“Be right back.”
Sarah and Akrim watched as Preacher made his way cautiously toward the once again unmoving body in the road.
“Hey, man you need help? Can you hear me?”
The body remained still and silent. Preacher crept closer with the rifle pointed in front of him.
“We saw you moving – can you get up?”
A low, barely-audible croak of a whisper replied.
“Help…help me please. They left me here to die.”
Preacher kept his weapon pointed at the man who was dressed in little more than remnants of loose fitting clothes torn in various places as if he had survived an animal attack. His skin was nearly as dark as Preacher’s. The skin of his face was pulled tight over the bones of his cheeks and forehead, the lower half covered in a mottled grey beard. He appeared to be nearly starved, a gaunt whisper of the man he once was.
“Can you get up?”
The man shook his head and then whimpered.
“It hurts…it hurts so much. Please help me.”
A long-fingered hand adorned by the jagged, misshapen ends of several broken nails reached out toward Preacher.
“Please…”
Preacher looked back at his two travelling companions and then to the sickly creature begging for his help. Against his better judgment, he reached down with his right hand to try and help the other man up.
As soon as their hands touched the other man unleashed a snarling growl and launched himself forward. Preacher was stunned at the man’s speed and strength having appeared so convincingly near death just seconds earlier.
“I got him! I got him!”
The man’s breath smelled of rotting gums and stomach acid, the result of starvation. His lips were pulled back in a frightening grimace as his eyes opened wide, fully immersed in the madness of a human being desperate to survive and willing to do anything to live just one more day.
Preacher felt himself carried backwards by the other man’s momentum. He struggled to maintain his balance and then saw three other figures emerge from the right-side ditch. Like the man attacking him, they too appeared to be suffering from equal parts starvation and desperation. All four of the men were black.
“Get off me!”
Preacher pushed the smaller man away from him while trying to maintain his grip on the hunting rifle. The man shuffled backwards and then howled as he re-launched himself toward Preacher, seemingly unconcerned over the possibility of being shot. This time he was joined by the three other men, all of their hands reaching out like talons hoping to take hold of their prey so they might overpower him.
Preacher swung the butt of the rifle around and hit the first man in the left jaw, knocking him to the ground. He then hopped backwards just enough to give him room to bring the weapon around and point it at the other three men.
“Don’t make me shoot you! Step back!”
Three pairs of eyes gleamed back at him hungrily. Tongues flickered out to moisten dry, cracked lips as the men prepared to attack.
“Give us everything you have and we won’t kill you.”
It was the tallest of the four who spoke. A large wound above his left eye slowly oozed puss from an infection in need of attention. His age was nearly undeterminable given how emaciated he appeared. He could have been as young as thirty or as old as fifty.
“You ain’t taking a single thing from us so I suggest you back off and let us continue on down the road. There’s two more guns pointed at you with more than enough firepower to rip you apart.”
The man leered at Preacher, unimpressed by the threat of potential death.
“You’re making threats to men who got nothing to lose, boy.”
Preacher pointed his rifle at the man’s face.
“I will kill you…BACK OFF.”
The man who had played dead in the road hissed his impatience.
“We can rush him, Karl! He can’t kill us all!”
The lips of Karl’s mouth gave way to reveal a row of broken, yellow teeth. He nodded his head slowly as his eyes looked over toward Akrim and Sarah.
“I believe you’re right, Willie. Those other two won’t shoot so long as we’re this close to him.”
Preacher took another step back as Willie began to try and move behind him while Karl and the other three shuffled forward. The acrid stench from the four men assaulted his nostrils, almost causing him to vomit.
It was at that moment Preacher knew he had no choice. If the men were to attack at once he would likely only get one shot off before they were upon him. If they were able to take the rifle they could then use it to fire at Akrim and Sarah. The possibility of either of them being harmed, especially Sarah and the child she carried inside of her, was something that filled Preacher with a simmering rage that threatened to overtake what little compassion he felt for the four men’s desperate condition.
Willie made his move, jumping at Preacher’s left side with both hands stretched outward in an attempt to grab the rifle from him. A single shot erupted and left a thumb-sized hole in the lower half of Willie’s throat. Willie froze with both his hands covering the wound in a failed attempt to stop the blood from pouring out between his filth-encrusted fingers. Preacher was unable to manipulate the rifle’s bolt-action quickly enough before the other three men were upon him. He turned and threw the weapon toward the other side of the road and prepared to fight for his own life and those of his friends.
A hard right hook found its mark upon Karl’s left jaw, momentarily stunning him. This was followed by two separate jabs that moved with both incredible speed and force, each one hitting the faces of the other two men. Preacher’s fighter instincts took over. He had no intention of showing the remaining three men any mercy.
Karl was on the receiving end of a crunching uppercut and left cross that sent him crumpling to the ground in a state of semi-consciousness. One of the other two men then found his legs buckling after a thumping check-hook that snapped his head so violently to the side he feared his neck was broken.
Preacher looked for the fourth man but couldn’t locate him. A scraping sound caused him to whirl about where he found himself staring at the business end of his own rifle. The man slammed the weapon’s bolt into place and dropped another round into the chamber.
Damn, I wasn’t ready to die…
Again a single gunshot rang out. Preacher flinched as he instinctively brought his hands up to his chest and then looked down at the blood he knew would be covering them.
Preacher’s rifle dropped from the other man’s hands as he took an unsteady step forward, his mouth opening and closing without sound and his eyes staring ahead at something apparently only he could see. Then he fell face-first onto the pavement and remained there as a pool of crimson formed underneath his body from the bullet wound that had entered his right side and exited out his back.
Preacher looked behind him and saw Sarah lowering her rifle. Though her face held little expression, her eyes betrayed the shock of what she had just done. Akrim’s eyes moved from Sarah to Preacher and then back to Sarah.
“Sarah, you saved Preacher’s life.”
Sarah looked down at the hunting rifle she held in her hands and then exhaled the breath she had not realized she had been holding.
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
Preacher quickly retrieved his rifle from the grip of the man Sarah had shot dead and then aimed it at the two other men who remained alive albeit still unable to get to their feet due to the beating Preacher had just delivered to them.
The man Preacher knew to be Karl groaned as he placed a pair of trembling hands onto each of his knees and forced himself back up onto his feet where he then glared back at Preacher.
“Get it over with – just shoot me like you did Willie. I’m so damn tired of living like a starved dog.”
Preacher lowered his rifle, sensing whatever fight the two men might have had in them moments earlier had vanished.
“What happened to you? Wh
ere you from?”
Karl flinched as he lightly touched the throbbing left side of his jaw.
“Damn, where’d you learn to throw a punch like that?”
Preacher ignored the question. He had no interest in sharing his personal life with someone who so recently would have gladly killed him.
“Where you from?”
Karl cleared his throat and then spit out a large ball of mucous onto the dark surface of the paved road.
“We were run out of our homes along with every other black family there. Been on the run ever since. Little city about an hour’s drive from here called Fort Madison in Iowa. People there started going crazy a few weeks ago. They was scared we might start setting fires to their homes like what was done in Chicago and some of the other big cities so they decided to get rid of us. They chased us out with guns, knives…whatever they could get their hands on.”
“Preacher – you ok?”
It was Sarah who called out from where she sat atop the Harley. Preacher waved at her with his right hand while making a mental note of how beautiful she appeared with the hunting rifle resting across the subtle bump of her pregnant belly. It was an unusual combination of traditional feminine allure mixed with the deadly potential to protect those she cared about.
“Yeah, just be a minute.”
Karl’s eyes were resting upon Sarah as well, something which caused Preacher’s own protective instincts to rush forth once again.
“Don’t look at her.”
Karl appeared startled by the request, perhaps even a little hurt.
“I don’t intend to do her no harm. It’s just been some time since we seen something so pretty come this way.”
Both Preacher and Karl looked down at the other man struggling to get back onto his feet. Karl helped him up and then looked at Preacher.
“This here is Jimmy. We found him a week ago hiding out inside an abandoned car about four miles up the road from here. His family, his home, was destroyed just like mine. Crazy white animals did it.”
Jimmy was as tall as Preacher, albeit at least forty pounds lighter. A dust and sweat-drenched light blue sweatshirt hung off his thin frame. His eyes were especially wide and tinged red due to a lack of sleep. He appeared to be no more than twenty years of age and regarded Preacher with open hostility, his mouth a hard slash across his otherwise smooth-skinned face.
“He killed Willie and that white girl killed Joe.”
Karl’s glanced to his right as his face contorted into a mask of alarmed frustration.
“Boy, shut your mouth!”
Jimmy’s eyes fell to the ground. Despite his anger at seeing two of his companions killed in front of him, he knew better than to try and further challenge Preacher. Karl quickly attempted to alleviate any further tension.
“He didn’t mean nothin’ by that. We understand the world we live in and it was us who came at you, not the other way around. That said, if you could possibly spare any food and water we would be much obliged.”
Preacher quickly calculated how much food and water they might be able to give. He then decided any generosity on his part would have to be reciprocated with something nearly as valuable – information.
“So you know these parts well?”
Karl nodded his head several times.
“Oh yeah, been living ‘round here most my life.”
Preacher looked over at Sarah and Akrim again before his eyes returned to stare back at Karl.
“And you think us heading to Fort Madison wouldn’t be a good idea, right?”
Karl’s mouth formed an exaggerated circle as he pointed a thumb toward Sarah.
“Hell no it wouldn’t! They see you with that white girl…”
Karl’s voice trailed off without completing the sentence. He didn’t have to. Preacher already understood the implication.
“So where can we go to get fuel?”
“Well…there’s an abandoned truck stop about five miles outside Nauvoo right alongside the Mississippi River. Stay on State Route 9 and then turn off onto Great River Road - just follow the signs. We stayed there a few nights after getting chased out of Madison. You could be there in less than an hour. Nauvoo is a little town with mostly Mormon families. They shouldn’t bother you if you don’t bother them. Might be some fuel still left at that truck stop and the road there is hardly travelled anymore, should be a lot safer for you.”
Preacher considered the possibility Karl could be lying to him while also silently acknowledging to himself that if they didn’t find more fuel soon they would likely find themselves having to walk which would make them that much more vulnerable to predatory attack from others like Karl who were themselves increasingly desperate to survive.
“I’ll leave you two some food and water. We don’t have much to spare, but what we do have you’re welcome to it.”
Karl’s eyes blinked several times as he fought back tears. Even Jimmy appeared genuinely grateful for Preacher’s generosity.
Karl shook his head and stared at his feet while his voice cracked with emotion.
“I about gave up on expecting to find any kindness left in this world. Thank you, sir. Thank you so very much.”
A moment later found Akrim staring back at Preacher in disbelief.
“You said you would help them? Why would you do that? They just tried to kill you!”
Preacher shrugged as he reached into one of the Harley’s saddlebag pockets and then withdrew a bottle of water and some of the food that had been given to them days earlier by Lucia.
“None of this is going to get better unless we remember what it is to treat others with respect. We killed two of them already, Akrim. I don’t feel a need to hurt them anymore than we already have.”
Akrim was about to disagree when he was cut off by Sarah who spoke with a quiet yet firm determination.
“Preacher’s right, we can’t let ourselves become like them. We can spare a little and they could use it. Maybe it’ll help to change things around here in some small way.”
Akrim looked at Sarah and Preacher and then nodded once.
“Ok, if that’s what you want, but do it quickly. It will be dark soon and I want us to be far away from here before it is.”
Preacher walked back to where Karl and Jimmy stood waiting and placed the water and food into Karl’s slightly trembling, grime-covered hands.
“Here you go – make it last.”
Soon after, Karl brushed away a tear and then waved as Preacher, Sarah and Akrim sped past him on their way west toward the Mississippi River that separated Illinois from Iowa. As he followed their departure with their gift of food and water still in his hands he felt for the first time in a very long time a glimmer of hope that things might some day get better for everyone who called America home.
That thought was abruptly snuffed out by the violent, bone-cracking crash of a rock smashing into the back of his skull.
Jimmy was grateful for the gift of food and water as well, but unlike Karl, he had no intention of sharing…
---------------------
EPISODE TWENTY:
Tom Dolan knew he had to be dreaming. Some fragment of remaining consciousness whispered of that fact even as he stood looking up at the dignified, silver-haired woman who returned his gaze with a sad, patient kindness he had not experienced since his own mother was still alive.
“Do I know you?”
The woman’s mouth formed a subtle half-smile but she remained silent.
Tom looked behind him at the vast valley that was the view below where the simple, wood-framed cabin stood. And though he didn’t recognize the place, he found it brought him some measure of comfort. He could smell the faint, earthy aroma of the tall grasses that grew across the valley’s expanse, and watched as a single red-tailed hawk slowly circled above him as it hunted for a meal below.
“Where am I?”
The woman moved across the narrow expanse of the cabin’s covered porch so that she stood directly above
Tom Dolan. He noted the odd intensity of her stare, as if she wanted very much to say something but was unable to form the words to do so. She was clothed in a simple cream-colored dress that hung just above her feet and a pair of handmade leather sandals.
Behind her, the sound of a deep, baritone voice could be heard coming from a radio program playing inside the home.
This is to be a long-long journey back, ladies and gentlemen and it must be taken upon that road less traveled. My good friend, Moses will help you find your way to us but you have to keep moving. Follow the light if you wish to escape the night and if you think yourself lost, look to the sky.
American Survivalist: RACE WARS OMNIBUS: Seasons 1-5 Of An American Survivalist Series... Page 25
