by Harley Tate
“Rifles with scopes. They’re keeping low, hugging the cars and the east parking lot wall.”
Larkin turned to John. “Amateurs wouldn’t do that. We’re looking at people who know what they’re doing.”
Tracy spoke up. “What’s your protocol for a situation like this?”
John slung his rifle over his shoulder and checked his pistol. “Lie low and only engage if they find a way inside.”
She thought about how she and Brianna infiltrated the hospital, convinced they hadn’t been spotted. “Did you know we were coming?”
He nodded. “Saw you out in the lot. But when you didn’t come in the main way, we thought you gave up. Most people do. The morgue was a surprise.”
Tracy knew why. Even the memory brought back the horrifying smell. “What if they get in?”
“Then it’s shoot to kill.”
She shuddered. “Glad I didn’t know that before.”
Larkin pushed the radio button. “Give us the word when they reach inside. Until then, stay concealed.”
“Roger that.”
Larkin handed the radio to John. “Is the morgue secure?”
“We haven’t had a chance. I can head that way. There’s a spot in the parking lot with good cover where I can see the basement entrance.”
“Good. Then Tracy and I will take the main hallway.” Larkin held out his hand and the younger man shook it. “Good luck.”
Tracy followed Larkin out the door. Ten feet down the hall, she glanced behind her, ensuring John was out of earshot before speaking. “You ready to shoot a stranger on sight?”
He glanced at her. “Not unless he gives me a reason to.”
“What about John’s protocol?”
Larkin made a face. “I wasn’t good at following stupid orders in the Army and I’m not about to start now. We’ll assess and act as needed. Hopefully they’ll leave on their own and we can track them.”
Tracy turned in alarm. “You want to follow a couple of armed scouts back to their place?”
He shrugged. “Apart from the Jacobsons, we haven’t seen anyone worth a damn this whole winter. They could be more allies.”
“Or more trouble. The Jacobsons claim not to have shot Walter, remember? What if these two are responsible? We could walk into a hornet’s nest.”
“Or we could find another little farm to get to know.”
Tracy brought her rifle up into an easy shooting position as she walked down the hall. She was pleased about the Jacobsons, but what were the chances these new strangers were friendly? She couldn’t believe Larkin’s hopeful outlook. “Since when have you turned into an optimist?”
Larkin smiled wide enough to bring out the wrinkles by his eyes. “Maybe this is the new James Larkin. Open to possibility and adventure.”
Tracy snorted. “Let me guess. You’re just hoping for a single girl.”
“Now you’re catching on, Mrs. Sloane.”
She shook her head as they fell into a steady walk in silence. They could talk about what to do with the strangers after they got eyes on them. If the two scouts insisted on examining the hospital, Larkin might never get the chance to find himself a date.
Chapter Five
TRACY
Truckee Mountain Hospital
1:00 p.m.
Tracy crouched beneath the glass security window to the fire door and held her breath. For the past hour, she and Larkin had waited, hoping the pair of men meticulously inching their way toward the main hospital entrance would grow weary and turn around. But luck wasn’t on their side.
Daniel’s voice broke through the silence on the radio. “They’ve split up. One is approaching the main hospital entrance, the other is weaving his way around to the morgue side.”
Tracy tightened her grip on the rifle. Change your mind. Go back. She repeated the words over and over in her head, willing the men to leave. She didn’t want to shoot them. For all she knew, they were just like her two weeks ago: desperate and out of options. What if one of their wives were injured and needed medicine? Antibiotics or a vaccine or some critical daily pill that going without meant a horrible death?
Tracy twisted around. Larkin stood guard at the other access door a hundred feet away. Apart from those two entrances, the Jacobsons had barricaded the small wing of the hospital tight. The single strip of glass above Tracy’s head and its match across the hall were the only visuals this part of the hall afforded.
Daniel, located on the roof of the parking deck, was their eyes and ears on the outside. To keep the chatter to a minimum, he would only check in if he saw movement. Same for John, who hopefully was in position on the hospital’s east side.
The radio crackled again, barely audible on the lowest setting. Tracy clicked the button. “Daniel?”
“One is inside. I repeat, one is inside.”
Shit. Tracy rose up and squinted out the window. The hallway was clear. “Which one?”
“The heavyset guy with the beard. He walked through the front entrance.”
She exhaled. “What about the other man?”
“I’ve lost visual.”
What? Tracy steeled her voice. “Where did you see him last?”
“At the far edge of the hospital, headed to the emergency entrance.” Tracy closed her eyes and mapped out the hospital in her head. If the second man made it inside, he’d be coming for Larkin.
Tracy turned and waved to catch Larkin’s attention before holding up one finger and pointing it at him. One man, headed your way.
He raised a fist to show he understood.
Tracy twisted around and peered through the window once more. If the bearded man found his way through the labyrinth of hospital hallways and barricades, Tracy would need to defend the fire door from breach on her own. Without a visual on the other scout, Larkin had to keep his position.
Please, don’t let it come to that.
The minutes ticked by and Tracy paced in front of the doors, unable to stay away from the glass for more than thirty seconds at a time. After what seemed like an eternity, she began to hope for the best. He must have found what he wanted or written the hospital off. No way he would still be searching. We’ll be all right.
Just as she was about to call out to Larkin, the shadows in the hallway wavered. Tracy pulled back behind the glass, leaning over only far enough to see the ten feet in front of the door. Without lights, her eyes had adjusted to the near darkness, picking up the slightest hint of movement in the midday hospital gloom.
The Jacobsons had worked hard to build their defenses, propping open all the doorways outside of the barricade to let in daylight while sealing off the hallway in which Tracy now stood. For all intents and purposes, she was a shadow, a mere ghost in the gloom.
But out in the midday light, the barrel-chested man inching his way toward the firebreak was alive and in living color. Tracy’s heart picked up speed, thudding loud enough to eclipse the sound of her harried breath. He hadn’t given up. Instead, he’d found his way in and was headed straight for her.
Ten feet. Eight. Six. Four. Two. Tracy ducked into the dark.
The handles on the double doors rattled. The push bars on her side of the barricade shook.
Tracy pressed back tighter against the wall. Just go away. Give up.
After a minute of hard jerking and jiggling, the vibrations stopped. Yes! Tracy exhaled, about to step forward, when a blinding flash from what must have been a high-powered tactical light flooded the hall, racing to banish the safety of the dark. She turned.
Larkin was lit up like a sentry at the end of the tunnel, exposed and unprotected.
The light switched off a second later, plunging the hall back into darkness and blinding Tracy more than the light. Her pupils swelled and tried to adjust but it would take minutes to regain her vision. She was effectively blind.
Damn it.
As she blinked in rapid succession, the doors shook, a brutal, violent rattle that knocked Tracy off balance. The man on the oth
er side stormed the doors again and again, slamming his full linebacker-sized shoulder against the seam. The hinges warped beneath the weight.
Tracy steeled herself. I can’t let him in. If she didn’t take a stand, it would be too late.
She reached for the flashlight duct taped to the receiver of her rifle and sucked in a breath. The doors shook again. Tracy swung out to face the window head on. As she clicked on the light, she brought the rifle into position.
“Identify yourself!” She shouted the words in as strong a voice as she could manage. Direct, but not hostile.
The man rose up, snorting like a bull, his shoulders bunched and tense. Sweat glinted across his forehead and dripped off his nose. Determination creased his brow as he stared down the beam of light. His nostrils flared and Tracy’s lungs froze. He wasn’t leaving.
As he rose up to his full height, chest heaving, a roar tore through his throat and out his mouth. A battle cry.
He charged the doors.
Tracy staggered back. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”
The groaning of metal-on-metal drowned out her shout. He was going to force his way in and she would have to shoot him. She didn’t want it to come to that.
She steadied her aim and yelled again. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”
The man finally stilled. “You can’t shoot through the glass. It’s bulletproof.”
His voice was even, almost calm, despite the rapid rise and fall of his chest. Bright blue eyes stared at her from beneath unkept, wooly brows. Sweat and spittle soaked his beard, hiding his face and age from view.
“I don’t want to shoot you. But if you break in, I’ll have no choice.”
“Then how about you save us all the trouble and let me in?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t see what there is to talk about.”
Tracy tried again. “Why are you here?”
He snorted. “Why are you?”
“To protect something that doesn’t belong to you.”
“Nothing belongs to anyone anymore. To the victor goes the spoils.”
“You won’t be the victor.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
Tracy lowered her head to take a shot. “Last chance.”
“That’s what you think.” The man turned on his heel and ran down the hall before turning left at the first opportunity and disappearing from sight.
Tracy sagged, lowering the rifle to point at the floor.
“You all right?” Larkin’s voice cut across the hall.
“For now.” She turned toward him. “But I think he’ll be back. Any sign of his friend?”
“Not yet.”
Tracy tugged the radio off her belt. “Daniel? Do you copy?”
She counted to ten. No response. “Daniel? Can you hear me?” Only static.
Fear lifted the hairs on Tracy’s neck. She tried the radio. “John? John do you copy?” No response.
She called out to Larkin. “Neither Jacobson is responding.”
“Let’s wait until check-in time. If you can’t make contact with them before then, I’ll go out searching.”
Tracy paced back and forth for a handful of minutes, trying the radio several more times without success. It wasn’t like John to go out of range. They had been trading shifts for the better part of a week and she’d learned the habits of both Jacobson men. John kept to his rounds, checking in at regular intervals. Daniel played a bit fast and loose, sometimes edging out of range of the radio for five or ten minutes. But the pair always showed up on time.
Now they were out of contact and two men were somewhere on the other side of the doors, looking for a way in. Tracy couldn’t go out to search. Opening the doors was exactly what the two strangers wanted. No, as much as it pained her, they would have to wait for John and hope Daniel was out of range.
Every minute or so, Tracy checked her watch. Five, ten, then fifteen. They were late. She tried the radio again. “John? Do you copy?”
Nothing.
She clipped the huge radio back on her belt and hurried down the hall. “It’s been too long. One of us needs to go out.”
James Larkin propped his rifle on his shoulder and rubbed at a thin part of his beard beneath his chin. The man had more experience in combat than Tracy would ever even hear about. She trusted his judgment.
“We have to assume they’re compromised.”
“All the more reason to go looking for them. One of them could be hurt and need medical attention.”
“Or they could both be dead and the men trying to get in are counting on us to take a chance.”
Tracy ran a fingernail across her palm to focus despite the fear. “You think we stay put?”
“It’s an option. When we miss a check-in at the farm, Ben will send a scouting party.”
“That might take twenty-four hours.” Tracy shook her head. “John and Daniel need us now.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
Tracy inhaled through her nose and closed her eyes. “What’s more important? The pharmacy or John and Daniel?”
“To whom? ‘Cause I’m going to bet the answer will differ depending on who you ask.”
Tracy opened her mouth to argue when the unmistakable sound of gunfire pierced the silence. She whipped around, rifle gripped in both hands, and ran back to her guard position. The radio crackled on her hip.
“Mayday. Mayday. Tracy if you can hear me, we need help. Daniel’s been shot.” A rapid volley of gunfire cut off John’s plea.
Tracy jammed the radio up to her mouth and clicked the button. “John! John can you hear me?”
Static was the only response.
Chapter Six
WALTER
Carpenter Valley Road
North of Truckee, CA
1:00 p.m.
Snow blanketed the sides of the road as Brianna and Walter drove toward the Jacobson farm. Pine trees stuck up through the gray and white landscape like a thousand sentinels watching their progress in silence.
The trek between the Clifton property and the Jacobson property wasn’t easy. Before the EMP, the easiest way would have been cruising down the mountain, hopping on I-80, and blowing right through the northern edge of Truckee before edging back up into the higher elevations.
But that was when snowplows and salt and continuous skier traffic kept the roads clear 24/7. Now, navigating the highway was almost impossible with abandoned cars and deep, virgin snow. It left the narrow, winding roads of the northern foothills as the only option without a snowmobile. Four-wheel drive, required.
Brianna eased the Jeep around a tight curve and climbed higher up the hill. They passed an abandoned ski lodge and Walter shook his head. “This time last year, that place would be busting from the seams with kids falling all over themselves and a million ski instructors. Now look at it.”
The Closed sign hung lopsided off one metal hook and drifts of snow packed against the floor-to-ceiling windows. A solitary crow perched on the roof, stark black against the gray, frozen sludge. As they sped by, it took flight, keeping pace as the ski lodge disappeared in the rearview.
Directly south of their current location sat Truckee Mountain Hospital and the only cache of medicine Walter knew of from Nevada to Sacramento. Maybe the only one in the entire state. Ben Jacobson knew the importance of the medicine—it’s why he guarded it with a rotating crew every single day. But would he see the radio broadcast as a threat or salvation?
Walter didn’t know. He pinched his lower lip, rolling it between his index finger and thumb as a burned-out gas station came into view. A row of X’s filled each price display on the oversized sign. Black frames of soot and char highlighted the destruction of the convenience store. Even if the power did come back on, the gas station, along with so many other businesses, would never reopen.
An old El Camino with spoke rims and a two-tone paint job sat ten yards from the burned-out store, driver’s door wide open. Snow blew across the worn leather seat, collecting agai
nst a slumped-over shape huddled against the far door. A person, or what was left of one.
Walter twisted to stare straight ahead. Millions of Americans who managed to hang on through the summer and fall in the northern states were rewarded with a brutal winter. Higher than usual snowfall, painfully cold temperatures. Those who didn’t have the means to heat and feed themselves were surely dead by now.
All the more reason to take the broadcast seriously. He didn’t like the tone of the so-called general’s announcement or the unsaid threat of force behind it.
All laws were ultimately enforced by the barrel of a gun. It was something even his family didn’t truly understand before. Before the EMP, if a citizen didn’t pay yearly income taxes, one of the IRS’s two thousand special agents could come in and seize assets by force. Same with environmental violations; break a rule and an EPA officer could have shown up demanding access with a gun on his hip.
There were over two hundred thousand non-Defense Department federal officers authorized to make arrests and carry firearms before the grid collapsed. More than the entire number of US Marines. Walter wondered how many of those officers were now wearing yellow vests emblazoned with the Unified States of America seal.
He knew many of his fellow Marine Corps officers would balk at a supposed general of the Unified Military Force barking orders for a government they didn’t ratify. But could the same be said for the thousands of federal agents left in limbo?
It was a question that plagued Walter from the first listen of the radio transmission up until now. Ordinarily, the longer he thought about a problem, the more sure he became about his solution. Not this time. All he knew was that the old adage applied: better safe than sorry. Convincing the Jacobsons to move the pharmacy and protect it until they learned more would be key. If Ben didn’t agree…
“Hey, Walter?” Brianna snapped him out of his thoughts and he straightened up in the passenger seat.
“Yes?”
“I’ve been thinking about what Larkin said about Eugene and that colonel who took over the University of Oregon.”
