by D. Gideon
“No, I dropped Miss Dotty at the church,” John started, and we heard a scream. We all turned and saw Grams running across the lawn from the tree break at the edge of my yard.
“Grams!” Mel cried, and took off. She hit Grams hard enough to spin the both of them around. It took me a minute to make it over to them; running wasn’t in my list of abilities anymore. By the time I got there, Mel was full-out sobbing into Grams’ neck, and Grams was smoothing Mel’s hair down with long strokes and rocking her gently.
“Shh, child, shh. It’s okay. You’re home now. Everything’s gonna be okay,” Grams murmured, and held one arm out to me. I slipped into it and wrapped around her. She crooned softly to both of us
A weight pushed into my leg and I heard King’s low warning growl. I looked up to find a frightening mountain of a man, head shaved and arms covered in tattoos, reaching a hand out as if he were going to grab Grams. Without thinking, I shoved out of Grams’ embrace and pulled the pistol from my waistband.
“Don’t touch her,” I barked, aiming squarely at his chest. “Back the fuck up!”
I heard Mel gasp and there was another pistol in the air two feet from mine, Mel’s hands holding it still and sure.
“Where the hell did you get that?” I hissed.
Mel glanced at me and back to the man. “Long story. Grams? You know this guy?”
Grams’ eyes darted between us, wide and confused. “What are you two doin’? Put those things down!”
“Grams?” Corey called, and I glanced over my shoulder. He was halfway between us and John’s truck. Marco was beside him, one hand across Corey’s middle and the other holding his own pistol up. Jax stood next to them, barking.
“I said, put them down,” Grams snapped. “You too, back there. Down. John, don’t even think about it.”
I looked over my other shoulder and saw John halfway out of the cab of his truck, a nasty-looking black rifle in his hands.
“This is my friend,” Grams called out loud enough for us to all hear, and she stepped back until she bumped up against the big man. He kept his hands in the air and just looked over all of us without a word. He didn’t even look frightened.
That was unnerving as hell.
I lowered my pistol to point at the ground, but still held it ready. Mel mirrored me.
“Your friend?” I asked, confused.
“Everyone, this is Preacher. I’ve…adopted him. He’s gonna be living with me,” Grams said. “Now put those things away and come introduce yourselves, like polite folk.”
We glanced at each other, wondering what the hell was going on, and put our guns away. Everyone came forward to meet the giant, but I hung back. After the past few days he was just…too big. Too dangerous-looking. King stayed pressed against my leg, even when Jax trotted over and gave him a thorough sniffing.
Finally the group moved off, with Corey carrying Grams despite her protests, and it was just me, King, and the big man. He watched me silently, as if he were waiting for something.
I crossed my arms and glanced back at the group. “You’re not going in for sweet tea?”
He looked at my house and back to me. “If you don’t want me here, I’ll go,” he said. “I can tell I make you uncomfortable.”
“You don’t,” I started, but stopped. It was obvious he did. I huffed and rubbed the shaved side of my head with the heel of my hand. The itching was driving me crazy. “Okay. Yeah, you do. But it’s not really you. I’ve…had a bad week.”
“Did you kill the bastard that did that to you?”
His words called up the memory of angry snarls as I plunged the knife in, the feel of hot blood running over my hands. I crossed my arms and tucked my hands in tight, fingers rubbing the soft ribbing of my tank top.
There’s nothing on your hands, I told myself. It’s just a memory.
“Yeah.” I looked down at my arms, needing to see that they were clean. “They’re dead.”
“Good,” he said, and the way he said it, the conviction in his voice, made me shiver. He must have seen it, because he took a step back.
“I’ll go back to the church,” he mumbled.
“No,” I said quickly, then took a deep breath and stuck out my hand. “I’m Ripley.”
One of his eyebrows went up and he shook my hand. “Preacher. Nice to meet you, Miss Weaver. You’re a little shorter than I thought you’d be.”
I snorted. “I saw Aliens when I was eight. Instant hero worship. My dad says I wouldn’t answer to any name but Ripley after that night.”
“I hear they made a couple more movies,” he said. “Haven’t seen ‘em, though.”
“I can fix that. I’ve got the DVDs inside…” I stopped and huffed. No power. “Shit. Nevermind. Look, I need to sit down, and you need to get inside before Grams comes out here and drags you in. She said she adopted you, so she won’t take no for an answer. You comin’ or not?”
He chuckled, and waved a hand as if to say lead the way.
A silver sedan with tinted windows pulled up as we were climbing the steps to Grams’ porch. I turned and slipped my fingers through King’s collar, not recognizing the car.
Both passenger doors opened and a weight lifted off of me as my parents got out. They were yelling my name and running across the yard one instant, and the next I was in the air and spinning, wrapped in my Dad’s arms. He set me down and Mom was right there, squeezing me so hard it hurt. Preacher slipped inside as the three of us held each other, crying.
We’d done it. We were home.
Epilogue
Friday, September 7th
Newark, Maryland
Simon stood, braced in the stairwell of the old prison bus, and looked out into the dark with tight eyes. One passing car would be all it would take to blow this thing wide open.
One of the passengers started singing in a warbling voice, and a few others joined in. At the next verse, they all started singing different lines, and the song fell apart to gales of laughter.
Simon turned and looked back over the motley group, not surprised to find many of them sleeping. It had been that way the last few trips, too. The brownies they’d had as dessert with their dinners had packed a stronger punch than he’d anticipated. Charlotte had warned him that her method of infusing butter with herbs concentrated the herb’s effectiveness, but what he’d given her hadn’t been fresh. Until the prisoners had started showing effects about two hours after they’d eaten, he had still had doubts that it would work at all.
His eyes passed over Fish, sitting in the guard’s seat behind the driver. Fish glanced down at him and gave him a nod, his face grim. They’d argued about it, but the old man had insisted on coming on this last trip. He’d finally threatened to get in his truck and follow the bus if Simon wouldn’t let him board, and knowing Fish was as good as his word, Simon had relented.
He just hoped the old fellow would decide to stay in the bus once they got there. Simon didn’t want him seeing any of this. Hell, he didn’t want to be seeing any of this, and he’d already seen too much of it tonight.
The bus slowed as Gonzalez shifted down, and they made the turn onto the bumpy dirt lane with only a few whoops and whistles from the prisoners. They followed the treeline far out into the field, moving slow so Gonzalez wouldn’t miss a curve and get them stuck. That long rainstorm last night had soaked the ground, and with this much weight, if they strayed even two feet off of the packed-down farm trail, they’d be up to the axles in mud.
After what seemed like an hour, Gonzalez stopped the bus and killed the engine. He pushed the handle to open the door, and Simon stepped out.
In the field, the crickets sang loudly, almost drowning out the sounds of rattling chains coming from within the bus. The night air smelled like cordite. Overhead, millions of stars glittered brightly, the strange red hue nearly gone now.
It was too peaceful out here, too beautiful, for something like this.
He saw two figures coming towards him across the field, and
walked out to meet them.
“Any trouble with this load?” John asked, adjusting one of the straps on his shoulder.
“Same as all the others. Most of them slept like babies.” Simon looked down at the small figure with John. “I thought you’d stay up at the house, with the girls.”
“And let this big lug behind the wheel? I don’t think so,” Charlotte said. “The girls are asleep, and there’s a movie going to cover the noise. They’ll be fine.”
There were grumbles and laughter as the men stepped off of the bus, each one handcuffed to a belt around his waist. They shuffled forward as the line grew, chains connecting them together. Gonzalez stood by the door, rifle shouldered and ready. Officer Patrick led the line out into the grass with short, stern commands. Finally, the last prisoner was off. Fish stepped down out of the bus, hooking a set of keys to his belt and reaching down to pick up a second rifle that Gonzalez had leaned against the front tire. He shouldered it, and moved about halfway up the line. Gonzalez took up the rear.
So much for keeping the old man on the bus, Simon thought.
“Listen up,” Patrick called. “We’ve got the processing stations set up just ahead. Follow me, and keep your mouths shut.”
“I gotta piss,” one prisoner called, but he kept walking.
“Keep moving,” Fish barked.
Simon walked out ahead of the line, John and Charlotte behind him. He didn’t need a flashlight. Even this late at night, the darkness of the pit stood out from everything around it. Patrick kept leading the group forward until they were in position, and called for them to stop. As soon as their feet stopped moving, one of them started singing again. The whole group took up the song this time.
John unslung one of the AR-15s from his shoulder and passed it to Simon. He unslung a second and wrapped his arm through the sling.
Fish stepped up to them and jerked his chin at the rifles. “I need one of those.”
“No,” Simon said. “You and Gonzalez and Patrick are only here because it’s what the prisoners expect. This part falls to me.”
“I won’t stand out here with this damned empty rifle and watch you do this alone, Warden,” Fish said.
“I’m sorry Fish, but I couldn’t risk one of you joining in. Remember what I said about the Feds doing an inventory on the ammo?”
“Besides, he’s not alone,” John said. “My rifles, my ammo, my field. It’s my responsibility.”
“You’ve done too many already,” Fish said. “A man shouldn’t have to do that. It messes with your head. I said I’d do whatever it took, and I meant it.”
“I know you did, old friend,” Simon said, putting a hand on Fish’s shoulder. “But I won’t allow you to do this. Just give us a minute, and it’ll be over. You can get the cuffs and chains, and we can all go home.”
“You take the left, I’ll start at the right,” John said. “Charlotte, you good?”
Charlotte took a deep breath and blew it out, then nodded. “I’ll go sit in the dozer.”
Simon squeezed Fish’s shoulder and started towards his position. As he got closer, the smell was nearly enough to make him gag. Between the thousands of dead chickens waiting in a pile nearby, and the stench of urine and feces, it was a wonder the prisoners weren’t asking questions.
Then again, they were all so high they could barely walk, much less comprehend what was around them.
He shouldered John’s rifle and sighted down the barrel on the prisoner furthest to the left. John had been right. Starting from the ends made it easy. Even if the ones in the middle panicked, the dead weight on the chains kept them from being able to move.
“Ready?” John called.
“Ready,” Simon said.
“On my mark,” John said. “Three, two…”
Simon squeezed. The first pair went down, and the singing stopped.
He adjusted to the right, put his front sights on the target, and squeezed again. Just as all the times before, when the second pair fell, the screaming started.
Adjust, sight, squeeze.
Again, and again, and again.
Back of the Book Stuff
Hey ladies and gents! I hope you liked this one. It was a rough ride for everyone involved (including me; one of the situations Ripley gets into hit pretty close to home). I guess I should mention that during the planning of this book, either Corey or Marco weren’t going to survive the trip. Would you have grabbed the torches and stormed my Facebook page? Hehe.
By the way, it’s really quiet over on my Facebook page. Please come keep me company? I share prepping stuff, cool pics, and my Idiot Moment adventures…like when I searched for “leather thongs” on Amazon without thinking about what I was typing. I meant the strips (like laces) you tie around silcock keys, I swear! That’s not what Amazon showed me, lol. I haven’t seen that many butt cheeks since I was changing diapers. After picking my jaw back up, I decided typing in “silcock” probably wouldn’t be a good idea. ;)
www.facebook.com/DrewGideon
The fantastic duo of Kevin Pierce and Becket Royce narrated Book 1: JOURNEY, and it’s awesome. Hearing Kevin in Cathy’s voice saying “Well, poo!” is the cutest thing ever.
You can find the audiobook here.
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Drew Gideon spends most of her time arguing with the characters in her head—the characters usually win. She lives with her “I’m an enganeer engeneer enginear…I’m good with math!” husband and the three coolest kids in the world in the sweaty armpit of the United States. She’s proudly owned by two cats and a dog, all of whom adopted her when she went to the shelter in need of a friend.
Drew longs for a time when she’ll have a self-sufficient homestead and cozy writing cabin in the mountains, where she can utilize her own personal shooting range clad in nothing but a good set of cans and her pajamas if she wants. Of course, she’d really prefer to dump the cans and use a nice suppressor.
To see what Drew’s up to and find out when the next release is, please visit her at either of the following online hangouts:
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