Walking in the Rain (Book 4): Dark Sky Thunder (9 page)

Amy had not been pleased, but she understood. Mom, not so much. Amy knew we’d been just like these folks until recently, and I could identify with them easier than someone like my dad could, who’d seen bad shit but hadn’t done it on the road.

Since the scouting mission kept us out until 4 a.m. by my windup watch, Dad and I crashed upon our return and crawled out of our beds at eight that morning to hold our briefing. Dad laid it all out, detailing everything we’d discovered and what he thought we should do next.

“Look, these people might be a threat, but if we don’t engage them somehow, I can almost guarantee they will try for the ranch when their food runs out. And unless they did a really good job of hiding their provisions, that won’t be long. We need to meet and see about forming a mutually beneficial relationship.”

Just about everybody from the two houses had gathered for the open meeting. We were cramped in the living room of the Big House, but I was glad we had done it there. The natural light was better, and I could read the expressions on everybody’s face.

Uncle Billy was the first to speak up. “We don’t know anything about these people, really. So what if they aren’t taking slaves now. Or mistreating their kids. They still might try to make a move here.”

Dad nodded. He couldn’t dispute his brother’s words. “Yes, but they have been minding their manners so far. Look, this is our home turf. We need to defend it with everything we got. No dispute there. But we are also shorthanded. If we can give them an incentive to watch our backs, then that would be worth a lot to us.”

That prompted a reasonable discussion, as everyone who wanted to, expressed their views. Mr. Ike and his wife, Miss Angelina, didn’t want to talk at first, but after careful coaxing by Dad, Ike finally gave his two cents.

“I don’t know what to suggest. I know we are alive today because Mr. Messner—Gus, I mean—wanted us to have a place. And you, Sam, and Billy too, saved our family and treated us like your own people. If these are just folks, even folks who’ve had to do hard things to make it this far, does that mean they can’t ever be trusted? I don’t know, and that’s why I didn’t want to say one way or the other.”

I thought about what Mr. Stanton said. “I’ll talk to ’em,” I said, finally joining the conversation.

“What? Are you crazy?” Paige blurted out. “Why would they listen to anything you had to say?”

“He won’t be going,” my mother added with finality. So she thought, anyway.

I turned, looking at my mother and my sister, both sitting with crossed arms and firmly set jaws. It was so cute I almost laughed, which wouldn’t have helped my case any. “I have to go. I know what they’ve likely been through and what is probably foremost in their worries. We can help them some, both with food and also maybe some medical and mutual security. But they won’t want to trust us. Not at first. We can have the best intentions on both sides and still trigger a fight neither side needs.”

“You think we can eventually bring them in with us?” Dad asked, and I could tell he was genuinely curious.

“Don’t know. Like I said, I’ve been where they are. When we got to the Keller’s house, I slept outside the first night. They offered me a bed in the bunkhouse and I declined. Wasn’t sure I could trust people being nice to me again. Not after everything.”

After a considerable wrangle, I got the honor of placing my butt on the line in an effort to make new friends. Mom wasn’t happy, but she eventually gave in once Dad promised, again, to maintain over watch on me. And so the three of us who made up the team had gathered up our kits and headed back out into the woods. With the eight-foot barbed wire fencing all around the ranch, we couldn’t exactly cut through the back pasture even if we wanted to, so we humped the extra miles and got into position by noon.

Now we were talking.

“What’s with all the gear, son? You a Marine too?”

The speaker turned out to be an older man in his fifties, and the one Dad and I both agreed looked most likely to be the leader of the group. He was the oldest of this group of survivors, though given his emaciated state, I might have been off on his age range. He looked like a bag of bones rattling around in a skin suit.

As we neared, I stuck out my hand for a shake while replying. “Lucas Messner, sir. And I’m not a Marine. Or any kind of military. Just stuff I’ve picked up since the lights went out. My family owns the ranch over there.” I nodded slowly over the man’s shoulder to indicate the proper direction. “But you already knew that. All the shooting we did yesterday attracted your attention, I’m sure.”

“Paul Sandifer,” the man replied. I noted his handshake was strong, and I wondered how hard he was pushing himself to gather up enough strength to manage the grip. “And yes, we heard the shooting. We were worried there was trouble. That shooting was actually a good bit quieter, really, than we expected.”

“Suppressors help with that.”

“Is your father really out there watching us?”

“Oh, yes, sir. Listening in, too,” I said, pointing at my earpiece.

I heard several groans over the radio when I disclosed that tidbit. But I wanted Mr. Sandifer to know I wasn’t just talking out of my ass if Dad made a suggestion.

“Well, Lucas, why don’t you come over here and take a seat? We can talk a bit out here in the open where all our people can see us.”

Mr. Sandifer made a gesture to a pair of straight-back kitchen chairs, no doubt salvaged, and I nodded in agreement as I took a seat. I fought hard to avoid pulling a face as the muscles tensed, but I thought Mr. Sandifer might have picked up on something, anyway. For a half-starved refugee, he seemed to still be a sharp guy. I wondered once again if it was a good idea even broaching the subject of working together. We weren’t taking these people to raise or making them part of our clan, but I thought best case we could help each other.

“You all right?” the old man asked with concern as I was getting myself settled. Yep, too perceptive by far.

“I suspect your group of people saw your fair share of trouble getting here. Am I right?” I asked, shifting the focus away for the moment. When I saw Mr. Sandifer’s cautious nod, I continued. “Well, so did we. My group, that is. You likely noticed when we came rolling in the other day, right? Two trucks and several wounded?”

This was a ticklish admission, since it might make us appear weak, but I wanted to establish some rapport. Some type of shared misery, if you will.

Mr. Sandifer seemed to consider my words for a moment before he replied. “So now you folks have reinforcements from wherever you came from. Young, healthy men and women added to the group. You said you weren’t military, but were they?”

At least he was polite enough not to call them deserters. “Not even close, Mr. Sandifer. School kids, mostly. But we can and will fight. Make no mistake about that. Ever. They’ve learned the lessons of survival in the hardest school left in this world.”

Mr. Sandifer held up his hands in a placating gesture, so I let him speak. “All right, Lucas. But what do you want? Your family has food, water, guns, and transportation. And an eight-foot tall fence around your whole property. Who uses that much barbed wire, anyway?”

I shrugged. “Grandpa wanted bison, but after he had the fences built, the numbers just didn’t work out. They needed more grazing land than he was prepared to devote to the project. So he moved on to something else, but the fence was already up.”

I gave the lie we all agreed on as a cover story from before the lights went out. If anybody asked, we would just point to crazy old man with more money than sense.

“All right,” the old squatter conceded. “But, what brings you here today? Is it because you just noticed us? Or is it because you have more people and you’ve decided to try to tell us to move on? Because you’ll just be wasting your breath. If you’ve been out there, really out on the roads, then you know. We won’t be moved. Rather fight and die here instead.”

Now it was my turn to hold up my hands in a calming gesture. Both to cool off the old man and to convince my dad to let us keep talking. What might sound like a threat over the radio was just the truth I could see in the man’s sad brown eyes. Not a threat but a plea.

“Mr. Sandifer, the last thing we want is to run you and your people off this property. Like I said, I just came to meet with you. See if we can reach some common ground. I want to work out a mutually agreeable arrangement. That’s why I volunteered to meet with you. Or at least, a representative from your camp.”

“What can we possibly offer your group, Lucas? We are just barely making it here. We can’t spare anything that you might use. My family and the few friends you see here barely got out of Greenville with the clothes on our backs when the city fell apart.”

I sat back and thought about what Mr. Sandifer had said.

“I know you figure I’m too young to make this kind of deal, Mr. Sandifer. That’s why I told you my father is listening. And the reason I volunteered is because I’ve been right where you are. Just a few weeks ago, in fact. Scrambling to feed my people and keep away from the crazies and the killers out there.”

I felt the man’s eyes searching me, looking to take in the details that might support my story. Whatever he saw, I think he might have believed at least some of what I had to say. “You still haven’t said what you are wanting, or what you want in return, Lucas.”

“You’ve seen some of our operation. My family and friends are set up pretty good. But nobody can have enough friends in this type of situation. I know you and yours are strapped for food. Heck, just about everybody is. We can’t feed all your people long term, Mr. Sandifer; not won’t, but can’t. We don’t have the extra right now to carry that many people. But, we can trade with you for some. Harvest is already upon us with some of the garden, and we could use some help there. Labor help. We’ve got canning jars and lids but could use more help. You asked what we wanted, and that part is easy.”

“And what else?”

“We want a treaty of mutual aid, Mr. Sandifer. If we get attacked, we expect at least part of your group to come to our aid. And vice versa. When you get hit, and I’m guessing you will get raided, then we will respond in kind. We make terrible enemies, but great friends.”

Mr. Sandifer looked down, studying the line of ants marching across the patch of bare earth where the chairs sat just at the edge of the porch. “I almost said we wouldn’t take charity, Lucas. But the truth is, I’ll take anything at this point. How do we work out this trading you propose?”

“Work out the details with my dad. I volunteered to make contact, not sign the treaties. You are no doubt curious why I stepped up to do this. Why would I do that? Let’s just say I did it because I suspect we have shared some experiences others might not understand.”

Yet again, I thought of those poor refugees straggling into the road at the Keller farm and how my first reaction was to go in, guns blazing. Then, how I had to help that poor woman carry her kids to their new home. I thought about telling Mr. Sandifer about my revelation and decided to save that story for another day. But I decided to mention something to get him to thinking.

“If it is okay, I’ve got something in my pocket for you. It’s not much, but your kids can use them. We met some folks on the road not much better off than ya’ll, and I could tell the kids were already suffering from vitamin deficiencies. That sight made me very sad, Mr. Sandifer. Near to broke my heart, to tell the truth.”

Mr. Sandifer spoke out loud to his watchers, giving his assent. “Guys, let Lucas get what he needs.”

The small bottle of multivitamins might not ultimately save any of their children, but I had it to give. I again reflected back on all those hollow-eyed, starving children I bypassed on the roads leading home and wondered if I would ever be able to forget those pinched, filthy faces. I passed over the sealed hundred-count bottle and waited while Mr. Sandifer read the label with shaking hands.

“Why?” Mr. Sandifer asked simply, once he held up the plastic bottle for others in the house to see. “And don’t say it is just because of some misplaced guilt. This bottle is worth its weight in gold.”

“Do you know how many people I had to kill getting home, Mr. Sandifer?”

The question seemed to catch the man off guard, and he shook his head cautiously. I could tell he had no idea where I was going with this. “Yeah, I don’t either. I never killed anybody that wasn’t attacking me or mine, or attacking other innocent people. Still, it was a lot. And the first ones I killed, they were trying to add me to their stew pot.” I looked down, thinking about the trail of corpses I left in my wake.

Then I remembered the piles of bodies I passed by, and not all of them victims of violence. Some just lay down and gave up, and others couldn’t get their meds and passed in their sleep. Or screaming in agony, as the case may be. Since meeting Amy, I decided to try to leave my dead in the past. But I needed to make a point here. The carrot was on the table, so I showed him a little more before getting out the stick.

“I helped some folks along the way, but it wasn’t enough.” I shrugged. “It never is, I guess. Take those vitamins and give them to your kids. I imagine some are starting to show signs of scurvy from lack of vitamin C. I want to help out all I can, Mr. Sandifer. It won’t make up for all those poor dying people I had to step over to get home, but it’s a start.”

“You’re a good man, Lucas. I know what you mean. We’ve seen the remains left from those monsters, too. We’ve been hungry, for sure. Never that hungry. And please, call me Paul.”

Sensing it was time for me to go, I stood up slowly and shook the man’s hand again. “Thank you, Paul. But never forget something: you might think I’m a good man, but under it all, I’m just another kind of monster. Anything or anyone who threatens my family, I will make them suffer in ways that would make an angel cry. I’ve done it before, and I’m sure I’ll have to do it again. Be sure your men understand this fact.”

I saw Paul visibly gulp at my words. “Christ almighty kid. How old are you?”

“Does it matter? A man once told me I had a gift for violence. Never make me show it to you, Paul. Be a good neighbor, and you will think back on my visit in days down at the road and thank God for bringing me to your doorstep.”