Thirty minutes later, we were at the edge of the woods fifty feet behind the home of the big man.
Using the trunk of an oak tree for concealment, I shouted. “Hey, hey,” to get attention and then called out, “You there in the house, we saw the motorcycle come and saw the woman and child run to hide. We mean no harm but we want to talk.”
We waited for a response that didn’t come. I called to the house again. “I know you can hear me.”
After a long moment, a voice shouted back. “What do you want to talk about?”
“The gang you’re part of took our boy from us last night. We want him back.”
The man shouted, “Mister, your boy is gone. There is no way you can get to him. Colonel Haskins has over twelve-hundred men at the compound. You need to leave this area before you’re spotted.”
I called, “Not until we talk.”
The man responded, “We’re done talking. Get the hell away from here.”
Decided to go all-in, and shouted, “We’re not done. In five minutes, I’m going to begin firing my rifle. We’re close enough to the freeway for the spotters on the bridge to hear it. They’ll come to check it out. This time the woman and child won’t be able to leave because I’ll shoot them.”
Stretching the truth, I continued, “My wife’s covering the front of the house and you’d best believe she cares more about our boy than she does any of you. Five minutes is what you have.”
After a long pause the man asked, “It won’t do you any good, but we can talk. I’m coming out.”
Betty was right; the man who came out the back door of the house stood at least six-foot-six and had to weigh three hundred pounds. Not fat pounds, muscle pounds.
Remaining behind the tree, I saw the man carried no weapon other than a pistol holstered at his side. I waited until he was twenty feet away. “That’s close enough. Toss your pistol.”
“Not happening. I’m tired of you calling the shots. You wanted to talk; let’s talk, otherwise you can start shooting.”
I stepped from concealment, “I’m not going to shoot you. The fact is, if you’d decided not to talk to us we’d have just left.”
The man studied me. “You don’t have the look of a killer.”
“Oh, I’d kill just as sure as I’m standing here, but I’d have to have good reason.”
As we stood there, I was returning the study. The man, dressed in military camo had a full beard that served as a counterpoint to his close-cropped russet hair. His arms, abnormally long, sported hands the size of a five-pound sledgehammer.
The man spoke, breaking their mutual assessment.
“Yeah, I’m big. That’s why they call me Little Billie. I don’t know what went down last night, but I heard the ruckus all the way to here. Sounded like a big fight. I guess your crowd came out losers, otherwise you wouldn’t be standing in front of me begging for help.”
Angered, I responded, “Your fucking gang killed over sixty men and women last night. They were good people.”
“Good people die,” was Little Billie’s reply.
“Yes they do when they run into garbage like you. Tell you what though. I want to know where they’ve taken my boy. I want to know how many men I have to chew my way through to get him back. “
Little Billie laughed. “All by yourself … Listen to me, you idiot. You’re not going up against a gang. What you ran into last night is just a small unit, part of a well-organized military command based out of Fort Sam Houston down in San Antonio Texas. The New Army of the Republic.
“Forget about chewing your way through Colonel Haskins’ men. By tomorrow, your boy, and any other women and children captured last night will be aboard buses and on their way to Texas.”
I said, “Then talk fast, because there is no way in hell my boy’s going to Texas. Give me the low-down…”
Billie raised a big paw in a shushing motion. “Whoa there, slow down tiger. You’re reading me wrong. You want your boy on a bus. That’s the only way we’re going to get him away from Colonel Haskins.”
Taken aback by the sudden turn, I asked, “What do you mean, ‘We’?”
“We, me and you and,” turning to look into the trees, “the woman hiding behind that tree pointing her rifle at me. I guess she’s your woman. She may as well come on over. Her being here and not out front tells me you weren’t really planning to shoot Maria and Torrie.”
Betty came from concealment and stopped a few feet behind me. “Keep in mind I still have my rifle pointed at you.”
Little Billie said, “I see that. Your eyes tell me you’re more of a killer than your husband. Keep your finger light on the trigger. I’m Little Billie and you have nothing to shoot me for.”
Betty said, “I heard your name. I’m Betty and he’s Nash.”
“Well Betty and Nash, let’s go inside where we can talk. Find you some dry clothing. You two look like crap.”
WORKING WITH CEDAR AUGUST, 2068
That was a strong one… almost as though I was back there. Remembering Billie’s remark that Betty was more of a killer snapped me back to where I should be putting all my concentration. I’m not making much progress smoothing the boards. Reminiscing is slowing me, but my gnarled left hand, bones bullet-busted, missing it’s ring finger, greatly hinders doing detail work. It’s good enough for splitting wood, heavy lifting and such, but for things like holding a chisel, tying knots, or, as in the present case, controlling a jackplane, it leaves much to be desired.
The thing about Billie’s remark is that it was true back then. Betty was more of a killer, would kill without compunction when needed, whereas I tended to over-think a situation. His words also brought back to mind the quickness and ferociousness of Jill’s response to danger.
I didn’t mean to remind myself of the short, deadly time I spent with Jill. I saw Penny Baker emerge from a home to the left of mine, and head in my direction, I hope she will stop and speak. I need distraction.
The Bakers were the second family to join with us and build a home. They built close to our original ‘homestead-slash-stronghold’. This resulted in us needing to expand the wall of stacked cars that protect the borders of our land-claim, a repetitive task for our ever-growing community.
Billie, Maria, and little Torina, after staying in our home for a short time, hold title to building the first new residence in the compound known as ‘Finger’, named after the township where it is located. We now have over thirty family-residences and two bunkhouses for singles, male and female.
Penny does come to where I am working. She is carrying a covered plate in her hands. A little boy, a feral found living in the woods outside of Selma, caught a year ago by one of our scavenging teams, is walking with her, literally holding her apron string.
Penny is head cook, in charge of the huge Quonset hut we took apart and moved to the compound to provide space for preparing our communal meals. I like Penny. She is a strong woman. Her husband, John, is no longer with us. He committed a high crime. Rather than wait for the public hanging he deserved, she blew his head off with a shotgun after his trial and conviction for child rape.
Leaving the plane lying on the board I’m working, I turn to greet her.
“Penny.”
She lays the plate next to my plane. “You missed lunch.”
“I didn’t miss it, I didn’t want any.”
Not a demure woman, she hawked a wad of tobacco-tainted phlegm, spat on the cedar shavings covering the ground near me and said, “I reckon you’re hungry now. Even if you’re not, you’re going to eat what I brought.”
“Spitting that nasty crap doesn’t help my appetite, but I can eat. I need a break anyway.”
Glancing at the pitiful offering of shavings at our feet, she says, “Yer ain’t getting much done. Old-man Parsons says drizzle on Thursday and it’ll rain Friday. He’s never wrong.”
I harrumphed and spat a wad of spit to join hers. “Friday’s four days off. What’s in the plate?”
“Why don’t yo
u uncover it and look for yourself?”
“Maybe I want to know if I want it before I look.”
“Yer never turned from my food in the past. It’s fried chicken and gravy with mashed potatoes. I made it special.”
“I like chicken and gravy.”
She lifted the aluminum pie pan covering the plate. Steam carried the odor to my nose and sudden hunger took me.
“That smells good, Penny. Thank you.”
“How yer doing.”
“Having something to do keeps me doing. I’m over the worst of it.”
“Bullshit on the floor. The worst of.it lies ahead of you.”
A splanchnic wave of pain passed through my abdomen and threatened to weaken my knees. I reached for the plank on the benches for support.
Taking a deep breath, I said, “Give me my time of denial. I’ll deal with the future when it comes.”
The boy, hands still gripping her apron strings, the rest of him hiding behind her considerable bulk, begins to make animal noises. He knows a few words, but mostly he communicates with grunts and screeches. At least he doesn’t bite.
To change the subject, I ask, “How’s Fred coming along?”
“Slow, but I think he’ll be a keeper. He’s coming around. Today he played with the James girls for thirty minutes. Skipped rope like he’d done it all his life. Us women figure him to be twelve.”
“He looks older to me.”
“Doesn’t matter, does it? We’re calling him twelve.”
Fred let out a howl and tugged her apron string.”
She turned to pat his head and then reached into the pocket of her apron for a knife and spoon. Laying them on the board by the plate, she said, “I’d better get him home before he goes off. I’ll send for the plate.” She stood with hands on her hips and said, “I’ll only say this. Remember there are people that love you. Don’t ride this horse all by yourself.”
Dismissing her, turning back to the board and the food, I said, “There’ll come a time when it’s needed. Thank you for the plate.”
I took up the fork and knife. Life has too many coincidences. Chicken was the first meal Jill and I ate together inside the mansion.
IN THE PAST
ATLANTA, GEORGIA
JUNE 2023
A she often did at Binger meetings, Jill went into ‘take charge’ mode. Nash was okay with that. So far, she had never said or done anything he disagreed with. She convinced him they should determine where to locate inside the mansion before unloading their supplies.
Standing in the living room, he said, “Upstairs is our best bet. The stairs make a choke point we can defend.” The head of the stairs opened to a hallway on the right leading to bedrooms. The opening on the left, let to a room that extended nearly the length of the mansion, at least seventy-five feet. Nash guessed a width of thirty feet.
The long wall across from large windows adorning the front was a seating and dining area fitted with cozy booths interspersed with freestanding tables and chairs. At the far end were doors leading to large bathrooms with stalls and in the case of the men’s room, urinals. Another door let into a full kitchen equipped with commercial-sized stainless appliances. The vast room drove home the fact that the home was a true mansion designed with entertaining in mind. Nash christened it, ‘The Great Room’.
Jill was enthralled by the kitchen. Leaving her to explore the cabinets and pantries, Nash went to investigate the other hallway.
Returning to the kitchen, he informed her, “Besides the great-room; I guess it’s a ballroom; there are six bedrooms upstairs. I think we should move two beds into the great-room. We can arrange our supplies to make a privacy wall between our sleeping areas. After we unload, we can see about blocking the windows and doors of the bedrooms.”
It took four hours of exhausting work to carry the supplies from the van and trailer to the large room upstairs. Nash set three cases of canned tuna on the floor, stood to stretch, groaning as he did.
Jill placed two more cases of tuna on top of his and then matched his groan. Gazing at the mound of supplies stacked more or less in organized rows, she said, “That’s a lot of stuff. Between the two of us, we spent thousands. I hope there’s ibuprofen in there.”
Nash rummaged through the bags from the medical supply store and tossed her a box containing the pill bottle. “I need a couple of those.” He gathered bottles of water and handed one to her as she passed him two of the caplets.
Penny swallowed her tablets dry and then washed them down with a gulp of water. Nash followed her to a table and sat across from her. She used her eyes to catch his attention and said, “You’re a nice guy. I’ve never thanked you for your patience the night I got drunk and called to complain about anything and everything concerning my life.”
Nash smiled. She continued before he could reply.
“What I’m getting at is other than that we’ve never connected.”
Nash shook his head. “Not true. I consider you one of my best friends.”
“Then your idea of friendship doesn’t run very deep.”
“You know, I’m a very relaxed sort of guy. The truth is I consider myself smart. You’re smarter and quicker witted than I’ll ever be and I find you somewhat intimidating”
Jill almost choked on a swallow of water. “You have to be kidding. That’s exactly how I’ve thought of you for the entire year since the Bingers formed. Christ, we’re both stupid.”
Nash grinned and shook his head. “Or perhaps we’re both right.”
“Do you still want separate beds?” She asked.
“I like being your friend. Let’s not mess it up.”
“You really find being close, “messing it up?””
Nash’s reply was quick, “I like you.”
Jill let him off the hook, “Good enough. I like you too.”
Nash turned to a more pressing subject. “Were you listening to the news while you drove?”
“No, the rental doesn’t have a radio. What’d you hear?”
Nash stood. “My radio’s on the fritz. Something keeps blowing the fuse on my jeep. Started last week and I procrastinated about taking it to the dealership for service. I picked up a portable radio and an assortment of batteries at the sports center. Give me a minute, I’ll dig em out.”
Jill removed her phone from the pocket of her lightweight jacket. “Good, I’ve got a signal. While you dig, I’ll check online news sites.”
Nash barely began searching through their supplies when Jill called out. “Damn and double damn. We’re in deep shit. Come over here. Listen to this.”
He abandoned his search and rejoined her at the table. She motioned with her hand, “Move your chair, sit closer so you can hear.”
He moved his chair. She placed her phone on the table to center it between them. The sound from the speaker was low and they leaned over to listen to the female broadcaster.
“…from the Pentagon. The initial cause of the infection sweeping through Washington DC, the bastion of our government, isn’t known for sure, but sources inside the White House have confirmed that Doctor Brad Conley, one of the doctors who recently left the DNC did meet with the Surgeon General to brief him on their findings about treatment facilities in the Congo. He also met with several members of the House and Senate.
“Our staff medical expert, Doctor Trey Fallon speculates at the time of these meetings Doctor Conley was in the period of infection when the virus is present, but no strong symptoms are evident. During this phase of infection, though not showing signs of illness, the afflicted are highly contagious.
“Let me repeat; over two-hundred members the house and sixty from the senate are infected; in essence, we do not have an effective congress. The President is in an undisclosed secure facility. He has not contracted the disease; however, the Vice President and Speaker of the House are in isolation wards, as are their immediate family members. No official information is available concerning their condition, but we have spoken to hospita
l workers who say few are expected to survive.
“Meanwhile, hospitals in major cities were quickly overwhelmed with the infected and with those who think they are. Doctor John Whittaker of the CDC said the Ebola epidemic is spreading exponentially and that going to seek medical attention because you think you have symptoms is foolish. Not only will you practically insure contact with the virus, but also a great many of the staff at most hospitals have abandoned their posts.
“Folks, I don’t know what exponentially means, but it must be bad.
“Let me repeat for any just tuning in. I don’t know how long I will continue on-air. None of us inside the broadcast studio is infected, but we are afraid to leave. We’ve barricaded the doors and our ability to continue is at the mercy of the engineers and other staff.
“To update what I know. The Pentagon released a statement from the Joint Chiefs of the Military. In short, because of the breakdown in Washington D.C., in order to protect our country from possible invasion in the absence of an effective legislative body, they have assumed temporary control of our nation. Thus far, the only advice they have issued for the common citizen is to stay at home and avoid contact with other people.
“To put our situation in a nutshell, we’re screwed. The dead are piling up at the hospitals because the doctors and nurses are dying right along with the patients. To exacerbate the situation, many of the hospital staff are not showing up to work.
“People are sick, they dying. Dying in the streets, in the stores, and in their homes. There is no vaccine, no treatment available. Pray that God takes mercy on us because no help coming from any other source.”
There was a long pause. Nash and Jill stared at the phone. Nash began to speak, “Christ, how can it spread so…,” but the woman began speaking again.
“I just received word that earlier today the Pentagon ordered all of the nation’s nuclear reactors to immediately be placed in safe shut-down-mode. New elements of martial law were just announced. All hospitals are to be closed. Doctors, nurses and EMT’s are to report to the nearest military or National Guard base. Members of the National Guard should report to their units for screening prior to duty.
Working With Cedar: A Post Apocalyptic Tale Page 6
