Bedlam

by Susanna Strom

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  “We’ll report back as soon as we know anything,” Sunny assured Ed, touching his shoulder again.

  We hopped back into the van, and Sunny navigated toward Meridian.

  “Mr. Armed and Dangerous, huh?” I said as we pulled onto the freeway.

  She glanced sideways at me, her beautiful golden-brown eyes sparkling. She pointed to the Glock. “It does feel weird to see you carrying a gun.”

  “Took me a while to get used to it,” I confessed. “But now it would feel weird to go around unarmed.”

  We drove in silence for a few minutes, the only car moving on the freeway. In the early days of the pandemic, a lot of people had fled the cities. Sometimes they ran out of gas. Sometimes they pulled over when the flu symptoms struck, and they died in their vehicles. The freeway shoulder was littered with abandoned cars. I scanned the freeway’s edge, keeping my eye out for Sara or Gavin standing next to a broken-down car. No sign of them.

  When Sunny took the exit for Meridian, I leaned forward, studying our quiet surroundings. Once upon a time, the absolute stillness, the absence of people going about their business, would have felt unnatural and eerie. Now it was par for the course. We pulled into the same parking lot we’d used yesterday and drove slowly toward the picnic grounds.

  “That’s Gavin’s car,” Sunny said, pointing at a green sedan parked in front of the public bathroom. She pulled Daisy up next to the vehicle.

  “No sign of our people.” I frowned, craning my neck to examine the picnic area and the barbecue grills beyond.

  “They’ve got to be here.” Sunny unfastened her seat belt and opened the driver’s door.

  What would Ripper do? He’d proceed with caution.

  “Hold on.” I grasped her wrist. “Where do the meet-ups take place?”

  She angled her head. “Over there, by the picnic tables in that grove of trees.”

  “I figure you’ll refuse to stay in the van, so we’ll go together, but I want you to keep behind me.”

  “Okay.” Sunny’s brow wrinkled, but she didn’t argue. She slipped out of the driver’s seat and met me in front of the van. We kicked through overgrown grass as we walked toward the grove of trees. Before the pandemic, the shady spot must have been prime picnicking real estate on hot summer days. Now, it appeared as empty as the rest of the park. Still, we approached with caution. My hand automatically moved toward my Glock, and I kept two paces ahead of Sunny.

  That tingly sense that something was wrong—a warning from what Ripper called the back brain—grew as we tromped through the grass. I pulled my gun from the holster and rounded a pair of cedar trees.

  Gavin lay flat on his back on the ground, his arms akimbo. Blood soaked his white T-shirt and pooled at his sides. His mouth hung oven, ruby droplets spattered his beard and cheeks, and his sightless eyes were fixed vacantly on the sky. My heart thumped, and my breath constricted. For a few critical seconds, I froze as ghosts clambered up from the depths of my memory.

  Get a fucking grip.

  I gritted my teeth and raised the Glock. Stalking forward, I swept the area, past picnic tables, a couple of barbecue grills and a rusty garbage can. No sign of life. No sign of Sara or Rocco. I turned back to the body.

  Sunny dropped to her knees beside Gavin and pressed her fingertips on the side of his neck. Shaking her head, she leaned over and placed her ear close to his lips. She lifted dazed eyes to mine. “I don’t feel a pulse or hear a breath. I think… I think he’s dead.”

  No shit.

  Shoving my gun into the holster, I rushed to her side. She stared at her red-stained fingers, then frantically wiped the bloody residue on the grass.

  I sank down onto my haunches next to Sunny. “We need to get out of here. The Nampa Boys might still be around.”

  “Why would they do this?” Her voice broke. “Why?”

  “We can’t worry about that now.” I stood and tugged Sunny to her feet. “We need to clear out in case they come back.”

  “We can’t… we’re not going to leave Gavin here.” Hysteria touched her voice.

  “No, we’re not going to leave Gavin here.” What was it Sahdev always said? The living take precedence over the dead. “We’ll make sure that somebody picks up his body, but right now we need to clear out.”

  She stared at me, her expression blank. “But…”

  “Sunny.” I cupped her face. She fixed tremulous, shock-filled eyes on me. “This was a declaration of war. Gavin is dead. Sara and Rocco are missing. We have to get back to the Haven and warn the others.”

  Confusion cleared from her delicate features, and she shook her head, as if forcing herself to wake from a dream. “You’re right. We have to get back to the others.”

  “Can you drive?’ I asked. Shock had bleached all the color from Sunny’s face, and her hands trembled.

  She hesitated, then squared her shoulders as resolve filled her expression. “I’ll drive. You keep your eyes out for the Nampa Boys.”

  “Yeah. Good.”

  I led the way as we jogged back to the van. We hopped in and sped toward the freeway. The trip back to downtown Boise crawled by, even though Sunny floored the gas pedal and raced around everything in her path. The tires bounced over the curb as we careened onto the drive up to the emergency room.

  Sunny slammed on the brakes, bringing Daisy to a skittering stop. “Oh, shit,” she whispered.

  Glass from the wall of windows sparkled on the sidewalks, as if somebody had sprayed the place with an automatic rifle. Margie lay on the cement with her cheek pressed against the shattered glass. No need to worry that she’d cut herself. The woman was clearly dead.

  Sunny threw open the driver’s door and slipped from the high seat. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she was moving, running full tilt toward Margie’s body.

  “Sunny, no!” I bolted after her, scanning the area for any sign of the attackers. Sunny crouched next to Margie, then recoiled. I grabbed Sunny’s arm and hauled her to her feet.

  “Ed.” She turned her head to look inside the building, then tugged on my restraining hand.

  “After me,” I said. Gun drawn, I tucked Sunny behind me and stalked toward the reception desk. Ed lay on his side behind the desk, his head and chest a bloody pulp.

  Sunny gaped, her eyes wide in a bloodless face. Nothing would obliterate the image of a friend’s body—I knew that from experience—but staring at it would only burn the grisly details into her memory. I pulled her into my arms and pressed her face into my chest. Shuddering, she wrapped her arms around my waist. After a few seconds, she yanked her arms back.

  “The others,” Sunny gasped, stumbling toward the sorting room. “Maybe they had time to hide.”

  Two bodies lay crumpled on the floor between tables that just yesterday had been piled high with clothing and canned food and medicines. No more. All the surfaces were bare. I bent over and checked the bodies for pulses. Meeting Sunny’s eyes, I shook my head.

  “The rest of the supplies,” I said through stiff lips. What was the chance that the assailants had left behind anything of value? Practically nil, but we had to know for sure. I took Sunny’s hand and strode up the hall, glancing in each room as we passed. The well-organized medicine room was stripped clean, all the shelves bare. Same with the food pantry. The clothes closet. And all the other rooms.

  “Ed’s ledger,” Sunny cried, running back toward the reception desk. “All of the survivors’ addresses are in the ledger.” We pawed frantically through the drawers—maybe Ed had had time to hide it—and swept aside papers on the desk. I knocked over a mug of coffee. The liquid was still warm. Jesus. We’d barely avoided a bloodbath. “Crap. They took it.”

  The fuckers who killed everybody here knew where the survivors lived? The time for debate was over. “Listen to me. Boise isn’t safe anymore. We’re heading back to Valhalla. We’ll get my truck, pick up Ever and Mrs. B., and head out of town.”

  “Sara and Roc
co?”

  “God knows what happened to them, but we have to get real. Even if they’re still alive, the two of us won’t be able to save them. We can save Ever and Mrs. B.”

  “I don’t understand… why would the Nampa Boys do this?” Sunny wrapped her arms around her waist and rocked. She stilled. “Wait. There are teams of scavengers out in the city.” Sunny glanced around the desk and at the floor. “Ed’s radio is missing, too. We have no way to warn them.”

  “Sunny.” I gripped her arms. “When they report back in, they’ll see what happened. They’ll decide what to do. Most of them will probably take off, too. It’s out of our hands. We can only do what we can do. But we have to get moving.”

  Tears filled her eyes, but she nodded jerkily. “Okay.” She leaned into me, and I pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  “Come on.” I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the emergency room entrance. Broken glass crunched underfoot. Sunny turned her face away from Margie’s body as we marched toward the van. “I’m driving. Throw me the keys,” I said.

  Sunny reached into her pocket, then she froze, her gaze fixed on something over my shoulder. I whirled around.

  A young man wearing a blue baseball cap stomped toward us, his face contorted with rage. A Nampa Boy. His lips moved, although he was too far away to make out the words. His arms hung at his side, but he held a gun in his right hand. I grabbed Sunny’s shoulder and shoved her to the ground, then quickly drew my Glock and settled my stance, ready to shoot.

  “That’s Robbie, the Nampa Boys’ number two,” Sunny said, lifting her head.

  “Stay down,” I barked. I kept my eyes on his advancing figure. If he pointed his gun at us, I’d fire.

  Robbie threw his arms in the air, gesticulating wildly, and I tensed. Was the man planning to shoot or not? He took another step. A sharp retort cracked the air and Robbie pitched sideways, blood spurting from his head.

  NINE

  Sunny

  Kyle threw himself on top of me, another fantasy come to life in the most perverse and ungratifying way. Air exploded from my lungs, and my chin smacked onto the concrete. Ignoring the pain, I twisted my head and peered out from under his arm.

  A black SUV peeled around the corner and squealed to a stop next to Robbie. Gold letters were inscribed on the door, but I couldn’t make out the words. Two men wearing jeans and gray T-shirts jumped out. They carried guns. They had to be the men who shot the Nampa Boy. The taller of the two bent over and checked Robbie’s body while the shorter man turned to Kyle and me.

  A second identical SUV pulled up next to the first. No one climbed out, and I couldn’t see inside through the tinted glass.

  The gray T-shirts sparked a memory. Last week a pair of scavengers—Lily and Frank—reported that they’d run out of gas on the south side of town, out by the airport. Two men wearing gray T-shirts had stopped to help. They’d poured a gallon of gas into their tank and told the pair to be careful on the road. Were those good Samaritans these same men?

  “You two okay?” the man called.

  I was anything but okay. Scared. Overwhelmed. Bewildered. Queasy from the sight and smell of blood. Okay figured nowhere in the equation.

  “Stay down,” Kyle said in a low voice. He rolled to his feet, gun in hand. He didn’t brandish the weapon; instead he lowered his chin and squared his stance in a way that showed that he meant business. Kyle had always been self-confident and assertive, but this was the first time I’d seen him look dangerous. My old friend had turned into a badass.

  Who are you and what have you done with Kyle?

  The taller man stood up straight and looked our way. A whoop erupted from his lips. “Kyle? Kyle Chamberlain? And is that Sunny?”

  “Brody?” Kyle tucked his gun into its holster and pulled me to my feet.

  “It’s good to see you, man.” Brody bounded toward us, a gleeful smile on his face. Thirty seconds ago, he was checking out the bloody corpse of a man he’d probably shot. Now he was zeroing in on us like we were long-lost friends he spied from across the room at a kegger.

  Without thought, I grabbed Kyle’s left hand, entwining my fingers with his. Kyle glanced sideways at me, a small dent between his brows. He untangled our fingers and slung his arm around my waist, drawing me to his side.

  “Good thing we came along when we did,” Brody said, pumping Kyle’s hand. “That Nampa Boy fucker meant to take you down.” His gaze shifted to the demolished entrance to the Haven. “Whoa.” He rocked back on his heels. “A scout reported the sound of gunfire, and we came to check it out. What the hell happened here?”

  “We weren’t here when it went down,” Kyle said. “But it looks like the Nampa Boys coordinated an attack on both the Haven headquarters and their top brass. The head of the Haven, Dr. Russo, is missing. So is Rocco, their nurse. Everybody inside the headquarters is dead.”

  “The bastards. We’d heard that the Nampa Boys were looking to expand into Boise, but who would have thought they’d do something like this? We’re living in dangerous days, my friend.” Brody shook his head, then his gaze shifted to me. “Hey, Sunny. Glad to see that you survived the great flupocalypse.”

  “Hi, Brody.” I inclined my head, acknowledging his greeting, and my gaze fell on his white sneakers. My stomach lurched. He must have stepped in Robbie’s blood. A wavy, bright red line crept up the sides of his otherwise pristine shoes. I looked behind him. Bloody shoe prints marked the concrete, the kind of incriminating forensic evidence that would close the case for any TV detective.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Margie’s body. A trembling took hold in the pit of my stomach, and my knees wobbled. Without a word, Kyle pulled me in front of him, so my back pressed against his chest. He wrapped both arms around my waist and rested his chin on the top of my head, a gesture both comforting and possessive. I knew better than to read too much into it. He was holding me up so I wouldn’t fall, and he’d probably picked up on the fact that I didn’t much like Brody.

  A pair of men wearing gray T-shirts climbed out of the second SUV. Brody looked over at them and raised his palm. They obediently stayed in place. One of them pulled out a two-way radio.

  Why were these guys taking orders from Brody Allsop?

  “So how come I haven’t seen you around before today?” Brody asked Kyle.

  Kyle shrugged. “I was going to school in Portland when the flu hit. After a while, I came back home, and Sunny and I found each other.”

  Brody waggled his eyebrows. “And you two hooked up?”

  “We’re in love,” I blurted out. Behind my back, Kyle jerked. Great. Way to put my old friend on the spot. It was just… crap… Brody was a notorious flirt, and Sara had told me that men outnumbered women after the flu. I’d rather Brody saw me as partnered up with Kyle. Wasn’t there some sort of Bro Code that made poaching a buddy’s woman off limits?

  “Something like that,” Kyle said slowly. I stifled a relieved sigh, grateful that he didn’t set Brody straight.

  Brody’s gaze raked my body. “Can’t say I blame you, brother.”

  Kyle’s grip tightened on my waist. “You aren’t hitting on my girl, are you, brother?”

  “Nah.” Brody slapped him on a shoulder. “Just messing with you. Sunny and I are old friends.”

  Old friends. Sure. The last time I saw Brody was at a party a few months before the pandemic shut down the world. He was sprawled in a chair, holding court, when I walked by. He’d held out a red plastic cup to me and winked. “Get me another beer, will you, babe?” I’d backed away from him, giving him the finger with both hands.

  Brody wasn’t a bad guy—exactly—he was more your run-of-the-mill douche. He wore entitlement like a crown, not surprising since his father was the self-styled “king of the leveraged buyout.” I once heard Dad refer to Elliot Allsop as a corporate vulture. Our families might have belonged to the same country club, but they didn’t socialize beyond polite greetings at club functions.

  “What have you be
en up to?” Kyle asked. “What’s with the matching SUVs and T-shirts?”

  Brody laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Dad and I have been putting together a security force—”

  “Hold up,” Kyle interrupted. “Did you say, ‘Dad and I’? Your dad’s alive, too?”

  My mouth fell open. In all my months working for the Haven, I’d never come across two survivors from one family. The flu was a mass murderer, cutting down nearly everybody in its path. If you survived its rampage, you found yourself alone in the world. I’d thought that reconnecting with Kyle was a miracle, but this—a father and son both alive—this was beyond astonishing.

  “Yeah, Dad’s alive. He never got sick, so we think he’s immune. I got the flu. It was touch and go for a while, but I pulled through.”

  “Me, too,” Kyle said. “I got it and recovered. Not many people do. We’re lucky.”

  I glanced at Kyle. I had no idea that he’d had the flu. According to Sara, only a tiny percentage of people survived it. Sweet Jesus. I’d come close to losing him, too.

  Brody grinned. “You can’t keep good men down.” He raised his hand. Kyle released my waist and fist bumped Brody, then settled his arm around me once again.

  “Seriously, man. What have you been doing since the pandemic hit?” Kyle asked.

  “You know we have a vacation place in Ketchum, on the Big Wood River, don’t you? Big estate with two guest houses, a tall stone fence, and a locking gate?”

  “Yeah,” Kyle said. “Remember in high school, a group of us stayed there when we went skiing in Sun Valley.”

  I’d never visited the Allsops’ Ketchum place, but I’d heard of it. A 10,000 square-foot vacation house. Nothing ostentatious about that.

  “That’s right. Anyway, as soon as word got out about the pandemic, we packed up a shit ton of supplies and caravanned to Ketchum. Dad brought his security team from the company, set them up in the guest houses. We were sitting pretty for a while, snug as a bug in a rug, like Grandpa used to say. We’d brought everything we needed, and we caught fresh trout from the river every day.” He paused, smiling at the memory.