“Who said anything about a friend?” Shawn asked, bringing his rifle back up to threaten Jimmie’s life.
Jimmie had to think quicker on his feet if he was going to outsmart these two men. They didn’t seem particularly intelligent, but Shawn had a nose for smelling deception and seemed a little more bloodthirsty than Larry.
“I’m talking to you, Cole. Tell me how you know about our friend? Are you Andy’s dad?”
Jimmie’s heart sank at hearing that. Shawn was putting the pieces together, and Jimmie worried that soon he’d be dead and his family would be soon to follow.
“I told you! I’m from Tennessee and I’m heading south. I know there’s three of you because I’ve been hiding here for a while. I’ve been watching you.”
“You see, Shawn,” Larry said, hitting him on the arm. “If he couldn’t be trusted, he coulda killed us by now.”
Shawn wasn’t buying the story. “How long you been watch’n us?” Shawn asked.
“Long enough to see the three of you.”
Shawn shot the deceiver in the leg.
Jimmie let out a loud cry and dropped to the ground.
“Why’d you do that, Shawn?” Larry yelled.
“Think about it, you simpleton. Just because you got better speech than me don’t mean you’re brighter! If he was heading south, he’d know that there’s more than three of us. This man’s from that homestead where we saw that kid. That’s the only way he’d have seen Max. They must not know about him; otherwise he wouldn’t have come after us.”
“Unless Max is dead and he’s just scouting us out,” Larry added.
A realization that they might be getting picked off one by one hit Shawn in the face like a ton of bricks.
“We need to get over there now. Grab the stranger. We might need ’im for leverage,” Shawn said, taking control of the situation.
“Who died and made you boss?”
“If Max is dead, Denver’ll skin both of us alive! We’re supposed to stay together. Them are the rules.”
Jimmie was lying on the ground, putting pressure on the bullet wound as the two argued. Every ounce of pressure he put on it to control the bleeding caused that much more pain. He could feel where the bullet stopped. There was a hard knot between his hamstring and the skin on the back of his leg.
Jimmie thought, I need to cut an opening just over the top of the bullet so I can pull it out. It’s right there. I can feel it. Problem is, I don’t have a knife.
He watched the two men as they bickered about some man named Denver, and he wondered if he would be able to make a run for it.
Not possible. This hurts too bad. I wouldn’t reach the front yard before being shot dead.
Jimmie noticed the pool of blood under his leg was getting larger. Fear gripped his heart as he groped at his leg.
“Guys?” he called to them.
They stopped their bickering to look at the stranger.
“Ah, hell,” Larry said.
“That’s a lot of blood,” Shawn replied.
The two men walked up to Jimmie just as he lay down. He was light-headed and losing consciousness.
Shawn pulled his rifle up and pointed it at Jimmie’s head. Larry stopped him again by putting his hand on Shawn’s rifle and pushing it down.
“We might as well finish ’im off,” Shawn insisted.
“Why waste a bullet? He’s bleeding out. I think you hit an artery. Give him a minute or two and save yourself a bullet.”
Jimmie lost sense of what was happening. The pain in his leg abated, and his thoughts wandered back to the homestead, where he hoped Carissa was doing well. His last memory before losing consciousness was of little Pudge looking out the front-room window as his big brother, Jimmie, got on the school bus when they were children. Pudge’s face would be sad as he waved goodbye. Jimmie felt guilty leaving Pudge alone with Dad, but there was nothing he could do about it. Jimmie had to leave, and Pudge had to take care of himself. The dirty glass pane of the window on the front of that old farmhouse glistened, even through the grime, because on the other side of it, Pudge was there waiting for Jimmie to look back at him every morning before he stepped onto the bus. That was his last memory. A hundred school bus pickups coalesced into one, with Pudge’s sad eyes as he waved goodbye.
MEMORIES FROM THE GLADE – JIMMIE’S WATCH
The Glade
Mitchell Homestead
August 16th
Darrick’s back was stiff from shoveling. He wanted to stand as tall as he could and stretch his arms into the air. He could never be too careful, so he looked about to make sure nobody was visible.
Trees. I see lots of trees, but no people.
He stretched as tall as he could. When he was done, he walked over to a separate section of the makeshift cemetery. The graves weren’t that old – three in all, not counting Jimmie’s or the fresh empty plot. He looked upon them and considered their lives. The significance of taking men’s lives weighed heavily on his conscience.
Darrick’s weight gave in at his knees as he thought about everything that had happened and everything that had befallen the homestead. He fell hard into a sitting position next to one of them. With sad eyes and a heavy heart, he looked down at it. He rested his left hand on top of the loose dirt, and he looked at his watch. It was an old Timex that had belonged to his brother, and his father before that. It had stopped working a long time ago. He wasn’t sure why he wore it. A memento, maybe. It served as a distraction at best.
He turned his head back to the set of graves. Unlike the grave of his brother, these graves were unmarked. If not for the trouble they could bring, he would have strung them up by their necks. One in each tree. That wouldn’t be tactically sound, so he had to bury them. He reminisced – or he tried to. He kept looking at Jimmie’s watch. The more he looked at it, the more he felt torn between sorrow and rage. It was the combination of the two that edged him closer and closer to reckless and negligent behaviors. He felt obliged to do some crazy thing, but in the back of his mind, Andy and Tonya were there to anchor him. That was where he found his peace in the storm. He wanted Jimmie’s watch to fuel his rage. He wanted it to direct his anger.
BLOOD ON THE FLOOR
Mitchell Homestead
August 13th
The stranger took the shot to the head, but it wasn’t enough to kill him. The bullet that Darrick fired pierced the bridge of the stranger’s nose and stunned him into letting go of Andy. The boy, stricken with fear and panic, ran out the door. Darrick, seeing the blood that was quickly escaping from the man’s face, hesitated.
Die, just die already.
The man must not have sustained a fatal head shot, but that took a moment to analyze. The stranger used that moment to point his pistol in the direction of Darrick and pulled the trigger. Stunned, Darrick searched himself over for a bullet hole. Nothing.
The man was now facing Darrick for the first time since being shot. One of his eyes was blown completely out and was missing. The other eye was dangling from the socket. The man pulled the trigger again, but he didn’t realize the slide of his pistol was already locked to the rear. His magazine was empty and he had shot his last bullet. He dropped to his knees, and Darrick ran up to him, kicking him in the head with his right knee as hard as he could. The man shot backwards onto the hardwood floor and continued to bleed and moan.
Darrick straddled the man and used his bare hands to choke out what remained of the stranger’s life. He could hear the women behind him crying as the man’s arms and legs struggled to gain control. It was pointless. The stranger’s equilibrium was gone with his vision, and he had no sense of direction. His struggles were momentary. Darrick pressed down on the man’s neck until he was lifeless.
Darrick regained his composure and stood. Looking back at the women, he asked, “Are you okay?”
Both Carissa and Tonya had lost their poise. Darrick looked them over, trying to see if they were shot. About that time, elder Mitchell came walking into the front room.
“Not now, Dad,” Darrick said.
Elder Mitchell was confused. All he saw was the two women crying hysterically. He had already forgotten about the gunshot sound that drew him out of the bedroom to begin with. He ran for the coat closet to grab the shotgun, but it wasn’t there, so he turned to Darrick and charged him with his bare hands. He bolted between the two women, believing that he was running to their defense.
Darrick scooped up his dad in a bear hug and carried him back to his room, where he released him and closed the door. Darrick stood against the door as his dad beat on the other side. His dad threw swear words and demands, but Darrick shut out his father and sank to the floor, keeping his weight against the door. The ladies were not yet composed. He needed them to help keep elder Mitchell in his room until things were calm and Andy was found. From his position, he heard the crying come to a stop.
“Tonya, you there?” he called out.
Carissa came walking around the corner to meet Darrick.
“I think she went looking for Andy,” she said, wiping her eyes and nose on her shoulder.
“Would you mind holding Dad back while I go get Tonya and Andy?” he asked.
She nodded yes and traded positions with him. Darrick left her alone. She called out to him as he was leaving, “Jimmie went looking for you,” hoping he would also find her husband. He didn’t hear her voice. He was already too far gone.
Outside, Tonya was calling for Andy, and he wasn’t responding. Darrick followed her calls and joined her near the chicken coop, where Andy usually played.
“Don’t stray too far,” Darrick told her. “There’s still two more of them out there.”
Darrick shot off towards the apple orchard while Tonya searched the areas closer to the house. It wasn’t long before she heard the chickens’ clucking pick up. She immediately headed for the coop. Now standing at the fence door, she called out, “Andy, you in there?”
There was no answer, but she knew somebody was in there because the chickens were worked up over something. With rifle still in hand, she pointed it upward and moved toward the door. She cracked it open and saw Andy hiding in the corner under a nesting box.
“Andy, it’s okay, baby,” she said, reaching out her hand to take his.
He shook his head no and cowered back into the corner.
“You really need to stop calling him baby,” Darrick said, startling her. “I heard the chickens, so I came back.”
“See if you can coax him out,” she demanded, frustrated at his lack of empathy. Tonya stormed off toward the house.
“Hey, pal,” Darrick said to Andy. “You plan on staying in there forever?”
“The bad man was going to kill me.”
“That’s not going to happen, son. I stopped him. He’s not going to bother any of us ever again.”
“I heard you shoot him. Did it kill him?”
Darrick felt uncomfortable sharing the details of the stranger’s death with him, so he lied. “Yeah. It killed him.”
Darrick watched Andy for some kind of reaction, but something about Andy was a little off. He was used to managing Andy’s autism, but Andy had never been taken hostage before, so he really wasn’t sure what mental challenges he might face having to deal with the process.
“Listen, pal – those guys who talked to you in the orchard – was he one of them?”
Andy nodded his head.
“What did they say to you? Did they mention to you how many of them there were or if they were going to visit our home?”
“The bad man didn’t talk to me. He just listened. The other men asked where I lived, so I showed them.”
“Did they say anything? What did they say?”
“One of the men whispered to me.”
Darrick grabbed him by the shoulders. “What did they whisper to you, son?”
“Quit picking our apples.”
“Where’s your uncle Jimmie?”
“I don’t know.”
Darrick was all the more frustrated at the lack of answers. “You need to come out of there now! There’s two more bad men out there, and I don’t know where they’re at.”
Andy stood up and began making his way to the door of the coop. “Do you think they’ll try to kill me again?”
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Mom, Aunt Carissa, Uncle Jimmie, or Papa. Do you understand?”
Andy shrugged his shoulders then jumped down out of the enclosure. As he was walking back to the house, Carissa came storming out the back door, right past Andy and into Darrick’s face.
“Jimmie went looking for you, and he’s not back yet!” she said with her finger pointed squarely at his forehead.
“Went looking –” Darrick cut himself short, realizing that his big brother went to the Berts’ homestead. It was a lie he’d told Jimmie and the others to avoid a conflict of words so that he could find the third stranger. Now matters were worse. His son was possibly suffering from a traumatic event, his brother was missing, and a dead man was on the floor of the house.
Carissa was watching Darrick’s expression, hoping to see some sign of regret or even an apology. “Well? What are you going to do about it?”
Darrick didn’t apologize. He pushed past her and in doing so said, “I’m going after him.”
“And what about us?”
Darrick stopped. “Lock up tight and make sure your rifles are loaded.”
Tonya came out of the house to join the conversation and said, “Your dad’s asleep, finally – what’s going on?”
“I need to go after Jimmie. He should have been back by now.”
“What about us? What about Andy and your dad?”
“Just lock everything up tight. Carissa, do you have enough hiding spaces in the house to conceal everybody?”
“No. Just the one. Your dad’s going to be fully exposed if those men show up. You know there’s no shutting him up until he gets tired of yelling.”
“Then show Andy where the hiding place is and make sure he makes it in. The two of you will have to make do until I return. I don’t know what else to do. I’m not leaving him out there. Something might have happened to him, and I aim to find out what it is.”
Darrick turned to leave, and Tonya gave Carissa a stink-eye before walking away. She didn’t like the attitude she presented, but she felt vindicated knowing that her husband was at least trying to correct a wrong.
The Berts’ Homestead
A mile or so east, Shawn and Larry were dragging the Berts’ bodies into the woods. Larry had Sue by the leg, and Shawn had Roy by the arm. Neither men afforded the deceased an ounce of respect. Larry reached the wood line first and said, “Drop the old man and help me chuck her behind this here log.”
Shawn let go of Roy’s body and headed over to assist Larry by grabbing Sue’s legs. Together they hoisted her into the air, saying, “One, two, three!” and let her go. Her dead remains flew limp through the air as she sailed into the woods. Before she even hit the ground, Larry was assisting Shawn by grabbing Roy’s legs.
“Wait,” Shawn said.
“Wait for what?”
“Should we keep’m together?”
“Why not?”
“I guess it don’t matter. I just don’t want no stink when Denver passes through here. You know how he is with smells ’n things.”
“You’re probably right. Maybe we should burn them, then?”
“There ya go! Now you’re cook’n with butane!”
“What about the liar?”
“We’ll fetch him out of the woods, too, I suppose.”
The two men stepped into the woods and grabbed Sue’s lifeless body. They dragged her out of the woods and tossed her on top of Roy’s body.
Shawn remembered he had some butane in his pack. “Where’d I leave my backpack?”
“I’m not the keeper of your pack.”
“I’ll be right back,” Shawn said, heading for the house.
“Hurry up. We still need to
fetch the liar.”
***
The closet was dark and smelled of old lady’s perfume. Inside, a young woman, about the age of twenty-five, was awake and contemplating her next move. Her mouth was gagged with an old dirty sock, and it was duct-taped in place around her head and neck. Her feet were tied together, and her hands were tied behind her back. She had not seen the light of day for several hours. Just outside the door, she could hear the sounds of one of her captors rustling around in the hallway.
“Where’d I put that pack?” he said to himself.
The closet door opened up, and a flood of bright light shot into the closet. It was painful to the woman’s eyes, so she closed them tightly and pulled herself into the corner as snugly as she could muster. She had been raped several times over by each of her two captors. Her and her husband had been mugged on their trek east by two men.
“Hello, pretty,” Shawn said. “I almost forgot about you.”
The woman began to squirm because she knew what was next.
Shawn began to wrestle with her.
The woman had a strong will and didn’t hesitate to resist her attacker. Even though both of her legs were tied together, she kicked like a mule at the man until he punched her in the mouth. The hit rang her head and she gave up the fight. Shawn pulled her out of the closet by her feet and stood over her. No sooner than he had started to undo his belt, the woman heard a loud thump sound and the man fell on top of her. Behind him, another man was standing. A man she had never seen before. She didn’t know what to expect; fearing the worst, she pulled herself out from underneath Shawn and began to crawl back into the closet, where she screamed through the dirty sock. Her screams were muffled, but Larry heard them from his position outside.
“Are you on that pretty girl again?” Larry called out to Shawn.
The woman looked up at the new man, and he had his finger up to his mouth, saying, “Shhh. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m going to take that thing out of your mouth, but you have to promise me you’re not going to scream.”
After The Pulse (Book 1): Homestead Page 4
