The No Where Apocalypse (Book 1): Stranded No Where (16 page)

One thousand rounds of 45 caliber ammunition had to weigh somewhere near 50 pounds. By itself, that wouldn’t have been bad. When I added a large suitcase full of medications, the load easily approached 100 pounds.

The first few miles passed easily. The flat road, lined on each side with trees provided enough shade to keep the summer sun off our backs. Except for shoes and boots creating road grit, the only sound was the occasional squeak from the cart wheels.

Matt walked on my right, Violet close on my left. One man, a rifle across his arms led the way. The final two ruffians followed 10 yards behind. Except for those two, no one spoke. And whatever they were saying was low and muted.

“How long you live in Covington?” Matt asked, keeping his eyes ahead.

“I’m from Chicago,” I answered, “not here.”

I noticed his smirk as he shook off my answer. “I was talking to the girl.”

“Lived there all my life,” Violet answered, not bothering to look at Matt as she spoke.

“You know a gal named Shalene Sanders?” Matt continued his questions as step after step we moved further away from our homes and safety.

Something in the way he said the girls name bothered me. This wasn’t casual conversation in my mind. It was a pointed question.

“I know everyone in Covington,“ she answered in a snarky tone. Something told me it would have been safer answering no. “She’s a couple grades ahead of me, but I know her. Why?”

“Were you still there when her boyfriend killed one of our men?” Matt made death sound like a casual topic of conversation. That made me nervous.

Violet peeked at me. I tried to plead with her with my eyes, but she was going to answer the way she wanted, I knew.

“I heard that guy raped her,” she answered bitterly. “Got his throat slit because of it. Seems like he got what he deserved.” That last part could have been left unsaid, but not with this gal.

“Well, the details are a little sparse,” Matt stated, glancing past me at Violet. “We’d like to find that boyfriend, see what he knows.”

This was Violet’s opportunity to keep her lips shut. If she couldn’t read between the lines here, she didn’t need to answer.

“You mean you want to slit his throat or hang him, don’t you?” she spewed without so much as a pause. “That’s the way Stuart Callies likes to have things done.” She peeked his way. “Ain’t that right, Mr. Weston?”

I figured he was going to explode, probably chase her down and slap her until she begged him to stop. His face twitched once and then again as he stared ahead at the road.

“He did kill a man,” he answered. “Mr. Callies would like to hear his side of the story before he hangs. Rumor has it there was another person with him when he did the deed. We’d sure like to know who that was before he meets his maker.”

A 13-year-old without a filter needed to stay out of this conversation. The way I saw it if she hung, chances were I was going to hang as well.

I watched as her mouth opened to reply, so I cut her off.

“Now, Violet,” I began. “Matt doesn’t want to hear all your wild theories about what may or may not have happened with your friends. Don’t bother him with heresy and all your personal feelings about it.”

Her eyes studied mine and her tanned face did several rounds of contortions as she pondered things. Finally, she shot me a look of supreme anger and went back to staring down the road.

“How much further?” she asked, sounding like a young child bored with a car ride.

“Another couple miles,” Matt answered. “There’s several hills coming up. So I’ll get behind and help push to make them easier. If that’s all right with you, Bob?”

That was fine, just great. We’d dodged a bullet in the discussion of Violet’s friend. I could tell she all but wanted to admit to her part of the ordeal, either to defend her friends or prove that Matt didn’t know everything. With the boyfriend missing, her part in the murder was under wraps.

And we needed to keep Violet out of harm’s way at all costs. Even if she didn’t seem to see the danger we might be walking into.

Day 320 - continued - WOP

The buildings of Covington came into sight after an hour or so. I don’t know what I had expected, but the scene was dismal as we drew closer.

It was as if a low gray cloud hung over the town. Even in the early sunshine the place appeared dull and dreary. There were homes of yellow, green, and blue, but they all seemed muted. Very few people could be seen out and about. And the small number we saw went about their business without giving us so much as a glance.

Ahead, three armed men blocked the road. Their smiles stood in stark contrast to their surroundings.

“Wondered if you’d be back tonight,” a large man toting a sawed-off shotgun shouted. I noticed Matt’s grin as he listened.

“Mr. Callies sent me to do a job,” he bragged, checking the men at our rear. “When I have a task, I do it right. The boss anywhere close by?”

Another man, shorter and squat shook his head. All three had beards, pretty much like the rest of the male population left in this horrid world. Only Matt’s and mine were trimmed.

“He had his supper and retired to his quarters already,” the second man informed Matt. “Said he didn’t want to be bothered. Something about going over supply lists and such. Sounded important.”

The first man came off as a thug. This man had intelligence in his tone.

“Tell the cook I need two plates of food and a bucket of water sent over to the west jail,” Matt announced. Extending his left arm, he pointed west. “You and young Miss Luke will be our guests for the night. In the morning, you can meet with Mr. Callies and finish your deal.”

I stopped and rubbed my calloused hands together. Several spots ached with the pain where the rail dug in.

“When do I get my gun back?” I asked, noticing a few more people moving about. Whether they were residents or marauders, I couldn’t tell.

“Tomorrow when you leave,” Matt replied, coaxing us westward. “I’ll hand it to you myself, right at the south entrance. You and Violet and your trade can dance off down the road after that.”

He noticed my face, twisted in uneasiness.

“Listen to me, Bob,” he continued. “We’re putting you up in a jail we don’t hardly use. It’s for your safety as much as ours. And you don’t need a gun anytime before you leave. The only people with guns here are Callies people.”

He made it sound so nice and neat. Something like ‘
We’ll take care of you, don’t you worry about a thing.
’ But three things worried me and continued to dog my tired mind.

First, and foremost, who was this Callies character. There was no guarantee that he would take the trade I was offering. Maybe he was driven by revenge. Marge stole from him and needed to pay with her blood and her blood only.
 

Two of the three men that greeted us carried 45s, just like Matt and his clowns. The gun of choice up here, Frank had told me, is a 45. That’s why I thought of offering the valuable ammo as trade. No one was producing any of it any longer, and Covington was miles from the nearest large town.

A second problem we had was our safety. I felt almost confident this group wouldn’t harm a young girl. But me? No sure thing there. And if I wasn’t around to protect Violet, who would? Matt or Callies himself? At that point, she was a gawky spindly teen not yet fully blossomed in any way, shape or form. But that could change quickly, as it usual did for teenage girls. An ugly duckling changed into a beautiful swan, sometimes overnight. I had to get her out of here somehow.

Then there was Violet herself. She could be her own worst enemy here in Covington. Say the wrong thing, or get pissed and tell of events that no one else knew and bang, she’d be connected to a murder. If that happened, she could find herself on the end of a rope swinging where the mayor once was. So I needed to impress upon her, when I got the chance alone, to keep her vitriol to herself. At least until we were out of town.

Matt led us to a shed set on the rear of a property on the far west edge of the small town. I could still see the entire community, but this jail was purposely set off by itself.

“It’s small and cramped and a little smelly,” Matt began, opening the door. “But it should be fine for a few hours. There’s a bed and a lawn chair. So one of you can sleep comfortably at least. Food will be here in a few minutes, along with the water. If you need to relieve yourself during the night, just tell a guard and you can go behind the shed.”

He must have noticed the question on my lips.

“Yep, even the girl. That’s the way it has to be.” He stepped inside and continued the tour of the dump. “There’s a small window on each end with screens. You should get a little air movement…should.”

I noticed clumps of brown grass in a corner where a lawn mower had sat. Birdseed dotted the warped wood floor here and there. An empty tool holder sat in the far corner. Once, not long ago, this was someone’s garden shed. Now it was a jail…our accommodations for the night.

Covington was worse than No Where.

Day 320 - continued - WOP

Our dinner consisted of dried beef, perhaps horse, cold carrots, and dried fruit that I think were apples. We ate like royalty back home compared to this. Heck, Frank eating a steady diet of pork and beans, washed down with generous swigs of brandy was better.

As Violet moaned and groaned about our meal, my mind wandered back to Chicago. Actually, I was transported back to my dream late last winter. The one where I dreamt about grilling out. What I wouldn’t give for a decent burger, or brat, or even a hot dog now. Sauerkraut and coleslaw served on the side in Shelly’s bright yellow serving dishes. Brownies the size of a dinner plate.

“This is crap,” Violet declared, tossing her plate on the wood floor. Her arms circled her waist. “Do you think they’ll let me go visit some people tomorrow? I have a couple of friends I’m dying to see.”

She opened the door, time to set her straight on the way I saw things. “No chance, not with these folks. They’re going to keep a close eye on you no matter where we go.”

Running her fingers down the length of her hair, I noticed her scowl. “Who cares about me?” she vented. “They wanted Mom, mostly. I’m just their insurance policy so you don’t go pulling something they don’t like.”

“You,” I pointed a finger at her, “had to open your big mouth about that friend of yours and her killer boyfriend.” I lowered myself next to her. We couldn’t afford to let our emotions get out of line with guards close by.

“You nearly admitted your knowledge of what went down,” I whispered. “How long you think it will take them to put things together if you say the wrong thing? Maybe they’ll just give up on looking for the boyfriend and fit you for a noose in his place.”

Her eyes flashed wide. “I didn’t kill him,” she seethed quietly. Well, as quiet as a teen can be.

“What was your role?”

Trying to shake away the question, she fought my touch when I tried to steer her chin my way.

“I pulled his head back,” she admitted, eyeing the windows carefully. It was already dark, but the guards carried kerosene lanterns so they’d be easy to notice. “Jed slit his throat.”

Though I should have been shocked that she didn’t act more remorseful, she’d been through enough the past year to have a lifetime of misgivings later.

“Do you know where Jed went?” I asked, taking a spot next to her on the bed.

She shook her head at the question. “I don’t know. He took off. And I’m glad he did.”

“Okay, tomorrow then you just stay close and keep your mouth shut. Can you do that, Violet? It will make it a lot easier for both of us.”

Her lips tightened and she nodded several times.

“Let’s get some sleep,” I continued. “You lay on the cot and I’ll sit over in that chair. Deal?”

Her eyes flashed wildly. “No! You have to sit right next to me on the floor,” she demanded. “I need to be able to see you at all times.”

Yeah, a scared teen and her unrealistic demands. Just perfect.

“We have a battery powered lantern going in here. You’ll be able to see me over there.”

She shook off my logic. “Then drag that chair over here, next to me. What happens if the batteries die? Or if they come bursting in here in the middle of the night?” She pulled at the ends of her hair in quick motions. “I want to be able to reach out and touch you if necessary.”

She fell asleep holding my hand as I sat in the lawn chair next to her, as she wished. For me, it was fine. I wasn’t scared; I had no reason to be. The worst that could happen to me in the morning was to die. In my mind, that wasn’t so bad.

I wasn’t afraid to die any longer. Twice, men had tried to kill me. One nearly got me in my own bed. I played with the stub at the end of my left hand, a reminder of how close the second man came.
 

Chances of getting back to my wife waned with each orange-tinted sunset. The fact I had survived nearly a year was a testament to my friends and neighbors, not my survival skills. Someday I would die out here. If that was tomorrow, so be it. I hoped to live a while longer, but when you have nothing left to live for, then death isn’t the worst alternative in life.

Day 321 WOP

Shortly after what I perceived to be sunrise, the guards brought us breakfast. Hard cooked eggs with a piece of toast each. Both Violet and I had to pick the mold off the edges of the barely browned crusts. Tepid water from last night’s bucket helped wash down whatever was caught in our dried out throats.

With the new guards sitting on folding chairs before us, they left the shed door open so we could get some fresh air inside. The humidity struck us first; damp air invading our small space. A slight breeze helped cool things a bit, but something told me it was going to be another warm day.

Matt showed up an hour or so after breakfast with two of his three goons in tow. Standing in the doorway, I dared take a step into the dewy grass to greet him.

“Everything ready to go?” I asked, hoping to get things done on my schedule. “I’d like to get back on the road as soon as we can.”

Gauging his reaction, something told me
they
had a different plan in mind.