Shoot Like a Girl

by L. L. Akers

  Tina and Tarra jumped into the back of the truck, each with a pistol holstered to their side and a long gun in their hand. They laid the guns down near the cab and claimed their spots on two of the four hay bales that Grayson had thrown back there for seats. They might be itchy, but they’d be a lot more comfortable than just sitting on the narrow metal sides of the truck bed.

  The two women were excited to just get away from the farm and be going somewhere, and checking out the condition of the roads and the world. For now, just the chance to ride down a road and see what the world looked like felt like leaving on a vacation. They both still hoped to come up with a plan to make the long trip home to their own husbands soon.

  Grayson opened the passenger door, and weaseled his way into the truck, with Olivia nearly attached to him, still begging his forgiveness for giving away their food. “It’s fine, honey,” he lied. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I hope Doc can help your tooth.” She gave him one last guilty look, tears sparkling in her eyes, and gently kissed him goodbye. She quickly walked away, as Grayson flinched at the pain that even that light touch brought on.

  She’d kissed his swollen cheek… again.

  Grayson gave his sister-in-law a thumbs up. “Gabby, take care of your sister and Graysie while we’re gone. You and Graysie keep your guns on you, and try to make Puck stay in bed.”

  Gabby returned his thumbs up, accepting her responsibility.

  The truck rolled down the driveway and Grayson looked out his side-view mirror at his wife walking through the screen door.

  It slammed loudly behind Olivia.

  Stubborn woman.

  He was still a bit angry, but nevertheless worried about leaving her here with only Gabby, Graysie and Puck. She’d refused to carry a gun on her side, claiming it wasn’t safe since it made her so uncomfortable. She was worried she’d shoot herself in the leg…or worse.

  He wished either Tina or Tarra would stay behind, but Jake felt they needed them worse than the girls did. Other than the hoodrats that had chased Puck up the tree, and the meth-head in the neighbor’s barn that came after Graysie and then disappeared into thin air, they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of another human in these parts since the power had gone out.

  They were far enough in the country that it would probably be weeks, if not longer, before the golden horde—crowds of unprepared people—came looking this far out for food and water.

  At least they had Ozzie, he thought, as he focused on the road at the end of the driveway. Jake pulled to a stop, and out of habit, looked both ways before pulling out toward Tullymore.

  A blur of black and white tore down the drive behind them and caught Grayson’s eye in the side-view mirror just before they turned out onto the road. Grayson threw out his arm, hitting Jake on the chest. “Stop!”

  Graysie had come outside and accidentally let Ozzie out. They’d been trying to sneak off without him knowing. “Sorry, Daddy!” she yelled from the porch.

  Jake skid to a sudden stop, nearly toppling Tina and Tarra in the back, and a moment later, Ozzie flew through the air, leaping over the tailgate in two bounds, and landed in the back with the women. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth giving him a slightly goofy look, and he whined excitedly.

  The dog eagerly stepped up to the back glass and stood on his hind legs staring in, giving his master a happy look through the glass. His wet nose left a long smear on the window.

  Grayson sighed. It was going to break Ozzie’s heart to be left behind.

  He stepped out of the truck, and called Ozzie down. He rubbed the silly dog’s head. “Sorry, boy,” he mumbled before standing up and pointing at the house. “You stay,” he firmly commanded. “Take care of your mama.”

  Grayson visibly flinched as Ozzie tucked his head down and sadly turned away, looking as though he was walking the Green Mile back toward the farmhouse, as a chorus of “Awww’s” came at Grayson from the back of the truck.

  Tina and Tarra both already loved the dog and couldn’t stand to see him sad.

  Gabby and Graysie stood with their hands over their eyes, squinting down the long drive at the scene. “Come on, Ozzie, come here, boy!” they yelled.

  Ozzie stopped his trek and looked back over his shoulder at Grayson, hoping he’d change his mind. His big brown eyes stared sadly at his master. “Go on.” Grayson pointed again. “Go home.”

  To Gabby he yelled, “Give him a whole strip of my beef jerky, Gabby.”

  “Want a treat, Ozzie? Come on! I’ll give you a big treat!” she yelled.

  Ozzie’s spirit lifted and he punched the throttle, running toward Gabby and Graysie in excitement.

  “Go, go, go,” Grayson said, jumping back into the truck, “Before he looks back again. Hang on, ladies!”

  Jake punched it, knowing Grayson couldn’t bear to tell Ozzie no again. If the dog looked back one more time, Grayson would give in to his soulful eyes.

  And that could be a mistake.

  17

  The Three E’s

  Elmer reached for the shotty, placing it between his legs, as he slowed the tractor down. So close to home, and now this. Irritably, he harrumphed.

  A bale of hay slid off the top of the stack, disappearing into the wagon, and Emma’s head popped up. “What’s wrong, Elmer?” she yelled across the gap.

  “Git your head down, girl!” He waved his hand backward at her.

  Emma ignored him, staring out onto the road before them. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

  “Looks like we may have company. I said git your head down! And be quiet.”

  Emma ducked and a second later the hay bale slid back into place.

  Elmer rolled the tractor to a stop in front of a road block. In front of his path, two abandoned cars had been parked horizontally, one overlapping the other. He looked left…too many trees to get around that way. He looked right. A steep ditch filled with large rocks blocked that way; he’d never get through that with the wagon.

  Not a sound could be heard, other than the tree crickets and katydids, chirping in anticipation of the coming dusk.

  He waited several long moments, the tractor grumbling loudly and impatiently beneath him.

  No signs of life, but something wasn’t right.

  Finally, he put it in neutral, and climbed down, taking his shotty with him. He stood still beside the tractor rumbling a moment, and looked around suspiciously. Still no signs of anyone. He whispered to himself, “Gird your loins, you old fool. You can’t stand here all day.”

  He stretched his stiff legs, looking over his shoulder the way they’d come. No one there either, he irritably stomped over to the two cars, hoping to find keys, and praying at least one of them had enough gas to start. He’d simply move one out of the way, and push the other, if he had to.

  He leaned into an old-model Cavalier and not seeing the keys, stepped back and opened the door.

  Clumsily, he sat on the seat, and folded one leg into the car, his left foot still on pavement and his left hand holding the shotty outside the door, while his right hand swept under the edge of the seats, looking for a key ring.

  Nothing.

  He poked his head back up and looked around.

  No one.

  He checked the glove compartment, the console, and over the sun-visor.

  Still, no keys.

  Tiredly, and without ease, he climbed out of the car.

  He walked to the second car, looking over his shoulder to check on Emma on the way. When he turned back, he jerked to a stop and yelped, pulling his head back in a jerky movement, away from the barrel of the rifle he was now staring into.

  “Heavens to Bessy, you scared the dickens out of me!” he exclaimed. “Put that down, before you hurt someone.”

  The pudgy man, dressed in an open flannel shirt and dirty Carhart pants, laughed, and teetered back and forth on his feet. A bald, round head glimmered with sweat and his teeth were like rotten fence posts lined his mouth. “That’s w
hat it’s for, Old Timer. Drop the shotgun and hold still.”

  The wind blew, sending a beer-scented wave of air across Elmer’s face, tickling the tufts of white hair poking out from his cap. The man’s gun wavered back and forth. He was drunk.

  Elmer ignored his command and gave his best eye roll—he learned that from the teenagers in the bible study he sometimes watched Edith teach—and turned to go. Grumpily, he said, “You need to move one of these cars out of the way. I aim to go through there.”

  He tried to walk casually, his shotgun still in hand, pointed up. His finger was way too far from the trigger, but he feared what would happen if he choked up on it. His heart thumped loudly and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He forced his shoulders to stay down away from around his ears.

  “I said hold still,” the man yelled at his back. “One more step and I’m going to light you up, old man.”

  Elmer stopped in his tracks and held his hands up in the air, one still holding the shotty. “For what?” he yelled in a crotchety voice. “I ain’t done nothing to ya. Just let me pass.”

  A new voice rang out. “You gotta pay a toll to use our road,” he said, followed by a drunken laugh.

  Elmer turned to see two men lurch out of the woods toward his tractor, barely able to find their feet. One wore a beat-up cowboy hat and dusty jeans, his belly hanging over the waistband.

  The other was skinny as a rake, his pencil neck sticking up through the wide collar of his T-shirt like a golf tee.

  Both men dangerously carried rifles. The skinny one stumbled, grabbing his buddy’s shirt with one hand. His buddy swatted behind him, but pulled him up the side of the ditch onto the road anyway, laughing all the way.

  These men were trouble, and that trouble was headed right toward Emma.

  He should’ve made her stay back at her sister’s farm. Durn crazy women nowadays, thinking they’re tough as men. At least he’d been right to pass her stop without telling her. If she’d been out here alone on that bike, she’d probably be good as dead right now. If not these men, there were plenty of others. And he’d seen times like this before. Men’s base nature came out when the going got tough. Either they stood up, and became better. Or they acted out—and got up to no good.

  These three were no good.

  The blood pumped wildly into his old veins. “Wait a doggone minute.” He thrust a hand into his pocket, coming out with a pocketknife, some change, and crumpled twenty-dollar bill. “This is all I got. Believe you me...” He held it out in the palm of his hand.

  The men continued toward the wagon. “Keep it, old fool. You spend it,” one of them called out, bringing peals of laughter from the other two.

  Elmer stomped his foot. “Hey! Y’all hear me? This is it. Ain’t nothing up there but hay, and I know you don’t give a hoot about some dried grass. My money’s over here, and I have a can of Skoal, too. Barely used!”

  The man behind him snickered. “Money’s no good anymore, old man. You must have something else…I’m thinking food and water. You don’t look hungry. And what about fuel? You wouldn’t be out here without some more fuel for that tractor. How far do you live from here anyways?”

  Elmer’s mind raced. The house was less than ten miles from here, the way the crow flies. If he admitted that, they might want to follow him home. He couldn’t have these animals around his Edith. He avoided the question. “You don’t look hungry either, pardner. But that doesn’t mean you’re not. I got a dripple of water up near my seat, but I don’t have any food.” His stomach growled loudly in agreement.

  This was true. Olivia had packed him a bag of food, and he’d stupidly left it sitting on a post back at the barn at Grayson’s house. Like an old fish-wife, his belly had been haranguing him all day about it and he’d been tempted to wake Emma, knowing she probably had something in that bag of hers.

  He did have plenty of water though. But the water wasn’t what he was worried about. He’d give them the water…he had plenty more at home.

  The two men were mere feet from the back of the trailer, wobbling as they ran their hands down the hay, making their way to the back.

  Elmer tried one last time. “Look here, boys,” he said loudly—loud enough for Emma to hear. “There’s a dead body in that wagon. I’m taking her home to bury her. You don’t want to see that—the girl got her face blown clean off. It might scare you to death,” he yelled loudly.

  The men kept walking…less than a foot from the end of the trailer now.

  “I’ll not have your blood on my hands! Stay outta there!” Elmer yelled in frustration.

  He jerked and nearly fell as the man behind him roughly jabbed him in the back with the pointy end of his rifle, and laughed again. “Shut up, Old Timer.”

  Elmer found his feet, straightened up, and grit his teeth against the pain in his old back. He shook his head and gripped his own shotty tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. Without a doubt, he wasn’t fast enough to pull the gun up, turn around, and take aim before the man behind him made him a new breathing hole.

  He was outmanned anyway. They all had guns. Even if he could shoot the one behind him, there were two more in front of him. He didn’t see a way out of this.

  Just gonna have to take a wait and see approach.

  He tensed…waiting.

  In just a moment, no one would be laughing.

  18

  Tullymore & Grayson’s Group

  Jake pulled Ruby into Tullymore slowly, the old red ’57 Chevy purring like a kitten. He was doing his best not to jar his passengers who stood in the back, leaning against the cab.

  Grayson sat in the passenger seat, his head pivoting from side to side, a rifle nestled between his legs, his cheek swollen with pain. “So, we’re going to see your karate-kid friend first?”

  Jake scoffed. “Dude, not every martial art is called karate. He does MMA. Mixed martial arts. But yeah. Let’s head to Tucker’s first, see if he can talk to Doc for you, and then we’ll stop by my house when we leave.”

  Tina and Tarra were in the back of the truck. Both had laid down their rifles, but held their pistols casually in their hands, not taking any chances.

  Jake passed his own house, happy to see it intact. On their way out, they would stop and grab the clothes and food at the house, and anything else Grayson thought might be useful.

  With their current predicament, Jake was happy he’d listened to his brother-in-law when he and Gabby had spent one long day learning how to put up food in Mylar bags with oxygen absorbers and seal it before putting it into five-gallon buckets. They had at least had some long-term food at the house—if Tucker hadn’t taken it yet.

  He cringed at the thought of telling Tucker his four-wheeler had been stolen.

  As he drove slowly past the rows of houses, he was impressed to see that several neighbors who owned trucks had parked them up tight with their house, re-routing gutters to drain any rain into the beds of the trucks, which were tightly covered with tarps for water collection. That was a good idea to make them water containment vessels, especially since they couldn’t drive them without gas.

  Some others had rain barrels in place with the gutters routed to them; if only they’d get some rain. Several people looked busy building small wooden boxes of some sort, or splitting firewood.

  All stopped working to stare in surprise at the truck moving through the neighborhood, throwing up a wave of greeting to Jake. He felt sure he wouldn’t get this same reception a few days from now, when reality really started setting in. Even now, he watched several in the rear-view mirror put down their projects and casually follow him on foot. He hoped there wouldn’t be trouble at Tucker’s when he had to tell them no, that he wasn’t taking them anywhere.

  Slowly, he turned onto Tucker’s street. The doctor lived right beside Tucker. Jake passed that house, a little worried to not see anyone outside, and pulled into Tucker’s driveway, bringing the truck to the far end of the drive, closest to the back yard. They’d check with T
ucker first and then walk over to Doc’s.

  The scene that unfolded from Tucker’s backyard was surreal.

  A swing set had been adapted to hold four large pots, and a fire blazed under each one of them. A line had dwindled down to just a few people standing at two of the pots, and he recognized Katie serving from one with her daughter standing beside her, and her dogs at her feet. Kenny was serving from the other pot. Tables had been set up and neighbor sat with neighbor, elbow to elbow, sharing a meal.

  A heap of firewood sat off to the side of Tucker’s shop with three axes leaning against it. Stacked up beside the garage was a huge, neat pile that had already been split and stacked. Small kids and more dogs ran and played around the yard.

  A group of teenagers were squatted around the swimming pool with long nets, skimming bugs and other debris from the bluish-green water. Jake recognized the other three of Tucker’s kids in the crowd. Several water-filtering stations stood at the end of the pool.

  Near the back of the yard, on a tree held a sign with the word ‘latrines’ that pointed to a trail that went off into the woods between Tucker’s and the next-door neighbor.

  Tucker had it going on up in here. It looked more like a block-party than the apocalypse.

  Jake and Grayson stepped out of the truck at the same time that Tina and Tarra jumped down, after holstering their guns. They all made their way over to Katie, following Jake.

  “Jake!” Katie yelled, handing her serving-spoon to her daughter and running to meet him halfway.

  She hugged him tight as Jake’s ears began to burn, and then suspiciously eyeballed the two women standing a few feet behind him. “Where’s Gabby and Olivia?”

  Olivia was well-known in this neighborhood by Gabby’s friends, as she and Gabby were generally locked at the hip.

  “They didn’t come this trip. They’re back at Olivia and Grayson’s house.” He turned and waved a hand at the women shadowing his steps. “These are two of Gabby’s friends, Tina and Tarra. They’re from out of town and stuck here for a bit.”