by Chris Pike
Cassie’s heart skipped a beat and her eyes flicked to James. She crouched down.
“You, big man, the one with the Winchester,” the unknown man said, this time more menacing, “drop your shotgun. And if you try anything funny, I’ll blow a hole in you and you’ll be dead before you hit the ground.”
Garrett reluctantly lowered the shotgun to the ground.
“Well now,” the man said, walking over to where he could easily see the three. He zeroed in on Cassie. “Stand up,” he ordered.
Cassie didn’t move. She kept her eyes downcast while she quickly searched the campsite for anything she could use as a weapon. Her eyes went to the rocks circling the campfire.
“Don’t get any ideas like picking up one of those rocks.”
Cassie swallowed hard.
“Stand up!”
Cassie eased up from the ground and stood as instructed. Her shoulders were rolled forward and she was becoming more concerned for her safety. She sensed the man was eyeing her over.
“Turn around,” the man barked. “And you, big man, don’t move a muscle unless I tell you to. Understand?”
Garrett nodded.
“Kick the shotgun over here to me.”
Garrett glared at the man then reluctantly kicked the shotgun in the man’s direction. He balled his fists in frustration.
“That’s more like it.” He sidled up to Cassie and inspected her as if she was a horse, touching her hair, running his fingers down her arms and back. “A little on the skinny side, but you’ll fetch a good price.”
Cassie furrowed her brow, not quite understanding what he meant by that statement until the realization sunk in. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’ll die first.” Her lips were tight and her voice was steadfast.
The man took a fast step toward her and roughly grabbed her hair, forcing her head back. He wet his lips. His face was inches away from her and his breath hot. “I can arrange that too, so you’d better—”
With the precision of a laser, a rock struck the back of the man’s head and made a cracking thud when it popped his skull.
The shock of the bone-crunching hit dazed the man for a moment and he released his grip on Cassie.
Cassie heaved her knee with all her might and struck him in the soft flesh of his groin.
The man grunted and bent over at the waist.
Cassie took an unsure step back, her eyes widening with fear, watching in horror.
The man brought up the shotgun, leveling it at her.
In the second that Cassie had kneed the guy, Garrett sprang up and lunged, throwing his body on the ground, arms stretched out, reaching for his shotgun.
Cassie stood there as if she was petrified wood. Her eyes were big with fear and she willed her body to move but her legs were frozen. Unable to move, she steeled herself for what was sure to follow.
When the shotgun blast sounded, Cassie flinched and closed her eyes. Bending at the waist, she hunched over and instinctively covered her head with both hands.
There was another shotgun blast and the man that had threatened her with a fate worse than death crumpled to the ground, face down. There was a gaping hole the size of a plate in his back and another one on his side.
Blood oozed onto the ground.
Ryan was standing at the edge of the clearing, his eyes focused like lasers on Garrett. His pitching arm was poised high to hurl another skull-cracking rock and if Garrett made any intimidating moves, Ryan planned to show him the strength of his previously ninety mph throwing arm.
Cassie bolted to Ryan, burying her face in his chest. The brutality of seeing a man shot to death in real life was nothing like it was on TV, where the reality of death was sanitized with camera angles and makeup that could be washed off.
Ryan put his arms around Cassie holding her. She trembled uncontrollably. He patted her back. “It’s okay. Are you hurt?”
Cassie mumbled weakly.
“Good. You’re safe now. Everything will be okay.”
Garrett stood tall and asked, “Who are you?”
“My name is Ryan.”
A large hound dog came limping into camp, holding a paw up and toddling on three legs. He hobbled over to Garrett, much to Ryan’s astonishment.
“What’s going on?” Ryan asked. He cast a confused glance at Garrett and the dog.
“This sorry SOB was about to send us all to an early grave, and Cassie, well, he had other plans for her.” Garrett came up to Cassie. “You didn’t say you had a third person with you,” he said, somewhat annoyed.
Cassie didn’t answer.
Garrett faced Ryan. “Nice throw. You saved our hides.”
“Thanks. I was a pitcher in high school. Never knew baseball would save lives.”
“I could throw a mean fast ball in my time,” Garrett said. “Obviously you did too.”
Ryan sized Garrett up. He was tall, barrel-chested, with arms that could easily swing an ax, and if the guy had lived up north, he would have fit in with the lumberjack crowd.
“A mean fast ball works every time,” Ryan said.
Garrett took a step toward the dead guy and poked him with the end of his shotgun. Satisfied there was no movement, he heaved the dead man over on his back and studied him, trying to determine if he knew him. Garrett ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, thinking.
“You recognize him?” Ryan asked.
“Nope. I’m guessing he was a poacher. I had just told your friends we’ve had trouble with poachers, but I never figured they were into human trafficking.” He addressed Cassie, who had calmed down from the excitement. “Be careful out here. You never know who is good and who isn’t.”
“I’ll be careful,” Cassie said, chewing on a ragged nail. “Sorry about not telling you we had a third person. I didn’t know if you meant to harm us.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll let it pass because your friend found my dog.” Garrett set his shotgun down and kneeled on the hard ground. “Come here, boy. Come here.”
The dog didn’t move.
“What’s wrong, boy?” Garrett asked, worried there was something wrong with his dog. He glared at Ryan. “What did you do to my dog?”
“Nothing,” Ryan said. “He’s having trouble walking. I found him curled under a tree, and when I went to him, he didn’t run, so I figured he was injured.”
Garrett grunted and gave his dog a good once over, letting his hands fly over him, checking for injuries. He was covered in mud and had stickers in his coat. Garrett took each of the dog’s paws in his hand and with the skill of a surgeon, he inspected each pad. He found several one inch thorns wedged in between two of the pads on each front paw. When Garrett pulled out the embedded thorns stuck deep in the dog’s skin, the dog pulled back his paws and yelped.
Ryan, Cassie, and James stood with their mouths agape, awed at the tenderness the ox of a man showed his dog.
Garrett put his hands under the dog’s belly and helped him up. “There. That feels better don’t it?” Garrett asked in a warm and soothing voice. He stroked the dog’s head.
The dog thumped his tail.
“Thank you for finding my dog. I don’t think he could have made it home in the shape he was in. I’ve been worried sick about him. He’s been gone for three nights, and I could hear him baying at some varmint, probably a coon. When he didn’t come home I knew something was wrong. It would have killed me not to know what had happened.” Garrett stood and extended his hand to Ryan. “This was my son’s dog.”
Ryan shook hands with Garrett. “Glad I could be of help. I’m Ryan Manning, in case you didn’t get it the first time around.”
“Nice to get a proper introduction. Let’s get you folks back to my house. Too much excitement for one morning, and you look like you could eat a good breakfast,” he said, eyeing each of them, noting their dirty clothes, “and a long bath. Water’s not hot, seeing as we don’t have any electricity, but it will get you just as clean.” Garrett picked up his shotgun and also the d
ead guy’s shotgun. “No need to let that go to waste.”
Cassie glanced back upon the dead man. “What are you going to do about him?”
“The guy that was about to kill us? And the one who would have sold you to the highest bidder?”
Cassie nodded.
“Let him rot.”
Chapter 3
Ten minutes later after a hike through tangled trees lining a bayou, lowland clearings, and more trees, they came to a dirt road which led them to Garrett’s house.
The wood frame house was situated on a two acre clearing with an orchard of fig, pear, persimmon, and loquat trees. A mayhaw bush that had been cultivated from the swamp rounded out the orchard. A garden teemed with seasonal vegetables.
Thick woods surrounded the property. The yard had been recently mowed and when they came up to the house, a young boy happily bounded down the steps and ran toward them.
Garrett held out his arms and waited for the little boy to smash into him. Garrett scooped up the boy, swung him high in the air, and planted him on his hip.
The big dog sauntered over to Garrett, tongue hanging out and wiggling in excitement.
“Grandpa, you found Gumbo!” The child’s voice was filled with innocent joy.
“Actually, this nice man over here found him.” Garrett swung his grandson down to the ground. “This is my grandson, Skeeter,” he said, ruffling the top of the boy’s crew cut. Skeeter made a face and shooed away Garrett’s hand. “Skeeter, say ‘hi’ to these nice folks.”
Skeeter, about five years old, shied away behind his grandpa and peeked out from around him. He spied the ragged bunch with curiosity. “Who are these people, Grandpa?”
“These folks are tryin’ to get home to Houston. They’ve got a long walk in front of them and they’re hungry.”
“Where’s Youston?” Skeeter asked, trying out the new word.
“A long way from here. Go on in and tell your mama to make a mess of biscuits and gravy. Scrambled eggs too. Tell her to set out some of the dewberry preserves and butter if we still have any. Everyone needs a little fat on their bodies. And be sure to feed Gumbo!” Garrett sent the boy on his way with a loving pat on his rump.
“Okay, Grandpa,” Skeeter said. He bolted to the house, yelling for his mama.
Garrett explained that his daughter-in-law’s folks couldn’t afford to feed two more mouths, so they turned her and Skeeter away. Garrett was happy to take them in and told them they could live with him as long as they wanted to.
“Family has to stick together. I live my life according to the three Fs: faith, family, and firearms,” he said, patting his shotgun. “Remember that and you’ll always be okay.”
Cassie nodded and repeated the words. “Faith, family, and firearms. I like that. I’ll remember it.”
“You folks want to clean up or eat first?” Garrett asked.
Three voices said in unison, “Eat first.”
Cassie walked into the house, followed by Gumbo, who trotted over to his food bowl and gulped down the food in it. She wiped her shoes on the mat inside the front door, and was immediately struck by how neat and homey the house was. A wood-burning stove sat in the middle of the house, dividing the living area from the kitchen. The wood floor was covered with throw rugs, and the sofa had a homemade colorful quilt draped over it. There were a couple of lamps on the end tables. The cozy eat-in kitchen had all the modern appliances with a refrigerator, oven, and cooktop. A microwave sat on a stand. Cassie noticed a table and four chairs with vinyl coverings that were definitely a throwback to the sixties. The bookshelves in the living area caught her eye and she went over to check out the books.
“Hello,” a female voice called out. “I hear y’all are hungry. I’m Adelaide, and that’s my boy Skeeter. I have to apologize because the electricity is out. It’ll take me a little bit longer to get the grill fired up and breakfast ready for you folks. If I had known we were going to have company I would have already had something prepared.” She eyed the rangy bunch.
“Thank you so much,” Cassie said. “We got lost and your father-in-law found us.”
Adelaide nodded like it was no big deal.
After introducing herself, Ryan, and James, Cassie asked, “Can I help you with anything?”
“Actually, yes. You and Skeeter can come with me and we’ll check the henhouse for eggs. I had some store bought ones in the refrigerator, but we ate those the day after the electricity went off. It’s strange, we’ve never had the electricity stay off for this long unless there’s a hurricane or a tropical storm. It doesn’t matter,” she said waving a hand, “we’ve got plenty of food to get us through. We’ll let the menfolk talk a while.” Adelaide washed her hands and wiped them on a hand towel. “Garrett, breakfast will be ready in a little while.”
“Thanks, let me know if I can do anything,” he said.
Garrett motioned for Ryan and James to sit at the table with him. He poured each a steaming cup of coffee from a thermos, explaining he had boiled water early in the morning. “Watch out for the grinds,” he said.
“At this point,” James said, “I’m so hungry and thirsty I’d drink grinds and all.”
“So,” Garrett said, taking a seat, “tell me about the plane crash.”
James and Ryan told Garrett about what they remembered, and what they experienced regarding the sudden loss of power.
“It was deathly quiet,” Ryan said, “and I guess I must have passed out for a while. I remember waking up and wondering if I was alive or dead.”
“Me too,” James said. “When I came to, I had no idea where I was or what had happened. I remember Cassie screaming when I grabbed her ankle.”
“Believe me,” Cassie said, poking her head around a corner, “you gave me the shock of my life.”
“We tried using our cell phones but they wouldn’t work,” Ryan added. “We thought at first there was no cell tower nearby, but we couldn’t even get our phones to turn on.”
“Interesting,” Garrett said. He mulled over the events and the lack of cell service. Garrett didn’t have a cell phone but he said he had seen plenty of other people use them on the country road. “There’s a tower not far from here so I don’t know why the cell phones wouldn’t be working.”
“We waited for help but when we didn’t see any search planes,” Ryan said, “we knew it was time to save ourselves.”
“That’s what I would have done. It’s always best to be self-sufficient. I admire your tenacity,” Garrett said.
“After breakfast, do you think you could drive us into town?” Ryan asked.
“I would if I could, but my truck won’t start,” Garrett said. “I figured it was the battery, but the engine wouldn’t even make a sound. I tried using my phone—”
“What kind of phone do you have?” Ryan interrupted.
“An old fashioned landline over there,” Garrett said, pointing to an antique stand by the sofa.
Rising from the chair, Ryan said, “Mind if I make a call?”
“You can try,” Garrett said. “There’s something wrong with it though. The phone only works half the time. Now that I think about it, I started having problems with it the same day the electricity went off. I’ve been able to make a couple of local calls, but only to people with a landline. Cell numbers aren’t working.”
“Hmm,” Ryan said. He subconsciously scratched the side of his head, mulling over the events of the past several days.
“What do you think is going on?” Garrett asked. He took a sip of coffee then leaned into the table. “Electricity, phones, cars—they all stopped working at the same time.”
Ryan frowned. “I have an idea and it’s not good.”
Chapter 4
Cole Cassel sat in the former sheriff’s office contemplating his next move. Taking over the office had been easier than he’d expected, and he was feeling mighty important about now.
Driving into town in the ancient pickup he had stolen, one which the EMP hadn’t affected
, Cole came upon the lone sheriff on a rarely traveled road. The sheriff had been on his way to make a courtesy call on a landowner who wasn’t answering his phone when the cruiser died.
The sheriff had spent a couple of nights in his cruiser waiting for help or for someone to drive by. The lack of activity was worrisome and he had made a decision to walk the twenty miles back to town when luck would have it, he saw an approaching truck. Finally, he’d get help.
Since he wasn’t one to miss a good opportunity, Cole did the neighborly thing, which was to stop and help. He also did an uncivilized thing, which was to shoot the sheriff in the back.
Cole stripped the sheriff of anything useful, including his badge and service pistol. He considered taking the pants then decided against it after he saw the amount of blood and guts staining the fabric. Cole had his standards, low though they may be, and wearing bloodstained clothes was not on the short list.
Picking up the sheriff’s 10 gallon hat, Cole tried it on for good measure. It fit well enough. He dragged the corpse to the roadside, rolled the body into the ditch, and covered it with a few sticks. The wild hogs and coyotes would clean up the rest.
Rummaging around in the trunk, Cole found a Remington model 870 pump action shotgun with an eighteen inch barrel. It held six rounds in the magazine plus one in the chamber.
Christmas came early for Cole, because he also found two boxes of ammo for the shotgun. Picking up one of the twenty-five round boxes, Cole mentally patted himself on the back. It was exactly what he needed.
He hopped in his truck and checked his appearance in the review mirror. He practiced tipping his hat as if he was a swashbuckling westerner passing by a damsel twirling a parasol who demurely eyed him over.
Not too shabby, he thought. Especially with a shiny badge. He had always wanted one of those, and now that he had one, he displayed it for everyone to see. He pinned the badge on his hat.
