by Harley Tate
His daughter blinked. “What?”
Walter smiled. “I’m proud of you. You almost died in a shootout, came home, dug two graves, and stood by your friend’s side as she cried. You had to be bone-tired. But you didn’t fall into bed and sleep away the terrible memories of yesterday. Instead, you went out there and took it upon yourself to help.”
“I couldn’t let Brianna down.”
“She’s lucky to have you as a friend.”
Madison shook her head. “No, she’s not. It’s because of me that Tucker’s dead. If I hadn’t insisted we come here, they would already be in Truckee. All the things that happened here, they’re all because of me.”
Walther hated to hear her inner thoughts and all the blame she heaped on her young shoulders. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
“I’m not hard enough. I should have listened when Brianna told me to wise up. I should have thought the worst of people, not the best. Ever since the power went out, I’ve been trying to convince myself that nothing has really changed. That there are still good people out there.”
“You’re right. There are.”
“Not enough.” Madison shook her head. “Every time I’ve given someone the benefit of the doubt these last two weeks, one of us has gotten hurt.”
“Tractor Boy didn’t hurt us.”
“No, but that was one time out of how many?”
Walter shrugged. He understood his daughter’s train of thought, but he didn’t want her to give in to it. She couldn’t get run over by despair and pessimism. “Isn’t it worth the risk to ensure we get those chances? That’s why our justice system is the way it is; innocent until proven guilty. It would be better to have ten guilty men go free than one innocent be sentenced.”
“The world is different now.”
“Is it? How? Because life is harder?”
“In part.”
“So because life is harder, it’s okay to presume guilt? It’s okay to shoot first and not bother to ask any questions?”
Madison frowned, her eyes searching his face as she tried to reconcile her thoughts and emotions. “Didn’t you do that at the communications building and student health center?”
Walter shook his head. “No. Not in the way you’re thinking. I assessed the situation, determined we were at risk—”
“You’re splitting hairs.”
Walter hesitated. “Maybe. But this isn’t about me. I’ve lived twice as long as you, Madison. I don’t want to see you so jaded so young.”
Madison broke eye contact, staring at her hands in her lap before speaking. “If we keep giving people chances, one of these days, someone is going to take too much. You’ve already been shot. Mom burned her hand. Wanda, and Tucker, and Drew… They’re gone.”
She glanced up. “I’m afraid that one of these days I’ll lose one of you.”
Walter nodded. He understood that fear. It lived and breathed inside of him like a parasite, feeding off his life. “I’ll be the first to admit I’ve done things these last two weeks…” He shook his head. “Hell, Madison, I’ve done things these last two days that I’m not proud of. But you’re right, it’s the fear spurring me on in those moments.” Walter leaned closer to his daughter. “We can’t live our lives constantly afraid the next person we talk to will put a bullet in our heads.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a life not worth living.”
Madison leaned back and shook her head. “So are you saying we don’t go after these guys? We don’t make them pay for what they did to Tucker and Drew?”
Walter smiled. “No, honey. I’m not saying that at all.” He tried to put into words the thoughts that crystalized in his mind as he sat awake through the night. “Once someone proves themselves to be untrustworthy, all bets are off. Those men killed without guilt or remorse. They took until we fought back. We can’t let them get away with it or the next family who stumbles across them might not be so lucky.”
During the stillness of the night when it was just him and his thoughts, Walter came to understand something about the world. It hadn’t really changed at all.
There might not be a power grid to keep the masses employed and fed and warm at night, but all of the trappings of life he took for granted were all superficial. Underneath it all, people hadn’t changed.
Turning off the lights didn’t turn off morality. The people who were content to cheat and steal now were the same people who ran stop signs and shoplifted and lied on their time sheets.
The only difference was the lack of enforcement. No supervisor stood beside the time clock, ensuring everyone punched in and out by the book. No guards stood beside the front doors to Walmart checking receipts as customers left. No police car sat at busy intersections, keeping drivers honest.
Walter knew what kind of man he was and what kind of woman his daughter had grown up to be. They would be challenged in this new world, but they wouldn’t break. They wouldn’t lose themselves in the dark.
“So you’re saying you’ll help me and Brianna fight? We’ll go after those men?”
Walter nodded. “Yes. I may not be able to charge in, guns blazing, but I’ll be there. We’ll all be there.”
Madison stood and walked over to her father before bending to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m going to make some coffee.”
“You don’t want to go to bed?”
She pinned him with a look. “No. I want to plan.”
DAY THIRTEEN
Chapter Twenty-Six
TRACY
863 Dewberry Lane, Chico, CA
6:00 p.m.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t take a few days to recuperate? Everyone’s been through so much.”
“You mean I’ve got a bullet hole in my leg, right?”
Tracy smiled at her husband. “Mostly that, yes.”
Walter returned the smile. “I’ll be fine. Besides, this is a team effort.” He pointed at the sugar sitting on the counter. “Bring that outside, will you? Peyton is going to need it.”
Tracy didn’t know if the pain meds her husband popped that afternoon were turning his brain to scrambled eggs or if he really did mean the words coming out of his mouth. Walter Sloane was not a man to agree to team-anything except a game of pickup football or trivia night at the local pub.
But if he really meant it, then it warmed Tracy’s heart. She grabbed the bag of sugar and followed her husband’s slow limp out the back door to the driveway. Peyton stood in front of a gas grill with a pot full of something white and crystalline.
Walter took the sugar from Tracy and handed it to Peyton. “Make sure it’s a sixty-forty ratio of stump remover to sugar.”
Peyton measured and poured the sugar into the pot.
“Now turn on the heat and cook it slowly until it starts to melt, stirring the whole time. When it starts to look like peanut butter, pull it out, divide it up, and stick the rolled-up paper into it.”
Tracy’s eyes went wide. “What on earth are you two doing?”
Walter smiled. “You’ll see.”
Tracy took back the sugar with a shake of her head. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to know. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
“We’ll be there.”
She headed back into the house and set the sugar on the counter before straining the pasta. A jar of spaghetti sauce on top and they had dinner. It was a far cry from what she usually made before the grid failed, but they were running low on food in the house. Soon they would either have to find another home to pillage or dip into the supplies they brought with them from Sacramento.
Part of her still hated rummaging through other people’s things. What if they made it home and found their pantry empty? It could mean the difference between survival and starvation. But Tracy didn’t know what else to do. If they decided to stay in Truckee, they could start a farm. Raise some animals and grow some crops.
They could become self-sufficient and no longer rely on the stores of others to keep going. Even if they didn’t stay with
Brianna’s family forever, their food would last longer with two fewer mouths to feed.
It wasn’t a happy thought. Tracy wished Tucker still sat next to her at the dining room table, joking with Madison about wacky science theories and explaining everything from radio waves to the earth’s gravitational pull.
Even Drew had grown on her. In the moments when they were alone, he talked about his fiancée and how she loved to take walks through their downtown neighborhood and take photos of interesting architecture and street signs.
The more he shared memories of Anne, the more Tracy regretted not knowing her. From Drew’s telling, she had a kind heart and an open mind. Her death was a preventable tragedy.
Tracy shoved the thoughts aside. Dwelling on their absence wouldn’t help the current mission.
Everyone filed into the room right on time; the smell of dinner called them like kids to an ice cream truck. Tracy scooped heaping servings of dinner onto five plates and handed them out one by one.
Brianna took hers with a nod. The poor girl hadn’t spoken a word all day, content to sit at the table and listen to Walter come up with a plan while she loaded the precious remaining ammunition into their available firearms.
Thanks to the shootout, they were down to the bare minimum. There would be no guns blazing and lighting up the night sky tonight.
Every bullet had to count.
After Tracy passed out all the plates, she sat down and picked up her glass. “To those of us who are no longer with us. Tonight we fight in their honor.”
Everyone raised their glass, including Brianna, who snuffed back a wave of tears before taking a sip. They ate in silence, each one of them thinking over the events to come.
Someone would be hurt, no doubt. Tracy couldn’t fathom going up against six armed men without some casualties. Her only hope was that at the end of it, the five of them would still be alive. She glanced at her husband. He seemed so strong and confident, but she saw the lines of pain etched across his forehead and the dark circles beneath his eyes.
As the sun set, Walter pushed back his chair. “Is everyone comfortable with the plan?”
Each person at the table nodded.
“Good. Then we leave in half an hour. Everyone take a few minutes to prepare. This won’t be easy.”
Tracy cleared the plates, focusing on the mundane task she could control, while Peyton ran quick warm-up sprints in the backyard. She watched him run up and down the driveway, jumping up at the end of each pass, his twenty-year-old energy limitless in comparison to her own.
Brianna slipped out the back and from Tracy’s vantage point, she caught sight of her bent head at Tucker’s grave. At some point, Brianna would need to take time to grieve. But Tracy understood the need to push on and the need to fight.
Walking away after Wanda died was understandable. They didn’t know who attacked the house that night. It could have been Bill like the man they captured claimed, some other member of the neighborhood seeking to hide his identity, or a stranger. But this time was different. They knew who killed Tucker and Drew and had a plan to stop them from ever hurting someone again.
Tracy picked up the last glass and held it, emotions running strong inside her. Madison and her friends were so young. It pained Tracy to watch the last vestiges of their innocence die so quickly. She placed the glass on the counter and turned to face her husband. Walter sat at the table, wincing as he moved his wounded leg.
The man could barely stand, but he insisted on coming tonight. He’d taken so many pain pills, Tracy wasn’t sure he’d even feel his wound opening back up. But if it got him through tonight, then so be it. They needed him.
I need him.
Tracy walked over and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Don’t you die on me tonight, old man.”
Walter chuckled and patted her on the hand. “Likewise.” He twisted in his chair to face her. “I love you, Tracy.”
“I love you, too, Walter.” Tracy bent to kiss her husband and lingered, her lips pressed against his until a throat clearing made her pull away.
Peyton stood in the dining room, awkward and scratching his head. “Everything’s good to go.”
Tracy smiled. “Thanks, Peyton.”
“Want to help an old guy up?”
Peyton came over and helped Walter to stand. “You can sit this one out, Mr. Sloane, really you can.”
“No. My actions were as much to blame for Tucker and Drew’s death as anyone’s. I need to be there.”
“I understand.” Peyton stepped back as Walter found his balance. He’d taken to using a cut down tree branch as a makeshift cane, propping himself up and taking the weight off his wounded leg. It didn’t leave him open to shoot, but once Walter got in position, he could fire a rifle.
At least that was the plan.
Tracy laced up her tennis shoes and checked the shotgun one more time. They would be approaching in two waves, Brianna and Madison in the lead with small caliber-handguns. Not the most lethal of weapons, but the quietest in their arsenal.
Walter hoped with the hum of the generator, they could pick off any outside sentries before anyone inside even knew. The longer they could stay a secret, the better. Tracy and Peyton would follow with shotguns from the front. It was as good a plan as any, but still fraught with peril.
With one final check of gear and weapons, everyone piled into the windshield-less Jetta. Although Brianna’s Jeep had four-wheel drive, hiding a canary-yellow vehicle wasn’t the easiest feat. They needed stealth over maneuverability.
Peyton started the car and eased down the driveway, lights off. In the glow of the moon he could see just far enough to not hit anything major. As he coasted at five miles an hour, Tracy’s heart tried to keep up, pounding the rhythm to the tires as they rolled over the asphalt.
Every block closer, her fear intensified, thrumming in her veins and jumping her fingers across the stock of her gun. She reminded herself why they were there in that moment: Tucker and Drew and the truck.
Those were obvious. But then there were the unknowns: a weapons cache and another vehicle. Any animals still left at the farm. Food. Supplies. All the things stolen and looted by the men they aimed to kill.
Peyton coasted the car into a driveway one block southwest from the house. He turned it off and turned in the seat. “Everyone ready?”
“As ready as we’ll ever be.” Madison put her hand out in the middle and waited for everyone to add their own on top. “To Tucker and Drew.”
Tracy waited for her daughter to exit the vehicle before following behind. Even with Walter’s slow gait, they closed the distance between the car and the house in minutes. Whatever happened next would mean the difference between life and death.
She took up position behind the corner of a house two away. Madison and Brianna crept forward. Tracy prayed.
When the first shot rang out, she sucked in a breath and advanced.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
MADISON
316 Rosemont Avenue, Chico, CA
8:00 p.m.
Brianna took out the first guard with a single shot to the head. He crumpled like a stretched-out Slinky, each section of his body collapsing in on itself. Another guard rushed from the front, alerted by the sound.
Brianna fired again. It hit him square in the chest but didn’t take him down. She fired again and he sagged to his knees. He opened his mouth, trying to shout and Madison took aim.
He fell face-first into the dead grass before she got off a shot.
Three bullets down. Not enough to go.
Brianna motioned for her to come forward and Madison closed the distance between them. “I don’t think they heard from inside or they would be rushing out here.”
“Let’s kill the generator and flush them out.”
Brianna nodded and took up position beside the house, easing closer and closer to the portable generator sitting five feet from the back porch. As she bent to flip the switch, the back door swung open.
&n
bsp; “Hey! What the hell do you think…wait a minute! Boss!” Madison fired. The shot went wide, lodging into the siding behind his head. She cursed and fired again as he staggered back.
The shot went high.
With a half-full magazine to begin with, Madison only had five rounds left.
As she took a deep breath and aimed again, a shot blasted out from the edge of the house behind her and the man fell to the ground. Madison turned. Her father leaned against the corner, rifle scope up to his eye.
He waved her back.
Madison fell into the shadows as another man appeared on the porch. Her father took him out with two shots to the chest.
Four men dead on the ground around her. Two still inside.
She knew it couldn’t be this easy.
A volley of gunfire erupted from the window on the side of the first floor, shattering the glass in a million pieces and forcing Madison to fall to ground. She cowered in the weeds beside the house while her father returned fire.
She wished he would conserve his ammunition. If he ran out, he would be unprotected and they would all be exposed.
While she low-crawled for the safety of the neighbor’s porch, Peyton and her mom advanced from the front yard. Both held shotguns up and ready.
As soon as her mother spotted her, she called out. “Are you all right?”
Madison nodded. “There’s two men left. I think they’ve barricaded themselves in the house.”
Her mother turned to the window. “Then we’ll have to flush them out.”
Peyton stepped back to take cover and set his shotgun on the ground before pulling two orange blobs from his pockets. He lit a lighter and held it to two paper wicks. Before Madison could ask what on earth he was doing, Peyton lobbed the little rocks into the open window.
In an instant, the room filled with smoke.
She stared at him in shock. “You made smoke bombs?”
He nodded. “Your dad and I did. Here,” he handed two more to Madison and the lighter. “Light them and throw them in from the other side. This should flush them out.”
