Bill smiled, but his gray eyes glared at Josh. “Thirsty? That don’t come close what we are, kid.”
A knife hung from Bill’s belt. Josh’s shoulders stiffened at the name carved on the handle—Huntsman. Uncle Carl used a Huntsman to skin a deer.
He had to get them water and find a reason for them to leave.
Bill checked out the solar panels, the broken windows, and the garden plot behind the house. He’d had enough time to put the pieces together: food, water, and shelter, and Josh, the only thing standing in their way of this gold mine.
A chill ran the length of his spine. Why had he argued to stay? Uncle Carl had mentioned looters, but if he weren’t here, these guys would be in the house already using the radio. His grandfather must be rolling over in his grave. Josh squared his shoulders.
“There’s drinking water at the spigot by the barn.”
“What about some grub?” Chip leered at Josh.
“Supplies are running low, but I can spare a couple sandwiches for the road.”
“I’ll take pastrami on rye.” Chip hitched up his pants with boney fingers. His thin arms and legs, his lean face and greasy hair, everything about him screamed desperation.
“Pastrami? Who—” Josh blurted then grimaced.
“This is a farm. You got a generator. Must have the fridge nice and cold by now, right?” Bill glared at Josh and cracked the front door, peeked inside.
Josh’s feet went numb. Now what? He had to stop Bill from going inside. He’d never get them out of the house once they got in. He bit the inside of his cheek.
“The food spoiled before I got the generator running. No meat.” Just stick to the truth as much as possible. “Everything in the fridge ended up in the compost.”
“Compost?” Chip’s vacant eyes cast a dark look at Josh.
“Yeah, for the gar—” Josh began.
“Yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah.” The edge in Bill’s voice stopped Josh cold. “Give us whatever you got then.”
“Peanut butter and jelly?”
“Perfect.” Bill stepped back to let Josh by.
Josh balled his fists and strode into the house. They followed, and his insides dropped. He turned to face them, but he was no match for these guys.
“Man. What a mess,” Chip stopped by the front door and scanned the Danish plates high on the wall.
How would he get rid of them? “I got water bottles. You can fill them at the barn.”
They didn’t move except to exchange a look. Josh backed down the hall into the kitchen. The basement door was closed. Did they notice it? His mind raced: where were the extra water bottles? He rummaged through the pantry by the back porch, found two water bottles. He fumbled one, and it clattered across the floor. Get it together.
Mumbling came from the two men in the next room. He stepped into the living room, and Bill cut the conversation midsentence. Josh picked up something about Canada and a guy named Mo with radio skills. He didn’t want to find out.
“We’ll get some water, but we’d like to eat here, rest up a bit before heading out if you don’t mind.” Bill glared at Josh. “Maybe your pa will get back so we can talk to him. Tell him what a great kid he has.”
“Sure.”
He rushed back to the kitchen. The sooner he got sandwiches made, the sooner they’d be gone. He hauled out the loaf of bread and opened the peanut butter, tearing the slices as he spread it. He put sandwiches in a paper bag, clutched the bag, his knees wobbling as he walked to the living room. With any luck, his legs wouldn’t give out.
“There’s a bench out by the barn by the water spigot.” Why did they have to be so big, act so tough? He handed them the sandwiches.
“You aren’t eating?” Chip asked.
Josh choked, his mouth bone dry. “I ate.”
“Thanks, kid.” Bill took the sandwich and stepped out onto the porch. The men opened the bag and divvied the sandwiches. They scarfed them where they stood, dropping the bag on the porch. Josh’s chest tightened as they headed to the barn.
They disappeared around the corner, and Josh ran down the stairs to check the radio. No messages. Should he turn it off? If Bill and Chip heard the radio, he was screwed. They might hurt him or worse. Did he have time to get a message to Uncle Carl?
He turned the volume down in case Uncle Carl radioed then jogged up the stairs to the front door. He scanned the yard and the barn. Where were they? All the debris and fallen trees created a chaos that made Josh’s head hurt.
He gazed at the southern sky. Dark clouds filled the horizon. Another storm? Now? How would he get these rid of these guys? They spoke in low tones letting water run onto the ground. Josh clenched his fists and headed over. How dare they waste—
A branch snapped, and Josh jumped. A third man appeared on the driveway. He waved to Bill and Chip by the spigot. Dressed in sweatpants and a bright orange vest, his buzz cut seemed tidy next to Chip’s greasy hair. The man took a water bottle from Chip and drained it. Josh swallowed hard. A boulder-like heaviness sat in his tummy. He stood in the driveway, ready to run.
Chip smiled and led the man over to Josh. He had the manners of a used car salesman, cheesy smile, easy banter. “This is my brother, Dean. He needs a sandwich, too.”
“Wha—” Josh clamped his mouth shut as Bill glared at him.
“That’s twice, kid. It’s like you don’t want to help a fellow out.”
Josh took a step back, but Bill reached out with both of his paw-like hands and grabbed Josh around the neck. Josh hung from his hands like a rag doll as Bill choked him. He gripped Bill’s wrists to pry them loose, but they clasped his throat like a vise, cutting off air. Stars swam in his vision.
“Bill, he’s just a kid.” Dean took a step toward Bill, who dropped his hands, his chest heaving from his effort.
“He knows the score, don’t you, kid.” Bill glared at Josh who choked and coughed as he backed toward the house.
The men followed him inside and closed the door behind them. This was it. Home Alone, only not a comedy. Josh’s pulse pounded in his throat. Bill closed the gap between them, and Josh gagged on his body odor. Maybe if he fell to the floor, played dead, or should he take a swing? The front door burst open, and Bill stepped back.
Silhouetted in the doorway stood a tall, broad shouldered man, feet braced, his hair tied in a ponytail. Deputy Larson held a pistol with both hands and pointed it at Bill. A five-point star flashed on the breast pocket of his flannel shirt. “Hands up.”
“God, Dean. You were followed.” Bill’s hand rose to his shoulders.
Josh raised his hands then dropped them to his side. The deputy’s gaze never left Bill.
Chip reached into his back pocket.
“Look—” Josh called.
Larson glanced at Josh as Chip crouched and swung a knife in front of him. Larson shifted his aim.
“Drop your weapon.”
But Chip raised the knife and took a step forward.
“Drop it.”
Chip rushed forward, and Larson fired. He swung his gun to Bill and Dean. “On the ground, now.”
Josh’s ears rang with the repercussion. He couldn’t move his feet.
Chip’s knife clattered to the floor as he sprawled to the floor on his back, a red splotch growing on his chest. Bill and Dean dropped to their knees, their hands spread on the floor before them. Josh stood frozen.
“Don’t shoot. We’re unarmed.” Bill raised his head to look at the deputy.
“Bull,” Larson growled.
“You can’t just shoot a man.” Dean held his shaking hands in front him as if in prayer.
“Did you warn that woman before you cracked her skull?” Deputy Larson kept his pistol pointed at Bill.
“Please, don’t shoot.” Bill lay face down, his gaze on the pistol.
Deputy Larson’s words hit Josh like a hammer blow. So, Bill had killed someone, and Deputy Larson had followed them here? Had Bill spotted the antenna? He didn’t act like he knew, but he needed to radio someone in Canada, right? Probably to get out of the US. Josh ran his fingers over the tender skin on his neck.
Dean reached out to Chip’s body. “Bill did it. Not Chip. Why did you have to shoot him?”
A pool of blood formed around Chip. Josh’s belly cramped. Chip bled on Mom’s best wool carpet. This was a horror movie playing out in his own living room.
“Weapons. Now.” The deputy stepped closer to Bill and Dean.
Bill drew the Huntsman knife from the leather holder around his waist and a gun out of his boot. Dean grabbed a cell phone and a jackknife from his pocket. Larson waved the muzzle of the gun at him.
“Hey, man, it’s all I got. I swear.”
The deputy kicked the weapons out of their reach and nodded to Josh. “Can you give me a hand here? Take the cuffs from my belt.”
A sharp pain filled Josh’s chest. Oh, God, I’m seventeen and having a heart attack.
“Okay.” His symptoms evaporated as instinct took over. Snapping the cuffs on Bill meant Larson was in charge, and these jerks were headed to Cedarville and jail. He let out a sigh. They’d be gone before the next storm hit.
Larson read them their Miranda rights then motioned for Bill and Dean to stand. Bill’s moustache twitched and Dean sobbed. Larson never took his gun off Dean or Bill. “What’s your name, son?”
“Josh.”
“Josh, could you carry the weapons for me?”
“Oh. Sure.” Josh scrambled to gather the weapons. Larson held the gun steady on the men.
“I didn’t mean that lady no harm,” Bill said.
“She died,” Larson growled, and Josh stepped back.
“Died?” Dean’s head swiveled from Bill to Larson and back.
Larson nodded his head toward Chip. “He’s going too. Grab his feet.”
Dean’s face crumbled as he lifted Chip’s shoulders off the floor, the cuffs holding his hands close hindering his efforts. “My own brother.”
Bill clasped Chip by the feet, and they hobbled to the door.
Dean made it through the door when Bill dropped Chip’s feet and rushed for Josh. Deputy Larson swung the pistol, hitting Bill in the back of the head. Josh grabbed the dining room table to steady himself.
“Don’t test me,” Deputy Larson said through clenched teeth. He prodded Bill who lifted Chip’s feet, his teeth clenched as they shuffled out the door.
Deputy Larson gave Josh a nod. “Lock the door after me.”
Josh stumbled to the door and turned the deadbolt.