Home Coming (The Survivalist Book 10)

by A. American

  Cecil’s eyes went wide. “Steak?” He nearly shouted. “Say no more! I’m definitely in!”

  “Thought you might want to come,” Sarge said.

  “Where are these folks?”

  “Out off of forty-two.”

  Cecil nodded, “That big ranch there by four fifty. I know where you’re talking about. Didn’t know there was anyone out there.”

  Taking a sip of my own tea, I said, “They’ve been laying low. Unsure of just what was going on. Sounds like they’ve got a few people out there.”

  “Boy,” Cecil said and wiped his chin, “I ain’t had any beef since you all gave me some. That sure would be good.”

  “Well, tomorrow you can eat till your belly busts,” Sarge replied.

  “What time?”

  “They said after noon. We’ll come up and get you and carry you home afterwards,” I answered.

  “That sure will be fine. Just come here and get me. I’ll be up here waiting on you.”

  We looked out at the stand of corn. It was starting to turn brown, the stalks dying and beginning to wither. I asked, “How much longer till it’s ready?”

  “Not much longer. But it’s going to be tough to get enough people out here to pick it all. I’m fearing we’re going to lose a bunch. So many folks are gone now. We’re going to be short of hands.”

  “We’ll get it picked,” Sarge replied. “If it takes all of us working day and night. We can’t let any of it go to waste.”

  “We’ll be up here tomorrow to get you, Cecil. We have to go find Mitch to take care of some other business now,” I said.

  “Alright, fellers. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  We left Cecil in the shade of the tree and headed into Eustis. As Sarge pulled out onto nineteen, a sense of loss came over me. I used to bitch about having to go to Eustis to see Sheffield and Livingston. But today, I wish they were there to visit. We rode through what was left of the town. The blackened and charred remains still littered the streets and impacts where rockets had blasted away the road, sidewalks and curbs were still very evident. The place was a ghost town. The once busy lakeside park was empty, save the shattered trees and playground equipment littering the grounds. The tables the traders used were also destroyed and not a soul ventured there. Even the gallows so much work had been put into were burned to the ground. We turned east on forty-four and headed towards Mitch’s place.

  With so much of the town destroyed and so many to be buried, we’d selected a spot on the edge of town as the cemetery. Lake Gracie was just a few blocks east of downtown and I suggested we ride over there and see how it was going.

  “Might as well,” Sarge replied as he turned onto Prescott Street.

  Shane and Shawn were heading up the burial detail. They managed to find a small excavator and with the help of Scott and Terry, got it running. The deceased residents of Eustis were being interred in mass graves. It was awful work, but it needed to be done.

  “Must be close,” I said as I wrinkled my nose. You could smell the location long before you could see it.

  “I recognize the smell,” Sarge replied.

  We stopped a short distance from where the excavator was working. Shawn sat in the seat, a bandana tied around his face as he dug the long ditch. It took a long time to dig them as they had to be wide enough for the bodies to be laid in and deep enough. The machine was seriously undersized for such a project, but it was all we had.

  Shane was at the other end of the trench with a group of men who were loading the bodies on a small wagon connected to an ATV that would carry them over to the trench where other men would place them into their final resting place. The bodies looked like something out of Civil War photographs. They were bloated and swollen. Blackened from lying exposed as space was made for them. Fluids ran from every opening and each body was torn apart to varying degrees. Many were in pieces and care was taken to try and keep the bodies together. Flies filled the air and the stench assaulted the nostrils under the brutal Florida heat. It really was a terrible scene.

  As I walked towards Shane, I choked on the smell. It hung thick in the air, a presence unto itself that couldn’t be ignored. Or so I thought until I looked over at Sarge. He appeared to take no notice of the assault on the senses and strolled along as though he were walking through the park.

  “How can you stand this?” I asked as I shook my bandana out and covered my nose.

  “Seen it all before,” was all he said.

  Shane looked worn out. He was soaked in sweat and filthy from the task he managed. He pulled the cloth down that was covering his face as we approached.

  “This the last one?” Sarge asked, looking at the trench.

  He nodded, “Yeah. Thank God. This is it.”

  I looked over at the line of at least thirty corpses lying in the sun. My eyes didn’t linger though. I didn’t want to see the maggots that were certainly there. They were of all ages. Men, women, kids. Teenagers and elderly. “You guys need anything?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. We’ll finish this today. I wish we could do something for the men that worked on this though. It wasn’t easy.”

  “We’ll do something for all of you,” Sarge replied.

  “What was the total?” I asked.

  Shane looked down the long scar in the dirt where previous trenches had been filled. “It was three-hundred and seventy-three.”

  “That’s a hell of a lot of people,” I replied.

  “And we’re still finding them. People come and tell us where a body is, and we go collect it. It’s not too hard to find them now, depending on which way the wind is blowing.”

  I shook my head. “It’s awful that these people managed to survive the aftermath of the EMP, eking out a living in all this shit, and then this happened to them.”

  “It’s the way the world works, Morgan,” Sarge replied. He still looked totally unphased by all of this.

  “Let’s hope there’s a little change to the way things are,” I said.

  “I sure as hell hope so. I don’t ever want to have to do this again,” Shane said.

  “We’ll leave you to it,” Sarge said. “We have things to tend to.” I gave Shane a nod, he returned it grimly and we left them to complete their morbid task.

  We found Mitch at his house. He came out to meet us when we pulled up. Smiling, he waved as we got out. “What brings you guys out here?”

  “Well, we got some business for you, your honor,” Sarge said.

  Mitch never did like the formal address and it showed on his face. “What kind of business?”

  “We have a couple of people that were stealing from some of the traders in Altoona. There isn’t a jail anymore and I don’t know what to do with them,” I replied.

  Mitch scratched his head. “I don’t really know either.”

  “What has to happen,” Sarge said, “is you have to go out there. Hold court there and pass sentence. In front of everyone.”

  “What kind of sentence can we pass? Town is destroyed. We can’t jail them or anything. There isn’t a farm to put them to work on. There aren’t really any people there anymore.”

  “Corporal punishment,” Sarge replied.

  “What?” Both Mitch and I asked.

  “Just that. Corporal punishment. It’s all we have left,” Sarge replied.

  “And who the hell is going to do that?” I asked.

  Sarge pointed at me, “You’re the Sheriff. It’s up to you. I can’t do it.” He pointed at Mitch, “he’s the judge; he can’t do it. You’re the law enforcement; it’s your job.”

  “He’s got a point,” Mitch said.

  “I don’t want to do that shit!”

  Sarge took a deep breath and looked at me, “I’m sure you can find someone in your crew to take the job.”

  I started to ask just who in the hell would want such a job, then I realized who he was talking about. I nodded. “Alright. Let’s ride out there. While you two hold court, I’ll go get him. But we n
eed to figure out just what sort of punishment we’re going to mete out.”

  “We’ll discuss that on the way back.”

  Looking at Sarge, I asked, “You going to bring him back tonight? Or do you expect him to walk?”

  “Mitch,” Sarge said, “Why don’t you and Michelle come out and stay the night with us tonight. We’re going to a little shindig tomorrow and you should probably be there as well.”

  “What sort of a shindig?”

  “A bar-b-que,” I said. “Steaks.”

  “Like, beef?” He nearly shouted.

  “Not like beef; it is beef!” Sarge exclaimed.

  Mitch held up a finger and disappeared into the house. He returned shortly with Michelle and a small bag. Sarge laughed and asked, “I assume then, it’s a yes?”

  “Mitch said we were going to have steaks?” Michelle asked.

  “Tomorrow,” I nodded.

  “What are we waiting for then?” Mitch asked.

  On the ride back to Altoona, we discussed what sort of corporal punishments would be appropriate for such things as theft. Sarge naturally was a little heavy handed in his ideas and Mitch and I had to shoot down several of them; one was even to bring back the wooden horse. This was a medieval punishment where one straddled a square post, set so one of the corners faced up and weights were hung around the legs. Just the idea of it made me woozy.

  In the end, it was Michelle that settled it. “Caning,” she said. “Remember years ago, the story of the kid in Singapore that was caught vandalizing cars or something. They did it to him.”

  “Yeah,” Mitch said as he recalled the incident. “It’s not permanent and will certainly get the point across.”

  “But, who’s going to do it?” Michelle asked.

  “I have the man,” I replied.

  Once we got back to the market, I got out and checked on Mel. She and Shelly were sitting in the shade talking when we pulled up. I told her I had to run back to the house and I’d be back. She said she’d stay there and asked why I was going back.

  “To get Dalton,” I said.

  I found Dalton with Mike and Ted and some of the Guardsmen. They were hanging out in the shade of a tree, trying to avoid the heat. When I got out of the Hummer, Mike looked at me and asked, “How bad is it?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Whatever happened to have you driving the old man’s Hummer around.”

  “I need Dalton,” I said.

  He was sitting on a bucket sharpening his kukri and looked up. “What’s up?”

  “We have a situation. We’ve got some guys that were caught stealing. There is no jail now. But there have to be consequences. We can’t let people think they can do whatever they want.”

  Dalton nodded, “Going old school? What’s it to be?”

  “Caning,” I replied.

  He nodded again. “And you want me to do it?”

  “If you will.”

  “I’ll do it!” Mike shouted as he jumped up.

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Why the hell not?” He asked.

  “First, you’re still part of the Army. So, we can’t have you going around beating people. Second, you want to.”

  “Thank you,” Ted said with a nod.

  “Oh, that’s bullshit. Did the old man say that?” Mike asked.

  “No, I did. This is my job. But as the Sheriff, I shouldn’t do it either. It needs to be a third party to keep it right.”

  Dalton rose to his feet. “I’ll do it. Give me a minute.”

  “Well, can we at least come watch?” Mike asked.

  “I don’t care. Maybe you should take notes,” I said.

  Ted laughed, “Yeah, so when it’s your turn to be caned, you’ll know what to expect.”

  “Shit, ain’t nobody beating me with a cane.”

  “Tell that to Dalton,” I said with a laugh.

  “You’d just have to shoot that big bastard,” Mike replied. “You ain’t got to shoot every bastard, but you would have to shoot him.”

  Dalton returned with a long cane pole. He studied it for a minute then cut the really flexible thin end off several feet from the tip. Then he held it up and swung it a couple of times. He then took about a foot off the other end and tested it again. After one more modification, he judged it suitable.

  “The point here isn’t to break the skin,” Dalton said. “Though, depending on the number of licks, it could happen. This is just to get the point across to them.”

  “We’ve done it before. It looks about right to me,” I said.

  “How many licks they getting?” Ted asked.

  “I don’t know. Mitch is there now holding court. Let’s get over there and get this done. You guys drive this and I’ll take the Suburban. We’ve got a few people to bring back.”

  By the time we made it back to town, the issue was settled. The two men were surely guilty, and many people had testified against them. While it wasn’t the crime of the century, the men had been stealing from their neighbors. And the stealing of food was one of the highest crimes you could commit in our current situation.

  “So, what’s the word?” I asked.

  “Guilty, both of them,” Mitch replied. There were plenty of witnesses to testify. They’ve been doing it for a long time.

  “Sentence?”

  Mitch hesitated for a moment. Letting out a loud breath, he replied, “Five lashes; that’s five each.”

  Looking at the two men, I announced for all to hear, “You’ve been tried and found guilty of stealing food from your neighbors. Your sentence is five lashes each from a cane. To be carried out immediately.” Neither of them protested. They were either in disbelief or shock.

  The men were moved over to the gas island. As we were preparing to cuff their hands around one of the supports for the canopy, Dalton said to remove their shirts. “It’ll probably cut their shirts. No sense ruining them.”

  He was right, clothing, good clothing, was hard to come by. So, the shirts the men were wearing were removed. They naturally complained during all this.

  “You can’t do this! This is cruel and unusual punishment! We have rights!” One of them shouted.

  As his hands were forced around the column, I said, “Your neighbors have rights too. You violated those rights. You did this to yourself. You’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

  Once both men were secured, I turned to face the crowd. “Let this be a lesson to you all! This is how crime will be dealt with now. Our jail is destroyed, justice will be administered on the street, at the time and place of the crime. No long appeals. No courtroom shenanigans. If you’re found guilty, you will be punished.” I looked at Dalton and gave him a nod.

  Dalton squared up to the first man and checked the distance by holding out the cane. He brought it back and delivered what I thought a forceful, yet measured strike to the man’s back, just below his shoulder blades. The man’s knees went weak and he cried out in a shriek of pain. But it didn’t deter Dalton and he delivered four more. By the last strike, the man no longer complained. He was slumped on his knees, his back covered in thick red welts with blood running from a couple of the deeper impacts.

  The crowd, which up to this point was jeering and cat calling, had fallen silent when the punishment began. Not a sound could be heard, save the cane cutting through the air, then cutting into the flesh. These people wanted retribution. They wanted vengeance, but as is the case most of the time, imagining it and seeing it are two different things. Their enthusiasm quickly faded.

  Dalton left the first man in a sobbing heap and stepped over to the next. He was wild with fear, pulling against the cuffs trying to free himself. He shouted in near hysteria, his eyes wide and spittle hanging from his mouth and chin as he looked back over his shoulder. He was firmly in the grip of abject fear.

  As Dalton stepped up behind him, he turned his head to see the big man and began shouting, “You don’t have to do this! No, no, no, no, no….” His pleas were cut short whe
n the first blow landed. His groveling stopped as his mouth hung open in a silent scream. It appeared his eyes rolled back and for a moment, his body went rigid. Then he was able to take a breath and let out a blood curdling scream.

  Dalton completed the sentence in a very mechanical fashion. The blows were delivered evenly and with an even gap between them. When the last lash landed, Dalton turned and walked away. The men’s restraints were removed and both of them collapsed to the ground. The crowd that so eagerly wanted their blood earlier, gave them a wide birth. Most trying hard to not make eye contact.

  I followed Dalton over to the truck where he tossed the cane into the back. “You alright with this?” I asked.

  He shrugged, “I didn’t enjoy it. I didn’t not enjoy it. It’s just a task that needs to be done. We can’t have people running around here thinking they can do as they please. It drives home a serious message. If people know that justice will be handed out immediately, they are far less tempted to try and steal, rob or commit other crimes the rest of the community has agreed cannot be allowed. It is what it is.”

  “Just wanted to make sure you were good with it. You sure that it didn’t bother you?”

  Dalton laughed. “No, this doesn’t bother me. Hell, in my youth I once beat a man with a car antenna. I told him to go away. But he wouldn’t listen. So, as I’m unscrewing the antenna from his car he kept asking, what the hell you gonna do with that? Once I got it off, I showed him. I beat him like a slave. A good beating delivers a lasting message that one is not apt to forget. I think this is the best way to deal with such things and I have no problem being that guy.”

  As we were loading up to head home, Mario walked over. “Damn, Morgan. You’re going all medieval.”

  “What else are we supposed to do? Can’t just let people rob and steal from others.”

  “I’m with you. I think it will have a profound effect on the folks around here. Them standing there and watching those two take that beating will leave an impression.”

  “That’s the point. You need anything before we leave? You still having trouble with people trying to poach your honey?”

  He shook his head. “No, we’re good. We deal with them as we catch them.”