“Was it in spots?”
“No. It just-“ he let out a wet burp that almost sounded like he was going to start vomiting again and when his stomach settled, Weston handed him the wet washcloth.
“For your-“ He motioned his hand in a circle around his face.
Bobby tried to nod, but the motion made him queasy all over again. He used the wet cloth to wipe the sweat and dirt from the main part of his face, careful to not touch his ear. He grimaced when Weston pulled out a pair of socks from his pack and approached.
“I hope those are clean.”
“Clean enough,” he joked.
“Why do you carry extra socks?” He knew he was wasting time, but he didn’t feel sturdy enough yet to stand on his own.
“Blisters. All right, get up and let’s see.”
Bobby took his brother’s offered hand and was half pulled to his feet. He held onto a nearby sapling for support and held still until his brother touched his ear with the sock, to staunch the flow of blood. The pain shot through the dizziness, but it didn’t help the queasy feeling in his stomach. Weston watched his brother battle to keep the rest of his breakfast down and then finally steady himself.
“You okay?” Weston asked him, letting his brother hold pressure on the ear now.
“I think so. I need to change,” he looked down at his shirt.
“Don’t worry about that, let’s get you safe, then we’ll go after them.”
“For what? Being hungry?”
“They stole your stuff, and they could have killed you bro,” but his brother was slumping sideways and Weston had to move quickly to catch him before he hit the ground out cold. “Shit.”
+++++
Duncan heard the first shot, and when none repeated, he went back to studying the foliage around the lane. The Cayhill boys had been talking about some fresh meat, and something to throw on the smoker, so he figured they had gotten lucky. The twin looking kids from yesterday had him shook up and he didn’t know what it was about them, so instead of staying stationary, he started patrolling the area around the lane in a semi circle, making it wider and wider. He was unsettled by how close they got, and how unafraid they seemed to be. He pondered this as he looked for any signs of others until he heard the shots.
First shot, and he counted off. At the five second mark, another shot. After what felt like a long wait, but was only another five seconds, a third shot rang out. Duncan looked around him and broke cover. The big pastor started hustling up the lane and through the traps in record speed. The timing of those shots was something universally taught to hunter safety kids. It meant help. With no other gunshots, he assumed someone got hurt, and was hurrying as fast as his old out of shape body would let him.
Lisa saw him as he made it out of the tree line and into the main portion of the field leading up to the homestead. She sometimes had to bite her tongue about being left alone at the house, or in this situation. She was supposed to wait for one of them men to come get her. She understood why, but by the sound of the shots, it was one of her sons. She prayed everyone was okay while she loaded magazines for an old Beretta 9 mm. into her back pocket and racked the slide to make sure she had a live round in it.
Years ago, she’d shoot with her late husband, and luck would have it that one of the guns the last set of raiders had been carrying was one of her favorites. She debated on taking a rifle with her, but just put on the safety of the pistol and tucked it in her back waistband and hurried to the hillside, staying in sight of the house, but closer to where she heard the shots from. Off in the distance, she heard two quads fire up and she couldn’t help but cross her fingers and hope that it was the Jacksons breaking off their honeymoon early, and not another set of raiders.
Relief swept through her body when she saw Duncan red faced and running up the hill at speed, his camo doing little to hide the bulk of the big man.
“Get one of the quads,” he shouted to her when he was close enough for her to hear and she bolted to the barn.
There were five quads at the homestead thanks to the first set of raiders donating three to the cause. The other two were still unfired and they hadn’t wanted to waste the precious fuel it took to run them. Lisa studied the controls for a minute, and then turned the key. She forgot to choke it, so she fixed that and tried it and it fired right up. Luckily, it was an old Honda Four-Trax, an automatic transmission four wheel drive. Not much for speed compared to the other two, but big enough to carry her and Duncan.
She tore out of the barn, her hair blowing out behind her in streamers. Within seconds she was able to cross the large patch of grass between her and Duncan and she put it in neutral and hopped off, letting the more experienced driver on.
“Hurry,” she urged, “I think it was one of my boys.”
“Don’t worry. Hold on,” he shouted as she tried to hold onto his waist.
They raced up the hill as fast as the machine would let them and after a few minutes they saw the two quads that Blake and Sandra used, parked at the side of the woods on the Northeast corner of the property. They parked next to the others and Duncan hit the horn on the quads handle, and then shut it down next to a dressed carcass of a deer.
“Back here,” they heard Blake shout.
Lisa tried to run ahead, but Duncan held her back with a gentle hand and they walked together. She couldn’t help but let out a sob when she saw her son’s blood covered face, the unaffected skin purpling from a bruise.
“Bobby, are you okay?” She asked him, noting that he was wobbly on his feet.
“Yeah Mom, ‘tis just a flesh wound,” he smiled wanly at her and tilted his head down and threw up.
“He’s got a good concussion. We need to get him back to the house,” Weston told them, handing Blake the rifle he had and put his brother’s arm around his shoulders to help him walk it out.
The trip to the trail head was a somber one, the group pausing for Bobby to vomit. Blake pulled the snares as they came out. He’d noted the dressed deer from earlier and realized that not only had the two been eager to learn, but they had a natural talent for placement. That alone would get them in the meat far more than having a perfect looking snare. He did wonder about Bobby’s injury. Weston had been tight lipped about it, but once everyone got back to the cabin they would discuss it.
“Who did this to you, baby?” Lisa asked him, the tears drying off her face.
“That boy and girl from yesterday. Mom, did I tell you she has the most amazing eyes ever?” Bobby babbled.
“He’s scrambled,” Weston said curtly, before getting on the bigger Honda 4-Trax.
They had Bobby slide on next, and then Lisa. She was almost sitting on the rear luggage rack, but was able to get in there and put her arms around Bobby. They’d quickly decided that because of size and weight, it had to be one of the girls, and Lisa immediately jumped on, not wanting her son to pass out and slide off as they climbed down the hill.
Duncan took the other quad and Blake and Sandra doubled up and they made the slow journey back to the homestead.
Chapter 8 -
Bobby kept slipping in and out of consciousness as the night went on. They laid clean towels behind his head and propped him up in the recliner in the main living room, and put the feet up so he wouldn’t roll out. Lisa promised to stay by his side and make sure he didn’t choke on his vomit, but they had to clean out the wound first. When he slipped into unconsciousness or sleep, Sandra shushed Lisa’s protests and started cleaning out the ear.
The face wasn’t much more than some scrapes and bruises, but in the ear, she cleaned the puncture out with precision. She’d taken a water spray bottle and turned the nozzle into a stream and filled it with half a bottle hydrogen peroxide. It was one of the many odd bits they’d found from the contents of the storage auction. She gently sprayed the ear down, wiping away the blood until the dried edges could be wiped clean. With a pair of tweezers she removed bits of wood and bark that had punched through the cartilage.
“Yeah?” Blake answered as both men broke off their conversation and approached the recliner.
Neither of them looked happy, and Duncan looked a bit pale.
“Do either of you have something we can stitch his ear up with?”
“How bad is it?” Duncan leaned closer to examine the unconscious man’s ear.
“Hole. Looks like somebody brained him with a tree branch.”
Duncan cursed softly, but Lisa made soft murmurs while she sat on the floor beside her son.
“No, I don’t have anything like that. I do have some super glue though.”
“That will work.”
“I think I brought it in from the camper as I was moving my stuff inside here. Let me go look.”
“Super glue?” Lisa asked horrified.
“Yeah, it’s almost the same thing as Dermabond. Super glue stinks worse and stings like hell, but he’s out cold. He won’t feel it.”
“What kind of witch doctoring is this?” Weston asked, coming to join the conversation.
“They are going to superglue your brother’s ear closed.”
“Oh that. Yeah, I’ve used that on cuts a few times.”
“What? What do you mean-“
Her words cut off as the tube was produced. With expert hands, she pushed the flaps together to form a whole section of flesh in the upper part of his ear, and using a gloved finger on the back of the hole to support it, started closing the wound.
“What if she didn’t get it all cleaned out?” Lisa was frantic.
“My first aid training went a little beyond the basics,” Sandra’s smile was meant to comfort Lisa, but she was overloaded and Lisa just nodded.
In no time at all, the ear was glued shut. They discussed whether or not they should wake up Bobby, but in the end didn’t. They would just have to watch him.
“There’s something that’s really bothering me,” Blake said after they all washed up and cleaned around the armchair.
“What’s that, Hon?” Sandra put her arms around her husband, her face glowing with the contact.
“How did these two get behind us? I mean, they must have cut out through the woods and come up on the Northeast edge of the property. The other thing… How many more of them are there, or were they alone?”
“I was worried about that, too,” Sandra admitted, “worried that it was a diversion to get all of us out of the house so the homestead could be taken.”
“That’s a cheerful thought. What if it was just a simple honey trap?” Duncan asked.
“What’s that?” Lisa said, moving closer to Duncan, wanting the same comfort he saw Sandra and Blake sharing.
He pulled her close with one beefy arm, but let it hang there, his fingers gently rubbing her arm.
“Using a girl as bait, and then…”
“Sort of like what happened,” Weston finished.
“Do we dare sleep tonight?” Blake asked everyone.
“I wouldn’t, Hon, we should set up watches all around. By Duncan’s description, these kids were well fed and clean. I hate to say it, but that sounds like they have some sort of backup, or are being used for a trap, like Daddy said.”
“I’ll be honest kids, that run up the hill tired me out. Would somebody else grab the watch by the lane?”
“I’ll get it,” Weston said.
“I’m going to poke around in the woods by where they came from. Maybe follow their back trail.” Blake announced.
“I’ll head out to go-“ Sandra was starting to say, but Blake stopped her.
“Hon, I need you to stay here with Bobby and Lisa.”
She turned on him, a look of anger on her face. Blake saw his wife was furious at him.
“What?” He asked her.
“You’re leaving me behind because I’m a woman?”
The question rocked him. He hadn’t meant anything of the kind and told her so.
“You’re the one with the most current first aid, and you can take care of yourself and then some. I’m not asking you to stay back here because you’re a woman, or my wife. I’m asking you because you’re the best one for the job. If somebody were to try to take this place…”
“Okay, sorry. I thought it was some macho crap you were trying to pull,” she looked at him, her expression softened.
“If they can come from us on the east side, they can find their way to the west. I’m going up to the barn and see if I can find a spot up top, one that’s got a good view.”
“Good thinking. Lisa, you going to be okay?”
“I’ve got to watch over my boy. If you could leave me a bucket in case he isn’t done throwing up…”
“I’ve got stacks of them in the basement. We’ll wash it out later if needs be.”
With a hug and a kiss, Blake and Sandra separated their embrace. Weston, Blake and Duncan loaded up with guns, magazines, water and headed out.
++++
Duncan’s run up the hill had him worried. His chest was feeling funny, and he’d lost all his medication in the fire that consumed much of the countryside south of the highway. He’d honestly forgotten about it completely until his blood pressure surged upwards, making him queasy. When he was out of sight of the others, he pulled his pack off and searched through his small kit of medical supplies until he found a tin of aspirin. He chewed two of the bitter pills up and put things back and went to the barn.
As far as structure that overlooked the house, this would be an ideal spot for raiders to set up shop and pick off anyone who was holed up inside the house. From the second floor, they would have the advantage of seeing most of the valley. The only higher place on the property he found is where he set up Blake and Sandra by the old grain silo, but that was too far off.
He set his pack down inside the darkness of the barn and thought about things. What if the kids really were bait? Were they already under observation? He decided to look through the barn and grabbed a kerosene lantern instead of his flashlight, knowing the softer light from the flame wouldn’t carry far. He lit it and quietly surveyed everything.
The lantern cast long shadows, and Duncan slowly crept through the structure, a pistol in his hand, the lantern in the other. When he felt secure, he headed to the corner where the smoker sat, and the doorway to the root cellar. He descended the stair slowly, memories of the gunfight that happened down here threatening to overtake him.
He’d taken lives before, plenty in the war. Some he felt bad about, others he didn’t. His teachings in the Bible only made things more confusing at times, but no matter how guilty he made himself feel, he didn’t feel bad about killing the man that had taken Lisa and Bobby. With a second knock on the head in such a short time period, Duncan was worried about Bobby. The kid should have come awake with all the fuss and his ear getting cleaned out, but he hadn’t. He made a mental note to talk to his daughter later and pushed open the door to the root cellar.
He held the lantern up high to reduce the shadow and searched the room from head to toe. Potatoes, carrots, apples and an area that one of the boys was starting to clean out. They wanted to move things around so they could start to store their canned goods and maybe move some of the cases of food down here and free up space in the house. He set the lantern down a moment to massage the sore spot on the left side of his chest. A tight band of pain squeezed his chest momentarily and his fingers holding the pistol went limp and he dropped it.
For a moment, he put both hands on the shelf to hold himself up, and prayed. If this was going to be a heart attack that was going to take him, he wanted to see his daughter one more time. After a few moments the band of pain started to dissipate, and his breathing came easier. He leaned over the empty potato bin and caught his breath, looking down the back side where his gun had fallen. No matter how far he reached down, he couldn’t reach the gun. With a grunt he stood up and wiped the sweat off his brow.
“This sucks,” he muttered to no one.
The entire bin was em
pty, but it was eight foot long and three feet deep. He knew it was going to be heavy, but when he pulled on one side it moved. This surprised him and he knelt down and peered under the bin. Old castors replaced the feet that were closest to the outside wall and he pulled some more until the whole section was 90 degrees from where it had started. A clever set of hinges were exposed on the back side where the two bins were pushed together. Forgotten was the job of making sure the barn was secure, he felt a bolt of exhilaration and examined the wall behind it. Like the rest of the root cellar, the wall here was covered with rough sawn wood in various lengths. It was untreated and unremarkable except for a peg that was sticking out about three inches near the floor.
Duncan pulled, twisted and finally pushed the peg in and that section of the wall slowly shifted and swung away from Duncan and back from the floor. His heart rate was slowly climbing back up to dangerous levels, but he grabbed the lantern and then went back to the wall and gently pushed. A dark opening awaited his outstretched hand.
+++++
Blake was moving through the woods as silently as he could. He’d put on some of his best camo and had traded out his deer rifle for an AR-15 with some extra magazines. The gun was lighter, the magazines held more ammunition and even the ammo weighed less. That all meant he could load more firepower into an unknown situation. He wasn’t sure if the smaller NATO round would drop a big boar hog, but he knew it’d work on humans. He held the gun out in front of him at the ready and went to the gut pile where Weston had surprised him with a deer he’d snared.
He considered using a light, knowing he’d miss a lot less sign, but knew the illumination would give him away long before he could get close to the kids he was tracking. By moonlight alone, he was easily able to find his way back to the third snare set where Bobby was clubbed. The blood on the leaves and brush low to the ground looked black in the silvery light, and he visually found the tree he marked earlier and started walking towards it slowly.
Ashes of the World: A Post-Apocalyptic Story (The World Burns Book 2) Page 5