Maelstrom

by Susanna Strom

  “We don’t wanna risk alerting the bomber to our presence, so we’ll hunker down here for the night,” I told Kyle and Sahdev. “No fire. Keep our voices low.”

  “You don’t think he’s figured out that somebody’s on to him?” Kyle asked. “After all, Vince fell into his pit.”

  “Yeah, he’s gonna be on guard, but he won’t know for sure if anybody’s still around or how many of us are here.”

  We sat on the ground in a circle, talking quietly while we dug in our packs for food. Jerry had packed candy bars, peanuts, and cans of cola for our dinner. I sighed. I’d lived off junk food for a solid week when that asshole deputy locked me up in the Jackson County jail. Had sworn that I’d never eat another candy bar, yet here I was, chowing down on chocolate.

  The sun set, and the air grew cold. We couldn’t risk a fire, and our jackets weren’t enough to keep the chill at bay. I unrolled a sleeping bag and dropped it on Kyle’s lap then spread a foam pad and my sleeping bag on the ground. I walked a short distance away to take a piss. By the time I returned, Sahdev had set up his bedroll.

  “I’ll take first watch,” Kyle said, retreating a dozen feet away and wrapping the sleeping bag around his shoulders.

  It was early, but I’d learned to grab a few hours of sleep when I had the chance, no matter the time of day. Some inner sense woke me when it was time to take my turn at watch. Sahdev woke up a couple of hours before dawn and insisted on spelling me. I woke as the sky began to lighten, ate a bag of peanuts, then tapped Kyle awake to let him know that I intended to scout ahead alone.

  “I’ve been trained to recognize booby traps,” I said, when he and Sahdev protested. “Be back for you as soon as I’ve determined the best route to the cabin.”

  Jerry had said we were a quarter mile from the cabin, close enough to see smoke rising from the chimney if the potential bomber had a fire going in the fireplace. There was no sign of smoke. Either the man was gone from the cabin or he’d decided to avoid letting smoke give his presence away.

  I proceeded slowly up the trail, scanning for tripwires. Hadn’t gone far before I spied a dark-colored fishing line stretched across the trail a few inches above the ground. One end was attached to a round eyelet screwed into a tree trunk; the other to one of those magnetic window alarms homeowners could buy at most hardware stores. Trip the wire—break the connection—and an ear-shattering alarm would go off, warning of your approach.

  I stepped over the tripwire and continued up the path. Three more similar alarms bisected the trail. Hard to believe Jerry and Vince managed to avoid them. The trail split into two, with one narrow path heading toward the cabin—whose roof I could just spy through the trees—and one veering west.

  I advanced with caution toward the cabin. Came to a dead stop a foot from another tripwire. I let out a slow breath. The man meant business. Instead of merely activating an alarm, this one would set in motion a deadly series of events. I crouched down to examine a feather spear trap. Trip the wire and you let loose a spring stick with sharp spear tips attached to the end. Great way to kill wild boar, or anybody trying to encroach on your land. Shit.

  An intruder might decide to abandon the path and advance through the woods. I carefully walked through a break in the trees, an area where the ever-present ferns had been smashed underfoot, and found myself face-to-face with another booby trapped tripwire. A log swing embedded with spikes awaited an unwary trespasser.

  Miles would have loved to pick this guy’s brain.

  Worked my way around the cabin, discovering a perimeter shield of similar traps. Triplines laced the ground, connected to more magnetic window alarms, sound grenades, two more feather spear traps, and a snare that would drop a heavy rock on a man’s head. I found two more Punji stake pits and several small arms cartridge traps, set off by foot pressure, another favorite of the Viet Cong. It’s a wonder Jerry and Vince blundered their way out of here without triggering more concealed traps.

  I hunkered down and examined the cabin’s wide porch and only door. Couldn’t tell if anyone was inside, watching and waiting, but that spot between my shoulders tingled, a familiar warning sign from the primitive part of my brain. Carefully retraced my path back to our encampment.

  “Place is lousy with traps,” I said. “You gotta watch every step.”

  Didn’t want to risk Hector detonating any booby traps, so I put him on a leash and clipped it to a sturdy sapling. I led Kyle and Sahdev to the vantage point overlooking the cabin’s entrance. We held position for an hour, waiting for any sign of movement. Nothing. Decided to approach the cabin and get a look inside. Jerry said the hunters saw bomb-making materials when they looked through the window. If the two of them could navigate the porch safely, we could do the same. Still, I’d check first for nail spikes and more cartridge traps. No way I’d touch the cabin door. Wouldn’t put it past the man to protect it with a chemical bucket drop—or if he was a truly evil fucker—a shotgun booby trap.

  After clearing our route, I signaled Kyle and Sahdev to join me on the porch. We peered in through the window and studied the items scattered across the kitchen table. Spools of wire and wire cutters. Piles of sound grenades and magnetic window alarms. Nails and spikes. An ax. A knife. Nylon cord. Everything a man might need to build booby traps, but nothing that hinted at bombmaking on the scale of the ones that brought down The Dalles Dam.

  Huh.

  Kyle took a step backwards, then froze. A loud clicking sound broke the silence.

  What the fuck was that?

  TEN

  Kenzie

  Consciousness returned in increments, as if my stingy brain doled out awareness grudgingly, one sensation at a time. Sound came first, soft footsteps and the clatter of something scraping over the floor, maybe a chair or table being dragged from one place to another. A heavy blanket pinned me in place, and the sheets I lay on were nasty, as if coated with dried sweat. Crap. I felt nasty, all my cracks and crevices damp and pungent. My scalp itched from hair too-long unwashed, and my mouth tasted foul. I wrinkled my nose. Gross. Struggling against inertia, I opened my eyes, then squinted at the sunlight that flooded the room. Pain stabbed through my head, and I groaned.

  “Holy shit! You’re awake!”

  I winced and blinked against both the brightness and the loud, excited voice. Somebody leaned over my bed, and I shrank back in my pillow as a face slowly swam into focus. A teenage girl with bright eyes beneath thick, black bangs smiled down at me.

  “You’ve been out of it for days,” she declared. “Ever since that hot biker and his friends brought you here.”

  The last thing I remembered was climbing on the back of Ripper’s bike when we left the bed and breakfast. That was days ago?

  “Where am I? What day is it? And where’s Ripper?” I whispered, my voice cracking.

  “It’s Monday afternoon. You’re in a cabin on Lost Dog Lake. Pastor Bill sent your friends on a job, but don’t worry. They should be back tomorrow.”

  Lost Dog Lake? Pastor Bill? My head was swimming, nothing made sense, and the pain that pierced my skull made me want to puke.

  “I’m Hannah,” she continued. “Hannah Lee.” She made a face. “I know. My name kind of sounds like that city in Hawaii, or a line from that song about the dragon, but really, that’s just a coincidence. It’s Hannah Lee, H-a-n-n-a-h space L-e-e.” She spoke so quickly that I had trouble following her, but she radiated an infectious goodwill.

  “I’m Kenzie Dunwitty,” I croaked.

  “I know! You sound awful, Kenzie. You want some water?”

  The question triggered a visceral response, my tongue and mouth suddenly parched. “Yes, please.”

  She held a glass of water to my lips, and I raised my head to drink. The room spun and I fell back, clutching my head and moaning.

  “Fuckity fuck fuck,” Hannah said. “Sorry about that. Let me get you a straw.”

  The door swung open, and Hannah stood up straight. All the eagerness and animation vanished
from her face. She folded her hands meekly and fixed her eyes on the floor.

  “Did I hear you speaking to Mackenzie?” A tall, pudgy man who looked to be in his fifties crossed the room to stand by my bed.

  “Yes, Pastor Bill. She just woke up.”

  Deep grooves appeared beside his nose, and his sparse blond brows drew together as he frowned his displeasure. “I instructed you to call for me immediately if she awoke. I expect my orders to be obeyed, child.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said, keeping her gaze locked on the floor.

  “I was thirsty,” I interrupted, my voice hoarse as I rushed to the defense of a girl I’d just met. The man really rubbed me the wrong way with his high-handed attitude and his stilted language. “I asked Hannah to give me some water.”

  He laid a hand on her shoulder and the girl shifted away from his touch. “Well, that’s all right then. I’ll forgive you for this infraction, but don’t let it happen again.” He tickled her under the chin—like a creepy uncle—and she was forced to raise her eyes to meet his. He smiled, his expression magnanimous. “Run along now. I’ll see you at evening prayer. Tell Nicole I’d like her to join me.”

  “Yes, sir,” she murmured before fleeing the room.

  Now that I thought about it, thirst consumed me, rivalled only by the pain thrumming throughout my entire body. With every beat of my heart, my headache intensified. I swore somebody had snuck up behind me and buried an ax in my skull, or put my head in a vise.

  I was only dimly aware of a dark-haired woman entering the room and beginning a hushed conversation with Pastor Bill, but I couldn’t hear their words over the pounding in my head.

  What was it Hannah had said? You’ve been out of it for days. I had no clue who these people were or where I was, only Hannah’s assurance that my “hot biker” and his friends were away and would return soon. My eyelids slipped to half-mast, and I peered at the strangers through the slits. Out of it for days. Weak. Dehydrated. Debilitated by pain. A niggling fear took root, then erupted full-blown in my heart.

  “Do I have the flu?” I rasped.

  The two strangers exchanged a long look, then the man—Pastor Bill—turned to me, smiling. “Now, Mackenzie—”

  “Do I?” I demanded, panic making my voice shrill.

  For months, while most of the world perished, I’d held my breath, waiting to see if I’d fall victim to the pandemic. But as the weeks passed, I’d come to believe that I’d dodged the bullet. Ripper and I were immune. Sahdev, too, and Kyle was one of the lucky few who came down with the flu, then recovered. I wasn’t alone in this scary, new world. I’d found Ripper, and I was laying claim to my happily ever after. We’d found our people—our tribe—and we were building a future together.

  Now this? I let my guard down, I dared to believe in tomorrow, and the damned flu swooped in and claimed me. A last thumb in the nose to my dreams, a final fuck you from fate.

  Pastor Bill patted my hand. “I’m so sorry, my dear, but yes, you do have the flu. We’ll do everything in our power to keep you comfortable and, of course, I will personally pray to the Almighty to spare you. You must never underestimate the power of a godly man’s prayers.”

  Hot tears filled my eyes. I didn’t want prayer; I wanted Ripper. I needed to see him, to touch him, to talk to him before the virus stole my life and maybe my sanity, the way it had with Miles.

  “Are you sure it’s the flu?” I asked, my chin wobbling.

  “We can’t be sure—” Nicole spoke up.

  “But you have all the symptoms,” Pastor Bill interrupted, throwing Nicole a warning look. Much as I disliked the man, I appreciated the honesty. False hope was cruel, and I’d rather deal with reality than indulge in optimistic fantasies. Sahdev had told me that he’d never seen a woman survive the flu. Goosebumps skittered across my shoulders. That meant that I was going to die. The very best I could hope for was to avoid the flu mania. I began to hyperventilate, then forced my breathing to slow down.

  “Could I have some water?”

  Nicole ran out of the room and returned with a straw and a glass of water. She slipped a hand under my head and lifted it just enough to ensure that I wouldn’t choke when I took a sip. The water soothed my dry throat and my mind cleared, allowing me to consider what to do next.

  “Hannah told me that you sent Ripper, Kyle, and Sahdev on a job,” I said, falling back against the pillow. “Please, can you send somebody to bring them back?”

  “They hiked into the woods to rescue an injured hunter, and now they’re searching for the criminal responsible for his injuries. I’m truly sorry, Mackenzie, but we wouldn’t know where to find your friends.”

  Desperation spiked through me. “You don’t understand. I have to see them. I can’t die without saying goodbye.”

  Nicole turned pleading eyes toward the pastor. “Please, sir—”

  “No.” He gestured, cutting her off. “You know as well as I do that Mackenzie’s companions are incommunicado. We simply can’t contact them, although perhaps...” A speculative expression crossed his face. He tilted his head toward me. “Would you like to write a letter to your friends? Telling them goodbye? Would that set your mind at ease?”

  A letter? Fate was taking everything away from me, wasn’t it, even a proper farewell with the man I loved. I pressed my palms against the sides of my head, massaging my throbbing temples. It was hard to think, to plan, to create order out of my jumbled thoughts.

  “My head is killing me. Do you have something I can take for the pain?”

  Nicole glanced at the pastor. He nodded to her. “Bring Mackenzie something for her headache.”

  Nicole scampered from the room and returned with two pills. She held the glass of water to my lips and helped me swallow the tablets.

  “I would like to write a letter to my friends,” I said once the medicine began to nibble at the edges of my headache.

  “Fetch paper and a pen,” Pastor Bill ordered Nicole.

  “If you feel too weak, I could write the letter, then you could sign your name to the bottom,” Nicole suggested when she returned to the room.

  Pastor Bill shot her an annoyed look. “That’s enough of your unsolicited suggestions, Nicole. If Mackenzie wants to write in her own hand, wants to give her letter a personal touch, we should encourage her.”

  “Yes, sir,” Nicole murmured, twisting her hands together and frowning.

  Pastor Bill was a supercilious asshole—I hated the way he talked down to Nicole and the way Hannah shrank in his presence—but he was correct that I wanted to write the letter myself. I didn’t want to say goodbye secondhand.

  “Nicole, could you help me sit up?”

  She grabbed a few pillows from a second bed in the room, carefully lifted me into a seated position, then tucked the pillows behind my back.

  “How are you doing?” she asked.

  “Give me a moment.” I closed my eyes. When I opened them a minute later, the room had stopped swimming. “Better.”

  She handed me a clipboard to use as a writing surface, a few sheets of paper, and a pen. Resting the clipboard against my knees, I considered what to write, how to say goodbye to Ripper. I hesitated for a long while, unsure of how to get started. Finally, I glanced at both Pastor Bill and Nicole, who stood by my bed.

  “Would you guys mind leaving me alone? It’s hard to put the words together with somebody standing right there.”

  “Of course. We’ll give you privacy to write,” Pastor Bill said. He inclined his head and made a skedaddle gesture toward Nicole with both hands. Jesus. Did he pat his knee when summoning her? I watched their retreating backs before turning my attention back to the paper.

  “Ripper,” I wrote across the top, then paused again. Why hadn’t I said I love you when I had the chance? Risked hearing him say that he didn’t return my feelings. That he liked me well enough. That he enjoyed hooking up with me. But love? Nah. Why had I kept my mouth shut? Was I afraid of his brutal honesty? I knew Rip
per would tell me the truth, even if it devastated me, so I’d played it safe and waited for him to say it first. A total wimp.

  You’re no wimp, Mac. I heard Ripper’s deep voice echo in my memory. He’d believed in me before I’d believed in myself. I wished I’d been bolder, acted in a way worthy of his confidence in me. Regret bit deep.

  My vision grew hazy and the room wavered. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the wall for a moment, then sucked in a breath and opened my eyes.

  Writing zapped every last bit of my strength, and my headache roared back with a vengeance. When I finished, I folded the letter neatly into three parts, wrote Ripper’s name on the outside, then placed the clipboard and letter on the small nightstand. I slid back down onto the dirty sheets. As soon as my head hit the pillow, sleep rushed in to take me. Before I gave in, my body jerked, jolted by a terrifying thought.

  The next time I woke up, would I still be me?

  ELEVEN

  Kenzie

  “Wake up, Kenzie. Wake up!”

  Hands seized my shoulders and shook me back and forth, rudely ripping me from sleep.

  “What’s...what’s going on?” I mumbled.

  “We’re evacuating to the camp. We’ll be safe there.”

  I pried my eyes open and stared up at a panic-stricken Nicole. “Safe from what?”

  “Never mind that now. Pastor Bill gave us five minutes to pack up.”

  I rolled into a seated position and wobbled, supporting my weight on my hands. My head still hurt, but not as badly as the last time I was awake. Of course, I’d witnessed the flu run its course in Miles. He’d rallied a couple of times. His temperature had dropped, his headache had lessened, and he’d carried on coherent conversations. We’d hoped that he might be getting better. He wasn’t. Hope was a cruel bitch and the flu an implacable monster.