by Reed, N. C.
“Thank you both,” Angela smiled weakly, mentally congratulating herself on a fine performance. With her two 'helpers' supporting part of her weight, Angela began more or less hopping to the clinic.
-
Patricia looked up at the sound of the door opening to see her mother-in-law being brought in on the shoulders of Olivia Haley and Carlene Goodrum. She rushed to assist them, asking questions as she moved.
“Mom, what happened? Is it your leg, knee or ankle? Where you bitten? Do you know what it was?”
“Easy,” Angela smiled at her. “I just turned my ankle. It hasn't swollen as we walked over here so I'm hoping it isn't as bad as it feels.” She let Patricia guide her to a table and set her against it. As she leaned into Patricia's shoulder, she whispered softly in her daughter-in-law's ear.
“Call Jose down here, quietly.”
Patricia looked at Angela with a frown, but then nodded once. Kaitlin Caudell and Jaylyn Thatcher had made it over to them by then and helped Angela slide up on the table. Patricia took that opportunity to slip away and make the call her mother-in-law had requested.
“Olivia, dear, thank you for your help,” Angela smiled. “You should get back, and try and finish. I'm probably done for the day, so the responsibility for the seeds are yours for now.”
“Yes ma'am,” Olivia stood a little straighter. “If you need me to help you get home just have someone call me.” With that the teen departed.
“I'll go and help her finish,” Carlene said nervously, edging for the door.
“Stop right there,” Angela's voice was suddenly firm and pain free. “I told you to come here yesterday and have your ribs checked, Carlene, but you didn't. You acted as if you were, and then when you thought you were out of sight, you headed up the hill. Now that we're here, you're going to let Doctor Thatcher check you over. And before you object, I will not take 'no' for an answer. If what I suspect is true, then it needs to be dealt with before it gets any further. I will not have that kind of behavior on my land.”
“Wh-what are you talking about?” Carlene demanded.
“You know exactly what I'm talking about,” Angela replied as Jose walked into the clinic. Angela looked at him and then turned to Thatcher.
“It is my belief that Carlene is suffering from domestic abuse,” she reported in a quiet but firm voice. “I am asking that she be examined, as she has shown evidence of injury for the last several days, and for the last two has worn long sleeves despite the oppressive heat. These are signs of domestic abuse that I learned to recognize working with battered women through the church.”
“Mrs. Goodrum, are you experiencing abuse of any kind?” Jose asked before Thatcher could speak. “Domestic abuse in any form is unacceptable. In anyone.”
“She doesn't know what she's saying!” Carlene sounded almost desperate, and had the look of someone who was trapped in a corner with no escape.
“It sounds as if she does,” Thatcher entered the fray. “I've seen and dealt with domestic abuse among families of men returning from war, Mrs. Goodrum. It's a problem in all walks of society. And you are demonstrating classic signs of it, right now. I would appreciate your cooperation in determining the truth, here.”
“I... I can't,” Carlene shook her head. “Darrell... I need Darrell's permission to... to see any doctor!” she stammered finally.
“No, you don't,” Jose told her flatly. “Your husband is not the top of the pecking order here, Mrs. Goodrum. And he never will be. If you're afraid of repercussions, don't be. There won't be any. I'd like to add my own request to Doctor Thatcher's that you let her examine you for injury. Where we go from there depends on what she finds. And if there's nothing to find, then your husband never needs know you were here. Right?” he looked at Jaylyn and then Kaitlin and Patricia.
“Right,” all three replied at once.
“Mrs. Goodrum, why don't you accompany the doctor and Miss Caudell and let them check you over while Patrica looks at Angela's ankle,” Jose 'requested'. It was clear that it wasn't a request.
“Is your ankle even injured?” Carlene demanded, her face twisted in a mix of anger and fear.
“I hope not,” Angela shrugged. “I twisted it pretty badly but I'm hoping that the lack of swelling means it's just twisted and not injured. It's not hurting like it was, but it still hurts.”
Without another word Carlene almost stalked behind a curtain where Jaylyn and Kaitlin were waiting for her.
“Are you really hurt?” Patricia asked softly.
“I am, but it's not my ankle,” Angela sighed. “I'm afraid there's nothing you can do for where I hurt, dear,” she patted her daughter-in-law on the arm. “I'm going home,” she stood carefully. “If you could spare one of the kids to drive me over I'd appreciate it,” she told Jose.
“I'm sure we can arrange it,” he promised.
“Then I'll go and get some ice for that ankle,” Patricia said. “Wait here for a minute and I'll have Leon take you home.”
-
“I don't even know where to start,” Jaylyn said an hour later. “X-rays show over a dozen stress fractures that have healed improperly, and she currently has three fractured ribs and a fractured left ulna. She also shows signs of a recent concussion, numerous bruises and contusions, and what may be a blood clot in her left leg behind a bruise that's probably a match for a steel toed boot her bastard of a husband wears,” she almost growled.
“How the hell was all this going on and we didn't see it?” Jose wondered aloud.
“She has to report it, for one thing,” Kaitlin told him. “It's not always apparent, and victims will often hide their injuries, whether in fear or shame or both you never know. In her case I'd say it's a combination of both.”
“Agreed,” Jaylyn nodded. “She's going to have to stay here for at least twenty-four hours,” she told Jose. “I've got to treat her fractures, and examine the incorrectly healed ones to see if they can be repaired with what we have on hand. I'd suggest you take their children from the home for the time being. Without her as a target, he'll look elsewhere.”
“I bet he won't,” Jose's voice was strangely calm. “But you're correct that the children will need someone to look after them. Where is Mrs. Goodrum now?”
“I've sedated her,” Jaylyn told him. “She was becoming more and more frantic, causing her blood pressure to spike. I would expect her to be here more than just one day, but the one is an absolute minimum.”
“I'll take care of the rest,” Jose promised. “All of it.”
-
“We are so frigging exposed here it's not even funny,” Clay muttered as the Ghost brought up the rear again.
“We're not too spread out, at least,” Heath noted. “And with the extra vehicle at least we've got a wild card. Someone who isn't tied down.”
“That's all well and good, but we should have been on the way back long before now,” Clay said absently, watching the area around them. Zach was covering their rear.
“I really don't see how we could have gotten things loaded any faster, Boss,” Heath replied. “No one stopped for anything more than water or to take a leak. It was a lot of stuff. And sure enough a load of horses.”
“The horses will really help,” Clay admitted. “Which reminds me that all of you guys who can't ride need to learn how,” he changed the subject. “Can you?”
“Yes, though I'd not call myself a horseman,” Heath nodded. “Still, I know which end to look over when I'm going somewhere,” he chuckled.
“That's more than several know, I'd bet,” Clay laughed. “Not to mention all the-”
“We got company,” Zach said calmly, interrupting. “Two vehicles behind and closing fast. Hummers, both of them. The lead Hummer at least has a Ma Deuce on it, looks like.” Clay heard the sound of Zach working the bolt on the big machine gun to chamber a round.
“Boss, someone's in the turret and he's moving the gun our way,” Zach continued. “Permission to open fire?”
“Not unless they shoot at us,” Clay reminded him. “Thug Life, how copy,” he spoke into the radio.
“Go for Thug,” Mitchell replied at once.
“Be sharp,” Clay warned. “Two Hummers on our tail and closing fast. One is armed with a BMG for sure. They may be trying to hammer us onto an anvil somewhere. Cop Car you copy that?”
“Thug copies.”
“Cop Car acknowledged.”
Clay turned his attention out the back window toward the now very close Hummers. They were losing sight of them at each curve, but the closing Hummers were returning to view faster with each turn.
“Boss, I think these guys are gonna try and stiff us,” Zach called down, staying off the radio. “They are uber aggressive here.”
“I think you're probably right, Zach, but I'd prefer to make sure and not hose a potential friend and make an enemy out of them. If I had to bet, I'd say this is the same crowd that hosed down the Alphaville crowd, but there's no way to know unless they open fire or Charley recognizes them, and I don't plan on letting them get near her.”
“Roger that,” Zach answered. He was itching to fire, knowing in his bones that these were bad guys, but orders were orders and he had discipline. He would hold.
“Say Boss,” a thought occurred to the teen suddenly. “How resistant is this thing to Ma Deuce fire?”
“In theory, very,” Clay replied. “Complete, all around resistance, in fact.”
“In theory?” Zach sounded as if he'd misheard.
“Remember it was built by the lowest bidder,” said Clay, mirth in his voice despite the situation. “Always remember the lowest bidder rule, boys.”
“Fantastic,” Zach grumbled.
“In this case, you can be reasonably sure that it works,” Clay sought to reassure the teen soldier.
“Stop trying to cheer me up, man,” Zach retorted. “You kinda suck at it.”
“Sorry,” Clay laughed as he watched the Hummers racing to catch up. “Everyone always says that. I guess that's why I don't get invited to many parties.”
“Can't imagine,” Zach chuckled. The trailing Hummers had pulled close enough that Clay could see the man behind the gun on top of the lead vehicle, and watched as he charged the weapon and angled it toward the Ghost.
“I think that answers that question,” Clay sighed. “Zach, light 'em up!”
In reply, the M2 atop the Cougar began hammering. Clay watched as a trail of tracers raced for the Hummer, stitching it from front bumper on back. A spray of red matter mingled with other material showed where the gunner had been hit.
“Bossman to group, we're being pursued by two Hummers. One is down and we are continuing to engage. Do not stop or slow. Thug, Red, Charlie Mike, Romeo Tango Bravo. Copy?”
“Thug Copies,” Mitchell replied at once.
“Red copies,” Xavier said next. “Thug, we're falling out of formation to take the rear.”
“Negative,” Mitchell ordered. “Move up. We may need the heavier firepower you have to get home. We'll take drag. Doc, be awake. You can see better than we can from up there.”
“On a swivel,” Tandi replied as he saw Mitchell's Cougar swerve into the other lane and slow. As soon as they were past, the Guardian moved up on their left, replacing the smaller MRAP in the lead position.
Meanwhile, Clay had watched the lead Hummer veer off the road, heavily damaged and with at least one casualty. The second slowed near it's consort, but then sped up to continue pursuit.
“Stay on them, Zach!” Clay ordered. Either these guys were stupid or they were trying to chase the convoy into an ambush. He said as much over the radio to Mitchell and Xavier.
“Always go for stupid whenever there's a question of intelligence,” Xavier snarked.
“We can't dare assume it's not an ambush, though that's an expensive hammer,” Mitchell noted. “Thug Life has assumed the drag.”
-
“What's going on?” Charley asked, roused from her shallow sleep by the racket of gunfire.
“We're being pursued,” Abby replied, not bothering to try and sugar coat it.
“What?!” the other woman sat straight up, gasping as it caused her broken arm to throb. “What?” she repeated with the hiss of pain.
“Two vehicles came charging up behind us,” Abby repeated, trying to explain as she kept her eyes glued to the road. “Zach already took care of the lead. If I know him, he'll make short work of the second one as well.”
“Zach?” Charley asked. “Who is that?”
“Zach Willis,” Daisy answered so that Abby could keep watching the road. “He's manning the gun on the vehicle that was behind us.”
“Was?” Charley asked, turning to look behind them but seeing only her horse trailer. “Who's behind us now?”
“Mitchell Nolan,” Daisy replied calmly. “Professional soldier. There's another vehicle like it at the front, crewed by other professional soldiers. We're going to be fine.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.
“Are you sure?” came the fear tinged question from the back seat.
“Sure as I can be,” Daisy nodded. “They're really good. And apparently the group that tried to attack us aren't. They made a mistake taking on this crew.”
“Got that right,” Abby nodded solidly. “Trust in them to get the job done, Charley. They can handle it.”
“Is it the same group that attacked us?” Charley asked.
“Possibly, but I don't know of any way to know for sure,” Abby replied. “How many vehicles did you see when you were attacked?” There was silence for a moment as Charley considered that.
“Five, I think,” she answered finally. “At least five, but one was a truck. At least one, anyway.” Abby thought that out then reached for their radio.
“Be advised there were five vehicles in the attack on Alpha,” Abby said to everyone at once. “Repeat, five vehicles in the attacking force, one of which was a truck.”
“Copy that,” Clay replied at once. “Thanks.” Abby didn't bother to acknowledge his thanks, keeping the radio clear.
“Thug copies,” she heard Mitchell say.
“Red copies,” Xavier said next. “Approaching the... well, not the highway, but the better secondary road. Ish,” he had to add.
The convoy slowed as the vehicles had to negotiate the slightly inclined turn to get onto the 'better secondary road, ish'. Abby expertly guided the truck and trailer onto the next road and hit the gas to catch up.
“Nothing to it,” she said coolly, despite her heart hammering in her ears.
-
“Oh, that won't help you, mother-,” Zach's voice was cut off as the big Browning opened up again, slamming round after round into the zigzagging Hummer behind them. The driver had apparently thought that weaving back and forth would protect them from the machine gun fire.
Zach corrected that error for them by stitching fifty caliber rounds from one end of the military vehicle to the other. The second Hummer slowed and didn't correct its path, running into the ditch on the right side of the road and slamming to a halt.
“Hope you got a airbag!” Zach yelled the old movie line as he watched the Hummer hit the ditch hard enough to raise the rear wheels off the ground before settling back to the pavement.
“Ghost to all units,” Clay said calmly. “We're clear at this time. Moving up to rejoin the column.”
“Thug copies.”
“Red copies.”
Clay sat heavily in the seat behind Heath, removing his helmet long enough to wipe his forehead before replacing it.
“We're all good,” Zach called. “For now, anyway,” he added after thinking about it.
“Good job, Zach,” Clay called. “You too, Heath. Steady hands on the wheel,” he clapped the younger man's shoulder.
“Ah, this thing practically drives itself,” Heath replied. “No problem.”
-
Clay rode on pins and needles the rest of the way home, but there were no fur
ther problems or altercations. He didn't know whether to be glad or else be worried that all they had seen was a scouting force.
Two hours behind schedule, the convoy rolled into the yard at the ranch, the stock trailer moving directly to a holding corral that had already been cleared to receive the new horses. Nervous and high-strung horses bolted from the trailer as soon as the gate was open, their handlers having to work to make sure they didn't harm themselves.
The stallions were each placed in small holding pens that could be adjusted for size or even moved if needed. Each had room to move and even run a bit to burn off energy but were kept separated from each other as well as the rest of the herd. Stallions were touchy regardless of the breed, and these were high spirited to say the least.
Once the horses were unloaded the crews breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the rest of the loads could wait until later in the day or even the next day if needed.
If the members of the convoy were relieved to be home, those who had remained behind were even more so, glad to have everyone back where they belonged.
Most everyone.
-
“We got a problem,” Jose said at once, as soon as he found Clay.
“You mean as opposed to how well things usually go?” Clay snorted. “What is it?” he asked when Jose didn't laugh.
“Your mother found something,” Jose told him. He spent the next five minutes explaining what had been discovered, by which time Clay was fuming. He literally stalked over to where some of the others were working, looking for a specific someone.
“Where the hell is Goodrum?” he demanded.
“Stalked home the minute he stepped off the truck,” Gordy replied. “No one bothered to stop him. Glad he was gone to be honest.”
“What has happened?” Brick asked, frowning slightly. Clay weighed the facts in his head before deciding to tell the much larger man everything.
“I would like to go and have a talk with him,” Brick's voice was vibrant, but his face was calm. Too calm.
“I was going to ask you to let me do it,” Xavier said from right underneath them, having arrived unnoticed, as usual.