Walking in the Rain (Book 4): Dark Sky Thunder (30 page)

I jumped to my feet and turned to start sprinting back the way I had come only to have another shot strike near my feet and a commanding voice bellow, “Hold on right there mister!”

Not what I expected. I figured they would just shoot me down and loot my gear. My rifle was useful and I had plenty of ammunition and magazines to keep it in a fight, but I was low on both food and water. At this point I might trade for just a glass of water.

“Go ahead and place your rifle on the ground in front of you and step back!” the voice continued. It had a southern twang, but didn’t sound too unfriendly. I complied by taking a single step back and raising my hands to shoulder height without being told. I was trying to be polite even though they had shot first, but I guess I was the intruder here. If they were up to no good, I was really screwed. I could have returned fire in the direction of the first gunshot of the sentry, but I had a feeling that I would have ended up dead and fertilizing the forest.

They had let me get into the “kill box” before firing, but had held up killing me for some reason. They didn’t ask me to drop my pack or the rest of my weapons yet, and I had several on me. I had weapons hanging off my web gear in plain sight, but I had an extra pistol tucked in my waistband near my left hip out of sight. I didn’t clank when I moved, but that was mainly from using lots of black electrical tape on all of the metal mounts and clips. I didn’t look like a modern soldier with the motley gear from the 1990’s, and my long hair and untrimmed beard gave me a wild look. The floppy hat didn’t even match the green web gear and large pack, and honestly, I cared more about how each item functioned over making a fashion statement.

From the creek came the universal question, “Who are you, and why are you on our land?” That came across a little angrily, so clearly this was a group that had staked out their own domain. I needed to be cautious and not piss them off further. When in doubt, try the humble approach. It might just save your life.

“My name is David Metcalf, and until about a month ago I was a resident of Arlington, Texas. I was following this dried up creek trying to find some water and possibly a critter for a meal. Crawfish, raccoon, rabbit, maybe even a hog if I was lucky.” I let my voice trail off a little toward the end. I let my voice rally a little, “I try to stay away from peoples’ houses and fields if I can. I don’t steal from folks. I know times are hard since the pulse knocked out the entire grid, and I’m just trying to make my way to someplace safe.” There. Lay it on, but not too thick. They could just kill me now and be done with it, and to be honest, it would be a relief.

My tank was empty. I was dehydrated and bordering on starvation. I had once topped the scales at two hundred and forty, but I knew by the length of extra belt wrapped halfway around my waist that I had lost way too much. My wedding band had become so loose that I carried it around my neck on a piece of string because it kept falling off of my finger. Just the act of projecting my voice to be heard was an effort. The act of jumping up from the ground left me lightheaded and swaying.

“Do you intend to do us harm Mr. Metcalf?” the voice was less forceful. He must have seen me really well for the first time, and noticed my condition.

“No sir. I really was just passing through. I have a little folding shovel that I was going to use to try to dig up some crayfish or even grubs. I’ve had to do that a lot recently.” That was a little thick, but not a lie. You needed protein and fats to survive, and I had been on a serious paleo diet since most of the canned goods had run out.

“If you are from the Dallas – Fort Worth area, why are you only this far away? It’s only about fifty miles from here?” he asked. “Most people came through this area months ago looking for food and causing trouble for us,” he added.

“I was delayed,” I replied quietly. “The plan was to get out of there as soon as possible, but things happened to delay us,” I let the last word hang in the air.

“What do you mean ‘us’ mister,” his voice going flat.

“I mean that I’m just the guy walking point. By now my team has already figured that I’m as good as dead, and they have already taken their positions while we have been standing around playing twenty questions,” I let my voice sound angry. I was bluffing, really.

The rest of my team should be hauling ass back about a quarter of a mile to our last rally point. I tried to stop at defensible positions and assign them as rally points every few miles. If something like this happens, they were instructed to go to the last place we had stopped to rest and immediately go to ground. We drilled this. Just wait there for two hours or until I give the order to move out. Without further orders, they were to find another route and get away from whatever had killed or captured me. If they followed my instructions.

The effect on my “captors” was immediate. I heard them all fall to the ground and start scrambling to scan the woods around them. They were disciplined enough not to yell out in the process. I stood in the same position with my hands up. This should delay them a little longer, and give my little squad time to get away.

“Call them off mister!” the man yelled at me. He must be the leader, since he seemed to be the only one from the mystery group giving me instructions. “We don’t want anyone to be harmed, we just don’t know who we can trust anymore. It has gotten worse in the last few weeks, and people are getting nervous about strangers!” he half yelled, sounding a little panicked.

Well that changed their tune quickly. They must be used to bluffing people into moving on. That will only work for so long. They must not have had that many encounters out here in the middle of nowhere. I had chosen this route to avoid major roads and towns, and by cutting across the land slowly we were able to avoid people. I got a little sloppy and ended up in this mess. It must be the starvation affecting my decision making ability.

“Listen, people. I really don’t want anyone getting hurt. My team is well trained and will only attack if they feel I’m in danger,” I said loudly enough to add some credibility to my lie. There was no way my team was about to take these people out.

Just then my radio crackled in my ear, “Mr. M, do you need us to engage?”

I threw my hands higher into the air, “Stand down!” I yelled. “We went over this a hundred times, you were supposed to follow protocol!” I didn’t bother using the radio, they were near enough for everyone involved to hear me. Even the unknown group was pointing guns either at me, or the nearest bush that looked intimidating.

This situation needed to be calmed down, or we were all going to die.

“Everybody, just relax,” I pleaded with both groups. I continued, “Let me just explain, and I think it will help avoid shooting each other, please? It’s too hot, and I’m about to pass out anyway.”

After several minutes of cajoling, we reached an uneasy truce of sorts. I asked the group around me to sling their weapons muzzles down, then I had my group do the same. At least I told them to. I still couldn’t see them in the forest arrayed around the other group. I asked the leader of his team to move them into the creek bed near the cottonwood tree. At least there we could talk in the shade.

I then got on the radio and told my team to go into the dried up creek about fifty yards down, and to slowly make their way toward that tree. It was a giant tree, so easy to identify as a landmark. The process was slow, but eventually I joined the unknown people under the tree where we waited for my team to appear.

The scene under the tree was not what I expected. The five people were mixed in ages, and race. The older man, the leader, had coffee colored skin and looked to be in his late forties to early fifties. He was dressed similarly to the rest of his group: jeans, sensible work boots, and dark button down shirts. They looked like farmers. Their weapons were a mixed bag of hunting rifles, a shotgun, and a long military surplus Russian bolt – action rifle that had a history that pre – dated the Second World War

The hunting rifles were slung muzzles down as I had requested. The carrier of the shotgun simply held it downward since it didn’t even have a sling. The smallest member of the team looked about twelve and was carrying the long Russian rifle. He had the same skin tone as the leader, and had a passing resemblance with the elder man. The man carrying the shotgun sported a thin mustache and straight dark hair that was sticking out from under his hat, and the two members with scoped hunting rifles were women. The two ladies looked to be about the same age, mid – thirties to forties, but they could actually be younger in years. They may have been caucasian, but their faces were deeply tanned by the Texas sun. Their features may have been European, but at first glance I didn’t really know. For all I knew, everyone was actually younger than I had first estimated, the last few months had aged everyone prematurely.

The leader was standing alert with a familiar AR – 15 pattern rifle that was carried clipped to his chest in a manner that allowed him to let it hang so he could use both of his hands. His right hand rested on the butt of a pistol on his hip. He had the air of someone who was calm, but alert.

I slowly moved down the steep slope to the bottom of the ravine and joined the assembled group. This was a tense moment, so I made every move slow and deliberate. I had dropped off my rifle and my pack up by the tree. I could see now why they used this as an ambush position. The unknown force before me could move at a low crouch and not be seen from where I had been moving through the forest. I should have checked it out, but I had been distracted by the hog tracks I had been following. Leading with my stomach had led to my inattention. My downfall was bacon. Time to focus and put on a show. The next few minutes would decide how this encounter would end up. I cleared my throat and looked at everyone there before starting.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as I said earlier, my name is David Metcalf, and I really do not want to hurt anyone. As you can tell by my condition, I’m just hungry and thirsty. My team should be here in just a minute. I’ll stand here between our two groups. They are a little skittish after all we have been through, so please just remain calm and don’t make any sudden movements.” I looked at their apparent leader, “Do you mind setting up some security while we talk?”

I really hope my group can keep it together. So far they had disobeyed my orders to run at the first sign of trouble. Part of my plan had always been to try to keep them from harm, and by taking point every time we moved, I was guaranteed to meet trouble first. If these people proved to be a threat, I would take out as many as possible. I may not have my rifle, but up close I was just as deadly with my blade. I had used it so often lately, that my pistol was mainly unused. I watched everyone carefully and waited.

As my little team of four cautiously came into view, I could hear a sharp intake of breath and someone quietly muttered, “What the hell happened to them?” I looked to their leader, and saw his eyes widen.

“I know. The first thing I always notice about them is their eyes,” I answered their unspoken question.

My team of hardened killers were just children.