Apokalypsis | Book 6 | Apokalypsis 6 Morris, Kate (cheapest way to read ebooks TXT) 📖

it,” he said and engaged the 4x4 unit. With the deep snow and the heavy incline, no car or truck was going up it without a little help in the traction department. The driveway was not flanked by woods like Avery’s or Gyles’s, nor did it have a fencing system or gate. It was just wide open to whoever had the capable vehicle of scaling it in such poor conditions. “Do you guys know these people?”

Kaia answered for herself and her brother, “No, never been here before.”

There weren’t any tracks on the pristine snow, so he knew nobody had come or gone recently from this farm. Once they made it to the top, Tristan paused a second to glance around before slowly going forward on the long driveway where it flattened out. He wasn’t sure if this was a great idea because they were technically trespassing, and now there was a whole different meaning and level of danger to that infraction.

“This is a big farm,” Abraham commented.

The land opened up into massive pastures, some fenced, others probably meant for crops. A large blue farmhouse came into view a moment before the huge white barns behind it did. Tractors and harvesting equipment were littered around, a lot not stored away from the weather, which he found odd.

Tristan parked about twenty yards from the house on the driveway and kept it running. “Ready?”

Gyles reassured them, “Yes, it’ll be okay. These folks were always easy-going and nice people.”

Tristan sighed, picked up his rifle, and got out. “You two, wait here by the truck. Leave if this goes badly, either on foot or in the truck if you can.”

“Yes, sir,” Abraham answered. Kaia looked doubtful, so Tristan sent her a narrowed eyes expression that let her know not to question him. She nodded then.

They approached the house slowly, and Tristan kept his rifle at the ready while Gyles took a more relaxed approach and didn’t even pull the revolver on his hip. He reminded Tristan of an old cowboy wearing that six-shooter low on his hip like that. The Carhartt jacket and cowboy hat added to the effect. He’d explained the worn and weathered hat earlier when Kaia had asked about it with a single word, “Texas” and left it at that.

There was a pickup truck parked near one of the barns at an odd angle as if it had slid in the snow getting up the short incline. Other than that one vehicle, no others were around.

“What’s this guy’s name?”

“Ben Miller. Used to be Amish. Left the sect when he did his Rumspringa, but he never went back.”

“His whata?”

“Oh, it’s an Amish thing. When they turn eighteen, they’re allowed to live in the English communities. I mean, ours. They call us that. Anyway, they have one year to sew their oats, so to speak. They can experience modern life, get a regular job, do English things, watch tv, whatever. At the end of the year, they either have to give it all up and rejoin their community or leave their family and Amish friends and lifestyle behind.”

“For good?”

“Yeah, for good. They’re shunned until they rejoin the community and leave the English lifestyle behind again. The elders make all the decisions like that. Ben left, and unfortunately for him, or fortunately, depending on how you look at it, met his wife. He didn’t want to go back without her, and she wouldn’t convert.”

“Seems like it would be hard for them to go back to their ways after having modern conveniences,” Tristan said. “Don’t they not drive cars and stuff?”

“I thought you were from Ohio?”

“I didn’t live around Amish people,” he said with a chuckle. “I lived in the shitty end of Cleveland.”

“Ah, I see. Well, most of the Amish kids don’t even do it. They already know they want their family and to stay in the community. That’s how they’re raised. It’s what they know. Their community is everything to them. It’s their search for a mate, their friends and social network, their church. They’re very disciplined people.”

“But no tv, no cars?”

“Nope. And no electricity, so half of ‘em probably don’t even know what’s going on in the rest of the world right now. They live very isolated off from society.”

“Sounds to me like they’re sitting ducks if someone decided to rob them.”

“They wouldn’t fight back,” Gyles explained. “They aren’t allowed. It’s against their religion. But some have a radio or phone in the barn. Some even have a cell phone, but they can’t use technology in their houses or electricity. Others will hunt with a rifle, but they’d never shoot a person.”

“We really could use a few lessons from them right now. Power goes out, and everyone’s pissing their pants.”

This time Gyles chuckled as the front door opened. It cut off their conversation instantly because a young man with a rifle was pointing it at them with purpose while standing defensively on his front porch. He was obviously not the non-violent sort of former Amish.

“Hello!” Gyles called out and raised a hand in greeting as if the kid weren’t pointing a gun at them. “How’s it going, son? You’re Ben Miller’s son, right? I’m looking for your pa.”

“He’s dead. What do you want?” The boy was maybe eighteen or nineteen and very tall. He looked like a bull, too, likely from the farm work.

“Aw, that’s a damn shame,” Gyles said and removed his hat. “A real shame. I’m real sorry to hear that, son. Your ma around?”

“She’s dead, too.”

“Damn, son. That’s too bad. How are you and your brothers and sisters doing in all this?”

“Why do you wanna’ know? Go away!”

“No harm from me, son,” Gyles continued casually and raised both hands in supplication in front of himself. “I just came to see if we could trade some things for a few chickens from your pa. I used to buy eggs and some produce from your pa when I was in town. Most times, I was gone on a rig. I just live