“Do you know where Mr. Falcon was going?” Deacon asked.
“He never tells me anything.” She shrugged. “But he had his crossbow with him, like he was going hunting. I’d guess he was going to settle some things with my crazy-as-hell uncle.”
“Why would you guess that?” Jim asked.
“Daddy had a look in his eyes like he wanted to kill someone, like seriously. Uncle Kent’s the only one who really gets under his skin like that.” Angie laughed. “Daddy’s got his ways, but Uncle Kent is a certified psycho. He tried to blow up Daddy’s car once, did you know that? Actually planted a bomb in it. Daddy figured it out before he started the engine or else he would’ve been a goner.”
“What’s this sibling rivalry of theirs all about anyway?” Deacon asked. “Your brother Caleb mentioned it’s been going on for a long time.”
“Money, power, the same pissing contest crap that you men always do,” Angie said, and looked disinterested. “My granddaddy, may he rest in peace, died around last Christmas and left Daddy in charge of the so-called empire. Daddy finally cut off Uncle Kent’s monthly allowance. He was really happy about doing that.” She giggled. “I figure Uncle Kent did something to get revenge, and that’s why Daddy stormed out of here looking ready to pin the tail on someone.”
“All of you people are insane,” Jim said. “It sickens me, it really does. Chief, can we please go now?”
“Hang on.” Deacon put a steadying hand on Jim’s shoulder, turned back to Angie. He tried to hide his eagerness with a casual tone. “Angie, you said Mr. Falcon left with a crossbow. Does Mr. Falcon keep other weapons here in the house?”
“Of course, he does, and I know the password to the gun safe, too.” She smirked, batted her eyelashes. “What are you gonna do for me if I lead you to it, sweet stuff?”
“Good Lord, woman,” Jim said. “Do you have any clue of the gravity of our situation?”
“It’s critically important that we get our hands on more firearms,” Deacon said. “Please. We don’t have much time.”
“I was only gonna say—you gotta have a drink with me, jeez,” Angie said. “But fine, I’ll take a rain check on that since you boys are in such an all-fire hurry.”
He was willing to agree to almost anything in order to get his hands on more firepower.
“Deal,” Deacon said.
“All right, then.” She snapped her manicured fingers and spun around. “Follow me, boys.”
***
Angie led them to a section of the mansion that Deacon hadn’t seen during his prior visits. She took them down a winding staircase with a wrought-iron railing, to the basement level. There, she guided them past a room furnished with a pool table and old-school arcade games such as Pac Man and Galaxian, past an enormous wine cellar that looked like something you would see in an upscale steakhouse, around a corner, past a glass-walled cigar smoking room, and finally, to a large steel-fronted door that reminded Deacon of an entrance to a bank vault. An LCD display and numeric keypad above the door handle demanded a password for entry.
“I’m a little surprised that Mr. Falcon gave you access to this room,” Deacon said.
“Think I tricked it out of him?” She winked. “You think I’m just some dumb, hot blonde, don’t cha? Got this bootylicious bod but no brains?”
“Hey, you said it,” Jim said. “Not us.”
“Both of you are way wrong about me,” Angie said.
She tapped in a series of numbers on the keypad. A short beep sounded, and there was the sharp click of disengaging locks, and the hiss of a depressurizing chamber.
Deacon pulled the door open, and they followed Angie inside. Motion-activated recessed lights flickered awake.
It was a large, windowless space with a concrete floor, and weapons. Dozens and dozens of weapons, mostly guns of various design. They hung from metal racks on the wall; several of them rested inside glass display cases standing on wooden pedestals. The room smelled faintly of oil, metal, and gunpowder. He also saw other gear such as hunting scopes, combat knives, boots, and gloves.
“Now this was unexpected,” Deacon said. “You all could open a store.”
“This is an original Colt 1911,” Jim said, peering in one of the display cases. “Crap, it looks like it’s never been fired.”
“Pick two each, y’all,” Angie said. “I’d suggest a hand gun and a rifle or shotgun, but it’s your preference. We’ve got plenty of ammo for everything here.”
Deacon blinked with surprise at her instructions. “Clearly, you’re into guns.”
“Daddy is a Marine,” she said. “Learning how to handle a firearm is a requirement in this family. Heck, Caleb’s a good shot, too, if you can believe that.”
“I feel like a kid in a candy store,” Jim said, lifting a Winchester hunting rifle off its rack.
Deacon picked out a Remington pump-action shotgun, and a Smith & Wesson .357, to go along with the Glock 17 he already wore. From a tall metal supply cabinet standing along one wall, he selected ammunition for all of the weapons, packing the ammo into a leather pouch that he slid across his shoulders.
“We need ammo for everything we’ve got,” Deacon said. “You mind, Angie?”
“You’re gonna owe me plenty, sweet stuff,” she said. “Go ahead.”
Jim settled on a rifle, and a Heckler and Koch nine millimeter semi-auto pistol. He also grabbed more ammo for the twelve-gauge shotgun he had left back in their vehicle.
While they geared up, Angie watched them with a bemused expression, as if they were a couple of kids getting ready to play war games with toy guns. Deacon still didn’t think she understood the seriousness of their situation.
“Is there a panic room on the premises?” he asked her, once he had grabbed everything he needed.
She blinked. “Yeah. It’s actually pretty darn nice, kinda like a penthouse suite. Why?”
“I think you should hang out in there for a while,” he said. “You and Caleb both. Until tomorrow at least.”
“So you do have feelings for me.” She smiled and touched his arm.
He shrugged. “It’s only a precaution. Between the military, and the dangerous, sick people roaming outside, it would be better for you and the boy to stay in a secure location for a while.”
“If it makes you feel any better, then I’ll do it,” she said.
“Thank you. There’s one more thing.” Deacon motioned Jim over. “What can you tell us about your Uncle Kent? I know he lives on site, in the undeveloped greenspace, but I don’t know exactly where. We need specifics on where he lives, how he lives, that sort of thing. We’re gonna be paying him a visit soon.”
“Oh, honey,” Angie said, eyes twinkling. “You are so gonna love this.”
***
They had escaped the clubhouse, which had been overrun by the frenzied, but in Emily’s opinion they still weren’t safe. It was full night, the darkness shot through with cold rain, and every pocket of blackness potentially hid someone eager to kill them.
After slipping out of the clubhouse by the rear service entrance, they had crossed a damp, grassy meadow, keeping low to the ground, and then reached a large Colonial-style residence flanked by pine trees. A blue and white sign in the front yard stated, “Model 3 – Open House on Saturday!”
It was the only house standing in the immediate vicinity. There were a few other lots nearby, each marked with a “Future Home Site” sign, but they were only empty plots of sodden land.
At the model home, all of the lights were off, inside and out, but the front door hung halfway open. Had someone already been inside?
Emily approached the threshold. “Anyone here?”
No response.
Moving silently, they filed inside to get out of the rain. The chandelier in the two-story foyer didn’t respond when Alex flipped the switch, but Emily tapped the display on her cell phone and selected a flashlight app. Bright white light glowed from the LED flash on the back of the device.
; Alex closed the front door. He scratched his arms vigorously, as if he felt bugs crawling across his flesh.
“Are you okay?” Emily asked.
“Let’s search this place before we get too comfortable,” he said, ignoring her question. He activated a similar app on his phone. “I’ll look upstairs if you guys cover the first level.”
Using the light emitted from their phones, Emily and the doctor conducted a quick search of the first floor. It was a spacious, elegantly furnished home, with generic landscape scenes hanging on the walls. As they moved from room to room, they attempted to switch on the lights and other appliances, but they were unresponsive. Either the power was disconnected in the home, or there was an outage.
Emily pulled open the door for the powder room, shone the light inside—and let out a short scream.
A body lay slumped against the toilet: it was difficult to tell who it had been because the head had literally been blown apart. A shotgun lay in the person’s dead fingers, barrel resting against the blood-covered neck. Blood and bits of flesh stuck to the walls.
Emily stepped back a few steps, her stomach quivering.
“Jesus,” Dr. Bailey said. “They just came in here to die?”
Alex hurried to them, eyes wild. “I heard a scream, what happened? The second floor’s all clear.”
Holding one hand against her mouth, her stomach threatening to heave its contents, Emily pointed at the corpse inside.
“Shit, that’s a shame,” Alex muttered. “But hey, we’ve got a shotgun now.”
Alex knelt inside and plucked the gun out of the dead person’s grasp. Then he checked the pockets of their clothing and found several more shotgun shells.
“You don’t seem to be a stranger to this sort of thing,” Dr. Bailey said with a narrowed gaze.
“Another life,” Alex said with a shrug. He closed the door.
They gathered in the large kitchen. Emily placed her phone on the granite-topped island. The phone cast a narrow cone of light that still left most of the space drenched in darkness; the three of them clustered around the brightness like a tribe huddled around a camp fire.
Emily checked the refrigerator. She didn’t expect to find anything, but there was a plastic tray containing about twelve bottles of water, and a six-pack of Coke. The beverages were still cold, which meant the power had only recently shut off.
“No beer?” Alex asked, and snickered. He scratched his neck.
“No food, either, unfortunately,” Emily said. “I’m famished.”
“Tell me about it, senora. I could slaughter and eat an entire pig right now.”
While Emily distributed the water and soda, Alex checked the pantry and cabinets and found a box of unopened Ritz crackers. He tore into the box using his teeth, which Emily found disconcerting, and snatched out the packaged rolls of crackers.
“Going to share any with us?” Emily asked.
Alex blinked. “Oh, yeah. Sure.”
For a little while, no one said anything, just drank their beverages and ate crackers as if they were enjoying a dinner in a five-star restaurant. To Emily, everyone looked exhausted and anxious, exactly how she felt, too.
“We aren’t getting out of here,” Dr. Bailey said, breaking the silence. “The helicopter is gone, and I’ve got no way to contact them since I lost the sat phone back there on the clubhouse roof.”
“Can’t you call them on your cell?” Alex asked.
“I’m not getting a signal on my phone,” Emily said. “Guys, see if your phone works.”
A minute passed while the rest of them attempted to use their cell phones. The muttered curses told Emily everything she needed to know.
“How can no one’s cell phone be working?” Emily asked.
“Jammers,” Alex said. “You can use them to disrupt signals to mobile towers. Illegal for private citizens to use, but the government would have them.”
Emily looked at Dr. Bailey. “Is this normal procedure for a quarantine?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I can understand why they would want to restrict communications, especially considering the scenario here and social media these days.”
“The power outage, too,” Alex said, pointing at the ceiling. “Think that’s part of it?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know,” Dr. Bailey said. “This is a military operation now. I don’t know what they’ve done or what they’ve got planned.”
“So we’ve probably got no power, and we’ve got no way to call out of here, either,” Emily said. “Perfect.”
“I still have this.” Dr. Bailey showed them the two-way radio Deacon had given her. “I’d turned it off because we needed to stay quiet back there in the clubhouse, but I could try to raise someone on it now. Maybe Deacon . . .”
“Deacon?” Alex asked. “The South Haven security guy?”
Dr. Bailey switched on the radio and turned up the volume. Static crackled from the speaker. She held down the transmit button, identified herself, and asked if anyone was listening.
“Deacon here,” a man said, and Emily wanted to cry at the sound of his voice. “Damn, it’s good to hear from you, doc. Where the heck are you?”
Chapter 28
When he spoke to Dr. Bailey again, Deacon was more excited than he had thought he would be.
She was alive, and she was still there in South Haven. He would have preferred for her to be alive and outside of South Haven, but he was happy all the same.
She gave him the rundown on their situation, and while it wasn’t good, it sounded as if they had found a temporary place of refuge. He asked her to sit tight until he could get to them.
Meanwhile, Angie Falcon had filled him in on quite a bit of useful intel on her nefarious uncle Kent. The woman was savvier than he had given her credit for, and he was inclined to re-evaluate some of his opinions of her. He was eager to get to Kent and force the man to face justice once and for all.
But first things first, he had to get to Pops.
Angie had suggested that he could bring his father back there to the estate, and he planned to take her up on the offer. Falcon’s residence, with its back-up power generators and intricate security measures, was by far the most secure stronghold in all of South Haven.
She had also loaned them one of her vehicles, a 2010 Hummer, since the Ford Expedition had sustained a significant amount of damage. Although the Hummer was several years old, the truck was practically brand-new, with only nine thousand miles on the odometer.
“I thought I’d drive it more often,” Angie had said. “But it’s too darn big for a petite little thing like me.”
Equipped with their new weapons, plenty of ammo, and a new vehicle, they drove away from the mansion, Deacon behind the wheel and Jim quite literally riding shotgun. The Hummer’s headlamps sliced through the rain-drenched darkness.
It was a quarter past eleven o’clock at night. It had been a brutally long day, and Deacon had enjoyed little rest and eaten only a turkey sandwich and an energy bar a few hours ago, but he was more energized than he had felt in years.
Jim, too, looked invigorated. He clutched the shotgun, head swiveling back and forth to survey the area.
“I’ve gotta admit, you’ve a touch with the ladies,” Jim said. “You had Miss January eating out of your hand. She’d have probably cooked us dinner if you’d asked.”
“Don’t hate the lady because she’s got good taste in men,” Deacon said. “Besides, I think she sees how serious we are about all of this. It’s human nature to want to help out.”
“But she’s not concerned about any of it personally.”
“The ultra-wealthy are different than you and me,” Deacon said. “Hell, think about what we’ve learned about Ronald Falcon and his brother Kent. It’s looking like everything we’re seeing, all this mayhem and death, is because of a sibling rivalry.”
“We’re pawns in their game.” Jim smiled sourly. “Until I shove this nine millimeter up his ass.”
“I heard that.” Deacon laughed. “Hey, I know it’s way past your bedtime, man. I appreciate you sticking with me on this.”
“Past my bedtime, hell.” Jim barked a laugh. “I barely realized the time. I don’t even feel tired, chief. I feel like I’m twenty again.”
“Your wife has to be worried about you, now that the phones are down.”
“She was a cop’s wife for thirty-five years,” Jim said with a shrug. “She knows some of these things come with the job. I’ll have a helluva story to tell her when we get outta here, won’t I?”
“No doubt,” Deacon said, though he wasn’t convinced any of them would be getting out of there anytime soon. If the military had set up a blockade, an escape attempt would come with a fatally high price. They would have to find an alternate route. But that was a problem they could deal with when the time arrived.
As Deacon steered through South Haven, taking an alternate route back home that he hoped was clear of the frenzied, he spotted lights blazing against the cloudy sky in the general vicinity of his apartment.
His stomach cramped into a tight knot. He levered his foot harder against the accelerator.
“What’s wrong?” Jim asked.
Deacon didn’t answer. He drove faster. He took a corner so rapidly that the Hummer nearly tipped on its side, and Jim braced himself in his seat, mouth open in surprise.
Please, Deacon thought. Don’t let it be what I think it is.
The air had become corrupted with the acrid smell of smoke, but it wasn’t coming from underneath the hood of the truck. When he cut around the corner at the next intersection, he saw the root cause was exactly what he feared.
The apartment building was on fire.
An army of flames marched across most of the roof. Fire and black smoke fluttered from multiple shattered windows. In the parking lot, at least half a dozen vehicles spat orange flames.
A group of naked people danced and leapt around the burning cars and building, like drunken revelers at a giant bonfire.
Frenzied, he thought, and felt a surge of almost crippling rage. They did this.
At the edge of the parking lot, he slammed the brakes so hard that the tires screeched. He grabbed the shotgun and flung open his door.
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