Bloody Eden (Soldiers of New Eden Book 2)

by T. L. Knighton

  The four men sprinted toward the Calvin's, screaming like demons. Ricky walked toward them, slowly. He raised the shotgun to his shoulder just like Jason had shown him a thousand times, and pulled the trigger.

  The shotgun's blast rang louder than most of the sounds flying through the air. The only thing louder was the pained scream of the Arkansas trooper as at least a dozen buckshot pellets penetrated his torso.

  Methodically, Ricky pumped the action and took aim again. Three more times, he repeated the process until all of the attackers were down. A couple were still moving, but writhing in pain, and weren't much of a threat.

  Jason hadn't even gotten a decent sight picture.

  He looked at his son as the younger man turned to look at him. "Prisoners?"

  Still in shock, he nodded.

  Ricky nodded his acknowledgement as he put more shells into the shotgun. "I'll go get the doc."

  "He's got his hands busy. Find a couple of people to carry them to the triage point."

  Ricky laughed. "Might be better if I just finished them now in that case."

  Jason looked at his son quizzically.

  "The last couple we took over there? There's not much left of them now. People are pissed."

  He could understand that.

  Another trooper burst through the trees, about twenty yards from Jason.

  The report from the 9mm pistol blended with the blast from the shotgun, both hitting the man and crumpling him into a pile on the blood-soaked ground. The two men - Jason couldn't look at Ricky as anything but a man now - looked at one another.

  "Where's the militia?"

  "Probably dead. Billy said he sent riders for you and Hector as soon as that attack was over, but it's kept going."

  Jason jerked his head toward the town. "Go. Someone's got to keep people safe. I've got your mom and sister covered." He'd been gone when all this happened. It was time he started trying to keep himself home more.

  Ricky nodded and trotted off, weapon at the ready.

  Chapter 7

  This was a first for Ricky. His father had taught him to shoot as a way to defend the homestead while he was gone, but to take the fight to the enemy? This was definitely a new experience in a week full of them.

  Ricky tried to talk to his father about the first man he'd killed. All he'd said was he was most upset about how he wasn't upset. His father grew up in a world where killing wasn't generally accepted, though self defense was a little different.

  In contrast, Ricky grew up in this world. Here, killing was still unfortunate, but it was also a way of life. He'd seen more dead bodies by his thirteenth birthday than professional morticians before the war had seen during their entire careers. At least, that's the way his father always phrased it. He had a different view of life and death than his dad had grown up with.

  A woman's scream interrupted his ponderings. He changed direction and brought the shotgun up to his arm, keeping the barrel pointed down just like Dad had taught him. The screams came from behind one of the houses.

  Dad had taught him how to go around a corner, swinging out wide and keeping the weapon at the ready. "Slicing the pie", he'd called it. Ricky just called it a smart tactics. Countless times doing it had been repetitive at the time, an annoyance. Now, Ricky did it automatically, his mind already shifted into a special place for this kind of work.

  As he rounded the corner, Marla Monahan lay pinned on her back, several of the blackshirts held her down, one between her legs, struggling with her skirts. A couple yards behind them, Katie Miller stood defiantly, a bloody meat cleaver in her right hand. Several wounded or dead troopers lay near her feet. A half dozen others faced her, knives at the ready. Their guns lay piled next to the house.

  "Come on, you bastards!" Katie screamed. "I've dealt with tougher than you pricks."

  Ricky fought the urge to laugh. Everyone knew what Katie had endured. She'd started learning how not to be a victim again, but she hadn't been home all that long. He liked the attitude though.

  No one had seen him yet. That gave him time. He carefully aimed at the man - no, trooper. Best not to think of them as people. He carefully aimed at the trooper between Marla's legs and fired.

  The trooper's head exploded.

  The element of surprise effectively gone, Ricky aimed at the next and fired. The trooper fell backward, his uniform torn to shreds. He worked the shotgun like a machine, pumping, aiming and firing almost as quickly as a semi-auto. At such a close range, he wasn't going to miss.

  Now free of her attackers, Marla got up and ran. Tears streamed down her face as she sprinted past him.

  Several troopers still partially surrounded Katie, but half of them turned to face the new threat behind them.

  "Afternoon, gentlemen," Ricky said with a mischievous grin. "I don't think the lady's much interested in your attentions."

  The troopers said nothing as they spread out in front of Ricky. There'd been no time to reload the shotgun, so he only had one shot left. Who's the lucky one?

  Ricky wasn't built like his father. Where Jason was at best an average height, Ricky towered over most. Years of farm work had given him big, strong muscles compared to his father's wiry frame.

  As he looked at the three troopers, only one compared to him physically. The trooper in the middle might have been a couple of inches shorter, but easily matched him in weight. Jason smiled at him for an instant before firing. The range was so close, the buckshot never had a chance to spread, all the pellets hitting the trooper square in the face.

  Ricky quickly shifted his attention to the other two. He moved quickly toward his right, slamming the wooden butt of the Mossberg into one trooper's gut, then shifting toward the trooper to the left, slamming the butt of the weapon against his jaw. Years of watching militia butt stroke drills, then copying them with his father when Mom wasn't looking, paid off as the trooper collapsed.

  The trooper recovered, a vicious snarl on his lips. "I'm gonna gut you like a fish, you fucking hick!"

  Ricky smiled. "Bring it."

  The trooper knew his business with a knife. While Ricky wasn't an expert, he'd seen plenty of them at work in his life. This guy was one. However, skill only could take one so far. Ricky had reach.

  The trooper rushed him, trying to negate Ricky's advantage. Ricky was used to that. Smaller men usually tried to rush him in fights. He thrust the shotgun's butt into the other man's face, multiplying his own strength by the trooper's speed.

  The trooper staggered back.

  Ricky wasn't about to give him time to recover. He dropped the shotgun and closed. He grabbed the wrist holding the knife and twisted it, trying to get it out of the trooper's hand.

  No longer stunned, the trooper began to punch at anything he thought would do damage. He guessed right on some as pain shot through Ricky's body as the troopers fist connected with a kidney.

  Ricky held the troopers knife hand in place with one of his own, then slammed his elbow into the trooper's face. He turned his attention back to the knife and twisted again, this time toward the trooper's thumb. The knife tumbled to the ground.

  Ricky slammed his elbow into the trooper's face again, then turned and punch him in the jaw as hard as he could manage.

  The trooper staggered back, his face bleeding.

  "You could always surrender," Ricky offered. The guy was good, and he was getting tired.

  "Fuck you," the trooper growled back.

  "Fair enough."

  Suddenly, the trooper's eyes widened as his face slackened. He then dropped to his knees, staying there for a few moments before flopping forward, a meat cleaver embedded in the back of his head.

  Katie Miller stood behind him. "Got tired of your jawin'," she said with a smile.

  Ricky smiled back, then stood. "Thanks," he said as he began to reload his shotgun, the sounds of fighting still echoing through the town.

  "Any time," she said.

  Ricky turned to walk toward the sounds. After a few steps,
he turned his head. "You coming?"

  Katie smiled as she trotted after him.

  ** ** **

  Jason stood on the porch, rifle at the read. There'd only been a few haphazard "attacks" since Ricky left to go into the town. It wasn't organized in the least.

  Sounds from the town were slower now, more sporadic.

  "Think Ricky will be back soon?" Jess asked from the doorway.

  He nodded.

  "Why did you send him?"

  Jason sighed. He really didn't think now was the best time for an argument, but here it was.

  She preempted him. "I'm not saying it was wrong or anything. I'm just curious."

  He jerked his head toward the dead men in the field. "That's all him there."

  "Really?"

  He nodded. "He's one."

  She cocked her head to the side. "Care to clarify?"

  "He's like my dad was."

  "Still not tracking."

  "How do I explain it? You know those guys who were just fascinated with the military? Had been since they were kids, and even going off to war and seeing it up close didn't turn it off? Just about everyone grows up with someone like that."

  She nodded.

  "The way Dad explained it was there were people drawn to war and conflict. Sure, some of them were bad men who wanted to hurt people, but most weren't. They were warriors to the core. He used to say that there was a switch in each of us, but it was off. From time to time though, God would reach into the womb and flip it on. Used to say people like that were God's insurance policy, a way to make sure there were always experienced warriors ready to do His work."

  "You believe that?"

  He nodded.

  "I guess you're one of those," she stated matter of factly.

  He paused for a moment. "Didn't used to think so. Then the war happened."

  She crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame. "Maybe your switch got flipped a little late?" she asked with a slight smile.

  He shrugged. "Maybe. Who the hell knows?"

  The sound of hooves caught his attention. He readied for the rifle and focused on keeping his breathing steady.

  The first horseman came into sight and Jason relaxed. He often joked about shooting Billy, but never really saw the need most of the time.

  Jason slung the rifle and walked out to meet him.

  "How bad?" Jason asked.

  "Bad," Billy said as he dismounted. "Not as bad is it could have been, but bad enough. About a hundred dead. Twice that wounded."

  "Prisoners?"

  "A few. For the record, Holliman surrendered first. Even killed a couple of his own guys before giving up his gun."

  "We need to keep him safe. I hear folks aren't too keen on keeping these boys alive."

  "We're dealing with it."

  "For the record, Jess had a prisoner before I even got home. He's in the house. Ricky got those over there," he said, pointing toward the tree line. He smiled. "Looks like they don't need me around here for much."

  "Milton?"

  "Nothing, but something's up over there."

  "Oh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Jason filled his friend in on all that had transpired during the visit with Milton.

  "Damn," Billy said. "Connie left? Really?"

  "Yeah. If you believe that, I've got some beachfront property in Kansas for you."

  Billy laughed mirthlessly. "I bet."

  Jason looked around. Sounds from the town now consisted solely of moaning from the wounded and screams of pain. "We need a damage assessment and I need a hard count on how many people are ready to go. We both know the council's going to have some questions."

  Billy nodded.

  "Also, try to send some scouts to their camp. If they're not there, I want to know where these assholes went."

  "Consider it done."

  ** ** **

  The days that followed were as chaotic as the attack had been, only a different kind of chaos. Homes needed to be rebuilt, wounds needed tending to, and plans needed to be made. It was learned quickly that the Hernandez family was missing. A townsman who had been visiting, a younger man named Caleb Jones, had been killed. Caleb had befriended Xander and was playing with the younger man.

  They weren't the only ones missing either. At least fifteen other women were gone, most about the same age as Megan Hernandez, though a couple were younger.

  Despite several days of rebuilding, Jason found himself standing outside of the council. Inside, the council was meeting to determine what, if anything, would be done. Several people had already stopped and asked him what was happening. He didn't have anything to tell them. Their guess was as good as his.

  "Still nothing?" Jason jumped at the sound of his son's voice.

  "Jesus! Don't sneak up on people like that."

  Ricky shrugged. "Usually you're a bit more aware of what's going on around you."

  "Yeah, I guess. I'm a little preoccupied right now."

  "So, I guess that means there's still no news?"

  Jason opened his mouth to answer, but the council building's door opening interrupted him. He turned as the council members filed out. John Mitchell looked at him for a moment and gave a pained smile before turning his gaze back and walking on. Simon was the last one out.

  "So?" Jason asked.

  "We're going."

  "Figured. Who's commanding?" Jason asked. Most folks already knew the answer, and while Jason wasn't thrilled to do it, he also knew his reputation meant he couldn't really say no either. After all, that reputation is why everyone figured he'd be in command. That's why Simon's answer floored him.

  "Daryl McDaniel."

  "What?" Jason felt a confused mixture of relief and anger. He knew Daryl, and he was a nice enough guy. However, "nice" wasn't exactly the kind of criteria you needed to consider when declaring what was essentially war.

  Simon shrugged. "Me and Mitchell wanted you. We got outvoted."

  "Wow. Didn't see that one coming," he said softly, still in shock.

  "Jason, I'm sorry. I really am. Unfortunately, McDaniel's been through the militia commander training, so he was qualified in the eyes of the council and he didn't manage to piss a bunch of them off not that long ago."

  "Damn politics," Jason spat.

  Simon shrugged again. "I know you hate it, but it's just how things work. Did before the war, does even now. We did manage to get you appointed as second in command. You've done rescues before, so they couldn't really say no to you being part of the command structure."

  "If Daryl listens," Jason said. Daryl was a nice guy, but he was stubborn. Hell, for that matter, Jason was too, but this was different.

  "Convince him. That's all you can do." Simon patted his friend on the shoulder before turning and walking off.

  "When are we going?" Ricky said.

  Jason shook his head. "You're not."

  Rick's eyes widened, his mouth falling open.

  "It's not like that," Jason said, knowing where his son's mind had run. He knew that Rick was already figuring that he was simply counting his son as a kid. "I'm getting a bad feeling about this. There might be an attack here after we leave. Get more of the women, whatever. I'd feel a hell of a lot better if you were here to make sure they didn't get a finger on your mother or Allison."

  Ricky seemed to settle down after hearing that. "Still…"

  Jason nodded. "Yeah, I know. It sucks. You did good. Never doubt that, alright?"

  "Hey, Jason?" a voice called from behind him.

  He turned, seeing Daryl McDaniel standing behind him. McDaniel was about Jason's height, but more roundly built, in his homemade overalls with, thinning brown hair and a round, smooth face. While no one was chubby right after the war and the ensuing winter, McDaniel packed on the extra pounds pretty quickly after the skies cleared and the food supply stabilized.

  "I guess you heard?" the other man said.

  Jason nodded. "I'm not sure whether to offer congratulations or condole
nces," he said, forcing a smile as he offered his hand.

  McDaniel shook it. "Yeah, me neither. My wife ain't going to be thrilled, I can tell ya. Still, it's gotta be done."

  He nodded. On that part, at least, he agreed completely. "Yeah. I've got some intel at the office if you want to come by later and take a look." He didn't want to mention that the "intel" was Al Holliman, unsure of whether anyone was listening.

  "Thanks. I'll try and be by."

  Jason nodded. Like it or not, this was his commander and he couldn't make the guy talk to Holliman.

  "How many are we talking there?" Jason asked.

  "Not sure yet, but we can talk about it a little later. Maybe after I look at that intel you've got?"

  Jason nodded, feeling a bit relieved. If McDaniel was going to look at the intel, it made sense to do that and then figure out what to take and who to leave behind.

  "Well, I need to go break the news at home. I'll get with you before we head out, alright?"

  "Sure," Jason said with a slight smile.

  He watched as McDaniel walked off, unsure as to whether the swagger in the man's step was real or imagined.

  ** ** **

  Jason was already home when Jess got back with Allison. The little girl darted for him the moment she made it through the door frame, a cry of "DADDY!" ripping through the air.

  "There's my baby girl!" Jason leaned forward on his chair, his arms outstretched, waiting on the pile of energy barreling toward him.

  Still barely in the house, Jess smiled as she closed the door and walked toward the couch. Allison leapt into Jason's arms. He wrapped them around his daughter and pulled her onto his lap as she excitedly yammered on about her day. Jason nodded and smiled, asking questions from time to time about whatever subject she was talking about at that instant. The subjects flew from one to another in rapid fire succession.

  Jason looked over at Jess, now sitting on the couch, and smiled. Allison wound the onslaught down, kissed him on the cheek, then hopped down and ran to her room.

  "Seems like she had quite the day," he said.

  She nodded. "And you?"