Dark Days of the After (Book 4): Dark Days of the Enclave

by Schow, Ryan

  He looked at the crowds who had no room to disperse. But they were pushed back. There were several people dead in this circle of his men. The decapitated woman, Filiberto, several others who dared to use this situation against him.

  “HOW DARE YOU!” he roared.

  He turned to the sounds of wailing. There was a woman who’d fallen before Filiberto, the inciter. Did she really dare mourn his body? This dissenter!

  “Get her up,” he said to one of his men.

  The man grabbed the woman by her hair, jerked her to her feet and walked her over to Huang, kicking and screaming.

  “Who is this man to you?” he asked.

  “My husband!”

  “Your husband just killed you,” he said.

  She spit in his face, catching him in the nose and mouth. When he went to wipe it away, she spit above his hand, catching him in the eye.

  “Take her head,” he snarled as he pawed at his face. As he was handing the blade back to his man, he looked at Filiberto and said, “Take his head, too. I want both heads on pikes, right out here in the middle of the runway. If anyone so much as touches them, let alone tries to take them down, they are to be shot on sight.”

  “Yes, sir,” his guards said in unison.

  To the masses, he said, “Do you hear that? DO YOU?”

  Everyone nodded in agreement. As he stormed off, he put the wailing sounds of the woman out of his head until his men could silence her permanently.

  The weeping in the crowds began and that’s when he knew he’d gained the upper hand. But had he really? Filiberto caught him flat footed and generous. He’d smashed his nose, and then that wife of his spit in his face twice. This was a painful humiliation, one he could barely suffer in private, let alone in front of his prisoners, his men…

  A knock on his office door startled him. He opened the door to the Curator, a cruel man who now stood before him, eyes hardened, his spirit much larger than the body born to hold it.

  “You have both won and lost this war,” the man said.

  “It was a misstep,” Huang said.

  “You underestimated the will of these people,” he said. “My own son tried to find his place in the world, as I’m sure you know. He was not tough enough for his big words. You have big words, Na Huang.”

  “I remedied the situation, as I’m sure you know.”

  “You cut the heads off of two women,” he spat. “But you let a man beat you up. You needed your men to save you.”

  “The situation was temporarily untenable,” he explained, trying but failing to convey his point.

  “Yet, no one will remember your bravery with the women,” the Curator said, a clear insult. “They will only fixate on your failures with this one man. In that, you are like a son to me.”

  He felt any pride he carried in his heart deflate. Everyone knew the Curator thought of his son as a blight on the family name, as weakness personified. When he looked up to apologize, the man was gone.

  With that, he quietly shut the door, went to the bathroom and washed the man’s brains and the woman’s spit off his face. He then dried his hands and gingerly dried his nose before assessing the situation. With a single, determined intent, he put his two thumbs together on either side of his nose, then put the cracking appendage back in place.

  His eyes instantly ran, the tears rolling over slightly puffed skin. In two days, after the blood runoff, his skin would blacken. A few days after that, it would turn shades of yellow and green. If he was to wear his shame, he could not do so in private. And if he was lucky, he wouldn’t be demoted or dead by that time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Felicity rode with Clay up into the hills, to a home tucked away into the woods, a home Clay said belonged to Orbey and Connor Madigan. “They’re Stephani’s parents,” Clay said.

  “I don’t know if I like her or not,” Felicity said. Clay laughed, almost like he understood, prompting her to elaborate. “The way she comes off, you can’t tell if she likes you, hates you or is just making you feel uncomfortable to show you who’s in charge.”

  “She’s like that,” Clay replied. “But these are not soft, sweet people. Well, Orbey is—she’s just about the sweetest person you’d ever meet, until you cross her—but the others are hardened by time, circumstance and way of life.”

  “What does that mean?” she asked.

  “Do you know what a prepper is?” Clay asked. “Off grid homes and all that?”

  “Sort of, yeah,” she said, thinking she had an idea of them.

  “These are people who live their lives purely on their own. Not taking government water, store bought food, pay by the wattage electricity. They harness the elements of nature and life independently of society. They use the soil for gardening and food, rainwater catch systems with their own treatment facilities for water, the sun for power, and the woods for both lumber and firewood for heat.”

  “I know about people like that,” she said as they drove up the hill, the canopies of trees so beautiful, green and lush.

  “Not ‘people like that,’” Clay said, correcting her. “Just people. People who understand that as long as you’re dependent on anything other than God, nature, and your own hard work, you’re unable to assert full control of your lives.”

  “Are they shut ins?”

  “Shut ins?”

  “People who are awkward around other people. You know, quiet but short tempered, slow to react, but long on revenge?”

  He laughed and said, “They’re kind of like that, but I wouldn’t say they’re shut ins.”

  “We were working to be like that before the Chicoms took over. So I guess you could say I know about these people from a distance, but not as close as we’d once hoped.”

  “My brother Boone was like that,” he said. “At least, he was getting like that.”

  “Is something wrong with him?” she asked.

  He nodded, then said, “The Chicoms.” That was all he could say. And she was smart enough to leave it at that.

  When they pulled into a cul-de-sac, she saw one lot with a fallen over FOR SALE sign, a bunch of Chicom vehicles and a tire-tracked entrance to a property.

  “I’m going to show you something, and it’s all you need to know about the Madigans,” Clay said, getting out of the truck.

  He walked her to the mountain of bones. Looking at the blackened pile, she thought there must be dozens of heads in there. Maybe even more.

  “Fifty or so of these Chicom rats were brought here by the Sheriff before. He was handing the Madigans over for summary execution in a deal he apparently made to keep them from burning the entire town to the ground.”

  “They did this?” she asked. “The Madigans?”

  “Orbey, Connor, Stephani, Harper and Logan.”

  “Five on fifty,” she said. “Really?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I like them already,” she said.

  The walked up the hill, saw a long stretch of land, a house and a fancy American Jeep she was sure hadn’t worked since the power went out. They knocked on the front door, but no one was home. Felicity saw the new kitchen window, all the plugged up bullet holes in the side of the house.

  “Must have been one hell of a fight,” she said, almost to herself.

  “These are the kind of people who bring dynamite to a gunfight,” he told her. “As you can see by the front of the property.”

  She huffed out a laugh and said, “They’re not home, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” he said. “Follow me.”

  They hiked up the property, first passing the hives and the buzzing bees around them (a healthy sign, according to Stephani), before reaching the barn. Everyone was at the garden in front of it, hard at work and seemingly happy.

  A couple of them looked up and smiled. Felicity smiled back, happy to see happy people at work. She expected them to be different, maybe not so welcoming. But it wasn’t like that.

  Clay introduced her to Connor, Orbey and Coop
er, who came ready to sniff crotches and take names. Clay told the pup her name, but then Orbey told him to sit. He did. Little Cooper (who wasn’t so little anymore) sat right in front of Felicity, looking up at her, tongue hanging out and panting.

  “If you give the backs of his ears enough attention,” a good looking woman said, coming out of the barn, “he’ll forever adore you.” She met Felicity with a handshake, then said, “I’m Harper Whitaker.”

  “Felicity Espinoza,” she said, the name Harper sounding familiar.

  To Clay, Harper said, “She’s every bit as cute as you described her to be.”

  Felicity felt her face flush. He thinks I’m cute?

  Harper turned to Felicity. “He said you were feisty, too, if I remember correctly.”

  “Fiery,” Clay said, correcting her. “Close enough.”

  “We all thought he had a crush on you, young lady,” Harper teased, Clay’s face going red, “but it turns out he just appreciates people who can take care of themselves.”

  Felicity risked a glance his way. Clay seemed just as embarrassed by the conversation as she was.

  “Looks like you’re both a bit smitten,” Harper said softly, knowingly, “you just haven’t figured it out yet.”

  “She may be young, but what she lacks in age, she makes up for in wisdom,” Clay said about Harper, trying to change the subject. “Standing before you is the head of the former West Coast Resistance.”

  The heat that had started to steal out of her cheeks returned with a fury.

  “Oh my God,” she whispered, realizing where she’d heard that name before. Her arms broke out in gooseflesh, everything in her changing. “You’re that Harper?”

  “In the flesh,” she said, hands out, smiling and titling her head like the spotlight was finally on her and she loved it.

  Felicity went and hugged her hard, then said, “You’re name is legend in some circles.”

  Harper laughed like a young girl, carefree and sublime, something Felicity hadn’t seen in awhile. She heard the twenty-something was harder than most women, faster and more barbaric, not afraid to gut the Chicoms in the streets they claimed as their own.

  Yet there she was, hugging her right back.

  Shawn, her former boyfriend, had connections inside the Roseburg Resistance, a small outfit of high schoolers playing resistance fighters. They spoke her name with reverence. And the stories they told! Felicity felt a sudden, powerful attraction to her. Not in a sexual way, but maybe in an energetic, or even respectful, way.

  Felicity wasn’t kidding when she said the girl was legend. “I’m totally girl crushing on you right now,” she said, standing back and fixing her hair.

  This earned an appreciative laugh from Harper. Looking at Clay, smiling from ear to ear, she said, “You can bring your friends up here whenever you want, so long as they’re exactly like her.”

  “The Harper Whitaker Fan Club has another member,” Orbey said. Felicity looked over at the woman taking off her gardening gloves. Her features were warm and inviting. “We’ve adored her ever since she first showed up here months ago.”

  “It took the mutt a minute or two to warm up to her,” Connor said, “but he was slow back then. Look at the way he’s cozying up at you, though. That dog knows good people the minute he meets them.”

  She’d been scratching the German Shepherd’s ears before taking only a moment away from him to hug and gush over Harper. Now the German Shepherd was expecting Felicity to resume the doggy-worship. He gave a bit of a whine, looking up at her. She laughed and went back to scratching behind his ears.

  “We’re going to head into Roseburg,” Clay told Harper.

  The mere mention of home sucked so much of that happiness away, and left her tensing up once more. Five Falls was a nice dream while it lasted.

  “Are you sure that’s wise?” Harper asked.

  “I know, I know,” he said, holding up his hands. “But Felicity traveled here at great risk to herself for my help. I promised this to her when we first met, so now I’m going to make good on that promise. I won’t be long. Longwei and his men will be accompanying me, ensuring this won’t be a long trip.”

  “You’re leaving me with a skeleton crew,” Harper said. “And Boone.”

  “I’m going to talk to him on the way out,” Clay said. “He’ll come around. He’ll be okay.”

  “Would you?” she asked. “After everything that happened?”

  “I never knew how to love like him, so it’s hard to say,” he admitted. “But I can tell you from my own experience, recovery is an effort in letting go, and it’s best that no one coddle him in the mean time.”

  Clay’s revelation about love shocked Felicity. She turned and looked at him, garnering an odd look from Harper. While Felicity wasn’t unaware of the presence of Clay, he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would ever be off the market, or too shy to play the game.

  She reminded herself he’d been at war for forever.

  With the scars and the mental and emotional damage brought on by more than a decade of war, if she was remembering right, she understood how someone like him could keep to himself.

  But when he was younger, without the scars and robotic disposition, she would have fallen all over him trying to get his attention. And if she would, so would other women. So why wasn’t he in love at least once? Hadn’t everyone had that first special someone?

  “For most of my life, I didn’t know that kind of love either,” Harper said, walking into the barn. Clay walked with her and Felicity followed. “But now that I have Logan, I’d do anything for him. And if something happened to him, I’m not sure what would happen to my state of mind.”

  “I know you,” he said. “You’d find the person responsible and pull his heart out with your teeth.”

  “Which is exactly what Boone didn’t do,” she turned and said. To Felicity, who was in awe of the barn conversion, Harper said, “This is part safe house, part off-grid home. We have solar energy, enough insulation to take us through the winter, root storage now, gardens, guns and lots of ammo.”

  She opened a huge gun safe, pulled out a pistol and handed it to Felicity. “Give me your revolver.”

  How did Harper know she had a revolver?

  She handed the woman her gun and took the heavier piece instead, liking the way it felt in her hand.

  “That’s a Springfield XD Mod.2,” Harper said. “It’s got a great grip, low kick, and an overall comfortable feel. You’ll like it better than this old thing. Plus I have ammo for it.”

  She handed Felicity two mags, both packed with ammo.

  “When you see who took your parents, you put a bullet in their head. Don’t think about it. Just do it. It’s the hesitation you will later regret. You’ll start to consider things like morality, God, the concepts of right and wrong, and it will mess with your brain. But in that moment, these good hearted, logical thoughts will all be counterproductive to the healing you’ll need to do later on. And while all those things are important in a civilized world, I’m sure you understand we no longer live in such a world, and some people are just meant to die quick and nasty deaths.”

  Felicity nodded, moved by the speech, and a bit scared of what was being suggested. In that moment, however, Harper Whitaker was exactly as she had always imagined her to be: bigger than life, super cool, confident.

  “Lately,” Clay said, “I can’t tell the difference between you and Skylar.”

  “Skylar?” Felicity asked, breathless. “Skylar Madigan?”

  “You know her?” Harper asked.

  “I recognize the name,” she said, the goosebumps back.

  “This is her barn, too,” Harper said.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Really.”

  “Is she the ruthless ghost she’s made out to be?” Felicity asked.

  “We all are,” Harper replied. “It’s what we all aspire to be. One day, if you live long enough, you’ll be just like her. And just like me.
Maybe even better than us both.”

  “Time to go,” Clay said. To Harper, he went and gave her a hug. “Thank you for everything.”

  “I’m still not happy with you for leaving,” she said. To Felicity, she winked and said, “Take care of this wounded warrior. Inside that cast iron exterior is a big heart and a beautiful man.”

  “I like this side of you,” Clay said to her.

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  With that, they said their good-byes and left. When they got to the Jeep, Felicity said, “I think she likes you.”

  “She does, but not like you think. If she talks freely with you, openly and casually, that’s how you know she’ll one day make a great friend. But if she’s shy and quiet around you, like you are with me, then chances are she either doesn’t like you or she’s in love with you. She was like that with Logan. If you saw her with him, I swear, you can feel all that love pulsing off her in currents.”

  “I want to be in love with someone like that one day,” she said. “But things being the way they are, this world being so dangerous and ugly, I think maybe I’ll have to wait to the next lifetime for that.”

  He said nothing as they drove down the hill. At the bottom, he went straight to Boone’s house, got out of the truck and met his brother outside. Boone was holding Rowdy in the sunshine. Felicity was getting out to meet and hold the baby, but Clay put up his hand, stopping her. She got back inside and closed the door, but she didn’t roll up the window.

  Her hearing was pretty good, which was necessary considering Clay was keeping his voice down. Still, she could hear them both.

  “I have to go back to Roseburg,” Clay said, “to help my friend get her parents out of a detention facility.”

  “I can’t go,” Boone said, gently rocking the child. “I have responsibilities here.”

  “I’m not asking that of you, brother,” Clay said. “I’m asking you to pull out of this funk long enough for me to do what I have to without leaving Five Falls naked to traitors and Chicoms, should things come to that.”

  “We dealt with the traitor,” Boone said, no longer rocking the child, “and we haven’t seen the Chicoms here in ages.”