by E A Lake
I saw the man shrug and take a step towards them. “Okay,” he replied nonchalantly. “Have it your way.”
It was a lose-lose situation. Either Morgan and Charolette were about to be raped or killed, or a number of women were going to get shot. Ramos tossed a glance at the porches before he made his last move. That’s when he noticed a fourth on our porch. A figure he hadn’t expected to see; one that caught him off guard. The rifle dropped from his left hand as he spun and when he stared into my eyes, I saw fear.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Quinn Reynolds.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
I was off the porch and on him so fast, he didn’t even have time to raise the knife. When I tackled him, it fell from his hand and plopped into the grass and weeds beside us.
I got on top of him quickly and shoved one hand over his mouth to muffle any cries for help. With my other hand, I searched blindly for the blade as I kept my eyes focused on his.
My moves were smooth, almost practiced it seemed. Though I could never recall being a fighter, or even having had wrestled for that matter, I knew what needed to be done. When my hand brushed against the dull side of the blade, I retrieved it and drew the blade quickly across his neck. I did it without thought, almost without malice. It seemed as if I did what needed to be done and that was that.
Watching the life slip from his face and eyes, I knew the man was seconds from death. I leaned over him, whispering in his ear.
“You wanted to play,” I said. “Well, you just paid the price of the game.” With that, the blood stopped pulsing from his neck wound and Ramos Stanlard slipped into the afterlife, hopefully going straight to hell where he belonged.
“Holy shit,” someone said from behind. I turned and saw Morgan standing over me. “Holy shit, that was efficient. He never stood a chance. I guess what they’ve been saying about you is true.”
With my mouth agape, I shook my head. “I just reacted. I didn’t think. I don’t know what came over me.”
She placed a quivering hand on my shoulder. “You did what you needed to. But we got a problem. A big problem. Bigger than before.”
I rose and stared back at the shocked faces of the women on their porches. I wasn’t sure what had spooked them more; that I had acted so quickly and deadly, or the dead body in the center of their living space.
I felt someone take my bloody right hand in hers. When I glanced down, I saw the resolute expression on Charolette’s small face.
“I know exactly what to do,” she said quietly, yet with great confidence. “It’ll be fine; everything’s going to be just fine.”
I was flabbergasted, absolutely stunned. The small, diminutive waif seemed as calm as could be. And we had big trouble lying at my feet. As in bloody, slit-throat trouble.
“Leave his body where it is,” she said, pushing on my back. “We need to get you over to the pump and washed up real quick.”
I did as requested with Morgan’s help and was back in front of the small girl quickly.
“Morgan, go grab a lantern,” Charolette directed. “We’ve got that covered spot under the front of our cabin. Get him hid in there.” She glanced at me as Morgan trotted away. “Keep your head down as much as possible, but you’ll be able to hear us just fine. They won’t look under the cabins for anyone, not with what I’m going to tell them. Shaklin’s men will spread out every direction looking for the killer. Once they’re gone, you can come out and go back to hiding in Cabin Two.”
I was skeptical and that made it sound like I had a lot of confidence in the girl’s plan. But who was I to argue? At that point, I was still alive and one of Shaklin’s thugs was dead. Maybe she knew what she was doing, maybe not. What’s the worst that could happen to me?
CHAPTER FIFTY
Safely in my hiding spot under a false frame of old lumber, I listened as the women chatted some 20 yards or so away. I couldn’t make out much of what Charolette was telling them of her plan, but they all seemed to agree.
When they were finally quiet, someone let out the shrillest, loudest scream I’d ever heard in my life. It caught me so much off guard that I jumped and banged my head on the boards above my hiding spot.
“Come quick!” I heard Charolette scream into the still night air. “Someone attacked Ramos. Quick now!”
That was her plan? To alert every man, woman and child anywhere near the farm? Was she crazy?
I waited quietly, considering my fate under the porch. If Shaklin had his men tear away the few boards that protected me, I was done for. I wondered if I’d be hung or shot. Maybe they would flog me for a while, just for fun, under the guise of getting information from me. Were more men coming? Was Shaklin’s operation about to be shut down? Good luck on that, boys; most mornings I had to think hard to recall my own name.
It didn’t take too long before I heard commotion out in front of me. People were shouting and through a slit in my tomb, I could see more and more lanterns joining the circle. In the center of it all was Charolette, on her knees, weeping like she really meant it.
“What the hell happened?!” someone shouted. “Jesus, is that Ramos? Is he dead?”
It took a few more minutes of murmuring and questions before the boss himself showed up. When he did, all went silent.
“Who did this?” Shaklin demanded. “Who the hell dared come onto my property and kill one of my men?”
“It was an intruder,” Charolette wailed. “One minute I was walking for him, like he said you wanted me to, and the next thing I knew, he was on the ground with someone stabbing him.”
I had to give the young lady kudos. She told a convincing story with gusto.
“I didn’t ask Stanlard to do any such thing,” Shaklin roared. “He was just supposed to watch over you while I talked with the other guards. What was he doing inside the perimeter?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Shaklin,” Charolette replied. “I only did what he asked me to. Right Morgan?”
There was a brief pause as the actors traded the stage. “What do you know about this, Morgan?” Shaklin asked.
“I’d gotten up to pee when I saw lights over in Cabin Three,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I thought it was kinda funny, so I stepped outside to see what was going on. When I did, I saw Charolette on the porch and Ramos asking her to walk a little bit. Said you asked him to check her out.”
“Why that no good—” Shaklin vented.
“But he was all nice about it,” Morgan interrupted. “I asked if I could help her, just in case she fell, and he was fine with that. He was as polite as could be.”
“But the intruder?” Shaklin asked. “Where’d the attacker come from?”
“I don’t have no idea,” Charolette replied in a squeaky, almost tearful voice. “I only saw him tackle Ramos to the ground.”
“He came from between cabins two and three,” Morgan added confidently. “I saw him out of the corner of my eye when I was turning around with Charolette. He jumped poor Ramos from behind and slit his throat in one swift motion. I froze, but Charolette screamed. That’s when the person ran back off, into the corn I’m pretty sure. I’m sure I heard something running through the corn.”
“Get two men,” Shaklin ordered. “No, four men, with torches and lanterns. Start searching the corn behind the cabins. He’s probably cowering in there right now. At sunup, I want a dozen men on horses searching every last row out there. You’ll find him. Now get to it.”
I had no idea who he might have been bossing around, but the beat of running people made it sound as though there was a lot more than just four of them.
All was quiet for a few moments. When I dared peek through the crack, Shaklin was leaning over Ramos’ corpse.
“I have no idea what you were up to, Stanlard,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear. “But you got what you deserved for being somewhere you weren’t supposed to be. But don’t you worry about that; there’ll be another dead body joining you in hell soon enough. You can count on that.”
/> CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
My escape was delayed because Shaklin didn’t leave the women’s area until the first few hues of pink filtered into my hiding spot. I nearly died when, from above a hatch, opened and an older woman sticking her arm out to help me up.
“Come on, Mr. Reynolds,” she said. I could’ve swore her name was Margaret. “Let’s get you out of that dank place and get you some breakfast. We’ll sneak you back over to your cabin right after we leave for work. Morgan will come and get you. Of course…” She blushed slightly as she helped brush away some of the dirt covering my clothes. “…You’ll have to wear a dress. But I guess it won’t be the first time, will it now?” Her laugh made me feel better.
Studying my surroundings, I quickly decided that each cabin had the same spartan conditions. The kitchen and living room were in the same place, as were the two bedrooms. Except for a multi-colored comforter on the back of their couch, this could have been Cabin Two.
“I made eggs,” Charolette called out. “Hope you’re hungry, Quinn. I made you four.”
Margaret led me to the table and even pulled a chair out for me. Taking my spot, I took an opportunity to stare at Charolette over by the stove.
Somehow, she spoke to me as though she knew me. But I couldn’t recall her from my past. Of course, I couldn’t recall hardly anything from the past.
“Do I know you?” I asked her as she served me my plate. Her flatbread was more toasted than Liv’s normal fare.
“Not personally,” she replied, circling to her chair and sitting down. “My dad worked for you and I saw you a couple of times at company functions. You know, like the annual pig roast, and Christmas party, and kids’ days at the park. Do you remember any of those?”
I didn’t. I shrugged and dug into my food.
“My dad always said you were the nice one and Mr. Shaklin was the tyrant,” she continued. “I guess he was right.”
The other women joined us, two giving a silent prayer before digging in. The third played with her food. She seemed a lot like Sasha.
“Are you sure it’s safe with him here?” the nervous one asked Margaret. I assumed she was the house mother, the same role Morgan played at our place.
“He has everyone out looking for the killer,” Margaret answered with a smile. “Now eat your food, Beatrice.”
That didn’t seem to help the lady. Instead of staring at her plate, she was glaring at me. “I can’t say I go much for killers,” she said quietly, yet firmly. “Not sure we should have one here with us, sharing our food.”
“Mr. Reynolds helped our Charolette, and Morgan, too,” the older woman replied, a little terser than before. “Mr. Stanlard had a knife to them. I fear he meant to harm them.”
“So what?” Beatrice ranted, kind of loud for my liking. “We could have chased him away. I don’t see the point in killing.”
“He was going to rape me,” Charolette stated. “He was probably going to do the same to Morgan, Bea. He had a gun and a knife. I think what Quinn did was called for.”
I watched as the dissenter remained unconvinced. “This is going to bring problems to us all,” she said, tossing her head left, then right. “You mark my words; none of us are ever getting out of here alive. What happened will snowball and become the end of all of us.”
She glared at me and raised her fork. “Do you even have a plan to get five women out of here?” she asked, poking the utensil at me. “Do you have a plan for how to save the rest of us when Mr. Shaklin takes out his anger on us?”
I shook my head. “Nothing rock solid yet, but I’m working on it.”
She looked back at Margaret and slammed her fork on the table. “Then it’s settled. We’ll all be dead by winter.” With that announcement, she picked up her plate and returned to her bedroom to presumably eat there.
Beatrice made a good point. I needed a rock-solid plan and I needed one soon. Time was no longer on our side. The stakes had risen; would I do the same? Could I rise to the occasion and do what needed to be done?
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Liv helped me out of my dress, albeit borrowed, fighting back a bad case of the giggles. I’m glad one of us found humor in what I considered to be a macabre situation.
“I’m happy you’re alright,” Liv said as she went back to her cleaning. I watched as she wrung out a dirty rag and mopped the corner of the kitchen. It made me think.
While I was at Cabin Three, I noticed perpetual motion from Charolette. She was always doing something. Even before she made breakfast for her friends, she’d scrubbed all of the window sills in the place. After breakfast, the dishes were done so quickly I couldn’t remember if I had finished eating before my plate was taken away.
She swept like she was a young woman on a mission. And then she scrubbed the floors, after doing a load of laundry in the kitchen sink and hanging it on a line strung across the kitchen and living room area.
I had also noticed that everyone’s footwear was clean and polished over at Charolette’s cabin. I noticed it when I spotted the shoes and boots all lined up next to the front door. I also observed that each woman wore a pair of knitted slippers over there. They appeared to be handmade.
“Is Charolette kind of a neat freak?” I asked, noticing Liv grin shyly at me after asking the question.
“Kind of?” Liv repeated. “She’s a world class freak about cleanliness. And did you notice she hung her laundry right in the middle of the main room? We hang ours out on the front porch.”
Okay, so the girl liked everything neat, clean and orderly. That wasn’t such a big deal.
“She sweeps the walls and ceiling every single day,” Liv continued. “And every other day, she washes the walls.”
The young woman stared at me with her tight lips skewed to the left. I wondered what she was getting at.
“OCD?” I asked.
Liv nodded and grinned. “Major league. Margaret says it’s called ablutomania. That’s a preoccupation to cleanliness.”
That was fine. I too liked things neat and clean.
“Of course, then there’s dirt and germs,” she added. “Margaret says that’s called mysophobia. And of course, spiders.”
“Arachnophobia,” I muttered.
“And don’t forget her agoraphobia,” Liv said, pulling her long hair over her shoulders. “She hates being outside. And then there’s her fear of clowns. Margaret says that’s called coulrophobia.”
“Clowns?” I asked. “I guess she should be safe now.”
“Yeah, but she still has nightmares about them, Margaret says. She wakes up screaming at least once a week.”
I raised my hands, hoping I could slow Liv down. “And just how does old Margaret know all of this?”
Liv patted my arm as she made her way into her bedroom. When she reappeared with an armload of laundry, I stopped her.
“Margaret was a psychologist back in the old days,” Liv answered, freeing herself from my grip.
It was at that moment I realized how little I knew and understood about the apocalypse that had happened. People from all walks of life had been reduced to mere laborers. Morgan had been in medical school; Sasha and Sara had been in college, but I wasn’t even sure what they’d been studying. Liv? I knew so little about her that it was laughable.
The one thing I did know was that our fifth travel companion, if and when we ever escaped from Shaklin’s grip, probably was going to be a pill. If she didn’t like spiders, or dirt, or germs, or even being out of doors, just how was she going to make it 15 miles to safety? Hopefully she wouldn’t be screaming all the way.
A loud crack split the quiet afternoon air. Then came another and another. Liv rushed to me, clutching my waist tightly. I noticed she was trembling.
“That was a gunshot,” I said as we made our way to the closest window. “That was three shots.”
I may have not remembered much at that point, but I somehow knew what a gunshot sounded like. And they were close.
CHAPTER FI
FTY-THREE
Liv and I watched quietly through the thin rear curtain. Behind us, near the edge of the corn and maybe 20 yards west stood four men armed with rifles. And each of them were at the ready with fingers on the triggers.
Inching the open window carefully, Liv attempted to let us hear the animated discussion going on between the four. The conversation was muted with the window closed, but as we knelt next to the crack, it all came through loud and clear.
“A man with a beard,” one of them said in an excited fashion. “I saw him step out of the corn and look around. When I raised my rifle, he pulled some sort of pistol from his belt and shot twice at me. I got off a shot before he vanished back in there though. We should go in a ways and check for blood.”
“We ain’t going anywhere ’till Shaklin tells us to,” another replied in a displeased, gruff voice. “If he wants us to search the corn, then we’ll search the corn. But I don’t take orders from you, Mike.”
They turned and stared between the opening of cabins two and three. Whoever had voted they wait must have won.
“Stay down most of the way,” Liv warned. “I don’t want them to see your silhouette if they look too close at the window.”
I did as requested, though I truly doubted they were interested in peering into any windows. They were double checking to be sure no one snuck out of the corn again and watching for Shaklin’s arrival. Aside from that, they seemed too preoccupied to care about anything else.
Just a few minutes passed, and Shaklin rode up on a tall brown horse with a woman and several other men. After they dismounted, Liv shoved me away from the window.
“Crap, it’s Three,” she whispered. “Stay down and out of sight. She doesn’t miss anything. She might even walk over here and look in the window. Go hide in the bedroom.”
“Was it him?” a feminine voice called out. “Was it Quinn?”