Survive the Night

by Katie Ruggle

  Somehow.

  * * *

  By the time Otto reached the police station, he was half-frozen and nearly crazy with worry about Sarah and Theo and Hugh and…well, pretty much the entire town. The only thing keeping him warm and sane was distracting himself by coming up with creative revenge plots to get back at Hugh for stealing his squad-car shovel.

  The station was small, but it seemed oddly abandoned. The sound of Otto’s boots hitting the floor echoed. Although he told himself it was nothing to worry about, that everyone was at the training in the Springs, the silence still made him uneasy. He jogged toward the communications room, holding his key card to the reader and yanking open the door.

  No one was there.

  The screens were dark and the chairs were empty, and his stomach gave a painful twist. Pivoting, he headed toward the lieutenant’s office. It was abandoned as well. The lights were still on, and Blessard’s favorite travel mug was sitting next to his battered keyboard. All Otto’s instincts—which had been muttering at him that something was very, very wrong—turned up the volume, shouting at him to get out of the building.

  First, though, he strode to the lieutenant’s desk and picked up his landline phone. Otto wasn’t even shocked at the silence when he put the phone to his ear. He’d expected it to be dead, like all their other communications. Otto left the LT’s office and jogged for the stairs, taking several steps in each stride, not slowing down as he hit the release bar on the door at the bottom. Part of him was braced for the garage to be empty, for all the vehicles to be missing, but his SUV was still there where he’d left it that afternoon—what felt like weeks ago, rather than mere hours.

  As he drove out of the garage, he plowed through a drift of snow that had piled up against the door. There was a thick layer on the ground now, and it was still falling heavily. The wind was sweeping it into tall drifts, and Otto knew that, if it continued this way for another few hours, the roads would soon be impassible.

  Otto barked out a laugh that sounded too loud in the silence of his SUV. What did it matter if the town roads were impassible? No one could get out anyway.

  He automatically reached for his radio, intending to try to reach the lieutenant. As his hand touched his portable unit, Otto remembered that it was useless. He was completely cut off from everyone else—city, county, and state.

  It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling. Otto was used to the constant chatter of his radio, and nearly constant texts and calls from other officers and his supervisors. The silence now felt wrong—very wrong.

  He turned out of the department surface lot onto the street, trying to think what he should do next. His rear tires couldn’t find purchase in a snowdrift blocking the exit, and his four-wheel drive kicked in, shooting him forward. Otto kept his speed up as he headed down the street, even though he didn’t know where he was going. His instinct was to go find Sarah, but without excavation equipment and dynamite, there was no way Otto was getting out of town. She’s safe, he reminded himself. She and Grace are probably enjoying their night at a fancy resort. His mind knew it, but his gut still wanted to go to Dresden to find her, even if that meant tearing through the obstruction on the pass with his bare hands.

  The street was strangely quiet. He glanced down at the dashboard clock and saw that it was barely nine. It wasn’t that late. Where was everyone? Despite the accumulating snow, he slowed as he looked around. A number of residents had moved to warmer climes for the winter, but even the houses he knew were occupied—by the Romas family and Sean Bilks and the Chenykes—were dark. The only illumination came from the occasional streetlamp and the security lights around the police station behind him. It was strange and eerie.

  He was starting to turn on Main Street, when the night lit up behind him. The deafening blast sent his foot instinctively down on the brake, and the SUV juddered to a halt. He hunched forward, his body folding over the wheel, his arms coming up to cover his head. There was a roar of fire, and he slowly straightened, his arms lowering as the truth sank in. There’d been another explosion.

  Slamming his SUV into Park, he jerked open the driver’s door and jumped out into the snow. He stared for a moment before jerking himself out of his shock and running toward the station—or what used to be the station. The white light of the immediate explosion had already muted to yellows and oranges as fire engulfed the jagged remains. Flames covered everything, consuming the police department completely. Otto stopped abruptly when blazing heat scorched his face. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing left for him to save. He’d worked in that building, for the Monroe Police Department, for eight years, ever since he received his law enforcement degree. Now, in a single second, it was gone.

  As the immediate shock subsided and reality kicked in again, Otto peered into the snow-clogged sky and spotted the white lights of the helicopter. It was headed east, toward the center of town. Otto rushed back to the SUV and climbed in. As he shifted into Drive, he debated his options. He could chase the helicopter and try to bring it down, but his resources were limited. He had his duty weapon, a Taser, a knife, and a multipurpose tool, none of which would be much use against a helicopter. All of his other guns were at his house, which wasn’t accessible right now.

  Chasing the helicopter was out. That would be a good way to get himself blown up. So what was his next step? What he needed, Otto decided, was to track down the others. He knew they were still in town. The streets were abandoned, even more than usual during a snowstorm. The explosion should’ve brought everyone running to help or gawk, but there were no lights on in any of the houses. Despite the mass exodus of Monroe every fall, there were still townspeople who stuck around. Their homes were just as dark as the houses that had been abandoned for the winter.

  Where were they? Otto flexed his hands, squeezing the steering wheel and then releasing it as he tried to think logically. Aaron’s flunkies had just bombed both mountain passes and the police station. Who knew where they would strike next, but Jules’s house was a real possibility. Otto’s heart rate sped up at the thought, but he forced himself to think it through. Logan Jovanovic had recognized Grace when he and Aaron had tried to grab Sarah in the viner bathroom. It made sense that the Jovanovics were in on it, as well. It was no secret in town where Jules lived, and everyone knew that Jules and Grace lived together. Only a few people knew that Grace was out of town. That house was a likely target. Theo would know that, and he’d get everyone out.

  Tipping his head back against the backrest, Otto squeezed the wheel so hard his hands cramped. “So where did they go?” he asked out loud.

  If Sarah had still been living at Jules’s when this happened, where would Otto have brought her? He frowned so hard at the idea that his face ached. He’d want her somewhere safe, but they couldn’t leave town. Since any building could be the next target, they’d need to go somewhere that couldn’t be hit—or wouldn’t be. The bunker, his brain immediately supplied, but he shook away the idea. If they couldn’t leave town, they couldn’t get to the bunker.

  Otto’s bunker, at least.

  An idea flared to life in his head, and he shot forward in his SUV. It was a long shot and slightly insane, but he knew where he’d have brought Sarah if this had happened with her in town.

  Gordon Schwartz’s militia compound.

  * * *

  The tunnel seemed to go on forever. Sarah forged on, though, checking every few minutes to make sure that all of the animals were still tagging along. The monotony of the passageway was a blessing, because Bean could find nothing out of the ordinary to spook at. They reached a ladder that led to a trapdoor in the ceiling. Sarah looked at it longingly before trudging past.

  Gradually, the passageway began to look more like a mining tunnel than a hallway. The ceiling grew lower, and Sarah began to worry about Bean. He could fit as long as he kept his head down, but, if anything startled him, he could easily crack his
head against the rock above. She shortened the lead line, hoping she’d be able to keep his head down if something jumped out at them.

  The space between lightbulbs was getting longer, and Sarah considered pausing so she could pull out her flashlight. She decided to keep walking, needing to get out of the tunnel that was getting increasingly claustrophobic.

  A frigid breeze blew through the tunnel, making her shiver and use her free hand to tug her coat zipper higher. Mort trotted ahead of them, his head raised as he sniffed at the air. As realization struck, Sarah’s hand froze at her collar. If the wind was getting in, then they had to be close to an exit.

  Excitement filled her. Despite the snow and Aaron’s goons and all the dangers of being out in the open, Sarah was just so happy to be getting out of the tunnel. The passageway curved to the right, and then the wind really hit them, so cold that Sarah lost her breath. Snow blew into the tunnel, sharp pebbles that stung her face. Ducking her chin into her collar, she walked forward, leading Bean.

  Right in front of the exit, the ceiling dropped another foot. Sarah paused, eyeing the level of the rock and comparing it to the height of Bean’s withers. If he kept his head down, she was pretty sure he could squeak underneath, but that was a pretty big if, especially with the wind and snow smacking them in the face.

  Sarah held her breath and kept the hand holding the lead line low as she walked quickly toward the trouble spot. Bean hesitated after his head and half of his neck were under the lowest point, and Sarah’s heart squeezed with anxiety. Giving an encouraging cluck, she tugged on the lead rope. After a moment, he moved reluctantly forward, keeping his head down. As soon as his tail cleared, she blew out all the breath she had been holding, feeling light-headed with relief.

  She did another count, making sure all the animals were accounted for. Mort was waiting for them at the entrance, not seeming to feel the wind that was blasting him. Now that they were at the end of the tunnel, she felt a jolt of fear at leaving its secure walls. It was stupid to go out in a blizzard. Maybe they should just stay in the protective shelter of the cave until the snow stopped.

  Shoving back her cowardly thoughts, Sarah moved out into the open, gasping as the full force of the wind hit her. If there was any way for her to help Otto and her newfound friends, she couldn’t just cower in a cave.

  Squinting against the wind, she looked around. They were about a quarter of the way up the ridge to the east of Otto’s property. The fire engulfing the remains of his house were a blazing you-are-here sign. The destruction of their home had one upside.

  “Glass half full, I guess,” Sarah said with a choked laugh.

  She was glad that they weren’t very far up the side of the mountain, since she’d worried that they’d come out at the very peak, and she’d have to put Bean into climbing gear. There was a trail—or what looked like one, since it could’ve been anything under the thick layer of snow—that led down toward the road that passed in front of Otto’s driveway.

  It looked so far away, though, that Sarah wanted to cry. It felt like they’d already walked so far, had too many scares, fought enough dangers. The distant road seemed to be mocking her. She was tempted to sit down in the snow and give up. At the thought, she gave herself a mental shake. Giving up was not an option. The animals were depending on her, and Otto—although he might not know it—was counting on her to help them. Besides, she’d been through worse—much worse.

  Pulling her shoulders back, she took the first step onto the snowy trail. “No sense standing here and getting cold.” She shivered as the wind tossed a handful of snow down her coat collar. “Well, colder.”

  Bean followed, surprisingly docile. Sarah wondered if all the experiences of the night had blown the horse’s mind, and he just didn’t have it in him to bother being scared anymore. Either that, or he was just tired. Whatever the reason for his calmness, Sarah was grateful. If he spooked, he could jump right off the edge of the trail and down the rocky cliff.

  Mort, of course, squeezed ahead of them to take the lead, and Xena followed right behind and to the side of Sarah. At first, Sarah worried about Xena getting stepped on, but Bean walked far enough behind that he didn’t crowd the dog. Hortense was at the very back of their odd train, and she was obviously not happy about the entire situation. She would stop abruptly, refusing to walk forward. When the group got far enough ahead of her, she would trot to catch up and then start the whole process again.

  Sarah decided that she loved her boots even more than she’d initially thought. The snow wasn’t deep enough to go over the tops, and her feet were warm and cozy. The sagging, too-large snow pants were somewhat annoying, but she appreciated the warmth and dryness enough that she didn’t take them off. The fabric cut the wind, too, so the only parts of her that were cold were her face and neck and fingers.

  In fact, she was soon sweating. Lifting her foot to clear the snow with each step was exhausting. Unused to the motion, her thighs ached and burned, and she dreaded how they would feel the next day. At the thought, though, she quit mentally whining. She wasn’t sure what would happen tomorrow. Would she be dead, or back in Texas with Aaron’s thugs, or mourning Otto or Jules or Grace or—

  Abruptly, she cut off her imagination. Instead, she tried to plan. When she reached Monroe, she’d track Otto down. He’d know of a place they could stash Bean and Hortense, and then they could… Her planning petered out there. She wasn’t sure how they could stop Aaron and his goons. Would the Monroe police be able to stop them? There were so few officers in town right now, with the winter decrease plus those off at training. Maybe they could call the county sheriff’s department, or the state police, or even the FBI. Bombing a town seemed bad enough for the feds to get involved.

  As Sarah considered the options, she moved between two pine trees and saw that they’d reached the road. A spurt of elation faded when she realized how much more walking they needed to do before reaching town. Bean stepped forward and blew warm, moist air on the back of her neck.

  She turned to eye him appraisingly. “Will you kill me if I ride you?” she asked him. Despite his mellow attitude since they’d left the tunnel, it could be a whole different story—as in a story about a bucking horse at a rodeo—if Sarah got on him…bareback. Without a bridle. She was starting to think it was a very bad idea, but then she looked at the road stretching in front of them. It was just over nine miles. She did not want to walk nine more miles in the snow.

  Determined to at least give it a try, Sarah led Bean toward a snow-covered downed pine lying just off the road and lined his left side up to it. She climbed onto the log, and Bean rolled an eye at her before swinging his haunches away from the tree. Hopping off, Sarah realigned the horse and stepped onto the log and threw her right leg over his back before he could move away again.

  Once on his back, Sarah went still, trying to be ready for anything—bucking, bolting, rearing, or a little of all three. Instead, he froze, except for the twitching of his muscles. When Sarah realized that she was waiting for him to move, and he was waiting for her to move, she laughed in a small, relieved huff.

  Giving him a gentle squeeze with her legs, Sarah shifted her weight to turn him, relaxing a little more when he responded easily. Xena whined anxiously from the ground.

  “It’s okay, Xena,” Sarah said. “I’m still here, just taller. Let’s go find Otto.”

  The dog’s scarred ears pricked up, either from her name or Otto’s. Sarah steered Bean down the middle of the road at a brisk walk. Sitting on a warm horse was already better than shuffling through the snow. Turning her head, she did an animal count. Xena was next to Bean, and Hortense had given up on her attempt at passive aggression. Looking resigned, the goat had fallen in behind Bean.

  Instead of leading, Mort had turned into Otto’s driveway.

  “Mort!” Sarah called, her heart breaking a little when the dog looked at her and then in the direction of wher
e the house still smoldered before reluctantly joining their small group. She could sympathize with the poor dog. She, too, wished they were heading home, that there hadn’t been an explosion, that Otto was here and fine and Aaron wasn’t trying to kill them, but that was just too bad. If wishes were horses…

  Glancing down at Bean’s mane, Sarah gave a short laugh. Everything else was going to hell, but at least she could ride.

  Chapter 18

  The driveway to Gordon Schwartz’s compound was bad on a good day, and today was not a good day. Otto was able to get his SUV about three-quarters of the way down the drive before he bottomed out in a snowdrift. He left it there and walked the rest of the way. By the time he finally managed to reach the ten-foot gate topped with barbed wire, Otto was not in the mood to mess around. When pushing the button on the homemade call box didn’t bring a response within thirty seconds, Otto climbed the chain-link. At the top, he used the wire-cutter implement on his multi-tool to snip the strands of barbed wire. Swinging his leg over, he climbed down on the other side.

  Just like the police station, the compound felt eerily empty. The mental comparison made Otto twitchy, and he scanned the sky, checking for the lights of a helicopter. He couldn’t see anything but snow and the solar-powered security lights scattered around the area, so he continued to slog through the heavy drifts. He’d been in the compound a few times, but just on the first and second floors of the main house. He’d never been in the bunker. In fact, no one knew for sure that one existed. It was just assumed that someone as paranoid as Gordon Schwartz would have at least a safe room, if not an extra-large bunker stocked with enough supplies for three years of underground living.