This time Jeb couldn’t evade him. He gasped as the knife plunged to the hilt. His retaliatory stab glanced off Garrett’s shoulder. The blade penetrated the fabric of his coveralls and flayed his skin, scraping along his collarbone.
It was painful, but not effective in stopping him.
Jeb’s knife fell out of his hand, clattering on the ground. “Please,” he said, blood bubbling from his lips.
Showing no mercy—he was a killer, after all—Garrett twisted the handle ruthlessly, watching the light drain from his eyes. Jeb slumped forward into Garrett’s arms. He jerked the blade free and let him fall.
Feeling nothing, not even a twinge of remorse, he wiped his knife clean. Only then did he look up at the crevice.
“Watch out,” Lauren screamed.
Garrett heard the hiss of metal behind him and ducked the split second before a crowbar connected with his skull.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
OWEN WISHED THE HOMEBOYS had offered him a ride.
He was glad to have escaped the odd meeting with his teeth intact, but his muscles ached from exertion and his stab wound felt like fire. A BMX wasn’t as appropriate for freeway travel as a BMW. Owen had no more experience bicycling than rock climbing. Pedaling through the dips and rises of San Diego’s east valley was no easy task. Hunger and exhaustion made him light-headed. He’d run out of water five miles ago.
He should have stolen a car.
Dogged with determination, he tried to pick up the pace. Garrett had told him to go east on the 8 until he found help. He was beginning to think he’d hit Arizona first. Or maybe Salton City, his hometown. Neither place appealed to him. If Penny and the others weren’t counting on him, he might have fled to Mexico. He’d never been out of the country before.
Hell, he’d never been out of California.
Jumping the border wasn’t an option, so he pedaled onward, his skin sizzling in the afternoon sun. When he reached the checkpoint, it looked like a mirage. Or a refugee camp. There were soldiers in camouflage uniforms everywhere. Desert-type army vehicles were parked outside an official-looking building. Beyond the building, dozens of large, khaki-colored tents were lined up in rows.
A national guardsman with a semiautomatic rifle greeted him on the road. He wasn’t half as friendly as the Mexicans.
Even so, Owen dismounted his bike, almost weeping with relief. To his chagrin, his legs wouldn’t hold him up any longer. He careened sideways and collapsed on his knees in the dirt. “I need help,” he rasped.
The soldier gave him a bottle of water.
Owen drank it greedily. His arm muscles wouldn’t work, either, and he spilled half the contents on his shirt. “Sorry,” he said, wiping his mouth. “I was trapped in a freeway collapse with a group of people. They need help.”
“Which freeway? More than one collapsed.”
Disturbed by the news, Owen told him.
“How many people?”
“Eight,” he said, counting on his fingers. “No—nine. There’s a newborn baby.”
The soldier reported this information to his superior via radio. “We’ll get someone out there as soon as we can.”
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t understand,” Owen said. “They need help now. We’ve been starving, and dying of thirst.”
“Thousands of people are in the same situation, sir.”
Owen struggled to his feet. “No, they aren’t. Some of the survivors are escaped prisoners from the Santee Lakes Correctional Facility. One of the convicts has a gun. He’s been terrorizing the others for days.”
The soldier’s brows rose. He got on his radio again, giving Owen a closer examination. His gaze fell to the swastika tattoo. “What’s your name?”
“Owen Jackson,” he said, his heart sinking.
Another soldier came and escorted Owen into the nearest building. He was taken to a small office and told to have a seat. They locked him inside, where he waited in silence. The minutes ticked by.
Finally, two more soldiers arrived.
“Stand up, please,” one said.
Owen stood.
“Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”
“What?”
“Turn around—”
He shook his head, incredulous. “I came here looking for help. If you won’t send anyone, I’ll go back by myself.”
They exchanged a glance. “That’s not possible, Mr. Jackson. We’ve blockaded the road. Free citizens aren’t allowed within city limits, let alone correctional inmates. You’ll be taken to a holding facility.”
Although he put up a good struggle, they had guns and they were stronger than he was. After they put on the cuffs, he was subdued with a sucker punch.
Owen coughed and sputtered, gasping for breath. He couldn’t believe it. He never should have come. The injustice for himself didn’t bother him; he deserved to be treated poorly. It was the lack of action for Penny and the others that he couldn’t fathom.
“You have to send someone for Penny,” he choked, dragging his feet as they took him away. Fuck cooperating—he wanted to cause a scene. “She’s trapped under the freeway with a couple of psychos and a newborn baby!”
A man in a fancy suit was standing near the door, watching him. He had a slim mustache and a curious look on his face. “Wait,” he said to the soldiers, directing them with a vague wave of the hand.
They drew up in an instant. This guy was important.
“Penny, you said?”
Owen nodded, searching his face. He looked familiar. Maybe he was a movie star.
“Describe her.”
“Pretty, young, dark hair.”
“Latina?”
It wasn’t the word Owen would have used, but he said yes. Another soldier approached them, speaking directly to the man in the suit. “Apologies for the interruption, Mayor Sandoval, but his story checks out. We’ve just intercepted radio transmissions from a girl claiming to be Penny Sandoval. She sounds very distressed.”
“Let me hear it,” he demanded.
They went to another office to play the message, bringing Owen along. When he heard the terror in her voice, he strained against his cuffs, about to explode in frustration. Luckily, Mayor Sandoval appeared to have the same reaction.
He turned to Owen, his eyes narrow. “Take me to her.”
* * *
LAUREN COULDN’T STAY outside a second longer.
She watched in horror as Jeb crumpled to the ground. Blood blossomed from the fatal wound in the center of his chest.
The instant Garrett dispatched one opponent, another stepped up. She screamed a warning as Mickey rushed from the shadows, wielding a crowbar. Garrett managed to avoid the first blow. Staying low, he stabbed out with his knife, swiping at Mickey’s midsection. Mickey spun away and swung again. Metal clanged against metal. The knife flew out of Garrett’s hand, clattering across the concrete.
Terrified for him, she scrambled backward through the crevice, feeling blindly for the ladder. When the soles of her shoes connected with one of the rungs, she lowered herself slowly. Going down wasn’t any easier than coming up. She had to let go of the jagged edge of the crevice and grab hold of the ladder.
Thirty feet below her, the fight raged on.
Heart racing, she continued her descent. One glance at the men revealed that Mickey had advanced, backing Garrett into a corner. Her hands shook as she went lower. Suddenly
, the rung beneath her foot gave way.
She cried out, gripping the rope with both hands. Her legs flailed in midair but found no purchase.
“Don’t let go!” Garrett shouted.
The sound of his voice helped her focus. He was still alive, still fighting. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to look down. The ladder swayed from her wild kicking, making it harder to hold on.
Using only her arms, she kept going. Her biceps shook from exertion. When her foot found the next rung, she clung to the ladder, almost wilting with relief. She glanced around for Garrett but couldn’t see him.
Mickey had taken the battle into the darkness beyond the crashed semi.
Moving quickly, she climbed the last few feet and jumped off the ladder, running to Garrett’s aid.
He was crouched behind the semi, waiting for the death blow. When Mickey swung out, Garrett dove to the side, rolling across the ground. The crowbar hit the side of the truck with a jarring amount of force.
With a high-pitched yelp, Mickey dropped the weapon. It flew across the asphalt and landed near Lauren’s feet.
He fumbled to pick it up, but she rushed forward, kicking him in the groin. Howling in pain, he clamped a hand over his mashed testicles and stumbled sideways. He tripped over the crowbar and went down hard.
As he fell, he grabbed her ankle and twisted it, yanking her off balance. She landed on her butt with a terrified yelp.
Eyes murderous, he crawled over to her, fist drawn back to retaliate.
Garrett stopped him before he could even wind up. He jumped on Mickey’s back and caught him in a chokehold. It was a dark, ugly finish. Garrett literally squeezed the life out of him. Mickey’s face turned purple. Blood leaked from his mouth and nose, even his eyes. There was an awful gurgling sound.
She scooted away, horrified.
Mickey wasn’t the only one who looked monstrous. Garrett gritted his teeth, using every ounce of strength to crush his opponent’s windpipe. The cords in his neck stood out and the veins in his forehead bulged.
Finally, it was done.
Panting, Garrett released his slack form. Mickey stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing. His head lolled to the side.
Lauren couldn’t celebrate Garrett’s victory. She couldn’t even make sense of it. Everything was numb. She felt...scattered. There were two dead bodies near her. She felt like she’d left a piece of herself outside in the blinding sun. Her brain didn’t work. Her heart was torn up into weightless bits, floating all over the cavern.
Garrett panted heavily, exhausted by the physical challenge. Rather than falling apart, he seemed to have retreated inside himself. He studied the blood on his hands with intense focus, as if reducing the moment down to that stark, elemental detail. Although he hadn’t escaped the fights unscathed, he’d overcome his opponents with a disturbing ferocity.
He lifted his gaze to hers, reading the dismay on her face. When Lauren burst into tears, he came forward and put his arms around her, shielding her from the massacre. “Shh,” he said, stroking her back. “It’s over now. It’s all over.”
In slow measures, she regained a sense of peace. She focused on his touch, his strength, the heavy dub of his heartbeat. This was real. She pressed her face to his chest, wanting to hold on to him forever. “I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her cheeks.
“For what?”
“I should have talked to you, instead of running away.” She explained how Mickey had feigned an injury to draw her in. “I thought you’d beaten him up.”
“I wish I had.”
“By the time I got close enough to examine him, it was too late. Jeb was right there, blocking my path.”
He swore under his breath. “It was my fault, Lauren. He was hiding under the tarp. I never checked there.”
“I should have trusted you.”
“I haven’t earned your trust,” he said.
She lifted her hand to his rough cheek. “Yes, you have. You’ve risked your life for me, again and again. You’ve worked day and night to help save everyone in this cavern. You’re a good man, Garrett.”
“I’m a killer,” he replied, his voice hoarse.
“Not by choice.”
He searched her eyes, refusing to admit he’d done anything special. She wanted to convince him of his own worth. He was willing to sacrifice everything for her and the others, but he didn’t value himself. He had no fear of injury. What he needed was love—her love. And she longed to give it to him.
Footsteps sounded in the distance. Penny skirted around the dead bodies, her nose wrinkled with distaste. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Lauren said, her heart filled with fresh hope.
They were together, and alive, and nothing else mattered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THE NEXT HOUR PASSED in a blur.
After Lauren examined Jeb and Mickey to make sure they were dead, Garrett dragged the bodies to the southwest corner. Then he visited Don and Sam to share the news. For the first time since Jeb’s reign of terror began, the survivors were able to move through the cavern freely. Cadence rode her scooter around the RV. Penny took Cruz out for a leisurely stroll.
Little by little, the finality began to sink in.
When Lauren recovered from the shock, she headed to the triage tent. Focusing on patients always calmed her nerves. To her surprise, Sam was awake again. He’d felt strong enough to roll off the cot and search through his duffel bag. Lauren wished she’d thought to remove the urn with Melissa’s ashes, because he’d found them.
“What is this?” he asked.
She didn’t know what to say.
“I couldn’t stop him,” Don said.
Sam’s dark eyes were tortured. “Tell me it’s not true.”
She crouched down beside him, touching a tentative hand to his short hair. He’d collapsed beside the urn, exhausted. Although he’d been strong and healthy before the earthquake hit, right now he looked brittle, like a bag of bones. “Why don’t you try to get some more rest?”
“She can’t be dead,” he said. “I’d remember....”
“Your memory might have gaps while you recover. It’s normal. You’ll get better.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “I don’t want to get better.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, biting her lip to keep it from trembling.
“How long was I out?”
“For almost a week.”
He exhaled a ragged breath. “What’s the date?”
“April fourteenth.”
“I thought it was January.”
She shook her head.
He still had the picture of his girlfriend clutched in his hand. Blinking rapidly, he pored over every detail, as if an intense examination would jog his memory. It didn’t, from what she could tell. He also seemed too exhausted to cry. She rubbed his thin shoulder as he made a strangled sound of agony in the back of his throat.
A few moments later, he was asleep again.
Lauren rose to her feet, her chest aching for him. Poor Sam. He’d lost the woman he loved, and several months’ worth of memories. He’d have to experience an intense period of grief all over again.
She couldn’t imagine how hard that would be.
Sam’s tragic situation made her realize how precious her time with Garrett was. They couldn’t leave things unresolved. Although she knew they had a tough road ahead, she wasn’t ready to walk away.
It could be worse. At least t
hey weren’t dead.
She found him sitting inside the semi, tinkering with the shortwave radio. It had been damaged, either from bullets or the crash.
He’d hardly slept over the past few days and it showed. Weary lines creased his forehead and there were circles under his eyes. The neck of his coveralls was ripped, revealing a jagged laceration along his collarbone.
“Why don’t you let me fix you up?” she offered.
Now that the threat was gone, he could let down his guard and rest. There was nothing left to do but wait to be rescued.
Leaving the radio in pieces, he rose from the driver’s seat. She followed him back to the sleeper cab, her stomach quivering with awareness. They’d shared their first kiss here. Just last night, they’d been intimate.
It seemed like a lifetime ago.
She gestured for him to sit down, resting her medical bag on the mattress. He eased the coveralls down to expose his left side. The cut on his chest was shallow. She cleaned it and applied a light bandage.
He’d overexerted himself during the fight, causing his gunshot wound to bleed. She changed the dressing around his biceps, adding fresh gauze. Again, she secured the binding with heavy white tape.
When she was finished, he flexed his arm, testing its comfort.
“Is it all right?” she asked.
“Yes. Feels better today.”
“You’re a good healer.”
“You’re a good medic.”
She shrugged, putting her supplies away.
“I’m sorry about...what you saw me do.”
“I saw you saving me.”
“It was ugly.”
She sat down next to him. “Death usually is.”
“I thought they were going to kill you.”
“I know.”
“How did it look outside?”
“Bleak,” she said, picturing the devastation. Her eyes hadn’t really adjusted to the light, so she was left with a surreal impression, like a photo negative. “The sun was blinding. I couldn’t see anything but cars and fire.”
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