by Harley Tate
“What happened to tough guy Walt who punches first?”
“This isn’t one I can win. Get moving. We don’t have much time.”
As they neared the window, the voices out front picked up.
“I mean it, Travis. This is the end of the whole goddamn world. It’s gonna be just like them TV shows I keep tellin’ you ’bout. Just wait.”
Drew shoved his bag through the window and lifted one foot.
Walter stared at the man’s sock in disbelief. “Where are your shoes?”
“In my bag. I can’t put them on. We didn’t find the duct tape, remember?”
Lord have mercy, this man is going to get me killed. Walter practically shoved Drew through the window after that, following up with his bag before Drew even cleared out of the way.
As he lifted himself up to ease through the frame, the front door handle jiggled. He slipped through just as the door swung open.
“Welcome to it, boys. It’s the Shangri-La of Six Rivers forest.”
“It’s a dump.”
“Watch it now, or you’re gonna find yourself strung up outside by your toes. I paint your face in honey and I bet all the bears’ll come after you.”
“Shut up, Billy. I ain’t lettin’ nobody do nothin’ like that.”
“You ain’t the one with the shotgun now, are ya?”
Walter pushed Drew toward the rail as the men inside carried on. They needed to get as far away from the cabin as possible before anyone noticed they had been there. After slinging his bag back over his shoulder, he jumped the rail and landed with a thud on the ground. Drew followed, wincing as he landed in shoeless feet.
“Hey! Hold up. What’s all this shit? I thought you told me this place was empty?”
Oh, no. Walter pointed. “Run, Drew. Get at least a hundred yards into the trees before you turn south.”
“Which way is south?”
The voices from inside turned to shouts. “Someone’s been in here!”
“Get me that damn lantern.”
“Billy! Get the gun, boy!”
“Run!” Walter took off, dragging Drew a few steps until the man got it together enough to move on his own. Thank goodness Walter’s change of clothes included a dark shirt, otherwise he would be as easy to spot as a white rabbit in the forest.
Every step got them farther away from the bad end of a pair of shotguns and the crazy fools now occupying the cabin. Walter couldn’t take on five guys with weapons, even if he’d been twenty years younger and well-rested. The only thing to do was run and hope like hell those overweight guys back there couldn’t keep up or aim well enough to make it not matter.
“Where are we going?” Drew huffed out the question between haggard breaths. “I can’t see anything. I’m going to hit a tree.”
“Just keep going. We’ve got to get far enough away that we aren’t worth the chase. A mile at least.”
“You’re serious?” Drew groaned and slipped back half a step. “I can’t go that far, man. My feet are torn to shreds.”
“You’d rather be shot?”
“No.”
“Then run faster.” Walter grabbed Drew by the arm and forced him to keep up the grueling pace. Sweat slicked his back, dripped off his nose, and stung his eyes with every step, but Walter wasn’t stopping.
His wife and daughter needed him home alive. Getting shot a three-hour drive from home wasn’t how he was going to end it all.
Sounds of voices could still be heard behind them, but the shouts grew fainter the farther they ran. The thought they might escape made him push harder, run faster.
As they ducked around a large pine, Walter’s foot caught on a hidden root and he stumbled. His hands shot out on instinct, bracing for a fall, but he managed to keep himself upright. Drew wasn’t so lucky.
The man fell, landing hard on the ground as his bag flew over top of him and into a pile a leaves.
“Drew! Are you okay? Drew!” Walter crouched beside him, running his hands over his back, feeling for lacerations.
Drew groaned and rolled onto his side. “I think I chipped a tooth.” His former co-pilot sat up, feeling around his face for cuts. “Help me up, would you? We should keep going.”
Walter stood and held out his arm. As Drew stood, he cried out and lifted his left foot. “Damn it. I did something, Walt. I don’t know if it’s broken or sprained, but my ankle is messed up.”
“Can you walk?”
Drew tried to put some weight on his foot, but he shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Walter bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t carry Drew and they weren’t far enough away from the cabin to be safe. They needed to keep moving.
What on earth were they going to do? Walter helped Drew ease back down onto the ground. “Rest your foot up on the log. You need to elevate it to keep the swelling down.”
Drew did as he was told. “What are we going to do?”
Walter wiped the sweat and grime from his brow. “I don’t have a clue. We need to keep moving to be safe. Maybe I can find a fallen limb you can use as a cane or a crutch. With enough time, I could make a litter and drag you.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“Any ideas Mr. Two Left Feet?”
“Hey! It was an accident!”
Walter held up his hands in apology as light caught his eye. It blinked out as quickly as it appeared.
“What was that?” Drew shifted, trying to spot it again. “There! Look! I think it’s headlights!”
Drew was right. A car was working its way up the hill toward the cabin. It had to be a ways off, but it would pass them soon. Walter turned to Drew. “Stay here. I’m going to flag that vehicle down.”
“What if it’s the guys from the cabin?”
“It’s a risk I have to take. You need medical attention and I can’t get us out of here on my own. Stay put.”
“What if you don’t come back?”
“Then best of luck to you.” Walter turned and took off for the road, running as fast as he could while keeping an eye out for fallen trees and branches. He couldn’t repeat Drew’s mistake.
He made it to the side of the road as the headlights came into full view. Without a moment’s pause he threw up his hands, waving them in huge arcs. The vehicle slowed.
Walter didn’t know if the car approaching was his death or salvation, but he didn’t have a choice. He had to take the chance.
Chapter Twelve
TRACY
Walmart
3:00 p.m.
There has to be a way out of here. Tracy eased back behind the end cap and slipped the shotgun off her shoulder. She didn’t want to use it. Shooting people wasn’t going to be her MO.
No matter what happened, she would find a way to get out of there without firing a gun. Tracy wondered if Brianna and Tucker knew they weren’t alone. Had either kid seen the newcomers? Or were they going about their business, filling carts and being teenagers?
She should give Tucker some credit; the boy was twenty, but it didn’t matter. Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one—they were all less than half Tracy’s age and still children. Madison might be brave with a good head on her shoulders and strong values, but that didn’t give her life experience. It didn’t give her the wisdom needed to make tough choices.
Tracy forced her breathing to stay even and unhurried. Terror wasn’t something new to her. She had plenty of it growing up. The tightness in her chest. The feeling of exploding on the inside, but staying together on the outside; skin the only reason she didn’t fly apart in a million jagged pieces.
Television shows always painted childhood as this idyllic time free from worry and fear. Tracy experienced the opposite. When her mother wasn’t high, she was strung out. The days she disappeared, leaving nothing but a jar of peanut butter and dirty dishes, were good days.
The days she came back with strangers were the worst. Tracy pushed her memories away. Her experience growing up was one of the reasons she worked
so hard to give Madison the best life. She needed to make sure it continued.
With her hands gripping the shotgun tight, Tracy eased forward, once again checking on the men in the aisle.
The aisle was empty.
Tracy’s skin began to crawl. They could be anywhere. One aisle over. Across the store. Holding Tucker at gunpoint. Dragging Brianna out by her hair.
Tracy couldn’t let anything happen to those two. With a deep breath she darted across the aisle, stopping behind the next end cap. She couldn’t be more than twenty feet away from Brianna if she was still in guns and ammo.
Another deep breath and Tracy peeked around the corner. Empty. She ran for it without hesitating. Again, she looked, assessed, determined she could run for it, and went. One more round and Tracy could see the gun displays along the back wall.
Unfortunately, voices came along with them.
“What you think, Dave? How many can we fit in the truck?”
“Hell, all of ’em, dontcha think?”
The men laughed and Tracy cringed. They sounded close—too close. Where was Brianna? Had she heard them approach and hid? Had they already found her and knocked her out?
She had known about the risks coming here, but now Tracy wished they had all stayed home. If she had fought harder and argued with Madison more, maybe they wouldn’t be here. Brianna and Tucker wouldn’t be risking their lives and Tracy would know Madison was safe.
If they made it out of there alive, that was it. No more trips. No more runs. Whatever they had in the house would have to last.
If only it could last forever.
Tracy eased back into the aisle and crept away from the voices. She would find Tucker first and circle back. If those men did have Brianna, she would need Tucker’s help.
The farther she backpedaled, the easier it became to breathe. Unable to hear the two men debating what guns to take and what to leave behind, Tracy could focus on the other noises in the warehouse: the intermittent squeak of her shoes on the concrete floor, the chirp of a bird trapped somewhere along the roofline, the clank of a can as it landed in a shopping cart.
Tucker.
Tracy headed toward the noise, bypassing bedding and clothing and a whole display of DVDs and CDs. The food portion of the warehouse spanned an entire side, with canned goods positioned up near the front. Thank goodness Tracy shopped there now and again, otherwise she would never find her way.
As she passed the aisles of freezer cases, the noxious smell of thousands of pounds of rotting food forced her to cover her nose and mouth. It wouldn’t take long before such a smell attracted vermin, if it hadn’t already. It made her think about all the waste.
The pounds and pounds of food companies made and packaged into plastic bags and cardboard boxes and shipped to stores like Walmart and Target and Costco in giant refrigerated trucks. All spoiled and worthless.
At least the canned goods would keep forever. Tracy slowed as she reached the first aisle of shelf-stable products. Tucker should be right around the corner, she hoped. Adjusting her grip on the shotgun, Tracy inched toward the aisle, peeking around the corner. She caught the last glimpse of a person before he disappeared behind the end cap.
Rats.
Tracy couldn’t tell if she’d seen Tucker, one of the strangers, or even Brianna. She glanced behind her. Standing in the wide-open space a few aisles from checkout increased her vulnerability. Too exposed. Too easy to pick off.
She needed cover. She would just have to take a chance that the person she saw was friendly. With a deep breath, Tracy rushed down the aisle, half-running, half-sliding across the floor. As she reached the end, she slowed, turning the corner at almost a walk.
Not slow enough. As she turned, she collided with a body. A warm, solid body holding an armful of full-size cans. A few tumbled from his arms like potatoes from a sack.
“Mrs. Sloane! What are you doing?”
Tracy grabbed Tucker by the arms and shushed him. “Quiet! There’s someone else inside the store.”
“I know. Brianna’s over in the hunting department living out her commando dream.”
“No! I saw two men. I don’t think they know we’re here.”
Another can fell from Tucker’s arms and landed smack on the top of Tracy’s foot. She stifled a yelp and grabbed her foot, hopping to relieve some of the ache.
“Sorry.” Tucker set the rest of the cans down. “Where’s Brianna?”
“I don’t know. I tried to find her in the guns and ammo area, but the two men beat me to it. It didn’t sound like they spotted her. Have you seen her at all?”
Tucker shook his head. “No.”
“Then we need to come up with a plan to find her and get out of here before those guys spot us.”
“If we do find Brianna, she won’t leave without the weapons.”
“She won’t have a choice.”
Tucker hesitated. “We could… hurt them.”
Tracy frowned. “Shooting someone should be the last resort, not the first idea that pops into our heads.”
Tucker turned and glanced down the aisle. “What if they have her already?”
“If those men lay one finger on Brianna, or you for that matter, I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger. But I’m not going to shoot first.”
“Promise me you won’t let anything happen to Brianna. She’s the closest thing to family I have. My parents are dead. I was an only child. If it weren’t for Brianna and her family… I don’t know where I’d be.”
Tracy gave Tucker’s arm a squeeze. “You probably wouldn’t be hiding behind a display shelf of canned salmon plotting how to sneak out of a dark Walmart in the middle of the afternoon.”
Tucker snorted back a laugh. “You’re probably right.”
Enough chitchat. Time to go. Tracy gave Tucker one more reassuring pat. “Okay. Let’s head toward the hunting department. We can check every aisle between here and there. Stay low and close to the shelves, but don’t knock anything off. We need to be as quiet as possible.”
“What happens when we find her?”
“If she’s alone and they haven’t spotted us, we backtrack and sneak out the front. Those guys must have come in that way, otherwise they would have spotted the car.”
“And if she’s not alone?”
“Then we fight like hell until we get her back.”
Even in the dim light, Tracy could read the expression on Tucker’s face. He trusted her. He thought she would be the ticket to safety and her ideas were the ones to follow. If he only knew that she was as clueless as the rest of them.
Tracy hadn’t lived through very many apocalypses, and as bad as her childhood was, it didn’t count. Any idea she came up with should be vetted by people smarter and wiser. But no one was here offering up his or her services. She had to rise to the occasion. She had to be the leader.
Tucker and Brianna were counting on her. She couldn’t mess this up.
“Let’s go aisle by aisle. Each of us walking up and down. If she’s hiding, maybe she’ll see us and come out. If she’s not, then we can eliminate that aisle from the search.
“Ready?” She waited as Tucker bent down to pick up a soup can in each hand.
“Let’s do this.”
Chapter Thirteen
TRACY
Walmart
5:00 p.m.
Why did Walmart have to be so big? After searching three quarters of the store with one eye out for the two men whooping it up in the guns department, Tracy’s hope waned. Wherever Brianna hid herself away to escape the intruders, Tucker and Tracy couldn’t find her.
“Maybe she curled up in the blankets and towels and took a nap.”
“With two guys firing handguns into the same department?”
“You have a point.” Tucker hunched down close to the end of the aisle as another shot popped off.
At least the two men cared more about goofing off than they did about scoping out the rest of the store. Every few minutes one of them would
shout about the latest gun he’d loaded and the other would dare him to shoot it.
From three aisles away, Tracy had watched them drink a case full of warm beer, crush the cans on their foreheads, and joke how they would turn the whole bedding department into one giant shooting range.
She thought they were only kidding until one wheeled a shopping cart full of pillows and comforters into the middle of the store and took a sharpie to them, creating wobbly circle targets on every zipped-up plastic bag. Instead of prepping for the future, they were wasting ammunition and the batteries of half the lanterns in the sporting goods department just to have some stupid fun.
Tracy inhaled and the acrid smell of fertilizer itched her nose. They were camped out in the garden department, as far away from those trigger-happy fools as they could get. But they still needed to find Brianna and get home.
Reaching up, Tracy pushed her damp hair away from her face before tugging out the loosened ponytail and fixing it. If they ever made it out of there alive, she would either jump in the first pool they came across or sacrifice a bottle of water just to wash her hair.
Tucker handed her a granola bar. “You should eat.”
Tracy took the package from him, squinting to read the label. The garden section of the store received the most natural light from outside with clear windows and double doors to a small outside area. Pure Organics Chocolate Banana Bar. She glanced up.
“Where did you get this?”
Tucker made a face. “You do know we’re in Walmart, right? There’s a million of them back in aisle four.”
“Right.” All this time, Tracy had been focused on gathering supplies from her section, looking for Brianna, and trying to evade the two men. She forgot Tucker had been scouring food shelves. “Thanks.”
She unwrapped the bar and ate, washing it down with a purple pastel Gatorade Tucker pulled out of a six-pack. How many sidelines did Tracy sit at over the years, cheering Madison on as she kicked a soccer ball down the field? How many snacks did she watch her daughter eat, unwrapping the little granola bar, breaking the seal on the sports drink so she could rehydrate?
