by James Hunt
Would be.
Kate circled that thought, a meaning in it that the pain in her body wouldn’t allow her to grasp, but when she felt the vibrations from Rodney’s detonations, she remembered.
Dennis turned toward the blasts, and Kate lifted her head, the effort requiring what remained of her strength. The knife rested above her, but it was too high, too far for her to reach. But Dennis had his back turned, and she knew it wouldn’t stay that way forever. She had to act, and she had to do it now.
With what remained of her strength, Kate pushed herself to her knees, buckling over at the waist and her clutching her chest as her ribs shrieked in pain and defiance. Kate extended her arm, her hand shaking as her fingertips grazed the knife’s handle.
A scream escaped her lips as she raised it high, and Dennis turned, his eyes widening as she brought the blade down. He jerked away at the last second, only the knife’s tip catching the meat of his chest, spraying a line of blood to the floor.
“Gahhh!” Dennis stumbled backward into the table as Kate collapsed to her knees, the strength from her body gone as she looked at her children.
“Run,” Kate said, the word coming out cracked and inaudible. She tried again, screaming from the depths of her soul. “Run!”
Holly was out of her chair first, then Luke pushed her out the kitchen door. Dennis watched them leave and then turned his murderous glare to Kate. “You bitch!” But something at the door caught his eye, and at the last second, he sprinted out of the kitchen and deeper into the house as a gunshot thundered at the kitchen’s exit.
Rodney burst inside, rifle up, scanning the kitchen until his eyes fell on Kate, and he flung the rifle’s strap over his shoulder. Kate collapsed into his arms, forcing him to hold up her weight as she struggled for breath.
“Holly,” Kate said, clutching Rodney’s shoulder. “Luke—”
“They’re outside,” Rodney said. “C’mon, we have to get out of here, quick.”
Rodney dragged Kate through the door, and she was surprised to feel nothing from the cold as the bottoms of her feet skidded across the snow.
Bodies littered Main Street, some of the buildings catching fire from the blasts that were set off, and up ahead, Kate saw Luke and Holly with Captain Harley near the highway exit. She then saw Stacy leading a group of people from one of the buildings.
Random gunshots erupted in the night, and despite the violence around her, Kate swelled with hope. She was almost out. Her body was broken, but she was almost free.
“Just hang on, Kate,” Rodney said, his voice strained as he practically carried her away. “We’re almost there. Just hang—”
The gunshot and the sudden taste of snow in her mouth were simultaneous. Kate barely felt the scrape of the concrete as she and Rodney face-planted to the ground.
Kate lifted her head and found a red blotch rising on the back of Rodney’s shoulder. She reached for his arm, her face swollen and numb. “Rodney!”
More gunshots thundered, and screams followed the violent mechanical thunder as Kate watched a group of gunmen surround Captain Harley and her children.
“I want them alive!”
Kate turned back toward the house, finding Dennis with his arm extended with a pistol in his hand. The blood from the knife wound was still dripping, but the cold slowed the crawl of blood down his stomach.
More of Dennis’s men emerged from the houses and the woods, some of them leading her people by gunpoint. She felt hands on her, and Kate was lifted off the pavement, her body devoid of all feeling as Dennis pressed the end of his pistol against her cheek.
“Eighteen years,” he said, his voice haggard, and on the verge of tears. “Eighteen years in a concrete cell, eighteen years lost because of you and my bastard son.”
Luke was thrust to his knees next to Kate, and Dennis removed the pistol from her cheek and pressed it against Luke’s temple.
“Mom?” Luke asked, crying.
But she couldn’t answer. She could barely keep herself conscious.
“I want you to know that I take no pleasure in killing our son,” Dennis said, his voice steadying but that mad look returning to those dark eyes. “But I do take pleasure in watching his death cause you pain.”
Kate drew in a ragged breath and focused on those dark eyes that a foolish nineteen-year-old girl once found attractive but now made her sick. “He was never your son. You were never a part of him, no matter what you say.”
Dennis cocked the hammer on his pistol. “Fuck you, Kate.”
Gunfire rained over the town, the explosions erupting from behind her, and Kate only caught a glimpse of Dennis’s face as he removed the pistol from Luke’s head and fired above their heads, retreating down the street.
And as Kate fell forward, she saw the bullets that cut through Dennis’s chest and stomach, brilliant plumes of red spreading across his shirt as his body jerked wildly with each gunshot until he lay on the pavement, covered in blood. Dead.
A few more gunshots echoed, and then Kate felt hands up and down her body.
“Medic! We need a medic!”
“Ma’am, can you hear me? Ma’am? We’re with the United States National Guard. Are you the one who sent the Morse code message? Ma’am?”
Kate wanted to answer, but everything had suddenly turned cold, and the white of the snow faded to grey. She couldn’t feel her breathing anymore, and as she closed her eyes, she knew that she could find peace with the knowledge that her children were alive.
Chapter 13 (Six months later)
Weeds and grass crept over the highway, trapping the broken cars and clogged road. The snows of winter had long since melted, and the heat of summer had descended upon northern New York State.
But while the days had grown long and hot, not a single man, woman, or child complained. The icy grip of winter had left a mark, and it would take a long time before that cold finally thawed.
Rodney adjusted the strap of his rifle as he weaved through the line of cars, Luke behind him, dragging a deer with him.
“You don’t want to help me with this?” Luke asked, panting.
“You said you wanted to go hunting,” Rodney answered, turning back with a smile over his thick beard, which was shiny with sweat. “Number-one rule of hunting is that the guy that does the killing doesn’t have to do the carrying.”
Luke rotated his shoulder as he gave the heavy buck another tug by the rope and tarp that he was dragging across the grass. “Last time, you said it was the hunter who does the killing that does the carrying.”
Rodney laughed. “Well, that’s the good thing about being the teacher. I get to make the rules.” They walked another mile before Rodney finally broke down and helped Luke pull it. They walked all the way toward Duluth’s exit then rolled the buck down the ramp to the highway into town.
It was almost evening by the time they returned, and the street was busy with chatter. Tables were already being set out for dinner, a mishmash of dining ware that stretched from one end of Main Street to the other.
Smiles and friendly faces greeted Rodney and Luke’s entrance, and when they flipped open the tarp to reveal the fresh game, applause erupted.
“Looks a little smaller than the one I brought home yesterday,” Harley said, leaning up against the doorway, finally looking comfortable in clothing that wasn’t a uniform.
“It’s a bit shorter,” Rodney said. “But it’s most definitely thicker.”
Harley laughed and then helped Dana Miles set the table outside their little general store. Rodney had discovered that he liked hearing the old state trooper’s laugh, and he tried to elicit a chuckle as often as he could.
“You remember how to gut it?” Rodney asked as they approached Luke’s place.
“Yeah, I remember,” Luke answered, blushing as Sarah walked out of their first-floor apartment and planted a kiss on his cheek.
Rodney watched the pair embrace and smiled as he returned to his little one-room studio on the back side of Ma
in Street.
He’d stopped staying at the cabin after the last group of survivors that came through three months ago. With the numbers that were coming in from the highway, they had a nice linked group of community members now. Good people. Rodney forgot how much he missed good people.
Rodney leaned his rifle in the corner between the front door and the side wall, and before he could wipe the blood off his hands, the watch horn blared.
As quick as a snakebite, Rodney snatched the rifle from the corner and hurried outside. A stream of people followed him toward the town’s entrance, all of them armed. They’d prepared for something like this. Another confrontation was inevitable. But they were ready to face it. Together.
Rodney met Harley with his newly deputized officers at the town’s entrance, moving the cars across the road to form a blockade. Dean Smultz sprinted down the road from his watch post, the sky turning a golden hue behind him as the sun set.
“What is it?” Rodney asked, elbows planted on the hood of a rusted Buick.
“Trucks,” Dean answered, sliding over the Buick’s trunk and repositioning his rifle. “They’re armed to the teeth.”
The town behind Rodney was quickly boarded up, everyone knowing their role. They had evacuation routes planned to the neighboring communities, and there was already a runner in the woods, sprinting to let everyone else in the other towns know that something was coming.
An engine rumbled, the noise foreign after so many months without traffic, and when the first truck made its way down the embankment, followed by a dozen more, Rodney tensed.
“If they charge, fall back!” Rodney said, his eyes still locked on the front grill of the first truck. “But do not fire until fired upon!” This was their group’s first real test of strength, and Rodney knew there was a flurry of nerves attached to those trigger fingers.
Through the scope, Rodney noted the soldier uniforms. They hadn’t had any contact with the United States military since the National Guard intervened, but he wasn’t sure how these fighters planned to greet them.
The lead truck slowed a few dozen yards before the barricade, and doors opened and two soldiers stepped out, brandishing their weapons behind the cover of their armor-plated cavalry.
“Drop your weapons!” But when the order wasn’t obeyed, the soldier scooted forward. “I said drop your—”
“Lieutenant!” The breathless voice was attached to a very small man dressed in a suit and tie, his glasses falling down the bridge of his nose, waving his arms. “Stop!” He slowed down at the convoy’s front, stepping between the two groups, arms extended to both parties. “We don’t need any bloodshed.” He looked at Rodney then at the lieutenant. “How about a show of good faith, huh?”
A few seconds passed, and the lieutenant lowered his rifle.
“Stand down.” The lieutenant’s order echoed down the line, and once all of the weapons were lowered, the small man in the business suit looked toward Rodney and the line of guns still trained on the military.
“Please,” the suited man said, his hands folded together. “I’m sure you have all been through quite a lot, but we’re not here to take anything or hurt anyone. We’re here to help.”
Rodney wasn’t sure of the man’s agenda, but the fact that they weren’t pointing their guns at them provided enough good will for him to reciprocate, and Rodney lowered his weapon, ordering the rest of his group to do the same. “Let’s get these cars pushed back.”
The old rust buckets were wheeled off, and Rodney was the first to cross the line to shake the little guy’s hand. He was even smaller up close.
“Bob Gally,” he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “The gentlemen you see behind me are with the army’s Eighty-Seventh Infantry. We were stationed in DC when the EMP went off. I, um... oh.” He patted his jacket, searching his pockets for something, which he found and handed over to Rodney for inspection. It was a badge. “I’m with the Department of Reconstruction.”
Harley joined Rodney on his left as he handed the badge back to Bob Gally. “Never heard of it.”
“No, you wouldn’t have,” Bob said, laughing, which he quickly stopped once neither Rodney nor Harley joined in. He cleared his throat. “It’s a new department the president and his staff put together once we secured the capital. We’re in the process of reestablishing communications across the country, and our group is part of the northeastern efforts.” He looked back at Rodney’s group, offering a friendly wave, which wasn’t returned. “Are you the person in charge here?”
Rodney sized up the little man. If this was a charade, then it was one of the most elaborate charades that he’d ever seen. He looked at Harley, who gave him a slight nod, and Rodney exhaled. “Follow me.” He started to walk. “But your military stays outside the town.”
Bob Gally obliged and quickly fell into step behind Rodney, his short legs churning twice as fast.
Every eye turned toward Rodney, who led the representative of the Department of Reconstruction toward the town hall, where the bulk of their people were trained to go to during their practice drills.
Rodney didn’t like the idea of having her stay when something like this happened. His original plan was to send her to the next community with their runner. But she wouldn’t budge. He didn’t know how it was possible, but she’d grown even more stubborn.
Golden sunlight flooded through the door as Rodney stepped inside. Faces turned. Some of the people were armed, but they lowered their weapons when they saw it was him. He saw her at the other end of the hall, helping Holly with a pair of elderly women that couldn’t move on their own anymore.
“Kate,” Rodney said, his voice echoing in the open space.
When she turned, those golden rays lit up her scarred face and slightly crooked nose that came from a bad set by the medical team who’d revived her. The medic who worked on her told him that she had been dead for nearly thirty seconds. After she woke up, Rodney told her what happened and asked her what she saw during those thirty seconds that she was dead.
“This is Bob Gally,” Rodney said. “He’s with the United States government.”
Kate shook Bob’s extended hand but didn’t reciprocate the smile. “I didn’t realize we still had one of those.”
“We do, or at least we will,” Bob said, that nervous laughter slipping through again. “So I’m told that you’re the person in charge here?”
“That’s what they tell me,” Kate said, looking at Rodney.
Bob examined the hall and clapped his hands together. “You’ve got quite the setup. Very organized, which makes the transition back onto the grid easier.”
Bob talked about sending Kate to DC to join the other “elected” leaders from similar communities that had assembled all around the country after the wake of the EMP. He spoke of the small pockets of resistance that still remained in the larger cities where the terrorists’ strongholds were starting to dwindle away. But the only thing that Rodney focused on, the only thing that was repeated in his mind, was what she told him when she woke up.
“It was dark for a long time,” Kate said, her voice so weak but her eyes alive as she lay on the cot set up in the tent. “But then everything was white, like snow, and it melted away. Grass and flowers, and life sprang up around me. It was warm, and I closed my eyes, thinking this was where I was meant to be.” A tear fell out of the corner of her eye. “But I was alone.”
Rodney squeezed Kate’s hand and wiped the tear from her cheek, repeating the same words that she’d spoken to him when they left their apartment building in New York. “A world where you’re by yourself isn’t much of a world to live in, is it?”
And over the course of that harsh winter, Kate and Rodney kept as many people alive as they could. And then when the snows thawed, more people found their way to their towns. They built a community together. And now that community was on a journey to rejoin the rest of the world.
Bob Gally clapped his hands again, snapping Rodney from the memory.
“Shall we get started?”
And to that Kate smiled. “We already have.”
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story!
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