by N. C. Reed
“I 'll go get her right now,” Gordon promised. Even as he moved away the Hummer cut through the drive between the two farms and disappeared behind the trees.
“Lord have mercy on Amy,” Gordon prayed. “And on the rest of us as you have time, please,” he added just before knocking on Robert and Patricia's door.
-
Amy Mitchell came slowly to consciousness. As her mind began to be aware she felt despair again. She had hoped that she would die and not wake again to go through still more living hell. Enough was enough, wasn't it? She didn't know any more how long she had been like this, tied over...
Her eyes snapped open suddenly, looking at the ceiling of a strange place. Strange to her, at least. A small room with bare furnishings, and a comfortable bed she was resting in. She tentatively raised the sheet that covered her to find that someone had put a hospital gown on her. Her wrists, worn raw by rope burns, were wrapped in gauze.
The door to the room opened and Amy started, sitting up and looking frantically for something to use as a weapon or a way out. It took her a minute to realize that she knew the person at the door.
“Patricia?” Amy's throat was sore from lack of water for long periods of time and for other reasons. Her voice sounded more like a croak than anything else.
“Amy,” Patricia smiled slightly. “I'm glad you're awake. The morphine the medic gave you had pretty much knocked you cold. Not that it was a bad thing,” she added. She moved to the bedside and took a small cup from the table, offering it to the traumatized woman.
“Here,” Patricia smiled slightly. “Take it slowly and let it wet your mouth and throat. I gave you an IV bag of fluids while you were out but your throat will still be dry. Not too fast now,” she cautioned as the suddenly thirsty Amy began sucking the water through the straw as quickly as she could.
“Who. . .who found me?” she asked. “It was like demons,” she added with a shudder. “But they were kind to me,” she cried now, her hands shaking so badly that Patricia reached out to take the cup from her.
“I know, dear,” Patricia soothed. “We can talk about that later. But Amy, where is your daughter? Or at least where was she when this happened?”
“She's with Marla,” Amy said, her eyes growing wide. “Mrs. Jones. My God, Patricia, what day is it?” she asked suddenly, panicking. She tried to get up but Patricia's hand on her shoulder stopped her easily.
“You're in no shape to go anywhere, Amy,” the older woman told her firmly.
“I have to go and get Lisa, Patricia!” Amy struggled weakly against Patricia and quickly tired out.
“Amy, you can't,” Patricia said sternly. “I don't know how much you remember, but-”
“I remember enough,” Amy's eyes clouded but she refused to allow the tears to fall. “I remember enough.” She turned her head to look at the wall. Hiding.
“Where was Marla keeping Lisa?” Patricia asked. “She has an apartment at the store. Was she there?”
“Yes. Dear God what could have happened to her,” she almost whispered.
“I 'll have someone go and check on her, Amy,” Patricia promised. “We 'll bring her here to be with you. And when you're able, we can have someone take you home to gather clothing and other personal items and then let the two of you come back here. It's already been decided that you can stay here from now on if you want. I can't promise you that nothing bad will happen here, but I can promise you that it will have to work for it. Now please,” Patricia placed a soft hand on Amy's shoulders, “try and rest. I know it will be hard. I have children too, though they've grown up much too fast. Meanwhile, I need to see about sending someone to check on Lisa.”
-
“Boy, I need you to go check on Marla for me,” Leon said as he and Clay sat in the pavilion behind Gordon's house. “She like as not was at her store when the storm hit. Got an apartment there and propane for everything. She probably made out okay but she can't stay there forever. I want you to go and bring her here. I should have thought of it before the storm,” he added bitterly.
“Okay,” Clay agreed. “We can head over there in just a few minutes. You expect her to have a lot of stuff she wants to bring?”
“She is a woman,” Leon sighed. “So prob'ly. Let her bring what she can in whatever you go over there in and leave the rest,” he said flatly.
“We can take a truck,” Clay mused. “I'd rather not have any military rigs out with our private vehicles since that would tie them to us.”
“Then don't,” Leon shook his head. “Do like I said. She can bring whatever you can cram into that thing, and that's it. Tell her she don't need nothin' but clothes and what nots no way. Got everything else she needs here.”
“Old Man, you ain't sweet on Miss Marla are you?” Clay teased.
“I will slap the taste clean out o' your mouth, boy,” Leon growled, though there was no real fire in it. “That woman has been my friend, was your grandmother's friend, may the angels remember her name,” he looked upward for just a second, “since long before you was in this world. She's about one of the three best friends I got, and she's your woman's grandmother, remember. Make you some brownie points to bring her back I'd imagine.”
“After this morning I can use 'em,” Clay sighed. At a questioning look he briefly explained the basement incident which let Leon howling in laughter.
“It ain't that funny,” Clay growled.
“Oh yes it is!” the Old Man hooted back. “You definitely need points after that, boy. Go on and do like I asked. Don't get dead doing it, neither,” he added.
“I 'll do my best.”
-
Clay met Patricia coming from the Troy place at Gordon's.
“Were you able-” he began.
“Amy's daughter, Lisa, is-” she started. Both stopped at the same time.
“Lisa is at Marla Jones' in all probability,” Patricia continued when Clay indicated she should continue. “Probably still at her store since that's where Amy left her.”
“Well that's convenient, since Leon just told me to go and find Marla and bring her here,” Clay nodded. “Guess I'll just go and do that.”
“Clay, Amy thinks demons saved her,” Patricia added, looking at him closely. “Why would she think that?”
“I dunno,” Clay wasn't wearing his mask, helmet or any of the other 'extras' for his outfit and Patricia hadn't seen them. “She didn't think too highly of me when I...well, over what happened at Lorrie's when I got home,” he added with a shrug. “But after what she went through, I can understand her being confused. She gonna be okay?” he asked.
“I doubt it,” Patricia sighed. “I mean physically she should be fine,” she amended. “Provided she didn't get any kind of STD from those animals, anyway. But psychologically is another matter. I wouldn't mind testing the men that assaulted her.”
“Wellll,” Clay drew the word out. “That might be a little difficult,” he admitted.
“Oh?” his sister-in-law raised an eyebrow at him.
“I might have killed them, sorta,” Clay shrugged casually. “A little,” he winced as he once again realized how stupid that sounded.
“A little?” Patricia snorted. “Clay, dead is like being pregnant. There's no 'little'.”
“Then I definitely killed them,” Clay shrugged again. “They had it coming,” he was almost defensive.
“No doubt of that,” Patricia agreed completely. “It won't matter in the long run. If she has something curable I have antibiotics to treat her with. If she has something else, I couldn't help her anyway. Still, did any of them look sickly? Pale, open sores, that kind of thing?”
“No,” Clay said after a minute. “Mind you I didn't strip search them, but I didn't see anything like that. We can always go back and look. They should still be there.”
“No,” Patricia shook her head. “No. I don't have a lab to send the samples to, anymore,” she sighed. “That will take getting used to,” she admitted. “Even if you had brought th
em to me alive, I still no longer have a way to run those tests. I will need to monitor her health closely. Are you going to keep her here?”
“She's not a prisoner,” Clay frowned. “If she wants to go, she can. I just thought she might want to be somewhere safe and where she could get medical treatment. Does she want to leave?”
“She didn't mention it,” Patricia shook her head again. “Just her daughter.”
“Well, we're headed over there now, so maybe we can give her that.”
-
Marla Jones raised her head slightly so she could peek outside the window of her store at the men still gathered in the parking lot. Five of them standing around a truck at the gas pump. A pump that didn't work any more thanks to whatever had happened.
The men had pushed the truck into the parking lot three days ago and demanded she turn on the pump. She had told them through the door she couldn't, that she didn't have power of any kind. One had tried to force his way in and her old .357 magnum revolver had boomed loudly in her ears when she'd shot him through that same door, scattering the rest for the moment.
But they didn't leave. Instead they demanded beer, cigarettes and various other items from her. She had refused to comply, not wanting the bunch of miscreants to be further emboldened by alcohol.
She had tried to call for help but the phone was just as dead as everything else. Atop it all she had Amy Mitchell's daughter with her, having been sitting the girl while her mother worked. That had been seven days ago and Marla hadn't heard from the younger woman since then. She had began to accept that Lisa Mitchell was now hers to look after, like it or not.
Not that Marla was unwilling. But at her age, being solely responsible for such a young child was not good. What would happen to the girl when Marla passed on? Who would take care of her then?
She started suddenly, having been on the verge of falling asleep. She had been long without rest other than occasional catnaps ever since her nightmare had begun. The first night she had assumed that there was just a power outage and she and Amy had gone to sleep peaceably enough in the flickering light of a candle. Marla had assumed that the power would be back on the next morning and that would be the end of it. The phones were out as well, but at the time she had just lumped that in with the lights being out.
By afternoon the next day Marla knew something was horribly wrong. There hadn't been any traffic at all the entire day. The power and the phones were still out, and her car wouldn't start. Would not in fact hit a lick, as the saying went. Lights, radio, nothing worked. She had no choice but to stay put.
She had cooked for her and Lisa and then tried to entertain the girl as they sat there without any of the normal amenities. Drawing had worked for a while and then some story telling and reading, but soon Lisa was chomping to be outside. It was a mild afternoon and Marla had given in, the two spending some time in the fenced in area behind the store. That night Lisa had asked her;
“Where is my mommy, Miss Marla?”
“I don't know sweetie,” Marla had answered honestly. “I think she's probably still at work and her car won't start, just like mine won't. If so, it would be hard for her to leave and get here. It's not far in a car but it's a long way to walk,” she had said reasonably.
“Yeah,” Lisa nodded. “It is a long way,” she sighed, far too maturely for her nine years of age.
“I'm sure as soon as things are working again this will be the first place she comes to,” Marla told her, smiling as she gently stroked the girl's hair from her face. “There's nothing more important to your mommy than you are girlie.”
“I know,” Lisa had smiled and went to sleep.
The next two days were much the same. Isolation. Fear. Speculation. Nothing she could really share with a nine-year-old and there was no one else. Her radio was dead. Television was too. No one visited. No cars passed.
It was on the fourth day that she had seen the truck being pushed up to her pump. There had been six of them, typical redneck thugs that ran the back roads all around this part of the state. Normally not too much of an issue, but now? Now she didn't know and that had made her cautious.
“Look, Miss Marla!” Lisa had said. “A truck!”
“Lisa, I want you to go into the bedroom and close and lock the door,” Marla had told her gently. “Then hide under the bed and stay there until I tell you it's okay to come out. You don't come out or unlock that door for anyone but me, okay?”
“Is something wrong, Miss Marla?” Lisa has asked, looking at her closely.
“I don't know, sweetie, but I don't like this feeling, so we're going to be careful, okay?” she smiled. “I didn't get this old not being careful.”
“Okay,” Lisa nodded seriously and ran to the bedroom. When she heard the lock turn, Marla reached beneath the counter in front of her and brought out a solid looking revolver. No sooner had she checked and then closed the cylinder was one of the men beating on her door.
“Open up!” he demanded. “We need gas and beer, old lady!”
“Gas won't work,” Marla had called back. “Ain't no power to run the pumps. Coolers are all out too. Ain't got no beer.”
“You lying old heifer, I know damn well there's beer in there, now gimme it!” the man kicked the door and then began shaking it. Two of his friends joined him and Marla could hear the door begin to give way.
She didn't waste time with a warning, verbal or otherwise. She raised the old revolver in both hands, aimed it at the door and squeezed.
The report deafened her in the small confines of the store, but she could still hear the shouts and one scream outside as the bullet apparently caught one of them good. The other two ran, leaving their 'friend' to bleed out in front of Marla's door.
He was in fact still there, his body quite morbid looking on the asphalt outside the entrance to her store. His friends, if they were such, milled around the pickup still. While they still shouted demands and threats at her, so far they had not tried to force their way inside again.
But after several days Marla realized something. She had plenty of food for her and the girl, but water was something else. With no power there was no water running so they had been drinking bottled water. After seven days that supply was beginning to wane. She had not taken any for herself that morning outside enough just to wet her throat, saving all she could for Lisa.
Now she was watching through the window for any signs that her visitors were up to anything. They might not have worked up the nerve to try her again yet, but she knew they would sooner or later. If nothing else, hunger would force their hand.
Suddenly the thugs all straightened, looking back the way they had come, one pointing excitedly. She craned her neck around, trying to get a look at what they were seeing, but the angle was wrong and she couldn't see.
She could hear it, though. The rumble of a powerful engine approaching down the road.
-
Clay had made a slight change after thinking the problem over on his way to the Troy farm.
I really need to stop calling it that, don't I? he told himself on the walk over. It's mine now.
Marla's store would have stuff they could use, small amounts though it might be. And a lot of it would be candy and other small items they could pass out to children who were doing without later on. Assuming that Marla was as grateful for being 'rescued' as Clay assumed she would be.
So he had added another two people to his 'crew', and another vehicle as well.
“What is this?” Gordy had asked, looking at the outfit he was being handed.
“This is your initiation,” Clay told him. “You're a man grown, Gordy, whether your old man treats you that way or not. Over the next few months, we 'll be training you to be one of us,” he indicated the other men standing around him. “For today, you get in on points because we need another set of hands. This,” he indicated the uniform, “is what we wear to hide our identity.”
“And scare hell out of whoever we're hunting,” Barnes grinned a
nd the others chuckled.
“That too,” Clay agreed. “You don't say anything about this, Gordy,” Clay continued. “You don't wear this gear in front of the others, either. The BDUs are fine, but not the Skull and Bones. Got it?”
“Got it,” the teen nodded seriously. “Where are we going?”
“To get some friends.”
-
“Well, well, well,” Nolan almost sang. “Lookie what we gots here!”
“I see 'em,” Clay replied as the five men gathered around the pickup truck at Marla's gas pumps started their way. “I see another one on the ground over by the store, too. Looks like they've tried to get inside at least once. Not our kind of people I'd say. Give 'em something to think about.”
A five round burst of fifty caliber rounds did just that as the five men approaching the Hummer turned and ran back to their truck. Maseo once more grabbed the microphone and turned on the PA system.
“Clear out, punks,” he ordered flatly. “Wherever that road takes you is where you want to be right now. You won't get another warning.”
Several excited shouts came from one of the five, but the rest were already hurrying down the road. Maseo, laughing, keyed the mike again.
“Hey shithead,” his amusement came across the PA. “Better check behind you. Your posse is leaving you high and dry while you run that mouth.”
Realizing what he'd been told, the gestures and yells halted as the man looked over his shoulder to see his compatriots already fifty yards down the road and opening the distance quickly. With one last look at the big machine gun and a final finger of defiance, he too began to move down the road.
“Can I just-” Nolan began.
“No,” Clay cut him off, amusement clear in his voice now as well. “No, we've made our point I should think. Let's move on in. You guys hold up here,” he keyed his radio. “Let’s not scare them any more than they already are.”
“Roger that,” Jody Thompson replied. He and Gordy were behind the Hummer in one of the MRAPs, pulling a small military trailer.