by John L. Monk
The girl said, “Because he’s got those idiots outside brainwashed, that’s why. They don’t know what a snake he is.”
“You killed my sister, you son of a bitch!” said a dirty-faced kid with a hairlip. He pulled his gun and pointed it. The girl grabbed his arm, twisting it to the side, and it went off.
The blast was shockingly loud, causing his ears to ring, and for a brief moment everyone was staring around to see who’d been hit.
When it became clear everyone was fine, the girl yelled, “Give me that, you idiot!” and pulled it from his hand.
Jack pondered the killed-my-sister comment, then realized: ah … the girl from the house the other night, with the flashlight.
The boy yelled, “You’re not supposed to have a gun, Cassie! Carter said so. Give it back!”
He reached for her, and she shot it over his head.
Everyone crouched, including Jack.
“I’m keeping it!” she shouted. “Carter didn’t want me having one because he was afraid I’d kill him. I might have, too, but now he’s dead. So just back off!”
Keeping his face impassive, Jack said, “I’m sorry about your sister. What do you expect when you come murdering my friends? And now Trisha.” He shook his head. “One of your own people.”
The fat one said, “Shut up!” and hit him in the face, staggering him against the wall, where he slipped and fell.
Sudden pounding on the door froze them, and nobody said anything.
Miguel went to the door and shouted, “What do you want?”
“What’s all that shooting?” Larry shouted from the other side. “Did you shoot Jack?”
The fat kid nudged him with his foot. “Tell him we didn’t shoot you.”
Jack got up slowly, taking his time, letting their fear build. Then he said, “I’m fine, Larry. You don’t have to come in and kill them like we said. Give me a few more minutes.”
There was a brief pause from the other side. “Sure, Jack. You got it. Just like you said.”
“Thanks, Larry.”
Jack turned around and faced a different sort of room than the one he’d walked into. He knew he needed to build on that before they caught their balance.
“So, as you can see,” he said, “those guys are on my side now. And they’re perfectly willing to come in here and wipe you out if that’s what you want. But unlike Carter—”
“Don’t you say his name!” the girl shouted and pointed her gun at him.
Jack tensed, ready for the bullet that would end all his troubles, but it didn’t come.
“Sorry,” he said, hands raised. “Didn’t know it was a sore spot. Look, I don’t enjoy killing. I’m actually sick of it. But then he had my friends killed. Then I got mad, and then you-know-who got mad back. See? That’s how wars are started. So we had a war. But here’s our chance to turn all that off and go back to normal.”
Miguel shook his head. “Oh, wow, just listen to you. You expect us to believe you after what you did to Ray? You sounded the same way! Then you shot him. You’re just a murderer, that’s all you are.”
Rather than back down, Jack said, “I’ll shoot anyone who hurts my friends, and that’s the truth. As far as I know, none of you killed Pete and Mandy. And Carter—sorry—he’s the one who hurt Greg. As far as I’m concerned”—he raised his hands peacefully—“you’re all free to go. Or even join me. Let’s just end this.”
Cassie and the others exchanged glances, each trying to gauge what the other was thinking while still seeming tough and in control. Miguel looked thoughtful.
“Stay here,” the fat kid said and told the others to follow him.
Jack watched them go into one of the downstairs bedrooms. Apparently they weren’t worried about him getting away, which was comforting. He tried to listen in, but couldn’t hear anything except the girl yelling at them. She wanted to keep him hostage so they could get away.
If that happened, he wouldn’t go. All they’d do was kill him and the others once they were safe.
To pass the time, he looked around the room where the children usually slept. Mattresses had been arranged in a fun, flower-shaped pattern on the floor, with photos and keepsakes gathered in boxes beside each one. Over against the far wall was the radio—usually glowing like a nightlight 24/7, and now turned off. He considered sneaking over to call the farm, but didn’t. The most it would do was scare them, and by now they were probably scared enough from no one answering their check-ins.
Whatever would happen would be decided soon, one way or the other.
Jack flinched when the girl ran out of the bedroom, tears streaking her dirty cheeks. Three boys grabbed her—she’d been trying to get to the kitchen. They dragged her past Jack and threw her onto one of the mattresses, scattering a box of toys in the process. He noticed she didn’t have her gun anymore.
The one whose sister Jack had killed said, “Cassie, sit down and act mature! We got no choice!”
He must really want to live.
That was good, because Jack did too.
“Okay, Jack, we’ll do it your way,” the fat kid said. “Brian, Dwayne, go let ’em out.”
Two of them went to the kitchen. Then came the sound of boards clattering on the floor.
Jack couldn’t keep the smile from his face. It was going to work out after all.
Then, moments later, all hell broke loose.
Lisa was bad at waiting. She considered shooting the door, but all that would do was let everyone know she was armed and waste her three precious bullets in the process. So she forced herself to relax.
Maybe five minutes later, she heard a blood-curdling scream from Cassie, who must have discovered Carter’s body. Then came a loud argument between her and Miguel. Lisa could guess what it was about. Cassie wanted to execute her, and Miguel—for all his faults—was trying to stop her.
Okay, so maybe I won’t kill him when I get out of here.
Didn’t mean she couldn’t shoot him in the leg, though.
After that, there was a series of slamming doors, followed by …
“What the hell?” Greg said.
“Quiet,” she said.
From somewhere outside, barely heard through the thick cabin walls, came a bunch of weird, Yankee Doodle tunes. Ten quiet minutes later, a gunshot banged from somewhere in the cabin, possibly the great room. She wondered who’d died. Cassie? Miguel? One of her friends?
They heard a second shot.
Several minutes passed. Worried for her friends, she was about to try kicking her way out when she heard noises coming from the door. Someone was prying the board loose—coming to kill them next. It was now or never.
A boy opened the door and said, “All right, you. Come on, we’re—”
Lisa shot him in the face and rushed out. She aimed at a second boy but held her shot. He wore a holstered gun and was holding a hammer. He dropped the hammer and raised his hands.
Quickly, she grabbed the pistol off the dead kid. Semi-automatic. No idea if it was chambered. She shot the kid with his hands up to find out, then grunted in satisfaction.
She could still feel their taunts as she’d been led upstairs with Carter, the disgusting things they’d said—telling him to “stick it in her mouth” and then laughing at her. Then that girl had spit in her face.
Lisa embraced her hatred, her fear, her pain, knowing she couldn’t hesitate in what she had to do, however barbaric. Not if she wanted to save her brother.
With a wordless shout of rage, she rounded the corner and started firing.
Jack stood dumbstruck when Lisa flew around the corner with a gun in each hand. She shot the kid with the hairlip and then another boy, twice—once with each gun.
The fat kid’s eyes seemed to bug out of his head. He pulled his weapon and aimed at her—then fired wildly when Jack tackled him to the ground. Jack punched him hard in the jaw and wrenched the pistol from his hand.
Armed now, he turned just in time to receive a glancing blow to the hea
d with the stool Olivia used when she told stories to the children.
Jack fell back, dazed, but didn’t drop the gun. He pointed at Cassie, ready to pull the trigger, and then paused when he saw the fear in her eyes.
“Find a place to hide,” he said and moved to stand.
Faster than he could blink, she reared back and hit him with the stool again, catching him on his hastily raised arm.
Really? he thought, crab-walking backward to get away.
Her eyes were crazy with rage, and she was actually drooling. She followed him, swinging with everything she had. Jack kicked her hard in the leg, bringing a yelp of pain and taking her down.
Over near the kitchen, Lisa kept shooting. The fat kid got to his feet and ran for the door—only to fall back when Larry slammed it open and swept in with his pistol-gripped shotgun.
Jack aimed and shot a different kid just as he was drawing down on Lisa. At the blast, she looked over, and her eyes widened. “Jack? Oh, God, you’re here!”
“Everyone stop!” he yelled, clambering to his feet and running foolishly into the middle of the fray, arms outstretched for calm. “Stop shooting! Hold your fire!”
Behind him, Larry’s shotgun boomed through the room, tickling the bones in Jack’s chest. He’d shot the fat kid while he was down.
“Larry, dammit, enough already!”
For a moment, Larry looked angry, then he shook his head. “I was just helping.”
Miguel was cowering with two others behind an upturned table.
Cassie sat rocking on the floor, clutching her knee and not looking at anyone.
Outside in the field, they found the bodies of five boys and two girls, Trisha among them. Carter was dead upstairs. Two boys had died in the kitchen. There were four dead in the great room, now hazy with gun smoke. The whole place smelled of blood and excrement and would for several days.
An hour later, the Rippers and Dragsters, former and ex, came together and stacked their dead in a van that hadn’t caught fire. Then they burned them. All stood in attendance, though nothing was said.
Of the dead, there were too many. Of words, there were too few.
Epilogue
Paul and Miguel didn’t wait around to be thrown out—they were gone before the morning, as were Cassie and the two surviving boys from Carter’s group.
Richard and Kyle were beside themselves with worry that Jack would reveal their part in Blaze’s murder. Jack assured them he wouldn’t, provided they escorted him back to their base—with Tony and a few Dragsters.
Jack didn’t like the idea of some kid taking his sword and stabbing someone, and wanted to retrieve it. He also wanted to make friends with the next leader. He had no interest in bringing the gang of murderous thieves into his own group. But if he could forge an alliance, they’d be a useful friendly force in the east. To that end, he’d ply them with as much grain as needed to keep them happy and healthy through the winter. He’d also meet with the group at the airport—to ensure they were really taking care of the children Blaze had brought them. Who knew, maybe they could trade a few things. Like those stun guns the Pyro’s dead leader had mentioned.
That night after the battle, Lisa pulled the bullet out of Greg’s leg with a pair of sanitized needle-nosed pliers. Over the next few months, he’d recover nicely. Steve would too, though his nose had been broken and set by unskilled hands. Pain medication was in high demand that winter, and Jack had to take them both aside to ensure it wasn’t becoming a habit.
Most of Larry’s Dragsters chose to stay at the cabins and now called themselves Rippers. They claimed the Saskatchewan, it being the biggest and coolest building there. Everyone answered to Jack, but they also deferred to Larry. Rather than worry about it like some paranoid dictator, Jack took advantage of it and passed orders through him, as well as the other leaders: Lisa, Greg, Brad, Tony, Olivia, Molly, and Steve. Each was given the official rank of “Captain” and moved into the Paul Bunyan with him. A small cabin, compared to the others, but it still had a lot of unused space.
A large group of children from Front Royal were brought to Big Timber—mostly little sisters and brothers. Molly took them under her wing and put them in the Abe Lincoln on hastily scavenged mattresses.
Somewhere along the way, Olivia and Greg became quite the item. It helped that the former Dragsters fell over themselves trying to chat him up whenever they could. He was even more popular than that one kid, Will.
Freida and Carla had livestock to take care of, and didn’t want to leave. Jack was fine with that, but asked that they keep at least two guards from the cabins with them at all times. They happily agreed.
The snow came down heavily in January, and again in February. Nobody froze, and they didn’t starve. There was still a lot to do, but there always had been. There were gun safety classes and scavenging runs and plans for farming. There were rabbit hutches to build and more cattle to find. Horses, too. And for the first time since starting out with Pete that cold day in November, Jack felt they actually had a chance to not just survive, but thrive.
The sentiment was comforting. And for the next several months, it was even true.
Dear Reader
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John