A Powerless World | Book 3 | Defend The Homestead

by Hunt, Jack

  She waited for a response.

  “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

  “How long did you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That your daughter was pregnant.”

  “No. She wasn’t. You’re mistaken.”

  “Hmm. Strange, as the deputy was pretty clear about what the coroner discovered. That girl didn’t look it, but she was pregnant. And there is one thing that a daughter will always do first when she finds out. Tell her parents.”

  He narrowed his eyes, and through gritted teeth replied, “This conversation is over, now I suggest we either get back to discussing current matters or we end this now.”

  “Skye wanted to keep that baby but you didn’t want it. She was going to tell Colby that night, the night they would leave. I know she was because he told me she had something big to tell him. He didn’t know. But you did.”

  Ryland laughed. He picked up his glass of wine and crossed the room to the table. “I have to admit, Martha, you really are the one that wears the pants in the family. You know, all this time I thought Bruce was the brains behind your family but it’s you.”

  Just as he was about to sit down, Martha cocked a gun and he froze.

  Slowly he turned to see Martha aiming the revolver at him.

  He chuckled. “So is that how it’s going to be? Huh?” He stared at her. “What? You want me to admit that I knew she was pregnant? Okay. I knew. She told me. And I told her to have an abortion.”

  “She was pregnant.”

  “Yeah, and that child would have been an abomination and you know it. Don’t you tell me that it would have been any different had the tables been turned and she was your daughter.”

  “If she was, I wouldn’t have let her die for it.”

  He tossed his glass and it smashed. “You think I wanted her to die? She was my only daughter.”

  “You were about to lose her to Colby. In your eyes that was as bad as death. Your family was about to learn and suffer the humiliation of knowing she was carrying Colby’s child.”

  He stared back at her, disgusted by her self-righteousness.

  Martha continued. “That’s why Nancy came to us. You wanted us to find out that Skye had been pulled in. You knew what we would do if we found out that she was about to rat on Colby. You knew I wouldn’t let that happen. But she never said anything. She wouldn’t. She loved him more than she loved her own father.” Martha paused. “Tell me, Ryland, how do you sleep at night knowing you let your daughter die?”

  “Better dead than with your son.”

  She snorted, shaking her head. He raised both hands out to his sides. “Go on. Shoot. Do it. But you know deep down if the boot was on the other foot you would have done the same. Stricklands and Rikers were never meant to…”

  She squeezed the trigger and a round hit him in the chest.

  His eyes bulged as he staggered back, butting up against the table. He could barely catch a breath. Agonizing pain flooded through him, blood bloomed behind his shirt.

  “You talk too much. You think we’re the same. We’re not.”

  She fired another round and this one hit him in the gut. He curled over, legs buckling, falling to his knees. “You forced my hand. You pitted my own son against me.”

  “Oh, screw you.”

  “I might not like your kin, but I would have never done what you did.”

  “And yet you did,” he spat at her, gripping his stomach, feeling the life leaving his body. “Save your self-righteous bull crap for someone who cares.”

  “I cared. Colby cared. Skye cared.”

  “Go ahead, it doesn’t matter. You have started a war.”

  Martha crouched in front of him, her head cocking to one side.

  “No, Ryland. You did.”

  She brought up the barrel to the front of his head. He didn’t fight her. In many ways she was right. He’d brought this upon himself, upon his family.

  He never heard the final shot.

  Chapter One

  Trinity County, California

  Over a month since the event

  The machete-wielding lunatic had a crazed look in his eye.

  Lincoln thrashed around on the ground screaming, his left forearm hacked off. Jessie turned abruptly and shot the monstrosity of a man twice in the chest with a Beretta APX just as he was about to inflict further damage. The attack was sudden and as startling as the hell they found themselves in. It had happened so fast. One minute they were sifting through disarray, the next in the thick of an attack.

  They didn’t hear or see him.

  There was no rhyme or reason to it either.

  They hadn’t broken in. The door was left wide open and the shelves were almost bare. Either the man was psychotic to begin with, afraid or he’d mistaken Lincoln for someone else. Jessie and his three brothers had arrived in Trinity County with a single purpose that morning — to collect medicine, antibiotics, and peritoneal dialysis supplies from Weaverville for those dealing with kidney disease. The dialysis center in Eureka needed them and their mother figured what better way to show fake support for Dan Wilder than to show up with items that not even the militia had collected.

  It should have been a simple run.

  Now he wished they hadn’t agreed.

  Blood spurted out of his arm, fast, pooling around his body. Panic was taking over. “What do we do? What do we do?” Zeke shouted as he frantically removed his shirt to create a tourniquet around the stump. It wouldn’t be enough. Lincoln couldn’t form words. His skin had gone pale. He looked as if he might pass out at any minute.

  “I saw signs for a clinic, not far from here,” Dylan replied.

  “There’s no time. We need to cauterize that wound now or he’ll bleed out before we get there,” Jessie said. His heart drummed in his chest. Sweat trickled down his back. They were inside Bayley’s Lumber and Hardware Store. It was one of the first stores they saw on their way into Hayfork, a small rural community. They hadn’t planned on stopping as the only other dialysis center near Humboldt was to be found in Weaverville, thirty miles away, but Dylan needed to use the washroom. Jessie had told him to hold it, Zeke had told him to go in the woods, but old habits die hard and the guy was a stickler for privacy. Besides, he said they might find something they could use while he was busy taking a dump.

  Jessie had searched the store, his mind tried to recall what he was looking for but he couldn’t even say it. He stumbled over the words. All he could think about was what would happen if his brother died. “A propane torch,” he blurted out. He and Dylan went down the aisles, while Zeke ran into the storage area at the rear of the store to sift through boxes. Had this been a grocery store, he was sure that every item would have been gone as after a month, supplies were at an all-time low. They’d been bought, stolen, or confiscated by each town to distribute. “You found anything?” Jessie yelled.

  Zeke burst out of the rear. “I’ve got one. I’ve got it.”

  Jessie pulled out a lighter on his way around the aisle. He scooped up the machete. Zeke handed off the propane torch to him and he dropped and turned on the knob, ignited the lighter and a blue flame burst to life. There was no protesting by Lincoln. He was a tough one. He knew this needed to be done. “This will hurt like a mother — bite on this.” Dylan inserted his leather wallet into his teeth and through tears of agony he clamped down. Dylan took his hand and held it while Zeke removed the shirt from the bloody stump and placed both hands on the upper portion of the arm to hold it.

  Jessie took the machete, wiped it down, and then began to heat it. Bringing the torch to his wound would have cooked his skin, he needed it to melt but under pressure. Once the machete was glowing red, Jessie gave one last glance at Lincoln. He looked terrified but gave a nod to go ahead. Jessie brought one side of the searing hot machete on his arm. It hissed loudly. Steam rose. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air. Lincoln screamed from behind the leather and instantly passed out. Jessie did i
t again, though now there was no reaction from Lincoln. He lay there, unconscious, unaware as Jessie quickly stemmed the flow of blood and prevented further blood loss. It wasn’t ideal but between that and him bleeding out, it was the best he could think of at the moment.

  As soon as it was done, Jessie collapsed, leaning back against the aisle shelving, staring at his brother, breathing hard. His eyes ticked to Dylan and Zeke who were doing the same. The attacker had caught them all off guard. They hadn’t seen anyone in town. They figured the place had been evacuated or people were holed up in their homes. “What now?” Zeke asked, looking at him.

  “Now we find a doctor, he’s lost a lot of blood.”

  “No, I meant about the dialysis supplies.”

  “Screw what she wanted. We handle this first. Besides, all she’s trying to do is play more of her mind games.”

  “She wants to help,” Dylan said. He ran a hand over his beard.

  “Man, you can’t be that naïve, can you?”

  “Watch it.”

  “Hey, I’m just calling it what it is. You saw her face when the militia arrived. She wanted to burn all the supplies and make life hell for the people. But now she’s had a change of heart? Become Mother Teresa? C’mon! See it for what it is. Another move on the chessboard.”

  “Well, either way. It would help those people.”

  “Those people will die regardless. Many have. A few supplies aren’t going to last long. The fact is there aren’t enough generators, there’s hardly any gas left and it requires clean water to prepare the concentrates and dialysate. We need to bring in water tankers, more working generators, and supplies.” He looked at Lincoln. “The sick will die, many of the elderly already have.”

  “Now you sound like her,” Dylan said.

  He was right. One moment she wanted to help, the next to burn everything to the ground. He couldn’t figure out what her end game was. He’d told her the best course of action was to retreat into the cabin and leave Eureka and the rest of the town to deal with these matters, but she wouldn’t listen.

  “Help me get him up,” Jessie said, rising and lifting Lincoln’s one good arm. Zeke slipped an arm around him and they dragged him out of the store. Stepping outside, Jessie gawked at the parking lot. “Where are the ATVs? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  They lowered Lincoln. Jessie hurried out to the main road and looked both ways. The street was empty. “Damn it!” he bellowed, lifting both hands to his head and holding them there as he stared off.

  “It was a distraction,” Dylan bellowed.

  “Oh, you think, Dylan?” Jessie said, raising a hand. “Thanks for stating the obvious.”

  “Just saying. I never heard them fire them up.”

  “That’s because they rolled them out of here,” Jessie replied. “They would have started them farther down the street. The question is, which way did they go?”

  “I hardly think that matters now.” Zeke pointed to Lincoln. Jessie hurried back and hoisted him up and they began the trek toward the clinic that was only minutes down the road. He had no idea if someone would be there or not. Trinity County was as rural as could be. Among the many communities scattered throughout the hills and back roads, the largest town only had around four thousand people, the others were far less than that. Weaver, Hayfork, and Lewiston were where people came when they wanted something more than a post office, gas station, restaurant, or school.

  The clinic looked more like a farm, a simple one-story building, a signpost outside, and miles of fields surrounding it.

  They made their way up to the door, and Dylan rattled the handle. It was locked. He peered in through the window and shook his head. “Sonofabitch!” He skirted around the back only to return a moment later, shrugging. “No one’s there.”

  “As expected,” Jessie said. “Give me a hand.”

  Dylan hurried over and took Lincoln while Jessie went up to the front door and used the butt of his rifle to smash the glass. He placed an arm inside and unlocked the door. They dragged Lincoln in and carried him into the back where they lifted him onto a soft bench. Jessie immediately began looking for morphine, or any form of painkiller in the cupboards. They were empty. All of them. Dylan returned from checking out another room but discovered the same. It was empty. The owners had been smart and had taken all the product out. Jessie wanted to yell, punch a wall, go nuclear on someone. The day had gone from bad to worse. First Lincoln, then the ATVs, now this.

  He was beginning to think there was a chance Lincoln could die.

  “Stay here,” Jessie said as he headed out of the room.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see if there is anyone left in this damn town.”

  “Jess.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  He ran out, sweeping his rifle behind his back, and taking out his handgun as he crossed the road and approached the nearest house. It was a country-style one-story structure with a wraparound porch. Blue siding. Black shingles. Two dormer windows.

  From what he could tell, it looked unlived in. The side door was closed. Through the window he noticed white sheets draped over furniture. There were several clunky old cars parked outside along with a couple of ATVs. He hopped up the three steps onto the porch and banged on the door. “Anyone home? Hello!” He went over to another window and peered in, cupping a hand over his eyes. No movement. He hopped over the porch railing and went around the back but then he heard the sound of a bolt-action rifle shifting into place.

  “Stay right there.”

  The voice was female.

  “I don’t mean any harm.”

  “Lay your weapons down.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “You are hardly in a position to say what you can or can’t do.”

  “Listen, my brother is injured. I’m just trying to find out where the physician has gone. There’s no medicine over there.”

  “Of course there isn’t. It’s to prevent someone like you from breaking in and stealing it.”

  “We weren’t looking to steal.”

  “We?”

  “My brothers.”

  “How many?”

  “Three but one is out cold. We were attacked back at the hardware store.”

  “So you were looking to steal.”

  He sighed. “Look. If you want to squeeze the trigger. Go ahead, lady, I don’t give a shit. I just want to get some help for my brother. Do you know where the physician is?”

  “You’re speaking to her.”

  Jessie slowly turned his head and cast a glance over his shoulder to see an open storm shelter by the side of the house, and a full-figured woman with spiky pink hair, shaved at the sides. She wore a jean shirt, a white V-neck, and cream-colored cargo pants. She had what looked like a Winchester pointed at him.

  “You don’t look like a doctor.”

  “And you don’t look like a criminal so I guess we’re both wrong.”

  He smiled. Keeping his hands raised, he turned.

  “Easy,” she said.

  “Look, I’m going to place my gun in the holster, okay?”

  “Do it slowly. You try anything, I will shoot.”

  He snorted, easing his hand back and inserting it. As soon as it was in, he pointed across the street. “Could you please come and take a look at him?”

  She stared as if weighing the risk.

  “Please. He’s lost a lot of blood. I don’t want him to die.”

  Her eyes drifted then she replied, “What’s the injury?”

  “His forearm was hacked off. I cauterized it as best as I could but…”

  Before he could finish, she bellowed, “Tina, Matthew, come on up here.”

  Two teenagers appeared, the girl was maybe sixteen, blonde, petite; the boy was older, nineteen at a rough guess, muscular. They were both packing guns, a pistol, and an AR-15. “Keep an eye on him while I grab my bag. If he moves. Shoot.”

  “I won’t be moving,” Jessie sai
d to put them at ease.

  She disappeared back into the storm shelter and the two teens watched him intently.

  “So is that your mom?” he asked. They didn’t reply.

  A minute, maybe less, and the doc reappeared holding a large black bag with a strap that she’d slung over her shoulder. “Tina, go down and lock the doors. Matt, come with me.” She motioned for Jessie to lead the way while they kept him under the gun.

  With his back turned, and feeling vulnerable, he tried to keep the conversation flowing. “My name’s Jessie, by the way.”

  “Chloe Jameson,” she replied. “And this is my son.”

  No further words were exchanged as they approached. Chloe stopped at the door for a moment to look at the damage before entering. “Watch my back, Matt.” The kid looked unafraid, confident like he wouldn’t hesitate to squeeze the trigger. Jessie led her into an office at the back and as soon as he entered, Dylan rose from a seat.

  “Jessie? Did you…”

  He stopped short seeing Chloe.

  “These are my brothers,” Jessie said.

  “All of you out,” she said before stepping in. There was a moment of hesitation. Jessie nodded and Dylan and Zeke slid by her. Chloe entered and Matthew watched over the door while she set her bag down and took a look at the arm. “You say someone attacked him?”

  “A guy with a machete.”

  As she unzipped her bag and began pulling out different medical items, she continued to ask questions. “You recall what he looked like?”

  He gave her a rough description. “Big guy. Six foot three, built like a tank with a handlebar mustache.”

  “Ron Whiteman.” She looked at him. “The owner of the hardware store. Is he still alive?”

  There was a pause before he answered her. “No.”

  She nodded but didn’t explain whether or not this was typical behavior from someone she knew. Chloe spent several minutes checking the wound and tending to it before she wanted to know what his blood type was. Jessie reeled it off like it was his own. She raised her eyebrows. “Well isn’t that something,” she said.

  “What?”