Promise Me Once

by Paige Weaver

  I knew he was trying to gain control again. Good for him. I still hadn’t found it. My hands shook and my knees felt like jelly. For someone that always had her shit together, I was falling apart.

  It took a minute but Nathan finally raised his head. He opened his mouth to say something but screams from outside interrupted him.

  “Shit!” Nathan cursed, plunging a hand through his hair with frustration. He gripped the long strands on top and glanced around the room as if it held all the answers. I wish it did, but when had I ever gotten what I wished for?

  Nathan let go of his hair and grasped the back of his neck. It was a gesture he did when he was troubled. I could see him running through different scenarios in his mind, working out problems and tossing out answers. Finally he came to a decision.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do.” He dropped his hand onto the back of the chair and gripped it hard. “We’re going to hole up in here and wait this out. I don’t know what’s going on but it will be over soon. It has to be over soon. The police will show up and arrest whoever’s shooting. The electric company will get the power back on just like they do every single time.” He took a ragged breath. “We’ll be okay, I promise. We’ve just got to stick together and stay here.”

  Nathan’s words calmed me like they had done before.

  He was right. Help would come. We would be okay.

  I just hoped it wasn’t too late.

  Chapter Twenty–Three

  Cash

  I limped down the middle of the road. Step. Drag. Step. Drag. On each drag I winced. On each step I prayed.

  Dust swirled up around my legs, leaving a fine layer of grime on me. I looked down at it and scoffed. My jeans were already stiff with blood and sweat, what was a little dirt too?

  I thought of Cat and grinned, feeling a little delirious from blood loss. If she could see me now, she would stick up that pretty little nose of hers and walk away. My grin suddenly disappeared. Shit, I hope she’s okay.

  I took another step then dragged my left leg. Another step then drag. The gash I got on my thigh during the wreck was giving me problems. Pain shot from it, making me grit my teeth and struggle not to puke. Finally, I couldn’t go any farther. I needed to rest.

  I stopped in the middle of the road, breathing hard. My shirt was stuck to my skin and my hair was soaking wet. I put all my weight on my good leg and took off my hat. Not even a breeze cooled my forehead. I wiped it then stuck the hat back on my head, at the same time glancing around.

  I stood in the middle of a dusty, dirt road. There was no sign of civilization anywhere. No people. No cars. I was alone. Thick, eerie woods surrounded me on both sides. A sort of fearful stillness surrounded me. Not one branch swayed or leaf fell. There were no birds chirping or insects buzzing. It reminded me of a scene in a zombie movie. Any minute I expected one of the undead to stumble out of the woods, hungry for a little taste of me.

  I was on my last leg anyway.

  I stood still and slowly glanced around, taking my time and missing nothing. The silence made me nervous. Hell, everything that had happened in the past eight hours had made me nervous. Cars did not just die while traveling down the freeway. All phones did not just quit working for no apparent reason. Every business I had passed and house I had seen sat dark, without the hum of electricity. Add it all together and it just didn’t make sense.

  I ran a hand over my dry lips, thinking of those folks on the freeway. I had hung around a while, helping the injured, waiting for help to show up.

  But it never did.

  That’s when I started walking. It was like something was pushing me to go home, urging me to hurry. Not one streetlight lit the way. I never passed a car or heard a siren. It was as if everyone in the world had disappeared and nobody was left but me.

  I was hungry, thirsty, hurting, and still miles from home. I balanced myself on my good leg and squinted up at the sky. The sun glared back at me. Fucking thing. It burned like hell and set my leg on fire. The only good thing about the sun was it told me the time of day.

  But I still hated the damn thing.

  Glaring at it, I could tell it was midafternoon. I hadn’t had a drink of water in hours. My mouth felt like cotton and my tongue was swollen. The temperature didn’t help either. The weatherman had called for triple digits and I wouldn’t be surprised if we were climbing there fast. I could feel my skin pulsate with the heat. I had spent enough time in the sun to know that heat stroke was a dangerous thing. Add to that the amount of water I was sweating out and the blood I had lost, and I was in trouble.

  I glanced around, looking for some shade. I needed to rest and check my leg. A tree up ahead caught my eye. It was small but its branches stretched over the road. I kept my eyes open for trouble and started limping its way. Step. Drag. Step. Drag. Damn, at the rate I was going, getting home would take forever.

  It took me a while but I finally reached the dry grass under the tree. I fell to the ground with a huff, poking my hands on little rocks.

  The exertion it took to drag my wounded leg wore me out. I pulled my cowboy hat off and laid it on the ground beside me, hoping to catch a breeze. None came. Stillness and the heat of the day stayed instead.

  I sat there until the shadows were longer and the sun was lower. The temperature hadn’t dropped but I knew I had to keep going. Something was telling me to hurry home.

  I looked down at the piece of fabric I had tied around my thigh. It was soaked with blood and smudged with dirt but it was the only thing holding the gash together. I tried not to think about the last time I had used the blanket. No matter how much pain I was in, Cat was still on my mind.

  I swore and swiped a hand over my sweaty brow. I couldn’t think about her now. I needed to keep moving.

  I grabbed the ends of the fabric tied around my leg and yanked. Pain exploded in my thigh and beads of sweat popped out on my forehead. As soon as the agony passed, I pushed myself off the ground to a stand up. The world spun but I held still, waiting for it to calm down. When it did, I headed for the road.

  Gravel and dirt crunched under the soles of my boots, sounding bone dry. I grimaced when I tried to put weight on my leg and it started throbbing again. I felt a trickle of blood but I refused to look down. There was nothing I could do about it anyway.

  I limped to the middle of the road but drew to a stop. I heard something. A branch breaking, maybe? Or was it a man?

  Favoring my left leg, I stood as still as a statue. My fingers hung loosely at my sides, ready to reach down and grab my knife from my boot if needed. But nothing moved. Not a leaf. Not a blade of grass. Not even a bird. I relaxed and pulled my hat brim lower.

  Time to get moving.

  ~~~~

  Dusk was settling in when I passed under the metal sign for my family’s farm. I looked up at it as I limped by, watching as it swayed back and forth lazily. The sound of squeaking metal joined the noise of my footsteps shuffling on the dry gravel driveway.

  A few horses grazed out near the barn and a couple of cows stood in the pasture, munching on grass. It was peaceful, but today the quiet was different.

  Fear prickled along my shoulder blades as I walked toward the house. Something was missing. I glanced around, looking for trouble. That’s when I realized what was wrong.

  My dad’s truck was missing.

  “Shit,” I exclaimed, picking up speed. I hurried toward the house in a running, awkward gait, pushing through the pain in my leg.

  “MOM?” I called out when I got closer to the house. “DAD?”

  No one answered. The house just stared back at me, looking old and sad against the setting sun.

  “Mom? Dad? Hello?” I yelled as I hobbled up the porch steps and to the front door. It banged against my back as I threw it open and jiggled the door handle. It was locked and no one came to unlock it. Feeling my heart in my throat, I dug my keys out of my pocket.

  Hot, stuffy air greeted me as soon as I threw the door open. I stepped inside,
dragging my left leg in after me. The screen door slammed shut as I tried the light switch on the wall. Nothing happened. I tried a lamp. Again nothing.

  The prickling between my shoulders blades grew. Where the hell are my parents?

  My dad’s old work boots sat near his favorite recliner, awaiting to be put back on. My mother’s sewing basket sat near her chair, opened and full of knitting.

  I turned away from the tiny living room and headed for the kitchen. I hadn’t had a drink of water in hours. Thirst ate away at me.

  I threw my cowboy hat on the table and headed for the sink. After grabbing a glass from the cabinet, I filled it with water from the tap. It felt good going down but I needed more. I filled the glass a second time and took a long drink, glancing around the kitchen at the same time.

  Maybe they left a note.

  I sat the glass down and limped over to the kitchen table, finding out where my parents were the only thing on my mind. Loose papers were scattered on top of the scarred table. Four wooden chairs sat innocently around it. I remembered sitting there when I was younger and fighting Keely for the last slice of Mom’s apple pie. Another time I had walked up behind her and pulled her hair, making fun of her when she first got her glasses.

  I wondered if whatever was going on with the electricity and cars was happening in Austin. God, I hope not.

  First things first. My parents. I shuffled the papers on the table, looking for something that might tell me where they went. There was nothing.

  I looked around the kitchen. The counters were clean, all dishes put away. The old green refrigerator sat quiet against the wall, absent of the constant humming I had heard my entire life. I limped over to it, my attention caught on something stuck to the front. It was a note wedged between yellowed advertisements for feed and articles about the price of beef. I plucked it off. My mom’s gentle, cursive letters stared back at me.

  Gone to town.

  My fingers tightened around the paper. “Shit.”

  If my mom and dad were in town, that meant they might have been affected by the crazy power outage too. And more than likely, if the vehicles there had died, their truck would be useless too. But the question was, what was causing all of it?

  I pivoted on my good leg and slammed the note down on the table then hobbled across the room. I opened a cabinet door and reached into the back, grabbing the bottle of whiskey my dad kept there for medical purposes. It was half-gone but I had to start numbing the pain in my leg somehow.

  I pulled the top off and took a long drink. It was just what I needed to calm my nerves and deaden the agony.

  With the whiskey bottle still in my hand, I turned and stumbled from the room. I needed some answers.

  I headed straight for the living room. I would try the TV first. It didn’t work. I tried the battery-operated radio that my father kept by his chair. That didn’t work either.

  “Shit!” I limped as fast as I could down the hallway, panic growing in me. I’ve got to figure out what’s happening.

  I tried the lights in the bathroom then my bedroom. Nothing. Not a flicker. Not a single hum of electricity. I grew desperate and a little crazy. What the fuck is going on?

  Suddenly, I slammed to a stop, remembering the newscaster’s words that night in my truck. ‘The threat is real. Americans should be concerned.’

  Was it possible? Had the United States been attacked?

  I started back to the bathroom, limping slower. I had to get my head on straight. Calm down. The first thing I had to do was find out how badly I was injured.

  I took another long pull from the whiskey bottle as I walked into the bathroom. I set the bottle on the counter and started digging around under the sink until I found an old, rusted flashlight in the back. When you lived miles from anyone you learned to rely on yourselves, not others. That meant being prepared.

  I flipped it on. It worked, thank God.

  I laid the flashlight on the counter and pulled out an old first aid kit from under the sink. The flashlight beam gave me just enough light to see the kit’s contents in the growing darkness. I grabbed a fistful of supplies and sat down on the lid of the toilet, wincing when pain shot up my leg.

  Gritting my teeth, I laid the supplies out then untied the strip of cloth from my leg. Agony rolled through me. I took another long drink of whiskey to help numb the pain. It helped but I knew nothing was going to take away the pain totally.

  I grabbed the flashlight and shined it at the gash. It was gaping open, full of dirt and grime. Beads of sweat popped up on my forehead, thinking of what I was about to do. I pulled my knife out of the sheath on my boot and started cutting away at the leg of my jeans. They were a lost cause anyway.

  With them out of the way, I could see the gash better. It was long, going from my outer hip to the middle of my thigh. It needed stitches something bad, but I didn’t see that happening anytime soon.

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol my mom kept under the sink and poured some on the gash. Fire ripped through me. It burned, shit did it fucking burned. I gritted my teeth so hard, I thought I might crack a tooth. I felt dizzy and sick and goddamn close to passing out all at the same time. I took one more drink of whiskey and then with a shaky hand, I poured the alcohol on the gash.

  “Fuck!” I hissed, closing my eyes and slamming the bottle down. I gripped the edge of the counter and held on tight as waves of pain hit me.

  When the agony lessened, I reached for some cotton gauze with a trembling hand. I tried cleaning the blood up as best as I could then finally gave up and tossed the gauze in the trash. The cut started bleeding again almost instantly, but there wasn’t much I could do. I tore some medical tape off with my teeth and placed it across the wound, pulling the ragged edges of the cut together. I started sweating and turning paler as I fought the pain. The agony was killing me.

  But I had to continue. I took a deep breath and grabbed some medical pads and taped them on top of the gash. It was a half-ass job but it would have to do. I didn’t have much choice anyway.

  Next, I finished off the whiskey – a very important thing to do - then I climbed to my feet. The dark bathroom spun for a minute but then it stopped. I grabbed the flashlight and left the bathroom, limping to my room.

  I was nauseated and close to passing by the time I made it to my bedroom. I dragged my leg and crossed the room to the closet. I grabbed a shirt and a pair of jeans and changed quickly, clamping my jaw against the pain the effort caused.

  Once dressed, I reached into the back of my closet and pulled out a small duffle bag. I stuffed an extra set of clothes inside it then grabbed the shotgun hidden in the closet. I threw it all on the bed and limped over to my nightstand.

  Inside one of the drawers, I found my revolver. It was an old .45 Colt that belonged to my granddad. The wooden handle was scarred and the barrel was rough. It was heavy in my hand, a relic from the Old West.

  But now it was this cowboy’s firearm.

  I spun the cylinder, checking for bullets. It was loaded and ready to go. I flicked my wrist and slapped the cylinder closed then stuck the gun in the waistband of my jeans. Reaching back into the nightstand, I grabbed a box of bullets and staggered to the end of the bed. I didn’t know what the hell was happening, but I was going to be prepared for anything.

  I put the bullets in the duffle bag then turned my attention to the shotgun. It was a 12-gauge pump action with a wooden stock. My pride and joy. I picked it up, welcoming the heaviness in my hand. I hoped I didn’t have to use it but I sure as hell wouldn’t leave it.

  I grabbed the flashlight and started to leave, but the bed caught my eye. I paused, indecision nagging me. My body screamed to rest. It had been over thirty-six hours since I last slept. I had lost blood and I was weak. I needed to sleep.

  But there was another part of me that refused to slow down. I was a fighter and nothing would stop me from finding the ones that I loved.

  With determination, I
headed down the hallway, lighting the way with the flashlight. I still limped, but this time my stride was powerful. Strong. Determined to never stop.

  I snatched my cowboy hat from the kitchen table and scribbled a quick note to my parents, just in case they showed up. After that, I grabbed as many bottles of water as I could fit into my duffle bag and as much food as it could carry. Next, I headed for the front door.

  I was a man on a mission. One born to do what I had to do. I knew the land like the back of my hand and could be one helluva problem if I wanted to be. I dared anyone to try to mess with me.

  With a duffle bag on my shoulder, a shotgun in one hand, and a revolver in my waistband, I stopped on the threshold. Twilight had descended, leaving the house dark and the land still. I could feel the fire start in me. The fire to fight. To survive.

  To find my family and live.

  Chapter Twenty–Four

  Cat

  “Your feet okay?”

  I replaced the last bandage on my heel and looked at Keely. “They’re fine,” I said in a clipped tone. The truth was my feet were a mess but there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. Might as well tell a little white lie and move on. “I won’t be wearing heels anytime soon but I’ll survive. I just won’t look good while doing it.”

  The soft glow of a candle gave me just enough light to see Keely smile. I didn’t want to return it with one of my own because, shit, the world was falling apart. But the real reason I didn’t want to smile was because every single time I looked at her, I thought of Cash.

  And that made me feel guilty.

  I just couldn’t bring myself to tell Keely that I knew her brother. It didn’t matter anyway. It was one night. There would never be another.

  “I like your apartment. It’s much nicer than mine,” Keely said, looking around from her position on my bed.

  I frowned at her. “You live right next door, Keely. It’s the same apartment.”

  She blushed. At least I thought she did but in the candlelight it was hard to tell.