by Rose Francis
“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 no where 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 and 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 ok. Weston is better.”
“How good?”
“I always get a deer. Hit a lot more than I miss.”
“Ok, 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 -
The Cayhill’s were led straight through the traps, leaving their scent behind as a trail. They were very careful to have every trap pointed out to them so not to set them off. Carefully they walked through the tangle foot, stepping where the man in front stepped and then through the toe tappers that was 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, they 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 even getting close to the house.
They all spread out behind cover, never 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 he wasn’t the trusting sort, not when their lives were on the line again and he’d just met him.
Everyone checked their weapons and hunkered down to wait. The day grew long, and the heat started to become unbearable when they heard the first of the dogs. They sounded close, and soon they heard the sounds of motors. 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 melted 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 was heard, and the pitiful cries of the dogs. There was cursing and 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 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 Cayhill’s 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 and hidden by the tall grass. Impaled, they made horrible sounds. There were still by Blake’s count, ten or twelve that tried 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. He convulsed and died in his arms and he 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 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 them 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 went 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 slowly 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 and 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 right onto another toe popper and it went off 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 have not 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…?” he could see the fear in the boy’s eyes.
“Shhhh,” he motioned, “Lisa, its 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 and 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. He 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 ok?” 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.
He caught the giant by surprise; he’d been looking towards the dead spuds and Duncan’s voice and had him cold. 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 leader of the raiders 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, to the other.
“You ok, boy?” Duncan gave Weston a steadying hand.
“Yeah, hurts. Vest from work.”
“Greenville Police Department?”
“Volunteer, 2nd 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 Cayhill’s helped as much as they could, but Bobby was wobbly on his feet. Night time 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.”
“Blake, sometimes you have to pray on it,” Sandra said softly.
“Preacher’s daughter,” Blake laughed to himself to their baleful glares. “I was kidding,” and then they busted up laughing at his stricken expression.
“Now I know where she gets it from.”
“Should we ask them tonight?”
“I have one more thing I’d like to clear up before we ask them,” Blake said.
“Oh, what’s that?”
“I see how Bobby is looking at you Sandra, and I know that you can take care of yourself, it’s just that…”
“You scared that he’ll steal me away?” She was smiling wickedly.
“No, it’s just that… Sandra… Pastor Duncan. We’ve talked briefly, and I don’t need a second date. Your daughter is everything that I ever wanted. With your permission, I’d like to…”
“Yes,” he said, smiling.
“Sandra, will you be my wife?” He turned to her, all his love, fears and insecurities shown in his eyes.
She jumped into his arms, kissing him deeply until her father tapped them on the shoulder, breaking the moment.
“Not married yet,” he grumbled and walked upstairs.
Smiling, they both followed him a minute later.
“Was that a yes?”
“You couldn’t tell?”
“My brain sort of exploded.”
They walked out of the stairway hand in hand to see two shocked expressions on Weston and Bobby’s face. Lisa and Duncan were locked in a kiss of their own.
“Uh… Excuse me?” Sandra asked, confused and annoyed. “Not married yet,” she scolded them.
“Besides, we have a lot to talk about, and even more to do,” Blake said, closing the subject, “we have to make plans for the future.”
END
***
Book 2 is now available – get it HERE
About The Author:
Boyd Craven III was born and raised in Michigan, an avid outdoorsman who’s always loved to read and write from a young age. When he isn’t working outside on the farm, or chasing a household of kids, he’s sitting in his Lazy Boy, typing away.
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Email: [email protected]
You can find all of Boyd’s books on:
AMAZON
***
Euphoria/Dysphoria
By Michelle Browne and Nicolas Wilson
Table of Contents:
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
S
IX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY- THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
One
Christine stared at her reflection in the once highly polished steel of the public honeybucket mirror, a rare treat spoiled by the grim task ahead of her. Her likeness wasn’t clear—there were too many scratches—but she could make out more than enough. She tried to memorize each color variation and freckle in her iris, the sole reminders of her family. The more she stared, the more she saw her father, remembered those eyes filled with tears as her brother was handed off for Service. She hated to say goodbye to it, but the color was too dangerous to have, now. If she was recognized, it would defeat the point of lengthening her hair ‘til she blacked out.
She focused her attention so that her ability would work precisely, rather than sending her into a workless week of illness and starvation. A simple color, brown, without that line of green towards the center, contrasting against the current blue. She breathed deeply, and attempted to clear her mind. She refused to take her eyes off the mirror, knowing that if she broke eye contact, she'd lose it. She imagined her own existence as a code to be written, rewritten, then revised. Starting with her eyes.
A shot of hazel forced itself through the blue-gray depths, and she nearly lost her grip on the process as pain shot through her head. The second dash of color hurt less, but by the third, tears were streaming down her face. It hurt like her tattoo. The thick jagged bolt of ink across her left forearm itched at the thought. Though the infection had long since healed, she still remembered the Engineers’ unclean needles, and her neighbor's fear they'd have to take the arm off.