Defending No Where (The No Where Apocalypse Book 3) (6 page)

I’d left them the proof they needed, stomped neatly in the snow around the cellar door.

They knew we were alive. I knew they had to die. Before they killed every last one of us.

Later in the day, I stared out the front window, wishing and hoping Wilson would appear — even if from thin air. Many times I looked away, glancing back, expecting to see the man and his cart entering the yard. But as of late afternoon, he was still mysteriously absent.

“Watched pots never boil,” Lettie crowed from the kitchen. “Watched road never produces either.” That part she added with a chuckle.

I turned back to give her my attention. “Where do you suppose he is? What’s keeping him?”

Lettie handed Libby a slice of unleavened bread smothered in jam. Patting the child on the head, she joined the others on the couch.

“Problems on the road, most likely,” Lettie replied. “Maybe even got himself killed on the way there or back. No way to know until we hear some news.”

My head slumped forward into my hand. This was getting worse by the day.

“Maybe I need a new plan,” I murmured from my spot by the window. “Maybe…”

Violet sprang from the couch and hovered next to me, grinning. “Maybe you just need to forget all about going after them, right?” She nodded eagerly, peeking back at Daisy. “Maybe we just go forward with life and forget all about them, right?”

I hated to burst her bubble of hope, but I’m sure my confused look softened my words.

“They still need to die, Violet. Perhaps I just need a different approach.” My words made her perma-scowl return.

“Well, that’s stupid,” she snarled, returning to the couch.

“All I was saying,” I continued, eyeing the pouting teen, “was maybe I’m over-thinking this whole thing. If I can figure out a way to know that you’re all safe, I can still go after them.”

Daisy smiled a disingenuously. “If you’re actually worried about us, Bob, then that’s not a workable plan. If you don’t want us here alone, left to defend ourselves if they get past you, then I don’t know if you’re on the right path.”

True. If even one of them got away, they’d be at the cabin in no time on horseback. By the time I returned, the fight would be well over.

“I just said it was a plan,” I admitted red-faced. “I hadn’t worked out all the kinks yet. Not a good plan now that it’s out in the open.”

The baby began crying in the bedroom. Daisy rose and motioned for Violet to stay in her spot.

“Seems like Libby isn’t the best sitter yet,” Daisy said, opening the bedroom door. The cries became louder. “Please put her back down, sweetie. She doesn’t want to be squeezed right now.” The door closed and the screaming softened.

My eyes drifted and met Violet’s.

“If you die,” she whispered, “you’re going to break her heart.” She pointed at the bedroom door several times, though I understood her without further directions. “And then what will happen? To her? To Libby? To me?”

Folding her arms across her chest, she turned to stare out the back window.

“Why are you so absolutely certain I’m going to die, Violet? Huh?”

I saw her head shake slightly. “Because I’ve seen you do battle. And you aren’t very good at it.”

I glanced at Lettie; the old woman shrugged. “The girl has a point,” she squawked.

Yeah, but this time was going to be different. I could feel it in my bones. Even if they all lacked confidence in my skills, I was going to win this time.
 

At least I hoped so.

Day 1,025

Wilson finally showed up mid-afternoon. It had been almost two weeks since his son had left with Marge, and almost a full week past when I had expected him. And from the dour look on his face, I figured he brought trouble with him.

I decided to forego the formalities of a cordial greeting.

“Where you been?” I asked in a tone that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but pissed. “You should have been here a week ago.”

He stopped just in front of me and lowered the wagon handle to the ground. Wiping his brow with the back of his hand, he plopped into a lawn chair adjacent to me.

“We got problems,” he replied, sounding like the tired old man he was. “Some big problems.”

I felt my face tighten as I looked away. Thus far, we were alone. That probably wouldn’t last long.

“I don’t need problems, Wilson. I need supplies, and your help here while I go after Barster. Do we have a problem there?”

His head nodded slowly. “Yep.”

Great. Not only were there issues, I was going to have to pull each one from the stubborn old man.

I decided to tackle this head on. “Okay, let’s start with why you’re late.”

Sighing first, he gave me his story. Johnny was held up at the fish camp for an extra day while someone rounded up the required supplies. Fine, that was one day. Next, he spoke of issues on the road. Two days of heavy rain forced his son to hole up in an abandoned building, waiting for the rain to abate.

We were up to three and my patience was wearing thin.

Then, the road bandits came. Luckily, they didn’t catch the boy off-guard. He saw their blockade from a mile or so away, which caused him to take alternate routes. Roads that he wasn’t familiar with. He lost another day heading the wrong direction because of overcast skies.

We were getting close, almost to seven.

“Then he came upon trouble just north of Covington,” Wilson informed me. “Couldn’t really say if it was a war, or a siege, or whatever. All he knows is that there was a battle there. At least that’s what he assumed from the gunfire he heard.”

I really didn’t give a damn of what was happening to the Weston’s and their crew up north. What I really needed to know was if it was safe for me to proceed with my plan. But therein lied the trouble.

“Think Barster was involved in the trouble up there?” I asked. I hoped the answer would be a firm and direct no. But I feared otherwise.

Wilson shrugged, chasing a fly or two away. “No idea. Johnny said he saw a dozen people meeting in the woods just to the northwest of town. Couldn’t get close enough to identify anyone though. Not safe.”

I sucked in a breath and released a low moan.

“Shit,” I seethed. “It’d be stupid to go after them if they’re up in Covington. How long ago did Johnny see this?”

“Two, maybe three days back now,” he answered, sounding like he didn’t care about it himself. “Should be over, the way I see it. But that could be problematic for your…plan.”

“Only if they win and take up residence in Covington,” I replied, feeling a bad headache coming on. “And then they’ll have larger numbers, more strength.”

“Yep,” Wilson drawled, nodding as he did.

“And then they could come and wipe us out at will. Probably even overrun your place.”

“Yep.” For a man who faced an uncertain future, he seemed awfully nonchalant about the whole thing. “And there’s another problem, with the supplies from the fish camp.”

Openmouthed, I shook my head. I had thought this man’s return would set me free to do what I needed to do. But it seemed that wasn’t in the cards.

I stared at the bald man, refusing to believe his news.

“And when did they change their policy on this?” I asked, sounding as if he had something to do with it.

“Since the last time Johnny and Jimmy were up there. Sometime late last fall.” His reply suggested he took no offense from my words.

Wow, another kick in the teeth. Not exactly what we needed.

“Lettie!” I hollered. “Can you come out here?”

The door opened even before my echo died in the woods.

“I was listening in,” she said, taking a spot next to me on the bench.

“How much did you hear?” I asked.

She grinned at me. “All of it.”

“So you know we got screwed on the trade then.”

Her head shook several times.

“According to what I heard Thaddeus say,” she nodded at him, “we got half up front. The other half comes when Marge fulfills her six-month contract. I get it.”

In my defense, we all got it. People had shown up at fish camps for the past few years, the handler receiving their body weight in supplies. And as crafty people do, they’d stay a week or two and then sneak off, back to the family member or village mates who had dropped them off. Several weeks passed and the same shell game was performed at the next fish camp up the road. And on and on and on.
 

It took a year or two, but the camps wised up to the ploy. Unfortunately, we paid the price.

“How much did we get?” Lettie inquired, peeking at the back of the cart.

“Fifty-four pounds total,” Wilson answered automatically.

That meant kind-hearted Marge weighed a little less than 110 pounds when she arrived in Ontonagon. It seemed a little low to me, but I’m sure the scales worked in the favor of their masters.

Pushing to my knees, I rose and tore the tarp away from the cart. Fifty-four pounds of staples sure didn’t look like much. But it was what we got. Lettie appeared next to me.

“Is this enough to last until nearly winter?” I asked, searching her face.

“It’ll have to be,” she answered, poking at a bag of flour…or sugar…or something. “It’s what we got.”

“And there’s more to talk about,” I added, leaning over the cart.

She nodded. “I heard. How about I make some flapjacks for dinner and we talk about it afterwards?”

I wasn’t very hungry. Nevertheless, flapjacks did sound good. Even though yet another thing had turned to crap.
 

Day 1,025 - continued

“It’s mid-June, best anyone can tell,” Violet began, licking the last of her treat from the brown plate. She poked her head up and looked at the stove. “Is there anymore cobbler, Lettie?”

With what I figured were limited ingredients, Lettie had whipped up an awfully good treat. The berries she used were hard and small, but the concoction did not lack taste.

“Mid-June,” I repeated, picking up on Violet’s lead. “And the time to strike is now, not next year at this time.”

Daisy sighed loudly before looking up. “But they might be up in Covington,” she said, licking her fork. “If you go now, you may come back empty-handed. That
is
a possibility, right?”

Against every belief I held dear to me, I nodded, but only slightly.

“And Mr. Wilson has people who can tell him what’s going on,” Daisy continued. “And he’ll let you know when the time may be right.”

Yes, yes, and again, yes. But time was wasting…at least in my mind.

She smiled and rubbed my hand lovingly. “Then you wait. Until at least you know what you’re up against. It’s safer that way. And you’ll know if their numbers have increased.” She smiled at our tablemates. “I think this is all for the best, don’t you all?”

Lettie nodded. Violet gave me the stink eye.

“Damn straight,” the girl answered. “This way we know where you are and know that you’re safe.”

Oh sure, they all had this figured out. Or so they thought. Time to get some fresh air out of the room.

“And what if they amass a larger army and attack while we’re sitting around with our thumbs up our asses?” I asked, using the bitterest tone I could muster with this group. We did all have to live together…for a while at least.

That got them to shut up. And it wiped those smug looks off their face.

“Tomorrow you start on Plan B,” Lettie stated, pushing way from the table to serve us all seconds.

I had a hard time not laughing at her. “And what, may I ask, is Plan B?”

Winking at me first, she hoisted a double piece of cobbler onto my plate. “Starting tomorrow you’ll figure that out, won’t you?”

They all shared a good chuckle. Why would they care about Plan B? They were just happy Plan A was grounded for now.

Day 1,030

I wasted five days wallowing in my own pity. Four actually. Fixing holes in the roof took up the middle day. My female cabin friends pointed out their approximate locations. And oh were they happy.

I wanted revenge in the worst way. But I really didn’t see it as revenge. To me, it was a proactive attack to defend my family and myself. To defend our home.

I began each day with a stare down. My opponent? The road. Specifically, the road from the south. And each morning, the empty road claimed its victory.

Wilson told us it would be at least a week before he came back. Since I believed good news traveled fast, I expected him at any moment…every day.

I also spent my time chopping and stacking wood. The previous winter we had been low by the end of the heating season. I figured we needed another cord above and beyond what I’d cut previously.

Which kept me busy, and in front of the cabin.

Which turned out to be a lucky break for us all.

Mid-day, I noticed movement in the brush across the road, pausing from my wood stacking to study it closer. Seeing nothing more, I dismissed it as a deer or maybe even Chester or one of his family members. The wolves had been active lately, still hungry after a long cold winter.

An hour passed, maybe two. I worked up a good sweat making dozens of trips from the front of the cabin to the rear. At some point, Daisy sat a cup of water out for me and disappeared back inside.

I paused, taking in the beautiful, sunny early summer weather. If nothing, No Where was a beautiful place to call home.
Home,
I mused,
what a strange concept.

For almost the first year and a half in Michigan’s remote northern reaches, getting back to my original home was all I ever thought of. Oh sure, there were breaks in that thought pattern. I had to take time out to survive, sleep, hunt and get shot several times. Other than that, Joliet, Illinois and my wife Shelly were forefront on my mind.

Perhaps Marge’s family swayed me from that thinking. Or the arrival of and love given by Daisy and Libby. Maybe it was even something as simple as Dizzy’s friendship that eventually made those dreams fade away like a bad cut. Whatever it was, No Where was where I belonged. Where I would live out my remaining days. Where I would eventually die and be buried, or fed to my wolf pack as dinner.

Had I given up on all other life? Was this all that was left in the world for me? Was there anything left beyond the borders of my roaming that was better? A place that had more food, more supplies, more decent folks?