He reached in and pulled out a quart-sized Ziploc bag filled with various pills. Pills for anxiety, pills for pain, sleeping pills, and even ADD medication. A flashlight reflected off the mirror, nearly blinding him, and he quickly tucked the bag under his shirt and held it in place at his side with his arm.
“Are you ready?” Finn asked.
“Yeah, let’s go.” Parker told her.
When she turned to go, he quickly stuffed his bag down the front of his pants and let his shirt hang over it. Following Finn, they met the others in the living room. Eli handed him the pack and the Ruger .357 semiautomatic.
“I put spare magazines and some loose ammo in your pack,” he said. “I know you carried the Glock as a cop, but I think the Eagle’s too large for the girls’ hands if they’re forced to shoot quickly.”
“Good call.” Parker nodded, jacking a round in the chamber and engaging the safety before putting it in the back of his pants.
Eli turned toward the girls, holding the Glock and Bersa out, butts first. “Here, Wonder Woman,” he told Ava. “This is a step up from your turkey carver.”
Ava grinned. “Good call,” she told him. She copied Parker’s actions and added, “You’re not so dumb for an old man.”
“Eat ass,” he said, but he was grinning.
Parker looked between them. How could they be calm enough to razz each other?
“I hope we don’t have to use these,” Finn said, taking the .380 and prepping it before sliding it into the back of her waistband.
“I put the holsters and carry rigs in Parker’s pack,” Eli told them. “You can figure out how you want to carry for travel once you’re clear of the area.”
“Let’s go to the bikes,” Parker said.
Eli grabbed his arm as he turned to go. “What the fuck you mean, ‘bikes’?”
“Bicycles,” Finn said. “It was my idea. They’re silent, they have few moving parts to break, and they’re plentiful. And unlike cars or ATVs, they’re still legal. We can tow small carriers behind them with food and supplies. It’ll take us time to reach the Vineyard, but Parker said we have time. If we travel forty to fifty miles a day, we’ll make it there in two weeks, and we can camp on the road at night.”
Eli looked at Parker. “You approved this?”
Parker nodded. “It seemed logical. The roads are clogged with cars stopped dead by the Event, some crashed. First looters, then Council forces have been systematically syphoning off the gas. Bikes make sense.”
“Yeah,” Eli said. “Bikes make sense if you’re a group of 1950s kids going to see a dead body because growing up is hard. Newsflash, this isn’t a fucking Stand by Me road trip, Jim. The moment you leave here, you’re outlaws, and the Small Kill Teams and tracker units are going to be on the hunt for your asses. You already know they have helicopters; the very first contact you had with them, they landed right in front of you. You should be fucking beating the bush on foot and off the roads as much as possible. You’re not on a hiking trip, man; you’re a small unit trapped behind enemy lines. What the fuck is wrong with you, Jim?”
Parker could see Eli’s point, but he also knew they’d make better time on bikes than on foot, and getting as far away from New Albany as quickly as possible was at the top of the list of must-dos. “We’ll make better time on the bikes, Eli,” Parker said, reshouldering his pack.
Eli looked at him. “Fair enough, Jim. It’s only advice; you don’t have to take it, but if it were me, I’d stay off the roads until I was well away from here.”
Parker nodded not bothering to answer. His head was already two steps ahead and he wasn’t liking what he was seeing. He began moving to the front door.
“Uh, he made a lot of sense—” Ava started to say.
“Let’s go,” Parker snapped as he threw open the door, waiting for the girls to shoulder their packs and follow him.
“Dammit! Not alone, you don’t.” Eli grabbed a flashlight and began to follow them. “I’ll go with you as far as the checkpoint and make sure you get through.”
“What? No, you need to stay here.” Parker stepped in front of Eli blocking the other man. “You have a life here. If you go with us, you might not be able to get back.”
“I don’t have a life!” Eli practically growled. “Not without….” He took a breath and Parker could see the grief flash across his friend’s face before he masked it. He knew it’d been hard for Eli without his wife and he’d been adamant about not wanting to talk about what happened when he went to get her at her sister’s. “What kind of a friend would I be if I didn’t make sure you got out safe. Don’t worry. I’ve no intentions of doing anything stupid, but I’ll be damned if I let you three go out there alone looking like you’re going on a picnic.”
They made it a block before they ran into trouble.
Piercing whistles split the air, and Parker saw flashlights moving ahead of them and to either side on parallel streets. It was a big sweep. About a half block up ahead, two six-man squads worked each side of the street. As Parker watched, two soldiers stayed outside providing security while four went inside to search homes. The group was slowing down even as the soldiers noticed them.
“Don’t mind us,” Ava subvocalized. “We’re just folks with packs and bikes walking down the middle of the street during a sweep. These are not the droids you’re looking for.”
“Return to your homes to await inspection,” one of the soldiers broadcasted through a bullhorn.
Parker removed his work visa, which allowed travel through checkpoints, and held it up, approaching the soldiers. “I have paperwork,” he called out.
He had the full attention of the security detail now.
Shit! Shit! Shit! Why did I open my mouth like that? It’s not like they’ll simply wave us through with our packs loaded down.
“Smooth move,” Eli muttered to him. “Way to call attention to yourselves.”
“I was aiming for a distraction,” Parker whispered back. “I screwed up, okay?”
The lead soldier had a master sergeant rank and a bright red flattop under his BDU cap. He lowered his bullhorn, looked in surprise at the other soldiers, and then turned back around and lifted the bullhorn once again.
“Not tonight, you aren’t. This is a security sweep. Now get the hell out of here and back to your homes before I open fire.”
“Come on, Jim,” Eli whispered. “They’re being lazy or they’re cocky; otherwise, they would have stopped and frisked us the moment we walked up with you three pushing those bikes.”
“Let’s go,” Finn said.
They pushed their bikes back down the narrow run between houses and into Parker’s small backyard. Parker realized he was scared. Not nervous and keyed up with adrenaline in the sort of state that had allowed him to operate as a cop. He was scared.
He saw the fear on the girls’ faces, as well. Ava was disguising hers pretty well with a scowl, but it was there. Eli breathed steadily, his eyes watching the approaches to their position as he stood ready to react if needed.
“We’re going to get caught,” Ava said.
“What should we do?” Finn asked Parker. “We need a plan, fast.”
“Well, maybe we could burn the house down, create a distraction,” Parker suggested.
“We’re not arsonists,” Finn said.
“You mean morally or literally?” Ava snapped. “Because, one, I don’t think it’s really a problem, and two, starting a fire isn’t rocket science. There’s plenty of furniture with stuffing that’d go up quick, not to mention drapes and curtains. Drywall burns fast.”
“Jim has laundry detergent,” Eli said. “That’s filled with phosphates. He’s got acetone paint thinner and fertilizer in his shed, plus oven cleaner, butane for his grill, and motor oil. I could make a bomb in about thirty seconds that’d engulf the place in flames and pump smoke out. Then, once all of his ammunition that was too heavy to carry started cooking off, it’d really get everyone’s attention. If you want a distr
action, that’s your best one.” Eli looked pointedly at Parker. “Police get plenty of IED training; you could do it as easily as I could.”
“Fire, especially one as big as you’re talking about, might endanger the neighbors.”
“There’s time for me to warn them while pretending I’m worried about a regular fire, if it’s the cooking ammo you’re worried about.”
Parker shook his head. “Still too dangerous.”
“Then think of something and think of it quick if you don’t want to do what the Army guy thinks is a good idea,” Ava snapped again. “But stop standing around trying to save all of New Albany for fuck’s sake; we have to move.”
Parker knew what the obvious thing to do was, and the adrenaline had long ago burned off what little buzz he’d had. Why couldn’t he respond? He gripped the straps of his pack to keep from reaching into his pocket for an Ativan.
Finn stood to one side now, quietly crying. She didn’t sob; the tears simply slid down her cheeks. Ava reached out and took her hand. “Shh,” she told the girl. “We’ll think of something.”
Whistles blew in the street outside the house. Down the back alley behind Parker’s house, where he left the garbage cans on trash pick-up day, they heard the rough voices of men shouting orders. Time was up.
“Go,” Eli said.
“Where?” Finn asked.
“Out the back gate. Head east—it’s the closest border of the neighborhood, and there’s a greenbelt there between us and the highway. You can hunker down there until you’re sure it’s safe to ride your bikes, if that’s what you have your stubborn asses set on.”
“What are you going to do?” Parker demanded.
“I’m going to say hello to my little friend, the SCAR,” Eli told him. “I’m going to light up a few of these asshats until they’re pinned down, and then I’ll scoot across yards.”
“That’s suicide,” Parker said.
“You let me figure out me,” Eli said. “You get your own shit tight. There’s no time for you to argue.” He grinned. “Besides, I don’t own a bicycle. Stay safe, brother.”
Eli turned on his heel before Parker could argue further. He started after him, but Ava caught him by his sleeve.
“Guy like that,” she said. “You don’t argue with him once he’s made up his mind. Now if we want any chance at all, we have to go right now.”
They turned and pushed through the back gate into the alley. Down the run to their right, they saw flashlights moving and they turned left. Making it to the edge of the alley, they turned down a side street and started pedaling.
Suddenly from behind them, the sharp crack-crack-crack of rifle fire opened up. After a moment, there was screaming from all around, and then the soldiers returned fire.
They pedaled faster.
4
The Vineyard
Sara had a secret.
It was a pretty big secret as far as secrets went, too. Despite the apparent fervor of her allegiance to the Church, she hated the place. Hated the people who bleated memorized scripture like so many sheep. Hated the routine and the expectations and the pretense of piety that kept the devout in their places. Most of all, she hated Theo Truesdale.
From the shadows at the edge of the main building, she scanned the compound set in the middle of the extensive vineyards. There were bunkhouses, communal kitchens and meeting halls, worksheds, storage units, and outbuildings.
There was also the church, the center of their life. The front of the building was the chapel itself with altar, pews, and stained-glass windows. To the rear of the building was the little cluster of offices that Truesdale used to conduct business, though little about business had been normal since the Event.
Sara knew she was popular and well liked in the community. She’d been cultivating that persona ever since she’d been a child. You could gather more bees with honey than vinegar, she often had to remind herself when she wanted to scream to the church steeple how she felt about everyone. Her standing in the community would change quickly if it was discovered she was an agent of “the Beast,” as the members of the Church of Humanity referred to the Council. It was the sort of secret that could get someone killed, she knew.
Stepping out from the edge of the building, she made her way across the green grass of the lawn framing the church. Susan Hagar and Daniel Morgan strolled out of the dining area and, seeing her, waved hello. Sara smiled and waved back.
She mostly hid in plain sight—this was her power.
Reaching the edge of the building, she turned the corner and approached the back door. Checking unobtrusively to ensure she was unobserved, she entered the building. With only the evening sunlight to illuminate its interior, the place was a hall of shadows, and her footsteps made little squeaks on the linoleum as she walked down the hallway. The church office space wasn’t large, with only a couple of rooms and a small break area where a coffee pot was kept, so she was outside Truesdale’s office in a moment.
It being after hours, the place was deserted and quiet. But Truesdale kept a very predictable schedule, for the most part, so he was easy to find, or keep track of. After dinner, he sat outside, smoked, and conversed with Church Section Leaders. From what Sara had overheard, these meetings were mostly bullshit sessions, but they invariably lasted at least thirty minutes. Plenty of time for what she had to do.
Since the Event, security after dark had dramatically increased, and Sara knew that if she were caught slinking around after hours, it wouldn’t be a smile and a wave from some old friends that she’d be dealing with. Thankfully, despite the heightened security, the church still contained the cheap interior locks the contractors had installed back when it had been built. They were no match for someone who wanted through them.
Looking to both sides, more out of habit than real concern, she pulled a paper clip from her pocket. Trying the doorknob first, to make sure it was really locked, she then began forming her pick.
Straightening the paper clip so that it formed a basic “L” shape, she took a second one and twisted it straight. She eyeballed the lock the way she’d been instructed, determining that it turned clockwise. Inserting the hooked, L-shaped clip into the lock, she applied downward pressure and pulled it in the direction of the lock’s rotation.
The tip of her tongue, bright pink against the macchiato coloring of her skin, pressed between her lips as she concentrated. This wasn’t cat burglary at its highest level, to be sure, but she didn’t have all night, either. This needed to go smoothly.
Keeping downward pressure with the L-shaped clip, she slid the straightened clip between the hook and the top of the keyhole. Then, lifting the straightened clip up, she raked it toward her, engaging the pins. Three times, she tried; three times, she failed. Then the hooked clip, already applying pressure, turned further as she depressed the pins, and the lock slid open.
“Smooth, girl, smooth,” she whispered to herself.
She’d practiced the technique at odd moments when she’d been alone, and she hadn’t been entirely confident in her ability under pressure. Sara smiled as the door swung open beneath her hand and she stood, entering the office.
She closed the door quietly and leaned back against it, surveying the room. Desk, filing cabinets, the now useless personal computer. Her instructions were clear: discover what Dr. Marr’s contingency plans had been and glean any information she could about networks and locations. As the head of the Church, Sara knew that Dr. Marr had kept files here because of her aversion to the overuse of electronics.
Why the Council, which was in complete control of the law enforcement and military assets in the area, needed her to do this was a mystery to Sara. They could have raided the compound under the thinnest of pretexts, or no pretext at all, and shipped everyone off to detention centers for interrogation. Instead, she was here.
She didn’t pursue the line of thought too closely, however. She wanted to fight the Church for reasons of her own, and she willingly left the big picture c
oncerns to those higher up her chain of command. She was good as long as she got a chance to bring Truesdale down.
Moving methodically, she tossed his desk. There was nothing in the drawers beyond old print-outs of Excel sheets, receipts for Church purchases, and various work orders for the Vineyard. She stopped shuffling paperwork for a moment and cocked her head to the side. Gently, she pushed down on the base of the bottom drawer.
It flexed slightly.
Working quickly, she unloaded the remaining paperwork from the drawer and stacked it on the floor next to her. Using her nails, she dug at the lower edges of the drawer until a little false bottom popped up. Inside, she found a slim photo album. Hands almost trembling, she opened it.
Unconsciously, her hand crept up to her mouth. Of course, she’d known. But that kind of knowledge wasn’t spoken aloud, allowing people to pretend they didn’t understand what was happening. The silence surrounding it was where it got its greatest power from.
She turned a page, then another, and then looked all the way through it without hesitating again. She forced herself to go slow, to look at each picture. The photo album was filled with pictures of girls. High-quality print-outs on expensive Kodak film with pigment instead of the cheaper inkjet dye—little labors of love, each snapshot a masterpiece.
The girls were young, and naked, or, at most, wearing panties. Some were crying, some posing provocatively as if fully engaged with their own abuse. Some stared into the lens with quiet, inexpressive eyes. Sara knew these girls; some of them, at least. In a page toward the back was a picture of Susan Hagar who, right before Sara had entered the offices, had been walking across the compound with Daniel Morgan. In the photo, she was on her knees, lipstick smeared on her cheek, eyes bright and alive, looking past the lens toward whoever was holding the camera (as if Sara had any question of who that was). Her flesh crawled as she realized she was holding Theo Truesdale’s stroke book. Revolted, she slammed the book shut and slid it back into place.
Dead End (911 Book 2) Page 5
