Day 35
He’d spent another night in the woods and knew he didn’t want to do it ever again.
John circled back to the house, now nothing but a smoldering ruin, the walls having collapsed. Thick smoke rose into the sky and most of the field had been gutted before the fire went out. He looked up into the harshness of the sun and the few clouds, knowing if he looked hard enough he’d see more smoke in every direction. This was far from the only farm the Sawyers had torched. What was the point? He hoped their own homes were torched and they had nowhere to go.
John hoped every last Sawyer was killed, as awful as that might be. It didn’t matter. He was beyond mad, hurt and frustrated now.
Get it together. Focus. You have to stay alive and not worry about what has happened. Worry about what needs to happen, John thought.
He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Scanning the property again.
The barn hadn’t been touched.
His first impulse was to charge across the field, but he needed to be patient. As patient as he could be, anyway.
John waited nearly an hour, watching the road, the woods and the field for movement. The farm wasn’t on the main road, but he knew it was easily accessible by the Sawyer clan, and he feared they might still be nearby. The backroads could be filthy with the Sawyers and their supporters, waiting for someone to step out so they could pop them from a distance with a sniper rifle.
He wanted to figure out how to get the pickup truck in the barn running and drive out of here, but he was so paranoid that even now he was being watched. He pictured two hillbilly Sawyers with green John Deere ball caps on backwards, a pinch of tobacco in their cheeks, grinning down the barrel of a rifle and waiting for him to get to a certain point so they could see which one could shoot him right between the eyes.
John took another deep breath, waving his hands and trying to shake off the negative thoughts. There were so many. He needed to think he had this. No big deal. His plan was solid.
Easy enough, John thought. You figure out how to hotwire a car. Like you’ve seen done in a hundred movies.
Be positive. He didn’t think there’d be a reason for the Sawyers to leave someone behind to watch the farm. How many other houses had they ransacked? How many men did they have to do it? Their search and destroy mission meant they’d need so many behind their cause, and John didn’t think they had enough manpower.
I hope I’m right, John thought. If anyone is hanging around I’m a dead man.
As unlikely as it was he was being watched, John hesitated. Once he got the truck running, what would he do? He couldn’t just drive out of town, listening to the radio, looking for a gas station and a vending machine for a bag of Doritos.
Or could he? They wouldn’t be expecting him to be so bold. Act like he was one of them.
John wondered how many men and women had been added to the cause since this started. If he cleaned up, changed his appearance and had a good story, he might be able to act like he was one of them. Give them some false leads to where he saw the survivors. Slip through their grasp when the time came.
It might even be as easy as smiling and waving as he drove out of town.
He’d escape and try for either the coast or head east. Maybe north to Canada. Were they also being attacked? John couldn’t remember. Had he even heard about other countries being attacked? He was tired and hungry. The only thing he had going for him right now was weapons and ammo. He knew he stunk and his clothes would need to be burned, beyond a choice of washing them.
Knowing he was wasting time and procrastinating, John took a deep breath, made sure the shotgun was in hand and loaded, and stood up. He took a quick look around, expecting to be shot.
He ran to the barn and peeked inside.
The pickup truck was gone.
This isn’t happening, John thought. Had the keys been inside the truck? Hidden under the seat, in the glove box or under the visor? I checked. Didn’t I? I think I did.
He was worn out and the truck not being in the barn felt like someone had punched him in the gut. It had either been stolen by someone or the Sawyers had come back for it. He knew they’d seen it before they torched the house and left.
John stopped. What if Darlene or Herbert had been here?
He went back outside and looked around again, not knowing what he thought he’d see. Tire tracks leading from the barn, down the dirt road, to the street? He wasn’t a tracker. He couldn’t tell the difference between one set of tire tracks and another. Now he wasn’t sure what kind of truck had been parked in the barn. Even what color it was. Blue or black?
The house wasn’t going to yield anything usable, so John decided to take a walk.
Not back to the woods, though. He was sick of the oppressive heat, the stink of the dirt and the trees, and how easily he got turned around and lost.
He’d go from property to property, skirting through the area, hiding behind fences or trees or whatever he could find. A mailbox, a barn, a bail of hay.
Any way except the damn woods again.
When he got to the main road and began walking, careful to stay to the side that offered the most protection and hiding spots, he frowned.
This area looked vaguely familiar.
He’d been here before. John stopped and looked back at the house, or what was left of it, and scratched his head. He felt like he’d been here, not too long ago. Maybe it was the home of someone who had joined them at the Brinker farm.
Not that it mattered. He assumed they were long dead by now.
Everyone is dead, including me, John thought. Dead man walking…and sweating.
The road ahead had trees on both sides, the edges of properties without a dwelling in sight. It curved slowly to the right, and John jogged so he could see what was around the bend.
More trees. More bugs in the air. More sunlight striking him from above.
He walked another half a mile, his feet killing him, before he stopped and dove into the bushes. He’d heard the distant sound of an engine.
It could be coming directly at him, down the road, or moving in another direction. It wasn’t a smart move to stand in the road and wait to see.
After a few minutes the sound faded away, leaving only the noisy insects buzzing around his head and in the trees.
John kept moving, not knowing what else he could do.
He needed to keep going and try to ignore the mosquitoes buzzing around him, feeding off of his slick skin. He needed a shave, a cold beer and as many cans of deodorant as he could find to fight off the stench coming from his armpits.
He figured it was close to noon when he decided it was time to rest. John found a large tree, fifteen feet from the road, with bushes blocking a casual view, and put his back to it. The weapons were on either side of him, and he closed his eyes.
A few minutes of sleep will do me good, he thought. He was out in seconds.
John opened his eyes and reached for the shotgun.
He’d heard someone moving.
“I wouldn’t do that,” the voice said from his right, just out of sight. “I have a rifle aimed at your head, mister.”
John at first thought it was a woman’s voice, but as he came to his senses, he realized it was a young boy. Maybe no older than ten or eleven. He prayed it was one of the boys, Austin or Aiden, and they hadn’t recognized him in such a filthy state.
“I’m not going to do anything stupid, and neither should you,” John said, putting his hands in the air. “We can talk about this. Right? I’m just passing through.”
“You’re trespassing on my property.” He stepped into view of John, a child with a very large rifle in his hands. It wasn’t Austin or Aiden, and the kid looked ready to pull the trigger.