Kyle Pratt - Through Many Fires

With no knife against her neck, Lisa kicked back hard against the man’s leg and dropped like dead weight.

Trevor fired a single shot.

The man fell backwards and hit the floor with a thud.

Father and daughter ran to each other and embraced. Lisa, cried, “I just wanted to get the eggs and milk for breakfast.” Leaning into her father, between sobs, she continued. “I didn’t think…didn’t bring my gun…he came out of the dark…grabbed me so quickly…I didn’t see him.”

Caden checked for vital signs and, looking to his father, shook his head.

“It’s all right,” he said to Lisa. “If he had just come to the door and asked…maybe….”

Back in the house Caden called and talked briefly to Hoover.

A couple of hours later a single deputy came to the farm. “Do you know his name?” he asked while writing notes in a pad.

“No,” Caden responded.

The officer asked a few more questions as he continued to write. “There have been attacks on other farms, the food bank…any place where there might be food. People are desperate.” There was no mention of any further investigation. The sun was high in the sky before a van from the sheriff’s department came and took the body to the morgue.

Caden stared as the vehicle rumbled away. Death in America has become common…inconsequential. It was not the fact of death that caused him pause; it was the brutality of casual killing. He had seen that in Iraq and Afghanistan, but not in America. Perhaps it had always been there in the poorer, gang-infested, neighborhoods, but he had not seen it until recently and now it came to the barn beside his home and threatened to take his sister. What next, a gunfight in the house? It was a solemn day at the Westmore farm.

The next morning as everyone sat around the breakfast table Lisa asked, “Can we go to church?”

“That’s a good idea,” their mother said.

“And the swap meet,” Maria suggested, “It looks like a nice day to go out.”

“I’ll pack the extra eggs and milk in a cooler,” Lisa added.

“We can’t all go,” his dad said, shaking his head. “Someone needs to stay here on guard until things return to normal.”

Caden wasn’t interested in church. He wanted to say he would stay and guard the farm, but he had a mouth full of pancake.

“I’ll guard this week and go with you next week,” Trevor said.

Sue put her hands on her belly. “I should stay home too. I’m still tired from all the walking we did to get here.” She turned to Maria. “But I will take care of Adam for you.” Maria started to speak, but Sue insisted it was the least she could do.

Caden saw that Maria, Lisa, and his mother really wanted to go. He swallowed his mouthful of pancake and said, “Okay then, let’s make a day of it.”

After breakfast Caden returned to his room to dress for church. He was glad that he had just dumped clothes into his duffle bag, including several nice shirts and ties had been stuffed inside, even a suit. He wondered if his mother had ironed the clothes because they didn’t have the wrinkles he remembered. Did I hang the clothes in the closet? Did I even unpack when I got here? He couldn’t recall.

He put on a pair of slacks, a pastel blue shirt and royal blue tie. As he reached for the suit jacket he stopped. No place to conceal a pistol. In the closet he found a heavy jacket, put it on and then slid the SIG into the inside pocket. From now on I go everywhere armed.

The events of yesterday morning again intruded on his thoughts. The guy could have slit Lisa’s throat and stolen whatever he could find. We wouldn’t have known until later. We do need to keep a guard here. Maybe we should stay in pairs. No, that would be difficult. If we could keep in better contact…. Where are those two GMRS transceivers I bought in West Virginia? As he continued to dress, he looked around the room, but didn’t find the radios.

Everyone walked out on the front porch as they got ready to leave. The sky was clear blue and for a February day it was mild. Could the radios be in the car? He walked over and checked under the driver’s seat.

Maria came up beside him. “What are you looking for?”

“Those GMRS radios.” He continued to look while talking. “Remember, we used them in Alabama?”

“I remember. They’re in the back of the car.”

Walking toward the rear of the vehicle he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He opened the rear and immediately saw the three pistols, including the pink Ruger, taken after the gunfight at the church. He had forgotten about them. They’ll be good for trade or additional security. He paused as the killing in the church lobby flashed through his mind. The woman was killed. Sure it was self-defense, but it should be investigated. Aren’t these guns evidence? Should I turn them over to Hoover? He smiled grimly. Didn’t Hoover shoot some looters? Was there any inquiry of that? No one seems to want any bother about the barn shooting. He was certain there would be none about the church shooting, but still it seemed wrong to keep the weapons. In the end, he decided to hold on to them until he could talk with Hoover. He picked up two pistols, leaving the pink one alone. It was senseless, but that gun gave him a bad feeling, he didn’t want it in the house.

Caden was about to tell Maria she was wrong about the radios when he spotted them in the corner partially under the seat. Clutching them and the pistols he walked over to his father. “These transceivers will be good for keeping in touch around the farm. We can trade the weapons for things we need, but keep them until I clear it with the sheriff.”

Soon he was driving the three ladies to the church just outside of Hansen, where he had been baptized as a teen. As he passed over the creek on the main road he looked for the red-haired kids who often fished there, but was disappointed.

He had good memories of friends, cookouts and ballgames while in the youth group, but it had been ten years since he set foot in the building. He struggled to recall the last time he had been in any church other than for a wedding. It wasn’t that he was an atheist or even an agnostic, but in his hell-bent pursuit of a career he had little time for God. However, if it made the women in his life happy, he was willing to go and even smile.

The church, a large, white, wood-frame building that dominated the top of a hill, was just ahead. They followed a horse-drawn wagon full of people into the parking lot. There were a dozen cars parked in front, but as the church bell tolled most people came by foot. At the edges of the parking lot three horses were tied to trees. The wagon pulled up close to the front door. Kids jumped from the back as a couple of adults disembarked more slowly, then the man led the horse and wagon to a tree in a grassy lot beside the building.

As they entered the sanctuary, Caden’s thoughts were far away, recalling a hayride with the youth group as a teenager. The morning sun, shining through a large stained glass window, warmed his face and brought his attention to the present. The congregation stood and sang a hymn acapella. He looked back at a corner where he once sat with young friends and recalled summer camp and the Boy Scout troop that the church sponsored. He took in a deep breath as if trying to suck in the atmosphere so full of light and life that it washed away the darkness of the previous weeks.

His mother selected a pew near the middle of the sanctuary and the rest of the family followed. Caden stood silently, holding Maria’s hand. He didn’t know the words of the song they were singing, but he liked the sound.

A couple of hymns later, a middle aged man walked to the front as the congregation sat.