by A. R. Shaw
Reuben pulled into the clearing, unfolded the map, and used a penlight to check their location. Lucy leaned forward from the backseat, with Tala next to her. “Are we lost?” she asked.
He glanced back at her soft green eyes and her pale skin, which nearly glowed in the dark. He’d hardly said a word to the occupants in the backseat after their escape. He’d shut them out completely as he raced toward safety. The enemy had been ruthless, Clarisse was probably dead, and Dalton would blame him for that. That is, if any of them made it out of there alive; Reuben had his doubts. He saw the other prepper vehicles in the rearview mirror. There were too many of them, no matter what tricks they had up their sleeves.
“No. We’re not lost. I’m waiting for the signal.”
“Oh,” Lucy said and then asked, “Where are the dogs?”
“They were in the first load. We thought it was best to keep them with the children as an added measure of defense.”
Suddenly three flashes of blue light caught Lucy’s attention, ahead of them in the dark.
“Is that the signal?” she asked.
“Yes. That’s it.” Reuben put the truck in drive and headed out of the clearing, into the forest, while Mark moved brush out of the way for him.
The realization that he would have to relay bad news became more daunting the farther Reuben went. The plan had gone off without a hitch until Dalton had decided to play commando. Now Reuben was the senior in command until the others showed up . . . if they showed up at all. Leading this group was a huge responsibility, and he wasn’t confident he was up for the task.
So far it looked as if Mark was acting according to the plan, which was a good sign. He rolled down the window, and Mark stepped onto the running panel and held on. “Go ahead. The path winds to the right,” Mark whispered.
“Who else is on watch?”
“Macy has the front. Don’t worry; no one’s getting past her. And no one could get past Lawoaka either, without me tagging along,” Mark said.
“Ah.” Reuben understood now; His own daughter had wicked sharp sight and no sense of humor. It had worried him, the way these kids were growing up. They were trained daily to defend and kill. They’d kill or be killed from now on to survive. He wasn’t sure he wanted this for them. Perhaps death was more just, more humane. He hadn’t made up his mind yet, but the question nagged at his soul.
He stopped in front of a weathered, gray one-story hunting lodge. Mark opened the back door for Lucy and Tala.
“You made it,” Mark said, embracing Tala.
“Hi, Mark. Is everyone okay?” Tala asked.
“Yeah, we’re fine. Where are Graham and McCann?”
She looked to Reuben, then said, “There was some difficulty getting out. We think they’re on their way, but we haven’t heard yet.”
“Nothing came over the radio?” Reuben asked him.
“We haven’t set anything up. No tracers, right?” Mark said.
“That was a trick question. Yes, you’re right. They either show up or they don’t,” Reuben answered.
Marcy emerged to usher Lucy and Tala inside a dimly lit cabin.
“You guys run into any trouble on your way here? Any locals?” Reuben asked Mark as they walked back to the entrance.
“Not a soul,” Mark said as Sheriff ran up to his side in the dark.
“Hey, buddy. You keeping these guys in line?” Reuben said as Sheriff sniffed him.
“Yeah, Sheriff’s been on edge since we got here. We hear wolf cries every now and then. We’re sure there are no other people nearby this location?” Mark asked.
Reuben surveyed the area—as much as he could see in the moonlight. “We’re not sure of anything right now, son. I only remembered this place on a hunting trip I took ten years ago. I gave you three possible locations. This one was thankfully unoccupied. We’ll wait a few days for the others to arrive, and decide if we move on or stay here,” Reuben said.
“It’s fine for now. The house is at least big enough, and defendable,” Mark said. And there it was again for Reuben: this seventeen-year-old kid was worried about defense. He wasn’t studying for his SAT test, he wasn’t working on his favorite ride. It was life and death he worried about. His survival instincts had already taken over. Is this how humankind was meant to continue?
Suddenly, a hand touched Reuben on the back and he nearly pulled his weapon around. “Jesus! Don’t do that!” he warned Macy.
“Hi, Reuben,” she said, hugging him.
“Seriously, you could get yourself killed sneaking up like that,” he said.
“You’d never shoot me,” she said, smiling.
“Only for your own good,” he said.
Macy raised an eyebrow at him, but then shrugged it off. “Where are the others? They were supposed to be with you.”
“There was some trouble. They should be here soon.”
“It’ll be light in another hour,” she said.
“We’ll wait for them,” Mark said, “as long as it takes.”
Chapter 45 Americans
“Who are your people?”
“Americans!” Dutch yelled in angry protest. It was the only answer he would utter.
He smiled in defiance at the enemy behind bloodied, split lips and a nose he knew was broken. He was having some trouble breathing, but remained silent as he knelt down before them with his arms tied behind his back. The man holding him around the neck shoved Dutch forward, causing him to fall face forward into the ground.
“Tell us how many there are!”
They would torture him first. He knew the drill. He’d seen it time and time again. Hell, most Americans had no idea how they tortured their prisoners before they beheaded them; it didn’t matter if they were men, women, or children.
They were animals, and took pleasure in their savagery. With nothing more than an alpha dominance mentality, they perceived their prisoners’ submission as their right, and any act they could come up with—no matter how vile—they would undertake, repeatedly, to achieve that submission.
I’m dead. It’s only a matter of minutes now, Dutch thought.
They’d already hung him from a tree for a time by his hands. His shoulders had sustained his entire body’s weight, and they felt as if they would come out of their sockets at any time. They beat him with sticks while yelling questions at him. When that didn’t work, they dropped him to the ground, where he remained.
Dutch tried to block out the tremendous pain and kept his thoughts on Lucy, knowing she would survive. His prosthesis was nowhere in sight; he didn’t remember when they took it off of him.
A boot landed on the back of his left elbow. They jerked him up against the pressure and repeated again, “How many? Special forces?”
Nothing. He would give them absolutely nothing except to tell them that they hadn’t won. “Americans,” was all he would say. Knowing that he had saved Lucy from this hell would bring him peace in his last fleeting breath.
The butt end of his captor’s rifle hit Dutch in the jaw. They were done with him for now. He fell down again, face first into the ground, and lay there until the lights dimmed.
Chapter 46 The Cache
Clarisse pulled up near the hidden bunker.
“This is it?” Graham asked.
“Yeah.” She pointed toward a tree grove. “There’s a metal bunker with a cache of equipment there behind the trees. Let me open the door, and we’ll get these guys inside. We spent many weekends setting these up in various locations. We’ve got med supplies in here, and enough room for all of us—for now.” She and Graham ran for the trees and moved brush out of the way. “The keypad is here somewhere,” Clarisse said, searching the exterior.
“Here it is,” Graham said, pulling up on the locking device. Clarisse typed in a code and the latch opened easily. She scanned the night sky, trying to predict how much time they had before daylight. Graham met her eyes.
“I’m going back with you,” he said. She had no idea he would guess he
r intentions.
“No, I can do it alone,” she said
“No you can’t. Not this. If there’s a way, we can do it together,” Graham said, and Clarisse had to admit he was right.
“Let’s get them inside and load up.” She swung up the metal gate to the bunker.
“There’s a light on the right there,” she told Graham, and when he hit switch a fluorescent glow started out dim, but quickly increased.
“Hurry. We need to keep this door closed.”
McCann was already bringing Sam in; he was bloody, with one arm draped over McCann’s shoulder.
“Bring him here,” Clarisse said, not believing her eyes. There was so much blood. She hurried into the eight-by-ten bunker, pulling out a cot and setting it up for Sam to lie on. McCann began to arrange two more cots while she pulled medical equipment off the shelves.
Each bunker had been set up the same, with weapons, food, and medical equipment for future needs.
“McCann, I need your help with the others,” Graham called out.
Clarisse knelt down at Sam’s side. He was pale and barely conscious, glassy-eyed. She checked his wound and ripped open his pant leg to discover that his femoral vein was nicked. He’d be dead if much more time had elapsed, but at least it was repairable. She left the tourniquet on for now and set up an IV.
She smiled at him. “You’re gonna be fine, Sam.”
“I know it. It’s not my time yet.” He grabbed Clarisse’s arm, adding, “It’s not yours either, and I know you’re thinking of going back. Dutch knows he’s a dead man. You can’t save him, so please don’t try.”
“I’m putting you to sleep now, Sam. Don’t worry, my friend. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“Not enough, Clarisse. Not enough for this,” Sam said before sliding into a deep sleep.
She worked quickly. She disinfected herself and his leg as fast as possible and then McCann opened the sterile surgical kit for her.
“You have to handle this now, she said to McCann. “We won’t be gone too long. If we don’t return by sundown, get them into the truck and go to the planned location. I’m sorry I have to leave this to you,” she said, feeling guilty about the immense responsibility she was placing on the young man. She looked up at McCann, who watched her scalpel technique. As usual, he had a toothpick in his mouth; Clarisse had no idea where he kept those things, but he seemed to have an endless supply of them.
“I’ve got it covered, Clarisse,” McCann said. “Don’t worry. Dalton just needs to sleep it off. He’s fine. Rick, I don’t know. His vitals are fine, but it’s a head injury, and he’ll come out of it or he won’t. Sam here nearly bled to death, but he’ll be okay now with this repair.”
“Good. Okay, there are MREs in here and more medical supplies and lots of ammo. Read the labels. Keep the door closed and locked. Do not use the radio. Try to sleep if you can, and we should be back before noon, no matter what.”
“Don’t worry about us; get Dutch back if you can.”
At least I have his support, Clarisse thought, then turned to face McCann. “Okay, he’s all set now. You can close the wound yourself. I’ll clean up, and we can get going,” she said, turning to Graham.
“I’ll load up a few things,” Graham said, and he began pulling supplies from the shelves he thought might come in handy.
“Make sure you add that one.” She pointed to a rectangular, army-green bundle. “And plenty of those, too.”
Graham raised his eyebrows at her.
“We’re not going back empty-handed.”
In her sleeveless shirt, Clarisse drenched both arms with saline again to wash off the blood that seeped past her glove line. The water was cold, and the sound of the splashing seemed foreign to her in this small, quiet room.
Three of the strongest men she’d ever known lay before her, helpless, on cots on the ground. The enemy had done this to them, and it might never end. They might have to run like this forever, until the last of them perished.
“I’m ready,” Graham said. “Let’s go.”
Clarisse donned her bloodied jacket and knelt at Dalton’s side before she left. She caressed his scarred face and kissed him gently.
“I love you, Dalton. Good-bye for now.”
Chapter 47 Going Back
Graham had topped off the Jeep’s gas tank before they left, and now they rode in silence. The sun was beginning to rise. Graham glanced briefly at Clarisse in the passenger seat. She was quiet in thought and far away; they both were, but now it was time to plot and plan.
“It’s impossible. You know that, right?” he said.
He glanced at her again to see if she was ignoring him or simply contriving a possible rescue scenario.
She shook her head. “It’s not impossible. They think we’ve left.” Only the road noise interrupted the next few hushed moments.
“It’s not fair,” Clarisse said, referring to the glorious scarlet-hued sunrise forming in the east. “It shouldn’t be so beautiful.”
Graham stepped on the accelerator. They had to get into position. In his mind, there were only two possible outcomes, and both involved saving Dutch.
“If we set up above the ridge, we’ll have plenty of cover. We can see them and they won’t necessarily be able to see us—until we fire the rockets, that is. Then we’ll have time to get out of there pretty quick,” he said.
“Or, make sure there’s no one left to come after us,” she answered. They both knew this mission might mean their death sentence.
“They can’t be allowed to track us back,” Graham said.
“Even if we get them all, they’ll send others. They’ll come for us again. They won’t stop. We have to find a way to wipe the trail clean,” Clarisse said.
Graham could only nod, though he had no idea how they’d manage that.
Trees flew past his window. He’d stop soon and they’d pack up their gear and start hiking through the forest the rest of the way to meet the ridge that overlooked the burned-out preppers’ camp.
“Pull over here,” Clarisse said before he’d made the decision himself.
Graham ran the Jeep off the road and pulled up to the tree line of the forest leading to camp. He then backed the Jeep into the forest cover, leaving them a quick getaway if need be.
“This’ll be perfect,” Graham said.
“Let’s hope so. It’s our only chance. Leave the keys in the ignition.” seeing the questioning look on Graham’s face, she added, “In case one of us doesn’t make it back, we won’t have to worry who has the keys.”
Graham left the keys on the seat, wondering if he’d see them again. After opening the back of the Jeep, Clarisse removed her jacket, tied it around her waist, and began reloading ammo and packing every possible advantage into their clothing.
Graham slung a bag containing a rocket-propelled grenade launcher over his shoulder, then placed several rounds into Clarisse’s backpack. “Don’t fall,” he suggested as an attempt at humor. Finally he grabbed Rick’s rifle and all the ammo he could carry.
“Do you need your glasses?” he asked as Clarisse tightened her chestnut hair into a straight ponytail. He noticed goose bumps on her bare, sleeveless arms.
“No. I’m farsighted. And they were crushed when I bailed out of Reuben’s Jeep, anyway.” She laughed, not certain why she found that humorous.
Graham smiled. “Let’s do this,” he said, and with the sun fully up behind them they entered the relative darkness of the forest—come what may.
Chapter 48 Waiting
“Sun’s up. What do you think?” Mark asked Reuben.
“We’re settled for now until we hear something.”
“Damn, I wish I’d stayed with them.” Mark had just traded his position off with Marcy. They were all dragging from the stress of the last twenty-four hours—and especially the previous night’s battle.
“I’m pretty sure Graham made the right decision where you’re concerned. It was his call. You need to be he
re taking care of these people,” Reuben reminded him.
They’d just met at the cabin, and while the others took watch Olivia met them at the door with MREs and said in a voice meant as a warning, “Eat, and then sleep.” After that, she returned to the kids, changing it to a singsong, nothing-is-wrong voice. Reuben marveled at how she could do that so quickly. His own wife was on watch now, along with Lucy and Tala, and he had no idea how they could go on like this. Of course, that didn’t matter right now. He was the lead, and he needed to keep everyone both positive and ready to roll in case they were being trailed. Not knowing the fate of the others weighed them all down.
“I don’t know if I can eat,” Mark said.
Reuben turned his MRE on the long side and tore it that way instead of the expected short end. “Like this,” he said. “You fuel up, or you stop and they die,” Reuben said, swinging his spork around toward the children playing in the main room. “Doesn’t matter what the envelope is labeled. You eat it and drink clean water. Sleep when you’re allowed, and get back up and do it again. Clear?”
“Got it,” Mark said, emulating Reuben’s side-tear tactic.
Reuben fished a heaping sporkful of some kind of cold tomato-based pasta and shoved it into his mouth, “Mmmm,” he said as Mark drank more water. Soon their MRE packets were empty and both bedded down on the wood floor with their rolls along the wall in the communal whoever-needs-to-sleep room.
Reuben could hear the tykes in the next room chattering at a whisper. He could pick out Kade’s young voice in particular. Olivia was good about keeping their world at peace with a kind reminder that they needed to keep their voices down.
It didn’t go unnoticed how Addy, Hunter, and Bang had stared Reuben down when he arrived. Not one asked the question on their minds. They were worried about their parents. Olivia kept them distracted—or, more likely, they kept her appeased with their willingness to play along with the charade of distraction. These children were far ahead of Clarisse, he suspected.
