“Well…”
A roar followed by a long screaming whistle broke through the uncomfortable peace between them like a hammer through an eggshell. Rachel dropped to the ground, down had to be safer than up. She breathed in and out, her clothing layers working against her as the sweat collected between her shoulder blades. “What was that?” Did she want to know? She needed to get into the bunker room. Get her kids into the room where nothing could hurt them.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” He stood from his crouched position, confident like her Andy had been. Not willing to wait for answers but on the lookout to ask more questions. The ground shook, reverberating through the mountain. The roaring stopped.
Whimpers from the back rooms called for Rachel. Of course her kids would be frightened, but she didn’t want him to leave, not yet. She turned to Josh. “Don’t go. I need help. I hate to ask, but… and we’re so tired. I don’t know how much more we can take. We should be safe here for a little bit. Do you mind? Then we can go look.”
He nodded his head, blond bangs hanging across his forehead. “I agree. Go sleep. I’ll stay on the couch.” His gaze sought hers with a promise. “I won’t leave.”
Capability to spark fear and distrust using complex riddles and puzzles was a talent Rachel had studied in college. She had children to protect and didn’t need fabricated fear to collide with actual unadulterated nightmares. In an obvious upcoming war.
She didn’t have anyone else to shoulder the scarier stuff. Using Hughes as another body between the enemy and her kids may not be the most ethical move, but Rachel didn’t care. Andy hadn’t made it which made the kids her objective and nothing more. Plus, hadn’t Andy set her up for this?
Niceties no longer mattered. She’d count on Josh to maintain honorable behavior around her family because Andy’s fondness for the man had saturated his words. By the tears in Joshua’s eyes at the news of Andy’s loss, the feelings were reciprocated. And she remembered how close they’d been. The truth of their relationship was one she may never realize.
She succumbed to the whisper in her heart that she would need help in the coming days, weeks and months. The same voice didn’t want to be alone and welcomed a friend in the crazy chaos. But could she count him as a friend?
Well, she’d better make a decision – he was staying on her couch. While she was torn by curiosity to investigate the crash, her kids wouldn’t make the trip, bogged down by fatigue and grief. Rachel refused to leave them alone. Protecting them included not only keeping them safe but also taking care of them. They were dead on their feet and needed sleep and more food. She’d contain her anxious wonderings about the sound until the kids were ready to go with her.
Deeper in the cave, where the noise was muffled, Rachel pushed open Kayli’s door. “Kayli-bayli, do you want to come lay down with me in the bunker room?” She left the door open for her daughter to follow her. At the boys’ door, she whispered the same and they followed, Beau clutching his blanket.
Nobody questioned her. Andy had run them through the same drill over and over. But just the same, her children were still kids and they had to have a breaking point. How would it elicit? Rebellion? Malcontent? Discord? Hysterics?
Small cots sprang open with the slightest touch in the master, further back in the cave. Cole climbed into his against the far wall. Kayli and Beau did the same while Rachel closed and bolted the six-inch thick lead door. Radiation, weapons, man or beast would never make it through. She’d locked Josh outside the protection and couldn’t bring herself to offer. In the small space, even with her young kids, she needed a small amount of privacy to say goodbye to her friends. Her husband.
The sound would wait. In fact, any further sound wouldn’t penetrate the room with the door closed. Could she imagine the world wasn’t burning long enough to get some sleep?
She didn’t care about any of it. Her world had already fallen apart. Screw the other stuff.
Rachel tucked each of her babies in bed. They mattered. Nothing more. Each one slid into sleep before the tears and worry about Andy could run over.
True, it was extremely early, way too early for night time, but with the small amount of sleep the night before, the trauma from leaving their home with everything they owned, their neighborhood, fire raining down on them in their flight, losing their daddy and fleeing to what may or may not be a secure place, Rachel and the kids needed rest. A chance to physically recuperate and cut out the grief as it sliced through the numbing shock.
The small light on the wall turned on and off with movement, but was dim enough to not be an issue while they slept. Rachel shoved the boxes filled with food and supplies lined up along the wall. She pulled back the sheet and climbed in. The double mattress spread out beside her, cold, immense. Andy’s absence was insurmountable.
Rachel bit the corner of the pillow while she cried silent tears.
Chapter 6: Tom
Tom dropped his body weight to the deck. A shot rang out over his head, pinging through the plexi-glass of the green house. He clenched his stomach muscles, certain urine was about to stream down his leg.
Pounding echoed in the house, as fast and hard as Tom’s pulse. In a crouched position, he ran to the door and out onto the lawn. Twenty feet to the woods.
Another bullet whistled through the air. Unidentifiable words chased him.
Tom threw a glance over his shoulder. He had to look. Two men rounded the side of the house in a dead sprint. The original gunman stuck by a plant hook, twisted, and attempted another shot from over his shoulder as he wiggled against the post the tomato plants were staked to.
Ten feet. Five feet. Three. Two. One. Even midday, the forest’s darkness welcomed Tom. He’d grown up playing on the acres between their property and the State Park’s campground. Familiarity would help his escape. He hoped.
Another shot zinged through the branches of a lilac bush two feet behind Tom. Adrenaline shot him forward. He reached a speed he hadn’t realized he was capable of and hurdled creeks and fallen limbs. Boughs from evergreens hung much higher than his head. Game trails were clear, if one knew what to look for.
Volkswagen-sized boulders clumped together, the groups screening him for a few moments.
Another shout cut through the forest.
Tom focused on his breathing. The backpack banged against his spine. His dad’s conversation book, convo to those in the “know”, weighed twice what Tom’s did. At the moment, Tom regretted bringing the books and taking up valuable space in his pack. Not a necessity when trying to survive in the wilderness.
If he could get to the State Park, there might be a Ranger or some Fish and Game patrol officers on duty. He’d take anyone of authority. Tom hadn’t packed a gun of his own. Couple months until he turned eighteen. His dad was planning on buying him his first handgun, a necessity among the other right wing anti-gun control friends of his dad’s. Who didn’t know how to at least handle a gun in the area? His dad had taught him at a young age. Educated gun handlers were alive because ignorance can’t be taught – Dad’s favorite saying.
Tom kicked his feet harder. Don’t think about Mom and Dad. The situation was better left unexplored while men pursued him, intent on killing.
The pounding of his heart, his patterned breathing, and his own foot falls on the crinkling mulch and new growth drowned out his predators’ sounds. He couldn’t distinguish anything. The sensation of being deaf assailed him. A bubble surrounded him. Frustrating.
A river ran south along the park, just past the campground. Snagging a patrol boat secured along the pilings to catch fish poachers would be easier than running down the first person he saw. State Park, huge. He gasped. A stitch in his side clipped into his thoughts.
Rolling his weight to the balls of his feet instead of the long strides he used for longer distances, Tom unclenched his fingers and shook them out. Loose hands, loose legs, no cramping.
He had to have lost them. No other shots — crack. Never min
d. Tom ducked his head. About ten feet behind him the bullet demolished a young sapling’s trunk.
His cheeks flushed with the run, the building heat and now anger over his complacency. He winged his arms and the stitch dissolved. His therapist had once told him to recite something when he was looking for control. Recite. His favorite…
Alpha, Bravo, Charlie…In rhythm with his pounding steps.
A low fence, two feet in height, lined the Sundown Campground. While Memorial Day weekend started the season off with over-packed camping spots, campers usually filled half the spots two weeks early. Tom expected multiple tents and trailers to occupy the sites by the river, but zero met his searching gaze. He’d never felt so alone.
The bullets would stop around other people, right? They had to. If only he could find other people.
Not breaking stride, Tom lifted his knees, taking the fence. He continued at his ankle-twisting pace. The ranger station was on the opposite side of the grounds near the river. Tom had to make it there. He would. Muscles congealed like jelly, but Tom pushed harder.
The open layout of the campground wouldn’t aid his flight. Two trees per site were the maximum allowed because of dry season fire danger. Idiotic drunks often dropped the ball on controlling their own camp fires. Tom’s home had been threatened more than once by forest fire due to the carelessness of a camper.
Laughter. Was that… girls laughing? Tom whipped his head to the right. He’d missed the pup tent set up along the outer circle of the sites. Clothes hung here and there. A girl, wet hair dangling down to her chin, brushed her teeth and said something to another girl sitting with her back to him. Tom had a feeling he wouldn’t be safe with them. They weren’t safe. They were just girls about his age. Girls who weren’t safe!
Waving his arms, Tom veered off course. “Hey.” He gasped. “Run. Men. Guns. Run!” He yelled as loud as his overexerted lungs allowed, which wasn’t much. But the young women spun to face him and watched with disbelief rounding their mouths and widening their eyes. Tom recognized them as some girls from the rival high school.
Each girls’ gaze flicked from his frantic form to a spot over his shoulder. The second they realized they were in danger came too late as a bullet hit the first one in the face, blood lining her sun-kissed forehead. The other spun around with a shot connecting below the collarbone.
Shock yanked at his legs to stop, but imminent death powered through. Changing his path had slammed him closer to his pursuers. Dang it. He pumped his arms harder. Because of him those girls were dead. The stitch in his side moved to his stomach and nausea worked at him.
He crossed through their camp, past their inert bodies lying tangled on the pinecone riddled floor and toward the solid brick restrooms further along the path. When he had a moment, he planned on bending over and vomiting in the dirt.
Heavy footfalls of his attackers receded, worrying Tom more. He could out-maneuver them, maybe, but how far would he go? How many people would he endanger before they’d catch him? Or would he surrender because of the number they’d kill for him? The temptation to turn back with only two girls shot was strong. How weak did that make him?
Running as fast as he could, Tom catapulted himself around the side of the restrooms. Fragments of red rock showered the air as a freewheeling bullet bit into the corner of the building behind his shoulder. He grabbed at the rough surface of the next corner, the skin on his fingers giving under the grater-like texture of the bricks. He ignored the sting. A bullet would hurt a heckuva lot more.
He slammed into a petite body and they tumbled to the ground. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” he whispered. She couldn’t be more than sixteen years old. Her hair, pulled into a haphazard bun atop her head, allowed stray strands to frame her newly washed face. Yoga pants, a jacket over a t-shirt, socks and tennis shoes rounded out her relaxed outfit. Shoes she could run in.
Tom jumped up, ignoring the pull of his backpack on his shoulders. The bag wasn’t getting any lighter. He clutched at the girl’s hand and yanked her to her feet. He didn’t want her cheeks tinged with blood for rouge and ears to have bullets for accessories. She looked up and Tom nodded. Jenny.
Her brown eyes widened and she gasped when she recognized him. He must have knocked the wind out of her. Crap, that wouldn’t make for a good running partner. Where could they hide?
The surroundings didn’t offer many options. The bathrooms would be too obvious. A stand of brush about thirty feet up the road might be thick enough. Dumpsters just a bit past that might work, but they’d have a hard time getting out without being caught.
Impromptu escape wasn’t something he had thought he would need practice at, but his inexperience was frightening. Where would they go? Tom opened the nearest door and let it slam shut. “Go.” He whispered and pointed to the brush. They needed to hide and hide now!
Confusion evident in the darting movements of her eyes and jerking motions of her head, Jenny didn’t move in the direction Tom pointed. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her. Nothing. So he pushed. The shove gave her the inertia she needed and in less than a moment they trampled around the large collection of brush. Tom shoved her into the middle of the leaves and brambles where he forced her onto her knees in the dirt and dried leaves.
Kneeling beside her, Tom’s breathing was ragged and fast. His companion whimpered. “Please, don’t kill me.”
Tom clamped his hand over her mouth and nodded toward the building. Was she kidding? Tom didn’t have time for jokes. The view was a straight shot from where they sat protected by the thick canopy of bright green spring leaves.
A gun followed by a man emerged around the corner. He stopped by the first bathroom door and yanked the panel open. Gunshots resounded from inside the small room. Tom and Jenny jumped. She started shaking. He had never been this close to her.
Pressing his lips to her ear, Tom’s voice was barely audible, “It’s okay. Was anyone else in there?” She shook her head. Tom loosened his hand on her mouth. “I’m going to take my hand away but you have to stay quiet. Those men killed two girls at a campsite not far from the bathrooms.”
Tears filled her eyes. She couldn’t nod, but when Tom removed his hand, she covered her mouth with her own fingers, digging into the soft flesh of her cheeks. He watched her, wondering if he’d have to hit her over the head to knock her out like he’d seen in an old Jean Claude van Dam movie. Tom had never tried it before, but it looked painful and he didn’t want to hurt her. She’d always been nice to him. And heck, if she wasn’t prettier up close than he’d remembered. Stupid thing to notice when men chased him with guns… but teenage boy hormones are rarely subdued – at least his dad had always said so.
Jenny had to have been with the others in the campsite which would explain the tears. Maybe when he finished throwing up in the dirt, he’d also apologize for being callus.
More shots and the man tromped out the first door and into the second on the opposite corner. He fired more, probably into each stall rather than risk someone jumping him. Back outside, the man eyed the bush. A step forward and another, he stalked the brush like it might bolt any second.
Jenny huddled closer to Tom, her breathing shallow. Tom gripped her arms and pulled her to his chest, unable to tear his gaze from the approaching threat. Their past and future tightened into a finite moment.
Not more than three feet from the furthest leaf, the man stopped and pressed his hand to his ear. The hand with the gun pushed something against his throat and he spoke, his words short and clipped but in English, “Not yet. Do you want me to continue? No? The bodies? River’s right here. The parents? We didn’t see them. Okay. Meet you there.” He spun on his heel, the rocks grinding into the dirt road and in seconds, disappeared into the woods.
Tom released Jenny and fell onto his rear end. If a girl hadn’t been there, he’d have lost it and cried like a baby. Thank heaven for girls. Especially this one.
“What is going on? What are you doing up here and who are they?”
She looked him up and down and creased her eyebrows. “I thought you were a good guy. Did you switch teams or something? Tom, are you a bad guy, now?”
Oh, great, now he was lumped in with the villains of a stupid cartoon. “No, I’m not a ‘bad’ guy. They’re after me. I live up the way.” He watched the corner of the bathroom another moment, then turned his focus to her. “Hey, what are you guys doing up here? You need to get home. What are you doing hanging out with those girls anyway? Rival school, Jenny. I didn’t think cheerleaders could cross boundaries.”
“Nice.” Jenny rolled her eyes. “We’re all on the committee for the regional cheer camp. My parents had the week off and stayed home and they suggested me and the,” she swallowed, “girls go camping to pick out the best sites for the big cheer campout in a few weeks.”
“Your parents let you camp by yourselves?” He dropped his jaw. Seriously? What kind of parents did she have? “Do they live in a box? There was another earthquake in Washington.”
The girl flushed. “Well, we were supposed to have a leader with us, that’s what we told our parents, but we wanted to go by ourselves.”
Tom didn’t bother responding to that. What would he say? You’re an idiot? Not what you said to someone you’ve been stuck on for the last year. “You have no idea what’s going on than?”
The fiery debris had been almost nonexistent at his house, too. He wasn’t surprised she hadn’t seen any at the park. Tom had only known because a running friend had called to let Tom know what was happening before the phone lines and electricity went out. Tom had grabbed notepads and pens and ridden a bike to the overhang looking over Spokane Valley.
Try Hard: a post-apocalyptic thriller (180 Days and Counting... Series Book 7) Page 14
