The Last Orchard (Book 2): The Last Orchard

by Hunt, James

  “You let him out, and then we let you go!”

  “No deal!” Charlie shouted. “Drop your weapons, and then we all walk out together.” Charlie kept an eye on the man speaking to him, the only feature he was able to make out the bright red of the man’s scruff and the pale skin of his cheeks and exposed arms.

  Finally, Red Beard turned toward the other gunman and nodded. The pair dropped their weapons and then stepped back, hands in the air.

  “All right, let him out!” he shouted.

  Charlie quickly beckoned his men close. “We go out, we pick up their guns, and then we leave through the woods. We move quick, and we only shoot if we have to.”

  Hector and Mario nodded, panting. Charlie positioned himself by the door. He paused, gathering his courage, and then rushed outside, rifle up and aimed at the three men on the road.

  Once all three of them were outside, Red Beard squinted in confusion. And then the realization slowly washed over his face. “You son of a bitch.”

  “He was killed in the crossfire,” Charlie said, his voice quick and breathless, gun still raised and aimed at the leader while Mario and Hector grabbed the weapons on the ground.

  “Bullshit!” Red Beard shouted.

  “No one else has to die,” Charlie said. “We’re going to leave, and the rest of us walk out of here with our lives.”

  Red Beard spoke the words in a growl, and the man quickly piped down. He turned that anger toward Charlie and lowered his hands.

  Charlie stepped forward, aiming for the redhead. “Put them back up, now!”

  The order triggered a heightened sense of fear in everyone, eyes glancing between Charlie and Red Beard. Charlie placed his finger over the trigger, praying that he wouldn’t have to squeeze it, but with all of his attention focused on the redhead, it was Mario who saw the short, fat man reach for a pistol behind his back.

  “Gun!”

  Charlie looked away for half a second, but the brief moment was all it took for hell to break loose.

  The fat man fired twice before Mario took him down, and the third man charged Hector, who froze, frightened even though the skinny man moved forward with nothing except for his swinging arms and unbridled rage.

  By the time Charlie returned his attention to Red Beard, the man had his own pistol drawn, firing on his retreat.

  Charlie ducked for cover, crashing behind the nearest mobile home. He found Mario pulling Hector behind another mobile home across from him. Charlie peered around the corner, finding two dead bodies.

  Charlie removed himself from cover and hurried out to the road, gun up, ready to fire, but found Red Beard gone. “Shit.” He lowered his weapon, his breathing labored as he spun in circles.

  “Charlie!” Mario yelled. “Charlie, help!”

  Charlie hurried back to Mario, and when he stepped around the corner of the mobile unit where he and Hector had hid, Hector was on his back and gasping for breath while Mario placed both hands over the wound on Hector’s stomach.

  “Oh my god.” Charlie dropped to a knee and added pressure on the wound.

  “What do we do?” Mario asked, looking to Charlie.

  Blood poured out quickly despite their attempts to block the hemorrhaging, and Hector’s shirt was soaked with crimson, the excess dripping onto the dirt. Doc was the only person that’d be able to help him now.

  “We need to move him,” Charlie said, looking to Mario. “We’ll have to carry him.”

  Mario nodded, and then both men positioned themselves on either side of Hector. They placed the man’s arms over his shoulders, and when they lifted him off the ground, Hector screamed, blood dripping out of his mouth, the man so fatigued and injured that he couldn’t even support his own weight.

  “Just hang on, Hector!” Charlie groaned through clenched teeth, struggling to support the big man’s weight.

  They managed to move Hector onto the road, but after only ten yards, Charlie’s knee buckled and the three of them tumbled to the pavement. Charlie reached for Hector, trying to lift him up from the pavement, but Mario stopped him.

  “He’s gone,” Mario said.

  Charlie looked at Hector’s face, and then pressed his fingers against Hector’s neck. No pulse. He sat back down on the pavement, staring at the dead man. He bowed his head. “Fuck.” He rocked slowly, then tensed. “Fuck!”

  Mario reached up and lowered Hector’s eyelids, then bowed his head and clasped his hands together in prayer.

  Charlie stared at Hector’s body, letting Mario speak his piece, and then stood. He walked back to the mobile homes and picked the guns up that the men had dropped. He didn’t look at their faces on the return trip; he didn’t want to see them.

  He stuffed the pistols in his bag, and then slung the rifles over his shoulder. When he stepped back onto the road, Mario stood near Hector, marking himself with the holy cross.

  “He’s too heavy to carry back,” Charlie said. “I’ll get Dixon to let us borrow one of the Humvees.” Charlie didn’t think the newly minted commander would object to funeral duty, but he could be wrong. Generosity was in short supply.

  Mario stared at Hector as he passed him. “That’s it?”

  Charlie kept his eyes ahead and adjusted the rifles on his shoulder. “It’s all that’s left.”

  2

  One Month Later

  The parking lot was littered with trash and the disabled cars that had been parked there when the EMP had gone off. Windows were smashed, and the front entrance to the grocery was open, but Charlie couldn’t see anything from his position in the parking lot.

  Charlie remained hunched behind the tailgate of a pick-up, his eyes just above the back gate, squinting ahead. The overcast skies made the afternoon darker than it would have been, and a rain-scented wind blew from the west. He didn’t want to get caught up in another storm.

  “See anything, Boss?” Mario asked.

  Charlie shook his head, and then lowered himself next to Mario. Both men were armed. “It’s hard to tell if there is anyone inside, but the parking lot looks clear. No sign of traps.”

  “Should we look for another store?” Mario asked.

  Again, Charlie shook his head. The past week had been a difficult one in finding food. “It’s another fifteen miles to the next location, and there’s no guarantee that it hasn’t already been picked clean.” Charlie turned to Mario. “Just stay low and quiet.”

  Mario nodded, and Charlie crept toward the front of the truck, checking the path toward the grocery one last time. He’d been careful on their approach, making sure to circle the place first. He just hoped that the long trip wasn’t for nothing.

  Charlie stepped from behind the truck and stayed low on his sprint toward the open front doors. He was mindful of his peripheral and the rows of cars that provided cover for him, and for anyone else that might be camping out and looking for a quick score.

  But Charlie stopped outside the entrance, catching his breath as Mario was quick to join him. He squinted back out into the parking lot, still finding themselves alone. If there was anyone waiting, then it would be inside.

  Once Charlie passed the threshold of the store’s entrance, he was momentarily blinded from the store’s darkness. He padded forward carefully until his vision adjusted and headed toward the aisles.

  Charlie read the aisle signs, most of which were still intact, and moved toward the one labeled with canned food. But when he turned the corner of the aisle, Charlie stopped, lowering the rifle. “Shit.”

  The shelves were barren, the items already picked over. All that remained was dust.

  “We can check the rest of the store,” Mario said, though his tone sounded as defeated as his expression. “See if we can find anything people might have looked over. There are some vegetables that can last a long time without—”

  Metal scraped across the ground, and Charlie and Mario raised their rifles in the direction of the noise on the other side of the store.

  Charlie led the pair down
the aisle, and then paused before he peeked around the corner, Mario still watching his back.

  “We should leave,” Mario said.

  “We’re not walking out of here empty-handed,” Charlie replied.

  And before Mario could protest, Charlie stepped around the corner, moving down the back aisle of the store, which used to hold all the meats and dairy, but what meat hadn’t been taken had thawed and rotted and decomposed.

  Charlie paused to check every aisle that they passed, making sure it was clear before they moved on. Both men kept low and hunched forward on their approach. The pair had already grown comfortable with maneuvering through areas with their weapons, and they never went anywhere unarmed. The rifle and pistol on Charlie’s person were as much a part of him as his own beating heart.

  The aisles were picked over, and when they reached the canned food aisle, Charlie lowered his weapon in defeat. “Dammit.”

  Mario kept his rifle up, turning in half circles. “There isn’t anything here, boss. We should leave before—”

  The gunshot forced both of them to their knees, and Charlie saw the shooter sprint toward the cover an aisle three rows down.

  Charlie pursued and Mario followed close behind. He crouched at the corner of the aisle where the shooter had disappeared. He planted a foot forward and turned, the darkened figure already gone.

  “Shit.” Charlie pressed forward, moving fast and quiet. If that shooter wasn’t alone, getting caught I in the middle of an aisle was like being stuck in a kill zone, plugged with shooters on either side.

  At the end of the aisle Charlie found the shooter by one of the checkout lanes.

  Both Charlie and the gunman fired, each missing their mark on the first shot, but it was Charlie who was able to realign his next shot first. He squeezed the trigger, and the bullet connected with the shooter’s left arm.

  The shooter ducked back behind the checkout lane for cover, dropping the rifle in the same motion.

  Charlie moved toward the shooter quickly, Mario on his tail, and he kicked the rifle out of reach. “Don’t move.”

  A bandana covered the shooter’s face, and only a pair of eyes stared up at Charlie, studying him inquisitively. “You don’t walk out with me alive, then you don’t make it very far.”

  Charlie frowned then tore the bandana free, surprised by the woman staring up at him. She had short blonde hair, with a splash of faded purple on the tips of her bangs. The dirt around her eyes brightened their blue.

  “How many of you are there?” Charlie asked.

  She grimaced, readjusting her hand on the wound on her arm. “Enough.” Finding no comfortable position, she finally looked up at Charlie, both eyebrows raised. “So what’s it going to be, boss?”

  Mario turned his back to the woman but leaned close to his partner. “Charlie, we—”

  Charlie held up his hand, ignoring Mario and focused on the pair of blue eyes staring up at him. Most of the people that Charlie had encountered since the EMP had been folks looking for help. People who scavenged for food and water.

  But Charlie hadn’t run into too many individuals that could take care of themselves. And if he wanted to ensure the survival of his group, then he best start finding people that could.

  Charlie turned around and looked at the rifle on the floor. He picked it up, examining the hardware. The weapon itself wasn’t anything special, but the scope mounted on top was something to be admired. The fact that she was handling the weapon at all showed she had some competency with firearms.

  Charlie raised it to his eye. The magnification was impeccable. Looking through the sight, it was hard to imagine that the woman hadn’t missed on purpose.

  Charlie lowered the rifle, then turned back to the pair of blue eyes still watching him, studying him. He crouched to her level, meeting the intensity of her gaze. “He’s on the roof, isn’t he? That’s why I didn’t see him when I walked the perimeter.” Charlie nodded. “It’s smart.”

  Blue Eyes drew in her mouth tight, struggling to maintain her stoic expression. The fact that his words affected her so much confirmed his theory.

  “It also means that you had a line of sight on me for a long time,” Charlie said. “More than enough time to have a good shot to take me out whenever you wanted. But you didn’t.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe we wanted to follow you back to camp,” Blue Eyes said. “Then take you for all you were worth.”

  “Maybe.” Charlie mulled the words over in his head. “Or maybe you were looking for people to join.” He looked to the bullet wound on her arm. “We have someone that can help you with that.”

  Blue Eyes laughed. “Is that how you make friends? Shoot them and then fix them?”

  “It’s how I make allies.” Charlie extended a hand.

  Blue Eyes held Charlie’s gaze, then lowered them to the offered hand. She smiled, then raised her face toward the ceiling. “Jason! We’re good!” Blue Eyes clasped hold of Charlie’s hand and used it as leverage to heave herself off the floor.

  She wobbled on both legs, lightheaded from the sudden rising, and then gave Charlie the once over. “I’m Shelly.”

  “Charlie,” he said.

  A few moments later, a door opened and another blond-haired, blue-eyed figure stepped from the shadows, rifle slung over his shoulder.

  “That’s my brother,” Shelly said.

  “You’re twins?” Mario asked.

  “Fraternal,” Shelly and Jason answered at the same time.

  Jason walked over, bypassing Mario without a glance, and examined the bullet wound that Charlie had given his sister. “I thought the deal was not to be seen.”

  “They got the jump on me,” Shelly replied, wincing as her brother prodded the wound, then smacked his hand away. “It’s not like I have night vision goggles on me.”

  “Those would be nice.” Jason continued his examination of the wound despite his sister’s protest, but eventually stopped, then looked Shelly in the eyes.

  “I’m fine,” Shelly said.

  “We have a doctor,” Charlie said, finally catching Jason’s attention. “He’s good on supplies, and he’s dealt with worse.”

  Jason narrowed his eyes. “I bet he has.”

  “How far is your place?” Shelly asked.

  “Eight miles,” Charlie answered. “If we leave now, then we should make it back before nightfall.”

  “You don’t want to be stuck out here at night.” Jason adjusted the rifle to the next shoulder. “A lot of the people around here have started forming groups. Not all of them are friendly.”

  Charlie regarded the twins, knowing that his orchard needed fighters, “Then maybe we should build a group of our own.”

  3

  Three Months Later

  Charlie lay still on the sleeping bag, Liz nestled in the crook of his arm, asleep. The night air had turned colder, and he was thankful for her body heat. She split her time with him in the tent and staying with Adelyn at Doc’s place.

  Staring at the tent’s ceiling, Charlie knew it wasn’t a shelter that would be adequate come winter, and if he wanted his family to be under one roof, then they’d have to make a change.

  The twins had a bead on some trailers that they could haul over with the Humvee that Dixon had lent them. They’d offer a more permanent solution for their housing dilemma.

  “Charlie?”

  The voice came from outside the tent’s entrance, and Charlie lifted his head, sliding out from beneath Liz, who remained asleep. He reached for the tent flap’s zipper and pulled it open, a fresh breeze of crisp night air blasting him when he opened it, and found Jason crouched at eye level.

  “We’ve got something,” Jason said.

  Charlie grabbed his boots, kissed Liz on her forehead, placed the blanket over her body, and then zipped the tent closed as he walked with Jason through their already-growing field of tenants.

  Jason said nothing as he led Charlie toward the west guard post, passing the rows of crops that they
’d put in the ground two months ago. Green had already sprout from the ground, and Charlie found it hard to look away.

  The west guard post was Doc’s place and when he and Jason arrived, Shelly and Mario were on scene. Mario was unarmed, but Shelly had a rifle aimed at the back of a man’s head.

  “We found him in the fields, trying to dig up seeds,” Jason said. “He won’t talk.”

  Charlie examined the thief. “Stand him up.”

  Shelly and Jason lifted the man to his feet and then shoved him forward so Charlie could get a better look at him.

  He was a wiry man, tall. His clothes were tattered, his skin tanned and weathered. He looked like a man who had spent his life outside before the world went to shit.

  Charlie checked the man for colors. “Are you with a clan?”

  The clans had grown more troublesome for Charlie and Dixon lately. They’d formed in the weeks after the EMP and had become better organized, locking down territories in the different suburbs outside of Seattle. So far none of them had been tempted to come this far east, but Charlie knew that wouldn’t last forever.

  Squabbling over food, water, shelter, and medicine grew more intense every day. Anyone who had supplies was either absorbed into a clan, or they were killed, and the clans took their supplies. Most people chose to join, if nothing more than the fact that there was safety in numbers.

  And while most of the clans were relatively small in nature, Charlie had noticed one clan growing at an exponential rate. They identified themselves with an article of blue on their arm. It was usually a bandana or a piece of cloth.

  Charlie and his folks had already experienced a few dust ups with that clan, and out of all the people to fight, he feared them the most. Not because of their numbers, but because of their organization, their structure. It was like watching the rise of a tyrant.

  But Charlie suspected that’s exactly what others thought of him and Dixon. People with resources, trying to expand, trying to rebuild, gathering as many people and supplies as they could. It was as though everyone was preparing for a fight. No one knew when it would happen, but they felt it coming. It was as real as the hunger in their bellies.