The McClane Apocalypse: Book One (46 page)

John takes off his shirt and tosses it at her. It catches her unaware, hitting her in the face.

“You’re such a dick!” she hisses and throws his shirt on the floor. It lands on her Converse, which she isn’t supposed to wear in the house. Great, now it probably needs burned since it landed on those disgusting things.

“Goodnight, honey,” he says, smirks and rolls to his side. He fully expects to get hit in the back with something, but she’s unusually quiet.

At around three a.m. the alarm on his wristwatch awakens him for watch, and he rolls swiftly to his feet. Having served in the military for twelve years, he is used to being ready at a moment’s notice and keeping strange hours. He finds Reagan asleep on the balcony, sitting on the hard deck floor with her rifle between her legs. Left with no choice, he lifts her effortlessly, trying not to think of her bare skin against his, and carries her to her bed. John covers her with a quilt. She sighs, rolls to her side and slides her hand under the pillow beside her. When it comes back out from under the pillow, she is clutching her pistol lightly. And she’s dead asleep. He knows what this fear is about. He understands what it’s like to be so afraid that you clutch your weapon in your sleep. He’d like to know who did this to her so that he can kill him. But for now, he’ll keep watch over her and over the whole family.

Chapter Twenty-one

Reagan

The next day it had rained incessantly, which postponed their short trip until the following day and now they are finally on their way to the Johnson farm. She is riding in the front of Grandpa’s truck. John sits on her right while Derek drives. The morning has passed so far without incident, but they are on the road and anything could happen. She’s showing them a shortcut to get to the Johnson farm. It’s less than ten miles from their farm, but there is a way to get there by avoiding the main road even though they technically live on the same country road. An oil well access road will cut the trip in half, getting them there much faster. On the way back home, they’ll stop to check on the Reynolds family.

“Take a right up here,” Reagan tells Derek. They are all armed to the hilt. There are three rifles and two shotguns in the truck, and they each carry a sidearm.

“Is that it up there, Reagan?” Derek asks her, pointing to the Johnson’s big white barn.

“Yep, that’s their place. Or was, I guess,” she corrects. Everything is so surreal now.

“Nice farm,” John comments. She nods in agreement as the rains from yesterday pick up and start again.

“Bad position like the Reynolds’s place, though. Way too close to the road,” Derek declares.

As they approach, it is obvious that nobody is around. There are a few stray chickens still hanging around the coop and a cat scurries in front of the truck as they go down the short lane. Equipment has been left outside of buildings. A tractor sits in one of the fields, and an older model car is still parked near the house.

“Think that belonged to them? Or do you think we’ve got company?” John asks her.

“If I remember right, that was Mr. Johnson’s church car,” she explains. “It’s what they came to church in every Sunday ‘cuz they all didn’t fit in the truck.”

“We’ll still split up and look around first. Do a perimeter check. The rain will help provide cover. But this place looks pretty deserted,” Derek says to which John agrees.

They park between the house and garage and cautiously make their way to the front door. Derek goes around back. John tries the knob, and the door opens in. He signals for her to stay where she is and watch his back. She nods her head once. She’s getting pretty good at reading their military hand signals. He’s taught her a few, and she’s picked up some on her own.

Within a few minutes, both men come to get her. They go through the house, which looks to have been abandoned quickly. Items are on the floor in the kitchen, not the way Mrs. Johnson would have ever kept her kitchen. Chairs are knocked over, cabinets are mostly empty

“Do you think this place has been robbed?” she asks Derek as she follows him from room to room. John is in the lead.

“Hard telling. Those dicks who hit the Reynolds farm could’ve come here first. Or the family just left it in a hurry and didn’t care what it looked like,” Derek reflects quietly.

“Let’s see what we can find and get the heck outta here,” John says impatiently.

“I’ll go upstairs and see if there’s anything,” she tells them and sprints up the long set of stairs to the second floor. She’s never been up here before. She’d never had play dates or anything with this family’s children, although Sue had because their kids were closer in age with her.

She finds the grandkids’ rooms easily enough and swipes a few outfits for Justin. The next room must’ve belonged to one of the older sons because there are a few tattered jeans that look like they might fit Kelly, so she grabs them up. There isn’t much left. But when she goes into the attic, she finds three plastic bins full of old clothing that must have belonged to the children at one time. It’s pay dirt, so she calls the guys up to carry them out to the truck. They’ve found a few useful items, as well, that will work around the farm like bleach, ammonia, soaps, razors and light bulbs.

In the basement they find four boxes of canning jars and take those, too, knowing that Grams and Hannah can probably use them. They leave the house and head for the barns. Once the area outside is secured, they split up again. The rain has let up to a light sprinkle. The men are looking for tractor parts and car parts. They’ve brought tools along to get the parts removed and she knows it’s not going to be a quick job, so she takes a minute to walk around the old barn.

It’s eerily quiet. Barn swallows swoop and whirl with carefree charm. Where did their cows go? Maybe they trailered them out with them when they left. And if she remembers right, they did have a couple of horses. There isn’t any sign of them, either. The silo is empty so maybe they have taken their animals with them. She hears a goat’s call and investigates the source. She finds not one, but two nanny goats roaming around the back of the lower level of the barn. They’ve made a feast of the weeds on the farm. Reagan catches them by the small pieces of baler twine hanging around their necks and ties them with more twine that she finds laying on the floor of the barn. Once they are secured, she walks them to the truck.

She goes to the men, who are taking a part out of the Johnson’s church car. Derek is swearing while John laughs at him.

“What the heck did you find, boss?” John asks with laughter in his voice.

“Goats, duh. What did you think they were- the missing links?” Reagan asks snidely. God, he irritates her. And couldn’t he find a looser shirt? Did he have to find the tightest blue t-shirt in the clothing pile from Grams? He looks like one of those stupid comic book super heroes who literally burst out of their shirts and left them in rags. It stretches tightly across his broad chest and biceps. Was he preparing for the cover shoot of some muscle building magazine? His “new” jeans hang loose on his hips and are baggy on his legs. At least those aren’t also tight. He pulls them up a lot, which is comical.

“I know that, woman. What the heck do we want with billy goats?” he asks and unknowingly wipes black grease on the crest of his cheekbone. Serves him right.

“They aren’t billies; they’re nannies. The Reynolds own goats, and we can borrow one of their billies and breed them. Then we’ll have goat milk and goat cheese, and we won’t have to ever mow the yard again. Not that we do a whole lot of that anymore,” she informs him arrogantly.

“Damn it, son of a bitch is froze on,” Derek complains loudly about a stuck on bolt, interrupting their argument.

“I’ll see if I can find some penetrating oil in the garage,” John offers. Reagan decides to go with him to help look. They find it fairly quickly and go back to Derek. Once the oil is sprayed on, the men leave it sit for a few minutes on the rusty bolts.

“Let’s see if we can get that part for the tractor off of that one in the field over there,” Derek suggests and they take the tool box and can of spray oil to the field with them. There’s no such luck for the part, but they do take a few others that Derek says they’ll eventually need.

On the way back, John announces that he’ll go through the main barn and check it out. Derek heads for the car again, so Reagan is left to tag along with her arch nemesis.

“Feels wrong stealing people’s things,” John admits as they walk side by side.

“What’s it matter? Nothing’s like it used to be,” Reagan tells him crassly. John puts his hand out to stop her suddenly, and she freezes as they traverse the center aisle.

“Did you hear that?” he asks suspiciously.

“Hear what?”

“Sounded like an animal or something,” he tells her and walks to the grain room near him. “Reagan, come here.” He orders her like he has the right to.

Once she’s inside, she sees what he’s heard. It’s a small mixed breed dog with a couple of puppies who appear to be about four weeks old. The mother looks thin.

“It’s ok. We won’t hurt you, girl,” he coos to the mutt. She’s only about sixty pounds by the looks of her. The dog immediately goes to John, who is crouched down, and licks his hand. Great.

“What are you doing?” Reagan asks with impatience.

“Reagan, we can’t leave them here,” he rationalizes as he scratches behind the mutt’s ears.

“Hannie’s allergic, remember?” she asks.

“Yeah, I remember. What if she stayed outside? Would that work for Hannah?” he asks with too much hopefulness.

“Probably. But she’s just another mouth to feed. Make that three,” she explains. The look in John’s eyes is almost painful if it isn’t so endearing.

“But think how much fun the kids would have with a dog and puppies. At least they wouldn’t have to try to make a pet out of a stupid chicken anymore,” John tries his case.

“Hey, I got them two goats today!” Reagan argues. But he frowns hard at her and cocks his head to the side. “All right. I guess. But if Grandpa says no, then it’s no and we’ll have to bring her back here or something,” she yields.

“I think he’ll like her. And dogs are good for amping up security,” he tells her informatively. She knows he just wants to keep her. What a softy.

“Ok, ok, you don’t have to convince me. You gotta convince Grandpa,” she says as a puppy nips at her shoe. She bends down to pick it up. They are pretty damn cute. It licks her face, and she feels its tiny ribs jutting out. “They might not even make it. She probably had other ones and they died already. Most dogs don’t have just two puppies.”

“Maybe, but let’s get her back to the truck and help her up into the bed,” he says. John carries her, and Reagan carries the two pups.

“What if she jumps out?” Reagan asks as she readjusts her rifle sling on her shoulder.

“She won’t, will you girl?” he coos again. Oh brother! The dog is in love with him already. Her sad, soulful brown eyes stare up at him with total adoration.

` “You are such a sucker,” she tells him, trying to hold back a grin.

“Yeah, but you gotta admit they are cute,” John praises. Reagan looks over at him carrying that dog and his M16 at the same time and there’s just something funny and touching about it.

“I’ll admit they’re filthy,” she returns.

“Nothin’ a bath won’t fix. We’ll put the kids on it when we get back. And get these guys some food. They look like a Golden Retriever crossed with something,” John says as they approach the truck.

“Squirrel?” Reagan jabs and John laughs. Derek is rummaging in the garage again.

“I don’t know if these pups are old enough to eat food and if her milk’s dried up, then they most likely won’t make it. But if she’s not dried up, then she could probably share in the scraps that we feed the chickens and hogs,” she tells him and earns herself a big smile.

When Derek emerges from the garage, he’s carrying a can of something and a chainsaw.

“Thought we’d take this, too. Can’t have too many...,” Derek freezes. “Oh God, what have you got there?”

“Found them in the barn,” John explains with a sheepish grin.

“Dude, you never change,” his brother berates.

“What do you mean?” Reagan asks as they set the dog and her babies in the bed of the pickup with the rest of their loot. John was right; she doesn’t try to jump out but goes into the back corner as her pups follow. They all huddle together and lie down.

“He was always doing this when we were growing up. He even brought home a damned baby raccoon once. And dad always made him get rid of everything. He didn’t like animals. Thought they messed up the house,” Derek explains. “He was kind of a dick.”

Reagan feels sorry for them but can understand. Her dad was kind of the same. Over the last four months, they’d stopped worrying about whether he’d come home or not. It was a foregone conclusion that he either couldn’t get home or that he was dead. But he’d never really been much of a father to any of them. Their mother had been wonderful, loving, kind, generous of herself. Their father was a self-centered egomaniac. When he’d left them at the farm, their grandparents had easily slid into the roles of mother and father. And their grandfather is ten times the dad that their real father could have ever been. Reagan often wondered if it was because he was their son that her grandparents felt so responsible for the girls. Besides, the Colonel, as they called him, rarely came home for a visit. And as Reagan got older, wiser to the game, she believed that her father had great political ambitions. He’d show up every once in a while, usually once a year for an obligatory visit. Reagan often suspected that he couldn’t bear to look at them because they reminded him too much of his dead wife. But then as she matured to adulthood, she wondered if he was just a bastard.

“These guys won’t be any trouble. She’ll be a good watch dog. I can tell,” John chirps up happily.

“That’s actually not a bad idea. We can use all the help we can get around there. Speaking of, we’d better get moving,” Derek tells them. “Was there anything in any of the barns?”

“Not really, a couple old, moldy bales of hay. I didn’t see anything worth bothering with,” John tells his brother.