by Cooper, DJ
“I’m gonna kill that bitch myself.”
Dickie nodded slapping him on the back. “You’ll have to take a number mate.”
Jeremy abruptly stopped and looked at him, “Do you think Matt did it on purpose?”
“Dunno, but what I do know is there’s a lot of things that aren’t feeling right.”
Jeremy’s look changed to one of confusion. “I can’t believe he would have anything to do with that skank.”
Dickie looked at him hard. “Whoever the spy is at the farm, I’ll make em pay. On the trip here, we didn’t do away with Morgan after she killed her husband. Let’s not forget what they did to Rita? I won’t make the same mistake twice.” Taking a moment to shake off the images of the road. He stood rigid, palms against the wall, looking down in silent resolution of his determination to flush out this traitor.
Jeremy realized they’d forgotten. “That’s right, Rita! She’s here. Where is she?”
“I think she’s still here, I wonder where Ryan got to. We could ask him.”
Jeremy asked, “You traveled with her. What’s up with her coming here?”
“She had to come, Matty’s mom and all. We couldn’t just take Matty and leave her there.”
Jeremy nodded. “I guess, but my mom ain’t gonna like it.”
Dickie just pursed his lips. “She’s actually not that bad. At first, she was a little adversarial, but after a bit she made a right good cuppa tea.” Thumbing over his shoulder towards what looked like the nurse’s area. “I’ll go have a gander at where she might be off to.”
Dickie looked back and forth trying to figure out where the staff may have landed. The small waiting area of the once obscure Urgent Care was dimly lit from the lack of juice coming out of the strained generators. Behind a small counter he spotted a nurse, Rose, and sauntered over to ask her about Rita. Approaching the nurse, he saw she was talking to a man dressed in camo. Pausing to look back to Jeremy, he shrugged his shoulders. Pointing his thumb toward the man and tilting his head in some silent question. Waiting for a response from Jeremy, who quickly shook his head negative and shooed him with his hand over to find out about Rita.
Dickie turned, smiled and said, “Excuse me, sweetheart?” Putting on his best English Accent, brushing his hair back from his face.
Looking at him raising an eyebrow, she replied in a flat tone. “I heard you talking and yes she is here. She is being treated for some injuries and you’ll be allowed to see her shortly.”
Nodding he said, "Cheers love.”
As he walked back, the man in camouflage followed and approached them. Reaching out to shake hands. “Are you friends of Rita?”
Dickie responded, “Yes, we thought her dead. You know her?”
The man put his hand out to Dickie, saying, “I’m her husband, my name is Rich Davidson.”
Shocked, Dickie stood, mouth agape. Looking at the man he asked, “Husband?”
The man stammered, “Yes, it’s a long story and one I’ll leave up to her to tell you.”
Shaking Rich’s hand, and waving with his other, he motioned an invitation to join them in the waiting area. Dickie ushered Rich over to meet Jeremy, who was curiously looking to them for answers to yet another silent question.
Rich was a tall man even taller than Jeremy, whom himself, was just over six feet. His camo clothes were definitely military issue. His mannerisms and overall look were one of military training. Sitting down he introduced himself to Jeremy, “Hi, Rich Davidson are you also waiting to see Rita?”
“Yes, I am but I’m really waiting to find out if my mom is ok.”
“Did she get hurt?”
“She was shot.”
Rich, raising his eyebrows asked, “What happened? I hope she’s going to be ok.”
Jeremy began, “Not long after the arrival of the others from the north, we were attacked. A group of raiders. At least we think they’re raiders. They attacked the night after their arrival, surrounding us on both sides of the ridge.”
“Wow,” was all that Rich said.
“Morgan was with them. I know you don’t know who she is but…”
Rich interrupted him, “Morgan? She’s the one that tried to kill Rita.”
“Really? It was Morgan, who shot my mom. She somehow knows Matt, who is coincidentally Rita’s ex-husband and her son Matty’s father.”
Nodding in a knowing manner, Rich said, “Rita told me that Matt was involved with her even before they got divorced.”
“Well, he shot John’s wife Amy; to save Morgan it seems.”
Rich stood exclaiming in confusion, “Amy? I heard that name from Rita; her son was with some folks named John and Amy. It seems Morgan who also shot your mom and this guy Matt are bad news. How is she connected to them?”
Jeremy sat silently, nodding in affirmation. Standing he looked at Rich saying, “We don’t know why she shot my mom or why Matt would shoot Amy to protect her. That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
Dickie was already pacing in anger and stopped. The news began to sink in as he stopped shaking his head. “If I find out Matt had anything to do with Dez being shot, it is going to get ugly.”
Rich looked shocked, nearly shouting. “Wait, Dez was shot too?”
Jeremy looked up, realizing Rich didn’t know who he was and said, “Dez is my mom.”
A knowing expression came across his face as he nodded in understanding. Jeremy suspiciously eyeballed him, like there was something he wanted to know. Dickie saw the look and asked Rich if he was in the military.
Rich said, “I was attached to a unit assigned to a refugee camp outside of Osceola Mills, Pennsylvania.”
Dickie was nodding as he listened. Continuing, Rich said, “We’ve learned much in all this. I’ve been waiting to meet with your militia leader Ryan. Most of my detachment couldn’t obey the government mandates and orders that were coming in. Clearly violating the constitution, we all knew it was time to make a change.”
Dickie looked hard at him, saying, “Let’s say you explain how you ended up here and with Rita.”
Rich fidgeting with his fingers, and nervous, looked from one to the other. “Rita staggered into our camp, she was badly hurt, and half drown. Her hair didn’t even grow back where the gash on her head was. At first, she had no memory of how she even got into the river. She was in the infirmary for two weeks before she was well enough to even stay awake for more than brief time periods. I had no idea they saw her any different than the next refugee, but that changed quickly. I think the only reason they even bothered treating her was that they wanted information.”
Dickie raised his eyebrows, cautiously asking, “What information?”
“They wanted to know about the group that traveled here, it’s because a member of that group has some kind of information they don’t want exposed. Something to do with the whole debacle that has caused this life we now live.”
Dickie, ever the Brit, and suspicious of everyone, squinted his eyes, saying, “Say you explain what information that might be?”
Rich said, “I don’t really know for sure, but after Rita was feeling better, tidbits of her memory began to return. I told her not to tell them anything. Then they started hurting her, wanting to know about every member of the group -- Your group.”
Dickie and Jeremy both looked up at the same time, and then at one another. Jeremy asked, “Our group? Why?”
Shrugging he said, “I’m not sure why, but luckily for her, her memory was fragmented and incomplete. But more so, that she is one stubborn lady. It gave us time to get ourselves organized. I was assigned to Rita while she was recovering, and I couldn’t take any more suffering in the camp. I’d had more than enough when they started hurting her too. Almost everyone in my unit didn’t agree with anything going on in the camps. All but two of the officers were part of the coup.”
They sat quietly listening to the story as Rich continued, “The Three government men and the two officers were locked in a shipping c
ontainer that was used for the detention of uncooperative refugees. We then released everyone else in the camp. Some were just too sick to move. I felt bad, but there was just nothing we could do for them. Most of the military personnel just went to find their families. There were a few that stayed with the sick. The government representatives would soon be missed and someone would come in search of them. The sick were moved to another location; where we later met up with them. Together we liberated another camp, only this one was for the infected.”
Dickie sat and waved Rich to do the same and said, “Exactly what do you mean by infected?”
“The camp was one where they kept those infected with Ebola. It was worse than that though, they also brought people there to expose them. It was like a damn death camp.”
Jeremy sat with a guarded look asking, “When you say liberate, were you in the camp? Were either of you exposed?”
“No, neither of us came in contact with anyone from the camp and anyone assisting wore NBC suits. Once we got here they tested us anyway and we were cleared.”
Jeremy asked, “NBC?”
Dickie replied, “They are protective suits against nuclear, biological and chemical exposure.”
“Ahhhh,” Jeremy said, asking Rich. “How did you come to be with Rita?”
“Rita was still somewhat lost and I have no family. I’d grown close to her, even to love her. I went with her to help her find her son. We grew close over the weeks because they wanted me to gain her confidence, but I was never doing it for them. When I saw her stumble into camp that day, covered in scratches, wet, with tattered clothes. I saw an opportunity to save us all. They wanted me to pretend that the camp was not what it really was. She was kept in an area outside the main camp which was made to look like a simple refugee camp. I was only allowed to show her certain areas and I was never to let her see any of the infirmed. It was growing more apparent they would never let her leave…ever. Much of her memory is restored now and she explained some things on our journey. I will tell you that she never told them anything. She must really care about all of you. It gave me confidence that this was a group that could be trusted, and where we needed to be.”
Jeremy and Dickie looked at each other confused, there was much more to Rita than they ever could have imagined.
Chapter 2
“The Darkest Night”
“As human beings we have the most extraordinary capacity for evil. We can perpetrate some of the most horrendous atrocities.
-Desmond Tutu
Back at the farm those with minor injuries were patched up, while thanking God most were not badly wounded. Though they’d only just arrived in camp; John instinctively asked some of the others to a meeting in discussing defenses, and to formulate a plan for moving forward. Some volunteered to work on defense, while others offered to take care of other tasks. The meeting time was set and they would be prepared for a meeting in an hour. The children were protected in the barn, sitting on the sofas and settled in for the night. Most of the others just wandered about lost and worried. John knew it would be a long night, he’d had dealings with this gang along the way. Creating accommodations for the new additions to the group was on the top of the priority list, right behind defense and triage. Everyone seemingly had a task… Except for Matt.
John knew Matt for many years and was astonished by what he saw. He sat down at the picnic table across from Matt. He tapped his fingers on the wooden top staring into his friend’s eyes. Giving a look but questioning in his own mind; if he had indeed seen, what he thought he saw. Asking him a simple question had garnered a response he was not prepared for, making him sit straight, as though a shock had shot up his spine.
John asked Matt, “What is up with you and this gang? Don’t bother to lie because I’ve already heard a lot.”
Matt sat resolute staring off to the woods beyond him, replying, “This is none of your concern.”
John was outraged that his longtime friend refused to talk to him. It angered him, slamming his hands palm side down on the table as he stood, saying, “Bullshit it isn’t… We’ve been through hell! They killed two of our people along the way. Following us here, your little friend just shot Dez… remember her? Your girlfriend? I’d say this is everyone’s concern right now.”
Matt sat unwavering in his refusal to discuss it saying, “I’m not going to discuss it.”
“We know more than you realize, and your own son saw what Morgan did to his mother. I’ll kill you with my bare hands if I find out that you intentionally shot my wife to save that piece of shit.”
John got up, leaving Matt at the table. As walked off he paused to ask that someone keep an eye on Matt and stormed into the barn to check on the children and the injured.
The assigned guard sat down, staring at Matt with a look of contempt. The word was already all around the farm that it was Matt who’d shot Amy. Looking up Matt noted the uncomfortable stares in his direction. This made him fidget even more keeping his eyes down while picking at a hole in the arm of his sweatshirt. Around them the farm was busy, a beehive of activity. They were working on security, triage, and preparations for the defense of their homestead. All were involved, some carrying in supplies and food, others digging trenches into the hillside. The oaky smell of the fires gave comfort as the grey smoke wound its way between trees like a beacon in the woods. Each of them determined they would not get caught unaware and off guard again, they worked diligently into the night.
Sentries posted watched the hillsides for any sign of Morgan and her gang. Long into that silent night not a sound could be heard. The moon was full lighting up the hillside. Shadows seemed to dance in the moonlight teasing the whips of smoke in a waltz to play tricks on the minds of the sentries. It was a crisp and clear night, causing an occasional shiver that would make one look behind themselves for an unseen threat. They were thankful for the moonlight and clear sights but it could also work against them, making them clearer targets. As the wee hours of the morning approached, the frozen breath of the sentries could be seen in the air. The next shift prepared to settle into the routine. The night watch explained to the new shift that each set of two sentries would patrol their predetermined area. One would stay in the trench and keep watch overall, while the other would patrol an area up to roughly two hundred yards into the woods. They were to then switch, alternating every thirty minutes.
It was at the second switch, when Melinda, who sat vigilant in the trench watching Loel, saw movement in the woods beyond his patrol area. She tapped the signal with two stones to alert Loel and keyed the same signal into the walkie to alert the others. It was only moments after her signal that shots could be heard on the other side of the farm. The gang was back and seemed to be attacking on all sides.
Roger and Sam, two of the shrewdest assassins of their own group were high on the ridge overlooking the farm when the shots rang out. They could see the flashes coming from all sides. Having been on recon, they were dressed in dark clothes, with their faces blacked out; making them virtually invisible in the night. They crept upon the first pair of shooters who were crouched behind an outcropping. Sam unsheathed his knife; a marine combat knife, honed razor sharp. Belly crawling, he closed in on the shooters. Roger’s was a Bowie knife, held in hand at the ready; waiting for the signal from Sam to strike. Once in position Sam gave the signal and simultaneously they were on the shooters. Sam grabbing the man from behind, reached his arm across the front of him. As if in a single motion, he drew his knife back; the sticky dark blood flowed effortlessly from the wound, revealing he’d sliced the man’s neck from ear to ear. A low gurgle could be heard as the man crumbled into a heap. Roger’s knife found its mark on the second shooter, penetrating the right side of his neck downward into his throat instantly severing his windpipe. Withdrawing the knife he could see the circle arrow tattoo that made him pause. He’d seen this before, he now knew that this was the same gang that had followed them.
Covered in blood but not their own, the
sticky wet substance glistened in the moonlight on the pair who stalked their next target. The two made their way to the next position of shooters. From their vantage point, they could see two of their friends fall from gun shots near the barn. Whoever was in the trench behind the outhouses, lay slumped over, half in and half out of the trench. Realizing that they had to slow down the shooters they attacked immediately. Roger missed his mark, landing on the shooter and rolling out from the cover of rocks. He fought to gain his balance as the shooter flailed at him with his fists, pummeling his face in a violent rage. Roger repeatedly plunged his knife into the ribcage of his attacker. The man was thin, almost skin and bones. He fell forward revealing his face offering a glimpse of the hollow look in his eyes as he struggled to right himself and climb out from under the lifeless body. Rolling the dead attacker off him and shaking off the uneasiness of the brief look into the man’s eyes. Shaking off a quick shiver, he made his way back to Sam.
The scuffle drew in three others who were behind them on the hillside. They could smell the filthy trio half way up the ridge as they spread out to surround the two. They closed in on them revealing the bloodthirsty stare. As they prepared to engaged them, shots came from behind. The deadly accuracy striking each with a head shot. Sam and Roger crouched in close in to the large trees to shield themselves from the shots. They stood motionless, as they watched each of them fall.
Confused, Roger uneasily peered around the tree, looking for their unknown ally. Spotting a man crouched behind a rock, who was clearly with the gang, yet wasn’t shooting at those from the farm but his own guys. Roger looked to Sam pointing to the man and shrugged in confusion. Sam peered around the tree seeking the man. The man looked in his direction giving a thumbs up.
A huge smile came across Sam’s face as he recognized him. Motioning Roger over he gave him a thumbs up as they made their way in the other direction and continued to seek out shooters in the dark. For what seemed like forever, the battle went on.
Loel, pinned down in the woods, could see the trench where Melinda’s lifeless body lay, an arm twisted behind her in an unnatural position. With a sighted, bolt action, thirty ought six, he crawled to a large pile of rocks, where he nestled himself in and began taking aim on the flashes he could see in the dark on the hillside. Seeing a flash he positioned the gun and looked into this scope to watch for another to zero in on. Another shot, then another and Loel had his target.