A Cruel and Violent Storm

by Don M. Esquibel

  “I’m not an idiot, Moe,” Leon says. “I know that. But if his family is anything like him, we need to be ready for something to go down. I mean he has what, three brothers? Have to figure he’s not the only rotten apple of the bunch.”

  There’s some merit to that. We’ve been at risk, to some degree, at every home and farm we’ve checked so far. But today is different. The bad blood between Connor and Leon complicates things. I only hope the collapse has made Connor grow up. Barring that, I hope his family are at least decent people. Either way, we need to be on our toes.

  “What is his family like?” I ask Felix, the only one of us to have met any of them.

  He shrugs. “Don’t know them very well,” he says. “His dad seemed alright, I guess. Kind of in your face. Cocky, you know? He goes way back with my aunt and uncle though. I remember him saying that my aunt’s biggest mistake was choosing my uncle over him. It was like this long-running joke between them. Never did meet his wife—she died before I even moved here. Don’t know any of his older brothers either, but I met the younger one. Forgot his name, but he seemed like a good kid: quiet, simple, kind of the exact opposite Connor.”

  “That’s encouraging,” I say. “Maybe Connor really is just the rotten apple of the bunch.”

  “Let’s hope,” Leon says.

  An hour later we come across the Baptist Church, and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, the dark bank of windows facing us giving me the eerie feeling of being watched. I try my best to look for movement inside, but all I can make out are shadows from this distance. We cut across the parking lot, deserted save for a large white van by the front entrance, and a red Subaru at the far corner. The feeling of being watched stays with me until we’re past the lot and starting down another county road.

  True to his word, we arrive at the entrance to the ranch three turns, and one mile later. A large, single-story house sits at the end of a long driveway, two large pastures flanking the drive on either side. Beyond the house, I can make out the steepled top of a large barn and several outbuildings arrayed centrally to three more gridded pastures. A dozen plus horses graze in one pasture, while several cows lay in another. What else do they have here? Chickens? Pigs? Crops? They’re in better shape than most. Certainly in better shape than we are. If Felix’s family is here, what could that mean for us? Is it possible Connor Sawyer, of all people, could become an ally, a friend?

  I shake my head. I’m getting ahead of myself. First, we need to find out if the family is here, and if not, whether the Sawyer’s have heard from them. It’s easier said than done. Twenty feet down the driveway, two trucks sit grill to grill, forming a V-shaped barricade for approaching vehicles. What gives us pause however isn’t the barricade, which we could simply skirt, but the warning spray-painted in red across their bodies. “Trespassers Shot on Sight!”

  “Not exactly encouraging,” Leon says, mocking my earlier optimism.

  I ignore it. This isn’t the first time we’ve encountered something like this. But unlike before, we can’t just turn around and hope for better luck at the next place. We need to figure out a way to seek an audience without getting ourselves killed. Before I can even ask if anyone has an idea, Felix has already made his decision. Quickly, he removes his rifle, sidearm, and extra magazines before laying them on the hood.

  “I’ll head down the drive with my hands up,” he explains, taking off his shirt as he does so. “I’ll call out my name, and why I’m here. They know me, know my aunt and uncle. They won’t shoot.”

  “You don’t know that,” Leon says.

  “What if it’s not the Sawyer’s who are running the place? What if it’s been taken over by someone else?”

  He brushes the concerns away. “Doesn’t matter. We have to figure out one way or another. And based off this welcome message, I’d be shocked if they didn’t have a lookout somewhere. They’ll have seen us by now. Can’t exactly sneak off and watch them from the bushes.”

  “There’s gotta be a smarter—”

  “We don’t have time to debate this,” Felix snaps. Whatever cool he’s held throughout the morning is lost in an instant. “Look, I know it’s a risk to walk out there unarmed. Stupid, even. But it’s what I have to do. All this searching means shit if I’m not willing to take the risks to find them.”

  It’s hard seeing my friend so desperate. He’s hid it well, but now it comes rising to the surface. I know only a taste of the mania he must feel—that which consumed me so often on the trail until I was finally reunited with my family. And then the relief of having found them—to see them, feel them, hold them—it’s something I can’t put into words. Felix doesn’t know that relief. I don’t even want to think of the mess I would be if our situations were reversed. I’m sure I’d have done something far more desperate long before now. Which is why I accept his plan and don’t raise another issue.

  “We’ll keep an eye out,” Leon assures him, un-slinging his own rifle. I mimic him, ignoring the twist in my stomach, and take cover behind the trucks.

  Felix pauses at the edge of the barricade, his face set. Determined. He looks our way quickly, confidence blazing in his eyes. “It’s going to all work out,” he says. Before I can so much as nod, he is looking down the long drive again. A moment later, he slips past the barricade and into the open. He walks with his hands splayed before him, shouting out his name and why he is here. Halfway down the driveway, the ranch’s inhabitants make themselves known.

  “That’s far enough!” hollers a voice. I see no one, but I trace the voice to the house. Felix stops immediately.

  “Mr. Sawyer?” Felix yells back. “I’m Felix Chavez, Frank and Chris—”

  “Heard you the first dozen times,” the voice yells back, cutting him off. “Only I’m not Mr. Sawyer. He’s on his way from out back. You can talk to him when he arrives. In the meantime, I need your buddies back there to disarm and join you from behind the roadblock.”

  Leon and I look to one another, silently communicating how we should play this. He’s as apprehensive as I am. Everywhere we’ve searched has had some risk involved, but not like this. Had this been anywhere else, Felix wouldn’t have even walked down the drive in the first place. But he did, and now we’re stuck between a rock and a hard place.

  “No!” Felix says, making the decision for us.

  A long, hard pause. “No?” the voice challenges.

  “They’re staying where they are,” he says simply.

  “I would advise against that,” the voice warns. He sounds irritated. Annoyed. It’s obvious he wasn’t expecting to be challenged on this. “Right now I have you trained in my crosshairs and am trying to determine whether to trust you. Keeping them hidden behind cover doesn’t exactly come across as trustworthy.”

  “Neither does threatening me by saying I’m trained in your crosshairs,” Felix challenges. “Trust is a two-way street. Until I know that we can trust you, they’re staying where they are.”

  Another pause, longer and colder than the first. “Remember your decision,” the voice says.

  Silence ensues the statement. The longer it stretches, the more I feel we’ve made a mistake. I scan the area for movement, strain my ears to pick up anything outside my own thoughts. Nothing. My eyes are drawn to my friend, an unflinching statue risking his life on the merest possibility that doing so might reunite him with his family. Flashbacks of the night Maya was killed come back to me, how I stood in the same no man's land Felix does now. A different fear grips now than the fear I felt that night—an impotent, paralyzing fear—knowing that any moment a bullet could take the life of someone I love and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it. It’s a slow torture. Waiting. Waiting. And then the front door opens.

  Three men exit the home, the leader easy to spot even from this distance. His clothes are cleaner, his hair trimmed short and face stubble-free. Mr. Sawyer, Connor’s father. Connor, for his part, is noticeably absent. Probably for the best. Mr. Sawyer smiles brig
htly our way, not a hint of worry on his features as he moves closer. A pistol sits holstered on his hip, more for show than anything. The assault rifles his men carry are all the firepower he needs. Unlike their leader, they wear no smiles, their eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. I make note of it all: the weapons, their movements, everything. Sometimes the smallest detail can make all the difference.

  “Felix!” he cries out, hands outstretched in welcome. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, my young friend. An absolute sight!” He comes to a stop a dozen feet from Felix. “Friendly faces are too hard to come by these days.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sawyer,” Felix says.

  “Please, call me Pete,” Mr. Sawyer insists.

  “Pete,” Felix amends. “...It is good to see a friendly face.”

  Pete nods even as his smile shifts. “Always,” he says. He takes in Felix’s lack of shirt, at the general desperation washed across his face. His gaze lands on us, two strangers watching the exchange with our weapons held ready. “But I’m guessing you didn’t travel all this way for a friendly visit.”

  “No sir, we didn’t,” Felix says. I can’t see his face, but the apprehension lies thick in his voice. We’ve searched so many places already without anything to show for it. Felix knows our window is shrinking. If we don’t find anything here, then where will we? “I’m looking for my family.” He goes on to explain how we weren’t here at the beginning of the collapse, briefly touching on what we’ve been through up until this point. “We’ve been searching for the past couple weeks, but nobody has seen them. I know you’ve been their friend for a long time...I thought they might have turned to you if they needed help.”

  The smile has long since faded from Pete’s face, his mouth a hard, grim line. “That’s a helluva story, son,” he says. “But I’m sorry, I haven’t seen Frank or Christina in months.”

  Even with his back to me, I can tell how hard the answer hits Felix. I can see it in the slump of his shoulders. In the hang of his head. So much must be running through his mind right now. This was our last, real hope at finding answers. Where do we go from here?

  “I wish I had a different answer for you, Felix,” Pete says. “I’m sorry.”

  Felix nods. “Thank you,” he says. He straightens up and clears his throat. “Can you think of anywhere they might have gone to? Any mutual friends they might have tried, or any...I don’t know, safe zones in the area?”

  Pete shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Didn’t have many mutual friends—none I can see them reaching out to anyway. As far as safe zones are concerned, I don’t think there is such a thing anymore.”

  Felix nods again. “Yeah...You’re probably right.” He grows quiet a moment, as if suddenly unsure what to do with himself. “Anyway, thank you for your time all the same. We better get going though if we want to make it back before dark.” He reaches out his hand to shake.

  “You don’t have to leave so soon,” Pete says. “We’re cooking up supper as we speak. You three are welcome to join us.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but we really do need to get going.”

  Pete nods. “Well...you take care of yourself,” he tells Felix. “And if you ever need anything, you know where I am.”

  Felix’s footsteps fall heavy as he makes his slow march back to us. He put so much hope in today. It’s hard to see that hope leave him now. Tears don’t well up in his eyes, nor do they grow cold in anger. Better that they did. To watch now as he shuts himself down, and his face forms an emotionless mask, is far worse.

  “Felix—” I begin to say before he cuts me off with a shake of his head.

  “I know, Moe,” he says, voice thick. “I just need some time to process everything. To think, you know?”

  I nod my understanding even though I remain concerned. Like a machine, he pulls on his shirt and readies his weapons once again. He takes point on our return trip, his own way of hiding his face from us. Leon and I share uneasy glances from time to time, each of us worried about our friend. I feel sick, a cold dread spreading throughout my body, yearning me to accept what I have refused to believe: that we will never find them. That they are truly gone.

  It’s a quiet procession, none of us much for words. As we walk, I can’t help but feel as if something has changed. Without the low assurances and exchanges of hopeful optimism between us, it all feels too final. It feels as if we’ve failed. I continue to wrack my head for ideas, each one more hollow than the last.

  To the north, giant thunderheads paint the sky in columns of white and gray, brooding in quiet promise. But we should reach the farm well before they reach us. We pass Hwy 160 once more, the wrecks on either side not darkening my spirits like earlier. A man can only feel so much at a time I suppose. From there, it’s all autopilot, having searched these back roads the past few weeks: right turn, a sharp bend, and then two miles due north. Right turn, my eyes scan for movement. A sharp bend, my ears strain for threats. All is still. All is quiet.

  Suddenly, Felix goes rigid, his hand reaching for his rifle as a crack of distant thunder reaches us. Leon and I follow suit, our rifles held at the ready.

  Quiet.

  Quiet.

  And then I hear it: a distant boom, echoing across the countryside. Not the sound of thunder, but the sound of violence. Of death. A sound of terror ripped straight from my nightmares: gunshots. One look into Felix’s eyes as he turns to face me, and I know there is no mistaking its direction. Due north. The direction of the farm.

  Chapter 10: (Lauren)

  It feels like I see his back more than his face these days. I watch it now even as it slowly disappears from my eyes, swallowed by the early morning dark. A sharp wind kicks up from the east, its icy breath penetrating the thin sweater I wear and leaving goosebumps along my arms. Still, I make no motion to retreat inside, the cold a welcome relief to the warm, stuffy walls. And despite the early hour, I’m not alone in rising.

  “They already leave?” Julia asks.

  “Yeah,” I confirm. “They have a lot of ground to cover.” I don’t know the area, but I was shown the route they will take today. I don’t know what’s more worrying, the distance they must travel, or the bad blood between them and the ranch owner’s son. A shiver overtakes me, more from nerves than the cold. And so it begins, I think to myself.

  “It never gets easier, does it?” Julia asks me, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “What doesn’t?” I ask.

  “The waiting. The worrying. All the dark thoughts that run through your mind while they’re gone.” Her eyes pierce mine. “It never gets easier.”

  I shake my head, understanding the feeling all too well. “No,” I say. “It doesn’t. If anything, it gets harder.”

  “I know what you mean,” she says. “Kind of like you’re only awarded so much luck. Like things can only go right for so long before they go wrong.”

  Her words are an echo of my own thoughts. Each time they return, safe and unhurt, all I can do is wonder when the time will come that they won’t. I thought I was growing cynical, but it appears I’m not alone in my fears.

  “Exactly,” I say. “From my experience, something always goes wrong.”

  “Yeah,” she says. It grows quiet, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Then silence breaks with a breath of laughter.

  “What?” I ask, curious.

  “Nothing, really,” she says. “It’s just nice to skip all the bullshit and speak honestly for once. That’s why I like talking with you: you don’t sugar coat your words and act like everything’s going to be alright. I swear, it’s like they’ve treated me with kid gloves ever since I got back—like they don’t want to upset me by speaking about anything unpleasant. I mean I was abducted for Christ’s sake. I had men grope me and tell me all the vile things they were going to do to me. I know as well as anyone how dark the world is. I’m not going to forget anytime soon.”

  Her voice grows harsh, bitter as she continues. When she’s finished, I’m left witho
ut words, uncertain how to respond. I wasn’t expecting half of what she said. She breathes deep and looks away, hiding her face from view. I don’t think she expected it either.

  “Sorry,” she says, embarrassed. “You didn’t need to hear all that.”

  I think back on these past few weeks, and I begin to understand her frustration. I’ve noticed how protective her brothers are over her, how her parents coddle and hover, as if afraid the Animals will arrive any moment to reclaim their captive. I may not know her well, but the girl I’ve gotten to know seems strong. Independent. I’m surprised she hasn’t said anything before now.

  “I may not have needed to hear it, but that doesn’t mean nobody else should.” I watch her mull over my words, nodding slightly till her mouth forms a small smile.

  “Like I said: that’s why I like talking with you.”

  “No sugar-coated bullshit?” I ask, sharing her smile.

  “Exactly,” she says with a small laugh.

  “Anytime,” I say. “Seriously. If you ever want to talk or vent or whatever. I’m here.”

  I see the gratitude in her eyes as they meet mine once again. “Thank you,” she says. “Same goes for you. I’ll be here.”

  I smile and say my appreciations even though I know the chances of me confiding in her are slim. She’s a nice girl, and I know she means what she says, but I already know myself too well. Ninety-nine times out of one-hundred I would rather keep my issues bottled up than let them become a burden to others. It’s an ingrained part of me.

  A haze of blue light spills over the eastern skyline—an early precursor to the approaching dawn. Soon the sun will rise, and with it, the rest of the family. No sense in continuing to stand here, worrying. Time to embrace the day.

  “C’mon,” I tell Julia. “Let’s check on the chickens. Maybe we’ll have enough eggs to fix us some omelets.”

  Unfortunately, omelets are not in the cards for us. Even combined with yesterday’s haul, there weren’t enough eggs to go around. Instead, we make do with a handful of Brussel sprouts and half an apple apiece. It takes the worse edge off the hunger, but it burns away quickly as the day progresses. I work beside Emily, readying the farm's outer perimeter against intruders. With our greenhouse project well underway, defending the property has moved to our top priority.