She looked up at the sound of the tires on gravel and parted the curtains over the sink. Her heart almost stopped at the sight of the police car. A hundred scenarios played out in her mind since the power outage, and among those were half-formed and quickly dismissed visions of official notification of something bad happening to Jordan.
Panic set in as she watched the cop car roll to a stop, and she gripped the edge of the kitchen counter and squeezed her eyes shut to say a short but fervent prayer for her husband’s safety. She opened her eyes to look out the window again, studying the car more closely—Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department—now that was strange. Two deputies got out of the car and moved towards her front door. She hurried to meet them.
The front door was open in an attempt to catch a bit of a breeze. As she hurried across the living room, she studied the approaching deputies through the latched screen door. They were both large men, their uniforms stretched tightly across muscled shoulders, the short sleeves of their khaki uniform shirts straining around bulging biceps. Both had heavily tattooed forearms. She sensed something was wrong immediately, despite the disarming manner of the first deputy up on the porch. She didn’t open the screen door.
“Afternoon, ma’am. How are you?” the deputy asked through the screen.
“I’m fine, officer. How can I help you?” she replied.
“Well, it’s us who hope to do the helping,” he said. “We’re just visiting folks to make sure they got what they need and to see if there’s anything we can do to assist.”
“Quite commendable,” Laura said, “but I’m a bit confused. Y’all crossed the county line about three miles back. This is Chambers County.”
The man hesitated only a fraction of a second, then smiled and nodded. “Times like these, we all gotta help each other out, so county lines don’t mean much. If folks need help, we’ll do our best to give it. Protect and serve, that’s what it’s all about.”
Laura nodded. “Again, quite commendable, but we’re fine.” She immediately regretted the ‘we.’
The man didn’t register the plural, he just nodded. “I’d say so. Looks like you have a nice setup here. Is that a generator I hear running?”
“Just a small one. We, that is my husband and I, run it a few hours a day to keep the fridge cool and the freezer in the barn from defrosting. We don’t have enough fuel for more than that.”
“Well, might be we can help you out with the fuel. I’ll check it out when we get back to the office and see if there’s some allotment to spare. In the meantime, I guess we’ll be going.” He turned as if to leave, but the second deputy looked confused. Then the first deputy turned back.
“Actually, there is one thing you could do for us if it ain’t too much trouble,” he said.
“Yes?”
The man flashed a sheepish grin. “I hate to ask, but bein’ as how y’all got a working fridge and all, do you think we could have a couple of glasses of ice water. Cold water’s been pretty scarce since the power went out, and we’re parched from riding around in that car all day. A cool drink would be welcome.”
She hesitated. “Of course. Wait right here and I’ll bring it out.”
“Thank you kindly,” the deputy said, and Laura nodded and turned to go back to the kitchen.
As soon as she was out of their sight, she raced to the kitchen pantry and retrieved the Glock 19, racking the slide to chamber a round before stuffing it into the back of her shorts. She’d considered closing and locking the front door on the pair, but knew they’d break through the latched screen door and the old wooden front door in seconds anyway, and decided not to alert them in order to buy a little time. She left the pantry and raced down the hall to the spare bedroom. The twins looked up in surprise.
“Okay,” Laura whispered, “I don’t have time to explain. There are some very bad men at the front door. I want you to slip out the back door and hide in the barn until I come get you. The gun safe in the garage is open, so stop on the way and get Dad’s shotgun and the .30-.30. Be quiet and be careful not to be seen. Do NOT come back to the house until I come to get you, no matter what happens. Do you understand?”
They both started to speak at once, but Julie got her protest out first. “But, Mom—”
“QUIET!” Laura hissed. “No buts. Just do it and do it now!”
“Wh-what if you don’t come?” Jana asked. “Wh-what if the men come?”
Laura’s face hardened. “Then shoot them. They’re dressed like deputies, but they’re fakes, so don’t hesitate or believe anything they might say to lure you out of hiding. When they … go away … or you shoot them, take the truck and get to the Smiths’ house as soon as possible.”
“What … what about you?” Julie asked, almost sobbing now.
“Don’t worry about me,” Laura said, struggling to keep the emotion from her voice. “Now GO!”
Both girls nodded and then wrapped Laura in a fierce group hug. She hugged them back and then broke away, pushing them towards the door, emotion robbing her of the power of speech. In the hall, she watched them move quietly toward the back door, then turned back toward the kitchen, the Glock at the small of her back a cold comfort.
***
Jukes licked his lips as he watched the woman’s ass through the screen door as she disappeared around a corner. He tried the screen door and found it latched.
“What we gonna do?” asked Morgan.
“Nothing,” Jukes said, “she ain’t gotta clue. When she comes back, she’ll open the screen door. We’ll grab her and have a little party. Easy as pie.”
“Why don’t we just bust in and grab her now?”
Jukes shook his head. “‘Cause this is our new place, dumb ass. There ain’t no need to be destructive.”
Morgan looked around nervously. “What about her husband?”
“I swear, Morgan, sometimes I think you’re dumber than a day-old turd! There ain’t no husband, leastwise not close, or he’d of answered the door, now wouldn’t he? And if he drives up, we’ll hear his tires on the gravel and we give him a nice warm welcome. Maybe we can even let him watch us do his old lady before we kill him. Now you got any other stupid questions?”
Morgan glared at Jukes and fell silent, nursing his resentment.
“How long does it take to pour two glasses of water?” Morgan said.
Jukes looked pissed. “Not this long,” he said, and pulled a switchblade from his pocket to pop the blade and slice the screen adjacent to the hook. He pocketed the knife and stuck his hand through the opening. The screen door opened with the shriek of dry hinges.
***
Laura heard the plaintive squeak of the screen door followed by hurried footsteps, and was reaching for the Glock just as the men entered the kitchen, guns drawn. Outmatched, she moved her hand away from the concealed weapon and decided to play for time.
“What is it? What’s wrong? I was just getting your water, but I wanted to check the pantry. I think we have a little coffee left, and I thought you might like some.”
The lead deputy holstered his sidearm, motioning his partner to do the same.
“Well, that’s right nice of you, ma’am,” he said, “and sorry to bust in, but we were concerned something might be wrong. Can’t be too careful these days, ya know.”
Laura nodded and moved toward the fridge. “I’ll get that water now.”
The big man moved closer—already too close, she realized. He closed the distance between them and pinned her arms to her side in a tight hug.
Laura felt the hard bulk of his body pressing against her, along with evidence of his aroused state. He stank of stale sweat, and his breath confirmed dental hygiene was not a priority. She felt rough stubble scratching her face as he bent and nuzzled her neck. She fought down revulsion and willed herself not to resist. She pressed her body back against him.
He lifted his lips from her neck and drew back to look at her, smiling.
“Well, well, well. Now ain’t this a
nice little surprise,” he said.
Laura managed a smile of her own and shrugged in his grasp. “I’m not stupid. I know you’re going to take what you want, so I don’t see any need to get hurt in the process.”
The man relaxed his grip. “Now that there is a good attitude, and I think we’re gonna get along just fine.” He spoke back over his shoulder. “What’d I tell you, Morgan. This is gonna work out perfect—”
Laura had worked her right hand to the small of her back, and though still in the loose embrace of her attacker, she whipped the Glock between them and pressed it to the man’s crotch.
He looked back at her, anger clouding his face as he squeezed her tighter, which only managed to dig the Glock more forcefully into his crotch.
“That’s a nine millimeter with hollow points. I’ve already used about half the trigger pull, and it’s only going to take a twitch to discharge it,” Laura said, “so unless you want to start singing soprano, I suggest you let me go and tell your friend over there to put his gun on the kitchen island and lay down on his stomach.”
Her attacker dropped his hands to his sides and spoke over his shoulder again, to where his partner had his pistol out, pointed at Laura in a two-handed grip.
“You heard her, Morgan. Do what she says.”
“Screw that,” said the second man. “I got her dead to rights. I can drop her right now.”
“And she twitches and blows my junk away, you idiot. NOW PUT THE GUN DOWN!”
Laura watched the one called Morgan’s face as indecision warred with the need to comply. He started to lower his gun to the kitchen island when the sound of a floorboard squeaking came through the door to the hallway. He whirled towards the hallway door, gun still in hand.
“There’s somebody else here,” he said.
The girls, thought Laura, and as Morgan moved toward the hall doorway with his gun raised, her only instinct was protecting her children. She whipped the Glock from her attacker’s crotch toward Morgan.
But freed from the imminent threat of emasculation, her attacker was too fast for her. As she brought the gun up, he hammered her wrist with his left hand before she got a shot off, and the Glock clattered on the floor. Simultaneously, a powerful right fist to her gut doubled her over. She dropped like a rock and lay gasping, her own attacker all but forgotten as she focused on Morgan framed in the hallway door with his gun drawn. Then there was a deafening blast and the back of Morgan’s shirt erupted in a red mist as he sailed backwards to land on the kitchen floor, a lifeless lump.
“MOM?” she heard, followed by running footsteps, and her blood ran cold as she whipped her head toward the remaining attacker. He had his own gun out, ignoring her to focus on the immediate threat. He dropped behind the cover of the kitchen island, only his right knee visible to her as he crouched, waiting for his target to appear in the hallway door.
The footsteps were coming closer, but her attempts to call out a warning yielded a barely audible croak. She spotted her Glock halfway to the fridge and clawed her way toward it, forcing her oxygen-starved body to move, reaching the gun a scant second before her daughters burst into the kitchen. She flopped over on her back and sent a round into her attacker’s exposed knee.
The man screamed in pain as he collapsed on the floor, his body in full sight now as he brought his own gun to bear. But Laura was faster and put shot after shot center mass, not stopping until the slide locked open and her hand started shaking so badly the gun fell from her hand and clattered on the floor beside her.
And then her daughters were beside her, and she hugged them tight with trembling arms and sobbed great racking sobs, and vowed come what may in this strange new world, no one would harm her children while there was life in her body.
***
They were big men, with the heavy musculature of bodybuilders, and it took improvisation to get the bodies into the trunk of the police car. Laura backed the cruiser up to the front porch and she and her daughters dragged the bodies most of the way on a plastic shower curtain before spanning the distance between the open trunk and the elevated porch with planks from the barn. Even at that, it was over an hour after they started when they rolled the second body in and closed the trunk.
“Okay,” Laura said, “I’m going to park this out of sight in the barn until we’re ready to leave. Y’all get cleaned up and make sure you get all the blood off. I’ll do the same when I get back, but I don’t want to take too long. I want to be rid of them before anyone comes looking.”
The girls gave subdued nods, and Laura’s heart went out to them. She’d have done anything to spare them the grisly task, but it was simply beyond her physical capability to do it alone.
“What are we going to do with them?” Julie asked quietly.
“I’m gonna drive their car to the Boyd’s Bayou crossing down the road. You girls will follow me in the truck, and when we get there, we’ll push their car into the bayou. We’ve had a lot of rain, so the water should be deep enough to cover it.”
“But we can’t drive,” Jana said. “We don’t even have our learner permits yet.”
Laura shook her head. “But you both know HOW to drive. Dad’s been letting you drive the truck around the pasture for two years.”
“But what if the police … oh yeah. I guess that’s not really a big deal,” Jana said.
Laura nodded, longing for a time when a ticket for driving without a license was the worst thing they had to worry about.
“All right, go get cleaned up. I’ll be right back,” she said.
Half an hour later, Laura was behind the wheel of the cruiser as she turned on to the county road, hoping against hope they didn’t encounter any other traffic. She looked in the rearview mirror and confirmed the girls were following at a safe distance, then looked back to the road ahead, second-guessing her hastily devised plan. The bayou was about fifty feet wide and varied from four to eight feet in depth, depending on the season. They’d had a fair amount of rain over the last few weeks, but the bottom of the canal was irregular. What if there wasn’t enough water near the bridge to cover the car? She willed herself to stop worrying and focus on the task at hand. She didn’t have a better plan. This one had to work.
After the longest four miles she’d ever driven, she spotted the bridge, a low, unimposing concrete span raised a few feet higher than the road to accommodate the bayou at full flood, approached by a gradual ramp on either end and fitted with steel guardrails on each side. She slowed, coasting to a stop near the top of the slight incline just before entering the bridge proper. She put the cruiser in park and rolled down all four windows, then cut the wheels to the right and left them there. She got out just as the girls stopped behind her, and motioned them out of the truck.
“Okay, I’m gonna get in the truck and pull it up against the back bumper of the cop car so it doesn’t roll backward. I want one of you to get in the cop car and put it in neutral, then get out and shut the door and get well out of the way. Got it?”
Both girls nodded. “I’ll do it,” Julie said, moving to the cop car as Laura climbed behind the wheel of the truck.
When Julie completed the task and both girls were safely on the other side of the narrow road, Laura pressed the accelerator. As soon as the cop car started to move, she mashed down hard, sending both vehicles surging forward twenty feet before she stomped the brakes, stopping the truck as the police car shot off the road and bounced down the slight embankment toward the bayou. It hit the water with a grand splash and plowed forward, sending a bow wave to bounce off the opposite bank. It sank steadily, the weight of the engine pulling the front end deeper, until water began to pour into the open windows and the car plunged under the water.
Almost.
The car came to rest with a narrow strip of the trunk lid showing, reading SHERIFF in bright green letters against a white background. Laura watched it with a lump in her stomach and willed it to sink. It didn’t.
“What are we going to do, Mom?”
She turned to find Jana and Julie beside her, looking down at the still-visible evidence of their deed.
“Not much we can do, except maybe pray for rain. Get in, girls, we need to get out of here before anyone sees us.”
Chapter Sixteen
FEMA
Emergency Operations Center
Mount Weather
Near Bluemont, VA
Day 17, 5:00 a.m.
Congressman Simon Tremble sipped the coffee, his appreciation of the improvement in rations since he’d ‘joined the team’ tempered by the knowledge of widespread privation outside the privileged bubble of Mount Weather. He set the mug on the coffee table and picked up the bound notes for the ‘briefing’ he was scheduled to deliver over the FEMA National Radio System. He shook his head and tossed the offensive document across the room.
It was little more than a scripted cheerleading session, full of lies about ‘help being on the way,’ and assurances ‘things will be improving soon.’ He had difficulty reading it without flying into a rage, and he knew he could never speak those words into a microphone without betraying all he held dear. He stood and paced the living area of the small apartment he shared with his son, then stopped to look out the window at the lush foliage just becoming visible in the growing light of predawn. Sunlight and scenery was one advantage at least, of being ‘special guests’ of the President.
The massive underground complex at Weather Mountain teemed with bureaucrats and their lackeys, and it would be all but impossible to sequester anyone there confidentially. But spread over more than four hundred acres of mountaintop, the sprawling surface facility over the underground complex was impressive in its own right, and separate buildings lined roads winding through strips of untouched woodland. Tremble and his son were on the third floor of just such a building, at the far end of an access road with no internal traffic.
Under a Tell-Tale Sky: Disruption - Book 1 Page 29
