The Last Orchard (Book 2): The Last Orchard Page 3

  “Did he have a weapon on him?” Charlie asked.

  Shelly nodded and handed over a nine-millimeter Ruger handgun. Charlie ejected the magazine and found it fully loaded, then shoved it back into the weapon.

  “Haven’t used this today,” Charlie said. “But what about yesterday?”

  “You’re asking me if I killed anyone?” The man kept his head down while he spoke. It was the first response that anyone had been able to get out of him. He raised his head. “Have you killed people, Charlie?”

  “You know who I am,” Charlie said, then stepped forward, bringing him a breath away from the thief. “Then you know that around here, stealing is a crime. And that crime is punishable by death.”

  “Haven’t you stolen food? Haven’t you done things to survive that were criminal?”

  Charlie ignored the question. “Are you with a clan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which one?”

  The thief smiled. “Afraid you might kill a member of the wrong one?”

  “I just need to know what kind of pushback I might be dealing with.”

  “So you’re worried that I’m with the blue boys.” The thief nodded, rocking back on his heels. “They’re making quite the name for themselves. They have a few rules like the ones you’re talking about too.” He shook his head. “I’m not with a clan.”

  The way the thief spoke, Charlie couldn’t be sure if the man was playing games with him. If he was, then his people would undoubtedly come looking for him after he was gone, and the orchard would be the first logical place to check.

  “Take him to the fields,” Charlie said.

  Shelly shoved the thief hard in the back and forced the man forward, everyone following, with Charlie bringing up the rear.

  They dragged the thief out into the orchard, far enough away where Charlie couldn’t see the house or the barn. All that surrounded them was blackened ash and death.

  Shelly turned the thief around to face Charlie, and Charlie noticed that the man’s eyes had reddened during the walk.

  “So, you’re the judge, jury, and executioner, huh?” He laughed, then wiped his nose. “Why don’t you let me join your crew?”

  “Hiring a thief is like inviting rot in the garden,” Charlie said, and then held out his hand. Shelly placed the rifle in it. “You don’t notice it at first, but it spreads. It comes at the plant from inside out, it’s not until the plants are dead that you realize what’s happened.” He loaded a bullet into the chamber, then aimed the rifle at the thief’s head.

  “I just wanted to eat,” the thief said. “I won’t come back,” the thief answered. “You’ll never see me again. I promise.”

  Charlie adjusted his finger over the trigger. “People don’t keep promises anymore.”

  “Boss—” Mario took a step forward, then stopped when Charlie cut him a glare. He held his hands up, then retreated.

  “Is there no mercy left in you?” The thief frowned, his mouth trembling.

  Charlie examined the man in front of him. A man who only wanted food. Food that had been so readily available for so long that he had forgotten what it was like to be hungry.

  Hunger was an ache that carved you hollow, all the way down to your bones. It was a hunger that had spread, and Charlie knew that until he could get a fresh round of crops into the ground and get a harvest before winter, those seeds were the only thing keeping his people from going six feet under.

  Charlie placed the end of the rifle’s barrel against the thief’s temple. “Not anymore.”

  The thief’s scream was cut short by the thunder of the gunshot, the flash of the light from the muzzle brightening the carnage that ejected from the back of the thief’s skull.

  And while Mario winced from the gunshot and turned away from the blood, brain, and bone that was splattered across the dirt, Charlie didn’t avert his gaze. He remembered his father telling him that the first time he ever went hunting.

  You stared down your prey, all the way till the end. Because when you killed something, you owned it. But while this wasn’t hunting, Charlie knew the same principles still applied. There was no going back. It was a line that once you crossed, you could never step back on the other side.

  Charlie had murdered a man, willingly and deliberately. And he knew that he’d have to kill more before all of this was finished.

  4

  One Year Later

  The sky was colored in the light blues and grays of early morning. In a few minutes when the first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon in the east, it would gleam off the roofs of the RVs that filled the once-empty acreage of Doc’s property.

  The mobile homes hadn’t moved since their arrival. They’d trickled in over the past year, one, then two, then dozens at a time. They’d all heard the rumors of a haven with food, water, and the promise of protection.

  And when they arrived at the stretch of land, they had all come to speak with the one man that had laid the foundation for such a place to exist.

  Charlie Decker stood on the steps outside of the silver streamline trailer parked at the very front of the property. He looked east, enjoying the quiet of the morning before the village around him woke.

  A thick beard concealed his face, and his hair was slicked back, nearly long enough to touch his shoulders. The wrinkles around his eyes had multiplied, the creases growing more worn from the sleepless nights that continued to plague him.

  He had hoped that time would help ease the restlessness, but as the days grew longer, then shorter, then colder, then longer and warm again, Charlie found no such peace.

  No matter how secure the orchard became, or how much food they had, or how many guns or supplies they stored, his restlessness plagued him like a nagging tic.

  A pair of guards on patrol passed Charlie.

  “Boss,” the pair said.

  Charlie nodded curtly and remained on the steps until they walked out of sight. He stepped back inside, doing his best to remain quiet, but the streamliner’s age made it more prone to agitation, and Charlie couldn’t prevent his footsteps from breaking the silence. But she was already awake.

  Liz stood over the gas stove, boiling water and reaching for the coffee grounds in the small pantry next to their kitchenette. She turned to him, smiling. “Good morning.” She kept her voice quiet, and then gestured to the tiny cubby where Adelyn slept. “She’s still passed out.”

  Charlie smiled at the little girl curled up beneath her covers. He walked over and kissed the top of her head.

  “We’ll need to get a bigger trailer soon,” Liz said. “She’s growing like a weed.”

  Charlie nodded, then walked up behind her, sliding his hands around her waist. He nuzzled her neck, and she playfully shied away from him. He kissed her cheek and then walked to the trailer’s rear, reaching into the closet of their bedroom and removing the Kevlar vest from inside.

  Divots from bullet holes and knife blades riddled both sides of the vest. He strapped it on, and when he turned back to Liz, she was no longer smiling.

  “I didn’t know there was a raid today,” Liz said.

  “Dixon gave us some intelligence of a cell nearby,” Charlie said. “It’s inside our boundaries, so we’re handling it.”

  Liz nodded. “Are you taking the twins?”

  “Yup.”

  “Good.”

  The twins had become an integral part of Charlie’s raiding crew. They’d proven their worth time and time again as effective soldiers, though neither of them had any formal training. They were another layer to the bulletproof vest that he took with him. It helped both him, and Liz, breathe easier.

  The past year had seen several people come to join Charlie’s growing township, especially after the emergency shelters in Seattle went under.

  With the swell of people spreading out from the city, Charlie and Dixon helped as many as they could. And while Charlie and Dixon had helped one another handle the influx of survivors, Charlie wouldn’t have called their relat
ionship a friendship, but more of a mutually assured business venture. Dixon needed food, and Charlie needed guns and ammunition.

  Plus, more supply shipments were coming from the east, and a trade/bartering system had grown commonplace between Mayfield and The Orchard.

  “If everything goes according to plan, then I should be back by this afternoon,” Charlie said, trying to wrap his arms around Liz once more, but she resisted, stepping away from him and toward the cabinet that held the mugs.

  “Dixon has an entire base of soldiers,” Liz said. “He should take care of those matters.” She turned to him. “You’re needed here.”

  “I’m needed wherever there is a threat to our home,” Charlie replied, keeping his tone even-keeled and not wanting to spark a fight. “And if we don’t take a stand against—”

  “Okay.” Liz held up her hands, then placed some of the coffee grounds in the strainer before she poured boiling water over it. She handed the finished product to Charlie.

  “Thank you.” Charlie leaned in for a kiss, and this time was granted landing. His hands found the scar on her stomach, and he caressed it gently.

  “Try not to come home with a souvenir, all right?” Liz asked.

  “I won’t.” He kissed her harder, and then was out the door and weaving through the field of mobile homes, trailers, and RVs on his way toward Doc’s place.

  A few doors opened along the way, the residents inside offering a friendly wave or smile to Charlie as he sipped the coffee.

  With the number of ‘housing’ units crammed into the tight space, Charlie would have thought that people would have gone stir crazy from being in such close quarters, Charlie included. After a lifetime of growing up on an orchard with open space and places to roam, he thought living in a tin can would be a difficult adjustment.

  But it wasn’t.

  The only real time he spent in the trailer was when he slept. But a pleasant side effect of the close quarters was the fact that he knew everyone who lived with them. He knew where they had come from, what had pushed them from their homes, their skills, their fears, and what they hoped to do when the power finally came back on.

  These were Charlie’s people. Like Adelyn, they were an extended family he never intended to adopt, but one he inherited nonetheless.

  Up ahead, Charlie spotted Mario coming out of his trailer, giving Maria a kiss, who saw Charlie before Mario did.

  “Buenos Dias, Charlie,” she shouted, no doubt waking up some of the neighbors.

  Mario turned and offered a friendly wave. “Hey, boss.”

  Charlie nodded. “How’s the new crop taking?”

  “It’s too soon to tell,” Mario answered. “But I’ll be checking on it again today.”

  “We have a short window to make sure it takes, or else the trees won’t be mature enough to survive the winter,” Charlie said, turning back toward Mario after he passed him. “Let’s make that a priority.”

  Mario gave a thumbs up and headed toward the west fields, where he’d meet up with the field hands.

  Charlie had christened Mario as head farmer, and the man had taken to it as well as Charlie had suspected. Mario never had the stomach for raids, and Charlie was glad to have someone he trusted work the land.

  Charlie rarely walked the fields anymore. It made him uneasy. It made him remember.

  Nostalgia was dangerous. Spending too much time living in the past affected the future. So, he kept the past buried.

  The crew were already at The Shack, which was what everyone lovingly referred to as Doc’s place.

  The nickname for the house came after the Frankenstein patch job Doc and the others had done on the place. The old man had refused to move into one of the trailers, stating that if he wanted to live in a tin can, then he would have retired in Florida.

  “Doc up?” Charlie asked.

  “He’s making breakfast,” Shelly answered, cleaning her gun. “If you want something other than burnt eggs and bacon, then you better talk him out of it.”

  “How that old fart burns eggs I’ll never understand,” Jason replied, counting the bullets in his magazine. “I mean, you actually have to try and burn eggs.”

  The twins were always the first up when it was time for a raid. In fact, Charlie didn’t think they slept at all. It was unsettling.

  Shelly reassembled her weapon deftly, then rested the assault rifle along her lap and stared at Charlie. “You know what we’re hitting today?”

  “Yeah,” Charlie answered, then sipped his coffee.

  “How many?” Jason asked, retaining his leisurely post after he finished his bullet count.

  “Dixon’s intelligence says nine.”

  “Who else is coming?” Shelly asked.

  “Nick and Lee.”

  Shelly rolled her eyes, and Jason smirked.

  “That gonna be a problem?” Charlie asked, looking at Shelly.

  “Not unless Nick makes it one,” Shelly answered, her tone already riddled with stress, but then caught Charlie’s lingering eye and changed her tune. “It’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah,” Jason said, laughing. “What could go wrong between two ex-lovers with automatic weapons?”

  Shelly flipped the bird to her brother. Charlie headed inside, drawn in by the scent of sizzling bacon.

  Doc was hunched over the gas grill that he’d transported into the kitchen next to a window, where the smoke funneled outside through a homemade chute he’d compiled out of portions of the air conditioning ducts that he’d salvaged from his own home.

  “Breakfast is almost done,” Doc replied. “You can tell those mongrels outside that they need to stop showing up so early. I make breakfast the same damn time every damn day.”

  “I’ll let them know,” Charlie said.

  The twins were frequent house guests of Doc. And aside from Charlie and a few others, they were the only folks he talked to. It had been that way ever since his wife passed. She had suffered a stroke during the winter, in the middle of the night. And while his wife didn’t suffer, the callous that formed over Doc’s soul was only penetrable by a few.

  Charlie didn’t know why or how the twins had carved out a spot in Doc’s circle of trust, but he suspected it was because the twins didn’t know him before his wife had passed. He thought that maybe Doc liked being able to speak to people as he was now without them having the expectation that he was supposed to be something else. Charlie understood that.

  “Another raid?” Doc asked, his attention still focused on the bacon and eggs, which Charlie noticed were just beginning to burn.

  “Yeah,” Charlie answered.

  “Good.” Doc flipped over the bacon, the grease sizzling and popping in the pan, his mouth down-turned in a grimace.

  “You’ll have the room ready in case we need it?” Charlie asked.

  Doc grunted and nodded.

  The “room” was what Charlie and his security detail called the operating table. While Doc had the supplies and tools needed to perform surgeries, it was hard to find a sanitary space. So the RV that Charlie had brought back for Doc to use had become that space.

  It was always ready to go per The Orchard’s protocol. But Charlie still liked to ask, because while Doc hadn’t lost any skill from his job, he had grown forgetful.

  Doc piled the burnt eggs and bacon onto a plate and then handed it to Charlie.

  “Don’t get shot out there,” he said, then disappeared back into the shambled wreckage of his home. The home he refused to leave, even after it burned down.

  Charlie headed back outside, Nick and Lee accounted for and ready to go. He looked for any sign of tension between Shelly and Nick, but other than a casual indifference, there was nothing else. He wished the pair had just kept it in their pants, but it wasn’t his decision to make.

  “We need to get moving, so I hope everyone can eat and listen at the same time,” Charlie said, taking a scoop of eggs that he shoveled into his mouth before passing the plate around. “Dixon gave me intel on a l
ocal cell within our patrol radius. No more than nine, and Dixon’s scouts didn’t spy any heavy artillery. Commander Dixon and his men have been intercepting refueling supplies that they believed were intended for the local cell, which means that they’re running low on ammunition.”

  “Nothing as dangerous as a hungry animal,” Lee said, shoveling a bite of blackened eggs into his mouth, which was about all that was left on the plate, since he was the last to eat.

  “They have guards on watch on the north and south sides of their house, which happens to be close to the clans, so we’ll want to eliminate those targets quietly. We leave in ten.”

  5

  Charlie rode shotgun in the rusted Humvee. Dixon had let them borrow one of their military vehicles once they started performing raids. It was all part of the symbiotic relationship that they’d formed over the past year.

  Both men knew that they couldn’t have made any progress without the other, and while they may have butted heads over a few items over the past year, they both had the same goal when it came to the terrorists: wipe them out.

  Even without the use of modern technology and communication, Dixon and the rest of the military were still effective in their second round of assaults after the EMP strike.

  The recovery time of their country’s military was surprisingly quick, but even with their agility and adaptability, neither Dixon nor Charlie could have imagined the conflict against the Korean forces to last this long. However, part of their enemy’s plan was to recruit and manipulate members of the local population. Once food and water grew scarce, anyone who was able to provide those life-sustaining needs found themselves in a position of power. And it was a power that not everyone wielded with the same responsibility as Charlie and Dixon.

  “Heads up,” Jason said. “We’re near clan territory now.”

  Everyone kept their eyes peeled on the rundown houses that they passed on either side of the road. Windows had been boarded up, and the vegetation in the yards had grown to provide more cover for anyone looking to ambush, so it made any trip toward the edge of their safe zone more dangerous.