Home Coming (The Survivalist Book 10) by A. American (best business books of all time .TXT) 📗

Taking a knife from the block on the counter, Mom cut the bag open and replied, “I will. But I’m going to have something like a real breakfast first.”

We left the house and started towards the gate. It was still dark, but the air was heavy. It must be eighty degrees already; it was going to be a hot day. The streets were dark and empty, and we walked in silence. Rounding the end of the block, we could see the gate. The men from the night before were still on duty, manning the same positions behind the sandbag emplacements.

Sarge stopped in front of the position, looking at the gate. “Any of you boys wander out there for a looksee?”

“Hell no,” the man I gave the AK to replied. “We’re not about to run out there and get our asses shot off.”

Sarge gripped the Minimi and said, “Well, there’s enough of us now.”

“I don’t think anyone is going to be out there,” Dad said. “Last night was a hell of a surprise for them.”

“That’s all it takes,” Sarge replied. “Make the investment not worth the return.”

We formed a line and started advancing towards the gate. The sky was just beginning to turn purple as the sun was waking. One of the men began opening the gate as we covered him. Swinging the gate fully open, we stepped out onto the road.

The acrid stench of fire hung heavy in the air and smoke still drifted in faint wisps straight up into the thick still morning air. I passed on the driver’s side with Dad. Danny and Sarge went up the other. The men from the neighborhood provided “cover” from behind the sandbags. I was more worried about them accidentally shooting me in the back than anything else.

We found three bodies and two blood trails leaving the area. We collected the weapons that were left behind. I walked over to the driver’s door of the truck and looked in. The driver was still behind the wheel. Or at least his blackened form was. A burned human is a horrible thing to see. What was left of the lips was pulled back into a sneer, showing the bared teeth that hung open in an eternal scream with no sound.

“Doesn’t look like there’s anything to worry about here,” Sarge said. He waved for the men to come out from behind the sandbags and called out to them. “Come on out here and search these bodies. Take anything useful, and then you’ll need to bury them pretty quick too.”

The men came out, and the one with the AK looked down at the bodies. “We should have thrown them into the truck last night.”

“Maybe,” Sarge replied. “But it would’ve stunk to high heaven.”

Dad was looking at the charred truck and said, “And that smell will never leave you.”

The man with the AK nodded. “No, it won’t.”

Mel looked out the window at the kids in the backyard. Aric and Fred were sitting on the porch watching them play. She was feeling better, her pregnancy progressing to the stage that morning sickness was waning. Mel smiled as the kids ran through the sprinkler and took to their bellies to slide down a piece of long black plastic that served as their impromptu slip-n-slide.

“Hand me that other jug of milk,” Kay said.

Mel picked up the half-gallon jug and handed it to her. “Here, I’ll measure the vanilla.”

As Kay poured the milk into a large bowl, Mel measured out a tablespoon of the real vanilla and poured it in with the milk. Kay added the sugar to it and started stirring.

“When this one’s done, we’ll have nearly two gallons ready,” Kay said.

“This will make for a really nice surprise when they get back,” Mel said.

Kay glanced over at her and asked, “You think his folks are still alive? It’s been a long time.”

Mel took a deep breath. “Morgan’s dad is a tough man. He’s spent a lot of his life fishing and hunting. He worked for the state in the woods and on the water. If anyone is alive. He is. Morgan learned a lot from him.”

Kay offered a reassuring smile with no conviction behind it. “Then this will be a really nice homecoming for them.”

Dalton came into the house, announcing, “Ello ladies!”

“Hi, Dalton,” Mel replied. “What are you up to?”

“I came to get food for the prisoners.”

“How are they doing?” Kay asked.

“They’re enjoying the food. Can’t understand how they’re being fed so well.”

Kay smiled at the light compliment. “I do the best with what we have.”

“And a smashing job you ladies do!”

“Thank you,” Kay replied as she picked up a cloth bag and handed it to him.

“Ah, thank you,” Dalton replied.

“How much longer are they going to be here?” Mel asked.

“No idea. When the old man gets back, we may know. He’s the only one talking to anyone up the food chain.”

“I’d just like them to go away. I don’t like having them here. Having to feed them. They should be shot. Not fed.”

“Oh, I agree,” Dalton replied. “But some think they have a use yet. So, it isn’t up to us to make that call.”

Mel turned and leaned against the counter. “Yes, we could. Who’s going to stop us?”

“Now Mel,” Kay started. But Mel cut her off.

“Why not? No one has the right to tell us anything. We’re the ones that paid the price for them being here. Not someone up in Eglin or wherever they are. It’s not their friends and family that have been dying.”

“I know how you feel, Mel,” Dalton replied. “But if we do what you’re suggesting, they’ll all have died in vain. We’re trying to rebuild our lives, community and nation. And it’s a hard road. We could take the easy road, but anything worth having requires hard work.”

Kay stopped stirring the creamy concoction in the bowl and said, “Oh, honey, he’s right, you know. The hard thing is almost always the right thing.”

Mel sighed, “I