding chain link gate. Within the fence, two armed guards appeared from behind various crushed cars and greeted the visitors without opening the gate. Naomi wondered how many more people were hiding within the scrapyard.

  Naomi requested the binoculars from her brother. He reluctantly surrendered them.

  Naomi pressed them close to her eyes. Her heart quickened as she looked at three bicyclists. “Holy crap.”

  “What?” Conner asked.

  “These guys are from Madison,” Naomi said and handed off the binoculars to Conner.

  He mumbled a curse. “They tried to rob us.”

  Naomi set her eyes on the bicyclers. “No, we robbed them.”

  The gate opened and three guards were admitted. They reached Blond and got off their bikes. They greeted him with handshakes and hugs. Blond put a hand on Lance--the shifty man who held Naomi at gunpoint in Madison. He guided them into the workshop and toward a table with a map.

  Conner turned the binoculars on the table and described what he saw. “It appears to be map at a local area. There’s different locations marked.”

  Blond pointed to one of them and tapped his finger.

  Conner continued. “He’s pointing at an X. It’s…” His voice trailed for a moment. When it returned, there was fear in his tone. “The X is over our home.”

  The three men from Madison jammed their finger down on the map with passionate rage. Blond led them to the gun table and gestured for them to take their pick. He then signaled to a few of the people sorting supplies. They stopped their work and joined them. Blond made an introduction and as the men chose their weapons.

  “They’re putting together an assault team,” Allen said with cool calmness.

  Naomi’s gut twisted. “I think we know where they’re heading.”

  10

  The Bell’s Toll

  In sobering silence, they watched the colony down below. A million questions raced through Naomi’s mind. Who were these people? How many were there? How did they find Allen’s house? How were they able to get inside? And, most importantly, what were they planning?

  The woman who smacked Naomi a night and half ago joined Blond and the others. She was around five foot five inches and walked with the natural grace of a cat. She showed off some of Cathleen’s jewelry and revealed the upper lip of striped panties that belonged to Becca. Why she would wear such a thing was beyond Naomi’s comprehension. Needless to say, the woman had an arrogance that she carried with her. She was more than just a survivor who had forsaken her morals when order died; she was a predator. Laughing, she tucked some hair behind her ear. A few of the men from Madison looked her up and down, pleased with what they saw. The woman didn’t seem to mind. Naomi didn’t know why, but the name Sabrina came to mind when she looked at her. She thought it was a better name than Woman-Who-Pistol-Whipped-Her.

  Huddling around the map, they planned their assault. Dean suggested that they go down there. Everyone shot down his idea immediately. They weren’t just dealing with a lone the thief. They were dealing with a colony at least double their size.

  Naomi’s posse stayed on the cliffside long after nightfall. The Scrapers--the name they’d given the community--spent their evening around a bonfire. They ate the foods they’d taken from Allen’s basement, drank and shouted. Two of them got into a fistfight while the others laughed and cheered. Eventually Sabrina took the winning man and led him into the house. The cold weather didn’t seem to faze the partier. They continued into the late hours of the night, trying out different drugs and getting hands on with each other.

  Allen counted eighteen, but there might have been more inside of the workshop or house, so he made liberal estimate of twenty-three, nearly triple the amount of Naomi’s crew. It wasn’t until the wee hours in the morning that the Scrapers decided to crash for the night. They let the fire die. A handful moved into the house. The rest stepped into the warehouse and shut the roll-up door.

  In the quiet dark night, Naomi’s group decided to leave. Naomi shook Calvin awake. He wiped the drool from his lip and followed after the group. When they got half a football field away, they lit a torch. They got back to the house at daybreak.

  They decided it would be smart to post a guard. Allen volunteered. Conner wanted to take the next shift, but Naomi said it would be wiser to use Cathleen. It would be better if someone who was well rested keep a look out. Naomi suggested the same to her brother, but he was too stubborn to listen. By the time Naomi and Calvin got to sleep, Trinity was getting up. The color was starting to return to her skin, but the dark circles remained. Naomi hoped this would be the end of the illness. They had much bigger issues now.

  After three hours of much-needed rest, Naomi awoke in a cold sweat. She got up without waking Calvin and headed down the well. It was roughly 9 a.m. Naomi worked the pump, filling up three metal buckets of water. When she finished, she started a small fire in the fire pit, danged the bucket hand on a little fork, and let the water boil. The cold nipped at her as she waited, but the small fire radiated gentle warmness. When she finished, she had the choice to hike to the upstairs bathtub at the risk of losing the water’s heat or fill up the outdoor tub. Sighing, she poured the buckets into the ceramic tub nearby. Calvin had dug out a second, smaller fire pit underneath that could be ignited to warm the tub. It was located below the stopper so when the bather finished, the stopper could be pulled and water would douse the flame. Naomi took a certain pride in her husband for his invention and wondered what else he could’ve created if he wasn’t sick for so long.

  The wooden gate that enclosed the property, Naomi decided that the coast was clear of any onlookers. She stripped down and climbed into the water. The sudden warmth from the water came as a shock, but after a moment of feeling prickly, Naomi settled. She leaned back and closed her eyes. After a moment of rest, she grabbed the body gel and got to work washing off the dirt on her hands and forearms. She wanted to get the dark crud from her fingernails, but didn’t want to waste any more soap than what was allowed.

  As she sat in the water, she noticed the bruises that had cropped up on her body. She hadn’t realized it, but the house chores and other activities had given her a beating. She was always slender, but now she could see the shape of her ribs through her skin. She touched her cheek, feeling the bone and wondering how gaunt she looked. Strangely, she remembered her time on TV. Before all this mess, she was an American celebrity, namely known for her self-help books and therapy. They centered around not conforming to toxic environments, finding comfort in the little things, and thriving in your relationships. It was all happy, healthy advice that helped a lot of people but herself. Her work life had fractured her marriage and her relationship with her daughter. She’d spent so much time helping others that she failed in her own family. The worst part was that she knew she was failing and still did nothing to fix it.

  Naomi sank lower in the tub and stayed there for a solid fifteen minutes before stepping into the cool outside air. She toweled off and got dressed. She removed the stopper enough to douse the fire and left the rest in there for anyone who might be interested. She covered it with tarp to keep it from getting too dirty.

  Dressed but with her hair still dripping, she returned inside and found everyone waiting at the dining room table. Naomi stood in the doorway, sensing the tension. “Did I miss something?”

  Cathleen chuckled dreadfully. “Only that we all might die.”

  Calvin held the top rung of the chair he stood behind. “We’re discussing our neighbors.”

  Naomi nodded and joined in with the rest. “What’s the plan?”

  Cathleen looked at her like she was a complete idiot. “We take what we can and run.”

  “Mom, we don’t even know if this is a real threat,” Becca replied.

  “Real or not, I don’t want to risk it. There are plenty of other places we can go.”

  “I’m with Cathleen,” Calvin said. “The guys we’re facing are bi
gger in number, have more weapons, and know where we sleep. We can pack up the Rover in hours and start going south. I’m sure we can find another place.” He turned to Naomi. “Maybe your parents’ house?”

  “I don’t think they’d like that,” Naomi replied.

  Conner looked at them with furrowed brows. “We built these walls, we have the greenhouse ready for spring, and we have home field advantage. To give up this place is like surrendering our queen in a game of chess.”

  Dean rolled a bullet between his fingers as one would do with a coin. He glanced up the table, a fire in his eyes that Naomi hadn’t seen since he robbed the men in Madison. “I say we bring the fight to them, and take what they took from us.”

  Calvin’s face lost his color. “You’re talking about killing people. This isn’t a game, man. You’re not Rambo.”

  Dean smiled with a arrogance and spite.

  Allen breathed in through his nose. “We can raid their camp at nightfall. Most of them will be around the bonfire. If we plan it right, we can drop most of them in the first thirty seconds.”

  Calvin’s eyes went wide and ran his hand up his hair.

  Trinity looked at Allen with fear. “Uncle A, you don’t really mean that…”

  Allen turned his sorrowful gaze to her. “I told you the day you arrived that you’re going to have to get your hands dirty to survive. This place is worth fighting for.”

  “But it’s just a building,” Trinity retorted. “It’s not like we have any supplies worth using.”

  Allen and Naomi traded a quick look, but neither of them said anything.

  “I saw we call it to vote,” Conner said.

  Allen glared at him. “My house is not a democracy.”

  Conner glared back. “It’s not just your house anymore. My family toiled on this ground, too.”

  Allen scoffed. “So that’s what you call it when you don’t touch the wall for two weeks and your brother comes back empty-handed from his hunts.”