Chapter Twenty-Four #2
Ben surged to his feet, hell burning in his eyes. He hit the door at a run, cursing every second it would take him to get
to his truck.
Sela.
Sela paced in Carol’s living room. This had been the longest afternoon of her life. She hated waiting, and she hated worrying
even more.
Ben was in harm’s way, and the knowledge filled her with cold dread. He could handle himself better than anyone she knew or
had ever known, and still she worried about him. She always would. That was what loving someone meant, and she had chosen
to love someone who wouldn’t hesitate when the hard things had to be done. Had anyone ever worried about him before today?
He gave the impression that no worry was necessary. He was tough as nails, capable of handling any crisis, he needed nothing
and no one.
But everyone needed someone to worry about them. She was Ben’s someone, would always be his someone.
If all went well, this would be over quickly. If all didn’t go well, she was prepared—not to lose Ben, but to protect her
family as best she could. Nerve-ridden, she’d brought her .22 rifle with her, not wanting to be helpless. She wasn’t walking
around with it in her hand but it was close by. She didn’t think she’d need it, prayed she wouldn’t need it, but she’d brought
it in case she did.
Meredith, Carol, and Barb were in Carol’s bedroom, Carol propped up in bed, Meredith and Barb in the dining chairs they’d
dragged in there so they could sit beside her. They were drinking wine out of tiny paper cups, sipping, savoring, being careful
not to consume too much. Carol insisted they had to be clearheaded, in case things went south . . . like those three would
be so much help if there was trouble. Carol had just that morning used the crutches to get herself to the portable potty by
herself, but the effort had been very awkward and painful.
Now and then Sela heard them laughing. Well, why not? They were drinking wine, tiny cups notwithstanding. They were talking
about how things had changed and what other changes could be coming their way. Barb had been giving Meredith tips about cooking
in the fireplace, a skill everyone was developing and expanding on.
There were two members of the community patrol stationed to stand guard outside the house. Harley was at the front, Darren
had been posted at the back door. Ben was experienced enough in combat to know things never went the way they’d been planned,
and you never knew which way a rat would run. In the way of losers, Lawrence likely blamed Sela for what had happened at the
store, therefore in his mind she was the enemy. However the confrontation at the craft store went, Lawrence would blame Sela,
and if he somehow escaped . . .
Olivia sat on the couch. Right after Ben and the others had left, Olivia had walked around with Carol’s .22 in her hands,
looking almost comically determined. Like Sela, she had eventually relaxed and set the weapon aside, in a corner near the
stairway. What did it say about their world now that Olivia was just fifteen, but this wasn’t her first rodeo. She’d already
proven that she could handle herself in a crisis.
All was quiet. Maybe nothing had happened yet. Maybe everything had gone so smoothly not a single shot had been fired. If
and when they heard gunfire, from the direction of the meeting place or from any other direction, those rifles would be in
their hands, and ready.
Sela checked the clock, paced in front of the dying fire, sat by Olivia for maybe half a minute before popping back up to
continue her nervous pacing.
Nothing would happen. Ben would take care of the men who were planning to create their own criminal enterprise, and that would
be that.
Nothing would happen. Ben would knock on the front door any minute now, and tell her it had been a piece of cake.
Nothing would happen. The universe would not be so cruel as to take away Ben when she’d just found him.
Sela took a deep breath, calming herself, then went to the fireplace to add some wood and poke at the embers to make them
flare.
In the distance, she heard gunfire, a lot of gunfire. Olivia jumped off the couch at the noise, and headed toward the stairs
to retrieve her .22. Sela whirled toward her own rifle, across the room. Before either of them could reach their weapons the
front door was kicked in and Lawrence Dietrich stepped into the room.
Beyond him, through the open door, Sela saw Harley’s still body. There was blood on the porch, on Dietrich’s sleeve and boots,
as well as down the front of his heavy jacket.
“Ladies,” Dietrich said. He was smiling as he pointed his rifle at Sela.
Sela’s blood froze, but somehow she kept functioning. She motioned for Olivia to go to Carol’s bedroom, and after a moment’s
hesitation the girl obeyed, walking backward, taking small steps until she was inside the room. Carol shouted out, “What’s
going on out there?” Olivia whispered an urgent answer, and Carol went silent.
Sela didn’t look at the .22 that was closest to her but she knew exactly where it was, and exactly how far away. It wasn’t
close enough, not nearly close enough. Even if she could reach it, she wouldn’t have a chance in a close gunfight with Lawrence
and his hunting rifle, which he was already aiming at her. Bullets went through walls. If he started shooting, the women in
Carol’s bedroom would be in the line of fire. There had to be another way. She didn’t see it, but there had to be, if she
could just keep calm and stay alive.
Lawrence kept the barrel pointed at Sela as he went to the back door and opened it, letting his brother Jeremy inside. While
the door was open, she caught a glimpse of a still shoe. Darren was down, too. Dead or injured she couldn’t know, not from
that one shoe. At least Jeremy wasn’t covered in blood.
At his brother’s direction, Jeremy collected both .22s and placed them even farther away from Sela, propping them near the
front door, while Lawrence edged around so that his back was to Carol’s bedroom. Through the open door Sela caught sight of
Meredith easing forward furtively. Good Lord, was that a vase in her hand? Meredith had guts, but—a vase? Sela caught Meredith’s eye and shook her head slightly, warning her to stay back.
This could go sideways fast, with one wrong move.
“I guess you heard those gunshots,” Lawrence said. “I wonder what it means? Who survived? Your guys or mine? If it was mine,
which I ’spect it was because I thought something like that might happen and we were ready, then your ass is in a sling. Oh,
wait. Your ass is in a sling anyway because I’ve got this”—he lifted the rifle a little—“and you don’t. Boo-hoo. Too bad for
you I didn’t trust Parsons. Wish I could have, I’ve always been a fan of doing things the easy way, but this time . . . this
time it was a mistake.”
He swung his rifle to the side and, for a moment, pointed it toward the front door before again taking aim at Sela. “I hope
that son of a bitch Jernigan comes running to the rescue, any minute now.”
Sela lifted a stilling hand, as if she could ward off a bullet. “Why?” she asked. Talk. Get him to talk, keep him talking.
She needed to buy some time.
“So he can watch me blow your face off before I take him out,” Lawrence answered with a sly grin. “We were going to have to
do something about him ASAP, anyway. Once he got involved I knew he’d be a huge pain in my ass.”
“No, why do any of this? You and your friends were all going to get a share of the gas. We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to
make sure that everyone will get by. It won’t be easy, but if we stick together we can all survive this.” She tried to sound
merely bewildered, not angry, not threatening in any way.
She had just lied. Not everyone would survive. Even in the before world, with electricity and modern medicine and conveniences,
not everyone survived. Now their existence was much more precarious.
But Ben was a survivor. In any halfway even fight, she’d put her money on him. Lawrence thought his guys had won, but she
didn’t. Ben was on his way, she knew it. If she could just stall Lawrence long enough . . .
Dietrich laughed. “Your pissy little five-gallon limit of gasoline was going to work magic? We need more gasoline than you
were going to give us. We need to be able to make short trips into other areas, and we’d like to be able to get home again.”
“Trips?” Raids, more likely.
He made a mocking half dip of his head. “Some of us need more than canned beans. My wife, Zoe, she needs her pills. She’s
a nervous wreck without them. There’s a basement weed farm in Maryville I’d like to visit. And who knows what kind of stash
some of the folks right here in Wears Valley have? With all the trauma and stress, why, we can make a small fortune in the
weed business, and there’s a fortune in meth—but I needed that gas, and you fucked up everything. Why couldn’t you have stayed
your ass at home, instead of sitting in the store in the dark? Now I’ll have to go from house to house to get it. Some people
are going to get hurt, and it’s all your fault, but you’re just a bump in the road. I’m going to get through this mess and
come out the other side a rich man.”
“But people will die—”
“Not my problem.” He’d reached Carol’s bedroom door, and glanced over his shoulder into the room. What did he see, what was
going on in there? Was Meredith still holding the vase? Carol would still be in bed, and frantic, because they would all have
heard what Dietrich had said. What was Olivia doing? Olivia was the wild card, and she’d been involved in the gunfight at
the store. She might try to jump Dietrich from behind. But, thank God, after looking inside the bedroom Dietrich began edging
away again, back toward where Sela stood in the middle of the room.
“Jeremy,” he said, grinning at Sela, “take care of the ladies in the bedroom.”
Jeremy steered well clear of Sela as he circled around, walked to the door, and looked into Carol’s room. “You mean, tie ’em
up?”