TiredFingers
Really Really Experienced
- Joined
- Apr 1, 2017
- Posts
- 322
"Becoming Family"
A story from the end of the world
CLOSED
A story from the end of the world
CLOSED
As they rounded the bend in the mountain road, the three vehicles belonging to the Mapleton Militia slowed to a stop, staying well back from the little bridge that crossed over a narrow creek. A dump truck filled the narrow bridge, blocking any forward movement by the small convoy. No sooner had the SUV, box delivery van, and canopied, military style truck come to a halt then the Militia Captain was out of the lead vehicle and barking orders to the dozen or so armed men disembarking to the pavement.
Somewhere from in the woods, coming from a bull horn, a male's voice called, "Remain on the pavement and no harm will come to you!"
The Captain ignored the voice and ordered his men to find cover in the ditches paralleling the road. A moment later, a scream sounded from the ditch near the aft end of the convoy where a steel trap had slammed shut around one of the Militiamen's ankles.
The voice called from the bull horn again, "Remain on the pavement and no harm will come to you!"
The Militiamen seemed hesitant, many of them looking to their Captain for guidance. He gave them a gentle gesture of hold position, then called out, "Who are you, and what do you want?"
A moment later, still from the bull horn but seemingly from a very different position, the voice called, "You are transporting slaves to the market in Mapleton, yes?"
The Captain didn't immediately answer but -- from his point of view -- clarified, "We are taking criminals to Militia Headquarters, where they will be tried for their crimes and, if found guilty, will be sentenced to various forms of labor for--"
He was interrupted by a single gunshot, a large caliber rifle round that passed through and shattered the driver's side and passenger's side rear windows of the Captain's SUV. As the explosion rolled through the forest, the Militiamen scattered to hiding positions, hit the ground, or simply remained frozen in place.
"Okay, so, describe it the way you want, then," the Captain said, adding, "Whaddaya want?"
"Unload your hostages so I can see them," the voice in the forest said, seeming to have moved yet again. "Line them up along the side of the road."
The Captain attempted to argue the demand, but a second rifle shot -- seemingly from a different position, implying a second shooter -- sent a cloud of dust and gravel up from the shoulder near his feet. He hesitated, then ordered the hostages unloaded. A bit more than a dozen men, women, and children were taken from the back of the canopied truck and lined up. They were all shackled at the wrists with a chain connecting them all from waist to waist.
A long moment of nothing passed before the Captain finally called toward the woods, "Now what?"
"Which of you women are or were mothers, or were caretakers for younger siblings or other children before the Plague?" the voice called. Some of the hostages looked between one another; some looked to the Captain as if seeking permission to signal. The voice called, "Raise your hands if you have experience with children."
After a moment, one and then two and three of the women raised their bound hands. Another moment passed before the voice in the woods called, "Release the woman in the red dress and the girl in the green pants. Then, load up the rest and be on your way. The keys for the dump truck are in the ignition. Move it out of your way and be gone."
The Captain laughed loud enough for all to hear, then asked, "You want me to give up three of my hostages and a truck full of supplies? And what the hell do I get in return, asswipe?"
"You get to sell the rest of your slaves at market," the bull horn sounded, followed by, "and you get to live another day."
The Captain caught the eye of several of his men, made some head gestures, then spoke some soft orders of how the attack on the woods would proceed. Suddenly, his head jerked back and as he fell to the ground in a heap the woods again exploded with the sound of the powerful rifle.
"Do as I ordered!" the man in the forest repeated as the echoes of the gun shot were passing through the scene again. "Release the women, and the boy at the end with the purple suspenders, too, for your leader's mistake of questioning me. Then, load up your hostages and your dead leader and leave!"
There was confusion amongst the Militiamen, but soon enough a junior officer took command and did as ordered. The three hostages were urged to the gravel shoulder and the others once again loaded up. As this happened, two Militiamen hurried to the ditch to help their still whimpering man out of the animal trap.
In the other direction, a Militiaman had already run for the dump truck. He fired it up, threw it into reverse, and popped the clutch. As it backed slowly, he jumped out; a moment later, it's direction took the truck into the ditch, clearing the road for the other vehicles which were already crossing the bridge.
"Open the back of the box truck and get inside," the voice called as the three Militia trucks were reaching the next corner. The trio hesitated on the road edge hesitated, with a pair of them chatting quietly and looking up and down the road. The man in the woods knew they were likely contemplating running and called, "Look at the blood spot on the ground near you and decide what you want to do next."
A moment later all three of the released hostages were moving to the back of the truck. They opened it and helped one another inside.
"Pull the door down!" sounded the bull horn.
Once the three were hidden behind the door, Henry Palmer hurried down from the woods to the back of the truck and slammed the door's latch locked. He entered the truck's cab carefully, fearing that a Militiaman had remained behind. But there was no one there. Henry jumped behind the wheel, turned the truck around with several short back and forth movements, then sent it down the road with haste.
Over the next hour or so, Henry stopped the truck several times to replace natural barricades meant to hide his path. Another twenty minutes on an abandoned logging road got him to his destination, an old log truck loading area deep inside a second growth area of fir. He unlatched the cargo bay's door, then stepped back and leveled a shotgun at it as he commanded those inside to come out. As they did, he smiled to them politely and said, "Welcome to the family."
Flanking him and looking at the newcomers were 4 children, their ages ranging from 9 years old down to 16 months. As the hostages looked at them, the children's reactions varied from none at all to wide smiles and an energetic wave.