The Intrusion: Baltin Prequel Page 8

  “These are delicious. What did you do to make them so scrumptious?” There’s a smoky, savory flavoring mixed in their fluffy goodness. Slow down, stop eating like a savage troll.

  “I lit the grill, added water, stirred, and poured them over the griddle.” She chews a bite, furrowing her brow. “There’s one more unopened box in the pantry, but I don’t think it’s going to last very long.”

  Daddy throws open the back door and smacks his boots on the deck, pounding away the dirt lodged in the crevices of the soles. “My two favorite ladies.” He ambles in and closes the door. Leaning, he places a kiss on Mamma’s lips, and she strokes his face.

  “Gross.” I make a show of gagging with my finger in my mouth.

  With a loud laugh, Daddy pulls out a chair and sits between the both of us.

  “Honey,” he spears four and flips them onto an empty plate, “this looks divine. Thank you.”

  Mamma’s face lights up, and her eyes search Daddy’s. “You’re welcome.” She gives his hand a quick squeeze, then lets go and sips her drink.

  “So, Half-pint and her boyfriend are going with me to learn how to shoot a gun.” My dad stacks his plate four inches high, then drizzles the tower with syrup. “Should be interesting, since that boy doesn’t seem to know his ass from a hole in the ground.”

  “Daddy, he’s not my—”

  “Oh.” With a slight curl of her lip, Mamma glances to me, then Daddy. “Is that really a good idea?” She sets her fork on the plate and rubs her neck.

  “Yes.” With a quick snap, he settles a napkin over his lap. “I know you don’t like the idea of Tilly around guns, but until we figure out what’s going on, it’s imperative everyone”—he points his finger at her, then swings it to me—“knows how to protect one another. I don’t ever want to see a gun pointed or shot near my daughter again.”

  Her eyes meet mine, and the line between her brows disappears. “Neither do I.”

  “Good. While I’m gone, if you need anything, Mr. Miller said to holler.” He chomps on a bite of breakfast and swallows. “The old busybody probably needs help with his garden. He was bitching about the weeds overtaking his peas and his back giving out because of it.”

  “Oh, I’d love to help.” Mamma nods her head, her green eyes widening.

  With a subtle gaze, Daddy gives me a wink. “I’m sure he’d appreciate any assistance he can get.”

  Daddy doesn’t want to leave her alone while we’re gone. I give him a soft kick under my table and a soft nod.

  With breakfast finished, Daddy wraps Mamma in a hug. He whispers something in her ear, then grabs an extra pistol from the gun cabinet.

  He and I head out on our bicycles.

  Dark, heavy clouds cover the sunlight, and there’s an oppressive feeling of moisture and storms lurking out of sight. After about a half mile down our street, Daddy turns onto a less travelled county road, which is basically dirt covered with a thin sheet of oil.

  “How do you know where Max lives?” I swerve to avoid several potholes.

  “Because I knew his dad.” Daddy pedals toward the middle of the road, where it’s smoother, and I move to his side. “We went to school together.”

  “Well, just for your information—he is not my boyfriend.”

  “You know I’m teasing.” With one hand, he pulls a cigarette and lighter from his front shirt and lights up, the smoke trailing behind. “I think you need someone a little stronger than Max. He’s a good kid, but a bit of a pushover.” He swerves around a dead armadillo, the scent of rot and decay pungent.

  My legs stop pedaling, and I slow to take in the little gray armored animal’s crushed body. Poor little guy. He must’ve gotten hit by a car a few days ago.

  “You’re too headstrong for that boy. You need someone who’ll put his foot down and challenge you. Max is nice, but I don’t think he’s the one, Tilly.”

  Frowning at Daddy’s back, I pedal faster and pull to his side. “He’s not so bad.” Besides the burglarizing someone’s house part. “Doesn’t matter anyway because as soon as everything gets back to normal, I’m hauling ass to Florida.”

  “Well, don’t count on it being any time soon.” He jams the cigarette between his lips and turns his attention straight ahead. “This is it.”

  A single-wide trailer comes into view. Gray, aluminum skirting wraps the bottom, though in some places the edges peel away from the ground, revealing dark recesses underneath. Crumbling concrete steps lead to the door. The yard is covered in high grass and stickers, without any trees for shade. The rusted frame of a car sits off to the side, the reddish hue contrasting with the yellowed, dead grass. An older model Harley rests near the steps.

  “Is this…?” I can’t finish the sentence. This place looks so alone, so forgotten.

  Parking his bike in the weed-choked driveway, Daddy nods. “Yeah, this is the Jacobsen place.” His mouth tightens. “I didn’t know it had gotten this bad. Dan—Max’s dad—has always kept to himself, but this,” he juts his chin toward the old house and starts toward the door, “is pure neglect.”

  Daddy climbs the broken steps and raps his knuckles on the metal, the sound tinny against the thinly covered wood.

  Bird chatter stops for a moment.

  A small, red tricycle, one of its back wheels missing, leans against the side of the house, half hidden in a clump of weeds.

  The slapping of feet on the floor inside rocks the trailer with subtle movement.

  Max cracks the door. “Hey, sorry. I was up late last night because I had to take…” His gaze moves to me, standing farther back and below in the yard.

  Swallowing, I give him a little wave.

  “It’s okay, son. It’s not like we can set an alarm on our phones anymore.”

  “Give me two minutes.” With that, he slams the door closed in Daddy’s face.

  I snicker. “Guess we don’t get invited inside.”

  “Guess not.” Daddy shakes his head, walks to me, and takes a drag. “He’s one weird kid.” He blows a puff of smoke upward.

  “Ugh.” Flapping my hand at the air, I grimace and move a few feet. “You know what?” I tug at the tricycle, breaking it free from an old, dead briar. “Maybe this no-power situation is good, because it means you can’t buy any more of those nasty things.”

  On the back of the trike, between the axel, is a child’s blocky writing. Max is written in sharpie, some of the edges fading, but on the other side, in green and much crisper, Kat is spelled out.

  I wonder who Kat is?

  The door bangs open, startling me so much I drop the trike. It slides against the aluminum skirting on its way to the ground, creating a high-pitched screech.

  Goosebumps flash across my arms. Heat floods my cheeks and I jump backward, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

  Max moves to the top of the steps and slams the door with the heel of a foot.

  He’s traded his jeans for dark gray cargo pants and heavy brown work boots. His navy-colored t-shirt sports a white skull and crossbones graphic.

  “Afraid to let us inside?” I ask, walking closer. “Scared we might burglarize your home?”

  Daddy mashes the tip of his cigarette against the sole of his shoe, then stuffs the remaining inch back into its cardboard box and into his shirt pocket.

  Gross.

  Max jumps to the ground and ambles closer. “You never know who has sticky fingers around here.” He flashes an unapologetic smile and bends close to my ear. “I could give you a private tour some time, though.”

  I raise my eyebrows and curl my lip. “You’re assuming a lot in that statement.” Is he flirting or messing with me? He’s so hard to read. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and hastily step away.

  He shrugs and swivels to Daddy. “I appreciate this, Mr. Morgan.”

  Daddy claps him on the shoulder. “First lesson. Call me Ricky.” He places a thumb and forefinger over Max’s trapezius muscle and squeezes. “Second. Don’t be getting fresh with my daughter
, or you can go right back to calling me Mr. Morgan. Understood?”

  “Uh, y-yes sir.” An audible swallow and his glance slides to me for half a second then bounces away like a ping-pong ball.

  My chest shakes from barely contained laughter, but my face lights up like a sparkler, and feels like one, too. I can’t decide if I’m more amused at my dad’s threat or more embarrassed at how protective he is.

  “Good.” Daddy lets go of Max. “Glad we got that out of the way.” His gaze roves the land nearby. “Now, let’s go as far from the house as possible. Do you have any neighbors?”

  “No, sir.” With a quick glance to my face, Max cuts his attention straight ahead and leads us toward the backyard, which is a continuation of the front, except a pile of empty, brown beer bottles lie off to the side with tall weeds poking through.

  I clear my throat. Dead vegetation and dry earth crunch under my feet. I wonder if he grew up here. It has such a lonesome, abandoned feeling.

  Max turns to the bottles, then cuts a harried glance my way. His shoulders seem to cave in on themselves. “Dad likes to drink when he’s home.”

  I’d say. From the size of the pile, I’d say he’s liked to drink for a long time. Poor Max. I’d always assumed Max came from a stable home and enjoyed getting into trouble out of boredom.

  Looking around the dilapidated place, I wonder if there’s more to his story. If so, I want to know more.

  Max shoves his hands into his front pockets. A pink glow climbs his neck. “I keep forgetting to bag those up and throw ‘em away.”

  “They’re exactly what we need.” Daddy rummages through the trash heap. “You two grab as many as you can carry. They’ll make great targets.”

  With our arms cradling the warm, sand-covered bottles, Max and I pace behind Daddy.

  Finding three medium-sized rocks, Daddy places a bottle on each one. He walks back to where Max and I stand. “First things first. Always keep your safety on until you plan on shooting.”

  As the sun climbs the sky, he teaches us how to stand, how to hold the pistols, and how to aim. I manage to hit one bottle out of fifteen. Max knocks five or six out of his pile. Daddy only misses twice.

  “Alright, y’all. Show me you know how to engage the safety.” He uses his forearm and mops his brow.

  Max and I demonstrate our new safety knowledge. I always knew my dad was tough, but I have a new respect for what he learned in the military. How much combat did he witness on deployments? Has he ever had to kill anyone? The thought of shooting someone is sobering.

  “Good.” He pulls a bottle of water from his bag and drinks. “That’s it for today. We need to get back to town. I’m arranging patrol teams to get us through the next few weeks.”

  “I want to help, Daddy.” I don’t want to be relegated to staying in the kitchen with Mamma, learning all the different ways to can vegetables.

  “Yeah,” Max adds. “I’d like to volunteer, too.”

  When the last drop of water disappears, my dad twists the cap back on and stuffs it into his bag.

  “I’d rather you both be proficient before I send you off with guns in your hands. You’re more apt to shoot yourself in the foot, or someone else, than tag an invader.”

  “Hey.” I glare. “I can be careful.”

  He snorts. “Half-pint, you’re always an accident waiting to happen.” Shaking his head, he grins and points toward the house. “Let’s see how this training goes over the next couple of weeks, then I’ll think about it.”

  “So chauvinistic of you. Just because I’m a girl, you think I can’t help protect everyone?” My voice rises. Daddy and I rarely have conflict, and his hesitation to let me help is frustrating. “I’m not going to sit back like some little wilted flower and wait for the men to take care of me. I’m not stupid, you know.”

  Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair and tilts his head to stare at the sky.

  “It has nothing to do with you being a girl, Tilly.” He focuses his attention on me again. “I’m not placing my youngest child in the path of danger until I think she’s ready. Understand?”

  Max’s gaze swings from Daddy to me. His face remains blank, but he pulls out the stress ball and squeezes.

  Feeling the hot sting of frustration welling in my eyes, I turn my back to both men. No need to give him even more reminders I’m a female.

  “Come on, let’s go home.” Daddy gives me a one-handed hug and heads to the bikes in front.

  Defiance wells inside my veins. “I’m staying here with Max.”

  Daddy stops and slowly turns to face me. “I’d rather you come back with me. This isn’t the time or place for your stubbornness, Tilly.”

  “I’m eighteen and grown. I can make my own decisions.”

  He lets out a long breath and spears Max with narrowed eyes. “Don’t let her ride home alone, and make sure you bring her back well before dark.”

  So much for trying to assert my feminist ideals. I cross my arms over my chest and sniff, turning my attention to the overgrown weeds and scattered trash blowing in the breeze.

  “I will, sir.” Max strides forward with the gun. “Here. You forgot this.”

  “No. It’s yours. You need something for protection.”

  “Th-thank you.” Max stuffs it into the waistband of his pants.

  “Good God, son.” Daddy gingerly pulls it out and checks the safety. “Don’t put it there. You want your pecker shot off?”

  Please. Someone strike me dead right here. I cannot believe my dad said that. I’ll never be able to look Max in the eye again.

  “Goodbye, Daddy.”

  He grabs me and gives my hair a ruffle.

  Fire shoots to my ears and eyes. Jesus, Max must think I look like a baby the way he treats me.

  I jerk away and stomp off toward the trailer’s steps, sit, and drink a bottle of water.

  With a grunt, Daddy pedals away.

  Max walks over. “Your dad is something else.”

  Unable to help myself, I snort. “Yeah, he is.” My irritation lowers and I glance at Max.

  He swipes hair from his forehead and stares at my half empty bottle, licking his lips.

  “Do you have a well here?” I ask, letting my gaze rove over the property. It doesn’t look like he has much of anything.

  “No.” Leaning against the side of the house, he angles his chin toward the door. “I was able to store some water in bowls and pitchers before it quit, but there’s not much left.”

  Jesus. Here I am, guzzling like it’s nothing, and he’s barely hanging on?

  “Here.” Without another word, I rummage in my bag and hand him a couple of bottles. “Take these. Daddy rigged our well so we can pull fresh water up any time we want.”

  “I’d planned on scavenging later today.” He hesitates. “Besides, I can ride to the lake. It’s only seven miles away.”

  I roll my eyes. “Even with a bike, you can’t carry much.” The sun peeks between clouds, refracting through the liquid, creating a dozen sparkles inside the plastic container.

  A tiny grin lifts his lips. “We could go check out some of these abandoned houses around here. They might have something.” He lifts a brow and grasps my offering, the tips of his fingers pressing against mine.

  “That’s stealing, Max.” I jerk my hand from his touch and swallow. “And against the law.”

  “Only if we’re caught.” He unscrews the cap and gulps. With a sigh, he lowers it and sits next to me, his body two inches from mine. “Besides, if things don’t get better soon, trust me, other people will happily take whatever’s inside.”

  “Or you could help everyone by pooling resources and not being a criminal.” I straighten my back, irritated he cares so little for other people’s things. “Or maybe you enjoy being a thug.”

  The smell of his cologne wafts to my nose as he turns to face me. “Look, Tilly.” He holds a hand toward his house. “You see where I live. My dad left us with nothing.” His mouth twists into a sco
wl. “We haven’t seen him in a while, and the check he supposedly sent was lost in the mail. I’ll do whatever is needed to survive.”

  “Who’s we?” The broken tricycle grabs my attention.

  His lips thin, and he sucks on the water as if giving himself time to think, or ignore, my question.

  “Max,” I say, softening my voice. For some reason, even though his outward appearance tries to convey strength, I sense a vulnerability underneath his façade. “I thought your mom passed away?”

  “She did.” He tosses the bottle into the yard. “Right after my little sister was born.”

  I search his face. He stares straight ahead, but rolls the blue stress ball, squeezing it so tightly his knuckles turn white.

  “Kat?”

  With a quick jerk of his neck, he stares at me, his stormy eyes widening. “How’d you know her name?”

  Nudging his shoulder, I point to the trike.

  He nods. “Of course.” The ball bounces against the house, and he catches it in a fist. “She spends a lot of time at her best friend’s house, but I’m going to pick her up tonight.” He rubs his temple. “It’s just,” he breathes out, “I don’t have anything besides peanut butter, some crackers, and a few canned goods for us to eat.” His voice drops. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if things don’t start working again.”

  My heart drops into my stomach. He’s only eighteen, he shouldn’t have to worry about being the sole provider. Something inside of me hates his father, even though I don’t know him.

  “Do you think your dad’s coming back any time soon?”

  “Doubt it.” He stands and kicks a rock to the driveway. “I can’t say I’m sorry. It’s always hell when he’s home, anyhow. All he does is drink, yell, and…” One hand massages his neck. “Let’s just say I took the brunt of his anger so he’d leave Kat alone.”

  I grab his wrist. “Don’t worry about food. We’ve got tons of it in the cellar. Mamma jars all kinds of shit every year.”

  His stare moves to my fingers, and I jerk away, embarrassment creeping up my neck.

  “I don’t want a handout, Tilly.” His jaw clenches and his eyes flash with anger.

  “It’s not a handout. Consider it a payment.”