by Roger Hayden
Dustin brushed himself off. “I don’t think momma would go through with it without us.”
“Either way,” James started. “We’ve wasted the whole day here. Hell, they even found the Humvee.”
Harper’s eyes went wide. “What?”
James nodded. “After they nabbed you, patrols have been coming in or out. We split up, half to wait at the Humvee and half looking for you. Within the next three hours, they spotted the truck and have been guarding it ever since. I think they believe one of us has the battery, but they are practically standing on it.”
Harper steadied her breathing. “Did you see any of Brandy’s men here?”
Her allies traded looks and shook their heads.
“I don’t believe so,” Dustin admitted. “It looks like these are the residents of Hamsburrow and that’s it.”
“Howie hasn’t been wrong yet.” Harper crossed her arms and crinkled her brow. “This doesn’t make sense.”
“Who cares?” Sawyer complained. “Karla needs me, and I’m sick of standing around. Let’s leave, Harper.”
She turned to Dustin. “Are you sure Trudy won’t march without us?”
“Seventy-five percent,” the farm boy replied.
Harper felt for her rifle, realizing it was still gone. She requested James’s and he surrendered it without question. “We came here for a reason. Let’s finish the job.”
Sawyer groaned. “How do you suppose we do that? Brandy never attacked, so they never needed a savior. I have a suspicion they aren’t going to want to risk their hides on their distant neighbor’s war.”
“If Brandy’s at their door, they’ll have a different perspective,” Harper stated.
“I don’t want to die before the big battle,” Sawyer replied.
“We all may die if we don’t get reinforcements.”
None argued. Most looked at their shoes.
“Let’s go find Leonard and put an end to this once and for all.” Harper slipped into the main street. Reluctant, the men followed.
They crept through Hamsburrow, avoiding light and sound as they slipped through unlocked windows and down empty streets. Harper led them parallel to the main street. They followed the bonfires out of the town and to a driveway that climbed up the valley side and ended at an enormous white home that was straight out of a magazine. On the large front lawn, people casually gathered around tables to eat and drink. A few musicians strummed away at acoustic guitars, one being Nana. Around the house’s perimeter, armed men patrolled.
“You think it’s like this every night?” James asked.
Harper scanned the crowd for anyone who seemed like the leader, but no one stood out.
“Do we know what this guy looks like, Harper?” Sawyer asked, already knowing the answer.
“We can head around the back,” Cowl suggested.
Harper shook her head. “I’m done sneaking.” She unstrapped the assault rifle. The rest echoed her move. James drew his knives.
“This is a bad idea,” Dustin stated the obvious.
“These people are our allies, so only shoot if they shoot first.”
“If they shoot first, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about it.” Sawyer bounced eyes across the dozen armed guards circling the party.
“Babe,” James said, wiping sweat away with the top of his knife-holding hand. “I really wish you didn’t lose your gun.”
Harper took one final whiff of that chilling mountain air and then burst forth from her hiding place.
The music, the people, everyone stopped as Harper, James, Dustin, Sawyer, and Cowl stepped into the party with guns raised and ready. The patrol repaid in kind, shooting glances at one another. Wide-eyed children and white-haired elders watched them with horror. A mother pulled her child close. A red-nosed man pulled himself from his seat.
Nana reached for her sawed-off shotgun.
Harper aimed right at her. “I’m looking for Leonard.”
The people exchanged worried looks. Nana put her hand on the sawed-off’s grip, tempting Harper.
“I am he,” a soft voice said from one of the tables. Keeping her gun on Nana, she turned her eyes to the tall, kind-looking gentleman who wore rectangular bifocals, an olive sweater vest, slacks, and penny loafers. The corner of a small bandage bunched from his collarbone. “Dr. Leonard Dawn, PhD. Can I offer you something to eat?”
“Thanks for the offer,” replied Harper. “But I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“She’s the one you were talking about, Nana? Harper something or other?” Leonard asked his ally.
“Definitely,” Nana didn’t take her hand off the sawed-off. “Ask her if she killed Jeromy and Colton.”
“They’re tied up between Hamsburrow Trinkets and the Sweet Shoppe,” Harper interrupted.
Leonard removed his glasses, fogged them with a breath, and wiped the lenses on his vest. “What can I do for you, Harper?”
“Listen.”
“Well,” Leonard put on his glasses. “You’ve certainly grabbed my attention, Mrs...”
“Murphy,” Harper said firmly. “My friends and I come from a nearby community. I understand we have the same enemy.”
Leonard tensed up. “I don’t quite follow.”
Harper looked over the people, taking note of their concealed bandages. “I have reason to believe you were attacked the other day. Am I wrong?”
The silver-haired man hesitated and frowned. “No.”
“The man in charge of that settlement is named Brandy. He came to my home, killed my friends, and abducted my son. I didn’t understand the extent of his influence until I started searching the surrounding communities. He’s enslaved dozens and murdered many more. He uses women as currency and shows no remorse. I’m heading to his camp tonight, and I’m going to kill him. I want your help.”
The sound of grasshopper legs could be heard in the silence.
Leonard cracked a nervous smile. “That’s certainly not what I expected.”
An old man pushed himself from the bench and rested his palms on his cane. “Leonard, if this is the same man--”
“I understand that!” Leonard shouted back. He took a breath, recollecting his cool. “The hour is late, Mrs. Murphy. I believe you should leave. If the Humvee we found is yours, you may collect it from my guardsmen.”
Harper lowered her assault rifle. “I say this with complete conviction: you won’t be safe until this man is gone.”
A woman pulled her child close and covered the girl’s ears. “They threatened to take my daughter. Do we wait until they strike again?”
“Keep quiet, Jessica,” a pretentious blonde woman commanded.
“No,” Jessica retorted. Her eyes watered. “We can’t just forget that they came into our homes and and--”
“Shut up, Jessica.”
“-- violated us and shot Elise in the head. She bled all over me. She bled everywhere.”
“Jessica, now!”
Jessica slid down to the grass and wept. Completely confused, her daughter hugged her and started crying too. At a nearby table, the tan man buried his face in his palms. His white-gold wedding band twinkled in the torchlight.
Leonard downed his glass of bubbly. “I excused you, Mrs. Murphy.”
“Screw you, man,” James stepped forward. “You need our help as much as we need yours. Stop cowering and come with us.”
Leonard clenched the glass almost till the point of breaking. “I am not a coward.”
“We know that,” Harper injected. “We are all after the same thing.”
“You are after unnecessary bloodshed,” Leonard argued. “We’ve had our fair share, thank you very much.”
“This is a waste of time,” Sawyer said lowly. “He’s a brick wall.”
Harper disregarded Sawyer with a scoff. Dustin and Cowl kept an eye on the surrounding gunmen.
“If Brandy razes my colony,” Harper said with absolute seriousness, “he will come here and take, take, take until there's nothi
ng left. He has hundreds of those savages under his command. On a one-on-one, he wins, but if we work together, we have a fighting chance.”
Nana pulled her hand away from the sawed-off. “The chick has a point, Leonard. He only sent a handful at us last time.”
Leonard glared at her. Nana averted her eyes and kept her mouth shut.
“Come with us to the Bimberg factory and let’s put an end to this monster.”
Leonard thought for a while. The raised weapons felt heavy in everyone’s arms. After pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, Leonard said, “Travel mercies, Harper Murphy. Now relieve yourselves from my property before anyone gets hurt.”
With a sigh, Harper gestured to fall back. James, Sawyer, Cowl, and Dustin lowered their weapons and stepped down the asphalt street
“Enjoy your champagne, Leonard,” Harper said. “If you want to make a difference, you know where to find me.”
Harper joined her allies and, together, they escaped into the foggy night.
The walls of Brighton appeared in the dim glow of their headlights. The distinct silhouettes of the town hall and chapel grew out of darkness. Harper slowed before the tarnished gate. The Hummer sputtered in place. Sawyer grabbed the driver and passenger seat, leaning himself between the front seats. His sleepless turquoise eyes scanned the town. Without light, their home looked like a ruin. A memory. A town of ghosts. Sawyer mumbled a curse.
Dustin tapped on the roof. His voice projected down from the gunner station. “Bimberg?”
Harper’s fingers coiled around the tough steering wheel. She felt her face sink with a frown. Images of war swirled in her psyche. Her people, her family, engaged with Brandy without reinforcements. Without her.
Shadows appeared at the gate’s threshold and wheeled away the wood barricades. A torch burst to life in the middle of the street. Trudy hung it above her head. Her silver hair bun sparkled. She waved them in.
Harper pulled in and parked next to the curb. Trudy trailed behind with a few of the farmers. The doors of the Humvee swung open and the passengers exited. Dustin yawned and stretched his arms.
“Karla?” Sawyer asked without his normal roguish facade.
“Everyone's inside.” Trudy nodded at the chapel.
Faint candlelight danced in the windowsills.
Harper thanked Trudy and went inside. People filled the pews all the way to the back. Some were familiar faces, and others were green recruits or women unshackled from forced servitude. Wood planks boarded bullet-shattered windows. Wax spilled from the seal and formed violet and indigo puddles of the creaking floors. Pastor Bruce turned pages of the King James in his chair that rested offset from the podium. He turned his soft gaze to Harper and lifted himself to his feet.
“We feared you wouldn’t return,” the holy man said honestly.
Harper took the podium while Dustin, James, Cowl, and Sawyer slid into the reserved front pew. Karla rested her head on her father’s shoulder.
The eyes of all landed on Harper. She forced herself to straighten up. “No help is coming.”
Held breaths.
“We don’t need it,” Harper said with a shy, confident smile. “All of us have endured trial after trial, and we are still standing. Tonight will be no different. We are fighting for what we’ve always fought for: family, order, and a better tomorrow.”
James smiled at her. Sawyer wrapped his arm around Karla, nodding. Trudy leaned on her son, Dustin. Martha Doyle wiped away a tear. Kimmy sat up with proper posture and hands on her lap, drinking in every word. Levi, nearly healed of his wounds, stroked his beard intently. Mitchell and his wife held hands. Farris put his straw hat on his lap. Dr. Hanson bounced his leg. Officers Yoakley and Winested sat at attention with Sergeant Cowl. The new recruits--bikers, farmers, students, city-borne, and country-grown--watched Harper in shared unity.
“Brandy stole our loved ones. He took our leader, destroyed our security, and tried to break us. But instead we doubled our numbers.” Harper looked out at each one of them. “Brighton is more than a Fence and a home. It is a family and, as a family, we will overcome. All who are able, march with me tonight, and let’s show Brandy what happens when he messes with our family.”
The people nodded and mumbled in agreement.
Trudy put her feet down and stood. “What are you waiting for? Stand in attention to Brighton’s Mayor.”
Dustin looked around and then pushed himself to his feet. Levi, the police officers, Brighton locals, the strangers followed until all were standing. Harper sniffled.
James approached the podium and outstretched his hand. Harper took it. They pressed close, locking eyes. “Whatever happens,” her husband whispered. “I love you.”
Harper kissed him. “Let’s get our son back.”
The crowd cheered…
Then set out for war.
9
Burning Rain
The towering, striped chimney of Bimberg jutted into the starry night. Storms clouds crept toward the factory like the outstretched hand of Death himself. The wind whipped and howled, broken by the ridges and stature of the surrounding mountains.
Tents of all sizes, shapes, and colors curled around the old but resistant building in an untamed but massive artificial sprawl. Flaming teepees reflected on the mud of the boot-worn trails. The path awkwardly snaked between pavilions and camping gear, eventually ending at Bimberg’s rusty front doors. Tattered-dressed addicts indulged in their nocturnal vices-- heroin, cocaine, and any pharmaceutical retrieved from nearby towns or police evidence lockers. In small groups, the residents slouched on lawn chairs or long stools near water-warped picnic tables.
Speckled throughout the settlement, gaggles of chatty guards patrolled, occasionally unzipping darkened tents to spy on the sleeping residents within. More armed men paced around the factory’s exterior walkway. Their shoes clacked on the rusty grated metal. Just above their heads and akin to a lighthouse lens room, the wide, third-story factory window cast its bright glow. The golden torchlight within lured hopeless wanderers into Bimberg like moths to a flame.
On the far side of the camp, fire climbed out of the woods and into the outlying tents. Leaves withered, bark crackled, and nylon walls melted. Only small and harmless for a moment, the fire evolved into an inferno wall that swept in all directions. Screams and shouts sounded and, much like the flames, spread through the camp. Tents unzipped. People scurried out, putting on boots, pants, and shirts. Guards called for water. A flood of people dashed to the chaos. A woman screamed. She pointed to the second blaze rising up from the opposite side of the encampment. A full alarm sounded. The factory’s foggy windows came alive with light. The people stirred like frenzied ants.
Harper lowered the binoculars, fist bumping privately at her splinter team’s success. Dewy grass brushed against her belly. Dirt smeared her elbows and forearms as she crawled away from the hill’s bend that directly faced the factory. The automatic assault rifle clacked against her back with every movement. She looked to her left. Dustin, Levi, Cowl, Yoakley, and twenty combat-able farmers, women, and more lay prone. Their attention was directed at Harper. Some mouthed prayers. Other steadied their breathing. Harper displayed the hand gestures she taught them. Dustin made an OK with his fingers. The gesture repeated itself from Levi to Cowl and all the way down the line.
Harper shifted to her right. James, Sawyer, Kimmy, Winested, and another twenty more looked back. They were still and breathless. Harper gestured. They okayed. In total, twelve of Harper’s forty-eight guerilla fighters wielded assault rifles. The rest held tight to knives duct taped to broomsticks, hatchets, machetes, claw hammers, wood axes, and any other tool modified for the kill.
Harper redirected her sight to the bend of the hill that dipped into the factory. Shouts and indistinguishable commands echoed from the other side. Harper’s hand reached into the satchel at her side. The papery packaging of the plastic explosives kissed her fingertips. She closed her eyes. Thoughts of James, Eli
, and her together centered her, but her heart still pounded. She unstrapped her assault rifle, cocked it, and waved her hand in rapid motion to those at her flanks. In sync, she and the other riflemen army crawled to the hill’s bend. They peered down at the tents, flustered guards, and chaotic mass of two hundred plus people scurrying about. Harper lined up her shot and said the words, “Open fire.”
Muzzle flashes blinked like strobe lights. Weapon noise rattled eardrums. A hail of bullets rained down from the mount and sawed into the concave encampment, shredding tent, wood, and flesh. Harper set her firing rate on burst fire, pelting an unsuspecting walkway guard. His body thrashed before tumbling over the orange railing. The second-story doors flung open, slamming against the outer walls. Guards rushed out the factory, firing at the hill as they approached bleeding allies. Harper squeezed the trigger twice and two tangos collapsed. Four more armed men and women burst forth from the double doors, blindly shooting at the hilltop. Dirt exploded as bullets drilled into the earth around Harper. She ducked and pulled herself back from the bend. Her firing line didn’t let up. Their faces lit up like a photographer’s bulb with each muzzle flash. Her husband’s eyes were unblinking and cold and his mouth hung slightly open as he opened fire.
The four shooters spread out from the factory entrance, flipping tables and using tents for cover. Rifle stocks smashed factory windows from the inside. Shards of glass tumbled to the dirt. Gun barrels appeared in Bimberg’s lower window frames.
Taking a few deep breaths, Harper lifted her head and fired into the window. A swift burst of random shots within confirmed her kill. The other enemies returned fire. Down the line of the hill, a farmer dropped to his face. Dr. Hanson crawled up next to him and rolled the man over. Bullet hole. Two more allies went down--a former slave and reformed biker. Harper didn’t get the chance to hear their stories. In the next life, she thought and returned her mind to the battle.
The surrounding flames continued consuming the camp’s borders, pushing the residents to the center of the conflict. Painfully loud gunfire filled the air. Dustin’s magazine went dry. He pulled the trigger an extra two times, clenched his rugged trucker hat, and scurried past his allies. Bullets whizzed by. His boots slipped on the grass, sending him tumbling over the warm dead body. He swiftly shoved a new blob of dip in his mouth to replace the batch swallowed and swept up the man’s gun. Going prone, he returned to the fight.