Apache Dawn by - (dark books to read .txt) 📖

the school would be closed Thursday…well, one thing led to another and we decided to take some cash out—just in case, mind you—on the way home. I don’t know where the other car came from, but suddenly he was right there in front of me. I just couldn’t brake in time. He was trying to get to the bank, too, I think.”

“Your car looks pretty bad, John.”

“I know, but it looks worse than it really is. It still runs—that Caddy is built like a tank! After we got the police to the scene, we were advised to take Ruth to the hospital. She had a nasty cut on her forehead. Turns out it was superficial, but she bled like a stuck pig,” he said with a chortle.

“Thank goodness she’s okay,” said Denny, relief in his voice. Ruth was like the grandmother he never knew.

John waved a hand. “Psh, my Ruthie is a tough ol’ bird. Little cut was nothing to her. She’s had eight children—natural, mind you, no drugs,” he said proudly. “She told the nurses that and you should have seen the looks on their faces!” He took another drink of water and grew serious.

“When you didn’t come home, I started to worry,” Denny said.

“Yeah, well, they wanted to keep her overnight for observation and then they had to x-ray my neck…whiplash or some such nonsense. I feel fine. And I told the doctor that, too. They had a bunch of kids from the school show up with the flu and I guess they just plain forgot about us. Don’t look at me like that. I said, I feel fine. But do they listen to me? No.”

“So you just walked out?” asked Denny.

“Oh, no, not really. I made an awful stink about letting us go and finally they did—after a crash course on flu prevention. It’s really starting to get bad on the coasts. Scary. Glad we live up here in the mountains.”

“Yes, I’ve been watching the news. It does not look good,” Denny said sadly. “I fear a lot of people are going to die…”

John was quiet for a moment. “Yes…we agree. It—this all seems very similar to…you know.” He took another sip. “Anyway, since the car wasn’t too banged up, we decided it’d be a good time to visit our son, Eldridge. He lives about halfway between here and the bank,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder. “Spent some time there with the grandkids, you know. Well, today we went back to the bank after watching things get worse out there and…” His hands started to shake as he reached for the faucet to refill his glass.

“What happened?” asked Denny. Salmon Falls was not exactly a hotspot for crime. If someone got a parking ticket, half the town knew by dinner.

“Some punks tried to rob us. Rob us, Denny! They had a knife and a bat…” He put a hand to his face. That’s when Denny noticed the tear in John’s shirt on his left arm, crusted brown material around the edges. The knuckles of his neighbor’s hand were red and bruised.

“John, you’re hurt!”

“What? Oh, this? Just a scratch. The punk with the knife got lucky. Thought he could take the old Mormon. Didn’t know I was in the boxing club back in college, did he?” John threw a couple punches over the table with such finesse for one his age that Denny had little trouble believing a teenager would not last long against his Mormon neighbor.

“Well,” he sighed. “His friend with the bat had an attitude, too. That’s why the windshield on my car got busted. He smashed it while I was teaching his friend to respect his elders. In the end, I decided discretion was the better part of valor and got back in the car—to get Ruth out of there, y’see.” The older man harrumphed. “Never did get our cash.”

“That’s crazy!” exclaimed Denny in disbelief. Things like that just did not happen in Salmon Falls, flu crisis or not. “Did you recognize any of them?”

“Me? No. Ruthie though, she says that two of them had letter jackets, you know, from the football team? Yeah…I guess letting the kids out of school was a bad idea after all.”

Squealing tires in the distance made both men jerk up and look toward the front door. “I knew it!” said John as he got to his feet. “Little good-for-nothings were following us! I told Ruthie there was a car tailing us…”

Denny sprinted over to the front room windows and watched a car whip into the cul-de-sac, tires chirping on the asphalt and park along the curb at the end of the Anderton’s drive, blocking John’s car. Four teenagers got out, all wearing letter jackets with large football patches on the shoulders.

“We ain’t done with you, old man!” one of them shouted.

Denny frowned. He recognized them well enough. Two were troublemakers in his American History class and the other two were just followers. Jeb Townsen, the largest of the group, pulled a baseball bat out of the blue, four-door import and casually swaggered up to John’s car.

“This is for Billy, you old coot!” He reared back and smashed the rear window on the large Cadillac.

John grabbed Denny’s left shoulder. “It’s not worth it, son. Come with me—let’s get down in the shelter with Ruthie. We’ll lock up tight and they’ll eventually go away.”

Anger bubbled up from deep inside Denny. They were students—his students—and he was their teacher. He had to do something. He felt responsible for them, somehow.

“I’ll handle this, John.” He opened the front door and stepped out, the light snow swirling around the front porch.

“Denny, wait—”

“Mr. Tecumseh?” asked the smallest of the four, Johnny Parks. His eyes grew large. “What are you doing here?”

“Shut up, Johnny,” hissed Jeb. He glared at Denny, the anger on his face, barely controlled, gave Jeb a half-wild look—something he had never seen before. He certainly did not look like the Jeb Townsen that Denny was always asking to be quiet in class—that much was certain.

“Boys,” said Denny, “you know you’re going to be paying Mr. Andertons for that car window. Now don’t make it worse and force me to call your parents and the police.”

He walked down the porch steps casually, but never took his eyes off the group. He was only a few strides away from Jeb when the young hothead raised the bat as if to swing at him.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you ain’t our problem right now. We’re here for the old fart. Send ‘im out. He beat up my brother and I’m gonna get my payback.”

Denny put his hands on his hips and put on his best stone-faced Indian look, narrowing his eyes and staring the four boys down. He was a good head taller than all but Jeb and wider through the shoulders. The wind kicked up a notch and sent his loose hair in a swirl around his head. His right hand slowly slid down his hip until it brushed the cold steel of the tomahawk on his belt. So far, the teenagers had not noticed his weapon.

Jeb took a step forward and looked ready to swing. “Don’t try to scare me with your Indian bullshit—I ain’t no freshman.”

“You’re not going to be getting an ‘A’ in English either, from the sound of it,” Denny replied. He got a couple grins from the others. Jeb’s face reddened and his hands tightened on the bat.

“Denny, I don’t want any trouble. You hear me? Just have them clear outta here and we’ll call it even,” called out John from behind him.

Damn.

“There you are, you sonofabitch! I’m gonna beat your ass for what you did to Billy!” Jeb roared and took another step forward.

“Billy got what he deserved, Jeb,” Denny said, struggling to keep his voice calm. “Why were you guys trying to rob John, anyway? What’s gotten into you?”

“It’s the end of the world, dumbass!” spat Jeb. “My dad says so—it’s all over the news. The Blue Flu is back! Hell, even President Denton got it!”

“Yeah, they think he’s so bad they can’t even let him leave that hospital in California,” said Johnny, peering around the side of his bigger teammate.

“Shut up!” barked Jeb. He pointed the bat over Denny’s left shoulder at John. “Your ass is mine, old man.”

“Whatever is going on elsewhere in the country doesn’t give you the license to raise hell and go all Mad Max, Jeb. Look around you, the world is not ending. It’s not the Blue Flu. Now put the damned bat down.”

Jeb glared defiantly at his teacher. “Get out of my way or I’ll lay your ass out in the snow!”

Denny held his breath to calm his nerves. This was getting quickly out of hand. The stupid kid was about to force his hand. He’d been hoping it was all a bluff, just Jeb trying to earn macho points in front of his buddies, but when he took another step toward Denny, that hope had fizzled.

“If you want Mr. Andertons, you’ll have to go through me, Jeb. Think about this. Don’t make me call the police.”

“Go ahead, kemosabe,” sneered Jeb. “My dad will come down here and pump your gut full of lead if you lay a hand on me. He never did like you.”

Like father, like son. So be it.

“Have it your way, Jeb. I just don’t want to hurt you.”

Jeb laughed, a crazed look in his brown eyes. “You? Hurt me? I’m the one with the bat—”

The laughter died in his throat when Denny unleashed and raised his tomahawk in one lightning-fast