“‘The beast that ascendeth out of the bottomless pit shall make war against them, and shall overcome them, and kill them,’” the man yelled.
Patrick simply shook his head and walked past them.
“The end times are coming! Heed our warning! Do not enter the synagogue of Satan. The end times are coming! Fire and ice! Fire and ice will rain upon the unworthy!”
Hank looked petrified and he held on to Max’s arm as if the boy was some sort of proof against those words.
Dan, the man in sunglasses, simply walked past them and opened the entrance door, standing back to let Ellie and the others through. She took one look out onto the sunny city streets and followed her guide. Maybe it was the ranting of the people outside, or the oddly normal streets—artificially normal, she thought—but somehow, she felt like she was walking into the den of some monster and she might never come out again.
They were forced to wait for a while outside the office of the city manager. Finally, a blonde woman opened the door, straightened her skirt and said, “Mr. Crossley will see you now.”
It was a corner office with glass on two sides and a view looking out on the capitol.
“Ah, there you are. Nate Crossley, city manager,” he said, the very picture of amiability, walking toward them with his hand thrust out.
Ellie made sure she was the last to shake it—she suspected where it had been a few minutes before, though the man did have a hand sanitizer on his desk, to be fair—and looked into the face of a predator.
The blonde woman came in again and arranged the seats so they could sit facing their host.
“I guess y’all might be hungry? I’m sorry you haven’t experienced our famous Okie hospitality, but we can eat together, cain’t we?”
Truth be told, Ellie was starving. It seemed to have taken forever to make their way here from the south of the city, and her meager breakfast was a distant memory. Fortunately, Patrick saved her by thanking Crossley.
“Cool! Jen, fetch the sandwiches, will you?”
“Yes, Mr. Crossley,” the young woman said, retreating from the room quickly and without looking at Ellie and the others.
Crossley settled in his high-backed leather chair and bobbed up and down as he looked at each of them. “So, tell me about yourselves. What brought you to OKC? And how did you get mixed up in the tragic death of Officer…” He leaned forward, looking through his paperwork.
“Haynes,” Ellie said.
Crossley blinked at her, his spectacles balanced on the end of his nose, adding twenty years to his apparent age. “Haynes, thank you.” His true age was hard to guess, but she recognized dyed hair when she saw it. And not just the hair, but also his eyebrows and the trim beard that wrapped itself around his jaw and chin like a malnourished sloth. And, having spent years among the vainest of people, Ellie could spot a hair transplant from a mile away.
The young blonde woman came in again and deposited a silver tray with quarter-cut sandwiches then, as quickly as she could manage, made her exit.
“Hold on, I know you, don’t I?”
Ellie couldn’t help rolling her eyes as Crossley jabbed a fat finger at Patrick, his eyes squinting behind their frameless glasses.
“I’m an actor,” Patrick said, though without his usual enthusiasm.
“You were in that movie about the asteroid. That’s right. What was it called again?”
Patrick only just choked back the sigh. “Asteroid. I was on a boat with Ellie here, cruising off Cuba when the flood happened, though we didn’t know at first.”
“Cuba?”
Finally, a real, unvarnished emotion. He was genuinely astonished.
“So, it’s true? Florida, the South, it’s all gone?”
Patrick nodded gravely. “Most of the eastern half of the country is underwater, except for the Blue Ridge Mountains.”
Crossley whistled between his teeth. “Sure, well, I knew that, of course. But to hear it from someone who’s seen it… You crossed all this way by boat?”
Ellie sat back, happy to let Patrick tell the story. He wisely left out any mention of Buzz and ended his account with the attack on them that had left Haynes dead.
“And why d’you think that agent attacked you? I mean, it was you folks he was looking for, not poor Officer Haynes.” Then he looked past Patrick at Max, who’d sat quietly with his arms curled around his pack. “You haven’t said much, son. What do you think?”
Max shrugged. “Dunno.”
Crossley’s eyes flicked to Hank, who’d sat silently gazing out at the capitol. “And you? Are you the boy’s father?”
“No, though I wish I was. He’s a good boy. Look, Mr. Crossley, I appreciate your hospitality and all,” he said, glancing hungrily at the tray of sandwiches, “but we’ve told you all we know and we’ve got a journey ahead of us. The sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll get there, if you take my meaning.”
Crossley’s eyes narrowed as he regarded the older man. “Well, I’ve got good news for you. Your journey’s over.”
Ellie felt her throat tighten suddenly. “What?”
“I advise you to enjoy my hospitality while we wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“We wait for our German friend.”
Chapter 14
Myron
Bobby focused on the pool of light illuminating the highway surface as he made his way back along the highway. He knew he was being irrational in every possible way, but he had to try.
Problem one: he didn’t know where on the road he’d left Linwood as he’d been semi-conscious when he’d been loaded onto the coach.
Problem two: he didn’t know if Linwood was alive or, if he was, whether Randall had moved him along the road.
Problem three: Myron was with them both.
Problem four: He was traveling alone in a civilian car along an unlit highway. He might as well have a sign up saying “please ambush me”.
And there was no way he was bringing Eve along. Maybe he was being a misogynist, but he didn’t care at this point. He was so close to the end of his rope that he was fit to drop entirely. He would make this attempt, and he’d do it without having to worry about anyone else, then he’d return and somehow find the time to go look for Maria.
He knew he’d been manipulated into joining what the vet who’d given him the keys to the car called the Army. In truth, it was a volunteer force of mainly old folks and a few civilians. He wasn’t angry, because he wouldn’t have been able to settle without knowing what had happened to Linwood. And, in any case, being part of the local militia might make it easier to find Maria.
Bobby leaned forward, squinting out at the twin beams of light, driving along like a geriatric as he guided the car around abandoned vehicles, giving them a wide berth in case bandits hid there.
He would begin his search at the metal tower he’d seen just before Linwood had collapsed, then head back along the road until he either found them or had to give up. He’d set himself a deadline of sunrise before giving up, and he didn’t doubt he would have to give up.
His tired eyes began to blur as he pressed on, wondering whether he’d passed the tower already, or if it was miles ahead. Small groups of people cowered by the side of the road, hiding on the edge of the wilderness from the threat of a car moving at night. What had become of his country?
He nodded, momentarily choked, yanked against the wheel and slammed his foot on the brake, banging his head on the door as he came to a halt, stalling the car.
Bobby swore to himself, shifted into reverse and pulled back up the camber of the road, desperately looking around with adrenaline-widened eyes for any signs of attack. But the only danger came from himself. If he fell asleep at the wheel again, he might never wake up.
Then he saw a red light blinking in the darkness. Too high up to be another vehicle. Could it be the tower?
He put his foot down and, with shaking hands, maneuvered the car back to the middle of the highway, heading for the li
ght.
It was the tower. Either that, or another identical one. Good grief, were there dozens of the things he’d never noticed? If so, his hunt was over.
He pulled the car up alongside it, turned the lights off and got out. In his hand he grasped the Ruger he’d found in the glove box. It was utterly dark except for moonlight diffused through invisible clouds above him. He widened his eyes and tried to look sideways, searching for any movement.
If this had been the tower, then Linwood had lain here. He kneeled where he guessed the spot to be, running his hands over the gritty, cooling surface. His fingers found nothing but small stones and cracks.
And then something plastic and light. He held it up to his acclimatizing eyes: a water bottle. Evian. Eve’s bottle. Perhaps.
He got to his feet and looked around. If it had been Eve’s, then this was the spot where Linwood had fallen. And if that was the case, then he’d gotten up—with Randall’s help, no doubt. Or he was lying dead and, perhaps, buried by the side of the road. No, there was no sense in thinking like that. Assume the best.
Ha!
Assume the best?
That maxim had stopped working over three weeks ago.
But it was all he had.
Logically, Randall would have headed toward Vegas.
Myron. What would he do? He’d know that as soon as Linwood regained his senses, he’d tell Randall what he’d done.
Bobby had a horrible thought. What if Randall had ordered Myron to stay behind when they’d split up yesterday? What if he’d told him to steal their stuff? But then, why give up his place to Bobby and Eve?
No. Assume the best.
He listened to the night noises for a moment. The whisper of the cool breeze, the gentle hooting of birds and the invented sounds of his ears encountering quiet.
He climbed back into the car and banished the near silence by starting the engine and turning it in the road before heading back the way he came. How far could they possibly walk? It had been ten hours or so since he’d woken up in the coach, but only four hours since night had fallen and he guessed that Randall would have waited until dark before trying to move. He could always, of course, have abandoned Linwood.
Assume the best, Bobby.
So, say two miles an hour—that would limit them to eight miles from this point. He turned the lights back on and headed northeast at little more than walking pace, his head out the window as he listened and watched for movement.
Despite the fresh air blowing across his face, he nodded again.
A cry in the night.
His eyes snapped open. Someone ran out in front of him, hands out, imploring him to stop.
He slammed his foot down, and a head appeared through the passenger window.
“Thank God! I’m half dead from thirst. Can you give me a ride?” Eyes looked hopefully at him. Then widened.
Bobby thrust his arm out and grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling the head and shoulders in through the window.
“No! Let me go!”
Grabbing the gun from the seat, he pressed it against the head. “Move and I’ll blow your brains out, you scum!”
“I won’t move! I promise!”
Bobby slid back out of the car, keeping the gun aimed, and came around the side before pushing it into the ribs of the man, pulling him backward, then slamming him against the door, his eyes wide in terror.
“Where the hell are they, Myron?”
“I…I don’t know what you mean.”
Bobby rammed the gun barrel into Myron’s chubby face. “Tell me now or I swear I’ll finish you here and now!” With his other hand he shook Myron, grabbing the inside of his jacket and pressing him against the car, all exhaustion forgotten.
“He told me to go on!”
“What?”
“Randall. He…he said he wouldn’t leave the old man. They’re both…dead by now.”
Bobby grabbed the pack hanging from Myron’s shoulder and opened it one-handed. “And he gave you all their water, did he? You liar! You abandoned them! Did you have the guts to kill them yourself this time?”
Myron shook his head, his face ghostly white in the moonlight. “I didn’t harm no one. I promise!”
“Show me.”
And Bobby made Myron get back in the car, keeping the gun on him all the time.
“I don’t know exactly where they are.”
“You’d better pray we find them, you scum.”
The highway crawled by as Bobby kept half an eye on his prisoner, half at the edge of the road. It seemed like hours and he was giving up hope when, finally, he saw something.
And, in that moment, Myron thrust the door open and leaped out. Bobby spun around and shot instinctively. The second one hit and Myron fell to the ground. Bobby left him there and, shaking from head to foot, picked his way off the highway to where two figures lay beside a boulder.
“Linwood? Randall?” he called.
To his surprise, it was Linwood who answered. “Bob? Is that you? I thought it was that SOB come back to finish the job.”
Bobby ran the last few yards. Linwood was on his side with his hands tied behind his back.
“Check Randall, willya? He gave me all his water.”
Bobby rolled Randall over so he was facing up at the cloudy night sky. He put his hands to Randall’s lips and, after what seemed an age, felt moist breath on his fingers. “He’s alive,” he said. “I’ll get him in the car.”
Bobby got to his feet, then turned Randall around and pulled on his jacket shoulders, dragging him across the dusty ground.
Linwood struggled up and, though he was pitifully weak, helped Bobby. “Come on, son, don’t die on me. We gotta get you to your family. It’s all you ever talk about, after all.”
“What happened?” Bobby asked.
“That little creep, he waited until Randall wasn’t looking and hit him over the head with a rock. I guess he figured he didn’t need to bother with me. Just hog-tied us both and then took the rest of our food and water. Didn’t have the guts to finish us off, though he wanted to bad enough.”
They reached the side of the road and Linwood opened the car door, leaning against it and puffing as Bobby dragged the unconscious Randall onto the back seat.
“Well, what do we have here?” Linwood said as he looked over the roof of the car.
Bobby stood up. Myron lay moaning in the near darkness.
“I guess we ought to take him with us. See if he can get treatment,” Bobby said reluctantly. He’d half hoped the man would have expired by now.
Linwood nodded. “Maybe. But you’ll have to lift him. Gimme the gun and I’ll watch the little snake, just in case he’s foolin’ us again.”
Bobby handed the Ruger over and went to grab Myron.
“No, son,” Linwood said, panting a little, but steady on his feet. “You step back.”
Bobby watched as Linwood pointed the gun at the moaning form staining the road surface. “No, Linwood.”
BANG!
One percussive shot punched through the still night air and Linwood turned back to him. “Told you before. If you catch vermin, Bob, you gotta finish ’em or you never know which rock they might come slitherin’ out of next time.”
Bobby got back into the car, his bloodless hands shaking.
“You’re like Randall,” Linwood said, groaning as he settled into the passenger seat. “You’re a good man, but sometimes justice has got to be done. Leave that to folks like me. I’ve seen and done things you wouldn’t believe, Bob, and I ain’t gonna lose no sleep over that piece of filth. Now, have you got any water in here? I’m thirsty as a rattlesnake.”
When they arrived back at the camp in Boulder, Bobby showed the pass he’d been given and they were allowed in. It seemed to him that at least some of the guards were in the know, and they sent him to the field hospital where he eventually managed to offload Randall and Linwood.
The sun was beginning to rise by the time he returned to his hotel room. Eve l
ay on her front, her legs sprawled across the comforter and her naked backside bathed in the orange light of the gathering dawn. He sighed. Mission accomplished. And tomorrow…today…he would go looking for Maria.
Chapter 15
Breakthrough
Buzz hunched over the laptop screen, tapping the desk as he waited for the results. Jodi wandered in, coffee in hand, and sat on the edge of the desk.
“Yo, Unc, how’s it hangin’?”
“Just waiting, as you can see,” he responded, grumpily.
It wasn’t that he begrudged the recent improvement in Jodi’s mood and, indeed, her appearance, it was just that he felt the weight of expectation on his shoulders. It was bad enough that POTUS was projecting almost mystical levels of faith onto him: after all, she was a politician, so he didn’t trust his instincts around her. No, it was Clarke, the man he’d met at the mud camp who was bothering him. A few weeks ago, he suspected Clarke had been a classic representative of his breed. Pretty spouse, perfect kids, and a holiday home on the New England coast. Now, all of those were gone. And without them, Clarke had become a shell of a man. Or perhaps he’d always been, but now he had nowhere to hide.
Jodi, on the other hand, had enjoyed a new lease of life since their arrival two days ago. She was wearing an Air Force physical training uniform she’d been given, choosing to wear shorts rather than pants, and enjoying the effect this had on the men of the base itself and, in particular, of the president’s team. She'd accessorized the Air Force blue uniform with her stars and stripes sunglasses and a bandana and seemed to have taken to life here easily.
Buzz couldn’t say the same for himself. He’d also been offered clothes to replace those he’d been abducted in, and had finally chosen some dark blue Navy coveralls on the basis that they would be useful back on the farm.
The laptop speakers blurted out the Twentieth Century Fox sting to announce that the computer had finished.
“Dammit!” Buzz said, jabbing a finger at the screen.
Survivors: Deluge Book 3: (A Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Story) Page 12
