by Bowman, Dave
He came to a brief stop inside the shelter of the garage and looked around before continuing. His steps echoed within the vast expanse. So far, the garage appeared to be empty.
Moving quickly between the rows of parked cars, he caught his breath. He made it to the far wall of the garage, stopped, and looked around.
He crouched behind a large SUV, well hidden from the entrance. If anyone was following him, this place would be about as good as any for a confrontation.
He waited several minutes, breathing in the stale air faintly scented of engine oil.
Finally convinced that no one had followed him to the garage, he got up and walked to the window on the west wall. Off to the left was the apartment building. It was an older construction, five stories, that looked like it had been occupied until recently.
Until Oscar's gang had killed or enslaved the occupants.
Now, it looked empty. The gang must have killed half the town for there to be so many vacant homes.
Downhill and to the right was another abandoned lot, overgrown with invasive weeds. A work crew was occupied digging various holes around the lot. Jack squinted in the sun, looking at each prisoner working. A sudden jolt of recognition coursed through him.
Brent was down there.
Jack immediately recognized his coworker's lanky frame, stooped over a shovel. He felt a stab of guilt as he saw Brent laboring away down there, guarded by a hulking man with a rifle. Brent shouldn’t have been captured.
Jack once again regretted his mistake on the interstate. But there was no time for regrets. This was Jack's chance to make things right.
None of the other prisoners were guarded as closely as Brent. The other four prisoners worked at some distance from Brent, and only two guards watched over them. Brent must have done something they didn't like to be assigned his own babysitter. Jack couldn't help smiling at the thought.
Way to give them hell, Brent.
Jack looked over at the rest of the area. The lot was sandwiched between a bank and a fast food restaurant. A couple of other small businesses were to the north. Jack couldn't get a good view of what lay beyond the bank. He didn't like that. He didn't like not knowing who was just around the corner.
But it didn't matter. Less than ideal circumstances wouldn't change his course of action.
He knew what he had to do.
Jack ran down the stairs. Once back on the ground level, he made a quick exit through the side door. He emerged on the sun-drenched sidewalk just one block from the empty lot where Brent worked.
Edging along the exterior wall of the parking garage, he approached the fast food restaurant. He slipped around the building.
His heart pounded in his chest as he moved. Acid rose in his throat, burning his vocal cords. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.
He had to do this right.
Jack was so close to the work crew now. Stationing himself behind the concrete pillars of the drive-through, he watched and waited.
Four guards, at least in this lot. Who knew how many other armed men were in the vicinity and would come running when they heard gunfire.
A wiry man holding a rifle paced along the fence closest to Jack. Two other guards were in the northern half of the lot. Brent worked on the far southern corner under the watchful eye of his massive guard.
Brent stood working in front of his guard, who stood behind him. That was a problem. Jack couldn't get a clean shot with Brent in front of the guy.
He would have to start firing at the other men. Hopefully, Brent would get out of the way long enough for Jack to take a shot.
Jack raised his rifle. He leveled it and peered through the scope.
“Hey! Who’s that?”
The voice from one of the distant guards at the back broke Jack’s concentration. Jack had been spotted.
Everything happened all at once.
The two distant guards to the north raised their rifles. Jack fired at the closest guard before he could lift his own weapon.
The second guard had begun to handcuff the prisoners. He snapped the cuffs shut over two prisoners before he raised his weapon at Jack.
The first guard fell. Before Jack could pivot toward the distant guards, they began shooting at him.
A bullet smashed into the concrete pillar. Jack ducked reflexively. Keeping himself lowered behind the pillar, he aimed at the first of the two distant guards.
The guard's aim was increasingly more accurate, but Jack kept firing. First one, then the other fell to the ground.
Jack looked over at Brent. The guard near him had begun firing toward Jack, but he was too far away. The guard started to run off to the side, both to take cover and to get closer to his target.
Just before the guard could get away, Brent lifted his shovel high and brought it down against the guard's head.
The guard's knees buckled underneath him, and he collapsed to the ground. Brent wrenched the rifle out of his hands and began running across the lot.
The two uncuffed prisoners scattered to the north, scaling the fence before they disappeared. The two prisoners who had been cuffed scrambled toward the fallen guards, searching for the keys to free their hands.
"Follow me!" Jack called to Brent. Jack took off running toward the parking garage again. He heard Brent following him several yards behind.
"Don't let them get away!" a guard shouted.
Voices were coming from the southwest corner of the lot. Jack pushed himself faster as he neared the parking garage.
Just before he ran inside the shelter of the garage, he glanced back. Brent was still behind him, closing the distance quickly.
The guard Brent had hit with a shovel had already recovered and was making his way across the lot at a brisk pace.
And three more armed men who had heard the gunfire were on their way, charging across the street and headed toward the parking garage.
15
Harvey’s eyes met Charlotte’s just as he was hit with the round from the .22.
He looked down at the hole in the side of his torso, then touched his fingers to the seeping blood.
His shock turned to fury as he looked back up at her. Charlotte aimed again, this time a little higher. She pulled the trigger.
The force of the second round knocked Harvey back to the ground. He lay there for several moments, blinking and staring up toward the sky.
Then, he was still.
Charlotte watched him, holding her breath.
Then she took a step forward. His chest had stopped rising and falling with his breath. His open eyes stared upward, unblinking.
She looked down at the gun. Then she walked to the car, where she placed it on the hood. She stood leaning against the vehicle, keeping her eyes on Harvey the whole time. She almost expected him to start moving again. But he never did.
After a while, she allowed herself to turn her back on the body nearby. She walked to the edge of the ditch, bent over, and vomited.
It was over.
Charlotte heard something from the road. She looked up to see a horse – with Annie riding it.
The horse was galloping at full speed, then came to a quick stop nearby on the road.
Annie sat there, staring with her mouth open – first at Harvey, then at Charlotte, then back to Harvey.
The horse switched its tail around at the flies landing on its body.
"I had to shoot him, Annie,” Charlotte said, her voice shaky.
Annie nodded, her eyes still on the dead man in the ditch.
"He woke up. And he got his hands loose. And he was angry – so angry! He was about to get his feet free, too. If I had waited another second longer –"
Charlotte trailed off.
Annie looked at Charlotte sympathetically. "You did the right thing." She dismounted the horse clumsily and stood holding the reins. "Are you sure he's dead?"
Charlotte nodded, looking in the opposite direction of Harvey. She didn't like looking at him. "Pretty sure."
; Annie led the horse closer to Harvey and nodded. "Yeah, he’s dead." She looked over at her friend. "I'm sorry I had to leave you alone with him. But I'm proud of you, Charlotte. You defended yourself!"
Charlotte gave a weak smile. "I just don't want to make this a habit. Though, I do like that gun. I wouldn't mind having one of my own."
"We'll try to get you one," Annie said as she led the horse around to the front of the car. "But for now, we don't have too much time to waste."
"Why? Did you steal that horse from someone, I’m guessing?" Charlotte asked.
"Kind of. I'm just borrowing her," Annie said as she handed the reins to Charlotte. "But I might have a meth head on my trail."
"Say what?" Charlotte asked, frowning. "And what am I supposed to do with this horse?" She looked up nervously at the animal.
"Just stay there for a second. If I can tie these ropes to the car . . . ”
Charlotte watched as Annie struggled to tie the ropes around the Porsche’s bumper.
“This is never gonna work,” Charlotte said. “I’ve never heard of a horse pulling a car out of a ditch!”
Annie ignored her and kept working. Finally, she stood up, red-faced but smiling.
“Okay, girl,” she cooed to the mare. “Come this way.”
She led the horse by the reins downhill several feet.
“Charlotte, can you put the gear in neutral?” Annie asked. Charlotte grimaced from the pain as she moved, but she did as Annie asked.
Annie tied the ropes to the horse’s harness as Charlotte came to stand beside her.
“You can do this,” Annie said, looking into the mare’s eyes.
Annie took the reins and clucked her tongue. The horse began to walk forward, but jolted when the ropes reached the end of their slack. Annie encouraged her forward, tugging on the reins. The horse pulled forward, bringing the ropes taut.
“That’s it,” Annie murmured. “Keep going.”
Finally, the wheels on the Porsche began to roll forward. Then they stopped. The horse strained under the effort.
“You’ve got this,” Annie said under her breath.
The horse kept straining, its muscles bulging under the effort. But finally, she got the wheels rolling again. Annie led the horse up toward the road, and the Porsche began to roll forward behind them.
Annie began to move backward at a brisk pace, leading the horse up and over the hill while the car rolled slowly behind. Just when the horse pulled the Porsche up to the road, Annie stopped her.
“Good girl!” she cooed to the horse, stroking its nose.
Charlotte made her way up to the road and stood looking at the Porsche, shaking her head.
Annie looked at her with raised eyebrows.
Charlotte threw her hands up. “You’re right, you’re right! I should know better than to doubt you, Mrs. Hawthorne!”
Annie smiled. “That’s better. Now, I need you to put the car back in gear so it doesn’t roll away. And put the emergency brake on.”
Charlotte reached inside the car as Annie removed the ropes from the bumper and the horse’s harness.
“Who’s a good girl?” Annie said in a singsong voice as she ran her hand down the horse’s back.
Charlotte walked around to the passenger’s side of the Porsche and opened the door. “Yes, she’s a very good horse. Now, can we get out of here?”
Annie frowned. “But what about her? Shouldn’t I get her back to her home?”
Charlotte scoffed. "Didn't you say there was a lunatic down there? And that he was chasing you?"
Annie turned and looked down the road in the direction of the house. "Yeah, I know it's not safe to go back down there. But I can't just leave this horse loose here."
"Do you really think a strung-out junkie is going to take good care of her?" Charlotte asked, leaning against the car.
"That's a very good point," Annie said. "And I think he killed the owner of the house – and the owner of this horse. I saw a dead man in the living room of the house. Then this younger guy ran out and attacked me…"
"He attacked you?" Charlotte asked, her eyes big. "And you're standing here talking to me instead of driving off? He could show up here with a weapon at any moment!"
Annie bit her lip. "You're right. I know you're right. But I just can't let this horse go. How will it survive alone out here?" She looked in the horse's big, dark eyes. "I wish we could take her with us."
"Maybe Jack could come back for the horse if he makes it to Loretta," Charlotte said. "When he makes it to Loretta, I mean."
Annie glanced at her friend.
"Shoot, I'm sorry, Annie," Charlotte said, cringing at her mistake."I didn't mean anything by that, Annie. Really. Of course Jack is going to make it to Loretta. I'm sorry, it was a stupid mistake. I –"
Annie waved away her concern. "It's okay. I know you didn't mean anything by it."
But Annie knew Charlotte's slip of the tongue was probably closer to the truth. She had been denying it to herself the whole time, but deep down she knew it was true. As horrific as it might be to her, the chances were slim that Jack had survived a nuclear attack on Los Angeles.
After all, he had been downtown when their phone connection had been lost. Downtown Austin had been destroyed by a bomb, and Annie had been lucky to survive it. If downtown LA had been destroyed as well, what were the chances that Jack had gotten out in time?
The thought tore her apart, but she knew she would have to prepare herself for the possibility that she might never see her husband again.
And what about her family? All of their phones had been dead when she had tried to call them early Wednesday afternoon. Maybe the southeastern states had been obliterated, too. And Heather lived so close to Washington, DC. The attacks were probably the worst around the nation’s capital.
Jack, Heather, Brody, Katie, Annie's parents… Maybe they were all gone.
Maybe Annie had lost everyone.
"Annie? Are you okay?" Charlotte asked. "You look like you saw a ghost."
Annie blinked a few times, then refocused on the horse. "I'm fine." She began to remove the harness.
"What I said was stupid," Charlotte said. "If anyone can survive this whole thing, it's Jack. I'm sure he's on his way home right now. He's just been delayed because… Well, because of everything. I guess you were right about what you were saying yesterday. It wasn't just Austin that was hit. It must've been the whole country. That’s pretty clear now. But Jack got out of LA alive. I know he did."
"Yeah, I know," Annie said mildly. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat.
She patted the horse a few times. "Go back home," she whispered, looking into the horse's eyes. "If I can come back for you, I will."
Stepping aside, Annie gave the horse a final pat. She clucked her tongue. "Go home!"
The horse took off toward the house, as if it understood everything Annie had said.
Annie returned to the car and turned the key in the ignition. It started easily.
The two women drove off quickly in the Porsche. They soon passed the horse as it galloped to the west. Annie took one last look at the mare before they disappeared over the next hill.
She picked up speed. Her heart quickened as she drove. There was still one more challenge before they could get out of there.
Her palms grew sweaty as her hands clenched the steering wheel.
They were getting closer to the house where she had been attacked by a madman. She could still remember the sensation of being slammed against the ground.
Just one more hill, and they would come into view of that wooden house – and whatever was waiting for her nearby.
16
Suddenly, Heather came to a stop, skidding her feet on the ground to halt the bicycle. Frantically, she looked around.
Did she even know where she was?
She looked down at her feet. They were standing on a gravel road.
But when had she left the pavement?
She swallowed
, fighting back another wave of nausea and fear. Somehow in her confusion and disorientation, she had taken a wrong turn.
Or had it been several wrong turns? Would she be able to find her way back to the highway at all?
She looked down at her shaking hands. They were covered in blood. His blood. And her arms and torso were soaked as well.
She turned her bike around and set out riding back the way she had come. Maybe she'd be able to retrace her steps.
A ways down the gravel road, she saw a sign for a National Forest campground. "Little Creek Campground," the sign read.
Feeling nauseous and disgusted from his blood on her body, she longed to wash the blood off herself. She turned down the road, hoping the creek would be flowing with water clean enough to rinse off.
Heather coasted into the campground and rode past the self-pay kiosk. A map on the information placard caught her eye, and she studied it, hoping to see a map of the general area. But she was out of luck – the map only detailed the tiny campground.
She rode past the campsites designated for tent camping. The campground was totally empty, which was at once eerie and comforting. She didn't want to see people, but the isolation was a little frightening. Had the EMP hit on a weekend, she figured, the campground would have been full of abandoned cars.
The sound of a bubbling creek beckoned her from the edge of the campground. Leaving her bike at the edge of the road, she approached the creek. Pines, firs, and spruce lined the sides of the little waterway. The tannins from the conifers' shed needles colored the transparent water a rich brown. It looked clean enough, so Heather began to wash herself in the freezing mountain water.
She removed her shirt and was about to wash the garment in the water, but she stopped herself.
Where was her backpack?
She cringed. It was gone. She must have left it behind in the town. In her confusion and panic, she hadn't even noticed it wasn't on her back.
Grumbling over her carelessness, she washed her skin as best she could, then put the soiled shirt back on. Her only other change of clothes was in her backpack, back in that small town. She didn’t want to spend the night in a shirt splattered with blood, but it was better than a sopping wet shirt from the creek water.
