CHAPTER
TEN
“Hello the house!” I called out, stepping through the last layer of clinging vines and low brush at the edge of the small thicket. Just to the north of the road and only fifty yards from the old farmhouse, this position was close enough so the man sitting on the porch taking a turn at guard duty saw me immediately, but not so close that I would be automatically considered a threat. Or so I hoped.
The jumble of old hedge bushes and runty pines also concealed my backup, which consisted of my father and Mike Elkins. Dad was on his rifle and Mike was serving as spotter, and anything that looked funny to either of them would earn a bullet as fast as my father’s finger could stroke the trigger.
In response to my shouted greeting, I saw the man on the porch jump forward out of his chair and shout for me to halt. Additionally, I saw what might have been two shotgun barrels ease out the open spaces left in barricaded windows. These folks had pretty good reflexes.
I stood in open view, my hands raised and spread out from my body. I wore my pistol holstered at my hip but carried no rifle. The pistol was a compromise since we had four legged as well as two legged predators to worry about. Leaving the rifle at home was to seem neighborly, but I also wore the improved body armor under my long sleeved shirt. Neighborly doesn’t necessarily mean stupid.
I stood there for half a minute, perfectly still as unseen eyes examined me and the woods around the house for more danger. I wanted this to go slow and easy, with no surprises. With the earbud in place, I overheard Mike as he steadily updated Dad on the wind and the composition of the defenses being rallied in the house. The words were soft, almost relaxed, as if Mike had done this many times before. Maybe they had, when dealing with marauders and hungry bands who come a calling since the lights went out.
“What do you want?”
The voice that finally called out was male and gruff sounding, but not overly hostile. I figured at least some of these guys had seen me yesterday at the range and must have placed me for the others. That was probably a good place to start, once we started talking.
“Just figured it was time to meet the new neighbors, is all,” I replied. “My name’s Lucas. Lucas Messner. Is it okay if I move a little closer? This hollering is making my throat hurt.”
This next pause was a little shorter and made me think he was discussing it quickly with the others. Probably a good sign. Or maybe I was just projecting. I think that’s the term, anyway. If you want a specific outcome, then you tend to interpret responses in a certain light. And I wanted things to turn out a certain way with these folks.
“You got anybody else out there with you?”
I forced a smile I didn’t feel before responding. This could get sticky.
“Well, of course. I’m friendly, not stupid. My people are watching you, and your people are watching me. Only way everybody will relax enough to actually talk.”
I saw the man’s head nod before he spoke, and when he did, I thought I heard a touch of humor in his voice this time.
“Yes, makes perfect sense. Come on up to the porch and have a seat. I’m coming out, so tell your daddy not to get trigger-happy. I’m sure he’s anxious to have you home. From wherever.”
Thinking about that statement for a moment, I thought I got the whole message. They’d been watching before yesterday, but hadn’t taken a shot at attacking us. Yet.
“Sir, my father and his friends are all Marines,” I replied, exaggerating. Mike Elkins was the only spare Marine we had lying around the ranch. “They have excellent fire control. As I’m sure you saw on the range. We just want to talk. That’s all.”
Going back to this house in daylight gave me a sense of déjà vu, since Dad and I had spent a good chunk of the early morning hours scouting the place. Using our night-vision gear, we managed to slip past the sleeping guard without a hitch. Admittedly, I did have to stifle my reflexes, allowing the sleeping man to live.
Six men, eight women, and seven kids between toddlers to the preteens. Painfully thin, all of them, and no recent signs of abuse. One of the women, a lady in her late twenties or early thirties (it was hard to tell given their condition) looked to have bruising around her neck and on her cheeks, but she was unrestrained. Hard to place a source of the abuse without waking somebody, which would have opened up a whole other can of worms at the time, we’d find out later.
The group owned worn but serviceable camping gear. They’d obviously traveled some ways and had been working to improve the living conditions with what little they could repurpose at the old place. Armed mainly with shotguns and a few hunting rifles, they seemed to be maintaining their weapons with care. All in all, the group reminded me of a smaller version of the Branson crew that Glenn showed up with outside Gentry. That resemblance prompted me to volunteer for first contact duty.
Amy had not been pleased, but she understood. Mom, not so much. Amy knew we’d been just like these folks until recently, and I could identify with them easier than someone like my dad could, who’d seen bad shit but hadn’t done it on the road.
Since the scouting mission kept us out until 4 a.m. by my windup watch, Dad and I crashed upon our return and crawled out of our beds at eight that morning to hold our briefing. Dad laid it all out, detailing everything we’d discovered and what he thought we should do next.
“Look, these people might be a threat, but if we don’t engage them somehow, I can almost guarantee they will try for the ranch when their food runs out. And unless they did a really good job of hiding their provisions, that won’t be long. We need to meet and see about forming a mutually beneficial relationship.”
Just about everybody from the two houses had gathered for the open meeting. We were cramped in the living room of the Big House, but I was glad we had done it there. The natural light was better, and I could read the expressions on everybody’s face.
Uncle Billy was the first to speak up. “We don’t know anything about these people, really. So what if they aren’t taking slaves now. Or mistreating their kids. They still might try to make a move here.”
Dad nodded. He couldn’t dispute his brother’s words. “Yes, but they have been minding their manners so far. Look, this is our home turf. We need to defend it with everything we got. No dispute there. But we are also shorthanded. If we can give them an incentive to watch our backs, then that would be worth a lot to us.”
That prompted a reasonable discussion, as everyone who wanted to, expressed their views. Mr. Ike and his wife, Miss Angelina, didn’t want to talk at first, but after careful coaxing by Dad, Ike finally gave his two cents.
“I don’t know what to suggest. I know we are alive today because Mr. Messner—Gus, I mean—wanted us to have a place. And you, Sam, and Billy too, saved our family and treated us like your own people. If these are just folks, even folks who’ve had to do hard things to make it this far, does that mean they can’t ever be trusted? I don’t know, and that’s why I didn’t want to say one way or the other.”
I thought about what Mr. Stanton said. “I’ll talk to ’em,” I said, finally joining the conversation.
“What? Are you crazy?” Paige blurted out. “Why would they listen to anything you had to say?”
“He won’t be going,” my mother added with finality. So she thought, anyway.
I turned, looking at my mother and my sister, both sitting with crossed arms and firmly set jaws. It was so cute I almost laughed, which wouldn’t have helped my case any. “I have to go. I know what they’ve likely been through and what is probably foremost in their worries. We can help them some, both with food and also maybe some medical and mutual security. But they won’t want to trust us. Not at first. We can have the best intentions on both sides and still trigger a fight neither side needs.”
“You think we can eventually bring them in with us?” Dad asked, and I could tell he was genuinely curious.
“Don’t know. Like I said, I’ve been where they are. When we got to the Keller’s house,
I slept outside the first night. They offered me a bed in the bunkhouse and I declined. Wasn’t sure I could trust people being nice to me again. Not after everything.”
After a considerable wrangle, I got the honor of placing my butt on the line in an effort to make new friends. Mom wasn’t happy, but she eventually gave in once Dad promised, again, to maintain over watch on me. And so the three of us who made up the team had gathered up our kits and headed back out into the woods. With the eight-foot barbed wire fencing all around the ranch, we couldn’t exactly cut through the back pasture even if we wanted to, so we humped the extra miles and got into position by noon.
Now we were talking.
“What’s with all the gear, son? You a Marine too?”
The speaker turned out to be an older man in his fifties, and the one Dad and I both agreed looked most likely to be the leader of the group. He was the oldest of this group of survivors, though given his emaciated state, I might have been off on his age range. He looked like a bag of bones rattling around in a skin suit.
As we neared, I stuck out my hand for a shake while replying. “Lucas Messner, sir. And I’m not a Marine. Or any kind of military. Just stuff I’ve picked up since the lights went out. My family owns the ranch over there.” I nodded slowly over the man’s shoulder to indicate the proper direction. “But you already knew that. All the shooting we did yesterday attracted your attention, I’m sure.”
“Paul Sandifer,” the man replied. I noted his handshake was strong, and I wondered how hard he was pushing himself to gather up enough strength to manage the grip. “And yes, we heard the shooting. We were worried there was trouble. That shooting was actually a good bit quieter, really, than we expected.”
“Suppressors help with that.”
“Is your father really out there watching us?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Listening in, too,” I said, pointing at my earpiece.
I heard several groans over the radio when I disclosed that tidbit. But I wanted Mr. Sandifer to know I wasn’t just talking out of my ass if Dad made a suggestion.
“Well, Lucas, why don’t you come over here and take a seat? We can talk a bit out here in the open where all our people can see us.”
Mr. Sandifer made a gesture to a pair of straight-back kitchen chairs, no doubt salvaged, and I nodded in agreement as I took a seat. I fought hard to avoid pulling a face as the muscles tensed, but I thought Mr. Sandifer might have picked up on something, anyway. For a half-starved refugee, he seemed to still be a sharp guy. I wondered once again if it was a good idea even broaching the subject of working together. We weren’t taking these people to raise or making them part of our clan, but I thought best case we could help each other.
“You all right?” the old man asked with concern as I was getting myself settled. Yep, too perceptive by far.
“I suspect your group of people saw your fair share of trouble getting here. Am I right?” I asked, shifting the focus away for the moment. When I saw Mr. Sandifer’s cautious nod, I continued. “Well, so did we. My group, that is. You likely noticed when we came rolling in the other day, right? Two trucks and several wounded?”
This was a ticklish admission, since it might make us appear weak, but I wanted to establish some rapport. Some type of shared misery, if you will.
Mr. Sandifer seemed to consider my words for a moment before he replied. “So now you folks have reinforcements from wherever you came from. Young, healthy men and women added to the group. You said you weren’t military, but were they?”
At least he was polite enough not to call them deserters. “Not even close, Mr. Sandifer. School kids, mostly. But we can and will fight. Make no mistake about that. Ever. They’ve learned the lessons of survival in the hardest school left in this world.”
Mr. Sandifer held up his hands in a placating gesture, so I let him speak. “All right, Lucas. But what do you want? Your family has food, water, guns, and transportation. And an eight-foot tall fence around your whole property. Who uses that much barbed wire, anyway?”
I shrugged. “Grandpa wanted bison, but after he had the fences built, the numbers just didn’t work out. They needed more grazing land than he was prepared to devote to the project. So he moved on to something else, but the fence was already up.”
I gave the lie we all agreed on as a cover story from before the lights went out. If anybody asked, we would just point to crazy old man with more money than sense.
“All right,” the old squatter conceded. “But, what brings you here today? Is it because you just noticed us? Or is it because you have more people and you’ve decided to try to tell us to move on? Because you’ll just be wasting your breath. If you’ve been out there, really out on the roads, then you know. We won’t be moved. Rather fight and die here instead.”
Now it was my turn to hold up my hands in a calming gesture. Both to cool off the old man and to convince my dad to let us keep talking. What might sound like a threat over the radio was just the truth I could see in the man’s sad brown eyes. Not a threat but a plea.
“Mr. Sandifer, the last thing we want is to run you and your people off this property. Like I said, I just came to meet with you. See if we can reach some common ground. I want to work out a mutually agreeable arrangement. That’s why I volunteered to meet with you. Or at least, a representative from your camp.”
“What can we possibly offer your group, Lucas? We are just barely making it here. We can’t spare anything that you might use. My family and the few friends you see here barely got out of Greenville with the clothes on our backs when the city fell apart.”
I sat back and thought about what Mr. Sandifer had said.
“I know you figure I’m too young to make this kind of deal, Mr. Sandifer. That’s why I told you my father is listening. And the reason I volunteered is because I’ve been right where you are. Just a few weeks ago, in fact. Scrambling to feed my people and keep away from the crazies and the killers out there.”
I felt the man’s eyes searching me, looking to take in the details that might support my story. Whatever he saw, I think he might have believed at least some of what I had to say. “You still haven’t said what you are wanting, or what you want in return, Lucas.”
“You’ve seen some of our operation. My family and friends are set up pretty good. But nobody can have enough friends in this type of situation. I know you and yours are strapped for food. Heck, just about everybody is. We can’t feed all your people long term, Mr. Sandifer; not won’t, but can’t. We don’t have the extra right now to carry that many people. But, we can trade with you for some. Harvest is already upon us with some of the garden, and we could use some help there. Labor help. We’ve got canning jars and lids but could use more help. You asked what we wanted, and that part is easy.”
“And what else?”
“We want a treaty of mutual aid, Mr. Sandifer. If we get attacked, we expect at least part of your group to come to our aid. And vice versa. When you get hit, and I’m guessing you will get raided, then we will respond in kind. We make terrible enemies, but great friends.”
Mr. Sandifer looked down, studying the line of ants marching across the patch of bare earth where the chairs sat just at the edge of the porch. “I almost said we wouldn’t take charity, Lucas. But the truth is, I’ll take anything at this point. How do we work out this trading you propose?”
“Work out the details with my dad. I volunteered to make contact, not sign the treaties. You are no doubt curious why I stepped up to do this. Why would I do that? Let’s just say I did it because I suspect we have shared some experiences others might not understand.”
Yet again, I thought of those poor refugees straggling into the road at the Keller farm and how my first reaction was to go in, guns blazing. Then, how I had to help that poor woman carry her kids to their new home. I thought about telling Mr. Sandifer about my revelation and decided to save that story for another day. But I decided to mention something to get him to thinking.
“I
f it is okay, I’ve got something in my pocket for you. It’s not much, but your kids can use them. We met some folks on the road not much better off than ya’ll, and I could tell the kids were already suffering from vitamin deficiencies. That sight made me very sad, Mr. Sandifer. Near to broke my heart, to tell the truth.”
Mr. Sandifer spoke out loud to his watchers, giving his assent. “Guys, let Lucas get what he needs.”
The small bottle of multivitamins might not ultimately save any of their children, but I had it to give. I again reflected back on all those hollow-eyed, starving children I bypassed on the roads leading home and wondered if I would ever be able to forget those pinched, filthy faces. I passed over the sealed hundred-count bottle and waited while Mr. Sandifer read the label with shaking hands.
“Why?” Mr. Sandifer asked simply, once he held up the plastic bottle for others in the house to see. “And don’t say it is just because of some misplaced guilt. This bottle is worth its weight in gold.”
“Do you know how many people I had to kill getting home, Mr. Sandifer?”
The question seemed to catch the man off guard, and he shook his head cautiously. I could tell he had no idea where I was going with this. “Yeah, I don’t either. I never killed anybody that wasn’t attacking me or mine, or attacking other innocent people. Still, it was a lot. And the first ones I killed, they were trying to add me to their stew pot.” I looked down, thinking about the trail of corpses I left in my wake.
Then I remembered the piles of bodies I passed by, and not all of them victims of violence. Some just lay down and gave up, and others couldn’t get their meds and passed in their sleep. Or screaming in agony, as the case may be. Since meeting Amy, I decided to try to leave my dead in the past. But I needed to make a point here. The carrot was on the table, so I showed him a little more before getting out the stick.
Walking in the Rain (Book 4): Dark Sky Thunder Page 7