by Harley Tate
Tucker had a rifle and a box of ammo. Her mom had a handgun, two extra magazines, and at least fifty rounds thanks to Brianna. They might be able to hold off an attack, but for how long?
She focused on the window. Every shot would have to count. Her heart slammed against her chest, every breath speeding it up until she felt like a racehorse about to be released from the chute. Something was coming. Madison could feel it.
All at once gunfire erupted. Brianna jumped up. “It’s from the hall. Tucker!” She turned to Madison. “Cover me!”
“What? No! Brianna—”
Before Madison could say another word, Brianna jumped out from behind the table and raced toward the hallway. Madison held up her shotgun, unable to see into the backyard to give her roommate the protection she needed.
Every step seemed to take an hour as Madison willed Brianna to make it past the window and down the hall to help Tucker and Wanda. Come on. Come on. Madison gripped the shotgun tight to her shoulder, finger on the trigger.
When the glass of the sliding door splintered, she didn’t hesitate. Madison shot.
Boom!
The gun recoiled hard and fast, the barrel flying up into the air as the sliding glass door shattered into a million little pieces and dropped to the floor. Her ears rang, drowning out the shouts and screams from the other room.
Madison brought the gun back against her shoulder and shot again.
Boom!
Smoke and the scent of cordite filled the air. The empty shell hit the floor and Madison fired again.
Boom!
She didn’t know if Brianna made it. Had she been hit? Was she lying on the floor ten feet away, sucking in her last breath? Madison gripped the gun tighter and waited with her head barely visible above the table.
When had breathing become so hard? She labored with each inhale, struggling to get enough oxygen. Her heart beat like she’d run a marathon and the sweat on her palms made it hard to grip the gun.
“Mom! Brianna! Tucker!”
She still couldn’t hear. Were they okay? Should she move? Fear slinked down her spine, nasty slivers jabbing her like knives.
People were breaking in and trying to destroy everything they worked for. Everything they saved and risked their lives over. Everything that was supposed to keep them alive.
The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. The mini-mart where they risked getting shot to grab more food and water and maps to get them home. The Walmart where her mom and Brianna and Tucker could have died.
Brianna and Tucker had delayed going to Truckee to keep them safe, and now they were getting shot at here. If Brianna died, how would she tell her parents? Madison didn’t even know where the cabin was located.
She ground her palm against her temple. Fear didn’t rule her. She wasn’t going to crouch there behind the table while her mom and friends battled for their lives. Madison unloaded the rest of the shotgun out the broken door before reloading. A handful of shells went into in her pockets.
Screw waiting and being safe. She was going to protect her house and her family whatever the cost. She stood up and fired into the dark cavern of the backyard. Three steps around the table and she fired again. Another four as she ran toward the hall.
The second Madison cleared the door, she stopped, back against the wall. Brianna wasn’t in view. She rushed into the living room and stumbled to a stop.
The couch had been flipped over and Peyton crouched behind it. Her mom and Brianna were nowhere to be found. “Are you all right?” Madison slid down to where Peyton half-sat.
“Yeah.” Sweat poured down his face and he dragged in labored breaths.
“Where is everyone?”
“The bedrooms.” Madison started to move when Peyton grabbed her arm. “It’s bad, Madison. Wanda got shot. Maybe Tucker, too. You might want to stay out here.”
Madison shook him off. “No! I need to go. What if they need help?”
“Who’s going to protect them from this direction? Just me?” Peyton glanced down at his gun. “I’ve got two shells left. That’s it.”
This can’t be happening. Madison glanced at the dark hall then back at Peyton. However much she wanted to help, Peyton was right. She needed to stay. She slid down to sit next to him and fished in her pocket.
“Here. I’ve got a few more shells. We can split them.”
Peyton wrapped his hand around hers before she pulled away. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” She focused on the way she’d come. “We still need to get out of this alive.”
Chapter Twenty-One
WALTER
Downtown Sacramento
5:30 p.m.
“Holy shit.” Drew pulled back from the edge of the building, his cheeks paling more by the second. “We’ll never make it. It’s a war zone out there.”
Walter believed it. From the shouts and the crashes and the intermittent gunfire, it sounded just like Los Angeles all those years ago. He exhaled. They could turn back, hike to the command center set up by the National Guard, and leave Drew’s fiancée in the midst of all this chaos.
Or they could man up and do the right thing.
Walter scrubbed at his face. “How badly do you want to see Anne?”
Drew didn’t hesitate. “More than anything.”
“Then we don’t have a choice.”
“Don’t come with me.”
Walter balked. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m going.”
Drew shook his head. “I mean it. You have a family, Walt. You should be putting them first. Anne is my responsibility, not yours.”
Walter glanced down at Drew’s taped ankle. “I’m not leaving you here. That’s a death sentence.”
His former co-pilot puffed up his chest. “I can do it.”
“It’ll be easier with two of us.”
Drew nodded. “Yes, it will. But I can’t ask you to risk your life. Not for me.”
“I’m not doing it for you. I doing it to help your fiancée. Besides, I need a car.”
Drew cracked a small grin. “Are you using me just to get access to a vehicle?”
“Maybe.” Walter clapped Drew on the back. “Come on. The daylight’s waning.”
Walter advanced toward the street, glancing behind him to make sure they could retreat if necessary. As he exhaled, eased around the corner.
Drew was wrong.
War zone didn’t come close to describing the chaos. Burned-out buildings. Fires still raging. A car crash in the middle of the intersection. A dead body lying ten feet away.
Christ.
Walter motioned for Drew to follow. Staying close to the buildings, they navigated over broken glass and sheets of plywood, dropped radios and smashed televisions. The drugstore on the corner had been looted and burned, shelves along the far walls the only thing left standing inside.
Drew hobbled behind Walter, intermittently cursing and grabbing the wall for support as his ankle gave him trouble. They didn’t have time to rest. The sooner they made it to safety the better.
A person appeared in the broken window of a shop half a block down and Walter rushed Drew into an alcove. The man wore a white T-shirt streaked with soot and blood and he held a baseball bat in one hand.
“What’s happening?”
Walter shushed Drew and pressed further back into the shadows. Maybe they should have waited until nightfall, but then how would they leave? The National Guard would erect the barricades and Walter, Drew, and Anne would be trapped.
His family would fear the worst if they didn’t already.
He leaned forward to survey the street. The man with the bat was gone. “Let’s go.”
They crept back out onto the sidewalk, fast walking toward the corner, when a whoop and a crash made Walter duck. The windows to a tax preparer’s office across the street shattered. Drew jumped behind him.
Seconds later the scent of smoke assaulted Walter’s nose and flames leapt out the front of the store.
“What happened?”
“Molotov cocktail, I’d guess. Come on.” Walter motioned for Drew to keep going. They reached the intersection and raced across with Walter holding onto Drew’s arm to keep him upright. “How many more blocks?”
Drew glanced at the street sign. “Two and a half. My building is on the right.”
“Can you run?”
“I can try.”
Walter took off at a loping pace, hoping Drew could keep up. Only two more blocks.
A series of shouts rang out from somewhere to their left followed by a volley of gunfire. They couldn’t stop. They were so close.
Walter glanced behind him. Drew lagged about ten feet behind. He didn’t wait for him.
At the next intersection, a fire raged, burning what looked to have been a restaurant, the flames licking the second-floor windows of apartments above. As Walter dodged the heat, Drew called out.
“Walter! I need to stop. I can’t—”
Walter spun around. Drew clutched a light post, wincing as he lifted his foot off the ground. Walter wanted to scream at him. He needed to suck it up and find a way. They would be killed if they stayed in one place.
Moving was the only chance they had. He rushed back to him. “You have to move. I don’t care if you never walk again after this. If we don’t go, we’ll die.”
Walter wrapped his arm around Drew’s back and helped him off the light post. He already carried both bags and now he shouldered Drew’s weight. So be it.
He half-dragged, half-carried Drew past the burning building and fell into an alcove just beyond. The brick walls sheltered them from the worst of the heat and stairs led up to a second floor with a door at the top.
Leaning Drew back on the wall, Walter sucked in some much-needed air. Sweat soaked his shirt, his back and shoulders ached from carrying the bags and dragging Drew, and he couldn’t catch his breath.
But he wasn’t a quitter. “We’re getting you to your condo, Drew. Whatever it takes.”
Drew grimaced. “It’s still a block away. The noise is louder up ahead. I think we’re running into the mob.”
“We’ll make it. We just need to push a little harder. Dig a little deeper.”
After a moment, Drew nodded. “All right. Just give me a minute to catch my breath.”
Walter would have given anything for a gun. Just to hold one in his hand. His old service pistol would be perfect, but he’d settle for a POS revolver. Anything to give them an advantage. But a loaded gun wasn’t about to fall from the sky or appear at his feet.
They were doing this unarmed and injured.
He pushed off the wall. “Come on. We’ve rested enough.” Walter eased toward the corner and stuck his head out enough to see. Another intersection and Drew’s building should be in the middle of the block.
Three hundred yards at most. They would make it. They had to. He motioned forward. “Let’s go.”
The rest of the block passed by in record time, Drew kept up beside him, and they managed to pass three buildings without incident.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t scope out the intersection before they rushed into it. Or maybe it was the joy of Drew pointing out his building. So close!
He never saw the bullet coming. Drew fell in front of him, arms flailing, chest slamming into the asphalt.
Walter whipped around. A man with a bandana around his face and a hat low over his eyes stood beside a car, holding a rifle up in the air like he’d won a heavyweight fight. Another man across the street shouted in encouragement.
Shit. Walter scooped Drew up, hands digging under his armpits and dragged, just like he had done on so many CFTs. Backpedaling, he made it across the intersection and dove behind the edge of the closest building before the next shot rang out.
Shouts followed.
In seconds they would be upon them. Walter glanced around in a panic. The restaurant had burned, but not completely. He dragged Drew through the debris, around overturned tables and broken chairs, avoiding the glass and twisted metal as best he could. One piece cut his jeans and dug into his leg, but he ignored it.
Walter ducked into the kitchen as the voices grew louder.
He pulled up behind the prep counter and metal cabinets and flipped Drew over. Oh, God. Blood bloomed across Drew’s T-shirt from a gunshot to the shoulder. He searched for a pulse. Faint, but steady. If he could get him somewhere safe…
“Drew! Drew, wake up! I need you buddy.” Walter smacked Drew across the face. “Wake up!”
Drew groaned and bobbed his head. “W-What happened?”
“You’ve been shot. The guys who did it are closing in. Is there another way into your building instead of the front?”
Drew moaned. “Uh… yeah. The alley. Beside the restaurant. The key’s in my… pocket.”
Walter shoved his hand in Drew’s pockets, fumbling around for the key. His fingers scraped metal and he wrapped his hand around the keychain before pulling it free. He gripped the keys so tight, they cut into his palm. Okay. I can do this.
Grabbing Drew under the arm, Walter supported his weight as he navigated through the kitchen toward the door with an exit sign above it. They could still make it.
He pushed the door open as a commotion picked up in the restaurant. The men from the street were inside.
Please don’t find us. Walter dragged Drew through the door and caught it before it slammed. He let it close as quietly as possible before turning to face the alley. Drew’s condo building. It must be.
He tugged Drew toward a metal perforated door to the first-floor garage, propping him up on the side of the building as he searched through the keys. The first one did nothing. The second wouldn’t even fit in the lock.
The third was a car key. The fourth… Please God, be this one. The fourth turned in the lock. Walter sent up a silent prayer and grabbed Drew, tugging him inside as the door to the restaurant slammed open.
He ducked behind the wall to the garage and let the metal door close, hoping like hell it locked automatically. As he dragged Drew down the hall toward the stairs, the door handle shook and the men outside shouted.
They couldn’t get in. Another volley of gunfire erupted, but it wouldn’t do any good. Walter had done it. He’d gotten them inside Drew’s condo building.
Now he just needed to save Drew’s life.
Chapter Twenty-Two
MADISON
Sloane Residence
9:00 p.m.
“Where are they?” Madison could barely contain her impatience. At least twenty minutes had passed since the last shot from either inside or outside.
“I don’t know.” Peyton shifted position behind the couch and risked a glance toward the kitchen.
“We can’t wait anymore. We need to see if anyone needs help.”
Peyton exhaled. “You go. We can’t leave the whole house exposed.”
Madison reached out and gave his arm a squeeze. “Thanks.” Before Peyton could respond, Madison jumped up and rushed down the hall. She reached the master bedroom and turned the knob.
As the door swung open, she raised her gun, but there was no need. The room was empty. No mom, no friends, and no guy tied up to the end of the bed. The board Peyton had nailed to the broken window dangled broken and loose off one side.
Whoever shot at the house had rescued the captured man. Did that mean they were gone? Was it over?
She backed out of the room and shut the door before approaching her bedroom. A faint light shone from under the door. With a light tap of her knuckles, Madison knocked. “It’s Madison. Let me in.”
The door unlocked and swung open. Brianna stood beside it, eyes wide and haunted. “What’s going on out there? It’s too quiet.”
Madison shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Where’s Peyton?”
“Keeping watch.”
Madison’s mom called out from the other side of the bed. “Tell him to come in here. We need to make a plan.”
From her van
tage point, Madison couldn’t see much more than the top of her mom’s head. The lantern sitting on the side table cast half of the room in shadow. Was her mom hurt? Did someone die?
She frowned. “What about keeping watch?”
“I think whoever did this is gone. They got what they wanted.”
“The man we caught?”
Brianna nodded. “He’s what they were after.”
Madison stepped back and retraced her steps before calling Peyton to follow. When they both squeezed into the tiny room, Brianna shut and locked the door. As Madison walked around the edge of the bed, she gasped.
Wanda lay on the floor, unconscious. Tucker kneeled beside her, his hands pressed down over a blood-soaked ball of fabric wadded up against her pelvis. He grimaced as Madison approached. “Sorry. We used some of your clothes.”
“It’s okay.” Madison crouched down beside the woman. In her unconscious state, Wanda’s wrinkles smoothed and she could imagine what she looked like at half her age when she was young and carefree. “Is she okay?”
“No.” Her mom stood up and wiped at her forehead with a hand stained in blood. “She’s been shot in the lower abdomen. We can’t get the bleeding to stop.”
“She needs to go to a hospital!”
Brianna spoke up. “The only trauma center in the area is the UC Davis Medical Center. It’s downtown.”
“So? We go there.”
“No.” Her mom shook her head. “Downtown isn’t safe. When Wanda and I were at her apartment, a man there said downtown was engulfed in riots. We can’t risk it. Besides, what could the hospital do for her? There’s no power.”
“But there are nurses and doctors. Someone can do something.”
Tucker chimed in. “No, they can’t. All the blood stored is bad by now. Surgical equipment isn’t sanitary. If riots are in the area, they’ve probably already been looted for all of the painkillers and antibiotics.”
He shifted position, glancing down at Wanda’s wound. “Besides, I don’t think she’s going to make it.”
