Darker Days

by A. J. Powers

  Unable to speak, Clay reached out and grabbed Megan’s hand, squeezing it tight.

  “Men who are unwilling to compromise their values just to survive is the only chance this world has to ever being restored. That man is still inside there, little brother,” Megan said, pointing to Clay’s chest, “but you need to stop believing that that man is too weak.”

  Clay gave her hand another squeeze before standing up. “I need to, uh, go get some ice from the lake so we can have something to drink in the morning.” His hand slipped out of hers as he walked toward the kitchen, grabbing his coat and a large pot off the counter. He stopped just short of the front door and turned around. “Megan, I…” his mind was filled with a million different things he wanted to say, but only one word came to his lips. “Thanks.”

  “I love you,” Megan said with a tired smile, feeling like she had gotten her message through to him.

  “I know ya do,” he replied before grabbing his rifle and walking out into the moonless night.

  He hadn’t made it halfway to the lake before his emotions got the best of him. Clay had not been oblivious to his dark demeanor lately, but hearing how it affected Megan, and likely everybody close to him, had knocked the wind out of him. There was no doubt he had been headed down a bad path for quite some time, but the murky veil that had been smothering his conscience made him believe that he was still in control of himself; that he was only doing what was absolutely necessary, given the circumstances. But as images of that Screamer’s terrorized face illuminated by the fierce muzzle flash of his Glock 17 assaulted his conscience, he realized that he was anything but in control.

  The delayed guilt, compounded with interest, hit hard as the full weight of Clay’s actions fell squarely onto his shoulders. The nausea he felt for cold-bloodedly taking that man’s life was a welcoming sensation. He still didn’t know whether he could justify the action itself or not, but his callous indifference over those kinds of choices had to stop. As twisted and ugly as the Screamers were, they’re still people, and Clay had to remember that. Always. And though he had no intention of laying his arms down so long as the rule of law was not present, the state of his mind and heart when he pulled the trigger mattered.

  At least, it did to him.

  Chapter 42

  One by one, Dusty tossed several twigs into the small fire she had made just a few feet away from her tent. Having a fire in the middle of the woods at night was downright stupid, but the alternative—freezing to death—didn’t sound all that appealing, either.

  She sat down on a rock, her rifle sitting across her lap, and looked down at the dancing flames. As she watched small embers pop out of the crackling fire and float high into the trees, Dusty racked her brain as to where Arlo and his men could be. She had already crossed off the list of suggestions Kohler had given her before she left, as well as a handful of other promising locations she stumbled upon during her travels. But there were no signs of them anywhere. The tracks went cold just a couple of miles away from Liberty, giving Dusty a general idea of their direction, but still an impossible amount of ground to cover in the time that she had.

  Of the week’s supply of food she had brought, there was only a day, maybe two left if she starved herself a bit. Rationally speaking, she should head back to Liberty at first light, but Dusty wasn’t the rational type. The girl had spent nearly seven years of her childhood fending for herself, so she wasn’t about to sweat a few extra days without a safety net.

  As she nibbled on a few morsels of food, she thought about the remorse on Shelton’s face when she lied to him, telling him that she couldn’t fight anymore and wanted to go home. After Morgan’s death, Dusty did want to throw in the towel and go back to Northfield. She even considered going back out on her own again—after all, she couldn’t feel the pain of losing a friend if she didn’t have any to begin with. However, her desire to settle the score was much greater than her wishes for solitude. And while she lay in bed, thinking of how she could accomplish that goal, Captain Kohler walked in with his proposal. Knowing that Shelton would never agree for her to take on such a dangerous, if not suicidal, mission, she lied.

  Shelton didn’t bat an eye with her false request and offered his heartfelt gratitude for all that she had done before apologizing for what she had lost. He made sure she was well equipped for her journey back to Northfield and even woke up early to see her off, giving her his very own pistol on her way out the gates. Shelton was by far the kindest, most genuine man she had ever met, and it was evident that every decision he made had the well-being of others right at the center.

  Lying was a skill that Dusty had become quite proficient at over the years, and after a while she became completely desensitized to it. But as soon as she bluffed the old mayor, the look of grief on his face was seared into her memory as if she had stared into the pre-eruption sun. It felt like she had lied to her own grandfather. Feeling guilt for lying to someone was uncharted for her, and she used this unpleasant feeling as additional motivation to find Arlo. She didn’t want to come back empty-handed, but especially not after deceiving Shelton.

  With the fire burning and “dinner” consumed, Dusty was about ready to turn in for the night when she heard footsteps shuffling through the snow. She jumped up and aimed her rifle in the general direction of the sound. “Don’t come any closer!” she commanded.

  “Whoa! Easy there, girlie,” a man appearing to be in his late twenties replied, a similar hunting rifle slung over his shoulder and a pistol holster hanging off his belt. He slowly raised his hands into the air and talked with a calm, gentle voice. “I didn’t mean to startle you none, I was just headin’ back home when I smelled your fire.”

  The man continued to close the gap between him and Dusty. She pressed her shaking gun—which was more for show than nerves—tighter into her shoulder. “I told you to stop,” she barked, “unless you have some sort of lead fetish, I wouldn’t take another step if I were you.”

  Dusty’s threat did not fall on deafened ears and the stranger stopped walking. The small fire dimly illuminated his odd facial features, his pale white skin and his intensely bright blond hair. The man was in desperate need of a set of braces, twice, and his tattered coat barely made it down to his hips, yet seemed to swallow him. The man couldn’t have weighed more than a buck forty with a full tank of gas.

  With his hands still in the air, posing no immediate danger, he continued to talk. “It’s awful dangerous for a sweet, young thing like you to be out here on your own—‘specially this time of day,” he said, looking up through the scraggly canopy above to the darkening sky.

  “I’ve been on my own for many years, mister, this ain’t my first campout under the stars and I’m sure it won’t be my last.”

  “Well, it doesn’t have to be that way, ya know,” he responded with an earnest smile, attempting to mask the menacing one.

  Dusty lowered her rifle slightly and raised her eyes above the scope. “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, like I said, I was just heading back home when I smelled your fire. It’s just a few miles from here, and we’re always looking for new, friendly faces to join our community. And I gotta say, you’ve got the friendliest looking face I’ve seen in quite some time.”

  Dusty played along and forced a smile. “How many in your group?”

  “Oh, we’ve got boats of people back home,” he said enthusiastically. “All different ages, too. I know for a fact there’s quite a few teenagers always gettin’ themselves into trouble, ya know, just doin’ what teenagers do.” The man sounded sincere, but Dusty wasn’t taking the bait. “Anyway, I think you’d like it there, I bet you’d fit in real good.”

  Her rifle came down even more as she feigned interest in the man’s offer. “How long you guys been there?”

  “Well that’s the beauty of it, this place is nice and all, but we’ve got our eyes set on greener pastures. We’re in the process of negotiating a deal with another group to let us live o
n their farm. A place where we can grow our own food, access to fresh water…a comfy, warm bed to sleep in,” he said as his lustful eyes narrowed on Dusty’s physique. “So, what do ya say? Why don’t I help you pack up this here tent, and you can come back with me? Like I said, it’s not much for now, but it beats sleeping out in the cold like this, waiting for those Berserkers to come walking by.”

  She had all but lowered the gun now, giving the man a false sense of hope, but he still respected her wishes to keep the distance. “Where is it?” she asked.

  “Well,” the man replied, dragging out the word. “I can’t just go and tell you that…”

  “But you’re willing to up and take me there?”

  “Well, while we do have an open-door policy for new folks such as yourself, we do have some…precautions that we like to take before letting newcomers inside. We’ve had a lot of people trying to attack us lately, to take what’s rightfully ours, so we can get a tad antsy when a stranger just walks right up to our doorstep, ya know? It’d just be easier—and safer—if I was with you, just to make sure no one sees you as a threat or somethin’ like that,” he said, stammering over his words.

  Dusty acted as if she was truly contemplating his proposition before declining. “Well, mister, I do appreciate the offer, but there are a few precautions of my own that I like to take, and it has kept me alive this long. As it turns out, following a stranger who just surprised me in the woods back to his place is not one of them.”

  The man gave a light-hearted chuckle. “Look, I totally understand. I’d probably say the same thing if I were in your shoes,” he said as he shrugged off her rejection. “Well, it’s not as if I can give you my phone number in case you change your mind, but if we ever cross paths again, consider the offer a standing one.”

  “Thank you,” Dusty replied with a flirtatious smile.

  “Well, stay safe, uh…”

  “My name’s Morgan.”

  “It’s good to meet you, Morgan. I’m Rhett. Anyway, stay safe, maybe I’ll see you again someday.”

  Without another word, the man turned around and left the same way he had come. Dusty thought about following him, but she would be one broken twig away from getting into a shootout with him, at which point she’d either lose the trail or lose her life. Neither outcome was acceptable, so she decided to practice patience instead and wait for another opportunity.

  She didn’t have to wait long.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, Rhett crept back into Dusty’s camp and silently approached the tent. He pressed his knife into the fabric just to the left of the zipper and began cutting. As he pulled the cut fabric away, he could just barely make out the sleeping bag. “Oh, little girl, you have no idea the kind of night I have in store for you,” he panted quietly. As he leaned inside the tent, his stomach sank when he felt the barrel of a gun press firmly into his temple. Then came the unmistakable sound of a hammer being wrenched back.

  “In case you are wondering, that is the business end of a Browning Hi Power up against your skull. And I gotta warn you, this thing has a custom trigger job on it; a duck farting in Texarkana would set it off, so don’t make any sudden moves.”

  “Morgan? It’s me, uh, Rhett. I was actually coming here to warn you about a group of bandits I saw heading your way and uh—”

  “So, tell me about this night in store for me?” Dusty interrupted as she flicked her flashlight on, revealing a look of terror on Rhett’s face. “Drop the knife, and get over there, now,” she ordered, pointing to the opposite side of the tent. “And God help you if I see your hand move anywhere near that holster.

  Rhett swallowed hard as he walked on his knees to the other side of the tent. “Okay, okay. Take it easy, Morgan, there ain’t no reason for that kind of talk. I ain’t gonna try nothin’ stupid. Like I said earlier, I like ya, and I think you’d fit in real good with our group. Even more so, now,” he said followed by a nervous chuckle. “You’ve got a spunk about ya that I think everyone back home will appreciate.”

  “Well, it does sound like a nice place. Why don’t you go ahead and tell me where it is, and I’ll swing by and give it a look-see.”

  Rhett played every bit the part of a stupid redneck, but he had already figured out what was going on. Realizing that she wasn’t buying his act, his demeanor shifted. “So, I’m guessing all the men back at your camp were all too gutless to come find us themselves, so they sent a little girl to do their dirty work.”

  “Hmmm,” Dusty replied, “or they sent the right person for the job. After all, here I am with the very person who is going to tell me what I want to know.”

  “And what makes you think I’m going to do that?”

  “Either ya do, or you experience firsthand what it’s like to breathe out of your forehead.”

  “Oh, come on, Morgan,” Rhett said with a smirk. “We both know you ain’t got it in ya.”

  “Is that so? If you’re so sure I’m not willing to pull this trigger, then tell me why you haven’t reached for that CZ 75 in your holster there?” Rhett gave her a surprised look. “Yep, the little ‘girlie’ knows her guns. Actually, I find it a little ironic that that’s what you’re carrying, seeing as it’s the Czech knockoff to this American beauty here,” Dusty said, giving her Hi Power a tilt. “Speaking of which, why don’t you go ahead and use your left hand and take the gun out of the holster, slowly, and toss it out the tent.”

  While Rhett complied with the command, Dusty kept the Hi Power trained on his head, her finger ever so slightly squeezing the trigger.

  After tossing the gun out of the tent, Dusty continued. “I do think you are scared of me, and if I am being honest, you really should be. So, why don’t we just skip all this back and forth, and you just tell me what I want to know?”

  Rhett looked Dusty in the eyes; he knew she wasn’t bluffing. “All right, I’ll make a deal with ya,” the man said with a twisted grin on his face. “Lately, I ain’t been too crazy about that Arlo guy—I don’t think he’s all there, if ya know what I mean. I’ve already been fixin’ to leave his outfit for a few weeks anyhow, so why don’t we turn this into a win-win for both of us.

  “How is that?”

  “How about you and I spend a couple of quality minutes over there in that nice, warm sleeping bag of yours, and then I’ll tell you everything you want to know. After that, we go our separate ways.”

  Dusty had to swallow the bile that skulked up her throat. “You promise to tell me everything?” she said, stringing the man along.

  “Scout’s honor,” he said as he held up his right hand, a look of hope flashed in his eyes.

  “Well, I’ve got something of a counter offer for ya. You tell me where they are first,” she said, a mocking smile on her face, “and I…won’t…kill you. I realize it’s not quite the deal you were hoping for, but I’m afraid it is the only one on the table.”

  The man’s grin turned into an insolent sneer. “All right, all right, I know when I am beat. What you want to do is take that road just to the north of where we are now, then you can follow it all the way to hell.”

  Dusty’s response came in the form of a 124-grain hollow point.

  Rhett screamed out in pain as he clutched his shoulder with his left hand. “You crazy little bi—”

  “Ah, ah, ah…I’d watch that tone there, mister. You’re only on strike one; strike two is going to be a whole different ballgame,” Dusty said as her slack wrist dropped the gun’s barrel toward the man’s groin.

  Rhett breathed heavily through his nose as he shifted his clenched jaw side to side. “Fine,” he grunted. “Fine! Screw it, they ain’t worth dying for.”

  “That’s a good boy,” Dusty said as she set the flashlight on the ground and leaned back on the palm of her left hand, while the other rested the gun over her knee, still aimed toward Rhett. “Go on.”

  After some angry grumbles, Rhett started talking. “Head south from here, in about two or three miles you’ll come out on a big
field. On the other side of that field is a rural highway—can’t remember the name but it’s the first one you cross. Take the road east about another mile then you’ll see a sign for Texas Premiere Cattle Auctions, take a right at the driveway and you’ll find them inside,” he said, his nostrils flaring as he growled through the pain.

  “See, that wasn’t too hard, now was it?”

  “So, I kept up my end of the deal,” Rhett said as he shifted his weight, trying to get to his feet.

  “Whoa there, slugger, you aren’t going anywhere just yet.”

  Rhett sat back down, his face red. “You said that you would let me go when I told you what you wanted to know.”

  “No,” Dusty replied sarcastically, “I said that I wouldn’t kill you. Do you really think I am dumb enough to just take you for your word? I’m going to make sure you actually held up your end of the bargain before I cut you loose. So, on that note,” Dusty said as she pulled out a zip tie from her pocket and tossed it over to Rhett. “Never leave home without one. Now get to it.”

  Rhett started laughing. “Boy, you must think you’re pretty tough there, don’t ya?”

  “Well, I’m not the one with a bullet hole in my arm, so…”

  Rhett leaned back as he laughed loudly, but when his body came back forward he leapt toward Dusty, knocking the gun out of her hand. The two of them wrestled around the tent as each frantically searched for the pistol. Rhett managed to get on top of Dusty momentarily, but his slender frame did not give him much advantage over the girl. As he used his left hand to try and choke her, Dusty managed to land several blows to his injured shoulder.

  While Rhett was dazed by the pain, Dusty knocked him off her and anxiously resumed her search for the gun. Her hand had found a handle—it wasn’t the one she was looking for, but it would do. As Rhett stood to his feet, the Hi Power in his hand, Dusty’s arm swung around and plunged his own knife deep into his stomach. The air rushed out of his lungs with a look of horrific surprise plastered across his face. He tried to bring the pistol up but Dusty batted his arm away. She drove the Tanto blade deeper into his abdomen as she twisted the handle—Rhett’s blood poured out onto her arm, splattering all over the tent floor. He made another feeble attempt at shooting her, but Dusty once again defeated his efforts.