by Steven Bird
As Jessie dismounted, the young lamb hesitated, showing caution in regards to Jessie’s movements. “It’s okay, buddy,” Jessie said, reaching into the saddlebag, pulling out a handful of the mixture of oats and corn. “Here you go. You must be starved,” he said, tossing a small handful of grain into the snow. As the lamb devoured the bits of grain, Jessie noticed that the animal’s ribs and hips were clearly visible, indicating that food had been scarce for quite some time.
~~~~
As the day progressed, Jessie was able to find only eight remaining sheep in all. With the sun approaching the horizon and the temperatures beginning to fall, he decided he had probably found as many as he was going to find. With a whistle and a handful of grain, he rallied the sheep together where they enthusiastically ate the grain and aggressively begged for more with stress-filled baah’s.
“C’mon!” he said, urging Brave forward through the snow. As they progressed toward the homestead, Jessie occasionally tossed out another handful of grain, not enough to slow their progress while the sheep searched for every last morsel, but sufficient to keep them interested in following him. Nearing the homestead, Jessie began to have a dark feeling wash over his body. His day out searching for his lost flock had been the first day since his family was stolen from him that he had allowed his mind wander out of the agony and sorrow that he still held deep down inside.
Feelings of fear, pain, sorrow, and rage swept through his body. His heart rate increased and he began to sweat despite the cold. Once he rounded the corner and saw the snow-covered remains of what was his family home, Jessie’s anxiety became overwhelming. He reached for his Colt, feeling an urgent need to defend himself—but from what?
As they reached the barn, Jessie rode Brave inside, quickly dismounted, and dumped the remaining contents of the saddle bags on the barn’s dirt floor, the sheep enthusiastically following. While they were preoccupied with the nutritious morsels of grain, Jessie pulled the barn doors shut, put the board in place to barricade it closed, and immediately climbed up the ladder, resuming his position by the window, gazing lost and confused at the sky above. What’s wrong with me? he wondered, fearing that he was losing control.
Chapter Twelve
It had been several weeks since Jessie ventured out to find the remainder of his abandoned flock. Since then, he had made steady progress with his anger and depression. The return of a few of his sheep had given him something to focus on besides the tragedy that had occurred. Taking care of the sheep, his horses, and the three remaining hens had given him a daily routine with a purpose that seemed to keep his mind out of the deep, dark abyss he had been lost in for so long.
The last few weeks had been relatively uneventful, with the exception of the occasional howl of a hungry wolf off in the distance during the night. This gave him little concern, however, as the barn provided ample protection from the threats he had faced with a much larger flock out in the open grazing area.
Looking up at the sky, Jessie realized it was time to begin rounding up his sheep and leading them into the barn for the night. The sheep had become accustomed to this routine and had started to expect their nightly allotment of grain right on schedule. Stepping out into the barnyard, placing two fingers in his mouth, Jessie prepared to whistle for his sheep when he saw a glint of light down the gravel road leading up to the homestead. Fearing he was being glassed from a distance, Jessie went about his routine, pretending not to have spotted the potential threat. As he shook the old metal coffee can full of corn to lead the sheep into the barn, Jessie maintained constant movement in the event a rifle scope was trained on him at that very moment.
Once inside, he quickly barricaded the door and retrieved his Bushmaster AR-15, along with several fully loaded thirty-round magazines. Slinging the rifle over his back and placing the magazines in his coat pockets, Jessie climbed out a side window on the far side of the barn and slipped off into the treeline, disappearing into the cover of the wintery woods.
As he worked his way down the hill, parallelling the now snow-covered gravel road while remaining hidden in the trees, Jessie’s heart began to pound as the painful memories began to flow back into his mind. Not again, you filthy maggots, he thought to himself as he felt the rage build in what was left of his blackened heart. You’ll regret ever stepping foot on this mountain.
Once he was in a position abeam his estimated location of the threat, Jessie shouldered his rifle and began to scan the area with his scope. Working his field of view in a grid pattern, he came across a man in his late thirties to early forties, wearing hunting-style camouflage clothing. The man appeared to be observing Jessie’s homestead with a large pair of binoculars. Next to the man was an SKS rifle leaning against the tree that he was using for cover.
“Not the most well-equipped looter, are you?” Jessie whispered to himself. “Now, where are your friends? You scumbags always travel in a pack—just like the wolves.”
Jessie continued to scan the area, not seeing any signs of other intruders in the immediate vicinity. Continuing his way downhill, Jessie began to slip through the woods, working his way around and behind the intruder. Jessie assumed any potential cohorts would be focused on the homestead, rather than on their own six.
Once directly downhill from the intruder, Jessie handrailed the gravel road, remaining hidden in the trees until he was within thirty yards of the man. Reducing the magnification on his rifle scope to 1X for the widest field of view and rapid-fire, both-eyes-open shooting, Jessie shouted, “Tell your friends to drop their weapons and step out onto the road or you’re a dead man! We’ve got you surrounded.”
Freezing in position, the man replied, “Don’t shoot! I’m alone!”
“Bull!” Jessie replied with ferocity. “Now call them out or you’re a dead man.”
A rustling in the brush behind the man drew Jessie’s attention momentarily, followed by the man turning his head while continuing to hold his hands in the air, saying, “No! No! Stay put!”
Having discovered the man’s ruse, Jessie was enraged. “If you lie, you die!” he shouted. “And you lied, you son of a bitch!ˮ
Before he could finish his sentence, a young girl wearing a purple bubble-style jacket, ski pants, and winter boots came running into the road waving her arms, screaming, “No! Don’t hurt my daddy! Please don’t hurt my daddy!”
“Cindy, no!” the man shouted.
Lowering his rifle, confused by what he was seeing, Jessie yelled, “Kick the rifle over to the ground and walk out onto the road with the girl.”
Complying with Jessie’s instructions, the man kicked the rifle over with his foot and stepped into the road with his hands clearly empty and in the air. The young girl, who appeared from a distance to be around ten or eleven years old, rushed to the man’s side, embracing him with tears rolling down her face.
“Please don’t hurt her, mister,” the man pleaded.
Stepping out into the road, exposing himself to the man and the young girl, Jessie said, “What are you doing here? What good could you be up to, creeping around people’s homes? In this world, that can and will get you killed.”
“We’re just looking for a place to hunker down for the winter before moving on. It’s not safe out there. And with the weather, well, we were running out of options.”
“Why were you spying on me?”
“We didn’t know anyone lived here. We could see the burned down cabin from a distance and thought maybe the barn was abandoned. I didn’t see you until you began to round up your goats a little while ago.”
“Sheep,” Jessie replied tersely.
“Huh?” the man asked, momentarily confused.
“They’re sheep. Not goats,” Jessie replied.
Jessie could sense real fear in the young girl. She had clearly seen things that no ten-year-old girl should have seen and she was willing to risk her own life to protect her father. She clearly knew the outcome of such scenes in the new world.
“What’s your n
ame, young lady?” he asked
Looking to her father for guidance, he motioned for her to reply. After a brief pause, she said, “Cindy. My name is Cindy Walker.”
“What’s his name?” Jessie asked, expecting a pause from the young girl if she was lying.
“Mark Walker. He’s my dad.”
Jessie slung his rifle over his back to show that he meant them no harm and said, “You look hungry. Walk up the hill toward the barn. I’ll follow you out of sight to make sure you don’t have any others hiding around here like she was. If you do, I will kill them, so you had better call them out now,” Jessie said with a cold and serious voice.
“No. There’s nobody else,” Mr. Walker replied.
“Okay, then. Walk on up the hill toward the barn. Stop when you reach the doors. Wait for my instructions from there.”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied.
Covering them as they proceeded up the hill, Jessie watched the man and the young girl closely until they were approximately thirty yards ahead. He then slipped out of the trees and onto the road to retrieve the man’s weapon. Slinging the SKS over his back, Jessie ducked back into the treeline and followed the man and the girl at a safe distance the rest of the way to the barn.
Reaching the barn, Jessie stepped out into the open with his rifle at the low ready, and said, “Open your jackets wide and turn all the way around so that I can see you clearly.”
They did as he asked, and seeing no other weapons, Jessie said, “Okay, wait right here,” as he ducked around the side of the barn and out of sight.
In just a few moments, the barn opened from within, catching the Walkers off guard. “Come on in,” Jessie said while gesturing for them to follow.
Once inside, he closed the door and barricaded it shut. With a nervous expression on his face, the father said, “Why are you locking us in?”
“I’m not locking you in. You’re free to go, but remember, I just found you snooping around on my property. What if you’ve got someone else lying low, waiting for the opportune moment to attack? You see that burned down cabin out there?” Jessie said, pointing out the window. “My wife and children’s ashes are in that pile of rubble. Forgive me if I am less than trusting of outsiders.”
“I’m sorry,” the man replied. “Where are my manners? Like Cindy here said, my name is Mark Walker. I’m pleased to meet you,” he said, extending his hand to Jessie.
Refusing the handshake, Jessie coldly answered, “You can call me J.T.”
“Pleased to meet you, J.T.,” Mark replied, awkwardly pulling his hand back. “We’re sorry about all of this. We’ve also lost a major part of our lives in all this mess. My wife, her mother,” he said, pausing to look at his daughter, “well, we assume she didn’t make it out of Denver.”
“Denver, huh?” Jessie responded, curious about the situation in Denver. “What happened?”
“I lost my job early on when things all started to unravel and the economy started to fall apart. We had recently sold our home in Dallas and moved back to Colorado to be closer to my wife’s family. We were renting while we got settled in, and since we were renters, well, we found ourselves on the street shortly after the paychecks stopped flowing.
“Luckily, we had a family motorhome that we could fall back on as a place to call home until it all got sorted out. I always used to joke with my wife that no matter what happened, as long as we had that RV we’d never be homeless. Anyway, we were staying at an RV park in Cortez when the worst of it began to hit. My wife’s aunt was still living in Denver when we heard about the fever that was sweeping through the area. I think they said it was Marburg hemorrhagic fever or something. Anyway, my wife wanted to get her aunt out of there and bring her to Cortez with us, where she would be safe. We figured if people in the RV park started getting sick, we could just fire the motorhome up and drive off into the middle of nowhere.”
Cindy began to become emotional at the sound of her father’s words, prompting Jessie to say, “You don’t have to go on. I get it.”
“So anyway,” Mark continued, “when things really started to get ugly, Cindy and I drove out to Pleasant View where we were basically hijacked by another family who faked a roadside emergency just to get us to pull over.”
“A family?” Jessie inquired.
“Yes, sir. Kids, a dog, the whole thing. I guess they needed our motorhome more than they thought we did. Anyway, we basically gave it up without a fight. With just Cindy and me, well, if something happened to me, she would be all alone. I just can’t take any chances like that.”
“You were taking a pretty big chance snooping around my property. If you had come a few weeks ago, I’d have probably dropped you where you stood without asking a question. I’ve not been in my right mind lately.”
“I completely understand,” Mark replied apologetically.
Turning to walk over to the wood stove that was still smoldering, Jessie leaned his AR-15 against the wall and put a few more pieces of wood on the fire. “Let me get you something warm to drink. It’s freezing out there. After that, I’ll work on dinner.”
Looking out of the corner of his eye, Jessie could see Cindy’s facial expression go from one of sorrow to one of relief. He couldn’t be sure, but at least for now, he believed their story. “It’s not five-star accommodations, but you’re more than welcome to stay the night here. I’ll fix you up a place to sleep near the stove to keep her warm.”
Looking at his daughter and then back at Jessie, Mark said, “Thank you, sir. And again, I’m sorry I caused you the hassle of chasing us down.”
“Just be thankful she’s with you.” Jessie replied.
“What?” the man asked nervously.
“Just be thankful you had a young girl with you. If not for her, you would probably be bleeding out down on the road right now. If what you say is true, I can’t blame you for being cautious, and I’d sure be heading for the mountains with my little girl,” pausing to wipe his watery eyes and to search for his words, “If I were in your shoes, that is. So what’s your plan—you know—for the long term?”
After a respectful pause allowing Jessie to regain his composure, Mark replied, “We’ve been camping along the way to get this far. We would hike at night and sleep in a discreet camp during the day. Unfortunately, this early winter weather has put a damper on our plans. I wanted to get us far enough into the mountains that we could safely have campfires at night, build a shelter, and go from there. I didn’t want to be too close to a major road or town and light a fire. I was afraid it would attract the wrong people. People are desperate out there. After the run-in with the people who stole our motorhome, well, let’s just say I have some trust issues, too.”
“Build a shelter?” Jessie asked, looking at Mark and Cindy’s lack of supplies.
“I’ve got a pack with some basic woodworking tools, what’s left of our food supplies, and a Ruger .22 pistol for small game. We left it behind down the mountain. It was with Cindy in the woods while I scoped things out up ahead. With you pointing a rifle at us before, and looking like you meant business, I didn’t feel it was the right time to explain everything.”
“Right,” Jessie replied. “It looks like the water is almost boiling. Have you ever had chicory coffee?”
“You have coffee?” Mark asked in an inquisitive tone.
“Chicory coffee, so not actual coffee. It’s made from the chicory root. It doesn’t have caffeine, but it tastes pretty good and it brings back a semblance of civility to sip a hot drink on a beautiful mountain evening, or in the morning as you watch the sun rise above the ridge and watch as its rays dance through the trees. It’s those little moments of life that help me keep it together now.”
“We’d both love some,” Mark replied. “Thank you very much. Thank you for the hospitality. It’s been a long time.”
Handing them each a camping-style stainless steel coffee mug full of piping hot chicory coffee, Jessie said. “You two just relax and enjoy that while I ge
t you a place to sleep situated by the stove where you can keep her nice and warm. It’s a clear night, so it will be a cold one. I’ll lock the sheep in the stalls so they don’t bother you tonight. There’s some beans in the pot on the stove. Help yourselves. I know you’ve got to be hungry. I’ll be sleeping in the loft up above like I always do. If you need anything tonight, let me know. If you need to go outside to take care of business, don’t open the door without waking me first. I don’t need any surprises right now and if I hear the door opening, I’ll assume the worst and will react accordingly. Tomorrow, when you’re good and rested, we can talk more. I’d greatly appreciate some updates from you, if you don’t mind.”
“No. Of course, that will be fine, and thank you again. The last few nights we felt as if we were going to freeze to death in our sleep. This will be a very welcome change.”
And with that, Jessie retrieved his rifle and climbed up into the hayloft. Reaching the top rung of the wooden plank ladder, Jessie turned and said, “Don’t think I won’t be watching.”
Seating himself up on several bales of hay that he had previously arranged into the form of a chair, Jessie laid his rifle across his lap, keeping an eye on the barn floor below. What’s wrong with me? he thought. Letting strangers into the barn to kill me in my sleep. Chuckling at his own thoughts, That would actually be a gift. I could escape this world without it being by my own hand. My very own angels of death.
Lying down on his straw bed, he stared out the window, watching the moon slowly move across the sky while he awaited the elusive luxury of sleep. As his eyelids became heavy, he whispered quietly, “Lord, if you mean for them to kill me, let it be soon.”