She glanced up. Gregor leaned on the fence with his big arms, his long hair drooped on his shoulders. She stood up.
“What’s up, Gregor?”
Gregor tucked his long hair behind his ear. “Hank just got back from town. Steele’s convoy is on the move.”
“All of them?”
“Yeah, they’re gone.”
She patted Haley on the back. “Let’s get you inside.” Haley ran off in the direction of the house. Gwen gave Gregor a worried look. “Mark is an impatient man at best. I thought he would wait for us to figure something out. Can you take Chase with you and track them down the banks? Take one of the trucks.”
Gregor nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He hoisted his AR-15 and walked off to find Chase.
Gwen followed Haley across the yard. Women cooked over fires outside the barn. Most of the men had gone off with her grandfather to help with the harvesting of her grandfather’s soybean and corn crops. They had finished harvesting the smaller plots of sweet corn and had now moved onto the larger acreage of field corn. If it came down to it, although the people wouldn’t be happy, they could eat the field corn. The field corn colloquially known as dent corn was primarily the starchy corn that would be used to feed the cattle. Many of the other Sable Point refugees were pulling security, standing watch with rifles and shotguns.
Gwen patted the top of Rocky’s black head as she walked by. The boxy-headed Labrador Retriever accepted her praise and laid his head back down. She stepped onto the porch and pulled off her dirty knee-high rubber farm boots. The smell of food tantalized Gwen’s nose as she stepped inside.
Gram’s voice came from inside. “How did you get so dirty, young lady?”
“Chasin’ chickens, grandma.”
“Wipe your hands, dear.”
Gwen stepped inside the kitchen. Her gram was there with May Clemens, Harriet, and Joey. They were all working on a massive meal.
Gram smiled. She held a wet rag to Haley’s hands. “You too?” She glanced up at Gwen. “Those chickens must be mighty weaselly or somebody’s out of practice.”
Gwen returned her warm smile with one of her own. “I don’t think they’re any smarter, but I’m out of practice.”
Her grandmother finished wiping Haley off. She handed the towel to Gwen then turned back to her kitchen stovetop, wielding a large wooden spoon like a master alchemist. Four large pots bubbled on the stove.
“I suppose we should be thankful for this old wood stove. With no power, it’s been a godsend.” Handling the wooden spoon, she stirred one and then the other. May chopped vegetables, her knife banging off a cutting board.
“Smells delicious.” Gwen stepped close behind her grandma and squeezed her shoulders, peering over. “What are you all making? Chili?”
Her grandmother regarded her over her shoulder. “Your favorite, but I’m leaving it pretty bland. For the kids.” She continued to stir, not looking at her.
Gwen smiled. “That sounds great.”
“Hopefully we’ve enough for the folks outside.”
“We’ll make do. We’ll add water if we need more,” May said. She gave Gwen a friendly smile. Gwen’s grandmother and she were becoming fast friends.
Her grandmother continued to stir. “When are you due?”
Gwen’s heart leapt in her chest, her eyes flying toward the other woman and finally settling on her grandmother. “Gram. What are you talking about?”
May stopped chopping and glanced at Gwen inquisitively. Harriet’s eyes went wide and she zeroed back in on the food she was prepping.
Her grandmother turned around, holding a spoon in one hand, her other on her hip.
“Gwen. Even if you didn’t have that guilty look on your face, I could tell by the color of your cheeks and the size of your breasts.”
Gwen averted her eyes. “Gram, please, you’re embarrassing me.”
Gram swung her spoon around. “Nonsense. Why should you be ashamed? Just because you ate supper before you said grace?”
Gwen’s mouth clamped shut. “I’m not ashamed.” Her eyes dipped away from her grandmother. “I didn’t want to tell you until I was further along.”
“You didn’t want to tell me because you were afraid of what I’d think.”
“Yeah.”
“You love the father?”
Gwen avoided her grandmother’s gaze before she could meet her eyes. “Of course, Gram.”
“Then it’s good. Is it that boy who’s stuck across the river?”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “Yes, it’s Mark’s, but he’s gone.”
Gram shook her spoon, pointing outside. “Just like a man to run away when the world starts to get real. You should have picked a better baker to throw one in the oven.”
“Please, he wouldn’t have left without a reason.”
Her grandmother’s face crinkled in suspicion and Gwen didn’t know if it was for her or Mark. “You’ve been seeing that Bullis boy quite a bit lately.”
Gwen tilted her head to the side and gave her Gram a disappointed look.
“It’s Mark’s child. Jake is only a friend.”
Her gram raised a gray eyebrow. “A friend you play kissy-face with?”
Gwen felt her cheeks start to color. The other women were silent. May turned back around to the vegetables and Harriet looked away. Joey made a noise and quickly turned around.
Her grandmother pointed the spoon at her like she was casting a spell. “Mark ain’t here. Somebody’s got to raise the child. Jake’s a fine man. He’s got a good down-to-earth family.”
“Mark will come back or I’ll find him,” Gwen said more softly than she would have liked.
Gram’s weathered face softened and she set her spoon down. “Come over here and give your grandmother a hug.” Gwen did as she bid and hugged her grandmother, the relief of acceptance overwhelming her. “There, there, my girl. I’m only being hard on you because I want what’s best for you. Just because these are sad times doesn’t mean that we don’t have reason to rejoice.” She whispered. “This is a special gift.”
Her grandmother leaned back and wiped a tear. “How far along, dear?”
Gwen wiped the other side of her face as tears leaked from her eyes. “About three months.”
May put a hand on her shoulder. “You have the glow,” she said softly.
Harriet smirked. “About time we got that out.”
Gwen cried a tear then laughed a little. “Yeah, it is. Will you all do me a favor?”
“Yes, dear,” her grandmother said. She reached up and touched Gwen’s face.
“Don’t tell Pa. I don’t want him to worry.”
“Oh, Gwen. He would be so happy. You’ve always been his favorite.”
The screen door slammed shut.
“Haley,” Becky called as she walked in.
“In here, Mama.”
Becky set a basket of eggs on the table.
“Now I remember why I became a teacher. Those chickens are grosser than those little buggers I used to teach.”
Gram smiled. “Thank you, Becky.”
“Why does everyone look so emotional?” Becky eyed them with suspicion. “Jesus, did somebody die or somethin’?”
“No, no,” Gram said. “Times are tough and we’re letting it out.” She gave a knowing side-glance to Gwen.
“God. Don’t scare me like that. You should all pick up smoking. It helps with the stress.”
Gram sighed. “You should quit. It’s bad for Haley.”
Becky avoided eye contact with her disapproving grandmother. “Doc Miller said I could smoke when I was pregnant. What’s the difference now?”
“He said that because he knew you wouldn’t quit,” Gwen chimed in.
“You should talk. I remember in high school you and me would sneak out to smoke.”
“A youthful indiscretion.”
Becky snorted and held up a pack of cigarettes. “If you need me, I’ll be outside having a youthful indiscretion.”
Gwe
n crossed her arms over her chest, watching her sister leave.
“She’s always been a stubborn one,” Gram said. She picked up her spoon and dug back into the steaming red chili.
AHMED
South of Steele’s position
Ahmed twirled the bat between his knees as they drove. It reminded him of riding the bus to an away game in college, all the tension of the upcoming game settling in on him while they burned hour after hour on the road. Part of his routine had been silent prayer and he would use the bat to keep the beats in his mind. Peace be unto him. May you take all their souls and bring them peace that they cannot find here on Earth.
His second reason for silent prayer was to stifle the sounds of Ollie and Weston arguing in the front seat over who had the better college football team. He prayed for the lives he had extinguished, knowing that he would be forgiven for the lives around him that had been taken too early. Too many have been taken before their time here was done, but God has a plan.
The rumble of motorcycles sounded off ahead of them. They drove at the back of the fifty or so Wolf Riders riding slow down the uneven road. Ahead of their scouting group, three more bikers acted as outriders cautiously looking out. He could barely make out the black wolves patches on the backs of their vests. Ollie flicked on the lights as dusk descended upon the land like a gray blanket.
Ahmed rolled his shoulders and then his neck, trying desperately to tune out the two men bickering like an old couple.
Ollie drove, two loose hands holding the steering wheel. “I’m telling you. State is better than Michigan every year.” He glanced at Weston as he talked, gauging his comrade’s reaction.
Weston shook his head. Weston was a taller version of Ollie with a bald head to match except Ollie had a beard where Weston couldn’t grow a thing. “You’ve got to be joking.” He pushed himself back into his seat. “What’s the overall series record?”
Ollie scoffed. “Don’t know. Don’t care. Michigan’s got them on the overall series, but what about the last ten years? It hasn’t even been close. Coach D is a hero. A mastermind. One of the best coaches in the country.”
Weston nodded. “Sure. Sure. Coach D is a great coach, but we have to talk about tradition. Historically, Michigan has been in control of the series.”
Ollie shook his head in disgust. “The tides are changing. The past will only be what it was. In the future, people will look back at the last ten years and say this was the turning point. This was the beginning of the culture shift. I have no doubt Michigan will kick, bite, and scratch to hold on to the idea of being superior, but just like anything that is losing relevance, eventually they will be kicked to the side and everyone will talk about the way it used to be as they are forgotten.” Ollie slapped the steering wheel as he thought of something else. “And can we really take seriously a bunch of wins when dudes were wearing leather helmets? It’s laughable. Not even the same sport. We were a lot smaller school back then.”
Weston smirked. “Whatever. The series is in our favor, so it doesn’t matter how many wins in a row you get. We don’t even consider you rivals. The Buckeyes are our real rival.” Weston got comfortable in his seat, smug victory settling on his face.
Ollie glanced back from the road and back at Weston. Color was rising in his cheeks and Ahmed could visibly see the man’s blood pressure go up. “Dude, you’re joking me, right?” He glanced back at the road and back at Weston. “You’re joking, right?”
Weston crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.
Ollie exclaimed, “We’re one of the only teams to beat OSU in the conference more than once since they split them up. You guys haven’t won a game against them in years.”
“It’s called “the Game.” That’s the real rivalry.”
“Doesn’t it have to be competitive to be a rivalry? Hell, we have a better rivalry with them than you do.”
Weston’s jaw dropped. “Take it back. Our rivalry with OSU is historic.”
Ollie shrugged. “Just saying, it has to be competitive to be a rivalry. Hey, Ahmed.” Ollie glanced in the rearview mirror.
Ahmed sighed and stopped twirling his bat. “What?”
“Who do you think is better? MSU or U of M?” Ollie said, looking at him in the rearview mirror.
“I dunno. Alabama?”
Ollie scrunched his nose up. “Come on.”
Weston waved him off. “Apples to oranges.”
“Why do you care? Did you guys even go there? It’s not like they are going to play anymore.”
Ollie looked back at him quick. “No.”
Weston peered down and muttered. “No.”
Red brake lights flashed ahead. Ahmed pointed in the middle of the two men. “They’re stopping.”
Ollie braked the pickup, gradually coming to a stop behind the rear of the bikers. The last biker, the tail gunner, waved them forward, and Ollie pulled the pickup onto the shoulder. Weston rolled down his window and a gust of cold air blew into the truck. Ahmed shivered. Freezing compared to Virginia.
Near the front of the Wolf Riders, Macleod waited for them. His black goatee swung down his chest and sunglasses hung off the front of his jacket.
“Hey, guys. My boys in the front say we are going to have some company. Don’t know how many, but they’re coming up quick, so let’s take some cover.”
“Shouldn’t we get word back to Steele?” Ahmed said.
Macleod smiled. “We will. But don’t you think it’s a better idea to get him actionable intelligence?”
“Yeah, he’ll want to know how many we’re dealing with.”
Macleod pointed to a short ranch-style house in a field. Windows were dark. “Of course. I’m gonna get my boys behind that house and barn over here.”
“We’ll follow you,” Ahmed said. Weston rolled up the window.
“Jesus, it’s cold out there,” he said, rubbing his hands together.
Ollie reached over and adjusted the heat on the dash. “Those guys must be freezing on those bikes.” He turned the steering wheel and followed the bikers up a dirt driveway. An infected man reached for the bikers as they rolled around to the back. A Wolf Rider swung a pipe one-handed on the way by, striking the thing in the face. Skin and brains streaked into the air and the infected collapsed.
Ollie pulled the pickup around to the opposite side of the barn. Wolf Riders were dismounting their motorcycles. Ollie turned the key and cut the engine. He twisted a knob on the dash and the lights disappeared.
The three men sat in the dying light. “Do you guys get a weird vibe from that guy?” Ahmed asked.
Weston shook his head. “I mean, they’re in a gang. It’s all kind of weird to me.”
Ollie nodded. “Seems real angry all the time but not any different than normal.”
“Hmm. I don’t know. He just seems weird to me.” Not any weirder than the rest of us I guess. Ahmed pulled his radio out. “Steele, this is Ahmed, over.”
There was a ten-second pause before Steele’s voice came on. “This is Steele.”
“We might have some company. Don’t know how many.”
“Keep a low profile and let me know.”
“You got it.” Ahmed tossed the radio on the seat next to him and cracked the rear passenger door.
Ollie glimpsed back at him. “Where are you going?”
“Steele is going to want to know numbers. I’m going to move closer.”
Ollie exchanged a look with Weston. “You don’t mind if we just chill in here?”
“No need for all of us to be cold,” Weston chimed in with a weak smile.
Ahmed shook his head. “Stay here.” Ahmed shouldered up his M4 and gripped his bat. He walked to the corner of the barn and knelt down using the bat to brace himself and waited.
The wind picked up, blowing dirt and weed-ridden yellow stalks of dead crops across the road. The leaves on the stalks rustled as if an army of the dead were trampling through them.
The chill reminded him of how b
ad it hurt to hit a ball in the cold. The sting in his hands after connecting. He assumed that it would be the same smashing in the skulls of the dead in the cold. He rubbed his hands together, letting the bat hang in the crook of his arm. The cold from the earth was soaking through his pant leg on the ground. If it snowed, it might stick.
The bikers spoke behind him, huddled around motorcycles. He couldn’t make out their conversation, but they didn’t seem worried about whatever came this way. You should be worried. These guys mean business. He dipped his chin, eyeing the men behind him.
Macleod stood over with a group of his men almost as if they were in a huddle. He glanced Ahmed’s way and gave a smile. Ahmed lifted his chin in acknowledgment. Looks like a rat, smells like a rat, it’s a rat.
He continued to rub his hands. His skin was starting to turn red and dry with the nighttime cool air. He perked up, eyeing the road and the surrounding trees. The hum became a rumble and three motorcycles sped down the road. They slowed down and cut their lights as they turned into the farm’s driveway and raced up between the house and the barn.
“Boss, they’re right behind us,” the Wolf Rider barked.
“Good work, Pot.”
Ahmed spied back on the road. He heard them first too. They weren’t as loud as motorcycles and they appeared soon after he heard them. He saw their lights first through the trees. Beams penetrating through any open space.
Three tan Humvees roared into view, cruising. Helmeted men stood in their turrets. They continued driving by, blocked from view by more trees.
“Scouts,” Ahmed whispered. “They’re coming from the south.” Ahmed’s mind raced and he continued to whisper out loud. “They’re coming from the north and the south.” He stood for a moment digesting the information. “We are walking into a trap.”
He turned around, observing Macleod for a second. The black-goateed man was near the back of the pickup. Another couple of his men were leaning on the other side, talking.
Ahmed stood up and started to walk toward Macleod and yelled over to him. “They’re coming up from the south and from the north.” He needed to send word back to Steele.
Macleod cupped his own ear. “What’s that?”
The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4) Page 29