Sound of Survival (Book 3): Home Free

by Patten, Sean

  “There it is!” I said, pointing ahead. “Peach house, birdbath. Just like I remember!”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” said Ed, his pace slower than mine.

  Right at the moment I realized that I probably shouldn’t have been encouraging him to run, I reached the curb. I stopped, taking in the sight of my home, my hands dropping to my sides as I stood stone-still.

  It was all there. The old gray birdbath that Mom had bought from a rummage sale when I was a kid, the hairline crack in the driveway from when some repairs had failed to set properly, the candy-apple-red mailbox that hung next to the front door.

  “Home sweet home,” said Ed.

  “Something like that,” I replied.

  I took a moment to collect myself and process the intense wave of nostalgia that coursed through me. When I was ready, I stepped onto the lawn. After only a few strides, I was on the front porch, squaring my shoulders and preparing to knock.

  “Here goes nothing,” I said.

  Bang-bang-bang.

  My knock sound out, disturbing the still, quiet evening air.

  But no one answered.

  I knocked again, but once more there was no answer.

  “Maybe she’s sleeping?” Ed suggested.

  “No way,” I said. “Mom’s as light of a sleeper as they come. She used to be able to hear me opening the fridge at two in the morning to get a snack.”

  “Well…what do you want to do?”

  I didn’t answer him, instead grabbing the knob and twisting it. Locked.

  It was the last thing I wanted to deal with. On top of wanting to see Mom, I was exhausted. Franz hadn’t been the only one running on fumes.

  Then I remembered something. I turned towards the left shrub in front of the house, dropping to my knees.

  “What is it?” Ed asked.

  “When I left for LA,” I said, looking around and picking up one rock after another, “Mom left a key in one of those fake stones. Said that it meant that no matter what, I was welcome back home.”

  “Well ain’t that sweet,” said Ed. “Is it still there?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But maybe it’s—”

  Before I could finish my sentence I laid my hand down on a stone that didn’t feel like any of the others. It was lighter, more plastic-feeling. I flipped it over in my hand and, sure enough, there was a small compartment. I pressed down on it with my thumb and pushed it back, revealing a single, silver house key. On it was a piece of tape with the word “Amy” written in my mom’s familiar, loopy handwriting.

  “We’re in,” I said.

  “Just hope there’s no mom with a shotgun waiting for us on the other side,” Ed said with a faint grin.

  “Nah,” I said. “Mom’s not the shotgun type.”

  “A pistol would be just as bad,” he quipped.

  I didn’t respond, instead slipping the key into the lock and giving it a twist. The lock opened with a satisfying “click,” and I didn’t waste a second before opening the door and stepping inside.

  It was so strange. The house was familiar and alien all at once. The power being off made the effect even more pronounced, the silver light of the moon bathing the living room in an almost ghostly sheen.

  The time for sneaking around was over. I cleared my throat and spoke.

  “Mom!”

  My voice echoed through the house. But there was no reply.

  “Mo-om!” said, my voice taking on the tone it did when I was younger and calling out for her.

  Nothing.

  “Come on,” said Ed. “Let’s take a look around.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “But stay close—I don’t want her freaking out if she sees some huge dude creeping through her house. No offense.”

  He let out a soft snort of a laugh and nodded. “None taken.”

  “Upstairs first,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  Ed following behind, I made my way up the stairs to the second floor. Up at the top was a long hallway, the far end Mom’s bedroom, the other side mine. As I moved down the hall I took in the familiar sights, from the many plants that Mom decorated the house with to the seemingly endless array of framed pictures of some combination of me and her and Dad, from back when he was still alive.

  “Okay,” I said once we approached Mom’s bedroom door. “Let me handle this.”

  Ed nodded and stepped back. I gave the door a soft knock. But just like before, there was no response. After opening the door and peeking in, I was greeted with a surprisingly messy bedroom, the bed unmade and a few of the dresser drawers open.

  But no Mom.

  “This is weird,” I said. “Mom’s a total neat freak. She never lets her bed go unmade.”

  Ed said nothing, instead following my lead.

  “Anywhere else she’d be?” he asked.

  “Nope,” I said. “She keeps regular hours. Not like she’d be out tearing up the town or anything.”

  “You, uh, mind if we raid the fridge?” he asked.

  Food sounded good, and Mom always kept the place stocked.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Moments later we were in the kitchen. It was more-or-less spotless, the only sign of Mom’s presence being a half-eaten apple left on the kitchen counter. It had only browned a little, which meant it hadn’t been there that long. Wherever Mom was, she couldn’t be far.

  “Sorry about all this,” said Ed as he opened the fridge, taking out a bottle of milk. “I’m sure you were looking forward to seeing her. This can’t be the homecoming you were expecting.”

  I opened the pantry and pulled out a box of snack crackers.

  “You’re right,” I said. “But truth be told I’m so fried that I can’t even begin to process it.”

  “Well,” he said, sitting down at the small round kitchen table. “There’s no Mom. But there’s food and beds and no one trying to shoot us. At the very least we can recharge before figuring out our next step.”

  He poured himself a glass of milk and took a sip.

  “Bet there’s even water left in the tank,” he said. “Won’t be hot, but you could get a few showers out of it.”

  “Who wants hot water in the desert anyway?” I asked, chewing on a cracker. “And God, that sounds perfect. A good night’s sleep and clean clothes and a shower. Yeah, that’s what I need.”

  “Then let’s get to it,” said Ed. “What bed you want me to take?”

  “There’s a guest room upstairs,” I said. “And I’ll just sleep in my old bed.”

  Ed craned his neck and looked in the living room.

  “You mind if I just crash on the couch?” he asked. “I don’t know if I have it in me to take the stairs again.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, sure.”

  We finished up our bedtime snack and got up. I grabbed Ed some blankets and a pillow and he got himself good and comfortable.

  “Okay,” he said. “Sleep, then we figure this out. Deal?”

  “Deal,” I said.

  With that, I turned to head back upstairs. But right as I approached the threshold leading to the entry room, I stopped.

  “Um, Ed?” I started. “Thanks. For everything.”

  He said nothing, and for a moment I wondered if he was coming up with whatever it was he wanted to express.

  His reply came seconds later, however—a long, grinding snore.

  I smiled.

  “Night, big guy.”

  Moments later I was up the stairs and in my room, the small space still decorated with posters of the grunge bands I idolized in my teens, and my cheap practice bass still in the corner.

  I kicked off my shoes and laid down on my old bed, folding my hands behind my back. I was ready to finally let my mind unspool, to go over everything that had happened and everything I needed to do.

  But instead, I was out within seconds of my head hitting the pillow.

  6 Ed

  “On your feet, asshole! Now, now, now!”

  I didn’t even have time to
wonder if I was still in a dream. My eyes shot open to reveal three men standing over me, all of them clad in black, their faces hid behind ski masks.

  And they were armed—armed to the fucking teeth. All three of them pointed long, black rifles at me, which I, through the fog of just waking up, was able to recognize as military-grade M4 carbines.

  “What the—”

  It was all I had a chance to sputter out before the closest man had me by the scruff of my neck and down on the ground.

  “Stay right where you are!” he barked. “Not a move or we blow your goddamn brains out!”

  Okay. So, not messing around.

  I did as they asked, the adrenaline rushing through my body waking me up lickity-fucking-split.

  “Hands behind your head!” shouted one of the other men.

  He didn’t give me a chance to do it, instead grabbing my hands and slapping them down on the base of the back of my neck.

  “Easy!” I said back, trying to keep the tension low, just as much for my shitty ticker as anything else.

  “Who else is here?” said one of the men. “We know you’re not alone!”

  “You lie to us and you’re dead where you’re sitting,” said another.

  Shit. I had no idea who these men were, what they had planned. But not a chance I was giving up Amy. I hoped that she’d been woken up by the noise and had done the smart thing, which was getting the fuck out of there as fast as possible.

  I didn’t have a chance to figure out what to say next. A scream cut through the air, and the three of us turned our attention to the noise.

  Sure enough, it was Amy. She stood in the entry hall, bare-footed, her eyes wide with fear.

  “What the hell are you—”

  She didn’t finish her sentence. One of the men broke from the group and rushed over to her, forcing her to the ground and her hands behind her head.

  “Hey!” I barked. “Don’t touch her!”

  “Not another goddamn word out of you!” shouted one of the men, the tallest of the three. “I’ll tell you when I want you to talk!”

  I forced my mouth into a hard line, not pleased at being commanded like this, but knowing there wasn’t anything I could do about it. These men were armed and decked out in body armor and tactical gear. And unlike some of the pricks back at Dead Air, I could tell right away that they knew how to use the tools they had at their disposal.

  My attention focused on Amy, I watched as her expression turned from one of terror to one of confusion.

  Then she spoke.

  “Mr. Simms?”

  All of the men froze in place, none of them knowing what to do, all of them apparently thunderstruck by what Amy had said. Part of me wanted to take advantage of the confusion, but the smarter part waited to see how this was going to play out.

  “What the—” asked the man who appeared to be in charge, his deep voice tinged with confusion. “Who the hell are you?”

  “It’s me!” she replied. “Amy! Amy Hendricks! I live here!”

  The man stood in place for a moment, as if trying to process everything. Then he turned to one of the other two men.

  “Watch him,” he said, pointing to me.

  The men complied, forming up in front of me and keeping their guns at the ready.

  “Amy?” he asked. “As in Lori’s daughter?”

  “Yes!” she said. “What the hell are you doing?”

  He stepped over to Amy and squatted down, getting a good look at her.

  “Jesus,” he said. “It really is you.”

  “Of course it is!” she said. “So please, put the guns away and tell me where my mom is!”

  Tension was thick in the air as the rest of us waited for the man in charge to make his call. He stood up and slung his rifle over his side.

  “Who’s he?” he asked, pointing back in my direction.

  “That’s Ed,” said Amy. “Ed Mack. I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him.”

  The man in charge tossed another glance in my direction.

  “We’re keeping our eye on him,” said the man in charge. “He does anything stupid, he won’t like what happens.”

  “Fine,” said Amy. “But please just stop pointing guns at him!”

  More silence hung in the air. Finally, to my incredible relief, the man in charge turned towards the other two men and gave the signal for them to lower their guns. They did, and the tightness in my chest subsided a little.

  The man in charge reached up and grabbed his ski mask and yanked it off. The face he revealed was older than I was expecting, older than his fit, clearly powerful body suggested. He looked to be in his sixties, his face handsome, his silver hair shaved down nearly to the scalp, his face trim and his jaw square.

  The other two men did the same, revealing similarly aged faces. The men were hardly elderly, but they were old enough to actually make me feel a kind of young, especially after hanging around with Amy for so long.

  “Amy,” said the silver-haired man as he extended his hand to her. “So good to see you, kiddo.”

  Amy took his hand, and the man pulled her up to her feet.

  “Good to see you, too, Mr. Simms,” she said. “Could’ve done without the heavy weapons.”

  “Well,” he said. “Apologies for the drama, but when we got word that someone had broken into Lori’s place we suited up and figured we’d ask questions later.”

  “That’s one way to do it,” I said.

  The man turned his attention to me, regarding me for a long moment before stepping over slowly, his jet-black combat boots thumping on the carpet with each step. Once he was in front of me, he stared down with steely, ice-blue eyes.

  “David Simms,” he said, his voice booming and authoritative. “You can stand up now.”

  I did, and once I was on my feet I realized the guy was still towering over me. I was hardly a short guy, but even so he was still looking down—he had to be over six and a half feet. And he was even beefier up close and personal. Under his body armor he wore a black T-shirt that clung to his broad shoulders and barrel chest. The guy was getting up there in years, but just from his bearings I knew I’d rather have him on my side in a scrape than any of those Dead Air party kids.

  “Ed Mack,” I said.

  He nodded, extending his hand for a shake. I took it, and he gripped it hard, his eyes locked on mine as he gave it a solid pump before letting it go.

  “And that’s Paul Ford, and that’s Jerry Mendelson.”

  The other two men nodded before dropping down onto the couch and chair, clearly relieved that the situation had been resolved without anyone blowing anyone’s head off.

  I nodded back to them before returning my attention to David.

  “You guys know each other?” I asked, my eyes flicking from David to Amy.

  “Sure do,” said David, a small smile forming on his hard features. “Amy used to hang out with my two kids all the time, back when they were all still young enough to have playdates.”

  He shook his head as he smiled and put his hands on his hips, as if caught in the middle of some fond memory.

  “I swear,” he said. “You and Tiffany and Megan, you three were quite the trio. I remember back when—”

  “Mom,” said Amy, cutting him off. “Where’s Mom?”

  David’s expression turned serious once again, his eyes even betraying a touch of worry. He glanced to the other men, as if none of them knew quite where to begin.

  “She’s gone,” said Paul.

  My gut sank like a stone.

  7 Ed

  “Gone?” Amy repeated, her tone one of total shock. “What kind of gone?”

  “She…left,” said David. “When all of this happened, when the power went out.”

  “We tried to stop her,” said Paul. “But as soon as it sank in that the power was out and not coming back on, all she could talk about was you.”

  “Me?” asked Amy, eyes wide.

  “That’s right,” said David. “The
rest of us tried to come up with a plan on how to survive until the power came back on, but all she could think about was getting to LA and finding you.”

  A wave of anxiety rushed through me. I hadn’t seen LA since the power had gone out, but there wasn’t any doubt in my mind that the scene was bad. It’d be rough for a group of trained, armed men like David, let alone a sixty-something woman by herself.

  David sat down in a nearby armchair, and I took a seat on the far end of the couch. Now that the situation was over, fatigue returned. I had no idea what time it was, but it was still dark out. I doubted I’d gotten more than a couple hours of sleep before these dudes showed up.

  “I don’t get it,” said Amy as she came over and sat down. “She left all by herself? And you all just let her go alone?”

  “Amy,” said David. “You know how your mom is; when she gets something into her head there’s no talking her out of it. Especially when it comes to you.”

  “But you didn’t have to let her go alone,” Amy protested.

  “We wanted to talk it over with her,” said Paul. “Have a meeting, figure out the best way to make the trip, maybe even see if anyone was up for going with her.”

  “But…” I said.

  “But,” said David. “Lori evidently didn’t want to wait for the HOA to talk it over.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “‘HOA’?”

  “Homeowner’s association,” said David. “The people in charge of our development. Not a thing happens here without the HOA’s approval.”

  “No kidding,” said Amy.

  I could just from her tone that there’d likely been more than a little friction between Amy and the people in charge. Easy to imagine—a woman like Amy, tailor-made to rebel, likely wouldn’t be too keen on a group of adults telling her what to do.

  “So…what,” I said. “Her mom, Lori, just up and left? Did she take her car or something? It still worked?”

  The men shared a look, one that I couldn’t quite puzzle out. But Amy spoke up before any of them had a chance to.

  “Then we have to go,” said Amy. “We have to go to LA. Mom had my address. Maybe she’s there now, waiting for me…