He continued, “Tomorrow you leave to locate the ones called the gang. Are you frightened? Must you go? No one has returned to the barn and I believe the trail now hidden.”
“Vikas, I had a friend who told me that a danger not faced is a danger always lurking behind you. If we don’t do something about the gang they’ll find us, and then we’ll have to deal with them on their terms. The advantage will be on their side.
“You asked am I frightened, I suppose I should be, but I’m not.”
“That is because you are young.”
“No, it is because there is something different in the way I think. Why should I fear going to them more than waiting for them to come to us? If a person lives in fear, then they should fear waking to face another day because life is a moment-to-moment gamble. Standing here, a tree limb could choose this exact moment to fall and hit you or me. I’ve found fallen limbs stuck so deep in the ground that I couldn’t pull them loose. Mostly the odds are stacked in your favor, and you’ll probably live another day, but there is no guarantee of that.”
Vikas said, “Tempest, living with fear my family is accustomed. Amazon pays high wages for foreign workers in the Southern states. Like extra pay for soldiers in an area of danger. Did you know that Amazon has its own store on site for us because of the danger we would find in the town.
“When first we came to Lexington, Amazon had men with weapons to guard the trailers that Amazon supplied for us, but last year they disappeared without explanation other than cost to the company.
“We foreigners learned very quickly, never to go alone outside, never to leave the compound at all. To do so would invite harassment, or worse; crimes of beatings, rape or murder, crimes never investigated by the authorities.
“As sheep we were, cowards cowering in our trailers never arming ourselves because each knew that to kill an American would open the gates of retribution upon us all.
“So Tempest, you should see that we feel no different here than we did there in Lexington. Yes, now we are armed, but unlike you Americans who seem born with rifles and pistols in your hands, in our hands, Preeja, and mine, they seem not to fit.
“Even if the gang is no more, because we are outsiders, here in America we are universally hated. Fear will always be with us.”
I understood him, but could only say, “I have no solution to that, but will say, keep your fear close to heart and become friends with your weapons. Learn how to use em and take care of em, but mainly use em when you need to and to hit what you aim for. It’s your choice whether to be a sheep or a wolf.”
Vikas nodded and said, “I want to be a wolf.”
I shook my head. “Don’t ‘want’ to be a wolf. Knock off the ‘want to be’ and be one. People willing to don the wolf’s-hide won’t always be with you. It is up to you to protect yourself and your family. Find the wolf inside you and have its skin ready when you need it.”
Tired of the conversation, I moved to my chainsaw. “Two more trees and let’s call it a day.”
Vikas is a good-natured human being. He hefted his axe. “You make it fall. I’m ready to chop.”
************
Well, part of my wondering is over. The sun barely up and two miles into my walk to Rock Hill Road, the sound of engines coming from that direction forced me to hide in the brush beside the road. Two old pickups passed by, each with two men in the front seat and several men in the rear bed. All had on camouflage hunters clothing and had rifles, AR’s by the look of them.
I didn’t recognize the driver in the lead truck, but sitting beside him in the passenger’s seat was Brent, one of the men I overheard at the community. I counted thirteen men in the two trucks.
Resolved was the fact that the plague had missed the gang and they were active. Another thing I was sure of was whether they were at the Ranger Station or not, because of the early hour, I was going in the direction of their camp.
Though I continued in that direction, I worried that the gang was going to the Causley place, perhaps they were the ones who checked out the vehicles behind the barn and were returning with batteries. If that were true, it would do no good to turn around. Whatever happened would be over before I was halfway back.
Two hours later, almost to Rock Hill Road I heard the sound of many engines approaching from behind me. Again, I sought concealment in the brush alongside the road.
It was the gang returning. Stunned, I watched first the lead pickup pass with Brent and the other man in front. Next was my tractor with the trailer attached to it. On the trailer among the stuff they’d found in the barn, I recognized the four-wheeler, the money bottles, the compressor, and gasoline driven welder from Billy’s place.
Following behind my tractor was the van we’d kept from Sam’s raid. Last was the second pickup truck.
They had gone to the Causley’s house. They figured out how to get two of my vehicles running. They must have a mechanic among them, one who knew how to bypass ignition switches, how to replace the wires John and Vikas removed.
The vehicles weren’t my concern, what worried me was if they had discovered my friends at the cabins. Had any of them noticed that we’d altered the rutted trail to make it look unused? Would I return to find them all dead?
I did the only thing I knew to do, I continued. An hour later, I came to the turn for Rock Hill Road. Not far along it, I saw the top of the fire tower jutting above the tree line.
I didn’t take to the trees. It was time to brazen through with my plan. Before the barracks-like station came into view, I unsnapped the retainer strap on my holster and tucked it out of the way behind my belt. I took that pistol off safety and did the same for the two pistols in the lower side pockets of my hunter’s pants.
From the road, the barracks was over a hundred feet. Parked haphazardly in the clearing in front of it were several vehicles, including my tractor and van. In the open graveled space were several children playing a game of chase, dodging around the vehicles running from a tall blond haired boy.
I walked halfway up the drive and shouted, “Hello in the camp. I’m here to see Bob.”
The children froze in place, but I had to shout twice more before several men and a couple of women came onto the long front porch of the building. A voice called out, “Who are you.”
“I’m Tempest Waters. Are you Bob?”
“I’m Bob. How do you know my name?”
“My family was supposed to meet up with Roberto’s group in Memphis. Because of the troubles, we couldn’t get to the meeting point so my daddy decided to come anyway. Highwaymen stopped our truck. They shot daddy and took my mama and older sister. I managed to run away.”
“How’d you find us?”
“Daddy had a map in his wallet. They threw him out onto the road and took our truck. I snuck back and got it after the highwaymen drove off. There’s no chance I have the plague because I haven’t been around people.”
The man called, “Come on up, girl. You found the right place.”
I went along the long drive to where they waited on the porch. As I drew closer, standing together, I saw Brent and the man who drove the lead truck. Close to them, standing alone was a tall, beautiful, muscled woman dressed in black jeans and wearing only a black tank top even though it was cold.
I stopped at the foot of the stairs. I didn’t care for the way the men looked at me, and at closer range, the woman, beautiful yes, but her eyes were mean.
I asked, “Are you sure I’m safe here?”
The man close to Brent spoke and I knew he was Ben. Ben had the body of a muscle builder… a very big muscle builder topped with short-cropped greying brown hair. I think he was at least seven-feet tall. “Yeah, you’re safe. Come on up and let’s go inside. I have some questions concerning our friend, Roberto.”
I climbed the steps and followed Ben and Brent through the door. The rest fell in behind us.
Ben led me past the kitchen area, down the length of the building between two aisles of bunks, m
ost with privacy blankets strung around them.
Several women were preparing a meal. At a nearby table, five men were playing cards, using beans for money. Among the bunks were children, some teenagers, along with more men and women. Most of the children were playing board games.
At the far end of the barracks were three doors. Ben opened the one on the left and I followed him and Brent into a large meeting room with a long table and a number of chairs at it.
The tall woman in black along with three other men came in behind me.
Ben took a chair at the far end of the table and said, “Close the door, Silvia.” As the others took chairs near him, he pointed to a chair at the near end of the table, “Sit down, Girl, but first, put that pistol you’re carrying on the table and slide it this way. We don’t know you from shit, but we do have suspicions about Roberto and his bunch.”
I did what he asked, gave the pistol a hard shove to send it ten feet to his end and then shrugged my pack and set it on the floor beside the chair.
Ben picked up my pistol and said, “Nice nine. I think I’ll keep it. Okay girl don’t lie to us. If you do, Silvia will carve on you, ain’t that right, Silvia?”
I glanced at Silvia, She didn’t respond to Ben, but I saw the knife strapped to the side; saw her hard mean eyes with insanity behind them and knew she’d enjoy cutting me.
“Do you understand me?” Ben asked.
“Yes sir, but I don’t understand why you’re talking to me like this.” I tried to sound confused, but I was scoping the ones at the table, all but the woman. She stood against the wall on the far side of the room with her hand on the butt of her pistol. I could feel her eyes on me.
“I don’t trust this little bitch,” the woman said. “There’s something wrong with her attitude. Put your hands on the fucking table.”
Though I wished there were more of the gang’s men in the room with me, the woman had my number. I knew that then was the time.
My hand was already holding the pistol in my right pants pocket. I had my targets picked; First the woman; Then Ben because he was holding my pistol. After that, I’d work the remaining men from near to far.
I drew smoothly, but as I made my move, the woman’s eyes knew what I was doing. I wanted those eyes gone. She was fast. When my first bullet hit her chest, she had her pistol out of her holster. Reaction caused her to shoot the floor. My next shot was to her face. Her eyes fell from view.
Ben was fumbling to grip the pistol. He got a chest shot and then I missed his head and shot his neck. Blood spurted the length of the table. My mind on what I was doing, I barely felt the stream of it hit my face and shirt.
Brent, close to Ben, sitting on my side of the table had twisted toward me. I took a chance of a headshot and it connected. Another stream of Ben’s blood hit the side of my head and shoulder just as Brent’s spasm flipped him and his chair over.
At most, three or four seconds had passed from the time of my first shot, but time seemed slowed. Ben’s hands were at his throat, trying to stop the unstoppable. The three men across the table were only just beginning to react, one standing to reach for his holster, the other two opening their mouths to shout.
The standing man took two rounds, one to his solar plexus and another near or in his heart.
As I shot the standing man, my other hand pulled a pistol from the left hand pocket.
The remaining two men received their two bullets.
On my feet, to check bodies, Ben finally fell sideway from his chair. The woman moaned as I passed by her. I bent and put a bullet in one bothersome eye and then the other. At Ben’s end of the table, I retrieved my pistol and holstered it.
Ben, Brent and the other three were dead. Only after I was sure of that did I hear the screams and shouts from the outer barracks. One voice stood louder.
“What the hell’s going on in there? Somebody better answer me.”
Racing to put fresh magazines in my two pocket-pistols, I stalled.
I shouted through the closed door. “What’s wrong with you people? They had a shootout in here.” Pocketing the second pistol, I said, “I’m coming out, don’t anybody shoot me.”
I opened the door to face a group of men, all of them with pistols pointed at me. A burly man, muscular and heavily built with tattooed arms and neck said, “I’ll ask you again, what happened in there?”
“They’re all dead. They started arguing and then the man with Ben, I think his name is Brent. He shot Ben. Then the woman shot Brent and the other men, but Brent wasn’t dead and he shot the woman while she shot him again.”
“Slow down, girl, you’re hyperventilating. You’re bloody. Were you shot?”
Shaking my head, no, I stood by the door acting as if I were catching my breath, but was once again lining up my targets. None of the women in my view was armed, but all the men were.
Faking fear, I said, “Why are you pointing guns at me. You’re scaring me. I shouldn’t have come here, because you’re all crazy.”
The man said, “Calm down and shut up. I’m taking your pistol. Don’t do anything foolish.”
He drew my pistol from its holster, sniffed the barrel and then ejected the magazine to inspect it.
Slapping the magazine back in place, he said, “This gun hasn’t been fired. Put you weapons away and let’s figure out what happened in there.”
Tattoo dropped my pistol into his pocket and went into the room. I counted seven men follow him in. As the last one passed me, I followed him, pulled the door closed, stopped just inside, drew both of my pistols and began shooting the backs of those in front of me.
Again, time slowed. I fired twice at each man, aiming at the left side of their backs where their heart was. That worked for five. By then, men were turning toward me. I’d already clicked empty on one magazine and replaced that pistol with a new one, dropping the used one to the floor.
Shoving a man who hadn’t yet fallen, with two bullets gone from my second pistol, I had three more targets. Tattoo had his pistol drawn and he fired at me. His bullet grazed my neck and I felt the burn. My bullet hit his gun shoulder and made him scream.
Another man had his pistol coming up. I didn’t want to divert from tattoo, but had to stop the new shooter from squaring on me. I put a round in his chest, swung back in time to shoot tattoo just as he switched his pistol to his other hand.
My time sense was so weird; him slow, me fast as lightening. I centered on his forehead and squeezed. A hole appeared exactly where I’d aimed and he fell like a rock.
The last man had disappeared. Then I heard him. “Don’t shoot me. Please don’t shoot me. I don’t have a gun.”
I squatted to peer under the table. There the man was, on his knees bawling his eyes out. A single round in the top of his head did for him.
I picked up the pistol I'd let fall. As before, I circled the room checking for life. The floor was an obstacle course of dead bodies and slippery blood, at one point I stepped over three bodies atop each other. Again, I had to retrieve my main pistol, this time having to roll tattoo over to get to his pocket.
The room had a back door. I used it. Walking stooped over so those inside would not see me through the windows, I reached the steps, climbed them and went to the front door.
I found I was hyperventilating for real. I took time for three deep breaths, and opened the door. The instant I stepped through I saw a man with a pistol in his hand standing with several women in the kitchen area. From over ten feet, I put two rounds in his chest.
The huge room filled with the shouts, screams and cries of women and children. I shouted louder.
“Every damned one of you, shut the hell up. Come to the front and get against the far wall. If I see any of you with a weapon, I’ll start shooting. I don’t give a damn if I kill your children. Move now!”
I fired a shot over their heads the length of the barracks. “I said now. Move it.”
While they were moving it, so was I, sidling from the door along the wal
l just in case there were men outside I hadn’t killed.
They tried to gather in a pack, but I shouted to keep spread out. I didn’t bother for a perfect count, but figured fifteen women and twenty-five children from babies in mother’s arms to teenagers.
I wanted to be done there. Wanted to know if John and Bella; The Popat’s… those I cared about were all right.
“There are five vehicles out front, two of them stolen from me today. I want five drivers, one of you able to drive a tractor.”
They stood and stared. No one moved.
I fired another shot over their heads. “Five of you women had better step out. If you doubt I’ll shoot you, look at the dead man in front of you and ask, where the rest of your men are. Dead in a blood slippery pile in the back room.”
Three women stepped from the group. One said, “Debra, get your ass out here. I know you can drive a tractor.”
Another woman stepped from the group and then another. I had my five.
Moving to a different vantage point, I said, “This is how it works. One at a time, you walk past me, turn slowly with your arms above your heads and then go to the sliding glass doors and lean against them with your palms showing.”
As the filed past, I used my eyes to check for weapons. Once they were out and leaning against the glass, I ordered the rest to the far end of the barracks.
“Stay there until you hear us drive away.”
One of the women said, “You fucking bitch, you killed my husband.”
I put a round in her chest. She fell heavy, but she wasn’t dead. I shouted above the women and children’s renewed screams, “Drag her with you. I’d advise you in the future to make a better choice for a husband. The ones I killed were marauding, murderous scum.”
I rode in one of the gangs pickup trucks with a young woman driving. She wasn’t much older than I was. We took the rear position of the convoy with the tractor leading us. I informed the tractor driver that there was only one turn and it was to the right. The other drivers received a warning that I’d chase em down and kill em if they tried to go around the tractor and make a run for it.
Tempest of Tennessee (Episode 1): Tempest of Tennessee Page 14