by Lake, E. A.
“Maybe you won’t have to shoot.” The voice behind me was so small I almost couldn’t believe it was the same young woman who made such a stink in Covington.
Minutes crept by. The mother tried to corral her young and chase them off the road several times. If it hadn’t been such a tense standoff, the scene would have been idyllic.
Finally, the group disappeared in the brush on the opposite side of the road. I counted to 500, twice; just to be sure they were gone. And finally, I pried the pair of arms from around my waist and got Violet on my side.
Hand in hand, pulling the cart with my waist, we inched forward, passing the spot where we last saw the wolves. Keeping an eye on our back trail, we hustled another few hundred yards down the road before we slowed.
“That was scary,” Violet admitted with another whisper, looking back one last time. She gripped my hand tighter. “I’ll be glad to get home.”
I looked at her, giving her a soft smile. “Me too.” I was through with this mess.
Lettie treated us to a celebratory dinner. I suppose we deserved one. After all, we had successfully maneuvered the threats known as Stuart Callies and Covington. We also managed to get home in one piece. The salt and the canning lids were a bonus. I hadn’t really expected to get the deal done, but here we were — fat and happy, sans the fat.
A venison meatloaf sat in the center of the table. On one side was a bowl of boiled new potatoes (last years) steaming as the late day sunshine lit the room. Green beans and a loaf of fresh baked bread sat on the opposite side. The only thing missing (in my mind) was a full slab of butter. I imagined it would be a while until I saw that again.
“Where’s Dizzy?” I asked as we passed the serving plates around the table.
Marge gave me a smile. “He got hot on some big sunfish he told me about at breakfast. He wanted as many as he could, given we had salt coming to treat them with. He’ll be back later.”
That darn Dizzy, I thought. Even in the middle of his newfound love with Marge, he just couldn’t resist the chance to be outdoors…and alone. At least he was happy.
After the meal was over, Lettie cleared the table while the wash water warmed on the wood cook stove. Questions about the trip were held until the meal was over. Though I expected many, especially from Marge, one thing was forefront on her mind.
“So, how was Covington?” she asked, folding her hands on the table. I could tell by the look on her face she expected the worst.
“Just as dull as ever,” Violet answered. I don’t think that’s what her mom was after.
Marge rose from the table and shooed the kids into Lettie’s living room to play a board game. When she returned she sat and stared at me.
I sighed, considering my words. “It’s in bad shape, to be honest about it.” I paused to gauge Marge’s reaction. Her nod signaled me to continue.
“Callies runs the place with a velvet iron fist. Sure, he comes across as nice, almost sincere. But all problems are dealt with swiftly and harshly. He doesn’t always just kill the offenders. He seems to be big on public humiliation and degradation. Now his sister and her husband are there as well. I’m not sure which one is worse. Stuart plays the role of leader, dishing out orders.
“Susan seems to call a lot of the shots from behind the scenes. Tries to come off as all prim and proper, but I ain’t buying whatever she’s selling. And if they keep selling people to the fish camps, their group will be the only ones left in Covington come next spring.” I noticed both Lettie and Marge staring at their laps as I spoke. The answer wasn’t happy and light, but neither were the conditions in Covington.
Sitting in silence, only an occasional deep sigh filled the room. Even the two in the other room played their game in relative silence. With great internal debate, I decided to leave the question of the missing drugs for another time, perhaps when Marge and I were alone.
“Do you think they’ll be back?” Lettie asked.
I nodded, if only to myself. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Callies or his men.” The truth seemed bleak, almost as if our future held no hope, but it needed to be said.
I noticed Marge look up. “And what will we do we that happens?” Her eyes appeared tired as if she’d seen enough of this apocalypse. I felt the same.
That was the question to end all questions. When, not if, they returned how we would handle it?
“We’ll have to fight,” I admitted, my voice soft yet with an edge of survival. A year ago, this all would have been foreign to me. Dealing with people who desired everything we had. People who would come and take what little we had left, by force if necessary. Now it was my new reality…our new world.
“Can we win that fight?” Marge asked, her voice trembling slightly.
“We have to,” Lettie stated. She straightened in her chair. “It’s our survival we’re talking about. And I’m not ready to give up yet.”
She was right. We’d stand, and we’d fight. And if that meant killing every last one of them, then so be it.
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