Fire From the Sky: Firestorm

by N. C. Reed

  “Call the truck back,” he ordered with a wink. “These four want to go too.”

  “Wait,” one called out. “I can work. I…don't send me back. Don't separate me from my child.” She moved to the supplies and started cleaning.

  “Three then,” Clay amended, but soon the others joined in and all four of them were cleaning up the mess left by the women who had been killed.

  “Out of all that lot, you four are the only actual moms in the crowd, is that right?” A chorus of 'yes' answered him as the four continued to work.

  “How did that come to be, exactly?” he asked them.

  “Old Man Holman ordered it,” one of the replied and the rest nodded their agreement.

  “So, he orders it and you just jump and say how high?” Clay all but sneered.

  “The smart ones do,” was the quiet reply. “If they want to live, anyway.” The answer seemed not only sincere but resigned. Fatalistic even.

  “What was the plan, exactly?” Clay changed the subject. “Be a burden on us? Sabotage our efforts when the time came for him to attack us? What?”

  “Cheri, the big one with the tattoo,” the smaller of the four women answered this one, “was supposedly a gang leader some time ago. She works for Holman directly. Her and the others were going to be waiting for the attack and then do as much damage as they could to you. Holman promised all of them a 'share of the pie' as he put it, once the job was done.”

  “What did he promise you?” Clay asked bluntly.

  “Not to kill me or take my daughter away,” the woman replied without hesitation. “I could come along for the ride, or else.”

  “Same here,” one of the others spoke.

  “Me too,” another said at the same time as the fourth nodded her agreement.

  “But you took my daughter anyway,” the first continued, trying not to cry.

  “We haven't taken your child away from you,” Clay assured her. “If she's really your daughter then she’ll be returned to you. Right now, she's being examined by the doctor. If we can determine you are the child's mother she’ll be returned to you. Same goes for the rest of you.” The women perked up considerably at that and their speed increased as they put more effort into their cleaning.

  Clay thought about the situation but no matter how he looked at it he didn't see a way to trust these women. There was something else that demanded his attention at the moment and he pulled Nate to the side and exchanged words with him. Nate nodded and slipped outside, away from prying ears. Clay returned to the women who were still cleaning the floor.

  “This puts me in a tough spot,” he told them plainly. “There's no way I can trust you. You have to see that.” All four women nodded miserably.

  “I realize that isn't your fault, and I'm actually sorry that it has to be that way,” he admitted. “But there are too many lives at stake here, some of them dear to me, for me to take a chance like that. We can give you food for two or three days and water, give you a lift to somewhere close by if you want, but. . .otherwise I don't know what I can do for you.”

  “Where is there to go,” one said, a statement rather than a question. “We've been slaves to Holman all this time, doing whatever we had to for our children's sake. If there was somewhere or someway to get free, we'd have taken it by now. You may as well have sent us back with the others.”

  “No,” Clay shook his head. “No, you didn't want to go with them. Get this mess cleared away and then clean yourselves up. And please, for your sake and your children's, don't start anything. At this point someone might shoot you just to be on the safe side. I’ll be back in a few minutes and we can discuss your situation some more.”

  He left the building, moving next door where the clinic was located. His first stop was the radio room to place a call, and then on to the clinic. He found Patricia examining the children while Lainie and his mother helped control them. Deborah Webb was there as well, holding a small child in her arms.

  “I know this baby,” she told Clay immediately. 'This baby' was a truly adorable blond haired little girl who might have been four at most.

  “Who is she?” Clay asked.

  “Her name is Tabitha,” Deborah smiled at the child as she responded to hearing her name. “Tabitha Hunley. Her mother's name is Ophelia. Her father's name was Gerald.”

  “Was?” Clay asked.

  “He died in Iraq two years ago,” Deborah sighed.

  Clay's interest in the child instantly picked up. If her father had served, then he and the others had a duty to help the child if they could.

  “Do you know her mother's whereabouts?” Clay asked, knowing the answer.

  “No,” Deborah confirmed his suspicion. “I hadn't seen her for two or maybe three weeks even before the Storm hit.”

  “I see,” Clay sighed. “Well, the problem is that we have a lot of kids who weren't with their real mothers here. We're going to have to decide what to do with them.”

  “We take care of them, of course,” his mother said at once, drawing his ire once more.

  “Don't you think you've contributed enough for one day?” he asked icily. “And I'm well aware that we need to take care of them. Did you think I'd just toss a bunch of infants out to the wolves?” His mother's face reddened but she didn't reply.

  “Probably did, didn't you,” Clay muttered. “Meanwhile, we need to find homes for these kids. And I've got the mothers of four of them next door cleaning up the mess. I'm convinced those women are victims in all this, but there's no way to trust them, and we don't have room for them anyway. I'm open to suggestions on what to do with them.”

  “We can find a house for them somewhere I suppose,” Patricia mentioned. “Close enough to keep an eye on them but far enough away that they can't be a problem. Help them get started.”

  “I don't know of a place that could hold them all,” Clay admitted. “And it would need a well, and maybe some room for a little bit of stock. They'd need chickens for eggs as a protein source, maybe a cow for milk. . .I don't know, the needs are as long as you want to make them. Seeds to plant a garden, and we'd need to help with that so it would get in the ground in a hurry.”

  “Sounds as if they would be less trouble to keep here,” Deborah said, still playing with Tabitha.

  “It might be, but there's just no way to trust them,” Clay admitted. “Guilty or not, they were in with that bunch.”

  “Do you know their names?” she asked suddenly. “We might know one of them. It's probably a long shot to be sure, but worth checking in to. Call the families down and see if anyone knows them.”

  “Yeah,” Clay nodded, considering. “That's a start of a plan, anyway. And someone up there may want to adopt one of these little fellas,” he winked at a little boy who grinned at him in reply. “I had already called for the family heads to meet us here, but if you think anyone there might want to take one of these kids into their homes, head over to the radio room and get JJ to call up there and ask them to come down.”

  “All right.”

  “Patricia, how are the rest of them?” Clay asked.

  “The little boy did have a broken arm,” she told him, her voice tight with emotion. “What happened to the man that broke it?” she asked him.

  “He had an accident and fell down,” Clay told her. “Died from it.”

  “Good,” Patricia's voice was venomous. “I had to stretch the poor thing's little arm to get the bone reset. He passed out from the pain at one point but he came around once we were able to splint his arm. Kaitlin should have it in a cast by now. We’ll have to be careful with it since he's growing, it has to be lose enough that he can't grow into it and cut his circulation off. But we seem to have gotten it in time. He has a terrible infection in that arm that would have. . .another day or two and he would have lost his little arm and maybe died,” she said in a much quieter voice. “As it is, we think he will recover with no problems, assuming he responds to antibiotics.”

  “Where is the mother?” C
lay asked.

  “She's over there with Tandi,” Patricia nodded. “We've kept a close eye on her since she got here, but all she's had any time for was her son and his arm. I think she probably is his mother.”

  Clay had completely forgotten this woman when he'd had the others taken away. He kept his face neutral to avoid letting his irritation at himself show, but he was angry that he'd forget something so important. He was slipping.

  Or had he just let anger cloud his judgment? Was there a difference? He couldn't keep making mistakes like that. Fortunately, he had people like Tandi Maseo to catch his slack for him when he screwed up.

  “We’ll let her stay for now, but if we have to pull Tandi out of here and can't replace him, can she take the little boy next door?”

  “I'd honestly prefer he stay with us at least this afternoon,” Patricia said after considering the question. “We're giving him an IV that includes electrolytes and his antibiotics. I don't want to rush that.”

  “Then she’ll just have to leave him here if she has to go, but I won't leave her here without someone to guard her. By which I mean one of us,” he pointed to himself and Tandi to indicate what he meant.

  “Fine by me.”

  –

  Bouncing along in the rear of the pickup, the woman known as Cheri considered her options. She had done work for Holman before the lights went out so when he came to power joining him seemed like a no brainer. This was the first time she had failed him. While it was unlikely to be a danger to her it would cause her to lose face for failure, which would cost her status among those working directly for Holman. She would need to find some way to make it up.

  At least she could tell him that the Sanders weren't alone out there at that ranch and that they had a lot more goodies than even he had given them credit for. For one thing they had real soldiers, not people playing dress up. Fortunately, they didn't seem to have too many but the people they did have were good.

  She rubbed her jaw without really thinking about it as she recalled getting smashed in the face with a boot from that little fat bitch. If she hadn't caught me by surprise that wouldn't have happened, she promised herself. And you can bet I won't forget it, either.

  It had been the altercation with the female soldier that had caused them to be caught out and led to the deaths of her friends. She would see that soldier girl again, though, Cheri promised herself. She would see her again and when she did she would get even for-…what? What was going on here?

  The truck pulled off the road before the Interstate and made its way down a back road for perhaps a mile.

  “What's all this?” 'Cheri' asked aloud. “This ain't taking us to the Interstate!”

  The truck slowed and then turned into an empty lot. A stone chimney was all that remained of a house that had once stood on the lot but had been lost to fire at some point, perhaps in the recent brush fire. Much of the land showed signs of the recent disaster, but the ruins of the house place gave off an older vibe than the rest of the damage.

  “Everybody out!” the masked figure driving the truck demanded as he exited the vehicle. “Ride ends here!”

  “You were supposed to take us to the Interstate!” Cheri protested.

  “Plans change,” the man pointed his rifle in her direction. “Now get out.”

  She got out, joining the others on the ground as they surveyed the scene around them.

  “We don't even know where we are,” one noted. Another turned to the man with the rifle standing in front of them.

  “I'm going to remember you,” she warned. “We’ll be coming back you know. Holman means to have that ranch and everything on it. When we get it you can bet I’ll remember this.”

  “I know,” the man nodded, stepping back.

  The machine gun caught them by surprise. Stunned, no one reacted at first and that was all the time the big fifty caliber gun needed to chop them down. A few finally managed to take a halting step away in fright, but the gun followed them, ending their flight before it truly began. It was the work of only a few seconds to finish it; another minute to ensure it was done.

  “Seems a shame to waste this nice home place,” the man on the gun stated casually, looking around. “This would have been a good spot to build on one day.”

  “It still will be,” the man on the ground replied, moving back to the truck. “Buzzards will make sure of it. Let’s go.”

  The women in 'Cheri's' group had made a fatal mistake in threatening the farm. They hadn't taken into consideration the kind of people that were protecting it.

  Cheri and her cohorts thought of themselves as dangerous people. They were bullies, thieves, con artists, even murderers on occasion. They had facilitated crimes for others like murder, rape, blackmail, drug and sex trafficking, whatever it took to get what they wanted. Life in the new normal had been hard, but they fancied themselves harder, able to survive no matter what. Working for Holman had been a simple way to get what they wanted in return for simply doing the same things they had done before the lights had gone out.

  The mistake had been in comparing the farm's defenders to everyone else they had dealt with. Men who had already seen the worst humanity had to offer and weren't surprised by anything that a few former gang members could throw at them. Having made their way onto the farm, the women had learned just how many defenders were there and how well armed they were. That was information Holman could use.

  It was also information that Clay had no intention of providing him.

  The truck and the Hummer sped away from the scene, eager to be home and out of the rain.

  It would be lunch time soon.

  -

  As soon as Deborah Webb had entered Building One, one of the women waiting there had cried out.

  “Miss Debbie!” she started forward only to come to a screeching halt as a rifle muzzle appeared as if by magic, right in her face.

  “Back up,” the voice attached to the rifle ordered.

  “You know her, Miss Deborah?” Clay asked.

  “Ophelia Hunley? What are you doing running around with trash such as them that just left here?” Deborah said to the woman in question by way of answer.

  “I got swept up by Holman's people and ended up being sent here along with them,” the younger woman replied. “It was do it or else. They threatened to kill me and take my daughter. I…is. . .have you seen. . .”

  “Tabitha is fine,” Deborah nodded, smiling. “She's seeing the doctor right now and got a piece of candy. I was just bouncing her on my knee and wondering where you were. You’ll have her back soon enough.”

  “Oh, thank God!” the younger woman suddenly enveloped Deborah Webb in a bear hug, sobbing uncontrollably. The older woman tried to comfort her as best she could, but there wasn't really much she could say. These were bad times.

  “What about the rest of us?” one of the other three asked.

  “You’ll be reunited with your children soon, assuming they're really yours,” Clay told them again. “Our problem here is one of trust. Meaning we can't trust you. Once the children have had a check-up and are pronounced healthy then we’ll work out some way to test whether they're yours. And before you start,” he held up a hand to forestall any arguing, “remember that you had the chance to alert us to what was happening and didn't. Your chance to establish any trust with us went out the window with that. Once you were here and safe, there was no reason for you not to tell us what that bunch had planned, but you didn't.”

  “If we had-” one of them began, but Clay cut her off.

  “You would never have had a better chance than when you were sitting here under armed guard, being fed,” Clay refused to relent. “I'm well aware you were in a tough spot, but now we're the ones in that tough spot. You want us to consider your problems then you need to think about ours as well. We're trying to work through all this as quickly as we can, but since you weren't upfront with us when you had the chance you’ll just have to endure this little hardship for now.”
>
  “What about her?” one of them dared to ask, pointing to the young woman in Deborah's arms.

  “What about her?” Clay returned the question. “Just because she knows Miss Deborah doesn't place her in a better position than you. Not now, anyway. So just cool your heels and be patient. We've exercised plenty of patience with you today.”

  As Clay finished speaking he heard the door open and turned to see the leaders of each family entering, Matthew Webb along as an escort. Another of the women called out as she saw them enter, the woman who had first cried out at being separated from her son to be searched.

  “Miss Malitha!”

  Malitha George looked at the dirty and bedraggled woman calling her name and it took several seconds for her to connect the wretched looking girl talking to her now with the young single mother who had worked with her at the library before the Storm.

  “Callie Weston, as I live and breathe!” Malitha finally realized who she was looking at. “What in the world are you doing mixed up in this?” she demanded. Unlike with Deborah Webb and Ophelia Hunley, she did not embrace the younger woman.

  “I wasn't given a choice,” the woman now identified as Callie Weston replied. “It was either come along, or have my little boy taken away, and probably me be killed. He doesn't have any one else, so...” she gave a resigned shrug as if to say what could I do?

  “Child how do you come to be in these situations?” Malitha asked her, shaking her head sadly.

  “Usually because I make bad choices,” Callie admitted. “This time though, not so much. I was working late, putting returns away, when the light show started again. I heard later there was a warning on the radio, but…I didn't hear it. Anyway, I went outside for just a minute to watch, and a few minutes later the lights went out. My car wouldn't start, but it was always giving me trouble so I thought maybe it was the car, but then I saw other people coming out of their houses in town and none of their cars would start. I got scared and walked over to my apartment to get Billy, my neighbor was keeping him, and by the time I got there, people were out everywhere in the street with flashlights and what not. I just went inside with Billy and locked the doors.”