American Fallout_Book 1_Edge of Collapse

by Alex Gunwick

  “Ladies?” Donovan looped an arm around her and Nina and led them toward the door.

  “Are you going to do it to her too?” A woman she didn’t recognize stepped in front of them.

  “Go home, Audrey. You’re drunk,” Donovan said.

  “You can’t buy me off,” she said. “You think you have power because of who your dad is, but you don’t. I could tell everyone what you did.”

  “Excuse me,” Donovan said as he grabbed Audrey’s upper arm and hauled her into the hall.

  “What’s she talking about?” Sierra asked.

  “Who knows,” Cameron said. “He’ll meet us when he’s done talking to her. Let’s head out.”

  She waited until everyone had cleared out of the apartment. As she and Nina followed Cameron into the hall, she spotted Donovan. He towered over Audrey, waving his hand through the air in agitated animation.

  Although she couldn’t hear what they were saying, it looked like a fight. Audrey wasn’t his ex, so Sierra couldn’t imagine what they were fighting about. For a second she considered intervening, but it was none of her business. They’d have to work out whatever issue they had on their own.

  4

  Luke ducked behind the truck as a second gunshot rang out. He inched toward the corner and peeked out. Back at the well-lit gas station, the man who’d rammed his truck into the store’s wall lay on the ground, facedown, with his arm twisted at an unnatural angle. A dark red pool of blood oozed from under the dead man’s body. The guard stood over him. He held his shotgun in the air and hollered something Luke couldn’t make out. Order was degrading fast. He had to get on the road before a gunfight broke out.

  He quickly skirted the edge of his truck and hopped into the driver’s seat. He held onto his gun with one hand and drove with the other.

  After exiting the shopping center, he turned left onto Sperry Avenue. As he passed through the center of town, people who were gathered in groups in the parking lots of other stores turned to watch him. Men holding crowbars bashed in windows at a pharmacy. A woman carrying a baby dashed across the road, narrowly dodging cross-traffic as she fled the mob.

  At the next intersection, an angry group of men wearing white tank tops and matching blue bandanas shot up a police car. So much for Rule of Law. He’d expected societal norms to break down, but he’d hoped it would have taken longer than a few hours. Society operated on a thin veil of law and order, but any cracks in the system could shatter it in a matter of hours.

  When the gang set the police car on fire, he flashed back to the 1992 riots in LA. He’d been in Afghanistan in ’92, but news of the riots had traveled fast. He couldn’t believe how fast the city had dissolved into chaos. And in some parts of LA, the police weren’t even bothering to respond to calls.

  The light turned green. He punched the gas and flew past the mob. He couldn’t afford to get caught in the melee. After he was safely out of range, he slowed to check the street signs. He turned right onto Highway 33 and sped out of town.

  Open fields stretched on for miles. Fortunately, twilight blanketed the landscape. Darkness stretched across the fields, giving him some cover. He’d only traveled down this road once before, so he wasn’t sure how many miles it was to Highway 140. He vaguely remembered the turnoff being on the other side of a small town, but he couldn’t recall any particular landmarks.

  Rather than risk getting lost in the dark, he turned onto an unmarked dirt road. He parked behind a cluster of bushes and killed the lights. He grabbed his Get Home Bag from the backseat and hauled it into the passenger side. Since leaving San Jose, he hadn’t stopped to eat or drink anything. He tore into a packet of beef jerky and washed it down with a full bottle of water. His parched throat demanded more.

  After draining a second bottle, he dug through his bag and found a laminated map of central California. He traveled up to San Jose a couple of times a month for his work as a defense consultant. After serving his country for a decade as a Navy SEAL, he’d left to join the private sector. Sometimes he regretted his decision to leave the service, but with a baby on the way, he’d left for the sake of his family.

  He carried detailed maps of central California in case he ever needed to use an alternate route to get home. It didn’t take much to shut down the 5. Anything from a car accident to a gas spill could send him miles off of his route. He always wanted a minimum of three main routes home. But with three hundred miles to go, he might be in for a few more detours.

  After studying the map, he shoved it back into his bag. He grabbed a bag of trail mix and set it in the cup holder. He tossed the two empty water bottles into the backseat. They might come in handy later.

  He pulled out his phone and checked the battery. Still holding up, but he should keep it charged. He plugged the charging cord into the cigarette lighter. He checked for any messages from his family.

  Nothing. No calls. No texts.

  Since the bombs started dropping, he hadn’t heard anything from them. He tried to place a call.

  “All circuits are busy. Please try your call again later.”

  He cursed and ended the call. After setting his phone to charge, he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. He flipped it open and fished out a picture of his family. He traced his finger across the worn photograph and sighed. Come hell or high water, he’d make it back to them.

  Although he had total faith in his wife’s ability to take care of the kids, he couldn’t help but worry about their safety. Even if everything went as planned, a thousand variables were in play. Anything could go wrong at any time. He shut down the incoming flood of horrifying possibilities. Wallowing in fear wouldn’t help him get home. Action would.

  Rehydrated and refueled, he was ready to drive the rest of the way home. Even if it took all night.

  Miles later, he’d traveled Highway 140 to the 165. He crossed the San Joaquin River and skirted the edge of Great Valley Grasslands State Park. Everything was going well until he spotted lights blazing at the next bridge. He hadn’t passed another car in miles. Had there been a wreck on the bridge?

  As he cautiously rolled forward, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Something wasn’t right. Three cars were parked side by side in the middle of the road. Their headlights cut through the darkness.

  The shadow of a man passed in front of the truck. Luke spotted the profile of a shotgun slung over his shoulder. He put the truck in reverse and executed a screeching turn. It wasn’t fast enough. The back window shattered.

  He floored the gas and skidded off into the darkness only to get blinded by a row of headlights perched atop an oncoming truck.

  Shit!

  He must have passed it without noticing it.

  As he veered around the truck, his wheels caught gravel. It bounced off the undercarriage like automatic rifle fire. He struggled to control the skid. The wheels caught the pavement and he roared forward, fishtailing wildly.

  A gunshot rang out. The truck jolted and before he could react, the truck careened over the edge of the road, smashed through a line of bushes, and splashed into the river. It floated for a few seconds before slowly sinking into the water.

  He grabbed a small window-breaking hammer from his Get Home Bag. After breaking the window, he pulled himself through it. As he struggled to escape, shouting from down the road drew closer. The growl of a truck’s engine grew louder. He only had seconds until they were on him.

  He reached in and grabbed his bag. Leaving it would be a disastrous decision. Without it, he was as good as dead.

  As he yanked it out, the truck pursuing him skidded to a halt. He waded across the river, fighting the current until he reached the other side. He scrambled up the bank. Shots blasted the earth around him. Dirt rained down, pelting his skin.

  His SEAL training kicked in. He dropped to the ground and crawled. Elbow. Hip. Elbow. Hip.

  When he reached a patch of dense grass, he moved even faster. If he had any chance of escaping, he’d have to get to the nex
t tree line before they gave chase.

  In the pitch-black night, he missed the change in terrain and rolled down an embankment. With cat-like reflexes, he landed on his feet in a crouched position. He splashed through a small stream, ran up the other side, and rushed into the tree line.

  With only a hint of faint moonlight to guide his way, he navigated through the thin patch of trees flanking the river. Flat fields of wild grass spread out on either side, giving him no other option but to follow the river.

  If he could get far enough away from them, he had a camo tarp in his bag. He ran at full speed and dove into a thicket of bushes. Face down, pressed against the earth, he unzipped his pack and dug through it. His fingers brushed across the tarp. He grabbed it, whipped it open, and threw it over his head. If this didn’t work, he was a dead man.

  Sierra stumbled down a long hallway on the second floor of Donovan’s house. She’d never been inside such a confusing maze of rooms before. Each one blended into the next. As she pushed open a door into a dark room, giggling and kissing sounds flowed out.

  “Room’s taken,” a man yelled from inside.

  She quickly closed the door and continued on her quest to find Nina. She couldn’t remember if she’d already checked the room at the far end of the hall or not. Had she already been in this wing? Everything was so hazy.

  Her leaden feet carried her toward another room. There seemed to be a three-second delay between each step. Her foot would move forward, but she wouldn’t feel the movement until she’d already taken the next step. Something was wrong. Probably exhaustion.

  Although she didn’t want to abandon Nina at the party, she wouldn’t be able to stay on her feet much longer.

  “Nina,” she called. “Are you up here?”

  A couple emerged from one of the rooms. Kissing and groping each other, they pushed passed her, completely ignoring her in the process.

  “Assholes,” she mumbled.

  She shuffled into the next room and tried to turn on the light. She felt along the wall until she banged into a lamp. It toppled over. After setting it upright, she turned the light on.

  A dull yellow glow illuminated a five foot area around the table. A king-size bed sat next to a large dresser. Across the room, light from a streetlamp cast a hazy glow over a sitting area complete with two wingback chairs. Another table held up an enormous arrangement of fake lilies.

  Her eyelids drooped.

  So tired.

  If she could lie down for a few minutes, she might have the strength to keep looking for her friend.

  She climbed onto the bed and kicked off her shoes. After stuffing a pillow under her head, she closed her eyes and drifted off.

  In the strange realm between semi-consciousness and sleep, voices drifted like wraiths through a haunted mansion.

  “Is she out?” a man asked.

  “Looks like it,” a second man said.

  “Where’s Donovan?”

  “Downstairs with Rachel. He’s trying to bang her too.”

  “Go tell him she’s up here. He wanted her tonight. The other chick can wait. She’s willing anyway.”

  “Are you sure she’s not awake?” the second man asked.

  “I don’t think so. Figure it out while I go get him.”

  She tried to raise her head, but the room spun on its axis.

  “Hey,” the second man poked her shoulder. “You awake?”

  When she moaned a response, he jumped back.

  “Shit.”

  “Where’s Nina?” she slurred.

  “She left. Went home.”

  “I have to go home, but I can’t move,” she paused. Speaking every word had taken a Herculean effort. Why couldn’t she move? “Where’s Nina?”

  “Shit.”

  The man headed toward the open door. He stopped inside the room and turned to face her. Light from the hall backlit his figure. His face was shadowed, fuzzy, unrecognizable.

  “I have to leave,” she whispered.

  Two more figures pushed past him into the room. One of them closed the door.

  “She’s a wreck,” the second man said. “I don’t know about this.”

  “She won’t remember a thing.”

  “Donovan?” she mumbled. She tried to lift her head, but it weighed a thousand pounds.

  “Shit, are you sure? She knows who I am.”

  “I put enough in her drink. If she remembers anything I’ll be surprised.”

  “All right,” Donovan said. “You stand guard.”

  “What if someone comes?”

  “Get rid of them,” Donovan said as he pulled his shirt out of his jeans.

  “Whasss going on?” she said.

  “What you always wanted,” he said with a sneer.

  As he moved to unbuckle his jeans, warning bells went off. She struggled to formulate a thought, but as soon as she could get a few words to coalesce, they’d dissolve into oblivion.

  Donovan dropped his pants. He walked toward the bed. In a rush of realization, she choked out a strangled sound. No! This couldn’t be happening.

  He climbed onto the bed. She tried to ball her hands into fists, but the muscles refused to contract.

  “Shut up,” he snarled. “You’ve wanted this from the moment you met me.”

  “No.” It came out a whisper, barely registering above his gruff breaths.

  She closed her eyes, unable to move. Unable to fight back. Completely helpless and alone, her worst nightmare was about to come true.

  A commotion at the door caught Donovan’s attention. He eased off the bed and stomped over. As angry, unidentifiable words bounced around the room, she summoned every ounce of strength and rolled toward the edge of the bed. The momentum pitched her over the side. Without the ability to use her muscles, she flopped onto the floor like a dead fish.

  “Jesus. Sierra? Is that you?”

  “Nina?”

  Sierra tried to raise her head off the floor. A solid lead ball would have weighed less.

  “Help,” she whispered.

  “What the fuck were you guys doing?” Nina spun toward the men. “I’m calling campus security. What the hell did you give her?”

  Nina dropped to her knees and rolled Sierra onto her side. A wave of nausea rolled up from her belly. She vomited all over the floor.

  “Grant!” Nina screamed. “One of you go get him or I swear to God I’m going to hack your fucking dicks off myself.”

  The pulse of retreating footsteps echoed against the wood. With her ear to the floor, Sierra recognized a second set of footsteps. Then a third. Some arrived while others left. In the haze of it all, she lay there, unmoving.

  A minute or an hour passed. Strong hands gripped her arms and someone lifted her over his shoulder. She flopped against him like a rag doll.

  “You’re okay,” Nina said. “We’re taking you home.”

  “Home?”

  “Yes. Let’s go, Grant,” Nina said. “I’m calling the police. You fuckers will not get away with this.”

  “She’s drunk,” Donovan said. “It’s her word against ours.”

  The sound of a fist hitting flesh was followed by a deep grunt. She wasn’t sure who hit who, but someone was down. She lifted her head enough to see Donovan splayed out on the floor.

  “I’ll press charges, you bitch,” Donovan snarled.

  “Dude, she just coldcocked you,” one of his friends said.

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  The voices faded as she drifted back into a foggy world of misshapen faces and unrecognizable sound.

  When she came to, she was in her own bed. Nina hovered over her with a glass of water in one hand and a couple of pills in the other.

  “You need to drink this,” she said. “And take these. I don’t know what they gave you, but it might help.”

  “Hurts,” Sierra mumbled. Her stomach cramped with every breath.

  “You’ve been throwing up on and off for the last two hours. I tried to call 911 but the lines
are still down. Grant went out to see if he could find anyone from campus security.”

  Sierra lifted her head off the pillow and tried to grasp the water. As the glass started to slip, Nina steadied it.

  “I’ll hold it. You sip,” she said.

  The water felt like heaven against her parched lips. She gulped down a mouthful. When it hit the back of her throat, she coughed and sputtered.

  “Slowly,” Nina said.

  Sierra sipped more water. She held her head up as long as possible before weakness forced her back against the bed.

  “That’s enough for now,” Nina said. “We’ll try for more in a few minutes. Maybe you’ll be able to take some aspirin later.”

  “Thank you.” Tears formed in her eyes.

  “Don’t cry. You’re already dehydrated.”

  “How did this happen?” Sierra asked, more to herself than to Nina.

  “Donovan’s an asshole. I shouldn’t have left you alone at that party. Something didn’t feel right, but I chalked it up to all the drunk assholes playing beer pong in the living room. I should have stayed by your side.”

  Sierra reached for her friend’s hand and tried to squeeze it. Nina sat next to her on the bed. She held her hand and told her not to worry. But Sierra couldn’t stop thinking about what had almost happened. She’d almost been raped by Donovan and his friends, and she’d been completely helpless to resist.

  As she started to cry, Nina pulled her head into her lap. She stroked her hair like a mother would a child’s and promised her she was safe now. But was she? If they couldn’t even call the police, how could she possibly be safe?

  5

  Flashlights danced in the darkness about a hundred yards away. Luke pulled the front of the tarp down. He pressed his body against the damp earth. At this point, his plan would either work, or it wouldn’t.

  As he waited, his heart pounded. His lungs heaved with the need to replenish his oxygen supply. Footsteps approached. He slowed his breathing rate. A branch cracked a few yards away. His muscles tensed, ready to spring into action if necessary.