Defiance (The Defending Home Series Book 1) (13 page)

“Of course you will, and another after that and another until the driveway’s lined with trucks. You may think I’m exaggerating, that I’m being paranoid, but walk two properties down the road and speak with Billy. He was here today, trading bathroom knickknacks for jugs of water. A couple weeks ago, a scene like that woulda been hard to imagine, given he had a well on his property. Not nearly as big as ours, but more than he coulda used in thirty years’ time. Difference is, when the town came knocking he did exactly what you two are proposing and now he’s living day to day.”

Shane and Nicole sat staring at the floor. Slowly her eyes rose to meet his. “You may be right, but I can’t think of another way to stop them from killing us.”

A light grew behind Shane’s eyes. “What if we attack them first?”

“There’s too few of us,” Walter said. “It would be a bloodbath.” He turned to Dale. “I’ve been giving some thought to what you asked me earlier, about reinforcing the property. I believe the secret to stopping the mayor from stealing what we have lies in jacking up the price he has to pay for it.”

Dale regarded him quizzically. “Pay?”

“Not in goods or money,” Walter said, his ageing features scrunching into a grin. “But in lives. We already know the mayor needs the pumphouse as well as intact power generators if it’s to be any use to him. You said it yourself before. He wants us dead or gone. We need to transform this house into an impenetrable keep.”

“Sorta like a castle?” Brooke asked.

“Exactly like a castle,” Walter replied. “I’ve already drawn some initial sketches of what I mean.” Walter went over to the kitchen table where he thumbed through a series of sketches he’d made on sheets of white printer paper.

Dale looked on and listened with great interest.

“You might not be a big fan at first,” Walter said to Dale. “But just hear an old man out.”

“Go ahead,” Dale told him.

“First off, we use plywood and anything else we can find to board up the entire first floor. Doors, windows, you name it. From that point forward, we no longer access the outside from the first floor.”

Shane shook his head. “I don’t get it. Are you locking us all inside the house?”

Walter threw him a look. “Of course not. This is the part where I need you to bear with me. Coming and going to and from the house will be done via the second floor.”

At once, the room exploded with chatter.

“Dad, are you crazy?” Nicole said, her cheeks flushed red.

“How are we supposed to leave?” Colton asked. “Jump out our bedroom window?”

“Let him finish,” Dale told them, trying to calm everyone down.

“We build a retractable staircase,” Walter explained, his eyes lit with passion. “It’ll be a rigid structure that rests on a hinge and that we raise and lower by cranking a lever. Think of a castle drawbridge and you’ll start to get an idea of what I mean. If we’re under attack, we retreat to the house and pull up the stairs. That way, we’ll keep the higher ground and the enemy won’t be able to break in with the ease they did the other day.”

Dale was nodding. “I like it.” He bent over to study some of Walter’s drawings. “But what about the overhanging wraparound roof over the porch? If an attacker makes it underneath, he’ll be covered from fire overhead.”

“I thought of that,” Walter said, a curved finger poking at empty air. “I know how much you love your overhanging porch, Dale, but the plan would require that we tear it down. In doing so, we can also use the wood to board up the windows and doors and prevent blind spots in our defense.” Dale nodded. “I do have some HUD specs lying around somewhere about boarding up windows in case of emergency as well as sheets of plywood in the barn out back.”

The HUD Dale mentioned stood for Department of Housing and Urban Development.

“You know,” Shane said, “this crazy idea of yours might actually work.”

Nicole didn’t seem to share her father’s enthusiasm.

“There’s more,” Walter said, growing more confident. “On the second floor, we’ll create firing positions with clear fields of fire, reinforced with sandbags. I’ve spent a few hours searching the property and found some discarded burlap bags and similar items. There’s a patch of sandy ground about fifty feet behind the property we can use as fill.”

“I know straight away we don’t have everything we need to make this happen,” Dale said. “But we can always trade for whatever we’re missing.”

“So you think the idea’s all right?” Walter asked with a tinge of hope.

“Not all right, Walter,” Dale replied. “I think it’s terrific, even if it means tearing down my beloved overhanging porch. And as for the fence, I suggest we set that project aside and get started on this straight away.”

Zach

––––––––

A
warm blast of New Mexico wind rushed against Zach’s face and he couldn’t help thinking that this was what true freedom felt like. He was on his new Harley, growling south along Route 491. They were only miles from Gallup, Dannyboy and Hawkeye riding in his wake on Harleys of their own.

They were the kings of the road, threading past obstructions on the road with ease. Most of those obstructions were vehicles that had stalled or run out of gas during the early days of the virus as panic had set in and people had tried to flee. Few seemed to have had much of a plan or known what they were doing. The proof of that was all around them. For most, it had only taken a single kink to send their ill-conceived bugout collapsing into dust, along with many of them.

Zach sped by a Suburban just long enough to see a mummified figure slumped over the wheel and two smaller forms in the backseat. They would probably have been better off staying home, which was exactly what he hoped Lori and Colton had decided to do.

Zach and his new companions would make a quick stop in Gallup to skim what fuel they could and load up on some other supplies before crossing the border into Arizona.

The sun was high in the sky and tanning his arms a deep brown. They rolled into Gallup going slowly, Zach eager to get a sense of the place before they started their shopping spree.

The stretches between towns contained their own sets of challenges and dangers. Nowadays that added up to watching you didn’t run out of gas. Days or weeks from now, the survivors would begin to emerge from hiding, some of them setting up outposts from which to launch ambushes and attacks. For that reason, right now, towns were trickier. For any predatory-minded freak, this was home base and Zach and his men needed to be mindful.

They turned onto Maloney Avenue and headed east. On the right was a cement dividing ramp which led up to the interstate. To Zach’s left were a series of small businesses and single-story warehouses. They made a right on 3
^rd
and less than a minute later, Zach spotted what he’d been after. A Wells Fargo.

They turned into the empty parking lot and parked their bikes around back. Attached to the rear of his Harley was a cargo trailer where they stored the long guns, ammo and most of their supplies. Hawkeye popped the lid and removed the AR.

“Can’t imagine you’ll need that much firepower,” Dannyboy said, the silver grip of his .45 protruding from the rim of his jeans. “There ain’t no one around.”

“Maybe so, but I’m taking it either way,” Hawkeye replied.

Zach left the slightly unwieldy .44 Magnum in exchange for the policeman’s Glock.

Firepower aside, he knew well enough the value of the dollar wasn’t what it used to be. What he figured was that eventually the country would overcome this little hiccup and build itself back to what it once was. When that happened, he intended to have a mansion stacked to the rafters with greenbacks. This current stop at the Wells Fargo represented the first of many withdrawals.

They circled around front, not bothering to conceal their weapons. If there were still folks living here, they hadn’t seen any signs of them.

Inside, the bank was dark and eerily quiet. Deflated orange and red balloons rested languidly on the floor. There’d been some kind of promotion going right before the human race had fallen onto life support. Something about a low interest rate on your first mortgage.

The three men spread out. Zach had robbed more than a dozen banks in his day and he knew without a branch manager and power, getting into the main vault would be a big problem.   Hopping over the counter, he cracked open each teller’s register one by one. Most were empty. A couple contained close to fifty bucks each.

Dannyboy and Hawkeye had gone to check out the vault and the safety deposit boxes.

Zach was still searching for anything he might have missed in the front when Hawkeye called out to him. He sounded excited, like they’d hit the motherlode.

Zach jogged, a rare thing for a man who didn’t like breaking a sweat unless it was absolutely necessary. He went down a narrow corridor and then made a right, arriving before an astonishing sight.

The vault door was open.

Dannyboy and Hawkeye were inside and it sounded like they were talking to someone.

“I told you to get up,” Hawkeye shouted.

Zach removed his pistol as he entered. Inside there weren’t the bags of money he’d been expecting. Instead, he found an attractive Mexican woman in her mid-twenties, pushing herself back into a corner, her hands up over her head. Around her were two sleeping bags, an unlit candle and a mountain of empty food containers.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she begged, sounding fully American.

“We sure hit the jackpot,” Hawkeye said, his gaze flickering between the other two men. Dannyboy didn’t seem nearly as thrilled by the find.

“I don’t see a dime in here,” Zach said, gritting his teeth.

“Yeah, but we got her,” Hawkeye said. “She’s tried to make herself look ugly, but I can tell she’s got a real pretty face and a nice―”

“This isn’t why we’re here,” Zach barked. “You wanna have your fun, you do it on your own time.”

A ten-year-old boy ran into the room and froze.

Dannyboy swung around with the silver .45 and Zach pushed the muzzle to the ground.

“Rodrigo, I told you to stay hidden,” the woman lamented, bursting into tears and imploring the men to leave her son be.

“Don’t hurt my mom,” the young boy said over and over. It was as though he didn’t care that they were armed or several times his size.

The kid’s hair and skin were much darker than Colton’s, but Zach couldn’t help seeing his own son standing before him. Colton had been the same age when the judge had put Zach away for what was supposed to be a twenty-year sentence.

“Let them be,” Zach told his men.

“Oh, come on,” Hawkeye protested, still pulling on the woman’s arm.

In a flash, Zach swung out and smacked the open palm of his hand against the side of Hawkeye’s face. The sound reverberated throughout the vault. Hawkeye released her, clutching the place where he’d been hit.

“Ouch, man, why’d you do that?”

“’Cause you didn’t listen the first time I told you. There won’t be a next time.”

Zach left, returning to the Harley’s cargo carrier, where he retrieved a tub of peanut butter and package of saltine crackers. He brought them to the woman.

“It’s not much,” Zach said, “but it’s all we can spare.”

She took the items, tears of joy and appreciation in her eyes.

“You’re a good man,” she told him.

Zach thought about it, let the idea percolate and then shook his head. “You’ve never been more wrong in your life.”

Mother and son watched him, fearful and puzzled at the same time.

He tipped the front of his half helmet and walked away.

Sandy

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D
eputy Sandy Hartman was clearing out the trunk of her cruiser when she came upon the cardboard box containing Sheriff Joe Wilcox’s things. After his death, her intention had been to bring the box to his wife Doris, but it was a trip Sandy had never gotten to make because like her husband, Doris had died from the flu that very same day.

Those first few weeks when the pandemic was reaching out with terrifying speed, it was hard to fully digest any one particular death. There were just so many happening on a daily basis.

A dumpster less than twenty feet away was tucked in a recessed corner at the back of the sheriff’s office and Sandy lifted the box with the clear intention of tossing it away. But a little voice inside her head suggested she look inside, if for no other reason than to remember the boss and the man she had so admired.

Tilting back the lid, Sandy was hit at once by the smell of Joe’s cologne, a manly scent that seemed to permeate every item he came into contact with. Looking down, she saw a number of the items that had adorned his desk all those years. Pictures of Doris, of the two golden Labs he had regarded as their surrogate children, and of the lovely home they had lived in for over forty years. Next to that was the small wooden placeholder which read ‘Sheriff Joe Wilcox’ and beneath that ‘The buck stops here.’

She felt her eyes begin to well up with tears and struggled to hold them back. There were far too many tears to be shed and too little time in which to do it.

She was about to close the box, if for no other reason than to shut down that painful part of her memory, when she saw the daily planner. If Joe had been nothing else he had been an exceptionally well-organized man. And that had perhaps been one of the secrets to his success all those years. She picked it up and ran her fingers over the cool black cover. Flipping it open, she flicked through the days and months before the virus hit, the entries bearing an almost fatalistic quality. In a way it was like reading a diary from a passenger on the
Titanic
in the hours before the ship was to end up at the bottom of the Atlantic.

The final entry always proved to be the most haunting. She imagined that Joe’s would list the symptoms he was experiencing and the fateful knowledge that he would soon be dead.

Except that wasn’t what she found. On the date of that final entry was a strange note which she reread several times to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.

10:30 a.m. Meeting with Hugh Reid.