L. L. Akers

SHOOT LIKE A GIRL

“In restless dreams, I walked alone

Narrow streets of cobblestone

’Neath the halo of a street lamp

I turned my collar to the cold and damp

When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light

That split the night,

And touched the sound… of silence…”

~ Simon & Garfunkel

1

GRAYSON’S GROUP

The blood drained from Grayson’s face, as he stared in horror at his daughter. “Show me, Graysie. Show me the man you shot.”

Graysie took off at a run, her father following on her heels, with Jake limping behind him shining Gabby’s headlamp she’d thrust into his hands. Ozzie soon overtook them, the dog more than happy to lead his family back to the man on the ground.

“There!” Graysie slid to a stop, pointing in terror at the young man writhing in the dirt, a dark stain beneath him.

“Oh, no…” Grayson skidded to a stop. “Puck, it’s me, Grayson. You okay, buddy?”

Puck wasn’t okay. A bullet had whizzed through his upper left arm. Moonlight bathed his face, showing a sheen of sweat and wide, pain-filled eyes. He grabbed for Grayson’s hand with his other arm. “Mr. GrayMan, please don’t leave me,” he pleaded in a weak voice. “I’m scared.”

Ozzie whined in response, his tail tucked between his legs, and paced around Puck’s prone body.

“Shhh,” Grayson answered, dropping to the dirt beside him. He ran his hand over Puck’s forehead, gently wiping away the sweat, and then examined the wound. “Shine the light right here, Jake.”

Straight through.

Grayson blew out his breath in relief. This was fixable. The bullet had gone in and out the underside of his arm. It looked much worse than it was. From all appearances, the placement of the shot looked to have missed anything vital. The boy was just scared half to death. He squeezed Puck’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere, son.”

Pulling his hand out of Puck’s, he quickly took off his own T-shirt and ripped off a long strip. “Graysie, where’s your bug-out bag?”

“You know him?” Graysie said in confusion, and then fumbled around, finding the bag in the weeds where she’d dropped it earlier. She rushed to hand it to her father.

“Yeah. His name is Puck. That’s what he was trying to tell you. Not pup.” Grayson pushed the bag back toward her. “You can help. In your first aid kit, there’s a sandwich baggie of red powder. It’s cayenne pepper. Give it to me. Quick.”

“I’m sorry Daddy!” Graysie bit her lip. She did as he asked, finding the first-aid kit quickly, unzipped it and pulled out the cayenne pepper, and handed it to her father.

Grayson shook his head at his daughter. “Don’t be sorry. You didn’t know. If you ever think a man’s chasing you in the dark… you need to pull the trigger.” He squeezed Puck’s hand again. “This may sting a little, boy. But we need to get the bleeding stopped. It’s going to be a bumpy ride home.”

He gripped half of the orangey-red powder through the bag, not wanting to dump it all on one side. “Help me, Jake. When I finish with this side, flip him over a bit so I can get the back.”

Jake squatted down beside them.

Grayson took a deep breath and dumped half of the powder over the bloody entry wound and tightly patted it in, then waited a second for Jake to turn the boy, and quickly dumped the rest of it on the exit wound.

Puck screamed an animalistic howl, and nearly broke Grayson’s fingers, squeezing so hard. Ozzie whined, and Graysie threw a hand up, covering her mouth. The boy’s scream could wake the dead.

Grayson and Jake both visibly grit their teeth, as though they too felt the pain. Grayson gave him a second to catch his breath, and then quickly wrapped his shirt around Puck’s arm, tying it in a knot. “Sorry, son. Just hang on. The burn only lasts a few minutes.”

The tractor bumbled up next to the group, with Elmer driving. “Outta the way, dog!” he yelled.

Ozzie scrambled away from the tractor while Elmer brought it close and came to a sudden stop, the big wheels spitting up dirt. Jake jumped onto the wagon and threw off the hay bales on the end, opening it wider to get Puck inside. He jumped down and together, he and Grayson loaded the boy up, gently setting him on the same blankets that had just carried their wives home.

“There you go,” Grayson leaned down and whispered to him, as he settled in for the ride beside him. “You’re gonna be fine as wine soon, son.”

“I don’t like wine,” Puck said, through clenched teeth. “Please don’t leave me, GrayMan.”

Grayson’s heart clenched and he sucked in a quick breath, tapping down his emotions. “I’m not. I’m with you, kid. I’m right here with you.”

“Please don’t leave me, GrayMan,” Puck repeated.

His eyes fluttered and then closed.

2

TULLYMORE

Tucker and Katie sat in camp chairs at one edge of the crowd at the Tullymore subdivision, tightly holding hands.

Kenny—Tucker’s weird neighbor—sat to Tucker’s right. On the other side of him, his wife, Penny, huddled in her own chair, wringing her hands and staring at the ground. Her auburn hair hung in tendrils from a once-tight bun, and her thin frame trembled, despite the perfect temperature of spring.

As Tucker listened in horror, he watched his four kids playing across the big yard, taking turns with the other older youth throwing a hatchet at a red ‘X’ marked on the side of a tree. His oldest boy was dead-on, too. How did he not know he could do that?

What he was hearing seemed like a bad dream. What if this was the way it was going to be from now on? What future did his kids have? His girls, thirteen and fourteen, would need to be watched closely.

Their older teenage brothers, who were sixteen and seventeen, would have to put aside all of their sibling rivalry and help him watch their sisters every moment; and keep an eye out for their mother, who was still youngish and attractive. All the women in his family were independent and headstrong; they wouldn’t take kindly to having eyes on them every moment. But that was the new realty… especially after hearing Xander’s story.

Xander was a dark-skinned, American-borne Haitian that had grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth, graduated from MIT at the age of twenty, immediately partnered into a dot com start up company, and by thirty had married, had two children and a paid-off mortgage in Tullymore. He was one of the youngest people to ever buy there, as it was unusual for someone his age to afford one of the houses in the subdivision, but Xander worked hard, earning the respect of all his neighbors. He also played hard, and lived a charmed life.

He and his family had just arrived home after a long and terrifying journey back from a visit at his parents house in the mountains of Tennessee. He’d been lucky to have gas to get him home, and even still, rolled in on fumes with most of the glass of his wife’s brand-new Range Rover completely gone. It was missing the front bumper, and the body of the luxury vehicle pocked with dents, not to mention them both missing their watches, wedding rings and his children’s shoes.

The trip home had taught him that in this new world, wealth didn’t matter. Money was no longer the currency out on the road. This event could turn out to be the biggest status equalizer in history, thus far.

He and his family looked like third-world refugees, arriving with barely more than the dirty, torn clothes on their back. His wife sat beside him, adding to his story some, with her arms tightly wrapped around their two small children.

They’d left with more—much more—after his mother and father had begged them to stay when the power grid went kaplunk, but ultimately gave in and packed them down with gas, food, blankets, water and other supplies to see them safely home—or so they’d hoped.

If it hadn’t been for his father’s rifles that, even at this moment, were slung over their shoulders, and Xander’s constant companion, a Glock .45, they wouldn’t have made it past the first twenty miles. Luckily, Xander and his father were big hunters, so they were already familiar with their weapons.

The road home was laden with looters, robbers, gangs, and just regular people who had become desperate enough to do more damage than the former. He’d wrestled his gun away from more than one thirsty soul, and he had fought off three different small crowds of men looking to do his family harm. More than one bullet had been planted into a man’s skull, as his wife drove the Rover like their ass was on fire.

He’d foolishly thought he needed to come home to protect his assets. It wasn’t until they were halfway that he realized none of that would matter anymore: houses, cars, big-screen televisions, and all that used to define a successful life… All that mattered now was a safe shelter, food and water.

All that really mattered now was family.

And he’d nearly lost his.

With haunted eyes, and slumped shoulders, they told their tale to the people of Tullymore.

There was no food out there. No gas and no power at least as far back as Tennessee. Entire communities were razed to the ground. Fires were everywhere; houses, businesses, cars, and forests.

Law enforcement had not been seen by them even once between there and here; gangs were forming, and groups moved like herds down the roads, looking for someplace with more abundant water, and other resources.

People weren’t asking for help. They were taking it. And to say no was risking your life and the life of your family. Xander had ultimately given away everything they hadn’t eaten or drank themselves on their way home—and not always willingly.

Other things were being taken, too. Things that couldn’t be discussed in front of innocent ears. He told parts of their story with shuttered eyes, slumped shoulders and innuendos to his neighbors. The road… or out there in general… was no place for women or girls. He and his family had seen things that would give them all nightmares for years to come, and he made it clear he wished he’d stayed in the mountains with his folks—it was much safer there.

Xander was confirming what everyone else had heard; that there was no help coming, and the power grid was down… indefinitely… as far as anyone knew. The American people were on their own—fighting against each other—for every scrap of food and drop of water to be had.

“Bottom line,” Xander said, finishing his tale, “Things are going to get worse. Eventually, the bad guys will come this way, too. We need to get organized. You have no idea how scary it is out there. They will come… and they will take everything we have.”

One elderly neighbor stood up. “We’re almost out of water at my house. What’re we going to do about that?”

Another spoke up. “Where is everyone going to the bathroom? My knees are killing me from squatting out in the back yard, and that latrine we built is not big enough for this crowd. We need separate ones for the ladies, too.”

“—and toilet paper! Does anyone have some that I can have?”

“What about cleanliness? When can we get more warm baths?” a female voice yelled across the crowd, “My kids are filthy and they don’t like cold water.”

Suddenly, the crowd erupted in a cacophony of voices with questions and demands.

“—what about that pool? How long can that last us?”

“—does anyone have any salt? I can trade you something for it!”

“—we need to borrow some propane for our grill.”

“—my toddler needs diapers.”

“—what about the pharmacy?”

“—how can we wash more laundry?”

“—gonna need help building my own outhouse soon.”

“Stop!” Curt, the president of the homeowners’ association, stood up and paced in front of the noisy crowd, ready to plead his case once again with them all to heed to his superior organizational skills. “Listen to me, people. It’s been a week. Now is the time to rally. I’ll take the lead on this and I’ll be choosing a team from the existing home-owners association board. First, I’ll set up a security team to guard the entrance, and some roving guards for inside the neighborhood. Then, we’ll go door to door and collect all the food and supplies. We’re stronger together, so then when we—”

“—wait a minute, Curt,” Katie interrupted. “With all due respect, you’re not in charge of this and we’re not giving you, or anyone, our food. Jake had some good suggestions when he came by. Let’s start with implementing some more of those. First, we need to nominate a leader and maybe a board to make decisions. Then we vote. I nominate my husband, Tucker.”

Tucker gently jabbed his wife with his elbow. “Um… no. Thanks, honey, but not me,” he said and looked at Katie with wide open eyes, pleading with her to leave it alone. He knew the group as a whole wouldn’t want Curt to lead them. But he didn’t want the job either. However, asking them to nominate someone else would be like asking turkeys to vote for Thanksgiving. Right now he just wanted to keep his head down. He still had hopes they’d throw a better name up though.

Curt yelled across the lawn, “Yeah. Shut up, Katie. No one asked you anything. Keep your noisy piehole shut unless spoken to.”

Tucker’s head nearly exploded. He pounced to his feet and in three long strides, he cut the lawn between him and Curt. Without pause, he struck him in the nose with a quick jab, then stood back on the balls of his feet with his open hands up, ready for a fight. “You don’t speak to my wife—or anyone’s wife—like that, ever! Got it?”

Nods of approval and murmurs of agreement passed through the crowd like a wave, as well as some of disapproval. Curt grabbed his nose, a river of blood running through his fingers, and looked up in shock at Tucker.

“Jesus, Tucker!” he yelled in a nasally voice. “Temper much?” The shorter, stockier man backed away from his challenger, clearly having learned his lesson—again—in tangling with Tucker. Curt’s wife hurried over, handing him a cloth. He took it and rudely brushed her off, his face quickly coloring to match his nose.

He shot Tucker a look that would scare the devil, but somehow, he held his tongue.

Finally.

Sheepishly, Tucker backed up, his eyes still on Curt, and took his seat beside his wife again. Curt was right… he needed to control his temper. He couldn’t be going all MMA on people. That wasn’t his style. He didn’t want to fight; he didn’t even like fighting. What the heck was wrong with him? He looked over the crowd, finally settling his eyes on Kenny. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather not be the leader. I nominate Kenny.”

Kenny looked up and beamed, puffing his skinny chest out a bit, in spite of the snickers from several in the crowd.

Curt glowered, unable to keep his mouth shut, he protested. “Hell, no. I’m not voting for Kenny—or Tucker. I nominate myself. Who’s with me?”

Tucker stood up. He didn’t want to be leader, but he couldn’t let it go to Curt; at least not without another choice. “Let’s do it right, if we’re going to do it. Anyone second the nominations?”

“I second Curt,” a voice called out. All eyes turned to Joe, a man so tall he caused a crick in the neck to look up at him. Skinny as a beanpole, he had a face that looked like thirty miles of bad road. He was new to the neighborhood, but Tucker was shocked to see him carrying water for Curt. He lived on the same street as Tucker and he’d thought they were friends.

Tucker would soon find out he didn’t know Joe at all.

“I third him,” another voice called out, followed by a chuckle.

“I second Kenny,” Kenny’s wife declared defiantly.

“I second Tucker,” a voice called out.

“Third Tucker.”

“Fourth Tucker.”

“Fifth Tucker…”

Tucker held his hands up, palms out. He sighed. He had an uneasy feeling where this was going. “Okay, that’s enough. We have three nominations. Let’s vote. Let’s see a show of hands for Kenny.”

Tucker stood up and looked out over the crowd. Other than his own, only two hands were raised; Kenny’s and his wife’s. Tucker felt bad for him. Although Kenny was overall a good guy, he was a nerdy pencil pusher with an irritating personality and a whiney voice. His yard was not a good indicator of someone who had it together, either.

Not leader material at all.

He moved on. “Okay, let’s see a show of hands for Curt.”

A slew of hands went up; they were the usual people he’d have expected, but only about half of those in attendance. Silently, he counted the hands. “I count twenty.”

Katie stood up. “Let’s see a show of hands for Tucker!”

All other hands in the crowd shot to the sky. Katie counted, while Tucker’s ears burned. “Twenty-seven. Tucker is our leader,” she said, smiling ear to ear in direct contrast to her husband, who scowled.

This is going to be nothing but trouble…

Curt stomped over to Tucker. “This is bullshit. Not everyone is even here. I don’t concede the vote to you.”

Tucker took one step, closing in the already too-small gap between himself and Curt. Katie pulled firmly at his T-shirt, trying to pull him down into his chair.

Curt backed away.

The crowd erupted in loud voices and mutterings. The temperature went up lending a feeling of doom and anticipated chaos. Tucker looked over Curt’s shoulder to see neighbor stand up to neighbor, fingers pointing, heads shaking, tempers rising. He heard his name repeated multiple times.

Tucker yelled, “Wait a damn minute!”

As one, the crowd quieted and turned to him.

“If y’all want Curt to lead you… go with him. No one is forcing you to be led by anyone—especially me. Hell, you don’t have to listen to either one of us.” He glared at the angry faces. “I didn’t ask to be leader. I really don’t want it… but if you want me in charge, I’ll do it. This isn’t forever. For all we know, the power could come back on tomorrow. But know this… I’m not collecting anyone’s food. It ain’t that bad yet. I’ll do the best I can in getting us organized like Jake talked about, but we’re all responsible for ourselves; no one is boss, as far as I’m concerned.”

Curt stepped off to one side and thumped his chest. “I’ve been managing people in a billion-dollar company for twenty years. I know how to get stuff done. Anyone with me… come to this side.”

The crowd that had voted for Curt stepped behind him.

The rest of them stepped behind Tucker.

Only two families remained; Kenny’s and Xander’s. Slowly, they stood up and ushered their own families behind Tucker, too.

The two leaders, one willing and one reluctant, stared across the grass at each other. A line had been drawn, and before it was over, it would be crossed.

3

GRAYSON’S GROUP

“Please don’t leave me, Mr. GrayMan!” Puck yelled, through an angry face.

Grayson gently pulled his hand out of Puck’s tight grip. The boy was having himself a bit of a tantrum; the first that Grayson had seen from him. “Listen, kid. You’re going to have to man up. You’re going to be fine. I have to go check on Jenny now. She’s probably worried to death about you. I’ll get your things and see if I can persuade her to come over here—we’ll find room…” He looked around, realizing his house was quickly becoming crowded. “Somewhere. My daughter Graysie is going to sit with you.”

Puck slid his gaze over to Graysie, who huddled against the doorway, guilt pinching her face.

Grayson mouthed the word ‘smile’ at her.

She attempted a weak smile.

Grayson stood up. “You two are close in age. You’re going to be great friends,” he said, and then chuckled. His chuckle ended abruptly as he flinched at the pain of his sore tooth that had once again reared its ugly head.

Puck poked his lip out. “She hurt me.”

“Hey, I explained that to you already. She thought you were a bad guy. You need to forgive her… you are in her bed after all.”

Puck looked silly cuddled up under a Bob Marley blanket beneath a rainbow of murals adorning the walls. At his feet at the end of the bed lay Ozzie, who’d barely left the boy’s side.

“Look, kid. It’s only been one day. Give it another day or so and you’ll be up and about. When you’re feeling better, I’ll ask Graysie to show you Rickey’s treehouse. It’s huge! Nearly the size of this bedroom. You’ll love it. He won’t mind you using it while he gone. How’s that sound?”

Finally, Puck’s eyes lit up a bit; he smiled weakly. “Okay.”

Grayson turned to walk out, then abruptly stopped and turned back. “Is there anything else you want me to bring you from home? Besides clothes and your toothbrush?”

Puck screwed his mouth up in thought and looked at the ceiling before answering, “My colored pencils and crayons. And my paper. Please?”

“Done,” Grayson said. “But I’m going to have to take Ozzie for a bit. I need him with me. We’ll be back soon. Come on, Ozzie.”

Reluctantly, Ozzie slithered off the bed and walked toward the door. In almost human fashion, he paused and looked over his shoulder. First at Puck, and then at Graysie. He whined, as though giving Graysie instructions to take care of his new boy, and then quickly loped off to join Grayson.

Grayson and Jake hurriedly followed Ozzie down the dirt road, wanting to avoid the final tears that were sure to fall when the girls said goodbye to Elmer. The old man was leaving, and no amount of talk would change his mind. He couldn’t wait to get back to his bride, Edith, and would be gone by the time they returned.

They entered the clearing where Puck lived with Mama Dee.

Jake turned to Grayson with his eyebrows raised and gave a low whistle.

“Yeah, it’s a shithole,” Grayson answered, knowing exactly what Jake was thinking.

In the middle of the clearing was a shack of an old farmhouse; the small wooden porch leaned precariously to the right, struggling to stand. A rocking chair barely stood upright, missing one of the supportive rungs, it’s once-woven seat totally undone, leaving a hole big enough to fall through. The roof of the house was nearly bald, missing more shingles than it wore, and the glass of the few windows were foggy with age.

The place looked uninhabitable.

Grayson clenched his jaw in anger. These kids shouldn’t be living in a place like this; especially alone without Mama Dee. He’d have to persuade Jenny to come back with him. He wasn’t leaving her in this cesspool. He mumbled under his breath, “Tammy Faye Baker herself couldn’t put enough lipstick on this pig to make it look better.”

Off to one side, there was a reasonably decent out-building. It was a small pre-fab, with a standard door and two windows in the front. But through the window he could see boxes and old furniture stacked to the gills. You probably couldn’t walk two feet into it. A hoarder’s dream closet.

The yard was a disaster of junk and disarray. The garden was overgrown and filled with weeds. Two burn barrels barely stood up; light shone through the rust holes. A stack of bagged trash was piled beside them atop a mound of broken trash bags that had left a pile of stinking, rotting debris. The entire yard was littered with junk: broken bicycles, faded Coca-Cola crates, cracked and jagged flower pots, and enough bald tires to start a recycling center.

The place reeked of rotten trash and chicken poop.

They wrinkled their noses at the smell, while Ozzie ran full throttle ahead with his own nose to the ground, sniffing in super-speed.

The only thing worth something on the homestead was a pole-barn, standing off to the side, and that was being generous. Beside the barn stood a dilapidated pop-up camper that wasn’t fit for a dog. The torn canvas flapped in the breeze.

Jake pointed at the camper. “The girls are gonna love that.”

Grayson scoffed. “That fine specimen of wheel estate? Yeah… no. The girl’s wouldn’t step foot in that.”

“They don’t have to. It’s the full water pressure they’re going to love. That camper probably has a freshwater pump that runs off a 12-volt battery. If it works, it’ll push water through the whole house. They can enjoy a real shower in your bathroom.”

Grayson smiled. “Really? You can do that? Oh, yeah. They’ll be happy as a dog with two tails. We’re going home heroes, brutha. I’ve even got an Instant-On hot water heater stashed. Will it work with that?”

Jake held up his fist. “Heck yeah it will. Hot water? Shoot!” He fist-bumped his brother-in-law.

Suddenly, Ozzie stopped in his tracks directly in front of the porch, his hair standing at attention. He gave a low growl and tucked his head down, staring at the door.

Grayson and Jake stopped walking, and Grayson reached for his gun, sliding it out of the holster that he now wore at all times… effective today. The stories that Olivia had told him of their trip home had prompted him to dig it out, as well as a few more which he passed to Jake, Gabby, and Graysie. They would all be armed now—all the time. Well, all but Olivia and Puck.

“Ozzie, come,” Grayson instructed the dog.

Ozzie hesitated, giving another low growl deep in his throat, and then circled to stand between Jake and Grayson, taking an aggressive stance.

BANG!

The loud sound sliced through the air and the guys dropped to a squat on the ground, Grayson pulling Ozzie down beside him.

4

TULLYMORE

Tucker ran his fingers through his shaggy hair, wishing he’d got it cut before all hell had broken loose. He’d already been weeks beyond his normally scheduled appointment before ‘the event,’ and now it was a mess, hanging over his ears and running down his neck. If it got much longer, he’d have to band it up.

His patience was running out; with more than just his hair.

Curt, the president of Tullymore’s home owners’s association, was on his last nerve. But at this wife’s prompting, he’d tried to make nice with him, again. He’d come over, hat in hand, and offered to let them help out building latrines that the whole neighborhood could use. But the short fireplug of a man was bound and determined to keep a hot head and a divisive neighborhood.

Tucker was done being nice.

“You think your shit don’t stink?” he yelled at Curt.

Curt stood on his porch, his hands on his hips in a defiant stance. He shrugged. “I think my shit—and the shit of my people—is none of your business.”

Joe, his new sidekick, stood beside him looking all the world like a flagpole, and gave a firm yessir-wave of his head, as though Curt spoke the gospel.

Tucker scoffed. “Look Curt, first of all, they’re not your people. We’re all our own people. I didn’t ask for this, but I got voted in anyway. If you don’t want to go with the results of a democratic vote… fine. Like I said before, no one has to listen to me. But, we can do this much together. Everybody shits. It’s the one big equalizer in life. Am I right?”

He attempted a smile to soften his earlier scoff and rein in his temper and then stood waiting for a response. Curt leaned against his front door and stared back defiantly, not blinking an eye.

“So, the silent treatment? What are you, twelve?”

Curt ignored him again.

Now totally at the end of his patience, Tucker snapped. “This affects all of us. You people can’t be crapping in your houses—and I’ve heard of a few who are doing it—or shitting and pissing on the ground all the time. Eventually, that is going to soak into the ground and many of you are uphill from your neighbors. If the power doesn’t come back on, we need the grounds to be clean for gardens. And if still don’t understand why you can’t use your toilets… well, you’re dumber than I thought.”

Curt crossed his arms and glared at Jake. “Stick your shitters up yours, Tucker. You do whatever you want with your people. We’ll do whatever we want.”

“You’re stupid, man. You’re such an asshole that you can’t get out of your own way. Look, you don’t have to do what we’re doing. When Jake talked to all of us, he offered up some great ideas for a simple latrine or outhouses. We’ve already built one of those simple latrines, but we need something bigger. Separate facilities for men and women, too. You can even use the old one if you want, hell it’s only a few days old. We’ll stop using it. But as of right now, we’re doing something new, something better. It just requires a bit more work.”

Curt turned his head and spit over the rail and onto the ground. “Jake doesn’t know shit.”

Tucker shook his head.

This man would bite off his own nose to spite his face. Having words with him was like pouring water into a sieve.

Useless waste of time.

He’d made this trip over here with the best intentions. To try to bring the neighborhood together, and to offer the other side help. Several of his group had seen Curt’s group defecating directly on the ground, not even bothering to bury it—like a pack of dogs. And there were rumors some were still piling it up in their toilets.

No one could see where a latrine had been dug, or even a single hole or two.

Lazy.

They’d all be stronger together, if only Curt could get out of his own way.

Not to be.

He nodded at Curt. “Okay, fine. Keep doing what you’re doing if that’s what you want. And just so you know, I’ve got guards set up. Two at the entrance all night—rotating shifts. We also have a few walking through checking the ‘hood throughout the day and night. They’re here for everyone. If anyone from your group wants to offer some time—and they have a gun—we’d love to have them. If there’s trouble, you’ll hear three short blasts from an air horn.”

Tucker turned and walked away from Curt, meeting up with his guys at the road. Just like the seven dwarfs on their way to work, they swung their shovels, picks, tubes and pipes over their shoulders and in marching file, stepped into the woods and down a trail between two houses, where they’d picked a private clearing for their new latrines.

5

GRAYSON’S GROUP

Jake frantically looked around. “What was that?”

“I don’t know, but let’s move out of this open area.” Grayson snapped his fingers at Ozzie and jogged to the side of the house, with the dog and Jake on his heels. They leaned against the wall and waited, listening closely.

Another loud bang shook the wall they stood against, startling them. Ozzie backed off the wall and barked at it long and loud… not stopping.

“Ozzie, hush,” Grayson chided him, in a loud whisper. He stopped barking, but bristled at Grayson’s feet. “Let’s check it out, Jake.”

Slowly, they crept onto the porch, moving to opposites sides of the door. “Your gun, Jake,” Grayson whispered.

Jake looked down at his gun holstered to his side. “What about it?”

“Pull it out and be ready, just in case.”

Jake reluctantly pulled his gun out, handling it like it was dirty, pointing it down at the ground. Grayson rolled his eyes and knocked. The door opened with the force of his knock, giving him a small peek into the house.

It was an awful sight.

An old couch was standing sentry in the middle of the small room. The stuffing was ripped out of it, and spread over the floor. The lone chair in the room was tipped over on its side. A long table against the wall once held frames and knick-knacks that now lay on the floor, shattered. Newspapers were strewn everywhere, as though intended to cover the mess.

It was bizarre. Who would want to break into this piece of crap?

It could be the boys that’d chased Puck up a tree, maybe coming back looking for their gun, Grayson thought.

“Hello?” Grayson yelled.

There was no answer.

“Jenny?” he yelled again. “I’m your neighbor. Puck’s been hurt. He’s at my house.”

They waited.

Still no answer.

Slowly, Grayson pushed the door wide open with his elbow and stepped in, sweeping the room from left to right.

No one seemed to be there, so they quietly crept into the next room—the kitchen.

Against one wall stood an original retro chrome and Formica dinette set with two faded red and white chairs straight out of the fifties. The table was a mess of old food wrappers, hollow cereal boxes, empty bowls, and dirty spoons.

The microwave door hung open to expose its grimy interior covered in layers of burnt-on food. The sides were yellowed from use and age. Empty Mason jars stood in a neat row along the kitchen cabinet. The sink was filled to the brim with dishes caked in old food—and in the middle of the kitchen floor was a big brown pile of reeking shit.

Grayson backed up a step, bumping into Jake. “Holy shit!” he said. Who the hell takes a dump on the kitchen floor?

Jake crept up to peek over his shoulder, and then gagged. “What is that?” He gagged again, this time his entire body convulsing as he backed away.

Grayson chuckled at Jake’s weak stomach and shushed him, turning to search the bedrooms.

Jake followed behind, trying to tap down the lurching in his stomach.

There was a tiny hallway with three closed doors. Grayson swung open the first door and did a sweep of the bathroom.

Empty.

He yanked his T-shirt up around his nose, and waved Jake back, quickly and quietly shutting the door again. The toilet was filled to the rim with a brown and yellow liquid mess.

They moved to the next door and Grayson flung it open.

No one there either.

They stepped in to what appeared to be Puck’s bedroom.

The carpet on the floor was so shabby that it showed patches of the sub-flooring beneath. The bed was covered in a tattered Star Trek comforter. An old TV stand held an even older television and an Xbox game system. Posters hung on two of the walls. Over the dresser were pictures of muscle cars and skate-boarding scenes. Over the bed, hung half a dozen eyebrow-raising poses of nearly naked young women with long legs and big titties.

Uh oh, Grayson thought. Maybe Jake was right to be concerned about Puck.

Quietly, they moved around the room, and each took a side next to the closet. Jake flung the door open in one quick motion and Grayson pointed his gun in it… and then relaxed. It was too small to hide in; no one was there. Grayson bent down and rummaged through the pile on the closet floor, surprised to see a new-ish drone and controller.

It reminded him of the welfare-rats checking their EBT and Snap card amounts using five-hundred dollar iPhones. Unbelievable. Between the drone and the Xbox, Puck’s mama could have used that money to fix his room—or any room—for that matter.

“Look at this, Grayson,” Jake whispered.

Jake had stepped away to stand in front of the other wall, staring at a series of pictures taped to the old wood paneling. They were drawn by hand with colored pencils and crayons—the level of skill that which a young teenager would be capable of.

Grayson shrugged. “So, he draws?”

Jake pointed at one. “No. Look really close at these…”

Grayson stepped up for a better look and shrugged again. “What?”

“Don’t you see?”

One by one, Grayson looked closer at the collection of pictures: the first one was a messy green tractor with exaggerated tires, pulling a wagon piled high with yellow hay.

The wagon had three red hearts scratched onto the side of it. A figure of a man wearing a hat sat in the driver seat. Reddish-brown balloons of dust were drawn in behind it.

The second picture showed a woman laying horizontal with a cross drawn over her. The figure had long black hair and two turned-up black slits for eyes—as though she were Asian. On her arm, Puck had drawn the number two.

The third picture showed a scene of a black hole drawn over green grass, with a bucket hanging over it, the rope attached to it flying overhead, tangled and twirling. Underneath the bucket was a long ‘down arrow’ pointing into the hole. Two stick figures stood over the hole. One was looking up toward the sky with his face colored beet-red. The other was looking down with his hand held over his mouth. A tear-shaped drop plopped from the second figure’s face.

The final picture showed a boy with blondish hair, his mouth a dark, gaping maw as though screaming. A maroon-colored crayon had been used to depict blood dripping down his arm as a girl-figure with curly red hair stood over him, pointing her finger.

“Holy shit,” Grayson mumbled.

“Do you see what I see?” Jake asked, scratching his head with the butt of his pistol.

Grayson slapped the gun away. “Don’t do that, Jake. You’ll blow your fool head off,” he whispered loudly. At least he didn’t have his finger on the trigger, surprisingly.

“It’s not loaded,” Jake admitted.

Grayson closed his eyes, exhaled deeply, and shook his head. Jake had bucked him about the gun situation, not feeling comfortable with it at all. But Grayson was uncomfortable with him not having it on him. He knew he’d have to do some practice drills with Jake soon to get him more comfortable.

He turned to leave when he noticed a picture in a frame standing on an old wardrobe. He stepped over and picked it up.

It was a picture of Puck, standing tall and strong with clear, intelligent eyes in a hockey uniform. He was holding a trophy. He looked to be about thirteen or fourteen. A larger, older version of Puck stood with his arm slung lazily over Puck’s shoulders, smiling proudly down at the boy.

He flipped the frame over. On the other side, taped to the back, was a letter. In very small writing, it read:

“My Huck Finn,

Your mama named you Finn when you were born, but I’ve always called you my Huck Finn. I knew you’d grow up to be a man’s man, always looking for adventure. You played a mean game of hockey, son. Could’a gone pro. After your accident, I couldn’t shake the thought of that puck hitting you in the head, and all the regrets and what-ifs it brought me. I couldn’t handle seeing you this way. I cussed the fucking puck, not you… but I’m still sorry. I apologize for that. I’m going away for a while to make us some money, but when I get back it’ll be me and you again, just like it was before, without my anger. And even though you’re different now, I can re-teach you things. We’ll hunt and fish and you’ll be my Huck Finn again. You can still climb trees, so keep on climbing high and watch out for your old pop. I’ll be back.

I love you,

Dad”

Grayson handed the frame to Jake, who read it quietly and then looked at back at him.

“Holy shit,” Grayson mumbled.

Jake sat the frame back onto the dresser. “That all you gonna say today?”

Grayson shrugged his shoulders, at a loss for words. So, the kid’s name wasn’t Puck. It was Finn. And he was the way he was from an accident. That explained a lot. But where was his dad? And why did Puck/Finn think he was dead? Maybe the boy couldn’t read? Maybe no one had read him the letter?

Grayson’s eyes watered, and he turned away. Poor kid. That’s a damn shame. All of it. He swiped at his face, cursing himself. What was the matter with him lately? Carrying on like a moody woman.

He turned back and nudged Jake, who was gathering Puck’s crayons, pencils and paper. “Come on. Jenny’s got to be in that last room, or she’s just not home. Let’s check it out before you gather his stuff.”

Bang!!

The sound reverberated through the house from the next room, followed by something even stranger…

“Heehaw.”

They hurried to the last door.

Grayson kicked it open and stood gaping at the sight in front of him.

A donkey.

A very upset donkey.

“Holy shit,” Grayson mumbled.

“Again… is that all you’re going to say today?” Jake pushed in beside him and stared at the huge beast. “Well, I’ll be… you think that’s Jenny?”

Grayson tilted his head to the side and leaned over to take a peek. He nodded. “Well, it ain’t a Jack; There ain’t no pecker on it, so that’d be a jenny—or jennet, to be correct.”

The room was covered in the poor critter’s manure and urine. The bottom pane of the window was a gaping hole surrounded by jagged shards of glass. Nothing was left atop the nightstand—it was all knocked to the floor; much of it broken. A lamp, candle, books…

Strangely the bed was unmolested, other than the blankets and pillows that were a mess.

The enormous beast brayed once more, and stepped up onto the bed. Just like a dog, it turned around three times and laid down, seemingly finally at peace by just not being alone. It opened its mouth, giving them a toothy smile and a yawn, and stuck its tongue out.

Jake snorted and held back a laugh—for a second. But unable to hold it back, he doubled over, laughing until tears came.

Grayson stood still, scratching his beard, staring in disbelief at who, or what, Jenny had turned out to be. His sore tooth was aching madly. He massaged it with his tongue as he tried to take in the crazy scene. “On the bright side, the boy can take instructions. I did tell him to make Jenny come into the house to sleep…”

6

TULLYMORE

At the clearing for the new latrines, Tucker saw his boys and their friends had painstakingly finished their job of gathering pea-sized and other larger sizes of gravel, one wheelbarrow at a time from a nearby construction site. It was dumped in heaps, ready for use, next to a pile of landscaping fabric.

Tucker shook off his bad mood and cleared his throat. “Okay, guys. Here’s what we’re doing. Believe it or not, it’s not the crap that stinks so bad at our other latrine. It’s the piss mixed with the shit. So, we’re gonna try to separate those out as much as we can. Let’s start with the guys side.”

He waved his arm toward the pile of pipes, doing his best Vanna White impression. “And for the gentlemen, we have these urine tubes.” He held up two of the tubes, each six inches in diameter and ten feet long. “These are only six inches wide. I won’t be able to use it, but you boys should all be fine.”

The guys cracked up.

Tucker continued. “On the bottom four feet of the pipe, I’ve drilled holes into the sides. At the top of the pipe,” he turned the pipe around to show the guys, “I put a screen in it about six inches from the top for urine splash and to keep the flies out. We don’t want creepy crawlies crawling up your pecker late at night, ammirite?”

The guys laughed again.

“Let’s start by digging the holes for these pee pipes, also known as urine tubes, about six feet deep. We’ll fill the hole with four feet of large gravel, covered with landscaping fabric, then two feet of pea gravel… pun intended… until we’re at ground level. The fabric is to stop the pea gravel from filling in the holes between the larger gravel, but will allow water to pass for rain—or poor aim.”

No one laughed at that.

Tucker stepped over to a set of fifty-five-gallon half-barrels, each spaced ten feet apart. There were three. “And for your pooping pleasure, I give you these.” He waved his arm at the barrels, ala Vanna White again.

“Kenny helped me confiscate some diesel fuel for each one of them—don’t ask, don’t tell—and this diesel fuel will cover the solid waste, and keep the smell down and the flies from landing. Also, don’t put nothing else into the barrel. Not your tissue, paper towels, toilet paper, or whatever… Use the bag hanging on a nail next to the barrel. We’ll burn the bags separately when they fill up. Oh, and we’ll burn the diesel fuel and crap, too. If we can get it lit…” he finished in a mumble.

Contrary to belief, it wasn’t easy to light diesel fuel on fire. They’d have to add something to get it lit; he’d figure that out later.

He looked around at the group. “Y’all understand?”

A few men nodded. Some looked confused.

“Okay. Let me make it simple. You walk over, sit down and take a shit. If you’ve got to pee, don’t. Put your finger on it, if you have to. Shit, wipe, and bag your ass-wiper. Then stand up, pull out your pecker, and pee in the pipe. Don’t shit in the pipe, and don’t piss in the barrel. And don’t put anything but shit or piss down in the pipe or the barrel. Bag it. Is that more clear?”

Everyone nodded.

“Good. When your done doing your business, wash your hands. We’re not going to have a water station here—for now—so be sure you go back and wash up before doing anything else. That’s really important for lots of reasons. I don’t need to nag you guys, I think you understand spreading germs right now is deadly, right? You picking up what I’m putting down?”

All agreed.

He went on. “So, we’ve pre-cut some lumber to serve as seats for the barrels. That’s all that needs to be done with those. If the power doesn’t come back on soon, we’ll put a roof and some walls around them and make this a real shit-house. If I can get two volunteers to work on the seats, everyone else can get to digging.”

Tucker waved Kenny to him and turned to go to the other side of the clearing, but stopped suddenly. “Oh wait,” he said. “One more thing. Don’t smoke around here or you might blow your balls off. I’ll be adding something more flammable to those barrels eventually. It’s all fun and games until someone loses a wiener, right?”

That was met with wide eyes and frantic nods of understanding. One of the guys raised his hand.

Tucker laughed at that. “What is it?”

“Couldn’t we be using that diesel fuel for something more important? Like to run a vehicle? Or for lamps?”

Tucker shook his head. “We have more. But there’s nary a diesel-ran vehicle in the entire neighborhood, and I think this is important. Sanitation and hygiene have to be high on the list. Bad sanitation disposal breeds disease. We’ve already voted on it as a group and everyone agreed.”

As though a light bulb went on over the man’s head as he remembered, he nodded and grunted, “Oh, yeah.”

He continued. “As far as lights, there’s all kinds of cooking oil and stuff you can burn in those lamps, if you have it. You should also be bringing in solar lights from landscaping every night. This neighborhood is full of them. If your next-door neighbor didn’t make it home, confiscate theirs until they get back… pass them along if you know someone who needs a few. You can put them in front of a mirror for even more reflective light. You all doing that?”

He was met with a chorus of nods.

“Good. You have candles, too. Use all those. Like I said, we have access to more diesel. If we find a vehicle to run it, we will. Until then, this was voted as the best use of it for our group. Anything else?”

Another neighbor spoke up. “Seems to me, it might be easier to put the pee pipes right next to the barrels, right? Kind of really close by?”

Tucker shrugged. “I thought we should separate them in case one of you sleepy fools get confused and accidentally sits on a pipe, instead of a barrel. Unless you like that kind of thing… it’s safer to keep them a bit apart.”

The men all flinched as one, and then nodded in serious understanding.

There were no more questions.

The guys got busy, and Tucker grabbed two pee-pipes and stepped to the other side of the clearing where he’d already hung a tarp for privacy. Behind that sat four more barrels for the ladies. Two urine-barrels and two crap-barrels. For theirs, he’d bury the pipes under the barrels, all the way into the ground, and then attach the tubes to the bottoms of the barrels, where he’d already prepped them with a fitted hole.

The ladies’ barrels were set up a bit nicer. He’d attached a Styrofoam noodle float—from the swimming pool—split and ran around the rough edges of the metal, to keep them from cutting their hands or legs. They’d sanded the seats-boards to a smoother finish, and he’d also hung coffee cans with lids on them to keep their toilet paper dry and bug-free. Their wipe-bags weren’t see-through. Giving them a little bit of dignity since they had more ‘things’ to add to their bag. Over the top of their area, he and Kenny had rigged another tarp, giving them shelter from any dew, rain, or spiders dropping from the trees.

He’d have to think of a few more amenities later, ‘cause if mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy…

7

GRAYSON’S GROUP

Tina strode down the dirt road, constantly looking left to right, her hand hovering lightly over her sidearm. “Are you sure this is the right way?”

Tarra stopped to tighten her boot lace, and then hopped ahead to catch up with her friend. “That’s what she said.”

They shared a laugh.

Tina cleared her throat. “We’re leaving here, aren’t we?”

“You bet we are. I’m not dealing with the princess another day. I’d rather make camp in the woods somewhere and sleep on the ground again than deal with her.”

Tina and Tarra had surprised Olivia the morning after the ladies had arrived, when they had awoken and made their way into the kitchen. In all the hoopla the night before, after the girls’ and Elmer had come home, and with Puck getting shot, Jake and Grayson didn’t even think to tell Olivia she had company. She’d gone straight to bed after surprising everyone by taking charge and cleaning and wrapping Puck’s wound. Olivia was very maternal and she took to the boy like a Mother Hen.

After that, she was exhausted from their long journey home. They hadn’t seen hide nor hair of each other until long after the sun had come up.

Gabby had discovered the two women when she’d assumed she and Jake would be sleeping in the guest room. She’d barged in, waking Tina and Tarra, and after the shock of finding out who they were, she was thrilled that Jake had happened upon them and brought them home.

She’d even refused to take the bed from them and instead, made pallets on the living room floor for herself, Jake, Emma and Graysie—Elmer had slept on the couch.

Gabby had absolutely no problem with Tina and Tarra having been alone with her husband while she was gone.

Emma and Graysie had given them a warm welcome, too.

But not Olivia.

This morning they’d been met with suspicion and looks that shot daggers from her inner green-eyed monster.

More than once, Olivia had questioned Grayson on their ability to feed the two strangers. He’d assured her they had plenty, trying to gently shush her before she came across rude.

Too late.

That’s not what it was about anyway.

Olivia didn’t trust them, and they knew it.

They weren’t like her. Although they were both married, they took their lives into their own hands. They could handle a gun better than most guys, could hunt, fish and clean their kills, and cook it, too. They didn’t need a man; although they both missed their husbands and families dearly.

Olivia had been shocked to hear they’d travelled in from out of town for a shooting competition—against men. She just couldn’t wrap her head around their independence.

And they made her whiny ass look bad.

Tarra pointed. “Look, there it is.”

In unison, they stepped off the dirt road, each to a different side, taking cover behind the trees and squatting, guns at ready.

Silently, they watched.

Nothing.

Ten minutes passed.

Still nothing.

Tina jerked her head and stepped out from the trees.

Tarra stayed in a squat nearly hidden from sight, her gun covering Tina as she hurried, heel to toe, along the tree-line until she reached the clearing. Quick as a cat, Tina darted to the side of the house and then covered Tarra until she joined her a few seconds later.

They listened again.

Nothing.

A loud, honking noise from behind the house startled the women.

They crept around the corner and peered out, seeing a donkey tied outside the barn.

Behind them, they heard retching. Someone getting sick.

Twisting back toward the house, they watched Jake stagger out the screen door carrying a shovel, with Ozzie following behind. The contents of the shovel were as far away from him as the handle allowed, with his cheeks puffed out and his body jerking in rejection.

“Ewww,” Tina said, as Ozzie scampered to greet her.

“Yeah. Disgusting…” Tarra agreed.

Tina slid her pistol into the holster, and bent down to run her hands through Ozzie’s hair. “What’s up, Jake?”

Jake tossed the poop as far as he could and leaned the shovel up against the wall. “Cleaning house. You ladies got here just in time to help us finish up. Puck’s been keeping a donkey in his mama’s bedroom. It crapped all over the place.”

Tina and Tarra shook their heads in tandem.

“Not us,” said Tarra. “We’re just here to check on you. Olivia was concerned about you guys being gone too long. We offered to come so she didn’t worry her pretty little head off.” She finished with a tight smile.

Jake gave her a sidelong look. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s fine,” Tarra answered, and threw on a stiff smile again.

Jake looked to Tina who also attempted a smile that didn’t reach her eyes either. “Great day. What is it?”

Tina shook her head, her mouth firmly closed.

“Look ladies, I’ve been married long enough to know when a woman answers ‘what’s wrong’ with ‘it’s fine,’ that means it’s definitely not fine. Spill it.”

Tina shrugged her shoulders. “Okay. Your sister-in-law is a bitch. I thought twins were supposed to be the same. Gabby’s cool.”

Jake laughed. “Gabby and Olivia are only alike in looks, really. But Olivia’s not that bad. What’d she do?”

Tarra spoke up. “Nothing, really. It’s just obvious we’re not wanted there.”

“Gabby wants you there. Me and Grayson want you. Where else you gonna go?” he asked.

Tina shrugged her shoulders. “Anywhere but here. We’ll make camp in the woods again. We’re fine.”

Jake looked to Tarra, who answered, “Camping’s fine with me. We’re not staying where we’re not welcome—by everyone.”

Jake shook his head. “How ‘bout this. Y’all come in and help us right the house—all the crap is out now—just in case Puck’s mama comes home, and we’ll talk about a solution. I don’t want you running off into the woods again. And I know Gabby doesn’t. Besides that, we need you.”

Tarra narrowed her eyes at him. “Need us for what?”

He hung his head and kicked a rock, leaving a long pause in the conversation. Finally, he said, “Okay, it’s me that needs you. If I don’t learn to handle a gun better, Grayson’s gonna kick my ass. You said you’re both instructors. Can you teach me? The first time didn’t take, I guess. Just teach me to handle a gun right, and shoot at least as good as y’all do.”

Tina and Tarra shared a knowing look and finally, a real smile. In unison they answered, “Teach you to shoot like a girl?”

Jake laughed. “Yeah, just don’t say that to Grayson. He doesn’t like to think a woman can shoot better than a man. Gabby holds back when he’s looking, just so she won’t hurt his feelings.”

Tina and Tarra both scoffed, and took note. They were of like-minds, and if the opportunity presented itself, they couldn’t wait to use that line on Grayson.

8

TULLYMORE

Tucker watched as Katie stirred the huge cauldron of rice over the fire with a kayak paddle. Her face, neck and chest were covered in a sheen of sweat. Her T-shirt was wet with exertion.

Katie hated not being able to fix herself up like she used to do up until this point in her life. This was a new lifestyle for her and she kept swatting him away, telling him to stop looking at her. But he liked her new rough and tumble look. It was hard for him to concentrate on anything else with her walking around in wet T-shirts and dirty cut-off shorts.

He pulled his eyes away from Katie to the next set-up. Not fifty feet away, another fire burned beneath another pot of food. This one was manned by Kenny, his weird neighbor that had suddenly grown into Tucker’s sidekick. He was surprised Kenny took a turn at the pots, but he couldn’t help but notice Kenny keeping an eye on him, too. It was as though he was going to slip away and do something for fun without him.

Tucker didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but Kenny was about as useful as tits on a bull when it came to anything other than helping the women. He had two thumbs, not much strength to him, and didn’t know an axe from a rake.

Luckily, this neighborhood was big on Halloween. The cauldrons had previously been used as props. After a good clean-out, they were perfect for cooking meals for their big group.

For days, his group had taken turns stirring large pots of food while sweating over hot fires for hours without end. They were wasting time, energy, and firewood—so much firewood.

In addition to the cook-fires, they had their water-fires. Two more hot, smoky fires constantly boiled water for cooking, drinking, and baths for the kids and some of the women.

But not his Katie.

If he wouldn’t have a hot bath or shower, neither would she.

She endured the cold water right alongside him, and they usually managed to warm up pretty quickly afterward. He smiled at that thought.

On the ground near Katie, no less than seven dogs sat at attention, saliva dripping from their chops, hoping to be thrown a scrap. There were more than the seven, too. He’d counted a dozen earlier in the day running around. Now that no one was leaving for work, the dogs were all running free most of the time, usually beside their owners, so that wasn’t a problem. The problem was that less than a week into the event, some people had run out of dog food. When they lined up for evening meals, some juggled more than one plate and fully expected the group to feed their canine companions.

Normally, Tucker was all about dogs. He fed his own two American Bulldogs off the table—when Katie wasn’t looking. His dogs were part of his family, more like fur-covered children, as everyone else in this neighborhood seemed to agree with. But if the power didn’t come back on soon, he’d have to put an end to feeding the animals the food that his family and group would be depending on for their long-term survival. He hoped he’d win the vote on that.

For now, he held his tongue.

This particular morning he’d assigned the teenager crew, including his own four kids, to go out to the woods and drag in dead downed trees. They’d each brought back one. He’d have to give them a bit of a pep talk. The men, and a few women, took turns chopping and splitting. A small group had set up a mop bucket with an attached wringer to hand-wash clothes—mostly underwear and children’s clothes—and hung them to dry.

There was so much work to be done all the time when there was no power. Everyone was busy dawn to dusk, and sometimes longer. At least with this lifestyle, he didn’t have to worry about squeezing in a work-out every day. He was working out all day long, and his muscles were screaming.

He dragged another dead tree away from the pile and began to chop it up, and throw it in the to-be-split pile, when his eye caught Neva, the neighborhood witch—as the kids called her—and her niece, IdaBelle, approach the cooking fires. It was the first time he’d seen them outside their house.

Neva was short and heavyset with long, frizzy unkempt black hair. She had a rough voice that startled most people, so she rarely spoke at all. She wore baggy shirts and long skirts, gypsy-style.

In contrast, IdaBelle was a tall beauty. At twenty-five years old, she was thin but curvy at the same time with long, silky black hair and very-red full lips. She was the object of many a teenage boy’s desires. She was much friendlier in general, but very loyal to her aunt. They had always lived together, and from what anyone could tell, IdaBelle had been raised by Neva.

Neva and IdaBelle had been standoffish since the grid went down, not joining with either his group, or Curt’s group, which were severely divided. Curt, the HOA President, hadn’t been willing to agree to Tucker’s leadership when, against Tucker’s dismay, he’d been voted in as leader.

With hurt pride and anger, Curt had splintered off and took a big chunk of the people with him. Actually, close to half, once word got around to those who weren’t at the vote. Tucker’s group had forty-three people, and Curt’s group had forty. Many of the neighbors hadn’t been home when the grid went down and hadn’t made their way back yet.

IdaBelle carried a very large colorful cloth bag, tied closed at the top. At her aunt’s direction, she struggled to sit it down on the ground. She untied it, revealing a black cast-iron pot inside. She lifted the lid of the pot and even from the distance were Tucker was standing, he could smell the delicious aroma of a rich, meaty beef stew.

He dropped his axe and walked over.

“What’s this?” he asked Neva.

Neva cut her eyes at him, and then nodded to IdaBelle.

“It’s food. We want to contribute to your group,” IdaBelle explained.

Katie stepped forward, wiping her hands on her T-shirt, and gave them a warm smile. “Thank you so much. It’ll go great over this rice I’m cooking now.”

IdaBelle turned red at Katie’s graciousness. “Aunt Neva made it. She wanted me to ask you… she’s smelled rice cooking for a few days now. What are you doing with the used rice water when you’re finished boiling the rice?”

Tucker and Katie looked at each other, and then back to Neva and IdaBelle. Katie answered, “We dump it. Why?”

“Aunt Neva says to save it for the children. Make them drink a glass a day if you have it. It’s very healthy. Full of nutrients. It will provide energy, too. You can even give it to babies if they’re sick and you don’t have medicine. Sometimes it helps. It’s good for everyone.”

Katie’s eyes lit up in surprise. “Really? Thank you. We had no idea.”

Using the silicone hot pads, IdaBelle handed the hot pot to Katie, then gathered the top of the bag closed and picked it up. “Just return our pot and pads when you’re finished, and if it doesn’t all get eaten right away and it cools, bring it back to boiling before serving it again—that’ll kill any bacteria.”

“Please stay and eat with us,” Katie said, looking from IdaBelle to Neva.

“No. We have plenty,” she said with a smile, and they turned to go. “But if someone gets sick or hurt, Aunt Neva can sometimes help.”

Tucker caught the look that passed from Neva to IdaBelle. IdaBelle was offering Neva’s help—not Neva. And they just might need it. But what kind of help? She was no doctor, and not even a nurse.

After the brawl at Tucker’s they’d found out the neighborhood doctor wasn’t home. Everyday they’d hoped to see him come driving—or walking—up. But as of yet, he and his family hadn’t arrived.

Apparently Neva and IdaBelle knew that too. Her offer gave new meaning to her nickname of witch. Tucker doubted anyone would trust any sort of voodoo she could do… but that bag…

Tucker eyeballed the bag as they walked away. “Wait. What is that?”

Neva waved IdaBelle away, as though to tell her she’d go on without her, and she walked off on her own.

IdaBelle returned and showed Tucker the oversized, bulky bag. “It’s a Wonder Bag. You boil your food, put the pot in the bag, close it up tight, and hours later, it’s done. No need to cook over a fire all day.”

“Wait. What?” Katie asked, full of interest. She’d do just about anything to not have to spend her days tending food over a fire.

Tucker squinted his eyes and tilted his head. “That some kind of magic thing?”

IdaBelle laughed. “No. It’s a science thing. We bought it online from Amazon. The pot itself is just a regular pot. Most people have one like this or even a Dutch oven pot. We filled it with food and water, and brought it to a boil for a few minutes. We put the lid on it, and then put the whole pot into the bag. We closed up the bag, and then went about our day. It traps the heat inside. Basically, it’s thermal cooking.”

Tucker’s eyebrow went up. “How long does it stay hot?”

“Twelve hours or so. Or it can stay cold. It doubles as a cooler bag to keep food and drinks cold. We used it for camping. Some people use them for tailgating. It’s portable and compact, and stows away easily. Aunt Neva’s grandmother—my great-grandma—used to cook in a haybox. She didn’t have air conditioning in the house and didn’t want to heat up her kitchen. It was a wooden crate stuffed with hay or straw. You bring your food to a boil, then cover it with a lid and a cushion of some sort, and stick it in the box. Then you put the box lid on to seal it up tight. They were also used in World War II as a way of conserving rationed cooking fuel.”

Tucker nodded his head, impressed. “Hmm. Saving firewood would be a huge benefit, not to mention saving time and energy. We’d still have to use the fires for boiling water, but we could cut that down to two fires, instead of four. Thank you! We’re going to get right on it and build some hay boxes.”

IdaBelle smiled. “Sure. It’s the least we can do.”

He walked away, somewhat distracted, back to his job of chopping what wood they did have for now. None of the houses had real fireplaces. They all had gas logs. No one kept much firewood, other than a small amount for burning in outdoor fire pits. They didn’t have many trees in Tullymore, and the ones they did have were small and well trimmed. They needed dead wood. After wasting most of what they did have the first few days cooking, they had already been forced to send a team out to drag in dead trees. They’d have to do more of that, and they’d soon have to go further and further out, which wasn’t safe at all.

Right now, they still had working chainsaws to cut down live trees to be seasoned for winter, which was a long time away, but soon, fuel for those would run out, too. Tucker was trying to think ahead—just in case.

The hayboxes were a great plan to help them not burn so much wood, fuel, and energy now—no pun intended.

Tucker felt sure he had some lumber stacked up in his shop that he intended to use for projects one day. If he did, probably lots of the other guys did, too. He’d call a meeting to appropriate it and get help building the boxes first thing in the morning.

Meanwhile, he’d still have the kids drag what deadwood they could find in the area. What they didn’t use for boiling water, they’d stack up for winter, when they’d have no heat… if the power wasn’t back on by then.

Unfortunately, winter would bring a need for much more than heat, and it wasn’t anything Tucker could be prepared for.

9

GRAYSON’S GROUP

Puck’s face lit up and he held his hands out.

“Here’s your crayons, kid.”

“Thanks, GrayMan.”

Eagerly, he dumped them out in a pile beside him in the bed, and opened his sketch book to a blank white sheet. “How’s Jenny? Is she still mad?”

Grayson sat down heavily in the chair beside him. “Puck, why didn’t you tell me Jenny was a donkey?”

Puck looked at him in confusion. “You didn’t ask if she was a donkey.”

“But, you talked like she was a woman—er… a girl. If I’d known she was an animal, I’d not have told you to have her sleep in the house. She made a mess in there. Don’t you understand you can’t have animals in the house like that?”

Puck’s gaze slid to Ozzie, who had once again made himself at home at the end of the bed.

Seeing where this was going, Grayson said, “No, Ozzie is a dog. It’s okay for dogs to be in the house. They’re smarter than donkeys.”

A defensive look came over Puck. “Jenny is very smart, Mr. GrayMan.”

Grayson gave him a stern look. “She shit on the floor, Puck. Do you see Ozzie shitting on the floor?”

“But you said…”

“—I know what I said… but I thought she was a girl when I said she should sleep in the house,” Grayson interrupted loudly. “A human girl. That house was in shambles. She broke a lot of stuff. Your mama is going to be very upset when she gets home.”

Puck’s lip quivered. His eyes filled with tears.

Grayson quickly reached over and awkwardly patted his shoulder, and then jerked his hand back. “Look, kid. I told you I’d take the blame if Mama Dee got mad, and I will. Don’t worry. Jake and I fixed things up a lot. Just don’t do it again. Only dogs. Dogs can come in. And only if they’re potty-trained.” He looked at Ozzie as though to punctuate his point.

“Our potty is full anyway,” Puck answered.

“Yeah, I saw that.” Grayson said with disgust. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a roll of paper. “Look, I want to talk to you about something.” He unrolled the pictures that’d he’d removed from Puck’s wall and sat them on the bed beside the boy. “Can you tell me about these?”

Puck picked them up and glanced through them. He handed one to Grayson. “This one is a tractor with a wagon.”

“Yeah, I see that. Is there some reason you drew a picture of a tractor with a wagon?”

“No. I just felt like it.”

“When did you draw—nevermind.” It was obvious the picture had been drawn before the girls arrived, as Puck had been with them since the wagon had brought the women home.

He pointed at the picture of the well bucket and hole in the ground. “What about this one? Is this me and you?”

Puck shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not anybody. Just a picture I drew, GrayMan.”

“When did you draw it? Was it before or after you dropped my Amish well-bucket down the well and lost it forever?”

“Before.”

“So you knew you were going to drop the bucket? Or did you drop the bucket because of the picture?”

“No.”

Grayson raised an eyebrow. “No? No what? You knew… or you dropped it because that’s what you’d drawn on the picture?” he asked grumpily.

Puck’s chin wrinkled and his lip stuck out again. “I don’t know,” he whispered quietly. “I didn’t know anything.”

Ozzie crawled up on the bed and protectively laid his head on Puck’s chest, staring into the boy’s face with his big brown eyes.

Graysie popped her head into the room, looking from Puck to her father. “What’s going on, Daddy?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing,” Graysie said, using his own overused line against him. “Puck looks upset.” She walked over and flopped down on the end of the bed. “You want to color something for me, Puck?” she asked, giving him a big smile.

Obviously, they’d made up.

Puck smiled back. “Sure.”

“No!” Grayson snapped. He stood up and snatched the crayons and paper away from Puck. “I don’t want you drawing Graysie anything.”

“Daddy! What the heck?” Graysie asked in astonishment. “Give those back to him. He’s bored.”

“Watch it, Graysie. You’re getting a little too big for your britches, girl.”

Grayson bulled up, knowing his daughter was right; he looked ridiculous. What he was thinking was ridiculous. No one could draw something into happening. And he didn’t believe in all that hocus pocus psychic ability bullshit that Jake had brought up on the way home, either.

It’s all just a big coincidence.

He blew out a frustrated breath and dumped the stuff back onto the bed. “Fine. But don’t draw any pictures of Graysie. Or Olivia.” He looked at his dog. “Or Ozzie. Just don’t draw any pictures of anyone. Draw some flowers. Or a rainbow.”

He walked around the bed to leave. “Hell, draw me a good tank of gas that’ll run something…” he mumbled as he walked out the door, followed by looks of confusion from his daughter.

Grayson stomped outside to find Jake driving nails into the wooden structure holding up the IBC water tote outside the bathroom window. They’d finished that project a few hours before the women had arrived home, hoping to at least provide them with a cold shower. Water was gravity fed from the tote, through the bathroom window with a hose pipe, and down into the shower.

But now Jake had a better plan.

“Jake, you ready to do this water thing?”

Jake pulled a bandana out of his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. He tied it up around his forehead. “Almost done now.”

“Really? You figured it out that fast?”

Jake chuckled. “It’s not rocket science. The basic rules of plumbing are hot on the left, cold on the right, and shit won’t run uphill.”

Grayson stared at him somberly. He wasn’t in the mood for kidding around after his conversation with Puck.

Jake cleared his throat. “We still have to attach the hand pump to the wellhead. That’ll take a while, but the rest is nearly done. After I found the hand-pump that you couldn’t find—which, by the way, was underneath Olivia and Emma’s bugout bags that they left behind when they went on their trip—I just laid that beside the wellhead for now. We’ll hook that up next. But I ran a hose from the hand pump, straight to the IBC water tote.”

He pointed at a faucet on the side of water tote. “Here, I put on a splitter faucet. I ran a short hose from one side of the splitter to the RV Freshwater pump we pulled out of Mama Dee’s camper, and then hooked that to the main water supply line to the house.”

Grayson’s eyes widened. “You did all that already? Will that get us water pressure in the bathroom then?”

Jake handed Grayson the hammer. “Hold this… and no, not just the bathroom. It’ll pressurize the whole house. I hooked the main hot water supply line to that Instant-On propane water heater you had stashed in the shipping container. It’ll ignite off D batteries and run off propane.”

He drove a nail into the board. “Now we’ve got hot water—or we will have as soon as I finish this shelf to hold the 12V battery that runs the RV pump. Then we need to hook up the hand pump to the wellhead, and hook up the propane bottle to the Instant-On Heater.”

Grayson’s eyes glazed over, trying to follow Jake’s explanation. “Just tell me this… we’ll have hot water for the ladies, and lots of it, right?”

“Right.” Jake held a short two by four in place and took the hammer back, pounding it in place. “Well, we’ll have an unlimited supply based on whatever propane we have on hand—which I know is a lot. But it won’t last forever. We need to use it sparingly. You can use the other side of the splitter faucet for hooking up a hose to water the garden.”

Grayson finally smiled. “You’re a keeper, Jake.”

He watched Jake finish up the wooden shelf and set the 12V battery on it, flush against the side of the IBC tote. He scratched his head. “I’ve got plenty of D batteries, but what happens when that 12 volt runs out of juice?”

Jake rubbed his hands together. “Then we let Old Ruby pull her weight. She likes to have a job.” Jake had a habit of speaking about his ’57 Chevy Truck as though she were a real woman. He loved that truck. “We just hook jumper cables to her, connect them to the battery, and let her alternator charge it.”

Grayson’s heart fell. “Well then we won’t have hot water for long. We’re almost out of gas now. Ruby can’t run without fuel. How much does she have in her?”

Jake slapped Grayson in the shoulder. “Fixed that too, brutha. Took ten minutes. I did that this morning before we left for Puck’s house.”

Grayson’s eyes were incredulous. “You fixed bad gas? How?”

“Old mechanic’s trick, but don’t get too excited. I couldn’t fix the big tank—yet. You had some old gas in smaller containers in the barn, and I was able to dig up enough mothballs and Seafoam to at least fix that. We’ll get a few of tanks of gas out of it.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No. For real, dude. But don’t ever try that yourself. The newer mothballs won’t work. I went through your shipping container and found some really old ones on the floor, under the shelves. I assume they were in there when you bought it? I didn’t need many. The gas really wasn’t all the way bad. It smells bad, and it might not run anything newer, but it should Ruby just fine. Especially with the additives in it now. If we find more old mothballs and Seafoam—and a bunch of it—we might be able to fix up the big tank, too.”

“That’s great! So, back to this. We just need to install the hand pump on the wellhead and we’re ready to go?”

Jake laughed. “Not quite.” He slapped the side of the water-tote. “This bad boy has to be filled up. I’ll work on the hand pump, but then, you’re going to have to pump the water into it.”

Grayson grimaced. “Great.”

“What?” Jake asked. “It’ll be easy. You just have to work that pump up and down and up and down… over and over again… until it’s full. Stay on it, and it’ll fill up fast.”

Grayson hung his head. “Yeah. About as fast as kicking whales down the beach. I’ll be here for days…”

10

TULLYMORE

“Take anything you want, just bring me some formula!” Sarah screamed.

Tucker swiped at the sweat running in his eyes and raised his head at the outburst. He’d been neighbors with Sarah for years and had never heard her raise her voice. He put down his hammer and walked to the end of his driveway, looking across the street.

Curt was there, with Joe and another one of his goons, and a little red wagon, probably causing trouble. He’d heard that Curt was still trying to scaremonger everyone into giving up all their food and supplies—for the good of the neighborhood of course—so he could best distribute them.

Tucker had said the opposite. He’d told everyone to keep their own food for now. He still held out hope the power would come back on eventually. If it didn’t, they could talk about the food thing later.

Oddly enough, Tucker’s people had all insisted on pooling some food in a ‘group pantry.’ It was mostly the wives’ idea, and they explained it would be easier on them, not to mention it would save food, to cook one big meal in the evenings for everyone.

Tucker had it stored in his own garage. Only two ladies had access to it: Katie, and one other woman from the group. They were on their own for the other meals during the day, and for now most of them were using their own backyard grills to cook those meals. So far, it was working out well that way; at least until everyone ran out of fuel for their outdoor grills.

He glanced back at the last of six hay-boxes they were building; and the only one he personally had been able to partially complete. The group loved the idea of using them to cook instead of wasting firewood and standing over the hot pots for hours. It would free up time for other things that needed to be done, too.

He sighed.

It was hard for him to take a turn on any of the teams his group had established because of all the interruptions. If he didn’t start doing more, he might be accused of using his leadership role to slack off. But Sarah was one of his group, and he wouldn’t let Curt bully her into anything.

Sarah’s husband was a soldier, and currently deployed. She was on her own with their first baby and her nerves were shot before the lights went out. Now, she was a real mess.

“Sarah, what’s wrong?” he yelled, as he hurriedly crossed the street.

Curt shot him a glare from over his shoulder. “Nothing’s wrong. We’re just having a conversation.”

Joe nodded agreement, ready to parrot Curt once again. “That’s right. We’re just talking.”

Tucker rolled his shoulders and then straightened them. He was tired, sweaty, and would love to beat the hell out of the little hot-headed fireplug. “Anyone can talk to anyone… but we’ve already established Sarah is in our group. You can’t ask for her food, Curt. Take your little red wagon and go the hell on.”

Sarah began to cry. The poor woman was rail-thin—and it wasn’t from the apocalypse. She’d always been thin. She’d barely even shown at nine months pregnant. But now, dark shadows circled her eyes. Her clothes draped from her too-skinny frame. Her long hair hung in greasy, flat sections.

She wrung her hands. “Tucker, I’ll give them food if he can give me baby formula. I have to have some. Today!”

Tucker’s brows came down. Sarah was a normally a beautiful young woman, but she hadn’t been blessed when God was handing out breasts to start with, and pregnancy hadn’t really affected that, as far as he could see. He looked away from her nearly-flat chest before asking, “You can’t… er… make your own milk?”

“No, I can’t,” she snapped. She dropped her head into her hands and began to sob. “I can’t do it!” She turned to go back into the house, leaving the four men staring after her with open mouths.

Tucker hurried up her steps, shooting a look over his shoulder for his wife, and giving Curt and his buddies a dismissive glare. “Sarah, hold on. What’s going on? Talk to me,” he asked, hoping that Katie would soon rush over and save him if it was to be a conversation about breast-feeding.

He shut the front door behind him. Sarah rushed over to a blanket on the floor where the baby lay. Tucker followed her and looked down in shock.

Sammi, only six weeks old, looked nothing like the cute little wiggling bundle of joy that Sarah and her husband had brought home. Tucker and Katie had missed the baby shower, so they’d taken over a gift and a cooked meal a few weeks after her arrival.

Gone were the rosy cheeks and plump lips on the baby girl he’d seen before. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear this was a different child. Sammi’s belly was bloated, and her arms and legs were thin as sticks, and limp as noodles. Her skin was wrinkled, and she looked small; too small. Her eyes were huge, giving her an alien-ish look.

She barely moved, and when she did, it was with slow and jerky movements. The infant was weak as a kitten.

Tucker kneeled down beside them. “What happened to her? Is she sick?”

Sarah looked up at Tucker with pleading eyes. “She’s hungry, Tucker. I can’t make milk, and I ran out of formula two days ago. I’ve been trying to get her to eat baby food but she can’t yet. I’ve tried water—she’ll drink a little of it, but it’s not nourishing. I’ve put a little sugar in it, but that’s not working either. I need formula.”

Sammi let out a long wail, her body convulsing. She even sounded like a kitten, with no oomph behind it, but it was full of heartbreaking hunger and pain. Tucker’s heart lurched. He had four kids of his own. He couldn’t let this child go hungry.

He stood up. “You should’ve said something. I’ll go now. I’ll find some.”

Sarah held Sammi to her chest and rocked back and forth. “I didn’t know this would happen. I thought my milk would come back in again. No matter what I do, she has diarrhea. She cries constantly from the cramps. She went downhill so fast. I’m really worried,” she sobbed.

“I’ll be back.” He hurried out the door and nearly ran straight into Curt, who had his hand on the door-handle, peeking in. He ignored Curt as he walked past him and down the steps. “Go away, Curt. She’s not giving you anything, unless you have formula.” He stopped and turned around. “Do you?”

Curt studied him a long moment, and then sadly shook his head. “I don’t. I’d give it to her if I did. I’ll ask my people, but we haven’t had a new crumbsnatcher in this ‘hood for years.”

Tucker nodded his head and walked on, intent on getting home to recruit Katie and the kids in his search for baby formula. He was no doctor, but even he could see this child was in very bad shape.

One of Curt’s goons spoke up. “Curt, don’t we— “

“—No. We don’t. None of us do. We don’t have any babies,” Curt snapped.

Tucker stopped and turned to stare at Curt. His eyes narrowed. “If you have some, you need to give it to her. That baby girl in there looks really bad. She could die.”

“I said I don’t,” Curt answered stubbornly.

Tucker stomped off, met halfway by Katie, hurrying through the yard and out onto the road.

She grabbed his arm and turned to walk back toward their house with him. “What’s wrong?”

“Sarah’s baby is sick. She’s literally starving. She’s not able to make any milk with…” he waved his hands in front of his chest.

“Oh…” She hurried to keep up with Tucker. “What are you going to do?”

Tucker kept walking. “I’m going to go door to door to our group. See if anyone happens to have some. If not, we’ll siphon the last bit of gas from everyone’s car, and hopefully get enough to take a trip to town. There’s got to be some somewhere.”

Concern was replaced with panic on Katie’s face. She gripped Tucker’s arm tighter. “Isn’t that dangerous? I thought the stores were all wiped clean? And what about all the fights and shooting we’ve heard about?”

Tucker stopped and stared into his wife’s eyes. “Katie, I can’t let Sammi die. What kind of leader would that make me?”

Katie crossed her arms and lifted her chin. “A live one.”

11

GRAYSON’S GROUP

Olivia walked out on the porch to find everyone standing around taking a break from their many assigned chores. Grayson was missing… which was probably why they were all standing so leisurely at the moment.

Grayson was on a mission now that his family was nearly all together, to get everything done right now, that they may need long term. If he saw one moment of idleness he was assigning a new chore from chopping wood, to weeding the garden, to hand-washing laundry and/or hanging it. It was almost as though he was anticipating this new homesteader life-style with excitement.

Tina and Tarra exchanged a glance at Olivia’s arrival, and abruptly stood up from where they were perched. They walked away together—away from Olivia. Ozzie padded along behind them, always looking for adventure.

Olivia glared at the two women’s backs. “Where’s Grayson?”

Jake pointed toward the opposite way from the women, toward the barn. Jenny was casually walking around, inspecting the yard. “Grayson’s chasing the chickens. He wants to put them up early. Getting worried about someone stealing them. We’re going to make them a movable chicken pen in the next few days. No more free-roaming.”

Olivia frowned. She loved her chickens and that seemed mean. They would hate being cooped up like that.

She looked around. “Where’s Emma?”

Gabby and Jake exchanged glances, neither saying a word.

“Where is she?” Olivia asked again, seeing the look that passed between them. When neither answered, she looked at Graysie and raised her eyebrows, expecting her to answer.

Graysie stared at the ground, unable to lie to her step-mother, or be the bearer of bad news.

Gabby cleared her throat. “She’s gone.”

Olivia looked confused. “Gone? Gone where?”

“She took off with Elmer, hiding in the back of the wagon inside the hay-fort with Graysie’s bike. He probably doesn’t even know she’s there yet. I hope she doesn’t give him a heart attack with her Pop Goes the Weasel routine,” Gabby said, and laughed.

“Wait. What? Why would she go with Elmer?”

Gabby shook her head. “She left to find Dusty and Rickey. She’ll pop up and let Elmer know she’s there when he gets close to her turn off. It’ll put her hours closer to Bald Head Island riding with him at least that far.”

Olivia’s eyes widened. “You let her go? She’s going to go alone? What were you thinking, Gabby?”

Gabby was speechless. Olivia turned to Jake. “Did you know about this, too?”

Jake held his hands up, palms out. “I tried to talk her out of it, but she was headstrong. There was no stopping her. I wasn’t getting between a mama and her cub. I told her I was going to take a look at the gas situation and maybe we could figure out a way to drive her, but she said she would refuse. She didn’t want to risk anyone else out there. I made sure her bug-out bag was equipped and wished her well.”

Olivia burst into tears. “You’ve got to be kidding me? After what we went through? She could be raped, or killed… or… worse. She’s our little sister! How could you let her go?” She looked around with wide eyes full of fear—and anger.

Graysie jumped off the porch. “I’m going to help Daddy!” she said, and dashed off.

Gabby stepped up to Olivia, hugging her twin sister. “She was going one way or the other, Olivia. She’s a grown woman. A wife and a mother. We can’t tell her what to do. She couldn’t just sit here and hope they found a way off that island. She has a plan… and she’ll only be alone on the road a few hours without Elmer. She’ll have Dusty with her on the way back.”

Olivia swiped at her tears and sniffled. “Why didn’t she tell me? She didn’t even say goodbye.”

Gabby chuckled. “Because she knew you’d act like this. She didn’t want to argue with you.”

“Why are they even there, anyway? Where is it?”

Jake explained, “Dusty and Rickey were invited to go on a fishing trip to Bald Head Island in North Carolina. It’s off the coast of Wilmington—actually very close to the little town of Southport. He told me he was going, and he tried to tell Emma, but the day you girls left for the beach, he and Emma got into a little tiff. She had him on ignore, not answering his calls. He wanted to talk to her, not text her, so he kept trying. I guess the power went out before he could talk to her.”

“But why doesn’t he just come home? Why isn’t he here yet? He knew the plan,” Olivia asked through her sniffles.

Jake shrugged. “He probably can’t. There’s no way on and off the island, other than by boat. They rode the ferry over. I’d imagine, knowing Dusty, he’d send everyone else over to the mainland first, with whatever gas and boats that were there. If he’s not home by now, it means he’s stuck. And it’s way too far for him and Rickey to swim.”

Olivia put her hand over her mouth and turned around. She gave herself a moment, and then turned back to Jake and Gabby. “If the ferries can’t run, how is Emma going to get onto the island, and get them off?”

“She said she’d think of something, and I know she will. She’ll fight tooth and nail to get to that kid, not to mention Dusty. Just try not to worry,” Jake answered.

Olivia was right to worry, and Gabby was wrong about only being on the road a few hours alone. If Emma and Dusty made it back alive with Rickey, they’d have quite the story to tell. A story filled with terror, tension, chaos and mayhem.

But only if they survived.

12

THE THREE E’S

Elmer hocked up a ball of phlegm from deep down in his throat, and spit, sending it flying onto the dusty road. The old man scooted around on the leather seat of his John Deere tractor, and rearranged his shotgun. Then he lifted his rear off the seat, reached underneath to adjust himself, and sat back down.

The tufts of his normally cotton-white hair were tinged red from the clay-colored dirt that hovered around them like a cloud, which was also caked over his shirt and overalls. He lifted his hat with the bent and frayed bill, and scratched his head.

He was bored—his rump hurt—and he was worried to death about his bride.

Not to mention the little filly in the back.

He worked his jaw around as though he was chewing a mouthful of air, and out popped his teeth, hanging half out his mouth. He plucked them out and dropped them into a pocket, grumbling under his breath. He reached into another pocket and came out with a can of dip, taking a pinch and jabbing it around his gums.

He picked up the shotty and banged it against the metal of the tractor. “You may as well come up front, little missy. I know you’re back there,” he yelled over his shoulder in a loud, gruff voice.

Moments later, he saw a hay bale disappear and Emma’s head pop out.

She leaned against the remaining wall of hay. “Um… hi, Elmer. How’d you know I was here?”

Elmer laughed, long and deep, until it rolled into a coughing fit. He spat off the side of the tractor again and cleared his throat, speaking loudly over the whine of the tractor. “I’m old, girl. Not stupid. Why else would you be asking me how far my house was from Southport, North Carolina? I was there when your brother-in-law told you where your son and husband were, after all.” He turned to give her the dirty eyeball. “And you didn’t say goodbye to me when I left. I know your mama and daddy didn’t raise you like that.”

Emma sighed as she looked around at the passing scenery; Trees, trees, and more trees. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked before hitching a ride.”

“I would’a said no. You should ‘a stayed home.”

Her eyes widened. “Then why you’d let me stow-away back here if you didn’t want me to come?”

“I believe you were gonna go, one way or the other. Weren’t ya?”

“Yes.”

“Then I would ‘a been stupid, to let you go alone. I’ve already told you I ain’t stupid, girl. We’ll make a side trip to check on Edith, and then I’ll take you the rest of the way.”

Emma vehemently shook her head, her long chocolate-brown hair swinging behind her, sending hay flying, although Elmer couldn’t see her; he had his eyes on the road again.

She sneezed. “No, Elmer. I can’t let you do that. I have a bike back here. You get me as close as you can without missing your turn for home, and I’ll take it from there.”

He turned and yelled over his shoulder, “No-can-do, missy.”

She bulled up. “Elmer, I mean it. Edith needs you at home. If you won’t agree to my plan, I’ll throw the bike off and jump. I’ll be on it and gone in a flash through the woods. You won’t find me,” she warned.

Elmer took his hat off and slapped it against the steering wheel. “Dammit, girl, don’t be stubborn. You’re gonna get yourself killed out here. While you’ve been tucked up back there for the past hour, I’ve passed all sorts of hooligans. They let me go by because I’m an old man with a wagon of hay. I’m useless to them. But do you think they’re gonna do the same for you? Have you forgotten the hell you and your sisters just went through?”

Emma held her tongue. She couldn’t argue with that. She’d known she’d have to be careful. But she couldn’t risk Elmer… or risk leaving Edith alone any longer than they already had.

They all owed Elmer their lives. He’d risked his own hiding them from the biker gang that was surely looking for them, and taking them home. She wouldn’t risk it again any more than she had to. Besides, as slow as the tractor was going, she felt like she might make better time on the bike. She was only riding with him as far as she could to reduce her chances of running into more men like Trunk and his gang. She was sure there were plenty out there.

After looking at Grayson’s map—which she’d pilfered for her bug-out bag since theirs had been lost at the rest area—the best she could figure, she could split off from Elmer twenty-five miles from his house the other way. That put her only an hour or so from Southport by bike. She’d figure out how to get on the island once she got that far. She also had her gun and her bug-out bag, once she’d found where Olivia had dumped them.

She was armed for bear and nothing would keep her from her cub now.

Elmer would just slow her down, and she couldn’t waste a minute. Every minute she was away from Dusty and Rickey now, knowing they weren’t safe at Grayson’s like she’d thought they were, was like a knife in her heart. She had to get there… fast.

Elmer didn’t give up. “How ‘bout let’s barter. You go with me and check on Edith. I’ll get the tractor refueled, and we’ll pick her up and bring her with us—after she makes me a sandwich. We’ll leave right after. Then none of us will be alone,” Elmer said, a note of finality to his words.

He wasn’t used to anyone arguing with him.

Emma bit her lip. She didn’t want to make the old-timer mad… or hurt his feelings. But she had to be firm. “No. Not gonna happen. Not negotiating. When you turn off for your house, I’m going my own way. Alone.”

Elmer threw his head back and wobbled it to and fro. “Blah blah blah… all right then!” he yelled grumpily. He pulled the tractor over to the side of the road after checking for traffic behind him. No one in sight… “You girls’ve been a pain in my ass anyway. You got a map? Let’s see the plan.”

Emma disappeared, and in few moments reappeared beside him. She climbed up the tractor until she could reach him, and gave him a one-armed hug. “I’m sorry, Elmer. I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Elmer acted as though he barely tolerated the hug. “Watch out for my teeth,” he said, and patted his pocket.

“Here’s the map.” She handed him a map of the Carolinas, her route highlighted.

Elmer reached into his overalls, into yet another pocket, and pulled out a pair of ancient square reading glasses and shoved them over his nose. He ran a grimy finger over Emma’s highlighted route, nodding his head.

“That’s right. That’s the best way for you to go. Now look, if you’re gonna be out on the road alone, you need to lay down. I know you haven’t got a whit of sleep since you found out your boys weren’t home. So, go back there and get a nap. I’ll wake you up when it’s time for you to unload.” He jerked a thumb behind him at the wagon, not sparing her another glance.

Emma hurried back and climbed in, laying down on the hay, and breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been dreading this conversation with Elmer. She knew he wouldn’t be happy about it. And she did need sleep. It’d been a long while since she’d ridden a bike any distance.

As Elmer muttered under his breath, he pulled the tractor and trailer back onto the road, and Emma curled up on top of a blanket thrown over the hay. Even this pitiful excuse for a bed was comfortable to her right now. She pulled her bug-out bag under her head and nodded off to sleep, not knowing that at that very moment, Elmer was slyly smiling.

13

GRAYSON’S GROUP

Graysie sat on the spare bed, and pulled her long, curly red hair to the side. As she braided, she wiggled uncomfortably and rolled her eyes. The teenager was miserable dealing with her first grown-up female infection. “You want me to literally sit in Apple Cider Vinegar? Seriously, Aunt Gabby?”

Gabby nodded her head. “If you want to get rid of that problem, yes. There’s no more running to the doctor or the pharmacy for a quick fix, Graysie. This is a home remedy. It works. I tried it. Honestly, it’ll give you almost instant relief. Just be glad Jake and your dad are figuring out how to get us hot water—more bathing will keep it from happening again.”

Graysie had awoken with the female issue, and after a few hours of working outside in the heat helping her dad out with some projects, she was itching and burning. She was so embarrassed; she didn’t want to talk to her step-mom, Olivia, and especially didn’t want to tell her Dad.

She’d checked the bathroom, hoping by some chance Olivia had over-the-counter Monistat or some sort of prescription cream. Finding none, she’d come to her Aunt Gabby with her problem.

“Explain to me… what would I have to do, exactly?”

Gabby sat down beside her and patted her leg. “You run a very shallow warm bath—just lukewarm water. Dump one cup iodized sea salt and two cups of Apple Cider Vinegar in it. Then, you sit in the bath with your knees pulled to your chest and move the water around with your hand. When you get out, be sure to pat your lady bits dry—don’t rub. Clear so far?”

Graysie nodded, her freckles standing at attention under the heat of her blush.

Gabby continued. “Okay, so after the bath, and only after you’re dry, mix 1/2 cup water with 1/2 cup Apple Cider Vinegar in a cup—no salt this time. Dab a cotton ball into the mixture and pat it onto your va-jay-jay” She finished with a silly smile, and a side-to-side shake of her head.

Graysie rolled her eyes—again.

Gabby laughed. “Come on. We’ll ask your dad to if he’s got the apple cider vinegar and sea salt. If he’s got some, we’ll heat up some water for you on the grill, and at least get your first bath lukewarm. Maybe we’ll all have plenty of hot water by tomorrow.”

Grabbing a pitcher of tea and two plastic glasses, she and Graysie walked outside. They found Jake and Grayson taking turns working the hand pump. Hours and hours of pumping and the they are both nearly give out. Both men were drenched with sweat.

Gabby wolf-whistled as she walked toward Jake. “You too look pretty hot with your shirts off.”

“Ewww, Aunt Gabby…” Graysie mumbled.

Jake smiled at his wife. “We are hot. Come here and give me a hug.” He opened his arms wide.

She backed away, grimacing at his sweaty body. He no doubt wanted to use her to dry off a bit. “Not today, Satan, this shirt’s clean. Clean laundry is going to be a lot harder to come by from now on.”

Grayson stopped pumping and stood straight to stretch his back. He flexed his arm repeatedly, and then rubbed his jaw. “What are you girls up to?”

“Daddy! What happened to your face?” Graysie exclaimed.

Grayson raised his eyebrows. “What’s wrong with it?”

Graysie laughed. “You look like a chipmunk on one side.”

“Must be swollen. I’ve got a monster of a toothache.”

Gabby and Graysie both flinched, and Gabby poured tea into the top glass, handed it to Grayson, and poured the second glass, handing it to Jake. “Here, maybe this will help some. We need a few things. Do you have sea salt and apple cider vinegar in your preps? Please say yes…”

“Yes,” Grayson answered, although it sounded more like ‘yeth’ at this point.

Gabby shrugged and looked at Graysie. “That was easy enough.” Looking back to Grayson, she asked, “Where?”

Grayson guzzled the last of his tea and handed the cup back to his sister-in-law. “Sea salt will be in a plastic tote. Go into the shipping container. When you walk in, to the right of the door is a notebook hanging from a peg. Everything is in alphabetical order in my Prepping Notebook, and each item has a little address. Look under “S” for sea salt and find the tote-number. It’ll start with a ‘T’ to tell you it’s in a plastic tote, and then it’ll have a shelf number, too. Buckets are the same way, but they’d start with a ‘B’ and that specific bucket number, and then the shelf number. Just look for the address listed in the notebook and you’ll find whatever you need. The vinegar is stacked directly on a shelf, so look under “V” and find the shelf-number, starting with an ‘S.’ It’s in gallon jugs. I have plenty of that. What do you need it for?”

Graysie’s face reddened.

Gabby sat the tea and glasses on a nearby stump and pulled Graysie away, calling over her shoulder, “Girl stuff, and be glad you have some. All of us females may eventually need it, and without it, you guys would have a couple of bad days dealing with us.”

Grayson and Jake exchanged confused glances and got back to work.

Gabby and Graysie stepped into the dimly lit shipping container. Grayson had it set up with a few solar-powered lights but it was still dim. It smelled dank. Gabby wrinkled her nose and looked around. “Okay, here’s the notebook,” she said, finding it and flipping through to ‘S’.”

She looked around at the shelving that was in place from the floor to the ceiling. The plastic bins were spaced out leaving hug gaps in between. I wonder why he doesn’t just pull it all together to save space?”

Graysie shrugged. “Weird. He’s usually much neater than this.”

They found the proper tote number and shelf number. Gabby pulled the tote out and stared at the side in confusion. On the side of the plastic tote, in big letters opposite the tote number, it had been marked ‘XMAS’ with a black sharpie.

Gabby wrinkled her brow. “This can’t be right. It looks like Christmas supplies.” Through the nearly clear sides, they could see small plastic and wooden Christmas tree ornaments, layered from the top to the bottom.

She pulled the top off anyway and peeked inside.

“Oh look, it is full of prepping stuff. Here’s the salt.” She handed a container of sea salt to Graysie. “There’s all kinds of stuff in here, and this is strange… the ornaments are glued to the side, but just on the front part.”

Graysie laughed. “That’s Daddy’s way of hiding in plain sight. In case anyone ever come looking for food and supplies, he wants them to think there’s nothing but junk in the totes.”

They stepped back and looked at the sides of all the totes. Other totes showed cheap orange life vests—they didn’t even own a boat—old book covers, and some were marked ‘kitty litter,’ clearing showing Fresh Step bags—which were probably just the front of the bag torn off and glued on there.

Graysie grabbed a jug of apple cider vinegar and then flipped through the pages of the notebook. “While we’re here, let’s see if he stocked any tampons.” She found the entry under ‘T’ and then looked for the proper tote.

It wasn’t there. The space where that tote should have been was empty.

Graysie flipped her hair over her shoulders, and settled onto a stool. “Let’s look for ramen noodles. I’m going to be jonesing for those soon anyway.” She’d practically lived on ramen noodles at college, so she should be sick of them… but they were addictive. Probably the salt.

She thumbed through the notebook and found an entry for the noodles under ‘R’ and looked at the proper shelf. It too was missing. She hung the notebook back on the peg. “Let’s go, Aunt Gabby. We’ll look again later. I’m really suffering here.” She wiggled in place, eager to get started on her salt and vinegar soak.

As they passed Grayson and Jake on their way to the house, Gabby called out, “Grayson, we found some of what we were looking for, but we couldn’t find the tampons or ramen noodles.”

Jake was now taking a turn at the pump, while Grayson stood with his hands on his hips watching. “What? We have some. It was missing out of the totes? Did you dig to the bottom?”

“No,” Gabby yelled back over her shoulder. “The entire totes were missing.”

Grayson watched in confusion as they walked away. What did they mean the entire totes were missing? He glanced up to the kitchen window to see his wife standing at the sink, with the window open, looking nervous.

A sick feeling punched him in the gut, and he turned and jogged to the shipping container, spewing obscenities under his breath.

14

THE THREE E’S

Edith stood at the kitchen counter in her brightly-flowered muumuu dress and pink bunny slippers, buttering a homemade biscuit. A pot of coffee sat percolating on the antique wood stove, and a plate of cold chicken lay freshly deboned in front of her.

She intended to make Elmer some of her home-made chicken salad biscuits before the last of his Duke’s Mayonnaise was too far gone to use. Hopefully he’d be home by supper-time.

A loud rap on the glass window of the door startled her. A glance that way told her nothing; the red-checked curtains were closed.

Blinking her eyes rapidly, she thought, Is it Wednesday already?

She wiped her fingertips on the tea-towel tucked into her apron and patted her head, making sure her loose bun was still in place, puttering her way to the door. She fully expected to see Rose, her neighbor, from a few miles down the road. She and Rose normally got together the same day of each week for their ‘book club.’ It only consisted of the two of them, as neither were keen on computers, and no other neighbors lived close enough to join in.

The book they were reading this month was The Goldfinch, a New York Times Bestseller, which was Rose’s pick. They were nearly three-fourths of the way through it now, and each discussion thus far ended with the two of them mad as wet hens. They fussed about everything from the plot to the chapter length to the style of clothes the characters wore.

Edith would be happy to finally get through it, and she’d make sure to be the one to pick next month’s read, too. For now, she was severely behind on reading, but maybe she could play it off.

She wasn’t surprised Rose would make her way here—even in an apocalyptic event—Rose took their little book club seriously. It was the only social time the elderly ladies had.

Edith straightened her apron and reached for the door knob. “I wasn’t expecting you yet, Rose!” she exclaimed as she pulled the door open wide.

When her mind caught up with her eyes, she gasped.

“Howdy, ma’am,” a tall, handsome man—in a bad-boy sort of way—said with a slow drawl and a big smile.

Edith took his measure. The dark-headed man leaned against the post on the porch wore faded jeans on his narrow hips, topped with a heavy black belt, and a leather vest covered in patches over a rippled tattoo-covered chest. His muscular arms were also covered in ink.

“Can I help you?” Edith asked, her head swayed with a slight tremor back and forth, as was usual for her at her age. She forced a nervous smile.

The man smiled back even wider at her. “You sure can, darling.” He tilted his head at her and winked.

Edith looked over his shoulder to see two more shady-looking men walking around the yard, one of them poking at things and being nosy, the other strolling behind a pig in a purple skirt, tied to a make-shift leash. The second man was huge; at least six-foot five, and probably three-hundred pounds. He looked ridiculous walking the little pig.

Trunk looked over his shoulder to see what had caught her eye, and laughed. “That’s Smalls walking our pig. Not so small, is he?”

In astonishment, she looked back at Trunk, blinked rapidly and asked, “Are you… is that…?”

Ignoring her unfinished questions, he said, “My, my, Grandma. What big eyes you have.”

He looked past her and sniffed loudly, sticking his nose into the air and slowly weaving his head back and forth, exaggerating the aroma. He stepped into the small farmhouse kitchen, gently pushing Edith aside. “Is that chicken and biscuits I smell?”

Giving her his back, he strutted over to the food she was lovingly preparing for Elmer. Using his bare, dirty hands, he shoved wads of shredded chicken into his mouth with one hand, between bites of the biscuit he held with the other.

A rather large handgun stuck out from the small of his back, tucked into his belt.

Edith stood back, mouth agape, at this man invading her kitchen and eating their food. Her eyes darted out the door to the backyard, noticing one of the men was no longer in sight.

She put her hand over her fluttering heart.

Mei’s grave was back there. She wasn’t sure how much trouble she and Elmer could get into for not reporting a death, and especially for handling the burial themselves, but they hadn’t had any choice. With no communication, they weren’t able to reach emergency services. What else were they to do?

She looked back to the man in her kitchen, and stood up straight—as straight as her turtling back allowed. “Pardon me, young man!”

He turned and gave her a wink. “Oh? Did you poot?”

Edith turned red. “No. I mean excuse me… that’s my husband’s supper you’re eating. Can I help you… er… I didn’t catch your name…”

He tapped a patch on his chest.

“Trunk. Nice to meet you.”

He stepped over to stand directly in front of her. She could feel his breath on her face. Looking down his nose at her, her gave her a long stare, and then reached behind his back with one hand.

Edith’s heart skipped a beat and she grabbed the door for support. Her fingers gripped it tightly as her legs went weak, nearly toppling her onto the floor.

Truck reached out and firmly grabbed her arm. “Easy there, Grandma.”

When his other hand came into view, she nearly yelped. But it wasn’t a gun he pulled out. Instead, he slapped a folded map down on the counter. “Seen them?”

Edith looked at the picture paper-clipped to the map.

While the ruby-red colored Chevy truck wasn’t a bit familiar… the set of twins standing in front of it were.

15

GRAYSON’S GROUP

Grayson angrily flung the notebook across the shipping container where it awkwardly fluttered to the floor. Around him were open totes and buckets, lids all askew. He’d gone through each one, checking and double-checking the contents against his notebook, looking for missing stuff.

Best he could figure, a good third of their preps weren’t here.

Just gone.

His blood boiled.

For years, he’d tried to the best of his ability not to push this prepping stuff down anyone’s throat. He’d spent countless hours in thought, trying to construct ways to prepare his family without coming across as an all-consumed far-right-winger or an overboard tinfoil hat-wearing conspiracy theorist. He’d tried to make it fun. Or adventurous. He’d tried to make it a family affair, instead of just putting his foot down and telling her they—she—had to do it.

He’d bitten his tongue so many times with his family, especially his wife. He loved her… He didn’t want to lose her. He didn’t want any fussing or fighting going on over his hobby—as she liked to call it.

When she’d finally agreed to learn to shoot a gun, he’d done his best to teach her. But it didn’t work. He couldn’t teach her. When she was with him, she was all thumbs. She couldn’t remember basic safety rules. Once, she’d nearly shot him! She limp-wristed the pistol and jammed up her firearms. She tried to put her bullets into the magazines backward. She forgot to put on her ears—and her eyes—at the range. She muzzled him and everyone else. She was actually a hazard at the range; at least with him there.

They just made each other too nervous. She’d given up and asked his little brother, Dusty, to teach her instead.

Grayson hadn’t said a word about it, even though it had stung a bit. He was just glad she’d get more training. But she hadn’t been serious about it. She didn’t practice. She didn’t want to shoot. She checked off the minimum number of boxes and said she was done. Now, she seemed even more scared of guns than she was before they’d spent valuable time teaching her.

She probably didn’t remember a damn thing.

And the gardening… he’d let her plant whatever she wanted. True, some of the stuff in her Herb Hills—as she called them—could be a benefit, but he could’ve used more help growing real food. If she’d given her efforts to the main garden they’d be in a lot better shape right now than they were. Especially with one-third of their food preps missing.

Instead, he’d let her putter around in her floppy hat and red gingham-checked apron, tending her herbs, looking like something from a fashion-shoot for the cover of Southern Living Magazine. Meanwhile, he toiled at the big gardens for hours and hours, with sweat creeping down the crack of his ass and his knees nearly giving out.

He never complained. She was cute in that outfit after all. But he could have used more help.

Lots of little things about prepping, survival and preparedness would have been easier if Olivia had been on board, instead of quietly bucking him. Her twin sister, Gabby, had jumped in with both feet, doing her own research, watching YouTube videos, joining online prepping groups and really learning how to handle a gun. He kept hoping Olivia would follow in her footsteps; usually they did everything together.

But it never caught on with Olivia. So, he’d been very careful what he’d asked of her when it came to prepping and preparing… and because of that, she rarely went against him on it.

Until now.

This…

He blew out a breath and looked up at the ceiling. He could feel a vein ticking in his forehead. His tooth-ache also throbbed loudly, reminding him that he couldn’t ignore it forever.

This was…

He clenched his jaw and shook his head slowly, from side to side. He couldn’t even begin to imagine where the hell the stuff was. Bottom line: It wasn’t here.

Pulling back his arm, he hesitated, trying to control himself.

But then he let go and power-slammed his closed fist into the side of the steel container once.

And again.

Pow.

And again.

Pow.

He shook his fist in the air.

Ouch.

That hurt.

But he felt better.

He rubbed his bloody knuckles, swearing under his breath.

He’d been right. No one had said it… yet. But they had to know. Why wasn’t anyone speaking up? Just a ‘Hey Grayson, sure am glad you had the foresight to start prepping since there’s no more food or gas to be had anywhere. Thanks SO MUCH for making sure we don’t starve. And thanks for making sure we’d have water. Hot water at that…’

He shrugged. He didn’t really need anyone to say it. He wasn’t that shallow.

Just a simple thank you would be nice.

While he did regret that the grid went down, he did felt a tiny bit vindicated. Finally, there was a real event. One they didn’t know how long would last—maybe forever?—and no one had even heard a murmur from the officials, or the government. Nothing on the radio. No cell phone communications. No knock on the door from the National Guard. No guys riding by in military vehicles with bullhorns screaming, ‘hey, hang in there, the power is coming back on soon…’

Not a whisper.

Finally, everything he’d prepared for was here.

He’d be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t been just a bit excited once the women arrived safely home. He’d thought about it for years and suddenly, just like that, it was here.

Now the wind was out of his sails.

After this discovery, he wasn’t as ready as he’d thought he’d be.

Thanks to his wife.

With his own family: Graysie and Olivia, that was three mouths to feed. Adding Jake and Gabby made five. If Dusty and Emma returned with Rickey, that made eight. Then he had to add Puck in… he couldn’t let the boy starve, and Gabby’s friends, Tina and Tarra. He wouldn’t turn them away either.

Eleven people.

One dog.

And a donkey.

Thirteen mouths.

Not counting the chickens.

He looked around and sighed.

Sure, they had plenty right now, even with the loss, but for how long? Just the eleven people were a lot of bellies to fill. Especially with the hard work they’d all be doing to survive, and burning more calories. And Ozzie had to be fed, too.

At least the dog-food tote was still there. Maybe they’d all have to eat that. And a damn donkey! That just beat all. That was just what he needed when the shit hit the fan. And he had no clue what to do about Jenny—

“—Grayson?” Olivia whispered, and poked her head through the door of the container.

Timidly, she walked in, guilt written all over her face.

Gabby and Jake walked in behind her.

Emotional support or back-up?

Olivia looked around at the mess, and then at Grayson’s bloody fist. “What’s wrong?”

Grayson raised his eyebrows and lowered his head, looking down at the old wood floor, biting his lip.

Silently, he counted to five.

Five.

Olivia wrung her hands.

Four.

Her shoulders slowly raised around her ears.

Three.

She quickly looked behind her, making sure Gabby and Jake were still nearby.

Two.

She blew out a slow breath.

One.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Grayson slowly lifted his head and walked the few steps over to his wife. He took her hands in his. So much smaller… and looked into her shiny eyes.

He gave her a small smile; very small. “Honey, where is the rest of our food and preps?”

Olivia sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It was a food drive just a few weeks ago… and we had all this stuff we never used. I… I… I never thought we’d…” She paused and looked around to Gabby, hoping for her support. “I donated it to the church… for the needy.”

She cringed in anticipation.

Grayson squeezed her hands gently and nodded his head three times. “Well, news brief. We are now the needy.”

16

GRAYSON’S GROUP

Jake finished pouring gas into Ruby, praying under his breath that he was right… that the old mothballs and Seafoam had worked, and that the gas would run in his truck. Gabby stood beside him, for moral support and encouragement.

The guys had discussed the risk and decided to take a trip to Jake and Gabby’s house to gather any food and supplies that were there. With Olivia’s big screw-up, they just may need it later… not that it would compensate for what she’d given away. They didn’t keep a whole lot, but anything he and Gabby had at the house would help soothe things between Grayson and his wife.

They were also on a mission to find help for Grayson’s toothache, and Tullymore did have a doctor that lived next door to Tucker.

Jake screwed the gas lid on. “Let’s give her a try.”

Gabby stood on her tiptoes and pecked his cheek. “She’s gonna work. Ruby wouldn’t let you down. So, please be careful. Turn around if it’s not safe, but if you get there, the long-term food buckets are just under the house behind the double doors, and don’t forget the two rectangular plastic totes in the back of the closet that say, ‘farm clothes’ on them.”

At the house, she had two rubber totes full of clothes and shoes, using Spacesaver Vacuum Storage Bags. These bags were great for getting a lot of clothes into a small container, when used with a vacuum to suck all the air out.

Nearly a year ago, she’d spent a day shopping at the thrift stores and finding several sets of seasonal clothes on the cheap. For the low price, she’d paid—less than five bucks per outfit—she could pack them away and not have to feel guilty about not wearing it for a long time; maybe never. She’d always known she could borrow her twin sister’s things if ever they had to live at the farm for an extended time, but having a long memory for the feuding over clothes they’d done growing up, she’d prepared the tote to hopefully avoid a repeat of that.

Her tote contained everything from blue jeans to yoga pants, as well as shorts, shirts, and all manners of underthings. There were also comfort items and winter wear, such as sweatpants, sweatshirts, a coat, gloves, hats, and scarves. As was the way with most women she knew, she had no idea what her size would be if ever she should need them, so she chose stretchy, comfortable, and sometimes baggy things that would work whether she’d gained or lost some weight.

Under all the clothes were two pairs of sneakers, a pair of flip-flops, and several vacuum-packed bags of feminine products, to include tampons, lotion, and a multi-pack of Burt’s Bees Rejuvenating chap stick—acai berry—her guilty pleasure.

She’d also packed Jake a tote, buying surplus army pants and shirts, as well as regular clothes and undergarments. It had sweat suits and winter gear, including two sets of expensive Under Armor compression shirts and pants for extra warmth in extreme cold. The only thing Jake wouldn’t have would be extra shoes and boots, so she’d reminded him earlier to look through their closet and grab some from the messy pile he kept there.

Jake hugged her tight. “I won’t forget anything,” he promised.

He climbed in, checked that everyone was ready, and turned the key, holding his breath. Gabby stood at his open window, her fingers crossed.

Ruby started right up, her engine spinning like a top.

A grin spread over both Jake and Gabby’s face.

Tina and Tarra jumped into the back of the truck, each with a pistol holstered to their side and a long gun in their hand. They laid the guns down near the cab and claimed their spots on two of the four hay bales that Grayson had thrown back there for seats. They might be itchy, but they’d be a lot more comfortable than just sitting on the narrow metal sides of the truck bed.

The two women were excited to just get away from the farm and be going somewhere, and checking out the condition of the roads and the world. For now, just the chance to ride down a road and see what the world looked like felt like leaving on a vacation. They both still hoped to come up with a plan to make the long trip home to their own husbands soon.

Grayson opened the passenger door, and weaseled his way into the truck, with Olivia nearly attached to him, still begging his forgiveness for giving away their food. “It’s fine, honey,” he lied. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I hope Doc can help your tooth.” She gave him one last guilty look, tears sparkling in her eyes, and gently kissed him goodbye. She quickly walked away, as Grayson flinched at the pain that even that light touch brought on.

She’d kissed his swollen cheek… again.

Grayson gave his sister-in-law a thumbs up. “Gabby, take care of your sister and Graysie while we’re gone. You and Graysie keep your guns on you, and try to make Puck stay in bed.”

Gabby returned his thumbs up, accepting her responsibility.

The truck rolled down the driveway and Grayson looked out his side-view mirror at his wife walking through the screen door.

It slammed loudly behind Olivia.

Stubborn woman.

He was still a bit angry, but nevertheless worried about leaving her here with only Gabby, Graysie and Puck. She’d refused to carry a gun on her side, claiming it wasn’t safe since it made her so uncomfortable. She was worried she’d shoot herself in the leg… or worse.

He wished either Tina or Tarra would stay behind, but Jake felt they needed them worse than the girls did. Other than the hoodrats that had chased Puck up the tree, and the meth-head in the neighbor’s barn that came after Graysie and then disappeared into thin air, they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of another human in these parts since the power had gone out.

They were far enough in the country that it would probably be weeks, if not longer, before the golden horde—crowds of unprepared people—came looking this far out for food and water.

At least they had Ozzie, he thought, as he focused on the road at the end of the driveway. Jake pulled to a stop, and out of habit, looked both ways before pulling out toward Tullymore.

A blur of black and white tore down the drive behind them and caught Grayson’s eye in the side-view mirror just before they turned out onto the road. Grayson threw out his arm, hitting Jake on the chest. “Stop!”

Graysie had come outside and accidentally let Ozzie out. They’d been trying to sneak off without him knowing. “Sorry, Daddy!” she yelled from the porch.

Jake skid to a sudden stop, nearly toppling Tina and Tarra in the back, and a moment later, Ozzie flew through the air, leaping over the tailgate in two bounds, and landed in the back with the women. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth giving him a slightly goofy look, and he whined excitedly.

The dog eagerly stepped up to the back glass and stood on his hind legs staring in, giving his master a happy look through the glass. His wet nose left a long smear on the window.

Grayson sighed. It was going to break Ozzie’s heart to be left behind.

He stepped out of the truck, and called Ozzie down. He rubbed the silly dog’s head. “Sorry, boy,” he mumbled before standing up and pointing at the house. “You stay,” he firmly commanded. “Take care of your mama.”

Grayson visibly flinched as Ozzie tucked his head down and sadly turned away, looking as though he was walking the Green Mile back toward the farmhouse, as a chorus of “Awww’s” came at Grayson from the back of the truck.

Tina and Tarra both already loved the dog and couldn’t stand to see him sad.

Gabby and Graysie stood with their hands over their eyes, squinting down the long drive at the scene. “Come on, Ozzie, come here, boy!” they yelled.

Ozzie stopped his trek and looked back over his shoulder at Grayson, hoping he’d change his mind. His big brown eyes stared sadly at his master. “Go on.” Grayson pointed again. “Go home.”

To Gabby he yelled, “Give him a whole strip of my beef jerky, Gabby.”

“Want a treat, Ozzie? Come on! I’ll give you a big treat!” she yelled.

Ozzie’s spirit lifted and he punched the throttle, running toward Gabby and Graysie in excitement.

“Go, go, go,” Grayson said, jumping back into the truck, “Before he looks back again. Hang on, ladies!”

Jake punched it, knowing Grayson couldn’t bear to tell Ozzie no again. If the dog looked back one more time, Grayson would give in to his soulful eyes.

And that could be a mistake.

17

THE THREE E’S

Elmer reached for the shotty, placing it between his legs, as he slowed the tractor down. So close to home, and now this. Irritably, he harrumphed.

A bale of hay slid off the top of the stack, disappearing into the wagon, and Emma’s head popped up. “What’s wrong, Elmer?” she yelled across the gap.

“Git your head down, girl!” He waved his hand backward at her.

Emma ignored him, staring out onto the road before them. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

“Looks like we may have company. I said git your head down! And be quiet.”

Emma ducked and a second later the hay bale slid back into place.

Elmer rolled the tractor to a stop in front of a road block. In front of his path, two abandoned cars had been parked horizontally, one overlapping the other. He looked left… too many trees to get around that way. He looked right. A steep ditch filled with large rocks blocked that way; he’d never get through that with the wagon.

Not a sound could be heard, other than the tree crickets and katydids, chirping in anticipation of the coming dusk.

He waited several long moments, the tractor grumbling loudly and impatiently beneath him.

No signs of life, but something wasn’t right.

Finally, he put it in neutral, and climbed down, taking his shotty with him. He stood still beside the tractor rumbling a moment, and looked around suspiciously. Still no signs of anyone. He whispered to himself, “Gird your loins, you old fool. You can’t stand here all day.”

He stretched his stiff legs, looking over his shoulder the way they’d come. No one there either, he irritably stomped over to the two cars, hoping to find keys, and praying at least one of them had enough gas to start. He’d simply move one out of the way, and push the other, if he had to.

He leaned into an old-model Cavalier and not seeing the keys, stepped back and opened the door.

Clumsily, he sat on the seat, and folded one leg into the car, his left foot still on pavement and his left hand holding the shotty outside the door, while his right hand swept under the edge of the seats, looking for a key ring.

Nothing.

He poked his head back up and looked around.

No one.

He checked the glove compartment, the console, and over the sun-visor.

Still, no keys.

Tiredly, and without ease, he climbed out of the car.

He walked to the second car, looking over his shoulder to check on Emma on the way. When he turned back, he jerked to a stop and yelped, pulling his head back in a jerky movement, away from the barrel of the rifle he was now staring into.

“Heavens to Bessy, you scared the dickens out of me!” he exclaimed. “Put that down, before you hurt someone.”

The pudgy man, dressed in an open flannel shirt and dirty Carhart pants, laughed, and teetered back and forth on his feet. A bald, round head glimmered with sweat and his teeth were like rotten fence posts lined his mouth. “That’s what it’s for, Old Timer. Drop the shotgun and hold still.”

The wind blew, sending a beer-scented wave of air across Elmer’s face, tickling the tufts of white hair poking out from his cap. The man’s gun wavered back and forth. He was drunk.

Elmer ignored his command and gave his best eye roll—he learned that from the teenagers in the bible study he sometimes watched Edith teach—and turned to go. Grumpily, he said, “You need to move one of these cars out of the way. I aim to go through there.”

He tried to walk casually, his shotgun still in hand, pointed up. His finger was way too far from the trigger, but he feared what would happen if he choked up on it. His heart thumped loudly and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He forced his shoulders to stay down away from around his ears.

“I said hold still,” the man yelled at his back. “One more step and I’m going to light you up, old man.”

Elmer stopped in his tracks and held his hands up in the air, one still holding the shotty. “For what?” he yelled in a crotchety voice. “I ain’t done nothing to ya. Just let me pass.”

A new voice rang out. “You gotta pay a toll to use our road,” he said, followed by a drunken laugh.

Elmer turned to see two men lurch out of the woods toward his tractor, barely able to find their feet. One wore a beat-up cowboy hat and dusty jeans, his belly hanging over the waistband.

The other was skinny as a rake, his pencil neck sticking up through the wide collar of his T-shirt like a golf tee.

Both men dangerously carried rifles. The skinny one stumbled, grabbing his buddy’s shirt with one hand. His buddy swatted behind him, but pulled him up the side of the ditch onto the road anyway, laughing all the way.

These men were trouble, and that trouble was headed right toward Emma.

He should’ve made her stay back at her sister’s farm. Durn crazy women nowadays, thinking they’re tough as men. At least he’d been right to pass her stop without telling her. If she’d been out here alone on that bike, she’d probably be good as dead right now. If not these men, there were plenty of others. And he’d seen times like this before. Men’s base nature came out when the going got tough. Either they stood up, and became better. Or they acted out—and got up to no good.

These three were no good.

The blood pumped wildly into his old veins. “Wait a doggone minute.” He thrust a hand into his pocket, coming out with a pocketknife, some change, and crumpled twenty-dollar bill. “This is all I got. Believe you me…” He held it out in the palm of his hand.

The men continued toward the wagon. “Keep it, old fool. You spend it,” one of them called out, bringing peals of laughter from the other two.

Elmer stomped his foot. “Hey! Y’all hear me? This is it. Ain’t nothing up there but hay, and I know you don’t give a hoot about some dried grass. My money’s over here, and I have a can of Skoal, too. Barely used!”

The man behind him snickered. “Money’s no good anymore, old man. You must have something else… I’m thinking food and water. You don’t look hungry. And what about fuel? You wouldn’t be out here without some more fuel for that tractor. How far do you live from here anyways?”

Elmer’s mind raced. The house was less than ten miles from here, the way the crow flies. If he admitted that, they might want to follow him home. He couldn’t have these animals around his Edith. He avoided the question. “You don’t look hungry either, pardner. But that doesn’t mean you’re not. I got a dripple of water up near my seat, but I don’t have any food.” His stomach growled loudly in agreement.

This was true. Olivia had packed him a bag of food, and he’d stupidly left it sitting on a post back at the barn at Grayson’s house. Like an old fish-wife, his belly had been haranguing him all day about it and he’d been tempted to wake Emma, knowing she probably had something in that bag of hers.

He did have plenty of water though. But the water wasn’t what he was worried about. He’d give them the water… he had plenty more at home.

The two men were mere feet from the back of the trailer, wobbling as they ran their hands down the hay, making their way to the back.

Elmer tried one last time. “Look here, boys,” he said loudly—loud enough for Emma to hear. “There’s a dead body in that wagon. I’m taking her home to bury her. You don’t want to see that—the girl got her face blown clean off. It might scare you to death,” he yelled loudly.

The men kept walking… less than a foot from the end of the trailer now.

“I’ll not have your blood on my hands! Stay outta there!” Elmer yelled in frustration.

He jerked and nearly fell as the man behind him roughly jabbed him in the back with the pointy end of his rifle, and laughed again. “Shut up, Old Timer.”

Elmer found his feet, straightened up, and grit his teeth against the pain in his old back. He shook his head and gripped his own shotty tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. Without a doubt, he wasn’t fast enough to pull the gun up, turn around, and take aim before the man behind him made him a new breathing hole.

He was outmanned anyway. They all had guns. Even if he could shoot the one behind him, there were two more in front of him. He didn’t see a way out of this.

Just gonna have to take a wait and see approach.

He tensed… waiting.

In just a moment, no one would be laughing.

18

TULLYMORE & GRAYSON’S GROUP

Jake pulled Ruby into Tullymore slowly, the old red ’57 Chevy purring like a kitten. He was doing his best not to jar his passengers who stood in the back, leaning against the cab.

Grayson sat in the passenger seat, his head pivoting from side to side, a rifle nestled between his legs, his cheek swollen with pain. “So, we’re going to see your karate-kid friend first?”

Jake scoffed. “Dude, not every martial art is called karate. He does MMA. Mixed martial arts. But yeah. Let’s head to Tucker’s first, see if he can talk to Doc for you, and then we’ll stop by my house when we leave.”

Tina and Tarra were in the back of the truck. Both had laid down their rifles, but held their pistols casually in their hands, not taking any chances.

Jake passed his own house, happy to see it intact. On their way out, they would stop and grab the clothes and food at the house, and anything else Grayson thought might be useful.

With their current predicament, Jake was happy he’d listened to his brother-in-law when he and Gabby had spent one long day learning how to put up food in Mylar bags with oxygen absorbers and seal it before putting it into five-gallon buckets. They had at least had some long-term food at the house—if Tucker hadn’t taken it yet.

He cringed at the thought of telling Tucker his four-wheeler had been stolen.

As he drove slowly past the rows of houses, he was impressed to see that several neighbors who owned trucks had parked them up tight with their house, re-routing gutters to drain any rain into the beds of the trucks, which were tightly covered with tarps for water collection. That was a good idea to make them water containment vessels, especially since they couldn’t drive them without gas.

Some others had rain barrels in place with the gutters routed to them; if only they’d get some rain. Several people looked busy building small wooden boxes of some sort, or splitting firewood.

All stopped working to stare in surprise at the truck moving through the neighborhood, throwing up a wave of greeting to Jake. He felt sure he wouldn’t get this same reception a few days from now, when reality really started setting in. Even now, he watched several in the rear-view mirror put down their projects and casually follow him on foot. He hoped there wouldn’t be trouble at Tucker’s when he had to tell them no, that he wasn’t taking them anywhere.

Slowly, he turned onto Tucker’s street. The doctor lived right beside Tucker. Jake passed that house, a little worried to not see anyone outside, and pulled into Tucker’s driveway, bringing the truck to the far end of the drive, closest to the back yard. They’d check with Tucker first and then walk over to Doc’s.

The scene that unfolded from Tucker’s backyard was surreal.

A swing set had been adapted to hold four large pots, and a fire blazed under each one of them. A line had dwindled down to just a few people standing at two of the pots, and he recognized Katie serving from one with her daughter standing beside her, and her dogs at her feet. Kenny was serving from the other pot. Tables had been set up and neighbor sat with neighbor, elbow to elbow, sharing a meal.

A heap of firewood sat off to the side of Tucker’s shop with three axes leaning against it. Stacked up beside the garage was a huge, neat pile that had already been split and stacked. Small kids and more dogs ran and played around the yard.

A group of teenagers were squatted around the swimming pool with long nets, skimming bugs and other debris from the bluish-green water. Jake recognized the other three of Tucker’s kids in the crowd. Several water-filtering stations stood at the end of the pool.

Near the back of the yard, on a tree held a sign with the word ‘latrines’ that pointed to a trail that went off into the woods between Tucker’s and the next-door neighbor.

Tucker had it going on up in here. It looked more like a block-party than the apocalypse.

Jake and Grayson stepped out of the truck at the same time that Tina and Tarra jumped down, after holstering their guns. They all made their way over to Katie, following Jake.

“Jake!” Katie yelled, handing her serving-spoon to her daughter and running to meet him halfway.

She hugged him tight as Jake’s ears began to burn, and then suspiciously eyeballed the two women standing a few feet behind him. “Where’s Gabby and Olivia?”

Olivia was well-known in this neighborhood by Gabby’s friends, as she and Gabby were generally locked at the hip.

“They didn’t come this trip. They’re back at Olivia and Grayson’s house.” He turned and waved a hand at the women shadowing his steps. “These are two of Gabby’s friends, Tina and Tarra. They’re from out of town and stuck here for a bit.”

Tina and Tarra both greeted Katie with a warm smile and a hand out. She shook amicably with both of them, and welcomed them to Tullymore.

Jake looked around again at all that was going on within the community. “Looks like y’all have done well here. I’m impressed with the organization. Everybody on-board with it?”

Katie shook her head. “No. About half. The other half is stuck up Curt’s butt and causing nothing but trouble.” She pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips. “If the power doesn’t come back on soon, we anticipate a lot of problems from them.”

Grayson clicked his tongue and then regret it, holding a hand up to his jaw.

Jake noticed his discomfort. “Sorry to hear that, Katie. I hope y’all can work it out. Where’s Tucker?”

Katie raised her eyebrows. “That’s another problem. A big one. Our neighbor, Sarah, across the street… she has a newborn that needs formula. The baby is starving. Tucker’s going door to door to talk to anyone who’s not here right now and see if they have any. Do you need him?”

Jake shook his head. “Not really. I just wanted to see if he’d walk over to Doc’s house with us. He knows him better than I do, and we need some help. Grayson has a helluva toothache.” He motioned toward his brother-in-law.

Katie cringed. “Uh oh. Doc’s not here. He and his family were gone when the grid went down and they’re not back yet.”

Grayson and Jake exchanged rueful glances.

Suddenly, Tucker stalked into view, his face a scowl.

Jake threw up a hand to his old friend as he headed their way.

Tucker briskly nodded in greeting. “Where’s my four-wheeler?”

Jake’s face burned once again. “Someone stole it, man. I’m so sorry. How can I make it right? You can have anything I’ve got at the house.”

Grayson elbowed him, and mumbled, “Other than the food. We need that ourselves.”

Tucker shook his head in frustration, ignoring Grayson, who he’d met several times, but didn’t know well. “Do you have any baby formula by chance?”

“No. Can’t say I do, friend. Katie told us about Sarah. I guess you didn’t find any, huh?”

Tucker looked over to the tables, examining each neighbor one by one. “Nope. No one keeps formula for anything. Sarah has the only baby in the ‘hood.”

“And Katie says Doc isn’t here? That’s too bad. Maybe he’d have known of something to help.”

Ruby, Jake’s truck, caught Tucker’s eye. “I see you got Ruby running again. How about you give me a ride into town to look for formula? Then we’ll call it even on the four-wheeler—for now.”

Jake and Grayson exchanged glances. They’d already discussed attempting a town run to get more supplies in light of Olivia’s stunt, but they’d decided against it. Too crazy out there. And it had only been days ago that both Jake and Grayson had been to town, and at that time there wasn’t much left, other than trouble. The situation had to be much worse now.

Dangerous.

Jake couldn’t meet Tucker’s eyes. “Yeah, I don’t know, man. It’s the wild wild west out there. I don’t think you’re going to find any formula—or anything else.”

Tucker grabbed Jake’s T-shirt, fisting it with both hands and pulling him close. “You’re taking me. That baby is going to die if you don’t.”

Grayson lurched forward, sending his arm down between them and breaking Tucker’s hold on Jake. “What the hell, man? Stand back!” he yelled. He stepped up to Tucker, nose to nose. “You don’t order us around.”

Tucker stood on his toes, eager to meet Grayson’s challenge. “I’d go myself if I had my four-wheeler, now wouldn’t I?” he screamed back, seconds away from throwing a punch.

Jake stepped between them, putting a hand on each man’s chest and pushing them away from each other. “Woah, y’all. Look, Tucker, I get it. You don’t have to go all Billy BadAss on me. Thought we were friends, yo?”

Tucker dropped his head and blew out a loud breath. “I’m sorry, Jake.” He looked at Grayson. “You too. I… I just don’t know what else to do. Sarah’s depending on me.”

Grayson and Jake exchanged looks again, and Grayson put a hand on Tucker’s shoulder. “Look, buddy, we’ve got just enough gas to get to town, check out one or two places, and get you back here and still get home. We’ll do it, but you need to provide some more cover. We don’t leave here without more men.” He looked over his shoulder, catching the glance that passed between Tina and Tarra. “No offense, ladies.”

Tina smiled wryly. “No offense taken, as long as the men you choose can handle a gun.”

19

THE THREE E’S

Edith stared at the photograph of Gabby and Olivia, posing in front of the red Chevy truck. She was afraid to meet Trunk’s eyes for fear he would see right through her. The girls hadn’t mentioned the name ‘Trunk’ when they’d told their story of what had happened, but there was no doubt in her mind that these were the bad men that had harassed those girls.

After all, how many people dressed a pig in a skirt?

Her mind raced.

You are the dirty bird that abused poor Mei.

It’s your gang that chased those sweet sisters.

But how did you know the girls had been here?

Trunk put one finger under Edith’s chin, and gently lifted her face up. He spoke very slowly. “One… more… time. Have… you… seen… these… women?”

His tone was friendly—too friendly. The smile he wore was a façade. Edith could see right through it. This man was dangerous. He must never know Elmer had taken the girls home.

The only question was, did Trunk already know? Somehow, he’d arrived here, right behind the girls. Maybe he already knew everything.

Trunk raised an eyebrow and leaned in, moving even further into Edith’s personal space. He was waiting for an answer.

She felt a chill run down her spine.

Lie or truth?

She inhaled and exhaled. Her liver-spotted hands shook, so she shoved them in the pockets of her apron. “No.”

Trunk slapped his hand down on the counter, the sudden noise splitting the air like a shotgun blast.

Edith jumped and yelped.

“Liar,” he whispered, and inch from her nose.

He knew.

Edith shook like a leaf, grabbing the fabric inside her pockets and squeezing with all her might.

Trunk manically laughed and backed away, turning to eat more of Elmer’s dinner. His tone changed when he said, “So your friend, Rose—you mentioned her when you opened the door—she’s a good cook, too.”

He shoved a glob of biscuit into his mouth and turned back to Edith, smiling like the cat that ate the canary.

“Wha-what did you d-d-d-o with Rose?”

“Do with her?” Truck nearly doubled over laughing. “Nothing. She’s older than you, grandma. I don’t do old ladies… no offense.”

Thank you, Jesus, Edith prayed.

She cleared her throat. “Did you hurt her?”

“Now, why would I hurt a sweet lady like Rose?”

“You hurt Mei,” Edith whispered, feeling a tiny spark of bravery. “She was a sweet girl, too.”

Trunk rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Noooo,” he said, drawing out the word. “I gave Mei exactly what she asked for. We had a bargain, me and Mei. But, thanks to one of your little friends, she broke our deal and ran. They cost me a lot of points, and I aim to get them back. And, I have a special lesson to teach the twin that saved her.” He made air quotes with his fingers when he said the word ‘saved.’

“Points?” Edith had no idea what he was talking about. The girls never mentioned points. But Gabby had said it was Olivia that saved Mei, insisting they take her with them.

“Oh, they didn’t tell you that part? They cost me points. Points right now mean the difference between life and death in this new gig. Points are the best food, the most beer, the hardest liquor, and all the smokes I can toke. Points are the difference between being alive and living…” Trunk pulled a folded-up piece of paper out of his front pocket, unfolded it, and spread it out on the bar. He tapped it with one finger. “And I intend to do some living.”

Edith shakily lifted her reading glasses that hung from her neck on a chain. She pushed them onto her nose and bent to read the paper.

‘TWO: The Wild Ones Annual Scavenger Hunt’

She looked at Trunk. “Are you a… Wild One?”

Trunk slapped his bicep and then moved his hand. “Yes, ma’am. Got all my letters, too.” Under the hand he moved was a tattoo that read, ‘TWO.’

Edith stared at his tattoo, remembering the ugly, seeping wet burn she’d seen on Mei’s arm. The girls had tried to nurse it. She hadn’t realized it then, but it did look like the number, ‘2.’ Her stomach turned as she realized that burn wasn’t just a burn. She’d been branded as one of theirs. Like cattle.

Her lip curled in disgust.

Trunk tapped the paper again. “Look at the highlighted stuff. See what we had?”

Edith leaned in again and read the bizarre list of items, including an African-American midget, a two-headed lizard, a convertible Hummer, a three-legged dog, five cases of Bacon Spam, a bald prostitute in a onesie, 5000 packs of McDonald’s ketchup, and other oddities. The highlighted items were:

Live piglet in a skirt.

One-handed hot Asian chick.

Sexy brunette twins or triplets; must be identical.

1957 red Chevy step-side truck; must run.

She looked up at Trunk and he met her wide eyes with a swarmy smile. “See? I need those girls. The twins and the Asian chick. And the truck.” He unclipped the picture of Gabby and Olivia from the map, unfolded it, and spread it out. It had a route highlighted from Myrtle Beach to York County, South Carolina. An “X” was marked across the city of Rock Hill. “The runt will just be a bonus for my personal pleasure.”

He’s talking about Emma.

“Now, what I need to know, is where in this county they were headed? What town exactly? Can’t tell if stops at York County in general, or the city of Rock Hill.”

Edith shook her head no. Her shoulders went up around her ears. Truly, she didn’t know. If they’d said, she hadn’t paid attention.

Trunk stalked back to Edith and leaned down into her face again. “No? No, what, Grandma? No, they don’t live in—”

“—Boss, there’s a fresh grave out here!” a voice interrupted, followed by the slamming of the screen door. One of the guys Edith had seen outside hurried in. He wore a patch on his vest with his name on it, too: Backfire. “That old lady down the road must’ve been right when she said she heard shootin’ and then a woman’s scream loud enough to wake the dead… ’cept the dead is still dead.”

Trunk raised his brows. “Oh?” He looked at Edith. “Who ya got out there pushing up daisies, Grandma?”

A dozen answers flashed through Edith’s head.

“Listen up, old woman. If you lie to me again, you’re going to have the number two sizzling on your own arm,” he warned.

Edith worried her lip and patted her bun. She looked at the floor and straightened her apron, and then she took a deep breath, looked him in the eye,

…and lied through her false teeth.

20

GRAYSON’S GROUP

“What are you doing out of bed, Puck?” Graysie asked. She’d come in to clean and re-dress his wound, per instructions from Olivia.

Puck was hanging out the window, his arms around Jenny. The donkey nuzzled him affectionately, pulling her lips up in a smile to expose her big, square yellow teeth. “Look! Jenny came to my window! She misses me!” he said excitedly, rubbing her head. “She’s letting me touch her hair all I want.”

Ozzie sat at attention at his feet, repeatedly throwing up one paw, trying to shake with Puck, to steal his attention back from the beast outside. Puck was too overwhelmed with Jenny to even notice him.

Graysie flopped down on her bed, patting it for the dog to come. Ozzie jumped up beside her. “Come over here, Puck. Let me patch you up again.”

Puck pulled back from the window, a look of panic on his face. “I got another hole somewhere?” He ran his hands down his other arm, and then bent over to look at his legs, while Ozzie tilted his head left, then right, trying to determine the boy’s reason for alarm.

Graysie laughed. “No. Not another one. We just need to keep the one you do have clean.”

Puck shrugged. “It’s okay now. It barely hurts.”

There was no doubt he was tough. They could barely keep him in the bed. Repeatedly, he’d wandered out to the kitchen, bugging Olivia who was reading a book on foraging in the wilderness, doing her best to try to undo her mistake of giving away their food. He’d begged Olivia to read it to him, and she’d refused, doing more studying of the pictures of trees, plants and flowers, than reading.

“You still need to rest, Puck,” Graysie answered. “Olivia sent me in here to take care of you. When we’re done, you can read a book. You wouldn’t be interested in the one that she’s reading, I promise.”

Puck moved to the bed and climbed back into his spot, sitting up straight. “I can’t read a book,” he said sadly.

“You don’t know how to read?”

“I do so! But I see two lines up close when I try to read. I get confused and my head hurts. Sometimes my head hurts really bad. But I try not to cry,” he explained. “I can see far away real good.”

Graysie shrugged. “Okay. I’ll read to you, then.”

“Do you have Harry Potter?”

“I do, but not here. I have all sorts of books that you’d like if you’re a Harry Potter fan, but they’re either packed up somewhere, or at my dorm at college. All I have here are those.” She pointed to a shelf that was decorated with an old stuffed Winnie the Pooh Bear, leaned against a row of Pooh books. “Olivia did that. She thinks it looks cute. I haven’t read them in years,” she denied.

Puck turned his nose up. “I’m too big for Winnie the Pooh.” He pouted, sticking his lip out.

Well, then, why are you acting like you’re five? Graysie thought, but didn’t put real words to it. She was trying to be patient with Puck, but suddenly it was like she had a little brother. Not only was he completely obsessed with her dad—whom she really didn’t feel like sharing—but it was falling on her to entertain him.

What she wouldn’t give to have power again, so she could park him in front of Netflix for a while. “It’s either read Winnie the Pooh, or color some more pictures. Your choice,” she said firmly.

“Why can’t Olivia read Pooh, and we’ll read her book?” he asked. “I like trees and flowers.”

“Because Olivia is learning right now. She’s trying to figure out what we might find in the woods that we can eat, if we have to. If the power doesn’t come back on, we’ll need more food soon. You eat a lot, and so does Jenny. You want to be able to stick around here until your mom comes home, right? Well then, we have to feed you.”

Puck suddenly fell very quiet.

Graysie worked on his arm, and then scooted up in the bed with him, grabbing the first Winnie the Pooh book on the shelf. For the next thirty minutes, she read him the familiar tales of Pooh and his pals, nearly always ending with Pooh’s paw stuck in a big pot of honey.

Stifling a yawn, Puck waited until she read the last book on the stack. “All Pooh eats is honey. So that’s food, right?”

Graysie nodded and stood up, stretching. “Yeah. It’s food. It’s also medicine. It can be used for lots of things. It’s good stuff.”

A foggy look came over Puck’s face as he dazed off, his mouth hanging wide open.

“Close your mouth, Puck. You look weird when you do that,” Graysie chided him, already wearing the big-sister mantle, and not realizing it. “You don’t want people to think you’re dumb.”

“I’m not dumb,” Puck answered defensively.

“I know you’re not. But when you leave your mouth open like that, you look dumb.”

He bulled up, taking her suggestion as an insult. “I’m smarter than you, Graysie.” He crossed his arms over his chest, flinching a bit as he did. “I’ll find some food, too, so me and Jenny can stay here with GrayMan.”

Graysie rolled her eyes, as only a teenage girl could do. “You do that, then.” She was tired, bored, and her patience was growing thin. She wanted to take a nap. She also felt a bit perturbed at Puck’s nickname for her dad. “His name is Grayson. Not gray man.”

Puck snuggled down in the bed, giving Graysie his back.

She shrugged. “Okay. Take a nap, then. I’m going to find somewhere to do that myself.” She walked out of the room, mumbling under her breath, “Since you’re in my bed.”

But he wasn’t going to sleep. Graysie had just given him permission to do that. He was going to lay there and think about it. He knew of secret place to get food. But he knew it was dangerous and he needed a plan. He wasn’t about to ask her help, though. Not while she was being such a meanie, anyway.

21

THE THREE E’S

The pudgy man jerked Elmer’s shotgun out of his hand and threw it behind him as the Cowboy and the Rake drunkenly stumbled to the end of Elmer’s wagon, slapping each other on the back and stupidly laughing at their good luck and criminal stealth that allowed them to catch something in their trap.

Cowboy pointed his rifle at the end wall of hay. “Pull down a few bales. Let’s take a peek.”

Elmer stood frozen in place, murmuring prayers under his breath that Emma was ready for this. The man behind him didn’t ease up, his long gun pushing into the flab of Elmer’s back, annoying him to no end.

Rake pushed his rifle behind him to hang from a homemade sling, and stepped up onto the edge of the wagon. He grabbed two bales of hay and jumped down, tossing them at the same time onto the ground, and looked back, coming face to face with the barrel of Emma’s gun.

He startled backwards, standing directly beside Cowboy, and threw up his hands. Cowboy kept his gun on Emma.

Emma jumped down, her gun inches from Rake’s face. She jerked her chin at him, ignoring the rifle pointed at herself and spoke directly to Rake. “Tell your friend to drop his gun or I swear I’ll put a bullet smack in the middle of your ugly mug. My finger is on the trigger. We’ll see which bullet lands first.”

The color drained from Rake’s face and his eyes widened. “Drop it or she’s gonna shoot,” he whined to his buddy.

Cowboy laughed, not able to comprehend the seriousness of the situation through his drunken haze. He squinted hard at Emma. “Well, shit! Lookee that,” he said, and let his own rifle drop on its sling. He put his hands up, still laughing, as though it were all a game and they’d lost—fair and square.

Emma rolled her eyes at the idiot. Too stupid to breathe…

Their friend, Pudgy, was still standing fifty feet away, not able to see what they were doing behind the wagon. “What’d y’all find in there?” he yelled.

Emma alternated her gun from Rake’s face to Cowboy’s face. “Turn around slowly,” she said in a steely voice, “and walk out there. This is not a game. I will pull this trigger.”

The men both turned around, their hands still up. Neither was laughing now, except her… almost. Her act nearly slipped when she had to swallow back a hysterical laugh as she watched Rake’s pants darken down his left leg.

Wrinkling her nose, she stepped up and with one hand, lifted the gun from around him and threw it behind her on the ground. She did the same with Cowboy, noticing he was beginning to shake.

“You’re going to walk out there slowly, with me behind you. I’ll have the gun to the back of one of your heads. You won’t know which one—so go slow. I don’t want to trip with my finger on the trigger, now do I?”

The men flinched.

Emma continued. “Tell your friend to drop his gun. Tell him it was a trap. We’re doing the robbing today, and we have two more guns in the other side of the woods trained on him. If he shoots Elmer… you all die,” she lied.

They all three stepped out from around the wagon, the two men in front holding their hands up, with Emma directly behind them, holding up her gun.

Elmer smiled and relaxed his shoulders. “Surprise,” he gleefully said to his own captor.

“What the hell?” Pudgy screamed. “You dipshits let a woman get the drop on ya? You idiots!”

Cowboy sighed, all signs of his buzz completely gone. “Just drop your gun. It’s a trap—better than our trap. They got more guys in the woods and they all got you in their sights.”

Pudgy whipped his head around, looking for proof.

A branch snapped in the woods, the sound cracking through the air.

He jumped, jerking the gun up and poking Elmer hard.

Elmer jumped and whipped around—as fast as an old man can whip around… “Put that damn gun down, son. You accidentally throw a bullet and you’re gonna catch one, too!”

Pudgy knelt down, placing his gun on the ground while watching the woods where the sound of the twig snapping had come from. He slowly backed away from the gun, his eyes wide with fright, and his hands up. He spoke to the woods. “There! You can have it. Can we go now?”

No one likes an enemy they can’t see.

“What you got to tie them up with, girl?” Elmer asked, as he hurried to grab his shotty and Pudgy’s gun. Now he had a shotgun in one hand and a rifle in the other. He tossed one off to the side.

“I can cut some twine off the hay bales,” she answered.

“Not strong enough,” Elmer said gruffly.

Emma thought for a second. “I’ve got a bundle of paracord in my bag,” I think.

“Go git it,” Elmer grumbled, giving the men a gritty stare.

Emma nudged Rake and Cowboy with her gun, pushing them to the middle of the road. “Sit down right there, back to back,” she told them.

“Check their pockets first, girl. They might have a knife. Then make ‘em sit three feet apart,” Elmer instructed. “Just in case.”

Emma looked at Rake’s wet pants, soaked in piss.

She cringed.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed her gun into his back. He stiffened. Standing behind him, she reached into his pocket. From the first pocket, she pulled out a lighter, a handkerchief and a pile of change. She threw it on the ground and reached into the second pocket. He had a knife. She shoved it into her own pocket and then did the same search with Cowboy, not producing much of anything other than a pack of Marlboro lights and a jumbo pack of gum.

“Gimme those smokes,” Elmer said.

Emma screwed up her face in disgust. “You smoke?”

“Not anymore. Been quit twenty years. But I do chew ‘bacca. I’ll take those for just in case.”

Emma scrunched up her nose and threw the cigarettes at Elmer’s feet. She reared back and threw the gum hard into the trees, in the direction of their ‘watcher.’ She yelled in that direction, “Here, y’all share this. Don’t be killing each other over one pack a gum, either!”

The men stared toward the dense woods with wide eyes as the gum fell, making a huge racket in the dry brush as it hit limbs falling down into the shadows.

At her direction, they clumsily sat down on the road.

“Bring your man over here, too, Elmer.”

Elmer gave Pudgy a shove with his shotty, herding him over to his friends. “Criss-cross applesauce,” he loudly muttered and pointed to the ground.

Reluctantly, the man sat down with his drinking buddies, still keeping his eyes on the forest.

Elmer stood over the men, his gun pointed at them. He looked at Emma and raised his eyebrows. “Go git that rope.”

Emma slowly walked backward, keeping her eyes on them as long as she could, and then jumped into the wagon to get her bag. She jumped back out, carrying it with her and dug into it, pulling out a sandwich baggie full of large plastic zip ties. “Look. Always wondered what use I’d find for these,” she said, and held up the bag for Elmer to see.

He nodded his approval.

One by one, she locked the men’s hands behind their backs with zip ties, and then tied all three zip ties together with a long piece of paracord from her bag, putting them back to back and then tying that around a tree off the side of the road, like a leash.

When she got to Pudgy, he just couldn’t help himself. “Your hands are soft, princess. How about you and me spend some time in that wagon before you go? A little roll in the hay? That old man can’t have much lead left in his pencil.” He laughed. “I get loose from this, and I’m going to have a go at it anyway… but, I promise you’ll like it.”

Emma leaned over and spit at the side of his face. “I’d rather be dead.”

“That can happen, too,” Pudgy promised, shaking his head in anger.

Emma stepped in front of him and raised her gun, pressing it tight against his forehead. Flashbacks of her childhood played like a movie in her head. Terrible things at the hands of a drunken man would never happen to her again. She wasn’t a little girl anymore. Her finger moved into the trigger guard and itched to pull.

Elmer intervened, slowly pushing the gun away from Pudgy. “He’s drunk. Pay him no mind, girl.”

Emma stood still, battling the ghosts in her mind. Finally, she pushed them aside, and asked, “Where’s the keys to the cars?” They still needed to move the roadblock so they could get through.

No one spoke up.

Emma put her boot between Rake’s legs, hovering over his balls. He stared at the boot and then up at her. “I don’t know! Ask them,” he yelled.

She stepped down hard and every man there flinched in pain. “I’m asking you… where’s the keys?”

Rake screamed like a girl and tried to roll over onto his side. His friends shoved at him, and pulled him back upright, keeping him in a sitting position while he tried to suck in air. Emma hovered her boot over him again. It didn’t take any more than that for the coward to sing. “Over there. Behind that big square rock,” he gasped.

He pointed toward the rock with his head.

Elmer left Emma watching the men while he went looking. He found both sets of keys and sat down in the Cavalier first, hoping it had enough gas to start so he could move it.

It did.

Surprisingly, it actually had half a tank. More than enough for him and Emma to make a fast get-away. He’d be home with Edith all the sooner. He considered telling Emma… but quickly changed his mind. He couldn’t leave his tractor behind. He’d need it come planting-time now more than ever. It could mean the difference between life and death for him and Edith.

But if these hooligans had gas, why were they just sitting around robbing people? Surely, there’s somewhere they could go with better pickings than this old deserted road, he thought.

Carefully, he maneuvered the car out of his way and hurried back to Emma. “Let’s go, Emma.” He glared at the men. “She’s going to hold that gun on you while we get down the road. If any of y’all move, she’s going to shoot you. If you stand up, she’s going to shoot you. Don’t even think about getting up at all until you can no longer see or hear us… or she’ll shoot you. Is that clear enough? You’ve been warned.”

Pudgy grimaced when she tightened his zip tie. “You can’t just leave us here. We’ll die. What if someone else comes along and shoots us or something?”

Elmer rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like they were tying up their feet. These men had some gear somewhere, he was sure of that, and he was leaving them this way so they could move around. As soon as they were gone, he felt sure they’d find a knife or something in their gear and get free. It might take them awhile having to move together as a team, but that was even better. He and Emma would be long gone by then.

And they’d be on foot, because he was taking the car keys with him.

Emma shrugged. “Our watchers in the woods will keep an eye out for you until we’re way down the road. After that, they’ll follow us and it’s not my problem. Bad things happen to bad people and you are bad people. Would you rather we shoot you? That’s what you threatened to do to Elmer, isn’t it?”

She stepped up on the wagon, keeping her gun trained on the men. Elmer made his way to the tractor and they slowly pulled away, Emma keeping her gun steady, barely blinking an eye.

They were less than fifty feet away when Pudgy tried to stand, jerking his buddies up with him.

A shot rang out, followed by horrifying, blood-chilling screams.

22

TULLYMORE & GRAYSON’S GROUP

Ruby carried the motley crew out of Tullymore and onto the bypass toward town. Jake and Grayson were in the front. Tina, Tarra, Tucker and two guys from the ‘hood were in the back. Tucker had chosen Mickey and Frank because their firearms had been visible in low-hanging holsters as they had sat at the tables eating with their wives. It was an easy choice.

The neighbors had all contributed money—as though they really thought the group could come back with a full truck of groceries—and had called out things they needed.

Tucker had ignored them all, Sarah’s baby the only thing on his list.

All had high hopes to find something useful, but they each kept them to themselves.

Tucker could only think about formula for Sammi. He had to help her. He felt that nothing else good could happen if he failed the first person that needed him. Especially if that person was a child. His group would never trust or believe in him again if he couldn’t help her. He’d like to think that even if he wasn’t their designated leader, he’d still risk everything to save a child—any child. But he was their leader, and things had just gotten real… real fast.

Of course, first on the ladies’ minds was fuel. Neither spoke it aloud but they both hoped to see that by some miracle, FEMA finally had their act together to move faster in disasters, and had arrived with tankers of gas and truck loads of food and water. They’d discussed the possibility that the outage was regional, and hopefully not the entire United States. Maybe just the East coast. They both held that hope close to their hearts.

Grayson wanted more bullets, beans and Band-Aids. He hoped for anything he could get to add to their group supplies, but he especially wanted coffee. He hadn’t yet broken the news to the group that one of the things they no longer had—thanks to Olivia—was the magic beans that made their brains function and their mornings brighter. If they found that out, the shit really would hit the fan at the farm.

He, for one, could not deal with Olivia without coffee. Not for him… but for her. Jake had told him Tina and Tarra thought they were seeing claws-out from Olivia, but if they thought they saw them now, they were in for a real eye-opener if she didn’t get her morning cup of java.

Coffee first… then any type of food he could add to their pantry would make him happy. The burden was already on him to provide food for the whole family, but now, it was even scarier with the addition of three more people, and a donkey.

Deep down, Grayson knew help wasn’t coming anytime soon. This was the real deal. The shit had hit the fan, and much more would fly before it was all said and done. He needed to get more food while the gettin’ was good.

Mickey and Frank both were meat guys. After seeing the limited amount the neighborhood was able to salvage by drying or canning, visions of fresh steaks and chicken danced in their head.

They had no idea just how delusional they were…

Jake had only one thing on his mind: Gabby. He hoped to find some special something to bring back to his wife. Chocolate, or berry-flavored chap-stick, even candy… anything at all to show her how happy he was that she was home safely, and show her he could provide for her too.

He couldn’t help but feel a bit like a hanger-on. He wasn’t blood to Grayson; he was just married into the family. He hadn’t really heeded Grayson’s warning of an event on an apocalyptic level, and now that it had actually happened, he wished he had taken it all more seriously. He had checked all the right boxes and went along the best he could. He’d packed him and Gabby bug-out bags, he’d agreed to help Gabby prep a little bit of food at the house; he’d gone through the gun training, and helped with the garden occasionally.

But in the grand scheme of things, Jake knew what he’d done was like a fart in the wind in comparison to what Grayson had done. He’d only barely gone through the motions to keep peace with his brother-in-law and his wife, never really believing they’d need any of it. At times, he’d even thought it was a waste of his time and money; money he could’ve spent on Gabby, or on something for Ruby, even.

It was Grayson that had made sure he and Gabby—and everyone else in their family—would have food and water in their bellies a month from now. It was Grayson that had bought the farmhouse out in the country, instead of a fancy home in an upscale subdivision like Jake had done, for the specific possibility of the fan blowing the shumar around at some later date. He did it to make sure the house he chose was far away from the madness of town, and had its own water supply. Instead of spending his weekends Netflixing and chilling—like Jake usually tried to do—he’d used his every free weekend to work on the garden, making sure they had a renewable food source.

Add all that to his freakish inability to proficiently use a gun like a real man, on top of his other issues that Gabby didn’t even know about, and he was feeling like somewhat of a failure to his beautiful wife.

Jake shook off his poor-me thoughts and watched the scenery roll by. They were almost into town, now.

Grayson was still deep in thought beside him, one hand tightly gripping his gun and the other rubbing his jaw. Jake admired his ability to keep going despite what must have been the terrible pain of a toothache; he looked awful.

They had barely spoken since they’d left Tullymore. The crowd in the back had their eyes peeled for trouble and probably couldn’t hear each other over the wind anyway. The whole group rode in near silence. The first fifteen minutes of the trip was uneventful, like driving through a ghost-town—except they still hadn’t been in town yet, just passing houses on the two-lane blacktop road toward the city. They hadn’t seen a soul.

Until they did.

Suddenly, Jake slammed his foot on the gas, hoping he wouldn’t lose any of his five passengers in the back of the truck. “Tucker! Nine o’clock,” he screamed out his window, warning them of the motorcycle he’d just passed.

The motorcycle came out of a side-road like a gunshot, in hot pursuit.

Grayson let go of the death-grip he had on his gun long enough to grab the dash in a moment of panic. In the back, Tucker wobbled on his feet, swaying as he pointed his rifle at the motorcycle gaining on them.

The crotch-rocket motorcycle was tearing up the road behind them, eating up the distance between them in seconds. There was no denying it was after them, and it carried two people.

“What the hell?” Grayson said, looking over his shoulder as the riders zoomed up. He turned back and checked his gun.

Jake kept his eyes on the road. “Are they armed?” he yelled over the roar of the engine.

“I can’t tell yet. If they are, it’s with handguns.”

As the bike got closer, closing the gap, Jake could see flashes of it in his mirror. Two passengers, both in black helmets with tinted face-shields and wind-breaker jackets. Similar thin-ish frames. Definitely not a Harley. Definitely not bikers. Could it be just a couple kids on a rice-burner playing around?

“Tell them don’t shoot unless they have to,” Jake yelled. He didn’t want the death of two adrenaline-chasing teenage boys on his hands.

Grayson stuck his head out the window to relay the message, only to pull it in quick when Jake jerked the wheel to turn down a side gravel road. The bike turned too, giving chase, kicking up rocks and sliding around in the gravel at top speed.

Jake hoped they’d lose them to the gravel. He screamed toward the window, “Hang on!” He swerved, trying to make them a harder target. His view of the bike was limited around the heads of five people bobbing around so he couldn’t see what they were doing. Couldn’t see if they had guns.

His people in the back all swerved left and then right, Tucker nearly falling and then standing up again, sloppily trying to take aim. Tarra pushed him aside, and went down at the far end of the bed on both knees, looking out at the motorcycle, spreading her arms and tightly gripping the tailgate.

Tina pushed the three men behind her, and stepped in behind Tarra, slightly to her right. She took a knee, balancing her gun across Tarra’s right shoulder. The men watched in fascinated amazement at the two women crouched down low behind the metal gate, one providing support and the other with an eye behind the scope, pressing the rifle tight against her own shoulder.

Tarra waited until Tina was steady, then yelled over her shoulder to the men, “Stay back. She’s got this.” Her words were lost over the wind and the scream of the bike, but the men weren’t coming any closer anyway. She looked over her shoulder, and Tina gave her a nod—their signal—and she let go of the tailgate with her left arm and reached around to stick a finger into her right ear.

Jake snatched glances of them from his rear-view mirrors and did the best he could to keep the truck steady again, while sweat beaded on his forehead and his heart raced in time with the motorcycle.

No way. It’s an impossible shot at this speed anyway, he thought, hoping they were just posturing to scare the bike riders away. But it didn’t look like posturing. The two worked together like a well-oiled machine, not even needing words.

Tarra yelled at the two on the motorcycle. “Final warning. Fall back!”

The bike kept coming.

Tina and Tarra held their pose.

Jesus. These women act like a seasoned assassin team… serious, steady, and deadly.

Jake couldn’t let them shoot it out. But if the passenger on the motorcycle had a gun, the five people in the back of his truck were like sitting ducks right now.

What if they were just playing around though?

Making his mind up, he drove crazily, turning back onto the main blacktop highway, kicking up a storm of rocks behind him. Finally, he nearly toppled Tina and Tarra over as he careened between two abandoned cars, one on each side of the road spaced barely a car’s length apart. One man appeared to be standing guard over his vehicle, a newish Porsche Cayenne SUV, with a ball bat in his hand. Jake wondered if he’d been there since the lights went out. They flashed by, missing him by inches, and the man angrily waved the bat at them, screaming profanities.

Poor guy probably still hoping for a tow truck or a miracle.

A chorus of screams assaulted his ears from the back. He checked the mirror… everybody still okay—but seemingly really pissed off at him.

But the bike had fallen back some. Maybe they’d had their fun and had given up? Or maybe they’d been hit with a rock and had to slow down and stop soon.

Jake didn’t give them a chance to change their mind. Breathing a sigh of relief, and with the road now clear, he put the pedal to the metal and let Ruby roar, hoping to see Tina and Tarra stand down and take their seats back on the hay, and to never see the motorcycle again.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

23

GRAYSON’S GROUP

Puck watched with animated interest as Olivia stood defiant in the back yard, her arms crossed over her chest. He couldn’t believe grown-up sisters still fought like this. “No. I said I don’t want to. You do it,” she said to her sister, Gabby.

Gabby had set up some targets in the back yard—two soda cans, an empty soup can, and an empty coffee can—and was trying to coerce her sister into doing some target practice.

“I’ve already shot some rounds,” Gabby argued. “Graysie has, too. But really, it’s you that needs the practice, Olivia. I put up some new cans for you. Let’s see what you can do.”

Olivia fiercely shook her head. “I’ve got to get food ready. I’m not a shooter. I’m a cook.”

Graysie flipped her long red hair over her shoulder and piped in. “Earlier you said we all have do a bit of everything around here now. I cooked this morning, so you need to shoot,” she chided her stepmother.

Puck stood up from the back porch where he was sitting beside Graysie, enjoying the sunshine. Ozzie ran back to him with his ball, and he threw it again without complaint, this time knowing not to whine anymore that he couldn’t run with the dog. He knew Olivia was getting angry with him. She kept saying no, be still. But, being still was so hard… he felt like running. Or doing something.

Instead, he’d watched as first Gabby, and then Graysie went through the motions of disassembling their guns, cleaning them, putting them back together, loading them, and shooting them. He’d watched closely, with great interest, and until now hadn’t made a peep.

He raised his hand on his good arm into the air, nearly jumping up and down with excitement. “I’ll do it next!”

As one, Olivia, Graysie and Gabby all shook their heads and loudly said, “NO!”

His lip poked out. “Why can’t I do it? Please! I know how to shoot. I do it on my Xbox all the time.”

Gabby set her gun down on the little card table she’d set up for her shooting stuff, and walked over to Puck, looking up into his innocent face. She gave him a one-armed hug. “This is different. It’s shooting for real, and that’s dangerous, sweetie.”

Puck didn’t want to argue, but he’d watched them carefully. He knew how to handle those guns now. He was sure of it. He was a good shooter, on his Xbox. He wanted so badly to prove it, so that maybe GrayMan would give him a gun to carry, too. “Please? I know how. And GrayMan carries a gun all the time. So does Mr. Jake, and you, and Graysie and those other ladies,” he said. “I’m the only one that don’t get to carry a gun.”

“I’m not carrying,” Olivia chirped brightly.

“That’s because you’re scared,” Gabby answered, then looked at Puck. “And you should be scared of them, too, Puck. They’re not toys.”

Puck crossed his arms, forgetting his injury, and flinching yet again. “I’m not a little boy. I’m almost a grown-up. Same as Graysie,” he insisted stubbornly.

“Kid’s got a point,” Graysie said cheerfully as she sat braiding her hair in boredom. “Teach him to shoot like a girl, Aunt Gabby.”

Gabby gave Graysie the look. “Puck, if you’ll wait until Tina and Tarra get back, I’ll ask them to teach you. Those ladies are real instructors. They know the proper way to teach, and they’ve already mentioned they’re going to be giving Jake some more lessons. We’ll ask Grayson, and if he agrees, I’m sure they’ll be glad to teach you, too.”

Puck still didn’t seem satisfied. “I don’t want to shoot like a girl. I want to shoot like a man,” he insisted.

They all laughed—all except Puck.

Gabby answered him. “That’s just an expression. It doesn’t mean girls shoot different from men. It sort of means they shoot better—sometimes,” she said, and glanced at Olivia.

Olivia glared back at her and walked off, going into the kitchen to work on their next meal. She slammed the door on her way in.

Gabby ignored her sister’s dramatic exit, and went on. “Women seem to have a natural talent for shooting, so I’ve heard. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve been at the range, and I hear some man tell another man, ‘you shoot like a girl.’ It’s not an insult. It’s a compliment—a good thing.”

Puck beamed. “Okay. I want to shoot like a girl!”

“Alrighty then. I’ll tell you what. You help Olivia around here with the food today, and we’ll see what we can do when Grayson and the ladies get back.”

Puck knew what he had to do. He’d show them he wasn’t a child. Graysie had already told him to do it, and Gabby just told him to help out with the food. Maybe if he brought food back, GrayMan would let him and Jenny stay forever.

When Gabby and Graysie returned to their shooting table, Puck stubbornly headed off into the woods.

He’d show them.

24

THE THREE E’S

A shot rang out, followed by horrifying, blood-chilling screams.

Elmer skid the tractor to a stop and jumped down, running as fast as his old legs could carry him to the end of the wagon with his shotgun ready. Already huffing and puffing, he turned the corner, coming face to face with Emma and quickly looked her over. “Hell’s bells you skeered me, girl. You alright?”

“He moved,” she said, with a stoney face.

Elmer turned to look, and had to swallow hard. Pudgy’s groin was a mess of blood. He was on his knees, his buddies tightly huddled to him, against their will, writhing in agony.

He pulled off his hat and slapped his leg with it, sending a plume of red dirt into the air. “Dagnammit, girl! Were you aiming for his pecker?”

Emma slowly nodded yes, not taking her eyes off of him. She didn’t blink an eye.

“Son of a—” Rake screamed. He tried to pull away from Pudgy, failing.

Cowboy stared over his shoulder with an open mouth, not able to really see the damage; his imagination filled in the blanks and his Adam’s apple frantically bobbed up and down.

Pudgy screamed an animalistic howl.

Elmer cussed a stream of profanities under his breath and put his hat back on, finally looking at Emma in disapproval. “You got a medical kit in that bag? We can’t leave him like this.”

Emma shook her head slowly side to side, still not speaking. She was lying. The first aid kit was in the bag; quick-clot, too. She could probably stop the bleeding, at the very least, if she wanted.

But she didn’t want to.

Elmer turned back to the bleeding, screaming man, and visibly flinched at the red spreading so quickly. “Yeah. I’m not sure patching him up is gonna be doing him any favors anyway.” He held his hand out to Emma. “Give me your pistol.”

Robotically, she handed it over.

Elmer stepped up to Pudgy and put the gun against the back of his head, and he hunkered over, screaming. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and pulled the trigger, putting the man out of his misery, and putting the fear of God into his buddies. They screamed and tried to back away, scooting like crabs, dragging the dead man with them as they circled the tree.

“Hold still, darn it,” Elmer cussed. He pulled his knife out of his pocket and cut Pudgy loose. “I did him a mercy. Ain’t no medical care around here. He’d of suffered mightily.”

Cowboy leaned over and vomited, and Rake sobbed, his face a mask of terror as he tried to flinch away from Elmer.

Elmer scoffed. “Stop your sniveling. I ain’t gonna shoot you. We’re leaving, but like the lady said the first time, don’t move until we’re long gone!”

Cowboy tried to wipe his mouth on his shoulder, missing it by inches. “What about your watchers? They might kill us now. If not them, then someone else could come by and kill us, too!” he screeched.

Elmer ignored his question about their ‘watchers’ and re-checked the zip ties on Cowboy and Rake, making sure they were as tight as possible. “You been watching too many movies, boy. Things ain’t got that bad. Ain’t nobody’s started senseless killing yet…” He looked at Pudgy, laying face down on the ground. “Well, at least not for no reason. You boys ain’t got nothing to kill for. It’s not like you’re purdy or anything. No food, no water… ain’t gonna have any guns when we leave. You ain’t got assets worth wasting a bullet on.”

“Get back in the wagon,” he said to Emma, turning to go. Then he stopped and turned back, whispering to her, “And don’t shoot the other two.” He hurried to his tractor.

Cowboy slumped against the tree, and looked at Emma. “He’s wrong about that. The killing has started. You’ll see.”

The man couldn’t have been more right.

25

TULLYMORE & GRAYSON’S GROUP

Jake had breathed in relief too soon. Two minutes later a glance in the mirror told him the bike was not giving up. It The driver twisted to full throttle and sped forward, gaining on them again. He was already pushing Ruby almost to her limit… the old girl was rattling frantically under her shiny red coat of paint, groaning in exertion.

These idiots have a death-wish. Can they not see we have five freaking guns back there?

The motorcycle moved in fast behind them again and Tina and Tarra set up the same position, this time the three men knowing to move back out of their way.

Jake looked ahead. The road was lined with abandoned cars, blocking the right lane, and the left shoulder of the road. They were bumper to bumper. There was nothing he could do but take the left lane between the rows of cars… a straight shot through the tight tunnel of metal and glass, with no room for swerving

He cringed, his foot steady on the gas, still going way too fast, and waited to see what would happen, trying to keep his eyes on the road in front of him. “What’s going on, Grayson? Talk to me!” he yelled.

Grayson turned in his seat to get a better look. “The bike is still behind us. Two hundred feet away…”

Jake sped up a tiny bit, hoping Ruby held together at that speed long enough to get through the two rows of cars before the bike caught up. The riders didn’t have a long gun, so the only way they were really in danger was if the bike got close enough to take a shot with a pistol—if they had a pistol.

But they weren’t close enough yet, not at these speeds.

On one hand Jake hoped Tina held her fire; but on the other hand, Tarra and Tina were both on the front line. It was likely one or both of them could spout a hole any second. “Tell those women to get down!” he yelled at Grayson.

“They’re not gonna listen to me! The bike is ‘bout a hundred-seventy-five foot away, and gaining now…” Grayson said.

Jake took a deep breath and held it. What if they shot and it hit him in the back of the head while he was driving? The hair on the back of his neck stood up and a chill went down his spine. He tried to watch the mirror and the road in front of him. He wanted to see it coming if he was about to check out, but he couldn’t see past Tucker and the guys.

If he were shot, it wouldn’t be just him biting the bullet… he’d wreck Ruby and probably kill all seven of them, or at least severely injure the others.

He quickly tried to count the cars they had yet to pass through, but the metal and glass was just a glittery blur. If they could just make it past the cars that had them pinned in, then he could swerve again and maybe everyone would miss their shots and he could make a get-away.

“Hundred-fifty-feet away…” Grayson said, his voice raising.

Damn these cars.

If they shot Tucker, what would Katie and the kids do? He’d feel awful if he lost anyone else, but he didn’t really know Mickey or Frank well. Or Tina and Tarra. But Tucker’s family… he knew. Tucker had four kids! Katie would be devastated. She might even blame him. He was the driver after all. She’d wonder if there’d been anything else Jake could have done.

Was there anything else he could do? Frantically, his mind raced, looking for a plan.

“Hundred-twenty-five feet away…” Grayson yelled in a frenzied voice, ducking lower in the seat. “Take your shot, girl.”

“No! Don’t say that. We don’t know if they’re armed,” Jake yelled back.

Visions of the dead man at Nick’s lot flashed through his head… the blood… the guilt… all over one four-wheeler.

Grayson yelled back at him, “We don’t know that they’re not armed, either!” He turned back to stare at the scene unfolding. “Hundred-fifteen-feet away!”

Come on, Ruby…

Tina was patiently waiting, her gun as steady as it could be while driving sixty miles an hour down the road. Jake hoped she wouldn’t pull the trigger unless she saw a gun. There was no need for anyone to die today.

“Less than a hundred feet! What’re you waiting for?” Grayson yelled, although there was no way Tina could hear him.

Jake’s hands were shaking. Only two more cars and he could swerve to the left. Then swerve to the right… and keep on swerving until either the bike gave up, or he found a way to get away from them.

“Shit!” Grayson screamed. “They’re gaining—”

—BANG

A shot rang out, just as Jake zipped past the last car.

He watched with dread as the motorcycle disappeared from the rear-view mirror, followed by the horrifying screech of sliding metal and an ear-splitting crash as it slammed into an abandoned car in the right lane, and came to a dead stop.

With a heavy heart, Jake finally made his coveted swerve, then skidded to a stop. He and Grayson both jumped out and ran to the back of the truck to look.

The two passengers lay in a twisted tangle near the mangled bike. Tina had shot the front tire out.

The group jumped out of the truck, and they all ran back toward accident.

The driver still had one battered hand on the handlebars. Blood dripped out of his smashed helmet around tufts of blonde-hair, and his legs lay still, both at a horribly wrong angle. It was obvious he was dead. The face-shield was shattered, giving them a good look at his face. Ironically it didn’t have a scratch on it. Jake could see he was young. Mid-twenties, tops.

The vehicle they hit was a battered mess, too. A human-sized, bloody dent in the SUV was evidence that one of the riders had hit it and literally bounced off.

The other passenger lay in a contorted heap, three feet away.

No movement there either.

Jake gritted his teeth and scowled at Tucker. They should’ve never left Tullymore.

Tina glanced his way, a hard look on her face. “They wouldn’t give up, Jake. I waited. And they were warned. I didn’t pull the trigger until the passenger reached into his pocket. I had to shoot first. But I shot at the tire… not them. I hoped it would give them at least half a chance,” she babbled, obviously feeling distraught at the outcome.

Tarra nodded, agreeing with her friend. “That’s right. One more second and one or all of us could have eaten a bullet. There was nothing else we could do. They forced our hand,” she said angrily.

She jumped into action, running over to the mess, and turned the passenger over, grimacing at the blood seeping through the jeans and light jacket already. Taking a chance, she gently removed the helmet.

To their surprise, a blonde pony-tail plopped out the bottom, same color as the driver’s. The face revealed a young girl, also mid-twenties, and features nearly identical to the driver’s.

She was dead.

Tarra took a deep breath, her face changing from anger to sadness tinged with regret. No one wanted to see two lives so young lost, regardless of the situation. She reached into the young woman’s right pocket. Her face fell even further when all she pulled out was a large piece of paper.

She stared hard at it a moment, confused, and bit her lip. She looked up at Tina with tears in her eyes. “That’s why these damn fools wouldn’t back off,” she said in a shaky voice. She dropped her head for a moment, and then looked up at her friend. “Tina… you couldn’t have known.”

Slowly, Tarra held the paper up for the group to see.

Jake squinted at the paper, and then swallowed hard. He stepped over to Tina, putting his arm around her shoulders and squeezing. She turned and lay her head against his chest, and cried.

The paper said,

“Please Help! 2315 Parpham Drive. Need Doctor ASAP.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jake eased off the gas and slowly rolled into town. The motorcycle incident and the two young lives that had been lost had put them all into a state of subdued shock. But they had made it this far, so they couldn’t waste this trip now. Not if they had a chance of not losing one more kid—Sarah’s baby.

The shock doubled when they came into town seeing what could only be described as the aftermath of a natural disaster.

Only it wasn’t a natural disaster.

People had done this.

People had torn and destroyed their own town.

The area was mostly void of human activity now, but not long ago it hadn’t been. Every shop and store they passed had been looted, ransacked and pillaged. Graffiti had been painted all over the place. Trash cans were overturned. Windows and glass doors were shattered. Cars had been burned wherever they had stopped running, abandoned by their owners—probably after running out of fuel.

They drove by a pawn shop where a small group of men were too focused on breaking and entering to notice a working vehicle driving by. They were using crow bars to try to pry the steel cage off the front of the entrance.

Suddenly, it was opened. They slid up the cage and heaved a brick through the window of the door. Then, they used another brick to punch out the jagged glass.

Jake saw the store swallow up the men, like a big dark hole, as one by one they disappeared into it.

He was surprised to see the pawn shop had lasted that long without being looted. Pawn shops had guns and other tools that would be on every man’s wish-list about now. According to Grayson, you could never have too many guns. You could always use another.

Jake watched Grayson eyeballing the shop, and punched the gas a bit just to make a statement that they were not stopping there. It was too dangerous.

Grayson sighed. Jake ignored it.

There must’ve been someone guarding the store since the grid went down, for it to have remained intact so long. Wherever the guard or the owner was, their leaving was hella bad timing and they’d be coming back to a big surprise.

At least Jake hoped that was the case, and that it wasn’t a case of them having already ‘dispatched’ the owner or guard.

They passed a Gas and Food Mart that had a street sign impaled through the front window, still attached to the long metal pole. It read, “Dead End.” From what Jake had seen so far, this whole trip was becoming a dead end.

On the next block, they watched with disbelief as they passed a liquor store with all the windows broken out. All of the shelves that they could see were bare. In front of it, someone had rolled in a steel barrel that now had a fire blazing inside. A dozen men were gathered around it, all clutching a bottle, drunk as Cooter Brown. The men were too intoxicated to pay them any mind at all. Four women sat against the wall of the store, barely awake. Clothes torn and dirty, their hair all mussed, they looked like they’d been ridden hard and put up wet.

Jake and Grayson both shook their heads in disgust.

Putting aside the fact that they were all drunk, they were wasting valuable burn material, not to mention the liquor, which could be used for antiseptic and medicinal purposes later. It was also warm outside, so they didn’t need a fire for heat… yet. And they weren’t cooking over it either. They were just gathering around it to enjoy the flames and the buzz. Soon the losers would wish they’d saved whatever it was they were burning—and drinking.

Jake sped up, covering five more miles as they all looked around with wide, haunted eyes at this new reality. Finally locating the grocery store they’d planned on checking out, he pulled into it with disappointment. It too, looked deserted.

But looks can be deceiving, and the group would soon find out they didn’t have their eyes open wide enough.

26

GRAYSON’S GROUP

Puck crept into the woods, trying not to make any noise. If the girls saw him, they’d just make him go back to bed. He wasn’t a baby, and he was tired of being treated like one. If they would all just really look at him, they would see he was bigger than almost anyone there, even GrayMan.

He was a man.

Just like GrayMan and Jake.

He stopped walking and listened. Someone was following him.

He whipped around. Suddenly, Ozzie came running through the brush, joyfully flopping his head around with his ball in his mouth, sounding like a herd of elephants.

“Geesh, Ozzie, you scared me! Go back,” Puck whispered loudly, pointing him home. “You can’t be with me right now.”

Ozzie dropped his ball and danced around Puck’s feet, waiting for him to throw it. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth as he panted.

Puck sighed and snatched up the ball, and threw it hard, toward the house. When Ozzie took off after it, Puck ran the other way, hoping the pooch would give up and stay home.

But Ozzie wasn’t that easily deterred. A short minute later, he was right behind Puck again, loping easily through the woods. Puck had to slow down—maybe his arm still hurt a bit after all—and maybe it was good that Ozzie was with him.

He was lonely with GrayMan being gone so long. And he was worried about him, too.

As he walked, Puck thought about the man that had saved him from the mean boys. Sometimes GrayMan was grumpy and acted like he didn’t like him. But sometimes he acted like he did like him. If he could just do something to help out, then maybe GrayMan would like him all the time. Maybe if Mama Dee did come back, GrayMan wouldn’t make him go home.

He didn’t want to go home to her. She was mean to him and Jenny. Puck knew Mama Dee didn’t ever like him—she told him so. She would get mad and say, ‘If I didn’t need this check, I’d throw you outta here.’ And then she’d make him act like he couldn’t talk at all, or think, when the man in the suit came to visit every few months.

Grunt. That’s what Mama Dee said to do, no matter what the man asked him.

It made his face hot to act like that when the man was there. It wasn’t nice to not answer the right way when talked to. Even he knew that.

It was stupid to act stupid.

Mama Dee said if the man knew he wasn’t stupid, he couldn’t stay there anymore. He’d have to go to school and everything. She made him hide his Xbox and his drone on the days the man was coming.

Uh oh, he thought. I think I forgot to hide my Xbox.

Well, hopefully the man wouldn’t come.

Puck didn’t want to go to school anyway, but he wouldn’t mind it at all if he didn’t have to stay with Mama Dee anymore… as long as he could keep Jenny and Mama Dee could still get her check. If she didn’t get her check, she got really mad.

Puck hadn’t been to school in a long time. He could barely remember school, but sometimes he had a nightmare of other boys taunting him in a school setting. The dreams scared him because they seemed like real life.

But Mama Dee said it wasn’t real.

The kids in his dreams made fun of him. Just like the mean boys who chased him up that tree. He didn’t like mean people. He was nice to everyone. It wasn’t fair that not everyone was nice back to him.

Mama Dee was even meaner to Jenny. Jenny didn’t like her one little bit.

A loud buzzing filled Puck’s ears and he stopped again. Ozzie stopped beside him. He looked up into the tall trees and found what he was looking for.

And much more.

His face lit up. Now there were two bee nests! He was going to bring back lots of food!

One nest was in the hollowed-out knothole in the tall tree. He’d sat down in the woods many times to watch the little workers their honey. It was really fun to watch. The stuff looked like tiny yellowish-orange bags. He’d imagined they had packed their things and were moving out—running away even.

Maybe they had a Mama Dee Bee that was mean to them, too. He giggled at that. A Mama Dee-Bee… and maybe they were going somewhere to live with a new Mama Bee. One that was nice to them and let them eat as much as they wanted, anytime their belly growled. One that didn’t make them work hard outside all day long.

One that let him have friends and go places and carry a gun—oh wait.

He was getting confused. He forgot he was thinking of the bees… not himself.

He sighed and looked at the new nest. It was strange looking and didn’t look like a normal nest at all. It was a big bubble of bees all stuck together, hanging on a branch on the next tree over from the hive in the knothole. The bee-bubble moved as though it were breathing. It looked like the bees were doing ‘the wave,’ like he saw people do at a football game on television sometimes.

He wished he could go to a real football game.

Why are so many bees out of the knothole? he wondered. Probably wasn’t room in there for all those bees… maybe they were waiting their turn to get in.

He secured the bag that he was carrying through a belt loop and grabbed the base of the tree before looking at Ozzie. “Ozzie, stay,” he said, not remembering Ozzie couldn’t climb trees.

Slowly, he climbed, trying not to put too much weight on his arm.

It was really hurting now…

Graysie leaned back, looking up in amazement. “Puck! What are you doing?” she screamed. “Get down from there!”

She had seen Ozzie run out and get his ball that weirdly flew in from the woods, grab it and run back into the trees. She’d followed him, knowing he was following Puck.

Puck was so startled by her scream that he nearly fell. “Graysie! Go back. I can do this all by myself!” he yelled angrily. “I’m mad at you!”

“Whatever, Puck, come down. You’re going to get hurt and then we’ll both be in trouble. I was supposed to be watching you!”

“I don’t need you to watch me. I’m not a baby!” he yelled down, his face growing red.

Graysie waved her hands up in the air. “No, I mean… look out for you. Not watch you. I know you’re not a baby. Come down. There’s bees up there!”

“No! I’m getting us food.” He hung on with one arm, looking all the world like a big blonde monkey, and reached into his bag, pulling out a glass Mason jar.

Graysie ran her hands over her face. “Puck, what are you doing?”

Ozzie looked up at Graysie, then Puck, and whined, pacing a circle around the tree.

“This is how Pooh does it,” he said, determined to prove her wrong.

“That’s a story! You don’t gather honey like that. I’m telling you. Please listen to me!” she begged.

“No! You’re not the boss of me!” he yelled, getting angrier.

There was no stopping him. Graysie could see that. And she knew it was her butt that was going to be in trouble for this. She pulled Ozzie back by his collar. “Come on, Ozzie. This might be bad.”

She grimaced and covered her eyes, peeking through her fingers, as Puck stuck the jar into the hole. She let out her breath. A few bees came out, buzzing around, but so far, no army came after him.

Until it did.

“Puck, here they come! Get down! Quick!”

Puck dropped the jar and it fell to the ground, as he tried to cover his face with one hand. An army of bees filed out and flew crazily around him. “Run, Graysie! Run, Ozzie!”

27

THE THREE E’S

“It’s Olivia,” Edith blurted out. She crossed her arms. “There was a terrible accident. So, you can mark twins off that list. There’s not a matching set anymore. And Mei went home… the other way. Alone. I have no idea where she lives.”

Trunk narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you lying again, Grandma?”

Edith slowly shook her head, her face burning with heat.

Trunk shrugged.

“Well, that’s a shame. My condolences.” He stonily stared at Edith and then reached out and patted her shoulder. “May Olivia rest in peace.”

Edith nodded, swallowing loudly.

“Okay! Let’s see what else is on the list you might could help us with then.”

He nonchalantly swiped up the paper, and bent his knees to squat down a foot, coming eye to eye with Edith.

She held her breath as he held his pose and stared at her for what seemed like eternity.

“I’ll take those!” He plucked her glasses off her nose, causing Edith to jerk away in fright. He lifted the glasses over her head with the chain still intact, and put them over his own head. Laughing, he walked into the den and plopped down into Elmer’s recliner, kicking his feet back.

He leaned back to look at Edith, still standing as still as a statue in the kitchen. “Bring me some coffee, honey,” he said, and winked.

Edith shook off a shiver, and sidestepped the other biker. “Excuse me.” She pulled a cup down from the cupboard and shakily poured the coffee, sloshing it onto the counter.

The other biker, Backfire, took up where Trunk had left off, shoving chicken into his mouth. “Pour me a cup, too,” he mumbled through a mouthful, not even looking at Edith.

These were men used to getting what they wanted… when they wanted it.

Edith carried the coffee to Trunk and after a moment of hesitation, during which time she considered throwing it in his face and running, she finally handed it to him. Backfire sauntered into the living room, carrying the whole plate of the remaining chicken.

“Can I sit for a bit, too, Boss?” he asked.

Trunk generously waved a hand at the old plaid couch and Edith grimaced as the nasty man sat down, sloshing the black liquid on her favorite green and yellow afghan; one that had taken her nearly a year to crochet.

“Sit, Grandma.” Trunk demanded.

Edith squeezed past his legs and perched on the other end of the sofa, farthest away from the strangers. She stared at the quiet television, seeing her life with Elmer flash by on the empty gray screen. She should’ve listened to him when he told her to carry the pistol in her apron. He’d told her a dozen times it wouldn’t do a darn bit of good under her pillow.

“Where’s your husband, Grandma?”

Edith realized they had no way of knowing if Elmer was even here. They hadn’t looked… why were they so confident he wasn’t about to come out shooting from another room in the house? And how did they even know she had a husband?

“Grrrrraaaaaandma… I’m talking to you…”

“How did you know I was married?”

“You said I was eating your husband’s food, remember?”

She’d forgotten.

“And Rose. Sweet, sweet Rose. She told me all about you and Elmer. Said you two were BFF’s. I think that’s super cool for you old gals,” he said, and smiled. “She was more than willing to tell me anything I needed to know.”

Edith’s blood turned to ice.

Why would Rose tell these men anything? Did they hurt her? And did she also tell them Elmer had left, taking the girls with him? It was possible she saw them drive by.

But no… she reassured herself. Think, Edith! He was asking where Elmer was. So he doesn’t know Elmer left with the girls.

“He’s gone to town. Looking for supplies,” she lied again.

“Coming home soon then?”

“I hope so.”

Trunk jerked his head toward the bedrooms, and spoke to Backfire. “You. Go check out the bedrooms. You know what’s on the list. See if you find anything. Old people have a lot of weird shit. Look in the closets,” he said to the other man.

The man stood up, sliding the plate onto the end table, and Edith made as though to stand, too. Trunk waved her back down again.

“I don’t want him in our bedroom!” she said with indignation.

“Settle down… he won’t hurt anything. Will ya, Backfire?”

Backfire looked back with a smug grin, just before his elbow knocked over a glass lantern, spilling precious fuel onto the floor. The glass shattered. “Nope. I’ll be careful, boss.”

Tears filled Edith’s eyes. That lantern had belonged to her parents, long dead. The flowers painted on the front were by her own mother’s hand.

Slowly, she sat back down, barely perched on the edge of the sofa. Her mind raced. What if he found the gun? If he didn’t, maybe she could devise a plan on how to get it? Could she shoot a man in cold blood? Could she shoot them both before they shot her? They each had a gun. The man outside probably had one, too.

Edith was a pretty good shot; Elmer had told her so many times. But she wasn’t sure if she was that good under pressure. And shooting at a person was a lot different from shooting at a target in the yard.

Trunk broke her train of thought. “So, Edith… I’m really glad you didn’t lie to me. I hate a liar. The way I see it, the truth will always set you free! Hallelujah! Can I get an amen?”

“Amen,” Edith answered, in barely a whisper.

He waved his hand in the air. “Yeah. No use heading to York County, South Cackalacky, for nothing, right? You saved me a wasted trip. For all I know, that truck is long gone… sold on Craigslist to some other schmuck. It was the girls I was after. Shame that set got broke up. What exactly happened to the poor girl?”

He leaned forward and put his elbow on his knee, and his chin in his hand, examining Edith closely.

She shivered in fear under his stare.

He suspects I’m lying.

In for a penny… in for a pound.

Edith reached for a tissue, not really needing it. She began to tear it into little pieces, dropping them into her lap. “It was an accident, of course. Mei did it. She was trying to shoot Elmer’s shotgun one-handed. One hand was all she had, after all.”

Trunk laughed and Edith shot him a deadly glare.

He choked down his laughter. “Sorry. I thought you were making a joke.”

Edith frantically shook her head. Her legs were beginning to shake. “No. So Mei shot Olivia, and she felt just awful. She decided not to go with Gabby and Emma, their little sister. She went her own way.”

Trunk frowned. “All by herself? She hit the road, on foot, all alone? That doesn’t sound like Mei. She was willing to do just about anything back at that rest area to not be alone out on the road,” he said and winked again.

He’s playing with me. He knows I’m lying.

Edith dabbed at her eyes—which truly were watering now, thinking of what really happened. “I’d prefer not to talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.”

Trunk nodded. “I see.”

He turned to the hall and yelled, “Backfire, what’re you finding back there?”

Backfire walked out, a small fancy bag dangling from his fingertips. “Look here, Boss.”

Trunk held his hand out and Backfire brought it to him. He pursed his lips and turned it over and over, examining it. “This looks familiar.” He looked at Edith. “Care to tell me why Mei would run off without her purse, Edith? ‘Cuz lemme tell you… I could barely keep that girl’s one paw out of this bag, even when I had her on the ground bumping uglies.”

Edith began to shake again. “It’s not Mei’s.” She bit her lip and looked at the floor.

Trunk opened the purse and first pulled out a brown bottle with a few pills in it, holding them up to Edith, who slowly raised her head to look. “Naw… you’re right. This can’t be Mei’s purse. A junkie never ever leaves her stash…” he said.

He dug in again and pulled out a plastic identification card and held it up by two fingers.

Edith glanced at the card—not seeing the name or picture as it was turned around backward to her—and then plucked another Kleenex out of the box, dabbing the sweat on her forehead delicately and looking down again at the floor.

Trunk smirked. “Whoa. A real pressure cooker going on here. What do you think, Edith? Whose name is going to be on this card?”

Edith sank her crooked back into the old plaid couch as she cowered. She seemed to visibly shrink. “Olivia’s,” she said quietly, still holding onto her story.

Trunk put two fingers on the end of his nose, and then pulled them straight out into the air, making the universal sign for Pinocchio. “Liar, liar, pants on fire,” he quietly sang under his breath.

A tear rolled down Edith’s cheek, so great was her fear.

He stepped over to the couch, and stood over the old woman trembling under his scowl. “I’m not a liar, Edith. I say what I do and I do what I say.” He paused a long moment.

“Get out the branding iron, Backfire.”

28

TULLYMORE & GRAYSON’S GROUP

After the hair-raising ride into town, and the fatal ending of their last encounter, Jake unenthusiastically rolled Ruby into the parking lot of the grocery store with a heavy heart that was still pounding.

He couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

They’d killed that young man and woman.

Just kids, really.

His head was pounding too, and he couldn’t stop sweating. He felt like he needed to puke—but all that was from more than just aiding and abetting a double murder. It’d been happening for almost a week now.

He wished he could take it back. He wished they’d never have left the farm this morning.

They died for nothing. All they wanted was help.

It was a mistake to leave Tullymore. Heck, it was a mistake to leave Grayson’s farm. There was a big fire somewhere. They’d yet to pass any large fires, but a heavy cloud of smoke hung everywhere, the acrid smell burning their noses.

They’d passed more abandoned cars after leaving the mangled mess of the motorcycle accident behind them. Some of the cars had people living out of them. Some were burned, yet some looked shiny and brand new as though just driven off the local dealership lot.

All the people they’d passed looked hungry, tired and desperate. They didn’t see a dingle police car, ambulance, or fire truck. Where were the emergency services? Surely, they had gas. Jake had the note from the dead motorcycle riders in his pocket. He was hoping he could still send help to whomever needed it at the address that was on the paper.

Not a single gas station was open for business. Each one had looked as though World War III had occurred at their pumps. Even the supply-tank hatches were open, their lids thrown far and wide. Probably from people somehow siphoning right from the underground tanks.

Jake felt some relief in that at least they’d missed all the riots and looting that had surely happened.

He drove slowly through the parking lot. The grocery store was deserted. Like a chicken in a ditch, Jake’s head swiveled on his neck, looking for trouble. He was getting spooked now, expecting danger around every corner. He edged around the outside of the lot until they could get a better look at the building.

It was gutted.

Grayson whistled and repeated Jake’s thought from earlier. “Looks like a natural disaster happened here.”

Metal shopping carts were strewn everywhere. All of the front glass was shattered. Empty plastic grocery bags blew across the parking lot like tumbleweeds. Ripped and torn food packages peppered the yellow lines painted on the pavement. Several cars were abandoned, some having been burnt down to nothing more than four steel wheels on the ground.

Jake pulled up to the storefront and slowed to a stop to get a closer look. The outside walls were painted with graffiti and the inside was eerily dim and quiet. It was too dark to see beyond the first twenty feet. All he could make out were the outlines of empty cash register lanes. He shook his head in wonder. “What the heck happened here?”

“Mass hysteria. Let’s roll on, Jake. There’s nothing to be found in there. If there was, there’d still be people here,” Grayson said.

Tucker slapped the top of the cab and leaned over to talk to Jake through his open window. “How far can we go looking? We still good on gas?”

“Not far, brutha. What do you want to do?” Jake answered robotically. He really just wanted to give up and go home to Gabby. That was after they made one more important stop that he dreaded more than anything.

Tucker pointed up the road. “If you go this way and head down highway 901, we’ll run into the government buildings. I bet we can find some milk at those offices. Isn’t there still some kind of WIC program for the needy there that gives baby stuff to new moms?”

Tarra spoke up. “As far as I’m aware, the WIC program is cereal, whole milk and cheese. But, they just issue a coupon to be used at stores. They don’t keep the stuff at the offices.”

Tina stepped up between them so her voice could be heard in the truck, too. “When my friend had a baby last year, her pediatrician sent her home with several samples of formula. Where’s the nearest doctor’s offices?”

Tucker nodded, glad to see Tina talking again. She hadn’t said a word to anyone since the motorcycle incident, but had ridden with her face pointed away from everyone. He ignored the trail of dried tears on her cheeks. “That’s a great idea, Tina.” He leaned up to Jake’s window. “Take India Hook a few miles up to Herlong. There’s a set of offices across the way there. I know The Sunshine Practice is there. Let’s check it out.”

Mickey mumbled something, looking as though he disagreed with the plan.

“Speak up, Mickey. You got a better idea?” Tucker asked, in a friendly tone.

Mickey readjusted his seat on his half of the bale of hay that he shared with Frank, clearly uncomfortable. “No. I think that’s probably the best idea for the baby formula, but we’re already here. Why not go in and take a look. There might be something else left in there. There’s hundreds more things we need.”

Tucker nodded in agreement. Although right now the formula was his main objective because of the tiny life depending on it, he knew he couldn’t waste an opportunity to add to their food and supplies either. That would be a bad decision. They needed to at least check out what remained of the grocery store.

He leaned over the side of the truck again to talk to Jake. “You hear that, Jake? Mickey thinks we ought to go in and look around. He’s right. There could be something useful left behind. Maybe they didn’t take everything—we could look in the stockroom, under the shelves, in the employee break room. Better to leave with something than nothing, right?”

Grayson and Jake spoke in whispers up front, not sharing their thoughts with anyone, but a few moments later, Jake reluctantly pulled up just past the broken window, parallel parking Ruby in front of the store. He turned the engine off and he and Grayson stepped out.

Jake spoke to the group, “Okay, we do it this way. I’m staying with Ruby. Tina, Tarra and Grayson stay with me and we’ll watch for anyone coming. Tucker, you take Mickey and Frank in with you and look around. But other than the baby formula, we even-split anything you bring out. Deal?”

Tucker looking down at Jake from the bed of the truck with narrowed eyes. “No deal, dude. If me and my guys are risking our necks to go in there to find stuff, why would we share it with your group? No offense, but that hardly seems fair.”

Grayson laughed. “It’s our truck and our gas, Tucker. You wouldn’t be here without us.”

Tucker jumped out of the truck, landing directly in front of Grayson, and once again the two were nose to nose, screaming so loudly no one could understand a word they were saying.

Jake hurried around to the other side and slid between them. “Stop it! Y’all are making too much noise. Okay. We’ll send one of ours in with you. The rest of us have to guard the truck—unless you want it to get stolen so we’re stranded out here?” He glared at Tucker.

Tucker backed up a step.

Jake continued. “But still, an even split on everything except formula. Does that work for ya’ now?” He cocked his head at Tucker, disappointed in his friend for continuing to lose his shit, especially with his brother-in-law.

Tucker gave a brisk nod of agreement, clearly still not happy.

Jake glanced at Tina and Tarra, and then Grayson. Other than the women—who were clearly more fit than he was—he was the best person to go in. He couldn’t run faster than anyone with his bum leg, but they’d need Grayson out here handling a gun since he clearly sucked at that. If someone came along, Jake would do better to throw it at them than to try to shoot them. “I’ll go,” he volunteered.

Tarra shook her head. “No, Jake. I’ll go. Tina wants to stay out here and guard the truck with you and Grayson. We’re splitting up. I’m with Tuck—”

“—oh no you’re not…” Grayson interrupted. “The men will go in. You ladies both stay out here with Jake. I’m with Tucker.”

Tucker looked from Tarra to Grayson and sneered. He pointed at Tarra. “I’ll take her,” he said, and he and his men walked away, expecting Tarra to join them.

Tarra smirked at Grayson. “Sorry,” she said, and then jogged to catch up with the group.

29

GRAYSON’S GROUP

Puck slid down the tree fast as lightning, with his good arm wrapped around it, his bad arm shielding his face.

Graysie stood way back, holding as still as possible, with one hand holding Ozzie’s collar and the other holding the neck of her T-shirt up over her nose. At least most of her face would be covered if the bees came after her, too.

But they hadn’t found her yet.

Six feet from the ground, Puck jumped off, landing on his rear end and scrambling up on his feet. He paused in shock, seeing Graysie still there and standing still. “Run, Graysie!” he said, swatting at the hundreds of bees that had followed him down in hot pursuit. “Run, Ozzie!”

The sound of a zillion buzzes filled Graysie’s ears, but she tried to speak low and calm—and fast. “They don’t see us yet. You run really fast, Puck, and try to run through low-hanging leaves and branches. Don’t run on a clear trail. Hurry! Really fast! When you get to the house, jump into Daddy’s truck and slam the door. Kill the ones that get in with you fast, too. Now hurry! Run!”

By now the bees were stinging whenever and wherever they could land on Puck while he continued to swat his arms around and turn in a circle. But for once, he listened to Graysie and took off at a dead run through the trees, with a blurred line of bees zipping angrily behind him, weaving to and fro around the limbs and branches that Puck was running through.

Graysie gave him a head start, and then slowly walked away from the swarming bees, not wanting to catch the attention of those that stayed behind. When she could no longer see the tree they’d come from, she too ran, trying to catch up close enough to see Puck.

But he was gone.

That boy can run! she thought.

A few moments later, when she was panting and almost to the edge of the woods, she heard the truck door slam shut.

Ozzie, thinking that meant Daddy’s Home—a noise he knew well—broke out of Graysie’s grasp and darted away in a mad dash, barking joyfully.

“No, Ozzie!” she screamed.

But it was too late.

Graysie broke through the edge of the woods, into their back yard to see Ozzie barking frantically at the door of the truck, while simultaneously biting at thin air—except it wasn’t air. Inside, she could see Puck, still swatting at the few bees that he’d brought into the vehicle with him.

She ran toward the truck, fully expecting to be attacked. But she couldn’t leave Ozzie there to defend himself. She held her T-shirt up over her nose and dived toward him, grabbing his collar, and pulling him away.

Olivia and Gabby ran out the back door. “What’s going on?” Olivia asked. “What’s all this ruckus out here?”

Graysie paused and looked around her with wide eyes. The bees were gone, other than a few that still hovered around her dad’s truck. “It was bees. They chased us.”

Gabby raised her eyebrows at her niece. “Us?”

Graysie pointed at Grayson’s truck. “Puck. He’s in the truck.”

Puck’s face popped up at the window, looking at them with wide eyes.

Olivia’s eyes widened and she put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my. Oh, Puck!”

Puck’s face looked like a jack-o-lantern that had blown up red, instead of orange. Already, one eye was nearly swollen shut.

Olivia whipped around to check Graysie and Ozzie. Graysie was fine, but when she saw Ozzie, she dropped to her knees. “Oh, Ozzie! You, too?”

Ozzie whined and leaned his head against his mistress. Already, one side of his nose was puffing up. He plopped down on the porch and rubbed his paws over his snout, looking as though he was trying to hide.

Gabby sighed. “Well, at least we can put your credit cards to good use again… right, Olivia?”

30

THE THREE E’S

Twin streams of tears rolled down Edith’s pale cheeks as she stared at Trunk’s back. Standing over the newly dug grave, he held a shovel in one hand, and in the other a jar of Elmer’s favorite beverage. It was his tomato juice that she’d made from the tomatoes out of their own garden and canned in glass Mason jars for long-term storage.

The blood-red liquid looked fitting in the barbarian’s ruthless hands.

The heathens had eaten at least a few days’ worth of food, going at it like swine, before packing up nearly all of Elmer and Edith’s pantry into Elmer’s truck that they planned to steal when they left. Now they’d dug into all of Elmer’s special treats. Her poor husband wouldn’t have so much as a stick of jerky or a chocolate-covered cherry when he finally made his way home.

They’d hadn’t left them a tater or radish one in the cellar either. She and Elmer would probably starve before the next harvest was ready.

She angrily swiped at the tears, willing them to stop rolling.

Edith wasn’t crying in fear anymore; fear of the worst happening wasn’t a worry now. She didn’t need to wring her hands and let her mind wander about what if’s. Trunk had already taken great joy in describing to her exactly what was to happen, and she couldn’t imagine anything worse than that.

Tears weren’t coming because she was scared of them—although she was—terrified, actually. But she was quietly weeping in silent rage at the world. A place that allowed men like this to walk free and terrorize young girls and old women and everything in between.

A world that worked together to put up a façade to make little old ladies like her—and Rose—think bad things only happened to other people in faraway places; not to them. They were convinced by people far smarter than they, that they could pray the bad stuff away from themselves and their loved ones and live their quiet lives, all warm and cozy, cocooned in their safe homes.

The mainstream news didn’t report that really bad things actually happened every single day and probably somewhere very close to them. When they did report on something, they acted as though it wasn’t commonplace… that it was bizarre that it had actually happened at all.

The church helped with the façade by making them believe if they clutched their bibles, prayed hard and often, and behaved like good Christian, and followed the ten commandments… that they’d be protected from the really bad things that went on.

The prison systems had a hand in it, too. They were overcrowded, thus releasing convicted felons way too soon just to make room for new ones, that would be released too soon, too. They told the public these men were reformed.

Pfft.

She’d bit into all that narrative… hook, line and sinker. Elmer constantly told her she lived a life of delusion; that she needed to wake up to what was happening in the world all around them. He had warned her that she needed to always keep the doors locked, the windows sealed tight, and carry her gun with her.

She really never thought she’d ever need that gun.

All her life, or for as long as she could remember, she believed every man had good in him. That no one was truly a monster deep down. She’d believed that when people did really bad things, it was usually a direct reaction to a really bad thing that had happened to them first—and the news was just not reporting on that part.

In her mind, as long as she herself never did a really bad thing to someone else, they wouldn’t want to do a really bad thing to her.

I was so, so wrong.

The man standing in front of her was truly evil, and she, nor Elmer, had done anything to him to bring this hell upon them.

I lied to him.

That much was true.

But, if the man before her had any moral conscience at all, he’d realize she lied not to save herself, or to hurt him, but to save Olivia and Gabby, and maybe Emma, too, from his clutches.

Surely she would be forgiven for one tiny lie when it was purely for unselfish reasons.

Nope.

She’d already pled her case; she’d admitted it was Mei in the grave. She’d relived the horrible scene, trying not to cast any of the blame on him and the fools that rode with him when she’d told the story of how tortured the young woman had been; of how recklessly she’d taken her own life.

But Trunk had been merciless.

His plans on what would happen next were the stuff of nightmares.

A chill ran down her back and she gripped herself tighter, squeezing her eyes shut and wishing it was a dream she could wake up from—wake up beside Elmer and hug him tight while the old fool snorted and snored and farted beside her in their bed.

She swallowed down a sob and cleared her throat.

Trunk glanced suspiciously over his shoulder at her, hunkered down in the short, wooden Adirondack chair. “You’re not planning on running off, right? I don’t want to have to tie you up, Grandma.”

Edith grit her teeth. She didn’t want to even answer this demon. He didn’t deserve her words. But she didn’t want to be tied up either. “It would take me five minutes just to get out of this chair. I think you could catch me if I take a wild hair to pull a runner,” she answered sarcastically.

Trunk quickly whipped around to face her. “Whoa, Edith! Finding your spunk, are ya? That’s good. It’s easier to deal with pain when you’re angry.”

“You don’t have to do this. Not any of it. Please, just take anything you want and leave.”

Trunk clicked his teeth together. “Oh, but I do. And, I will. I am a man of my word, Edith.”

He looked around, putting eyes on his guys who were across the yard messing with the backpack-sized solar charger and the cell phone. He pointed to them. “You see Backfire and Smalls over there doing exactly what I told them to do?”

Edith jerked her head up in a tiny nod.

“They only do that because I’m a mean motherfucker,” he said with a cheesy smile.

He shrugged. “I’m also fair. If I threaten to do something, and then I don’t do it… they got no reason to believe what I say. I need them to always believe me. To believe in me. I gave you a chance, Edith. I gave you a warning. I told you exactly what I was going to do if you lied to me again. Yet, you did it anyway. You did what you had to do, so I gotta do what I gotta do. I am a man of my word,” he finished, with a big grin.

He turned from her, but not before giving her his now famous worn-out wink that turned her stomach. With ferocity, he stabbed the shovel deep into the dirt.

Edith squeezed her eyes shut tight and gave prayer one more try.

31

TULLYMORE & GRAYSON’S GROUP

Tarra edged around the endcap of an aisle, taking a quick peek and then swiftly pulling back, to be sure it was clear.

Tucker had let her take point without argument. He was no idiot. He was a man who better handled a fight with his hands and feet, not guns, although it was getting more and more comfortable in his hand every minute. But Tarra was clearly more experienced than any man there.

The store held an ominous feel to it, and she wondered why no one at all was here. Surely other people just like them were out looking for food and supplies… why not here?

The group had left the long guns behind, choosing only to carry their pistols into the store. Slowly, they crept from aisle to aisle from the front-side, peeking down each one to be sure they were empty before going to the next. Just as they’d thought, the store had been ransacked. So far, there was nothing but empty shelves left behind. Definitely nothing in the baby aisle; or anywhere else so far…

But they still needed to make it to the back of the store and check there.

Suddenly, Tarra stopped, and listened.

“What is it?” Tucker whispered, just behind her.

“Shhh,” she warned him.

She held her fist in the air, telling them all to stop and be still.

Turning to Tucker, she whispered, “Do you hear that?”

Tucker’s eyes darted from left to right while he stood stock-still.

Finally, they all heard it.

Laughter.

She held up a fist and crept forward one more aisle.

The men stood still.

She eased up to the empty shelves and stole a quick look around the corner. She quietly gasped, pulling back quickly. She jerked her head to Tucker, and twirled one finger in the air, indicating for him and the other guys to back up; turn around and retreat.

Tucker ignored her instructions, and pushed past her. “What is it?” he asked.

The laughter stopped just as Tucker’s head poked around the aisle.

A shot rang out.

“Run!” Tarra yelled. She turned and ran past Frank and Mickey, leaving Tucker behind her, and headed for the doors.

A thunder of boots hitting the floor, metal ringing, and strange men’s yells rang after them.

She looked over her shoulder to be sure the guys were following her, and ran faster when another deafening shot split the air, echoing through the empty store. Mickey and Frank were right on her heels, but Tucker tripped and fell, falling behind. She saw his gun clatter to the floor, sliding away from him.

Shit!

Tarra slid to a stop and turned around, just as four guys popped out at the end of the aisle they’d been spied at. Each of them wore a bandana of the same color somewhere on their body. Either on their head, tied around their wrist, or hanging from a pocket.

She gripped her gun tightly with both hands and lifted her arms—making sure to keep her elbows unlocked—and took aim. Mickey and Frank ran on by.

“Stop,” she yelled at the strangers.

They slid to an abrupt stop, twenty feet from Tucker who was trying to find his feet to get up. He looked over his shoulder to see the men bearing down on him with four guns aimed at his head. A glance at his own gun told him it was too far to reach in time. He turned back to Tarra, a look of horror on his face.

Quickly, he put his hands up, freezing on his knees, facing her.

Tarra took a chance to glance behind her, hoping to see Mickey and Frank stop too, with their own guns, backing her up. But the sorry-assed weasels were still running, looking over their own shoulders in terror at the group that pursued them. A moment later, they turned and ran out the front door.

She was outnumbered.

The young men—barely more than teenagers—surveyed Tarra, undressing her with their eyes, and one in particular had her captured and bedded down in his mind already. He licked his lips as his eyes rolled over her chest and hips. “Put the gun down, lady,” the perverted gang-rat dressed in a dirty once-white wife-beater said. His arms were covered in ink, from shoulders to wrists. “Clearly, you are outnumbered, and you is in our store.”

Tarra shook her head. She wasn’t stupid. “Not a chance. Just let my friend up, and we’ll be on our way.”

The gang-rat did a little shimmy with his shoulders. “You look hot handling that gun, chica. Just saying…”

Tarra glared at him. “Not interested, asshole.”

He angrily grumbled to his friends who nodded their heads. None of them looked any friendlier—or smarter—to her. One wore a pair of past-the-knees baggy basketball shorts with a matching jersey. Another wore a red shirt with the words, “Brown Lives Matter” printed across it, and the last one wore no shirt at all, but his many tattoos left no skin untouched.

To Tarra, WifeBeater said, “How do we know your other homies didn’t take anything?”

“Clearly,” she said, sarcastically repeating his words. “We didn’t take anything. You’ve got everything stacked up in the back, guarding it like Fort Knox. I saw it there. How could we have taken it?”

WifeBeater nodded and looked to his friends again, then back at Tarra. “A’ight. You give us your guns, and we’ll let you and your friend go.”

Tarra looked at her gun. It was a gift, and she cherished it. She had plenty of pistols… but this one was from her husband. She wasn’t giving it up. “Not happening. This gun was a gift from my hubs. You’ll have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands to get it.”

WifeBeater turned his own firearm sideways and pointed it at the back of Tucker’s head. He smiled contemptuously. “This White Bread your husband? Doesn’t look like much of a man on his knees here.”

Tarra flinched as she saw his finger on the trigger. One tiny squeeze, and Tucker was dead. She’d be wearing his brains. She considered the question. Within seconds, any of the four misguided hoods could blow Tucker’s head off.

Was it best to say yes?

Or would they try to kill the competition?

Maybe best to say no?

Tucker stared into Tarra’s eyes with a haunted look, as though it were already over, knowing his life might hinge on her answer. He took a deep breath, squeezed his lips together, and slowly closed his eyes.

32

THE THREE E’S

Edith’s prayers must have fallen on deaf ears, she thought, as Trunk slowly pulled her to her feet—his gentle manner with her was in complete contrast to the terrifying plans he had in mind.

“Time to pay the piper, Granny.”

Edith begged, “Please, you don’t have to do this. Just take our food and go,” she cried. She dug her feet in, trying to move away from the grave, now freshly dug out.

Trunk laughed. “No, no, no… Edith. We’re not ready for that. The sun’s not cooperating. Better pray for rain,” he said, and laughed, pulling her with him.

They were charging a cell phone to be used in their evil plans, but the backpack charger the gang had with them was slow to charge without full sun. However, it was charging, albeit slowly. Edith shuddered to think of what would happen when it was at full strength.

Trunk held her elbow in his hand, as though he were politely helping her across the street, and Edith shuffled along beside him, her hands still tied together. “Just this way, Edith.”

They rounded the corner of her house where his boys had a fire raging. The chickens pecked and scratched around the dirt as though they didn’t have a care in the world.

“Run, girls,” Edith whispered under her breath.

Smalls, the great big behemoth of a man, was holding a metal pole, similar to a fire poker, but shorter, over the fire. In his huge hand, it looked more like a pencil. The end of it burned a hot, cherry red. At their approach, he looked at Edith, his eyes moving over her stricken face. His own face was ashen. Pleading eyes moved to Trunk. “You sure about this, Boss?”

“Shut up,” Trunk snapped.

But Backfire had no qualms about what they were about to do to a frail old lady. A bundle of rope was coiled up in one hand. He patted the back of a wooden chair they’d pulled near the fire. It was the match to the Adirondack chair she’d sat in next to the grave. It was slanted, so that one would sit way back in it; it was made for relaxing.

She wouldn’t be relaxing any time soon.

“What’s going on?” she asked frantically, her head swiveling from Smalls to Trunk and then to Backfire, who held a frozen smile, reminding her of the Joker from Batman. But she knew what was happening. She’d been told. She was in denial that it would really happen. Holding out hope that somehow, it wouldn’t.

Trunk waved to the chair. “Sit down, Edith.” Gone was his charming façade. Pure evil oozed out instead as his mask finally slipped.

Edith shuffled over to the chair and perched on the edge. Trunk put his hand on her shoulder and she quickly slid into the deep seat, leaning uncomfortably back. Backfire wrapped the rope around Edith’s middle, round and round, tying it in a tight knot behind the chair.

Trunk held out his hand and waved his fingers in the air. “Gimme your belt, Smalls,” he ordered.

Using one hand, Smalls undid his belt and slid it off, and reluctantly tossed it to Trunk, not able to turn and look at Edith; he kept his eyes cast down on the metal stick roasting over the fire.

Trunk held up the leather strap to Edith. “I warned you. I told you exactly what would happen if you lied to me. I’ve got to follow through now.”

A shiver ran down her spine.

Trunk continued, “From my experience, I highly recommend you bite this. But it’s up to you. I won’t force it into your mouth.” He stood in front of her and waited.

Edith looked from the belt, to the tool that Smalls held in the fire, and her heart thumped, taking off like a locomotive. Her eyes watered and her hands shook as she gripped them together, as though still in prayer.

But prayer hadn’t worked.

She squeezed her eyes shut and opened her mouth.

Trunk bent over and slipped the belt between her teeth. “That’s a good girl,” he mumbled.

“Smells like chicken, Boss,” Backfire said, and laughed.

“Shut up,” Smalls screamed at him. “Have some fucking respect for her. She’s taking it better than you would.”

Trunk gave them both a silencing glare while Edith screamed through her clamped teeth—her wails bloodcurdlingly quiet, but no less awful than if at full volume—her teeth were leaving deep impressions in the belt.

Her chickens scattered, squawking as though it were them being held over the fire.

She writhed in agony, her head swinging left to right. She felt like her entire body was on fire and like her hair was standing on its end. The pain was so deep and hot, it moved past all levels of red and felt absolutely white. Her head frantically rolled back and forth as Trunk held the steaming branding iron to her upper arm, the skin sizzling under it like bacon.

“Hold on, Miss Edith, it’s almost done,” Smalls said under his breath, and then gritted his own teeth. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of her skin cooking, and squeezed her shoulder in support. “There, it’s done, Trunk. Stop.”

Trunk held the hot metal tightly to Edith’s arm as it melted her skin like butter, barely sparing Smalls a sidelong glance. “Really, dude? Man the fuck up.”

The tiny bit of kindness from Smalls was lost on Edith anyway. She couldn’t hear a thing. She was deaf to the world as the red-hot metal burned through layers of her already-papery skin. Tears cascaded down her face like angry twin rivers. She worked hard to not fight the men, or her binds, afraid of what might be worse than this, if she angered Trunk further.

Smalls and Backfire each kept one strong hand on her shoulders—one gentle, and one rough—pinning her to the chair, but it wasn’t necessary. Not only was she tied to it, but she couldn’t have got up even if she’d tried, so complete was her torture. All she wanted to do was curl up and die.

She sucked in a huge lungful of air around the belt, panting as she filled her lungs, and howled once more and this time screamed loudly, her howl taking the form of a word… the only thing that would soothe her now, “Elllllllll… merrr!”

33

TULLYMORE & GRAYSON’S GROUP

“Give it up, boys. If you make us pull, we’ll put ya down.”

Tarra startled at the serious voice who echoed Marshall Raylan without a hint of humor, and risked a glance over her shoulder. A group of four men flanked the front of the store, coming closer every second. Three of the men carried rifles, sights already trained on the gang. They walked hunkered over, fingers hovering over triggers, as though stalking prey.

The owner of the voice didn’t carry a rifle; he wore two pistols, one strapped to each hip. As he sauntered slowly through the broken glass toward Tarra, his hands hovered light and easy over his guns. His gait was slow and methodical, as though he didn’t have a care in the world. With his ball cap pulled down low, wearing a torn Winthrop University T-shirt with a ballistic vest over it, khaki cargo-pants, square black-framed glasses, and a closely shaved beard, he could’ve been out for a leisurely hike—other than the vest.

She raised her eyebrows at his cool, collective demeanor. “Big fan of Justified, huh?”

Ignoring her stare and her comment, and not breaking eye contact with the gangbanger directly behind Tucker, he spoke quietly and calmly to his own group as he walked closer. “Claim your man, Chuck.”

“I call the guy in ink, John,” the man to his right said in a gravelly voice; he resembled a modern-day hippie with light brown hair that fell in loose waves long past his shoulders, and a mountain-man beard, dotted with gray. He also wore body armor. He kept his one open eye sighted in on the man not wearing a shirt.

John—the name of the man leading them now revealed—nodded. He came to a stop beside Tarra, still not making any moves to draw his own pistols. “He’s yours,” he answered.

To his left, another man in his late-forties, sporting a short white beard streaked in brown, took a knee on the other side of a register counter, and set up his shot, at the ready. He wore tactical pants and a button-up shirt with the name ‘Pete’ embroidered over the pocket. “Dibs on BLM, John.”

John positioned his feet further apart, keeping eye contact with the gangbanger that held the gun on Tucker. “He’s yours.”

Bringing up the rear, a younger, stocky guy clearly enjoying their sport, easily handled an AR15 pressed up tight against his chest rig with a sardonic smile on his face. His eyes twinkled behind wire-rimmed frames, contrasting with a beard that looked like it’d been dipped in the blood of his enemies.

Without looking back at him, John said, “Ralph? Your pick.”

“Basketball fanboy for the win,” Ralph said, and smirked.

The gang’s smug smiles disappeared; replaced by nervous sweaty lips and darting eyes.

John snickered. “He’s yours. I guess that leaves me the wife-beater.”

“Fuck you!” the boy with the dirty tank-top spit out, waving his gun in the air to emphasize his point.

Tarra flinched at his outburst.

The gang tittered nervously amongst themselves, trying—but failing—to seem unconcerned.

A loud voice thundered from behind, startling everyone. “Hey boy! Watch your manners in front of the lady!” A split second later, after the voice had all of their attention, it was followed by a gun shot that echoed through the nearly empty story as it cracked like lightning through the space.

A fifth gangbanger, previously unseen, toppled from the top of a high-shelf, landing hard—and dead—on the floor between the two groups, directly in front of Tucker, the sound of his head hitting the floor like the thump of a watermelon. His rifle clattered to the floor beside him.

Momentarily distracted as they tried to find the voice, the gang was stricken with panic. WifeBeater stared at his friend on the floor for three seconds and then screamed at the top of his lungs and lifted his gun, aiming at the back of Tucker’s head.

Before he could squeeze the trigger, John pulled his pistols and squeezed the triggers in unison. One in his head, and one in his heart. The gangbanger fell to his knees as blood and brains splattered behind him, and then did a face-plant. John reholstered his guns, ignoring the other gang members. A second later, they too went down like dominos, as Ralph, Chuck and Pete met their targets with one killing shot each, almost in unity.

The air filled with gunpowder and lead.

Tucker lay on the floor face-first, his hands over his ears.

Tina whipped around wild-eyed, her weapon up and ready, only to see Grayson stepping through broken glass with an AR15 tight against his shoulder. He stalked closer, keeping his eyes on the tops of the aisles. “Come on, Tarra,” he yelled, moving his eyes—and gun—to the dead gang members—making sure they stayed dead. “Let’s get out of here before we have more company.”

Finally, John spoke to Tarra. “I think he thought you needed saving?” he asked, a grin on his face. “I’d say he was mistaken.” He gave Tarra a wink and a polite nod, and then turned and flashed a hand signal to his crew.

He stalked away, deeper into the store, as his three buddies followed.

A slow smile spread over Tarra’s face, and she almost laughed at the turn of events. She liked this guy. She lowered her shaking arms and looked at Grayson. “Thanks for the help, but it’s not me that needs it,” she said, jerking her head toward Tucker, who was still face-down on the floor with his hands over his ears.

Grayson stepped over to Tucker and nudged him with his boot. “Get up.”

Not knowing what exactly what was going on behind him, Tucker slowly—very slowly—turned his head and opened his eyes, coming face to face with the dead body in front of him.

He scrambled away, crab-walking backward away from it, and bumped into another body. He jumped up and turned around. “Shit, shit, shit!”

His hands were shaking as he looked all around at the massacre with wide eyes.

Five dead.

Calmly, Grayson pointed at Tucker’s gun. “Pick up your gun. Let’s roll.”

Tarra led the way out of the store, loosely holding her gun with both hands. As she jumped in the back of the truck, a final thought popped into her mind about John and his group; Grayson may have fired the first shot, but those men finished the job, smoothly and efficiently, without batting an eye.

They’d saved their asses, and she’d break lead with any of the four, any time.

Little did she know, she soon would.

34

THE THREE E’S

“Miss Edith, time to get up now,” Smalls said through the door in a kindly voice.

After the number ‘2’ had been branded on Edith’s arm, they’d untied her and attempted to help her from the chair.

She’d fainted.

Smalls had insisted on carrying her to bed to rest, promising to do another thorough check of her room. Backfire had already checked it once, but to assure Trunk, he swore he’d do another while Edith slept.

He had kept his promise. After laying the old woman down on her pillow, he’d unfolded the quilt from the foot of the bed and covered her up, being careful not to touch her arm, and then he’d rummaged through the bathroom and found medical supplies, rubbed some salve on her burn, and wrapped it up. He’d tucked her in, leaving her arm out.

After that, he had checked high and low, but didn’t find anything to worry about. He did find 9mm and .22 caliber ammo, and some shot gun shells though. He carried that to the den to put in their pile.

While Trunk and Backfire worked outside, Smalls had stayed in the house to keep an eye on Edith, and to search the rest of the rooms. He made a pile in the den, and then carried most of it out to the truck. Against his better judgement, he loaded batteries, oil lamps, blankets and lots more medical supplies and all of their food. He couldn’t have Trunk thinking he wasn’t pulling his weight, heavy as it may be.

While he worked, Edith had awoken. She had been waiting to be done with these men.

She stood on the other side of the door, in a clean housedress with her hair freshly put up in a flat bun a’top her head. She leaned against the old wood, clutching her bible to her chest. She felt sick to her stomach. It wasn’t just from the burning, throbbing pain in her arm either; an hour earlier, she’d found the bottle of pain pills she’d hidden away in an old bag, prescribed to her last winter when she’d turned her ankle, causing a sprain. She’d swallowed all five pills that had remained in the bottle.

Now she was woozy.

Tears stained her cheeks as she took one last look at her and Elmer’s wedding picture, blew it a kiss, and turned the knob, ready to face the wolves at her door.

Smalls stood with his head down.

Edith had to lean her head way back to look up at him. She gave him a fiery stare.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I really am,” he said, and held his arm out, pointing down the hall for her to go.

“Save it,” she snapped, and wobbled past him.

She hurried through the house and out through the screen door, letting it swing shut behind her, nearly hitting Smalls in the face, and stepped off the porch, nearly falling. Smalls quickly moved to grab her arm and steady her.

Edith jerked off his hand, waving his help away and shooting daggers at the large man with her watery, red eyes.

He held up both hands, palms out and stepped aside.

Edith stomped over to Trunk, who was sitting in her Adirondack chair by the grave, combing his hair with her comb. She stopped in front of him and watched him bare his teeth at the mirror, picking at them with his fingernail. Finally, he looked up, and she said, “Go ahead. Kill me and bury me. I’m ready.”

Trunk stopped primping in the handheld mirror with the handle that he’d stolen from her bathroom, and stared at her in surprise, and then laughed a full, deep belly laugh. “We’re not going to kill you, Edith. What kind of monsters do you think we are?”

He stood up. “Seriously, Edith? Have you been thinking that all along?” He paused. “You poor old woman. Why did you think we were digging up Mei’s grave then?”

Edith huffed. “To put me in there, of course. Why break new ground when you can be lazy and just double us up in there together?”

Trunk laughed again, slapping his leg in amusement. Finally, he choked back his mirth. “You know, that’s actually good thinking. But wrong.”

He sighed.

“If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t worry with burying you. I’d leave that for your husband.”

He looked at Backfire and Smalls, and held back his grin. He turned back to Edith, and held his hands out as though to explain. “We just need you to take the picture. The scavenger list didn’t say the one-handed Asian had to be alive. We’re taking back a picture of us with her. They’re going to give us those points. I just want you to get in there and clean her up a bit. Change her shirt. Brush her hair. Wash her face, and put some makeup on her…” he explained slowly, as though talking to a child. “She needs to look pretty again.”

He pointed at a box that contained a big bowl of soapy water on the ground. The outside of the box had a rope tied around it. A washcloth floated on top of the water. In the box beside the bowl was a hairbrush, a fresh bandana, a clean shirt, and her make-up bag, all stolen from her and Elmer’s things. “Leave off her bra, too,” he said.

Edith stepped up to the grave and gasped. They’d mostly swept the dirt off of her with a broom that still sat atop Mei, leaned against the dirt wall. What now lay there was a macabre version of the girl. Her bandana was askew, showing hunks of dried blood on the side of her very misshapen head—what was left of it—and her face was still covered in spots of dirt. Hollowed eyes filled with the red clay gave her a zombie-ish appearance.

Edith tore her eyes away from Mei and shuddered with revulsion. “No. I will not desecrate the dead. You and your thugs need to just get on out of here,” she said, and bravely pointed at Elmer’s truck. “Take our stuff and go.” She wobbled again as she pointed and Smalls stepped behind her, expecting her to faint.

She didn’t.

She stood tall, facing down the evil man in front of her. She’d already been through hell, but she’d be damned if she’d let them disrespect that poor girl one more time. It was partly their fault she was in that grave to start with.

Trunk smiled and put his hands on her feeble shoulders. He squeezed gently and nodded. “I understand. You’re a good soul, Edith.”

And then he pushed her into the grave.

35

TULLYMORE & GRAYSON’S GROUP

Tucker, Tarra and Grayson jumped in the back of the truck, quickly taking their seats on the hay and keeping their guns ready in case they ran into more trouble.

Grayson was shaking. He took a deep breath and tried to get control of himself, before anyone noticed. None of this seemed real. He’d actually killed a man.

A man.

A real human being…

Were all those guys really dead? Did this really happen?

His mouth filled with saliva and he repeatedly swallowed it back down. His stomach flipped and flopped. He glanced at Tarra and she met his eyes. His horror was reflected back at him, but she cleared her throat and gave him a steely stare with a subtle shake of her head.

She reached out and squeezed his knee. “We’ll be home tonight. We still have things to do out here.”

Her message came through loud and clear.

Suck it up, Buttercup. Don’t fall apart out here in front of everyone.

Grayson nodded his understanding, and her kindness reminded him that Tina and Tarra wanted to leave, according to Jake. It was now obvious that it was much too dangerous for these women to go out on the road alone.

But he knew if he said that, the ladies would scoff. He had to admit now, they were tough as nails. While he’d yet to see Tarra shoot, she’d handled herself well back there. Most other women would have fallen apart long before now. He was actually impressed with both of them, and they might just need two more guns at the farm—if they could keep feeding them. “Tarra, we would love for you and Tina to stay with us until this all blows over. We might need your help, and we’ll provide you food and shelter until you find a safe way home. Olivia will grow on you, and it’s a big farm. Y’all can avoid her. Will you stay?”

Tarra studied him for a moment. “Yes, we’ll stay for a while. No promises on how long though. Deal?”

They shook hands.

“By the way,” she said. “Way to shoot like a girl back there.” She winked at him.

Grayson took it well—as a compliment, the way it was intended. He nodded his appreciation.

Jake popped the clutch, pulling Ruby through the parking lot toward the exit. Tina rode shotgun up front, both her arms hanging out the window as she provided cover, with Frank and Mickey hunkered down in the back.

Mickey finally met Tucker’s eyes. “What happened in there?”

Tucker glared back at Mickey. “Oh yeah, you two missed the final act of the show, didn’t you? Well, let’s see if I can recap it for you. I nearly got assassinated when you two scuttled off and left me. But, while the gangbangers stood peacocking to Tarra, they got caught with their pants down—well, not really… er… down. Just a figure of speech,” he said, looking at Tarra. “Everybody’s pants stayed up… But then four guys named John, Ralph, Chuck and Pete came in, ready to rumble.”

He paused and cut his eyes at Frank, who had yet to look at him. “I, however, still had a gun to my head while everyone took turns picking a buddy,” he said sarcastically. “Then, there was another gangbanger hiding on top of an isle shelf that no one saw, who was probably about to take dibs on said head, when Grayson spooked him, shot him dead, and then the other four gangbangers took a spankin’ from a more seasoned, ready group. They’re all dead.”

Mickey and Frank were speechless. Tucker shook his head in disgust and turned on his hay bale toward Grayson, putting the cowards out of his sight. He slapped at the knees of his jeans, trying to wipe dirt and tiny pieces of glass off.

Grayson had mercy on Mickey and Frank, and spoke kindly to them. “Look, nobody expected anything like that. I guess we all need to realize this shit is for real now. It’s crazy out here; truly teotwawki. A word of advice, guys… if you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch. I’d recommend no more town runs for you two.”

Mickey and Frank both mumbled sorry to Tucker, and then hung their heads low, suddenly finding great interest in their shoes.

“Who the hell were those guys?” Tarra asked.

Grayson’s rubbed his jaw, his face suddenly ashen. The adrenaline was crashing fast. “Friends of Gabby’s. They saw Ruby and recognized the truck. They also saw that.” He pointed at the gang signs that now practically screamed from the mess of graffiti on the walls of the building as Jake lurched out onto the road, heading away from the store.

“Oh, hell.” Tucker lifted his shirt, wiping the sweat from his face. “So, they knew the store was claimed by the gang?”

Grayson answered, “Yeah, same as we should’ve known. That’s why there’s no one else around. According to them, the smaller gangs had laid claim to anything left around town. But MS13 is popping up now and the smaller gangs are on the run. They’ll probably be here soon, too, and MS13 makes these small-town gangs look like the Peanut Gallery. They’re nuts. Gabby’s friends stopped to warn Jake, not knowing y’all were already in there. When Mickey and Frank ran out, they offered to go in and provide backup.”

Tarra blew out a breath. “They did more than backup. Hell, they took over. Why would they risk their own lives going in there like that?”

“MAG,” Grayson said and shrugged. “And the possibility of more supplies. Tucker’s boys here told them there was only four. Four guys are a walk in the park to them. But it was a good thing I had their six—y’all were wrong about the numbers.” He said the last bit to Frank and Mickey.

“And that means?” Tucker asked.

“Six means watching someone’s back. Like a clock. Six o’clock is behind you,” Grayson explained.

Tucker rolled his eyes. “No. I know that. What does MAG mean?” he asked in an exasperated voice.

Grayson shrugged, trying not to take offense at Tucker’s tone. The poor man had just been through hell. “MAG is a local Mutual Assistance Group for preppers. Ralph—the one with the red beard—started it. He said Gabby had joined up. They all met several times at different locations before all this—that’s how they knew Jake’s truck. For some reason, she’d driven it to the meet-ups back before he took it apart to rebuild it. They had an agreement to help each other, if possible, if ever the shit hit the fan.”

Tarra leaned up to join the conversation. “So that guy, John, is in charge?”

Grayson laughed. “Nobody is in charge. They’re all friends. They played Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide who took lead.”

Jake gunned it and swerved Ruby around another corner. They’d already found out from the MAG group that the doctors’ offices were all looted, same as nearly everything else in town.

Grayson, Tarra, and Tucker held on tightly to the sides of the truck. Mickey and Frank kept their heads tucked down and nearly rolled off their hay bale, desperately trying not to look up at their cohorts again.

Tucker dropped his head between his knees and took several long breaths, all of it suddenly becoming real to him. He looked up and glared at Mickey and Frank with contempt. “Way to have my back, assholes. I could’ve been killed in there.”

Neither man looked up, or replied, but within seconds both of them sported flame-tipped ears.

Tucker shook his head in disappointment. “We owe that group, now. Big time. But I’m not sure we’ll ever see them again.”

Grayson faked a laugh, doing his best not to fall apart. “Oh, we will. Jake told them to meet us back at Tullymore. They’re going to give us a share of whatever they get in that store. Plus, we’re going to exchange maps. They’re somewhere out near my farm. We may need them again—or they may need us.”

Tarra looked back the way they’d come. “Maybe we should have stayed, and all left together? What if there were more men in the back? Someone else might get the drop on them.”

“Naw,” Grayson said. “That’s not gonna to happen again. But for taking the bigger risk, they’re also taking the lion’s share of any food and supplies they find. Fair deal, if you ask me, for them saving our asses. My guess is not a bullet more will fly. If there were more gangbangers in there, they all would’a come running.”

Jake slid into another turn, causing them all to lose their place and slide together.

They righted themselves and Grayson turned to yell toward Jake’s window. “Where you going? This is the wrong way!”

Not getting an answer, Grayson re-situated himself and checked his firearm. Tucker and Tarra did the same. Tarra glanced up at Frank and Mickey. “Be ready this time, boys. If you pull some sort of mickey mouse bullshit like that again, we’re leaving your asses out here somewhere,” she said with a stern voice, emphasis on the ‘mickey’ and the ‘mouse.’

As if they hadn’t already felt like cowards, Tarra has just handed them their balls.

The road straightened out before them, and Tarra leaned up and quickly told Tina all that had happened in the store, and Tina relayed it to Jake. But they had made it this far; they weren’t going home with nothing after the day they’d had. So far, seven people dead… and they were still empty handed. Jake was determined to not have to come back to town again. He relayed that to Tina, and she relayed it to Tarra through the window, and she in turn told the guys.

They’d continue until they found some baby formula, at the very least.

Jake pulled Ruby into a small strip mall and cut the engine. Everyone turned to check it out, looking especially hard for any gang signs this time—there were none.

One long rectangular building housed a Chinese restaurant, a massage spa, a drycleaner and a nail salon. Several units were just empty spaces, and all the businesses appeared to be deserted. The restaurant had been looted, with not a piece of glass left standing. Inside they could see toppled tables and chairs. The doors to the massage spa and nail salon stood wide open, appearing to be deserted. Nothing looked disturbed. Maybe there was nothing worth stealing.

The dry cleaner shop had also been broken into. One whole sheet of glass on the sidewalk glimmered like a sparkling welcome mat.

Everyone got out and convened on one side, keeping Ruby between them and the building while they looked and listened for signs of life.

After a few moments, Jake pointed at the drycleaner shop. “The same family owns all of these businesses, and they live in the back of that one. Mr. Chen is the boss, and family patriarch.”

They all looked at him in confusion.

“And?” Tina asked.

“The last time I dropped off some dry-cleaning for Gabby, I noticed two of his daughters have babies. Small babies. I saw them breastfeeding, but maybe they have some formula.”

“Could be,” Tina said. “Sometimes the doctors send some home with the mothers when they leave the hospital, just in case.”

Tucker unholstered his sidearm. “Let’s check it out.”

Jake held up a hand, palm out. “We can’t all go in, guns a ‘blazing and demand things. We’re going to ask them if they have any. And they don’t know you. So, I’ll go in and take Tina and Tarra with me. They’ll recognize me—hopefully—and won’t feel so threatened with the ladies. Maybe we can get in and out with no bloodshed this time.”

Grayson and Tucker nodded their agreement.

Frank and Mickey didn’t say a word. Mickey stood still, waiting with his arms crossed, looking out away from the group, while Frank circled nearby, kicking at small rocks.

“Mr. Chen?” Jake yelled.

He, Tina and Tarra had made their way over the broken glass and into the dry cleaner shop. They stood staring through an avalanche of downed clothes and equipment, hangers laying all a ‘tangle, at the closed door on the back wall. It looked as though Mr. Chen might have knocked everything down himself, providing camouflage. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know they were there.

But Jake knew.

He happened to drop by to pick up clothes one day when Mr. Chen arrived with a used refrigerator. After seeing Mr. Chen’s small-framed daughters trying unsuccessfully to help their father, he’d offered to help carry it in. Mr. Chen had accepted his help. He’d seen their living quarters up close and personal in the back of the store.

Jake whispered. “I’ll go first. You two take cover somewhere.”

Tina and Tarra split up, each going to an opposite side of the door, holding their guns close to their chest as they flattened themselves on the wall, flanking Jake.

He knocked and stood to the right of it.

No answer.

He knocked again, much louder. “Mr. Chen? It’s me, Jake. One of your customers. I drive the old red Chevy truck. Remember? I call the truck Ruby.”

Several times, Mr. Chen had commented on his truck. Jake hoped that would ring a bell with him.

A very Asian voice answered him. “We close now. Go away!”

“Can you open the door? I need to talk to you,” Jake called through the closed door.

“We no open for business!” the voice called back.

“Mr. Chen! Please, I need your help,” Jake called insistently.

A pause, and then, “Who with you?”

“Two women. They’re friends.”

Jake was startled as the door suddenly cracked open. A very disheveled Mr. Chen poked his nose out, a pair of bifocals perched on the end of it. His short, black hair stood up in tufts around his head. “What you need?” he asked.

“Mr. Chen, thank you for opening the door. My friend has a baby, younger than your grandchildren. Do you have any extra formula?”

Mr. Chen poked his head out further and looked at Tina and Tarra. They stood empty-handed as they’d both had the wherewithal to re-holster their guns before he saw them. He eyeballed the women with disapproval anyway. “No milk. Good bye,” he said stiffly.

The door slammed shut, followed by the click of a lock.

Tina and Tarra shared an amused smile.

Jake sighed and knocked again. “Mr. Chen. Please. The child is very sick. She’s hungry and not old enough to eat food. Do you have anything back there we could give her?”

The door popped open and Mr. Chen stuck his head out again. “Where is baby?”

Jake grabbed the edge of the door, hoping to keep it open. This was their last chance. “Back at the house. Please, do you have any?”

Mr. Chen’s eye narrowed. “What you have for me?”

Jake looked around, lost for words. “We didn’t bring anything. What do you want?”

Mr. Chen looked Tucker over, head to toe, eyeballing the gun holstered to his side. “You have gun. I have baby milk. You give me gun. I give you milk.”

Jake shook his head and held his hands out, palms up. “That’s not a fair trade at all, Mr. Chen.”

The door slammed shut again. From behind the door, a fierce but squeaky voice yelled, “No deal!”

Jake stared at the door, deep in thought. He hated this gun anyway. He’d love to not have to carry a firearm at all before he too was forced to shoot at someone. But he had no doubt if he walked out to the truck unarmed, Grayson would already be planning to give him another.

Grayson had plenty. They could spare this one.

He loudly knocked on the door again. “Deal, Mr. Chen. I’ll give you the gun, but I want all the milk. Your girls can make their own. I also want some baby food, and diapers, too. And if you want bullets, I’m gonna need some of your rice. That’s a fair trade.”

Jake cringed when he realized he was racially profiling, assuming a Chinese family had lots of rice. He held his breath to see if Mr. Chen would come out smiling or spitting mad… or if he’d come out at all.

The door opened to a happy Mr. Chen. He expectedly held his hand out.

Soon, they were heading out again, away from town with a small stack of supplies. Tina stared down at the blankets in the bed of the truck that Jake had insisted they swipe on the way out of the drycleaners. She wished she didn’t have to be a part of their last errand before returning to Tullymore.

It was one that every one of them would regret until the end of their days.

36

THE THREE E’S

“Dammit, Trunk!” Smalls yelled in a thunderous voice as he stepped to the edge of the grave and looked down. “You okay, Miss Edith?” he yelled down the six-foot deep hole.

Trunk scoffed. “That tough old bird is fine, Smalls. Shut the hell up.”

Edith landed bosom to bosom, staring directly into Mei’s solemn face. She scrambled to get up, and reached down to push herself off the dead woman. But feeling Mei’s body beneath her, she screamed and grabbed the dirt walls, digging in and crabwalking backward to the end of the hole, as far from Mei’s face as she could get. She kept going until her back was against the far dirt wall. She pulled her dirt-covered feeble legs up close to her body and jerked her filthy over-sized house-dress down over them until it covered her ankles.

She wrapped her arms around her legs that were violently shaking, her eyes wide open. She wasn’t afraid of Mei. She knew she was gone; harmless. She was afraid of what else might be in the grave: snakes, rats, spiders… she looked around in terror, imagining creepy-crawlies all over her.

Trunk looked at the phone, checking to be sure it still had a full charge, and dropped it into his pocket. He leaned into the grave and yelled down to Edith, “Just pretty her up, and then we’ll help you out of there.” He put his hand over his mouth, holding back his laughter. When he had control of himself again, he said, “Backfire’s gonna drop down your supplies now.”

Backfire lowered the box, and it landed in front of her, on Mei’s stomach.

The smell of early decay filled Edith’s nose and she heaved, and tried to hold back her retching. Her body lurched as she forced the bile back down her throat.

“Suck it up, Edith. You’re not coming out until Mei is picture-perfect,” Trunk said in a sing-song voice.

He walked away, leaving her to it. Over his shoulder, he called out to his guys, “Call me back out here when she’s ready. This might take a while.” He whistled as he climbed the porch and slammed the screen door behind him.

Tears welled in Edith’s eyes. They weren’t for her; the tears were for Mei. She wanted to just leave this poor girl in peace. She didn’t deserve to be made a mockery of. But, Trunk was a monster. She knew he’d do as he said. He’d proven that already. If she wanted out of this grave, she’d have to do this.

As Backfire and Smalls looked on, she took a deep breath and got up her nerve. She looked up at them and screamed, “I can’t do it with you watching. Give us some privacy,” she snapped. “I’m going to change her shirt.”

Smalls nodded his head once, and put one big meaty arm in front of Backfire, who was leering down into the hole, hoping for a show. Smalls pushed him back away from the grave, ignoring his protests.

“Let her be, you sick fuck,” Smalls said, and stood with his back to the grave, blocking Backfire from reaching the edge of it again. “Go tattle to your daddy, if you need to.”

Backfire huffed off. More likely to stuff his face or take a nap than to tattle. He was always looking for free time to slack off.

Smalls glared at the smaller man’s back.

Once he was alone with the women, he sat down in the nearby chair, where he couldn’t see them. “Miss Edith, I’m right here. Just yell if you need me,” he said.

Edith ignored him.

She started with the water and washcloth, squeezing the excess water out of the rag. She crawled up on her hands and knees across the top of Mei, and gently dabbed at the dirt on her face. Such a young girl… just a child, really. She never had a chance to make things right with her daughter either.

Suddenly, she remembered the picture of the little girl with the dark pigtails that they’d buried Mei with. She scooted back and wiped the dirt away from Mei’s arms. There was the picture, in Mei’s one hand, with the stump hidden beneath. She wiped the photograph against her dress, cleaning it off the best she could.

This had to be Mei’s daughter.

A tear rolled down her face and she sat the picture aside. All Edith and Elmer wanted when they buried this poor girl on their land, was to let her finally rest in peace, with her daughter in her arms. Soon, those three monsters would be down here pawing at her, posing for pictures.

She wrinkled her nose and curled her lip when she remembered Trunk’s instructions to leave off her bra. Would they touch her like that?

Edith couldn’t let that happen. Frantically, she worked to fix Mei’s hair and face. When she finished with that, she carefully pulled the pins out of her own hair, gently letting the long, silver strands down.

Now, she had a weapon.

She pulled on the girl’s arms, struggling to get her into an upright position while she sat across her lap, one leg on either side of her. Edith’s old legs were folded beneath her, pressed against the cold dirt. Her circulation wasn’t good at the best of times, and now, she could barely feel them. She grimaced at the sharp needle pricks that attacked her when she tried to unbend them.

Giving up on her legs, she pulled Mei’s arms out of her shirt, one at a time, and then gently pulled it over her head. She slipped off the dirty purple shirt and replaced it with the clean blouse from the box.

She left Mei’s bra on.

Finishing, she held Mei up while squeezing herself behind her, moving at a snail’s pace. Almost ready now, she pulled Mei against her, trying to cover herself completely up.

She leaned back, and put her arms under Mei’s—as though she were a puppeteer. “She’s ready!” she called up to Smalls. “I’m holding her up to get one good picture of just Mei before you all get down here with her.”

Smalls looked down and flinched. “Okay, Miss Edith. I’ll go get the boss.”

A few moments later, Trunk and Backfire followed Smalls to the grave; Trunk was distracted with turning on the phone and finding the camera app. He stepped up and looked down. “Where’s Edith?” he growled, turning on Smalls with fire in his eyes.

“She’s in there. She’s behind Mei. Said we could snap a good picture of Mei first if you wanted,” Smalls said.

Trunk looked again and laughed, now seeing Edith’s plump body behind Mei’s thin one. But her head was hidden. He shrugged his shoulders. “Sure. Good idea.” He squatted down and aimed the camera at Mei. “I still see you, Edith…” he said. Edith was too fluffy to completely hide behind a small girl like Mei. “You did a good job, though. Everybody say cheese…”

He snapped a picture and stood up.

Edith called up. “She wants to wave at the camera. Get a close-up of this,” she said in a muffled voice, the gruesome back of Mei’s head in front of her own.

Trunk grimaced at her position. “That must look really bad from where you’re sitting, Edith, but sure… way to really enjoy your job.” He chuckled again and crouched down, waiting for Mei’s mock-wave.

When Edith lifted Mei’s arm, she chose the one with no hand. “Even better… wave that stump at me.” Trunk said and loudly laughed… but as it raised, it seemed a hand wasn’t missing after all.

Shots rang out, and a moment later the grave now held more than one dead body.

37

THE THREE E’S

Elmer and Emma were close now. Almost home and looking forward to some home-cooking from Edith. After the trouble they’d run into, Emma didn’t argue any more about heading off on her own. She’d quietly agreed to ride back to Elmer’s and leave from there.

She leaned up into the space between the hay bales to talk to Elmer, even though to do so, she had to yell. But, she was bored. After their getaway from the three drunks they hadn’t seen any action. She felt it was too dangerous to not have two sets of eyes on the road, and refused to hide anymore.

“Why don’t you restack some of the hay around the sides… make yourself some peep holes somewhere else and stop hovering over my shoulder,” Elmer grumbled as he bounced on the seat of his tractor. “You’re like a pesky gnat.” He waved his hand around his ear, as though shooing her away.

Emma didn’t answer for a moment. She was a long way from Elmer on the front of that wagon. He could barely hear her, in fact. But she knew that wasn’t what was bothering him. Elmer hadn’t mentioned killing the man he’d shot back there at all. He’d been very quiet. Was it tearing him up inside? “Am I really bothering you, Elmer?”

He fidgeted in his seat, took off his ball cap and scratched his head. “Yes,” he finally answered, in a cantankerous voice, and slipped the cap back on, giving the bill a little bend to crease it.

Emma didn’t believe him. “Are you thinking about how you killed a man?”

Elmer shook his head. “What in tarnation are you talking about, girl? I didn’t kill him… you did when you shot off his twig and berries. He was gonna die. Ain’t no help for that out here. I just helped him along. Stopped his pain. It was a mercy that I did for him, and I hope someone would do the same for me,” he ranted, in denial about his part.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Elmer blew out a big breath and looked over his shoulder, glancing at her, then put his eyes back on the dusty road. “What about you? Are you bothered by what you did?”

Emma didn’t hesitate. “Nope.”

After another few moments of silence, broken only by the sounds of the tractor, the tree frogs and the crickets, Emma spoke again—but what Elmer didn’t know, was that she was speaking from experience—of her own and her twin sisters in their early years. “If I’d been alone, that man would have sexually assaulted me, Elmer. And I’m not at all surprised by that. Those kinds of men are bad apples, and they’ve existed since the beginning of time. They’ve been getting away with it for generations when women were too scared to speak up. Or when they do tell, they’re either accused of lying or the judge lets the bad apples off with a slap on the hand. Then they go back out and do it again. With the power out now, and the phones down, we’re on our own out here. No cops. No judge and no jury. But you know what?”

Elmer gave her a sidelong glance, prompting her to finish.

“So are they.”

Elmer nodded his understanding, but she went on anyway. “Men are usually stronger than women. I’m okay with that… nothing like having my husband’s strong arms around me for protection; except when they’re not. That leaves me, and millions of other women, the weaker sex, and we’ve had to put up with far too much for far too long. Now, that gap in strength can be equalized with a bullet, at no cost. No consequence. Finally, I can do what I need to do to protect myself and then walk away and leave the rotten piece of fruit on the side of the road to wither and die with no help from anyone. I won’t lose a wink of sleep over it, either. Actually, I’ll sleep better for every one of the bad guys that I put down.”

Elmer spit off to the side of the tractor. “Good. You do what you have to do to keep yourself safe, missy. This world’s about to go crazier than a pet coon. Just be sure you don’t forget the majority of us men aren’t bad apples. Most of us are too sweet, even for apple pie.”

“You are,” Emma said with a smile.

She could see the tips of his ears turning pink.

Not being able to stand the silence, or respond to her compliment, he said, “Speaking of apple pie, that’s our turn up there. Maybe Edith will make us a pie for supper,” he said. “Give me some water and a cloth. I need to at least wash off my face and hands before I get there.”

Emma laughed.

Elmer had told her that he and Edith’s fiftieth wedding anniversary was coming up in a week, yet he still wanted to make himself presentable for her. She thought that was sweet, and hoped her and Dusty were still so much in love after five decades.

38

TULLYMORE & GRAYSON’S GROUP

Jake pulled Ruby into the driveway at the old ranch-style brick home at 2315 Parpham Drive. The house was nestled in a grove of Oak trees on a large tract of land, at the end of a wooded street. The few other houses on the street they’d passed were uninhabited.

An old van was parked in the driveway, the gas cap wide open.

He kept the engine running. All eyes watched the windows and doors with nervous fingers hovering over triggers. The quiet was broken only by the sound of the engine, and the song of crickets and cicadas coming loudly from the trees, nearly drowning Ruby out.

The sun shone its beams brightly on a blue door with a flowered wreath. It slowly swung open, and as everyone held their breath the wheels of a very old wheelchair rolled into view, slowly creeping out of the dark house.

Jake squinted, as the driver of the chair took their time, moving out of the shadows into view.

It was an old lady, heavy in size, wearing a flowered house-dress that nearly matched the wreath. A tube snaked from her nose down the side of her chair to a portable oxygen tank hanging from the back. Stumpy legs poked out of her dress, crisscrossed with blue and green veins. Swollen feet with no ankles were barely shoved into black slides.

The loose skin on her arms waved against the chair in protest as she labored to turn the wheels. She huffed and puffed, and then grunted as she forced the chair over the metal plate of the door-frame. She came to a stop and tried to speak. “Can I help—”

Her voice broke off as she coughed uncontrollably, clutching her heavy bosom.

Jake stepped out of the truck, holding up a hand to everyone else to stay. “Ma’am,” he said, and nodded respectively. “May I step up to the porch?”

She waved him up, still trying to catch her breath.

Tina called out from the front of the truck. “Jake, I’ll talk to her.”

Jake threw up his hand to Tina, telling her to stay put. This was something he felt he had to do. It was his truck, after all. He felt as responsible as anyone. More, actually. He should have done something—anything—to avoid what had happened.

If he’d only figured out the bike was getting so close to them because they wanted them to stop; or to read a note… this could all have been avoided. Only an idiot wouldn’t have known. Why else would those kids have risked coming so close to a truck loaded down with guns?

They’d all been stupid. Not using their brains. With the chaos and devastation all around them, it never entered their minds that they weren’t the only people out there that might not be bad—that might just need help in some way… that not everybody was dangerous.

Jake approached the woman and put a foot up on the first step. “Does someone here need help?”

The woman looked him over. “Are you a… doctor?” she huffed and then went into another coughing fit.

Jake shook his head and waited for the fit to end. “No… no, I’m not. We don’t have a doctor. But maybe we can help in some way?”

“Did my kids send you?” She looked out to the truck again, her eyes searching.

Jake swallowed hard. “Yes. They did.”

The woman’s chin quivered. “No, we don’t need a doctor. Not anymore. But I do need help.”

She backed the chair up, and waved Jake inside. The sounds of her coughing again trailed behind her. Big, wracking, wet coughs.

Jake took a deep breath, held up a finger to his group, telling them he’d be back in a minute, and followed the woman in.

When he walked into the main living area, the stench hit him. As his eyes adjusted, the first thing he saw was a pile of rolled-up adult diapers in the corner. Beside the diapers were a double row of portable oxygen tanks, like the one hanging from the back of the woman’s chair. The open door shined light into the kitchen where a round table stood, covered in opened soup cans and empty water jugs.

On one wall of the living room was a couch with a dark shape atop it. He squinted, stepping closer.

“Can you take him to the funeral home?” the woman asked.

Jake flinched.

The dark shape of the man barely made a bump under the blanket. The man was covered up from toes to shoulders, still clutching a bible a’top his chest. His mouth hung wide open, as though trying to grasp a last breath. His cheeks were sunken and sallow, a mere skeleton, probably close to eighty years old. At the other end of the couch was a medical machine of some sort, which of course wasn’t working.

“They left them all there to die,” the woman said.

“Where?” Jake asked.

“At the nursing home. They were all dying or already dead. The kids took him to the hospital when the staff said the power wasn’t coming back on. But the hospital was closed. They had all they could deal with and everyone was dying there, too. So, they brought him home. I told them a doctor couldn’t help him. The only thing keeping him alive this long was power. And a doctor can’t make power.”

The woman pulled a used Kleenex out of her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “The kids used all our gas in the van getting him back here. They’ve been out on that bike trying to find a generator and supplies. They haven’t found anything, yet. We’re out of water—and food—and probably gas for that death machine they’re riding too, by now.”

“I brought you a huge bag of rice,” Jake said. “And I can bring you back water in an hour or so, and maybe more food. Do you have more containers I can put water in?”

She shook her head. “How about first you help us out with that truck out there, we’d sure appreciate it. I may not be able to come to the funeral, but the kids can say goodbye to their granddaddy.”

“This is your father?” Jake asked in surprise. He’d guessed it was her husband.

She nodded and then turned her chair around, looking out the window. “The kids should be back any time now.”

Jake avoided her statement. He looked at the machine. “What was wrong with your father?”

“Does it matter?” she asked. “Anyway, at this age… everything. He wasn’t long for this world before the power went out. Then, the nursing home ran out of food and water. But even food and water wouldn’t have kept him alive. We didn’t have his medications either. I tried to tell the kids that. So, it doesn’t matter.”

Jake shook his head. “No, I don’t guess it does matter now.” He knelt down beside her and put his hand on top of hers as it rested on the arm of the chair. “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

She dabbed at her nose with her other hand, and looked away, staring out the window again. “It’s Vera. You can call me Vera.”

Jake stood up and looked around the room. The narrow table under the window held framed photographs. College graduation pictures of the young blonde man and woman stood on each side of a collection of crystal paperweights. Jake stared hard at the first one, and then the other. Not twins… but probably just a few years apart.

It was a tragic loss of two young lives, just starting out in life.

The room was quiet other than the loud whistle coming from Vera’s oxygen tube. The woman was obviously in bad shape to need it turned up that high. A silent electronic oxygen machine stood in the corner, unplugged. It was a huge, expensive piece of machinery.

And worthless now.

Jake looked at the portable tanks lining the wall, wondering how long one lasted at this strength, and how she intended on getting more.

He exhaled a big breath and kneeled beside her once more, praying for the right words. He gently squeezed her hands. “Ma’am—I mean, Vera—there’s been a terrible accident out on the road.”

The room filled with silence again.

Finally, the woman lifted her chin and looked at him, her jaw set firmly. “Are they dead, too?”

Jake nodded, and she lowered her head and wept. “Where are they?” she sobbed.

“They’re here… in the back of my truck. I’m so… sorry,” he mumbled, his voice breaking on the last word.

Her head dropped and fresh tears plopped on her lap. “I told them… I said they’d get killed on that contraption. I told them.”

Jake stood up and stepped out the door, giving her a bit of space to mourn a moment, and nearly ran smack into Grayson.

Tina and Grayson had been standing on the porch, listening. Jake quickly sucked through his nose, and swiped at his eyes. Grayson patted his shoulder and walked past him, leaving him with Tina, who had tears streaming down her own face as well.

He approached the woman and moved in front of her, crouching down. “Vera, my name is Grayson. I’m sorry for your loss. The funeral home is closed for business, but if you’d let us, we’ll gladly bury your family here. When we’re finished, you can come with us. We’ll make room for you in our own family for now.”

Vera looked Grayson over and then leaned forward, laying her head on his shoulder. He patted her blue-ish curls as she cried for a few moments, then pulled back and cleared her throat, resulting in another coughing fit. Grayson stood and patted her back until she could talk.

“There’s shovels in the garage,” she said. “You take care of that, and then you can go on home. No need to come back. No use wasting food and water on me. We’re all going to die, anyway. Old people first. Then all these pill-heads that are all over the place. They’ll suffer the longest. The power’s not coming back on. There’ll be no more food. Everyone will starve eventually… you, and all your friends. The children even. Starving is a painful, slow death, and you’ll all be fighting over the last bean and grain of rice. I’ve got no mind to see all that up close and personal.”

Grayson crouched down beside her again. “You won’t. I’ve got food, and plenty of water. My wife and I will take care of you. We all will,” he assured her.

“You’ll run out, too. You’ll see. You can’t save everybody, mister.” She stuck her hand into her deep pocket and came back with small ball of yarn, knitting needles, and a pair of scissors. She dropped the yarn and needles in her lap and held the scissors up.

Grayson jerked back in surprise, startled at the sharp object so close to his face.

“Bury us all together, under the apple tree in the backyard.” And with that said, she cut her oxygen tube in half.

39

THE THREE E’S

Emma jumped off the wagon before Elmer had pulled it into the barn, and headed to the house, looking for Edith. On the way, she passed Elmer’s truck, packed down with food and supplies. She wondered where Edith was planning to go. She ran up the porch and flung open the screen door.

The kitchen was empty, and a complete mess. Food remains and trash were piled on every counter. The sink overflowed with dirty dishes. This was very unlike how Emma had seen it the last time she’d been here, when the whole house had been neat as a pin.

Edith must be sick.

“Edith?” she yelled, holding the screen door open as she looked in. “It’s me, Emma. I came back with Elmer.” There was no answer. The house was quiet—too quiet.

Emma quietly pulled the screen door shut, not letting it slam. She didn’t want to startle the old woman. She stepped into the kitchen. “Edith!” she called out again, receiving no answer. The house was small. A kitchen and den on one side, and two bedrooms and a bathroom on the other, separated by a short hallway.

Surely, Edith would hear her, if she was home.

Turning around, Emma opened the screen door to go back outside to look. Maybe she was feeding the chickens behind the barn? She took one step, and heard a rustling behind her. She whipped around.

Trunk was standing in the doorway leading into the living room. His clothes and hair were rumpled, as though he’d just got up from a nap. He yawned. “Oh… hey. You surprised me.” He stood looking blankly at her a moment. “Let me start again… Howdy, darling.” He reached for his gun, as a wide smile spread over his face. “You’re not gonna believe this, but after you ladies left me at the rest area, I figured out something… me and the boys drove right through your town just before we met up with you. Our home base is only about twenty miles from your county. How’s that for a coincidence?”

Emma whipped around and ran like the wind out of the house, jumped off the porch, and dashed to the barn, where her gun—and Elmer—were.

Breathlessly, she skidded around the corner and to her amazement found Elmer trying to corner a pig. “Where’d you come from, Bacon Bit? Come ‘ere…” The old man was hopping left to right with his arms spread wide, trying to block the pig from running by. If it wasn’t for a biker standing in his living room, Emma would have laughed.

She stood transfixed watching him a second. That was the pig from the rest area—tutu and everything, although it was filthy at this point. Did they walk with that pig all the way here? She hadn’t seen their motorcycles or any other vehicle outside. Just Elmer’s truck. She blinked her eyes rapidly, pulling herself out of her stupor. “Elmer!” she panted. “They’re here! The bikers…” she sucked in a breath and pointed frantically. “In your house!”

Elmer stood up straight and grabbed his shotgun that was leaned against the open stall wall. The pig squealed happily and ran past him, out into the yard. “Where’s my Edith?”

“I don’t know. I called for her, but she didn’t answer. I didn’t see her either.”

His eyes went wide. “Get your gun, girl. Quick.”

Elmer checked his shotty to be sure it was loaded, hurried to the end of the wagon with Emma, and covered the wide-open door of the barn while she jumped up and grabbed her pistol. She couldn’t believe her stupidity in leaving it there in the first place. She racked the slide, putting one in the chamber, and jumped down, her heart beating wildly.

Trunk had found them after all. How had he known they’d been here? Where was Edith? Emma couldn’t lie to herself. That man gave her nightmares. Her courage from earlier was nowhere to be found. Instead, her body vibrated with fear as they ran out of the barn.

Elmer pointed to the right, his liver-spotted, wrinkled hand shaking in the air. “Peek in through the windows. If you see ‘em, shoot ‘em,” he said. “But don’t hit Edith!” He hurried to the left of the house, both of them avoiding the back door.

Emma took off, ducking under one window that was too high for her to shoot through and squatting beside the next window. She listened.

She could hear voices.

Leaning closer with her gun held up high against the wall, she tried to make out if she heard Edith. But only a man’s voice came through loud and clear. “It’s just the little sister and the old man. Try not to hit the girl, but kill ‘em both if you have to.”

Emma shuddered, and then leaned in to take a peek. The same two men she’d seen with Trunk at the rest area were with him now. The biggest one had a bandage wrapped around his massive arm; his wound was bleeding through. A patch on his leather vest said, “Smalls.”

While Trunk paced to the screen door and back to the den doorway, the other two men were stuffing ammo and bathroom supplies into bags; soap, shampoo and other things they could find. “Hurry up!” he said.

Suddenly, a shotgun blast thundered through the house; Emma flinched and ducked down low, and then popped up to look in the window.

The men grabbed their bags and ran straight out the front door, and seconds later Elmer was standing in the den, a curl of black smoke twirling out the end of his shotgun. He’d come through the back door.

Emma ran, weaving around Edith’s rose bushes, a huge Oak, and then around the corner, trying to catch them out front.

It was too late. They were already out and halfway through the yard, heading for Elmer’s truck.

She gave chase around the other side of the house, took a knee, and aimed, already knowing it was too far. She wished she’d grabbed one of the rifles they’d confiscated from the men on the road, instead.

Dirt flew up around the men as her shots fell short. They ran like their asses were on fire, jumping into the truck—two in the back and one in the front—and took off, kicking up a cloud of dirt, the muffler screaming behind them.

Elmer ran up beside her. “Cover your ears!”

Emma turned away, doing her best to cover both ears while holding her gun in one hand. Elmer fired again, spraying the driveway, and sending up a shower of gravel and dust.

40

TULLYMORE & GRAYSON’S GROUP

Tucker raced to Sarah’s door, his dirt-covered T-shirt stretched out in front of him like a make-shift bag. Four cans of infant formula clanked and splashed against each other as he ran.

Jake and Grayson jogged behind him, every inch of their faces other than around their eyes covered in red dirt. Their arms, hands, and especially their clothes were filthy. Grayson carried a bag of diapers in one hand, and the other was held against his jaw, every step bringing him more pain. Jake juggled a dozen jars of baby food in the front of his own shirt.

The three men ran up to the door, and after a quick rap of the knuckles, a haggard-looking Sarah swung it wide open, with Sammi held up against her shoulder.

If not for the stick-like limbs, Tucker would have thought Sarah was holding a five-pound sack of potatoes. Sammi’s patchy skin was sallow, laying in tiny rows of wrinkles at the elbows and ankles, as though wearing a suit that was too big.

The tiny bundle wasn’t moving… not even a breath could be detected.

Tucker’s heart raced and time stood still.

Am I too late?

Sarah’s eyes widened. “You found some?”

She reached out and plucked a can from Tucker’s shirt and turned and hurried into her kitchen. Tucker and the guys tried to stomp the dirt from their shoes, and followed her in.

Looking around frantically, she turned and handed Sammi to Tucker, not giving him even a second to prepare, and then pulled open a drawer, grabbing a hand-held can opener. She snatched up a pan, put it on the table-top Coleman camp stove, poked two holes in the top of the can and poured it in. While that was slowly heating, her fingers searched through the dish-drainer for a clean bottle, nipple and ring.

Tucker stared down at the tiny girl that lay awkwardly in his outstretched arms. Her eyelashes fluttered softly, like tiny butterflies against her cheeks, and her eyes opened. She whimpered softly at the loss of her mother’s warmth.

Grayson and Jake stood behind him, peeking over his shoulder. “Bring her up against your chest, dude,” Grayson whispered and then winced, holding his hand against his face.

Tucker pulled the infant close. She was so small. Her fingertips ended with little white nails that looked like upside-down crescent moons. The tiny package tugged at his heart; so very sick and still. Flashbacks of each of his own four children at this age zoomed through his mind. He remembered when they were sick, too. Not this sick… but so many nights of ear infections or stomach viruses had passed with him lovingly holding them to his heart while Katie changed their bedding, made them a bottle, or gathered fresh diapers and medicine.

No matter how many times it had happened, nor how many kids he’d brought up, he still remembered the helpless, terrified feeling of your own child being so ill. He remembered wishing he could trade places… take it from them and bear it himself.

And this child was much, much sicker than he’d ever seen one of his own. The agony that Sarah was going through must be unbearable.

Sarah poured the formula into the bottle and shook it with her finger over the nipple, then squirted a drop onto her wrist. Still not totally sure, she squirted some onto her tongue and grimaced. It was ready.

Taking Sammi from Tucker, she hurried into the living room and sat in a rocker, cooing to her in a soft voice. She adjusted a pillow and pulled her in close to her chest attempted to get her to latch onto the bottle, sliding the rubber nipple across her tiny chapped lips.

The baby mewed softly, but it was startlingly loud in the silent house.

Tucker, Jake and Grayson flinched as one.

Sarah threw a frustrated glance at the guys and tried again.

Sammi turned her head; first left, then right.

Sarah’s hand was shaking, making it that much harder.

Tucker held his breath. If he was a betting man, he’d have bet money that Sammi wouldn’t have survived one more night without some sort of sustenance. Anyone could see she was nearly starved to death already. Silently, he prayed the baby would drink.

Sarah shakily tried again, this time getting the nipple into the baby’s mouth. The guys all breathed a sigh of relief, as Sarah’s face lit up.

The relief was short-lived. Sammi pushed the milk right back out again with her tongue, and Sarah erupted into tears. “You have to drink, Sammi!” she yelled, causing the baby to jerk in surprise at her mother’s unusual outburst.

Grayson gave Tucker a little shove. “Help her. You got four kids, cowboy. I’m sure you’ve done this before. That poor woman is about to break,” he whispered.

Tucker threw a dirty look at Grayson from over his shoulder but hurried over and knelt in front of them. Gently, he wiped the milk off the baby’s face and neck with a cloth diaper that had hung over the arm of the rocker.

“Shhh…” Tucker said to Sarah. “You’re probably upsetting her. She doesn’t need to hear you cry.”

Sarah thrust Sammi and the bottle to Tucker and quickly stood up. “I can’t do it. She doesn’t want this. She smells me, but she wants what I can’t give her.”

Tucker watched in disbelief as she stomped out of the room, trying her best not to cry out loud. With pleading eyes, he looked to Jake.

Jake backed up. “No way, dude. I don’t even have kids.”

Grayson shook his head and offered his own lame excuse. “My tooth is killing me. I can’t do it either.”

All three men were a nervous wreck.

Reluctantly, Tucker sat down in the rocker, doing his best to push the pillow in place the same way Sarah had. He pulled the baby close and shook the bottle, turning it upside down to get a drop of milk to come out, and then rubbed Sammi’s tiny lips with it.

As he held his breath, the little girl tried to latch on. Slowly, she began to drink.

Grayson and Jake leaned in to watch. “Phew. That stuff stinks,” Grayson whispered.

Tucker glanced at him in disapproval, but wrinkled his nose. “Yeah. It does,” he admitted.

Jake and Grayson looked on in awe, the baby finally at peace in Tucker’s arms. Slowly, he began to rock her, getting more comfortable, and suddenly the little girl came to life, greedily sucking at the milk.

Her stick-like arms and legs jerked spasmodically. Tucker looked toward the door that Sarah had disappeared through in alarm. “Sarah?” he called out.

Sarah reappeared, poking a tear-stained face around the doorframe. “Is she taking it?”

“She is. But does she always jerk like this?”

Grayson and Jake moved back again to their respective spots as Sarah tiptoed back to her child. “Stop, Tucker! She’s throwing up!”

Tucker wrenched the bottle out her mouth. He tugged the cloth diaper out from under his leg and mopped up the spew, wrinkling his lip in revulsion. “Here, take her,” he said, and stood up.

Sarah took her baby back and sat down. She tried once again to feed her child. Tears streamed down her face as the baby vomited up anything that went down.

Tucker looked at Grayson and Jake in concern.

“Did you check the date on the cans?” Grayson asked.

Tucker hurried into the kitchen alone. A moment later, he cussed. “Sarah, stop feeding her. This stuff is two years out of date!” he said, as he came back, holding the can up in the air, looking at the bottom of it. “They’re all out of date. Dammit!”

“Oh no!” Sarah flipped Sammi over on her knees, gently patting her back. A stream of formula shot out of her mouth, hitting the carpet with a wet sound.

Once again, Sammi’s stomach was empty. Softly, barely more than a whisper, the baby heartbreakingly cried. Sarah stood up, pacing the floor and patting her child’s back.

Tucker paced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even think to look. The guy that gave it to me has two grandkids that are still babies. That couldn’t have been theirs; they’re not even a year old.”

Grayson harrumphed. “Probably bought it on the black-market. Can’t trust nobody nowadays…” he grumbled.

The room erupted in the sound of a waterfall, bringing Sarah’s pacing to a standstill. All eyes turned to her. A long, greenish stream of liquid shot out of the diaper onto the low-pile carpet.

The men physically cringed, their lips curling as one, and Grayson shuffled toward the door. “I’ll meet you fellows outside.”

Jake turned to go, too. “I’m with you.”

Grayson beat him to the door handle, Jake following closely behind. “There’s a bag of diapers right there on the table, ma’am…” he said to Sarah before walking out and closing the door behind them.

Tucker slowly shook his head and held his hands up, palms toward the ceiling. “I’m so sorry, Sarah. I’ll figure something else out.”

Sarah held Sammi close to her. She began to hum a lullaby while she rocked the child in her arms, pacing a small path through the soiled carpet, seemingly unconcerned about the trail of liquid now running down her own clothes and being smeared across her living room floor. She looked past Tucker with tired, vacant eyes.

“Go clean her up, Sarah. I’ll be back.”

Tucker hurried through the door, on Grayson and Jake’s heels.

The three men—scared by a bit of baby poop—rushed across the lawns to Tucker’s house, shoulder to shoulder. A tremor ran through Grayson and he shook it off. “That baby was shitting like a cow pissing on a flat-rock,” he mumbled under his breath.

Tucker unholstered his sidearm. “Shut up, Grayson.”

Grayson scoffed at the threat. “Pfft. I was just sayin’. Put your pea-shooter away, cowboy.”

Jake sighed. “Hey guys… enough.”

“This ain’t for him,” Tucker snapped, as he checked his gun and then re-holstered it. “I’m going to talk to Curt again. I think he’s lying. He’s got some formula. I could see it on his face. He’s going to give it to me, so help me God.”

41

TULLYMORE & GRAYSON’S GROUP

Tucker loudly beat on Curt’s door again, any presence of niceties now gone. They’d been standing there for ten minutes waiting for Curt to come to the door.

Grayson looked at Jake, standing beside him at the bottom of the stoop, and shook his head. He turned to go. “Hey man, he’s not here. We’ve got to get back to the farm. The ladies are all alone.”

Stubbornly, Tucker ignored him, and waited for the door to be answered.

Grayson meandered through the yard, looking at the rough new stumps sticking out like sore thumbs from what must have previously been manicured landscaping. “This fool does know these trees won’t burn, right? They’re too green. They need to season.”

Tucker shrugged, and finally gave up on knocking. “Let’s check the backyard.”

Jake and Grayson followed him as he stomped behind the house.

Tucker pointed to a neighbor’s back yard three houses away. “There he is.”

Curt stood over a group of people, watching as they dipped water from the only other swimming pool in the neighborhood. A line of folks stood waiting for their turn holding old milk jugs, tea pitchers and buckets, waiting to fill up their containers. His sidekick, Joe, stood on the steps of the pool, in water past his knees, nearly getting his gun wet where it hung on his side.

Tucker made his way over, with Jake and Grayson beside him. They stepped up to the edge of the pool and looked down into a nasty brew of green, stagnant water.

Grayson wrinkled his nose. The water was filthy. A film of algae covered the pool, and the number of sticks, leaves and other debris made it difficult to scoop up just water. It was obvious the water had basically been standing since the power went out. No one had done a thing to it. And worse, there were no pots hanging over fires anywhere around, and no filter system to be seen. “Y’all doing the filtering and boiling somewhere, I hope?” Grayson asked.

Curt looked over his shoulder at the guys, then dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Don’t listen to him. That guy doesn’t even live here. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Tucker staggered back a bit at Curt’s rudeness to a stranger—he had never even met Grayson—and shook his head at Curt’s dismissal of Grayson’s advice. His snub to Jake—whom he did know—didn’t go unnoticed either.

He bit his tongue. Not my circus. Not my monkeys.

Grayson shrugged. “Okay. But mark my words… y’all drink that water and you’ll probably be running like a scalded dog and shitting through a screen door from thirty paces, without hitting a wire.”

For once, Tucker was in agreement with Grayson. He’d already talked to the entire neighborhood as a whole—before they’d voted for a leader—about the dangers of drinking the pool water. It was the most controversial subject they’d discussed… many thinking the chlorine and chemicals had made it safe to drink.

He had no idea if they were right or wrong, but Curt and his crowd were there for that conversation.

A few of the guys, who supposedly had first-hand knowledge of the chemicals that went into pools, disagreed, saying first the water needed to be filtered, and then boiled, before using it for drinking or cooking. These folks said boiling it first would just concentrate any chemicals, making it toxic.

Yet others argued for boiling it first, and then filtering.

No one knew the answer for sure… so majority ruled that the safest route was to filter it first—several ways—and then boil it. He agreed with that plan. He didn’t want the responsibility of people getting sick.

In addition, they’d assigned teams of older kids and teenagers the chore of keeping the pool clean and moving the water around as much as possible.

They took turns with paddles and nets, every hour on the hour during daylight. First they skimmed the pool for bugs and debris, then spent the rest of their assigned time walking around the edge of the pool with their paddles in the water, creating movement.

He had no clue if keeping the water moving helped anything, but it sure didn’t hurt, and it kept the kids busy too.

They’d also assigned a water-filter team that rotated every hour. At one end of his swimming pool, they had a filter station set up.

The first filter was home-made, and it was huge. Several people had extra bags of sand they hadn’t used for their kids’ small sandboxes or play areas. Using the sand and wood that they made into charcoal, they created a five-layer gravity-fed filter system.

The filter worked by pouring water through a layer of gravel-sized rocks, then a layer of small pebbles. After that, it went through a layer of sand and a layer of the home-made charcoal. Finally, it dripped through an extra-large white cotton T-shirt.

It was a slow process, but they kept it going most of their waking hours.

Once the water had filtered through their home-made system, it was then carried over to a Big Berkey filter system that a neighbor had donated to the group—temporarily at least. It was nearly brand new, and it sat up on the corner of a table along with a clean bucket for moving the water.

After passing through the Berkey, the water was taken to the third station.

The third station was a Sawyer Mini filter attached with tubing that was drilled into the bottom of one bucket, that then filtered into a new clean bucket beneath it. This one took quite a bit longer than the Big Berkey, and would wear out faster. Luckily, several people had these, so they had back-ups.

Finally, after running through the three filter systems, the water was carried over to be boiled in a cauldron over a fire. It looked like overkill, but better safe than sorry.

Several people had duplicated their huge home-made filter with smaller versions that were made from empty two-liter drink bottles, to keep at their own house. They cut the ends off the bottles and turned them upside down, thus the clean water dripped out the small opening in what was the top, and they were able to hang it and refill small water bottles for drinking, and then cap it when it wasn’t in use.

Tucker allowed any family that had already ran out of water at home to take one five-gallon bucket of his pool water each day for drinking, bathing or whatever they needed it for. But soon, if the power didn’t come back on, he’d have to tighten the water rations. It was amazing how fast the water-line in the pool was going down.

Yeah, not his circus, but some of these folks following Curt were still his friends—at least he thought they were. But regardless, they were still his neighbors. Tucker couldn’t hold his tongue anymore. “Look, Curt. Grayson’s right. If y’all are using that water for drinking and cooking without treating it first, you’re going to get sick.”

Curt turned around and stared at Tucker, exhaling a big breath. “I told you once before, Tucker… what we do is none of your business. You mind the business of your people.”

Joe climbed out of the water, his legs dripping wet, and stepped up next to Curt.

Jake’s eyebrows raised. “Curt, what’s with the divided crap? Tucker’s only trying to—”

“—Tucker’s trying to take over,” Curt interrupted. “Good to see you back in the ‘hood, Jake, but you weren’t here for the vote. You haven’t been here for days. You can’t just waltz in and think you know what’s going on now. How’d you get here anyway?” Curt gave him a suspicious look, and then glared at Grayson.

Jake answered him as politely as he could muster. “We drove here. We’re not staying—and before you ask, we don’t have much gas. Just enough to get home.”

Curt stared hard at Jake, and then Grayson again, and finally his eyes landed back on Tucker. “What do you guys want? Don’t you have work to do at your house?”

Tucker took a deep breath. He hated to ask now… already off on the wrong foot again. But he was desperate. “Look, Curt. We need your help. Sarah’s baby is really sick. It’s too young to eat yet. The little girl is literally starving to death. Are you sure you don’t have some formula? Or maybe some canned or powdered milk of some kind in your group?”

Curt put his hands on his hips. “I heard you’ve already been going door to door asking my people. You told me I couldn’t do that.”

Tucker slid his hands in his pockets only to avoid pulling his gun and shoving it down Curt’s throat. “I was asking for milk; not anything else. Only because… it’s a baby, dude. Come on. Do you have any or not?”

Curt exchanged a knowing look with Joe. All activity at the pool stopped and the air filled with a long, silent pause as Curt’s group looked on. For a moment, when his lips pressed together and he nodded, it looked like he was giving in… possibly remembering they did have some after all.

Tucker’s hopes soared.

“Nope,” Curt answered, with a sly smile.

He was lying… anyone could see that. Tucker lunged, one hand reaching for his gun. Grayson and Jake caught him, pulling him back. “You’ve got some! I see it on your face! You want her to die?” Tucker screamed.

Curt shrugged and Joe laughed.

Tucker lunged again, nearly breaking free from Jake and Grayson’s grasp. “What the hell is wrong with you two? Have you lost your minds? This is Sarah’s baby. You know her for God’s sake!”

The smiles slid off Curt and Joe’s face. Curt solemnly shook his head. “No, of course we don’t want her to die. I feel for Sarah. But like I said, I don’t have anything. Anyway, she chose to follow you, so let’s see how you handle the situation.”

Grayson kept his left hand gripped tightly on Tucker’s shooting arm, but took one step forward with his right hand hovering over his own gun. “Look man. I don’t know any of y’all. But if I had some, I’d give it to anyone here that needed it. This baby needs it. If you have it, speak up.”

Curt rubbed his fingers over his closed mouth from left to right, as though zipping it, and shook his head.

Joe stepped forward, his hand clearly hovering over his gun, too. “The man said no.”

Grayson looked at the ground and sadly shook his head. “That he did… that he did. Is that your final answer?” Once more he looked at Curt.

Curt nodded, a smug look over his face.

“Well, you’re about as useful as a pogo stick in quicksand, aren’t ya?” Grayson snapped at him, frustrated by his silence. “This is not going to end well, guys. I’m telling ya.” He pulled at Tucker, turning him around. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Jake helped him pull Tucker away, as Tucker looked back at Curt with wild crazy eyes, speechless. They have milk… or formula… he just knew it.

He dug in his feet, resisting. “We can’t let them—”

“You can’t get it this way,” Grayson whispered, and jerked him forward. “That man is on a power trip. He thinks he’s shittin’ in high cotton now and he won’t change his story. So, if this is a hill he wants to die on… let ’em.” He looked at Tucker humorlessly and winked. “You get my point?”

Tucker straightened up and shook off Grayson and Jake’s hands. “Yeah. I get it. Let’s go.”

As the guys walked away, Curt had the gall to yell, “Say Tucker, I hear Xander’s a good hunter. Think he’ll take me out and show me the ropes? We might need some fresh meat for our group soon.”

“Over my dead body,” Tucker mumbled under his breath. “Or yours.”

42

TULLYMORE & GRAYSON’S GROUP

Grayson and Jake led the way back to Tucker’s house with Tucker dragging his feet behind them, his head bent low.

Jake slowed for his friend, to let him catch up. “Tucker, this isn’t your fault. Things are crazy right now. People are going to get sick. Maybe die. This has barely started. If the power doesn’t come back on… well, bad things happen. Not sure what you’re going to do about it.”

“It’s a baby, Jake.”

Jake patted him on the back. “Yeah, man. I know. This is harsh. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I do,” Grayson said.

Tucker looked to him, a spark of hope in his eyes.

“Kick leaves over that bastard. I’d bet their food is all stocked at his house—greedy little devil. Pop a cap in his ass and see what he’s got,” Grayson grumbled.

Jake looked at his brother-in-law in astonishment. “Great day, Grayson. You talking murder, here?”

Grayson shrugged. “If he’s got that milk and not giving it up, then he’s willing to kill. I’d say that baby’s life has more value that his.”

Jake answered, “Yeah, if he has it. And if he doesn’t… then what? Killed a man for nothing, that’s what. This ain’t Mad Max up in here.”

“Yet,” Grayson mumbled.

“Look,” Jake said. “What’s going on there?”

They were passing Neva’s house, which usually never showed any signs of life, but there were people lined up at her door ten deep; people from both sides of the neighborhood divide.

“Let’s check it out,” Tucker answered.

The guys stepped onto her lawn and Tucker asked the last guy in line what was happening.

“Neva’s some sort of doctor.”

Another woman turned around. “She’s not a doctor. She just knows a lot of natural remedies.”

“Rumor is she’s a witch,” the woman at the front of the line said. “But I’m hoping she can do something… other than voodoo or spells, to help me with my husband’s snoring. I haven’t got a wink of sleep since the CPAP machine stopped working.”

Tucker’s face lit up with hope once more. He pushed his way to the front of the line. “Sorry. Excuse me. It’s an emergency.”

A moment later the door opened and one of his neighbors walked out with a Ziploc bag of some sort of herbs, and a big smile on her face. IdaBelle was right behind her.

“Next!” IdaBelle said, smiling.

Tucker stepped up. “IdaBelle, does your aunt know of anything to give to a newborn child? The baby is very sick… maybe dying… she’s out of formula and her mom can’t make…” Tucker once again waved his hands around his chest, indicating breasts.

IdaBelle blinked rapidly a few times. “Yes, but she already told you. You didn’t listen.”

“Told me what?”

“The rice water. She told you to use the rice water, and to make the children, in particular, drink it.”

“This isn’t for a child. It’s a baby. She’s six weeks old. She probably needs more than rice water, I’d think.”

“Do you have more than rice water?” IdaBelle sweetly asked.

Tucker shook his head. “No. That’s what I’m asking. What else can we give her?”

IdaBelle laughed. “And I’m telling you… Aunt Neva said rice water! If that’s all you have, it’s better than nothing.”

Neva’s head popped up behind IdaBelle. “If she will take the rice water, you might save her. If she can keep that down, you can give her chamomile tea, later,” she said in a raspy voice.

“Thank you. Thank you so much…” Tucker answered. He turned to leave and then turned back and hugged IdaBelle, so overwhelmed to have some hope once again. He reached out to hug Neva, but Neva stepped backward, into the house, and disappeared, whispering to IdaBelle as she walked away.

IdaBelle bit her lip, and then repeated the message. “Aunt Neva said it might be too late, Tucker. All you can do is try… but go now. Try to get the rice water into the baby as soon as possible.”

Tucker took off at a fast walk toward home.

Jake turned to follow Tucker, expecting Grayson to go with them. Grayson instead went to the end of the line, and stood with his hands in his pockets. “I’m going to see what she has to say about this tooth,” he said. The swelling was getting worse in his face.

“Next!” IdaBelle said again. “And don’t forget, Aunt Neva is taking trade. Does everyone have something?”

One woman muttered under her breath, “I’ll be back.” She walked away empty-handed.

The woman behind her—the one with the husband who snored—held a roll of toilet paper, IdaBelle waved her in, but then noticed Grayson standing quietly at the back of the line, his left cheek puffy. She held up her hand, palm out to stop her from approaching. “If you don’t mind, he looks like he has an emergency.” She pointed at Grayson. “Sir, come on up.”

“I’m not old enough to be a sir to you…” Grayson mumbled grumpily and made his way up the steps to the front door, passing IdaBelle as she held it wide open for him.

He stepped in and looked around. The entry of the house was very dim, most of the curtains and blinds closed in the large formal den. The room was empty.

IdaBelle pointed to the kitchen, where plenty of light shone, streaming out the doorway. He made his way in there, expecting to see some sort of round table with a ruffly tablecloth, and a gypsy-ish woman sitting behind a crystal ball or a cauldron. But at this point, he didn’t care.

He’d put up with any sort of voodoo to make this tooth stop hurting.

But the kitchen was just a normal kitchen, albeit a little higher-end than most. Stainless steel appliances shone under the light streaming through the windows. The counters were granite and the backsplash a tumbled marble.

Everything looked completely normal.

Neva sat at a large, fancy table, an array of herbs and oils spread out in front of her. Behind her, a china cabinet held hundreds more bottles of the same on two shelves, and on the lower shelves were jar after jar lined up corner to corner. He eyeballed the jars, looking for blood or chicken parts, but he was disappointed. Nothing there but homegrown foods.

He couldn’t help but be a bit impressed. Looked like Neva was a bit of a prepper.

Neva waved him into a chair beside her and leaned forward, looking at his swollen cheek. “You have a bad tooth,” she said.

Grayson nodded.

No shit, he thought.

She grabbed a small flashlight and stood up, stepping into his personal space which put her nearly between his legs. “Open up.”

Grayson cringed at her close proximity… not because she was so awful to look at, but because Olivia wasn’t there. He couldn’t help but feel guilty even when he wasn’t—which was all the time—due to his wife’s suspicious and jealous nature.

Any woman standing between his legs was not something she’d approve of. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t drop-dead beautiful or even a tiny bit pretty. Eighteen to eighty… blind, crippled or crazy… didn’t matter to Olivia; she was jealous of them all.

But this one in particular wore a low-cut flowery blouse that clearly showed her cleavage; bending over would give him a full view. There was nothing for it, though. He obediently opened his mouth, but tightly closed his eyes—just in case Olivia somehow found her way there and walked through the door.

Neva leaned down to take a look. She stood up. “Yep. Bad tooth.”

“I know that. What can I do to fix it?” Grayson snapped.

“Can’t fix it. Too far gone. I smell infection. It needs pulled.”

Grayson flinched and rubbed his jaw. “I’d like to keep it if I could… anything else I can do?”

“What do you have to trade?” Neva asked.

Grayson sighed. “I don’t live here and I didn’t bring anything. Jake is my brother-in-law. He lives here. I’ll walk over to his house and bring something back. What do you want?”

Neva moved a few bottles around. “That tooth needs pulled. But you can try this Clove Oil—a few drops mixed with the coconut oil.” She slid two bottles toward Grayson. “That might help numb it awhile.”

She pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “Do you have any Advil liquid-gel caps?”

Grayson shook his head. “I’ve got some pain reliever, but not that. And it hasn’t helped anyway. I’ve been swallowing them like candy.”

She opened a bottle and poured six liquid-gel capsules into her hand. “Don’t swallow them. Open the gel cap and pour the liquid right onto your tooth. That might help, too. But you have infection and that’s the biggest problem. You need to get the infection out. Do you have antibiotics?”

“Not really,” Grayson fudged. He was holding out partly for Puck, who didn’t seem to need them—yet—and partly for just in case there was another person even more hurt or sick later. The cayenne pepper he’d used on Puck had some antibiotic properties and Puck was healthy. He may not need them at all. But someone else might; someone worse off than Grayson.

She put her hands on her ample hips. “If you have them, you need to use them. Infection can kill you. But you’re the boss of you, and you seem a bit stubborn, so…”

She turned to a basket of vegetables and plucked out a bulb of garlic and put it next to the two bottles.

“Apply freshly extracted garlic juice, or make a garlic paste, and put it around the tooth for five minutes, then rinse it out with water. You can also add garlic juice into a cup of water and gargle with it a few times a day. Add as much garlic into your food as you can. It will combat the infection and strengthen your immune system. You have a garden, yes?”

Grayson nodded.

“Then I hope you have more garlic.”

“What order do I do this in?”

“Do the garlic first, several times a day to work out the infection. Rinse it out, then use the clove oil. If that doesn’t help the pain, use the Advil.”

She pushed the two bottles, the garlic, and the Advil toward Grayson. “Bring me any dried gravy mix you have—at least six packs—or a bottle of Soy Sauce, or three rolls of toilet paper, or… chocolate. You be fair to me, okay?”

Grayson nodded in agreement, hoping like hell Jake had any of this at his house to trade. He stood up to leave.

“You’ll be back, and when you do, bring a bottle of whisky. I’ll share it with you before I pull it, and I may need to stitch you up, too.”

Grayson cringed, and turned to leave. There was no way in hell he was letting this woman near him with a needle.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Neva smiled. “See you later.”

Grayson flinched. Her own mouth was a graveyard of crooked, rotten teeth and gaps. He’d need to find a new dentist… and soon.

IdaBelle was leading the woman with the snoring problem in as he was making his way out. He moved aside to let her through the kitchen door, and accidentally dropped the Advil. As he squatted down to pick them up, he listened to the whiny woman.

“Good lord, I hope you can help me. I can’t get a lick of sleep. My husband snores. Loudly. Without power, the CPAP machine isn’t working. Do you have anything for snoring?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Neva step over to a drawer, open it and remove something. He was interested because he too snored. Some nights, Olivia jabbed and poked him every half hour.

Neva handed the items to the woman. “There.”

The woman scoffed. “Seriously? This is all you have?”

“Other than voodoo or spells? Yes.”

Grayson choked back a laugh as the woman pocketed the ear plugs, roughly dropped her roll of toilet paper on the table, and stomped out.

His chuckle petered off when he realized there was no way Neva could have heard that comment about the voodoo and spells. The door had been closed and they were outside when the woman had said it.

Still, the look on the woman’s stunned and guilty face was hilarious.

Unfortunately, Grayson wouldn’t be laughing the next time he came face to face with Neva.

43

THE THREE E’S

“Dadgummit,” Elmer yelled, swinging his shotgun in frustration.

He turned to Emma. “Did you see that? They got my fricken’ truck!” he yelled.

“Why was it so loud?” she asked.

“Dadblame muffler needs replaced,” he answered, staring down the road.

Emma nodded. “Did you see it had stuff in it? I think it was your stuff.”

“Yup. It was loaded to the huckleberries,” he said, and kicked at a rock on the ground. It went flying. “Now where in tarnation is that woman?”

“I don’t know where else she could be. We’ve been in the barn and the house.”

Elmer grunted his disapproval, and looked the opposite direction from the way the men had gone. “Probably walked all the way down to Rose’s to argue about that darn book again. It’s purt-near two miles that way—too far for her to be taking off on foot. But I’m glad she wasn’t here when they showed up,” he admitted.

But something didn’t feel right. Elmer could feel dread creeping up his spine, even as he tried to convince himself that Edith was just off visiting. Just in case, he decided to check again. He took off at a fast pace. When he stepped up on the back porch, he yelled through the screen door. Maybe she was just hiding. “Edith! They’re gone. Come out!”

There was no answer.

He went in and opened their pantry. It was empty. He slammed the door shut. One by one he opened the kitchen cabinets. There wasn’t so much as a can of coffee left. Edith was going to be mad as a wet hen. And hungry, too.

He sighed heavily and turned to go check out the bedrooms. In his closet, he had a stockpile of ammo for his shotty and Edith’s little pistol that those ruffians probably stole already. He also had some 9mm for another pistol that he knew he owned, he just couldn’t remember where in the dickens he’d put it.

He cringed at the mess of the walls in the living room. Looks like he’d have a long way to go before he ever finished his honey-do list when Edith saw this. He hoped that she’d be so happy to see him, that she’d not rip him a new one over the damage he’d done in her house with the shotty.

Stomping into the empty bedroom, he saw Edith’s book on the dresser and froze. Next to it was her pocketbook, as she called it. More like a suitcase… and she never left home without it. Not even to walk to the neighbors.

“Edith!” he yelled in panic, and ran in to the spare room. Something didn’t feel right—it felt all wrong.

She wasn’t there.

He ran into the bathroom. “Edith?” A scene from that horrible old movie popped into his mind. He held his breath and jerked open the shower curtain from around the tub, his heart in his throat.

But she wasn’t there either.

Running out of the house, he told Emma, “She’s here somewhere. Found her book and her purse. Help me find her, please, help me.” Elmer knew it in his heart; his life was about to change. He was frantic.

Out in the yard, he clutched his chest as he rushed to the barn, praying to be wrong.

But as he’d already been in the barn earlier, he knew she wasn’t there, and he was right.

He climbed into the loft anyway, calling her name, nearly sliding down the ladder with every mis-step.

She wasn’t there either.

Behind the barn, and around the entire house, back to where they started.

The only signs of life were her chickens and the strange piglet, now rooting around in the remains of a fire. Why would Edith light a fire? She never lit fires…

He stood alone on the back porch. Where could she have gone? It was going to be dark soon, in minutes, actually. If she was at Rose’s, she needed to be getting home.

But she wouldn’t go to Rose’s without that dadblasted book. He just knew it. What else would they gab about? He wondered if maybe she’d been laying down in the back of the truck. Maybe he didn’t see her when they tore out like their britches were on fire.

Could they have taken her? Would they? What reason would they want an old woman?

“Elmer!” Emma screamed from the far side of the yard. She was standing at Mei’s grave, next to the edge of their property, where it met the woods.

Elmer put his hand up, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun setting. “What is it?” he grumpily yelled back across the yard.

“Come here! Hurry!”

Elmer hurried over, cussing under his breath. He didn’t have time for this right now. He had to find Edith. Getting closer, he noticed the dirt piled up beside the grave. If those animals dug that girl up, I’ll kill ‘em with my bare hands, he thought.

He stepped beside Emma and looked down into the grave; he was nearly struck down with shock.

Edith stared up at him with wide eyes, not moving a muscle. Probably scared nearly to death, he thought. In an urgent voice he said, “I’m coming, Edith… hang on. I’ll get you out of there,” and then dropped to the ground, turning over onto his belly, hurriedly crawling to the edge of the grave.

He pushed his legs over first and mumbled, “Oh Lord, help me… help me… please.”

Elmer let go and dropped the six feet with a hope and a prayer, landing on Mei’s legs with a sickening crunch. He cringed and paused a second, waiting to hear the screaming pain of his own old bones breaking. But nothing seemed to hurt too bad. He turned around, easing to his knees, and crawled down Mei’s body, trying to keep his own legs to the sides of her, instead of on her. He stopped before he got to her waist. There were Edith’s hands, wrapped around Mei from behind, helping her hold the picture of her little girl; her two aged, but beautiful hands, and Mei’s young one, all entwined together around the photo of the child.

“Edith?” he whispered loudly. He held his hands in the air, not sure what to do with them. He was afraid to move her, she was so still. Was her back broken? Was she paralyzed? It was quite a fall for an old woman. “Are you okay? Edith! Say something!”

She didn’t answer.

Edith lay under Mei, as though she were holding her, arms wrapped tightly around her. Mei’s head lay on Edith’s shoulder. A nasty, pink and brown wound screamed from her arm, burned deep into her skin.

She’d been branded with a huge number “2.”

A low hum started and grew into a heartbreaking wail.

“Eeeeediiiiiiiiith,” he screamed.

As he crouched over Mei’s body that covered his wife, he was struck by the worst hurt he’d ever felt—much harsher than the day he’d said good-bye to their only son—and the agony of it enveloped him.

Emma stared into the grave from above, and dropped to her knees, realizing Edith couldn’t answer her husband. Wouldn’t, ever again. She brushed the curtain of her hair aside, and reached a hand down to Elmer, not even coming close to reaching the broken man. “Elmer,” she said, stretching her fingertips down. “Stand up. Take my hand.”

The tears streaming down her face matched his.

He glared up at Emma and panted, taking painful breaths. He waved her away. “Leave me,” he roared.

She stood and stumbled a few feet away, her hand to her mouth as her tears ran unchecked. She took a sharp breath.

“Edith!” Elmer hoarsely screamed again, in a voice so broken it was barely recognizable.

Emma flung her hands up over her ears and dropped her head, feeling the life sucked out of her. She drew in a huge breath, holding it. She had no right to cry; no right to share Elmer’s grief. If she hadn’t hitched a ride with him, he might’ve been back home already to prevent this. She turned and ran to the house, not being able to stand the poor man’s howls.

The screen door slammed behind her.

Elmer scooted forward, tears rolling and snot bubbling, and pulled Mei up by her shoulders, then held her up with one arm, as he struggled through his sobs to try to pull his wife out from behind her. Edith’s long silvery-gray hair was down, streaming around her shoulders; she was beautiful… more beautiful than the day he’d married her almost fifty years ago. He rarely saw her with her hair down anymore. Usually it was up in a bun. At night, she braided it. A couple times a year, he might catch a glimpse of the long silvery locks, but it was rare.

It was impossible. He couldn’t get Edith out from under Mei like that. Instead, he stood, putting one boot on each side of Mei, and lifted her. The smell nearly knocked him down. He turned and carried her to the other side of the grave, leaning her against the dirt wall. Something in Mei popped and cracked again, as though her bones were snapping like dry tinder. Her head lolled over like a rag doll, the bandana falling off.

Elmer nearly heaved.

He got down and scrambled across the dirt again and looked at Edith.

Finally seeing her without Mei on top of her, he gasped. There was the bullet hole that had killed her. He turned his head up and cursed God. How could you let this happen?

She’s gone. She’s really gone.

He grabbed her and picked her up, standing to hold her broken body to his chest. Edith’s feet hung six inches off the ground. He tightly hugged his bride.

He ignored the smell of burnt flesh and convinced himself that she still smelled the same. Like lilacs and honeysuckle… a smell he’d associated with his bride for half a century. He buried his nose in her hair, sucking in huge breaths, and bawled until he was too exhausted to hold either one of them up anymore.

He fell to the ground, with Edith still in his arms, howling relentlessly, for how long he didn’t know, squeezing and hugging her while her arms flopped lifelessly at her sides. Finally, he took a deep breath and held it… then shuddered. “I’m so sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have left you here alone,” he cried. “I just wanted to get those girls home safely.”

He felt so shallow. Fifty years and that was the best he could come up with? Meaningless excuses? She’d been shot and thrown into a grave with a dead body… he couldn’t imagine anything more frightening for his wife. She would have hated that. In the past, he would have had to hold a gun to her head to get her into a hole. She’d barely glanced at Mei once they’d put her down there when they’d buried her.

That’s when it struck him.

They’d buried Mei in bright purple shirt. He remembered it plain as day.

Mei was now wearing a yellow shirt.

Somebody had to change that shirt.

His wife was alive when they put her down here…

Holding Edith with one arm, he stuck his hand to the dirt floor where Edith had lain, and searched the dirt, coming up with her little revolver.

That was why her hair was down. The few times he’d asked her to carry her gun, she’d act silly and hide it under her bun, sitting on the top of her head, and then tell him she was carrying her tiny revolver he’d bought her. She ignored the bigger 9mm until he’d been forced to put it away.

He smiled proudly through his tears. She went out fighting. He hoped she’d at least winged one of them. “That’s my girl,” he said, as he pulled Edith close again.

The sun finished setting, leaving him in the dark, softly singing through his sobs to his bride. It was the only song that came to mind… but he didn’t think Edith would care. She was a huge Johnny Cash fan, and loved for him to sing it to her. “I fell in to a burning ring of fire… it went down down down…”

As the moon rose, shining down on them, he refused to dry his tears or wipe his nose. He let it all go, only singing the same verse over and over, wishing for the darkness of night to completely blanket them and bring him sleep; giving him one more night to hold his bride while she lay against his shoulder.

44

TULLYMORE

Tucker and Katie were gathered around their table with the four kids using two battery-powered lanterns to play Monopoly when they heard a knock. Tucker scooted his chair out, warning Katie not to cheat—she was the banker—and nearly stumbled over the dogs laying at his feet.

He edged to the window and peeked out, his gun ready.

It was Sarah, holding her baby.

He slid his gun back into the holster, and stepped out onto the front porch, closing the door just in case it was bad news. So far, he’d kept the worst of it away from his kids’ ears. “Hi, Sarah. How is she doing now?”

Tucker tried not to cringe. The baby didn’t look any better. If anything, she looked worse. If Sarah didn’t look so much happier herself, he’d have sworn that Sammi was already dead. She had her swaddled in a blanket, and it wasn’t cold at all; maybe it was because she was so sick.

Sarah gave him a smile. “She is better now, I think. I just wanted to thank you.” She juggled Sammi to her shoulder and handed Tucker the plastic bag she had hanging from one arm.

Surprised, he opened it and looked inside, finding three rolls of toilet paper. “Thank you, but you don’t have to give me this,” he said. He tried to hand it back.

She waved him away. “No, I do. I have more, and I have tons of wet wipes, too. It’s just me and Sammi at home, and I thought of you and Katie with four teenagers… well, you’ll probably need it before I do. Thank you, for everything you did for us.”

Tucker shrugged. “You’re welcome, and thank you. You’re right. Those knuckleheads really go through some toilet paper. This will help a lot. Here, come on in.” He held the door open for her. “I have something for you, too.”

Sarah shook her head. “No really, you’ve done enough.” But, reluctantly, she stepped into the house.

“The one store we went to didn’t have much, but we took everything they had. Ironically, it was mostly dog food which will be helpful for all the dogs we have here—but a bit of people food, too. Another group we ran into out there brought our part back for us. We already split it up evenly for everyone here. Let me get yours.”

Tucker left her in the foyer to run out to his garage.

Katie stood up. “Hi, Sarah. Is the baby better?” she asked as she made her way over, wanting to take a peek at Sammi.

Sarah quickly turned Sammi around to show Katie, and then flipped her back to her shoulder. She nodded. “She’s… yeah. She’s better. I was just thanking Tucker. And, if you see Jake, can you tell him and his brother I appreciate them trying to find the formula?”

“I will, but it’s his brother-in-law, not his brother,” Katie answered. “I’m sorry the stuff they brought back was so out of date. It’s a shame she can’t drink it. I used to feed my kids out of date formula and baby food all the time. Never had a problem.”

“I don’t think it would’ve been a problem, except it was years out of date.” Sarah looked to be sure Tucker was out of the house before asking, “Katie, I’m glad I got a chance to talk to you. Mickey told me what happened at the store. Is Tucker alright?”

Katie was puzzled. “Yeah, he’s fine. Why?”

“Because of the—” Sarah stopped. It was possible Katie didn’t know that Tucker was nearly shot at point blank, and that they’d seen death at every turn on their outing, even burying a family of four. “Because I know he felt bad about the formula not working for us,” she lied. “I just want to say, I know he did everything he could for her.”

She lifted Sammi up and sadly kissed her head.

Katie was even more puzzled. “But you said she’s better, right? She’s taking the rice water?”

“Oh, sure. She is. I’m just saying no one could have done more than Tucker did. He shouldn’t feel bad—about the formula… being out of date, I mean.”

Katie studied Sarah. While she did seem a bit better in spirits, she still looked deathly tired, and she sounded loopy. The last week had really taken it out of the poor woman. Katie couldn’t remember seeing her at supper, and the poor woman was thin as a rail. She was almost wobbly on her feet, too. She waved her toward the den. “Want to sit down?”

“No, I’ve got to get back and put Sammi down. Has Jake left yet?” She looked around Katie to the den and dining area. “I really wanted to thank him, too.”

“Yeah, they’ve already left. They hung around a bit and waited for their part of the haul from the grocery store and then they went by Jake’s house. I think he had some supplies that Gabby wanted him to get. They’ve gone home to Grayson’s place now. But I’ll tell him if I see him.” She smiled at Sarah. “Grayson had a heck of a toothache. Neva gave him something for it, and he was ready to get home and try it.”

“Neva knows a lot, it seems. I’ve heard the kids call her a witch,” Sarah said. “Wait. Is she a witch?”

Katie laughed. “No. Neva learned about natural remedies and plants and all kinds of stuff from her grandmother, back in the day. She’s the one that told us about those hay boxes we’re using to cook with now. I owe her… big time. Saved me hours of sweating over that fire, not to mention saving all of us firewood we can use in the winter… I mean, if the power stays out. So, nope. Not a witch,” she finished and laughed again.

Nervously, Sarah juggled her baby to her other shoulder, looking away. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. My mouth sometimes…” She waved her hand in the air. “Anyway…” she faded off.

Tucker hurried in and opened the bag he was carrying for Sarah to look inside. “Sorry, it’s not much, but it’s something.” The contents of the bag barely covered the bottom. It was mostly snack items: beef jerky, peanuts, packs of cookies and chips. A can of soup was the only item that resembled real food.

He handed it to her and smiled.

Sarah hesitated, and then asked, “Tucker, what are we all going to do for food if the power doesn’t come back on?”

Tucker sighed. “I’m not sure, but we’ll do the best we can. There’s a few small gardens already planted here. We’ll work those. People are saving their seeds from any fruits and vegetables they still had. It’s possible we could try to plant them and see if they’ll produce. Won’t hurt to try. Some people have more than others, or different things than others, and we’ll barter and trade. Maybe we’ll try to go out of the neighborhood to look for food again, but not right now. It’s not safe out there, Sarah.”

He hadn’t shared the story of the lives lost on their run to town run yet. He wasn’t keeping it from anyone, but he just hadn’t wanted to talk about it. He just wanted to be safe at home, with his family safe beside him, and take a few days to absorb it. Besides, he felt sure Mickey and Frank would be talking about it soon enough—although their version might be slightly different from the truth. But he knew Sarah didn’t know. She barely came out of her house.

Katie squeezed his arm. “What about hunting? You mentioned Xander was going to take you and a few others out to teach them to hunt, right? We can get meat like that.”

Tucker nodded to both her and Sarah. “Yeah. Of course. We’ll be going out soon. Until then, if you run out of food, you just come here. We’ll do the evening meal as long as we can with the group, and after that Katie and I will share with you, won’t we Katie?” He looked to Katie for support.

Katie didn’t meet his eyes; or Sarah’s. “Ummm… sure. I’ll see you later, Sarah, I’ve got to get the kids to lay down. These work days are brutal with no sleep. Good night,” she said and hurried away.

Sarah backed up. “Well, good-night y’all. Thank you again.”

“You want me to walk you home?” Tucker asked, looking out across the dark street.

Sarah shook her head. “No, I’m used to being alone.” She turned and walked away, cooing to her daughter as she went.

Tucker watched her leave, wondering if she’d meant to say I instead of we. “Sarah,” he yelled. “Do you need more water? I can bring you some.”

Sarah answered without turning around. “No. I’m good.”

How could she be good? She was probably needing more water than most people with a sick baby. Or maybe she’s just using the wet wipes to clean the baby up, he reminded himself. As Tucker watched her unsteadily walk away, keeping an eye on her until she reached her door, she nearly dropped the bag of food on her driveway.

She scooped it up, and instead of carrying it in, she shoved it in her mailbox, seemingly overwhelmed with her burden. He wished she’d have let him walk her home. He could’ve carried the bag.

“Sarah!” he yelled again, feeling as though he’d left something unsaid.

She turned around, cocking her hip and adjusting Sammi on her shoulder. “What?”

“We’ll get through this. All of us,” he assured her.

She gave him a weak smile. “You can’t save the world, Tucker.”

Goosebumps rose on Tucker’s arms. Those were the last words the old woman in the wheelchair had ever spoken—or something very close to that. Grayson had shared that with him after they’d buried the woman with her father and children under her apple tree.

In the next months to come, he’d remember those words, spoken twice in one day, by two different women, often.

45

THE THREE E’S

Emma slowly lowered the ladder into the grave, the clanking of the metal splitting the air and startling her in the dark. The lantern she’d found in the barn barely lit up the hole enough to see Elmer. But it was better that way. She didn’t want to see his face—or Edith or Mei’s. She could just see enough to make him out, leaned against the side, with Edith in his arms.

“Leave me be, I said!” Elmer yelled when the ladder bumped his foot. “Go away!”

Emma ignored his protests. “It’s been hours, and it’s pitch dark down there. You have to come out some time, Elmer.” She cringed, waiting for his answer.

A moment later she heard him whisper. “There you go,” he said. “It’s just for tonight, love. I’ll dig you a new grave. You’ll each have your own resting spot tomorrow.”

Emma leaned over to see him struggling to move his wife and lay her down with her head opposite Mei. She heard what could only be a kiss, and a moment later his head popped up over the edge. He climbed out and pulled the ladder up, throwing it to the side, and walked to the house stiff-legged.

Emma stood back and gave him a head start, and then followed.

When she stepped into the kitchen, she saw he’d found the coffee she’d poured him. The men had missed the canisters on Edith’s counters; they were full of coffee, flour, and sugar. They’d also ignored the cookie jar. Elmer took a long drink, his dirty hands leaving smudges on Edith’s good China, and sat down at the table with the cup in his hand, staring at the picture Emma had found, next to a plate of Edith’s homemade cookies.

He ignored the cookies, but picked up the picture. “Nice truck,” he said. “Saw it at the farm. Hope they got it running.”

“Those are my sisters in that picture,” she said unnecessarily.

Elmer grumbled. “I know who they are. You think I’m daft?”

Emma pulled her hair into a pony tail, securing it with a rubber band, and leaned against the counter. “No. I don’t,” she said gently. “But Elmer, that picture was clipped to a map. We lost it at the rest area when we first ran into Trunk and his guys.”

“So?”

Emma sighed. “So… they must have the map. That’s probably how they ended up here. He told me he lived not twenty miles from our town and he’d driven through it just before meeting us. And if they have the map, it has our route highlighted all the way home—well, almost all the way.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” he grumbled. “My wife just died.”

Emma rubbed her hand over her face. “I know. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I feel like it’s my fault. If I hadn’t been with you, you might have made it home in time. But my sisters are still alive. We have to warn them.”

“We? You got a mouse in your pocket, girl?” he grumbled, and then more gently, he said, “It’s not your fault. That roadblock would’ve been there even if I’d been alone. Heck, they probably would’ve killed me in the end without you there.”

Emma’s face burned at his left-handed compliment. She took a deep breath and let it out. “Elmer, he’s not going to stop until he gets them for his stupid scavenger hunt. That man is insane.”

Elmer was silent, deep in thought. Finally, he spoke. “That girl out there that my wife was holding onto… do you know why she wanted to die?”

Emma shrugged, not unkindly. “Drugs.”

“Not just drugs. She thought she’d failed her daughter. That’s hard for anyone to live with; trust me, I know. But it’s especially hard for a mother.”

“What’s your point?” Emma asked.

“The point is, your sisters are grown women. They have their husbands there, too. And those other two women that were stuck there seem like they know their way around a gun. But what about your son? What if something has already happened to your husband, and your son is out there on that island all alone?”

Emma bit her lip and pulled up a chair, feeling weak in the knees. “That’s not fair. Don’t use that against me. We know Gabby and Olivia are in danger… and anyone there with them—if Trunk and his guys sneak up on them.”

Elmer turned up his cup and finished his coffee. “I’m just saying take care not to make the wrong decision. Family is everything… without it, we’re lost.” His voice broke on the last word. He swallowed hard, and cleared his throat. His eyes misted up.

She put her small hand atop his and squeezed. “You’re not lost—and you’re not alone. I’ll go after Dusty and Rickey if you’ll go to the farm and warn my family, and then stay there. We’re your family, now. Gabby and Olivia will feel the same when they hear about Edith.”

He turned his head away and took a swipe at his nose and eyes, pretending he was looking at the mess on the counter. “I must’ve got some dirt in my eye when I was down in that dadblasted hole. I need to wash up and lay down. I’ve got a lot of digging to do when the sun comes up. You need to get some sleep before you get on the road, too, missy.”

Emma nodded, understanding completely. “Yup. I imagine you’ll have dirt in your eye for quite awhile. And that’s okay… you take as long as you need to get that dirt out.”

She waited a moment to let him gather himself and then asked, “And then what will you do, after you bury Edith in the morning?”

He pushed his chair back and stood up, throwing up his hands. “Oh, alright then! Stop your badgering. You go on and ride that bike to Bald Head Island just like you planned, and don’t worry about your sisters. Now go to bed!” he yelled, followed by a quieter, “G’night.”

Emma gave a weak smile. She knew what that meant; and she knew he wouldn’t let her down. What she didn’t know was that he was right… Dusty and Rickey were in grave danger. Unfortunately, by the time she got there, it might be too late.

46

TULLYMORE

Trunk and his boys pulled Elmer’s old truck into Qual-Pro Auto & Marine and sat idling, looking over the lot. “Yup. We’ve been here before, boys. Whaddayathinkaboutthat?”

“Small world,” Backfire said.

The lot was in sad shape compared to the last time they were here. A wall of sorry-looking beaten-up boats surrounded a few used cars, all with their gas caps hanging open. Some of the cars sat on blocks, their tires now gone. All were vandalized, leaving broken windows and dents in the doors and hoods, glass shattered all over the ground.

It looked like a mob had been through, just like the rest of the town that they’d driven through. After siphoning gas from every farmer in a twenty-mile stretch from Elmer’s house, they’d found enough to make it to Rock Hill and had driven through the battered town, looking for any sign of Gabby and Olivia or the red truck.

It wasn’t too large of a town within the city limits, and anyone they did find was easily persuaded to talk to them.

Finally, they’d caught a break when someone said they’d seen the truck parked here at this service center several times. The old red Chevy, in the top-notch shape that it was in, was a real eye-catcher.

“Looks deserted, Boss,” Smalls said. He was riding shotgun, with Backfire in the middle.

A loud clang rang through the air.

Trunk made a clicking noise with his mouth, and opened his door. “Looks can be deceiving, Smalls.”

The three men walked to the front door, guns at the ready, and Smalls tried to pull it open. It was locked. Unbelievably, no one had broken out the glass from the door or windows. That probably meant someone had been here all along, guarding it.

That someone was still here, somewhere.

They stepped around the side of the office section and saw a bay door wedged open with a cinder block. Trunk pointed to it, and they moved to the door. As Trunk and Backfire held semi-automatic pistols up, aimed at the space behind it, Smalls raised the door, surprising the three people inside.

Trunk winked and smiled at the pretty woman who wore her jet-black hair in a high pony tail. She was sitting on the back of a car, watching two other men huddled tight, squatted down beside another car removing lug nuts from a wheel.

The older mechanic turned a lug wrench. “This is how you do it the old-fashioned way,” the wiry, whiskery man huffed while turning the wrench. He wore a short, salt & pepper-colored beard, and dark sunglasses on top of his head. Ropey muscles bulged as he loosened the lug nut easily.

The woman gasped and then yelled, “Nick!” Backfire turned and pointed his gun at her.

“Stay where you are, boys,” Trunk said, aiming his gun at them. “Just got a few questions for you.”

The men turned around in surprise, their eyes wide, and raised their hands, Nick still holding a lug wrench in the air. They were on their knees. Nick was especially surprised to once again see the same biker that had asked him about Jake’s part for his truck.

He’d lied to that man.

Trunk gave them his winning grin. “I remember you.” He pointed to Nick. “You said that truck was… yellow, was it? Can’t remember. But I do recall you said it wasn’t red. Ammirite?”

“It wasn’t red,” Nick lied again.

“I think it was. I think you’re lying to me—again.”

Nick stood his ground. “I’ve got a few customers that have that model truck. It’s more common than you think. The one you asked me about wasn’t red,” he said firmly, fudging the truth.

The younger mechanic looked at Nick out of the corner of his eye, frowning at the older man.

“Okay. I’m not asking you again, then.” He pointed his gun directly at the younger mechanic. “I’ll start over with you. Have you seen a red, 1957 Chevy truck here before… and before you tell me a lie, let me tell you… I don’t take kindly to liars,” he warned, and leaned down, squinting one eye and putting the younger mechanic in his sights.

The young mechanic flinched, and nodded.

Nick elbowed him.

Trunk raised his eyebrows. “Is that a yes, then?”

The mechanic nodded again and Nick glared at him.

Trunk laughed. “See, here’s a man who doesn’t want to eat a bullet. Smart man. Does it belong to the husband of a woman who has a twin sister?”

The young man nodded again, and Nick’s jaw nearly hit the ground. Jake was his friend, and these men were definitely not friends of Jake’s. These men were trouble, just like he’d thought the first time they came through. But he kept his mouth shut. They’d have a hard time finding Jake out at Grayson’s house in the country.

Trunk lowered his gun a tiny bit. “Thank you for being so cooperative. One more question, and we’ll just be on our way and nobody has to get hurt. It doesn’t look like you have anything else here we need anyway—unless the pretty lady wants to take a ride with us?” He looked over at Rena and raised his eyebrows.

She slowly shook her head.

“S’kay. We’ve got all the woman problems we can handle right now,” Trunk said and laughed. “So, last question. Where does this Jake live?”

The young mechanic was singing like a bird. “He lives in Tullymore Subdivision off highway 9, but he’s not there right now. He’s at his—”

“—oops,” Nick said, as he lost his balance and fell over, pinging the young mechanic in the forehead with the wrench, and then trying to catch him as he slowly toppled over. “Damn, kid. Did I knock you out?”

The kid was out like a light.

“My bad,” Nick said, and frowned at Trunk. “He was about to say Jake and his family have gone off to his mother’s house in Georgia, last we heard.”

Trunk scowled at Nick. “Really? They’re gonna drive from South Carolina to Georgia? Seems a long way to go with a gas shortage. Where’d he find that much gas?” He eyed Nick suspiciously.

“Look around. Every gas cap on the lot is open. I gave it to him. Traded him for a gun… which I don’t currently have on me, obviously.”

What Trunk didn’t know was they all three had guns there. But they’d let their guard down and the guns were out of reach—and hopefully out of sight.

Trunk stared long and hard at him. “You know, I think I smell a lie. But I got what I came for. Now, I’ve got places to go, and people to see.” He smiled. “So, thank you, kindly.” He backed up, his gun still on Nick and the mechanic, who was just coming around. Slowly, he and his guys retraced their steps, keeping their pistols pointed at the door until they were out of sight.

They jumped in the truck and took off.

Trunk and his boys blazed through Tullymore. Backfire and Trunk were in the back of the truck, sitting cramped among Elmer’s food and supplies, while Smalls drove.

They were shooting at anything that moved…

Anything with four legs that is.

It had only taken a moment of looking down the barrel of Trunk’s gun for the two teenagers at the front entrance to let them by. The boys ran off into the trees in fright, nearly pissing their pants, and Smalls drove through the suburban neighborhood while guns blazed from the back.

Bang

A dog yelped and fell to the ground, its owner screaming and running for the house.

“Got one!” Trunk yelled in delight. “Keep driving, Smalls!”

Smalls moved slowly through the streets, gritting his teeth at his boss’ savagery; he loved dogs.

Bang

Another dog fell in a heap, still barking weakly at the trespassers.

Bang

A cat flew up into the air, not of its own accord.

“I tawt I taw a puddytat,” Backfire yelled.

“What the hell are you doing?” a man screamed and raced for his children. He scooped up the two toddlers and ran toward the house.

“Not taking any kids today, sir!” Trunk yelled back.

The man looked over his shoulder in terror as he ran.

They drove on and turned a corner, as children and adults scrambled in fear behind them.

Two dogs stood barking in the next yard, the hair on their backs standing at attention.

Bang

One dog fell. One ran.

Bang

The second dog slid to a bloody stop in the grass.

“Got a double!” Trunk yelled.

An air horn blasted three times and men ran out of houses like ants… armed with mostly make-shift weapons.

But it was too late.

Trunk and his guys skidded to a stop at the house next door to Curt, finding two boys playing basketball. Trunk jumped from the truck and stood between them, his tattooed arms slung lazily over both of their shoulders, a pistol hanging from one hand, while the boys stood nervous and still on each side of him.

Backfire stood with his legs apart, his gun in the air at ready, flashing it around for all to see.

Smalls kept the truck idling, but had one arm hanging out the window, pointed at the boys as well.

“Nobody fire,” Curt yelled needlessly to his people. The few that had guns held them as though they were afraid of them. Most of Curt’s group were anti-gun before the grid went down—probably rethinking that position about now—and instead were armed with an axe, or a pole removed from various yard tools, or a knife.

Curt walked over slowly from his own yard, his hands up and empty. He stopped before he reached Trunk. “You must have balls of brass coming in here and shooting at our animals.” He looked around. “You’re outnumbered ten to one, at least.”

Trunk smiled. “Yeah, but I got the kids. You people shoot me or my guys and these kids will look like that ball.” He pointed his gun at the basketball that had rolled away, and shot it.

The neighbors all flinched.

Curt’s hands shook. One of those kids was his own. “What do you want?”

“Which house does Jake live in?”

“You drove past it coming in. But he’s not home.”

Trunk tilted his head. “Might you know where he’s gone, then?”

Curt glanced nervously across the neighborhood. He could just barely see a corner of Tucker’s yard, where the men were yelling at the women and children, and pointing this way and that. The women were running around gathering their kids and animals and running for cover. A small group of men were heading their way through a stand of woods that separated the streets.

He knew more of them would be armed. They were a bunch of gun-loving nutballs. They’d sooner shoot first and talk later.

And his kid would be in the crossfire.

He shrugged his shoulders at Trunk, not yet sure if he wanted to say. Jake wasn’t his enemy, though he had seemed to choose sides with Tucker—at least it seemed that way. Still, he wished him no harm. But, Jake and Gabby didn’t have kids.

Curt did.

Trunk crooked a finger at him, calling him over. Backfire came to stand with the boys while the two men walked away and had a quick talk in private.

A minute later, Trunk and his crew were on their way out of Tullymore, leaving behind the terrified neighbors, and the grieving families of the bloody and broken dogs—and one cat—in their wake.

47

GRAYSON’S GROUP

Gabby and Olivia sat in the kitchen staring at each other across the table. Like a matching set of bookends, they both had their chin in their hands, holding up sad faces; bored silly and missing their husbands. They were a mirror image of each other.

By the time the guys had come in, the night before, Grayson’s face had been a mask of pain; swollen from his bad tooth. He was short-tempered and all he wanted to do was eat, get a shower, and go straight to bed. He’d failed to mention to Olivia that he'd picked up a home-remedy from Neva, so while he bathed, she took it upon herself to find some medicine in his preps, break it up, and put it in a bowl of hot stew for him.

By the time he’d finished eating and taking a shower—blissfully singing and finally pain free—the medicine had hit him like a ton of bricks. She’d messed up the dosage and had doubled it, knocking him out for the rest of the night. He’d slept until morning, and had been sick to his stomach, and grouchy when he’d woken up. Soon, he’d gone back to bed where he’d stayed all day.

Now she remembered why they still had that medicine. Grayson had never done well with painkillers. He’d saved it in case someone else could use it, never intending on ever using it for himself.

Oops.

Jake had waited quietly for Grayson to finish his shower, and then did the same, not wanting to talk much, and later seemed even more upset about Olivia wasting the painkillers than Grayson was. Gabby had probed him, prompting him to tell her what was really wrong, or about their adventures at Tullymore, but he’d put her off, saying maybe tomorrow.

Now, it was tomorrow. He’d beaten Gabby out of bed, spent hours outside chopping wood and then came back in. Sweating profusely, and with a killer headache, he too had gone straight back to bed again—in broad daylight.

Something was still bugging Jake, but he kept denying it. Whatever it was seemed as much physical as it was mental, but other than the sweating and headaches, he didn’t have any other symptoms—al least none that he would admit to. He waved his wife off every time she tried to get to the bottom of it.

Gabby knew there was something there, and whatever it was had started before they left for Tullymore. But, she knew her husband well enough to know he’d talk about it when he was good and ready, and to push him would only result in a complete shut-down that would last longer; she’d just have to wait until he was ready to talk.

Tina and Tarra had made themselves scarce, too. They’d barely said two words to anyone the night before, insisting they wanted to sleep in the barn. Olivia hadn’t argued. She’d gladly handed them quilts and pillows and helped them on their way. At daybreak, they too got up with the sun, grabbed a quick breakfast, and disappeared, leaving a note hanging on the fridge that they were ‘scouting for meat,’ and would be gone most of the day.

Puck was in bed, suffering terribly from the pain in his arm, as well as the bee stings, with Ozzie curled up beside him.

Olivia had spent over an hour scraping stingers out of Puck the night before with credit cards. She’d pumped him full of Benadryl—and dosed Ozzie with some, too—and sent them back to Graysie’s room to sleep it off.

And sleep he did.

Like a rock, he slept through the night.

That morning, Olivia had cleaned and changed the bandage over Puck’s gunshot wound, and applied a fresh layer of baking soda paste onto his bee-stings. She made him breakfast in bed and he swallowed two more Benadryl. She’d tucked him in, kissing him on his swollen head, and he’d peacefully drifted off to sleep again, after asking for GrayMan a dozen times.

Puck had been sorely disappointed he hadn’t seen him since the men returned, and pouted like a child, begging to wake him. Olivia refused, knowing Grayson wasn’t good company right now, and soon Puck drifted back to sleep, pulled under by the antihistamine.

Gabby and Olivia had spent the day unloading Jake’s truck and putting stuff away, weeding and working the gardens, and even stacking firewood that had been split, but not stacked yet.

All day they’d worked as a team, and even cleaned up the house and hand-washed all the men’s laundry and hung it to dry. Now, they were totally out of things to do. Or at least out of things they wanted to do…

Grayson surely had a dozen tasks he could assign, but he was too sick and too tired to even bother with assigning work. The ladies puttered around for hours, sometimes banging a few things around, hoping to rouse their husbands.

But so far, no luck.

Graysie walked into the kitchen. “What are you two doing staring at each other like that?” she said, her face screwed up at the sight of them sitting so quietly, grimly looking at each other’s faces.

They both laughed. They hadn’t even realized what they were doing.

For them, staring at each other wasn’t like gawking at someone else. It didn’t feel awkward or weird. It was more like looking in a mirror at their own faces, and after a moment or two; something completely normal and comfortable.

“We’re bored,” Gabby mumbled, her chin still resting on her hand.

Graysie grabbed some cheese crackers and a bottle of water and leaned against the counter. She popped one whole cracker in her mouth and chewed, studying her aunt and stepmother. “What about your foraging book, Olivia? You guys could see if you can find some of those plants and mushrooms you’ve been reading about. Maybe surprise Daddy with a salad of some sort from the woods for dinner.”

Olivia perked up. “That’s actually a really good idea. Want to, Gabby?”

Gabby stood up and stretched. “We can. But we need to be back before dark.”

“We’ll definitely be back before dark. I bet a lot of things grow right behind the house. We won’t go too far. Let me get my book, so we can identify stuff. Can you pack up snacks and water for three?” She stood up to go.

“For three?” Graysie asked, scrunching up her eyebrows.

“Yes, three. Me, Gabby and you. We all need to learn to identify edibles—and non-edibles. And don’t start with me… you’re going,” Olivia answered and smiled, and then hurried out of the room to find her book.

Graysie groaned. “Aunt Gabby! Help me!” she moaned.

Gabby laughed. “Hey, if I have to go, then you have to go, too. It was your idea, princess. Unless you’ve got a toothache, a bee sting, or are too depressed to get out bed…”

Graysie rolled her eyes. “I can fake any of that.”

“Nope. Suck it up. You’re going with us. Grab us some flashlights for my bag, just in case,” she said, and laughed. She turned to start gathering food. “And where’s your gun? You’re supposed to be wearing it. Go get it and make sure you bring extra mags too. You never know what we might run into in the woods. Better to be prepared for anything.”

But on that night, it wouldn’t be the woods where they’d run into monsters… in fact, they were much safer in the woods, than at home.

48

GRAYSON’S GROUP

The full moon shone above the small clearing, and tiny specks of light twinkled brightly. If they hadn’t been lost, they would have enjoyed the beautiful night sky, finally void of smog, smoke, and the infamous chem trails that may or may not have existed before the grid went down. It was the brightest they’d ever seen the moon and stars.

Olivia twirled around with her face turned up, studying the glimmering stars. “I can’t believe you didn’t bring a compass, Graysie!”

“Me?” she protested. “Why didn’t you bring one? You’re the adult.”

Olivia walked off a few feet, ignoring her, and circled a tree. “What is it they say about moss growing on a tree? Which direction is that supposed to be?”

Gabby sighed. “I don’t know, Olivia,” she answered in a frustrated voice. “Even if I did, that wouldn’t tell us which direction the farm is. I don’t understand how we both can be so directionally-challenged. This is almost embarrassing.”

Graysie flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Yeah, for y’all. I don’t live here.”

“Pfft… yes you do,” Olivia answered. “This is your home. College is… well, college. You haven’t been there long enough to call it home yet. And you don’t know either, so stop trying to sound like it’s all our fault,” she snapped.

Graysie mocked fright, lifting her shoulders up around her ears and dramatically waving her fingers in the air. “Geesh. Evil stepmother much?”

Gabby intervened. “Look, it’s no use snapping at each other. I think home is this way. Come on.” She walked in a new direction, really having no idea which way to go. She knew if they could just get out of the woods, they’d stumble upon a road, and find their way home from there.

She just wanted to keep moving. The guys were probably all awake and worried sick about them.

Olivia gasped. “Wait! Where’s Ozzie?” She turned around in a circle, looking for her dog. “He’s gone!”

“He’s probably on his way home,” Graysie said sarcastically. “If you’d stop babying him all the time, you could’ve told him the ‘home’ command, and we could’ve followed him. But he only listens to Daddy cuz you’re too soft. Now, he’s gone on without us. He’s probably there now, with his feet kicked up on the couch, crunching through a bowl of kibble and bits, and wiping his paws on the furniture.”

“That’s enough, Graysie,” Olivia snapped. “This isn’t even funny. What if he’s lost?”

“We’re lost!” Gabby yelled. “I promise you, that dog isn’t lost. He knows exactly where—”

“He’s not lost,” a voice loudly said, interrupting Gabby.

Graysie, Olivia and Gabby jumped in fright.

Ozzie ran back into the clearing, wagging his tail happily, with Tina and Tarra following him.

Gabby ran and hugged her friends. “Oh, thank God. Wait, are you lost, too?”

Tina and Tarra both laughed. “No,” Tina said. “We were still scouting—and y’all need to be quiet. We were on the trail of a wild boar. Those suckers are mean.”

Olivia gasped. They’d had a run-in with a wild boar once. She was terrified of them now.

Tina bent down and tightened the laces on her boot. “We weren’t ready to come back, until Lassie showed up and told us Timmy fell in the well.” She and Tarra cracked up laughing, with Gabby and Graysie joining in.

Olivia stood with her arms crossed, staring at the group. “If y’all are done hee-hawing around, can you just show us the way home?” she asked in a prim voice.

Tina turned her back to Olivia and wordlessly mocked her, screwing up her face.

Tarra answered. “Come on. It’s this way.”

Ozzie jumped ahead of everyone, knowing exactly where he was going, just as Gabby had said.

They trudged through the dense woods behind him: Tarra and Tina, then Graysie, Olivia, and Gabby bringing up the rear. Ozzie zig-zagged on and off the very thin trail in front of them all; he’d missed his dinner time and was ready to get to the house.

Five minutes into their walk, Ozzie growled and stopped.

Everyone froze.

They listened as Ozzie continued a low growl, his hair standing up on the back of his neck. Suddenly, he took off, dashing through the underbrush in pursuit of something.

“Ozzie!” Olivia yelled. “Oh no, what is it?” She clutched her chest.

Tarra and Tina both checked their firearms and adjusted their head-lamps. They were going after him. “Home is straight that way about half a mile.” She pointed the same way they’d been walking. “When you walk out of the woods, you’ll be right behind the house. You can’t miss it. We’ll go after Ozzie. He’s probably caught the scent of that pig,” Tarra said.

“Will it hurt him?” Olivia asked in desperate voice.

“Not if we get there first,” Tina answered, and they both stepped off the trail into the woods, moving quickly to catch up with Ozzie.

“Can I go with them?” Graysie asked. “Please!” she begged.

“No,” both Gabby and Olivia answered in unison.

“I’ll go,” Olivia said. “Ozzie might not listen to them. They’re strangers.”

Gabby grabbed Olivia’s arm. “He will listen to them, and they’re not strangers. Stop being such a bitch about my friends. Come on, let’s go home.”

Olivia hesitated.

Gabby moved in close to her face and spoke slowly. “You-Don’t-Have-A-Gun. If that boar takes a run at you, what are you going to do? Tell it to go away and that you really really mean it? It’ll run through you with its tusks.”

That got Olivia moving toward the house.

49

GRAYSON’S GROUP

They were almost home now, and not a minute too soon.

Graysie and Olivia were sniping at each other, and Gabby was cut and scratched all over, from being first in line to break through the branches and brambles.

The moon winked against the glass of a vehicle. “Look. I see Grayson’s truck through there,” Olivia said, pointing through the stand of trees in front of them.

Gabby bobbed her head left to right, trying to see through the low-hanging branches. “That’s not Grayson’s… that’s Elmer’s truck.”

“No way! Really?” Olivia was delighted, and tried to push past her sister. “Maybe he brought Emma back.”

Gabby held her arm out, blocking her. She spoke in a quiet voice. “Wait. Something’s wrong. Elmer said he didn’t trust that truck on the road when he brought us all home. That’s why he drove the tractor. He also said he didn’t have enough gas. So why would he trust it now, and where would he have gotten more gas?”

Olivia shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, Gabby… come on, what does it matter? He’s here. We can ask him,” she whispered. She was anxious to get home, as they all were.

Graysie tried to peek around their shoulders. “Maybe somebody stole it?”

“And ended up here? What are the chances of that? Unless that somebody knows us,” Gabby answered. “This world ain’t that small.”

Suddenly, Gabby grabbed Graysie and Olivia, pulling them down to the ground with her, behind a large leafy bush. “Shhh! I see someone.”

The three women squatted, peeking through the bush, and saw a mammoth of a man sneaking around the house. His arm was wrapped in thick white bandage that stood out in the moonlight. He met up with a smaller man and they huddled together beneath the dark kitchen window. They were both holding pistols.

“Is that Elmer?” Olivia whispered, trying to pull apart the bush to get a better look.

“No.” Gabby’s stomach flipped. “That’s the guys from the rest area,” she said. “They found us… and they have Elmer’s truck.” She looked at her niece. “This can’t be good. Graysie, check your gun. Be ready.”

While Graysie checked her firearm, Gabby slid her own gun out of the holster and popped the magazine out, checking to be sure it was full. She smacked it back in and racked the slide, chambering a round. She reached into the bag and fumbled around until she found all four extra magazines, handed two to Graysie, which Graysie in turn pocketed.

Gabby was glad she’d worn her 5.11 tactical pants on their excursion. The pants were made for easy access to magazines with multiple pockets and a reinforced waist.

Olivia pulled Graysie in close beside her as they hunkered on the ground. Her hands were shaking. “Oh my God, Gabby… If they came this far to hunt us down… let’s just stay here. We’ll hide.”

“Seriously? What about Grayson and Puck? They’re probably still knocked out from you doping them up. What about Jake? I’m not just going to hide back here and wait for them to wake up dead,” she snapped.

“No… I meant…”

Gabby held up her hand, silencing her sister. She needed to think. Trunk must be here too, somewhere; probably around the front of the house. While they all were dangerous, the leader was the one she most worried about. That man had crazy written all over him.

If Trunk was already inside… Gabby didn’t want to even think about that. She put it out of her mind. She needed to come up with a plan.

There were no lights coming from the dark house. The guys were apparently still sleeping; one in each bedroom. They were sitting ducks for Trunk and his men. If she and the girls made any noise, Grayson and Jake would probably jump up unarmed and be hurt—or worse.

But if they did nothing, the men would sneak in on them. The doors weren’t locked. Gabby was surprised they hadn’t gone in yet.

“Let’s just run up there with our guns, Aunt Gabby. We’ll tell them to drop theirs,” Graysie said.

Olivia frantically shook her head.

Gabby agreed with her twin sister, for once. “No. They could shoot us before we even get there. If they’re sneaking around like that, they’re up to no good.”

Olivia nodded her agreement. “Trust me, Graysie. These men are probably very angry with us. We don’t want to take any chances.”

Graysie gasped. “Look! A light inside.” She raised up on her knees to see better.

“Stay down,” Olivia hissed at her, pushing her back to the ground.

A flashlight beam bounced around in the dark. They couldn’t see who had the light. Could be Jake or Grayson. But it didn’t matter. Whoever it was would surely be looking for the girls. Someone was about to be surprised—and not in a good way.

The two men were standing underneath the kitchen window back to back, leaned tight against the wall, their guns up and ready. They faced opposite corners of the house.

Gabby’s heart thundered in her chest as her mind raced. She had to warn the guys, especially whomever was awake and walking around with that light, before the men outside stormed the house.

She wished they’d planned a warning system. Three blinks of a flashlight, the clanging of a dinner bell… anything. In trying to hurry hurry hurry and get water and food lined up, they’d not given security procedures serious thought yet. Being way out in the country, they’d all felt safe-ish so far.

Right now, that looked like a deadly oversight.

The beam of light flickered through the house again. Someone was walking toward the kitchen. “Gabby—” Olivia whispered, her words trailing off when she turned her head to find Gabby missing.

She whipped around. Her mouth fell open in shock. “What are you doing?” she whispered loudly, her eyes round.

Gabby was pulling off her shoes and socks. She shimmied out of her pants. “I’m going to run up as fast as I can directly to those men,” she answered.

“No, you’re not! They’ll shoot you! And for god’s sake, why are you taking off your clothes?”

Gabby stripped off her shirt and her bra, dropping them on the ground to Olivia’s disbelief and Graysie’s amusement. She cupped her breasts and shook them, waggling her eyebrows at her twin sister. “Shooting me will be the last thing on their mind. There’s nothing more terrifying and confusing to a man than an angry, crazy woman screaming her fool head off and running at him stark-naked.”

Graysie approved. “Good plan, Aunt Gabby,” she whispered and gawked. “If you got it, work it!” She gave her a thumbs up, not at all embarrassed to see her aunt in all her glory.

“Good. I’m glad you agree, because you’re covering me.” Gabby now stood almost naked; wearing only a pair of silk red panties. “I’ll take the big guy first. If I don’t take them both down, and you can get off a good, clear shot without them seeing you first, you take the other one.”

Gabby took a deep breath. The words in for a penny, in for a pound popped into her head, as though an echo of a conversation she’d heard lately. She shrugged and dropped her panties too, kicking them off into the underbrush.

Olivia stuttered, horrified at her twin sister’s vulnerable exposure of even her lady bits. “That… no… Omigod, at least keep your panties on.”

Graysie held her gun ready in her right hand, with her shirt and bra hanging over her arm, to look as though she’d just picked up her clothes and ran, but really to hide the gun. She tied the bra underneath to keep it secure. The rest of her was naked as a jaybird.

She took a deep breath and answered her sister. “Look, Olivia. You can hide behind your bush… and I’ll hide behind mine.”

And she ran.

50

GRAYSON’S GROUP

Gabby ran screaming like a banshee out of the woods and across the yard, running like the hounds of hell were chasing her. She frantically stole fake-terrified glances over her shoulder as though someone was after her, and loped across the grass in long, frantically fast strides.

Her bare bosom bounced wildly, and she did nothing to contain it. Her arms pumped back and forth, one hand empty, the other holding a gun, with her clothes hanging over it.

Adrenaline spiked her heartbeat, and it pounded like a jackhammer as she tried to envision what she wanted to happen. She’d run straight up to the men, as though needing their help—damsel in distress—and just before falling into their arms, she’d shoot them both.

Her vision kept trying to take a left turn and insert her taking a bullet instead, falling at their feet, bloody and embarrassingly naked, but she squashed that image and re-focused.

Smalls and Backfire whipped around, looking for the source of the scream. When their eyes landed on Gabby, headed straight for them, both of their mouths dropped open.

Her plan was working! She pushed harder, crying out in fear, as she made a beeline right for them.

Gabby was no slouch, and with her long locks of dark, wavy hair streaming behind her in the moonlight, her breasts bouncing, and her slender legs pumping, the men couldn’t look away.

They stood stock-still, mesmerized—

—suddenly glass shattered over them from above, breaking Gabby’s spell.

Jake’s head, held by his hair in the grip of a large hand, lurched out the window face down. He reared up, seeing his naked wife running toward him. For a split second, their eyes met. He screamed and bucked backward wildly, disappearing from view again, locked into the fight of his life. The sound of the kitchen being destroyed roared from the window.

Gabby screamed—for real this time—and lost her footing.

She slid across the grass with one leg in front of her.

The shirt and bra slipped off her arm. Her gun was in plain view.

Graysie darted out across the other end of the yard, moving out of the line of fire behind Gabby, and turned and ran straight for the men too. She was a blur of long red hair; just a streak in the night. She held her gun out with both hands, running as fast as she ever had to get close enough to the men that were now raising their guns against her Aunt Gabby.

The two women screamed in unison, one in mid-flight, and one sliding on the ground.

The crash of glass above the men startled them and Smalls ducked, looking up and behind him, but seeing nothing but a broken window. His eyes flashed back to the yard, seeing Graysie now running at them, too, from a different angle. He took aim, and paused, rapidly blinking at the girl, but then lowered his gun, his eyes quickly roving back to Gabby… then to Backfire.

Backfire’s gun raised and Gabby watched it in slow motion, scrambling back up to her feet.

Smalls watched his finger move into the trigger guard…

Gabby fired—

—Smalls watched Backfire’s finger squeeze… and fast as a rattle snake, shoved him to the ground with one meaty arm, throwing off his aim and knocking his gun out of his hand. Then Smalls jerked backward, holding his hand against a plume of scarlet that burst on his own chest.

Backfire climbed to his hands and knees, and spared Smalls a glance. He was furious with him. “You’re killing me here, Smalls,” he said, sarcastically, inching toward his gun.

Smalls slumped against the house, clutching at his shirt with one hand. He dropped his gun.

—Jake and Trunk flew out the dining room window, just yards away from Backfire. The ground shook. They were tangled together, pounding and grunting; a blur of fists, elbows and legs within a tsunami of glass and wood. They rolled across the grass together, locked up tight.

Backfire reached his gun, grabbing it and struggling to his knees. He lifted it and looked around with eyes full of madness for his target, finding her standing directly in front of him.

—BANG

The sound sliced through the night, echoing again and again.

Bang!

Bang!

Everyone stilled; frozen in place.

It wasn’t an echo…

51

GRAYSON’S GROUP

Grayson stumbled barefoot out the back door, the screen door slamming behind him, clad only in a pair of sweat pants. He hurried off the porch and swung his rifle around, pointing it from dead body to another, trying to make sense of everything. His face was even more swollen than before. “What in holy hell happened here?” he yelled.

Bloodshot eyes moved in astonishment from his daughter standing in front of one dead man, to Jake laying beneath another, while a third man leaned bloody and broken against the wall.

Olivia slowly crept in from the back of the yard, looking shell-shocked.

But the most shocking thing of all was his sister-in-law standing buck naked under a full moon, with one arm over her chest, and one hand over her—

Jake shoved Trunk’s limp body off of him and hurried to Gabby, holding her tight against his chest, and running his hand over her hair. “You okay?” he panted.

Olivia burst into tears and ran the rest of the way in, grabbing her step-daughter in a tight hug. Graysie swallowed hard, and lowered her gun.

Grayson’s heart fell. Graysie hadn’t yet got over shooting Puck… and now she had actually killed? He moved to stand in front of her. “It’s okay, Graysie, looks like you had to do it,” he reassured her.

Graysie shrugged. “I would have—and I was going to… but it wasn’t me.”

“It was me,” a quiet voice came from the darkened window.

All eyes turned.

Puck squatted down, carefully placing his gun on the floor in the dining room, just inside the broken window. He looked up at Grayson, beaming proudly. “Look at me, GrayMan. I shot like a girl.”

Epilogue

The farm hummed with activity.

Gabby and Olivia were washing the laundry in a pot of hot water. Graysie was running them through the wringer attached to a bucket, and then hanging them up to dry on the clothes-line that the guys had rigged up.

Graysie held up Gabby’s silky red panties, doing a little dance. “How long did it take you to find these in the woods, Aunt Gabby?”

Gabby blushed. “I didn’t. Jake did. Those are his favorite.”

Olivia clucked her tongue and waved her hand at Graysie. “Stop playing, and work.”

At the very back of Grayson’s land, Jake was scooping the last few shovels of dirt onto the two graves, still arguing with Grayson over letting Smalls go.

“He probably didn’t get far, Grayson. The man was bleeding like a sieve. All I gave him was a reprieve. What’d you want me to do, shoot a cop?”

Grayson’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “Yeah, Jake. That’s exactly what I wanted you to do. He came here slinging guns first. And he wasn’t a cop.” Grayson rolled his eyes in disbelief at Jake’s bleeding heart.

Jake stopped shoveling, and leaned on the shovel. “I already told you, and Gabby told you too. He spared her life. If he hadn’t of shoved the other guy, she’d be dead right now. And Graysie said he had a bead on he, too. But he didn’t take the shot. That man wasn’t a killer,” Jake insisted.

Grayson spit on Trunk’s grave. “They were all killers,” he muttered.

Jake blew out a breath through his nose. He was frustrated. Grayson just wouldn’t stop. “I don’t care if you don’t believe his story about being in deep cover. I do. If he truly was with the ATF Bureau, he had to play along with some bad stuff… that’s what bad biker gangs like that do. But he drew the line at killing. Gabby and Graysie can attest to that. He spared their life… so I spared his. That man was not a killer.”

“Tell that to him,” Grayson snapped, and pointed at Elmer. “I think he’d paint them all with the same brush after the shape he found his wife in.”

Elmer sat off in a chair, alone, facing the woods, distractedly petting Ozzie, who sat in front of him, his head on the old man’s lap. Jake watched him awkwardly light a cigarette.

Elmer had arrived at sunrise, having driven here as fast as he could in an old Cavalier. He’d tried to warn them that Trunk and his boys were coming, but was delayed when he ran out of gas and had to find something to siphon from, and then walk back to the car.

The old man was glad everyone was okay, but the sad tale he told of Edith tore everyone up. He hadn’t said much since then, other than to tell them Emma was only a few hours from the island and he’d made her go on. He kept her story of shooting the man on the road to himself. That was her tale to tell, if she ever wanted to.

Jake shook his head. “Don’t put that on me. Smalls said he never signed up to do any killing. Edith shot first. The other guy shot back before Smalls could stop him. He tried, even with Edith’s bullet in his arm. He did what he could.”

Grayson ran his hands through his hair and then rubbed his still swollen jaw. “Unreal, Jake. You’re really buying that bullshit? This ain’t no movie, brother. You got suckered.”

Jake bit his tongue and scooped up another load of dirt, tossing it over Trunk’s grave. “Maybe so. But, he couldn’t have got far on foot with nothing but a bottle of water, and a small bag of food. And Olivia’s no doctor. She did the best she could, but he’s probably dead now anyway. So, it doesn’t matter.”

He gave Grayson a thin smile, nodded firmly, and turned away from him to smooth out the graves with the shovel head. He was eager to be done with this conversation… and done with death and burying.

Jake just wanted everybody to get along, with no more bullets and bloodshed. But one thing did still bug him… how’d Trunk and his boys find Olivia and Gabby way out here in the country? It wasn’t like they could use Google or anything.

That was a mystery worth looking into. He intended to start with Tucker at Tullymore, as soon as he could get back that way.

Tina and Tarra were in the woods again. Ozzie had chased the wild boar for over an hour the night before, and the ladies had chased Ozzie, longing for a piece of smoky, sizzling bacon. Finally, the wild animal got away, leaving all three exhausted. By the time they’d trudged home, all the action was over.

However, the morning was looking up when Elmer arrived with a baby pig—and some chickens—in tow. But within moments after Grayson had laid claim to the pig that Elmer had already named, Graysie had roared her protest. Bacon Bit would be her pet, she’d said. Hands off, she’d said… Lesson to teach Elmer later: never name your food around here.

Tarra and Tina wouldn’t give up on their bacon, though. They grabbed some spare wire fencing laying behind the barn in a heap and dragged it behind them out into the forest.

Where there was a will, there was a way. But hopefully, their plan wouldn’t end up with one of them gored first.

Puck sat at the patio table, all alone, drawing a picture and smiling happily.

His really bad headache was fading away with each line he drew.

Jenny grazed near him out in the grass, and every once in a while, she looked up at him with her big brown eyes and he could ‘a swore she smiled.

He was happy Jenny wasn’t mad at him anymore. She loved their new home, and she loved the big red barn. She loved Puck, too. He was sure of it. He grinned at her. “I bet we get to stay here, Jenny. Mr. GrayMan likes me all the time now.”

He patted his side, where his brand-new-to-him holster and pistol hung. It was a gift from GrayMan, given to him because Puck had proven he was a man, now. He promised GrayMan he wouldn’t take the gun out of the holster until Tina and Tarra gave him some lessons. They were going to do that starting tomorrow.

Mr. GrayMan had been so happy that he’d shot the two bad men and saved the girls, that he’d also given Puck a real tight hug, too. He liked that even more than the pistol. That hug made Puck forget all about his hurt arm and his bee stings. It made him feel all warm inside, like his heart was smiling. He had also said Puck was a H-E-Double-Toothpicks of a shooter. Puck wasn’t going to repeat that word—Mama Dee might find out.

Now, Puck was almost finished with the picture that wouldn’t stop bugging him until it had been drawn. As soon as he finished, he was going to go out and work with the men.

Just a few more minutes…

There.

Done.

Puck stood up and carried his picture into the house, sticking it on the refrigerator with a magnet. He stood back and stared at it, sighing in relief. Finally, his headache that had popped up earlier was gone. This one had really bugged him a lot. Creeping into his head and picking at his brain nonstop; keeping him from focusing on much of anything. Now, he could almost think clearly again.

He stood back and stared at it, somewhat confused by what he was seeing. He shrugged, and gave it his nod of approval anyway.

The drawing was several small square buildings, surrounded by barbed-wire fencing. Angry men with guns stood in a tower looking over a crowd of people—just stick-figures in his drawing—while the really skinny people were hunched over working on the ground.

He knew the people in his head were sad or hurting, and that they were very hungry. That was hard to draw, so he drew tears falling from them onto the ground instead. There was a sign there on a tall pole, and it was hard to draw, too. But he’d done his best to copy the eagle as he saw it in his head, gripping piles of sticks in its claws, with a circle around it.

There was also a big long truck in the picture, with a tall green tarp over the back. The letters he’d wanted to draw didn’t make sense to him though. It seemed he needed more than the four letters to be spelled right, and he didn’t know that word.

He didn’t want to look stupid, so he didn’t write the F-E-M. Instead, he just drew a squiggly line ending in the “A.”

The Shit (hit the fan) List

To get on my Shit List, where you’ll hear about the next new release (Book 3 of The SHTF Series), and get inside information on other post-apoc books, preps or tips, take thirty seconds to sign up here for my monthly newsletter. I don’t need your name, you’ll never be spammed or shared, and you can easily unsubscribe at any time with one click.

Coming soon: Run Like the Wind, Book 3 of The SHTF Series. Sign up to be notified.

THANK YOU!

Thank you so much for reading Shoot Like a Girl, book two of The SHTF Series. If you enjoyed this book, please consider saying so in a review here. Be sure to tell me who your favorite character is so I’ll be sure to include them in the next book.

Acknowledgments

Every writer needs a few good people to knock around a story with. I am blessed to have my husband, who is willing to repeatedly talk over lots of scenarios, or listen to me grieve over what’s happening with my characters as though they were real people—and they are… to me. He’s a man of many talents, and knows at least a little bit about a lot, which is hugely beneficial when writing in this genre.

My last series, in a different genre, seemed to bring me the salt of the earth-type readers, many who became my good friends, and this series didn’t disappoint in that aspect either. While not everybody is going to like every book, many people—mostly men—were impressed that a woman could write post-apocalyptic. I’ve had hundreds of emails and p.m.’s from them, and I thank each and every one of you for encouraging me to write the next book.

Special thanks go out to John Breland. He was one of those readers that reached out to me, and we’ve since become buddies. John is a man with an analytical mind, and a creative streak waiting to be explored. I count myself lucky that he took an interest in my work, and helped navigate me through some bumps in the road. Some scenes in Shoot Like a Girl were imagined and/or inspired by John. Thanks so much, John.

Also, thanks to Chuck B., Pete O., John R., and Ralph E., from the Facebook prepping groups who allowed me to write characters inspired by them—you guys will have to play another game of Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who dies first. Let me know how that turns out.

About the Author

L.L. Akers is a prepper, located in the Carolinas.

In determining what sort of event this series would focus on, research led the author to a recent conclusion by the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) that states cyber-attacks are eclipsing terrorism as the primary threat facing the United States. The world, including the U.S., has also been hit with many more natural disasters lately, than ever before.

The threats are real. The danger is imminent. The need to prep and prepare in order to protect your family is essential.

The next book in this series is titled: Run Like the Wind. You’ll be notified when it’s available by signing up here: http://eepurl.com/bMDLT1

www.llakersbooks.com

contactllakers@gmail.com

https://facebook.com/WriterLLAkersOrLisaAkers

WANT TO TALK PREPPING?

If you want more information about preparedness and/or prepping, the author highly recommends these private Facebook groups:

SHTF Prepping and Survival group or

21st Century Prepper or

Everything Prepper

If you want to join a smaller FB group, start HERE for patriot-minded preparedness from an EMT’s point of view.

*None of the above groups owned/affiliated by/with the author).

Copyright

Scorched Earth Publishing, LLC

Shoot Like a Girl, Book Two of The SHTF Series, Copyright © 2017 by L.L. Akers. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America, First Printing 2017

Please do not share this e-book. It is against the law. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission, or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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, dead or living, business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.

Content

L. L. Akers
SHOOT LIKE A GIRL

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

29

30

31

32

33

34

35

36

37

38

39

40

41

42

43

44

45

46

47

48

49

50

51

Epilogue

The Shit (hit the fan) List

THANK YOU!

Acknowledgments

About the Author

WANT TO TALK PREPPING?

Copyright