by Connor Mccoy
Looks like I’m about to play my winning hand, Marco thought. Jack obviously figured these ladies would be his reward once this ordeal was over. Marco would show him otherwise. If you wanted me dead, you should have shot me with a gun. I always said you weren’t a tough guy. Yeah, you played me good, but there’s no substitute for a bullet in your chest.
He raised his gun, though his arm quaked. He was so messed up that a good aim was very difficult. He’d have to do this quickly. One errant shot, and he’d likely be dead before he got another chance.
Tom’s feet moved. God help him, it was almost a miracle that he was heading right for the fray, but doubt, fear and anxiety were taking a back seat to the very real chance he could save Sarah. He jogged down the concrete lot to about fifty yards from the women and their armed captors. Then he stopped behind a parked service truck, feeling he could not approach any closer without being easily seen.
Then he took a careful look at the men with guns. One of them, a burly man in a dirty white T-shirt, was too close to three women. Tom’s shot easily could hit any of the girls by accident. Tom’s experience with firearms was scant. He was no marksman. A second armed man was likewise standing near two women. Again, Tom’s bullet might either hit him or strike one of the ladies.
A third man was much farther away, about ten yards from the group. He was gazing around, perhaps taking a look for possible intruders onto the warehouse property. He was Tom’s best bet to take out one of them without hitting any of the women.
He aimed his gun in the man’s direction. I’m really going to do this, he thought. The anxiety threatened to return. He knew once he pulled the trigger, everything would go down in a hurry.
Then Tom spotted someone new entering the scene, a man who changed his mood in a big hurry.
Marco just had stepped out of the open doorway. He looked badly hurt, walking with a limp. Oddly, he had no shirt on, just beaten-up pants. He also was clutching a gun and moved like a man ready to kill. Conrad was nowhere in sight, so Marco wasn’t targeting him. Instead, Marco was marching up to the crowd of women.
But it didn’t matter to Tom who Marco was gunning for. The fact was, Marco was here in the open, and he didn’t know Tom was looking at him from a distance.
Marco! You stole Sarah from me! You humiliated me! You made me look like a coward!
Tom’s arms tensed up with newly flowing anger. Of all the human beings on this Earth who could compel him to pull the trigger of a gun and end a life, Marco Valentino was the one.
Tom squeezed the trigger.
By now, Marco was outside and closing in on the crowd of ladies. Although the women were haggard and beaten down, seeing Marco closing in roused some of them to step away, giving him space. It was all the better for Marco, since it also opened up space between him and Jack.
Marco’s gun now was aimed at Jack’s upper chest. Two more women gasped and retreated a few steps toward the warehouse. Jack’s attention still was squarely on the woman in red, who by now had noticed Marco’s approach and gasped loudly. Finally, Jack turned to face Marco, just as a shot rang out.
A shout followed, ringing out in the daytime air—Marco’s.
Marco Valentino stumbled backward, drops of blood shooting out of a gaping wound in his upper chest. Then he slammed back-first into the concrete. Around him, most of the women shouted or screamed in fright.
“Marco?” Jack spun around. “Who did that? Who shot him?” The armed men weren’t pointed at all in Marco’s direction. Instead, they were turning toward Tom. Jack turned and spotted Tom by the service truck some distance away.
Tom had two options—shoot or take cover. He chose the latter, ducking behind the truck to evade the gunfire that was sure to come.
But almost simultaneously, Conrad charged out the door. He tased one of the shooters, causing the man’s shot to miss Tom by a good several yards. Conrad then aimed his gun at a second man, who only now was turning around in Conrad’s direction.
The shooter didn’t turn quickly enough. Conrad squeezed the trigger, and in seconds the henchman fell to the hard ground.
The third armed man, however, did have enough time to turn around and spot Conrad by the warehouse.
Conrad tried to turn around and aim, but his shot only whizzed past the shooter’s arm. The last shooter’s rifle now was pointed squarely at Conrad’s chest. Conrad was wide open.
But before the last shooter could take out Conrad, a loud pop rang out. Conrad’s would-be killer lurched forward, then fell to his knees. Blood poured from his mouth. Some distance away, Tom had gotten to his feet and taken the shot, saving Conrad’s life.
Meanwhile, Jack had turned and run toward the warehouse, shouting and screaming. “Hey! Hey! Get some damn men here, someone’s shooting at us!”
Forget him, Conrad thought. This commotion would be drawing out more henchmen anyway, if any bothered to stick around. No sense in bothering with somebody who wasn’t joining in the fight.
As he turned in Tom’s direction, he locked eyes with the woman he once declared to be the love of his life. When she turned and saw him, a tremor ran through her body.
“Sarah,” he whispered.
Chapter Eleven
Lance adjusted the hat again. It still was too big, but it would do to shield his head from the sun. After being deprived of so much for so long, he was grateful for whatever anything people would give him. And so far, the men at this ranch had been generous. He was given water in a canteen, food on a plate, a hat and, certainly not least of all, his gun. For the first time in a long while, his stomach was full.
But after a while, Lance’s gratitude and euphoria turned to boredom. Standing still for even a few minutes quickly would eat at him. He had been standing in this fenced area with the other men for a while. He didn’t see anybody his age. Lance had graduated from high school just last year. All these men seemed like they could have logged in a few years at college at least.
So, he turned his back and leaned against the wooden fence to stare out at the land beyond. Rows of crops stretched from left to right. Closer by was a homestead, perhaps where Derrick Wellinger lived. He itched to take a look around there. No one seemed to pay attention to him. So, he grabbed onto one of the wooden posts and began climbing. The fence was just slightly taller than he was. Climbing over it would be no problem.
“Hey.”
That voice made Lance stop his leg from swinging over the fence’s top. He turned to his right. A tall man with a greasy black mustache and severe blue eyes gazed at him. “We do have a gate, kid.”
“Oh.” Lance blushed. “Right. I just thought this would be more fun.” Then he scowled. More fun? That was his excuse? “I mean, it’s okay to take a walk around here, isn’t it?”
“Knock yourself out. Just don’t take any of the crops. This is all Derrick Wellinger’s land. We’ve already taken a look around. Nothing special. So, what’s your name?”
“Lance Wilkins.”
“I’m Cal.” Then he leaned back against the fence. “Can’t blame ya for wanting to stretch your legs. I want to get started with this.” He cracked his knuckles. “I heard over the ham radio that there’d be some excitement in this job.”
Lance didn’t doubt it. Cal radiated such tension that it looked like he would turn and tear one of the wooden posts out of the ground with his bare hands. He decided to get over the fence quickly and begin his personal tour of Derrick Wellinger’s land.
A few minutes later, Lance’s footsteps had taken him to the edge of the crops. Thanks to his full belly, he wasn’t tempted to take so much as a leaf from the cabbages. It helped that the rows of cabbages, corn, and squash looked healthy enough. But as Lance approached the edge of the crops near the homestead, he frowned. Tomato vines hung near the house, but the vines look wilted. Some of the wooden poles that held the vines were cracked and worn.
And as he studied the homestead, the signs of disrepair loomed even larger. The house’s siding was frayed a
nd cracked in places. Additionally, the roof was missing a few shingles. Lance was no expert at farming or ranch maintenance, but he still had picked up a few tips on how to properly maintain up a farm property. And so far, the Wellinger farm was mostly good, but not great by any means.
But does it really matter? Lance took a step backward. This place still is growing crops. I could live here if I had to.
“Hey, man!” George called from behind him. Lance turned around. The jovial George was tromping up to Lance. “Taking a look at Mister Wellinger’s land? Pretty good, right?”
Lance turned around. “Yeah,” he said.
“Well, time to head back to the pen.” George pointed to the fenced infield behind them. “Kendall just came in. Derrick’s a couple of minutes away.”
Lance turned around. “And then we get our jobs?”
“You bet.” George playfully slapped Lance on the back of his shoulders. Lance winced. George was friendly, but he could make someone’s skin burn from his friendly slaps.
George led Lance back to the other men, now numbering seven in all, including Lance and George. A moment later, someone new approached from the path leading from the road. Everyone cut their chatter short. Lance leaned out a little further to take a look at the newcomer.
With his short blond hair, smooth skin, and easygoing walk, he betrayed no signs of middle age. His build was stocky, and as he got closer, Lance could see he had blue eyes. He wore a white cowboy hat, buttoned-up blue shirt and jeans. His clothing had some dust on it, but didn’t look too dirty.
George pulled open the gate, allowing Derrick Wellinger into the field. Once inside the fence’s boundaries, Derrick slowed his pace while taking a good look at everyone. His gaze sent a slight charge down Lance’s spine. The way Derrick looked at everyone felt like a mix of pride and entitlement, as if a king had come to inspect his subjects, being pleased to see them, while expecting their obeisance.
Even so, Derrick looked like a guy who would command admiration. He had that square-jawed look that resembled the visage of Western cowboys or soldiers from old movies. He wasn’t very rugged, though. Almost all of the men here sported some kind of facial hair. No surprise, as priorities such as finding food overtook things such as shaving. Derrick’s face, however, was smooth.
“Well, look at all of you. Some of you probably came from just down at the corner. I bet a few more of you had to hike all the way here from one end of the state or the other. If you’re here, it means you don’t have a chance anywhere else.” He crossed close to Lance.
“Maybe some of you were shut out. They wouldn’t spare a crumb or two for you guys. There are other mouths to feed, and you, well, I guess you can last a little longer without a meal. I bet that’s what they told you.” Derrick stopped and turned to pan over all the men. “Well, gentlemen, your time finally has come.”
Then he walked to a spot in the middle where he could be seen easily by all of them. The sun shone over his white hat, making it partially glow near the top. “This world only will offer what we can take, and there’s one hell of a prize waiting for us. There’s a homestead…” Derrick pointed over their shoulders, toward the road. “…a short distance that way. We won’t need bikes to get there. It’s got crops and animals that can feed you all until you’re old and pissing in your diapers. The rows are dug, the plants are growing, and we can keep harvesting seeds to keep the crops going year after year. And it’s going to belong to all of us!”
A few of them smiled. Some nodded. Derrick paused to let it sink in.
“But first we must serve an eviction notice on the current owner. You heard right. There’s only one person living there. His name is Conrad Drake. I know him well. He’s an old man with no family. He’s a know-it-all. A loner. He’s got nobody. And in this new world, it’s not like he’s going to get a call from old friends or a cousin or whoever cares even to remember him. Naah, he won’t be missed.”
Lance swallowed. Was Derrick talking about killing this Conrad guy? Sure, Lance was desperate, but he didn’t picture killing another human being. And yet, another part of him actually seemed quite okay with that idea. After all, there were six other men here. Odds are one of them would off Conrad before Lance even got to the front door.
“It’s going to be easy. Shooting fish in a barrel. He’s just one man. And if any of you are a little concerned about putting your ass on the line anyway, I’ll make sure I’m the first thing he sees.” Derrick smiled. “I’ve got a few things I want to drill into old Conrad’s head before I drill a bullet into it.”
That last comment drew laughter and chuckles.
“So, what do you all say?” Then he raised a fist. “This is us! This is our moment! The world may have burned down around us, but we’re going to live like kings until the day we die!”
The men began cheering loudly. Then Derrick pulled out his gun and fired a few rounds into the air. “Yeah, that’s what I want to hear!” he shouted, “So today, we saddle up. We’ll go in and take it for ourselves! It’s our land now!”
Lance’s heart quickened. At last! Not only would he eat, he never would have to worry about food again. His only regret was that Rod and all those who had doubted Lance wouldn’t be here to see him enjoy his great success.
Chapter Twelve
In the moment when Conrad laid eyes on Sarah, it seemed time had snapped backward three decades. No, it spiraled backward even longer than that. For a moment, Conrad saw a vision of a young Sarah Sandoval in her twenties flashing before his eyes, and it wasn’t hard to see why. While the woman standing before him showed her age, with her graying hair and deepening skin under her eyes, her cheeks remained smooth and her body was fit. Conrad even forgot that they weren’t married any longer. The divorce somehow had disappeared in the limbo of pleasant memory.
Sarah seemed just as awed by his presence. Conrad didn’t doubt she never expected to see him again. Was she astonished that, despite their acrimonious parting, that he had come to save her? Perhaps she was amazed to see his face again at all.
Conrad remembered words from their past. “So, what do you think, Sarah? A nice house out in the countryside, a place to open the front doors and let the breeze in without sucking in car fumes?”
Sarah would laugh in response. “Sounds like the hillbilly in you is coming out again. Sounds great for a week, Conrad, but I wouldn’t want to live out there.”
“Hillbilly.” It was Sarah’s nickname for Conrad, due to his background. At first, Conrad took it with good humor. After all, Conrad couldn’t deny his home was rustic, and that his family was rambunctious, even uncivilized. However, in time, it started grating on him. Perhaps it was one of the early signs that things were going south for the two of them.
Still, in the thirty years after they split, Conrad sometimes had wished to hear Sarah’s hillbilly jibes again.
“Conrad!” Tom shouted. “Sarah! C’mon, get your asses in gear! Why are you standing around?”
Sarah shook, as if Tom’s voice had pulled her out of a deep mental limbo. “Tom?” She turned around, finally getting a good view of Tom. “Tom!”
Tom nodded while letting out a laugh. “C’mon, Sarah! We’re getting you all out of here!”
Tom’s call also had caught the attention of the other nine women. By now, Conrad himself had returned to reality. He waved toward Tom while shouting, “Run, ladies! Run to that man over there! Go!”
Some of the captives already were rushing toward Tom. Conrad’s call provided the needed motivation for the rest to hurry. Conrad, however, wasn’t ready to bail just yet. He reached down and snatched a rifle from one of the men he had taken out with a taser.
Sarah remained. “Conrad?”
“We’ll need some firepower.” Conrad stood up with the rifle. “God knows how many men will be on our tail.” Then he pushed the weapon into her hands. “Take it. Go, now!” Sarah nodded as Conrad hurried to the henchman Tom had taken out with his weapon.
“Alright,”
she said. She turned and fled toward Tom’s position.
Conrad’s instincts told him to flee, but there was one more downed man to relieve of his gun, the one he had shot. They’d need all the firepower they could gather just to make it out of Redmond.
As he slung the two rifles over his shoulder, he heard a man shouting, “Hey! Where the hell are you going?” Conrad turned and found Jack gesturing to the women headed toward Tom. “Get your asses back here!”
A guttural moan drew Conrad’s attention down to the concrete by his boot. Marco laid nearby. He fought to speak amid erratic breathing. “Damn…Jack…cares…only…women…”
Conrad had no time to digest what Marco could be talking about. For a moment, he contemplated finishing off Marco and sparing him further suffering. No, he thought. Get Sarah out of here. Forget about them. Besides, he didn’t want to make himself too comfortable with killing. This bastard probably didn’t have long to live in any case.
“Dammit! I need men over here!” Jack turned back to the warehouse. In the distance, a pair of men dashed around the far corner. Conrad picked up speed toward the crowd of women who just had reached Tom’s position. Gunfire would be headed their way, and soon.
In a half-minute, he had reached Tom. Sarah was there, staring at a relieved Tom.
“Sarah,” he said, “baby, you’re here.”
Sarah reached out and hugged him, but not too deeply. She pulled back a little. Clearly, she was happy, but the reality of Tom surrendering her must have eaten at her the whole time she was in captivity. Indeed, she parted from him quickly, more so than Tom expected, for he seemed disappointed that her embrace didn’t last.
