"Oh, crap."
Alain nodded, clapped Reese on the shoulder, then turned and slipped silently toward the back of the salon.
Reese looked down at the dying man and watched as he blinked rapidly. His big tattooed hand slowly came away from his severed throat and he lay still in a spreading pool of wine dark blood.
“Crap,” Reese hissed between his teeth. He glanced up at the two men as they pounded their way across the street in heavy boots and more leather and jeans than he cared to see in the apocalypse. There was nothing more he could do. Reese turned and rushed through the debris-filled salon after Alain.
He crossed the threshold into a dark storeroom and blinked as his eyes tried to adjust to the inky blackness. "Where is everybody?" he called out in a hoarse whisper.
"Over here," Jo snapped. Reese turned in the direction Jo called from. An exterior door opened with a squeak and light flooded the room, forcing him to close his eyes. As his vision cleared, he tripped over a couple boxes of supplies and half-eaten meals, then raced to catch up. Outside, he shut the hot metal fire door behind him and rejoined the group.
Alain had tucked his sword into a long cloth tied around his waist that allowed him to grab one end of a crude, handmade stretcher. His son grabbed the other end, and muttered something to an elderly man resting on the stretcher. They stood and waited for Reese to catch them, then marched quickly down the back alley along the length of the strip mall. Dira snatched up the child, adjusted her backpack, and moved after them.
"I sure hope you know what you're doing," Jo said. She shrugged into her own first aid kit and adjusted the stained park ranger hat on her head.
"I was about to say the same thing to you,” Reese replied. "Let's go." They scurried after the retreating family and made their way as fast as possible down the length of the strip mall away from the nail salon.
By the time they reached the far end of the building, everyone was sweating and panting. A scream of rage echoed down the alleyway, and Reese urged his group to slip around the corner.
"I'd say they found their buddies…” Reese muttered. He closed his eyes and swallowed, trying in vain to slow his heart rate. They had to escape into the woods north of town. Bushcraft was Cami’s expertise, but Reese felt a lot more comfortable about moving through the woods than he did running across parking lots—especially with a family and an old man on a stretcher.
"Where do we go?" asked Dira.
Reese took a moment to get his bearings. “Okay, that's north,” he said as he pointed, “so that's northwest.” He shifted his aim toward a small stand of arbor vitae that created a barrier between a gas station on the other side of the strip mall. "That's the way we have to go. Quick, everybody get through the bushes there." He turned and as the others ran across the open space, Reese backpedaled and kept the shotgun up, covering their retreat. He reached the curb and stepped up, half stumbling as he did, but kept his eyes downrange. So far, no one had emerged from the nail salon. But that didn't mean the newcomers wouldn’t attempt to cut through the building a different way. His eyes kept shifting from the fire door they'd come through to the front of the building.
“Okay, we’re through, get in here," Jo hissed through the branches.
Reese didn't need any other encouragement. He lowered the shotgun, turned and dove through the arbor vitae. The scratchy branches and needles snagged at his clothes, but he emerged from the other side none the worse for wear. He spun on his heel and crouched, trying to see through the dense foliage. "I don't see anything yet…they might still be in the salon."
"These guys had a decent stockpile of stuff in there," Jo whispered. "They might be picking through that."
Reese nodded. "We should use that to our advantage.” He turned to the little family. “Come on, let's keep moving. We just need to make it across the gas station parking lot there, and then we start getting into some trees."
Dira translated, then pointed in the direction they needed to go. Without a word, he nodded, hefted his own father on the gurney, and he and Yavan jogged across the parking lot. Dira walked as fast as she could carrying the squirming toddler, and Jo followed her.
Reese ran along with them but stopped every 10 to 15 feet and turned to take a knee. As he dropped, the shotgun came up, and he kept an eye on the arbor vitae. The bushes remained still, except for the occasional gust of wind that rustled the evergreen boughs. He didn't hear any sounds coming from the strip mall other than the original scream.
"Go, go, go," he whispered to himself, then turned and caught up to everyone. "Keep moving,” he urged, “we’ve got a chance to escape—get around the gas station…I don't think anyone’s here...”
Alain and Yavan didn't need any further encouragement. They kept up their steady pace and jogged without jostling the old man as if they'd been running ambulance litters for years. They easily navigated the abandoned parking lot and slipped in between the bushes on the far edge of the gas station. By the time Dira and the child made it to the tree line, the gurney had disappeared into the woods.
Reese followed Jo and they both pushed into the bushes. Only then did he turn, drop to the ground and aim toward the gas station. He lay there until his breath came back, his heart rate slowed, and his breathing return to normal. A glance over his shoulder showed him that the rest of the group had done the same, with the old man now resting on the ground. He raised a hand at Reese and clenched his fist into a thumbs up sign. Reese smirked and nodded, then looked back down the barrel of the shotgun toward the way they’d come.
After another long moment of waiting, Jo crawled through the undergrowth next to him. "Anything?" she asked lightly.
Reese shook his head. "I think our best option is to get up and head northwest. In about a mile, we’ll come across a road that’ll take us straight north toward Bee’s Landing. My neighborhood."
"Okay," Jo said as she turned to Dira. "You catch that?"
Alain said something softly, and she turned and shook her head, then replied in kind. Turning back to Reese, she frowned. "My father wants to know what you plan for us?”
Reese shrugged as he sat up. "I don’t really have any plans. Y’all are welcome to come with me back to my place. We might be able to take care of your grandfather a little better there.” He glanced at the sky through the dappled canopy overhead. “I think we can be there by this afternoon if we get moving. When I left home before the tsunami, we had plenty of food and water unless something else happened…” Reese swallowed and blinked away the mental image of his house on fire. "If everything’s okay…there’ll be plenty of supplies for all of us. You're more than welcome."
She nodded her thanks, then relayed the message to her father, who replied in a long string of words. Turning back to Reese, she smiled. "My father says he appreciates your hospitality and thanks you from the bottom of his heart. If you are willing to help us, we would be in your debt."
Reese reached out and clapped Alain on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Let's get going."
Chapter 12
Lavelle Homestead
Bee’s Landing Subdivision
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Cami put down the hand-drawn map of the neighborhood she'd been studying and cocked her head. Cheering and clapping had erupted down the hall. "What in the world?" she muttered as she listened.
It was somewhere around the middle of the day, and nothing important had been brought to her attention, so a smile spread across Cami's face. The noise and commotion could only be caused by one thing—but she had to check it out and make sure.
Gingerly she rose from the bed, grabbed Marty’s cane, and carefully worked her way down the hallway.
Amber stepped out of the spare bedroom—radio shack—with a big smile on her face. "Mom! They did it! They got the radio working!"
Cami smiled as she hobbled closer. "That's wonderful!"
Amber’s smile turned into a frown. "What are you doing out of bed? You're still suppose
d to be resting."
"Well, it's kind of hard to rest when everybody's making so much racket.”
Amber sighed. “You’re already here…I guess you may as well step in—just make sure you don't strain yourself. Hey, Mitch, grab that chair there, will you?" Amber said as she ushered Cami inside.
"Here you go," Mitch said with a grin as he handed the chair to Cami. “Set yourself down, Cami.”
Cami frowned. "Not very impressive looking is it?"
The simple display—perhaps a couple inches square—showed what looked to her like a little stream of bouncing lights that moved from the top or bottom, depending on how you looked at it. Several boxes and gizmos had been stacked up on a crude, plywood and pine desk they'd constructed. Wires snaked all over the room. Cami traced a coaxial cable up the wall to a jagged hole in the ceiling about the size of three fingers. "You cut a hole in my ceiling?"
"I……" Mitch began.
"She said we could," Rufus said as he pointed at Amber.
"Seriously, mom?” Amber cried. “You’re gonna get upset about that hole? Have you seen all the bullet holes in our house? All the broken windows downstairs?"
Cami snorted. "Right…" She glanced up at the hole in question. “We’ll have to seal that somehow. That's an invitation for critters and bugs to get inside."
Amber nodded. "We thought of that. Marty…" Her face fell as she thought of the injured old man. "He warned us about it, and suggested we stuff some steel wool around the edges, to make sure mice don't get inside."
Cami put a hand on Amber's and smiled. "So…how is this thing powered?” Cami asked as Rufus fiddled with one of the dials.
"Well, for now, we’re using a car battery. But we’re gonna need something more permanent soon," Amber said with a knowing look at Cami.
"The old man—I mean Marty," Rufus said sheepishly, "gave me some instructions on how to make a solar powered battery out of an ammo can…I think we got all the supplies, just need to sit down and do it."
"That sounds like a great idea," Cami said. She wanted them to stay busy with anything that would keep them away from the solar panels out in the shed. "Why haven't you built it already?"
“Been helping Mitch here get this baby up and running. Ain’t got no time."
"That's right," Mitch added. "And when we weren't up here working on this stuff," he said with a grand gesture at the hastily built radio shack and all the loose wires, "we’ve been downstairs listenin’ to Marty tell us everything he can…"
“And you’ve been helping me every other spare minute,” Amber said with pride in her voice as she looped her arm through Mitch’s and smiled at Cami as he blushed.
"I know for a fact, he wouldn't want you sitting around feeling sorry for him,” Cami said. “He’d want you to get to work."
"You got it," Rufus said. He stood, slapped Mitch on the shoulder, and left the room.
"So, have you been able to hear anything yet?" Cami asked.
Mitch cleared his throat and disentangled himself from Amber. “No, not really…well, I mean, we only turned it on a second ago," he said with a grin. “Got some static, and something that probably was a signal, but we haven't listened for it yet. We were just excited she actually powered up."
"What are you waiting for, then?” Amber asked.
Mitch licked his lips, picked up a set of headphones from the desk and placed them over his ears. "Here goes nothing," he muttered. Concentrating, he looked down at a list of frequencies, and reached up to the dial on the small portable ham radio. It didn't look much bigger than a small tablet and was maybe two inches thick. He adjusted the dial on the front, and it clicked every time he twisted.
Cami watched as he ran his finger down the list, and the frequency on the little green LED display shifted to match what had been written on the paper. One after another, Mitch shook his head and moved down the list.
One of the handwritten frequency numbers had an asterisk next to it, and someone had scrawled in fairly neat penmanship "sheriff’s department.” As Mitch moved through the frequencies, going further and further down the list, Cami found herself holding her breath until he reached the law enforcement frequency.
Mitch’s hand froze on the dial and he looked up suddenly. His eyes were wide, and he yanked the microphone plug out of the auxiliary port and swapped it with the jack for a small speaker, up on the desk.
Static hissed through the speaker for a second, then Mitch adjusted the frequency very slightly and words appeared from the background noise. "…saying? Repeat, if anyone can hear me, please respond! Can you hear what I'm saying?"
Mitch looked at Cami. She nodded.
He licked his lips again, leaned closer toward the microphone on the desk, and pushed a large plastic transmit button. "Uh…I read you—go ahead."
He looked at Cami and shrugged. "No that's good,” she said. “We don't want to give away our location at first. Whatever you do, don't give them any idea of how many people we have here, or what supplies we have…okay?"
Cami looked at Amber, who frowned at her. "What?" Cami mouthed, as the radio squawked again.
"Thank God!” the voice exclaimed. “I've been trying to raise somebody for days! Where are you? I’m…well, I was on the south side of Hilton Head…but there's not much left anymore…"
Mitch looked at Cami. She nodded. “This here’s Bee’s Landing,” he replied. “We’re a ways northwest of Charleston, over.”
"Northwest of Charleston? Dang it—you're too far away to help!” the voice on the other end cried. "We’re running out of water…hoping to catch somebody on the Sheriff's Department channel."
Mitch shook his head. “I’m sorry to tell you, friend, but the sheriff's department is gone. At least in this county."
"What do you mean, gone?" asked the woman on the radio. "Where'd they go?"
Mitch sighed and looked down. “There was a big fight north of here…from what we understand, most of the Sheriff's Department got wiped out. There might be a few survivors out there, but we haven’t heard from any of ‘em in a while, you know?"
Static was the only sound over the speaker for a long moment. "Maybe she went away?" Mitch asked with a shrug.
Cami narrowed her eyes at the radio, then held a hand up. "Just give them a minute. If they’re in a bad way, that news is not going to make anybody happy."
Before long, the speaker returned. "I sure wish you had better news than that to tell me…so we’re all on our own then?”
"Well,” Mitch said with a glance at Cami. “We haven’t heard anything from the government…"
The woman snorted. “Which one?"
"Take your pick," Mitch replied with a smile in his voice. "Last thing we heard, somebody was claiming to be president out in Denver or something…”
“Yeah, that's about what we heard, too. No word on when relief or supplies or anything like that is headed our way. But I also heard it's just as bad where we are all the way up and down the coast. Might be a while before anybody can get things put back together, you know?”
“You guys have any problems with…uh, raiders?” asked Mitch.
The woman on the radio grunted. “Y’all heard anything about them people out on the road?"
"No…what people?” Mitch asked. He looked at Cami and Amber.
“Don’t mention the attacks,” Cami whispered. Mitch nodded.
“We've seen a few people walking around,” he said into the mic, “but not much to worry about. Nobody's really come by us…they just keep going."
"Good, I hope it stays that way for you. We've seen a whole bunch of people…sometimes 50 or 60 at a time, walking up and down the highways. I think they’re people whose cars died—ran out of gas or something. They're all clustered together for safety, I guess. Anyway, ain't no telling where they're going. It's not like anybody has any power…anywhere, really, around here."
"Sounds awful," Mitch said. He looked at Cami and released the transmist button. "I don't know what to say
…”
"Ask her if there's been any violence or problems with gangs or anything down her way," Cami suggested.
Mitch relayed the question. They waited for a moment, then the woman came back on the radio.
"Yeah…we have to be careful and don't go out at night. Shoot…gettin’ so you can't go out in the daytime, either. There's nothing really organized. The people that have come around here usually show up in groups of two or three. Trying to break into houses in the middle the night, that kind of thing. We caught one the other day."
"We?" Mitch asked.
"Yeah, couple of us that live out here in the sticks. We gotta stick together, you know what I mean? Anyway, me and my neighbors caught these punks up to no good sniffing around the chicken coop. They actually drew down on us, so we had to…take care of the situation. One of them lasted long enough to tell us there’s some group north of Charleston. Call themselves the Charleston Protection Alliance. You ever heard of ‘em?”
Mitch looked at Cami. She shook her head.
"Nope, can't say as we have,” Mitch replied. “Who are they?"
"From what this gang banger told us, they’re the new power in town. Took over where the cops and the government up and disappeared. They’re ruthless…no one who joins ever gets out. At least, that's the rumor. I hear they’re pretty violent, but they treat their people fair. I don't know…bunch of people we met on the road the other day said they’re headed north to join them. Real rough looking dudes, you know what I mean?”
"We've had our run-ins with troublemakers,” Mitch said.
"You make it through okay?"
"More or less," Mitch said. “Whole neighborhood pulled together. We've been attacked a couple times, but we never heard of this Charleston Protection Alliance group."
“I hope they stay away from all of us,” the woman replied, her voice scratchy as static interrupted the transmission.
Mitch glanced at the battery indicator they'd rigged up. "Hey, I gotta let you go," he said quickly. "We’re running on battery power here and there ain’t much left…”
Broken Tide | Book 6 | Breakwater Page 9
