The Endless Struggle, page 23
part #3 of Random Survival Series
She turned her gun on the woman. The inhabitant covered her children with her body but never let out so much as a whimper. Becca held the sights in place, then lowered her arms. “I’m not going to hurt you unless you come out of there. Stay inside. If you come out, I’m going to think you’re a threat and shoot you. You understand?”
The mother looked over her shoulder, her eyes wide with fear, and nodded. Becca moved on. Many of the living areas were vacant. A few had women, some of those also had children. It was a community, just like theirs. Well, no, not quite. They would never hold anyone against their will. She moved on.
Lincoln had not followed. She guessed he’d taken the other direction. She hoped he had and was not lying wounded, or, worse. She couldn’t afford to look for him. Creeping to the end of a row of sectioned living spaces, the lined-up cars giving new meaning to mobile homes, she peered around the corner and choked on her angst. Her father and Jarrod were trapped and under heavy fire.
Men fired from above and from the cover of cars on the ground. She had to even the odds, and fast.
Locating the first man, ahead and to the left of her position, across a twenty-foot-wide aisle, Becca, temper aflame, dashed into the open. Her gun barked, jumping in her hand. Her shots were off their mark as she ran. As the distance closed the bullets crept on line.
The shooter spun, a wild, crazed look on his face. He found Becca, tried a desperate snapshot, then danced against the car as bullets riddled his chest. His body slid to the ground.
Becca took up his position, picking up his weapon, a .45. She frowned. The bullets would not work in her gun. She changed out the magazine in hers and slid it into her belt. Using the .45, Becca sighted on one of the men near the fence shooting at Jarrod and her father.
The gun kicked too much, the shot flying high. It missed so badly, her target was unaware he was in her sights. Lowering her aim to his feet, she gripped the weapon with both hands, tighter than she should. The gun kicked again, but this time the shooter ducked.
Becca cursed. Her opponent, aware he was in danger, wedged himself between two vehicles. She couldn’t hit him, not with the .45. Becca moved, looking for a new victim. She found him at the end of the next row of housing. He stood, leaning against an old El Dorado, taking pot shots at the pickup’s doors.
Becca crept to within ten feet of the man. No amount of bucking would make her miss this shot. The bullet ripped through the unsuspecting man’s torso as though he’d given birth to an alien. Becca felt no remorse, only satisfaction. Taking up his vantage point, she found two more men standing on cars shooting at her father. The sight angered her even more.
Taking up an open shooter’s stance, her legs shoulder width apart, arms out, she unleashed the remaining rounds at the two men, sending them scurrying for cover. Tossing the gun aside when the gun was empty, saying, “Piece of shit!” she withdrew her 9mm and found cover.
She might be crazy, but she wasn’t stupid.
Fifty-Seven
Mark moved from side-to-side trying to keep anyone from getting a good bead on him.
So far, his efforts were working, but by his count, he was down to his last five shots. Twice in a row now, he couldn’t find anyone to shoot at, on either side. However, he couldn’t afford to cease his movement. To stand still would be to die.
He switched to the left side again. Was it his imagination or had the rate of fire decreased? The man who had been dogging him was nowhere in sight. He hadn’t fired at him in a minute or so.
Pivoting to the right, he swept the barrel in a wide arc looking for movement. Nothing. A lone shot sounded on the far side of the yard. To his right, someone moaned. Beneath him, Jarrod shouldered the crumpled door open. He stepped out and fell more than leaned against the truck. His face, streaked with blood, made him look like some Neanderthal after a hunt.
Moments passed, the tension from inactivity putting him more on edge than the firefight. In the back of his mind, the thought remained that at any second that one bullet could find him.
A voice drifted across the grounds. “Don’t shoot. We surrender.”
Relief swept over Mark, but he refused to let down his guard. “Toss down your weapons and come out where we can see you. Keep your hands empty and away from your body.”
A different voice shouted, “Don’t do it. They’re just gonna kill you.”
Mark frowned. The end couldn’t be easy, could it? “You have my word, we will not shoot you.”
“And what good is anyone’s word, nowadays?” the same voice said.
“Well, I guarantee, if you don’t come out, and we have to hunt you, we’re not going to take any chances. We’ll shoot, regardless if you surrender. The only way you survive is to give up now.”
The echo of a distant shot broke the spell. He ducked and tightened his muscles. A man to Mark’s right pitched against the fence and slumped over the hood of a car. His rifle slid down the hood to the ground.
Mark looked toward the house. One of Bobby’s group had just saved his life.
The assassination attempt ignited new anger. “Last chance. I’m moving my people inside now. Anyone I don’t see in the open here in the next minute will be hunted and killed.”
From the left, Lincoln came forward pushing a man in front of him. The man’s hands were in the air, Lincoln’s gun pressed to the back of his head. He gave him a shove and stopped.
A rifle arced in the air, landing on the open ground. A short, thin man stepped out, his hands up. “Don’t shoot. I’m done.”
A few more stepped into sight, cautiously. Mark repeated his ultimatum but didn’t hold to the time threat. Over the next few minutes, men, women and some children, fleshed out the crowd.
Jarrod radioed for some of their people to come inside to watch the prisoners.
“Tell Bobby to keep his people in the house and watching,” Mark said.
Once they had the numbers to ensure control, they commenced a systematic search of the grounds. One man resisted and was shot. Three others were found hiding and dragged out.
Mark sat on the roof of the truck, the adrenaline ebbing. His head throbbed as though he had caffeine withdrawal. Lynn climbed onto the truck bed and stood behind him. Someone had given her a shirt to wear.
He gave her a weak smile and reached a hand back. She took it and he squeezed. “You okay?”
She nodded. Though her eyes watered, she held back the tears. Lincoln came forward and stood next to Jarrod. His arm hung limply at his side. Mark said, “Lynn.” He didn’t have to say anything else. He helped her over the roof. Jarrod lifted her to the ground. There she examined Lincoln’s wound.
“I think that’s everyone,” Becca said, striding to the truck.
Mark looked at his daughter. “You all right?”
“Of course, Daddy.”
He wanted to smile, but the cold detached way she said it furthered his headache’s progress. He rubbed his temples, then stood on the hood. Perhaps fifty people were gathered. The majority women and children. The defenders had suffered heavy losses. How many had the assault cost them?
“Listen. This is how things are gonna go.” He paused to make sure everyone was listening. “We’re taking your weapons.”
An instant uproar arose from the men. Mark waited for a minute. He knew what their fears were. To be unarmed in this new world could mean death. However, he wasn’t prepared to chance them following and causing more trouble. There had to be a punishment inflicted for their actions.
He held up his hand. Jarrod’s whistle pierced the din and quiet resumed.
“We are taking your weapons. End of discussion. We will deposit those weapons at the Air National Guard base. I will leave word with the General that whoever shows up to claim their weapon can have them. If you ever turn those weapons on us in any way, including kidnapping any of our people, we will come back and wipe you out to a man. That, I promise you.
“If you don’t bother us, we will not bother you. However, if you decide that you wish to form a relationship with our community either for safety, or for trade, or just social, that can be discussed at a later date.
“We are not here to destroy your community, but it stands to reason that if you abducted our people and held them against their will, that you may have done the same to others. If anyone wants to leave, you should do so while we are still here. If you decide to stay it should be your choice to do so. We guarantee you safe passage. No one will be forced to come with us, but if anyone wishes to join our community you are welcome. No one will force you to do anything against your will, but everyone is expected to contribute to the workload.”
“There you are, you bastard.”
Mark looked down in time to see Becca land a punch on a man’s face. He staggered back; she stalked him, hitting him again. He cried out in pain.
“Help! Make her stop. She’s crazy.”
She landed a kick to the stomach, doubling him over. With both hands interlocked Becca clubbed him to the ground.
“Becca,” Mark called.
“This is the asshole who tried to rape me.” She planted another kick, this time to his ribs.
“No, it wasn’t me! Someone help me.”
Becca lifted her foot to stomp on the man’s head.
“Becca! Stop now.”
She froze. Her face red, her rage obvious.”
A tall woman stepped from the crowd toward Becca’s victim. She stopped, looked from Becca to Mark, then down at the man. In a flash, she lifted her foot and planted it in the man’s groin. A high-pitched wail exploded from his lips. He rolled, clutching himself.
The woman walked away. Becca looked back at Mark, shrugged and smiled.
Mark pointed at the writhing man. “This man will be banned from living here. If I ever find him back inside these grounds, I will kill him and anyone harboring him. There is no place for his sort in this new world.”
Mark motioned to two of his people. “Drag him from the camp and leave him out there.” As they did so, Mark said, “Is there anyone who has anything further to say?” No one spoke, but low grumbling sounded. Mark was too tired and still had too much anger and adrenaline flowing to put up with any complaints. “Hey,” he shouted. “Shut up! We didn’t start this. You did. You should be happy we’re not like you or you’d be dead or enslaved. If you have a problem with how you’re being treated we can make some adjustments. How ‘bout I put one of the three women you held captive in charge of deciding your fate. Or better yet, the mother of the boy you tried to hang and then shot down? Do I hear any other murmurs of dissent?” He listened, scanning the crowd. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”
Mark pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers and tried to calm his rising rage. The memory of Matthew being tossed over the wall like garbage was too vivid. His life had meant nothing to these people. Looking up, he viewed the assembled defenders through a red mist. He wanted nothing more than to lash out in fury, to seek revenge for Matthew, for his mother, and for Caryn and Lynn. His fists clenched.
“Mark,” Jarrod’s voice, though low and calm, cut through his anger. “It’s over, my friend. Let it rest. Maybe we can all find peace.”
Mark looked up. As his vision cleared, he sent a silent prayer skyward. Inhaling deeply, he shook his arms, hands and fingers, as if the act would rid him of the urge to punish. To kill.
“Anyone wishing to leave has fifteen minutes to pack up their belongings and meet back here. Go.”
Mark climbed from the truck. He spoke to a group of his people. “Would you pick up all the weapons, please, and put them in the back of Jarrod’s truck?”
At the same time, the sound of engines reached his ears. The radio crackled to life in Jarrod’s hand. He listened, spoke and issued a tight-lipped smile. “Guess who decided to join the party?
A sudden rush of panic hit Mark and he reached for his handgun.
“Whoa there, boss man. Relax. We are all saved. The General and his troops have arrived.” He waved a finger in a circle. “Yay!”
Fifty-Eight
Mark sent two men to the front of the camp to open the gates. Minutes later a parade of military vehicles, including two jeeps with mounted 50-cal machine guns, swept into the grounds and fanned out. General West, as if looking to make a grand entrance, sat in the command vehicle for several minutes before stepping out.
Mark met the man and they shook hands. “It’s all over, General, but thanks for coming.”
“Looks like you have things well in hand here.”
“We do, but unfortunately, not before taking casualties.”
“I’m sorry to hear, that, Mark. Truly.”
Mark didn’t respond.
“So, what do we have here?”
Mark allowed an inward smile at the ‘we.’ “There’s about twenty men and thirty women and children. You might find some recruits in their midst.”
“Oh?” The thought interested the man. He bugged Mark’s group on a monthly basis for recruits to fill out his small band of soldiers. He’d lost nearly half his men in a battle two months earlier and could not find adequate, or for that matter, any, replacements.
“General, if you don’t mind, I’m going to leave these people in your hands. I did promise that anyone wishing to leave could do so. I suspect many of the women have been held against their will. But, make your pitch, you may have a few takers.
“Oh, and Jarrod’s truck is full of their weapons. I told them they had to see you to get them back.”
“Is there anything we can help you with?”
Mark gave that some thought, then shook his head. “No, I just want to get my people home and take care of our dead. It’s been a long night.”
“I understand.”
Four soldiers began offloading the collected weapons. Although it protested from the abuse it took, Jarrod coaxed his truck from the gate. Within the fifteen-minute deadline, most of the women and children, and a few men, had gathered at the gate.
“For those of you who wish to leave, you are free to go. If any of you wish to join us, follow Jarrod,” he pointed at the truck, “to those cars in the field. If you’re undecided, you can meet with the other members of our family and make up your mind later.”
A woman raised her hand.
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to forgive me but at the moment, I don’t feel up to answering questions. Direct them toward the people at the cars. Okay, everyone, go. And wherever you go, remember we’re all we have left. Respect other survivors.”
The crowd moved on and Becca came to stand next to him. “Nice pep talk, Daddy.”
He laughed in spite of the situation. Wrapping his arm around his daughter, he pulled her close. “Guess I’ll never make coach of the year.”
She hugged him and said, “No, but you will make dad of the decade.”
He smiled.
“I don’t know how you do it,” she said.
“Do what?”
“Control the anger. I felt such rage for what they did to us, I wanted to strike out and not stop until I had nothing left to hit. You get mad, I know you do, but you always seem to be able to stop when it’s appropriate, as if you have a switch.”
“I think it’s the last vestiges of my humanity, perhaps, that prevents me from going too far. It’s not that I’m not angry enough to do more. God, forgive me for the thoughts that plague my mind. If I ever give in to that urge, then I’m no better than these people were. I’ll be lost forever. Although, there are times when I think that’s already happened and it’s too late for me to be salvaged.”
“Daddy, you’re the best person I know. I wish I could be more like you. But if anyone is lost, it’s me. If you hadn’t stopped me, I would have pounded that asshole to the dirt he was.” She shuddered. “Even now, I want nothing more than to track him down and make him pay. Make sure he can’t hurt anyone ever again.” She looked at him, her eyes large, soft and watery. “I get so angry sometimes I can’t see straight.” A fat tear tracked down her face. “Is it too late for me, Daddy? Have I lost the last bit of humanity I had?”
Mark stroked her hair. “The fact that you are still capable of asking that question tells me no, it’s not too late. You still are able to recognize the difference. I’ll admit, there are times you worry me. I’m afraid for you. You’ve been forced to do things no one should ever have to. The upheaval in your life has had an effect on you, but it has everyone. We all cope with the brutality of this world the best we can. Survival is an endless struggle, but then, it always has been … just not to this extreme. Situations like this don’t help, but being with family and around others who care, will help us all remember how life used to be, and perhaps one day will be again.”
“Now that was a coach of the year pep talk.” She smiled, took his sleeve and wiped her eyes.
“Why, you little brat.”
She laughed and pushed free. “I love you, Daddy.” Laughing, she trotted off.
Mark watched her go. Though he smiled outwardly, he worried about Becca. Since arriving at the farmhouse, she’d been much more stable, but there were signs of some deep-rooted problem. He hesitated to use the term illness. With enough time, and no more deadly confrontations, maybe she could return to normal; or as normal as this new world would allow.
Fifty-Nine
Mel watched through her scope and waited for the word to be passed that they could safely leave the house. Then it would be decision time. She was anxious to talk to both Tara and Caryn. To find out how each one was and get their opinions on their next move.
At the moment she was of two minds. She liked having other people around her. The benefits were obvious and right in front of her. However, had they been on their own they never would’ve been in this fight. They would’ve fled and hidden, staying safely out of sight. Hiding was easier to do when there was only three of them and on the move.
