A Cruel and Violent Storm

by Don M. Esquibel

  The reality of my situation settles in my stomach like a block of ice. The Animals have their sights set on my family, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to change that. All our guns, all our defenses, will any of it even matter? Likely not. When it comes to their revenge, they won’t take any half measures. They’ll come in hard and heavy. My family won’t stand a chance. Not on their own.

  I look to Frank, the dread I feel mirrored on his face. My family aren’t the only ones the Animals have their sights on. And from the look he gives me, I know things are as dire as I believe them to be.

  “What do we do?” I ask. It all comes down to this. Any plan, any action, starts and ends with the man standing before me.

  “Do you remember when I told you that every plan I made was more desperate than the last?” he asks.

  I nod. “I do.”

  “This is more desperate than all the rest combined.”

  Leon laughs, short and bitter. “Of course it is,” he says.

  “But it’s also the only chance we have to save our families.”

  Leon and I share a look, the resolve in his stare telling me we are aligned in our thinking.

  “We can handle desperate,” I say.

  I pace about the room, the adrenaline coursing through my veins not allowing me to sit idle. I’m a nervous wreck, my anxiety reaching its breaking point. I feel it in the thumping of my heart, in the cold sweat breaking across my forehead. My stomach is clenched in an impossible knot, making me nauseous. I said we could handle desperate. Now, I’m not so sure.

  The waiting is the worst part. Analyzing the plan. Weighing the odds. Thinking of all the ways things could go wrong. It’s hell. I’d rather be in the thick of things—would rather risk my life instead of dreading the prospect of doing so. At least then there’s no thinking, no dwelling. It’s all momentum. Action and reaction. Each move a precursor to the next.

  I glance at Leon who’s slipped into his own zone, the sound of his tapping foot reaching my ear with a sense of nostalgia. It’s a sound I grew up with, a beat, more often than not, I would pace along with during times of great stress. At least, what was considered stressful at the time. Hard to believe some of the things we once worried over, back when tomorrow seemed all but guaranteed. So much has changed. But seeing my friend, pacing along with the beat he plays, I realize some things remain the same. Some things always will.

  The sound of distant shouting reaches our ears. It has begun.

  “I believe that’s our cue,” Leon says as he joins me.

  “Sounds like it,” I say.

  We stand side by side, both of us gripping the handguns Frank managed to smuggle us as the shouting grows louder.

  “Do you think we can actually pull this off?” he asks.

  I feel his eyes on me and I turn my head to meet them. Sixteen years of friendship reflect back to me from those deep, brown depths. The joys. The tribulations. All the milestones shared as we grew from boys to men. I feel my mouth twitch into a ghost of a grin, the knot in my stomach unwinding.

  “I don’t know, Lee,” I say, honest. “But whatever happens, I’m glad you’re with me.”

  He stares at me for a moment, emotion swelling in his eyes. With a nod, he works past the lump in his throat and extends his fist. I extend my own and knock it against his.

  “Always, brother,” he says. “Always.”

  The shouts and screams intensify, accompanied by the pounding of dozens of feet. Then, finally, our door bursts open. Val, the middle-aged woman who uncuffed us earlier, stands in the doorway, her form obscured by deep smoke.

  “It’s go time!” she yells.

  Chapter 27: (Lauren)

  Fear is a dangerous thing. The way it can consume a person. Make them freeze up. Make them hysterical. More dangerous still is the effect it can have en masse—the way it spreads from person to person, filling the air like a bad odor. I feel it’s suffocating presence press heavily upon the room. It’s in the frantic faces, in the clamor that rises as everyone fights to be heard. There’s a mad rush to the sniper-holes built into the boarded windows, the family pushing and shoving each other out of the way to see the convoy with their own eyes. Myself included.

  I stand beside Felix on the second floor, watching the trail of lights snake their way up the road. The sight steals the air from my lungs. There must be a dozen vehicles at least. I share a look with Felix, his expression cold and disbelieving. He knows what this means as well as I do. The Animas Animals. They’re the only gang big enough to have this kind of fleet. Which means there can be no doubt of where they are headed. And if that’s true, it also means that someone sold us out. Leon and Morgan would rather die than betray us. Which only leaves one person who could have known. Frank. Neither of us says it. But we both know it to be true.

  Someone curses, loud enough for me to hear from the next room. I don’t need to ask why. I watch as the trucks come to a halt at our main gate. All that holds them at back are two padlocks and several rows of spike strips laid out on the driveway. Neither will hold them back for long I feel the fight or flight response overcome me, every instinct I have telling me to flee: to grab Grace and run off into the night. But as strong as the feeling is, I know there is no running from this. Already the Animals have broken through the gate. Even if Grace and I manage to escape, most of the family would not. The farm would be raided, picked clean of everything of use. And then what? We would have survived only to suffer a worse death later. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that nobody can survive in this world alone. We need others. This family has accepted me as one of their own. I won’t abandon them now.

  “Let’s go,” I say, grabbing Felix by the elbow and pulling him forward. “We can’t let them take the place.”

  We race out of the room and down the stairs where most of the family still wait. Richard descends after us, barking orders as he goes.

  “Arm yourselves,” he shouts. “Ted, Will, Julia: man the sniper holes in the master bedroom. Kelly and Colton: the office sniper holes.” For maybe the first time, I’m glad to hear him take command. He’s no stranger to battle. Here, now, with the enemy knocking at our door, he’s in his element. Nobody questions the instructions he gives. Even those barely holding it together hurry to their tasks, readying themselves for a fight even as they’re filled with dread.

  “We’re going to need every gun we can get,” he says, stepping up to Byron. He doesn’t elaborate further, nor does he need to. The two share a hard look, each measuring the other up. Finally, Byron nods.

  “We’re with you,” he says.

  Richard returns the nod, then quickly divides us into two groups. The old and young are stationed inside to man the remaining sniper holes. The rest of us are to hold the wall outside. Fleeting, fierce embraces are shared throughout the room. Siblings. Lovers. Parents. Children. I’m overwhelmed with emotion at the sight of it. It’s in the darkest hours that love shines brightest. I feel that love in every fiber of my being as I hold my sister in my arms.

  We’ve been through so much together, Grace and I. Our mother, the journey to Durango, everything that’s happened since; we’ve survived it all. For a long time, I felt as if that was our destiny: to fight, to scrape and claw all so we might see another day. It wasn’t until I met Morgan that I believed there could be more for us. I believe it still. It’s why I’m still here.

  My time is up. I unwrap my arms and lay my hand against her tear soaked cheek. There’s so much I want to say to her: stay safe, be brave, everything is going to be alright. I want to tell her that she means more to me than anything in the world and that I’m so, so proud to call her my sister. Instead, I lean close and kiss her lightly upon the forehead.

  “I love you, Gracie.” It’s all that needs to be said. She knows the rest already.

  “I love you too,” she says.

  With that, I fight the tears threatening to fall and hurry past Grace to join the stream of bodies heading for the wall. I d
on’t look back. I only tighten the grip of my rifle. Let the love in my heart feed me the strength I need for what is to come. And step into the cold dark night while adrenaline spreads like fire through my veins.

  Headlights creep up the driveway as we move into position, the sound of their engines reaching our ears like the growl of an approaching beast. I reach the cover of the wall: a barricade made of upturned vehicles, sandbags, and frozen snow. It spans the driveway, from the front corner of the house to the pasture fence. It took over two weeks to complete. Long hours spent filling and hauling sandbags, mile after mile of pushing stalled vehicles toward the farm. It was hell. But from where I stand now, staring down the sights of my rifle as the headlights reach us, I’m thankful for every blister and aching muscle I received while building it.

  The headlights fan out, facing the house and wall in one straight line behind the barbed wire fence we erected. We debated extending the wall but ultimately decided on a fence. It’s less laborious for one. And unlike a wall, the fence gives a layer of protection without providing a potential shield for would-be attackers to use against us. It also gives us open sightlines both at the wall and from the house.

  The engines cut off almost instantaneously, their sudden silence a harbinger of the battle looming over us. I can feel it—that controlled adrenaline I’ve grown accustomed to. Yet even with the battle fast approaching, it’s as if time stands frozen as the ground beneath my feet. The adrenaline. The fear. The glare of headlights. It all brings me back to that night, months ago, when we took refuge behind a parked SUV as these same Animals bore down on us. Only now there’s no Morgan to risk his life for us. There’s nobody coming to our aide as Richard and Vince and Jerry once did. We are on our own.

  Doors open. Bodies pour out of the vehicles, the light in my eyes hiding their features. They move like shadows, using their fleet as cover rather than step out in the open. Smart on their part. Even so, there is no mistaking the size of the force. It’s massive. The Animals easily outnumber us two to one. More, most likely. I glance to my right where Felix stands, a scowl on his face as he stares ahead. He claims he trusts his uncle, but surely he must have his doubts. Indeed. To have prayed for months for his uncle to return home, only for him to return like this? I can’t even begin to imagine the thoughts running through his mind.

  “Stand strong,” Richard says. He speaks from the center of the wall, his voice low, but easily carrying to us down the line. “No matter what happens, remember why you’re here.”

  His message is simple yet I feel its impact ripple along the wall, strengthening the resolve in all of us, especially those who need it most. We are all here for the same reason after all: a reason that means so much more than our own lives ever could. We are here for each other. We are here because we are family. If we survive this, it will be for that same reason.

  “Richard Davis!”

  The voice cracks the quiet like an icy whip. A voice I recognize: heard in the streets outside Rockridge as he faced off with Morgan, and in the glow of the inferno he set to William and Claire’s home. I scan the fleet until it lands on a face half covered in shadow, his sneer more obnoxious than I remember.

  “Vince Morris!” He continues listing names. “Jerry Morris! And last, but certainly not least: Morgan Taylor. These are wanted lives. And one way or another, we will have them.”

  Like with Richard, this man’s message has a rippling effect along the wall. I feel it sweep over me, a foreboding sense that something’s off about all this. The coordination. The knowledge of our people and defenses. Even if Frank betrayed our whereabouts, he couldn’t have possibly known all of this. And if that were the case, surely he would have turned Morgan over by now. Doesn’t the fact that they are looking for him here prove Frank hasn’t betrayed us?

  “Never heard of them,” Richard yells back. “You obviously have the wrong place.”

  The man’s sneer deepens. “No. I don’t think I do.” He looks over his shoulder and beckons somebody forward. Surprise. Disbelief. Anger. I feel all of these at once as Mitch steps into the light. Judging by the curses of those beside me, I’m not the only one.

  The man pats Mitch’s back in greeting. The weeks since he was exiled have not been good to him. Desperately thin. His clothes dirty and ragged. He looks not at us, but at the ground, his face haggard and solemn. In comparison, the sneering man looks positively buoyant.

  “What say you, Mitch?” the man asks. “Are we at the correct location?”

  Slowly, Mitch nods.

  The man laughs. “Yeah, I thought so,” he says. “Now, back to the reason for this little visit...” He pauses, his flippant attitude disappearing in an instant.

  “Truth be told, I don’t want to be here at all right now. This isn’t how things should have been. We could have been friends. We could all be back at the base right now, warm and comfortable, but you ruined that chance by shitting all over our invitation to join us. Not only that, you had the nerve to come into our home and create a goddamn mess of things! Eight of our men died that night, one of whom I watched burn to death in front of my own eyes! That’s something that can’t be forgiven. So here we are: the big bad wolves ready to blow your fucking house down! And you have nobody to blame but yourselves.”

  He starts cool. Calm. But each word grows colder, louder, fueled by deep-seated anger. His sneer twists into something dark and feral, body shaking with barely suppressed rage. He takes a deep breath and exhales as if to calm himself.

  “That being said, we are not unreasonable,” he says. “Not all of you have to die tonight. Only four: Richard, Vince, Jerry, and Morgan. The four of you turn yourselves over, here, now. You do that, and the rest of your family will be spared. We’ll have our vengeance, burn this place to the ground, and we can all move on from this mess, together. The way it should have been from the start. You have sixty seconds to decide.”

  Not unreasonable. All we have to do is allow them to kill four of us and agree to become their captives. The fact that this man can stand there, acting as if he offers us some golden opportunity speaks volumes. He’s a sociopath in every sense in the word. I doubt the soldiers he spoke of have crossed his mind even once since they were killed. It’s power he cares about. I heard it in his voice the first night we met, just as I hear it now. This isn’t about revenge of the dead. It’s about reclaiming the power he feels stolen from him.

  “Our lives are our own!” The words leave Richard’s mouth as a defiant roar. With the battle only a breath away, the warrior in him fully awakens. “They will never be yours!” And though his words are his own, they speak for all of us.

  The man scans the wall and house coldly. “I’m disappointed, Morgan,” he says. “I wanted to see the light leave your eyes before you died.” He takes a deep breath. “But I guess we don’t always get what we want, do we? So be it.”

  He turns to his right. “Ready Matador?”

  A man steps forward from the shadows, the glow of headlights illuminating his face for the first time: Felix’s Uncle Frank. I don’t need to search Felix’s face, I can all but feel him tense beside me. Inside the home, I imagine his wife and son do the same. He stops beside the sneering man, sparing only a slight glance our way before returning his attention to him.

  “You have no idea,” he says.

  The man smiles, mistaking the rage that burns inside Frank’s eyes for excitement. In the span of a breath, the smile leaves his face, experiencing that rage first hand. Frank moves with speed and violence, disarming the man and maneuvering him into a chokehold effortlessly. His gun rests against the man’s head, reminding me, vividly, of this morning: when it was Morgan he held at gunpoint, his face turning blue, eyes pleading with me to run. I cursed him then, certain the man Felix knew was dead and gone. But in an instant, he’s crossed that invisible line in the sand—choosing us over them. It’s like seeing a man come back to life.

  “The hell...you...doing?” the man chokes out, his voice a mix of ve
nom and betrayal.

  Frank ignores him, addressing, instead, the ranks of Animals who have drawn their guns on him.

  “This isn’t how things have to be,” he yells, backing away till he reaches the boundary of the fence. “Aren’t you tired of this? We raid and kill and do whatever we’re told because we’re terrified of what they might do to us and our families if we say no. I’m done being a pawn in their game. If we would just stand together, we could take back our lives. We could find a new way forward. And it all starts here.”

  Of the faces not hidden by shadow, most are full of indecision. I’m caught off guard. All this time I’ve thought of the Animals not as individuals, but as a collective. I modeled them all after the sneering man who leads them: bloodthirsty and callous. It never occurred to me there might be more to them. But seeing them waver, caught between their desire to join Frank and their fear of the man he restrains, I realize how wrong I was. They’re just people, filled with good and bad like all of us.

  “Anyone... against...slaughter...entire family,” the man spits.

  There it is, the fear that holds them back. It’s a dangerous thing. And the Animals are no more immune to it than we are.

  “No, you won’t,” Frank says. With his gun still in hand, he reaches toward his shoulder. “Matador to base.”

  The words hardly leave his mouth before there’s a reply. “Where the hell have you been?” a staticky voice replies. “Return immediately! There’s been a breach. Grunts are escaping left and—” He silences the voice just as quickly.

  If Frank meant to assure them, he was mistaken. Instead, there’s an outcry of mutinous dissent. He’s put people’s families at risk with whatever he’s done. And though they may hate what they do, they never would have taken such a risk themselves. Now their fear turns to panic, to anger, all directed at the man who put this in motion.