by Ray Wench
Lynn lay awake listening to the soft, steady breaths of the girls. The day had been exciting, to say the least. The gunfight had terrified her, but shooting was certainly better than being shot at. She thought about Mary and said a prayer. Then her thoughts turned to Mark. He seemed okay, but she'd been deceived before. Regardless, she wasn't about to let her guard down. Touching the gun under her pillow she closed her eyes.
Seventeen
Mark let them sleep in longer than usual the next morning. Lord knew he needed sleep too, but letting them get some much-needed rest would go a long way to getting more work out of them today. It would be good for their mental state, as well. He had hooked up the battery to the monitors so he could keep watch without having to be upstairs or waking anyone else to do it. While they slept, he jotted down chores that needed to be done. With six of them working, it should go quickly.
It was nearly eight when Lynn appeared. She carried her shoes and had a look on her face that was a cross between perplexed and worried.
“What happened?” she whispered, as she closed the door behind her. The two boys were snoring, so Mark got up and motioned for Lynn to follow. He led her upstairs. They sat at the kitchen table and focused their eyes outside. In normal times, it would have been a pleasant view. Now they were more concerned with anyone seeing them.
“Why didn’t you wake us?” she asked as she bent over to tie her shoes.
“I just thought everyone could use the rest.”
“Including you.” She sat up and pulled her hair back in a ponytail. As she did, she caught a whiff of her underarms. “Dear Lord, do I smell that bad?”
Mark laughed. “Not that I noticed. But then, we’re all in the same boat.”
“It would be awesome if we could figure out a way to shower. I know we can’t spare the water but it sure would be nice to feel clean, even once in a while.”
“Let me work on that idea for a bit. I may be able to rig something up. The problem is making sure we never run out of drinking water. It could eventually become a commodity that’s worth more than oil ever was.”
They fell silent and glanced around uncomfortably. Mark looked at Lynn as she stared outside. Her face had several small imperfections that he realized were scars. He could only speculate where they came from; he wasn’t about to ask, but some her reactions to being touched led him to believe her marriage might have been less than peaceful. She didn’t smile much, but when she did, it warmed him in a way that made him feel that everything still had a chance to be all right.
She caught him looking at her and her cheeks flushed. She looked away and said, “Well, maybe we should be getting the kids up. I’m sure you have lots for us to do.”
“There’s no rush. Let them sleep. You don’t mind sitting with me, do you?”
“No, I don’t mind.” Yet clearly she was uncomfortable.
“What do you think happened?” Lynn asked.
A question he had tried to answer many times.
“I really don’t know. There are so many possibilities. What I don’t understand is why us? I mean, what’s so special or different about us that we survived and so many others didn’t? Do we have some special trait that whatever this is had no effect on us? Or is it just ... random survival?”
“You mean luck?”
“I guess. We’ll probably never know for sure.”
“Maybe it’s God’s plan.” She looked at him as though she thought he would yell at her for voicing her opinion.
“After everything I’ve seen in the past few weeks I’m not sure I believe in God anymore. If He exists, then He’s given up on us; that’s for sure.”
Lynn took a breath as if to say something more, then thought better of it. It bothered Mark.
“Lynn, look, I don’t know what you were used to before, and it’s none of my business, but if you have something to say you have a right to say it. I may not agree, but that doesn’t mean you can’t have a different opinion. I’m not going to be mad or yell at you. We need to get used to each other and the best way to do that is to communicate. We each have to have an equal voice here. The kids depend on us to make the decisions. It’s the only way it’ll work, okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.” She hesitated. “I just think with the world as screwed up as it is, that maybe this is God’s way of cleaning house and starting over. Maybe we were chosen for a reason.”
“There must be a reason, I’ll agree to that, but I’m not going to give God credit. Sorry. It’s just my personal opinion. No one will be able to convince me that my wife and son needed cleansing.” He realized his voice had turned bitter. He calmed himself. “But if you’re right, and there is some plan, I wish He would make it known to us. And real soon would be nice.”
“I understand. You think God took your loved ones away. Maybe He took them because He didn’t want them to suffer through what comes next. I know it sounds trite but there has to be a reason. I have to believe that or I won’t be able to face the day. If ever we needed God, it is now. I believe He’ll be there for us when we need Him.”
“I hope for all of our sakes you’re right.”
“Look,” she said, pointing out the window. “It’s a blue jay.”
A blue bird had landed on the deck railing. Its head danced around, searching for food, as if nothing had changed. “I think God just sent us a sign.”
Mark smiled but didn’t speak. It was what he saw when he looked past the bird that had his attention.
Where he’d buried his wife and son.
Eighteen
They sat until the blue jay flew off, taking that as a signal that it was time to start the day. Downstairs, the boys were up and the girls were stirring. While they ate breakfast, Mark explained the jobs he had lined up for them. He wanted them to feel part of building their new home. It was also important that everyone pull their fair share.
“Lynn, do you have anything to add or anything you want added to the list?”
She thought, then offered several things, including finding large clean plastic barrels to begin catching rain water. They split up the chores and went to work. Mark was impressed by the fact there was minimal complaining.
Today, Caleb and Alyssa got to go on the hunt. Mark did a mental head slap to remind himself that he needed to teach the kids how to handle guns. They had been a big help the day before but hadn’t really hit anyone. They had served as a great distraction, but other than that, they’d just wasted bullets. It might be a good idea to make sure they all knew how to drive.
Taking the back road out of the subdivision, Mark retraced the route he’d taken the day before. With all the recent hostile activity in the area, he drove with extreme caution. They were getting a much later start than usual but he first wanted to look in on their new friends and make sure they were all right. He approached the street, inching to the corner. At the entrance to the court, he stopped and peered down the road. Most of the cars were still there, but someone had moved the bodies. Not seeing anything suspicious or threatening, Mark turned down the street then stopped.
Putting the van in reverse he pulled around the block and parked behind Frank's house.
“Caleb, get in the driver’s seat. If you hear any gunshots, you drive around the corner, out of sight, and wait for me there. You understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mark climbed out with his gun in hand, looking at the rear of the house. Something felt wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was making the hairs at the back of his neck stand up. He approached from behind and one house to the side. He stopped twice but nothing moved or made a sound. Making his way to the front porch he hesitated. Remembering Frank's itchy trigger finger, he decided to announce his presence. He called out.
“Hello in the house. Anyone awake?”
Only silence greeted him.
He climbed the steps.
“Frank? James? Maggie?”
Still no reply.
Maybe they had taken hi
s advice and moved to another house. He wanted to look but didn’t want to get shot if he startled them from their sleep. He stepped past the threshold, stopping in the living room. There he called out to them again.
His gun was up and ready now. He entered as if he were clearing a house in a combat zone. In the kitchen the story unfolded. Frank lay on the floor with multiple gunshot wounds. Someone had taken a shotgun and blown away his face. Mark prayed he had already been dead at the time. Artie was on the kitchen floor. The back of his head was gone as if he had been shot execution style, but with something big. Mary had never had a chance. She was still on the table but was naked. They had used her. He could only hope she was still unconscious when they came. Her throat had been cut. James and Maggie were nowhere to be seen. Could they have been taken? Judging from the condition of the others, that wasn’t very likely. Someone had been very angry. Perhaps it was retaliation for losing so many of their own men.
As Mark looked at the ruined bodies, the first thought he had was they had been taken by surprise. He had been wrong; he wasn’t too numb to feel. He thought about burying them, but things were different now. It was too dangerous to be in one place for too long. Taking a quick look around the house and not finding the other two, he left.
“Are they okay?” Caleb asked as he climbed back to his seat.
“Yeah, they’ve moved on to a better place,” Mark lied.
Nineteen
They needed some distance from the subdivisions, so Mark turned down the road that ran between the two subdivisions and headed west. He wanted to avoid main roads if possible, but the road he was on dead ended into Walden Road and he was forced to take it. He drove south for a half mile before turning west again. Five miles out, they were in farm country. The houses were spread out and looked untouched.
They came to a line of large pine trees on the right, set back about ten yards from the road. They acted as a barrier, preventing anyone from seeing what was beyond. Curious to see what they protected, Mark turned right at the next road. A large farmhouse stood at the end of a long dirt and gravel driveway. A garage and a barn stood behind and to the left of the house, as well as a series of greenhouses. Cornfields surrounded the back and left of the buildings stretching on for a great distance. Across the street were three two-story houses, but other than those only the rooftop could be seen of the next closest neighbor.
Staring at the sea of green stalks, Mark had visions of fresh vegetables. He drove up the driveway, thinking how perfect the farm looked, how perfect it would be to live there.
Stepping out of the van, Mark held his hands up high so if anyone was watching they could see he wasn’t a threat.
“Is anyone home?” he called out in a loud voice.
He walked closer to the house and opened up a dialog with it, since no human was answering.
“We would like to trade for some of your corn. If you’re interested, come out and talk to me. If you want us to go, you’re going to have to tell me that too, because if I don’t hear anything we’re going to come exploring.”
He stopped about twenty feet from the stone front porch.
“Last chance. We aren’t here to hurt anyone.” Nothing. “Okay, we’re coming in.”
He thudded his feet loudly on the wooden steps. At the front door, he peered through the windows into an immaculate home. It was decorated in country style and well cared for.
The door knob turned when he tried it, so he pushed the door open and slid out his gun. Advancing through the rooms, Mark had the feeling it had been long ago abandoned. There was a thin coat of dust built up, but other than that the house was as spotless as it had appeared from the window. Also important was the absence of the smell of decaying bodies. After searching each room, Mark went back to the porch and motioned the others forward. Caleb put the van in gear and drove. Mark signaled for him to park on the side of the house, out of sight from the road.
He stood at the door and waited for Caleb and Alyssa to come around the corner. When they did, he thought they were holding hands until they saw him looking. They were too obvious when they stepped away from each other. Mark looked away, pretending he hadn’t noticed, but he would have to give some thought as to whether he should say something, either to them or to Lynn. Could it really do any harm? If anything, it was nice to see that some things never changed. Regardless of the situation, life and love still went on.
“You two take the house. You know what to look for, and split up so it goes faster.” He gave them each a look. “I’ll search the outbuildings.”
He walked to the garage, stopping at the van to pick up two five-gallon gas containers. The garage, like the house, was unlocked and just as neat and organized. The people who’d lived there took great care of their things. Mark was willing to bet it was an older couple with some well-raised children. The garage was huge. He found a large storage tank for gas against the back wall. A fifty-five-gallon drum of oil, with a pump, stood next to the tank. Various farm equipment stood lined up inside. A huge work bench covered one side wall and a portion of the back. All sorts of power tools were stored on shelves below the workbench. Stairs led up to a floored attic used for storage of smaller less-used items.
An older model Buick took up one parking slot while an immaculate vintage pickup truck filled the other. A snowplow blade and a riding lawn mower stood against the back wall. Mark stood there, marveling at how well ordered everything was. He couldn’t bring himself to touch anything. He filled up the two gas cans from the tank then set them down outside and closed the door.
Next he headed for the barn. The noise caught his attention first. Mark slowed his step and followed the sound and then the smell hit him. He found three adult-sized carcasses scattered along the side of the barn. You couldn’t call them corpses any longer because what remained was only recognizable by the bones and shreds of clothing. They appeared to have been ripped apart. Mark’s immediate thought was of the pack of wild dogs that had attacked him. A chill ran up his spine. They must have been caught in the open and taken down before they had a chance. The maggots and buzzing flies had taken care of what was left. He backed up and moved to the next building.
The barn held all the larger pieces of farm equipment, including a tractor, a large wagon, a harvester, a Bobcat loader with a backhoe attachment, and several pieces that Mark recognized, but did not know the name for. The barn, to Mark’s surprise, had a dirt floor but was none the worse for it. A rear wall had been repaired as there were signs of new wood in a few different areas. A loft covered both left and right sides, leaving the center open to the rafters.
He found a shovel hanging from a wall-mounted organizer. Behind the barn, he started digging graves. About fifteen minutes later, Alyssa and Caleb came out with their arms full of treasures and loaded the van. Several more trips finished their task and brought them to Mark’s side.
“Caleb, I need you to continue digging here.” Mark handed him the shovel. “Alyssa, go back in the house and find three sheets.”
“Off the beds?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Mark walked back to the garage and found another shovel. Normally he wouldn’t have bothered, but these people deserved the respect of being buried.
It took them a little more than an hour to dig three graves. They didn’t need to be very big or deep. Mark wrapped the remains after finding work gloves in the garage. He wanted to show respect but he really didn’t want to touch them. Sliding the bodies in the holes he covered them. Leaning his chin on the shovel he offered up a silent prayer for their souls, just in case God really did exist.
After cleaning the shovels and putting them back where they belonged, Mark gathered the rifle and the handguns, as well as a shotgun the kids found in the house. He then collected string from a kitchen drawer and some plastic and glass bottles from the recycling bin in the house. Leading Caleb and Alyssa to the edge of a small apple orchard between the cornfield and the barn, he hung the bottles from the
branches. Mark talked the two kids through proper loading and firing procedures. After making sure they understood and could demonstrate the proper grip and stance, he had them dry fire a few times to get used to squeezing the trigger rather than pulling or jerking it. Then he had them load the guns and take shots at the hanging targets.
He let them empty a magazine each then had them try a few rounds each with the rifle. They ended by firing the shotgun once each. The recoil knocked Caleb back and dropped Alyssa on her butt. They showed some promise with the handguns, although both needed more practice than Mark was willing to waste bullets on. The way they had been going through them, Mark was afraid of running out. He knew they understood how to shoot now. Whether or not they could pull the trigger with intent to kill was another story. Even though they had shot at the attackers the day before, both admitted they doubted they hit anyone.
Mark had them fill pillow cases with fresh corn even though the corn wasn’t fully ripened yet. The apples weren’t ready to be picked. The greenhouses netted them green beans and tomatoes. They would have to come back and pick more. It would be a shame to waste fresh produce. They searched the three more houses across from the farmhouse before heading home. To Mark, it had been a productive but sad day.
Lynn packed supplies food and water in a backpack and hid it under a pile of blankets in the storage room. She had no immediate plans but wanted to be prepared, just in case. She reloaded her gun. Patting her pocket she felt the keys to the SUV parked out front. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to store a few items inside the vehicle too.
The talk in the morning with Mark had unsettled her. Not that anything he said had been threatening, in fact, it was just the opposite. Her fear had been that she found his words had relaxed her caution. She couldn't afford to let down her wall. When it was time to leave, she didn't want to hesitate.