The Creepers of McCall Ridge
The brother’s had decided against walking towards town. The sound of the explosion, coupled with the rushing water would be like a dinner bell for the creepers; plus Ernie was not happy he had lost his hunting rifle in all the commotion being left with only his Bowie knife to defend himself against the teeth of creepers and the lead of soldiers. The two had double-backed towards their home, slipping though the underbrush in hopes of dodging the patrols as well as the hordes of creepers that seemed to be appearing from behind oak trees every fifty feet.
“What a day this has turned out to be.” Ernie said under his breath as a creeper dressed in business slacks but no shirt or shoes shuffled by.
“Tell me about it. Hope Buck is doing okay up there without us.”
“I am sure that mangy dog is doing just fine; probably still asleep on the porch.”
The men continued walking up the final ridge known to them as McCall ridge until their small home was in view and then froze. Parked in front of their home were three armored vehicles that looked to be the same group that had engaged them several hours earlier. And, like Grover had said, their red tick coon hound was still lying asleep on the porch as if nothing was going on around him.
“That dumb dog. Armageddon is going on around him and he is sleeping right through it!” Grover whisper loudly from behind a tree.
“He ain’t no watch dog doofus. He is a bona fide coon killing machine. Them there soldiers ain’t no ring tails so my dog ain’t going to worry about them.” Ernie said with a bit of anger in his voice. He didn’t like that his brother was talking bad about the best tracking dog that he had ever had; even if the dog was lazy 98 percent of the time of its life.
“All I am saying is if them soldier boys is in there stealing my Lynard Skynard records me and that dog is going to have us a talk.”
The brothers watched as the soldiers came out of their home, untied Buck from the porch and loaded back into their vehicles.
“Where they going with my dog?” Ernie said now with sadness escaping his lips.
“Don’t do nothing stupid Rambo. That dog ain’t worth getting shot over.”
A final soldier emerged from their home carrying several square items under his arm causing Grover to perk up. “What’s he got?”
“Them hippie records of yours it looks like.” Ernest said giggling.
“That’s it. Them dirty so-and-so’s are going to die.”
“Settle down Rambo.” Ernest said in his best Grover voice. “We’ll see where they are heading and then we will follow and get our stuff back. Plus it is about to get dark and I don’t want to be locked in bitter mortal combat with them crazy suckers with all these creepers walking around.”
The soldier carrying Grover’s records placed them in his armored truck, retrieved a small item from the passenger seat, and hurled it like a baseball towards their home. Before either brother could process what the soldier had just done the front of their home exploded outwards causing wood and glass to shower across their unkempt lawn. The brothers watched in horror as their belongings began to smolder.
“Shoot at us again you crazy hillbillies!” The soldier shouted. “You want a war; we will give you a war!”
“What in the world is he talking about? They shot first.” Grover whispered.
“Don’t know brother but looks like we are at war with what is left of the U.S. government.”
“Let’s find us a place to hide. Them creepers are going to be all stirred up tonight after all the ruckus these idiots have caused.” Grover said to his brother as he slid back down McCall ridge.
“Good point. Hey! At least they took our two most prized possessions out of that house before they destroyed it.”
“You’re an idiot Ernie.”