by Mark Goodwin
He put his hands up. “Hey! I’m willing to accept my portion of the blame, but you’re the one who made me break the code of conduct with these guys.”
“No! Don’t try to lay the blame on me!” Kate punched his chest with her finger. “You broke the code of conduct of being a civilized family member by allowing roughnecks like that around our house! Then to show them our stockpile; that was unconscionable.” She let out a sigh of disgust and stormed off.
CHAPTER 23
Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.
Psalm 119:105
Kate watched the sunrise over the mountain from the upstairs window in her room. A light knock came to her door. She tucked the .270 hunting rifle behind the long curtain on the side of her window. “Come in.”
Terry walked in. “Hey, did I wake you?”
“No.”
“Did you sleep at all last night?”
“No,” she confessed.
“Why? What’s going on?”
She shook her head. “Boyd mentioned that these guys he was making the deal with are part of a larger consortium of hooligans. I was worried they might show up unannounced.”
“Why didn’t you say something? I would have helped you keep watch. We could have taken turns.”
“I don’t know. I feel like you already disagree with my call to let him stay. I suppose I’m second guessing the decision myself.” She slumped over on the pillow.
“He’s our brother. Deep down, I love him, too. But I worry that his toxicity is going to poison the well. Still, I let you have the final word and I support your verdict.”
“The damage is already done. If these guys try to pull anything, we need to be ready for them.” She closed her eyes for a moment.
“Okay, we’ll put a plan together. I doubt they’d hit us in broad daylight, but I’ll keep my eyes peeled. You get some rest for now. We’ll talk about it when you wake up.”
Kate sat up on the bed, her heart pounding. She looked around and finally got her bearings. “I must have dozed off.” She looked out the window. The sun was low over the mountains to the west. She picked up the pistol from her nightstand and tucked it in her holster. Kate rushed downstairs to find Terry, Vicky, and Sam eating at the table. “Hey, where’s Boyd and Tina?”
Vicky stirred some of her canned chicken into the rice and beans on her plate. “Eating in Boyd’s room. Said they feel like being alone.”
Kate looked at Terry who shrugged. Kate put her hands on Sam’s shoulder. “Uncle Boyd and his friend have decided to quit drinking and smoking. They might be a little edgy for a couple weeks. It would be best if we let them have their space.”
Kate headed to the door.
“Where are you going?” Terry let his fork rest on the plate.
“The garage. I just need to check on something. I’ll be right back.” Kate hurried down and inspected the stockpile. Everything seemed to be in order, but she didn’t trust her brother, and she certainly didn’t trust Tina. She double checked the hiding place where she’d stashed Boyd’s cigarettes and alcohol, making sure all the seals were still intact. Once she was satisfied that nothing had been disturbed, she headed back up to the table to have dinner with her family.
Terry looked at the kids. “Your aunt and I have decided that we need to start taking some precautions to make sure we all stay safe.”
“Why? What’s going on?” Vicky asked.
“Nothing is going on, but folks around the country are getting desperate. We need to put some safeguards in our routine, just in case.” Terry nodded affirmatively.
“Is this because of those guys who Uncle Boyd was dealing with? Are they drug dealers?” Vicky asked.
“They may have been the catalyst to start the conversation, but we don’t have any reason to believe that they’re a threat.”
Kate understood that her brother didn’t want to frighten Vicky, but if she’d have asked Kate, there’d have been no soft-pedaling the explanation. She ate her food and didn’t interfere.
“I found Dad’s old whistle.” Terry held up a stainless-steel whistle dangling from a piece of black cord. “The designated watch person can blow the whistle if there’s danger.”
“Then what? We all report to our battle stations?” Sam asked.
Terry looked at Kate. “For lack of better terminology, yeah, I guess so.”
“Which would be where?” Vicky inquired.
“I recommend my room,” Kate said. “I have a good vantage point over the property, plus the only way to get in is to come up the stairs. It’s a natural kill zone that funnels our enemy right into our line of fire.”
“Whoa! When did you start talking about funneling people into a kill zone?” Vicky laughed.
“She’s a gamer, dork.” Sam continued eating.
“I thought you played like Pokémon and stuff.” Vicky took a piece of cornbread and broke off a corner.
“I would have,” Kate sipped her water, “If Pokémon was a multiplayer first-person shooter,” she said with a wink.
Vicky placed her cornbread on the plate. “Speaking of video games, what happened to the guy you used to play online with?”
Kate glared at Terry. “The one your dad wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about?”
“Yeah, him.” Vicky laughed.
Kate sighed. “It’s a different world now. We rarely have an internet connection. When we do, it’s too slow for gaming. Besides, there’s no time for video games.”
“I was asking about the guy, not the games.”
Kate looked at the old wooden table, then glanced up at her inquisitive niece. “There’s no time for boys either.”
“Oh, we make time for boys!”
Terry perked up. “What boys are we making time for?”
“She flirts with the kid at the bottom of the hill.” Sam forked a bite of rice into his mouth.
Vicky slapped his arm. “Shut up, I do not!”
Terry looked at Kate. “If you want to take first watch tonight, I’ll relieve you at four o’clock.”
“Are you sure you’ll get enough rest?” Kate asked.
“Yeah. I’m going to turn in right after dinner.” He looked at his kids. “And guys, everyone stays in the house until tomorrow morning. If you hear the whistle, no matter what you’re doing, drop it and run to Aunt Kate’s room.”
“Everyone has a gun except me,” Vicky said.
Terry looked at her remorsefully. “I’ll protect you.”
“What if you can’t?” she asked.
Kate could see the heartbreak on her brother’s face as he considered the reality of what Vicky was saying.
Terry looked down. “If you feel like you’re ready, I’ll walk you through operating the revolver and the rifle tomorrow.”
“What if something happens tonight?” Vicky quizzed.
Kate put her hand on her niece’s shoulder. “I’ll show you how to use my 9mm after dinner.”
“So, can I carry it with me?”
“I keep it at my side, but it will be in my room if you need it.”
“You have two guns and I have none,” Vicky said matter-of-factly.
Kate hated the thought of carting the shotgun around everywhere she went, but Vicky had a right to self-defense as well. “Okay. You can carry the 9mm.”
Sam entered the conversation. “We need more guns. And more ammo.”
Kate looked at her brother. She couldn’t deny the truth in Sam’s statement, but options were slim, and they needed more of a lot of things. “Yeah, and I wish I had something besides target load for the shotgun, like slugs or buckshot.”
“You can change the target loads into something like an exploding slug, you know.” Sam took a sip of water. “They’d be better than a slug.”
Kate was befuddled by the statement. “They’re target load. Basically, a bunch of little BBs. You can’t change a shotgun shell.”
“Yes, you can.” Sam broke off a piece of cornbread and stuck it
in his mouth.
Kate waited for him to finish chewing. “So… are you going to explain?”
He took another drink of his water and said, “Open the top of the plastic shell and pour out the BBs. Then, you melt some crayons or candle wax. You mix the BBs in the hot wax and pour it back into the top of the shell. When it hardens, it essentially becomes a slug.”
“Until you shoot it,” Kate said.
“Exactly.” Sam smiled. “The slug stays intact until it hits the target, then it shatters and the BBs fly apart like a fragmentation grenade.”
Kate knew the devastation of a frag grenade from years of gaming. It was a highly effective tool in any game where it was available as a weapon. She thought about the physics behind Sam’s proposal. “Is this something you’ve tested out?”
“It better not be!” Terry interjected.
Sam shook his head. “Nope. But I saw it on YouTube.”
“You better hope the hot wax doesn’t set off the gunpowder in the shotgun shell.” Vicky’s statement inspired a new sense of respect for the manufacturing process that Kate hadn’t yet considered.
Kate looked at her nephew. “The people on YouTube who were making these things, did they mention accidental discharges?”
“No, but we’ll probably want to wear eye protection when we make them.” Sam finished off his cornbread.
Terry blew out a deep breath. “If we decide to make these, your aunt and I will handle the fabrication process.”
“It was my idea,” Sam objected.
“And it was a good one. But I’m the dad, and I’m still calling the shots.”
Kate heard a gentle rap on the front door. “I’ll go see who it is.” She peeked out the window to see Mr. Pritchard standing on the porch with an empty box.
She opened the door. “Mr. Pritchard. We were just having dinner. Would you like to come in?”
“Ain’t got no time for that. Get yer shoes on and come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Down to the Petersons’. We need to get them jars.”
Kate did not want to go. “Right now? In broad daylight? People will see us.”
“It’s nearly dark. Gets any darker and we’ll have to use flashlights. That’ll draw a heap more attention. Now quit yer fussin’ and come on.”
Kate gritted her teeth. “Okay, give me a second.” She grabbed her hiking boots and called out to Terry and the kids, “I have to help Mr. Pritchard with something. I’ll be right back.”
“Hurry it up, girl.” Pritchard headed down the stairs.
She pulled the back of her boot up and hopped along behind him. “My name is Kate, in case you forgot.”
“I know what your name is, now come on!”
“Are you sure this is the morally correct thing to do?”
“What’s the Good Book say?”
She tried to think of a passage that might apply to this situation while struggling to get her boots tied and keep up with the cantankerous old man. “Um, God helps those who help themselves?”
“No, girl! That ain’t even in the Bible. I thought you said you went to church?”
“We went, but not every Sunday.”
“How often did ya go?”
“Whenever, Christmas, Easter…”
“Just as well I reckon. You ain’t never read the Bible, so you wouldn’t know a good church if it slapped you upside the head anyhow. Goin’ to church these days is about like pickin’ mushrooms in the forest. If you try to do it without readin’ the guide first, ‘bout the best you can hope fer is a bad case of the scours. But you’re liable to wind up dead.
“Naw, you can’t be out rootin’ around for a good church based on which’n has the best country club amenities. Best just go to the lake on Sunday and fish all mornin’. Least you won’t be no worse off.”
Kate’s brow wrinkled at the bizarre reasoning. She wondered if her new companion might be a few cards shy of a full deck. “Is that what you do? You go fishing on Sunday?”
“Heavens no. I go to church. The one I attend ain’t perfect, but it’s the best one I could find; I looked long and hard to find it. Don’t usually have much choice in politicians neither, but I vote; try to pick the one with the thinnest coat of muck on him.”
Pritchard laughed. They rounded the corner going down the narrow asphalt road. “I reckon if I did find the perfect church I wouldn’t go there no how.”
“Why is that?”
“Wouldn’t be perfect no more if I was to set foot in it.”
Kate considered his answer. “You never told me what the Bible said about us breaking into our neighbor’s house and taking her jars.”
“It ain’t breakin’ in. We’re lettin’ ourselves in to collect her valuables for safe keepin’. If we take it, it’ll still be hers when she gets back. And we’ll return ever bit of it in as good or better condition as it was when she left. If’n somebody else was to haul it off, that be the last she’d ever see of it.”
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
“The golden rule.” Pritchard started up the Petersons’ drive.
“Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you?” She followed behind him cautiously.
“Yes, child. If I was to suspend the good sense the Lord gave me and follow that fool woman off to a government internment camp, I hope someone would take pity on me and look after my things.” Pritchard walked onto the porch and began looking under flower pots and beneath the welcome mat.
“It’s very convenient that we’re going to watch over only those items which serve to benefit us.”
“Well, you haul the rest of their belongings all up to your house for safe keepin’. Me, I ain’t got room for all of it. Ain’t got a young back like yours for movin’ a bunch of stuff up a hill neither. But you go right on ahead. Don’t let me get in your way.” Pritchard motioned for her to follow him. “Must a hid the key around back.”
Kate saw the futility in arguing with the man so she trailed behind him. “Are you sure they keep a key hidden?”
“Everybody keeps a key hidden ‘round these parts.” Pritchard opened the side gate and walked through a well-manicured backyard. He lifted the top to the barbecue grill. “There it is.” He retrieved a single key and let the top down on the grill. He shoved it into the deadbolt of the back door and unlocked it. He opened the door and let himself in.
Kate took a deep breath before going in behind him. Once inside she looked around.
Pritchard looked in the fridge first. Then he rummaged through the pantry. “Boy, their cupboards were as bare as a baby’s bottom. I reckon they didn’t have much choice but to go.”
Kate thought about the food she’d stored. Perhaps she could have shared with the Petersons and they could have stayed. She quickly dismissed the notion. They had enough to get through the winter, and perhaps she could help Mr. Pritchard out, but if things didn’t turn around soon, her family would be forced to abide by strict rations.
“Here’s her jars. And would you believe, two cases of Mrs. Peterson’s famous apple butter?”
Kate’s eyes lit up, but she felt bad taking food from someone who had nothing. “I don’t think we should eat the one thing they have.”
“I might have a few things put away. If they come back, they’ll want something besides apple butter. I’d have traded with them if I’d have known.” The old man stacked the empty jars, canning lids, and cases of apple butter by the door. “Best have a look around and see if anything else might need to be put away for safe keepin’.”
Kate followed him into the bedroom and watched him pull open the nightstand drawer. He pulled out a small revolver.
“Little ol’ .22. Wouldn’t want that to fall into the wrong hands. Speakin’ of the wrong hands, sounded like quite the squabble over there with your brother and his compadres.” Pritchard tucked the pistol into his belt.
“We asked his associates to leave and not come back. Making award-winning decisions has ne
ver been on Boyd’s list of accomplishments.”
The old man grunted. “Must be a box of ammo around here somewhere. Have a look under the bed, and I’ll check the closets.”
Kate peeked beneath the bed skirt. She saw a rifle case. “I think he has another gun under here.”
“Pull it up. Let’s see what you found.”
She placed the plastic case on the bed and opened the tabs. “Looks like a shotgun.”
Pritchard ran his fingers over the stock. “Walnut. Semi-automatic. That’s a heap better weapon than what I’ve got.”
“What do you have?”
“I’ve got an old double barrel shotgun and my grandpappy’s old Colt Navy that he carried in the war.”
“World War II?”
“No, girl. The Civil War. He was in the 37th Regiment, North Carolina Infantry. They fought at Second Manassas, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, he took a bullet in the arm at Gettysburg.”
“Is it a dependable weapon?” She knitted her brows together.
“Yes, ma’am. I fire it off ever New Year’s. Clean it real good and reload it. It’s black powder, though. Takes a while to reload, so whatever you’re gonna do, you need to get it done in six shots.”
Pritchard continued to search the closet. “I bet we’ll find us a .38 if we keep looking.”
“Why do you say that?”
The old man placed several boxes of shotgun shells, twenty-two caliber ammo, and three boxes of .38 special bullets on the bed. “Just a guess.” He motioned toward the dresser. “Have a look in that chiffonier.”
“Why me?”
“Mrs. Peterson might keep her unmentionables in there. Wouldn’t be proper me a rootin’ through it.”
Kate thought none of this behavior was proper but did as she’d been asked. Sure enough, Mrs. Peterson’s underwear drawer had a very heavy object nestled beneath her bras. Kate carefully drew the snub nose revolver out of the dresser. “I wonder why they didn’t take this with them?”
“Ain’t no government camp gonna let you bring no gun. You can’t have one in a library, a post office, nor a courthouse; you know good and well they won’t allow you to carry one in the FEMA cage. Besides all that, Edith probably wouldn’t have no one travel with her if they had a pistol. That woman would rather share a house with a polecat than have a gun around her.”