The Savage Darkness (Darkness After Series Book 4) Page 5

  Mitch knew April would worry about him if he went, but she was worried about Kimberly too. Although no one said it, they all knew that a child that young could develop a high enough fever to kill her, and quickly too. Mitch wasn’t going to let that happen if he could help it. A day spent riding there to see was not going to affect the other things that had to be done. If he was delayed for some reason and had to bivouac overnight on the trail, that wouldn’t be a big deal either. The work on the shelter could wait, as the weather was holding and they had time to finish it before it rained again.

  “I’m going,” he said, with a finality that left no room for anyone to try and talk him out of it. We need any and all medicine and First Aid supplies we can get. Not just for Kimberly and Benny right now, but for all of us. There’s no telling who will get sick or hurt next. And we all need more clothing. We hardly have anything but what’s on our backs.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Jason said. “Maybe some of mine and Stacy’s clothes are still in the house. Maybe Mom’s too. If so, they’ll fit April and Samantha.”

  “There may be blankets too,” Stacy said.

  “I’m going alone,” Mitch said. “You have to stay here, Jason. Benny’s not able to do much today and April’s got her hands full with a sick little girl. You know Samantha and David aren’t 100 percent and that leaves just you and Lisa and Stacy to fight if trouble shows up. Besides, I can go faster and keep a lower profile traveling alone.”

  Mitch was already slinging his quiver over his shoulders as he spoke. He strapped on his .357 Magnum revolver, strung his longbow and picked up his father’s AR-15 rifle. Then he bent down to touch Kimberly’s forehead again and reassure April.

  “Please be careful, Mitch! Don’t take any unnecessary risks. We need you to come back in one piece!”

  “I’ll be careful, and I’ll be back as soon as possible. Don’t worry about me. Just keep Kimberly warm and make sure someone keeps an eye on Uncle Benny.” He gave her a big hug in lieu of a kiss, since the others were standing right over them, looking on. Lisa gave him several handfuls of the beef jerky to stuff into his pockets, and after hugging her and Stacy too, he turned and made his way to where the canoes were pulled up on the sandbar. He would paddle back to the landing behind the farm and then go catch one of the horses. The saddles were stashed in the woods near the back gap.

  “I’ll see you all tonight or early tomorrow!” he called back, as he pushed the canoe out into the current and began paddling upstream. He was going to do his best to keep that promise of a quick trip. It was impossible to not think of what happened the last time he was away, but Mitch had to keep telling himself this situation was different. Finding something to reduce Kimberly’s fever could be a matter of life or death for her, and now that the house had been destroyed and most of the attackers killed, there was unlikely to be another incident so soon. He felt good about the hidden location of the new camp. Someone would have to practically stumble upon it by accident to find it. Jason, Lisa and Stacy would be on alternating watches, so it would be unlikely they’d be caught off guard if someone did.

  He pulled the canoe into the bay thicket when he reached the take-out spot and then continued on foot to the back fence line. He saw hoof prints of the horses intermingled with those of his father’s cattle as soon as he crossed onto the property. After picking out one of the bridles and setting off on their trail, it was a just a matter of minutes before he found the animals, foraging among the sparse winter vegetation, unconcerned at his approach. Spotting the black and white gelding he had ridden before, he whispered softly to it as he approached, getting almost within reach before it suddenly trotted away, eluding his grasp.

  “Okay dammit! I don’t have time for this right now. Come on now, boy. Let’s go for a ride. Don’t you want to get out of here for a little while? Come on, boy!”

  Whether the horse understood him and decided to comply with his request or simply wasn’t in the mood to taunt him more, he wasn’t sure, but he soon had the bit in its mouth and was leading it back to where the saddles were stashed.

  “What’s your name, boy?” Mitch asked as he cinched down the saddle and checked the stirrups. “How about if I just call you Amigo? We can be amigos, can’t we boy? Is that all right with you?”

  Amigo stood there waiting patiently, so apparently it was all right. Mitch stepped up and swung his leg over and the horse obediently trotted forward at the gentlest nudge of his heels. He rode along the outside of the fence through the woods until he reached the gravel road and then turned onto it and headed southeast. It was less than a mile to where the road dead-ended in that direction, the hiking trail crossing it near the end.

  Before Hurricane Katrina came through in 2005, the 40-mile-long trail had been a narrow, winding footpath through the forest that was more suitable to hiking than horseback travel. But so many trees had been felled by the storm that in the years following, when the Forest Service finally got around to clearing the path again, they had used machinery and that opened it up so that it more resembled a logging road than a trail most of the way. Mitch knew it would be easy to ride a horse on it as a result, even if there might be some new undergrowth taking hold after nearly a year of no maintenance. He also knew that he might encounter others using this route, so he kept his pace slow enough to travel quietly, and kept his eyes and ears open for any sights or sounds of human presence. He’d covered most of the fifteen miles to Brooklyn by afternoon though, and had seen nothing. The ride awakened him to the possibilities that having horses would mean to his group, and made him determined to do everything he could to take good care of the little herd they had acquired. Amigo was able to negotiate most of the trail with no problem; though Mitch dismounted and led him on alternate routes around some of the old footbridges the Forest Service had built over some of the branches and deeper gullies. The trail also crossed some remote gravel roads and one paved county road, forcing Mitch to reconnoiter first and make sure they were clear before riding the horse out into the open to cross.

  The last road he came to had a railroad running parallel to it, the same railroad he and April had followed into Brooklyn after hiking there from the town where the police had confiscated her car. Mitch led Amigo into the woods well out of sight and tied him off by the reins, whispering that he wouldn’t be long. Carrying his bow with an arrow on the string and the rifle slung over his back, he carefully made his way through the trees, keeping to the woods until he could get a look at the town on the other side of the creek. When he reached the edge of the clearing by the railroad bridge, the sight that met his eyes was not entirely unexpected. The little community consisted of only a few houses, a canoe outfitter, a couple of churches and country gas stations and a school. From where he stood, it was barely recognizable, as most of the buildings had burned to the ground, other than some of the concrete block and brick structures that were clearly gutted by fire. Nothing stirred along the long abandoned main road, where cars and pickups that had shut down the day of the pulse had been pushed off to the shoulder and left there to rust. At this distance it looked as though the town had been destroyed months ago, and Mitch knew it well may have. The last time he had been here was just days after the blackout, when he and April were looking for Lisa and discovered that she was not at Stacy and Jason’s house and that their mom had not returned home after her shift at the hospital in Hattiesburg. Now it looked like a bombed-out ghost town, and Mitch knew he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, Brooklyn was within a half mile of U.S. Highway 49, the major artery connecting the cities of Mississippi’s Gulf Coast with the rest of the world. He and April had witnessed some of the exodus of refugees moving north on its four lanes of concrete. Located so close to that desperate route, the little town hardly stood a chance.

  His expectations were low, but since he was here, Mitch was determined to investigate thoroughly. Maybe the house that Stacy and Jason had lived in was still standing? Either way it was not visible from this side of t
he creek. He turned to follow the bank a short distance upstream, preferring to cross at a shallow place he knew there rather than risk walking across the exposed bridge in broad daylight. Once he was on the other side, he skirted the backyards of the destroyed houses that had been on the west side of the road and made his way to the town center. The brick building that had housed Mr. Holloway’s gas station and country store still stood, but all the windows were missing and the interior walls were black with soot. After a long pause to watch and listen, he stepped out of the edge of the trees and quickly made his way across the open ground between them and the building. He had almost reached the open doorway when a rifle shot rang out and bits of shattered cinderblock stung his face. Wasting no time trying to figure out where the shooter was, Mitch dove through the opening just as a second and third shot followed the first one that had missed his head by inches. He quickly crawled on his elbows and knees to solid cover behind the wall, putting the bow down and reaching for the AR-15 on his back. With no way of knowing how many hostiles he was facing, he planned to take out any he could see well before they closed within bow range.

  Eight

  MITCH TOOK A COUPLE of deep breaths to regain his calm as he lay there in the ashes and rubble of the burned-out store. Knowing that whoever shot at him would be focused on the doorway he entered, he crawled through the debris to find the back entrance. He didn’t want to get pinned down inside the building and though it was risky, he figured it would be better to exit out back before his attackers could flank him from all sides, if there were enough of them to do that. The three shots so far all seemed to come from the same direction, but he wasn’t going to assume there was only one shooter.

  Despite the destruction that had occurred here, there were plenty of places an opportunistic sniper could hide. Many of the houses still had standing chimneys and partially intact walls, and of course there were all the immobile vehicles that could provide concealment. The town had seemed deserted, but apparently someone was still hanging around or at least passing through the same time he arrived. Whoever it was must have seen him exit the woods and decided to try and take him out before he disappeared inside the old store. It had been a close call, but Mitch wasn’t going to make another mistake if he could help it. The AR-15 with its 30-round magazine and two spares in his pockets would help even the odds. Though the patrol carbine had been issued to his dad in its basic configuration with open sights, Mitch had fitted it with a 1-4x low-light scope that he took off one of the lesser ARs they’d collected from the dead men who’d attacked the farm. The scope was of decent quality and it gave the M&P 15 more capability for distance work. He was glad he had installed it as he reached the back door and scanned everything in his field of view near and far for any sign of movement. He needed to turn the tables and take out the shooter and any companions as quickly as possible before they realized he was on the offensive.

  Seeing nothing moving from the back door, Mitch decided to make his move before his opponent on the other side tried to close the distance. Peeking around the corner of the entrance, he saw that there was a pile of bricks on the gravel drive just past the back corner of the store. If he could reach those, he would have cover and concealment with a view to the direction from which the shots were fired. After one last sweep with the riflescope, Mitch sprinted out the doorway and leapt behind the bricks, getting as low as possible to the ground. No shots were fired, so he doubted he had been seen. Now, all he had to do was watch and wait. It was a game of patience at this point, and ever the patient hunter, Mitch had no doubt he could outlast his opponent in that department.

  Keeping as low as possible, he used the scope to study the details of each pile of rubble, vehicle and tree, and was soon rewarded by the appearance of a head coming up over the top of a car hood. The owner was wearing a green baseball cap, which was the first thing that caught Mitch’s eye. He brought his crosshairs to the center of it, hoping the wearer would lift his head just another inch or two so he could put his bullet in the center of his face. But the cap dropped back below his line of sight before Mitch had his chance. He quickly moved his aim point to the area around the front wheels, where he was able to pick out the kneeling man’s legs and feet. He could shoot him low and hope for a view of his vitals when he fell, but he preferred to make a one-shot kill if possible, figuring it was just a matter of time before the man raised his head again.

  His decision to wait proved worthwhile when the next time the cap came up, it was much higher as the wearer was obviously trying to get a better view of the store where he thought his target was hiding. Mitch brought his rifle to bear again, moving the point of aim down through the cap to a point just between the man’s eyes. The distance was about 150 yards—an easy enough shot with the scoped AR. His finger was gently increasing pressure on the trigger as he exhaled when he allowed himself to focus on the target’s eyes for a split second before touching off the round that would obliterate them. There was something familiar there that prompted him to pause. He allowed his finger to relax just slightly while he studied the face more closely. It was somehow familiar, yet different too, with its drawn features and thick, unkempt beard. Could that really be Mr. Holloway? The man who’d owned the ruined store where he just took cover? He moved the crosshairs off center and stared at the man’s face through the scope. It was indeed Mr. Holloway! He was looking much older and completely worn out, but it was him!

  Mitch removed his finger from the trigger guard and lowered his rifle. This was the same man who along with his wife had fed Mitch and April when they passed through here nearly a year before; the man who had run this little store since before Mitch was born. Mitch yelled out across the open ground that separated them; the other man still unaware he was no longer in the building, and oblivious to how close he’d just been to death.

  “MR. HOLLOWAY! IT’S MITCH HENLEY! I’M MITCH HENLEY! DOUG HENLEY’S SON?”

  The older man’s head disappeared back behind the car as soon as Mitch started shouting, but then he peeked over again, trying to see. Mitch waved the barrel of his rifle high above his impromptu barricade of bricks. “DON’T SHOOT, MR. HOLLOWAY! IT’S MITCH HENLEY!”

  “HENLEY? YOU’RE THE HENLEY BOY?” the man yelled back at him.

  “YES! CAN WE TALK? IS THERE ANYONE WITH YOU? TELL THEM NOT TO SHOOT!”

  “AIN’T NOBODY HERE BUT ME!”

  Mitch raised his head enough to show his face, holding his weapon out to one side, pointed at the ground. The older man stepped out from behind the battered car and Mitch rose to his feet and walked over to greet him.

  “What happened here, Mr. Holloway? Who did this? Where is Mrs. Holloway?” As he closed the distance between them, Mitch noted that Mr. Holloway looked ten years older than he had when he’d last seen him. Gaunt and dirty, his clothes mostly rags, he had the wild eyes of a starving animal. He was carrying a lever-action Winchester, the weapon he’d fired at Mitch upon first seeing him enter the ruins of the little town. He was hesitant to speak at first, still eyeing Mitch warily even after looking him up and down and obviously accepting that he was who he claimed to be.

  “It wasn’t nobody in particular, it was just about everybody that come through here starting about four or five weeks after the power went off. There were so many of them coming up Highway 49 we didn’t think they’d ever stop. None of ’em had much of nothing except what they were carrying. All of them were hungry, and the worst ones would do anything for something to eat. They broke into houses and robbed folks at gunpoint. Some of them got shot for it but they still kept coming. It went on and on until there wasn’t nothing left to take. Those of us that weren’t killed trying to stop them had to spend our days and nights hiding out. But even that didn’t help when the last group came through, a whole pack of scoundrels from somewhere in Louisiana riding horses. I saw what they did to my poor Kate, and I couldn’t save her. The only reason I survived is because they thought I was dead when they shot me afterwards. But the bullet
just grazed my head. It made a bloody mess that must have looked bad enough they didn’t think I needed another one.” Mr. Holloway removed his cap and showed Mitch the ugly scar along the side of his scalp. “I wrapped it up and stopped the bleeding afterwards, but I didn’t have nobody to stitch it up. I reckon it’s a sight now.”

  “Was it the men on the horses who burned everything down?” Mitch asked.

  “Yep. Anything that would catch fire they put a torch to. Then they rode off across the bridge. Don’t know where they went after that. I was the only one left alive, and I don’t even know why I still am. I thought about finishing what they started plenty of times, but ain’t brought myself to do it yet.”

  Hearing his description of the men, Mitch was pretty certain they were the same bunch that had come to the Henley farm. Their killing and looting spree had likely lasted a long time before it came to an end at his house.

  “I’m looking for medicine,” Mitch said. “We’ve got a sick child running a high fever at our camp, and I’m afraid she’s not going to get better without something to bring it down.”

  “Don’t know where you’d find any of that around here, but before this happened we heard talk of a trading post they had set up over at Purvis. Some said the people over there had gotten organized real quick-like after the refugees started moving and set up a perimeter to protect the town. They said it was the safest place around, but they weren’t taking anybody else in. But the rumor was they would trade with anybody that had things they needed.”

  “Like food and such?”

  “Yeah. And guns and ammo too, I reckon. Medicine would be hard to come by about now, and expensive, but if a feller had a way to pay for it….”

  “I do. I have lots of rifles and handguns, and far more ammo than we’ll likely need. We have food too, and cattle that we can either slaughter or trade on the hoof if we need to. And we have a few extra horses. But Purvis is probably another good day’s ride from here. And I didn’t bring trade goods with me today. I’ll have to go back for them.”