Apocalypse Law 2 Read online

  “All I know is we can’t just turn them away. We’ll make do. We’ll plant a larger winter crop.”

  Brian pulled a bug-eaten tomato off the vine and chopped it into the soil for fertilizer. “Not if it’s as cold this winter as last year and the one before. You said it yourself: The climate has changed. It gets colder in the winter now.”

  “So much for global warming, huh? In my lifetime, it’s snowed in Orlando a few times, even south of Orlando, and it snows about every year in North Florida. In 1882 or so, it snowed in Florida in July. But that was because of a big volcano eruption blocking the sun around the world. Krakatau, I think it was. I’ve never seen it like it’s been the past few years or heard of it being like it has lately though.” He looked toward the backyard where his wife and daughter lay in the ground. “Some diseases spread faster in colder weather, like the Black Plague. It got colder and wetter just before the plague spread over Europe. Something about the disease living in the gut of fleas on rats.” His face washed over with sadness for a second, but he recovered quickly before his son noticed. “Maybe that’s what’s happened with this sickness.”

  “I remember seeing something about that on TV,” Brian said. “I don’t think this disease is spread by rat fleas though.”

  “No,” Nate said. “But colder weather means people stay indoors more, and that means they’re coughing and sneezing in the same room as others. The government never was sure of much of anything. They told us one thing one day and then the opposite the next. The sickness spread so fast, they did not have much time to determine exactly how it was spread. It wasn’t long before so many had died there wasn’t much government left.”

  Nate stopped talking. He turned away and hoed with more force than necessary, attacking the weeds with a vengeance.

  Brian went back to work. After a few minutes, he stopped. “I miss them.”

  “I know.” Nate’s voice sounded distant. “So do I.” He stopped hoeing, waiting for Brian to say what was on his mind.

  “You started to say something to Mom once when the disease was first on the news.” Brian mopped sweat from his forehead. “But you stopped talking when Beth and me came in. You were saying something about the disease spreading too fast not to be weaponized. I never heard that word before. What did you mean?”

  Nate straightened, and his chest rose; he turned to look his son squarely in the face. “I have my suspicions. I don’t know any more than anyone else does, but it seems to me the disease spread way too fast and it was way too deadly to be a product of nature. And why did it start in America and then our allies like England and Israel? The sickness spread around the world after that, but it started with America and our allies. That is suspicious as hell. It may have been designed by some government or terrorist group.”

  Brian blinked. His mouth was open. “Our government?”

  “Doubt it,” Nate said. “It’s possible that our government designed the disease and it was accidentally released, or some terrorist got his hands on it some way. More than likely it was an enemy—another government or just a terrorist group.” He seemed disgusted. “Whatever happened, we’re left to live with the results.”

  Brian’s face turned red. “If our government killed my mother and sister, they can forget about me being in the military. Even if it was an accident. What good is a weapon that kills good and bad people the same? What’s the point?”

  “All weapons kill good and bad people the same, Brian.” Nate put his left hand on his son’s shoulder. “But you’re right. Now calm down and don’t let it eat you up. We have to get this done. There are more mouths to feed now.”

  They went back to work.

  After a few minutes, Brian spoke. “Now that Carrie and Caroline are with us, do you think the food will last until the next harvest?”

  “There’s fish in the river and hogs and deer. And there’s food in that shipping container. It’s more theirs than ours. So they brought food with them.”

  Brian looked toward the house. “I can’t tell which one is worse. Both make me worry.”

  “We can’t trust either of them,” Nate said, “that’s for sure. Don’t leave guns or knives lying around.”

  “I know. You told me that.” The tone of Brian’s voice was not as belligerent as usual, but he added, “I hear you.”

  “And don’t go near them alone, only when someone besides Cindy and Tommy is around. Better yet, stay away from them for now except at the dinner table.”

  “Okay. I will.”

  Chapter 3

  A rifle shot shattered the peaceful night. It came from downriver and snaked along bottomland, reverberating through hammocks and then uphill to the farm.

  Nate stood watch at the observation post. He estimated it to be half a mile away and gripped his rifle tighter. It was hard to judge how far a shot was in thick trees and fog; it could be much closer.

  False dawn came an hour later. Nate stood still, listening, watching. He had not moved since the shot. Dew falling from tree limbs above fell on underbrush, bombarding palmetto fronds, sounding like rain. Mosquitoes buzzed around his head.

  Brian, stay in the house this time, please.

  Sunrise came, but he could see only his side of their field; cornstalks grew high. Most of their tomato plants had stopped producing, but the beans, okra, and peppers continued in plentitude, likewise the second planting of cucumbers. The potatoes had been harvested and put away. They would have to eat them before they spoiled or started to grow eyes. Green onions were just growing large enough to pull.

  Dry leaves crunched behind him, further back in the trees. Nate eased around, his movement flowing. Though he wanted to swing around fast to see, he knew better. Movement would catch an enemy’s eye. It could nullify all efforts of camouflage.

  More noise in the brush revealed someone’s route. Nate waited, his rifle shouldered.

  “Nate, it’s me.” Ben’s voice came from out of the wall of green.

  He lowered his rifle, but kept it shouldered. “Come on in.”

  Ben appeared from out of the brush. “Time for me to relieve you.”

  Nate put a finger to his lips and motioned for him to come closer.

  Ben looked around. He kept his shotgun ready. He walked up as quietly as possible.

  “I take it you didn’t hear that rifle shot a couple hours ago,” Nate said.

  “No. No one did. Otherwise Brian would’ve came running.” Ben smiled.

  Nate nodded. “Well, maybe not. He’s learning.”

  “He’s a good kid. You’ve done a great job. Anything other than the one shot?” Ben asked.

  “No. I think it was in the swamp. Downriver a-ways. Maybe a half-mile. Hard to tell. But nothing since.”

  “Hunter, probably,” Ben said.

  “I hope he was hunting animals for food.”

  “And goes back where he came from,” Ben added.

  “Keep your eyes and ears working. I’ll go to the house and warn the others, grab a bite, then patrol downriver, see what’s up.”

  Ben turned to watch the field. “Be careful out there. Tell my wife and daughter to work in the house. The crops can wait one day.”

  “All right, but I’m not their boss. I can’t even control my son.”

  Ben smiled. “Well, just tell them I would like for them to stay inside today.”

  “Will do.” Nate walked away, watching where he stepped, not making a sound.

  ~~~~

  Martha looked out the living room window. “That corn’s got to be shucked, scraped off the cob, and canned. We can’t stop work around here over one shot in the woods.”

  “Ben would feel better if you three stay in the house. So would I. I want Brian to stay in, too, and I don’t want him alone in here,” Nate said.

  Brian sat on the wood floor, cleaning his shotgun on a coffee table in the living room, old newspapers spread over the table to soak up dripped cleaning fluids. He looked in their direction but said nothing.

>   Caroline had a washtub on the kitchen floor, washing clothes, rinsing in one sink, wringing them out in the one beside it. “I’ll go and cut corn, if you trust me with a sharp edge. I promise I won’t slit my wrists or stab anyone. I’m feeling better nowadays.”

  Cindy was helping her mother shuck corn at the table. She looked at her mother and Nate. “It wouldn’t be right.”

  “What?” Martha asked.

  “Sending her out like we don’t care what happens to her. She’s with us now, and we should treat her the same as anyone else. That goes for Carrie, too.”

  Caroline said, “Nobody is sending me, Cindy. I want to go. I really don’t think anything is going to happen. I’ll stay on this end of the corn. Some of the beans can be picked, too. They’re right in view of the house. You can keep watch. And Ben is out there.”

  Nate’s chest rose and held. “Okay. If you want to.”

  “I want to help.”

  “And Cindy is right,” Nate said. “You’re not expendable. You and Carrie are part of our family now.” Nate saw her eyes fill. “Oh, come on. Let’s not start a crying session. Go out and pick some butter beans.”

  She wiped her face and went out the front door.

  Avoiding the others' gazes, Nate walked over to Brian and took his shotgun from him.

  Brian looked up from the table. “It’s not loaded, Dad. You taught me better than that.”

  “Teaching you doesn’t always stick. But you’ve been careful with guns as near as I can tell.” He handed it back. “Looks clean to me. Wipe the bore almost dry and load it. I have to go back out there and patrol the downriver side of things. Check out that gunshot.”

  Brian affected his best western hillbilly accent. “I guess I’m s’posed to protect de women folks whilst you’re gone.”

  “Hey. Smarty.” Deni smiled. “I am…was a soldier.”

  “Just kidding.”

  “Well, I’ve got to eat and run.” Nate went into the kitchen.

  Deni followed him. “Carrie’s still in bed. She doesn’t seem to be coming out of it. I don’t know if it’s depression or what, but she sleeps way too much.”

  Nate made himself a wild hog sausage sandwich by putting it between a sliced biscuit. “I don’t know either. She was injured more than Caroline.” He pointed to his head. “And up here, too.” He looked out the window over the sink, watching Caroline pick butter beans, throwing them in a two-gallon pail. “And don’t ask me why those bastards enjoyed hurting. I don’t know why.”

  “I wasn’t going to ask.” Their eyes locked. “How could you? You’re no more like them than Brian is.”

  Nate stopped chewing.

  She touched his hand lightly and let hers fall away. “We all appreciate your generosity and kindness.”

  Carrie limped slowly into the living room, sleepy. “I’m hungry.”

  Deni heard, but her eyes were still locked with Nate’s.

  Cindy jumped out of her seat. “Come on and sit down. I’ll fix you something.” She pulled a chair out.

  Nate took a glass down and filled it with water from a pitcher.

  “I’ll take it to her,” Deni said. “Be careful out there. You’re the one who makes this place work. We can’t make it without you.” She turned and walked away.

  Nate filled two one-quart canteens and put them in carriers on his load-bearing harness.

  When Deni turned back to him, he was already out the door.

  “I expect to be back by dark,” he said over his shoulder to anyone interested, and was gone. He entered the woods as Deni watched.

  Brian stood in the open door, shotgun in hand. “He didn’t even say good-bye.”

  “Yes, he did.” Deni slung her arm across his shoulders. “What do you think he was doing, admiring your shotgun?”

  “I thought he was picking on me about gun safety.”

  “Picking on you?” She whispered in his ear, “I doubt he has ever picked on you since the day you were born, kiddo.”

  “He doesn’t boss you like he does me.”

  She laughed. “He’s your father. You want to know something?”

  “What?”

  “I’m jealous.”

  “Whaaat!”

  She bent down to his ear again. “I wish someone loved me like he does you. I had someone once, but I’m sure he’s dead by now.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “True. But there’s no way I can get to him and no way he can even know where I am if he was trying to find me.”

  Brian didn’t seem to know what to say.

  She ran her fingers through his hair and left him needing a comb. “You have a kind heart, like your father.”

  He rolled his eyes and closed the door. “If Dad saw us standing in the open like this, he would be pissed.”

  ~~~~

  It took Nate over three hours to find his trail. Another hour of tracking brought him to the kill site. No animal had found the doe guts yet, but flies were blowing. All the heat and humidity of early morning had intensified with the sun’s skyward climb, and turned Nate’s private wild world under the swamp’s heavy canopy into a sauna. Sunlight filtered in nearly straight down now. Clothes clinging, his boots filling with sweat, he stalked closer to danger. The smell of his own body often overpowered the smell of the swamp. He had eaten a lot of tomatoes lately, and he could smell tomatoes in his sweat.

  Nate was able to learn a lot about the man he was hunting by reading his trail. The route he chose was calculated more for hunting deer and wild hogs than travel through hostile territory. Trails, worn down from use, fanned out from a center, a hub, like a wagon wheel. All were marked every thirty yards with gashes in tree trunks. A machete, probably. Maybe a big knife. Obviously, the man worried more about finding his camp again after a day of hunting than keeping a low profile. Perhaps he has no compass. And he must believe he is far enough in this swamp not to run into danger: people. He expected to find the man’s camp in the center of that wheel. Raised a country boy for sure. Not military trained, though.

  In the middle of Marion’s Bay, a ten-mile-wide swamp that drained into the river by way of a small creek, Nate found more signs the man had been living in the area for weeks. Several times, he found catfish heads that had been buried shallow and then dug up by coons or fox, or maybe a bear. They'd been picked clean by ants. Old campfires had been set farther up creek. Next to them, fish and squirrel bones had been scattered by animals.

  Trailing him was easy; he had a heavy load across his shoulders, and the tracks he left were deep. Nate had no idea if the man would shoot first, or wait and talk, but he felt there was a good chance the two could come to an understanding and avoid violence. Still, he felt that familiar weight on his chest, a rise in his heartbeat and breathing, lacking only the strong, fierce pull of blood, like when he'd killed those who'd shot his son so many months back.

  He did not hate this man, nor did he despise him, like the sadists who tortured Carrie and Caroline. Nate hoped they would not kill each other. If they could live with peace between them, everyone’s chances of survival would be improved.

  Whatever happened, he resolved if someone had to die, it would be the stranger.

  Nate stopped, froze. The coffee smell of hickory smoke drifted to his nose from upwind.

  A man, around thirty years old, cut a strip of meat from a skinned and gutted doe, and hung it on a rack made of branches. He had a makeshift smoker, fabricated from what he could gather from the swamp, and a slow, cold fire underneath. Thin green branches, woven into a tight mat, held smoke from the cold fire in. His venison would be preserved through drying and smoking. In the meantime, smoke was keeping most of the flies away.

  Nate appreciated his ingenuity and equally appreciated the fact he did not have to eat it.

  He watched the man work. In tattered and dirty jeans and a green T-shirt, dark hair down to his shoulders, tall and thin, Nate outweighed him by a hundred pounds. Holes in his shirt revealed protruding ribs and a hol
low stomach. There was little loose skin hanging from his waist, telling Nate the man had already been thin before he lost weight from near-starvation.

  Moving closer, he inched along a well-worn trail. There was something about a thin, young cypress off to the left of the trail that stopped him in his tracks. It was bent over into a half-circle, the top tied down to something. Brush would not allow him to see what. An attempt had been made to hide the bowed tree, but Nate’s trained eye caught it. He had dealt with booby traps in two wars and lost friends to them.

  There was no wind, so the swamp’s silence allowed the man to hear Nate click the safety off his M14 with the back of his trigger finger.

  The man froze, and then whirled around in a blur of motion.

  Nate yelled out, “I mean you no harm.”

  He froze again, standing there, eyes hard, his useless knife in his hand.

  “Just be still and we’ll talk.” Nate held his rifle ready.

  The man’s lever-action rifle stood against a tree beside his lean-to of cut pine saplings covered with brown palmetto fronds, overlapped like shingles to shed rain. It was twenty feet from him; too far.

  His eyes appraised Nate in a second, lingering on the M14’s muzzle. “What’s the rifle for then?”

  “Self-defense. You have nothing I want.” Nate lowered the rifle’s barrel a little more.

  “What do you want?”

  “Heard your shot this morning,” Nate said. “I’m just checking out the area. With things as they are, I can’t be too careful.”

  “Kind of nosey, aren’t you?” The man seemed to be more defiant than scared.

  “Just being careful. I’ve had trouble.” Nate found himself liking the man. He certainly had spunk.

  “Not from me.” The man’s eyes were locked on Nate’s.

  “That’s why I don’t want to shoot you. So don’t make me.”

  “This is public land. I’m just weathering the storm.” The man sighed. “I was hoping no one could hear the shot this far into a swamp. I was trying to stay clear of trouble.”