Lines in Shadow: Walking in the Rain

by William Allen

  Max regarded the younger man with a raised eyebrow, but held his peace. Instead, he waved his two guests inside and gestured for them to take a seat at the metal patio chairs surrounding a white wrought iron table that had seen better days. A scatter of loose pages and a pair of yellow legal pads littered the tabletop, but Scofield scooped them up in one big hand and set them aside for the moment.

  They sat for a moment in silence, Scofield’s face still set in a suspicious angle, before Scott got the ball rolling.

  “You heard about what happened in Gentry the other day? The attack at the Community Center?”

  That finally got Max to speak again.

  “Yeah, heard about it. Busload of hungry showed up. Also heard the Guard turned the machine guns on ‘em. Killed a whole mess of them.”

  At this, Bruce finally spoke up, the anger evident in his voice.

  “More like two busloads, and they started the dance, killing the two guards standing out front. Civilian guards, that is. One of them was a friend of mine named Buddy Stockard. Old man was over seventy-years-old. They killed a few National Guardsmen too, but they laid out nearly one hundred fifty of those raiding bastards.”

  Max let out a low whistle, and from his facial twitch, Scott figured the gang leader might not have known the full extent of the clash. He gave the two men another glance, taking in the gear worn over civilian clothing once again.

  “You there?” he asked Bruce.

  “No,” the farmer responded slowly, “but Scott was. He’s a bit more active in our self-defense force on the farm.”

  “So you work for the Guard?”

  Scott shook his head. “Not for them, exactly. With them. As auxiliaries, more like. It’s no secret, Mr. Scofield. Our community has a little food, enough to feed a few Guardsmen and their families, so we opened our homes to them. Works out for everybody that way.”

  “Well, we don’t want them here. Hard enough, keeping fed what we got. Jeb is a damned fine farmer, but most of my bunch can’t tell a bull from a heifer.”

  Bruce nodded along at that. “I know the feeling. I help out with defending the farm, but my Army days are long behind me. Peacetime service too, with Vietnam just a story to scare the kids in boot camp.”

  “How about you, fish cop? Prior service?”

  Scott had to fight a grin at that one. ‘Fish cop’ was just one of the not-so-amusing titles hung on the game wardens in Arkansas.

  “Marines, a long time ago,” he replied simply.

  “Semper Fi,” Max responded, rolling up a flannel shirt sleeve to expose a slightly faded Eagle, Globe, and Anchor. “Six years, ’82 to ’88. Had me some good times in the Corps.”

  “You got out before I got in, Mr. Scofield,, but you know the saying, ‘Once a Marine, Always a Marine.’ And that is part of why we are here. No secret your club had a rep for attracting some of our brethren.”

  “There’s a few of us around,” Max conceded. “Ex-Army, as well, like you, Bruce. I think there might even be one or two Air Force pukes wearing the colors, too. But what’s that got to do with the price of tea in China? We’re just a social club, banded together for mutual support in these dangerous times.”

  Bruce couldn’t avoid rewarding Max’s performance with a chuckle, but Scott just shook his head. He’d heard the same, or variations before.

  “Mr. Scofield, we’re not here to roust you, or cause your group any trouble. Yeah, I used to be a fish cop. That doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve no doubt you’ve had your share of looters or simply bands of starving city folks show up to clean you out of everything you’ve managed to save or collect here. You’ve had to turn them away, and fight them when they wouldn’t leave. Had to kill them. Women and children too, I’d imagine.”

  Scott stopped abruptly, looking down. He knew, because he’d done the same. When he looked up, he was strangely relieved to catch a glance of the same sick look on Max Scofield that he knew his own face bore at that moment.

  “It’s terrible, Mr. Scofield. That shit sticks with you. This surviving in a hungry world makes us do terrible things. But it means your family, your people, live another day because we can’t feed them all. None of us can, and that’s a damned crying shame. But that’s not why we are here.

  “Those Humvees aren’t here as a threat, but to make sure we actually arrived. Because you see, those two busloads of raiders, or starving stickmen and zombies, they aren’t alone. Hundred and fifty? Tip of the iceberg. There’s thousands more coming, and let me tell you, Mr. Scofield, they are all hungry. Hunting parties are already out scouring the countryside.”

  “Bullshit,” Max announced, tipping back in his chair. “There can’t be that many. People been starving for months already, and there’s not enough loose cattle or deer left in this part of the country to feed ‘em. I heard even the big cats over at the Wildlife Refuge got eaten already.”

  Scott replied, his voice soft and barely above a growl.

  “They are out hunting, Mr. Scofield. My team ran across one of their hunting parties loading up. At the refugee camps over in the Ozarks Forest, just off 412. Of course, they stuck around long enough so my team got to watch them eat one of the bodies. I reckon she was a little girl, about eight-years-old. Same age as my daughter, actually. They tied her corpse to a spit and roasted her over a wood fire. And when she was done, they tore her body apart with their knives and ate her like a pig at a luau.”

  Scott watched Max’s face closely as his words sunk in, and he was not disappointed. The biker’s face turned a sickly gray and Scott saw him trying to swallow back the urge to vomit.

  “Seriously? No bullshit?” Max asked, and his tone begged for the other man to admit he was guessing, or unsure.

  “No bullshit,” Scott echoed, his voice hollow. “We got word that night. One of the camp survivors made her way to our home, but it was too late. I led the scouting party the next morning, just me and three other men. We figured we’d find the place looted and destroyed, or deserted. But no, it looked like they killed everybody they could lay hands on, and we got to watch as the buses came back to pick up the bodies. We had to watch them desecrate that kid’s corpse, and there wasn’t a God Damned thing I could do about it.”

  Sensing Scott’s growing emotion, Bruce stepped in and spoke again, more to Scott than to their host.

  “Keith said the same thing. That’s my nephew,” Bruce added for Max’s benefit. “He told me what happened. You just said it. There was nothing you could do. They were already dead when you got there, weren’t they?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, Keith said he was ready to light them up, but he didn’t, because you didn’t. You were outnumbered ten to one with more on the way, and they were already dead. For my sister’s sake, I appreciate you not getting her oldest boy killed doing something stupid.”

  Scott swallowed, his throat working hard.

  “Keith was right. And so are you, Bruce. Seeing that, though, was just so hard. About the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Scott chuckled, a dark thing without humor. Something that sounded closer to the edge than any of the men would want to admit. “I just keep thinking to myself,” Scott said, ‘it can’t get any worse than this’, and boom, there it is, something worse.”

  “Hey, at least you got Walter out of the deal,” Bruce said levelly, glancing at Max.

  “Who is Walter?”

  “Prisoner,” Scott said, sitting back in his chair. “Snatched him at the kill site, and interrogated him. He’s the source of what we know about these jackals. This Libration Army.”

  Scott intentionally mispronounced the name, then explained the correction he saw on the side of the bus. The story got a real laugh this time, even if one driven by released tension, but Max merely grunted and acted like he hadn’t heard that part when he spoke next.

  “You were that bad outnumbered, and you managed to take a prisoner without getting caught? I don’t know if that makes you slick, or crazy. What were yo
u, some kind of Force Recon fireball?”

  Scott shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I was an airframe mechanic. Worked on choppers. No, this zombie almost stepped on me while he was out looking for firewood. To cook another one of the dead. Their transport showed up and everybody was looking the other direction, so I took a prisoner.”

  “And now we have intel about what is coming,” Bruce added. “Which is a horde, numbering in the thousands and headed this way.”

  “So that brings me back to my original question, ‘cause you boys sure as shit ain’t here to sell Avon. What do you want?”

  “Why, Mr. Scofield, we want you,” Scott said, his face set in stone. “We want to recruit you and your men to stand with us against the horde. If we stand together, we have a chance, maybe. Alone, there is damn little hope for any of us.”

  Max looked like he’d bit into something sour, but it was just the news that made him want to spit. Then, with a resigned sigh, the older biker looked at the two men sitting across the table and spoke.

  “Fuck. Alright, let me get my lieutenants and give me the details.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Scott and Bruce didn’t get back to the farm until near dark, and both men were tired but pleased. After chancing the Copperheads, most of their other stops also resulted in at least lukewarm pledges of support. Some of the homesteads lacked the manpower to contribute any fighters, but agreed to tighten up their defenses and act as eyes and ears for the National Guard where possible. Others had manpower but were running out of food, and Bruce agreed to contribute what the homestead could spare. Which was corn, more often than not. That meant more belt tightening this winter, and Scott already needed a new belt.

  After briefing Conners, Scott and Bruce split up and went to check on their families. Scott found Bella with her Aunt Hazel, shelling peas on the back porch with a few other women from the household. With her nimble little fingers, the small girl was getting pretty good at the work, Scott noted as he watched silently for a few minutes from the shadows. He loved to see that look of concentration on his daughter’s face, the tip of her tongue sticking out ever-so-slightly from the side of her mouth as she worked.

  “How are my two best girls doing?” he finally asked. That was typically his way of announcing his presence, and neither reacted at the unexpected words. Hazel gave him a tired smile and motioned for him to join them. Bella, though, carefully set aside the metal pot she was using, stepped around the old hound dog lazing at her feet, and jumped off the edge of the porch into her father’s waiting arms.

  “Daddy, you’re back!” she cried out. “I’m helping Aunt Hazel. See?”

  “Yes you are, and doing a fine job, too,” he agreed, and bestowed a kiss to her forehead before setting her back up on the porch. His sore legs protested at the move, like they’d done all day, but he ignored the discomfort and stepped up the three concrete block steps to join the small group seated on the wicker chairs.

  He nodded in greeting to Leslie and Candace, Nick and Mark’s wives, and gave Ruthie a tight grin as well. No sign of Brenda, his other sister-in-law, which made Scott curious. Then, he caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned to see Brenda emerging through the screen door with a wooden tray loaded down with a pitcher and several plastic tumblers. The good china, as Darwin would playfully insist.

  “Here, let me help you with that,” Scott offered instinctively, pulling the door wide to allow the small woman through with greater ease. Brenda offered him a sweet smile of thanks that turned her plain face into a pretty one.

  Scott always had a soft spot in his heart for Brenda, for sticking to her marriage to Gary, if nothing else. She was either immune to his passive-aggressive tendencies or willing to overlook them, but no matter the truth, Scott thought her a saint for putting up with his asshole brother all these years.

  “So, how did things go?” Hazel asked, directing Scott to the present as the other women hustled to help Brenda set up their refreshments. Fresh herb tea, as it turned out, brewed earlier by Leslie and allowed to cool off inside before serving.

  “Not bad,” Scott replied. “We have some commitments to help out, at least. A few here and there. The biggest came from the Copperheads, though. They could spare twelve men for regular patrols and up to twenty if needed.”

  “I don’t know how I feel relying on criminals to stand with us,” Leslie said softly, joining the little conversation. Her words were a simple statement, not a condemnation, though.

  “Well, the world has changed. I got a good look at their setup, too. Whatever they were before, they are men with families to protect. They were able to get their bikes running a lot easier than most, and they offer a solid, mobile force. Good range of skills, and nobody made up to look like an extra in Mad Max, so that was a bonus.”

  Both women nodded, and Scott knew the report would quickly make its way to their respective spouses. Leslie and Nick were as much partners as Hazel was to Darwin.

  “So no Wild Bunch?” Candace asked with a bit of a grin. Even eight months pregnant, she was as sharp as ever.

  “No, nothing like that. Look, even when they were criminals, they were smart criminals. No, if there’s anybody I’m worried about, it’s Bobby and his merry band.”

  “Really? I hadn’t thought about them being a problem,” Ruth piped up, but not before taking a sip of her tea.

  Bobby Accord, a neighbor about five miles distant and a self-professed survivalist, had a small compound of like-minded individuals hunkered down and waiting for the UN troops to arrive. Well- equipped but lacking in previous combat experience, the twenty-five members of his group came though the pulse fairly intact. Several attempts to overrun their property in recent months had given them sufficient trigger time with live targets to give all of their fighters enough confidence to make for more confident allies.

  “No, Ruth, not like you think. They are good folks, and Bobby’s wife Dani keeps him on the right path, but man, they were pi…,” glancing down just in time, he saw little Bella hanging on his every word, eyes wide, when he continued. “I mean, ticked off when I told them about what was happening. Bobby wanted to go on the offensive immediately. I just hope they don’t go off and do something rash.”

  Hazel sighed, but nodded at his assessment. She would have words with Dani the next time she came over for a check-up. They had plenty of medical supplies, but their EMT had never showed up at their retreat, so Cass was monitoring her pregnancy. No complications, but as Dani herself said, she wasn’t quite a spring chicken anymore.

  “Well, why don’t you lot go get cleaned up,” Hazel suggested, “and I’ll bring the glasses and pitcher back inside. Then we can sit down for dinner, if those girls haven’t managed to ruin the casserole. Scott, you didn’t try your drink. Something wrong?”

  Distracted with his thoughts, Scott didn’t notice the extra plastic tumbler set near his side.

  “Try it, Daddy!” Bella encouraged. “I helped Aunt Leslie make it! It is SO good, too.”

  “I’m sure it is delicious, pumpkin. I’ll drink it now, so go ahead and wash your hands. Your fingers are simply covered with pea boogers.”

  “Ugh, Daddy, that’s so gross,” she cried out, “And not even funny at all.” With that, the little girl flounced off in a comically exaggerated manner, reminding Scott of Ruth when she was that age. As always, the antics of his daughter made his smile.

  Scott then tried his drink and found the cool liquid to be both refreshing and energizing. He downed the beverage and stacked the glass on top of the others, and claimed the wooden platter from his sister-in-law before the older woman could protest. Hazel lingered, though, and Scott could tell she had something she wanted to say, now that the porch was cleared.

  “Come on, Big Sister, out with it,” Scott encouraged, using the familiar old expression. He’d used that for Hazel when he was still just a kid, and his big brother brought his new bride around for introductions. The youngest of three boys, and w
ith a large age gap in there to boot, Scott never thought about what it might be like to have a sister until Hazel had come along.

  “Well, Candace was saying that her friend Katrina has no place to stay, what with her parents likely gone, so she asked if we could find a place for her here. Since you brought her in, I thought you might like to know.”

  Scott couldn’t say he was surprised, but he was concerned.

  “Going to be tight this winter as it is, Hazel. Can we really take on another mouth to feed? I don’t mean to be rude, but we’re already carrying a lot of folks, and Bruce just pledged more support for some of our more distant neighbors.”

  Hazel nodded slowly, her features suddenly very serious. Hazel was of an age where cosmetics could only conceal so much, Scott vaguely realized, and the lady never seemed embarrassed before the pulse about being seen without her warpaint. Now, she wore no type of powder or eye shadow, but nobody did. Hazel might insist she’d earned those laugh lines, as she was wont to say, but since the world had begun to fall apart, her frown lines around her mouth had seemed to multiply.

  “We’ll just need to increase our foraging efforts. Luckily, Katrina has proven to be very knowledgeable in what to gather in the wilds and when, so she will be joining the teams. She said she started off with a book, but learned quick, since starvation is a strong motivator.”

  Of course, there was still food out there for those savvy enough to look for it. Scott knew half a dozen edible plants every time he went into the woods, and he had grown lazy over the years when it came to woodland foraging. But, like Hazel said, starvation is a strong motivator and Scott was ‘grazing’ more often these days on what he found while on patrol. Of course, that would gradually taper off as winter dawned.

  Hazel’s sister, Joan, was the real master with both edibles and medicinal herbs, and worked closely with Cass and now Yalonda to supplement their mass-produced, life-saving pharmaceuticals. He imagined Kat would soon be under Joan’s wing, which would be a good place for her to earn her keep.