“I’m so glad you’re safe. You’re the second group we’ve seen jump out like that.”
“Suzie Q isn’t safe! We have to find her!” the girl shouted through her cinched hood.
“We will, dear,” the mom replied.
The man stepped closer to the gaping hole where the back door of the Suburban used to be. Grace looked back, noting how the rear seat was soaked and stained with blowing snow that had come inside. “Do you mind if we hitch a ride?” The way he spoke with reluctance suggested the guy saw the mess, too.
She knew what he was thinking; would it be safer to keep walking or to get inside the banged-up truck? “Please go back to one of the other vehicles. They’ll have windows, heat, and a working door. My partner and I are barely staying warm in the front seat.”
“You two are rangers. We’d like to stay with the authorities.”
Grace smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ve come through some tight spots on this drive. We’re all in this together. You’ll be fine. I’ll wait here until I see you get inside one of the cars back there.”
That was all the encouragement it took; the mother nudged her daughter to get moving, and they all went back a car or two. The headlights cast them as silhouettes, but one of them waved as they got inside a following vehicle. It made her proud to be leading such caring people, but she wished she could have saved everyone who started out with her. She’d lost some over multiple cliff sides. She’d lost the two folks walking the road… Were more up ahead? Was she still going too slow?
As she fought against the chill of her fingers on the steering wheel, she happened to look out the front window. A pair of headlights appeared in the darkness ahead, but only for about two seconds. It was hard to make out distance, but there was one fact she couldn’t miss.
They were falling.
Land Between the Lakes, KY
Ezra’s insides turned to mush as the truck driver aimed down at him with a huge, chromed-out 1911 semi-automatic hand cannon. His arms shot up in surrender. “Hey, now, I’m not with those two.”
The driver carefully climbed down the side of his cab, waving him to step back. “I saw you ride in with those others; they went off to get those two bad men. You came right for me. I was your target, wasn’t I?”
“No—”
“It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. Your buddy has a rifle, too. You give that one to me; your friend can keep his. You ride out, alive, and never come back. I want no one to get hurt.”
It was a costly mistake to assume every interaction was good guys versus bad. The tip-off was the first roadblock where they thought he was the bad guy. Now, he’d mistaken a trucker for a good guy; the more he thought about it, the two kids could have been working with the long-hauler. Any way he sliced it, he’d let his guard down and was about to pay for it. Losing the AR would be a huge detriment.
“Slowly take off,” the Eastern European truck driver demanded.
“Just take it easy. I’m doing it.” He struggled to maintain some semblance of manly dignity, finding it hard to do with a gun pointed at his face. The saturation of adrenaline in his system made his hand and arm shake as he unslung his weapon. “See? It’s coming off.”
A large shape arrived in his peripheral vision. Butch appeared exactly where the two kids had been standing. Instead of a crowbar, he aimed a more serious piece of metal toward the trucker. “Drop that pistol or I’ll take your head clean off!”
The trucker’s eyes remained on Ezra, and their fatalistic gaze suggested he was going to go out shooting. Ezra experienced a few pucker-filled seconds praying the gun wouldn’t go off between his eyes.
“I said drop it!” Butch yelled, sounding like he’d kicked down a terrorist’s door in Afghanistan.
The guy raised his hands before gently setting the pistol on the truck’s fender.
Ezra walked over and snatched it. “Thanks, Butch. I owe you one. This guy was about to rob me.”
“It’s not like that,” the driver pleaded, refusing to sound sorry. “You ambush me with those two kids, no?”
Butch cracked up. “What kids? We don’t know jack for people here. We came from up there.” He pointed to the stripped woods in the north.
“You not bad?” the man asked, finally seeming confused and unsure of himself.
He really thought we were the bad guys.
Ezra’s calculations of good and bad switched again, like a compass searching for the magnetic north pole. It seemed laughable the trucker made the mistake, but he tried to put himself in the other man’s shoes. One man comes up on a motorbike and begins asking inane questions about the bridge, then a second party approaches asking for supplies. Ezra took a second to realize he hadn’t freaked out when the guys with crowbars talked with the driver. He was already callous to the perils of the road. That indifference could have been mistaken as willing participation.
“I’ve got this,” he said to Butch, waving him off. “This place has nothing for us. We’ve got to head back. Go get the others and meet up there.” He pointed over his shoulder to the cliff above the highway.
“You sure?” Butch replied, glaring at the trucker. “You sure you don’t need me to go Army-strong on him?”
“Positive.” He kept his rifle pointed at the feet of the driver, who’d gone back to sitting on his side-step.
Ezra kept alert until the sound of the other three bikes was heading into the woods. “I wasn’t with those crowbar guys, but I don’t blame you for doubting me. Everyone pretends to be someone they’re not when the poop splatters into the fan, trust me.”
The hairy-faced man glanced up. “Who you pretend to be?”
Ezra laughed. In one smooth motion he flung the rifle back on his shoulder, keeping the handgun trained on the driver. “A hero,” he deadpanned. “But I’m definitely a lame one. I couldn’t even save my wife.”
He kickstarted the dirt bike and let it idle for a few seconds, then he checked the pistol to make sure the thumb safety was on. He was tempted to keep it; clearly, he needed a weapon besides a rifle he could whip out in emergency situations. His conscience warned him if he kept it for himself, he’d be equally as guilty as the two thugs looking for easy marks. By disarming the man, those bad guys could swoop back in and take everything. Knowing there was no perfect answer, he bent over and slid the gun underneath the tractor-trailer cab.
After revving the engine and putting about twenty-five feet between himself and the other man, he stopped and glanced back. “I really wasn’t with those kids. They might come back with more than two crowbars. I hope you make it home.”
The driver stood up and reluctantly waved. Ezra hoped it meant the guy had learned a little, but he didn’t intend to stick around. He put it in gear and roared along the line of cars, leaving him far behind.
Ezra exhaled with relief that he’d been there with an ally. If the truck driver had wanted to, he could have taken the rifle and the bike, and there wouldn’t have been anything he could do to stop him. Instead of making good time on a motorcycle, he’d have been on foot, unarmed. He wouldn’t make it very far like that.
He caught up to Butch and the ladies when they were back on top of the escarpment, looking down on the destroyed bridge. He’d had good and bad luck all day when it came to meeting new people.
And terrible luck last night, with Susan.
The thought struck him like a hot branding iron to his heart, compounded by the emotions of fear, anger, and relief at living through the holdup situation. Losing Susan was the worst luck of his life. All he could think about was connecting with Grace, which made him experience guilt like never before. He’d left that stupid message on her phone. The next time they spoke was going to be hell…
The drizzle from the nearby storm clouds started back up as soon as they got into the woods, making everything feel gloomy and desolate. He rode back toward the Jeepers’ camp with the others, glad the motorcycle helmet concealed his watery eyes.
Chapter 16
Beartooth Pass, WY
The headlights fell through the darkness and disappeared in the gloom like fireflies on a warm summer night. She tried to figure out if what she saw was real, and she looked out the windshield for a half a minute, but they didn’t return.
“Hey, you okay?” Asher prodded.
She got the truck in gear and started down the two-lane road hugging the side of the mountain. Alpine roads usually went down steep terrain in Z patterns, and they were on the straight segment at the top of the Z heading for the next switchback.
“Yeah, sure,” she replied with a shiver. “This is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done. People are running off the cliffs, bashing through barriers, and sliding all over the place. Lightning is bouncing all around us. I think I just saw a car fall from one of the higher switchbacks. That means there are still cars trying to catch up to us.”
“Wow. People must really be desperate to try to cross over the pass when it’s like this.”
She sat there in silence for a few moments, wondering if he saw anything ironic about his statement. Finally, she had to reply with a stressed chuckle. “Are you serious? What about us? We’re pretty desperate.”
He nodded. “Yeah, but we were already on the mountain when the snow got really bad. Anyone coming up after us must have seen how much snow is up here. They would have been smarter to turn around and try to leave the park some other way. Even walking out would be safer.”
Grace cracked up. “You mean like how you walked into the park through a forest fire? That kind of safe?”
He laughed, too. “I didn’t say I, personally, could walk out, but the rest of them probably could. Aren’t park visitors mostly ready for long walks? Wouldn’t they be in good shape when they come to Yellowstone?”
“Oh, man, you have a lot to learn about being a park ranger. I see people out on remote trails in near-freezing temps with T-shirts, flip-flops, and not a drop of water with them. Then they seem surprised when I tell them to go back to the trailhead immediately.” She didn’t want to point a finger at him, but it was hard to dance around it; he was one of those unprepared people. “Some visitors come here without a clue what it means to be away from civilization.”
The shared good-natured laughter warmed her spirit until she came to the next right-hand switchback. A wrecked car burned on the outside shoulder of the road, close to the guard rail. She stopped the truck, feeling like a tour guide on a grisly tour of mountainous death traps. “I have to check this out.”
“I’m with you,” Asher replied, pushing his squeaky door open. Wind rushed through the front seating area; the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline came with it. “Though I already don’t like the looks of this.”
They met in the Suburban’s headlights, but she had to wait for a rumble of thunder to die down before she replied. “I don’t, either, but I have to know if this is one of ours.”
Her first impression of the wreck was that the car was struck by a tractor-trailer. She’d seen a similar crash not long ago. One of her grisly duties of the summer had been directing traffic around a highway accident—a big truck slammed into a parked car. Fortunately, the owners were outside taking pictures of a bison herd. Their vehicle was crushed into a small block of steel.
“This thing fell from up there.” She couldn’t help but look up, though it was impossible to see even a hint of light from the sky, the sun, or anything else.
“It wasn’t one of ours,” Asher reassured her.
She turned her attention back to the vehicle. “How can you tell?”
“No ropes on the tires.”
“Duh,” she said dryly. “I’m not thinking as clearly as I should.”
“Neither of us got much sleep,” he agreed.
Grace walked through the thick snow until she was at the edge of the road, looking into the valley. There were several small fires burning a hundred feet below; cars and trucks that had fallen the same way as the one on the pavement. The black snow made them seem a thousand miles away, but a lone surviving headlight beamed on a second wreck, giving away the disaster.
“Oh, crap,” she said with a start. “We have to get moving!”
She shuffled through the snow, back toward the truck. Some of the following drivers had gotten out and were walking her way, as if to survey the wreck, too.
“Go back to your cars!” she shouted.
“What did you see?” Asher replied, acting as if he was trying to decide to look over the edge or go back to the truck as ordered.
The people were properly worried; they all spun around and returned to their vehicles. By the time she and Asher were inside theirs, he seemed desperate for her to explain the rush.
“This is where we would have struck if we’d gone over the cliff higher up on the mountain.” She put the truck in gear once more and rolled around the sharp turn as fast as she dared. When safely away from the car fire, and on the next stretch of the Z-shaped road, she looked to make sure everyone was on the move. Also, she had to be sure no more cars fell from the darkened sky.
Ahead, the snow seemed deeper than it was even before the last turn. She figured it was up to the bottom of her bumper; small piles of it fell to each side as the truck pushed through. The following cars would likely have to drive in her ruts, which led her to make another twisted connection.
If I drive off the next curve, the whole convoy will probably follow me.
Land Between the Lakes, KY
Ezra sped up when he recognized they were almost back to Colby and the Jeepers. He got alongside the two ladies at the front and waved them over. “I want to check something out!” he shouted over the engine noise.
They followed him as he returned to the small bay with the capsized towboat. In the two hours or so it took them to pick through the fallen trees and muddy trail on the journey from the ruined bridge, he’d been thinking about what to do next. He and Butch had been trusted to get the women to their home and there was now only one bridge available. He’d considered riding the bikes over the bridge and turning north, toward his subdivision, but that would be far out of the way for the women, who were going south. The dirt bikes’ range was limited, too, so he worried if it would be possible to find more gas if they went north. His workaround plan was built on what he remembered seeing on the towboat.
Ezra pointed out into the bay. “Yep, I was right. This barge tug has a johnboat attached to it.”
Butch straddled his bike next to Ezra, towering over the machine. “Yeah, what’s your point E-Z? Going to do some fishing? I like your thinking, don’t get me wrong. I’d love to catch dinner today.”
“No. We need a working boat to cross the lake.”
Butch got in closer so the women wouldn’t hear. “Are we ditching the ladies? ’Cause I don’t think I could do that.”
He chuckled, glad to hear those words. “No, quite the opposite, in fact. I’ll explain when we get back to Colby and the others.” He turned to Mary. “We’re ready. I’m going to get you guys home, I promise.”
The women had been a lot less chatty on the way back from the bridge than they’d been on the ride out. Mary’s face brightened inside her helmet after he’d said those words.
When they returned to the Jeepers’ camp, Colby and the other men were understandably confused to see them, but he jumped off his bike and got right to the debriefing. “The bridge was out. It’s just like what we saw at the Kentucky Lake dam; all that junk floating out in the lake is piling up in front of anything blocking the flow of water. Some big barges struck the bridge and weakened it to the point it fell.”
Colby shook his head in sadness. “What do we do now? Walk home?”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think,” Ezra replied, doing his best to sound upbeat. “If you’re willing to trust Butch and me a bit more, I’ve found a boat we can use to cross the lake and get behind the men blocking the road. When the women come across the Egger’s Ferry Bridge and run into the roadblock, Butch and I will be the
re to make sure they get through.”
“It sounds dangerous,” Colby complained.
Ezra scratched his neck; some flecks of mud had dried there and itched like crazy. “I’ve been thinking about that, too. Those men at the roadblock are controlling a major north-south artery in the region. Now, I’m all supportive of the right of homeowners to block off their subdivision for protection, but it isn’t right how they’ve effectively made themselves into the state police. Besides, I have no interest in hurting anyone. All I want to do is make them see the error of their ways.”
He looked down at his shirt and pants, dismayed at how much mud the dirt bikes had plastered all over his body. The ladies could at least unzip out of their riding jumpsuits; he’d have to hop in the lake to clean the mud away.
Colby turned to his friend Scott. “What do you think?”
Scott gestured to the ladies. “It’s up to them. I don’t mind hoofing it out of here, but I would prefer they get home before us. If those men are really blocking a public highway, then I think they’re in the wrong. We’d be doing Western Kentucky a favor by brushing them off the plate.”
Mary and Jean shared a confused look, before Jean spoke. “Brush them off the plate? Is that a food joke?”
Scott laughed. “No, you dingbat, it’s a baseball term. How many years have we been watching my Cubbies? And you’ve never heard of it?”
She smiled sheepishly.
He went on. “As a pitcher you throw a baseball directly at a batter. Not to hurt them, but to get them to back away from home plate.”
Jean nodded as if she understood.
Mary spoke to Ezra. “So, we’d meet at the roadblock, you guys would brush them off, then you’d get on our bikes. We’d all go back to Murray as planned?”
Ezra tried to sound reassuring. “As long as the johnboat is operational, and it has enough gas to go two miles across the lake, there should be no problems. I’ve seen the roadblock; there’s a few men with guns. We’ll get behind them and disarm the guys without firing a shot.” He glanced over to Butch, hoping for confirmation about how easy it would be. Meanwhile, Butch seemed uncharacteristically non-committal. Almost like he knew it wouldn’t be so easy.
Bounce: Impact Book 2: (A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Series) Page 13
