Walking in the Rain (Book 4): Dark Sky Thunder (8 page)

“Strength in numbers,” I said in agreement. Buddy Farrell was an old dairy farmer, finally driven out of business by the huge corporate farms and a spike in feed prices. Being thrifty, he managed to hold on to his acreage and switched to raising hay instead. I’d helped out over there a few times and remembered they had a couple dozen chickens and some hogs.

“Especially since Buddy’s family has been gathering at their place. Last time I checked, he’s got all his boys back but one. His oldest, Lee, was still missing.”

“Where was he?”

“Out in Odessa,” Dad intoned, like he was saying the man was trapped on the moon. “He was working at one of the refineries out that way.”

I did the math in my head. Had to be five hundred miles or more. I liked Lee and silently wished him well as we moved on to discuss the status of our other neighbors. As I learned, he and Billy had made contact with the Farrells, our nearest neighbors to the south, and Mr. Gaddis Williams, our neighbor to the north side. Unlike the Farrells, Mr. Williams was all alone on his property and had taken extreme measures to ensure his safety.

“He looted his own house?” I asked, surprised but not greatly by this revelation. Mr. Williams was a wily old fellow, a blacksmith and welder who ran a small repair shop in town as well as taking on some small farm equipment projects out at his place.

“Yep. After the second time his place got hit by a gang of looters, he decided he couldn’t keep burying that many bodies. He is an old man, after all.”

I laughed at that last little bit. Mr. Gaddis might be in his late sixties, but I wouldn’t want to arm wrestle him. Years of wrestling with steel plate and wielding a hammer at his forge gave him biceps and shoulders a body builder would envy.

“So he trashed the place a bit, scattering garbage out in the yard and breaking out some windows on the house. Then he took every scrap of food and every useful item he had left and moved into that root cellar he has next to the smithy.”

I nodded at the old man’s ingenuity. Most folks would take one look at the wrecked place and keep on going. For anybody who nosed around too much, he use the camouflaged door to the cellar as a spider trap and snipe anybody who came too close.

“But he’s there all by himself? I don’t have to ask if you invited him to stay with you, but why did he turn you down?”

“Pride. He’s like Pop that way. So connected to his place, he can’t leave it. Plus, he has hopes his kids might show up one day.”

Yes, I could see that. Mr. Williams was stubborn enough to try the patience of a mule, my grandfather always said. “You going to keep on him, Dad? He can’t continue that way long term, you know.”

“I know. That pigheaded old fart knows it too. He’ll move in here when he gets tired of eating his own cooking.”

We talked a bit more about other neighbors known to me. Some were still making it, and others were either missing in the night or dead. Dad was said he was hoping the ones who turned up missing had moved out under the cover of darkness.

We tentatively decided to go see about our near neighbors tomorrow, after the scouting trip at the old Skillman place. Then Dad veered slightly off topic. “We picked teams while you were gone,” he said.

I shrugged before answering. “For what? Volleyball? Chinese checkers?”

“Don’t be such a smartass,” my father replied without heat. “Roving patrols inside the fence and a reaction force. You got picked. And so did Amy. There’s an assignment sheet posted in the house and at the guard post.”

I sighed. Amy was a capable rifleman, or riflewoman. Still, the thought made me cringe. She was dedicated to pulling her weight around the ranch, and doing so without complaint. “Please don’t let her start until that head wound heals. She’s in more pain than she lets on about. And I really don’t want her in danger. Not again. Not ever, if we could swing it.”

Dad shook his head. “You know how I felt about women in combat. Bad for morale, overall. When they get hit, it can affect how the others in the unit react. Sexist to say, but it is the truth. I don’t want to use them, but Amy and Lori are just about ready and they insisted. But you are right. She can’t start until later.”

“Shoot. Let me talk to Amy. She’s only fourteen, as Mom is always reminding me. She doesn’t need to go out on patrol. Let me do double shifts instead.”

Dad held up his hands in mock surrender before replying. “Yes, and she will be fifteen next week. And I’m not the one giving you crap over that either. She’s way more mature than any other young lady I’ve ever met at that age. And I’m so fucking tired of the world making our kids turn into adults over night.”

I nodded, and decided to ask for the favor I’d been hesitant to request. “Can you please talk to Mom? About Amy? I know she just wants the best for me, but giving Amy the cold shoulder is not helping. Can’t she understand? Amy is who I want to spend the rest of my life with, for as long as I have it.”

The look on my father’s face was hard to place: a mixture of pain, and anger, and things I couldn’t possibly understand. Except maybe, now I could. “Your mother is still struggling with this new normal, Lucas. Sure, she was all for moving here and raising you kids in the country, and Lord knows she loved Pops, but…she’s just not adapting well to the changed circumstances. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you’ve seen enough to realize the truth. She tries to put the shootings and all the killing, out of her mind, and she believes that this is only a transitional period. That things will stabilize and get better before long.”

I shook my head. Mom hadn’t been directly ugly to Amy, but the disapproval was there. Subtle, but Amy was a smart woman. And now this admission from my father just rocked me to my core. “Is she being intentionally dense? Or is it delayed shock? Shit is not getting better any time soon. Pull the truck around front. I’ll show her the pile of bodies we saw, driving around Jefferson. Or we can take a road trip up to Daingerfield. There’s a crew of fucking cannibal bandits preying on travelers set up right on the road!”

As I spoke, I felt my irrational anger rise like a wave of hot blood. After everything I’d seen and done, the idea that someone as intelligent as my mother was not getting the idea just pulled my trigger.

“Son,” my dad said, keeping his voice carefully calm, “you’re not going to be able to get anything from your mother speaking that way. And I won’t tolerate that kind of language or tone in my house.”

I knew he was right. Applying the brakes, I reined in my emotion. Shutting it off, like turning the handle on a spigot, and then I was myself again. I gulped in a deep, shuddering breath. And my emotions were back in the bottle.

“That’s better. Hell, it is amazing how you can do that. You weren’t faking, either, were you?” my dad announced, his interest apparently piqued by my control.

“No, sir. And I’m sorry. I can do better. I’ve learned how to not let myself feel things and how to basically shut down my emotions if I need to. For a while, anyway. I shouldn’t have lost my temper, Dad. But my God, how can she really think that?”

My father didn’t answer. Instead, he rose from his chair and walked out into the yard. I followed and stopped with him under an old oak tree not far from the front porch.

“I guess it is her way of coping. By being the optimist all the time. I’m gloomy enough for the two of us most times. Except, sometimes I’m afraid I’m not paranoid enough. There really are people out to get me, us now, and one mistake can be fatal.”

Again, Dad was being more open with me than he ever felt comfortable doing in the past. Sharing things he probably wouldn’t even say to Billy, his own brother. I wondered if he talked to Grandpa this way. Or maybe Mike.

“I’m here to help now, Dad. And I can do this thing tonight. We can scout the squatters together and take care of whatever needs doing. Hell, I’ve killed so many people already, what’s a few more?” I said the last bit like a grim joke, but my father didn’t laugh.

“You really mean that?” Dad asked, cutting his eye in my direction to gauge my reaction.

“If they are the wrong sort to live in our neighborhood, then yes. I’ll not go walking around here worried there’s a target on my back. But we will be sure first. I almost made a mistake with some travelers at the Keller place, shooting before I knew the score. And it would have been a tragic mistake. But, if they present a danger, I’ll kill every one of them myself.”

I met Dad’s gaze with my own hard eyes and he gave an almost imperceptible nod. We both knew the score. Dad might be in the dark on the bigger-picture aspects of the collapse, but he knew the ground-level results. I wondered just how many times he’d swept the woods alone, desperate to protect our family.

“All right. Go grab something to eat and hit the rack. We’ll gear up at 0200 and slip out the front gate. Loop around and take a peek in on our new neighbors.”

I nodded and turned to head into the house.

“Lucas, from where I’m standing, you’ve got a great future with Amy. She’s smart and loyal and has a sense of humor. Don’t let her get away. I’ll have a talk with your mom. I also suggest if you are serious, you need to put a ring on that girl’s finger.”

“Yes, sir.”

Well, that was one in my corner, I reasoned. My dad didn’t play games or try to mess with your head. What you saw with him was the surface, but it went all the way down. If that makes any sense. He wouldn’t have given Amy that ringing endorsement without meaning it.

Now I just needed to convince my mother that Amy would make a wonderful daughter-in-law someday and currently was a valuable contributor in her own right. Jeez, why did the apocalypse have to be so hard?

“Hello the house!” I called out, stepping through the last layer of clinging vines and low brush at the edge of the small thicket. Just to the north of the road and only fifty yards from the old farmhouse, this position was close enough so the man sitting on the porch taking a turn at guard duty saw me immediately, but not so close that I would be automatically considered a threat. Or so I hoped.

The jumble of old hedge bushes and runty pines also concealed my backup, which consisted of my father and Mike Elkins. Dad was on his rifle and Mike was serving as spotter, and anything that looked funny to either of them would earn a bullet as fast as my father’s finger could stroke the trigger.

In response to my shouted greeting, I saw the man on the porch jump forward out of his chair and shout for me to halt. Additionally, I saw what might have been two shotgun barrels ease out the open spaces left in barricaded windows. These folks had pretty good reflexes.

I stood in open view, my hands raised and spread out from my body. I wore my pistol holstered at my hip but carried no rifle. The pistol was a compromise since we had four legged as well as two legged predators to worry about. Leaving the rifle at home was to seem neighborly, but I also wore the improved body armor under my long sleeved shirt. Neighborly doesn’t necessarily mean stupid.

I stood there for half a minute, perfectly still as unseen eyes examined me and the woods around the house for more danger. I wanted this to go slow and easy, with no surprises. With the earbud in place, I overheard Mike as he steadily updated Dad on the wind and the composition of the defenses being rallied in the house. The words were soft, almost relaxed, as if Mike had done this many times before. Maybe they had, when dealing with marauders and hungry bands who come a calling since the lights went out.

“What do you want?”

The voice that finally called out was male and gruff sounding, but not overly hostile. I figured at least some of these guys had seen me yesterday at the range and must have placed me for the others. That was probably a good place to start, once we started talking.

“Just figured it was time to meet the new neighbors, is all,” I replied. “My name’s Lucas. Lucas Messner. Is it okay if I move a little closer? This hollering is making my throat hurt.”

This next pause was a little shorter and made me think he was discussing it quickly with the others. Probably a good sign. Or maybe I was just projecting. I think that’s the term, anyway. If you want a specific outcome, then you tend to interpret responses in a certain light. And I wanted things to turn out a certain way with these folks.

“You got anybody else out there with you?”

I forced a smile I didn’t feel before responding. This could get sticky.

“Well, of course. I’m friendly, not stupid. My people are watching you, and your people are watching me. Only way everybody will relax enough to actually talk.”

I saw the man’s head nod before he spoke, and when he did, I thought I heard a touch of humor in his voice this time.

“Yes, makes perfect sense. Come on up to the porch and have a seat. I’m coming out, so tell your daddy not to get trigger-happy. I’m sure he’s anxious to have you home. From wherever.”

Thinking about that statement for a moment, I thought I got the whole message. They’d been watching before yesterday, but hadn’t taken a shot at attacking us. Yet.

“Sir, my father and his friends are all Marines,” I replied, exaggerating. Mike Elkins was the only spare Marine we had lying around the ranch. “They have excellent fire control. As I’m sure you saw on the range. We just want to talk. That’s all.”

Going back to this house in daylight gave me a sense of déjà vu, since Dad and I had spent a good chunk of the early morning hours scouting the place. Using our night-vision gear, we managed to slip past the sleeping guard without a hitch. Admittedly, I did have to stifle my reflexes, allowing the sleeping man to live.

Six men, eight women, and seven kids between toddlers to the preteens. Painfully thin, all of them, and no recent signs of abuse. One of the women, a lady in her late twenties or early thirties (it was hard to tell given their condition) looked to have bruising around her neck and on her cheeks, but she was unrestrained. Hard to place a source of the abuse without waking somebody, which would have opened up a whole other can of worms at the time, we’d find out later.

The group owned worn but serviceable camping gear. They’d obviously traveled some ways and had been working to improve the living conditions with what little they could repurpose at the old place. Armed mainly with shotguns and a few hunting rifles, they seemed to be maintaining their weapons with care. All in all, the group reminded me of a smaller version of the Branson crew that Glenn showed up with outside Gentry. That resemblance prompted me to volunteer for first contact duty.