The Weak Shall Die: Complete Collection (Four Volume Set)

by Taylor Michaels

  The veins in Tom's neck pulsed. His face turned red and sweat dripped from his chin. "I'm telling you Elspeth," he screamed. "You've gone too far this time."

  "Shut up you gormless twit. Go to bed. You will learn it all at breakfast. John said he would tell everybody that I've been cheating. And he will ask everybody what to do with me. Does that make you happy? I will be publicly humiliated, insulted and I will have to pay for it. They will vote me out, like they voted out Carla and her husband. Will that make you happy?"

  "Elspeth, I told you we couldn't survive away from here. Being voted out is like putting a gun to our heads and pulling the trigger. We can't live outside. Not here. Not in this horrible new world without the rule of law. I don't have any skills to barter for food. I don't know why John brought us here in the first place. We haven't paid for our keep. I don't have any skills. I'm not good at chopping wood. I cut half what everybody else does and I eat just as much. Now you're having us tossed out."

  "He brought us here so your grandfather would provide passage for him and his oriental girlfriends on that bloody boat. That's why. He knew he couldn't push them through customs. He didn't value us. He valued his girlfriends. We were the price he had to pay to keep them."

  Tom looked down at the floor. "I suspected as much. And now you've forced him to take a stand. To stand against us." Tom stood upright, braced himself and stepped close to Elspeth. "You've really done it this time, you randy harlot," he said, as he slapped her face hard.

  Elspeth fell backwards a step, then turned to her nightstand and pulled out the giant Judge forty-five from her purse. It was twice the size of any other gun because it was not only big enough to shoot forty fives, but also shotgun shells. Tom jumped back. "No, Elspeth. Don't shoot me. I didn't mean to slap you."

  "Yes, you did. But, I'll save you some trouble," she said putting the giant revolver against her temple and pulling the hammer back with her thumb, cocking it. "Life hasn't been so good and it's just growing worse and worse. No more shopping at Harrods. No more parties. No more fancy dresses. And what do we have to replace those joys? Wars. Fights. Gun battles. We're attacked by people with machine guns. What's next? Cannons? And now my lover has nearly died saving my life in some bloody wild west shootout," she screamed.

  "No," said Tom, looking at the gun. "You can't." He jumped at her and grabbed the gun. They struggled and it went off with a thunderous roar that was deafening in the small room. Tom stumbled backward and slumped to the floor.

  "Oh my God!"

  Just as Tom hit the floor, Harry burst through the front door. "Elspeth! What happened? I heard all the screaming and was on my way over here to tell you to keep it down and then I heard the gunshot. I knew it was that giant revolver of yours. What did you do?" Harry said, looking at Tom lying at her feet, blood pooling on the floor.

  "They're going to send me away, Harry. It was bad enough when I was a thief. Now I'm a murderess."

  She bent over and snatched the Judge from Tom's hand and put the giant revolver to her temple.

  Harry stood dead still. Just staring. He yelled, "Sis! Please, don't leave me here alone! We'll work it out. You are my ..."

  The second deafening blast drowned out anything else Harry said.

  Pierre looked in the door. "Mon Dieu. I knew this life was bad, but I expected it to be bad. Now this." He rushed in past Harry and checked the bodies. "Mon Dieu. I can do nothing. They are gone." He backed out and closed the door behind him.

  "What happened Pierre," said Fred, walking up with a rifle in one hand and a pistol in the other. "I thought we had another intruder."

  "I think Tom and Elspeth have taken their own lives. It was too much for them."

  "Really!"

  Pierre nodded and hung his head as Marceau put her arm around him.

  John rushed in with a rifle in his hand. Seeing Fred, he waved him over. "I'm guessing I handled it all badly. I saw her in cabin number eight and told her we'd talk about it at breakfast. I didn't make any big deal of it. To be honest, I really wasn't concerned about it. Not important. One day's food wouldn't make any difference in the long run. Either we're going to make it or we're not. I figured we'd just give her double duty in the garden for a week as punishment. Just a token punishment. I didn't really think it through, Fred. I'm sorry." John hung his head, not believing that it had come to this.

  Fred placed a hand on John's forearm. "I heard them arguing before the shot. I couldn't tell about what. I came over to see Harry breaking in. It might be wise if we kept all this between ourselves, John. The situation is bad enough. Let everybody think she just couldn’t handle it and snapped."

  John sucked in a few short gulps of air. "That's not far from the truth -- from a certain point of view, if you leave out a few details."

  Chapter 49 - Hunting and Trapping

  Elspeth and Tom were buried on the hill a few miles from the compound, beside Sarah. John said a few words while constantly wiping his eyes. All the others took turns and each said how they would miss the two. Charles stood at the edge of the clearing and was quiet.

  Cho did a questionably tasteful parody of Elspeth using all of Elspeth's salty language. It was even more humorous because of Cho's pidgin English. Everybody smiled, most cried, but nobody laughed out loud.

  Everyone was lost in their own thoughts as they left the funeral. Fred approached John, saying, "You know what Sarah would say about this funeral."

  "A great waste of two hundred pounds of protein."

  John's comment was what Fred expected.

  "You never seemed to see any evil in her."

  "I didn't agree with her. I just said she hadn't broken any laws, except for killing that boy and trying to poison me. Little things like that." They threw crooked smiles at each other. "Her biggest sin against us was her starting a relationship with Harry. Poor guy. Now his sister, his romantic interest and his closest friend are dead. Why do you bring that up?"

  "I was going through one of the store rooms yesterday. Not much out of the ordinary, except for the explosives. I did find one item I thought was a little odd. I think it belongs to Charles."

  "I'm curious that Charles could have something that you would find odd. I can't think of anything, knowing Charles."

  "You have a point. This was a pellet gun. I remember Tom talking about seeing Charles at Wal-Mart. Charles received a package at the gun counter."

  "Charles mentioned it to me. I had forgotten all about it. You figured that Charles is a high powered guy and to buy a low powered gun would be beneath him?"

  "Yeah, why would he want it?"

  Charles had been quiet all during the ceremony and he had waited at the grave for a few minutes. He was walking back at the end of the group.

  John turned and looked back at Charles. He was hanging his head and walking slowly. John decided that Charles needed something else to think about.

  "Hey Charles," John said, stopping to wait for Charles to catch up. "You've stumped Fred again."

  Charles looked up and smiled. "Sorry Fred. What's on your mind?"

  "That pellet gun you bought. John said you bought it. What's up with that?"

  "Bullets. Bullets were hard to find because the government made a giant purchase which spooked the market and everybody started hoarding. Then, all kinds of political things happened and the hoarding went into high gear. I thought that I could buy all the pellets I needed and the pellet gun could be useful."

  "Sounds good. So what happened?"

  "I hate to admit it, but I could never hit anything out past twenty-five yards. Never could figure the thing out. I went into the forest and practiced. It was a hard gun to shoot. Thought maybe it was a dud. I finally gave up. By that time, it was too late to buy another."

  The rustle through the leaves brought George to Fred's side. "You guys talking about pellet guns," said George. "I thought I heard something. I wish I had one."

  "What for," said Fred. "You're being as strange as Charles. And that's saying
something. Maybe not."

  "Like John said. If I know Charles, he squirreled away thousands of pellets. Probably picked up several cans each time he went to Wal-Mart."

  Charles nodded. "I even bought some fancy ones online. Still couldn't hit anything. If you want to try, I'll give you the pellets."

  "Sounds great," said George. "One day soon, we're going to run out of bullets. I've seen lots of squirrels and crows around, but I figured we needed the bullets more than that piddling amount of protein."

  Fred looked at John and raised his eyebrows. John shrugged his shoulders. "Fred, why don't you and George take the gun and do some practicing. You'll have to be really good to kill squirrels and crows. They are both crafty."

  Pierre was waiting at the back gate as they approached the lodge. "And just who is so crafty, mon amie? Not me, I think."

  "Pierre, you are just in time. Did you ever shoot a pellet rifle? Charles bought one several months ago. George says plenty of squirrels and crows are around, but they aren't worth the cost of a bullet."

  "Non, I have not had that experience. But, of course, I would be interested in trying it."

  "Great," said Fred. "George, I'll bring you the gun and Charles can bring his pellets. Why don't you and Pierre practice a little and if you are good enough, you can take Pierre with you the next time you check your traps."

  "Sure thing. Trapping' has been bad for weeks. Haven't found anything. Waste of bait. At the worst, we might be able to shoot somethin' we could use as bait for the traps."

  * * *

  George and Pierre spent an hour practicing with the pellet gun in the back yard, shooting different pellets to see which worked best. George was right and Charles provided thirty tins, thousands of pellets.

  "George, mon amie, you are far better than I with this little gun. What is your secret?"

  "Well first, it ain't that little. It weighs more than my thirty ought six. It takes a strong arm to keep it on target. And second, it takes a special hold they call the artillery hold. When you pull the trigger on a firearm, a little bit of metal, the hammer, moves and then the bullet rockets out of the barrel real quick like. That don't cause the rifle to vibrate off target. Most of the kick and the jerk is after the bullet is down the barrel or out."

  "Oui, mon amie. I understand all of that."

  "But with a spring gun, pullin' the trigger just lets the big spring start to move. That jerks the gun. Then the spring compresses the air and hits the stop. All that causes lots of jerkin' in the gun before the pellet is out of the gun. The pellet is still in the gun all that time. Most folks hold the gun real tight to try to stop it moving'. You know, tryin' to keep it on target. But you can't stop it moving. Best thing is to hold it real light like. 'Specially in the left hand. Just enough to keep it from fallen' out of your hands. Be ready to let the gun go straight back, the way it wants to. Like an artillery piece. Then, squeeze the trigger with your hand and not with your whole arm. Squeeze your trigger finger toward your thumb and don't pull toward your shoulder. I'll go set up another target. You try a dozen or so shots while I go back to the lodge for a few minutes."

  George walked back to the lodge and found Cho and Marceau in the kitchen. "Tell me, ladies, if we shoot some animals and birds, you two gonna skin and pluck 'em. Or am I gonna to have to do that too?" he said, looking at Marceau, as she was pouring rice into a pot of water.

  Marceau looked around with a raised eyebrow that said what he expected to hear, "More work? I don't have any rest now."

  Cho saw her and quickly spoke. "George, you shoot something I eat and I be glad do whatever have to do. You show Cho what to do and Cho do it. Cho hungry for meat. Don't care what. Don't care how. You kill it. I clean it. We eat it. Good plan."

  "Great plan. That's what I was a hopin' you'd say, little lady. I'm sure you two can do somethin' delicious with 'em."

  "You shoot something?"

  "Not yet, but Pierre's on the scent with the gun. By the time I get back out there, he'll be drivin' nails at fifty yards. That boy's a wizard with a gun."

  Marceau smiled and said, "Oui. He has won many prizes, in France. If he can bring in some meat, I will make sure he has a special prize."

  "Cho know all about special prize. Two girls and extra drugs."

  Marceau laughed and shook her head as she went back to stirring the rice.

  When George returned to Pierre, he found he was right about him. However, the heavy weight of the big spring gun tired out his left arm holding up the heavy gun, making him stop practicing every few minutes. Having to cock the powerful spring gun had made his right arm sore, also.

  "What do you say, Pierre," George said walking up and looking at the target with his binoculars. "Looks like you've figured it out."

  "You are right, mon amie. It is a strange gun to shoot, but I think I have learned it. When do we go hunting?"

  "Tomorrow mornin'. Just at sunrise. Them squirrels should be good and hungry. Maybe your arm won't be sore by then."

  * * *

  The next morning around five, George once again saw Marceau in the kitchen. Marceau looked at George strangely, a solemn expression on her face.

  "Somethin' on your mind, little lady?"

  "Oui. Pierre did not sleep well last night. I think his arms are hurting him. He tossed and turned and moaned all night. Perhaps, you should wait another day or two."

  "Tell you what. I'll cock and load the gun and he only has to pull the trigger. He can even rest the barrel on my shoulder. How's that."

  Behind George's back, Pierre threw the words, "That is not necessary, George. I can do it."

  "Men," said Marceau, throwing her hands up in annoyance. "Pierre, you will do as George said. After your arm is stronger, you can do it yourself. Not today. N'est pas?"

  George looked at Pierre and smiled, "Better listen to her. She's a smart one and real purty. First rule of survivin'. Don't get the cook riled up." George quickly corrected himself. "I mean chef. Sorry. Second rule. Don't get your girl friend riled up, either."

  Marceau's eyes brightened and she smiled. "Thank you George. I will give you an extra helping tomorrow -- if you shoot anything."

  "That's why they call it huntin' instead of killin'. We hunt for it and we kill it, but only if we find it. Maybe we ought to call it findin'. See y'all later."

  George and Pierre left through the kitchen door, with George carrying the heavy pellet rifle and Pierre carrying his, much lighter, hunting rifle. The trek through the woods was all too familiar. It took an hour of maneuvering through the summer undergrowth in the woods until George found a spot he recognized. He sat down beside an oak tree, sitting on some soft ferns, and pulled out two quarters. Pierre stooped beside him.

  "And now what, mon amie?"

  "Remember when everybody was sayin' that you had to spend all your money because it wouldn't be no good no more? That wasn't right. You can use two quarters to help call the squirrels. Just rub the edges together. Makes a sound like squirrels opening a nut." George rubbed the edges of the coins together. Then he made clicking sounds with his mouth. "We need to be quiet, but most important. We need to be still," he whispered. "Don't move. Just sit dead still. Like a statue. You sit on the other side of the tree and I'll sit here, on this side. Whisper if you see anything and I'll hand you the gun," he said cocking the gun, carefully inserting the pellet into the barrel to avoid bending the skirt and then he closed it.

  "I thought you walked through the forest and looked for the squirrels, mon amie."

  "There's two ways of huntin'. Walkin' 'round quiet-like is one way. Today, we'll try sittin' and waitin' first. Back when we was going to the stores, I stocked up on peanut butter. Got four jars every time I went into a store."

  "Really?"

  "Every day for the last three days, I've put some peanut butter on some old bread and left pieces of it all around here. Those pieces are all gone now. Them squirrels been here, all right. They like peanut butter. They'll come back lookin' for mor
e."

  "I think you know these animals better than I know myself."

  "Watch for branches movin' and the sounds of leaves rattlin'. That's when they jump from tree to tree. Then, if you get a shot, aim for the back half of the head, just below the ear. Or the chest. If you can't get either one, shoot for the rear legs. If you don't make a good shot, we'll have to chase the critter all over the forest."

  They sat for thirty minutes before they heard rustling in the trees above. Pierre whispered, "I see him. Coming down that tree."

  George slowly and carefully handed the gun around the tree. "Take your time. Move slowly Don't rush it. Squeeze the trigger gentle like."

  A minute later, the gun fired and George heard a thump as the pellet found it's target. "Hear that Pierre? When you hear that thump, you know you hit the critter. If the pellet hits a tree, the sound is sharper. More like a whack than an thump. Can't hear the bullet hit with a firearm. That and the low noise are the best things about spring guns. Shootin' one don't scare away the rest of 'em."

  The squirrel fell and didn't move. "Great shot, Pierre. Let's sit and wait. See if we can get a few more." George pulled out his quarters and began rubbing the edges together again.

  Fifteen minutes later, Pierre whispered, "I see one, but he went to the other side of the tree."

  "Dang. He saw you. They are crafty critters. Let me try somethin'. Get yourself ready." Pierre raised the gun as George stealthily crawled around nearby. He found a piece of a fallen branch and tossed it to the other side of the tree. The squirrel immediately scooted around to the near side of the tree and Pierre fired. George heard the thump again and then another as the squirrel hit the ground. "Good shootin' pardner. We're eatin' good tonight."

  After an hour, they had collected two more squirrels for a total of four.

  "Let's go walkin' around. These may be all we find today, at least right here. Go slowly and try not to make any noise. You carry the gun. I'll walk about fifty feet over that way," he said pointing to his right. "If I see anything, I'll whisper. Before we go, I'll put out some more bait." He opened his pack and took out a jar of peanut butter and some small pieces of bread heels. Using his finger, he spread the brown paste over the bread, licking his finger afterward. Looking at Pierre, he said, "Want some? Great survival food. Tastes good, lasts a long time and don't need refrigeration."