The man interjected again, “Mary, please, Joshua’s back there scared … and alone!”
With that she took off running, her rifle in hand, “Joshua I’m coming!”
He then took position on the right side of the room while checking the windows. Thomas filled him in again. “I got two of them, maybe a third! There’s at least three more in the ditch and two behind the truck!”
The attackers continued to riddle the front of the home with rifle fire, the muzzle blasts easy to see. The two men began returning shot for shot, the house quickly filling up with dust and smoke, the taste of gunpowder was caught in their throats.
Suddenly the assault came to an abrupt stop and the two of them stopped shooting too. An unnerving quiet even more frightening than gunfire settled over the house. Finally the old farmer shouted out, ending the silence. “Mary, anything going on over there?”
“Nothing on this side … don’t see a thing!” came her remote yet comforting voice echoing from the other end of their home.
But this false calm was more worrying to the man than the shooting. “Something’s going on … they’re getting ready to do something. I can feel it.”
His friend had the same feeling, “You’re right. Something is getting ready to happen.”
“How are you?”
The older man stood there clutching his bleeding belly, “This? I’m fine.”
It was obvious the old man was lying but he didn’t have the time right now to see how bad it really was. “Just hang on till this is over. Until I can get a look.”
In only seconds their waiting was over. At once all five attackers got up and starting running and screaming at the top of their lungs. Three had rifles and were indiscriminately firing and two were holding bottles with a flaming rag protruding from the top.
The man started firing and missing as the men were rapidly moving and weaving all about. As they quickly advanced he hit one with his rifle, the resounding slap of the bullet striking him caught in the man’s ears. He stumbled, then dropped, an inert lump not thirty feet from their door.
Once more the man found his gun empty before it seemed possible but this time he was ready for the problem, quickly exchanging a new mag for the old.
The remaining four continued to rush the house, rapidly closing on the door.
He managed to cut another one down but not before he could throw his bottle. In a split second there came the faint sound of it landing over their heads on the roof and rolling back down, then breaking on the porch. The one with the second bottle was killed by the man just as he was throwing, the bottle landing with the distinctive sound of breaking glass on the roof just above them.
The two others armed with rifles ran behind the cover of the trees in the farmer’s front yard, the one on the left clutching an SKS carbine that had an ominous bayonet jutting from the end. But right now the two of them had more immediate concerns.
The man could hear the fear in his own voice, “They’ve set the roof on fire! The porch too! We’ve got to put it out! Now!”
“We can get the porch but there’s no way to the roof from inside! I’ll get some water!” The old man laid down his rifle and ran to the back. He came running right back, both hands full with two large heavy buckets. “I’ll open the door … you cover me!” With his whole body he pushed the couch aside and then opened the door. “READY!?”
The man took his shooting position at the window again. “GO!”
Thomas ran out with his buckets and the man began firing, hitting the one to the right when he stuck his head out for just a brief moment.
After hastily drowning and stomping the fire out, Thomas backed towards the door.
To their left the last assassin appeared from behind the tree. He began running and shooting right at the old farmer who was in the open doorway.
The man fired two more shots both missing as he leapt on the porch and through the front door.
He then found his rifle empty again and threw it on the ground. The man pulled his pistol just as the intruder sunk his bayonet deep into Thomas and simultaneously fired. His friend immediately crumpled to the floor.
The man emptied his pistol into the killer, his entire body shuddering with every shot. He fell dead there halfway in the door.
Suddenly there came the sound of another truck engine roaring in the distance. The man ran to the window to see it crossing the cornfield, four or five more men coming right at them. Then he could hear more shooting and then screaming coming from the back, “I see more on this side!”
The man rushed to the bathroom while fumbling to reload his pistol. “There’s more coming from the road too! We’ve got to go!”
Peering out the window the man could see three more gunmen slowly crawling in the shadows but he didn’t have his rifle. The child was at the bottom of the tub still screaming and covering his head. Outside the blare of the truck’s horn had faded to a low roar. “You grab Joshua and meet me by the back door, I’ll help Thomas!”
He ran back to the front room, pushing the killer’s body back out and immediately slamming the door shut. The man then pushed the couch back to block the door and picked up his rifle. As he watched from the window, he reloaded and then rechecked his magazines, now having less than three loaded ones left, exactly fifty-nine rounds between them.
The pickup had made it to the trench where the occupants tumbled in and instantly spread out. They began peppering the house with gunfire and the man got low to the ground as the sound of bullets tearing through the home filled his ears again.
The heap on the floor began to move once more.
“THOMAS! We’re going now! Get up!” The man slung the rifle on his shoulder and tried to get the old man to his feet. “Come on! We’ve got to go!”
“I’m not going anywhere! Look at me!”
The man didn’t want to because he knew it was true. “You’ll be fine … I’ll get you fixed up! Come on!”
His friend pulled himself up enough to get his back to the wall. “Son … I can’t go with you … you go and take my missus!”
“We’re all going … come on!” he tried to get him up again but the farmer wasn’t obliging. After several tries the man knew he couldn’t do it on his own and then got up and ran to the back door. The farmer’s wife was putting the child’s coat on, the boy finally quiet, her own rifle hanging off her shoulder.
“I can’t get Thomas to come … talk to him.”
He and the wife of forty-five years came to his side again, keeping their heads low. She didn’t mention his wounds or his blood that now covered the floor. “Honey, you have to get up … you have to try.”
The bloody farmer looked up at the man, both his large hands holding his belly, “Let me have a second with my wife … alone.
The man ran and checked through the slots in the window and yelled out a report. “They’re still in that ditch, but they won’t be for long. They’ll probably try to rush us again …”
The old farmer interrupted, “Please!”
As he was backing out of the room, the man looked Thomas right in the eye but couldn’t find a word.
After checking on the boy again, the man ran to the bathroom. He could see the three hiding behind the truck still stuck there in the mud. They appeared not to be advancing any further but he fired another few rounds at them to keep their heads down. He then ran for the kitchen keeping as low as he could. He put on his pack, now laden with the gear the farmer had given him. Lastly he checked the kitchen window and it appeared all clear.
Mary walked into the room, her face a solemn mask and the tears in her eyes. “He’s not coming … I can’t get him to come. He wants me to go with you. I can’t … I can’t leave him here.”
He was heartbroken but not surprised, “I can’t carry him alone. I think maybe I could save him … if we had the time. Maybe we should just surrender.”
“No! You can’t do that, not after we’ve killed their friends. Remember the Morrisons?
We can’t surrender. You’ll just have to go!”
The man was resolved to the facts and the time for discussion was over. “Okay get your coat. We’ll go.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not going …”
“Mary, this is crazy! You have to go! He wants you to go! If you don’t you’ll be killed … or … I don’t know! Just get your coat and we’ll go!”
“I’m sorry but I’m not leaving my husband.”
“Ma’am!”
“Don’t say another word! I’ve made up my mind! My place is here with my husband!” In over two months together this was the first time he had ever seen the soft spoken lady raise her voice in anger. He could also see she had made up her mind. For a moment he thought he could force her to go but with his heavy gear, the child, and her determined expression he doubted it could be done.
“Ma’am … Mary … please.”
Just then the sound of gunfire ended and that terrifying silence told them that something awful was about to start. He ran back to the front window and peered through the slots. “They’re getting ready to do something, go check the bathroom!”
He could hear her small feet running across the wood floor, and then came a yelling. “It’s quiet over here too! I think you’re right, something is about to happen! You have to go … now!”
There was no doubt left it was time to go. He looked over, his friend had lost consciousness but he was still breathing. The man knew there was nothing he could do for the husband but he could still help the wife. He ran grabbing her coat from the rack and then shouted down the hall. “Mary, forget it, come back!”
She came running back and as she did he pushed the coat at her across the kitchen table. He then picked up the silent child off the floor and held him in his arms. “We have to go now. Thomas would want you to go.”
“I told you I’m not going. I’ve made up my mind. Just go … take Joshua and go, before it’s too late.”
Just then they both could hear shouting and the sound of gunfire coming from the front again. The man grabbed the wife by her arm. “They’re charging the house! We’ve got to go right now!”
The woman broke his hold, and suddenly with a composure not fitting the situation she looked the man right in his eyes, the tears in her own. “I told you I’m not going. Please go. Please … just take Joshua and go.”
The man could see that the argument was over and he took a careful look out the back door.
The sound of the gunshots were quickly approaching from the other side of the house. The man picked up his rifle with his one free arm and knew himself that the time had come. She looked out the back door and then unlocked it, still unnaturally calm. “I still don’t see anyone out back. When I open the door run for those trees as fast as you can.”
He looked at her, and for a last time. He stood there for a brief second trying to think of all he wanted to tell her. How her and her husband had saved their lives and gave them hope again. But with this quickly approaching tragedy there was only enough time for one “God bless you.”
Getting down in a crouch, the child under one arm, his rifle in the other, the man was ready to go. She opened the door and he squeezed through and bounded off the porch with a single leap. Keeping his head low, he ran as fast as he could without falling in the mud and he wouldn’t allow himself to look back, not even once.
As he ran the screaming and shooting continued to grow but he just kept running. At last he reached the tree line and dropped behind cover. He put the child down and then rechecked his rifle, then finally turned, at last with enough courage to look at the horror of it all.
The entire roof and part of the porch was on fire. The cows had been let out of the barn with several of their attackers chasing them around the front yard. He could then see another truck casually approaching from the road as the house was rapidly consumed by fire. In the front yard a dozen savages or more were screaming and cheering it on, firing their rifles in the air and having a good time.
Lying there on the ground watching their bloody celebration, the laughter and whooping in his ears, a revulsion swelled in the man. Without even thinking, he fired two quick shots into the crowd but stopped a third as common sense took over again.
For a moment there was nothing but silence. Then he could see in the distance the muzzle flash of many guns going off one after the other. With another second waiting came the sound of bullets tearing through the air and the leaves on the trees all around him. In another second there came a shrill tiny scream.
Standing there behind him was Joshua; he had forgotten the child was even there. The boy was holding his leg and then fell to the ground, that high-pitched wail still filling the night air.
The man then heard the sharp crack of their rifles and a second volley of bullets ripping through the leaves. He turned to see them, some taking cover and firing, others rapidly advancing on foot. He picked himself up and then the child. Then he did the only thing he could do, he started running.
With a few minutes of flat out running the man knew the boy could wait no longer and found a large tree to take cover behind. In the far distance he could still hear the sound of men searching for them in the darkness.
The boy had had gone quiet, unconscious. He had been shot in his thigh, the bullet passing all the way through. With only the light from his lighter the man applied a pressure dressing from his pack. He bought the boy some time but didn’t know how long. He had to find somewhere to treat the child, somewhere cleaner, somewhere with better light.
He wrapped the lifeless child in a blanket and was once more moving again. Behind him the sound of men yelling taunts and obscenities came from the darkness. As he continued his hasty retreat, the sounds gradually lessened.
By dawn he had reached a highway, although he had no idea where he was. With the boy in his arms he started following the road and to the man’s relief soon came upon a sign, it read “Allendale 1 Mile.”
The man had run as fast as he could, but knew that it still wasn’t fast enough. The child needed medical care right now. He hid all his gear and rifle there by the roadside. He would just have to come back when time allowed. Then he took the child in his arms again and took off racing towards town.
He arrived there exhausted and discouraged. It appeared to be a close copy of what he had found in Otwell a few months before. He searched the storefronts of the town square hoping to find anyone to help him, or even a drugstore would have sufficed. Then there at the opposite end of the square he saw it, a large sign hanging in front of the very last building, it said “Allendale Animal Clinic.”
At the door of the ravaged office it was easy to see that it had been looted too. While there were no drugs scattered amongst the rubbish on the floor, he could see it still had at least some of what he needed. He would just have to make do. He pulled an examination table out of the back into the light of the shattered front windows and under the bright morning sun got his first real good look.
The bullet had passed through the boy’s thigh and from closely examining the wound thought he would be all right. The bullet missed the bone and his main concern now was that it had nicked his femoral artery. But he suspected it didn’t as there wasn’t enough blood, and the child would probably be dead by now.
As he carefully closed and dressed the wounds the man was grateful the child was still unconscious. That only would have only made this difficult job a hundred times harder. Unfortunately, the boy’s troubles were far from over.
After tending to the boy, the man searched through the building for what was needed. The bleeding had been stopped but the child lost a lot of blood. He had to have more. He didn’t know Joshua’s blood type but it didn’t matter as his own O negative would work with anyone.
With some found needles and bottles, he set up a crude transfusion. The child was awake again but not speaking as he lay on the table watching the blood flow from the man and into his own small arm.
The next four days were the longest
of the man’s life, not finding much sleep as he cared for and agonized over the boy. He spent those days holding the child close to him, the boy in a fever, unable to eat or even take much water. Did I do something wrong? Did I miss something? He thought the child would die at any time.
Sitting there with Joshua in his arms, he thought of the promise he made to the child’s mother, knowing if he did die it would be his fault alone. He thought about those shots he fired in anger and how he never once considered the boy’s safety, or even his own. The man thought he might as well have shot the child himself, as little concern as he had shown for the boy.
On the fourth day the fever broke and the boy was again talking. He didn’t eat much at first but he did drink plenty of water.
As he held the child close giving him small sips from his canteen, the man knew he could never give Joshua up. He made a promise to the boy’s mother and there was only one way he could keep it. He would raise the child himself.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The man was sitting on the bed, completely exhausted and flooded with emotions. He had just told his life story and felt both relieved and worried. The relief came from knowing that every word of it was true, his confession finally lifting the burden of it from his mind. At the same time he was afraid. He wasn’t sure if Thompson would believe him or what he would do if he didn’t. He acknowledged if he wasn’t believed it was his own fault for not being honest from the beginning.
Thompson sat there staring back at the man. Amy Helton had returned earlier and they went into the hallway for a brief discussion. He straddled the old wooden chair leaning into it with its back pressed against his chest and carefully considered every part of this puzzle.
It was an incredible story, but more than a story because he knew it to be true. He could see the truth of it in the man’s face and manner and could hear it in his heartbreaking words. Thompson sat in the chair trying to think of something to say that might equal the moving tale he had just been told. With a few moments’ effort he gave up trying, “I believe you.”
Joshua (Book 1) Page 22
