Over at the vehicles, the group was slowly acclimating to its latest misfortune. Tobias scurried his family off to the side, away from prying eyes.
“Are you okay, baby?” Tobias brushed mussed-up hair from Lillian’s face.
She coughed an affirmative. “Yeah, Dad. Too much smoke. I’m fine,” she replied, coughing again.
“Jesus, Tobias. Tommy was just sleeping in there. You said this place was safe.” Isabelle was a black silhouette against the blaze.
“Everyone made it out safely, sweetheart. No one got hurt,” Tobias replied. “We’ll sleep in the car for the rest of the night.”
Tobias caressed Isabelle’s cheek, then pulled her in. He held her close, kissing her on the top of the head. Even under the circumstances, it was nice to have her back in his arms. She would give him this moment, if only for Tommy’s sake. The sooner she was away from him, the better.
The cabin was more than two-thirds engulfed when a wind gust enveloped the couple in smoke. It stung, and Tobias averted his sight from the blaze and looked back to the darkened road whence they came. The thought they’d be back on the road first thing in the morning was demoralizing. Just a few nights indoors was all he really hoped for. Now that was gone, too, along with the bulk of their supplies.
Without warning, Tommy darted toward the burning cabin. “Daddy, we left Dusty locked in the basement!” Tommy yelled as he pushed through the smoke and disappeared into the burning building.
“Oh my God. Tommy, stop!” Tobias screamed. “No, no, no, no, no,” he shouted, sprinting after his boy and into the smoke-filled home.
“Tobias, wait. It’s too—” Miller rushed to the cabin. He wasn’t quick enough to prevent the desperate father from running into the fiery building. A wall of flame shot up, separating the men. Miller was trapped outside, shouting over the crackling fire. “Tobias, can you hear me? Get out
of there goddammit!” he yelled, though the hissing blaze and screaming civilians drowned out his pleas.
The flames intensified as another gust of wind whipped the fire up into a wall of waves that now splashed around the wooden structure, preventing Miller from pursuing.
Isabelle quickly followed but was tackled to the ground by a watchful Soraya.
“No, Isabelle,” Soraya insisted.
“Let me go goddammit! Tommy!” Isabelle screamed. She struggled but to no avail. Soraya was strong for her stature, and she held on tight, pinning Isabelle to the ground. The soldier wouldn’t budge. No one else was entering the inferno.
Radzinski ran up from behind the burning cabin. “Back door’s fubar, man. We’re not getting in that way.”
“Goddammit.” Miller shook his head in disbelief. “Alright, get everyone back. Christ, Tobias.”
Vanessa escorted an unresponsive, nearly in shock Lillian down to the vehicles and away from the chaotic scene. “Come on, Lillian. Let’s go back to the cars.”
Miller pointed at Rachel and Aiko, then back to the fleeing girls. “Stay with them!” he shouted over the roaring flames.
“I’ll go, too,” Markus volunteered.
Isabelle continued screaming even after her voice gave out. By that point the sounds coming from her throat were nothing more than dry gasps and unintelligible ramblings. The fiery, crumbling cabin reflected in her eyes as she lay pinned in the dirt, helpless. Beneath the tears and sorrow, a rage was burning.
Miller knelt beside Soraya and laid a hand on her shoulder, tears welling. Her free hand found his. With urgency, she reciprocated and held tightly. The remainder of the survivors gathered around, ogling the spectacle, unable to process the scene. Flames licked the treetops and poured from every window and door. Their brilliant fiery orange glow illuminated the tortured spectators’ faces.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Retribution
Before dawn, a thunderstorm rolled through the area, extinguishing the fire. Piles of ash turned to mud, and black water snaked its way from the remains of the cabin, down the drive and past the cars. Most of the survivors took care to stay from its path, convinced the water bore the lifeblood of Tobias and Tommy. Not much was left standing of the abandoned old cabin save for pieces of a blackened frame and a towering chimney that rose into the singed treetops. Those who were too distraught to help in the recovery effort stood around the burnt-out shell, reflecting on the senselessness of the night’s events.
At first light, Marisol, Nisha, Sam, and Vanessa escorted Isabelle and Lillian to a nearby convenience store the caravan had passed in the night. Jeremiah suggested getting the mother and daughter away from the house until Tobias’s and Tommy’s bodies were recovered and properly dealt with. As an added measure of security, Miller sent Aiko, Markus, and Isaac in a separate car to follow. Safety in numbers, as it were.
Jeremiah stood near the center of what remained of the cabin, filthy from soot and mud digging through the burnt-out husk. Behind him, Radzinski and Soraya were knee-deep in debris. She would gently remove still-smoldering boards from her area whereas Radzinski was all too eager to throw each piece of debris aside with no rhyme or reason. Each of them had a different rationale for wanting to put this task to bed.
Soraya stopped digging. A quiet prayer from the young Israeli was signal enough. Jeremiah knew she found what they were searching for. He wiped his hands clean as best as he could before going for his radio. “Aiko, come in,” he said, making his way from atop the rubble.
“You see anything yet?” Aiko asked.
“We found them.”
“Status?”
“I’ll let you know when it’s safe to bring them back.”
“Understood. Aiko out.”
Sam looked on anxiously as Aiko put away her radio and sat down heavily in an old wooden chair. He didn’t have to ask; her face betrayed the grim news from back at the cabin. Sam leaned into the rail on the store’s front porch, gripping its surface hard. “Goddammit,” he said under his breath, squinting his eyes against the bright morning sun.
Nearly three miles from the cabin, a lone convenience store stood at the side of the road. Its windows were mostly smashed, and its screen door, hanging on by a rusty hinge, blew in the breeze. Trash littered the small parking lot at its flanks and the road in front. A few busted-up cars were parked in the vicinity: two in the lot and one across the street directly in front of the shop. All looked to be stripped of anything useful, the lot and the vehicles slowly being overtaken by nature and the surrounding forest.
The store was previously ransacked. That was obvious enough. A given, really, but Marisol knew ahead of time that that was a distinct possibility before offering to get Isabelle and Lillian away from the smoldering cabin. She kept a watchful eye on the Burkes, though she wasn’t sure what exactly she could do to help if the occasion arose.
Markus and Isaac stood in a corner near the front of the store, trying to remain invisible, though Markus never let Lillian out of sight. He had no words to comfort the girl but would be at her side in a moment if need be. Isaac tried not to be seen and fiddled with a few bobbles strewn about a small dusty shelf. He twirled an empty saltshaker between his fingers, trying to look busy, and for a brief moment, he found himself wondering how much salt he would put on a steak. The idea filled him with guilt, but he was entitled to his own form of escape as much as the next person.
Nisha shadowed Isabelle through the store, always two steps behind her lifelong friend. It seemed odd to her that Isabelle appeared to be staying remarkably calm despite the circumstances. Nisha would be in hysterics, had the roles been reversed.
“Isabelle, honey, I… I’m so sorry,” Nisha finally offered.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Nisha. Miller and the others will find Tommy. I’m sure he was hiding somewhere safe. You’ll see.” Isabelle showed no emotion as she rifled through a shelf of discarded items, things other scavengers before them had left behind. Useless things.
“Hey, sweetheart, can I get anything for you?” Vanessa approached ca
utiously. To an extent, she knew what Lillian was going through, but the loss of her husband was a slow build. By the time he finally passed, she was long prepared for it. Lillian’s father and brother, on the other hand, were violently ripped from the girl mere hours prior. The suddenness of it all was shocking for Vanessa. How Lillian was coping was incomprehensible.
“I’ve seen so much death these past few weeks I’ve honestly grown numb to it.” Lillian rifled through a ransacked shelf, stopping on a half-spilled bottle of iodine. “This should work. While we’re here we might as well pick up as much supplies as possible, right?”
Vanessa clasped her hand to her mouth. She couldn’t let the girl see her cry. Just as fast, she steadied herself. “Honey, it’s okay. You can talk to me,” she managed through trembling lips.
Lillian held up a badly dented can of sardines. “These things are horrible, you know, but it’s food, right?” She tucked them away into her bag and continued down the aisle.
Vanessa approached a little closer but froze, her hand inches from the girl’s shoulder. Let it out, she thought. Let it all out. I’m here for you. No, she wouldn’t be the catalyst for Lillian’s breakdown. Why push? If the girl has strength enough to get through this, who was Vanessa to jeopardize crumbling her walls.
Lillian turned. The suddenness made Vanessa’s heart skip a beat. “I’m not ready to talk about this yet, Vanessa,” she said softly. “But when I am, I’ll let you know. I promise.”
Vanessa nodded in agreement, hand still clasped tightly against her mouth as she followed Lillian deeper into the store in silence.
Isabelle was preoccupied with rummaging through a bag of toys. Nisha watched and imagined a family on the run, desperately trying to survive, a child’s playthings disregarded in the confusion. Isabelle focused on a few small action figures strewn about the floor. She placed their tiny weapons in their even smaller hands, gathered up a handful of little accessories, and stuffed them into a bag of her own, her movements methodical, deliberate, like she’d done it a thousand times before.
Isabelle looked up at Nisha expectantly and held out one of the toys. “I’m pretty sure he has this yellow one,” she said. “But I know he needs these two. Help me find the rest of their things.” She dove back in, engrossed in the pile of plastic.
Nisha turned her head, avoiding Isabelle’s gaze at all costs. She had no words for her friend, no comforting reminder that everything was going to be alright, because it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Isabelle’s husband and only son were dead. The reality of their situation hadn’t truly set in for Nisha until that very moment. Isabelle’s refusal to acknowledge the loss of half of her family finally made it all too clear for Nisha: life would never, could never, go back to the way it was.
Markus and Sam kept their distance but took in Isabelle’s apparent breakdown in silence.
Markus had witnessed enough of the spectacle and turned his gaze back to the parking lot and Sam’s truck. “I’ve lost friends before, you know? Back home, it was almost expected, though, where I lived. But this, this is bad, Sam. That little boy was burned alive. How are we supposed to get past something like that? How can they?” He waved his arm as if to shoo away the issue. He shook his head in disbelief as his eyes welled up. “I need some air, man.”
“Alright, son, but you stay close. You see something, anything, you get back in here fast.” He gave Markus that stern look of his, head tilted forward, eyes up. The stare conveyed the importance of his request far more efficiently than a few harsh words ever could.
Markus didn’t reply as he left the store. He passed Aiko on her way in and disappeared out of sight.
“He doesn’t look so good,” Aiko commented, more of an icebreaker than anything else.
“He’s not. I don’t think any of us are after last night.”
“Time, Sam. It takes time.”
“I know.”
“I saw this more often overseas than I care to admit.”
“Ma’am?” Sam sensed the young soldier needed to get something off her chest. He wouldn’t push, though. She would either talk to him or she wouldn’t. Sam had more than enough history with the military to know just how difficult opening up to strangers could be.
Aiko looked back to Isabelle on the floor as she collected toys for a son she would never see again. Her lip quivered a bit and again she rubbed her belly. “A parent losing a child.” Aiko straightened up fast. “You can see it in their eyes. Something dies inside of them.” She turned from the scene; she’d witnessed it all before. “You know, there was a real, ever-present disconnect with the people when I first got in-country. After a while, though, you realize their grief is no different from your own.” She pulled her hair out of her face and tied it up into a tight ponytail. Lately she’d been wearing her hair down. The look would have certainly had her reprimanded under normal circumstances. These last few weeks, trivialities like proper military regulations didn’t seem to matter anymore or were slowly being overlooked in the face of a new paradigm. “A distraught father carrying the body of his maimed little girl through the streets resonates no matter the language barrier. When we got home, I thought for sure I’d never witness anything like that again. Things are worse now than ever.”
Sam didn’t say a word. It wasn’t necessary. A few nods and some eye contact were all that was required. They both knew it. The release was what was important.
Markus burst through the door, quickly locked it behind him, and drew the shade. “Down, down, down. Everybody, down now. Get behind the counter!” he yelled.
“What is it?” Aiko asked, peering through a crack in the blinds, weapon ready.
“Just do it. Don’t make a sound!” he snapped.
Deeper in the store, Vanessa threw herself and Lillian to the floor. The pair crawled on hands and knees toward cover behind an overturned soda machine.
“What is it?” Lillian asked, wide-eyed.
“I don’t know. I couldn’t hear what they were saying,” Vanessa whispered with a finger to her lip. “Shh.”
Nisha, with Isabelle in tow, made her way to the front of the store and toward Sam. She led the woman by the hand. Nisha stayed low, though when they stopped, Isabelle returned to her crossed-legged sitting position, still focused on her bag of toys.
Sam tipped an empty shelf over onto its side. Hopefully it was enough to block Isabelle from view. He grabbed Nisha by the arm. “Don’t let her move!” he demanded.
It began as a low hum and quickly grew into a steady roar as windows rattled and dishes crashed from their shelves. Dozens of cars, trucks, and motorcycles were passing by directly in front of the building. A heavily reinforced school bus passed first, its windows shielded with aluminum siding and a plow attached to the front. The roof had a flat platform welded to it with chain-link fencing as a railing around its edges. Three men stood atop the platform, surveying their surroundings. Crates of what looked like Molotov cocktails clanked as they hit speed bumps in front of the store. The majority of the bus was caked in blood, not all of which was completely dry.
The men atop the bus were clad in makeshift armor. From Aiko’s vantage point, it looked like chainmail, at least on two of the men’s arms. Some sort of plating was attached to their thighs and shins. Hockey pads, maybe, she thought, though it could have just as easily been modified car parts. Their chests and backs were protected with fashioned sheet metal strapped in place with belts and rope. Trinkets and bones—trophies, it appeared—dangled from each man’s neck and shoulder regions. Splatters of paint, she hoped. It could have just as easily been blood that adorned their armor from head to toe. One man had an ax strapped to his back. Others brandished long, pointed sticks. As they drove past, the men screamed and threw rocks at the building and any abandoned cars in the lot, Sam’s truck included. Though its interior was dark, it was clear that those inside the bus were just as ferocious.
Marisol hoped the blood-drenched caravan merely drove through a pack of carriers wandering
down the road. From her vantage point, she had a clear view of the gang as the passing convoy neared its end. A rough-looking bunch, the lot of them. Some of their motorcycles were adorned with skulls and various bones. Whether trophies or a warning was unclear. So were the bones’ origins. Were they from the undead or fellow travelers unlucky enough to have stumbled across their path. It was impossible to tell. A few of the cars and trucks dragged corpses behind them from chains and rope. From her view, Marisol estimated that they were easily outnumbered by ten or twelve to one. She had no intention of finding out their true numbers or intent.
“I’ll call the others, tell them we might need a little help down here,” Isaac said, fumbling for his radio.
“You’ll do no such thing. Put that radio down.” Aiko snatched the device from his hand. “We have no idea what sort of resources those guys are working with.” She made sure the radio was off and put it away in her bag. “If they’re using radios, too, and happen to turn on the same channel, they’ll hear everything we say. Just stay quiet. We’ll wait them out. They don’t appear to be stopping, anyway.”
“I wouldn’t count on that just yet.” Marisol motioned for Aiko to make her way to her end of the counter, where she had a better view of the front of the store. Across the street in the other parking lot, three of the gang members were inspecting Sam’s truck.
“Shit, I was afraid of this.” Aiko grit her teeth.
A large burly man appeared from behind one of the bloody caravan’s stopped trucks with a coiled hose in one hand and a long leash in the other. At the end of the leash, a young girl in barely-there rags crouched to the ground like an animal. Filthy matted hair stuck to her face, and grime hid most of her skin. She jumped up and down, pawing at the ground, tightening the leash as she lunged forward. He yanked her back forcefully, though she didn’t lose her footing. This dance had been done many times before. The burly man threw the hose to the ground and yanked the leash again. This time she rushed to his feet, attentive. He patted her on the head not very gently and unclasped the leash from her collar. The girl scurried to the hose. Happy to be of use, she buried one end of the hose into Sam’s gas tank, then furiously began sucking on the other. Moments passed before she finally spat a mouthful of fuel into a bucket and dunked the hose in as well. The scavengers laughed at the girl’s expense and she smiled, hugging up against the burly man’s leg, not much better than a wild beast seeking attention.
The Roaming (Book 2): The Toll Page 10
