by David Wayne
“It’s okay, Sister, everything’s all right,” I said calmly, as if I were simply enjoying a midnight stroll.
She surveyed the bodies lying on the ground. “Did you just kill those guys?” she asked, her voice shrill.
“Yep.”
She fell silent, walking over to the one nearest her tent and picking up his gun. After a moment, she asked, “Do you think there are more out there?”
“Nope. These are the two drifters we passed earlier.”
She looked at me for a second, her stare pausing slightly at my midsection, then she dashed toward her tent.
“Sister?” I said, standing au naturel in the Alabama forest.
Holding her tent flap open, she stopped but didn’t turn around. “Yes?”
“If you’d be so kind as to not ogle my nudity while I’m protecting us from armed assailants, I would be most appreciative.” I’ve always slept nude. Therefore, I was standing with gun in hand and package swinging in the wind.
To my surprise, she said, “I apologize for my curiosity, Max. I’ve never seen an unclothed man. Good night,” and then she disappeared into her tent.
I couldn’t help but regret the sister's first glimpse of a nude man was me during a chilly night, when everything was shriveled up and small. I prefer to be seen in my full glory. One thing was certain, no more sleeping in the raw. That was my first and last naked gunfight.
Chapter 13
It’s a little over one hundred fifty miles from Birmingham to Atlanta, a straight shot east up I-20. I figured two people, pushing hard, could make that in five to eight days. My plan was to travel forest trails, skirting around cities and small towns—then move onto back roads and railroad tracks once we were a safe distance away from them. So, I’d settled on an initial target estimate of two weeks. Based on our progress so far, that wasn’t going to happen. Also, after last night’s episode, it was clear the back roads were unsafe, and we needed a path less traveled. That meant more trails, which meant more time. I adjusted the estimate to three weeks.
I moved the bodies behind some shrubs before Sister got up. I figured she’d prefer not to share breakfast with a couple of deadies. When she got up, her look told me it was appreciated. I found the drifters' traveling gear out on the road and searched it. Besides a few cans of beanie weenies, they had nothing of value, unless you counted dirty, holey underwear.
The sister approached me tentatively as we prepared to leave. “Are you hurting, Max?” she said softly.
I was munching on my very last, and very stale, peanut butter sandwich. “Not really. I woke up feeling better, thanks,” I said.
“You’re feeling better already?” she said.
“Well, it only hurts at first, then you feel more of a dull throb, and then, bingo-bango, it’s all gone, forgotten,” I said, waving my hand through the air in a wispy S shape.
She frowned. “Max Ryker, that's awful. How can you be so flippant?” she said. “That’s taking the Mr. Macho routine a bit too far. This is serious.”
Why was she getting so angry? “Well, thanks for the concern, but it’s a minor ordeal in the big picture,” I said, finishing off my sandwich. “Been there many times before. Not a biggie,” I said, smiling.
“Minor ordeal? How can you even refer—”
“Whoa,” I said, holding up a peace sign. “I thought that swinging log cracked my ribs, but they’re just bruised. It’s not like I got an arm chopped off or something.” Now I was getting hot.
She laid her hand lightly on my arm and softened her voice. “No, Max. I’m talking about last night. You shot and killed two men. I know you’re hurting, you know, in your heart?” she said, tapping lightly on my ticker.
I looked at her for a moment and then chuckled. “Oh, I’m fine, but I betcha those boys felt a little pinch.”
She wasn’t laughing. “When you’re done playing tough guy and want to talk, I’m here. I know you’re holding in a lot of pain inside, and not just from last night.” She patted me on the back and began taking down her tent.
You bet I’m hurting inside, I thought. My guts are rotting out from a diet of stale peanut butter sandwiches and potted meat. As if reading my mind again, she said, “If we camp early enough, I’ll hunt us up some real meat.”
“Sounds great,” I said, but a little too quickly. No reason to give her the big head. Truthfully, the thought of hunting made me squeamish, shooting an animal and cutting it up. She didn’t mind at all. So far we’d eaten squirrel, rabbit, and even an armadillo, which initially grossed me out but hadn’t tasted that bad. I watched her leaning over, packing up the tent.
“Mr. Ryker?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“I think you're staring at my rear end again. Do you mind?”
Deep breath, heavy sigh. “Sister, you need to get over yourself. You’re folding a tent, with your back to me. You couldn’t possibly know what I am or am not staring at. And, for your information, it’s definitely not your butt,” I said, looking away from her butt. She had a very strong sixth sense, one I found mostly annoying.
Changing the subject, I said, “We'll need to travel off the main roads as much as possible. That will slow us up.” The thought irritated and concerned me but didn’t seem to bother her in the least. “We should reach Leedsburg around four o’clock. I’ll sneak down there and sniff around a bit. There’s a river that intersects with the railroad tracks just outside of town. We’ll set up camp there.” I folded my map and tucked it into my backpack.
“You still plan on dumping me in Leedsburg, Mr. Ryker?” she asked, eyebrows raised, not even trying to hide her suspicion.
I was shocked. “What are you talking about, Sister? I’m going to scout around and hopefully find us some more provisions. If the town’s got friendlies, who knows what that could mean for us. Besides, I’m out of peanut butter, and God knows, I can’t live without that,” I said with a laugh.
She dropped her backpack and marched right up, trying to get in my face—but she was too short. She pointed a finger at me. “You will not use the Lord's name in vain. If there’s a fast track to hell, you can bet that Max Ryker is on that road and leading the pack.” She stormed away.
Truth is, I was having an internal debate about that very subject, and obviously she suspected as much—thus the blowup. But that had been our agreement, so in my book, her anger was misplaced. There were pros and cons to letting her stay.
We’d fallen into a pretty good routine. She didn’t mind cooking and cleaning, while I gathered wood, set up the tents, and studied my maps. She didn’t grow tired or want to stop and rest. The biggest surprise was she didn’t complain. Except about me. Mr. Ryker is going to hell, Mr. Ryker’s looking at my ass. Of course, the endless chitchat drove me nuts. Then there was the issue of food. If I were to run out of canned goods, I’d starve. Perhaps if she’d lose that snooty, bossy attitude. Maybe adopt a quiet, reflective personality. Then it dawned on me—God doesn't make any women like that. I smiled at my little joke.
“Something funny, Mr. Ryker?” she said. “You’re smiling.”
“Let’s go.” I ignored her question. I’d have plenty of time to ponder my questions while performing recon in Leedsburg. Whatever I found there would dictate most of my decision anyway. We marched hard, and later endured a light midmorning rain. This was followed by nasty heat and humidity—and bugs. I hate bugs.
The sudden sound of voices startled us. “Shhh, stop,” I said, pausing to listen. “Over here, quick, let’s hide.” A few minutes later, three teens came stomping down a trail that ran perpendicular to ours but merged about thirty feet farther up.
“It’s just some kids,” Sister whispered.
“Let them pass. The best fight is the one you never have,” I said.
Instead, she stepped out from behind our cover. “Hey, guys, where you headed?” Sister yelled.
There were two boys and a girl, all under twenty. The girl pulled a gun. The two boys looked ready to scram.
“No need for that. My name’s Sister Susan,” she said, holding up her arms.
“I see somebody else behind the shrubs. You better come out, or I’ll start shooting,” she said, her voice shaking worse than her hands.
Oh, shit, I thought. This isn’t good. I could just hear my old drinking buddies—Did you hear that old badass Ryker got killed by a nervous teenage girl back in the sticks?
“Take it easy,” I said, stepping out from the bushes. “We don’t want any trouble.”
The girl hesitated, still pointing the gun. “Do you have any food? We haven’t eaten in two days.”
“No, we don’t—”
“Yes, we have a few cans we can spare,” Sister said, ignoring my frown. When she noticed I was inching toward my gun, she stepped in front of me. “Can we sit for a moment and talk?”
The kids looked at each other, mentally talking. The two boys sat down, followed by the girl, who did so reluctantly. She kept the firearm in her hand but placed it on her lap. The sister passed around the drifters’ beanie weenies, and the kids drank them down like water rather than food. One of the boys starting coughing, almost choking on the beans.
“Where are you from and what have you seen?” I said, trying to get something for the precious food Sister had so casually given away.
“We left Huntsville five days ago on motorcycles. Hogwogs have completely taken over the city. At first, they gave us a choice to join them or leave, so we signed on. Shortly after, they started robbing supplies from travelers but turned them loose afterwards. About a week ago, that changed. Travelers were forced to go with our food-scouting teams, to carry supplies back to our compound—like mules. They were locked up at night. When they started snatching up women, forcing them…”
“Sex slaves,” a boy said, finishing her sentence.
“We left, sneaking out in the middle of the night. I’m originally from Orange Town, which is south of Huntsville, so we went there.” She shook her head, scraping the juice from the empty can.
“What happened there?” I said.
One of the boys piped in. “Conditions were better, but we were seeing the same signs that we saw in Huntsville just before it went batshit, so we left. Her uncle had to sneak us out, because once they let you in, you’re not allowed to leave.”
The girl tossed her can. “From Orange Town, we thought traveling down 81 would be safe, because there’s nothing much out there. But earlier today, some ’Wog patrols spotted us, and we were forced to run down these trails. They hunted for us on dirt bikes,” she said, causing all three to look nervously around.
“What in the world is worth all that trouble?” Sister said.
One of the boys pointed at the girl. “The ’Wogs want her.”
“We gotta go. Thanks for the food.” The girl stood abruptly and motioned the boys to get up and move. We watched them scurry down the trail.
We sat in silence for a moment, but there was nothing to say, so we picked up our gear and hiked on. The day had turned brutally hot, and the trails were rough and thick with over-brush, so the river was a welcomed sight. After we set up camp, Sister grabbed her hunting rifle and headed off toward the woods to work her magic. I was hoping to hit an Albertsons supermarket in Leedsburg, but at this point, I knew it was a pipe dream.
I yelled out, “Sister, wait up a second, will ya?” I jogged over to her. “When we split up, let’s put a stone in the middle of the path, indicating we’ve left the campsite. Upon returning, if everything’s cool, push the stone to the left side, and if there’s trouble, push the stone to the right—if you’re able. Before walking into camp, check my signal, and I’ll do the same with yours. Make sense?” I asked, waiting for a smart-aleck remark about Secret Agent Man or something.
Instead she said, “That sounds prudent.”
Right away that tipped me off—she had an unspoken problem. But Max Ryker is an expert in the art of communication, especially when dealing with the female species. I decided to utilize those skills right now. “Listen, I just want you to know, I will be back. I will not abandon you or dump you off on some strangers in Leedsburg, okay?” I touched her arm. She looked down at my hand, which I quickly removed.
“Max, you really are a piece of work. So, you’ve decided not to abandon the one who hunts the food, cooks it, runs the campsite, and basically keeps the wheels turning on our little program. How very thoughtful and kind of you,” she said, her eyes full of amusement. She walked away, humming down the trail.
Chapter 14
I’d been sitting in some bushes for an hour, fighting bugs and ants while studying Leedsburg with my field glasses. I didn’t like what I saw. The only road leading in was barricaded and contained armed guards. There were about thirty people standing in line, waiting to get in. Most were quickly and angrily turned away.
The guards were checking IDs, and at first that seemed odd, but in short order I caught on. If you could prove you were from the area, they let you in; otherwise, you were turned away. That meant they weren’t just screening out Hogwogs. In the foreground past the gate, I could see what looked like Main Street. A small number of people were milling about, mostly hurrying along and looking harried—and openly toting rifles.
Assuming the small town heard the government’s message regarding Atlanta, they appeared to have made the decision to batton down and stay put. I watched a mother with small children beg for entry, but the guards gave no ground, appearing indifferent to her pleas. Turning away women and children meant they weren’t letting in out-of-towners period.
I could flash one of my fake IDs. Become an FBI agent with information to share. That would probably gain me entrance but might also get me into a pickle—and it wasn’t clear what I might gain from inside Leedsburg. Maybe a bullet to the head.
I watched a guard get into an argument with two average-looking men in their early thirties. They weren’t getting violent but seemed adamant to gain entry. After a brief exchange, things got a little hot, and suddenly both men were shot. That seemed like a sure sign that I should forgo Leedsburg and head back to camp—so I did.
On the trek back, I made the decision—Sister Susan was officially on board and would be my traveling companion all the way to the Big Peach. If we ever made it there. I walked, hugging the riverbed. The round trip totaled just under two hours. As I got close, I decided to make my presence known. The sister wasn’t just boasting about her shooting prowess. She was a crack shot and was a bit skittish from our encounter with the drifters. I certainly didn’t want to spook her with a surprise arrival and end up on the wrong side of her rifle scope. I could smell roasting meat, and that brought on a smile. At least she’d been successful.
That’s when I heard it and stopped dead in my tracks. It caught me off guard, startling me. I drew my gun, the adrenaline already pumping at full blast. My senses were on high alert, so I tended to overreact, reflexes responding before brains. The tension gave way once I identified the strange sound.
She was playfully splashing in the river and singing.
I noticed the rifle leaning against a birch and her clothes hanging on a low-lying branch. She was naked. I could see her outline in the darkness and turned quickly away. I was a lot of things, but a peeping Tom was not one of them. To my astonishment and dismay, I felt a slight jolt in my groin.
Even though I could easily control my urge to see the woman naked, it was difficult to walk away from her singing voice. It was high-pitched yet soft and soothing. Occasionally, she would splash water on herself, the sound adding cadence to the lullaby, almost like an instrument accompanying a singer. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sitting there, but I was nodding off when the splattering noise of wet feet broke my trance. She was getting out of the river! I backtracked as quickly and quietly as possible, heading in reverse down the trail.
Arriving at camp exactly when she did might tip my hand—she’d know I’d been listening to her sing. Or God help me if she thought I’d peeked at her nudity; t
he wrath of her tongue would be relentless. Best to sit a spell and burn a little time. That’s how a super spy operates.
The aroma of cooking meat was beckoning me, causing my stomach to growl. Finally, I could wait no longer. Twenty minutes had passed, plenty of time. I skirted around and entered the camp from the opposite side. A bit of diversion couldn’t hurt, would throw off any lingering suspicion—if there was any.
I entered the camp to a fire at full blaze and Susan brushing her long, dark hair. She had kept it in a tight braid since we left Birmingham, and this was the first time I’d seen it loose. It struck me as thick and lively—and then I wondered how hair could appear lively, and why I would even think such a stupid thing. I guess running into a nude woman, privately bathing in a river, can do that to a man enduring forced celibacy.
“Hi, Sister, I’m back, albeit empty-handed. I see you were a bit more successful.” I pointed at the food. Oddly, my plate was already made and waiting. She smiled up at me, setting down her brush and picking up her own plate.
“What the heck took you so long, Max? I waited and I’m starving,” She snatched up the rabbit with her bare hands, taking a huge bite.
I grabbed my plate, also picking up the meat with my hands; proper etiquette wasn’t possible when you lived in the backwoods. “You should have gone ahead and eaten, Sister. I hadn’t planned on getting back until late tonight—but Leedsburg wasn’t welcoming strangers in. I suspect your dinner would’ve been a wee bit cold by then,” I said, taking a big bite of hot, roasted meat.
A puzzled frown appeared on her face. “What are you talking about? You were sitting over there listening to me sing. I expected you here after a few moments. How long do you think it takes for me to get properly clothed?” She took another bite of rabbit. “What took you twenty minutes, anyway?” she asked, going for another bite—but her hand froze in midair. Then an amazing thing happened; she turned pink as a rose. A full-body blush. It was odd—I’d never seen this woman even close to embarrassed. She was a lot of things—direct, brutally blunt—but a shy, blushing girl was not one of them. I kept on eating. This was another one of her weird sister moments—best ignored.