Indivisible

by C. A. Rudolph

  Ricky sent strange glances to all parties excluding his brother. “Is Michelle around?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Where might she be, then? We’re lookin’ for her.”

  “It’s difficult to know for sure,” Christian said. “She keeps herself busy these days. Our…most recent unwanted guests left us a hell of a mess to clean up.”

  “Interesting way to put that,” Junior said, holding his head solemnly. “We, uh, don’t mean to come across as being pushy, but we really need to speak with her today. Any clue where we’re likely to find her?”

  Christian shrugged. “Across the road at the Masons’ would be my first guess. Or next door at the Ackermann place where Dr. Vincent and his wife are staying.”

  “He means the provisional ob-gyn clinic,” Grace hissed. “If you will.”

  “The what?” prompted Ricky.

  “I suppose we’ll head out and check both places, then,” Junior said. “Thanks, and sorry to bother you.”

  “Junior, wait. What exactly is going on?” asked Christian. “I mean, what’s this in reference to?”

  The Brady brothers traded looks before Junior tendered a response. “Well, I suppose we could call it a matter of…family business.”

  “Family business?” Christian echoed, unable to discern if he was being mocked.

  “It regards our deal,” Ricky added.

  Christian closed his eyes and sighed. He’d had a feeling this was coming. “What about it?”

  Junior glanced at his brother once more. “No offense to you, Christian, but you haven’t lived here as long as some of these other folks. And we prefer to discuss this with someone who has a little more…sway. Normally, our paw would be in the spot to handle this; then the right would fall to Bo. It…kind of goes without saying, in light of recent…events, our situation’s changed.”

  Ricky’s eyes darted into the hallway. “What about ole Norm? He around?”

  Christian shook his head. “No, he’s at the Masons’. Still tending to Lee.”

  “How’s the boy doing, by the way?” Junior asked. “Figured he’d be back home by now.”

  “He’s recovering well, but the docs want to keep him immobile a while longer,” Christian said. “He and the others were lucky. Thanks for asking.”

  Ricky Brady huffed, sending Christian an insistent glare. “Well, ain’t that swell. So nice to know how lucky they all were and how they’re all gettin’ better. Just so you know, not every injury is the healin’ type.”

  “I realize that,” Christian said.

  “It’s best you should,” Ricky grumbled. “Don’t ever be forgettin’ it, neither.”

  Christian looked confused. “I won’t, haven’t, and wouldn’t. And as I’ve said before, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Ricky sneered. “Mm-hmm.”

  “Excuse me,” Grace cut in, “sorry to interrupt this squarejerk, but did either of you yokels come here intending to divulge anything of worth? Because if so, spit it the fuck out already and then let yourselves the hell out of my house.” She pointed to the floor. “You two twats tracked friggin’ mud and snow in all over the friggin’ floor I only just finished friggin’ mopping. And you both smell god-awful—like two men who’ve recently been intimate with livestock.”

  “Eh, sorry about that,” Junior said, eyeing the floor and putting a nose to his underarm.

  Grace fake smiled. “Oh, that’s okay, really. I’m not really that mad about the floor. Just…peeved. And really nauseous. Everything makes me nauseous. And my poor stomach is once again on the verge of emptying itself of what little acid remains there…for the fifth damn time today.”

  Ricky stepped forward with the intent to offer a retort, but his brother halted him.

  “Grace, we apologize, we do. For the intrusion and for the mess on your floor.” Junior slid his hands into his pockets and turned away, headed for the door.

  Ricky opened the door for him. After his brother slid past, he remained in the threshold. “In case y’all are wonderin’, our deal is over. Ain’t gonna be no more guardin’ barricades or doin’ patrols or makin’ road trips. We’re goin’ back to keepin’ to ourselves and takin’ care of ourselves—like we shoulda done in the first place before we got tangled up with y’all.”

  Feeling more needed to be said, Junior rotated in the doorway. “Sorry we have to be this abrupt, but we can’t stand to lose anyone else. We don’t want any more blood. Probably should’ve never gotten involved in this little war in the first place, but that was our paw’s doing.” A pause. “He isn’t around anymore to make family decisions, and Bo’s not here either, so it all falls on me now. Puts me in charge of this family. And those of us left have to take care of ourselves the best way we know how. Good luck to all of you.”

  Grace snapped her fingers, nabbing both Christian’s and Richie’s combined attention as the door closed. “What the hell, you two? Are you just going to stand there?”

  Richie looked dumbfounded. He said nothing while remaining transfixed on Grace’s hand and the splayed-out tools of the Swiss Army knife.

  “What?” asked Christian.

  “What do you mean, what? This is sort of a big deal, Christian.”

  “I know that. In fact, I’m pretty sure it was me who told you that.”

  “Whatever. This isn’t a pissing contest. If we lose our arrangement with the Bradys, we lose the help we’ve been getting at the barricades—not to mention the major help we stand to get with all that food they have access to at that place down the road. So, go. Now. Talk to them.”

  Richie sneered. “And let me guess. You want me to go with him, right?”

  “Nope,” Grace said, urging him along with a shooing gesture. “I don’t want you to do anything other than leave. Oh, and never return.”

  Christian sighed. He went to the door, opened it and allowed Richie to stroll out. He walked to the edge of the porch and called out to the Brady brothers a moment after.

  Ricky Brady waved Christian off with his back turned while slogging through the snow to his truck. His sons Tommy and Wayne were standing outside, appearing to have been waiting for him near the midway point of the Russells’ driveway.

  Christian continued to give chase, unaware if Ricky’s boys had just arrived or if they’d accompanied their father here, but he took note that they were no longer manning their posts. And with Chad and Mark Mason having gone missing, it meant that no one was guarding the barricade at Wolf Gap.

  One of Ricky’s sons strolled directly to his father while the other followed a short way behind. “Paw, everything go all right?”

  “Sure did. In fact, I’m real glad to see you both here. We were about ready to head up the hill and get you. We’ll be takin’ our leave of these folks and all their hitches and snags for good, beginnin’ today.”

  Tommy Brady looked back at his brother. “Okay, I guess. But, Paw, there’s somethin’ else. Somethin’ we know. A glitch we’re facin’.”

  “You’re telling me, boy,” Ricky said. “We got lots of those, don’t we…and one real big one. Well, don’t you worry. We’ll be fixing them all real shortly.”

  The two younger Bradys traded nervous looks.

  Tommy began again. “Paw…listen to me, please. Me and Wayne wanted to tell you this weeks ago, but we didn’t. With the family so tore up, we was afraid to. And now since we’re partin’ ways with everyone, like you said, we should probably say somethin’ to them about it. You know, before.”

  Ricky looked upon his sons with a set of perplexed, bitter eyes, but offered nothing in response.

  Christian homed in on the young man’s words. “What is it you want to tell us, Tommy?”

  Ricky pointed a stern finger at Christian. “Now you just hold on there. You don’t get to talk to my boys. They’re my sons. And that makes it my job.”

  “Fine.” Christian relented.

  “Well, go on then,” Ricky urged them. “Say what you got to say s
o we can get a move on.”

  Tommy spoke hesitantly. “It’s about the Mason brothers, Chad and Mark. Back before they went missin’, they told us they were headin’ to Virginia to do some huntin’, said they’d be back in a day or so. Then they asked if we could keep it a secret about them leaving and cover for them. We thought it was strange they’d ask us to do that, but we said yes anyways.”

  “Secret? Damn right it’s strange,” Ricky scolded. “That shoulda smacked you in the noggin right there. What’s the matter with you?”

  Junior Brady intervened on the young man’s behalf. “Easy, Rick. Let the boy speak.”

  Wayne finally moved forward to stand in solidarity with his brother. “I told him not to say anything. I didn’t want anyone to get mad for what we did. It was my fault, Paw.”

  Ricky hung his head. “I taught you better than that, boy.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry.” Wayne paused to gather his thoughts. “Anyway, Tommy and me, we got suspicious. So we snuck out of the hide and watched them right before they left. It probably wasn’t right to do it, but we did.” Another pause. “We saw three of them.”

  “Three?” Christian probed.

  “That’s right,” Wayne timidly replied. “Chad, Mark, and another person. A woman. Each one had a motorbike…three of the ones we kept from that gang. We…didn’t know who the woman was, at first. Thought it might’ve been one of y’all, until Tommy pointed out the color in her hair. Then we knew it had to be that biker woman.”

  “What biker woman?” Junior asked, his tone brasher than before.

  “The one who showed up to the barricade the night before the attack to warn us,” Tommy filled in. “The one who got shot.”

  Christian stepped closer into the fray with arms folded. “Wait a second, that woman died on the road that day. I thought we buried her in the mass grave with the rest of her posse.”

  “I reckon she must’ve risen from the dead,” Wayne said. “’Cause it was her.”

  “Sounds like y’all have yourselves a mystery to solve,” Junior said. “It’s a shame those boys are missing; no doubt in my mind it’s…difficult. But that doesn’t really change much for us.”

  Christian nodded. “I know. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for the way things have gone down. And I’m truly sorry about what happened to Bo. I honestly wish there was something I could’ve done. We were all in a really bad spot that day; any one of us could’ve been handed the same fate.”

  Junior elevated his gaze. “I get that. I personally don’t blame you or anyone else for what happened. But we…just can’t take any more chances.”

  “Mother of p-pearl on a p-pogo stick! It’s frigid as fuck out here!” Grace shrieked, exiting the cabin, bundled in a winter jacket and a scarf securely wrapping her neck and face. “Perplexing…the polar air seems to have a thwarting effect on my nausea.” She approached her onlookers. “Gentlemen, did we manage to work out our differences?”

  Every man in present company took turns staring at one another and offering his version of a negative response.

  “Well, great. That’s great…freaking swell,” Grace quipped through the woolen material concealing her mouth. “I love how everything is just falling to freaking pieces today.” She angled her head backward and adjusted her scarf to expose her nose; then a curious look befell her.

  “What is it?” Christian inquired. “That buzzing sound again?”

  Grace shook her head, sniffing the air above. “No. No buzzing. It’s just this…smell.”

  Christian pivoted. “I don’t smell anything.”

  Richie edged forward after remaining mostly apart from the others. “What exactly do you smell? Something that doesn’t belong?”

  Grace pointed a finger at him. “Whoa, maintain your distance, GI joker. Remember, I don’t like you. But since you asked, my answer would be not really, but maybe. It’s like…men’s cologne or something.”

  “I don’t wear cologne,” said Christian. “I don’t think anyone in the valley does.”

  “Trust me, they don’t,” Grace spat. “That’s a certainty.”

  “Are you sure it’s not perfume?” Richie persisted.

  “Yes, I’m sure. No way it’s perfume; it’s not fruity or flowery. It’s more like…aftershave. Nothing girly about it at all.”

  “Grace,” Christian began, now able to predict where Richie was going with this, “is it foreign to you? As in something you haven’t smelled before around these parts?”

  “Around these parts,” Grace teased. “Listen to you, you’re turning into a country boy. It’s so cute.”

  “Grace…”

  “Sorry.” She thought a moment, then nodded. “Yes. Definitely. I have never smelled this smell before in my life…well, since living here, I mean.”

  Richie got a sudden serious look on his face, doing away with his characteristic superior one. He stuck his finger in his mouth and held it aloft to feel the direction in which the wind was gusting. “Okay, right now everybody needs to move. Get out of the open and find cover, now!”

  Christian’s look filled with urgency. “Do as he says!” With resolve, he scanned the trees and sprinted to Grace. “Come on. Get back in the cabin.”

  “What? The cabin? Why?” she asked, her hands aloft to her sides. “Why do I—”

  A penetrating zip tore through the air, and a split second later, Ricky Brady grabbed his chest and collapsed to the ground, screaming and writhing in agony. Junior yelled for his brother and moved to render aid, only to make it several feet before he was taken down by a second shot.

  Richie went into action. He pushed both Wayne and Tommy to the ground near their father’s truck and hit the deck with his rifle pointed westward, then pulled a radio from a pouch on his plate carrier. “Break! Break! This is romeo-one-actual. Sniper in the woods! I say again, sniper in the woods! Danger imminent! I need all eyes open to the west!”

  Christian latched onto Grace and hoisted her onto the porch, making quick work of escorting her safely indoors as several other barely audible shots whizzed by.

  “My hero,” she cooed, her hands gripping his shoulders. “You saved me again, my daring knight. And now I love you even more than I did a minute ago.” She smiled, kissed him, and her expression contorted. “Did you hear what that douche bagel said to his radio? Romeo…like it was his name or something. Can you believe that shit? Romeo. As if.”

  “I heard him,” Christian said, pulling away from her and sliding to the door to chance a look outside. “Junior’s bleeding pretty bad from the shoulder. And Ricky doesn’t look good. That shot hit him dead center…he isn’t moving.”

  “Jeez, more hurt Bradys?” Grace mused. “We’re running low on them for real now.”

  “Grace…Jesus.”

  “What? It’s true. And you know as well as I do, it won’t go over well. Who do you think is shooting at us?”

  “By my best estimate? Undoubtedly one of your buddy’s friends.”

  “My…buddy?”

  Christian sighed. “Pornstache Max, whom you resolved to keep alive, for whatever reason.”

  Grace moved to her knees and crawled closer, halting upon receiving visual reprimand. “Oh, him. I thought I told you why I did that.”

  “And I thought I told you why you shouldn’t have,” Christian barked.

  “Hmm. Christian, I’m sensing a certain off-color tone…I really don’t wish to quarrel with you,” Grace said, puckering her lips. “Not now. Not with people shooting at us.”

  “Nor I you.” He took one last look outside, then secured the door and hurried down the hallway, hurdling Grace along the way. Christian reemerged a moment after with the Savage .300 Win Mag retrieved from the gun safe.

  Grace sent him an odd look. “Is this the best time to go hunting?”

  “Depends on the prey. I need something that can reach out and touch someone,” he said, then knelt and placed a gentle kiss on Grace’s waiting lips. “Stay here, please. And st
ay down. Protect yourself and that baby at all costs.”

  Grace brushed his cheek with her fingertips. “I will. No funny business on my part, I promise. Be careful, please. And don’t get shot again.”

  “I’ll try not to.” Christian turned away and cracked open the door, and the added volume of sporadic gunfire became instantly noticeable.

  “And by the way, it’s our baby, never that baby,” Grace exclaimed, watching helplessly as he took his leave, running daringly back into danger.

  Chapter 4

  Little Germany Farms

  Riverton, West Virginia

  Saturday, January 1st. Present day

  Through varying depths of dense snow, Lauren dashed away from the farmhouse in the direction of the shots. She ran low and lunged into snowdrifts to prevent being hit as bullets whizzed rebelliously overhead, most times with intent, a handful of times purely by accident.

  During a brief intermission between reports, she began to hear rustling and panting from behind as two pairs of legs sifted through the tracks she’d made. Lauren had a feeling she wasn’t alone anymore and saw a furry brown face upon whirling around to verify. “Dammit! Cyrus, no! Bad dog! Go back!”

  She pled with him, but it wasn’t any use. The young retriever was locked on now, as oblivious to the circumambient hazards as his owner. His snout lowered, Cyrus slowed his gallop and casually strolled to Lauren without a care in the world before pushing his cold, soggy nose into her face. He licked her and plopped down in the snow, offering his paw.

  Lauren sighed, taking it with her free hand. She smiled at him, unable to help herself. “You’re a lovely pup, Cyrus. No doubt about it. But you’re also a big idiot,” she said, petting him and rubbing his head and ears. “You know that, right?”

  Soon, the erratic spurts of gunfire returned. The morning sky was bright and overcast, providing adequate light to move about, though Lauren still couldn’t see or discern from precisely where the shots were originating. She rubbed Cyrus’s head. “I don’t suppose I’m going to be able to talk you into staying put, am I?”

  His tongue dangling and panting merrily, Cyrus merely cocked his head and pricked his ears.