A Powerless World | Book 2 | Survive The Lawless

by Hunt, Jack

  Numerous stalled vehicles had been rolled into place to create a barrier around his home. There were large sharp pieces of construction rebar jammed into the ground in areas where he couldn’t get a vehicle in place. Like straws in a cup, sticking out in every direction.

  “He did this,” Eva said. The lower windows were barred and in front of the rear and front entrance were more metal spikes inserted into large chunks of cement to stop anyone from trying to charge into his house. The only way Colby could see a means of entry or exit was through one of the upper windows, but that would require some effort to reach. Colby had a feeling that by the time someone managed to get that close, they were already dead. He noted several bodies nearby, rotting in the afternoon sun. A vulture picked away at sinewy flesh then soared away.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “I told you. He’s loco.”

  “No, he’s scared. There’s a difference.”

  Eva stopped short of the neighbor’s house. “This is as far as I go.”

  Colby nodded and pressed on toward a vehicle. “Hector!” His voice vanished in the wind. He called out again but got no answer. He would have to get closer to be heard. Making his way over to the first line of vehicles, he was about to slide over the hood of a black Ford sedan when a three-round burst forced him back behind the vehicle. From across the way, he looked at Eva who had positioned herself at the corner of the neighbor’s home. “I told you. Crazy.”

  She twirled a finger around at the side of her head then pointed up.

  Colby tried to get a bead on the guy without getting shot.

  He could just make out a rifle barrel protruding from one of the upper windows, a figure moving back and forth. “Hector. My name is…” He paused for a second, unsure whether to believe what Matthew and Delores had said. “My name is Colby. I mean you no harm. I just want to talk.”

  “And that requires you getting close?”

  “I need your help.”

  “Who are you?”

  Colby looked at Eva. “Just a stranger.”

  “Means nothing to me. I told that spider guy if he or his goons come near this place again what I would do.”

  “I’m not with them. Look, I’m searching for a woman and a dog. And a kid here is trying to get her sister back.”

  “And how’s that my problem?”

  “It’s not,” he said, reaching up and using a broken side mirror to get a better look at him. Colby tilted it and saw the window. Hector was wearing a navy blue baseball cap, he had a round face, couldn’t have been a day over fifty. Hispanic, maybe? He could only see him from the chest up. “We could sure use your help. I’m told you worked at the hotel.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So you know it better than anyone else. Please. Can we talk?”

  “We are.”

  “Inside.”

  “Nope. No one gets in.”

  There was a long pause.

  “I understand. Can’t be easy being locked in there. You got enough supplies?”

  “That’s none of your damn business.”

  Colby sighed and ran a hand over his head. He was thinking of leaving, but a glance at that kid and he couldn’t. Besides, there was a chance that whoever this woman was that he’d been seen with, maybe she could help him remember, maybe she was family. Frustrated, he groaned. “Look. I’m coming out. Unarmed. Okay?” It was a ballsy move. A trigger-happy guy like him could see it as a trap and get antsy and make a hasty decision, but if all he’d witnessed was deadly force, he wouldn’t respond to anyone armed. “Don’t shoot me.”

  He unslung his rifle, lifted it so he could see, and then laid it down. He did the same with his handgun and placed that down before rising. Colby held up his shirt and turned so the guy could get a better look at him, then he waited a moment or two, hoping to God that he didn’t shoot.

  Eva stared with bulging eyes as if he was crazy.

  “I’m going to approach.”

  “No. Stay right there.”

  “Hector, c’mon man.”

  “How do you know my name? Huh?”

  He was testing him. He wanted to be sure.

  “I told him!” Eva shouted, appearing from around the corner with her hands raised. Colby watched the guy turn the gun toward her. “I told him. Okay?”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Roger Nixon’s daughter.”

  “Nixon from the Village Market?”

  “That’s the one,” she said.

  “What are you still doing here? Where’s your parents?”

  Her gaze bounced between them. “Dead. Both of them are dead.”

  Colby kept his hands up while observing the interaction. Now it was beginning to make sense. Her parents ran the only grocery store in Santa Nella. Upping and leaving their livelihood behind, or allowing someone like Bill Manning to take what they had, would have been out of the question. “They’ve got my sister.”

  She walked out, joining Colby.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. But there’s nothing I can do. You’d best be getting out of here. They patrol the area.”

  Colby chimed in. “We know. Listen, all we need is to know a little more about that hotel, the entry and exit points, and a moment of your time. That’s all.”

  There was a long stretch of silence, then a few more specific questions were tossed their way before he removed the gun from the window and looked down at them.

  Hector eyed the street.

  “Wait there,” he said before disappearing. A moment later the garage door groaned as it rose. Hector stepped out, shifted a few of the metal rebar posts out of the way, then beckoned them in. As soon as they were inside, he brought the garage door down.

  Keeping his gun on Colby, he gestured for them to enter the house and go into the kitchen and take a seat on the stools. As soon as they were comfortable, Hector peppered Colby with questions. “Where are you from?”

  “L.A. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Welcome to my world. If the people I met earlier were telling the truth, four days ago I arrived here, heading north. Presumably, I broke down and tried to get some gas. The rest I don’t know. They said my name is Colby Riker. I’m not sure if that’s true as I was found half-dead by a family in a field. I remembered a tattoo of a spider. That’s it. The man who found me told me his son is Bill Manning, the same guy that goes by the name Spider. Then, the men I shot in town said...”

  He thrust a hand out. “Hold on a second. Shot? Who did you kill?”

  Eva was quick to answer that. “Assholes. He killed three of them.”

  “Hmmm.” Hector leaned back against the wall. “And why would you do that?”

  “To avoid getting killed myself.”

  “Good enough reason. Go on.”

  “They said I was with a woman and a dog. You know anything about that?”

  “No, but I do know those men are ruthless. If you had a sister or a friend,” he said, “they’re as good as gone.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I don’t know for sure but I’ve seen the way they treat people who resist. My neighbors were killed, so was their daughter. She wouldn’t go with them peacefully.”

  “What did you do at the hotel?”

  “I worked in maintenance.”

  “So you know where the keys to the rooms are?”

  “Possibly,” he said, adjusting his grip on his rifle.

  “When was the last time you left this house?”

  “None of your damn business,” he replied.

  Colby shrugged. “Look, if you can give me a layout of the place, that would help.”

  “They’re all electronic. The keys. Though I imagine if that fool is using the hotel the rooms are open. Wait here,” he said. Hector walked out of the room and returned a moment later with a large pad of paper and a pen. He b
egan to outline the building on paper. “The whole place used to be a mission run by Jesus Monroy. There are two tiers. Lower rooms and upper balcony level rooms. Chances are if they’re holding anyone there, they’ll keep them up here.” He looked up at him. “Did you really kill three?”

  The topic shift back to the three men somehow interested him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did any of those three have a tattoo of a dragon on their neck?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  He pulled a face as if he was impressed, then without missing a beat he continued. “Look, this map isn’t going to mean a hill of beans to you if you can’t get close enough. I’ll help you but on one condition.”

  “What?”

  “You come across a guy with a dragon tattoo. He’s mine.”

  “Why?”

  “He killed my dog.”

  Colby glanced down on the kitchen floor at a silver bowl he’d seen when he entered. Few things pissed a dog owner off more than cruelty. As he stared at the bowl, a flashback hit him, hard and clear. A dog barked then rubbing its nose against his leg. “Kane.”

  Hector frowned. “What?”

  “I think I own a dog.”

  “Well, if you did, I’m afraid, my friend, he’s probably dead like mine.”

  Colby looked down at the bowl.

  The memories were still vague, but the name was familiar, the emotion he felt when he saw that image in his head was strong. It was his dog. Deep down he knew it even if the memories weren’t fully there.

  He balled his fist at the thought of anyone harming him.

  “You’ll stay here while we go,” Hector said to Eva.

  “I’m not staying here.”

  “We can’t take you.”

  “Screw that.”

  Hector looked at him for support.

  “Hey, she’s a fiery one. I would just go with it,” Colby added.

  He shrugged and walked out of the room, returning with a heavy bag that he dropped on the counter and unzipped. Inside were two more AR-15s, and several handguns, along with ammo.

  “Where did you get all that?”

  “From the two I killed. We’ll head out as soon as it’s dark.”

  TEN

  Jessie

  Humboldt County

  He was furious. As much as he wanted to blame Alby, they weren’t the ones that started this. It wasn’t even Ryland’s death that had been the catalyst. It had been the actions of his ancestors, his father, and grandfather before him.

  When had the feud truly begun? He had no idea. All he’d ever known was a life of being at odds with the Stricklands. It wasn’t like they were always at each other’s throats. Sometimes it amounted to nothing more than verbal jabs. Until the age of eleven, he thought the rumors of murder were folklore. They weren’t, and now they were back at it, exchanging blood for blood.

  Jessie carried his sister’s naked, limp body wrapped in a blanket into the kitchen. Dry blood caked his hands. His eyes were red, swollen from all the tears he’d shed on the way home from Garberville. He’d gone to speak with Alby to discuss this very thing — the repercussions of their actions — and now he was staring at the consequence.

  His mother would say it was unavoidable. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. It’s the way it had always been on the mountain. Now he looked down at the face of someone he cared for, the one person who was pure, untainted by the stupidity of their world.

  She had a chance of escaping it, starting afresh like his brother, Colby.

  Not now.

  The family was around the table that afternoon, a table full of dried meat, fruit, vegetables, and soup, all the things they had taken for granted, many of the items taken from the store. “Momma,” he said.

  Martha glanced over and dropped her cutlery, almost tripping as she rushed toward him. “What happened?”

  He tried to spit the words out but they wouldn’t form.

  He’d asked the same question when someone in town gave him the heads-up. As his mother peppered him for answers, his mind slipped back to an hour earlier. After leaving Alby’s he’d wanted to test the waters with the locals, see if anyone was pointing the finger at them over the death of the Stricklands.

  He’d approached Nate West, a guy he’d known from high school, someone who at one time had been a close friend, a confidant that understood what it meant to live in the gray of life. His girlfriend worked for the city and was currently serving as part of the council in Eureka. If anyone would know, it would be him.

  He’d met him at his house on the north side, not far from where Miriam was found. “Have you heard anything?”

  “Were you responsible, Jessie?”

  “Of course not. But you know how these things go.”

  “Look, all I’ll say is you should steer clear of the Stricklands.”

  They were in the middle of a conversation when a group of young kids came barreling down the road, sprinting as fast as they could. “Jessie. Jessie. You need to come quick.”

  “What’s up?”

  “It’s Miriam.”

  That’s all they said. That’s all they knew.

  While his family’s ties and roots in the city had given them many enemies, they still had many friends. Where most looked upon them as criminals caught up in the black market, others knew better. Despite his mother’s flaws, she loved her community, she loved the people, she believed in helping those less fortunate.

  At least she made him believe that.

  Maybe it was because she knew that eventually there would come a day like this when the government would fail, and the only thing people would remember were those who treated them well.

  Jessie hopped on his ATV and had one of the kids get on the back. He took him about five minutes down the road. When he swerved onto Timber Lane, a small crowd had gathered, locals only. No cops. No Stricklands. He got this sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, an overwhelming sense of doom. Faces turned his way, and that’s when he saw Hazel crouched beside a blanket covering someone.

  At first, he thought it was one of his brothers or his uncle, but as he got off the ATV and made his way through the crowd that parted like the Red Sea, his eyes widened. He hadn’t seen her battered face, only clothes strewn in the bushes. Jessie immediately recognized them.

  “No. No. NO!” he bellowed as he dropped to his knees beside her.

  “I told your mother something like this would happen,” Hazel said. “She wouldn’t listen. She never listens. Well, now she will.” Hazel sobbed, holding Miriam’s limp head.

  “Is she…?”

  “No. She’s alive. We need to get her to a hospital.”

  “A hospital? No. We can’t do that. I’m taking her home.”

  “Jessie,” Hazel grabbed his arm. “What have you done?”

  “Me?”

  His aunt had a way of knowing. She’d grown up in the crap of feuding. There was very little that got past her.

  A wave of guilt hit him. Flashbacks of pulling that trigger and killing Edgar and Jared. It all played out in his mind, taunting him. Luke’s words returned — “You won’t get away with this.” He reminded himself that their deaths were warranted. They’d killed his father. They deserved to die. Still, it didn’t help. It didn’t relieve him of feeling that his actions had led to this. Jessie crouched and slipped his arms beneath his sister’s body and lifted her.

  Hazel touched his arm. “Jessie.”

  “No, I’m taking her home. The cops will ask too many questions.”

  “You don’t think they already know? Someone went to get them.”

  “Even more reason to leave now. Let me go. LET ME GO!” he yelled at her, frustration getting the better of him. Those around watched, saying nothing. They knew better.

  Now, back at the farm, his mother scooped her up, still asking questions.

  “Who touched my baby? Who did this, Jessie?”

  “I don’t know.”

  T
he house became a hive of activity as Martha bellowed out orders to get a medical kit, get towels, water, blankets. All around him his brothers and sisters hurried into action, each one tackling a task. He stood there gaping, staring, overwhelmed. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore, and stepped outside, took a seat on the porch swing, and pulled out his cigarettes.

  Time passed in the blink of an eye.

  Minutes. Hours. He had no idea.

  Zeke was the first to approach.

  “She’s stable, Jess.” A pause. “Hey,” he said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and offering a small bottle of bourbon. Jessie raised his eyes and took it. Zeke took a seat across from him. None of them knew about the death of the three Stricklands. He’d always been able to talk to his brothers but with the fear of blame inching closer, he wasn’t sure he was ready, or able to tell them.

  But he knew they’d eventually find out.

  “Were the Stricklands there?” Zeke asked.

  “No.”

  “Then it could be anyone who did this. Until she wakes up we won’t know.”

  He nodded, unable to say much. Guilt ate away at the back of his mind, the could-haves, and should-haves tormented him.

  “I think it’s obvious who did this,” Lincoln said, coming out of the house followed by Dylan. “I say we go into town and find one of their sisters.”

  “No!” Jessie spat.

  “Wow. I thought you’d be the first to be up for it. What’s the matter?”

  “This. Our response. It has to stop.”

  Lincoln leaned against the porch railing. “Stop?”

  “The bloodshed. An eye for an eye. We take out one of theirs, they take out one of ours. It will continue until we are all in the ground.”

  There was a long stretch of silence. Zeke puffed away on a joint. “I don’t get it. Even if they think we killed Ryland. They got justice killing father. Why this?”

  He couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  “Luke is dead.” He lifted his eyes.

  “What?”

  “Luke, Edgar, and Jared. They’re dead.”

  His words lingered as each of them processed it. He knew eventually they would probe. Dylan was the first. “Did you have something to do with it?”