Daunting Days of Winter

by Ray Gorham

  Rose knew Max was protective and likely growling, but she also knew that he had slowed with age and was limited in what he was able to do. “Stop, Max,” she said under her breath. “Come here, boy. Please!” Max and the man were an arms length apart when the man stopped. Max hesitated as well, sniffed in the direction of the approaching man and barked, backing up a step.

  Before she could react, the man took his gun by the barrel and swung it quickly overhead, striking Max across his head with a savage blow. Max tried to dodge but was too slow. The blow dropped him to the ground on his side, where he writhed in pain. The man lifted his rifle again and brought it down across Max’s head a second time.

  Rose gasped and staggered backwards as the man swung a third time, shocked at the brutality of his attack. She laid one rifle on the ground, lowered herself to a knee and brought the other rifle into firing position. She found the man in the scope of the gun as he turned and motioned to the others. He was laughing as he looked back down at Max, lying immobile at his feet, then he stepped forward and kicked the dog viciously.

  Rose brought the crosshairs to a point at the base of the man’s throat and pulled the trigger. With the rifle sighted in for one hundred yards, the bullet dropped over the longer distance and struck the man just below his ribcage, entering with a dime-sized hole and knocking him backwards onto the ground in front of the pickup.

  Rose chambered another bullet as she turned her attention to the men at the truck. The other two had gotten out and began approaching the house while Max was being beaten. Now they scrambled back towards the truck, unsure of where the shots were coming from. Rose took aim at one of the running men and pulled the trigger, but only heard the distant thud of a bullet striking metal.

  A gunshot rang out, and branches a few feet away from Rose cracked and fell as the bullet cut its way through the forest. She scrambled to the cover of a tree as she chambering another bullet, then peered out from behind her cover. The three men had retreated behind the vehicle, rifles visible and leveled in her direction. They appeared to be talking, the first man motioning to the far side of the house where barns and fences would provide cover almost to the tree line five hundred yards to her right. If any of the men were to make that far Rose knew she would be in a precarious situation.

  Shielded by a tree, Rose trained her rifle on the man taking directions and followed him through her sight as he rushed towards the back of her home. Attached to the corner of the house was a six-foot chain link fence. When the man stopped to remove the chain on the gate, Rose fired twice, working the bolt like a professional, striking him in the hip with the second shot. The man clutched at his hip as he fell, twisting on the ground in pain. Rose could see that the wound wasn’t fatal, but knew it would take him out of the action for the foreseeable future.

  In Rose’s mind, the men were not only responsible for Max’s death but also for her neighbor’s barn being burned and for the general sense of fear and hopelessness she’d encountered on her recent visits. These people, neighbors and friends, families that had been independent, self-sufficient, hard-working and decent, were being driven from their homes by these bandits, these rats, these putrid pieces of scum who felt justified in terrorizing good people simply because they were hungry, had weapons, and hadn’t found anyone able to stop them. Well Rose was going to stop them. And if it meant burying four bodies in her front yard, so be it.

  The passenger door on the truck slammed shut and Rose heard the engine start. Through her scope she saw the driver’s hand on the steering wheel, but his head was out of sight. She stood for a better view of the driver, but he was still hidden, so she took aim at the truck instead and fired. The bullet left a hole in the lower half of the truck door but was too low to do damage. The pitch of the engine dropped, and the truck rolled forward, then stopped, blocking her view of the man on the ground.

  Rose’s rifle was empty; she quickly grabbed her other gun and prepared to fire. This rifle, a Savage 223, didn’t have a scope or the dropping power of her Mossberg 30-06, but it was loaded and ready to shoot. She could see movement behind the truck, but only occasionally did a head pop up above the hood, and never long enough or still enough to justify taking a shot from this distance. Impatient, she fired a couple shots into the door of the truck, then set the gun down and hurried to reload her Mossberg.

  She heard the truck moving and watched as it circle across her front yard, then take out the rail fence and head back towards the road. Rose fired the three shots she had loaded, striking the truck twice and noticing that it jerked to the side after her second shot before it could retreat towards the freeway. As the truck disappeared, she sank to the ground. A wave of nausea sweeping over her. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air, and the acrid stench burned her nostrils and made her angry that she had had to kill, angry that she was alone, and angry that people around her were giving up.

  The image of Max’s crumpled body drove her to her feet. She ran back to her horse, which was skittish from the gunfire, and mounted, whipping him with the reins to hurry him home.

  The body of the first man was still in the driveway, just a few feet from where Max lay. She approached him slowly, her rifle readied. The body lay in a circle of red, the rocks and sand now dark with the stain of spilt blood. His arms were spread out wide, his mouth and eyes both open, and one leg was cocked at an awkward angle. One hand still clutched the rifle he’d used to bludgeon Max.

  Rose pushed the man’s head with the tip of her rifle, and it rolled limply to the side, releasing a thin stream of blood from the corner of the mouth. Rose kicked the gun from the man’s hand then moved slowly towards Max, her dear friend’s lifeless body bringing on a flood of emotion. His head was distorted and bloody, but she reached out and stroked his shoulder, treasuring the softness of his fur and the comfort of his presence, knowing those things would just be memories, yet another part of her life that had been ripped away by this disaster that never seemed to end. Rose buried her face in Max’s still warm side and wept.

  When she was cried out, Rose removed the deer carcass and pack from Smokey, got back in the saddle, and spurred her horse towards her closest neighbors where the smoke was coming from. The mile and a half ride to Fanny and Lloyd’s home took longer than normal, as Rose had never felt so vulnerable or as much of a target. The fear of vengeful men willing and ready to shoot her, or worse, plagued her thoughts and made her jump at every unexpected movement or sound.

  By the time she reached her neighbors’ farm, the fire had mostly burned itself out, the hay barn now a smoldering pile of ash that stirred in the breeze and left dark blots of ash on the patches of snow that surrounded it. From the drive she could see a spray of dark splatters on the white vinyl siding, along with a mound behind the rails of the front porch. She knew what she would find, but approached the house anyway.

  The bodies lay to the side of the front door, Lloyd on the bottom, his rifle beside him, and Fanny sprawled face down on top of Lloyd, their blood pooling together on the weathered deck boards. Fanny’s long, gray hair fanned down and covered Lloyd’s face. They had celebrated their forty-fifth wedding anniversary the previous June with a cruise to the Bahamas, and Rose had been sure they’d have many more, but that was before. Now nothing was sure. The world was in a slow motion collapse, and not only couldn’t she stop it, and she couldn’t even get off.

  As she walked back to her horse, Rose assessed her situation. Her dog was dead, as were her closest neighbors. The surrounding ranches and farms were being abandoned. There was a dead man in her driveway and men somewhere nearby who were injured, angry, motivated to kill her. Everything was changing so fast. Her existence, boring and mundane as it was, was shredded and wrenched from her control in the course of a morning, thrown into the hands of others who didn’t know or care about Rose Duncan. But she still had the freedom to choose, and they could only take that from her if she willingly gave it up. She refused to let that happen, refused to give anyone control over h
er.

  The body was still in her driveway when she returned home, just as it had been an hour before, and she stared down at it from her saddle. “You will never win!” she sneered, her voice low and powerful. “You can threaten my life, but I will never, ever give you my spirit.” She spit at him, her saliva splattering on the man’s blood-drained face. Rose smiled for the first time all day.

  CHAPTER 11

  Wednesday, January 18th

  Deer Creek, MT

  Jennifer hurried down the basement stairs, the scared look on her face alerting Kyle that something was wrong. “Kyle, some people are here to see you. Sean, Gabe, and a couple others.”

  He’d been drifting in and out of sleep for twenty minutes before Jennifer’s footsteps had roused him. “What do they want?”

  Jennifer shook her head. “Just said they need to talk to you, but something doesn’t seem right. Their faces, it’s just, I don’t know. Hurry, okay?”

  Kyle dressed and was quickly upstairs. “Hey,” he said, addressing the men. “Jennifer said you wanted to see me? What’s up?” Sean, Gabe, Ty Lewis and a man Kyle didn’t recognize stood uncomfortably in the living room.

  “We found the girl from Clinton,” Sean said, looking from Kyle to Gabe.

  “Is she alright?” Kyle asked, but he knew the answer. Four people didn’t show up to give you good news.

  “We found her body, Kyle,” Gabe said. “A couple of hours ago.”

  “Oh no. I’m really sorry to hear that,” Kyle said as he dropped into a chair. “What happened?”

  Sean shook his head. “We don’t know for sure. Still trying to figure that out. Thought maybe you could help us.”

  Spencer bounded into the room. “Dad!” he shouted, jumping up on Kyle’s lap. “You’re awake! Can we play a game?”

  Kyle gently pushed Spencer off his lap. “Not now, son. Go find your mother. I’m a little busy.” He turned back to Sean, his heart beating a little harder. “I don’t know what to tell you more than what I said this morning. It was pretty quiet last night, but cold. Was it exposure?”

  The men looked nervous and hesitant, their eyes not willing to meet Kyle’s. “Kyle,” Ty finally spoke up. “We found her body in your house, your old one. It appears she was raped and strangled.” Ty’s gaze dropped to the floor as he spoke.

  Jennifer gasped from the doorway of the kitchen, and they all turned to look at her. “You found her where?”

  Sean answered. “In the basement of your home, the empty one. Her pants were down around her knees; it looks like she was sexually assaulted.”

  “Wait,” Jennifer interrupted. She led Spencer and Emma out of the kitchen and down to the basement. The men waited in silence for her to return. “Go on,” she said as she walked back into the room.

  Kyle could see her hands shaking. He smiled at her and mouthed, “It’s okay,” but he felt a dead weight in his stomach and didn’t know if he believed it himself.

  “I forgot your kids were in there,” Sean apologized.

  Jennifer shook her head, but didn’t say anything, her voice lost.

  “A searcher saw her through a basement window, but the house was locked. Her pants were down around her knees, and there was bruising on her neck. We don’t know if she died from the cold or from an assault, but it wasn’t accidental.”

  Kyle tried to swallow, but his throat was too tight. “Do you need the key? Is that why you’re here?”

  “It’s not,” Sean said, his voice nervous. “They broke in, the searchers. Thought she might still be alive. We’re here for you, Kyle. We need you to come with us.”

  “What do you need Kyle for?” Jennifer asked, her voice uneven and rising. “He already told you he doesn’t know anything.”

  “Jennifer, we’re sorry,” Gabe said as he stepped towards Jennifer. “This is just a real bad situation. We need to talk to Kyle, in private.”

  “But he’s already told you…He doesn’t even get paid anything to do that stupid job. You think he had something to do with this?”

  “Jennifer! It’s okay,” Kyle said, stopping his wife. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. “I didn’t do anything; they’ll figure that out. It’s going to be fine!”

  She was crying, wiping at her eyes with her hands. “You just got back. Don’t go,” she pled. “Just stay here. Please!”

  “I have to go. If I don’t, it’ll look bad. I trust them.” He looked at Sean. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Do you have any weapons on you?”

  “No,” Kyle said, lifting his sweatshirt.

  “Then put on your jacket and shoes and come with us.” Sean pointed to the fourth man in their group who hadn’t said anything to this point. “This is Don Anderson. He’s from Clinton, the community rep there.”

  Kyle nodded at him warily, then dressed and followed the group out the door. To his surprise there were four more men waiting outside for them, all with rifles, none looking happy.

  “You guys think I was going to try and run off?” Kyle whispered to Ty upon seeing the armed escort.

  “They’re from Clinton,” Ty answered. “Friends of the girl’s family. Not very happy about what’s gone down. No one is. Not in Deer Creek, Clinton, or anywhere. It’s got everyone shook up.”

  The procession silently made its way down the street towards the militia house, a rare spectacle for the bored residents of Deer Creek that drew gawkers and the curious outside their homes. The mile long journey took fifteen minutes, and the party arrived well before sundown. As they approached, the door was opened from inside, where three more people were waiting.

  “You didn’t cuff him?” an unfamiliar face inside the militia house asked.

  “No,” Sean answered. “No need. He came without any problems, like I told you he would.”

  “Humph,” the man said. He sneered and glared at Kyle. “Don’t go thinking that helps you at all.”

  Kyle heard undisguised derision in the man’s voice and stopped just inside the door. “Have I been arrested or charged with something that I don’t know about?”

  The man focused his glare on Sean.

  Sean held his hands up in front of him. “His wife and kids were there; he was cooperating. I didn’t see the need to escalate the situation. He’s here, isn’t he? Besides, we haven’t even questioned him yet.”

  Kyle froze and looked around the room at the people that were gathered. “You think I killed that girl, don’t you.” Kyle shook his head and spoke directly to Sean. “This is unbelievable. I’ve done nothing!” He turned as if to leave, but the four men from Clinton blocked the door, their weapons at their hips, their fingers poised on the triggers.

  Kyle took a deep breath and turned back inside. “What else do you want me to say? I’ve already told you everything.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Wednesday, January 18th

  Central Wyoming

  Rose struggled with the zipper of her old duffle bag. It hadn’t been used in years, and the metal teeth were unwilling to let the zipper head slide easily along. “Need to oil this,” Rose muttered, aware of her growing tendency to talk to herself, a habit that had recently started to worry her. She pulled the open end of the bag tight with her free hand, pressed down on the zipper and yanked, finally drawing it closed.

  Smokey was hitched to the post by the back door and grazing on some of last year’s grass that was visible through the melting snow. Dusty, Smokey’s mother and the first horse Rose had acquired upon moving back to Wyoming, was tied to Smokey’s saddle and loaded with gear for Rose’s escape. Before arriving home, Rose had determined that not only was she no longer safe in her own home, she was now likely a target of the thugs who’d been there that morning, and she was sure they’d be back. She didn’t plan to be there when they returned.

  Rose walked to the open front door and listened for the sound of a motor while scanning the road. Nothing. She hurried out the back door with the bag, tied it to Dusty’s sadd
le, then went back inside for more. She already had a tent, two sleeping bags, containers of food, and her duffle filled with clothing secured to the horses, along with both rifles and all the ammo she could find.

  A map lay open on the kitchen table. Rose hurried over to it and took another look. Circled in red on the last fold of the Montana map was Deer Creek. “Hope you’re ready to return the favor, Kyle,” she whispered. For a couple of weeks after Kyle had left, she’d thought about following him to Montana, but there had still been people in Wyoming for her, and Max couldn’t have made the trip. Eventually, she’d chalked the notion up to a schoolgirl crush and fragile emotions and brushed it aside.

  With her current situation, however, traveling to Deer Creek crazily seemed like her best alternative. The length of the journey, far longer than any pack trip she’d ever taken, scared her, but she couldn’t think of any more inviting options. She had no strong ties in Denver, where she’d lived long ago. Plus, a large city wasn’t exactly the smartest place for a person to escape to. She had no family around, with one of her sons overseas, and the other in Atlanta, and a distant husband that hadn’t been a part of her life for a long time. None of her neighbors seemed willing or prepared to take her in long term. Her associates in the real estate profession were just that, associates. She belonged to no church, and lived too far from town to have belonged to a bowling league, or anything like that, and it wasn’t like you’d move in with someone you bowled with, at least not for more than a night or two. Looking back, Rose realized her life was disappointingly shallow, consisting of just her kids, her horses, and her job.

  By her reckoning though, Kyle owed her. At great risk to herself, she had saved his life, and in their short time together, he’d become as good a friend as she’d had in the last ten years, maybe longer. If he turned her away, she’d figure something else out, but she didn’t see that happening. He’d had every opportunity to use her and lead her on and hadn’t. He was decent and sincere. He’d broken her heart, but for the best reason she could think of for a man to break a woman’s heart. No, he wouldn’t turn her away. Be surprised to see her? Of course, but she was sure he’d find her a place to stay, at least temporarily, and help her with food and friendship and be someone to talk to.