The Journal: Cracked Earth

by Deborah D. Moore

  “How did you know that?” she asked, sitting up straight now.

  “It was only a guess, Anna, but I would also imagine that when somebody did that, their guns would be taken away ‘for the good of the community.’ Any food they brought would be confiscated, again ‘for the good of the community.’ If they really wanted us to function, they would have found a way to leave our power on. In fact, how did this ATV gang get past the National Guard roadblocks? And why didn’t Lacey stop them long before they got organized? I don’t like the way this is shaping up. Not at all. That’s not the issue at the moment. Right now we need shooters, and organization.”

  I looked at the enlarged map of the township.

  “If they get past the roadblock here,” I said, pointing to the area where the Big Guppy crossed 695, “the next spot to hit is only a few miles north in Midway. We know, and maybe they know, there’s little there, so they might keep going.

  “If we position shooters here, and here,” I said, stabbing my finger at the map, “and here, all staggered so there’s no crossfire, using the houses in Midway for concealment, good shooters can take quite a few and the wheelers won’t know which way to shoot first. What do you think, Karen?”

  “I think you have a devious mind, Allexa,” Karen grinned. “If we can get everyone in place quickly enough, the surprise factor is to our advantage. It could work.”

  “So now we need to round up our militia. That will be your job, Karen. The next step is, what if they get through that trap? There are a lot of homes still occupied between there and here,” I scowled, “including mine.”

  * * *

  JOURNAL ENTRY: February 8

  I pulled the FRS radios out of the faraday cage and put all fresh batteries in. The Family Radio System is limited in range, but should work well for this purpose. One radio each for me, John, and Jason. I gave Don one, too, with the instructions to keep it on and keep it close. I also delivered one to David.

  * * *

  “With your ham you might get enough of a warning to give us some warning. Will you do that?” I asked, holding the small unit out to David.

  “Of course. Is there going to be shooting?”

  “Likely. Does that bother you?”

  “No, but I’m nearly out of ammo and it would be a shame to just get started and run out.”

  “What are you shooting?”

  “308. Been good for deer,” he grinned. “We’ve been living on venison. I have to tell you that mac and cheese you gave us tasted mighty good.”

  “Walk back with me and I’ll give you a box. We could use an extra shooter.”

  *

  “Mom, I should take the roof position,” Jason insisted. “I’ve spent more time in a tree stand than you, and I know I’m better at the long shot.”

  “I agree. Why don’t you take a look and see where your best vantage point is,” I replied. I turned to John when Jason left. “He really is the best shot of the three of us.”

  “I know he is. I have no problem admitting that, Allex.” He gave me a crooked smile and a quick hug.

  * * *

  “You were up there a long time,” I said to Jason when he came in a half hour later.

  “Once I got up there I realized that I might be seen from a distance, so I mounded up a line of snow to conceal me. Kind of like a snow fort,” he grinned. “Plus, if the Wheelers do come down this road, we don’t know which direction they’ll come from, so I had to make the fort on three sides.”

  “That’s a great idea,” John complimented. “Will you show me what you have in case we have to switch positions?”

  After they came down, we lined up rifles and ammo, both for window positions and for quick grabbing for the roof spot. We are as ready as possible. Now we wait.

  * * *

  JOURNAL ENTRY: February 9

  The response from the community was stunning! Every male from fifteen years old to seventy, and several women volunteered. They showed up at the township hall with rifles in hand and ammo filling their pockets once they understood the potential danger. The rest of the women prepared in town. Many of them were ready to shoot or make a stand, while the others offered whatever support would be needed.

  Danny was sent to drop a load of logs at the Big Guppy, and Ken and Karen organized the volunteers. A total of twenty-five men and women, armed to protect their town and their lives, headed for the small settlement of Midway Village, less than a quarter mile stretch of a dozen homes. Lenny was sent ahead to be a lookout. His electric four-wheeler was incredibly quiet and he took up a position a mile south of the village slightly past a bend in the road. Having him there to give the alarm will make a world of difference to those waiting.

  * * *

  While the blockade of logs kept the gang from using the road, what I hadn’t counted on was the creek freezing. A couple of the snowmobiles charged around the logs through the snow, only to discover a frozen marshland that was not even remotely capable of stopping the determined four-wheelers. Onward they came. When Lenny saw the first sled go around the bridge, he headed back the short distance to Midway to spread the warning. Fortunately, everyone was in place. Unfortunately they’d been there for hours, and many were getting tired. The roar of sleds and wheelers could be heard a mile off, and the adrenaline started pumping, wiping out any signs of fatigue.

  As anticipated, when the Wheelers came upon the first of the houses, they slowed down for a better look, likely scoping out which would be worth ransacking first. Once most of them were within the fire-zone, the concealed shooters opened up. With fire coming at them from both sides, those that could roared past and kept going north. Out of two dozen men on eighteen ATVs, only ten were killed. Two of our men went down. George, a sweet old man, managed to drop two of the Wheelers before he was shot, and a youth I was not familiar with was fatally wounded. There should have been higher totals. It should have been like shooting fish in a barrel. In hindsight there was fear of hitting each other. The Wheelers’ numbers were down, but not enough, and now they were prepared for resistance.

  * * *

  The FRS squawked. “I just spotted five machines pulling into our road. They’re coming in slow and cautious,” David whispered into the hand radio.

  Jason zipped up his waiting snow coveralls, pockets already packed with full magazines, pulled on his hat and gloves, grabbed his rifle and was out the deck door within thirty seconds to take up his position on the roof.

  “Don! Did you get that?” John called on into his hand-held unit.

  “I’m on it. Out,” my brother answered.

  John opened two front windows just enough to stick a barrel out. He manned the bedroom window and I would take the dining room because it was closest to Jacob.

  “Jacob, I need a really big favor. You need to keep Tufts from getting scared. Can you do that for me?” Tufts had finally come to accept Jacob, and spent most nights sleeping with him.

  Jacob nodded.

  “It’s going to get noisy, so I want you to wear these, okay?” I gave him shooter ear muffs. He grinned. “You know what makes Tufts feel really safe?” I asked. “Being under the covers! So maybe you could keep Tufts under the blankets. Okay?” Jacob grinned again and put the muffs on. I covered him and the cat with two layers of blankets. With the windows open it would chill off fast in here.

  David called on the FRS, “One of Wheelers is hanging back. He’s mine. You’ve got four.”

  John had the AR-15, and the twelve-gauge, both with extra magazines. I had the M-14, extra mags and the twenty gauge. I gazed into his clear blue eyes. He gave me a deep kiss and turned to take up his position. I was hoping for a certain declaration from him that never came.

  My window had a low sill, so I tossed a seat cushion on the floor to kneel on, set the barrel of the M-14 out the window and glanced down at the three full magazines on the floor by my side when the first Wheeler slowed in front of the house.

  My insides turned liquid with fear, and I shivered
. A shot then rang out from across the road. Don! The Wheelers turned as one unit towards Don’s house. The furthest one to the south raised his rifle. Everything dropped into slow motion. He fired. My brother jerked from the impact and fell backwards, the wooden deck rails offering no protection at all. Instantly, Nancy burst out the front door from the relative safety of the house, screaming for Don. The third shot hit in the center of Nancy’s bright yellow “Welcome to Florida” t-shirt and a large red blossom appeared. She crumpled to the deck.

  “Nooooooo!” I yelled, the guttural sound escaping from my throat without me realizing it or recognizing it. Within seconds, another shot was fired, and that shooter’s head exploded like a ripe watermelon. Jason got him! The other three now turned toward us, raising their weapons. There was a barrage of gunfire. John got the next one, then Jason nailed his second and John took out the final one. Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard Jacob crying for us to stop the noise but I had to ignore him. There was now silence and no movement. A distant double tap shot followed more silence. David had taken out the fifth gang member. Other than the fire at my brother and his wife, the gang members never got off a shot.

  I could hear Jason trampling across the roof. He scrambled down the ladder and was back in the house within moments. I stood, my knees shaking with fear and anger. I’m sure I set my rifle down because it was no longer in my hands. When I tried opening the door, John grabbed me from behind and held on, stopping me from doing something perhaps very foolish.

  “Wait for us! First, your coat and gloves. Make sure your safety is off!” John yelled and reluctantly let me go. I had to get across the road to my brother!

  Jason was talking to Jacob quietly and he stopped crying. Everything remained fuzzy and surreal. The three of us went out of the door and cautiously moved toward the downed gang members, our hand guns drawn. None of them appeared to be moving, but my anger was now boiling over. Purely in a vindictive action, I put a bullet in the head of the closest one.

  We picked up our pace. John and Jason finished making sure this scum wouldn’t move again. We came to the last one; there was little of his head left.

  “Nice shot,” John said, clapping Jason on the shoulder. Then he viciously kicked the body. We are all capable of extreme anger under the right circumstances.

  “It wasn’t soon enough, though,” Jason choked. He was close to his uncle.

  When I reached the porch, I almost lost it. There was the lifeless body of my only brother, lying half across the picnic table. His wife’s body was by his side, a pool of crimson blood forming beneath her where it didn’t drip through the slats of the cedar decking. I reached out and brushed a lock of gray hair away from Don’s empty eyes, a gesture he never would have tolerated had he been alive. I sobbed while sinking to my knees, checking for a non-existent pulse.

  “We have to move them inside,” Jason said. “Mom… Mom!!”

  I turned to him, but didn’t really see him.

  “Mom. Focus! Go in the house and get us two blankets or sheets.”

  My world wasn’t functioning. We put Don and Nancy each on a sheet, moving them one at a time, and laid them side-by-side in the kitchen. Burial would have to wait.

  We were back across the road and nearly to the house when the FRS squawked again. “Here come more!”

  We ran.

  Jason, still in his insulated one-piece, grabbed his rifle and headed once more for the roof. I opened my window and took a deep breath. John came up behind me and said, “Don’t hesitate, just shoot. There’s no one left to hurt except those that deserve it.”

  Five more Wheelers came roaring down our quiet road. They slowed and drove their RV’s around the other machines and the bodies on the ground then stopped. When the first one dismounted his machine, Jason fired from the roof. A clean neck shot nearly took his head off and the Wheeler crumpled where he stood.

  I felt an angry chill surge through me and I fired, again and again. Although they shot back, they couldn’t see us, but we sure could see them. I emptied my first clip and slammed another one in place as glass shattered in front of me. One of the Wheelers raised his hands in surrender. We weren’t taking prisoners.

  I lost a few windows, and it was over in a matter of minutes. There were now nineteen dead Wheelers, two men from town, and my brother and his wife.

  * * *

  Ken and Karen followed the four wheel tracks down my road, and climbed out of their new scout car with weapons drawn. The road was a mess with bodies and four wheelers. Some of the machines were overturned, a few still running. Several of the machines were riddled with bullet holes. One of those lying on the ground moved, twitched. Ken walked over and silenced him permanently.

  * * *

  “Allexa? Are you guys okay?” Karen called out nervously while Ken continued walking among the dead.

  I grabbed my jacket and stepped out the door, glass crunching underfoot. “We’re all right, but my brother…he… they’re both dead.” I choked on that word: dead. It didn’t seem real.

  “Karen!” Ken yelled. “We’ve got a problem.” He made his way back to where we were standing. “I count nine here, plus the ten in Midway. We’re missing five of these scumbags. We need to get into Moose Creek, pronto.”

  “I’m leaving two pickups here, plus Donnie and Josh to help get these pieces of crap off the road,” he said to me. “They’ll push the machines off to the side and we’ll deal with them later.”

  “Go take care of the town, Ken, we’ll finish up here,” I said, gazing out at the road.

  * * *

  The Moose Creek Militia caught up to the Wheelers at Fram’s, where they were attempting to steal gas. Fram’s wasn’t open. Joe had already shut it down. The pumps didn’t work without the generator running the power. The Wheelers were frustrated and there was no one to bully or force to do their will. Not until Marilyn Harris made the mistake of pulling into the parking lot. The five outlaws, now grubby from days of travel and wreaking havoc on unsuspecting locals, turned to the big blue pick-up truck.

  Marilyn got out of the driver’s door, much to the dismay of Pastor Carolyn, who was riding in the shotgun position. She took with her Bill’s twelve gauge shotgun. Marilyn didn’t have the same reservations that Bill did about a loaded gun in the car, and she didn’t see any reason to keep it in the backseat either.

  One of the prisoners smiled and walked toward her, hands open.

  “Lovely lady, perhaps you can help us. My friends and I here are just trying to purchase some gas so we can get back home, but the pumps don’t seem to be working,” he said, walking with a slow and steady gait, maintaining eye contact with Marilyn.

  Marilyn raised her twelve-gauge to firing position.

  “You won’t need that, we mean you no harm,” he said, continuing to advance. When he was ten feet away, Marilyn fired, not only knocking him off his feet, but blasting him fifteen feet backward. The Militia arrived in time to see Marilyn’s shot.

  The remaining four gang members surrendered. Rising from behind their stalled machines, they raised their hands in defeat. Karen raised her freshly loaded shotgun, while Ken stepped closer. The various vehicles belonging to the other members of the newly formed militia came to a stop. The men and women emptied into the parking lot, creating a seemingly impenetrable line of rifles, shotguns, and handguns. One at a time, the prisoners dropped to their knees and assumed a well-rehearsed position: face down, arms outspread, ankles crossed.

  Ken stepped even closer. “We don’t have a judge here in this little town, so you four are stuck with me. I find you guilty.”

  He shot each of them in the back of the head.

  The men and women of the Moose Creek Militia were stunned. From in their midst, Buddy clapped. Soon, everyone was applauding and cheering.

  Karen pulled Marilyn aside and asked, “Why did you wait so long to shoot, Marilyn? You let that guy get awfully close to you!”

  Marilyn cast her eyes down sheepishly and repl
ied, “I’m a terrible shot, and I didn’t want to miss!”

  * * *

  Ken sat in the passenger’s seat in the cab of the flatbed truck, with Bob Lakeland behind the wheel. Their gruesome cargo was covered with a tarp.

  “Sheriff, I’m not asking if you will take these criminals back, I’m asking you where you want them,” Ken explained over the radio to Sheriff Lacey.

  “No you don’t understand! We will not keep these bodies.”

  There was a short pause.

  “Yes, bodies. Every last one of those scum are dead. We lost four good people in Moose Creek, plus whoever these guys killed along the way. It was unanimous that you get them back. If you don’t tell me where to take them, Bill, I’m going to dump them right here and right now.”

  * * *

  What we didn’t know when all this started, was who the gang was comprised of. Marquette has a maximum security prison where the worst of the offenders are kept. With limited resources in the county, some of the prisoners were out on a work crew, clearing snow, freeing up fire-hydrants and shoveling roofs for seniors. They killed the single guard who was assigned to watch them, buried him in a snow bank and took off. Approximately two dozen of them raided an RV store, leaving with winter gear, helmets and eighteen four-wheelers and snow-mobiles after killing the entire staff. From there, they overwhelmed the two armed guards at the sporting goods store and cleaned out the stock of high powered rifles, filling knapsacks with all the ammo that would fit. Two of the younger prisoners took turns raping the young girl behind the counter before beating her and leaving her for dead. She survived, barely, and will need reconstructive surgery that just isn’t available anymore.