“I’ve been working as a contractor with the NSA,” he started, his words nearly lost under the sound of the river below.
So, this might be something after all.
Anytime any government acronym came up, Austin listened. A journalist’s instinct made that common sense. There was always some shady cover-up that went unnoticed until a whistleblower came forward. And despite the fact that Austin liked the quieter stories he’d been pursuing, he wouldn’t mind a big story being dropped in his lap. It’d been a long time since he’d written a juicy piece about some government agency trying to pull one over on the country.
Callum held up a USB stick stored in a plastic case. “I trust you, Austin. It’s been a long time, but we know each other, and that means something, me knowing the type of guy you are. That’s why I called. This has everything you need. I need you to get this to the folks in DC.”
Austin raised an eyebrow, not touching the drive. Was this a story or not? “Who exactly do you suppose I give that to?”
Callum shook his head, looking a little crazed as his eyes darted back and forth—apparently, he hadn’t expected any questions and now just wanted to get going. “You have contacts! I know you do! You wrote a lot of political stuff a long time ago.” The USB stick bobbed in Callum’s hand, emphasizing each word.
Austin nodded, but still didn’t reach out. “That was a long time ago, Callum. I’ve been freelancing for a while. Maybe you can tell me—”
“You have to get this to the right people,” Callum cut him off. “You have to. This has to be made public,” Callum said, but in a voice so low that Austin had to lean closer to hear him over the raging water below.
So, it was a story, then—he wasn’t some errand boy, after all. Curiosity getting the better of him now, Austin reached out to take the stick. It was warm in his hand from being clutched so tightly by his old friend. He stuffed it in the front pocket of his cargo pants and pulled the zipper closed for safekeeping. “I’ll do what I can. What’s all this about?”
“It’s big. You’ll see.”
“Big?” Austin asked, starting to get a little annoyed about the mysterious tone his friend was keeping up. Why couldn’t Callum just spit out what this was about?
But before Austin could press him, the sound of an ATV cut through the trees on the other side of the raging river. Austin looked along the bridge to the road, trying to find the source of the sound. In a flash, the ATV and rider came into view all at once, an AR-15’s barrel pointed directly at them to shut off whatever he might have planned to say next. It took his brain another moment to process what he was seeing in the shadows of the woods, and by then the driver had pulled to a stop and was dismounting the vehicle—only some ten yards up the road, where it was blocked by an old chain running across posts to block the bridge. Callum stood still beside Austin, apparently just as frozen.
Austin shoved at Callum’s shoulder to get his attention, and then turned to head back the way he’d come. They had to get to his truck and do it fast. “Run!” he shouted.
The sound of gunfire echoed over the covered bridge, old wood splintering as the .223 bullets slammed into the wood around them and sent Austin diving to the ground. Austin looked up, towards the road he had walked in on, then back to the ATV driver moving towards them, his gun still aimed in their direction. The gunman was wearing all black leather with a helmet shielding his face.
If he stood, he’d be shot; he couldn’t outrun a bullet. More shots rang out as Callum began to rise up and lunge into a sprint, and Austin saw Callum drop before he made it a full step, blood blooming over his chest, his beard already covered in the red liquid—he’d been shot in the head first. He was dead, no question, and now the driver would be free to focus on Austin. Without thinking for a moment more, Austin rolled sideways under the old bridge’s railing, bracing himself for the frigid waters below even as his body hit water and rocks at the same time, shots ringing out from above.
He gasped as his shoulder went numb and his head went under the icy-cold water. His skin felt like he’d been hit with a million pinpricks. The current swept him under the bridge some fifteen feet above his head, and there was nothing to do but let it. A hail of bullets had begun pelting the water a foot from his head when he’d resurfaced, but he was helpless to try and swim away from the gunfire—the current was too strong, and he’d gone numb with cold and pain anyway. A second later, Austin’s head slammed into a rock as the water carried him away, bullets following him before fading away into nothing.
2
Savannah waved goodbye to Cassie as she headed down the paved road pitted with potholes, anxious to meet up with Malachi Loveridge. Small shops lined the town’s main road facing the post office and a fire department on the other side, and she was reminded that Malachi seemed to be the one exciting thing about this tiny town. Her father would never have agreed to her meeting a boy, let alone him, which was why she hadn’t told him the full extent of her plans. Technically, though, she hadn’t lied. She had gone to the creamery with Cassie, and she had eaten ice cream. And now she was going to the revivalists’ campground to meet Malachi.
Besides, her dad had nothing to worry about. It was church. How dangerous could it be? Her dad should be happy she was going to church instead of going out and doing the things that other kids her age were doing. It wasn’t like she was sneaking off to a party, after all.
Halfway there, she was glad she’d forced herself to remain at a walk instead of allowing herself to skip along like a schoolgirl. Malachi was sitting on the single bench outside one of the town’s two gas stations, just waiting for her.
“Hey,” she said, butterflies circling her stomach as she walked towards him. His lips lifted in a big smile, and Savannah had to bite her lip to keep from grinning like a fool, forcing a casual smile onto her face instead.
“Hi, Savannah,” he said, having risen from the bench to greet her.
She felt her heart kick up a beat as she stared into his dark brown eyes, his long black hair falling into his face before he quickly pushed it back. He wasn’t a lot taller than her, and was a good six inches shorter than her dad, but nobody was as tall as him. Her dad was six-foot-four inches tall, and his height alone made him intimidating, which had been effective in scaring off almost every boy she had met—so far. Something told her that Malachi might not scare so easily.
“Hey,” she said again, feeling like an idiot but not knowing what else to say.
His eyes twinkled like he sensed her nerves and appreciated them, and then he grinned, his perfectly straight white teeth on full display. “Are you ready to go?” he asked.
“I am. Am I dressed okay? I’ve never been to church in a tent,” she commented nervously, hoping her skinny jeans weren’t too casual. At least they didn’t have holes, she thought as she fell into step beside him.
“You look beautiful, and my dad welcomes people no matter what they are wearing. It’s come as you are,” he assured her.
“What is a revivalist gathering exactly?” she asked. It had occurred to her earlier to ask her dad, because she was curious, but then she’d realized it would only make him suspicious of her coming out that night. She could have looked it up but hadn’t bothered. Why not just ask the super-cute boy who’d asked her to come along?
“We travel the country, spreading God’s word. We set up a tent in the middle of nature because it seems more natural, and we feel closer to the Holy Spirit when we’re in nature. Plus, it’s much more relaxed than a normal church. I think you’ll like it. People from all walks of life can come in, sit down, and listen to the music or one of the sermons. Plus, we offer a community potluck dinner in our dining hall, which is really just another tent, for those who want to stay for a while. It’s all very laid back,” he said, his hand brushing hers as they walked.
Savannah did think it sounded better than the average church she’d come in contact with, few as they’d been in her life. Her family had never been the church-goi
ng type. The very idea of people doing nothing but church for a living was foreign. “Are you Baptist or Catholic?” she asked.
Malachi chuckled beside her before reaching out and taking her hand in his. Their fingers laced together as they reached the town limits and continued on to where the tents had been set up. He seemed to be thinking about what to say to her, and the butterflies in her stomach felt like they were caught up in a full-blown tornado. She prayed her hand wasn’t sweaty.
“No, nothing like that,” he finally answered. “We aren’t really an organized religion. We don’t like to label ourselves. My family loves the Bible, and has devoted their lives to spreading the Word,” he explained. “It’s kind of that simple.”
Savannah nodded, pretending to understand. His hand holding hers was all she could think about. It was the first time a boy had ever held her hand, and she wanted to remember every second of it.
“Do you live in the tents?” she asked next, wanting to move away from religion before Malachi realized how little she really knew about it.
“No, we have a few motorhomes that we live in. Probably not much different from you and your dad. It’s not so bad. It’s like camping, but with the luxury of hot showers and beds.”
So, they’re just like us, but his parents’ work is religion while Dad’s is journalism. Okay. That doesn’t sound too strange, put like that. “Will I meet your family?” she asked aloud.
“Sure. We can stay and have refreshments with them after the service if you’d like.”
“I would like that,” she said, getting up the nerve to squeeze his hand for emphasis. “I have to be home by ten, though.”
“The service is usually over by nine, if not earlier. I’ll make sure you’re home on time,” he assured her.
“Do you preach?” she asked him.
He shrugged his shoulder beside her, their arms brushing. “Sometimes. We offer a service geared towards young people and I sometimes talk then. I don’t think of it as preaching. We’re talking and sharing, not lecturing or anything like that.”
“That sounds nice,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t mind listening to you, too,” she added more bravely, looking up just in time to see a flush rise in his cheeks.
“Thanks, Savannah. Oh, hey—hear that? Those are our tents up ahead.”
The sound of singing could be heard in the distance now. Malachi picked up the pace as they headed for the larger of two white tents set up in a field. Several picnic tables were lined up in a row between the tents, red-checked tablecloths covering each one and held down by covered baskets and platters. To the left, there were several cars in the pseudo-parking lot, and behind the tent, Savannah saw two motorhomes, and a small cargo trailer parked to the side.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the white trailer.
“We pull that behind the motorhome. It holds the tents, chairs, speakers, and generators and stuff we need for the service,” he explained.
“Oh,” she muttered. This was a bigger operation than she’d imagined, though she wasn’t quite sure what she’d had in mind.
Malachi said hello to a few people as they walked towards the open doors of the large tent. Savannah couldn’t help being surprised to see close to thirty people already seated inside and singing a hymn together. She’d hoped to blend in, at least at first, but Malachi strolled down the aisle of folding chairs, her hand in his as he walked to the front row and gestured for her to take a seat. The butterflies in her stomach escalated as she noticed a woman with black hair identical to Malachi’s staring at her. Savannah smiled, knowing that had to be his mother. His mother smiled back before her eyes moved to her son.
Malachi squeezed her hand a little tighter before releasing it. Beside him, Savannah folded her hands together and placed them in her lap, doing her best to appear interested as the hymn ended and an older man stepped up to a podium, welcomed those who’d gathered, and began giving what was most definitely a sermon.
“That’s my grandpa,” Malachi whispered into her ear.
“He seems nice,” she replied, feeling a little silly, but what else could she possibly say?
And then, Malachi remained silent beside her, and the sermon droned on. Growing bored, she found her mind wandering as she looked around the tent—or, at least, she looked around what she could without turning around and being obvious about it. She at least needed to look like she was listening, after all. What she saw felt calming, though, in an odd way—old-fashioned. There were lights hung from some of the poles above, and the feel of a breeze running from between panels of the tent. She could hear the sound of what she guessed to be several generators humming in the background, and figured they were being used to power the speakers and microphone Malachi’s grandfather was using.
Every once in a while, someone would call out “Amen” or “Praise Jesus,” snapping Savannah’s attention back to the man at the mic. And, each time, she was reminded that Malachi’s mother was watching her. Savannah had a feeling her boredom was written all over her face, too, judging by the way Malachi’s mother was looking at her. So much for first impressions.
When everyone stood up and began to sing again, Savannah stood, as well, but she didn’t know the words. She tried to move her mouth, pretending she did, but imagined she looked ridiculous. Once again, she felt Malachi’s mother watching her. Thankfully, it was only the one song she had to get through, and then there was a prayer, a round of amens, and people turned and started talking to one another.
“Would you like to stay for cookies and cider?” Malachi asked.
Savannah looked around, half afraid the sermon would begin again if she didn’t drag Malachi away now. “Is it over?”
He caught her hand with his again and laughed. “Yes, it is. I’m sorry you were bored.”
“No, no! Not at all!” she lied.
“Come on. I want to introduce you to my family,” he said, leading her towards the back of the tent where other people were already filing out, chatting amongst themselves.
Nerves made her palms sweaty as he led her towards the campers in back. Savannah could see several people talking, including Malachi’s mother, and guessed she was about to meet the whole family.
“Mom, Dad?” Malachi called out, gaining their attention.
“Malachi,” his grandfather greeted him first, nodding at Savannah with a friendly smile.
“Hi, Grandpa. Great talk tonight,” Malachi said.
“Thank you, Malachi. Who do we have here?” he asked, turning his warm brown eyes back to Savannah.
“This is Savannah. Savannah, this is my mom, dad, and grandpa.” He introduced her around the circle.
Savannah shook each of their hands, hoping her palms weren’t as wet as they felt.
“It’s nice to meet you, Savannah,” his mother said with what looked like a forced smile. “I’m Tonya, and this is Jim,” she added, gesturing towards Malachi’s father. “And this is my father, Eli.”
“It’s nice to meet you all,” Savannah answered. “Malachi’s told me so much about you. I’m glad I could make it tonight.”
“We are also, Savannah,” Jim Loveridge answered. “Are you staying for refreshments?”
“We’re going to grab some cookies, and then I need to walk her home before it gets dark,” Malachi answered.
His mother smiled, her eyes already moving toward a couple who were trying to get her attention.
For her part, Savannah just felt grateful to have introductions out of the way, and gladly followed Malachi back towards the smaller tent.
“I don’t think your mom likes me,” she whispered.
Malachi laughed. “Just like your dad won’t like me.”
Savannah giggled, instantly feeling a little better about the awkward introduction. “Good point,” she acknowledged.
Malachi grabbed several cookies, placing them on a paper plate before walking around the back of the tent. The generator humming along behind the tent was too loud for them to act
ually have a conversation, and he gestured past it, toward the woods beyond their campground. He kept moving into the trees until the sounds of the generators and crowd had grown into a blur—until they had a little privacy, too, Savannah thought to herself.
“We can sit back here,” he said, settling on a fallen log.
Savannah sat down beside him, looking around and taking in the peacefulness of the little clearing he’d brought her to. “This is nice.”
“I like to come back here in the morning. It’s so peaceful. The generators are off then, and sometimes deer will come in really close,” he said quietly.
“I would love that,” she said on a sigh, smiling a moment later when she heard choir music being pumped through the speakers set up around the area. From here, it didn’t matter that she didn’t know the melodies or understand religion like Malachi did—it was just a nice melody to serve as background.
“It would be a good place for you to write the poetry you talked about the other day,” Malachi replied after a few seconds.
She couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across her face. “Maybe one day I can meet you here and see those deer for myself.”
“I’d like that,” he whispered.
And just like that, there was a notable change in the atmosphere. Savannah could see him looking at her, his gaze dropping to her mouth. She tried to regulate her breathing. He’s going to kiss me! Tonight would be her first kiss ever, just like she’d been hoping all evening, and lucky for her, it was going to come from a handsome boy who was kind and sweet. Who appreciated a peacefulness like this just like she did…
She closed her eyes, waiting for the moment, holding her breath and feeling his face getting closer to hers.
Suddenly, the air went even more still, unnaturally so.
Everything had gone silent. The generators had stopped humming along, and there was no choir music pumping through the speakers. The immediate, abrupt silence was deafening.
Savannah’s eyes popped open. No longer focused on her, Malachi looked around the area. Neither of them made a move as they waited for something to happen, for some sound to fill the air. The silence was eerie, after everything had been so vibrant and full of life a few seconds earlier. It was as if a switch had been flipped.
Survive the Chaos (Small Town EMP Book 1) Page 2
