Friends of the Family (The Colter Saga Book 1) Read online

  Friends of the Family

  The Colter Saga

  Book 1

  BY: Joel K Baker

  Dedication

  To my wife, Roxane, who actually thought I could write this and who helped to keep the light burning.

  Prologue

  Grandpa Jesse was a hard man. Some people say he was a stone cold killer. Others say he did what he had to do; doing what was necessary to protect the family. It was a time when dying was easy and living was hard.

  One thing everybody can agree on is that Jesse Colter loved his wife Sarah. He loved her, their kids, and those big awful dogs. Jesse and Sarah are long gone now. So are the dogs they brought with them to Haven. But their offspring are here, both the Colters and the dogs. Hard to explain, those dogs, doing what they do, giving everyone the willies and such.

  If you’re reading this, you probably know all about them dogs. We’ve had people come from as far away as fifty miles just to see them. They usually get back in their wagons shaking their heads wondering how such a thing could be. If you read Jesse’s story you’ll know.

  My name is John Franklin Boyd. I’m the second son of Lily, Jesse and Sarah’s only daughter. An old woman now, she’s still the best healer around. That’s the other reason folks come to visit Haven. First they want to see the dogs, and then mama for poultices and remedies to cure their ills.

  I build wagons, big strong wagons that can carry anything. I built every wagon in Haven and for miles around. Wagons for hauling produce and hay mostly. It’s said none of my wagons has ever left the valley. That’s because no one leaves our valley except to find a wife. Then they always come back with a wife, and sometimes with a new baby too.

  This way of living may seem normal to you. I doubt if any of you actually lived during the go-back. That’s what we call the time when Jesse’s story begins. Grandpa Jesse, Sarah, and the folks their age used to tell us about the time before go-back.

  It was a strange time. It was a time of cars, and trains and televisions. Lights came on when you turned a switch. People could fly in aero planes anywhere they wanted. Nobody had to chop wood or many of the things we do every day. Horses were a hobby for rich folk and not for plowing or getting from one place to another.

  Everybody went to school. They bought food at big stores and never had to turn a spade of earth. Those stores had racks of clothes you could walk right in and buy. Everybody wore shoes that were made of canvas and just threw them away when they got worn or dirty. Hard to believe; but the old people all said it was true.

  Nobody seems to really know what happened to cause the go-back. They say it was sudden. The oil they used for all this stuff ran out or something. Banks failed. So did everything else. All we do know for sure is that in a few weeks things just stopped working. Then they had riots. It wasn’t long before they were killing each other for one reason or another. Then they started killing for no reason at all.

  People got terrible sick and died. Some said other people caused it. Others said we did it to ourselves. The country fell apart. So did all the other countries. Then everybody started hoarding food and such. Some people became scavengers, living on what they could steal by taking from other people. Some really bad people gathered these scavengers into gangs. Then things got really ugly. There was talk of cannibalism, people eating other people, and other horrors too terrible to imagine. The land emptied as people died or were killed. It was as though people forgot how to fend for themselves. Some just gave up hope and quit.

  It was worse up north than here in Tennessee. In the rural part of the south we weren’t as far from the land. People used to make fun of us. They called us hicks and red necks. Now we’re here and they’re gone. It was like everyone forgot which end of a shovel to use. They kept waiting around for the government or someone to come take care of them. Nobody came. That was true all over, just less so here.

  I first heard the story of Jesse and Sarah when I was a little boy. I heard it many times since. Jesse was an old man by then and his Sarah was gone. But his mind was still sharp. People still came to Jesse for advice. His stories were sought after, in spite of his somewhat rambling style. Whenever it stormed or snowed, or the children just got bored, the cry would go up.

  “Tell us the story, Grandpa Jesse. Tell us the story!”

  Jesse would always protest and grumble, muttering under his breath. “There's too much work to do to be fooling around with all this nonsense." But the gleam in his eye would give it all away. He would wait for all us children to gather in front of the fire, quiet and still, with our legs drawn up to our chests and eyes wide with the waiting.

  Jesse would look at each of us and begin the story always in the same way. "It seems just like yesterday... "

  ****

  Some time ago I found Jesse and Sarah's story all written down. It was in a dusty old pine box, under some old tarps, way in the back of a shed. A small rose was carved into the lid of the box. I read the story and it's the same one Grandpa Jesse use to tell.

  I want to warn you it's a bit gritty. Those were tough times they lived through and not easy to hear about. I don't know who wrote it down. But it's a story that needs told. Was Jesse a stone cold killer? Before you go judging Jesse one way or the other, you should hear the real story.

  Chapter 1

  The cross hairs of the scope rested comfortably on the young boy’s forehead. Jesse Colter felt his heart’s rhythm increase as he swept his field of fire over the scene below.

  An old man knelt by a stricken form lying on the ground. A boy and an older girl leaned over the body. The old man searched the pockets for food or anything of use. All three wore tattered rags and a hunted look. The steam of their breath hovered above the deadly scene.

  “Dad, I got the old man,” Mark, Jesse’s fifteen-year-old son whispered next to him.

  Both Jesse and Mark lay side by side in the snow on a small knoll some fifty yards from the group of scavengers clustered below.

  “Wait for the signal, and concentrate on your breathing,” Jesse whispered in return.

  Jesse didn’t want Mark hyperventilating like the last time. It had gone badly when Mark had gut shot the scavenger, rather than a clean kill.

  Jesse glanced at the slate sky spitting the occasional snow flake. The clouds appeared to be lowering by the minute. It looked like it would get a lot worse and soon. Still, he wasn’t convinced these particular scavengers needed killing. He waited and watched their actions.

  “Dad… Dad… Do you see what I see?” Mark whispered as softly as he could.

  Jesse moved the scope back to the old man and saw the knife appear in his hand. It looked like some sort of steak knife with a serrated edge. The blade was bent at an odd angle. The girl reached behind her and set a large blackened cooking pot next to the cadaver. The boy began clapping his dirty hands. He hopped from one leg to another like a demented elf.

  All three seemed to be suffering from a similar disease. Their faces were covered in seeping sores. The color of the sores didn’t look like the normal pox. They’d dealt with the pox before. From this distance it was hard to tell for sure.

  Jesse knew was this group presented a potential danger to his family. After several moments, Jesse looked around and made the decision.

  “Hey, kid. Are you ok?” Jesse asked.

  “Sure Dad. Let’s just get this over with.”

  “You take the old man,” Jesse said. “Whenever you’re ready. Don’t forget to breathe slowly.”

  Jesse moved his scope to the elf. The crack of Mark’s rifle seemed loud. Jesse tightened his finger and felt the recoil of his rifle against his shoulder. The
elf’s arms flew gracefully over his head as he toppled backwards into a ditch.

  Jesse quickly positioned the crosshairs of his scope to the forehead of the girl. At first she seemed confused. She looked around dumfounded for several seconds, her mouth open as she watched the old man and boy jerk backward.

  She glanced up towards where Mark and Jesse lay watching. Her dirty, tattered coat was open, in spite of the cold. She raised her right hand and brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes. It almost appeared to Jesse as if she waved. Jesse pulled the trigger.

  The crack of his rifle echoed off the hillside; then returned to silence. The acrid smell of gunpowder mixed with the crisp clean freshness of falling snowflakes. Vapors of steam rose from the ditch where the bodies lay in a cold sleep.

  Jesse held his hand out motioning Mark to stay where he was. He listened intently for the telltale roar of engines. Gasoline was now more precious than gold. Scavengers frequently sent their weaker members out on foot to find whatever they could.

  Just like the three in the snow down below. They used them as bait hoping that someone would take a chance and reveal their position. People who took chances died quickly and without comment.

  Jesse finally got to his feet and peered through the thickening snow. He felt tired and alone. It had been a year of kill or be killed. Twelve months of watching friends, relatives, and neighbors die.

  Overnight the whole country regressed two hundred years. Food, heat, light, water, medicine, police, and everything else just failed. Everything and everyone forced to try and survive.

  “Let’s go home”, Jesse said.

  “Do you think they were loners?” Mark asked as he scrambled off the rise.

  “I don’t know, but I think so,” Jesse said. “They were in bad shape even for scavengers.”

  Jesse watched his son and was again reminded of how much Mark resembled Jesse’s own father. He was tall for his age and had his grandpa’s sandy blond hair. If Mark resembled Jesse at all, it was the way he walked. He had the same long strides and comfortable gait as Jesse.

  Jesse turned and joined Mark walking single file. They passed the edge of what remained of the town of Liberty, Ohio. Smoke rose from the few occupied houses remaining. The pervasive pungent smell of burning wood hung in the air.

  Jesse and his son approached the silent center of town. They stopped in the road, listening to the desolate sound of the wind whistling through the dead power lines. Suddenly Jesse tensed, looking first left and then right.

  “What’s wrong?” Mark whispered.

  “Nothing, I guess. I thought I heard something," Jesse replied.

  He studied the empty houses staring back at him through vacant windows.

  “Are you still thinking about moving us to Tennessee?” Mark asked, shouldering his rifle.

  “Yes,” Jesse said. “But we got to see what your Mom says.”

  “Are you still planning on using the truck?” Mark asked.

  “The truck and fuel are still at the garage,” Jesse said. “I’m going to talk with her tonight about it.”

  Jesse knew he’d been lucky to have just filled the diesel fuel storage tanks at his business when everything failed. Everyone called it the time of the Go-Back.

  A cholera epidemic hit the town hard a few weeks after the Go-Back. Rumors of how far the epidemic spread were passed on by the occasional straggler.

  Sarah’s parents were among the first to die. She and Jesse quarantined their family as they fought to survive. When they finally emerged, most of the people of Liberty had fled or were dead. Those remaining came together long enough to bury the dead and then retreated back into their houses.

  Jesse knew it would be difficult for Sarah to leave the place where her parents were buried. She’d been devastated by their loss. Liberty was the only place she’d ever lived. But he knew they had to get to Haven.

  Why should we go to Tennessee?” Mark asked.

  “So we don't have to do this anymore, Jesse said. “I know the people in Tennessee. They’re tough and resilient. It’s someplace we can stop looking over our shoulder and look to our future instead. I just hope we haven’t waited too long.”

  Mark was dealing with the unknown the best he could. But Jesse knew they should have packed up and left last fall instead of waiting.

  “I’m sold,” Mark said, nodding his head and smiling. “There’s nothing keeping us here. Good luck convincing Mom.”

  Jesse looked around as the snow seemed to strengthen. The wind whipped down empty streets forming drifts in the gutters. He felt the sting on his cheeks and hid his face from the wind as his eyes began to water.

  Just as Jesse wiped tears from his eyes, he saw Mark drop to a crouch and whip his rifle to his shoulder. Jesse dropped to one knee, his rifle raised.

  “What is it?” Jesse asked.

  “Dogs, I think.” Mark said. “A bunch of them just ran through the alley on the left.”

  Mark pointed towards the old pharmacy and cleaners on the corner. Jesse sprinted to the corner and peeked up the alley. Wild dogs were a growing problem. They were more successful than their owners at adapting. Even so, food was getting scarce and the packs were getting bolder. Jesse returned to where Mark now rested.

  “We better send Cole to deal with the dogs,” Jesse said.

  “I can do it,” Mark said.

  “I know you can,” Jesse said. “But Cole’s really good at taking care of dogs. It’s difficult to take out the whole pack at one time. Some always seem to get away. I want them all dead.”

  Cole was Mark’s childhood friend. He was very close to going as feral as the dogs he hunted. He was rail thin, with a strange dead cast to his eyes. From a distance he appeared normal enough. Up close, Cole had ancient, tired eyes. He was driven. Jesse thought his demons were somehow understandable.

  Cole had watched a mob beat his father to death with a tire iron. It was for a few gallons of gas when the go-back started. Since then, Cole was a strange boy, living on his own. He would stop by the Colter house for a meal now and then. Jesse, who also was orphaned at a young age, felt empathy for the boy.

  Jesse and his son headed off towards home.

  “Don’t say anything to the family about this morning,” Jesse said. “It will just upset them.”

  “I know,” Mark said. “I think I know who those scavengers were after. It was Mr. Warner, wasn’t it?”

  “It looked like him,” Jesse said.

  “Do you think they killed him?” mark asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jesse said. “Maybe Jacob got careless, or his heart gave out. He was an old guy with a bad ticker. But who knows? That’s why I keep telling you to stay alert. You can’t afford to get careless.”

  “I know, Dad, I know,” Mark said.

  “I’ll try to get back out there tomorrow and bring Jacob back into town,” Jesse said, “We owe him at least a burial.”

  The snow slowed as Jesse studied the concerned look on his son’s face. He was more resolved than ever to get the family out of Liberty and back to Tennessee.

  Chapter 2

  The snow stopped late in the day. Sarah stepped out on the front porch. She wrapped a white shawl that had belonged to her mother tightly around her shoulders. She spotted Jesse and Mark walking past the trees in the front yard and up the driveway. Their rifles were cradled in their arms.

  From the looks on their faces she knew that the day had not gone well. Sarah waved and smiled as Jesse took off his stocking cap and scratched his head. Wool always made his head itch.

  “You two better get in the house before you freeze to death,” Sarah said. “Are you done for the day?”

  “All done,” Jesse said.

  “Go wash up. Dinners almost ready,” Sarah said.

  Jesse and Mark continued up the driveway. Sarah went back inside and looked out the dining room window. She saw Jesse laugh and give Mark a playful punch in the arm as they walked behind the house. The metal on metal squeak of the h
and pump went on for some time as first Jesse, and then Mark worked the handle. It sent shivers down Sarah’s back like fingernails on a chalk board. Finally the noise stopped.

  Mark and Jesse had found the hand water pump in an old hardware store. They’d driven the well by hand after they’d lost water pressure. They’d hit water at thirty five feet, but Jesse had insisted they go deeper. Sarah was convinced that the deeper well had saved their lives. They’d managed to avoid getting sick when the sewage treatment plant outside of town had failed and contaminated the ground water. A cholera epidemic had raged out of control shortly thereafter.

  Sarah sat in the dining room and listened to the quiet. It was a silence broken only by the ghostly whine of the wind blowing through the eaves and the occasional groan of an old house. She felt the chill of the still room and wondered if she’d ever really be warm again. It had been a long cold winter and Sarah was tired. The light through the window was fading. She stood and began moving about the dining room lighting kerosene lamps. Sarah picked up the kerosene lamp from the table. She trimmed the wick, lit the lamp, and replaced the glass cover.

  Jesse and Mark walked through the side door. Jesse handed his rifle to Mark to clean, then stomped the snow off his feet. He laid his gloves on the wood stove in the back of the house. The sizzle of melting snow and smell of wet wool hung in the air. The table was set and cooking smells came from the kitchen.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Jesse said with a smile.

  “Hey, yourself,” Sarah smiled in return.

  Jesse took three giant steps across the dining room and swept her into his arms. Sarah hugged his neck closely. He smelled of pine needles, smoke and the cold. As they embraced, he whispered into her ear.

  “How come the worse it gets, the better you look?” Jesse asked.

  “I’m not even sure that’s a compliment!” she said, pushing back from Jesse and slapping him on the shoulder. “Put me down and go take your dirty boots off.”

  “Done and done,” he replied setting her gently on her feet and laughing.