by N A Broadley
“You kept the medics back a bit, right?” Brian asked. Once the bullets started flying, he didn’t want to worry about any of them getting caught in the fray. Max possessed enough experience that he could, and would, handle a combat situation, but the other two were reasonably green.
Spike nodded.
“Yup, they have radios. They’ll come when the fighting’s over. Hopefully, it won’t be any of our men they have to help.”
Brian shook his head. It would be their men and Bobby’s men. Battles couldn’t be fought without casualties from both sides. But he could understand Spike’s wishful thinking.
He replied with a sigh. “To God’s ears, my friend.”
Spike stood and moved back to his position fifty yards or so to the left, behind a tall and thick oak tree. Closing his eyes, he sent up a silent prayer and hoped God had his ears tuned in. And he asked for forgiveness for what he was about to do. It needed to work. With Roger and his group on the left side of the road, himself, Spike and their group on the right, there would be no way Bobby and his men would be able to escape the hell that was about to rain down on them.
Coming into this fight, Brian had two goals. One, to take down as many men as he could whether it be through bullet or knife, anything, to keep them from reaching the compound. Two, and the most important to him, to make sure Bobby would die by his hand. For what he did to Beth and Sarah, for what he’d done to so many others like them. He hated the Bobby’s of the world. He hated them with a blackness that often dragged him to the depths of blood lust. Talia, his baby sister, she had suffered at the hands of men just like Bobby. And those men paid dearly for her suffering. If this meant he’d go to hell when he died, then so be it. He’d gladly suffer the fires of hell and shake hands with the devil if that’s what it took to scrub this earth of all the men like Bobby.
∞
Mitch followed about a quarter of a mile behind the group. Shadows danced among the trees as the sun sank below the horizon and the woods around him darkened. He glanced up at the half moon as it drifted in and out of the clouds. It would give just enough light for him to guide the nag through the obstacles of the woods. Peckerhead followed a few yards behind stopping every so often to peck a bug from the ground.
He carried an AK-47 across his back and a Glock 22 on his hip. Strapped in a sheath on his chest was a 13-inch tanto blade. In his boot, he carried another knife, this one smaller but no less deadly in his experienced hands. Law enforcement taught him that. Always be prepared. A growl from Peckerhead brought a smile to his lips, and he turned his head.
“Stay quiet! You give us away, and I swear, I’ll be the first to fry you up in a hot pan of grease, my friend.” The rooster peered at him and fluffed his feathers.
The volley of shots in the distance sent him jumping down from his horse. With a quick flick of his hands, he tied the reins of the horse to the nearest tree and grabbed the rifle from his back, running up the embankment on the left of the road.
“Stay here,” he hissed to the rooster.
With silent steps, he made his way through the woods toward the sounds of the gunshots. The group he had been following was now taking hits from either side of the road. He watched as men scrambled from their horses, looking for cover. Spying a log, he rested his rifle on it and laid flat on his stomach. Peering through the scope, he looked up into the woods on the left side of the road. A tug, then pouncing on his legs startled him, and he whipped around to see the rooster perched on the back of his legs.
“Oh, you listen well, you foolish Peckerhead!”
Turning back, he scoped one side of the road and then the other. He swore softly as his sight set on none other than his friend Roger’s face peering out from behind a tree.
“Well, I’ll be damned. What have you gone and gotten yourself into this time, my friend?”
He chuckled shaking his head. Well? Guess the time had come to help a friend out. With that, he sighted his rifle in and joined the fray. He didn’t know why Roger had mixed it up with this group, but he knew his friend well enough to trust that he had a good reason. With each shot from his gun, the rooster sitting on the back of his legs growled softly, drawing a chuckle of laughter from Mitch.
∞
When the first shot rang out, Bobby dove from his horse and hit the pavement. His head swam as it rocked off the tar. Scrambling to make sense of what was happening, he clawed and crawled his way to the ditch while his men and their horses screamed around him. How did this happen? Could that mute bitch have made it to the compound to warn them? Did someone help her? Did he have a traitor in his group? Breathing hard, he drew his gun. He didn’t know in which direction to shoot. He could see no target. Crawling along the center of the ditch, through the mud, the slime, and the wet leaves, he had only one thought, run. Get out of the midst of the bloodbath.
∞
Brian took down one man after another, each shot hitting its mark. He saw the man in the lead dive from his horse and crawl into the ditch. Screams erupted from below. Coming out from behind the boulder, he walked parallel to the man in the ditch staying behind trees and brush for cover but keeping his eyes trained on him. Lead rider? He assumed it must be Bobby. Crouching low, he made his way across the road and up into the woods in the direction he saw Bobby run. Bullets screamed off the pavement and sent up clouds of dust hitting the dirt behind him. His breath burned in his lungs as he sprinted, climbing the steep hillside.
He hadn’t gone a hundred yards when he came to a dead stop. Blinking his eyes rapidly, he shook his head in confusion. Before him, just on the other side of a stand of brush, lay a man with a rifle resting on a log and shooting. He didn’t recognize him. But that wasn’t what stopped him in his tracks, what stopped him was the rooster standing on the man's outstretched legs. He took another step and winced when he heard a branch underfoot snap loudly. The rooster turned its head and stared at him.
“Shit!” he whispered under his breath. The large white bird, all claws and beak, launched itself right for his face in a fury of white feathers and beating wings. Instinctively he threw up his arms and in doing so, dropped his rifle.
The blow hit him hard in the stomach, knocking his breath away. He fell to the ground. He flailed one arm to throw the rooster from his face and chest while reaching for his knife with his other hand. He felt the rooster’s spurs dig into the side of his neck, and he grabbed a handful of feathers, struggling to pull the rooster off of him. Another blow from the man rocked his head back, and Brian saw sparkles of light. Pain sang through his jaw. Gasping, he backed up and swung wide, connecting and knocking the man back. Bringing down his knife, he sank it into the man’s thigh. The man staggered back and drew his knife, stabbing it wildly. Brian felt it graze the top of his forearm, and he hissed. Burning pain traveled clear up to his shoulder.
He needed to end this fight. The longer he screwed around with this man, the better chance Bobby would get away. His breath rasped in and out in gasps, as he dove toward the man. He felt a hard kick to his chest that knocked him backward. Another burning pain seared his chest and the man’s blade kissed his skin. Crouching low, he thrust for the man’s stomach only to miss. His knife blade instead bit into the man’s hip. He heard a low groan of pain as the man pummeled his stomach and face with hard jabs from his fists.
A loud shout from Roger brought him to a halt and he staggered to catch his breath. He looked at the man opposite him. Blood ran down the front of his jean-clad leg and trickled from the corner of his mouth. He watched in confusion as Roger stormed toward him.
“Boys? We’re supposed to be fighting the enemy, not each other.”
Confused, Brian cut his gaze to Roger.
“He’s not one of us,” he spat angrily.
“No, he’s not. But he is a friend,” Roger said then smiled. “Mitch meet Brian.”
A grin split Mitch’s face, and in two steps, he folded Roger into a bear hug. It then dawned on him that the shooting stopped.
“Did we get them all?” he asked.
“Most of them. A few turned tail and ran, but we’ve got guys out hunting them down now,” Roger replied.
“How many of ours hurt or dead?”
Roger grimaced.
“We lost four men. We’ve got six wounded. Max, Grace, and Eli are tending to them now. Once they say they’re ready to be moved, we’ll load them up and get them back to Doc,” he replied. Turning to Mitch, he shook his head.
“Man, what the hell are you doing here? And what is up with the chicken?” he asked, then chuckled. Brian turned and glared at the rooster who sat near Mitch’s feet.
“Well, my friend, it is a long story, a very long story,” Mitch said then chuckled. Turning to Brian, he stuck out his hand.
“I’m sorry man; I thought you were one of them, the enemy.”
Brian nodded but didn’t take the man’s outstretched hand. He glanced at Roger and mumbled. “I’ll go help with the wounded.”
He could smell a cop a mile away, and Roger’s friend was most certainly a cop. As he limped back to the group, he thought of Bobby. He’d gotten away. He knew the coward would probably head back to Lee, and Brian intended to be right behind him. Tiredness washed through him and sweat stuck to his skin as he peeled off his shirt and shoved it in the saddlebag. He pulled a clean one out and slid it on as he gazed off toward the woods. He had a score to settle with Bobby, and he wasn’t about to let up until he collected on it.
∞
Roger called the men to gather around him. He looked into the eyes of his men and women and sighed. Tiredness, shock, and disbelief were expressions that met his gaze. A lot of them had never seen battle before. And Roger knew this wouldn’t be the last; he feared there would be many more battles ahead of them. His heart sank with dread.
The wounded were tended, and he planned to send them back to the compound with half the group. The other half would be heading to the town of Lee to free the townspeople. They’d killed all but ten of Bobby’s gang, and the prisoners would be brought to the compound for the time being until they could figure out what to do with them. They would hunt down the few who escaped into the woods. He was confident his men would find them; either killing them, or taking them prisoner. Either way was fine with him.
Chapter Thirteen
Roger and his group set up camps on either side the road. Several in the group laid out bedrolls at the edges and sat, resting on them. Spike gathered wood for a fire and Brian sat with a stick of wood between his teeth while Max stitched up the nasty gash on his arm from Mitch’s blade. Trevor Darling pulled sandwiches and chips from the packhorse and handed them out to everyone while Jeremy Watts followed behind with plastic water bottles filled with sweet tea. Roger, between bites of food, thanked God for Mary Anne’s preparedness, of sending along an extra horse with food and drinks stuffed into its saddlebags. They would camp for the night and then head toward Lee come first light. They had a town to set free and a little girl to find, whose sister waited for her back at the compound.
∞
Brian breathed a sigh of relief as Max taped a bandage to his arm. Taking the sandwich handed to him, he bit into it hungrily. He grunted. Spike sat down on the tar beside him.
“I talked to the prisoners. Bobby got away.”
Brian nodded. Anger curled and burned in his stomach.
“We’ll find him,” he replied between mouthfuls. “And when we do you can bet, he won’t be getting away again.”
Brian gazed around the camp, so many faces. Across the fire from him sat Mitch, who talked quietly with Roger. Firelight danced and flickered across their faces. The night darkened around them. He wondered about the freaking rooster. Why did the man have a rooster for a pet? He gave the man, Mitch, credit; although older than him, he still gave a good fight. He looked at the bandage covering his forearm and grinned. Yeah, he did have a lot of experience for an old guy.
Ellen Beasly, Kay Genner, Doug Francis and Kenny Washton all sat in a group, eating their sandwiches and talking in low voices. Although Brian didn’t know any of them well, he had the highest respect for them. They fought a good fight. Each one kept their wits about them when the bullets started flying. Roger created a good thing with these people. In providing them a stable place to live, security, food, and housing, they in turn provided him with loyalty and hard work.
He thought of Sarah and Beth. As much as he was growing fond of Beth, as much as he wanted to explore that relationship further, he knew in his heart that life for her would be better at the compound than it would be with him on the trail. The compound would be the best place for them to plant roots. A place they could settle in and find community. His heart gave a tug of sadness at the thought of leaving them behind. But he wanted to return home. To his family, to see if they managed to survive the event. And would it be fair to ask Beth and Sarah to go along with him? Especially when Roger’s compound offered them so much… more than he could? Shaking his head, he leaned back on the saddle he’d removed from his horse and closed his eyes. His body screamed with fatigue, with pain from his fight with Mitch, and with a longing to go home that so deep, it made his heart ache. Yes, once they freed the town from the grips of Bobby and his men, he would be heading out. Tennessee called to him.
∞
Beth sat by Sarah’s bed and watched her sleep. A fragile sadness caressed her heart. So much had happened to this young girl. The thought of this made Beth’s heart weep. Too much happened to all of them these past months. The flu taking loved ones, the violence, hunger, and worst of all, the not knowing. Every day was not a given anymore. Jessie lay at her feet, and she reached down and stroked her fingers through her soft fur. The dog looked up at her gently, with chocolate eyes.
“Yes, girl. Even you, you’ve been through a lot too.”
Yells from outside brought her up off the chair, and she hobbled with her crutches to the window. Looking out, she saw a group of riders coming in, headed toward the infirmary. Shooting a glance over her shoulder to make sure Sarah still slept, she quietly let herself out of the room. Jill met her in the hallway.
“We’ve got wounded coming in!”
She quickly began setting up medical trays and rolling in empty stretchers.
“What can I do to help?”
Jill looked at her and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. Her long hair, pulled up into a haphazard bun fell from its band and onto her shoulders.
“Can you start loading these trays? We’ll need bandages, scissors, tape, and surgical kits. I don’t know yet how many, or how bad the injuries, so let’s plan for the worst and hope that we don’t need to use all this stuff.”
Beth nodded and started digging in drawers for the items Jill mentioned. As an EMT, trauma events were familiar, and she knew what the doc would need on the medical trays. Using one crutch for balance, she hobbled around the small room and gathered I.V. poles, extra sheets, and blankets, sterile gloves, gowns, and masks. If the doc needed to do surgery, he would do it in this room. While she worked, she couldn’t help but be amazed at the equipment and supplies in this little hospital infirmary. They had everything needed to do minor, or even more complicated surgeries. Roger and Doc must’ve spent years stocking away this stuff.
She looked up when Jill came running back into the room.
“You did well,” she quipped. She dumped an armful of I.V. plastic solution bags onto the nearest table.
“Do you know if Brian is among those injured?” Beth asked, nervously. Jill shook her head.
“I didn’t see him out there. That tells me he is still with Roger’s main group.”
A sigh of relief escaped Beth's lips.
“How many wounded?”
“Six, two will need surgery immediately. The other four have gunshot wounds but are not critical. Doc is out there now triaging. He’ll be rolling in here soon to get to work.”
Beth nodded. Jill sighed tiredly and turned to prepare two stretchers. Having only
one doctor meant back to back surgeries, hours of standing on her feet.
“I can help with the triage. I can take the non-critical cases.” Beth offered. Jill turned to her.
“Well, shit, woman! Gown up! I don’t care if you have a license to practice or not! And neither will those folks who are wounded,” Jill said and smiled. She knew Doc would welcome the extra set of experienced hands. He’s been a one-man show for far too long, and Jill knew it wore him down.
Beth stared down into the face of Bella Mitchell. She clenched her fists by her side to stop her hands from shaking. Bella, not even twenty years old and wounded in a battle that she should never have been a part of. The bullet lodged deep into her shoulder, and the field medics did an exceptional job of stemming the blood flow and bandaging her up for the journey back to the compound. Her deep brown hair spilled over the white of the pillow. Her face was drained and pinched in pain. Her brown eyes stared up at Beth.
“It’s okay Bella. I’m giving you something for the pain, and it should kick in shortly.”
Bella nodded, compressing her lips. Her eyes filled with tears. Beth could tell she was trying to put on a brave front but starting to crumble.
“Doc will have that bullet out of you in no time.” She swiftly inserted an I.V. line and pushed in a dose of morphine. She watched Bella’s lids grow heavy then close. Her heart broke for the child. The pain she must’ve endured on the journey back. Preparing her for surgery, Beth cut her shirt off and swabbed around the wounded area with a disinfectant that smelled pungent and strong. She then lightly draped her with sterile squares. She felt Jill’s eyes on her as she worked, and she smiled at her.
Jill nodded and turned back to help Doc, who worked on Elroy Blinter, and it wasn’t going well at all. The man took a bullet to the chest that had punctured his lung and exited through his back. Beth could see Doc was sweating beneath his mask and every few moments she’d hear a muttered curse. She could see he was struggling to repair the hole in Elroy’s lung. He stood in a puddle of blood that pooled near his feet and squares of bloody gauze bandages littered the floor.
