by Reed, N. C.
Janessa was a local and had obviously known some of the others in her group before the Storm had hit. She had bonded with the remainder of the group during training, seeming to get along well with all the others, including Abby and Sam. While Janessa had also lost her family, albeit to violence rather than a bitter falling out, she was probably six or maybe seven years older than Marcy, years that meant a great deal in terms of maturity. Maturity that might well help Janessa better deal with current events than Marcy could. Not necessarily easier, just better.
Stacey Pryor had men around him that were as good as family and had no difficulty fitting in. Neither had John Barnes, for that matter. Gordy assumed that his Uncle Clay and the others paid about as much attention to their racial differences as Gordy and his own friends did, which was not at all.
Marcy was literally the odd woman out without Titus in the picture. No one on the farm would ever treat her poorly or less than equal with everyone else, but she had clung to Titus when her family situation had come apart and he had become very important to her in more ways than one. He had become a lifeline for her when the world seemed to be crumbling around her yet again. The idea that she might lose him now had to be terrifying to her in a way that Gordy doubted he could fully understand.
But he could lend her his shoulder to cry on, and he did, holding her as she bawled her eyes out against him while they waited to hear from the medical team about Titus’ condition.
“It’s okay, Marcy,” he soothed as best he could. “You know you’re not alone, right? All of us here consider you family. Titus is going to be okay, and we’re going to be right here with you. He’ll be using this for months to get out of working. Probably lay up all winter long, whining and complaining.”
He kept talking to her, low and gentle, until she finally seemed to cry herself out. She tried to pull away from him, but he refused to let her, guiding her instead to a group of chairs along the wall.
“Rest,” he ordered her, placing her on an office sofa, something you would find in an actual waiting room. “Rest and get your calm back, okay? I’m going to get a blanket for you and will be right back. You better be here when I do, too.”
“Or what?” she challenged, a hint of her normal personality shining through.
“You’re not too big to go over my knee, young lady,” he threatened, then grinned at her. She managed a small laugh and stuck her tongue out at him. Shaking his head, he went to a cabinet for a blanket for her and returned only to find her curled into a ball on the sofa, sound asleep. Smiling, he put the blanket over her and then took a seat next to the sofa, keeping his promise to stay with her until they knew anything.
-
It was Patricia who brought the news out to the small waiting area. Clay had joined them after dispatching a truck and more help for Greg, concern showing on his face as Gordy relayed what he knew of the situation.
“Got to expect more of that I guess,” Clay sighed. “Been going on all this time I’m sure. It’s just that now we got the radio system working, so we hear about it.”
“That and Greg has to go check on it,” Gordy nodded. He stopped talking as the door to the clinic opened and his mother stepped out. He carefully shook Marcy’s sleeping form and the girl shot straight up, blanket falling away as she rubbed sleep from her eyes.
“How is he?” she demanded at once. “Is he gonna be okay? Where is he? Can I see him?”
“Easy there,” Patricia smiled, holding a hand up. “He’s still asleep, but yes, he’s going to be fine. He had a bullet lodged in his arm and that was what kept the wound bleeding. Weeping, we call it. It was only a trickle of blood, but it was enough to make the others concerned, and rightly so. But he’s going to be fine. Probably be milking this for all it’s worth for the next month or so, but truthfully he should be okay in no more than two weeks.”
“When can I see him?” Marcy was on her feet.
“You can go in now if you stay quiet,” Patricia told her. “You can sit with him until he wakes up. I’m sure he’d love to see you when he opens his eyes. Just don’t try to wake him. Let him come to on his own. Okay?”
“I will!” Marcy stage whispered as she ran for the clinic door. “Thank you!”
“You’re welcome, dear,” Patricia couldn’t help but laugh. Shaking her head, she turned to her son and brother-in-law.
“I assume you kept her from running in during his treatment?” she asked Gordy.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “I knew as soon as she heard she’d come barreling in here, and she did.”
“Good job,” she patted her son on the shoulder fondly. “When did you grow up on me?” she smiled, kissing his forehead. She turned to Clay.
“He’s okay,” she assured him. “His arm will be sore for a while, and he’s now got a nice bullet to make a necklace out of, but he’s okay.”
“Good to hear,” Clay sighed. “Too much excitement around here lately.”
“Things are a lot quieter than they used to be,” Gordy mentioned. “If what we had before is the alternative, I’ll take this and be just fine, thanks.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Do you know any of these guys?” Kevin Bodee asked as the fifth and final body was brought from the house and settled on the ground.
“That one is Neil Bonney,” Greg pointed to a dark haired, bearded body at the end of the line. “He was a suspect in several robberies, but we could never prove anything. He was always careful. This one,” he kicked the foot of the last body out, “is Kiefer Bone. Never knew the two of them to run together, but I guess stranger stuff has happened of late.”
“Kiefer Bone?” Kevin repeated. “Please tell me that’s not his real name.”
“That is his real name,” Greg confirmed. “His mother was a fan and named him after the actor. Bone was his daddy’s real last name. His mom died when he was maybe seven or so, I think. Raised by his dad’s people after that, and they are complete losers. If any of them are still alive then once this gets out, they’ll paint for war as the saying goes. They’re a big outfit, too. It’ll cause some issues, probably.”
“You don’t think they’ll consider it better to cut their losses, considering?” Kevin motioned to the MRAP behind him.
“Not that bunch,” Greg shook his head. “They-, do you hear that?” he stopped short, tilting his head.
“Vehicle sounds from the south,” Zach reported just then, still in the MRAP they had originally been in. When Greg had sent Titus to the farm for medical attention, he had asked Clay for more help. That help had included Stacey Pryor, Shane Golden, Cliff Laramie and Janessa Haynes, as well as the return of Kevin Bodee, Amanda Lowery and Petra Shannon. They had arrived with the six-wheel MRAP nicknamed Gray Ghost, as well as a pickup truck with a trailer suitable to pull a car if necessary. The Blazer had already been loaded onto the trailer as soon as the top had been replaced. Now people were streaming in and out of the house carrying stolen goods and placing them either in the back of the truck or into the Blazer, depending on what they had found.
“Okay, let’s get deployed!” Greg called. “Vehicles inbound from the wrong direction to be ours! Shane, Stacey, Amanda, Petra, inside the house and on the windows. Be sure and watch the back, Shane. Cliff, you’re inside as well,” he told the sole noncombatant. “Everyone else spread out and be ready to take cover. Kevin, get the gun in the other MRAP manned.”
“On it!” Kevin was already moving. Greg watched as Corey moved to stand by the fender of the Sheriff’s MRAP while Janessa stayed close to the Ghost. He motioned for her to move behind the armored fender of the vehicle and she complied with a nod.
“We’re set,” Shane Golden’s voice sounded in his ear.
“Roger that,” Greg replied. “We’ll just have to see who this is.”
“It’s an MRAP,” Zach said quietly from his vantage point in the turret. “Like this one. There’s a fifty mounted on it, and it’s manned.”
“Good eye, Zach,” Greg replied. “Ke
vin, that’s going to be on you,” he added. The Ghost also had a fifty.
“I am good to go,” Kevin assured him.
Greg waited as the vehicle came into sight. Behind the small MRAP were two Hummers, also with guns in the turrets. All were flying the flag, but these days they didn’t mean as much as it once had. The three vehicles slowed as they saw the collected vehicles near the house, coming to a stop about twenty-five yards away from the nearest Sheriff’s vehicle. Greg didn’t miss how the big fifty on the MRAP swung around to cover his people, but he stayed still for the moment.
Two people got down from the MRAP. Greg would once have thought the two were clearly soldiers, probably Guardsmen, based on their dress and equipment, but those days were long gone. Now they were heavily armed potential enemies. As they drew closer, Greg could see a bar on the younger man’s collar, and stripes of a Staff Sergeant on the older man.
“Who are you?” the younger man demanded. No hello, nice to meet you, how’s it going, nothing.
“Greg Holloway, Calhoun County Sheriff,” Greg replied amiably. “Who are you?”
“What’s going on here?” the man demanded without answering.
“I’m finishing a murder investigation at the moment,” Greg replied. “I asked who you were.”
“What authority do you-,”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, I’m not doing this,” Greg interrupted. “Who the hell are you and why are you in my county in military vehicles and carrying military gear?”
The young man’s head rocked back as if he’d been physically slapped.
“I’m Lieutenant Faron Gillis,” the man replied.
“Ah,” Greg nodded. “You’re Adcock’s second down in Lewis, then. What are you guys doing up here? Not enough to keep you busy around Lewiston?”
“How do you know Captain Adcock?” Gillis asked, now looking a little nervous.
“Met him when he visited the Sanders’ Farm,” Greg replied. “He said you’d be handling things for him out of Lewiston while he commanded the area overall. Still, you’re off the beaten path from Lewiston, a bit.”
“We heard shooting and came to investigate,” Gillis told him.
“Well, we appreciate that, but in this case the fun’s already over,” Greg shrugged. “These misguided individuals robbed and killed two men in broad daylight earlier today back up the road in front of a country store full of witnesses. We tracked them to here and they refused to surrender by opening fire on us, wounding one of my men. Now we’re just cleaning up.”
“What are you loading up in that truck?” Gillis asked.
“We call that evidence,” Greg was getting tired of attitude. “I’m hoping to find the owners of said evidence still living but based on the way these miscreants acted this morning, I’m not overly hopeful. Still, a man can hope. Otherwise, I’m hoping that recovery of this stuff will close other open cases such as theft of property in this immediate area. Several members of the community reported they had been missing items recently. With any luck, some of it will be in here, and I can return it to the rightful owners.”
“And if you can’t?” Gillis demanded.
“Goes into lockup until the time runs out, then probably gets sold by the county. That was the old way, anyhow. No idea what the new way will be, assuming there is one. Like I said, I hope most of it can be returned to its owners. If not the actual owners, then at least their next of kin. Try to at least get it back home.”
“I don’t remember seeing you at the Sanders’ Farm when I was there,” Gillis said, eyes narrowed.
“I don’t recall seeing you there, either,” Greg shrugged. “Just remember Adcock talking about you.”
“That’s Captain Adcock,” Gillis corrected.
“To you,” Greg nodded. “He’s not my Captain. Look, I hate to be rude, but we still got a lot of work to do, so what else can I do for you?”
“I think I’ll have to detain you until I can clear your story with the Captain,” Gillis was shaking his head even as his sergeant was trying to whisper in his ear. Greg’s laugh cut the quiet conversation off as Gillis’ head jerked up sharply.
“How did Adcock get stuck with all these asshole Lieutenants?” Greg asked. “I mean, he seems like a good guy, and Sergeants Maxwell and Gleason seem to have their shit wired straight, but man, he was three up and three down with you clowns. Flores, then Gaines, and now you.”
“Let me tell you something, kid,” he continued. “You ain’t detaining shit. Got that? I am the senior law enforcement official for the entire county of Calhoun, appointed to that post by Major Whitten, by virtue of being the sole surviving member of my department. I’m fairly certain that your sergeant there,” Greg pointed, “is doing his best to keep you from screwing up, so if he is, I’d listen to him. You are not only out of your assigned patrol area, you’re interfering in a civilian law enforcement investigation, which you lack the authority to be doing.”
“Now I don’t have a problem with you all moving through Calhoun, so long as you don’t cause trouble, but don’t think for a damn minute you’re going to come in here on top of me and my men and act like you’re in charge and taking over. I assure you, you ain’t.”
The young lieutenant and his sergeant conferred for a second.
“I think he’s the right guy,” Gillis said finally, allowing his rifle to hang on his sling.
“Yes, sir,” The sergeant turned to the vehicles behind them and made a series of hand motions. The men in the turrets visibly relaxed and their weapons turned away from Greg’s vehicles.
“Did I miss something?” Kevin asked softly. No one replied as Gillis and his sergeant walked forward.
“Hi, I’m Faron Gillis,” the officer smiled, extending his hand. “This is Staff Sergeant Lowell Martinson. Sorry about the asshole bit,” he apologized sheepishly. “Our briefing was that this area had been hit hard by a phony military unit. We were just making sure that wasn’t making a comeback.”
“Greg Holloway,” Greg took the hand. “I understand.” He turned his head. “I appreciate it, actually. Okay, we can get back to work!” he called back toward the house. Gillis’ eyes widened slightly as five people exited the house, four of them obviously trained and equipped to take on trouble.
“Yeah, you were about to get whipsawed,” Greg nodded. “Good move to stop so far back, though. Most people would have just rode right on up on us.”
“Ole Lowe here would kick my ass if I did that,” Gillis laughed, jerking a thumb at Sergeant Martinson. “He trained me better than to completely screw up.”
“That don’t mean he doesn’t partly screw up, however,” Martinson chuckled. “Nice to meet you, Sheriff,” he shook Greg’s hand. “Was pretty sure I heard a couple of grenades,” he added, looking at the bodies on the ground.
“You did,” Greg nodded. “I’m not going to lose any of my men trying to take murderers alive if they won’t surrender. They were holed up in the house and hosing us down pretty good. I fixed that.”
“Looks that way,” Gillis agreed. “Was this all of them?”
“According to witnesses there were five in the attack this morning, and in a vehicle just like that one,” he jerked his head toward the Blazer. “If there are more of them in the group? No idea, and no one this morning reported anything of the sort. You been having problems, too?”
“Not us, per se,” Gillis shook his head. “We’ve been trying to support the LEOs out of Lewiston and they’ve had some serious issues, but so far as I know they don’t even have a description of the attackers. Whoever it is, they choose their targets carefully, hitting isolated areas where there aren’t many people. And they don’t leave anyone alive behind them,” he added grimly.
“I can’t honestly say what this crew was doing other than their attack this morning,” Greg admitted. “They pulled up, shot two men down, took whatever they had, and ran. There were plenty of others around, but they didn’t move on them at all.”
“Probably not
connected then,” Gillis mused. “Doesn’t pay to assume that, of course, but it’s likely. Well, we need to finish our sweep, Sheriff,” Gillis extended his hand once more. “We cut off to come investigate the gunfire. Have to finish up so I can report in that I have done my duty.”
“Been there, done that,” Greg nodded. “It was good to meet you guys. Adcock had good things to say about you, by the way. Just so you know,” he winked, and Martinson chuckled as Gillis turned red.
“I’m sure,” he muttered to himself.
“I’m serious,” Greg promised. “Said ‘he’s young, but his head is on straight’. In the Corps, that was a compliment. Don’t know about the Army.”
“Well, I appreciate his confidence,” Gillis finally mumbled. “Good luck, Sheriff. Maybe we’ll meet again under more pleasant circumstances.”
“Maybe we will,” Greg agreed. “I’d like that. You guys ride safe.”
“Well, Clay did mention that Adcock said he had at least one officer with the sense God gave a piss ant,” Shane noted as they watched the three-vehicle group turn around and depart.
“Yep,” Greg nodded. “Seems like he’s right. Where are we on getting this stuff loaded?”
-
“That’s them,” one of the men at the grocery said firmly. “And that is definitely the truck,” he added, pointing to the Blazer.
“Hey, that’s looks like my hand augur!” another man exclaimed, looking in the bed of the truck.
“Probably is, if yours is missing,” Greg told him. “If you think it’s yours, take it.” He looked at the group around him.