Walking in the Rain (Book 4): Dark Sky Thunder by William Allen

guard duty saw me immediately, but not so close that I would be automatically considered a threat. Or so I hoped.
    The jumble of old hedge bushes and runty pines also concealed my backup, which consisted of my father and Mike Elkins. Dad was on his rifle and Mike was serving as spotter, and anything that looked funny to either of them would earn a bullet as fast as my father’s finger could stroke the trigger.
    In response to my shouted greeting, I saw the man on the porch jump forward out of his chair and shout for me to halt. Additionally, I saw what might have been two shotgun barrels ease out the open spaces left in barricaded windows. These folks had pretty good reflexes.
    I stood in open view, my hands raised and spread out from my body. I wore my pistol holstered at my hip but carried no rifle. The pistol was a compromise since we had four legged as well as two legged predators to worry about. Leaving the rifle at home was to seem neighborly, but I also wore the improved body armor under my long sleeved shirt. Neighborly doesn’t necessarily mean stupid.
    I stood there for half a minute, perfectly still as unseen eyes examined me and the woods around the house for more danger. I wanted this to go slow and easy, with no surprises. With the earbud in place, I overheard Mike as he steadily updated Dad on the wind and the composition of the defenses being rallied in the house. The words were soft, almost relaxed, as if Mike had done this many times before. Maybe they had, when dealing with marauders and hungry bands who come a calling since the lights went out.
    “What do you want?”
    The voice that finally called out was male and gruff sounding, but not overly hostile. I figured at least some of these guys had seen me yesterday at the range and must have placed me for the others. That was probably a good place to start, once we started talking.
    “Just figured it was time to meet the new neighbors, is all,” I replied. “My name’s Lucas. Lucas Messner. Is it okay if I move a little closer? This hollering is making my throat hurt.”
    This next pause was a little shorter and made me think he was discussing it quickly with the others. Probably a good sign. Or maybe I was just projecting. I think that’s the term, anyway. If you want a specific outcome, then you tend to interpret responses in a certain light. And I wanted things to turn out a certain way with these folks.
    “You got anybody else out there with you?”
    I forced a smile I didn’t feel before responding. This could get sticky.
    “Well, of course. I’m friendly, not stupid. My people are watching you, and your people are watching me. Only way everybody will relax enough to actually talk.”
    I saw the man’s head nod before he spoke, and when he did, I thought I heard a touch of humor in his voice this time.
    “Yes, makes perfect sense. Come on up to the porch and have a seat. I’m coming out, so tell your daddy not to get trigger-happy. I’m sure he’s anxious to have you home. From wherever.”
    Thinking about that statement for a moment, I thought I got the whole message. They’d been watching before yesterday, but hadn’t taken a shot at attacking us. Yet.
    “Sir, my father and his friends are all Marines,” I replied, exaggerating. Mike Elkins was the only spare Marine we had lying around the ranch. “They have excellent fire control. As I’m sure you saw on the range. We just want to talk. That’s all.”
    Going back to this house in daylight gave me a sense of déjà vu, since Dad and I had spent a good chunk of the early morning hours scouting the place. Using our night-vision gear, we managed to slip past the sleeping guard without a hitch. Admittedly, I did have to stifle my reflexes, allowing the sleeping man to live.
    Six men, eight women, and seven kids between toddlers to the preteens. Painfully thin, all of them, and no recent signs of abuse. One of the women, a lady in her late twenties or early thirties (it was hard to