The Indiana Apocalypse Series

by E A Lake

  But nothing seemed out of place to me. I knocked on the front door and when no one answered, I let myself in. I wondered if she and Avellyn were sick and couldn’t get up. I checked the small bedroom and found nothing. The bed was still made and didn’t looked slept in. That meant she must have left after sundown and before bedtime. That’s the way I saw it at least.

  Not one single thing was out of place in her shack. The dishes were all done and put away, the place was picked up and clean, even a multicolored afghan that rested on the back of her couch was neatly folded.

  “I guess she’ll be back when she gets back,” I whispered to myself. “And I bet she’ll have a great story to go with it.”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY-SEVEN

  Another day passed and Chloe had yet to return. I tried to keep any anxiety about the situation to myself, but Morgan noticed my quietness.

  “She’s fine,” Morgan said in a loving way. “She’ll probably be back tonight or tomorrow. You know she’d never be able to stay away from those dogs for too long.”

  “I’m thinking of riding over to Blackhawk tomorrow morning,” I replied, unable to focus on anything else. “I’d just like to make sure everything’s okay with her family.”

  Morgan slid close beside me on the love seat. “I’ll come with you. I kind of miss that little shit Avellyn. She sorta grows on you after a while.”

  That made me feel better, if only for a second. Was Morgan thinking about children? I didn’t need that mess, not at that moment.

  The next morning, Ronnie and I went out and took care of the dogs. Several of the labs seemed, well, sad. A beautiful Belgian Malinois acted like he wanted out of the enclosure, almost as if he had something he needed to do. I knew it was one of Chloe’s older dogs, and a good one at that, so I made sure he didn’t get the opportunity to run. I’d hate to have to explain his absence to her when she got back.

  “Something isn’t adding up here, Quinn,” Ronnie said on our walk back to town.

  “Such as?”

  “You and I both know Chloe’s never been gone this long before,” he said, concern in his voice. “You don’t suppose she’s gotten herself into some kind of trouble, do you?”

  “Such as?” He had my attention, but I needed more.

  He stopped and looked at me squarely. “There was that fellow you run off this last spring. Chloe decided he wanted as many dogs as he could get to butcher up and feed to his family. And there’s been others like him the past few years. You don’t think some angry customer came looking for revenge, do you?”

  I had to admit, that scenario had crossed my mind. But it didn’t add up.

  “Why haven’t they come back for the dogs yet?” I asked. “And why drag her, and Avellyn, off somewhere? If that was the case, I would’ve expected to find two corpses in her house and all the dogs gone.”

  Ronnie shook his head and we turned to continue our walk. “I’m just thinking out loud, Quinn. I don’t know anything I suppose.”

  Neither did I; but I expected my ride to Blackhawk would give us the answers we sought.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY-EIGHT

  The horses were saddled and waiting outside my office just after lunch time. The only thing holding up our departure was Morgan. She’d run home to grab a thicker sweater – claimed it was chillier than she’d thought – and since we probably wouldn’t get back until dark, she wanted to be warm enough.

  I heard footsteps and rose from my chair, expecting Morgan to enter the room. Instead, it was Cooley.

  “Got a message for you, boss,” he said lazily. Was that man ever in a hurry?

  “What is it?” I quipped, retaking my seat.

  “It’s a letter,” he replied, holding it my direction. “It’s addressed to you. I didn’t bother opening it since it doesn’t say my name on the front. That’d be wrong in so many—”

  Just then, Morgan entered the office. “I’m ready. Let’s get going.”

  Sure, I had to wait on her and now she was the one in a rush.

  “Just toss that on my desk and I’ll read it when I get back,” I directed Cooley. He did as requested and I prepared to leave.

  The handwriting on the envelope caught my attention as I glanced at it on my way out the door. I paused and went back to my desk, leaning over the tan envelope, staring at it.

  “Are we leaving, Quinn?” Morgan asked, sounding perturbed. “You said—”

  I held up the envelope, cutting off her sentence.

  “It’s from Shaklin,” I said softly. “I’d know his handwriting anywhere.”

  I tore the delivery open and scanned it quickly. My heart sank when I read it.

  “What is it?” Morgan asked.

  I stared at her with weary eyes and let out a deep breath, feeling complete defeated, once again, by a man who always seemed to hold the upper hand.

  “He’s got them,” I said just above a whisper. “Shaklin’s got Chloe and Avellyn.”

  Morgan read the letter aloud to a small audience. Art had come back from making his rounds and Petri joined his buddy Cooley in the airless office.

  Quinn,

  So, you thought you could hold out on me. You know better than that. I always win and always will.

  I have a trade to propose to you. You bring me Charolette and I’ll give you back the dog lady and her kid. After you do that, we can discuss — like men — the return of the rest of my property.

  You holding out on me has caused a lot of grief. The Cutlers aren’t a patient bunch. They’ve given me 10 days to deliver what was promised or else our deal is off. I need that girl, Quinn; I want her back now.

  If in a week you haven’t brought her to me, I’m going to have to get creative. They’re getting someone, just not who you might think.

  No, that dog lady will make an excellent addition to my staff. As far as I’m concerned, she can take Morgan’s place for now. I still want Morgan back; I just haven’t decided what her punishment will be yet.

  I’ve already wasted enough time with you. You’ve got a week or I’ll turn that cute little girl who calls you daddy over to the Cutlers. I don’t think Winston will have much use for her. But I’m sure the old man can come up with a way to take his anger out on her. I can’t promise her safety after I turn her over. Only you can do that by doing what needs to be done beforehand.

  Don’t think you have the upper hand anymore, old friend. You’ve never had it, ever. Carla sends her best. She’s confident you’ll do what’s right.

  -TS

  Morgan looked up, tears filling her otherwise pretty eyes.

  “Shit,” she uttered.

  Yeah, that just about summed up the situation. I’d been so wrapped up in Charolette and the potential return of Jimmy Yelk that I’d missed something that should have been obvious.

  “Avellyn must be scared to death,” Morgan cried. “You can’t let them hurt that little girl, Quinn. You just can’t.”

  “I know,” I said, nodding my head. “I won’t.”

  “You got a plan, Sheriff” Art asked hurriedly. “I mean, of course you got a plan, right?”

  I glanced around the room at four worried faces. I’d been defeated by the master manipulator once again. I wanted to go dig my own grave and end it all. But, I did have one last card to play.

  “Yeah,” I whispered, squeezing my temples. “I got a plan. I just…I just hate to use it.”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY-NINE

  There was only one man I knew who could help me. He had the resources, the influence and the wherewithal to help dig me out of the hole I was in. But the price was steep, and until that point, I hadn’t even given him a grain of consideration.

  Desperate times, however…

  “I’m going to have to go up into Terre Haute again,” I said softly, not sure I could convince myself to beg for his help.

  “You’re not considering—” Art spouted.

  “I’ve got to go see him,” I replied urgently. “I’m out of tr
icks otherwise. I’ve got nothing else. No one else will help us. Only he has access to what I need.”

  “Are you sure about that, Sheriff?” Art asked from across the room. “The last time you saw him—”

  “Yeah, that was a shit show,” I answered without letting him finish. “Don’t expect it to go much better this time either.”

  “You want me to come with?” Art asked almost happily.

  I nodded. “He knows you; maybe we’ll stand a better chance if you come along. Get ready, we’re leaving in five minutes.”

  Morgan rushed in front of me. “Where are you going, Quinn? Why can’t I come with you? And who the hell is this person?”

  I took her arms gently. “It’s not safe for you to come with. Hell, it’s hardly safe for me and Art to go. We’ll be back in a day or two. Nothing ever comes easy from him.”

  “Who is he, Quinn?” she gasped. “I don’t like the sound of him, not one bit.”

  I kissed her cheek and gave her a gentle hug. “He’s the only one who can help us now. And I’m not thrilled to be going either. But like it or not, he’s our only hope.”

  She seemed content with my explanation. Well, it was a lie… but just a small one. Perhaps I should have mentioned Ed was someone I’d known for years, a mean person from my past who lost his mind at the end of the old world and went off the deep end finding religion. She hadn’t recognized his name, and hopefully she wouldn’t recall it until sometime much later. Ed was a lunatic who I had argued with badly the last time we’d met.

  But I knew he was my last hope, my only hope. Edward James Reynolds, my father.

  ########

  Book Three - Redeemed

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIFTY

  A two-by-four. I came with open arms and a penitent smile and Ed greeted me with a two-by-four. How wonderful. I must have been out of my mind to think he'd changed since I last visited him.

  "Come on, Ed," I begged. "I'm here to make things right. I just need to talk to you."

  A healthy swing missed my mid-section by a foot.

  "Thou shalt not steal," he preached, taking another swing and missing by equally as much. "That's the seventh commandment...not that you would know."

  "I didn't steal anything," I retorted, jumping out of the way of a closer pass by the four-foot piece of lumber. God, he had a lot of energy for a man of 65. "I freed some slaves. You should be proud of me."

  He scowled at me, shaking his head. The hair was kind of new since I'd last seen him; white and about to the top of his shoulder blades. The long white beard had to be a foot long, if not slightly longer.

  "Thou shalt not covet they neighbor's servants," he said. I hoped he was settling down, seeing as he was a little out of breath. Then up came the two-by-four again. "That's the tenth, you heathen."

  Trying to get him to be reasonable was harder than I'd hoped it would be. If he was going to keep spouting the Bible like this, we'd never get anywhere.

  "Again, they were slaves." When he swung after I said "slaves", I could feel the air whoosh past my face. "Hey, Ed. Simmer down. We're just talking."

  "Thou shalt not commit adultery," he seethed. Okay, he had me on that one. But my ex had been the first to sleep with someone else.

  "Can't we just forget all about the church shit for now?" I asked, waiting for the next swing. "I mean, Lord knows there has to be other things on your mind."

  Art stepped forward, but only a little. "Ed, why don't you put the wood down and hear Quinn out. All he's asking is that you listen."

  I glanced at Art. For once, he was the voice of reason. "Yeah, all I want to do–"

  The strike sucked the air right out of my lungs and sent me to the ground. Somehow, I'd left my ribs exposed and Ed had found the opening.

  "Thou shalt not kill!" he shouted, hovering over me with the board held above his head. "And from what I know of you, Quinn Reynolds, you've done a whole lot of killing."

  "Edward," a female voice chastised from behind him. "You let Quinn get up and put that board away."

  "I need to beat the devil from this boy," he replied, waving the board like he was ready to strike again at any moment. "Someone has to save his soul, Lisa."

  I heard her clomp down the wooden stairs and noticed her next to the old fart. And boy, did she look pissed.

  "I said drop that wood and give your son a hand up off the ground," she barked. "Now."

  He wasn't happy, but I was. "Thanks, Mom."

  Art helped me stand and dusted me off. As usual, he hadn't been much help.

  "Why didn't you just shoot him?" I asked, shaking my head at my deputy. "He was trying to kill me."

  Something made Ed laugh, a long, hearty, belly-splitting laugh. "Because he doesn't have no bullets in his gun, you fool. That's why."

  As we followed my parents inside their quaint home, I made a note to myself to check Art's gun later. I don't know why though; chances were he hadn't loaded his weapon, despite my request.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIFTY-ONE

  My mother looked old and thin. She was about the same age as my dad and had similar grey hair, but looked 10 years older than Ed. Whereas he was fit; she could only be described as frail.

  Ed pointed at a chair by the kitchen table. "Sit, both of you. Mother will serve us some coffee."

  "I can help," I offered, getting a nasty glare from my father.

  "She's just fine, boy," he replied, again pointing at the chair. "We're old, not helpless."

  I sat and sighed. "I wasn't saying–"

  He thrust a finger my direction. "I know what you were saying. You don't show up here for years at a time and when you do all you’re looking for is handouts. A man like you’s a mooch. Sons don't act like that; strangers do. So do scoundrels and heathens."

  Oh God, I hoped we weren't going into another religious rant. I needed to slow him down.

  "So, how you been, Dad?" I asked, trying to sound friendly. "Things going good with the cult?"

  I expected him to erupt. In my defense, I'd meant to say church; cult just slipped out.

  "I wouldn't expect a man of low morals to understand something as powerful as God's love," he replied, taking a sip of his coffee. He should have jerked and sputtered; the black liquid must have been stewing on the old cook stove for a year.

  "Dad," I said, opening my hands wide as sign of peace. "You were a trucker, not a preacher. And you were angry most of the time, much as I remember. So forgive me if I'm still having a little trouble seeing you as a man of God."

  Pulling on his beard, he actually seemed to ponder the truth I'd laid on the table.

  "That is true," he said softly. "I was an angry man; I rarely went to church. I drank, I used the Lord's name in vain. I was immoral."

  He raised his old grey eyes and I swore they were twinkling. "Then the end came and the Lord exposed himself to me. He said I should pick up his cross and do his work. He showed himself to me, son, and ever since that moment, I've become a holy man."

  I fought back the urge to laugh, which made me choke. A holy man he said; well, he did look like an older version of Jesus, all long-haired and tan. As for the rest of him...I wasn't really sure.

  "I got a problem Ed, and I could really use your help in solving it." Okay, maybe it was laying it on a little thick. I needed his help, but I already had the solution. I just needed him to get over himself for a minute and give me what I needed, no strings attached.

  "You're a walking problem," he replied, smiling at my mother. "You've chosen to live a sinful life and now you're paying the consequences. The only way I can help you is by bringing you to the Lord. Only He can help you now, son."

  Exactly the line of bullshit I didn't need. And exactly how I thought – no, knew – he'd react.

  "People's lives are at stake, Dad," I answered.

  "So is your soul, Quinn," he shot back. "Have you considered where you'll be spending eternity?"

  Apparently in hell, which was perfect. I was already on my way ther
e just in coming to see him.

  "Mom, can you get Ed to listen?" I begged. "Maybe just a little?"

  She gave me one of those soft smiles that only a mother can give. That meant no, of course.

  "Your father's worried about you, Quinn," she replied, sounding so positive that the average person would have believed her. But what did the average person know. "We pray for you every night."

  "Great, just great," I sighed, shaking my head. "Pray about this: seven women are still in bondage down at Shaklin's farm. Pray for them. And while you're at it, pray for the fate of my friend and her young daughter from Pimento who he's kidnapped."

  I hoped my plea was reaching his closed-minded brain.

  "Save yourself first, son," he whispered, staring at his hands. "Only then can you save the world."

  Yep; I may as well as hoped for a pet unicorn. Ed was still Ed. And his help was unreachable.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FIFTY-TWO

  Art and I rode quietly back to Pimento in the late afternoon clouds. Actually, I rode quietly. Art either whistled or hummed out of tune and nodded happily at me every so often. I wondered if he'd made the same visit I had.

  "You seem happy for a man going home just as empty-handed as I am," I said after a few miles. "Anything special you noticed that I didn't?"

  His grin would have been contagious if my mood hadn't been so foul.

  "Glad you asked, Sheriff," he piped. "Glad you asked."

  And then he continued to ride quietly for a few more minutes.

  "And?" I asked quite tersely. "You got to quit making me squeeze everything out of you. Art. It's one of your less endearing little habits."