Total War

Chapter Twenty-seven

Sarah Rourke turned on her heel and took the .45 automatic from the waistband of her blue jeans. The corners of her mouth raised into a smile and her green eyes lost their hard set. "Ron Jenkins," she said. The man she stared at was a familiar one, the retired Army sergeant who owned the next farm. He rode a tall Appaloosa gelding. She knew the horse well. On a bay, behind him, was his wife, Carla, and riding behind her on the same horse was their ten year old girl, Millie.

"My wife and me-we was gettin' ready to clear out on horseback here, then we heard the explosion over your place this morning and I said to Carla, 'Betchya Sarah Rourke's got some problems-John probably ain't home.'"

Sarah slipped the .45 automatic back into her waistband, gestured with the same hand toward the smoldering ruins of the house and said, "I guess you'd call them brigands or something. They wanted to rob us and-well, you know," Sarah said, turning away from the Jenkins family and looking back to the tack she was adjusting on her chestnut colored mare. The white mare with the black mane and tail and four black stockings-John's horse-was already saddled and the gear tied on. She finished adjusting the latigo strap on her own horse and turned back to the Jenkins. "Thanks for coming to see about us," she said quietly.

"You want we should all ride together? I'm taking my wife and daughter up into the mountains. Not far, but should be safer," Ron Jenkins said.

"Come with us, Sarah," Carla Jenkins said, leaning forward in her saddle.

Sarah wiped the palms of her hands on the legs of her jeans, then glanced at Michael and Annie standing beside the barn. Carla Jenkins talked too much, and Ron Jenkins didn't talk enough-and their daughter Millie was a brat, Sarah recalled. But she looked at her children again. "I guess there's safety in numbers," she said. "I thank you for coming for us. I know it was out of your way. We'll be happy to come with you. I'm sure we can all help each other. I'm almost through here. I just have one thing to do."

"I'll help your children get mounted up," Ron Jenkins said. "On your husband's horse-the white one?"

"Yes-please," Sarah said, smiling. She walked back to the barn doorway and gave each of the children a nudge, then reached into her canvas purse and took a pen and the checkbook. She tore off a check and almost laughed as she found herself starting to write "void" across the front. They were all void now, she realized. She dropped to her knees on the ground and, using the checkbook to steady her hand, wrote: "My Dearest John, You were right. I don't know if you're still alive. I'm telling myself and the children that you survived. We are fine. The chickens died overnight, but I don't think it was radiation. No one is sick. The Jenkins family came by and we're heading toward the mountains with them. You can find us from the retreat. I'm telling myself that you will find us. Maybe it will take a long time, but we won't give up hope. Don't you. The children love you. Annie has been good, Michael is more of a little man than we'd thought. Some thieves came by and Michael saved my life. We weren't hurt. Hurry. Always, Sarah"

She slipped the note inside a plastic sandwich bag-from Michael's lunch the last day he'd been in school. There was a nail already driven into the inside of the barn door, and she stuck the plastic bag over it, took one last look at the note, took the bag down and took out the check again. At the bottom, in larger letters, she scrawled, "I love you, John," put the note back in the bag and hung it back on the nail.

Snatching up her black canvas purse, she turned on her heel and ran toward her horse, then climbed into the saddle.

"You ready, Sarah?" Ron Jenkins asked.

Sarah Rourke looked at the Jenkins family, then at her children, then pressed her heels gently against her horse's flanks. She held the reins from John's horse which carried Michael and Ann, in her left hand. As they started from the yard, she looked back. The ruins of the house were still smoking. But her attention focused on the barn door, the note to her husband nailed to the inside. Silently, she prayed that he was alive to read it.

"Come on, Tildie," she whispered to the mare between her legs.