Valley of Reckoning

by N A Broadley

  The sun filtered weakly through the dense cover of the forest. Birds chirped and squirrels chittered noisily. He let his mind drift as the horse gently rocked under him. If the town were in as poor of shape as the prisoners told him, then there would be a lot of people wanting to come to the compound for refuge. He would have to get a work detail together to build more shelters. It wouldn’t be a problem; he had plenty of lumber for such projects. Long before the event, he had scavenged every board he could find. He became known in the town as the junk man. If a house or building were torn down, he’d be there with his truck, pilfering through the lumber and grabbing what he could.

  Over the years he’d collected enough boards and beams to build every small house on the homestead plus outlying sheds and barns. He figured by the size of his lumber piles he still had enough for at least twenty tiny houses. And he hoped he wouldn’t have to build that many. Shaking his head, he sighed.

  He knew, without a doubt, the town was guarded by more of Bobby’s men. The prisoner, David, a sour little man with a fat face, had informed him that Bobby had left twenty-five of his men behind. They would put up a fight.

  Turning to Mitch, he grimaced. “You know, when we enter the town, we’re probably going to have to fight our way in right? You don’t need to be a part of this. The compound is only a short ride away. You could go there and wait it out.”

  Mitch grinned.

  “Awww buddy, you know me better’n that. From what you’ve told me about this gang, they need to be taken out. If not, you’ll only end up having more problems with them down the road if they reorganize.”

  Roger nodded. He’d come to the same conclusion. Better to completely wipe them out than need to deal with a resurgence at a later time.

  “Just as long as you’re sure. It ain’t your fight, my friend,” he replied.

  “It became my fight yesterday,” Mitch said then laughed. Roger smirked. Leave it to Mitch to wade in neck deep.

  “So, what’s up with the rooster?” he asked, changing the subject. Laughter met his ears. He watched Mitch tip his ball cap backward.

  “Well, my friend. That is a story.” For the next two hours, Roger listened to Mitch’s tale of traveling across the nation, of visiting Naomi Stilter in New Hampshire, of his truck running out of gas and of him finding the old mare and the rooster who decided to adopt him and follow. Laughter brought tears to his eyes as he listened to Mitch spin his tale, throwing in dirty jokes, bad jokes, and just plain sad jokes into the mix.

  “So that is how I came to be a prisoner of this rooster I named Peckerhead,” he finished. “Now, speaking of prisoners, let me ask you a question and if I’m stepping out of line, just let me know.”

  Roger nodded.

  “Why are you friends with Brian, the Butcher?”

  Roger turned to him, eyes widening. “What? Man, what in the hell are you talking about!”

  “Brian. Don't you know his story? That man was front-page news. He is one nasty piece of work. He hunted down and killed how many men? I can’t even remember. He’s a wet worker…with his knife. How did you end up with him in your life?”

  Roger shook his head. It was the first he’d heard of Brian the Butcher. Mitch must be mistaken.

  “I think you got the wrong guy, my friend. Brian is a decent man,” he replied. Mitch shook his head.

  “Nah, I don’t think so. You can’t forget that face, those eyes. The man is a killer. Last I heard he was doing a life sentence out in Vermont.”

  Roger worried his lower lip with his teeth. Could that be true? If so, did Spike know about Brian? How about Beth and Sarah? Did they know they were traveling with a killer? He needed to think about this. Having a killer, a convict, at the compound? His gut told him that Brian was a decent man, a good man. And in all his sixty some odd years his gut very rarely steered him wrong. He would have to talk with Spike about this; find out what he knew of Brian’s past and of the story of Brian the Butcher.

  Turning to Mitch, he scowled. “Let’s keep this information just between us kay?”

  Mitch nodded. “Sure thing, I just figured you’d wanna know about the kind of man this Brian character is.”

  He could see that Roger wasn’t entirely convinced of how dangerous his relationship with Brian was. But that was okay; he’d be watching him closely enough for them both. Smiling coldly, he nudged his horse into a trot.

  The main street was eerily quiet as Roger, and his men sat on a high bluff and looked down upon it.

  “Keep your eyes open and heads on a swivel. We know there are twenty-five more of Bobby’s gang here. And they won’t go without a fight,” he instructed his men. Heads nodded in agreement. Mitch pulled his rifle to the front.

  “Okay, let’s go in and let them know we’re here,” Roger announced. He nudged his horse down over the grassy embankment and onto the road. His men split off into several teams, each going left and right. They would flank Roger and his small group in case things got gnarly.

  Roger entered Main Street; a desolate strip of black tar hemmed in by cement sidewalks on either side. He saw a group of five men walking slowly toward them guns held at the ready. He slowed his horse to a halt and cut his eyes at Mitch on one side of him and Cain on the other. Buildings lined the street. Some run down and shabby, others newer and well kept.

  “Be ready for anything,” he murmured. Both nodded in reply. Pulling away from the group, Roger rode a few more paces.

  “Give it up, boys. Bobby is dead, and we’ve taken the rest of your boys out. There’s no one left but you few. Do ya really want to get into this?” he shouted.

  He saw several expressions of anger, disbelief, and fear.

  “You ain’t taking our town!” one of the men shouted back. He lifted his rifle and pointed it dead center of Rogers' chest. Roger smiled coldly. Both Cain and Mitch lifted their guns. He shook his head and glared at the man.

  “Don’t be stupid, man.” He saw a momentary flicker of fear shadow the man’s eyes.

  “Give it up. There’s been enough bloodshed,” Roger replied. He watched the other four men. They were all backing up with their hands in the air and their guns on the ground in surrender.

  “Look, even your men know it’s a losing battle.”

  Although Roger smiled, it didn’t reach his eyes. He saw the man swallow hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

  “You gonna kill us if we do! I ain’t a stupid man.”

  Roger shook his head.

  “No, we won’t.” he lied. “You will become our prisoners. We will treat you as fairly as you’ve treated the people of this town,” he replied, his eyes squinting in anger. And that was a promise. He would give them the same consideration they gave the people of this town. The man glared at him suspiciously for a moment then bending, he placed his gun on the ground and raised his hands above his head in surrender. Screw that. Bobby wasn’t here to help them, and he’d be damned if he’d die to defend a leader who might already be dead.

  “Smart man,” Roger murmured. He motioned for the rest of his men to converge.

  “Where’s the rest of the gang?” he asked. His men gathered up the five and slipped zip ties over their wrists.

  “Hiding out in the library,” one of the men replied. Roger turned and looked at him. He shook his head. The boy couldn’t have been more than nineteen at the most. He wore ratty, filthy jeans, and an oversized gray sweatshirt. His hair hung long and greasy over his shoulders. Hell, he didn’t even have facial hair yet. What on earth was this kid doing involved in this gang?

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Jimmy,” the boy replied.

  “Okay Jimmy, you’re gonna run ahead and tell those men at the library that we outnumber them ten to one. You’re also gonna tell them we’re coming in and it can either be peaceful or bloody, it’s up to them.”

  Jimmy nodded.

  “Will do.” And with that, he took off running with one hand holding up his pants.

&
nbsp; They made their way toward the library and Roger drew his horse to a halt in front of the town common. The grass, bright and green, was littered with lawn chairs and blankets, beer cans and empty booze bottles. But his eyes set on a sight that curled his stomach and made his heart sink. In a large maple tree hung the body of a man, bloated and dangling, covered with flies. In the center of the gazebo, hung a woman, naked from the waist up, wrists tied to upright posts, with her head hanging limply onto her chest. The hot sun beat down on her bare back, and her hair matted with sweat and blood, her back a crisscross of bloody lacerations. Swearing, he climbed down from his horse, followed by Mitch and two others.

  “Cut her down!” Roger snapped angrily.

  “She’s still alive,” Mitch said. He cringed when he heard a low moan escape from her lips. Carefully and gently, he held her while Terrance, one of Roger’s men, cut the ropes from her wrists. She sank into his arms, and he laid her gently on a blanket that Warren, another of Roger’s men, brought over.

  “What kind of animals are these people?” Warren muttered. His eyes glistened with angry tears. He covered her with the blanket. His breath caught in the back of his throat when she opened her eyes and looked up at him through a glaze of pain and despair.

  “You’re gonna be okay. We’ve got ya, honey,” Warren murmured. The woman nodded, licking her lips.

  “I’m thirsty.”

  Looking up at Roger, Warren motioned for his canteen. Roger grabbed it from his saddlebag and brought it over. He watched as Warren held it to the woman’s lips and she drank greedily, choking and sputtering.

  “You stay here, take care of her,” Roger instructed. Anger burned in his chest and crawled up his throat. He mounted his horse. If this gang would do this to a defenseless woman, he couldn’t even imagine some of the other things they may have done.

  Kicking his horse, he moved ahead with a murderous glint in his eyes. Rage sang through his veins.

  The library, a massive, two-story brick behemoth, sat in the center of Main Street. On one side of it lay the police station and on the other side, what appeared to be a town office. His eyes took in the fifteen or so men standing in a group in front of the steps leading into the library. Guns lay at their feet in a pile. He motioned for his men to collect up the weapons and to shackle the prisoners.

  “Any others?” he shouted at the group. Head shakes and quiet ‘No’s” echoed through the group.

  “All the women, where are they?” he asked. A tall, gangly man of about fifty stepped forward. He bowed his head and kicked at a pebble on the pavement.

  “In the basement,” he replied. Roger nodded. Climbing down from his horse, he motioned for Mitch, Cain, Dennis, and Joey to follow him.

  They descended the dark stairwell and opened the door. The smell, the horror that greeted them was enough to send them all screaming into the night. Cages, filled with women and children of all ages, lined the basement walls. Mattresses lay on the floors, stained and filthy. Plastic buckets sat, filled with human excrement. Hollowed expressions of pain, despair, and, hopelessness as the women and children peered out from between the bars at them.

  Roger turned his head and gagged. He heard retching, coming from several of the men with him. Tears filled his eyes. He couldn’t help but see the enormity of human desperation before him. Sucking in a deep breath, he looked at Mitch who wore an expression of horror.

  “My God!” he whispered.

  ∞

  Bobby watched the woods darken around him. He pulled the last small baggie of cocaine from his shirt pocket and stuffed it in his nose. He knew he was dying. He could feel his heart slowing down and a weakness flowing through him so consuming that even moving his arms caused him to gasp for breath. He could smell the stench of himself as his bladder let loose, then his bowels. And he sat in his putrid excrement.

  “Look at you now? You! Thinking you were so much better, so much smarter. Nothing but a punk sitting in your own shit, boy!” his father shouted then laughed. Bobby shook his head and wept softly.

  “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. And he was. Sorry for all he’d done, for all he’d been in his entire miserable life.

  “You’re such a whiny baby. Always whining, always whimpering. No wonder I hated you,” his mother hissed. And Bobby nodded sadly. She had always hated him. Every day of his life, she’d remind him of just how much.

  “Stop! Just stop!” he screamed into the darkness. The ghosts of his parents tormented him. Howls and yips erupted in response to his scream, and his heart lit with terror.

  “They’re coming for you, Bobby. They are gonna tear you apart piece by painful piece, boy!”

  With the last remnant of strength, he pulled the knife from the sheath on his side. Looking at the blade, the memories of screams and cries, of tortured moans and guttural whimpers plagued his mind. The face of every woman he’d ever abused floated in front of his eyes. Smiling, he leaned his head back and with one quick motion, drew the blade across his own throat. He sucked in a gargled breath. Blood flowed freely down over his chest and pooled in his lap. And finally, finally, the voices of his parents quieted.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Henry watched the strangers, as they passed by, from behind the white linen curtain. His heart jolted with anger. Bobby must’ve failed. He stepped to the side of the window so not be seen and hollered to his wife. He motioned for her to sit on the sofa. She looked up at him with adoration in her brown eyes.

  “Mother,” he sighed sadly, “the sinners have come. We’ve lost the battle.”

  His wife nodded.

  “God will see us through this. Fear not. Fear nothing that is not of our Godly ways,” he continued. With a fevered breath, Cathy cast her eyes downward and made the sign of the cross.

  “Amen, husband,” she whispered. They would do what they needed to do. Henry pushed up from the couch and drew the blade from its sheath on his side. He walked over to their slave, a female child of fourteen. With one quick motion he slit her throat and turned, ignoring her gurgles and gasps, as she bled out and slowly died. Cathy smiled.

  She followed him to the cellar and smiled deeply into his eyes. With gentle hands he taped the explosives to her chest. They were doing the Lord's work, and it made her proud. She, in turn, helped Henry with his belt of explosives. They had lost the battle, but not the war. The sinners were storming the town, setting all the whores and criminals free. It was their duty to the great Father to make one last stand. And they would take as many of the sinners with them as they could.

  Henry turned his face toward her. With a soft moan, he kissed her deeply.

  “With God’s grace we’ll see each other again soon, my love,” he murmured.

  ∞

  Roger sat on the steps of the library with his head hung low. Exhaustion flooded every cell of his body. His heart ached with the extent of misery before him. Women, in tattered and stained clothes, wandered in circles, eyes wide with shock. Several children, ages ranging from as young as four years to young teens, clambered in groups; searching and seeking desperately to disappear from the sunshine, the crowds of prisoners, as well as any others around them. A mass of misery and desperation tinged the air, and Roger held his breath, overwhelmed with a rush of anxiety. What would he do with all these people? There were twenty women, and God knew how many children that Bobby turned into orphans.

  Additionally, there were twenty-five prisoners. If it were up to him, they, the prisoners would be lined up against a wall and shot for what they’d put these poor people through; for the misery they’d caused. But then that would have put him on the same level with Bobby. And he would never be able to live with himself if he let himself become that kind of man.

  His men, Cain, Mitch, Dennis and Joey, and the others, were standing around, not knowing what to do or which way to turn. They had their hands in their pockets, staring at the crowd with mixed expressions of horror, sadness, and overwhelming shock, covering their faces. Coughing, he stood up a
nd whistled loudly, causing everyone to stop and stare at him. He motioned for his group to gather around.

  “We need to find horses. You men will have to double up. These people can’t stay here. They will need food. Many of them will need medical care. We can’t do that here. We’ll have to get them back to the compound; where we can sort this mess out,” he said. He gazed out at all the tortured faces.

  Mitch nodded and turned to Cain. “Grab one of the prisoners, that Jimmy boy. Get him to take you to the stables.”

  Then turning to Dennis and Joey, “You two, grab a couple of the guys. Go house to house and gather up whatever supplies you find. Meet back here in an hour,” he instructed.

  Turning to Roger, he grinned. “You and me, we’re gonna go and talk to a few of these townspeople and see if we can find us a good old-fashioned wagon. There must be a farm nearby with an old hay wagon or something that someone knows about.”

  Roger nodded. He liked this idea. If they could find at least two hay wagons, then they could hitch some horses up and transport these wretched souls to the compound. He highly doubted that many of them would be able to walk or even ride on the back of a horse that far. Many were near starvation, skeletal, completely emaciated.

  The prisoners could walk, he didn’t care if their feet bled and fell off. He didn’t care if they died on the long walk to the compound. If they were representative of what humanity had become, then they deserved death and misery. But the women and children, he’d be damned if he’d put them through any more suffering than they’d already seen.

  Two hours later they had gained three hay wagons and teams of horses to pull them. One of the wagons held plastic coolers of food which they’d retrieved from the houses of Bobby and his men, enough to feed every woman and child for many days to come. They’d also found a cache of weapon and ammunition. Blankets and pillows lined all three wagons to help make the trip more comfortable. Roger nodded with satisfaction. They helped the women and children load up to the back of the wagons when an older blonde woman approached Roger.