by Nick Randall
“Is that really what happened, Mitchum?” Dale asked, not trusting Butler for a second.
“It’s exactly what happened,” said Mitchum. “One member of the Parker family is dead and two more are wounded at least. And now that they’re cut off from their cabin and their supplies they’ll be easy to hunt down and eliminate. Should be a downhill effort from now on.”
“And look at the price we’ve paid!” Dale yelled emotionally, his face becoming red. “Twenty four of our people are dead! Twenty four! And many of the wounded may not make it! I know these people! I know their families! Their children!”
Damn pacifist, Butler thought to himself. He wanted to punch Dale right now and send him limping back to the Compound, but he knew that wouldn’t look right in front of the men and women of the militia.
“Calm down,” Butler tried again, holding up his hand to indicate Dale to quiet.
“No, I will not calm down!” Dale was virtually crying now out of despair for the militia members who had lost their lives. “We joined the Compound because you promised us we would be safe! And look what’s happened! You’ve led us to nothing but slaughter!”
“That’s enough!” Butler’s voice boomed.
The men and women of the militia watched the showdown tensely.
“As I made clear before, the Parkers are dangerous people!” Butler continued. “They killed my boy and now they’ve killed twenty four more of us too! Isn’t that enough evidence for you that they need to be eliminated?! As long as they’re out there, they’re a threat!”
Dale shook his head helplessly.
“You’re lost, Butler,” he said. “You’re so lost and people are dying because of this pointless crusade you have. I’m sorry, but you have proven that you are not the right leader for us at this time. If you were, none of us would be dead right now.”
“So what are you going to do about that?” Butler snarled.
“We need to hold a referendum of some kind,” Dale responded defiantly. “The people of the Compound should decide through a vote whether to stick with you or not. And I will gladly volunteer myself to challenge you for the leadership position if no one else does.”
Butler laughed.
“Since when do we hold referendums on leadership?” he chuckled mockingly.
“If you’re not willing to put yourself in front of the people, then how are you not any different from a tyrant?” Dale responded. “I’m going to go back to the Compound and I’m going to tell the people exactly what happened here, and we will decide what to do together as a community.”
“You will do no such thing,” Butler sneered. This wasn’t even humorous to him anymore.
“I didn’t want to, but you have left me with no choice,” Dale held his ground.
Dale turned and began walking back to the vehicles.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Butler asked as he walked towards Dale. “None of those vehicles belong to you.”
“Then I’ll walk if you make me,” persisted Dale. “But the people need to know about what happened. I’ll get back to the Compound one way or another.”
“You know, you’re right, Dale,” said Butler. “I can’t believe what I was thinking. This whole mission is all my fault. It was a bad idea to begin with and now people have paid for it with their lives. I should resign my leadership post immediately.”
Dale wasn’t buying it.
“You’re lying,” he said.
“Am I?” Butler responded.
Suddenly, Butler whipped out his SIG .45 and shot Dale twice in the chest!
The bullets exited out Dale’s back and he was dead the moment he hit the ground.
Butler stepped up to Dale’s body.
“Yeah, I was lying,” Butler snarled, and then disrespectfully spit over the corpse.
Butler turned to Mitchum and ordered, “Dispose of the body in the woods. Leave it for the wolves.”
Butler holstered his weapon and began to walk back to the cabin, but none of the militia members moved. Most of them were shocked by the murder that had just taken place before their eyes. Phil’s mouth was gaping open in complete disbelief.
Irritated beyond comprehension, Butler turned to face them and began, “I am in command of the Compound. I always have been and I always will be. The Compound has provided you with food, water, shelter, medicine, and security for you and your families. If Dale had his way, things would only be worse because he didn’t have the courage to do what is right: TO FIGHT! And fight is what we must do if we are to keep this area safe from vermin like the Parkers. Is that understood?!”
“Yes!” several of the militia members spoke in unison, many of them fearing Butler would take their own lives just like he had Dale’s.
Butler turned to Gale and said, “Gale, take three men and a truck and conduct a wide sweep of the surrounding area in a six mile radius. Any evidence you see of the Parkers, report back to me immediately.”
Chapter Five
Joe’s Camp
The last few hours of working for Joe and his gang had been absolutely miserable for Randall.
They had him doing everything from trying to catch fish with string and hooks to doing the dishes (which were exceptionally filthy) to repeatedly grabbing water from the nearest creek to digging trenches and even to disposing of their waste with his hands.
Under constant armed guard by 1 or 2 members (usually Greg or Spence) of the gang at all times, Randall had been given no time for rest. In addition, he had to endure being mocked and beaten by any of the guards while he went about his work.
Multiple times, Randall would fetch a pail of water from a creek and then carry it back to the camp, only for Greg to trip him and send him and the water pail crashing to the ground.
“Get up, boy,” Greg would say. “Go fetch some more.”
Randall would then have to pick himself up, go back to the creek and refill the pail, and come back only for Greg to trip him again.
This went on repeatedly, until finally Joe grew tired of it and said, “that’s enough Greg, we need the water eventually you know.”
Greg’s girlfriend, Sara, only watched Randall’s struggles as entertainment and always laughed when Greg would trip or punch him.
Anger built inside Randall for all of them, but he dared not do anything to resist because losing a finger was the last thing he wanted (or needed).
The only member of the gang to display any kind of remote sorrow for Randall was Duncan, who watched on silently but didn’t intervene, likely for fear of being punished by Joe.
After several hours of giving Randall hard physical labor, Joe and the rest of the gang gathered to eat around a campfire, the firewood for which Randall had spent nearly an hour collecting under a never ending stream of verbal abuse from Greg or Spence.
Dusk had fallen with much of the sunlight disappearing over the mountain range. The campfire illuminated the faces of Joe, Greg, Sara, Spence, and Duncan as they ate around the campfire.
Randall sat off to the side in the muddiest place near the campfire per Joe’s orders.
Already starving and dehydrated, Randall was forced to watch as the gang chowed down on game meat and chugged cold water. That was perhaps the most agonizing torture he had to endure all day.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Joe. “You must be hungry. Are you?”
Randall said and did nothing.
“I asked you a question, and I expect you to verbally respond,” said Joe, his mouth full of meat. “You don’t want to lose a finger, do you?”
“Yes, I’m hungry” Randall spoke with a reluctant nod.
“Well, here ya go,” said Joe.
To the disgust of Randall, Joe spat out the chewed up piece of meat he was eating in his mouth and then threw it on the mud next to Randall.
“Go ahead and chow down,” Joe mockingly chuckled to the laughs of everyone else in the group except Duncan.
Randall didn’t even touch or look at
the chewed up, saliva covered piece of meat that was in the mud.
“I said go ahead and eat,” said Joe, stuffing another piece of meat into his mouth. “I need you to be fed for all the work I’ve got in store for you tomorrow.”
Once again, Randall didn’t touch or look at the disgusting piece of meat in the mud.
Finally, Joe rolled his eyes and drew his fixed blade knife, which he aimed at Randall.
“Eat that piece of meat right now, or you lose two fingers. I’ll cut off one and then we’ll flip a coin to see if Greg or Spence gets to cut off the other.”
Joe’s voice was serious and Randall knew it.
Hesitatingly, Randall reached down, picked up the chewed up meat in the mud, and then stuck it in his mouth and swallowed it as quickly as he could. This resulted in him immediately gagging and coughing, to the laughs and enjoyment of Joe, Greg, Sara, and Spence.
“Taste good?” Spence asked mockingly.
“I think he likes it, give him some more!” Greg laughed.
“I think he’s begging for it!” Sara chimed in.
As he had throughout the day, Duncan just stayed silent and only watched on with apparent remorse for what Randall was going through.
“Get over here, boy,” Joe ordered, snapping his fingers.
Randall obeyed and walked slowly over to the campfire.
“On your knees,” Joe continued, and as before Randall obeyed.
Joe ate another piece of meat, and then without warning, elbowed Randall hard in the nose!
Randall fell back on the ground, his hands over his bloodied nostrils. Spence, Sara, and Greg all laughed.
Joe then sat up from his worn chair and knelt down next to Randall. His hand shot forward and firmly gripped Randall by the throat.
“Listen to me you miserable little weasel,” Joe growled. “When I ask you a question, you answer right away. When I let you have food, you eat it right away. Is that understood?”
Joe’s tight grip was choking the life out of him so he was unable to get any words out, but Randall managed to nod his head to indicate he understood.
Finally, Joe released his grip and Randall gasped hard for breath. Joe stood back up triumphantly over him.
“I have no choice but to punish you,” said Joe. “What do you guys think?”
“Let’s cut off a finger already,” Spence suggested as he drew a hatchet. “My little axe here is extra sharp. It’s been begging for blood for a while.”
“Nah, that’s only for the worst of offenses like fighting back or trying to get away,” Joe said, shaking his head. “What else can we do?”
“Let’s blindfold him and tie his arms behind his back and then have him run around in between trees,” said Greg, finishing up his portion of the meat. “That sure will be fun to watch.”
Joe thought about it for a moment, rubbing his goatee as if he were in deep philosophical thought, but then shook his head as he had with Spence’s suggestion.
“Too lenient,” he said.
Sara grinned. She had an idea and was eager to share it: “I think he should sleep outside in the mud.”
Joe snapped his fingers. “Now that’s a good idea!”
* * *
That night, a thunderstorm had struck and it was pouring rain outside. The members of the gang were sound asleep in their respective tents, well protected from the drench.
Randall was laying down in the muddiest part of camp, handcuffed around a tree. He didn’t know where Joe or any of his gang members had gotten handcuffs from, but they had them and it made escape literally impossible.
With no shelter Randall was soaking wet, and the muddy spot he was in had essentially turned into a little swamp thanks to the rain. Already the water covered most of his lower legs.
He shivered greatly and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. He knew he would get no sleep at all tonight. If only he had been tied with rope and not with handcuffs, there was a chance he would have been able to escape and rid himself of the gang in the dark.
The only thing Randall had his mind on now was his family. Were they safe? Had Butler and his forces found them? Had Robert and Jane made it back safely to them?
Randall felt the presence of someone standing over him. He cautiously looked up, expecting it to be Joe coming to give him a beating.
But to his pleasant surprise, it wasn’t Joe. It was Duncan. He put a finger to his lips, indicating for Randall to be quiet.
Duncan knelt down with a key in his hands.
Randall couldn’t believe it. Was Duncan actually going to let him go free?
Sure enough, Duncan inserted the key into the handcuffs and turned it. The handcuffs clicked open and Randall’s wrists were free!
Since Joe had made sure the cuffs were locked as tightly as possible around Randall’s wrists, they were naturally very red and sore. He began rubbing them on instinct to ease the pain before telling Duncan, “Thank you.”
“Get out of here as fast you can,” Duncan whispered.
“Why are you letting me go free?” Randall whispered back.
“It’s not right what they’re doing to you,” Duncan said. “But you need to move quickly. It will be daylight in just a few hours. Here, take this…”
Randall further couldn’t believe it as Duncan handed him a fixed blade hunting knife. The stainless steel blade was shiny even in the darkness.
“It’s not much, but you’ll stand a greater chance of staying alive if you’re armed,” Duncan said. “I wish you the best.”
Duncan helped pull Randall to his feet.
“Thank you so much,” Randall said. “Are you sure you should stay? If Joe figures out you set me free…”
“I’ll be fine,” Duncan responded. “Now go, go!”
Randall started running into the woods. He didn’t care what direction he was going yet, he just wanted to get as far away from Joe’s tent as possible.
He looked back to see that Duncan was waving goodbye. Randall waved goodbye back, and then disappeared into the trees.
* * *
Randall ran as fast downhill as he could all night. Since his clothes were soaked to the skin, his progress was slower than it could have been, but he didn’t let that slow down his pace significantly.
Every once in a while, he would stop by a tree and rest, before continuing on. He had only one objective: put as much distance between himself and the gang as possible. And after that, find his family.
It continued to rain for most of the night, but after a while it began to ease up, and by dawn it had stopped completely. The sun rose from behind the mountains and glistened the morning dew of the grass and leaves on the trees.
Randall, exhausted but determined, emerged from out of the woods and found himself in the middle of a clearing of tall grass. He stopped and dropped to his knee, panting. He took about five minutes to rest and gather himself mentally before deciding that he had done enough running and could now walk at a leisurely pace.
He got about halfway through the clearing when suddenly he froze in his tracks at the sound of laughter from multiple crackling voices.
“Well, well, well, I’d say we have a runaway!” Joe’s voice emitted out of the trees.
Randall’s heart froze as if it had just been injected with adenosine.
As he feared, Joe, Greg, Sara, Spence, and Duncan each emerged from the trees one at a time.
Each of them except for Duncan were armed with pistols and they surrounded Randall, cutting off any possible escape route.
“If you wouldn’t be too kind Randall, I believe Duncan lent you a knife,” Joe said. “We’ll be having that back now.”
Randall looked at Duncan with a combination of shock and anger. How could have he been so stupid to think Duncan was actually letting him go?!
“Sorry, man,” said Duncan with a casual shrug. “Joe made me do it.”
Randall reached behind his belt, pulled out the knife, and reluctantly tossed it on the ground. Joe picked it up.
“So Randall, I think we made clear what the punishment is for attempted escape,” Joe spoke with an eager grin, holding up the knife.
“Please, no,” Randall didn’t know what else to say. Fear had him strangled in a headlock.
