by JEFF MOTES
I call out, “Take head shots and make sure they are all dead.” After about ten minutes, all is quiet except the burning of the house and the screams and sobs of the woman. I get up and cross back to the other side of the driveway.
The first guy says, “Thank you, we’re going to check on the family.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, and head back to Jill.
When I reach the ATV, Jill swings her arms around my neck and squeezes tight. “Thank you, John. Oh, thank you.”
I hug her back. The softness of her body ebbs the tension inside me away. After a few moments, I say, “Let’s go. I don’t want to be here any longer.”
She releases me and I stow the guns, then we continue our journey home.
Chapter 50
Jill
It’s Not a Fair Question
Day 10
I watch John as he runs across the road to the ditch. I want to help, but he's counting on me to have the ATV ready in case we must flee in a hurry. I begin to pray.
“Dear God, please bless and keep John safe. Help increase his courage and wisdom. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
Rifle shots close by startle me. I want to call on the radio yet hesitate, not wanting to distract him. The firing increases. I pray again. After what seems like forever, the shooting stops and I see John returning. Relief overwhelms me and I wrap my arms around him. I feel relief he is safe, and safe with him beside me. His strong arms return my embrace and my fears and worries begin to subside.
After a few moments, he says, “Let’s go. I don’t want to be here any longer.”
With reluctance, I release him.
Passing by the house, I see it is completely engulfed in flames. It is bright and I can feel some of its heat all the way up at the road. Two men, a woman, and two young girls are at the end of the drive. They wave John down. He stops without turning the ATV off. I notice his hand is not far from the shotgun.
“Mister, I don’t know who you are,” one of the men says, “but if you hadn’t come along, I don’t think we could have saved Mandy and her daughters. My cousin is dead.”
“My name is John. This is Jill.”
Before John can protest, I get off the ATV and approach the woman. She is crying and clearly going into shock. “John, I think she’s going into shock.”
He dismounts the ATV and retrieves an emergency Mylar blanket from his pack. He wraps it around the woman and gives her some water then asks the man, “Do you have a place you can get her in bed?”
The man says, “My name is Dan, and my place is about a half mile back up the road, down a long drive.”
“Why not let your friend run back and get one of the trucks and drive Mandy to your place? She needs to be kept warm and her feet propped up.” The girls walk over to their mother; one must be about twelve and the other ten. They wrap their arms around her, and it seems to bring her comfort.
“That’s a good idea,” Dan agrees. “Charles, would you go back and get one of the trucks? Get the keys out of the other one too. They had three trucks. I don’t know where the other one is.”
“The other truck is down a woods road, back the other way, with two dead bastards beside it,” John says. “How long have they been preying on your community?”
“They’ve been here a few days,” Dan answers. “I tried to get the people around here to band together, but the only one I could get to agree is Charles, my next door neighbor. I don’t have much, but you two are welcome to come to my home for the night. Not sure if I can feed you breakfast.”
“Thanks,” John says, “but we’re going to be on our way. We’re traveling south, trying to get home.”
Charles arrives with the truck. Dan helps Mandy into the truck and the kids climb on the back. “Thanks again,” he says. “There’s no telling how many lives you saved tonight. I pray God will bless your journey home. Charles, let’s go.” The truck pulls out onto the highway and heads in the direction we’re going.
John stands there for a few moments, gazing at the truck driving away. “If these people don’t band together, this will only happen again in a few weeks.” He turns to me. “I don’t know what we’re going to find in Jackson when we return. I hope they have a better handle on things than what I’ve seen since The Day. Repose is going to be much different than this, I promise you. We are going to survive as a community.”
“I hope things are better too.”
We get on the ATV and start back down the road. As we travel I see several houses have been burned to the ground. Why couldn’t these people do what John just prompted them to do? Take action! Is the conditioning of always having someone else take care of their needs still so strong that people refuse to act, even for their own welfare? All these houses, burned. Yet right here, with John’s prompting, three men put an end to it in less than half an hour. Why couldn’t they have already done this? Leadership and personal drive is lacking in this place. John is right; they probably won’t make it much longer before they become victims again. I bet one of these houses belongs to Lisa.
What are they doing for food? Are they waiting to run out before they make any plans to get more? I realize, right where I am, on the ATV with John, I’m better off than anybody we’ve met, maybe even better off than George and Betty.
We travel for nearly two more hours and make AL25 without any further incidents.
“It’s almost four,” John announces. “I know there’s still at least an hour before daylight, but I’m so tired, we have got to stop and make camp. My eyes are hurting pretty bad, despite the three ibuprofen I took an hour ago.”
I can feel the weariness in John’s shoulders as I rest my hands on them. “Yes, John, find us a place to spend the day.”
After about ten minutes, John says, “I’m going to try the road ahead, to the right.” He takes the road into the woods, stops the ATV, and dismounts. “I’m going to check the road for tracks.” He studies the ground for a minute or two then says, “It doesn’t look like anything has been down this road in a while.” He gets back on and continues down the road. He turns to the right, through the trees, and zigzags around obstacles, then stops the ATV. “This looks like as good a spot as any. We’re about a hundred yards from the dirt road.”
He dismounts and helps me off. “Jill, I’m so tired. I’ve got to lie down for a few minutes before I can set up camp. Do you mind?”
“Of course not, John. I know you’re tired. Pick a spot and roll out your sleeping bag. Let me have the NVD, and I’ll keep watch while you sleep. When you wake, we can set the camp up together.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” He gets his sleeping bag and rolls it out, then hands me the NVD and his carbine. “Wake me if you need to. I’m going to set my alarm for one hour. That should allow me enough rest to help set up camp.” He lays down on his bag without removing his boots or his Glock. He is instantly asleep.
I sit by his side for a few minutes, thinking about all the things this man has done and been through the past few days.
“No, John,” I say in a low voice, “you’re not going to get a wake up alarm in an hour.” I pick up his iPhone. The screen is locked and password protected, so I simply hold the power button until it shuts down completely. Speaking softly, I say, “John, my friend, you are going to get some well-deserved rest.”
I put the NVD on and adjust the head straps. John’s head is bigger than mine and he’s going to have to readjust it when he puts it back on. It’s wet with his sweat, but I don’t mind. I’m sweating too. Turning it on, I look around. This turns the darkness into a green hued dusk. The focus is manual and set for a certain focal range. If I want to see close, I have to adjust. If I want to see far, I have to adjust. It’s no wonder John is getting headaches wearing this thing for hours and having to focus on objects with large distances between them.
I take time to reflect on the past two nights and whisper, “Thank you, Jesus, for Your guiding hand.”
I hope the rest of the journey will
not be as difficult and perilous, yet something inside says it will be.
The sun is starting to rise and the birds are singing. This is the second day in a row I have broken the morning in while John sleeps. What does the early morning look like from his porch? He says it’s nice. I may have to see for myself. I’m hungry. Not wanting to use too many of the dwindling fuel tabs, I eat an MRE dessert and fix a cup of coffee, using only one fuel tab, thinking about that front porch.
John hasn’t moved at all. He must be completely exhausted. I decide to set the camp up myself. I helped him yesterday and he did a good job of explaining what he was doing. I unpack the tarp and the paracord and find a few trees spaced about right. After tying the paracord around one tree, I then stretch it to another. The pull loop I put in yesterday is not exactly in the same place, but it will do. Putting the tail through the loop, I cinch it tight and tie it off. I get the tarp over the line and tie off both sides. Standing back, I survey my work. Not bad. I roll out the ground mat, then set up the tent, placing John’s ground pad and my sleeping bag inside. I start to set the pad up for John, but I know if I wake him he will not go back to sleep and he’ll only refuse the pad anyway, insisting I use it. No man, other than my father, has ever put my interest above their own. I like this. It makes me feel…loved. I don’t know how else to describe it. Maybe I’m reading things wrong with John, but I feel loved, something I haven’t truly felt from any man other than my own father.
I glance over at John and silently ask, John, do you love me?
I know it’s not a fair question, not now anyway. Maybe when we get home. Regardless of whether he loves me or not, I feel loved.
I prepare a place for a fire, then gather the wood, set the stakes, and place the kindling. All I’ll have to do is use the firesteel or a Bic lighter to light the fire. I’ll wait for John to awaken before lighting it. It would be nice if we were close to a creek. I would love to have a bath and shave the stubble off my legs. It catches inside my pants and I don’t like it. I think of John’s comments from yesterday, “By the way, you have nice legs.” I smile; maybe one day there’ll be other benefits too. I wonder if things did work out for me and John, if Lizzy would be willing to accept him. That’s something else that will have to wait till we get home.
God, please keep my Lizzy safe!
I think of setting up John’s solar charger and charging the batteries for the NVD or iPhone, but I would probably have to walk back to the road to get enough sunlight, and I’m not sure I could find my way back. I could try fueling again, but it might be better to let John handle those heavy cans. We don’t need gas all over everything.
I think again of Lizzy and my mom. I pray they are with Will in Repose. John believes his community is safe. How can he be sure? But I trust John. I trust him with my life, and even more. I go over to him and check his watch. It’s 10:35. He’s been asleep for nearly six hours, and he hasn’t moved at all. I wish I had my watch. I lost it after I was knocked from my bike. It’s then when I hear the voices.
“Cassandra, pedal hard! Faster!” Then the loud sound of a truck engine. It must be on the dirt road. Men hollering, though I can’t make out what they’re saying. This is something John needs to know right now.
I kneel beside him, shaking his shoulders. “John, wake up. Wake up, John.” His eyes start to open, but I can tell he hasn’t made it back to reality yet. “John!” I say urgently.
He becomes aware and sits with a start. “What is it?”
“John, listen carefully. I let you sleep through. It’s almost 11:00 a.m. A truck with some men hollering just drove down the dirt road. It sounds as if they are chasing two other people. You can hear their voices.” John rises to his feet, looking in the direction of the noises.
“Yes, I can hear them. I need to check this out. Please get yourself ready to leave and prepare to fight if we have to. I’ll call you on the radio.”
“John, be careful.”
He picks up his carbine and GPS and heads into the woods.
Chapter 51
John
Please Protect Jill
Day 10
As I proceed into the woods, I set a waypoint in the GPS. The battery is at twenty-five percent; that should be enough. When I make it back to camp, I’m going to make sure I have spare batteries in my pocket. That’s something I should have already thought about. I can hardly believe I slept for nearly six hours. Jill should have woken me up.
I’m tracking toward the noise. The sounds seem to indicate conflict of some type. I’m so tired of the conflict, the constant struggle and the killing. Why can’t people act right? Why are there so many evil among us? I guess that has been an age old question since the days of Noah.
Up ahead is a wash in the ground. It seems to be leading toward the sounds. It’s about three feet deep and I enter it. There are young pine trees on each side of the wash covering the bottom and sides with pine needles. This is good, since pine needles make very little noise. I crouch as I get closer. The sounds are becoming more distinct. It is obviously a lot of male laughter, filled with vulgarities. It looks like the area I’m entering was once a gravel pit that has been abandoned for many years. As the trees thin, the brush thickens on both sides of the wash. Up ahead is an opening. There’s a truck and people moving around. I creep closer. The wash makes a turn to the right, parallel to the opening about twenty-five yards away. I approach as quietly as possible. I stop at a good spot, with a small opening in the brush. The trees are very thin between me and the group of people in the opening. Their words are distinct now. I observe everything, soaking in every detail.
Playing out in front of my eyes is the very thing I have been dreading. There is no greater danger to Jill and myself than what I see before me. There is a black man, maybe in his early forties, with a machete. He is swinging it in a menacing way. Close by is a terrified black woman about the same age. She’s trying to stay away from the swinging blade. But those two are not my greatest fear. There, surrounding them, are five white men. They are laughing and taunting. They make occasional aggressive gestures, causing the black man to react with his machete. The men laugh each time. The men range in age from what appears to be early twenties to late thirties. One is a massive man, not fat, but a huge, powerful man. They each have the same camouflage clothing with the same insignia patches, a side arm on their hip, the same combat tactical vest, and each of them is holding an AK47. These guys are a group of organized and trained evil bastards. My greatest fear, and greatest threat, is right before me.
The oldest seems to be the one in charge. “Leroy, I think we’ve had about enough of this part of the game. I don’t want to be here all day playing with these two,” he says. “We have to be above Montevallo by dark. Take that toothpick from Sambo before he chops the head off that sweet thing he has with him.” The other bastards laugh again. Greater fear fills the eyes of the man and the woman. Leroy hands his AK47 to the guy next to him and walks into the circle. He is a mountain of a man. The black man is about my size and he stands no chance. Leroy makes a few feints, and the black man reacts with machete swings. The woman stands behind him. She is pleading for them to leave them alone. She should save her breath and strength, though that likely won’t help her live past the next few hours. The black man is obviously getting tired. When he swings the machete again, Leroy advances and grabs the arm holding the machete, and with one massive sledgehammer of a fist, he hits the man on the side of his face. The man crumples to the ground like a rag doll. The woman screams and falls to the ground, reaching for the man. Maybe he is her husband, but I’ll never know. Leroy picks her up. She is flailing wildly. He slaps her viciously across the face and she collapses.
“Damn it, Leroy!” the older man curses. “Don’t kill her!”
The woman starts moving again, though she doesn’t seem to be fully conscious.
“Okay boys, time for a little more fun.”
I see and hear the ripping of the woman’s clothes.
There is nothing I can do, nothing at all. There are five of them, each armed with pistols and AK47 rifles. They are obviously trained to work in a group. If I intervene, I will be killed and Jill will become a play toy for them. I shake my head.
Dear God, can’t you destroy these evil bastards?
The good man inside me wants to come to the aid of the woman and the man, but there is more than my own life at stake. I want Jill to live. I head back toward camp with a heavy and sorrowful heart. The woman must have regained complete consciousness, as her screams and pleas become more pitiful. The vulgar laughter of the bastards only grows louder with each scream. How do men become so evil? They weren’t born that way. How is it they can rape and torture and kill? They need to die. I pause for a moment and look at my carbine.
It’s no match, I can’t do it. Continuing back to Jill, I call her on the radio, “Barney, this is Pumper. I’m returning to camp.”
“Copy.”
At the camp, Jill looks at me and asks in an urgent tone, “John, what is happening back there?”
I look at her, unsure how to answer. The woman’s screams and pleas change in tone and tenor. I know what’s happening. Jill’s eyes grow wide. She knows too.
“John, can’t we do something?”
“Jill, there are five heavily armed, and probably well trained evil bastards assaulting a man and a woman. They all have pistols and they all have AK47s. There is nothing I can do.” I look at my carbine and repeat, “There is nothing I can do.”