The Storm: War's End, #1 Read online

  The girl was there, tied securely to the bed, her wrists and ankles already bleeding and raw from trying to free herself. Excellent, a fighter, he’d have himself a nice little ride. As it was, she started screaming and even attempted to bite him the minute he removed her gag. A solid punch to the mouth slowed her down and the second punch knocked her unconscious for a few precious seconds. He straddled her and waited patiently for her eyes to flicker open. “You can scream all you like,” he said smiling down at her, “In fact, I like it.”

  His beautiful face turned hard and cruel and his hand lazily traced its way down her from her collarbone, past her breasts and towards her groin, “But if you try and bite me again I’ll break every bone in your face and make sure you choke to death on your own teeth.” He smiled again and the girl began to sob, the devil himself couldn’t have been more handsome or more evil. “Great...let’s get started then.”

  The girl’s screams weren’t the only ones in the camp that night, but they were certainly the loudest. Even heartless Carmen had paled slightly when she saw the girl delivered to Tent 5 the following morning. She had put her in a sectioned off area, an infirmary of sorts, to heal. No other man would have wanted her in the state she was in.

  Little good that small kindness did. The ungrateful wretch managed to hang herself with a section of the shower curtain two days later when one of the fool guards had turned away for what he swore was just a moment. Her name was Lucinda Abernathy and she had turned fourteen years old one week earlier.

  New in Town

  “War does not determine who is right - only who is left.” - Bertrand Russell

  Easter stood in front of Chris, blood seeping from a scarf around his neck. In the past few months Easter had gone from a deathly white to a pale gray, then slowly darkening as he decayed further with each new dream. His skin had turned almost black now. “Your sister is dead because you failed, Aaronson,” the corpse sneered, “You couldn’t even pull off an escape. Banks, your sister, your parents, it’s all on you. You couldn’t even kill me right, ‘cause here I am hauntin’ your dreams all these months later.”

  Chris twisted away from Easter’s grasping hands. The stench of the corpse filled his nose and made him want to retch. “You’re just a dream. You’re dead and you’re just a dream, Easter.” He shoved the corpse away from him and ran, trying to put distance between this remnant and himself, tried in vain to escape the dream.

  He ran for what seemed like forever, but when he turned around there was Easter and behind him, Burton too. “Everything you touch will rot and die, Aaronson, just like me. You can’t protect ‘em, you’ll only get that sweet little piece of ass raped and murdered, just like the rest. I could use a taste of that sweet little thing,” the corpse taunted him. Chris screamed then, consumed with horror at the thought of Carrie at the hands of Easter or the likes of Cooper and all the rest.

  “Chris! Chris! Wake up!” He came to in the dark, someone standing over him, a light in the doorway.

  “Carrie girl, you stand back, child.” He heard Fenton’s voice from the doorway.

  “But Gramps, I...” Chris realized the person standing over him was Carrie.

  “No buts, girl, stand back,” Fenton’s gruff voice admonished, “The boy’s havin’ more than just a bad dream. You give him space now.” He had pulled Carrie out of range, “Son, can you hear me?”

  Chris was still shaking from the dream. The smell of rot and decay lingered in his nose. “Yessir.” The old man came nearer and an oil lamp lit his way. He extended a hand to Chris, pulling him up from his huddle at the foot of the bed. How had he gotten there? He didn’t even remember. He put a hand on Chris’s shoulder, motioned to the others to leave and closed the bedroom door, giving the two men some privacy. He pushed Chris down onto the edge of the bed and settled into a chair close by.

  Fenton’s voice was uncharacteristically kind, “Son, what were you dreaming about?”

  Chris shuddered and told him about the nightmares. “I keep having them. They aren’t going away. And now...now they always bring up Carrie...I just...I’d do anything to protect her and Liza and Joseph and you.”

  “Son, I know that. I let you stay here and I feel that in you.” Fenton reached over and clasped Chris’s shoulder, “You did what you could for your family and their deaths are not your fault, son. They just aren’t.” The man’s eyes welled with tears at the thought of the losses he had seen in the past few years, “We are your family now, Chris, and don’t you forget that. I know you’ll do right by us, too.”

  “But sir, what if...” His guts were still twisting over the thought of Carrie ever being hurt, “What if I’m bad luck? What if being near me gets people...hurt?”

  Fenton grasped Chris’s shoulder harder, “You are not to blame for the evils of war, son. God only knows why we have to suffer so, mebbe it’ll make us all better men, but you gotta believe that the world can be better.” He smiled crookedly, “Believin’ is half the battle to makin’ it happen.” He let go of Chris and sat back in the chair, “Besides, you crap out on me and who’s gonna get the back field plowed for the winter crops? Go back to sleep son, and don’t let me catch my granddaughter visitin’ you after hours. I reckon I can tell when two’s been sharin’ a bed or not.”

  With that he stood up and stretched, limbs creaking, and ambled to the door and on out of the room where the others were huddled in the hallway. “Back to bed all of you. And that’d best be your own beds if you know what’s good for you!” The old man was mellowing a bit; he had chosen not to make too fine a point on the fact that Chris’s bed had shown signs of two people, not one, recently sleeping in it.

  A few minutes later a slight creak at the door had announced Carrie’s presence. “Chris?” her voice sounded worried, “You okay?” He smiled in the darkness in her direction.

  “Yeah babe, I’m okay.” She slid onto the bed next to him. Despite the unrelenting muggy nights, Carrie would sneak into his bedroom each night and they would sleep spooned against each other. He felt her now, just inches away from him, and felt his body respond to her presence as it did each night. He’d managed to keep himself under control, despite the ever-increasing desire to consummate what they had only danced and teased around for months now. “You’d best go back to bed.”

  He could feel her disappointment and the hint of a pout, “Why can’t I stay here with you? I’ll make sure and be gone before Gramps wakes up.”

  “I think we’ve pushed our luck enough for tonight. ‘Sides, we’re going into town tomorrow. Let me get a shred of sleep and if I have any more of these damned nightmares I’m not gonna be waking you up too.” He found her lips and kissed them. Sure enough, they were pouting.

  She returned his kiss enthusiastically, and Chris pulled her onto his lap and lifted her easily as he stood up, felt her long legs wrap around his waist. He walked to the doorway in this manner, which elicited a frustrated growl from Carrie as she realized he was putting her out of his room for the night. He was learning just how willful the Perdue women could be. One last long kiss and he set her down and slowly shut the door as she grumbled her way down the hall.

  The nightmares stayed away, and he managed five blissful hours of sleep before being pounced on by a ball of energy just after dawn. “It’s wake up time, Chris!” Joseph Perdue was bubbling over with excitement, “We’re goin’ to town today!” The three year old bounced on him over and over. He was a cute kid, which was the only reason Chris didn’t strangle him after Joseph kneed him accidentally in the groin.

  Liza appeared at the doorway. A smirk spread over her face as she took in the scene of Chris bent double and Joseph jumping on the bed blissfully unaware of the pain he had just inflicted. Joseph kept jumping, “Mornin’ Liza!”

  “Mornin’ Joseph. Go get yourself dressed so we can go to town right after breakfast.” She tried not to laugh at Chris’s pained expression.

  “Mornin’ Chris, you coming into town with us? Or do you think y
ou need to...ummm...rest some more?” Her lip was twitching.

  “I’ll be fine, thanks so much, Liza.” Chris gave her a look that spoke volumes and she ran off to the kitchen, laughing merrily. He slid gingerly out of bed, concentrating on carefully easing his aching gonads into a pair of jeans. Fenton had kept him busy fixing everything from fencing to roofs and his skin had darkened to a light bronze in the hot summer sun. His chest was well developed too after months of hard work and he grinned as Carrie stopped by his doorway and let out a low, appreciative whistle.

  Fenton came walking by then and harrumphed at his granddaughter, “Mind yourself, girl.”

  She winked and her face assumed an innocent expression, “I am, Gramps!” The old man moved down the hall, calling for his coffee. From the smell wafting from the kitchen, Liza had brewed it already and was now working on the rest of breakfast. The girls took turns prepping breakfast for the family, and Chris often lent a hand with lunch and dinner. Every meal they sat down as a family and ate together, no matter what project was underway. Fenton insisted on it.

  Chris’s family hadn’t been much different, so it felt normal, reassuring.

  The Perdue’s would say grace, talk about their plans or projects for the day and enjoy the bounty of their hard work. Running the farm was full of challenges and the work seemed unending, but Chris had eaten better in the last few months then he had when he’d been conscripted.

  Overall, the time spent with the Perdue’s had been one of healing, physically and emotionally. He had been laid up until mid-April, but by mid-May he was working hard each day in the fields. By summer he had been agile enough to begin repairing the barn and re-shingling the roof of the farmhouse.

  The girls had convinced Fenton to take down the various trophies and removed the worn sofa from the den. A full-size mattress and box springs which had belonged to their parents had been retrieved from the basement and the small closet held all of their father Isaac’s old clothes. Chris was nearly the same size and the jeans and shirts fit relatively well, although his growing muscles made the shirts rather tight. Fenton had told Chris he was welcome to any of Isaac’s clothes that could fit and it helped that they didn’t have to explain purchases of men’s clothing in town until they were good and ready.

  He was nervous about the trip to town. Tiptonville wasn’t a large place by any means. Chris hadn’t thought his hometown was much of anything, but it had held tenfold the number of residents that Tiptonville boasted. Of course that was before everything had gone to hell, who knew how many lived there now or in Tiptonville for that matter. He wasn’t sure he was ready to meet the townfolk or that they would buy the story he and the Perdue’s had cooked up of him being a friend of the family.

  Fenton had made it clear that Chris wasn’t to ever speak of his participation, unwilling or not, in the Western Front. “There’s some’d rather string you up from the nearest tree than get your story, they find that out, boyo.” Fenton had warned him gruffly, “You keep your mouth shut and follow our lead.”

  They had had a near miss a week or so back when a couple of boys Carrie’s age had stopped by the farm looking for work. Fenton hadn’t told them “no” but instead said they should check back around harvest time. Chris had been off at the old farmstead digging up the smaller starts of blueberry bushes to transplant nearer the farmhouse.

  Carrie hadn’t been in favor of that, mainly because having the bushes closer to the house meant they couldn’t run off with the excuse of picking blueberries. She had stalked away from him in a snit and been at the farmhouse and able to help Fenton run the boys off after basic pleasantries had been exchanged along with a promise to come to town soon.

  Lost in his thoughts, Chris picked at his food. Liza looked offended, “What? Is there somethin’ wrong with the eggs?”

  “Wha...huh? The eggs? No, no, the eggs are fine.” Chris looked down at his plate, still filled with food and shoveled a large bite in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “I just, Gramps, you sure me coming into town is a good idea?”

  “Son, it’ll be fine.” The old man reached over and squeezed Chris’s shoulder, “You’re a friend of the family and you visited us here ‘bout five years back. Your family is gone, but you found our address in some papers, remembered us, and headed our way. You been here since late spring and been earnin’ your keep working on our farm.” He winked then, “No one’s gonna believe an old codger like me would put up with you or take you in ‘less you was who I said you was.”

  He turned towards little Joseph, “Now mind you, Joseph. Anyone asks you who young Chris here is and you just say he’s a friend of the family. You remember that, right Joseph?” The boy nodded solemnly.

  Fenton looked over at Carrie, “And you girl, don’t you be hangin’ on him or making them damn googly eyes. You made a list of what we need, right?”

  Carrie looked offended and muttered under her breath before responding, “I got the list right here Gramps.” She read it aloud and he had her add three items – buckshot, a 1982 Chevy pickup truck repair manual and propane.

  “Don’t know what we can get or what’ll be available, but we’ll ask ‘bout ‘em. Okay let’s get going! We got a long trip ahead of us.” The truck had refused to start the previous day and Chris had wished for the hundredth time that he had taken the basic automotive classes at school like his buddy Allen did. He had been the one to ask Fenton if he had a truck repair manual and the old man had looked embarrassed and shook his head no. Apparently Chris wasn’t the only one who had skipped automotive class. “Football.” The old man gruffly commented, “I was busy with football. That is, until I mashed my left knee the last game of the season. Still pains me.”

  So they would do it the old-fashioned way and take a horse and buggy the three plus miles into town. The last time they had gone into town, while Chris was still laid up with his broken ankle, they had walked, and Fenton’s left knee had swollen to twice its size. He couldn’t walk without grunting in pain for weeks.

  With Ichabod hitched and ready, they had climbed into the buggy and started off. The road was clear, with the exception of several abandoned vehicles that had been pulled off of the road. Chris thought that it looked as if there had been a conflict of some kind, but not recently. Two of the trucks were not only turned over, they had been set on fire. Fenton followed Chris’s gaze as it lingered on the skeletons hanging from the burned out trucks.

  “Western Front,” he said gruffly, “I told you we don’t much cotton to the West trying to tell us how to live. Those boys are a warnin’ to anyone else foolhardy enough to bother with us.” Chris realized how dangerous admitting he had any association with the Western Front, unwilling or not, would be to all of them.

  Two tall lookout posts sat on each side of the road right before they reached town. They were similar to the ‘high hides’ that deer hunters use, but were larger and probably better insulated for winter use. The rough wood was covered in corrugated metal sheets. Chris figured it was hotter than hell in those things. He could see the outline of a man inside and noticed the cold, dark snub of a rifle in the other lookout post. They had a great view from up there, and could sound the alarm long before anyone came within striking distance of town.

  Fenton followed his gaze and waved towards the outposts. Chris did his best to look as unarmed and helpless as possible. Anyone with a decent set of binoculars would see that both the girls and the old man were armed, so he figured the snipers manning the outposts wouldn’t shoot him or think he was holding them hostage. He was nervous nonetheless.

  His focus on the high lookouts provided an excellent opportunity for the men stationed in the waist high grass to approach without his notice. He couldn’t help flinching in response to the rifle that appeared to his right. “Hold up!” The man that held it eyed him suspiciously, “Ho there, Fenton.”

  The old man smiled down at the armed man, “Ho there, John. Like you to meet a friend of the family. This here’s Chris Aaronson, hails
from a ways from here.” The armed man looked them over carefully, noting the relaxed looks on the rest of the family.

  “Friend of the family?”

  “Yup,” Fenton nodded coolly, “The son of friends of Amy’s. He came out here, what, five years ago a’visitin.’” He pursed his lips, “Nothin’ left for him so’s he sought us out, due t’ his family bein’ gone. He’s been helping out on the farm these past two months. Came just in the nick of time for plantin’ season.”

  John nodded, letting the barrel slide away from the group and backing away. He let out a shrill whistle to the sentries above and their guns disappeared. “Take care Fenton.” He nodded at Chris, “Nice to meet you, Chris. You all go on through.”

  The buggy pulled away, passing the outposts and continued towards town. Chris heaved a sigh of relief and Carrie squeezed his arm. “That was John Carter, he’s Carl’s stepdad.” She leaned close, and whispered “Liza and Carl like each other.”

  Fenton grunted, “I heard that.”

  “Oh Gramps!”

  The first of the town buildings appeared at the crest of the hill. Chris looked around. Most of the buildings were intact, and there wasn’t much to see. It was a tiny town, a fraction of the size of Belton.

  Chris had thought Belton was small compared to the sprawling streets in Kansas City just a twenty minute drive to the north, but this was like having a Main Street and nothing else. How had they made out so much better than Belton? Dumb luck?

  The first sign of damage that Chris noticed was the crumpled water tower. Carrie followed his gaze, “They took out the water right away. I haven’t had a decent shower since, thanks to those bastards.”

  Fenton growled at her choice of words, “Mind your tongue girl.” He didn’t say much more, after all, he missed regular showers too.