Working With Cedar: The Early Years Read online

  “And just how do…?”

  Pulling her shoulder bag from the floorboard onto her lap, she cut off Nash’s question. “I do have a plan and it centers on this.”

  From her bag, she produced a pipe bomb like the one Merle hurled at him and Jill, but the one Betty held was longer and fatter. “I have two of these. Gene made ten from directions Merle emailed to him.

  “Merle calls this model, “Room Wipers”. They’re bigger than the ones he used on you and Jill. According to Gene, these are loaded with two-thousand BB pellets. I stole two of them to have with me after I found a place to part-company with the bastards.”

  Nash shook his head in disbelief. “What, just sneak up and toss one at them?”

  Betty ignored his tone of disbelief. “Exactly, only I won’t have to sneak. Nash, I want you to listen closely. I intend to survive this plague. Those people are evil, nasty, scum not fit to live. If we do nothing, as soon as they go through the food they stole from you and Jill, they’ll find someone else to rob and kill.

  “What I plan to do is walk right up their building, and then toss the bomb when they open the door.”

  Again, Nash could not quell his disbelief at this turn. “Are you serious? Come on. That would be cold-blooded murder. You said there are several families that make up the gang of preppers. What about children, are you going to kill them?”

  “Nash, calm down and listen to me. The gang’s bug-out is a big old farmhouse on a dead end road. It has a generator and well. The idiots aren’t even trying to conserve anything. They left the generator running when we left this morning. The only reason was to keep the refrigerator cold. Just about the only thing in the refrigerator is beer. Lots of beer. Then there’re the cases of beer that wouldn’t fit.

  “I guarantee you the sorry bastards will party tonight… celebrate what they did today by getting drunk and having a gay old time barbequing the meat they took from the mansion’s freezer. If we go to the house late, say ten or eleven this evening the children will be in their beds and the grownups will be in the living room and kitchen. There is only an opening, no door between the two rooms.

  “I’m going to drive up in your jeep, honk the horn. When they come out I’ll tell them I found your keys and changed my mind about cutting loose from them.”

  Nash asked, “Do you think they’ll believe you? Won’t Merle have guards out watching the road?”

  “With all the steaks and other meats they took from the big freezer at the mansion, all they’ll be thinking is another excuse to barbeque and drink beer … Oven barbeque on a night like this.

  “As for them believing me, sure they will. If I add their IQ’s together, I might come up with a moron. I’ll go in, act like everything is cool and when I’m sure everyone is in the front area, I’ll make up an excuse to go outside and fetch my bag. That’s when I’ll toss the bomb.”

  Nash asked, “Where am I while all this happens?”

  “You’re going to get out of the jeep before we get to the farmhouse. Then you’ll sneak closer and be ready to join me when the bomb goes off. We won’t be positive the bomb kills everyone, but anyone left alive will be stunned. We’ll go in and finish off the survivors.

  “A while ago you called what I plan to do, ‘cold-blooded murder’. You’re incorrect. What they did was cold-blooded murder, but I’ll be killing murderers when I toss the bomb. I hope you’ll call your part in it, revenge.”

  She stopped speaking. Nash sat for a long moment staring straight ahead through the windshield watching the sluggish flow of the creek. The ruthless attack at the mansion replayed in his mind. Once again, he closed Jill’s lifeless eye. Finally, he turned to Betty.

  “I’m in as long as you promise no children will be harmed, because I swear to you, I’ll shoot you if there are.”

  “You have my promise.”

  Nash nodded, “I’m going to sleep now. If I sleep all the way till it’s time to go, I’ll be happy.”

  **********

  He started awake hunched with his head on arms braced against the steering wheel. Stiff-necked, he raised his eyes to peer through the windshield into the pitch-black of a moonless overcast night. The LED on his dash-mounted phone charger provided enough light to show he was alone in the jeep. Opening the door to answer natures call, the overhead dome light came on.

  “Sleep well?”

  Startled, he looked to the source of the question.to see Betty at the front of the jeep leaning on the hood.

  “Christ Betty, you scared the crap out of me. It’s so dark I didn’t see you standing there.”

  Betty switched on a small LED flashlight, but took care not to shine it in his eyes. “Sorry, but I’m glad you woke. It’s a little past eight. It’ll take forty-five minutes to drive to the farmhouse. We’re far enough from the road to have a small fire. By the time we eat, it’ll be time to leave.”

  Nash said, “Give me a minute and I’ll collect firewood.”

  While collecting firewood dry enough to burn, Nash saw the flickering of far off lightening. Returning to the jeep with an armload of deadfall, he saw Betty squatting on a patch of gravel near the edge of the creek arranging stones for a small fire-ring. Going to her, she turned at the sound of his approach and pointed to the ground near her.

  “Dump it there and fetch the food and stuff. I’ll do the honors tonight.”

  Nash brought the plastic trash bag holding the food and utensils to the fire site. Betty looked from where she squatted and said, “After laying out the plan a while ago, I realize it has one major flaw. I have no lighter. I haven’t seen you smoke a cigarette, so I can only hope you have one.”

  Nash found humor in her open question. Nope, I don’t have a cigarette, but if Merle, and his gang didn’t take them, there should be a couple of lighters in the center console of the jeep. I’ll check.”

  “I hope you do. The veggies I could handle, but I refuse to eat raw beef.

  Dinner was seared T-bone steaks and steamed vegetables. A slight drizzle of rain began falling and hastened their meal. Rather than waste bottled water, Betty wiped pan and pot with paper towels before returning them to the bag.

  Patting her hair and face with a fresh wad of paper towels, she asked, “Do you think you’ll have any trouble driving out of here?

  Nash replied, “Not if we leave right now. The slope’s going to get slick pretty quick.”

  While turning the jeep around, the sky opened with a deluge of rain. Slipping and sliding on the uphill grade, Nash used the twin tracks of crushed vegetation to guide them to the road. Following Betty’s directions, their path took them back to the freeway, but they took the on ramp before crossing the bridge. Nash was glad not to have to pass by the carnage at the truck stop.

  Ten minutes on the freeway, Nash was about to comment on the absence of any other traffic when light suddenly appeared in his passenger side rearview mirror.

  “Betty, a vehicle is coming down the ramp at the exit we just passed. It’s coming on us fast.”

  Betty removed Jill’s pistol from her bag and said, “Probably just another traveler.”

  Nash, not falling for her false optimism, said, “Yeah, sure…” then, “oh, shit, hold on.”

  Betty’s, “just another traveler”, driving an SUV, initially giving the appearance of passing, suddenly swerved back behind them, its lights blinding Nash, The heavier vehicle bumped the jeep’s rear bumper hard enough to cause him to swerve into the emergency lane. He almost lost control, but managed to straighten out and swerve back onto the freeway. The driver of the SUV sped up to bump them again. This time Nash was able to maintain control.

  Betty unsnapped her seat belt, twisted in her seat to get her knees on it, and to Nash’s consternation, fired her pistol through the rear glass of his jeep. In his rearview, he saw the tempered glass disintegrate as she fired twice more before clicking on an empty chamber.

  Nash moved a hand from the steering wheel to loosen the snap on his holster, but saw the SUV swerve, then turn so sharply that it flipped onto its side and rolled several times Fading in distance behind them, it burst into flames.”

  Betty squirmed back into her seat and said, “That son of a bitch. I think I saw kids in that SUV.”

  Instinctively, Nash’s foot shifted to the brake pedal. Betty feeling the jeep slow down, shouted, “Don’t stop, keep going.”

  Nash resumed speed. A moment later, Betty said, Stop. Stop now.”

  Nash applied brakes and pulled onto the emergency lane. Betty opened her door the instant the jeep ceased rolling. She barely made if from her seat before she began throwing up.

  Nash shifted to neutral and applied the emergency brake. Leaving the engine running, he raced through the pouring rain to where Betty stood bent with her hands on her knees. She’d finished puking, but didn’t shake off Nash’s supporting hand on her arm.

  After a moment she stood, shook her arm free and said, “I’m trying to be strong, be as tough as it takes, but god damn… what sort of idiot would do something like that with children with them?”

  Nash said, “You have to…”, but Betty cut him off.”

  “Don’t try to give me any homilies. It is what it is; desperate people doing desperate deeds. They were in the same fix as us, desperate and destitute.

  “I thought tonight we would do one hideous deed and then it would be over. We’d have what it takes to survive. I see now, this is only the beginning of a fucked up future. I feel like the only out is a bullet through my brain.”

  Betty’s statement alarmed Nash. Alarmed, not just by her thought of suicide, but that if she acted on it, he’d be alone.

  “Don’t say that, Betty. I need you.”

  “You need me! Jesus, Nash, I’m not your mother.”

&nbs
p; Angered by her words, Nash responded, “And I’m not your whipping boy. If saying the truth is so unbearable to you, say so and we can go our separate ways.”

  Betty was quiet for a long moment. She drew a deep breath and let it out. “I’m sorry, Nash. I was overwhelmed with the knowledge I just killed a family.”

  Nash said, “They were trying to kill us. What else could you do?”

  “Nothing else. They brought it on themselves.”

  “Do you still want to go to the gang’s hideout?” Nash asked.

  “We have to go... Remember… desperate and destitute. We have no other option. Do or die. That’s what we have. I’m soaked and cold. Let’s get back on the road and get it done. You’ll need to kill the dome light. We don’t want it to come on when we change drivers.”

  **********

  A long stretch of the rural secondary road leading to the turnoff for the gang’s farmhouse was woodland on both sides. Betty told him it was idle, corporation land, and that the property Merle owned butted against it.

  She had him drive the final half-mile to the turnoff without headlights. The lack of any artificial lighting enhanced the dismal dark of the overcast moonless night. Nash had to wait for his eyes to adapt, but even so, once again moving, he had only the silhouette of the bordering tree tops viewed through the moving wipers to keep him on the road. At the turnoff, a graveled drive, Nash stopped and shut off the engine so Betty could take his seat to drive alone to the prepper’s isolated house. In the pouring rain, they met at the driver’s door. The heavy thrumming of rain obviated the need to whisper.

  Nash said, “I replaced the magazine in my rifle with a full one. Did you find the extra magazines for Jill’s pistol?”

  “Yes, there’re in my bag. I’ll reload.”

  Nash asked another question. “Are you a good shot?”

  Nash heard the metallic sounds of her changing magazines. Withdrawing from her bent posture inside the jeep, she answered, “Not great, but good enough to hit people inside a room with me.

  Shaking her head to fling rain from her water-limp hair, she said, “Give me a ten minute head start so I’ll have enough time to get into the house. There’s a wide empty space in front of the house. Don’t cross it until you hear the bomb explode. When you do, come running. We’ll need to finish off anyone still alive. If I were you, I’d the leave the rifle. Your pistol will be all you need.”

  Nash was reluctant to part with his rifle, but realized she was probably right, it would only be an unnecessary encumbrance for what was coming. He passed it to her.

  Betty cranked the jeep, drove only a few feet and abruptly stopped. The rain was so heavy Nash barely saw her arm waving for him. He raced to her window. Betty leaned her head out and said, “The lighter; I’ll need it.”

  Feeling foolish for not remembering it himself, he fished it from his pocket and gave it to her.

  She put the truck in gear, slightly over goosed the gas, causing him to turn from gravel flung by the tires. Nash began counting seconds. Reaching six hundred, he began the long trek to the farmhouse. The graveled drive was so rutted and covered with rain-filled potholes that Nash’s forward progress more resembled continuous stumbling rather than walking. Several times, he stepped into holes with water above his ankles.

  . He reached the farmyard, defined by a treeless mowed field in front of the large, sprawling single-story house. He could barely hear the generator that powered the light filtering past the drawn curtains of the front windows.

  Betty had parked his jeep next to the black Hummer that was with the attacking party at the estate. In front of the Hummer was the pickup truck, with his trailer still attached. He did not see Betty or anyone else outside of the farmhouse.

  Heeding Betty’s instruction, he left the driveway to hide in the trees at the edge of the clear space.

  Waiting in the soaking rain, thinking about what Betty planned to do was worse than walking in the dark on the treacherously rutted driveway. To take his mind off it, remembering how it occupied him back at the drive entrance, he began counting to mark time.

  His count was past eight-hundred, closing in on fourteen minutes. The front door opened and light framed Betty’s figure. She closed the door behind her. Peering through the shroud of rain, Nash was able to follow her shadowy figure to the jeep. Seconds later, the figure left the jeep and returned to the small porch that gave access to the door.

  Nash readied himself to run. He guessed the distance less than two hundred feet, a distance he could cover in seconds. The lighter sparked and lit. The fuse of the bomb spat small stars of bright sparks. Betty held it for so long that Nash wanted to shout, “Throw it.”

  Betty opened the door, tossed in the bomb and dashed away from the house. The bomb exploded, a bright flash blew out the front windows and shredded the curtains, allowed rain-dimmed light to spill into the yard.

  Nash, wondering how a light bulb could survive such an explosion, took off, sprinting to intersect Betty. Halfway there, he lost his footing on the rain-slicked sod, and fell. He slid and rolled with the fall and was on his feet without losing a full second.

  Before reaching the point where Betty stood, Nash began hearing shouts of rage, mixed with cries and screams of men and women in mortal pain.

  Betty turned from staring at the house and moved to him as he closed the remaining few feet.

  “I can’t go in there,” she said. “It’s up to you. Some are just injured. Shoot anyone still alive. Go. Remember what they did to Jill.”

  Nash unsnapped his holster but hesitated, not caring for her sudden change of heart. Betty saw and gave him a shove toward the farmhouse. “I threw the bloody bomb. Now do your part. Get it done.”

  The chorus of cries and screams had begun to subside. Nash, pistol in hand, went to the door of the farmhouse. Opening the door, stepping into the large front room, he entered a dust-filled chamber of horror.

  A single bulb, sole survivor of a ceiling mounted trio, lit the space. Blood and red meaty-pieces littered the room. Many of the dead and dying lay scattered on the carpeted floor, mostly centered near a coffee table in front of a couch. The table, glass top shattered and chromed-frame twisted, playing cards and beer cans blown all around the room, and missing chunks of drywall on the ceiling above the area indicated Betty threw the bomb to where most of the gang members sat.

  Two men on the couch, one upright, the other slumped sideways, their bodies punctured by so many BBs it was impossible to see a spot not covered with blood. The same was true for the two men and a woman who sat on the floor at the low table until the blast blew them onto their backs.

  Those people were dead. What grabbed Nash’s attention was movement from sources further from the immediate vicinity of the blast. To the right, a few feet into the room, a woman, moaning, lay on her stomach; her thumping feet making an arrhythmic drum beat on the floor. He saw no wounds, but blood pooling on the carpet told him he saw the side of her not facing the blast when it happened.

  At the far right side of the room, at a small table near a pane-less window, the cursing voice of a male sitting there pulled his attention. Another man lay on the floor beside the table, seemingly dead. The one still at the table, ignoring multiple other puncture wounds, had his hands clamped to his face over his eyes. Nash blanked out the foul expletives the man was screaming and strode within five feet to fire a round into the man’s temple.

  The nine-millimeter slug changed the man’s last curse word to a gasp. Blood squirted from the hole in his head, and Nash heard a wet blast of flatulence as the man lost control of his bowels. The sound, and then the smell of it brought bile to his throat. At the same time, a noise from behind him caused him to turn from the man he’d shot. A severely injured woman, bleeding profusely from several wounds knelt in the wide entrance to the kitchen. Her hand held a pistol, but in her weakened condition was having trouble bringing to it bear on him. Before he could react, she managed to fire a single shot before her arm dropped to her side.

  Nash felt his left hand move with the bullet. A jolt of pain almost dropped him to his knees. He fired a shot that hit the woman’s neck just below her Adam's apple. Arterial blood spurted as she slumped sideways to the floor. Instinctively he lifted his hand to look at it. The bullet entered through his palm hitting the bone just above his ring finger. That finger dangled loose and floppy.