World in Tatters Ch1

“Hey, Rach!” I shout as we unload our gear from the horses into the little grey house.

“I’m right here, you don’t have to yell.” I hadn’t even seen her as she circled around behind me. She’d learned to be a lot quieter on her feet. The results of training and a hell of a lot of practice in the woods.

“What do you think of this place?”

“It’s not much,” she said, “but it’ll do for a couple days.” Rachel reaches into the large bag hanging by her hip, pulling out a rotund, furry mass. Her cat. Rex.

I never understood why Rachel kept that creature around. With as much as we’re on the road, it can’t be healthy for it. Besides, I don’t think the fuzzball ever really liked me much. She scratches him behind the ears as he rubs himself against her ankles, staring daggers at me the whole time. I fight off a sneeze as the creature’s hair wafts up into my face.

“My thoughts exactly. What about you, Jason? Any problems?”

“Yeah. No running water.” He called from the washroom.

“Ha. Ha. Where have we ever been that had running water?” Rachel jabbed.

“There was that one place, back near Memphis. You know the one. Why can’t we go back there?”

“You know damn well why we can’t go back there. You almost got us arrested by the MPs. Dumbass.”

“Language, Rach.” I admonish to a defiant eye roll. I always try to get her to keep that mouth of hers in check, but she never listens. It’s going to get her in trouble one of these days.

“Woah! I was just joking around. I like this place. It’s kind of, I don’t know, quaint. You know, Steven, we could just stay here for a while. Maybe get jobs, buy food instead of scavenging. It’d be pretty nice to not have to look over our shoulders all the time.” Jason sounded sincere this time, and last time, and the time before. It seemed like every place we go now, Jason wants to just settle down like we aren’t living in a world where violence and cruelty aren’t just accepted, but embraced and encouraged. Theft, duels, drunken fights over anything from food to women, assault, murder. These are commonplace.

“No, Jason. That’s not going to happen. We keep moving. We can camp here for a few days, replenish our supplies, but after that, we are gone.”

“I know, I know.” I won’t be able to convince him of that forever. Eventually we’ll have to find a place or leave Jason behind. Neither of which are good options.

As Rex passes near me, I reach down attempting to pet the bugger, but am met only with bared teeth and a low hiss. I pull my hand back in surrender. “I’m going out, see what I can find in the nearby houses. It’s almost dawn and I want to make sure the coast is clear before I go to sleep. I’m leaving my horse here. I’ll be back soon.”

“We’ve been travelling all night, Steven. Just take a break for a little while.”

“I will, Rach, I promise. I just need to make sure that there’s no one lurking in the neighborhood.”

“Then at least let me come with you!”

“No. Stop that. You know my answer. It’s too dangerous. Jason, keep an eye on her, please. Make sure she doesn’t try to follow me.”

“Steven, she’s sixteen. You can’t treat her like a kid forever.”

“Yes, I can. And I will, until I say otherwise. Just watch her please, Jason.”

“Yeah, yeah, I always do, don’t I?”

“Yes, you do, and for that, I am eternally grateful.” And from Rachel, all I get is a grunt of displeasure and a rolling of eyes, but I’m used to that.

As I go to leave the house, I have to make sure to go through my set routine of gun check, ammo check, supply bag check, combat knife check. I always carry the same weapons: a scoped hunting rifle, an old-world military rifle, and 9mm sidearm, plenty of ammo for each, and my knife—the same one my father gave me. We got lucky a few months back on a supply run and came across a forgotten United States military bunker. That’s how we came by much of our arsenal. The hunting rifle, on the other hand, belonged to our mom, an old family heirloom. My arsenal may seem like overkill for a normal scouting run like this, but you never know what you might run into.

I enjoy scouting runs. It gives me a time by myself to clear my head, a specific task that has to be completed. As I step out the front door of our new camp, I take note for the first time of the overbearing humidity. The sun hasn’t even risen fully yet and it’s already as hot as Hades. When I’m scouting, it’s like my senses go on high alert, perceiving the minutest of details in the surrounding area. This time is no different, except—it’s just quiet. No birds, no wind, just me and the searing heat. Even the cicadas are quiet. It’s terribly unsettling. I slip the hunting rifle off my shoulder and move down to the end of the driveway.

It was dark when we entered the neighborhood, so we didn’t take the time to really check the area. The thick grass is about as high as my knee. On either side of the path, there is a dense mess of trees, bushes and briars. I turn around to get one last good look at the house before I head out. The little house we chose is set off the street a bit, but within visual range of my position. It’s the last house on the far end of the dead end, hilled street. That makes it easy to see anyone who might sneak up on us. The house itself is a dark grey now with the green vines growing all over it. The paint shows some signs that it was once a more vibrant color but has degraded since its last owners left.

The house is pretty wide with a dilapidated wooden deck off to the right. The windows are large, but few in number. From what I saw inside, there is a living room in the back facing the forest, a kitchen and dining area off to the right leading onto the deck, and four bedrooms. The largest bedroom sits at the end of a hallway off the dining room. One other bedroom sits on that hallway. The other two are situated on an adjacent sideways-L-shaped hallway. There is a garage off about 30 meters to the back and left of the house, the same color and about a third the size. I’m sure we can find some supplies in there later. As I turn to leave, I take in as much of the neighborhood as possible from my position, but I can’t really see any of the houses.

Figure I should work from far to near. It’s the easiest search pattern, and I end right where I need to. I quietly move out of the mess of knee-high grass and asphalt into the tree line and make my way back toward the neighborhood entrance. I have a bad feeling about this. I can’t place it, but everything just seems off. When I finally make it to the first house next to the entrance of the street, my gut is just retching with a vibe I have only felt twice in my life—the night my mother was murdered, and the night I killed my father. Living in a world like this your whole life, you learn to trust your instincts. Most of the time they’re based on minute details you only pick up subconsciously, and they’re usually right. I can’t ignore this one.

I begin to move back toward our camp, further into the tree line, throwing the strap of the hunting rifle back over my shoulder. I have to move fast. It’s about a mile back to the house. I have to move faster. My heart is racing. I can’t shake this feeling. Rachel’s in danger. I don’t know how I know, I just do. I know I’m moving. I see the trees and grass flashing by my face at blinding speed, but my whole body feels like lead. It’s only minutes, but it feels like hours before I make it within view of the house. I slide to a halt behind an overgrown, knee-high stack of bricks just outside the tree line.

I pull out the hunting rifle, leveling the barrel on the top of the stack and peer through the scope. Just to the left of the house are the three horses we rode in on, tied up behind the garage, just like I taught Rachel. I scan, looking for anything out of place when I hear a faint neighing from the opposite direction of our horses. Someone else is here. I’m sure by now Rachel and Jason have heard the intruders and hidden somewhere, right? But that feeling is still there, still nagging. I have to move to get a view into the house. Slowly, quietly, making sure to keep low to the ground, out of sight. There’s a window into the living room. Levelling the rifle again, I use the scope to spy into the house.

One. Two. Three. Three bandits in the living room. One more just exited the house to calm the restless horses. He’s different than the others. Smaller, less muscular. I still don’t see Rachel or Jason…wait. Three windows to the right in a large bedroom. Two more bandits and two hostages. I see them. A dazed Jason is tied up in the corner, bloody nose, black eye. Rachel is fighting back, kicking, wrestling. They throw her on the bed, pinning her to the mattress, trying to subdue her flailing limbs. I try to steady the crosshairs on the one on top of her, but my hands are shaking. I have to calm my nerves, quickly before it’s too late. I close my eyes, slow my breathing, and channel my rage. Now I’m ready.

With no trace of hesitation left in my movement, I inhale—exhale—fire!

In less than the blink of an eye, glass shatters, blood splatters on the back wall, the bandit goes limp.

In the seconds following the first shot, Rachel, without losing a beat, shoves the body off of her flipping him onto his back and grabs the knife at his belt. The other bandit in the room has no time to react before Rachel overtakes him, jamming the knife up and into the side of his neck. She rips the knife out and lets the limp body slide to the floor.

By this point, the three bandits in the living room and the fourth by the horses would be moving toward the sound of the gunshot. I needed to move. In one fluid motion, I throw the hunting rifle over my shoulder whipping the military carbine around into my hands and bolt toward the side of the house.

With my back against the brick wall, I move slowly, ducking under the high windows just in case they ran back inside. Just as I get to the corner, the three bandits from the living room run past, rapidly approaching my previous position. I take a defensive position behind the corner before taking the next shot.

Bang! Bang! The one on the left drops. Before I can take aim for the next shot, the other two round on me brandishing their weapons. They’re fast, but I’m faster. I duck back behind the corner just as two bullets slam into it, chipping the bricks. One is moving around to get a better shot. When the second comes into view, I put two rounds in his chest.

One left. No. Two. I almost forgot about the one with the horses, but one problem at a time. Two more gunshots, then silence. I check around the corner and there is the third bandit, less than fifteen feet from me. Rachel is standing over him with her pistol. Jason comes around her and checks the man’s pulse.

“He’s dead. So are the others inside.”

“There’s one more,” I say, “He went to tend to their horses. Follow me.” In single file, we run around to the far side of the house. Checking every possible hiding place in sight, we move with a practiced, swift, efficient, deadly precision. We get to the horses, but there’s no one there. We move cautiously. I hear something around the corner and signal the others to halt.

“We know you’re there. Put any weapons you have on the ground in front of you and come out with your hands behind your head. Don’t try anything stupid. Your friends are all dead.”

“Okay!” Comes a quivering voice from around the corner. “I’m unarmed. I’ll come out, just don’t shoot.”

Seconds later, a young boy, no more than sixteen years old, with sandy blonde hair and covered in dirt, steps out, hands gripped tightly behind his head. He keeps his eyes on the ground, not looking up at our group. Smart boy.

“Turn around.” He does as ordered. I step forward and pat him down the front, back, and sides to check for any hidden weapons. “He’s clean.”

That bad feeling has finally subsided. I don’t know what it is about this kid, but he doesn’t seem to be the bandit type. “Rachel, let’s take him inside and tie him up. I have some questions for him. Jason, search those saddlebags for anything useful. Be careful, there could be more of them out here somewhere.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Take this, just in case.” I pull the strap of the rifle strap over my head and offer it to him. He nods reluctantly and takes it from me slipping the strap over his head and resting the rifle behind his back. “Be careful. Come get us if there is any trouble.”

“Will do.”

“Let’s go, Rach.” With that, I draw my sidearm and guide our new prisoner back around the house to the back door.

“Those bastards had some heavy-duty tape. I’ll go get it.”

“Good idea. I’ll keep an eye on him.” Rachel leaves the room heading toward the bedroom where the other bandits kept her and Jason earlier. Seconds later, she comes back with a large role of tape and grabs a chair from the next room. “Sit.”

We proceed to tape him down to the chair, carefully, making absolutely certain that he could not get out of it without our say-so.