by Aborn, A. L.
Looking up, I see the final man watching me. His face looks shocked at the brutality. He is standing next to a gagged Ally, his gun aimed at me. Her clothes are half-torn off, her face a mess. One eye is already starting to swell. Wearily, I exchange the bookend for the gun and climb to my feet beside the battered dead man. “Stop,” he commands. Ally edges away from him.
I painfully, slowly, make my way down the last steps to the living room. Distracted just long enough, Ally darts the few feet to the woodstove. Standing to the side, she uses her hands behind her back to grab hold of the heavy pot of boiling water that we, thankfully, put on the stove every night before bed. It’s too heavy for her to pick up, but she hooks her fingers through the handle and heaves it at the man.
The blistering hot water splashes down the back of the man. He flinches in surprise; he turns back toward Ally, screaming. Raising the gun, I aim at his head, and pull the trigger.
***
The quiet is almost deafening as the gunshot fades. Dropping the gun, I stumble to Ally and wrap my arms around her.
I can’t believe that we’re alive.
“Brad!” she yells, as soon as I pull the dirty gag from her mouth.
Together, we rush to the bedroom. I mentally take a step back, trying to look at the situation clinically. A large gunshot wound in Brad’s left shoulder looks nasty. It’s still bleeding though; a good sign. His eyes flutter open as we reach him. Quickly, I grab a shirt out of a dresser drawer and press down firmly on the wound. He moans in pain.
“Does he have any other injuries?” I ask.
“I- I don’t think so,” she stammers.
“Hold this, hard,” I tell her, placing her hands on the wadded-up cloth. “I need to see if those other guys are gone.”
Wearily, I trudge up the stairs. Checking on Meekah, I release her from the tangled collar and leash. Picking her up, I lay her on the bed. It’s all I can do for now.
At the window, I stare in horror out into the dark lit by a huge fire.
The farm.
They burned down the farm.
***
Back by Brad’s side, I find him still conscious. Checking him over thoroughly, I find a huge welt on the back of his head. That must have been what knocked him out, not just the gunshot wound. “Can you help him?” Ally begs. “Can you sew him up? Like you did with Jake?”
I nod.
Climbing the stairs again to my room, I eye my small backpack filled with all our medical supplies. Abruptly, I remember our earlier dinner: Brad’s drinking and meanness, his near refusal to move to Ally’s parents house, and his promise to eat Meekah first. Anger floods through me. Anger over everything; Brad, the break-in, Adam’s betrayal, and the farm burning… it was just too much.
Making a split-second decision, I tucked the medical bag in the small gap between my bed and the wall, covering it with a pillow. Throwing on some pants, I walked back down to Ally. “I’m sorry, Ally. They took my bag. They took everything.” Without having to fake it, tears flood my eyes. Shame at the lie stings, but I continue. “What are we going to do?”
Ally’s face pales looking down at Brad. “I don’t know.”
“You should take him up to your mom’s house. She has medicine and herbs and all that. She can help.”
“I don’t think Brad can wait until my parents come back.”
“That’s not what I meant. The guys who broke in, they must have brought two cars. Take the second one with Brad up to your parents’. You can make it there tonight.”
“What about you? Why are you acting like I have to take him there alone?”
“I’ll follow tomorrow,” I lied. “Someone has to gather up what we still have here and see what’s left over at the farm. But Brad needs to get to your Mom’s. Besides, those guys could come back when they realize the others aren’t following.”
“Exactly! That’s why you need to come with me! We don’t need anything!” she pleads.
I harden my heart. “Come on, I’ll help you get him to the car.”
The second vehicle turns out to be an old Ford Bronco. The key is still in the ignition. The engine thrums to life beneath me; it feels strange to be behind the driver’s wheel after so long. Pulling the truck up as close as I can get it to the front door, I leave it running to help Ally get Brad. He’s able to stand and walk with us supporting him on either side. He seems to realize what we are doing as we turn to get him into the backseat. “Where… taking?” he mumbles.
“We have to get to my mom’s, Brad. Don’t worry, you’ll be okay.”
Clarity shines briefly through. “No.” More forcefully, “No! My house… not leaving.”
He doesn’t struggle physically as we pack him into the back seat, he’s too weak. I grab a roll of duct tape and use it to tape a fresh shirt over his wound. I wind the tape around his torso, outside of his jacket to create a makeshift pressure dressing for the ride.
“Please, just get in. Come with us,” she asks again when there’s nothing left to do except drive away.
I only shake my head in reply. Sensing my reluctance, she nods to herself before climbing in and rolling for the road.
Good luck, I wish her silently as her taillights dim in the distance.
Chapter Thirteen
Alone
Standing in the doorway, I assess the damage. The stink of blood fills my nostrils. I feel like I am in a dreamlike reality; nothing is real. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s the middle of the night and I just had to fight for my life or the emotional toll of all tonight’s events. Trekking through the living room, I can already feel myself distancing myself mentally. This is no longer my home.
Upstairs, I find Meekah lying on one side of the bed where I left her and Adam on the other.
Adam.
I’m still blown away that he could have been behind this. How could he do this to us? To his own cousin? Unbidden, my own betrayal of Brad echoes through my mind. No, no that was different.
How?
Something was happening to him and not in a good way. The changes had been subtle at first but looking back, they seemed plain. Brad might be knowledgeable about survival, but since the power went out, he had become possessive and cutthroat. Where had good-natured, giving Brad gone? If we all lost the compassionate side of ourselves, of our belief that we need others to survive… what would happen? Would we all just become a jumble of preppers who would inevitably kill each other off?
I didn’t recognize Brad tonight at dinner. Yes, he’d been drinking, but in my experience, that only made him more truthful. He made me uneasy. The same way that Marie had made me uneasy after shooting the mother and son on the road. I’m not sure if I can live with uneasy. Who can I trust, if not them?
No one.
Meekah stands on the bed as I approach. She seems weak and sore, but okay. Shoving some clothes into my frame pack, I take everything in the loft that is meaningful to me, including the med bag. Downstairs, Meekah sniffs at the blood, even nosing her dead canine friend before following me to the door. The men who went to the farm took about half of our goods, but there’s no time right now to go through what’s left.
It’s almost dawn. Our rural haven has become a public killing ground. I decide to go investigate across the street. Meekah walks beside me warily. She doesn’t growl or otherwise alert me that anyone else is out here. Honestly, I am past exhaustion and my brain feels numb. It would probably feel like a blessing if someone stepped out from the shadows and shot me. Just let it end.
***
The barn doors are flung wide open. The only sound is the crackling of the fire in the house. The blaze had spread through the small home, which has mostly folded in on itself. The unattached barn remained standing, blessedly untouched by the flames. Nothing but the water buckets and hay remain of the animals. A tear for Beau leaks down my face as I close the barn doors behind us.
My flashlight shows me the inside; two blood stains mar the wooden walls in the back of t
he stalls. Picking the cleanest of the stalls, I pile all the straw into a corner and lay my sleeping bag on top. Crawling in, I lay on my side with Meekah curled into the hollow of my stomach. I feel like the weight of the world is pressing down into my chest. I let myself cry, really cry, for all that has happened and all that I’ve lost. When the sobs have stopped ripping through me, the first light of day is peaking through the gaps in the walls. Judging that the men probably would have returned by now I feel safe enough that I let myself fall asleep.
***
Waking hours later, my head is pounding. Was last night real, or just a horrible nightmare? The lumpy straw beneath me is enough to confirm that all those terrible events have shaped my new reality. Sitting up, I start to rub the sleep from my eyes but stop when I see that my hands are still covered in blood that has dried to a dark maroon.
Well, first things first. I need to wash up. But, then… what’s next?
The End of Book I
About the Author
Nurse by day and writer by night, A.L. Aborn uses every spare moment to turn her experiences, dreams, and ideas into stories.
She holds a Bachelor of Science in Nursing from Southern New Hampshire University and uses her knowledge of personal dynamics and medical technology in her works. A.L. Aborn lives in southern New Hampshire with her dog, Meekah, and her family.
For more information, visit her on the web http://aaborn85.wixsite.com/author.