The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4)

by Daniel Greene

  “These your people?” Steele asked.

  The man’s eyes glanced up at Steele. His hard and angry gaze bounced from Steele’s arm to his leg.

  “They’re mine. Iron Drakes Forever,” he grunted.

  “Where’d we find them?” Steele asked.

  “About a mile south of here. A couple of the Seven Sisters ran across them laid out in a line on the road. Wasn’t no accident.”

  Steele had never doubted it was from the very beginning.

  “We have no feud with the Sisters, so there is no reason for them to lie. Frank Rogers, president of the Iron Drakes.”

  “Mark Steele,” he said with a nod. “May I, Frank?” He gestured down at the bodies. Frank waved a hand at him. “They won’t mind now.”

  Steele bent awkwardly down, trying to not flex the muscles in his thigh for fear of ripping open all his small pellet wounds. Ahmed came forward, touching Steele’s shoulder. “I got it, man.” Steele stood back up and Ahmed pulled back the sheet covering the bodies.

  People gasped around him. Steele sucked in a deep breath. The two men and the woman were eyeless. Their flesh, desecrated by slicing stab wounds covering their faces, showed how desperately the victims had struggled to keep their eyesight.

  “Lift the sheet up higher,” Steele said. Ahmed gave him a worried glance and Steele nodded. “Go on.” Ahmed pulled the bloodied sheet up higher. Their bodies were covered in bullet hole exit wounds in the front. Steele stopped counting on the fat biker at about thirty. Torture and execution. Reminds me of ISIS savages.

  Steele looked at the throng of bikers and Sable Pointers. “Any idea who did this?”

  Frank gave him an unapologetic look. “Well, between you and me, we ain’t got no love lost with the Grave Guards. But we been on terms since this whole thing started. Don’t make sense that they would make a move on us now.”

  The dangers of acquiring the support of a bunch of rival motorcycle clubs was that they all had a past with one another, good and bad, mostly bad.

  “I think this is for you.” Frank reached behind his back hip and Steele’s heart jumped. His good hand went to his holster.

  “Now hold on a second.” Frank held out his free hand and took a piece of folded paper out of his back pocket. He leaned over the bodies and handed it to Steele.

  “They nailed it to Nader’s chest.” Frank eyed the paper with malice and looked back at Steele. “Take it.”

  Steele gulped. Flecks of blood stained the paper and it was crinkled and torn along the edges. He took the paper from Frank. He held it for a moment, feeling the animosity that seeped from its lines. Steele gave Frank a serious glance and flipped the piece of paper over then shook it out to open it all the way up.

  Steele held it up in the dim light. The writing was hard and crisp with sharp lines that appeared to have been pushed into the paper. Blood had soaked through the top of the paper where the nails had stuck through both paper and flesh alike. Steele read:

  Agent Steele,

  We see you, but you can’t see us. We know you are injured and weak.

  Steele looked at the faces around him. The room started to spin. Do enemies hide in my midst? The people looked at him, clueless. He turned and glanced at Tess. Her dark eyes told him nothing. He looked into the spotlighted outside. Darkness blanketed the building, having sent the light into retreat, ready to acquire any space relinquished by its foe. He continued on:

  Your actions against my command are about to come to a swift and final conclusion. Let this be a warning to that filth that rides with you. We are coming. We will not be deterred until justice is served in blood for what you and the traitor Kinnick have done. We are the legion that remains.

  Colonel Jackson

  Legion Commander

  Steele folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket.

  “Who’s Colonel Jackson?” Frank asked. His hands had turned into fists and fell to his sides.

  Ahmed’s face paled at the mention of Jackson.

  “Ahmed, double the volunteers.” He looked at Thunder. “Make sure someone is on the remote roadside charges, and snipers are up in those buildings. Pull some trucks up and block the road to the south.”

  Tess stepped up, “I’ll run and get Scott’s team into the condo firing positions and Margie’s team to the water tower.”

  Steele stared out into the night. They may be watching us even now. They must be watching us. Cool sweat beaded on his skin.

  “I’ll grab Larry and his team and get on the blockade,” Ahmed said. He took off running. Steele nodded, an uneasiness settling in his gut causing his stomach to turn and his face to twist. What will be enough? How can we defeat these madmen?

  Thunder coughed into the crux of his arm. “I’ll rouse the Red Stripes. See if we can get some extra guns in place.”

  Steele nodded. “Thank you.” The exhaustion of being on the brink of an unwinnable war crushed down upon him. Thunder’s Santa-like face mirrored Steele’s worn-out feeling. “Be careful, Thunder.”

  “Ha,” Thunder barked. He lumbered out, tightening his red bandana around his head.

  Frank walked around the bodies planting himself in front of Steele. “My people are dead. Who is Colonel Jackson?”

  Steele shook his head slightly. “An enemy from our past.”

  GWEN

  Reynolds Farm, IA

  The van bumped and lurched along a Level-B dirt road, a minimally maintained road of the county. Tears filled her eyes and a lump formed at the base of her throat when she saw her grandfather’s silos in the distance, one about ninety feet high and a shorter one about sixty feet high next to it. As they grew closer, her emotions conquered her self-control.

  A dingy white farmhouse with a wraparound porch and faded black shutters grew larger until Gregor brought the van to a stop in front.

  A thinning white-haired man sat in a rocker, a shotgun laid across his lap. He wore overalls and a white button-down shirt underneath. Two Labrador Retrievers lay in the yard, one yellow and one black. When the van rolled to a stop, the dogs stood up and started barking.

  Gwen wiped tears from the corners of her eyes and snapped the door handle, opening the door. She slid off the seat and her feet crunched on the gravel driveway.

  The man stood up, holding his shotgun in front of him at his hip. His remaining hair was combed to the side and his eyes squinted as he tried to see better.

  Gwen took a hesitant step closer. She whispered. “Pa?”

  The old man shouted, raising a fist. “I don’t know what you want, but we don’t got any. So be off with ya.” He took a few steps closer staying on the safety of his porch, brandishing his shotgun in their direction. The dogs continued to howl. Ruff-ruff-ruff. An old woman came to the screen door behind him.

  “Who is it, John?” she asked. “Oh my, so many people,” she said, startled. A hand raised to cover her chest.

  The old man scolded her over his shoulder. “Get back inside, Lydia.” He shooed her with his hand not holding the gun. “And lock the door,” he yelled back at her. The old woman nodded and closed the door. Her face appeared in a window a moment later, watching.

  Gwen squatted down on her haunches. She pursed her lips and dropped her voice low, “Dutch.” The yellow dog’s ears twitched and shifted, familiar with the sound. “Rocky, come,” she grunted. She pointed down at the ground in front of her. “Come.” The labs barked a few more times, but their tails wagged fiercely back and forth. They sprinted for her and swarmed her, rubbing their bodies around her in excitement. Rocky’s rear end sent her onto the ground and the dogs proceeded to lick her to death. She sunk her hands into their fur, hugging the animals hard. They smelled like barn and crown vetch and dirty farm dog. They triggered her brain with the faint scent of home.

  The man walked out into his yard. He squinted hard. Gwen nudged the dogs off of her. “All right, you fearsome guard dogs, get off of me.” She stood upright, dusting herself off. Rocky let out a bark in response as
he trotted back to see his master.

  She smiled at the old man as recognition came across his face.

  “Gwen?” he cried.

  “Yes, Pa,” she said, her voice cracking. She met him halfway and wrapped her arms around her grandfather. His body seemed smaller and more frail than the last time she’d seen him. They held one another for a moment in silence. Gwen sniffed back her tears.

  “We thought with the outbreak in Washington that you were—.” His voice stopped and he squeezed his arms tighter around her. The door banged open on the porch and a six-year-old girl ran down the steps.

  “Gwenna, Gwenna,” she yelled, her ponytail bobbing as she ran. Gwen bent low and scooped her up. The little girl hugged Gwen around her neck.

  “I missed you, little Haley,” she said into her ear.

  “I missed you, Gwenna.”

  Gwen held the child away from her.

  “You’ve grown so tall,” she said, inspecting the child.

  “Mommy says we don’t have to go to school no more!” There was little remorse in the girl’s voice.

  Gwen set her down and smiled at her. “More time to play.”

  The little blonde girl kicked at the ground. “I get bored and all Pa wants to do is play checkers. My iPad don’t work and neither does my phone.”

  Gwen brushed her messed up hair. “Go play in the dirt. You’re a kid. You should be outside, but tonight you and me will play a game. How ’bout that?” A rural twang had crept up in her voice, her tongue reminding her she was home.

  “Sweet,” Haley shouted. She threw her fists in the air. “Wahoo! Finally, somebody to play with.”

  “Rocky and Dutch prolly want to play fetch.”

  Haley ran off and chased the dogs. The dogs barked around her as they ran.

  Her grandfather grinned. “Come on, Gwen. Gram will want to see you.”

  Someone coughed behind her. She turned. Her people from Little Sable Point stood outside their vehicles, with tired looks and long faces, watching her expectantly.

  She grabbed her grandfather’s sleeve. He turned around. “Pa, I brought these people. They need our help.”

  Her grandfather gave the people behind her a suspicious look. His bushy eyebrows pressed together in concentration. “They look like they seen better days.”

  “Much better days. We need a place to stay.”

  He leaned closer to her. “Gwen. There are over a hundred people out here. What are we supposed to do with them? Our house ain’t that big.” He eyed the people warily. “Some of them look a bit rough.”

  “Pa, they need us.”

  The old man’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t like it,” he said, his voice gruff.

  “Pa,” she said scolding him.

  “Just like when you were a kid. Always bringing in the strays. Just for the night now. Then they can leave.”

  She rose her eyebrows in a threat. “Pa.”

  “Jiminy Crickets, Gwen. All right, a few nights.” He gestured over to a hand water pump. “Never thought we would need the old hand pump again, but here we are. Plenty of fresh water for these folks. I’ll see what we can do for food.”

  “And how about a place to stay?” she said.

  He scratched his almost bald head behind his ear. “Barn will have to do.” He pointed over to a worn large red barn. Weeds grew tall around its edges. A few shingles were missing from the roof here and there.

  “Gregor, let’s start getting things set up. Will you give me a few minutes inside?”

  Gregor nodded and turned back to the people. “Let’s get our shelters set up in the barn.” The swarm of refugees trudged across the tall browning grass with bags, backpacks, and blankets.

  “I’ll throw some more hay down for them in a few minutes,” Pa said.

  “Thank you, Pa.”

  He shook his head with a grin. “You’ve been getting what you want since you were a little girl.”

  She placed an arm around him and leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked to the porch. A younger woman waited for them there, her back against a porch pillar. Her hair was wavy where Gwen’s was straight, but both were the same darker blonde color. She was a bit heavier than Gwen and they shared the same mood-dependent green eyes. Her arms were folded beneath her breasts as if she had been waiting on Gwen all day. One of her hands held a cigarette.

  “We were worried sick about you,” she said with a half-smile. She put a cigarette to her lips and took a drag. “You couldn’t have called?”

  Gwen narrowed her eyes. “With what?”

  “Well, I don’t know. Something.” She gestured at Haley with her head. “That girl over there has been asking about you every day for two months, and what was I supposed to tell her? Her aunt was murdered?” Her voice shrank. “Her aunt was eaten alive?”

  “I’m sorry, Becky. There wasn’t a way.”

  Becky took another drag off her cigarette, letting the smoke come out her nose. She reached for Gwen and they embraced. “But I’m glad you made it back.”

  “Me too,” Gwen whispered.

  Her sister smelled like smoke and a faint hint of lavender. She must have grown lazy about trying to cover up the smell of her smoky clothes a long time ago, yet a small effort still remained.

  “Have you heard from Mom or Dad?”

  Becky nodded. “Dad got stuck up near Sioux Falls. We haven’t heard from Mom.” Their parents had been divorced since Gwen was six and they had to move two towns apart. A giant custody battle took place, coming down to a dramatic court decision where the girls chose to live with their grandparents rather than either of their parents. The Reynolds’ family farm was the girls’ place of refuge in the turmoil of divorce.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” Becky asked.

  Gwen forcibly exhaled. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  Becky raised her eyebrows. “Terrific.”

  “Ohhh, Gwen,” came an old woman’s voice. Her grandmother wore an apron and clasped her hands in front of her with tears in her eyes. “This is just wonderful. I knew you would come back to us.”

  Gwen hugged the old woman. “Gram, I missed you.” Her grandmother held Gwen away from her, looking her up and down.

  “You look skinny,” her grandmother admonished her. She wagged a finger in Gwen’s face. “I won’t have my granddaughter starving. I have a nice chicken broccoli casserole in the oven for dinner.”

  Gwen’s mouth instantly started watering. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten anything real and definitely no comfort food since the outbreak.

  “We need to get some food in you,” her grandmother said. The old woman gave her a wink. Gwen’s eyes darted from person to person in a panic. There’s no way that woman knows by just looking at me. I am not even really showing yet.

  “Is there anything we can feed these people? They’re hungry too.”

  Her grandfather gave a worried look. “There sure are a lot of ’em.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the refugees taking shelter in the barn. “They’re hungry.”

  Her grandmother looked out at all the people and she gave a quick nod. “I’ll throw a few more on, but it’s gonna be a minute.”

  Pa narrowed his eyes. “Where’d you get ’em?”

  “They’re mostly from Michigan.”

  Gram gave her husband a scowl, saving a smile for Gwen. “Don’t you worry about Pa. He’d gripe if he had a ham under each arm.” Gram ushered her inside. “Don’t want you coming down with something.”

  “Haley, come on in,” Becky yelled from the porch. She pushed her cigarette butt into a rusty bucket filled with sand.

  They walked inside the foyer. Thick coats hung on pegs and muddy boots had their place on the floor. The delicious smell of casserole overwhelmed the musty old smell that their house usually had.

  Gram led them into the dining room and she pulled out a chair. “Now, you take a seat, dear. Let’s get some food in you.”

  “What about the oth
ers?”

  “They’re just gonna have to wait a minute while it heats up.”

  Gwen found herself seated at their dark wood dining room table. Old pictures of a young John and Lydia decorated the walls, along with their parents and other relatives in black and white photographs. Iowa State Fair photos. Weddings. And the obligatory high school senior photos of Becky and Gwen with the traditional shots: one standing with a basketball, one standing in a field, and one with a regular white backdrop and fancy clothes.

  Her Gram emerged from her kitchen domain and set a steaming plate of food in front of her.

  Gwen gripped her fork like a starving prisoner. Chairs creaked as they all sat down. Gwen continued to keep a white-knuckled grip on her fork as she held off from digging in like a maniac. Her Gram smiled at her from across the table.

  “Well, go on John. Say grace,” she said. “Can’t you see Gwen’s starving?”

  Her grandfather bowed his head, and a few pieces of his hair drooped off the top. “Lord, thank you for all your blessings you have given us, for this food you have provided, and for the safety of our loved ones. Amen.”

  As soon as Amen was out of his mouth, Gwen shoved her fork into the chicken and broccoli. Scooping the food high on her fork, she shoveled the food inside her mouth. One after another, heaping forkfuls of food delighted her taste buds, but she ignored that and shoved more in.

  In a few minutes, Gram was inspecting her plate from across the table. “Want some more, honey?”

  Gwen could only smile.

  “You were always such a good eater growing up.”

  Gwen nodded. “Please.”

  Her grandmother stood and moved back into the kitchen. What her grandmother really meant was that she had been pudgy as a child and her grandmother’s cooking was partially to blame. Even when you said “no” to another helping, it was piled onto your plate regardless. Another mound of food was set in front of her. She shoveled that down, barely stopping to breathe, and when she was done, her stomach felt and looked as if she were further along in her pregnancy than she was.