by Boyd Craven
“Lucy, Matt Junior?” Steve asked him.
“Safe; I made her promise to get him to safety.”
“Who did this?” Angela said standing up.
“I don’t know. They shot from ambush. I just had my pistol, I ran back to my house to get my rifle and when I came back, they were almost all gone. Carried off food and somebody torched the inside. It’s gonna burn down the whole block….”
“You’re ok,” Steve told Matt, “are you hurt anywhere?”
“No,” he said and took a big breath. “I just…”
“You went inside the center, looking for survivors. You’re dehydrated.”
Matthew nodded, and Steve looked at his wife questioningly.
“He smells like gasoline and ashes. His arm has burn blisters. He won’t feel it till the adrenaline wears off. It doesn’t look bad. Not like—”
“Matt!” Matthew screamed and lumbered to his feet.
“Dad!” Matt Junior yelled back.
They both started running and met in the middle, the big man wrapping his son up in his arms.
“What can we do for gunshot wounds like this?” Steve asked.
Angela looked at the people on the ground and didn’t meet her husband’s gaze. “I don’t know, not without an ER. These people aren’t just winged. There’s damage here that I can’t fix.”
Steve was expecting that and nodded.
“Let’s get everyone comfortable.”
“Mom and Dad would be so pissed if they knew we didn’t lock ourselves in,” Amy said from their upstairs bedroom.
“You watch the back windows. In case Uncle Dwight comes through.”
“Uncle Dewey,” Amy insisted.
“Sometimes, it’s ok to grow up a little bit, kiddo,” Amber said, scanning to the south and east windows that made the corner of the bedroom.
“Like deciding not to listen to Mom and Dad?” Amy asked.
“I didn’t think of it before they left. What if this was a distraction to get Mom and Dad out of the house? Remember what people said? They wanted our stuff.”
“Is that why you got one of Dad’s long guns out?”
“Yeah squirt, because pistols are only good for close work. You know that.”
Amy shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, despite the warm air and open windows.
“I don’t see anybody.”
“Keep watching Amy. I left the doors opened all the way to the shelter. The locks are already turned. If we need to, we can pull them shut, locking them behind us if we see somebody coming.”
“If we’re going to run, why did you get a long gun out?” Amy asked.
Busted, Amber stayed silent.
“There’s nothing more we can do here,” Angela said.
“I know, I just…we need to get together and talk about going after—”
“With what, a handful of people? They shot ours from ambush and then a couple dozen people popped up to steal the community’s food before torching the place. We’d be outmanned and outgunned.”
“I know, it’s just...”
“You’re feeling survivor’s guilt, same as Matthew. Running back for his rifle saved his life. Us living so far from the point of contact saved ours,” Angela said as they started walking.
“It didn’t save LINDA!” a grimy and bloody figure said standing up.
Doug Morris was covered in drying and crusting blood, his wife’s form crumpled in front of him, or what they assumed was his wife. She’d taken a shot to the head and chest. Steve let out a small gasp as recognition hit.
“I’m so sorry Doug,” Steve said, grabbing his wife by the arm.
“This is all your fault, Taylor!” Doug shouted.
“Let’s go before I have to do something I’m going to regret,” Steve whispered to Angela who nodded, and she matched his pace when he broke out into a jog.
Doug’s screams and shouts were louder than anything else. They had stayed and helped who they could, gave comfort to those who were close to passing, and prayed for anybody who needed it. They would need to have that meeting, but today was not that day. They weren’t even worried about the community center burning the block anymore. While they held onto an elderly man’s hand who’d been shot in the chest, the roof collapsed into the brickwork of the building. Barring any high winds, it’d burn itself out.
“Mom and Dad are coming,” Amber said.
“Should we stay out or—”
“Naw, let’s go lock ourselves in.”
“Wait, there’s somebody coming through the back gate!”
Amber rushed over and put the AR up to her shoulder and looked through the sight. Dwight’s face popped up in profile and she dropped the gun, “It’s Uncle Dewey!” she said and took off running for the back gate.
“I thought you said it was Uncle Dwight?”
Amber let out an exasperated sound as she raced downstairs.
“It looks like it’s Dwight coming through the back gate,” Steve told Angela.
They both heard the back door open and Amber call out to him. Steve fumbled with the keys and got the door unlocked. Angela almost knocked him over, getting inside. She rushed to the back door to see Dwight standing there, his chest heaving, sweaty.
“I was on the tractor, I didn’t hear it till one of the guys got me…I got here as fast as I—”
“Sit down,” Angela said. “No heart attacks in my house.”
Amber rushed over and took his deer rifle gently and leaned it against the wall as the old farmer slumped onto the couch.
“Mom!” Amy yelled, “You and Daddy…”
“No, hun, it’s not ours,” Angela said, getting a pitcher of water out and stoppering one side of the sink.
“What is happening?” Dwight gasped, color starting to return to his cheeks.
“Somebody attacked the community center. They shot up a bunch of people and set fire to the building,” Steve answered.
“The food?” Amber asked.
“Taken or burned up,” Angela answered.
“Matt, Lucy, Mr. Fitzpatrick?” Amy asked.
“They’re all fine. The fighting was done when we got there. We live too damned far, we should have taken the—”
“I told you, don’t you be borrowing blame when none of it is yours,” Angela chided. “Now, go rinse off as best as you can and then come bring me a bucket of clean water. I want to wash up with warm water. I want you to do it also, we have blood from many sources on us. We need to be—”
“I’ll help,” Amy said, unflappable as ever and pulled at the only clean spot on her Dad’s arm. His elbow.
While Steve went out to clean up some, Angela got a pot out and started trying to light the camp stove when Amber made a shooing motion and did it.
“You’re covered in grodyness. You need to go rinse off with Dad. I can handle this.”
“We’re going to talk about why you girls were out of the shelter…” She saw Amber’s mouth open to complain, but she cut her off. “But not right now. I don’t think your father even noticed. He feels guilty because he got there too late, and he’s kinda creeping me out,” she finished, and turned to Dwight. “Can you talk to him? I explained survivor’s guilt, but he’s still too dazed to listen.”
“I know a thing or three about that,” Dwight said, “but once he gets washed up, he’s gonna need some liquor in him. It’s going to make him easier to persuade.”
Angela nodded and headed out.
“So, alcohol will make my dad feel better?” Amber asked.
“No, but he’ll listen better,” he said, feeling mostly better, “and I’ve been there before. I might have a drop or two to calm my nerves as well.”
“Thank you,” Amber said softly.
“For what?” Dwight asked, his voice hoarse.
“For being a good friend of my dad’s and our family’s,” she said, and turned back to the camp stove and started pouring water into one of the many pots.
Dwight listened, an
d both men became slightly slurred in their speech. At one point, Matthew and Matt stopped out with Lucy, but they all went out on the back porch and let Steve talk to Dwight. Lucy had served, and she’d told Angela in passing that Matthew had gotten over the shock faster than she’d expected.
There was a lot of anger, and more than a few groups of the community who were arming themselves to go after those who attacked them. Nobody could have talked them out of it. More people just sat and stared at the community center, long after the fire burned low and asked anybody who’d listen where they were gonna get their next meal.
Steve though, he talked to Dwight. Vietnam was the anvil that had shaped and forged Dwight into the man he was. He poked and prodded Steve’s feelings. Sometimes they were loud, sometimes they both cried at their perceived failures. Twice, Amber or Angela tried to give them food to eat, but both sandwiches were still sitting untouched.
“…and that’s all you can do,” Dwight said with a slight slur to his words.
“I still feel like I could have done more, should have done more,” Steve told him.
“Eat your damned sandwich, then let’s go rejoin the rest of the party out back.”
“I’m not hungry,” Steve said.
“Yeah, but you’re gonna be hung over if you aren’t. This isn’t my first go-round with the bottle, if you catch my meaning. Just make sure it don’t become a habit.”
“Promise,” Steve said, crossing his heart and then pulled the sandwich made from some of Lucy’s flat bread, some fresh cut greens, homemade mayo made from oil and an egg, and some smoked, shredded rabbit.
Dwight dug in, and his eyes opened up wide. “Damnation, you eat like this all the time?” he asked around his mouthful.
“You know I do, you eat over here half as often as not,” Steve said around his own bite.
“Oh good, you’re finally eating. I was thinking I was going to have to take those for myself,” Amber said, walking in.
“Mine,” Steve told her in a joking tone.
“You want another drink, Dad and Uncle Dewey?”
“No,” both Steve and Dwight said together.
“Well, alrighty then,” Amber said and walked back out with a pitcher of lemonade she took from the counter.
“You know, what you told me about the church…with the rest of the families not showing up…do you think they’re getting hit by the same group?” Dwight asked.
Steve had the folded flatbread sandwich halfway to his mouth and dropped it.
“Oh shit. What if they hit the church?” Steve said starting to stand, his plate and food flying.
“Oh hell no, not tonight. Not now!” Dwight said, putting a hand out and pushing Steve back down onto the couch.
“But… people know some of the food came from—”
“Do they know what church you go to?”
“No, nobody other than Matthew really got to know us around here—”
“So they don’t know where you go to church, they just know it’s not theirs?”
“Yes but—”
“Pick your food up; it’s the apocalypse. Eat up. We can go check on it in the morning.”
“I’d feel better if… wait, you want to come with me?” Steve asked, slow on the uptake from the drinks.
“Why do you think despite having some fun gear like you got, I still carry my old deer gun?”
“You… I dunno. Because it can punch through the body armor these guys wear?”
“No stupid, because it gives the advantage of range. Sure, your AR is basically the same platform I used in ‘Nam, but I spent half the damned war using something a little heavier.”
“Sniper?”
“Everybody has to be good at something. Law of averages,” Dwight said and shoved the rest of his food in his mouth.
“Let’s figure out somebody to watch the farm and I’ll have the ladies here hold down the fort. Maybe we can talk Matthew and Lucy to ride shotgun with us?”
“I’d like one or two more people, but that sounds like a good start. You ready to go outside and see what kinda shape this party is in?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, but in his heart, he was worried.
CHAPTER 31
They saw the smoke long before they were going to drop off Dwight. They had taken Amber’s Jeep, knowing the larger engine and frame built for mudding and climbing gave them more options if they had to get away than Steve’s truck or Angela’s BMW. The rumble of the motor was a big disadvantage, but they felt it was worth it in the event they had to escape in a hurry.
“Aww, shit,” Dwight said from the back, his rifle butt between his feet.
“Oh lord, no,” Angela said.
Steve didn’t say anything. He almost wished Lucy would have come after all, but she was feeling slightly under the weather today and stayed back at the Taylor’s house to watch over the girls.
“You don’t think…” Matthew’s words trailed off.
“No sense in dropping me off, let’s roll in,” Dwight said.
Steve didn’t turn his gaze from the road, but nodded grimly. As soon as the thought had hit yesterday evening, he couldn’t get the cold certainty out of his mind. They pulled into the parking lot and found the smoldering remains of the church. The outside was littered with bodies. Many of them wore camo and a couple wore the black BDUs. As soon as Steve saw that, he jerked the Jeep to a stop and turned off the motor. Everyone exited.
Dwight got out last and stretched, then started walking slowly. Nobody questioned that the old farmer had a point. He started moving differently. Deliberate and slow, his head on a swivel. Without turning back to look, he made a hand motion to his right, pointing and Steve moved more to the right as directed. Matthew was already moving to the left when the signal was given and Angela brought up the rear. All of them carried carbines except for Dwight. All of them had side arms, but they elected to keep the vests at home, to give them more flexibility and space.
“How many?” Angela asked quietly, over the sound of flames still licking at the remains of the wood.
“I see seven down. Looks like buckshot,” Steve said.
“Picked the bodies clean of gear, even the armor by the look of things,” Matthew said, kicking at a corpse wearing all black.
Steve didn’t say anything. He was looking intently at the bodies, trying to pick out James or Mary’s features. So far, all he saw were strangers.
“I wonder if they got out of the church?” Steve asked after a moment.
“Let me make a sweep,” Dwight said. “See if anybody is holed up, ready to pick off first responders. Grab some cover.”
“I smell something other than smoke,” Angela said walking towards the front of the church.
“Wait, it could be a trap,” Dwight told her.
A cry erupted from her mouth and she rushed forward, past the men who suddenly were left in the dust. They followed her to the steps leading up to the church and saw what made her upset. Part of the interior wall that separated the front room from the main portion of the church had collapsed. Sticking out of the smoking rubble was a badly charred set of legs. The shoes were unmistakable, even to Steve. A woman’s flats, a pair they’d seen Mary wear more than once.
“Mary?” Steve asked.
“Yes, it has to be,” she said and tried to walk forward, but was stopped by the heat radiating out of the structure.
She put a hand up to shield her face and tried again, but it was too hot. After a moment, Steve put his arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her back. She tried to pull free at first, but then started sobbing. With tears in his own eyes, Steve pulled her off the concrete steps and back. That’s when he saw a body along the side of the church he hadn’t notice before on their angled approach. They had come in from the left front, but most of the right side of the church had been shielded from their view.
Steve pointed and they started walking. Pastor James lay crumpled on his side, wearing his street clothes. His body looked as if it had be
en used as target practice by a dozen men. An ugly looking shotgun lay discarded at his side.
“Oh god, where’s Joseph?” James asked quietly. “Joseph!” he shouted, making everyone wince.
“Joseph!” Angela echoed herself.
“You two, we don’t have the area clear. Be quiet,” Dwight said and then grunted as they both took off around the church, looking in what windows they could.
Most had been sucked in by the hungry flames, but a couple that was intact were black with smoke residue. Steve smashed those with the butt of his AR and tried to look inside. Matthew hung back, and being much taller, spent more time looking in the windows, mindful not to get too close to what felt like a forge.
“Let’s check the house,” Dwight said after a moment, “they live in the little house behind the church, right?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, and then changed directions.
The house looked as if it too had been used for target practice. The front door was shattered, as a boot print near the handle and the splintered door jamb told the story nobody wanted to hear. Pushing it open, Dwight went in first.
“Shit,” Dwight said.
Steve and Angela’s hearts dropped and they followed him inside.
“I’ll wait out here,” Matthew said and turned to cover their backside.
Steve saw what had made Dwight swear. Blood splattered the back wall of the living room as soon as the front door was opened and bullet holes were evident in the wall. They checked room by room, but other than the front room, that was the only evidence of blood they found. No Joseph. With a heavy heart, Steve walked outside. When they were all out, Dwight took his hat off.
“If that was his momma in the church, chances are….”
“I know,” Steve said, “I was hoping I was wrong.”
“How are we going to tell the girls?” Angela asked.
Steve couldn’t answer her; his eyes were watering too bad.