by N. C. Reed
“Sounds like it,” Greg nodded. “I didn't know they had done that. Of course, I got shot that evening so it would have been afterwards of that. Sounds like it's not all good people, either.”
“That's an understatement if ever there was one,” Clay sighed. “I guess desperate times bring out the worst in folks, though. On top of all that, I get back here and get hammered by my niece when I said there wasn't anything I could do to help the Walters girl. They're best friends.”
“I doubt there is,” Greg nodded. “I don't know where that bunch came from, but there are a lot of them and they are way better organized than they have any right to be. Got at least a half-dozen running vehicles, too. Older model trucks and two cars, plus a tractor pulling a large trailer. I saw another one pulling a disabled bus, but no idea what was on it. Or who.”
“Sounds like too much for three or four guys,” Clay sighed.
“Even guys like you I'm afraid,” Greg agreed. “I felt like I had to try since it was my duty, but . . . too many people and too much firepower. They aren't really good with it, but quantity counts too. And they control pretty much to whole town now. It's too much.”
“What I figured,” Clay nodded, ignoring the 'guys like you' remark. “It's not that I don't want to help, but I just don't see a way to do it that doesn't end up with some of us being dead. And I'm not prepared to make that sacrifice for people I don't know. Most of which wouldn't consider lifting a hand to help me if the situation was reversed.”
“I had it to do over again, I wouldn't try either,” Greg told him ruefully. “If you were thinking about it, I'd advise against it, brother. Too many of them and they got the town wired down tight.”
“Yeah.”
-
After visiting with Greg, Clay wandered around in the dusk for a bit. Without the ambient noises that electrical power brought with it sound really carried. He could hear laughter from the Troy House (he'd decided there was no point in trying to rename anything now) and grinned at the banter back and forth between his old teammates and their associated families. He would rather see everyone from both places together laughing, but there wasn't a lot of laughter tonight at the Sanders' ranch and he saw no reason to bring down the mood on the other farm.
“So, are we headed into town?” Big John's voice cut into his ruminating. He turned to see the big man moving gently in the nearing darkness, outfitted to stand watch for the night.
“No,” Clay shook his head. “Too many of them, not enough of us, and every advantage is theirs. It's a no-brainer.”
“No way a bunch o' gang banger ass-wipes would stack up against us that well,” Barnes scoffed. “No matter how many of them there are.”
“Maybe not against the whole team, but we don't have the whole team any more, John,” Clay shook his head again. “And even if we did, some would have to stay here and stand watch. No more than eight of us would go assuming the best scenario and we don't have that. As it is, we'd have four, maybe five guys and that's it. Against an unknown but large number of thugs who have the entire town wired shut. Deputy Holloway said he had tried because he considered it his duty, but if he had it to do over he'd pass. They're literally everywhere. And there's no help coming from town, either. Whole place is dead, treed, or run off.”
“I never have understood how an entire town can be buffaloed like that,” Barnes replied. “Don't make no sense that a town of. . .how many thousand? . . .could be swarmed and swamped like that, man.”
“Same way twelve of us defeated a company size group guarding a compound that was home to a cult leader,” Clay shrugged. “They hit them with a plan when the town was disorganized and not expecting trouble, and when communication was impossible. You catch too many people alone and pretty soon you've got the body count going your way. You know that,” he added, looking at his friend.
“I know that,” Barnes nodded in agreement. “Still don't explain how so many people lose out to a much smaller number. I thought all these little towns was crawling with guns and people who know how to use 'em, man.”
“Small towns are also crawling with people who carry a grudge for life and wouldn't help someone they didn't like even if their own life depended on it,” Clay snorted. “Which, in this case, it did. In all fairness after listening to Greg, it sounds as though this bunch has some real organization behind them and are about as ruthless as they come. I wouldn't doubt we 'll see them out here eventually.”
“All the more reason to go take them on now, on their own turf,” Barnes pointed out. “Not let them make it this far.”
“If we didn't have so much to lose here, I might agree,” Clay nodded. “But we aren't camping in the woods with supplies a sat phone call away, John. This is it,” he waved his arm around to encompass the farm. “This is our base of operations, our supply dump, quarters, everything. We can't be on the offense all the time like we were then. We have to protect this place and the people in it. Even if we had everyone else it would still be a monumental task.”
“I'm not disagreeing with that,” Barnes kept his voice low. The two weren't arguing. Over the years they had developed a method of planning that included using each other as a sounding board, bouncing ideas and opinions off one another until they arrived at the best solution.
“But I am saying that if we know we 'll face an enemy anyway, the sooner we hit them, when they aren't expecting it or ready for it, the better our chances are. We need to hurt them, man. Hurt them so bad that what's left in town just might finish the job. Assuming they get up off their knees.”
“And if we lose someone?” Clay asked. “One of us goes down hard, maybe two. What then? What if that happens and we don't force and win a decisive engagement? At that point, we've practically invited them to hit us back and we're weaker than when we started. And on top of that, they will have seen at least some of our capabilities as well. What few surprises we might have for an attacker will be cut down by whatever we have to use in trying to take them on.”
“All good points,” Barnes agreed. “But if there really are a lot of them, and they attack here, then we face a siege situation right here at home. One we might not win,” he added. “And I think we know what a loss looks like for everyone else, don't we?”
Clay didn't respond to that at once, continuing to look off into the distance.
“It wasn't supposed to be like this!” he exclaimed suddenly. “We were supposed to be able to dig in tight and worry about ourselves and no one else, dammit! What happened to that?”
“Family, man,” Barnes shrugged lightly, as if the idea didn't bother him so much. “Not just yours, either,” he added when Clay glared at him. “Hell, all of you but me and Jody got someone they care about or wants to protect, Bossman. And I ain't sure no more about Jody, being honest. Pretty sure he's got a thing for that niece of yours. Abigail? The tomboy, yeah?”
“You need to disabuse him of that notion,” Clay snorted.
“She too good for him?” Barnes raised an eyebrow. Surely, he didn't mean…
“He's too good for her,” Clay corrected without even looking over at him. “He deserves better than a child in a woman's body. She threw a tantrum-and-a-half over me not being able to 'rescue' her friend from town.”
“Ah,” Barnes nodded sagely. “I see.”
“Worse yet, the girl in question had a 'thing' for me at some point, and I didn't reciprocate,” Clay went on. He needed to talk to someone and there was no one he trusted more than Big John. “So now, it's become my fault that the girl is in trouble, since I 'hooked up with a night club floozy' instead of her best friend.” It would be impossible to miss the bitterness in his voice.
“'Floozy'?” Barnes' face showed his surprise. “She said that? About Lainie?”
“She said that,” Clay nodded firmly. “I guess she thought that would really make me want to help her, right?” he snorted.
“I do not know what to say, man,” Barnes admitted finally. “I seriously had that girl pe
gged wrong.”
“Yeah, well,” Clay spat, “I guess stress can make people do dumb shit, man. I dunno. Sometimes I think it would have been easier to stay in Africa.”
“Thought about it myself,” Barnes nodded. “Still, this is home, ya know?”
“Yeah,” Clay sighed. “Well, I guess I better get home. Lainie will be looking for me pretty soon and I don't want her running into Abigail. Thanks for listening, man,” he punched Barnes on the shoulder slightly.
“Anytime, brother,” Barnes nodded and eased into the growing dark, starting his rounds. Clay watched him go and then headed home himself. Maybe by the time he got there he wouldn't still look as if something was wrong.
-
“What's wrong?”
So much for that, Clay thought as he slipped his boots off at the door. Lainie was in his, no, their small kitchen, one burner of the gas range on beneath a steaming sauce pan.
“Ah, nothing,” he drawled as he sprawled on the couch, suddenly exhausted.
“Hard day?” she asked, turning the heat down on the simmering pan and walking to the couch herself, where she promptly folded into him.
“Very,” he agreed, accepting a deep and affectionate kiss from her as she cuddled to him.
“Well, I made us a small beef stew from the left-over streak in the fridge. Added some veggies and then thickened the broth a bit. And I took the rolls left from supper the day before, put a tiny bit of water on them and a large pat of butter, then heated them up as well. Soft and buttery. Worked like a charm. Now what's wrong?”
The simple change caught him by surprise. He blinked as he looked at her. She was unyielding.
“Just a long day full of difficulty, that's all,” he leaned his head back. “First was Greg's gear where a neighborhood coalition met us claiming that whatever was inside was theirs, then taking food to the church where a dozen or so people tried to take the truck while others complained we hadn't brought enough food.”
“Seriously?” her eyebrows rose. “Have others taken more to them, then?”
“No,” Clay shook his head. “No one's taken them anything.”
“Well that took nerve,” Lainie shook her head. “Wow.”
“On top of that, Abigail found out about what Greg said and threw a damn hissy fit because we weren't rushing in to town saving her friend. Never mind that the odds of us being able to do so are extremely limited.”
“Which friend?” Lainie asked curiously.
“The Walters girl,” Clay told her, leaning back with his eyes closed.
“Ah,” Lainie nodded, her tone changing slightly. “Well, that explains it.” Clay's eyes opened at that.
“Explains what?” he raised his head enough to look at her. Lainie smirked at him slightly.
“Please,” she semi-teased. “Your niece is pissed because in her mind, if it weren't for me, her friend might be right here, safe and sound. That it?”
Clay just stared at her. Lainie had worked all that out in just seconds. Less, even.
“Pretty much,” he sighed, laying his head back. “You seem awfully calm about that,” he added.
“Why shouldn't I be?” she asked him. “It is true after all. Were it not for me, you might have eventually given in to the charms of the farm girl slash college student. How do I know? But. . .I am here. And I'm staying here. So, there's no reason for me to be anything but calm. I told you before I think I can manage to compete with a girl not long out of high school.” While he couldn't see the full-fledged smirk that blossomed on her face at that, he could hear it in her voice.
“So, you can,” he nodded. “So, you can.”
-
Barnes was eating. He had made a round of the inhabited areas of both farms and checked the pens and barns around the house, then made his way back to the house where he sat down to eat. Nolan was on watch in the cupola so the farm was still covered while he took enough time to get a bite to eat and warm a bit. He would have to make another round within the hour, but fifteen or twenty minutes was more than enough time to eat and answer a call of nature.
He was about half-way through his simple meal when he heard the engine.
-
Everyone was familiar by now with the patrol schedule around the farm, and that included Abigail.
After her failed attempt to get her Uncle Clay to rescue her friend, she had decided that it fell to her to go and save her friend if no one else was willing to do it. She had tried to hide it after Clay had stormed out and she realized that her family was not on her side in this, but beneath that facade Abigail was furious.
Clayton had spurned Samantha's attention, turning her away as if she were nothing to be interested in. That had embarrassed her for a number of reasons, not least of which she had encouraged the normally shy Samantha to talk to him once her friend had admitted to having a crush on Abigail's uncle. She had been confident that Samantha's looks and down-to-Earth nature would win her Uncle Clayton over, though acknowledging that it might take some time. Samantha was willing to wait and said so.
But no, Uncle Clayton had flatly crushed Samantha's attempt to get closer to him. Despite encouragement from his mother, his niece and even his sister, Clayton had steadfastly refused to even entertain the idea of going out with Samantha.
And then, after refusing one of the finest young women in the entire community, from a good family and excellent background, what does he do? He comes home with some nightclub stripper whore and moves her into the house that should have one day been Samantha's!
Fury gripped Abigail once more as she moved through the darkness toward her truck. On her shoulder was the AK-47 that her Uncle Clayton had given her. On the belt around her waist was the .357 magnum handgun she carried hunting and spare ammunition for both. Wearing a set of camouflage hunting clothes and good, well-worn boots, she was ready to do hunting of a different sort.
If her family wouldn't see reason and rescue her friend, then Abigail would do it herself.
-
“Bear, you hear that?” Mitchell Nolan spoke softly into his radio. In the dead of night with no ambient noise to speak of, the roar of a truck or car engine carried a long way.
“Got it,” Barnes called back. “I…I think it's one of ours!” Nolan could tell that Barnes was running from the way he spoke. “It's coming from the Bossman's family area. I'm headed that way now. Roust Tommy!”
“Roger that,” Nolan agreed. Jody 'Tommy' Thompson was on call for the evening in the event a third man was needed. Nolan hit a small button near the cupola's seating area. Below in the residence area of the building a battery powered doorbell rang on the table next to Thompson's bed. Seconds later he was on the radio.
“What's the situation?” he asked even as he stomped his boots on. Standing, he grabbed his equipment and belted it on, then grabbed his rifle and headed out the door, all before Nolan could get an answer back to him.
“Vehicle noise from the farm area,” Nolan reported to him. “Bear on the way to recon. Stand by for him.”
“Roger that,” came the quiet reply. Nolan shook his head slightly at that. It took a lot to rattle Tommy. So much, in fact, that Nolan had yet to see him rattled at all.
“Lights on in the barn where family vehicles are kept!” Barnes' report cut into Nolan's ruminations. “Moving!”
“Could be one of the family,” Nolan advised.
“Shouldn't they had reported in if they were moving like that?” Thompson asked.
“Should have but they're civvies, so might have just forgot that,” Nolan replied.
“I'm not going to get there before they're gone,” Barnes reported. It was a minute before he spoke again.
“Aw shit,” he murmured softly.
“What's wrong?” Tommy asked even as he hoofed it for their own gate, intending to cut the thief off there if possible.
“It's the girl's truck,” Barnes told them, his voice resigned. “And she's the one driving looks like. Don't shoot, Tommy.”
/> Thompson replied with two clicks of his radio even as he saw Abigail's truck roar past the gate. As it passed the driver turned to look right at him.
It was indeed Abigail Sanders.
“Well. . .shit,” he muttered to himself.
-
“What do you mean 'gone'?” Clay asked. Barnes was standing at near attention in the doorway to Clay's cabin.
“She snuck out to the barn where her truck was stashed and took off,” Barnes said flatly. “I was at the house on break when it happened. Nolan heard it same time I did. I hoofed it over just in time to see her roaring down the drive. And Tommy got a look as the truck went by the other gate. Definitely her.”
“Well, shit,” Clay swore softly. It was the phrase evening so far. “Headed toward Jordan?”
“For the moment, but we both know where she's gone, sir,” Barnes said pointedly.
“Mother…” he managed to cut himself off as Lainie came from the bedroom, having dressed first. Without speaking she began to heat coffee.
“We 'll have to let her folks know,” Clay sighed. “My mom will-” he was cut off by a furious knocking, almost pounding at his door. He nodded to Barnes, who opened it, Clay knowing who would be there. Or at least out of three people.
“Clayton!” Angela Sanders exclaimed as she rushed in, followed by Robert and Patricia. “Did Abigail just leave?”
“Yes, she did,” he nodded grimly. “Took her truck and headed toward Jordan. From there I'd say she's headed for Peabody.”
“What in the world for?” Angela almost demanded.
“Well, Mom, she neglected to share that information with me,” Clay replied. “Or that she was leaving at all, for that matter. But if I had to guess, she's tearing toward Peabody intending to try and 'rescue' her friend. Likely getting herself killed before she ever gets close to where Miss Walters is being held.”
“You have to stop her!” Angela practically yelled out.
“How?” Clay asked. “She's got a head start on me and a far faster vehicle than any we can take. By the time we can gear up and get after her she 'll be nearly to Peabody. I don't see how we can stop her, to be honest.” He let out his breath in one long exhale, feeling himself deflate. Of all the stupid, idiotic things to do…