by AJ Powers
In the interest of time, Clay had just planned on braving the ice-cold waters of the creek to get their journey underway. Megan’s protest, however, was not unwarranted. In fact, it was the only logical approach. Starting their day with hypothermia due to bullheadedness was nothing short of lunacy.
The rising sun slightly improved visibility in the shallow ravine, allowing Clay to spot a downed tree a small hike away. “All right, follow me,” Clay said as he headed for the tree. After buckling his ankle twice on the rough terrain, Clay reluctantly slowed his pace and carefully thought through each step.
The tree itself was not very wide, maybe six inches thick. It wasn’t exactly like walking a tight rope but offered little room for mistakes, especially in pre-dawn lighting. The end of the tree was on the ground on their side of the stream, but the trunk was five or six feet up a hill on the opposite side. It would be an upward walk across the fallen timber that looked as if it had been dead for some time. Clay placed his size eleven boot on the tree and gave it several good shakes; it seemed sturdy enough. “All right, here’s the deal,” Clay said matter-of-factly. “I’ll go first. If it holds me, it’ll hold you. If it doesn’t hold...well, we don’t have a whole lot of time left, so we’d be getting wet either way.”
“Okay,” Megan acknowledged.
Clay stepped up onto the tree and inched forward. Keeping his balance while navigating around the many smaller branches proved to be challenging, but, fortunately, most of the remaining branches only jutted out a few inches. Nevertheless, stepping on one of the seemingly insignificant nubs could easily result in an icy bath. The branches trailed off as Clay neared the shore and the trunk widened slightly. The final few feet were a breeze, so Clay picked up his pace until the tree cracked—something he felt more than he heard. He immediately froze and assessed the situation. He was about four or five feet from the bank.
“What’s wrong?” Megan asked as loudly as she dared.
Clay took another few steps—it was still solid. “Nothing,” he said as he moved forward again, this time a bit more cautiously. He crouched down and hopped off while still grasping to the tree with one arm to soften the impact on the rocky creek bed below.
After a long sigh of relief, Clay called to Megan, “Okay, you’re up.”
Megan was wrought with hesitation, but as the sky grew brighter around her, she knew there was no time to hesitate. She stepped up and made her way across, nimbly traversing the craggily branches on the midsection of the tree, once again making Clay shake his head with how easy his sister made the task look. She was past the branches and almost across when a loud crack ripped through the silent morning air echoing through the shallow canyon. Megan let out a short but loud screech.
“Megan!” Clay gasped as he moved toward her.
The tree’s sudden shift caused Megan to stumble forward. Destined to get a mouthful of bark, and probably some serious stitches, her instincts kicked in and she pushed her feet off the tree leaping for the shoreline. Everything happened so quickly that Clay barely prevented her from smacking her head into the rocks, but not before she banged her knees on the same jagged rocks. Megan grunted as she suppressed a painful scream.
“Are you okay?” Clay asked frantically. Megan didn’t respond as she examined the damage to her knees. “Megan?”
“I’m fine, Clay,” Megan said, irritation permeated her voice. “Cut and sore, but I’ll be fine.”
Relieved she was not seriously hurt, Clay seized the opportunity to take a shot back at his sister. “You were saying something about me and Twinkies…?”
Megan stood up and got in Clay’s face, “You better watch it, bub,” she said sternly letting Clay know that even the apocalypse was not an okay time to make jokes about a woman’s weight. Finally, Megan let a chuckle escape. “Oh, Clay,” she said with a faux whine in her voice, “Think it’s too late for McCreary to go for me?” she said half-jokingly.
If only she had listened to me yesterday. Clay thought. “Brace yourself, Megs, we’ve got a long road ahead of us.”
Chapter 28
With every strand of muscle screaming loudly, Kelsey finally climbed into bed, careful not to disturb Charles, who had already been asleep for hours. With a wobbly exhale fleeing her exhausted lungs, Kelsey attempted to clear her mind and find sleep. But, once again, sleep had no desire to be found.
Idleness at Northfield was never an option, but with the farm’s population exploding to nearly three hundred overnight, the demand for productivity had never been greater. With each house filled with enough people to give a safety inspector a stroke, and a food supply that would last, at best, through the end of the month, Kelsey’s thoughts, when there was enough time to have some of her own, were warped with anxiety. Throw in her concerns for her husband and sister-in-law on top of everything else, Kelsey had the perfect antidote for sleeping.
She wondered how much longer Clay would be away—if he would ever come back at all. She wondered if he did come back, would a lifeless village that had surrendered to starvation weeks before his arrival greet him? How would he cope with the loss? What if nobody makes it through this time? Each one leaving this life wondering if their loved ones would already be there, waiting for them on the other side. Morbidly, a part of her hoped for the latter, so that she and her family could, at last, leave this forbidding world behind.
Kelsey coughed into the crook of her arm, trying her best to stifle the sound. Each cough reminded her body of the hard day of labor she had endured. And they were now completely out of pain medication.
With a limitless sum of issues vying for Kelsey’s attention, it was Mrs. Hawthorne that currently occupied her mind. Hawthorne, the closest thing she had to a mother, was not doing well. Though the stubborn lady played down the concerns, Kelsey saw through the façade. She had lost weight, had a harder time getting around, and struggled to keep her breath at times. Kelsey wasn’t as medically in tune as Megan or even Lona, but she didn’t need to be a doctor to recognize the signs—especially having seen it so many times in the past. And to make matters worse, due to the increase in responsibilities around the house and farm, Kelsey spent less and less time with her dear friend, as well as her own children.
She managed to shove the bleak concerns of Hawthorne’s health out of her head, but those thoughts were replaced with an equally, if not grimmer issue: Madeline. Kelsey knew the agony in her eyes—she herself had seen the world through the same malevolent tinted lenses before. But the girl refused to talk about it, or anything, which was the only way Kelsey had been able to pull out of the same spiral Madeline was in. Not wanting to push her too hard while also not letting her stew in an all-consuming hatred, Kelsey did everything she could to help alleviate Madeline’s suffering—Madeline just had to let her.
Over the past few weeks, Kelsey’s optimism faded—both from a lack of progress with Madeline as well as her own demons terrorizing every conscious thought. At times, she just wanted to walk away. How could she sit there and tell a girl who had been through the worst kind of hell on earth that there was hope when she wasn’t sure how much longer hope would be around? She was being a hypocrite.
Kelsey loved Clay; of that there was no doubt. In fact, it was Clay that had given her the hope she needed to carry on with a smile, to believe things would get better. Someday. But even Clay’s optimism seemed to be getting consumed by darkness over the past few months.
I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Kelsey thought as the tears splashed off her pillow. The stress of it all had become too much for the young woman to bear. As the tears continued to slide down her dirty cheeks, she forced herself to silence her sobs. It wasn’t the good, hard cry she desperately needed, but for now, it would have to do.
She was startled to feel a small hand grasp her own. Charles never woke, but it was as if he knew his mother needed to experience his gentle, loving touch to remind her why she would wake up after a few restless hours of sleep and do it all over again. Why
she continued to fight despite her desire to admit defeat. The serene peace brought by the touch of the toddler also carried her to sleep.
Honest to God sleep.
****
Shelton sat in his chair, his fingers drumming the flaky leather armrest as he stared down the front door. It had been two hours since he heard the last shot fire, and he was still in the dark. And he hated that.
The sound of boots scuffing off the front porch stirred him from his drowsy state. The door opened and Kohler walked inside, a fresh dusting of snow building up on his hat and shoulders. After a couple of stomps on the floor mat, Kohler walked into the living room.
“How bad?” Shelton asked, not bothering to stand from his chair.
Kohler walked across the room and stood at attention while warming himself by the fire. “We lost two more.”
“Who?”
“Evans and McCreary.”
“McCreary?” Shelton asked with surprise. “I thought we moved him to the infirmary.”
“Yes sir, he was attempting to render aid to Evans when he was hit by sniper fire.”
Shelton squeezed his eyes shut, but when they opened again, he was still in his living room and the news was just as bad. “How many snipers does Arlo have?” Shelton asked in frustration.
“Not many people are consistently that good. Nearly twenty percent of our losses have come from a sharpshooter, and I am starting to think it’s just the one shooter.”
Shelton looked up at Kohler, “We have to do something about him, then.”
“I already have a team working on it, sir. We’ll get him.”
Shelton gave a weak nod. “Well, how many of them did we get?” Shelton asked, as if it really mattered. Arlo’s army seemed to respawn back at base.
“As far as we can tell…” Kohler trailed off, reluctant to finish his sentence. “None, sir.”
“None?” Shelton asked in disbelief.
“Yes sir, there were no confirmed kills tonight.”
Seemingly impossible, Shelton managed to sink further down into his chair. His face twisted with a grim expression and released a heavy sigh. After several silent moments passed, Shelton finally asked, “Consumption?”
“It was estimated to be between 350 to 500 rifle and around seventy-five pistol.”
“And at that rate…”
“We’ll have nothing but empty boxes by December—and that’s being overly optimistic. If we keep burning through our ammunition, Arlo can sit back and send in the fodder until we’re left throwing rocks. Then, all he has to do is let himself in.”
Kohler’s SITREP was about as bad as it could get. But he wasn’t finished.
“I also just got word that the boy—the one Clay carried in from the corridor—died this evening.”
Shelton was both furious and guilt-ridden with the news of the boy’s death. He wanted nothing more than to climb the stairs and hide in bed the rest of the night. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to be happening anytime soon.
“Permission to speak freely?” Kohler asked.
“Daniel, I’m not some high-ranking officer, and this isn’t the army. You don’t need to ask for permission to tell me something that I’m obviously not going to want to hear.”
Kohler took his hat off, the very same one he wore around the barracks in Raqqa, and ran his thumb across the front of the bill. It had become a tick he had developed to deal with post-combat stress after his squad came back from an assignment. “Sir…Barry…even if Clay and Megan come back with as much of a resupply as they can both physically carry…” he trailed off. “Short of them driving up to the gates in a Panzer, I’m not sure there’s going to be a way for us to win this. Not while we’re constantly on our heels.”
“What are you suggesting we do then, Captain?” Shelton asked.
“We need to come up with some contingency plans, most importantly how to evac everyone, including the wounded, at a moment’s notice, and bring as much as we possibly can.”
“We’ve already been over that.”
“Call me crazy, Barry, but I don’t think waving the white flag and handing Arlo the keys will do the trick anymore. I believe that ship has sailed; he’s not going to let us just walk away now. Listen, when—if—you decide it’s time for us to abandon our posts, we will need to do it in a hurry… and undetected.”
Shelton stewed in a myriad of emotions. Even failure itself would come with a set of challenges to overcome. After a lengthy sigh, Shelton pulled himself out of his chair and walked over to his friend of many years. “Go ahead and come up with some contingency plans and bring them to me by the end of the week.”
Kohler nodded. “Yes sir.” He put his hat back on his head and looked Shelton in the eyes. “Get some rest, Barry. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“Try weeks,” the weary, old man said. As Kohler headed for the door, Shelton added. “One more thing, Captain…”
“Sir?” Kohler said, returning to soldier mode.
“While you’re coming up with the contingency plans, see if you can’t come up with some ideas to get us off our heels.”
A glimmer of fire in Shelton’s eyes gave Kohler a boost of confidence. “Yes sir!” Kohler said, giving a salute before walking out of the house.
Chapter 29
With a loud crash, the butt of Clay’s rifle shattered the sidelight of the front door. He reached in and felt around for the deadbolt lock. After successfully unlatching the deadbolt, but unsuccessfully opening the door, he discovered that there was a wedge jammed beneath the door—a trick he had used more than a few times. Megan stood behind him with her back to Clay, her pistol drawn and her head constantly rotating. Clay walked past her, heading toward the parking lot.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Need to find something long enough to reach behind the door on the inside,” Clay said as he swiped some snow off a car window and looked inside before moving to the trunk.
Megan joined the effort and searched through the very few cars left in the rural office building’s parking lot. Neither of them had high hopes of finding anything useful inside the dilapidated agriculture lawyer’s office, but they did need a place to sleep for the night. And since the points of entry all seemed to be intact, Clay felt comfortable calling the place home for the next ten hours.
Finding a military thriller on the passenger seat of an old Volvo, Clay stuck it in his pack to read later. Though the paperback wouldn’t help him open the front door, literature—particularly fictions—that hadn’t been consumed by the elements were always a nice find.
Clay turned as he heard the snow crunching beneath Megan’s feet. “Will a three-wood work?” Megan asked, holding up the dusty club.
Clay took the golf club out of her hands and extended his arm, gauging the overall length. He pressed his lips together and nodded, “Yeah, that might do the trick,” he said as he headed back to the front door.
Megan kept guard while Clay maneuvered the club through the broken sidelight and pushed at the old plastic wedge. The years of grime and mud caked around it had cemented the thing to the floor, but after a few powerful and angry whacks, Clay was able to knock it loose before shoving it out of the way. A few shoulder rams later, the door was open and they walked inside. Once they were inside, Clay returned the wedge to its place beneath the door and scattered a few papers on top of it so that if someone else tried to get in the same way they had, the doorstop wouldn’t be obvious.
Clay did a quick sweep of the office to ensure nobody else had taken up residence inside. Being a bit more lackadaisical with his search than usual, Clay cleared the place in record timing. If someone else had been inside, Clay and Megan would have heard about it as soon as he busted out the windowpane.
When the office was officially clear, Clay decided to barricade the front door; he was quite uncomfortable with the security provided by a door wedge next to a broken window. Together, Clay and Megan pushed a heavy bookshelf over to the do
or. With the side of the shelf blocking the sidelight and a portion of the door, it ensured entry would be a very difficult and noisy process. One that would afford Clay more than enough time to greet the unwanted guests with a few .30 caliber-sized warnings.
While searching the office space for anything useful, Clay came across a square, metal bar with two curved bolts sticking out of either end. After investigating it further, he discovered that it was a door lock that fit the rear fire-exit door, making it virtually impossible to open while in place. Even though the heavy gauge steel door was securely locked, a little bit of time, a prybar, and proper motivation to get inside would’ve popped it open. However, by dropping the door lock into place, Clay had turned the little farm attorney’s office into a decent fortress. And with the only windows being smaller and high off the ground, Clay found it to be protected enough to let his guard down. A little.
“You find anything yet?” Megan asked as she opened a filing cabinet, peeking inside.
“Nothing worth writing home about,” Clay replied. “You?”
“Just a couple cigar butts and an empty bottle of Jack.”
Clay stood in the middle of the large office and looked around. In addition to the token degrees, attorney certifications, and various community awards hanging on the wall, there was a rather large longhorn skull mounted behind the desk with a few hog heads flanking either side. There were a few personal pictures Clay assumed were the lawyer on various hunting and fishing trips just beneath one of the room’s two windows.
