In the dim light of a hanging lamp, they took stock of Kevin’s meager inventory of weapons.
A pump-action camouflaged Benelli twelve-gauge hunting shotgun lay on Kevin’s kitchen table. Scattered nearby were three red-tubed brass-bottomed slugs. Steele’s knife lay out for sharpening along with one of Kevin’s deer knives. A rusted-out shovel leaned against the wall in the corner, almost as if they were planning on burying the bodies, or each other.
“So you’re telling me you live in West Virginia and you don’t have any handguns or rifles? And only three slugs?” Steele asked, rubbing his eyes to alleviate the throbbing of his brain.
Kevin scratched his head. “I am a teacher, not a prepper. I usually go hunting in November, but I have had to use some of my slugs since people started to go the way of the dodo.”
Steele nodded, his head throbbing. “I know. I know, Kevin. I am more disappointed in myself for getting into this mess than with you.” Should’ve been more cautious. Shouldn’t have been so trusting. We knew it was an ambush. It was a clear set-up. The way the cars were angled. The way the road ran through the mountainside. The excellent vantage points. Damn it. My buddies, who were in Afghanistan, would have mocked me for my presumed safety. My spidey-senses should have been screaming danger. Instead I got a bullet in the head. And they got Gwen.
“Pretty meager, huh?” Kevin said, crossing his arms across his chest.
Steele grimaced. A little luck never hurt. “Three slugs ain’t going to get us too far against ten-plus guns pointed in our direction. We’re going to have to be silent. Use stealth, surprise, and chaos to our advantage.”
Kevin appeared apprehensive.
Don’t quit on me now.
“Listen, Steele, and I mean this with all due respect. You seem like a good guy and a relative bad ass. But you are just one man. What good is one good man with good intentions against a gang of rotten men with bad blood running through their veins,” Kevin said. His eyes darted downward. His voice rose as he spoke. “I don’t want anything to do with Puck Roberts and that clan of misfits. They aren’t like me. They are backward, mean folk who provide nothing to society.”
Steele’s brows creased. “Why are you upset? What did they do to you?”
Kevin shook his head in frustration. “It’s just those people. They. They. I’m not like them. Do you know how hard it was to get where I am? I was the first person in my family to go to college. The first in a family of coal miners and hooch cookers.”
“I understand, but this isn’t that world anymore. This isn’t a world that values degrees. Not unless you can make me some slugs out of nothing.”
Kevin gave him a small grin before it turned to a frown. Steele knew what he was going to say, but let the man speak his piece. Kevin stuffed his hands in his navy sweatshirt front pocket.
“Those things out there. On top of Puck, this is just too much.” Kevin shook his head, working up his denial.
Abandoned in my time of real need. “Those are my people and my responsibility. I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow,” Steele said.
Kevin looked sorry and nodded, leaving Steele to his thoughts.
“I’ve got to get some rest,” Steele said. He crashed on Kevin’s couch and closed his eyes. Sleep didn’t take him soon enough.
His sleep was fitful and uncomfortable. The sun cracked through the blinds, and Steele awoke to the distinct greasy smell of frying bacon. He kicked his blanket off and sat up on the couch, knife flipping free of its handle.
Kevin stood in the kitchen cooking food over the stove. “Don’t kill the cook.” He waved a spatula at Steele. “I promise it won’t be that bad.”
Steele gingerly swept his hair to the side, covering his healing wound. Just touching his hair sent pain shooting through his hair follicles. He collapsed the blade and shoved it back in his pants.
“What’s the special occasion?” Steele said. Kevin flipped bacon over.
“It’s the last of bacon. Fridge is out.”
“I love me some bacon. Can you make that extra crispy?”
“Preaching to the choir.”
Steele took a seat at the kitchen table, pushing some of their weaponry and gear out of the way.
“I wouldn’t have someone saying that I sent you out into this shitty world on an empty stomach. Just wouldn’t be right. Some of us in these parts are rough around the edges, but we aren’t heartless.”
Kevin scooped six reddish-brown, fat-streaked slices of bacon on his plate.
They crunched crispy bacon in silence. Each man was lost in his thoughts. Steele on his task. Kevin on his own. Steele tossed the last piece of bacon in his mouth. He licked his fingers with a smack of his lips.
“Best damn bacon I’ve ever had, but don’t tell Gwen that.”
Kevin smiled sadly. “We didn’t see her. We don’t even know she is there.”
“You don’t know this woman. She is unlike anyone you will ever meet. She has the will of a warrior, the heart of an angel, and the mind of a lawyer. I’ve lost plenty of debates to her. She could talk the President out of the White House.”
Kevin cracked a smile. “She sounds like an amazing lady.”
“That she is. The best. And if we don’t swoop in and rescue her, she will just rescue herself. And trust me, when she finds out we didn’t help her …” Steele eyed him. “You don’t want that.”
“I don’t know. I know about battles and wars. Not conducting a search and rescue mission.” Kevin’s words sped up as he talked and built himself into an excited frenzy. “Like did you know Major General Daniel Sickles lost a leg at the Battle of Gettysburg and donated it to a museum and visited the leg every year after its amputation? Or that the Anglo-Zanzibar War lasted only thirty-eight minutes? How about how the English/Welsh Longbow changed medieval warfare forever at the battles of Pointers, Agincourt, and Crecy, with its ability to take away the French cavalry charge with a hail of pincushioning bodkin-pointed arrows?”
Steele held up his hand. Kevin stopped talking and settled for being flustered.
“Hey man. It’s okay. I understand.”
“I’m not a fighter. I could write all day about fighters, but I’m not one. I wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Stand with me. We might not be in a history book, but we sure as hell will put on a fight for the ages. I won’t beg for your help, but I’m not above asking for it again. Would you like to meet Gwen? Will you help me rescue my friends? Will you make history on this mountain?”
Kevin examined the contents of his plate, food gone. He licked his lips. Worry stretched over Kevin’s thin face. “I feel like I’m crazy for saying this, but I’ll help you. I don’t know why, but I’m going to do it,” he said, his mouth forming a determined smile. “But you owe me a nice bottle of whiskey when this done.”
Steele grinned ear to ear. “I will get you a whole damn case when this is all over.”
MAUSER
Backbone Peak, WV
Mauser lazily opened his eyes. He coughed a bit, cold air biting his lungs like hungry rats. His lids were swollen and heavy from a horrible night’s sleep. His arms hung above his head, muscles worn and torn from being stuck in the same uncomfortable position. The sun crested the tree-topped mountain, gold and warm. Will today be the day I die?
Ashley’s words rung through his head. Gwen had better put that big brain of hers to work because I can’t think of any way out of this mess. If we have any hope, it’s together and I sure as hell don’t feel like dying today.
“Psst. Ahmed, you awake?” he said.
Ahmed grunted in response.
“It sounds like they have something planned for us tonight. I don’t like parties where I am the main form of entertainment. Just stay alive. Don’t give them the satisfaction of defeating us,” Mauser said.
Ahmed uttered a fluid-filled hack in response. “I’ll try,” he groaned. His health had declined rapidly; the lack of food, water, and the daily beatings combined with exposure to the elements were
taking their toll upon the man.
The camp stirred to life. A moonshiner stumbled out of a cabin and scratched his balls. A female followed him, blanket around her shoulders, walking crooked almost as if she were infected. Nope, just hungover. Mauser wondered where they were keeping Lucia and Lindsay; he hadn’t caught a glimpse of them yet. He knew Gwen was over in that cabin with Puck. He tried to stretch his neck to relieve the pain. Easy to beat a man chained to a pole. Untie my ass and I’ll put on a show.
Casey strolled by, swinging his whipping stick and whistling. The same three notes over and over. He broke out into song: “He taught them all a lesson, with all his limey blessins’.”
Mauser struggled to keep his mouth shut. If he was trying to annoy Mauser to death, it was working like a charm. He was about ten minutes early today.
“Don’t you disobey ’im, if you want a rash o’bac’n,” he sang. He stopped about a dozen steps from Mauser, turning on him.
“What the fuck you looking at, idiot?”
Mauser quickly dipped his head. “Nothing, sir,” he said too fast.
Casey walked over. His whipping stick swung like a pendulum back and forth and his sparse mustache jumped up and down on his face. “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood today or I’d give you a whoopin’. That and Puck doesn’t want you too banged up for the party.”
“Fuck you,” Mauser said under his breath.
“What’d you say?” Casey ran at him, stick raised. Mauser tucked his chin, shying away from the man and his stick.
“I said, thank you, sir.”
“That’s what I thought, boy. I’ll be back for Uncle Tom here in a second,” Casey said and continued on his way, whistling.
Mauser exhaled. Not getting his jaw broke was a privilege. Concentrating on their patterns was even more important. Depending on how much the mountain folk drank the night before, they would usually start moving around thirty minutes after daybreak.
A couple of the moonshiners relieved the night watchmen. With the amount of alcohol they’d consumed, the least drunk man would patrol the perimeter of the camp. Most nights it seemed like a race to get drunk enough to not stand watch.
The duo of moonshiners walked into the woods. They were armed with shovels, knives, axes. They swung wildly through the trees and crushed the skulls of the infected who had become entangled in the layers of barbwire.
Casey returned and unshackled Eddie.
“Come on, boy,” Casey said. He pulled Eddie upright and marched him into the woods. Eddie hauled the decaying bodies through the trees to a pit. This process was repeated every morning.
Routines were any ambusher, attacker, or escapee’s friend. A routine could be manipulated and these hillbillies tended to do the same thing every morning. Mauser hoped that Gwen recognized this; a good time to escape would be a few hours before daybreak. That would hopefully give them a few hours head start before anyone knew they were gone.
The problem was Puck’s party. I can serve drinks or get greased up and wrestle Ahmed or whatever stupid shit they have in mind for a night until we can escape. It can’t be that bad.
He hung for hours. They ticked by with no respite. The cool fall mountain air settled on the camp. Gwen never came to him and the hours dragged along like an infected in traffic. With every passing hour, the impending doom of the party weighed down on him. His insides turned as darkness joined the cool air. Maybe they’ve forgotten about us. He only dared to hope.
Mauser was sorely sorry when he saw Chuck’s fat face and Casey’s amateur mustache ambling up from the other side of the camp.
“Time for a bit of country fun, city bitches,” Casey sneered.
“Hehehe,” Chuck laughed, the ever-supporting minion. Chuck reached for Mauser’s lock and stuck the key in. If I jump up quick, I might be able to take him.
“Keep his hands tied. He thinks he’s tough,” Casey said. Casey’s glance told Mauser he knew his inner thoughts. He was a cruelly insightful man.
Chuck’s beady eyes stared at him. Steele’s gold badge dangled around his neck.
“You’re unfit to even be in the presence of that badge,” Mauser spat.
A slow grin crawled on Chuck’s face. “I am the law in these parts.” He kicked Mauser’s ribs. Pain stabbed his lung and Mauser wheezed, rolling on the ground.
Chuck pulled him up by his tied up hands.
“Come on, boy,” Casey shouted at Ahmed. He kicked Ahmed in the butt repeatedly. Ahmed crawled over the ground until he could stand up.
Unsheathing a knife, Mauser flinched as the blade came close to him. Chuck continued for him and cut Mauser’s shirt open down the middle.
“Dang, look at all them paintings,” Chuck said. He scratched his head with his knife. Casey joined him holding Ahmed’s chain.
Mauser had been getting ink on his body since he was an eighteen-year-old in the Coast Guard. Tattoos were a common part of Coast Guard and Naval culture going back centuries.
“Don’t like the color you were before, boy?” Casey said. He leaned in close to Mauser’s face. “White ain’t good enough for ya?”
“He must be a stupid or somethin’,” Chuck added, pushing Mauser in the back.
Casey grabbed him by the mouth. “Soon enough you’ll be screaming for a bullet to the head,” he said, his rank breath invading Mauser’s face.
Mauser stared straight ahead, not engaging with the wretched little man.
“You hear me, turd?” Mauser gave him a curt nod.
“Good, now let’s get you moving.”
They walked them both away from the pole.
Mauser kept his head low and didn’t say a word. He had to conserve his energy for whatever heinous event these hillbillies had planned for them. Given the opportunity he would try to take some of these bastards with him. Especially Casey. That rat-faced bastard. He would not explain himself to these people.
They trudged through the dark, the only illumination was the erupting flames from huge bonfires roaring ahead. Jesus, are they going to burn us alive like the fucking Salem witch trial? He glanced at Ahmed. He already looked dead.
Everyone in the camp stood around awaiting for the arrival of their sacrificial lambs. Mauser had seen them all before. One-eyed Sue. Ugly Steve. Slutty Ashley. Prune-Face Barnum. Hunchbacked Larry. Mauser looked around at their grinning faces. Even poor Eddie was there, shackled like a common criminal in county lockup.
“Whoa, look at deez cats?” cried Prune-Face Barnum.
“You shoulda let me fuck ’em first,” shouted One-eyed Sue. She reached out, grabbing Mauser’s junk with one hand while holding a baby in the other.
“Damn, boy,” she laughed and slapped him across his face. Mauser kept his eyes averted.
“What’s the matter, don’t like girls?” she said, laughing harder.
Being manhandled was the tip of the iceberg. He was a mere sideshow compared to Ahmed.
Everything imaginable was thrown against Ahmed. They pummeled him with racial slurs, assaulting his very existence as a man. Prune-Face Barnum struck Ahmed with his fist and Ahmed struggled to stand beneath their hate. His gauntlet of shame finished at a large pit surrounded by their captors.
Gwen sat on the other side of the fire, curled up next to Puck on one side of the pit, an unconcerned look on her face. The fire’s shadows danced over the crowd as if they stood on the edge of Hell. The smell of rotting flesh grew stronger as they were pushed closer to the pit. He leaned back against Casey’s hand.
Casey laughed. “Why don’t you go on ahead and take a look?” he said. He shoved Mauser closer to the pit. Mauser flapped his arms, attempting to regain his balance. His hands leapt to the chain on his throat, the only thing keeping him above the pit.
Ten feet below, dead decaying hands reached up from below. Unseeing faces gazed directly at him and open mouths groaned. The dead squished through the mud clothes melted into their skin, looking upwards at him longingly.
“Fuck me,” Mauser shouted
.
Casey laughed and fat Chuck giggled.
“You and dat Hajji are gonna have a great time down in dere,” Chuck said, laughing out loud in glee.
Holy shit, what is wrong with these people?
Casey pulled him back from the edge. “You already stole our stuff. Just let us go,” he pleaded. A chorus of boos met his request.
“What would be the fun in that? Besides, Ma and Pa are hungry,” Chuck laughed.
Mauser’s heart rate spiked as he glanced over at Ahmed. Ahmed’s eyes were as wide as his eyes could get with eye sockets swollen to the size of baseballs.
Pain exploded into the backs of Mauser’s knees as Casey brought his whipping stick into them with all his force. Mauser sank down, the wet ground seeping through his pants. Ahmed thudded onto the ground next to him.
The massive black-bearded Puck stood and raised his arms, calling for silence. Puck wore a thick tan work jacket with jeans. A wood axe leaned against his chair along with a wood-stocked AK-47.
“I know it’s been awhile, but I promised y’all some entertainment. Tonight you are gonna get some,” he rumbled. A round of clapping and hoots went up from around the pit.
“Throw in the A-rab,” Hunchback Larry burst out.
Puck gave an evil eye over to the outburst. “Hold on.”
Hunchback Larry lowered his head.
“I think we’ll make it a little more interesting.” He ushered Gwen up from her seat. “Gwen, my dearest, how about you pick who goes into the Pit first?”
The blood disappeared from her face.
“Don’t think I don’t know about your schemin’. My girl Ashley here told me all about it. Now, you have to pay for what you done.”
She looked like she was trying to shrink into thin air. Her lips quivered and then tears rolled forth. Mauser didn’t blame her. Cruel beyond comprehension. A Sophie’s Armageddon choice.
They laughed at her.
I know roommates got to count for something, right? She can’t just toss me in for leaving my shoes out in the foyer and dirty dishes in the sink? Does it really matter. Either way Ahmed and I are dead, a fate that she must know in the back of her mind.
The End Time Saga (Book 2): The Breaking Page 13
