by E A Lake
“Sure thing,” he replied, giving my back a hardy slap.
I gasped in pain. The pain was everywhere. I wasn’t any more dazed than before; I was just plain beat up.
I pointed in the direction of Sara, who’d been joined by Liv and Brutus, er, Alvin.
“Who’s the monster?” I asked, wondering if I’d suffered a broken rib. Or 20.
Morgan wrapped an arm around my waist, guiding me towards home. “Alvin Cooper. He’s one of Shaklin’s men, but a nice one. He always looked out for us; swore he’d kill any man who tried to touch us. He’s a big puppy-dog actually. Always been sweet on Sara ever since we got there. He probably ran off looking for her just to make sure she was alright.”
“Don’t you think he’ll be missed? I mean, even a blind man could see he was gone,” I said.
Morgan chuckled and held on to me as we reached our front walkway. “There’s not a man alive that would chase down Alvin. Not without a team of eight or 10 and all armed for a war.”
Avellyn was holding the white picket gate open for us, and I realized there was still a lingering problem. Morgan seemed to know it, too.
“I know she’s not yours,” she whispered. “I was just in a jealous rage. It’s okay; Chloe told me everything.”
Good. That was really good. Maybe in the near future, Chloe could tell me everything as well.
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
Morgan tended to my battered body while Chloe told me about us. Not that there was much to us, I soon discovered. We were just very good friends who enjoyed one another’s company.
She’d decided when I first became sheriff that she didn’t want anything to do with me. After all, her husband had died in the line of duty, as had his predecessor and his replacement. Both men had been her friend for years and their deaths scarred her deeply. She figured the best course of action was to steer clear of Quinn Reynolds — soon-to-be ex-sheriff and fourth dead lawman.
Further, Chloe wasn’t fond of my kind of heavy-handed justice. Death followed by even more death left a rotten taste in her mouth. In the end, she knew she’d made the best decision for her and her daughter, even though I’d cleaned up most of the problems that had plagued the town for almost three full years.
And then, one day, a visit to the sheriff’s office changed everything for good. Deputy Art, new to the job, brought me a little lost girl. She wasn’t really lost though. She’d just wandered away for a bit and when she returned home, Momma was nowhere to be found.
Through her tears, six-year-old Avellyn told me all about herself and her mother’s steadfast (yet smelly) mission in life: rescuing dogs. In the apocalypse, no less. While others tried to catch as many strays as they could for food, Chloe Willobea went out of her way to bring them to a safe place. The town even approved her permit for running a shelter.
When Chloe showed up an hour or so later, panicked and out of breath, she found her daughter and the hard-nosed sheriff coloring pictures together. That was after we’d polished off the last three-quarters of an apple pie that needed eating.
That changed everything, Chloe claimed. She saw in me, that day, a decent man just trying to survive however he could. I was no different than the rest of the people of the area. Well, I wielded a gun rather well, but other than that, I was much the same as her.
The whole thing seemed rather odd to me — the dogs that was. First, if people were starving, why not let them have strays that seemingly belonged to no one for meals? Secondly, why would she need a permit for something…anything? Especially after the old world and its arcane rules had died?
“I feed them wild rice and venison,” she told me as Morgan finished up her assessment of my injuries. Nothing broken, just some nasty bruises that would follow. “People go out of their way to bring me table scraps and anything else they have and won’t use. I’ve got about 20 dogs right now. I know it seems like a lot, but the poor things have to live somewhere. So why not here?”
“I guess I can’t argue with that,” I replied, checking to see if Morgan had an opinion, which she did.
“You need to do something about the smell,” she added, more kindly spoken than I’d ever heard Morgan say anything. “I mean you’re a really pretty woman, Chloe. Sure, you’re a little disheveled and your clothes smell like dogs have been sleeping on them for weeks. But you have a lot to offer. Heck, I think you may even be kinder than Livy, and that’s saying a lot.”
Chloe became serious after the compliment. “There’s a man from up in the north part of Terre Haute. He’s been stopping by for a couple of months now, every other week or so. He acting all sweet and gushy; says he wants to give me and Avellyn a better life. He’ll move us lock, stock and barrel to his place. Claims he’s got a big house and lots of room for all the dogs I could ever want to rescue.”
Morgan and I shared a smile. “Sounds like an ideal situation for you,” Morgan replied. Of course she’d say that; she didn’t want to have to worry about me getting my memory back and dealing with things if there was any more to Chloe and myself than met the eye.
“There’s just one problem,” Chloe added meekly. “I don’t know much about him. His name is Jack Preacher and about 40 and claims to be wealthy. He wants to bring the dogs up first so I can have them there when me and Avellyn arrive. Says that way, I won’t have to worry about them afterwards.”
“Make sense to me,” I replied, trying to sound supportive, though I didn’t see why any of it was my concern.
“I’m not sure I trust him yet, Quinn,” Chloe continued, staring at me. “Do you suppose you could have him checked out? Make sure he’s legitimate?”
I thought about it for all of a heartbeat. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem, Chloe.” I stood and she gave me a hug. “If you don’t mind though, I think I need to get some rest.”
Before I could leave the room, Avellyn tugged on my hand and brought me down to her level. “I know you don’t remember me, Morgan told me that. But is it okay if I still call you Daddy? She said it was okay with her but I had to ask you.”
I kissed the girl’s cheek and gave her a bear hug. “Yeah,” I whispered, fighting off the urge to all-out bawl. “That’s fine with me.”
CHAPTER NINETY-NINE
My nap lasted all of 10 minutes before someone stormed into the room with loud footsteps. I knew they were hovering over me, that she was hovering over me.
“What do you want, Morgan?” I said as calmly as possible. The wet washrag she’d laid over my eyes came with a stern warning she’d be checking me for signs of another concussion. And often.
When she didn’t answer, I got snarky. “I haven’t died yet, so you can leave.”
“Sheriff?” a distinctly male voice asked. “You got a minute?”
I removed the washrag from my eyes and sat up on my elbows. My puzzled expression must have spoken volumes, because it made him smile, which seemed like a stupid response.
“It’s me, Petri,” he said, nodding to accentuate his words.
“Petri?” I replied slowly. What kind of a name was that? He didn’t have an accent other than a slight southern drawl.
“Yeah,” he replied all pleased with himself for pronouncing his own name correctly I suppose. “I’m Art’s nephew, on his daddy’s side. He told me you wouldn’t remember me. I was kinda hoping you would, but I understand.”
I shook my head and thought about calling for Morgan, but Petri had more to say.
“I’m kinda like the deputy to the deputy here in Pimento,” he continued proudly. “You said it was okay when you made Uncle Art deputy. Sorry I missed your return yesterday, but I was off in Illinois on a liquor run.”
“A liquor run?” I repeated, wondering if I was dreaming this strange conversation.
“Yeah,” he replied, peeking back at the doorway. “Wyatt, the first sheriff, made us a dry town. Sheriffs two and three thought it was a good idea, too. But once they were all dead and you were in charge, you said you didn’t have any problem wi
th alcohol. The problem was, we didn’t have any, so we got to go either to Terre Haute or—”
“Petri,” I interrupted. “This is all fine and dandy, but is there a point to you being here in my bedroom right now?”
He smiled and nodded. That’s when I decided he might just be a little on the slow side. “Morgan said I could come in.”
Oh, she did, did she. “Morgan,” I called out. “Could you come in here, please.”
“Well, the point is, Sheriff,” he continued without missing a beat. “We were wondering what you wanted us to do with the prisoner. There seems to be a huge debate over it.”
“Morgan!” I shouted. “What prisoner are we talking about? I haven’t been sleeping for more than 10 minutes. What happened now?”
“Cooley,” the man said, turning towards the door. “Bring him in.”
“Cooley?” I dared to ask.
“He’s my assistant,” Petri answered as though he’d won the lottery. “His name’s actually Trent Billowman, but he always went by Cooley ever since high school.”
“Morgan!” I shrieked. “Get the hell in here. Right frickin…” My words trailed off as the skinniest, dirtiest man I’d ever seen led Brutus/Alvin into the room. Cooley was about the same age as Petri I figured, but where my deputy’s deputy had neatly trimmed hair, his assistant had locks nearly as long as Morgan’s.
Right behind Brutus, Sara and Morgan hustled in, taking places near the bed. The room was large, but seemed a little tight at that point.
“I’m hoping someone can explain most of this,” I said, pointing at my helpers and their prisoner. “Or at least any of this. Seems a little odd to me.”
Morgan, Sara and Petri all began speaking at once. I decided that was a good time to cover my eyes and lay back down, which hurt. I let them go on speaking all at once, which made my head hurt even more, facing away from the crowd. If I was lucky, a blood clot would break loose and I’d die before anyone asked for my input.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED
I heard another set of footsteps enter the room and began to shake my head. I was surrounded by idiots.
“Sheriff?” a new voice asked — Art’s. “Do you want us to lock up this man or let him be? Your call.”
“He nearly killed the sheriff,” Petri answered loudly. “I say we hang him now. Saves us the aggravation of feeding such a large man.”
“Alvin was only concerned about Sara,” Morgan added, her voice raised. “He didn’t mean to harm Quinn. He just wanted to make sure Sara was safe, that’s all.”
I rolled back to face her, open-mouthed. “Funny thing, dearest. All he said to me was my name, twice. He never mentioned Sara or anyone else.”
The beast stepped forward, his head low. “I’m sorry about that, Sheriff Reynolds.” Man, was his voice deep. “I was so worried about the women that it was all I could do to contain myself.”
“Which you didn’t do a very good job of,” I pointed out.
He nodded and shot me a small smile. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I waved off his repentance. “Okay, whatever. Let him go. But isn’t Shaklin gonna miss a man your size? I mean, when he does a head count and yours isn’t hanging above the rest of them, he’s gonna know you’re missing.”
He shrugged and moved between Sara and Morgan. “Yeah, he probably will. But I don’t care. I’m on your side now.”
Well, if a man who could throw around another man like a limp dishrag was on my side, what did I have to fear?
I thought everyone left after Alvin was set free. There was trampling of feet to make me believe that. However, I heard someone sigh and when I opened my eyes again, there stood Art, hat in hand.
“Yes?” I asked, barely able to contain my disdain at the time.
He held up a dark holster and belt. “I thought you might want your gun,” he said, sounding proud of himself…which I’m sure he was.
That brought up an interesting point that I decided to address.
“Why is it that I’m the only one carrying a gun?” I asked. “You don’t have one; I noticed neither Petri nor Cooley had one. Why am I the only guy with a gun? I’ve noticed several other fellows with guns; my next-door neighbor doesn’t have a problem with it.”
Art’s face screwed up as he set the gun and holster on the bed next to me. “Well, you’re the sheriff and you prefer it that way. You told me a long while back, maybe two and a half years ago now, you’d do the killing. All we had to do was dig the graves and drag the bodies to them.”
“Kind of a stupid idea,” I mumbled, rubbing my temples. “Maybe we should arm the rest of you.”
To say he looked as if he didn’t give a damn made it sound like he’d thrown his arms in the air and shouted “yippie”!
“We got another problem too, Art,” I continued. “We need to round up a bunch of men and go save some more people from Shaklin’s farm. How long do you think it will take to get about 50 people ready?”
“You want to start a war with Tony Shaklin?” he asked, his voice raising an octave or two. “I’m not sure we’ll find many people willing to join you.”
“Us,” I recanted. “You and me and the boys. I wasn’t planning on going it alone.”
“Most people mind their own business nowadays, Sheriff. No need to go looking for trouble when enough of it seems to find a fellow. That may be a hard sell.”
I waved him away and rolled over to get back to resting. I still felt like a man who’d been beaten by a prize fighter. If only.
“You go see if you can get anyone interested,” I said. “I’ll check in with you later today or tomorrow morning. But only if I manage to live that long.”
“Okay, Sheriff,” he replied, leaving the room. “You’re the boss.”
Yes, that seemed to be the situation. And maybe the problem.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED ONE
I slept through dinner and awoke the next morning when Morgan got up and checked my forehead. I didn’t have a fever, I wanted to tell her. Some monster had stomped the living crap out of me. Big difference there.
Another in a long string of nice women brought us breakfast: large, golden-brown flapjacks and enough bacon to feed six adults. I was glad when Sasha and Liv joined us just as we dug in.
There was talk about Charolette losing her mind, living next door with Ronnie and DeeDee. Apparently, their cleanliness standards didn’t align with hers. Big shock there. She was whining on and on about coming to live next door with Morgan and me. It didn’t really matter to me and Morgan seemed fine with it as well.
After finishing my meal, I got a hug and kiss from Morgan and made my way to the office, some 200 yards away. The morning sun and warmth along with a chorus of beautiful bird songs gave me a good feeling about the day. I was going to accomplish something; something other than getting the tar kicked out of me.
As I rounded the last corner, I was greeted by a grinning Art. That only added to my optimistic feelings.
“Morning, Sheriff,” he called out cheerfully. “I did what you said and got some people who are willing to hear what you have to say about taking on Shaklin. They’re in the office waiting for you.”
Pleased with myself, I smiled and clapped my hands together. “Perfect, just perfect. This is going to be a great day.”
When I walked into the darkish building and my eyes adjusted from the light, I frowned. Counting them one by one, I made it all the way to six, and that included Petri and Cooley, who were still unarmed.
“Kind of a meager crowd,” I mentioned to Art as we walked in.
“Never said it was a lot of folks,” he replied, seeming to take no offense to my terse tone.
Ronnie and his brother Robert each had a rifle nearby. The other two, one man and one woman, were unarmed. I wondered for a moment if I could just forget about the stranded souls back at Shaklin’s, but decided to press forward.
“This is Harney Diggins and his sister Helen,” Art said, introducing me to the tw
o strangers. “And of course, you already know Ronnie and Robert.”
It seemed that Pimento residents had a habit of naming their offspring with common letters for their first names. Annoying, but acceptable I supposed.
“Is this all you could round up or just everyone you asked?” I said to Art. He looked at me as though he didn’t understand. “Or maybe we’re waiting on more people to arrive.” He shrugged. “We need more people than this, Art.”
Pulling me aside, Art gazed into my eyes. “I warned you yesterday, Sheriff. There’s not a lot of people around that want to do much besides mind their own business.”
Yeah, mind their own business and bring me more food daily than I could eat in a week.
“We’re going to need to put the word out to the surrounding communities that we need some help here,” I continued.
That elicited a collective chuckle from the gathering.
“Something funny?” I asked my neighbor, Ronnie.
“They’re all a bunch of pussies,” he answered in a snide manner. “We’re your army…for now. Not that Harney nor Helen will carry a gun.”
I shook my head wildly. “Well, that seems rather odd, don’t you think?”
“They’re Seventh Day Adventists,” Ronnie replied, tossing a large wad of tobacco into his mouth. “They’ll help out however they can; they just won’t carry a weapon.”
“Or kill anybody,” Harney added with a trill voice. “But we’ll supply aide and support for you, Sheriff.”
I grimaced, letting out a long sigh. “How helpful.” That response made Harney grin. Somehow, he’d taken it as a compliment. Didn’t these simpletons understand sarcasm?
“You usually do enough killing for everyone, Sheriff Quinn,” his sister said, giving me a full smile with some of the brownest teeth I’d ever seen.