by Tom Abrahams
Kenny leaned on the railing with his elbows. “Did he get rich?”
“He made some money from it, but other people copied it. He tried to sue them, but didn’t have a lot of success. So he tried something else.”
“What was that? The strawberry gin?”
Rick chuckled. “Clever. Can you imagine trying to pull all the seeds from a strawberry? If you could build a machine that would do that, you’d make a million dollars.”
Kenny held up his index finger and thumb, a small gap between them. “That would be impossible, right? Dozens of those tiny seeds for every strawberry.”
Rick laughed. He and Kenny smiled at each other for a brief moment before they again gazed out onto the property.
Kenny sighed. “You think we’ll ever eat strawberries again?”
“Good question,” Rick said. “I guess if we found some seeds, we could try it in Gus’s garden. I’ll have to check his garage. There’s some gardening stuff in there.”
Kenny ran his hand through his mop of hair. “What was the other invention?”
“Muskets,” Rick replied. “He invented a machine that made musket parts, so he sort of invented mass production too. He was a smart guy.”
Kenny stood there quietly for a few minutes, as did Rick. A cool breeze swirled across the porch and Rick shivered. It was getting later in what had been a ridiculously long day. It felt like a month. Rick scanned the property from the garden on the left, the chicken coop beyond it, to the greenhouse, and the row of pecan trees directly in front of the house. This was home now. For the foreseeable future, this place—with its five bedrooms, well water, and natural gas generator—was their home.
The longer he stood still, the heavier his legs became. They were cementing themselves in place, exhausted from the rigors of the past twenty-four hours. If he stood there any longer, he’d spend the night standing against the railing. He shifted his weight and looked at Kenny.
Without thinking about it, Rick put his hands on his son’s shoulders and pulled him into his chest. He clung to Kenny with the fingers of one hand laced amongst the weighty strands of hair on his head and the other hand square in the middle of the boy’s back. He held Kenny tightly, holding him close.
Kenny didn’t resist. He lowered his head and wrapped his arms around his father. He didn’t say anything, but Rick could feel his son’s heart beating and his gentle sobs.
Rick worked to keep his composure. Perhaps Kenny was willing to reach that final stage of mourning, even if it would take the foreseeable future.
The foreseeable future.
In this world, Rick thought that term was oxymoronic. Kenny tightened his hold on Rick, spreading his fingers wide and gripping the fabric of his father’s shirt. Behind them, the storm door creaked open and hit the siding with a vibrating crack.
“Sorry,” Reggie said sheepishly, “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll come back.”
Rick patted his son on the back and pulled away. He kept his arm around Kenny’s shoulder and faced Reggie. “No, it’s okay. We’re wrapping up here.”
Reggie looked at Rick and then averted his eyes, clearly uncomfortable with the moment. “Sorry,” he repeated. “It’s—”
Kenny sniffled. “It’s okay, Mr. Buck,” he said, his words thick from the fluid in his nose. “I know there are things to do before it gets dark.”
Reggie shuffled one of his feet. “True. We need to secure the fencing by the road and hide the entrance. The less it looks like anyone is here, the better.”
“I don’t disagree,” said Rick. “We have a lot to do. If what you say is true, about the different phases of this operation, they’ll leave us alone for a bit. That gives us time to prepare for the next time they come.”
Reggie raised his eyes. “You’re okay to help with the fence?”
“Sure thing,” said Rick, “as long as Kenny can help us too.”
Reggie grinned. “Of course. If we’re gonna live here as a family, we all have to do our parts. The women are checking the stock of food, making sure the generator’s working, and testing the well.”
“Sounds good,” said Rick. He followed Reggie and Kenny down the porch steps into the yard. There was a lot to do and, contrary to what he’d said aloud, there was no telling how much time they had to get it done.
Rick didn’t have time to feel sorry for himself, to lament his ill deeds. He needed to be practical and clearheaded. Survival was the priority now. What might come next was far more important than what had already happened.
CHAPTER 21
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 29, 2020, 4:45 PM CST
CLEAR LAKE, TEXAS
The faint odor of smoke hit Jackie first. That was what told her she was home. It was like the lingering scent of a bonfire clinging to a sweater in the hamper. It wasn’t unpleasant or acrid. It was just there.
Jackie had rounded the corner onto her street, her heart fluttering with anticipation. It was replaced almost immediately with a sagging disappointment. Clayton wasn’t home.
Not that she truly expected it, but there was that hope to which she’d been clinging that, for a moment, convinced her he’d be standing in the driveway with his arms open wide. They’d embrace in a Jane Austen-esque reunion.
Not to be. At least not yet, she told herself.
Although she’d only been away from her house for a day, it felt much longer than that. She trudged the final yards along her cul-de-sac, her eyes fixed on her property. The broken front windows, which they’d covered, were again exposed to the elements. The front door was open. Some of her clothing, including an expensive bathrobe Clayton had purchased for her at a Moscow hotel, was strewn on the hibernating St. Augustine lawn.
“That didn’t take long,” said Nikki. “Somebody watched us leave and then broke in.”
Jackie sighed as she stepped onto the driveway and trudged up its gentle incline. “So much for Mr. Salt.”
“How’s that?” asked Nikki.
“He gave me hope in mankind,” said Jackie. “Remember?”
Nikki nodded. She pulled the Glock from the small of her back. “We should make sure there aren’t any squatters. Might be best if you wait outside.”
Jackie huffed and drew her Glock from her waistband. “Please, woman. I can handle myself.”
Chris rubbed his thumbs along his pack straps. He was stopped at the intersection of the driveway and the narrow cement walkway that led to the front porch, his back to the house.
“What about us, Mom? You want us to come inside too? Or you want us to wait outside while you and Deep Six Nikki put a sleeper hold on whoever’s in the house?”
Marie, who’d pulled her pack from her shoulders and was sitting on a large landscaping stone that framed a flower bed near the driveway, huffed. “Or you could put three bullets in him. That works too.”
Jackie gasped. “Marie! Apologize to Nikki. That was rude.”
Marie rolled her eyes. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Nikki said. “I get it.”
“It’s not fine,” said Jackie.
“Mom!” Chris pressed with a hint of a whine. “What do you want us to do?”
Jackie hesitated. The violence of the afternoon still raw, she wasn’t sure her children should be out of her grasp, let alone her sight. Nikki was right though. Who knew what awaited them inside the house?
“Stay out here,” said Jackie. “Keep your sister company.”
Jackie shrugged her pack to the ground and gripped the Glock with both hands. She followed Nikki into the house, leaving the front door open when they entered the foyer.
“I should have invited Salt to come here for a day or two,” Jackie whispered. “It would’ve been smart to have a man around.”
Nikki raised an eyebrow. “That hurts.”
“You know what I mean,” Jackie whispered.
Nikki smirked. “I do. That’s why it hurts.”
The women moved through the foyer toward the kitchen. The refrigerator was o
pen and empty. Only the foul smell of what food had been in there remained. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it did force both women to crinkle their noses and hold their breath. Jackie closed both doors and Nikki checked the pantry.
It too was empty except for two bottles of olive oil and a jar of Mateo’s Hatch Chile Salsa. A roll of paper towels was unraveled on the floor. Nikki kicked it and it rolled into the corner underneath the bottom shelf.
“They got everything,” Nikki said. “It’s bare.”
Jackie took a deep breath. “Let’s check the garage.”
The women moved through the laundry room and into the garage. It was dark inside, the only light the dim ambient daylight filtering through from the kitchen. Jackie reached into the side of her pack and pulled out a small LED flashlight. She punched on the lamp and scanned the garage.
The car was still there, though its doors and trunk were open. Not a good sign, but she panned left toward the freezer then maneuvered her way toward it. Once there she propped open the lid and shone the light inside.
“Fudge.”
Standing at the threshold and keeping watch, Nikki chuckled. “Fudge?”
Jackie sighed. “That’s the mom in me. I worked hard to stop cussing once I had the kids. Now I can’t seem to find the filth, even when it’s called for.”
“I’m guessing fudge means the freezer is just like the pantry.”
“I’m afraid so. Only empty plastic ice bags left.” She slapped the freezer shut and used the light to find her way around the clutter and back to the laundry room.
“So we’ve got the food in our packs and nothing else,” said Nikki. “Awesome. Now I’m extra glad we didn’t bring along Salt. He would have eaten too much.”
They walked back to the kitchen. “We never should have left,” said Jackie. “That was a huge mistake. If we’d stayed, we’d still have our food. We’d have more people to defend ourselves, more weapons. I acted rashly and emotionally. I can’t do that. Not now.”
“You did what you thought was best,” said Nikki. “Don’t beat yourself up.”
Jackie was looking across the room and up toward the catwalk that connected one half of the second-floor living space to the other.
“Jack—”
Jackie put her finger to her lips. “Shhhh.”
Nikki’s eyes narrowed and she followed Jackie’s eyes upstairs. She shrugged and shook her head.
Jackie pointed to her ear and then upstairs. Nikki closed her eyes until a rustling noise drew her attention upstairs toward the media room.
There was someone in the house.
Jackie’s pulse pounded against her neck and chest. Sweat bloomed on the back of her neck. She was momentarily frozen in place.
Nikki nudged Jackie and the two of them moved toward the stairs. Jackie looked back toward the front door as she passed it. The kids were sitting next to one another outside. Marie had her head on Chris’s shoulder. They were oblivious to what was happening inside the house. That was good.
Jackie stopped Nikki at the bottom step. She pointed to herself and then up the stairs before leading Nikki toward the second floor. Both women had their hands on their Glocks.
Cautiously, Jackie climbed the stairs one step at a time. She moved upward quietly, careful to cushion each step in the carpet, inching higher until she reached the top step. She pressed her back against the wall and waited for Nikki to move beside her one step below.
When she reached the second floor, she could tell the media room was well lit. Whoever had invaded her home must have raised the blackout shades that typically covered the windows and kept out any external light.
She tried listening for the noise again, but her pulse was thumping in her ears. She licked her dry lips, her tongue dragging along the cracks, and exhaled. She looked down at the carpet in front of her. It was soiled with a dark amorphous stain of dried blood.
The noise repeated itself. It was a rattling sound. Somebody was definitely in the room. Jackie sucked in a deep breath and nodded at Nikki, then bounded toward the media room, the weapon leveled at what she imagined would be center mass for anyone who confronted her.
Nikki was right behind her as she entered the room, both women quickly positioning themselves at either side of the wide door. Jackie scanned the room with the weapon, her hands trembling. The space was empty.
Jackie spun around. Nikki did too. They were alone in the room. Then Nikki thumped Jackie on the shoulder and pointed at the window.
An open window was pulled unevenly and one edge was sliding against the frame and sill. As the slight breeze blew into the room, the shade moved with it and created the rattling sound.
Jackie lowered her weapon and crossed the room to the sectional pressed against the back wall of the room. She leaned on the cushion and fixed the curtain.
Nikki chuckled. “That was intense.”
Jackie pushed herself from the cushion. She was about to respond when, from the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement. She turned to see a woman jump onto Nikki’s back, grabbing for the Glock. Nikki tumbled forward into the room, the feral woman still on her back.
Jackie immediately leveled her handgun at the woman’s back but, worried her shot might go through the target and hit Nikki, she tossed her gun onto the sectional. She leapt on top of the woman, grabbing clumps of her long greasy hair and trying to pull her from Nikki.
The woman screamed and cursed and let go of Nikki. She reached behind her, grabbing Jackie’s wrist. In a deft move, she leveraged her weight and spun onto Jackie. A waft of sour chicken soup accompanied the woman as Jackie fell onto her back and the crazed attacker pressed against her, managing to get one hand on Jackie’s throat. She squeezed.
Jackie’s airway constricted and she gagged. The woman’s sunken eyes were wild. Her face was gaunt. There were bleeding scabs on her cheeks and around her whitish lips. Her broad, flared nose was red at its tip. She cackled and mumbled unintelligibly as she pushed harder onto Jackie, who flailed, trying to pull the woman’s hand from her throat.
Jackie was trying to muster another burst of strength when the pressure around her neck released. She opened her eyes and saw Nikki grabbing the woman from behind.
She had one arm around the woman’s neck, her elbow pointing directly at Jackie. With the other arm, she applied pressure to the back of the woman’s head with her hand. As Jackie rolled away from the woman and out from underneath her weight, Nikki dragged her back and lowered herself to the floor behind the attacker.
She wrapped her legs around the struggling, bug-eyed woman, putting her insteps on the inside of the woman’s thighs. She extended one of her arms over the woman’s neck and toward her chest and reached the other under her arm. Nikki’s face reddened and strained as she clasped her hands over the woman’s heaving chest. The woman tried kicking and grabbing. She was ineffective. The woman’s throat was in the crook of Nikki’s elbow and her wild eyes struggled to focus as the noose tightened.
With her free hand, Nikki grabbed the bicep of her choking arm. Maintaining her leverage, she leaned back and flexed her choking arm repeatedly. Her sinewy muscles strained and relaxed, tightened and loosened.
The woman’s eyes fluttered and rolled back in her head before she went limp. She was out.
Nikki slugged the woman to one side and rolled away from her. She pushed on the carpet with her fists and stood up with the help of the sectional’s wide arm. She cursed the woman on the floor and kicked at her with her boot.
“Meth head,” she said and crossed the room, extending a hand to Jackie. “Crazy drug addict.”
Jackie took Nikki’s help and pulled herself to her feet. “You okay?”
“I was going to ask you that,” Nikki said. She tugged on her shirt and pulled up her pants. “That woman was in beast mode.”
Jackie ran her hand through her hair and exhaled. “I was going to shoot her, but I thought I might miss and hit you.”
“You did the right thing,” Nikk
i stated firmly. “No need to have Marie and Chris come running in here if they heard the shot. That would’ve only made things worse.”
“What do we do with her?”
“From experience,” said Nikki, “we’ve got less than five minutes and she’ll be crazed again. We need to tie her up.”
“And get her out of the house,” said Jackie. “I’ve got some bungees in my pack.”
“You go get them and I’ll keep watch. If I need to, I’ll knock her out again.”
Jackie moved to the door and stopped. She motioned toward the unconscious meth addict on the floor. “Was that the shutdown thingy?”
Nikki smirked. “Yes. The shutoff valve.”
“I gotta say,” said Jackie, “that was kinda badass.”
Nikki’s smirk blossomed into a cheeky smile. “Thanks. Now go get the bungees. She won’t be out long, and she stinks like skunk in a blue cheese factory.”
Five minutes later they had the woman bound and at the bottom of the stairs. She was struggling against them, calling them foul names, and arguing about her condition. When they reached the front door, Marie appeared on the porch.
Her jaw dropped. “What is that?”
“A meth head,” said Nikki, huffing as she dragged the woman by her underarms. “Give us room.”
Marie stepped to the side. “What are you going to do with her?”
“I don’t know,” said Jackie. “We haven’t figured that out exactly.”
Marie leaned on the brick wall adjacent to the door. “You gonna shoot her?”
Nikki dropped the woman into the grass. She squirmed, her muted calls dampened by the duct tape Nikki had strapped across her meth-addled face.
Nikki planted her hands on her hips. “If I was going to shoot her, I would have already.”
Jackie stepped toward the woman, keeping enough distance to avoid getting hit by her barefooted donkey kicks. Chris joined her and she put her hand on the boy’s head while she watched the creature in front of her writhe in agony. The drugs had clearly aged the woman, digging deep lines into her forehead and around her eyes. Her hair was stringy and greasy, verging on the appearance of mange. Veins popped in her arms and hands against skin the color of a manila folder. The drugs had robbed her of her youth. To glance at her, Jackie might have figured her for fifty years old or older. However, her eyes betrayed that notion. She was probably in her twenties or early thirties.
