As she opened the closet door, peeled up the carpet, and opened the hatch, she reassured herself that he would be okay. Blake would make it back before Tucker would die in there. It already had a survival pack with food and water, and Blake had fashioned air vents of sorts. He would be okay.
“I’m sorry I didn’t see this happening. Maybe I wasn’t paying attention. Maybe I...”
“Tucker.” Kris took his face in her hands again. “It’s not your responsibility to see things. You are given a gift when you are meant to see it. You understand. It’s not your responsibility.”
Tucker nodded, tears in his eyes.
Boots scuffled outside.
“We always come back to each other,” she whispered and kissed his forehead.
“We always come back to each other.” He nodded, bit his trembling lip and crawled into the dark hiding space under the house.
Closing the hatch on his wide, scared eyes was one of the hardest things Kris had ever had to do. She quickly replaced the carpet and scrutinized it to ensure it didn’t show the hidden door it concealed. Then she silently shut the closet door, grabbed her shotgun, and let a few pent-up tears escape.
The porch squeaked as someone approached the door. The bang of the knock echoed throughout the house, causing Kris to jolt and the baby to kick at the sudden noise. The pounding resumed before more boots approached and muffled voices spoke.
“We know you’re there. We saw you. Why don’t you come on out? We don’t mean any harm.” The voice boomed, loudly reverberating into Kris’s head.
They had seen her.
So much for stealth training.
She hung her head, said a quick prayer for strength, and then stood to her full height. Intimidation. Act like the big dog, become the big dog. Blake had taught her many things, but the fake-it-til-you-make-it was hers. She knew how to play a part.
No way would she give them the satisfaction of mousing out the front door. She worked her way to the back and listened for movement on the deck. After feeling confident they hadn’t rounded the corner yet, she silently edged her way out the door and ninja-walked on the deck toward the front of the house.
Just before rounding the corner, she stopped. Squeezing her eyes shut once more, she took three deep breaths. She positioned the shotgun in the nook of her shoulder, flicked the safety off, and faced the armed group.
“What do you want?” she asked, not recognizing the strength and tone of her own voice.
“Well, hello to you, too. Why don’t you put that big old gun down and just talk to us?” the man in the front said as the rest of the group raised their guns of various sizes and types toward her.
“I think not.” She kept her voice firm, strong, even though inwardly she trembled. Something about the man’s voice tugged at her memory, but she pushed the distraction away.
“If we meant you harm, you do realize that you are vastly outnumbered.” The man cocked his head to the side.
Kris, stretched her trigger finger, replaced it with a slight squeeze, and said, “Sure, but I’ll get at least two. You first.”
“Spoken well.” The man chuckled.
Kris blinked and focused on the man. That chuckle placed his voice.
“Arland?”
The man actually stepped back before cocking his head to the side again. He had changed, Kris noticed. His posture spoke of confidence and hard work. His voice commanded. She almost lowered the gun, but you never knew about people. The collapse had changed him and maybe not for the better.
He shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun behind her. “You wouldn’t be Kris Chantry, would you?”
“What in the world are you doing, Arland? You’ve resorted to raiding houses? I guess my husband chose wrong.” Kris widened her posture, now feeling more confident. Blake never misread people.
He folded his arms across his chest. “Put the gun down, Kris. I owe you. You have nothing to fear from us.”
Kris hesitated. She didn’t know if she could trust the group behind him to follow his lead. “You’ve changed,” she said, relaxing her aim but not her grip.
“Survival can do that to you. Your husband told me that.” He took a tentative step toward her. “How much longer do you have, Kris?” He nodded at her belly.
“A month at most.”
Arland nodded and turned toward the group standing silently behind him. “This lady and her husband, The Survivalist, saved my daughter’s life.”
The others lowered their guns and looked around with more curiosity than fear.
“Where are Blake and little Tucker?” He glanced around and at the house.
Kris watched him. She knew she was supposed to keep intel to herself, but Arland was a friend, right? Don’t trust anyone, Blake’s words echoed in her mind.
“He’ll be back shortly.”
“Hunting?” Arland asked, leaning against the side of her house like an old friend just stopping by to have a conversation. “And Tucker?”
“Learning how to hunt.” She kept her tone even. It hadn’t been a real lie, which was good. She could never lie undetected.
“You can put that gun down, Kris. You’re amongst friends.”
She looked over the group. Men and a few women of various ages watched her, curious and eager. They didn’t look like hardened warriors or people who have killed. Their eyes still seemed bright. Though many looked thin, too thin.
“Where did you end up, Arland?”
“We’ve set up a nice camp yonder.” He nodded absently toward the forest beyond their back property. “We heard shots, a couple times now.”
“Hunting. Preparing for winter.”
“Have you had any trouble here? No marauders?”
Kris shook her head. Where was Blake? She feared she might be too trusting, yet a part of her craved for the conversation with another human besides her family.
“What is it like out there?” she asked him, wanting to believe she could see him as a friend.
“Chaos. Much of it has died down...and I do mean die.” Arland watched his boot for a moment. “Hannah is well. She’ll be excited I found you.”
“I’m glad to hear she is well.” She lowered her gun further. “How did you guys survive the winter?”
“It wasn’t easy. Some lost fingers and toes, but we didn’t lose a single person.”
“Thanks to Laurie,” a woman added in.
“Yes. We can all agree Laurie’s knowledge kept us alive.” He let his gaze drop to her belly again. “Speaking of Laurie, you might be needing her help soon.”
“She a doctor?”
“No, better. She’s a midwife and skilled in foraging and healing herbs.”
A midwife. Kris grit her teeth to keep the smile turning up her lips. She did close her eyes and give thanks for the mercy she had been shown. What was the chance of having a midwife just showing up at her door with less than a month to go? Then reality clutched her heart. Would Blake allow the woman to assist her?
~*~
The fluttering of anxiety urged Blake to tug on the hide of the deer a bit quicker than normal while he field-dressed the animal. The hide tore, leaving a chunk large enough for the baby’s shoe ruined. He pulled away the knife and eased back on his haunches. Squeezing his eyes shut, he blew a few breaths out.
Each piece of this deer would be needed for their survival. He needed to focus. Finish the task and then hoof it out of there and back to his family.
Willing his hands to still their trembling, he kept his mind focused. Expertly field-dressing a deer would make a better hide for clothes for the new little one. Tucker would need more soon, as well. Luckily, Kris had stockpiled several bags of hand-me-downs from friends in the basement. They probably had at least another year or two until they would have to make him some.
Flashes of horrible war images popped in his mind as he pulled the deer’s entrails out. Images he wished he could erase. And people wondered why he didn’t enjoy hunting. It was something that had to
be done. Something he had to do before to keep his skills sharp. Now it was for his family’s survival, and he would do anything to make sure that happened.
The sun sank low and would soon drop below the peaks in the distance. Blake stood and stretched his back, keeping his eyes constantly scanning. His shoulder throbbed and ribs ached, but he had completed his task.
Warily, he stepped out into the open meadow. He needed to wash the blood off his hands. The land had erupted in the cheerful song of birds greeting the cooler air. The mosquitoes, which had hid during the intense heat of the day, buzzed around Blake’s head. He swatted at them as he crouched at the edge of the creek.
The cool water felt glorious, and he entertained the thought of jumping in, but only for a moment. Need drove his movements. Something was wrong. He felt it in his bones, like a constant high pitch thrumming, making him jittery and shaky.
Next time, he would bring his family with him on a hunt. Kris would like it here. Picturing her, though, brought another wave of fear rolling through him. She was heavy with child. Even a short journey like this could send her into labor—a labor he had no idea how to navigate.
He pushed away from the creek and made his way back to the deer. Flies already had swarmed the entrails. He swatted at the few on the meat before digging out some paracord from his pack. It wouldn’t be easy. The buck was a good size. He tied the deer’s legs together in a way he could loop them over his back.
Carrying it like this from where they had finally caught Tucker’s deer had taken a lot out of him. Now he was injured and a good five or more miles further out from the house. He thought of the trek back, the landscapes, the hills and climbs. He normally would make camp with a big enough fire to ward off predators and start the journey fresh in the morning.
His feet, though, itched in need for movement, and that thrumming urged him to get home. He didn’t have Tucker’s gift, but he knew something was wrong. Had Kris gone into labor?
Without hesitation, he flung on his pack and then squatted low to shoulder the deer onto his back. Removing the entrails had lightened the animal, but not by much. The weight slammed down on his bones and joints, causing his ribs to grind in pain. They had healed enough not to be damaged but not enough to be without pain.
For a split second, doubt at his ability had him falter.
A crow cawed in the distance, as if calling him to act.
Blake ground his teeth, took that first step, then the next, and eased into a rhythm he would be able to keep up. Memories filtered in, and soon he was too exhausted to fight them away any longer. He would go from knowing he carried a deer home to being back at war carrying his buddy who he knew wouldn’t make it. Leaving a man behind was not an option, regardless the extent of his injury.
The urgency pushed him forth as he traveled from the present to the past and back again.
~*~
Kris bit her lip, indecision playing a wicked game within her mind. She watched the group who were now assembled in her backyard, lounging around, laughing, talking, and enjoying the reprieve. While she had given them each water, she saw just how gaunt they were. Some looked like just skin and bones.
Yet, they sat amidst her barrels of home-grown vegetables and next to the smoker that had just smoked a whole deer. Blake would be furious. His wrath would be like none she had seen thus far, of that she was certain.
She scanned the forest line, half-hoping and half-fearing he would show up right now.
The lower the sun sank, the more she knew she couldn’t send them off. She had snuck inside once to whisper to Tucker that she was okay but the people hadn’t left. Should she pull him out? It would show her as a liar, and she still didn’t quite trust the group.
The thought of Tucker in the dark hole, scared by himself...She bit her lip so hard she tasted the metallic blood.
“You okay?” Arland walked up next to her.
“Yeah,” she said, pushing a smile on her face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been around other people.”
“Your family should join us. Having comradery is important. We’re building a new community, one where we rely on each other and build upon one another’s skills.” He eyed her before looking back at the group. “The only skill we’re missing is The Survivalist.”
“The Survivalist, huh?” Kris’s smile felt less pushed. “Is that what they’re calling Blake?”
“Yes. He has made quite the name for himself without even knowing it. His advice saved lives, not just mine and Hannah’s but over three dozen people. These families have become my own. A tribe of sorts.”
Kris nodded. How she longed for the companionship of another woman. She glanced at the few mixed in the group. Two of them looked young, but the older one, the one who had spoken of Laurie, she looked to be about forty—wise, watchful, and she stared right back at Kris.
“That’s Rachel. She has proved herself this past winter. She showed up, alone, starved, and grieving.”
“She lost her family?”
“Yes. When society crashes, it doesn’t care who it takes with it. We have given her a home and made her one of our own.” He turned to look at Kris again. “Would you come with us?”
Emotion filled Kris. It could have been her pregnancy or seeing people still surviving, still pulling together. The need to be honest pulled forth from her.
“Arland, I have to tell you...Tucker...he’s here.”
“I know.” He nodded and smiled.
“What? But how?”
“I know the look of a panicked parent.” He took her hand in his. Hands that had once been smooth and weak, used to pounding keys instead of using axes. Now they were rough, scarred, strong. “He is safe with us, Kris. We want you to join us.”
Kris’s heart hammered. She longed to be with people, have a community, and have children for Tucker to play with. She dropped her head, knowing the truth. Blake would never agree.
“What if we decide not to? What would you do then?” she asked in a half-whisper.
Arland narrowed his eyes, dropped her hand, and looked toward the group.
“You know I only met your husband briefly. He’s not a difficult man to read. I know he prefers solitude, thinking that is what is best for his family. I get it.”
Kris wrapped her arms around her stomach wishing it could be different.
“It’s not, though. It’s not what’s best. Eventually, he will realize this, and when he does,” Arland met her eyes again, “the invitation will still be open. Now, go get Tucker. Two of my men caught turkeys on the way here. We’ll feast on meat tonight!”
Arland’s confident steps set the beat of her heart. Could it really be that easy? She glanced back at the house, wanting Tucker in her arms. Then she watched the group again. All of their guns had been leaned against rocks or barrels. They smiled and relaxed. Surely nothing could go wrong, right?
~*~
Blake swore as he tripped over yet another downed tree. He hefted the deer off of him with a grunt. So close. Less than a mile to go and he would be home with his family. The blood from the deer mixed with his sweat, and the night’s breeze passed through his soaked shirt, cooling him down.
He lifted his face to the wind that now came down canyon from toward his home. Thinking of home made his mouth water. He swore he could smell cooking meat and roasted vegetables. Breathing in deeper only intensified the scent.
He held his breath, and a rush surged through him. That smell of food did float in on the wind. He looked up into the night sky. The moon was almost full again. A quick thought of the bear shot through him but didn’t stay for long as reality crashed down on him.
Kris wouldn’t be cooking this late at night. She would be in the bunker, cool and safe, probably snuggled in bed with Tucker.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. His body protested as he donned the deer once more and took long, purposeful strides toward home. His property began just a few hundred yards away. Once he was there, he could use
the walkie-talkie. He could hear his wife’s sweet voice telling him they were okay.
Blake pushed through the pain, ignoring it and every other instinct except getting back to his family. Once he crossed the property line, he pulled out the walkie-talkie from his cargo pocket without hardly slowing down.
“Kris. Back on property. Do you read?”
He held the device to his ear while he pushed forward, sweat dripping down his face. Nothing. Only static greeted him, not the sweet voice he longed to hear.
He tried again. Then again a few moments later.
She’s a sound sleeper, he placated himself. She must be in the middle of a dream cycle. He would go directly to the bunker, leaving the deer in the entrance. It should keep for the rest of the night.
His self-talk kept his feet pumping closer and closer to his family.
He remained blissfully optimistic until he heard the voices. At first, he thought it had been his imagination. When he heard it again, he paused, held his breath and listened.
Sure enough, voices and laughter flowed down from where his house stood. A forest between him and his family and whoever held them captive.
He dropped the deer where he stood and ran. Heart pumping and mind imagining a million scenarios a minute, he released his pistol from its holster, crashing through the brush until he was within a hundred yards of the house.
There he slowed and moved more stealthily. The scent of food cooking caused him to drool even with danger so close, danger to his family. The cheerful voices put him off.
Maybe Kris and Tucker had made it to the bunker. Maybe those people camped on his property had no idea they were there. He held onto that hope as he eased closer and closer to the opening of the forest where he saw the firelight flickering right in his backyard.
He evened his breath, calmed his racing heart. He had to act smart. It could mean his whole existence ending with one wrong move. Surveillance first. Tactile action after intel.
~*~
Kris pulled Tucker closer. He sat stiffly beside her since she brought him out after she had spent twenty minutes convincing him it would be okay. Did he react this way out of fear of repercussions from Blake or fear for their lives?
Grant Us Mercy (Book 3): Grant Us Mercy Page 5