Run Like the Wind: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (The SHTF Series Book 3)

by L. L. Akers

  The room was roused with the beep of Small’s watch, and Graysie watched as the girls sat up, waiting patiently for Smalls to rise first, and dress in the small space. Silva assisted him, handing his socks and boots to him one at a time, then standing back while he retrieved his gun belt and pistol from under his pillow and buckled it on, and then unlocked the foot locker and retrieved his rifle on a sling.

  He slung it over his shoulder and then spoke to the women. “There’s a gathering down at the amphitheater just before breakfast. Everyone needs to be there. Y’all sit together and behave. Save me a spot, Silva.”

  Silva nodded respectfully.

  He looked at Graysie. “You… are expected at Cutter’s office this morning. You go straight there. Silva, take her there now and then come back here. I have a project for y’all.”

  Silva nodded again.

  Smalls opened the door and pulled in a heavy roll of plastic sheeting and a roll of silver duct tape that he must’ve brought late the night before. “You’ve got one hour before you need to walk down to the amphitheater, so don’t dally around. Be quick about this. I want it done before you go.”

  He held up the plastic. “Use this plastic to seal the cabin. First, cover these two windows. Then pull all the bunks out and put it over every wall. I don’t want to see one tiny crack that’s not covered. Just tape it at the ceiling and let it drape all the way to the floor, all the way around. Tape it down. On the door, hang two pieces. One over the inside of the door, and then attach one over the outside of the door. If you have any left, cover the floor.”

  Silva risked a feeble joke. “Going all Dexter on us, Smalls?” she asked nervously.

  One of her daughters meekly spoke up. “It’ll get blistering hot in here if we do that, Smalls…we need some air passing through.”

  Smalls slowly blinked his eyes twice at the women and continued. “Just do what I say. Line the pieces up close so you can tape them together too, other than the last one. We’ll need to get in and out the door. On the porch, you’ll find water, and a box with some food and other things in it. Pull it inside, but do not eat the food or drink the water. Don’t even open the box yet. If something happens, you all run back here as fast as you can. Shut the door behind you. I’ll be here soon after.”

  “Something like what?” Silva asked. “And when is this happening?”

  “I don’t know. It could be today, tomorrow, next week or next month…or maybe never,” he said mysteriously. “But you’ll know what I’m talking about when and if it does happen, and I want to be prepared for it. So just do what I tell you to do. If it does happen, and if I don’t make it back here, open the box. You’ll know then what to do with what’s inside. If you open it before then, I’ll know. And I’ll be very angry.”

  He turned to leave, pausing at the door and throwing one last look at Graysie from over his shoulder. He sighed heavily and blew his breath out his nose, then left with regret in his eyes.

  37

  Camp

  In perfect timing with the gloomy mood, the summer storm they’d all been praying for finally arrived, breaking through the skies, giving an ominous backdrop to the amphitheater.

  This place was off away from the main camp, through a trail in the woods and was heavily guarded because if someone could manage to swim to the other side, there was no fence there. Only the most trusted of the refugees were allowed at the lake, and that was only the water-gathering team, under the watchful eyes of a guard.

  Drops of rain pelted row after row of the simple wooden benches arranged in a U-shape facing a stage. Behind the stage, the sky darkened over the small patch of sand, framing the dark ten-acre lake, previously used for kayaking and swimming by the summer camp kids before the grid went down, and known for being dangerous—the only shallow bit being on the far side, next to the woods. On this side, it was a straight drop-off with eight-feet-deep water.

  A low rumbling of distant thunder filled their ears.

  The soggy imprisoned refugees slowly filed in, full of trepidation, one after the other, filling up the seats, followed by a now-deafening boom of thunder that had moved directly overhead. On one row, more than twenty cabin-mates of the TWO gang all huddled together, separated only by the bikers themselves. Smalls hadn’t appeared yet, so Silva guided her girls to the end of the bench, scooting over to leave room for him as she was told to.

  Even the rain couldn’t cleanse the air, thick with the smell of dirty bodies and a sense of foreboding that curled the toes of every refugee there. Fear wafted from their shabby, wet clothing.

  Nothing good ever happened here. This was the place they gathered to hear any crazy new rule, or when either they all, or one person, was in trouble and would be punished. The man in charge treated it as a lesson for them—and entertainment for the militia and the bikers.

  In the prior three weeks, they’d seen a handful of punishments meted out: a man’s hand smashed with a hammer for stealing food, a woman shaved bald for daring to spit in the face of a guard whose advances she’d refused, a teenage boy stripped naked and paraded out, his hands tied high behind his back for public humiliation. The boy had been accused of slacking; not working hard enough. And finally, the last penalty meted out was a cook who was forced to eat a shit and lettuce sandwich for the alleged crime of watering down the guards’ gravy, in order to try to treat his fellow refugees to more—and it was his own shit, made to order right there onto the bed of lettuce, in front of the crowd, to most of their disgust.

  They’d also been forced to watch a dozen dog fights…the winner being the one who lived—which was the boss’ Pit bull, every single time. The dogs came from outside the camp sometimes, but frequently were brought in by unsuspecting refugees…the same people who now sat on the benches. The violent deaths of what had been many of their own pets were met with gasps and tears from nearly the entire crowd of refugees, and with claps and whistles from the militia and the gang.

  The canine bodies were never seen again, and many suddenly hadn’t felt like eating their rations for the next few days.

  The crowd settled and Cutter strode up to the stage, his face a mask of rage. Lightning cracked as he pulled a bedraggled and muddy Puck with a firm grip on his arm along with him, the boy wincing in pain.

  Puck squinted through the onslaught and looked out over the crowd, his eyes searching. “Graysie?” he yelled, while the crowd murmured amongst themselves. “Graysie?”

  Cutter cuffed him on the head, and Puck ducked away from the painful slap. “Shut up. She’s not here,” he ordered. “and she can’t hear you—yet.”

  A guard stepped up, handing Cutter a megaphone and Cutter wasted no time. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…oh wait…that’s next week. Okay, so here’s the deal. See this kid?” He pointed at a frightened Puck, whose face was streaming with water; a downpour of tears and rain. “We, out of the kindness of our hearts, offered him safety and sanctuary here at the camp, and do you know how he repaid us?”

  The crowd was silent, but Puck spoke up. “That’s not true. No one was nice to me!”

  His retort was met with another wet slap across the head.

  Cutter continued. “He shot my nephew.”

  “No, I didn’t!”

  Cutter backhanded Puck, knocking him to the ground. He put his boot on his back, holding him in place. “He shot my nephew, and killed him. Now, what have I told you all over and over would happen if someone raised a hand to a guard?”

  The crowd murmured, their voices lost in the storm.

  “I can’t hear you!” Cutter roared, his veins bulging from his neck.

  The guards stood at attention, the rain dripping off the bills of their caps, gripping their rifles in warning as encouragement to the crowd for the right answer.

  “Eye for an eye,” they quickly roared back in unison, their faces troubled.

  Cutter removed his foot, followed by a grunt from Puck, and he paced across the shiny stage in a powerful walk, s
ending even the puddles scattering in fright. He yelled at the crowd. “That’s right. We can’t have that sort of trouble going unpunished here. If we did, soon this camp would be full of chaos, just like out there.” He pointed to some faraway place, and as if the heavens themselves heard him, a crack of lightning lit the sky.

  The crowd flinched as one.

  He stopped pacing. “Now, I’m not a total monster.” He paused to check the response from the drenched crowd.

  It was crickets. No one dared to deny it.

  He chuckled, the sound harsh and humorless, and continued, “No, I’m a generally nice guy. It’s been explained to me by my partner, Smalls, that this one here isn’t too bright.” Cutter tapped his own head. “All the lights on, but nobody home sorta thing going on.”

  The guards laughed.

  Cutter looked out at the crowd. “Smalls? You out there?”

  Smalls didn’t surface.

  “Okay…well, Smalls asked me for a compromise, and we made a deal. So, here’s what I’m gonna do. This kid was followed in by his sister, and get this… his pet donkey. A big ole hairy ass! Apparently, he loves them both very much…just like I loved my nephew; the son of my dear little sister, who is no longer with us. My only sister, who I made a promise to take care of her only child.”

  He paused for effect, dropping his head and slowly shaking it as he looked at the wooden floor beneath him. Finally, he looked up, and the rain beat down on his angry face. “I hate to break a fucking promise.”

  The guards all nodded in ridiculous agreement. Not a one there had ever kept a single promise to a single refugee. Every one of them, including Cutter, was well-known to be lying bastards.

  “I can’t keep my promise to my sister to protect my nephew anymore…but I can keep my promise to you!” he pointed out at the crowd. “There will be an eye for an eye today.”

  He waved his arm, and the sound of engines followed.

  Puck raised his head, looking for the source of the sound.

  Two pieces of equipment—the Bobcat and the tractor—rolled into view onto the sand…both holding their buckets up high. The buckets were equipped with long chains, that led down to large metal cages. One cage was bigger than the other.

  Puck scrambled to his feet to face his horror.

  In one cage, Jenny bounced back and forth against the iron rails, losing her balance, braying and bellowing in angry fright, her tail twitching in the wind, as the cage swung from the heavy chain.

  In the other cage, Graysie was tied to the metal framework from the bottom, with a rope around her waist. Each of her arms were spread wide, tied to the sides at the wrists. Her hands tightly gripped the bars to balance herself as her cage swung to and fro. Her red hair blew around her and her green eyes stared out defiantly until she found Puck.

  Their eyes met as the machines positioned the cages directly over the deep end of the lake.

  An anguished cry ripped from Puck’s throat as he dropped back to his muddy knees. He reached out, stretching his arm toward them, his dirt-covered bloody bandaged hand grabbing at empty air.

  Graysie proudly lifted her chin, and shook her head at him, as one lone tear slid down her cheek.

  38

  Camp

  Tucker snapped, and exploded from the amphitheater bleachers like a wild Indian, hopping over the last row of refugees and launching himself at the stage, as Katie screamed, “No!”

  She was held back by her daughters as the crowd gasped in horror.

  He flew into the guard on stage, dropping him with a roundhouse kick, and then plowed into Cutter, taking him down in a fast tackle and roll, ending up on top of the man, pinning down his shoulders with his knees. He grabbed him by both ears and beat his head into the wet, wooden floor. “You. Sick. Fucker. What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. You?” he screamed, his shaggy hair falling forward, punctuating every word with a jerk of his head, and the boom of Cutter’s skull hitting the floor.

  The guards dashed to Cutter’s side, knocking Tucker off with a barrage of rifle butts. Puck quickly shook off his surprise at seeing Tucker, and hurriedly scooted across the wet wooden floor on his knees, trying but failing, to cover Tucker with his own body, taking several hard jabs with the painful stocks himself.

  But it was useless, there were too many, and the guard that Tucker had kicked recovered quickly and hurried over to deliver a crushing stomp to Tucker’s foot.

  The snap of bones was loud enough to hear, even over the storm.

  Tucker bucked Puck off and jerked into a sitting position, wildly screaming and grabbing his foot. His eyes went wide with crazy.

  Puck moved fast, sliding behind and wrapping his arms around Tucker in a bear hug, his long legs spread out alongside Tucker’s. “Don’t move, Mr. Tucker. They’ll hurt you more,” he whined. “These are bad people,” he whispered into his ear.

  Puck kept his own head down on Tucker’s shoulder, and hid his eyes in fright. He hung on, squeezing Tucker’s chest and pulling him tightly against his own.

  Tucker frenziedly shook his shoulders, trying to push Puck off, but the boy desperately held on, trying to save Jake’s friend.

  Nat, one of the bikers, stormed the stage and pushed through the guards, standing over them. “You’ve went and lost your mind now.”

  Tucker finally pushed Puck away with a sharp elbow to the ribs, and glared up at the man with eyes full of maddening pain and thoughts of revenge. He smiled through bloody teeth. He recognized him from Curt’s house… “Oh you? I know you, cousin…you fucking liar. And you have no idea how right you are. Ask your cousin how batshit crazy I am! Oh wait…you can’t. We kicked leaves over his sorry ass.”

  Nat gritted his teeth as Tucker laughed manically. “What’d Curt do?”

  “Killed a baby,” Tucker spit at him. “We caught him hoarding baby formula—and as you know, and more. You were there.”

  Nat shook his head. “You stupid asshole. That baby milk came from your people. Maybe you should’ve asked your sidekick. Is his wife named Penny? He picked it up from her garage just before I got there. From what Curt said, she’d been hoarding it, and was too afraid to give it up after all that time. He traded his silence for some of the food she had, but he told me he was taking that formula straight to the baby.”

  Tucker’s mouth dropped open, spilling a long line of pink saliva to the floor. “Kenny did this?”

  Nat shook his head at the bloody man. “His wife did, so I’m sure he knew…” He held a hand down to his boss, pulling Cutter up off the floor. He pointed at Tucker. “Let me kill this fucker, Boss.”

  Cutter was enraged… spitting mad. He violently shrugged Nat away and pulled his pistol. He stood over Tucker and Puck with murder in his eyes, the gun pressed firmly against Tucker’s forehead, his finger on the trigger.

  The crowd gasped and Katie and their daughters screamed in anguish.

  “Wait,” Tucker said calmly, and grinned, looking all the world like a bloody jack o’ lantern. A river of blood dripped down his chin—and another low rumbling of distant thunder filled their ears.

  Cutter hesitated…

  “Shoot me now, and consider his debt paid.” Tucker pointed at Puck. “I’m his people. An eye for an eye—your rule. Let him and the girl go. And the donkey.”

  Cutter considered it, his eyes narrowed. After a pregnant pause, he slid his gun into the holster. “Get him up and take him to the dog pen,” he ordered the guards. “No use wasting a good show. We’ll bring him back here tomorrow for his punishment, but today, we’re going to finish this.”

  Tucker scrambled with fury to get up, and Puck fought to keep him down.

  “Noooo!” Tucker screamed. “Do it now. Pull the trigger…” The guards pulled him away from Puck, his feet dragging behind him, his face full of tormented pain. “Let those kids go,” he screamed over his shoulder as they dragged him up the trail toward the camp.

  Cutter laughed and pointed at Puck. “Bring the boy over here.”


  With an army of angry eyes watching, he marched over between the tractor and the Bobcat, both parked where Cutter—or Puck, rather—would have easy access to the joysticks that lowered the buckets. Puck was dragged behind Cutter and dropped at his feet on the sand.

  Cutter swiped the water from his face. “Payday. Pay up, bitch. Choose.”

  Puck tilted his head. “Choose what?”

  “To live…or to die.” The monster of a man pointed to the lever on each piece of equipment. “You need to push one of these levers. Whichever one you push will lower the cage its holding into the lake. The one you choose, will die.” He paused. “But, the good news is…the other lives.”

  Puck slowly turned and looked at Graysie and Jenny, hanging precariously over the deep, dark water. Jenny returned his gaze with frightened big brown eyes. She tossed her head at Puck, and he felt his heart clinch.

  Jenny loved him. She saved him from the fire. She was his only friend before GrayMan found him. And she loved him best of everybody.

  He looked to Graysie.

  She sat as still as a statue, the wind now gone. Her clothes were soaked and she shivered, in spite of the heat. Her long hair hung in wet, red tendrils to her face. She shook it away, revealing sorrowful eyes peeking through.

  Graysie was his friend, too. And she called him her brother now.

  He weighed his choices. Jenny was an animal. Graysie was a human.

  But even GrayMan had said, ‘Sometimes animals are better than people. They’re our family...’ he remembered GrayMan telling that to Tucker, so it must be true.