by S. Ison
“Ayah, you’re wicked on point, Fatha,” Paul said.
“Quashed and obliterated,” Tim agreed. “I think we should go in and do a bit of recon. Find out how many are at each house and who’s guarding the houses. Trying to hit them simultaneously may well be too difficult.”
“Ayah, sounds ’bout right,” Kenny said.
“Dem feller’s gonna get a honkin’ good beatin’,” Paul said, his eyes narrowing and his lips disappeared into his beard. His hand never stopped stroking the dog’s head. Her eyes were sleepy and calm.
Tim had seen that same look on his own face, in the mirror. It was time for war. There would be no quarter given. These men had picked on the wrong people. Tim’s hands tightened and flexed. He then noticed Kenny looking at his red nails. He grinned sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders. Kenny grinned and winked understandingly.
Patsy came out onto the porch with a tray of flat bread and jam.
“Thank ya, dee-ah,” Kenny said, taking a slice and biting into the flaky flatbread. He sighed heavily in delight and closed his eyes, smiling.
“Thank you,” Tim said, and took a slice for himself. It didn’t look like much, but tasted wonderful with the homemade blackberry jam. The bread was surprisingly light and flaky. He’d have to have Kelly get the recipe.
“Thank ya, Maw,” Paul said, and leaned down and kissed the top of his mother’s head.
Patsy reached out a tentative hand and petted Hope on her large head. She grinned shyly, then went back into the house.
It was some time later when two men came walking up the road. Both looked to be in their forties, and their faces looked haggard, Tim though his looked about the same with the worry. They both had broad shoulders from years of hard work. Tim thought Kenny had said they’d been lumbermen before the world fell apart.
Tim watched as the duo made their way into the yard and up the steps of the porch. The taller of the two wore a beat-up John Deer hat that had seen better days. His face was lined with worry and fatigue. Now that he was nearer, Tim saw that he was younger, perhaps in his late twenties to early thirties. The hatless man was in his forties.
“Tim, this heyah is John Collier, and this udder feller is Rob Gardener,” Paul said, taking a sip of his cooling coffee.
Tim nodded to John, the younger man, and then to Rob. “Gentlemen, I’m sorry we had to come together under these circumstances. Do either of you have military training?” Tim asked.
“I was in fer a couple yeahs when I was a kid,” Rob said, “but that been ovah twenty yeahs.”
“I aint had none. But I can shoot the ass end offin a fly,” John said.
Tim nodded. “I want to leave just before dark, go to each house and scope them out. We need to make sure the women and the child are not hurt, and where they’re said to be.” His hand tightened around the mug, and he felt the muscles bunch around his neck.
He could feel it go up into his brain. There was so much on the line, he didn’t want either of these men going off script and hurting Kelly by accident. “My wife is pregnant and I don’t want her harmed. I know you don’t want your wives hurt either, so the more info we have, the better,” Tim said.
Both men nodded solemnly. Kenny cleared his throat and shifted in his lounger. “It’s a hellva mess. That ijit Chum has gone too far, Jeezum Rice!” Kenny spat off the porch, disgust plain on his withered face.
The men shook their heads, looking down. It was a shame, they all agreed.
“You boys wanna sumach ta eat? Common, an’ mugup,” Patsy called from the interior of the house. Tim watched all the men brighten up. They were all hungry. It was a constant state of affairs these days.
They’d need a good dinner, because it would be a long night of watching the houses where the women were held. They needed to get this right and no mistakes. The women’s lives were at stake.
⅏
Kelly lay on the bed, curled in a tight ball. Her stomach, or rather her uterus, had been contracting on and off all day. She was so on edge, she was sure she was making it worse. She tried breathing techniques to calm herself down. She had dozed off several times, only to wake up to the contractions. It sent a thrill of fear shooting through her each time.
She got up and used the bucket. The blood was still there, though less of it. She burst out crying, unsure what would happen to her should she lose the baby. Now that there were no doctors or hospitals, she knew enough from TV and movies, and real life, that shit happened and women died at childbirth. Or maybe a miscarriage?
Kelly crawled back into bed, pulled the quilt over her shoulders, and stared blankly out the dirty window. She could smell the bucket, even though she had put wood ash and pine shavings in it. She had been given food, but hadn’t eaten it; she just didn’t have an appetite. Fear felt like an eel, moving around from her gut to her brain.
She splayed her hands over her tummy and felt the warmth of her stomach. She sniffed and tried to calm the crying down. “Please don’t die, baby,” she whispered brokenly. “Please stay with me. I really want you, and I know Tim wants you too. Please stay inside me and please stop bleeding.”
Her fingers gently stroked the small bump below her bellybutton. She tried to think positively, but time was passing so slowly, and still there had been no sight of Tim. She knew he was coming, but she really wanted him to come soon. She didn’t know if she and the baby would last much longer.
“Please come get me, husband,” she whispered softly, and closed her eyes to try and sleep.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
San Gabriel Mountains, California
Charmain, Rubin, Jack, and Harley approached the campsite cautiously. The clearing with all the dead Loco Locusts had spooked them. There was someone out there, and they’d exterminated the gang.
There was no heartbreak or grief when it came to wiping those animals out. What worried Charmain was, who else was in these woods, and were they friend or foe? She heard talking over the hill and recognized Hubbard. He sounded pissed off. Picking up her pace, she crested the hill and saw the three men, Woody, Hubbard, and Donny, around the campfire. Her eyes scanned around the tree line, but she didn’t see either Larry or Jewel.
“So, what’s the word, boys? Where’re the kids?” Charmain announced as she walked toward the long-faced men. Their bodies radiated defeat and anger.
Donny looked up, shamefaced. “Me and Woody had gone for a hunt. We weren’t gone that long, maybe a couple hours. When we got back, we found Hubbard hogtied.”
“It was three men, all geared up. Not quite military style, but real close. They had hardware on them, loaded for bear and fire suppression gear. Said they were looking for young people, and that Larry and Jewel fit the bill. That was about two hours ago,” Hubbard said, his voice sounding frail suddenly.
Charmain went and sat down beside him on the ground, placing her arm around him and giving him an awkward hug. “Well, I’m glad they didn’t hurt you or the kids,” she said briskly. “And the fact that they said they need young people tells me it’s some kind of cult, or some such, that wants to rebuild the world. Why didn’t you or Woody go after them, at least to track them?” she asked Donny.
Both Donny and Woody’s face burned bright red. Both looked at the dirt, unable to look at her or Jack.
“We just got back a few minutes ago, and figured we might as well wait for you, Harley, Rubin, and Jack,” Donny finally said.
Picking up the camp coffee pot, she poured herself coffee. She needed it after the day she’d had, and it wasn’t going to end any time soon.
“They must be the ones that killed all the Loco Locusts.” Looking towards the men who’d remained behind, she said, “We found the whole gang dead. I think those men must have gone there looking for young people, and saw what a hot mess they were. I guess they figured they’d do the world a favor by killing them.”
She blew into the cup of hot coffee, feeling the warm steam envelop her face. It was getting late in the day, and they had
a long trek ahead of them.
“I think we need to pack up and start tracking them now,” Jack said, his face tight with worry and suppressed anger.
“I agree. Let’s get this fire out and head out. It’ll be dark soon, and I’m hoping they might camp for the night,” Harley said.
Everyone got busy securing the camp, putting the fire out and packing up Larry and Jewel’s gear. They would not stop until they found the two, and Charmain knew it might take time.
She didn’t mind. She’d become very fond of Larry, and hoped the men wouldn’t hurt him or Jewel. She thought of Larry as a younger brother; he was ten years her junior. He’d been so pitiful when she’d first met him. She hoped he’d be okay until they found them. She also hoped that the men who’d taken them were not cruel or evil, just misguided in doing something good. She hoped it wasn’t enslavement or something shitty like that. She was sure there were ten kinds of crazy out there in the new world.
Rebuilding the human race sounded like a good idea in theory. However, Charmain thought it would have been better to ask rather than kidnap, and that part was what worried her. They’d stepped over that line, and she couldn’t abide that. If they hurt the pair, she’d kill them all.
“Hubbard, I think it best you go back,” Jack said. He held up his hand when Hubbard began to protest. “I know you can go the distance, but we don’t know how long this will take, days, maybe weeks. I won’t ask you to go along.”
“I can go, don’t worry. If I drag you back too much, I’ll head back then. For now, I’d like to come along,” Hubbard said, standing a little straighter.
The group nodded, and took off at a fast pace.
Bridgman, Michigan
It was twilight. Mike lay beside Jada on the top of the brownstone. The cold tarpaper chilled his body, and a small tremor moved through him. They’d made it quietly up the back of the building, and then up onto the roof. It was as good a hiding place as any.
He didn’t know how long they’d have to wait, but he wanted all the bastards in his sights. The beat-up van was down the street, so they were in the vicinity.
He and Jada had walked nearly a full day before they stopped to practice with their weapons. It had taken nearly an hour to get used to the sights and hit their targets. After that, they both felt confident about their abilities.
“I’m looking for a man with scratches on him. I think he is the one that killed Alisa,” Mike had told Jada while they made their way to the raiders’ stronghold.
“I think I know who did it. There was one of them that walked around for a few days with his face torn up,” Jada had told him. He’d felt his heart jump and his stomach drop at the news. He wanted to hold the man by the throat and kill him with his bare hands. “He has long greasy brown hair, but is totally bald on the top, like a nasty Friar Tuck. He has a rat face with beady eyes really close together. His arms are covered with swastika tattoos. He might be wearing a jacket with more swastikas. Most of the men have some kind of swastika tattoo on their bodies.”
“Good to know. If you have to, just shoot at his knees, so he can’t get away,” Mike said. He didn’t want the bastard to have a fast death.
They’d spent the night in a house they’d been in before. It was quiet, and both had been able to get good sleep. They had reached the stronghold in the late afternoon the following day, but stayed on the outskirts, waiting for dusk.
Mike looked over to Jada. Her face was calm in the fading light. He took note of the blanket she’d grabbed on their way to the roof. Good thinking, he thought, and wished he’d done the same.
It would seem that he’d been living in a bubble these past months. He and Stephen had prepared well and lived in relative comfort. Jada had lived by her wits and sheer luck for so very long. He’d never have thought about drinking out of toilet tanks, and yet she had survived despite the raiders. Sadly, her twin had not. He would help her with taking them out. He found no joy in it, but deep avenging satisfaction.
From the distance, acrid smoke and decay wafted toward them on a slow wind. Warmth and sunshine were heating up the corruption and rotting things, be that bodies or vegetation.
Mike pulled up his brown bandana, covering his nose and mouth. Looking over, he saw Jada do the same. He doubted they would catch the virus via inhalation, though he didn’t know how the virus had started and how it was transmitted.
He froze. Male voices, talking and laughing, drifted up from below. He shifted and lifted up onto his forearms, looking over the brick lip of the roof. Below were four men. Though he didn’t see his personal target, these four were ready to be shot.
“You take the two on the left, I’ll take the two on the right,” he whispered. “Spray them good, get center mass if you can, don’t worry about head shots. Once mine are down, I’ll help you and vice versa. We can’t let them get indoors.”
⅏
Jada pulled herself up to a crouch and rested her weapon on the brick ledge of the roof. She lined up her targets, then waited for Mike to give the word to shoot. He would ensure that Jenna was avenged if she could not.
She was glad she’d met him. She figured she’d have been dead by now if she hadn’t. It was time for retribution, and she felt a heady excitement now she had the men in her sights. The adrenaline started to build, making her body felt tingly. She hoped she wouldn’t screw this up. There was a faint tremor in her hand. She knew it wasn’t fear, but excitement.
She’d never have thought in a million years she’d be here, set to kill people. She didn’t even like to kill spiders. She’d never been a cruel person, and even went out of her way to be kind. Yet when the world had ended, she and Jenna had done things they’d never thought they would. They had been woefully ignorant of the survival game. They had also underestimated the depravity and ruthlessness of humankind, and it had got Jenna killed.
“When I see we have a clear shot, I’ll count down from five,” Mike said softly.
“Got you,” Jada said.
Jada took deep breaths, flexing her shoulders, wanting to be ready in mind and body.
She heard Mike softly counting down, took a deep breath, and held it. Slowly, she pulled the trigger, feeling the weapon bump her shoulder. She was so keyed in to her target, she didn’t hear Mike’s weapon.
Below her, the man dropped immediately, so she shifted her weapon to the startled man beside him. Taking aim, she pulled the trigger and missed. Following his now-moving body, she took aim again, and guesstimated where to place the bullet.
Pulling the trigger, she hit him. He was still moving, so she put another bullet in him and saw him drop. Looking back to the first man, she placed two more bullets into him for good measure.
Coming to herself, she took note that Mike had killed his two and was squatting down, waiting for all hell to break loose. Jada felt a giddiness bubble up in her. It wasn’t joy or happiness, but a curious mix of satisfaction and horror. Mike drew her down and out of sight. She’d forgotten to duck down. It was getting dark now, so she and Mike waited and watched.
⅏
Mike let his breath out slowly. They’d done it. They’d taken down four of the men. That was six men down, and the numbers were now in their favor. The AR15s were the turning point in this little war of theirs.
It was completely dark now, and he could barely make out the bodies below. Shouts came from up the street, but he couldn’t see anything.
Then he saw muzzle fire. The men were about twenty yards up the street and shooting into the air. Clearly, they had no idea where the pair was.
They were safe, for now.
Mike tapped Jada softly on the arm. “We should head downstairs,” he whispered in her ear. They’d seen an abandoned apartment that had been ransacked on their way up. Mike felt fairly sure they would be safe there for the night. The remaining raiders would continue to fire into the night, not knowing where their attackers were. Creeping low toward the roof access, they descended into the darkness. Mike led the way by
feeling along the walls, trying to remember the layout.
Arriving at the apartment, he and Jada went in. They closed the door softly, locked it, and pulled the chain across. It would prove little help should someone attempt to kick the door in, but it would slow them down at least. They moved a torn-up couch to barricade the door, and several chairs as well. If anyone came through, they’d hear them first.
“I think we should be safe for the night. They have no clue as to where the shots were fired from,” Mike said, pulling out a bottle of water. His mouth was dry from the tension. His hands were shaking, and he wondered at it. Must be aftershock, he thought. “We can go into the far back bedroom. It has a window, and we can listen and keep a watch from there. I think it has a lock on the door too.”
“Sounds good. Wow, I don’t know how I feel. Like excited, happy, and horrified all at once. Does that even make sense?” Jada asked softly.
Mike couldn’t see her; it was totally dark in the apartment. He opened the door to the bedroom and stepped aside for Jada to enter. “Yeah, I feel the same way. A sick kind of satisfaction. Like I know those assholes will never hurt another person. But also knowing that I took a life. I almost feel like I want to weep, but can’t quite get there, or feel bad about it. Though I should,” Mike said.
“Yes! That’s it! That’s how I feel. I want to cry, but I don’t know why. I want to dance and I’m so happy, but feel so terrible,” Jada whispered, excitement and wonder in her voice.
“Did you feel that way with the first two?” Mike asked.
“No. I didn’t kill them. I just hacked them up. How about you?” she asked.
“No. It’s weird. I think I was so scared and hyped up because I was filled with adrenaline and afraid of getting caught. It’s like we were under pressure to do it, not get surrounded, and get the hell out,” Mike said.
Mike worked his way blindly to the window, which was glassless. The room would be cold, but there were several blankets and pillows on the bed.
Jada came up beside him, and they both looked out the window, their masks still in place. She was shivering, so he pulled a blanket off the bed and snugged it around their shoulders. Warmth radiated off Jada, and his body started to relax, the tremors in his hand easing too.
