by Harley Tate
Brianna stepped back without another word and walked back into the house. Walter meant what he said. If she wanted to find those men, he would help. His leg might keep him from the front lines, but he could still fire a gun.
Peyton stepped over and helped him up. Together they walked back into the house. Walter turned and said goodnight to him, looking over Peyton’s broad shoulder to find his daughter.
A chill rushed through Walter.
Madison wasn’t there.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
MADISON
Chico, CA
11:00 p.m.
Madison cinched the small backpack she carried tighter to her back and eased between the bushes. Hearing Brianna talk about Tucker solidified the plan she had come up with while shoveling all that dirt. Back when she first met Brianna, one of the first stories she told was about her cousin’s little Honda Civic.
While Casey had been at the movies one night, someone stole it. She had walked outside, ready to hop in it and make curfew when the parking spot was empty. It made Casey so mad that she spent the next week driving down every street in the neighborhood, searching for her car.
On the fifth day, she found it parked on the street. The steering column had been pried open and the car hot-wired, but other than that, it was fine. No damage. The police couldn’t believe her determination, but Madison could.
Tucker died protecting their truck and everyone around them from a massive explosion. The least Madison could do was find it and get it back.
Thanks to the full moon and cloudless sky, Madison didn’t need a flashlight. As long as she kept to the edges of the light, she could see well enough to get around and not trip over broken concrete or a stubborn tree root.
Based on her memory of the campus while they drove in circles looking for the student health center, Madison searched. She spread out in concentric rings, down one street and up the next, walking each one to the next block before turning the corner and doing it again. Over the next two hours, she circled the house ten times. A ten-block radius and no sign of the truck.
She knew it could take days to find them. For all she knew, they could be a hundred miles away or more. But Madison didn’t think so. Thieves never fled as far as they should. Something about the arrogance of not getting caught the first time made their getaway weak and shallow.
Based on the way these men acted, they were local. That meant a house somewhere in town. If they worked on the farm, they were CSU employees. It would make sense they lived close.
The more she walked, the more Madison thought about everything that happened since she convinced her father to detour to Chico. The student health center and the communications building. The greenhouse and the farm.
Only one turned out to be safe. Was that what the future held? Seventy-five percent risk of death, twenty-five percent chance of a lucky break?
Madison frowned as she eased around a tipped-over trash can in the road. She could lie to herself or try to ease her conscience a million different ways, but the end was always the same. Tucker and Drew were dead because she insisted they come to Chico.
One radio broadcast and Madison uprooted a logical plan and threw their whole existence into chaos. Peyton got a concussion. She almost died. Her father got shot.
Drew and Tucker were buried a few feet underground never to see the light of day again.
She stopped in the middle of the road. Brianna was grieving the loss of her first love because Madison listened to her heart. She let her sense of pity and compassion for a stranger upstage her duty to her family and friends.
No more.
It didn’t matter if she walked these roads for the next year. She would find the men who stole their truck. She would help Brianna avenge Tucker’s death. She would atone.
Two hours later, a light in a front window caught her eye. Madison eased into the bushes beside a house a block away and waited. She had given up sticking to the dark after circle number ten without a single person sighted, opting instead to walk straight down the middle of the road. But now, she had reason to hide.
With every house she passed, her caution increased. Shining a light in a powerless world meant whoever sat inside that house possessed plenty of confidence and ammunition. Madison didn’t want to find out how much.
It took over half an hour for Madison to navigate the front yards and shadows of the street. She stopped one house away, hidden behind a thick azalea and the front porch steps. The steady hum of a generator obliterated any chance of hearing the occupants. She exhaled in frustration.
Leaving while this close wasn’t an option. With a deep breath, she snaked around the house next door, easing up onto the back porch on silent feet. As she stepped toward the rear door, the wood creaked beneath her foot and she bit back a curse.
If anyone stood outside on guard, they had to hear. She rushed to the door and tried the handle. Unlocked. She send up a silent thank you and opened the door.
As she shut it behind her, a light flashed against the glass. Madison ducked and held her breath.
“You hear that, Johnny?”
“Man, I can’t hear nothin’ apart from that damn machine Leroy’s got runnin’. What’s he need to waste all our gas for anyway? Ain’t no poker game worth all that fuel.”
“Don’t say that where the boss can hear ya.”
“Piss on him. I’m sick of sittin’ around and doin’ jack. That shoot-out at the farm was the most fun we’ve had in days and he wants us to lie low? We shoulda finished the job when we had the chance. Now he’s got us chasin’ down every last little noise like some dog after a rat.”
Footsteps sounded on the porch and Madison rushed deeper into the house, crawling behind a couch as the flashlight beam tracked across the living room. Of all the houses and roads she could have searched, Madison couldn’t believe her luck.
“We shoulda taken that sweet piece of ass when we had the chance. She woulda given us somethin’ to do all right.”
Madison swallowed down a wave of bile.
“Naw, man, she was old as shit. Now that feisty little blonde with all those curls? Hoo-wee, now that woulda been one buckin’ bronco worth ridin’.”
They were more vile and disgusting than she imagined. Not that it should have surprised her, but it did. Was this the future?
No. Bad people couldn’t be the only ones left. They couldn’t be the men to carry the American torch after the catastrophe.
The more the pair talked, the more Madison wanted to drop them where they stood. But she couldn’t. Not until she cased the house out and found out exactly what they were up against. She stayed in a crouch behind the couch, waiting.
After a few minutes, the one on the porch called out. “Let’s go, man. There ain’t nothin’ here but a waste of time.”
His footsteps landed heavy on each stair and Madison exhaled in relief. After counting to five hundred, she stood up. The flashlights and voices were long gone. She made her way through the darkened living room and up the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky middle.
Two bedrooms flanked the wall next to the lit-up house and Madison eased into the closest one, keeping low to the ground as she worked her way around the bed and up to the window. Still in a crouch, she rose up just enough to peer over the sill and into the house next door.
The upstairs was dark, but down below her, the windows were bright and wide open. A man sat in a chair at a kitchen table, holding playing cards in one hand and a beer in the other. He tossed a chip into the center.
A moment later, he slammed the cards down and even from upstairs with the generator humming, Madison heard his booming, menace-laced laugh. The boss, she figured.
Including him, she counted six. They had left two men dead back at the farm. She smiled knowing that had reduced their force. But still, six armed men without a conscience among them would be hard to beat.
They would need a plan of attack that everyone followed and would all need to act together. Madison st
ayed at the edge of the window, watching their movements until the light turned off, the generator went silent, and even the bad guys went to sleep.
She checked her watch. Nearly four in the morning. She stood up and stretched, hoping no one still stood outside on watch.
With careful, measured steps she retraced her steps, pausing at the back door. Here goes nothing. She eased it open and waited. A shaky breath later and she stepped onto the porch. Ten steps and she touched grass. Twenty more and she was one house away.
Madison took off in a run. Weaving in and around bushes and abandoned cars and turned-over trash cans that smelled like death. She didn’t slow down until she turned onto the street she now called home.
She took the stairs two at a time, unlocked the front door, and stepped into the living room.
“Thank God you’re all right.”
Madison jumped at the sound of her father’s voice. “You’re awake.”
“Side effect of a bullet wound, I guess.”
Madison shut the door and locked it. “Before you yell at me, hear me out. I found them. The men who attacked us at the farm. They’re about a mile away, on the other side of campus. There’s six of them from what I can see. All armed. One guy is in charge. He’s a total jerk. The rest of them are too, actually.”
She kept talking, rattling off everything she’d learned over the hours of keeping watch until her throat ached and she ran out of things to say. At last, she fell into a chair opposite her father and took a breath.
“Are you done?”
“Pretty much.”
“Good. Because now you need to listen to me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
WALTER
863 Dewberry Lane, Chico, CA
5:00 a.m.
Walter smiled at his daughter. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning while Walter sat in the dark, waiting for Madison to come home, it hit him. My daughter’s all grown up.
It didn’t mean that she wasn’t his little girl or that she wouldn’t always wrap her arms around him for a hug. But he had to stop treating her like a child. He knew she felt as responsible as he did for the deaths of Tucker and Drew. But instead of sitting around sulking about it and pining away over poor decisions, Madison did something about it.
She risked her life, again, for the good of the group. He still remembered all the firsts. The first time he took his hand off the back of her bike and she stayed upright, pedaling all the way down the block. The first time he said goodbye when she left for summer camp. The first date he’d terrified with a 1911 and a glass of scotch.
This was a new first. The first time he really saw the woman she had become. He swallowed, hard. “I’m proud of you, Madison.”
His daughter blinked. “What?”
Walter smiled. “I’m proud of you. You almost died in a shootout, came home, dug two graves, and stood by your friend’s side as she cried. You had to be bone-tired. But you didn’t fall into bed and sleep away the terrible memories of yesterday. Instead, you went out there and took it upon yourself to help.”
“I couldn’t let Brianna down.”
“She’s lucky to have you as a friend.”
Madison shook her head. “No, she’s not. It’s because of me that Tucker’s dead. If I hadn’t insisted we come here, they would already be in Truckee. All the things that happened here, they’re all because of me.”
Walther hated to hear her inner thoughts and all the blame she heaped on her young shoulders. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
“I’m not hard enough. I should have listened when Brianna told me to wise up. I should have thought the worst of people, not the best. Ever since the power went out, I’ve been trying to convince myself that nothing has really changed. That there are still good people out there.”
“You’re right. There are.”
“Not enough.” Madison shook her head. “Every time I’ve given someone the benefit of the doubt these last two weeks, one of us has gotten hurt.”
“Tractor Boy didn’t hurt us.”
“No, but that was one time out of how many?”
Walter shrugged. He understood his daughter’s train of thought, but he didn’t want her to give in to it. She couldn’t get run over by despair and pessimism. “Isn’t it worth the risk to ensure we get those chances? That’s why our justice system is the way it is; innocent until proven guilty. It would be better to have ten guilty men go free than one innocent be sentenced.”
“The world is different now.”
“Is it? How? Because life is harder?”
“In part.”
“So because life is harder, it’s okay to presume guilt? It’s okay to shoot first and not bother to ask any questions?”
Madison frowned, her eyes searching his face as she tried to reconcile her thoughts and emotions. “Didn’t you do that at the communications building and student health center?”
Walter shook his head. “No. Not in the way you’re thinking. I assessed the situation, determined we were at risk—”
“You’re splitting hairs.”
Walter hesitated. “Maybe. But this isn’t about me. I’ve lived twice as long as you, Madison. I don’t want to see you so jaded so young.”
Madison broke eye contact, staring at her hands in her lap before speaking. “If we keep giving people chances, one of these days, someone is going to take too much. You’ve already been shot. Mom burned her hand. Wanda, and Tucker, and Drew… They’re gone.”
She glanced up. “I’m afraid that one of these days I’ll lose one of you.”
Walter nodded. He understood that fear. It lived and breathed inside of him like a parasite, feeding off his life. “I’ll be the first to admit I’ve done things these last two weeks…” He shook his head. “Hell, Madison, I’ve done things these last two days that I’m not proud of. But you’re right, it’s the fear spurring me on in those moments.” Walter leaned closer to his daughter. “We can’t live our lives constantly afraid the next person we talk to will put a bullet in our heads.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a life not worth living.”
Madison leaned back and shook her head. “So are you saying we don’t go after these guys? We don’t make them pay for what they did to Tucker and Drew?”
Walter smiled. “No, honey. I’m not saying that at all.” He tried to put into words the thoughts that crystalized in his mind as he sat awake through the night. “Once someone proves themselves to be untrustworthy, all bets are off. Those men killed without guilt or remorse. They took until we fought back. We can’t let them get away with it or the next family who stumbles across them might not be so lucky.”
During the stillness of the night when it was just him and his thoughts, Walter came to understand something about the world. It hadn’t really changed at all.
There might not be a power grid to keep the masses employed and fed and warm at night, but all of the trappings of life he took for granted were all superficial. Underneath it all, people hadn’t changed.
Turning off the lights didn’t turn off morality. The people who were content to cheat and steal now were the same people who ran stop signs and shoplifted and lied on their time sheets.
The only difference was the lack of enforcement. No supervisor stood beside the time clock, ensuring everyone punched in and out by the book. No guards stood beside the front doors to Walmart checking receipts as customers left. No police car sat at busy intersections, keeping drivers honest.
Walter knew what kind of man he was and what kind of woman his daughter had grown up to be. They would be challenged in this new world, but they wouldn’t break. They wouldn’t lose themselves in the dark.
“So you’re saying you’ll help me and Brianna fight? We’ll go after those men?”
Walter nodded. “Yes. I may not be able to charge in, guns blazing, but I’ll be there. We’ll all be there.”
Madison stood and walked over to her father before bending to kiss him o
n the cheek. “I’m going to make some coffee.”
“You don’t want to go to bed?”
She pinned him with a look. “No. I want to plan.”
DAY THIRTEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
TRACY
863 Dewberry Lane, Chico, CA
6:00 p.m.
“Are you sure we shouldn’t take a few days to recuperate? Everyone’s been through so much.”
“You mean I’ve got a bullet hole in my leg, right?”
Tracy smiled at her husband. “Mostly that, yes.”
Walter returned the smile. “I’ll be fine. Besides, this is a team effort.” He pointed at the sugar sitting on the counter. “Bring that outside, will you? Peyton is going to need it.”
Tracy didn’t know if the pain meds her husband popped that afternoon were turning his brain to scrambled eggs or if he really did mean the words coming out of his mouth. Walter Sloane was not a man to agree to team-anything except a game of pickup football or trivia night at the local pub.
But if he really meant it, then it warmed Tracy’s heart. She grabbed the bag of sugar and followed her husband’s slow limp out the back door to the driveway. Peyton stood in front of a gas grill with a pot full of something white and crystalline.
Walter took the sugar from Tracy and handed it to Peyton. “Make sure it’s a sixty-forty ratio of stump remover to sugar.”
Peyton measured and poured the sugar into the pot.
“Now turn on the heat and cook it slowly until it starts to melt, stirring the whole time. When it starts to look like peanut butter, pull it out, divide it up, and stick the rolled-up paper into it.”
Tracy’s eyes went wide. “What on earth are you two doing?”
Walter smiled. “You’ll see.”
Tracy took back the sugar with a shake of her head. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to know. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
