by Bowman, Dave
They spent a long time looking through the woods surrounding the truck. Next they tried riding their bikes farther down the road in search of some kind of sign of Henry.
But there was nothing. Just the same forest they saw everywhere – mostly undisturbed and bearing no sign of a struggle, or of any human having passed through the area.
Henry had vanished.
But how could this be? Myra asked herself as she tromped through the woods, looking high and low for any abnormality in the landscape. The truck wasn’t so far from the house that he couldn’t have made his way home on foot the first day. And he knew the area well. There was no risk in him losing his way. Certainly after three days, he should have been home by now.
There was no explanation.
Finally, exhausted and hungry, they decided to turn back home.
Myra's heart ached as she followed Katie on the bike. They had found Henry's truck, but not Henry. The whole thing began to seem hopeless.
It was late afternoon when they got home. They found Brody sitting at the dining room table.
Katie burst in the house, headed straight for the kitchen.
"Any luck?" Brody asked his mother as she dragged herself in the front door.
Myra collapsed in a chair beside Brody. Fighting back tears, she told him how they had found his truck, but no sign of Henry.
Brody shook his head sadly, grappling with the strange news.
"But he's got to be out there somewhere!” he said, looking out the window. “Maybe it's like you said – he injured himself walking back home."
Myra glanced up at Katie, who was busying herself searching for food in the kitchen. "But his coffee Thermos was there," Myra said in a lowered voice.
"So?" Brody asked.
"That coffee was the only thing he had to drink," Myra said. "If he were trying to make it home on foot, don't you think he would take that with him? It's a long walk home from down that Forest Service road. He would've known to bring something to drink – the only thing he had."
Brody pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. Clasping his hands behind his back, he paced back and forth across the living room.
"Maybe he had something else with him," Brody said hopefully. "Maybe he bought a soda at the hardware store, and he took that with him."
"You know he never drinks soda," Myra said.
"It doesn't matter," Brody said impatiently. "The point is, the coffee Thermos means nothing. He could still be out there."
Myra started to answer, but she stopped herself. She stared at Brody in surprise, noticing all at once his upright posture.
"How are you feeling?" Myra asked.
Brody looked at her. "I'm feeling better, Mom. Much better."
Despite her worry about Henry, Myra felt her face open into smile. She stood up and walked toward her son.
"You look better too," she said, noticing his improved color. "That gray tinge to your skin is gone. And your eyes look clearer, too."
Brody nodded distractedly, still thinking about his father.
"I told you it was just the flu," Katie said with her mouth full. She left the kitchen carrying a plate of food and sat down at the table. "Did you make this chicken, Dad? It's really good."
Myra looked at Katie's plate loaded with chicken, boiled potatoes, and cabbage.
"I hope you don't mind, Mom," Brody said. "I cooked some of the things I found in your freezer."
Myra glanced at the kitchen. Several five-gallon jugs of water had been placed in the corner.
"Oh, and I brought that water up from the basement," Brody said. "Is that all you have? We're going to have to figure something else out for water soon."
Myra stood staring at him with her mouth open. "Brody, you're all better! I – I can't believe it!"
"Yeah, it's really weird," Brody said. "I feel completely back to normal."
"Do you think it was the flu after all?" Myra asked.
Brody shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe the effects of the radiation were just temporary? I don't know."
Myra threw her arms around him, suddenly overwhelmed with joy. Brody embraced his mother.
"This is such great news, Brody!” Myra exclaimed.
Brody nodded. “I know, Mom. It’s a big surprise.” He let go of her and crossed into the kitchen.
“It’s been awful seeing you so ill,” Myra said, watching him. “I’m so relieved. I can’t lose you, too."
Myra stopped herself, realizing that she had said too much. She didn’t want the others to know how quickly she was losing hope of finding Henry. Despite her best efforts to remain optimistic, seeing the truck abandoned there on the side of the road gave her a bad feeling.
“You haven’t lost Dad,” Brody said.
“I know,” Myra said. “I just . . . I’m worried about him.”
Brody grabbed a piece of chicken and popped it in his mouth, then headed to the door.
“You saw his truck just south of the creek, right?” Brody asked.
“Yes, on the old Forest Service Road,” Myra said, suddenly feeling uneasy. “Why?”
"I'm going out looking for him on the bike," Brody said hurriedly.
"Now? But it'll be dark soon," Myra protested, glancing at the fading light outside.
"I won't be long," Brody said, stepping through the doorway. "I’m going to search through the woods in that area. See if I can find anything. Lock up behind me. And, Katie, mind your grandmother."
Myra watched helplessly as he headed toward the bike. Everything was happening so fast, and she was still uncertain about her son. "Be careful. And hurry back!"
Myra locked the door, then glanced at Katie, who was finishing up her dinner.
"I told you Dad wasn't dying," Katie said. She shook her head as she stabbed a potato with her fork. "No one ever listens to me."
Myra smiled at her granddaughter, patted her shoulder, then walked to the window. Myra watched her son pedal his bike down the driveway and disappear as he turned right on the highway.
Myra had been swept up in the excitement over seeing Brody's dramatic improvement. But now, a sinking feeling began to settle in.
She had cared for three children through all kinds of sicknesses. She knew that sometimes, illness didn't follow a linear trajectory.
Sometimes, a person felt better for a while before the illness came back in full force.
She watched the front yard as the sunlight waned, making the shadows deeper and longer.
And maybe they weren't even dealing with an illness any of them had ever seen. Maybe the effects of radiation exposure didn't follow any of the rules Myra knew.
14
Jack heard shouting behind him, but he kept running.
He didn’t know if the guards had noticed him, or if they were merely yelling at the prisoner to keep working.
Either way, Jack covered the distance in a frenzy.
Darting between parked cars, he crossed the parking lot and emerged onto an empty street. Jack spotted a multi-level parking garage on the next block. He charged forward across the street, heading straight for the garage.
Worry nagged at him as he ran. Maybe he was headed for a trap. Maybe the gang used the garage as part of their operation. The top floor would provide a good vantage point for keeping an eye on the area, which the gang would want.
His eyes darted toward an apartment building to the south – just left of the parking garage. Maybe the apartments would be safer?
If he chose wrong, it would mean everything was over. An image of Annie flashed through his mind.
He had to get home to her.
Jack continued straight toward the parking garage. As he entered the cool darkness of the ground level entrance, he hoped he had chosen wisely.
He came to a brief stop inside the shelter of the garage and looked around before continuing. His steps echoed within the vast expanse. So far, the garage appeared to be empty.
Moving quickly between the rows of parked cars, he caugh
t his breath. He made it to the far wall of the garage, stopped, and looked around.
He crouched behind a large SUV, well hidden from the entrance. If anyone was following him, this place would be about as good as any for a confrontation.
He waited several minutes, breathing in the stale air faintly scented of engine oil.
Finally convinced that no one had followed him to the garage, he got up and walked to the window on the west wall. Off to the left was the apartment building. It was an older construction, five stories, that looked like it had been occupied until recently.
Until Oscar's gang had killed or enslaved the occupants.
Now, it looked empty. The gang must have killed half the town for there to be so many vacant homes.
Downhill and to the right was another abandoned lot, overgrown with invasive weeds. A work crew was occupied digging various holes around the lot. Jack squinted in the sun, looking at each prisoner working. A sudden jolt of recognition coursed through him.
Brent was down there.
Jack immediately recognized his coworker's lanky frame, stooped over a shovel. He felt a stab of guilt as he saw Brent laboring away down there, guarded by a hulking man with a rifle. Brent shouldn’t have been captured.
Jack once again regretted his mistake on the interstate. But there was no time for regrets. This was Jack's chance to make things right.
None of the other prisoners were guarded as closely as Brent. The other four prisoners worked at some distance from Brent, and only two guards watched over them. Brent must have done something they didn't like to be assigned his own babysitter. Jack couldn't help smiling at the thought.
Way to give them hell, Brent.
Jack looked over at the rest of the area. The lot was sandwiched between a bank and a fast food restaurant. A couple of other small businesses were to the north. Jack couldn't get a good view of what lay beyond the bank. He didn't like that. He didn't like not knowing who was just around the corner.
But it didn't matter. Less than ideal circumstances wouldn't change his course of action.
He knew what he had to do.
Jack ran down the stairs. Once back on the ground level, he made a quick exit through the side door. He emerged on the sun-drenched sidewalk just one block from the empty lot where Brent worked.
Edging along the exterior wall of the parking garage, he approached the fast food restaurant. He slipped around the building.
His heart pounded in his chest as he moved. Acid rose in his throat, burning his vocal cords. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.
He had to do this right.
Jack was so close to the work crew now. Stationing himself behind the concrete pillars of the drive-through, he watched and waited.
Four guards, at least in this lot. Who knew how many other armed men were in the vicinity and would come running when they heard gunfire.
A wiry man holding a rifle paced along the fence closest to Jack. Two other guards were in the northern half of the lot. Brent worked on the far southern corner under the watchful eye of his massive guard.
Brent stood working in front of his guard, who stood behind him. That was a problem. Jack couldn't get a clean shot with Brent in front of the guy.
He would have to start firing at the other men. Hopefully, Brent would get out of the way long enough for Jack to take a shot.
Jack raised his rifle. He leveled it and peered through the scope.
“Hey! Who’s that?”
The voice from one of the distant guards at the back broke Jack’s concentration. Jack had been spotted.
Everything happened all at once.
The two distant guards to the north raised their rifles. Jack fired at the closest guard before he could lift his own weapon.
The second guard had begun to handcuff the prisoners. He snapped the cuffs shut over two prisoners before he raised his weapon at Jack.
The first guard fell. Before Jack could pivot toward the distant guards, they began shooting at him.
A bullet smashed into the concrete pillar. Jack ducked reflexively. Keeping himself lowered behind the pillar, he aimed at the first of the two distant guards.
The guard's aim was increasingly more accurate, but Jack kept firing. First one, then the other fell to the ground.
Jack looked over at Brent. The guard near him had begun firing toward Jack, but he was too far away. The guard started to run off to the side, both to take cover and to get closer to his target.
Just before the guard could get away, Brent lifted his shovel high and brought it down against the guard's head.
The guard's knees buckled underneath him, and he collapsed to the ground. Brent wrenched the rifle out of his hands and began running across the lot.
The two uncuffed prisoners scattered to the north, scaling the fence before they disappeared. The two prisoners who had been cuffed scrambled toward the fallen guards, searching for the keys to free their hands.
"Follow me!" Jack called to Brent. Jack took off running toward the parking garage again. He heard Brent following him several yards behind.
"Don't let them get away!" a guard shouted.
Voices were coming from the southwest corner of the lot. Jack pushed himself faster as he neared the parking garage.
Just before he ran inside the shelter of the garage, he glanced back. Brent was still behind him, closing the distance quickly.
The guard Brent had hit with a shovel had already recovered and was making his way across the lot at a brisk pace.
And three more armed men who had heard the gunfire were on their way, charging across the street and headed toward the parking garage.
15
Harvey’s eyes met Charlotte’s just as he was hit with the round from the .22.
He looked down at the hole in the side of his torso, then touched his fingers to the seeping blood.
His shock turned to fury as he looked back up at her. Charlotte aimed again, this time a little higher. She pulled the trigger.
The force of the second round knocked Harvey back to the ground. He lay there for several moments, blinking and staring up toward the sky.
Then, he was still.
Charlotte watched him, holding her breath.
Then she took a step forward. His chest had stopped rising and falling with his breath. His open eyes stared upward, unblinking.
She looked down at the gun. Then she walked to the car, where she placed it on the hood. She stood leaning against the vehicle, keeping her eyes on Harvey the whole time. She almost expected him to start moving again. But he never did.
After a while, she allowed herself to turn her back on the body nearby. She walked to the edge of the ditch, bent over, and vomited.
It was over.
Charlotte heard something from the road. She looked up to see a horse – with Annie riding it.
The horse was galloping at full speed, then came to a quick stop nearby on the road.
Annie sat there, staring with her mouth open – first at Harvey, then at Charlotte, then back to Harvey.
The horse switched its tail around at the flies landing on its body.
"I had to shoot him, Annie,” Charlotte said, her voice shaky.
Annie nodded, her eyes still on the dead man in the ditch.
"He woke up. And he got his hands loose. And he was angry – so angry! He was about to get his feet free, too. If I had waited another second longer –"
Charlotte trailed off.
Annie looked at Charlotte sympathetically. "You did the right thing." She dismounted the horse clumsily and stood holding the reins. "Are you sure he's dead?"
Charlotte nodded, looking in the opposite direction of Harvey. She didn't like looking at him. "Pretty sure."
Annie led the horse closer to Harvey and nodded. "Yeah, he’s dead." She looked over at her friend. "I'm sorry I had to leave you alone with him. But I'm proud of you, Charlotte. You defended yourself!"
Charlotte gave a weak smile. "I just don't want
to make this a habit. Though, I do like that gun. I wouldn't mind having one of my own."
"We'll try to get you one," Annie said as she led the horse around to the front of the car. "But for now, we don't have too much time to waste."
"Why? Did you steal that horse from someone, I’m guessing?" Charlotte asked.
"Kind of. I'm just borrowing her," Annie said as she handed the reins to Charlotte. "But I might have a meth head on my trail."
"Say what?" Charlotte asked, frowning. "And what am I supposed to do with this horse?" She looked up nervously at the animal.
"Just stay there for a second. If I can tie these ropes to the car . . . ”
Charlotte watched as Annie struggled to tie the ropes around the Porsche’s bumper.
“This is never gonna work,” Charlotte said. “I’ve never heard of a horse pulling a car out of a ditch!”
Annie ignored her and kept working. Finally, she stood up, red-faced but smiling.
“Okay, girl,” she cooed to the mare. “Come this way.”
She led the horse by the reins downhill several feet.
“Charlotte, can you put the gear in neutral?” Annie asked. Charlotte grimaced from the pain as she moved, but she did as Annie asked.
Annie tied the ropes to the horse’s harness as Charlotte came to stand beside her.
“You can do this,” Annie said, looking into the mare’s eyes.
Annie took the reins and clucked her tongue. The horse began to walk forward, but jolted when the ropes reached the end of their slack. Annie encouraged her forward, tugging on the reins. The horse pulled forward, bringing the ropes taut.
“That’s it,” Annie murmured. “Keep going.”
Finally, the wheels on the Porsche began to roll forward. Then they stopped. The horse strained under the effort.
“You’ve got this,” Annie said under her breath.
The horse kept straining, its muscles bulging under the effort. But finally, she got the wheels rolling again. Annie led the horse up toward the road, and the Porsche began to roll forward behind them.
