The Long Search For Home

by Ray Wench

  When he reached bottom, Becca began her descent. Bobby started running for the far overpass. It was less than a mile away, but would seem like a lot farther. He was running so hard to reach cover, he almost didn’t hear Becca fall. Ten steps after the sound registered, he turned. Becca was now running with a limp.

  Bobby waited for her, scanning the woods above. They’d been lucky so far. As he grabbed her arm to help her, he caught a glimpse of a man standing on the bridge behind, where the truck still sat. Shit! The man was holding his hands to his face like he held binoculars. They’d been found.

  Twenty-Eight

  Myron sat at the table and stared out over the water. He had repacked his bag, adding as much food as would fit. But he hated to waste what was left. Back and forth he argued for leaving or staying. It was peaceful here and off the main roads. He might be safe here for a while.

  The water looked inviting. If he left, he might not get another opportunity to bathe. The thought of being caught in the water gave him chills, as though someone was already watching him. Despite his apprehension, Myron slipped his T-shirt over his head and looked at the pale skin beneath. “Man, I’m really skinny.” He laughed and flexed his muscles, surprised to see the small bulge in his arms. “Where were you when there were girls to impress?” He laughed again, and then covered his mouth when he realized how loud he was.

  Inside the shed, Myron looked through the bathing suits. Most were too big or for girls, but he found one he could cinch tight enough not to fall off. He caught a whiff of his pits. “Man, you do need a bath.” Grabbing a towel, he peeked out of the shed to make sure the situation hadn’t changed.

  He walked to the edge of the water and dipped his foot. “Man, that’s cold.” Myron walked into the water until he was knee deep. There he stood until he said, “Oh, just do it.” He ran into the water, gasped, but dived under. He started swimming and was surprised he could reach the other end. He had never been very good, but swimming was one of the few physical activities he enjoyed. His muscles strained as he pulled against the water.

  When his feet could touch the bottom, he stood crouched below the water. His body adjusted to the cold. Myron leaned forward and pushed off the bottom, gliding across the surface until his momentum stopped and he had to stroke to keep from sinking. He angled across the pond toward the house.

  For the next twenty minutes, Myron swam nonstop. When he was tired, he stepped out of the water, shivering at the slight breeze crossing his body. He picked up the towel and dried off. His mind was made up. He was staying at least one more night.

  All that activity had made him hungry. He sat under the sun and ate. Soon afterward, he became drowsy. He lay down and closed his eyes. The touch of the sun on his pale skin had a calming and restful effect. It warmed him all the way through his body. He dozed.

  Something strange entered his consciousness. His eyes snapped open. He lifted up on his elbows and yawned. How long have I been sleeping? If the redness on his chest was any indication it had been a while. He touched his chest leaving a white mark that faded to red. “Oh man!” I wonder if they have any sunscreen or lotion in the house.

  Then, almost as an afterthought, he remembered that something had woken him. He sat up and looked around. Was it just a dream? Myron stood and walked back to the shed. He dressed in a hurry. Then the sound came again. A car was coming and sounded close.

  Myron grabbed his pack and the bag of food and hid behind the shed. He glanced around the corner in time to see a jeep pass. Fear struck him hard, freezing him to the spot. His stomach churned, sending a sour and acidic gas up his esophagus. He swallowed hard, hoping to keep his lunch down.

  The haunting sight of the man and woman’s body dancing to the machine gun’s tune flooded his memory. Myron squeezed tight to avoid wetting his pants. He glanced back, but the horror machine was no longer in sight. The path he’d chosen for escape seemed much farther now. Myron might not reach the trees behind the pond in time. He didn’t want to die like the couple did. He sobbed. He didn’t want die at all. Myron sneaked another peek. Someone was in the yard. It was too late. His legs buckled and he sank to the ground. A tremor rose up through his body.

  The voice from his nightmares called out again, “Stop! Don’t run.”

  Myron covered his face.

  Grunts, groans, and slaps filled the yard. There was a fight going on. That gave Myron a second’s hope. If they were after someone else, maybe they wouldn’t see him. He risked a look. There were another man and woman fighting with a group of soldiers. One soldier was on the ground, another was holding his knee.

  The man and woman each had two attackers on them. As Myron watched, transfixed by the battle, the woman went down, her opponent crawled on top, pinning her to the ground. A punch landed, yet still she fought on.

  The man called out, “Becca!” and rushed to her rescue. He leaped at the two soldiers in a flying tackle and rolled both men off the woman. “Run,” he shouted.

  The woman kicked one of her attackers in the face and scrambled to her feet. She sprinted toward the shed.

  Fearing discovery, Myron pulled back. Something crashed into the picnic table. He flinched and closed his eyes. His fingers touched the gun in his bag. As if working independently of his brain, his hand wrapped around the butt and he withdrew it. He was staring at the gun when the woman’s head appeared beyond the edge of the shed. He was so startled he almost shot himself. A wave of panic assailed him leaving him unable to move. His throat constricted like he’d swallowed a golf ball. Myron could barely breathe.

  An unseen force caught her from behind and began dragging her away. She turned her head and saw Myron. For a moment, Myron thought he saw hope in her eyes. Then, just as fast, she shook her head at Myron and said, “No.” But was she talking to him or her attacker?

  She looked behind her and must have kicked someone. “Bitch.”

  The woman grabbed on to the end of the shed. Her face was not more than a yard away.

  “Help us,” she pleaded.

  Myron pushed to his feet and tried to raise his courage. Another look of hope reached her eyes.

  A gunshot ripped into the ground near her. They both jumped. Myron dropped the gun and slapped his hands over his mouth to keep from crying out.

  “The next one goes in your head,” a man warned.

  “Save yourself,” the woman whispered, before she was dragged from sight.

  Twenty-Nine

  Now, Myron told himself. He pictured what he wanted to do. Jump out from his hiding place, gun raised. He would pull the trigger and shoot all the soldiers. He could do it. He’d seen the entire scene play out like a TV show. He was ready. Now, he repeated in his mind. Yet still he remained frozen to the ground.

  He thought of the woman. She needed his help, but just like the last time, he stood by and did nothing. In his mind’s eye this woman’s face morphed into the dead woman. She looked at him and said, “You killed her too.”

  “No,” he said. The guilt hit him like a hammer. The weight of his ancestors’ judgment sat heavy upon his shoulders. “No, not this time.”

  Taking a deep breath, Myron jumped out from the shed and readied to fire. However, he had taken so long to work up his courage, the backyard was no longer occupied. He wiped his eyes clear of tears and looked again.

  “Oh God.” He broke into a run toward the house. Stopping at the corner he pressed into the bricks. A quick peek. No one was there. Myron slid along the side wall until he reached the front. The jeep was just leaving. A man was climbing into the back of the truck, and it began to move. Myron was too late.

  “No, not this time,” he repeated and ran along the front of the other houses, giving chase.

  The jeep turned right at the first intersection. The truck followed. It was easy to keep pace with the truck. It was in no hurry. When it turned at the corner too, Myron was only one house back. He crossed the street and ducked behind a tree, waiting until no one in the rear of the truck co
uld see him.

  The truck picked up speed. Myron had never been an athlete, so running was not something he could endure for long. He cried out when the pain in his side forced him to stop. No, he couldn’t fail again.

  Bent over, sucking in air, Myron found a new determination. That woman could have given him up, and he would be captured too. She had given him his freedom, even knowing she was losing hers. He would not turn his back on her.

  Myron straightened up and looked in the distance. The truck’s brake lights were two red pinholes in a backdrop of green. Then the small image turned broadside to the right. A second later it was gone, the woman with it.

  He saw her face before him, so clear he could almost touch it. She was beautiful. He blinked, and she was gone. But not for long. He wasn’t sure how, but he would find her. Mentally, Myron marked the spot where the truck turned.

  He would start his search from there. Myron retraced his steps to the shed where he gathered his things. He dug through his pack until he found out the golden feather. His ancestors were giving him another chance at earning their respect – a second chance at redemption. He would not fail them or the woman, whose green eyes still pierced his mind.

  Thirty

  Mark stood in the center of what he called the community. Representatives of eleven households were there.

  “I’m sorry to call you together like this, but I thought it was important for you to be aware of a new group of people who have moved into the area.”

  Mark held up his hand to halt the murmuring. “I don’t know whether they’re a threat or not, so let me explain first. Juan came to me this morning after seeing a convoy of soldiers drive along Airport Highway. He was concerned and rightly so.

  “I sent runners to bring you all here. Earlier I went to scout out this new group. I have to admit, I had mixed feelings when I heard about them. Most of you are aware of the fight we had a short while back with a group I called the Horde. So when I heard another army of men had moved in, I was fearful. None of us wants to go through that again.

  “On the other hand, if they actually were American soldiers they might be here to help us. I wanted to be sure. So I set out to find them, and did.”

  The buzz in the crowd grew as everyone spoke at once.

  “They’re staying at the old Air National Guard base at the airport. I’m not sure how many of them there are. My guess would be fifty. I did see some women and they were in uniform too, like the men.

  “I watched for a while and then got spotted. They sent armed men after me. Now maybe they were just being protective of their base and nothing would’ve happened to me, but I was only going to get that one chance to be wrong, so I ran. They chased me for quite a time before I eluded them.”

  “About gave us all a heart attack too,” Caleb said. “He drove up the driveway fast in a car we didn’t recognize.”

  “Yeah,” Mallory said. “He almost got his ass shot.”

  Tim Grant said, “So, what do we do now?”

  “I’m not sure,” Mark replied.

  Mr. Szymanski asked, “Well, should we send a delegation to speak to them?”

  Mark said, “That’s certainly an option. I think we need to make contact somehow, if only to determine what their intentions are. I don’t suggest we send someone into the hornets’ nest though.”

  “Why?” Szymanski said. “If we show up in peace with no weapons, how can they see us as a threat?”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong, Bill. My concern is if they’re not friendly and get their hands on one of us, they could easily make that person give up the location of the other families.”

  “I think Mark’s got the right thought there,” Jarrod offered. “We need to be alert and watch each other’s backs. We stand together, and then it will be easier to fend off any interlopers.”

  Lincoln said, “Still, we need to know whether this army means to cause people trouble or not. There has to be a way, without anyone getting hurt.”

  “I agree with everything everyone has said. I’m just saying we need more information before we make a decision. I’ll go back and scout them out again and see if I can determine any patrol routines. It might be a lot safer stopping one of the vehicles than going to their base.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Lincoln said. “I can go with you or take a turn watching. Whatever you want to do.”

  “That’s fine. Now listen, I had an idea about how we can better stay in touch. I sent Lynn and some of the kids to the shopping center down the road a few miles in search of two-way radios.”

  “Walkie-talkies?” Bill said.

  “Absolutely. It will help us communicate with each other. The radios may not have the range to reach each house, but we can pass messages from house to house if necessary. That way, if we see trouble, we can call for help or send a warning. You just have to make sure you have enough batteries on hand. Don’t let them run down.”

  “We should set up a series of signals too, in case we can’t talk,” Adam Brandford said.

  “Yep,” Mark replied. “Easy enough to do. I just wish we were all located a little closer together. We may have to find one central area to come to if and when we need to join forces.”

  “Why not here?” Jarrod said. “It’s pretty much centrally located.”

  “That’s fine by me. There’s plenty of room. Anyone got another place in mind?”

  After a little discussion, they agreed on Mark’s property as the meeting place.

  Before Mark could move on to other business, the sound of a racing car engine reached them. Seconds later, a car flew up the driveway. Everyone scattered. Mark, Jarrod, and Caleb pointed guns at the car.

  Juan’s wife, Maria, exited and ran toward the group. There were two young children in the back seat. “Juan. Juan, are you here?” The panicked woman searched the group for her husband.

  “Maria,” Mark said. “Juan’s not here. I was wondering where he was.”

  “He never came home. He went off to warn everyone about the soldiers, but I never saw him again. He was going to come back and get us. He was so worried about leaving us alone. I was to pack some things and he would come here. He never came back.” Fat tears rolled down the Maria’s face.

  Mark put an arm around her. “We’ll find him, Maria.” Then to Lincoln, “How quick can you be ready to move? We can’t wait for night.”

  “Two minutes.” Lincoln darted off across the street.

  “What should we do, Mark?” Mr. Szymanski asked.

  As Maria continued to cry against his chest, Mark looked around at the tense faces and prayed a new battle wasn’t about to begin.

  Part Four

  Thirty-One

  The road Myron traveled dead-ended into another street, making the decision to go right an easy one. A quarter mile farther, he ran for cover. A vehicle was near.

  He ducked under some low branches and watched along the road. In front of him, not more than forty yards, a jeep moved at a slow speed. Myron curled into a ball and tried not to shake. Shit! Those are the same guys who murdered those people. The men inside turned and looked both ways. Then, with a lurch, the jeep turned toward Myron. He froze, afraid to breathe. He closed his eyes. The Jeep flew past and turned down the street Myron had left.

  Maybe this was an entire army. If so, Myron was in over his head. Every bit of common sense shouted at him to turn around and run, but he couldn’t erase the woman’s eyes from his mind. In some strange way they gave him the courage to continue. With great effort, he slowed his breathing. Though his heart still pounded hard, he calmed enough to at least fake bravery.

  He crept forward, keeping to the cover of the trees and brush twenty feet off the road. Up ahead on the left, a wide driveway appeared. Myron continued until he was almost out of cover. He craned his neck.

  “Oh my God!”

  There, spread out before him, was an entire army base. Myron dug in his pack for the small binoculars and scanned the area. Beyond the fences and
the barriers, past the buildings and the parked trucks, were two fighter jets.

  Activity bustled around the jets. Someone was inside the cockpit of the jet on the right. How many soldiers were on the base? He watched for another minute and then retreated for more cover.

  Myron laid his head on his hands and sighed. Now what do I do? His heart rate slowed as a sense of doom washed over him. How was he supposed to take on an entire army to rescue that woman? After all I really don’t know her. There was no way. He needed to get as far away from there as possible, yet something refused to let him go. His stomach cramped.

  “Are you kidding me?” he said much too loud. He looked around and lowered his voice, continuing his one person discussion. “Do you care about what some dead guy might think of you? How stupid is that? We’re talking about your life here.” He paused as if waiting for a response. “I mean, I do want to help her, but if it’s me against an army, there’s just no way. What can I do?”

  From some place deep inside, anger surfaced and voiced its opinion. At least scout the area and gather information before you quit like you always do. He didn’t move. The decision was too hard. Come on, Myron, at least try.

  Myron used the glasses to scan the opposite side of the street moving away from the base. About fifty yards to the left of the base was a house He studied the house for a while. There was no movement, but that didn’t mean the house was vacant. Maybe one of the officers lived there.

  Another ten minutes and Myron crawled backward, away from the road. From there he traversed sideways until he was across from the house. Checking the house and the road once more, he gathered whatever courage he possessed and dashed for the house, running all the way into the backyard. Woods dominated the land behind the house. Along where Myron thought the base’s fence might be was a barrier of large trees. At least he would have cover for his reconnaissance. The trees, however, stopped six feet from the fence.