by Hunt, James
James pressed his fingers against Jake’s neck for a pulse, and the moment stretched for an eternity, until James’s heart skipped a beat.
“He has a pulse,” James said, his voice breathless.
Mary cried, and James continued to squeeze the balloon, relieving the pressure, thanking God for saving his son.
46
Wind rustled some of the tall grass near the front of the property and cooled the back of Mick’s neck. The brutal summer Texas heat rarely took a break, even during the night, and he was thankful for the reprieve. He glanced up at the sky.
“Nice night.” Mick smiled and continued his steady and methodical pace around the property, thankful for the stars that provided a little extra light for him to find his way. He adjusted the rifle in his hands, still not used to carrying the weapon instead of the normal ranch supplies.
Mick stopped once he reached the fence’s perimeter and then gazed out at the endless horizon. He hadn’t been a Texas native. He was originally from Iowa, and while his home state had big stretches of land, there was something entrancing about Texas.
After ten years of working at the Bowers Ranch, Mick couldn’t see himself anywhere else. This was his home as much as it was his job. And it was the only reason he was still alive.
When he was first hired on, James was upfront about his lifestyle, prepping and all of that. He said that people looked at him funny because of it, but that didn’t make him any less dedicated. Mick supposed that all of those people who’d made fun of James were the same people wishing they’d spent more time listening to what he had to say.
James had become like a brother to Mick. He had given him his first job down in Texas, helped him find his way, and showed him how to move on after the tragedy that he was running from in Iowa. Because while James had been able to protect his family, to take care of them in times of chaos and distress, Mick hadn’t been able to do the same.
Even now, after almost twelve years, Mick couldn’t keep the shame from welling up inside of him and burning his cheeks red hot at just the thought of it. But he handled it better now than he used to.
Before, he would have needed a fifth of Jack Daniels.
After about half a mile sticking to the western side of the property fence line, Mick took a ninety-degree turn east and started back on his path.
But staring out into the blackness, something pricked the hairs on the back of Mick’s neck, and he froze after planting his left foot on the grass.
Mick dropped to a knee, aiming into the darkness. The night was still, and even though the sky was clear and the stars gave him some light to see, there were still nothing but shadows on the land.
He waited for a sign, waited for something to tell him that evil was near, and just when Mick thought that he might be letting his mind get the better of him, he heard the faint pop of a muffled gunshot, the bullet connecting into his upper right shoulder and slamming him onto his back and gasping for air.
The pain from the gunshot stole his voice, but after a few seconds, he managed to roll onto his side and then made it three inches before another muffled pop triggered more pain in his leg. This time he managed to scream, sending the verbal warning up into the night sky, but it was too weak to be heard.
So, instead, Mick fumbled into his pack trying to find the flare gun that was given to him to warn about an intrusion. But the bullet in his shoulder had rendered his right arm useless, and the blood loss and pain were a terrible cocktail that limited his coordination.
He managed to get his fingers on the pocket of his pack where the gun was stored, and then he heard hurried footsteps from somewhere in the darkness.
Mick hastened his pace, fighting off the lingering darkness that was stealing his vision. The black spots spread, but he could still feel with his fingertips, and he felt around until he touched the flare gun and managed to wrap his fingers around the handle.
Voices grew louder in the darkness, and Mick raised his hand with the flare, hoping that he was aiming it up high, and just before he squeezed the trigger, it was kicked from his hand and flew somewhere into the grass.
Mick turned in time to see the figures standing above him, one of them with a rifle aimed at Mick’s chest, and he saw the smile spread across the face of evil as he pulled the trigger.
The impact of the bullet into Mick’s chest paralyzed him, but while he seemed to have lost control over his body, the pain that had been numbed returned in full force, and Mick drew in a breath, which caused him to choke on his own blood that spilled over the front of his clothes.
Large black circles dotted his vision, but between the massive circles, he saw the stars in the sky above and he couldn’t hear anything.
Slowly, Mick craned his head around him and between the large pieces of black, he saw the bright orange of the flare gun nestled in the grass. The sight of the gun, fueled by his determination to save his adoptive family, gave him the energy to flip to his stomach, and he started the slow crawl toward the plastic orange gun sticking up out of the grass.
Blood trailed Mick’s slow movements, a brilliant streak of dark red left in his wake that shimmered from the stars and moonlight. Every muscle in his body caught fire as he moved over the rough grass. He didn’t think he was going to make it when a breeze caught his back, offering a brief reprieve from the pain that plagued his body.
With only one good elbow and one good leg, Mick shimmied his way toward the orange. Twice he collapsed on his face, and the pain seemed to grow worse the closer he moved toward the flare gun, challenging him, daring him.
The pain reached a crescendo when he wrapped his fingers around the handle, but when he tried to lift his hand, the weapon fell from his grip. Mick grunted and tried again, but this time while he could keep the grip, he couldn’t raise his arm.
Mick lay there in the grass, wallowing in his own blood, and he whimpered to himself. He felt death crawling over him.
Knowing that he didn’t have much time left, Mick readjusted his grip around the flare’s handle, and as he drew in a slow breath, he watched his arm raise into the sky. His arm trembled. He exhaled, and in that moment, he knew it was his final breath, and every ounce of life that remained to him was sent to his finger and he squeezed the trigger, passing out on the grass as the flare jettisoned into the night sky.
47
When James stepped out of the bunker, only Luis and Zi were up top and waiting for him, everyone else having claimed their camper and trying to figure out how to make it habitable.
“It worked?” Zi asked.
James nodded. “Blood pressure is normal. He’s sleeping now.”
“How’s Nolan?” Luis asked.
James shook his head, Luis and Zi remaining silent for a moment. And while he was sad about Nolan, for the first time since he got his family out of San Antonio, James thought that things were turning around.
“James.” The voice was deep, commanding authority, and Trunks appeared, weapon still in hand. “I need to get confirmation on those supplies.”
“Right,” James said. “Hey, Ken!”
Ken popped his head out of the camper that had a blue stripe across the side and jogged over. “What’s up, boss?”
“I need you to show this guy our MRE pallets,” James said.
“Sure thing, boss.”
As Ken led Trunks away from the group, both Luis and Zi scrunched their faces up in confusion.
“What was that about?” Luis asked.
“Nothing,” James answered.
“So, what now?” Zi asked. “How long will Jake need to recover?”
“Normally it’s just a day, but it could be longer.” James looked back at the bunker, then cleared his throat and kept his head bowed. “I don’t know how much longer Nolan is going to last. The way he keeps passing out, I think it might be as little as days.”
“I could take a look at him,” Zi said, and then stumbled over her words when she realized that she might have bitten off a little
more than she could chew. “I mean, I know I’m still in the nursing program, but I might be able to help narrow down a few things, and if Nolan is coherent, then I’m sure he could help guide me to make him feel better. Give me some pointers.”
“That’s very thoughtful, but…” James shook his head, unsure of how much he should actually share about their resident doctor and his wishes to die as quickly as possible. “He wasn’t going through any treatments. This isn’t something he wants to fight.”
“Oh.” Zi’s expression matched the surprised tone in her voice. “I didn’t realize—”
“It’s fine,” James said. “But if the pain starts to kick in and gets even worse, then I think that having something ready to take the edge off might be a pretty good idea.”
“I’ll go and check the stash.” Zi took one step forward before stopping herself, realizing that Mary and Jake were still down below. “Is it all right if I—”
“It’s fine,” James said, and then placed a hand on her shoulder before she passed. “And thank you. For everything.”
Zi smiled and then headed toward the bunker, descending quickly and quietly, leaving James and Luis alone.
But James had turned back around faster than Luis had, and he caught Luis’s lingering gaze as Zi walked away and even after she disappeared into the bunker. James crossed his arms, waiting for Luis to realize that James was watching him in his little daydream, and when he did, Luis became immediately defensive.
“What?” Luis asked, but was unable to hide his smile.
“Nothing,” James answered. “Just wondering how that trip to the junkyard went.”
Luis crossed his arms as the pair headed toward the campers that they’d parked farther south on the property. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
James laughed, and then after giving Luis the needed time to let the teasing roll off of him, Luis finally spoke up.
“She’s a good woman,” Luis said. “But she’s young. Maybe too young.”
“Hey,” James said, nudging Luis with his elbow. “It’s not like you have snow on top of the mountain. And besides, you’re younger than I am.”
Luis chuckled. “Yeah. I do have that going for me.”
“Mary and I are twelve years apart,” James said. “We turned out all right.”
“That’s true,” Luis said.
The campers came into view ahead of them. A few of them already had the glow of candlelight. “Looks like folks are already making themselves at home.” He changed the subject, getting the hint that Luis didn’t want to talk about whatever budding romance was happening between him and Zi.
“We tried to pick the ones that were in the best condition, but pretty much all of them had something wrong with them.” Luis nodded, convincing himself that it really wasn’t that bad. “We might be able to get some considerable time out of those things.” He then stopped, letting James walk a few paces ahead before he stopped, looking back at his oldest and most trusted friend.
“What is it?” James asked.
“We found a father and son living in the junkyard,” Luis answered. “He knew Harry. And he shot at us.” He held up both hands before James could protest. “I’m fine, and so is Zi. But we talked to the guy, got to know him a little bit. He’d been going through a pretty rough time even before the EMP went off, and he helped us out with loading those campers so I thought that—”
James placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder, Luis so lost in his explanation that he didn’t even see James until he actually touched him. “It’s fine. People are a resource, remember?”
Luis smiled. “Yes. They are.”
Luis and James were nearly to the campers when a streak of red caught James’s attention out of the corner of his eye, and both he and Luis turned in the same instant, knowing what lay beyond. James rushed toward the flare while Luis corralled everyone who stepped outside to stare and started pounding on the doors for those who hadn’t.
“Everyone out! C’mon, let’s go! To the bunker! Everyone get to the bunker! Now! Now! Now!” Once everyone was out, Luis turned around to find James already twenty yards toward the direction of flare. “James!”
James twisted at the waist, slowing a little bit, but never stopping his movement toward the flare. “It’s in the southwest quadrant! By the house!”
Luis caught up to him, handing James a weapon. “Mick’s on patrol.”
James nodded, his answer just as breathless as Luis’s question. “I didn’t hear any shots, did you?”
“No,” Luis answered.
No gunfire made things unclear, and the uncertainty made James nervous. Had Mick just seen something? Had he been spooked?
Sweating and nearly on the brink of collapse, James and Luis arrived at the barn.
“You see anything?” James asked, raising the rifle into a defensible position.
“I’ve got nothing,” Luis answered.
James took the lead and kept them both close to the barn at first, wanting to keep cover until he was absolutely sure that there was no chance of an ambush.
“We need to get to Mick,” Luis said, stepping away from cover. “We need to—"
The sound of the gunshot and Luis dropping to the grass happened instantaneously, and it took James a moment to realize that his best friend had just been shot.
“Luis!” James lunged for Luis, grabbing his ankles and pulling him back behind the cover of the barn. “Oh no. Oh God, no.”
Luis trembled, his body going into shock. The bullet had entered his gut, and blood covered the front of his shirt, the liquid so dark that it was black under the moon and stars. James pressed his hands against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.
“It’s all right,” James said. “Just keep pressure on it.”
James pressed down, but the blood just seeped up between his fingers. Luis’s face grew pale white, and the trembling stopped, his body growing still and his eyes wandering, looking for something in the sky. James placed his palm to the back of Luis’s head and lifted up so James could look him in the eye.
“Fight it.” James took his free hand and placed Luis’s hands over the wound, pressing down, but there was no strength in Luis’s arms.
Blood collected in Luis’s mouth and he shut his eyes, wincing, choking on the blood in his lungs, and the spasm triggered Luis to fight what came next. He grabbed hold of James’s shirt, staining it with blood. He gasped for air, and then choked, the airflow cut off. And then his body went limp.
“No.” James gently shook Luis, hoping that he could wake the man up, but it did nothing. “Luis.” He placed the body on the ground and then tried CPR, but it only caused more blood to seep from the wound on Luis’s stomach.
James fell to the ground and then leaned back against the barn walls, staring at Luis’s body and listening to the footfalls of the men who’d shot him grow closer. But the shock that paralyzed James wouldn’t go away.
No matter how hard he tried, his legs wouldn’t move, and he sat there transfixed on Luis’s eyes. They were still pointed upward, gazing at the sky, but they were just like the dead eyes that he’d seen in San Antonio when he walked the streets.
How many more would have to die? How many more would it take before the evil spreading across their land finally ended?
The crunch of a boot in the grass thrust James back to the moment. Before the first gunman turned the corner, James leapt from behind the barn walls, shooting the first man in the back and then tackling the second gunman to the ground.
James and the second gunman grappled, fighting for their weapons. They rolled over the grass, punching, kneeing, thrashing like wild animals.
The gunmen had his hands around James’s throat, and James had his hands around the gunman’s throat, but he also had the upper hand, managing to get himself on top. The pair of men were locked in, neither relinquishing their hold, both struggling to hold on.
Blood rushed to James’s head, his pulse pounding like a sledgeh
ammer. His airway was slowly closing, but between the black spots of his fading vision, he saw the gunman’s eyes bulge from his skull, his cheeks turning purple.
James looked over to where Luis’s body lay, and their twenty years of friendship flooded through his mind, the images of them together striking his mind like lightning.
The exhaustion that James had felt from the past two days suddenly vanished, replaced by a rage that he couldn’t control, that he didn’t want to control, and with his last remaining bits of strength, he crushed the man’s windpipe, the crunch killing the man instantly.
The brute’s hands dropped from James’s neck and James gasped for air, collapsing to his side as his own strength left him.
With this right cheek against the cool grass, James was close to Luis’s body, but as he slowly regained consciousness, he stood up and saw that the body of the man he’d shot was gone.
James crept toward the front edge of the barn, picking up the rifle along the way, and peered around the corner.
A quiet snap came from inside the barn, and James immediately shot the burnt barn wall. He spread out his firing pattern, hoping that it would give him more of a range to hit his target. Bits of charred wood broke away from the wall, and James worked his way toward the barn’s front, ceasing his assault as he waited and listened at the barn doors.
The entire structure was consumed in black ash, and what part of the roof hadn’t collapsed was sagging, the structure practically leaning in on itself. It could collapse at any moment.
James kept the rifle square against his shoulder, and old bits of wood crunched beneath his boots. He followed the shallow breaths and coughs and found the terrorist had been shot in the leg. He lay clutching the wound, unarmed.
James could now see that the first bullet hadn’t killed him because he had been wearing Kevlar. But one of the bullets caught him in the leg, and he sat there waiting for James to kill him. But James didn’t pull the trigger.