by Roger Hayden
In a blink, Gretchen swiveled around, fear in her eyes. Dropping the keys, Harper reclaimed her hands’ position on the rifle “club.” Gretchen fumbled with her snub-nose revolver and jolted her barrel up at the intruder. Harper swung the wooden stock. It cut through the air and smashed into the woman’s cheekbone with a crack! The chair twisted and teetered over. Gretchen smacked into the ground. Her revolver skidded across the tile. Harper stepped on the gun and kicked it backwards. She raised the rifle club high. Gretchen didn’t move. Blood poured from her nose, and her right cheek was completely caved in. A raspy breath escaped her lips.
Harper closed the door with her foot. She fetched the revolver and shoved it into the back waistband of her pants. After snatching the keys, she looked at Gretchen. Another good whack, and the woman would be dead. She wasn’t a good person, of that Harper was sure, but when she drew back for the final blow, something stopped her. This wasn’t like the insurgents in DC, where killing them was the difference between life and death. The woman before her was limp and defenseless, and Harper couldn’t help wonder if she had a son waiting for her, too.
Knuckles knocked on the door. Startled, Harper huddled by the doorframe. She kept the rifle in its club form and her back flush to the wall. The wooden door opened. The brute dropped the glass of water. It shattered into crystal fragments as he took a step toward his fallen leader. Before he could take the next step, Harper sent the rifle stock against his muscular neck.
His bulging Adam’s apple was knocked into his throat. He tumbled into the opposite wall. Pictures and plaques crashed to the ground as he clutched his neck and gasped for air. Cleft-lip Roy entered in behind him. He caught Harper’s second swing and yanked the rifle. The iron notch on the sight ripped across Harper’s palm as the barrel was torn from her grasp. Roy threw the gun to his partner and pulled his machete from his belt.
The terrifying blade slashed an inch over Harper’s scalp, shaving a few loose auburn hairs. Harper drew the revolver from her pants. Roy swiftly sidestepped the blast. The bullet blew through the other brute’s nose. A red splatter exploded up the wall behind him.
Roaring, Roy slashed downward. Harper evaded the deadly blade. She cocked back the revolver's hammer. Roy’s fury of swashbuckling sideswipes sent Harper rolling over the lieutenant's desk. The pens and candles crashed on the floor. She landed on her feet next to Gretchen’s fallen chair and aimed the gun. The machete notched the small barrel, flinging it from her slippery grip. With his free hand, Roy grabbed the edge of the desk and flipped it up. The desk fell on its side with a mighty thump. Only air stood between Harper and her massive enemy.
Roy roared. Harper ducked another deadly blow that thunked against the glass window. She dived for the revolver next to the prone Gretchen. Roy slashed. A sharp, burning sensation tore across Harper’s back. She screamed. Her elbows hit the ground. Her fingers coiled around the revolver’s grip. She rolled on her back. Fingernails dug into her wrist. Gretchen's teary, cold eyes met hers. Her other veiny hand grasped the handgun. Roy cut downward. Harper jerked and twisted to the side. Gretchen didn’t release her grip and was pulled by Harper. Suddenly, the woman’s death grip lost its tension as the blade sliced through flesh, muscle, and bone. Two severed hands fell on Harper’s stomach. Gretchen let out a rattling wail at her two bloody stubs, then her eyes rolled back.
Roy, horror struck, went for another slash. Harper pulled the trigger. The brute shrugged back as a bullet punched his shoulder. He fought through the pain and lifted his machete. Bam! A gut shot. Bam! A chest wound. The blood-spattered machete tumbled from his hand. His hulking body toppled backwards.
Gretchen’s warm blood pooled around Harper. The two front doors at the end of the hall burst open. The drunken man who had kicked Levi froze in fear at the brutal scene. Harper fired off the revolver's last shot. It zipped past his head. Cursing, he ducked out and slammed the doors shut.
Harper pulled herself up. The burning pain in her back lingered, but she didn’t slow. Her boots splashed through blood as she slammed the office door. Her trembling fingers turned the lock. She turned back and unlocked the window. Pushing with all her might, she forced the tight window to skid upward. The fresh outside air reached out and cooled her sweat. Everything seemed surreal. She scanned the back parking lot. No one. Before crawling out, she snatched up her rifle and the blood-dipped keys.
Clipping the keys to her belt, she moved around the building’s side. A feeling of dread and sickness nested in her stomach. She peeked around a sharp brick corner. The bonfire reached to the heavens. The people lounging had jumped to their feet, confused but ready. They surrounded the precinct’s front door. The teens playing poker abandoned their game, drew out knives, and headed for the chain-link fence that separated Levi from the alleyway in which Harper hid.
Don’t climb over, Harper begged internally as she raised the rifle. The sights lined up with a boy’s chest. No older than Eli, he began moving his hands up the metal. His feet wiggled as he used his upper-body strength to get his head over the fence. Tears welled in Harper’s eyes. Her finger slid over the trigger.
A rumble reverberated off the buildings of Briersville. The boy paused. Howling filled the air. Then came the deafening automatic boom of a high-caliber machine gun. The boy’s friend beckoned him down. He jumped back, and together they ran away from the sound of gunfire. The wolf cries came to a quick halt. The other adults scattered in a free-for-all frenzy, tripping over furniture and abandoning their massive blaze for shelter.
Harper darted down the alley, leaving behind a trail of bloody boot prints. Pressing against the fence, her eyes followed the battered army Hummer roaring down the street. Hat backwards, Dustin manned the turret. The muzzle flashes lit up his face as he sent sweeping bolts of M60 bullets across rooftops and through windows. Whether or not he actually hit anyone mattered little. The wolf pack of Briersville was shattered.
The Hummer came to a screeching halt by the bonfire. Holding a knife, Eli leapt out of the backseat and sprinted toward Levi. He slashed at the zip ties and wrapped the stricken man’s arm around his shoulder.
“Where’s Harper? Where’s my mom?” Eli shouted over the gunfire, his voice cracking.
“Eli.” Harper grabbed the fence. “I’m here!”
With glossy doe eyes, her son turned to her with a look of hope and fear. “Mom, get over here. Now!”
Harper pointed to Levi. “Get him in the Humvee and pop the trunk. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Her son paused for a moment and then nodded. He helped Levi up and dashed to the Hummer. Dustin fired off another burst, sending a bright-yellow muzzle flash out of the barrel. Sawyer drummed his hands on the steering wheel. With crinkled brows, he waited.
Instead of jumping the fence, Harper twisted through the detective’s window behind her. She cut through the detective’s office and into the bullpen. A few of the guards that were patrolling the precinct cowered behind desks. Harper turned her rifle to each of them. Her silence spoke louder than words. They lifted their hands slowly.
She entered the receptionist’s hall and closed the door to the bullpen. Retracing her steps, Harper sprinted down the various halls until she arrived at the cellblock. The supplies called for her. Resting the gun against the bars, she began trying keys. With every mismatch, she craned her head to the end of the hall. By the fourth key, a man opened the door to the cellblock. Without hesitation, Harper took up her gun and fired a thick round. It punched him in the gut, flooring him. He screamed and thrashed across the floor, too terrified to clench the gaping hole. Key eight was her salvation. The cell door slid open. Harper grabbed the cart and ran it down the hall. A few cans spilled off the top, but she didn’t stop. She turned a sharp corner. A few water bottles bounced off. Soon the front doors were upon her.
She twisted the cart and stopped it in front of the exit. Harper flung the doors open. As their metal jaws began to closed, Harper pushed the cart through. The janky wheels bounced do
wn the few outside stairs, sending seed packets, whiskey bottles, and flowerpots crashing against the ground. Harper took one look back at the gloomy people who filled the hall behind her. Then the doors closed.
The warmth of the bonfire touched her skin. The Hummer was only a few yards away.
“Harper, where the heck did you go?” Dustin shouted from the gunner station.
“Sawyer, keep that engine running,” Harper commanded as she pushed the remaining items on the flat cart to the Hummer’s open trunk. “Karla, help me pack these supplies.”
The two women threw heaps of bottles, cans, weapons, and everything else on the cart into the trunk. Dustin twisted the turret back and forth, checking the surroundings for any life. Eli helped situate Levi in the front seat then slinked into the back. Before Harper knew it, the trunk was packed to the brim. Together, Harper and Karla slammed it shut. With the six of them crammed into the four-person truck, they peeled down the streets of Briersville, leaving behind the potent stench of diesel.
“You can’t do this anymore,” said Eli.
“I couldn’t leave him behind,” Harper replied. Her back didn’t touch the seat. The machete slash wasn’t deep, but it stung endlessly.
Eli frowned, looking like a younger image of his father. “Not that. I mean going on your own. It would’ve killed Dad if you didn’t come back. It… it would’ve killed me.”
Harper looked at her bloody hands and boots.
“You’re not alone anymore,” Eli went on. “We’re family. All of us. Help is here. You just need to be open to it.”
Harper didn’t reply. She knew her son was right, but a nagging voice inside told her a different story. One about self-reliance and survival at any cost. She chose to keep her opinion to herself.
Rumbling, the Hummer rolled on. A cloud overtook the crescent moon. They’d be home soon. Brighton wasn’t far now.
6
The Calling
It must’ve been two a.m. when Harper saw her home.
Plywood patches and old two-by-fours bandaged the twelve-foot wall surrounding Brighton. In a little over a month, Mayor Church’s project had turned a bare wooden foundation into a curving behemoth. It had a wall-walk and a roofed and sealed five-foot gap between the outer and inner walls that residents could walk upon but not enter. On either side of the village’s single street, two covered watchtowers had been erected beside a massive swinging door. Similar to a directional compass, seven more manned watchtowers were spaced out across the curtain wall.
Flat hayfields, rolling Virginia hills, and ancient clusters of tall trees formed the surrounding area. Little farmhouses speckled the beautiful landscape. In the distance, a gray haze lingered over the Smoky Mountains that rose and dipped like the Earth’s tree-covered spinal cord.
“Isn’t that something,” said Sawyer, leaning over the steering wheel with his eyes to the Fence. Grinning, he turned back to his daughter.
Karla shrugged, but her eyes betrayed her concealed excitement. Like a kid in an amusement park, the teenage girl perked up and looked out the window with nervous excitement. After an abrupt snore, Eli shot awake from his nap. He wiped drool from his lips and tried stretching his legs. The girl on his lap made that difficult. “We there?”
“Uh-huh.” Standing in the gunner station, Dustin bounced from foot to foot. He spat on the corner of his plaid shirt and rubbed the blood smear from the bill of his cap.
Slouched in the front seat, Levi rested. Swollen cuts and purple bruises painted his pale body. The majestic beard whose tip once curved to the right and left was a dense, disheveled mess caked with blood. Weak breath leaked from Levi’s busted lips.
“Your friends are about to shoot me.” Sawyer’s nonchalant voice tore Harper from her daydreaming.
She winced. The machete slash peeled away from the hard backrest. “Slow down.”
Sawyer eased into the brakes. The Hummer came to a rumbling stop about fifty feet from Church, James, and the two other armed men. The hardened mayor held his black tactical rifle over his bulging belly. Like a bull, his torso was dense muscle covered with a slab of thick meat. Church’s thin, graying hair parted halfway down his wrinkled forehead and strung over his ears. Wooly brows anchored over his tired dark eyes. A heavy frown dipped his bushy beard that enveloped his mouth, jaw, and rotund cheeks.
Harper dropped out of the back door and started toward them. Before Church could begin his interrogation, James rushed forward. His walk became a jog that turned into a sprint by the time he was ten feet from the others. The air pushed back his brown bangs and made the whiskers of his gray-speckled beard quiver. He embraced Harper mightily. His muscular arms pulled their bodies together until Harper could feel his warmth and breath in the chilly night air. Harper went tense for a moment, fighting her back pain and keeping her fists at her hips. But then, feeling his presence, she wrapped her arms around him.
His calloused fingers lifted her chin. His intense gaze bounced from the scar on her cheek to her drowsy emerald eyes.
“The Humvee was gone for so long, and I thought… Well, nothing good. What happened? Are you okay? Is Eli?”
Wincing, Harper pulled away from him, and her hands gently grasped his biceps. “Levi is beat up pretty bad, but the rest of us are okay. We’re just glad to be home.”
“Me, too.”
Church approached them. He studied Harper for a moment. James and his wife separated. A wild dog howled in the distance.
The older man spoke. “I need to know everything.”
“Come on, Church,” James said. “Can’t you tell she’s beat?”
Church set his jaw and glared at Harper’s husband.
“It’s all right,” said Harper. “I’ll walk you through it, starting with the supply cache and Charles's death.”
Trudy drove the needle through Harper’s flesh and gave it a tug. The string snapped. “That should do it. It may be a shallow cut, but I wouldn’t recommend getting into any more sword fights.”
“It was a machete.” Harper straightened her throbbing spine and grimaced. “How did you learn to do that anyway?”
Trudy wound up the wire spindle and removed her disposable gloves. “Country girls gotta know things. If you want to take care of that boy of yours, you best know things, too.”
Harper pulled her shirt back down. “I do. Stitched up my husband’s leg in DC. The army taught me a lot of skills. The rest I learned from books and the Internet.”
“Well, aren’t you the golden girl,” the gray-haired woman said with a smile. She packed up the tray of peroxide, stitches, bandages, and needles. She sighed and pulled herself up, heading for the conference room’s door. “Church seems to think so.”
Harper cocked a brow. “He doesn’t show it very well.”
“After that stunt at Briersville, you’re going to be the talk of the town. Dr. Hanson says that he might even be able to save Levi. That brick to the head did a number on him.” Trudy opened the door. The paint stains on her overalls glistened in the candlelight. She blew out the fire and shut the door behind her.
Harper rolled to her side, fluffing her pillow under her toned forearms. Outside the motel window, the sun dawned over the white chapel. The cross on top eclipsed the fiery mass. Harper closed her eyes. A horrid collection of images sparked to life. The wolves of Briersville, the men she’d killed, and the plunging of a knife through a hunted doe’s hairy torso. The sticky blood webbed between her fingers. Human or animal mattered little. It was blood she dreamed of, followed by her stoic father's words: “Survival, Harper. It’s a necessary and nasty business.”
That afternoon, Mayor Church assembled the families of inner Brighton and the farmers from the surrounding ranches. Standing on the town hall’s steps, Church looked out at the gathering mass expressing concern and curiosity.
Harper joined Eli and James in the back of the crowd.
“I didn’t get much rest, either.” Her son yawned.
James asked if Harper
needed more rest. She shook her head and waited for Church to finish his hushed conversation with Trudy. Dressed in clean clothes, Sawyer and Karla slipped in beside Harper.
“You should’ve told me you lived in utopia. I would’ve been a little nicer.” The roguish man smirked. His cadence made it impossible to tell if he conveyed sincerity or sarcasm.
“Is it normal for them to detain guests on their first night?” Karla asked rhetorically with the expected teenage angst. “From the looks of this place, it probably is.”
“You’ll get used to it,” said James. “Be glad they didn’t steal your car and guns. No hospitality like Brighton hospitality.”
The gaunt teenage girl smiled at him. “I like you.”
“Quiet,” Sawyer said, looking at Church, who cleared his throat. “Our humble mayor is speaking.”
Church’s formal suit and tie had been replaced with a hunter’s matching camouflage jumpsuit and muddy steel-toe boots. His baritone voice resonated through the crowd. “Most of us here come from long lines of farmers and foragers. We are the men and women skilled in survival and perseverance. But before yesterday, it looked like even God Almighty was against us.”
The people nodded soberly and murmured in agreement.
Church went on. “Our food stores were depleting, our livestock dying, and our crops weren’t growing at the pace they needed to. Without a change of course, Brighton would fall.”
Sawyer leaned to Harper. “A bit gloomy, this one.”
“Thankfully,” Church’s voice boomed. “Our first official search party has been far more successful than we’d originally anticipated. After a daring journey, they have returned with hundreds of canned goods, vegetable seeds, and equipment that will sustain us for the foreseeable future.”