When It Rains

by Joel Shaw

  Amber shined her headlamp light on the body. "Should we say something?"

  “For Wes? Sure. I’ll say something.” Sheila’s growled. “Wes was a no good son...”

  She halted her caustic eulogy, suddenly remembering a recent mistake. “Wait a minute. Did anybody search him?"

  "No, and that's a damn good idea.” Milton gave Harold a nudge. “Why didn't you think of that, HC?”

  Harold didn't want to touch the body again. He didn't say a word, hoping the suggestion would pass.

  Sheila, exasperated by the timid crew, made her way to the edge of the grave.

  “Shit, here I go getting dirty again." She jumped in the hole, straddling the body. In the darkness, no one saw her stuff the items she found in the pocket of her cargo shorts.

  “Nothing,” she said as she clambering from the hole using Wes’s ample stomach as a step. She turned and spit in the grave.

  “Adios motherfucker.” She kicked some dirt on Wes’s face and turned away.

  Amber stood still, the darkness was closing in on her. "Let's get out of here, OK?"

  "Help us cover him and we'll go,” Faye said.

  Shovels, hands and feet went to work pushing dirt over the body until the grave was filled.

  “So long, Wes. That's all I have to say. Let's get the hell out of here." Milton groped his way toward the door. "I've had enough of this place."

  Harold clung to Milton’s shirt tail, following him toward the door.

  Faye led them back through the catacomb not bothering to lock the passage doors. She paused at a large tin box near the foot of the basement stairs where she kept treats for special guests. She hoped to break the somber mood of the burial party and get them thinking about something other than death.

  "You want chocolate or vanilla?"

  "What?" Milton asked.

  "Pudding. Do you want chocolate or vanilla pudding?"

  "Chocolate," was the resounding response.

  Sitting together in the dining room, the group consumed the delicious snack in silence. On all accounts, it had been a remarkable day. A day of revelation, reunion and departure.

  So distracted was he by the ongoing events, Harold had failed to inquire about Jerry and Leland.

  “Hey, Milt. Where are the boys?”

  Milton scratched his head thoughtfully. “They left right after you and your bathing beauties did. They just said they had somewhere to go...something to check out.”

  Harold’s set his pudding aside. Suddenly, it didn’t taste good.

  #

  CHAPTER 27

  Leland and Jerry froze where they were, near the main gate. Davis was coming. Or at least they thought it was Davis. They could see a solitary headlamp bobbing through the woods. The fool was whistling.

  “It looks like he’s alone.” Leland whispered.

  “Yeah, but is he armed?” Jerry nocked an arrow.

  “He’s carrying something long...could be a rifle.”Leland couldn’t use his scope in the dark. He flipped the safety off and waited.

  “I’m sure it’s a rifle.” Jerry insisted. He wished he had the M-4 scope on his bow. It was a distracting idea. His fifty-pound bow flexed as he drew the arrow back, further, further. He couldn’t hold the tension for long. His arms began to quiver.

  Davis was in the clearing. They could just make out his silhouette. He was definitely carrying something that looked like a rifle. Leland strained his eyes, trying to make out exactly what it was. A walking stick?

  “It’s a...” It was pointless to finish, trusting his instinctive aim, Jerry had loosed the arrow into the night.

  Davis was happy with the outcome of the days events. His once exemplary leader had turned into a dictator, treating his men with total lack of regard, hoarding the best rations, and supplies for himself, forcing the men to fend for themselves amongst the locals. One by one the men turned on their leader spending long nights discussing methods of retribution. Knowing full well that they couldn’t harm Hanson. They needed him for the time being. Hanson alone knew how to contact the money man. They had been deployed for...how many...thirteen...fourteen years without relief and without pay. Seeing Hanson writhing in pain was a gift, but it wasn’t enough. If they could sell the water in the warehouse, they would all be rich. His whistle changed to a squeal as he dropped to the forest floor grasping for the object that pierced his left leg with tremendous force.

  Leland was startled by the cries. “What the hell? Did you shoot the guy?

  “It was my turn.” Jerry said, matter-of-factly. “Sounds like I hit him, too.”

  “Hell yes, either that or a tree just fell on him. We have to shut him up. He’s going to wake the dead.”

  They ran toward the cries until they saw Davis writhing on the ground. He was hyper-ventilating, drawing shallow breaths as he tried to stem the flow of blood spilling from his severed femoral artery like wine from a broken bottle.

  “Nice shot, Jer,” Leland said sarcastically, “I think you killed him.”

  “I...I...was trying to wound him...not kill him.” Jerry replied uncertainly. The battle of conscience commenced and for a second he thought remorse and regret would and ruin his day until he reminded himself of his agenda. Jerry was tired of waiting for the revolution to begin. It was time to take back the country. Blockade the Colonies. Replace the government. This was his beginning.

  Leland reached for the long object lying near Davis’ body, he knew the instant he touched it. “He had a walking stick, Jer, not a rifle.”

  Jerry shrugged. “Could have been a rifle. I wasn’t taking any chances.”

  “It doesn’t matter, now.” Leland poked at Davis with the end of the walking stick. “I think he’s dead.”

  Davis opened his eyes. He couldn’t see his attackers but he could hear them. “What happened...my leg.” He moaned loudly as he touched the arrow, trying to identify the object that was causing so much pain. Refusing to believe what his mind was telling him.

  “What is it,” he moaned, “What’s sticking in my leg? What the fuck did you guys do to me?”

  “I shot you with an arrow soldier boy.” Jerry said in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Leland almost laughed, so rich was the irony.

  “Yeah. You’ve been shot by a Dakota Indian. He shot you with a home-made bow and arrow, dude. Payback is a bitch, ain’t it?” He snarled bitterly. Justice served. Where are the rest of these assholes and how many of them are there? He didn’t think to take a bunk count. Damn. That would be useful information. His amusement was soon replaced by doubt. Could they take on the remaining Black Swans with any hope of prevailing? He realized the question was mute; he had fired the first shot and it felt good. He was ready to shoot again. The reign of the swans was about to end.

  Davis’s head went limp.

  Jerry braced against the dead leg and rotated the arrow shaft, unscrewing it from the broad-head tip that remained planted in bone.

  “He won’t be needing this.” He slipped the red arrow into his quiver.

  Leland cuffed Jerry with the back of his hand. “Don’t be so quick on the draw next time, chief. We could have interrogated him.”

  Jerry grinned, ignoring the reprimand. “I’ve never hunted after dark. It’s crazy, man. I didn’t do too bad for the first time out, did I? I aimed at the sound and hit him. Do you believe that?” He studied dead Davis for a moment.

  “He was an asshole, Lee. I can tell by looking at him.” He filled the dead man’s eyes with dirt. “Adios soldier boy.” He tried to pin a rational label on the episode to ease his mind: It was self-defense or justified homicide or revenge. Fear was closer to the truth but he was not going to admit it.

  “Manslaughter.” Leland said, as though he could read Jerry’s thoughts.

  “More like Swan Slaughter.” Jerry laughed callously attempting to steel himself for the next event. He repeated the catchy phrase. “Swan Slaughter.” He envisioned a river of blood carrying bloated Black Swan carcasses downstre
am.

  “I think we’re done with ambushes for the night. Let’s search this guy then go back and get my dad and Milton. We’re going to need some help.”

  Leland examined the IDTag. “His name is Roger Davis” Buried deep in a shirt pocket was a yellowed picture of a small boy.

  “He had a kid, Jer.”

  “Sorry kid.” Jerry got up and walked from the body.

  “Let it go, Jer. Let it go.”

  “It’s not what you think, Lee. I was just reminded of my family. It’s been a long time.” Jerry was unusually silent as they searched the remaining shelters in the camp. Leland counted twenty bunks. Finding nothing of significance, they headed for the covered quarries.

  The water in Quarry Two was green with algae. A collection of floating balls, rafts, and inner tubes corralled near the entrance indicated that the quarry served as a swimming pool.

  “The filtration system must have failed...or they don’t have the fuel to run it.” Leland observed.

  The dome over Quarry One, the largest of the quarries, was incomplete. Piles of unused and abandoned materials lay rotting or rusting amongst encroaching weeds, shrubs and trees. Evaporation had taken a toll, too, reducing the water to a mere thirty feet from its original 65 feet. The water was viscous with decaying organic matter and human waste. The stench was overwhelming.

  “Forget that,” Jerry said, holding his nose. “I’ve seen enough of this dump. Let’s go see what those girls look like when they’re clean.”

  “I’m right behind you, chief.”

  #

  CHAPTER 28

  Milton responded to knocking at the alley door. He was relieved to see the two young mercenaries as they slipped inside.

  “Where you boys been? It’s almost dawn. We were worried.” Milton studied the sweat stained pair in the candlelight. Their pockets bulged with packages and their arms were loaded with clothing, and boots. The smell of blood and gunpowder followed them inside.

  “You two alright?” Milton asked quietly.

  “Hell yes, Milton.” Leland exploded into the story.

  Milton shook his head and shushed the exuberant one. “Everybody’s asleep. Be quiet.”

  Leland contained himself as best he could. He did manage to tell an abbreviated story before Milton stopped him again, insisting that they, too, get some sleep.

  “I have a feeling we are going to be very busy tomorrow. Get some rest, boys.” Then he smiled. “Oh yeah, I thought I would tell you just how fine those two girls looked after a bath. Oh yeah, buddy, they...well, you’ll just have to see for yourself.” He waved them on their way, grinning until they were out of sight, then came the pondering. He was obsessing about leaving. If two young women can travel from state to state, why not he? He sat in the dark, obsessing and sleepless.

  Then came the sunrise, soon the parlor was filled with smell of steaming coffee, pancakes, and oatmeal and chatter. With less than three hours of sleep, Jerry and Leland, carrying a dozen MREs joined the group and passed out packages of MRE.

  “Compliments of The Black Swans,” Jerry grinned, “dig in, beats the hell out of oatmeal.”

  The house was quite for several long minutes as the diet-challenged enjoyed the new menu items. The only sounds came from the crinkling of foil packages being torn open followed by delightful outbursts of appreciation.

  Jerry and Leland hurried through their breakfasts, eager to tell all regarding their dangerous journey into the enemies camp. No details were missed and much speculation followed as they all, sated, began to speak at once. The cacophony was unusual and unwanted by one in particular.

  “Hold it down.” Faye yelled. “I can’t hear myself think.” She liked quiet mornings spent in the cupola on the roof of her building. Quiet, peaceful mornings.

  “Sorry Faye,” Jerry said. “We...well, we had us a hell of a night.”

  “You were lucky, that’s all. Don’t pull another stunt like that young man. You are much too young to die.” She looked at Harold, who had been staring at her for hours.

  “You tell him, Harold. He doesn’t always hear me.”

  “Likewise,” Harold said. His MRE remained untouched in his lap. He was preoccupied with Faye. He wasn’t worried about the boys. They were on their own. He was in love.

  “Harold?”

  “What? Oh. Right. You boys stay out of trouble.”

  Leland was perplexed by his father’s odd behavior.

  “Dad? What’s the matter with you? Weren’t you listening to our story? Trouble is here and we have to face it. We have to make a plan of attack.” Leland glanced at Jerry, grinning, as though it was a game, reminiscent of the hours they had spent as youths chasing make-believe armies from the surrounding forests. He was all business until he noticed Sheila and Amber seated in the shadows in the dining room, talking quietly to each other. What were they going to do? He hoped they would stay.

  Ushering up his best saunter, he approached the newcomers.

  “Hi. How you doing today?” He didn’t wait for an answer. His hormones were impatient.

  “You look great.” He blushed.

  “Which one of us?” Sheila was surly as a rule and she wasn’t interested in small talk. Even less-so this morning. She wanted rest, days of rest, but that wasn’t going to happen. Not until she had fulfilled her mission. She was determined to strike the Swans before they could recover from yesterday’s events.

  Based on what she heard from the two horny guys, the camp was empty. It wouldn’t stay that way for long. She wondered if the Swans could call for reinforcements. Why wait to find out? They had to strike the train this morning. She had listened for two hours while Milton, Harold, Faye, Jerry and Leland discussed the future of the town and the demise of the Swans. Nothing had been decided. She wished she could handle it alone.

  She stood with conviction, hand on her hips, dominating the space. Her red hair shimmered in the dim light like Medusa’s beacon. She was ready for battle and she hoped these wimps could keep up.

  Milton had been mute during the morning’s discussions. He was distracted by the new faces in the family. Pretty faces. He wanted to masturbate right there and then. His hard dick went limp when Sheila and Amber walked together into the light of the kitchen. Sheila had twin shoulder holsters filled with semi-automatic weapons. Amber carried her captured 9mm, tucked in the belt with her Tazer in it’s holster on her hip. They were intimidating.

  Milton was alarmed. “You have guns?”

  “Does that surprise you?” Sheila could feel the heat rising within.

  “Well yeah...sort of...are those things loaded? Milton stammered.

  “Of course they’re loaded. And we know how to use them.” Sheila fanned the flames.

  “Come on you pussies. Are you ready for a rumble or what?” She had seventeen rounds of ammunition in each pistol. She did the math...twenty...no......sixteen swans remaining, thirty-four rounds, that’s two bullet each. Perfect. She put her hands on her hips.

  “We have to take the train.” It sounded like a command. All eyes focused on the beacon.

  “We have to take the train this morning. Surprise those bastards.” The train was the prize, regardless of what was on board. She intended to commandeer the train and it’s contents and return to Kansas to find Shania. She considered returning to St. Cloud with Shania and her crew. Bring them to the water trough and the hanging garden thing. Her thoughts drifted into serenity until Harold interrupted.

  “And then what? Kill them?” Harold was scared. And in love. He pestered Faye like a child, touching, stroking, adoring her. The glimmer in his eyes revealed his thoughts; make love, not war.

  “If we have to.” Jerry answered with newfound conviction. He sensed that Sheila was ready to start a fire and he was willing to help her. She was hot. He was warming up, too.

  “Sheila is right. The Swans have lost their commanding officer. Now is the time to drive them out of town. If we have to kill a few to make that happen, then we’ll
do it...I’ll do it.”

  Sheila arranged the kindling “Hanson is mine...maybe a few more...but Hanson is mine.” She stood in silence for a few moments, waiting for a reply...nothing...no one seemed to object to premeditated murder. Maybe there was hope.

  Leland wasn’t going to be left out. “I’m going, too,” he said, “I’m dying to see what else is on the train.”

  He finished his last spoon full of dehydrated eggs, then stood, shouldering his rifle.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  Amber reluctantly joined in. She’d rather be sleeping. “If you’re going then I’m going with you.”

  “So, you in?” Sheila glowered at Milton, expecting him to retreat.

  “I got my forty-five right here,” he said patting the Colt tucked into his belt, “damn right I’m in.”

  Milton was warming. Get a little closer to the fire. “I think you might have to pick a new target, though. Hanson is toast. I ran that sucker over, hit him good. I’ll be surprised if he made it.” He was bragging now. Stroke, stroke, stroke. She is hot. I mean hot. He felt a boing in the groin.

  Sheila was visibly disappointed. Her quest to kill Hanson had been the driving force behind her decision to come north with Amber. Maybe she would get lucky. Maybe the asshole was still alive. It was worth a look.

  Faye had been an observer over all the goings on. This was her family. She felt like she was sending her kids off to school. Behave, I’ll stay here. Dinner will be ready when you get home. If only. She knew she had to go. None of them would be safe until the Homelan...Black Swans were gone. Damnit.

  She chastised herself for having been so blind to allow them to run the town for...goodness...how long had it been? Fourteen years. Well. That’s enough of that. She thought about opening her gun cabinet but she would have to reveal its location. That would be risky. Maybe best not to reveal so much so soon. Her boot-knife lay cold against her skin as a reminder her of her past transgressions lying dead in the cellar. She thought the killing was finished years ago. She had made peace with herself and was reluctant to open another bloody chapter in her life. But this was her family...she had to go.