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Post by bretf on Mar 13, 2018 20:37:24 GMT
Here’s the start of something new I’ve been working on. You might recognize the characters.
Drifting Smoke, the Journey Home
Bret W. Friend
Copyright 2017
Chapter 1
Chad Smoke’s right hand dropped from the drawknife to his holstered 9mm Browning the moment the dogs barked the alarm. He sucked in a breath as his heart rate increased and he felt the tightness in his chest that always came on when he faced potential danger. Automatically, he released the flap and eased the pistol partway out, making sure it moved freely. The action came nearly as natural as breathing. He’d perfected it over the five years since he’d left home. More times than he liked to remember he’d drawn the pistol all the way to defend his family. He longed for the day he didn’t need to be so vigilant.
Watching the area for trouble, he checked the position of his rifle with his peripheral vision. Dang, I wish I was home and that was Perro-Feo and Lindy barking at Nick, he thought wistfully. Perro-Feo and Lindy were the family dogs back home in Idaho, and Nick was his best friend who often rode his horse to their remote home. But he wasn’t back home and the dogs tone told him they didn’t know who was approaching. The dogs were concentrating on the old blacktop road leading into the settlement from the north. Still watching where the dogs were focused, he side-stepped to his rifle, picked it up, and crouched behind the pile of logs near his work area.
Maybe I’m just being paranoid, he thought. The settlement was the most peaceful and secure place he and Carol had been since they’d left home and there hadn’t been any raids in their time there. But he couldn’t help himself. Vigilance was ingrained in him after too many close calls during his and Carol’s travels. And prior to that, his brother Mat had beat it into his head, relax at the wrong time and you’re dead.
With his rifle held firmly, he looked all around. More than once he’d seen a decoy approach a village by the main path, only to have raiders flanking the position. If someone was doing it now in the area he was working, he’d have a rude reception waiting for them. He was at the east side of the settlement, the former Boy Scout Philmont Training Center. The plains stretched out ahead of him to the east and the snow covered mountains were at his back. Looking out across the pasture flanking the compound, he didn’t make out any movement other than cattle and sheep grazing. An Anatolian Shepherd guard dog stood alert near the flock, watching and sniffing the air. Chad was certain if a threat approached on that side the dog would let him know. Some distance ahead of the flock, a covey of quail moved nonchalantly through the short grass and brush.
Relaxing slightly, he picked up the nearby water skin. Drinking deep, he grimaced as he often did. Though refreshing, the water had an off taste, not like the pure water of home. It was a constant reminder of what he’d left behind and what he longed to return to; what he would return to starting in a number of days. It would be a long journey and it terrified him; the idea of taking his wife Carol, two year old son John, and their infant daughter Faith into who knew what kind of dangers. But he had to do it. He had to get them back home, where they’d be safe. Unconsciously, he rubbed the spot on his chest where he’d been shot. It’d been close, too close. If the bullet had been just to the right, he’d have been killed that day and Carol and John would’ve been stranded on the snow and wind-swept plains. And Faith never would have been born.
Thinking of Faith gave him a twinge of regret they weren’t already home. They’d been traveling in a wide arc heading for home, and unbeknownst to him, Carol was pregnant with twins. It was hard going, the road was always hard, and only Faith survived. Chad blamed himself for the loss, knowing in his heart the rigors of traveling had weakened Carol and the babies too much. They’d lost one baby and he vowed not to let anything happen to the rest of his family. He had to get them home, he HAD TO!
It’d been a long five years since they’d left home. Though he’d seen a lot and cherished every moment with Carol, he was sick and tired of being a nomad. He wanted to be home, to have the stability it offered and the support of his family. Nothing terrified him more than the possibility of dying and leaving Carol and the kids stranded and alone on the wrong side of the Rockies.
Chad was a young man in the old-world ideals, just twenty-three. But in the new-world, the world after That Day, the day the United States and Russia had virtually destroyed each other in a quick nuclear exchange, he was old and seasoned. He’d been young enough when it all happened, he’d adapted easily to the primitive conditions, much easier than people who’d had decades of reliance on modern conveniences. His younger sisters Alison and Brooke had adapted even easier than he had. They were young enough they quickly forgot the old world.
His time following the nuclear exchange, the day to day survival, finding his half-brother Mat, his dad getting shot, then dealing with Rory and Frank Young and Carol’s duplicitous mother had been harsh, and he thought it made him well prepared for what they’d face on the road. But he was very wrong; he and Carol were ill-prepared. His imagination hadn’t come close to the horrors they’d seen and experienced. Life was cheap on the east side of the Rockies and the five years of roaming had left their mark on him.
It wasn’t all bad however. He’d also met good people everywhere they went, and he and Carol had been blessed with two wonderful children. But he wanted to go home and raise those children in a safer environment filled with love; in a home with their grandparents, Aunt Heather, Uncle Mat, and their cousin Hope. He just had to get them there.
The dogs drew his attention back towards the settlement gates, and he looked further out where a lone man was visible, trudging up the road. He came in and out of view as he passed behind the tall cottonwood trees flanking the roadway. It was hard to tell due to the distance, but he appeared nondescript, dressed in clothing that blended in with the countryside and carrying a pack and rifle as all prudent travelers did. Chad watched for a while longer as the dogs settled down on orders from men closer to them, and checked the dog guarding the flock again. The dog was still alert, he always was, but didn’t indicate any danger. Chad lowered his rifle, grimaced after another pull on the water skin, and picked up the drawknife to get back to work on the pine log. The work was welcome. The temperature wasn’t much above freezing and he’d cooled considerably while sitting inactive.
He shivered, and worked fast to warm back up, but remained vigilant. It could be a delayed attack; he’d experienced those as well. Aunt Heather’s words from so long ago came back to him. “Make sure it’s not a Trojan horse.” Sending one or two people in to draw defenders’ attention away seemed to be a favored tactic for many of the plains marauders. It was yet another aspect of his travels he wanted to be done with, one of many. He’d witnessed way too much since he and Carol had left home and he was sick of it all.
Even with his attention split, Chad pulled the drawknife with ease, shaving off long pieces of bark. He was average height, about 5’ 10” tall, and lean, with toned muscles from years of hard work. He paused in his work and brushed his shaggy brown hair off his forehead, checked the guard dog, then directed his attention to the stranger. Men from the settlement approached him and must’ve decided he didn’t pose a threat, as they were escorting him up the road towards The Villa, the settlement’s headquarters.
Chad would look the man up later, as he did with all newcomers to the settlement. He mined all new arrivals for information of where they’d come from and what conditions were like, especially in the direction he planned to travel. He’d amassed copious notes and always wanted the latest information. But talking to the man would have to wait; he had work to do, so he dismissed the traveler from his mind.
Since arriving at the settlement, he and Carol both worked hard to earn their keep. Carol worked in the communal kitchen, while Chad worked primarily with the pine building logs, but also pulled guard duty and worked with the livestock. With the surging population, there was always a shortage of building materials, and Chad had an adept hand at peeling logs. Although a sawmill had been established on the Cimarron River a few miles to the north, a fair amount of construction was still done with peeled pine logs. The logs were fifteen feet long and eight inches in diameter at the butt end, tapering down from there. Chad liked the work and it kept him busy and close by if Carol needed him.
Chad finished peeling the log he’d been working on, and one end at a time, lifted it out of the wooden horses it was cradled in. It was heavy work, but utilizing leverage points on the wooden horses, he was able to handle the log alone. After getting it maneuvered onto the stack of peeled logs, he worked another from the pile of unpeeled logs onto the horses and stripped the bark from it. He moved that log to the peeled stack and was working on getting another in position when he caught movement in his peripheral vision. His heart leapt into his throat when he realized it was his wife rushing at him, her face distressed.
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Post by Ozarks Tom on Mar 14, 2018 2:14:39 GMT
Thanks Bret, I'm looking forward to whatever comes next.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 14, 2018 2:36:49 GMT
MORE!!!!!
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Post by joebill on Mar 14, 2018 18:44:09 GMT
Miami NM is around 20 miles or so from Philmont on the same road, and we lived there and owned the whole business district (one building ) for about 10 years. If the SHTF, I'm betting that Philmont would soon be a location of a community. Good story and the location is quite valid...thanks.....Joe
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Post by bretf on Mar 15, 2018 13:09:47 GMT
Thanks Tom, Pony, Joe!
Joe, I appreciate the comments. I didn’t make it to the big city of Miami when I was there. The Kit Carson Museum was as close as I got.
On the subject of Scouts and Philmont, I’m going to take a tangent from the story with this post.
I’ve mentioned before that I get a lot of inspiration for the young characters in my stories from our Scout Troop. Also, I’m directly involved in a Venturing Crew, a co-ed portion of BSA for Scouts fourteen and older. Our active Crew is currently made up of three girls. This past weekend, we had a campout which was a skills test, gearing up for a major competition coming up soon. There were three troops and two crews there.
Saturday just after dawn, everyone assembled on a sandbar, facing a reservoir with steep hills on the opposite bank, for the morning flag ceremony and instructions for the day’s events. A bald eagle flew across the water beyond the assembly point. It’s timing was just a little off, we’d already recited the Pledge of Allegiance, but still incredible to view as everyone stood at attention before our Flag.
Following breakfast, the Scouts and Venturers broke off into patrols to test their skills. They competed at seven stations: flag etiquette, fire building, cooking, knots, Scout knowledge, gun safety, and first aid. The patrols had a map, accompanied by an instruction sheet with compass coordinates to go from one station to the next. Though navigation skills weren’t judged, it was a very important component, as some patrols failed to locate each station. My Crew of three girls teamed with the other Crew of two girls and one boy.
I got a kick out of one young lady, as her Crewmates were bent over their tinder nest, striking the flint and steel numerous times before an ember formed, she asked, “So have you read Jack London’s To Build a Fire?”
At the end of the evening, the youth had a fire-bowl, where each patrol presented a skit. It was wild and raucous, young people enjoying the time and showing it.
Following the skits, the mood became somber as the youths performed a Flag Retirement Ceremony. With everyone standing at attention, the first flag was presented. The young man leading called for everyone to recite the Pledge of Allegiance to this flag for the final time. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I found it hard to say the words due to the lump in my throat- the final time this flag would be honored. The young men folded the flag once the long way, laid it across the fire and each folded their end gently over the center section. After the flag was retired, unrecognizable, several more were retired. The final flag was large, requiring four Scouts to present it, and again, we were asked to recite the final Pledge to the Flag. When the Pledge was complete, the young man leading the ceremony played Taps on his bugle. I missed several words in the pledge for that Flag and had to brush at my eyes when the ceremony was complete.
Late in the morning on Sunday, assembly was called to the sandbar again. The results of the competition were announced, awards given, and everyone was dismissed. By the way, the Venture Crew led the closing flag ceremony, a result of scoring highest in the flag etiquette station.
As a side note, the Crew was also first in every station except knots, scoring only second place there, and were named the overall winners of the competition. I’m not sure, but a few of the boys may have been chagrined they were whipped by a bunch of girls.
It was a wonderful weekend and I never thought of Chad and Carol at all. Oh well.
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Post by Ozarks Tom on Mar 15, 2018 14:43:22 GMT
Sounds like a weekend well spent. They'll carry those memories the rest of their lives.
I'm afraid I'm another one who can't hear taps played without choking up, lots of memories.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 16, 2018 3:09:40 GMT
I was in Explorer Scouts when I was in high school. We were a camping post, and I learned a lot from our leader, who had been a Green Beret in VN.
Things were really good in that post, until there was too much fraternization between the male and female members. I went on to other things after things went the wrong way.
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Post by bretf on Mar 16, 2018 18:04:56 GMT
Chapter 2
Philmont, located in northern New Mexico, had been a Boy Scout adventure base, as well as the Scouts’ training center. It was one of the most picturesque places Chad and Carol had been. The prairie, marked with high plateaus and bluffs, stretched to the horizon in one direction and the rugged mountains, the most notable being the Tooth of Time, towered above the settlement on the other side. The north side was the main approach, the blacktop road leading in from Cimarron.
Chad had heard that before That Day, the camp had been one of the most populous places in New Mexico during the summer months, with thousands of Scouts and adults joining over a thousand seasonal staffers each year. He wasn’t sure about it, but he knew the settlement based at the former training center had become the largest town in modern New Mexico.
When their world had been destroyed, Scouts of all ages returned in droves to the place they thought might be safe. The ranch had maintained herds of cattle, horses, burros, and bison when it operated, all key to survival after That Day. Also, along with teaching and honing Scout skills, the ranch had several camps where living history had been taught. The people who’d staffed those camps were especially valuable, as their skills were needed for everyday living, not just enacting history.
The large communal kitchen where Carol worked had served meals to thousands of Boy Scouts over the years and currently served the settlement’s inhabitants. The stoves and ovens ran on methane, as large manure digesters had been constructed next to the building. Crews filled the digesters with animal and human waste and removed composted manure for the large garden tracts and greenhouses. An electric generator also ran on the gas produced by the digesters, generating enough power to run the industrial cooler in the kitchen. Chad would certainly miss those amenities when he was on the road, but it wasn’t enough to hold him there.
He and his family planned to leave for home soon, despite the settlement’s safety and “modern” conveniences. It would be an arduous journey with two young children, around eleven hundred miles according to the battered road atlas he consulted daily. Home, far to the north and on the other side of those beautiful, rugged mountains.
But that wasn’t for a number of days yet, and wouldn’t be the reason his wife was running to him. Something was wrong.
Carol’s face was flushed as she ran up to him. “Carol, what’s wrong; what is it?” Chad asked in alarm. She never said a word, just pressed as tight as possible against him. “Is it Faith? Did something happen to John?” He looked past her but didn’t see anyone else coming his way, nor any sign of commotion. She shuddered against him and he realized she was crying. Holding her tight with one hand, he stroked her back with the other. In a softer tone he asked, “Carol, what is it?”
She gulped in a breath sounding like a hiccup, and pulled away from him and sniffed loud. “It . . . it’s . . . a new man that . . . came in a little while ago. The . . . the way he looked at me, it . . . it all came back, like we were home, like it’d just happened. His eyes . . . they made my skin crawl. It’s like he undressed me with his eyes. It was Rory Young all over again, only worse. There’s something wrong with him. I could feel it instantly. I swear he’s like Rory, only lot worse.” Tears streamed down her pock marked face as she spoke, tearing Chad apart inside.
He felt remorse every time he thought of Rory Young. He hadn’t protected Carol from him, and that’d led them to wander the country for years. He’d vowed long ago to atone for his mistakes once he got home. Rory would pay for his crimes once and for all. And now there was another Rory to consider. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice; he’d die before someone ever hurt Carol again. “I’ll talk to him. And if something needs done, I’ll take care of it,” he said.
Carol gave him a hug, clutching him far longer than normal and said, “We only have ten more days. I’m sure nothing will happen in that time. Besides, it’s probably just my imagination, thinking too much about home. But why don’t you stop for the day. We’re about ready to start serving supper.” The delivery of the statement and her hug told him a different story than her words. She was terrified and didn’t want to return to the kitchen alone.
“That sounds like a good idea,” Chad said. He wiped the blades of his drawknife and short handled ax and slid them into a canvas bag, picked it up with one hand, slung his rifle on his shoulder, and entwined the fingers of his other hand with Carol’s. As they walked, he thought about his friend Larry Cooper. Coop had moved on and Chad missed his reassuring presence, especially at a time like this. He was a good friend with a lot of experiences, and he was also a stone cold killer. Prior to That Day, he’d done his killing at the direction of the government, but it was still tough for Chad to contemplate. He claimed he’d never killed anyone that didn’t deserve it. But still . . .
When Chad had told him why he and Carol were traveling, Coop looked at him sternly and said, “Somebody like that Rory snake, you just make him disappear. There’re all kinds of ways, and I’d be happy to share some of the easier ones with you. You don’t mess around, you can’t mess around, waiting for them to change their ways. It’s not going to happen and we’re in a harsh world here, Smoke.” The words rang in Chad’s head. He didn’t necessarily want to make the new man disappear, but on the other hand, he wasn’t the same person he’d been back home. The road had robbed him of his remaining innocence, had tempered and hardened him. Still, it bothered him each time he took another person’s life, and he was haunted by the memories of every one he’d been forced to kill. But that didn’t mean he’d hesitate an instant to take another if his family was in danger, not at all. The new man better not give him a reason. He squeezed Carol’s hand as they approached the dining hall.
Copyright 2018 Bret W. Friend
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Post by bretf on Mar 18, 2018 12:01:55 GMT
Chapter 3
Chad and Carol walked through the covered outdoor dining area and entered the main dining hall. Chad sidestepped so he could observe the room without blocking the entrance. His senses were on high alert as he scanned the area, searching for the newcomer. Round tables were placed throughout the room, twelve on each side of an aisle way leading to the serving area. Each table had ten chairs for people to sit. A scattering of people were already seated and a buzz of conversations filled the room. A long counter was against the walls flanking the central serving area. Pitchers of milk and water and pots of coffee and herbal tea were arranged on the counters, along with glasses and coffee cups. Cooking odors mixed with the pungent smell of people who worked hard and didn’t bathe often enough.
Carol whispered in his ear and indicated a man sitting alone at a table. He was seated near the serving area with his back to the hall’s entrance. His position allowed him to watch the people coming and going from the kitchen, and Chad immediately thought he looked out of place. His clothing was all wrong. It was clean, factory produced in the old world and hardly worn. It was too good for a common traveler. Most travelers’ clothing was stained, threadbare and patched, or of homespun varieties available in the new world. Maybe he’d carried better clothing in his pack and wanted to make a good first impression, but Chad didn’t think so. He’d seen few people dressed so well in the past few years, and none were what he considered honorable. A couple of them had even tried to kill him when he refused to do their bidding. Whatever the reason the man had such fine clothing, he didn’t have the look of most travelers living a hard scrabble life.
Chad unslung his rifle from his shoulder and hung it on one of the gun racks inside the door. The racks hadn’t been there when Philmont was a Scout ranch, but had been added after That Day. “I think I’ll sit over there,” Chad said, motioning towards an area from which he could observe the stranger.
Carol squeezed his hand and caressed her pocket with her other hand. “Okay, I’ll get the kids. Are you going to start some plates?” she asked.
“Not quite yet, though I might get a glass of milk.” The counter where the pitchers of milk were set out was right in front of the man. “I want to sit and relax a bit,” he said, his eyes never leaving the man’s back. He saw the man turn and watch a woman as she moved from the serving area to the back of the room. The man’s slim angular face and wispy beard brought a weasel to mind as Chad observed him.
Chad walked to the counter, removed a glass from the stack, and poured it full. He did it all one handed, keeping the tool sack held in his left hand, his hand around the bag and the short ax handle. A gasp from behind him made him turn quickly, sloshing milk over the counter. The woman he’d seen cross the room moments ago was at the side of the new arrival’s table, trying to pull her hand out of his grasp.
Chad moved to the table in two quick steps, to the opposite side of the woman and stared down at the man. “Is there some kind of trouble here?” he asked.
The man turned feral eyes to Chad, eyes that flashed with anger. They looked down at Chad’s pistol, noted the flap over it and glared up at him in a challenging manner. “I was just asking the lady if she wanted to join me, not that it’s any of your business,” he stated, irritated to have some over protective do-gooder interrupt him.
Chad saw the look to his pistol but showed nothing on his face, standing poised for action if the man made a move. Mat had trained him well for such an event, and years wandering, along with time spent with Coop had reinforced the lessons. If violence ensued, he had no intention of trying to pull the pistol, though the man glaring at him wouldn’t know that. The unnoticed ax in his left hand was the weapon he’d use if the need arose. The bag would drop away in an instant if he released the two fingers holding it in place. If that happened, the man’s actions would dictate how he’d use it. “It doesn’t look as if the lady wants to join you, or you don’t know how to ask the right way,” Chad said. He sensed other people coming near but didn’t divert his attention from the man.
Anger flared in the man’s face and he loosened his grip, letting the woman slip away. She hurried to the kitchen unnoticed by Chad or the new man as they continued to glare at each other. “Maybe you and I can go off somewhere and you can give me private lessons on the best way to approach a woman,” the man hissed. “If I can’t find you, who do I ask for?”
“You won’t have any problem finding me, but if you get yourself lost, ask for Chad Smoke,” Chad said. “It’d be my pleasure to give you private lessons. And you are?” He held his hand out.
“Call me Bob,” the man said, and grabbed Chad’s hand. The muscles in his arm strained as he squeezed with all his strength.
Chad gripped the man’s hand and applied even more pressure. The man had a good firm grip, but he obviously didn’t work nearly as hard as Chad. Chad showed nothing on his face and said, “That’s it, just Bob? No last name, or is it Palindrome?”
The anger in the man’s face was momentarily replaced by confusion, and he yanked his hand away. Besides his hand hurting, he had no idea what the word Smoke had used meant. But it must be derogatory. “Yeah, just Bob,” he snarled. Bob wasn’t his given name. It was a name he’d acquired after the country had gone to crap following the pandemic and the nuclear war with Russia. Someone had pinned the name on him because he was a nomad, a man who bobbed from one place to another, never staying long. The name was short, easy to remember and without baggage. Not that he expected to find anyone who knew his real name and past, but you never knew. He’d never expected to live through a nuclear war either, so better to be safe. So he was just Bob in the new world.
“Dad,” Chad heard his son John call and a rush of footsteps behind him.
“Okay just Bob. We can finish this conversation whenever you want,” he said and turned to scoop John up one handed. “Hey Buddy, shall we get some milk?” he asked as he went to a table and set his bag down.
“Yeah,” John said. “Wan milk!”
Chad sat so he could watch just Bob, his mind divided between the man and his family around him. Carol was definitely right, the man looked evil, it seemed to ooze from him. Just Bob caught him watching and picked up the knife from beside his plate. He placed it over an outstretched finger and mimicked cutting it off. The look on his face was pure malevolence.
Chad continued to think about just Bob as he ate his supper. He had an instant dislike for the man for the way he made Carol feel, but it wasn’t only because of Carol. He got the same vibes from the man. And besides, two things stood out about just Bob that weren’t opinion and were hard to overlook. As he’d noticed right off, just Bob’s clothing was too nice, too clean. The average traveler didn’t have the luxury to have newer, clean clothes. And the man’s hand was all wrong. Chad hadn’t offered his hand to the man for the reason just Bob thought he had. The gesture had nothing to do with the test of each other’s strength it’d turned into. Chad was fishing for other information. Just Bob’s hand was soft and clean, in stark contrast to Chad’s and most of the men in Philmont. Their hands were rough and calloused, with ground in dirt that never came out despite thorough washing. No, just Bob hadn’t been struggling to survive like everyone else had to. He’d been living much easier. Chad could think of a few legitimate reasons why someone could live easier, but just Bob didn’t look like he fit any of those molds.
No matter how he tried to picture the man in any reputable position, the image wouldn’t form. The man was bad to the bone, Chad could feel it, and he’d waded right in and challenged the guy in front of numerous witnesses. He glanced around the table at his family, feeling ill at ease, worse than any time since they’d been traveling. He knew he’d made a dangerous enemy and the possibilities and consequences left him very uneasy.
Copyright 2018 Bret W. Friend
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Post by bretf on Mar 22, 2018 12:31:46 GMT
Chapter 4
“Did you hear about the new guy, that Bob character?” Marty Garrison asked Chad as the two of them worked together unloading a wagonload of pine logs.
“No, what’d he do, a ritual sacrifice of one of the goats?” Chad asked, his hackles rising just thinking about the man. Nothing would surprise him about just Bob. He was sure he’d caught glimpses of the creep spying on him and Carol twice in the five days he’d been in Philmont. It made him wonder how many more times he hadn’t detected. He and just Bob also hadn’t spoken to each other again, much less had the “private lesson” in those five days, but Chad felt it would happen some day of just Bob’s choosing, when he least expected it.
“I wouldn’t put it past him, but it might require effort. You know, he’s about as energetic as a fence post but not near as reliable,” Marty said with a chuckle. “He hasn’t done a lick of work since he’s been here. He was assigned to help muck out the dairy and horse barns, but I hear when he’s not leaning on his pitchfork, he wanders around looking for anything that’s not nailed down. So anyway, last night Lilah Morgan heard something, and saw a face at her window. She screamed and some guys close by saw someone run away from her cabin and followed him. I’ll give you three guesses to figure out who it was and the first two don’t count.”
“Picture me surprised,” Chad said. “Though honestly, I’m surprised all he did was peep at her.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. The guy flat creeps me out. Have you ever seen how he looks at women?” Garrison asked.
“Yeah, I have. He reminds me of a hungry dog in front of a steak, just dying to scarf it down. Only just Bob looks wilder than any dog I’ve ever seen,” Chad said. “Carol’s been on edge ever since he showed up. So what happened after they figured out it was him?”
“A bunch of the guards went in his cabin to get him. Of course he denied everything, and when they told him they were taking him to the Villa for questioning, he resisted. During the roughhousing, some things got knocked over, and low and behold, there was a bunch of stuff that’d come up missing the last couple of days,” Garrison said.
“At the risk of repeating myself, picture me surprised,” Chad said. “So what are they going to do with him? Put him in the stocks and have the kids throw road apples at him?”
“No, as much as I like the idea, it won’t happen. Actually, they went through his pack to make sure nothing in it had been reported missing, then gave it to him and escorted him to the gates. There’s probably still a blue cloud hanging in the air there from his cussing, but they put him out and said if he returned he’d be hanged. If he wasn’t shot first,” Garrison added.
“You know, I try to give everyone the benefit of doubt, but something tells me they might have made a mistake by turning him loose and not hanging him. I’ve seen some bad people in my travels, but never anyone quite like him. Mark my words, he’ll cause trouble for other people,” Chad said.
Copyright 2018 Bret W. Friend
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Post by bretf on Mar 27, 2018 0:13:18 GMT
Chapter 5
Carol hugged Nancy Green once more and stepped back from her. “Oh Nancy, I’m going to miss you. I hope you and Jimmy have a good trip home. If we weren’t leaving in a few days, I don’t know what I’d do here without you,” she said, her eyes welling with tears.
Nancy was close to Carol’s age and the two had bonded instantly. They were two of the rare survivors of the smallpox pandemic, both women’s features marked with scars from the disease. They’d found many other similarities as well during the fall and long winter they’d spent together in Philmont.
Nancy’s husband Jimmy had wanted to start for his family home sooner, but stayed on for Nancy’s sake. They were heading for the Ozarks territory and weren’t as concerned about snow as Carol and Chad. Still, though they didn’t have to cross the Rockies, it would be a rough journey. But Jimmy had decided they could stay until about the same time their friends were leaving.
The two of them slung their packs and with more called goodbyes and waves, they started down the road.
Copyright 2018 Bret W. Friend
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Post by themotherhen on Mar 27, 2018 1:44:10 GMT
bretf, talk about a cliff hanger! I enjoy reading this story so much, thank you for all of your time and work on it.
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Post by bretf on Mar 28, 2018 11:43:40 GMT
Chapter 6
“You know, I sure wish we had a couple more water skins,” Carol said.
“I agree,” Chad said. “I’m afraid we’ll need to pack more water crossing the Utah desert. When we’re done here, I’ll go see if I can get us some more.” Carol and Chad were looking over their spread out belongings, deciding how best to pack for their journey. Chad smiled at the bag of coffee beans on the bed. His parents, Mat and Aunt Heather would go crazy when he gave it to them. He thought wryly they might even be happier to see it than to see him. He could picture them being quite irked he and Carol had been gone so long and brought home a “half-grown” grandson. He put the notion aside and got back on task, planning their packing.
Besides their packs, they had a cart to carry most of their gear. A little over two years earlier when John was an infant, Chad had traded for a weather goat and an old bicycle trailer. He’d worked on the trailer, adapting it so the goat could pull it. It was a big improvement to their travels, especially with baby John, making it so they didn’t need to carry near as much on their backs. It would be invaluable for the long trip home.
As they studied all the items they needed to find a place for, they froze as the dogs at the gate began their chorus indicating someone was coming towards the settlement.
Carol nodded to him and scooped Faith into her arms as Chad picked up his rifle. They both stepped outside to see who was approaching. It was a group of maybe ten people Chad saw right away, and they were moving faster than most people did when coming in. A mule was pulling a travois, and a person hurried along on each side of it. Sensing trouble, he said, “I better get down there, just in case they need me.”
“Be careful,” she said. “We don’t want anything to happen now.”
“No, we certainly don’t,” Chad answered. Turning back, he heard yelling from the group coming to the settlement.
“I think they said they need the healers,” Carol said. “I’m going with you.” John was playing with some friends so they didn’t have to worry about him at the moment.
Chad wanted to tell her to stay until he knew it was safe, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. When Carol decided she was doing something, she did it. “Alright, but be ready for trouble,” he said, and looked to the east. He didn’t want to leave if something was approaching from that side. It was calm in the pasture, the guard dog visible, so they walked at a fast pace towards the gates.
As they neared the gates, they could hear the yelling more clearly and were able to make out the individual members of the group approaching the settlement. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Chad said with a groan as he recognized one of the faces.
Copyright 2018 Bret W. Friend
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Post by bretf on Apr 2, 2018 18:05:46 GMT
Chapter 7
“CHAD, CHAD SMOKE!” the man yelled, recognizing him as well.
“Chad,” Carol said, “I think that’s –”
“It sure is,” Chad interrupted, “Cousin Howie.” The name was said with obvious disdain.
Howie Smoke was Chad’s cousin, who’d unintentionally caused him to be shot the first time they ever met a couple of years earlier. Seeing him there, Chad shook his head and rubbed his chest where the bullet had hit him. It was a wonder someone hadn’t killed him by now.
Howie was the sole remaining survivor of the branch of the family who’d lived in Chicago. Chad’s father Dan had an older brother who couldn’t wait to get away from the Hickville where he’d grown up and test himself in the big city. He’d done well there, making a boat-load of money, but it hadn’t done him a bit of good when the area went up in a mushroom cloud. Howie and his mother had been out of the city at the time, sent to a camp in Wisconsin to avoid the smallpox pandemic. Howie’s mother had been killed later by a group of raiders, leaving him alone in the world. It was a total coincidence when Chad met his cousin; he was part of a group hunting the raiders to free other captives. It turned out Howie was also a captive.
After being freed, Howie trailed along with Chad and Carol for a number of months, always on Chad’s nerves. Despite once being a captive, Howie never gave up the idea guns were evil. If everyone just got rid of their guns, the world would be safe again, he tried to convince Chad; the same guns that’d freed him from slavery and kept him fed. Howie was five years older than Chad and acted five years younger, he was so ill-equipped for their new world. Chad hadn’t missed him when he decided to stay at a peaceful village, and figured if he ever ventured away from there he was sure to be killed or made a slave. He was one of the last people Chad would’ve ever expected to see at Philmont.
Howie was rushing towards Chad and Carol when one of the guards blocked his way. “But that’s my cousin over there, Chad Smoke. Just ask him,” he said.
Behind Howie, a man beside the travois was waving at the guards. “We need your healers over here. This woman’s hurt bad.”
“Oh yeah, Chad. You know a lot about healing plants. You need to try to help this lady,” Howie called.
Chad and Carol looked at each other, and along with several other people hurried to the travois, ignoring Howie. He trailed along after Chad and said, “So we were a few miles away from here and heard a woman screaming. We followed the screams and saw this lady tied naked in a patch of cactus. There was a man standing over her and he was doing something to one of her hands. He took one look at us and ran off. It was terrible Chad. He was cutting her fingers off, one knuckle at a time.”
Carol froze beside Chad and gasped. “Oh God, Nancy!” she wailed, then hurried to her friend.
Nancy Green turned feverish eyes to Carol. “Carol, he killed Jimmy. He just came up to us and pulled a knife and . . .” she tried to wipe her streaming tears with a hand wrapped in blood soaked cloth.
Carol pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped at the tears and blood on Nancy’s face. “Oh Nancy, that’s horrible. Who was it? Who did this to you?” she asked.
“It was that new man . . . that Bob guy,” Nancy said through gritted teeth.
Chad’s mind flashed to his initial meeting of just Bob, and the man mimicking cutting off a finger. A chill ran down his spine.
Copyright 2018 Bret W. Friend
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Post by cccindy on Apr 2, 2018 18:42:55 GMT
So awful. But glad to see your post. Thank you!
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