After The Pulse (Book 1): Homestead

by Hogan, L. Douglas

  “What now?” Carissa asked.

  “We can’t wait for something to happen. There’s a man out there, and we need to hunt him down,” Darrick answered.

  “Hunt him down and do what, Pudge?”

  “First, we need to find out what his intentions are and why he’s here.”

  “And if his intentions are ill?”

  Darrick looked at Andy, who was playing with Darrick’s childhood toys, oblivious to their conversation.

  “We put him down.”

  “We don’t put people down, Pudge. First, we need to find him. He could be out hunting and gathering for all we know.”

  “The problem is that he’s hunting and gathering on our property.”

  “Our property?” Jimmie contended.

  “Yeah, it’s Dad’s property, and he’s not exactly in his right mind, now is he?”

  “You were gone for years, Darrick. You show up nearly a year ago and suddenly things are ours again? That’s not how it works. I was here for Dad when Mom died. I was here for Dad when he started getting sick. You were off playing soldier boy.”

  An awkward silence fell in the house.

  Darrick knew that when Jimmie stopped calling him Pudge and called him by his legitimate name that they were fighting. Jimmie was very upset.

  “Fine,” Darrick answered. “We’ll play it your way. We stay in here and hide, and hopefully we’re not discovered.”

  Darrick started walking for the door.

  “Where are you going?” Jimmie challenged.

  “I’m going to check on the Bert homestead. Somebody has to watch out for them.” Darrick opened the door and was almost out when he poked his head back in the door and said something to Jimmie in a calm voice that convicted his heart. “I wasn’t playing soldier, Jimmie. I was overseas fighting a bloody war so the sheep back home wouldn’t have to worry about wolves on their doorsteps.”

  With that comment, Darrick slammed the door shut.

  Carissa elbowed Jimmie’s ribs. “That was asinine of you.”

  “I mean, he’s going to get us killed going off looking for a stranger. What if he starts a fight between us and… God forbid, a group bigger than us?”

  There was another awkward silence, this time between him and Tonya. Carissa took notice and gave Jimmie a stern look, nodding toward Tonya.

  “And for the record,” Jimmie added, “I never knew Pudge was fighting in the war. He didn’t write home; he didn’t call home…”

  “Can I go outside with Dad?” Andy interrupted.

  “No, hon. It’s not safe,” Tonya said in a soft tone, making eye contact with Jimmie.

  Even though Darrick and Tonya had only been married a little more than a decade, he’d known her since she was a teenager. The community was so small that even secrets were hard to come by. Darrick would bring her over to the house along with other friends because he knew elder Mitchell was always on his best behavior when there was company. The look Tonya was giving him said more than any words could say.

  “You want me to go with Pudge to check on the Berts, but if I do, I leave you, Andy, Carissa, and Dad here alone. I ain’t going to have that on my conscience if things go bad.”

  “If something happens to Darrick and he dies – out there alone, after you just had a fight with him – that will be on your conscience, too.”

  Carissa still had a rifle in hand. “We can defend ourselves against one man, James.”

  James was Carissa’s serious name for Jimmie. He paid attention to her words when she used it.

  “I see I’m outvoted here,” he conceded. He gave Carissa a kiss on the cheek and walked past Tonya, straight out the door.

  Jimmie stopped on the porch and looked around for anything out of the ordinary, like people. The coast was clear, so to speak. He stepped off towards the Berts’ homestead.

  Several minutes later, Darrick was moving around the countryside, taking up tactical positions anywhere he could. Every tree had something to offer. If he saw there was nothing to be concerned about, he ran for the next tree. With each rush, he would bring the buttstock of the rifle up to his cheek and scan the environment. His decision to go looking for the lone wolf was being carried out. He knew that he had to act swiftly and silently and take out the threat before it took them out. Darrick had a tactical mind, but oftentimes he would make the right decision the wrong way. Nobody would have been able to convince him that finding the stranger was a bad idea.

  He was now on the opposite side of the apple orchard, facing in the direction of his dad’s homestead. None of it could be seen, for the rolling hills were many. He used the elevation, when it was tactically sound to do so, to look for the intruders. The two who left alone were now long gone. The straggler was still nowhere to be seen. Darrick was starting to worry that he might not find the man. With each passing breath, he knew the threat was increasing. He felt that something bad was about to happen when suddenly he heard the sound of a gunshot coming from the south.

  That’s the homestead.

  Darrick bolted for the house, running over every hill he knew he wasn’t supposed to be cresting. Going the long way around them meant spending valuable time that he couldn’t redeem.

  The Berts’ Homestead

  Jimmie was resting against the rabbit cages on one knee. Behind him stood a sixteen-foot silo. Its mere presence indicated farm life, sustenance, and independence. It hadn’t been used in years, but any would-be traveler with an inkling of curiosity would see it and check it out. The fact that it was empty mattered little. The land was ripe with gardens, rabbits, and chickens. Jimmie had to be careful approaching the Berts’ front door. They hadn’t seen him since long before the Pulse, and they were likely to shoot on sight. He was still several yards away from the home, and he was extremely pessimistic about the whole situation. There was no sign of Darrick, and this was where he’d said he was going.

  Did he lie about going to check on the Berts? Did I miss him?

  Jimmie mustered up the courage to advance towards the house. He stood and made a quick run for the front door, making sure to keep an eye on the windows of the property. The one thing that frightened him the most was the possibility of seeing the front tip of a rifle pointing in his direction.

  He made it. His back rested against the side of the house, and he listened quietly for voices, but heard nothing but the breeze and a few chicken clucks. Jimmie knocked on the door, but never switched his position.

  “Hello? It’s Jimmie Mitchell – your neighbor. I’m looking for my brother, Darrick. Did he come this way?”

  Jimmie waited for an answer, but the moment was awkwardly unpleasant. It was clear that somebody had been living here. The questions that plagued Jimmie’s mind were where are they? and where’s Pudge?

  I can’t believe I’m doing this.

  Jimmie reached up to the door handle and gave it a twist and a pull. The door opened.

  “Hello? This is Jimmie Mitchell, your neighbor. Is anybody home?”

  Jimmie had seen enough.

  If Pudge came here, he would be here, but nobody’s here, so he didn’t.

  Jimmie’s curiosity took hold, and he thought that he might as well check the backyard before leaving. He crept along against the siding until he reached the back of the house and peeked his head around. The back door was open, and old man Roy Bert was lying partially in the doorway and partially on the steps. He was dead from an apparent bullet wound to the chest. There was a fresh pool of blood beneath him. Not too far from the back door, his wife, Sue, was lying on her belly. She had a bullet hole in her back. It looked like she had been running away when she was shot. Jimmie grabbed his mouth with his free hand. This was the first time he had ever witnessed a murder scene. To say he was scared would be an understatement. He ran over to Mrs. Bert and rolled her body over. She was still warm and limber. She hadn’t been dead long. Hoping she was still alive, he checked her for breathing and a pulse.

  Voices!

  J
immie heard men’s voices. He couldn’t tell which direction they were coming from, but he was confident it was the sound of at least two males. He sat motionless, almost petrified at the thought of being discovered. He was by no means a cowardly man, but he knew the odds were stacked against him. He was untrained in the use of tactics, but knew that two against one were bad odds. Looking down at old lady Bert’s body, he knew that he was facing the same end if he couldn’t pull it together and make some smart moves. A few yards behind the Berts’ house was a grove of trees.

  If I can make it to those trees, I should be able to wait them out until it gets dark… No, I can’t do that. If I wait here, Pudge may come looking for me, then we’ll both be in hot water. Pudge – it’s because of him I’m in this predicament. I’ll hide in the trees long enough to wait them out; then I’ll make a run for it. Hopefully I won’t be seen.

  Jimmie ran for the grove and went three or four trees deep, just far enough to keep himself concealed and still keep an eye on the happenings around the Berts’ home.

  Mitchell Homestead

  Darrick was running for his dad’s house as fast as he could. Along the way he remained aware of the possibility that the man he was secretly hunting might in fact be hunting them now. He worried about the gunshot and feared the worst. On the final stretch, Darrick could see the house, and the back door was clearly open. The storm door was blowing loosely in the breeze.

  Where’s Jimmie? I need Jimmie , he thought, hoping for backup.

  Darrick charged in the back door, bumping into the kitchen table as he did. He stopped to compose himself and to listen for clues. The sounds of whimpering voices were heard in the front room and suddenly a cry from his wife.

  “Darrick – Darrick, is that you? He has Andy!”

  Darrick charged into the front room to see a man leaning against the closet door with Andy in a chokehold and a gun pointed at his head.

  “Don’t take another step, mister, or I’ll pop his cap all over the front-room floor.”

  “You do it and you’ll be dead,” Darrick threatened.

  Darrick, Carissa and Tonya were all pointing their rifles at the man. He was a scruffy-looking man in his forties with dirt clogging the pores of his skin. He was wounded, with blood dripping down his side. He had been shot by one of the women, and Darrick took notice.

  All I have to do is wait him out, Darrick thought. He can’t go anywhere, and he’s bleeding out.

  Darrick was hoping that Jimmie would come busting in at any second to lend a hand with the situation. It never happened.

  “Back it up,” the man commanded, pressing his pistol into Andy’s head.

  Andy let out a moan.

  “Do what he says,” Darrick instructed Tonya and Carissa. Not knowing where Jimmie was, he was forced to play things out.

  All three of them backed up, and the man headed for the door with Andy tightly in his grasp. Darrick made a quick study of the situation and surmised that the man had more energy than he thought he would have for the amount of blood that was on the floor. Perhaps it was adrenaline; perhaps the man was adept at survival. Despite the reason, Darrick knew he could not let the man exit the house with his son in tow. He waited for his opportunity to take the stranger out.

  As the man moved from the closet door to the front door, he turned his head to look and see where the handle was. That was when Darrick brought his pistol up and squeezed the trigger.

  The Berts’ Homestead

  “There’s gotta be sum’n in here to eat,” one of the men said as he searched through the cabinets of the Berts’ home.

  “Shawn, do you really expect to find canned goods stashed away two years after the Pulse?”

  “I dunno, Larry. You can’t blame me for try’n. I done found food before in them there other homes of those prepper people.”

  “You’re an idiot. Do you really think those old fogies were prepper types?”

  “They be raise’n rabbit and chickens. That’s a good indicator. At least it worked before.”

  Both men made their way through the house, searching for whatever they could find. They tried to keep their backpacks light, but full of the essentials. Food, fire-starting materials, alcohol, ammunition, and the like were all perfect for the taking, but the rabbits, chickens, and large amounts of fuel were not allowed to be taken. Denver wouldn’t allow it.

  “You best get your mind off those farm animals. You know the boss is particular about what we’re allowed to take and what we’re supposed to leave.”

  “I know, I know. Stop remind’n me.”

  Shawn and Larry were now standing in the back door.

  Shawn took one glance out the back door and said, “Larry, wasn’t she lyin’ on her belly when we left ’er?”

  “You tell me. You’re the one who shot ’er.”

  Both men stood still and studied the bodies of the deceased Roy and Sue Bert. Shawn took notice that the lady he’d shot and left lying on her belly was now lying on her back. Both he and Larry moved outside, stepping over Roy’s body, into the backyard.

  “No, I’m sure she landed on ’er belly when I shot ’er.”

  “Maybe you didn’t kill her and she rolled over. You know, like the way chickens flop around when you take their head off or snap their neck.”

  “Maybe somebody moved ’er.”

  Both men took their packs off and set them on the ground. They began to carefully scan the environment.

  Larry jumped when Shawn suddenly yelled, “Don’t move, mister!”

  He looked over at Shawn and saw him pointing his rifle into the woods. A man with a blue shirt stuck out like a sore thumb. Larry brought his rifle up and joined Shawn in pointing it at the stranger. He was tall and slender with a five o’clock shadow.

  “Come out where we can see you,” Larry added.

  Jimmie raised one of his hands and slowly lowered the rifle that was in his other hand onto the ground. He recognized the two men. They were the same two men who had been with Andy in the orchard. The one doing all the shouting with a funny twang to his voice was disheveled with a beard and mustache. It was unkempt, which wasn’t uncommon after the Pulse. He had streaks of white in it, which stood out and made him easily identifiable, even from a distance. The other man had a less noticeable facial marker – a scar that ran down his face on the left side. It was about three inches long from his cheekbone to his jawline and fairly fresh.

  “I don’t want no trouble,” Jimmie offered up with his hand in the air.

  “Trouble?” Shawn asked. “You haven’t seen trouble. You see that woman right there? You see her dead man in the doorway? They saw trouble. You ain’t seen no trouble. But you gonna see trouble.”

  Shawn leaned into his rifle, but Larry said, “Wait. We might need him.” He put his hand on Shawn’s rifle and pushed it down from his life-taking gaze.

  “Need ’im for what?”

  Larry didn’t answer directly. Instead, he kept his focus on the stranger in the woods.

  “Where you from, stranger?” Larry asked him.

  When he didn’t get an immediate response, he became irate. “I ain’t asking you again, mister. Now, you tell me where you came from.”

  If I answer honestly, they’re likely to kill me, Dad, Carissa, Pudge and his family. If I answer dishonestly, how long will I be able to keep up this charade?

  “I’m from a homestead three miles west of here,” he lied, deciding that it was best to lead them as far away from his family as possible. “It’s all gone now, so I’m out looting like you guys.”

  “You ever killed a man before?”

  “Only for not cooperating,” he answered with another lie.

  Larry patted Shawn on the back. “See, I told you we could probably use him.”

  Shawn was still very suspicious of the stranger. He raised his rifle back up and pointed it at the man. “I don’t like ’im, Larry. There’s something about him that doesn’t smell right,” he said, with a sneered look seeming
ly stuck to his face.

  Shawn thought for a moment then offered up another question. “Where’d you say you were from again?”

  “I’m not going to say another word to you as long as that rifle is pointed in my direction.”

  Shawn lowered the rifle to appease the stranger. He figured he was a good enough distance away from them to get a shot off if he had to. “Kick that rifle over,” Shawn commanded the stranger.

  Jimmie kicked the rifle over towards the two men. There went his only chance at survival and the ability to shoot back at them.

  Jimmie was trying to reason his way out of this predicament. He was having a hard time being decisive. I need Pudge. These men are going to kill me. If I can get them close enough to the homestead and find a way to alert the family, maybe Pudge and the girls can get me out of this mess.

  “I lied. I’m really from Tennessee. I’ve been heading south into warmer climates for the past several months. I’ve killed plenty of people for food and water. Whatever I have to do to survive.”

  “He lied to us, Larry. We really can’t trust ’im.”

  “You can trust me. You keep me alive and I keep you alive. We work together to survive. If I can do this by myself, I can do this with help.”

  I hope to God they buy this lie. I’ll tell them anything they need to hear.

  “Good answer,” Shawn said, lowering his rifle for the second time.

  “Can I have my rifle back now?”

  “I think you should give it to him, Shawn.”

  “I think he needs to earn it first. We don’t know squat about ’im. Let’s see how he survives relying on us before we have to rely on him.”

  “Fair enough,” the stranger answered.

  “What’s your name, mister?” Larry asked.

  “Cole. My name’s Cole,” he answered, deceiving them yet again.

  “Well, Cole… lucky for you, we’re headed south, too. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, this here’s Shawn, and I’m Larry.”

  “Where’s your friend?” Jimmie asked, realizing that he’d just made a mortal error in judgment.