The World Burns: A Post-Apocalyptic Story

by Boyd Craven III

  “That’s close enough.” He rose, throwing the hood of his ghillie mask back with one hand, holding his rifle on them with another. “Now, who are you, and why are you looking for someplace to hide?”

  “I’m Bobby Cayhill, that’s my older brother Weston, and my momma is Lisa. We’re being hunted by some convicts. About thirty of them.”

  “Thirty?”

  “Yeah,” Weston joined in. “They kicked in the door to my mom’s house and were dragging her out when I jumped one of them. Bobby got the other. We didn’t know there was going to be a ton of them. We were just trying to save her from…”

  “Ma’am?” Duncan asked, not believing how fast things were falling apart in what remained of society.

  “It’s all true. I thought my boys were going to get killed but…they saved me from those animals. They were going to…One of them told me that they were going to take turns.”

  “How did the rest of them find out?”

  “I tried to be quiet, but I got thrown off.” Bobby looked sheepish. “So I grabbed my rifle and tried to make him go away. He just laughed at me, and I had to. There must have been a raid going down on our street. I didn’t want to kill him and put us all in danger, I mean, I didn’t have any other choice, did I?”

  “No, no you didn’t. Now, don’t be alarmed, but I have to make a phone call and get the boss down here. You guys don’t move. Got it?”

  “Make a phone call? The EMP blew everything out.”

  “EMP? You know what, let’s wait until the boss gets here. Everybody sit down Indian style for me please.”

  Duncan set his rifle on the stump and pulled his .357 and fired a shot. He waited five seconds and fired again. Waited five and fired one last time. The first shot made them jump, but his shot had been off to the side, in the ground. He reloaded quickly and waited. Within twenty minutes of silence, he could slowly hear twigs break and snap in the tree line behind the three family members. Weston tried to look over his shoulder, but Duncan warned him not to move. Just as had been planned, Blake and Sandra ghosted in behind them, their weapons drawn as they advanced slowly and stopped at the pile of weapons and gear, effectively putting the Cayhill’s in a crossfire.

  “Pastor Duncan?” Blake asked quietly.

  “No, I’m Bobby, this is my brother—”

  “He means me.” He gestured with his bad arm for them to be quiet. “Found these three poking through the woods until they came across your driveway. Have the hogs been fed yet today?”

  “No, they’re still pretty hungry,” Blake said, smiling and going along with the joke.

  “Oh you two. Stop it, Daddy. You three, on your knees, cross one leg over the other and put your hands behind your head,” Sandra commanded, moving quickly behind them, using the point of her rifle to poke them into moving faster.

  She patted them down, tossing the knife behind her and apologizing to Lisa before frisking her thoroughly.

  “Hey now,” Bobby said. “Get your hands off—”

  “I’m just making sure.” She backed off, leveling her rifle again.

  “You guys can stand up and we can all talk now.” She motioned for her Duncan and Blake to bring it in closer.

  “We don’t have much time,” Lisa told them. “They said they were going to get the dogs.”

  “It’s true. We lost them by walking upstream on the river, but I’ve heard them baying off and on for the last hour or so,” Weston told them.

  “Our dear lord in Heaven,” Duncan intoned, crossing himself.

  “Ma’am, I’d appreciate it if you lowered your rifle,” Bobby walked toward her, hand out.

  She stared at his hand a moment and handed the rifle to Blake, who was shooting the kid daggers with his eyes. She took the hand and executed a short but efficient hip toss and had him on the ground, his own arm pulled around his neck in a choke hold. The young man gasped in pain, and she quickly let go.

  “Just remember to keep your hands to yourself, and I’m sure she won’t hurt you,” Blake told the shocked Bobby. Blake smiled as she hugged him and got her rifle back.

  Bobby was smiling and rubbing his shoulder. “Sorry about that. End of the world and all…and you run into a pretty woman in the woods. Every guy’s dream.”

  “But this girl is taken.” Blake told him.

  “I can see that. You’ll have no problems from me.”

  “Bobby, put it back in your pants, man. You’re going to get us all killed.” Weston told his younger brother.

  “Boys will be boys. I’m Pastor Duncan, this short-haired Valkyrie is my daughter Sandra, and this is her boyfriend, Blake. It’s his property we’re on right now.”

  “So, tell us again what is going on, and who is coming?” Blake interjected.

  Lisa began to talk, and everyone quieted down.

  “I just wanted to wash the sheets. It happened because I wanted the bed not to smell like smoke and sweat. I’d hand-washed the sheets in a plastic tub with some Fels Naphtha soap and hung them out to dry on the clothes line out back. For the most part, we’d been staying indoors during the day, especially when people were acting poorly. Most of them left weeks ago. So I thought it was safe to hang out the sheets.

  “I’d gotten everything pinned up just as Bobby had come back from carrying a bucket of fresh water from the river. I think Weston was upstairs when I heard the knock. I looked outside and saw three men. One of them was already looking through the window smiling. When they saw me, they kicked the door open. I screamed and ran. They caught me, but didn’t know or care who else was around. They were filth; they promised rape and torture. My boys killed them, killed all of them. I wish they didn’t have to, but they did, and now we have nowhere to go and we’re being hunted.”

  She broke then, and her quiet sobs filled the silence as her sons looked on, embarrassed.

  “You boys did what you had to. Even God understands war, and protecting yourself and family,” Duncan said softly, holding out a hand to them.

  They all shook, and for once, Blake and Sandra lowered their rifles. They retrieved the guns and gear the travelers had been forced to drop, handing it back to them.

  “We have to plan on repelling the invaders,” Sandra said.

  “They’re not invaders, they’re the scum that were let out of Greenville,” Weston said.

  “You’ve got decent guns. How good of a shot are you guys?”

  “I’m okay. Weston is better.”

  “How good?”

  “I always get a deer. Hit a lot more than I miss.”

  “Okay, I’ve got a plan,” Sandra announced, her voice firm. “And Daddy, if you can think of something better, say it, otherwise we don’t have time.”

  “Who is this woman?” Weston asked Blake.

  “G.I. Jane,” Blake answered.

  Chapter 11 -

  They led the Cayhills straight through the traps, leaving their scent behind as a trail. Duncan and Blake were very careful to point out every trap to them so as not to set them off. Carefully they walked through the tangle foot, and then through the toe tappers that were like a mine field. Sandra’s plan had been simple and elegant and utterly ruthless.

  A scent trail would be led towards the barn, and then they would double back, leaving Bobby to protect Lisa in the root cellar. The rest of them would take up position on the opposite side of the field that overlooked the lane. The thought was, the criminals would stay on the lane for easier travel until they started to run into the traps. They would lose some in the traps and then go into the field, straight into the shotgun rat traps and tangle foot. If they made it past that, the four of them would open up from behind cover and pray the toe tappers and their rifles would stop them from getting close to the house.

  They all spread out behind cover, no one more than twenty feet away from each other, and waited. Duncan and Sandra prayed silently, and Blake kept a wary eye on Weston, still not sure about the younger man. They all seemed on the up and up, but Blake wasn’t the
trusting sort, not when their lives were on the line again and he’d just met the kid.

  Everyone checked their weapons and hunkered down to wait. The day grew long, and the heat started to become unbearable. That was when they heard the first of the dogs. The dogs sounded close, and soon they heard the sounds of motors too. The vehicles stopped at the log that was rolled across the lane. A crackle of conversation was carried by the wind, and the dogs bayed again as a group emerged out of the woods to meet up with the groups in the pickup trucks, now barely visible in the fading afternoon light.

  The dogs were pulling at the leashes, and the group seemed to come to a consensus, because they moved up the lane again. Someone made the decision to unleash the straining dogs, and they took off running. The bang of a shotgun shell trap rang out, followed by the pitiful cries of the dogs. There was cursing, and the sound somebody screaming.

  “Whoever shot my dogs, I’m going to kill you. You hear that? I’m coming for you.”

  The group surged, and more traps were set off. The glow stick traps were snapped, but they were not much help in the daylight. The shotgun shell traps went off as expected, and the group went chaotic and ran every which way, finding the barbed wire fence. They came to a full stop and huddled up to talk. They moved carefully as a group and stopped when they found a trap. They moved across them exaggeratedly. Taking their time.

  “Why are they so bent on finding you guys?” Blake whispered over to Weston.

  “One of the guys we killed was their leader’s brother.”

  Blake nodded grimly, understanding now. He’d been having a hard time figuring out why the group just didn’t turn back with the first traps. Was it pride? Was it anger? Were the Cayhills who they claimed to be? The little worry rat ran around his head, making him doubt everything. That’s about when the convicts found the tangle foot trap, and the last man walking in line set off another shotgun-charged rat trap.

  They surged away from the lane, which they’d found to be a deadly box of traps, and into the barbed wire. Five or six went down, tripping right away into the sharpened metal spikes the wire was wrapped around, hidden by the tall grass. The men who were impaled made horrible sounds. By Blake’s count, there were still ten or twelve trying to pull their friends free, including a mountain of a man who was shouting orders. Duncan put his cross hairs on him and let out half a breath and pulled the trigger.

  The burly man had luck; he was picking up a friend of his as the bullet left the barrel, exploding against the flesh of the man he was trying to help. The smaller man convulsed and died in the bigger man’s arms, and the bigger man dropped him and hit the deck. With the quiet of the day broken by Duncan’s gunfire, the four of them opened up on those they could see still standing. Two convicts crawled, and no one could get an angle on them as they ran up the hill. Blake unloaded his gun, trying to wing them, and he ducked down and reloaded while the remaining few of the raiders opened up on him, the tree he was hiding behind absorbing the lead.

  “Sandra, I can’t get a good angle on them, can—” He stopped; she wasn’t there.

  “Sandra?” Blake shouted. Duncan shook his head and motioned for him to look forward.

  Peeking around the tree, he could see one or two of the convicts still trying to pull the living free from the barbed wire. Weston opened up on them with an SKS and both dropped. Blake put a bullet into a groaning man, and then everything was quiet. No one else was visible.

  “Is that all of them?” Duncan asked Weston.

  “No. Two of them got up the hill.”

  “Sandra is taking care of them. Blake, you go make sure all of those guys are really dead. Be careful.”

  “You want me to do what?”

  “Walk up, put a bullet in their heads.”

  +++++

  Weston and Duncan slowly went up the hill, working in cover until Duncan pointed out Sandra’s still form lying prone with her rifle pointed to a clump of bushes. She looked back at them and gave them a sad smile and pointed at the clump with a free hand. Before anyone else could get their guns trained on them, two raiders broke cover and ran up hill, thinking they’d gotten out of the deadly box their friends had been in. They ran right into the toe poppers.

  The shotgun shells went off as expected, and one man’s leg completely disappeared as the heavy buckshot tore off everything from the knee down. The other tried to jump flat on the ground to hide from what he thought was more rifle fire, and he landed right onto another toe popper. The sound of it was muffled, a large hole blasting out the back of him, spraying the area with a red mist.

  “Gross, but effective,” Weston said, firing into the screaming man who was holding his stump, stilling his shrieks.

  “Is that it?” Sandra asked.

  “I think so, would you go help,” he paused as Blake’s .45 rang out, “Blake with mop-up and resetting the traps by the trail.”

  “Sure, what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to go check on Lisa and Bobby. We’ll triple check everything, salvage what we can on these guys. Tell Blake to be careful on the lane, the traps may not have killed everyone and—”

  “Daddy, I won’t let anything happen to him. I really like him.”

  “I know you do, sweetie. Hurry then, and come back when you’re done.”

  “Be safe, Daddy.” She gave him a hug and worked her way carefully back to where the gunshots were coming from.

  “Let’s go get your brother and mom out of the cellar.”

  “Thank you. I mean it. Thank you.”

  +++++

  They approached the barn with caution, but everything was silent.

  “Bobby, Lisa. Me and your boy are coming down, don’t shoot,” Duncan yelled.

  Silence.

  “You don’t think…?”

  Duncan could see the fear in the boy’s eyes.

  “Shhhh,” he motioned. “Lisa, it’s Duncan. Don’t shoot.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs and kept away from the doorway set into the stonework. Still silence. Duncan turned the knob and pushed the door open hard. He pulled his arm back as gunfire and sparks jumped off the stonework across from the door. Weston cried out as rock chips cut his face, and Duncan felt a warm trickle from his hairline. He used his sleeve to wipe at it and rolled into the room with his pistol ready. He came up behind the edge of one of the potato bins and got a glimpse of the massive convict that had dropped out of sight earlier. The man opened up with a semi-automatic pistol, his rounds causing mass murder in the spud world, but missing Duncan.

  “Give me Weston. These three killed my brother. If you give me these three, I’ll let you all go.”

  “I don’t think you have room to negotiate here.” Duncan peeked around the corner. The giant was covering the doorway, using Lisa as a human shield, her body pressed into his and one meaty arm around her neck. Tears streamed down her face, and smudges of dirt covered her clothes from what had to have been some sort of struggle.

  Bobby lay on the floor limply, his shotgun lying on its side.

  “Is Bobby okay?” Duncan yelled, seeing Weston in the doorway trying to look.

  “I just gave him a good lump. If you have Weston come in here, I’ll let you go. Hell, I’ll give you the woman, how’s that?”

  “Why do you want them so bad?” Duncan pulled the .357 up and readied it for use.

  “I told you. Give them to me, or I’ll have this whole section burned to the ground. My men will—”

  “Your men are dead,” Weston said coldly, coming around the corner, his rifle raised.

  Weston caught the giant by surprise. Both looked at each other, and the giant swung his gun hand around. Weston hesitated, not wanting to hit his mom by mistake, and the first bullet from the giant’s gun spun him around and he fell to the ground over Lisa’s screams. Duncan stood and fired. A small hole appeared in the center of the raider’s head, and he fell backwards.

  Coughing and holding his chest, Weston stood on wobbly feet,
and for the first time, unbuttoned his camo gear. GPD was painted prominently across the vest he was wearing underneath, and he undid the Velcro and let it drop to the ground as Lisa rushed from first one son, then to the other.

  “You okay, boy?” Duncan gave Weston a steadying hand.

  “Yeah, hurts. Vest from work.”

  “Greenville Police Department?”

  “Volunteer, second year.” He coughed, massaging the spot over his heart.

  “Help me with my mom and brother.”

  Bobby had a knot on his head, but came around quickly. With Lisa’s help, he got them out of the cellar and up to the house where they sat on the porch, listening to the last of the gunshots.

  “Don’t go inside. There’s more traps.” Duncan pointed at the front door behind them. “Stay right here. I’m going to check on the kids.”

  Chapter 12 -

  The trucks the raiders came in were unloaded and stashed in the woods, further back from the lane. The bodies had been dragged down into a low spot and left, and all the ill-gotten loot was carried into the barn to be sorted later. The Cayhills helped as much as they could, but Bobby was wobbly on his feet. Nighttime had them all in the empty house, and a few jokes were made about the “traps” that weren’t there. Blake was silent as he considered what he was going to do next.

  “Pastor Duncan, Sandra, can I talk to you a minute?” He motioned downstairs and they followed him.

  “I know what you are going to ask, and yes, I think it’s a good idea,” Duncan told him.

  “Where would they stay?” Sandra asked.

  “You know, I always planned on putting a room or two down here in the basement, I just never needed to. We could divide things up and…”

  “That’s if they want to stay,” Duncan said quietly.

  “Do you guys think it’s a good idea?” Sandra asked him.

  “We need more help. There just isn’t enough of us.”

  “Do you think we can trust them?” Blake asked.

  “They had their chance to kill us, plenty of times our backs were turned,” Duncan said.