“M-mom! I didn't think I'd ever see you again!"
"Are you okay?" Cami asked as she pulled away but held Amber at arms-length. "Did you make it back safe?" She laughed. “I guess you did, that was stupid,” she said, trying to wipe her face.
Amber smiled through tears that streamed down her cheeks. "Yes,” she laughed, “we got back okay."
"Cami-san!" Mitch said from the doorway. He slung his rifle over one shoulder, and rushed forward to envelope Cami and Amber in a wide hug. “Thank God!”
Amber looked up over Cami’s shoulder and smiled. "Thank you. Thank you so much…”
Cami turned and glanced at Flynt, who stood by the door, soaking wet, unable to get around them, and unwilling to interrupt the reunion. He looked straight at Amber's eyes and nodded. "I said I’d bring her home."
"Hey, I'm the one who got shot out there rescuing her…” Gary said with a frown.
"Yeah, and I brought you in. Where's Douglass?” Flynt asked, frowning. “You guys took off without a word and I never…” Flynt’s words trailed off as he looked between Cami and Gary. “What?”
Cami and Gary looked at each other. Gary looked away, then put his arm around Mitch's shoulders.
“Dad, what is it?” asked Mitch.
“He didn’t make it," Cami whispered, her voice suddenly tight.
Amber covered her mouth with her hands and closed her eyes as she backed away. Mia slowly sat and stared at the table. "Dad!” Mitch cried as he noticed his father's arm. “You’re bleeding!”
"What?" Amber blurted. "Mia, grab the first aid kit and help me—mom—you’re bleeding, too!”
"It's amazing how that happens when people are shooting at you," Cami mumbled, suddenly light-headed. She reached out a hand to grab onto the counter for balance.
A flurry of gunshots rattled through the walls, and everyone but Cami scrambled for weapons. Flynt spoke first. "You guys stay here, take care of Cami and Gary. I'll check it out." He worked his way around the group in the kitchen, then disappeared down the hallway toward the laundry room.
"When did the attack start?" Cami asked as Amber led her to the table and forced her to sit so she could examine the injury to her leg. Cami winced at her daughter’s probing fingers. The wound was raw and filthy, and just peeling back the makeshift bandage she’d applied hurt like the devil.
"Seems like forever, but probably only in the last 15 to 20 minutes," Amber muttered absently as she cut away the filthy scraps of cloth Cami had used to wrap her leg. Amber sucked air through her teeth as she worked. "Mom…there’s a lot of blood all over your clothes…” Amber said quietly. “What did they do to you?"
"They didn’t—they…” Cami started, then stopped. She took a breath. "I got away, and they chased me into the woods. They hunted me…but I fought back.”
“With what? A chainsaw?” Amber said as she inspected Cami’s bloody shirt.
"In the storm?" asked Mia, horrified.
"They’re psychos, all of them…” Cami muttered. She hissed when Amber used a spray bottle with saline solution to irrigate the rough channel the bullet had made through the thick part of her thigh. "Ugh,” Cami said through clenched teeth. “That smarts…”
"Well, hold on to your butt, because this is gonna smart a little more…” Amber said with a wicked grin as she spread disinfectant over the wound.
Cami's back stiffened, she clenched her teeth, and looked at the ceiling, growling in pain. Fire coursed through the raw nerves of her leg and made her stomp her other mud-caked foot. As fast as it overcame her, the pain receded to a dull throb as the numbing agent in the antiseptic kicked in. Amber put a medicated salve on the wound, then wrapped it in fresh bandages. "It's not perfect, but it will have to do until we’re sure the fight is over. I want you to get some rest, too, then we can check it out in the morning."
Cami shook her head. "I'm not resting until I know this house is safe."
Flynt returned to the kitchen, shedding water with every step. "I think that’s the last of them. I sent a couple guys to loop around the house and make sure we’re clear. There's two more bodies out there on the front porch,” he said with a jerk of one thumb over his shoulder.
"Do we know how many men came after us?" Cami asked from the table, trying to keep the black spots in her vision from clouding up.
Flynt grunted. "No, but dollars to doughnuts. When Marty's house blew up, it took out a good chunk of them."
"That's what that bright light was?" Cami asked.
"You saw it?" asked Amber.
"Saw it?" Gary muttered as Mia tended to his arm. “The explosion almost knocked me and John off our feet. He…” Gary's eyes lowered to the table and he stopped talking.
"He's out there…just…” Mia said, her eyes filling with tears. "That's awful."
Cami reached across the table, one hand on Gary's, the other on Mia’s. "I promise you, when the storm lets up, we’ll go out and get him.”
"I'll help," Flynt said with a cold determination from the doorway.
"We'll all help," Gary added.
Cami saw a decisive look shared between Flynt and Gary—she didn't know what it was about, but the two had been at odds before she'd been taken captive. Whatever their differences had been between them, evidently they’d buried the hatchet. That was good enough for her.
She leaned back in her chair and smiled as Amber got a bottle of water from the fridge and brought it to her. She was home, she was safe, and Cisco's counterattack had been thwarted. The storm had tried its best, and so had Cisco. Both failed. Cami held her daughter’s hand as everyone sat at the table. Questions flew at Cami and Gary, but she sipped her water to stall for time.
Wherever you are, Reese…I'm still here. She looked at Amber and smiled as fresh tears filled her eyes. She’d never expected to see her beautiful daughter again.
I’m…we’re…still waiting.
Chapter 36
Spalding Residence
Bee’s Landing Subdivision
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Flynt held Harriet's hand as she stepped across the threshold into her house. “What have they done?" she whimpered, her free hand at her mouth. Darien frowned. Her hand was trembling. The storm had barely let up enough for them to get across the street and survey the damage. As they entered her house, he realized the damage was extensive.
Trash had been left all over the place. Muddy boot prints traced back and forth, up and down the stairs and all through the house. What furniture hadn't been wrecked before the attack had been smashed to pieces when Cisco had occupied the house.
Cisco had taken Harriet's house as his command center during the attack, that much was clear. Everyone else in the neighborhood had either been hunkered down at their own homes or at Cami's house. There was no other explanation for the amount of destruction and damage done to the interior of Harriet's house during the storm. He picked his way through the wreckage to the garage, opened the door and sighed.
Just as he’d expected, most of the supplies that they’d left behind in their haste to evacuate before the storm had been ruined—either ransacked by Cisco’s men, or destroyed by the wind and rain that had invaded Harriet’s house during the hurricane. There hadn’t been a whole heck of a lot left over, once most of it had been transferred across the street to Cami's house—the de facto fortress-headquarters for Bee’s Landing.
Before the storm, before the fight, there had been plenty of leftovers—probably enough for Darien, Harriet, Jon Boy, and Spanner to get by for a few weeks. He stepped down into the garage and kicked at a soggy, empty box. Cisco had taken or destroyed more than half of what should have been left. Darien cursed and flung an empty box out of his way. They’d be lucky to get a week's worth of rations out of what was left, especially the way Jon Boy ate.
"Of all the low, dirty, rotten…”
From inside the house, a high-pitched squeal brought Darien back to his senses, and he barreled his way through the debri
s field to the stairway. Harriet was on her knees at the second-floor landing. Without pause, Darien pounded up the stairs to her side, his big Desert Eagle out and ready to fire. "What? What is it?"
"Look what they've done to my office!" Harriet moaned. She pointed with a trembling hand down the hallway.
Darien stepped forward, cautiously, and kept the massive hand cannon out in front as he made his way through the open door. The wind outside was still stiff, and the gauzy curtains that hung above what was left of the window writhed like living things. Both were all stained with blood and mud. Shattered glass covered the floor, and every step he took crunched the little sparkling shards into the hardwood floor.
A carved walnut bookcase—he remembered it being under the window—had been tossed aside and books scattered everywhere, their pages wrinkled and soaked with rainwater.
Outside, the overcast sky was definitely lighter than it had been a few hours earlier, and now that the back half of the storm was moving inland, patches of blue poked through the overcast to the north. Darien holstered the Desert Eagle and leaned on the windowsill.
"Two to one, this is where he was shooting from. Those holes in the plywood in the living room? They look like they came from this direction…”
"I don't care about the holes in the stupid plywood on Cami's windows," Harriet spat. "Look at my house! We were barely able to patch it up before…but now? There's so much water damage in here…it’s ruined! What am I going to do? Where am I going to live?"
Darien looked at her. "It's not like the whole house has been destroyed. So you lost one room—”
“One room? Have you not seen the mud on the floor? The carpet on the stairs is going to have to be completely replaced!"
Harriet left the room, hysterical, calling out every point of damage as if someone followed her with a clipboard, recording her every word.
Darien turned and looked out the window across the street to Lavelle's house. Several volunteers walked through the front yard, all busy examining the structure for signs of damage. Whenever somebody spotted a bullet hole, they called it out, and another volunteer made a note. They all carried clipboards and measuring tapes as if they were contractors.
“Of course, they’re carrying clipboards. The whole neighborhood’s pulling together to help repair her house…” Darien called over his shoulder. Ignoring him, Harriet continued her trek down the hallway, exclaiming about the horrors of what someone had done in the master bathroom. Darien didn't want to think about what the toilets looked like at that moment.
"Maybe we can talk to them about fixing up your place?" he suggested with a shout.
"Maybe we could start calling this our place…” she replied.
Darien leaned on the windowsill and frowned. "No, not yet. Nobody found Cisco yet…” Until the madman was put six feet in the ground, Darien wouldn't be able to rest, and neither would anyone else in Bee’s Landing. For the second time in as many weeks, the psychopath had eluded the punishment he'd earned.
Harriet came back into the room, holding a torn bedsheet. "This was silk…” she said in a distracted, distant voice. "It was in the closet. There was no need to cut it up. What could they possibly have…why would someone do that?"
Darien turned and saw the pained look on her face. Her eyes, normally expressive and sensual, were wide open, filled with tears. Tear tracks glistened down her cheeks, and her lips quivered. Her whole world was crumbling around her—she’d lost all vestiges of power in the neighborhood, everything that she'd lived for had been taken away. And now, Darien realized as he moved closer and wrapped his arms around her, the last vestige of her old life—her house and everything in it—had fallen.
And like Cisco's first attack on the neighborhood, it was all his fault. He brought Cisco to Bee’s Landing. He'd let Cisco slip away, and he failed to take care of the problem when Cisco attacked with the National Guard wannabes.
He held Harriet tight as she buried her face in his chest and whimpered, her shoulders shaking with every sob. Darien closed his eyes and frowned. Cisco got away again.
As if sensing his thoughts, Harriet suddenly grew quiet. "Do you think…do you think he'll be back?"
Darien ran his hands through her hair as he would to calm a frightened animal. "Yes," he said simply. He felt her body tense under his arms, and he squeezed her just a little harder. "But don't worry. I'll be with you no matter what. And when I find him, I'm going to kill him."
Harriet was quiet for a long moment, and Darien almost wondered if she'd fallen asleep on her feet. "What do we do now?" she whispered.
"We recover. We rebuild…and we get ready."
“We have to start over? Here? In Bee’s Landing?”
Darien shook his head, the scruffy beard on his chin tangling with the silky hair on her head. "I don't know…I don't know what we’re going to do, and I don't really care. Until we handle Cisco, nothing else matters."
Chapter 37
Bee’s Landing Subdivision
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Cisco had to hand it to Jenkins, the man wasn't much of a fighter—he preferred his victims tied up and helpless before he engaged—but he had brains. And he was ruthless. The way he'd calmly suggested they abandon two of their own men to their fates and make their getaway…it was as cold and calculating as it was heartless.
Cisco had no doubt that because Jenkins had convinced him to leave the neighborhood and retreat to their camp in the woods, he'd be able to regroup, come back, and fight another day. If he let his passions take control of his destiny, Cisco figured he'd probably be dead by the end of the month. The more he thought about it, the more he was certain he wouldn't be alive at that very moment.
The defenders in the Lavelle house had already taken out four attackers. By the time Cisco could’ve made it across the street, he would've been all alone against a house full of determined, motivated enemies. A suicide mission.
But Jenkins had seen through it and convinced him to make their escape—while the defenders were occupied with the last couple fighters from Cisco's group, Jenkins and Cisco slipped away.
Using the cover of the storm, they made their way across the north side of the neighborhood and broke into two separate houses. The families hadn't put up much of a fight, and though he hated spending precious ammunition on weakling civilians, Cisco agreed with Jenkins—they needed to move fast and brutal. The bigger mess they left behind, the more fear they’d instill in the residents.
"We can’t afford to be surgical about this," Jenkins had whispered as they prepared to break into the first house along their exit route. "We need to go in guns blazing and get out as quick as possible."
Cisco adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and looked across the front seat at Jenkins, who buckled in and nodded. They were sitting in the garage of the second house they’d broken into. Outside, the storm still lingered, but it was almost over. He figured they only had another hour or so of cover provided by mother nature. Before the skies would clear, the rain would stop. Hopefully that gave them enough time to get their stolen truck and all the supplies they’d looted from the two houses they'd ransacked, out of Bee’s Landing and back to the forest preserve camp.
Cisco started the truck, then shifted into gear. The open garage bay ahead of them gave him a clear line of sight down the street toward Lavelle's house. Just beyond the curve in the road off to his right, the bane of his existence waited. He left behind four fighters at that house, and more ammunition than he would've cared to have spent on a losing cause. But to his left, the rest of Bee’s Landing opened up, and as long as he followed the road around that corner, their escape was all but guaranteed.
Jenkins shifted and looked out the window into the bed of their new truck. "Got enough supplies back here to get the rest of the guys back at camp through the next couple weeks, I think,” Jenkins surmised.
Cisco gripped the wheel and narrowed his eyes at the street. To the left, escape and salvati
on waited for him. To the right, vengeance and death waited for him. He shifted the truck into gear and pulled out to the left. There would be time enough for vengeance and death once he regrouped and re-equipped his men. Several of them were still injured and would need a few more days to recover enough to pose a threat to Bee’s Landing. His first priority was to get the men he had left fully mobile. For that they needed more vehicles.
The truck that he and Jenkins had just boosted was a good start.
Windshield wipers on max, they flew around the corner and accelerated down the street toward the north entrance, away from Lavelle and the troublesome defenders of Bee’s Landing. It irked him to run with his tail between his legs, but the mess they’d left of the two families and the theft of supplies—and a precious vehicle—would have to serve as his parting shot as he exited the scene.
No one came out of their houses to challenge the gray pickup truck barreling down the street, loaded to the gills with supplies. No one stepped out and raised a weapon, no one fired a warning shot from upper floor windows. He smirked as they approached the barricade at the north entrance.
The jumble of cars had blocked him once, but it was designed to prevent people from getting in, not getting out. Without a care in the world, he pulled up onto the front yards and driveways of the last few houses that lined the street, tearing deep ruts through their manicured lawns and knocked over one mailbox in the process of pulling back out onto the main road. He turned southwest, hit the gas and aimed for the forest preserve entrance a mile down the road.
"Can't believe we got out of that alive…” Jenkins said at last, as the south entrance flashed by his window and they left Bee’s Landing behind.
"Oh, we’ll be back."
Broken Tide | Book 5 | Storm Surge Page 22
