Southern Born Southern Bled

Chapter 17

Nick was enjoying pleasant dreams of another time. Dreams of a place most people had forgotten. A place now more myth than reality. A place of glorious, white houses with stately columns. Carriage rides at sunset. Extravagant balls with beautiful women in flowing hoop skirts.

But the banging on wood above him slowly drew him out of the past and back to the conscious present. Angrily, he threw open the lid, to find Rose and Jonathan standing there.

"You two are up early!" he snipped irritably. Usually, they were late sleepers, citizens of an easier time, where leisure was less activity, instead of more.

"The preacher kid knows," Rose said matter-of-factly.

"What?" Nick sat up, fully awake now.

"Jonathan saw him at the dance last night. He was watching you and your little girl in the rear-view mirror."

Nick glanced at Jonathan. "Is that right?"

Jonathan nodded grimly while Nick climbed out of his box and stood up straight, stretching and yawning.

"He must be killed," Rose continued.

"Really?" Nick looked at her curiously, "And who do you suggest do it? You ran from his little Bible, if memory serves me correct. And now that he knows, or at the least, suspects something is amiss ... he is probably carrying one that would choke a mule! Not to mention, any other religious trinkets he can get his hands on."

"He'll expose us!"

"He might try." Nick agreed. "But who will believe him? The cops? They will simply write him off as some religious fanatic who has been sampling too much of the communion wine." He turned to the cellar steps. "No ... He will not be able to get much help. At least not from the authorities. But you are right. He could be dangerous."

"So what do you suggest?"

Nick turned around and smiled a cold smile. "We go on the offensive ... a surprise attack. We send someone after him that is ... how shall I say ... expendable."

"Oh," Rose's voice exhibited concerned. As there were only three of them, she didn't like the sound of that. She knew Nick would never count himself in that category. "And who might that be?"

Nick's smile grew colder. "I have an idea. When I was in the war, we called it foraging."

The puzzled look on her face amused him as he continued. "When we were in enemy territory, we learned to live off the land. We took advantage of the resources of the civilian population in that area. We commandeered their horses, took their crops and their livestock." He winked, as he turned to make his way up the cellar steps. "Simply put, we let the enemy supply our needs!"

+ + +

Teri slept most of the day, her curtains drawn, the room dark. Ellen had tried several times to rouse her but had failed. The girl was dead away, in a deep slumber that could be likened unto a light comatose state.

About five o'clock, as the sun was slipping behind the trees, she began to stir. Memories of last night teased her, as she fought to wake. Had it been a dream? Had it been a hallucination? She hadn't drunk anything. But there was no way it had been real. It was just too far out there.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs interrupted her brooding. John was home. She could tell by the brisk, pounding walk, he was angry. And he was coming her way.

The door burst open, slamming back against the wall so hard it rattled the pictures hanging there. An angry figure stood in the opening, silhouetted by the hall light outside.