Fire From the Sky: Friendly Fire

by N. C. Reed

  “I know,” he nodded. “Josh Webb was an ass, but Miss Deborah . . . she was as fine a woman as I knew,” he admitted. “Kind to a fault, never judgmental, forgiving of shortcomings of others, I mean just the fact that she lived with Josh Webb and didn't kill him should nominate her for sainthood.” His look darkened at that. “And living with him did kill her.”

  “Clay, there's no real point to keep focusing on that,” Lainie told him. “All of them other than John have acknowledged that their father's decision to leave was a bad one, and that they should have opposed him just as their mother did. They know it was his fault.”

  “I wasn't thinking of blame,” Clay shook his head slowly. “I was thinking of Miss Deborah and the others that we’ll surely miss. Miss Deborah was a comfort to us, Lainie. Her head was full of knowledge we needed to make things better in these new circumstances and . . . and dammit, besides that, she was nice! She deserves to still be here, and her kids deserve to still have her with them.”

  “I know,” she threw a blanket over them both and hugged him to her. “I know.”

  ***

  “To Bear,” Shane lifted a cup and the other three joined him.

  “We should o' been here,” Stacey Pryor said softly. “We should o' threw in our lot with Bear and come here when him and the others did.”

  “Think our being here would have made a difference?” Bodee asked, frowning.

  “I don't know,” Pryor shrugged. “But we'd have been with him.”

  “You are wanting to have been here for you, not for him,” Xavier said softly and the others looked at him. “Look at that funeral today. Was that for her? Of course not. She has departed and shall not return. Knows or cares nothing for the circumstances of her being laid to rest. Today was for her mourners, most especially for her family. An effort to try and get their own heads around the idea of the loss, and to say good-bye. You wanted to be able to say good-bye to Big Bear yourself,” he told Pryor.

  “Something wrong with that?” Pryor demanded. Xavier smiled at him sadly. Kindly.

  “No, my brother, there is not,” he raised his own cup to his comrade. “Not a thing in the world. Our being here might have made no difference in what happened to him, but as you say; we would have at least been here to see him off properly. And there is nothing whatsoever wrong with that.” He touched his cup to Pryor's and the two took a drink, followed by Shane and Kevin Bodee.

  “We maybe should have come here when Bear and the others did,” Shane nodded. “Maybe even come on ahead with Boss himself since none of us had nobody waiting. Well, other than Trudy,” he grimaced at the mention of his sole cousin.

  “But we can't change it now,” Shane went on. “We all stayed 'cause we thought we'd like it better where we had picked out. That's all. Now that we're here, we’ll do our best to make sure nothing like that happens no more. With us added to the rest, this place is stronger. Boss needed the help and now we've brought it to him. We’ll work to make sure there's not another Bear.” He raised his cup.

  The others joined him in silence.

  ***

  “Mattie, how are you feeling today?” Beverly asked as she took a seat next to where the young woman was laying.

  “I'm not as tired,” Mattie admitted. “Where did Mrs. Webb go?” she asked, seeing the empty bed where the older woman had been lying earlier.

  “I'm afraid Mrs. Webb passed away from her injuries earlier today,” Beverly tried to make the news as gentle as possible. “She was laid to rest next to her husband a little while ago.”

  “Mrs. Webb, too,” Mattie said sadly. “Where does it end?” she asked, though not really to Beverly. The older woman chose to answer anyway.

  “The cycle of life and death doesn't end, Mattie,” she said kindly. “We're all on a journey and death is the end of our experience here on earth. It will come for us all eventually. For some it's sooner than others, but no less certain for us all. It's something we have to accept as part of life.”

  “I heard they were here and left,” Mattie turned her attention to Beverly. “Just like I did?”

  “No, it wasn't the same,” Beverly replied with a shake of her head. “We were attacked here by a large number. Well over fifty. During the fighting a small group of them went up the hill toward the cabin area. Everyone up there was armed and trained in the basics of defending themselves and their homes, but for some reason they chose to place a young man, boy really, named Bryon Jessup in the most exposed position along with one of the Webb brothers. Micah Webb was killed in the attack and many apparently blamed Bryon.

  “Mister Webb was angry and declared that his family wouldn't remain here to fight, and I quote, 'the Sanders' battles'. Somehow, he saw defending his own home as equal to fighting on behalf of the Sanders family.

  “Anyway, he ordered his family to pack up and return to their homestead, which they did. A few days, I guess three weeks give or take, the few who are here now returned, Samuel and Luke shot, Jasmine in a state of shock and Josh Webb demanding that Clay and 'his soldiers' free his family. When Clay realized that Webb was trying to lead him into a trap he called Webb on it and Webb pulled a gun on him. Unfortunately for him the sniper on duty couldn't hear what was being said and when he saw the gun he shot and killed Mister Webb in defense of Clay and the others.”

  “But he was just upset,” Mattie objected mildly, the first time she had spoken much since her return. “They should have known he wasn't going to shoot anyone!”

  “How?” Beverly asked.

  “What?”

  “How were they to know that a man who pulled a gun on the people living here wasn't going to shoot?” Beverly asked. “We've been attacked four times, five if you count the mystery group that hit us from the back road. Six if you count the cannibals at the forestry station. And I suppose seven if you count how Clay and his family were accosted at the church in Jordan when they tried to carry food to them.”

  “Accosted?” Mattie frowned. “At church?”

  “A group of people who had been left homeless by the fighting in Peabody,” Beverly nodded. “Clay's parents insisted on carrying food stores to them despite Clay's warning that it would end poorly. And it did. They were attacked by a group trying to take their vehicle from them. Many in the group complained that the Sanders hadn't brought enough food and should have brought more, despite having drawn their stored food dangerously low heading into winter. And others made the statement they expected weekly deliveries of food from that point forward. Didn't offer to work for it or pay for it in any way, mind you. Just demanded it as if it were their right.

  “So based on all that, it's not surprising that a drawn gun would elicit such a response, is it?”

  Mattie was clearly thinking about that as she lay back.

  “No, not taken with all that,” she shook her head slowly. “It's a shame. She was a nice woman.”

  “Yes, she was,” Beverly agreed. “I got to know her when they were living here. I liked her very much. And she had a great deal of knowledge that is now lost. Not only will we miss her personality and good cheer, we lost the accumulated knowledge she carried from generations of her ancestors. She had far more worth than just a good personality. She was a valuable healer that many will suffer without. All because of pride and anger.”

  “Well, I can understand Mister Webb being angry,” Mattie frowned. “He lost his son.”

  “We had already lost a member of our group that was like family,” Beverly nodded. “Leon the Elder had lost two children of his own in the past, I think it was two,” Beverly frowned at her own memory. “He especially could relate to the loss and tried to talk to Mister Webb, who he considered a friend. Mister Webb was dead set on blaming Clay, and by extension Leon for the loss of his son. Yet it wasn't Clay or Leon who put a boy who was not prepared for combat in the bunker with Micah Webb. Mister Webb himself and Bryon's father both were to blame for that.”

  “What happened to Bryon Jessup?” Mattie asked.<
br />
  “He took his own life the afternoon that the Webbs departed, convinced he was being blamed for Micah's loss and of his own guilt.”

  “That's horrible,” Mattie sounded sad.

  “It gets worse,” Beverly sighed. “The Jessups, despite having three other children that needed caring for, fell into depression. Mrs Jessup hanged herself a few days later while Mister Jessup died the same day of alcohol poisoning.”

  “What happened to the Jessup children?”

  “Daisy and Jasmine Webb have stepped up and are taking care of them,” Beverly said, almost proudly. “The two of them went through a terrible ordeal, but are still going. Stern stuff, there,” she said firmly.

  “Good for them,” Mattie nodded. “I blamed the Sanders for my home being burned,” she added a few seconds later, a bit shame faced.

  “So I hear,” Beverly nodded. “I try not to listen to things like that since I don't want it to influence my work trying to help others, but I'm afraid it was hard to miss.”

  “I guess they're angry,” Mattie looked down at her hands, basically twiddling her thumbs.

  “I think you can make that assumption,” Beverly knew there was no sense in trying to make less of it. “They do understand you were under a great deal of stress at the time, however. And you are far from the first person to blame the Sanders for their problems.”

  “It was just . . . if they could save their home, why not mine?” Mattie asked.

  “Mattie, you weren't here when the fire hit,” Beverly said more sternly than usual. “For three days every person on the place worked their ass off trying to save our homes and our way of surviving. It was so close that we had a small convoy of vehicles on the pad out front ready to carry the children and most of the women away from here with an escort, to try and find a safe place for them to live. Thanks to the hard work of two dozen people we didn't have to go, but it was close. We almost lost the barn, we lost a lot of grass and also a dozen or so acres of trees. We burned fuel we will need for planting or harvest to make a fire break. For chainsaws that we’ll need to cut firewood and saw lumber. Can you comprehend standing out front with screaming children, hoping you don't have to evacuate without even having a safe place in mind to go while flames are visible above the trees?”

  “No,” she admitted. “No, I can't.”

  “Can you at least, knowing the truth of what happened here, see that there was no way for any of the Sanders to save your home? That there was no way for us as a group to help anyone else because we were busy trying to survive ourselves?”

  Mattie kept looking at her hands without replying.

  “No one was coming to help us,” Beverly pointed out. “Thanks to a few hours warning from Leon, the fire department had the chance to protect their vehicles. We didn't see any of them coming to help us. Hopefully they helped somewhere else, but they didn't help here or anywhere around us. Did you blame them for your loss? Blame the firemen who had working equipment and training and the ability to actually save your home?”

  “No,” Mattie's voice was small.

  “Maybe you should rethink your attitude concerning the Sanders and the others on this farm,” Beverly suggested. “Despite your outburst in blaming us for your loss, you're still here and being cared for. No group of people who didn't care for others would bother with that. There's an orphanage on top of the hill, full of children left without parents. Did you know that?”

  “No.”

  “It was the Sanders who took them in, and are have primarily been responsible for feeding them. Abigail's family took you into their home when your group arrived, made you welcome and took care of you. Are those the actions of someone who doesn't care?”

  “No,” Mattie shook her head, tears starting to flow. Beverly decided that was enough for now.

  “You need to rest,” she patted the younger woman's hand and stood. “You need rest and someone will be here soon with some supper. You have been through a great deal of turmoil, Mattie and emerged from it still able to function. Not everyone who faces what you have does that. Some simply quit. You haven't. Despite everything, you've kept going. That shows your strength, and it shows that you're going to make it. You're going to deal with the horrors behind you and I'm going to help you, just as others will.”

  “But for now, just rest and get your head together. You've got a lot to process. If you need me just tell whoever is in here and they can call me, okay?”

  “Thank you Miss Jackson.”

  “You're very welcome.”

  ***

  “Move, move move!” Nate yelled as his class ran the obstacle course yet again. “Some of you look like turtles you're moving so slow! The fight would be over before you got where you were supposed to be!”

  “I am so glad I'm not in Nate's shoes,” Tandi noted as he watched from the sidelines in case someone was injured.

  “It will be one of us next time,” Clay reminded him. “Not you, since you’ll need to be available to treat injuries. Lucky little shit,” he grumbled.

  “Hey, at least Lainie is doing really well,” Tandi pointed out. “She won't be repeating if you have to teach.”

  “I'm not going to be teaching,” Clay shook his head.

  “How do you know?” Tandi asked.

  “I'm in charge, that's how.”

  ***

  “Better,” Nate was nodding as the group sat on the ground, some still heaving for air. “Much better. A few of you are almost good enough not to die in the first volley. Might even reach your emplacements. That's awesome!”

  “The sarcasm is strong with this one,” someone noted and the others laughed.

  “Go ahead, laugh it up,” Nate nodded, amused in spite of himself. “The good part is that all of you finished. First time that's happened. And that really is a definite improvement. No one dropped any gear, no one quit. I'd rather have ten of you that never stopped trying than twenty who could finish easily but were lazy. Effort counts. It won't win battles by itself, but you can't win without it.”

  “You know the drill by now,” he clapped his hands. “Chow and showers, then assemble in the classroom at one. Bring your gear with you. See you there.”

  He watched the tired but now upbeat group heading for their respective domiciles to clean the dirt of the morning training session away before they grabbed a meal. He really was pleased with them.

  “They're doing pretty good,” Clay said, appearing beside him.

  “They really are,” Nate nodded happily. “I keep pushing so they won't slack off any, but for people who came into this without anything to refer to, at least mostly, they're doing awesome. I think by the time we finish, they will be able to defend their positions and protect themselves and each other. I really do.”

  “That's good,” Clay nodded. “’Cause you can bet that sooner or later we’ll see more of this North Alabama Pimple Militia.”

  “I thought it was People's Militia,” Nate frowned.

  “Whatever.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “ . . . you who are listening and have not yet embraced the truth of the adjustment we've been though, I warn you; do not be fooled. Do not be deceived. This doom that has come to us is Divine punishment for our wicked nature and our degenerate behavior! Those of us who have survived are those found Worthy! Did you hear me? Those of us who have survived are those who have been found to be Worthy of inheriting the Earth and all its treasures. What remains that is good is here for us to take! We are the deserving force! The Worthy now own this world through Divine intervention and all that is here now belongs to us! We will never again be forced to . . . ”

  “To quote a movie reference, that guy's mind is a bag of cats,” Deuce shook his head as he turned down the volume. They were recording it anyway.

  “The Utmost Worthy speaks to the masses,” Millie snorted. She had been here a grand total of two weeks now, but had slid neatly into a niche that suited her perfectly and that she could handle well. And her company
wasn't bad either, she decided as she gave Deuce a side-long glance.

  He was a good-looking kid, she had decided. A little taller than her thanks to the rotten genetics of two short parents who were themselves the products of short parents, Leon Sanders, (the Younger: note to self, hates that term) had bright, pretty eyes that were full of intelligence and devilry. Always with something working, always doing at least four things at once, it was hard not to like him.

  Who was she kidding? Deuce was a nerdy girl's dream. Intelligent, handsome, outgoing, a family that not only didn't look down on intelligence but embraced and made use of it, not to mention was well to do. A girl could do a lot worse than someone like Leon Sanders.

  Yeah, he was almost two years younger than her, but who cared? In ten years that two years difference wouldn't mean a thing. And Leon was fun to be around. Millie hadn't experienced that very often in her young life. Most people were not in fact fun to be around because the majority of people were intimidated by her intelligence and were biased against her Asian heritage. Leon was neither, and no one in his family seemed any different. The fact that her parents were from Taiwan didn't seem to matter to them.

  She felt a wave of sadness envelop her at that. Her folks had been away to Taiwan when the wave hit. There was no way they could return short of a sailing boat, and neither of them knew anything about boats outside the fact that they went in the water. She hoped that mainland China would not take this opportunity to invade the island as her parents would be considered the People's Enemy.

  For years the Long family had operated a radio service dedicated to sending news of the real world to rural Communist China in an attempt to sow discord among the peasants. This was done in hopes of helping them to throw off the yoke of Marxism, rising up to take control of their nation for themselves.