Backwoods
Armageddon
Paul Ross
&
Angela Roquet
Backwoods Armageddon
By Paul Ross & Angela Roquet
Copyright © 2014 by Paul Ross & Angela Roquet
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment
only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published May 2014
For our parents and grandparents,
who raised us up right and spent
summer weekends with us at the lake.
Chapter 1
Six squirrels was a good day. In fact, Lester Miller couldn’t remember the last time he’d bagged his daily limit. He hummed, ignoring the humidity, as he skinned his kill.
Spring in Missouri was a cluster-fuck. The squirrels seemed a bit more out of sorts today though. Lester shrugged off the omen and decided he was just a lucky bastard, but his luck began to thin as the clouds blotted out the sun and a drop of rain splattered on his nose. He still had three squirrels left to clean.
“You shoulda hunted yerself down a brain out there in them woods.” Lilly Miller stormed out the backdoor of their single-wide trailer, wringing her hands in her apron like she was fixing to try them out on his neck next. “I guess yer blind now as well as deaf?”
Lester gave her one of his looks, the kind that painted him as oblivious as a cow ready for slaughter, which is how he usually felt when Lilly worked herself into a lather. She curled her nose up at his squirrels and thrust a finger behind him, over at the Yoder chicken farm on the other side of Turkey Trail, the gravel road that cut past their little plot of land. “Take yer time, Dorothy.”
Lester glanced over his shoulder. The sky had taken on a green tint, and the clouds churned with a grumble of thunder. Beyond a field of soybeans, a wispy funnel poked downward, sucking along the rooftops of the Yoder chicken houses. The hens were clucking out a pitiful swan song. Lester wondered how he hadn’t heard it before.
Lilly cleared her throat. “Me and the kids will be in the storm shelter, if you’d like to grace us with yer presence.”
Lester grumbled to himself as he scooped up his squirrels and his leather pouch of skinning tools.
“And don’t even think about bringin’ those filthy rodents down there,” Lilly snapped.
Lester waited for her to head back to the house before dropping the squirrels down in a grocery sack, hiding it under the flap of his thin flannel shirt. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her… or him.
The wind picked up, rattling the screen door on its hinges as Sissy and Junior spilled outside, arms loaded with the same trinkets and treasures they looted from their bedrooms every time the weatherman sneezed in their direction.
Sissy had a duffle bag over one shoulder and her guitar over the other. The straps pulled at the ratty orange braids hanging behind her ears. Her arms were loaded down with magazines and junk food. With her dirty flip-flops and cut-off jean shorts, she looked like she had come straight from Woodstock.
Junior carried a stack of comic books under his arm in a copycat of Sissy and her tabloids. Ernie, Junior’s faithful, mangy mutt, tagged along behind him, occasionally nosing the boy’s back pocket, where he had stuffed his stash of stale jerky. Lilly joined them in the backyard, arms dangling with more grocery sacks than her tiny frame should have been able to manage.
All Lester took with him was his Savage .22 and the squirrels. He’d been through enough storms in the Midwest that they hardly fazed him anymore. The kids were young and excitable, and Lilly had grown up in southern Colorado. On days like today, he felt like the sole orderly in a madhouse.
The storm shelter was little more than an eight foot hole in the ground with a door. Lester had framed it out with a few boards and cinder blocks. There was a rickety ladder that led down to a dirt floor, and only enough room for an equally rickety shelf full of canned tomatoes and green beans, a water barrel, and an oil lamp.
This was already the third time the Miller family had holed up in the shelter this spring. Lilly had taken to praying more, and Sissy was growing a rather long bucket list for a girl of seventeen. Junior was too occupied calming Ernie’s yowling to pick up any extra annoying habits. Lester usually passed the time in the dark napping, or rolling his eyes if the ruckus got too bad, and this particular storm looked like it was going to create plenty of ruckus.
Lester wobbled on the ladder, reaching for the hatch door. Before he pulled it closed, he caught sight of the twister touching down. It looked like a milkshake spewing out of a lidless blender. The wind kicked dirt in his eyes and sucked the breath from his lungs. He strained against it, slamming the hatch door and sliding a board between the barricade brackets on either side. Then he climbed down the ladder and fumbled around in the dark for the oil lamp. It took four matches to get the damn thing lit with all the wind working its way through the gaps in the weathered door. The lamp light reflected off the jars of tomatoes, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. Ernie let out a long, low whine.
“Shhh,” Junior hushed him as he pulled a piece of jerky from his back pocket. He tore it in half, tossing a bit to the dog before shoving the rest in his mouth.
Sissy rubbed her hands together and tucked them under her armpits. “Where’re the extra blankets? Christ! I’m freezin’ my tits off here.”
“Sissy!” Lilly snapped, then quickly folded her hands and glanced up at the ceiling. “She didn’t mean no offense, Jesus.”
Sissy and Lester rolled their eyes. While the oldest Miller child had acquired Lilly’s fiery curls, her attitude was purely Lester’s fault. Lilly reminded him as often as she saw fit. He had to hide his smile to save face (Lilly would have smacked it clean off), but he was rather proud that something of him had emerged from the gene lagoon. Lester shrugged off his flannel shirt and tossed it to Sissy. His bag of squirrels shimmered in the lamp light.
“I told you not to bring them damn rodents down here.” Lilly abandoned her prayer to swear at Lester, while Ernie whined again. Whether it was from the musky stench of dead squirrel or the roar of the storm was anyone’s guess. Junior hushed him with another piece of stale jerky.
The cellar door shook on its hinges, and the jars of tomatoes and green beans rattled together on the lopsided shelf, slipping dangerously close to the edge.
Lilly fell to her knees, once again sending prayers up into the darkness. She reached out for Lester’s hand and pulled him down next to her. “It’s a bad one this time. You might wanna be makin’ yer peace with the Lord while ya can.”
Lester grumbled, but to his credit he didn’t roll his eyes. Sissy knelt down on the ground next to him, closing her eyes tight and clasping her hands.
“Dear God, don’t let me die a virgin.”
Junior’s eyes lit up. “Yer a virgin?”
Sissy reached out to smack at him in the dark. “Shut up, you twit!”
Junior dodged her. “Maybe you oughta be prayin’ for Jesus to make you prettier, so if we get outta here you won’t have to worry about yer virginity so much.”
“Quie
t, you two,” Lilly hissed. She held her breath, listening as the wind stilled outside the door. “I think it’s passin’.”
Junior’s whimpers replaced Ernie’s. “I hafta pee,” he said.
Just then, the cellar door was ripped away. The wind rushed in. Sissy and Junior screamed as the dirt floor swirled up around them, throwing bits of rock and grit in their eyes.
The old ladder groaned as the twister settled over the opening. It wretched violently, jerking this way and that, before the lower end of the ladder flew up and cracked Junior across the head. He fell back into Lilly’s arms. Bright blood gushed from his forehead and trailed down his face.
Lilly shook Junior, shouting his name over the roaring wind, but he wouldn’t stir. A wet stain spread over the front of his shorts. Ernie began to howl, a low mournful sound that grew louder as the storm faded.
Lester wasn’t a crying man, but now seemed like as good a time as any to start. The storm had passed, but they were still stuck in a hole without the ladder.
Sissy gave up the flannel shirt to stop the river of blood coming from Junior’s head, and Lilly used one of the sleeves to wipe the snot from her face. Lester decided that the old flannel might have been the most useful thing he had to offer in this crisis.
“How are we gonna get out of here, Les?” Lilly wailed, clutching Junior to her chest. “How?” she begged, growing more hysterical with each passing second.
Lester rubbed a hand over his face and pinched his eyes shut. “Shhhh. I’m thinkin’.” It wasn’t one of his strong suits, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t why Bub Haggers had hired him on at Ivy Mill’s Pawn and Taxidermy.
Sissy kept pressure on Junior’s head but slowly tilted her nose away. “Aw, hell. He pissed himself.”
“Now’s no time to get squeamish,” Lilly scolded her.
Lester tuned them out and began pacing back and forth, grinding the storm’s moisture into a pasty clay with the two steps his boulder frame allowed him to take in either direction. He thought about the water barrel, but it was in the opposite corner from the opening, and eighty gallons of water just wasn’t something he could sling around. That left the garden shelf.
By some miracle, the jars had survived. Lilly had complained when he anchored the shelf to the dirt wall, rather than build her a new one, but it was the only reason they weren’t drowning in stew tomatoes and green beans.
“Lester,” Lilly prodded him again.
“Wait. Wait, I got it,” he said. He began taking the jars from the shelf and stacking them in the opposite corner.
“Are you really thinkin’ about food right now?” Lilly barked.
Lester ignored her and continued clearing the shelf. When he was done, he dug his skinning claw out of his tool pouch and used it to pry away the wall anchors. Then he tilted the shelf against the wall under the opening where the door had been.
Lilly still looked skeptical. “That ain’t gonna hold yer weight, Les.”
Lester grumbled, disheartened that his brilliant idea had been so quickly shot down. He tested the shelf anyway, stepping gingerly on the bottom rung until it groaned and bowed. It was no good. He knew he should have splurged on oak, but he was on a pine budget. He plopped down on the dirt floor and buried his face in his hands with a sob.
“Daddy,” Sissy said softly. Her eyes welled up again and she began to sniffle.
“It was a good try,” Lilly finally said, coming down from her biting panic. She stroked Junior’s hair away from his face. He still hadn’t stirred, but the bleeding had finally slowed down. Ernie wedged his muzzle under the boy’s limp arm.
“What about me?” Sissy stood and glanced up out of the hole at the clearing sky and then back at the makeshift ladder. “Think it’d hold my weight?” she asked, rubbing the goose bumps from her thin arms.
Lester’s head shot up. He glanced over to Lilly and raised his eyebrows in question. Lilly’s lips pressed together, like she wanted to say no, but when she looked down at Junior again, her expression changed.
“Be careful, Sissy,” she said, reaching out to squeeze her hand.
“I’ll give ya a push,” Lester added.
Sissy grabbed hold of the shelf and took a step up. It creaked, but otherwise held together. Lester steadied the sides as she shinnied up to the top. When she reached the opening, he held his hands out to make an extra step. Sissy’s muddy flip-flops slid against his palms, and she hissed out an unsure breath. Then she ground her teeth together and hiked a knee over the soggy edge. Lester gave a final push, and she tumbled out of the shelter with a victorious, “Oomph!”
“Do you see the ladder?” Lester shouted after she’d had time to gather her wits and look around.
“No.” She sniffled. “And the house is toast.”
“Do ya see anything we could use?” Lester didn’t care about the trailer. As long as Junior wasn’t a vegetable, he didn’t care if they had to live in a tent the rest of their days.
Sissy was quiet for a few seconds. “Oh my god. Ricky.”
Lester frowned. “Ricky’s too far away. We need help now. Don’t be runnin’ off to check on that boy when your brother’s down here bleedin’ to death in his own piss.”
“I can see Ricky’s trailer,” Sissy snapped.
Lester cringed, thinking about all the trees the storm must have uprooted from his tiny hunting plot. He immediately felt guilty for the thought, but didn’t let it dampen his tone. “I don’t care if Ricky’s sendin’ out smoke signals. Don’t you run off without gettin’ us outta here!”
Sissy leaned over the hole to glare at him. Her frizzy hair stood off her head like a halo in the sunlight. “I’m not runnin’ off anywhere. His trailer’s in our backyard.”
Lester perked up. “Maybe he’s gotta ladder.”
Sissy snorted. “It don’t look like he’s got a pot to piss in right now.” She looked over her shoulder. “Or half his senses. But I’ll go check.”
Lester waited quietly, straining to hear something that sounded promising, but all he could make out was a slurred wheezing that suggested their stoner neighbor had probably started his weekend early, just before the storm rolled in.
A second later, Ricky leaned over the hole to peer down at them. His dirty tangle of blond hair draped over one shoulder, and his goatee was mashed back against his face like he’d driven his Harley straight through the heart of the twister. His eyes looked like two cherries swimming in buttermilk. Sissy slapped a hand to his chest in time to keep him from falling face first into the shelter.
Lester gave him a tight smile. “In a million years, I never thought I’d be this glad to see you.”
Ricky wheezed out a strangled laugh. “Happy to see you too, old man.”
“You gotta ladder?”
“Nope.” Ricky scratched his mangy chin and looked around at nothing in particular. “Maybe we could just pull ya outta there.” He reached his hand down, and Sissy had to grab his shoulder to save him again.
Lester frowned, but they were pretty short on options at the moment. “I think Lilly will make it up the shelf. Then I could hand Junior up to y’all.”
“What about you, Daddy?” Sissy didn’t sound so sure.
Lester shrugged. “Then I guess there’d be enough of you to pull me out.”
Lilly didn’t like the idea of leaving Junior’s side, but staying in the ground wouldn’t do them any good either. She tied the sleeves of the flannel shirt around Junior’s head and gave him a kiss before letting Lester hoist her up on the shelf. It creaked and groaned again, but it survived. Ricky and Sissy took Lilly’s hands and yanked her up and out.
Lester was almost afraid to move Junior. He tried to be careful, but Junior’s head rolled around like a buoy in the Ozark tide. He finally managed to set him on top of the shelf, letting his back rest against the wall.
Ricky and Lilly both lay on their stomachs and dangled their arms down in the hole, while Lester flopped Junior’s arms up to them. He made sure Junior’s
head was tilted forward, chin to his chest, and then Ricky and Lilly heaved and hoed him upward and out of the hole.
Halfway up, Junior’s eyes opened. He blinked twice and glanced around, catching sight of Lester. “I didn’t wet the bed. Ernie did it. Damn dog ate all my jerky too,” he mumbled before drifting out of consciousness again.
Ernie. Shit. Lester had forgotten about the mutt. The dog whimpered at his heels, now that his partner in crime and snacks were out of reach. The thing looked like Toto, if he’d been fed after midnight. Lester sighed and scooped the mutt up, tossing him skyward as soon as Junior had cleared the opening. Ernie landed with a startled yap that was cut short once his snout barreled into the mud.
Lester tested the shelf again, leaning on it until he heard a splintering crack. This was going to be interesting.
Ricky leaned over the hole and scratched his bristly cheek. “Don’t reckon you could give us a runnin’ start?”
Lester suppressed a snarl. “Just get yer hand ready.”
Ricky rocked from side to side, stretching his legs and rubbing his palms together. Lilly finished situating Junior and wiped her hands on her apron. Her frown migrated from Ricky to Lester, like she knew this was a dumb idea, but there was no stopping it now. She took a step off to the side of the hole so Lester would have enough room to climb out, if he was lucky enough to make it.
Lester took a deep breath and scrambled up the shelf like a cat on fire. It wasn’t fast enough. Each board snapped as he pushed off, until he finally reached the top and the whole shelf crumpled beneath him in a heap of kindling. The opening hit him at the waist, digging into his gut.
Ricky wrapped his wiry fingers around Lester’s forearm and pulled, while Lilly clung to Lester’s other arm, doing more harm than good. His legs cycled uselessly against the damp wall, as Ricky and Lilly strained to pull him out far enough, where he would have some kind of leverage.
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