“Like I said, she’s with a close friend of mine,” Nick added.
“Who?”
“There’s so much to tell you, but the first thing I want to get out of the way will be a huge bombshell for you, personally.”
She nodded. “What’s one more in my life. Go ahead.”
Nick said, “Did you…have a lot of baby pics of you with your parents?”
She froze, eyes narrowing. “No. Some of me, some of them. Not too many together. There was a fire, when I was just a little kid. I don’t remember it, just remember crying and panicking, and in the front seat of the car, my folks sitting as we drove off. Me and everything we had left was in the trunk or in the back with me. Then, we started a new life here, and that’s where most of my memories begin. I reckon that’s good enough, yeah?”
Nick chewed the inside of his cheek, and he pursed his lips. “No.” This was turning out to be harder than he’d thought. Well, he was still a horrible liar, too honest by half, so once again, he decided it best to just tell the truth. Hell, his “honest” face had been half the reason Abram let him and his family into the compound, after all.
Steeling his nerves, he said, “Your folks weren’t on the run with you from a fire. You were in the back seat of a car that belonged to a couple who were running, all right. Running from the true parents and older brother they stole you from.”
“How damned dare you!” she screamed, and took a step forward, bringing up her bat.
Nick deliberately lowered his rifle barrel. “It’s truth.”
She stopped herself before she got within swinging distance, much to Nick’s relief. With her fists clenched at her sides, bat tip sliding to the floor, she looked down at her shoes. “You got proof of this, mister, or are you just fixin’ to get an ass-whuppin’ from a woman? Because you’re about to get one.”
Nick shook his head. “Your brother has the proof. I didn’t have the opportunity to bring his possessions with me.”
“Where’s my supposed brother, then?”
“Like I said, he’s—”
“Any kinfolk of mine would do their own dirty work, even when it’s hard. And if they ain’t that type, they sure ain’t my brother, blood or no.”
“Yes, your new parents did do their own dirty work. But so did your real family, Misty. Your brother has spent his whole life, all these years, cursing himself for not being man enough to protect you when he was just a kid himself.”
“My brother, if’n he’s real, what’s he like? Let me remind you, I’ll know if you’re lying, bless your soul.”
“And I’ll tell you what I know. Your brother—Abram Patterson, if that rings a bell—is one of the strongest, best men I’ve ever met. He saved me, my son, my daughter, and a dozen other people he could have turned his back on. He led us against bandits, against that first hard few weeks without grocery stores and big farm deliveries, against our own insecurity and ignorance. I see your face in his, but I see his strength in you, ma’am. I have absolutely no doubts about whether he was right.”
She stared at him intently, her eyes halfway narrowed, as she chewed on the bottom corner of her lip and rubbed one elbow with her other hand. Her expression bore a curious mix of rage and surprise.
Why would she look like she had some sudden enlightenment? It was an odd expression, and awkward, so, he simply asked, “Did that ring a bell? Abram Patterson?”
She nodded, very slowly. “Yeah…I used to dream of a guy, bit older than me, as a kid, and I surely did look up to him. He was always smiles and strong arms around me when I got hurt, or when my argumentative mouth got me some switches from my daddy. Mom said he was just my imaginary friend. And…”
Nick found himself wearing a wistful smile, and he wished he could reach out to put his hand on her arm, or hug her, or something. “Let me guess. This kid’s name…your imaginary friend’s name…it was Abram?”
She nodded, tears welling up in already-red eyes, reminding Nick that she’d just lost her husband…The emotions and hurt she must have been going through, inside her heart and mind, was painful even to consider. He couldn’t imagine how she must feel, but he was pretty sure it was terrible.
Safety first, though…He stayed back and smiled tightly. “Yes, but not so imaginary.”
Misty wiped one cheek with the heel of her hand and sniffled. Straightening up to her full height, such as it was, she set her jaw squarely and said, “I have to meet him. I have to see for myself, and I want to know if…if his parents were mine, what they were like. Are they alive? Do I have other brothers or sisters, too? What kind of man is he? Oh, you told me that already.” Her words burst out like the staccato report of a machine gun, so fast that Nick had to pay close attention to catch them all.
His smile had begun tightlipped, sympathetic to her pain, but it grew wistful, warming as he listened to her growing excitement. Maybe this would work out after all, and—
Norman said, “So what, you have an imaginary friend with the thame name. For all you know, Wyatt said Abram’s name to this guy, and he’th running some kind of thcam.”
Nick whipped his head around to glare. “Norm, that’s not very cooperative. Watch it. Better yet, think about what you’re saying. How would I be close enough to Wyatt for him to tell me a story about his wife’s imaginary friend, but not close enough to know where they live?”
Misty held up one hand high, for silence. “Shush, you two. This is my house, and if you don’t respect Wyatt’s memory enough to respect his house, you will respect me enough not to fight here. I’m not dead, and I’ll kick both your asses if you don’t behave your proper Southern manners.”
Nick felt as sheepish as Norman looked, but tried hard not to show it. Shrugging, with a nod of his head, he said to her, “Of course. Your house, I won’t disrespect you or Wyatt’s memory by drawing blood here. I’m not here to kill anyone—I said that already, and that’s God’s honest truth. I’d love to take you to meet your real-life, not-imaginary friend, your brother, Abram. Coincidentally, there’s a man named Danny there, with him, who—”
Norman hissed, visibly struggling with what Nick assumed were some strong emotions, though how a timid, somewhat weak thinker like Danny could have done to earn a response like that, Nick couldn’t imagine. Instead of guessing, he asked, “What did Danny do to make you so mad at him?”
Norman ignored Nick and, waving his hands around as he talked, drawing Misty’s attention, he said, “Danny was kidnapped by cannibalth. Thish guy is with them, so he’s a cannibal, too.”
“I—” Nick began.
Norman continued without a pause, “This bathtard’s goin’ to hell, and he’ll take you with him, if you talk to him.”
Nick tried to hold back his feelings, but given how high-strung he felt, and how emotionally exhausted, his patience ran dry. His feelings burst out of him before he could steady himself. “Screw you, man. I’m a farmer. Danny came to us, we didn’t take him, and the whole reason he came to us was so he could warn us about you assholes. About Black, anyway. The guy’s a killer, and nothing more than a bandit king.”
“No! Black is fair, and smart, and he’sh three steps ahead of everyone else. Danny’s shmart, too, but Black has what you don’t see every day.”
“An empty soul?”
“Ignorant. Black’s a genius, and we’re lucky he found us, or we’d have no leader.” He turned to Misty. “You remember those early days that got Wyatt to step out of his early retirement.”
Misty looked back and forth between the two men. “I…” she said, voice faltering. She looked back at Nick and said, “Tell me why I shouldn’t believe Black? You hate him, and Danny ran from him. I don’t know you, but Danny, I do trust. So convince me.”
Nick heard pleading in her voice. Maybe some part of her wanted a name she could blame for Wyatt’s death. Certainly, Nick had often wished for that, back when his wife…
He shook his head to clear the cobwebs out. Self-pity wouldn’t bring his wife ba
ck. He looked up at Misty, and suddenly, he felt certain about the woman and who she was, her value as a person. “Misty, your real name is Miranda.”
Her face went pale, and she drew the fingertips of one hand to her mouth with a surprised gasp.
Nick continued, “Miranda was kidnapped at a very young age. The people you knew as your parents did a horrible thing, but it’s clear they did something right, because you are clearly a smart, perceptive woman, and the people around you seem to follow your advice. It speaks well of you, and what I’ve heard you say would have convinced me of your worth, even if that hadn’t. So, you don’t have to suddenly hate your parents, but you have the chance now to get to know your biological family, and to learn about your natural parents. This doesn’t mean you stop caring for the people who raised you, either.”
She nodded, slowly, like she was tasting the flavor of his words. “Yeah. That’s true. They really were wonderful to me, Nick Caulfield. Thanks for leaving me with that, at least. My whole life wasn’t a lie?”
He shook his head. “No. But if you want more truth than I can give, why don’t you come with me to go see your daughter? You can talk to Danny, see what he thinks of Abram, and—”
Just before he said she could judge his story for herself, loud pounding from the front door startled Nick to the point where he physically jumped. By the time he came down onto the balls of his feet with his rifle at the ready, he’d already realized it was just someone knocking at the door.
40
The scope bit into Corey’s brow, and his hands were sweating, making his grip uncomfortable, but he did his best to ignore all that. He stayed perfectly still, watching the scene down below unfold through the scope. It was hard to see into the darkness between islands of light that lined the streets in Clarks Crossing. In the back of his mind, he wondered whether the residents had somehow managed to go back to gas-powered lights, like the ones he’d read about in those awful books his English teachers had made him read. Or maybe they were torches?
But the rest of his thoughts were focused like a laser on the danger his dad was in. If those two guards spotted Nick inside that empty house he’d hidden in, or if the prisoner gave away their position, Corey would have to pull that damned trigger again.
He hated that trigger, and hated having to end a life with it before, but he’d have hated to lose his dad even more. That was still true, now.
When the guards passed, and his dad didn’t emerge right away, sweat dripped into Corey’s eyes, despite the evening chill. He ignored it, but only when Nick finally emerged, after the prisoner, did Corey realize he’d been holding his breath…How long?
Didn’t matter. He took the opportunity to wipe his brow and then wiped his hands on his pants. It took a couple seconds of sweeping the scope across the roads before he relocated Nick and the prisoner, moving at a pretty good speed, going from shadow to shadow. The hard parts for Corey to keep his breathing even were when they crossed through the alleyways, since those kept them out of sight for long seconds. Or were they minutes? Hard to tell, but they always did emerge, and each time, Corey caught himself holding his breath.
And then, they turned down a driveway, or maybe some nature trail. It was hard to tell. It wound back and forth, away from the light, into dense trees, and then they were gone. There was no way Corey would be able to sight them in again, not from his vantage point.
“Shit,” he muttered, then almost looked around to see if his dad might have overheard him. But, of course, Dad was down there, in the den of thieves and bandits, surrounded by people who’d probably do terrible things to him if they caught him.
Worse, his dad was alone, except for one wounded prisoner who likely wanted to kill him the first chance he got.
Corey froze, unsure what to do. He considered radioing his dad, but without the ability to see what might be going on, that might give his dad’s position away. “Double crap. Why didn’t you radio me, Dad?”
After a couple moments of arguing with himself, though, Corey came to a decision. His dad had told him to stay there, no matter what happened. Well, how could he have known the path to Miranda’s house—or Misty, as she called herself, according to his dad—would change that plan? Corey half grinned at his logical skills, outsmarting his dad. The circumstances had changed, so The Plan had to change with them.
“Forgiveness first, permission later,” he muttered. Then, Corey quickly rolled up his simple foam-rubber camping pad shooting mat, then grabbed his pack and headed down the hill. He angled westerly, intent on skirting the town. He could wade across and then follow the greenbelt that lined the narrower, northerly river forming Clarks Crossing’s western edge. He planned to turn east again only after he got parallel to that mysterious trail or driveway his dad had vanished onto, and from there, he’d play it by ear until he got eyes on Dad. Or until his dad called him on the damn walkie-talkie, like they were supposed to. Why’d they even bring them, if Nick wasn’t going to use it?
Once down the hill, Corey crossed the stream just as he’d seen his father do, and held his rifle over his head to keep it dry. It was rough, and he slipped once on the slick river stones, but the water was warm enough at this time of year, and not too deep or fast.
Once he made it across, he stopped in the nook between adjoining bushes to remove his shoes, then took off his socks, which he tucked over his belt to hold them fast and try to dry them even faster.
Stepping back into his squishy shoes, he wished he’d thought to just take them off at the river…
Skirting the town was uneventful. His young eyes caught sight of a couple guards coming down a street perpendicular to his path, but they weren’t looking in his direction, specifically; he hid in some bushes until they turned south, down another street, and moved out of sight. Then, he continued onward.
Never before that moment had his senses felt so keen, though. Adrenaline was a wonderful thing, when he wasn’t being shot at. Why his dad complained about the “crash” afterward was a mystery. Maybe that was just something old people said, because Corey sure didn’t have any crashes. He kept right on going, alert and joyously alive with the thrill of infiltrating an enemy encampment. In his head, he was like a certain boy wizard, sneaking around with the help of a magical invisibility cloak, hiding from the guards—or hall monitors, in the movie—and his rifle was a wand that would shoot fireballs at any damn cave trolls that got too close.
Up ahead, through a break in the river’s greenbelt, he spotted a large court lined with houses. That had to be the one he’d seen through his scope when he’d planned his course! His dad was close. He felt a little spring in his steps as he bolted from cover, dashing to the backyard fence behind one of those houses. He crept along to the shrubbery at the fence’s end, by the gate, which faced the courtyard. He looked at each house around the paved circle, but they were all dark. Some houses were lit up down the road, and he’d have to be careful going by those, but a moment of planning showed him a good route to avoid being visible for too long, if anyone inside happened to look out. Besides, it was nighttime. For all anyone knew, he was one of them, right? Right.
He took a deep breath with each number as he counted to three—then he was out, beyond the bush, daring across the courtyard and through a hole in the fence fronting one house. Another hole led to the neighbor’s yard, but the low fence would serve to block anyone’s view of him during that critical, out-in-the-open dash…
He made it through the hole, and stopped a moment to catch his breath, with his back to the fence. He had to crouch down to keep his head below fence level, but that didn’t bother him. His legs didn’t even ache, yet. Small run, but big adrenaline. And every step he took brought him closer to his dad, closer to getting back to the critical job of watching over him. That job, he’d done well—he’d probably saved his dad not once, but twice, just in the time he’d been on overwatch. He had to get eyes on Dad, though, so he could be there again to save him the next time.
As
he moved out, heading down the road toward the target driveway, a thought struck him. Though he’d desperately wanted to go with his father down into the enemy town so they wouldn’t have to split up, his listening and obeying had saved his dad’s life. Twice. And yet, now here he was, disobeying those same orders.
But he had to, to protect his father again. Right?
Yeah. It’s…needful.
That was the word his dad used so often, a habit he’d picked up off Abram. Old people used big words. “Legit” was the word he’d have chosen, and it was easier and faster and didn’t sound so ancient. Plus, it was—
Corey was so busy with thoughts of his father and slang terms that he almost didn’t see another patrol coming down a road that intersected his. He side-stepped off his course, which brought him behind a large oak in a disheveled, brown front yard. With his back to the tree, he clutched at his rifle and tried desperately to quiet his breaths, despite the urge to hyperventilate.
The pair of guards walked closer. It was a man and a woman, judging by the voices he could just barely hear at first. They grew louder as they approached.
“…and imagine what we can do with all the loot Black’s going to get from those little one-horse towns around us. Man, Burnsville…I went there once, to go shopping. Every kind of shop you can think of. It’s hard to believe they were a farming town, once upon a time.”
The woman answered, “Not anymore, though. That means they must be trading for food. Well, we can give them food, and they can give us things we need, too. That jackwad Neighborhood Watch captain on Morris Street said it was blackmail, but I like to think of it as just making them do the smart thing, at a price that works for both of us. You know damn well they aren’t giving fair value for the stuff they’re trading. I bet they’re price-gouging bastards, every one of them. They deserve it.”
“Don’t forget that we’ll be protecting them, too. It’s additional territory, but they got a truck stop there with lots of gas, and there aren’t a lot of cars to use it up. Might as well be for us, too, so we can use the cars we do have.”
EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem Page 30
