Reese adjusted his grip on the shotgun. "Okay. Just keep an eye out. And go slow. I'll be right behind you."
They walked over toward the store entrance, and the girl—as Reese grew closer, he realized she was about Amber’s age, maybe a little older—impatiently waved them on while looking over their shoulders. "Hurry, they have scouts everywhere," she hissed.
"Who?" Reese asked as he looked across the parking lot. Despite his rising anxiety, he sped up his pace to match Jo.
Their boots crunched on broken glass as they stepped across the threshold and followed the young woman into the ruined nail salon. He stopped at what used to be the lobby, and quickly looked around. The place had been ransacked. Shelves lined the walls, but only a few bottles of product remained intact. Glass, nail polish—in a dizzying array of colors—and garbage lay scattered across the floor. Reese looked down at his boots, newly painted in shades of yellow, blue, and red.
"Awesome…”
"You said something about your pops?" Jo prompted when the girl stopped at the back end of the shop and worried the hem of her filthy shirt with her fingers.
She nodded sharply. “He was hurt when they came through." She turned and gestured toward the back. “I got ‘im back here…I don't know what else to do for him.”
Rustling from the darkened opening drew Reese's attention, and he shifted to better bring the shotgun up if things went sideways. A heartbeat later, the weapon was at his shoulder.
"Freeze!" he barked as his finger moved to rest on the trigger.
Two males, bearing a striking resemblance to the young woman—one older, with plenty of gray in his wiry hair and small beard, and one younger with features more defined, but still youthful—barreled through the opening near the girl and froze at the site of the shotgun aimed in their direction.
The older man stared at Reese without any sign of fear whatsoever. The younger man, whom Reese assumed to be a sibling or perhaps a husband, turned and immediately spoke a string of rapidfire words in a lilting, singsong language Reese had never heard before. The girl recoiled under the verbal assault, then rallied herself and fired back at the young man in front of her. She pointed at Reese and Jo several times, then huffed in the uniquely female equivalent of ‘this conversation is done and you lost’ and faced Reese.
"Jo…” Reese warned. He took a half step forward and attempted to nudge Jo behind him. "Backup…slowly…”
"He's just got a stick," Jo whispered as she reluctantly followed his instruction.
With a soft hiss of metal on wood, the older man slid free a gleaming, curved, three-foot blade in one fluid motion, his eyes locked on Reese.
"No stick," he said with a heavy accent.
The girl, now crying and practically hysterical slapped at the younger man who pulled her back deeper into the salon. Reese shifted the shotgun to aim at the younger man which made everyone start talking at once. The older man yelled some gibberish and sidestepped to place himself between the two arguing youths.
The younger man, seeing the shotgun shift to his direction, immediately released his grip on the girl as his eyes went wide. He raised his hands and took a step back into the shadows. The girl stifled a scream, and tried to step forward, only to be blocked by the man with the sword, who put an arm out to stop her.
"Hold up!" Reese shouted over the cacophony of voices. He took a full step back, dragging Jo with him. "I have no idea what's going on here, but we're leaving."
"No!" The girl yelled as she fought to free herself from the older man's grip. He turned and shouted something at her, but she refused to follow whatever command he'd given her. She slapped at him, until he stepped back in surprise and moved the lethal-looking blade away. She continued to rant at him, her words tumbled out so fast in both English and…whatever language it was…that Reese couldn't figure out anything other than ‘shotgun’ and ‘police.’
“Enough of this,” Jo muttered as she stepped around Reese and placed a hand on the shotgun barrel.
"What are you doing," Reese hissed.
"Trust me," Jo said quietly. She turned and smiled at the arguing trio. She gently pushed the end of the barrel down until it pointed at the floor. Reese frowned, and maintained tension on the stock, ready to snap the weapon up to his shoulder in an instant if things continued to spiral out of control.
Jo stepped fully in front of Reese, raised her hands to the side to show she posed no threat, and spoke. "Look, I don't know what y'all are doing here, and I got no idea what any of you are saying. But this girl here," she said as she pointed at the young woman, "said y'all needed help. Do you, or don't you? Because if not, we’ll be on our way—we don't want any trouble, thanks very much. Had enough of that in the last couple weeks." She waited for an answer.
Reese tried to control his heart rate and focused on his breathing. Sweat trickled down his arms and made his hands slick as he held the shotgun. He adjusted his grip and made sure to move his finger back outside the trigger guard. Whatever was going on between the three people in front of him, it didn’t appear threatening. Their faces were strained from stress, worry, and likely malnutrition, but none of them appeared to be setting a trap.
He risked taking his eyes off the gleaming sword for a second and turned to scan the parking lot behind them. Everything still looked normal—or as normal as it could get in a post-apocalyptic landscape of abandoned cars, broken glass, and smoke rising from unknown sources in the distance. From where they stood, he couldn't see the destruction wrought by the tsunami across the river and down the street, but the odor lingered. He wrinkled his nose. Despite the mix of chemicals that had been spilled in the salon during an apparent looting, the nail salon smelled far better than the rotting funk that saturated everything outside.
After another minute or so of arguing amongst themselves, the older man finally relented. Reese saw the way his shoulders slumped, and how he stared at the ceiling for a moment. A smile tugged at Reese's mouth.
So that's your deal.
The older man was the father of the two younger ones. He'd himself had that same reaction when losing an argument with Cami or Amber…or both. It was the soulful resignation of a father with no other option but acquiescence.
Reese lowered the shotgun and the man gave him a heartfelt nod of understanding. The girl’s father held the katana horizontal, as if presenting it to Reese, then with a snap of his wrist and a flourish of blurred steel, sheathed the sword with the same sighing sound of steel kissing polished wood, and lowered his own weapon—which now resembled a slightly curved walking stick.
"There,” Jo said as she exhaled. “That wasn't so hard now, was it?" She looked at the girl. “Dear, why don't we start with names? I’m Jo," she said with a hand to her chest, then gestured with an open palm at Reese. "This is my friend, Reese. We’re trying to get home. We were up in Maine when the tsunami hit."
The older man stared at Jo with the same stony expression he'd worn on his face since they’d met him, but at the word tsunami, his eyes widened slightly, and he nodded sharply.
The girl stepped forward. "I'm sorry. My name is Dira Kabengele. This is my father, Alain. And my brother," she said reluctantly with a slight role of her eyes as she gestured at the younger man behind her, who glowered at Reese and the shotgun. “Yavan."
"You said something about your grandfather needing help?" Jo prompted again.
The girl nodded. "Yes, he's in the back room. He got cut pretty bad when we fled the tsunami.”
“Can I take a look at him?” asked Jo.
Dira looked at her father and said something in their native tongue. He replied in what sounded like three words, then nodded.
She looked at Jo. "Yes!”
“So, we’re all friends now, right?” Reese asked as he held his hand out.
The older man glanced briefly at his daughter, then shook Reese's hand and cracked an uneasy smile. "Thank you," he said in a heavy accent. "Sorry," he added with a slight shrug as he raised the sheat
hed katana.
Reese let go of the man's hand and shook his head. "No, don't worry about it," he insisted as he raised an open palm in front of him. "It's crazy out there, you gotta do whatever you can to protect your family. I totally get that."
The last of the tension in the air evaporated, and Dira stepped toward Jo. "Grandfather bled for so long, we worried he would die. I’ve cleaned the wound, but I can't seal it…”
Jo looked at Reese, then set a determined look on her face. "Take me to him."
Dira looked at her father, who nodded again, before she turned and took Jo's hand and pulled her into the back.
Alain and Yavan stepped forward to block Reese's entry into the inner sanctum Reese stood his ground and rocked back on his heels as he hooked his thumbs under his waistband. "Have you seen any other survivors?" he asked conversationally.
Alain turned to Yavan and rattled off a string of incomprehensible words. Yavan looked at Reese, then nodded. "My father says, yes.”
“So you do understand English!” Reese said with a grin.
Yavan shrugged. “We have encountered several groups—the last one was the most dangerous. They said they were…looking for girls."
A cold chill went down Reese's spine despite the heat and humidity inside the close confines of the ruined nail salon. "They what?" he asked quietly.
Yavan swallowed. "They had many men, rough looking, lots of weapons. We saw them, but hid. They looked like a gang. Alain was afraid they would want to take Dira with them."
Reese glanced at Alain, who narrowed his eyes. He clenched his jaw and nodded slowly. Reese understood. The man before him would die before he'd allow anyone to take his daughter. And judging by the way the sword had looked—how confident he was in wielding it—Reese imagined he'd easily take several attackers with him.
"That was smart. I have a daughter about Dira’s age, too. Her name’s Amber.”
Alain nodded again. He spoke to Yavan, who turned and faced Reese. "My father says he is prepared to give his life to protect my sister.” Yavan raised his chin and clenched his fists. “As am I."
Reese nodded respectfully. "I imagine you two would make a formidable enemy," he said. This brought a smile to the young man's face who translated for his father. Alain nodded in acknowledgment.
"Do you have any weapons other than the sword?"
Yavan hesitated for a moment, then translated for his father. The older man looked Reese up and down once more, then sighed and shook his head. "No,” he grunted.
Reese sighed. "All we have is this—when we crashed into the fort—”
“What fort?” blurted Yavan.
“Fort Sumter,” Reese said casually.
“You were at the fort during the tsunami?” asked Yavan.
Reese shook his head. "No, we were up in New England. We found a sailboat in Boston and sailed home. When the hurricane hit, we lost the sailboat and found ourselves at Fort Sumter. We lost everything…we had pistols and ammunition, food, water…all of it’s gone now."
After Yavan translated for Alain, the older man shook his head sadly. He mumbled something back, then Yavan spoke. "My father said this is a great loss. We face hard times, and weapons will be worth more than their weight in gold, soon." The younger man eyed Reese's shotgun.
"I found this in a cop car out there in the middle of the bridge," Reese said as he gestured out the busted front windows with the weapon. "Maybe there's more of them out there?" He turned to take a glance at the parking lot, saw movement and froze. "I don't mean to get anybody worked up or anything…but there's a couple guys poking around out in the parking lot." He swung the shotgun forward and crouched behind the front counter. Father and son quickly joined his side, their feet crunching on broken glass. With the whisper of steel on wood, the gleaming katana appeared in Reese's peripheral vision as Alain readied himself for combat.
"I take it you guys don't know these boys?" Reese whispered.
Alain took a long look around the corner of the front counter, then whispered to Yavan. "He says they look like they're part of the gangs that we ran into. Very bad men."
Reese narrowed his eyes and flicked the shotgun off safety. "Well then…we’re not gonna let ‘em get inside the building, are we?" Reese took his eyes off the two men and looked at Yavan. “Get back there and warn the others to be quiet…”
The younger man relayed his instructions to his father, who nodded in agreement. Yavan clapped his father on the shoulder then disappeared into the back room, silent as a ghost. "You can understand me?" Reese asked in a whisper.
Alain nodded. He said something that Reese took to mean I can understand English but can't speak it.
"Good enough for me. Look—there's four of them out there. Two are breaking off and headed up the hill toward the Walmart. The other two are coming right at us." He shifted position and ground glass into the floor. Reese winced at the sound. The men were too far out in the parking lot to hear, but something like that would easily give away their position. "I have a feeling they're going to check every one of these shops and looks like they’re gonna start with us. Are you ready for this?"
Alain nodded and a bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face.
Safely tucked away in the shadows, Reese and Alain waited. The two men who approached from the parking lot laughed and joked in loud voices that echoed across the empty space. They were both large men, with beer guts that stretched filthy T-shirts. One wore a leather vest, and both wore stained jeans and work boots. One held a section of pipe in his hand, the other a long black machete. Tattoos graced the thick forearms of both men. Reese frowned. The taller one with the shaved head and long beard sported several tattoos up the side of his shining skull. Both wore red arm bands just above their right biceps.
"Anybody in there?" he called out in a voice much higher pitch than Reese expected for such a large man.
"Come on out now, we won't hurt you," the other one said in a much deeper voice.
“Not likely…” muttered Reese.
Chapter 10
Lavelle Homestead
Bee’s Landing Subdivision
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Cami looked up from Amber’s survival medicine book in her lap as Darien Flynt entered the remains of the screened in porch connected to the living room. Her eyes darted down to Marty, asleep on the floor, and Amber. Cami grabbed Marty's cane and stood with a grunt of pain, then waved Amber off and hobbled her way to the porch to meet Flynt. She slipped outside and closed the door quietly behind her. "What's going on?"
Flynt motioned to Rufus, who stood in the yard next to the deck, sweat streaming down his face and mud splattered on his chest. Behind him, two men bound together with rope looked on. Rufus gave a sharp tug and the men trudged forward, casting wary, haunted looks left and right as workers on the wall stopped to stare and murmur.
"Found these two snooping around the woods just west of your property," Flynt said. "Routine patrol brought ‘em in.”
"I guess the patrol was a better idea than I thought. Well done," Cami told Flynt.
He grunted but ignored the compliment. "I think you need to talk to them."
Cami arched an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Flynt nodded. "They’re Cisco's men."
Cami's eyes narrowed at the two men. "Why are they still alive then?"
"Ma'am, I didn't want to fight anybody—honest!”
“Shut up!” the second man hissed.
The first ignored him. “We were captured by Cisco and forced to join his team, or we wouldn't be able to eat…or worse!"
“Shut your mouth, Martin!” The second, bigger man growled through his big, bushy beard.
"He threatened to kill us if we didn't join him," the first man said with wide eyes.
Cami glanced at Flynt, who gave a nearly imperceptible nod. They told the truth.
"Cami, you're not seriously considering believing these two, are you? After everything they put us through?" One of t
he workers asked as he stood on the deck, carrying a piece of lumber.
"Wait, Cisco's back?" one of the others asked. Without waiting for confirmation, he turned and rushed away.
"Where are you going?" someone shouted.
"I ain’t leaving my family alone!"
Several others murmured in agreement, and before her eyes, the workgroup began to melt away.
"Hold up a second!" Cami called out as she hobbled to the far end of the deck in an attempt to stem the tide. "Nobody knows anything yet—we just picked up these two yahoos, and I haven’t even had a chance to talk—“
A shout came from the back of the group, near the nascent wall. “It could be a distraction!" More nods of more agreement met Cami's eyes, and three more men disappeared.
She turned and looked helplessly at Flynt. He shrugged. "Not like I can force them to stay."
"I want to leave!" the talkative prisoner blurted.
"Shut your mouth or I’ll shut it for you!” the other one snarled.
"Please, don't make me go back—they’ll kill me!"
"I'll kill you myself, you little weasel! We took you in and gave you food, shelter, and water—and this is how you repay Cisco?”
Rufus yanked the cord that tied their wrists together, and the loyal man fell to his knees with a painful grunt. “You shut your mouth, you piece of—”
“That's enough!" Cami snapped. "Rufus, do me a favor and take this one…” She looked around. "Somewhere else. Just shut him up and get him out of my sight."
Rufus grinned like a wolf. "My pleasure." He whipped out a long-bladed hunting knife, quickly slashed the cord, and handed the pacified prisoner off to Flynt. "On your feet," he snarled at the other one and viciously yanked the man up.
"Cisco's going to kill all you fools," the brave one said.
"I'll kill you myself if you don't shut your pie hole," Rufus snarled. He put the knife under the man's throat.
Cami waited for the ruckus caused by Rufus leading the outspoken prisoner away through the remains of the workers to subside before she continued. "Now…do I have your word that you're not going to try anything?"
Broken Tide | Book 6 | Breakwater Page 7
