by E A Lake
“Not sure how many folks from Farmersburg are going to want to join us,” Art stated. “They kind of protect their own and not much more, you know.”
No, I didn’t know. I also didn’t know that there were this many uncaring people in the world, albeit a post-apocalyptic world.
“There are some crazy shits over by Marshall, over in Illinois,” Art continued. “They like to fight just for the fun of it. The Baker gang had tried to overrun them before they came here and you took care of them all. Those folks over there chased them halfway here. They ain’t scared of nothing. Strange lot, though. Strange lot.”
I removed my ball cap and scratched my head. “This isn’t enough people, Art. It’s not even worth discussing. Send word over there and see if we can get another 30 or 40 of them.”
“Will do,” he replied, walking to the center of the office. “Okay, you all heard the man,” he announced to the meager group. “Until we get some more fighters, we’re not doing anything. You all can go back to whatever you were doing.”
The gathering left without a word or grumble. It appeared as though they had nothing better to do anyway. I stopped Petri and Cooley as they went by.
“We need to arm you two,” I said forcefully. “Either of you have a problem with that? Some weird religious belief or a promise to your mother on her deathbed sort of thing?”
They both grinned and I realized neither were all that attractive. I would have said they were a homely pair, but I’d save that word for people with better hygiene.
“Get these guys some sidearms, Art,” I said. “And maybe a little target practice would be a good idea, too. If we do battle with Shaklin, I want to be sure they can hit something.”
That made me wonder though. Was I any good without a memory of how to shoot? Maybe I needed some target practice as well.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWO
On the north end of town, we set up some targets. Well, they were actually small pieces of paper nailed to some saplings. It wasn’t ideal, but it was all Art could come up with.
Petri went first. The young man claimed he’d shot a pistol before. He seemed to know which end the bullets came out, how to click off the safety and pull the trigger. But that was about it. I wasn’t even sure he was hitting the ground each time he jerked the trigger back.
His buddy Cooley did slightly better. He even managed to hit the tree, not the target, two out of 10 shots. The only thing that worried me about him was his casualness with a loaded weapon. I caught him staring down the barrel once; another time he put it back in its holster without checking the safety. They were quite a pair.
“Maybe we should move closer to the target to start,” Art suggested after the two were done.
I fought back a laughing fit. “If we were any closer, we’d be on the other side of it, Art. I don’t think we’re more than six or seven paces away.”
“Why don’t you show us how it’s done, Sheriff,” Cooley called out mockingly. “Maybe you can give us some pointers.”
That was a problem. Since coming to in the strangest world I could imagine about a month back, I hadn’t fired a weapon. I’d used a knife on Ramos Stanlard. I’d pulled my gun on Ronnie a few mornings back. Still, I wasn’t sure I knew how to shoot. At least not in my condition.
Sliding my gun from the holster, I popped the magazine out and checked the bullets. I stopped for a moment, wondering why I’d done such a thing. I knew it was full; I’d filled it myself the day before. But still, some habit made me check the loads.
The weapon felt foreign, yet familiar. The second Morgan had placed it in my hands a while back, I wondered if I’d actually ever handled a gun before. I knew I must have though, because I checked the safety right away, and in the dark no less. While I couldn’t recall being proficient with a gun, I knew deep inside I was.
“The first thing you have to do,” I said, turning to face my group with the weapon hanging by my side, “is quit jerking the trigger every time you shoot. Squeeze it until the gun goes off.”
Two nodded; Art stared at me, open mouthed, like he’d maybe heard the speech before. Perhaps he had.
“And when you lift the gun,” I continued, “line up the sights and find your target. But make sure you get the safety off—”
“Daddy!” a voice behind me shrieked. “Daddy, you need to come to Momma’s house.”
I turned to find Avellyn barreling towards me in a sleeveless yellow top and bright blue shorts that put her bird-like legs on full display. She pushed her shoulder-length hair behind her ears as she got close and reached for my hand.
“What’s up, sweetie?” Art asked, kneeling next to her. “The sheriff is kinda busy right now.”
The young girl shrugged and kicked at a dirt clod. It was only then that I noticed she was bare foot.
“Momma says there’s a couple of men looking to adopt some dogs,” she began quietly. “But she doesn’t think they’re nice people and doesn’t want to give them any. And now they won’t leave. So maybe you’d better come, Daddy.”
It was my turn to shrug. I reached for her hand and let her lead me away from target practice to something more benign. How hard could chasing off a pair of idiots be?
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THREE
I was glad Avellyn knew where she lived, because I sure didn’t. We walked for about five minutes before the sound of barking dogs could be heard plainly. That was when I knew we were getting close.
Chloe trotted towards us as we came into view. She had a panicked look on her face, one that should’ve worried me but didn’t.
“Oh, thank you, Quinn!” Chloe cried as she came to a stop before me and her daughter. “I just don’t like the looks of these two men and they won’t take no for an answer. I’m not asking you to rough them up or anything, and normally I can run off my own trouble. But there’s just something about these two I don’t like.”
The minute we rounded the corner of Chloe’s shack, I knew they were more than trouble. The pair had dirty faces and hands – filthy actually. Each wore a badly discolored beige ball cap that one could only imagine was once white, a very long time ago. But that wasn’t what made me stop when I saw them.
“Well, if it ain’t the famous Sheriff Reynolds,” one of them snarled as they each took a step towards me and spread out slightly. Both pulled weapons from holsters previously hidden by their long, thin, dusty jackets.
My stomach tensed as I studied the situation. Most likely they were Shaklin men. Maybe not a pair of his regular goons, but hired muscle at the least. Each held their pistols as if they knew how to use them. That was cause for concern as well.
“I think you two need to run along,” I said sternly. “Chloe doesn’t want to give you any dogs. So get a clue and get lost.”
The one who’d opened his yapper smirked at me. “We ain’t here for any mutts. We’re here to deal with you.”
Yep; they were Shaklin people. No doubt about it.
“It’s said,” the talkative of the two continued, “that you stole something that wasn’t yours. We’re here to recover it for a friend of ours.” They each took a step closer. I wasn’t sure, but it looked like both had 45-caliber weapons. And I was fairly certain they’d both taken the safeties off.
I thought about reaching for my own gun for a moment, but knew I had too many innocents behind me. Aside from Chloe and Avellyn, Art was back there. I was sure he’d never bothered to load his gun. I heard another set of running footsteps approach.
“Be careful, Quinn,” Morgan said, nearly out of breath. “Those are two of Shaklin’s hired guns.”
“Figured that,” I muttered without turning.
“Well, well, well,” the same man said. “Look who’s here. If it ain’t that loud mouth Morgan.”
I heard someone approach from my rear. “The one talking is Billy Cress,” Morgan said with a certain amount of spite. “The other guy is Josh Cox. Neither of them are what you’d call nice.”
“We get a bonus if w
e haul back your dead carcass, Sheriff,” Billy added. “My ma and Josh’s folks get a half side of beef each. We’re both gonna be favorite sons when this is over.”
I turned and pointed towards the back of the house. “All of you need to get around the back end there. When the bullets start flying, I don’t want anyone but these two clowns to get hit. I don’t need anyone catching a stray.”
All but Morgan heeded my strong suggestion. She simply walked over and leaned against the weather-worn rough wood siding. Crossing her arms, she nodded at me.
“Do what you gotta do, Quinn,” she said, sounding not one bit nervous. “Get this over with.”
I turned back to the problem. “Last chance to leave, boys. Cuz once this starts, it won’t be pretty.”
They both laughed at the warning. When Billy’s arm began to raise, there was no turning back.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FOUR
The one who hadn’t done any talking, Josh, was slow on the draw. His gun was still pointed at the ground when Billy’s barrel came up. It was as though he wasn’t sure he wanted to kill a man. The other fellow didn’t seem to have the same apprehension.
I drew my .40 in one swift motion and had the sights set on Billy before he’d even leveled his gun. A shot roared out, splitting the otherwise still afternoon with a crack as the first bullet drilled the main threat in the center of his chest.
Billy’s gun never went off. He dropped it as he stumbled backward, landing in the dust on his back.
I focused my attention on Josh. By that point, his arm was level with the ground and the gun was extended my direction. However, I could tell by just looking at the weapon that his aim was too far left.
I calmly set my sights on the scared man. He jerked off two shots that missed me, and everyone else thankfully, by a good two or three feet. When he looked as though he was ready to take better aim, I pulled my trigger and he met the same fate as his friend.
Replacing the gun in my holster, I assessed the two men. Somehow, I knew they were dead. At least one was dead and the other was on his way. Billy never moved or moaned from the second the bullet had struck him. All I’d heard from him was a muffled “humph”.
Josh was kicking a little, but after a few seconds, that stopped and he too passed into another dimension. Why they thought drawing a gun on a man with my reputation — one I still couldn’t recall — was beyond me. They’d paid the price of a bad decision.
It was only after the action was over that it hit me: I’d reacted just as I had with Ramos Stanlard. I didn’t panic or think twice of what needed to be done; I just did it. Some kind of basic instinct had taken over and I reacted coolly, calmly, without anger and certainly without thought or emotion.
“Well, I’d better go have the boys dig a couple more graves,” Art said in a voice far too happy in my mind. There were dead people laying 20 feet away and he acted as though it was commonplace.
“Oh thank god you’re not hurt, Quinn,” Chloe said, reappearing at my side with Avellyn. “I was worried for a second there. Two men, so close and so angry; I didn’t know how that was gonna turn out for certain. Wasn’t that something Morgan?”
I faced right and saw Morgan approaching slowly. Her head shook as she came beside me.
“That was certainly something,” she said quietly. “I guess what they say about you is true, aye Quinn?”
“Yeah,” I whispered, still not understanding how I’d analyzed and reacted to the situation so calmly. “I guess it is.”
But we had another problem, a much larger one at that. One that wasn’t going away anytime soon.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIVE
Two days later, in the late morning, I sat in my office with my feet on my desk. For nearly those two full days, I’d been ruminating over what had been bothering me since I’d killed two of Shaklin’s men. The problem, as I called it.
“I don’t think he’ll be sending anymore hired guns once he gets word of what you did to Josh and Billy,” Morgan said, rubbing my shoulders from behind. “So I don’t see what you’re all worried about.”
Morgan had a point, and a good point at that. However, since she’d been following me everywhere like a lonesome puppy ever since the shooting, she’d made the point about every 15 minutes or so.
“I just don’t think it’s going to end that easily, honey,” I replied, noticing her grin when I called her “honey”. I didn’t know why, but I’d started doing that lately…along with worrying about Shaklin’s hired killers coming one after another.
“Why don’t I run home and grab you and Art a big slab of that raspberry pie Ethel dropped off?” Morgan asked, kissing my cheek. “It’ll only take a minute or two; I’ll be right back, sweetie.”
“Honey” leads to “sweetie” and the next thing you know you’ve got a tick that never leaves.
“Which one’s Ethel?” I asked. All of those kind people were getting hard to keep track of.
“The sweet grandmotherly one, lives just down the road,” she answered.
I shrugged. That described about half the population of Pimento.
“The one who paints her eyebrows on with magic marker,” Morgan said, sounding miffed I couldn’t keep 300 names straight. “She has that cute granddaughter, Olive.”
Oh sure; add in the name of one of the countless urchins roaming the streets around the town. Like that helped.
I smiled and nodded, acting as though I knew exactly who she meant. When she left, I heard Art laughing behind me.
“You still ain’t got much of a memory, do you Sheriff?” he asked.
No, I didn’t. But if I was lucky, it would return by the time I gun downed the next killer sent to do me in.
“Something else is coming,” I said, turning to stare at my deputy. “I feel it in my bones, Art. I’m not sure if it’s another gunman or not, but something’s going to happen. And soon, I fear.”
Art went back to his one-man games of checkers and I went back to wondering who’d walk through that door next. Hopefully it would be Morgan with the promised pie.
Ten minutes later, the next person through the front door wasn’t Morgan or any other form of trouble. It was Petri.
“Two people are riding this way, Sheriff,” he said nervously. “Cooley claims it’s a man and a woman. I say Cooley’s full of beaver shit because they’re still a quarter mile out and I don’t know how he’d know. Want us to stop them when they hit the edge of town and ask them their business?”
Four people had shown up in the six days I’d been back. One tried to bore me to death with talk, another tossed me around like I was nothing, and the last two were two days gone in the cemetery on the east side of Pimento.
Also in that time, more than two dozen various travelers had passed through town. All of them seemed to mind their own business and kept going to wherever they were headed. Actually, two strangers stopped and asked for water, but they didn’t seem dangerous.
“Just see what they’re up to and let me know if they look like trouble,” I replied, waving Petri back from where he came. “We can’t interrogate every single person who wants to walk through here, you know.”
“Got ya, boss,” he called back as he trotted away.
I peeked over at Art. “I’ll bet you your piece of pie that these two just ride on through like most of the others.”
Art ginned, never looking up from his checkers. “I don’t think I’ll take that bet, Sheriff. You’re probably right…as usual.”
I went back to worrying about something else and staring out the front door with my feet propped up on my desk. Art should have taken that bet in hindsight. He would have had two large pieces of luscious pie all to himself.
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SIX
Morgan brought our pie but forgot the forks. I told her Art and I were fine without; we could eat it with our hands. That elicited a nasty glare and she was back out the door with a look that warned not to take a bite — we weren’t animals after all.
“S
he’s kind of a funny one,” Art said, eyeing his pie. I didn’t think he was going to be able to wait another two or three minutes to start eating. “Seems like she has all kinds of rules that make a man’s life difficult.”
I smiled and shook my head. “She doesn’t want us to act like barbarians, that’s all. Heck, back at Shaklin’s place, she threw a fit if you ate much more than your bread with your fingers. I think Liv was like that, too. Hardly a meal went by where either Sara or Sasha or I didn’t get chewed out for eating something wrong with our fingers.”
“She also doesn’t want us to come in here with dirty boots,” Art added. “Wants us to clean the bottoms on that rug she brought that sits out front. And she wants us to take our hats off inside. And not swear in front of any of the kids. Then there’s the coat rack she brought in for when the weather turns colder. Don’t want us just throwing our coats here and there.”
I raised my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it. Morgan does have a few rules she wants followed. It’s just her tie to the old world she claims, when things were a little more civilized. I suppose six plus years held captive has made her long for certain things.”
“The one that really chaffs my hide,” Art drained on, “is where she wants us to say good morning and good night and tell everyone where we’re going all the time. I tell you, if my wife made me announce every time I was going to the outhouse, there’d be a load of hell—”
“Sheriff?” Cooley interrupted. “There’s someone here to see you. Two someones actually.”
Thank God; I was getting sick of listening to Art’s complaining. I set my feet on the floor and waved at the young man to show my guests inside.
“Wonder who this is?” Art said as I turned away from the door to face him.
“I guess we’ll find out—”