Defiance (The Defending Home Series Book 1) (3 page)

Before long, answers to that very question began trickling in. The first few houses they reached had large red X’s slashed over the front doors with red paint, a sign the dead were inside. The hope had been that by leaving the bodies in their respective homes, it would keep the infection from spreading, but hunger had a way of tempering a man’s aversion to risk. More than one of those doors showed signs of being kicked in. The windows of some homes were shattered too with holes large enough for someone to climb through.

When they arrived at the house Colton had shared with his mother, there was no X on the door. She had died in the house but been buried by her son in the backyard, a simple wooden cross marking her grave. Regardless, thieves had kicked the door in anyway, presumably making off with anything of value―which was to say, any food Dale and Colton had overlooked, precious metals that might be melted down into crude nuggets and, most important of all, water from the pipes and the water heater.

In the early days after the power went out when the town had no longer been able to pull water out of the ground, his brother Shane had described seeing bucket gangs forming in order to ‘suck houses dry’.

Dale swung the truck into the driveway and hadn’t even pulled to a full stop when Colton began reaching for the door handle.

“Hold up,” Dale said, throwing the Chevy into park and sliding on his mask. “We don’t know what the situation is inside.” Dale grabbed the shotgun, exited the vehicle and used the pad of his thumb to click off the Mossberg’s safety switch. Colton put his own mask on and fell in behind Dale as the two men swept the house.

The one-story bungalow was eerily quiet. A large front entrance led to a recently renovated kitchen. On the left was the living room and on the right a small dining room. Although decorated in a Southwestern style, every room looked as though a tornado had roared through, tossing items into the air, letting them fall without any discernible pattern.

With every room cleared, Dale wondered if Colton had such a clear idea of what he was after. Seeing the decaying state of the neighborhood left Dale itching to return home.

“It’s in my mom’s room,” Colton said, leading the way.

He brought Dale down a narrow hallway to the master bedroom where his mom had slept. From a bookshelf below a window which looked onto the backyard, Colton pulled three large photo albums and set them on the bed.

Dale gazed out the window, his eye drawn to Lori’s grave, sitting beneath the meager shade of a mesquite tree. As the oldest of three siblings, Dale had always felt an almost overwhelming sense of responsibility for his younger brother and sister, sometimes forgetting both of them were well into adulthood. Once the flu began to take hold in the community and it was clear this wouldn’t be like the other false alarms in the past, Dale had suggested they all move together into his place and pool their resources. They had both refused. Shane had always held some resentment over the fact that Pa had left the family plot to Dale. But in Dale’s mind, it was a decision that had made sense. He was the most stable of the three. Over the last decade, Shane had moved from odd job to odd job and Lori’s marriage to a convicted felon had left more than a little to be desired.

He found Colton kneeling by the bed, flipping through old family photos.

“Was that all you needed?” Dale asked him, moving toward the hallway, eager to leave.

His nephew’s gaze followed him across the room, a forlorn expression on his face. “It’s all I have left.”

A loud thudding sound made Dale’s heart rate spike. He looked over at Colton, who rose to his feet and scooped the albums into his arms.

“What was that?” Colton asked.

Dale leveled the shotgun, aiming the barrel down the hallway. “Sounds like we’re not alone.”

Chapter 5

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W
hen the thumping sounded again, Dale knew it was coming from the garage, the one area they hadn’t checked. They headed in that direction, Dale admonishing himself for his lack of thoroughness, a mistake he would make sure he never repeated. A set of stairs creaked beneath his feet as he went from the kitchen to a small laundry room. He slowly turned the door handle to the garage and pulled it open. It was dark, thin strands of light struggling in through a tiny raised window. Dale swiveled the shotgun over to a flicker of light. He racked the Mossberg and called out, “This is private property. Identify yourself before I blow you away for trespassing.”

The flashlight came back on, revealing a thin and malnourished man, six buckets of water assembled around his feet. Right away, his hands went into the air.

“I was sure no one lived here,” he said weakly, the fear trailing off each word. The flesh ringing his eyes was dark, his cheeks sunken and hollow. “The door was already broken up when I came in. I swear to God I meant no harm.”

“Are you armed?” Dale asked.

The man shook his head.

“Empty your pockets,” Dale ordered him, entering the garage with Colton close behind. There was no car here, only piles of junk near the water heater.

“I ain’t took nothing.”

“Well, you were about to,” Dale said.

“Then why you want me to empty my pockets?” the man asked.

“Because I want to know what kind of a thief you are.” Dale took a closer look. “Wait a minute. You’re Pete Thompson, used to work for Teletech in shipping, drove a forklift.”

The man nodded. “That’s right, nearly fifteen years before they took our jobs away and sent them off to God knows where.”

Teletech made components for television sets and had been the main industry fueling the town’s economy until the owner, a local man named Hugh Reid, had decided that he could make more money by sending half the jobs overseas. At the time he’d promised the remaining employees that he was committed to keeping American workers employed. But talk was cheap, as they said, and within a year the rest of the jobs had also vanished, along with the heart that kept the town’s blood pumping.

As though fate had decided they hadn’t suffered enough, six weeks later H3N3 would show up to finish off an already dispirited population. But through it all, one man had managed to weather the storm, the same one who in a way had started the town’s decline—Hugh Reid.

“I work for the city now,” the man said. “Collecting water.”

Dale scoffed at the lie. “Last night, I shot three men who snuck onto my property and tried to steal water from my well. You’re lucky you’re not armed, or I woulda done the same to you. Now get outta here before I change my mind.”

Pete moved toward the stairs, slowly at first, the shotgun still trained on the middle of his chest. He drew even and thanked Dale for not doing anything rash. Dale didn’t respond. Killing three men was enough for one day.

They listened to Pete’s footsteps run up the small flight of stairs, through the kitchen and out the front door.

Colton’s eyes bounced between the spot where Pete had been standing and Dale’s shotgun. “Shouldn’t you have at least given him one bucket of water?”

“We’re all in a rough spot these days,” Dale replied. “But to nearly shoot a man for doing something wrong and then reward him by letting him keep what he was trying to steal, well, that just sends the wrong message.”

With one hand, Dale bent down and grabbed a bucket, the shotgun cradled in the other. “Go on, let’s load this into the Chevy. It belongs to you, after all.”

Once they had finished, Colton climbed into the cab and set the photo albums between them.

“Where to now?” he asked.

Dale glanced down at his watch. They’d already been gone for twenty minutes. “I’m gonna drop you off at home. Then I’m gonna head back out and check on Shane and Nicole. After seeing how far things have fallen in town, I’m starting to think they may be in over their heads.”

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D
ale did as he said and was soon back on the road. Brooke was fine, which was his primary concern. He hated being in a situation where he had to leave her alone, whether Duke was there to protect her or not, but he also knew that with only three of them to look after the property and run the odd errand, spreading themselves thin was inevitable.

The ride past the outer suburbs and further into town was an even greater eye-opener for Dale. Seemed even with Sheriff Gaines and his deputies on patrol, they still couldn’t stem the tide of vandalism and theft. It was amazing what a difference a week could make. But small towns weren’t like big cities. When the social fabric came undone in cities, it was an excuse for many to live out their sickest fantasies. While the news stations were still on the air, Dale had watched as unrest and criminal activity within the first week began to spike. By week two, when reports were that a vaccine was still months away, widespread looting and murder became the order of the day.

The same process had unfolded in Encendido as well, albeit at a much slower pace. When Lori had passed away a week and a half ago, the town had been in a quarantine of sorts, instituted by Joe Wilcox and designed to keep families tucked away in their houses. But when people’s food began to run out and the thirst started setting in against hundred-degree heat, it was inevitable that order would begin to unravel. People were mostly animal after all, no matter how much we tried to dress them up and pretend otherwise. In extreme situations, when wants and then needs were slowly stripped away, men who were normally timid could quickly become cold-blooded killers.

Dale came to a sharp curve in the road and slowed the Chevy to a crawl. It wasn’t because there were other cars coming in the opposite direction. So far, his was the only working vehicle on the streets. The roads appeared deserted. Those who had the means to leave had done so long ago. The rest had either died or hunkered down, terrified to set foot outside.

But the real reason he had slowed the truck was because this particular turn in the road held a rather sorrowful significance in his heart. It was where his wife Julia had died.

If he could say anything about Julia, it was that she was a stickler for the rules. Never drove without a seatbelt and always obeyed the speed limit. She’d been heading out to see Nicole that day to bring her a gift after an unexpected miscarriage. The driver coming in the opposite direction hadn’t been drunk or speeding. He’d been doing something far worse. He’d been making a video of himself with the likely goal of posting it online. When the turn came, his focus had been on the camera and not the road. His car had barreled straight into Julie, sending both of them skidding into the ditch. In one way, the idiot had been lucky, because if he hadn’t been killed going through the windshield―the consequence of not wearing his seatbelt―then Dale would surely have finished the job, although at a much slower pace. For all the conveniences that technology brought to the world, Dale couldn’t help wonder what price we often paid.

While driving through Shane’s neighborhood, Dale witnessed much of the same vandalism he’d seen on Colton’s street. He had spoken to his brother via the shortwave radio yesterday afternoon and had sensed more than a little tension in his voice. Neither Shane nor his wife were sick, but something seemed to be bothering Shane a great deal.

They lived in the kind of simple wooden two-story home common throughout small towns in America. The street was lined with them, most exhibiting the same slashes of red paint and signs of vandalism and neglect. Dale was thankful to see that Shane’s house remained largely intact. Wooden boards had been nailed to the first-floor windows and on them a warning that trespassers would be shot on sight. His brother had left the upstairs windows intact, apparently to allow sunlight to enter the home. Just because someone lived under siege didn’t mean they needed to live in a cave.

Dale pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. He was familiar enough with his brother’s layout to know that the main entrance was now through the back door.

Shotgun in hand, he headed that way, calling his brother’s name to be sure he wouldn’t be mistaken for an intruder.

“Put the gun down,” a voice called out.

“Relax, Shane, it’s me.”

Dale heard movement in a tree at the back of the property where Shane had built a treehouse in anticipation of the birth of their son, a birth that had never come to be. His brother climbed down from the treehouse, hopping the last few feet, a scoped hunting rifle slung over his back. He had been using it as a tree stand, watching over the rear entrance into the house.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Shane told him as he approached. If Dale had inherited his father’s steel will and determination, then Shane had inherited the old man’s good looks. His olive complexion and fine features had put him in high demand with the ladies growing up, but it had also kept him from reaching his full potential. His younger brother had become accustomed to having things handed to him. There was no fire in his belly, a lack of drive that tended to frustrate his wife, Nicole, as much as it had frustrated Dale.

As his brother came closer, Dale reached into his back pocket, pulled out his mask and slid it on.

“I’m fine,” Shane said. “You don’t need that.”

Dale tossed his brother a spare mask. “I’m sure you are, but we haven’t seen each other in a few days and I don’t wanna take any chances, brothers or not.”

Reluctantly, Shane put the mask on. “You’re not here to bust my hump, are you?”

Dale frowned. “I’m here to see how you two are doing.”

Nicole appeared just then, sliding open the back door and sticking her head out. Every bit as attractive and fit as Shane was, Nicole tended to draw men’s gazes whether she was shopping for a new dress or decked out in sweats at the grocery store.

“Dale,” she exclaimed, like it was any other Saturday afternoon. “So nice to see you.” She ran over to give him a hug and instead found a mask awaiting her. She put it on and the two embraced.

“How’s it been?” Dale asked.

“I’ll live,” Shane replied, playing with the strap on his rifle. “Although things have been rough. There’s been widespread burglaries up and down the street. I was even shot at by some idiot while I was nailing those boards over the windows. Encendido isn’t a big town. Chances are if I didn’t know the name of the guy bearing down on me, I’d at least recognize his face. Seems over the last few days the situation’s gotten worse and worse. Neighbors one day, enemies the next.”