“That explosion was huge, Mom,” Todd said, his voice on the edge of breaking. “Not a Molotov cocktail or car fire or anything like that. I mean, the camera was shaking and everything. Could it have been a terrorist attack?”
Sara could only shake her head and stare blankly at the screen. “If it was some sort of terrorist attack, then those people have more problems to worry about than gangs and looters. And, let’s be honest, so does your father.”
Todd slammed his hand down on the table, stood up, and paced to the other side of the kitchen. “Every time we try to have hope for Dad, something awful happens. I don’t know, Mom. I’m really losing it.”
Sara went to her son and embraced him as he paced in the other direction. He grunted and tried to pull away, but she clenched her arms around his waist from behind and locked her fingers around his stomach.
“Hey, hey,” Sara said, hugging him tight. “I’m losing it, too. I really am. I’m on the verge of crying every five minutes. The only thing that keeps me going is staying busy, and you kids.”
“I know.” Todd’s voice was exasperated and full of pain. “But there’s no one out there helping Dad. And if we can’t go help Dad, then we might as well give up. He’s totally alone.”
“No, you can’t give up,” Sara insisted, “There are good people out there doing good things. You have to trust me on that.”
“How could you possibly know that, Mom? We’re stuck up here on the side of the mountain. We don’t talk to anyone.”
Sara took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she let go of her son and walked over to sit down in front of her laptop. With a wan smile, she said. “Come here, let me show you something.”
Todd approached with a doubtful look on his face, coming around so he could see the screen. “What is it, Mom? More bad news? Because if it is, I’ve already seen enough.”
“Let’s just say, I have friends out there who know what’s going on,” Sara said, stepping through each word carefully as she browsed to the Mike Report page. “And they’re doing something about it.”
Chapter 12
Somewhere in Tennessee
Yi and two of his dragon warriors walked across the open field in broad daylight, not bothering to hide their presence as they approached the family trying to save their possessions from their flooded barn. With their ski masks and civilian clothes, his warriors whooped and hollered and raised their guns high in the air. They were no longer hiding in the shadows, instead brazenly sowing the seeds of fear and doubt into the citizens of the Tennessee valley by posing as an unlawful gang bent on chaos.
They’d brought the dragon’s wrath upon three homesteads already, and Yi’s blood ran like fire through his veins.
The barn was sitting in two feet of water, and the family was in the middle of removing light farm equipment and tools from it when Yi and his warriors came upon them. The family was comprised of two young men between the ages of fourteen and eighteen, a young girl, and an older man and woman that Yi presumed to be their parents. The oldest boy tapped his father’s shoulder and pointed to the approaching men. The father looked up, saw Yi and his warriors approaching, and started to raise his hand in greeting. That was, until he saw the guns.
A dark expression came over the father’s face, and he barked an order to the young men as he gestured toward a farmhouse that was thirty yards away. The two young men immediately bolted in that direction, and Yi responded by gesturing for Ivan to head them off. The father then picked up an ax laying nearby and shouted something to the woman and the little girl. This time, Yi heard it clearly. The word the father shouted was, “Run,” and Yi grinned as the woman looked at the approaching men in sheer terror, grabbed her daughter, and took off with her around the side of the barn.
That was fine. Chen and his warriors would be waiting to scoop them up like little bunnies running into the mouth of a wolf.
Yi was twenty yards away from the father, and raised his weapon to open fire. But in a sly move, the father stepped inside the barn and disappeared. Yi lowered his weapon, annoyed that his prey was trying to make his death more difficult than it needed to be.
Gesturing for Jiao to circle around to the back of the barn, Yi moved quietly through the flood waters and put his shoulder against the wall next to the wide entrance. He peered inside past three huge beams that split the structure down the middle and all the way to the back entrance, but the father had melted into the shadows. Yi crouched down and quickly spun inside, pointing his rifle around as he hunted for his prey. He’d been trained to detect the slightest hint of movement in dark conditions, yet everything was so still and quiet in the murky barn that Yi could hear his own heart beating steadily in his chest.
Yi turned to the right, running his rifle sights over the front of several horse stalls before he swung the weapon up toward the low loft. Nothing moved up there either, but a gentle disturbance of water came from his right, drawing Yi’s attention to where Jiao was entering the barn. He gestured for her to search the opposite side, where there was a massive saw, several mill-like contraptions, and a pile of two-by-fours cut into small pieces. She nodded and turned in that direction, moving quietly through the water.
Coming to the first horse stall, Yi saw that it was open, so he ducked inside, looked around, and quickly retreated. In that split second of time, Yi was able to determine that it was empty, so he moved on to the next stall. Its door was shut, and he was about to push it open when he heard distant shouts and then pistol shots followed by the unmistakable sounds of AR-15 rounds. That was Ivan, doing the work of the dragon. The pistols fired for another three or four rounds, while the AR-15 got the last word in five quick shots that brought the scene to silence.
Something splashed near the front entrance, and Yi spun in that direction, finger poised over the trigger of his rifle. There was nothing there except for the remnants of tiny waves rippling where something had been thrown. Yi snapped his weapon toward the roof and, seeing nothing, turned back in Jiao’s direction. She was frantically searching the pile of wood, possibly thinking whoever had thrown the object was there. Yi watched as the father stepped out from where he’d been crouched between the mill-like contraptions and was approaching Jiao from behind with his ax raised high and poised to strike.
Yi pulled the trigger twice sending the man flying against the barn wall as Jiao spun around with a surprised cry. The warrior tore off her mask and panted, staring at the man who’d almost killed her as he slid down the wall, leaving a streak of blood on the wood.
The man’s face was twisted in agony, and he stared back at Jiao with unbridled hatred as he sunk into the water and slumped over.
“You must be careful of simple tricks,” Yi said, approaching Jiao in a teaching moment. She was an elite warrior, but she didn’t have twenty years of experience like Yi had. “A desperate, cornered dog is always the most clever and vicious.”
The woman gave him a stiff nod before she put her mask back on, and together they marched out of the barn to see how their comrades had fared. Ivan came out of the house, mask off and grinning, his orange shirt covered in blood.
“I painted the walls with the little boys’ blood,” the big Russian said in a thick accent.
“You are a true artist, my friend,” Yi said, then he turned around, looking for Chen.
The communications officer appeared a moment later with two other warriors carrying the throat-cut mother between them through the knee-deep water. They tromped out of the water, up through the mud, and dropped the body on the ground near the house.
“The little girl escaped,” Chen said with a grin as he came up.
“Perfect,” Yi replied. “She will run to a neighbor and tell her story about the raiders who came to her home. She will tell them they had big guns and killed her family. But, most importantly, she’ll tell them these marauders looked like regular people. That maybe they were townsfolk, or even neighbors. Yes, that is the lie we need them to believe.”
Chapter 13
Jake, Boston, Massachusetts | 4:17 p.m., Wednesday
Lightning cracked overhead and the rain came down in sheets. The wind was merciless as it buffeted the foursome as they waded through the knee-high water, holding their makeshift packs up to keep them from falling beneath the surface. Jake led the group, a pack over one shoulder while holding the little boy’s hand, leading him along and shielding him from the worst of the wind and rain.
Marcy and Alice walked close behind them, hunkered down behind Jake’s taller form as they waded through brine and floating debris. Furniture cushions, papers, and clothing drifted toward them. There were bodies, too. Bloated corpses of those who’d perished in the storms or from starvation, brought to the surface when their homes had been washed out and leveled by nature’s hand. Jake did his best to distract Timothy while he kicked the bodies away from them or turned the group in another direction, choking on the horror gripping his guts.
There weren’t streets anymore so much as pathways through the rubble, and Jake navigated between them as best he could. They climbed a pile of siding and slipped down the other side, Jake catching Timothy before he could plunge headfirst into the water. And then, while Jake was scanning the surface for more dead bodies, he realized they were cut off on all three sides by fallen homes.
“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” Jake said into the rain. “We have to go back and around.”
“What about there?” Marcy pointed off to the left, and Jake squinted at a narrow tunnel through the pile of bricks and wood.
“That might work,” Jake said, leading them over and peering inside. He could see light at the other end, and it was maybe twenty or thirty feet to the other side. He looked around at Marcy and she nodded vigorously in agreement. Neither of them wanted to backtrack, so Jake turned to the tunnel and went in.
It was suddenly quiet save for the slow drip of water. The smells of wet wood, rust, and brick dust floated around his head. Jake kept his eyes pinned on the dim light ahead, stamping out an overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia while praying that the whole pile didn’t shift and bury them along with the rest of the corpses.
“Be careful,” Jake cautioned, edging around a sharp piece of wood that stuck out from the rubble. “Lots of pointy things here.”
It was almost a relief when he stepped back into the rain and peered up into the dark sky. Clouds rolled slowly above them, looking angry and powerful.
“It was scary in there,” Timothy said, and Jake looked down to see that the boy’s eyes were wide and his lips quivered with cold.
“It sure was,” Jake said, trying to sound confident and strong even though his shoulders shivered, and his voice came out with a slight shake to it. “You don’t have to worry about anything with me and Marcy around, understand? We’ll protect you.”
Timothy’s eyes lifted to Jake, and he nodded faintly. Jake wasn’t sure if the kid actually believed him. He straightened and looked around as Marcy and Alice came up on his left. The little girl hadn’t said much over the hours they’d been walking. The cold and rain seemed to have sapped her energy and sassy attitude. He couldn’t blame her. The world looked dark and intimidating to Jake, so he couldn’t imagine what it must seem like to a child.
“The water is going down,” Marcy said. “It’s just beneath my knees now, but it was above my knees ten minutes ago.”
“Maybe we can get out of this mess and get to more stable ground. I think we could use a break.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Marcy gave Jake a sideways grin, but he saw the pain in her eyes.
“How’s the leg?”
“It’ll hold until we can rest,” Marcy said, eyes pinned forward. “Lead on.”
Jake nodded and looked around, trying to judge the best way to go. Based on the layout of the rubble and the hardness of the ground beneath his feet, they were probably standing on a street. And judging from the lowering water levels, they were headed in the right general direction. Their immediate way forward was blocked by the rubble of two homes that had washed out into the street atop a handful of parked cars, so Jake took a right and led them into what he assumed was a side yard. Their surroundings opened up, so Jake relaxed a little bit and let go of Timothy’s hand.
“Are you okay?” he asked the boy.
“Yeah,” Timothy said as he clutched his backpack to his chest. For all his apparent frailty, the boy hadn’t complained much, but Jake needed to find them shelter and warmth fast or the elements would wear them all down to nothing.
Overcome by a new sense of urgency, Jake surged forward. Marcy was right, the water was getting lower and lower, and soon it was just ankle-deep. While the houses here were beaten up badly, at least none of them were washed out.
They turned left and crossed through a side yard until they were splashing through wet grass. Released from the grip of the flood, Jake felt a hundred times lighter, and he picked up the pace as they came to a road with a row of houses standing across from them. The trees had many broken and stripped branches, and the shrubs were bent over and wilted. The nearest house was gray with a rounded corner and two peaks. One of the peaks had been sheered away to let in the elements, whereas the other side appeared to be intact. It might be a good place for them to hole up and get some food and rest.
“We made it,” Jake said before he pointed across the street. “I’m thinking that one right there.”
“Looks good to me,” Marcy said with a nod, but she didn’t start over right away.
Jake put down his backpack and checked the Ruger tucked into his waistband. “You guys stay here. I’ll go check it out.”
He received no protest from the others as he drew his weapon and walked across the street, eyes moving from window to window, checking for movement. He went up some concrete steps and then followed a walkway around the side of the house. There wasn’t a tall deck, so it was probably a single or two-family home, not an apartment like the last place.
Jake stepped to the side door and put his ear to it, listening for any loud bangs or footsteps. The rain was too loud for him to separate any sound, so he stepped to one of the side windows and peered inside. The glass was dirt-smeared, so he rubbed the sleeve of his jacket on it and tried again. He was looking into a dining room with a polished wood table and a bureau full of glassware. There weren’t any signs of people that he could see, but that didn’t mean much. On a whim, he put his hands to the bottom of the window and pushed upward, finding it locked.
“Figures,” Jake mumbled, moving back to the door.
Carefully, he tried the doorknob, expecting it to be locked as well. Instead, it turned easily in his hand, and the door popped open. Jake waited for a moment to see if anyone would challenge him, then he pushed the door open and started to go inside.
A gunshot rang out in the distance followed by the squeal of tires. Jake’s heart leapt into his throat, and he froze where he stood, listening for more sounds. A second later there was a patter of running feet, and Marcy, Timothy, and Alice appeared in the yard with Marcy limping and wincing in pain.
“What was that?” Jake asked.
“A car raced through the intersection a few blocks east.” Marcy forced the words through clenched teeth. “They must have heard the gunshot, too. I couldn’t tell if it was X-Gang or not.”
Jake turned back to the door and wondered if they should stay on this block or move on. But then he saw Marcy’s pained expression and the kids’ weary faces and decided they should stay here for now, if only for a little while.
He pushed on the door and it came smoothly open into an entryway with rooms to the right and left. A set of stairs ascended to the next floor directly ahead.
“Hello?” Jake called loudly. “Hello? Anyone home?”
“Hello?” Marcy added her voice to Jake’s, and after not getting a reply, she stepped past him with the children, turning to her right and entering the big dining room.
Jake kept his gun in his hand as he e
ntered behind them, glancing back into the kitchen as Marcy threw their packs on the dining room table and collapsed into a chair. “I’ll check out the rest of the place, okay?”
“Thanks.” Marcy smiled at him and then started digging in her pack for something.
Jake locked the front door on the way into the kitchen and then had a quick look around. He went straight to the pantry and opened the door, hoping for a goldmine. When he saw what was inside, he gave an unsatisfied grunt.
“The pantry looks raided,” Jake called over his shoulder, “but they dropped a few items.”
He scooped up a half-box of granola bars and some salad toppings from the floor and put them on the kitchen counter. Then he tried the cupboards and drawers to see if there was anything worth taking, finding only pots, pans, and glassware, nothing to eat.
Jake left the food on the counter and went to the steps, pausing as he looked up to the landing above. He glanced into the dining room to see that Marcy had already gotten the kids to sit down and munch on some dry cereal they’d taken from the apartment.
“I’m going upstairs,” Jake said, starting up.
“Be careful,” Marcy replied.
The house was at least twenty years old, but the floorboards were still tightly nailed down and covered with carpet, so he hardly made a sound on the way up. At the top of the stairs, Jake turned left, went down the hall, and searched through the three bedrooms and the bathroom on that side. The bedrooms were mostly bare, though the bathroom had good medical supplies, including some Aleve, tweezers, disinfectant soap, bandages, and a couple of expired Vicodin in the bottom cabinet.
At the far opposite hall was a family room with a couch, recliner, and big-screen television. The ceiling had fallen to pieces above the window, and wet drywall hung loose, dripping heavily onto the carpet.
Jake tucked his gun into the waistband of his back-right hip, gathered the medical supplies, and went downstairs. The kids looked a little brighter already, and Alice was swinging her legs in her chair next to her brother while she shared a Pop-Tart with him.
Weathering The Storm (Book 2): Surge Page 8
