Walking in the Rain (Book 4): Dark Sky Thunder (28 page)

While I was talking, I casually stood and approached the trio of soldiers. Zeroing in on the one who challenged me, I watched closely as the other two men turned to cast a questioning look in the younger man’s direction. As he moved, I saw the subdued device on his blouse and tried to remember.

“Lieutenant, if McCorkle has been true to form with these other Recovery goons, he’s probably been plying you with plenty of drugs and young girls.”

I took a step closer, and let my eyes drift momentarily to the other men. Then I cut back to regard the red-faced man with my best glare. Hey, at sixteen, I’m still trying to get that one right. “You live alone, Lieutenant? What are the odds we are going to find some little girl stuffed in your basement? Or some little boy? Will that be sufficient proof?”

The twenty-something man lunged at me, his hands outstretched for my throat and his eyes mad with fury. I was fishing and made up that whole thing, of course, but I figured the man was acting way too twitchy. He was reacting to my baseless accusation like I had him hooked up to a lie detector. He was either a closet pedo or he was in bed with McCorkle. Probably both. And he knew his easy days were rapidly coming to a close.

Had he gone for his pistol at the first utterance of my accusation, he no doubt would have been able to get one or more shots off. In his blind rage, he wanted to finish me with his hands, so I let him get close.

Since my return, I’d renewed my work with Uncle Billy to brush up on hand-to-hand. I was still better with a knife, maybe always would be, but the refresher became Uncle Billy’s last gift to me. Pivoting my body on my back foot, I let the officer’s fist slip past my head and struck with a hammer fist into his right kidney. Then I stepped forward and stomped on the back of the man’s leg as he shifted his weight, tearing ligaments with the sudden force of my stomp as I slammed the man to the linoleum flooring.

I stepped back immediately, calculating the odds were better if I disengaged and let Major Warren do his own housecleaning. Everything I’d done so far, other than baiting the man to attack me, was self-defense. I didn’t want a guard to catch me reaching for the downed man’s pistol and open up on me.

As I hoped, the yelling brought in a guard, the same man who escorted me in thirty seconds before, and he looked around in confusion. Major Warren was quick to provide direction. “Corporal, Lieutenant Thackston is under arrest for assault. He is to be disarmed and held under close guard, as more charges are expected shortly. Take him next door in cuffs…and son, don’t tell his men yet. Leave that up to me.”

The corporal saluted and sprang into action. He was either extremely diligent or Lieutenant Thackston wasn’t that well-liked by his men. No provision was made for the injured knee and the corporal ended up dragging the man away by his handcuffs.

“Now,” Major Warren said with a sigh, and turned back to the matter at hand.

“I am inclined to believe Captain Marino’s information, Mr. Messner. And what you’ve already said seems to corroborate that. The problem is, Congressman McCorkle remains a very popular figure here, in his own district, and people will have a hard time accepting that he would willingly sell out his constituents.”

“All right. I’ll take care of it,” I said without any heat.

“What do you mean?” the major asked, confused.

“Well, I understand McCorkle has managed to fool a lot of people over the years. He had money and power and wasn’t afraid to use it to bend the public to his will. They think of him as a protector of the community. Let me take him out behind the barn and put a bullet in his head and you guys can make him a martyr to the cause of freedom. And those terrible Homeland thugs murdered him as a result.”

Major Warren stirred uncomfortably in his seat, but I caught the other junior officer’s eye for a moment. The nod. That told me all I needed to know. Major Warren was in overall command, but this captain was probably the company commander who really held this city.

“Look, let my father and Sheriff Henderson go and we can call this good.”

“Major,” Captain Marino said, finally breaking his silence, “this is the best deal, all the way around. Let these men go and make peace with your neighbors as best you can. Winter will be here before you know it, and trust me, you’ll want all the friends you can get. Friends who aren’t starving, anyway.

“I will leave you with copies of ALL the documents on this computer, sir. Use the information as you see fit, but I need to get the machine back to General McMillan immediately. You have all the frequencies. We haven’t been ignoring your broadcasts, Major. As I mentioned before, we are gradually rooting out the drones, but strikes still take place. And we’ve learned the hard way. They are more likely to hit locations where we try to maintain radio contact.”

After that, Warren seemed to capitulate. Maybe it was the idea of his subordinate secretly working for McCorkle, or doubts he already harbored about the man, but he quickly went from guarded and challenging to open and cooperative. Or maybe it was neither. Maybe Captain Marino pointed out that the war against the Recovery Committee was already being fought, and Major Warren didn’t want to get caught up in the meat grinder.

Whatever the reason, Major Warren had the two prisoners brought out in only a few minutes and loaded into my Hummer. They were worn looking and smelled horrible, but other than a few bruises and a cut on the sheriff’s forehead from a rifle butt, they hadn’t been in “enemy” hands long enough to suffer too much long-term damage.

Rather than wait around for any more problems to pop up, Captain Marino got us turned around and back on the road to Center, where we would stop off at the ranch along the way. In fact, Mike convinced the captain to stay a few days to let his wounded man, Bobo, heal up.

And we managed to piece together the story after the illegal arrests were made. The plan had been to hang both men for “subversive activities” related to the distribution of food in Shelby County. Mainly, that they didn’t just immediately ship that food to Nacogdoches County. Which even the major thought was absurd.

“Oh, they would have hung us,” Sheriff Henderson explained. “As soon as Lieutenant Thackston had the chance, he was going to string us up.”

I laughed, which got the other men in the truck to look at me. “I broke Thackston’s knee in front of all those officers, and now he’s under arrest. Major Warren believes the man was working for McCorkle.”

Then I let my forced humor go, and already my father could tell it was bad. “Don’t tell me. Paige? Claire? Billy?”

He noted some change in my face as he said that last name and his face dissolved into tears. Mike, seeming ready to drown in his own tears, told of Billy’s last stand. Of how he held the invaders off until the ranch defenders could change focus and eliminate this second group. Then I filled dad in on who else we lost.

The man seemed overwhelmed at first but quickly rallied. “They all go in the family cemetery. They’re all family to us now. All of you are,” my father declared.

Ike continued driving, and the trip home turned into a wake for my uncle as all of us told our best stories about the man. Even Sheriff Henderson had a few I’d never heard, and when we pulled up to the drive, I knew that we would have some more dark days ahead even though we survived this challenge.

I could have a future with Amy, and my family would continue the struggle to survive. The enemy finally had a real name, the Recovery Committee, and we were making progress on that front.

But the grim truth was, hunger still stalked the land, and I knew millions more would perish as the Die Off continued. I thought about how much more desperate the survivors would become. I worried because no matter how many trigger pullers we recruited, this winter might still mean our end.

Would we be able to look back and tell that anything we did made a difference? Would Billy and Connie’s sacrifice turn out to be in vain? This thought haunted me until Amy showed up and kissed my fears away. For now.

For now, we had life. And each other.

We buried our dead the next day and did so in accordance with my father’s wishes. The sheriff and several of his deputies, as well as Captain Marino’s men and Staff Sergeant Barlow, attended to pay their respects, but we took care of the bodies ourselves. I helped dig the graves down at the cemetery and we had plenty of willing hands to help with the grim chore.

While we labored, Amy and my mother led the womenfolk in cleaning up the bodies and dressing them in the best clothes we could arrange. It was wasteful, since to my knowledge no new cloth was being woven, but somehow necessary. Like an offering to God, or to the Gods if you were so inclined.

Before I left that morning, I made sure to lay out one of my old sports coats for Wes Clardy. I was still devastated by the death of my uncle, and felt terrible for the others we lost as well. Even Kate, I reminded myself. But the one that hurt almost as much as losing Uncle Billy was Wes. Despite the difference in age, I felt an almost brotherly kinship to the quiet man, and I swore to myself that his little girl, Allison, and his widow, Courtney, would be cared for as long as I could manage it.

After finishing up the five graves, I led the menfolk back down the road to the two houses and we quickly cleaned up and changed clothes. Though some were surprised to receive warm showers and see real working lights, no one was in the mood to ask too many questions of us at the moment.

We couldn’t manage five coffins on such short notice, but Gaddis helped stitch up some threadbare sheets and we would use those. It was the old way, after all. Dad hitched up a pair of old geldings he’d trained to the wagon, and he led them down the road, past the cleared wrecks and the piles of dead agents. Raiders still in my mind, in spite of the uniforms they wore.

The service was quick but deeply heartfelt, and I think it meant something to the shattered Clardy family that I stood with them, Amy at my side, for the closing prayer. My father managed to make it almost to the end before his emotions betrayed him, and Alex and I almost had to carry him to the wagon. Mike was nearly as bad, and I was glad to see Beth there with the boys to console him.

For me, it was seeing the mounds of late-blooming flowers gathered by the little girls and boys in our extended group of friends and neighbors. Seeing the flowers, so carefully arranged by soft little hands, and knowing Allison helped collect those bits of color to honor her fallen father, simply shattered me. I felt the tears flow and I couldn’t stop the broken, wracking sobs that tore through my very soul.

The dam of suppressed emotion and long-delayed grief broke, and I wept. For all our dead, and the fallen who had no one to say the words over them. Amy held me close, and I feared she would think me out of my head. I never did these kinds of displays. Crazy bloodthirsty revenge, yes. Teary-eyed sobs of loss, no. But she stayed by my side and helped guide me through the rest of the day.

So we recovered, as best we could, and rebuilt. Dad repaired the damaged fence gate linking our back pasture to the Skillman place, and this time, we only used the structure as a sentry post. The sad days turned into weeks and fall continued its unstoppable march.

By the end of September, we were not fully recovered, but pointed in the right direction. Now, things were still God-awful, and we were stretching our now reduced numbers to keep the ranch up and running and mind all the fall gardens that were coming into harvest time. Neighbors helped, and we shifted some folks around to take in more survivors as they trickled in. Mainly friends and family, but a few strangers, too, if they showed a willingness to work. Nobody was getting fat at the Messner Ranch, but nobody was starving, either.

And as we all expected, we had a wedding almost upon us.

Scott, by this time up and getting around, though rather gingerly still, popped the question and a still grieving Helena had accepted. Scott and I had spent long hours discussing the topic, with Alex as referee, and I knew Scott was torn between his true feelings for the young woman and his desire to allow her time to get over her mother’s sudden death.

“Buddy,” I’d finally said, “there may never be a right time, but don’t waste the time you do have. If you love her, ask her to marry you. You guys have already discussed it. I don’t see the problem. Hell, we may all be killed tomorrow anyway, so you might as well enjoy what you can.”

“Wow,” Alex muttered. “Good thing you don’t make a living writing Valentine’s Day cards for Hallmark. Crash and burn there.”

Despite Alex’s skepticism and Scott’s own close brush with death combined with my rah-rah speech, we got our friend to go to Helena, hat in hand, and they set a date.

Even my mom seemed to have come to accept the relationship I had with Amy. Maybe it was her seeing me in a new light, helping bring her husband home safe. Or maybe it was the realization she would eventually want grandkids to spoil. Whatever. Amy and I weren’t in any hurry to formalize the arrangement, but everybody knew. We had each other, and our love only deepened as time passed.

Other changes, some not so readily apparent, also became clear after that first week. The Special Forces troops and the Oklahoma National Guardsman only stayed three days before heading back over to Nacogdoches to witness Lieutenant Thackston’s hanging, but in those three days they told a lot of stories. Especially Barlow.

I guess I can’t blame the staff sergeant. He was still really pleased with the action that saved his niece from being sold as a sex slave, and he loved telling the tale. Where Lori and Summer had been circumspect, not so our talkative Okie.

I guess these stories, coupled with my own performance fighting to regain control of the homestead, seemed to subtly change the way some neighbors and even people on the ranch perceived me. I’d noticed before that I was being treated as an adult, but now, adults were actually listening when I had a suggestion or word of advice. Maybe they were afraid I was going to shoot them.

One story that went around was my execution of the wounded Homeland troops. Even the medic, who never recovered from the braining I gave him that day. He died three days later and we just added the stripped corpse to the top of the body pile. We’d been forced to use the front-end loader to scoop out a hole for the bodies of the DHS goons.