by N A Broadley
“I can’t force you to help, Beth. But I’m pleading with you. These are human beings. No matter what they’ve done, it is our responsibility to treat them humanely,” she said.
Beth rolled her eyes in annoyance. “I know, I know. I sound like a bleeding heart, right? But I just can’t let anyone suffer needlessly. And some of these men, well they might have been good men at one time, but because of the event, they got into a bad situation,” she went on stating her case.
Beth sucked in a deep breath. How could she say no? How could she argue against a good heart such as Mary Anne’s? Hell, Mary Anne and Roger took her in when she’d been shot, they cared for her, and Sarah, and Brian, and asked for nothing in return. They didn’t have to. They did it because they genuinely cared for all men and women. Sighing in defeat, she looked at Mary Anne. She would do it for her.
“Yes, I’ll help. But Mary Anne, please, I know your heart is in the right place but listen to me. These men, Bobby’s men, they are dangerous. Do not let your guard down for one minute. They would easily think nothing of killing you, me, and everyone in this community if given the opportunity,” she warned softly.
“Oh, girl, I know that. You may think I’m naïve, soft-hearted and yes, I probably am. But I also believe, one kindness will conquer even the hardest of hearts. I just have to believe in second chances. If I lose that, then what’s left? And everyone deserves a chance to redeem themselves. I’ll ask three of our medics to assist you.”
Beth nodded. If even half of the prisoners were withdrawing from addiction, then three medics plus herself, well they would be very busy over the next few weeks.
Beth helped Sarah out of bed and held her arm until she stabilized and found her balance. She looked ten times better than she did the day before. Jessie pranced around their legs, eager to take a walk with them. Twenty-four hours of bedrest had worked wonders for Sarah.
“Are you okay? Dizzy at all?”
Sarah shook her head and smiled. “Stop worrying. I feel good.”
“Okay. I’ll stop,” Beth teased then smiled.
Today Sarah would have lunch in the community kitchen. She wanted to get out of the small infirmary room, to breathe some fresh air, and to explore the compound. She wanted to stretch her legs. She wanted to see, feel, and taste the freedom she thought she’d never see again.
They walked toward the community kitchen. Beth set her eyes on the horizon in the distance. She felt Sarah squeeze her hand gently.
“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?”
Beth nodded. Yes, she did worry about him, about Roger, about all the men. It had been three days since the initial battle. Three days since the first group came back with the prisoners and the wounded. They should have been back by now. A feeling of foreboding filled her stomach, causing it to ache uncomfortably.
“Yes. I am, Sarah, I hope they return soon.”
After Sarah finished her cup of coffee, Beth walked with her and they explored the compound. She’d been here, going on three weeks, and still had yet to see it all. There were thriving honeybee colonies which gave them fresh honey. There were root cellars, smokehouses, and two more outdoor kitchens where a lot of the food prep and canning took place. It blew Beth’s mind as her eyes took it all in. There was a laundry area where a few old antique ringer washers sat on platforms with buckets beside them and long lines strung to hang the clothes. There were also several rabbit colonies along with chicken flocks. Goats, milk cows, beef cows, and horses. They walked past the large gardens where men and women were working, weeding, and tending to the tender new crops. Beth squealed in delight when she came across some impressive herb gardens, she stopped to inspect every plant to see what they were growing for medicine.
The extent of this community almost overwhelmed her. This is what should have happened to all of society after the event. Rather than the misery, the violence, the starvation, and sicknesses, if only people had had the foresight of Roger and Mary Anne; then things may have turned out a whole lot different for everyone. Even herself, if she’d given thought to the future and prepared, she wouldn’t have been a refugee looking for a home and a community. She would’ve started her own. How stupid she had been. How very foolish.
Turning to Sarah, she smiled. She watched the expression on the girls face turn to delighted surprise as her eyes took it all in. “Wow, they’ve thought of everything!”
Beth nodded. They had, and hopefully they’d have a chance to learn from them.
“Well, are you ready to head back? Mary Anne is teaching me how to bake pies today,” Beth said. Reaching down she plucked a mint leaf from a flourishing plant and popped it into her mouth. It tasted fresh and sweet like a watermelon on a hot summer’s day.
“Yup, I think I’ll just sit outside on a lawn chair in the sun while you work with her if that’s ok.” Sarah sighed. Although she felt much better, she found she was still a bit tired and weak.
“Sure thing,” Beth replied. She looked sideways at her and frowned as she took in the paleness of Sarah’s skin. The girl had pushed herself too hard, too fast.
“Yes, I think that’s an excellent idea.” She smiled. “I’ll bring you out a glass of sweet tea.”
Sarah nodded and smiled. “I wish I’d had a mom like you. Your daughter; your Sarah, was very lucky,” she whispered.
Beth felt the burn of tears sting her eyes and she hugged Sarah tightly. “Although I didn’t give birth to you, Sarah, I consider you my daughter.”
She turned her face away as she choked on unshed tears. With an impatient swipe of her hand, she brushed the tears from her eyes and smiled a watery smile. She had a date to make pies; sweet and tart strawberry rhubarb pies.
∞
Rusty McNeil sat on a stump outside of the prisoner barn with his long legs stretched out in front of him, cleaning his rifle. An old Winchester, his grandfather had given it to him. He knew there were better and more powerful guns, but this one had a history for him. It was the first rifle he’d ever owned. The wooden rifle stock was as smooth as glass and worn to a light, caramel color from so many years of handling. The weight of the rifle felt natural, as fitting as any firearm he’d ever handled. The sun warmed his shoulders, and he sighed. It felt good after the long, frigid winter they’d had. The air sang with the soft hum of insects, and the smell of hay drifted from out of the barn door.
He thought of the prisoners and shook his head. What were they going to do with them? If it were up to him, he’d string them up out back from a sturdy limb off the tallest maple tree. But it wasn’t up to him. The decision belonged to Roger and Mary Anne. He’d known the two of them going on forty years and they considered him their right-hand man, and the person in charge in Roger’s absence. But this decision needed the agreement of all three of them. It couldn’t and wouldn’t be just up to him.
He glanced up when he saw Beth and two others approach the barn. They were pulling two red rider wagons loaded with plates of food for the prisoner's lunch. He grimaced worriedly.
“Mmmmm…you might not want to go in there.”
Beth raised an eyebrow in question.
“At least half of them are puking and shitting. Sick. It smells like an outhouse in there,” Rusty muttered in disgust. Shaking his head, he gazed out over the fields then turned his head and spit onto the ground.
Beth shook her head. Damn! This was worse than she thought. Turning to Tanya, she instructed her to go back to the community kitchen and ask Mary Anne for buckets of bleach water. They would need to clean and sanitize the prisoner quarters. Then she instructed Jamie, a young boy of sixteen, to find some more hands that were willing to help, and then go to the infirmary and gather six sets of gowns and gloves. He nodded and ran off toward the infirmary, leaving Beth alone with Rusty.
“They’ve got to have food. Is it possible they can eat out here?”
Rusty sighed in irritation. Yes, possible, but that would mean more guards to watch them. He nodded.
�
��Give me twenty minutes to gather up some more men.”
What a shit show. Sick prisoners required extra guards, extra food and medicine, and extra hands to care for them. They were tying up resources that were sparse to begin with. They should ‘a just shot them all on the road and been done with it. Getting up from the stump, he whistled for Sammy to stand guard.
“I gotta go and find us some more men to help,” he muttered. Sammy grimaced and nodded. Guard duty, he hated it. He would much rather be out helping with the farm animals.
Chapter Eighteen
Brian rode lead beside Spike. His head pounded furiously as he squinted into the sunshine. His entire body screamed with fatigue. A dark pall hung heavily over everyone. Cain stayed in the rear, quiet and lost in his thoughts and beside him rode Mitch who was followed by Peckerhead. The night before, they all camped alongside a river where Mel and two other women spent the night tending to the wounded. Brian learned from helping her with the injured that before the event, she’d been a nurse. Even with her dedicated attention, they’d lost two more men through the night—one from internal hemorrhaging and the other, Joey, from blood loss.
The sadness of losing Roger, Joey, little Stella, and so many more pressed down on his shoulders like the heaviest of iron yokes. He should have been there rather than off chasing Bobby. He should have stuck with Roger and his group and finished this job once and for all. Guilt ate at his gut. Yes, they’d freed the women and children, freed the town from Bobby and his gang of thugs, but at what cost?
They left the dead prisoners, back in town, rotting right where they’d landed from the explosion. The animals would take care of the bodies. Brian and Spike agreed, they didn’t have enough time or men for burials, and really, why should they bother? They took their own dead and loaded them onto one of the hay wagons to bring them home where they could bury them with honor.
“We need to take a break. Mel has to check bandages and give the wounded some water and food and more medicine,” Spike said.
He glanced back over his shoulder at the two wagons carrying the women, children, and wounded. Brian nodded back at him. They were stopping every couple of hours, and this slowed them down significantly.
The remaining prisoners were keeping up but, if he were to be honest, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about them. He’d walk them into the ground and watch them bleed to death before he’d lift a finger toward helping them. It was the children and the women he was most concerned about. And he knew they all needed to take a break and stretch their legs.
He glanced back at those they’d rescued and his heart broke. Hollow eyes filled with shock stared back at him. What have those children and women been through? He’d heard bits, and pieces from Mel and what he had learned curled his stomach. If Bobby were standing in front of him right now, he’d skin him alive, one strip of skin at a time. His suffering would be nothing though, compared to what he’d done to those poor souls. How could a man be so evil, so twisted? Shaking his head, he swallowed back the anger that clogged his throat.
The medicine Spike spoke of was a joke at best. Tylenol was the most potent pain relief they had. Brian guessed it was probably better than nothing, but some of the wounded were in considerable pain. At best, they tried to make them comfortable while riding on the bumpy, rickety, hay wagon. It was better than walking but this was not ideal.
“Okay, we’ll rest over this next rise.” The pounding in his head grew worse.
Spike saw the pinched expression on Brian’s face and laid a friendly hand on his shoulder. “I’ll have Mel dose you out some Tylenol.”
Brian nodded. Anything to help knock back the pain throbbing behind his eyes.
They traveled another two hours after resting. The sun hit the five o’clock position or somewhere near that. A cool breeze sang up from the east, and Brian tasted it on his tongue. Although the weather was nice enough, sweat beaded on his forehead and chills racked his body. He was sick. And his body screamed at him. It hurt to turn his head and focus his eyes. Sharp and agonizing pain flared, sending waves down his neck and into his shoulders. It was more than just a mere headache. It was excruciating. His stomach roiled with nausea, and his bowels felt watery and weak. Looking over at Spike, he muttered. Sparkles danced before his eyes just before darkness spiraled him down.
Spike swore and pulled his horse to a halt, quickly jumping down from the saddle. Running over, he knelt beside an unconscious Brian and turned him over onto his back. The sheen of sweat on his face and the moaning shocked him. He looked around helplessly. Mel saw what happened and jumped down, springing to action, from the moving wagon.
She pushed Spike out of her way with one curt word. “Move!”
Spike shot her a glance and moved aside while she checked Brian out.
“Shit! He’s burning up. We gotta get him cooled down, right now! Get me the water, soak down a blanket! Hurry!”
Spike ran to one of the wagons and dragged a blanket from it. Taking a jug of water, he poured it onto it until it dripped and ran it back to Mel. He saw that she’d peeled Brian out of his shirt, and she was struggling, working to remove his jeans. Kneeling, he grabbed the bottom cuffs of both legs and tugged hard after she’d finished undoing his belt.
“Let’s move him under that shade tree over there.”
Spike motioned for Cain, Mitch, and Earl to help. Gently, they lifted Brian and laid him on the wet blanket under the shade tree.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Mel shook her head. “I don’t know. He’s got a scorching fever. The only thing I can do is cool him down and give him Tylenol. Hopefully, we can wake him enough to swallow the pills with some water. Did he complain of not feeling well?”
Spike nodded. “Yeah, he complained earlier of a bad headache. I gave him some Tylenol. But other than that, not a peep.”
The sound of Brian gagging sent Mel moving fast and she turned him onto his side. Instantly, he began to projectile vomit. Spike moved up behind him and held him there until he finished. Once done, Mel took two fingers and swiped his mouth to clear it. With a start, she pulled back and ducked when Brian’s fist swung out. He opened his eyes with a roar of anger.
“What the hell!”
Spike grabbed him from behind and pinned his swinging arms so he wouldn’t accidentally hurt Mel.
“Easy, friend, easy,” he murmured. “You’re sick. Mel is trying to help you.”
His voice quieted Brian down, and he felt him sag with weakness.
“I don’t know what happened. We were talking, then nothing! Bang, I went out like a light,” Brian murmured.
“You have a fever. And you’ve been vomiting. We need to make camp here for the night so that you can rest. You need fluids and a bit of broth. I saw a can or two in the stash we took from the town coffers.” Mel explained.
Brian nodded. The sickness came on so quick and fierce that it drained every ounce of energy from his body. The thought of pushing through and climbing back into the saddle almost crippled him with dread. He looked down at his nearly naked body under the blanket and gave Spike an odd stare.
“Don’t look at me, man,” Spike laughed, “she did it.” Waving his hand, he pointed at Mel.
Brian’s face turned red with embarrassment.
“Ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before,” Mel teased.
His thoughts raced; did he have heatstroke? He hadn’t thought the temperatures were that bad, the mid-seventies, typical for late May. Leaning back on the blanket, he closed his eyes and sighed tiredly.
∞
Jerry Miller smiled behind his hand. The arrogant and self-righteous Brian, sick. It pleased him. Now all he needed to do was wait for the others to fall. He’d take as many as he could before they reached the compound. He was as good as dead anyway. As a prisoner, he could only imagine his fate once these whores started blabbing their big mouths. After all that he and the others did to them, with them? He’d even surprised himself with how deep his taste for per
version went. Well, not that they didn’t deserve it, but others would see it differently. He was sure that once they did, he, along with other members of the gang, would hang for their parts in it. He twisted his wrists against the zip ties that bit painfully into his flesh and felt the sting of his raw, tortured flesh. Yup, tonight would be fun to watch. They all drank from the water jug, even the wounded. He laughed and scanned the faces around him. Maybe this would turn out better than he thought.
∞
His nausea passed, and the headache kicked back a notch. Brian sat with his back against a tree and sipped slowly on the cup of broth Mel fixed up for him and thanked God for the supplies they’d taken from the town before they left. They had enough food to keep them all going for several days. Spike and Cain built a small campfire, boiled up some water to bathe and redress the wounded. On another campfire, the women cooked and dished out food. The children, all sat subdued and quiet, in a circle.
It surprised Brian when the little one, Stephen, strutted over to him and plopped down on the ground beside him. The little boy smiled up at him and reached over and grabbed his hand. Brian smiled back. The child’s hand in his felt strange.
In a normal world, one without the horrors; they would be playing ball, teasing, laughing, and getting into mischief. Brian’s heart jolted with sadness. This world was anything but ordinary. These kids would probably have nightmares for the rest of their lives from the ordeals of living and being prisoners of Bobby and his gang. Bitter bile rose up in his throat. He hadn’t seen the cages. But, Cain, when telling him about them had clenched and unclenched his fists and wiped tears from his eyes, which told him all he needed to know. It was bad. Worse than bad; it was horrific.
Plucking a blade of green grass from the ground, he chewed on the stalk. Saliva filled his mouth and turning his head, he spat onto the ground. Life. It sucked big time right now for so many people. Glancing at the wagon that held the bodies of those killed by the explosion he felt a sharp ache in his heart. How could he tell Mary Anne that her husband of forty-some odd years was dead? That he’d been taken down by a crazed suicide bomber. And the wives of the other men dead men, how would he tell them…and Joey’s girlfriend…Joey’s mother and father?