Storm Tide Rising: Blackout Volume 2 (28 page)

"You don't speak when we get there, got it?"  Joe asked, and Eric nodded. "Not a word until I tell you otherwise, son. And like I said, you do what I tell you to do and you do it without hesitation."

Eric nodded, and Joe  laid his hand on Eric’s arm and squeezed. He then checked the chamber of his rifle and switched the safety off. He took a couple of deep breaths in through his nose and let them out slowly through his mouth. With a flip of a round switch, he clicked on the red dot site on the top rail of his rifle. He held the gun at a low ready and started through the woods.

As Joe stepped out from the last row of grape vines, he took in the scene in the back yard at a glance, his eyes moving quickly across the face of each person in turn. Beth sat in one of the old metal folding chairs. Across the square aluminum table a man sat in another of the chairs. He wore loose fitting warm weather hunting camouflage and a wide brim hat. A .45 caliber Colt pistol sat on the table between them; the barrel pointed directly at Beth's chest.

There were fresh tear stains on her cheeks, but she sat still as a rock. Her eyes never left Joe.  

Two other strangers stood between the seated man and the back porch, both with pistols on their hips. One of the two men was facing Eric and Joe while the other kept his eye on Bill, who had his one good arm raised. Joe paused just long enough to register all he’d seen; then he began moving steadily forward.

"So, I take it you're the man in charge?" the stranger at the table drawled in a thick southern accent.

Joe shook his head. "That'd be the land owner inside. I'm his son-in-law."

The man smiled a big, broad grin that never came close to his eyes. "That's what the missus here said," the stranger nodded toward Beth. "But you're the one with the big guns, and that means you the one I need to talk to. Now you come here with guns in hand, that sends a message."

Joe glanced meaningfully at the pistol on the table. "I'm not the only one." he replied and motioned for Eric to take three steps to the right.

"My hands are bare, sir," the stranger said. "Boys, show 'em your hands."

The two men opened their hands and spread their fingers.

"Keep your eyes on those two, son," Joe said, his eyes never leaving the man at the table. "If either of 'em move so much as a finger, shoot 'em both."

The stranger's teeth clicked as he closed his open grin, and his expression soured. He reached very slowly across the table and turned the Colt to point at Joe. "Now that won't very nice, Mister. "Ain't nobody been hurt yet, and ain't nobody got to get hurt. We just need a few things settled is all."

"What do you mean, 'settled?'"  Joe asked, still holding his rifle ready.

The man put the grin back on his face, but it was even thinner this time. "Well, me and the boys are tired from being on the road for a week," the stranger drawled. "Figure we could get real comfortable here for a spell. You got solar power, fresh water, good food..." The man trailed off, and for a brief moment, his lurid grin touched his eyes. "You got women."

The other two strangers chuckled at that, but neither moved their hands or said a word. "Now I'm a reasonable man," the stranger continued, "and I'm willing to let you keep some of what you got when we leave, if y'all behave yourselves."

Joe was quiet for a long moment. "You sure you want to do this?"  Joe asked finally. "You could get up and just walk away, no harm done."

The man laughed a short, ugly laugh at that. "I think we both know that ain't gonna happen."

Joe nodded once. "Eric, shoot 'em both."

Ch.44

Shots Fired

For an agonizing moment, Eric stood frozen, refusing to believe what he'd heard his father say. And then, everything seemed to happen at once.

The man at the table grabbed the pistol and stood, swinging it toward Joe, but Joe's rifle was already in his hands. The stranger had been counting on Joe to hesitate, to freeze just as Eric had, but he was wrong. Joe lifted his gun smoothly and fired three times, striking the man in the center of his chest. The stranger sat down heavily in the chair; it leaned slowly back from his momentum and then toppled to the ground

Eric blinked.

The stranger on the left, his eyes wide, fumbled for the pistol in its holster. As he started up, pistol in hand, Eric raised the barrel of his rifle and squeezed the trigger twice. Two bright red spots ripped through the stranger's chest and the man’s eyes went even wider. He stumbled backwards and fell, his back arched at an unnatural angle, his finger rigid and splayed out.

The shots rang in Eric's ears, and he felt suddenly numb. The stranger on the right pulled his own revolver, and Eric saw it clearly from the edges of his vision, but he couldn't move. His eyes were frozen, locked on the dying man in the dirt, red mist rising from his mouth as he coughed in fits and twisted in the dust.

Eric's rifle slipped from his fingers.

He knew the man on his right was going to kill him. The thought fluttered through his head as he saw out of the corner of his eye the stranger raising his revolver with painful slowness. Suddenly, there was a loud boom from the porch, and the stranger spun halfway around from the impact of a .357 slug. Bill squeezed the trigger three more times, and the man went down in a heap and didn't move.

There was silence in the yard—a silence pierced by Beth's screams and the cries from the younger children inside the house. None of that registered for Eric, though. He walked slowly forward, his mind numb and empty, and looked down at the man he'd shot.

The stranger's face was twisted in a final expression of agony, and the blood running from his wounds had slowed. Eric knew somewhere deep inside that he should have been horrified, sickened by the sight of it. But he couldn't summon any feelings at all. He was consumed by a strange, distant numbness and emptiness.

He was a murderer.

The thought came crashing down on him like a rough landslide, and he hit his knees in the dust. After a moment, someone who looked vaguely like his father turned Eric by his shoulders and looked into his eyes. The man said his name, but Eric couldn't respond. He felt cold, distant from his body and his mind, somewhere else, somebody else. Slowly, of their own accord, his eyes turned back to the lifeless body behind him.

He was a murderer.

"I think he's in shock," Eric heard his father's voice say.

The words meant something important, but Eric couldn't force himself to care at the moment. They couldn't apply to him in any case. Must have been one of the others that was hurt and in shock. Fingers turned Eric's face slowly back around and he saw a woman that was his mother. She looked scared and her face was wet.

He was a murderer.

The thought played over and over in his head, and he couldn't escape it. Eric suddenly felt ill, and his stomach rolled. He shook off the hands that tried to hold him, lurched to his feet, and took three wobbling steps. Vomit spewed from his mouth in a violent retch; he stumbled and fell forward.

The world faded around him slowly.

His last conscious thought was that he was a murderer, so it was only fitting for him to die too.

Ch.45

Changing of the Guard

Mike followed Terrance to the corner of the fence line. They got there just in time to see three large, green trucks with canvas-covered cargo areas drive up the long driveway from the main road. The trucks parked, and one man in an FSS uniform stepped out of the cab of the lead truck. The two FSS officers that were working the gate of the camp walked up to greet the newcomer.

The man from the truck leaned close to the gate officer and whispered to him. After a moment, the gate officer nodded and stepped back. He gave a loud whistle and made several gestures. With one motion, the FSS officers in the guard towers all climbed down from their posts and sprinted for the trucks. The men loaded evenly into the canvas covered beds, and as soon as the last man was on board, the trucks pulled away.

The National Guard troops stood in stunned disbelief, gaping at each other in confusion.

Mike glanced over at Terrance. "I take it they've never done that before?"

Terrance shook his head. "Nope, that's the first time."

Mike glanced around at the rest of the people he could see inside the camp, and they all were pointing to the empty guard posts and whispering. A few of the National Guard troopers climbed down and were exchanging words as well. Mike nodded to Terrance, and the two started edging toward the fence line to see if they could hear what was being said.

One of the Guardsmen saw them, though, and pointed back toward the tents. "You folks need to move back to the housing area, please," he said, his voice indicating that he didn't expect any argument. Mike noticed the man's hand shaking a bit as he pointed back up the hill, and that realization was chilling.

The Guardsman was afraid.

Mike looked around again and saw that people were getting more agitated, and some raised their voices. "That might not be a bad idea, " he whispered to Terrance, and they turned back the way they'd come.

As they moved, there was a wave of noise behind them as people received word of FSS abandoning their posts. Mike turned back when they were halfway up the slope and saw a crowd gathering in the pool of the solar powered flood lights. They were coming in two and three at the time, and the mass of people was rapidly growing. A few of the National Guard troops were on the other side of the closed gates, their heads together as they whispered among themselves.

"We should hurry," Mike whispered to Terrance, and he picked up his pace. "I think things are about to get very tense at the gate and that might open a window that we can't afford to let close."

"Uh, Mister Mike, we're in a tent," Terrance said, confused. "No windows in a tent. At least, none in the kind they gave us."

Mike shook his head, "That's not what I meant. Look, I'd rather not talk about it out here where anyone can overhear it."

Terrance nodded, and they started to jog uphill. By the time they left the Rows and headed up into the random tent huddles, there were shouts echoing from the direction of the gates. Mike nudged Terrance faster. When they reached Terrance's family and their small group of tents, both men were out of breath. Mike stood bent double, his hands on his knees, drawing breaths in deeply through his mouth. Maybe at thirty-three, he was too old for a sprint uphill on rough terrain, but fear was a powerful motivator.

"What is all the noise?"  Alyssa asked angrily as she threw the tent flap aside and stormed out into the settling evening. She drew up short when she saw Mike's face. "Is something wrong?" she asked, suddenly serious.

Mike nodded. "The FSS guards are gone. They loaded up in three huge trucks and just drove off. Happened right after they closed and locked the gates, when the changing of the guard should have been."

Maria frowned, her head cocked to the side. "That doesn't make any sense," she said. "With only the National Guard, there aren't enough to man the towers; not even half."

Terrance nodded. "There's already a crowd down by the gate yellin for them to open it so we can leave to. Can't hear what the guards are sayin, but they ain't opened the gate."

Alyssa shot a meaningful look at Mike, and he straightened. "Listen," he said quietly, looking each member of the group in the eye as he spoke low and fast. "I've got a small pair of wire snips in my boot. If we work together we can open a small hole in the back side of the fence while all the attention is on the gate. If we're lucky, we can sneak around the camp and hug the shore for a while to head back down to Maria's house."

"And what then?" Terrance's aunt asked. "What do we do once we're outside the protection of the fence and just walkin on our own? We can't hole up in that house forever, and what then?"

Mike shook his head. "If you're looking for guarantees, I don't have any. All I can promise is that we get out of here safe now, tonight, or we don't get out. Those are choices y'all got to make. I've already made mine. If you want to go, you be ready to walk in ten minutes."

Mike started to bend and get his pack, but Alyssa cleared her throat. "Mike, I think we all agree that it's way past time to leave here by any means necessary. We're ready to go when you are."

Terrance and his Aunt and cousins nodded their agreement.

"That works for me," Mike said and he knelt, working the plastic wrapped razor knife from the top of his boot. Once the blade was out, he did the same for the wire cutters in his other boot. "Alyssa, you take the razor blade. Anyone gets past Terrance and his cudgel, you start cutting. All we take is food and water. Grab the blankets if they're wool. We need to move fast and quiet. Don't tell anyone where we're going, just keep moving forward. Got it?"

As Mike's words trailed off, there was a sudden collective gasp from the crowd down by the gates. In the rippling wave of silence that rolled out from the crowd, Mike caught the faint echo of rapid gunfire not far off—and lots of it. There was a brief pause of silence as the echo of the last gunshot faded away. And then a massive roar went up from the gates.

Mike looked around and saw his own fears reflected in the faces around him. "Grab whatever you can carry," he said, his voice shaking. "Put whatever water you can fit in my pack, and the rest in Alyssa's pack. As soon as we get everything secured, we move. Let’s go!"

Within a few moments, Mike and Alyssa's packs were loaded and they were moving in a tight single file group. Mike led the way and Alyssa kept the razor sharp box opener in her hand, her eyes wary. Terrance brought up the rear with his long arms and heavy hardwood stick.

They made their way to the long stretch of fencing at the very back edge of the camp. From there, the ground sloped down and away toward the lake in a series of sharp gullies and deep washes. None of the nearby guard towers had Guardsmen in them, and most of the tents they passed were empty, the occupants having headed to the front of the camp to see what the commotion was all about. The few people they did pass had the good sense to mind their own business.