Richard Taylor, Susie’s husband, was there, though I could tell he was on painkillers. Fresh white bandages covered a stump just below the elbow of his left arm. Pittman and Daniel spent an hour cleaning up the amputation and sealing it properly.
Mr. Taylor would have been a handsome man, but his demeanor made him appear cold, angry, depressed, and even defeated. It was hard to tell at first. He was the salt of the earth type. Years of farming and all the duties that come with running a private farm had taken its toll on him. Deep crow’s feet etched around his eyes showed all the early mornings and late evenings he worked. His skin was like leather, and patches of grey spotted his light beard and hair.
About halfway through the mostly silent meal, Jenna decided to ask if we were going to sleep in the house.
“No,” Dobson replied. “We need to stick with our vehicles.” He paused a moment and glanced at Mr. Taylor. “Sir, I’d like an explanation on these Bogdons your wife has mentioned. Who are they? Are they dangerous?”
Richard peered up at Dobson. His eyes were glossy from the Percocets that Daniel had given him. “Yeah, you could say that. They’re not much for…outsiders,” he said with a unpleasant chuckle.
“Why’s that funny?” Fish asked as he filled his bowl with more stew.
“Because, they’re outsiders themselves,” Susie said before her husband could respond.
Richard shot a glare at his wife, who slumped back into her seat.
“See, Major,” Richard said, chewing on a chunk of beef, “not too long after the government fell, some people moved into the old Bogdon textile mill. Mill’s been shut down for years.”
“All that work went to China,” Susie said bitterly.
“Actually,” Doctor Tripp interjected, “most textiles are imported from South America.”
“Does that argument really matter anymore?” Fish sighed. “Go on, Mr. Taylor.”
Doctor Tripp glanced at Fish and rolled her eyes. A month later and the two were still like an old bickering couple.
Richard swallowed his beef and nodded. “Them folks that moved in, they were kinda bad apples…ruffians, you know? But they were, for the most part, harmless. Threatened a few of us farmers if we didn’t give them food, stuff like that. Clive actually shot one of them two months back.”
Dobson raised an eyebrow. “Clive?”
“Yeah, Clive. God rest his soul,” Susie shook her head sadly.
Richard patted Susie’s hand and continued. “See, we could handle them back then. But I won’t lie, we were struggling with the random ‘zombie’, as my wife calls them, not to mention a few freaks would come through from time to time. It wasn’t until those other folks, the bad ones, joined the people at Bogdon, that things really changed around here.”
“They said they were coming to help us. Drove up in Army trucks and everything,” Susie said, eyeing Fish.
“But they weren’t Army,” Richard growled. His face darkened as he went on. “They were rotten folk. Heard they were from a prison in Orlando. Came around, told us they were our protection. Set up thirty of those traps, told us we had to supply the livestock for bait. They patrol the area on the regular, taking care of any wanders…both living and dead. For payment, we have to supply them food, milk…and other things.”
Susie licked her lips and spoke. “Clive wasn’t having it. Told them to stick their heads in their you-know-what’s. But that leader of theirs, a tall black fella named Sean, he said he was going to make an example out of Clive. He did that, alright. Hung him up by the old 76 gas station. He’s still out there today, flailing about.”
“Do you still get ‘zombies’ and ‘freaks’ roaming the area?” Dobson asked.
Personally, I was still stuck on the ‘prisoners from Orlando’ part. We had heard about a similar group when we took on some refugees at Camp Holly. They, too, used military vehicles to lure people into a false sense of security. I quickly looked at Fish, DJ, and Campbell, and I could tell they were thinking the same thing.
“Not really,” Richard replied, and then tapped his amputated stump. “But they come around sometimes.”
“If these people are so bad, why don’t you just leave?” Doctor Tripp asked.
“Can’t,” Richard said, staring at his bowl. “There are…other things.”
Susie eyed her husband. He wanted to say something, but I could tell he just couldn’t bring himself to say it. His wife spoke for him.
“These Bogdons…they take things from farmers around here. Things that will make people like us stay. Kinda like a ransom so we will keep providing them with food.”
“What did they take from you?” Doctor Tripp asked. I gulped, a light going off in my head, causing my stomach to sink.
“They took our daughter, Sierra,” Richard said bitterly, confirming my fear.
“What do you mean, ‘took’?” Fish asked, dropping his spoon.
“They… they keep her at the mill. Once a week, they bring her by to see us, let us know she’s okay,” Susie said, a disgusted look on her face.
I toyed with my napkin. I had to ask. “Is she okay?”
Richard peered around the large, oak table, his jaw tightening before he answered.
“Depends on what you mean. She’s alive, yeah. But they’ve…they’ve done things to her. Bad things. She tried to hide it, but we could tell.”
Our group exchanged expressions.
Preacher was the first to speak.
“How long have they had her?”
Susie shook her head, emotion starting to overwhelm her.
Richard took a deep breath, trying to control his quivering lips. “About a month. I…I couldn’t take it anymore. I went to go get her back a few days ago.”
“Stupid asshole,” Susie muttered, obvious anger building up. “That’s how he lost his arm.”
“They cut your arm off?” DJ asked, finally entering the conversation.
“No,” Richard said sourly. “I lost my arm because I was careless. The mill is about five miles northeast of here. I decided to go at night. When I got to the place, I realized how foolish I was being. Half the place has a tall wall around it, the other half has a reinforced fence. Towers, at least 30 people inside, a few dogs… I just… I couldn’t risk leaving Susie all alone here.”
“So, you came back,” Dobson stated.
Richard nodded. “Yeah. But a freak caught my trail at some point.”
“I’m sorry,” Doctor Tripp interjected, “what is a freak?”
“Scab, Doc. Try paying attention,” Fish smirked.
“He caught me in the barn,” Richard continued. “It was a tough son of a bitch. I shot him twice with my rifle, but I might as well have been throwing horse manure at the beast. See, the Bogdons took all our weapons. Left us with .22’s. Worthless unless we get attacked by our own chickens.”
“Did the scab-err, freak, take your arm off?” I asked.
“No, I did,” Susie said.
“Yep, she saved my life,” Richard said, patting her hand again. “Freak bit my arm while we were wrestling. Just when its teeth sank into my wrist—”
“I jammed a pitchfork through the back of its head,” Susie said, finishing. “I already seen the thing had bit Richard, so I grabbed a cleaver off the wall and before he could take a breath, I pulled his hand out and took his arm off at the elbow.”
Doctor Tripp raised an eyebrow. “The infection didn’t take hold?”
“Obviously not, Doc,” Fish sneered. Doctor Tripp scowled.
“We weren’t sure,” Richard sighed. “I had Susie chain me in a horse stable for a couple days. I never got sick, though, other than from the wound itself. My eyes never got weird. Not like my Joseph…my son.”
He didn’t have to say his son succumbed to the infection. They seemed to purposefully avoid talking about the boy in the pictures. My best guess is that he died when the Awakening initially occurred. Bad memories the Taylor family probably didn’t want to relive.
“Quick thinking, if not rash,” Pittman observed. “You’ve got some guts, woman.”
Richard took a moment to gather himself and then directed his attention at Dobson.
“Susie says you’re Army.”
Dobson shrugged. “Army, Airforce, Marines. A little of everything, but mostly civilians.”
Richard considered for a moment, tapping his finger on the table.
“Will you help us?”
Dobson raised an eyebrow. “Help you?”
“Help us with the Bogdons,” Susie answered.
“Ah… we’re… we’re not really in a position to help you, ma’am,” Dobson replied, eyeing Campbell and Fish.
Susie didn’t seem to like that answer. “But you’re the military. You’re supposed to help us. We’ve paid our taxes. We’re good people. Those bastards—”
“Susie!” Richard said sharply. “These are our guests. We knew it was a lot to ask.”
“Sir,” Dobson said, “it’s not that we don’t want to help you. Under different circumstances—”
“Say no more, Major.” There was a touch of ice in Richard’s voice. “I understand.”
No one from our group spoke up to argue with the Major. I wanted to, but stayed silent. I would speak my piece, just not in front of the Taylors.
There was a moment of silence, until Fish broke it.
“How often do they come here?”
Richard cleared his throat. “Every few days. You have nothing to worry about though, they were here this morning to pick up some chickens. Bastards are going to clean us out in a month, if I were to guess.”
“Never back-to-back days?” Fish pressed.
“Maybe once or twice,” Susie replied, “but that was in the beginning. They spend most of their time patrolling. They say it’s to keep us safe, but I think they’re just worried about losing their food supplies and protecting their own keisters.”
Fish nodded and shared a look with Campbell and Dobson.
The conversation all but died after that, and soon we were making our way to the newer barn that held the CDC bus. The Captain and Major left quickly, talking in hushed tones as they made their way out to the barn.
On the way out, I stared at the picture of the Taylor family. It was a recent picture, from the looks of Richard and Susie. Joseph, their son, couldn’t have been more than ten years old, but Sierra, the one kidnapped by the Bogdons, had to be my age or a little younger.
Jenna’s age… I grew angry thinking about that. What if they had Jenna?
Daniel and Pittman stayed in the house with the Taylors to keep an eye on Richard’s health, or so the Major said. Truth is, I think he kept them in there just in case the Taylors turned on us and contacted the Bogdons.
Except for Karina and Boomer, the rest of us gathered in front the bus. Night had come during dinner, and the sky had begun to clear up, showing spots of stars overhead.
“Okay,” Dobson began, “we’re going to split up—”
“Excuse me, Major,” Preacher cut in, “but don’t you think we should talk about the Taylor’s and these Bogdons?”
“There is nothing to talk about,” Dobson said. “We can’t go around saving the world.”
“Hold on, sir,” I said, stepping up. “Those have to be the guys we heard about in Orlando, the escaped prisoners. I can’t imagine what they’re doing to their daughter and whoever else they’re holding for ransom.”
Dobson titled his head in annoyance. “And?”
“And they are some bad people,” I replied angrily. I couldn’t understand how he could be so callous about the situation.
Dobson clasped his hands in front of him and took a step closer to me. His six foot six frame towered over me, glaring down in agitation.
“What do you want us to do, Christian? Please, tell me.”
I cleared my throat, grabbing all the courage I could.
“I think we should help them. Maybe rescue their daughter and the others, or even take these Bogdons out.”
DJ, who had been sitting on a haybale, stood. “You want us to risk our asses, and your ass, to go rescue some people we don’t know? Did you forget why we’re all here? Not to play A-Team. We’re here to get your ass to Hoover Dam.”
I glared at DJ. For the most part, DJ always had a big heart. He had helped plenty of people since the Awakening. This change in him bothered me. It was like he was bitter and regretting the fact that he came with us.
“Maybe,” I said after a moment. “I mean, if these are those assholes from Orlando, they can’t be that hard to…” I trailed off, realizing what I was asking. Dobson noticed and jumped on my weakness.
“Hard to kill them?” Dobson chuckled. “This isn’t a videogame, Christian. This isn’t fighting Zulus or even scabs. These people are armed and shoot back. Killing people is different. You should know that,” Dobson glared at me, feeling his words hit home.
I grimaced, but I wasn’t ready to back down yet. “Of course, killing people is different, but if it’s for the right reason, then sometimes, well, it just has to be done.”
“Just has to be done?” Dobson mocked. “Besides Fish, myself, and Pittman, who else here has actually killed anyone?”
No one answered.
“Oh, that’s right,” Dobson continued, “No one. No one except you, Christian. How did that work out? How did that make you feel? Yeah, I’ve heard you regretted killing Cecil’s brother. That’s good,” he added quickly. “Killing isn’t easy, and it shouldn’t be. But now you’re asking these people to do the same thing?”
My stomach twisted at the memory. I pushed the pain in my guts aside. “If the cause is right, then yeah. You know they are raping Susie’s daughter! And who knows who else they have pinned up in that mill? We have you, Pittman, and Fish. Three highly trained men who have been training the rest of us for the past month. We have a chance to stop it. How can you condone what they’re doing?”
Dobson let out a breath and shook his head.
“Christian, no one is condoning it. If I were to see that leader of theirs, Sean? I would not hesitate to put him down. But you need to look at the bigger picture here.”
I balled my fists, getting pissed. “Here we go again. The big picture. ‘Keep Christian safe—‘”
“It’s more than that!” Dobson cut me off, now angry himself. “Highly trained? Do you really think that matters? Fish,” Dobson said, turning to the former Green Beret who had his head down. He lazily looked back up at the Major. “How many highly-trained men do you know of that have been taken out by a random round, mortar, or IED?”
“Too many,” Fish conceded.
Dobson glared back at me. “When that hail of gunfire comes, I don’t care if you’re Fish or Karina, you have a chance of getting hit.”
I bit my lip. I knew that, but my morality didn’t care. Dobson, though, wasn’t done.
“And let’s say, by some miraculous chance, that none of us got hurt, and all hostages made it out alive. What then?” the Major went on. “As horrible as it is, those bastards at the mill are protecting everyone else. You heard Mr. Taylor. They patrol the area, set traps for the Zulus and scabs. How many have we seen since we got here? None.”
“So, that makes it right?” I shot back.
“Right?” Dobson laughed dejectedly. “No! But what is right anymore? I want to help them, Christian, but eliminating the one group that is keeping everyone else here alive doesn’t exactly feel right either. Neither does it make it right to risk your life for a couple of others. Remember, if you die, humanity is probably going to die with you.”
I glared down, attempting to contain myself. It was the same argument I had been hearing for a month, and one which I couldn’t respond to. I started to hate my immunity. I started to hate Dobson for repeatedly throwing it in my face. I took a moment to look at everyone in the room.
Doctor Tripp stared at me with concern. I wasn’t sure if she supported me or pitied me. I got the same feeling from Preacher
who was standing next to the Doctor. His mouth were locked in a frown while his eyes refused to meet anyone else’s.
DJ didn’t mask his frustration. His brow was furrowed as he chewed the inside of his cheek. I knew that leaving his family back at Camp Holly was starting to get to him. He had already made his opinion clear about undue risks.
Enrique, observing the argument from the second floor, was impassive. Jenna was staring at nothing, lost in her own thoughts.
Campbell stood next to Fish on the far side of the CDC bus, near the back of the barn. They were talking in whispers.
Even if Daniel and Pittman were there with us, I knew neither would support me, though for different reasons.
Karina would be the only one, and that would only be because of our bond. It wouldn’t matter anyway, they would blow her off.
“Christian,” Dobson said, his tone softening, “sometimes the right thing isn’t always the right thing. What they’re doing to the Taylor’s daughter is wrong…disgusting, but she is still alive. The Taylors are still alive. The other farmers around here are still alive. That has to count for something.”
I responded, my voice cold, yet non-confrontational. “So we ask them to live on their knees rather than die on their feet.”
DJ stood, seemingly annoyed that the conversation hadn’t ended. “Christian, when you’re dead, you’re not standing. You’re on your back and never getting back up.” He motioned for Enrique to come down from the second level. “Come on, Enrique, let’s fix that truck.”
DJ turned and walked to the barn door, Enrique hopped off the ladder and followed close behind him.
I froze. Standing in the doorway was Mr. Taylor. I had no idea how long he had been standing there. How much he had heard of our argument.
“Excuse me, sir,” DJ grumbled as he and Enrique walked past Richard. The big man headed toward the small shed where the F350 rested.
Richard scanned our faces, briefly resting on mine and then sharply moving to Dobson.
“I understand, Major,” he said after a moment. “I get it. Don’t feel bad. It was a lot to ask. And you’re right, my daughter is still alive…for now. I guess we should be grateful for that.”
The Hunt Chronicles (Volume 3): Crusade Page 9