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Post by bretf on Feb 8, 2019 5:35:18 GMT -6
I wanted to let anyone who is interested know of my progress on “The Ashen Horse”. First off, I want to express my gratitude to everyone who followed and commented on the story. I consider all suggestions in going through the re-write process. Next I have to extend a heart-felt “Thank You” to Tpals, PBB, and Texican for their thoughtful insights on the project. I am splitting the story into four parts for publishing. After several revisions, I have published book one. It is titled Chad Smoke and the Ashen Horse. Here are links to it www.amazon.com/dp/1795719974 www.amazon.com/Chad-Smoke-Ashen-Horse-Saga-ebook/dp/B07NCBJ6FQ/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1549625267&sr=8-2&keywords=chad+smokeIn conjunction with publishing, I have asked admin to remove the story from this site. If any of you who’ve followed and commented wish, I can send a PDF of the original to you through personal email. But be aware, some things have changed in the new version. Included here is a preview of the book. If any of you were to purchase the book, I would appreciate it very much if you would post a review at Amazon. Thank you all for reading. Bret
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Post by bretf on Feb 8, 2019 5:36:28 GMT -6
Chad Smoke and the Ashen Horse
“And I looked and behold, an ashen horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. And authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.”
Revelations 6:8 (NASB)
Bret W Friend
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Bret W. Friend
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author and publisher.
Prologue
Sergei Bubka’s head shifted in short jerks from side to side as he peered around the park. Portions of the park were swathed in deep shadows and lights blinked on in nearby buildings. The temperature dropped with the sun, yet despite the late hour and chill in the air, he heard happy squeals as children wrung out the last bit of play time. Bubka couldn’t share in their glee. His apprehension grew with the shadows and threatened to overwhelm him.
As he scrutinized his surroundings, he saw neither the man he was to meet nor those he dreaded he’d see. Those would take him away and erase his very existence if they suspected the reason for his presence. If they were watching, he wasn’t certain he’d recognize them if he saw them.
He shuddered, and not from the dropping temperature, though the cold had settled deep into him. His hand trembled as he raised the cigarette and inhaled deeply. It’s a puzzle, he thought. How can I feel so cold, the icy fingers gripping my stomach, yet perspire like I am? His forehead and neck beaded with sweat and his cigarette was damp from contact. He wiped one sweaty palm on a pant leg and raised the other; the cigarette moved like an orchestra conductor’s baton. It was a relief when it reached his mouth, and he inhaled deeply.
Bubka shuddered as he exhaled, and he turned his head about and peered through the veil of smoke. What is out there, no, who is out there? he asked himself. Do they hide and watch me? Do they feel the cold as I do? It was another part of the puzzle. Why does the outside cold affect me so? he wondered. After all, he worked in a frigid environment.
The lab was cold, although he never noticed while he worked. It was cold by necessity, the temperature like everything in the lab, controlled. He shuddered to think what would happen if anything it confined it breached that control. If loosed outside, death would rage unrestrained like the bitter winds from the north, unstoppable. It would find its way past doors and windows and through the tiniest cracks to reach out and touch everyone, everywhere. That storm would be more devastating than anything the world had ever seen. The line of thought chilled him even more. He shuddered and longed to leave the park and find warmth.
He took a long drag on the cigarette and considered. Warmth. Would it really be warm where he was going? Supposedly, it was hot and dry much of the time, and he longed for it; for the heat, for sandy beaches lapped by warm waves, and the sun shining brightly. If it all actually existed. Magazines and television programs showed such places, but he found it hard to wrap his mind around since he’d never experienced it. All he knew was cold, and it made those other places mysterious. But he longed to solve the mystery, like the mysteries he solved in the lab. Yet like happened with those, anything could go wrong with the new mystery. It could all blow up in his face and leave him dead. He tried to dismiss the thought and focus on the present as he looked around.
He scanned the park again and tried not to stare as he studied each person. Several people were scattered about. Apparently, they weren’t bothered by the temperature. They seemed to relish it, or at least ignore it while they enjoyed a few more minutes outdoors. None shared his tension, the oppressive weight pulling his shoulders down. Were any of them watching him as well? What about the man who’d looked at his feet? Why had he averted his gaze? Bubka scrutinized the man and took another drag.
He looked away from the man but continued to observe him through his peripheral vision. Shadows partially cloaked the man and Bubka realized he could no longer see into the darkened areas. Anything – or ANYONE – could be concealed in the gloom. He returned his full attention to the man. Had he been watching, and what would happen when the darkness engulfed him?
Before shadows further obscured him, the man shot Bubka a direct look, turned, and ambled away. Bubka watched his back until he was indistinguishable. The man had the look of a government agent, but he must not be one.
Sighing heavily, he raised his bottle and took a long swig of vodka, staring at the place where the man had disappeared. He savored the burn as he swallowed. It made him think of warmth again, and he dismissed the man from his mind.
He looked around for the other man, the one he was to meet. Maybe he’s not going to show, he thought. He drew deep on the cigarette, dropped and crushed it. “Maybe . . . too many maybes,” he muttered.
Much could still go wrong with the unbelievable opportunity. After all, it could’ve been arranged merely to test him. It wasn’t above his superiors to create the entire affair to see if he would sell his soul and his country’s secrets. And if he took the bait, send him to spend the rest of his life in a concentration camp in Siberia. If that happened he’d really be cold, and would never know warmth again. Perhaps execution would be preferable to such an existence. He looked again where the man had disappeared and shuddered.
He took another drink, but the vodka failed to give him comfort and warmth. He tipped the bottle again, drank, and yearned for the usual sensations. Instead, the only burn was his irritated throat from chain smoking while he waited. It didn’t stop him from shaking out another cigarette and putting it to his mouth. His lighter danced around and missed the tip several times before he controlled his hands enough to light it. He drew deep and expelled the smoke in a cloud. Peering through the haze, he searched for watchers. None were visible, but he felt unseen eyes bore into him. He looked through the smoke cloud of another deep drag and exhalation and wished it would conceal him, as the shadows concealed all in their path as they crept along.
“How did they find me anyway?” he muttered. “My research is a state secret.” Despite the tension he felt, the absurd idea caused him to chuckle. “Yes, a secret, like the American research is a secret.” It was such a joke. He knew despite heavy security, there were few secrets in his business. And it would always be that way, as long as people were people, and willing to buy and sell “secrets”. The Americans undoubtedly knew as much about his research as he knew about theirs. They should hold get-togethers and have biological weapon conventions for the ease the research information could be purchased. Perhaps they could hold the conventions in Las Vegas in the United States. He’d read it was the convention capital, very warm, and a place where fortunes changed hands. It would be perfect. A smile cracked his somber face and vanished as fast as it’d come. No, there wouldn’t be a convention. There were no secrets, but there’d be no conventions.
For despite the absence of conventions, the information changed hands with ease. It didn’t matter if the governments’ ideology differed; greed was the universal ideology. As long as money existed, information could be obtained. It continued unabated, research for deadlier pathogens and the purchase of the information years after both countries signed the treaty the naïve populous thought terminated the programs.
He chuckled again and drew another lungful of smoke, followed by a long swallow of vodka. Actually, the treaty specified something totally different, but the officials had spun and presented it that the programs would be discontinued. And the gullible public ate it up like they ate up so much misinformation and propaganda. In reality, the treaty stated neither country would strike first, not with those weapons. But if they were attacked first? What choice would they have, but respond with every available means at their disposal? So riding the euphoric wave of the media blitz, the facilities had closed, only to be replaced by new, state of the art research laboratories. The happy citizens slept better at night, believing one more threat to their safety had been eliminated. In the meantime, the research and development of more lethal killers had gone on.
The team Bubka worked with had discontinued their research, but only until the new facility was operational. The new secret lab; he’d bet the Americans knew of it before he did. And if they knew it existed, who else did? Obviously, others knew as well, or he wouldn’t be in a park at dusk, lured by the universal ideology; greed.
The thought of the money distracted him. He found it hard to envision such a large sum, the rubles to dollar exchange only the first confusing part. The next part bewildering him was the amount. It dwarfed what he could ever earn in Russia; he’d need ten lifetimes to earn as much and was difficult to put into context. So much money and it would only require a few months’ work. Afterward, he’d be free to do his best to spend it.
He slipped into the daydream, a version of the one he’d had countless times since first discussing the payoff. Along with a house on the beach, he wanted a car. Not just any car, but a fast sports car. The Americans were proud of their Corvettes, and the Germans their Porsches, but a Ferrari would be first. Maybe he’d get the others later. He’d drive the Ferrari to parties with other rich people and meet the Kardashians, or better yet, Paris Hilton. People thought of Paris Hilton as a tramp, but he wouldn’t make judgments, not until he met her and could form his own opinion. Smiling, he hoped she proved to be a tramp when he met her.
The smile vanished in an instant as a car backfired; he jumped and his breath came in ragged gulps, the daydream gone. He looked into the gloom, his pleasant thoughts replaced by dread.
He tipped the bottle up, followed the drink with a lung-full of smoke, and recalled a quote he’d read in a memoir years earlier. It’d stuck with him and felt more foreboding than ever. The American Ben Franklin said it more than two hundred years earlier, but it was timeless. “Three may keep a secret if two of them are dead.” Other people knew of Bubka’s secrets and wanted him to share them. The thought filled him with more dread, and he looked around and took a pull from the bottle.
He should get up and go home. That would be the safe thing to do. Get out of the madness before it was too late. But he couldn’t; he’d gone too far. He felt the lumps in his jacket pocket. He’d gotten them out of the lab and it would be impossible to return them before they were found missing.
They were such small canisters, but Bubka felt their tremendous weight, their latent power pulling his shoulders down. To look at them, they appeared insignificant and weighed little, but inside they contained the potential to shake the foundation of the world itself. His shoulders sagged under the weight.
He’d convinced himself the virus would never be unleashed on the unknowing world and the entire exercise was a ruse for monetary gain only, a game of high stakes extortion. After all, others had seized like opportunities and none of the pathogens had been released. Still, he asked himself again if he wanted to play the game or if he should get up and go home. The weight in his pocket told him he couldn’t turn back.
He glanced at his magazine with Paris Hilton’s picture on the cover. He shuddered and took a long pull from the bottle, followed by a drag on the cigarette. If he did turn back, the dream would die, and he would too. It would be impossible to avoid the authorities and keep them from holding him.
He gave a wry snort. The authorities! No matter how the face of the country appeared to the world, the authorities did what they wanted, when they wanted. They always had and always would. If they watched, it was much too late for him. Maybe it’d been too late when he read the first note, the one which started him on the path to where he was. The small canisters in his pocket felt heavier than ever.
The chill deepened over Bubka and the icy fingers constricted tighter. He took another drink and yearned for the heat. Instead of warmth, it felt like ice, and the ice flowed outward until he shuddered in its grip. He drew deep on the cigarette, ground it out, and reached for the magazine. His hand froze, one finger across Paris Hilton’s smiling face when a figure materialized out of the gloom and sat on the bench he occupied.
Bubka no longer heard children’s happy squeals. His heart hammered in his chest as he attempted to fumble another cigarette from the pack with trembling hands. The cigarette fell to the ground. He stared at it momentarily before he picked it up and managed to place it between his lips. His hand quivered and he was unable to light it. The man beside him held his own lighter to the cigarette, its flame steady and controlled. The blast of light near his eyes left Bubka looking blindly into the gloom. Did the authorities watch him; watch the two of them together?
He asked himself again if it was what he wanted or if he should get up and leave. He hadn’t done anything yet. All he’d done was go to the park. The weight in his pocket pulled on him and pointed out his lie. He took another, longer drink from the bottle and failed to see the look of disapproval on the man’s olive-skinned face.
The man spread his newspaper in front of him although the print was indiscernible in the gloom. “So you have decided to become a wealthy man,” he said, his accent making it obvious Russian wasn’t his native tongue. “You have it with you?”
Bubka couldn’t guess the origin of the accent. He had little exposure to foreigners. To him, there were Russians and non-Russians; that was all.
“Well,” the man demanded. “Will you answer? You do have it, don’t you? Everything you need to become enriched beyond your wildest dreams?”
An interminable wait ensued for Bubka while a corner of his mind screamed at him to run away as fast as he could. In reality, mere seconds passed before he swallowed the lump in his throat and glanced at the man. Despite the gloom, Bubka made out his facial features. The man’s hooked nose, deep-set eyes, and intense stare resembled the fierce look of a raptor before it ripped into the flesh of its prey. The look was enhanced by the deep shadows and Bubka swallowed hard again and asked himself if he was prey.
Looking away from the disconcerting stare, Bubka answered, “Yes, I have it. I am ready.” His words were raspy, his throat irritated by near-constant smoke and strong liquor. He followed the statement with another drink.
The eyes glowed with intensity. “Then we should go.” He rose and looked at Bubka, waiting for him to move.
Bubka got slowly to his feet and the jacket pulled his shoulders down. How can such tiny canisters be so heavy? he asked himself. All thoughts of escape were gone. He looked into the gloom, searching. “I . . . is . . . is it safe?” he stammered softly.
“My associates are watching. We made certain you were not observed before I approached you.”
Bubka considered. So he had been under observation and missed it. Who else watched? He remembered the man he’d suspected watched him. The man had the definite look of a government agent. Was he? If so, why hadn’t he been arrested?
It no longer mattered. Bubka raised the bottle one last time and drained the remaining liquid in one long swallow. Again, he missed the warmth, the comfort. He dropped the bottle on the ground amongst the ground out cigarettes.
Bubka followed the other man into the darkness. He moved like a condemned man and dragged his feet in short steps as if he walked to the gallows. And maybe that is where I am going, he thought.
The man ahead of him moved in marked contrast. His crisp steps, demanding glares, and intense manner conveyed impatience as he waited for Bubka.
A car waited at the side of the park and the driver opened the rear door for Bubka. He looked into the dark interior before he turned back and looked at the park and the city’s skyline. He slumped as he settled onto the car’s seat. The closing door caused him to jump and the sound echoed in his mind. He found the handle, pulled, and discovered the door locked. The icy fingers squeezed his stomach tighter than ever and he shuddered. Oh Bubka, what have you done? he asked himself.
The hawk-faced man joined him in the back seat from the opposite side and spoke to the driver in a foreign language. Bubka had no idea what’d been said, but the engine started and the car pulled onto the street and drove away from the park. He looked out the window at the lights of the city and asked himself again what he was doing.
Sergei Bubka gave a wry chuckle as the lights faded. So who will know I am gone first, the Americans or my own people? he asked himself. After all, there are no secrets. If he was a betting man, he wasn’t sure which he’d put his money on. I wager one will know within minutes of the other. He stared out the window sightlessly and mused. I hope it is warm there, and they have vodka, lots of vodka.
#
Abdul Mueed lay motionless and studied Bagram Airfield, sprawled across the desert floor below him. He used extreme care as the discovery of his presence would be a death sentence. His clothing blended with the terrain and his binoculars were shielded to prevent reflection.
Planes and trucks assembled by the infidel forces occupying Afghanistan appeared as children’s toys through the powerful optics. Heat waves shimmered from the barren landscape, distorting the view, but he made out individual infidels. They were tiny in the distance; like ants as they bustled about. They were more insect-like as they scurried for cover when another of the faithful delivered a rocket into their midst. Mueed remained motionless and watched the initial, rapid response. The infidel’s unmanned drones were in the air in moments and fired their own rockets into the hills.
Mueed inched backward, knowing he had to get away while he could. From past observation, he knew the drones would expand the area they covered, searching for more true believers. Once he was hidden from view in the direction of the airfield, he stood and jogged towards a small rise, his AK-47 bouncing against his back with each footfall. As he ran, he remained mindful of the sky and its silent assassins. They could swoop in and deliver death in an instant.
Before any drones drew near, he saw what he looked for and dropped flat on the ground and wriggled past a clump of camel-thorn bushes into a small opening in the hillside. Dirt crumbled from the narrow entrance as he forced his way past. Once inside, the refuge opened up enough to fit two men, although it would’ve been tight. Mueed was content to have the shelter to himself. It allowed him to avoid the edges where scorpions and spiders tended to lurk. The drones’ thermal sensors would never locate him underground.
Besides removing him from the enemy’s eyes, the tiny cavity offered relief from the relentless heat. As he waited in relative comfort for the sky to clear, he recounted what he’d learned. After numerous days of observation, he’d devised a plan for his final act. The infidels were predictable, and he planned to use it against them.
The bus from Kabul ran on a precise schedule. Coupled with a depression between the road and the tall fence surrounding the base, it was all he needed to send many of the infidels to meet the devil, while he would go on to bow before Allah. They made it too easy.
He trembled with anticipation. The bus would be full, loaded mostly with the invaders, any remaining seats filled with pretenders. They claimed to follow the faith, but did not, not the true faith. Bin Laden’s fatwa was to be heralded; it was time to remove all the unfaithful and the American dogs they worshipped.
A low growl came from his throat as he pictured the women who’d be on the bus. The harlots showed no shame and revealed themselves to any man. His one regret was he wouldn’t be able to look into their condemned eyes at the moment before the bomb detonated; in the precise moment of realization, they were going to die and go to an afterlife of fire.
He recalled a time when he had looked into the condemned eyes; the incident permanently etched into his mind. The harlot had come to him, seduced him, and overwhelmed his senses with her witchery. Consumed by desire, he reached to drop his pants to satisfy his animal lust, and his hand brushed the handle of his knife.
Recognition flared in his brain as it burst free of her spell; she was a test, and Allah had placed her with him for a purpose. The knife slid free, and he stared into her eyes as he pushed the sharp blade in to the hilt and cut upwards. He watched her eyes as they turned to terror. Realization she would atone for her sins flashed in them.
He glared into them as they became lifeless and her blood drained out over his hand. Her hot blood and those eyes mere centimeters from his own sent electric jolts to his clear mind. He was overcome and cried out as he experienced ecstasy.
Mueed lay in the small underground refuge and relived the ecstasy. He shuddered with deep physical pleasure at the memory and felt the hot blood and looked into those eyes.
#
Mueed’s head emerged from the hole, and he searched carefully for threats. No planes or drones could be seen, nor did he detect any other movement in the gray-brown landscape as he wormed his way free and past the bushes.
He took a meandering route as he made his way further back into the hills. At several points, he stopped, waited and watched, but saw no signs he’d been discovered and followed. The path behind him remained as clear as the path before him as he approached the valley where the faithful met. He sat concealed for several minutes and studied the area before he proceeded into the encampment.
Mueed ducked into the hut and stopped. A stranger looked at him from across the meager room. “You are Abdul Mueed? I am told you are ready to martyr yourself and kill a small handful of the unbelievers. What if I told you I have an opportunity for you to kill many more?” the man asked without greeting.
Mueed did not speak as he studied the stranger, but noted the cup of kahwah he held. The saffron fragrance of the beverage hung heavily in the small space. Who is this man to be honored in such a way? Mueed wondered. Out loud he said, “A small handful? I have killed many infidels, and tomorrow I will kill many more.”
A small smile turned up the corners of the man’s mouth. “You kill small numbers. Would you broaden your sights to kill thousands at once? Tens of thousands? Perhaps more,” the stranger said. He raised the kahwah to his nose and drew in the strong aroma in a silent reminder to Mueed of his standing. With a satisfied sigh, he sipped. His intense gaze never left Mueed. His hand lowered and he said, “Ayman al-Zawahiri has the means to deliver a crippling blow in their homeland and drive the infidels from our lands forever. It may even be a fatal blow. But he needs men, warriors, to carry it out. Will you help deliver that blow and stand in glory as a dedicated warrior before Almighty Allah? Or will you die here, killing a small handful and allow others to achieve the glory?” He held the cup up and inhaled deeply, and sipped again while he watched Mueed.
Ayman al-Zawahiri? The Americans thought by killing bin Laden the movement would die like a snake with its head chopped off. But they were mistaken. Al-Zawahiri had kept the faithful together, and led them in the holy fight against the infidels. Could it be true? Could al-Zawahiri have the means to bring down the Great Satan? Mueed trembled with eagerness. His eyes had a feverish gleam. “Tell me more,” he said and pictured how glorious the world would be after the infidels burned.
#
The cave was devoid of light as Abdul Mueed and the other fighters were led down the sloping rock floor. With his hand on the shoulder of the man before him and a hand on his shoulder from behind, he had no idea how the guide found his way, but the man led with confident, practiced steps. Mueed knew in truth, Almighty Allah guided the way, and he followed with blind faith into the unknown darkness.
A light appeared ahead of them and the group entered a large cavern that’d been hewn from the stone. Scores of fighters, over a hundred, sat on the cave’s bare floor. At the head of the cavern, Ayman al-Zawahiri looked out at the gathered men. Another man, reminding Mueed of a falcon with his hooked nose and intense raptor-like stare, sat beside the great man. Mueed settled with the rest of the newcomers and accepted the tea offered him. It pleased him to see the woman properly covered and respectful as she did so.
More fighters took seats while he sipped his tea, and still more. The cup was empty when another group of men joined the assemblage and a man spoke to al-Zawahiri. Mueed guessed it brought the total number gathered to around two hundred. It would certainly be a major blow to the infidels for so many to strike at once. He focused on al-Zawahiri as the great man stood to address the assemblage.
“We are here to begin a new Jihad against the Great Satan; a Jihad they will be powerless to stop, a Jihad that will destroy them! You true warriors of the faith will fight this battle on the enemy’s own ground! Once the Jihad is underway, the Zionists will fall, along with all the heretics who welcomed the imperialists onto our soil!
“WE are the true children of Islam, our Lord the Prophet Muhammad is one, and WE, the true believers, are brothers! WE shall bring in the true Muslim world, free of the puppet masters and their followers who corrupt our people! WE shall purify the entire world under Sharia Law. This is in accordance with the words of Almighty Allah! There will be no more tumult or oppression, and JUSTICE AND FAITH IN ALLAH SHALL PREVAIL!
“OUR BROTHER,” al-Zawahiri indicated the falcon man beside him, “HAS BEGUN THE ACTION THAT WILL DESTROY THE GREAT SATAN. IT WILL BE MORE DEADLY AND SILENT THAN THE KILLERS THEY PUT IN THE SKY! YOU WILL ALL BE PART OF THIS GLORIOUS UNDERTAKING! TOGETHER WE SHALL WREAK RUIN AND DESTRUCTION IN THEIR HOMES, AS THEY RUIN AND DESTROY OUR HOMES!” He lowered his voice and hissed, “But to do so, you will have to humble yourselves, and do the unthinkable! You will learn to be like the enemy, to look at them and smile as the heretics do.” He raised his voice again, increasing his volume as he talked. “YOU MUST LEARN TO THINK AND ACT AS THEM BEFORE YOU GO TO THEIR HOMELAND AND TAKE THE LIFE FROM THEM! THEN YOU SHALL STAND BEFORE ALMIGHTY ALLAH IN FULL GLORY!”
His listeners were captivated, and the cave erupted in a deafening roar when they realized he had finished. Abdul Mueed jumped up with the other men, shouting. “ALL GLORY TO ALMIGHTY ALLAH!” The roar reverberated through the tight confines of the cave.
#
Abdul Mueed stared out through the small window at the city of Dubai as the airplane made its final approach. He and the rest of the fighters had been transported to Islamabad and boarded planes bound for Dubai where they would scatter. The city’s penchant for tourism and catering to the infidels made it perfect for the next stage of the plan to destroy the Great Satan. They’d left Afghanistan and Pakistan with their towering mountains behind, and the view of the city shocked him. Man-made structures created the skyline. The skyscrapers loomed, most notable the needle-like tower of the Burj Khalifa standing high above the rest. It seemed like a mockery of the real world to Mueed. He yearned for a future when such extravagance was razed and forgotten. The leaders of Dubai were no more than prostitutes to the Americans and their lackeys.
Mueed pulled the paper from his pocket and looked at it again. “The One&Only Royal Mirage” was printed in large typeface on the brochure. He swallowed down bile as he thought of the degradation, the humility he would have to endure. He prayed al-Zawahiri was correct, and he’d be forgiven for what he would do. Forgiven for going amongst the dogs themselves where he would lower himself to the heretic’s level, smile and nod the whole time. But he would learn and do all he could to be ready for the final act, to take death into the Americans’ homes.
And he would be able to look in their eyes as was their custom, their condemned eyes. It was written: "Tell the believing men to lower their gaze and be modest", but he would not lower his gaze. He would look in their lost eyes as he delivered their death to them. He only regretted they would not recognize him as the bringer of death, and he would not see their eyes turn to terror.
He saw the woman’s eyes again and quivered in pleasure at the memory. “Almighty Allah, you have tested me before and delivered me. I shall NOT fail this test. We will scour the earth and rid it of the unfaithful,” he murmured, as he shook the vision of the eyes from his mind and looked at the decadent brochure.
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Post by bretf on Feb 8, 2019 5:38:05 GMT -6
Chapter 1
“Alright guys, time to put your books away and do the chores,” Lisa Smoke told her three children.
Chad, her thirteen-year-old son grumbled, “It’s about time.” He slammed his book closed the instant his mom spoke.
She raised an eyebrow at him and asked, “Were you reading or just watching the clock?”
He ignored the question. “I don’t know why I have to read this Dickens stuff anyway. It’s boring and it’s not like I’m learning anything from it.” He didn’t notice the look she shot him or chose to ignore it too. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,” he quoted. “What kind of beginning is that? And it only gets worse from there.”
He had no way to know how prophetic the line was; he was in the best of times, and very soon would go through the worst of times. His innocence crushed, he would be called upon in ways his family couldn’t imagine as they fought for survival in a changed world.
“Why can’t I read what they’re reading?” he asked and indicated his seven-year-old twin sisters, Alison and Brooke. Unlike Chad, they were still engrossed in their assigned book, each with a copy of Where the Red Fern Grows open in front of them.
Chad was usually the easiest of the three children. He always helped out and did what he was told. He used good manners and was a model child. At times his mom wondered if something was wrong with him. No kid could be that good, could they?
But the book he was assigned to read stirred defiance in him. It wasn’t reading per se that caused it. He loved to read, but only certain genres, and had no interest whatsoever in the classics. As far as he was concerned, they were a big waste of time. Unfortunately for him, he needed to expand, at least for school work.
His mom didn’t have a chance to respond before he spoke again. “Well?” Chad asked, and pointed at his sisters. “Why can’t I read a good book, like they are?” Lisa looked from her son to her daughters, their heads bent over their books.
While Chad was so good, the girls were a different story. They could be a challenge at times and kept their parents on their toes trying to stay one step ahead of them. They weren’t bad, just impish. At the moment, they appeared to be engaged in their books but paid close attention to Chad and their mom. They missed little, and mentally filed and stored information to use to their advantage at a later time.
The twins were identical, perfectly matched bookends to everyone but Chad and their parents. They loved it and played it up as much as they could. Nothing pleased them more than to mess with peoples’ minds when they tried to figure out which was which. Another thing they loved to do was practice speaking as if they shared the same thoughts. People looked at them in eerie fascination when they did a tag-team delivery. One would say two or three words, and then the other say a few more, and back and forth that way to express one complete thought. Their listeners looked on astounded and had no idea they’d practiced their lines over and over.
“Chad, you read that book, what, four years ago?” his mom answered. “And now, to expand your experiences, you need to read different styles of literature.”
“Yeah, but it’s a good book, and worth reading again,” Chad said. “But come on Mom, A Tale of Two Cities? Get real. Why can’t I read a book by Gary Paulsen or Jim Kjelgaard instead? Their books are good.”
“I know you enjoy them, but you need to branch out. I’ve explained it to you before,” Lisa said. The three kids were homeschooled and Lisa did her best to adhere to the program. The book was included in the curriculum she taught from and she refused to budge on the issue. “And believe me, there are worse things to read.”
“I don’t see how anything could be worse. But if I have to branch out, I can read The Hunger Games series. I’ve heard those books are good. And you know, Kjelgaard’s stories vary. They aren’t all about a boy and his dog and hunting,” Chad said. “One book of his has a cat instead of a dog.”
Brooke looked up from her book at Chad’s comment and asked, “When can we get another dog, Mom?”
Their last dog, Bullet, had been hit by a car three months earlier when a group of teens sped down the rural road at the wrong moment. Their mom sighed and said, “We can look for a dog this spring, but now it’s time to do the chores.”
“Mom, can I read to the end of the chapter?” Alison asked. “Billy just got his puppies and is training them.”
“Alright, but no further,” Lisa said. “Your dad will be home from work soon. I have to get supper started, and you guys need to have all the chores done when he gets here so we can sit down and eat.”
The family lived on a small farmstead with cows and chickens, a pasture and hayfield, and an extensive garden which included a number of fruit trees. The cows needed taken care of twice a day during winter, and the chickens were seen to each evening. Their dad took care of the cows in the morning before work, but in the evening, the outside chores were the kids’ responsibility. They also needed to bring in firewood, used to heat the house. Chad would milk and feed the cows hay. The girls would do the chicken chores and fill the wood box.
Chad certainly didn’t want to read to the end of the chapter any more than he’d wanted to read any of the tedious story. Though he loved the right books, he’d rather milk the cow than waste more time on that book. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, indeed! he thought. Reading that book was the worst time he could imagine. “I’d still rather read about anything else,” he grumbled and put the book away.
“You can read those other books for pleasure, not for school,” his mom told him.
Chad stifled his retort and got ready to go outside. When he’d bundled up for the cold and had warm wash water in the milk bucket, he stepped out the back door. The bitter air assaulted him and he lowered his head and trudged toward the barn, muttering. Even the cold was preferable to that lousy book. As he neared the barn, the back door to the house closed behind his sisters. They must’ve been near the end of their chapter or changed their minds. He shrugged and entered the barn with the cow right behind him. She was eager for the grain she’d eat while he milked.
Still grumbling about Charles Dickens and “the worst of times”, Chad put grain in the feed box and locked the cow’s head in the stanchion. He transferred the water to the wash bucket, cleaned the cow’s udder and teats, and settled in beside her to milk. While he milked, he forgot the arduous book and considered different dogs. When they got another dog, he wanted it to be a bird dog he could hunt with. His mind drifted and he day-dreamed about hunting and fishing while his hands squeezed and relaxed and he filled the bucket with fresh foamy milk.
Chad was filling the feeder with hay when his dad, Dan, drove up and parked his old pickup under the carport. Chad paused and watched him get out and walk to the house. His dad’s posture and lethargic movements made it obvious he was worn-out. The winter dragged him down. He got up early and took care of the cows in the dark and then spent the long day at work. It was physical work, building trailers in a cold, noisy, and stinky shop. He only got out in the light of day on weekends.
Maybe, Chad thought, I can get up in the mornings and feed the cows while dad milks. It would help his dad out a bit, and he might not be quite as tired at the end of the day. He made a mental note to ask his mom to wake him earlier.
He went back to the barn and got the bucket of milk, carried it to the house and took care of it, cleaned his bucket and straining cloth, and put everything away. When he was finished, his mom had the table ready for them to sit down for supper. As they ate, they shared stories of their day. Chad noticed his dad seemed down to hear what the family did and he’d missed out on while he worked. It struck him again that his dad looked especially tired. He made a silent vow to do more to help him.
After they’d cleaned up from the meal Chad wanted to read, and not the book his mom forced on him. He needed a good story to clear his mind after that torture. Brian’s Hunt was the final book in the Hatchet series from Gary Paulsen. Now THAT was a good book. It had hunting and outdoor adventures. It was real literature, worth his time.
The rest of the family followed Chad’s lead and got reading material as well. Dan looked through a stack of garden seed catalogs that’d arrived in the mail. Although he produced most of his own seeds in their large garden, he kept a lookout for new vegetables to try. Lisa settled in with the latest Lorna Landvik book. And although it was a school book, the girls continued with Where the Red Fern Grows. The book didn’t seem like school work to them. Chad read until his mom told him to put the book away and head to bed.
#
“Chad, Chad honey, it’s time to get up,” his mom said from his bedroom doorway. She paused for a few moments and watched him stir and rise to a sitting position.
Chad missed the maternal pride in her eyes as he rubbed his own eyes. “Yeah Mom, I’m up,” he muttered. With a smile, his mom went back to the kitchen.
Chad shuffled into the kitchen and held a hand over his wide, yawning mouth. Rather than his baggy pajamas, he was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, ready to put his coat and boots on and go outside. He was lean and wiry, with the top of his head even with his mom’s nose. His tousled brown hair could stand to be trimmed. His face, though soft and youthful, was a younger version of his father’s, but lacked Dan’s lines and roughened features which confirmed his age. Lisa couldn’t help but smile at him, with his hair sticking out every which way. “Good morning . . . Mom,” he said, and stifled another yawn. “Dad’s still outside?” he asked.
She paused to exchange a hug with him. “Good morning honey. Yes, he’s still outside, you can help him if you hurry. Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah, just not long enough. Someone woke me before I was ready to get up,” he said. It was the same thing he’d said the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that . . . He punctuated the statement with another yawn. “But I guess I better get a move on, so I can feed the cows before Dad does.” He got his coat, hat, and boots on, and went outside, pulling his gloves on as he went.
#
Alison was setting the table for breakfast as the back door opened and Dan and Chad walked in, accompanied by a blast of freezing air. “Brrr, it’s a cold one this morning,” Dan said, shivering before he set the bucket of milk onto the counter. After he removed his gloves, he stuffed them into the pockets of his canvas chore coat and hung it on an empty coat hook. Bits of hay clung to his coat, and a few dropped onto the floor when he took it off. It was a part of life on the small farmstead, and Lisa spent a lot of time in the effort to keep the house clean. Bits of snow fell from their boots despite stomping their feet on the doormat. When it was warmer, it was a different story; it wasn’t only snow that clung to boots when they returned from the barnyard.
“Good morning Dad,” Alison said, as she set out the plates and silverware.
“Morning Ali,” Dan said and gave another shudder from the cold that’d settled deep inside him while he was outside. With the aid of the boot jack, he took off his snow boots and put them on the shelf under the coats. He picked up his work boots and carried them to the chair closest to the wood stove, making a detour on the way to give Alison a one-armed hug. Lisa set a steaming cup of coffee on the end table beside him so he could warm his insides while the radiant heat from the stove warmed his outside. Chad put his coat and boots away and went to the sink to take care of the milk.
“Go get your sister, Ali,” Lisa said when she noticed Alison had finished with the table and was standing by the stove. Brooke hadn’t come out of their bedroom yet.
Alison obeyed, but muttered, “Alright, but she has to clean up after we eat since I set the table.”
Both girls returned and everyone took their seats. When they were settled, Dan asked the blessing, and they filled their plates. Chad took a bite, chewed and swallowed. With his mouth empty he asked, “So you’re sure we can’t go and try to find him this weekend, but we’ll go next weekend?”
Dan stiffened, sighed, and said, “Yes, I’m sure. . . I guess . . . I don’t think we should go tomorrow, not with the Super Bowl the next day. The game is like a national holiday for a lot of people. We don’t know if he’ll be around, and it might be best not to disturb him if he is. I think we’ll have a better chance to find him next week.”
Silence enveloped the table while they ate their breakfast, the short conversation hanging in the air. Chad had referred to Mateo Gomez, his half-brother, a man none of them had ever met, not even Dan. Despite their plan to find and meet him, it made Dan uncomfortable to discuss Mateo, a total stranger who happened to be his illegitimate son. But for better or for worse, they were going to try to locate him.
It’d been a humbling experience for him to tell his kids of his indiscretion as a teenager, but when they were old enough, he thought they needed to know they had a half-brother. He’d told Lisa years earlier, also a humbling experience, but it’d been harder to tell the kids he’d done something he felt so ashamed of.
As he ate his breakfast, Dan recalled the conversation when he’d told them. He’d never felt more uncomfortable in his life than he had at that moment. He’d hoped for the perfect time, but there could never be the perfect time for such a conversation. So one day, he and Lisa sat the kids down and he told them.
The coffee he’d had earlier in the morning threatened to erupt like a volcano and he sipped at his water to try to calm his stomach and nerves. The water did little to settle his roiling stomach. Lisa rested a hand on his leg and gave him a slight nod to begin.
“Well, okay, when I was young, still in my teens, but long before I met your mother, well, I met a girl and uh, I thought I was in love with her. And, well, she was leaving town, and we uh, thought we’d never see each other again. We . . . did something very regrettable, and . . . uh . . . well, she had a baby later. I didn’t know about it until years later, but, well, um . . . I’m the baby’s father.”
Chad’s shock showed on his face. “You have another kid, and you never told me before?”
“Uh, well, I was embarrassed,” he said. He was further embarrassed because since they had livestock, Chad knew what it took to get a new calf each year. He turned red from the looks Chad shot him; hurt, accusation, confusion.
The twins didn’t appear to share his feelings; they were intrigued. “Was it a girl baby or boy baby?” Alison asked.
“A boy,” Dan said quietly.
“Then we have two brothers,” Brooke said to Alison. “Chad and . . . ?” She looked at her dad with her hands open for him to continue and tell them their brother’s name and thought of something else. “When can we meet him?”
“What’s his name?” Alison asked the question Brooke had left hanging.
“Mateo, his name is Mateo Gomez. His family, well, they were migrant farm workers, and—”
“Dad,” Alison asked, “What’s my-grant farm workers?”
Dan drank again and said, “They are people who move around, working for different farms, all over. So I only knew his mom for a short time before they moved on to find more work. He’s in his twenties now. I don’t know much about him, but I do know he’s in the army.”
Chad looked at his dad incredulously. “You mean I have a brother with a different last name, and he’s off where he can get killed in war? So I might not ever meet him even if I want to?”
The uncomfortable conversation all came back to Dan while he ate and made it hard to enjoy his breakfast. He took a sip of his coffee and felt his stomach roil recalling it. Chad had taken a couple of weeks to warm up and act the same around him as he had before the bombshell. But after he’d warmed to the idea, he stated that he wanted to meet his brother.
Dan had tried to locate Mateo for years and make contact with him but failed to receive a response to any of the letters he mailed. Still, he kept trying and searched for any information he could find, and sent more letters. Then, during the winter he’d learned Mateo had gotten out of the army at least five months earlier and lived not too far away from them. He couldn’t find the exact location, but it was near the small community of Hamilton, at least that was where he received his mail.
Hamilton was a blip on the map on the main north-south highway, surrounded by farms and ranches. Besides supporting local agriculture, the town was a popular spot for sportsmen as it offered good access for hunters and fishermen.
It was time to try to find Mateo and meet him face to face. Ever since Chad had warmed to the idea of having a brother, he’d looked forward to meeting him. The twins had been excited from day one. And though Lisa encouraged him, Dan grew more nervous with each passing day. The unanswered letters he’d sent made him question what Mateo’s attitude would be and if it was a good idea to try to locate him. But he had to try and at least make the effort. His conscience wouldn’t let him forget he had a son he’d never met. Only time would tell if it was a mistake.
“Well, I better brush my teeth, and get on to work,” Dan said. “Those trailers won’t build themselves. Thanks for the breakfast, Hon, it was wonderful like always.” He left the table and returned a few minutes later. After a hug for each of the kids and a kiss goodbye to Lisa, he pulled his coat and wool cap on and picked up his lunch box.
“Bye Dad, have a great day,” the kids chorused.
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Post by bretf on Feb 8, 2019 5:50:50 GMT -6
Chapter 2
Dan completed the bead he was welding as welcome quiet replaced the shrill blast of the lunch whistle. He straightened up, removed his welding hood, and laid it on the welder he used. With a low groan, he stretched his arms out, flexed his shoulders, and twisted and turned his head, working the kinks out from being hunched over for too long. He groaned again as he flicked off the welder’s power switch and closed the valve on the gas bottle. Around the shop, other workers shut their equipment down, and two men slipped their coats on and headed for the door at a fast pace.
A dark cloud hung over the work area, a byproduct of the arc welding the men had been doing. Welding fumes, mixed with the smell of burned steel from grinders and the plasma cutter, hung in the air. Paint odors were heavy as well. All but one of the strong exhaust fans mounted high in the walls were silent. They not only removed fumes, they sucked the heat out, making the cavernous building feel like a meat locker during winter. The crew traded odors for a bit of warmth. Trailers in various stages of completion filled the shop space.
Dan laid his heavy leather gloves, leather jacket and chaps, and ear protection by his helmet, and pondered his kids’ future as he looked around the hazy shop. He didn’t mind his job most of the time, it was good honest work, but he hoped Chad would be able to find a different career, preferably outdoors. Time will tell, he thought and joined the other men as they made their way to wash and have lunch.
The lunchroom offered welcome relief from the stinky, noisy shop. Dan got his lunch out of the refrigerator and sat down at the long table with a sigh. As more of the crew settled around the table, two of them watched intently while he opened his lunch box. As a rule, Dan’s lunch was unlike what they had.
“So what’s it gonna be today?” John, one of his co-workers asked while he opened the top on his own lunch – a Cup O Noodles – and moved to the hot water dispenser to fill the foam cup and start the noodles cooking.
Matt, Dan’s best friend and fishing partner took out his lunch – leftover chicken and potato logs from the supermarket deli. “I hope she sent enough for you to share,” he said and slid his food into the microwave to heat.
Dan chuckled as he laid out the contents of his lunch box. Lisa always packed him a full meal, usually more than he could eat. And like most of their meals, the majority of it was homegrown and homemade. Along with the cows, chickens, and large garden, he had a greenhouse, from which he harvested cold-hardy vegetables all winter.
“Well, let’s see, here’s a quart of Jersey juice,” he said as he set out a jar of milk, “I’ve got a baggie of fresh vegetables, a container of home-canned peaches, and a sandwich.” The sandwich had a thick slice of elk roast between slices of homemade bread. “I’ll share the veggies and the milk but the sandwich is all mine,” he told them.
“Don’t you know raw milk’s not safe?” Matt asked as he pushed his cup across the table for Dan to fill. “And that fertilizer you grow your vegetables in, man, that’s all untreated manure. Think of all the disease you spread.” Matt reached into the baggie and pulled out a carrot and radish while he talked.
“I just know where I’m going if the brown stuff ever hits the fan,” John said, crunching on a radish.
The newest hire, Ben, stood at the coffee maker and listened intently to the conversation behind him. The hand holding his cup and the hand grasping the pot had matching tattoos of snakeheads with their fangs extended. The snakes’ bodies disappeared up his shirt sleeves. With his cup full, he moved to where he could eavesdrop on the conversation at the other end of the table.
Dan chewed a bite of sandwich and swallowed before he addressed John’s well-used comment. “As I told you before, you better bring your work gloves if you do. There’ll be no freeloading at my place. I’m not President Morton. You work your butt off or you don’t eat. These things don’t magically appear like your food at the grocery store,” he said and waved a carrot in the air before biting into it.
Dan chewed and swallowed. “I guess I shouldn’t have said that, at least not making it sound like it’s all the current President’s fault. She didn’t invent welfare; she’s only perfected it for the slackers.”
Fred, one of the guys further down the table, guffawed. “The only welfare I can think of this week is if the Buccaneers lay down for the Chiefs since it’s rumored this might be Moore’s final game.”
The hype for the upcoming Super Bowl had been going at a fever pitch. The game would be played in Levi’s stadium, where Peyton Manning had directed the Denver Broncos to a Super Bowl victory for his last hurrah.
The media couldn’t resist the opportunity to draw the comparison it was possibly the final game of another quarterback. Though not as accomplished as Manning, Kyle Moore might wrap up his career in the ultimate game of the sport in the same manner and on the same field as the great Manning had. Speculation ran rampant, but he’d neither confirm nor deny he had plans to retire.
Coupled with that, Moore’s Kansas City Chiefs team would face the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, a team who’d crushed them in the second game of the regular season. Moore started that game with an interception on the first play from scrimmage, and the results of the game were never in doubt. He vowed to do better, and the Buccaneers vowed a repeat. And the hype went on and on.
“You know,” Fred continued, “The way the Chiefs choked against them in the regular season, well you all saw it, so it’s gonna take welfare from the Buc’s to the old guy if K.C. is gonna have any chance at all in the game.”
Larry, his lunch finished, went to the counter, and held up a piece of poster board with “Chiefs” printed across the top and “Buccaneers” down the side. The rest of the board had a grid drawn on it, ten rows and columns, and most of the squares had people’s names written in them. “We still have six open squares guys. We need to fill this up and pick numbers so I can have all of you guys’ money on Monday. And I for one hope Moore doesn’t lay an egg like he did the last time. If this is his last game, I want to see him go out a winner.” Agreement came from around the table. Fred was certainly in the minority as a Buccaneers backer.
The biggest rooting point for the Chiefs was their center, a local boy. “It’s gonna be different this time,” John said. “Look who’s in front of Moore. That offensive line is so much better since Cody Parsons got the starting job.”
Dan’s mind wandered at the mention of the Chiefs center. Parsons had grown up and played eight-man high school football in a small town two hour’s drive north of the shop, in Hamilton, the very town where Dan would try to locate his son, Mateo. He had no idea where the trail would lead since all he had for Mateo was a post office box number. Around him, the upcoming game was the sole topic of discussion as Dan considered the man he’d fathered but never met.
“Did I tell you about my busted vacuum cleaner?” Fred asked. “It quit working, so I put a Chiefs bumper sticker on it right after the Tampa Bay-K. C. game and it started to suck again.” The joke produced groans, as well as a thrown wadded up paper towel from Larry.
“Alright, get your money out guys, we have to fill this board up,” Larry said. “How about you Dan, I don’t see your name on this anywhere. Or do the Amish do things like this?” Larry liked to kid Dan over his lifestyle; to him being Amish was the only reason anyone would raise their own food. Dan didn’t refute the idea in the least. In fact, when it came to Larry, he encouraged it. Larry didn’t seem to realize that unlike the Amish, Dan had most of the same modern conveniences everyone else in the shop had.
Dan looked at the poster board and wrinkled his brow. “No, I’m sure this is forbidden,” he said and tried to keep a straight face. “So how did you say this thing works?” He couldn’t help but grin at the look Larry shot him.
“You know dang well how the football pool works, now get your wallet out,” Larry snapped.
Dan took out a dollar. “Okay, I’ll take one square.”
“Just one? Come on man, you can do better than that. Are you even going to watch the game?”
“Of course not. You know we Amish don’t have electricity or televisions,” Dan answered. He handed over the dollar and signed his name on a square.
“So, are you going to watch the game?” Matt asked Dan, as Larry moved down the table.
“I might see part of it after I finish up outside, but it won’t be the focus of my day. After church, Chad and the girls and I are going to get a bunch of trays set up in the greenhouse. It’s time to get seeds in so the plants will be ready to put out in the garden when the weather warms up. Then we need to clean the chicken house and get all the manure on the compost pile. By the time that’s all done and I’ve showered and had supper, I might have a beer and watch the rest of the game. If I don’t fall asleep in my chair anyway.”
“Man, you are so bizarre,” Fred said and shook his head. The thought of missing the Super Bowl was sacrilegious in his view.
“So what do you think Jackson’s up to?” John asked. “Man, can you believe that guy’s luck? He not only has a hot babe for a wife, but her old man takes him to the Super Bowl. I’d love it if my father-in-law took me to the big game.” John referred to Sean Jackson, one of the shop workers. His father-in-law, a high powered executive, had swung tickets to the game and taken Sean along with him.
“He’s probably at a party,” Larry said. “I’d like to be there too, but not with my father-in-law, if I had one. I saw a story online that said call girls flocked into Frisco by the thousands for this. They generate as much money as all of the other activities combined according to the article.” Larry was unmarried, and would most likely remain that way. His phone chirped and he took it out, pulled up the message, and read. “Well speak of the devil. That son of a . . .” he trailed off, as he read the message and looked at the photos with it. “Here, look at this.” He handed the phone to Fred.
The screen showed a photo of the front of the Fairmont San Francisco, a luxury hotel. “Now scroll to the next picture,” Larry said. The second photo was a selfie of Sean. He stood inside a large ballroom with a buffet table set up on one side. People filled the room, with plates and drinks in their hands, and broad smiles on their faces. A short note accompanied the photos. “Hey guys, I’d be lying if I said I missed you, LOL. I’ll put more on Facebook when I can. And Larry, the article you showed me is true. I’ve seen quite a few who look incredible. Have fun at the shop.”
The men passed the phone around the table and everyone looked at the pictures and the note. The grumbling about how lucky Sean Jackson was increased.
#
Sean Jackson laughed at the message he’d sent, knowing how it’d needle the guys at the shop. He slipped the phone into his pocket and surveyed the ballroom. It was still hard to believe he stood in the Fairmont Hotel, and in two days would be at the greatest sporting event ever. He nearly pinched himself to make sure it wasn’t a dream. After lunch, he might take a nap to be ready for the evening, or he might not. It’d be hard to miss a single minute. San Francisco swarmed with activity. Parties would go non-stop, right up until the wee hours of Monday morning. There’d be food like he’d never eaten before, booze, and yes Larry, women, although he wouldn’t indulge in that particular pleasure.
The ballroom pulsed with excitement and noise, and Sean heard numerous languages spoken. The game was a world event, and to judge by what he heard and the appearances of different people, several countries were represented in the room. He’d read it would be broadcast to two hundred countries and most of them had their own crews on location. It was staggering to consider he’d experience it firsthand, and he was so grateful to his father-in-law for including him.
Grateful didn’t seem strong enough for the feeling he had. Other than his marriage and the birth of his children, he couldn’t imagine anything in his life would be more monumental.
Sean couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he moved through the crowd toward the buffet. He was so caught up in the atmosphere, he even smiled when a serving man in a long-sleeved white shirt and white gloves brushed against him. Sweat soaked through the man’s shirt and left a damp spot on Sean’s exposed arm. Sean glanced at the man as he wiped the spot. His face, framed by high white collars, was covered with blemishes and twisted in a fierce scowl as he maneuvered through the assemblage. His jaw moved like he had something that tasted bad in his mouth. His movements reminded Sean of the bumper cars at the fair, as he bounced from one person to the next.
“That guy doesn’t look too happy to be here,” a man near Sean said. He’d also been roughly brushed against.
Sean agreed with him and continued to work his way to the food. The enchanting aromas made his mouth water. As he made his way, he noticed the scowling man brush against more people as he took their empty glasses and plates. “They must be hard up for wait staff this week,” Sean muttered.
#
Abdul Mueed left the ballroom with his tray full of dirty dishes. Once out of sight of the revelers, his face contorted in pain. His head pounded and he had a raging fever. He coughed onto the tray and spittle flew everywhere. The open sores in his mouth made it hard to control while he lowered himself amongst the filthy swine in that room of decadence. But according to the men who’d sent him to the hell hole in the center of the enemy, the fire raging through his body burned at peak efficiency.
He leaned against the wall for support. Closing his eyes, he asked Allah for strength to complete his mission. Two more days, he had to hold on for two more days.
While the infidels reveled, two hundred faithful staged a silent attack on the unaware city. Though not right away, the unbelievers would know their wrath. As directed, Mueed had accessed the hotel’s ventilation system and released the contents of an aerosol can into the recirculated air. He had two more of the cans and would release one per day. The other phase of the attack involved direct contact with the infidels.
Mueed felt satisfaction mixed with revulsion. The injections he and the other faithful had been given were obviously at work. His fever intensified as the day went on and his sweating increased as well. The coughs were more frequent and he had occasional muscle tremors along with the fatigue. Praise Allah, the virus would spread to the infidels as it raged through his own body. The faithful had been told it would spread best through body fluids, but substantial spread would happen through the air as well.
Still, despite delivering their death, he was revolted. He had to look at their faces and bow and scrape as a servant. Each time he held his hand out to one of them, his muscles tensed and he longed for his knife to wipe the smiles from their faces while he cut their throats.
He was most revolted by the women. They were shameless whores, putting their bodies on display for all to see. He longed to see their eyes as he had seen the other woman’s eyes at the moment of recognition. The look of the dying. He remembered the harlot’s eyes as his knife tore through her abdomen, and shuddered in pleasure.
He’d refused the order to bed the prostitutes. It didn’t matter to him how well the virus would spread in that method, he wouldn’t degrade himself to perform such acts. That the virus would spread more readily wasn’t enough for him. He wouldn’t be able to stand before Allah with the shame. He knew others didn’t share his views and relished the opportunity. If the whores only realized he delivered their death, if he could see it in their eyes, he might relent. But he’d seen the lifeless eyes of the prostitutes when they came from a room, their bags tight with cash. No, they wouldn’t know he’d killed them. But those eyes . . .
Mueed pulled away from the wall and did his best to mask the pain. He carried his tray through the swinging doors of the kitchen area and set it down near the others piled with dirty dishes. Glancing around to see if he was observed, he reached for a new tray and coughed into the arranged plates, glasses and silverware. Particles of spittle flew with each cough and adhered to the utensils. Mueed coughed again before returning to the ballroom. His forehead glistened with perspiration as he worked through the crowded room.
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Post by 9idrr on Feb 8, 2019 20:59:37 GMT -6
From such humble beginnings these stories went much further than I'd ever expected. Thanks for all the time and work you put into these, sir.
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Post by texican on Feb 9, 2019 20:28:38 GMT -6
From such humble beginnings these stories went much further than I'd ever expected. Thanks for all the time and work you put into these, sir. ^^^^THIS^^^^ Bret, just need the next parts.... Guys well worth reading again and for those that have not read it the first time, you will be pleased.... Texican....
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Post by kaijafon on Feb 11, 2019 19:47:07 GMT -6
come on guys! I'm the only one so far to review it!!!!!! gonna let my review be the top review??? hahaha! I see you have the paperback now. Mr. B is going to get that. And if it comes out in audio/cd/mp3; I'll be getting that one. for now it is safe on my kindle! Thanks for the link! (now ya'all get over there and review it!!! make it go viral!)
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Post by deadcat on Feb 15, 2019 16:13:07 GMT -6
Finally , found my password !!! Go me !!
anyway congratulations Brett . Glad you publish the story. I just bought the paperback . So looking forward to reading it. The draft that I read here was a favorite all the way to the return home. Thanks for sharing it with us ! Looking forward to the next three parts , so does being four parts make it a quadilagy ?
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Post by bretf on Feb 15, 2019 19:15:30 GMT -6
9idrr: Thank you sir. I have to tell you, this went a lot further than I ever expected.
Texican: Thanks, and yeah, I'm trying to work on the rest, but still have those problems I told you about. I have bad days, and not-as bad days, but make little progress. I'll be seeing someone new next week that can hopefully take care of it.
Kaijafon: Thank you very much! As far as audio, I haven't looked into it yet. I'll let you know if I'm able to make it happen.
Deadcat: Thank you! Quadiligy? You're making my head spin, and that's not good.
I very much appreciate all of you who followed my story!
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Post by 9idrr on Feb 17, 2019 16:19:54 GMT -6
Bret, I think we all appreciate havin' had the story to follow.
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Post by puddlejumper007 on Feb 25, 2019 12:58:44 GMT -6
Wow Thanks Bret, just ordered the paperback. Looking forward to getting it. Was going to get it on my tablet, but thought I want something I can hang on to. Pat.
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Post by eyeseetwo on Apr 6, 2019 19:21:32 GMT -6
Happy you have this fine story published. I remember reading it before and it was chilling and insightful.
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Post by bretf on Jun 15, 2019 13:13:01 GMT -6
I’m excited to announce the release of the second book in the “Smoke Saga”. “Chad Smoke, Brotherhood” Kindle: www.amazon.com/Chad-Smoke-Brotherhood-Smokes-Saga-ebook/dp/B07SXC64MB/ref=sr_1_2?keywords=Chad+Smoke&qid=1560383795&s=gateway&sr=8-2Paperback: www.amazon.com/dp/1073321533/ref=sr_1_3?keywords=chad+smoke&qid=1560625636&s=gateway&sr=8-3The nation has disintegrated into chaos and heavy clouds of nuclear winter blanket the sky. The Smoke family has fled their destroyed home, but they can’t settle in, not yet. They leave their safe refuge in search of Mateo, Dan’s illegitimate son. Unknown dangers wait, as well as questions and concerns. If they locate Mateo, how will they be received by the man who has refused to acknowledge Dan’s attempts to contact him? I appreciate all of you who read the draft of the work, and if you choose to purchase, please post a review of the story. Enjoy the preview, and I always welcome your comments. Now, I’m back to working on part 3 “Smoke and Burns”. If anyone is interested, here are the links to Book 1: Kindle: www.amazon.com/Chad-Smoke-Ashen-Horse-Saga-ebook-dp-B07NCBJ6FQ/dp/B07NCBJ6FQ/ref=mt_kindle?_encoding=UTF8&me=&qid=1560383936Print: www.amazon.com/Chad-Smoke-Ashen-Horse-Saga/dp/1795719974/ref=sr_1_4?keywords=Chad+Smoke&qid=1560383936&s=gateway&sr=8-4
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Post by bretf on Jun 15, 2019 13:15:25 GMT -6
Chapter 1
Chad Smoke stared at the dark house and willed Aunt Heather to appear. He’d been huddled in the ditch most of the night, the frozen ground leaching away his body heat. He was numb and exhausted but his discomfort paled in comparison to his anxiety. Aunt Heather, where are you? What’s happening? I’m scared! he tried to convey mentally.
She’d gone to the house to make sure none of the men who’d raided their home were still hiding inside. Before she left, she ordered him to stay put no matter what. It was a tense wait and he strained for any little sign of what was happening. His imagination ran wild; he heard phantom sounds and pictured the goons jumping out at her. His greatest fear was gunshots from the house. Coupled with the other scenarios flashing through his mind, he was certain if he heard shots it could only end in tragedy.
As he peered at the house in the pre-dawn gloom, he steeled his resolve. He would have to ignore her order; she’d need him after all. The thought terrified him but he would put his fear aside if her life was in jeopardy. His anxiety mounted while he crouched in the ditch prepared for the worst. Please, Aunt Heather, come out and say it’s all okay!
The tense silence was shattered when someone inside the house shouted, “Get the bitch Mateo!” and a single, ominous shot rang out. His muscles jerked from the unnaturally loud blast, his heart raced and pounded against his chest wall, and he stared at the house even more intently. Aunt Heather! Despite his terror and concern for her, he wondered why the man yelled his brother’s name. Could he be in there?
The sound of the shot had barely faded when he heard the heavy pounding of booted feet. Wide-eyed, he stared; it wasn’t Aunt Heather. Swarthy bikers poured out of the house and charged straight at him. Was his brother Mateo with them? Could he, should he fire at them before they were on him?
He had little time to decide. Wide-eyed, he tightened his hands around . . . nothing. Where was his rifle? What happened to it? He had to find it! It wasn’t on his lap where he’d cradled it all night and the man leading the charge was bearing down on him! Chad’s heart pounded and he gasped for breath as he flailed about searching frantically.
He jolted awake in a panic, still immersed in the nightmare. The dream was vivid, too vivid and held him tight. His consciousness didn’t register the fact he’d woken as he fumbled around in blind terror, trying in vain to locate the missing rifle. Instead of the firearm he grasped and pulled a human arm. His sister Alison mumbled in her sleep, jerked her arm free, and rolled away from the offending hand.
Wha . . . Alison, what are you . . . where . . . he thought. She shouldn’t be in the ditch with him. She should be in the root cellar. But . . . if they weren’t in the ditch . . . where were they?
Disoriented, he looked up and saw windows. The little amount of light managing to pass through the dirty panes did little to ease his confusion. It was all wrong . . . Aunt Heather, the ditch, the bikers . . . He focused harder and realized he was in his sleeping bag and warm, blissfully warm, not numb from cold as he’d been in the ditch. Looking around, he made out the lumps of his sleeping family and it all came back to him in a rush.
He wasn’t in the ditch and they weren’t at home. They’d fled their home the previous day, what was left of it anyway, evading the bikers who’d trashed it. Their destination had been Aunt Heather’s home in the boonies, but they didn’t find the safe haven they’d anticipated. Destruction and disorder were widespread.
Rather than the ditch or Aunt Heather’s house, he and his family were in a shed where they’d bedded down the previous evening. The building was on a ranch not far from Aunt Heather’s home. Her destroyed home, he amended. Jerry, a neighboring rancher had taken them in, fed them, and given them shelter in the out-building. Chad looked at the indistinct, sleeping forms near him and wiped the tears flooding his eyes.
His family, all together again; his seven-year-old twin sisters Alison and Brooke, Aunt Heather, and thank God, his parents, Dan and Lisa Smoke, made up those lumps. Chad’s breathing returned to normal as he looked at the lumps on the shed’s floor and focused on the two which were his parents. He sniffed and wiped at his eyes again. His mom and dad were with the rest of the family for the first time in weeks, for the first time since his dad had been quarantined for exposure to genetically engineered smallpox.
Despite his wiping, a tear slid down Chad’s face as he looked at them. After first his dad, and later his mom came down with the disease, he’d feared he’d never be so close to them again. In fact, he’d been certain they’d both die. The disease was fatal to all but a few who caught it, yet they’d managed to survive. Another tear slid down his face when he thought of his dad’s best friend, Matt. He hadn’t made it, dying in the Smoke Family’s shop while Dan helplessly watched. Chad brushed away more tears.
The virus they’d caught only resembled smallpox of the past, the disease that’d been eradicated decades earlier. It was a super-virus, a biological weapon developed by Russian scientists and released by Syrian sponsored terrorists at the Super Bowl. Due to the considerable exposure the game presented, the virus went global.
Chad’s parents moved into their shop when they became sick and left him to care for his sisters and everything else at their small farm. It was a huge job, considering he was only thirteen, and he’d been terrified most of the time. It’d been an immense relief when his mom’s younger sister Heather showed up to help. However, as is if the situation wasn’t bad enough, other events the night she arrived made everything monumentally worse.
The pandemic had crippled nations worldwide and it led to harsh retaliation by the United States against Syria for releasing the virus. Russia was not pleased. Their displeasure culminated on THAT DAY, when they’d done the unimaginable and unleashed their nuclear arsenal to destroy the United States. The United States responded in kind. The world as they’d known it ended That Day and the sky had been blanketed by thick gray clouds ever since as a constant reminder.
With society destroyed, much of the remaining population faced starvation. Nuclear winter and lack of fuel for crop production meant the situation would only get worse. No relief was coming.
Less scrupulous survivors saw the collapse and absence of order as an opportunity. One such group trashed the Smoke’s home, the family managing to escape following a harrowing shootout.
The memories flooded Chad’s mind. The weeks dreading his parents would die, the seemingly endless night in the ditch, the gun battle and dead bikers, and his relief at seeing his dad and Aunt Heather safe.
Though he tried to dismiss it from his mind, his thoughts returned to the shootout. What if . . . it . . . turned out . . . different? What if . . . Aunt Heather was slower? His breathing sped up again like he was back home, seeing the shootout with a different outcome. Stop it. It didn’t happen that way. Aunt Heather was quick enough. No, not quite. That one guy escaped. But she and Dad got us away and those guys never found us, he told himself. So it was quick enough. Barely.
But what about Mateo? Why was he in the dream? Chad asked himself. Was it because he’d been thinking about his half-brother the previous evening? Was it possible he’d turned into a parasite, preying on the weak? He couldn’t have . . . could he? Chad prayed he hadn’t.
After the shootout, the terrified family had endured an anxious trip to Aunt Heather’s home, only to find it had also been destroyed. Her neighbor, Jerry, accompanied by his sons Claude and Art were at the smoldering remains of the house and offered them a place to stay. Having no other options, the Smoke family accepted. They’d become refugees, sleeping on mats on the floor of a stranger’s shed.
Although his racing heart and rapid breathing had returned to normal, Chad knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. Not after reliving the previous day. He got out of his sleeping bag, careful not to disturb Alison again and dressed as quietly as he could. Before he stepped away, he pulled Alison’s sleeping bag up over her. She’d managed to half-extricate herself when she’d rolled away from him. Brooke didn’t need to be covered; she was no longer in the bag she’d started the night sharing with her sister. Instead, she was snuggled against their mother, the sleeping bag pulled tight to the girl’s chin. Both girls tended to get out of their covers at night and Chad guessed his mom had covered her recently.
He tiptoed to his coat where it hung on a nail and shrugged into it. A part of his wardrobe since the nukes, he belted on his holster and revolver. After picking up his shotgun, he slipped outside.
Heather’s mouth curled in a resigned smile as he left. She got up, dressed, and followed after him. She was having a hard time sleeping as well. Outside, she didn’t need to look for him. He was near the door, blowing on a steaming mug.
“What do you mean, getting up so early? I could have used more shut-eye, but no, you had to go and disturb me,” she said.
He missed the joking tone in her voice. “Sorry, but I woke up and remembered everything that happened yesterday. I didn’t think I’d be able to get back to sleep.”
“I know what you mean. It’s hard to shut your mind down at times. So, what’s in the cup and where’d you get it?” Aunt Heather asked.
“It’s tea.” He sipped from the mug and took a couple steps so she could see, and pointed to a small table behind him. Two thermoses and five mugs were on it. “I’m guessing Jerry set it out for us. The thermos on the right has coffee.” He made a sour face at her. “I still don’t know how you drink the stuff. It’s nasty.”
“I have to admit, it’s an acquired taste, but I’m glad Jerry has it and is willing to share. We’ll have to thank him when we see him.” She poured a mug full, steam dissipating into the chilly air. She grimaced at the absence of cream and sugar but sipped from her cup anyway. “Yeah, it’s harsh. This reminds me of stories of cowboy coffee,” she said.
“Cowboy coffee?” Chad asked.
“Yeah, strong enough to float a horseshoe. But when you need coffee bad enough, well, any coffee will do.”
Chad rolled his eyes and said, “So Jerry,” he said and pointed to the pen behind the large barn. “He’s feeding the stock.” He took another sip from his mug while he considered what he wanted to say. “So . . . how well do you know him? Are you sure we’re going to be all right here?”
Heather sipped and relished the hot, strong flavor. “Are you sure you’re only twelve?”
His answer was an eye roll and Heather chuckled at his standard response for her indicating he was younger than he was. She knew full well he was thirteen.
“Well,” she said, “With my work, I ran into him on occasion but never spent a lot of time around him. Still, I think he’s a perfect complement for this country: he’s harsh, yet caring, dangerous, yet peaceful. I believe if you treat him right he’ll be your trusted friend and support you. And I believe if you cross him, you’ll regret it. I don’t know if that answers your question, but I think he’s a good guy and we can trust him.”
“Well, we had to go somewhere, and so far he’s better than anyone else we’ve been around recently,” Chad said. “And Aunt Heather, I’m really sorry about your friends and your house.”
Heather grimaced. Her friends had been killed when her home was razed. “Thanks, Buddy, now don’t get me all weepy again. Kate and Rudy were good people. The house, well, it was only a house.”
Chad didn’t respond. Maybe hers was only a house, but his family’s house was so much more. It was home; the only home he and his sisters had ever known. It was full of lifetimes’ worth of memories and now it was gone. Only the memories remained and they were certain to fade. They’d lost much more than a house.
He took another sip of his tea and stared into the mug. “Let’s go help Jerry feed those cows. It sounds like we don’t want him mad at us. We sure don’t want him to evict us for being slackers and throwing us out with all the people who are starving.”
She took a drink and set her mug down. “You know you could act like an irresponsible city kid until I finish this.”
Chad shrugged, and after another look at the rancher feeding the cattle, he left his shotgun where it leaned against the wall and he and his aunt fell into step together.
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Post by bretf on Jun 15, 2019 13:16:43 GMT -6
Chapter 2
Chad looked around the strange surroundings as he and Aunt Heather walked to offer their assistance to Jerry. Home had never felt farther away. Although circumstances had changed drastically, he couldn’t help but miss it, to long for its loss. It was unlikely they’d ever see it again. “Do you think we should’ve tried to keep our house?” he asked.
“You know, I’ve asked myself the same thing since finding what was left of my place,” she said. “But no . . . even if we’d have known what happened to it, I still don’t think we should’ve fought those gomers; there were just too many. I think if we’d done anything other than what we did, we wouldn’t have all made it out in one piece.” Her voice got soft to the point Chad had to strain to hear. “If we would’ve made it out at all.”
Silence hung between them as they walked.
After several feet, Heather continued, “I suppose everyone is different, but I know the first time I put my gunsights on a living, breathing person, and he was shooting at me mind you, it took all I had to squeeze the trigger. I still hate to take a life even when they deserve it. I’m glad you didn’t have to make that decision, and if I can help it, you never will.”
They were near the fence securing the cattle, so she didn’t say more about it. Instead, she greeted their host. “Hey Jerry, good morning. Thanks for the coffee and tea. So what can we do to help you?” she asked.
“Getting a few more bales of hay to this hungry bunch is a good place to start,” Jerry said. The grizzled rancher had seen more than seventy years yet handled the hay bales with ease. Chad and Heather joined him spreading feed for the cattle.
When they were finished, Jerry said, “Thanks, I appreciate the help. So Red,” he always referred to Heather in that manner, referencing her flowing mane of red hair. “I could use your knowledge on another matter. I ain't got any idea what you did, but I know you were in the army. So I’d like to get your thoughts on our defenses. I’m sure you saw the gate we put across the road since you were here last.”
Heather nodded and asked, “Have you had trouble?”
“No, we haven’t but I think it’s only a matter of time. There have been scattered problems with refugees and scavengers, and it’s been getting worse lately.
“The first wave of people through here when all the crap started wasn’t too bad. They were survivalist nuts, just passin’ through headed for the backcountry. I spoke to a few of ‘em out of curiosity. They said they were going into the wilderness to live off the land. Can you believe they thought they could do that? I pity the idiots once real winter hits, especially on top of this nuclear winter. I don’t know if it’ll change the weather patterns any, but I figure they’ll get snowed in and starve to death.” The man had spent his entire life in the rugged area and shook his head thinking of the foolishness of it.
“But you think things are getting worse?” Heather asked.
“Yup, like what happened at your place. The next wave of people were predators. They look for lone homes and raid them. Once they finish with those, I’m sure they’ll look at our place. So we’ve been doing what we can think of prepping for that day. Let’s go for a walk and you can look over what we’ve done so far,” Jerry said.
“Alright, but to tell you the truth, I’m not sure I can offer you much. I feel shell-shocked after yesterday. At least let me get my coffee. This guy wouldn’t let me finish it before he insisted we help you,” she said and flashed Chad a wry look. “Maybe the caffeine will help.”
“Should we get our rifles?” Chad asked. “At home, we took a rifle or shotgun with us everywhere.”
“That’s a healthy habit to have nowadays,” Jerry said. “Yeah, why don’t you grab ‘em.”
As they walked, Jerry explained what they’d done.
His family and the neighboring ranchers had worked together and put in the heavy steel gate across the road. They ran barbed wire from the nearby fences to the new gate and backed the wire up with boulders. Further back, they’d set up bunkers on each side of the road. The bunkers were manned on a rotation with two people always on watch in four-hour shifts.
“That’s good thinking Jerry. It all looks good to me . . . I only wish my house would’ve been back here, too,” Heather said as she looked it over and brushed at her eyes with the back of her hand.
“So do I, Red,” Jerry said. “Lord knows, so do I.”
After an uncomfortable silence, Jerry said, “So we’d welcome any suggestions you have to boost security.”
Heather gazed across the fields on each side of the road. “This is good if someone comes in by the road. But what about out there?” she asked and made a sweeping gesture. “If they come in on foot.”
Jerry’s face paled as he contemplated the ramifications.
“Do you have any way of watching over the rest of it?” Heather asked.
“No, we’ve concentrated on the road up to this point,” Jerry said.
Heather continued to scan the area and stopped when she saw Jerry’s barn towering over the ranch yard behind them. “Could we build a crow’s nest on top of your barn and have it manned with someone watching in all directions?”
Jerry looked and said, “Yeah, we can do that. That’s a good idea.”
“But it’ll only be effective in the daytime unless you have night vision gear,” Heather said.
Jerry shook his head indicating they didn’t.
“Okay,” Heather continued. “Do you have empty cans lying around and fishing line?”
“We do, but what do we need them for?” Jerry asked.
Heather said, “Short of having motion detectors, we make poor man alarms. We string fishing line close to the ground, but high enough for someone to trip on and have a bunch of cans hooked to it in hidden places. If someone runs into the line, the cans rattle together.”
Jerry was thoughtful before he said, “I see how it’ll work. Those are good suggestions. Anything else?”
“Not at the moment, but I’ll keep it in my mind to watch for anything else that’ll help,” Heather said.
“Alright,” Jerry said, “And in the meantime, while you’re with us, I want to add you two to the watch rotation. I expect we’ll be seeing more predators like the ones that wrecked your place. I also expect we’ll see good people in need of help. Those, we’ll do what we can for like we are for you. But the others, well, we need to be ready for them. So do you think you two can do four-hour shifts out here?”
Heather and Chad looked at each other and nodded. Heather said, “Yeah, we can both do it, but do you think we could be on at the same time for a while? It would definitely make me feel better.”
Chad was glad Aunt Heather offered. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea of spending four hours on watch with a complete stranger as the only other person nearby.
“We can arrange that,” Jerry said. “How about Dan and Lisa? Would they be able to do it?”
Heather considered a few moments and then said, “First of all, I don’t know how much stamina they’ll have. As I told you, they only came out of quarantine yesterday. The plague hit them hard. Dan was running on fumes yesterday. Aside from that, I don’t think Lisa would be a good guard if she was alone; she should be with someone. I know she’s fired a gun a few times, but I’m not sure she would react quick enough if she was on her own.”
“But Dan,” she continued. “Well, yesterday, I couldn’t believe how calm he was in a crunch. I told you we had difficulties before we got away from his place.” She glanced at Chad and then described the encounter with the bikers. “I’d have been spraying lead. So, yes; I think Dan would be a good asset here when he’s up to it.”
Jerry nodded in agreement.
“So on the subject of watch,” Heather said, “I don’t know how you guys are armed, but we liberated two AK47s from the gomers who attacked Dan’s place. If they’re any good, they might be handy to have if we’re confronted. I’d like to clean and test them so I know what we have. Do you have someplace we can shoot?”
“Yeah, we’ve got a place. I’ll have Claude show you,” Jerry said. He grinned like he knew a joke and planned to drag it out before he delivered the punchline.
“One problem though, we didn’t get much ammo with them,” Heather said.
Jerry continued to grin and said, “Then I reckon you’ll have to go easy with them. Let’s head back.”
Dan was outside the shed drinking a cup of coffee when the three returned. “Morning Dan,” Jerry greeted. “I know the accommodations aren’t five-star, but I hope you were able to get some good rest.”
“It was fine,” Dan said. “I just appreciate a safe place indoors after yesterday.” Chad studied him and thought he should still be sleeping. He looked like he’d had a rough night.
“We’re going to clean those rifles we got from the bikers and test them,” Heather said. “I think Chad’s anxious to try them out. He hasn’t said as much, but he sure perked up when I mentioned them. Now, why don’t you go get them Buddy, and be careful you don’t shoot yourself.” She received an eye roll for an answer.
“I better send Claude over if you’re doin’ that now,” Jerry said, and walked away, the silly grin on his creased face.
Heather carried a pair of chairs out of the shed while Chad got the rifles. She sat and after he handed her one began to tell him what she knew about it. “The Avtomat Kalashnikova, or translating from Russian, Kalashnikov’s Automatic Rifle, or “AK” for short. This is the most common battle rifle used in the world. It’s responsible for a staggering amount of death over the last sixty or seventy years. As far as battle rifles go, they’re cheap, rugged, and dependable.”
“Excuse me,” Claude said walking up. “Dad said you had something to show me.” When he saw what Heather held, his eyes got big and his face split in a wide smile. “No way! You’ve got an AK47!”
Heather looked up and said, “Actually we’ve got two. We liberated them from some gomers. I’m going to walk Chad through them, clean them, and see about shooting them. But what’s so special about them? Every two-bit militiaman in the sandbox and Afghanistan has one or two.”
“Well, I always wanted one but couldn’t justify the cost. The family always needed other things more than I needed another gun. Plus, I wanted to compare one to my SKS,” Claude said.
Heather looked at him in wonder. “What? No wonder your dad acted like he did when we mentioned the AK’s. So how are you set up for ammo?”
Chad wasn’t sure what to make of either of them. “Okay, you guys, what gives? You’re acting like the girls in a toy store.” He was used to the pump shotguns and bolt action rifles he and his dad used for hunting and had very little exposure to other rifles.
Ignoring Chad, Claude said, “Yep, I’ve got one. . . And I have two cases of ammo for it.” He and Heather smiled wide at each other.
“Hello; Aunt Heather, Claude. Would one of you mind explaining what you’re talking about? In English, please? And what on earth is an SKS?” Chad asked.
“Okay, Chad, I’ll tell you. But let me explain a little to Claude first and then you’ll see how this all fits together,” Heather said. “So Claude, the guys we ran into yesterday were carrying these. They didn’t need them anymore. They each had the magazines in the rifle and a spare in their pockets. One managed to waste half a mag when he died. That’s all the ammo we’ve got so it limits their effectiveness for us.
“Now Chad, the SKS. It’s another battle rifle which happens to use the same ammo used by . . .” She didn’t say it but held the AK up for emphasis.
Chad got a big smile as understanding came to him and she smiled in return.
Heather looked back at Claude. “You wouldn’t happen to have ammo for a .45 pistol too, would you?”
“Naw, I’ve got a 44 magnum. Why, did you “acquire” one of those too?” Claude asked, punctuating the question with air quotes.
“Yeah, one of the gomers had one. And like the rifles, we only have one spare mag. I haven’t checked yet to see if they’re full or not.”
Jerry watched the interaction, the grin still on his face. “All right now, you kids. Don’t play with your toys for too long. We’re gonna butcher a steer later today,” he said. “Now I’ve got things to do.” He walked away, still grinning.
Heather led Chad, Dan, and Claude through cleaning the rifles and gave them a tutorial on how they worked. They paid rapt attention, although Claude looked like he wanted to forgo the steps and get straight to shooting. When the three knew as much about the guns as Heather, she asked Claude if he would mind providing ammo to test fire the rifles. He nearly skipped as he went to the house for several boxes, and then led the way to a dirt mound.
The four of took turns with each rifle. Heather was pleased with the results, Claude had a huge smile, and Chad was wide-eyed.
“It’s nothing like my rifle, but it’s sure a neat gun,” Chad said after firing a three round burst.
After firing the second rifle a couple of times, Dan shrugged and handed it back to Heather.
Chad said, “You better practice more. You might need the extra firepower.”
“He’s got a point, Dan,” Heather said.
Dan’s face tightened and he said, “My rifle is fine. I’m familiar with it and most of the time I hit where I aim.” His shots with the AK hadn’t landed anywhere near where he was trying to hit.
“You sure?” Heather asked. “If we have trouble, one of these will give you a big advantage.”
“Not if I miss what I aim at. Did you watch when I shot? If I used one of these, I’d just be making a lot of noise and wasting ammo. Besides, they don’t seem to have made a difference for those bast . . .” Dan stopped himself and glanced at his son before continuing, “The scum we took them from. So no, I’ve used my rifle so much, I know it. It won’t let me down,” Dan stated.
Heather studied him for a few moments and then nodded.
“So what do you think, Claude? Do you like these rifles?” she asked.
“Like them? Man, I love ‘em!”
“What would you say to trading for one? You have a lot of ammo we’re short of and it appears we have an extra rifle. What do you think?” Heather asked.
“Serious? How much ammo are you thinking?”
“Would you consider half a case? That’d leave you with a case and a half for two rifles,” Heather said.
“Deal!” Claude’s face was split by a huge smile.
Chad watched the exchange, torn. Those were neat rifles and Aunt Heather had just given one away. Granted, they needed the ammo, bad, but that left them with only one. He’d hoped she’d let him have one. His face fell with disappointment.
“So Dan, are you sure you don’t want the other one?” Heather asked, her eyes twinkling from Chad’s reaction. “Because if you don’t, I don’t know, we might have to let Chad have it. I’d hate to see him shoot himself in the foot. Are you certain?” she said with a grin.
Chad wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Really, Aunt Heather?” he asked with awe in his voice, not giving his dad a chance to answer.
“Yeah Buddy, really,” she said.
“Wow!” was all the answer he could utter.
“However,” Heather said, all humor gone. “That rifle is pretty big for you. You’ll have to practice with it as much as time allows, but without using up all your ammo. All your chores have made you pretty tough for your age, but you still have work to do. All right?”
Chad smiled and said, “Sure I’ll practice with it.”
#
It was past noon by the time they finished shooting, and Jerry was ready for help with the steer he’d singled out to butcher.
They joined him near the barn and Chad asked, “Uh Jerry, can you answer a question for me, please?”
The rancher shrugged and said, “Well, I’ll try.”
“Well, uh, a couple of weeks ago Aunt Heather and I were wondering if it’s safe to eat meat. I mean with the fallout, you know. We both got sick from too much time outside, so will we get more exposure by eating meat from a cow that’s been in it?”
“It’s a good thing I said I’d try to answer your question, Chad, because the truth of the matter is, I don’t know. I suppose it depends on who you talk to,” Jerry said. “And if you talk to enough people, you’ll be more confused than ever.”
“What do you mean?” Chad asked.
“Well if you ask the FDA, the Food and Drug Administration,” Jerry began, and then amended it. “Well you can’t ask them now, but anyway, before all this crap started, they decided radiation in our food was a good thing.”
“What?” Heather asked.
“You didn’t know that? The FDA approved irradiation of food years ago. If you’ve bought food in a grocery store, you’ve been eating radiation. They allow it on meat, seafood, fruits and vegetables, heck you name it, it most likely had it,” Jerry said.
“But . . . but, why?” Chad asked.
“Well to keep us all safe and healthy, of course. They said it extends the shelf life of food products and eliminates microorganisms and insects. They claimed there was nothing to worry about, you just needed to clean and cook the food before you ate it. So you’ve most likely been eating radiation-laced food for years.”
Jerry turned and started to go into the barn, stopped, and turned back to the group. “But I do know one thing for certain. And that is, even if the meat passes on radiation, it beats the heck out of starving to death. Meat on the hoof is the one thing we have in abundance.” Jerry turned and continued into the barn.
Chad recalled the man who’d stolen their cows and gulped at hearing much the same thing from Jerry. “Wow Dad, I’m glad we raised most of our food,” he said.
“Yeah, it gives new meaning to the term “junk food”, doesn’t it,” Heather added.
“You know,” Dan said, “The FDA reminds of the snake, Kaa, in Disney’s “The Jungle Book” movie. Remember how he sang “trust me” to Mowgli while he coiled tighter and tighter around the boy. Trust me indeed.”
#
Butchering the steer turned out to be hard, messy work.
“Well, Chad, I guess you were right,” Heather said at one point.
“I know it,” he grinned at her. “But which time do you mean?” he asked.
“Whatever. Anyway, back at your place, you said butchering a cow was a huge job and the two of us would be hard pressed to do it alone. Without the right set-up, which we didn’t have, I’m not sure we could’ve pulled it off.”
Chad flashed her a “told you so” smirk.
When the beef was quartered and hanging in a secure building, everyone cleaned up and went to the house for dinner. Although the table had been lengthened to its full size, it didn’t accommodate everyone. When the pandemic struck, Jerry’s grown children had returned with their families. The house was packed. Each of Chad’s parents shared a seat with one of the twins. Stools at the counters were occupied by Jerry’s grandkids. The room buzzed with conversation, Claude the loudest as he recounted the trade for the rifle over and over, and let everyone know how impressed he was with the AK.
Jerry had his regular seat at the head of the extended table. He cleared his throat and addressed the group, starting with his son. “Claude, if you please.” When it was quiet, he said, “Now that we’ve got meat for a while, tomorrow we’re going after firewood. We won’t be getting any more propane deliveries and we’ll need fuel; a lot of fuel. I want to get it in before more people are crawling around in those hills. It can only get more dangerous.” He took a bite and chewed, letting everyone consider the idea.
“Sounds good, Dad. Who’ll go and who’ll stay?” Art asked.
“I want every able-bodied person and I mean EVERYBODY, on it so we can get loaded and back as soon as possible. I talked to Ralph and Ted a while ago.” Jerry said, naming the neighboring ranchers. “Their groups will come along as well.”
“I wondered where you disappeared to before we were done with the meat,” Art said.
“You didn’t need me looking over your shoulder while you finished. So Ralph will leave his two oldest to watch and we’ll leave two. Dan, Lisa, I’d like it if you were the two.”
Dan’s brow wrinkled while he considered the request. “We’re grateful for you taking us in Jerry and I always welcome private time with my wife, but I’m not sure we’re the best people for the job. Maybe someone else could stay; we’d be happy to help with firewood.”
“Dan, I’m sure you’d prefer cutting wood, I know I sure would. But we need to leave guards. After stewing on it all afternoon, I decided on you. Red told me you’re calm in a crisis. Besides, I can see the pox left you weak as a new-born kitten. You need time for your body to get back on track, Lisa too. The day I’ve got planned is gonna be hard work. I don’t doubt your determination, but I don’t know that you two would hold up to it.”
“Yes, but—”
“But nothing,” Jerry interrupted. “Let me tell you about Ralph’s kids. His oldest, Jim, spent eight years in the National Guard. The other one, Joe, was always trying to outdo him, so he did twenty years. You’ll be with good men and if anything comes up, you’re their backup support and Lisa is yours.”
“I’d rather cut wood but I understand your reasoning,” Dan said.
When the meal was finished, Dan and his family were shooed away from the kitchen, despite offers to help clean up. At Jerry’s urging, they left the house to go to their beds.
“Dan, are you up to keeping watch tomorrow and dealing with any problems?” Heather asked. “I can talk to Jerry if you’re uncomfortable with it.”
“No, I’ll be fine. I just feel like the wood crew will accomplish something while I spend the day on my backside. I don’t like to sit around while other people work,” he said.
“Well, why don’t you keep Chad’s new rifle at least. The AK is a more formidable weapon,” she said.
“Maybe in the right person’s hands but I’m not that person. I’ll stick with what I know.”
“All right, it’s your choice,” she said. “And I hope it’s the right one.”
Lisa and the twins turned onto the short path to the outhouse. Chad followed along. “Chad, it looks like you’ve got the girls tomorrow. Keep a close eye on them,” she said. “I hate to be separated from you guys so soon, but Jerry’s right. The girls can do more than I can now.”
“Sure Mom, I will, but you need to keep an eye on Dad too. Aunt Heather told me how soldiers can get after a battle. He hasn’t been himself since we left home.”
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Post by bretf on Jun 15, 2019 13:17:53 GMT -6
Chapter 3
The line of trucks, trailers, and pickups pulled out of the ranch yard soon after dawn. Jerry had every vehicle capable of hauling a load lined up, including the cattle truck and horse trailer. Over breakfast, he’d outlined his plan. They’d drive to a stand of dead trees he knew of, cut them into the longest lengths they could handle, load, and get back home as fast as possible. The logs would be cut to stove length at the respective ranches. For his home’s use, Jerry had a cross-cut saw, an old family heirloom which would be used in order to save fuel.
Dan and Lisa rode with the wood crew to the gate and traded places with Claude. He’d had the last watch shift and cradled his new rifle like a proud father as he showed Dan the bunker. The ground had been excavated with a backhoe, with entrance steps cut into the soil on the backside. A beam and metal panel roof spanned the hole and was covered with dirt. Large rocks were arranged in front, leaving firing windows. A canvas curtain hung across the entrance. Two lawn chairs and a small table made up the furniture. A brazier and a pile of wood and dried cow patties were set up in the center. The brazier glowed red, keeping the temperature warmer than the outside.
The accommodations weren’t on the same scale as Dan’s recliner and couch had been, but it wouldn’t be too bad. Lisa leaned Chad’s shotgun against the wall, set the thermos of coffee on the table and a bag with a snack near the shotgun. Along with his hunting rifle, Dan had his revolver. Heather had returned it to him after deciding although short on ammo, she’d prefer the biker’s pistol.
Dan dropped a cow patty on the brazier and they watched out the slits as the last truck in the line disappeared from view. Dust plumed into the air behind the convoy, and soon, it disappeared as well.
They settled into the chairs where they could see the road and Lisa reached across and took Dan’s hand. His hand, always hard and callused from work had become softer from the month of inactivity than she could ever remember. “Do you need to sleep, Babe? You were restless again last night.”
“I’m all right for now, but I might need a little shut-eye later. Thanks, Sweetheart.” Dan said and gave her hand a soft squeeze.
“You know, Chad and Heather are worried about you. She thinks you might be suffering post-traumatic stress after you . . . you . . . shot that man,” Lisa said.
“Man? That wasn’t a man! You saw what they did to our house and the other houses we passed. That was no man,” Dan said with a snort. “That was a crazed beast who needed put down. Maybe I should, but I don’t regret eliminating him, not one iota. My only regret is the rest of his rabid pack are still alive to terrorize innocent people. Just think what would’ve happened if that bunch had gotten their hands on Heather, you, and the kids. No, the whole bunch needs to be eliminated and I don’t regret the one I did, not one bit.
“But . . . it made me think even more about something that’s been troubling me. I came close to dying of the smallpox and could’ve died again yesterday and the night when those animals showed up. What if they’d have found where we were hiding? And what if I’d have been the closest one when those three came? I’d have been killed, plain and simple. I couldn’t do what Heather did. And the more I dwell on it, the more I think about Mateo. And it’s ripping me apart inside to consider I might die without ever meeting my own son.”
Mateo was Dan’s illegitimate son. Dan was a teen when he’d fathered him, and hadn’t known of his existence until years after his birth. After time to mature and accept the fact, he’d spent countless hours, days, months, years trying to locate him. Recently, they’d found he’d gotten out of the army and lived near the small town of Hamilton. Prior to the pandemic and nuclear exchange, Hamilton was a few hours’ drive from their home. It was impossible to know how long a journey it would require under current conditions. They’d planned on searching for him the very day Dan was quarantined for smallpox exposure.
Dan continued to speak, “I don’t think our place was an isolated occurrence. It couldn’t have been. I think chaos is everywhere now. Consider those destroyed homes we passed. Or Heather’s house. Where we are right now. We live in a violent world, and all I can think of is I have a son I may never lay eyes on. I can’t get him off my mind or get past the fact I could be killed any day and never meet him. I’ve had more brushes with death in the past couple of weeks than I could imagine. And maybe my luck runs out next time.”
Lisa didn’t respond. She knew he had more to add and gave him time to gather his thoughts. He was silent for several minutes before saying, “I can’t get my head clear. Maybe it’s too late; maybe he got the pox and didn’t make it.”
Lisa squeezed his hand tighter. “We’ll just have to pray it will work out and ask for guidance,” she said. A deep silence settled over the bunker as they stared down the empty road.
#
The woodcutters worked hard and efficiently through the day. Their motions displayed urgency, all wanting to get home as soon as possible. Though they conversed and visited together, breaks were short and the trucks and trailers were loaded to capacity with little-wasted effort.
Chad’s shoulders drooped and his feet dragged when he herded the girls to Jerry’s truck. In his weary state, the worn, lumpy truck seat was one of the most incredible comforts he could remember. His new rifle rested between his legs, no longer as fascinating as it’d been on the trip from the ranch. He hoped his parents’ day had been uneventful and they were able to rest. It was his last thought before he joined his sisters in sleep.
Chad awoke with a start when Jerry stopped the truck at the gate. It took him a moment to gain his bearings. When he did, he said, “Wow, sorry Jerry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“That’s all right, Chad, you earned it. You and your sisters worked hard today. I’d have been surprised if you hadn’t slept.” Jerry started the truck forward through the open gate.
Chad looked at the bunker where his parents were supposed to be, hoping to see them, wanting confirmation their day had passed safely. The bunker construction had been done well and he was disappointed not to see movement through the rocks. What’s it mean? Did something happen? Where are they? His anxiety was short lived. His dad emerged from the back of the bunker and waved, his mom close behind.
Jerry stopped the truck near Dan and Lisa’s location. “How’d the day go Dan? Have any problems?”
“No, no problems. It was quiet all day. We didn’t see a soul until now.”
“That’s the best kind of day. Now, if you’ll hang tough for a while longer, we’ll get your relief fed before they take your place,” Jerry said.
“That’s fine, there’s no need to rush. You all worked hard while we sat around. So how’d the kids do? I hope they weren’t a burden.”
“They’re good workers, in fact, they tuckered themselves all out. Your girls are still sleeping. They’ll be glad to see you when you’re relieved.” The truck moved forward ending the brief conversation.
Jerry stopped the truck in the ranch yard near the farm equipment. “Well, I guess this is as good a place as any to unload,” he said.
“Uh, Jerry . . . just a minute, please. I’m not sure how much room you have in your barn, but I was thinking. If there is room, it might be better for us to saw the wood inside. I mean, well, Aunt Heather and I both got sick from radiation after we spent too much time outside. So the barn could help protect everyone while they’re working. Besides, the sawdust would be good on the floor.”
Jerry looked at Chad without commenting while he considered the idea. It was sound reasoning.
“That is if there’s room,” Chad said, softly.
“That’s a good idea, Chad. We pack as many cows as we can inside each night to give them a bit of shelter from the radiation, but we can make space to saw and split the firewood. We’ll dump these loads near the door where it’ll be easy to move. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.” Jerry started the engine and moved the truck to the front of the barn before shutting it off again.
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Post by bretf on Jun 15, 2019 13:20:13 GMT -6
Chapter 4
In the following days, Chad impressed the rancher with his willingness, determination, and hard work. He took his turn along with everyone else on the cross-cut saw, pulled guard duty with Aunt Heather or Claude, and did every chore Jerry asked of him, as well as finding additional chores he wasn’t asked to do.
Each day he was able to last a little longer pulling his end of the saw. Aunt Heather also made sure he spent time every day with his new rifle. He developed familiarity and gained accuracy and confidence with each session.
She insisted he be familiar with every gun in their possession and taught him all about her new pistol. On one occasion she had him try it out. He shot twice in rapid succession and said, “Okay, I’ll stick with the .22 but I see why you like it.”
Dan and Lisa did what they could to help as they regained strength. They were fueled by the high protein diet as Jerry’s wife kept them stuffed with fresh meat. The Smokes contributed with the food they’d brought from their root cellar, but beef was the main ingredient at every meal. The custom of three meals per day had been scrapped in order to help stretch the food supply. Good food, coupled with lots of rest, allowed them to grow stronger each day.
It would have been better if Dan’s rest wasn’t troubled. His dreams woke him most nights. He tried his best not to bother Lisa when he was jolted from sleep but he wasn’t always successful.
As the days turned into a week, and then a second week, the family members were able to relax, the haunted look they’d had when they arrived disappearing. On all but Dan; he looked more troubled with each passing day.
#
Dan shot up in the makeshift bed, his breathing fast and hard as if he’d been running. He looked sightlessly into the dark room. His sudden movements woke Lisa and she put a comforting hand on his back and whispered, “Are you alright Babe?”
Trying to keep his voice soft, Dan said, “I . . . I can’t take it anymore. I’ve got to try to find him.”
“What?” Lisa snapped, the word loud in the silent room. “Dan,” she got out before he shushed her. Heather rustled in her sleeping bag, making Lisa regret the outburst. At least Chad wasn’t disturbed. But he was on watch with Claude, she recalled. The feeling of dread she always felt when he was out in the night came back, magnified by Dan’s statement. “Dan,” she repeated, quieter.
Again, he shushed her. “We’ll discuss it after it gets light. I don’t want to wake everyone.” More sounds of movement came from Heather’s bag.
Lisa laid back with her eyes wide open. His statements rang in her mind. She was unable to dismiss them and sleep evaded her. What if I was in his shoes? What would I do?
With the first light of morning showing through the window, Lisa got out of her sleeping bag. Dan was beside her in moments and they dressed without a word. Despite her attempts to be quiet, Lisa was sure Heather monitored every movement. They pulled their coats on and slipped outside. Dan took her hand and held it as he led the way to the barn.
Once in the barn, Dan went to the back side of the growing woodpile. He placed two rounds of wood on their ends close together and took Lisa’s hands. He directed her to a block and sat on the other facing her, still holding her hands. Little light filtered into the barn; it was difficult to make out her facial expressions, but he wanted the privacy.
“Sweetheart, I ̶ ” he began.
She cut him off with a finger on his lips. “No, Babe; let me start. I’ve been praying over this the past couple of weeks, and I . . . I’ve spent the last few hours thinking. I know it’s important for you to find him. So . . . I want to support you in this, but,” she sniffed and swiped at her nose with the back of her hand before she continued. “Dan, whatever you want to do, we have to decide together and do it together. We can’t let it divide us.”
“I have to go find him. I have this feeling of impending doom and if I don’t do it now, I’ll never be able to; something else will happen. And if I don’t at least try, it’ll eat me up,” Dan said. “We know he’s somewhere in the vicinity of Hamilton. That’s not too far. In good times, it was only three to four hours away. So judging by our trip here, it should be easy to get there in a day. One more day to locate him, and another day to spend with him, and one day back. So I should be back after four days, easy.”
“Easy, huh?” Lisa said. “Good, because like I said, whatever we do, we do together. Since it’ll be so easy, there’s no reason we can’t all go. You know, you’re not the only one who wants to meet him.”
“You guys can’t go; it’s not safe for you,” Dan said.
Lisa fixed him with a stare. It was obvious even in the dim light. “So, it’s not safe for us, but if you go alone, it’ll be an easy trip. Which is it?”
“Okay, that was a poor choice of words,” Dan said. “It’s not safe now, but I know I can make it there and back easier if I’m alone. And all of you will be fine here with Jerry. I mentioned to him I might need to leave. He said everyone could stay, no problem.”
It was light enough for him to make out her intense look and defiant posture. “Lisa, I . . .” he stammered. The air was cool, but he felt sweat as he brushed the hair away from his forehead.
“Dan, this stuff, the smallpox, and the bombs, it’s separated our family too much. I’m done with it. I hardly know our son anymore. We’re finally together and you want to run off alone. I won’t stand for it. I won’t become a widow without knowing how or when it happened. I refuse to be left always wondering when you never return.” In a less defiant tone she added, “Besides, as I just told you, you aren’t the only member of the family who wants to meet him. We all do.” The determined look faded and her eyes filled with moisture. “If you insist on going, we go as a family.”
Before Dan could respond, Brooke and Alison ran around the pile of firewood. “Where are we going, Mom?” Brooke asked.
“Are we going to go find our brother?” Alison added.
Dan groaned. Before he could answer, Heather and Chad walked around the woodpile.
“Sorry,” Heather said, “They slipped out of the shed while I was in the outhouse. Chad just got back, so we followed them. We weren’t eavesdropping, but since we’re here, well, we all need to hear the answers to the girls’ questions.”
“Did anyone bring anything to drink?” Dan asked. He accepted the water bottle Heather held out to him and drank. Heather and Chad moved blocks of wood, sat on them, and each pulled a twin onto their laps. The water did little to settle Dan’s stomach.
Chad asked, “So, when are we leaving?”
#
Jerry was outside the barn door holding the wheelbarrow handles when the family finished their discussion. “So how’d that work out for you Dan?” He had a “told you so” look on his face.
“Well Jerry, although we appreciate your hospitality very much, we’ll be leaving in the morning. We’ll repack everything we can today and leave pretty early. If you’ll have us, we’d like to come back. I’m guessing we shouldn’t be gone more than a week.”
Uh huh, Jerry thought, Famous last words. Out loud, he said, “Of course you’re all welcome. You go find what you’re looking for, then get back here. Do you have enough gas to make it back?”
“No, I’m going to have to find some,” Dan said.
“I see,” Jerry said. “Well then, you better fill up from my bulk tank. And I guess it’s a good thing we’ve got a bunch of dried meat ready that you can take along with you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Dan said. “You’ve already done enough for us. We’ll manage.”
“I know I don’t have to; I want to. I don’t HAVE to do anything, well except what my wife tells me to do. And right now, I’ve got to get her a wheelbarrow load of firewood up to the house.”
He pushed the wheelbarrow past Dan into the barn. Chad followed and began to load split wood into the wheelbarrow as soon as Jerry rested its legs on the ground. Jerry stood in place a few moments watching the young man work and wondered about Dan’s decision to go out. It seemed rather foolhardy to put his family in danger. I hope whatever he’s looking for is worth it.
#
Dan’s pickup was still mostly loaded from when they’d fled their home, but it’d all been thrown together in a rush and needed to be rearranged. They repacked everything and made sure the load was set to travel, including a spot for Chad to sit so he could keep watch for anyone approaching from behind. The tank was filled with gas and everything was ready except for their sleeping bags, which would be packed in the morning.
While he was filling the gas tank, Jerry pointed at the roof of his house and said, “I suppose you’ve seen the solar panels?”
“I did. I figured that was where you were getting power for the lights,” Dan said.
“The lights yes, but it also powers a shortwave radio. I’ve been talking to a few guys I know scattered around and asked what they know of the roads. One guy is on the hill above Johnsonville. He says the bridge is clear and the highway is open. You won’t have to cross the river on the old dam this time.”
“That’s great, thank you, Jerry,” Dan said.
“But the next part isn’t so great. Farther out, things are wild. Thirty or so miles north of town, folks disappear. It doesn’t sound like the highway is the way to go.
“So I talked to another fella north of where you folks lived. Do you know the Old Quarry Road? It’s a gravel road that winds up through the hills and passes Lake Roosevelt on the east end. There’re a few scattered ranches that way, but only a few people know of the road and that it ties back into the highway at Hamilton. So anyway, the fella I talked to lives up it a ways and he told me he’s seen a few people traveling through in each direction. He thinks it’s safe to use.
“Also, he talked to another fella right outside of Hamilton. He said he hasn’t heard of any problems in that direction, but he hasn’t heard of your boy, either. Figures if he’s in the area, he’s kept a low profile.
“Here, look at this.” Jerry spread a map out on the hood of the pickup. He traced a route with his finger while Dan watched closely. Heather and Chad stood close as well, the three of them familiarizing themselves with the roads Jerry indicated.
“I wish we had my maps,” Heather said. “I had topos for the entire state.” Her eyes misted over like they did each time she thought of her house and her friends.
#
The following morning, the sun had yet to clear the horizon, not that it would be clearly visible in the cloud-covered sky when the last bag was packed into the camper shell. Claude held the Ak47 out to Heather. “This is a sweet rifle, but you better take it with you. You guys might need it more than I do.”
The gesture choked her up, knowing how much Claude liked the gun. “No, you keep it, we’re pretty well armed.”
“I feel like I took advantage of you in the trade,” Claude said. “I wish I could find a way to even it up, but well, I don’t have much of value in this messed up world.”
“Its fine, Claude,” Heather said. “Chad’s rifle would’ve been worthless without the ammo you had. We each got something we needed. That makes it a fair trade.”
“Well, at least take these,” he said and held out two boxes of shells. “These’ll cover what Chad shot.”
“Thank you Claude, but I hope he never needs them,” she said and gave him a quick hug, and another to Jerry.
Dan went to Jerry and held out his hand. “Thank you, Jerry. I’m not sure what we would’ve done if you hadn’t taken us in.”
“You’d have figured something out. Now go find what you’re looking for and come on back. We’ve gotten used to you all being around.”
Chad shook hands with the men and climbed into the back of the pickup. He waved and nodded to the men while his dad and Aunt Heather got into the pickup on opposite sides. As Dan drove slowly out of the ranch yard, Chad looked out wondering, So what are we going to run into out there? And will we find him?
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Post by 9idrr on Jun 15, 2019 21:20:18 GMT -6
You know your stuff's always well received. Thank you, sir.
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jun 24, 2019 15:57:43 GMT -6
Just bought Volumes 1 and 2. Haven't read them yet, though I remember how much I enjoyed your postings on here. Looking forward to reading them soon (I've got such a backlog of books to read, both digital and physical, it'd take me a year to read everything if I read 25 hours a day, 8 days a week!).
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Post by papaof2 on Jun 24, 2019 16:07:19 GMT -6
Just bought Volumes 1 and 2. Haven't read them yet, though I remember how much I enjoyed your postings on here. Looking forward to reading them soon ( I've got such a backlog of books to read, both digital and physical, it'd take me a year to read everything if I read 25 hours a day, 8 days a week!). At least I'm not alone ;-) If you're a fan of Mother Hen, she's getting her stories together in (eventually) one place online. Some are not yet as updated as her blog but there are some new stories as well - including one that's complete ;-) Link to list: www.fictionpress.com/u/1056183/MotherHeninFlorida
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Post by bretf on Jun 24, 2019 19:20:56 GMT -6
Just bought Volumes 1 and 2. Haven't read them yet, though I remember how much I enjoyed your postings on here. Looking forward to reading them soon (I've got such a backlog of books to read, both digital and physical, it'd take me a year to read everything if I read 25 hours a day, 8 days a week!). Thanks for supporting my habit Bruce. Does this make you an "enabler"?
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Post by brucearmstrong65 on Jun 25, 2019 10:33:30 GMT -6
Just bought Volumes 1 and 2. Haven't read them yet, though I remember how much I enjoyed your postings on here. Looking forward to reading them soon (I've got such a backlog of books to read, both digital and physical, it'd take me a year to read everything if I read 25 hours a day, 8 days a week!). Thanks for supporting my habit Bruce. Does this make you an "enabler"? Oh heck yes, it does - the best kind (I hope!).
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Post by bretf on Aug 6, 2021 15:04:24 GMT -6
After two years and several edits, I’ve published the third book in the Chad Smoke series. It is now available on Amazon for anyone interested. www.amazon.com/dp/B09BYN2W3F?ref_=pe_3052080_397514860Book One: www.amazon.com/Chad-Smoke-Ashen-Horse-Saga-ebook/dp/B07NCBJ6FQ/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=Chad+Smoke+Ashen+horse&qid=1628258847&sr=8-1Book Two: www.amazon.com/Chad-Smoke-Brotherhood-Smokes-Saga-ebook/dp/B07SXC64MB/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=Chad+Smoke+brotherhood&qid=1628258892&sr=8-1Here is a preview of the beginning Smoke and Burns Smoke’s Saga, Book 3 “In the end, we all just want someone that chooses us…Over everyone else, under any circumstances” Unknown Bret W Friend This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2021 by Bret W. Friend Chapter 1
The fate of the world had teetered on a razor-thin edge for more than a year. For much of that time, Chad Smoke thought its oppressive weight had rested on his shoulders. He stared down the valley, speculating. Was it weighted towards more turmoil, or beginning to crawl out of the ruin and rubble? If the mountainside around him was any indication, it was the latter. But perhaps his view was distorted by his family’s isolation and chaos reigned just out of sight. He was terrified to learn the answer. The weight of responsibility had felt crushing on his slim thirteen-year-old, now fourteen-year-old frame. Death and destruction had been extensive as the world was slammed by devastating events; the smallpox pandemic, That Day when Russia and the United States attempted to annihilate each other with nuclear weapons, and then, nuclear winter and starvation. Now, it seemed as if the world was making up for the lost year. Green leaves shot out everywhere. Vibrant blossoms splashed the countryside with bright colors. Pine trees were putting on candles of new growth. But was it all a mirage, a smoke-screen? And just beyond view, nothing had changed? Chad stared, trying to keep his feeling of dread in check as he thought about venturing out to learn the answers. What would they find? Who would they find? He recalled the people he’d met and it led to the person he hadn’t met but haunted his thoughts; the lovely girl in the town of Hamilton. Was she still alive? Would he ever find out? Why did her image fill his mind so often? “Hey, quit star-gazing and get to work. This garden won’t plant itself,” his brother Mat said. Chad shook his head to clear it. “Sorry, just thinking about tomorrow.” “I hear ya but we aren’t going if we don’t get this done,” Mat said. “Yeah, I know, but …” Mat let his gaze shift in the direction Chad was looking. “What if … we don’t find any good people? Since it all happened, it seems like … well, what if goons burned the towns and hauled off everything worth carrying?” Chad asked. Mat said, “It’s possible. But maybe what you experienced was isolated incidences. Not everyone was like the two-legged animals you ran into. You met up with good people, too.” “Yeah, I know, but what if?” The veneer of society had been scoured away and Chad’s family had run-ins with two groups of predators, men and women taking advantage of the chaos. It’d left an impression he wasn’t soon to forget. “We’ll go slow and easy,” Mat said. “If we need to, we’ll travel at night. I haven’t been wasting my time training you, have I?” A former soldier, Mat had trained Chad and his twin sisters, Alison and Brooke, in self-defense since they’d come to live with him. Mat’s training was intense. “No, but what if a bunch of goons came through and trashed everything?” Chad asked. Visions flew through his mind of mayhem he’d witnessed: the surreal night when their house was attacked, the bodies on the ground, burned homes, his dad and aunt bleeding in the road from gunshots. The mental pictures froze, the girl’s face clear in his mind. She had to be safe! Mat was silent as he stared down the valley. After several minutes he said, “I guess we’ll see when we get there and deal with it. I deal with you, don’t I?” Chad looked at him asked, “Is that supposed to comfort me? Am I that bad?” Mat chuckled. “Just trying to be a good brother. Somebody I know told me ribbing is part of a brother’s job.” “That guy must be a real moron,” Chad said, remembering when he’d said what Mat referred to. “No, he isn’t. Not even close,” Mat said. “In fact, he might overthink things at times. He’s a good guy, smart, caring, and resourceful. I’ve never seen him back down from any challenge, no matter how difficult. Meeting him was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I’d happily go with that guy to find out what’s beyond those hills.” He nodded to the west, to where the towns lay. Chad wiped his eyes. The visions flashed through his mind again. “He’d say the same about you. But what’s out there?” Chapter 2
Crossing the road and exposing themselves was the diciest part of the plan. But they had to in order to access the targeted house. With a look in each direction, the three men ducked their heads and scurried across, past a shed, and flattened against a chicken coop. Their filthy clothing blended with the mottled wood wall. Leaning against it, they gasped for breath. As his breathing returned to normal, one brushed the lank hair from his face and uttered, “Shit!” pointing to the next lot. A chunky teenager was skulking towards a two-story barn, moving as suspiciously as they had. Binoculars hung from a strap around his neck. Consumed by his own sneaking, he hadn’t seen the trio. “Damn, forget the house. Let’s get that fat bastard.” The third man studied the barnyard and then shook his head. “No, let’s stick to plan. That next house is pretty close; just look at those windows. If that barn is open on the side, we could be seen.” The first man shrugged, “Okay, I guess, but just look at that son of a bitch.” He did look as he continued to shake his head and ask himself for the millionth time how it’d come to this. He’d been an educated man, a teacher, helping form young minds. Then he’d become a pariah just before the world turned on end. Since then, he and his cousins, cast out and shunned, had gone to unimaginable steps to survive. “Let’s get going. If that kid comes back, he’ll see us for sure.” “I’d rather go after his fat ass,” his cousin said. “Forget him. Let’s move.” They left the chicken house, rushing to their next hiding spot, a single-car garage. “Let’s do this,” the leader said and they dashed towards the house’s front porch. They froze before reaching it, listening; someone was singing and getting closer. With a look at one another, they darted for cover; it wouldn’t do to be detected so near their target. They took refuge behind a patch of syringa bushes, watching as the singer neared. As they crouched in the sunlight, they beaded with perspiration, adding to their offensive body odors. It went unnoticed as they focused on the teenaged girl walking towards the door of the house. They’d planned on entering the home, invited or not. Now, they had a decision to make. Was the girl alone and they could follow her, or would they have to wait her out? The girl stepped onto the porch and went to the door. She carried a covered platter in one hand and rapped on the door with the other. Her clothing, unlike that of the watchers, was clean, her jeans and shirt nicely filled out. Soft brown hair flowed down her back. “That was too freaking close. She damn near caught us,” one of the men hissed under his breath. “I wouldn’t mind if she caught me,” his brother whispered. He leaned out from his cover, his leering gaze undressing her. “But since she didn’t, let’s follow her.” “Yeah.” The man flashed brown and yellow teeth in a feral grin. “Whatever she’s carrying sure smells good and I’ll bet she smells good too. A helluva lot better than you two for damn sure.” His brother nodded and leaned forward, his eyes filled with animal longing. They began to rise but their cousin held up a hand. “Hold on! It’s too exposed. Wait until she’s inside, then we’ll go.” The man grumbled under his breath, “She’s a hell of a lot prettier than you guys, too.” “And young enough to be your kid.” He snorted, “It’s never stopped me before, and it sure didn’t stop you with those girls in your classes.” The man chose not to respond. The girl turned the knob and swung the door inward. “The door’s not locked, that’s good.” “Grandpa, hey Grandpa, are you home?” the girl called. She called again, louder, and added, “I brought you dinner.” After a long minute, a hunched-over elderly man stepped into the doorway smiling at the girl. “You don’t have to shout, girl.” “I do too. You can’t hear me otherwise since your hearing aids quit working.” The hidden men shared a look. The old guy was hard of hearing and didn’t lock his doors. Their prospects were looking very good. “Well don’t just stand there, Carol. Come in,” the old man said. “Yeah, go in,” one of the watchers whispered, rising to follow her. “I’d love to, but I can’t. I told Dad I’d go straight home after dropping this off. He needs help with a couple of things.” She continued to talk and missed the disappointed groan from the bushes. “But Mom and Dad are coming over tomorrow to help you clean the house and fill the wood box. I’ll set this in the kitchen.” The bushes rustled, one of the men ready to rush the house. His cousin grabbed him. “Didn’t you hear?” he hissed “She’d be missed and her dad would come looking for her.” He swore under his breath. The girl disappeared from view, returning in seconds. She hugged the old man and kissed him on the cheek. “Bye Grandpa. See you tomorrow.” The men tried to melt into the bushes, but it was unnecessary. The girl turned in the opposite direction at the road and trotted away. “All right, let’s go, before he eats whatever’s on that platter.” “I’d rather follow her,” his brother grumbled with one last leering look as he watched her leave. He did a double-take. It appeared she was already being followed. The fat kid they’d seen sneaking into the barn was crouched behind a truck, watching her. The kid shuffled to another position to keep her in sight. With a shake of his head, the watcher followed his companions. They scuttled across the yard and entered the house. The sound of the deadbolt locking into place seemed unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent room. The old man’s hearing might’ve been bad but his nose worked fine. The stench affronted him and he turned to locate the source. His eyes flashed in alarm. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?” he demanded. “We’re poor unfortunates in need of sustenance. We were hoping you’d be kind enough to provide us with a meal.” The old man glared and said, “Well you’ve got a piss-poor way of asking. And you’re right about being unfortunate. I ain't got anything, now get the hell out!” The man’s eyes narrowed. “Really? What about the platter that lovely young lady just left with you?” The old man’s eyes burned with anger. “You get the hell out, NOW!” he demanded, picking up a nearby cane and brandishing it. The uninvited visitor took a step back out of range. “Perhaps we should investigate what she brought.” One of his cousins added, “And we can wait around. Maybe she’ll come back. I’m sure she’d be worth it.” He licked his lips for emphasis. The old man let out an indecipherable oath of fury and lunged forward, swinging the cane. Rage, mixed with years of hard work gave it power. The cane slammed against one of the men’s jaw and he staggered backward, swearing. The old man swung again, connecting with the side of the second man’s head, splitting his ear. Blood streamed from the cut and he wobbled on his feet. The swing threw the old man off balance; the remaining man used it to his advantage. He stepped forward, using his rifle like a ball bat aiming for a home run. The steel barrel smashed against the old man’s head in a sickening crunch and he collapsed. “Hit the bastard again.” Soft wheezes filled the room as the man’s chest rose and fell in labored breathing. Rather than hit him, his assailant looked around and saw throw pillows on the couch. Trading his rifle for one, he kneeled on the floor, pressing the pillow tightly against the old man’s face. Both his cousins used the opportunity to deliver strong kicks to the man’s ribs from each side. He held the pillow for a full two minutes after all movements from the man had ceased. Standing, he spat, “Cantankerous old bastard. Now let’s see what he’s got that’s worth dying for.”
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Post by bretf on Aug 6, 2021 15:05:19 GMT -6
Chapter 3
Somewhat mollified by Mat’s talk, Chad tried to enjoy the day. The spring sunshine felt incredible as he moved down the garden row. After the gray year with the sun obscured by heavy clouds, he luxuriated in its presence and warmth, soaking up as much as he could like a cat on a windowsill. That would change once summer arrived, he was sure, but for the time being, he savored the feeling. He hoped the bright sun was a sign life was improving.
The previous year had been remarkable, remarkably bad for the most part. If not for living through it, he’d never believe it’d all happened. Few people had been untouched, including his family. Both his parents, Dan and Lisa, contracted the smallpox virus, thrusting him into the role of caring for his sisters and the family home. His parents were two of the rare survivors, although it’d been touch and go. Dan’s best friend Matt hadn’t been as fortunate, succumbing to the disease at the Smoke family’s home.
More difficulties followed. With the absence of functioning government and commerce, opportunists and scavengers took advantage of vulnerable survivors. Following a tense shootout with one such group, the terrified family had fled their home.
It hadn’t been easy, but they’d eventually made their way to their present location. It was a secluded mountain-side home owned by Dan’s illegitimate son, Mateo “Mat” Gomez. Mat was the bright spot in the year.
None of the family had previously met Mat, including his father. He was the result of a passionate goodbye Dan had with a girl when he was a teen. She and her family were migrant farmworkers and he hadn’t known he was a father until years later.
Although Dan had reached out to Mat in the past, they’d never met or spoken. It was fortunate they hadn’t, at least while Mat’s grandfather was alive. He raised the boy after Mat’s mother was killed. If he could’ve discovered Dan’s identity, Dan would’ve been hunted down and killed. His hatred rubbed off on his grandson, leading to a tense relationship when father and son met. Over the time Dan and his family had been with him, Mat had buried most of his ill feelings towards his father, but not all.
Mat had given Dan the greatest gift possible on Christmas Eve. Always cold towards him, as cold and stern as the weather, Mat had changed. That beautiful night when stars filled the sky for the first time in months, Mat awkwardly thanked Dan for finding him. And for bringing his family and teaching him how to love. Though they didn’t have the sort of relationship Dan and Chad shared, they were slowly finding their way together.
Mat’s home had made it possible for them to survive the long nuclear winter. Built into a hillside with concrete walls, thick dirt insulation, and a glass front, it’d been designed for passive solar heating and cooling. Although not planned, it offered protection from harmful radiation. Another benefit, it was in effect a greenhouse, and the struggling family had grown a substantial garden inside. The home and Mat had saved all their lives.
Mat was a veteran of the endless war in Afghanistan and knew more about fighting than Chad could’ve imagined. Besides giving them a place to live, Mat was sharing his extensive knowledge with his new family, training them to survive in the hostile world. Chad hadn’t known what to expect from his unknown half-brother but wasn’t disappointed.
Working ahead of Chad, Mat cut a shallow row in the soil with a hoe. Chad, on his hands and knees, placed seeds in the row and covered them with the loosened dirt. He pushed the soil over a seed and looked up, watching his dad hobble towards him. Seeing him walk was depressing and heart-warming at the same time. He had a pronounced limp, the result of a gunshot wound he’d incurred during the tumultuous year. It’d inflicted permanent damage to his leg and it was thought he’d never walk again without assistance. But though he hobbled, he moved free from cane or crutch. Chad couldn’t suppress his pleasure at seeing it.
He quit watching and went back to his task. It was imperative they get the garden in. Although his family had always raised a garden, the one being planted would be the most important they’d ever grown; it was crucial to their survival. In the harsh world they found themselves in, they had to produce all their food. The family’s stored food was nearly gone and Chad’s parents were skeleton-thin. They’d sacrificed while making sure everyone else in the family got enough to eat. Their clothing hung like oversized bags on their emaciated forms.
Chad’s clothes were the opposite. He’d grown while they’d been with Mat and none of his clothing fit. He could no longer get his shoes on, his bare toes dragging in the warm dirt as he worked. It wasn’t only him; his eight-year-old twin sisters also went barefoot and their clothes didn’t fit well, although better than Chad’s.
The change in lifestyle also had an effect. His tee-shirt stretched over muscles that hadn’t been as pronounced when they’d arrived. Under Mat’s tutelage, he’d pounded away at the heavy bag, worked with the staff, and performed other drills. He’d also spent countless hours swinging the ax and splitting maul. It was all evident in his supple body.
Chad was going through other changes as well. Changes he didn’t understand and was too embarrassed to discuss with anyone. One, his voice changing, was obvious to everyone. It had gotten lower, but also would shoot between low and high in mid-sentence, reminding him of a goose call.
Other changes weren’t as obvious. Hair was growing thick and black in places it hadn’t before. Then, he had the dreams. Girls he’d known visited him in his sleep, not only the girl from Hamilton, the last girl he’d seen, although it was her most often. It left him confused. It was better to concentrate on things he understood, and at the moment, he understood working in the garden.
Chad glanced back at his dad as he limped down the row. To rid himself of his cane, over the winter he’d had made a custom splint. He spent countless hours working short pieces of lumber, carved and steam-bent them until he had thin pieces of wood to form-fit his damaged leg. The splint ran from just below his knee to the top of his ankle. He’d never walk without a limp but he walked unaided.
“Do you have enough seeds to get to the end of the row?” his dad asked when he reached Chad.
Chad looked in his bag and judged the distance he still had to go. “No, I’ll need more.”
His dad held a bag out to him. “Take as much as you’ll need.”
“Are we keeping enough potatoes and garlic for a full row of each?” Chad asked as he transferred seeds.
“Just the potatoes. We’ll plant those next. I set aside enough for a full row. We’ll do a half-row of garlic. With luck, you guys can find something in town worth trading the rest for. If not, we can plant them when you get back.”
Chad and Mat would take their trip once they had the cold-hardy vegetables planted. They’d go first to Indian Valley. It was the closest community, a small spot on the road that could hardly be called a town. Depending on what they found there, they expected to go to Hamilton, some twenty miles further away. It’d been a year since any of them had ventured out and they prayed the towns were still there. If they were, they figured the potatoes and garlic would be valuable commodities. If the townspeople had been as hungry as Dan and Lisa, they’d be very valuable.
Chad caught movement from the corner of his eye and looked at the house to see Aunt Heather emerge. The potato and garlic subject was dropped when he saw her. He indicated her to his dad. “She looks pretty good for all the puking she was doing,” he said.
Aunt Heather was his mom’s younger sister and had been at Dan and Lisa’s home when the family fled. She added to the strange happenings of the year before and her current state left Chad confused. She and Mat had fallen in love and married. Now, she was pregnant, causing Chad’s confusion. Would he be the baby’s uncle or cousin? Considered from Aunt Heather’s side, that would make him a cousin. But from his brother’s side, he’d be an uncle. Whatever he’d be, it’d surely make a country song if anyone could write it.
Dan looked to where Chad motioned. “That seems to be the way of it with morning sickness. Your mom didn’t get it with you but she did with the girls. She’d vomit a few times after she got up each day and seemed fine afterward. That’s what she told me anyway. When I’d leave for work, she didn’t look too perky, but seemed fine when I got back home.”
Chad quit watching his aunt and asked, “So, are you sure you’ll be fine if Mat and I leave for a few days?”
“Yeah, we’ll be okay. It’s you two I’m worried about,” his dad said. “We haven’t got a clue what it’s like down country. You boys could walk into anything.”
The entire family had spent a lot of time discussing the upcoming trip. Unless something came up in the next few hours to prevent it, they’d leave in the morning.
While Chad wanted to learn what was happening elsewhere, he was a bundle of nerves. Besides his concern for what awaited him and Mat, he couldn’t help but worry that his family would be safe in their absence. Although his dad was up and around, he still felt it was his duty to keep an eye out for them as he’d been doing since his dad had been quarantined.
Yes, Aunt Heather had shown up and Mat had become a part of the family, but Chad still thought of his parents and sisters as his responsibility. It was tough to go away and leave them, even though he knew how capable his dad and Aunt were. At least she was capable when she wasn’t barfing and he was capable if he didn’t have to use both legs.
On the other hand, Mat needed backup; there was no telling what they might run into. They could be walking into a scene like the one that’d made them flee their former home. Decisions were so much simpler before the needless smallpox pandemic.
The trip would be on foot. Driving the family pickup was out of the question since it’d been wrecked on the way to Mat’s house and was out of gas as well. Mat’s truck had been left in the neighboring state when travel restrictions were enacted during the pandemic. He had a bicycle, but they didn’t want to ride with both of them on it, not knowing what they might ride into. So, they planned to walk, a slow careful scout.
Besides knowledge, they hoped to find supplies. Shoes and clothes for the girls and Chad were high on the list. Mat longed to find vitamins for Heather, although he had little hope they’d be available. And baby supplies. He shuddered to think about what they’d need in that category. After that, most foodstuffs were needed. They could still get by with what they had, but they all longed for more variety. However, they didn’t have a clue what might be available if the towns still stood, and if the items they carried could be traded for anything worthwhile.
The family had put their heads together to come up with anything they could spare which might have value to other people. It was a near certainty the potatoes and garlic would be in high demand, but aside from them, they weren’t sure what would be useful. It wasn’t as if they had a lot of spare stuff lying around.
Mat decided he could part with ammo if he had to, and though he didn’t like the idea, he had a twenty-two pistol he could trade. When he brought it up, Chad and Dan decided they could also part with their twenty-two revolver.
“Chad, we’re forgetting something,” Aunt Heather said.
“Oh, what’s that?”
“Remember that guy who stole the cows and dropped that box off the next day? Didn’t we manage to keep ahold of it?” she asked. The Smokes’ cows, most notably the milk cow, had been stolen by a man desperate to feed his children. The following day, he’d dropped off a box of antiques in a poor attempt to pay for what he’d done.
“Yeah, it’s in the shed. We grabbed it when we left home and put it out there because it didn’t have anything important in it,” Chad said.
“We didn’t have a use for most of the stuff then, but maybe we can use it to trade. What all was in it?” she asked.
“I don’t remember. It’s been over a year, you know. I’ll get it.”
Chad returned with the box and plopped it onto the table. Everyone gathered around, curious to learn what it contained.
Aunt Heather opened it and looked inside. A matchbox drew her attention first. She picked it up and said, “I doubt things have settled down enough for this to be worth anything.”
“What’s in it?” Mat asked. “I take it it’s not matches.” He watched while she slid the cover open and revealed coins inside. “Are those ––”
“Silver,” she completed his sentence. She set the matchbox on the table and took out a hand water pump. “We don’t need this but someone in town might. They have to be using wells, don’t they? What do you think, Dan?”
“I’d imagine they are,” he said and took the pump from her, looking it over. “With pipes and a foot valve, some lube on the seal, I’m sure this’ll work. The parts should be available since Hamilton used to have a hardware store. It’ll be a lot better than the well-bucket I made at home.”
“That’s what I thought,” Heather said. The next thing she picked up was a leather case with a straight razor. She removed the razor from the case and held it out for all to see before she proffered it to Mat. “Mat, darling, your beard looks pretty scraggly. I think you need this.” Her tone oozed with sweetness.
Mat took the razor from her and held it up to the light and examined it. “Okay, I’ll take it,” he said in a resigned manner.
Heather stifled a giggle. He was still in the stage where he’d do almost anything she suggested without question. Her pregnancy added to it.
A pair of ice tongs were looked at and returned to the box; no one thought they’d be of value although they might be later in the year. After it was held up for everyone to see, a candle mold was left out with the pump. Lisa said to save a crank apple peeler but they needed to remember it if the trees in the garden produced well. A sewing awl was set aside to go to the toolbox.
“That doesn’t seem like a lot for a cow, a fat steer, and a calf,” Dan said.
“Dan, I—” Heather got out.
“It’s fine. We would’ve lost them with the house anyway. Or worse yet, we might’ve been working out a way to take them and been delayed enough those bikers came back and caught us at home. Don’t let it bother you,” Dan said. “We have the stuff instead of nothing at all. Who knows, the boys might get something important in trade for these things.”
Dan went through his garden seeds and added several packets to the barter pile. He’d saved seeds from his garden for years and had excesses of everything. After he set aside enough for three more years, he had plenty of extras he was willing to part with.
With everything for barter laid out together, it appeared they did have a few items of value in the new world. The key would be to find the right people willing to trade for what they needed.
When planning the trip, Mat told everyone to expect them to be gone at least five days, and up to eight.
“So long?” Lisa asked, her concern obvious.
“I’m afraid so, at least if we end up going to Hamilton, and I can’t imagine we’ll find much in Indian Valley,” Mat said. “We’ll have to move slowly. If we have to go that far, it’s a full day, and that’s if we don’t run into any trouble. I have no way to know, but I’m guessing it might take up to three days to find the right people for what we need. If we can find them at all. With luck, it might go faster, but I wouldn’t count on it. And then, another day back.”
“That’s five days, where do the extra three come in,” Lisa asked.
“Those are for the unknowns. If things are goofy, we might need to move at night and stay hidden,” Mat said.
They all pondered his statement and questioned if it was necessary for them to leave. But they knew it was.
Chapter 4
The sun was yet to clear the mountains when Chad and Mat, backpacks strapped on, stood ready to leave. Aunt Heather and his parents each gave Chad long hugs. The girls were in bed, having said their goodbyes the evening before.
Heather gave Mat a longer hug, along with a lingering kiss. “You two be careful. I want to see you both come up the trail in three days, got it?”
“We’ll do what we can, but I think four days is the best we can hope for,” Mat said and patted her belly. “Love you.”
“I love you too, so make sure you come back in one piece, for both of us,” she said, and wiped her eyes.
Mat turned to Dan and Lisa. Lisa was wiping her eyes as well. “I’ll watch out for him,” Mat said.
“I know, but watch out for yourself too,” Dan said. He closed the distance separating them and grasped one of Mat’s shoulders. “I ... we ... want both of you back in one piece. That’s what matters most.”
Mat stiffened, and then relaxed. “I’ll do my best,” he said. “And you guys stay safe, too.”
The family dog, Perro-Feo, whined at Heather’s feet as the brothers turned and walked away. Chad wore a pair of Mat’s boots with three pairs of socks, causing him to have an odd gait. It didn’t make for great footwear for the trek but was the best they could manage. They each had a walking stick in the hand not carrying a rifle. Mat had insisted they take them.
“To the average person, all they’ll see is a walking stick. They won’t have any idea of what you’re capable of with it. They’d take your rifle and pistol, but might not be concerned about your staff if you don’t make it obvious it’s a weapon.”
Chad stopped inside the pine grove lining the hillside shelf the home sat on. Once Mat was the customary scouting distance from him, he followed, maintaining the separation.
They’d walked five miles in a southwest direction when the road and the creek it followed made a sweeping turn to the northwest. As they rounded the curve, the roof of a tall barn appeared. As they approached, more of the barn, the ranch house, and outbuildings came into view. Mat grew more watchful, moving slower, and stayed in the barrow pit at the edge of the road opposite the buildings. When the full ranch yard was visible, he hunched over and motioned Chad to join him. He shed his pack and lay on his front, binoculars in hand.
Chad hurried to him in a crouch. His heart pounded, not from exertion, but from the situation. Settling into place and seeing how peaceful the farm was, his fear lessened.
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Post by 9idrr on Aug 6, 2021 19:12:13 GMT -6
I'd forgotten how much I missed these stories. You've earned my undyin' gratitude. Well, it won't die if'n we get at least 4-5 chapters an hour... uh... a day... Hey, we beggers will be happy with whatever we get. Thanks for bringin' back Chad, Matt and family.
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