by Kenny Soward
“All right,” Marcy said, pushing her glasses up on her nose with a sigh. “Let me stretch my legs, first.”
Once Marcy was up and limber, Jake pushed his way out of the bushes, gesturing for her to follow. Slowly and carefully, Jake led them up to the street and walked east up the bridge. He didn’t see anyone standing at the top of the bridge as he’d expected they might be.
“Doesn’t look like they set up a guard post,” he said.
“That means they went deeper into the city.”
Jake nodded, but he relaxed as they reached the top of the bridge and didn’t see anyone. “Let’s stay off the main roads.”
“Take the back streets?”
“Exactly.”
They walked off the bridge and up Boston Street past the overturned truck filled with medical supplies. But when they came to the intersection, Jake angled them in a more southeastern direction toward the bay. He could still see high water between gaps in the ruined buildings, and he had to fight the urge to alter his course to put more distance between them and a possible surge.
They climbed over debris and ducked beneath a car that had been blown atop another by the wind. On one block, a building had been demolished, and all that remained was a pile of bricks.
“The tornado must have come through here on the way to the Westin,” Jake said as they climbed to the top of a pile of rubble and came down the other side.
“Jake, look,” Marcy said, pointing off to their right.
Jake scanned the buildings and spotted one a block away that had half collapsed on itself. A man stood atop the rubble, picking through it.
“Should we go see if he needs help?” Marcy asked.
“I don’t see anyone else around.” Jake cast his eyes to the left and right, looking for any signs of the people who’d been dropped off by the Escalade. “So I suppose we should.” Jake stepped off the pile of bricks and boards and turned to help Marcy down. “Careful don’t turn an ankle.”
Once down, they walked across a debris-strewn yard and stood in front of the pile of rubble that seemed to have been the man’s home. It appeared half of his kitchen and upstairs remained untouched, as did some of the decorations and furniture. The bathroom mirror still hung from the wall, and his pots and pans clattered where they hung from hooks in the warped ceiling. It was strange to look at, like some eccentric surrealist’s painting.
The man stood on a pile of bricks in a pair of jeans and a Boston Red Sox T-shirt. He had a thousand-mile stare as he picked up bricks and tossed them to the side. Whenever he found something he wanted to keep, he tossed it back into the good part of the house where it landed on the smooth hardwood floor. He didn’t appear injured except for some scratches on his forearms and a few tears in his shirt.
“Hey, buddy,” Marcy called out. “You need some help?”
The guy stopped his scavenging and raised his eyes to Jake and Marcy, taking a long look at them before he spoke. “Who are you people?”
“We’re from the Westin,” Jake said, pointing in the general direction of the hotel.
“What are you doing here?” the man asked, his brow furrowing. “What happened to my house?”
“A tornado came through,” Jake said, blinking into the rain. “Big storm. Look around.”
The man stood straight and looked around as if for the first time, noticing the destruction outside the boundaries of his home.
“We’re heading back to the Westin now,” Marcy said. “We can take you back with us if you want. They’ve got food and shelter.”
The man looked hard at Marcy before he shook his head. “I need to stay here. Tam will be mad if I don’t have the house cleaned up when she gets home.”
“Tam, is that your wife?” Marcy asked.
The man nodded and bent to pick up another brick.
Jake leaned in and murmured to Marcy. “He doesn’t look right in the head.”
Marcy nodded to Jake and then put her foot up on the bricks and addressed the man again. “When is she coming home?”
“She worked a late shift at the hospital,” the man said in a monotone. “She’ll be home any minute.”
“The tornado hit us Thursday night,” Jake said. “If she’s not home by now, she probably evacuated the city along with everyone else.”
The man’s eyes refocused on Jake, something like dread dawning in them. “What day is it?”
“It’s Sunday.”
The man’s face twisted in distress, then tapered off into listlessness once more. “No, she’ll be back,” he assured them. “She got stuck in traffic, that’s all.”
“You sure you don’t want to come back to the Westin with us?” Marcy’s voice was hopeful, but Jake didn’t think the man looked ready to leave his house. As if to prove Jake’s point, the man ignored them and kept picking through his things. He found a shirt and tossed it onto the hardwood floor of his living room with a wet smack and then looked around for the next undamaged possession.
“What do you want to do?” Marcy turned to Jake.
“I don’t know. He’s clearly still in shock.”
“Should we climb up there and get him down?”
Jake looked Marcy in the eye and shrugged. “We can’t really make him come, unless you want to fight him the whole way and risk hurting yourself, or him.”
“No.” Marcy shook her head and looked down at the ground.
“Okay, buddy.” Jake took his backpack off and set it on the ground before he got out a can of pineapples, two bottles of water, and a jerky stick and laid them on the ground. Then he stood and called up to the man. “We’re going now, but here’s some food. I suggest you find shelter as soon as possible, or come to the Westin, because the storms aren’t going to let up any time soon, and your house looks like it’s about to collapse.”
The man paused a moment, as if digesting Jake’s words, then he nodded and went back to his picking.
Jake put his backpack on, gave the man one final look, and started walking again. He felt bad for the guy, but they couldn’t afford to spend time forcing people to get to safety. The man understood Jake’s last words, and he’d come out of the storm when he felt like it.
Marcy started to laugh softly at his side as they walked.
“What’s so funny?”
“You said…” and she made her voice deep, “‘we’re from the Westin.’ Like the Westin is some other country or something.”
“I guess it sorta feels that way,” Jake said with a chuckle. “Like we’ve been walking for days.”
“Yeah,” Marcy said as her humor dried up.
They made good progress through the backstreets of South Boston for another hour, walking in the path of the tornado that had swept through. Jake was awestruck by the amount of destruction Mother Nature could wreak in just a few minutes, destroying what people had built over several generations.
If they passed any cars that had a clear path out of the rubble, Jake would check them to see if they would run. One brand-new car, completely untouched by the tornado, was parked in the side driveway of a home that had been ripped from its foundation and settled ten feet into the back yard.
“Not a scratch on it,” Jake said, running his hand along the smooth blue paint job. It was the only unbroken thing he’d seen in three days.
“Diamond in the rough,” Marcy said, then her brow raised in question. “Wanna bet if it’s open or not?”
“I never bet.” Jake went to the driver’s side door and grabbed the handle. “I never had that kind of luck.”
“Open it up,” she urged with a nod.
Jake pulled the handle, and it opened. He slipped his backpack off and got in, putting his hands on the pristine steering wheel. The inside smelled new, clean, and dry. Marcy got in on the other side and set her pack in her lap.
“I feel bad getting the seat all wet,” she said, sounding sorry.
“It can’t be helped,” Jake said, eyes lifting to the sun visor above him. A spike of doubt
ran through his head, but he reached up and flipped the visor down anyway, gasping in surprise when a key fob fell into his lap.
“Well, look at that.” He flashed a smile at Marcy as he held up the key fob and pressed the start button. The car came to life instantly, and the sound of the softly rumbling engine was music to his ears.
Jake pulled his backpack into his lap and then tossed it behind him into the back seat. Marcy fiddled with the settings until a warm blast of heat was coming out of the vents, washing over Jake’s face like a summer breeze.
“Oh, that feels good,” he said with a smile as he rested his head back.
“Yes, it does.” Marcy held her hands up to the vents and put her head down as warm air filled the car.
Comfortable silence embraced them for the next few quiet minutes, until Jake got an idea. He reached to the center console and turned on the stereo. He flipped through the FM stations, but none of them had a signal, so he switched to AM and started scanning. The first channel he came to burst through loud and clear, causing him to jerk in surprise.
Once over the shock of hearing the female voice, Jake leaned in to listen.
“…of FEMA says they are prepared to enter densely populated areas as soon as the National Guard can guarantee their safety, after a string of attacks on rescue workers happened late last night. Looting in major cities on the Eastern Seaboard continues, making it nearly impossible for rescue teams to do their jobs.”
“Oh, wow.” Marcy was struck dumb with the news.
“This doesn’t sound good,” Jake agreed with a sinking tone.
“FEMA continues to recommend that residents stay indoors until the storms have dissipated and rescue crews can get to them,” the woman reporter said.
“How long do they expect that to take?” Marcy gave the radio a questioning look.
“The National Weather Service predicts it will be at least seventy-two hours until the storms let up,” the woman reporter said, “and another two days to enter densely populated areas and distribute the relief supplies people so desperately need.”
“There you go.” Jake gestured at the radio.
“That’s a long time,” Marcy said with a distressed look and a shake of her head. “Way too long. People will die by then.”
“The people at the Westin are going to be in big trouble,” Jake said with a sinking feeling, all thoughts of going home soon pushed to the back of his mind.
“We have to do something.”
“There’s the tuna warehouse,” Jake suggested. “We could drive back to the Westin, pick up some reinforcements, and try to bargain with the people at the warehouse.”
“And if they won’t give it up?”
“Then we fight them for it.” Jake’s tone held a hint of finality. “There’s more than enough food in there to feed a hundred people for a few days. And it would get the people at the Westin out of the flood zone.”
Marcy thought about it for a second before she pursed her lips and nodded. “That sounds like a good plan.”
“All right, then.” Jake looked around the center console of the vehicle, put his foot on the brake, and prepared to put the car in drive. “We might not be able to get all the way back to the Westin, just close enough to—”
Something heavy tapped against the glass, and Jake looked slowly over his left shoulder into the barrel of a gun held in a hand covered with scrawls of dark ink. The barrel opening yawned in his face, and a chill ran down his spine knowing a bullet waited to fly from the chamber at him in a burst of flame.
The man holding the weapon tapped on the glass again and said something, but Jake couldn’t understand it with the rain beating down on the car. He slowly reached down and pushed the power window switch for a second, lowering the window by an inch.
“Can I help you?” Jake hoped it was just the owner of the vehicle, and he could explain himself, apologize profusely, and move on.
But his gut told him something was very wrong, and this man wasn’t the owner of the car. He had a feeling the man might be one of the two people who’d gotten out of the black Escalade earlier in the day.
“Turn the car off and get out,” the man said in a Boston accent. “Now.”
Chapter 16
Somewhere in Tennessee
The unmarked truck trundled along the rough road, jostling Yi as he crouched among packs full of gear. It had been a long couple of nights, and he’d hardly slept. None of them had, but they were dedicated to their cause, and there was no turning back now.
They’d landed at the McGhee Tyson airport near Knoxville and began wreaking havoc immediately, tossing several questionable devices into the luggage racks to give the TSA something to think about. Then they’d split up into two groups. Comrade Ivan had gone south to Maryville with a small contingent to neutralize their police forces while Yi’s group headed east to the water filtration plant.
After a brief exchange of gunfire with two of the security guards, Yi and his brave fighters had gotten inside long enough to disperse the B-21 agent. Getting out was not a problem since most of the city’s forces had gone east to help with the hurricane relief, as Chen had said they would. Yi’s group then went south to Maryville, connecting with Ivan’s group, who’d already destroyed the small town’s remaining police presence.
Victory hadn’t come without a price. One warrior had been killed, and then there was Ivan’s mysterious injury.
Yi looked across the van to where Ivan rested with his eyes closed, sleeping through the bumpy ride with his shoulder wrapped in a huge, red-stained bandage. He’d been shot in the left shoulder and arm, two solid hits that had passed through his flesh without hitting anything vital. Chen had gone to work sewing the big Russian up as Yi questioned him, but Ivan would not disclose how he’d received the injuries. Once patched up and in the van, Ivan had slammed things around with his good arm, his pride clearly wounded, and Yi knew not to press the matter when the Russian was in such a mood.
Now they were on to their next destination, an iconic American city called Gatlinburg and its neighboring city, Pigeon Forge, where they would carry out their mission to attack the soft underbelly of the enemy and strike fear into their hearts.
Yi looked ahead where several of his warriors slept or checked their equipment. His heart swelled with pride at what they’d accomplished in such a short time while knowing they still had a long way to go. They would not let him down, and he would perform his duties flawlessly for them and his country.
His eyes settled on fifteen twenty-gallon drums that were secured near the front of the truck. They each bore the symbol of the claw and tooth, each barrel filled with dragon’s fire, although the technical name was AB-2VER-X. Soon they would initiate the second phase of the dragon’s awakening and, if they lived beyond that, phase three. And they would keep on going until someone stopped them.
Yi didn’t plan on coming home alive.
Chapter 17
Jake, Boston, Massachusetts | 2:45 p.m., Sunday
Jake grunted as he lifted a long section of siding that had blown off the side of a building and pushed it onto the sidewalk. Rain beat down on him, water soaking through the crevices of his rain poncho to soak him to the bone. He thought about taking the useless plastic off, but something deep in his gut told him he might need it later. That whatever was happening here was just a temporary situation, and these jerks would let them go as soon as they were done clearing a path for the car.
Marcy was helping clear the debris, too, and she looked cold and miserable as she dragged part of a sign out of the way and dropped it unceremoniously onto the sidewalk. She stood up straight and peered at Jake through the smeared lenses of her glasses with frightened eyes.
The man called Hawk stood between Jake and Marcy, keeping five or ten feet of distance between them at all times. He held his gun on them with a sneer stretching his lips, and it appeared he didn’t mind being out here in all this rain as long as he had someone to order around. Hawk’s partner
, Raven, drove the car a few feet behind them, nice and dry inside as she inched the vehicle along.
The car was dented up after Raven had pushed it between other cars and large pieces of debris that littered the streets. Even if Hawk and Raven hadn’t hijacked them, it would have taken Jake and Marcy all day to get back to the hotel.
“You could have just let us go,” Jake said as he moved more debris. “I didn’t have my mind set on the car.”
“No way,” Hawk said, sniffing as he wiped water off his face with his bare hand. “You’re going to help bring the car back to Tre and earn me and Raven a big bonus.”
“Who’s Tre?”
“Head of X-Gang, that’s who,” Hawk scoffed, as if Jake should have already known that.
Jake thought this Hawk was the same one who’d shot the looter in the Best Buy parking lot, but it had happened too far away to be sure, and he didn’t want to let Hawk know he’d seen the shooting at all. “Never heard of X-Gang. Pretty tough?”
“We are now,” Hawk said with a sneer. “Tre knocked off Devon and did some consolidation of human resources. Now, we own South Boston. Hey,” he waved his gun at Jake, “you need to work faster. I want to be back before dark.”
Jake put his back into it as much as he dared, moving rubble out of the car’s path until they came to the medical truck with all the equipment and packing spilled out of the back. Jake shared a look with Marcy before they started shoving the medical items back inside the truck. Marcy must be thinking the same thing as Jake. If Hawk only knew how much the equipment was worth, he wouldn’t be worried about the mid-sized sedan they were bringing back.
