The Survivalist: Madness Rules Part 32

He slid an antique silver harmonica out of his pocket. It had been a gift from a family in need of water several weeks back.

"Do you mind?"

"A man doesn't need permission to give everyone around him a gift," Mose said with a smile. "I'm a.s.sumin', of course, that you know how to work that thing."

Mason brought it to his lips and played Red Wing, a catchy little Kentucky tune that before long had everyone tapping their feet. He messed up a couple of times, but neither Mose nor Carolyn seemed to notice. When he was finished, both of them clapped enthusiastically.

"Mighty nice," said Mose. "Yes, sir, mighty nice."

"Play another one, Marshal, please, oh please," begged Carolyn.

Before he could answer, the screen door creaked open, and a man stepped out onto the porch. He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders even though the temperature was a pleasant sixty degrees.

"Who are you?" he asked, staring hard at Mason.

"That there's Marshal Raines," said Mose. "He and his dog are stayin' with us for the night. You just missed a real nice song."

The man said something under his breath and flopped down onto a chair next to Mose.

"Marshal," said Mose, "this here's my son, Zeb. The youngins are his."

"Our mother died on account of the virus," said Carolyn.

Despite being covered in dirt from a long day's work, Carolyn was a beautiful young lady with bright eyes and a smile that could melt frost off a cold winds.h.i.+eld.

"I'm sorry about that," he said with a heartfelt smile.

She nodded and went back to her sewing.

"We hated to lose ole' Milly," said Mose. "Beautiful woman, she was. But at least the children are all okay. Not a single one came down with the pox, which was G.o.d's work if you ask me."

"G.o.d's work, my a.s.s," Zeb mumbled, shaking his head.

Mose kept on rocking and puffing on his pipe like he hadn't even heard him.

"What about you, Zeb?" asked Mason. "You look a bit flushed. Are you coming down with something?"

Zeb only shook his head. When he didn't say more, Mose chimed in.

"My boy worked over at the coal mine for twenty years. One day, he got caught in a slide when they blasted away part of the mountain. Broke his back in four places. It still gives him trouble from time to time, so kindly overlook his poor manners."

"My manners are none of your business, old man."

Again, Mose ignored him, staring off into the peaceful night.

Carolyn, however, cut her eyes at her father and seemed ready to come to her grandfather's defense, should another cross word be said.

Zeb reached across Mose and grabbed up a jar of the moons.h.i.+ne. He took a long swig and closed his eyes.

"Bowie and I appreciate the hospitality," offered Mason.

At the mention of his name, Bowie raised his head a little. Carolyn reached down and patted him softly, and the dog's back leg started bouncing up and down.

"You have a lovely dog, Marshal," she said. "He's so gentle with the kids."

"Bowie's a good dog, all right."

"Have you had him since he was a puppy?"

Before Mason could answer, Zeb turned to Carolyn.

"Go inside and get everyone ready for bed."

"Ah, just a little longer? Please, Pa."

"Go on now."

She frowned but didn't argue further.

"All right, Pa," she said, getting up. "It was nice to meet you, Marshal."

He smiled. "You too, Carolyn."

She turned and hurried into to the house.

"Carolyn sort of took over after her mother pa.s.sed," said Mose. "Even at thirteen, she's growin' up real fast."

"She seems like a sweet girl."

Zeb cut his eyes at Mason like he had made some kind of inappropriate remark.

Mason ignored him. Some people were always spoiling for a fight.

"She and the other youngins will be happy to make you and Bowie some breakfast in the mornin'," said Mose. "The truth is we don't get many visitors."

"We don't want to be any trouble," said Mason. "Bowie and I are happy to sleep out in the truck and be gone at first light."

"Don't be silly. We got plenty of room in the cabin. The girls all sleep in one room, and the boys in the other. You can take the couch. Besides," he said with a grin, "it's less likely you'll be carried off by the rats that way."

Mason thought that his truck was sounding better and better, but he didn't dare refuse the offer. Rejecting a kindness extended by a stranger was not only rude-it could be dangerous.

The cabin was dark, and filled with the pungent odor of cooked cabbage on account of their dinner. The only sounds were those of the children rustling in their beds and the scratching of mice scouring the floor for sc.r.a.ps. Mason lay on a lumpy couch, replaying the events of the day. He couldn't help but wonder whether Connie was in her own bed, staring up at the ceiling. She'd had her revenge, but that was going to be the easy part. There would be more dangers to come along, and she would need to align herself with the right folks if she was to have any hope of surviving.

He draped his arm across his eyes. Connie was behind him. He needed to let that situation go. No doubt more trouble lay ahead for both of them. She would make her way, just as he would make his.

A dog barked. It was followed by the sound of a man cursing.

Mason sat up, grabbed his Supergrade, and raced out the front door. He ran barefoot across the old porch, picking up a couple of splinters for his trouble. He could see that Bowie had someone pinned up against the bed of his truck. The dog's back was hunched as it slowly moved in.

Mason whistled and Bowie stopped, glancing back over his shoulder.

As he came closer, Mason saw that it was Zeb leaning back against the truck. His hands were out in front of him, as if that would in any way ward off an Irish wolfhound.

"Get this d.a.m.n dog away from me," he hissed.

Mason saw that the tarp over his supplies had been folded back.

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"I don't know what you're talking-"

"Don't," he said, holding up his hand. "It's been a long day, and I'm in no mood for lies."

"You're staying at my house. I figure I got a right to some kind of payment."

"Bulls.h.i.+t. You're a thief, plain and simple. What was it you took?" Mason strained to see what was in the man's hands.

Zeb didn't answer.

"If you don't feel like talking, I'm going back to bed. Bowie, however, will probably be up with you all night long."

Bowie growled and took a step toward him.

"Fine," he said, holding up a small bottle of medication. "It's just a few pills. That's it."

"Is that Percocet?" Ava had given him a bottle of the powerful pain medication in case he should ever be wounded.

"I need it," he pleaded. "I'm suffering real bad. You saw that already."

Mason held out his hand.

"Give it to me."

"I'll trade you. Anything you want." His voice was desperate, like that of every addict.

"I don't need anything. Now hand it over."

Zeb hesitated, his mind racing to come up with anything that might allow him to keep the drug.

"You can have Carolyn."

"What?"

"My daughter, Carolyn. You can take her with you. Do anything you want with her. She's pretty and about the right age for-"

Mason stepped forward and pistol whipped Zeb across the face. He toppled sideways, the bottle of pills falling into the dirt.

"You son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h," Zeb cried, holding his mouth. "You broke my G.o.dd.a.m.n tooth."

Mason bent over and picked up the bottle.

"You're lucky I didn't break your neck. What the h.e.l.l were you thinking?"

Zeb pushed up on his elbows.

"Please, Marshal, I need those pills." He cupped his bleeding mouth to emphasize his pain.

Mason leaned over and pulled Zeb to his feet. When he was stable, Mason slammed him back against the cab of the truck and pressed the muzzle of the gun under his chin.

"I want you to listen to me. Are you listening?"

Zeb nodded, his eyes wide with fear.

"I'm going to be stopping in here from time to time, and so help me, if Carolyn or any of your kids are missing or hurt in any way, I'll put you down. You hear me?"

Zeb nodded again.

"Say it."

"I hear you."

He holstered the pistol.

"We're all hurting. Your pain's no worse than anyone else's. You've got a cabin full of kids who need their father, and right now, you're failing them. Mose is filling in for you, but he isn't going to be around forever. You know that."

Zeb looked down at his feet.

Mason reached up and straightened the man's collar.

"You get yourself together. These kids deserve better."

Zeb nodded, wiping at his eyes.

"I just hurt, that's all."

"So let that pain remind you of what it's like to still be alive. And if that's not enough to keep you straight, you put a shotgun in your mouth and pull the trigger. Better that than shaming your family the way you did tonight."

Zeb nodded again. "I'll try, Marshal. I will."

Mason turned and started back toward the cabin.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get you cleaned up."

CHAPTER.