Gun (Gun Apocalypse Series Book 1)

by Lee Hayton

  When the home screen badge shone from Greg’s monitor, Annie got to work. Although Greg had only one PIN, there were a dozen different password combinations he alternated among. One came from the first broadband account he’d been issued—back when passwords were assigned rather than thought up. Another was composed of birthdays. One was a short sentence he’d gleefully told her couldn’t be broken.

  His Amazon account. His Soundcloud account. iTunes. Dropbox. The string of swear words he’d made up in frustration when he couldn’t check out as a guest on the website his niece had chosen for her wedding gift registry. Annie blushed as she typed—her mother had raised her better.

  After she’d typed in his blog password, the screen saver flickered and turned into the desktop. She clicked on the explorer screen, then clicked a GPS icon. Once, their Mitsubishi Shogun had been stolen from an Ikea parking lot. Annie had been disturbed and relieved in equal measure to find out Greg’s office kept track of their vehicle.

  For a while, she’d felt her skin crawl each time they drove his car. Going out for a meal, out to the movies. Once, they’d spent a night at a local motel while her parents babysat Mikey. Regardless that it was just in a computer’s memory bank, she felt their private life was permanently on display.

  Now gratitude was her sole sentiment.

  “Robert?”

  He walked up behind her, placing a hand on the back of her chair.

  “Do you know where this is?”

  The mapped location in front of her was as unreadable as hieroglyphs. Unless a patient female voice sounded out instructions in modulated tones, Annie was lost. Since she’d spent her whole life that way, it didn’t bother her, but she’d long ago given up the attempt to understand maps.

  “It’s the Outlier Shopping Mall,” he responded in a few seconds. “Is this the time stamping?”

  Annie read the screen and nodded. Numbers she could do. “It says the car's been sitting there for a few hours. How far away is it?”

  He shrugged. “Ten minutes, usually.”

  She swallowed hard, pressing her hand against her lower abdomen, stilling the flutter. “You can get us there?” Annie whispered. She looked behind him at Becca and Frankie. “You girls don’t mind?”

  A tear slid down Becca’s face, twinkling in the harsh white of the fluorescents. Annie’s heart broke as she thought of the homecoming Becca had experienced, and she stood up and clutched her into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. The girl’s body relaxed into her for a moment, then she tensed and drew back.

  “We should get going. It’s just going to get worse out there.”

  On that note of despondency, they left the office. As they climbed back into the car, the glow from the room lights winked off. Their absence was recorded.

  Blain

  The smell of smoke made Blain’s nose twitch. For a moment, he tried to hang onto sleep. The small part of his brain that was conscious insisted he needed his rest. Animal instinct overtook it in a second and dragged him into full wakefulness.

  Fire.

  Once upon a time, Blain’s favorite trick at parties was to light a cigarette and hold it under a slumbering guest’s nose. If they didn’t smoke, the response was the most delicious. Panicked stares and flaring nostrils—a brain going from zero to one hundred in the blink of an eye.

  Not so funny now.

  His wide-open eyes detected a glow through the broken window. As each wound protested violently, Blain raised himself on his elbows to get a better look. Light. The crackle of a flame. Smoke.

  For some reason, the parking lot was on fire.

  He jolted forward to his hands and knees, anxiety overriding pain. There was a reflecting puddle spread out around the car only a yard or two away. Flames leaped up from it a foot high.

  Feeling behind him for the door handle, Blain backed away and turned. The same puddle. The same climbing flames. A mirror image. As he jerked his head like a startled bird, he realized the entire car was surrounded. Some bastard had poured gasoline in a circle around the car and set it alight.

  The smoke was thick, acrid, heavy with tar, not originating from the clean fuel but from tires of vehicles parked close by. The fire caught on them, eating hungrily at the road-worn rubber, painted metal panels distorting and popping in the heat.

  Blain clambered out of the car, head whipping one way then another. This wasn’t just the vehicle he’d been sleeping in. Someone had gone through the whole lot and set everything on fire.

  An explosion crumpled the air behind him, tearing it apart. Blain turned toward a pelting spray of burning hot glass and metal, a heated fuel tank transforming a vehicle into a bomb.

  He ran for the point where the flames were lowest. Preparing himself to jump, he realized the way was blocked by the black hulk of a 4x4, his tired eyes mistaking the dark metal for the night.

  There was a gap between two burning vehicles on his right-hand side. Without stopping to think, Blain forced himself into a limping run over the flaming puddle of fuel. At the last moment, his thigh weakened, the muscle collapsing instead of holding steady. He lurched to the side, sneaker soles already melting from the heat, and his torso landed on the smoking hood of a vehicle.

  Every cell of Blain’s body immediately roared. Full panic descended, and he pushed off with his hands, searing the skin on them, landing his back square against the facing vehicle.

  After careening from side to side like a human pinball, Blain collapsed near the car trunk.

  Robert

  As soon as Robert turned the car into the parking lot, the headlights revealing the man standing in their path, a bewildering instinct rose to twist his gut until it hurt.

  Run him over. Plant your foot and run him down.

  The sweet part of his soul, the part aching like a tooth in need of a root canal after a day full of shocks, stopped him cold.

  His foot slammed onto the brake pedal instead, bringing the car to a swinging stop. The seat belt bit deep into his shoulder.

  Again, his stomach gnawed at him, insisting something was wrong with the figure hulking on the concrete in front of them. Then he saw the red cans, his nostrils filled with the intoxicating breath of gas, and through the open car window came the distinctive short scratch of a lighter.

  Robert’s neck muscles tensed as Becca thumped on his headrest. “Drive,” she shouted, her voice breaking through the upper registers. “Drive.”

  He extended his arm toward the ignition. The turn of the key occurred in slow motion. Flames shot up the side of the window, and Becca shrieked in distress.

  A scuffle ensued; Robert caught Becca in the corner of his eye trying to clamber into Frankie’s seat, away from the fire. The sounds were muffled as if his ears were stuffed with cotton wool. Frankie shoved Becca away, and she thumped on his headrest again, yelping.

  At last, the car engine revved. The vehicle shot forward. Straight into the flames.

  Robert yanked the steering wheel, and the car swerved in a long arc. They passed so close to the man standing there that Robert could see the whites of his eyes. The man’s arms were extended to each side as if they were nailed to an imaginary cross.

  Now they drove toward cold, gray asphalt, broken with lines of white paint, until the spaces caught a spark like a virus, growing it into thigh-high flames. An explosion punched air into Robert’s eardrums, igniting a whine as shrill as a smoke alarm.

  “Left, Robert.” Annie pushed at his shoulder, raising one hand to point. “Drive left.”

  He glanced that way, Annie already leaning across to drag the wheel where she wanted to go.

  The car shook and skidded, for a moment traveling on the thin coating of gasoline rather than the tarmac beneath. Then the tires gripped, and the car leaped forward, its nose pointing at a shop window.

  “Brake!” Annie yelled, gripping the dashboard. “Brake!”

  His muscles obeyed her shouted instruction before his mind could process the request. As the car stopped, he
jerked forward and felt Becca’s weight land against the back of his seat. Blood sprayed into his mouth from his bitten tongue. The salty tang of copper ran down the back of his throat.

  Behind him, Robert heard the door release and turned to see Becca sagging outside, her arms on the ground, her legs still in the car. Soft mewling noises escaped her throat.

  Fire spread across the parking lot in an ever-widening circle. The night sky was lit with the biggest bonfire Robert had ever seen. Pushing open his own door, Robert stood and looked back at the man, the one who’d set it all alight.

  Flames rose around him. The man stood, soundless, as the fire consumed his body, twisting and weakening it until he finally collapsed to the ground.

  Robert leaned to the side and retched. His whole body shook as if the muscles had lost all control. He wanted to run to Becca and Frankie, shield their eyes from the sight. Instead, his trembling knees buckled, and he sank back into the car.

  Becca pulled herself to a standing position. Robert could see her legs shaking, but she slung her arm over the open car door, using it as a crutch to keep her upright.

  Another explosion ripped the air apart behind them like a thousand thunderbolts cracking open the sky. Becca shrieked and jumped away, her arms out in front to ward off the new danger. Then she leaned forward and began running toward it.

  “Roll,” she shouted.

  Robert forced himself to his feet again, a new flood of adrenaline lending him strength. He saw a man in the flames, saw him fall to the ground.

  Robert sprinted toward him, passing Becca as she paused before the flickering fire. He bent and grabbed the man under the armpits, Becca joining him a second later. Together they dragged him free.

  Frankie ran up, holding out a bottle of water. Robert spun off the cap and poured its contents over the man’s singed shirt. When he lifted the sodden material, it revealed skin reddened by the heat but not burned.

  The squeal of tires signaled Annie frantically steering the car toward them. She jumped from the driver’s seat before the vehicle came entirely to a stop and ran around to help lift the man into the back seat. Frankie and Becca piled in behind him as best they could.

  Annie reclaimed the passenger seat and after Robert had sat on the driver’s side, pointed to the side of the mall frontage. A narrow gap existed between the main mall structure and a thin line of shops that twisted around the side of the parking lot.

  It would serve as a firebreak.

  Robert pulled cautiously up to the gap then gunned the engine when he confirmed they’d fit through. In the rear-view mirror, he saw one final car explode. The blast propelled burning shrapnel to punch through a storefront window, igniting the carpet, the curtains, the walls.

  The main mall was on fire.

  Turning the nose of the car into darkness, Robert eased to a stop. A safe distance now from the wreckage, he felt awe overtake the last of his panic.

  Stuffed on oxygen, the fire widened its grip to encompass the shops and the cars parked on the street.

  It took a moment for him to realize that Annie had opened her door and was running back toward the destruction.

  Her feet cracked like whips against the pavement as she hurtled toward a burning car near the edge of the mall.

  “Mikey!” she screamed.

  Robert sprinted after her as Annie made a beeline for a large SUV parked at right angles to the shop windows. In the confusion, he’d forgotten the whole reason they’d come here.

  Flames ate their way up the tires, paint on the panels around them bubbling and peeling in the heat. The shadow of a car seat in the rear of the vehicle was visible in the flickering light from the climbing blaze.

  Annie wrenched at the door, shrieking as the hot metal burned her hand. As Robert pulled up behind her, he saw the seats were empty. Annie reached into the burning car.

  “Get back,” he yelled, the heat released from inside the car bursting into his face. He grabbed for Annie’s shoulder, but she continued to climb into the back seat, shrieking her son’s name.

  “There’s no one there,” he screamed.

  She didn’t stop.

  Robert leaned in behind her, his face sweating from the increased heat. Using all his strength, he caught around her neck and dragged her into a chokehold. With her throat secured in the crook of his elbow, Robert ran backward. Annie’s feet dragged on the ground.

  He tripped and fell onto his back, Annie atop him. Through the open back door, the fire hungrily rampaged through the vehicle.

  Still gripping Annie around the neck, Robert scrambled to his feet. He staggered back a few paces, this time Annie moving with him. He released his hold, and they ran, side by side, back to his vehicle.

  Frankie stood beside the car, face white, eyes wide.

  “There’s no one in there,” Robert assured her. She nodded, but her eyes flicked back toward the SUV.

  Fire engulfed it now, inside and out. If it caught the gas tank, the vehicle would explode.

  “Get in,” Robert shouted, running around to the driver’s side. As the car doors slammed shut, he planted his foot and drove farther along, exiting onto the safety of a side street.

  “He wasn’t there,” Annie mumbled beside him, her face buried in her hands.

  Rebekah

  The young man dipped in and out of consciousness. When Robert finally pulled into a rest stop he knew, surrounded by forest, the stranger made a series of snuffling sounds, a light snore, and snuggled into Rebekah’s shoulder.

  Butterflies launched in her stomach.

  Stop it, a voice remonstrated in her head. Only a few hours ago, she’d found the body of her mom. Forging feelings for an unconscious stranger, no matter how handsome, was unseemly.

  But life no longer headed down the regular tracks. I can have this if I want.

  “Help me walk him down to the stream,” Robert said to Annie. “We need to know what sort of injuries we’re dealing with. Becca?” She leaned forward, looking over the man’s unconscious body. “There’s a first aid kit in the glove box. Would you bring that along?”

  She nodded and waited while they pulled the man from the back seat. Frankie was sleeping on her other side, and Rebekah didn’t want to disturb her.

  Annie took the man’s right side, pulling his arm over her shoulder and lifting under his armpit. Robert mirrored her on the man's left. A muffled inquiry came from their patient. Annie shushed him.

  When Rebekah pulled the glove box open, a pile of papers threatened to spill onto the floor. She lifted them up and tugged the green first aid kit out.

  The click as she closed the compartment drew a small cry from Frankie. Rebekah turned and saw a tear tracing a bright, moonlit path down Frankie’s cheek. Under closed lids, her friend’s eyes moved rapidly from side to side.

  For a moment, Rebekah hesitated. Then she closed the door as quietly as she could. If Frankie could sleep now, her body and mind must need the rest. Even distressing dreams were better than their current reality.

  Annie and Robert were slow-moving with their new guest. Rebekah easily caught up with them on the path, which comprised wooden slats covered with wire. Walking behind, she let the trio lead her down toward a small stream.

  “The stream is down on the left,” Robert said, pulling the trio that way. “Let’s just lay him down here till we know what we’re dealing with.”

  Rebekah hovered in the background while Annie pulled up the man’s shirt. Blood caked his skin, appearing black in the dim light.

  “Hand that over,” Robert said, waving at the kit. Rebekah passed it across and knelt down beside Annie.

  Robert pressed his watch, casting a small glow of yellow light over the proceedings. He flicked through the first aid contents with his fingertip. Band-Aids. Tape. A tightly rolled bandage.

  “Are there scissors?” Annie asked. “We need to clean out these wounds.” At Becca’s frown, she added, “I’ll cut off part of his shirt to use as a cloth. Unless you have a ha
ndkerchief?”

  That last was directed at Robert, who shook his head. Steel glinted in the moonlight as he handed across the required scissors.

  After Annie had cut a piece of cotton free, Rebekah took it and ran down to the edge of the stream. With one hand pressed deep in mulch, she leaned forward to wet the fabric, then hurried back.

  Rebekah watched as Annie wiped the cloth across the man’s chest. Soon the wound edges emerged, dark against his white skin.

  “I’ll pop back and check on Frankie,” Robert said. When he stood, his knees cracked like breaking twigs. “You’re okay to carry on here?”

  “We’re good,” Rebekah answered. “Annie can tell me what to do.”

  Annie looked up sharply at that, but there was too little light for Rebekah to read her expression.

  “Leave your watch,” Annie said. “It’ll help if we need to do any bandaging.”

  Robert placed it inside the kit before he turned to go. The sound of his trek back was loud in the dark stillness. The thump of the car door as he reached the end of his journey sounded closer than it should.

  “How bad is it?” Rebekah whispered. She moved opposite Annie, reaching out a fingertip to lightly touch the pristine items in the first aid kit.

  Annie looked up briefly before turning her attention back to the job at hand. “He’s been shot in the chest,” she said. “But it can’t be too bad.”

  She handed over the cloth, now tacky and dark crimson with the man’s blood.

  Rebekah ran it down to the stream, rinsing it until she could see the check pattern again. Her mind filled in the gaps from Annie’s summary. The wound couldn’t be all that bad because otherwise, he’d be dead.

  “Is there antiseptic?” Annie asked as Rebekah rejoined her. “We need something cleaner than creek water.”

  Rebekah lifted out a bottle. Not recognizing the label, she unscrewed the top and took a sniff.

  “Here you go.” She passed it across to Annie. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Take over from me here,” Annie instructed, handing everything over. “I need to look at his leg. There’s blood coming from his thigh.”