The Abandon Series | Book 1 | These Times of Abandon

by Schow, Ryan

“Is it just the two of them?”

  “So far as I can tell,” Ramira said from behind cover.

  One shooter was on the ground squirming, the other dragging his buddy to the bushes. He looked down by the window and saw the third one lying dead in the bushes. He turned to Ramira, who thrust the pistol at Will like she didn’t want it anymore.

  He took it and shot the guy who was still on his feet. He returned the pistol to Ramira, grabbed his shotgun and ran across the yard. He moved up the driveway along the trees and bushes, the shotgun leveled on the wounded men ahead.

  When he reached them, he found both of them in pain but looking compliant. They were next to each other, one of them gripping the other’s shirt in fear.

  Will said, “You can hold each other’s hands in hell.”

  He shot them both then dragged their bodies into the bushes where he stashed them for later. He hung out in the brush for a moment, then he moved up the driveway toward the road. He didn’t see anyone right away, but he saw an old truck idling.

  He slipped back into the bushes, moved in for a closer look. He finally saw the back of the driver’s head in the glass slider. It sounded like he was listening to music, a tape player, or an 8 Track. AC/DC. He stepped out directly behind the truck and fired on the man. The driver must have seen him early. He ducked sideways, the glass shattering. The brake lights went off and the driver gunned it, the back end breaking loose and kicking loose gravel all over Will.

  He fired again, but the driver managed to get away. He should have taken the pistol with him. Then again, he didn’t want to leave Ramira—

  Another shot rang out. Ramira! Turning, he ran back to the house as fast as he could. When he got into the driveway, he saw his wife standing over a body.

  He let out the breath he’d been holding.

  “I warned him,” Ramira said when he got to her. There was so much sorrow in her voice, and fresh tears standing in her eyes.

  He pulled her into a hug, then said, “We need to get inside.”

  “What are we going to do?” she cried.

  “We’re going to see how our son is doing,” Will said.

  They found him passed out on the table, an arm hung over the side, his back to the wall. Will grabbed the duct tape, tore off two more strips, then affixed them to the wounds he’d compressed earlier. “Hopefully, that will do it.”

  Ramira had clapped a hand over her mouth to stop herself from crying. Judging by the shine of her eyes in the candlelight, it wasn’t working.

  “He’s out cold,” Will said. “Not…”

  “I know.”

  “Let’s get a little something to eat then call it a night. I’ll keep an eye on him out here, and you can get some rest in the bedroom. If something happens after dark, I’ll come and get you and we’ll take him to Jacob’s together.”

  “We should do that now.”

  “It’s not safe. Besides, he should be fine overnight.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Instinct.”

  She seemed to think about this. Were her instincts going against his? Of course, they were. But were they rational? He couldn’t say. He’d made the decision, though, so he’d be the one to stand watch throughout the night.

  “I’m banking on sleep accelerating the internal healing process,” Will finally said.

  “What if he’s bleeding internally?”

  “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  “But what if?”

  “Of course, he’s bleeding internally, but it’s not like the TV shows. The body can stitch itself up internally as well as externally. We just have to pray nothing vital was nicked.”

  “What if it was?” she asked.

  “Then he’d already be dead,” he replied, candidly. “Why don’t you get us something to eat. I’m going to wash up and board up the broken window.”

  Instead of getting right to dinner, Ramira kissed him, then pulled him into a fierce hug. In that hug, he realized what they’d just done.

  “We started a war here, didn’t we?” she asked quietly into his shoulder.

  “Yes,” he said. She had an uncanny ability to read his thoughts about the same time he was having them.

  When she pulled away, he said, “I’m proud of you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re at my side and competent.”

  She just looked at him as he said this. He knew he’d touched her emotionally. Now all he wanted to do was look at her, this beautiful woman he’d loved all of his life.

  “Thank you for saving our son,” she finally said.

  “Thank you for saving both of us.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Will Bennington

  Will slept on the couch near Niles, waking up with every little sound throughout the night. Sometimes it was Niles whimpering his way through a dream, but mostly it was the intermittent wind, and one of the larger limbs on one of their older trees stress-cracking. At first, it sounded like a gunshot. He was thankful it wasn’t. He didn’t want to shoot any more people.

  He checked on Niles half a dozen times throughout the night, found him running a fever, but that was to be expected. When he couldn’t sleep, rather than fret over the boy, he stood on bare feet in only his undershirt and his tighty whities, looking out the window facing the long driveway leading out to the road.

  Just up the way, and out on the street, he could see the dark lumps, the dead bodies. He thought about heading out into the rain and gusting winds to drag them aside, roll them into the bushes until he could deal with them later, but he weighed the risks and felt that might be unnecessary, or maybe even premature considering the storm. Then again, the Hayseed Rebellion liked to hit people when they were least expecting it. That meant they liked to create havoc at night, during a rainstorm, or even in the middle of a tornado. Fortunately, Will didn’t see any more of those scumbags standing outside his house.

  When the sun finally broke over the horizon, Niles woke up and looked around, not sure where he was. Will was already awake, the long night pulling at his face, the exhaustion feeling like a deep ache in his bones.

  “Morning,” Will said.

  “My back and neck are killing me,” Niles whispered, his mouth sounding sticky and dry.

  “What about everything else?” he asked.

  “It all hurts.”

  “Can you walk?”

  “I don’t know,” Niles said. “I’m so cold, but I’m also burning up.”

  “You have a fever.”

  “Maybe you can help me to my feet and I’ll give it a try.” Anyone else would have lay there unwilling to move.

  “There ain’t no trying in this, son,” Will said. “You’re going one way or another.”

  “He doesn’t have to go,” Ramira said from behind him.

  “We’re going to Jacob’s house and that’s that,” he said to his wife without making eye contact. “So you can help me or stand against me. Which is it?”

  “I’ll get his coat,” Ramira said.

  “Get my guns, too. Pistol for me, shotgun for you, rifle for Niles.”

  “He can’t shoot in his condition,” Ramira said.

  “Yes, I can,” Niles said. “What’s with you this morning?”

  “I don’t know. The nightmares, I guess.”

  Melbourne was not a large town, so Will didn’t expect the Red Cross or emergency services to be roaming the streets, especially since there was no tornado to speak of. If there was a problem that required attention, it was likely at Duke Energy Silver Grove Substation up the road. In his mind, he wondered if the power outage was because the storm hit the substation.

  But if this was indeed an EMP, then it really wouldn’t matter what they did at the substation. If this power outage was something else, though, something they didn’t think of, then the right people would get the power back on relatively soon. At least that was the hope.

  Either way, if the power was down in Melbourne, chances were good that it wa
s down in the nearby hospitals, too. The walk would be too far. Whether it was Mercy Health – Anderson Hospital on the east side of Cincinnati, or St. Elizabeth Healthcare in Fort Thomas, the walk was four or five miles in either direction.

  Before they left, while Will was helping Niles to his feet and into his clothes and shoes, Ramira stood beside the window, vigilant, certainly terrified that more men would come back. She saw one of the trucks roll up to the front of the driveway, stop, and idle.

  “Will,” Ramira said, concerned. “I think they’re back.”

  Will’s heart jumped, but he’d already committed to the task at hand with Niles. “What are they doing?”

  “Just sitting there. A door is opening up.”

  “Are they armed?”

  Ramira said, “They’re looking at the guy in the street. Now they’re looking at us, at the body by the broken window.”

  When Niles was almost ready, he said, “Make sure my rifle is loaded.”

  She got his gun, checked the magazine, then grabbed a box of .308 rounds and a spare mag. When she went back to the window, her relief was palpable.

  “They’re gone,” she said.

  Niles now managed to stand on his own. He didn’t look good. He looked feverish, one of the wounds inflamed.

  “We have to get him to Jacob’s now,” Will said, worried but trying not to let it show in his tone or expression. “And get him some Gatorade.”

  “What about the sugar?”

  “He needs the electrolytes, at least for now.”

  Outside, the rain was steady, the winds occasional. Puddles had formed in all the potholes and tire-tracked ruts along the driveway. Downed tree branches were everywhere. The cold pressed into Will’s bones the second he went outside, the rain speckling his clothes with dark spots.

  Will held Niles close while Ramira carried the rifle. They walked by the dead bodies he’d stashed along the driveway, no one speaking about them. With ruffians like the Hayseed Rebellion on the loose, they weren’t about to revel in their small victories; rather they only cared about one thing—saving Niles’s life.

  On the road, Ramira let out a small squeak when she saw the man who had been shot and then subsequently run over. His skull had been crushed and gore was pancaked out all around the broken plates of bone. To Will, it looked like something had feasted on the body last night, but it could have just been the damage done by the heavy truck when it ran over the body.

  They hobbled up the road, Will supporting his son as he limped along. They had three blocks to walk. Three blocks didn’t seem like much to Will, but Niles’s features were gray and twisting with pain, and his face had that slack, weary look.

  Will tried not to show concern, but where he succeeded, Ramira failed. He knew her well enough to know how protective she was of her only child.

  “You’re doing well, Niles,” Ramira said.

  “Are we almost there?” he asked, his eyes downcast, watching his feet, making sure they were doing what he needed them to do.

  “A couple more blocks,” Will said.

  On the street ahead, on the corner of the next block, he saw a pair of old pickup trucks roll up to a house, get out, then assess the front door. One of the guys shot the deadbolt with a shotgun, then kicked in the front door.

  “We need to get off the street,” Will said, fear shooting right through him.

  They managed to get behind a tall hedge in front of a quiet house. But as he listened, Will heard the booming sounds of shots being fired inside the home. He watched as these same men hauled two people out onto their front lawn with their hands behind their heads. The men forced them to their knees, almost like they were going to kill them execution-style. He’d seen this before, with the riots and the looting. All these LARPers who watched too many action movies as kids, or played too many violent video games, were now making their games real, turning fiction into reality.

  “These people are sick!” Ramira hissed. He nodded. “Are you going to do something or what?”

  Will had no idea who these men were, but he knew a scumbag when he saw one, and those guys were right up there with the worst of the worst. He checked the handgun at his side, made sure he could get to it and still support Niles.

  When he realized he couldn’t do both, that holding Niles would dramatically affect his aim, he handed the gun to Ramira and said, “If we’re in trouble, your aim will be better.”

  “Your aim is better,” she said, pushing it back.

  He refused it and said, “Not while trying to hold him up.”

  “I can’t shoot someone again,” she said, her eyes full of panic.

  “Then they’ll kill us like they killed the Murpheys,” he turned and snapped. “Is that what you want?”

  “No,” she cried.

  “You’re a titan under pressure, Ramira,” he said, calming down. “Don’t you remember?” She nodded. “Then please do what I ask, especially since you’re the one who’s in charge of our safety, and therefore, our lives.”

  She frowned at him, wiped her eyes. He hated the intensity with which he’d started speaking to her, but he hoped she understood this was not because he was mean, rather it was because he was scared out of his mind.

  Whatever was happening in the world around them clearly gave these cretins a sense of freedom and entitlement, enough for them to feel they had free reign of the town.

  When the people who had just been robbed in broad daylight were spared, and the men who had stolen their belongings lumbered off, the couple fell into each other’s arms, sobbing, holding each other until they could get to their feet and walk inside. By then, several other neighbors went over to see about them.

  This had him thinking, if he’d just set Niles down, could he have made the shot? Could he have killed them both? At that moment, if he was honest with himself, he would say he was more interested in getting his boy to Jacob’s alive and less interested in answering to the countless injustices of fools.

  Will had a foreboding sense of things being wrong before, but right now, their small community was being terrorized and Niles, as well as his neighbors, were paying dearly for it. He didn’t have it in him to fight right then, but he was going to fight. He had to! If he didn’t stand up for his community, who would?

  “We can go now,” Ramira said.

  They walked the remaining distance to Jacob’s house, and by then, Will was half-carrying, half-dragging Niles up to the front porch. Ramira knocked on Jacob’s door and a moment later he answered.

  “Ramira, Will, what happened?”

  “The Hayseed Rebellion happened,” Will told his friend. “You said your daughter is here?”

  “She’s asleep. Come inside, come inside!”

  “Can you wake her up?” Will asked as they hustled Niles inside. “He’s been shot and needs help.”

  Jacob returned a moment later with his sleepy-eyed daughter. She saw Niles and her eyes flashed. Kenley and Niles had been friends in high school, and even though Kenley had always had a bit of a crush on the boy, the feelings weren’t reciprocated by Niles. He was hoping Kenley’s affections would play into her saving his son’s life. Kenley looked at Niles, the sight of him sobering.

  “Tell me what happened,” she said.

  Will filled her in on the attack, then he told her what he’d done to bandage him up. Kenley pulled up Niles’s shirt, his pant leg, and then she pulled down the back of his pants.

  “That’ll work,” she said when she saw the duct tape. “But I’m not sure what I can do beyond suturing the exit and entry wounds.”

  “Do you have antibiotics?” Ramira asked.

  “Yes, some. Also pain relievers and dissolvable stitches.” To Niles, she said, “How are you with laying on your back?”

  “It hurts everywhere, so just put me where you need me.”

  Kenley nodded, then smiled at him. She brushed his hair aside, then said, “Took you long enough to come see me at my house.”

  He almost la
ughed, but the slight grin was enough.

  Kenley went to work on the boy, using up the better part of the hour to do what she could as a second-year med student rather than a practicing nurse or doctor.

  When she was done, to both Will and Ramira, she said, “Do not use skin cleansers, alcohol, peroxide, iodine, or soaps with antibacterial chemicals on the wounds. And do not put any lotion, cream, or herbal remedies on or around the wound until you see me first.”

  To Kenley, Jacob asked, “Is he in any condition to walk back home?”

  She shook her head. “Not really.” Then turning to Will and Ramira, she said, “You should have come to me last night. Waiting too long is how folks die.”

  “He’s alive, though,” Will said.

  “You’re lucky.”

  “Lucky, or blessed?” Ramira asked.

  “Time will tell. In the meantime, if my father says he can stay here, then he’ll need to stay here.”

  “We need him at the house,” Ramira said, always a private woman, always a woman who refused to heap her burdens on other people’s backs.

  “Then you’ll have to carry him home on a stretcher,” Kenley said.

  Will looked at Ramira, studied the emotions to try to get a read on her, then turned to Kenley and asked, “When can we check on him next?”

  “As often as you want,” Jacob said, answering for her. “But he should stay here three days at the minimum. Just to make sure.”

  Ramira looked back at Will and said, “What if they come back?”

  “Who?” Kenley asked.

  “The men who did this,” she said, “they’re out there terrorizing the community, and we killed nearly a dozen of them.”

  “You mean there’s more?”

  “A couple of blocks down, two of these maggots dragged the Mercers out of their house by gunpoint, acted like they were going to kill them, and then robbed them and took off.”

  “It’s the power outage and the storm,” Jacob said. “When the power comes back on, and the Sheriff restores order, they’ll run these clowns out of town.”

  “What if the power doesn’t come back on?” Ramira asked.

  “It’s the storm, Will.”