Grant Us Mercy (Book 2): Grant Us Mercy

by Little, D. C.

  She looked haggard, like she hadn’t slept in a week. Her eyes were puffy and her skin pale, much paler than usual. It made her fiery red hair stand out even more. It also made him wonder how she could offer smiles and attention to him and Tucker like she did. Kris moved carefully, like she used to when Tucker was first born and she feared waking him.

  Watching her move as if terrified a single sound could take her son away from her left his gut heavy with guilt. He ripped his eyes away and back to the screen.

  The scene had shifted to a less peaceful display. Marvin talked with another man, his posture stiff and tense. Blake wished he had sound to put with the actions. The men obviously were in the middle of a disagreement. The other man angrily pointed in the direction of the rocks that hid the entrance to the bunker.

  Blake held his breath. Had he found the hidden entrance?

  Marvin shook his head, gestured to the trees and the camp. The other man’s agitation only grew. He stormed into the camp and disappeared into a tent, coming out a moment later with a rifle tucked under his arm.

  Blake ground his teeth. He needed to check the locks, needed to prepare, and needed to put some clothes on. Yet he couldn’t pull his gaze off of the screens. He had to know what that man planned to do with the gun.

  As if reading his mind, Kris stood next to him holding a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. He yanked them on with barely a nod toward her, his eyes never leaving the screen.

  “What’s going on? That man with the gun looks angry and so does Marvin,” she whispered, glancing from their son once again asleep and back to the screen.

  “They’re arguing,” he grunted, still enthralled in the show.

  Marvin came up to the man with the gun, adamantly shaking his head. He reached to take the gun away, but the other man pulled it back. He shoved his face into Marvin’s yelling and pushing his chest. Marvin reached for the gun again. The man decked him, sending Marvin to the ground.

  Kris sucked in a breath and grasped Blake’s arm.

  On his hands and knees now, Marvin shook his head. The man with the gun stormed out of the camera’s view. The women had brought the children against them, sheltering them as best they could from the disruption. The other men looked from Marvin to where the man left and back to Marvin.

  It no longer seemed like such a beautiful day up top.

  Blake’s heart raced. He swiftly moved about the room, grabbing guns and knives. He laid them out on the table, taking count of the resources he had pulled together.

  “Blake what are you doing? Where do you think that man is going?” Kris still watched the screens.

  Blake didn’t answer her. He didn’t know for sure what that man’s plan was or where he headed. Yet, he found himself waiting for a pounding on the outside hatch, but it never came. It had looked like the man had pointed in the direction of the rock outcropping, but other things lay in that direction as well, like...the house.

  “Marvin went after him,” Kris whispered, eyes glued to the screen.

  Blake took two long strides to stand next to her, his breath blowing a few loose strands of her hair in a rhythmic pattern.

  Sure enough, Marvin had left the camp. He searched the other screens until his eyes landed on the house. On the porch, the angry man checked the ammunition in his rifle and then scanned the area. His eyes fixated in the direction of the rock outcropping.

  The man with the gun yelled toward something in the opposite direction from the house. His lips, distorted in anger, were unable to be read. The silent movie did not give anything away. A moment later, Marvin entered the camera’s view in front of the house. The men argued again, arms flinging to make points as Marvin made his way up the porch steps. Marvin pushed past the man to knock on the door. He knocked again, and then seemed to call out.

  “Is he trying to see if we’re home? To warn us?” Kris chewed on her nail like she did during the intense parts of movies.

  Blake shrugged, unable to speak with all of his attention on the performance that starred his house.

  Marvin turned toward the man, tried to take him by the shoulder and turn him away from the door. The man shrugged out of his grasp and kicked at the front entrance.

  “He’s going to raid our home!” Kris whispered harshly.

  Blake ground his teeth, clenched his fists, and fought each reaction that pushed him to arm himself and protect his home. Yet, the fiery red-head next to him and the sick boy in the bed were everything to him, not the items in a house. They had everything they needed right here. He blew out a breath, forcing his feet to stay put.

  The man continued to kick the door and fight Marvin off him. When Marvin finally pushed his way between the door and the angry man, the man stood back and raised his gun.

  “He won’t shoot Marvin, will he? Not over a house.” She sucked in a breath as he leveled the gun at Marvin’s chest. “Marvin’s going to die trying to protect our home...” Kris put a hand over her mouth and gasped. Her other hand dug into his arm.

  Growling and breathing through gritted teeth, Blake cemented his feet. If he left the bunker now, the whole group would know their location. It would put his family’s lives at risk. This man wouldn’t be the only one willing to fight, or kill, to get what he stored in there.

  Blake watched the man with the rifle thumb off the safety and tense his hand ready to squeeze the trigger.

  “No...” Kris cried and squeezed her eyes shut. Blake tore his gaze away for a split second to pull her into his arms.

  The echo of the shot sounded only like a muffled thud in the bunker, but the reverberation made Kris flinch in his arms. Blake watched the screen, fearing to see Marvin falling to the ground and the mob ransacking their home. What he saw instead left his mouth hanging open.

  Marvin stood, a smoking pistol in his hand. The other man lay head down the porch steps, legs and arms at awkward angles, and the rifle inches away from his right hand. Blood oozed out of a gaping hole in his chest.

  Marvin killed to protect their home. Blake nodded his head and something greater than respect filled him. If he ever came face-to-face with Marvin again, he would treat that man like family.

  “Is he...” Kris peaked up at him, unwilling to face the death that littered the screen.

  “Marvin is not, but you probably don’t want to look at the screen.” He took his wife by the hand and led her to the pot of water boiling rapidly on the stove. “He protected our home.”

  “Really?” Kris open her eyes wide as she turned off the flame and filled the pot with pine needles.

  Blake nodded, unable or unwilling to speak his wrong accusations aloud. He turned away from his wife, retracing his steps. He owed Marvin. Even though his gaze once again rested on the screens, he didn’t really pay attention to the people dragging the body off of his front porch. He worked something out in his mind, a way to show Marvin his gratitude without giving away their location.

  Marvin had shown his worth, his true character, but what other type of men camped with him? There could be others like the man with the rifle willing and ready to raid their home. He couldn’t risk being found, but maybe there was still a way to reciprocate in kind.

  ~8~

  Kris tried not to think about what Marvin had done to save their home. An uneasy flutter began in her chest the moment she heard that muffled shot. People had changed, just like Blake foresaw. Had she got humanity all wrong?

  She couldn’t have if Marvin had done all that to protect their home. He could have ransacked it himself, but still, to kill someone over a house, whether protecting it or to raid it...she shook her head and concentrated on the task at hand.

  It had been two days...or had it been three, since Tucker had fallen sick. The days ran together. She looked at the calendar but couldn’t remember if she had crossed a day off yesterday or not. An exasperated sigh blew out her mouth.

  “What’s wrong?” Blake asked. He squatted in front of one of the storage cupboards, slowly compiling a supply of pr
ovisions next to him.

  “How did people remember what day it was before cell phones and computers?”

  Blake smirked, the lopsided grin touching something deep within her. “Same way we did as kids, before people carried cell phones with them everywhere.”

  “Guess you’re right.” She reached up and crossed off the day, hoping it was correct. “Probably doesn’t matter anyway. Not like there’s school today...”

  Blake rose and wrapped his arms around her. He shared no words, no verbal comfort, but his warmth, the smell of his skin, and his steadfast strength gave her all she needed in that moment.

  “Mommy?” Tucker croaked out.

  Kris reluctantly left the safety of Blake’s arms to go to their son’s side. “Hey, Sweetie.” She smoothed back his hair, feeling his piping hot skin. Her brain wracked through all the knowledge she had. How many days should a fever last? Three days? A week?

  “I’m hungry.”

  Kris smiled. “That’s good news.”

  “I just found some chicken noodle soup.” Blake rummaged in the pile he had pulled out of the cupboard.

  “Does that sound good?” she asked.

  Tucker nodded. His eyes still held that distant, glassy look, and it scared her. High fevers had a way of changing children.

  “I’ll make you some right now.” She kissed him on the forehead and rose to get some water on the stove. “We’re boiling a lot of water. Will we have enough fuel?” she asked Blake quietly.

  “We have plenty for now. Things will have to change anyway. This is only a temporary situation. We can’t stay down here forever.”

  Kris stood, pot in hand and frozen in mid-air. Something had shifted in Blake. She watched him as if she could decipher it in his movements. When he went back to sorting items, she blinked several times before completing her own task.

  “What are you doing, Daddy?” Tucker asked quietly.

  “I’m checking the inventory and calculating if we have enough to spare.”

  “To spare for what?” Tuck sat up in bed a little, grabbing the pillow and coughing into it.

  Kris’s heart ached for her son. He was so responsible, remembering to stay quiet even when so sick. When he returned his gaze back to Blake, she did too. What was he doing? Enough to spare for whom or what? He had nipped that in the bud without her hardly even opening her mouth earlier.

  “One of those people up there protected our home when he could have just raided it along with the others. I want to show him our appreciation.” Blake’s eyes briefly met her’s before a sheepish expression filled them, and he turned back to his task.

  Kris had to turn away. A smile as broad as her face overwhelmed her. She knew her husband had a giving heart tucked away in his tough exterior. She wouldn’t make a big deal of the situation. His ego would balk, but she would hold this kind act close to her heart.

  “How will you get it to that man?” Tucker asked.

  “I’m still working on that one.”

  Tucker nodded and eased back against his pillows, his own eyebrows furrowed in thought.

  He still held that expression when Kris brought the soup over ten minutes later.

  “Let’s get you sitting up higher, Sweetie.” She draped a towel over his chest to catch any spills and then handed him the soup.

  “Are they good guys?” Tucker asked her.

  “Well, they are families trying to survive just like we are,” Kris answered.

  “Families? You mean there are kids up there?”

  Kris nodded, watching him spoon soup into his mouth, happy that he fed himself. He hadn’t wanted to eat since he first got sick. A spark of hope began to smolder inside of her. Tucker remained silent until he ate a good portion of the broth.

  “Mommy, I’m done.” He handed her the bowl. “Could you please bring me my cars?”

  “Sure, Tuck.” She smiled, pleased he ate and now wanted to play.

  Yet, when she brought him his tub of cars he didn’t play, instead he sorted them methodically. He gave each one his attention and either placed them to the right of him or the left.

  “How many kids are there?” Tucker asked.

  “I...I’m not sure.” Kris shrugged. “Three maybe?”

  “Four. There are four kids.” Blake said as he packed items into a box.

  “Four.” Tucker repeated. He sifted through his cars once more. Took one more car from the box and added it to the pile on his left. He put the cars on the right back into the tub and picked up the four cars. “I want to give these to the kids up there.”

  Kris turned toward her son. Tears blurred her vision, and she was unable to stop them from silently streaming down her face. She sat down next to Tucker and brought him into her arms.

  When she sat back up, Blake stood there, his large presence overpowering. With one look, she moved away and let him take her place.

  “You’re sure you want to give those cars away? There aren’t any stores. We won’t be able to get more.” The seriousness in Blake’s voice made the truth clear.

  “I’m sure. They might not have any toys. I have a whole tub full of cars, and if they didn’t break into our house, I have all of those still too.” He handed his dad the four cars.

  The lump in Kris’s throat grew larger when she recognized the cars as his favorites. Love overwhelmed her. She turned away to let her tears fall silently. What did she do to deserve such a kind-hearted boy?

  “Daddy?”

  “Yes, Tuck.”

  “I have an idea on how to get the box to them.”

  Blake smiled. “I knew you would come up with something.” He squeezed Tucker’s hand and looked up at Kris, pride glowing in his eyes.

  Kris felt pretty proud too, for both of her boys.

  ~*~

  Blake stood at the door, silently looking back at his family and hoping he was doing the right thing for them. The box he held under his arm contained a bucket of freeze-dried meals, two extra blankets, a water purifier, and an extra saw, not to mention the four cars that Tucker added to the mix.

  It wasn’t much, but he hoped that it would show gratitude without endangering his family. Marvin had proved himself, and he hoped the others would follow his moral code. Yet, he didn’t have enough trust to show himself or invite them to more. He wasn’t sure if he could ever trust a group of people to have his family’s best interest in mind.

  “We always return to each other,” he whispered.

  “We always return to each other,” Kris whispered back. She wet a cloth and laid it over their son’s forehead before rising to meet him at the door.

  He wrapped the arm that wasn’t holding the box around her and hugged her to him. The sweet scent of his wife almost made him change his mind. He appreciated Marvin, but if this act brought an end to the safety he created for his family, it wouldn’t worth it.

  “I’m proud of you,” she mumbled the words into his neck almost as if she was afraid to utter them aloud.

  Her words did it. He had to follow through now and pray there wouldn’t be consequences.

  “I’ll watch the screens. You have your communications gear?” She looked to ensure the black bud was in his ear.

  “It’s midnight out there. You won’t be able to get a visual. Should have spent the extra on night vision cameras. At least I have my goggles. You may be able to see movement especially across the camp, but that’s about it. With these,” he pointed to the goggles on his head, “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll watch just in case.” She leaned up and let her lips linger on his for a few seconds longer than usual. “I love you.”

  “I love you too. I’ll be back to show you.” He chuckled with the thought and then turned the handle before he lost his nerve.

  “I’ll hold you to that.” Her playful tone gave him all the motivation he needed.

  As the bunker door closed behind him, he closed his eyes to focus on the task at hand. Thinking about his wife would distract him and put him in danger ou
t there. He took a moment to visualize his path.

  Tucker’s suggestion was to go when the entire camp slept and leave the box by the apple trees. They would be sure to find it there, he had said. It was far enough away from their camp that he wouldn’t be heard, and hopefully if someone woke to use a tree, common sense would be that they used one far away from the trees’ whose fruit they eat.

  Blake almost wanted to include a note. A camp in this situation should always have at least one sentry, someone standing watch to ensure they weren’t snuck up on. Tonight it worked to his advantage, but it wasn’t safe for the group in the long run.

  With his path mapped out, he silently walked up the steps to the hatch and slowly, carefully, opened it to the starlit night and fresh crisp air. Stealthily, he escaped from the hatch and closed it without sound. Readjusting the box under his arm, he spied around the rock in the direction of camp.

  The night vision goggles he pulled down fit snuggly and for an instant, flashes of memory shot through him. He had to remind himself where he was, his purpose, and the need to get back to his family. The night lit in an eerie unnatural way, but he could see.

  Nothing stirred. The land was silent except for the occasional hoot of a night bird and the scurry of a mouse scrambling across the pinecones near him. Using the silent walk taught to him in the Special Forces, he carefully stepped between the pine cones from tree trunk to tree trunk.

  When he arrived at the apple trees, he gingerly set the box of supplies down and wrapped one of the blankets all around it. The food was in the bucket so it should be safe from critters, but better to be as safe as possible.

  A crisp wind blew across his face as he stood erect. Winter was coming. Snow wouldn’t be too far off. They didn’t get much here, but enough so it would make it hard on those without shelters. These people should head to lower elevations.

  Movement and a thud caught his attention to the right. He turned just in time to see an apple rolling down the slight hill. The fruit was near the end of its life. He pulled a few down and stuffed them into his pockets. It had been a long time since he had an apple from his own tree.