EMP Antediluvian Fear

by S A Ison

  He hopped back into his truck and gave a final salute to the dead man and drove quickly away. He’d find out who needed food and start giving it away. He smiled then sniggered at the thought of besting the KKK and the mayor. He would hide the bulk of the food in Dr. Katie’s burned out home. No one would think of looking there. Most of the structure was down, but there were a couple rooms that were safe from the elements.

  He laughed out loud and smacked the steering wheel happily. This was a stroke of luck, and maybe a stroke for Mr. Anderson, he sniggered, his eyes triangles in humor. It was the first true smile he’d smiled in a long while.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Boney, Wilber, the Edison twins, Sherman Collins and Thornton Sherman stood in the middle of a deserted road. They were roughly about a mile from town. They had left their vehicles two miles away. Boney had caught a ride from Wilber. They had all walked the two miles in. Boney had listened to the joints popping and old bones creaking for the last two miles. He’d wondered when they’d all gotten so old? Soon, they would go their separate ways, to hunt their targets.

  The thought of the hunt once more sent a thrill through Boney’s old body. He felt the old dusty adrenaline begin to warm and flow through his veins.

  “We ain’t gonna hit that coal mine, thangs are in play and we don’t wanna skunk that up. Only pick one target tonight. Make sure you kill’em an get the hell outta there.” Boney instructed, his face covered with black, it was wood ash and boot polish. He wished he’d had his old camo kit, but that had turned to dust decades ago.

  The rest of the old men had varying camouflage, leaves and branches stuck to them, from head to toe. They resembled old withered trees. Boney smiled, we may be old, but it don’t take much ta pull a trigger.

  The men separated and went into the forest or along the road. Boney walked purposefully. He was going to kill the bastard who’d tried to kill his cousin, Clay. He’d heard through the grape vine about some peckerwood who’d bragged they’d killed a black cop on the highway from Lexington. Boney knew from Wilber, that Clay was alive. He had a bone to pick with that jackass. The idjit should have known better, there was always kin somewhere to avenge.

  Whitney Porter was his name, and he lived out in some beat down trailer park. He’d wanted to take a vehicle, but it would be seen for miles and this was a black op. His gait was slow but steady, he took the time to take in his surroundings. He’d lived in this town his whole life, except for when he’d been sent to Vietnam.

  It had been his first venture out of these hills. He’d gone to Lexington a few times, but he’d never had that big a desire to leave his home. He’d been drafted into that far away war. He’d been selected when they found out what a crack shot he was. Boney had numerous kills under his belt. He prided himself on clean shots and single shots. He still hunted, though he only used his hunting rifle for that.

  Times had changed and when he’d come home, people at the airport had tried to spit on him. One look into his deadly eyes and their spit dried in their mouths. His eyes told them that he’d kill them quick and easy. A prey knows when it sees a predator. Those idiots knew not to screw with him. A soft wrinkled smile of remembrance creased his old face.

  It took him over an hour to get to the park, and he’d made his way quietly through darkened trailers. He didn’t hear any dogs, figured the poor folks had already eaten them and their cats. He felt sad for the children. This was going to be a hard world for them to live in. He hoped that their folks did their best to feed them.

  The street lamps were out, there was only the sky and that provided little light. Boney didn’t need much light, his old eyes had adapted to the darkness. The homes were quiet around him, curtains drawn tight. He could almost smell the fear in this place. He couldn’t blame them.

  There was a swastika painted boldly outside of Porter’s trailer, he wasn’t very subtle about it. Boney stood for a moment, it was quiet, everyone asleep. He had to get the little shit out of his trailer. He thought for a few moments. He looked around him and saw an old plastic orange gas can. He walked over and picked it up. There wasn’t much in it as he shook it, but, he didn’t need a lot.

  He crept over to Porter’s trailer and picked up multiple pieces of garbage that was strewn around his small yard. Most were empty beer packages, and those made of cardboard. He heaped them under the door and along the side of the trailer. He sprinkled the little bit of gas that was left in the canister and left it there with the debris. He pulled out his old and worn zippo lighter, he’d had it since Vietnam. He lit the edge of a large cardboard box, holding the lighter in place until it caught, then he backed up some distance from the trailer. His keen eyes scanning as he went. He hadn’t noticed anyone looking through their windows. All was quiet and still.

  The trash was slow to fire, and he wondered if it was too damp, but as the fire worked its way along and the gas caught, the fire grew bigger. Soon, it caught onto the underside trailer, the insulation maybe or exposed wood, Boney thought. He found a place that had a clear line of sight and no obstructions, and set up his rifle. He was roughly four hundred feet away, an easy shot. He lined up his rifle’s sights, and waited patiently. If the idiot slept through it, then he’d just be a crispy critter. But Boney really was wanting to put a bullet through the asshole’s eye, he wanted to make a point.

  He watched as the blaze grew, and Boney could see that the interior had ignited, he could see flames dancing and licking its fiery tongue through the filthy windows, white curtains lifted by the heat. Then he saw a figure, moving, in a crouch. His old heart leaped with joy and once more he could feel his adrenaline swim through his veins, singing that siren’s song. He took a deep breath, slow is smooth, smooth is fast. He saw the door open, a man, illuminated by the fire stood looking around, his hair sticking straight up from sleep and filth. He had checkered shorts that sagged around his narrow hips and he had a grimy wifebeater undershirt on that was stretched over his gut. He stepped down, barefooted, from the doorway. With a gentle caress, Boney pulled the trigger and felt the thrill as the butt of the rifle gave him a love tap.

  Whitney Porter’s head exploded, though Boney had aimed for the eye, the high caliber bullet took Whitney’s head off completely. Brains and blood and skull fragments peppered the shell of the trailer and swastika. He normally made his kills from farther out. I guess that will make a statement, Boney laughed to himself as he got up from the ground, his old bones and joints protesting by popping loudly, like dried branches. He turned away from the scene and walked the long walk home.

  He could hear people screaming behind him, but he was so far away from the trailer, no one looked in his direction. He paused and turned and watched for a few moments. The people were gathered in front of the dead man’s trailer and Boney could no longer see the headless man. Once more a smile creased his face. It was a sweet smile of remembrance. He longed for those days gone by. He’d wasted his youth with being young. Youth truly was wasted on the young and he chuckled at that.

  The fire from the trailer helped illuminate his way for a while until he turned at a bend in the road. He heard an explosion and a wide smile split his withered face. He sniggered and shook his head. This was the most fun he’d had in years. He didn’t feel the aches and pains that plagued him constantly. He was sure the adrenaline rush had taken care of that.

  It was darker now and he slowed his pace. Then he heard a shot ring out in the distance. Someone had found a target and he tittered to himself. Ahead, he saw lights of a vehicle heading toward him. Easily, he slipped quietly into the bushes and waited. It wasn’t long before an old truck rumbled past him, he waited for a few moments, until he could no longer see the tail lights.

  He waited and listened for more vehicles but heard none and then stepped back out onto the road. He heard another shot, this time closer. It was all working to plan. Back in the revolutionary war, there were tactics like theirs. Go in and hit the enemy and then disappear. You couldn’t catch what you could
n’t see. He sighed heavily in pleasure.

  He kept up his meandering pace and ten minutes later, he heard rustling in the trees, he paused and waited. He heard the harsh breathing of someone, he thought it was Thornton, so he pulled out his pipe and lit it and waited. The old marine came out of the trees, grinning like a fool.

  “That sure was fun.” He laughed in a whisper, and started coughing. He wiped the sweat from his brow and shook his head. “I’s not felt like that in a coon’s age, gad, it was sure fun, an man oh man, that ol boy didn’t know what hit him. He and another feller were just standin there shootin the shit, smokin. When I dropped that little bastard, the other near shit himself tryin ta get awa. I wanted ta kill him too, almost did. Maybe next time I will.”

  Boney laughed, it had been a long time since any of them felt this alive. He could still feel the adrenaline flowing in his veins like sweet honey. He drew on his pipe and patted the younger man on the shoulders. They walked in companionable silence for a while. The air around them had become damp and the clouds were beginning to gather for an argument.

  “Looks like it might rain.” Thornton said softly, his voice sounded like water on gravel.

  Boney sniffed the air, “Yep, but it’ll be nigh on mornin til it gets her.” He said.

  They heard the low call of a mourning dove. Then they heard twigs snapping and the Edison twins materialized. Both their heads tilted the same way, their shoulders hunched. They were such carbon copies of the other, it was spooky at times.

  Both men were wearing disappointment on their identical faces. Boney figured they’d not found a target. He was right when Ralph complained, “Couldn’t find nobody, can’t tell who is who in the dark.”

  “Next time, choose a target ahead of time, that’ll be easy nuff, just listen to them thar pecker-heads in town. They’s a lot of braggin bunches of jackasses.” Boney laughed. This perked both brothers up and they nodded happily.

  “When can we go again?” Thornton asked hopefully, his eyes glistened in the low light of the night.

  “I’d say let’s give itta week. Let they’s guard down.” Boney said, letting a plume of smoke out. The crickets had resumed their chorus and silence settled over the group. Each man was in his own thoughts. Boney felt very satisfied with himself. The only problem he could see was who to choose next, there were so many worthy candidates.

  He hoped that Wilber had gotten himself a target. The man had parked his truck a few miles away and would make it home by himself. It had been a successful foray and Boney felt elated. One less bastard in the world. He wished he could see the mayor’s pudgy little face when he found out. His shoulders shook in silent laughter at the thought. He’d seen the little bastard throw a temper tantrum or two in his time. He shook his head and wondered who’d voted the jackass into office.

  One by one, his companions left him, turning down a road to either their truck or their home. Boney was alone now, he’d wanted to walk the rest of the way home. He was sure that Wilber would understand. A man needed to be alone with his thoughts sometimes. It had been a good night. He was well satisfied with the men and the mission.

  By the time he reached home he was tired, his old body wasn’t used to that much walking. He’d walked the hills around his home for hours, but this had been different. He stopped in the kitchen to grab an apple and munched it on his way to bed. He could see the pale fingers of dawn through the windows, though it would be an hour or better before the sun showed its face. He felt deeply satisfied and it had been a long time since he’d felt that kind of satisfaction. He felt a sense of pride and usefulness. Getting old wasn’t for the faint hearted. But this adventure had made him feel young. It was a damned good feeling.

  ֎

  David helped Mary to rise from her pallet, he was taking her to the farm. He’d spoken to Jutta about her, and the woman had urged him to bring Mary, she’d said she’d handle things on her end. They walked toward the platform as people gathered. They were also taking two small children with them.

  David and Gideon had discussed it with Gerhard, they were going to smuggle out the smallest children first, one or two at a time. The small children could hide within the group of people heading to the farm to work. Today there would be eleven people going to the farm. Mary stood in front of David, his massive hands resting on her shoulders. Two children were sandwiched between them.

  He and Mary and the children stepped onto the platform along with several other adults. They began to feel the platform shiver and shift and the cables groaned and the platform began to rise slowly. David could feel Mary trembling and he squeezed her shoulders. He could also feel the two boys and their trembling. He knew the children were afraid and the boys had cried, leaving their parents. Their parents had cried as well, but had told their children to go. His eyes had teared up watching the farewell. These children were fragile and they needed out of the coal mine.

  The platform jerked hard and David heard the boys squeal softy. His large hand settled on the children and squeezed them lightly. He hushed them softly and told them it was okay. They were getting off the platform.

  David found out that they’d been down in that hole, a little over a month, he knew that made Mary nearly six months pregnant. It had seemed a lot longer and the morning light hurt his eyes. He held a hand up and shielded himself, his eyes squinting.

  Jutta had let them bathe, and it was the first time he’d felt clean in a long time. She’d also fixed them all a big breakfast, bacon, eggs, biscuits and gravy with sliced tomatoes. Nothing had ever tasted so good. He wanted that for Mary, he wanted her out of the hell hole.

  Her shoulders felt boney and when he got a good look at her in the morning light, he nearly wept. He blinked furiously, she was so thin, and her belly protruding, but he thought, not as big as it should have been. Her dark hair was matted to her head, thickly coated with coal dust. He looked down at the children between them and they too were covered heavily in the oily dust. He wished he could get his hands on the mayor and sheriff.

  They were herded onto the bus, the guards not even looking into their faces. The two guards that had been with them the first time to the farm were there. They had the good graces to look ashamed of themselves. He noticed that they’d covered up their swastika tattoos, which they’d previously flaunted them before. David was sure the men saw the children, for they looked away, their heads hung in heavy shame. He saw the bus driver’s lips tremble and he too looked away.

  The bus ride to the farm was quiet, no one spoke and the children were kept low in the back seats, sitting between Mary and David, their huge eyes filled with fear. David had to blink back tears, they were covered in thick oily coal dust, and they were wretchedly thin. Their small hands twined into his big hands and he smiled down at them gently and squeezed their hands. They grinned, and settled back down, one looked up with a set of bright blue eyes and the other dark brown eyes. Both children were nearly jet black, so covered in the thick mess.

  The bus arrived twenty minutes later and everyone began to disembark. Jutta and Gerhard were standing there waiting for them, along with their older boys, Seth, Jeb and Leon. All were tall young men, the eldest about seventeen. David thought they favored their mother, though they had their father’s wiry strength.

  Mary was in front of him, and the children still between. The three boys moved in and took the children quickly away, before the guards noticed, though David knew it wouldn’t have mattered. David heard Jutta suck in her breath and he smiled internally, her eyes had become hard and deep cerulean when she’d seen the children and Mary. He waited patiently for the explosion.

  “Are you kidding me?” She asked Hawkins, the guard she’d shaken, on the previous visit. He shrank from her, his arms coming up defensively, as she came forward like a locomotive, her arms chugging her along.

  “Do you see this pregnant woman; do you see that she is skin and bones? Do you see her?” Jutta roared. The man could only nod quickly, shame stamped heavily on
his face and he looked at the ground, his face blossoming into bright red.

  Jutta swung her eyes to the other guard and then the old driver, who looked down as well. “By the love of the Lord Jesus Christ, this I swear with my last breath. I will gut you if I hear of you harming another person. I will wait until you aren’t expecting it and one day, you will look down and the loops of your intestines will be splattered down at your feet. This woman will stay with me here. She won’t go back to that hole. And you will not tell anyone, do I make myself clear?” she hissed in a low deadly voice.

  All the men nodded obediently, the color washed away from their faces. David had no doubt what so ever that they believed her. He’d heard about the fight Jutta with some woman, and of Jutta beating the hell out of her. It had been the talk of the town. No one doubted it when Jutta promised retribution. She fairly vibrated with outrage, her eyes had nearly gone black and she was breathing heavily. She was so close to Hawkins, that he thought that Hawkins might shit himself with fear. She turned and gently took Mary’s arm and led the woman away, and the three guards watched, then looked at each other and shrugged helplessly. Their bodies relaxing as the threat moved away from them.

  There was a long table that had been set out for everyone to wash up and they were able to change their clothes. Their own rags would be washed and left to dry in the sun while they worked the fields. It had been good to bring more food back to the rest who’d been left behind to work in the mines. Most of it had been distributed among the children first.

  Jutta had also sent cookies back and all had enjoyed that rare treat. Today, there were more women that had come to work in the fields. The men opting to do the heavier work down in the coal mines. Also, this gave their women a chance at good food, a bath and sunshine. All which they’d been denied for well over a month. David heard the women oohing and ahhing over the hot water and heard their splashes. He knew that exquisite feeling of being clean.