Gateway To Chaos (Book 3): Seeking Justice

by Payne, T. L.

  The three sets of tracks converged just across a wet weather creek.

  "It looks like someone snatched him," Gage said, pointing to the trail of footprints and drag marks in the snow.

  "Looks like it."

  "I'll go tell the others," Gage said as he turned back towards the house.

  "No. There's no time. We have to follow them before they get too far away," Brandon said.

  "What do you think they plan to do with him?" Gage asked as he followed Brandon through the woods.

  "Extract information about our group, most likely. They probably want to know how many of us there are, how many guns we have, maybe how much food there is at the Wards’," Brandon said.

  "They're gonna hurt him?"

  "You think he'll give all that up willingly?" Brandon asked.

  Gage hesitated a bit too long.

  "Not right away."

  "Then we better hurry up and get to him before he spills his guts," Brandon said, stepping up his pace.

  They followed the tracks up one hill and down another. Gage was lagging farther and farther behind, making Brandon regret bringing him along. He was grateful that his mother hadn't allowed him to sit in front of the television playing video games all day. She'd made sure that he was involved in sports and other outdoor activities. His dad took him hunting and fishing.

  The terrain surrounding the Wards’ farm was hilly and rocky. He doubted they'd be able to get anything to grow in the soil here. His grandmother had a beautiful garden in Georgia. She'd grown award-winning vegetables. Her soil looked nothing like this. It did look like the Wards had a small garden, but that would be nowhere near enough to feed all of their group and certainly not enough to put some back for next winter. Had he resigned himself to the fact that it might take that long for the lights to come back on?

  Brandon stopped and leaned against a tree, waiting for Gage to catch up. He stared up at the sun. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen it shining. He closed his eyes and relished its warmth. He hoped that it finally breaking through the cloud cover signaled warmer temperatures and the thawing of all the snow. It has to break sometime.

  A few feet away, Gage was bent over at the waist with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Glancing over, Brandon asked, "Are you ready to climb that hill now?"

  "As ready as I'll ever be," Gage said, straightening.

  They had to stop again at the top of the hill, but it did give Brandon the chance to locate the tracks leading down the hill on the other side to the southwest.

  "Which way?" Gage asked.

  Brandon pointed and took off down the hill. He stopped at the edge of a clearing, bent and studied the tracks, then stood.

  Looking back over his shoulder, he said, "I think they're in that house over there."

  "Where?"

  "See it just past that barn?"

  Gage squinted and sighed heavily. "Are we crossing that field?"

  "No, we'll need to stay in the tree line and make our way around there to the barn."

  "That sucks," Gage said, rubbing his red cheeks.

  Brandon hoped he'd make it. He knew one thing: they all needed to build up their stamina if they were going to raise food, hunt, fish, and make it without modern conveniences. Modern conveniences. Whoever called them that had never tried living without them for very long. Modern necessities? For folks like them, maybe so.

  He knew the odds of his group making it without knowing how to find and grow their own food, how to take care of medical issues, and defend themselves weren't all that great. But they had to try. From what he'd seen so far, everyone in the group were fighters. Their will to survive would keep them pursuing every chance to make it.

  "Okay. Let's go get Tom."

  They hugged the tree line and slowly made their way around the west side of about an eighty-acre rectangular pasture bound by a pipe fence. Brandon didn't see any animals in the pasture. His uncle kept cows behind heavy duty fencing like that.

  As they neared the old wood barn, Brandon lifted his rifle and peered through its scope, scanning the barnyard for signs of a dog or guard geese. He was more concerned about geese. Those devils could be vicious. He saw no animals near the barn and no signs in the snow that there had been any recently. He was relieved to not have to worry about a mean bull or ornery buck goat chasing them around.

  "We're going to cross right here. Run as fast as you can to the corner of that barn. I'll cover you," Brandon said, bringing his rifle up and scanning the barn one more time.

  Gage placed a bandaged hand on the top pipe and threw a leg over the fence. Once on the other side, he looked back to Brandon before crossing the field. "Are you sure they're not in the barn?"

  Brandon pointed to his left. "The tracks continue on to that house."

  Gage nodded, then turned and ran to the corner of the barn. He placed his back to the wall and put his hands on his knees. Brandon slung his rifle around to his back, climbed over the fence, and sprinted for the barn.

  “Are you going to make it?" Brandon asked.

  Gage was still gasping for air. "Yeah. Man, I wish I'd never taken up smoking."

  "I bet," Brandon said as he pulled the rifle up and scanned the area between the barn and the house. There were lots of footprints coming and going from the home. There was no way of knowing how many people were inside or where they were holding Tom.

  Brandon weighed the odds. There were so many unknowns that it made it impossible to assess the risk properly. But if he did nothing, Tom's odds were grim. He thought about the rest of the group. If Tom told them about them, it would put all their lives at risk. He was frustrated with Tom for getting himself caught. They all had so much to learn in this new world. Brandon hoped they'd get lucky until their skill levels grew. He hoped they all were fast learners.

  "Stay here and catch your breath. I'm going to see if I can get closer and find out where they're keeping Tom."

  "You sure you want to go alone? I'm okay. Really."

  Brandon looked down at Gage's hands. Gage followed his gaze.

  "What! They don't prevent me from running."

  Brandon raised an eyebrow. "You don't have a weapon. If something goes down over there, you can't help. I need you here. I may need help to get Tom home."

  Gage's eyes widened. Brandon wasn't sure which one of those statements concerned Gage the most. Even if Gage had a weapon, he wasn't sure he'd be able to use it with his injured hands.

  "All right. Wait here. I'll be back in a minute," Brandon said.

  He needed a plan, but frankly, he couldn't think of anything. There wasn't time to think things through. He had to act and act fast. That seemed like all they'd been doing since the lights had gone out. Even when they'd taken the time to form a plan, they encountered too many obstacles to fully execute them. They needed to get out in front of this. At some point, they had to be proactive instead of reactive. When he made it back to the Wards’, he would call a meeting and try to work out some sort of defensive and offensive strategy.

  Between the barn and the house were several smaller outbuildings. One looked to have once been a chicken coop. The coop's run was in bad shape, and he doubted it had held chickens in recent years. Brandon covered the distance between the barn and the first outbuilding in a few seconds. He stopped and scanned the back of the house. Brandon caught movement in a large window near the back door. He ducked, afraid they might have seen him. Crouched beside the coop, Brandon drew in a deep breath and let it out before slowly peering around the corner. The figure was gone. At least he knew they were still inside. He only wished he knew how many of them there were.

  Brandon evaluated the distance to the side of the house, judging it to be at least fifty feet. It was risky. If anyone was looking outside, they would see him approaching. He'd need to be quick and make for a hard target.

  Running a hand across his brow, Brandon drew in a deep breath and stood. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and took off at a sprint toward the hou
se. He ran as fast as he could in a zigzag pattern, believing that a moving target was harder to hit. At least that was what he'd seen in all the old war movies he'd watched with his grandpa.

  Brandon reached the back corner of the old ranch-style house and dropped to a crouch. He scanned the side yard. He saw no one. He listened. He could hear faint voices inside the house, but he couldn't make out how many were speaking. Brandon moved to the window by the back door where he'd seen someone moments earlier. His heart raced. He fought back a wave of self-doubt. There wasn't time to think about the fact that he wasn't a police officer or soldier or that he had no tactical skills other than what little he knew from video games and movies.

  He pressed himself against the house and slowly leaned to see inside. He quickly withdrew when he spotted people. He'd counted three. He couldn't be sure, but he thought one might be Tom. Brandon took a chance and took a second glance.

  Tom was seated in a chair facing the window. A tall, thin man stood over him. An older man sat in a chair nearby. Brandon surveyed the room, looking for weapons or other people. When his gaze returned to Tom, their eyes met. Tom had seen Brandon. The man in the chair quickly turned and followed Tom's gaze. Brandon dropped below the window and took off around the side of the house. When Brandon reached the front, he heard a creaky door open and shut. There was no doubt that they could follow his tracks around the house. He would need to make his stand.

  Brandon looked for cover. He needed something to conceal himself behind. An old pickup with multi-colored door panels sat in the driveway. Without hesitation, Brandon sprinted for the vehicle. He ran to his right and dropped by the pickup's left front tire. He braced the rifle's barrel on the hood of the truck and drew in a breath, let it out slowly, and placed his finger inside his rifle's trigger guard.

  "Drop the rifle," Brandon said as the figure appeared around the corner of the house.

  The tall, thin man raised his hands above his head but didn't drop his rifle.

  "I said drop the rifle," Brandon repeated.

  "I'm not going to do that, mister. If I do, you're going to shoot me."

  The man didn't look much older than Brandon. He studied him. He didn't appear frightened. He seemed much too calm for the circumstances. That unnerved Brandon.

  "I just came for my friend. You let him go and I won't shoot you," Brandon said.

  "You're with Tom?" the man asked.

  Brandon was taken aback. He said it as if he and Tom were old buddies.

  "Yes. What do you want with him?"

  The man started to lower his hands, and Brandon twitched the barrel of his rifle toward him.

  "Keep them up."

  The man raised them back into the air, and a smile crossed his face.

  "We just needed to ask him a few questions. We didn't hurt him. We…"

  "Let him go. Now," Brandon barked.

  "All right. All right," the man said. "We were just finishing up our conversation with him, anyway."

  The front door to the house opened, and Tom stepped out onto the porch.

  "Brandon?"

  "Tom? You all right?" Brandon asked, his focus now on Tom.

  "I'm fine."

  The older man stepped out and stood behind Tom.

  "These are JJ's dad and brothers," Tom said, pointing behind him.

  A third man stepped out and raised his rifle. He didn't point it at Brandon but made his point clear. Brandon let his rifle hang by its sling.

  "JJ's family? How?" Brandon asked.

  "We've been searching for my daughter since the lights went out," the older man said.

  Brandon cocked his head.

  "Tom here says she traveled with you and your group out of St. Louis."

  "How'd you find us?" Brandon asked.

  The older man lowered his rifle and stepped up next to Tom. "We followed her here several days ago, but we were hours too late. We've learned that the old woman that she'd been staying with had gone to St. Louis. I doubted that she would go near the city under these circumstances.”

  "He thought that she'd sit with her vehicle and wait for us like she'd been told to do, but I knew. She's stubborn and hardheaded," the thin man said.

  He'd lowered his hands and taken a few steps closer to the truck. Even though it seemed that the situation had been resolved, Brandon was reluctant to let his guard down. He didn't know JJ's family. For all he knew, they could think he or his group had done something to her.

  "She told us that she and the dude she was traveling with dropped the old woman off at a relative's house," Brandon said.

  "That's what I told them," Tom said.

  "And now she's taken off with the guy?" JJ's father asked.

  "Scott. Yes, he was taking her to your house," Brandon said.

  At that moment, he was glad he wasn't Scott. The man didn't look all too pleased to have them together.

  "They're in a Suburban?" the shorter of the brothers asked, stepping in front of Tom and descending a short set of steps.

  Brandon turned toward him and nodded.

  "Yeah. It's an older Suburban. They left around dark last night, so they should be at your house by now."

  The man turned and looked up at JJ's father. As he did, a bullet struck him, and he fell to his knees. A second round whizzed by Brandon and slammed into the front of the pickup before Brandon's brain could register what was happening. He dove to the ground and crawled back to the left side of the truck. The taller man was already there. The man popped up and returned fire over the hood, then ducked back down by the tire.

  "What the hell?" Brandon said, pulling his rifle up. "Are they with you?"

  "No."

  "Who the hell are they then?"

  Brandon fired in the direction he thought the rounds were coming from. He wasn't aiming really, just shooting to keep them from firing at Tom, JJ's father, and the injured brother. Rounds came from Tom's direction. Brandon slid toward the front of the truck and peered around the bumper. Tom was holding the rifle while JJ's father was dragging his son through the door to the house.

  The thin man moved toward the back of the truck, stood, and fired down the driveway.

  "Run toward the back of the house," he yelled.

  Brandon sprinted to the corner, turned, and waited for JJ's brother to join him.

  "Go! Go! Go!" the man yelled as he ran toward Brandon.

  When they reached the back corner of the house, the man stopped and scanned the back yard and pasture. He pulled the rifle up.

  "No!" Brandon said. "I have a friend by the barn. He doesn't have a weapon."

  The man hesitated before lowering the rifle. "He damn near got himself shot standing there in the middle of the field like that."

  Brandon stepped in front of the man. Gage was running toward the house. Brandon hurried toward him.

  "Gage. What the hell are you doing? You want to get yourself killed?"

  "I heard gunfire."

  "And what the hell are you going to do about it without a weapon. Are you stupid?"

  "I thought you and Tom were in trouble."

  When Brandon reached Gage, he grabbed him by the collar and ran with him to the back corner where he'd left JJ's brother.

  "Who's this?" Gage asked, staring up at the man.

  "This is JJ's brother," Brandon said.

  "Really? I'm Gage. Good to meet you."

  "Aiden," the thin man said as he leaned forward, peering around the building.

  "Did you see anyone back here?" Aiden asked without turning to look at Gage.

  "No."

  "I'm going to run to the back door. Cover me," Aiden said, and he took off running.

  Brandon stepped forward and scanned the field and tree line. He saw no movement.

  "Come on. Come on. Hurry!” Aiden called from the open door.

  Chapter 6

  St. Francois County, Missouri

  February 23rd, approximately 9:00 a.m.

  Scott stared at the light coming from the slit u
nder the door. He thrashed and twisted uselessly against his restraints. Bile rose into his throat as the plastic ties cut into his wrist. He was on his side with his legs drawn up to his chest. The ice-cold bare floor beneath him was slowly sucking all the heat from his body. He was shivering uncontrollably. No matter how hard he tried, Scott couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering.

  Scott felt sleep pulling on him, but he knew where that would lead. He knew that he would die of hypothermia if he fell asleep. He had to force himself to stay awake. He had to keep moving his body to generate heat. It hurt to move. But he did so anyway. He was in survival mode. He had to make it. He had to get to Lily.

  To stay awake, Scott recited the route he would take to Florida.

  Highway 60 to Paducah then…

  His eyelids were so heavy.

  A blood-curdling scream jolted him awake. He wiggled and twisted until he was finally able to sit up. Another scream and he could tell it was coming from nearby—maybe down a hall. A third time, and he knew it was a woman.

  JJ. It’s JJ. She’s screaming.

  Scott got to his knees and tried to stand. His feet were bound. He lay on his side and tried to scoot over to the door. He needed to see what he was bound with. He rolled over and sat up, his knees bent to his chest. In the light from under the door, Scott could see that he was constrained with plastic zip ties. Luckily not the law enforcement type. Scott tried to spread his feet apart. The ties cut into his ankles.

  The screams continued. Scott had never felt so helpless in all his life. He wanted to cover his ears to keep from hearing her agony.

  What are they doing to her?

  He rolled onto his side, curled into a ball, and rocked back and forth.

  How stupid. How stupid to get myself caught.

  Utter despair overwhelmed him. He'd let JJ down. He'd let Lily down. There was nothing he could do now to save either of them. Scott considered letting sleep and the cold take him. He could just let go, and his body temperature would fall. It would be painless. He'd just go to sleep.

  The door burst open, and shadowed figures ran in. Hands grabbed him, and he was dragged out of the room. A large man picked him up and dropped him on the floor inside a brightly-lit room. Scott rolled onto his side, trying to catch his breath. Work lights like he’d used hanging drywall sat in the corner, pointing toward a figure in the middle of the room. He hadn’t heard a generator, but there must have been one. The lights were so bright it hurt his eyes. He shut them, but JJ shrieked, and Scott’s eyes popped open. He saw bare feet tied to chair legs. Scott followed, a pair of legs up to bloody hands that dangled at the sides of the oak chair. Blood dripped from her fingertips. Scott's heart lurched. He didn't want to see her face. He couldn't.