He lay in the dirt, feeling like his face was catching fire, and watched the quads circle the vehicle around him. All at once, as though on signal, there was an avalanche of more automatic fire. The bullets ripped into the back end, ricocheting around for half a second as a few of the gunmen riddled the SUV.
They circled once again, and it took every ounce of Gary’s willpower not to roll away from the heat. He vividly imagined the skin on his face melting, and became aware that his arm was searing with pain, now, too. It felt like it was melting, certainly. But he couldn’t move, couldn’t even risk breathing. So, he held his breath, and found himself frozen with his eyes clenched shut…
And then they were gone. Their engine buzz told him they were speeding down the hill, at last, away from him. In the distance, intense gunfire echoed through the trees and across the rocky fields.
Gary’s mind tallied at least three firing groups, which were joined seconds later by the many guns among the quads, an orchestra playing music he should have been directing, not these pansy-ass cowards.
Gary rolled out from below the SUV, away from the heat. Instincts told him to grab his face, but he caught himself. No time to worry about his good looks, and if he had real burns, those got infected easily, half of him thought, while the other half plotted a line from the SUV to the tree line that took advantage of the rolling, rutted terrain. He didn’t even take precious seconds to retrieve his backpack in the rear, fear of being spotted driving him to leave it behind. Adrenaline helped him manage a half-running, half-hobbling pace.
When he got to the first tree, he stepped around it and then slammed back-first into it. His face still burned, a dull ache was rising into his consciousness from his left leg, and his anger raged at the treacherous bastards who had just ambushed his soldiers. His hand-picked troops, the ones he had intended to bring with him to Abram’s compound just as soon as Black gave him some more troops and the go-ahead…
Gone, all gone. Bastards.
He quickly inspected his left leg, testing it. It didn’t seem broken, at least, but putting any weight on it caused ice-sharp spikes of pain in his knee and ankle. Sprained, certainly. Maybe some hairline fractures, though he couldn’t be sure, especially not through the adrenaline that still swamped his nervous system.
Well, sprains weren’t lethal, so he headed north, simultaneously limping and running through the trees. He had somewhere to be and not much time to get there. Somewhere not too many miles up ahead, a broken-down car with a working CB awaited him. Black had to be told, this insult had to be punished.
Gary sure wouldn’t have wanted to be among those poor, sorry bastards in Burnsville when Black and he showed back up to demonstrate to the whole damned world why fighting back was a very bad idea.
And after he warned Black, Gary vowed, he’d take a minute to look in the broken-down car’s rearview mirror, to see just how much pain he personally owed the pricks who’d ambushed him and made him burn his face. Oh yes, they would get what was coming to them, and soon. Not soon enough, but soon. And when he got done with them, no one would ever dare to resist, not ever again. Gary would make sure of that. The lesson was gonna be a gruesome one, no matter how many fighters he lost doing it. It was personal, now.
Full of thoughts about what he’d do to the townsfolk in Burnsville, he grinned savagely through the jolting pain that shot up his bruised and battered leg, each step like writing another I-O-U that the people of Burnsville would sure as hell pay in full.
39
From a safe distance across the living room, in some random abandoned house, Nick aimed his new AK at his equally new guide’s head.
Norman stood with his feet far apart, leaning against the far wall with spread-eagled hands.
“You make one noise, I make a louder one,” Nick said, though it was hard to talk with surging adrenaline making him gasp for air.
In the night air outside, two armed residents meandered along the sidewalk, heads swiveling back and forth, rifles at low-ready in their hands. Only Corey’s urgent, whispered warning through the walkie-talkie had kept Nick and his new best buddy from rounding the corner and walking right into them.
Nick spared a moment to thank God he’d remembered to turn his little walkie-talkie’s volume down as low as it could go and still be heard.
Although waiting for the two guards to walk by probably only took thirty seconds, it felt like an eternity. When they at last walked out of sight, moving beyond the house’s street-facing window, Nick counted to thirty in his head, just for good measure.
Then, he said, “Okay, bandit, lead on.”
Norman pushed himself off the wall and turned around. “I told you before, mister,” he said, his words sounding like mush, still, from his savagely swollen jaw, “I don’t know this ‘Misty’ person.”
Nick shook his head. “No chance. Yes, you do. She was married to your old leader, before you all started following his killer like a flock of sheep. So, reach down and grab your sack, and man up, because you’re going to take me to her. And if you don’t, well…Then I’ve got no reason to keep you around. Get me?”
Nick stared Norman in the eyes, and he did his best to look menacing. In truth, he’d have to kill this guy if he didn’t cooperate. What else could Nick do, given the circumstances? Though he dearly wanted to think of another option, none came to mind.
Perhaps Norman saw something in Nick’s gaze, some hint of his intentions, because it took only a few seconds for the man to break eye contact. He gave a slight nod. “Fine. I’ll take you to her, but only under protest.”
“Fair enough.” Nick motioned toward the door with his rifle barrel. “Don’t get any ideas about running when you get out that door. I guarantee you, I can follow close enough and fast enough to put a bullet in you before they come to your rescue.”
Norman didn’t answer, but walked out the door.
There was a moment of worry that the man might cut left or right, taking him momentarily out of view, but Norman just headed out to the sidewalk and waited. When Nick drew to a halt a good eight feet away, still, Norman turned northwest. Once he got to the end of the block, he cut across the street diagonally. From there, he led them west, but only for half a block before he turned north again at the first alleyway.
Nick scanned ahead as best he could, but their travels wound back and forth, going like that for five more blocks as Norman took yet more alleys and streets.
Nick was sort of grateful for that, as it kept them both largely out of view from any patrolling guards or residents peering out windows, on the main roads.
Sadly, though, most of the houses they passed showed no sign of being inhabited. How many people had died in this town, or had left for greener pastures? Well, there really weren’t any greener pastures. Most of those had probably ended up among the dead, as well. It was a depressing sight, and a stark contrast to the vibrant life visible everywhere at the compound.
Norman turned next at a driveway that Nick had almost missed, as it blended rather well into a broad strip of shrubbery and trees until Nick and his guide were almost on top of it. The driveway was gravel, which had also helped camouflage it from the stark lines of pavement and sidewalk surrounding it.
The drive wound to the right after ten feet or so. Norman followed it, and there, it doubled back in a gentle arc. Nick stayed alert, eyes roaming everywhere at once, all while keeping Norman in at least his peripheral view. It wasn’t until they’d gone perhaps a hundred feet that he finally saw a house.
Damn, that’s a long driveway.
He half expected to see a mini mansion, with a scenic and lengthy driveway like that, but no, the drive ended at a relatively modest, split-level Tudor house. Within, through the windows, candles burned faintly, only visible now that he had drawn closer. Although it was dark out, enough moonlight shined brightly that Nick could see a well-kept yard with lots of landscaping features. They weren’t very clear in the moon’s low light, but clear enough that he felt he ha
d a sense that whoever lived there were meticulous people, passionate about their home.
He only hoped that passion wouldn’t boil over into pointless violence when he showed up at the door with a gun and her newly wounded, hostage neighbor…
Norman interrupted Nick’s thoughts by saying, “Here you are. This is where they live. Or where she lives, I guess, now that Wyatt’s gone.”
“Great.” Nick was busy looking around, and barely caught the pleading tone in Norman’s voice.
Norman said, “You swore you’d let me live if I cooperated. I’ve done that.”
“Mm hm. To the door, Norman.” Nick motioned with the AK-47’s barrel toward the home’s front patio.
“Please, mister, don’t kill me. We all do just whatever we have to, to stay alive. I’m no bandit, ’m not a bad pershon.” Again, his swollen jaw and cut cheek made it a little hard to understand the man.
Nick cocked his head. Apparently, Norman wasn’t going to let a little thing like a possibly fractured jaw get in the way of begging for life. Well, he had cooperated, and he deserved at least a little reassurance. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you if I don’t have to. But I can’t let you go, not just yet. Once I’m done here, we’ll talk about how to let you go in a way that’s safe for us both.”
“How to…You say get going, and I leave. That’sh how you let me go.”
“Nope. You’d just run to the nearest guards, screaming your head off for help. But we’ll figure it out. I’m a man of my word—you can take my word for it.”
Norman apparently didn’t see humor in Nick’s words, though, because he merely turned back around to look at the house. “How d’you wan’ do dis?”
Inwardly, Nick cringed. There was no way Corey had eyes on him at that moment, not with his hostage and his path taking them beyond that orchard-like drive. He was on his own, and while his son was no doubt worrying about him, Nick was also worried about Corey. Would the young man do something stupid, like coming to look for him?
Nick decided the situation had to end quickly. Well, an AK-47 would intimidate two people just as well as it had one, and fear of dying tended to focus people’s attentions on the really important things, like avoiding getting shot. He aimed it at Norman.
“Walk up to the door. Knock. Then, kneel down, get on your face, and lock your fingers together behind your head.”
The other man paused, but when Nick again motioned with his rifle barrel to get moving, Norman turned and walked toward the door, complying.
When the door opened, Nick had to do a double-take. The woman in the doorway was, despite red-rimmed eyes and a serious case of bedhead, absolutely stunning. About Nick’s age, she was as fit and trim as most survivors were, or even more so, despite having been married to the town’s leader. That told him she had the self-discipline to exercise, even when she didn’t have to. That jibed with his impression of them from the state of their yard.
Also, he couldn’t help but notice, she held a barbwire-wrapped wooden baseball bat in one hand, draped over her right shoulder almost casually. Certainly, she wasn’t brandishing it, but neither was she hiding it, and seemed unashamed of that fact.
Behind her, Nick saw, the house was a jumble of cardboard boxes and almost empty of anything else, save for some furniture.
The first person she saw on opening the door was Norman. She cocked her head, eyebrows furrowing. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name, but I know I’ve seen you around. Are you okay? Your jaw…”
Nick found himself eyeing her, evaluating the woman standing before him. This was Abram’s sister. By Danny’s account, Miranda—Misty—was the widow of a damn fine man, and she’d been at least half responsible for Wyatt’s success before the CME, and more impressively, half of his able leadership in the face of that crisis.
Before Norman could reply to her, Nick said, “Good evening, Misty. You don’t know me, but I’m friends with your brother.”
She frowned at Nick and didn’t bother to hide her gaze as she evaluated him. The corners of her mouth tightened. “I have no brother. I don’t know who you think I am, or what you’re doing here. Have we met, Mister…?”
“Nick Caulfield. No, we haven’t met, but I have a weird tale to tell you, and it can’t wait. Can we talk inside? It’s cold out here, Norm needs bandages, and I walked a long way to come tell you some vital information.”
Her eyes flicked over to Norman’s face, then riveted back to Nick. She looked him in the eyes and said in a steady, even voice, “Did you do that to this man? Did you bust up his jaw like that? If so, I’m going to ram that rifle up your—”
Nick saw Norman’s shoulders stiffen and his back straighten, but the man stayed silent. This was no time to get caught in a lie, though. Abram’s family, Nick’s own family, and the whole compound all depended on this mission, if Abram was right. He usually was, unfortunately.
Honesty was the only way he saw forward, so Nick nodded and cut her off with the truth. “Yes, ma’am. Clarks Crossing doesn’t take kindly to visitors these days. I can’t say that I blame you all, either. But since getting to you was a matter of life and death, so I could tell you about your brother and some other things that you might think are even more important, I risked the trip. Norman, here, was kind enough not to make me kill him.”
She held his gaze, seconds ticking by. At last, she shook her head slightly and, though Nick expected her to say no, she said, “Well, a busted chin will heal. You didn’t kill him when you could have, and that speaks books about you, mister. Come on in, and let’s hear this story of yours.”
“Really?” Norman said, voice rising in pitch.
“Yep,” she said. “One thing I learned since the CME is that, just because a story is unbelievable, it don’t mean it’s a lie.”
Nick found himself smiling along with her. “Thank you, ma’am. Go inside, Norm. You’re almost home free.”
Once inside, the entryway opened up into a kitchen on the left, and the living room on the right. Both were stacked with boxes, just like the foyer had been. He walked into the tiled kitchen.
Misty looked at Norman, head cocked. “Don’t you want to take a seat? You look a little rough for wear.”
The man said, “If this guy shooths me, I don’ wanna get blood on th’ carpet.”
Though Norman had said it with a straight face, Misty’s solemn expression shifted immediately into a grin. “Why, I thank you for that, Norm. I appreciate you.”
Then she turned to Nick. “Was he on guard duty?”
Nick chewed his tongue for a moment. It was probably standard procedure for the guards to travel in pairs. If Nick admitted there had once been two of them, she would immediately know that one was probably dead. Still, he did not want to begin this conversation by lying to Abram’s sister. Besides, he’d never been a good liar, but people tended to believe his honesty. “Yes’m. I’m sorry to say that my partner took out the other guard when they aimed their weapons at me. My partner is watching with a scoped rifle, on overwatch, just to be an angel on my shoulder if I get into trouble.”
“So why’d he shoot, if y’all ain’t here to cause a ruckus?” She flexed her fingers on the haft of her bat, and stepped slowly, methodically closer to Nick.
He stepped away, equaling her pace. “He must’ve thought I had gotten into some trouble I couldn’t get out of. I agree, because Norman and his partner were going to kill me, I believe, though they never got the chance. This AK was Norm’s.”
“Lucky you,” she said, and stopped trying to sidle closer. “You were lucky, then. Two-on-one is rough odds when it comes to flying lead.”
“Yeah, I was lucky. I caught him by surprise, and smacked him with my pistol.” Nick tapped his right elbow against the handgrip of his pistol, sticking out of his waistband. “Then, I promised him I wouldn’t kill him if he cooperated. I’m not here to kill people, I’m here to save some. I regret that anyone had to die in the process, but these days, a lot of people don’t
bother asking too many questions before they start shooting.”
“I reckon folks can’t afford to be too charitable these days. The survivors know that, and we know that folks we come across also know it.”
“Too true. So, about why I’m here—”
Norman said, “Besideth killing people protect’n their own hometh?”
Misty looked at him, then back at Nick, and cocked her head half an inch to the right. “Besides that?”
Nick nodded. “Besides my partner killing this man’s partner, half a second before they gunned me down? Yeah, besides that.”
She nodded for him to continued, and Nick took a deep breath. All the mental rehearsing he’d done on the trip up until then went right out the window, vanishing from his mind. How could he tell someone their husband was likely murdered by the guy who took his place, a guy she was following like a hero? Or that her own neighbors might have been among those who slaughtered a whole town for what Black did to her husband? That her daughter wasn’t missing, but shacked up with the mayor of her new leader’s next target? Or that her daughter had lied about where she was going, before the CMEs, because the guy was almost old enough to be her father?
But oh, by the way, the cradle-robber mayor is a swell guy, please help him stop your highly capable, very charismatic new boss.
He let out a heavy breath.
Stick with honesty. Working so far…
“Well, I’m not sure where to start,” Nick replied. “But first, I want to let you know that Brooke is alive and well in Burnsville.”
Misty’s steely gaze softened slightly, and she wore a confused look. “How…”
“How do I know? A close friend of mine is there with her.”
She sucked in a quick breath, then let it out slowly before narrowing her eyes at him. “Is this some sort of a trick?”
“I swear, your daughter’s fine.”
A hint of relief flashed across Misty’s face, but her steely gaze quickly replaced it. She clearly wasn’t buying it, though Nick wasn’t sure what he could say to convince her.
EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem Page 29
