Tim Washburn - Powerless

Ruth is comfortable on a horse, but he’s not sure about Carl. “You want me to clip a lead to your horse, Carl, or can you handle her?”

“I’ll be fine,” he mutters through his closed mouth.

“Tell me if you change your mind.” Zeke gently nudges Murphy forward and they fall in behind him. Zeke silently repeats the word patience as they trudge slowly up the street. He glances back frequently to make sure his party is keeping up and to see if Carl has passed out from the pain. They’re troupers and they make better progress than he had hoped for. Along the way they stop for frequent breaks, to give everyone a chance to stretch their legs and to give the horses a breather. Ruth and her family hadn’t ventured beyond their neighborhood during the crisis and they’re astounded at the number of cars and trucks abandoned in the middle of the road.

Sometime later they close in on the place where Zeke had shot two people. He calls a halt to resituate everyone. Noah moves over with his father, leaving Zeke free to operate. He doesn’t tell them what had happened but they can sense his tenseness. He rakes his hand across his hip and loosens the Glock.

“Carl, you think you can manage if we have to run the horses a little?”

He nods and wraps one of his arms around Noah in front of him.

Ruth’s face is pinched with concern. “What’s wrong, Zeke?”

“Nothing. But I want to be prepared.”

Zeke remounts and tells everyone to stay close. He scans from one side of the road to the other. As they near the car parked parallel to the road, he’s relieved to see someone has retrieved the bodies. Dark stains form amoebas in the asphalt and Zeke’s eyes are glued to the apartment complex. It’s the middle of the day and he sees only one other person up and about. They pass unmolested and Zeke wiggles his shoulders to loosen the tension.

By the time they reach Beltline Road the sun is riding low in the sky. Zeke had been hoping to reach Summer’s house before dark, but his hope fades with the light. Everyone, horses included, is exhausted. As they cross Beltline Road, he spots a golf course off to the east with a small stream running through the middle. He steers Murphy in that direction and turns in the saddle to make sure the rest are following. The area around the golf course is heavily wooded, he assumes to keep out prying eyes. What could possibly go on during a round of golf that would concern the members enough to spend a fortune planting trees around the entire perimeter? It made no sense to him, but he’s cursing them as he searches for a way in. Maybe that’s why, he reasons—to keep the unprivileged out. He finds a cut into the trees and he pushes Murphy in that direction. It’s a service entrance of some sort blocked by a single iron-bar gate. There’s just enough space on one side to squeeze the horses through.

He dismounts and signals the others to do the same. He puts a finger to his lips and ties Murphy’s reins to the gate and steps a little deeper into the shadows to reconnoiter the area. There’s a house fairly close, but he doesn’t see any activity. Across the once-manicured fairway he spies a thicket of trees next to the small creek. Perfect. Houses line the golf course on both sides and he takes a moment to watch for movement.

Not seeing anyone out and about, he retraces his steps and unties the reins, then whispers to the others, “There’s a house close on the right, but I didn’t see anyone. But houses are all along the golf course. I’m going to lead us as far in as possible to put some distance between those houses and us. Take it nice and slow and be as quiet as you can.”

He leads Murphy across the overgrown fairway and into the thicket of oak trees and persimmon bushes. He picks a spot equidistant to the surrounding homes and waits for the rest of the crew to catch up. They relieve the horses of their burdens and Zeke leads them down to the creek to drink. Once the horses have drunk their fill, he strings a rope between a pair of trees and clips the horses’ leads to them, freeing them to munch on the still-green grass.

The night is nearly full dark by the time he’s finished the chores.

“Uncle Zeke, can we start a fire?” Noah says, shivering.

“We better not, little buddy. Too many houses around.” Zeke unfurls a blanket and wraps it around Noah’s shoulders.

Ruth and the kids appear to be holding up well but Carl looks absolutely miserable. “How you holding up, Carl?”

“Fine” is his curt answer, but Zeke can tell he’s in pain. They had been putting some of the deer jerky into a pot of water and heating it up to make a broth for Carl to drink through his straw, but without a fire there will be no broth tonight. He grabs his canteen and gives it a shake.

“I’m going for water.”

“Where are you going to get water?” Ruth says.

“You know Dad. He’s always good for something unusual,” Zeke says.

His statement puts a smile on his sister’s weary face.

“He had some water purification tablets tucked away. I have no idea where he got them, or when, but they’re pretty damn handy right now.”

“I miss Mom and Dad.”

“We’re going to see them in a day or two,” he says before slipping down to the creek.

He dips his hand in the water and takes a sniff. With their constant need to fertilize their fairways and greens, golf courses are some of the heaviest polluters of waterways. Don’t want the members to be dissatisfied with a lack of lush grass , Zeke thinks as he dribbles some of the water into his mouth. He walks a little ways away and tugs up a plug of grass. He discovers that most of the course is in Bermuda grass, which means the last application of fertilizer had probably been a couple of months ago. He dumps a few of the tablets into the canteen and returns to the small creek to fill it.

Back at camp, Zeke hands the canteen to Carl first. He pulls the straw from his pocket and pops it in and takes a long drink. Zeke shakes out four ibuprofen tablets from the first aid kit and hands them to Carl. He has to feed them into his mouth one at a time to keep his jaw from moving. When he’s finished he passes the canteen to Emma for her to drink, then on down the line until it’s his turn. The canteen is nearly empty by the time it returns to him. He pops some more purification tablets inside and returns to the creek for a refill.

By the time Zeke returns to camp, Carl is curled up in a blanket, dead asleep. “All right, guys, we have deer jerky for dinner.”

After a few groans they all take a hunk of meat and begin chewing. It’s not long after their makeshift dinner before everyone falls asleep. Zeke pulls the Kimber from the scabbard and wraps up in one of the blankets. It takes him a while to doze off, but the steady rhythm of the horses munching on grass is enough to send him over the edge.

Zeke is up before daybreak preparing the horses for another day on the trail. He freezes when he spots one of the homeowners walking her dog along the cart trails. But she passes without even glancing in their direction. He’s glad the dog hadn’t caught the scent of the horses, but the woman’s appearance creates a sense of urgency. He kneels next to Ruth, both children snuggled up on either side of her, and gently stirs them awake. Zeke lets Carl sleep for just a bit longer, hoping the extra time will speed his recovery. While Ruth and the children take care of their morning business, he takes the canteen down to the creek to refill it.

When they’re close to departing he wakes Carl up. A majority of the swelling has retreated, but Carl’s jaw is a mixture of purple and yellow hues. It hurts to look at him. Carl steps behind one of the trees to relieve himself and they mount up. Zeke leads them off the golf course and back to Preston Road, where they turn back north, that much closer to home in Oklahoma.