The Uncivil War Series Box Set

by B. T. Wright

  The man lifted his chin and grinned, then disappeared and continued his path toward the side of the house, near the sliding glass doors.

  “Dad, the lions,” Dylan said, as if he wanted to warn the outsider.

  “Dylan. I know.” Colt, however, wanted to wait and see.

  Footsteps groaned as the man walked over the aging wooden deck. Any minute now. Colt expected to a hear a roar, maybe the fearful scream of a frightened man. But they didn’t hear any of that. Instead, it was the tapping of three knuckles on the sliding glass door.

  Colt gulped and took a step.

  “Dad, no!” Dylan advised.

  As he turned around, Colt said, “We can’t leave him out there alone.” Colt reached for the pole at the end of blinds and twisted. The blinds turned perpendicular to the window and revealed the man standing there, staring back at Colt. Colt slid the blinds across on the track and said, “What do you want?”

  The sound was muffled behind the glass, but Colt could hear. “Shelter. Food. Water. I’ll take anything right now.”

  Colt checked him out, wondering if his intentions were honorable. The man stood tall. He was lankier than Colt, and probably had him by an inch or two. His face was weathered, pot-marked even. He might have been pushing forty.

  “Who are you?”

  “Name’s Rod.”

  “Where’d you come from, Rod?”

  He turned around, back toward the mountains and said, “Breckenridge.”

  “And why’d you think to stop here? Why not continue on to Denver?”

  Rod paused, leaning on the glass. “Because, I wanted to stop here to see if my uncle was okay.”

  “Your uncle?”

  “Yeah, Walker Gantry is my uncle. Or at least, was my uncle.”

  Damnit. Colt turned to his boys, realizing it was possible this man was out for blood.

  “Relax, I ain’t gonna hurt you. I assume you had no choice after he turned into one of those—those things. I just want to have a look around, grab some essentials, and be on my way.”

  Again, Colt eyed the man that stood in front of him. He reached for the lock, but a voice of reason chimed in: his son’s voice. “Dad, don’t.”

  Colt faced them again. “I have to. This is Walter’s kin. I can’t keep him out there. For all we know this is his property now.”

  Before Colt’s finger reached the latch, he asked, “Are you armed?”

  Rod lifted his shirt and showed off a nickel-plated Smith and Wesson stuffed into his belt.

  “Leave it outside,” Colt demanded.

  “Excuse me?” Rod turned defensive.

  “Look, it’s not like I think you’re going to use it, but I’ve got two boys in here, and I can’t take any chances.”

  Rod lifted the gun from his belt, showed it Colt, then moved toward the railing to rest it on the handrail. “Happy, now?” Rod moved forward with his hands raised.

  Satisfied, Colt lifted the latch and slid the door open.

  Rod walked in. “Thank you,” he said.

  Colt nodded and studied his back as he made his way into the living room.

  “Boys.” Rod nodded and looked around. “Did the old man have anything to eat?” He turned to face Colt.

  “Not much, I’m afraid. We had pasta last night, but that’s about all he has, aside from a few frozen hamburger patties and hot dogs in the freezer.”

  “How about the fridge?” Rod moved toward it, but Colt sprinted to cut off his path.

  “No! Nothing!” He stood tall and puffed his chest outward.

  Rod considered Colt. “What are you hiding in there?”

  Colt turned half of his torso. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing, huh?” Rod curled his lower lip. “Let’s just have a look then, shall we?” Rod reached for the handle, but Colt swatted it away.

  “I can’t let you do that.”

  “Sorry?” Rod’s body language turned defensive. “Did you hear me when I said this is my uncle’s house?”

  “So, you say,” Colt said. “We have no proof of that.”

  “And you made damn sure of that didn’t you.” Rod sneered and jammed his finger into Colt’s chest.

  Colt looked down. Big mistake, asshole. Without a doubt, Colt knew he could handle Rod. But how violent did he want to be in front of his boys? How far would he have to take that violence? In the current state of the world, it would probably be to the end. Fighting, and perhaps, killing, this man would prove nothing. Only that he was stronger, not sympathetic. In that moment, that teachable moment, even then, Colt thought of his boys and moved aside.

  “Smart man,” Rod said and reached for the handle.

  Colt stood nearby. Out of instinct, he expected to feel the rush of cool air, but there was none.

  “He really doesn’t have shit in here,” Rod said. “Wait, what’s this?” Rod lifted the Beritrix from the shelf.

  “That’s our business.” Colt snatched them away.

  Rod raised his shoulders and comprehended. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “What’s it?” Colt played coy. He wasn’t about to reveal a secret Jake had told him.

  “The Beritrix. I take it too. That’s why . . .” Rod stalled, then looked to the boys, then back toward Colt.

  Colt stepped away from the fridge to join his boys in the living room to cut off an advance if Rod decided the Beritrix was worth killing over. Rod followed Colt with his eyes before slamming the refrigerator door shut. “You know what?” Rod stepped toward them and scratched his head, playing for a moment of misdirection to reach behind him and lift another weapon—a small revolver—a .38 special—which he pointed directly at Colt. “On second thought, I might have to hurt you.”

  9

  “Please. Please. No. You can’t.” Colt stretched one arm out, with the other wrapped around the boys.

  “I can, and I will, if you don’t hand over that Beritrix.” He thumbed the hammer back on his revolver.

  “Fine. Here. Take them.” He set vials on the floor.

  “And the gun.” Rod lifted his revolver up, instructing Colt to dump the newly acquired .380.

  Colt lifted the gun and laid it next to the Beritrix.

  “Dad, no!” Dylan said.

  “Dylan, enough!” Colt chastised Dylan as Wesley leaned into his side.

  “Please.” Colt gestured to the contents on the floor. “Take what you need and go.”

  Rod glanced at the countertop where Colt’s rifle rested. He grabbed the Browning in his opposite hand, then walked in front of Colt while keeping the barrel of his .38 pointed at his chest. Rod moved close, stepping over the Beritrix and the .380. “I should kill you and take the boys for what you did to my uncle. Never know what they could fetch me on the open market. A trade for slavery. For food or water.” He peered around Colt and eyed the boys.

  Rage boiled inside Colt as his heartrate climbed and stomach tightened. There was a fight coming if Rod made any attempt toward his sons. Colt balled his fists and gnashed his teeth. Then he thought, Screw the step. Rod had crossed the line preying on Dylan and Wesley and their psyche. A huge mistake. One Colt was unwilling to let go.

  Rod shifted his eye from the boys and refocused on Colt. When he did, Colt did something Rod didn’t expect. The barrel of the .38 was less than an arm’s length away. Colt reached out and grabbed the nose of the revolver, redirecting the weapon to the right and away from his chest. In the same motion, Colt stepped forward and led with a punch to Rod’s chin, sending him off balance and onto his heels. Stunned by the blow, he dropped the rifle to the floor, and Colt ripped the revolver from his hands, then pointed the pistol back at him.

  Rod shook his head from side to side. When his eyes refocused, they were bulging, and he shot his hands up immediately, then stuttered. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

  “No shit, you’re sorry,” Dylan said, before his father could say anything.

  Colt didn’t reprimand his son for his words. They were precise and drove th
e point home.

  “Turn around. Walk out that door right now. Forget you ever saw us. Because, if I even sense you following us once we leave, or I ever see you again, I won’t hesitate to put you in the ground.”

  Rod swallowed hard and took slow steps toward the door. Then Colt thought about the weapon that Rod left on the handrail of the deck. “On second thought, wait,” Colt said. “Dylan, go outside and grab his gun from the deck.” Dylan stepped around his father. “Watch your step out there.” Colt nodded to the blood splatters that still stained the deck.

  Once Dylan walked beyond Rod, “You can’t. Please,” he begged. “What will I protect myself with?”

  “Should’ve thought about that before you threatened my family, you sonofabitch.”

  Dylan returned with the Smith and Wesson in tow and handed the gun to his father.

  Rod waited for permission to leave, but Colt didn’t continue. Inside the silence, Rod spun and sprinted into the day without further delay.

  Upon Rod’s disappearance, Colt finally let out the breath he’d held in. He bent down to Wesley, who had broken into tears as Rod disappeared. “It’s okay buddy, here.” Colt guided Wesley to the couch. “Dylan, you sit down too. I need to talk to you boys.” He nodded to the spot next to Wesley. Both sat and peered up at their father—Wesley through glassy tears, and Dylan through a scowl. Colt lowered his head momentarily to gather his thoughts. “Look. I’m not going to sugarcoat. Life as we knew it is likely over.” Wesley looked confused, but Dylan knew precisely what his father was talking about. “That man.” Colt turned and gestured over his shoulder. “He won’t be the last to try to break up our family. There will be others. Some more violent. They’ll be more intent on hurting us once they know we have medicine.”

  “What do you mean?” Dylan asked.

  “Uncle Jake said the Beritrix is the reason we aren’t like the rest of these monsters.”

  “You mean that’s why Mom . . .” Dylan trailed off.

  Colt nodded subtly, then choked back emotion before speaking again. “We need to safeguard what we have collected here and stick together. Look out for each other always. Do you know what that means, buddy?” Colt looked at Wesley.

  His head was down, but then he raised it and looked up through puppy dog eyes and said, “I think so.”

  “Good! I need you to be strong and brave for me, for all of us.” Colt shifted his attention to Dylan. “Go grab the ice from the freezer and fill the cooler, please. We need to get on the road soon.”

  Dylan bounced from the couch and moved toward the fridge. Colt rose to his feet and held out his hand for Wesley to grab. “Can you help your brother?” Wesley followed on Dylan’s heels.

  With their minds busy for the moment, Colt walked outside. He checked both directions before exiting, making sure there was no sign of the lions, and stepped toward the railing. With the sun’s powerful rays raising from behind as he looked to the mountains in the west, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the faith that had left him recently. And with the current situation, how could he not be concerned about his and his sons’ salvation?

  Colt had always had faith but hadn’t said a prayer in years. He’d gone through life thinking he didn’t need it. He was stable on his own. Nothing could shake him. But in that moment, he needed to start a conversation in his mind. He closed his eyes and began. Protect us . . . them. Still he thought of his boys. Don’t allow them pain, suffering. If they die, make it a quick death. Something they won’t feel. Don’t turn them into these monsters. If it comes to it, take me, take me instead of them. Then his tone turned angry. Why? Why did you do this? Why did you take Anna? She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve to become one of . . . them. He pounded his fist onto the railing just as Dylan exited the house.

  “Dad?” Dylan said.

  Colt opened his eyes, wiped the tear from his eye, and turned to face his son.

  “I put all the ice into the cooler.”

  “Good. Let’s grab the rest of the supplies and head out.”

  Dylan paused, maybe wondering if he’d caught his father in a moment of weakness. He’d never seen his father shed a tear, not ever. “You alright?”

  Without hesitation, Colt said, “No, son. I’m not alright. I may never be again. But that doesn’t mean I won’t go on. For you, and for your brother. We will see this through. We owe that much to your mom.”

  After loading the truck, Colt waited for both of his sons to enter before shutting the passenger side door. As he strode around the hood of the truck, their family residence caught his eye in the distance.

  It was time to put their comfortable life behind him. Time to get to Colorado Springs and to safety. Mostly though, it was time to say goodbye to Anna.

  He leaned on his open door and grinned. “Goodbye, babe. I’ll see you sometime.”

  He could only hope.

  10

  Steering the truck down the driveway proved to be more dramatic than the climb. In the shadows of the hill, a fresh frost remained on the crushed rock, making the descent slippery. Walker’s truck was just ahead, and Colt would have to navigate around him once again. Coming near his bumper, Colt slowed to a crawl. He turned the wheel to the left and swerved off the main drive.

  Once the driver’s side tire hit the incline, the front end of the truck rose above the earth. Colt continued his path up the side-hill until the passenger side tire met the incline as well, lifting the front-end up. Colt straightened the wheel until the truck was parallel with Walker’s.

  Without Colt’s knowledge, both of his sons peered over at the blood-splattered interior of Walker’s cab. When Colt noticed Wesley staring, he yelled, “Wesley, no!” and forced his hand over Wesley’s eyes to blind him. In doing so, he lifted his foot from the gas pedal. The truck rolled to a stop. “Don’t look at him.” Wesley faced his father, and sadness lingered. “It’s not worth it.” He fell against Colt’s chest. Colt rested his chin on Wesley’s head and caught eyes with Dylan.

  “Do you think there will be more like him?”

  Without saying anything, Colt nodded, then pushed Wesley away and looked down at him. “But it’s okay. I’m here to protect you, to protect both of you.”

  Wesley gathered himself and sat tall against his seat just as Colt readjusted his foot and pushed down on the gas pedal. But the truck didn’t move. The rear tires spun, doing their best to grip the slick mud on the side of the hill. Colt turned over his shoulder, wondering why the tires wouldn’t grab. He glanced to the floor of the cab, at the four-wheel-drive gear shift, but then remembered it was broken. It was summer, and he’d figured he’d have time to fix it and continued to put it off.

  Pushing on the pedal harder, the rear tires spun, fishtailing the backend toward the cab of Walker’s truck. “Damnit.” Colt lifted his foot from the gas pedal and thrust the lever into park. He propped the door open and dropped outside. Keeping his balance on the side hill, Colt pushed his feet into the soil, and leaned onto the cab, guiding himself along until he reached the tailgate.

  The rear driver’s side tire dug itself into the dirt. He looked to the open bed to see only his axe. In need of a shovel, Colt was forced with a decision: head back to Walter’s house and search for a shovel, use his hands to dig out, or push from behind the tailgate while Dylan did his best to steer them out.

  Dylan had grown up driving multiple vehicles—mostly the family’s four-wheeler—but Colt had let him plow their driveway once last winter with the truck. He’d done a fair job, only going off the driveway twice. He had confidence in his son and his abilities. If only Colt could get momentum and rock the truck free. “Dylan, get in the driver’s seat,” Colt yelled.

  “What?” Dylan turned around and yelled back.

  “I need you to drive us out. I’m gonna push from back here.”

  Colt saw Dylan climb over Wesley and mount himself into the driver’s seat. He stared at his father in the side mirror.

  “Okay, open the door.
Leave it open and I’ll walk you through it.”

  Dylan nodded.

  “Take the truck out of park and shift into drive. Remember to touch the brake to release the gears.”

  The red brake lights lit up Colt’s eyes, and he could feel the transition between gears.

  “Alright, that’s good, bud. Now push down on the gas, but only slightly.”

  The rear tires spun. Colt saw why they wouldn’t grip. They were stuck in the mud of the hill. He made his stance wide and leaned into the tailgate and shoved, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “More gas!” Colt yelled.

  The tires spun harder and the truck rocked forward. Colt dug in, and leaned, letting out a scream, pushing out the breath he held in as he struggled with all his might. The rear passenger tire neared the gravel of the driveway, which was good for grip, but the back end was swinging dangerously close to Walter’s truck.

  Rocks, dirt, and other debris flew from the tires as Colt gave the truck another shove, and this time the rear passenger tire gripped the rock and lurched the truck forward and released the truck from the hold. A smile formed on Colt’s face, but it was short-lived when he realized Dylan was on a side-hill lie with little experience on how to correct himself.

  As the truck proceeded, Colt ran and screamed, “Hit the brakes!” Just as Colt touched the tailgate, Dylan pushed the brakes down and stopped the truck completely. He laughed out loud, proud of his son’s accomplishment. He looked up to see Dylan in the rearview. “Put it back into park.” Colt was still laughing as he made his way around the rear and walked back toward the open driver’s side door. But before he could enter, an unmistakable roar echoed around the area.

  Colt shot his attention upward to see a mountain lion standing above him on the hill. Before he could hop into the truck and drive away, the lion leaped from his position and landed right in front of him cutting off his path. He couldn’t reach the door to close it, so he yelled to his son, “Dylan! Shut the door!” Without thinking, he did, then whipped his head around to see his father.