by Harley Tate
“There have to be massive distribution warehouses full of the stuff.”
“Any that haven’t been ransacked?”
Colt gave it some thought. “There have to be. Transportation is the problem. People can break in, but how do they move it all? Without working gas stations, most trucks are out of commission at this point.”
“We rigged the Humvee up on vegetable oil. Other people probably did that, too.”
Colt nodded at Dani. “Yeah, but it only lasted what, two hundred miles? Without the proper filters, oil isn’t a long-term solution.”
When Colt first walked into Walter’s camp, he’d been blown away at the man’s ingenuity. Harvesting food from the forest was genius. But the more Colt thought about it, the more he could see the utility in a different sort of gathering mission.
A huge, multi-person operation aimed at distribution centers. “Anyone know where the nearest Walmart distribution warehouse is located?”
Dani stared at him with blank eyes.
Walter rocked his head back and forth, estimating. “Can’t be that far from here. I couldn’t imagine they’d use expensive real estate, so that leaves Tahoe and Reno out. Truckee might be a good place.”
“How far are we?”
Walter glanced up at the sky as he thought. “From downtown? Fifty miles, maybe.”
“How many miles between the cabin and downtown?”
“Thirty. It’s secluded, but not that remote.”
Colt didn’t say any more, but a plan percolated in his mind. If he could convince Dani to stay at Walter’s place, he knew how he could prove his usefulness without giving up all of their weapons.
It would solidify his willingness to contribute and give them a leg up heading into winter. He thought about the Camaro and the transport driver who T-boned the pickup truck. The man had been a gun runner. That meant a compound with gear, weapons, and food. A militia.
He glanced at Walter. “Tell me about Cunningham again.”
Walter shook his head. “I’ve told you everything I know. The man’s a fanatic; some sort of religious zealot who’s convinced this is the rapture.”
“What about his compound? The people staying with him? Are they close by?”
“I don’t know. We’ve only run into them once and that was enough. We’ve tried to stay as far away from them as possible. That’s why I chose to come out here alone. Easier to evade them that way.”
Dani spoke up. “But you invited us to stay. Why would you do that if it put you at risk?”
Walter nodded in agreement. “Because I realized the foolhardy nature of my plan. Sure I could run, but I’d lose all my supplies.” He smirked. “It helped that you showed up with duffel bags full of weapons.”
“Cunningham’s men must be looking for them. They’ll want to make a trade.”
Walter shook his head. “Don’t get any ideas. We are not engaging with him. The less they know about us, the better. “
Colt wasn’t so sure. A strong enough show of force and maybe they could live side by side as trading partners. If Cunningham’s men discovered the cabin, which they would eventually, it might not end as peacefully as Walter hoped. Cutting off the chance for an ambush might be the best approach.
But they could worry about that later. Colt shoved the thoughts to the side. Getting to the cabin and meeting the others was the priority. He couldn’t get ahead of himself.
The sound of crunching leaves alerted everyone and Lottie took off like a rocket toward the noise. She reappeared a minute later running circles around Larkin’s feet. The former army major grinned ear to ear.
“Good news?”
Larkin jangled a set of car keys in front of him. “Who wants a ride?”
Chapter Four
TRACY
Clifton Compound
6:00 p.m.
“How long will it take all this to turn into compost?”
Anne Clifton hoisted a shovel full of steaming kitchen scraps into the air and scrunched up her nose as she thought it over. “Six months. Maybe a year. Come next spring, we can mix this pile into the garden along with the toilet compost and have an excellent fertilizer.”
Tracy blinked. “Toilet compost?”
Anne chuckled as she stabbed the decaying pile again with the shovel. “Haven’t you noticed the dry toilet?”
“Of course. But I just assumed it was like an outhouse.”
“Nope. It’s a composting toilet. All the waste flows to a collection chamber out the back of the wash house and the solar panels on the roof power the fans inside. We don’t have to do anything to it except empty it every few months.”
“And what comes out is compost?”
“Some of the best there is.”
Tracy stared at Brianna’s mother in disbelief. Composting human waste never crossed Tracy’s mind. She’d always assumed they would be building a new facility when the pit beneath the toilet filled up. It never occurred to her to look at the back of the building.
She glanced at the cabins now. The Cliftons had built their property in stages: first a small cabin with a kitchen and communal living space, then a wash house, and finally a bunk house. All told, they had room for twelve. More, if some of the communal space was converted back to sleeping areas.
Between the kitchen and the bunkhouse sat a small garden plot used for herbs and flowers. Past the cabins, pasture land stretched for an acre, yielding enough grass to rotate a few pigs and chickens. A small orchard of fruit and nut trees lined the area beyond the pasture and past them, Madison and Peyton planned to start a larger garden.
Ten acres, forest all around, and not a single neighbor for half a mile. Brianna’s family found a way to carve out a bit of paradise in the foothills of California and Tracy couldn’t be more thankful. She thrust her own shovel into the decaying compost and lifted a scoop into the air. The more movement of the decaying matter, and the more oxygen surrounding the leftover bits of food, the faster the heap would transform into fertilizer.
“Thank you again for welcoming us into your home.”
Anne glanced up and her blue eyes shone. She looked every bit her daughter’s relation with graying curls and the same fiery spirit. “You’re welcome. Like I said before, we can use the hands.”
Since the minute Tracy, Walter, and the kids arrived, Anne and Barry Clifton put them to work. Madison and Peyton tilled a plot for a garden on the edge of the property. Brianna helped her dad hunt and set up a perimeter defense. Tracy spent her days helping preserve as much food as possible and keep the homestead in good working order.
With seven mouths to feed and bodies to clothe, no task was easy.
“Meeeoowww.” Fireball bumped his head into Tracy’s skin before slinking between her legs and winding himself around her calf.
She bent to give the cat a scratch. “At least we don’t have an eighth mouth to feed. You’re doing quite well keeping the mice away.”
Anne smiled. “That he is. A cat was one of the main problems we couldn’t solve while building this place. It’s not like you can keep a good mouser in a vacuum-sealed bag until you need him. I’m thankful you had the sense to bring your cat along.”
Fireball rubbed against Tracy’s leg and she gave him one more scratch. “He wasn’t ours. I found him at my former boss’s apartment complex. She—” Tracy paused as the memories of Wanda’s death filled her mind. “She didn’t adjust to the grid collapse as well as she could.”
“I’m sorry.”
Tracy waved Anne off and stood up. “It’s okay. I’m sure you lost people, too.”
Anne nodded. “Our neighbors in Stockton didn’t appreciate the danger. Barry practically begged John to come with us. They refused.” Anne frowned as she stared at the still-steaming compost pile. “I’m sure they’re dead by now. Mary wouldn’t even take a case of water. Kept saying FEMA or the Red Cross would be there soon.”
Tracy snorted. “Neither one showed up in our neighborhood.”
“I
never saw them, either.”
“Walter hitched a ride with the National Guard to make it to Sacramento, but they weren’t there to hand out supplies.”
Anne’s lips thinned. “Let me guess. Riot control?”
Tracy nodded. “They barricaded downtown. Wouldn’t let anyone in or out. Walter and his copilot barely escaped.”
“What happened to the copilot? Did he make it home?”
Tracy swallowed. “He died helping us.” This time she couldn’t hold back the emotion. A sob slipped past her lips and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand. “So many people have died. And because of what?”
“False sense of security. Lack of self-reliance. No knowledge of history or our place in it.” Anne stepped away from the compost and reached for Tracy’s shovel. “If we don’t remember the past and our struggles in this country, how can we be expected to persevere in the face of hardship?”
“I worry about the future we’re creating for the kids. Brianna, Madison, and Peyton. How will they become adults?”
Anne smiled. “Same way we did. One day at a time.” She turned toward the cabins and Tracy followed.
Halfway there, a low hiss from Fireball stopped the women cold. Tracy reached for the handgun tucked behind the waist of her jeans and brought it up to her chest. Anne set one shovel down before rising up to hold the other like a battle axe.
Thirty feet separated the women from the main cabin. No cover. Not even a bush or scraggly tree to hide behind. Tracy motioned to the wash house. “Head that way. I’ll go to the front.”
Anne nodded and took off, shovel still tight in her hands. With her left hand gripped tight on the slide, Tracy racked a round into the chamber with a quick push forward of the grip. It wasn’t the way Walter loaded a handgun, but Tracy didn’t have the grip strength of a forty-five-year-old man used to handling weapons. Pushing instead of pulling allowed her to use the strength of her chest muscles and not risk jamming a round.
She eased forward with the gun low in front of her and her finger light along the frame. Before the grid failed, she never thought to carry any type of gun, concealed or not. Now she didn’t step outside without one.
Creeping up to the cabin’s rear corner, Tracy watched Fireball slink ahead. With ears flat, he advanced, his body skimming the ground. Trusting a cat to alert on an intruder seemed crazy, but Tracy couldn’t ignore the crest of orange fur standing on end or the way Fireball inched forward.
Someone or something lurked beyond the cabin’s front door.
Tracy took a calming breath. The kids were safe on the other side of the property planting another section of the garden before nightfall. Walter was off on his foraging mission. Barry set off earlier in the day for a fishing expedition; they didn’t expect him back for two days at least.
They were at their weakest right this moment, but she had fifteen rounds in the magazine of the Glock 19 and she could hit a man’s chest dead center. It wasn’t how she wanted to end the day. Killing an intruder would be the last resort.
It could be a lost hiker in need of some charity and kindness. A child alone in the woods with nowhere to go. An injured animal falling down due to a broken leg or damaged paw.
Tracy inhaled and exhaled through her mouth. Steady now. She eased toward the front corner of the cabin, skirting by the kitchen window. The closer she came to the front, the more Fireball’s fur rose. He looked like a caricature of a cat with his back arching in an upside down U and his claws digging into the earth.
No matter the danger, Tracy would face it head on. She stepped to the corner and eased her head forward. Oh, no.
Not ten feet in front of her stood a solitary man. No pack on his back. No hunting rifle. A man who would have looked at home on a city street in Sacramento in his skinny jeans and printed T-shirt. His hands were hidden behind his back and he stood in the middle of the gravel drive, staring up at the cabin with half a smile.
Crazy? Hopeful? Certainly not injured. One hundred percent dangerous.
Tracy raised the Glock and stepped clear of the building.
Chapter Five
TRACY
Clifton Compound
7:00 p.m.
“Who are you and what do you want?”
The man spun toward Tracy and unclasped his hands. He held them out in front of him in a don’t shoot posture. His blond beard twitched as he smiled. “Whoa, there. I don’t deserve the cavalry.”
She took aim at his chest. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Forgive me, but you’re the one pointing the gun.”
Tracy scanned the area behind the interloper for others. Either he was alone, or they hid themselves well. No movement caught her eye. She brought her attention back to the man, hostility narrowing her vision. “Answer my question or you’ll find out why.”
His face brightened into a smile that seemed genuine, but out of place. “A real firecracker, aren’t ya?”
“Answer the woman or get off my property.” Anne emerged from the other side of the cabin wielding a 12-gauge shotgun. She pressed the butt tight to her shoulder as she came to a stop ten feet from Tracy. “Now.”
“My lucky day. Two lovely ladies.” The man bent at the waist and twirled his hand in a flourish. “Hampton Rhodes at your service.”
Tracy cast a sideways glance at Anne. The other woman didn’t back down. If anything, she gripped the shotgun even tighter.
“Where are you from?”
“Oh, here and there.”
Anne motioned with her shotgun. “Not good enough.”
Hampton sighed and ran a hand through his spiky blond hair. “Well, before the EMP I guess you could say I lived in Tahoe, but I never stayed in one place all that long.”
A drifter. Great. Tracy took a step closer. “You need to leave. This is private property.”
He made a show of looking around with wide eyes. “I don’t see a sign.”
“Aren’t the two guns pointed at you enough?” Anne widened her stance and took aim. Her gray curls fell in front of her face, but it didn’t matter. Tracy got the point.
“You heard the woman. Go. Now.”
Hampton chuckled. “Or what? You’ll shoot me?”
“You’re damn right.” Tracy wanted so badly to drop him where he stood, but so far he hadn’t done anything except rub her the wrong way.
“This is your last chance. Leave or we’ll have no choice.”
He took a step back, but no more. “Don’t you even want to know why I’m here?”
Shit. Tracy ground her teeth together. The bastard was baiting them. For all they knew he could have twenty friends waiting half a mile away, ready to storm in and take over. “We don’t care and we’re done waiting.”
“What if I told you I’m only a messenger?”
Tracy’s lips thinned into a line. If this were her cabin and her property, that would be the end of it. But she couldn’t make the choice for Anne.
Anne raised her head a fraction. “I’m listening.”
Hampton ran his fingers over his lips and glanced at each woman. “You two know how to put the fear of God in a man, don’t you?”
“God has nothing to do with this.” Tracy could barely contain the rising anger. He was a swindler and a con-artist. She knew the type. He was the same kind of man who would woo a woman with promises of forever only to disappear the morning after and never call again.
He turned to Anne. “Lake Tahoe’s a bit crowded these days. Seems there’s all sorts of people fleeing Reno and Sparks and heading for the clear blue waters.”
“Your point?”
He glanced around and took in the three buildings and the work done to the place. “A stranger could be looking for somewhere else to make camp. Somewhere a lot like this.”
“Are you saying you’re here to rob us?”
Hampton palmed his chest, eyes wide and innocent. “Me? Heavens no. Like I said, I’m just the messenger.”
“And who would the message
be from?”
He grinned at Tracy and showed off a row of perfect white teeth. “Well, that’s not really my place to say.”
Anne stepped forward. “We can make you answer.”
The smile slid into a smirk. “Dead men can’t tell secrets.”
Anne motioned to Tracy. “Frisk him. I’ll keep watch.”
Tracy stepped forward, making sure to stay clear of the direct line between Anne’s shotgun and the man’s chest. Pulling the handgun tight against her chest to protect it, Tracy stopped a foot from the man. Up close he stank of life on the road or in the woods. His beard covered hollow cheeks and the glint in his eyes she had taken for amusement might have been hunger.
Desperation.
She leaned in and reached for his shoulder. He jerked away.
“Don’t do that again.” Anne’s admonition stilled the man’s movement.
Tracy tried again. Her hand connected with his chest and he smiled again. He leaned toward her, pressing his weight into her palm. “Like what you feel?”
Something inside Tracy snapped. She couldn’t stand there and pat this man down when he could be buying time for his buddies. They needed to immobilize the threat he posed and get out there into the woods. Darkness closed in around them with every ticking minute.
Within the hour, it would be pitch black. They would be vulnerable. Exposed.
She curved her lips into a smile and leaned toward him. “Guess it’s your lucky day.”
“It is?” He brightened.
“Yep. You get to stay the night.” In one fluid motion, Tracy brought the gun up with her right hand and slammed the butt of it into the side of the man’s head.
He crumpled to the ground. Tracy bent to search for weapons. All she came up with was grimy clothes and empty pockets. “He’s clean.”
Anne advanced, shotgun still ready to fire.
“Sorry I knocked him out. He gave me the creeps.”
“No apologies necessary. He wasn’t leaving of his own accord, that was clear.”
