He was next up to shake the pastor’s hand.
“Thank you, Pastor John,” he said with believable joy. “That was a glorious sermon.”
“You are most welcome…” Pastor John asked for his name by the inflection of his voice.
“Oh, beg pardon. It’s Clyde. Clyde Clydeston, Pastor. Pleased to meet you,” Clyde added with exuberance. “And this is Judas.”
“Likewise, brother. Thanks for coming. Please come again soon.”
As Clyde and Judas were leaving, behind them they heard Pastor John thanking another parishioner. “Thank you, brother, for the kind donation of food. That will feed a hundred people for a few days.”
Clyde grabbed Judas roughly and pulled him around so that they could both look at who was talking. “We know where the Kings are. They’re not going anywhere. But, everyone here’s got food. Follow this guy, but don’t let him see you and write down his address and get back to me. I think we’re going to have plenty of food.”
16.
Blood and Water!
Melanie’s thirst was insatiable as she pushed down again on the old pump handle, summoning another refreshing torrent of water. She drank, filled her water bottle, and then doused her head and neck, cooling her body down, slurping the last drops as the gushing flow trailed off into rivulets. She had had her fill. Not so insatiable after all, she mused.
The well pump was located in back, conveniently visible from the driveway of the farmhouse she had been approaching for the last hour. When she spied the pump, she had paid no mind to the state of the house, or to whether it was occupied or not. She regarded it now.
Before their escape module had crashed, she could see that all of North and South America were dark. This was no doubt the result of the giant solar storm that took out the ISS’s systems. She was pretty sure that anarchy reigned in the cities, but unsure if its ugliness had yet taken root in the more rural western states, where she was. Being one to not take chances, she approached the house with care, hoping that her caution was overdone, and she would find Ma and Pa Kettle having their Sunday dinner. Speaking of which, she was hungry.
She painstakingly peeked in each of the back windows, following the wrap-around porch, finding no one moving about. However, there were several signs of occupancy, and one in particular that caused her concern. Her vision and focus, previously lost in a haze of dehydration, were now sharp and hyper aware as she approached the back door. Its small window, about chest height to her, was broken. She peeked through the jagged opening, looking into the home’s kitchen. A light breeze blew through the opening, brushing the single curtain aside, and then letting it fall back into place. Each breeze revealed more of what she was looking at: lots of dishes and discarded food strewn around the kitchen; a wood-burning stove—it was on, its heat visible—and resting on top, an old camp-fire coffeepot with steam gushing from its spout; and a man.
Melanie hurriedly looked to her left and then right and then back through the breach again, attempting to will the curtain aside once more so that she could see. A man with crazy hair dressed in overalls walked out of a large pantry into the kitchen. He wrapped a folded towel around the coffeepot’s handle to temper the heat.
One of the porch’s old wood floor boards creaked, sounding an alarm behind her. She spun, shocked, as she was staring at the ugliest mug of a man she could ever remember seeing. Rotten breath and the words, “What do we have here?” spilled from a mouth missing several teeth. The gun he pointed at her and everything about him announced this was one bad dude.
At once, she gave a disarming smile, while in one motion she grabbed the sock cuff hanging out of her back pocket and swung it in a large arc, putting her shoulder into it. Ugly Man first smiled back, thinking she was ducking, and then his eyes widened as the sock filled with screws and nails connected with his upper cheek and his eye socket. He didn’t make a sound, as it broke bone and tore flesh, bloodying his already unpleasant features. His unaffected eye, protected by his bulbous nose, rolled back and he fell over, dead.
She grabbed his gun and trotted down the back stairs, galloping a route around the back, working her way to the side of the house. Turning the corner, she darted straight for the road. Home free in maybe one hundred feet. As she was about to clear the side of the house, she saw the fuzzy image of the butt of a rifle arcing toward her face; then, blackness.
“Wakey wakey, little lady,” came a voice from the depths.
A splash of water filled her mouth and nose, forcing her to cough. Melanie sat up with a start, groggy. An icepick-sharp headache ratcheted her brain. She tried to open her eyes, but her right eye wasn’t working very well, a combination of swelling and dried blood; a window blind of blurriness obstructed most of her vision in that eye. Her good eye took in the nightmare.
Her left wrist was handcuffed to a heavy chain that chewed into her when she pulled at it. In horror, she realized her shirt was torn and her left shoulder and breast were exposed. In a feeble attempt at modesty she yanked up the flap of fabric. The handcuff bit into her more. Never mind the pain, I’m in mortal danger.
“It looks like Sleeping Beauty is awake now,” the same voice announced more loudly. There were more footsteps.
“Look at her, Butch, you messed up her pretty face,” said a voice emerging from the hallway.
“Yah, but she killed Joey,” the other man with the overalls and crazy hair rebutted.
“Joey never looked better. She did him a favor,” said the hallway voice, which belonged to a tall man wearing a cowboy hat. “How’s our little Peeping Tom?”
17.
Quick Decision
Darla awoke the next morning to the sounds of voices. Her eyes flicked open, but she kept still, covered by a sheet resplendent in Wonder Woman’s red, white, and blue, which rose and fell with each full breath. Her heart rattling and panic-filled as last night’s ordeal came flooding back, her exposed hand reflexively squeezed the spear gun’s handle for reassurance. After she had confirmed the two intruders were dead, she searched the house for any others, resecured the front door even better, and set up her alarm system once more. Then, she returned to the death scene, Danny still turned away from it as instructed. She dragged the bodies into the master bedroom, throwing towels over the blood and muck so that they wouldn’t have to deal with it in the morning. She tucked in her brother, washed out his underwear, cleaned out her water bottle and refilled it and his as well. Finally, Wonder Woman had enough, and she collapsed into her bed. Surprisingly, both of them had fallen asleep swiftly.
The noises outside brought her back to the here and now, her mind trying to figure out what she was hearing and where the sounds were coming from. It was a bluster of voices, outside their window, carried in on the back of the morning’s delicate breezes. Quietly, so as to not disturb Danny, she swung out of bed wearing only her blue polo shirt and panties, and untangled the spear gun from the bed sheets. She slunk slowly to the window, above where Danny lay rhythmically taking in his raspy breaths. She looked through the spear gun sight, ready to fire, searching for the voices. Her face fell, and then rose again as she laid her weapon on the window sill and bent closer to get a better look.