A Cruel and Violent Storm

by Don M. Esquibel

  Felix turns to Morgan, the first of us whose eyes he meets since walking through the door. Morgan holds his gaze, the look stronger than any words that could pass between them. Morgan nods and shifts his attention toward Byron and Lylette.

  “Yes,” he says. “We’ve worked well together these past few days. We owe it to ourselves to explore all our options.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” Byron says. “From what you’ve told me so far, I think we may have a very unique opportunity to help one another.”

  Unique indeed. A secluded ranch over seventy strong and sitting on one-hundred acres of land. Cattle and horses. Fresh water. Access to a nearby creek and surrounded by prime hunting grounds. Such a place would be in an ideal position to weather the storm; to build a future. Still, all we have is his word this place exists. And perhaps my past has left me biased, but I’ve always been of the notion that if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

  “By now you know everything I could think to mention,” Byron continues. “You know our number, our resources, our general location. More importantly, you know our aims—why we would risk so much in coming here. The time for standing alone has passed. We need others. We need the strength, the security that only comes from a community. And we don’t get that without a leap of faith. Granted, I realize that leap will be much greater on your end. But the fact that we’re having this conversation at all has me hopeful you might consider following us tonight. I think seeing the place with your own eyes will go a long way.”

  The invitation has been extended. An expected move, but one that now puts the ball in our court. Fortunately, we’ve already discussed this among ourselves.

  “Undoubtedly it would,” Morgan agrees. “And I admit, I am eager to see your operation first hand, but I’d like to offer an alternative.”

  Byron shares a quick glance with Lylette, before focusing again on Morgan. “What do you propose?”

  “That one of you accompany us to our place first.” He pauses, allowing them a second to process. “You must understand, we never intended to be gone as long as we have. Our people have to be as worried for us as we are for them. Going to your place puts us at the very least a full day away from them. Not to mention, I doubt our word alone will be enough to convince everyone to uproot all we’ve built. They’ll likely want to see the place themselves. I know some certainly will. That’s a lot of back and forth between us. We can eliminate that by returning to our farm first and informing our people of what’s going on. Whoever accompanies us can guide a small group of us back to your place, and we can decide where we go from there.”

  Byron considers this, his face impassive as he surveys Morgan quietly. He looks to Lylette, a conversation passing between their eyes. After a moment she nods, and he acknowledges it with one of his own.

  “We can agree to that,” he says. “Lylette will join you tonight. From what I understand of your location, you should make it to your place by sunup, yes?” Morgan nods. “Good. That will give you the day to talk to your people, gather those who will help you make your decision. All goes well, we’ll see one another again the following day.”

  Morgan and Byron both rise and clasp one another’s hand, an act more binding than their words could ever be. Around the table, I feel a cautious optimism rise. A feeling of hope. I can see it in my friend’s faces even as the weight of our failed mission lies heavy on our shoulders. Leaving this town without Felix’s family won’t be easy. That’s what makes this moment all the more meaningful. Now when we leave we’ll have a reason to look forward instead of looking back.

  “It’s been a long night,” Byron says a minute later. “I think we’d all bene—”

  His words are cut short, a frantic yell sounding from the front of the house. Guns fly into hands as we rise to our feet, the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood reaching our ears before we can so much as move or shout back. Byron and Lylette are the first out of the kitchen, two gunshots in quick procession reverberating through the air as they disappear.

  “Backyard!” Felix yells, stopping us from pursuing. Several figures rush toward the house, aiming for different points of entry. Felix breaks a window with the butt of his rifle and starts shooting, the sound deafening in such an enclosed space. One goes down. Two. Leon takes aim at a third and misses, the man streaking past and disappearing around the side of the house.

  “Don’t let them breach!” Felix yells over his shoulder.

  Morgan turns me around to face him, his eyes wide and fearful. “Stay close,” he says. The words are barely past his lips before he pulls me forward. Breaking glass sounds from behind the first closed door along the hallway. Morgan wrenches it open and quickly flattens himself to the side, a hail of bullets flying through the doorway and into the opposite wall a moment later. I withdraw a small compact mirror from my coat and scout the room through its reflection. I nod and Morgan acts, taking the man out as he attempts to climb through the window.

  “Smart think—”

  “Down!” I shout, pushing him out the way as two figures, a man and a woman, spill into the far side of the hallway. My Glock is out and firing, catching the woman twice in the chest but missing the man completely who flings himself into the next room. Morgan and I duck into the bathroom they just vacated, desperate for cover from return fire. It doesn’t come. A thunderous shot comes from the room and the man falls back into the hallway, screaming in agony as he clutches his stomach which has been reduced to shredded meat. Lylette enters the room and finishes him off.

  “There’s too many of them!” she yells. “Scatter and regroup at the safehouse.” She disappears and charges toward the front of the house where the shooting is most focused. We leave our cover and bolt down the hall to warn the others. Bullets tear through the kitchen’s shattered windows, Felix, Leon, and Emily barely able to keep their advance at bay.

  “We’re scattering!” Morgan yells as we take cover behind the kitchen island.

  Felix curses. “Yard’s a no go. We have to push toward the front.”

  “We’ll lay cover.”

  The three of them crawl toward us, our bullets flying over their heads and into the yard. We stop firing as they reach us and dip out the kitchen, Morgan and Leon toppling over the fridge and a heavy bookcase at the entrance to slow pursuers. I jump over the faceless corpse at the end of the hall and enter one of the two connected living rooms. Through the shattered window figures dash across the yard in all directions, the sound of gunfire filling the air like cracks of thunder. A closer crack goes off and my ears begin to ring, forcing my attention away from the window. I turn in time to see an attacker dive behind an upturned table in the adjoining living room, a second attacker dead at its entrance. And still they come, two more entering from around the corner.

  “Second floor!” Felix yells, taking the stairs to his left. Emily and I are on his heels, Leon and Morgan keeping the trio of attackers at bay with several shots before following. We duck into a small office, Felix already flinging open the window.

  “You two first. Garden sheds onl—”

  He stops mid-sentence, drawing his gun as a huge crash sounds from the hallway. Leon and Morgan have been taken to the ground, each of them struggling against separate attackers. I pull my own gun, their twisting bodies making a clear shot impossible. Felix takes a step forward and stops dead before he can take a second, Morgan’s attacker subduing him in a chokehold with a gun against his head. Using Morgan as a shield he turns toward us, his face twisted in a feral snarl. Then his eyes go wide as they find Felix, the snarl disappearing from his quickly paling face.

  “Tio?” Felix asks, voice barely above a whisper.

  Everything clicks into place in that moment, leaving me stunned. His is a face I know but have never seen outside of photographs—the face we’ve scoured this town searching for. Frank Chavez: Felix’s uncle.

  “Mijo?” Frank asks in confusion.

  They stare at one another as if t
he other were made of smoke—a mere apparition of the men they knew rather than the men they’ve been shaped into. Frank opens his mouth and then whips his head to the right, the sound of approaching reinforcements reaching us over the grunts and labored breaths of Leon and his attacker.

  “Matador caught another!” shouts a voice from down the hall, triumphant cackles following the announcement.

  “A traves de la ventana. Ahora!” I don’t know what he says, but the urgency in his voice tells me there’s little time. And yet none of us move. “Confia en mi,” he adds, voice softer than before.

  His words are enough to uproot Felix, who turns and physically moves me and Emily toward the open window. Emily is first, her face tortured as she leaps out the window. Felix goes next landing beside her atop the snow-packed garden shed, looking back toward me expectantly. But I can’t force my feet past the ledge outside, every instinct I have at war with one another. I look back through the window, a third man now visible, helping Leon’s attacker finally subdue him.

  Emily and Felix yell my name from below, their pleas barely reaching me from over the conflicting voices in my head. I turn to Morgan, his face purpling from the chokehold he’s held in. But when his eyes meet mine they’re filled with a burning intensity, begging, pleading with me to jump, to save myself. He tries to yell, and though the word never makes it past the air trapped inside his chest, I can’t pretend I don’t see it: Please. Tears spill from my eyes as I force myself to look away—to heed his plea and leap off the edge.

  I hit the garden shed and scamper off into the neighboring yard. Felix leads us around the side of the house, bullets at our heels as we round the corner. We hit the street and Felix sets a blistering pace, dipping in and out of backyards and alleys to throw off any pursuers. Each stride feels like a betrayal, the blocks passing by in a blur through my tear filled eyes.

  Don’t think. Just run. Don’t think. Just run.

  The mantra plays over and over in my head, the words giving me something to focus on, distracting me from the poisonous thoughts plaguing my mind. I don’t know how far we’ve traveled or how long it’s taken, but it’s only once Felix leads us up the front steps that I recognize the bed and breakfast Lylette first brought us to. That night we were greeted by armed men and women, eyeing us with that open wariness that comes with meeting new people. Now, there is no armored guard. No eyes watch us. The place is completely deserted.

  “What the hell just happened?” Emily pants.

  I don’t answer nor does Felix. I have an idea, suspicions, but no more than that. And with Felix’s uncle somehow involved, I don’t want to put my foot in my mouth and say something I regret. As for Felix, he doesn’t look as if words will find him any time soon. He sits heavily, his head hung, face ashen. Meanwhile, Emily paces the length of the parlor, nerves and adrenaline forcing her to keep moving.

  Who were they? Have they been following us? Why did they attack?

  Questions pour out of Emily as she continues her pacing, none of which we can know for certain. Her breathing grows labored, her pacing turning into a stagger, feet unsteady.

  “Are you alright?” I ask, seriously concerned now.

  She turns and sways alarmingly, my arms reaching out just in time to keep her from hitting the floor. Felix curses and helps me guide her to the couch.

  “This isn’t happening; this isn’t happening; this isn’t happening.” She repeats the words over and over, her voice faint, breathing erratic.

  “It’s alright Em,” Felix says, kneeling so his eyes are even with hers. “It’s going to be alright. Just breathe with me. Just breathe.” He takes her hands in his as he begins a series of slow, deep breaths. Every several breaths he reminds her it’s going to be alright and to just keep breathing. After a minute or so her breathing returns to normal, though her eyes remain as flooded with tears as ever.

  “What are we going to do, Felix?” she asks. She sounds hopeless. Lost. So unlike the girl I know. Though to be fair, I’m feeling every bit as lost as she does.

  Felix looks away briefly and shakes his head. “I don’t know, Em,” he says. “None of this makes any sense to me. But they’re going to be alright. My uncle—” He pauses, angry tears leaking from his eyes as he works past the lump that’s risen in his throat. “My uncle said to trust him...that’s what I’m going to do.”

  I want to trust him too. I want to believe that the good man I’ve heard tales of still exists inside him. But I can still see the cold gleam which shone in his eyes as he used Morgan like a human shield. It’s burned into my mind.

  “These weren’t just some desperate scavengers,” I say. “They were AA. Had to be.” This fact isn’t lost on him. Yet he stares at me in defiance all the same, as if he already knows what I’m about to ask. “You know what they are—the things they do. And he’s one of them...how can you still trust him given all that?”

  “An answer I’d like to know myself.”

  I jump at the voice, not expecting it to sound so suddenly behind me. I turn to find Byron enter the room, face furious as he stalks toward Felix, gun drawn. Two of his men enter behind him, their guns trained on me and Emily. None of us make for our own weapons. We’d never draw them in time.

  “What the hell is this?” I ask.

  He ignores me, not even sparing me a glance as he continues to advance toward Felix. “Your uncle sure seems to be in good health. But I suppose that’ll happen when you run with thieves and murderers.” He stops feet from Felix. “Was anything you said real? Or have you been playing us this whole time?”

  Felix doesn’t flinch, not at the accusation nor the pistol aimed between his eyes. “Everything I said was true,” Felix says. “I haven’t seen my uncle since before the collapse. I have no idea how the AA found us, or why he was with them. But I know there’s a reason. He would never join them otherwise.”

  Byron scoffs. “Survival is a big motivator. Makes men do things they would never normally do. Like raiding a house at dawn—like killing others for what they have and taking prisoners to exploit. It’s not a stretch to think one might gain the trust of a group of survivors only to turn around and sell them out.”

  Emily snorts contemptuously. “Great theory, genius,” she says, her anger propelling her to her feet. “Only you’ve failed to notice one thing: Leon and Morgan were taken too! If we were in league with the Animals why the hell would they have taken them? For that matter, why wouldn’t we have joined them during the raid and helped take you in? You’re paranoid. I get that. But you need to think twice before you start throwing accusations you can’t take back.”

  Byron looks hard at Emily but has no response. Felix takes the opportunity to push the matter.

  “She’s right, Byron. We were as blindsided this morning as you were. You have to believe us.”

  For the first time, the anger and fury leaves Byron’s face, tears pooling in his eyes as the gun shakes in his hand.

  “Gary and Kathy are dead: gunned down not five feet from me. Lylette and Tony? Captured. Saw it happen and there wasn’t a fucking thing we could do about it. God knows what happened to our recruits. Dead or captured most likely. And all because of those bastard’s greed—bastards your uncle is involved with. How can I possibly trust you after all that’s happened?”

  “Because those bastards have taken people I love too, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to get them back. I know you feel the same. We can help each other. Isn’t that what we agreed to before they came? To help each other? But it’s like you said, we can’t do that without taking a leap of faith. I can’t take that leap for you. That’s something you have to decide for yourself.”

  Byron breathes heavily through his nose, eyes never leaving Felix as he considers his words. I can only imagine the flood of thoughts and emotions trapped inside him. Friends dead. Friends captured. And now being asked to trust when every instinct must be telling him not to.

  “And what if your uncle isn’t the man you remember?” B
yron asks. “What happens if he tries to stand in our way?”

  Felix is silent a moment as he considers this, face unreadable. But when he answers, his voice is unwavering.

  “Then I’ll put him down myself.”

  Chapter 24: (Morgan)

  Bound and beaten I sit in the hold of a metal box truck, Leon beside me, Lylette and Tony beside him. Across from us sit three of Lylette’s recruits, two of whom were brought in only this morning. Poor bastards. For months they’ve survived this cesspool of a town only to end up here, their chance at a better life slipping through their fingers just when it seemed within reach. I want to say something, anything that might keep some flicker of hope alive inside them. Without it, they might as well have died alongside those who fell during the raid. I can still smell the blood, see their broken bodies. But what haunts me now isn’t the dead, but the living. I close my eyes and I can hear my sobbing sister, can see the blood drain from Felix’s face. I see the torture in Lauren’s eyes before she leaped, and I bang my head against the metal wall in anguish. I always knew coming here was a risk. For Felix, I accepted it, knowing he would do the same for me. But for all the worst case scenarios I prepared for, this wasn’t one of them.

  For most of my life, Frank Chavez was like a second father to me. As far back as I can remember, my memories are filled with his easy smile and booming laugh. His spirit was infectious: a genuine love for life like few I’ve ever met. I remember the graduation party we threw at his farm—a massive, three-way celebration for Felix, Leon, and myself. At one point it was just the two of us, both of us deep in inebriation. We talked for a long while, about the past and future both. Much of the conversation is lost to time and the alcohol I consumed, but I’ll never forget what he called the true keys to happiness:

  “Family and friends,” he said. “Nothing else in this life matters without them.” I remember smiling and asking if he was sure there wasn’t anything else. He thought for a moment until a smile split his lips and he raised his cup in toast. “Well, a man can never go wrong with a cold beer.”