“Wandering around in the woods, I ’magine,” Lilly answered. “He’ll be fine.”
Junior’s head bobbed. “He ate all my jerky.”
Lilly hushed him. “I know. We’ll getcha some more.”
Ricky huffed. “Where’s Bub keep the keys to the RV?”
Lester set Junior down on the sweets cooler, now that he was half-conscious, and reached over the front counter to dig the keys out of a drawer. He tossed them to Ricky, rolling his eyes.
Ricky found his way out to the back lot. It was overgrown with weeds. They sprouted up around the old dumpster and along the building, where a line of mowers sat waiting to be serviced. A mess of tall grass circled the RV, like the thing had grown right up out of the ground. It was a seventies Brave model, about eighteen feet long. It looked like a sorry excuse for a bread truck.
Ricky found a gas can hidden behind one of the mowers and picked it up to give it a shake. There was maybe half a gallon left in it, probably not even enough to get them out of the parking lot, he thought. He spotted a crusty garden hose dangling from a water spigot and patted his hip, where his trusty Gerber multi-tool hooked onto his belt.
The multi-tool was his traveling toolbox. To the untrained eye, it looked like nothing more than a pair of needle nose pliers, but tucked inside the handle was a knife blade, a saw, a pair of screwdrivers, a can-opener, and a file.
Ricky flicked the saw out and cut off two good chunks of the hose. Then he snatched up the gas can and circled the building. Lester spied him through the broken window and came out to investigate.
“You really think you can get that thing runnin’?” he asked.
Ricky shrugged and popped open the fuel cap on the Mazda. “Won’t know ‘til I get some gas in ‘er.”
He poked both pieces of the hose down into the car’s tank. Then he peeled off his tee shirt so he could tuck it around the opening and create a seal. Ricky stuck the end of one hose down in the gas can and blew into the end of the other. He held a finger up to quiet Lester until the can began to fill.
“What if it don’t work?” Lester blurted as soon as Ricky’s finger dropped.
“Then I guess we won’t be any more screwed than we already are.”
Ricky was in no mood to sugarcoat things. His Jeep was gone, and while some part of him knew better, he still felt like blaming Lester. The man hadn’t even thanked him for the long drive into town, never mind the fact that they’d all wanted to turn back once they got there. And it looked like his efforts to get them out of this new jam were probably going to go unappreciated too.
Lester began pacing alongside the Mazda. “Junior needs to be seen by a doc.”
Ricky stepped in his path, forcing him to look up. “If we go much further inta town, we’re all gonna need to be seen by a doc.”
Lester sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes.
Ricky wanted to be angry. He thought of his Jeep, but the sad old man just took a bite out of his heart. “Look, ya got the first aid kit, right? I’m sure we can patch yer boy up good as new, once we get home.”
“Home?” Lester’s eyes glazed over, like his brain had been too preoccupied to even digest the fact that his family was now homeless.
Ricky hadn’t really given it much thought yet either, but at least he still had the garage. It would do for now, and before he could stop himself, he said, “Y’all can stay with me ‘til you get things sorted out.”
The fuel slowed to a trickle in the gas can, and Ricky gave the hose another puff to push it along.
Lester’s brow pinched as he looked back toward G2M. The flow of people in and out had slowed, but probably only because the shelves were picked clean. It wouldn’t be long before more vandals found their way to Bub’s store.
Ricky squeezed Lester’s shoulder. “Why don’t ya get everyone loaded up. Even if we can’t get the thing rollin’, they’ll be safer out back than in the store. ’Sides, the kids don’t need ta be seein’ Bub like that.”
Lester swallowed. “I hope ya don’t think no less of me, but I’m gonna take what I can from the store. Looks like I’m outta job as well a home, and I gotta family to feed. Better us than a bunch a bloodthirsty mongrels anyway.”
Ricky didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. Lester shuffled back inside the store, and when Ricky finished siphoning the Mazda’s tank, he pulled his shirt back on and lugged the gas can around back to dump it in the Winnebago’s tank. Then he went back in the shop and scoured the shelves until he found a crescent wrench to reconnect the RV’s battery. Bub would have been smart enough to disconnect it if he was going to let it sit that long.
Lester was still inside the store with Sissy. He had a rifle over one shoulder and box of ammo tucked under his arm. Sissy was fingering an old acoustic guitar hanging on the wall between a weed-eater and a fishing pole.
“Take something useful,” Lester grumbled at her.
Sissy’s bottom lip trembled. “It would be useful. Mine’s still in tha storm shelter.” She tilted her chin up at him.
Lester shoved the box of ammo in her arms. “And it’ll still be there when we get back.” He pointed her out the door.
Sissy groaned and stormed off as Lester retreated back into Bub’s office. Ricky waited until he was out of sight before snatching the guitar off the wall. He followed Sissy outside and gave her a wink as he handed it to her. “Go hide this ’fore your pa sees it.”
Sissy’s eyes lit up and her cheeks flushed. She gave Ricky a toothy smile before disappearing inside the RV with the guitar.
The RV was rusty and the tires looked questionable, but they had enough air to get them the short distance back to the garage. Ricky toed the gas pedal a few times to prime the carburetor. The motor complained when he turned the key, but only for a second. It sputtered to life as he revved the engine, clearing the cobwebs. He glanced in the side mirror and saw smoke billow from the exhaust pipe.
“I think we’re in business.” Ricky looked over his shoulder with a grin.
Lilly, Sissy, and Junior were huddled together on the tattered bench seat behind him. Lester’s loot was piled up on the dinette table, spilling over into the booths on either side. Junior was still conscious, and his whining was beginning to make Ricky wish he had hit his head just a little harder.
“I’m thirsty,” the boy groaned.
Lilly stroked his head through the bloody flannel he still sported like a young, less competent Rambo. She glanced up at Ricky. “Why don’t you go fetch us some sodas from the cooler before we take off,” she said, not even acknowledging that he had just breathed life into a crusty tin can to get them to safety.
“Sure.” He hopped out and went back inside.
Lester was still scavenging through Bub’s office. He had found another rifle, a Bushmaster AR, and a rusty machete. The blade looked like it would give him tetanus before cutting through anything more than hot butter.
“You got it runnin’?” he asked.
Ricky gave him a two-fingered salute. “Yes siree. You ’bout ready to kick this pig?”
“Just got one more thing I’d like to grab, but I’ll be needin’ yer help.”
Ricky followed him back to the office. Lester set the AR down on the desk and circled around to inspect the paneled wall behind Bub’s musky swivel chair. He handed Ricky the machete so he could pull down a mount of a badger playing cards with a raccoon on a stump.
The thing couldn’t have weighed much, but it was wide and awkward to manage. Lester tried not to, but he ended up dropping the critters on their stuffed heads, ending their card game in a draw.
“Aw, hell. Bub’s gonna kill me—” he said, and then cringed, remembering that didn’t much matter now.
Lester snatched the machete from Ricky and turned his attention back to the paneled wall. He took the end of the blade and inserted it into a seam. After he’d pried it back, Ricky wedged his fingers in and pulled. The sheet of paneling crackled and groaned. Lester put down the machete and
helped Ricky finish peeling the piece from the wall.
When they were done, Ricky let out a low whistle. “Shit fire, Les. How the hell’d you know about all this?”
Lester gave him half a grin. “Bub’s got loose lips, once ya pour enough ’shine down ’em,” he said.
The studs in the wall were packed tight with .22lr ammo. A few silver coins, tucked down in a Crown Royal bag, hung from a rusty nail. An old lunch pail full of freeze-dried MRE food had been crammed between two studs, and a couple bottles of moonshine were stuffed down in a G2M grocery sack.
Ricky and Lester gathered up Bub’s booty and left the office. When they made it back to the front counter, they heard something that sounded like a bobcat trying to hack up a hairball. Then a gun cocked.
Lester dropped the stolen goods and pulled the AR off his shoulder, holding it up as he scanned the store for vandals.
A greasy ball cap bobbed over the top of the shelves near a back corner. The man was moving too much, twitching around like he had Parkinson’s. Lester snarled and leaned over to whisper to Ricky. “Meth-head.”
Ricky nodded and tightened his grip on the machete. “We should bolt,” he whispered back.
Then a high-pitched wail came from the corner. “Please, I don’t have any money in there, just my son’s inhaler, and he needs it.”
Ricky couldn’t leave now. A meth-head was one thing, but a meth-head holding up women and children was quite another.
The glint in Lester’s eye said he felt the same. He held the AR up to his shoulder and looked down the open sights, taking aim at the bouncing target, and pulled the trigger. A splatter of brains painted a framed set of old posters under the mounts.
Ricky’s eyes widened, stunned that Lester hadn’t even attempted to scare the bastard off first. He blinked stiffly and took a step back, ears ringing from the shot. A scream tore through the store.
Chapter 3
Callie Thomas was used to dealing with every variety of crazy, working nights in the ER. White walls and sterile scrubs made her feel safe. There was a calm, orderliness to the hospital, even when lives were bleeding out on operating tables. There was a system and protocol and hand sanitizer. If she’d wanted to do her job in the streets, she would have signed up to be an EMT.
Callie had ended up working a double shift, late into Friday morning. Her son Parker’s overnight babysitter hadn’t been thrilled, but she paid the woman an extra ten dollars to shut her up so they could catch the bus in time. Ivy Mills only had one, and it only made three rounds a day. They had been smashed together on one of the cracked vinyl benches when the sirens had gone off.
The twister had dropped down right smack in the middle of the road and was quickly joined by a second. They looked like they were fixing for a cage match. Vladimir, the Russian bus driver, hardly took the time to put the bus in park before abandoning ship. The passengers followed his lead in a wave of hysteria. That’s when Parker had started wheezing.
It only got worse as they tried to find their way through the crowd of crazies the townspeople had morphed into. When gunshots joined the sirens, Callie had given up on making it back to their apartment. Instead, she took Parker by the hand and they ran away from the heart of the city, past G2M grocery store on Main Street.
Callie had wanted to stop there so she could dig Parker’s inhaler out of her purse, but the store had already been infested by the panicked mobs. Looters were everywhere, and when the stores didn’t have anything more to offer, people began turning on each other.
Callie had dragged Parker all the way to Mr. Haggers’ pawn shop, but the chaos had already reached to the far edges of town. The store’s front window was smashed in. It looked deserted, but it had to be safer than being out in the street, and Parker really needed to catch his breath. Before he got the chance, a creep with a shotgun had cornered them in the back of the store and demanded that she hand over her purse.
She’d thought they were done for. Parker was about to keel over, and there was nowhere left for them to run, even if the man did let them go. That’s when the side of his head exploded and he crumpled to the floor, not six feet in front of them. Parker stopped breathing, and Callie screamed.
Two more armed men appeared. The taller, older of the two had a militant rifle over his shoulder. She couldn’t make up her mind if she should be glad he’d come along, or worried that he might do worse than the lifeless man on the floor. The younger man was dirty and unkempt. He brandished a cheap machete like a pirate sword and gave her a crooked smile.
“Y’all okay?” he asked, nodding to Parker.
Callie forgot the strange men long enough to snatch up her purse. She dumped the contents on the floor and scattered them around until she found the inhaler. Parker’s face was nearly purple. The gunshot had stunned him, but he managed to pull in a gravelly breath when she put the inhaler to his mouth.
The men exchanged a look, like they were coming to some silent decision about their fate. The older one finally looked down at her. “I’m Lester Miller, and this here is Ricky Schmitt. We’re fixin’ to get outta here. Y’all should come with us.”
Callie eyed the gun over his shoulder. “Thank you, Mr. Miller. But I think we’ll be fine once we make it back to our apartment.”
Ricky snorted. “Lady, I’d be surprised if yer apartment’s still standin’.”
Lester hushed him and reached a hand out to help Callie up. “Look, you don’t wanna be in town right now. Besides, my boy’s gotta head injury.”
He gave her a once-over, and Callie felt mildly uncomfortable until she realized he was taking in her scrubs.
“You look like you might know somethin’ ’bout those,” he added.
Callie glanced at Ricky. He certainly looked like he could be brain damaged.
Lester rolled his eyes. “Not him. My youngster’s out back. I’ll take ya to him.” He turned and led them back to the front counter where he stopped to collect an old lunch pail and a few grocery sacks stuffed with things he’d clearly looted. Ricky made a quick stop at the cooler and filled a paper bag with ice cream treats and soda. Parker watched, licking his lips.
Lester gave the store a final, mournful nod and led them out through the back door. Callie took one look at the RV and stopped dead in her tracks, tightening her grip on Parker’s hand until her knuckles turned white and he squeaked in surprise.
“You put a child in that contraption?”
Lester nodded. “The whole family’s in back. Y’all hop on in, and we’ll be on our merry way.”
Callie cringed. “That thing looks like it has rabies. You sure it doesn’t bite?”
Parker coughed and leaned his head against her arm. He was wiped after the asthma attack. Callie didn’t know what to do, but she was pretty sure she didn’t want to load him into a rust bucket full of armed hillbillies. She was trying to think of a graceful way to tell them off without getting shot, when an explosion shook the earth.
A cloud of black smoke rose up over the rooftops near the center of town. A fountain of fire shot up behind it, like Lucifer had cracked open the earth and was trying to take a flamethrower to the heavens.
“Well, shit fire.” Ricky gaped at the sky. “They bustin’ out the heavy artillery already?”
Lester frowned. “Gas main, I ’magine. Let’s get outta here.”
After the initial boom faded off, the screaming and gunfire returned with a vengeance. A herd of bewildered refugees rounded the block and spotted them near the RV. The desperate panic in their stride was enough to change Callie’s mind. She pushed past Lester and Ricky and stepped inside the RV, pulling Parker in with her.
Lester scrambled into the front passenger seat while Ricky ran around to the driver’s side. Callie’s eyes hadn’t even adjusted enough for her and Parker to find a seat before the RV tore out of the back lot. It took a hard right, jerking them around like one of the rickety, second rate roller coasters at the county fair—the kind that took two days to throw together,
and another two days to fall apart. Callie wondered if the RV would last as long.
When her eyes finally focused, she found two skinny redheads glaring at her from the bench behind the driver’s seat. The younger one braced herself against a tiny slice of counter that held a grimy sink, while the older one, most likely Mrs. Miller, clutched a boy about Parker’s age in her arms. His head was wrapped in an old shirt, the sleeves crusted with dried blood. She’d have to wait until their bumpy joyride came to a stop before taking a look at him, unless they wanted her to stitch his bottom lip to his eyebrow.
“Les!” Mrs. Miller barked, never taking her eyes from Callie. “We ain’t even got a home left to entertain guests in. Wanna explain what the hell yer thinkin’, bringin’ a strange woman up in here?”
Callie bristled at being called strange. She was as normal as women came, and she most certainly did not resemble the other variety of strange.
Lester looked over his shoulder, keeping one hand on the dash so he wouldn’t be thrown out the windshield. “Dammit, Lilly. She’s a nurse, and she’s gonna patch up Junior fer us.”
Lilly broke her stare long enough to glance down at Callie’s scrubs. “Oh. My mistake,” she grumbled, squeezing the boy tighter as they took another sharp turn.
Callie winced as she cracked her hip on the edge of the dinette table. She moved to sit at one of the booths, but it was full of ammo boxes and lumpy grocery sacks. Her conscience tried to make excuses, but she had a rotten feeling in her stomach that she and Parker had just become accomplices in a robbery. At least these thieves were sated enough to keep their paws off her purse, she thought.
“Lemme get that fer ya.” The teenaged girl leaned across the aisle and pushed the stolen goods onto the floor. She patted the seat, filling the stale air with dust particles. “I’m Sissy, by the way. This here’s Junior.” She nudged the boy wedged between her and Lilly with an elbow.
Lilly gave Sissy a pointed look that shut the girl up before she could divulge any more details.
“Callie Thomas, and this is my son Parker.” Callie stopped there. She didn’t really care to know more about the Millers, and she definitely didn’t like the idea of telling them any more about herself. If she and Parker made it out of this mess, she hoped they would never see the Millers again.
Backwoods Armageddon Page 3