Crawford Kilian - Tsunami - A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller

“As far as I can tell. They’ve been up there since before we bought this place. The guy in charge is named Frank Burk, but I only know that from talking to Ray Wilder. Burk’s people stick to themselves.”

Bert grinned. “Cows stick to them too. Maybe we can unstick this one.”

“How?” asked Shauna. “If they don’t want to give the cow back, what are you supposed to do?”

“We can take it back.”

“I think your idea is the shits,” Shauna said. “You want to go up against guys you don’t know anything about, except that they’ve got guns, just to do a favour to some religious nuts who never did a thing for us.”

“People shouldn’t steal their neighbours’ cattle,” Bert said calmly. “And if they get away with it once, they’ll try it again. That means our cattle.”

“We’ve got to do something, I agree,” said Allison. “As a matter of fact, the way Ray just barged up to the front door showed me how weak our security is. We’re lucky he didn’t decide to take one of our cows to make up for theirs.”

“We’ll have to move fast,” Bert said. “Get this sorted out in a hurry. If we hustle, we could be there and back before the sun’s very far up.”

Shauna sat back in an easy chair, looking annoyed as she fished in her bathrobe pocket for another cigarette. “This is stupid. You guys are acting like a posse in some old Hopalong Cassidy serial.”

“Shane,” said Allison, deadpan. “Shane. We try to keep this a class act, kid. Okay, Bert. Go get Dave.”

“What about Ted?”

“Leave him out of this. It’s not his kind of scene. This is our show, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t look afraid,” said Shauna, standing up. She rubbed her neck tiredly, under the mass of thick, dark hair that fell over her shoulders. “I’m going to bed. Don’t you dare wake me when you get back.”

Dave Marston, Bert and Ray Wilder sat in the back of the Range Rover; Allison drove, and Jeremy Lamb sat beside him. It was the first time the truck had been out in weeks, and Allison enjoyed the feel of it, the noise and power.

“We truly are grateful for your help, Mr. Allison,” Jeremy Lamb said. He was a tall, well-built man in middle age, with grey hair framing a picturesquely craggy face. He wore an expensive trench coat over a dark business suit; Allison thought he looked as if he were on the way to a prayer breakfast.

“Thank me when your cow’s back home,” Allison said with a smile. Lamb smiled back. He was a lot easier to take than Ray Wilder, thought Allison. He didn’t wave his religion around and seemed more like an administrator than a charismatic leader.

The rain had tapered off, though lightning still flashed in the east. Morning was a blue-grey gloom that showed the steep slopes of the canyon’s upper end. Trees, mostly pines, stood scattered on the hillsides, and showed some new green at the tips of their branches, UV hadn’t hurt them as much as the oaks and grasses.

The road wound along the south side of the canyon, past a narrow meadow, and entered denser stands of pine. A heavy gate of new lumber barred the way; Allison braked and got out.

“Hold it right there, bud.”

The voice came from somewhere in the woods beyond the gate. Allison scanned the trees but saw no one; the guy must be less than a hundred feet away, but his concealment was perfect.

“We’d like to talk to Mr. Burk,” Allison said.

“Who are you?”

“Robert Allison. I live down the road. The other people here live with me or at Brotherhood House.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Like to talk about a missing cow.”

“Somebody already asked us about that. We don’t know anything. Now turn around and leave.”

Allison began to feel annoyed. He walked up to the gate and rested his forearms on it. “I’m not leaving here without talking to Mr. Burk. And if he doesn’t come to me, I’ll go to him. Don’t waste my time.”

The unseen sentry didn’t reply, but a moment later Allison heard the fuzzy crackle of a CB radio. He felt growing respect for Burk’s organizing ability.

“Okay, Mr. Allison. You can come in, alone, on foot. You can keep your side arm.”

Allison nodded and went back to the truck to tell the others what was happening.

“Give him a deadline,” Bert said. “Like nine o’clock to give the cow back.”

“Or what?”

Bert glanced through the window at the gate. “Or we’ll take out his man here.”

“Bert, hey — let me do this without a heavy intimidation number, okay?”

Allison climbed over the gate, seeing a heavy padlock on the other side.

“Go on up the road,” the sentry called out. “You’ll be met.”

The road was rutted and winding. The woods to the north had long ago been cleared to form a meadow that stretched from the road to the creek. On the east side of the meadow stood an old-fashioned three-story farmhouse; it faced the road across a sizable vegetable garden growing under sheets of clear plastic nailed to waist-high wooden frames. A shoulder-high chain-link fence, topped with strands of barbed wire, surrounded both the garden and the farmhouse. To the south of the road, on Allison’s right, the woods thinned out; he glimpsed three or four log cabins half-hidden among the trees.

A tall woman, with a revolver holstered on her hip, stood at the gate into the fenced area. She wore jeans and a brown leather jacket, and a sort of burnoose that shadowed her face.

“Mr. Allison. Hi. Come with me.”

He walked with her down a gravel drive to the big farmhouse, which he could now see was part of a compound including several sheds and a long barn. Crossing a wide, screened-in porch, the woman unlocked the front door and ushered Allison into an unlit living room.

“In there, please.” She pointed to a door standing ajar across the living room. Allison knocked twice on it, then entered without waiting for an invitation.

A man in camouflage fatigues sat at a roll-top desk, drinking coffee. He was somewhere between forty and fifty, with close-cropped hair and a seamed face. With an abrupt gesture, he motioned Allison to an armchair and poured him some coffee.

“My name’s Frank Burk,” he said in a deep, hoarse voice. “I’m a fan of yours.”

“Oh?” The compliment put Allison off balance.

“I thought Gunship was one of the best movies in years. One of the best ever. It was honest, it was fair, it was almost as exciting as the real thing.” He grinned, showing small grey teeth. “Brought back a lot of memories.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. But I don’t give autographs.”

Burk’s laugh was an unnerving cackle, octaves higher than his speaking voice. “I hear you’re representing our neighbours.”

“Mr. Burk, they need their cow.”

“Call me Frank. Let me explain something, Bob. I wouldn’t have their cow as a gift. We’re in no position to feed one.”

“You have kids here.”

“Sure. They drink powdered milk. You see, we saw this coming — not the waves, but the whole social collapse. We’ve been preparing for it for years. Personally, I figured on nuclear war. That’s why I chose this place, out of the fallout zones. And I figured livestock would be a liability. We raise rabbits for meat, keep a few chickens, and grow some vegetables. But we planned to live on canned and dehydrated food for a long time. We intend to survive on our own and we don’t need to rob our neighbours. Leave us alone and we’ll leave you alone.”

“So you’re what they used to call survivalists.”

Burk grinned again. “Aren’t you? And the Brotherhood?”

“Okay, maybe so. But why are the Brotherhood people so sure that you took their cow? They say they followed her droppings right up to your gate.”