Текст книги "The Western Front"

Автор книги: Archer Garrett

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

***

The stranger smashed the butt of his rifle through the glass pane in the door. He reached in with a gloved hand and unlocked the dead bolt.  He stepped into the kitchen in his black western boots and swaggered over to the old man.  He patted his lifeless body and found the hand-rolled cigarettes in his pocket.  He retrieved one and rolled it between his fingers for a moment, before lighting it.  Satisfied, he stepped over Frank’s body and strolled into the living room.

He stepped out onto the front porch and looked at the mess that lay before him.  Two of his associates were lying on the porch dead and the third was spitting and coughing up blood.  He removed the Beretta from his shoulder holster and rested it against the dying man’s head.  The man began to sob and beg for his life, but it mattered not.  The man in the black boots squeezed the trigger as if he was putting down a lame dog.  The body slumped onto the porch.

The porch creaked noisily as he walked down to the corner and peered at Jake’s house.  No signs of anyone at home.  The assault had turned into a full-on disaster, no question about it.  He took one final drag of the cigarette and tossed it into the yard.  He reckoned it was time to find the old woman and force her to open the vault.  And if she refused, he would just have to kill her and open it himself.  Either way, it really didn’t matter.

He strolled back into the living room and down the hallway.  His footfalls were loud on the pine floor.  He let his fingernails scrape against the hallway wall as he walked.  The intruder pushed the doors open with the tip of his barrel of his rifle.  He casually swept the rooms, each in turn, before proceeding.  The man in the black boots smirked as he reached the final door of the long hallway. He stepped inside.

She was sitting in a rocking-chair in the far corner of the room.  It had been her grandmother’s once, long ago. The craftsmanship was apparent.  It was built to withstand the tests of time.  The walls around her were covered with hand-made crafts of her own and her foremothers.  In her lap rested a beautiful, half-finished quilt.

She wore a baby-blue dress with a pattern of smiling, yellow chicks.  She had made two others just like it for her sisters.  Sometimes they would all wear their dresses while they were out together.  The complements they received about the outfits from strangers always made her smile.

The man in the black boots had forced himself into their home and killed the only man she had ever loved.  He was a man who could be hard and rough because his life had been, but Frank always tried to be gentle with her.  The intruder had taken the spiritual leader of their home. For the first time since she could remember, she felt rage.  The man before her had destroyed her family, but she wasn’t dead yet.  This was her room.

They never exchanged words as she pulled the trigger of the snub-nosed revolver that she had concealed beneath her quilt.  The muzzle blast burned the fabric. The hollow-point bullet punched through the quilt and violently tore through the man’s flesh.  It fragmenting as it collided with his pelvis.  He groaned in pain and took a short step back, shifting his weight to his other leg.  He raised the rifle to his shoulder.

Her arthritic hands struggled painfully to re-cock the revolver, but she was too weak.  Finally, she gave up.  Mrs. Thames leaned defiantly toward him, as he leveled the barrel with her chest.  He fired three times. She groaned weakly, before slumping in the chair.  In her final breath she saw Frank waiting with an outstretched hand, and she smiled.

***

The man in the black boots cursed and coughed.  Nothing was going as planned.  The Thames were supposed to be at church.  He sat on a nearby bench and leaned against an old wooden piano.  He struggled to regain his composure.  His pelvis throbbed and his pants were beginning to stain crimson.  After several moments of rest, he stood and hobbled out into the hallway to try his luck with the vault.

As he turned the corner and looked up, a giant, dark blur sailed through the air and collided against his chest.  He shrieked as the beats sunk its sharp fangs deep into his cheek and then his neck.  The impact sent him reeling backwards.  His croaked in pain as he crashed against the floor, back in the room.  His face throbbed with pain from the bites.  He flailed about, searching for is rifle, but he had dropped it in the hall.

Sasha snarled and again to ripped at the man’s face.  He struggled to pry her off with his hands, but it only made her savage his gloves.  He wailed as she mangled his fingers.

The man mustered all of his remaining strength and arched back.  He worked his boots under Sasha’s chest as best he could.  Suddenly, he pushed as hard as he could with his legs. Sasha growled and clacked her fangs as she sailed backwards.  She landed with a thud in the hall.

With a quick motion, he spun and grabbed the bottom of the door. As he feverishly tried to push it shut, Sasha wedged her head between the door and the frame.  As he held the door with both hands, he spun and kicked Sasha in the center of her face.  She whimpered and stumbled backwards as the door slammed shut.

The man in the black boots writhed on the floor in agony.  He breathed in deeply as he tried to gather his resolve.  He could hear the beast still in the hall, snarling and scratching at the door.  He touched his face and neck to gauge the damage and immediately recoiled in horror.  Bits of bloody meat hung in tatters from his cheek and throat.  He crawled to the corner and grabbed an old, wooden cane that was propped against the wall.  He steadied himself between the cane and the piano pulled himself to his feet.  He hobbled over to Mrs. Thames and flung the quilt on the floor.  He pried the revolver from her hand, before turning and making his way to the window.

He climbed out and tumbled into the mud below.  He coughed and wheezed as the hard landing expelled the air from his lungs.  He weakly limped to the corner of the house to make his way back to the SUV.  When he peaked around to the front, he saw a figure slowly and purposefully moving towards the house.  He cursed under his breath and recoiled.  He was in no shape for another gun battle.  The man aimed for the deep swamp beyond the Thames’ pasture.

Cha pter 8

Jake

West Mississippi

Jake didn’t notice the bodies on the front porch until he had already pressed himself against the wall of the house.  They were hidden from the view of the ditch and he had been focused on the windows.  He cursed himself for not noticing sooner.  He carefully climbed onto the porch and slowly moved along the wall, just like Geram had instructed.  He ducked under the windows and planned his steps purposefully to avoid making any errant noises.  Jake could feel his heart pounding in his chest and the adrenaline coursing through his veins.  He did not have the combat experience of his brother, so he had to focus very hard to remain calm.

As he reached a point on the wall several feet from the door, he pressed his back against it and listened for any sounds from within the house. He heard nothing.  He wanted to rush in and search for Frank, but instead he waited for his brother.

He watched as Geram drifted like a ghost towards him. Jake was amazed at how he moved within the shadows.  At times he would catch a glimpse, only for Geram to disappear.  Knowing his rear was covered, Jake rolled to face the door, and any trouble that may be coming their way.

Jake stared at the three bodies that lay at his feet.  Someone, most likely Frank, had done quite well.  He hoped against hope that Frank was still inside somewhere, perhaps tending to a superficial wound.  He knew the odds were against his old friend, but he refused to entertain any other thoughts.  He noted the military-style weaponry the men had carried and thought of the old lever gun that Frank had likely used.  He was amazed at the damage the old man had managed to inflict.

Jake was momentarily startled by the tap on his left shoulder before realizing it was his brother.  Geram leaned in close and whispered softly, “Swing right, whenever you’re ready.”

Jake crouched low. He felt Geram lean in and steady his pistol over Jake’s left shoulder.  Geram had slung his rifle across his back.  The scope would be useless in the confined space of the house.  Jake counted to three, rolled around the door frame, into the living room.  He panned to the right, searching for threats.  Geram swung left immediately behind him. They moved through the doorway as if they were but one.

Jake stayed low as they moved through the living room, past the large stone fireplace and towards the kitchen.  Geram followed closely behind as he fixed his pistol on the hallway to their right.  They stopped for a moment along the interior wall that separated the living room and kitchen.  Jake noted the bullet holes that riddled the wall around them.  He tilted his head back and mouthed, “Frank”, and then motioned with his head towards the kitchen.

Geram nodded and considered the situation.  If they called out and revealed themselves, they would be compromised.  If they did not, and Frank was in the kitchen, either he or they could be shot.  Neither scenario was desirable.  Geram looked down at Jake and shook his head no.  They had to take their chances with the kitchen.

As they swept into the room, Jake’s heart sunk. He saw Frank’s body surrounded by a crimson pool.  He dropped to one knee and placed his hand on Frank’s shoulder.  Jake knew from the head wound that Frank had died immediately.  Geram grabbed Jake by the collar and pulled him back to his feet.  He shook his head no again and pointed to the rest of the house.  They had to ensure their own safety.  It was no time for mourning, not yet.

Once they were back in the living room, they prepared to perform the same clearing maneuver into the hallway.  As they readied themselves for the motion, they heard a low growl coming from the hall.  It grew louder as the beast bounded towards them.  They could hear the echo of its claws scratching against the wood flooring.  Jake held up his fist to Geram as if to say, ‘Hold!.  He hoped it was indeed Sasha.  They slowly backed away from the threshold to give themselves some standoff room.  Jake crouched low.

As Sasha emerged from the hall, her fierce growl was replaced with a high-pitched whine.  She sprung at Jake and knocked him off balance. He landed on his back with a gentle thud.  As she licked his face and neck, Jake forgot about Frank for a brief moment and smiled with relief.

Geram walked over and dropped to one knee to rub her head.  He whispered to Jake, “If she was in that hall, I doubt there’s anyone left in this house.  We should still be careful, though.  Can you make her stay here?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s finish this.”

Jake whispered a command in Czech to Sasha and she plopped down on her haunches and stared at the front door, waiting patiently for her next order.  The men stood up and once again prepared to clear the remainder of the house.  In one fluid motion they cleared the hall. They continued to each room, until they were at the final door.  They noticed Sasha had clawed deep into the bottom of the door.

Jake grasped the knob as quietly as possible and turned it slowly.  He held it in position until they were ready to rush the room.  He shouldered into the door and pushed it open.  Again, he swung right and Geram left. Immediately he saw her body.  His heart broke as his worst fears were realized. He gently laid her body out on the floor and covered it with the quilt.

Geram dropped down to one knee and whispered, “Bro, I’m so sorry for all of this; Frank and Mrs. Thames.  I can’t imagine the loss you’re feeling, but whoever did this is still alive. Look at the window.”

He pointed his pistol at the window.  The flashlight illuminated the broken glass and streaks of blood.  Jake shouted another command in Czech and Sasha bounded into the room.  He spoke again and she bolted to the window and inhaled the scent.  She turned, rushed out of the room and down the hall.  The men readied their weapons and chased after her.

As the three burst out of the house, they were met by Levi and Eli Richardson on horseback.  The twins had been nervously waiting in the heavy rain for Jake and Geram.  Levi called out to the brothers, “How bad is it?”

Jake order Sasha to stop and then responded, “They’re both gone, Levi.”

“God help us. What about the men that did this?”

“We think at least one of them is still alive, maybe more.  They went out the back window.  We’re going after them.”

“We’re right behind you, lead the way.”

Jake once again called out to Sasha, and she continued around to the back of the house.  As she reached the shattered back window, she planted her nose in the mud and blood where the intruder had fallen.  She growled menacingly and followed the trail towards the northern woods line.

Levi and Eli dismounted at the first barbed wire fence, leaving their horses to search for shelter from the storm as the men continued onward.  Sasha was nearly twenty feet ahead of the men, her pace quickening as the blood became more abundant.  At the second fence, the men found a snub-nosed revolver lying in the mud.  Eli knelt and grabbed the small handgun, before burying it in the oversized pocket of his raincoat.  Levi stepped on the middle, barbed-wire strand with his boot and pushed down hard.  He grabbed the top strand and lifted up, allowing the other men to duck through the fence.

The rain was falling at a sharp angle as the winds swirled around the men.  Lightning struck somewhere behind them and the boom of thunder followed immediately after.  They could hear the horses’ nervous whinnies somewhere in the night.  The few trees in the field, leafless and bare, looked like gnarled claws in the flashes of lightning.

The men’s boots sloshed against the saturated ground.  Their hair was matted to their foreheads and their clothing clung to their drenched bodies.  Suddenly, up ahead, Sasha stopped abruptly.  Her growl intensified as she circled a heap in the field just beyond.  Geram crouched and peered through the lens of the night-vision scope.  After a moment, he motioned the others ahead.

Jake made it to Sasha first. He rubbed her head and whispered, “Good girl.  Good girl,” before stepping past her and standing over the man’s body.

Eli was right behind Jake.  He dropped down in the mud and checked the man’s pulse. “He’s still alive,” he croaked.

“Good.”  Jake struck the man’s ribs with his boot with all of the strength he could muster.  The man groaned and coughed as he curled up to protect himself from a second blow.

“Jake!  You can’t do that!”

“Why not?  Isn’t this the least that he deserves?”  Jake struck the man as hard as he could again.

“Jake!  Enough!”  Levi wrapped his thick bicep around Jake’s throat and dragged him away from the man, “That’s not how we do it, Jake.  You know that.  We’re not like him.”

Eli rolled the man over on his back and exclaimed, “Damn, look at his face – what did that?”

Geram walked up behind the three men and offered, “Probably Sasha.  She was in the house when we got there.  Lord, she got him good.”

The man’s face was barely recognizable, but Eli leaned in close with his flashlight nonetheless.  He studied the features for a moment before whispering, “It can’t be.”

“What?  Who is it?” his brother replied.

“This is Sam Coleman, from across the creek.  He has the orchard over on Smithtown Road.  He must have known that church was tonight and thought we would all be away.  He – he looks pretty bad.  He’s lost a lot of blood.  I’m not sure he’ll make it.”

“Good,” Jake replied, “Let him die.”

***

Sam Coleman died not long after they found him.  The Richardson twins carried Sam out of the field and laid his body across the back of Eli’s horse.  They carried him to the Thames’ front porch and left him with the other bodies.  Mr. Richardson had already sent notice to the sheriff, and he had promised to be by in the next day or so.  He was on the other side of the county investigating yet another home invasion that had gone awry.

Jake and Geram shook hands and exchanged farewells with the twins before leaving for Jake’s house.  As they walked back home Jake finally broke the silence.

“I’m sorry about how I reacted back there.  It was out of my character.”

“You don’t owe me an apology.  I probably would’ve done much worse.”

“Maybe I don’t, but I still feel the need.”

“Look brother, I know this is new for you.  You’re doing a lot better than I did my first time.  I know the full weight of it hasn’t come to bear yet, but it will, and you’ll find some way to cope.  The important thing is you’ve realized your mistakes.  That man, Sam, he lost his direction.  A year ago, if you would’ve told him he’d be dead in a field because he attacked one his neighbors, he probably would’ve swung at you.”

“I thought it’d be different here.  I thought people would stand by each other.”

“I don’t know if anywhere is safe anymore.”

“We can’t stay, not anymore.  This is going to hit everyone hard.  Trust’ll be lost.  We might as well be on our own.”

“You’re right.”

“Three days.  For three days we’ll try and get some rest and gather as many supplies as we can.  We’ll pay our respects, have a service.  After that, we leave.”

“Where you want to go, Jake?”

“The only place I can think of that might be safe.”

Geram smiled weakly and nodded in agreement as he draped his arm around Jake’s neck.

Ch apter 9

Senator Ames

Decatur, Mississippi

The tiny café nestled in the middle of the quaint downtown district bustled with activity. Patrons crowded into the cramped booths and shoulder up to the counter.  Others leaned against the walls and sipped their coffee while they made idle conversation with their friends and neighbors.  This was no social gathering, however.  The café was full for one reason.  The restaurant’s generator was the most reliable in town.  No one wanted to miss the broadcast.

The café’s menu had been reduced to only the most spartan of offerings.   Stale coffee, fresh milk, yard eggs, smoked ham and biscuits were all that was available.  Most of the patrons did not seem to care, though.  The meal came with a sense of normalcy that they all dearly missed.

The quaint café was one of the few remaining businesses in town, as if Decatur had much to offer before.  Its population had been less than fifteen hundred before the world imploded.  There were probably less than a thousand residents remaining, though.  The ones who chose to stay certainly did not fault those that left.  Life had gotten much harder in Decatur, but the people who remained were strong willed, and looked out for each other.  Fortunately, folks had managed to pull together. The town was probably more close-knit than ever before.

Decatur, Mississippi was named after Stephen Decatur, Jr., the youngest man to ever reach the rank of captain in the history of the U.S. Navy.  Stephen Decatur fought in the Quasi-War, the Barbary Wars and the War of 1812.  He received numerous awards and accolades.  He was dubbed the Terror of the Foe. One of his feats during a battle near Tripoli was described as, “the most bold and daring act of the Age,” by Lord Horatio Nelson.  Decatur the city had quickly learned that, if they were to survive, they would need to develop the attributes of their namesake.

The people of Decatur waited anxiously this morning, like many across the nation, to hear the words of another man that they hoped would be a terror to some very different foes.  The nation had been beset by the foes of sovereign default, of disastrous foreign policies and endless wars, and the foes of incremental fascism.

The administration had utterly failed to guide the nation through gentle, economic landing.  Instead, the country had experienced a violent crash.  Although extremely popular before, the president’s approval ratings were now horribly and permanently dismal.  People were suffering.  They longed for a champion.

Senator Ames had been a relatively unknown politician from southern Ohio.  He had served one term in the House prior to running for Senate.  He had been largely ignored by the political and media establishment prior to his presidential bid because his strong, libertarian ideologies were not popular in the Washington circles.  One might even argue that he was an anathema of sorts.  But those same ideologies that had made him a Washington outsider now caused him to resonate with a public tired of government largesse and hungry for another way.  He was young, handsome, articulate and dazzlingly charismatic.  His powerful, rousing oratories seemed to energize crowds everywhere he spoke.

Senator Ames stepped onto the scene under the radar and completely blindsided the establishment.  Voters flocked to his simple honesty, and he absolutely annihilated his competition.  By mid-February, he had won all but one of the primaries.  By the month’s end, all of the other hopefuls had withdrawn from the race and begrudgingly endorsed him.  The political machine and its allies in the media scrambled to find any skeletons in his closet, but there seemed to be none.  He was hailed as the last, honest man in politics.  His path to the presidency was not inevitable, but it appeared that limited government advocates and freedom lovers finally had a fighting chance.  That was of course, before the world changed.

First, Europe collapsed into the old hatreds and nationalists tendencies that had gripped it for centuries. It was hardly noticeable at first, but then it began to accelerate exponentially.  Next, Japan defaulted on several major obligations and spiraled into hyperinflation.

With the world quickly disintegrating around it, Turkey left NATO and reclaimed the entirety of Cyprus as its own. It then invaded Bulgaria, Armenia, Syria and half of Iran.  Iran’s remaining half had fallen into a bloody revolution that led to the slaughter of tens of thousands, and the rise of an even more ruthless regime than before.  Israel was surrounded by complete and total chaos.  They had nuclear weapons aimed in all directions, but particularly at Ankara.  Russia began to engulf Georgia and the other eastern bloc states.  The world had fallen into complete chaos.

Then the inevitable happened, the tentacles that had been strangling the rest of the world finally spread across the Atlantic.  The troubled banking system in the states was already in total disarray, artificially subsisting on fiat created at will.  When the sovereign defaults of Europe began, it was all too much and too fast for the Federal Reserve to counter.  New bank failures were announced daily.  The FDIC’s insurance fund was emptied overnight.  People were unable to withdraw any amount of money.  Bank holidays became more common than days that they were actually open for business.

Then, in the third week of March, Black Thursday happened.  The markets lost over half of their value on Wednesday and Thursday of that week.  Some even believed it was part of a larger, coordinated, financial attack by a foreign government.  Malicious or not, massive amounts of wealth vanished in a matter of hours.  And so began the Greatest Depression’s American Spring.

Now, people were not even sure there would be an election.  They were afraid the current administration would declare a state of emergency and simply forego a vote.  If so, it was doubtful congress would intervene. Still, the senator campaigned relentlessly.  The crowds were smaller, but they still showed up for a glimmer of light in an increasingly dark world.

Recently, he had begun an impromptu radio campaign.  Much of the internet was under the strictest of governmental controls, and the remaining media outlets were openly hostile to Ames’ policies on limited government.

His radio broadcasts were recorded by HAM operators and independent stations and rebroadcast across the nation.  Some state-run programs, such as Radio Lonestar, carried them as well.

Today, however, was a rare live broadcast.  The café became increasingly crowded as the clock ticked ever closer to the scheduled nine o’clock start.  The waitresses squeezed through the crowd again and again with plates comprising the same order, as if they were stuck in some strange, breakfast time loop.

Suddenly, the café was filled with the sound of applause coming through the speakers. The room’s bedlam of conversations was reduced to hushed whispers.  The patrons waited anxiously for the junior senator to calm the crowd and begin his speech.

“Greetings Rapid City, South Dakota, and to everyone else within the sound of my voice.  I’m humbled and honored that you would sacrifice your time to hear me speak. I hope that I don’t disappoint you today.  We’re living in unprecedented times.  As deplorable as the world’s condition is, I believe we’re merely standing at the precipice of an extended, dark period for humanity.

I won’t lie to you; you’ve been lied to by so many others for so very long.  I don’t even know if it’s possible for us to turn back from this nightmare now.  We may’ve already embarked on a journey that is one-way in nature, at least for our generation.  I pray it’s not too late for our children to see freedom again, and I hope it is not too late for their children.  I know that I don’t have all of the answers, but I do believe the current administration certainly has none of the answers.

Freedom, personal responsibility and charity, what do these words mean to us, as individuals?  As a people?  Have these words been distorted so egregiously, that we’ve forgotten their true meanings altogether?  It was, ‘We the people,’ not, ‘We the centrally-planned governance.’  We the people have the freedom to determine our own fate for better or worse.  We have a responsibility to ourselves, our families and our communities, not some bureaucrat ten states away.  We have a responsibility to the less fortunate than us.  We have a responsibility to support the needs of others through our churches and our civic organizations.  I know that when I give a dollar to my church, ninety cents makes it to the cause I chose to support.  What government dares boast such efficiency and integrity?

There is a very real possibility that, after this election is over, you won’t get any help from the Federal government, regardless if I’m elected.  You have the responsibility of rebuilding your towns and cities.  And it starts in your living rooms with your own families.  You must elect honest, responsible, local leaders to guide your communities’ rebirth.  You must reestablish the rule of law and the sacred rights of property.  This election is not for who’ll govern you in the coming months, but for who will lay the foundation for a completely new government that will emerge in the coming years. It will either dictate to you or be dictated by you.  You have a choice to make; continue on this reckless course or reign in your government before it consumes you whole.

I leave you all with this scripture from Paul to the Ephesians, ‘Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.’  We’re not guaranteed tomorrow by this passage, but we’re guaranteed a life and legacy that is pleasing to the Lord, our God.  Thank you, and Godspeed.”

The crowd erupted with a standing ovation.  Their cheers resounded through the café’s speakers as the senator waved and left the stage.  The clamoring crowd began to wane until Senator Ames reemerged to the sounds of a classic rock anthem.  His encore appearance pressed the people into a fever.  The contagion affecting the group began to infect the café’s patrons; they also burst into a raucous display.  Coffee mugs clinked in makeshift toasts and forks were thrust high in the air.

After a minute or two of pandemonium, the café began to calm.  The mayor arose from a booth that also sat his wife and two children.  He raised a hand and addressed the patrons.

“The man can work a crowd, can’t he?”

Applause and cheers erupted again.

“Don’t get me wrong, he is speaking my language, but let’s not get our hopes too high; he’s still just a man.  Just like the last one, and the one before him, they all sound good until they get into office.  Let us pray that Senator Ames is indeed the man we believe him to be, and we get a final chance to right this ship.  But for now, let’s enjoy the company of the finest people the world has to offer, each other.”