by Ray Wench
“Jesus Christ, stop that!” Lincoln said.
Brother and sister stopped, looked at each other, then embraced.
A man ran into the clearing, saw the carnage and fled.
Becca laughed and howled again. Bobby laughed. Lincoln covered his ears.
Bobby stopped and he moaned. “Oh, no.”
Becca and Lincoln turned to see what he was looking at. “Shit!” Lincoln said. Drew's bullet-torn body hung from the rear window.
Thirty
Mark stopped, crouched and listened. Nothing. After the distant gunshots and strange howling had ceased, even the birds had gone silent. He waited, afraid he would move into someone's line of sight. After two minutes, about to advance to another position, rustling to his left caught his attention. Leaning against a small tree trunk, he brought up his weapon and tracked the movement.
His finger tightened around on the trigger as a bush moved twenty feet to the left. As it parted, he breathed out and relaxed the pressure on his finger just before putting a bullet into Elijah. The man struggled to keep a wounded Paul up and moving. Blood covered much of the man's torso and legs, giving no clue where the actual wound was. They moved unaware of what was around them.
Mark scanned for pursuit. If anyone were tracking them, the noise from their movement, coupled with Paul's low moans would have made the job easy. Seeing nothing, Mark stood, about to lend a hand carrying Paul, when two men burst into the small open space. They spied Elijah and Paul and raised their weapons.
Elijah tried to spin to meet the attack, but with Paul in tow, was too slow. Mark fired in a hurry. His first two shots were off target. The two men pivoted and fired back, too surprised to make the shots count. As they fled for cover Mark managed to score a hit in the upper back of the taller man, but both disappeared from sight. With limited ammo, He contemplated following but thought better of it.
Instead, he kept the gun raised and sighted on the spot where the men escaped; he sidestepped toward Elijah and Paul. “Keep moving, I'll cover you.”
Elijah didn't speak. Lifting Paul with a grunt, he hauled the man out of the clearing and into cover and used a tree trunk to shield him. If the two gunmen were still there, they weren't making their presence obvious.
Mark caught up to Elijah and wrapped an arm around the opposite side of the wounded man. As they moved faster, Mark fumbled for the handgun Paul wore in a holster on his belt, pulled it free and stuck it in his belt. If Elijah noticed he was not concerned.
Another five minutes with no signs of pursuit, Elijah called for a break; his chest heaved from the exertion. They set Paul down and Elijah doubled over sucking for air and leaned against a tree. Mark scanned the area focusing all his attention on listening for unnatural sounds. As sure as he could be that they were alone, he knelt down to examine Paul.
The man had two wounds. One in the right shoulder, the other in the right chest. He wasn't a doctor, but he'd seen enough wounds to know he needed some medical assistance, and soon.
“We have to go. He needs help.”
Elijah nodded. He drew in a deep breath, pushed away from the tree and helped Mark lift Paul. They moved on in silence for a time.
“How far?” Mark asked.
Elijah hesitated. “Not very.”
“Do you have someone with medical experience?”
“Limited, but yes.”
“Freeze,” a voice shouted. Mark closed his eyes and sighed, knowing the source of the command. Darlene stepped from cover, her gun pointed at Mark. Elijah said, “Darlene, lower the gun.”
“No, we can't trust him.”
“You can't, but I do. He saved my life. Now, lower the gun.”
“Did he shoot Paul?”
“Now you're being ridiculous. You're too emotional for clear thought. Come, help me with Paul.”
She stepped closer but refused to lower her gun. Elijah positioned his body between her and Mark. “Darlene, I'm not asking again.”
A blur darted from the left, catching Darlene from behind. Gun and body went flying. By the time the picture came into focus, Becca had her down, a knife descending toward her throat.
“Becca. No!” Mark shouted. Almost too late, Becca pulled back. The tip of the blade pierced the skin a micro-fraction away from severing her carotid. The hostility on his daughter's face was enough to make Mark blanch. “Becca,” his voice was but a whisper, but it seemed to fill the space.
Still, all but frothing, Becca hissed, “She-she was going to kill you, Daddy!”
Mark forced a calm he did not feel into his words. “She's not going to now. Let her up.”
The vision of his daughter's horrifying bloodlust refused to release his mind. “Becca, let her up.”
Becca looked from Darlene to her father. Something changed inside her, as though an evil presence had been exorcized. She pulled the knife back and stood, backing away from the woman as Bobby and Lincoln joined them.
“Christ,” Lincoln said.
Bobby rushed to his sister, put an arm around her and guided her away from Darlene. The other woman lay on the ground, shock robbing her of anger, unable to move.
Lincoln said, “Man, am I glad to see you.”
“Likewise,” said Mark.
“I'm getting way too old for this shit,” Lincoln said.
“I'm with you.”
“Only you could turn a simple fishing trip into a war zone.”
“Yeah, thanks, Lynn.”
“Hey, just saying.”
“Give Elijah a hand with Paul, would you?”
He holstered his gun. “Sure.” He lifted the wounded man by himself.
Mark stepped to Darlene's side and offered his hand. She stared at him, still breathing hard from her near-death experience. “We're not your enemies, Darlene. Let me help you up.”
A spark of fire lit her eyes for a second, then passed away as quick. With a tentative hand she accepted Mark's. He hauled her to her feet. They stood looking at each other. Mark waited for her to say something, but she didn't. She bent to retrieve her gun. Mark glanced at his daughter. Becca's hand was on her gun, ready to draw and fire if the need arose.
Darlene picked up the gun stared at it for a moment, slid it into a holster hanging from a rope tied around her. She looked at Paul, at Mark, and said, “This way.” She led the group into the woods. Five minutes later, she stopped and whistled. It was returned by someone unseen ahead. She strode off again. A minute later they came into a large clearing reminiscent of a small Indian village. Tents and hastily constructed wooden structures had been erected in a circle around a large central fire pit.
A group of about twenty people, men, women and children, came out to greet them. A woman and two men rushed to Paul as Elijah and Lincoln entered the opening. “He's bad. Quick, get him inside.” The two new men took Paul to the largest building near the center of the village.
“Welcome to our community,” Elijah said. To the gathered group, he added. “These people are our guests and should be treated as such. Some of you bring food and drink for them, please.” A few of the small community went off, Mark assumed to take care of his request.
Elijah turned to Mark. “I have to both apologize and thank you. You saved maybe all of our lives. I am burdened by guilt over how we treated you. Please understand, we are a peaceful and welcoming sort of commune, but in our meetings and dealings with others, we've learned to be very careful and quite defensive.”
“I do understand. Some of the groups we've met haven't had the same ideas about community and family that we do.”
“Yes, it is certainly a strange and harsh new world we live in.” He swept an arm toward the central gathering area where several tables sat around the fire pit. “Please, go and refresh yourselves. I have a few things to tend to then I will join you.”
Mark watched the man walk off and wondered what his previous role had been in society. He spoke like a politician, or perhaps teacher. He seemed friendly and peaceful enough, but having bee
n fooled before, he remained wary and alert.
Mark turned and moved to join Lincoln, Bobby and Becca at the tables.
The activity in the camp amped up. Everyone was in motion with a job to do. Bowls of some sort of soup were placed in front of them. Fish and what appeared to be seaweed floated in a greenish broth.
Lincoln sniffed at it and made a face. Mark had little interest in food, but Bobby tucked in. “Hey, this is good.” Broth dribbled down his chin and he wiped it with a backhand.
Lincoln looked at him like he was being put on.
“No, really. Try it.”
Lincoln took a tentative slurp and his eyebrows lifted in surprise.
A man sat across from them. “Good?”
Bobby said, “Yeah, what's in it?”
“Yeah,” Lincoln said. “What's all these weeds? Looks like something picked up after the grass has been cut. You sure they're edible?”
The man laughed, stood and went into one of the tents. He came back a moment later carrying a book. “It's all in here.” He handed the book to Lincoln. He read the title aloud. “Edible Wild Plants by John Kallas, Ph.D.”
“It lists all kinds of edible plants and even gives recipes. Found it in a house and thought it would be handy. Added fresh herbs that we grow and fish we caught, and there you go.” He waved his hand over the table.
“Hmm!” Lincoln said, “Still looks like weird.” But he took another slurp.
Mark glanced around the camp getting an idea of their numbers. His eyes stopped on Darlene. She sat on a tree stump honing her knife. What was more disturbing was the hatred in her eyes. He followed her glare and saw it connected with Becca's eyes. Even more heart-stopping was the eerie smile on his daughter's face.
Thirty-One
“Wait!” Lynn said. “There! Yes,” she shouted with more enthusiasm than intended.
“Where?” Denver said.
“That sign up there on the left.”
“Remember, you were looking through binoculars.”
“Oh yeah, sorry. It's about a mile further.” She looked off into the distance at the two apocalyptic-looking stacks of the old Davis-Bessie nuclear power plant, highlighted against an ominous gray sky. Did that get shut down properly or did they have to worry about a meltdown at some point? She wondered if they were far enough away that they wouldn't be affected if that did happen but decided there was no safe distance.
“Here?” Denver asked, disrupting her thoughts.
“Yeah.” She picked up the radio and tried to reach the lead group. Still no answer. Lynn wanted to slam the radio down. “Slow down, Denver. We're not sure what we might run in to.” She clicked the radio to get the other vehicles’ attention and without waiting for them to check in, said, “Everyone be alert.”
Not wanting to waste any more time after leaving the barricade, Lynn had stayed in the minivan, rather than transfer back to Tara's SUV. Now she wished she had. Tara could offer more insight as to what to look for or how to position the convoy.
The radios squawked. “Tara to Lynn, come in.”
She lifted the radio, depressed the button and spoke. “It's Lynn, Tara.”
“There're tire tracks leading into those trees. Did you see the two trucks parked just off the main road?”
“No, I missed them.”
“They don't look as though they've been there long. It's not an area anyone would stop unless they had a purpose.”
“You thinking it might be the ones the barricade people were talking about?”
“That's my thought. Stop where you are and wait for us. We're gonna check out the tracks.”
“Stop here, Denver.” Lynn turned in her seat and saw Tara's SUV veer off the dirt road and follow the twin tire lines toward the trees. The jeep stopped on the road, the gunner swiveling the gun to cover the SUV.
“What's going on?” Antwan, a young black man in the back seat, asked.
“Tara's investigating something suspicious.”
The car went quiet, adding to the building tension of waiting. Several minutes later, Tara called. “They've been here all right. Signs of a gun fight and a few freshly dead bodies.”
Lynn felt her heart pound harder and try to rise up her esophagus. “Any ...” she cleared her suddenly dry throat, “anyone you recognize?” She held her breath waiting for the word.
“One that looks familiar. Mel says his name's Drew.” She paused. “He's been shot multiple times. We don't recognize any of the others.”
Lynn closed her eyes, picturing Drew. Her heart bounced like an out-of-balance elevator, rising with elation it wasn't Mark, but dropping just as fast at the loss of a family member. Tears welled, her nerves shot, her escalating emotions flew around within her like a bird caught inside a car.
“Lynn?”
“Huh, yeah.” She realized she hadn't pressed the button and tried again. “I'm here.”
“Leave the car there with a driver,” Tara said. “I'm going to have the jeep change positions. Bring your group over here and we'll search the woods.”
Lynn, still in shock, nodded her head.
“Lynn! You with me?”
“Yeah, sorry. We're on our way.”
“Denver, stay with the car. Keep an eye out for intruders and us. If you see me waving, come in a hurry.”
“You got it.”
“Everyone else out.”
Corporal Ward joined them and suggested they spread out. They approached the tree line and Mel stepped out. “Over here.” They followed.
Drew's body had been laid out next to a Malibu. Three other bodies lay on the other side of the car. Sorrow struck her like a bullet at the sight of Drew's corpse. He had only been with them for a little over a week. He was eager to please; always willing to do whatever he was told, and when finished, would ask 'what else do you need done?' He just wanted to fit in, like most of them, he wanted to feel he belonged. She wiped a lone tear away. “Sorry, Drew,” she whispered.
“Any ideas where to begin?” she asked Tara.
“There’re some tracks leading off that way,” she pointed across wide open ground. “They headed that way, anyway, whether they continued on that course is anyone’s guess.”
Lynn glanced from Drew to the ground they would have to travel, not knowing if that was even the right path. They could be anywhere. If they went that way, had it been of their own accord, or at the insistence of others? Frustrated, she glared at the radio as if daring it to stay silent. She lifted the radio and called for Mark, Bobby or anyone to answer, but before a response came, Tara came running. “We've got four small craft entering the marina.”
Damn!
From the main road behind them came the roar of many vehicles approaching.
Double Damn!
“Shit!” Tara exclaimed. “Quick, everyone into the trees.” She waved an arm wildly for the jeep to come. Lynn motioned with quick circular movements for Denver to bring the car. The line of cars and trucks appeared long before they were out of sight.
Tara took command issuing orders and assigning duties. “Use the cars as cover. Stay down. I'm sure they saw us, but just in case. Don't move unless necessary. You,” she pointed at Antwan, “go in that direction to the end of the trees and keep watch on the water. If they get off the boats and come our way, retreat and tell me. Got that?” He nodded. “Go.”
He took off running.
Corporal Ward called out, “That column of vehicles has stopped on the main road. Someone just got out. Looks like he's giving instructions. Yep. They're turning here, coming in a straight line across the open ground.”
Tara said, “How many?”
“All of them.”
“No, dummy, how many vehicles?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Seven.”
“Are they fully loaded?”
“Can't tell, but you have to figure there's at least two people to a car otherwise why waste the gas for one person?”
“So we could be dealing with anywhere from fourtee
n to twenty-eight people,” Tara said. “No one shoot till I give the word. There's a slight chance they might pass us. Private Menke, target the nearest two cars. When I give the word, fire until they're no longer a threat, then switch to the farthest car. Shoot not just to kill, but to incapacitate their vehicles. If we need to run, we can outdistance them. The rest of you pick off the closest targets. If you see anyone enter the woods, get our attention.”
Ward said, “They're level with us and swinging our way.”
The line of cars had performed a complete left turn so that the entire column now faced the woods. Tara eyed the situation and altered the plan. “Menke, take out the vehicles in the center. Everyone else, concentrate fire on the ends.”
The group of defenders watched as the line stopped and doors across the line opened. Maybe twenty-five men and women emerged. They hid behind the open doors as the column advanced. Tara called up to Menke, “Target the drivers. On my mark.”
She waited a few seconds more. “Fire!” The tree line erupted in a volley of gunfire, a plume of smelly smoke hung cloud-like over their heads. The loud constant chatter of the machine gun created an image of what a real battle was like. The bullets ripped through machine and flesh, leaving little standing in its path.
In less than a minute the attacking force had taken severe casualties and in retreat. Whatever training they had done to work on advancing formations, they'd obviously not practiced retreating. Chaos ruled, making the scene before them look like a keystone cop routine.
Those vehicles that could move collided with destroyed and moving cars alike. Of the seven vehicles that started, only three drove off and one of them trailed black smoke behind. People scattered everywhere. The lucky ones got away, while others who weren't shot down, were hit by cars, or knocked down by panicked allies. It was a mad scramble to escape.