Day 31
John Murphy had always been filled with anger. He wasn’t paranoid and he didn’t go looking for trouble, but it always found him somehow and someway.
The story of my life, John thought.
The farm was gone, smoking piles of rubble.
In the first light of morning, it looked nearly peaceful, if you squinted and ignored the bodies strewn about. Ignored the smell of blood and charred meat as some of the people were still smoldering in small piles across the property.
John was crouched near the fence line. His gut told him he should’ve run last night, but there were too many of them clogging the road. His only move was to hide in the copse of trees to the north of the property and hope no one found him.
It had been close a couple of times. Pairs of men with rifles had patrolled the area, but John had been hidden up a tree. If it had been a single man he would’ve leapt down and slit their throat, although now that he’d had time to think he was glad he hadn’t. If the Sawyers found one of their own dead, they’d know there were survivors. Better to stay silent and stay alive for now.
By now he was hoping they’d be gone.
The Sawyers weren’t in any hurry to leave, either. They’d begun cooking breakfast and brewing coffee on camping stoves. John’s stomach growled. He was starving.
John knew if he moved they’d hear him. They were likely to shoot first and ask questions later on. He knew he was a sitting duck but he had no choice. It had been too dangerous last night in the dark, and if he’d tried to get down from the tree it would’ve been too noisy. The shooting had stopped by the time he’d climbed up the tree, and the sound had helped to mask the noise he made.
A red pickup truck came down the road, kicking up dust. John closed his eyes and covered his mouth as the cloud poured over him, forcing him to bury his face in the dirt. It blocked anyone from seeing him so close to the fence and the road, but it stung his eyes.
When the dust settled he reached for his weapon, knowing to fire was a death sentence.
Buck Sawyer, looking refreshed and with clean clothes and a big white cowboy hat on his bulbous head, stepped out of the vehicle with a smile on his face.
He shook some hands of the men around the stoves. “Got a cup for me? I could use some coffee.”
Once he’d been handed a cup and John saw another dozen men come from inside the torched house, Buck took a sip of coffee before addressing the crowd.
“We did what needed to be done, men and women. We took down a threat to our freedom.” Buck took another sip and smiled again. “This farm and any others in the area need to be dismantled. Taken apart. All of the supplies, the food, the water, the animals, down to the last nail and hammer, needs to be collected. Hopefully it won't be a war each time. I know a few farms are already abandoned, which is good. We need to gather everything and head home.” Buck put up a hand. “We know the enemy is on our doorstep. Last night, while we waged our own battle, World War III began.”
John saw a few of those gathered around cast sideward glances at one another. This was news to John and obviously to many in the crowd.
Buck took a cup of offered coffee and thanked the man before taking a sip. He turned and looked at the faces watching him.
This douchebag is enjoying the attention, John thought. He’s the guy who’s never been in charge and then suddenly the world is upended and he’s king of the mountain… until one of these guys gets wise and steps up.
“Coordinated attacks in China and the United Kingdom. Commercial planes mixed with military fighters. Bombs dropped. Troops massed on borders. Embassies put to the torch.” Buck shook his head. “I’m not gonna sugarcoat it, folks. At some point our gorgeous country is going to be attacked. Not only by the air, but on land. They’ll sweep through the coast. You think the weak city-dwellers in San Fran, L.A. or San Diego are going to be able to stop them? Hell no. They’ll roll over and let the enemy pass. They’ll waltz right to our doorstep. We can’t have that. What happened here could happen everywhere. We need to gather warriors to our cause. Herbert Brinker and his family fought like the yellow bellies they were. They weren't real Americans. They wanted to stop what we were doing. They’d gathered all of these traitors to sneak attack our compound. I couldn’t have it. Not now. Not ever.”
John sighed. Herbert and his family were dead, which also meant Darlene, too. While he wasn’t her biggest fan, mostly because he knew she disliked him, she was a good ally and she’d cover his back. He was on his own in a hostile area and it would take him days to sneak out, especially at night. He’d need to keep in mind anyone in and around Chico was going to be on the Sawyer side of things.
A man with a towel wrapped around his neck stepped forward.
John knew who he was: Tee. He’d turned against them before or after the invasion?
“We have a problem, cousin. The bitch escaped. She choked me out and the boys said she got over the fence and across the field but then they lost her tracks.” Tee spit on the ground without moving his head. “I’ll be fine. My head hurts and my neck is stiff, but I’m looking forward to gutting her.”
John noticed Tee had Darlene’s Desert Eagle tucked into his waistband.
Buck looked annoyed. He turned slowly, facing the crowd. “What about Herbert and his kin? I was expecting them dead, propped up in their rocking chairs on the porch. Anyone?”
To John it looked like no one wanted to make eye contact with Buck, all looking at one another and hoping they’d answer.
“No bodies so far,” Tee said.
Buck sighed. “Thomas… this farm isn’t that big. While you’re all having breakfast and acting like we’re on a camping trip, Herbert could be at another farm right now, gathering weapons and recruits to attack us. Hell, he might be on his way to our compound for revenge. Anyone think of that?”
No one said a word.
Buck clapped his hands. “Turn what’s left of this farm upside down. I want every inch searched. I want to see some bodies. Keep your radios on at all times. I want anything, no matter how big or small, sent my way. Is that understood?”
Lots of head nodding as the crowd broke down the camp and began spreading out in search of the ones who got away.
Looks like Herbert and his family are still alive, John thought. But where are they? With kids in tow they couldn’t go too far.
John knew he had to prioritize his own predicament first.
Right now, Herbert wasn’t the concern. John needed to slink away from the farm as soon as possible.
Buck got back into his pickup truck and drove away, kicking up dust again. As soon as it covered John, he took a deep breath and began to run, hoping the noise of the truck and the fact no one had headed in his direction would help to cover his tracks.
He was on his own. He’d need to be cool. Calm. Not let his anger get in his way. From what Buck said, an invasion force was eminent. He took no stock in what Buck had said about Herbert and his kin. They weren’t massing to attack. They were gathering refugees to survive.
John got to a short wall at the end of the property before Buck had sped up and the dust covering was gone. John’s eyes were a mess and he was filthy.
I’m going to get filthier before this is over, John thought. Now…where to go? Is anywhere safe now? Stay cool. Stay alive.
John waited, making sure no one else was coming down the road, before he cut across and ran into the woods on the other side.