Authors: Arthur Bradley
Isaac said nothing, but his silence was an answer.
“What will you do about them? Eventually, they’ll kill someone you love—a man who is slow coming in from the field, a child who gets distracted on the way home from school. It’s bound to happen.”
“It has already happened,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Two men were killed last week. Their horse injured its leg, and they were forced to travel on foot.” He shook his head. “They did not make it home.”
“Where are these teens?”
“The second farm to the north. There’s a big red barn with an ‘X’ painted on the side. The house near it was abandoned. The farm past it is the Hochstetlers’.”
Tanner thought he heard something unspoken in Isaac’s words.
“That’s where Timothy is staying?”
Isaac turned and stared into Tanner’s eyes.
“Yes.”
Tanner nodded. “I understand.”
“Let me get this straight,” Samantha said, ushering Tanner closer to an oil lamp. “You’re going out to a barn to fight Amish teenage zombies?”
He shrugged. “It sounds weird when you say it like that.”
“It
is
weird!”
“Someone has to do it.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
He shook his head. “I’ve never minded doing other people’s dirty work, but this isn’t for you, Sam.”
“But—”
“No buts. You stay here until I get back.” He nodded toward one of the girls who had come from the schoolhouse. “Besides, this will give you a chance to talk to Isa. She needs a friend right now.”
Samantha looked over at her. Isa sat quietly at the long dinner table, barely touching her food. Instead, she seemed more interested in watching the other children scramble for an extra helping of potatoes or another slice of fresh baked bread.
“I don’t have the note anymore. I gave it to her mom.”
“That’s okay. Keep it simple today. She can deal with that when her mom is around to help.”
“Fine, I’ll stay here,” she sighed. “But be careful. I can’t drive a bus, and I’m pretty sure no one else around here can either.”
Tanner gave her a quick hug and ushered her off to the kitchen before he quietly stepped out onto the porch. The night air was humid, and the sounds of insects were everywhere.
He walked down the dirt driveway and turned north on Flatiron Road. The road was pitch-black, and only the feel of smooth pavement under his feet kept him from straying into an open field. He regretted not asking Isaac how far it was down to the barn. If he failed to pay attention, he might walk right past it.
His concerns ended up being misplaced. After a few hundred yards, the silhouette of a large structure came into view. He couldn’t make out the white ‘X’ on the side but felt reasonably sure it was the barn in question.
Tanner stopped in the center of the road and began whistling. It was the whistle of a man walking to his favorite fishing hole, carefree and upbeat, guaranteed to draw the ire of evil on the prowl. He whistled for a full minute. Two. Five. Nothing.
Where the hell were they? Out hunting, maybe?
Tanner looked off toward the barn. He was hoping to avoid going into the closed space. Better to shoot them at a distance than have them biting at his face.
“Well, shit,” he said. “If you’re not coming out, I guess I’m coming in.” He doubted that anyone could have heard him, but saying the words made him feel a little better about walking toward a barn filled with The Lost Boys.
He trudged across the dirt path up to a set of heavy wooden doors. One of them was partially open. Half-eaten plates of food were sitting out in the dirt. He kicked the plates aside and swung the door all the way open. Moonlight shone in from behind him to catch a dark shape darting behind a bale of hay.
Tanner stepped in and immediately caught the sour stench of something dead. The sound of flies buzzed angrily from one corner of the room, fighting one another for their midnight snack. The Lost Boys had apparently dragged at least one of their victims into the barn. Maybe they had done so before the kill to have a little fun, or maybe afterward, to have a little dinner. Either way, it smelled pretty rank.
He stood in the doorway and waited to see if his eyes would adjust to the nearly impenetrable darkness. They didn’t. The barn was dark, and it was going to stay that way.
“Listen up,” he said. “I got no desire to kill a bunch of pimple-faced Amish outcasts. So, if any of you are still human enough to speak, step out and we’ll have words.”
Nothing moved.
“That’s kinda what I figured,” he muttered.
After a few more seconds, the young man he had seen dart behind the hay slowly eased out. He was a little over six feet tall and easily weighed two hundred pounds. Another boy dropped down from the loft, landing heavily on his feet. He was shorter, but thick and solid. A third boy stood up from the back of the barn and twisted his head from side to side, like a wrestler might when preparing for a match.
“Oh, my,” said Tanner, “you boys are a little bigger than I imagined.”
They slowly started toward him.
“I forgot to ask any of your names, so I’m going with...” He pointed his shotgun at the first boy. “… David.” He swung the muzzle over to the second. “Marko.” He shifted it to the third. “And Dwayne. Don’t ask why I chose those names because I’m guessing that, at this point, you couldn’t appreciate the movie reference.”
Whether it was his confident tone or just mindless rage, something set them off, and all three suddenly charged, whooping like jackals on the hunt.
He flipped the muzzle up and shot Marko at nearly point blank range. The full load of buckshot hit him in the chest, flipping the boy backwards. Tanner swung right and fired a second shot. The blast ripped a chunk out of Dwayne’s thigh, but he continued ahead, smashing Tanner against the barn door. Before he could free himself, Dwayne leaned forward and bit savagely at his forearm, forcing him to drop the shotgun.
Tanner ignored the burning pain and hit Dwayne with a rabbit punch to the base of his skull. The blow was short but incredibly powerful, and the young man’s legs buckled. Tanner managed to get two good boot stomps to his head before the last of The Lost Boys barreled into him.
They tumbled out onto the dirt road, and Tanner felt his knee twist as he fell. David landed on top and began hammering down with uncontrolled rage. A blow hit Tanner on the cheek and another in his good eye.
Desperate to stop the relentless pounding, he grabbed David by the neck and pulled him in close. The boy struggled, pushing against Tanner’s chest as he struggled to get enough space to fight. Tanner reached up with his right hand and grabbed a handful of hair. He braced his left hand under the young man’s chin.
Sensing that he had been given a little slack, David started to sit up. When he did, Tanner drove both hands in opposite directions, twisting the young man’s neck violently to the side. Vertebrae gave way, and his neck snapped in two. Tanner waited a moment and then jerked a second time, twisting his head nearly all the way around.
The rest of the walk to the Hochstetlers’ farm took Tanner twice as long, even though the distance was about the same. For one thing, his leg hurt from being knocked to the ground, and for another, he didn’t feel a pressing need to hurry. Tanner had always felt comfortable in the dark, and without anyone to worry about but himself, he walked at a leisurely pace—albeit with a slight limp.
When he finally arrived at the Hochstetler house, he nearly had to break the door down to convince them to let him in. In the end, they released Timothy to him, but only after the grandfather insisted on using the family buggy to drive them back to the Yoders. His family begged him not to, but he would not be dissuaded. Tanner didn’t have the heart to tell him that the bloodthirsty teens were no longer a threat. He had found that, when a man has decided upon a brave deed, it was best not to take that from him.
Early the next morning, Tanner and Samantha loaded the children onto the school bus, checking off their names as they got on board.
“That makes fourteen,” Samantha said, as the final youngster climbed aboard.
Isaac walked over, leaving Miriam standing on the porch with their two sons. He shook Tanner’s hand.
“I trust you will have a safe drive to Salamanca.”
He shrugged. “One can hope.”
“I appreciate what you did last night.” He paused. “Getting Timothy, I mean.”
Tanner nodded. “It’s what I do.”
Isaac touched Samantha on the head.
“You’re lucky to have such a good man as your... father.”
“Yeah, he’s okay,” she said, glancing at Tanner before turning and climbing into the bus.
As Isaac turned to walk back to his wife, Tanner stopped him.
“I wonder if I might ask a favor?”
He turned back. “Anything.”
“Do you happen to know an English woman named Grace? I’m not sure what last name she’s using now. Could be Raines.”
A smile lit up his customarily somber face.
“Indeed, I know her.”
“She’s alive then?”
“Very much so. She teaches at our school three days a week. By all accounts, she’s a hardworking woman, which for the Amish, is about the nicest thing we can say about anyone. It’s not far out of your way if you want to stop by and see her.”
Tanner thought about it a moment and then shook his head.
“Maybe another time. When you see her next, could you give her a message for me?”
“Sure, English. What would you have me tell her?”
“Tell her that her son is alive. That’s the one thing she’d really want to know.”
Isaac bowed his head slightly.
“I’ll tell her today. You have my word.”
Tanner nodded his thanks and climbed aboard the school bus. He took his seat behind the oversized steering wheel and glanced back at the kids. They all looked as if they’d been hypnotized by Jean-Martin Charcot.
He looked over at Samantha.
“What’s up with them?”
“I think you scare them.”
“Me? Why?”
“Are you kidding? You look like you just killed a werewolf with your bare hands, bite marks and all.”
“Well, get them to sing a song or something. They’re creeping me out.”
Samantha walked down the aisle of the bus, saying something to each child. When she got to the back, she turned around, and they all started singing.
“The wheels on the bus go round and round,
round and round, round and round…”
Tanner dropped the transmission into drive and punched the gas. It was going to be a long drive home.
CHAPTER
22
With the help of Vince and Don, Mason was able to clean up most of the mess in short order. The helicopter would have to stay where it was, but the bodies were gathered up and tossed into the nearby ravine. The cabin hadn’t taken any damage, so all it needed was a little hosing down to get the blood off the porch. By the time they finished, darkness was quickly approaching, and Mason could tell that his two friends were eager to get home to their loved ones.
He extended his hand, and each man shook it firmly.
“Marshal,” said Vince, “we’re terribly sorry about what happened to Ava. If we’d have known, we’d have brought the whole town to help her. Just like before, you know?”
Mason nodded. “I know.”
“If you ever need anything...”
“Anything at all,” seconded Don.
“I know that too.”
“All right, then,” Vince said, reaching down and petting Bowie one last time, “we should probably roll.”
“Be careful going back.”
The two men turned and walked back to their cruiser. Within seconds, the only evidence that they had ever been there was a small dust cloud that snaked its way down the driveway.
Mason turned and took a long look at the empty cabin. There was still a little blood spatter on the door, and the place felt dark and cold. He was halfway tempted to hop in his truck and follow the deputies back to Boone, maybe stay a night or two at the old church with Father Paul.
Bowie moved up next to him and licked the back of his hand as if to remind him that he wasn’t alone.
He squatted down and hugged the huge dog.
“Yeah, I know. You’re with me all the way.”
Bowie pressed up against him, whining softly.
After a moment, Mason stood back up. He felt better, and the cabin looked a little warmer than it had a moment earlier.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get the generator fired up and bring a little life back to this place.”
Mason turned on his amateur radio and checked the power and antenna settings. It was still tuned to the 20-meter band from the last time he had used it. He keyed the microphone.
“This is KB4VXP, looking for WA4RTF, over.”
He waited a few seconds and then repeated the call. As soon as he let off the microphone the second time, someone answered.