Lionhearts (Denver Burning Book 5)

by Algor X. Dennison

  Alma sighed, and sat down on one of the dining room chairs. “Do you have a glass of water? I’m a little dehydrated.”

  Mrs. Kellerman got out several clean glasses and poured some water from a jug in the cupboard. “Have a seat, you men. You may as well rest up a little before I kick you out again.”

  The Leonhardts gratefully accepted the cool drink.

  “That’s a nice pistol, ma’am,” Liam said, trying to sweeten the old woman up a bit. He was not enthused about the prospect of walking for the rest of the night. “I used to have a Glock. My brother here traded it away for a motorcycle that turned out to be a lemon.”

  Mike swallowed his water so quickly he almost choked. “I paid you fair and square for that pistol, Liam, so it was mine to trade. And the lemon motorcycle got me to and from school for over a year. With a little work put into it.”

  Walt glared at his sons to keep them from annoying their host with boyish banter. But Mrs. Kellerman’s thin lips pursed into a dry smile.

  “This Glock was my husband’s. He was a cop for thirty years, before the cancer caught up with him. He’s gone now, but he left me the gun, and it’s come in handy a few times. Now, Alma, tell me what you’re doing out at night and what kind of trouble we’ve got on our hands here.”

  “I was up in the hills collecting these berries,” Alma explained, patting her backpack. “Been up there all day. I got really dizzy coming back down while the sun was still high and hot, and I blacked out. Just not enough to eat or drink for the past few days, I guess. I ate some of the berries, but I was trying to save most of them for the others.”

  Mrs. Kellerman nodded. “You said you’re trying to get to Denver, didn’t you?” she asked Walt. “Well, Miss Rojas here came from the city, with six refugees in tow. We got them into an abandoned home a few blocks from here and I’ve tried to help them with supplies, but I’ve little enough as it is. The Levy has taken most of we could scrape together after the trucks stopped delivering food and supplies. Most of the refugees we’ve got are sick and exhausted, but they’re the lucky ones. Thousands more had to walk on by, with no one offering them a place to rest.”

  “You’ve been an angel, Mrs. Kellerman,” Alma said, patting the older woman’s hand as it rested on the countertop.

  “Nope, you’re the angel, sweetie. I just try to get by here and help when I can.”

  Alma drained her glass. “Well, I got a lot of help when I arrived from Mexico. Least I can do is return the favor to the poor people around me.”

  Walt had been reluctant to interrupt the two women, knowing he was only semi-welcome in Mrs. Kellerman’s house to begin with. But he couldn’t wait any longer. “Please, tell us whatever you can about conditions in Denver,” he asked. “We’ve heard it’s bad, but my daughter’s in there somewhere and we desperately need to get to her soon.”

  “Where did she live?” Alma asked. “When I left two weeks ago, some neighborhoods were still intact, the ones that had a lot of men with guns to keep looters at bay. But a lot of the city is… in shreds, basically. Either burnt out, or even scarier.”

  Walt sighed. “Her apartment is by the freeway and Central Park Boulevard.”

  “Okay. I’m not too familiar with that side of town,” Alma replied. “But those are pretty nice neighborhoods. Maybe she’s okay.”

  “I hope so. She’s got a lot of family that have been praying awfully hard for her,” Walt said. Then he stopped as his voice choked up, and there was a moment of awkward silence.

  “You came all the way from Montana?” Mrs. Kellerman asked. “You must be very determined men. I’m sure you’ll find her whatever the conditions in the city are.”

  “Absolutely we will,” Mike said. “I just hope my sister has been smart and avoided the worst of it.”

  “I also have a sister who is still there,” Alma said quietly, looking into Mike’s eyes. “I pray for her, too. Every night.”

  “You never told me that, Alma,” Mrs. Kellerman said. “Do you have any other family?”

  “No, just Elena. We lived and worked together until… until I left. She didn’t want to come north, no matter how much I argued with her.”

  They all sat for a moment in silence. Then Walt stood.

  “Many thanks, Mrs. Kellerman. For the water, for not shooting at us, for hiding us in here. But my sons and I had better get going, so we don’t cause any more trouble for you.”

  “Wait a minute, please,” Alma begged. “I want to ask you something. You seem like good men. If you’re really going into Denver, I want to go back there with you.”

  Mrs. Kellerman grunted. “Alma, I don’t think—”

  “I’ve been thinking about it all week,” Alma said. “I’ve got the others mostly settled here, and they don’t need me as much anymore. Maybe I could go back and talk some sense into my sister. Before it’s too late, and the city is… impassable.”

  Mrs. Kellerman raised her eyebrows. “Well, it sounds foolish to me. But if that’s your aim, I guess these fellows are a godsend for you. It’ll be a lot safer than traveling alone.” Her eyes narrowed again and she looked harshly at Mike and Liam. “Assuming they can be trusted, and are as altruistic as they say they are.”

  Mike spluttered a rebuttal, but Walt spoke over him. “God knows that we are, Mrs. Kellerman, but it makes no difference. We can’t take anyone with us.”

  Alma stood up. “Please! You may be my only chance to get back there.”

  Walt shook his head. “It wouldn’t work out. We only have gear and food for ourselves. And we can’t guarantee you any kind of protection. We don’t even know where we’ll have to go, or what we’ll have to face once we get into the city. It would be very foolish, like Mrs. Kellerman said.”

  “But I know where you have to go!” Alma said, nearly shouting. “Don’t you see? You need me to guide you through the city as much as I need you for protection.”

  “You admitted you don’t even know the area we’ll be searching,” Walt accused.

  “But I know how to get into the valley and how to get across town. I just came from there,” Alma explained. “Trust me, it won’t be as easy as just walking in there. When I left there were kill-zones to avoid at certain intersections, gangs of looters to watch out for, and then the National Guard lines by the highway. It’s pretty ragged by now, but if you run into them you may end up in a holding facility, and then who’s going to help your daughter? I know where to get through the lines.”

  Mike stared back at his dad. “She’s right, Dad. She’d be valuable to have along. Might make the difference between finding our way directly to Tara, and getting lost in the wrong part of town.”

  “I’ve got a map,” Walt retorted. “What I don’t have is time or energy to devote to someone else’s cause. I’m sorry.”

  Liam broke in. “Dad, come on. You’re just being stubborn now. You accepted help from the guys that brought us here. You made a deal with them. Alma here is offering us another deal, and I say we take it.”

  Walt glared at his two sons. “What is this, a mutiny? I wasn’t aware we were voting in our little group.”

  Liam shrugged. “Not voting. Just pointing out good logic.”

  Mike nodded. “Come on, Dad. We need her.”

  Alma folded her arms across her chest and stared back at Walt. He shook his head, looking at the floor so he didn’t have to meet her gaze.

  “You going to take on the whole city alone? Is that your plan?” Mrs. Kellerman asked. “There’s many a man who’s gone down to his grave because he wouldn’t humble himself and accept help from those around him. My husband was one of them.”

  Walt threw up his hands. “Fine. Come along. I hope your berries will last you all the way. And you’d better find a gun, because I’ll be surprised if we don’t run into worse than one of these silly checkpoint guards you’ve got here in Boulder.”

  Alma unzipped her backpack. “These berries are for the other refugees. But I do have this.” She dug into a s
ide compartment and pulled out a small Walther pistol with loaded mag protruding from its grip.

  Mike chuckled. “Maybe you didn’t need saving back there after all,” he said. “I could have spared a shotgun shell.”

  Alma shook her head and replaced the gun. “There were three of them, and they were right up on me. I wasn’t going to start shooting. I keep this for when things get really scary.”

  “If that encounter wasn’t scary enough for you,” Walt said, shaking his head ruefully, “then I guess you’re tough enough to go all the way with us. Welcome aboard.”

  Mrs. Kellerman, despite her prickly demeanor, wouldn’t hear of them leaving so late at night. “You’ll have to stay here until dawn, at least,” she said. “Unless you’re trying to run into another patrol.”

  “But I need to check on the others,” Alma insisted. “They’re probably worried about me, and they need these berries—it’ll be the first food they’ve had all day.”

  “We could stop by there, I guess,” Walt said, tiredly scratching his head.

  The older woman shook her head. “I’ve got a curfew pass to assist with humanitarian matters inside city limits, but Alma’s technically still a refugee outsider, and you three men would probably be shot on sight with your big scary guns and gear. I’ll take the berries over and check on the people at Alma’s place. You all stay here and make yourselves comfortable.”

  So in the end, Alma and the Leonhardts sacked out on Mrs. Kellerman’s sofas, and the older woman took a bucket full of Alma’s berries to the home where the other refugees were staying. She administered to their needs and told them that Alma was safe but was planning a trip to Denver. When she returned she found her four house guests fast asleep in her living room, snoring loudly.

  The kind, scrappy old woman sat up most of the night to make sure no more guards came around to trouble them, and when daylight came again, she had a hearty breakfast ready for them to see them on their way.

  Chapter 16: Militia Rising

  Somehow, incredibly, life at the ranch was actually settling into a new routine. The world as Sarah knew it had ended, her family had been split in half, and she had more work to do than she could ever hope to finish. But somehow she had managed to stabilize the staggering mix of daily chores, pressing needs, and looming challenges into a sort of treadmill that allowed her and the girls to get by.

  Amy and Jess were both working harder than they'd ever had to in their young lives, and that was from a base level of chores that most modern young people would have balked at. But they were healthy and brimming with more energy than Sarah had. It usually wasn't until darkness began to fall across the ranch that the three women would huddle together in the living room with as many candles lit as they could find and use each other's companionship to fight back the worries and fears that lingered just outside. With no guarantees for the future and only part-time protection from their male neighbors, the Leonhardt ladies had to take such matters into their own hands.

  Sarah had begun reading Little House on the Prairie to the girls each night, by candlelight, and the story provided a surprising amount of inspiration and encouragement. They had also gleaned several tips from the text on how to tackle some of the chores and challenges of their new un-powered existence. They would soon be out of soap, and Sarah was mulling over whether to attempt to trade for some, or just figure out how to make it herself. The book made it sound doable, and after already learning to craft their own candles, she was optimistic that the three of them could manage it.

  Sarah finished her digging out behind the house. She was trying to get some last-minute fast-maturing crops into a little fall garden that she hoped would provide some additional nutrition for her family throughout the winter. They would have plenty of beef no matter when the men came home, but she had calculated that they’d run out of the veggies she had canned so far just as the snows were melting, which would leave them hungry for vitamins and roughage until the first spring crop came in. So far she had gotten some radishes, beets, and turnips in the ground. She wanted to plant a few rows of lettuce and arugula, but wasn’t sure if that or the carrots she was hoping for would make it before first frost.

  She wiped her hands and went around to the side of the house to see how Amy was getting along with the feeding, but the girl was nowhere to be seen. Sarah headed toward the other pasture, but found Amy’s cousin instead.

  Jess was Sarah’s brother’s daughter, and they had a close enough relationship that the Portland teen had so far handled the situation well. But Sarah presumed that it was only a matter of time before the seventeen-year-old grew homesick. She’d seen Jess standing outside the night before, at sunset, staring off to the west as if she could see Portland from there. Sarah hadn’t interrupted her, but she could be fairly certain of the poor girl’s thoughts. Sarah worried for her brother and his family in the city as well, but there was nothing to be done about it.

  At the moment Jess was working on the task Sarah had set for her that morning, crafting a new side run for the chickens, since they anticipated needing more chickens in the future and more space to spread compost for them to scratch through. Jess was handy with things like that and had begun setting up a series of thin yard-long sticks in the ground, with a bale of wire to run between them. This would form a little fence to surround the area, just tall enough to keep the chickens in, and they could put a wire mesh over the top if needed. Sarah was surprised to see that Jess hadn’t made much progress yet, considering that she’d had all morning to get it done.

  “Jess, have you seen Amy?” she asked. “She isn’t done with the feed already, is she?”

  Jess looked up. “Uh, no. She might still be out on the pasture.”

  Sarah shook her head. “I checked. I don’t see her anywhere. Did she come by here?”

  Jess looked at the ground. “Nope. I’m sure she’ll be along soon, though.”

  Sarah noticed the teen’s eyes flicker over to the driveway, and Sarah reflexively glanced over that way herself. The nook where Amy usually kept her bicycle locked up was empty. The older bike that Jess had been using was still there.

  “Jess! Where’s Amy?” Sarah asked, alarm creeping into her voice this time and making it harsher and louder. Immediately, she could tell that Jess had something to hide. The girl’s eyes plainly showed her alarm.

  “Well, she… she did tell me she was thinking about heading over to a friend’s house real quick. But she said she’d be back before we even noticed!”

  Sarah folded her arms. “Too late, I’ve noticed. Now tell me everything you know, quickly, Jess. If Amy’s in any danger I need to know immediately!”

  Jess shrugged. “There’s no danger. She just wanted to go talk to her friend, and she knew you wouldn’t let her, so she decided to go anyway. I’m sorry.”

  “What friend? Where did she go?”

  “Umm, do you know about her and Jaren?” Jess asked, looking at Sarah sidelong, clearly aware she was treading on very thin ice but unwilling to withhold much from Sarah given her current temperament.

  “I’ve met Jaren. He’s a nice boy. Why is Amy going over there? I haven’t seen Jaren since last school year.”

  Jess shifted her feet uncomfortably on the broken clods of earth. “Uh, Amy and Jaren are… well, they’ve been hanging out a lot. I guess you didn’t know.”

  Sarah resisted the urge to reach out and grab Jess by the scruff of her neck. “Jess, what are you talking about? What is Amy up to?”

  “They’ve been dating for a while, kind of. It’s complicated. Yesterday Jaren’s friend Matt brought a letter by here, on his way into town.”

  “A letter for Amy? What did it say?”

  “I don’t know, she wouldn’t even tell me. But it made Amy pretty upset and I guess she went to Jaren’s place to talk it over today. She asked me not to mention it to you, and I took care of the feeding for her this morning. I really thought she’d be back by now. She said it was just a quick run to take him a le
tter in reply, and then she was going to be back right away.”

  Sarah turned and angrily stomped toward the house. She had a sickening feeling in her chest. Kicking off her muddy garden boots by the back porch, she ran into the house and emerged a minute later with different shoes on and the shotgun in her hands.

  “Jess, I’m going to find Amy. Keep an eye out. I’ll be back soon.”

  Jess watched Sarah go up the drive on foot, her eyes twin pools of worry and dread.

  But Sarah only made it as far as the end of the drive. She stopped when Amy herself came riding up from the county road, and waited there for her daughter, relief flooding through her.

  When Amy got near, she stopped her bike in front of her mother. Any harsh words Sarah had prepared died on her lips when she saw that Amy had been crying. She looked her mother in the eye with determined strength, but it was clear that she had been sobbing the entire ride home.

  Sarah propped the shotgun against the fence nearby and embraced her daughter in a warm hug. “It’s okay, sweetie. Everything’s going to be okay. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

  Amy broke down at that, and cried into her mother’s shoulder for a few minutes.

  “Are you okay?” Sarah asked. “Nobody’s hurt you, have they?”

  Amy shook her head.

  “Jess told me about a letter from Jaren Smith. Is that where you went? What’s up, honey?”

  When Amy finally got her voice under control, she began talking as they turned and walked toward the house. “He’s gone crazy, Mom! He’s so messed up. I thought I would convince him that what he’s doing isn’t right, but it’s like he’s a totally different person than he was a month ago.”

  Sarah waited and let her girl spill the story in her own way. She was just relieved that Amy hadn’t been attacked, and whatever drama the Smith boy was getting up to was insignificant now.

  “He’s talking about killing people, Mom! I don’t know what to do. They have these crazy plans to take over and make everybody get into line. It’s out of control!”