by Harley Tate
Madison stared at Tucker’s bloody hands. This can’t be happening. “How did she get shot?”
“It was a coordinated attack. After they shot out the picture window in the living room, they shot out the sliding glass door out back. But that was all a distraction.”
Madison frowned at her mom. “What do you mean?”
“While we were busy defending the house, someone else broke through the plywood covering the window.”
“In the master?”
Tucker nodded. “By the time I got back here, it was too late. Two guys were cutting the ropes off the man and Wanda was lying on the floor in a heap. Blood was pumping out of her and…” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“What happened to the men?”
“They took the other guy and left through the window.”
“Did they try to shoot you?”
“No. When I busted in, one pointed a pistol at me, but I held up my hands and told him I just wanted to help Wanda. The guy we’d tied up told the other one to let me, so he did.”
“If it weren’t for Tucker, she’d be dead already.” Madison’s mom rubbed the back of her neck. “He’s slowed the bleeding, but there’s too much internal bleeding. The bullet is still in there somewhere.”
Her mom shook her head. “That guy you tied up seemed so nice. We were about to let him go when the shooting started.”
“Do you think he was lying?”
“I don’t know.”
Madison exhaled. She couldn’t believe it. Earlier that day, they were all standing around, laughing and joking. Wanda rigged up the shower and they all managed to clean themselves up. She had even talked about setting up a laundry station and coming up with a way to use scraps from meals to keep Fireball alive.
She glanced around. “Has anyone seen the cat?”
“Wanda’s about to die and you’re asking about a cat?” Brianna eyed her like she she’d gotten a head injury.
“Wanda loves that cat. We need to keep him safe. It’s what she would want.”
“She’s not dead yet.” Peyton’s brows knit together as he stared at her still form. “Let’s not talk about her like she is.”
Madison’s mom nodded. “We’ll stay here until she either stabilizes or… doesn’t make it. Then we’ll make a decision.”
“What do you mean?” Madison glanced around at everyone in the room. “Why wouldn’t we stay here?”
Brianna scoffed. “All of the windows are shot out. Someone tried to kill us.”
“No.” Peyton disagreed. “They came to get one of their own. If we had let him go in the beginning…”
“I did what I thought was best at the time. I didn’t know he would have friends or that they would come for him.” Madison balled her hands into fists. “I thought if we let him leave, that for sure he would come back and try to rob us again.”
“We should have killed him when we had the chance.” Brianna crossed her arms over her chest. “Now he’s out there, angry and hurt, and he knows what we’ve got. We’re sitting ducks.”
Madison couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re talking about murder, Brianna.”
“What does it matter? No one’s going to punish us. It’s survival of the fittest now. I’m not going to be a sitting duck.”
“You really think after all this, he’s going to come back?”
“Of course. That’s what they do. Looters and moochers take and take until there’s nothing left and then they move on.” She pointed at the master bedroom. “All the food and water was stashed in there, Madison. He’s seen everything. He won’t stop and neither will his friends until they get what they’re after.”
“And what’s that?”
“Everything we have.”
Madison reeled. A few days ago Brianna had been this carefree, bubbly teenager with a million curls and the energy to match. Now she stood there like a post-apocalyptic warrior, shotgun slung over her shoulder and a scowl on her face.
The rest of her friends weren’t that far off. Tucker was covered in Wanda’s blood and leaning over her as he pressed down on her wound. Peyton had dark circles under his eyes and the scruffy beginnings of a beard. And her mom…
Madison glanced up at her. She looked bone-tired, but determined, too. “What do you think we should do?”
As her mom opened her mouth to respond, Tucker interrupted. “Hey guys?”
“Yeah?”
“I think…” Tucker leaned back on his heels and removed his hands from Wanda’s body. “I think she’s gone.”
Madison’s mom rushed to Wanda’s side and placed her fingers on her throat. After a moment, she lowered her head. “Tucker’s right. Wanda’s dead.”
Oh, no. Madison covered her mouth with her hand. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t tied him up, if I hadn’t insisted we not kill him or let him go…” She trailed off, rage and despair rising inside her like boats on a wave of tears.
They slipped down her cheeks and blurred her vision and Madison crumpled onto the bed. Sobs racked her body.
A hand landed softly on her back, rubbing up and down. “It’s not your fault, Madison.” Brianna’s words were gentle, but firm. “You didn’t tell her to hit him over the head or barricade herself in the bedroom. She did that all on her own.”
“But I’m the reason he was still here. I’m the reason his friends broke in.”
Her mom reached up and grabbed her hand, squeezing as she talked. “There’s nothing you can do about it now. Wanda is gone and we need to honor her. Not wallow in what-ifs. She would want us to persevere, not fall apart.”
Madison snorted back snot and nodded. “I still feel responsible.”
“We’re all responsible, even Wanda.”
Peyton pushed off the wall where he had been leaning. “Do you all have a shovel? We should bury her.”
Madison’s mom nodded. “In the garage. But let’s wait until morning. She can rest here until then.”
It was too real. Too raw and painful. Madison stood up and rushed from the room, blinking back another wave of tears as she stumbled down the hall. As she neared the kitchen, she paused.
What is that? She snorted again, clearing her nose of wet and sticky grief. She made her way toward the smell, past the tipped-over couch, and into the kitchen.
Every step the smell increased, thickening and turning pungent. She rounded the corner and froze. Oh, no. It can’t be. They couldn’t have…
She turned and cupped her hands around her mouth before she screamed. “FIRE! FIRE!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
TRACY
Sloane Residence
10:30 p.m.
Madison’s scream echoed through the bedroom. “Fire!”
Tracy jumped up, nearly tripping over Wanda’s dead body as she rushed toward her daughter. The second she entered the hall, she smelled the smoke. It hung close to the ceiling and Tracy ducked to make it through without inhaling too much.
Bringing the hem of her shirt up to cover her nose and mouth, Tracy made it into the kitchen. The flames licked across the back wall of the house, rising higher faster than Tracy could process. From below the wood chair rail to above in seconds, to across the butcher block counter and onto the cafe curtains above the sink.
Her house was burning. They would lose it all. Smoke and fear tightened her chest and Tracy rushed toward her daughter who fruitlessly threw their precious water on the flames. She grabbed Madison’s arms.
“Stop! Honey, stop! It’s no use.”
“Mom, we can put it out. We can contain it.” Madison struggled in her mother’s grip.
“No, Madison. We can’t. It’s too big.”
Her daughter lunged away from her, dangerously close to the scalding heat. “We just lost Wanda, we can’t lose the house, too!” She grabbed another trash can and threw the contents at the flames.
They hissed and popped and surged higher.
She had to see it was pointles
s. “You can’t stop it, Madison!”
“I can try.”
Peyton rushed up, the flames reflected in his wide eyes. He turned to Tracy. “What do we do?”
“Get everyone together. We need to secure as many supplies as we can. Pull the cars onto the road and load them up. Backpacks, sleeping bags, all the guns and ammo. And food. As much food and water as you can carry. Quick.”
“What about her?” He pointed at Madison.
“I’ll handle my daughter. Go.”
Peyton ran off and Tracy turned back to Madison. Despite the heat, tears surged down Madison’s face as she took off her jacket and used it to bat at the flames.
If she kept this up, she would get herself killed. Tracy lunged for her, wrapping her arms around Madison’s middle and dragging her back, away from the flames. She shoved her against the far wall. “Stop!”
“No!” Madison screamed in her face. “We have to save it!”
“It’s gone! We need to save ourselves.” Tracy reached out and put her hands on Madison’s shoulders. “Go help your friends load the food and water and supplies into the cars.”
“But the house…” Madison choked on the smoke and her own snot. “Dad won’t know where to find us if we don’t have a house.” She fell into Tracy’s arms as the last words came out and all Tracy could do was hug her daughter for a moment.
“We can talk about it later. But right now, we need to move.” She pulled back and took her daughter’s face in her hands. “Help your friends, Madison. Please.”
At last, her daughter nodded and took off for the master bedroom where the majority of the supplies were located.
Tracy exhaled and took one last look at the kitchen she’d so lovingly renovated only a few years before. They were supposed to make so many memories in this house. It was supposed to last the rest of their lives.
Now a fire turned the pale blue paint to ash and the kitchen table to kindling. She backed up away from the heat, and turned around. Damn the people who did this. Damn Bill and his selfish ways. If she didn’t have an example to set for her daughter…
No. This would hurt, but it wouldn’t wreck them. No matter what, Tracy would find a way to survive.
She rushed down the hall and into the bedroom. Peyton and Brianna were taking turns throwing cases of water and Gatorade and boxes of packaged food out of the broken window and into the backyard.
“Let me help.” Tracy ran up and joined in, tossing boxes of granola bars and toilet paper out the window. “Peyton, you go around back and help load the cars. I can handle this.”
“Will do.” Peyton hustled off and Tracy and Brianna worked into a rhythm, one throwing while one bent to pick up another case.
“How much of this do you think will fit in the cars?”
“Not enough.”
Brianna hoisted another case. “I’ve got a rack on top. Do you have a tarp? We can load up the top and lash the tarp down to cover it all up.”
Tracy nodded. “It’s in the garage. I’ll have to stop to find it.”
“Do it. We’ll need to hide what we have.”
“All right. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Tracy ran toward the door and reached for the door handle. Searing heat and pain shot her hand back. “Ow!”
“Are you all right?”
“The door handle is too hot. I can’t open the door.”
Brianna’s eyes went wide. “That means the fire’s already in the hall. We don’t have much time.”
Tracy stood still for a moment, the pain in her hand eclipsing all ability to think. Blisters rose on her palm in massive clumps as the skin surrounding them flared red. “I don’t think I can lift any more boxes.”
She turned to Brianna and the young woman rushed up to assess her hand. “We need to treat that. I’ve got a burn kit in my bag.”
“What about the rest of the food and water?” There was still so much they could save.
“The cars must be full by now. Come on. I’ll help you out the window.”
Brianna moved a case of water under the window and Tracy climbed out, her hand so painful she could barely stand.
“Mom! Are you okay?” Madison rushed up to her, but Tracy waved her off. “I’m fine. I just burned my hand.”
“She needs my burn kit. It’s in my bag.”
“I’ll get it.”
So many voices. Tracy couldn’t think. The ground swam in front of her eyes. “We need to get the tarp. It’s in… the garage.”
“Mom! Mom are you okay?”
Madison’s voice filtered into her ears, but it was so far away. Everything was far away: the ground, the house, the smell of smoke. Had they left home already? Were they already somewhere new?
She needed to leave a note for Walter. They couldn’t rush off without telling him where to go. Tracy clutched at the hand holding her arm. “We need to tell Walter where we are. We have to go back. He needs to know…”
“Mom? You’re not making any sense. Mom?”
“I think the pain’s making her loopy.”
When did my tongue get so big? Tracy smacked it on the roof of her mouth. “I’m not in pain. What pain?”
She wished she could see. It was so dark where they were. “Can someone turn on the light? I need to see.”
“Here. Get her to take this.”
Madison held something up to her lips. “Mom. You need to take these. They’ll make you feel better.”
A bunch of small, round things landed on her thick, fat tongue. Tracy tried to spit them out.
“No, Mom. Swallow them. Here, drink some water.”
Her mouth filled with liquid and Tracy swallowed, the little round things bobbing down her throat like paper boats in the ocean. They tasted like candy. Maybe they were at the candy store that she went to once as a kid.
When an aunt she’d never met picked her up from the foster home that one time, they had taken a ride to the candy store and little Tracy had picked out all the candy she wanted.
Aunt Verna told her she was going to live somewhere new where no one would hurt her or forget to feed her or leave her at home for days on end all alone. Tracy had smiled then, and stuffed a bag so full of chocolate, little foil-wrapped pieces kept falling out.
She didn’t get to eat much of it, though. The police said it was evidence.
Maybe this trip was making up for it. She smiled and tried to bring the world back into focus.
“Why is it so bright and warm?”
“The house is on fire, Mom.”
“Don’t be silly. We just bought it.”
“I think she needs to lie down.”
“Let’s get her to the car. I can work on her hand there.”
An arm looped through each of Tracy’s and she walked along with whoever was taking her to the candy place. As they sat her down on a seat, she leaned back and closed her eyes. “I think I need a nap.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Sloane. You just fall asleep now. Everything will be all right in a little bit.”
“Why is she so out of it?”
“It’s the pain. She delirious.”
Tracy heard more voices, but couldn’t make out the words. Something cool and wet coated her hand. Was she taking a bath? Not that it mattered. She was so very tired.
As she slipped into sleep, a single voice caught her ear. “Hurry up. I think someone’s coming.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
WALTER
Jenkins Residence
7:00 p.m.
Walter set Drew down on the floor of his kitchen before dumping the bags off his shoulders and collapsing in a heap. Dragging a half-conscious man and two duffels up three flights of stairs while praying two bad dudes with guns didn’t find you was worse than the Crucible. Worse than those two days in the box at SERE. Worse than that moment when he thought his plane was going down and he’d be dying on impact.
Drew was too damn heavy. Walter mopped up the sweat with his shirt and exhaled.
Now came t
he hard part. Keeping that dead weight of a co-pilot alive. He hauled himself up and began opening the kitchen cabinets. On the fifth one, he struck gold.
Leave it to an ass like Drew to be fully stocked with liquor. Walter grabbed the vodka and took a long drink before setting it on the counter. Then he moved onto drawers, pulling out a roll of duct tape, scissors, and a lighter. Now all he needed was a damn good painkiller. He found a bottle of Advil above the sink and turned to Drew.
Walter kneeled beside the man and cut away his shirt with the scissors. His flashlight sat on the table illuminating the little space in which he worked and Walter picked it up to peer at the wound.
“Through and through. Thank God.” He could tape him up and hope for the best. If they found a pharmacy that still had medicine, he could pump Drew full of antibiotics. But even without them, he might make it as long as no bullet fragments remained inside.
After running the scissors through the flame of the lighter and washing down the edge of the table with the vodka, Walter cut small strips of tape and hung them off the edge. When he’d assembled about twenty, he turned to Drew.
“Sorry buddy. This is going to hurt.” He grabbed the bottle of vodka and leaned Drew back. As he tilted his friend’s shoulder, he poured the vodka straight into the wound.
Drew groaned and thrashed, but Walter held him tight. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Oh, hey. Look who’s awake. I’m saving your life, asshole. Quick kicking.”
“That hurts.”
“Unfortunate side effect of getting shot.”
“Am I gonna be okay?” Drew peered down at Walter’s hand where he still held the vodka bottle, dribbling it into and around the wound.
“I don’t know. But this will give you a chance. Looks like the bullet went clean through. Thank God that idiot shot you with an AR-15. Anything slower and you’d have a bunch of fragments stuck in there and all I’d be able to do is watch you die.”
“Comforting.”
“I try.” Walter set the vodka down and waited for the alcohol on Drew’s skin to evaporate. As soon as the skin surrounding the wound was dry, he picked up a strip of tape.
