by Paul Kirk
“Sit…down…little brother,” said Andy. His words reverberated with a menacing sound in their own right; they also spoke of a deep understanding and connection with Ryan. The fierce tension in Ryan’s shoulders tapered and he gave a subtle, conciliatory nod and wave toward Allan before returning to his overturned bench. He retrieved his beer stein and mumbled an almost inaudible apology directed toward Allan who nodded, relieved. Terry tried to regain control of the meeting, speaking to the entire crew.
“Well, now then! I guess that’s out in the open. And, yeah, if you haven’t figured it out yet, well, Andy and I are going to ‘hook up’ as Allan so nicely put it.”
A few murmurs of affirmation and acknowledgement carried around the fire. Glances were cast over to Ryan and Allan.
“Let me explain a bit further, okay? Today, Andy and I kinda got started on the reality of it. We haven’t figured it all out yet, obviously. And, I know there might be some confusion about this, but it’s something we’re going to do.”
Terry sat next to Andy after her last words. The clan took the revelation at face value. Voice just above a whisper, Ryan spoke. “What about Mac, T?” Ryan rubbed his hand across his goatee and took a deep draw from his stein.
“Ry, c’mon," said Andy, "We talked about this before. Mac's not coming back. It’s five years man…time we accepted that and moved on.”
Several clan members nodded in silent agreement; several expressed emphatic approval. The remainder did nothing but wait. Standing again, Terry directed her attention to Ryan.
“Ryan, listen. Okay?"
Ryan kept his focus on the fire and sipped his beer. Terry continued with a soft, gentleness in her voice.
"Ry, I’ve loved you for over fifteen years. You know that.”
“Huh,” said Ryan. Focused on the fire, it was clear he was listening. The clan kept silent, watching. Terry slipped toward him and stood in front of him waiting for eye contact; he refused. Above the crackling fire, Terry's voice softened to a whisper.
“You know that, Ry. C'mon, look at me would ya?"
Ryan kept his focus on the fire, saying nothing.
"Ryan, I’ve watched you grow into the wonderful man I see today. Truly. And, you must know that I share your pain. Deeply. I miss Mac—sometimes I have trouble breathing, I miss him so much. But he’s not coming back—it’s time to move on. You know?”
The fire crackled and popped and throats were cleared. A few clan members drank deeply. Ryan lifted his mug, draining the last dregs before he stood to meet Terry’s gaze. The clan waited. No one moved until Kevin grabbed his fire stick, stirring the embers. Ryan raised his empty mug to tap his forehead and wave it toward Andy in mock salute.
“Well, congratulations to the both of you,” said Ryan. Swiftly, he left the fire, mumbling. “I need another fuckin’ beer.”
All turned to watch Ryan enter the cottage, closing the door softly behind him. He did not return.
CHAPTER 4.14-Meeting of the Minds
John McLeod did a spin in front of Connor. He held his unbuttoned leather vest out far to the sides, lifting the back to show nothing was hidden at his waist or the small of his back. By his father’s side, Jason held the tails of his denim shirt untucked and out at arm’s length, spinning simultaneously in the same direction as his father as if the event had been choreographed. It was obvious that the two were unarmed or, at least that they carried no heavy firepower. Connor wondered where McLeod and his boy had stashed their weapons.
“C’mon, McLeod...one of us has to show our hand. I’m in a defensive position here—it can't be me.”
“What are you asking me, Connor Mac?”
“I figure you didn’t just waltz in here. I have to assume you have at least three, maybe even four men in position. Probably with horses.”
“Is that what you figure, Connor Mac?”
“Are you and your son hungry, McLeod? Huh? What about your other men? They hungry?"
"What do you—"
"They’re out there waiting for your signal, still smelling them eggs, and salivating.”
McLeod stared for a second—he laughed uproariously, clapping his hands together. Face turning red, he laughed once more, enjoying the sound. Beside him, Jason smiled, though he still seemed uncomfortable all the same.
“We could eat, Connor Mac,” answered McLeod after catching his breath.
“There might be enough eggs left in that pot to feed three or four men for breakfast—depending on how hungry you are. And besides, you might find the eating pretty good—I made those eggs myself.”
“Just how many guns are on me right now, Connor Mac?”
“McLeod, I’d feel a lot better if you’d bring your men in for a bite. That way, they’d be accounted for and we could go about the business of getting to know one another.”
McLeod gave his son a nod and the boy let loose with a sharp whistle and a small hand wave. Face turning serious, McLeod studied the surroundings.
“You know, Connor Mac, I’m taking a helluva a chance right now.” There was an element of nervousness to his voice.
“But, John, I think you got the sack to take that chance. But, more importantly, you have an honorable way about you, McLeod...it’s the main reason you're not dead right now.”
While John McLeod’s nervousness didn’t disappear, neither did it escalate and the men waited patiently at the foot of the porch stairs until they heard the unhurried footsteps of more than one horse.
Eventually, three horses appeared on the driveway, each with an armed man and each man’s weapon in an unaggressive posture. They moved their horses slowly while they scanned their surroundings quickly. Their faces were filled with caution and one man held back several yards from the others, more cautious and wary.
“Connor Mac, my guess is you’ve got one hidden in the old Ford over there. It makes sense tactically—it’s what I would do.”
“You military, McLeod?” asked Connor without taking his eyes from the three new men.
“Sorta. I’ve had a lot of exposure.”
“Sorta?”
“It would take a good deal of explaining.”
“I see.” Connor noticed that the three men looked very fit and more than qualified to survive in the world’s extreme conditions. What impressed Connor more was the fact that these hardened men would so readily agree to the instructions of John McLeod and his son, instructions that might easily get them killed. Connor’s estimation of McLeod rose significantly.
“These are you men, McLeod?”
“They are. They’re good men, Connor Mac...don’t fuck with ‘em. Trust me, they’ll live to tell about it."
"Hmm..."
"And, please excuse my language, its very rare that I use such profanity, but it's the best and most suitable word choice given the circumstance.”
Two of the three newcomers had stopped their horses near Jason’s horse. They sat uneasy in their saddles, unsure if they should dismount or remain in position. The third hung back, scanning the area carefully. Dismounted and using his horse as a last line of defense, he was ten yards behind the other two and showed a definite hesitation to join them, but did so anyway.
“Who’s the anti-social one?” asked Connor.
“That’s BB,” answered McLeod.
“He looks a little warm.” Connor made reference to the brown duster that BB wore. It was a heavy piece of clothing that would usually be considered inappropriate for such a warm day.
“He wears that all the time—it doesn’t matter what the temperature is. That leather has saved him from too many knives and has the marks to show it.”
“Hmm, is this all your men, McLeod?”
“Yeah, Connor Mac. Are we good?"
"Yeah, McLeod, we're good. I'm about ready to call mine in. Maybe we can make something outta this meeting of the minds."
Connor grinned and held out his hand. John McLeod smiled at the gesture and grasped firmly. After parting, Connor sent several hand signa
ls to Marty, Roger and Cody, indicating they were to come in as they deemed fit, given the circumstances. Glancing briefly up the driveway toward the woods, he knew Snuff would take longer since he'd sent her around to outflank them, as a final line of defense. She would take her sweet time; knowing he would want her to do so until he gave her the official all-clear sign. He would let Rhonda know to stand down as they approached the porch.
CHAPTER 4.15-Runnin’ My Own Tab
“I’ll see you guys in the morning,” said Kevin. He gave the fire another stir with the fire stick, concentrating the embers as close to the center of the pit as possible. The clan considered Kevin the “fire master” and he took the designation seriously. It wasn’t as if nobody else tended a fire, but Kevin enjoyed doing it, the rest of the clan were happy to let him do it, and he was efficient at it.
“Good night, Kev,” said Andy.
“’Night, Kevin,” added Terry. The activity around the fire had died down and everyone had gone back to bed a half-hour before except for these three.
Kevin leaned the fire stick against a nearby tree and walked to the cottage. Terry and Andy watched Kevin, noticing his slightly off-kilter stride. Kevin was either tired or tipsy—probably a little bit of both.
“What time do you think it is?” asked Terry. She leaned into Andy on the bench.
“Three,” answered Andy. “Maybe three-thirty.”
“It’s getting late,” she said with a touch of nervous energy.
“Yeah,” he replied, squeezing her shoulders.
The fire popped a few times and they sat for another few minutes, comfortable with each other.
“Are you and I sharing a bed tonight, T?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“I’m planning to make sure you're mine.”
“Wouldn’t expect anything less from a MacMillen.”
“Just so we’re clear.”
“I must admit, I'm...lookin’ forward to it,” said Terry.
“Good. How about you go on in and check on the kids. I’ll see you in a little bit...after I finish this beer. I still have a few issues to sort out in my head.”
“Okay, but don’t be all shy about it.”
“I wasn’t planning on being shy.”
“Good.”
“Go on,” he said, “get some sleep.”
“I won’t wait long, Andy.”
“C'mon. Move it, T. I’ll see you shortly.”
“Yes. I think I will.”
“Go.”
“Alright, I’m going.”
CHAPTER 4.16-Meeting John’s Crew
“I heard gunfire around here yesterday afternoon.”
“Did ya?”
“Know anything about that, Connor Mac?”
“Is that what brought you here?”
“More or less,” said McLeod.
“Yeah, well, we had to clean out a few rats in the living room here before we got comfortable.”
“I take it you’re talking the human variety—else, why waste the shells.”
Connor grinned at McLeod's comment. The older man sat on the porch bench and began eating his plateful of eggs. Despite his obvious hunger, John McLeod managed to eat with a great amount of class—as if he were in a five star restaurant. His son Jason approached Connor and held out his hand. The two shook and Jason gave Connor a nod as if to say thanks for welcoming us. He turned to the pot of eggs and began dishing large scoops onto his plate.
“Jason,” said John, “save some for the others.” The boy stopped spooning the eggs onto his plate and sat next to his father. Without a word, he began to eat.
The three men in the driveway were dismounted and stayed mostly still, waiting. The fact that John and Jason were already eating at the porch table helped ease their minds, but each still moved prudently with slow, deliberate movements, well-versed in the delicacy of the current situation. Appreciative of their efforts, Connor noticed their well-choreographed movements to keep all compass points in view. He decided they probably worked extremely well as a coordinated team and wondered if they’d shared a life before the Sickness. Studying them more closely, he thought they might pass as brothers, certainly cousins or relatives at least. Appreciative of their situation, he sought to place them further at ease, starting down the steps, hands out and unarmed.
“You guy’s been riding with McLeod for long?”
The two men in front cast a glance back at the man behind them, as if waiting. Connor advanced toward them and paid particular attention to the man hanging back. It was hard to ignore his piercing blue eyes. His face was chiseled with a worn look, one of endured hardship. He approached Connor as an equal, with confidence in his step and appraisal in his eyes. Taking his time, the man removed the leather glove of his right hand and they shook. His deep, gravely voice gave credence to his hidden power.
“Yeah. The name’s Bobby B. They call me BB.”
“I’m Connor Mac,” he replied, shaking BB’s hand.
“We cool?”
“Yeah, I figure you guys earned a free pass right now. McLeod got some balls coming in the way he did, I’d give him that.”
“Yep. I agree with you there, Connor Mac. I signed on with him and his boy when the Sickness hit. We picked these two up shortly after that. John has figured most things out. Smart as hell—kept us alive through some serious shit.”
"You hungry?”
BB glanced at the two men nearby and nodded. “We could eat.”
“Excellent. Bring you and those two bad mothers onto the porch.”
“Sounds good, Connor Mac. How many eyes on us right now?”
“I won’t lie to you, BB. There’s two I can count on to put a bullet where it needs to be. A few others.”
“Hmm, good to know. Nice show on the porch, by the way. Good diversionary tactics while you gathered fresh intel.”
“Uh, huh.”
“But, I’m thinkin’ you probably set that up on the fly when you heard the horses—there was some risk exposure involved to the pretty lady.”
Connor smiled and nodded in appreciation of BB’s analysis. BB grinned, realizing he may have nailed the scenario dead on with his statement. His eyes brightened, transforming him into someone that Connor would like to know. He wished he had a cold beer to offer him.
“Better hop up on that porch before McLeod and son eat the whole damn pot, BB. And, I imagine you and I’ll trade some stories later.”
“For sure, Connor Mac."
"You know, I wish I had a cold one to offer you in proper introduction.”
“Huh, I was thinkin’ something like that right now.”
“No kidding? Yeah, though it’s a bit early for me,” said Connor.
“Well, me too—used to be.” BB gave a curt nod to the men beside him, instantly relaxing their demeanor. He made further introductions.
“Connor Mac, that one there, with the long hair and shitface scar across his potato nose is my second cousin Jackson. Him there is Jude, but we call him Judy to piss ‘im off. So, make sure you do the same.”
“Piss up a stick, BB,” grumbled Jude. He grinned at Connor enjoying the attention. They shook hands all around. BB continued to explain.
“We like to keep Judy pissed off most of the time because he’s my little brother and he's fun to fuck with.” Satisfied, BB pointed for them in case they might miss the porch steps. “C’mon, let’s grab us a cooked meal. We’re cool here, I think. Judy, you can serve us our meals and then do the dishes.”
"Piss off, BB."
BB, Jackson and Jude ensured their horses were hobbled. They carefully secured their long rifles in the saddle sheaths designed for that purpose. Connor was confident they’d still be armed in some, more limited capacity, but decided sufficient trust had been established. He began to relax more completely, knowing they’d not jeopardize the current situation unless desperate or, at McLeod’s command. The three men ascended the wide porch stairs in unison, BB glancing back in time to catch the subtle hand ge
stures when Connor gave the official ‘all clear’ sign toward the shed and old Ford.
CHAPTER 4.17-Phoenix Make Amends
“Ma’am?”
“Yes, major?”
“Larry Reed and four men dropped off the RPGs at the front door at eight o'clock. He also laid out three cases of ammo to go with them. Funny thing, there’s an actual requisition note requiring their prompt return when we leave Cleveland.”
“A requisition note? Is that right?” Colonel Starkes laughed at the thought.
“I’m taking it as a good sign, ma’am.”
"Hmm. We'll hafta see, major."
With a bit of nervous energy, Colonel Starkes walked toward the second floor window and glanced out at the early morning sun. Already, the sun bore down on the asphalt outside with the heat slipping into the open window in pulsing waves. Dressed in formal military attire, medals prominently displayed, she brushed back a strand of hair that refused to stay put behind her ear. Spinning gently on her heel, she turned to look behind her into the room, taking a moment to consider the major. She found him to be quite handsome in his dress uniform and even his bushy, red mustache was fairly tamed. Thinking back, she was proud of her issued orders, prior to their departure from Mt. Storm when she'd demanded that all her men bring their parade best. She knew it was times like these that pomp and circumstance might have some constructive merit.
“Major, you sure you don’t want to conduct these meetings on your own?”
“Ma’am, the cat’s outta the bag. The President of the United States is here and Cleveland knows it. We might as well claim what we need for our current mission objectives. And I’m thinkin’, maybe we can use some of Phoenix’s men to scout out the territories west of here. You know, search for Colonel MacMillen.”
“Let’s keep that in our back pocket for now, major. I’m not sure we want to let Phoenix in on the true purpose of our visit yet.”