Her mouth gaped open. “That makes you an ungrateful ass ’cause this mule rescued you when you were trapped.”
He sat back on the bed and touched her face. “Wrong. That makes me a grateful ass.” He kissed her lips, letting his hand fall onto her belly. He looked down at her growing abdomen and back up into her sparkling green eyes. “Is it okay?”
She smiled. “Yes. It’s great. Gram’s been feeding me plenty.”
“Very good.” He pecked her lips again. Standing, he walked over to his ACUs and pulled on his pants, securing his belt, firearm, and tomahawk.
“I’d like to meet this mayor and sheriff. I’ve heard so much about them. It’d be great to put a name with a face.”
Gwen’s brows shrank a fraction in worry. “You’re not going to hurt them are you?”
He threw on his jacket, draping it gingerly over his bad arm. “Nah. I just want to talk to our newest allies.”
“But they don’t want you here.”
He buttoned his jacket, struggling with one hand. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
GWEN
Hacklebarney, IA
Patsy’s hooves clopped on the road. Gwen felt silly riding the horse alongside her grandfather while everyone else either walked or rode on a hay trailer pulled by horses, but Mark had insisted. It wasn’t that her body didn’t feel like she had wrestled a bear the night before, but she felt like she was being treated like a porcelain doll. Small painful fluid-filled blisters dotted her hands and every muscle in her body felt torn. She held the reins loosely in one raw hand, not wanting to put too much pressure on it.
Mark walked in front of her by himself. The leaders of the biker gangs and their enforcers followed close by, but not with him. Santa-like Thunder and tall Garrett were the only ones she recognized. The pastor strode with curly-haired Peter and handsome Matthew, whose flail clanked around at his hip as he walked. Gregor and Hank flanked her horse on one side, Jake on the other. The men were quiet as they walked, only the rattle of magazines or guns and the faint sound of boots marching over the ground. She knew they were tired from the nighttime retreat just like her.
Her grandfather gave her a sad smile as he rode next to her. A cool wind buffeted his stringy white hair atop his head. Thirty minutes later, they were upon the small Iowa town of Hacklebarney. They marched right down the center as if they were an apocalypse parade.
Doors shut. Windows closed. Curtains fluttered and shut. The American Legion was closed up, dark, and deserted. They stopped in the center of town in front of Mayor Dobson’s office. Steele gave her a rearward glance, questioning their next move. His hand rested on the pistol handle at his hip. She gave him a gentle shake of the head. No.
She lifted her eyes up to the windows of the mayor’s office, studying the dragon’s lair. The shade dropped and closed. The residual movement left it shaking in the window.
She cleared her throat. “Mayor Dobson,” she called at the window. “I have some men,” she made sure to emphasize that, “that are here to talk to you.”
The blinds moved, but nothing happened. She turned Patsy in a semicircle. “Hacklebarney, I bring to you the good people who needed your help, but only a few answered the call.” She scanned from building to building. A man emerged from the sheriff’s office.
Sheriff Donnellson tugged on his pants a bit as he walked, his shotgun in one hand. When he reached the group, he kept his distance, gripping his shotgun with both hands.
His mustached flared. “Now, Gwen. We already had a vote. You turn your pretty little ass around before you’s get a spankin’. Take your little gang and mosey on out of here or I’ll call the posse up.”
Gwen’s jaw dropped. The nerve of this imbecile. Steele gave her a small smile beneath his beard and nodded. “I got this, babe.” He gave her a pat on the leg before leaving her side.
Steele squinted as he approached the sheriff. “Sheriff Donnellson, is it?”
The sheriff’s mustache fluttered with anger. “Yes, it is.”
“I’m Agent Steele. I believe we spoke the other day on the radio.”
“Is that so?”
Steele took another step forward. “We’re the ones who asked nicely to come across and I believe you said ‘no.’”
“Now, son. Don’t you be puttin’—.”
“Sheriff.” Steele’s voice was iron.
The sheriff’s mouth snapped closed. His lips twitched in anger.
“I think you owe Gwen an apology.”
Stubbornness settled on the sheriff’s face. “I will not.”
Mark tapped his finger on his gun. “I’m not sure you understand the situation at hand.”
“Are you threatenin’ me, boy?”
“I sure as hell am, Sheriff. Now, you drag that coward mayor of yours down here so we can talk to him or this town is gonna have a new lawman in these parts.”
“I’m—” The sheriff stopped. He frowned and glanced up at Gwen and then cautiously looked at the bikers. “He’s in his office.” The sheriff hobbled over to the mayor’s door. He pulled out a ring of keys. They jangled as he searched for the right one. He tried one and then another.
“Sheriff, need I remind you, time is of the essence,” Gwen said. She dismounted her horse with a hand from Jake.
The sheriff gave her a weak smile. “That’s it.” The door clicked open. Steele put his hand on the sheriff’s shoulder. “I believe you forgot something.”
The sheriff’s mustache twitched furiously. Gregor inched closer along with Thunder. Garrett gave the sheriff a wicked smile, overshadowing the lawman.
The sheriff turned around, facing the group. “I’m sorry, Gwen.”
Thunder put his arm around the sheriff. “You’ll have to forgive me, but me and my boy Garrett don’t hear too well. You see we’ve been riding way too long to hear such a soft voice. What’d you say?”
The sheriff’s eyes searched for a way out. “I said, I’m sorry.”
Steele reached in and soft patted the sheriff’s cheek. “Now that’s how you speak to a lady. You know, I’m glad we had this talk.”
The party of people surged past the bewildered sheriff and walked up the stairs. At the top, Steele tried the other door. It too was locked.
Steele shouted down the steps. “Sheriff?”
Sheriff Donnellson stretched his neck while scrutinizing his keys in one hand. “Don’t think I got a key to that one.”
“Jesus,” Steele cursed. He took a step back onto his bad leg and planted a foot into the doorjamb. Once and then twice, he kicked against it with his good leg until the door burst inward. Mayor Dobson shrank down in his chair. The entire group filtered into his office, filling every available space with dirty, angry men and women. Thunder leaned on the mayor’s desk.
“So this is the prick who wouldn’t allow us to cross the bridge?” Thunder sneered down at him. “I oughta skin him alive.”
The pastor weighed down upon the mayor from the other side. “God’s people deserve better than they’ve been given, Mayor. You must repent for the sins you’ve committed.”
Dobson’s head bounced from threat to threat. His office brimmed with men and women who would love to see him suffer. He gave a nervous laugh and smiled, spreading his arms wide then brought them together. “What’s mine is yours. You can’t possibly hold me accountable for something that was done democratically? It was a vote.”
“People died because of your vote, Mayor,” Gwen said. The group parted, giving her unimpeded access. She walked through them with her grandfather at her back, taking her place near Mark.
“I was only trying to protect my town. Surely men of your caliber understand that.”
Steele leaned in. “My best friend got strung up and hanged trying to help us find a way across.”
Dobson rubbed his hands together. “I’m sorry for your loss. Many have lost much during these terrible times. Just the other day-”
Mark cut him off. “I’m not here to barter with
you, Dobson. I come with a warning.”
Dobson blinked. “Carry on.”
“There’s a madman on the other side of that river. He has hundreds, if not thousands, of American soldiers under his command and he wants us dead.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with Hacklebarney. This is a community that serves. We support our military.”
“Those men across the river have gone bad. They look like the military, but they are rotten at the core. There may be good apples in the barrel but the barrel’s rotten.”
Dobson sighed. “I’m sorry. Hacklebarney cannot help you. Please carry on and don’t come back. Plenty of land west.”
A voice came from behind Gwen. “Then maybe Hacklebarney needs new leadership,” Pa said. Heads turned toward the old man.
Dobson gave Pa a slimy smile. “John, please. You’re far too old to lead our wonderful town through such a turbulent time. The stress would be horrible for your health.”
Pa nodded. “You’re right, Mayor. I am too old. If I was a younger man, I’d take you out back and whip you with the hose. That’s what we used to do with a cheating darn son of a bee like yourself.” Gwen reached out for her grandfather’s arm. He shook beneath her hand.
“Pa, it’s fine,” she said with a proud yet sad smile.
He gave her an understanding nod.
Dobson smirked. “You can’t possibly suggest one of these. These outsiders. The town would never stand for it. And, by God, we will fight for our town. Sheriff?”
“I reckon that be so,” Donnellson said from the doorway. Steele eyed the local lawman with disdain.
Her grandfather’s voice rose up and crackled a bit with age. “Mayor’s right. There ain’t no need to fight, and with no offense to our guests, it can’t be one of y’all neither. Nor me.”
The mayor smiled. “Of course not.”
Pa held up a hand. “Now, hold your horses. I lived here a long time. Longer than most, not as long as some, but I’ve seen a thing or two. We got some good hardy folk here. Strong stock. Some ain’t too bright, but they ain’t bad people.” He pointed a finger at the mayor. “But since you been here, Mayor, I seen some ugly times. It ain’t all your fault. I might even have agreed with ya once or twice, but it wasn’t until my granddaughter arrived did I realize what kind of man you are.”
“John, my good man, please. This is hardly helping anything,” Dobson said.
John’s voice grew stern. “Now you be quiet and listen. Gwen here. She did something amazing. She organized and rescued all those people trapped across that river. Something she never should have had to do. But you know what? She did it anyway because she’s got a gosh darn spine and a heart to match. She done more for people in a few hours than you’ve done for this community in six years. So I think it’s time you turn over the key to the town and make Gwen the mayor of Hacklebarney.”
The room was silent. A slow smile stretched along Dobson’s lips. “John, you know I value your opinion, but I don’t see how that is democratically possible.”
Pa pressed his lips together and raised his chin. Gwen had seen that expression a hundred times growing up. The old man had become a human mule and nothing would budge him from his course.
Dobson carried on, not noticing or caring, his voice patronizing. “John, you see, this is America. We have elected officials. I ran for office and the people voted me in. What you’re proposing is a dictatorship, ruling by force and fear. Whether you like me or not, I’m elected. And we won’t hold another election for two more years. She’ll just have to wait until then and run like it says in our town charter.”
“What happens if the current mayor is incapacitated?” the pastor said. His mouth stayed taut, a bowstring ready to hurl verbal arrows in any direction.
Dobson gave him a curious glance.
Thunder leaned over the desk. “Or missing?”
Dobson leaned away from Thunder. “No need for threats, but I assure you this town will never lay down for the likes of you.”
Gwen spoke up. “Mayor. I’m flattered by my grandfather’s proposal, but I don’t think it’s right to depose the mayor by force. He was elected and however much I disagree with his politics and general attitude toward everything, I can’t accept a position by force.”
“Now hold on a second,” Pa said.
She reached for him. “Pa, it’s okay.”
“Now don’t you tell me it’s okay when it ain’t.” He pointed at the mayor. “That man there has got to go and you’re gonna take his place.”
“Sorry, John. It’s not possible,” Dobson said.
Steele grew tired of the back-and-forth bickering. “We don’t have time for this debate. Jackson is looking for a way across the Mississippi as we speak, and we need your support.”
Dobson shook his head. “Like I said. If the United States military requires our assistance, we will be more than happy to assist them in any way possible.”
John’s voice grew strong. “You’re wrong, Mayor. Section 12, Amendment A of the Hacklebarney Town Charter, reads something along these lines: In times of great crisis, a special election can be held to ensure that the immediate survival of the community is maintained.”
“Bull hockey,” Dobson said.
Pa nodded. “I don’t lie. Read it yourself.”
Dobson stood up and walked over to his bookshelf, trying to avoid touching the bikers waiting to beat him to a bloody pulp. He flipped open an old worn yellow book. He licked his fingers before he turned the page. “Here it is.” Dobson held the book up.
“Section 12. Elections are to be held on the first Tuesday in November every fourth year. I don’t see anything else.”
“It was an amendment.” Pa pointed impatiently with his index finger. “It would be in the back.”
Dobson flipped to the back and ran his finger down the page. He stopped and his eyes blinked. “Amendment A. In times of great crisis such as war, famine, drought, etc., the community may hold an emergency election. It may be called by any member of the community and the duration of special appointment may be at least ninety days or until crisis has been mitigated. Although not every able-bodied community member must attend, a super majority of those in attendance is needed to enact an emergency duty official. Enacted by Mayor Fulton Reynolds, December 8th, 1941.” Dobson stared at the book and back at Pa.
Pa nodded his head slow. “He signed that decree right before he left for the Army.”
“Pa, I never knew that your father was the mayor of Hacklebarney.”
Her grandfather stared at Gwen for a moment. There was pain there and pride. “He was. Damn fine man. Makes me just about as proud as you do.”
Dobson dropped the book on the table and spread his arms wide. “This is preposterous. This hasn’t been used in ages. There’s no reason to start now.”
“No, Mayor, this is exactly what it was meant for.” Her grandfather stepped up next to her. “As resident of Hacklebarney, I hereby call an emergency election in accordance with the town charter.” Pa reached out and gripped Gwen’s hand and smiled, “And I respectfully put Ms. Gwen Reynolds forth as an emergency mayoral candidate.”
KINNICK
Warden, IA
Howls for justice penetrated the restaurant. Only the light machine guns stopped them from rushing inside and tearing the Marines to pieces. Gary and Martha stood with Kinnick back from the barricade watching them.
“We need more time Gary. The boy admitted that he was with his father when he took the shot.”
Gary’s brow creased. “All they know is that you rounded up their fellow law-abiding citizens in the night. There were gunshots and people from their community were gone in the morning. How can they settle for that after what’s been done to poor Andrew?” Gary paused, looking over at Kinnick. “He was a good kid. Worked hard. He prolly would have graduated and went to University of Iowa next year given the chance.”
Kinnick sighed. “It’s not something I can change.” He glanced over a
t Gary. “We need one another if we’re going to survive the coming days.”
Gary spoke softly. “I believe you, Colonel, but how will you fix this?”
“I’ll give them a choice and their fate will lie in their own hands.” If they don’t fall in line, the executive order states I must execute them as traitors to the United States. It’s not only the dead they must fear but their own government. It can’t be that way. He nodded to himself. They hold their own fate in their hands.
The Marines lined the front of the restaurant, weapons pointed out. “Hunter.”
The master sergeant rose to a crouch and jogged over to Kinnick. He rotated a thick wad of chewing tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other. “Folks out there are more ornery than a gator without a toothbrush.”
A brick went through the front window. Glass shattered and tinkled onto the floor in shards. Gary ducked and Kinnick flinched. Hunter only turned his head a bit.
“Hold your fire,” Hunter said behind him. He turned back to Kinnick. “Figured that was coming. Whataya think, Colonel? A few warning shots scare them off?”
Kinnick eyed his gritty master sergeant. Hunter shoved his tongue down on his tobacco.
“You want to go talk to them?” Kinnick watched the soldier’s reaction, but Hunter didn’t back down. Instead, he laughed.
“We seem to have been doing a lot of talking lately and they’re still getting all worked up. Just like a bunch of damn snowflakes.”
Kinnick glanced at Gary. The restaurant owner’s eyes were wide with fear. Whether that fear was for himself, the people outside, or Kinnick, he couldn’t tell. Hunter looked impatient as though he would hit the next person who talked to him. “Whether we like them or not, these are the men and women we swore to protect and I mean to do it. Put on your talking face.”
Hunter squeezed the chew into his lip, and Kinnick wasn’t sure if it was a smile or an effort to extract the most buzz out of his chewing tobacco. “Talk isn’t my forte, Colonel, but I’ve charmed a few angry women in my day. Can’t be that different.” He gave Kinnick a wolfish grin.
The Departing (The End Time Saga Book 4) Page 37