Clever motherfuckers.
He jumped over the fence, careful to avoid the stakes. Leonard came just behind him. The third man in line must not have noticed the stakes in the dim light because as he landed he screamed and fell. Jeb looked back long enough to see the man’s grimace of pain turn into a shocked expression as a bullet punched through his skull.
Jeb and Leonard drew their machetes and ran for the henhouse.
The door to a building on the opposite end of the compound flew open. A rectangle of light silhouetted a figure holding a rifle. Jeb and Leonard sprinted the last few yards and burst through the henhouse door and into a cackling mass of flapping chickens. Scanning the row of nests, Jeb spotted several eggs. Hunger took over. He ignored the gunshots outside as he cracked open and downed four eggs in rapid succession. Leonard did the same. Then they swung their machetes left and right, cutting down birds with every swing, laughing as white feathers flew everywhere. They grabbed the chickens and started stuffing them in Jeb’s backpack. They grinned at each other, ecstatic at the feast they had won.
More gunfire erupted outside.
Sanity snapped back into Jeb’s mind. They were trapped!
Unable to resist grabbing a couple more birds, Jeb closed his pack, threw it on his back, and looked around.
The henhouse was the only building not made of logs. It was just cheap clapboard scrounged from some old ruins. Jeb went to the side nearest the fence, which was also the side opposite of where the farmer had appeared, and kicked out one of the boards.
Peeking out, he saw a couple of dead machete men hanging on the wire and several more running back into the dark countryside.
“Time to go,” he told Leonard.
With the big redhead’s help he pushed some more boards out and made enough room to squeeze through. They bolted for the fence. As bullets kicked up dirt all around them, they vaulted over the gap and ran off without looking back.
Jeb kept on running until his legs gave out on him and he collapsed in the middle of a field to lie panting in the predawn light. He rolled over onto his back, the sky spinning. It was getting too bright out; he needed to move.
Leonard staggered across the field toward him. Jeb readied his machete and tried to get up. Leonard raised his hand, palms up. His weapon was tucked in his belt.
“Don’t worry none,” he said between taking great gulps of air. “I won’t hurt you. Plenty of chicken for everyone. Besides, safer to have you alive.”
Jeb nodded. Good, he thought the same about Leonard. They’d stay a team until the food ran short.
Leonard grabbed his shoulder and for a tense moment Jeb thought he was about to pound him with those meaty fists of his. Instead he hauled him to his feet.
“Gotta get out of this field,” Leonard said. “Too exposed.”
They made their weary way east toward the mountains. The compound lay out of sight behind them. As Jeb caught his breath he began to worry. Would the farmers send out a patrol, or would they be scared that there were more of the Righteous Horde around? And what about other patrols? That patrol they slaughtered three weeks ago had carried a VHF radio. Did the other patrols have them too? If they did, there might be New City gunmen zeroing in on their position right now.
The snap of a twig to their right made them both turn around. Four figures emerged from the gloom. They were from their group. The machete men stumbled along dumbly.
“Keep quiet!” Jeb said.
They jerked and stared. Jeb shook his head in disgust. They hadn’t even seen him until he spoke.
The four fell in with Jeb and Leonard. The pair exchanged glances that spoke volumes. Yes, they’d ditch these losers as soon as possible. And no, they wouldn’t share their food with them.
Continuing through the fields, they came to the muddy embankment of a stream, the edges of its sluggish flow filmed with a thin covering of ice. Tasting the water, they didn’t detect any obvious toxins, and so drank their fill. Then they sat down by the river to rest. It was fully light now. One of the machete men lay down in the mud and closed his eyes.
“Maybe we should hide here until nightfall,” Leonard suggested.
Jeb looked around. The stream ran through a steep, narrow gulley. They were out of view of the fields. The stream and gulley curved out of sight not far away in both directions. If the farmers crossed the stream they’d have to do it practically on top of them to find them.
“We’re too close to the compound, but if we keep moving we might get spotted,” Jeb thought out loud.
“Let’s search along here and. . .”
Leonard’s words trailed off and he looked around him. Jeb stayed silent, listening.
Then he heard it too.
Footsteps.
CHAPTER SEVEN
On their first morning in Weissberg, the porters from the Righteous Horde were given breakfast before Abe led them out of the barracks and showed them around the compound. Most were strong enough now to walk, although the half-hour tour took it out of them. They sat down at every opportunity and had to struggle to their feet when he moved on to the next spot.
Susanna took careful note of everything—the location of the buildings, the height of the wall, the number of guards, and most especially the buildings they didn’t get to see—Abe’s house and a building tucked between the smithy and the carpenter’s workshop. She figured it must be the storehouse, unless the surplus food was kept at Abe’s house.
She also noted the number of people here. There could be no more than a hundred. Most had the look of scavengers with their hard eyes and lean features. Those in charge, however, were obviously citizens. They had that well-fed look. Susanna wondered if their fellow citizens in New City even knew about this place.
Once the tour was finished, Abe addressed the group.
“Now some of you have been wondering why I brought you here,” he said, glancing at Susanna. “As I said, I felt bad for you. We all did.”
He gestured to the guards and a few of the other residents who had gathered to watch. Susanna bit back a response. She saw no pity in those eyes.
“We want to help you, and we want you to help us,” he went on. “Nothing comes for free in this world and while we’re happy to feed you until you get your strength back, you’ll have to earn your keep. Most of you can go back to the barracks until lunchtime, but some of you look like you have enough pluck to get started right away. That’s great. We’re happy to have you as part of our family here at Weissberg. So you, you, you, and you, come with me. My friends will take the rest of you back to the barracks.”
Susanna trembled a little. She had been selected. So had Donna.
Abe and a guard led them to a workshop. Inside stood four stone hand mills and several sacks of wheat.
“We need this ground into flour,” Abe said. “These mills are simple enough to use. You just pour the grain in here, turn the top stone with this handle, and the flour comes out here.”
Abe demonstrated with a handful of grain.
Susanna nodded. “We had one of these at our farm.”
Abe smiled. “Oh, you used to be a farmer, did you? That’s great. You’ll be a big help here. Anyway, get to work. See you at lunch!”
He walked out the door with a wave and another smile. The burly man standing at the door didn’t even pretend to be friendly. He just gave them a cold stare. Susanna, Donna, and the other two set to work.
It was slow going. Although the millstones weren’t heavy and had been properly made so they turned easily when the handle was cranked, even this modest physical effort soon drained them. After a few minutes one of the women stopped and wiped her brow.
“Who said you could take a break?” the guard barked.
All four women jumped. In the Righteous Horde, a guard shouting at you could mean death. Everyone bent to the task.
A few minutes later, Donna stopped.
“What did I say?” the guard shouted.
“I’m half dead from starvatio
n,” Donna complained feebly.
The guard stomped over and shouted at her red-faced as he pointed out the door.
“You wanna go back to starving? We can put you out in the wildlands where we found you, bitch!”
Susanna gripped the handle of her millstone and glared at the guard. He didn’t even notice. Donna was trying to turn her millstone as she fought back tears, blubbering an incoherent apology.
Susanna seethed and went back to her work before she got shouted at too. As she turned the millstone, feeding more grain into it, she noticed the handle was attached with an iron pin. Popping out the pin would be easy enough, and then she’d have a short, heavy club. She tucked that knowledge away in case she ever needed to use it.
But when?
Bide your time, Susanna, bide your time. Get back your strength, do as you’re told, keep your head bowed, and bide your time.
After another hour all four of them were utterly spent. No amount of shouting or stomping on the part of the guard could get them to budge. The noise brought Abe back.
“What’s going on?” he asked with a frown.
“Looks like we got some slouchers here, Abe.”
“Oh, you’re being too hard on them,” Abe said. “Look at these poor ladies, all worn out. They’ve been through hell. Here.”
Abe walked over and pulled out a handful of dried apricots from his pockets. The women took them gratefully. Susanna took her share and murmured a thank you with the rest of them.
Get your strength back and bide your time.
Abe bent down to look at the sacks of flour.
“Let’s see how you’ve done. Hey, this isn’t bad at all! Considering what you’ve been through you’ve put in a good day’s work.”
He hefted the four bags. None of them were more than half full. He combined the flour to make two full bags and tossed one of the empty ones on the floor in front of them.
“Why don’t you ladies take a powder and when you’re rested fill up this bag. Then you can go back to the barracks and have your lunch.”
With that, Abe turned and walked away.
The four women stared at the bag and its gaping emptiness.
“It’s not going to fill itself,” the guard said.
“Abe said we should rest,” Susanna replied.
“Abe’s not here, you ugly cunt, now get back to work.”
Gritting her teeth, Susanna bent over her work. The others did too. She could only turn her mill at a ridiculously slow rate. The flour came out in the barest trickle. The others were even slower.
“Move it!” the guard snapped.
They tried to speed up, Susanna blinking back tears. The guard sauntered over and knelt down beside her.
“You like to cause trouble, don’t you?” he asked.
Bitter experience in the Righteous Horde told her to keep her head down and her mouth shut. She tried to turn the mill faster. If they could get done they’d get back to the barracks and get away from this man.
“Yeah, a real troublemaker. Think you’re special?”
He smacked her upside the head. Not hard, just enough to make a sound and make his point. She flinched and redoubled her work on the hand mill. The guard turned to Donna.
“Now I like you a lot better than your loudmouthed ugly friend. You know your place. Slow worker, though. Abe’s not going to like that. Not that I really give a shit. No, I think you’re more suited for a different kind of work.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Susanna saw the guard crouch down behind Donna, who clenched her eyes shut and kept turning her mill. The guard gave a dirty grin and reached a hand under Donna’s shirt.
“A bit skinny, but all the equipment’s there,” he snickered.
Rage rose up in Susanna’s heart. As if from a great distance she saw her hands push the pin out of the handle. It came out with an audible pop.
The guard molesting Donna didn’t notice. He had both his hands up her shirt now. Susanna eyed the gun that lay on the floor behind him. She prepared to strike. . .
The door opened. Abe walked in.
“I forgot to say that. . .hey!”
The guard leapt to his feet.
Abe glowered at the guard and pointed a finger at him.
“None of that!”
The guard smirked. “The bitch wanted it. Offered me a taste for some extra rations.”
Donna started weeping.
“Out!” Abe barked.
The guard shrugged, gave Donna and Susanna an evil look, and strode out of the room.
Abe bit his lower lip and looked at the four women uncertainly. Sighing, he gestured to the limp bag they were supposed to fill.
“Come on, finish up and we’ll get you some lunch.”
They ground the grain in silence.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Annette led her posse through the fields in the early dawn. They’d set out the day before on the fugitive’s trail and spent a frustrating day trying to catch up with him. The murderer had kept up a good pace and even when they got to a hilltop and scanned the area with the binoculars Clyde had lent them they never caught sight of him. His trail was clear enough, though.
She’d brought along Jackson Andrews and two temporary deputies—a citizen named Christina Raines and the scavenger Charley Shibell. Frank she had left back in the Burbs. She needed someone official to hold the fort while she was gone.
She chose Jackson because they had forged a trust based on a shared secret. They’d discovered Radio Hope a few weeks before while on a mission for Abe Weissman. Abe had sent them out with two of his flunkies, Mitch and Ha-Ram, telling them they were scavenging some technology. It turned out Ha-Ram had a radio direction finder. Abe wanted Radio Hope for himself. Ha-Ram decided to join the radio station and Mitch had to be kept silent. While she and Jackson disagreed on a lot, one thing they did agree on was that Radio Hope was better left alone. They’d returned to New City and told Abe they’d been attacked by cultists and the other two had been killed.
She had no idea whether Abe believed that story or not. Considering what a conniving little son of a bitch he was, she guessed not. Luckily there wasn’t much he could do about it. He might find a way to get back at them, though. She pushed that troubling thought from her mind. She had enough to think about right now.
She knew Christina to be a good shot and thought it wise to have a citizen along. Charley was another matter. He had run against her in the election, thumping up support for himself as the only truly independent candidate. In his speeches he referred to her as “the puppet.” When she had asked him to come along, Charley looked surprised but had said yes when she told him he’d get provisions for the march plus half a kilo of flour. That was the rate for special deputies The Doctor had set. She only hoped he’d honor it.
Annette knew nothing about Charley and wanted to change that. First off, she wanted to know why he tried to become sheriff when he wasn’t even a resident of the Burbs, and she wanted to know how he got so many votes on such short notice.
That night they had slept in a farmer’s compound, only to be awoken just before dawn by gunshots. Some stragglers from the Righteous Horde had jumped the fence and raided the henhouse. Now her posse had someone else to hunt.
So the four of them paced through the dim fields hunting the chicken thieves. On their way out they’d looked at the bodies and seen these were machete men. That was a relief. The guys with the rifles had been the real danger but it seemed they had all gone over the mountains with their leader, leaving the starving foot soldiers to fend for themselves.
Annette glanced to the left and right and saw the two patrols sent out by the farmers disappearing into the gloom. She squinted at the field and saw footprints leading away from the compound. She wondered if these tracks were from the raiders or were left by some resident. Annette bent down to take a better look. Her years as a scavenger had taught her to read footprints like she read books. Two men, running side by side. Although the ploughed ground w
as too broken up to show the prints clearly, the two appeared to have old shoes like most of the machete men wore, rather than the new boots of the farmers.
“What do you think?” Jackson asked. He kept his voice low.
“These might be our men,” Annette said.
“Just two? What about the others?”
“The sentry said they scattered.”
“That guy is an idiot,” Christina said. “He fell asleep on duty.”
“Yeah, he’s gonna get it from the rest of the farmers,” Charley snickered.
“I say we check that out,” Jackson said, gesturing at a distant line of trees with his AK-47.
Mitch’s AK-47,Annette reminded herself.And Mitch is dead thanks to me.
“Let’s go,” she said.
Annette had her double-barreled 12-gauge shotgun at the ready. Christina was armed with a Winchester Model 70 and Charley carried a Browning X-Bolt .30-06. They spread out and approached the tree line. Annette could see that it meandered through the fields, obviously marking the course of a stream.
They entered the trees and saw the glint of water beyond. Annette stepped to the top of a steep slope leading down to the water.
A man leapt up not five feet away.
She jumped back as he came at her with a machete. She leveled her shotgun. . .
. . .and paused.
The man was emaciated, staggering forward and taking in the air in great gulps. She backpedaled well out of reach as more machete men struggled out of the gully.
Something kept her from shooting these pathetic figures. They were half dead already and none of them had guns. She turned and ran back, the rest of her posse following her. They, too, held their fire.
Annette turned and looked at the half-dozen machete men stumbling forward. One fell down on his knees. Another leaned against a tree, holding his head as if he was dizzy. Only two—a big brute with a bright red beard and a smaller guy with cunning eyes—looked like they could put up any sort of fight. Even they would never get close enough to try.
Refugees from the Righteous Horde (Toxic World Book 2) Page 5