Fire From The Sky | Book 8 | Hell Fire

by Reed, N. C.

  He looked up from his blade to see Kurtis Montana walking out of Building One, tugging at his collar.

  “It'll get easier to wear after it's washed a couple times,” Zach called out, and Kurtis' doubt showed on his face. He clearly didn't care for the BDU clothing he'd been issued. Having completed his training, he had been worked into the security unit and this was his first day 'on the job'.

  “I'll believe it when I see... well, when I feel it,” Kurtis amended. “Why wear this here, anyway? I mean, I get wearing it out to fight and all, but why here, on the ranch?”

  “We've done way more fighting on this ranch than we have anywhere else,” Zach told him. “Probably better than two hundred bodies buried out there on the eastern fence line,” he pointed over his shoulder.

  “Yeah, I remember hearing that when we go here,” Kurtis agreed, conceding the point. “Forgot that, what with the fight in town and what not.”

  “Easy to do,” Zach agreed. “It really will soften up after it's washed. You should see if there's laundry being done today and slip the rest of your gear in with it. Go ahead and get it done.”

  “Good idea,” Kurtis nodded. “There was someone in the back there while Kandi was getting me this stuff,” he held up a duffle bag. “I think I'll go see.”

  “Just don't get too far,” Zach nodded, returning to his knife. “We could get called any time.” Zach didn't think it likely, but it was possible.

  “Just there and back,” Kurtis promised. “Either way, I'll be back in just a bit.”

  “Take your time, long as you're close,” Zach replied.

  -

  Leon Sanders sat down a bit heavier than usual, settling into his 'throne' on the front porch of his home. He had recovered from his respiratory ails of a month past, but could tell that he was failing. A long, tired breath escaped him as he looked out over the farm that had been his home for most of his life. He had ranged away a bit as a young man but, like his grandson, Leon had always returned here. Returned home. Five generations of Sanders had called this plot of ground home. He had added to it over the years, as had his son Gordon, but the original plot, the center of the ranch where all their homes were located, had been theirs since just after the Civil War. If he was aware of anything in the afterlife, Leon knew he would miss this place.

  There had been hardships here, of course. There was a small cemetery plot where his wife and two of his three children were buried, along with both of his parents, several of his ancestors and a sister who had died when still in single digits. A tear formed in his eye as he recalled his fair-haired little sister, so full of life, until she wasn't. Fine one day and sick the next it seemed, there had been nothing the doctor could do for her and she had perished in less than a week. Memories of her fighting for her little life still haunted him to this very day.

  He remembered good times here, too, however. He remembered bringing his wife home here, remembered the birth of their children. He also remembered burying her here, along with two of those three children. But he remembered watching those children take their first wobbling steps in this very house. Remembered their first words being spoken. Remembered so many good things that outweighed the bad, even the worst of what he'd lived through.

  There had been pain, but the life he had lived had been worth it. He could have avoided the pain of loss had he remained alone, but having married and produced children had been a risk worth taking as far as he was concerned. He hadn't known that at the time, of course, but learned it over the time he'd enjoyed with them. Learned the joy of being a husband, a father, a man with a family. Leon had done a great deal that he had cause to regret or at least be shamed by over the years, but never that. Despite the loss of his beloved wife and two children, he had never once regretted taking the risk of marriage and fatherhood.

  Leon had always been considered a rascal and Elizabeth's friends and family had done their best to convince her not to engage with Leon Sanders at all, let alone 'set up' with him in matrimony. Yes, he was fairly well set with his own farm, including a good house, but his reputation... that as another story altogether. They had filled her ears with all manner of tales concerning Leon Sanders, half of them nothing more than idle gossip and outright lies though the other half unfortunately having at least the basis of truth, but she had never wavered. Where others had seen him as someone to be avoided, Elizabeth had seen in him the potential to be the kind of husband and father she wanted in a man, and she had stuck to her guns.

  In return, Leon's loyalty to his sainted Elizabeth had never known any boundaries. He had fought to keep her safe and defend her honor, he had worked his fingers to the bone day after day to provide for her, and then their children, he had turned criminal when forced to do so in order to keep them fed and prevent themselves being run off their own land, helping others as well who likewise found themselves in such dangers. He had always found a grim, ironic humor in paying off mortgages with a bank's own monies. It had reminded him of tales he'd heard from his grandfather about outlaws doing the same things.

  Leon hadn't lived a simple life by any means, and he hadn't always lived an honest one, either. He'd never denied that to himself, regardless of whatever he'd told others. And of late that had weighed on him heavily. It hadn't stopped him from once more doing whatever it took to protect and provide for his family, and he'd never regret doing whatever it took to keep them safe, but his choices in the past hadn't always been driven by necessity. Over the years he had come to enjoy the more criminal activities he'd engaged in, and he knew that without them he would have gone out of his mind when his wife had left him alone so very long ago.

  She had developed pneumonia out of the blue and two weeks of labored breathing later was gone, Leon blubbering beside her as she lay on their bed, smiling at him even as she was suffering, telling him to remember her, but live in the present. As if he could even consider having another woman in the house he had shared with her in good times and bad. Despite what others had believed and often said, Leon Sanders had always been faithful to Elizabeth, and had remained so even after her death. There would never be another woman for him and he had never considered otherwise. Ever.

  He took a deep, ragged breath as he remembered her eyes closing for the last time. The feeling of an unseen blade slipping through his heart, never to leave it. He remembered watching her being lowered into the ground next to the son they had lost so early, holding to the two surviving brothers and assuring them all would be well, even when he felt sure that his life was ending along with hers.

  Two years later he would return to that same place with Gordon at his side as they laid yet another body in the ground. Leon had once more made promises to his surviving son that had sounded hollow and empty even to his own ears, but promises that he kept despite his own pain.

  In his grief, Leon had turned more fully to the criminal pursuits of his youth. Things he had ever taken precautions to separate from his family, especially his wife. In Leon's eyes, if there was ever a saint born to Calhoun County, it was the woman he had taken as a bride and dedicated his life to. He was certain she knew what he was doing, or at least some of what he was doing. She was far smarter than he was, and beyond his ability to beguile or mislead. But she had allowed him his fallacy of believing that she was in the dark about his activities.

  God bless her memory, she knew that he wanted nothing more than for her to be free and clear of his less than honest acts, and she had honored that by pretending she didn't know what he got up to when he was absent. She never questioned where the money came from, or what he'd done to get it, listening when he claimed he had sold something or traded for something, or whatever tale he gave her. Always a vague story that would never quite be a lie, allowing him to never be in a position where he lied to her. He never had and never would, and had she pressed him, he would have told her whatever she wanted to know. Having known that, Elizabeth smiled at him, told him how proud she was and how much she appreciated his hard work, but she
never pressed him.

  Late at night, however, he would hear her praying for him, for his soul, for forgiveness that he, himself would never ask for. Praying that his soul and his heart would be embraced by the Lord and one day carry him to the gates of Heaven itself. More than once he had leaned against the wall in their kitchen, listening to her heartfelt supplications on his behalf, tears that he would never allow anyone to see falling from his eyes as she offered up his name in her prayers, asking that his love of his family and his fellow man be enough to outweigh the deeds that he had done on their behalf.

  Sitting now on his 'throne', he could almost hear the banshee's wail in the softly blowing wind. Whatever possessed him he didn't know, but he leaned forward in his chair, head bowed, and began to speak.

  “Lord, Leon Sanders here,” he said quietly but firmly. “Reckon you ain't heard from me in a while. Like as not you probably don't want to, either. Can't blame you for that at all. You've granted me a might longer here than most, certainly more than my three score and ten, and I'm grateful for that. I've been allowed to see my grandchildren grow, and now my great-grandchildren. I was here to help as I could through this event that has crippled the modern world, and I thank you that I was able to help them prepare. I ain't made the best decisions or judgments during all this, mind you, but I'd like to think as I sit here that I've done more good than harm. I imagine we'd all like to think that, of course, and I am not so arrogant that I'll just decide on my own that I did. Reckon I'll leave that to you, and to my family. Still, a man can hope.”

  “I thank you for my wife, Elizabeth, and the years we had together,” he felt tears stream down his face at the mention of her name. “I have always wished we'd had longer together, though I never blamed you for the lack of years. I readily admit that I've been envious of others who had so much longer together, and I'll have to ask your forgiveness and forbearance for that, knowing that envy and jealousy are frowned upon by the Word. I hope you can understand my wanting more time with her, being as you took her into your care knowing what kind of wonderful woman you had created in her.”

  “We lost two children at a young age, and again, I never laid no blame for that on you. Children were still passing from this world even with all the modern medical marvels we had before the Storm. It happens. Death is a part of life and we have to accept that. I do, however, thank you for the time spent with Leland Robert and Clayton Jerome before they, too, were gathered into your care. I'd like to believe, again, that I was a good father to them in the time I had. Hopefully they thought so as well.”

  “I've done a good-sized load of wrong in my life, Lord. No sense in denying it, so I won't. Some I did because there was a need that couldn't be met another way, and some I did because there were people that needed to be looked after when they couldn't do it themselves. I've taken more than one man's life out of necessity, and one or two out of immense satisfaction I admit. Men that maybe hadn't wronged me personally, but had wronged others nonetheless and... well, reckon I took it on myself to take your vengeance on 'em for myself. That was arrogant, and my only defense is that I thought it needed doing at the time. It feels wrong of me to ask forgiveness of it, knowing that I did it on purpose, but... Elizabeth, she... she always said that the Lord, You, could and would forgive a penitent heart of a multitude of sins. Reckon I've got the multitude part down pat.”

  “So Lord, happens you're willing, I'd be obliged for your forgiveness. I learned when I was young that none of us really deserve it, but instead we're granted it through the grace of your Son, and the blood He shed for us. I know what it means to lose a child, Lord, so I know that losing Yours had to hurt, knowing He'd done nothing to deserve it. I'm sorry you had to go through that. Both of You. I reckon we all should be a good deal more thankful than we are. I'm sorry for that too, for all of us.”

  “I know I'm soon to be leaving here, and I think I've put things in decent order, more or less. Leaving a lot on my youngest grandson, but I can't see the potential in none of the rest, not for what's to come. He's had a rough road in life already, Lord, and I figure his road will be as rough or more so in the years ahead. I ask you to watch over him and give him the strength he needs to see it done. Let him and Lainie have a good life, Lord. Let them have the kind of love for one another that Elizabeth and I shared, and let them have it longer if you can see your way through to do it.”

  “Keep the rest of them safe and cared for, Lord, though I expect you'll use Clayton for that. Please don't use him completely up, Lord, and let him live and love at least a bit. He's a good boy, for all his stubbornness, which I have to admit he probably got from me. Sorry about that.”

  “Help them all to stick together, Lord,” Leon's voice lowered to a whisper. “Help them be strong for each other and get through whatever they have to face. I know that Clayton knows that the worst is still to come, but I doubt the rest have figured it out as yet. Please help them get through it as best they can.”

  “I know that You'll do what is best, despite what we may ask for, and honestly a man can't ask for more than that, especially where his family is concerned. So that's what I'll finish with. Let what's best for them all be what comes, Lord. In Your Son's name, Amen.”

  Finished, Leon slowly straightened, then leaned back in his chair. He didn't bother to wipe away the tears that had trailed down his face, ignoring them in favor of looking over his legacy yet again.

  “They'll be alright,” Leon promised himself, nodding firmly. “They'll fight and fuss once in a while, and kick and cuss too, but they'll be alright. Reckon they'll miss their Old Man though, won't they now,” he chuckled to himself.

  Hungry all at once, Leon went to lever himself out of his chair, leaning on his staff. Before he could get to his feet, he felt a shooting pain in his left arm, followed by a similar pain in his chest, this one worse by far. Gasping in pain and for a sudden lack of air, Leon sat back in his chair, his right hand instinctively going to his chest as if he could somehow ease the pain.

  “Now?” he gasped quietly. “Is it now, then? After all this?”

  Suddenly his mind cleared, and despite the pain he could focus. He smiled slightly, even as his chest felt as if it were caving in.

  “Why not now?” he asked the air around him. “Reckon now is as good as any other time, ain't it?” He looked across the scene before him one last time, as if trying to make sure he would always remember it. He could see Gordy headed for the stables, likely to ride and check the herd. Looking tiny beside him was Samantha Walters, going with him so they could share that time. He figured them two would be wed soon, and suddenly hated that he would miss it.

  He could see Leanne carrying a basket and a backpack to the tower behind Gordon's house and chuckled painfully as she struggled to climb the ladder to the top. When she had fallen, she'd done it hard and all at once. Heath Kelly came from a good family and would make her a fine husband, assuming it got that far.

  He could see his son, Gordon, working on a tractor outside the shed, tools laid out around him. He wished for one more minute to say good-bye to Gordon, but knew it wasn't to be. He'd have to be satisfied that Gordon knew, despite Leon's ornery attitude, there was nothing in his heart but love for his son. Gordon had been the very model of a good son, and Leon had never felt he deserved him, but he had always been proud to have him.

  In the distance he could see Abby and Ronny, working on a bulldozer. He'd always thought Alicia had chosen well, as had Robert. Leon had always been fortunate, surrounded by a good and loving family. Strong grandchildren and now great-grandchildren, no man could ask for better. He had been truly blessed, whatever pain he might have endured in his lifetime.

  But now, his time was ended. He knew it and didn't bother to fight. He was tired and he missed his wife. He had been an asset to Clayton when this misadventure began, but was now a burden. No one would ever say it or even admit it, but Leon knew that his failing health made him a burden on his family, and he simply would not have
that. They had more than enough on them as it was, and he wouldn't add to that.

  He leaned back into the chair, ignoring the pain as he settled into his throne for the last time. Closing his eyes, he waited.

  “They'll be fine,” he managed to whisper. “Just... fine....”

  It would be an hour later when Janice would find him, checking to see if he needed anything before taking her turn in the radio room.

  CHAPTER TWO

  No one had dared to make a big deal over Leon's funeral. Most figured if they had, he would haunt them for it. He had left a will and instructions that he be buried simply, laid alongside the wife whom he had missed so much.

  Gordon had spoken quietly of his father, of growing up with him, the two of them alone for much of that time, and the labor that Leon had put forth not only for their farm but for others around them in need. He made no effort to fight or hide his tears, and no one expected him to.

  “My father was well known as an ornery old cuss, famous for it for miles around in any direction,” Gordon chuckled thickly as he gave a simple eulogy. “What wasn't known as much was that he was one of the most charitable people this area had ever seen. Many a cook pot on many a family stove had food in it because he saw to it that it did. He never made any mention of it, never asked for credit or even for thanks. He just did it. Told me when I asked, 'it needed doing, boy', and that was all there was to it, for him.”

  “Were it not for him and his efforts, we'd not be in as good a shape as we are right now, either,” Gordon continued. “I don't know where he got the money and like as not, I don't want to,” he paused at the small flutter of laughter at that, “but we're more than fortunate to have had it, and for him to have spent it preparing us for all this.”