by Kenny Soward
Sara edged around and peered down through the woods at a low building squatting there. The walls were faded gray and the roof looked partially sunken in.
“That’s the Antler,” Steven said in a hushed tone. “Local watering hole.”
Sara had a direct line of sight to its side and around back where there were some old tables piled up, chairs, and empty beer kegs. Next to the back door, several garbage cans were lined up along the wall followed by a half-dozen cardboard beer cases.
A man wearing a rain poncho sat on the far corner of the building with his back toward them and a rifle laying across his lap. He seemed to be looking at another building off in the distance. Sara assumed the other building was Trailmarker’s Urgent Care, but she couldn’t see the sign from here.
As Sara watched, the man lifted a bottle of whiskey from his lap, put it to his lips, and took a long pull before setting it down again.
She fixed Steven with a pointed look. “These are bad people, right?”
“They’re dumb as all get out, and they’d just as soon kill you as look at you,” Steven confirmed, his eyes like ice. “They already tried to kill your boy, Sara. And they’ll try again if they get the chance.”
She nodded, and her expression turned hard. “What are you going to do?”
“While he’s drinking…” Steven grinned at her and mimicked tossing back a swig from an imaginary whiskey bottle. Then he drew his thumb across his chin in an indication of his intentions. Before Sara could say anything, Steven stood and moved past her down the hill, whispering, “Cover me.”
Sara raised her rifle and looked toward the front of the building to check for anyone coming around. A sudden twinge of anxiety made her glance over her shoulder and then all around at the surrounding woods as the rainwater dripped in the eerie gloom. Her eyes shifted back to Steven and the man sitting in the chair.
Steven placed his rifle on the ground and approached the back door of the establishment with a twelve-inch knife in his hand. As he stepped onto the cement patio, the man shifted in his seat, and Steven stopped cold. Sara let out a little gasp as she trained her rifle on the man’s back. It would be a forty-five-yard shot, so she’d have to squeeze the trigger gently and steadily to have a chance of hitting him.
The man didn’t turn around, instead lifting his whiskey bottle and taking two long swigs.
Steven took the opportunity to advance quickly on the man. He covered the space between them in three long strides, put his left arm under the man’s chin, drew him up, and finished the man with a sweeping motion of the blade from left to right. Sara winced and felt her stomach twist as blood gushed down to merge with the rain puddling at the man’s twitching feet.
The whiskey bottle rolled out of the man’s lap and pitched downward. For a moment, Sara thought it was going to smash on the cement, but it landed on the soft, wet grass without a sound. Steven gently and quietly drew the man back, clutching the man’s rifle to his lap even as he grasped and flailed at Steven’s arm around his throat. The man’s feet kicked out as Steven dragged him over the back of the chair, causing it to fall backward with a woody thud as Steven dragged him toward the back door.
With wide, staring eyes, Sara watched the man’s movements slow until his feet kicked feebly and then stopped. Steven laid the man on the cement, turned, and rolled one of the half-barrel beer kegs on its edge until it was blocking the back door. Grasping the handles of another, Steven stacked it on top of the other quietly, providing a sufficient barrier should anyone try to leave the bar through the back door. Then he went back over to the corner of the bar where the man had been sitting and peeked around it. Satisfied that no one had heard anything, Steven righted the chair, picked up the whiskey bottle, and set it next to one of the legs. For anyone glancing over, it would look like the man had gotten up briefly, maybe to relieve himself or to go back into the bar for more whiskey.
Sara knew the ruse would only buy them so much time.
Steven motioned her to join him where he stood by the back door, so Sara got up and descended the hill, being careful not to slip on the wet grass and fall. Once she reached him, her eyes were drawn to the blood on his hands. Steven saw her looking, so he quickly wiped them on his pants and went to retrieve his rifle.
“We should go around to the front doors.” Sara tried to keep her voice firm even though she felt shaken to her core having just watched a man slit another man’s throat. “If they’re inside drinking, we might be able to lock them in.”
“You read my mind,” Steven said with a grin born of violence.
Sara pushed past him and edged along the wall until they came to the front of the establishment. Peeking around the corner, she noted a pair of double doors with crescent-shaped handles that opened outward. Beyond the establishment was a gravel driveway that curved out of sight and, presumably, up to the urgent care facility.
“You said there were some cars parked in front of the urgent care?” Sara asked.
“On the other side of this building. Can’t see them from here. Three of them. A person in each of the vehicles, and two standing behind the vehicles with rifles and their eyes on Trailmarker’s.”
“That’s five we can see.” Sara bit her lip. “Six if you count the guy you just… How long do you think until they realize he’s missing?”
“I figure they’ll get curious in about ten minutes or less,” Steven said.
Sara’s eyes searched the ground until she found a tree branch as thick as her arm laying in the grass. She stepped away from the building and picked it up, hefting it for Steven before her eyes slid to the crescent-shaped door handles.
Steven nodded, so Sara slid along the front of the building and laced the thick piece of wood into the door handles to bar it shut. Then she stood on the tips of her toes and peered inside the Antler Bar and Grill through a diamond-shaped window set into one of the doors. Three men and one woman sat at the bar while another man appeared to be acting as a bartender. They seemed jovial, given the generous supply of free alcohol; one man patted another man hard on his back, both of them wobbling on their bar stools.
“Idiots.” Steven scoffed and shook his head after peering through the window set into the other door.
Sara moved around him to the corner of the bar and peeked around until she could see the three cars, their occupants, and the two standing guard. All three cars were beat up, mid-sized vehicles, and the one in the middle had its share of bullet holes in the side panel. The two on guard duty leaned over the middle car’s hood with their rifles laying in front of them across the hood. They were talking softly to one another, neither of them so much as glancing over at the back corner of the bar where their friend was missing.
Todd’s, or rather, Frank’s, black Jeep was parked around the side of the building.
Heart racing, Sara slid her radio out of her pocket, pressed the talk button, and spoke softly into it. “Mom to Todd, are you there?”
One of the men leaning on the car perked up, and he lifted a radio from where it had been laying on the hood in front of him to listen in.
“I hear you, Mom,” Todd said, his voice barely audible due to the low volume and a weakness in his tone. “Go ahead.”
“The plan is off,” Sara said with a mischievous streak running through her brain. “I repeat, the plan is off. Too many birds singing. You’ll have to hang tight, son. Maybe we’ll come tomorrow.”
“Roger that, Mom. We’ll hang tight. But these guys are pretty tough, and they want in bad. I don’t think we can hold out for much longer.”
The man holding the radio shook his head and seemed to chuckle, and Sara’s jaw clenched tight to think this man wanted to hurt her son.
“This is Mom, out.”
“Todd, out.”
Sara switched to radio channel twenty-one in hopes that Todd would also switch to their alternate channel. “Are you there, Todd?”
“Yeah, Mom. I’m here,” came Todd’s reply on channel twenty-one.
/>
“Good boy,” Sara said into the radio with great relief. “I’m here with Steven, and he’s right about one thing. These guys are just a bunch of dumb yokels.” She watched the two standing guard at the car hood, and neither of them reacted when Sara flat-out insulted them. Then she continued speaking into the radio. “Okay, they’re not listening. Dion, did you switch channels, too?”
“I’m here, Sara,” Dion’s voice came over the radio.
“Good. Steven and I are standing in front of the Antler. We’ve taken out one guard, and we’ve barred the Antler’s doors. We’re ready when you are.”
Sara glanced over at Steven. He returned a cold grin and then stalked back the way they’d come, moving around to the rear of the building once again.
“Okay, guys,” Sara said into the radio. “Let’s go. Be careful.”
Chapter 3
Sara, Gatlinburg, Tennessee | 8:17 a.m., Thursday
Taking a deep breath, Sara edged her rifle barrel around the corner of the Antler and put her sights on the second of the two locals leaning over the hood. The air was chilly and moist, her breath puffing steadily into the rain, yet her body was on fire with adrenaline.
From Steven’s position behind the Antler, he had a side angle on the locals in the cars while Sara had a clear line of sight from behind. The plan was for Steven to fire first and draw their attention while Sara came down like a hammer. Together, they hoped to finish the people in the cars before the people in the bar could join the fight.
Sara waited patiently, staying calm and collected, the seconds passing like hours. When Steven’s first shot rang out, Sara nearly jumped out of her skin. The man holding the radio dropped like a brick, but Sara’s weapon had jerked from the fright of the first shot, and the other local was able to grab his rifle from the hood, turn it in Steven’s direction, and fire back as they retreated to the end of the line of cars.
The people inside the cars jerked awake and looked around to pinpoint their attackers. Sara fired again, trying to hit the retreating man. The AR-15 bucked and its bullet ripped through the side of the sedan at the end of the line. The retreating man whipped his rifle barrel toward Sara and fired. The bullet hit the brick corner of the Antler and sprayed Sara with sharp chips, causing her to jerk back with a cry.
Sara leaned forward quickly and popped off two more rounds. Unfortunately, the retreating man had gotten around the back of the car and behind cover. She made a frustrated noise each time she fired a round, shattering the car’s rear glass and putting several holes in the sides, yet she was unable to hit the man. Gunfire ripped the gloomy morning as Steven took steady shots at the people in the cars, but they got out and started firing back.
Her stomach twisted with dread, because they’d lost the element of surprise, and soon the tables would turn. Then shouts rang out from Trailmarker’s front entrance as three rifle barrels pointed out from the doors and windows, spitting gunfire. Sara’s heart lifted once more, knowing her son and his friends had joined the fight.
Pounding came from behind her, and Sara turned to see the front doors of the Antler bulging as those inside beat on it to get out. The branch had held the first few who pushed on it, though it was starting to bend and snap. Sara would be dead if they got out.
She stepped away from the front of the building, hoping that the man behind the car had his hands full with Steven and the urgent care folks and wouldn’t shoot her down. She walked backwards, swinging her rifle toward the door, glaring at the enraged faces shouting at her through the diamond-shaped windows. Taking a firing stance, Sara fired steady rounds into the thin wooden door and its diamond-shaped windows. The powerful rounds from her weapon blew in the glass and splintered the door with holes as those inside yowled and screamed in pain.
After twelve rounds, the door finally stopped bulging outward. Sara pulled her empty magazine from the magazine well with shaking hands, dropped it on the ground, and slammed home a new one. She quickly raised the barrel at the doors once more, greeted only with silence.
The sound of tires spinning in gravel reached her ears, and Sara whipped her rifle to her right to see one of the cars go tearing by with two of the local thugs inside. As they reached the end of the driveway, they met Dion sitting in his Subaru. Sara’s friend fired two shots at them as they pulled onto the road and banked left.
Sara turned back toward the urgent care facility and broke into a jog, eyes searching for her son. The cars were steaming with the heat produced by the pounding lead, and the air reeked of oil and antifreeze. Steven emerged from behind Trailmarker’s and gave Sara a nod before moving swiftly to the remaining cars, poking his barrel inside the bloody interiors to ensure the people inside were dead.
Moving around the cars, Sara made a beeline toward the front doors of the urgent care facility. Glass lay everywhere, and among it, blood.
An unarmed woman stepped from the interior of the facility to greet Sara at the door. Of average height and weight, the woman had a head of dark hair with a shock of white at her temples. She wore jeans and a doctor’s smock that had once been white but was now stained with grit and blood. Her green eyes regarded Sara with a grim measure of distrust.
“Are you Sara Walton?”
“I am.” Sara stopped, realizing she still held her rifle. She quickly shouldered the weapon by its strap and held up her hands to show she meant no harm. “I’m here for my son, Todd.”
The woman regarded Sara for a long time before her eyes slid to Steven, who came to stand on Sara’s left. “You brought help, Steven.”
“The cavalry, delivered right to your doorstep,” Steven chuckled and then gave Sara a hard pat on the shoulder.
Sara allowed herself a half-grin as Dion pulled up in the Subaru and got out. “That’s my friend, Dion.” Sara jerked her head in Dion’s direction. “He and his wife, Natasha, have been staying with us up on Pine Bluff Road. He’s okay.”
“Good to meet you, Sara and Dion.” The woman’s eyes moved back and forth between the two as Dion approached. “I’m Doctor Carla Smith, and I own this facility. Those roughnecks showed up last night, shot at a couple of families, then stuck around to give us grief. Your help liberating us is greatly appreciated.” Her attention returned to Steven. “Think you can get some of the Good Folk down here to protect us?”
“Half a dozen men and women are on their way right now,” Steven said, firmly. “And we’ve got supplies for you, too. Found some antibiotics and pain meds over at the medical center. Good Folk are fighting with raiders for possession of all the hospitals east of Sevierville. It’s like a war over there.”
“My son,” Sara said, her eyes imploring Carla. While she respected the doctor and certainly didn’t want to cause any trouble, Sara wasn’t going to stand there all day while her son might be hurt inside.
“Right, Sara,” Carla said, apologetically. Then she gestured for Sara to follow her inside. “He’s in the front conference room. We had to wheel him up from the recovery rooms because he didn’t want to be left out of the fight.
“Why was he in a recovery room?” Sara’s mind spun with worry.
“Three cracked ribs.” Carla led her through a waiting room and took an immediate left down a short hall to what appeared to be consulting areas. “When the raiders came, Todd and his friends tried to run them off. One of them returned the favor by hitting Todd with their car. Luckily, your boy was fast enough to get mostly out of the way.”
Carla opened one of the doors and indicated that Sara should enter. Sara walked past her into a room filled with bullet holes and scattered papers. A desk and several chairs had been pushed to one side, and the window looking out at the front of the facility was busted.
A young woman about Todd’s age was helping him sit down in a chair he’d been kneeling in. He was shirtless, with a thick bandage covering his left side. Clutching the young woman and a handgun with one hand, and his ribcage with the other, Todd sat down. He wore a grimace on his face, although that change
d into a weak grin when he saw his mother.
“Hi, Mom.”
Todd’s expression reminded Sara so much of Jake that her emotions surged tenfold. “That’s all you have to say?” Sara stalked over and put her hands on her hips, seething with love, relief, and worry all rolled into one.
“I love you?” Todd added sheepishly.
Sara stepped forward and started to embrace her son, but when he drew back to protect his ribs, she settled for putting her arm around his neck and planting a motherly kiss on his forehead. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks to you and Steven,” Todd said with an impressed shake of his head. “You’re like Rambo or something.”
“And Dion, too,” Sara added, blushing at the sudden and unexpected compliment from her son. “He has your father’s revolver.”
“The .357?”
“That’s the one.”
“Hey, Todd,” Dion said, waving from the doorway.
“Dion, my man.” Todd smiled up at his friend through a haze of pain.
“Hey, man. You coming home?”
Before Todd could answer, Sara stood and turned to Doctor Smith. “You said he has three cracked ribs?”
“He’ll be fine,” Doctor Smith said. “He just needs some rest and to give his bones about four to six weeks to heal. I’m not going to lie, he’ll feel some discomfort, and I can’t think of a better place for him to recover than at your cabin.”
“Then I’m taking him home,” Sara said with a firm glance back at Todd. “Dion and Steven, can you help get him into the Subaru?”
“I’ll help,” the young woman at Todd’s side said. Something in her tone was insistent enough to make Sara turn and regard her in a new light. She was a tall girl, standing about six feet high, with long chestnut hair and dark eyes, and she seemed to hover near Todd protectively.
“This is Barbara, Mom,” Todd said, making the introduction.
Sara stared at the young woman for another moment before offering her a brief nod. Then she stepped out of the room, gesturing for Doctor Smith to follow as Dion and Barbara went to assist Todd. “We also have another wounded man up at the cabin. There was a list of things we needed—”