by Steven Bird
~~~~
Flying high over the earth below, the eagle soared. Gliding on thermal updrafts, the great bird effortlessly stayed aloft, scanning the terrain below for its next opportunity for a meal. Not having eaten for days, the eagle was desperate to return home to its nest with a meal for its young offspring.
The bird’s keen eyes, detecting movement below, honed in on a young hare, bounding along, stopping to eat the newly blooming spring foliage as the countryside came alive once again after the long, harsh winter the animals had endured.
Seizing on the opportunity, the eagle tucked in its wings and dove at the ground with great speed. As it approached, it spread its wings to reduce its rate of descent while opening its talons wide, going in for the kill.
Latching on to its meal, the eagle triumphantly climbed higher and higher, traveling back to its nest perched high on a rocky cliff overlooking the valley below.
As the eagle landed, bringing a much-needed meal for its offspring, it found them dead. Massacred by a predator in its absence, the eaglets’ soft gray down was scattered about, covered in their own blood. Amidst the carnage lay a snake, coiled and ready to strike the eagle.
In a fit of rage, the eagle unleashed a piercing shrill and lunged forward at the snake. The eagle and the snake both struck at one another, becoming entangled in an intense struggle as the eagle carried the snake higher and higher into the air. Succumbing to the snake’s entangling grasp, the eagle began to fall back to earth, carrying the snake with it, a fight to the death that would end only upon impact with the rocky ground below.
Sitting up on the cot, grunting from the pain in his shoulder caused by his sudden movements, Jessie looked around the room to see that he was still safe and sound in the basement beneath the old house. Damn these crazy dreams. At least it wasn’t wolves, he thought.
Taking a dose of ibuprofen to address inflammation and to dull the pain without clouding his mind any further, Jessie picked up his old Colt, glad to be reunited with his father’s old gun. Flipping the loading gate open and half-cocking the hammer to free the cylinder, Jessie pushed on the ejector rod, ejecting the remaining cartridges and spent cases. With three fully loaded cartridges and three empty cases, Jessie held one up and said, “That explains why my shoulder didn’t disintegrate. He was using .38 Special instead of .357 Magnums. Thank God for that.”
Replacing the .38 Special cartridges with fresh .357 Magnums from the basement’s remaining cache, Jessie wiped the old pistol down, spun the cylinder to check its function, and placed it on the table next to the cot.
Finding an old notepad on the supply shelf, Jessie thought, I guess I could work on my journal, even if I have to start over. Picking up a pen, he held it over the paper, pausing for a moment to reflect on the recent events of his life, and began to write:
I’m not sure why I’ve been spared. For some reason, my family and I were saved from the initial onslaught of violence, hidden way safely on our mountain homestead that my wife and I felt compelled to build. Alas, it was not enough to shelter them from the violence and evil of the world, now unrestrained.
Since their tragic deaths, from which I don’t think I’ll ever truly recover, I’ve been spared multiple times. Why? Why am I still here while other good, deserving people have met horrible fates at the hands of the attackers and the sickness and mayhem they’ve spread?
I’m not especially deserving of this gift of life. My desire to live was extinguished the day my family was taken from me, yet here I am. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of my beautiful wife. Her smile warmed me on the coldest of nights. Her laugh brought joy and peace to my heart. Her wisdom and patience brought balance to my world. My children, they gave me a reason, a reason for everything. With them, every day when I awakened, I knew my purpose for that day was to love and provide for them. To care for them. To keep them safe.
At that, however, I failed. I do not deserve this pardon from God that I have been granted. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish that he had taken me in their stead, or even to have taken me with them. I would give anything to be by their sides in heaven right this minute.
I hope I find my purpose soon. I hope that soon I can see why I’ve been spared.
As tears began falling on the paper, Jessie laid it aside and began to weep heavily with his hands over his face and his elbows on his knees. Opening the bottle of prescription-strength pain pills, Jessie tossed several into his mouth, swallowed, and laid back on the cot once again.
Reaching down to his wound, he traced his bandage with his fingers and thought, a few more inches. Just a few more inches and I would have been liberated from this hell.
Looking over to the bottle of amoxicillin, Jessie thought, Why bother? I should just let the inevitable infection take me and save the medicine for whoever comes along next.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Awaking from his drug-induced slumber, Jessie attempted to sit up, only to find that he was somehow unable to move. Looking down, he realized he had been tied firmly in place, with ropes wrapping completely around the cot, his hands and feet bound individually.
“What the hell?” he exclaimed as he frantically looked around the room. Seeing a well-weathered man in his mid-fifties with graying hair and a gray, unkempt beard, Jessie demanded, “Who the hell are you? What’s this all about?”
“I should be asking you that same question, stranger,” the man said as he took a sip of coffee, his well-worn brown leather boots propped up on a folding chair.
“What?” Jessie asked in a confused tone as he struggled to free himself.
“Calm down,” the man said. “You’re just gonna hurt yourself more.”
Relaxing from his struggle, Jessie asked, “Who are you and what do you want?”
“I’ll ask the questions,” the man said calmly. “You are an intruder in my house, after all.”
“Your house?” Jessie asked.
“That’s what I said. Can’t a man leave his house unattended without having to worry about trespassers taking all of his supplies these days?” Getting no response from Jessie, the man continued. “You see, this is my home. I’ve lived in this house for fifteen years. When everything started to hit the fan and the fever the jihadists spread in Denver reached us here in Dolores, I bugged out to my hunting cabin on the Front Range. Having depleted my resources there, I thought I’d better get back here and try to get the rest of my supplies before some low-life looter like you managed to find the place and clean me out.”
“But what about the red X on the front of your house? Did someone die here?”
“Heck, no,” the man answered. “I painted that on there myself when I left, to keep people away. It looks like it worked, for the most part. Now, back to you. Who the heck are you and what are you doing here? Are you a looter? What are you running from? I see there that you and someone had a disagreement,” he said, pointing at Jessie’s wound.
“I was jumped by a group of scumbags on the bridge on the west end of town. They took everything I had. They even killed my horse. That’s it. I got away and ended up seeking shelter in here.”
“Likely story,” the man replied. “It looks to me like you’ve been living in here a heck of a lot longer than you’ve had that wound.”
“Oh, there was a woman staying here. That’s how I found the place.”
“Woman? Where is she now? Did you kill her? Is she the one who gave you that hole in your shoulder while trying to defend herself?”
“No! No, sir,” Jessie quickly replied. “That’s not it at all. Let me start from the beginning.”
Jessie then explained to the man his ordeal in detail. He explained what had happened to his family, and how he had set out to find his sister, but had ended up being taken by the men at the bridge, which led him to Ash and their ultimate revenge against the gang.
As he wrapped up the story, he said, “So, you see, sir. I need to get out of here soon and see if I can figure out if Ash made it out of the
treatment plant with the girl. Her trail is getting colder by the day, but I’ve just not been physically able. I just wanted to lie low here for a while until I had the strength.”
Pacing back and forth while he digested Jessie’s story, the man asked, “Are you worth it?”
“Am I worth, what?” Jessie replied, confused about the man’s question.
“Are you worth my effort? Are you worthy of my help?”
“I’m not asking for your assistance, sir. I’m just asking that you allow me to gather my things so that I can go and look for Ash. I’m really worried about what might have happened the other night. Those men—the last thing a woman needs in this world is to be captured by men like that.
“Good answer,” the man said as he walked over to the medical supply shelf, reaching behind several bulk bottles of aspirin, producing a small, dark brown jar of liquid. Taking a hypodermic needle from the shelf, the man then drew some of the contents of the bottle into the needle, holding it up against the light to verify the dosage.
“What is that? What are you doing?” Jessie asked nervously.
“Don’t worry, it’ll only burn for a second,” the man said as he tightened the ropes holding Jessie’s arm, plunging the needle into one of his veins.
“Hey, what the—? Don’t! Don’t you...” Jessie argued as he kicked and struggled. Everything around him slowly became a blur, and then darkness.
~~~~
Just before the eagle and the snake impacted the ground, the great bird of prey released its grip on the snake and shook the coiled serpent’s body loose. Extending its wings, pulling out of the freefall just before hitting the ground, the eagle narrowly avoided death, while the snake, hissing furiously until the moment of impact, hit the jagged rocks with great force, dying instantly.
As the eagle circled above his dead foe, looking down at the battered body of the snake, he felt no satisfaction. Despite the outcome of the flight, his offspring had been killed.
As the eagle flew off into the setting sun, Jessie squinted as bright light shined directly into his eyes. “Wake up,” he heard, still in a daze, barely conscious. “Wake up,” he heard again, along with the feeling of a smack on his cheek.
Coming out of his drug induced slumber, Jessie found himself lying on a bed inside of a house. Attempting to move, he once again found himself restrained by numerous ropes.
“How do you feel?” the man from the basement asked him.
Not fully understanding the point of the man’s question, Jessie responded, “What? Where am I?”
“I moved you upstairs,” the man said. “That dirty old basement was no place to perform a procedure,” he said as he checked Jessie’s pulse. “Now just calm yourself down and relax,” he said.
Reaching over the small table on wheels, he picked up a small object and said, “Here’s you a souvenir,” holding a distorted and mushroomed bullet in front of Jessie’s face for him to see. “This was lodged just underneath your clavicle, just above your first rib and next to your costoclavicular ligament. How the bone wasn’t shattered is beyond me. It was basically redirected by the bone and worked its way underneath. It must have been a low-velocity load. You’d have probably been okay for a while, but it would have hurt like hell forever and would have caused you a lot of problems later on. That would be, of course, if you didn’t die from infection. You’ll probably be okay now. You’re all patched up and I’ll have you on a course of antibiotics throughout the healing process.”
“Are you a doctor?” Jessie asked, still confused about what had taken place.
“The best kind of doctor. A vet!” the man joked. “We don’t need those high-dollar facilities to perform basic procedures. A barnyard is all we need to get the job done.”
Just then it hit him, “Spencer Tate? You’re Spencer Tate, aren’t you?”
With a surprised look on his face, the man said, “Just how did you know that?”
“I guess I didn’t recognize you at first with the beard and long hair. The last time I saw you, you were clean cut.”
Staring intently at Jessie, the man said, “I’m sorry, but—ˮ
“Townsend,” Jessie replied. “Jessie Townsend. I was the sheriff of Montezuma County until—ˮ
“Now I remember!” The man said, interrupting Jessie. “Sheriff Townsend. You don’t quite look the same yourself, all scruffy and used up looking,” the man chuckled.
“I’m not a sheriff anymore,” Jessie replied, bluntly.
“Yes, that was a travesty what happened.”
“I’m just a shepherd now. Well, I was,” said Jessie in a defeated tone. “Once I left the sheriff’s office and moved to the mountains and started raising sheep, it was the first time I felt like I had actually found my calling. It wasn’t easy, but it was the most fulfilling thing I’ve ever done. There’s nothing like taking care of something that needs you, while it takes care of you and your family in return.”
“Sounds just like being a sheriff,” Spencer replied. “Oh, and where are my manners? Let me get you untied.” Reaching for Jessie’s restraints, Spencer paused and asked, “Now before I untie you, no hard feelings, right?”
With a smile, Jessie replied, “Of course not.”
“Sheriff, uh, I mean, Jessie,” Spencer said, continuing. “I know I didn’t know you personally before you were robbed of your reelection, but I knew who you were. I knew how the people of Montezuma County thought of you. You were held in very high regard. That’s not all too common with elected officials. Well, even less so now, of course, but even back then, and that says something about you. After you left, most of us, myself included, had no idea where you and your family went, which probably kept you safe for as long as it did, but I can tell you one thing; this place just wasn’t the same after you left. Under Sheriff Sanders, crime and corruption were rampant. A lot of your deputies were let go and he brought in a bunch of his own. They were less than professional, to say the least. By that point, we didn’t just feel that you were robbed of your reelection, we felt we were all robbed of our local county government.”
Rubbing his wrists, now free of the restraints, Jessie replied, “Thank you, Doctor Tate.”
“Oh, call me Spence,” he replied. “There’s no reason to be formal now. Heck, we’re the only two people left in town. Hey, you would work just fine. I’d know who you’re talking to,” Spence said with a smile.
“I hope we’re the only two,” Jessie added. “That’s another reason I need to check out the treatment plant. Only one of them made it out of there to come after me. I took care of him. The gang’s leader got away, though, at least that’s as far as I know. I’m not sure if there were others that I don’t have knowledge of. That, and I need to look for signs of Ash and the girl.”
“As soon as you’re able,” Spence agreed. “Give yourself a few days to get the healing process started and then I’ll go with you. You won’t be a match for anyone in your condition, and you’ll do no one any good if you get yourself killed. In the meantime, we’ll lie low here.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Over the next several days, Jessie and Spence remained in Spence’s home while Jessie’s healing process got off to a good start. They kept the windows closed and practiced light discipline at night to avoid drawing attention to the home in the event that any potential threats remained in the area. The spring rains had moved in, providing them with a basic level of security, as anyone who might have remained at the treatment plant would more than likely be hunkering down until the foul weather passed by.
As they sat in the main living room of the home, Spence sat by the window in his recliner, peaking through the curtains with his rifle propped up against the wall next to him. His rifle, a Springfield Armory M-1A Standard with a classic walnut stock, was simple and basic, adorned only with a brown leather sling. Spence’s sidearm of choice was a Smith & Wesson 686 Plus seven-shot revolver in .357 Magnum, a handy coincidence, making Spence’s ammo collection complimentary to Je
ssie’s own Colt revolver.
As Spence held the curtain slightly open with the barrel of his revolver, watching the overflow from the heavy rain wash down the street, he said, “It’s almost like Mother Nature knew this town needed to be cleansed.”
Replying with a half-hearted laugh, Jessie said, “Yeah, ain't that the truth? By the way, how did you make it all the way here from the Front Range?”
“I drove part of the way and then slipped into town on a bicycle from the northeast.”
“You drove? Drove what?” Jessie asked with a curious tone.
“Don’t laugh,” Spence said.
“Why would I laugh?”
“A 1986 Pontiac Fiero SE.”
With a chuckle, Jessie said, “Really? What... uh, why, of all the choices out there?”
“It makes more sense than you think,” replied Spence. “Well, it makes some sense, at least. First off, that little sucker with that old-school Iron Duke four-cylinder is super simple with no computers or the like. Parts are everywhere. They put that motor in everything back then, even the S-10 series of small pickup trucks. It can even be retrofitted with a breaker-point ignition if an EMP was the concern. Even though it’s forty years old, it gets thirty-eight miles per gallon! It’s so light and aerodynamic, it comes by its fuel economy the honest way, not through technology. Fuel consumption is critical when you don’t have a supply chain. And on top of that, it’s tiny, so it’s easy to hide if need be. Besides, it was only me, so I didn’t need much room. Obviously, it wouldn’t be ideal for a group of people. Heck, it’s hardly ideal for two unless you strap a bunch of stuff on the rear deck-lid cargo rack, since there’s very little room for gear.”
With a grin, Jessie conceded to Spence’s argument.
Spence then asked, “So what’s your plan? I mean, after this. After we check on the whereabouts of the woman and the girl, then what?”