Grace Under Fire: Book Two In The Locker Nine Series

by Franklin Horton

  Catching movement at the picnic shelter, Grace retrained her monocular in that direction. Two men held the tent flap out of the way and Tom motored out the door in his track chair. Just outside the door he stopped and glanced around, perhaps looking for Grace in the woods and shadows on the fringe of the park. Part of her wanted to stand up and wave, telling him that she was there. Part of her worried that such an action might get her killed.

  There was an intense discussion rising between Tom and his captors. He and one of the men he was talking to were becoming more animated. The gestures did not appear threatening but it was difficult to tell from a distance. It seemed to her that Tom might be asking questions. She was becoming more familiar with his gestures and that’s what they seemed to indicate.

  The men he was speaking to were pointing in a particular direction. It seemed clear to her now he was asking directions and they were providing them. The whole thing did not make any sense to her. If these people were not dangerous, why had they fired on the chopper? Why had they taken Tom prisoner? It just didn’t make sense.

  Tom extended a hand, shook with two of the men, then abruptly spun his track chair and began motoring off. Part of her wanted to slide down the ladder and take off running after him. Still, she could not forget what had taken place. She did not trust these people. She would not let them see her and she would not let them know she was armed.

  Tom moved through the crowd toward the bridge. Once he crossed that bridge he would pick up the same bicycling trail that she had used to get to town. He would not be returning in the direction of the high school, but headed out of town, in the direction of her home.

  She slid backwards on her belly, retreating from her observation post. Halfway across the RV roof she snagged her Go Bag and dragged it along with her. When she reached the ladder, she awkwardly felt around with her toe until she oriented herself and climbed down. At the bottom, she slung the pack on her back and used her shirttail to wipe the sweat from her face. It must have been 120° under that cover.

  She retreated back through the yards and rejoined the alley, then took off running as hard as she could to the south. She knew what she was doing now. She had a plan. If she could follow this alley to the end, she would swing east and cross the river. There was a railroad bridge there from an active line but she doubted the trains were running anymore. Once across the bridge she could weave her way through more backyards and rejoin the trail. Hopefully soon after that, she could catch up with Tom.

  Taking advantage of her familiarity with the town, Grace wove her way through back streets and intercepted Tom before he had gone too far. She approached him cautiously, calling out well before she was close to him. She didn’t want to startle him because she knew something that the people back at the park didn’t know, which was that Tom had a backup pistol hidden on his body. It was small caliber and low capacity, but in a pinch, he could have taken some people out. Grace didn’t want to be the one that startled him and accidentally got taken out.

  When he saw it was her, his face lit up. “Grace!”

  She ran to him and threw her arms around him. Getting ridiculously emotional wasn’t the plan but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.

  “So how come they let you go?” Grace asked.

  “The whole situation wasn’t what we thought. They believed we were here to take them out.”

  “Take them out?” Grace echoed.

  Tom nodded. “As in arrest or kill them. There was some kind of altercation. The grocery store was nearly empty and the townspeople were blaming the hikers who’d come in for this festival. The sheriff tried to run them out of town and things got ugly.”

  Grace frowned. “I just can’t picture that. I have a hard time not seeing hikers as hippies. I always think of them as anti-gun people.”

  “Not all hikers are hippies,” Tom said. “I know several guys who came back from the Middle East and hiked long trails to clear their head. The guy who seems to be running the show back in the park there, he’s one of those guys.”

  “A veteran?”

  “A combat veteran. It was before your time, but there was a movie called First Blood, about this guy named Rambo, based on a David Morrell book. Rambo was a Vietnam veteran who been pushed too far and snapped. This was the same kind of deal. You take a guy who has been in combat, who has spent a lot of time in the shit, and he can only be pushed so far.”

  “I can understand that but did they really think we were here to kill them?”

  “Apparently they killed the sheriff and some folks who came with him. The hikers thought we were state police or something, like a SWAT team, come to kick ass and take names. That’s why they fired on us, and why they rushed the football field.”

  “You were able to convince this guy we weren’t a threat?”

  “I didn’t know the guy, but we knew the same places. We both spoke Army. I told him the deal and he could tell I was on the level. I said I was here to help you find your family.”

  “So do they even have a plan? What are they gonna do, just wait for rescue?”

  “They don’t know what they’re doing. Haven’t figured it out yet. It’s a day-by-day thing. In my opinion, they’re probably too big and diverse a group to come up with a single plan. They’ll never agree on anything.”

  “I’m glad they let you go. I didn’t have a plan either.”

  “I figured you left,” he said. “I just asked directions to Whitetop Mountain and I was headed in that direction. I was going to find you.”

  “I never left you. After I came out of the woods, I followed you. I had to know what was going on. Even if I couldn’t get to you, I had to know what was going on.”

  He’d been so distracted by their intense conversation that he just now noticed she didn’t have all the gear he’d handed her on the football field earlier. “Did you have to cache the gear?”

  She nodded. “I couldn’t make any time carrying all that stuff. But now that we’re a team again, I could be back with it in an hour.”

  “I hate to ask you to do that. I feel naked without my guns though. Besides, I’ll probably need that solar charger for my track chair tomorrow, if not today.”

  “I don’t mind doing it. It’s a small price to pay to have you back on my team.”

  Tom scanned around them, taking in the neighborhood. “I just need a place to hide out and lay low until you get back.”

  Her brow furrowed in thought, then her face lit up. “I think I know a place. The lady who is staying with my mom lives right here in town. I know where her house is. I even know where her spare key is.”

  “Great. Let’s take a look.”

  In less than ten minutes, Grace stopped in a gravel alley near the house. “You stay here,” she said. “I’ll check it out.”

  She detoured down another gravel alley and moved among an erratic cluster of houses. She took a concealed position between overflowing garbage cans and a nearby lilac bush, dropped to a knee, and observed the house.

  She immediately noticed Mrs. Brown’s car was gone. Grace took that as a good sign, hoping it meant that Mrs. Brown was with her mother and Dylan, just as she was supposed to be. There was an abundance of trash in the yard, which was the way that people had taken to disposing of their waste since most public services, including trash collection, were no longer available. The refuse did indicate to her that someone had maintained residence in the home after the collapse had occurred.

  Grace really, really hoped that Mrs. Brown and her grandson were at her parents’ house. If that was the case then the trash could belong to Mrs. Brown’s daughter and her useless boyfriend. Grace had heard all about those two from Mrs. Brown and they sounded like real quality people.

  Grace hoped the daughter and her boyfriend were not in the house now, but she was going to check it out anyway. She wanted the house as a place for Tom to hide out but she also wanted to make sure that Mrs. Brown hadn’t given up on caring for her mom and just come home.

&
nbsp; She was razor focused, what her dad would call mission mind. She accepted that checking the house was a step that had to be completed before she could go on to the next one so she just had to do it. She had always been taught not to allow obstacles to delay her any longer than practical. Once she knew what had to be done, she just had to do it. Acknowledge the obstacle, then plow through it.

  She jogged to the back door, crouched down on the porch, and looked around behind her. Hearing nothing new, nothing concerning, she raised her hand and tapped lightly on the half glass door. Nothing. No footsteps, no voices, and of particular importance, no racking of a shotgun slide.

  She tapped again. She wanted to give the occupants plenty of time to come to the door and lessen the chance of her being shot as an intruder. When no one came, she raised her hand and twisted the door handle. Just as she expected, it was locked. Grace duck-walked to the side and flipped over the welcome mat. Beneath it lay a shiny Kwikset key. She smiled.

  Just where she remembered it being.

  She slid the key into the door, unlocked it, and turned the handle. She pushed it open a couple of inches, positioning her body off to the side, hoping the wall would shield her if someone started firing. No shot came.

  She leaned toward the opening and called, “Hello!”

  No response.

  “Hello!” she said louder.

  Still nothing.

  She shoved the door all the way open and it banged lightly against an interior wall. She pulled her body away from the opening, thinking that if there was going to be a shot this would be when it came.

  “Hello?”

  She made a quick check behind her again then eased inside the door. Her muscles were exerted from the run and had stiffened while she crouched. They protested as she stood fully but she didn’t have time for discomfort. She flipped the safety off on her AR pistol and shouldered it.

  While she was not exactly a one-woman SWAT team, Grace had trained for this. Although it would seem crazy to some families, she had the childhood memory of a snowy day in mid-winter when the family had been trapped in the house all day long. Using Nerf guns her dad made a game out of learning how to clear a house. She learned how to enter a room, how to turn a corner, and how to hold her weapon.

  Her dad’s method worked because the lessons stuck. As she got older, her dad had paid for them to have better training. She enjoyed shooting, and Grace had been a natural at the tactical training because she thrived on the physicality of it.

  The first thing that hit her inside the house was that the kitchen was in a state Mrs. Brown would never have left it. Empty food packages were scattered around the kitchen and dirty dishes were piled up in the sink. Flies hovered around the sink and maggots writhed on crusty dishes.

  The refrigerator door hung open, a rank odor reaching Grace’s nose even from across the room. The garbage can overflowed into the floor. A can of beans on the top of the pile was alive with more maggots. Had there been more food in Grace’s stomach, it would have joined the overflowing garbage. She gagged and fought the urge to throw up.

  She tried to shut down the sensory overload. There was too much information here to take in and remain sharp. Unfortunately much of that sensory information was in the form of smells. Very unpleasant ones. She worked her way through the house, room to room, and found it empty. The rest of the house was as every bit as bad as the kitchen. The worst had been the bathroom. Whoever had been staying there had continued to use the toilet even when it could no longer be flushed. The waste was piled higher than seat level. If Grace were to try and shut the lid, she’d have to force it down.

  She backed out of the disgusting bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She leaned back against the wall and fought to clear the nauseating odor from her nose but it pervaded this whole part of the house. She staggered back toward the kitchen trying to hold her breath, not allowing the rank odor into her nose and mouth. When she got to the kitchen she finally breathed again. Even sucking in air that reeked of rotting garbage was an improvement over that of human waste.

  It wasn’t until she got outside that she was certain the desire to vomit had passed. When she found Tom, he asked her what was wrong, but it was nothing she could describe. She just shook her head in disgust. He’d find out soon enough.

  Mrs. Brown’s backyard was sheltered by hedges and a tall fence. Rather than go back inside, the two sat down against the fence and had a snack. It was late in the day and they had not eaten since breakfast. In her Go Bag, Grace found some beef sticks, some Skittles, and some small plastic tubs of single serve peanut butter. It wasn’t a gourmet meal but it pushed the hunger back.

  When they finished, Grace handed her AR pistol over to Tom.

  “Take that with you,” he said, trying to give it back to her. “You might need it.”

  “I’m going to run. It will only slow me down. I’ve got my Glock and I’ll be fine. I already know what’s back there and how to avoid it. Besides, I’ll have your guns when I come back.”

  Tom shrugged. He wasn’t happy with the idea but Grace was not irrational. He had to trust that she’d thought things out and knew what she was doing. Still, things were never so simple as she described.

  “What’s our plan when you get back?”

  Grace looked at her watch. “There’ll still be a couple hours of light. How about when I get back we throw up that solar charger and put a little more juice into the batteries on your track chair? Maybe we even take a nap and recharge our own batteries. Head out of town in the dark.”

  “That’ll work,” Tom replied.

  “The bike trail is pretty wide and smooth. It’ll be easy going and may not be too hard on your batteries. If there’s a decent moon we can probably see the trail without night vision. If it’s too dark, we can use my night vision monocular and you can follow me. I’ve got some mini red chemlights. I can put one on my back. You just follow the red light.”

  “Sounds good. You get on the road then and you be very, very careful.”

  Grace stood and slipped on her Go Bag. Even though she wasn’t taking the AR pistol she would not go anywhere without the Go Bag. It could do way more for her than the weapon ever could. She started out of the yard and then came back, leaned over, and kissed Tom, surprising both of them. Before he could get a word out, she bolted.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Hardwick Farm

  Dylan and Blake were playing in Blake's room. They were not excited about their movie being interrupted but, in the manner of children, they had already forgotten about it and gone on to other things. They were going through a box of Hot Wheels cars, arranging them and driving them around the floor. They didn't hear any of what was going on out in the yard. In fact, distracted by the cars, they had no idea Leslie Brown was unconscious in the yard.

  Immersed in their play, they were startled when the bedroom door opened. They looked up, expecting to see Mrs. Brown telling them they could come back to their movie. Instead, Debbie's face peered at them through the crack. Dylan was startled, not expecting to see his mother. Blake was also startled because he did not recognize the woman and immediately wondered why she was in his house.

  "Mommy?" Dylan said. “What are you doing here?” It was not excitement in his voice; it was fear.

  "That's your mommy?" Blake asked.

  Dylan nodded.

  "How did she get to my house?" Blake asked.

  Dylan shrugged. He didn’t have any more idea how she got there than Blake did.

  Debbie eased into the room and sat down on the floor. She took Dylan in her arms and hugged him. “I’m proud of you, baby. You did good. You helped Mommy.”

  Dylan stiffened. When he was with Paul and Debbie he never quite knew what to expect. Hugs were not always signs of affection. They could be precursors to something else. It was confusing and scary.

  "Is Paul here?" Dylan asked anxiously.

  Debbie nodded. "Yes, baby, of course Paul is with me. We came to see about that
food you were telling us about. It’s better than we imagined. I can't believe they have the power on here."

  Blake shot Dylan an angry look. "You told them!"

  Dylan look scared. "I'm sorry. She kept asking me things and I told her where I was and what I was doing. I told them you had food and power. I didn’t mean to."

  “You’re not my friend anymore,” Blake pouted.

  Debbie shot Blake a look that scared him. "Don't you fuss at my baby, you little bastard. Family is supposed to stick together. He was just looking out for his mommy."

  Blake kept his mouth shut but he was fuming inside. He could see why Dylan was scared of this woman. Even if she was Dylan's mother she did not seem like most of the other mothers he knew. There was nothing nice in this woman. She did not seem like the kind of mommy you could go to for a snack or a Band-Aid. She seemed like the kind of woman that hit children and talked mean to them.

  A crash in the kitchen startled Blake. He sprang to his feet and started out of the room. Debbie's arm flashed out and snagged him around the waist.

  "Now where do you think you’re going? You just sit down."

  "It’s my house,” Blake said. “I need to go check. I'm in charge while my Mommy is sick. I need to help Mrs. Brown.”

  Debbie let out a sigh and did not release her grip on him. "Mrs. Brown isn't feeling good. Mrs. Brown is my mommy, and if anybody checks on her, it will be me. Everything will be okay if you just do what you’re told."

  "This is my house," Blake insisted. “Let me go!” He struggled against Debbie, trying to get loose.

  Without warning, Debbie lost her temper and slung Blake hard. He fell down on the hardwood floor and slid several feet. Hot Wheels cars went flying in all directions. Blake landed on his back, one of the cars gouging into him, and it hurt. His eyes watered and he fought back tears. He would not let this woman see him cry.