Run Like the Wind: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (The SHTF Series Book 3)

by L. L. Akers

  Suddenly, he became the target again.

  18

  Tullymore

  Tucker pushed the wheelbarrow through the quiet neighborhood, heading back toward his house with a large load of dandelions and dandelion roots that he and the kids had picked from a neighboring field. He hadn’t seen a soul outside as they’d re-entered from a short cut through a grown-over back yard. The kids had been released from duty and ran ahead, hoping to get some time to nap before dinner. The entire ‘hood was taking a siesta to beat back the heat, with the exception of the security team who was posted at the entrance.

  The kids weren’t being punished. They’d sworn they’d not been back in the pool, and that none of them had touched a hose. But the food was running out and it had to be replenished. With the stores being cleaned out within days of the grid going down, they had no other choice but to forage and hunt once their supplies ran low. Tucker firmly believed in keeping everyone busy, even the teenagers, from dawn ‘til dusk trying to gather more food; and only allowed a break during the hottest hours of the day.

  Besides, they’d been warned worse was coming. He wanted to be prepared this time, as well as he could be.

  Tucker enjoyed working outside though. He’d always had a blue-collar job before and relished the freedom from a corporate life and a desk he’d always been sure he’d feel chained to. Working with his own two hands outside made him feel alive, even before it was a necessity.

  If food was plenty, he’d take this new lifestyle over the old one. Not much had changed for him, other than he didn’t leave his own neighborhood to work, and now he had an opportunity to spend more time with the kids; even if they complained every minute of it.

  He stopped abruptly at voices coming from Curt’s house, turning his head to see a strange motorcycle in the driveway. The motorcycle was laden with full saddlebags, the flaps pushed up with boxes and cans of food haphazardly jammed in.

  Curt followed an ink-covered man in camo fatigues out the side-door of his garage, and they headed for the motorcycle, both working fast to stuff more food in amongst the already overflowing bags.

  Tucker set the wheelbarrow down and hurried over, surprising them both. “Whoa! What’s going on here? Where’d you get all this food?”

  Curt and the stranger exchanged panicked looks and both pointed at each other. Curt gave a weak laugh, and shook his head. “No… he means…” he trailed off, not finishing his thought, and instead changed the subject. “Tucker, have you met my cousin? This is Nat. He’s National Guard.”

  Surprised at how cordial Curt was being to him, and assuming it could only be due to good news, Tucker wiped his hands on his pants and shook the young man’s hand. “Really? So, what’s happening?”

  Nat’s eyes widened and he looked to Curt as though for permission to answer. Curt shrugged, and flipped over one hand in the air. Nat stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I came to warn Curt—warn all of y’all. Something big is going down.”

  Tucker’s smile melted off his face. He scoffed politely. “We sorta heard that already, but what? Is it bigger than the grid going down? They getting it back up soon? We haven’t heard anything, from anyone—FEMA wouldn’t tell us shit. Did the National Guard send you out here?”

  Nat shook his head. “FEMA? They’ve been here?” He looked around guiltily. “No. I’m on my own. Personal courtesy; Curt is family. The grid’s not coming back up anytime soon, and rumor is that worse is coming. Y’all need to move on out, or they’re gonna move you out.”

  “Move out to where? That summer camp FEMA told us about? Where do we go? And who are ‘they’…FEMA?”

  Nat licked his lips. “Look. I don’t know anything ‘cept I overheard a conversation. Get somewhere safe, quick. Curt can fill you in. I gotta go.” Quickly, he gave Curt a one-armed hug, threw his leg over the motorcycle, and started it up. “Good luck, man,” he said to his cousin as he tore out of the driveway.

  “Wait,” Tucker said, holding up a hand. “Come talk to everyone. Talk to all of us.”

  Nat ignored him, not looking back as he streaked out of the neighborhood.

  “Wait! What are we running from?” Tucker yelled over the scream of the motorcycle, now almost deafening in their newly-quieted world without power. The sound reverberated through the entire neighborhood as the motorcycle tore toward the entrance, disappearing around a corner, bringing people out of their houses.

  Tucker looked at Curt. “What was that all about?”

  “Man, I don’t know.” Curt turned to walk away with a shrug. “Nat always has been a bit off. I’ll see you later.”

  “Wait. Where’d that food come from?”

  Curt kept walking, giving Tucker his back. “It was his.”

  “I saw you carrying it out of your garage.” Tucker hurried past Curt toward the open garage, and Curt tried to stop him, getting shoved back easily, as Tucker beat him to the door. “What the hell, man?” he said as he stood looking at Curt’s Nissan Pathfinder that was parked inside, all the doors wide open.

  Food was stacked up from the seats to the ceiling and filled the cargo space completely up. “Thought your side was running low too? Looks like you have enough here to feed a small army. Why is it in the truck?”

  “It’s not mine,” Curt said loudly, getting in front of Tucker and pushing him back, then shutting the doors behind him, but not before Tucker saw a case marked baby formula. Curt stood looking up at Tucker, a nervous sheen forming on his face. “This isn’t my people’s food...” He paused. “Well, it is, but not—”

  Tucker balled up his fists. “—Thought you said it was his? And if you have all that, why are they asking our side for food and saying they’re hungry all the time? Why is it in the car?”

  “Listen, man. We’re all in trouble here. Let’s not add fuel to the fire. I’m feeding everybody the best I can. You see anyone starving to death? Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  Fire boiled in Tucker’s veins. “Yeah, actually. I have seen someone starve to death, now that you mention it.”

  Curt’s face flamed and he began to back pedal. “The baby formula was just given to me on trade. I was going to take it over right now for that baby.”

  “Too late for that,” Tucker hissed through clenched teeth.

  “No, it’s not. It’s not even dinner time. I’ll take it right now.”

  “I said, too late for that. Sammi died. That was her name. Sammi. And he didn’t bring it on that motorcycle. There’s no way that box would’ve fit into one of those saddlebags. You’re a damn liar, Curt. And a murderer.”

  Curt held his hands up, palms out. “Now hold on just a minute. That baby has been sick since they brought it home. Everybody knows that woman’s milk dried up too soon. It probably wouldn’t have lasted much longer even with the formula.”

  Tucker’s eyes bulged. “It?”

  “She!”

  A vein ticked in Tucker’s neck.

  Curt bit his lip. “Listen. How about you take what you want. You got kids, right? Take whatever you need. But not too much, I have to keep feeding my half of the neighborhood with the rest of it.”

  “You’re trying to buy my silence?”

  Curt waited silently with a look of apprehension.

  Tucker slowly shook his head, staring daggers at Curt. “Not a chance,” he said, and walked back to his wheelbarrow, nearly shaking the ground with the weight of his steps. “I’ll be back.”

  19

  Tullymore

  Jake swiped his forearm across his face, wiping at the sweat. His head pounded in rhythm with his pounding heart. He felt terrible—as usual.

  They’d left Puck and Graysie standing in line at Neva’s house as he and Grayson looked for Tucker. They’d been pointed to the direction of the new graveyard, after hearing the devastating news about Sammi.

  Jake could hardly believe it. He hadn’t known Sarah and her husband well—not as well as Gabby had—but they were his neighbors. He was sorry that the
y hadn’t been able to bring back what Sarah had needed on their one trip to town that had led to bloodshed when the grid first went down. But he’d truly thought Sammi was going to make it after Neva had given them the tip on the rice water.

  He felt bad that he’d missed the funeral, but didn’t regret Gabby missing it… this news would tear her up. She and Sarah had been good friends, and she’d held that baby many times.

  They’d brought Puck so that Neva could check out his finger—or lack of a finger. In addition, Grayson’s toothache had become too much to bear, so they’d risked another trip to Jake’s old neighborhood to see if Neva could provide him too with a different treatment, something more serious than what she’d given him before, but something short of pulling it, which he’d made his mind up wasn’t happening without a real dentist involved.

  Neva had a line of people ahead of them, and not wanting to waste time, they’d left the kids there for her to take a look at Puck first.

  Graysie was going to try to hold a place in line for Grayson too, while they sought out Tucker to talk about Trunk and the gang arriving at the farm and nearly killing them all. They didn’t need to ask who’d sent him. They’d already heard the suspicions when first arriving at Tullymore. Seems the people in his group weren’t that loyal to him by now.

  Grayson wanted to talk to Tucker about what to do about Curt.

  Curt knew too much, and he obviously talked to much, too.

  Jake also had something to talk to Neva about and hoped he’d get a chance, before they left. He had his own demons to bear and they were getting the best of him. He needed help—from someone. And that someone couldn’t be his family.

  He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead again, and could almost feel it re-forming two seconds later as he and Grayson crossed the farthest yard in the neighborhood, and entered the woods where they’d been told Tucker and a few of the guys had gone to check on Sammi’s grave in the spot they’d chosen for a make-shift graveyard. They pushed through the brush and stepped out into the clearing, and then stopped in surprise, looking from Tucker to the boys, then to Kenny and Xander, and finally at Curt who sat crumpled at the base of a tree. “Whoa! What’s going on here?” Jake asked.

  “He did it!” Curt yelled in a garbled voice, pointing at Tucker. “Help me.”

  Curt was on the ground, leaned against a tree with his jaw hanging askew, like a beat-up door with missing hinges. The side of his face had been kicked in, reminding Jake of the long-faced mask from the movie, Scream. His skin was ashen and his eyes unfocused, as though he’d just awoken, and a bright river of red streamed from his nose.

  While the men watched in disgust, Curt awkwardly and painfully spit into one hand, delivering shards of his teeth. He quickly threw them onto the ground in horror.

  Even Grayson cringed. “Damn. He’s broke up worse than a fat kid’s Big Wheel.”

  Tucker had the grace to look abashed, albeit furious. Kenny was fidgeting nervously, but Xander stood defiant, arms crossed. He gave a firm nod when Jake’s eyes fell once again upon him. Tucker’s two boys, Zach and Isaac, dropped their heads and stared at the ground, unsure of how to react. Their father had schooled them all their lives on using martial arts for violence.

  Jake hoped this was justified… or Tucker might just lose the respect of his own kids.

  Grayson stepped over and squatted down in front of Curt, staring at his deformed and bloody face for a long moment. He scratched his short beard, studying the broken man. “Why the long face, bud?”

  Jake rolled his eyes at Grayson’s insensitive—yet funny—remark, and Curt mumbled something incoherent in answer, his hands moving aimlessly through the air, as though he wanted to touch his face, but wouldn’t dare. The pain he was in was clearly excruciating.

  “How’d this happen?” Jake asked.

  “Roundhouse kick,” Tucker muttered.

  Jake looked at Tucker’s feet, clad in steel-toed work boots. He cringed, his mouth pinching his jaw. One look at Curt and he’d known it’d been by Tucker’s hand—or foot in this case. He sighed, impatient. “I meant, why? What’s going on?”

  “That piece of shit was holding out on us. He had baby formula the whole time. Sarah’s baby died. She might’ve lived if he’d given it to us,” Tucker spit out in fury, glaring at Curt.

  Grayson’s eyebrows raised. “This true?” he asked Curt.

  Curt began a red-bubble-filled rampage, his hands slicing the air in fury, punctuating his unintelligible explanation. His finger pointed at Kenny accusingly.

  Kenny and the boys all nodded, and Kenny spoke up, although weakly, as though he didn’t want a part of this. “It’s true. I saw a truck full of food with my own eyes. He had a case of baby formula in there, and a whole lot of other food. Enough to make a big difference around here. He was hoarding it for himself,” he finished, and kicked at the dirt, his eyes pointed down.

  Curt screamed in anguish and spit a slew of unintelligible words at Kenny, still pointing at him, punctuating the air with each garbled word.

  They ignored him.

  Kenny cleared his throat. “Um. He’s also the one who told that gang where you lived, Grayson. Sent them out to your farm when they were looking for your wife and Gabby.”

  Curt attempted to stand, yelling through a mess of blood and seemingly trying to hold his jaw up with one hand, the other pushing up off the ground.

  Grayson kicked his hand out from under him, knocking him back to the ground, and eyeballed Tucker. “Figured it was him. Where’s all the food now?”

  Tucker was furious. “He had it all packed up in a truck, and his wife took off with it when Kenny went to talk to them—guess they were hoarding gas too. She left this deadbeat standing there alone, probably to atone for what he did. Kenny said she didn’t even wave goodbye to him. You gonna try to stop this?”

  It was no secret Grayson and Tucker didn’t see eye to eye on much and squabbled nearly every time they were together. Tucker was expecting a fight from him.

  “No. I stand with you.” Grayson spit on the ground in front of Curt. “This makes him a murderer in these times, and a no-good rat, too. May as well kick leaves over him now anyway. There’s no medical care—not that can fix that jaw. He’d be nothing but trouble from here on out,” Grayson said, and shrugged, and then looked to Jake for his thoughts.

  Jake exchanged a stupefied look with Grayson, who didn’t blink an eye.

  He turned to Tucker, who stood with pursed lips.

  Surely, they didn’t mean it. Maybe Curt was responsible for that baby’s death, but that didn’t make him a murderer. Kicking leaves over someone would make them the murderers. Jake shook his head. “No, Grayson. We ain’t killing somebody.”

  Tucker ran a hand down his face, ending at the now apocalyptic-beard that covered his skin. “Look, Jake. No offense, but you tucked tail and ran from Tullymore. You don’t get to make the decisions if you aren’t living here. You left all that on me. You wanna step in and be the boss, be my guest. I’ll gladly hand it over. But not if you’re gonna hop back into Ruby and haul ass again.”

  Jake could understand his frustration. And he was hearing what Tucker wasn’t saying, too. He and Tucker were friends. He was sure Tucker and Katie were wondering why they hadn’t been invited out to the farm. But it wasn’t Jake’s place to bring more people. It was Grayson’s farm and the majority of the preps that they had left were his, too. “I’m sorry, Tucker. That’s where Gabby’s family is—my family. I had to go, and maybe I have no say-so, but I’m gonna say it anyway. Don’t you guys think killing someone is taking this a bit far?” He looked around the group at all the hardened faces. Even the kids seemed to silently disagree with him.

  Only Kenny seemed unsure, and he wasn’t speaking up—or even looking up.

  Grayson’s ire raised. “That man nearly killed us too, Jake. You heard what Kenny’s wife told us. Penny said Curt sent Trunk and his goons to the farm. If it hadn’t been for Puck, your wife
would be dead; and my daughter. Maybe all of us.”

  Jake absorbed that, his heart clenching again at the thought of losing Gabby, and his eyes going back to Curt’s face, which now showed more panic than pain. Curt shook out a no, emphatically twisting his broken face left to right. The panic on his face told the tale, though. He was the rat. And once a rat, always a rat.

  They shouldn’t show mercy to this guy. He realized that now.

  Jake would prefer a judge and a jury handle it. And maybe they’d need to set something like that up later, if the world didn’t get set back to right. But, in this situation, they’d have to pass sentence themselves. If Curt threw them under the bus to one more bad guy, sending people to the farm, the consequences could be deadly.

  He looked up and met Grayson’s eyes.

  Grayson nodded, seeing agreement in them. “Let’s get this rat killin’ underway,” he said.

  “Nooooo,” Curt warbled pathetically, followed by a rant of unidentified pleading, of which they didn’t understand a word, other than one that sounded like “Kenny!”

  Jake glanced at Kenny to see if he would bend at the man’s pleas for help. Kenny stared at the ground, ignoring him.

  Jake jerked his head toward the path “Let’s go.” He couldn’t let the kids see this. “Everybody but Grayson and Tucker is with me.”

  The boys looked at their dad, morbid curiosity painting their faces. Tucker nodded. “Go with Jake, and don’t breathe a word of this to anyone; especially the women.”

  Jake led the way, with Tucker’s two boys lagging behind him, and Xander and Kenny bringing up the rear. Xander hurried them along with gentle prods, until they all stepped out of the woods, and kept walking.

  Kenny brought up the rear, walking slower than anyone. Stopping a few times, hesitating, and then continuing as though he himself walked the Green Mile.