Through the Storm(46)

Conner jumped out and lowered the tailgate. Madison climbed down.

Spotting the marking for an observation point on a nearby knoll, Conner grabbed his rifle and hiked up a short trail. Madison joined him and together they gazed south along the Cascade Mountains toward home. Towering gray clouds rolled up from the south.

A cold wind blew.

Madison leaned close.

Conner hugged her tight.

“Stop,” Tim shouted. A shotgun blast boomed.

Conner yanked the rifle from his shoulder.

Five men, covered with tattoos on their arms and faces, formed a semi-circle along the road and edged near Tim and the truck. No one seemed hurt. Had Tim fired into the air?

Jason darted from the woods, holding a pistol.

Leading with his rifle, Conner hurried across the gravel, keeping the truck between him and the men.

“We were just admiring your pickup.” One of the tattooed men stepped forward and pulled a pistol from his pocket.

“Admire it from a distance.” Jason hopped in the driver’s seat and started the truck. “Tim, get in the cab.”

Another man pulled a pistol.

Conner jumped into the bed of the pickup and Madison followed.

Gravel sprayed as Jason accelerated back toward the pavement.

Conner stumbled to his knees and then yanked up the tailgate.

A thud shook the pickup.

Pistol fire mixed with a shotgun blast.

As they raced away, Conner glimpsed one of the gang members on the ground.

Another gang member fired a shot.

Conner returned fire and fell backward in the bed of the truck.

As the pickup sped down the road, Conner moved in front of Madison. With his rifle over the tailgate, he tried to return fire, but the bounce and sway of the truck defeated his attempt to aim.

For nearly an hour, Jason traveled along paved roads and stopped for nothing. Then he reduced his speed as he turned onto a gravel lane, and slowed even more as he turned up a driveway. When he pulled alongside a white, two-story farmhouse, he eased to a stop. Jason stepped from the cab. “This is my daughter and son-in-law’s place.”

Conner clutched his rifle. Why hasn’t anyone come out to greet us?

Jason walked to the front door and knocked. “Sue … Raymond … are you there?”

He banged harder on the door.

No one answered.

*

Rural Lewis County, Washington, Friday, September 9th

Within seconds, tears flowed down Ashley’s cheeks. “I was mad at Mom and Dad on Saturday.” She sniffled. “I don’t know why, but I always seemed to be angry with them lately.” She wiped her eyes with a hand.

Unsure of what to say, Drake passed her a box of tissues.

Ashley dabbed her eyes. “They told me to stay home Saturday night. I wanted to do what I wanted—go to your party.” She sighed and wiped her eyes again. “I wanted them to leave … just disappear … and they did.”

Watching her, Drake nearly cried. With each passing day, it became less likely his father and brother would ever return. Fighting back his own tears, he held Ashley until her sobs ceased.

Even with Ashley nestled against him, Drake felt empty and abandoned, but he would hold back his tears for Ashley’s sake.

Later, alone in the barn, Drake allowed himself to mourn for his missing father and brother and even his long-dead mother. Without them, he felt small in a really big and scary world. He banged on the wood shelf with his fist, spilling feed and grain. Tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped onto the bench.

No. He shook his head and wiped his eyes. He must be strong for Ashley. When the tears had faded to sniffles, he finished his chores and, with a final wipe of a sleeve across his face, walked toward the house. They might be alone in the world, but he would do his best for Ashley.

Few words passed between the two as the day slid by. Ashley worked on training Gruff in the morning and then again in the afternoon and prepared meals. Drake read his father’s notebooks, cared for the livestock, and checked survival gear, food stocks, and weapons.

I haven’t ever studied this hard. He slid the notebook aside, stood, and grabbed his rifle. Intending to do afternoon chores, he walked toward the back.

A knock sounded from the front door.

Ashley hurried into the living room with her shotgun.

Gruff growled.

Fairly certain that bad guys wouldn’t knock, Drake crept toward the entry and peered out the peephole. “It’s Pastor Wayne.” He opened the door and invited him in.

“Can you go on a short hike with me?” Pastor Wayne pointed toward the highest point on Fremont Hill. “I’ve got something I want to show you.”

Drake looked at Ashley. He always seemed to be leaving her.

“It won’t take long,” Pastor Wayne added.

Ashely smiled. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”

Drake followed Pastor Wayne along a trail through the forest. The path emerged near a new wire-mesh fence secured to thick, wood posts that ran along the ridgeline. He imagined it would be hard to climb the slope to the fence, but the height of the mesh, well over Drake’s head, and rolled barbed wire along the top would make entry through here very difficult. They followed the fence and soon arrived at the remnants of a stone wall built into a rock outcrop at the southwest corner of the hill.

“I’ve been here before.” Drake hurried ahead. “When I was a kid, I’d play here with friends. This is Fort Fremont, isn’t it?”