by John Grit
A sound to his left caused Nate to freeze. When he heard nothing more, he stood in the shade of a dogwood and listened.
A man coughed as he walked down the road, keeping to the edge on Nate’s side. Obviously expecting no trouble, his rifle was slung on his back. He jumped across a puddle in the ditch and walked into the woods. He pulled his zipper down and urinated.
Nate waited until he finished, then put his knife under the man’s throat, clamping his left hand over the man’s mouth. “Don’t give me any trouble and I won’t kill you. I just want to talk.”
The man stiffened.
“Stand real still while I disarm you,” Nate whispered. “You can come back for your guns later.” He pulled a pistol out of a holster on the man’s right hip and let it fall to the ground. He felt a large pocketknife in the man’s right front pocket, pulled it out and let it, too, fall. A slash of Nate’s knife cut through the sling and the man’s rifle fell to the ground.
Nate whispered in his ear. “We’re going for a short walk and then you’re going to answer my questions. After that, you’ll be free to go.”
“Why not here?” the man asked.
“Too close to the road. Let’s go.” Nate gave him a push. “I’ve got an M4 on you, so move easy and slow.”
After nearly one hundred yards, Nate spoke. “Stop there. Back to that tree in front of you. Slide down till your butt’s on the ground. Keep your hands over your head.”
Nate tied his hands behind the tree and gagged him. “We’ll have that talk when I get back. I’ve got to get on the radio and see if a chopper is available.” He kicked the man’s boots. “Last time they tore you bastards a new one, didn’t they? Lost a lot of vehicles, huh? Well, you’re going to lose more tonight—and a lot more people.”
The man’s eyes widened.
Rushing through the woods, Nate headed for the farmhouse. He knew where most of the pickets were and felt it safe to make good time. When he got near, he slowed and quietly stalked closer to his prey.
A man stood guard over the west side, near the driveway, hiding in the shade of a large oak. Nate’s grandfather had planted that tree more than a lifetime ago. Fifteen yards away, the eight men Nate saw before still slept in ignorance.
Nate’s M4 hung from its combat sling out of the way to free both hands. He came up on the sentry, breathing through his nose, because he did not want the man to hear him breathing. They stood there with Nate behind the tree and to the right one foot, while Nate waited in the dark for several minutes until the man stepped away from the tree to get a better look down the driveway. Nate rushed in with his knife to cut the man’s throat.
Damn it!
The man was able to slip out of Nate’s grasp over his mouth and try to yell a warning. He managed only one guttural, blood-soggy groan before dying, but that was enough to wake one of the men sleeping nearby.
One man sat up in his sleeping bag and reached for his rifle. Two others were stirring, but not aware of what woke them.
Nate dropped his knife at his feet.
Deni’s pistol—its government model 1911 grip a familiar friend—came out in a smooth motion, met his open left hand halfway up, and rose to meet Nate’s line of sight as he thumbed the safety down and pushed the gun forward, extending his arms, locking in the Weaver shooting position. He focused on the glow of the front night sight while looking at the man’s head—a mere flash image was enough—and squeezed the trigger, swung on the head of the nearest man beside him, fired, and swung to the next. It was over before the third spent shell hit the ground.
The farm was silent, except for the echo of Nate’s shots, as he reached down to pick up his knife. Leaving the nine dead men where they lay, he took off at top speed.
Fifty yards into the woods, Nate heard the first wild shots as he ran, heading back to the road. I wish I could have done more, but I’m pushing my luck as it is. He wanted to take another prisoner and bring him to the first one, so there would be two witnesses to the military “drone attack” he planned to fake. I guess one will do.
Stopping at the battery he left by the road, Nate slammed a fresh magazine into the pistol. Then he touched the wire to the battery, setting the bomb off. He pulled what was left of the wire to him and rolled it up, stuffing it in a pocket. Then he ran to his prisoner.
“Okay, asshole,” Nate yanked the gag off his prisoner’s mouth, “you had to have heard that missile strike.” He stepped back. A storm of voices came from the road. Someone shot at imagined threats in the dark. Someone else shot back. In seconds, men were shooting one another in the confusion. More shots came from the farm. The screams of wounded could be heard from the road.
Nate took Deni’s military ID out and shoved it in the man’s face while holding a lit lighter up to illuminate it. “My liaison with the Army. She called in a drone attack. More of her team are killing your friends now.”
The man’s eyes rounded.
“I’m just a redneck farmer,” Nate said. “But my sister showed up the other day to help out when I radioed her that our farm had been raided. She’s the one who sent the chopper.” Nate kicked him in the stomach. When the man finally caught his breath, Nate continued. “The only thing keeping the rest of you alive is the fact the Army is stretched thin right now. Deni got the chopper she asked for by calling in a lot of favors. And tonight she has managed to get a drone. It’s circling overhead right now, waiting for orders from her. What she tells the fire control team depends on what I tell her in just a few minutes after I let you go.”
“What are you telling me? What do you want?” Nate had the man’s attention.
“I’m telling you that you have only a few minutes to get in those stolen trucks and get out and down the road. The government has had enough of trash like you killing, raping, and stealing from people who have too little as it is.”
“We’re just taking what we need to survive.” The man was almost crying. “We didn’t burn your home or destroy anything. We even left things that we had no use for. You have us confused with that other group. They’re the ones who are acting like animals. And where is the government? I’ve seen no sign of any since the plague reached our county. Where’s the help? When is it coming?”
Nate’s voice carried a hard edge. “You go on deceiving yourself and pretend what you’re doing is justified. But if you want to live to see the sunrise, you better get down the road and keep driving until you’re out of this county. Help’s not coming, but death is.”
“We can’t go that far.” The man’s chest rose and fell rapidly in agitation. “There are people back there who would attack us if we came back. They have organized into private armies.”
“That’s your problem,” Nate said. “When you leave dead victims in your wake, you also leave enemies.”
“We didn’t rape or murder anyone. We just take what we have to in order to survive and kill only to defend ourselves.”
“You shot first. You stole first. You trespassed on my farm and took what we need to survive, condemning children to hunger.” Nate pulled his knife. “When I think of the loss of my friends and those children with no parents and going hungry because of you and your kind, I want to forget about giving you a chance to live.” He took a step closer.
“I…I’m sorry, but we’re just trying to survive. There’s no food or anything now.”
“Bullshit! There are hundreds of vacant farms in this county alone. Why didn’t you find one of the larger ones where the owners died in the plague and move in and work it?” Nate swung his knife, the blade cutting tree bark just above the man’s head and taking some hair off the top also. “I know why. You’re too damn lazy to work for a living, that’s why. You would rather steal.”
“We don’t know how to farm. And we would starve before the first crop could be harvested.”
Nate kicked him in the stomach. “More bullshit. It doesn’t take a genius to farm. If you had spent half as much effort in peaceful, productive work as you have raid
ing other’s homes, you would have been much better off. But that would mean you have to get off your ass and work.” Nate put his blade to the man’s throat. “You stole a whole season of sixteen-hour days from us and most of our farming tools, condemning us to hunger, just because you are lazy trash.”
“I…uh…I’m sure I can convince them to leave tonight. I’m sorry about taking your stuff. We’re just trying to survive.”
“You already said that many times. My guess is that most of you tell yourselves that, every day.” Nate reached down with the knife to cut the rope that bound his hands behind the tree.
“Please! No!” The man pulled against his restraints, recoiling from the blade.
“Just keep telling yourself that what you’re doing is justified and you’ll be humming that chant all the way to hell.” Nate cut the rope and stood back, holding his pistol on the man. “But do it someplace else. If you’re not down the road in fifteen minutes, that drone is going to unload all of its missiles on your caravan of thieves.”
The man stepped back from Nate, rubbing his wrists. “I’m sure I can talk them into leaving, but we need more time to pack.”
“Fifteen minutes. The clock starts now.” Nate took Brian’s watch out of his pocket and looked at the man. “Fifteen minutes and she’s on the radio calling in an airstrike.”
The man took off.
Nate ran in the other direction. He circled the farm and headed for the eastern edge of his field. He wanted to watch the farm. There was a tree with an old deer stand in it. He found it in the dark, because it was by a well-worn deer trail and just past a hog wallow.
Climbing to the top and sitting down on the platform, Nate glassed his farm and saw the storm of frantic movement in flashes of truck headlights as people ran from the house and barn to trucks, dragging sleeping gear and packs behind them. Mothers had yawning, half-dressed children by the hand or in their arms. Nate saw that many of the children were smaller than those he'd seen on the dirt road that night. He was glad he'd controlled his temper and did not shoot into the crowd. Other trucks, loaded with people and stolen goods, jockeyed for a place in the choked driveway. Horns blew and men yelled obscenities out windows at one another. The clang and slam of fender-benders echoed across the field.
Nate sighed.
Just leave, and don’t come back.
Chapter 20
When the last of the trucks sped away, disappearing around a curve in the driveway, Nate climbed down from the tree stand and walked the edge of the field.
He stayed in the shadows of the tree line. A sniper could have been left behind. The moonless night was even without starlight. Clouds had scudded in earlier, and the sky looked like rain. Nate felt it was not likely to rain for many hours, and he did not have hours to waste waiting for the cover of a storm. Even in the dark, he took the time to find a wrinkle in the lay of the land and crawled to the livestock water tank.
Nate had nothing to dip the water out of the tank, and with no cow to drink from it, it was full. He strained to tilt it. It was too heavy. Oh, the hell with it. He pulled both his handguns, put them on higher ground along with the carbine, stepped into the tank, and set down. Gallons of water poured over the top. He shoved his body from one end to the other, pushing out many more gallons of water. When he stepped out of the tank, dripping, the tank was left half-full.
The weight was just within his ability to handle, and he overturned the tank.
Motion near the barn prompted Nate to dive for his guns. He grabbed the carbine and kept watch while holstering both revolver and pistol. The pasture had enough tall weeds growing in clumps here and there, along with tall grass, that he could not be seen while lying on the ground.
He watched through binoculars. Someone had a two-gallon can of something in his hand and began to pour its contents onto the barn’s wood front wall. Nate could only see the motion in the dark but knew what was happening. He had learned earlier from shooting the carbine that it was set for close-range woods fighting and shot low at longer ranges, so he aimed one foot high through the electronic sight of the carbine and fired. The human form fell, then began to crawl. Nate glassed the area, searching for more threats. He found none, so he fired again. The form stopped moving.
I can’t stand an arsonist.
Nate crawled back to the water tank and began to pull it toward the woods line, keeping as low as possible.
~~~~
“Can you tell if she’s getting better?” Brian asked Caroline.
Caroline checked Deni’s pulse. “Sorry. All I can tell you is that she’s still alive. Who knows what’s going on inside her as far as bleeding, spinal injuries, or brain damage is concerned. If I had seen the accident, I would have a better idea, but it would still be a guess.”
Brian shook his head in the dark. “Jeez. That tells me a lot.”
“We’re not in an intensive care unit. No doctor could tell you much either. Not without a few million dollars worth of equipment.” Caroline was losing patience.
Brian kept watching the woods around them as he talked. “It’s not your fault that she’s hurt.” He looked her way in the dark. “At least you’re talking more now.”
She did not say anything, and the silence between them became awkward.
A dull, metallic sound on the river snapped them both to attention.
Brian moved closer and saw a rectangle object heading for shore.
A voice rose up. “It’s your father, Brian. How is Deni?”
“Seems to be the same,” Brian answered. “She has not woken.”
“Caroline with her?” Nate got out of the water tank while Brian held his end from shore.
“Yeah,” Brian said. “She can’t tell much about if Deni’s going to be okay or not.”
Nate pulled the tank farther up on dry land. “I can bet on how you learned that bit of info.”
“What?” Brian watched as Nate put a long pole down. “You going to use that to push the tank upstream?”
“No. You and Caroline are.” Nate walked by Brian. “Help me get Deni in the tank so we can start her upriver. Time is short. We can’t travel on the river in daylight.”
“You’re back early.” Brian tried to look his father over for wounds, but the darkness made it difficult. He could only tell Nate was not limping or favoring an arm.
Nate kept walking. “I didn’t wait to see if that thieving bunch were going to leave on their own. Deni doesn’t need to be in this swamp any longer. We have to get her to the bunker.”
Brian walked behind Nate. “Aren’t you going to rest? You haven’t slept much in a long time.”
“No.” Nate stopped by Caroline and Deni.
Brian looked up at his father. “We heard an explosion. Was that you?”
“It was my bomb.”
“You don’t seem like you’re hurt, anyway.” Brian looked but still could not see much in the dark.
“I’m not. Nice of you to mention it.”
“Hell, Dad. I’ve been worried the whole time. We already lost Ben…and Deni is…”
Nate held his son for a second and let him go. “I know. I’m okay. Wait until you’re a father. Then you will learn about worry.” He turned to Caroline. “The mob of thieves have packed up and left.”
“What?” Brian nearly yelled.
“So, your scheme worked.” Caroline stood.
“Well, I scared them enough they took off.” Nate gave Brian his watch back. “Whether they stay scared enough to stay gone is a different matter.”
“The sorry bastards,” Brian blurted. “Ben was a good man. And what about Mrs. Neely? Cindy? Tommy?” He turned his back. “And look at Deni.”
Nate moved to Brian’s side and put his right hand on his shoulder. “I know. I dread telling Ben’s family.” He knew words could do little. “You’ve helped me a lot. Now I need you even more. The other gang of killers will be here soon. I still think they are fleeing something. So that means they are probably still coming this wa
y.”
Brian wiped his face. “I can’t lose you. I can’t.”
“I’m doing my best to stay with you. But I can’t take care of you and everyone else without your help.” Nate gripped Brian’s shoulder and shook him. “Now stand up to it and keep your head on straight. I need you. I can’t do it without your help.”
“Okay.” Brian turned and walked to Deni. “How is the best way to carry her to the tank?”
Nate grabbed him by the back of the neck and shook him. “Good. Get your pack.” Nate picked up Caroline’s pack. “Come down to the river with me.”
They came back carrying the water tank, trying not to make too much noise, avoiding cypress knees, weaving between trees.
Caroline helped them put Deni in.
Brian took his boonie hat off and folded it under her head.
Nate carried the front end, Caroline and Brian the back.
When they had the tank floating, Nate said, “Brian, you and Caroline get in. Put the packs on each side of Deni.”
Brian got in the front. Caroline sat behind Deni’s head.
Nate handed Brian the long pole. “Just keep it out of the way for now.”
After putting his handguns behind Caroline on the tank’s bottom, and leaning the carbine against the left rear corner so he could reach it fast, Nate put his pack behind Caroline and waded in. He pushed the tank ahead of him and walked along the river bottom.
“Dad, you can’t do that the whole way.”
Nate pushed the water tank along. “Just keep your eyes and ears open. Watch the right bank.”
“It’ll be too deep in places,” Brian said.
“Quiet.”
“You’re going to get bitten by a snake.”
For the next mile, no one said anything.
When the sun started to come up, Brian looked back and saw that his father was swimming, pushing the tank against the current with a modified sidestroke. He kept out of the main current by staying close so shore, but it had grown too deep for Nate to push off the bottom.
Brian pushed off the bottom with the pole. The tank surged ahead a foot, then the current caught it again and Nate strained to keep the momentum.