Fire From The Sky | Book 8 | Hell Fire

by Reed, N. C.

  “I'm going home, too,” she replied. “Who would call you back in, if you had to go?”

  “Uncle Clay, or maybe Jose or Mitchell,” Gordy shrugged. “Depends on whoever is running security. I have to pull early watch as it is so maybe I can escape a call out unless it's an alert. I sure hope so. I am beat,” he fought off a yawn.

  Sam was obviously trying to poke at him, but Gordy was too tired to see it, which was probably a good thing since he wouldn't have taken kindly to it. For her part, Samantha was beginning to see that her earlier spark of jealousy was not only unfounded, but very unladylike. Childish, even.

  “Walk a girl home?” she smiled at him.

  “Be glad to,” he returned it, offering his arm. Together, arm-in-arm, the two made their way home in the growing dusk.

  -

  Zach had showered after eating supper, then made his way out back to lay out and look at the stars. He would have watch in a little over three hours, so he saw no point in trying to sleep. Four hours of ground watch and he would sleep like a baby during the day despite the heat. Until then he was content to watch the stars come into view as the last dregs of sunlight fled from the sky.

  For some reason he wasn't surprised to smell shampoo behind him. Sighing, he didn't move other than to cross his ankles.

  “Might as well come on over instead of just standing there,” he said calmly. He could just make out hesitant footsteps behind him, coming unsteadily closer until there was a dark mass standing above him. A mass that was shaped much different than he had expected.

  “May I join you?” Charley Wilmeth asked hesitantly.

  “Sure,” Zach hid his surprise well as the young woman crossed her legs and dropped to the ground in what was commonly called an 'Indian' pose.

  “What can I do for you?” Zach asked, turning his attention back to the stars that were starting to blink into view.

  “I was told it was you that shot our attackers this afternoon,” Charley said quietly.

  “Oh,” Zach suddenly had an idea why she had sought him out. “Yeah, that was me.”

  “Do you think it possible they were the same ones who killed my friends?” she asked softly. “Killed my father?”

  “I'd say the odds are fair,” Zach replied after thinking about it. “Weaponry was a match, at least. There weren't enough vehicles for it to have been all of them unless they were out of fuel. Which, that is possible, mind you. There were at least three in each Hummer, so again not quite enough to be all of them, if I had the details you gave the others right.”

  “No, there were others,” she agreed. “And more than two vehicles. I thought Abby had told everyone that.”

  “Hard to hear over a machine gun,” Zach reminded her. “I'm sure Bossman heard it though, and took it into his planning. Probably why we sat blocking the road for a few minutes before closing up.”

  “That's so dangerous,” she murmured. “So much violence.”

  “Has been since things went dark,” he nodded, unseen in the dark. “I expect it will get worse before it gets better.”

  “You really know how to cheer people up, don't you?” she almost laughed, though it was strained.

  “Sorry,” Zach grinned into the dark. “Not really my specialty, I guess. But you can at least take heart that this place is a lot safer than most others. You can sleep a lot more soundly here than anywhere else I know of at the moment. Hopefully that counts for something.”

  “Why are you just laying out here in the grass, anyway?” she asked him, wanting to change the subject.

  “Watching the stars,” he replied. “Just something I do, once in a while. Lay here and wonder what's up there, if there's life there somewhere, things like that.”

  “You think there's aliens out there?” she asked, surprised.

  “Well, if there is life out there, then to them, we're the aliens,” Zach chuckled. “But honestly, I have no idea. I figure if there can be life here, then there can be life somewhere else, too. Why would God make all of that,” he waved an arm to encompass the sky, “and put life only in this one place?”

  “Good point,” she conceded after a moment of thought. She got to her feet, once more standing over him in the dark.

  “I wanted to thank you,” she sounded rushed as she spoke, as if afraid she wouldn't be able to finish if she didn't do it quickly. “Those men hurt... killed my father, killed so many of my friends, all of them that were left to me. I... there was nothing I could do about it, myself, but at least... at least you were able to do something. Thank you for that.”

  “You're welcome,” Zach replied carefully. In truth, he hadn't done it for her, or because of the slaughter at Alphaville, but simply because it was his job. But this was important to her, so he let it ride. “I'm glad we were able to give you a safe place to go,” he added.

  “Me too,” was all she said. “Good night.”

  “Sleep well,” Zach said as she left. He pondered what she had said long after her footsteps faded from his hearing. In the end, however, he still could only see that he had done what was expected of him, and not for any need to avenge anything or anyone. Even so, he decided if it gave her some kind of peace, who was he to deny her that?

  With that settled, he returned his attention to the stars above him.

  -

  “Definitely still in the area,” Clay muttered darkly as he studied a map of the surrounding area. “They came from here,” he traced the road their attackers had followed to catch them. “That could mean they're operating back this way,” he reversed his trace, following the road back the opposite way.

  “Could also mean that some of them were coming back to loot empty houses,” Jose mentioned.

  “Also true,” Clay agreed. “There are too many variables. Too many unknowns. I don't see a way for us to do anything about this unless we encounter them in strength and manage to get information from one of them. The loss of six men and three Hummers may have hurt them, too.”

  “Depends on what they started with,” Greg shrugged. “I wish we knew what the military was doing. Officially, I mean,” he clarified at their look. “They had to have made at least a few moves before things hit the fan. Right? I mean they wouldn't just leave it. Would they?”

  “The Joint Chiefs, assuming they didn't cut and run to protect their own families and fiefs, would be more concerned with trying to make sure the borders are protected,” Clay answered. “That is their job, after all. Interior matters fall to the Guard, State Militia forces, State police and so on. I doubt that any of the established police forces are still very active, save maybe in places like Nashville. Big cities where the municipal forces could count on Guard assets to back them up. By now, though? Who can really know?”

  “The only way to know is to go see,” Jose pointed out.

  “Which we will not be doing,” Clay said firmly. “Their problems are just that; theirs. We have more than we can say grace over as it is. We've helped Jordan and got nothing but a slap to the face for it once we did. We're not going to take on responsibility for anyone else. Period. I'm not against helping people like Miss Wilmeth, and I will not tolerate a rogue unit in our area if we can find them and destroy them, but we will not be the police force for the region. Not our job, not our responsibility. We have our own troubles as it is. And our own people to care for.” He looked at Jose, and then at Greg.

  “We need to divide our experienced people into two teams,” he ordered. “Spread our team out,” this was to Jose. “Even better, create three teams, assuming we have adequate manpower everywhere else, and can project efficient force with our effective fighting force cut into three squads. Whether we can or can't, we have a new rule as of right now; at least one team will always be here, on this farm, at all times. No exceptions, I don't care what it is. None. We will not leave the people on this farm to fend for themselves any more, for any reason. Read me?”

  “Read,” Jose and Greg said together.

  “Include Mister Mont
ana in the group, but exclude Miss Ledford,” Clay ordered. “She isn't comfortable in the field and lacks experience. As a result she also lacks confidence, and that can kill. Respect her wishes and let her remain here doing her job.”

  “Montana is really more important with the horses for now,” Greg pointed out. “And he's new.”

  “Also true,” Clay sighed. “And we really do need to start training people to ride, which means Kurtis needs to be making saddles, assuming we have the materials to do so. Greg, I want you to get with Sammy and Luke tomorrow and see if they're up to working some hides. We have some that we've preserved for them if they are. Kurtis will need something to work with. Apparently, Miss Wilmeth's father had most everything he'd need to make saddles, save for the leather itself.”

  “On it,” Greg nodded.

  “So, Kurtis and Kandi are both out, then,” Jose was looking at a piece of paper. “Anyone else we need to cut out?”

  “No, but we need Tandi to choose at least two people to start training beyond basic first aid,” Clay sighed. “Jaylyn can help him, and so can Kait. We need two more medics, fully outfitted. We need one for every team, and ideally one for the farm. At all times. Tell him to try and find someone from the farm's crew as well. We can't risk the others out in the shit.”

  “Our defenses aren't geared to take on armored vehicles,” Jose added.

  “I'll work on that starting tomorrow,” Clay nodded. “We're going to build a new bunker across the road, here,” he indicated a spot almost directly across from their current location in Building Two. “A large one that's completely camouflaged. We'll store some surprises there for anyone who comes knocking thinking we're ripe for picking. Which will mean we need to man it at all times, since we may not be able to get there in time otherwise. The team that's assigned to the farm will need to cover that.”

  “I'll work it out,” Jose promised. “Damn. All these new people and this new gear and we're stretched further than ever.”

  “No, we're not,” Clay was shaking his head. “We're not going to go looking for trouble. If it comes to us, we'll deal with it, but we're not going hunting. There's too much at risk here, and too much work coming. We're not long off harvest, and the gardens are producing all over the place. We can't afford to let that food lay on the ground, which means the people assigned to that work have to be freed up to gather it. That means we stay put. We do our job here for a change and take that responsibility off of the people who have other jobs to do.”

  “What about Jordan?” Greg asked.

  “That's up to them,” Clay compromised. “I really wanted a good relationship between us, and still do. But we cannot do all the heavy lifting for them. We don't have the manpower or the resources. Assuming that Pickett and Dawson get off their damn high horse and remove the stick up their ass, we'll try again. We really could use some quality help, but I will be damned if I either beg for it or be blackmailed to get it. They need us, we just want them. They need to remember that.”

  “I really thought that was gonna work out,” Greg said sadly. “I really did. I don't know Dawson other than to nod to, but I have known Clem Pickett for years. Or thought I did.”

  “He won't be the first person a little power has corrupted,” Clay shrugged. “Is what it is, man. Maybe it's just hemorrhoids or something and he'll come around once the swelling goes down.”

  There was dead silence at that comment for two seconds before Greg and Jose both burst into loud belly laughs. Clay eventually joined them, needing the relief as much as they did. Once they had laughed it out, they would return to their planning, working late into the night.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Three weeks was a long time when you measured it by a work day that started before dawn and lasted until you couldn't see. For some it was the opposite, with their days starting in the dark and ending with the rising of the sun. Guard duty had been ratcheted up after the encounter with the armed Hummers near the Wilmeth ranch, with teams rotating now on a weekly basis as opposed to individuals rotating on a daily basis.

  The watch hours were less than kind, but were meant to establish an overlap of coverage for the farm. There were three teams of six members each. Ultimately, Kurtis Montana had been included simply because he was one of their better riflemen, and they needed him worse there than in the pasture. He would still help a few hours each day with the horses, but his primary duty would be as Shane's marksman and sniper.

  Mitchell Nolan commanded Team One, with Jody Thompson, Xavier Adair, Zach Willis, Corey Reynard, and Greg Holloway. Nate Caudell would lead Team Two, with Heath Kelly, Stacy Pryor, Gordy Sanders, Virgil Wilcox and Vicki Tully. Finally, Shane Golden would be in charge of Team Three, with Kurtis, Kevin Bodee, Kade Ramsey, Titus Terry and Sienna Newell.

  One team would be on watch at all times from that point forward. Another would be 'on alert', which meant they could be doing whatever, including sleeping, checking equipment, and so forth, so long as they were somewhere near Building Two and the alert shack that had been made for the old response team. Finally, the third team would be on stand down, resting. Every seven days the teams would rotate, with the day watch team skipping the alert shift and reporting back for night watch. It would mean some hard days for those on watch, but with help from the farm's defenders it would work out.

  It wasn't perfect, and it excluded Clay, Jose and Tandi Maseo, who was already trying to test others to find those best suited to medic duties. Clay, being now in command of the entire operation, and Jose being in charge of security overall, would not be part of a team since that would interfere with their duties.

  Jose was keeping an eye on Abby Sanders, Sammy Webb and reluctantly on Marcy George as possible trainees for the security team in the future. While Jose didn't want to use Marcy, she was by far the more steady of the younger crowd, though still not eighteen. While Luke Webb, or even his younger brother Seth might have ultimately been better choices, the Webb family had lost too many as it was. Adding even one of them to the security team was probably too many, in his opinion, yet he didn't have many options overall. If he was lucky then one of the boys closer to Marcy's age would start coming into his own and make a better candidate than she would. He would prefer not to place Marcy on a team if he could avoid it after she had basically lost her family when her parents had broken under the strain and departed. Marcy had refused, which had taken a lot of courage, though that was something Marcy had to spare, it seemed. Jose was still reluctant to consider her for the job, however, and would wait until the last minute to make the decision.

  He would often curse Pickett and Dawson for being so obstinate in opposing the farm's attempt to recruit just a handful of people from Jordan to help fill the ranks of the farm's security team. Just nine people would allow him to add three to each team, significantly increasing their strength, and thus their effectiveness.

  But it was what it was, and that avenue was closed to them for now. He would have to make do with what was available. And it wasn't as if they didn't have a good deal of quality manpower, because they did. It would just make it an order of magnitude easier if each team was just a little stronger.

  -

  Darrell Goodrum hobbled on his makeshift crutch/cane as he made his way down to the clinic for a checkup. He had been on his absolute best behavior since Xavier Adair had beaten him within an inch of his life, and had no plans to change that. He had been kind and polite to his wife and children to the point of being overbearing, almost, and made sure that they were always happy with his behavior and his treatment of them.

  He had noticed that his wife, after two weeks of skittishness, had begun easing out of the shell his dickish behavior had pushed her in to, and he was sorry to see how much his mistreatment had dulled her once bright and cheery disposition.

  The sad truth was that Darrell Goodrum had never realized what a bully he had become to his own family, having merely followed the behavior he had seen in his own father toward himself and his mothe
r and siblings. It had never occurred to him that his father might be an asshole and that his behavior was not worthy of emulation. Goodrum had lacked any other role model as a boy and thus his father's behavior and attitude had been the only one for him to latch on to.

  It saddened him to realize that his family had suffered so at his own hands. At the time, he hadn't been able to see that, seeing only the need to have a firm hand on his family to ensure that his orders were followed. That was what he had seen in his father, so he had done the same thing with his own family.

  He had spent an hour every day for the last week discussing that with Beverly Jackson, who had slowly and carefully pulled that information from Goodrum's subconscious as he talked about his own childhood and upbringing. Until those sessions with her, Darrell Goodrum had never realized that his mother, and to a lesser extent himself and his siblings, had been abused. It had just been the way things were, and Darrell Goodrum had assumed that was the way it was supposed to be.

  Learning otherwise was both enlightening, and disheartening. It was also shaming, and damning. In the end, no one damned Darrell Goodrum harder than he himself did. He was so ashamed in fact, that he had seriously considered either taking his own life, or acting in such a way as to make someone like Xavier Adair or that Willis kid do it for him. Fortunately, Beverly Jackson had caught that and talked him out of it, reminding him that in this day and age his wife and children needed him as a protector and provider more than ever before.

  Which both shamed him even further for not having thought of that himself, and made him determined to be that protector and provider once he was fully recovered.

  As he hobbled toward the clinic, he privately relished every ounce of pain he felt, allowing it to drive home how pathetic his behavior had been that it had led to this. He would remember what Xavier had done not because it hurt, or because he feared Xavier, but because it would always remind him of why Xavier had done it to start with.

  Darrell Goodrum vowed to himself before God that no one would ever again have cause to think of him as a bully, nor as a 'wife beating bastard'. He did not want to be remembered in such a way by either his wife, or his children, and he wouldn't be, assuming they could forgive him for his transgressions to that point in time.