Chapter 27
Barb woke with a clarity that felt carved from stone.
There was no drifting, no slow adjustment to daylight, only awareness.
Her body felt the shift before her mind named it.
A fight was coming. The previous days had sharpened the property into a battlefield, whether she wanted it or not.
Fog had stripped away their illusions of safety.
Scouts had tested their weaknesses. The stolen goat confirmed that the perimeter was no longer a deterrent.
She swung her legs out of bed and listened to the quiet.
The house sat still in the early morning light, its walls creaking softly as the air warmed.
Cathy breathed steadily in the next room, exhausted from the long night.
Barb stepped lightly into the hall. She checked the locks first, then the windows, then the rifle resting beside the doorway.
She lifted it, checking the chamber, before placing it in Cathy’s hands a few minutes later.
“I need you in the loft again,” Barb said.
Cathy blinked slowly, still waking. “Do you think they will come today?”
“Yes,” Barb said. “They will come looking for a reaction.”
“Because of the goat.”
“Because of all of it. Yesterday showed them they can breach the outer lines. Today, they will see how far that gets them.”
Cathy swallowed. “So, what do you want me to do?”
“You stay in the loft with the rifle. You don’t fire unless you need to stop someone from reaching the barn or the house. You track the one with the machete, not the others. He will be the first to move.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll meet them,” Barb said.
Cathy’s eyes widened. “Alone?”
“Yes. They expect fear and panic. They expect us to hide. I want to take that advantage away from them. I’m going to show them that there isn’t any fear in living here. Maybe if I can do that, they’ll back down, but I doubt it.”
“Barb, you could get hurt.”
“That’s always true,” Barb said. “The difference is that today we get to choose the terrain.”
Cathy looked away, jaw trembling slightly, then nodded.
She took the rifle with a firm grip and headed toward the barn.
Barb watched her climb the loft ladder, positioning herself near the window they had cleared the day before.
The morning light caught in Cathy’s hair, making her look younger and older at the same time, fear sharpening her into someone more capable than she realized.
She left the barn and walked back toward the house before retrieving the heavy wooden handle she had taken from a broken tool.
It fit well in her hand, the weight balanced enough to strike with force without overextending.
She tested its grip once, twice. She kept it low against her leg, neither hidden nor flaunted.
Firearms were a last resort. Noise was something they couldn’t afford unless the cost justified it.
She stepped onto the porch and scanned the tree line.
The fog from the day before had lifted, leaving only a thin glaze of mist sliding across the grass.
The sun pushed through the clouds in patches.
The world looked deceptively calm. Barb walked the inner fence line, eyes tracing each approach path.
She had narrowed them carefully in the last day, turning the property into a funnel.
Anyone approaching would have to walk through ground she controlled.
She crouched behind the low rock wall she had used before and checked the angles.
The barn loft offered Cathy perfect cover.
The blind near the creek caught the eastern path.
The choke points forced movement into predictable lines.
Everything was ready. She heard the first footsteps long before she saw them.
They came from the same path the scouts had used two days earlier.
Soft at first, steady, then joined by two more.
Barb straightened and stepped out from behind the rock wall calmly.
Her grip on the wooden handle remained firm.
Her posture widened. Three figures emerged from the trees.
The same young man and woman as before. Their movements were precisely as Barb remembered.
Controlled, measured, and organized. The presence of a third figure immediately changed the dynamic.
He was older, broader across the shoulders, with a backpack strapped tightly to his frame.
A machete hung at his hip. His stride set the pace for the group.
They weren’t scouting anymore. Barb stepped fully into view.
Her stance was deliberate, shoulders squared and feet planted, with no visible fear.
She projected the stillness of a person who knew every inch of the ground she stood on.
The machete-carrier’s eyes narrowed. He scanned the property behind her, then returned his attention to Barb, judging the distance, the angle, and her.
The young man looked startled to see her step forward alone.
The woman beside him looked at Barb as if recalculating everything she’d expected.
Barb said nothing. The machete-carrier took a slow step forward, but she knew Cathy was tracking him from above with deadly accuracy, unseen from the ground.
She lifted the wooden handle slightly—not threatening—just enough to show she wasn’t unarmed.
The man with the blade smirked as if amused by her choice of weapon.
He touched the handle at his hip deliberately, a quiet show of power.
Barb watched the shift in his weight, the tightening of tendons in his neck, and the slight arch of his shoulders.
She read him easily. She had written men like him in novels long before the world had fallen apart.
Men who mistook confidence for strategy.
Men who believed a weapon made the person.
He had underestimated her before he had even opened his mouth.
“You live here,” he said. His voice carried an edge, not loud enough to shout, but loud enough to demand a response.
Barb said nothing, and he took another step.
“We saw movement. We know you aren’t alone. We’re not looking for trouble,” he said, though his hand drifted closer to the machete. “We want food and supplies.”
Barb kept her gaze fixed on his, unblinking.
The young woman shifted slightly, her eyes darting upward toward the barn loft.
She sensed something. Her posture stiffened, and she touched the young man’s arm subtly, a warning gesture.
Barb caught it instantly. The machete-carrier stepped closer, closing the distance by another two feet.
“You can make this easy or not.”
Barb lifted the wooden handle slowly, centered it in front of her, and spoke for the first time. “You won’t enter this property.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes,” Barb said.
He took one more step, and Cathy fired. The bullet struck the dirt at his feet with a violent burst that sent soil and grass flying.
The shockwave rippled through the field.
The machete-carrier jumped back instinctively, nearly losing his footing.
His eyes shot upward toward the loft, though he saw nothing. Barb didn’t move.
The young woman grabbed his arm. “Stop,” she hissed. “We’re exposed.”
He glared at Barb, then at the barn, calculating. He hadn’t expected an armed defender. He hadn’t expected a second fighter. He definitely didn’t expect a warning shot that landed exactly where it needed to. The young man hovered uncertainly, shifting between fight and retreat.
Barb held his gaze without blinking. “Leave.”
“We won’t forget this.”
“That’s your choice,” Barb said softly.
The young woman lifted her hand in a sharp gesture.
The young man followed without question.
The machete-carrier hesitated half a breath longer, anger simmering through him, but he obeyed the gesture.
He backed away slowly, never taking his eyes off Barb.
He stepped into the trees, vanished into the shadows, then reappeared briefly as the fog thickened near the northern edge.
Barb tracked their departure until the woods swallowed them entirely. Only after they were gone did she lower her weapon. She waited another full minute before stepping back toward the barn.
Cathy climbed down the ladder with trembling arms, her face pale, eyes wide with adrenaline. “Barb,” she said. “He was going to charge you.”
“I know,” Barb said.
“I could hear my heart pounding so loud I thought they would hear it.”
“You held your aim and placed the shot exactly where it needed to be.”
Cathy shook her head. “I thought…I thought for a second I would have to hit him.”
“You did what you needed to do. You made them understand we aren’t easy prey.”
Cathy leaned against the barn wall. “They’ll be back.”
Barb nodded. “Yes. With more people. Or with a plan.”
“What do we do now?”
“We prepare for the next time. This was only a test. I assume they’ll be back with more next time.”
“Are we ready for a fight?”
Barb looked at the tree line where the three had vanished. The forest seemed to pulse with an unspoken promise. Conflict was no longer a possibility, but a certainty. “We will be,” Barb said.
She didn’t look away from the woods. She waited for the wind to shift. She waited for the whisper of footsteps that would come again. They would return, and the only question left was when.