Thunderstorm, Part 2

True grit.

Call them whatever you like, heinous criminals, people of the night, Maltese kannibali. Every social order of mankind has produced cannibals, and four of them, were coming.

Sam knew that he and the girl had to get moving. They’d heard no brush crunching or footsteps approaching, but in steady rain, their pursuers might actually be close. He couldn’t see very far, because the brush was thick. If he followed the stream, he knew it eventually would come out somewhere. But, how long is eventually? With no shoes, soaking wet, no matches and no food, Sam knew they were at a terrible disadvantage, and their cannabalistic enemies, on top of all of that, were armed.

And in his heart of hearts, Sam knew these men deserved to die. It must not be other way around.

Sam turned to the girl and asked pointblank.

“What’s your name?” She hung her head and slowly shook it. “Not yet.”

Not knowing why could be the hardest part, but it was no more than shame, and not knowing Sam.

It was time to make a decision. She surely couldn’t be a hundred pounds. Sam knelt. “Climb on,” he said, and she did. Off he went, up the hill, away from the stream.

Progress was slow, but Sam wanted their progress to be quiet. Once the rain actually stopped, and Sam was fairly sure he heard movement. He turned and looked back, often.

In fact he had heard someone, but the odds had improved. Two men had followed the stream and two were now proceeding up the hill, behind them. Reaching a group of limestone boulders, Sam put the girl down. They hid uphill from the rocks and waited, in silence.

They didn’t have long to wait.

As a man named Caleb stepped up to the first boulder, Sam came around the rock and caught him from behind. As Sam clocked him with a rock, the rifle went off. But now Sam had resources; a pair of boots that were too small, but Sam was able to get them on; a good knife, and a rifle.

The downside was, three men were now headed their way. The closest one shouted. “Caleb! Did ya git him?”

Silence. Daylight was beginning to break.

At least progress was slowed, as all three pursuers came along much more quietly. That suited Sam just fine.

An hour had passed when Sam reached the ridge top. Had they not been followed, Sam might have climbed a tree and seen the highway that lay below. Without that, he had no idea, because the mile that lay between Sam and the highway was enough to blanket out the sound of cars.

Making another decision, Sam turned left and followed the ridge top, taking them away from national forest and moving them in the general direction of civilization. When their pursuers reached the top, one headed for the highway, one went right and one went left. Again, the odds were improved.

Then, Sam caught a break. He reached a cut in the forest where a power line passed. That might have been better news had he been able to see what lay on either side, but fog prevented it. At least, the rain had stopped, and the lightning with it. Sam turned left again and headed downhill by way of the cut.

Several more hours passed, and Sam believed he might have shaken their pursuers. He’d reached the bottom of the ridge and had turned right, and at last, entered a clearing with an unmowed yard and a dilapidated, small house. Thinking it might be abandoned, he put the girl down and stepped up to the front porch. Immediately he was faced with the bores of a loaded double-barrel shotgun.

“Who the hell are you? An’ what the hell d’ya want?”

The shotgun was gripped by an old woman, standing just inside the front door.

Sam smiled, held the rifle out at his side and replied. “Not to get shot would be nice. Can I put the rifle down?”

The old woman indicated with a motion of the shotgun. “Do it! Girl, where’s yer clothes?”

“My name is Ella. Please put the gun down, you’re pointing it at a hero!”

Sam had laid the gun on the ground.

“How so?” The woman lowered the shotgun.

In a small, broken voice, Ella related all that had happened. Then she addressed Sam.

“The two bodies you saw? They were my parents.”

“Five of ‘em? My God. Those bastids kilt my husband.” She put the shotgun down. “My name’s Elinor. We got somethin’ in common.”

“What about the law?” Sam asked.

“Law? There’s no law out here. Nobody woulda believed me anyhow. Come on, girl, I’ll find you somethin’ else to put on. Mebbe somethin’ to eat.”

Ella, dressed in oversized clothing, was sitting down to eat a sandwich when a voice rang out.

“Know you’re in there, asshole, c’mon out!”

Sam was barefoot again, and had his shirt back. Now he sidled toward the door, his back against the wall. He’d stood the rifle against the doorframe - outside. That didn’t phase the property’s owner. Up the stairs she went, silently.

As the cannibal ringleader stood in the open, angrily brandishing an ancient British .303, Elinor stood away from an upstairs window and wailed,

“Oh please, leave us alone!”

He just stood there and grinned. He didn’t get to say much. “You send...”

Blam.

Both barrels from an upstairs window. Sam looked all around, saw no one else, and stepped out to finish the job. It wasn’t necessary.

“That weren’t birdshot, that were buckshot.”

“I see that.”

“Let him lay, come get some food. You’ll be wantin’ directions outa here. I’ll berry ‘im later.”

Gratefully, Sam complied.

The ending to this saga wasn’t special. Two of the cannibals were still loose, somewhere. Sam scored a pair of larger boots that had belonged to Elinor’s husband. Sam and Ella were able to walk the roughly five miles to where Sam had parked his Jeep and unloaded his bike. He used a hidden spare key to start it.

“What are you gonna do with me?” Ella looked concerned. “Hand me over to the police?”

“Well Ella, what else would I do? What are you, thirteen? I mean, come on! Someone will take care of you.”

“Well what if I wanna stay with you? I can get a job, and I can cook, and clean...how about that?”

“Ella I’m nearly thirty.”

“So? I’m nearly fifteen. Do you have someone? You do, don’t you?” Then she looked at her lap. “Guess I’ll understand if you don’t want me.”

Sam thought, shifted on his feet and then looked her in the eye. “Ella it isn’t that, at all. If you were a boy I could adopt you, but nobody is gonna give custody of a teen girl to me. Doesn’t work that way.”

“We don’t have to tell anyone.”

Sam stepped up, grabbed Ella and held her tight.

“There are people who will look after you. I have to contact State Police and the FBI. When you grow up, come by and say hi.”

“And what are you gonna do then?”

“Say hi back.”

Ella was quiet the whole way back. When Sam finished with the police report, it was time to go.

Ella stepped up and stood between Sam and the door. “I will see you in three years and two months.”

“What’s in three years and two months?”

“My birthday.”

Three years and two months later, Sam’s doorbell rang.

*********