Journal

by Craig Buckhout

  I took them further back into the hills, just to be safe, and ran them for the first five minutes. After that, we walked for another ten minutes before turning quietly back to the road. Once we were near, we scouted a short distance in both directions, just to make sure my estimate of where Eric’s lookouts were was good, and afterwards we crossed the road in twos. Once across, I led them right to the ambush site, although a long way in back of them. That’s where we halted to make the final plan.

  Arvid started right out by telling me to “stay put,” and “keep out of things.” I think he tried to soften his hard way of saying it by telling me that everyone in his group had been practicing together and so knew what was expected of them. If I got involved in the fight, it might just screw things up. That may have been his way of softening things up, but to me it still sounded like he didn’t trust me. To his face I nodded and said, “OK.” In my head I was calling him ten of the worst wash house names I could think of.

  So I sat there on the ground, behind a rock, all safe and sound, while he and the others snuck down closer to Eric and his crew.

  I’m sure that anyone who has been reading this thing can figure out that Arvid’s plan and my plan weren’t exactly the same plan. There was no damn way I was going to sit behind a rock and miss out on a chance to do what I should have done earlier, kill Eric. So the second that Arvid was out of sight, I started moving downhill myself. I just walked further to the left is all, in a perfect position to spot anyone escaping. See, I knew something they didn’t. Eric isn’t the type to stand there and slug it out if he thought he wasn’t going to win. He’s the type who takes off running and comes back to get you later. I’d wait for him.

  No sooner had I settled into my very own ambush spot, than it started. First, it was just a couple of pops, probably because somebody spotted somebody else, followed by the whole Woburn militia unleashing everything they had at the backs of Eric’s men. I held my place and checked and re-checked the safety on my little carbine. Out loud, I actually said, “No mistakes.”that’s what I didwot

  The first person I saw was that guy in the red ball cap and dark glasses. He came out from behind a bush in a half crouch, tip toeing his way north. I told myself, he wasn’t Eric but he’d do for now. I let him get a couple of steps into the open and let loose three or four shots in a row. Some of them must have hit because I saw him twist and zig, and go a couple of more steps before his knees gave out on him, and he dropped flat to the ground. I was feeling pretty proud of myself about that when Eric stepped out beyond the same bush and took a couple of shots at me with this big old pistol he was holding. I can’t swear to it, but I think one of his bullets went right past my head.

  My reaction, of course, was to duck. It was a natural thing to do, instinct, but not what I wanted to do. I wanted to go right at him, not hide. So I got up off the ground and started shooting and moving. As I was going in his direction, I remember it seemed as though the sounds of gunfire from the main fight had increased to the point that it was as if a giant string of firecrackers had been lit off. I’ll bet little hunks of metal were flying all over the place, no doubt my way as well. Just standing upright was a risk.

  I was running at that point and so was Eric. The ground we were on was uneven — bushes, trees, rocks, brambles. I fired off a couple of shots at his back but apparently missed because I didn’t see him flinch or anything. I had him on the go, though. He couldn’t get set. He couldn’t stop because it wasn’t just me he was worried about. Others would be coming soon, too.

  I saw him stumble, go part way down, but quickly get back on his feet, this time, though, I didn’t see a gun in his hand. That gave me confidence. From a distance of maybe twenty five yards, I set myself just long enough to take another shot. I heard him cry out and grab the top of his shoulder. It was that meaty area between his neck and the tip of his shoulder. That, and the fact that he started zigzagging back and forth, in and out of trees and bushes, allowed me to get even closer to him. I set myself again and timed his zag, I guess you could say, so that I could finally put him down. Just as I was about to shoot, I heard gunfire coming from my right and saw the ground in front of me kicked up dirt. Somebody else was trying to kill me.

  I threw myself backwards, away from the bullets, and made like a snake slithering for a hole, moving faster than I could ever imagine. To give you an idea of how jumped-up I was, I didn’t feel any pain in my hurt shoulder during this whole part of it.

  The first rock I stopped behind wasn’t big enough to completely hide me, so I crawled to another one that was a little bigger and also under a bush. Once there, I popped my head up to shoot whoever was shooting at me and recognized he was one of the men from Woburn. So I ducked back down again and started yelling out all the swear words I knew, telling him who I was, telling him to stop shooting at me, and telling him that Eric was getting away.

  When I ran out of things to say, he yelled back and told me to stand up so he could see me. I didn’t like that idea too much, so I just peeked at him first, showing only my head, ready to duck back down if necessary. When I saw him kind of ex-wife and daughter y point relax, I stood all the way up.

  There was no time to shake his hand, or explain anything, or do anymore swearing. I just took off after Eric, telling him to follow me. We ran at first, and then walked for a couple hundred yards I guess, but we saw no sign of Eric or anyone else for that matter. He got away, again, for now. I can’t believe that guy’s luck. At least he was hurting.

  As we started back toward the others, my companion said, “Hey, sorry about that back there.”

  He was a man of about forty, I would judge, with a three day growth of beard and wearing glasses that had a rubber band tied on them, stretched between the stems, across the back of his head so they wouldn’t fall off. Even though he said the words, his eyes didn’t show real sorry. That was all right, though. He didn’t need to say anything at all. I wasn’t even supposed to be there.

  “No big deal,” I told him.

  Once the dead were searched, the guns and ammunition gathered up, the three healthy prisoners tied up, (I think they decided to let the wounded just die), and my duty to warn Woburn of the planned attack done, I told them I was going back to help Alan and mom.

  That got a “No way, son,” from Arvid.

  I guess he still hadn’t figured me out yet, so I told him again that I was going back for them, this time using words that didn’t give him the idea he had any say about it.

  After that, there was quiet and everyone just kind of stood around, either looking at one another or at their toes, at least until the woman in their group, Tracy Pickens, spoke up and volunteered to go with me. That got another two volunteers, a guy who looked about my age and a man of about twenty five with a thin, expressionless face, who carried a rifle with a scope on it. After some more time passed, with everyone standing around and nobody making a decision, I started off. As soon as I did that, Tracy put a hand on my arm, and it stopped me. She stared at a man across the little circle we’d formed, smiled and arched her eyebrows. He was a tall guy about her age, so maybe thirty. He shifted his feet, did a quick sideways look at the people on either side of him and followed these antics with a sheepish “OK,” that got a few chuckles from the others. Something was obviously up between Tracy and this man, but I didn’t have the time to think about it. Time was too valuable.

  So there were four of them plus me who started back in the rain, with maybe only two or three hours of light left to find and help mom and Alan.

  The others said that they would take the vehicle and prisoners back to Woburn, give the warning, and send additional help as soon as they could.

  There’s not a hell of a lot more to tell. I’m getting close to the end now, if there’s such a thing as an end. I say that because I’m thinking that a story like this is more of an on-going thing, without a beginning or an end. It’s not my story, or Alan’s, or moms, or that lady Cdon’t know whytiflaire’s. It’
s really just a bunch of events, all strung together. These events never stop either. They just keep happening, just like the sun comes up every morning and goes down every night. We are part of them for a time and then we’re not because we’re dead, except for maybe how we changed things in some small way and those changes changed others. Kind of like how Eric changed things by kidnapping mom and me, and how because of that we met Alan, and how because of that Alan and mom fell in love, and so on and so on, before and after. So I guess when I finish writing what I feel I have to write about, the story just keeps going, I just stop telling it is all. Does that make sense?

  Well anyway, to finish up this part of it, we didn’t reach them before dark. I was still all charged up to keep going, but they talked me into waiting until first light for all the obvious reasons. So we waited.

  No fire was built. We didn’t want to be found out by any of Eric’s people. So in the dark, they caught me up on what was happening in Woburn, and I told them all of what happened to mom, me, and Alan while I was gone.

  The only thing I want to write about my part of it is that as I talked, close up to them in a tight little circle, our knees just about touching, I noticed their eyes were kind of poking at me all over. You know, going from my eyes, to my hands, to places on my body, and back to my eyes again. And what I think they were doing was comparing me, what they saw of me anyway, to the words that came out of my mouth. After I was done, well I really can’t tell you what they thought because there was nothing said one way or the other about it, but I got the feeling the men were wondering how they would have done in my place. Tracy, well, she looked like she wanted to throw her arms around me. I don’t need anyone’s feelings, though. I wasn’t brave, or tough, or any of that stuff. I just kept doing the next thing to be done to keep from dying.

  As far as their part of the conversation, they said formal elections had been held in Woburn and a council selected to govern. A constitution of sorts had been written and, after considerable arguing back and forth, some wanting more say so in the hands of the council and others against it, it was approved by general vote. They also said that the numbers of persons allowed to become part of the town had increased with the improved harvest. And because of the new talent, there were several cars up and running and now a more stable production of electricity was had. There were also three doctors and a dentist now, but medicine was still a big problem. A chemist had been recruited to work on making some of the basic sort of things, pain killers, antibiotics and insulin. However, progress had been slow in that regard, which was too bad since several people with diabetes had died because the supply of insulin had run out.

  I also learned that Tracy is the half sister of the kid my age (Kyle) who had also volunteered to come with us. The man who joined our little rescue party last (Everett), the one who got the laughs, is a quiet, almost shy man, who lost his wife and kids to the sickness. He and Tracy have been eyeing each other for awhile, still are, and everyone knew it, but it apparently hadn’t gone much beyond that. That leaves the stone faced man. His name is Bob, and I don’t know anything more about him because he hardly said anything at all. He seemed a regular type, though, someone to share work wthat’s what I didwotith.

  There was a lot more said by them that night than I’ve written down, but I have to admit I was only half listening because my thoughts were elsewhere most the time. I just couldn’t get mom and Alan off my mind.

  If I slept, I don’t remember it. So I was awake when I heard the gunshots off in the distance and already moving in their direction, with the others hurrying to catch up, when I heard the louder explosion a few minutes later. You can imagine what I was thinking. What else could I think?

  Ah, what a mess. We found Alan and mom right where I’d last left them, hidden down in the rocks, he on top of her. By the lay of things, I’d say that he set off our last bomb at the final moment, right when they were closing in for the kill because five of them lay scattered about, dead or dying. Eric wasn’t among them.

  I don’t know if Alan was killed by the blast or not because he had other wounds, too, but the damage to his body from the bomb was terrible to see. Most of it was to his back and the side facing the place where the bomb went off. Mom’s face, just about the only thing exposed, was covered with blood. My thought at that moment was that he did it. Alan killed her like I asked him to, to save her from any further torture and humiliation.

  I know how I’m writing this out. It must seem to anyone reading it that I was all calm like and everything, but when I first saw them, it was more like somebody kicked me right in the gut. I doubled over and threw-up a dry stomach, right there beside them. Tears ran down my face. I cried and didn’t try to hide it, either. I felt as though everything I ever cared about had been taken from me. It was Tracy who got me clear headed again.

  She pushed past me and tried to pull Alan’s body off mom. All of a sudden I was light headed with hope. My vision tunneled to the point where everything around was a white haze except them. My hands trembled as I joined in, as did that guy Everett, and together we lifted what was left of Alan off her. She was alive. The blood was mostly from Alan …except for one small cut on her forehead. After we got to checking her over, she had only one bad wound. It was the one she got back by the river; the one to her hip. I could hardly believe it. She was unconscious, though, and that was bad business by itself.

  Alan didn’t kill her after all, like I had asked him to, and that has been a reason for a lot of thinking on my part these days since. I’m still thinking about it. It’s tough to be wrong about something like that. I wouldn’t have her now if he’d listened to me.

  I killed off the ones left wounded, to the stares of the others in our group. They never said a word about what I did, though, then or since, but I have to admit that their silence has been loud enough and good reason for me to wonder if I’ve become something I shouldn’t. I don’t feel bad for doing it but maybe that’s the point. I need to think some more about it. Maybe I should talk to mom about it, too. I don’t feel I was wrong.

  Anyway, after the last bullet was fired, we used what was

  left

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  December 12, 2051

  April 1, 2054 (Fools Day) –

  April 3, 2054 –

  April 7, 2054 –

  April 8, 2054 -

  April 9, 2054 –

  April 10, 2054

  April 11, 2054 –

  April 15, 2054 –

  On April 16, 2054

  April 17, 2054-

  May 5, 2054-

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