"You never cease to amaze me Wyatt. What kind of rifle is that?" asked Jack.
"This," he said, holding the rifle up, running his hand over the smooth wooden stock, "is an air powered .22 pellet gun. I also bought a tin with five thousand pellets. No gas cartridge required, you just open the stock and the lever action fills the chamber with air when you close it. Slip in a pellet and she'll take down a rabbit or squirrel out to thirty yards. I was hoping to find a decent .22 caliber rifle, and would have settled for a 20 gauge, but he didn't have either.
I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw this beauty though, that antique store owner has no idea just how valuable this rifle is. Ammunition is going to get scarce, especially shotgun shells. I can make a little mold and any hunk of lead and make my own pellets. I'll have an unlimited supply of ammo. Not much good against anything bigger than a rabbit, but we'll be able to shoot all the squirrels we can eat, with less effort than setting up trap lines."
That sounded good. Setting up trap lines was a lot of work, but the reward was well worth it. Once he got over the idea of eating a squirrel, he found them were surprisingly good. Fried squirrel was a welcome change from their stable diet of canned dog food.
Squirrel was just one of the wild foods that Wyatt introduced him to. While Jack stretched his legs at the end of a long day of cycling, Wyatt would forage for wild edibles. He had no idea there were so many types of wild greens you could eat. Wyatt often came back with some that he recognized as 'weeds' he'd pulled out of his yard back home. Now he knew their names, and what they tasted like. Red clover, plantain, dandelions, and lamb's quarters, along with others he'd never seen before, like nettles.
His stomach rumbling with hunger, Jack pedaled faster. He wanted to give Wyatt plenty of time to hunt when they stopped for the day. A belly full of fried squirrel with a side of wild greens was a powerful incentive.
Chapter 24
Amy shoveled the last bit of dirt over the shallow grave and packed it down. There would be no marker for the biker. Hauling him down the street to an empty lot and burying him was as much as he would get out of her, and more than he deserved.
"Let's go home boys. No need to say a prayer, he is on his own when he meets his maker."
Shovel over her shoulder, she walked with purpose back to the house. The incident highlighted just how dangerous the world had become. There would be no more fishing trips or other needless trips out of the house. It was safer inside and out of sight.
Kenny and Danny trailed closely behind her. Kenny walked tall, his head up, scanning the street ahead and behind them for any sign of danger. He held the shotgun at the ready, a serious look on his face. Was this her boy? He looked hardened, his eyes a man's eyes. What happened to the whiny teenager who complained about doing homework, and shirked any responsibility he could. Overnight he seemed to have changed.
Her fourteen year-old boy had just killed a man. Because she couldn't, or wouldn't. It was such a blur. Danny held hostage, him running to the doorstep, the tug of war over Danny, and the shot. It was over in a minute, but it seemed like hours to her, the images fresh and in great detail in her mind.
Kenny's decision to act had saved his brother's life. He saw the struggle in the doorway, he had a shot and he took it.
She felt tremendously guilty. She should have shot the man while she had the chance, and not given him a warning. Her indecision and hesitation had forced Kenny's hand. He had no choice but to shoot the biker to save his brother's life. Her fourteen year-old had just killed a man because she failed to do it herself.
She locked the door behind them and checked the window to make sure the biker's companion hadn't come back to avenge his friend, but the street was empty. It was doubtful he would be back after seeing his companion shot.
"Danny, why don't you go upstairs and play for a bit. Your brother and I need to talk," she said.
"Can't we just leave mom? And go find dad? The mean people are going to come back again. I don't want to stay here," Danny said.
"We'll talk about that later, for now, go upstairs and get washed up," she said.
Danny stomped up the stairs, huffing and pouting. "It's not fair. I wish dad was here instead of you."
"Danny's right. It would be better if your father were here instead of me," she said.
"Don't say that mom. He's just mad, he'll get over it," Kenny said.
"It's not just him I'm worried about," she said. Amy pushed the mop of brown hair hanging down over Kenny's forehead out of his eyes. He didn't seem at all bothered that he had shot and killed a man three hours ago.
"I'm worried about you, and about what just happened. I'm sorry you had to do that Kenny. I should have pulled the trigger. I'm sorry."
His face softened into a smile. "I'm fine mom. He was going to kill my brother. He deserved it"
"Kenny, I'm here for you. This is a big deal. You need to deal with this," she said.
Kenny rolled his eyes and laughed. "Mom, I'm fine. I promise you I'm OK. I've shot a billion video game bad guys. The only difference was this one was for real. Danny is OK. He's still a little jerk, but he's safe, and I'm OK. We had to kill that man. It doesn't bother me at all. You overthink things too much mom," he said.
The cold look on his face as he shot the man had scared her, but he was still her Kenny, her little boy. He was going to grow up fast in this new world, and she would have to come to terms with it. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. He should be playing baseball and going out with friends, learning to drive and planning for college in a couple of years. Not killing intruders and protecting his family.
"All right, please let me know if you need me. And Kenny? You did save your brother's life. Thank you. I'll never forget that," she said.
Kenny hugged her and went into the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets for food. That offered some comfort. If he was eating, it was a sign he was going on with daily life. Maybe he was comfortable with what he'd done.
Amy checked the front window again, looking for any sign of the other biker. The street was empty. She was probably worried about nothing, the second biker knew they had guns, and without Danny as a hostage, wouldn't be willing to make another attempt at extortion.
What the hell was the matter with her? Her son's life had hung in the balance, and she hadn't shot the man. Kenny had stepped up, proving himself in the moment of truth to be the most capable and competent member of the family when it mattered. That was supposed to be her job. She was supposed to make her family feel safe and secure.
Somehow, she had to find a way to make Danny believe he was better off at home than out there looking for his father. She sympathized, and understood everything that had happened was hard to deal with, especially for a boy his age. She wanted to go look for Jack just as badly as he did, but what would they find out there except unnecessary danger? They had enough food and water here. The house provided her the illusion of safety. This wasn't the first intruder in the home. Rob Moore before the EMP event, the man scavenging food for his mother, and now this. It didn't feel any safer, but she didn't want to leave the familiarity of their home.
Kenny was right, she was overthinking. She pointed the gun at the man's head, frozen with fear, but that wasn't completely it. She thought bluffing would be enough to make him release Danny, and she wanted to give him the chance to flee by warning him. Surely a sane person would see reason and leave? It hadn't happened that way though. The threat of shooting him hadn't been enough.
The guilt hung from her shoulders like a weight. She had to let go of the way things used to be. The old rules didn't matter anymore. There were no police to come help them. There were no courts, nobody to punish others for her. Kenny had adapted quickly to this new reality, and he understood the rules of the game. Protect your family. Things are simpler now. It is good versus evil, us versus them. It was all up to them. She had to think and act accordingly.
No matter what happened, the survival of her family would hav
e to come first. Even at the cost of her sense of morality. She had to protect her sons. She was the only thing standing between them and the world. The boys were all she had left. Sinking against the wall, she let the tears stream down her cheeks.
Never again would she second-guess herself. From now on, if her family was threatened, she would to shoot to kill, and do so without hesitation.
Chapter 25
Another seven days on the road and they were nearly through Kentucky, just past a small town named Gage. Jack was frustrated. They should have made more progress, but the past week had been one setback after another. Three times had been turned back by locals, forced to backtrack and go miles out of their way to find an alternate route.
He couldn't blame them. Desperate city people were starting to show up in the rural areas, looking for food and shelter. Some took what they needed by force, leaving small towns with a bad taste in their mouth, wary of future strangers.
"Wyatt, you alright with me putting another hour in on the road today?" Jack asked.
"If you're up to it, by all means go ahead."
It was late afternoon, around the time they usually stopped for the day and made camp, but Jack was itching to make up for lost time and put some miles behind them. All he could think about was his family. Instead of feeling relieved that he was more than halfway home, he was filled with nervous energy, anxious to get back to them.
He was obsessed with making good time. Pedaling the bike was a practice of discipline, burning the weakness from his body, getting him one step closer to his family. Head down while he pedaled, his wedding band dangled in front of his face from it's chain like a magic talisman, giving him the determination to keep going when his body was spent. He pushed through and found a second wind, making good time for the next hour.
"I'm done Wyatt, let me know if you see a good spot to camp," Jack said.
Minutes later, Wyatt called out to him. "Here we go Jack, just off to the right here."
There were a few hours left before dark, and he pulled the bike onto a gravel side road. A small stream ran parallel to the road, leading into a grove of trees thirty yards from the highway.
Once the bike and trailer were stowed away, Jack set to work gathering fallen tree branches from deeper within the woods. He hauled enough wood out to fuel the fire for the night and dropped it next to the fire pit Wyatt was in the process of digging. It was a neat setup, something he had never seen before.
Wyatt dug two holes down into the earth, connecting them with a little tunnel towards the bottom. He put twigs and dry starter material in one of the holes, and the other drew air into it once the fire was lit. The fire pit used less fuel than a regular campfire, and it cut down on the amount of firewood they needed to gather each day.
"I'm going to shoot a few squirrels, back in a bit," Wyatt said.
"Sounds good to me, I'll get the rest started," Jack said.
Jack lit the fire and slowly added sticks to feed the growing bed of coals. After the fire was going strong, he brought out their bowls and forks, filling them with the last of yesterday's wild greens. Their two cooking pots went side by side on top of the pit. One for boiling water, into which he put rose hips he found earlier in the day. Rose hips contained vitamin C and flavored the water. He filled the other pot with two cans of dog food, scraping every last bit out of the can. Their supply of dog food nearly gone, and he was mindful not to waste even a mouthful.
Jack stretched his legs, working the knots out of his muscles so he wouldn't cramp up in the morning. It was a painful lesson he'd learned early on. Five minutes of stretching his legs after a day in the bike seat would save him hours of tossing and turning at night.
A sound grew in the distance, barely audible over the soft pops and whistles of burning wood in the fire pit.
Jack strained his ears, setting aside the dinner preparations, warily looking through the trees.
The rhythmic sound of a horses hooves clopping down the highway grew louder. A man on a horse trotted slowly down the center of the highway, reigns held lazily as the horse moved along. Slung just behind the rider, large saddlebags were stuffed, packed so full that the buckles were stretched to the last notch. A sleeping bag and other gear was strapped onto the saddlebags, the overburdened horse functioning as both a pack mule and a riding horse.
Jack remained crouched down in the woods, hoping the man would keep on riding and just pass them by.
When he came to the crossroads, the horseman pulled the reigns up. He stood up in the stirrups, sniffing at the wind. He surveyed the area, and pulled the reigns again, heading directly towards Jack's camp.
As the horseman drew closer, he noticed the pistol strapped to his leg and the pump action shotgun slung across his back. His clothing didn't seem to fit his means of transportation. He wore a pair of bright red tennis shoes, saggy tan cargo pants, and a black concert t-shirt, covered in skulls and lightning bolts. His face pock marked and red, steely grey eyes poking out from under his long hair.
Jack cursed silently.
The smell of the dog food cooking on the fire had drawn the man's attention. Jack slid the pot off of the fire, knowing it was a futile gesture at this point.
The man brought the horse to the tree line and stepped down, peering around in all directions before he raised his arm up and hailed Jack.
"Something smells good. Can you spare a bite to eat? I've been riding all day and I'm famished," the horseman said.
What should he do? The man didn't seem to be a threat. Would he have announced himself if he was here to cause trouble? He sounded friendly enough. Besides, even if he wanted to, how could he tell the man no? He didn't even have a gun, and this man looked like someone who knew how to use the gun strapped to his hip.
"All right. I think we can spare something," Jack said.
The horseman came closer and crouched next to the fire, warming his hands above the flames. "That smells might good. What is it?"
"Don't laugh, but its dog food. It kept us going, but his is about the last of it," said Jack.
"We? Are there more of you then?" the horseman asked, his eyes darting around.
"Yes, there's--"
Wyatt stepped from the bushes just then, a skinned squirrel held by the tail in each hand. He stood for a moment just staring at the horseman, and then approached the fire slowly, his eyes flickering over to the horse and the saddlebags before returning to settle on the horseman.
"Evening. Can't say we've passed by many people riding a horse on the road," Wyatt said.
The horseman squinted his steely eyes at Wyatt, his gaze dropped to the squirrels in Wyatt's hand. "What do you have there? Squirrels?"
The cheerful gleam was gone from his eyes, with no sign of the perpetual smile. He produced a snare wire out of his shirt pocket.
"Yes. Caught them with snares," he said.
Wyatt didn't catch them with snares. Why was he lying to the man? Jack had distinctly heard two soft 'pops' of the air rifle a while ago. He was like Pavlov's dog, mouth watering whenever he heard the sound, it meant there would be squirrel for dinner. Did Wyatt sense something he had missed?
The steely-eyed horseman motioned Wyatt over to the fire, stepping back several feet himself. "Two squirrels, one for each of you then?"
Wyatt said nothing, just returned the man's hard look.
"Just the two of you then. Well come on over here, don't let me stop you from making dinner." He leaned back against a tree. "Say, you don't mind sharing those squirrels with me, do you?"
Wyatt skewered the squirrels on roasting sticks and placed them over the fire. Without looking up, he replied, "They're all yours."
Wyatt caught Jack's eyes. He didn't say a word or make an expression, not even a blink, but it was all he needed to understand Wyatt's unspoken communication. This horseman was a threat.
"Why don't you fetch us some water from the river Jack, and we'll boil up a pot of clean water for this gentleman, send him on his way with his
canteens full," Wyatt asked.
Jack nodded his head and turned to fetch a container from the carts.
"That's far enough. No need for that. Now, turn around slow," the horseman said.
Jack turned around, as slow and calm as he could. The horseman had the pistol pointed right at him. Jack held his palms wide to show that he would offer no resistance. "We don't want any trouble."
The horseman lifted Jack's shirt up and patted his pants pockets down, tossing Jack's small knife into the woods. "Good. And how about you? You have anything I should know about on you," the horseman said.
EMP Aftermath Series (Book 1): The Journey Home Page 15
