Chapter 9 (Jacob)

Jacob’s foundation crumbles. He sets off on a course of vigilantism and redemption.

Traffic was brisk on the highway Jacob noted. Not necessarily summer traffic but unusually busy for a slushy late November day. Oddly enough a lot of  the vehicles were towing campers and heading north. 

 "A little late in the season for camping fella." Jacob said to himself as a large Ford pickup trundled north on Highway 27 towing an unusually large camper. 

 Undeterred by the traffic and the snow he continued south towards Ladysmith. A few miles had passed before he fished a lime out of the console and took a large bite. As he chewed he removed a dented flask from his sheepskin lined denim jacket and finished off the contents. His hand cranked the window down and he spit the rind at another truck that was towing a large camper. 

 "You people are going to freeze your asses off!" he laughed.

 At the final dogleg on the highway right before town he ran into a steady stream of traffic headed north. A small Datsun was packed to capacity and what looked to be two elderly men were sitting in the piled high truck bed; wrapped in parkas and looking immensely miserable.

 "Well I'll be." Jacob said to the dog that was no longer there. Remembering that he scowled.

 A large SUV tried to pass the Datsun and Jacob was nearly forced off the road as he wrestled with the steering wheel. For a moment the Ram fishtailed at highway speed but Jacob eased his foot off the gas and the truck righted itself. A cold sweat had broke out on his forehead. 

 The traffic worsened as Jacob drove into the city limits. A sheriff's cruiser was parked in the middle of main street. Lights spinning and the engine idling. No deputy in sight. Jacob craned his neck at the sight as he passed. 

 He pulled into the small general store and stepped down out of his truck. A middle aged lady emerged from the store pushing a shopping cart filled with a stupendous amount of wine and the biggest bundle of toilet paper Jacob had ever seen. 

 "You're going to need that, lady!" he yelled while pushing open the door.

 She shot him the bird then started to unlock her car. The blue plastic hair rollers falling out of her grey locks and bouncing off the pavement silently.

 Jacob was shocked to see the inside of the store. Shelves were overturned and a case of plastic salad dressing bottles were leaking onto a scattered pile of tabloid magazines. There were a half dozen people in the market, hurriedly rushing about flinging random items into their carts and careening off the usually tidy shelves.

 Old man Ehlers was laying behind the counter with a liver spotted hand pressed to his forehead. Trickles of blood seeped from between his fingers. 

 "Jesus." Jacob muttered as he came around the counter and pressed his handkerchief to the man's head.

 "What in the Hell is going on?"

 "That disease, Jacob. It's here. It's here!" the old man hissed.

 "What disease? Calm down. Let me call the paramedics."

 Jacob grabbed a phone from off the counter but it merely purred some odd electronic chatter. 

 "Phones are dead, Jacob. It's the end of days!" the storekeeper cried.

 Three town teenagers entered the store. All were male, wore flat brimmed hats and saggy jeans. 

 "Fill up boys! Let's stock up!" a ferret looking youth with a bad goatee and a sunken chest squealed.

 Seconds later two of their female counterparts rushed in. The girls knocked down the wooden cigarette case and started to fill their purses. 

 "Get those menthols!" one of them chittered.

 The boys laughed and two of them jumped the counter going for the register. Jacob had been crouching next to the old man and they landed next to him. He stood up and the boys flinched. "Put those cigarettes back." he commanded. 

 It was quite an offhanded command. Not necessarily aimed at anyone and the teenagers were put off. The boys smiled. One girl laughed. The other merely looked guilty and slightly ashamed. 

 "Check yourself, homie." a brash handsome boy said.

 With that he removed a butterfly knife from his jeans. He flipped it open and was obviously waiting for a reaction. Jacob gauged the weapon. It was a $10 County Fair piece of steel. "Didn't your Mom tell you not to play with sharp things?" Jacob asked.

 The boy started to reply but Jacob grabbed his wrist and backhanded him. It was a hard blow. The knife fell from his hand. Jacob caught it with his left. Then he sank the blade into the meaty part of the brash teenager's thigh. Giving the blade a slight twist to keep the wound open elicited a garbled cry from the kid. 

 Jacob dropped the teen to the floor and faced the remaining boy. The youth already had a firearm trained on him. It was a small .380. The kid held it sideways like a gangster. 

 "How do you expect to aim that thing holding it like that?" Jacob asked mildly.

 The thug looked confused. 

 "Shoot that m**********r!" the ferret kid on the other side of the counter coaxed. 

 "Yeah! Yeah!" the gun wielding teen yelled.

 He shot his buddy a duck lipped sneer expression and  in that moment Jacob moved. In the same fashion that he had disarmed the first robber he applied to the second. A quick 90 degree twist and the gun rotated; in turn breaking the youth's trigger finger in the guard. The weapon discharged and the guilty looking girl screamed as she went down with a small hole in her side. 

 Jacob pulled the 1911 from his waistband and gut shot the gun wielding thug. The youth crumpled and started a low moan. The ferret faced kid held up his hands. Jacob's first shot blew the ring finger and pinky off his hand. The second shot was a clean hit to the brisket. The boy dropped and disappeared from view. In a surprising show of stupidity and courage the remaining girl flung herself over the counter. Jacob performed a snap shot and took off the top of her head. She rolled into a pile near Old Man Ehlers. 

 The remaining customers/looters were running out of the store. One fat man with a severe crewcut and an ugly polyester shirt brayed at him.

 "I know you! I know you Jacob Steelhead! You're going to burn for this!"

 Jacob fired a shot over the man's head and he abandoned his shopping cart and scuttled off like an obese insect. 

 "Have any .45 bullets?" Jacob asked the bleeding proprietor. 

 "End of days. End of days." Ehlers whispered while rocking back and forth.

 "End of ways maybe." Jacob replied "I don't intend on dying today."

 The old man shuddered and Jacob ignored him. There was a small ammo shelf near the register. Jacob rifled through it and found two boxes of cartridges. He pocketed them and walked towards the rear of the store. Once there he found a handle of Jack Daniels. He broke the seal and drank deeply. When satisfied he screwed the lid back on and walked towards the exit. 

 "Call a doctor." the gut shot girl pleaded "Please."

 "Here's some medicine." Jacob said as he knocked a small display case off the counter. 

 The plastic container filled with antacids and aspirin landed near her feet and scattered pills on the tiled floor. 

 The shopping cart the fat man had abandoned was filled with canned goods and frozen meat. Jacob placed the handle of whiskey on top of a stack of canned hams and pushed the cart out the door. 

 Wheels squeaked as Jacob pushed the cart towards his truck. People were running down the street, some carrying random goods and laughing. A brunette with a livid bruise on her face was dragging a large flatscreen TV down the sidewalk. She noticed Jacob and stopped. He pulled the pistol from his waistband and kept it near his side. The girl paled and shrunk back.

 Johan burst from The Village Inn Tavern carrying a stack of beer cartons. He was laughing and full of good humor despite his battered face. When he saw Jacob he abruptly stopped. His eyes narrowed when he saw the pistol. 

 "I always figured you for for a lout but not a thief." Jacob remarked. 

 Then he noticed the .22 pistol on top of the beer cartons.

 "Robbing your own neighbors. Real nice."

 "Listen Jacob, they were already dead." Johan argued while trying to smile.

 "Reach for that piece and you're dead. Take that w***e of yours and go watch TV. I'm finished with you."

 Johan glanced down at the sidewalk. 

 "Are you going to take that?" the brunette screamed "Shoot that sumbitch!"

 Jacob pointed the 1911 towards her and she dropped the TV. 

 "I just ended a few pieces of s**t in Ehler's. You won't be missed none in this town either."

 She snarled and backed away; still holding the TV's power cord and lamely dragging the large TV.

 "Go on Johan. Go get your TV and your w***e."

 Johan's eyes darkened but he started walking towards the brunette. 

 "You can't treat me like this." the younger brother hissed "I'm coming back to the farmhouse. It's mine!"

 Spittle flew out of his mouth as he said that last oath. Veins stood out like cords on his neck.

 "Yeah, you can come back. I'll bury you there too."

 Johan backed away. The girl scurrying near him, still dragging the TV. Jacob eased the hammer back and followed their movement with the barrel .

 "Go on now. Go."

 A small family ran between the brothers; obviously heading to the general store. The father was carrying a crying girl and the attractive mother pulled an older boy along by his arm. A group of three middle aged men pursued them. 

 "Bring that sweet a*s back here, honey!" a sweaty man with a sleeveless camouflage tee shirt and an enormous gut called out.

 "You ain't never seen one as big as mine!" a jeering skinny man with a hunting rifle yelled as he ran past his fat friend. 

 Jacob turned the gun on the armed man and shot him down with a slug to the chest. The man with the big gut put up his hands and Jacob fired one into his ample belly. The third miscreant turned to flee and the 1911 fired again; striking his lower back and knocking him down. 

 “I’m gut shot! Jesus Christ I'm gut shot! Call an ambulance! Where's my wife? Oh God I need my wife!"

 The other wounded man writhed silently. Blood as dark as wine spilled onto the street as he held both his hands to the small of his back. 

 "Maybe that pistol's empty." Johan observed.

 Jacob stepped forward and picked up the hunting rifle. He stuck the pistol in his waistband and worked the lever on the gun. An unspent cartridge flew out and both men clearly saw another bullet rise from the tubular magazine and slip into the chamber. "This one seems to be loaded."

 Johan dropped the beer cartons and the bottles shattered. He started to retrieve the fallen pistol. 

 "Naw ah. You leave that little popgun there."

  The brunette started to protest and Johan shot her a dark look.  

 "F*****g coward." she sneered.

 "Kick that piece over here." Jacob said "That's it. Nice and easy."

Johan crossed his arms across his chest and stepped forward. "Slow and easy, brother." Jacob urged.

 Johan kicked the pistol and it spun across the pavement. Jacob stooped down to grab it then tossed it in the back of his truck. "Now go watch your new TV."

 Johan glowered and slowly backed up. The brunette clung to him staring angrily at Jacob. 

 "I wasn't kidding. You come around and I'll be burying you." the older brother threatened.

 At that Johan helped pick up the TV and carried it down the street without looking back. 

 

 That night while deep in sleep someone fired upon Jacob's trailer. It sounded like a small caliber; possibly a .22 rifle. Roughly 20 shots were fired into the shelter as Jacob rolled off his bed and stayed as low as possible. There was some brief laughter and the noise of a car retreating into the night.

 Jacob picked himself up and cursed. It was time to leave. Johan's trickery would never end. A quick glance at his watch revealed it was 3:25am. 

 "Close enough." the Steelhead muttered.

 He packed his duffel bags with any clothes worth taking then gathered up his food and assorted tools. After loading them into his truck he briefly paused. Where to go? He had an aunt and an uncle in Wausau and another uncle (a bachelor) north of Green Bay near Marinette. The pickings were slim. 

 The weather was turning for the worst and he was leaving the one comfortable place that he knew of. Was getting outfitted more important than family. He tried to remember his uncles and scowled while doing so. 

 Of one he remembered a chubby man with checks colored red by a patchwork of broken blood vessels. He recalled the man buying him a child's fishing pole but not much else. 

 The other was married to a stern woman. He didn't remember much of her besides her cooking and floral printed dresses. The uncle was a small man that drank whiskey in a woodshed presumably to avoid his wife. Occasionally the stern woman would yell out the back door and the man would flinch. After a moment of thought he decided provisioning was more crucial. He started the truck and headed west on Highway 8 towards Rice Lake. 

 During the 30 mile trip he encountered numerous wrecks and a scattering of bodies but nothing that particularly alarmed him. As he turned north onto interstate 53 the sun was starting to rise. After a few moments the glare became too much and he angled a visor to block the rays. 

 Despite the blinding sun he continued north for a few miles until a makeshift roadblock loomed ahead. Taking his foot off the gas pedal he slowed until the truck came to a stop. He had remembered to pack his aged binoculars so after a moment of digging he had them in hand. Putting the glass to his eyes he focused on the roadblock. 

 The hastily constructed roadblock was awash with olive drab wearing troops. Bad news. He was searching for abandoned facilities to scavenge. This was an obviously manned and occupied base. Shifting the car into reverse he cautiously backed away. 

 After driving a few miles south while consulting his map he chose a smaller base; this one being in River Falls. After heading west on Highway 8 he veered south onto 63 and set the truck on cruise. He chewed and some limes and took a few small drinks of whiskey. 

 In the town of Clear Lake he pulled into a small service station. The gravel parking lot was abandoned and everything looked normal as far as a cursory glance could determine. Jacob pulled up to a gas pump at killed the engine. Picking his 1911 up off the seat he slid out of the cab and scanned the exterior of the station. Silent.

 Going around to the other side of the car he flipped his fuel tank open and tried a gas pump. It worked. As the tank filled Jacob cautiously approached the station to gather more supplies.

 With his left hand he slowly opened the glass door and slipped inside. Swinging left then right he scanned the interior. It had been rummaged through but was still intact for the most part. 

 A small ammunition display case had been knocked over and rifled through. Jacob scanned the boxes of ammo but all were obscure calibers that held no use for him. He found a wire stand full of sausage sticks and beef jerky. Quickly he began to fill his pockets.

 "You look nice Mister." a woman slurred from behind him.

 Jacob whirled around pointing his pistol in the direction of the voice.

 "I ain't gonna hurt you." a woman's voice called out "You just look nice. That's all."

 "I ain't nice. And how do you know how I look?" Jacob asked.

 He heard a furtive rustling and bent lower to present a smaller target.

 "I saw you come in. Not being wild. Not hurtin' nobody. All the other guys have been hurtin' people."

 Jacob pinpointed the voice and started moving down an aisle filled with feminine products and motor oil. Rounding the corner he saw a middle aged lady kneeling on the floor. Most of her face had been worked over and there was a livid ligature bruise around her neck. She was holding a nearly empty bottle of chardonnay and swaying.

 "You found me!" she said smiling.

 Jacob stood up and lowered his weapon. 

 "I thought you were a trap." he mentioned.

 "Ain't no trap. Say, what's your name?"

 Jacob glanced around warily avoiding the question.

 Near the the feminine products and motor oil he saw two small gasoline cans. He stuck the pistol into his waistband and picked them up off the shelf. Before the woman could ask another question he walked out the door. 

 The truck had been topped off by this time so he unscrewed the lids and started to fill the cans. 

 "Where are you going, Mister?"

 The woman had followed him out.

 "River Falls. Maybe." he said; correcting himself.

 "Gosh I love River Falls!" the battered woman gushed.

 "You don't say?” Jacob asked as he worked the pumps.

 Jacob filled the last small tank he had looted and slammed it into the bed of his pickup. He closed up the gas tank on the truck and walked past the woman towards the driver's door.

 "You..you can have a shot at me if you want." she stammered.

 "I just want to get to River Falls, Miss. Good luck."

 While the woman argued Jacob shifted the truck into gear and accelerated from the station.

 Not much further on 63 the road became blocked by an overturned 18 wheeler. A number of cars had attempted to go around the wreck and had become mired in the snow and mud. Jacob cursed and shifted the truck into four wheel drive. While skirting a Toyota Prius the pickup slid into the ditch and sank quickly into the half frozen culvert. After a few moments of rocking the truck Jacob gave up. 

 Cursing he grabbed the hunting rifle he had taken from the would-be rapist and went to scout for a vehicle in the pileup that was capable of pulling out his truck.

 Some of the vehicles still had keys but all were small cars and sedans. None of which were capable of extricating his truck from the farmland culvert. There was a stout Chevy SUV that seemed promising but there were no keys in the vehicle. 

 It was an eerie scene. A pile of roughly 15 vehicles and not a soul around. Jacob cursed again and leaned against the Chevy. The snow had begun to fall in a typical November fashion. Not yet deciding whether to be flakes or sleet. The precipitation was heavy and wet. 

 Off in the distance Jacob could see a red farmhouse with a rusty metal roof. Within an hour the roof would be covered in slush. Behind the house Jacob spied a barn. Could there be a tractor in that barn? A truck?

 Walking back to his vehicle Jacob grabbed a duffel bag and a canned ham. He jammed the ham into the duffel and on an afterthought packed up the boxes of .45 shells. He locked the doors and turned towards the farmhouse, shielding his eyes against the blowing wind and falling sleet.