The Intrusion: Baltin Prequel Page 11

  “Is Mr. Rawlings okay?” I step onto the porch.

  Daddy gives me a tight hug.

  My question seems to startle Mamma because her eyes open a bit. “Yes, for now.” She gives my upper arm a squeeze. “Dr. Kemperling is going to keep an eye on him through the night, but I’m afraid there’s not a lot more that can be done without a proper medical team and a hospital.”

  When she enters the living room, she drops onto the couch and nestles her head into the cushions.

  Daddy stoops, removes her shoes, and massages her feet. “You did everything you could, darlin’.”

  Max fidgets in the doorway between the kitchen and living room.

  Kat barrels past him. “Tilly! You have a hundred thousand books in your room. Can I borrow one? Please, please?” Her eyes alight on Mamma and Daddy and she freezes.

  Daddy rises, his tall form dwarfing the rest of us. “Well, hello there.” He smiles, flicking his gaze to Max, me, then back to Kat.

  “Oh.” Mamma stirs, sitting up and putting a hand to her chest. A grin lights up her face. “I didn’t realize we had company.”

  “These are my friends.” I jerk a thumb toward Max. “I don’t think you’ve officially met Max yet. It’s just him and his sister right now because their dad’s away. They’re hanging out if it’s okay.”

  Mamma lifts herself from the couch and pushes forward, straightening the hem of her shirt. “It’s so nice to meet you, Max. Ricky’s told me all about you.”

  “Likewise, ma’am.” He places a hand on Kat’s shoulder. “This is my sister, Katherine.”

  “But you can call me Kat,” she murmurs, gripping Max’s fingers with both hands and staring at the carpet. One dirty, frayed sneaker slides back and forth over the piled, brown fibers.

  “Then Kat it is.” Mamma crouches. “And you can call me Sarah.” She squints, seeming to give Max and Kat a critical eye. “You guys hungry?”

  Kat looks under her lashes to Mamma and nods. “Starving.”

  “Oh, no.” Max straightens and squares his shoulders. “We couldn’t put you out, Mrs. Morgan. We’ll grab something at home and—”

  “Nonsense.” Mamma waves a hand in the air. “I’ll not have my daughter’s guests leave without a good meal.” She stands and smiles, the tiredness falling now that she has a purpose. “We’ll eat in an hour. Do you have any food allergies or anything I need to know about?”

  She’ll never stop being a nurse, thinking of safety first.

  “No, ma’am.” Max sighs, giving me an unreadable glance. “Thanks.”

  Daddy laughs. “Might as well get used to it, son. My wife is as stubborn as they come.” He claps Max on the back and follows Mamma into the kitchen.

  I giggle. “Oh, stop looking so glum. It’s not like she asked you to cut off a finger or something.”

  Kat pulls on my arm. “Tilly, can we go look at those games you have? And can I pick out a book to take home?”

  “Of course.” I head toward my room with Kat in tow, and Max shuffling behind. “But one book isn’t enough. Pick out as many as you’d like, as long as you bring them back.”

  She squeals.

  I glance over my shoulder at Max and grin.

  He rolls his eyes, but a small smile plays on his lips. His stare sweeps over me with intensity.

  Clearing my throat, I step into my room, grateful for the distraction and camaraderie of unexpected friends.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mamma rustles up canned chili, skillet cornbread—which she somehow managed with the grill—and fresh squash picked from her garden this morning.

  Max tosses himself against the back of his chair, rubbing his stomach. “I can’t eat another bite, Mrs. Morgan. That was delicious.”

  “I can.” Kat bounces in her seat and holds out an empty plate.

  Daddy laughs and ladles a heaping spoon of chili and another slice of cornbread. “Where you gonna put it all, squirt?”

  “In my mouth,” she says, and tucks in. Crumbles of bread fall from her lips.

  Outside, the descending sun touches the horizon. Its last golden rays fall through the slats of the window blinds and paint all five of us with alternating bars of shadow and light.

  Mamma takes Daddy’s lighter and touches the flame to the wick of a fat, white pillar candle sitting in the middle of the table.

  “So, Max.” Daddy slips a cigarette from his front shirt pocket. “You been practicing with that gun?”

  “Yessir.” Max reaches toward his back, but Daddy waves a hand.

  “No need to bring it out.” He tamps the end of the unlit cigarette into a palm a couple of times and glances to me. “Half-pint, you wanna get more practice in this week?” His head turns to Max. “If you’re still okay with us using your land?”

  “Of course.” One hand scratches at his chin. “And Tilly’s welcome to swing by anytime.” His storm-cloud eyes meet mine and he gives a secret grin, eyes full of… something.

  I swallow, heat racing through my veins.

  Daddy’s head turns to Max, then me, then to Max again. He jams the cigarette into his mouth and stands. “Son, follow me.” A grimace pulls at his face.

  Max loses his fiendish smile. He rises, drawing his shoulders inward, and follows Daddy outside, the front door banging shut behind them.

  “Well,” Mamma says while gathering plates. “He did warn him.”

  I can’t decide if I want to laugh or cry at the thought of Daddy tearing into him for flirting.

  Boom!

  The pictures on the living room wall rattle against the wood. One falls to the carpet and the glass shatters.

  “Holy crap. What was that?” Mamma’s green eyes widen, and she drops the plates to the table.

  Kat throws herself from her chair and hugs Mamma’s waist, her thin face wan and wild, like an animal looking for somewhere to hide.

  “It sounded like it came from the street.” I flick the napkin from my lap and shoot to my feet.

  The voices of shouting men spur me to run to the front door.

  “Wait, Tilly, get the shotgun.”

  But it’s too late. My fingers wrap around the smooth, cold knob and I jerk open the door, planting myself face-first into Max’s back.

  He stands frozen, but that’s not what has my full attention.

  Daddy, on the last step of the porch, has his gun raised and pointed to a small group of people on the other side of the front yard’s chain-link fence.

  Disgust swells in my blood. Leonard, from Eulan, stands with a deer rifle propped on his shoulder and aimed in our direction.

  Though it’s dusk, there’s still enough light to see the men wear camo and sport black and green painted faces, like they’re soldiers or something.

  “You ain’t so high and mighty now, are ya, Ricky Morgan?” Leonard hawks a wad of spit onto the grass near Daddy’s feet. “Amazin’ what kind of information an old-fashioned phone book contains—like a name and address.” On his left hand, the little finger’s taped next to its neighbor—a reminder of what Daddy did after the scumbag shot at us.

  “Guess we’re at a stalemate.” Daddy seems calm and sure, his stance wide and arms like steel, his voice even and firm.

  “Stalemate?” Leonard looks at his group and giggles. “Nah, this here’s what you’d call a check. Seems I got the upper hand this time. If you shoot me, my friends here will get mighty offended and shoot back, killing the rest of your family.”

  “Uh, actually, winning is called checkmate, you stupid asshole. Check’s when the king is under attack.” What an idiot. “And it kind of looks like you only have half an upper hand.”

  Inside, I snicker at my own joke. I should be scared, but something is wound tight inside of me, like a rope pulled taut and in danger of snapping. How dare these jerks show up and threaten us when we did nothing wrong.

  “Well,” he sighs. “Pardon me. Guess we don’t get the fancy schooling out in Eulan you Callahan folks get.” His face hardens, castin
g dark shadows over his ragged beard and greasy hair. “And my hand is just fine, you little bitch.”

  Several of his buddies chuckle bitterly.

  I try to fully step out from behind Max, but he pushes a hand behind to keep me in place. “Keep your mouth shut, Tilly.” His voice is quiet, and cracks on my name.

  “I’m not afraid of him.” Jabbing an elbow into Max’s side, I lean outward and crane my neck.

  “Well, I am.” Max moves to keep me out of view. “My sister and your mother are inside the house. Do you want them hurt—or worse?” he hisses.

  He’s got a point.

  “Listen, Leonard.” Daddy lowers his gun a couple of inches. “Let’s deal with this like civilized men, okay?”

  “Civilized? Is that what you call breakin’ a man’s fingers for protecting his rightful property?”

  “You shot your gun near my daughter.” Low and dangerous, Daddy’s words cut through the dusky evening. “I was protecting my family.”

  Leonard’s baleful gaze cuts to Max and me, then back to my dad. “A fair point, I’ll give ya that.” He glances to a short, red-headed man at his side. “Mayhap we can come to some kind of agreement, some recompense.” He enunciates each syllable of the last word, as if he’s trying to explain something to a class of preschoolers.

  Daddy swallows.

  Max’s fingers grasp my forearm and he pulls me into his side. I can’t tell if it’s a protective gesture or if he’s looking for comfort.

  “I’m listening.” Daddy lowers the revolver.

  “Good, good.” A sickening grin twists Leonard’s lips, and the men around him shift on their feet. “We’ll take our recompense from inside your house.” When he smiles, the gap where an incisor should be is dark against his other teeth.

  “No.” Daddy’s voice is deathly quiet. “Everything inside is what we need to survive.”

  Leonard sighs dramatically. “Well, well, boys.” He shakes his head, the stringy strands of hair brushing against his ears. “Guess we can’t be spreading the Good Word today if there’s folks who don’t wanna hear it.”

  Daddy twists his neck and stares at me, then toward the front door. His forehead furrows, then his face smooths and something like a small smile tugs at his bottom lip, as if he knows a secret.

  Mamma and Kat are still inside, thank God. How are we going to get out of this? If we let these thugs ransack the house, they’ll leave us with nothing.

  “Wait,” Daddy breathes, his eyes meeting mine before they swing back to the group in front of him. “You win.” He stands aside and sweeps an arm toward the porch. “Go ahead.”

  “No, Daddy.” I scramble out of Max’s grip and throw myself into my dad’s arms. “You can’t let them take our stuff. It’s not right.” My voice is thick with emotion. Anger and revulsion pulse throughout my limbs at the thought of these vile men invading my home and stealing our stuff—my stuff.

  “It’s okay, Half-pint.” He pushes me away, the revolver pointed to the ground. “Trust me,” he breathes under his breath.

  In one line, the men head for the steps, their faces ranging from jovial to secret cunning.

  I squeeze my lips together and try not to imagine their dirty hands pawing through everything Mamma and Daddy have worked so hard to buy over the years.

  One older man, his beard long and gray, stands at the edge of the road, keeping his eyes on us.

  Leonard pauses in the act of reaching for the door handle. “Keep an eye on them, Jake. If they get to lookin’ antsy, put a hole in the girl’s foot.”

  Daddy stiffens and clenches his fist, but the other hand with the gun remains motionless.

  Wish I had a gun. I’d blow the back of his head off right now—if I could manage to make the shot. If I live through this, I’m taking target practice more seriously. Daddy’s right—the world’s going to hell in a hand basket and we’ve got to be prepared.

  All this time, I’ve gone with the flow, expecting things to return to normal soon, but it’s been a week without any word from the local, state, or federal governments. Whatever happened, it’s obvious it’s not limited to this area. Our community has no choice but to work together, because if we don’t, people like Leonard will pick us off one by one.

  The door squeaks as Leonard pulls open the screen.

  Bang. A single blast rings through the darkening evening, and it seems like everything moves in slow motion.

  All four men, who cleared the three steps, were standing in a semi-circle around Leonard. Now, they either bend over or collapse to the floor—screaming, crying, wailing, or all three.

  From the black rectangular darkness of the threshold, the circular end of a shotgun wobbles, then drops downward. The frame of the doorway shows a huge, splintered chunk missing from the wood about three feet from the floor.

  Daddy leaps up the steps and rushes to the door, stepping over groaning, crying men. “Sarah, y’all okay?” He carefully loosens her hold on the weapon and gives her shoulders a shake.

  “I-I shot at them, Ricky.” Her voice is shrill and uneven.

  “It’s okay, you were protecting our property—and us.” Daddy turns his attention to the men on the porch. One crawls toward the wooden edge of the steps, splinters of wood embedded through his pants leg and red blood oozing through the material. He moans and whimpers.

  Leonard, who was in the direct line of fire, lies on the porch as if dazed, his own weapon nowhere to be seen. The other two men clutch at their shins and sob.

  Jake, the old guy who was supposed to be the sentry, is nowhere to be seen.

  Peering at the road, I catch his white shirt glowing in the dark while he runs down the street. His gun lies on the ground near the gate.

  Not much of a guard. A crazy burst of laughter flies from my mouth and I fold over, letting it pour forth.

  As if my mirth breaks a spell, Max dashes onto the porch. “Kat? Kat?” His tone is frantic.

  “Max.” She sprints to him, her eyes as round as tennis balls.

  He hugs her to his middle. When she tries to peek at the bloody mess below, he turns her toward the house. “Let’s go inside. You don’t need to see this.”

  “Tilly,” Daddy says. “Come here.” He raises his pistol and points it at Leonard. “Well, Lenny, looks like you got what you came for—trouble.” With the toe of a heavy work boot, Daddy gives the man’s thigh a solid kick. “You got lucky my wife’s small and doesn’t like guns, otherwise none of you would be breathing right now.” He cocks his weapon and points it at Leonard’s forehead only two feet away. “Now, get your sorry asses off my property and take care of your wounded. If I ever catch you near my house, or even in this town again, I won’t hesitate—and I never miss.”

  Leonard wipes at several wooden shrapnel wounds on his arms, then hauls himself to his feet. Without another word, he drags one of the men off the porch, while another guy lumbers to his feet unsteadily and follows, his eyes cast downward.

  When Leonard steps through the gate and bends to retrieve a discarded weapon on the ground, Daddy clucks his tongue. “Nope. As a matter of fact, leave all your guns here.”

  Another shot rings out across the air from the direction of Mr. Miller’s house. He’s hanging out of his open front window, a rifle propped on the sill, his eye focused through the sight. “You boys bit off more than you could chew, didn’t ya?” His cackle of laughter is chilling, even to me.

  “You’re going to pay for this.” The greasy-haired hillbilly tosses the gun to the grass, not even bothering to turn on the safety. Luckily, it doesn’t go off. “Your whole goddamn town’s gonna pay.”

  Daddy hitches a shoulder. “I’m protecting what’s mine, just like you.” He waves the tip of his barrel. “Go on, get your thieving asses outta here.”

  The other men’s weapons are still on the porch where they dropped them.

  Leonard limps to help the guy who seems most hurt, throwing a shoulder under his arm and dragging him onto the street.

/>   “And don’t let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya,” Mr. Miller screams.

  Daddy mumbles something unintelligible, his eyes hard and glittering as they follow every movement of Leonard and his crew.

  It’s fully dark and clouds cover the scant moonlight, but a sock or pale hand flashes every now and again, dwindling the farther away they shuffle.

  “Come on.” An arms snakes across my shoulder. “Let’s get the fuck inside.” Daddy nods to Mr. Miller. “Thanks, James.”

  “Any time. You need help cleaning up?”

  “No, not right now.” He waves. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.” His yellow, crooked teeth show through a wicked grin. “Think I’ll keep an eye out for our friends for a little while, in case they want to play with us some more.”

  The old man is as crazy as a rabid coon.

  Daddy points to the wooden slats of the porch and the rather impressive gap of peppered and splintered wood in the door frame. “We’ll clean this up in the morning. First things first, though: let’s go check on your mamma and that little squirt.”

  With a kiss to the top of my head, he steers me inside and locks the door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  It’s been thirty minutes since the showdown with Leonard and his gang. Daddy lights an extra candle and sets it on the coffee table.

  I sit on the couch with Max, and Kat sits on his other side. The adrenaline in my blood slows and now I feel drained and numb, like I’ve ran all day and night and only want to sleep for twenty hours.

  Mamma and Daddy rest on the loveseat directly across from me.

  “What a damn mess.” Daddy rubs his temples and squeezes his eyes shut. “I hope that was the last we’ll hear of them, but it’s hard to tell. In the morning, I’m going to call another emergency meeting. This town has to build some sort of barricade or it’s gonna get pillaged, slaughtered, or both. People have got to wake up and stop sitting on their asses.”

  A cold shiver creeps up my spine and slides its icy fingers across the nape of my neck.

  Max clasps his sister’s hand, then slides his other into mine and squeezes, cutting his eyes to the side to stare at me. Fear, or concern, seems to swirl in his irises, lending them an indigo hue. There’s a look of vulnerability on his face in place of his normally guarded features.