by Reed, N. C.
“What I was thinking,” Jose sighed. “Damn shame about Straight Edge,” he added, his voice going mournful for just a second.
“Yeah,” Clay agreed. “Empty chairs, brother.”
“Empty chairs,” Jose agreed. “We’re on the move.”
-
The rest of the day was a beehive of activity that kept most of the farm from thinking over much about how many people were in the clinic in serious condition, not to mention how many tarp-covered mounds were behind Building Two. Some of those names caught a few people by surprise.
In a spare minute alone, Clay walked down the row, stopping briefly at each one to look at their faces. He knew them all, but two he knew much better than the rest.
“Good journey, brother,” he murmured to Stacey Pryor’s calm features. “Our travels together are at an end. You go on alone from here. The rest of us will see you soon enough.” Returning the shroud to its place, he continued until he found the body of Corey Reynard.
“Corey, I am so sorry,” Clay whispered. “If I could go back and not have that training mission, I would in a second, and yet without you four out there, we would have been hurting. Probably overrun. Thank you for defending us, kiddo. A trooper to the end,” he patted the boy’s still shoulder gently. “We’ll miss you, Rey. We’ll miss you and we won’t forget.” Replacing the shroud, he stood and examined the row. The names echoed in his head as he stood there, lost in thought.
Corey Reynard
Freda Fletcher
Eunice Maynard
Parnell Plank
Zayne Parris
Ellis Gates
Talia Gray
Stacey Pryor
He had sent for Greg once he realized Gray was among the dead. His friend had looked at the young woman’s body, asked how she had died, and then returned to work.
Talia’s leg wound had indeed cut her femoral artery. She had lost too much blood by the time medical aid made it to her and she had died on the table as Jaylyn attempted to treat her.
Freda Fletcher had suffered a head wound, and a wound to her neck as well. Field treatment in the ditch was not enough to save her.
Eunice Maynard had also suffered a head wound, an apparent ricochet that had gone through her left eye and probably killed her instantly.
Parnell Plank had bled to death of multiple wounds even as Raven Elliot had tried valiantly to save him under fire.
Ellis Gates had taken a steel core round between the panels of his vest, the bullet tearing him apart inside even as he looked unharmed other than blood seeping down his side.
Corey had died of multiple wounds, either from an automatic weapon or by being targeted by two or more decent shooters. He had died shooting, defending his home and the people he called family.
And Stacey Pryor. Hit just below the collar, his friend would have bled out in two minutes or so, according to Jaylyn Thatcher. She had almost whispered it in his ear, the sadness in her voice still easy to hear. She and her husband had gotten to know Stacey fairly well on their trek east.
Eight dead. Eight more wounded, some severely.
Savannah Hale had taken a round to the thigh. She would recover but would be out of action for at least two months as she healed and then returned to fitness for the field.
Jena Waller had a bullet wound to her left shoulder, just outside her vest. Lucky in that it had missed the shoulder joint, it was still messy, and would likewise require at least a month of recovery, and that was assuming all went well.
Keely Irwin’s left arm was smashed, and she had an ugly gouge along the left side of her head. She was in what Jaylyn called a ‘shallow coma’ and might yet lose her arm. If she didn’t wake up, then that would be the least of her injuries.
Heath Kelly had a broken arm, an in-and-out through wound on the meaty part of his left thigh, and a severe concussion. The last Clay had heard, he was still not tracking quite right, but had been medicated enough that he would rest easy even while he was forced to stay awake. His niece was going back and forth from Operations to the Clinic every few minutes, trying to check on him.
Matt Kenny was still unconscious and was suffering from massive internal bruising due to a high-powered round hitting him in the back. While his vest held, it couldn’t stop all the kinetic force from the bullet. He would probably recover, but it might be weeks before he was back to battery.
Carol Kennard’s left arm had been treated and she had been given light duty for the next week. Good fortune had favored her today.
Heather Patton. Clay shook his head as he recalled her being brought into the clinic, swearing that she was fine and should be back on the line. Jaylyn took one look at her arm and vehemently disagreed. Heather’s left arm was not broken, exactly, but it was cracked and the wound that caused it full of dirt, rocks and even gunpowder residue. The memory of hearing about her efforts even after her arm had been broken managed to bring a smile to Clay’s face, sad though it was. That girl was definitely a fighter. That was good. They would need fighters.
Mitchell Nolan had suffered a graze to his arm and a ‘nick’ to his left temple that was bandaged by Kait Caudell, who had added an admonishment for him to take it easy for the remainder of the day. He had laughed at her even as he retrieved his gear and left the clinic, a clearly amused Kait shaking her head slowly as she walked to the field phone and called the Troy House to inform Beverly Jackson of her orders.
Fourteen people gone or out of commission for weeks to come, two more walking wounded, and no telling how much psychological trauma to work through for some.
And fifteen people showing up at just the right moment to fill that gap. A coincidence that Clay could not help feeling uneasy about. Fate? Good luck? Harbinger of bad things to come?
He was too tired to think about it, and it didn’t matter anyway. Flores’ people had immediately joined in the work that needed done, the medical officers heading to the clinic, while the two medics ran back and forth to the trucks for equipment or supplies that the clinic didn’t have. Others were either slipping into their own roles or else simply joining up with labor parties trying to fix the damage the farm had taken during the assault.
Crews walked the battlefield, collecting arms, ammunition and equipment from the dead. They could be traded away or used on the farm. Other items were evaluated during the search and either added to the pile or left with the bodies.
Behind them came the backhoe, collecting bodies to be dumped into a trench that was already dug. Leaving the bodies out, even overnight, was an invitation to any predators in the area, so that was also a priority.
“Everything is a priority,” Clay muttered to himself, his gaze locked on the southern horizon.
“What’s a priority, Cowboy?” a welcome and familiar voice asked from behind him. A genuine smile on his face, Clay turned and embraced a beautiful redhead with a rifle slung across her shoulder.
“Glad to see me?” Lainie Harper said softly, hugging him tightly.
“You have no idea,” he sighed, his own hug just as tight.
“Oh, I might have an idea,” she pulled back, looking at him. “You look exhausted, poor baby. Are you okay?”
“I’m as okay as I’m able to be,” he took a deep breath. “Lost a lot of people today. Including Stacey and Corey.”
“Corey?” Lainie was shocked. “And Stacey too?”
“And six more,” he pointed to the row of shrouded dead he had just left. “Heath is inside with a head wound and a broken arm, among other problems. A lot of others are in there, too. Oh, and Flores showed up with a convoy and fifteen people, counting her. How about that?”
“Hey, you need to calm down, sweetie,” Lainie frowned in concern and the normally taciturn Clay rattled on and on. “Take a deep breath and try to calm yourself. Flores was the mouthy lieutenant, right?”
“The first one,” Clay nodded, after holding his breath and counting to ten before slowly releasing it. “She seems to have undergone a transformation
since then. Being under fire will do that to you. She ended up as the senior officer left at their HQ, and we were their last hope. Brought us truckloads of presents in exchange.” He pointed to the idled convoy out on the road.
“Well, that was thoughtful,” Lainie tried to be encouraging. “Why don’t we find a place to sit down, and you tell me about it. Okay?”
“Okay.”
-
Flores watched as two of her better drivers maneuvered the vehicles her group had brought with them into a rough line behind the three identical buildings that most of the farm’s operations seemed to be ran from. First had been the five-tons, now it was the semis. The Hummer and M-RAP had been designated to the far building known as T3. She was sure there was some significance to that name but had no idea yet what it might be.
Clay had wanted to know how many vehicles she had left behind her due to a lack of personnel. She had informed him there were two more Cougars, four more Hummers, and several civilian vehicles as well as some equipment, including an engineering vehicle that had survived the storm.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Supplies and parts we didn’t have room for,” she had nodded. “No ordnance. I felt that was the most important thing. Not to arm these terrorists any better than they already were.”
“Good call,” he had agreed.
She could tell he had something simmering behind that cool gaze but lacked the nerve to ask. The change in him from her first meeting was all but palpable and it took very little time for her to realize that what she was seeing now was the real Clayton Sanders. What she had seen before was a civil veneer that he tried to wear in order to be less frightening.
And it was frightening, not just intimidating. More to the point, several of the people working with him projected that same aura. A complete lack of concern about anything. It didn’t surprise her that such a large group had been unsuccessful in attacking this farm.
It also made her exceedingly glad that Captain Adcock had not allowed her to antagonize Sanders any further than she had.
-
Zach finally found a minute to rest easy and reflect on the events of the day. He sat on a fence rail, looking southward once more. In the furthest southeast corner of the farm’s territory was a new burial trench containing eighty-one bodies. Eighty-one. It made him wonder what the total number of people in the attack had been.
He considered the loss of Corey Reynard. A good friend and a brother for most of Zach’s life. Like Kade. Both now gone, forever, and Zach hoped to a far better place than the one they had left behind.
Then he thought about Heath, lying in the clinic with a mangled arm, a bad leg and…issues, with his awareness. He closed his eyes and looked skyward, praying for his friend’s well-being. That he would recover and still be the same old Heath he had known for so long.
“What’cha doing?” a female voice broke his reverie. He turned to see Kim Powers studying him from more than an arm length away. Smart girl.
“Just thinking about the day,” he replied honestly. “I take it you’re okay?”
“As much as I can be,” she nodded, closing the distance between them now that Zach was aware of her presence. She ended up between his knees, her head resting on his chest.
“Talia was a friend,” she said, her soft voice muffled as she talked into his coat.
“I know the feeling,” he replied, wrapping his arms around her in a loose but firm embrace. “More than once, in fact.”
“Sorry,” she looked up at him. “I shouldn’t act like I’m the only one.”
“You aren’t,” he shrugged. “Everyone is dealing. Some more than others. Talia was okay.”
“I feel bad for Greg Holloway,” Kim continued. Zach nodded but added nothing. The two of them decided to be silent and still for the time being.
-
“You okay?”
Abigail Sanders’ voice made Greg Holloway look up from where he was cleaning his gear. He smiled faintly at her and pointed to a spot next to him on the log he was using as a seat.
“I’m good,” he nodded, returning to his work. “You?”
“We didn’t have to do anything,” she nodded, taking the offered seat. “Guarding the back door, so to speak.”
“Has to be done,” Greg assured her. “I’m glad you weren’t up here,” he added, not looking up.
“Don’t have any faith in my shooting?” she chuckled, lightly bumping him with her shoulder.
“Don’t want you having to do this,” he shook his head.
“Oh,” Abby didn’t know what else to say to that. “I appreciate it,” she finally did say.
“How’s Leanne?” Greg wanted to know.
“Frantic with worry,” Abby admitted. “Nothing she’s been told has helped with that. She’s too smart to lie to, so they have to tell her like it is.”
“And how is it?” he asked, finally looking up. She blushed faintly at his direct attention but didn’t look away.
“If he wakes up tomorrow tracking okay, then Jaylyn says he’ll be out of danger,” she reported. “His arm will need rehab, but she says it will definitely heal, and his leg is an afterthought compared to the rest, so long as it doesn’t get infected. So, we wait for daylight, I guess.”
“I hope the kid’s okay,” Greg turned his attention back to his gear. “Losing Corey is more than enough.”
“I still can’t believe it,” Abby agreed. “Sam is talking to Terri Hartwell right now. She is…I guess distraught is not too strong a word,” she decided. “Her and Corey were more or less a thing, and now…well, is now,” she shrugged, a gesture of helplessness.
“I know the feeling,” Greg nodded slowly.
“Sorry,” Abby turned red as she realized what she’d said.
“For what?” Greg frowned, looking up at her. “What did you do now?” he actually grinned.
“Nothing!” she shot back, mock outrage playing across her features before softening. “I meant about Talia.”
“Ah,” Greg nodded. “Yeah, that was too bad. She was good people. Tough and determined. Dependable. We’ll miss her.” He sheathed his knife and began scrubbing at his web gear next.
“I meant…I mean you and her…I mean….” Abby ran out of words and just stopped, face redder than before.
“I know what you meant,” Greg let her off the hook easy. “It’s not like that. Never was. Friends, yes. She was good people, like I said. I enjoyed her company. I know everyone assumed we were more, but no. Just friends.”
“I’m still sorry, then, since I was one of the assuming ones,” she admitted. “I meant it in the nicest way,” she added with a bashful smile.
“I know you did,” he chuckled lightly. “She did a good job. Damn shame she got clipped on the way out. Still, you can never know. Another reason I’m glad you weren’t part of all this,” he added, his voice serious. Once more Abby felt a blush spread across her face.
“I’m fine,” she promised him, leaning over until her shoulder touched his, where she let it stay. “I’m just fine.”
-
Gordon Sanders felt a sadness settle over him as he rode into the area around the giant buildings his son had built on the Troy farm. Even though the battle hadn’t reached here, it still made an impact. Several people sported bandages or worked to repair gear broken during the battle. Gail Knight had left to report to Jose Juarez now that she was on the premises. Charley Wilmeth had stayed near Gordon, not being a part of the defense forces.
“I’m going to see if Clayton is inside,” Gordon told her, swinging down to the ground. “Mind holding on to my horse for me?”
“Not at all,” Charley smiled, taking the reins. “We’ll just be here, waiting for you.”
“Thank you,” Gordon smiled back, then stepped inside Building Two.
Into a maze of organized confusion. He saw Leon walking out of the radio room and waved.
“Hey, Grandpa,” Leon smiled ever so slightly. “What are you d
oing here?”
“Just checking in to see how things are,” Gordon replied, hugging Leon tightly. “Everyone okay?”
“No, not everyone,” Leon’s smile faded. “We lost Corey Reynard, among others. And Heath is unconscious over in the clinic. Leanne is with him now.”
Gordon felt the weight of what Leon had said settle on him, feeling weak for a moment.
“Corey,” he murmured. “He was a good boy. And Heath is in the clinic, you say?”
“Yes, sir,” Leon nodded. “He’s in bad shape, too,” the teen added softly. “I don’t know what Leanne will do if…I mean, she and Heath….” He didn’t finish, just trailed off lamely, not knowing what to say.
“I know, son,” Gordon patted Leon’s shoulder. “I know. I’ll step inside and talk to Patricia when I can. Where is Clayton?”
“Probably out back, somewhere,” Leon shrugged. “He was watching them bring in those new vehicles, and also that’s…that’s where Stacey Pryor and Corey are…laid out.”
“Pryor, too?” Gordon asked. “How many others?”
“At least five more dead that I know of, but there may be more. I don’t know exactly how many wounded, but several are hurt pretty badly,” Leon reported. “It was a hard fight.”
“Most of them are for someone,” Gordon assured him. “I’ll see you later, son.”
“Yes, sir.”
-
Patricia Sanders saw her father-in-law enter the clinic and moved to his side.
“Hello, Dad,” she smiled tiredly.
“You look tired, Pat,” he smiled. “You okay?”
“I’m a little old for this kind of action,” she laughed softly. “Everything alright?”
“I guess as much as it can be,” he replied, catching sight of his granddaughter sitting next to a still figure. “How is she,” he nodded in Leanne’s direction.
“She alters between fussy and flighty,” Patricia replied. “One minute she’s literally throwing a fit for information and demanding to know everything we’ve done, the next she’s disappeared, probably to Operations, or maybe to Clayton’s office to hide. Then, she’s back and no one saw her come in.”
