Apocalyptic Fears II: Select Bestsellers: A Multi-Author Box Set

by Greg Dragon

  Jill nodded. “How do I make sure they don’t think…I mean, that I’m not going to…”

  “Pay your way in trade?” She laughed tiredly. “Don’t worry about that, honey. Dressed like that, with a gun, nobody will think you’re working. Why don’t you just wait until a convoy comes through? Or over there,” she pointed, “there’s some Army guys in a truck.”

  “Um, no.” Jill stepped deeper into the shadows.

  “Ah…” The woman held out a pack of cigarettes, then lit one when Jill declined. “AWOL, huh?”

  “I’m not deserting, if that’s what you think,” Jill retorted angrily. “My family was in LA and they won’t tell me anything. I just want to find out what happened.”

  “Yeah. You and a million other people. So I guess you don’t know anything either.”

  “Not really. I was on a ship until a couple of days ago.” Suddenly Jill realized she was talking too much, out of loneliness or fear perhaps. “Hey, thanks, I gotta go. Take care.”

  “Yeah, honey. You too."

  The third trucker Jill talked to agreed to give her a lift, eyeing her uniform and weapon. She offered him a twenty. He sniffed and took it, saying, “Get in.” Big, bearded, burly, about forty-five, and he smelled of cigarettes and, strangely, lemons.

  Inside the roomy cab she settled into the big passenger seat with her feet stretched out. She massaged her upper legs, then as the rig got moving she lifted her trousers at the bottom to scratch where the stumps met the prostheses.

  “Woah,” the trucker said in surprise. “How come you didn’t get out when you lost your legs?”

  “The Corps is my home,” she answered. “And what’s the point of getting out, trying to find another job? We take care of our own.”

  “You don’t look like you’re bein’ taken care of, darlin’.”

  “Sometimes you gotta take care of yourself.” Jill turned away from him and rummaged in her ruck for an MRE to eat. Afterward she stared out the window at the night rushing by. Eventually her eyes closed and she slept.

  ***

  If she hadn’t been so exhausted, and lulled to sleep by the rhythm of the rolling wheels, she’d never have been caught unawares. It was only the feel of cold metal against her cheek that finally woke her.

  Looking up, she saw the business end of her own assault rifle wavering in front of her face. Jerking, she backed up against the door, staring wide-eyed at the truck driver, whose name she did not even know, holding it one-handed with his finger on the trigger and the safety off. His other hand loosened his belt.

  Glancing around, she realized he’d pulled the truck over on a side road in the middle of nowhere. No lights but the moon and stars were visible, and the trees closed in as if conspiring to hide the commission of sins.

  “Now darlin’, let’s just do this nice and easy. I’ll have me my fun and then you kin go, and nobody gets hurt.”

  Jill was about to threaten to report him when she realized that was about the stupidest thing she could do. The whole country was falling apart and a man who would rape might also murder.

  “Hey, you could have just asked nicely,” she said with a show of equanimity.

  “Naw, you don’t understand. I like it rough. I’m gonna like it when you squeal. Just shrug them pants off, then turn around. Don’t even look at me. Better for both of us.” He smiled, showing oddly even teeth through his beard.

  Her mind racing, Jill reached down and rapped her prostheses. “Hard to get my pants over these things. You’ll have to help.” She unbuckled her belt, then pulled the utility trousers down to her knees, extending her booted false feet toward him, past the assault rifle that still pointed at her.

  “Oh, hell,” said the man disgustedly. “Forgot all about those.” He looked confused for a moment, then mumbled, “I guess no cripple ain’t gonna give me too much trouble.” Leaning the rifle against the driver-side door, well away from her, he reached for her legs.

  Instead of cooperating, she popped the door lock on her side and tumbled out of the truck cab, landing in a wet ditch. Her athleticism saved her this time, and she rolled on her hands and arms, and then scrambled crawling into the woods.

  The trucker hollered with rage, and then jumped out of the cab with the rifle in his hand, but she snaked on her elbows and bare knees down a draw, then rolled upright behind a tree. While he blundered around looking for her, she yanked the trousers back up, buckled the belt, and then worked her way away from him as quietly as she could.

  Cursing inside, Jill realized she had now lost her weapon – a Marine’s cardinal sin. She should have looped the sling around her wrist and leaned on it as she slept. What’s more, the bastard had her ruck full of supplies. She racked her brains trying to remember if she left anything that could identify her, but did not believe so. At least she still had her neck wallet, an MRE in her cargo pocket, and her prepaid phone.

  After a couple of minutes blundering in the woods, the man gave up. Probably smart enough to realize he can’t leave his truck unattended, in case I circle back around and turn the tables. That was very tempting, but she swallowed her anger and desire for vengeance and stayed put, watching from a distance until he drove away. Then she found a dry spot in the cool Tennessee night, and dozed until morning.

  Chapter Three

  Sounds of an engine nearby woke her up. Warily she looked around, spotting an old pickup truck pulled into a turnout nearby. Two big men with shotguns got out as the engine shut off, and a large muttish hound jumped out of the bed and made a beeline for her.

  Crap. She hid behind the tree and hissed at the dog to go away. Instead, it bounded and capered around her.

  “Hey, you, come on outta there.” At least, that’s what she thought it sounded like, as thick as the man’s mountain accent was.

  Hands visible, Jill eased from behind the tree and looked at the two men. Both held their shotguns negligently, not pointing them at her. One looked to be about twenty, and the other, the one who had spoken she thought, about forty. The elder stood tall and wide, perhaps six four and two fifty. The younger looked only slightly smaller.

  “Howdy, Miss. Kin we he’p you somehow?”

  “Ah, yeah,” she replied. “I was…” Jill ground to a halt, suddenly aware of acute hunger. Even without hard physical activity, the thing within her demanded to be fed as it slowly rebuilt her legs.

  She started again, after sitting down and pulling out her MRE, the only thing she had. “My name’s Jill, and I was riding in a truck. With a trucker, I mean, hitchhiking. I fell asleep and when I woke up, he had pulled off here and had a gun on me. He was going to rape me, but I got away.”

  The dog nosed her interestedly as she tore open the thick food-packet plastic. “Sorry, gentlemen, I’m really hungry. And thirsty, too. Any chance you have some water?”

  “Got beer,” said the younger one, and went to fish in a battered cooler in the truck bed. Walking over, he handed it to her as he pushed the dog away. “Go on, Klutz. Go on now.”

  “Thanks.” She popped the top and guzzled. Despite the liquid’s warm temperature, she said, “Best beer I ever tasted.”

  “First one o’ the day allas is,” he replied. “I’m Jimmy, by the way. This here’s my pa, Big Jim.” He squatted and held out his hand.

  “Nice to meet you, gentlemen. Looks like you’re not much smaller than your dad, though.” Jill shook his hand backward, then shoveled beef stew into her mouth with the long-handled spoon provided.

  “Yes ma’am.” Despite his outrageous accent, rough clothing and appearance, the young man had a nice smile, and his teeth looked healthy. “What?” he asked.

  “Guess I expected you to have a dip in,” she mumbled as she dug for gravy.

  “Naw. That stuff’ll kill ya.” Jimmy grinned at his father, then stood up. “Well, we was gonna go do a bit of duckin’, and we’re already late. Wanna come along?”

  “Jimmy,” the older man said in a warning tone.

  “Oh, co
me on, pa. We cain’t just leave her here.”

  “Oughter take her to the sheriff. She gotta report that rat bastard.”

  The younger Jim stared for a moment at the older in disbelief.

  “I didn’t say we would let him see us. Just drop her at the corner and she can walk to the station.”

  “Now wait a minute, gentlemen,” Jill said. “The way things are in this country right now, I’m sure your sheriff has a lot more important things to do than talk to me. I can’t even give him a license number off the truck. No harm, no foul.”

  Now both men stared at her, then glanced at each other. “Uh-huh,” said Big Jim slowly. “Well, I guess you kin come along with us if’n you like. You ever been duckin’?”

  Jill shook her head.

  “Well, we’ll show you how it’s done.”

  ***

  Jill sat in the shotgun seat of the pickup truck on the way back from the duck hunt. Seven birds, along with Jimmy and Klutz the mutt, rode in the bed. The dog flapped his long tongue alongside her head right by her open window, enjoying the breeze through the trees.

  Up into the hills they wended their way, down old paved roads that turned to gravel and then dirt. For some odd reason, these two – well, three with Klutz – had taken to her like the proverbial ducks to water. Sure, she was used to dealing with men like brothers in the Corps, suppressing her femininity in favor of the warrior culture, but this was something more. In just a day of sitting in a blind and shooting at birds, it appeared she’d been adopted.

  They didn’t ask too many questions, and they’d given her a few knowing looks, which she studiously ignored. They’d fed her from their cooler, simple fare but wonderful. “Ma’s a great cook,” Jimmy had said, and his bragging justified itself. She ate fried chicken wrapped up in brown paper, cold potatoes and butter, cole slaw and corn bread and pecan pie, and sipped from a bottle of what they called “corn squeezins.”

  White lightning. Moonshine. Maybe that explained their reticence to talk to the sheriff.

  Normally not much of a drinker, she imbibed because alcohol also yielded calories. She noticed she had lost another pound or two in the last couple of days. Looking at her hands was like staring at sticks with skin on them. Perhaps that explained these hill folks’ sympathy – they probably thought she was starving and on the run.

  Ironically, they were not wrong. Her reasons were just not what they must think.

  Eventually they pulled up in front of what Jill would have termed a cabin, given its setting. On closer inspection she had to call it a house, because there was nothing recreational about it. A dull yellow clapboard thing with a corrugated metal roof, it seemed almost a part of the landscape.

  Tucked into the hollow between two hills, a functioning farm surrounded it. Garden plots alternated with fruit and nut trees, a henhouse, rabbit hutches, and a barn. A bit farther back looked like several acres of corn. To her amateur eye it seemed prosperous, at least in food, though probably not in cash. Another old pickup truck was parked off to the side.

  Once they had stopped, Jill could see a boy of perhaps twelve sitting in a chair on the oversized front porch. He waved with a strange motion of his hand, as if something impeded him. Klutz jumped from the back to charge up the steps and press his head into the kid’s lap, and he petted the dog clumsily.

  From the front door stepped a tired-looking woman similar in age to Big Jim, and a pretty young one of perhaps sixteen in a homemade flowered dress. The former held a pitcher full of lemonade; the latter, a stack of beat-up multicolored plastic cups. Both set their burdens on a rough wooden table that occupied one side of the wide frontage and pulled chairs back to sit around it.

  “Got seven!” Jimmy called enthusiastically as he picked up the birds in both hands. “We kin have a couple tonight. Got a guest, Ma,” he continued, waving in Jill’s direction. “She eats like Cousin Bee-Bob and looks like to blow away in a stiff breeze, so maybe we should make three or four. Ain’t gonna keep that long in this hot weather anyway.”

  Jill didn’t find it all that warm, perhaps eighty-five. On the other hand, she didn’t see any electric or phone wires leading to the house. Perhaps they had no refrigeration beyond the water from the creek she could see running down the hillside behind the farm.

  “You come on up here, honey,” the older woman called. “I’m Sarah McConley, this here’s my daughter Jane. The boy over there’s Owen, but he’s one o’ God’s simple children.” She took Jill’s hands in both of hers, her eyes kind. “Oh my, you do look like you could use some fattenin’ up. We’re common folk, but the good Lord has blessed us with food and kindness. You set y’self down now.”

  Jill had little choice in the matter, as Sarah kept hold of her hands until she sat. “I’m Jill,” she replied as she was gently maneuvered into position. “Jill Repeth.”

  Sarah blinked quizzically. “What’s that name there on your shirt?”

  Color drained from Jill’s face as she realized how she’d tipped her hand, but she really did not want to lie to these people. “Something bad happened…I had to get away, so I borrowed this. I’m not…” She ground to a halt. I’m not what? A criminal? A deserter? Face it, Jill, that’s exactly what you are.

  She started again. “I haven’t hurt anyone, but I did run away.” She unbuttoned the tunic, balling it up and stuffing it into a cargo pocket, for some reason not wanting to wear that lie anymore.

  Sarah pressed her lips together in thoughtful disapproval, but didn’t pursue the matter further. “Jane, you keep Miss Jill here company while I start a-working on dinner.” She went inside.

  Jane smiled broadly and poured lemonade out in five tall, well-worn plastic cups, setting two aside and handing one to Jill. “I just love having company. Hardly anybody comes up here.”

  Jill tasted the lemonade, then drank half of it down. Cool but not cold, it confirmed her conjecture about the lack of refrigeration. Nevertheless, it tasted wonderful. “Thank you. I’m happy to be here. Everyone’s been so nice.”

  “It’s the Lord’s kindness, that’s all. Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you, the Good Book says.” Klutz’s tail thumped on the porch as if in agreement.

  “That sounds like a good idea,” Jill responded, unsure how to take these folks. The banjo line from Deliverance played in the back of her head, and something in her wondered if anyone could really live this simply. Had she encountered the same family in her own LA neighborhood, she would have thought they must be cultists of some sort, but here, in these hills…it all seemed to fit.

  “Do you go to school?” Jill asked.

  “O’ course I do. We ain’t billies, you know. Ma and Pa both graduated from high school, and they say maybe I can go to the junior college down in Morristown, if’n I can get a scholarship and state aid. They got a program for vocational nursing. I already take care of Owen, mostly, so it can’t be all that hard. O’ course, with everything like it is…”

  Jill turned in her seat to look more closely at Owen, and realized that his chair had wheels on it. Not exactly a traditional wheelchair, rather, it looked like something home-made from bicycle parts, but sturdy nonetheless.

  Owen made a sound something like a grunt or moan, and looked at her with a smile on his face. She got the distinct feeling there was more inside him than he could express. “Hello, Owen,” she said, and was rewarded with a clumsy wave and another inarticulate but cheerful sound.

  “He wants to come on over. Will it bother you?” Jane asked.

  “Of course not,” Jill replied. “But could I trouble you for a little something to eat? I seem to get hungry a lot lately,” she said, watching closely for Jane’s reaction.

  “Here you go, Miss Jill,” Sarah called as she backed out the door holding a large bowl in each hand. “Figgered you’d want something before the ducks got done, which will be a couple of hours.”

  Cheese and butter and bread filled one bowl, and freshly washed peaches the other. After she wheel
ed Owen over to the table, Jane plucked one of the yellow-orange orbs and sliced it all the way around the middle with a little paring knife, handing half to Jill. Cutting hers small, she fed Owen and herself alternately, a piece at a time. He chewed open-mouthed and laughed, clapping his hands together.

  When Jill bit into her peach half she thought she’d found heaven on Earth, and devoured it and another whole one right away. Then she started on the bread and butter and cheese.

  “My, you are a hungry thing.” Jane’s voice held no criticism, only the kind of innocent wonder Jill hadn’t experienced since her childhood. She smiled, embarrassed, but that didn’t slow her feasting down. Her body screamed for calories, protein, and fats, and hummed with pleasure as her stomach filled.

  The men had disappeared into the barn, where Jill caught glimpses of them tending to animals. She thought she could see cows, barn cats, and it looked like a pig and some piglets occupied an enclosure to the side, well downwind.

  “Jane, get us some t’maters and squash, will you?”

  “Yes, Ma,” Jane replied. Turning to Jill, she asked, “Watch Owen, will you? Just make sure he don’t get ahold of nothing sharp, and only give him a small bit at a time. He can choke if’n it’s too big.” Without waiting for a reply, Jane hurried off to one of the garden plots to pick tomatoes and yellow squash, putting them in her flipped-up skirt.

  Jill looked at Owen, and Owen looked back at Jill. His eyes danced, and he grinned. Someone’s trapped in there, she said to herself. She wondered what it was exactly that afflicted him. Was it a cognitive disability, or only physical, like Stephen Hawking?

  “So Owen, can you understand what I’m saying?”