After the Fall (Book 1): Jason's Tale

by David E. Nees

  “What happened? Where’s the other truck? Where’s the rest of the men?” No one answered. Big Jacks grabbed the closest guy by the neck and yanked him off his feet.

  “Answer me, maggot, or I’ll ring your neck.”

  The hapless outlaw, now dangling from Big Jacks’ grip, could only croak, suspended in the air, his eyes bulging in fear and pain. Big Jacks put him down but kept his hands on him.

  The man said in a weak, terrified voice, “We were ambushed. They had sharpshooters pinning us down. They almost killed us all. We tried to rush the house, but they took out too many of us. We barely got away.”

  Big Jacks lowered his voice, now more menacing than ever, “What happened to the M60?”

  “The driver got shot right away. The rest bailed for cover and the truck turned over. We never got it into the action.”

  “You idiots.” He shouted, smashing his huge fist into the man’s head and snapping his neck. Everyone backed away a few steps. This was not the time to catch Big Jacks’ eye. He looked around, his face contorted in anger, “We’re going back there and we’re going to take this group out, burn their house down, kill them and eat them. I’m going to cut out the heart of their leader.” Looking at the other men who had returned, he declared, “You’re going to lead the charge…I’m putting you at the front when we go after them.” Turning back to the house, he yelled, “Get everyone ready.” People began to scurry away in different directions.

  As they walked back to the house, one of his captains suggested, “We probably need to keep some men back to guard our gear.”

  Big Jacks glared at him. “I want forty men, get four trucks ready.”

  “That will leave enough to guard things here in town,” the man said. He planned to be among those he was organizing to stay in town.

  “Get busy,” Big Jacks growled continuing on to the house. “We’re bringing the M2. Make sure Mo’s on it. I’ll rip that house apart with it.”

  The M2 weighed one hundred and twenty-five pounds, with its center mount tripod. The weapon fired a powerful .50 caliber round from a belt feed. The rounds could penetrate an engine block. Mo was a big man; larger than anyone except Big Jacks. He could handle the large gun. If necessary he could fire it from his arms. The gun would explode concrete block and could tear down the walls of the farmhouse, shredding them and exposing anyone inside. Big Jacks was not going to allow any further defeat, so he would use the gun even if ammunition was scarce.

  As they entered their house, his captain asked, “Do you think this is a vigilante group? The last thing we need is to run into a group like that.”

  Big Jacks gave him a hard look. The man cowered. “You think we can’t handle some vigilantes? That what you think?” Now frightened, the man shook his head. “We’re the strongest gang around.” Big Jacks continued, “We ain’t run from anyone since we left Charlotte. Soon we’ll have a big town to control, one with lots of resources. You better not be talking like that in front of the others.”

  Again the man just shook his head, too afraid to speak.

  “Anyway they wouldn’t be holed up in a farmhouse if they was vigilantes. I figure they must have something really valuable to protect.”

  “That’s what I was thinking. There’s some good loot for us,” the man agreed eagerly.

  “This valley must have a lot of resources. Maybe this farm is the main defense for the whole valley. We take it out and we have the rest, ripe for the pickin’.”

  The captain licked his lips in anticipation and nodded in assent.

  “Pass the word around as you get the men together. I’m betting there’s food, fuel, ammunition and weapons for us tomorrow. And probably some women on top of that. You tell ‘em. I want them fired up and ready to kill.”

  Big Jacks’ challenge was that the larger and more lethal his gang grew, the more resources it consumed. He was in a race to grow large enough to take over a good sized town that could support him before he ran out of resources in the countryside. Loyalty was built on the shaky principle of being able to continually provide booty; food, fuel, women. He looked forward to the next day’s fight. It would bring both revenge and riches.

  Jason set about collecting the weapons and ammunition from the men in the yard. He laid them out on the dining room table and piled the boxes of ammunition on the floor nearby. It was nearing dusk when the others arrived. They stood for some time surveying the battle scene. There were bodies lying in the yard, the house had all of its windows that faced the yard shot out and the walls were splintered with bullet holes.

  The group picked their way through the carnage and entered the house quietly, not knowing what to say to Anne after seeing first-hand the evidence of that day’s violence. Anne had swept up much of the broken glass from the first floor, but everyone could still see the enormous damage the house had suffered. It brought home the intensity of the battle the family had experienced. The group greeted her shyly. It seemed wrong to act normal—as if nothing happened—but no one wanted to acknowledge the enormity of what had taken place.

  Betty immediately went to Anne and gave her a big hug. “Oh my dear, how are you?”

  “I’m as good as can be expected,” Anne replied.

  Turning to Sarah, Betty asked, “Sarah, how are you doing?” Sarah still had a bandage wrapped around her forehead. On the side of her face Anne had put a compress bandage and tape.

  “I guess I’m okay. Jason says I won’t have bad scars, but I think he’s just being nice.”

  “We all heard about your battle. It’s amazing you’re all alive. I think you are all heroes for what you did. Now we’re going to make sure those thugs never come back.”

  Sarah shuddered. “I hope I never see something like that again in my life.”

  Betty patted her shoulder, “We’ll make that happen, don’t you worry.”

  Everyone assembled everyone in the living room. “You’ve got quite an arsenal here,” Tom marveled.

  “From this battle and some prior run-ins with gangs. I collected the weapons and ammo. It all seemed too valuable to leave.”

  “You got that right,” Tom replied. He stepped over to the weapons, “May I take one of the rifles? I’ll need something other than just the M60, in case that jams.”

  “Absolutely. Take one of the carbines that fire the .223 round. I have more of that ammunition than anything else.”

  John Sands just stood there looking perplexed at the weapons and piles of ammunition. “Jason, I don’t know where to begin. These guns look so complicated.”

  Tom stepped forward to examine the guns laid on the table. “You should take this lever action 30-30. It’s simple to load and use.” He looked at Jason.

  “That belonged to a friend of mine. He would be proud to have someone using his rifle in this battle,” Jason replied. Then he went over his plan for setting up the ambush.

  The ridge enclosing the valley to the south was lower than the others. The stream that drained the valley had cut a gap in the ridge to join a river flowing to the east. The narrow gorge created by the stream had been widened to accommodate the road which exited the valley over a narrow truss bridge. The bridge connected to a larger county road that ran along side of the river leading to Clifton Furnace about ten miles east of the bridge.

  Jason explained his battle plan. “They’ll come in pickup trucks. The bridge is one lane, so if we stop the lead truck, it will block the others. We’ll position ourselves on the ridges on each side of the road. We will have the high ground and can fire away at them as they’re stacked up at the bridge. If they charge over the bridge, we just have to keep up a strong rate of fire and take them out. There’s no place to hide. The road in the gorge will be the kill zone. They’ll be hemmed in, and if we keep them from getting past the tight part of the gorge, they can’t get out.”

  “How do we stop the lead truck? We don’t have any heavy weapons,” Andy asked.

  “We shoot the driver. I’ve done it before. When it�
�s time to open fire, everyone should send their initial rounds at the lead truck. No one in the cab should remain alive.”

  The group discussed the details as the evening closed in. Mattresses and blankets were brought down to the living room and everyone bedded down for what sleep they could get. For most, it was a fitful night of tossing and turning.

  Jason and Anne awoke early, before dawn. Anne set out to fry up some meat for everyone while Jason went through the ammunition and weapons one more time.

  Tom joined him. “I want to go over the M60 as soon as it’s light. We have to remove it from the cab of the truck. I won’t last a minute firing from such an exposed position.”

  “We also can’t have the trucks around. They’ll know there’s an ambush if they see them,” Jason replied.

  “Yeah. I think we haul everyone down to the gorge and then move the trucks back around the bend so they can’t be seen.” They went out to the yard and began to unbolt the machine gun.

  The others soon arose and as the sun came up everyone was eating or assembling their personal gear. As the group busied themselves in the living room, Ray and Billy arrived at the front door. Anne let them in. They quietly sidled into the living room. Everyone stopped to stare.

  Finally Jason broke the silence, “Thank you for joining us.”

  Ray looked at him, “Turners have lived in this valley for generations. I’m not going to let this gang just come in here to take over. We’ve had enough strangers in this valley.”

  Jason ignored the barb. “Do you want any of the weapons I’ve collected?”

  “We use our own. We know how they shoot. We may not shoot as fast, but our shots will all count.” They were both carrying bolt action, 30-06 caliber rifles with five shot magazines.

  “Well, help yourself to more ammunition,” he pointed to some boxes at the side of the pile.

  Ray went over and started looking through the boxes. Billy stood at the edge of the room, staring at Sarah sitting on the couch. Finally Sarah noticed him.

  “What are you looking at?” she demanded.

  Billy kept looking at her with an amazed expression on his face. “You’re hurt.” It was all he could say.

  “I guess I am. Do I look ugly to you?” she said challenging him.

  Billy shook his head. “You…you’re all growed up,” he blurted out. “I mean…you look good, not ugly.” His face was now turning red.

  Catherine noticed the interchange and stepped in front of Sarah. “Billy, get some ammunition and leave Sarah alone. We’ve got to get going soon.”

  Billy turned away, still looking embarrassed. Jason reviewed the battle plan with Ray and his son. Then the group headed outside. Jason had the M110 sniper rifle firing a 7.62 round along with his Ruger .223. Catherine had her .223 carbine. Both of them carried 9mm pistols on their belts. Tom Walsh took charge of the M60, and a .223 carbine. Betty Walsh had her 30-06 semi automatic rifle, the same caliber as Ray and Billy carried. Andy Nolan chose one of the .223 carbines after some instruction from Tom. John Sands carried Sam’s rifle that Tom had suggested. Everyone’s pockets were stuffed with ammunition.

  Anne and Sarah came out on the porch. Anne had her Bible in her hand. The others in the yard turned to her and she spoke. “I grew up going to church every Sunday as did most of you. Maybe we haven’t been so good about attending over the years, I know I haven’t. And maybe some of us wonder where God is in these troubling times, I know I do. But I still want to offer a blessing on this day.” She opened her Bible and read from the Psalms.

  I have pursued mine enemies and overtaken them:

  Neither did I turn away again till they were consumed.

  I have wounded them,

  That they were not able to rise:

  They are fallen under my feet.

  For Thou hast girded me with strength unto the battle;

  Thou hast subdued under me those who rose up against me.

  Thou hast also given me the necks of mine enemies,

  That I might destroy them that hate me.

  They cried out, but there was none to save them,

  Even unto the Lord, but He answered them not.

  Then I did beat them as small as the dust before the wind;

  I did cast them out as the dirt in the streets.

  And further;

  I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills—

  From whence cometh my help?

  My help cometh from the Lord,

  Who made Heaven and Earth.

  He will not suffer thy foot to be moved;

  He that keepeth thee will not slumber.

  The Lord is thy protector.

  Everyone stood quietly as the ancient words, three thousand years old, rolled over them. These were not only words of faith, but words of battle, calling for destruction of the enemy. There was no equivocating in what they meant; the enemy needed to be destroyed and the psalms called for God’s help and protection in accomplishing that destruction. The words recalled a time of violence and death as well as faith. Would today be such a time?

  “May God protect and keep you all safe and give you victory over the evil that assaults us,” Anne said in closing.

  As Jason turned to go, Anne grabbed him and hugged him fiercely, trying to wrap some of her strength around him.

  “You be safe. You come back to us,” she whispered. There was a harsh, fierce tone in her voice.

  “I hope they don’t come. I hope you all just wait for nothing,” Sarah joined in.

  Jason hugged Anne, “I’ll come back, don’t you fear. This threat ends today.” His face remained dark and his voice was distant, as if he was already gone.

  “I love you, remember that,” Anne said.

  Jason nodded.

  “We need you,” Sarah added.

  He nodded to her and then walked to the pickup. Catherine gave her mom and Sarah hugs and also headed to the truck. Anne and Sarah waved as the group of men and women drove off. They looked like such a small force against a large gang of outlaws and killers. Anne put her arms around Sarah as they watched the trucks roll down the hill.

  Chapter 9

  Big Jacks stormed around the camp trying to get everyone organized and ready to depart. Some men still had to be chosen and assembled—that task hadn’t been finished last night. Fuel and ammunition were still being collected and loaded. It would be hours before they would be ready to go. Big Jacks was fuming. He was in a hurry to go on this killing spree.

  It was still early when the defenders arrived at the gorge. Jason directed Andy, Ray, Billy and John to the ridge on the west side of the road and he, Catherine, Tom and Betty took the ridge to the east of the road. Andy volunteered to take the position closest to the bridge. He could shoot and having been instructed on the semi- automatic .223 carbine, he felt he could fire more rapidly than Ray or Billy with their bolt action rifles. Ray and Billy spaced themselves behind Andy, with John last in the line.

  On the east side, Tom suggested he be first in line, but Jason wouldn’t allow it. “The M60 has the range, and you will be less likely to be pinned down and hit if you’re further back. We’ll need that gun in action all the time,” he said.

  Jason placed himself first. Catherine insisted on being next behind him, which put Tom in the third position. Betty stationed herself behind Tom. On each ridge everyone was spaced about fifty yards apart.

  Jason brought a couple of shovels and extra burlap cloth along. “Use the shovel to pile up some dirt to make a rest for your rifles. And cover the dirt with the cloth. It’ll keep down any dust from the shots. The dust gives away your position. And remember, if your position gets too hot don’t stick your head up. Just crawl back from the cliff edge and move to a new location. Then you can return fire.” There was no dissenting opinion from anyone. The group was solemn as they split up and staked out their positions for the ambush. Soon this little gorge was going to be filled with shooting and killing.

  With everyone in position, there was no
thing to do but wait. The sun rose higher, the sky was clear; the hum of the cicadas grew louder. There was little breeze. It was going to be a hot day.

  It will be hot in more ways than one. Jason lay on the ridge with his rifle ready. His stomach churned as the doubts began to rise up again. He forced them down. This wasn’t the time for doubt. That time was past. Now was the time to fight—to fight for their lives.

  An hour passed. Jason remained patient and still. He was used to waiting. On the other side of the ridge, John squirmed where he lay in the leaf mold, peeking out from under a bush. Sweat ran down his face. Every minute he waited he imagined greater and greater scenes of carnage. His breathing became ragged and a panic rose inside. His body began to itch in odd places. He thought ants were crawling under his clothing. Andy, like the others, remained tense. He wouldn’t allow himself to imagine what was to come and kept telling himself over and over to relax.

  Finally John yelled out across the ravine, “Are they coming? How long should we wait?”

  His answer came quickly from Jason, “Quiet!”

  John squirmed and tried to control his growing panic.

  Catherine lay in the brush at the edge of the cliff. She kept repeating, “Just hit a target and move on. They don’t know we’re here. We’ll catch them off guard.” Any words to hold back her own terror.

  Finally they heard the faint sounds of the convoy of trucks. Everyone knew what that meant. The gang was coming; the battle was soon to begin.

  The trucks arrived at the intersection. Everyone waited. Tom pulled back the charging lever on the M60. Andy crossed himself. Betty tried to not hyperventilate. Catherine slowed her breathing down as she had been taught; now focusing on the fight to begin. Everyone looked down their barrels, through their sweat, sighting the lead truck.

  The first truck turned onto the bridge. Jason let it get half way across; then he opened fire. A barrage of shots erupted from both ridges, all aimed at the windshield of the lead truck. Immediately the windshield was obliterated and the occupants of the cab slumped over. The truck lurched to a stop against the side of the bridge. The men in the back jumped out as the rest of the trucks stopped. The gang emptied from the other pickups and began firing indiscriminately at the ridges. The shooting from the ridges swept over the whole convoy. The noise from dozens of weapons firing was deafening. From the ridge there was the steady popping of rifle fire and the louder rapid staccato of the M60. The gang returned fire, but without being able to see their targets through the cover on the ridge, their shots were ineffective. They were pinned down at the bridge.