In the pocket of the branch, she found wax paper and a waterproof pencil. Taking them down, she scrawled the word BOSCO across the first page and stuffed the notebook back into the protective shelter of the pocket. Next, she pulled on the orange plastic flagging wrapped around the tree trunk and broke it free. Working quickly, she re-tied it on the end of the lowest branch at head height.
This was the signal she’d left a message.
Behind her, voices started shouting, much closer, and angry now. They’d found Dexter’s body. She turned and began running. BOSCO was the agreed upon word for when her cover had been blown and she was running. Eloisa would know where to find her.
Sara could hear one of the section leaders barking orders, getting men to fan out and sweep the area. She ignored them and remained calm. She didn’t flee in a headlong panic, but now that she’d established a communication link, it was time to put as much distance between herself and the Church as possible, and as quickly as possible. Several minutes later, two men from the Church swept through the area as part of the search pattern.
Ten minutes after those men left, the Council sniper/observation team stirred. The designated defensive marksman performed overwatch as the observer, dressed in a ghillie suit and keeping a SCAR 17 ready, navigated to the dead drop. Retrieving the note, he retreated back to the blind and opened communications to pass on the information.
Deeper in the woods, gunfire erupted.
She was being driven forward like an animal.
Sara ducked off the path and darted in among the trees, worried about getting turned around but not about getting truly lost. Her dad had been very clear with her as a child. North was always north, and the sun always rose in the east and set in the west. That meant that as long as she could see the sun and knew if it was before noon or after noon, she knew her cardinal directions.
She needed to head roughly south by southeast until she hit the river, and then follow it downstream. But she needed to slip her pursuers first. They called to each other behind her, yelling instructions and directions like hounds baying on the scent. She tried moving to her left, escaping the line of searchers, but the flank gunmen cut her off before she could slip by.
They drove her before them, and her only hope was not to come up against some unavoidable obstacle like a steep canyon or rock wall, or more searchers waiting at choke points ahead. She thought the last option unlikely since this was obviously a hasty response to her gunshots and then finding Dexter’s body, but at the same time, she hadn’t been far out into the hilly woods surrounding the Vineyard before. Anything could be between her and the river.
She thrashed through some chokeberry bushes and stumbled down a hill. Tripping over a branch hidden in a patch of tall forest grass, she went down, bouncing hard off one hip and tumbling downward. At the bottom, she regained her feet and started running. Hearing a shout behind her, she risked a glance over one shoulder. A section leader named Oberst stood at the top of the hill she’d come down. He held a scoped deer rifle in one hand and was using his other to wave toward someone Sara couldn’t see behind him.
Vision was only worth about sixty yards in the woods, so she ran harder, her speed climbing to a sprint. She managed to slip between the branches of two slippery elms and enter a stand of tabletop pines. Green needles stabbing at her face and exposed flesh, she cut off her straight path of flight and tried outflanking the posse again.
Her toe slammed into a half-buried rock and she went down yet again, hands thrust out before her in an instinctive bid to break her fall. Her little finger caught on a fallen branch as her body weight slammed down, driving her hand into the earth. She moaned as the pinky snapped back and tears of pain filled her eyes.
She pushed herself to her feet moments later, shaking her hand and using the adrenaline of the pain to fuel her body. Racing on from the stand of pine trees, she found a path heading in the general direction she needed. Deciding the increase it gave to her speed was worth the risk, she sprinted down it for a twisting hundred yards or so, then turned off the trail and plunged over the side of another hill.
Turning sideways, she dirt-surfed to the bottom. She paused for a moment there to look at her injured hand, somewhat surprised that she hadn’t broken anything. She heard the echo of shouts, but behind her, and too far to the west. Up ahead, she saw a swift-moving creek and figured it must feed into the north fork of Wildcat River.
Panting, she began moving again, following the water downstream and winding her way farther away from the search party. Two hundred yards down, she spooked a doe and the deer bounded away, white tail flashing like a flag.
Wishing she could move like the deer, Sara pushed on.
Standing hidden in the tree line, she stared at the cabin as it glistened in the sunlight through the trees. It looked like a time capsule in her eyes—a picture from her childhood, from better times. They’d bought it from the original owner, and the man had been a gifted builder; the wraparound front porch alone was a work of art.
The door was closed, the windows dark; the whole place had an air of silence about it to such a degree that she felt sure it was empty. Still, it paid to be careful. Weapon ready, she warily moved around the perimeter to make sure no one could see her in the bright sunlight. It had to be four or five, she thought to herself, she should feel hunger pangs but all she felt was nausea. At the side of the cabin, she paused by a white oak tree that was four stories tall and took a knee.
The rock was there. Feeling a certain amount of déjà vu, she reached down and turned it over. Inside the fake stone was a hollow cavity holding a waterproof bag. Inside the bag was the key to the cabin. Turning over the rock and finding the key like buried treasure had delighted her as a little girl.
Nostalgia gripped her hard for a moment, and she blinked away tears. Those days were gone forever; she should let them go. The world was different now; she was different now. Keeping her pistol up and ready, she approached the front, and only, door to the cabin. The key fit the lock and it turned easily under her hand. Pushing the door open, she stepped through the entrance and peered around inside, letting her eyes adjust, but her eyes were clouded over with images from her memory.
Her dad had taught her to fish here, and had begun to teach her about guns and gun safety. She’d played in the woods with Georgia, their female border collie. Georgia was gone, hit by a car while Sara had still been living at home. She’d loved the dog. She’d loved a lot of things.
Stepping all the way inside and shutting the door gently behind her, she looked around. A combined living and dining area dominated by a massive stone fireplace greeted her. Furnished with a combination of Quaker-inspired and Adirondack furniture, it was a cozy space. On one side of the room, a waist-high counter separated a simple kitchen from the living spaces. On the other wall, a beam and plank staircase led up to the loft where the small master and smaller guest bedrooms were. The cabin’s only bathroom and shower were behind a door tucked beneath the staircase.
She was careful enough to check every inch of the place before relaxing but, overcome by childhood memories of security and happiness, she took her time looking at old family photos hung on the walls. Aware of the divorce as she was, she found it telling that her father hadn’t removed any of her mother’s pictures.
Finding a Coleman lantern in a closet, she lit it and set it on the Shaker-style coffee table set between the Adirondack forest sofa couch and the fireplace. The furniture had been her mother’s compromise with her dad’s wishes to keep the cabin rustic.
Locking the front door now that she’d assured herself she was alone, she returned to the couch and turned the lantern down. It had been hours since she’d heard anyone from the Church search party, but she’d been too driven to flee and hadn’t stopped running until she’d reached the cabin. Exhaustion was rapidly taking over. She needed rest, and she’d barely curled up before she was asleep.
16
Parker sat in the stern of the canoe and ste
ered. He worked as anchor paddler while Finn and Ava switched out between paddling and guard duty with the AR. Since they were going downstream, the work was minimal in terms of pulling the paddles through the water, but nerve-racking in terms of navigating around obstacles in the dark. The steady, trickling drone of the river muffled Parker’s hearing until his brain played tricks on him, creating auditory illusions of people whispering on the bank.
Even once their eyes fully dilated and adjusted to the darkness, it was harrowing. The sound and smell of the moving river sweeping them along filled their ears and noses. It was a partly cloudy night and, except for bridges, they didn’t see many possible dangers until they were almost upon them. At one point, they laid low in the canoe as they passed in range of, and then under, a bridge as a convoy of Humvees and two-ton trucks passed by, headlights burning. A second time, they spent a tense two minutes, guns in hands, as they passed by three nylon tents set up in a flat spot off the road next to the river. Another time, only Ava’s sharp eyes saved them from striking into the dark hull of a low-floating barge anchored mid-river. And beyond the danger, only a few hours in the damp, chilly air had been enough to work the cold’s way into their bones; it wasn’t a comfortable trip.
By the time the sun began creeping its way up on the horizon, they were cold, tired, and a little nerve wrought. Following the river directly had saved them miles of extra distance, however, so that they were less worn physically than if they’d walked.
The real boon had been escaping the mounted patrols they were now sure had started scouring the countryside for them. Knowing patrols had to be well behind them, they were able to pull the canoe up onto the shore in a dense stand of bushes and trees, and get ready to bed down for the day while hidden from view.
They made cold camp, no fire, and talked little, eating the MREs Finn had with her cold and washing the food down with bottled water. Nobody had a lot to say. Parker’s admission about his problem had cast a deeper pall over an already tense situation. Finn whimpered in her sleep, clearly reliving past events. Parker, despite a satisfying ache in his muscles, couldn’t sleep. He yearned for an Ativan to bring him down. ‘Yearned’ was the word, too, he realized. He was like a lovesick teenager whose thoughts revolved around the object of his obsession.
His leg still throbbed like one of Dave Grohl’s drum solos, even if he was thankful that his fever was down. Considering where he was, all things considered, Parker said a silent prayer that maybe he wouldn’t die, this time.
The woods echoed with screaming.
Parker jerked awake, realizing, belatedly, that he’d dozed off. The screams lingered in his ears and through his groggy disorientation. He recognized the voice as female. He came to his feet, weapon at the ready, and quickly looked around their little campsite. Both Finn and Ava were present, each of them sitting up and confused, but already reaching for weapons.
“What was that?” Ava asked.
“Most likely not our business,” Parker said.
The scream came again, but this time it was abruptly cut off before the voice reached a crescendo. Finn looked as if she’d been slapped.
“We aren’t going to ignore a human being in that kind of suffering, are we?” she demanded. “We’re not that far gone, right?” She looked back and forth between Ava and Parker. “Right?”
“The world’s already that far gone,” Ava said.
“If those are Council forces—” Parker began.
“Screw you both!” Finn snapped. Getting to her feet, she began moving out of camp in the direction of the screams.
Ava scowled, but didn’t hesitate to follow her, obviously more out of personal loyalty to Finn than concern for whoever was screaming.
Parker watched them go, torn down in his gut with indecision. He wasn’t a coward, he knew that. But for the first time since his daughter’s disappearance, he was actually close to finding her. People died in gunfights, and that was a brutal fact of life. Another was that good guys didn’t always win.
“Oh, fuck it,” he muttered.
Moving as fast as he could, he limped after Ava as she trailed Finn into the woods. Once they broke through the ever-present slippery elm and chokeberry bushes, the forest opened up into a stand of white birch surrounded by knee-high grass. Visibility was good, extending almost forty yards in every direction except through the line of thick bushes that lined the river in a screen.
Now that they were moving closer, Parker heard male voices, more low-pitched, barking orders. He felt something inside of him sink. Something about the cadence and response of the men’s voices reminded him of the police or military. He was almost sure, from the voices alone, that they were about to tangle with FEMA forces. He’d wanted to avoid this at all costs.
He ducked under a branch and dodged some tree roots, his leg aching as he forced it to work. Up ahead, Ava had her weapon up, obviously nervous, but Finn was moving much too fast for the tactical reality of the situation.
“Finn!” he hissed. He didn’t dare raise his voice any louder. “Finn, slow down, goddamnit!”
Ava heard him and called up to Finn, who heard her voice and looked behind her, seemingly surprised to see them. She stopped moving and smiled. Over her shoulder, through a broken phalanx of birch, Parker saw a dirt road. To their left, the road curved, and a cluster of Devil’s walking stick bushes had choked out the trees and run riot in a large patch. He recognized the shrubs from deer hunting; the plants were favorites of the white-tailed deer he’d hunted all his life.
Each step he took hurt his leg, and he was hobbling and sweating heavily by the time he was able to reach Finn. He could feel moisture under the duct tape he’d wrapped around his leg and figured he was bleeding again. He used his rifle butt like a walking stick and painfully took a knee; Finn pushed a finger against her lips and then jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the hidden stretch of road.
“Movement without visas is against the law under the FEMA Emergency Powers Act,” a male voice said.
Instantly, Parker didn’t like the speaker. The tenor came off as officious and pompous to his ears. He knew that, if confronted with the voice face-to-face, he’d have an overwhelming urge to insert his foot in the man’s ass.
Should make it easier to shoot him, he thought. It was going to be the opposite of easy for him, he knew. Since the Event, he’d avoided showdowns with what he had come to consider extended Council forces who didn’t know what was happening behind the scenes. He couldn’t fault them for attempting to subjugate the population to maintain order.
Before the Event, he’d considered them brothers.
Moving silently, Finn rejoined them. “We have to find out why that woman screamed,” Finn insisted, whispering.
“If it’s a mounted patrol,” Parker said (and he didn’t see how it could be any other kind), “then they’ll have crew-served weapons. We won’t be able to scare them off with a show of force.”
“I know,” Finn said. “We’ll have to ambush them. If they have somebody on visa violation, that means they have food and maybe weapons with them. That means a hoarding charge.”
“And a hoarding charge is punishable by hanging,” Ava finished.
“These guys may not know who they’re working for,” Parker pointed out. “You want to blow some non-Council National Guardsmen or Deputy Sheriff away?”
“If they’re about to execute some lady for having too many cans of creamed corn, then we have to do something.” Finn’s tone was resolute, and he didn’t think he could talk her down.
“You agree with this?” Parker asked Ava.
“I don’t care about them,” Ava said. “I’m not sure I think it’ll do any good to save whoever they’ve stopped. I’m here because I can’t convince Finn not to be.” She looked at him, and her voice grew very soft. “Parker, you had to know it was going to come down to this sooner or later. We’re defying the Council. We’re like goddamn America’s Most Wanted to the FEMA troops, or whatever you want to
call them. At least for southern Indiana. We’re outlaws, and we might as well accept that.”
Parker didn’t say anything. The three of them had become Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kids with each one of them taking turns playing Butch. They were more than likely outnumbered, definitely out-armed, and had no business jumping in to save anyone. Why was he still here?
“Get down on the ground!” The prick-voice shouted. “Sergeant! If they’re not on the ground in three seconds, light them up!”
Clear as a bell, the sergeant answered: “Yes, sir.”
Parker sighed. “Slow,” he said. “We approach slow.”
Finn and Ava nodded, already up and creeping forward. Parker scowled to himself at the cluster of a formation the girls were making. If they made it out of this encounter alive, he was going to have to spend the time he hadn’t wanted to spend back in New Albany teaching them how to move tactically.
The three of them crept slowly forward. Finn stepped on a branch once and it snapped loudly, but through the bushes, they heard the unseen unit talking, completely unaware, and they continued their approach. At the line where the bushes met the road, they carefully peered in between the latticework of branches.
On the road, a single Humvee was parked. A soldier in the turret had trained an M249 light machine gun over the heads of the rest of his team. Parker saw a first lieutenant, his Beretta out and pointed, barking orders as a sergeant and specialist, each armed with M4 carbines, moved among a row of civilians.
There were five people on the ground. A man with his face a bloody mask where he’d been struck; a quietly crying woman who tried counselling a teenage girl whose nose had been broken, smearing blood across her face. Two boys, elementary school age, lay in the dirt next to them, their own faces full of blank shock.
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