Ever Onward (13 page)

Eddy nodded. “The boys and I’ll get
them. A couple of boxes of everything should do it?”

Josh grinned, Eddy’s little joke
having broken the tension. “Same to you, fella!”

Eddy chuckled as he followed Bobby and
Jess back into Le Baron.

Ten minutes later they were back. Eddy
had a heavy cardboard box. A scooped rifle was slung over one
shoulder, along with several cartridge belts. Besides boxes of
various shells, both boys carried short, powerful composite bows
and quivers stuffed with arrows. Jessie was beaming.

“It’s only fair, Dad. Bobby teaches me
to play the guitar and I teach him to use a bow.” Jessie then
handed his father a bag. “I found something real special for you as
well. Go on, have a look!”

Inside Josh found a knife. Not just
any knife, but a Japanese Tanto. Black handle and scabbard, the
blade seven inches of razor sharp steel. He’d wanted one ever since
reading Shogun years ago. He’d taped the series off TV and both he
and Jessie had watched it over and over.

“I got one too!”, Jessie smiled. “A
matched set, only mine’s a bit smaller. You like it?”

Josh felt suddenly both very proud and
very relieved. Here he’d been worrying that his son might turn into
some weird Rambo-Dirty Harry-Terminator clone, when all Jessie
really wanted to be was a noble Samurai protecting his
clan.

Josh stood and bowed theatrically.
Words from the Clavell masterpiece came rushing back. “Domo,
Jessie-san.”

Jessie, grinning through his fake
frown, bowed in return. “Domo arigoto, Father-sama!”

“Hey, you two Kung-Foo fans!”, Bobby
said through a smile of his own. “Let’s get going.”

Twenty minutes later they crossed over
the Chimney Point Bridge and entered Vermont. Only Josh took the
time to glance back over his shoulder as they drove over the
rusting steel arch. There, nestled amongst the trees and jutting
outcrops of shale, the crumbling remains of Fort Frederick waited
by the blue waters of Lake Champlain. Built by the French in the
1730’s and destroyed by the British three decades later, the
crumbling ruins silently called to him of a much more savage time,
a time when redcoated British and haughty French fought over the
very land they now lived on, both sides paying painted savages to
bring back their enemy’s scalps. A dangerous time: savage, deadly,
cruel --- a time that seemed to be fast approaching
again!

Chapter 12
: OF MICE AND
MEN

North Conway

New Hampshire

June 29(Day
8)

Brad Westgate sat in the dark watching
his sleeping son. Light from the full moon filtered in the open
window, making the youth’s brown hair shine softly. He reached out
and gently touched the boy, an act of both love and reassurance.
After so much death, he wanted to be sure life was still
there.

Brad sat back and shivered. His son
lived, yet part of him still expected his son to change, still
feared that some horrible metamorphosis would take place and turn
what was healthy and alive into the dried-up thing he had woken up
beside nearly a week ago. That thing had been his wife. A smaller
version had awaited him in his daughter’s room. Brad had started
screaming then.

For the first few days he had stumbled
around in a trance, pushing the horror away, shoving it into some
deep, dark corner of his mind and slamming the door. It had been a
week now and he still couldn’t get over the fact that the others
were gone. His wife, his daughter, the town --- the whole bloody
world!

But they weren’t all gone. Most, but
not all. Besides Kenneth and himself there were four others left in
town. Over the past week they had gathered together at the Regis
Inn, a small hotel in the center of town. Bert Laxtrom the town
barber, a local farmer named Earl Swanson, Wilma Sawyer who’s
husband owned the Regis and a teenager named Tina Keller who’d had
a summer job with the North Conway Parks Department.

Six people out of well over three
thousand!

He’d heard about a few others. Bert
Laxtrom had seen a car speeding through town. Earl Swanson had
found his neighbor Albert Ruthle hanging by his neck in his barn.
Tina had found a small child wandering around outside MacDonald’s.
By the time she’d come across Wilma at the Regis Inn, the child was
running a high fever. Despite all that the two women did, the child
was dead by morning. At least the body hadn’t dried up and blown
away. They’d buried it out back of the Regis. Tina hadn’t talked
much since.

No other townspeople had
turned up. Six strangers, however, had. They came on five
motorcycles the day before yesterday. Four men and two women. All
of them appeared to be life-long bikers.

The leader had long stringy hair and a
thick beard, with a black Harley Davidson T-shirt stretched over a
beer gut. His sleeveless jean-jacket said Snake and he had the
tattoos to prove it. He was in his early thirties but the eyes were
old; as old as sin.

Rings, the woman who rode behind him,
looked like an anorexic Madonna. Her blond hair, (brown at the
roots), was long on one side and shaved on the other. Every part of
her emaciated body that wasn’t encased in leather glittered with
bracelets, rings, chains and other gaudy bobbles, including a
diamond stud in her left nostril and enough rings in her pierced
ears to burn out the motor on a metal detector.

The other woman had ‘Flame’ was
emblazoned on the back of her leather vest and she rode her own
bike. With her long red hair flowing out behind her, tight leather
pants and high boots, she looked like a sexy female wrestler turned
hooker.

The fourth one was called Blade. Tall,
thin and dressed all in black, he looked as deadly as his
name.

The next biker was even bigger than
Snake. His large head was shaved and the name Bull was tattooed on
his massive biceps.

The last member they called Runt.
Hardly five feet tall, he wore thick glasses and a leather jacket
several sizes too large over a Hawaiian shirt that hurt the
eyes.

Snake and his gang had ridden into
town and taken what they wanted. With a large pistol thrust into
his belt and a baseball bat in his hand, Snake and his grinning
followers had looted up and down North Conway’s main drag. Food,
clothes, booze, whatever caught their eye. Runt seemed to know all
about what goodies the local pharmacy could produce. When last seen
they had been partying in the park and seemed in no great hurry to
leave.

Brad wanted them gone. He’d seen the
look of contempt Snake had shown Earl Swanson when the old farmer
had asked him to stop destroying public property. He’d seen the way
his son Kenneth had stiffened when they had laughed at their
suggestion that they leave town. He’d seen too the way Snake had
looked at the young girl Tina.

Trouble was brewing. Before long it
would overflow into violence. More deaths would follow. Christ,
hadn’t there been enough?!

The problem was what to do about it?
As he sat watching his son sleep, Brad’s numbed mind ticked off the
possibilities. Ask them to leave; but they’d already refused. Order
them to leave? That meant being willing and able to back up their
words with actions. There was no police, no State Troopers. You
could still call 911 but no-one answered. And they were armed. A
picture of the large gun thrust into Snake’s belt flashed before
him. Blade carried several knives and the woman Flame wore a
shoulder holster. As for Bull, he looked like three hundred pounds
of weapon!

A soft knock came at his door.
Startled, Brad left the bedroom and went into the main room. Each
of them had taken over a suit in the Regis Inn. Glancing at his
watch he saw that it was nearly dawn.

“Brad, it’s me, Earl.”

Cautiously Brad opened the door. Earl
Swanson stood in the hall. Bert Laxtrom was with him. Bert’s red
hair, usually so meticulously combed, was all askew. Both men
looked nervous.

“What is it?”

Earl came in and Bert followed. “We
saw your light was on,”, Bert whispered. “We’ve got to
talk.”

“About what?”

“What the hell do you think?”, Earl
snapped. “About that bag of shit Snake and the others, that’s
what!”

Brad glanced back at the bedroom.
“Keep your voice down. I don’t want to wake the boy.”

Earl sighed. “Let’s go down to the
kitchen. I could use some coffee.”

Minutes later they were sitting around
the inn’s large table. Wilma was there with the coffee
ready.

“Well, Brad” Earl said. “Let’s hear
it?”

Brad told them what he had been
thinking just before their visit. Bert looked more nervous than
ever. Earl took out a battered pouch and began rolling a
cigarette.

“So it comes down to one of two
things,”, he said, licking the thin paper with a deft pass of his
tongue. “We either put up with whatever shit they sling our way or
we kill them.”

“’
Kill them’?!”, Bert
repeated. “Who said anything about killing?”

Earl lit a kitchen match with his
thumbnail. “I don’t like it any better than you, Bert, but I don’t
see no other way.”

Wilma came and joined them, the
overhead lights reflecting the streaks of gray in her hair. “It may
not come to that,” she said. “They may just move on.”

Earl shook his head. “Wolves don’t
move on. Not while there’s easy pickings.”

Brad looked at the solid farmer, his
heart pounding in his chest. “Snake’s the real threat. Without him
the others might leave.

Earl took a long drag on his
cigarette, his work-worn hands trembling slightly. “Then we kill
him first.”

Bert stood up. “I don’t want any part
of it! There’s been enough death! Wilma’s right. They’ll get bored
soon and leave. All we have to do is wait.”

Surprisingly it was Wilma who spoke
up. “Wait for what, Bert? For that pig to take an interest in Tina?
You all saw how he was looking at her. I’m no centerfold, but I
guess his kind would get around to me as well. Then there’s
Kenneth.”

Brad stiffened at that. “What about
Kenneth?!”

Wilma reached over and took his hand.
Her eyes were warm yet deadly serious. “I don’t know, Brad. Maybe
he’d just try and make the boy join him.”

“Kenneth wouldn’t ---”

Wilma nodded. “We all know that. But
what would happen when he refused?”

“Wait a minute,” Bert cut in. “We’re
all jumping at shadows here. So far all they’ve done is break a few
windows and ignore us when we asked them to leave.”

“I didn’t hear you saying nothing to
them,” Earl growled. “It was me and Brad here that spoke
up.”

Bert, flushing as red as his hair,
seemed about to reply when Tina stepped out from the shadows. Her
large brown eyes and pretty features were drawn with worry. Though
she had been hired by the Parks Department for her vigor and
outgoing personality, she now looked like a frightened deer. Wilma
believed Tina still blamed herself for the death of the child that
she’d found just after the world went mad.

She began to speak, her voice an
urgent whisper. “He’ll ruin it all. I’ve seen it in his eyes. The
way he moves, the way he treats that girl Rings. We’re all just
things to him, things to be used and tossed away!” Tina’s voice
then became deadly calm, which made what she said next all the more
frightening. “He has to die --- and we have to do it.”

Earl tossed his cigarette into the
inn’s fireplace and stood up. “I’ve got a couple of guns back at my
farm. I’ll leave now and be back before they wake up.”

Both Wilma and Bert looked towards
Brad, seeking reassurance. He couldn’t give them what they wanted,
yet he couldn’t let Snake have his way. “Get them, Earl. I’ve got
an old 16 gage at my place, though I haven’t fired the damn thing
in years.”

Wilma attempted a smile.
“Maybe you won’t have to. Maybe when they see us armed they’ll
leave.” No-one however, believed that, not even
Wilma.

Snake woke up with one hell of a
headache. He was in the Gazebo in the park. Rings was curled up
beside him, her skinny ass hanging out of the sleeping bag.
Whatever that little shit Rat had given him last night, it’d sent
him clear into fucking orbit! He remembered going to MacDonalds.
They’d gotten the burners going and cooked up a mess of half-frozen
burgers. Rings had fucked up the fries and he’d hit her. Then
they’d gone to the park and started drinking. He remembered making
a fire. Flame had laughed and danced around it. Then the pills had
kicked in and everything became a blur. He vaguely recalled Rings
going down on him, then the bitch had passed out. Stupid cunt.
Snake looked down at the thin form beside him. Too damned skinny.
He preferred his women with some meat on them. Like Flame, but that
tough bitch wouldn’t let him touch her. Saved it all for the cold
fish Blade. She’d pulled a knife on him when he tried a few days
ago and threatened to cut off his balls. Now his foggy brain turned
to the blonde girl staying with the hayseeds back in town. Nice set
of jugs there. Today he intended to get a closer look. A whole lot
closer!