Walking in the Rain (Book 4): Dark Sky Thunder

by William Allen

  This was a whole other side to my father, a different man altogether, and I realized suddenly he wasn’t treating me like a kid anymore. I was still his son, but not a child. This was how he treated adults.

  More, this is how he treated the few men who were part of his fraternity. Not a college fraternity, of course, but that group of men who had been in the military and served their country with honor. Not that I would qualify. I’d taken no oath, and served no one except myself and those I cared about. I was no soldier. I was a killer, pure and simple.

  “I managed to make it two weeks before I had to kill anybody. Just stayed low and foraged when the packaged food I’d gathered from the hotel ran out. Then I got invited to a dinner I tried to avoid, since I was on the menu. Honestly, I don’t remember how many I killed to get out of that little slice of Hell, but I did.”

  “Please tell me you are joking,” my father said uncertainly.

  I gave him a flat look before answering. “I saw it happen the first time two weeks after the lights went out. Not the last time, but that was as close as I ever come to the eaters catching me.”

  I saw my father blanch at the idea, but he knew it was true. We’d war-gamed this very scenario before. The starving people would only be held back by the taboo for so long before their bellies demanded to be filled. By whatever means necessary.

  “But after that, even though I tried to stay to the woods and live off the land, every time I went around anywhere that might be inhabited, I usually ended up having to kill somebody or several somebodies to get free.”

  “So, you just started walking? Headed home? I’m so glad you made it, but didn’t you pay any attention to the stuff I taught you? You should have found someplace relatively safe and weathered the initial die-off before trying to make it here. Don’t get me wrong, this is great you are here, and don’t ever tell your mom I said different, but why?”

  My father had a good point, and I didn’t think he meant anything untoward with remarks. Heck, he was absolutely right.

  “It wasn’t like I wanted to, Dad. I told Mr. Keller the same thing. I kept going because there was no better place to be found, not until we met up with them. Everywhere, even the smallest town I came across, looked like a war had already happened. There were a few enclaves set up, and trading posts that would take ammo for food, but nothing that looked anywhere close to safe. We’ve both read books that speculated about what the world would be like, if we ever suffered an EMP or CME. They were a start, but Dad, you cannot believe how bad it was up north. And how quick things went sour.”

  He nodded, and I was sure he’d seen similar actions here. My grandfather’s death assured that.

  “So, you have a fiancé? I did not see that coming. Have you told her about Dana? And…”

  “I’ve told Amy everything about me, Dad. I didn’t say much about the ranch, because that’s not my story to tell, but yes, she knows.”

  I thought about telling him everything. About my plans and my training. And about how Amy even laughed and said she worried I had something really bad to tell her when I admitted my nefarious plot. Nefarious? Yeah, that probably fits. I laughed.

  That got a curious look from my father, and I decided to change the subject a little bit. “So what does Mom think about Amy? Don’t be nice, Dad. Tell me the truth. I can already imagine her arguments against such a thing.”

  That got my dad to give a careful chuckle before he answered. “Uh, if you already know then why ask me? You know how your mom can be sometimes, when it comes to you kids. She’s a momma bear when it comes to you or Paige. But I have to wonder how you’ve been sort of vague as to how the two of you met up.”

  Crap. He wasn’t going to let it alone. All right, he asked for the straight story. “Okay, Dad, as I mentioned, you know I left a lot out earlier. Some of it, Mom and Paige don’t need to hear. Not now, and not ever. I won’t hide anything from you, but some stories aren’t really mine to tell. So I’ll give you the straight information, but some questions I will not answer. You will have to get that information from the source. Then you let me know what happened to Grandpa. Deal?”

  I didn’t like dictating terms to my father that way, but he was the one who taught me about holding confidences. I would never tell him about exactly how I found Amy, or what her uncle had done. To my surprise, Dad agreed with hesitation.

  About a half hour later, when I was halfway through the tale of getting the cheerleaders out of the school in South Bentonville, I heard a slight shuffle and saw Amy easing the door open. Bless her, she had a cup of coffee in one hand and her M4 carbine in the other. She still looked sleepy, but I caught her eyes sweeping the front yard and out into the distance.

  She moved to sit in one of the other chairs, but I patted my leg—my left leg and on the side away from my injury—and Amy gave me a suspicious grin. Still, she came over and gently lowered herself to a perch on my leg and leaned back into my lap. I gave her a hug and kissed the side of her neck, ignoring the strange look I received from my father.

  As I wrapped up the broad description of how the battle there solidified our position with the local National Guard unit, Amy leaned back and whispered something I barely caught. “Tell him about the stairs,” she said softly.

  I looked up, my eyes shifting back and forth between the two of them. Amy gave me a nervous smile, but my father was clearly curious what I was leaving out.

  “Amy…” I began, embarrassed. I knew why Amy mentioned this. I still had nightmares about that fight. Others, too, like that insane brawl at the Big Mac, but not as often as the stairs haunted my dreams.

  Hell, I think I killed more men defending the back fence at the armory, but that never seemed to bother me. Maybe it was because of how inept the attackers had been, just focusing on trying to get through the concertina wire while I quickly whittled down their numbers. I refer to that action sometimes as a turkey shoot, and some of the soldiers at the armory were surprised at how so few of us managed to hold off so many. I never bothered to explain that against trained troops, we likely would have had our asses handed to us. No need.

  My fiancé turned to me, her face set in a hard frown. “Luke, I can’t…cannot tell you how many times you’ve woken from a cold sweat, thrashing around, and all because of that one fight. I know it was bad. I talked to Conners, you know. But maybe talking about it to someone like your dad, someone who’s been there like you have, could help. Will you at least try, baby?”

  The concern was clear in her words, and her expression.

  “For you, honey, I’ll try. Not now, though. I still got to get through telling about the whole mess in Oklahoma before the rest of the house gets up.”

  Of course, I was scarcely finished with the ambush that cost Private Grady his life before the door swung open yet again; out came the rest of my crew: Lori, Summer, Scott, and Helena. Fortunately, Connie, Helena’s mom, must have been keeping the youngest two of our group, Kevin and Rachel, inside for the time being. Alex, having been on guard duty for a good chunk of the night, was still dead to the world.

  They heard the last of my tale, and I felt a moment of worry over what might come from these four. Unfortunately, I didn’t have long to wait.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  I quickly got everything out about the battle for Big Mac and the fight at the armory, two actions where I heaped praise on all three ladies for how they handled themselves. I also made it clear, without saying so, that Amy and Lori both walked away from that second gunfight only after taking lives. That wasn’t something to brag about, but I figured my dad needed to know. These two young women not only had a little training, but also the guts and determination to use that training to save all our lives.

  Despite their age and gender, Amy and Lori were blooded veterans. Not real experienced, but they had proven willing to follow orders and pull the trigger when necessary. I knew this would mean one or both would likely end up standing guard duty as a result, but as I’d m
entioned, my father needed to be made aware of their value. That was the new reality again.

  The ranch was undermanned, and even adding two or three more shooters to the mix could help. Scott, too, was now considered a veteran fighter from his efforts to drive off the neighbors who slaughtered his parents, as well as in our later actions. I tried to count up the number of reliable sentries they could field before we arrived, but the number seemed too low.

  Grandpa, Dad, Uncle Billy, Isaac, Alex, Mike and maybe some of the wives would be the pool of watch standers. Certainly Beth Elkins, Mike’s wife. She was a natural shot and cool under pressure, at least as far as I’d ever seen. That still left them way short. And Grandpa was gone. No wonder they were so tired. Or that they only had one person standing watch at a time at night.

  “So ya’ll got through all that without a scratch? Hard to imagine,” my father murmured. “And this was before you got shot?”

  I nodded. “Right before. We headed out as soon as possible after we made the armory to see about Mr. and Mrs. Thompson.”

  I wanted to lay this out carefully, but Lori was having none of it. She interrupted and pointed a finger at me when I tried to protest. Then, to my horror, the girls started telling their side of that nightmare trip to Hybernia Court.

  “What happened that day was my fault,” Lori said without hesitation. “I acted like a little kid, a dumb one at that, and nearly got my sister, my new friends, and myself killed. If I’d just listened to Luke, we could have stayed in the truck and driven away. No one would have even been scratched.”

  “Come on,” Amy protested, “you couldn’t have known those people were still in the area, or that they were preparing to attack your house again. If we had shown up any later, your brother and everybody else in the house might have been killed.”

  “So instead,” Lori pressed on, “I got you and Summer shot, and set off Luke like one of those hand grenades. All I know is I acted like an idiot, and I hope you guys can forgive me.”

  I could hear the tears in the young woman’s voice as she spoke. We’d had a discussion about this before, shortly after, but we could all tell Lori still carried a burden of guilt.

  “Sis, if I would have just stayed in the car, none of this would have happened,” Summer insisted, leaning forward on her crutches to make her point. I knew she was still a little scared of me, of my temper, and things just weren’t the same between us after I woke up in the armory recovery room. I tried to reassure her that we were still cool, but she still had her doubts, I guess.

  My father finally spoke, his voice carrying in the morning gloom. “After the shooting stops,” my dad intoned with quiet authority, “we can all point to something we could have done different, or some action that, in hindsight, might have saved a life. That’s all in the past, and if we are going to move forward, you have to leave it back there. I’ve lost men, Marines I considered as close as brothers, and I always had to fight the doubt that comes after the shooting stops. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. Eats you alive if you let it. So you have to learn to set it down and somehow move on.

  “Now, can one of you tell me how my son got shot? And no, that does not mean you, Lucas. You’ve proven to be an unreliable source.”

  I sighed, knowing instinctively that this was going to get ugly. I was right. I never wanted my family to know what I had turned into out there. My dad, okay, he would understand. My grandfather probably would have as well. Uncle Billy? Couldn’t say, but I figure losing his father to the same kind of people who killed Lori and Summer’s folks would keep him from questioning my motives. Or sanity.

  But Mom and Paige. Or the Elkins? Or Mr. Sheldon’s family. Isaac Sheldon was a big, scary-looking man to people who didn’t know him, but he was actually one of the kindest, gentlest people I knew. The horses could sense it about him, which was one of the reasons he made such a good trainer. How would Mr. Ike react if he ever overheard this story? So, I was terrified to hear what would be said next by my friends.

  Then I heard the door creak one more time and my buddy Alex came ambling out onto the porch. Six feet, six inches tall at only fifteen years of age. Alex was a few shades lighter than his father and had his mother’s high cheekbones, but his father’s physical presence. We used to give him grief at school about getting a job as a male model if the basketball career didn’t pan out.

  “What’s goin’ on, guys? I heard you all out here talking. Are we finally going to hear what really happened on the trip?”

  Yep. I was doomed.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  Suffering in silence, I let first Lori, and then Amy, and finally Scott, spin the tale of my anger-fueled rampage in the neighborhood around the Thompson home. The entire time, I was aware of my father’s eyes as he listened without comment. When Scott was finishing his part of the story, describing how they managed to manhandle the three of us into the SUV for a frantic trip back to the armory, I finally saw my father was ready to speak.

  “How much of it do you remember, son?” he asked.

  I nodded. Good question. “Pretty much all of it, until I fell out in the garage. I was in control the whole time, if that’s what you mean. I’ve had it happen before, but I don’t lose it every time I go into battle. I’ve fought plenty without going all Viking warrior, you know.”

  “But when he goes, Mr. Messner, you don’t want to get in his way. We counted up fifteen bodies that day. He killed every one of them. Shot, stabbed, and just blew up. And at Saw Creek, well, Lori said she heard he killed six men with just a knife, and then shot another half dozen at close range.” Scott said this with conviction, and I knew in his mind, it was a good thing to have such a monster fighting on his side.

  “No,” I said with a sigh, “that’s not right. I only killed three, maybe four with a knife there. That’s how all these tall tales get started.”

  I heard a hiss behind me, and I turned my head to see my mother leaning against the doorframe. Her face was half hidden in shadow by the early morning light, but I could read the anguish there.

  “Just how many battles, Lucas? And please, tell me the truth this time.” Her voice was raw and tinged with painful emotion. My mother was a peaceful soul, a teacher and a nurturer, not like my dad. Or like me, apparently. Claire Messner wanted to see the good in people, the best they could be. The eternal optimist there to balance my father’s pessimism. She loved Shakespeare, while ignoring some of his more blood-bathed plays, and Dylan Thomas and the like.

  She taught high school English and seemed to inhabit a more cerebral and calm universe than the rest of us. I think she developed that Zen state while waiting for “the visit” while dad was deployed. You know, the one where an unknown officer and a few enlisted drop in unexpected, all wearing dress uniforms. Where they regret to inform you of a loved one’s death while delivering platitudes about a dead Marine none of them ever met. Obviously, it didn’t happen in our household, but I knew a few where it did.

  She was seeing me in a new light, and I worried about what she would feel toward me from this point forward. Heck, she was the reason I went so light the first time I recounted our journey. I wanted to spare her, and Paige, that trauma. And now they knew at least part of it. I thought back to my concerns of just a few minutes ago, not wanting Mr. Sheldon to know, but really, my true fear was coming to pass.

  “As many as needed, Mom. I didn’t go looking for trouble, usually, but there’s plenty to go around out there. You know that,” I replied in a neutral tone, not wanting a scolding, of all things, from my mother right now. “You’ve seen it here. I know you’ve had to fight to survive. We all have, or we wouldn’t be here.”

  “He saved my life, ma’am,” Amy said, looking at my mother with her blue eyes flashing. “He didn’t even know me, but he killed to protect me. I know they would have raped me, and probably killed me, when they were done.”

  “Me too,” Lori volunteered. “After some men sold me off to be a…slave, he was one of the ones th
at freed me. He also saved my sister by going into that school in Arkansas to get her and the other girls out. Ma’am, you should be proud of Luke. He saved so many lives out there. You have to understand that.”

  Lori did not bother to explain that I didn’t exactly perform this heroic deed alone.

  My mother nodded, and as the unfiltered stories continued, I could see she was still trying to process all the news we brought with us. But I was her little boy, her son she carried inside her for nine months, and then tried to civilize ever since. As we moved around from one posting to the next, I noticed sometimes that I seemed a bit different than the other kids.

  I felt things, had the same emotions everybody else did, but somehow I was able to control them better. Store up the hurts and disappointments that other kids my age bawled about. And I could focus, drawing all my attention to the matter at hand and tune out the other crap going on around me. That’s how I became such a good shooter and how I managed to hold my shit together out there when the lights went out, I guess.

  No, my mom tried, but I don’t think she really understood me. Even before I left for Chicago on that flight from Dallas. I had too much of that damn Messner determination in me, or pig-headedness, as she often complained about when Dad got on her last nerve. She loved us, and I think at that moment she realized that her first born wasn’t her little boy anymore.

  Of course, my mother also learned some other things that managed to horrify her to no end. That elements of the state and national governments were at odds was not what Mom was waiting to hear. Again, she wanted to think that those who were entrusted with power would work for the greater good. I thought about the governor in Arkansas, Watkins, and wanted to tell her that some public servants did seem to be rising to the occasion. Maybe mention it to her later, I decided.