Families First: A Post-Apocalyptic Next-World Series Volume 6 Battle Grounds Lance Ewing (ebook e reader TXT) 📖

the end of a rope or a fight to the death—everyone except for her Ken, who nearly died jumping the Courthouse. “It’s just not fair; they shouldn’t have all the power.”

“That won’t last long,” replied Jason quickly. “The Colonel will see to that.”

“Who?” she asked, snapping Jason back to focus.

“I’ve said too much—sorry,” he replied. “Just know it will be okay. It’s what I’ve been told, at least. So, I’m going to try and unlock the door. I don’t see anybody around, so we should be able to make a run for it. I’ll let you go first, since I’m sure we’re headed in different directions. My advice is to get out of town or lay very low until we get this thing sorted out—and that probably means not at your boyfriend’s house. Understand?”

“Yeah, I get it,” she said. “I’m getting tired of this small town anyway.”

Jason unlocked the cab door, and she stumbled out, hands tied tight behind her back. She wanted to scream but would not, at least not out loud, running opposite the restaurant, looking back every few seconds, as if they were right behind her. Up ahead, she could see the split fence of a good neighbor’s yard she and Ken had eaten dinner at only a few weeks ago. The old woman stood out front, wide-eyed and stout. “Come here, darling. I’ll help you.”

The Sheriff and two others—probably deputies—were running towards her and closing the gap. She screamed again, looking back, when she tripped. It was the curb, she would find out later in the day, and the impact sent her reeling like a baseball player sliding face-first into home plate. This was no dirt landing, and the plate wasn’t plastic but concrete. She hit her face hard, and then her forehead. Something sharp pierced her upper lip, and blood poured from her mouth.

She could hear yelling, both behind and in front of her, like dueling banjos—one trying to outdo the other. Struggling to get up, her head was aching and she felt dizzy.

“Nice try, missy,” came the Sheriff’s voice from behind. “Lift her up, boys,” was the command as her zip-tied wrists forcefully brought her up to a standing position.

She turned to face her accuser, spitting the knocked front tooth out onto the pavement. She stared at it for only a second in sheer amazement. How could a whole tooth be so long? she wondered. It looked at least an inch long.

“You got blood on my boots,” yelled the Sheriff, kicking the air as if to shake it off.

“Should we take her over to see Doc?” asked one of the deputies, sounding concerned.

“Nope,” Kate replied flatly. “It’s already out.” She walked backwards towards the truck, using her fingers to make a button-your-lip motion as she stared at the good neighbor woman.

“Are you hungry?” she asked the Judge, as if they had just got off a work shift.

“I could eat,” he replied.

“Get her back in the truck, and if either of them tries to get out, shoot them dead,” she told the deputy.

* * * *

“Hey! Hey, police guy?” the young woman asked the guard, pressing her face to the crack in the window, the way a kid might make fish lips in the small area.

“Hey, can you get my tooth and put it in some milk?” she asked calmly. “It will preserve it until they can put it back in later.”

“Sure thing, missy. I’ll be getting right on it,” he replied, not taking a step.

“It’s over there on the ground.” She pointed to the spot where she had fallen.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Okay, no more talking.”

* * * *

“Well, good morning, James,” the Sheriff said, walking right up to him inside the restaurant. “I wasn’t expecting to see you,” she added.

“Well, ma’am, I am working today.”

“Is that so,” she replied with sarcasm. “A Mayor’s work is done at the office, and it looks to me like you’re about to have breakfast on my time.”

“Ma’am, the Mayor position is an extension of the citizens of this town, and I see no better way to serve them than to meet them where they congregate, right here in this fine establishment.”

A crowd was gathering to hear the exchange, with most standing behind James.

“Where’s that sidekick of yours?” asked the Judge, with a grin.

“I’m not sure—maybe fishing in Lake Trinidad,” replied James, figuring he had nothing to lose now. “I heard you were up there recently, Judge—and you too, Kate. It’s a shame what happened to Sheriff Johnson,” he continued. “What are the odds a man who fished in a tube hundreds of times before and was a swimming champion right here at Weston High would up and drown like that? It just doesn’t make sense at all,” he said, and continued countrifying his dialect just a bit, to the nodding of his citizens. “It just a shame, is all I’m saying.”

“Let’s meet this afternoon after lunch, say your office at 1:30, and you can call me Sheriff-elect from now on, James.”

“It’s a date!” replied James enthusiastically, embarrassing her and turning her pink cheeks bright red with anger.

James dismissed them both by turning his chair around to talk to his supporters.

“Steak and egg burrito for my favorite Mayor,” called the restaurant owner from across the room. “And one for everyone here, compliments of James VanFleet!” He whispered to his wife, “the small ones.”

They all cheered, as if he had given his audience each a brand-new car.

Sheriff Kate stormed out of the restaurant, yelling something at Judge Lowry.

“They took Jason Davis,” whispered a man James knew from days long gone.

“I know,” whispered James in reply. “It was written all over their smug faces. I’ll be seeing him in a few hours anyway.”

* * * *

“Two things,” said the restaurant owner,