“And I wish things were different.”
Lauren nodded. “So do I.”
Chapter 38
As Christian rolled up his window, he watched Lauren march decisively away and retrieve her gear, and a sensation that was becoming all too familiar struck him with the force of a sledgehammer in mid-swing.
She’d once again drawn a line in the sand; nothing said or done was going to sway her sentiments or change her mind. All he could do now was acquiesce to her wishes, get back to Grace and home as fast as he could, return the missing girls to their families, and advise everyone about what had happened here. If time was on his side, maybe something could still be done to prevent her from making the gravest of mistakes.
Christian picked up the folder that Lauren had only moments ago told him to guard with his life. He gave it a cursory look before placing it on the seat beneath his thigh. As he shifted the transmission into drive, he went to inquire about the folder’s contents, but a small voice called to him amidst the cackling from the backseat, cancelling his thought process.
“Mr. Christian? Can you turn on the buttheat for us?”
Caught mid-thought and somewhat off guard, he began searching for a switch or button.
“It’s there,” August said, jutting his chin. “Below the touchscreen, on the right. The two in the middle.”
Christian sent him a quick glance coupled with a nod of gratitude. He then pressed the buttons until three tiny LEDs were alight on each one. “Buttheat coming right up, ladies.”
“Thank you, Mr. Christian,” the voice cooed.
“You’re welcome.” He pulled away from the camp and onto the forestry road while peeking at his side mirror for Lauren once more.
The girls’ combined attention soon became focused on the soothing warmth radiating beneath them, and they quieted down to watch the wooded scenery scroll by. A silence took over the passenger cabin, bringing with it a dissatisfying unease. The missing had been retrieved, but someone had nonetheless been left behind. And her not being here wasn’t good enough. But what could be done?
After a mile of driving on the forest road, a thought popped into Christian’s head, and he regarded the agent. “What’s the typical inventory for a tactical loadout these days?”
“Pardon me?”
“I was once FPS. My principal station was the Stephenson Depot Emergency Ops facility. I did a stint on the mountain in Area B before my transfer to Camp Bravo, where my position fell under DHS Security.”
August twisted to get a better look at Christian’s face, straining to do so, evidence of pain showing in the squints of his eyes.
“Four men, me and three guys I grew up with, got jobs at FEMA before the shit hit the fan,” Christian went on. “The positions were genuine, but our reasons for being there were fraudulent. We were to infiltrate as deep as we could, gather intel, and report back to our group.” He paused. “Not long after our transfers to Bravo, our covers were outed somehow, and we almost didn’t make it out of there. On the final leg of our escape, we drove into a dead end, and the retrieval team pursuing us blew up the truck we were in. The two with me were killed, and I barely made it out alive. Whatever they hit us with turned that Yukon into a hunk of shredded metal. Any idea what it could have been?”
August’s brow furrowed. “That was you?”
Christian nodded. “Yeah.”
“So you’re the one. The defector who got away. Small world,” August mused. “I remember that day. The whole plantation went on full-scale, goatfucked red alert. All our pins, passwords, log-ins and biometrics got scrambled and scrubbed. Security protocols and heuristics were forced to undergo a thorough overhaul. One of your collaborators was executed on the spot, wasn’t he? Single shot to the back of the head, I believe.”
“I can do without the recap.”
“I’ll digress, then,” August said. “A grenade, if it’s placed right, can tear a truck up pretty good. But that takes MLB pitcher skills, and no one at Bravo has an arm like that. In all probability they hit you with a shoulder-fired AT4. Every vehicle gets outfitted with at least one. It’s standard outside-the-wire complement.”
Christian shook his head, bemused. “What else is considered standard?”
“There really isn’t a standard per se. Armament category and yield, amount and type of provisions are contingent on the mission and the size of the task force.”
“Indulge me.”
“Sure. Why not? A good conversation makes the ride seem faster,” August began. “Each man is assigned an automatic rifle and his choice of sidearm, ten magazines for each and enough rounds to fill them. Add to that six flashbangs, six frag grenades, level three-plus armor plates and a carrier, knee and elbow pads, ballistic helmet, etcetera. The menu is augmented up or down to meet operational guidelines. Each vehicle gets a twelve-gauge, Remington 870 or Mossberg 590 variety, loaded with buckshot, slugs or sabot specialty rounds, a case of ammunition for every caliber on board, one or two shoulder-fired anti-armor weapons, and four to six M18 Claymores or bricks of C-4. And detonators.”
“C-4?”
“It’s probably the most useful thing we carry. You can burn or blow up just about anything with the stuff,” commented August. “Do you think she’s crazy enough to follow through with what she’s planning?”
Christian pushed harder on the accelerator. “Crazy? I don’t know, maybe. Determined? Without question. She’s bent on this now, that much is obvious.”
“Do you know any way of talking her out of it?”
Christian slowly shook his head.
“You might want to find a way, and fast. She’s going to get herself killed. You know that, right?”
Christian didn’t answer.
“Of course you do. Do you think she knows that?” asked August.
“She knows. But I don’t think it matters to her.”
“Why wouldn’t it matter?”
“Because Lauren’s different,” Christian opened with a lurid sigh. “I’ve seen people stare death in the face before. I’ve done it myself, and it’s not something I want to repeat. No matter how tough you are, how much training you’ve had, or how brave you think you are, nothing prepares you for that moment. Lauren is the only person I’ve ever seen stare death in the face without a single dash of fear; and I’m talking absolute zero. Cold as an Antarctic ice ridge. It’s as if she’s okay with it or welcomes it. Like she’s got some pact with death itself, and so long as she doesn’t fear it, she gets to be invincible.”
August tried hard to widen his weary eyes. “No one’s invincible. And having no fear of death won’t keep it at bay. Eventually it comes for everyone. She has access to enough firepower now to do some real damage, which she could potentially bring to bear, but only if she’s smart about it and can find some way to stay alive. One screwup though, one false move, and they will shred her without thinking twice.”
Chapter 39
The cabin
Trout Run Valley
Tuesday, March 15th
Alan awoke at the break of dawn, rubbed his eyes open, and found that he was in bed alone. Confused as to why, he rose, got dressed, and went about his usual early morning routine.
As he made his way to the hall, the smell of coffee brewing lured him toward the kitchen in a trance, where the sight of his wife sitting inertly at the table gave him a start. Michelle was fully dressed, but in the same pants and hoodie she’d worn the day before, and her boots were on and laced, giving off the impression that she’d either slept in her clothes or hadn’t bothered to change. Steam wafted from a hot beverage mug on the table before her, safeguarded by her fingertips.
Hearing his approach, she didn’t move a muscle, only stared out the window into the yard and past. “No one has seen her,” she said in a monotone, “not a one. Not since Saturday. Today is Tuesday.”
Alan eyed her through semi-blurred vision, inching forward gingerly. “Who all have you asked?”
“Everyone.”
“You did all that this morning already?”
“No, only some of it. I started last night about an hour after we went to bed. I waited until I knew you were asleep; then I got up.” Michelle took a sip of coffee, licked her lips, and set the mug down, her wearied, shaky eyes never leaving the window. “I went to the Taylors’ first; as you can imagine, that was a big mistake. Sarah’s mind is single tracking, and I don’t blame her, but me asking about my daughter’s whereabouts didn’t go over well. She lost her mind, screamed at me, and told me to leave, and I did. Bryan was apologetic, of course, same as he always is; like it matters. I went to the Ackermann-Vincent infirmary after that. Grace is unchanged. She’s responsive, but still unconscious. And neither Dr. Jim nor Dr. Pamela recall seeing Lauren since Saturday.”
Alan pulled a chair out and took a seat beside his wife.
“I stopped at the Masons’ and knocked on the door a few times, but no one answered,” Michelle continued. “I heard yelling from inside. Fred and Kim were arguing, at each other’s throats. I’ve never heard them talk to each other like that before. Guess it isn’t hard to comprehend; their family has been incomplete for months now. How they’ve gotten by this long without knowing what happened to Chad or Mark is anyone’s guess.” She paused. “I felt like giving up after that, thought to come back home and go to bed, but couldn’t bring myself to do it, you know? So I kept walking. I passed by so many new faces and had so many flashlight beams shined at me it felt like I was sixteen again at my first rock concert. Then a big truck pulled up beside me, that big black one Jade drives. She opened the door and told me to get in, and I did. She asked me what I was doing, and I told her, then we talked for a while.”
“What did you two talk about?”
“Me.” Michelle smirked. “And what I was doing walking the road late at night. She told me it was reckless being there, worrying like I was, as tired as I was, doing what I was doing; pretty much all the things you would say.” She took another sip. “So I told her to get fucked.”
“Michelle…”
“I’m a mother, Alan. And that woman is most definitely not,” Michelle began sternly. “Handing off unsolicited advice on something she knows nothing about and doesn’t concern her? She’s lucky that’s all she got out of me. But she surprised me; she didn’t take it badly at all. She wasn’t the least bit insulted either. She just apologized, told me she was wrong for overstepping, then asked where I wanted to go. After what I’d said, I didn’t think she was serious, but she was. So we made a stop at Whitney and Scott’s new place. It’s nice. They’ve put a lot of work into it, turned that house into a home for themselves. I’m proud of them. But they are just devastated over Brooke not being there. And neither of them has seen Lauren. We stopped at Amy and Pete’s for another dose of not-so-good news; then Jade brought me home. I went to the bedroom, checked on you, and I’ve been here ever since, learning what chronic insomnia is like.”
“You are beyond exhausted.” Alan reached for Michelle’s hand. “Are you sure there’s no chance of you getting any sleep? Even after all that?”
“None. Not until Lauren is home. And don’t argue with me about it, okay? I know I look tired. I know I look like shit, but I don’t know what else to do. My mind won’t let me cave.” Michelle shuddered. “While you were gone all that time, all I had was Lauren and Grace. They kept me moving, Alan. It was tough, really tough sometimes. I didn’t know the first thing to do some days, but those two kept me going. Having Norman around was a blessing too. He filled in a lot of blanks; the chores I didn’t know the first thing about or how to do, he handled them. But he’s gone now, never to return. And Grace isn’t here…and now…neither is Lauren.”
Alan scooted his chair to meet with hers. He reached for her and pulled Michelle into him, her body rigid against his. “I’m here. I know sometimes it doesn’t seem real to you, because it doesn’t to me. But I am here, Michelle. And all of this will blow over. Grace will be okay. She’ll recover. And Lauren will come home. I promise.”
Michelle’s tension gave in a little. “You’d better be right. Because I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
Breaking their one-on-one focus, a door in the hallway creaked open, and Lee emerged. Looking disheveled, he yawned, sent a wave, and bumbled into the kitchen. “Could I have some of that coffee, please?” he asked, pointing to the stove.
Michelle leaned back in her chair to ogle him. “Of course you can.” She rose. “Hang on. I’ll get it for you.”
Lee cracked a smile and thanked her, bid Alan good morning, and took a seat across the table. “Thought I might get some fresh air today…as in, not in my room. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
Alan shook his head. “We were just having a family chat. And since you’re family, the answer is no.”
Michelle returned a moment later with Lee’s coffee, then offered her husband a serving.
“Make mine a double, thank you.”
Lee tore open two packets of sugar and stirred the contents into his. “So, what are we discussing?”
“Just…current events,” Alan said.
Lee squinted, repeating the answer to himself, unsure of what to make of it.
“We were talking about Lauren,” Michelle blurted out, plopping back into her seat with Alan’s mug.
“Oh.” Lee’s eyebrows curled upward, and he visually perused the room. “Where is she?”
Alan retrieved his coffee mug. “I wish we knew. Apparently, no one’s seen her since Saturday.”
“What’s today?”
“Tuesday,” replied Michelle.
Lee nodded, spinning his spoon and poring over the vortex of liquid in his mug. “I saw her Sunday.”
“You did?” Michelle gulped, her eyes widening. “Where?”
“Where we had the services for Dad and John,” Lee muttered hesitantly, the response afflicting him. “The funeral.”
“We didn’t see her there.”
“No, she came after.” Lee brought his mug to his lips but did not partake. “She waited until everyone left, when it was just me there. Then she just…appeared. And we talked for a while. She was in a mood, too. We both were.” He set his mug down, having yet to drink from it. “She really hasn’t been home at all since then?”
Alan and Michelle shared a panicky glance, supplying the answer while failing to reply.
Lee blew a puff of air through his lips and looked downward. “Wow, unreal.” He removed the spoon from his mug and shifted awkwardly in his seat, folding his arms. “Have you ever heard someone say things that were completely out of character? Things you’ve never heard them say…that normally you wouldn’t even worry about, but you do anyway because you feel something behind them because of how they were said? That was her; that was how she was. Most of it came out like…crazy talk, like I didn’t know who I was talking to.”
Michelle and Alan Russell stared hard at the downtrodden young man, hinged now on every word he spoke. It had barely been five days since he’d lost both his father and his brother, two since their bodies had been laid to rest. He hadn’t so much as spoken to anyone since and scarcely left his room. They’d known him virtually all his life, and in this moment, he was as humble and forthright as he’d ever been with them.
Lee rubbed his eyes. “I don’t remember her exact words. I just remember a lot of it was abnormal, almost creepy. She had this look in her eyes, it was empty and cold, but there was something else there, too. Like anger, but way worse.” He trailed off, biting his lip. “Lauren wants revenge for what happened, and she means to get it, no matter what. And I think she meant every word she said.”
The Russells stared at him with tormented gazes, bowled over at the disclosure.
“And then she just left,” Lee finished.
Alan ran a hand over his head. “Where did she go?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t say. She just walked away, back to the woods in her bare feet.”
&nb
sp; Michelle glowered, fingers to parted lips. “She was barefoot?”
Lee nodded.
The trio alerted at a robust knock on the door. Michelle proceeded to rise to answer it, but Lee got to his feet first, eager to excuse himself.
The door opened, and holding just beyond the threshold, clad in full combat loadout, was Dave Graham. Lips forming a flat line, he sent a nod to Lee and said, “Good morning, all. Hope I’m not intruding.”
Michelle bade him enter. “No, not at all. Please come in. Make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.” Sloughing away some loose dirt from his boots, he slung his rifle over a shoulder and trudged inside, removing his cover. “Gracious. That bean aroma smells downright heavenly.”
Michelle rose sluggishly and made her way to the kitchen. “Have a seat wherever you like. I’ll get some for you. How do you take it?”
“Black as the night sky. No additives. No nonsense.”
After securing the door, Lee retrieved his coffee, disappearing into the hall and into his room without uttering another word.
Dave took a seat at the table’s far end near the window and scrutinized the man across from him a moment.
Mulling over now what had been exposed moments ago, undecided as to simply worry or lose his mind over it, Alan Russell’s deliberations were running at full steam. His stare fixed on his hands as they fumbled his mug about. He looked like a deer caught in the high beams of an oncoming Freightliner.
Michelle placed Dave’s cup on the table in front of him. “That’s the last of that batch,” she said. “I don’t mind putting on another.”
Dave held up a hand. “No need, but thank you. This should do the trick.”
She smiled wearily and retook her seat, her gaze falling upon her husband, who looked bolted in stasis, immersed in abysmally deep thought.
The Heart of War: Book Seven of the What's Left of My World Series Page 32
