Rescuing Liberty: Perseverance Book 1

by Amanda Washington

  I closed my eyes, bracing for the inevitable.

  Another shot rang out.

  I heard the impact of the bullet, and then felt liquid wash over me, like a warm shower. I wiped it from my eyelids and looked. Everything was red and blurry, but by my feet was a crumpled corpse and I couldn’t help but notice that the head was missing. I stared at the blood dripping down the front of me and realized what happened to the head. I was wearing it.

  “Oh my—” was all I could get out before I leaned over and heaved up my breakfast. The world rocked and my vision darkened. Breathe, I reminded myself. Just breathe.

  Connor had woken Ashley from her trance and was encouraging her legs to begin pedal again.

  “Time to go, Libby,” he said. “Now.”

  “I’m freaking trying!” I yelled back, vexed by the fact that he sounded so calm when I had someone else’s blood covering me. A nightmare. No way is this real, just get out of here and wake up. I turned, retrieved the gun I’d dropped and climbed back on my bike.

  Shouts came from the clubhouse and additional people rushed out to greet us. All four of them fell to Connor’s gun before I even started pedaling. He calmly replaced his empty clip with a full one, climbed back on his bike, and took off. I stared after him in awe.

  Who is this guy?

  Connor slowed until I passed him, and then he kept watch behind us. We rode hard until we reached the East Valley Highway. Ashley's color slowly started coming back, but she still hadn’t spoken a word. I was worried, but didn’t feel that approaching her while covered in gore was a good idea. Determined to fix my current state, I stopped my bike and searched my pack for a rag and a water bottle.

  “What are you doing? We have to keep moving.” Connor asked, slowing to a stop beside me.

  “I have to get it off,” I replied and doused the towel with water. Trying not to think about the fact that I was about to wipe someone else’s face off my own, I raised the moistened rag to my face. My hands shook. I tried to wipe the blood away, but it had dried and felt like a crusted over mess.

  “I can’t get it off!” I squirmed and my bike slid to the ground, tripping me as it fell. I tried to catch myself on the frame, but my hand slipped and I ended up on my knees, intertwined in the frame of my bike.

  Connor grabbed my arm before I had the chance to shout any colorful obscenities. He untangled my limbs and hoisted me up.

  “Let me help you.” He took the wet rag away and started wiping.

  I closed my eyes and tears welled up and threatened to fall. I was a quivering, sniveling mess, and Connor was calm and collected after shooting the head off a woman who'd been less than a foot from me.

  “Talk to me Libby.” He sounded worried, but his steady hands worked fast and efficiently. “You’re tense. Heart’s pounding. You need to calm down.”

  “Y-Y-You shot her right in front of my face!” My hands wrapped themselves around my stomach and I rocked back and forth on my heels. “I am wearing another person!” I shuddered as my gorge threatened to rise again. “Can’t I freak out about that?” I opened my eyes and scowled at Connor. “And you! You could have killed me. What the heck were you doing?”

  He grabbed my chin and forced my eyes to meet his. “Saving your life. Now close your eyes.”

  I complied and he gently ran the rag over my eyelids.

  “W-W-Who are you, anyway?” I asked.

  Connor tugged at a clump of I-don’t-even-want-to-know-what in my hair.

  “Lawyers do not shoot like that,” I told him.

  “Uncle Connor was in the army,” Ashley said.

  He turned toward her. “You knew about that?”

  “Dad carried your army picture in his wallet.”

  “Army? Why didn’t you tell me?” I studied the man, wondering what other secrets he kept.

  He tossed the ruined, bloody rag into the ditch on the side of the road. “Why didn’t you ask?”

  “I can’t believe you just littered,” I said, pointing to the rag.

  He looked at me like I was the craziest woman on the planet. And at that moment, he was probably right.

  “Never mind,” I said. “I don’t even care.” I picked up my bike. “Right now, all I want to do is shave my head and bathe in bleach.”

  “Right.” He nodded as he climbed on his own bike. “Then let’s get out of here.”

  Since putting more miles between us and the clubhouse of death seemed like a good idea, I eagerly complied. Working under the delusion that we could outrun the nightmares, I pedaled hard. During our flight, my mind tried to connect what I knew with what I saw. I knew that the lives we’d just taken had once been human; with families, jobs, dreams, ambitions, and feelings. But what I saw proved the possibility that people could no longer be human.

  I looked at my adopted family and silently prayed that the same would never happen to us.

  * * *

  The plan was to skirt around Auburn then take Highway 18 northeast, skipping most of Seattle's populated outskirts. Then we'd hit Highway 203 to Monroe. There was such a long way to go that planning beyond Monroe seemed futile. We tried to focus on the immediate task at hand to avoid being discouraged about the long term. The depressing reality was that even Monroe was a significant distance, and if we made it that far I would count it a miracle.

  After about six hours Ashley’s bike started leaning to the right and I was afraid she’d fall asleep mid-pedal. Truth be told, my legs and butt hurt so bad I was concerned that I’d never be able to walk again if we didn’t stop soon.

  “Connor.” I nodded toward the girl.

  He studied Ashley’s movements for a moment and nodded. “There’s some houses ahead on the right.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “You look a little beat yourself.”

  The side of his mouth twitched. “I’m not even gonna say what you look like.”

  “You’re such a jerk, Connor.”

  “What? I didn’t even say it.”

  * * *

  We found a modest, vacant house at the edge of the housing development Connor had spotted. After stashing our bikes under a bush we entered to investigate. No death smells, no disgustingly disfigured bodies, and no one eating anyone else. It was like a little piece of Heaven. I took a deep breath through my nose and enjoyed the absence of menacing odors. It’s all about finding joy in the little things.

  The house was a one level bungalow, probably built in the early sixties and never redecorated. The walls had been painted in shades of green better left to vegetables, and the orange shag carpet had never been a good idea. Family photos and knick-knacks covered the walls and all available surfaces of the place. Magazines for every interest were laid out on the coffee table and a stack of old newspapers rested beside a big, comfy-looking lazy boy.

  After we brought the bikes in and locked all the doors Ashley collapsed on the sofa and asked the question I’d been dreading.

  “They were eating other people, weren't they?” Her little nose scrunched up in disgust. “Those people. They were … that was a person, right?”

  Since cannibalism was well outside my list of comfortable conversation topics, my first reaction was to find humor in the situation. I chewed on my lip to prevent myself from being completely inappropriate and shouting, “Soylent Green is people!” The girl didn’t need sarcasm. She needed real answers, and since I didn’t have any, I shrugged and sat beside her.

  Luckily Connor saved me from responding when he sat on the other side of Ashley and squeezed her shoulders. “I’m not going lie to you,” he said. “There are bad people out there, Ash. But we’re different. We’re stronger and smarter.” He kissed the top of her head and brushed away stray hairs. “And we’re a team.”

  My jaw dropped. Yet again I was amazed and impressed by the many faces of Connor Dunstan.

  “Uncle Connor, Libby …” Ashley’s big, dark eyes glanced back and forth between us as she took each of our hands. “Thank you … for taking care of me
.”

  My heart swelled, and just like that I knew we were going to be okay. We were going to survive. We could persevere and beat the craziness, the loneliness and the starvation. We had become a family, and as such, we would weather the storms together.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ~Lakeview, Oregon, fourteen years ago

  2:58 PM: THE DASHBOARD clock glowed mockingly.

  ‘Two minutes! I am so dead!’ I grumbled into the steering wheel of my mom’s Toyota Camry, pleading with her—my sisters and I were convinced that the car was female—to somehow make the ten minute drive in two minutes. The Camry had never shown signs of teleportation abilities before, but I was desperate.

  “Come on, Bessie, you can do it.” I hoped the use of the car’s pet name would spark her superpowers. We called her Bessie because she ran like an old milk cow, but now probably wouldn’t be the best time to bring that up.

  2:59.

  My mom was working and had given me specific instructions to be home by three o’clock. Our house had a water leak, and a man from the city was scheduled to fix it. If no one was there to let him in we’d be put back on a waiting list for another month and face another outrageous water bill that we couldn’t afford. And Mom would kill me. But even worse than death, she’d ground me for a month.

  Michelle and I had been enjoying the gorgeous summer day. Hanging out at the public swimming pool. Dipping our feet in the cool water and checking out the hot life guards passed the time entirely too quickly. One minute the clock hanging about the shower doors showed I had an hour left to enjoy. Then when I checked again—I swear it was only five minutes later—that hour had more than passed. Now I was scrambling to get home with almost no hope of getting there in time.

  3:00.

  I could cut through the parking lot of Stratton’s Grocery Store and shave two precious minutes from the drive. It wasn’t exactly legal, but everybody did it. I barely brushed the brake as I turned the steering wheel and veered into the lot.

  ‘NO!’ the call ordered, but for the first time I ignored the voice in my heart.

  There wasn’t time to get back on the road, and I was already committed to the shortcut. Determined to catch the man from the city, I gripped the steering wheel and stepped on the gas.

  An indecipherable shape dashed in front of my car. I slammed on the breaks. There was a heart-stopping thump; evidence of impact. My world went blurry. The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of Bessie, staring down at the bicyclist I’d just hit. I held my breath as one bike tire continued to spin.

  “Oh my God, You killed him!” the manager of the store screamed from the door.

  “Someone, call the paramedics,” another voice yelled. “A boy’s been hit!”

  My hand flew to my mouth and time stopped. A crowd gathered around the small figure, whispering, shaking heads, and waiting for the child to move …

  * * *

  I awoke with a jolt. With the memory came tears. Always. I remember. I promise.

  Connor was gone, but Ashley was still asleep beside me. I climbed out of bed, slipped into the bathroom and quietly closed the door behind me. Gripping the counter, I leaned into the mirror to stare into eyes as haunted as my spirit. I squeezed them shut and my mind returned to the spinning bike tire. The fear I’d felt that day terrorized me once again and I slunk to the floor, tucking my knees under my chin and wrapping my arms around my legs.

  My heart and mind wandered back to the emergency room where I had paced and prayed while paramedics worked on little Mike Fredrickson. His mother was the first to arrive, showing up in work slacks and silk shirt with her graying hair neatly pulled into a bun. She watched me for a long minute, and then burst into tears. News travels fast in a small town, and she’d no doubt heard several versions of the incident already.

  “Mrs. Fredrickson—” I stepped forward, but she turned her back to me and walked toward the admittance desk. I sat in the furthest corner I could find with my knees drawn to my chest. I closed my eyes and hid behind my legs as tears streamed down my face. I’d disobeyed the call and now little Mikey was paying the price. Are You still there? I prayed. I’m sorry. I should have listened. I really screwed up. Please, just let Mikey be alright. I promise I’ll never ignore You again. I’ll listen. I’ll do whatever You want. Please. He’s just a kid. Please don’t let him die. Don’t let him be paralyzed. Please let him be okay.

  Other adults came and went, casting sideways glances in my direction.

  “Isn’t that Rose Collins’ daughter?” I heard someone whisper.

  “Rose Collins?” asked another voice. “That woman works too much. Never has any time for her children.”

  “Can’t find a man?” asked a third woman.

  “Who’s gonna want to take on three troublesome girls?”

  Their voices blended together, making my head spin. Now I’ve done it for sure. We’ll have to move. Everyone hates us. There was a tap on my arm and suddenly Michelle was there. Relief relaxed my guard, allowing me to embrace my fear and sorrow, and truly cry for what I had done.

  “I swear it was an accident,” I told her between sobs. “I didn’t see him. I wouldn’t …”

  “I know.” She sat and draped her arm over my shoulders. “Shh. It will be alright.”

  The doctor came out and the family gathered around him. When he left, I stood and approached Mikey’s mom with Michelle close behind.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Fredrickson. How is he?” I fiddled with the hem of my shirt, trying to be strong while my entire body was shaking.

  All eyes focused on me, but no one said a word.

  “Please.” I crossed my arms. “I’m sorry. I just want to know if he’s okay.”

  A plump, dark-haired woman stepped in front of Mrs. Fredrickson and stuck her finger in my face. “Of course he’s not okay. You tried to kill him.”

  My jaw dropped. “No. I … It was an accident.” They glowered at me with such hatred I wanted to crawl into a hole and die. “I … I didn’t mean—”

  I felt a hand on my shoulder and everyone’s attention shifted behind me. I looked back and saw my mother. Her jaw was set and lightning flashed in eyes the color of steel. Unending strength squared her shoulders, no doubt coming from years of working in a sawmill. The smells of wood, sweat and ferocious, protective love reassured me that everything would be okay.

  “Momma, I’m sorry.” I stared at her, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was glaring over my head.

  “My daughter asked how Michael is doing,” my momma said.

  Mrs. Fredrickson cleared her throat. “He’s going to be okay.” Her gaze dropped to the floor and oxygen finally found its way to my lungs.

  Mikey ended up with a broken arm, three cracked ribs and a sprained ankle. They said it would have been much worse had he not been wearing his helmet. I could have killed him. That was the moment I swore to never again ignore the call. No matter what bizarre command God gave me, I vowed to follow and obey.

  * * *

  After Ashley woke up, we ate dry ramen from our packs for breakfast. Then we climbed on the bikes and cycled for about nine miles, through the city of Auburn. Auburn was a typical small college city, hiding in Seattle’s shadow. The downtown area consisted mainly of older buildings. Several of which were mom and pop shops that had been hit hard by the down economy. Large “OUT OF BUSINESS” signs distinguished the stores that fell even before the riots hit. Some buildings had been torched, but the level of destruction here didn’t even compare to what I’d encountered in Olympia. The whisper of life was evident in the occasional flicker of a curtain or creak of a loose floor board, but we kept to ourselves and no one bothered us.

  We stopped to stretch just north of Auburn’s college. My sore legs were happy to take a break from riding, and if Ashley’s bow-legged waddle was any indication, she felt the same. Connor continued to annoy me by showing no visible side effects from the ride.

  The park we stopped at served as a gathering spot
for all sorts of birds, squirrels, and ducks. Their conversations filled the air, creating a Disney-type reality. At any moment, the seven dwarves could come whistling by, heading for the mines. But I feared that with our luck, we would most likely get evil stepmothers and wicked witches instead.

  Long, thick grass had me contemplating the idea of stripping my socks and shoes off to give my sore, sweaty feet some air. The idea sounded so good that I bent over and tugged on my laces. As I did so, a naive covey of quail wandered over to investigate the foreign humans. Never one to pass up an opportunity, I calmly reached for the stick lying at my feet. Weapon in hand, I froze and waited for one gullible quail to waddle up to me. Thankfully I didn’t have to wait long. She swings, she hits!

  Down went the quail. Its companions scattered, but not before Connor clobbered a second one with the stick he’d picked up to follow my lead. One more quail died; the result of a combined effort as Connor chased it my direction and I made contact.

  “Thank you softball practice,” I said, dropping my weapon and collecting the lifeless quail.

  “Gross! What are you doing with those?” Ashley seemed torn between laughter and horror.

  “Seriously? You’ve never had quail? You, my dear, are in for a treat.”

  Connor coughed to cover his chuckle as Ashley eyed us suspiciously.

  I wrapped the birds in a towel and stuffed them in my bag. Then we biked along Highway 18 about twelve more miles until we were deep in the woods, greeted by a comforting compilation of bright, healthy shades of green and fresh, clean scents of earth and life. I inhaled the serenity of the forest and let it clean and invigorate my mind and body. Then we found a safe spot, hidden by enormous evergreens, to build a fire and cook the quail. I headed toward the sounds of a nearby stream as Connor and Ashley scavenged for firewood.