While the snack foods might make the kids happy in the short-term, Rita knew it was more important to have good old-fashioned nutrition, and the MREs seemed to have exactly that. Rita put one of the MREs in her plastic bin, and then grabbed an armful more off the shelves and tossed them in. She had no idea if the beef stew ration was better than the beef ravioli in meat sauce. It didn’t matter. Just one of the MREs provided more calories than two or three of any of the junk food cans, so she loaded her bin full of the rations and only tossed a few cans on top to hold the MREs down.
Carl watched Rita waddle out to the car with the heavy bin. “You know how to use those rations?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Rita set the bin down with a thud and then looked inside the back of her Honda. It was full to the brim with suitcases of their clothes and the small remainder of their groceries. Then she looked at the six five-gallon cans Carl had brought out and realized none of them were going to fit. Not with the water she still had to get out of the garage. The girls were already up to their ears in boxes of clothes in the back seats, and Rita had even put some between their feet.
“All full.” Carl twisted his lips and crossed his arms. “Decisions, decisions.”
“Easy decisions,” Rita said, grabbing almost all the suitcases out except for two small ones that had some odd and ends they didn’t need. She placed the ones she was leaving behind in the center of the street and turned to Carl. “There’s some good women’s clothes in there.” She gestured to herself. “My size. Plus, some kids’ games and shoes.”
Carl nodded. “We’ll put them to use.” Then he loaded the gas cans into the back of the Honda as the kids watched him over the seat.
Once the gas was loaded, Rita shoved in the box of rations on top of the gas and went to retrieve several stacks of bottled water, filling the back of the Honda to the point she wouldn’t be able to see out the rear.
“Looks like you’re all set.” Carl reached up and slammed the hatch shut.
“Thanks, Carl.” Rita’s eyes flashed to the bay window where Max watched them from his desk. The house keys sitting in front of him represented half of her life. A life that seemed distant now, a shadow compared to the harsh reality Rita currently faced.
A noise from the garage drew Rita’s attention, and she shifted her eyes to see Carl jogging out to her with two pieces of hose and a rag in his hand. He stopped in front of her and nodded toward the Honda. “Depending on your gas mileage, those six cans will get you about six to ten hours of driving.”
“And I’ve already got three-quarters of a tank,” Rita told him.
“That’s good. You know how to siphon gasoline?”
“Just what I’ve seen on the movies.” Rita’s brow scrunched up as she tried to remember. “Put one end in the gas tank, suck on the other end, and stick it in a gas can real fast.”
“That’s right,” Carl said, “but there’s another trick. If you stick this smaller hose into the tank with the first one, and wrap the rag around it to make a tight seal, then you can blow into the smaller hose and force the gas out without having to suck any into your mouth.” The man held out the two hoses and rag to her.
“Why are you doing all this extra for me?” Rita asked, taking the offering as she looked the man in the eyes. “I mean, your brother just took my house for a little food and gas. You two are just as bad as everyone else.”
“I’d like to think everyone has some good in them.” Carl pressed his lips firmly together as he wrestled with something in his head. “Anyway, I figure there’s no harm in tossing in a little helpful information and a couple of hoses. Doesn’t cost us a thing. You be safe now.”
Rita watched the man jog back to the house, wondering if the gesture had been more for Carl than for her, somehow proving to himself that he wasn’t turning bad. That there was still some humanity left inside him.
With a curious noise, Rita got into her Honda and steeled herself for the long journey home.
Chapter 2
Jake, White Plains, New York | 8:47 p.m., Friday
The news broadcast played on the radio like low-volume white noise as Jake followed the crawling convoy in his Ford Explorer. While he might have caught valuable information from the broadcast, Jake’s sole focus was keeping his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the shadows to either side of the road. He had no doubt that the convoy was a slow-moving target with a big, fat bullseye painted on their collective backs, and whatever else was happening out there in the world was small peanuts.
To make matters worse, as they moved through Port Chester and turned north into the darkening sky, the convoy dropped their speed to forty miles per hour. He recalled that Humvees got terrible gas mileage, so it could be that they were trying to stretch their tanks as far as they could go before they had to stop and refuel.
Jake’s skin crawled at the pace, and his left hand fell asleep from white-knuckling the wheel so painfully tight. Jake forced himself to relax his grip, settle back into his seat, and imagine he was just a speck of dirt following the much larger vehicles ahead of him.
“Don’t mind us,” he murmured in a small voice as his eyes peered around. “Just a little convoy trying to squeak around New York City.”
He’d seen the crawlers’ rockets take out a semi-trailer truck on the returning convoy no more than thirty minutes ago, and he knew he could be blown to bits in a fraction of a second. The .50 caliber guns on the Humvees ahead of him might extract their revenge, but not before the damage occurred.
They passed signs for the Fairview and Elmford exits, but they continued on, the chatter on the two-way radio indicating they would be crossing into New Jersey via the Tappan Zee Bridge. Jake’s first thought was that they might be better off going around the Hudson, but once they began the ascent up the ramp, Jake was put at ease by the military Humvees and the Abrams tank squatting in the left lane of the expressway.
“It’s a checkpoint,” Jake reassured himself, noting the military personnel coming out to greet the convoy. He sighed with relief when they were quickly waved through and pulled to the center of the bridge, stopping next to some tanker trucks.
“Fuel up, boys,” someone said over the radio, and Jake watched as military personnel pulled gas lines from the fuel trucks and connected them to the Humvees.
Jake jerked at the sudden sound of vigorous tapping on the window right next to his head. He looked out the rain-slick glass to see a soldier staring in at him with an expectant look on her face. Hitting the power button on his arm rest, Jake rolled his window down.
“You need anything?” the soldier asked.
Jake glanced down at his gas gauge. “I’m at a quarter tank. Better hit me.”
“Roger that,” she said before speeding off to grab a fuel line and drag it out to his Explorer.
“Hit your gas cap,” the soldier shouted.
“Oh, right,” Jake murmured as he reached down and pulled the lever to release the gas cap. He felt clumsy around the military people after scrapping and scrounging his way through the city for nearly two weeks.
The soldiers were forcefully molding chaos into something that looked like order. But for Jake, Marcy, and the kids, chaos had been in the driver’s seat most of the time, bending them to its whims regardless of the decisions they made. They ran when they had to and rested when they could, and Jake never felt they were fully in control of the situation.
The bridge gave a shudder, and Jake’s eyes jerked up as dark thoughts of subterfuge entered his mind. Maybe the terrorists had planted bombs under the bridge and were setting them off. But then Jake realized it was just the semi-trailer trucks roaring to life and pulling off ahead of him.
The soldier tapped on the back of Jake’s Explorer, indicating that the tank was full. Jake glanced down at the gas gauge to confirm it, then he waved out at the soldier as she rolled up the gas line in preparation for the next convoy.
“This is brilliant,” Jake mused with a shake of his head as the convoy
started to pull away. His hopes began to rise until he looked left out of his window, noticing a black wasteland stain that should have been the bright glow of New York City lights. Instead, there was nothing but a grim stretch of reddish-gray clouds laying over everything like a dirty blanket.
Just before they left the bridge, Jake took a long look out the passenger window to the Hudson River where small military vessels cut through the water and larger coal barges sat out in the middle, loaded with what appeared to be coal or shipping containers filled with who knew what.
The Ford bumped over a cut section of expressway, and his tires made a deeper grinding sound as they rolled across the firmer ground of South Nyack. The convoy barreled slowly westward, passing another heavily guarded ramp that exited to Montefiore Nyack Hospital before finally pulling away from the temporary protection of the United States military zone.
The tension began to work its way up Jake’s spine again, drawing his shoulders tight against the feeling that they were completely alone once more. West Nyack came and went, and the large but lightless town of Spring Valley was just a sigh as the convoy slipped around it on I-287.
They just passed a sign for Suffern when the radio silence finally broke.
“Approaching I-87, I-287 exchange,” a soldier said. “Keep your eyes open.”
The soldier did not indicate which exit ramp they would take or which direction they would be going; the secrecy was likely to throw off anyone who might be listening on this band. Jake lifted his eyes to the Humvee two car-lengths ahead of him and saw the soldier manning the big gun. He was hunched over with his rain poncho hood pulled tight over his head. However, his body slowly pivoted to the left and right as he watched the trees sway, releasing their lifeless leaves to the wind.
Jake was so focused forward that he didn’t notice the mass of shapes approaching fast up the expressway behind him. It wasn’t until they were thirty yards away that he glanced into his rearview mirror and noticed the black mass. It looked like three or four large vehicles and a few smaller ones. They must have just entered the expressway from the ramp the convoy had passed a minute ago.
Fear gripped Jake’s heart as he glanced up at the gunner in front of him to see the man searching the forest on the right side of the road. He hadn’t noticed the new vehicles. Jake picked up the radio from the passenger seat and tried to click the talk button to warn the others. Instead, he fumbled the radio and dropped it into his lap.
With a growl, Jake hammered his fist down on his car horn just as the vehicles coming up behind him flipped on their headlights and bathed the rear of the convoy in light.
The gunner jerked to life, eyes wide with surprise as he grabbed the handles of his machine gun and trained it on the approaching vehicles. Jake glanced in his rearview and noticed that one of the onrushing vehicles was a captured Humvee, its military shading cut with black symbols spray-painted on its hood. Two motorcycles flew past Jake on his left in a rush of high-revving sound as bullets ripped into the back of his Explorer.
The sounds of the .50 caliber machine gun answered, and Jake looked up to see tracers stripe the air above him, passing just feet over his head. Not wanting to be caught between the armored vehicle and its enemies, Jake whipped the Explorer into the left lane and floored it.
The big engine roared to life and pushed Jake back against the seat. He pulled past the Humvee and saw the two motorcycle riders ahead of him taking potshots at a truck driver with their pistols. They hadn’t counted on Jake and his massive Explorer running them down.
Jake bared his teeth and kept his foot on the pedal until his grill slammed into the bumper of the first motorcycle. To his surprise, the motorcycle and its rider got sucked beneath his truck, the entire undercarriage of the Ford lurching with the impact and causing his dashboard lights to dim before returning brightly again.
The second rider looked back, but it was too late. Jake hit him like a train, launching him forward so both rider and motorcycle tumbled off the expressway into the oncoming lane.
The radio squalled with chatter, but Jake didn’t hear any of it, because the next Humvee in line pulled into the left-hand lane in front of him and hit the brakes, presumably going back to help protect their rear. Jake whipped the Explorer into the emergency lane and went around the Humvee as it started to fire back into the enemy vehicles.
“Jade Tiger. Come up to the lead position,” a voice barked over the radio, and Jake didn’t need to be told twice. He pressed the accelerator to the floor and flew past the remaining convoy trucks as some pulled behind him to take up both sides of the road and confound the enemy.
Jake finally arrived at the head of the line, waving at the two lead Humvees as he passed them. One of the Humvees shifted to the left lane just behind Jake, and for a moment he felt comfortably protected by armor and machine guns.
“Southbound ramp, Jade Tiger,” a soldier said through the radio, and Jake nodded as he guided the Ford Explorer up a steeper ascent onto the high and curving I-87/I-287 interchange. He heard distant gunfire and more radio squalling, but it seemed like the rear attack had been thwarted.
It was only when they began to curve toward the high peak of the ramp that Jake realized he was wrong. Two concrete barriers had been dragged up the ramp and placed across the lanes with smaller sedans filling in the gaps.
A line of people with guns were behind the barrier, and they opened up with pistol and rifle fire, mostly directed at the more dangerous Humvee on Jake’s right. The Humvee returned fire with its big gun, lighting up the barricade and sending pieces of concrete, flesh, blood, and metal shards flying into the air.
Caught in the crossfire, Jake knew he’d be chewed to pieces if he didn’t get through, so he angled toward the back of one of the sedans and slammed the gas pedal to the floor once again.
Seeing the Explorer coming at them, those behind the sedan turned their guns on Jake, but it was too late. He plowed into the rear of the sedan going sixty miles per hour, glass and metal popping like a fruit squeezed to the point of bursting. Being lighter at the rear than in the front, the sedan spun fast, breaking backs and necks with merciless violence across the lanes.
The Explorer lurched as it hit something in the road that Jake couldn’t see, and when he finally broke through, he looked in his rearview to see the person he’d just run over rolling down the road behind him, a tennis shoe flying off their bloody foot. Beyond the destruction, Jake saw several soldiers leap out of the Humvees and spread out across the road, firing as they sidestepped.
Jake simultaneously turned his attention back to the road while grabbing the radio from his lap. In his sweaty, desperate grip, he hit the talk button and growled into it.
“This is Jade Tiger,” he gasped. “I’m through. Now what?”
Jake pulled the Explorer to the left side of the big, curving ramp, slowing down slightly as he waited for a response.
The radio crackled once before a soldier’s voice came through. “Get off the expressway! We’ll have this clear—”
The sound of gunfire cut the soldier off, and then the radio went dead. Jake continued driving down I-287, frantic and expecting another attack at any moment. An exit ramp came up on his left, though he wasn’t sure if he should take it. He wasn’t familiar with the area, and the thought of being cut off from the convoy was not a pleasant one. Yet, the soldier had clearly stated that Jake get off the expressway, so he decided to follow the man’s orders.
Jake jerked the wheel to the left and took the ramp, curling down below the oncoming lanes and into a strange and eerie darkness that used to be a town lit with fast-food restaurants, hotels, and subdivisions off to the side. It looked dangerous, but Jake was sure he could find a place to hide until the convoy got through.
Chapter 3
Sara, Gatlinburg, Tennessee | 8:00 a.m., Saturday
The chainsaw cut through the twelve-inch diameter log almost as easily as a knife through butter, the high winds carrying away wood chips in swir
ls above her head. Sara’s shoulders ached and her hands were chaffed through her work gloves as she divided the trunk into two five-foot long pieces, and her skin had long ago been covered in a sheen of sweat beneath her coat and rain poncho.
Even with her foam earplugs in, the engine was loud, and the vibrations shook her entire upper body, competing with the raging winds that threatened to knock her off balance. Sara had to be extra careful to avoid cutting off her own leg.
What would Jake think of you then? Earless and legless.
Grinning with desperate dry humor at the thought of being whittled down to just a torso due to several accidents and fights with rogue forces while trying to survive on the mountain, Sara focused on the saw where it cut through the last few inches of wood until the two pieces fell apart.
Todd walked over to her from where he’d been standing by one of the cabins, favoring his injured side. He got her attention and then gestured up the road. Sara turned off the chainsaw and set it down before she turned to see Dion and Barbara pull up in the Subaru, dragging a second fifteen-foot long log behind them. That one would stretch across the road to act as the gate bar itself.
They planned on building the gate just before the second row of cabins from the top of the mountain. They called this group of cabins the Squirrel’s Nest, and it was where Natasha and Dion had been staying before Karen and Frank had moved in.
There was a perfect, narrow section of road where they could put the gate. On one side was a steep rise, and on the other a sheer drop. There was no way a car could possibly drive around the gate, and they still had enough ground to bury their anchor posts on either side.
Weathering The Storm (Book 5): Downburst Page 2
