The Storm: War's End, #1

by Christine D. Shuck

  They cried out with piteous yaps when the old man would tie them up and take their mother away with him to go trapping. One of them, the girl pup, had taken a shine to Jess and kept seeking her out, butting her head against Jess’s hand and insisted on following her everywhere. Her liquid brown eyes stared up at Jess and her tongue would frantically lick the air as Jess bent close and stroked the puppy’s soft fur.

  The pup’s fur was brown with patches of white and she had huge, floppy ears that perked up with interest at the smallest sound from Jess. Each morning, the little pup was the first to greet Jess and she howled at night when Old Coop locked her up with the others in the dog run. How Jess wished she could take the pup with her, but it was impossible, they barely had enough food for themselves, much less a growing puppy.

  She met Erin’s gaze and nodded to her friend. They had talked about it the night before. It was time to move on. Cooper had just finished telling a funny joke and Erin’s smile dropped, her face grew serious and her laughter was cut short. She cleared her throat, “We, uh, we need to get back on the road again, Coop.” The old man fell silent, looked at the ground, and said nothing. Erin continued, “We’ve got to go home, y’know, to find out if anyone of our friends or family managed to stay alive.”

  Cooper looked like he was about to object, or try to talk them out of it. He opened his mouth to speak but the words never came out of his throat. He struggled silently for a moment, and tried to collect his thoughts before speaking. It was obvious to both of them how much he had enjoyed having them there and how desperately lonely the old man was.

  When the words did come, his voice sounded rough and strained, “Well a’course y’all gotta go. I knew y’d be headin’ on once y’got some rest in. Y’headin’ out tomorra’?”

  Jess’s throat felt tight. Cooper was a decent man, the first either of them had seen in a long time. He was a little rough around the edges, but deep inside, there rested a good, kind soul. “Yeah, tomorrow.”

  The old man nodded, “Well, y’all need somethin’ better ‘n that rifle and one lonely box of ammo.”

  He got up and ducked into the trailer, rummaged inside a cabinet and returned with several boxes under his arm and sat back down in his weather beaten wood chair. He tossed a box of shells to Erin, they were 22s, a full box of them. Erin grinned like she’d been handed gold. But Cooper wasn’t done yet.

  “Y’all need somethin’ small and easy to conceal like this little lady.” He reached into the box and pulled out a revolver, with inlaid wood in the handle and black steel. He handed it to Jess.

  She ran her hands over it. It wasn’t a new gun, but it had been well cared for. It smelled sharply of cleaning fluid and the wood felt as smooth as silk. He showed her how to pull it apart and pointed out the grip safety on the back strap. She looked up and saw Coop’s eyes steady on her. “Smith and Wesson, Model 40 Centennial. She’s small, easy to hide in your pocket, but I found a holster for her. I used to take my Tiffany target shooting with this little lady. She takes five rounds, and ya got ‘bout 30 rounds of .38s left in that there box. You keep her with you at all times. Keep her loaded. Will ya do that Missie?”

  Jess nodded, unable to speak, reminded suddenly of her dad. This man looked nothing like her dad, but he was a father through and through. You can tell that about some people. They are the people who change irrevocably when parenthood visits them. They never stop caring; never stop seeing their own children in stranger’s faces. She struggled up from the lawn chair, leaned over and hugged the old man, and went inside the trailer. She suddenly felt exhausted and she didn’t trust herself not to cry. She lay down in Tiffany’s frilly pink bed and closed her eyes. Outside she could hear Erin and Coop talking, too quiet to be heard. By the time Erin joined her in bed, Jess was sound asleep.

  Jess and Erin were both up with the dawn. They weren’t surprised to see Old Coop awake as well. And he had already brewed up a large pot of his dwindling stash of coffee and baked some biscuits for them to eat and take on the road. They had packed extra changes of clothes and Erin was sporting hot pants and a crop top with ‘Spoiled Rotten’ spelled out in a rainbow of shiny letters across the front. She had the rifle slung across her back, and Jess had her shiny revolver in a holster strapped to her fatigues. The pups were tied up, the little female crying and lunging at her lead, trying to escape and join the girls. Jess knelt down and hugged the pup close, felt her warm body writhe against her and the dog’s tiny tongue lick her desperately. Somehow the pup knew she was leaving.

  The sun was out and it was time to go. Coop reached out and hugged Erin, “You stay safe now, y’hear me, girlie?” Erin smiled and thanked him and then it was Jess’s turn. He hugged her, then reached out and put a rough, gnarled hand firmly on her rounded belly. She nearly jerked away, but the sad look in his eyes stopped her. “Jessie girl, listen to me now and humor an old man.”

  She stilled and looked back into his eyes. “This baby in you, it ain’t done nothin’. It ain’t asked to be here and it’s as innocent as one of God’s lambs.” Even now, with it so obvious what was happening, she hated to think about it and tried to pull away, but Coop persisted, “I know you think this ain’t what you want. An’ I can’t blame you girl if y’think you hate this creature inside you, but it’s a blessin’ and someday you’ll see it that way.”

  He held her gaze with his and said, “Children’s are blessin’s. They are the gift God gives us to tell us the world ain’t all pain and death and loneliness.” His eyes blurred with tears, “I hold my children in my heart and think of them each day. So you remember what I said when this child comes outta you. Will you remember that Jessie?”

  His features blurred as the tears leaked from her eyes and ran down her face. For that moment she let them fall. She was so damned scared and he knew it, he understood it somehow, and she felt like curling up in his arms and never leaving this quiet place.

  Instead, she nodded tearfully and hugged him, and managed to croak out, “Thanks.” Tears blurring both of their vision, the girls set out along the creek, large new backpacks full of food and supplies slung to their backs. The old man stood there for a long time, long after they had disappeared from sight, before slowly turning away and returning to his lonely, empty home.

  A Good Fit

  “I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.” – Maya Angelou

  Chris pulled the weeds from the raised beds of the kitchen garden and threw them towards the enclosure where the chickens clucked and jockeyed for position. They angled for the larger bits, pecked and squabbled over the choicer pieces. It reminded him painfully of home. Jess had done this for Mom in the family garden back in Belton.

  They might have had a smaller plot of land, not a full-fledged farm with a pond and fields, but chickens are pretty much the same wherever you go. He closed his eyes, remembered her voice as she talked to the chickens, her wavy blond hair tied back in a ponytail and the chickens clucked back at her, bobbing their heads in time as she spoke. What she would say to them, he didn’t know, but the sound of her voice, and the memory of it now, was bittersweet.

  The sun was barely up, the house behind him was quiet, and he savored this moment of solitude. It would be another scorcher today. Already the air was uncomfortably hot and humid. His ankle still ached, but it had been set straight and he hoped it would heal completely given time. He had come down the back stairs too quickly and it had twinged a painful warning until he slowed down. He didn’t have far to go. The raised beds were, after all, right off of the kitchen. Here the curled leaves of lettuce sprang in a dramatic show of greens and reds. The pole beans and green beans were growing well and there was room for more in a half-used bed. The soil was rich and loose, well-composted.

  He thought of his mother, Julie, digging her hands deep into the soil. She would smile and dig, weed, plant and talk about the gardens for hours. How she had loved her gardens! The memory of her smiling face hurt him deep inside. He
imagined his parents’ last moments, as they tried desperately to stop the enemy soldiers from abandoning a group of small children on the road so many miles from home. It was just like her to speak up, to try and stop such a thing from happening, and for Dad to stand beside her no matter the personal cost.

  He had wrung the details out of Allen. It had been hard to hear, harder still though to not know. His friend had looked haunted as he had recounted the Aaronson’s end, as if he thought Chris would hold him responsible somehow or blame him for not interceding. If only he hadn’t have taken that hike and gotten caught up in the first wave, he would have been with them when it all came down. Chris didn’t blame Allen, not at all. Instead he blamed himself. He hadn’t been there when they needed him most. And they had died there, miles from home, alone. They had deserved better than that.

  He sat on the edge of a raised planter and looked over the greenery. Everywhere there was green and life growing. The beans snaked their way up the poles and the peas were fat and heavy, ready for picking. Plump, red strawberries hid under leaves and he picked a few and ate them. They were warm and juicy, the sweet tang bursting on his tongue when he bit into them. The plants were growing fast, but he would need to water today. He’d do that, and ask the old man if there was any more of the bean and squash seeds left to plant since there was still time to get them in and growing.

  As he shifted, his ankle twinged again. He still favored it, but it was getting stronger by the day and his limp was barely noticeable.

  He nearly jumped out of his skin when Carrie’s voice sounded at his ear. It would be a long time before he would be able to react normally. He was still in combat mode, ready to run or fight at the drop of a hat. She patted his shoulder and smiled, “How’s your ankle today?”

  The wonderful scent of her, this combination of sage and wood smoke, washed over him, “I...uh...it’s fine. Damn, but you scared the hell out of me.”

  “I’m sorry,” her emerald-green eyes stared into his, twinkling in amusement. “I didn’t mean to.” She was close, way too close, and Fenton would damn near kill him if he so much as touched her. Of that he was sure. Carrie laid her hand on his cheek.

  Chris was handsome, there was no denying it. Carrie stared at his deep blue eyes. The only imperfections were the scar on his forehead and a slightly bent nose. Both of the wounds had come from those soldiers.

  In a way, it made him more handsome to her eyes. He had a way of looking at her that made her want to get closer. She was used to guys taking the lead with her. She’d done her share of making out, but nothing more. Going all the way was supposed to mean something and she figured she knew who that guy was. Chris seemed to really like her, but he still pulled away and she didn’t know quite how to handle it. It sometimes seemed that he was avoiding being alone with her.

  Chris had to stop this. Carrie was only sixteen and Fenton was protective of both girls. The old man was very, very protective. The two of them had been dancing around each other for weeks. She flirted with him constantly and he struggled with keeping the image of Fenton and his shotgun in the forefront of his memory. The old man wasn’t going to cotton to Chris cozying up to his precious granddaughter. There were limits to a man’s hospitality after all.

  He shook his head at her and gently removed her hand from his cheek. Carrie looked hurt and a little put out, but then she smiled and told hold of his hand, pulling him to his feet. “Come on, I want to show you something. If you think you could handle a little bit of a hike.” His ankle twinged again in protest at the thought of going anywhere. And worse, he wasn’t sure he should be alone with her. It was getting harder and harder to resist the impulse to kiss her. Against his better judgment, he let her pull him along. They walked out past the perimeter of the property, into the trees which quickly became thick woods.

  The going was difficult and several times they stopped so that he could rest a moment. The heat of the morning was radically altered underneath the leafy canopy of trees and there was a cool breeze. “It’s just a little ways further,” Carrie pulled him up and they walked again, slowly edging their way down an embankment and crossing a lively creek. He could see tiny fish darting between the rocks and several dragonflies buzzed by with iridescent green and blue-hued wings. They crossed the creek, squeezed through a stand of trees and stopped in a small clearing. Wildflowers bloomed everywhere and he could see a chimney and the remains, mostly intact, of a small stone house. The roof sagged and it looked as if it had been deserted for a long time.

  The clearing was a paradise of flowers, birds chirping, and the gurgle of the creek behind them. Carrie smiled at Chris, and stepped closer, “Do you like what you see?”

  The scenery melted away, and all Chris could see were beautiful eyes and perfect skin and soft lips. He slipped his hand behind her head, ran his hands through her hair, and kissed her softly. The kiss went on and on, intensifying as her mouth opened to him and their tongues entwined. She pressed herself against him and his other hand slid slowly down her back, finding her shapely buttocks and pulling her up closer. His breathing had quickened and in his mind a war was being fought. Part of him wanted to stop this; because he was sure Fenton would come around the corner at any minute with the shotgun and shoot him dead for touching his precious granddaughter. The other part of him wanted to pull her to the ground, slip off her tight, sexy jeans and drive into her.

  A few long, hot moments later and they had ended up on the ground, her shirt unbuttoned and a white, lacy bra covered her perky young breasts. He took a deep breath and sat up. Carrie looked hurt, “What’s wrong?”

  “Besides the fact that you are beautiful and sexy and I want to do far more than just kiss you?” Chris smiled, “I’m thinking that Fenton has got one damned scary shotgun.”

  Carrie’s eyes lit up at hearing “beautiful and sexy” and looked disappointed at the mention of her grandfather. “Gramps is just being protective. Since our parents died, he’s taken care of us. He doesn’t think of me as a woman.”

  “You’re not a woman, you’re only sixteen,” Chris reminded her gently, “And I’m nearly twenty.”

  “I’ll be seventeen in less than a month, and you’re nineteen not twenty,” she retorted, bristling at his comment. “I know my mind and I’m not some silly little girl.”

  “No, no you’re not.” He kissed her again, long and slow. It was full of promise of things to come. “But I cannot have sex with you, Carrie. Not now. I like you. I like you a lot, damn it. I like your whole family, for that matter. I don’t want to piss off Fenton and I don’t want to rush things with you.” He took her hand, looked down at the ground, “I’ve been thinking. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I want to stay. Here. With all of you Perdue’s.”

  Her eyes sparkled at the next words, “And I’m thinking that I’ve never met anyone I thought smelled as wonderful as you, or who was as smart and funny and beautiful as you. I think that here is a good fit for me. I can help with the stuff Fenton is getting too old to do. We could make this farm work, and not just survive, but be okay here. Better than okay. But if I stay, then I gotta do this right between you and me. I gotta do it like Fenton expects me to and damn well court you and not have sex the first time we go off alone together.”

  She laughed at that. And she knew he was right, even if she didn’t like it. “You really want to stay?”

  “Yeah, I really do.”

  “Okay.”

  They returned to the house with a load of blueberries. The abandoned stone house was the original homestead on the property. The blueberry bushes were bountiful there and had grown wild after they had been left behind. They wrapped the blueberries in Chris’s shirt since they didn’t have a basket. When they returned, Fenton was sitting in a chair on the wide front porch, thoroughly cleaning his shotgun. He looked pissed. Carrie started to say something to her grandfather but Chris handed her the shirt full of blueberries and gave her a small shove towards the house. He limped over to Fenton and sat
down, very aware of his own bare chest and the set look on the old man’s face.

  “Mr. Perdue.” The old man harrumphed and said nothing. “My ankle is healing and, if you want, I can be on my way in a few more days with my thanks for your help and hospitality.”

  Chris took a deep breath, “But I’d like to stay, sir. I think I could be of use here. For one, I could get some of those blueberry bushes dug up and transplanted closer to the house. I know how to take care of chickens, raise vegetables and I can learn the rest. I’ve helped my dad with roofing and construction, and once my ankle is healed I could fix that leak in the barn. If you’d want to keep me on, that is.”

  There was a long silence as the old man digested the offer and oiled the barrel of the shotgun. “I ain’t blind y’know. I seen you two looking at each other. Whatcha plannin’ on doin’ ‘bout that?”

  The shotgun was currently in pieces. Chris figured he was relatively safe, “Sir, I’d like permission to court your granddaughter.”

  If he could have read Fenton Perdue’s mind at the moment he would have known instantly that his words and his attitude were perfect. Fenton was old-fashioned. He’d been raised by his grandparents after his father died in the war and his mother died in childbirth. His grandfather had instilled in him a sense of honor and chivalry that was long dead in the modern world.

  The old man loved his grandchildren more than life itself. When their father had died in the Amtrak bombings just months before Joseph was born, Fenton had insisted the kids and their mother Amy move back to the family farm. She had been a tiny wisp of a woman who had given birth to Joseph three months to the day after they buried her husband. Just a few months later, Fenton had insisted she see a doctor.