Outside the Fire

by Boyd Craven

  Angela was ready for that and had her mobile kit ready with some of the antibiotics with her.

  “Are you allergic to anything?” she asked as she got the final layer off.

  “No, I can take anything,” Dwight said.

  “You got a graze on the outside of your left arm. I can clean it up, but I don’t think it’s going to need stitching, but it’s bleeding pretty good. I could always cauterize it to stop the bleeding faster though,” she said looking at the three-inch groove on the side of his arm.

  “Is it gonna hurt?” Dwight asked in a quiet voice.

  “You ever branded cattle?” Angela asked.

  “Oh, Momma,” Dwight murmured to nobody as Angela pulled the gauze back and then started cleaning the wound. “Go ahead. I got a white gas stove on the counter.”

  “Good, saves me from having to go get mine,” she whispered back.

  Steve looked at the corpses. He knew he should feel something other than this cold anger, but he couldn’t. All of them had been stripped of their vests and those had been lined up against the tractor next to three ARs.

  “How’s the old man?” Matthew asked.

  Steve shrugged and hunkered down in front of the bodies, one of them having two extra holes in his grossly deformed head.

  “None of them were carrying ID. The gear I thought at first was mil-spec, but it looks like civilian stuff, like yours. Didn’t stop Dwight’s last shot though,” Lucy said.

  Steve got up and went and checked out the vest. There had been a hole neatly punched through it.

  “Ceramic. Mine has steel plates. Heavy as hell. I’m no expert, but most armor won’t stop a .30/06 though.”

  “Yeah, well, these guys are dressed up like mall ninjas and from what little I heard from Dwight while you were getting Angela, they opened fire on him as he started walking to the barn. He made it the four steps back into the house and returned fire. He was pretty pinned down ‘till we came along,” Matthew said, his voice soft and horrified.

  “This one,” Steve said, pointing to a man in the bucket. “Should I know your name? I’m pretty sure most of that torn flesh is my fault. Should I—”

  “Steve!” Lucy snapped and pushed Steve.

  She was half his size, and her shove wasn’t as hard as she could, but he looked up at her sharply.

  “You don’t know if it was me or you. In fact, all of your shots missed.”

  “Bullshit,” Steve said.

  “If it lets you sleep at night, believe that. I can’t have you going into shock right now,” Lucy snapped, her voice harsh.

  “Why not?” Steve asked, the anger he felt still glowing red hot in his stomach, but he policed his words well and only some of the anger and horror seeped out.

  “Because when everyone else panicked you and your family worked like you’d practiced for something like this. You had a plan you fucking executed. You saved Dwight’s life, and if you hadn’t fucking pulled the trigger, your pasty, white-boy ass would have been hamburger the moment that no-good, cock-sucking, pencil-dicked, puss-nutted, no-load, monkey-fucking son of a whore’s little pimple on his mommy’s ass after his daddy shot the best part of his offspring off all over—”

  A bray of laughter erupted from Steve’s mouth at the angry tirade. He never had heard of a woman talk so vulgar, and although he knew she was a Sherriff’s Deputy and a badass, this wasn’t what he expected. It hit him funny, and he realized Matthew was laughing so hard he was crying as well, which made Lucy’s face turn even brighter.

  “You’re a bunch of fucking no-good, pieces-of-monkey—”

  “Stop, stop,” Matthew begged, both hands up.

  Steve had to set his carbine down, his stomach was hurting as the adrenaline he’d held back flooded out of his system. It left him in a rush, slightly light headed and he fell onto his ass hard, almost knocking the wind out of himself.

  “Oh man, you…I didn’t know you could use the word…I mean…oh my….”

  “I will end you if you so much as snicker,” Lucy said pointing a finger under Matthew’s nose, and he started braying all over again.

  She stood there, red-faced as both men got themselves under control, which took a lot longer than either of them expected.

  “Pencil dicked….” Steve muttered and they were laughing again.

  “Puss nutted,” Matthew said a few moments later, and they were off again.

  “I’ll wait until you’re both done. I’m a southern woman of a gentle upbringing, and I won’t be made fun of,” Lucy said with a mock sniff then looked at the men and grinned.

  “Thank you,” Steve told her getting up and brushing the dust off his ass and held his hand out.

  She stood there looking at him for a second and ignored the hand. Instead she slipped into his arms and gave him a hard hug. Steve started hugging back when he felt her punch him right in the bread basket. His breath left him in a whoosh and he stumbled backwards, half laughing half gasping.

  “And that’s for laughing at me!” she said pointing a fingernail at his eyes.

  “I’m sorry. Where did you learn to swear like that?” Steve asked her.

  “If I told you, I’d have to kill you. I wasn’t always a Sherriff’s Deputy you know.”

  “Yeah, I saw that. Where’d you learn to handle an AR like that? I know the cops don’t get a lot of—”

  “And I’ll be getting you later on!” she said, turning and pointing at Matthew’s face as the smirk left his face and he turned white as a sheet.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t know what came over me. I do hope you take my apology as earnest and genuine as it surely is,” he said.

  If he would have been wearing a hat, Steve was sure he’d be wringing it between both hands.

  “No ID, good equipment, but not military. Opened fire without warning. There’s somebody operating around here, and I don’t like the look of it. You’re going to need to organize the watch after this. These might or might not be with the same groups that were kicking in doors.”

  “Let’s find out how Dwight is, and then I’ll ask him where he wants me to dig a hole.”

  An old man’s muffled scream erupted from the house. Lucy started walking, but Steve held up a placating hand.

  “Did you see she brought a little old-fashioned iron?” Steve asked her.

  One of Lucy’s eyes got larger, and she tilted her head, her mouth dropping open.

  “Savage as f—” the breath left Matthew’s mouth, cutting off his words as Lucy rapped her knuckles just under his sternum.

  “How long are we going to stay down here?” Matthew asked.

  Amber looked at him and gave him her best smile. To conserve the batteries, they had lit an emergency candle. The fire would draw out some of the moisture and give them some light in the process.

  “Until my mom comes back with the all clear.”

  “I’m scared for Uncle Dewey,” Amy said for the thousandth time, tears still streaking her face.

  “He’ll be ok. They would have brought him here if it was bad,” Amber answered.

  “So we just wait?” Matthew asked.

  Amber shrugged, her shoulder movement caused the shadow behind her to move exaggeratedly.

  “We could always play monopoly?” Amy said, wiping her eyes.

  “I don’t know how to play….”

  Amy hopped up to get the game.

  CHAPTER 25

  The graze on Dwight’s arm wasn’t severe, but it pained him. When Steve wasn’t organizing the community watch, which he hoped to dump on Lucy soon and just show up for his patrols, he was working with the cranky old farmer, him and half a dozen others. The days got long, though the heat wasn’t so insufferable as October came and went. It was almost harvest time and there was equipment to fix, and a one-armed Dwight was a cantankerous, old bastard. Everyone avoided him and let Steve be the go-between. In all, he fed them and sent food back for their families.

  Steve had borrowed Dwight’s smaller tra
ctor with a four-foot tiller on it one day and with a jerrican of diesel, he took it to the neighborhood. Jeff and him had spoken about it, and when somebody shamefacedly admitted to being a poacher of some repute, they put him to work on thinning off any wild game they could find for the community meals. Steve once more took some food out of his storage unit, but had skipped the church for a couple weeks. Every time he left for there, somebody would try to follow. He didn’t blame them, but he didn’t want to lead somebody to the food stores either.

  A bit of paranoia set in. Nobody knew who the four men in black ripstop BDUs were, nobody came to collect them, and nobody asked about them. The community knew the day it happened what had happened and the rumors were swirling. Everything from government agents to an underground bunker of people who had popped up to randomly raid people in the area. The neighborhood watch stopped an attempted break in, but the two men who tried kicking in a door were armed with a cheap .38 special, the chrome almost worn off.

  Like most folks of the south, the house they tried to rob had an owner at home who had a gun. The first man died in the doorjamb and one of Steve’s volunteers who lived next door and was taking some downtime, heard the shots. He arrived in enough time to see the man turn to run away, before he turned to stop, turn, raise his own gun at the doorway. He never saw the man who killed him, the shot taking him at the base of the throat.

  The two weren’t known by anybody in the subdivision and were buried on the farm, somewhere near where the other bodies had been placed. Everyone in the area got thinner as food was tighter and tighter. Almost daily, Steve would be woken up by somebody knocking, asking for water or food. At first, he shared, but when he took a tally, he saw that unless he made a trip to the church or the storage unit, something he didn’t want to do, he was running out of wiggle room. The first time he turned somebody away because the food was too tight almost broke him.

  Community meetings happened almost daily. People would all gather at the community center daily to share news while they waited for food. Jeff spent most of that time talking or introducing somebody to talk. There was a lot shouted back and forth and more and more people were wanting food. The hunting had been good for a week, but the game didn’t stretch. More than a couple people wondered aloud if they should go and take what Dwight had. Steve kept silent, but Matthew and Lucy didn’t. They told in very great and gory detail what happened to the last four men who went up against Dwight.

  More than a few people looked at the Taylors with something like hatred in their eyes again. They weren’t losing weight as fast as the others and all but Amy were volunteering for extra activities for the community. Maybe they were getting food from the church on a regular basis? When Steve overheard that, he knew it was almost time for them to pull a fade for a while, but he couldn’t leave anybody high and dry. Surprisingly, Matthew, Lucy, and Matt Junior, and those who worked at the farm were left alone, the focus seemed to once again, be on the Taylors.

  “That was a waste of time,” Steve muttered under his breath as the family walked back towards the house.

  “At least we know what they’re thinking,” Angela said. “Though it might be good for us to go back to the house and pretend like we’re not there for a month or two.”

  “And let the leeches die off,” Amber said sullenly.

  “Leeches? Ew….” Amy piped up.

  “That’s not nice,” Angela piped up, cutting off all talk.

  “Let’s stay in tonight,” Steve said.

  “I figured that, since the food hadn’t been made yet.”

  The community center had turned into its namesake. Before it was a building that was big enough to hold small meetings, had a community kitchen, or could be rented to have parties. Most of the time it sat empty, but the HOA fees had paid for it and it had been there when most of the houses had been built. Now, they had walked away from it and headed inside their own house before continuing the discussion.

  “Yeah, I want to lay low. We’re going to ignore people at the door unless we know it’s a friendly.”

  “Like Matt Junior?” Amber asked, then turned red in the face as her father looked at her, curious at her tone.

  “He’s a friendly. Unless he gets too friendly, and then I won’t be a friendly—”

  “Steve,” Angela said with a hiccupping laugh.

  “Yeah, Dad, not funny,” Amber said, her tone sulking.

  “Yeah, Dad,” Amy said in a sing-song mocking version of her sister’s voice, “totes not funny.”

  “I’ll—” Amber started talking but a sudden banging at the door interrupted her.

  “Can’t these….” Steve said and yanked back the curtain near the front door to see Billy Wilson beating on it, casting a fearful glance over his shoulder.

  “Is he a friendly?” Amy piped up.

  Steve slapped his side, almost in an unconscious manner to feel his concealed piece against his hip, before making a stand back motion and opening the door.

  “Mr. Taylor, there’s people….” Billy said panting.

  “People? Who? Is somebody getting broke into?” Steve asked.

  “No, they just walked in. There’s fighting….” His words trailed off and looked over his shoulder again.

  He could hear shouts, screams, but no gunfire.

  “What do you want me to do?” Steve asked him coldly, closing the door enough to where only he could be seen in the cracked opening.

  “You’re in charge of the watch, they’re beating up old people and are trying to take the food—”

  “Steve,” Angela said, putting her arm on his back, “don’t let—”

  “I’ll be right there,” Steve said and shut the door in Billy’s face.

  The ladies were silent as he stalked to his bedroom and opened his closet. Instead of keeping his gear locked up, he was now keeping it closer. Only his daughter’s youth and quick thinking had saved him precious moments when they counted. Now, he kept it close by his side as much as possible. Steve strapped on his vest and reached in for the AR.

  “You’re going to be careful.”

  “Yes,” Steve answered without turning.

  “There’s no gunfire so far,” Amber said.

  “I want all of you to be ready to head to the shelter or bug out to Dwight’s.”

  “We know, Daddy,” Amy piped up.

  “I love you,” Steve said turning to see the three ladies.

  Amy rushed him and hugged him hard, then Amber who had a mischievous grin on her face. Last was Angela who walked up and kissed him hard on the mouth and then touched her own hip, to make sure her pistol was secure before breaking contact.

  “Love you, too,” they all chorused.

  Steve walked out and grinned as he heard the deadbolts behind him being engaged. Billy was nowhere in sight, but he could follow the sounds of shouts and the smell of a cookfire. There wasn’t any pork ready, but the smell of cooking food traveled far and the starchy smell of the pots full of supplies was heady. He thought of hurrying, but considering how heavy his vest was, he didn’t want to rush to a threat to be too tired to be much help.

  He didn’t have the adrenaline to aid him as he had in the fight at Dwight’s farm, but unlike that fight, he had twice the distance to travel in full gear. So instead, he settled on a fast walk that allowed him to let his eyes roam and wander, looking for threats. Almost everyone in the neighborhood seemed to be at the community center. That left a lot of open and empty houses behind him, though he knew that not every house was empty. Blinds rustled as he moved past as an odd person here and there looked out to see him walking down the middle of the street.

  Steve could see the commotion long before he got close enough to make out individual sounds. He made sure his magazine was seated properly, a bullet in the chamber and the safety on before starting to walk up. From almost two hundred feet away he saw two figures dressed in all black, similar to the four men that had been killed, but with them were about a dozen figures wearing camouf
lage, though they were emaciated. Only the two men dressed in all black seemed to be carrying any visible firearms.

  As Steve approached, he saw a couple of the volunteers of the neighborhood watch, Johnathon and his wife Justina give him a nod and stand up. He could see they had side arms on, though neither of them carried long guns like they were won’t to do during the night shifts they took, so they could help Dwight out at first light.

  “Steve,” Justina said, “they just walked in from the street, we sent your neighbor’s son to come let you know.”

  “He found me, thanks. Any word? Do we know what they want?” Steve asked.

  “No,” Johnathon said. “They are too far off, but it has something to do with the food. They want us to share it out or something.”

  “So they’re not from around here,” Steve asked.

  “Never seen them before,” Justina answered.

  They kept walking and after a dozen steps, Steve muttered a curse. “Yeah, well I recognize those two in the black.”

  “From Dwight’s?”

  “Yeah,” Steve hissed, tempted to bring his carbine up and take them out now, but he didn’t know who the other figures were in camouflage. The ones who looked like extras on a zombie set, but put in clean clothing.

  “That’s far enough,” one of them yelled, putting a hand up as Steve approached, his carbine low and ready.

  Steve didn’t answer, but brought his AR up and sighted in on the figures who were caught flat footed. Justina and Johnathon spread out and as he passed, somebody else sat up from the grass and dusted his pants off. Matthew. The big man was wearing his sidearm as well and pulled it. The two men in black pajamas stood there, their guns still slung, but their hands twitching as if they wanted to make a sudden move.

  “Easy friend,” one of them called, “we don’t want to have any accidents here.”

  “I’ve been watching to see if they had anybody else sneaking in around us,” Matthew hissed without moving his lips. “So far, nothing,” he finished, nothing sounding like “muffing” as he tried to speak without appearing to.