John rushes to the hallway near the front of the house, swings left, sees a perp coming at him and fires once which kills the man- unless he has super powers to reassemble his skull. Then he moves right, takes out another man coming out of a bedroom who manages to fire off a round. He is trying to get to Derek and flank his brother in case he needs support.
Derek steps from the kitchen area into the hallway and nods that he’s clear and ok. They split up, each going in an opposite direction. John heads back the way he came as Derek moves further in the direction of the second, downed victim of John’s M16. From somewhere a floor above there is the sound of small children crying. Good. He hopes they stay up there and out of his and Derek’s ways.
When John gets into the bedroom- the first floor master which is huge- he sees just in time as the adjoining bathroom door slams shut. Another single shot rings out from the other end of the house which he assumes, prays is his brother doing the killing and not the other way around. He walks toward the bathroom door cautiously, careful to stand off to the right of it should anyone fire through it and hit him. He’s getting a little sick of being shot or stabbed.
“Come out!” he shouts and kicks the door once with the flat of his Army boot. No answer, of course. “Come out, man, or I’m comin’ in.”
He counts to five and gives a hard kick to the door which easily crashes inward. John steps inside, sees the man, a real scumbag of a man, and hits him point blank to the chest with a single shot.
“We’re all clear, bro,” Derek calls from the doorway.
“Find the woman and kids?”
“Yep. They’re ok. Scared, but ok. Must’ve been five not four,” he says, referring to the perp count as John finishes his surveillance of the room, bathroom, closets and under the big bed.
“We need to get them out of here, though. This isn’t good for them to see all this shit,” his brother says and turns to leave without an answer. Of course John agrees. No kid should see a man’s blood all over his mother’s white, marble tub and bathroom floor.
They gather the woman, two little girls and teen boy and take them across the street to Anita’s condo where Reagan lets them back in.
“Maya’s sick,” the woman, Selena, tells Anita after they get them settled into the living room area of Anita’s condo.
“What’s wrong with her?” Reagan jumps in quickly and crosses the room to the woman.
“She has had a fever for three days. I’m not sure, but I thought it was a tooth or something coming in. I don’t feel anything in her mouth. I have to go out and find her medicine,” the worried mother with the light blonde, cropped hair says as she clutches both girls closely to her side on the sofa.
“I’m a doctor. Let me get my bag,” Reagan tells her. She glances once at John, and he knows what she wants. They jog out to the truck, and John snatches her satchel from the floor of the front seat for her.
“Didn’t get yourself stabbed this time?” she mocks like a little smart aleck. She rakes her hair back from her forehead, and John notices that her small hand trembles just slightly. She’s obviously rattled by this small skirmish. He decides to follow her lead and keep things light.
“Nope. Worried ‘bout me, huh?” She scoffs at him, but he just chuckles. She reaches for her black doctor’s bag, but he holds it out of her reach.
“Get real. Why would I worry about you? You’re a big boy,” she adds with a flash of impatience.
“Yeah, but you could pretend to worry just a little bit, boss,” he says as he hands over her bag. He doesn’t miss the roll of the eyes.
“Why should I? You’ve managed not to get yourself killed for twenty-nine years without me worrying about your sorry ass. And you did good this time, moron. You’re not even stabbed!”
“Thanks, babe,” he tells her with a slap to her derriere when she turns to leave. The venom in her green eyes is worth it, but he is glad that she left her rifle in the condo. He chuckles to himself as they go back around the sleek, modern condo.
Twenty minutes later, after a thorough examination, Reagan has declared that the little girl with the big brown eyes has an ear infection.
“I have a slow release antibiotic in here. I’ll give it to you along with some of this organic raw honey,” she tells the mother. Where the heck did she get honey? It’s in a small, non-labeled pill bottle. She must’ve grabbed some before they left, or else her grandfather gave it to her.
“Honey?” Selena asks with confusion.
“Yeah. Make her some hot tea, pour this in and have her drink it. It has natural antibiotics in it that will also help with this. Get her out in some sunshine each day, but not too much because the antibiotic is reactive to too much sunlight. A few minutes a day will be good for her, though.”
“You need to stay together. Don’t go back to your own condo, unless it’s just to gather supplies,” Derek butts in.
“Right. Leave your place and just stay here,” John confirms. Both women look scared and unsure.
The next hour flies by as John, Derek and the teenage boy bring lumber in from the garage and from stealing it from the neighbor’s fence. They nail shut most of the windows, the sliding glass door and board up all weak entryways. The last thing they do is give them some of the supplies they have found that might help them to survive. They have a pretty good supply of food already. But when John and the boy go back to the condo and bring over the food from Selena’s and gather more from abandoned homes next to theirs, he’s fairly confident they can go for more than a few months on the store. John and Derek promise to come and check on them from time to time. They also take a few minutes to show the women and teenage boy how to use the two shotguns and three pistols they confiscated from the dead men. Derek leaves his two extra magazines, and Reagan leaves one. It’s the most they can offer, it’s all they can do for them, but John is confident they will survive. These women and children are clearly survivors. The boy, though he is only a young teen, has a fierce protectiveness in his eyes for his mother. And these women and children will have a better chance of it with the help that they’ve given. They’ll have a better chance of surviving if they stick together. Killing those creeps for them hadn’t hurt their chances, either.
Reagan
Ten minutes later they arrive at the Reynolds farm and honk the horn twice. It’s one way to let them know that they aren’t another threat pulling in. Wayne and Chet come out of the barn, but Bertie is nowhere to be seen. The men shake hands, and Reagan just nods her head.
“Reagan,” Chet says to her and tips his ball cap. He stares overly long at her, which makes her uneasy.
“We’re just checking in on you and your family,” Derek tells Wayne.
“Thanks, we appreciate that. Bertie’s inside. She’s having a hard time dealing with... everything. We’ve been making some changes around here like you guys told us,” Wayne tells them which turns into an animated discussion about security. Reagan isn’t the kind of woman to go in and offer up female small talk to make Bertie feel any better, so she hopes they don’t suggest it.
“Reagan,” Chet says quietly and touches her elbow, which makes her jump. “Can I talk to you over there?”
“Uh, sure, Chet,” she answers. She notices John’s head whips to the side because he’s overheard this interaction. He’s not looking at her, though. He’s looking Chet Reynolds up and down. His eyes are guarded.
“Don’t go far,” John orders, and she just looks at him queerly.
Once they are about twenty feet away from the other men Chet tells her, “Hey, I just wanted to thank you for everything you did for our family.” He is standing with his back to the men, but Reagan can still hear Derek and Wayne talking.
“Ok,” she says confusedly. Why does he want to thank her? His dad is dead.
“I mean, what you did was amazing. You were real helpful, is all. If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead now,” he praises. It makes her uncomfortable. He also looks on edge for some reason.
“Probably,” she admits intentionally and shrugs. He removes his ball cap and runs a hand through his long, white hair. It is not in its usual ponytail. He needs a haircut in her opinion. His silvery, blue eyes stare directly at her. It makes her stomach twist in knots. Almost like when the hair stands up on the back of her neck in warning of danger. “I should take a look at those stitches while I’m here, though. They weren’t dissolvable, obviously.”
Chet Reynolds actually blushes, although it’s hard to see because his skin is so tan. But it’s there nonetheless. It doesn’t allay her nerves.
“Nah, I’m good. Bertie helped me keep everything clean and bandaged. She said they’re healin’ up real good. And I’m back to working around here,” he explains. “She can cut them out for me when it’s healed.”
“Ok, whatever,” she relents, not feeling like arguing. Reagan glances past Chet’s wide shoulder and sees John looking at them. His expression is tight, almost angry. The crease is between his eyes again. He doesn’t seem to be paying attention to Derek or Wayne. He nods every once in a while, but he continues to stare at her and Chet, who is rambling about what an awesome doctor she is. Oh brother.
“You’re just awesome. I mean an awesome doctor. Are you hungry? Do you guys wanna’ stay for lunch? Bertie’s a real good cook. Been eating a lot of venison lately. Never thought I’d have to learn how to do gardening, but we’re makin’ it ok,” he goes on.
“No thanks, we need to get going,” Reagan tells him. She scuffs her shoe nervously at a pebble. Chet is making her anxious. He’s too tall, just like John. His long hair is pale. Just like... that man. And tall men make her nervous. Except for Kelly, who’s more like a woolly mammoth. Plus, he somehow understands to keep his distance and doesn’t ever close in on her.
“You should come in. Hang out for a while. I could take you home later if ya’ want,” Chet offers. Why the hell would she want to do that? There are chores that need done. As if she has leisure time to just “hang out” anymore. What a moron. She glances out at the cows in the pasture, avoiding eye contact.
“No,” she answers directly.
“Are you sure? You know, Reagan, I’ve kind of always hoped you’d come back to the farm to live someday. After you went to that big, fancy college and stuff,” Chet yammers on.
“Why?” she asks simply and turns the other direction, surveying the property, seeing the layout through John’s and Derek’s eyes. She shields her gaze from the bright sun with her hand at her brow. The men were right; this place is a death trap. The security sucks even with their improvements.
“Well, ‘cuz I always thought... I mean you and me...,” Chet stutters and touches her arm, making her jump again. Her eyes dart to his and then to his large hand. “Hey, are you even listening?”
John’s at her side. Where had he come from? She’d only turned away for a second.
“Don’t do that, dude. You ready?” he asks Reagan and warns Chet at the same time. His voice is serious, threatening. Chet gives him an angry glare, but it fades just as quickly. The men stare another second at each other before John takes Reagan by the elbow and leads her away. He glances over his shoulder at Chet before they join with Derek again, though. What the heck was that all about? Reagan pulls gently at her arm until John releases her.
“We’d better head back to the farm,” John tells Derek, interrupting him and Wayne.
“Yep, let’s roll,” Derek agrees. They’ve spent quite a few hours away from the farm; it’s not a good idea to be gone so long. The men all shake hands again. But then Chet tries to give her a hug. What the fuck?
“No,” Reagan mumbles, shakes her head and hops in the truck to the middle space. She can hear John chuckle. She nervously fingers the safety on her thigh pistol. The brothers get in on either side of her as Derek sends a quick, two-fingered salute to the Reynolds men as they pull out onto the gravel road again.
“Easy, boss,” John says as he stays her hand with his and squeezes and releases. “He’s just a love sick pup.”
“What are you talking about?” Reagan asks, still thinking about the Reynolds’s poor security.
“Your boyfriend back there, boss,” John says and snickers.
“Boyfriend? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Chet? I think he was trying to get in your pants,” John tells her point blank. He glares ahead at the gravel road, the trees, nothing.
“Yeah, right,” Reagan returns with a snort.
Derek laughs loudly. “I actually think he’s older than you, John.”
“Not bigger, though. I can still take care of him if I need to. But he’s probably harmless,” John answers his brother. It is like they are speaking another language.
“Chet? What are you two talking about?” she asks confusedly.
“Nothing. How the heck are you so smart and so dumb at the same time?” John laughs. It pisses her off, so she gives him another jab. But when she glances up at him, he’s staring down at her with such warmth and praise in his eyes that she is caught like a deer in headlights. A slow grin spreads on his full lips.
He looks over her head, making eye contact with his brother and turns back to the road. His smile disappears. Why is he acting so weird? It doesn’t matter, though, because another few minutes and they are back to the farm’s entranceway. Derek hops out of the truck.
“Just wait here, sweetie. We’ll get it,” John tells her and pats her leg quickly before he joins Derek at the front of the truck. Reagan would like to yell at him or punch him again, but he jumped out of the truck too damn fast.
She frowns but stays in the truck. Why is it that she doesn’t flinch so much when John touches her? She sure as shit didn’t like it when Chet did it. But they work so quickly she doesn’t have time to herself to think on it more. Once they move the barrier, Reagan slides over into the driver’s seat and pulls the truck through. She waits again while they replace the barrier and foliage cover and get back into the truck. Derek holds his satellite radio up to his mouth and pushes the button on the side.
“India, we’re comin’ in,” he says. There’s a short pause.
“Roger.” Kelly’s voice is deep and scratchy on the radio, but it’s him nonetheless. Then there’s another crackle of sound: “Hi, Daddy!” It’s Arianna. Derek laughs, and John follows suit. Her tiny voice sounds even smaller on the radio. Reagan even smirks.