Tallos - Episode Two (Season One) Read online

  Mouth agape and without the immediate sense to get down, Darrel spun from side to side, searching frantically for the source of the shot. Seeing his moment, Jim took off toward the field. He was still several yards away from the cover of the tall grass when he heard the AR-15 fire again. Part of him wanted to risk a look back to see if Darrel was still standing, but he knew even a tiny hesitation might prove to be fatal while still in the open. It was not a chance worth taking. He reached the grass and dived low, crawling deeper into it as fast as he could for about twenty yards. There had still not been any shots from Darrel's .22, so he paused where he was for a moment to catch his breath. He was just about to glance back when he heard Peter's voice calling out his name.

  “Hey, Jim. It's okay now.”

  Cautiously, Jim raised his head above grass level. Peter was standing at the edge of the field with Jim’s AR-15 gripped in his hands. He had a self-satisfied smile on his face.

  “Come on out,” Peter yelled. “We need to get a move on.”

  Jim stood up and hurried over to where Peter was waiting. “Where have you been?” he asked. For the moment, that was all he could think of to say.

  Peter raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Nothing else? Not Damn good to see you, Peter. Thanks a bunch for saving my ass.”

  Jim held up his hand. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry. Thanks.”

  Peter’s smile widened. “You’re welcome. Now let’s clear these assholes off the road and get the fuck out of here.”

  They dumped the two bodies out of plain sight in the long grass. “The packs are about a mile ahead,” Peter said. He offered Jim the AR-15.

  “You keep it,” Jim told him. “Right now, you’re probably a better shot than me.” The adrenaline and exertion had caused the pain in his head to return with a vengeance.

  Peter regarded the bruises. “Yeah. It looks like you had one hell of a night.”

  They ran along together for several minutes. Peter then veered away from the road and headed toward a pile of leaves and twigs next to a particularly tall pine. There, he uncovered the backpacks and weapons. With everything secured, they continued on, staying as close as possible to cover whenever it was available.

  They walked in silence as fast as they could until the sun was high in the sky. At this point, Jim’s head was aching and knew he must take a break. Moving a short distance away from the road, he quickly found a small grassy clearing surrounded by dense forest. Satisfied that they were safely out of sight, he threw off his pack and collapsed on the ground.

  After catching his breath for a minute or two, he took a long look at Peter. “Now tell me how you got away, and where you went.”

  Peter retrieved a can of beans and leaned back on his gear. “How I got away was easy.” He held up his right hand, bending his thumb to an awkward angle. With a dull pop, it fell out of joint. He then did the same with his other hand. “Learned that in the academy. As far as where I went, there ain't much to tell. After I knocked out that old codger, I took all our stuff and hid it far enough away so they wouldn’t find it. Then I just watched and waited.”

  He opened the beans and scooped out a mouthful. “Sorry I didn’t come get you, but I wasn’t about to go charging into a group of armed rednecks. I found a spot in a tree where I could see the barn and hoped I might get a chance to do something.”

  “Why didn’t you come when you saw me leaving the barn?” Jim asked.

  “It was starting to get dark by then, so I couldn’t tell for certain if it was you or not,” Peter explained. “It wasn’t until this morning when I saw that woman walking you out that I knew for sure. Even then I had to wait until the right moment. After last night, I didn’t think they’d be too happy to see me again. Hell, they walked right under my tree a dozen times while out searching. They started shooting at shadows after a while.”

  He took another scoop from the can, then handed it to Jim. “So now that you know I didn’t just up and leave you, you can tell me what the hell happened. You look like someone beat the shit out of you.”

  Jim recounted his fight with Lonnie Junior while finishing off the remaining beans. “So if you’d have just stayed put, it would have been all right,” he concluded.

  Peter spread his hands. “How was I to know? For all I knew they were going to kill us both.”

  Jim tossed the can aside and shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t blame you. I’m just grateful you stuck around. Those two guys back there would have killed me for sure.”

  Inwardly, he added: Though if you'd stayed where you were and I had my weapons, they probably wouldn’t have fucked with me in the first place. But he had to admit that he was grateful Peter hadn't deserted him. Maybe he was still letting his dislike for the man color his attitude too much.

  It wasn’t until two more days had passed that Jim felt confident they weren’t being followed. If Tater and Darrel's bodies had been found by now, which was likely, their fate had probably scared the other rednecks enough to think twice about pursuit. He hoped that the killings wouldn’t come back on Lindsey. With no strangers around to punish, they might just pass the blame on to her. After all, she did let him go, and it wouldn’t be too hard for anyone to figure out what had happened.

  They kept to the road, spending their nights in the seemingly never ending forest that was broken up only by the highway and a few solitary farm houses. This part of Alabama was what people generally imagined when picturing the Deep South – woods, farmland, and little else. The map Jim had brought told him that it would be another day or so before they ran into a town of any significant size. Not that he was eager to see one. In fact, he felt safer now than he had in quite some time – well removed from what had once been civilization. Buildings and houses gave evil people places to hide. Ways to sneak up on you. Here, it would take no small measure of courage to molest two well-armed men.

  It was late into the afternoon when they came upon a barricade in the road made from logs and debris. Jim spotted it first and immediately pulled Peter into the long grass. They watched for a time. After ten minutes, they saw two men pop up from behind the obstruction and walk its length.

  “What do you think?” asked Peter.

  “I think I’d like to avoid as many people as possible,” he replied.

  They backed away until confident they wouldn’t be seen. Jim then studied his map again. After a time, he pointed to a small town named Constitution.

  “They're probably guarding this place,” he said. “We should skirt around it through the forest on the west, then hit the road north again on the other side.”

  With Peter nodding his agreement, they headed into the cover of the trees. It was slow going. Unlike the mostly flat ground near the Gulf, the terrain here was becoming increasingly hilly and rocky. Peter seemed well accustomed to such conditions, but Jim stumbled badly and nearly fell on several occasions.

  “I grew up in the foothills of northern Georgia,” Peter explained when Jim was forced to make a grab at a low branch in order to keep his balance. “Maybe I should lead the way.”

  Jim wiped the sappy residue of the branch on his pants and nodded. The man was becoming an ever-increasing asset. And though he still had mixed feelings over Peter's past, he was starting to feel more comfortable with his company.

  “My dad used to take me hunting every season,” Peter continued, seemingly more to pass the time than anything else.

  “Is that where you learned to shoot?”

  “You bet.” He touched the AR-15 still strapped across his chest. “Though something like this is a lot better for killing people than deer. Some time back, I actually tried out for the Olympic shooting team. Came in sixth.” He let out a soft laugh. “I can’t remember my dad ever being more disappointed in me.”

  “Disappointed? Sixth is pretty damn good if you ask me.”

  “Not to him it wasn't,” Peter said ruefully. “He was a mean old bastard. I wasn’t good at baseball or football. I just never had the
coordination. When I didn’t make all-stars after three years, he stopped making me play sports altogether. To tell you the truth, I didn’t mind. At least I didn’t have to listen to him bitch about me missing a block or striking out. On the other hand, playing sports was the only thing we had in common, so we didn’t talk much about anything for a while after that. Not until he found out I was a naturally good shot.”

  “Sounds like a great guy.” Jim didn’t bother to conceal his sarcasm.

  Peter shrugged. “Oh, he wasn’t all that bad. He didn’t beat me or anything like that. And we always had a roof over our heads and food on the table. Later, when I joined the State Troopers, we got along a lot better.”

  “He was a cop?” asked Jim.

  “Sheriff’s deputy,” he replied. “He retired just before I went to the academy.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  Peter shook his head. “Died five years ago. Both he and my mother were taken at the same time. Drunk driver hit them when they were coming home from the hunting camp.” He gave an ironic chuckle. “My dad was the only man there who ever brought his wife along. She kept on complaining about not going with him until he finally gave in. Funny old life, isn’t it?”

  The reflective mood was broken by the rustle of approaching footsteps. Both men were instantly alert. Snatching up their weapons, they ducked behind a tree and tensely waited for whoever was going to appear.

  Soon, Jim saw a young boy, no older than ten, stumbling out from behind a thick patch of brambles. He was wearing an orange hunting vest that had clearly been made for someone much older, and his curly blond hair was tangled with twigs and leaves. As he came closer, Jim noticed that the boy was clutching at his left arm. Blood had soaked through his shirtsleeve.

  Putting away his gun, Jim stepped into the open. At the sight of him, the boy's eyes flew wide. He instantly took off running in the opposite direction. However, perhaps blinded by fear, after only a few paces he tripped and fell face first onto the forest turf. Jim was on him before he could recover his feet.

  He held the youngster as tightly as he could, while at the same time trying not to put any pressure on the wounded arm. “Hold on, kid,” he told him. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Clearly not comforted by these words, the boy froze. As gently as possible, Jim pulled the youngster's protective hand away. Beneath his shirt was a deep gash. It had stopped bleeding for the most part, though the wound still looked as if it needed immediate treatment.

  “Where are your parents?” Jim asked. But the boy only looked at him with wild eyes. “I told you, I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated. “But you need to tell me where your family is?”

  The boy still remained silent.

  Peter moved in closer and pulled out his wallet. “Talk to us, son.” He flashed his State Trooper badge. “Where are your folks?”

  The boy stared at the badge for a moment, then burst into uncontrollable sobs.

  Jim waited until he had settled down a bit before asking yet again about his parents

  Perhaps a little reassured by the badge, the boy eventually looked up. But it was Peter who his pleading eyes were focused on. Taking the hint, Jim carefully handed him over.

  “Get the first aid kit,” Peter told him. He tore the sleeve fully open to examine the wound. “That’s a bad cut. How’d you do that?”

  The boy sniffled. “I fell out of a tree.”

  Peter smiled. “A tree? What were you doing up there?”

  “Hunting,” he replied.

  “All by yourself?” Peter's tone was kind and soothing.

  The boy nodded.

  “Well, that’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be out here alone. What’s your name?”

  “Brian,” he replied meekly. “Brian Hedgpath.”

  “Well, Brian. My name is Officer Peter, and this fella coming back with the first aid kit is my friend Jim. I need to clean your cut, okay? It’s going to sting a bit, so you’ll have to be tough.”

  A flash of fear entered Brian’s eyes, but Peter’s reassuring smile quickly calmed him. After cleaning and dressing the wound, he offered Brian a drink of water.

  “We need to get you back home,” he said. “Do you know where that is?”

  Brian shook his head. “I’m lost. My daddy’s going to kill me. I’m not even supposed to leave the house.” His tears renewed. “I lost his shotgun, too.”

  “Your daddy isn’t going to kill you,” Peter said. “I promise. In fact, I bet he’ll be so happy you’re safe, he won’t even care about the shotgun.”

  Brian wiped his eyes. “You really think so?”

  “Of course. Now where do you live?”

  “Constitution,” he replied. “But I don’t know how to get there.”

  “That’s no problem,” Peter said, smiling. “We do.” After lifting the boy into his arms, they started back toward the road.

  “Not bad,” Jim remarked with an approving nod.

  “That’s what cops do,” replied Peter. “It's not all about chasing bad guys and handing out speeding tickets.”

  This time when they reached the road, they walked right up to the barricade. The two men they had seen earlier immediately raised their rifles and ordered them to stop.

  “We found this boy lost in the woods,” Peter called over. “He says his name is Brian Hedgpath. He’s hurt.”

  One of the men jumped over the barricade, still pointing his rifle. “Don’t you move,” he ordered. He came close enough to see Brian’s face, then yelled over his shoulder. “It’s Brian all right. Go fetch his dad.”

  He turned his attention back to Peter. “You two stay put for now.”

  Jim noticed that the man wasn't aiming the weapon directly at Peter. A good sign. Not a guarantee that these people were friendly, but at least this one wasn’t willing to point a gun at a man holding a child.

  They waited in silence until a lanky figure wearing a pair of jeans, a blue flannel shirt, and work boots appeared over the barricade. He ran headlong toward them. Ignoring everyone else, he scooped up his son, hugging him close.

  “He fell from a tree and hurt his arm,” said Peter. “We ran across him about a mile or so west of here.”

  The man gave him a nod. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” His attention then switched quickly back to his son. “I’ve been so worried. And your mother is almost out of her mind.”

  “I’m sorry, daddy,” Brian wept. “I just wanted to…I was just trying…” His words were lost in a series of shuddering sobs.

  “He said he was hunting,” explained Peter.

  “Hunting!” the man exclaimed. “Why on earth would you go out hunting, Brian?”

  “Because you said if you didn’t go, we’d starve. You said if you couldn’t finish your work, we’d run out of food.”

  A look of both shame and sadness washed over the man’s face. “Sweet Jesus. I was just angry. I didn’t mean…” He forced his son to look him in the eye. “We are not going to starve. You hear me?” The boy nodded. “And stop pointing that damn gun, Larry.”

  After a brief hesitation, the man lowered his weapon. “I still want to know what these two were doing out there in the woods.”

  “Honestly - avoiding you,” Peter replied. “You never know who’s friendly and who’s not.”

  “Where are you headed?” Larry demanded.

  “Not sure,” lied Peter. “Just making our way north.”

  Larry's suspicious eyes continued to flicker between Peter and Jim for a while longer before saying, “Well, seeing as how you rescued young Brian, you can stay in town. But just for one night.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Brian’s father quickly cut in. “You can stay at my house. And you can stay as long as you want.” He held out his hand. “My name’s Ian.”

  After introducing themselves, Peter and Jim followed him to the barricade. By then, three more men had turned up, all of them armed with rifles. Larry ordered them to stand down and explained the situatio
n.

  The town proper was another mile to the north. Ian spoke to a young boy who was tending a small roadside garden, telling him to run ahead and inform his wife that their son was safe.

  When they reach the downtown area, Jim was struck by how clean and well-kept the buildings were. With numerous little shops and eateries, it reminded him a bit of Fairview, though by looking through the windows he could see that most of the business premises were empty. Those that weren’t resembled a trading post from way back in the old west. Wares lined the walls and counters as the people inside handed over baskets of food in exchange for various other goods.

  Ian noticed Jim’s keen interest. “We’re doing our best to live like human beings,” he said. “It sucks not to have power, but we’ve found a way to make it work.”

  “How long have you been here?” Jim asked.

  “About a year or so. It started out with only a few dozen of us. But pretty soon others started wandering in. Before we knew it, Constitution, Alabama was a town again.”

  Jim nodded approvingly. “It’s definitely impressive. How many live here now?”

  “At last count, four-hundred and twenty-two,” he replied. He smiled down at his son. “And thanks to you two, that figure is still the same.”

  “I would have found my way home,” Brian protested. “Well…maybe.”

  Several people they passed looked at the new faces with suspicion, but no one said anything or tried to hinder them in any way.

  “It’s been a while since we've had strangers in town,” Ian told them. “I suppose most folks have found a place to settle in by now. I expect before long we’ll be hearing about other towns rebuilding like us.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” remarked Peter.

  Jim gave him an almost imperceptible shake of the head. “Any word out of Atlanta?” he asked Ian.