by Lindy Ryan
“Let’s see what Ruby packed that will do for a busted shoulder,” Rachel said as she leaned against a smooth rock and let the pack slide from her wounded arm.
Lucy eyed Rachel when she winced in pain, but the dog settled down.
A large Ziploc bag contained a jumble of first aid supplies. Gauze, tape, two suture kits, saline solution, a small bag of blood clotter, and various bandages and ointment. Rachel couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t exactly an ER, but Ruby really had thought of everything.
She shrugged off her torn, waterlogged coat, thick with crusted mud, and peeled her bloodied shirt sleeve away from the bullet wound. Salt welled on her tongue. The bullet had penetrated the far side of her shoulder, entering into the muscle from the back and exiting through the front. No bone splinters and no chunk of metal lodged between her skin.
Clean. Thank fuck for small blessings.
Rachel snatched the saline solution, then tore the cap off with her teeth. She squeezed the bottle, shooting a steady stream of solution directly into the wound. The burning sensation raced up her arm, stabbed behind her eyes. She grit her teeth and bit back a cuss. When the container was empty, she grabbed the blood-clotting agent and tore open the top of the bag, then removed the gauze, poured the granules into her wound, and compressed her hand over the top of the hole in her skin.
Fire ran through her whole body and she screamed. Why did treating something so painful have to hurt so damn bad? Couldn’t she catch a break anywhere?
Rachel watched as the blood draining from her wound slowed to a halt. When she was confident the bleeding was done, she slid down from the rock and rolled onto her back, wriggling out of what was left of her clothes.
Stripped down, she made her way to stand beneath the waters of the fall, resisting the urge to clench in the frigid glacial runoff.
“What would Ruby say if she saw me now, girl?” she asked Lucy, glad the dog couldn’t respond.
Cuts and bruises trimmed her body like a macabre version of a Christmas tree—a bit of purple splotches here, bright red lines there. Still, the icy river felt like heaven over her skin. Rachel let the water rush over her naked body, her face, her hair. Goose pimples prickled her flesh as she worked to rinse the blood and mud from her clothes, but the heat returned to her limbs when she began to gather up stray pieces of mostly-dry wood to start a fire. She found tinder to insulate the damp, then fished a fire kit from the pack. Once the fire was lit, Rachel wrapped herself in a mylar emergency blanket, forced down a stale MRE bar, and tucked in close to Lucy.
“Hopefully, we’re still alive this time tomorrow,” she said to her companion as her eyelids lowered heavily from the warmth of the heat and the blanket. Soon thereafter, Rachel closed her eyes and slept.
8
The sun was barely up when a noise rumbled in Lucy’s throat, low and deep. Rachel raised her head and looked around. Everything seemed normal. Lucy was hunkered low on her belly, though, looking out past the falls to the left. Her body vibrated with each growl.
She’s watching someone. Fuck, Rachel thought to herself. Or someone’s looking at us … Double fuck! Rachel unwrapped the mylar blanket from around her body and inched closer to Lucy. She peered out from the side of the falls. In the distance, about two hundred yards away, a man and woman moved cautiously alongside the river. Each of them carried large packs, and both had fear stamped on their faces.
“My God, we’re not alone. We need to get to those people, girl, now!” Rachel rushed back to her clothing that she had spread out atop a rock to dry. Her shirt and pants were still a bit damp, but she could handle being a little uncomfortable. Discomfort was better than being naked, even at the end of the world.
Using her good arm, she slid her pants on and pulled her shirt over her head, almost tripping over her own feet in her desperation to be quick. A familiar ache flared through her right arm, crawled up her shoulder.
Now that she was moving around again, the pain returned with a vengeance. Rachel looked down to evaluate her bandage. The dressing was a light shade of red, but the color was dull, not fresh. The wound had stopped bleeding, but barely. If she wasn’t careful, it would start up again, and her chance of infection would rocket.
Her shoes were still soaked through, though, and every step she took squelched, but there was no time to complain. Wet feet were the least of her worries, considering she was on her feet at all. She looked back to where the couple were still navigating through the area.
Who would have guessed Rachel would have to be completely lost in the woods in order to find the signs of life she’d been looking for?
“Come on, girl,” she told Lucy, more out of habit than need. The dog was on her heels, so close Rachel could feel humid breath on her calf.
A sign of relief washed through Rachel’s body. She stuffed her blanket into her backpack, closed the flap, and, carefully, raised her lifeline to slide the strap over her injured shoulder.
The pain shot through her like a bolt of lightning. Rachel winced, emitted a sound of anguish that formed somewhere deep in her throat. Once the pain dissipated enough to not be crippling, she took a deep breath, clenched her jaw, and pushed the strap up the rest of the way. Her eyes began to water.
Once the pack was on, she knelt and did one last sweep of the falls. The people were gone, out of view. She glanced at the surrounding areas. Nobody. Not a single soul.
“Hopefully, no one was after them, girl—not like they came after us.” Rachel pushed to her feet and stood. “Okay, let’s go find out who they are.”
Something caught Rachel’s attention as she began to step away from the small cave, a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision. She pulled back into the shadows and peered out.
In the distance, a figure. Do these guys never stop coming?
A man had come into view, following the same route as the people she had seen venturing about. Then, another man emerged from behind a crop of trees, walking in lockstep directly behind the first.
Shit.
The one in back carried a pistol, while the other had a rifle slung over his shoulder. They moved fast, seemingly determined to catch up with the man and woman, who—up until now—had evaded them.
Rachel and Lucy pulled all the way back into the cave.
“Do I have any fucking good luck left anymore? Any? Even an ounce of it? You can’t make this shit up.” Rachel bowed her head and clenched her fists. Her teeth gritted in anger and frustration. The past washed over her—her failed career on the police force, the loss of her wife. It hurt, and then it stung like hell, but when the sting receded all that was left was anger. Determination.
After a moment, Rachel looked down to Lucy, “Well, I guess we go big this time. Besides, what have we really got to lose? Time for the hunters to become the hunted.”
Rachel hunched down and rolled onto her butt. She leaned to the right and let the pack’s strap roll across her shoulder. The motion hurt like nobody’s business, and Rachel felt blood flood her mouth from where she’d bit into her lip, but she didn’t make a sound. She reached into the top of the pack and pulled out the handgun she had scored the day before, when that one motherfucker tried to kill her in cold blood.
She regarded the gun for a moment. Looked at it for the first time. It was a Sig Saur P320 40, basically brand new. The metal felt cool in her palm. Rachel was familiar with this type of firearm—hell, she’d carried one just like it on her hip for years. This model wasn’t just a great shot, it was preferred amongst seasoned law enforcement. A Sig was a simple to use, dependable firearm with a manageable recoil for someone who knew what they were doing. She pushed the gun into the waistband of her pants and rotated back into the shoulder strap. After the pack was on and the resultant sting had faded, she stood again, and carefully moved toward the entrance of the cave.
Rachel looked around. Clear.
“Here goes nothing.”
Rachel and Lucy made their way down the cliff and onto the trail. The
bent grass blades signified the route the people had taken, making them easy to follow. Their footprints were also prominent, pushed deep into the moist soil from the rains the day before.
People who don’t know they're being followed don’t worry about being tracked, Rachel thought. Then again, what she hadn’t learned about tracking people in her academy training she’d read about in the true crime books she’d read, searching for inspiration to pen her own novel. Fat chance of that happening now, I guess.
She inhaled deeply and followed them down the trail and into the dense woods.
After a long journey through treacherous landscape, Rachel heard a stream trickling just off the trodden path. She scanned the area again, making sure she was alone, then glanced at Lucy. The dog was panting, clearly as thirsty as she was.
“Let’s take a quick break,” she whispered.
She stepped through the brush, headed deep into the wilderness until they came to the river. Lucy ran toward the water and lapped greedily from the stream snaking its way through the mountains. With another glance around, Rachel determined they were safe. At least, they were safe for now, and that was good enough. She walked up to Lucy’s side, knelt, and cupped her hand to drink from.
The cool water made its way down her dry throat, feeling like heaven.
Be careful. Don’t let your guard down.
Ruby’s voice. Listen, and be ready.
Rachel turned her head side to side. Could someone sneak up on them—catch her by surprise? Nothing. She sighed in relief and continued to drink her fill.
Don’t stick around here too long or you won’t catch up to the others.
Beside her, Lucy grumbled. Hurry, she seemed to say.
With that, Rachel stood and began making her way back to the path. She glanced over her shoulder to see if Lucy followed, but the dog was still busy drinking from the river. Rachel clicked her tongue. Lucy’s ears perked and she quickly pulled away. The dog ran to Rachel’s side, ever the companion.
“Don’t worry, we’ll have another rest soon,” she said, reaching down to scratch behind Lucy’s ear.
Ahead of her, the sound of a woman's scream rang out through the forest. Rachel stopped, hunched down, and turned her ear into the direction of the sound, listening. This time when Rachel instinctively reached for her waistband, she found a gun sitting there. More relief. She pulled the firearm free and moved forward through the grass, heading in the direction of the woman’s scream.
The closer she got, the more distinctive voices became. There were several of them. A woman’s, trembling. Then, a man’s, begging for their lives.
Rachel looked down at the trail that was covered in a light dust, which dampened footsteps. She moved in a crouched walk, ready to shoot if necessary. In the distance, she saw a small clearing. In it, she could barely make out the man and woman next to each other, both on their knees and staring up at their captors.
The man had his hands raised in the air. “Why are you doing this? We’ve done nothing to you or anyone else!”
The two men Rachel had seen stood in front of them, weapons raised.
Rachel stopped, knelt, and let the pack slip from her back, this time not registering any pain when the weight brushed against her shoulder. She gripped her pistol tight in her good hand, and held out her other palm to Lucy.
“Stay,” she whispered.
Lucy dropped to her belly, understanding the command.
Rachel spun back around and began inching her way toward the people.
“You drag us all the way out here and think you’re going to talk us into letting you go based on the premise of you not knowing what the fuck is going on? Based upon the fact that we’re standing across from two infected people who are as good as dead anyway. We’re doing you both a fucking service!” One of the men in black yelled at the couple.
What in God’s name are they going on about?
The woman bowed her head and began to sob.
“Just leave us here. Honest, we’re not going to tell a soul,” the man said.
“You will be left here, that much is for sure. And you sure as shit won’t be telling no one nothing.”
Rachel was now about thirty-five yards from them. She raised the gun, safety off, hammer back. Her arm extended as she aimed at the man with the pistol.
The woman on the ground raised her head and noticed Rachel. She gasped, ruining Rachel’s element of surprise.
Seriously? What the fuck, lady? I’m trying to—
The two men in black spun around. Their eyes landed on Rachel microseconds before understanding set in. Instincts in control, Rachel squeezed the trigger before the man could raise his gun. A single round echoed through the forest. A tree splintered to the left of the man.
She’d missed by a mile.
Fuck!
Rachel squeezed off another round. This time, she shot too late. The two men had ducked, finding cover in the dense shrubbery. One to the left and the other to the right. Rachel dropped down to her knee below their line of sight. They knew she was there, but she wasn’t going to make herself an easy target.
“Not going to let them fucking pick us off, girl,” she promised Lucy. “Not this time.”
She bowed her head against the dog’s, kissed Lucy’s muzzle, then forced herself upright—and ran. Surely the gunmen wouldn’t expect her to attack. They’d expect her to retreat, cower. Play dead.
Like hell.
“Get behind a tree,” Rachel barked as she darted forward, expecting a burst of pain between her shoulder blades at every footfall. “Take cover.”
The couple scurried behind a nearby tree and hunkered down. For half a second, she thought she heard birdsong. No. Whimpering. She could hear them whimpering. The man was wild-eyed, staring at her like he’d just seen a ghost, but the woman had clamped her hands over her ears, trying to shut out the world.
“Who are you?” the man asked from a few yards away.
“Just someone like you. I’ve already been shot by one of those sons of a bitches,” Rachel shouted back, sidling herself beside another tall spruce. She leaned her head on the bark, looked back. “Do you have a weapon?”
The man shook his head. The woman still had her hands clamped over her ears. Her eyes squeezed shut.
Rachel peered around the tree she’d taken cover behind. The men were inching closer. She squeezed off another round, frightening the attackers back behind the bushes.
Rachel shouted over her shoulder, “Run, now!”
The man and woman shuffled backward, spun around, then ran in the opposite direction. Rachel was alone again—just her and Lucy against the world.
She looked to the sky. Ruby would have been proud of her, wouldn’t she? Proud that she’d kept going, that she fought back. Didn’t tuck tail and run like she’d done before.
Didn’t lay down and die.
I sure as hell wanted to, she thought. And not just today. Not just since she’d woken up and found everything different. Rachel had wanted to lay down and give up for the past four months and seventeen days, and yet she hadn’t. She’d gotten up every morning and made her bed. She’d done something productive, no matter how insignificant it may have seemed—gardening with her mother, working on her book, running three miles every day. Even when she thought she’d been withering, Rachel had kept going, kept putting up her fists and fighting to stay alive. Why?
Because Ruby would have wanted me to.
A branch snapped on the other side of the tree. Rachel pushed herself to her feet, rotating around the thick trunk. One of the men in black was staring off in the distance, his attention pointed at the backs of the people who’d run away. He started forward, and she stepped away from the tree, extending her arm. “I’m right here, asshole!”
The man spun around, but by the time he saw her, Rachel’s gun was already pointed at his head.
“You’ve got three seconds to drop your gun. I’ll blow your fucking head off if you don’t.”
A sn
eer crawled up the side of the man’s face. “Who are you—fucking GI Jane?”
“That’s right. Two seconds.”
He waited another beat, but when Rachel’s finger pulled against the trigger, he dropped his gun and raised his arms.
“Where’s your fucking buddy?” Rachel asked.
“I don’t know.”
Rachel scanned the area behind him. There. The other man moved into view, the long barrel of his rifle refracting sunlight. He moved closer. Too close. Rachel’s grip tightened on the handle of the gun, her fingernails biting into the flesh of her palm.
His ugly, shit-eating grin matched his wannabe camo ensemble, but his gun was real enough. So was his arrogance, judging by the hard glint in his eye.
“Drop your fucking weapon before I blow your fucking head off, G.I. Jane,” he said. “And your little dog, too.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. Apparently, they were both original.
She shook her head but kept her eyes locked on the advancing man. Lucy pawed the ground at her side, and a low, threatening rumble responded to the jerk’s comments.
Try it, dickwad, the dog seemed to say.
“Nah, I’m not dropping my gun. I don’t give a fuck if you shoot me but I’m going to plug your friend right here first, and, if you’re not fast enough, I’m going to plug you as well. I don’t much care what happens after that.” Rachel felt her lips twist into a halfcocked smile. Then, she pulled the trigger.
Click.
She was empty.
The man began to laugh. “Man, don’t you hate it when that happens?”
Rachel pulled the trigger again when the closest man began to creep forward, coming toward her, no longer concerned about the useless gun in her hand. Another empty click, and this time she could feel it in her chest. Lucy’s body tensed, preparing to defend her mistress, but she whimpered. They were outnumbered.
