by Nick Randall
The five of them, including Duncan this time, each laughed again.
“Did you seriously think Duncan is just some coward who felt sorry for you and decided to do the right thing?” Joe asked. “The fact that you fell for the whole thing was just beautiful. It still is beautiful right now! We’ll be talking about this for the rest of our lives!”
The group erupted in laughter again.
“I will say this though, you ran faster and longer than I thought you would,” Joe continued. “For a while, we actually thought we had lost you. So because you’ve made us run after you farther than we wanted to, it pains me to say that’s gonna cost you more than just one finger. Well, it actually doesn’t pain me to say that. But it sure as hell will pain you here soon, and I mean that quite literally.”
Randall’s hands tightened into fists. The anger built up inside of him unlike it ever had before.
“In fact, I think we’ll each take a finger, what do you guys say to that?” Joe asked his group.
Greg, Sara, Spence, and Duncan each answered in the affirmative and laughed again sadistically.
Randall wasn’t about to let them mutilate him. No, he wasn’t just going to ‘not let them.’
It was not an option.
Randall had to make it back to his family fast. He had to know they were all safe and sound. They must be worried sick about him now.
In that moment, Randall decided he would no longer fall victim to this gang. He would no longer be their pet slave. He would no longer let them mock him, beat him, or keep him from seeing his loved ones.
Randall’s eyes immediately began darting about, looking for any possible escape route or weapon he could get his hands on.
He spotted the polymer grip of a pistol in a nylon holster on Sara’s right hip. It looked to be the easiest to access weapon around him.
“Alright, hold him down,” Joe ordered. “He’ll squirm, he’ll cry, and he’ll sure as hell bleed. But there’s nobody here who can help him.”
Spence drew his hatchet. “I said earlier my hatchet has been begging for blood.”
“You can take the first finger then,” said Joe. “Sara, Greg, hold him down real good.”
Sara approached Randall’s left side, and said with a sadistic tone in her wretched voice, “I’m going to enjoy watching you scream for mercy.”
Just then, Randall flung himself completely at Sara, taking her and everybody else by complete surprise.
Randall collided into her and they both went tumbling to the ground. Stunned, Sara couldn’t react as Randall’s hands wasted no time.
His right hand got a grip on the pistol in her holster, a Walther PPQ 9mm, and he yanked it out.
The moment the barrel of the Walther exited the holster, Randall fired three shots in rapid succession.
All three bullets struck Greg in the chest. He looked down at the three bullet holes, becoming more and more bloody by the second, and then tilted his head back up in shock and amazement.
Without a word, he fell to his knees and then face forward into the grass, dead.
“No!” Sara screamed, seeing her lover die literally feet in front of her.
She grabbed a hold of Randall’s wrists and they grappled for the pistol on the ground.
Joe drew his Glock and tried to aim to get a clear shot at Randall.
“Don’t shoot, you might hit her!” Spence yelled.
“Rush him then and get the gun!” Joe responded.
He and Spence charged forward and closed in fast.
Randall managed to squeeze the trigger again and the bullet struck Spence in the leg, dropping him and causing him to drop his hatchet.
The slide cycled back when Randall fired the pistol and slashed Sara across the hand, causing her to yelp and release her grip. Randall kicked her away when he looked up to see Joe running in on his position with his Glock aimed at him.
Randall rolled away just in time before Joe fired two shots that struck the dirt right where he had been, and then he fired four more shots in rapid succession. Each one of them struck Joe in the torso and arms, causing him to drop his pistol.
Randall pulled himself to his feet and scanned his surroundings. Joe was standing in front of him, in complete shock that Randall had just shot him four times, but Duncan, Sara, and Spence were nowhere to be seen in the tall grass.
Keeping a firm two handed grip on the pistol, Randall slowly started to back up. He kept one eye on Joe, just standing there in complete disbelief, and another eye darting left and right for any sign of movement.
Suddenly, Randall saw Spence burst out of the tall grass in front of him. Though wounded in the leg, he charged Randall in a rage with his hatchet.
Randall fired one shot that struck Spence in the shoulder. The impact from the bullet slowed his speed down but he continued to charge forward, screaming at the top of his lungs.
Randall fired another shot that struck him in the gut, and then another to the chest. Spence stumbled forward and fell dead at Randall’s feet.
Just then, Sara jumped up from behind Randall’s position and tackled him to the ground, sending another shot into the air.
Randall lost his grip on the pistol and it tumbled somewhere into the grass.
Sara gripped Randall around the throat in an attempt to strangle him, but he managed to also grab her around the neck with one hand and then punch her across the face with the other, sending her tumbling aside.
Seizing his opportunity, Randall recovered the Walther and swung around to see Sara in the process of picking herself back up and drawing her knife.
“Don’t try it,” Randall warned, his pistol aimed at her head. “Turn around and run away.”
Sara didn’t even take Randall’s warning into suggestion. With a violent scream she charged Randall again and with one shot she was dead on the ground in front of him.
Randall ejected the now nearly empty magazine on the Walther and recovered the spare mag that he had seen on Sara’s belt to reload.
He then turned around to see that Joe was still standing there in absolute amazement at what Randall had just done. Blood was draining out of his four gaping bullet holes and his entire shirt and jacket were crimson red.
Joe coughed up blood as he managed to say, “Wow. Didn’t see that coming.”
Randall walked up to Joe and put the muzzle of the PPQ to his forehead. He so desperately wanted to pull that trigger right now.
“Do it,” Joe gurgled over more coughed up blood.
Randall shook his head and lowered the pistol.
“No, I’ve already spent four bullets on you,” Randall said. “I don’t think I’ll waste another.”
With that, Randall pushed Joe to the ground with his hand.
Leaving Joe to bleed out and die, Randall spotted and approached Duncan, who was trying to hide in the tall grass.
“Poor hiding spot,” Randall remarked.
Duncan, shaking in fear greatly, put his hands up and slowly rose.
“Please, I don’t have a gun,” Duncan whimpered. “I’m begging you, let me go. All I did was what Joe told me to do. Please, don’t kill me! Please!”
Duncan completely broke down sobbing, his face filled with redness and tears pouring from his eyes.
“Looks like you really are a coward then,” said Randall without an ounce of emotion in his voice.
Randall raised his pistol and aimed it between Duncan’s eyes.
Staring down the 9mm bore of the Walther, Duncan fell to his knees again and covered his face with his hands.
“Please don’t kill me! Please! I’m not like them I swear! I was only with them to stay alive in all this! I’m not like them! I swear I didn’t want to do any harm to you! Please let me live! Please! Please!” he sobbed on and on for over a minute.
Finally, Duncan pulled his face away from his hands to look back up at his conqueror.
But to his surprise, nobody was there. Duncan looked around the clearing, but Randall was nowhere to
be seen.
He had left without a sound.
Chapter Six
Outside Garden City
The Parker family had positioned themselves on a hill overlooking Garden City sprawled out in the valley front of them.
Just as Barry had mentioned earlier, Garden City was hardly a city. It was simply a small town with a neighborhood, a gas station, a couple of small diners, a single grocery store, and a church building.
The sign outside of the town itself read “Welcome To Garden City - Population 164.” Clearly, this was the kind of town where everybody knew everybody.
There were also a few people walking around in the streets, but for the most part everyone was indoors as far as they could tell. Numerous vehicles, incapable of working due to the EMP, littered the streets and dirt parking lots.
“I’ll go in,” Thomas finally broke the silence.
“Just you?” Barry asked.
“Yeah.”
“What about backup?”
“You can watch me through binoculars from up here. If I turn to face this hill and wave both arms, it means come on down. If I only wave one arm, it means turn around and hightail it was far away as you can.”
Thomas checked the load on the Colt Peacemaker revolver that Barry had given him. Once he confirmed it was fully loaded with all 6 shots, he holstered it in his gun belt.
“It’s not a good idea to go alone, Thomas,” said Marcus.
“You and uncle Bruce are in no condition to come with your injuries,” Thomas said back.
“Then bring Jane,” suggested Bruce.
“I still think I should go alone,” Thomas argued. “We can’t risk more lives.”
Barry turned to the rest of the family.
“Who all thinks Jane should go with Thomas?” Barry asked.
Marcus, Bruce, Susan, Angela, Christine, and Claire all raised their hands.
“Then it’s settled,” Barry told Thomas. “Bring Jane with you.”
* * *
Thomas and Jane strode down the highway leading into Garden City, stepping past the welcome sign and into the boundaries of the city.
The rest of the family remained hidden on the hill behind them, watching through binoculars and rifle scopes carefully.
“You armed?” Thomas asked.
“Yeah,” Jane replied, lifting her jacket to reveal the grip of Randall’s Beretta in her waistband.
“Keep it hidden,” Thomas ordered.
Once the two of them had stepped far enough into the town and past the gas station, they began to attract the attention of the citizens who were walking along the sidewalk.
“Who are you?” one of the citizens, an older man in his 60s, asked.
Thomas and Jane stopped.
“Who’s the leader of your town?” Thomas asked.
“That doesn’t answer my question,” the old man snapped back in an abrasive tone.
“We’ll talk to your leader,” Thomas stood his ground. “I take it you must not have visitors often?”
The old man whispered into the ear of an older woman next to him, probably his wife, and she nodded and headed over to the church building.
The old man suspiciously kept his gaze on Thomas and Jane.
“Stay right there,” he told them. “And I don’t want to see your hand touch that six gun you got holstered there either.”
“It won’t so long as you don’t give me a reason to,” Thomas shot back.
The old man could now see that Thomas was not someone to bend over so easily.
The woman returned from the church with a Priest. He was a clean shaven man in his late 40s, with glasses and a receding grey hairline. He was dressed in black clerical clothing that was completely spotless and well-ironed.
“What can I do for you two?” the Priest asked with a friendly smile.
“Are you the leader?” Thomas answered the Priest’s question with a question of his own.
“Well, I’m the man everybody around here comes to for help,” the Priest replied. “So you could say that.”
There was a moment of silence before Thomas went on.
“We need help,” Thomas said, not sure if those are the words he should have used.
“Helping people is what I do best,” the Priest said, his voice still very calm and friendly. “I’m Father Edward Thompson. What can I call you two?”
“Thomas and Jane,” replied Thomas.
“Hello Thomas and Jane,” Father Thompson smiled. “I’m going to assume that there’s more than just the two of you.”
“That would be correct,” Jane entered the conversation.
“I understand the two of you are suspicious,” said Father Thompson. “I would be too, if I were you. But I assure you we are very friendly here in Garden City even though we don’t receive too many visitors. If you and your friends are in need of help, we would be more than happy to assist. It’s the best thing one can do with the way things are now.”
Thomas and Jane looked at one another, surprised that Father Thompson was offering them everything they needed without so much as an argument.
“Two of our members have been shot,” said Thomas. “They need medical attention.”
“We can provide that,” said Father Thompson. “And of course, we can provide food, water, and sanctuary for you all as well. Why don’t you ask the rest of your group on the hill back there to come on down now?”
Thomas and Jane look at each other again. How did Father Thompson know the rest of their family was on the hill?
“Don’t worry,” Father Thompson assured. “Like I said, we are more than willing to help. Our town and everything in it is yours.”
Thomas was still highly suspicious of Father Thompson, but he also knew that they needed food and Marcus and Bruce needed treatment for their gunshot injuries fast.
Reluctantly, he turned to face the hill and waved both arms.
* * *
Dirt Road
Randall was walking along a muddy dirt road, headed north to his family’s cabin. He still had several more hours of walking to go, maybe even over a day in fact, before he would reach it, so he kept himself at a steady pace.
His stomach was growling from hunger and his throat was parched dry, but he didn’t let that stop him. Getting back to his family’s cabin right now was more important than hunting or searching for a stream somewhere.
Suddenly, Randall heard the roaring engine of a vehicle moving up behind him.
Quickly, Randall started to step off the road and into the brush to hide, but he slipped on the mud and fell to his knees.
By the time Randall managed to pull himself to his feet, a green 1980s Ford Bronco was already turning around the corner and the driver was rolling down the window.
“Stop, we see you!” the driver exclaimed over the engine. “Put your hands in the air or we shoot!”
Caught, Randall reluctantly put his hands in the air. The Walther 9mm he took from Sara was concealed under his jacket in his waistband. He was prepared to draw it quickly if need be.
The Bronco came to a halt and the driver shut off the engine.
The driver turned out to be Gale, as he stepped out with three of the Compound’s men. All had pistols holstered on their hips and two of the men had AK-47s.
Randall’s heart stopped. Even though he didn’t recognize Gale or any of the other men specifically, judging by the fact that they had a working vehicle he knew they must be with the Compound.
It was then that he noticed what was wrapped around Gale’s waist: his black leather gun belt with his Colt 1911 and KA-BAR knife. It was unmistakable. Randall had owned and used that rig for years and he could instantly identify it as his.
When he saw that, Randall’s heart didn’t just stop. It sank. He had last thrown the gun belt into the Hi-Lux when he had surrendered to Joe and his gang. And now the fact that a member of the Compound was wearing it could only mean bad news.
But to Randall’s relief, he quickly realiz
ed that Gale and his men likely didn’t recognize him either, as Gale said, “Relax, dude. You can put your hands down. What’s your name?”
“Jack,” Randall responded, deciding to use his pen name. “Jack Cobb.”
“Jack?” Gale asked, a little suspicious.