by Harley Tate
They crept back out onto the sidewalk, fast walking toward the corner, when a whoop and a crash made Walter duck. The windows to a tax preparer’s office across the street shattered. Drew jumped behind him.
Seconds later the scent of smoke assaulted Walter’s nose and flames leapt out the front of the store.
“What happened?”
“Molotov cocktail, I’d guess. Come on.” Walter motioned for Drew to keep going. They reached the intersection and raced across with Walter holding onto Drew’s arm to keep him upright. “How many more blocks?”
Drew glanced at the street sign. “Two and a half. My building is on the right.”
“Can you run?”
“I can try.”
Walter took off at a loping pace, hoping Drew could keep up. Only two more blocks.
A series of shouts rang out from somewhere to their left followed by a volley of gunfire. They couldn’t stop. They were so close.
Walter glanced behind him. Drew lagged about ten feet behind. He didn’t wait for him.
At the next intersection, a fire raged, burning what looked to have been a restaurant, the flames licking the second-floor windows of apartments above. As Walter dodged the heat, Drew called out.
“Walter! I need to stop. I can’t—”
Walter spun around. Drew clutched a light post, wincing as he lifted his foot off the ground. Walter wanted to scream at him. He needed to suck it up and find a way. They would be killed if they stayed in one place.
Moving was the only chance they had. He rushed back to him. “You have to move. I don’t care if you never walk again after this. If we don’t go, we’ll die.”
Walter wrapped his arm around Drew’s back and helped him off the light post. He already carried both bags and now he shouldered Drew’s weight. So be it.
He half-dragged, half-carried Drew past the burning building and fell into an alcove just beyond. The brick walls sheltered them from the worst of the heat and stairs led up to a second floor with a door at the top.
Leaning Drew back on the wall, Walter sucked in some much-needed air. Sweat soaked his shirt, his back and shoulders ached from carrying the bags and dragging Drew, and he couldn’t catch his breath.
But he wasn’t a quitter. “We’re getting you to your condo, Drew. Whatever it takes.”
Drew grimaced. “It’s still a block away. The noise is louder up ahead. I think we’re running into the mob.”
“We’ll make it. We just need to push a little harder. Dig a little deeper.”
After a moment, Drew nodded. “All right. Just give me a minute to catch my breath.”
Walter would have given anything for a gun. Just to hold one in his hand. His old service pistol would be perfect, but he’d settle for a POS revolver. Anything to give them an advantage. But a loaded gun wasn’t about to fall from the sky or appear at his feet.
They were doing this unarmed and injured.
He pushed off the wall. “Come on. We’ve rested enough.” Walter eased toward the corner and stuck his head out enough to see. Another intersection and Drew’s building should be in the middle of the block.
Three hundred yards at most. They would make it. They had to. He motioned forward. “Let’s go.”
The rest of the block passed by in record time, Drew kept up beside him, and they managed to pass three buildings without incident.
Maybe that’s why he didn’t scope out the intersection before they rushed into it. Or maybe it was the joy of Drew pointing out his building. So close!
He never saw the bullet coming. Drew fell in front of him, arms flailing, chest slamming into the asphalt.
Walter whipped around. A man with a bandana around his face and a hat low over his eyes stood beside a car, holding a rifle up in the air like he’d won a heavyweight fight. Another man across the street shouted in encouragement.
Shit. Walter scooped Drew up, hands digging under his armpits and dragged, just like he had done on so many CFTs. Backpedaling, he made it across the intersection and dove behind the edge of the closest building before the next shot rang out.
Shouts followed.
In seconds they would be upon them. Walter glanced around in a panic. The restaurant had burned, but not completely. He dragged Drew through the debris, around overturned tables and broken chairs, avoiding the glass and twisted metal as best he could. One piece cut his jeans and dug into his leg, but he ignored it.
Walter ducked into the kitchen as the voices grew louder.
He pulled up behind the prep counter and metal cabinets and flipped Drew over. Oh, God. Blood bloomed across Drew’s T-shirt from a gunshot to the shoulder. He searched for a pulse. Faint, but steady. If he could get him somewhere safe…
“Drew! Drew, wake up! I need you buddy.” Walter smacked Drew across the face. “Wake up!”
Drew groaned and bobbed his head. “W-What happened?”
“You’ve been shot. The guys who did it are closing in. Is there another way into your building instead of the front?”
Drew moaned. “Uh… yeah. The alley. Beside the restaurant. The key’s in my… pocket.”
Walter shoved his hand in Drew’s pockets, fumbling around for the key. His fingers scraped metal and he wrapped his hand around the keychain before pulling it free. He gripped the keys so tight, they cut into his palm. Okay. I can do this.
Grabbing Drew under the arm, Walter supported his weight as he navigated through the kitchen toward the door with an exit sign above it. They could still make it.
He pushed the door open as a commotion picked up in the restaurant. The men from the street were inside.
Please don’t find us. Walter dragged Drew through the door and caught it before it slammed. He let it close as quietly as possible before turning to face the alley. Drew’s condo building. It must be.
He tugged Drew toward a metal perforated door to the first-floor garage, propping him up on the side of the building as he searched through the keys. The first one did nothing. The second wouldn’t even fit in the lock.
The third was a car key. The fourth… Please God, be this one. The fourth turned in the lock. Walter sent up a silent prayer and grabbed Drew, tugging him inside as the door to the restaurant slammed open.
He ducked behind the wall to the garage and let the metal door close, hoping like hell it locked automatically. As he dragged Drew down the hall toward the stairs, the door handle shook and the men outside shouted.
They couldn’t get in. Another volley of gunfire erupted, but it wouldn’t do any good. Walter had done it. He’d gotten them inside Drew’s condo building.
Now he just needed to save Drew’s life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MADISON
Sloane Residence
9:00 p.m.
“Where are they?” Madison could barely contain her impatience. At least twenty minutes had passed since the last shot from either inside or outside.
“I don’t know.” Peyton shifted position behind the couch and risked a glance toward the kitchen.
“We can’t wait anymore. We need to see if anyone needs help.”
Peyton exhaled. “You go. We can’t leave the whole house exposed.”
Madison reached out and gave his arm a squeeze. “Thanks.” Before Peyton could respond, Madison jumped up and rushed down the hall. She reached the master bedroom and turned the knob.
As the door swung open, she raised her gun, but there was no need. The room was empty. No mom, no friends, and no guy tied up to the end of the bed. The board Peyton had nailed to the broken window dangled broken and loose off one side.
Whoever shot at the house had rescued the captured man. Did that mean they were gone? Was it over?
She backed out of the room and shut the door before approaching her bedroom. A faint light shone from under the door. With a light tap of her knuckles, Madison knocked. “It’s Madison. Let me in.”
The door unlocked and swung open. Brianna stood beside it, eyes wide and haunted.
“What’s going on out there? It’s too quiet.”
Madison shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Where’s Peyton?”
“Keeping watch.”
Madison’s mom called out from the other side of the bed. “Tell him to come in here. We need to make a plan.”
From her vantage point, Madison couldn’t see much more than the top of her mom’s head. The lantern sitting on the side table cast half of the room in shadow. Was her mom hurt? Did someone die?
She frowned. “What about keeping watch?”
“I think whoever did this is gone. They got what they wanted.”
“The man we caught?”
Brianna nodded. “He’s what they were after.”
Madison stepped back and retraced her steps before calling Peyton to follow. When they both squeezed into the tiny room, Brianna shut and locked the door. As Madison walked around the edge of the bed, she gasped.
Wanda lay on the floor, unconscious. Tucker kneeled beside her, his hands pressed down over a blood-soaked ball of fabric wadded up against her pelvis. He grimaced as Madison approached. “Sorry. We used some of your clothes.”
“It’s okay.” Madison crouched down beside the woman. In her unconscious state, Wanda’s wrinkles smoothed and she could imagine what she looked like at half her age when she was young and carefree. “Is she okay?”
“No.” Her mom stood up and wiped at her forehead with a hand stained in blood. “She’s been shot in the lower abdomen. We can’t get the bleeding to stop.”
“She needs to go to a hospital!”
Brianna spoke up. “The only trauma center in the area is the UC Davis Medical Center. It’s downtown.”
“So? We go there.”
“No.” Her mom shook her head. “Downtown isn’t safe. When Wanda and I were at her apartment, a man there said downtown was engulfed in riots. We can’t risk it. Besides, what could the hospital do for her? There’s no power.”
“But there are nurses and doctors. Someone can do something.”
Tucker chimed in. “No, they can’t. All the blood stored is bad by now. Surgical equipment isn’t sanitary. If riots are in the area, they’ve probably already been looted for all of the painkillers and antibiotics.”
He shifted position, glancing down at Wanda’s wound. “Besides, I don’t think she’s going to make it.”
Madison stared at Tucker’s bloody hands. This can’t be happening. “How did she get shot?”
“It was a coordinated attack. After they shot out the picture window in the living room, they shot out the sliding glass door out back. But that was all a distraction.”
Madison frowned at her mom. “What do you mean?”
“While we were busy defending the house, someone else broke through the plywood covering the window.”
“In the master?”
Tucker nodded. “By the time I got back here, it was too late. Two guys were cutting the ropes off the man and Wanda was lying on the floor in a heap. Blood was pumping out of her and…” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“What happened to the men?”
“They took the other guy and left through the window.”
“Did they try to shoot you?”
“No. When I busted in, one pointed a pistol at me, but I held up my hands and told him I just wanted to help Wanda. The guy we’d tied up told the other one to let me, so he did.”
“If it weren’t for Tucker, she’d be dead already.” Madison’s mom rubbed the back of her neck. “He’s slowed the bleeding, but there’s too much internal bleeding. The bullet is still in there somewhere.”
Her mom shook her head. “That guy you tied up seemed so nice. We were about to let him go when the shooting started.”
“Do you think he was lying?”
“I don’t know.”
Madison exhaled. She couldn’t believe it. Earlier that day, they were all standing around, laughing and joking. Wanda rigged up the shower and they all managed to clean themselves up. She had even talked about setting up a laundry station and coming up with a way to use scraps from meals to keep Fireball alive.
She glanced around. “Has anyone seen the cat?”
“Wanda’s about to die and you’re asking about a cat?” Brianna eyed her like she she’d gotten a head injury.
“Wanda loves that cat. We need to keep him safe. It’s what she would want.”
“She’s not dead yet.” Peyton’s brows knit together as he stared at her still form. “Let’s not talk about her like she is.”
Madison’s mom nodded. “We’ll stay here until she either stabilizes or… doesn’t make it. Then we’ll make a decision.”
“What do you mean?” Madison glanced around at everyone in the room. “Why wouldn’t we stay here?”
Brianna scoffed. “All of the windows are shot out. Someone tried to kill us.”
“No.” Peyton disagreed. “They came to get one of their own. If we had let him go in the beginning…”
“I did what I thought was best at the time. I didn’t know he would have friends or that they would come for him.” Madison balled her hands into fists. “I thought if we let him leave, that for sure he would come back and try to rob us again.”
“We should have killed him when we had the chance.” Brianna crossed her arms over her chest. “Now he’s out there, angry and hurt, and he knows what we’ve got. We’re sitting ducks.”
Madison couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re talking about murder, Brianna.”
“What does it matter? No one’s going to punish us. It’s survival of the fittest now. I’m not going to be a sitting duck.”
“You really think after all this, he’s going to come back?”
“Of course. That’s what they do. Looters and moochers take and take until there’s nothing left and then they move on.” She pointed at the master bedroom. “All the food and water was stashed in there, Madison. He’s seen everything. He won’t stop and neither will his friends until they get what they’re after.”
“And what’s that?”
“Everything we have.”
Madison reeled. A few days ago Brianna had been this carefree, bubbly teenager with a million curls and the energy to match. Now she stood there like a post-apocalyptic warrior, shotgun slung over her shoulder and a scowl on her face.
The rest of her friends weren’t that far off. Tucker was covered in Wanda’s blood and leaning over her as he pressed down on her wound. Peyton had dark circles under his eyes and the scruffy beginnings of a beard. And her mom…
Madison glanced up at her. She looked bone-tired, but determined, too. “What do you think we should do?”
As her mom opened her mouth to respond, Tucker interrupted. “Hey guys?”
“Yeah?”
“I think…” Tucker leaned back on his heels and removed his hands from Wanda’s body. “I think she’s gone.”
Madison’s mom rushed to Wanda’s side and placed her fingers on her throat. After a moment, she lowered her head. “Tucker’s right. Wanda’s dead.”
Oh, no. Madison covered her mouth with her hand. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t tied him up, if I hadn’t insisted we not kill him or let him go…” She trailed off, rage and despair rising inside her like boats on a wave of tears.
They slipped down her cheeks and blurred her vision and Madison crumpled onto the bed. Sobs racked her body.
A hand landed softly on her back, rubbing up and down. “It’s not your fault, Madison.” Brianna’s words were gentle, but firm. “You didn’t tell her to hit him over the head or barricade herself in the bedroom. She did that all on her own.”
“But I’m the reason he was still here. I’m the reason his friends broke in.”
Her mom reached up and grabbed her hand, squeezing as she talked. “There’s nothing you can do about it now. Wanda is gone and we need to honor her. Not wallow in what-ifs. She would want us to persevere, not fall apart.”
&
nbsp; Madison snorted back snot and nodded. “I still feel responsible.”
“We’re all responsible, even Wanda.”
Peyton pushed off the wall where he had been leaning. “Do you all have a shovel? We should bury her.”
Madison’s mom nodded. “In the garage. But let’s wait until morning. She can rest here until then.”
It was too real. Too raw and painful. Madison stood up and rushed from the room, blinking back another wave of tears as she stumbled down the hall. As she neared the kitchen, she paused.
What is that? She snorted again, clearing her nose of wet and sticky grief. She made her way toward the smell, past the tipped-over couch, and into the kitchen.
Every step the smell increased, thickening and turning pungent. She rounded the corner and froze. Oh, no. It can’t be. They couldn’t have…
She turned and cupped her hands around her mouth before she screamed. “FIRE! FIRE!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
TRACY
Sloane Residence
10:30 p.m.
Madison’s scream echoed through the bedroom. “Fire!”
Tracy jumped up, nearly tripping over Wanda’s dead body as she rushed toward her daughter. The second she entered the hall, she smelled the smoke. It hung close to the ceiling and Tracy ducked to make it through without inhaling too much.
Bringing the hem of her shirt up to cover her nose and mouth, Tracy made it into the kitchen. The flames licked across the back wall of the house, rising higher faster than Tracy could process. From below the wood chair rail to above in seconds, to across the butcher block counter and onto the cafe curtains above the sink.
Her house was burning. They would lose it all. Smoke and fear tightened her chest and Tracy rushed toward her daughter who fruitlessly threw their precious water on the flames. She grabbed Madison’s arms.
“Stop! Honey, stop! It’s no use.”
“Mom, we can put it out. We can contain it.” Madison struggled in her mother’s grip.
“No, Madison. We can’t. It’s too big.”
Her daughter lunged away from her, dangerously close to the scalding heat. “We just lost Wanda, we can’t lose the house, too!” She grabbed another trash can and threw the contents at the flames.
