by Harley Tate
Madison’s finger trigger itched. She wanted to shoot him so badly. Make him suffer for what he did to Wanda. Memories of her lifeless body and Tucker’s blood-soaked hands filled Madison’s mind. Her vision blurred. “Not good enough. I need an answer. Did you do it? Did you kill her?”
“Madison, maybe you should—”
She swung the shotgun around and pointed it at Tucker. “He shouldn’t get away with it.”
“But if you kill him, you won’t be any better than him. Wanda’s gone. I know. Her life slipped through my fingers. Killing Bill won’t bring her back.”
“It would feel damn good, though.”
Tucker nodded. “For now. But what about tomorrow? Or the day after? You’ll have to live with that guilt forever.”
Madison twisted back around, the barrel of the shotgun parading over the faces in the crowd. A little girl of no more than five stood a few feet from Bill, her arms wrapped around her mother’s thigh. Madison paused, concern drawing her brows together.
So many innocent people. None of them had any clue as to how the world was changing. They would learn soon enough. Madison didn’t need to be the one to bring it about. She focused on the little girl, her brown hair the same shade as Madison’s own.
She couldn’t kill a man in front of a child. No matter how much he deserved it. With a jagged exhale, she lowered the shotgun and focused on Bill. “This conversation is over.”
As she stepped back, Madison took a moment to look over all the faces in the crowd. “If any one of you so much as steps a foot onto Sloane property or touches one of our cars, so help me God, I’ll drop you where you stand. Is that clear?”
The crowd murmured, heads averted and bent. The little girl ducked behind her mother, a flash of the pale yellow dress she wore the only evidence she even existed. In moments, the crowd dispersed, people walking back to their homes in groups of two and three.
Tucker appeared by her side. “Thanks, Madison.”
“Don’t thank me yet. If that man so much as looks our way, I declare it just cause.”
Brianna walked up and clapped Madison on the shoulder. “Good job reigning it in, babe. I wouldn’t have been so neighborly.”
Madison exhaled and turned toward the cars. It had taken all her strength not to shoot. She hoped she wouldn’t regret it. “Come on. We need to check on my mom. She should be awake by now.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
WALTER
Downtown Sacramento
6:00 a.m.
“We’re never gonna get out of here.”
Walter cast Drew an irritated glance. “Not with that attitude, we’re not.”
“Come on. It took us three hours to get out of the parking deck.” Drew eased back in the passenger seat, wincing as he bumped his wounded shoulder.
Walter grunted. “You try moving a burned-out car all by yourself. It’s not as easy as it looks.”
From the attitude Drew was giving him, Walter half-wished he’d just let the man die. So far he had been zero help. He knew the man had a bullet wound and he had just lost his soon-to-be wife, but still. He could have put in a bit more effort.
Thanks to his complete lack of preparedness at his condo, they weren’t even able to scrounge up any food. His fiancée had been right—they had nothing. The extra clothes, lighters, and liquor would come in handy, but what Walter could really use was a Gatorade and a Power Bar.
He exhaled and eased the car down another alley. The little side streets proved to be less congested than the main streets: fewer rioters out looking to wreak havoc or cars stuck in the middle of the road.
So far the alley ahead appeared clear. If they could only make it to the highway, they had a chance to get out of downtown. As Walter eased the little Volkswagen between the buildings, he flicked his eyes up to the rear view.
A small light wavered behind him, roving over the alley and lingering on the back of their car. Shit. He pushed the accelerator down, increasing the speed from a slow crawl of fifteen to forty.
Drew shifted in his seat. “What are you doing?”
“Someone’s behind us.” Walter kept glancing at the rear view while navigating around the trash cans and dumpsters and intermittent debris in the alley as best he could. One fender hit a trash can and sent it flying into the air.
It slammed to the ground with a bang and a clatter.
“Hey! Watch it! My car’s only a year old.”
Walter snorted. “I don’t think you need to worry about resale value.”
“You have a point.” Drew turned to stare out the window. After a moment, he eased closer to the window. “Hey… Walter?”
“Yeah?”
“I think we’ve got another problem.”
“What?”
Drew leaned closer to the glass, glancing behind him and then out to the side again. “There’s a motorcycle on our tail. No lights.”
Walter squinted into the just-before-dawn light. “I don’t see anything.”
“It’s keeping to the shadows. I saw it in a reflection in a window.”
“Can you tell what it’s doing?”
Drew struggled to turn in the seat and keep his shoulder immobilized. “No. I only caught a glimpse once or twice. Single driver. Helmet covering the entire face. I can’t tell if he’s armed.”
Walter frowned. The light in the rear view still tracked them, bouncing up and down as if it were traveling on the same road. “I think they’re together. The light behind us must be a motorcycle as well.” He checked his watch. “It’ll be light enough to see in a few minutes. Hopefully they hold back until then.”
“If they don’t?”
“Ever been in a high-speed chase?”
“No. Have you?”
“Only in the air.” Walter glanced at Drew’s torso. “Buckle up. This could get dangerous.”
Drew laughed. “Like it isn’t already.” He reached for the seatbelt and pulled it over his chest, easing it under his arm and wounded shoulder before buckling. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Walter hit the gas. “Good. Because we’re going to lose these two right now.”
The car lurched as it picked up speed and Walter gripped the steering wheel with both hands, holding it steady at ten and two. Driving wasn’t that different than flying, if he thought about it. He couldn’t do the same evasive maneuvers since the car couldn’t exactly leave the horizontal plane, but he wasn’t scared to push the car to its limits.
Multi-ton machines were built to handle a lot more than most people put them through. He glanced at Drew. Some people, in particular.
Walter punched the gas as the car came to a main road, flying over the curb and bottoming out in the middle of the street. Drew grunted next to him and reached for the handle above the window.
“You all right?”
“Fine.”
“Are they still coming?”
Drew turned around. “Yes, and you’re right. There’s two of them. One looks like a Harley or something similar, lots of chrome and pipes. The other is a crotch rocket, built for speed.”
Walter cursed. “We could outmaneuver and outrun the Harley, but we’ll never escape the racer.” He glanced at the time: 6:40. “It’s sunrise. They won’t be able to hide in the shadows anymore.”
He barreled down the next alley, swerving around a dumpster tipped on its side before hitting another street. They bounced over the curb, the tail pipes scraping as he turned the wheel. “Let’s see how they do out in the open.”
The car fishtailed as he whipped it onto the road and he hit some burned-out hunk of metal before he got it under control. The riot had died out some time in the morning hours, at least in this part of downtown. Not a soul was on the road except them and the two motorcycles.
The Harley behind them growled as it sped up. Walter glanced in the rear view. “I don’t see any weapons.”
“Then what’s the point?”
“I’m guessing they hope we crash.”
The st
reet racer screeched and bucked before accelerating toward them. Walter slowed.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing what they’re after.”
Drew braced himself in the seat, slinking down to hide most of his body beneath the window.
The bike came up even with the driver’s side, the red and black body dented and scraped. Walter couldn't make out any features of the driver. The black visor of the helmet blocked his view.
“Walter!”
“What?” Walter snapped his gaze away.
“The Harley has a gun!”
Walter glanced up at the rear view. Crap. While he’d been distracted by the street bike, the other driver had pulled out a shotgun and aimed it at the car. With a clear road behind them, the Harley driver had a clear shot.
Walter squeezed the steering wheel. “I’d duck, if I were you.”
Drew crouched down in the seat, clutching the console like it would somehow protect him.
The first shot went wide, hitting the passenger-side mirror and splintering it in a million pieces. Drew jumped. “They’re shooting at us!”
“Yes, they are.” Walter flicked his gaze back and forth between the motorcycle next to him, the one behind them, and the road in front. It was too much. He clipped a tipped-over fridge and the car lurched to the left, coming within a foot of the motorcycle.
The driver swerved and kept the bike upright, but it gave Walter an idea. A tipped car sat on its side about two blocks ahead, debris and wreckage strewn all around it. “How far are we from the highway?”
Drew rose up enough to catch the street sign as they passed. “Less than a mile.”
“Hold on.” Walter headed straight for the wrecked car and punched the accelerator.
“What are you doing?”
“Increasing our odds.” He glanced at the street bike next to him. Good luck staying on, buddy. As the little Jetta picked up speed, Walter angled away from the debris as if he were trying to avoid it. The motorcycle stayed by his side as the driver leaned over, concentrating on keeping up.
That’s it. Stay with me. One block passed in a blur. The car sat a hundred yards away. Seventy-five. Fifty. Walter gripped the steering wheel. He’d need to time it just right. Twenty-five.
He darted around the worst of the large debris—a fender or side wall—and resumed course. Fifteen yards. Ten.
Walter sucked in a breath and swerved, aiming the driver’s side of the Jetta right for the tipped-over car. The driver of the street racer rose up and tried to turn, but it was too late.
“You’re gonna hit it!” Drew screamed as Walter kept the wheel steady. “We’re gonna—”
At the last second, Walter cranked the wheel, clipping the front bumper of the wreck, but not hitting it full-on. The motorcycle rider wasn’t so lucky. As he tried to dodge the car by leaning far to the left, his tires lost their grip on the road.
The motorcycle skidded along the pavement, driver still clutching the handlebars, body twisted for the turn. Walter looked away at impact. He didn’t need to watch to know the man would never survive.
The wrecked car wobbled in the rear view, tilting back and forth until it crashed onto the ground. The Harley slowed, stopping at the site of the crash.
Drew eased up from his crouch near the floorboards and looked out the rear window. “Holy shit, you did it!”
Walter exhaled. It wasn’t exactly like flying a plane, but it was as close as he’d get for a good long while. As his heart rate slowed, he saw the on-ramp to the freeway ahead. An Army vehicle sat on the inbound ramp, and from their distance, Walter could barely make out men milling about.
The defensive perimeter.
He glanced at Drew. “You up for one more race?”
Drew groaned. “Do I have a choice?”
“Nope.” Walter punched the gas again, not bothering to look at how much fuel his evasive maneuvers cost. They were getting out of downtown in a vehicle, no matter what.
A group of guardsmen dragged a chain-link fence into position on the highway ramp, tying it into a section of fence just beyond. The gap was closing. Walter increased their speed.
He closed the distance between them and the soldiers in seconds. A group of them stopped at his approach, some reaching for their weapons, others merely staring, mouths open. He rolled down the window and stuck out his hand in a wave as they blew past the crowd.
No one fired. Walter darted under the overpass and onto the frontage road running alongside the opposite side of the highway. They were out of downtown. They were free.
He slowed the vehicle to a safe speed. With any luck, he’d be hugging his wife and daughter soon.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
TRACY
Sloane Residence
7:30 a.m.
“Just a little while longer, mamma. I’m so tired.” Tracy rolled over and tried to tug the covers up on her little twin bed.
“Mom, it’s me, Madison. You’re dreaming. You need to wake up.”
Tracy frowned in her sleep. “Go away. I want to sleep.”
“No. Please wake up.”
After a minute or two of constant shaking and talking at her, Tracy finally blinked an eye open. “Madison? What’s going on?”
“You were asleep.”
Tracy sat up, but the pounding in her head and hand made her wince and falter.
Madison rushed in to keep her from falling back over. “Easy. I’ve got you.”
“My head is killing me.”
“What about your hand?”
Tracy squinted and tried to focus on her burn, but the pain her head made it difficult. “It hurts, too.”
Madison reached for Tracy’s injured hand and she held it out. Her daughter examined it. “You need antibiotics and some painkillers.”
“Do we have any?”
“No. We lost it all in the fire.”
Tracy groaned. She couldn’t help the kids in this state.
“Excuse me, Madison?”
Tracy tried to stand up, but her daughter touched her shoulder to tell her no. “Who is that?”
“Penny from across the street. Hold on.”
Madison stepped away and Tracy tried to get it together. Her daughter and friends needed her coherent and functional, not discombobulated and worthless. She scooted forward on the seat and a wave of nausea gripped her.
Tracy leaned back until it subsided, forced to do nothing but keep still.
A few minutes later, Madison returned. She handed her an open bottle of water and Tracy took a sip.
“What did Penny want?”
Madison smiled. “To help, actually. She brought you some Advil and antibiotics. She said they’re expired, but they might still work.” Madison held up the little brown bottle. “Said they gave her hives so she quit taking them after only two days.”
Tracy held out her good hand and Madison put two pills in her palm. “Better than nothing.”
After Tracy swallowed the pain pills and the antibiotics, she eased back onto the seat. “Give me a few minutes, okay?”
Madison nodded. “Sure thing. We’re going to check the house for anything salvageable. Just yell if you need anything.”
Tracy nodded and closed her eyes. Everything had gone so terribly wrong. After all she had been through, getting supplies, picking up Wanda, stealing the little Nissan. And someone had to ruin it.
She pried an eye open and glanced at the still-smoldering remains of her house. They would have to leave.
The thought sent a new wave of nausea up her throat and Tracy worked to hold it down. Walter was out there somewhere. She could feel it in her heart and bones. Her husband was out there in the chaos, trying to get home.
But when he got there, they would be gone. He would show up to an empty, burned-out house, and think the worst. If only there were some way they could stay. If only the house hadn’t burned all the way to the ground or they hadn’t captured that man to begin with or…
Tracy shook her h
ead. She could run through a million different what-ifs but it wouldn’t change the facts. They had to move on.
She leaned back and closed her eyes. All she needed was a few minutes more rest.
2:00 p.m.
Tracy blinked her eyes open. She was still in the same place as that morning, sitting in the passenger side of the Nissan, burned hand lying palm-up in her lap. She glanced at her watch. Two in the afternoon? Did I sleep all day?
She pushed the door open and swung her legs out of the car.
“Mom! Hold on! Don’t try to stand up.”
Tracy scoffed as her daughter ran over. “Don’t be silly. I’m fine.” She pushed herself up to stand as Madison stuttered to a stop in front of her.
“Are you feeling better?”
Tracy nodded. “Whatever Penny gave me seems to be working.”
Her daughter exhaled in relief. “Thank goodness. I didn’t know what we were going to do if you didn’t get better.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Tucker is charging his solar panels. He spent the morning hooking up all his computer equipment and trying to find a trace of the internet or a radio station or anything out there somewhere.”
“Any luck?”
“Nope.”
Tracy nodded. It was what she had come to accept. There wasn’t a reset button for this kind of disaster. “How about Brianna and Peyton?”
“Brianna gathered all the guns and ammo and set about organizing it all. Now we know what we have and she fashioned little ammo sacks out of one of her T-shirts so we can sync up the right gun with the right ammunition.”
“Good.”
“Peyton and I are searching the house. We found some cans in the master that survived and a few things in the garage. That’s about it.”
Tracy paused. She didn’t know how to bring up the obvious. “What about Wanda?”
Her daughter glanced at the ground. “We left my bedroom alone. I couldn’t—” The tremor in Madison’s voice twisted Tracy’s insides. Wanda hadn’t been with them long, but she had become more than a boss, she had become a friend. Tracy held up her hand. “It’s okay. As soon as you are ready, we should head out.”
