by Lake, E. A.
He stopped and looked up at me, all serious and grim. “They’re coming,” he answered, and then sighed. “And they’re coming soon Mom thinks.”
Giving him another smile, I steered him onward. The rotten filth from Covington would come. And I’d have to deal with them one way or another.
Day 318 WOP
Weeding Lettie’s massive garden gave me plenty of time alone with the older women. Violet, like most young teens, avoided any manual labor at every opportunity. One day her side hurt, a few days later she had a headache. Typical for someone her age when it came to work.
I had sent Nate on a wild goose chase in the bog directly behind Lettie’s property. And it was literally chasing wild geese. Stick in hand, the youngster worked at displacing the few Canadian geese we had in the area. If they weren’t moved, I’d be standing guard with a shotgun over Lettie’s garden. And I had better things to do.
Shortly after lunch, the three of us got back to watering and weeding. We had barely started when Dizzy strolled in with love on his mind. That was fine with me; he needed to be part of this conversation. Whether Marge had any feelings in return for the slightly fitter woodsman was yet to be determined.
Leaning on the shovel, I attempted to ease into the conversation. “Why do you think these people from Covington are coming for you, Marge?” In my defense, my wife had always claimed I wasn’t very subtle. But if trouble was coming, I wanted to be ready.
She didn’t even look up at me from her weeding. “Because they are,” she answered from a kneeling position in the moist, sand-filled dirt. “I believe they are ruthless, and their previous actions showed that.”
“So, in round terms, how many drugs did you take?” I continued prodding. “Couple dozen bottles?”
She peeked up briefly. “All of them,” she answered blandly. “Everything that fit in a large suitcase. I figured if we were going to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere for the rest of our days, we’d need most of them, eventually.”
Okay, her logic made sense. The amount she clipped seemed a little extreme, fairly noticeable. “And what do they want them for again?”
She rose slightly and sat back on her heels. “I’ve told you this before, Bob. They’re going to trade them. By now, there’s half a dozen fish camps set up on the shores of Superior. They’ll need drugs. I would bet the people in Covington will trade them for some supply of fish.”
“That makes sense,” Dizzy added, taking a break to wipe his brow with an old stained handkerchief. “We could trade them the drugs back for supplies. That would help us, right?”
Something wasn’t right in Dizzy’s logic. “I imagine they want them back for their trades,” I countered, going back to weeding between short stalks of new sweet corn. “They most likely see them as their property to begin with. So, I don’t think they’ll be open to trading to get them back.”
Lettie reappeared with a water bucket in hand. Before pouring it on the plants, she offered us a cup full each. “When these folks show up, we’ll just hide Marge and her family here. Tell them we don’t know nothing about any people they’re looking for.”
I stared back at the older woman in a straw sunhat. “And if they demand to search the place?”
She shrugged, splashing the water in the dirt. “I guess we’ll have to settle it with a gunfight.”
Her answer seemed too easy to me. We didn’t know how many would come, how they’d be armed, and what groups might follow if things got dicey.
I noticed Nate’s white t-shirt as he chased through the brush a hundred yards or so behind us. That was a good quarter mile short of where the geese actually nested. But that was okay; I just wanted him out of earshot and still close enough to keep an eye on.
“Who’s this leader of that group up in Covington?” I asked Marge, noting Dizzy kneeling beside her, tenderly rubbing her shoulder. Oh, young love…in middle-aged form.
Lettie came closer to me, her face taut with something. “A man named Stuart Callies,” she announced in a firm voice. “His kin is over in Iron River. He’s the nephew of a rich and powerful man. Well, when money meant something at least.”
Letting my eyes settle on hers, I inched closer. “Can he be reasoned with?”
“Not likely.” I heard Marge huff. “The mayor tried to reason with him and that got him hung.”
I knelt next to Marge. “They got fire power?”
She nodded. “They showed up with guns of every kind,” she answered in a bitter tone. “Most had a rifle or shotgun of some sort. And almost every person carried a sidearm and a big knife as well. I heard one man got stabbed when he asked a group what they were doing in his driveway.”
Okay, well armed and not the negotiating kind. Two strikes. Add to that the way the man I’d met a while back acted and I felt we had no chance other than hiding our friends.
I rose and glanced at Lettie. “Then I agree with your plan,” I said, turning to take out my frustration on the never-ending piles of weeds. “I don’t see any other way this works out good for us.”
“Staying alive is the main thing here,” Lettie called back, heading to get more water. “As if things aren’t bad enough, now we gotta deal with a bunch of pukes like that.”
I noticed Dizzy wrap his arms around Marge. She was crying.
“I’m so sorry I brought this upon you all,” she moaned. “That was never my plan. I just wanted to be safe in the wilderness.”
Well, none of us were safe now, Marge. But that was really beside the point. None of us was safe to begin with.
Day 320 WOP
Two days. Two lousy stinking days later everything fell to hell. And it caught me completely off-guard.
Like the idiot I was deep inside, I walked into a trap that anyone should have seen coming. But not me. No, I was focused on the future.
Dizzy had come up with another bike for me by patching two or three older pieces of crap together. Because his welder still worked he could modify the front forks on one that were bent. Adding a sturdier pair from a new bike, he even was able to grease the chain and ride it to me. My escape might happen soon, I thought.
So there I was, pedaling down the road towards Lettie’s at a leisurely pace. I’d just made a quick trip back to my cabin for an ax to take down a tree the old gal wanted gone. Watching the leaves move about in the warm gentle breeze, I took in as much summer as I could. I knew I had to wait for it to cool down before taking off for Chicago, but while I was here, I wanted to enjoy my tranquility.
Thus, I never saw the man standing on the side of the road. The one with a rifle leveled on my mid-section.
“Mr. Reiniger,” he called out, startling me to the point where I dropped the ax. “How nice to see you again. And we have so much to talk about.”
Instinctively, I reached behind my back for my pistol. He waved the rifle at me, grinning as he did. “Probably not a good idea,” he added, reaching towards me with his free left hand. “Why don’t you just hand me your gun so no one gets hurt, okay?”
No one but me, I imagined he meant.
“Now get off that bike and push it along back to Miss Hamshire’s place,” he ordered, his face still happy. Why shouldn’t he be happy? He had me dead to rights.
We walked the remaining two or three hundred yards and turned into Lettie’s gravel driveway. Ahead, next to the shed, I saw my friend’s lined up. Across from them were three more armed men.
“Just so we’re straight on this,” the man began again, “this is the woman I was looking for when we first spoke about two weeks ago.” He shot me another boyish grin. “But I imagine you knew that, even back then.”
“How do you know it’s her?” I dared to ask.
One of his men handed him a photograph. “We took this from her home,” he answered, handing me the picture. There, all decked out in Christmas attire, was the whole family. And the imprint said it all.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from the Lukes: Warren, Marge, Violet, and Nathan
. Damn, they had her good.
“Now we have several items that need a serious discussion here,” he went on. “First,” he pointed at Marge, “this woman stole something that wasn’t hers, and we want it back. And second, for her crime, she needs to face punishment.”
“And you’ll be determining that punishment…” I gave him the same look he was giving me. “I’m sorry; I didn’t catch your name.”
He shoved his open hand my way. “Matt Weston,” he answered in a happy tone. The bastard even gave me a hearty handshake. “These are my boys: Billy, George, and Ringo.”
None of the three bothered to look back. Instead, they kept the guns leveled on my group.
“Ringo?” I asked. “As in the drummer for the Beatles?”
The man shrugged. “His actual name is Harold, but he prefers Ringo.”
“Okay,” I began, pointing at my friends. “Maybe if we lower the guns we can all discuss this civil-like.”
“Or,” he countered with the tip of his head, “Mrs. Luke can fetch us those drugs and come along with us back to Covington. That’s really the best solution, Bob. Leaves the most innocent people unhurt.”
Oh, this was a real caring fellow, I could tell. Take Marge back and hang her for protecting her family. And leave the rest of us wondering when they’d show up again for another round of retribution.
“There has to be another way besides taking Marge away,” I countered, careful not to sound overly demanding. “I mean come on; we’re all reasonable people here.”
His face went sad, almost to the point of a painted circus clown. “Mr. Callies said this is the way it’s got to be. So that’s what I’m here to do.” He slapped my right shoulder, turning me to face him. “You should be happy I’m not dragging your sorry ass back for a lynching. You did lie to me after all.” His face returned to its former self quickly. “But you were just protecting the kids, I figure. So no harm with that…for now.”
Marge stepped forward in tears. “Please, I’ll get you the drugs. And I’ll come with you. Just don’t hurt anyone else.”
In the oddest scene I witnessed in more than 300 days of No Where, Matt opened his arms and hugged Marge. Not a fake little “there, there” hug. No, one where his arms circled just below her shoulders and gently squeezed.
“See,” he whispered back to me, “I knew she’d come to her senses.”
Like she had a choice.
My eyes drifted to their side arms. All, including Matt, carried 45s; just like the one Frank left for me.
“I got a trade,” I announced. “I got a good trade for Marge’s safety.”
Matt grinned at me one last time. “It had better be one helluva trade there, Bob. Mr. Callies is pretty set on punishing this woman”
Oh, it was. And I bet his boss would love it.
Day 320 - continued - WOP
Matt rubbed his bearded face, considering my trade. Apparently, every man in the apocalypse had given up shaving. However, several of his gang had beards longer than Matt’s or mine.
He moved into the shade, away from the hot direct sunlight the rest of us were forced to stand in.
“You want me to take 500 rounds of 45 caliber ammunition in trade for Marge’s punishment?” He had it right, that was exactly what I had stated.
“I’ll even give you my cart to haul it back in if you want,” I said, trying to read his face. A little eye contact might help.
“I think I’m going to need a thousand rounds,” he countered. “If you got that much.”
A rough calculation told me the going price for Marge’s head was $350. At 35 cents a round, based on the last price I ever knew, it was.
My eyes drifted from Matt, to Marge, to Lettie. Her slight nod told me I was on the right path and I should make the trade. But I wanted a little more.
“I get a kicker with that many rounds,” I stated, watching Lettie’s face fall. Have faith, dear woman. If nothing, I am a great negotiator.
Many was the time I worked a used car sales person down thousands of dollars from the rock bottom price. Shelly even refused to go car shopping with me after that first experience. She claimed it was too stressful. Hell, if she had her way we would have paid $12,000 extra for our house. But I knew how to haggle.
Matt flinched first, excellent. “What kind of kicker we talking about here?”
I moved in for the kill. “We need 50 pounds of salt and at least 300 canning lids,” I said, watching Matt’s face closely. I could see him considering it, though he tried to act like he wasn’t. The eyes tell all, buddy.
“Well, salt’s five dollars a pound,” he stammered, unsure of his numbers. “The lids are another buck a piece.”
“Lids are a quarter,” Lettie squawked, tossing a hand at the man. “And canning salt is less than a buck a pound. The whole kicker ain’t costing you squat. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.”
Nodding at her coarse words, Matt looked back at me. “I think we can work out that deal. A thousand rounds of 45 ammo and getting the drugs back will make the boss happy. Settle the debt free and clear, I figure.”
Finally, my breath came easier. “Great, I’ll go get you the ammo and you can be gone.”
He grabbed my forearm. “Course you got to haul it back to Covington for us and meet with the boss. We ain’t hauling no goods back for you.”
That made sense. In my haste to get rid of these clowns, I had forgotten how we’d get our supplies.
“Deal,” I replied. Two steps and he spoke again.
“And the girl comes with us for insurance,” he added. “Just so everything goes nice and smooth.”
“You don’t need Marge, she’s sorry for what she did. But I don’t see where hauling her—”
His eyes narrowed. “I meant the girl, Violet,” he answered, his voice kept low to show he meant business.
I had intentionally kept my gaze from both kids the entire conversation. I didn’t want Matt to think they meant anything to me. They needed to be left out of this.
“No,” I answered, watching Matt’s grin grow.
He nodded. “Yep. She’ll be the family representative. That should make Mr. Callies see the seriousness of your offer.”
“Please,” Marge begged. A raised hand from Weston quieted her down.
I watched as Violet wrapped her arms over her chest. Please don’t talk, I begged in my thoughts.
“I’m not going anywhere with these assholes,” Violet spewed. “They can all go to hell.”
I closed my eyes tightly, hoping she wouldn’t say another word. Yeah, that hope and shit proverb came back to my mind.
“You can shoot me right here,” she continued, almost stepping into one of the barrels pointed at her. “Because I’m not leaving.” With that, she plopped down in the dusty drive, shaking her head at the group.
“I like her,” Matt said, wrapping his arm around my neck. “Mouthy little bitch, full of piss and vinegar. She’ll do just fine in keeping us company. Now go get the drugs, the ammo, and the cart. Lettie here is going to feed us and give us some water. You got a half hour,” he pointed at an old wind up wristwatch on his arm. “One minute late and I put a bullet in the boy’s head. And we’ll still be making that trip.”
Day 320 - continued - WOP
Why they didn’t follow me around and grab my entire stash of ammunition baffled me. I suppose they thought they were getting it all. If only they knew, or perhaps cared.
As far as Matt Weston knew, he’d hit the jackpot. Not only was he returning with the stolen loot, but he brought gifts as well. I’m sure he expected to be rewarded greatly for his keen bartering skills. We’d see just how Mr. Callies interpreted the deal.
He gave me 30 minutes; I used 22 according to his watch. By the time I had everything loaded and ready, the four men stood in the shade at the far side of the garage.
“Let’s get moving,” Matt called out, waving Violet and me on. “I want to sleep in my own bed tonight.”
I tugged at th
e cart, the kind with the handle in the front that you had to step into. It would be easier than pushing or pulling single-handedly the entire seven miles. But my cargo wasn’t all that light.
One thousand rounds of 45 caliber ammunition had to weigh somewhere near 50 pounds. By itself, that wouldn’t have been bad. When I added a large suitcase full of medications, the load easily approached 100 pounds.
The first few miles passed easily. The flat road, lined on each side with trees provided enough shade to keep the summer sun off our backs. Except for shoes and boots creating road grit, the only sound was the occasional squeak from the cart wheels.
Matt walked on my right, Violet close on my left. One man, a rifle across his arms led the way. The final two ruffians followed 10 yards behind. Except for those two, no one spoke. And whatever they were saying was low and muted.
“How long you live in Covington?” Matt asked, keeping his eyes ahead.
“I’m from Chicago,” I answered, “not here.”
I noticed his smirk as he shook off my answer. “I was talking to the girl.”
“Lived there all my life,” Violet answered, not bothering to look at Matt as she spoke.
“You know a gal named Shalene Sanders?” Matt continued his questions as step after step we moved further away from our homes and safety.
Something in the way he said the girls name bothered me. This wasn’t casual conversation in my mind. It was a pointed question.
“I know everyone in Covington,“ she answered in a snarky tone. Something told me it would have been safer answering no. “She’s a couple grades ahead of me, but I know her. Why?”
“Were you still there when her boyfriend killed one of our men?” Matt made death sound like a casual topic of conversation. That made me nervous.
Violet peeked at me. I tried to plead with her with my eyes, but she was going to answer the way she wanted, I knew.
“I heard that guy raped her,” she answered bitterly. “Got his throat slit because of it. Seems like he got what he deserved.” That last part could have been left unsaid, but not with this gal.