by JEFF MOTES
“We will. And the trouble from the government might not be over. Who knows? The powers in play right now might want their own dictatorship.”
“It’s scary isn’t it?” Jill says nervously. “I don’t understand what all this means.”
“George, I know the way back,” I say. “Jill and I are going to take the ATV out and see how she handles at night. It might be a little while before we make it back. Do you have anything special you want us to do to identify ourselves when we return?”
“Nah, just knock on the door. We’ll see you. Be careful.”
Jill and I mount the ATV. “I’d like to drive around a little to get the feel for driving the ATV with the NVD on,” I say. “We’ll take it slow. Tomorrow when I take you shooting, we can open it up and also give you some driving time.”
“That’s fine,” Jill says. “I’m game, if you are.”
“Will you help me with this headgear for the NVD? Let’s see if we can get it on without bumping my head wound. It still smarts a bit.”
I loosen the straps and start putting the head gear on. Jill has her flashlight on. It must be in her mouth, since I feel both of her hands guide the straps over and around the gash in my head. She says something, but with the flashlight in her mouth I can’t understand.
She takes it out and says, “How’s that? It’s not rubbing is it?”
I tighten the straps down. “No, I think this is going to be okay. You ready?”
“Yes, let’s go!”
I clip the NVD in place on the headgear, turn it on, and adjust the focus for about twenty-five yards in front. I place the ATV in gear and give it gas.
Depth perception is not very good with the NVD, and it takes some getting used to, especially making turns onto side roads. I’m getting the hang of it. I’m just not going to be able to drive very fast and it’s going to tire my eyes. I turn into one of the large pastures, drive toward the middle, and stop the ATV.
“Jill, how about helping me remove this gear.”
“Okay, but what are we doing way out here?”
“This may be our last peaceful night for a very long time. I thought we might enjoy it.”
Jill helps me remove the headgear.
“The sky is clear,” I note. “See how many stars are out? Isn’t it beautiful and amazing?”
She looks up and says, “Yes, it is. There are so many of them. I’ve often wanted to find a big field somewhere at night, lie back, and gaze at the stars.”
I dismount the ATV. “I want to show you something.”
“Okay, what?”
“Turn around,” I say. “Stay on the ATV, just spin around on the seat. Yeah, that’s right. Now sit as far toward the back as possible.” Jill complies and adjusts herself as I direct. She has her legs crossed, sitting on the very back edge of the seat, facing backwards.
“Let’s put the NVD on you.” I help her put it on and adjust the straps. “Now lean back.”
“John, what are you doing?” Jill says. “You’re making me nervous.”
“I don’t mean to. Trust me. You’ll see in a moment.”
“I do trust you,” she says softly.
“Then just ease back. I’ll help you.”
“Ouch, my head is hitting on something.”
“Hold on a minute.” I remove my shirt, fold it, and place it under her head. “Place your feet and legs to make yourself comfortable. Now watch this.”
I reach over and turn the NVD on and Jill gasps, “Wow, John, this is amazing! So many more stars. This is simply amazing!”
I show her how to adjust the focus and ask, “You like it?”
“Yes, I do. This is wonderful. Thank you.”
“Lieback and enjoy.”
Lying back and gazing at the stars, she says, “John, your place, isn’t it a small farm or something like that? Does it look anything like this?”
I think for a minute, trying to figure out how to describe it. I look at Jill. Something has happened to me over the past few days. I’m seeing things I’ve never noticed before. I’m feeling things I haven’t felt in a very long time.
“I’m not sure exactly how to describe it. It is a small farm. We have cows, sheep, chickens, and ducks. There are a few ponds. But it’s more than that. It’s complete because of the community we live in. Many like-minded individuals live there, who work together to achieve a common goal. I think you would like it out there, Jill. The main thing is it’s safe. Well, as safe a place as you will find in Clarke County.”
“Do you have places there like this where we can get a good view of the night sky?”
“Yes, I do.”
I wonder if she’s deciding if she and Lizzy are coming to my place. Jackson is going to be a tough place to be. There are some things I can help the people there with, but regardless, it’s still going to be tough.
“John, what do you think things will be like when we return home? Please don’t patronize me. I’m not some dainty little girl and I’m not a ditzy blonde either. I can handle the truth, and don’t you ever give me anything but the truth.”
“I think it is going to be worse than anything you can imagine, Jill. There’s not enough food in Clarke County to feed the people of Clarke County. People are going to be dying from lack of medications, lack of food, and disease. Desperate people are going to do desperate things. It’s going to be bad.”
“Didn’t you say you had some ideas to help make things better?”
“I do, if they haven’t already thought of them. Regardless, people are going to be dying on a scale never before seen in this country. Violence is going to be an everyday occurrence. The police, if they’re still intact— and I hope they are, because without them recovery will be impossible—won’t be able to protect you as an individual. They couldn’t do it before The Day, and they certainly won’t be able to now. I think you and Lizzy will be safer with us in Repose.”
“Let’s make it home, then we’ll see,” Jill says. “I can’t say right now.”
I look at her again, the starlight silhouetting her body. Her form is perfect. Why I never noticed before amazes me.
“Let’s head back,” I say. “We have a busy day tomorrow.”
Jill reaches for my hand and I pull her up. She removes the NVD and says, “Hop on, cowboy, and take us home.”
Laughing, I climb on the ATV. She helps me put the headgear back on, and we drive back to George and Betty’s home.
Chapter 42
Jill
Target Practice
Day 8
I feel the bed move. A man has been sleeping in the bed with me for nearly a week. It seems so strange, yet it feels normal at the same time. I stir and look over. John is on the floor. I hear his faint counting, “Sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine, seventy.”
He stands and starts stretching. When he sees my eyes are open he says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep. You may not have another soft bed for several days.”
I lie there watching him. This man is willing to die for me. It is so clear to me now. Staggering down the hall, he came to my aid when I screamed for him. It must be true. Greater love has no man than that he is willing to lay down his life for his friend. Yet, he remains restrained. I wonder why. Maybe when we get home he’ll say what he wants. Tonight we head home. I am so ready, yet some fear enters my mind.
I whisper softly, “Dear God, bring us home. Bring us home soon. Amen.”
I ask, “How are you, John? Are you up to leaving tonight as planned?”
“I’m close to seventy percent. I think that's good enough. Do you think you’ll be able to take these stitches out for me in a couple of days?”
“I’ve talked to Betty about it. She said the day after tomorrow would be the right time. I can do it.”
“Are you going back to sleep, or getting up?”
I start twirling my finger through my hair and say, “I think I’m going to lie here for a while if you don’t mind.”
&n
bsp; “I don’t mind.”
John enters the bathroom and closes the door. The sounds of morning activities drift back to me. I could get used to this. Yet I know there has to be more. We’ll have to see.
I think of Lizzy and my mother. I hope they are with Will. If things are going to be as bad as John says, I hope they are in Repose. Perhaps, in a few more days we’ll be home, then I can decide what I should do. I place my feet on the floor and rise. Hmm…I don’t feel much pain.
After John leaves to go to the kitchen, I walk into the bathroom, picking up some clean clothes as I go. Removing my clothes, I look in the mirror. The bruising, though still evident, is starting to fade. The one on my face has changed to a yellowish color. That’s a good sign. The mark across my chest where the rope knocked me from my bike is still there. I shower and redress. Drying my hair with a towel as best I can, I brush it out. I realize I haven’t worn any makeup in over a week. I spent a lot of money through the years at Dillard’s buying makeup and perfume. Clinique and Estee Lauder were my favorite brands. I wonder what perfume John likes best? Poor guy, all he has gotten to smell is sweat, but he hasn’t complained yet. That’s a good sign, but of course he wouldn’t anyway. Maybe makeup is a thing of the past.
I slip my Glock inside my waistband, put my shoes on, then walk down the hall and join John, George, and Betty in the kitchen. It looks like they have already eaten.
Betty says, “Dear, I placed a plate for you in the oven.”
I open the oven door and see the welcomed bacon, eggs, and biscuits. Getting a cup of coffee, I sit next to John. “Thank you, Betty. This is delicious, just like always.”
“You’re welcome, dear.”
“John,” I say, turning and looking up at him, “if you’ll put some clean clothes on and give me those dirties, I’ll wash them and hang them to dry before we go shoot.”
“That would be great, Jill. Thanks.” He gets up and starts back to the bedroom, then calls back, “Where do you want me to put them?”
“Set them with mine on the floor in the bathroom. I’ll get them as soon as I finish with breakfast.”
John returns a short while later wearing clean clothes. He has his only button-up shirt on, the one he loaned me that day. It’s an earthy olive-drab color.
“I’ve got a couple of things I want to do to the ATV,” he says as he passes by, “but I can help you first.”
“I’ve got the clothes. Go do whatever it is you need to do.”
There is no way I’m going to let him wash my undies and bra. No way.
With the clothes hanging to dry, I go searching for John and find him at the barn with the ATV.
“Hey, Jill,” he says when he sees me. “Look at this.”
“What is it?” I ask.
He says with a slight frown, “This is a swivel mount for our forward cannon.”
“What?”
John smiles a little. “For the Mossberg pump shotgun. It’s going to ride clipped to this mount. That way if we have a problem and need to clear some space, it’ll be ready.”
“I hope we don’t have to use it.”
“Me too. Are you ready to go?”
“Yes, I’m ready.”
On the way to the house, we pass by the clothesline and John pauses. He looks at me with a mischievous grin. “Are those your little bitty panties on the line?”
I turn red and punch him on the arm, stomping back to the house without saying a word.
***
We make it to the shooting bench. John insisted I bring my pack, though he didn’t say why. There are several white metal targets spaced out in the trees. Some are closer than others. They are all about the size of a sheet of notebook paper.
“Let’s go over a few safety rules,” John says. “First, always keep your gun pointed in a safe direction. Second, consider all guns loaded unless you have visually checked them yourself. Third, always keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot. Fourth—”
“John, I’m not a school girl,” I interrupt. “I’ve been shooting since I was ten years old. My dad taught me to use the Ruger 10/22 and his old rifle is in my closet.”
“Sorry, I know he did. Habit I guess. You and I haven’t been shooting together and, well. I—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Keep your sunglasses on, and put these ear plugs in,” John says. He hands me three loaded ten-round magazines for the Ruger. “Load up, and put these all downrange on target.”
I load the gun. “Range is going hot!” I start firing, putting the first ten rounds into a single swing target. The next twenty rounds I scatter amongst all the targets. John reaches for the empty magazine and reloads it, like he did the others.
“Let’s try this. There are six targets. From left to right, we will call them one through six. When I call out a number, I want you to put three bullets into the target. On the third target I call out just empty the magazine, which should require four rounds. Then switch magazines and we’ll continue until all three are empty. Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Range is going hot!” John says. “One!”
I send three small twenty-two caliber lead bullets into target one.
“Four!”
I switch aim and put three bullets into target four.
“One!”
I adjust my aim, and put the remaining four rounds into it. I replace the magazine and John continues his calls.
“I think you’ve got that down pretty good,” John says. “This Ruger is going to be your go-to rifle. If you need a gun besides your pistol, this is the one you’ll use. We’ll keep it strapped on top of your pack on the rear rack. I want you to put a few rounds through the carbine, then I’ll take a turn.”
“Are we going to use the suppressor?”
“Yes, but not with the sub-sonic ammo. We’ll use the FMJs for now. They won’t be completely silent, but they won’t be as loud as without the suppressor. Let’s save the good stuff in case we need it. I’ve already removed the sub-sonic and self-defense ammo from the magazines and loaded five of my magazines with the FMJs. I’ll keep the sixth one loaded with self-defense ammo, just in case. I’ll keep it in my pocket. If you’ll give me your spare magazine, I’ll load it with FMJs as well. Unload your pistol, and put that magazine in your pocket.”
I proceed to unload my Glock and remove the self-defense ammo from the magazine. “I’m just going to unload the magazine that was in my gun. I’ll keep the other in my pocket.”
“Yeah, that makes more sense doesn’t it?” John says with a chuckle.
He hands me the rifle, stands behind me, and watches while I turn the sight on and position the rifle. He gives me the magazine and moves a little closer. He’s helping me position the rifle on my shoulder, so I can find the red dot sight. His breathing is a little heavier. I look up at him. He has a different look on his face.
“Are you all right, John? Do I smell bad or something?”
His expression changes and he moves back a little. “I’m good. I wouldn't describe your scent as bad.”
“Really?” I ask raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, really. Now turn around and shoot.” I shoot the carbine, then shoot my Glock.
When John’s turn arrives, he moves away from the bench. He puts one magazine in the carbine and one in the Glock, placing the other two in his magazine pouches. His carbine is hanging by its sling in front of him. He moves two more steps away from me. He asks, “Are you ready?” Seeing me nod my head, he says, “Range, going hot.”
In a flash, he raises the carbine and starts firing rapidly, double tapping each target until the magazine runs dry. Dropping his carbine to his side, he draws his Glock and continues the double tap. When the pistol slide locks back, he ejects the empty magazine, allowing it to fall to the ground, then inserts the new and racks the slide. He does this all in one swift, steady motion. This time he is moving towards the targets as he begins double tapping again. He moves from target to
target, getting closer and moving side to side. When his magazine runs dry, he reloads again. This time his double taps are being made as he takes back and side steps toward me. When the slide locks back, he says, “All clear.”
He removes the empty magazine, releases the slide and holsters his pistol. I have never seen anyone shoot so fast, and on the move too. I’m dumbfounded. I thought the movies were all fake stuff. Maybe some of it was real. I look at John in astonishment as he walks back, picking up his empty magazines.
“I've never seen anything like that before. I'm amazed.”
He says, “I’ve been practicing for many years and thousands of rounds. Will has too. If we find ourselves in a violent encounter, our actions must be quick, aggressive, and decisive. Our actions must be overwhelming. Can you do that?”
I’ve already had to do it. To him I say, “If I have to I will do it. I won’t shirk from your side. You can count on me.”
He looks directly into my eyes for a moment and says, “I believe you can.”
“I think Mark is bringing his family over for lunch.”
“Okay. Before we go, load up one of your magazines with FMJs and run your pistol again. I’m going to go back to the ATV and reload my magazines.”
I load up the FMJs, step from the bench, and glance at John to make sure he’s ready. “Range, going hot.”
In a smooth, deliberate motion I draw my Glock and double tap each target until the slide locks back. Walking back to John, I say, “That wasn’t as fast as you.”
“No, it wasn’t, but you hit your target each time. Accuracy is more important than speed. Now get on and drive us back to the house.”
Chapter 43
Jill
Leaving for Home
Day 8
There are four bicycles parked in front of George and Betty’s house, three girls’ bikes, and one boy’s. The boy’s bike has a wagon attached to the rear, on a swivel. I’ve always wondered why girl and boy bikes were made differently. Was it because in the days when bikes were so prominent, that women all wore dresses? Did the low cut intend to make it easier to ride a bike in a dress? I don’t know, as I have never ridden a bike with a dress on before. Back in our early teens, my cousin Jerry was standing and pedaling hard when his foot slipped and he landed hard on the horizontal bar. His bike fell over and Jerry lay on the ground in a fetal position, racked with pain. It was scary. It took him nearly fifteen minutes before he could stand. Even then he had to push his bike home. That darn horizontal bar. Wouldn't it have been better for him to have a girl’s bike? It's one of those silly things I’ll never understand.