The lure of Angus was more than just the way he talked, his voice reaching inside her soul. Even though she’d characterize his appearance as rugged and imperfect, he was a beautiful man, both inside and out, connecting with her on a deep, emotional level.
Angus was unlike anyone she’d ever met before or since. His drive to succeed was only outdone by his intense ability to focus on a task and see it through. But that wasn’t all. It was almost like he could read her mind and knew exactly what she wanted at all times, both in the bedroom and out.
She’d never traveled anywhere beyond the borders of Colorado before he came storming into her life, literally, one rainy afternoon in July. If it weren’t for the mudslide that had stranded his vehicle, she never would have stopped to help the stranger in need.
Fate had stepped in that day, much like today, when the two of them smuggled themselves back into the USA by hiding in the bowels of a Swedish cargo ship. Their plan was working perfectly, until they ran into a roving patrol of Russians on the hunt for him.
She wasn’t sure how they knew Angus had returned, but they did, somehow zeroing in on his location before the two of them could make it to her hometown.
“The EMP should have been the first clue they were already here,” he said in a whisper. “I’m sorry, honey bear. This is all my fault. I was fooling myself, thinking they weren’t going to want retribution. We never should’ve returned.”
“We had to. For everyone’s sake,” she said, letting go of his hand. She was the one who’d convinced him to return, wanting to expose the Russian plans among other things. Angus wasn’t at fault; she was, secretly needing to see her father while they were here.
“Maybe so, but I should have made this trip alone. I never should’ve put you at risk like this.”
“But I had to come. You don’t know my contact in NORAD. He’ll only meet with me, nobody else,” she said, thankful Angus never asked about why the covert meeting was to take place in Clearwater.
“But what if he doesn’t listen?”
“He will. He trusts me. Ever since high school. I took the blame for our senior prank so he wouldn’t lose his West Point scholarship.”
“Still, I’ve acted irresponsibly, breaking every rule of my training.”
“None of that matters anymore, my love. Trust me, I knew the risks and so did you, but I’m exactly where I want to be and I wouldn’t trade a second of it. Even if right now is our last minute on Earth, I’m content to spend it with you.”
He grabbed her hand and cupped her palm around his cheek. A moment later, a hailstorm of bullets ripped up the landscape around them. Splinters of wood filled the air from the nearby trees as the two lovebirds buried their heads together in a tangle of arms. Leaves exploded to the right, then to the left, sending dirt onto their backs in clumps.
He whispered into her ear while the thundering gunshots continued in rapid bursts, “I’m going to give myself up so you can get away. They only want me.”
Misty shook her head, latching onto his arm. “No, they’ll kill you.”
“I have to, babe. It’s the only option. I’m not letting you die today. When I surrender, you need to run as fast as you can. Don’t look back.”
“No, I’m not leaving you.” Misty looked beyond her feet, scanning the tapestry behind them. There was a narrow path about twenty yards away and it led to a stand of greenery near a gathering of mature birch trees. She knew it was a long shot, but she’d rather die trying to escape than let him be murdered or captured, only to rot in some foreign jail cell. “If we keep low, I think we can make it to those trees. Looks like it goes downhill from there.”
Angus shook his head, his eyes tense. “We’ll never make it. They’ll shred us to pieces.”
“I don’t care. I’m not letting you go. No matter what,” she said, grabbing his hand with all her strength. “But I really think this big oak tree will protect us. Maybe long enough to make it to the bushes. We have to try, honey. We have to. We can’t give up. Too many lives depend on it.”
He shook his head with a steadfast look on his face.
Misty knew what that meant—he’d made up his mind and there was no way to change it. His determination was set, but she had to try again, even if it meant telling him something she’d been saving for the right moment. Granted, this wasn’t that moment, but she couldn’t wait.
“You have to go. There’s no choice now,” she said, hoping to penetrate the fortress he’d built around his decision to lay down his life for hers.
He flared a concerned look at her. “Why? What are you saying?”
“I’m pregnant,” she confessed, waiting to see his reaction.
He froze, bullets ripping up the landscape around him. Then a smile grew on his lips.
She kissed him on the cheek. “That’s why I arranged the meet in Clearwater, so I could tell my dad at the same time. I wanted both of the men in my life to hear the wonderful news at the same time.”
He nodded, his face turning soft. Tears welled in his eyes.
Right then, she knew she’d cracked his defense armor and touched his heart. She continued, this time with more urgency in her voice. “That’s why we have to escape together. Right now. Our child can’t grow up without a father.”
When the shooting stopped for a few seconds, she took action, crawling away from the oak tree with Angus in tow. Her free hand, lead elbow, hips, and both knees pushed through the leaves, leaving only half of her body exposed above the surface.
One of the attackers yelled something in Russian, then the shooting started again, bombarding her eardrums with random bangs and pops.
A few rounds whizzed past her head, one finding its way through a patch of her shoulder-length hair, dangling to the side. The round’s inertia tugged at her scalp, making her duck.
Misty continued the desperate crawl to safety, working her body even faster as the firestorm intensified. Somehow, she and Angus were still alive, even though an endless stream of lead was tearing up everything around them.
More Russian voices rang out from the road behind them, their words reaching her ears between the machine gun bursts. Even though she didn’t understand Russian, their tone and inflection told her they were desperate and pissed, frothing at the chance to take down the man who’d stolen their top-secret information.
“Keep moving,” Angus said, “They’ll try to flank us.”
She made it to the bushes, then let go of Angus’ hand and dug her way through the branches. Her fiancé was right on her heels, taking the same path she was making with her hands.
“Faster, don’t stop,” he whispered, his tone desperate.
When her feet made it through the foliage, she discovered she’d been correct about the downhill grade. Unfortunately, it was a steep drop-off, taking the ground away in an instant.
She fell feet first, sliding down the embankment on her backside with only the force of gravity in control. The path was Teflon slick, thanks to a bevy of compacted pine needles and oak leaves covering its surface.
Misty brought her arms up to block a gauntlet of branches from whacking her in the face. Tree after tree flew past, some on the right and others to the left. The slide path banked sharply around a stand of boulders, taking her with it like an engineered bobsled course.
She took a peek behind her to check on Angus. He was still with her, though he was sliding headfirst, his groans intensifying with each passing second. At least the sound of gunfire was fading, the mountainside taking them away from harm.
Misty wasn’t sure how long they’d been falling when she finally spotted the end of the ride coming at her. She lifted her legs and landed butt first in a low spot, only a short distance from the edge of a river.
The leaves were thick when she hit, cradling her in a blanket of softness up to her neck. She thought she might sink deeper into the compost, but her shoes found the hardpan below.
Angus arrived next, his right shoulder catching hers as he zipped pas
t. He tumbled out of control and disappeared into the leaves.
She waited for him to make an appearance. But he didn’t, sending her into a panic. Her hands dug into the leaves as she searched from left to right. She hoped to find skin or clothing, but only discovered a cold dampness between the leaves.
“Angus!” she cried out, continuing her hunt with a step ahead. She fished around the leaves, tossing them into the air as she dug. He had to be here, somewhere.
Another minute went by before something inside her made her crane her neck to look up. Her eyes scanned the ridge above. All clear. No Russians. Not yet, anyway, but she knew they’d appear soon.
She moved a foot to her left to tunnel into another area. Right on cue, her fingers made contact with something round and hard. Wait, check that. It was soft with hair—his head. She moved her hands lower and found his shoulders, digging her reach under his armpits. It took all her strength, but she managed to pull him to the surface.
When his eyes finally came into view, she gasped. They were closed. He must have been knocked out cold, probably due to the four-inch gash on his head, the skin hanging open and bleeding in spurts.
Just then, a thought came unbidden into her mind. He could have been dead. She couldn’t tell. Her heart beat at an even faster pace. Regardless, there wasn’t time to find out, not with the Russians hunting from above. She moved her hands into a rescue hold, much like a lifeguard would use to save a drowning victim. She tugged at his frame, dragging him free from the mound of leaves and onto the sand that bordered the river.
Misty put his limp body down and checked the ridge again for activity. Still no sign of Russians. She needed to get Angus out of here while there was still time, but she didn’t know how. Carrying him wasn’t an option. He was too big and she wasn’t strong enough.
That only left the river. The current was swift with whitecaps popping across the raging water. Maybe they could float downstream a few miles, far enough to escape the reach of the Russians. She’d have to keep his head above water and avoid any rocks. A risky option to be sure, but the only one. So far, luck had been on their side. Maybe it would continue.
Misty bent over, latching onto his torso from behind. She yanked with all her strength to begin the haul to the river. The water would be cold, so she steeled herself for the shock that would come next.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Mayor Buckley opened the front door to Charmer’s Market and walked inside. He counted five customers milling about, each with a portable food basket draped over their arm.
Some of the store shelves were noticeably empty, but that didn’t seem to dissuade the shoppers, whose eyes were locked like heat-seeking missiles, scanning the aisles for targets.
One of the customers was William King, the curly-haired owner of the Silver King Mine. The candy aisle had the lanky man’s undivided interest, his back turned at an angle to Buckley.
Grace Charmer waved at Buckley from the cash register that was located just inside the front door. Her thin smile and welcoming eyes indicated she was in good spirits, probably because the stampede of food sales had finally slowed down.
The gray-haired widow wasn’t getting any younger, and after the broomstick fight with Allison Rainey, she certainly needed a vacation. If nothing else, some sedatives and a good night’s rest. Or two.
Buckley gave her a friendly nod, then cruised past the register on his way to King’s position. When he arrived, he cleared his throat and waited for the blond man to finish dumping two candy bars into his basket.
When King turned around, Buckley said, “I’ve been looking all over town for you, Bill.”
“Well, what do you know? I was just about to head over to see you, Mayor.”
“Then I guess this is good timing,”
“Do you have some news?”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to locate your ex-wife or your son.”
The man’s face turned a deep shade of red. “Shit, I knew it. That bitch skipped town for good. I should’ve had her arrested when I had the chance.”
“Easy now, Bill. We really don’t know if she left town or not. All we know for sure is that they are still unaccounted for.”
“Well, she did it once, so it’s not a stretch to assume she did it again,” King snorted, his eyes darting back and forth. “It’s that damn Bunker guy. He’s the reason for all of this. I know it.”
Before Buckley could respond, Grace yelled from the cash register, “Hey, look!”
Buckley turned to see her pointing at the front window just as a full-sized semi-truck rolled past the front of the store. The white tractor-trailer had a series of four blue letters stenciled on it, which were highlighted by a blue stripe running diagonally from low to high.
“Are you kidding me?” King asked. “FEMA?”
“Damn, that was fast,” Buckley muttered, letting the revelation sink into his brain. With communications down, the town had no way to call for help, yet the Federal Emergency Management Agency was here with vehicles that worked after the EMP took down everything. He was impressed with their disaster planning and reaction time, both right on the mark, bringing them here when the citizens needed them most.
Two more massive vehicles drifted by on the pavement outside, the rumble of their weight sending a slight shimmy into his feet. The second truck was another lengthy tractor-trailer with the same four letters and blue accents as the first.
However, the next one was about half as long, with the words EMERGENCY OPERATIONS stenciled on its side in bold red letters. The radar dish mounted just behind the cab was facing the rear of the vehicle, drawing Buckley’s eyes to the access ladder attached to the back.
“This has to be some kind of all-time record,” King said in a sarcastic tone, standing next to Buckley. The shopping basket was still in his hand. “It took FEMA, what, like a week to show up after Katrina hit?”
“Yeah, something like that,” Buckley answered, never taking his eyes from the window as the parade of trucks continued, one after another.
“Jesus, it looks like they sent the whole fleet,” King said, his eyes pinched. “A fleet that still runs after the EMP. Someone was prepared.”
The hairs on the back of Buckley’s neck started to tingle, tickling the skin around them. The feds must have prioritized Clearwater’s situation somehow. Even though he was thankful for their quick response, he wasn’t sure if their sudden appearance was a good thing or not. He needed to find out. “I should probably get out there.”
“I’ll come with you,” King said, putting his basket down on the checkout counter as they walked past the register.
“Hey, you need to pay for this,” Grace said, holding up the basket.
“Later,” King told her, pushing through the door first. Buckley followed.
King came to an abrupt stop on the sidewalk, grabbing at the sleeve of the Mayor’s suit coat. The mine owner pointed to the right, down the street. “Check it out. That’s not going to make old Doc Marino happy.”
Buckley spun on his heels to see yet another style of truck approaching. This one was just as long as a traditional semi, except its trailer wasn’t a perfect rectangle. It had two areas along the sides that stuck out, like a retracted sleeper extension on a RV.
The words MOBILE MEDICAL UNIT were written in red on the side, just under the blue FEMA name and logo. Buckley tried to peek inside its windows as it drove past, but they were tinted black—so much so, he couldn’t see inside, even through the windshield. He figured the blackout tint was done as a security measure.
Just then, his mind went into imaginary mode, visualizing the convoy rolling into a federal disaster area, where a horde of desperate citizens suddenly comes out of nowhere to swarm their vehicles. Tactically speaking, the tinting now made sense to him.
“I wonder if they think there’s some kind of radiation leak,” King said. “You know, after the EMP took everything down. Don�
�t forget, Fort St. Vrain is just north of Denver.”
Buckley needed to reign in King’s wild theories before someone else caught wind of them. “It is, but that nuclear plant was shut down in 1989.”
“I know, but they still store tons of nuclear waste there, deep underground. Don’t you remember the protests? The news couldn’t get enough of it.”
“You’re reaching, Bill.”
“Then there’s the uranium mining. Let’s not forget what that material is used for.”
“I thought those mines were shut down in Colorado?”
“Not all. There’s at least one that’s still operational. And it’s a lot closer than you think.”
Buckley wondered if King was hinting at something. Something to do with the Silver King mine. If he was, then King must have gotten caught up in the moment, sharing information he probably shouldn’t have. “I guess we’ll know more shortly.”
The Mayor checked the rest of the seemingly endless convoy for the stenciled letters of CDC on the sides. He didn’t see any. FEMA was clearly running the show.
Buckley watched the vehicles complete their slow lap around the town square and park single file. The doors to each vehicle flew open and two men wearing dark sunglasses got out of each cab. He didn’t see any women and everyone appeared to be dressed the same—plain black pants and shirts—long-sleeved. “I think we have our answer.”
“Yeah, no Hazmat suits. Must be something else.”
“Like I figured. This isn’t about radiation.” There was more he could say to take a few shots at King and his crazy theories, but Buckley held his tongue.
The swarm of newcomers quickly spread out and tended to their duties, each moving quietly and without hesitation. Buckley got the feeling this rollout had been rehearsed—a welcome change from what he’d read about after the failed deployment in New Orleans when Katrina hit in August 2005.
Bunker: Boxed Set (Books 1, 2, and 3) Page 35
