by Lee West
“Her hiking boots are gone,” he said. “We have to assume she’s gone.”
Holding the door open, Jane nodded.
“We should go. We’ll have to rethink our plan. Maybe head north.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Let me just check the medicine cabinet before we take off. Maybe we’ll get lucky and some of our medications will still be there,” said Sam, disappearing into the hallway off the family room.
“Okay. Just hurry,” said Jane, letting the door shut.
Sam stuffed his cargo pockets with the few remaining bottles of over-the-counter medicines he could find in the bathroom mirror cabinet. All of the prescription-strength painkillers, sleeping pills and muscle relaxants were gone.
~ ~ ~
Hearing the kitchen door close, Lea worked on the ropes again, her bracelet chiming rhythmically against the metal beam. Come on. Just a little more.
Lea knew she might not have a lot of time before they piled back into the house. If she managed to break through the ropes this time, she could grab her backpack and run. Tank had thrown it in the corner of the basement when he dragged her down into her personal dungeon. The bag mocked her—too far away to reach, but close enough to obsess over. In a way, it also gave her hope. When she broke free, she had everything she needed to escape in one place. The idiot hadn’t bothered to search the bag to find the power bars and water filtration pump she’d packed.
~ ~ ~
“Did you hear that?” asked Jane, stepping carefully into the kitchen.
Sam shook his head before crouching with his rifle aimed toward the front of the house. She held her index finger to her lips, and they settled into absolute silence. Listening intently, Jane heard the faint sound again. It was a high-pitched, rhythmic—possibly metal-on-metal sound.
“That!” she whispered excitedly.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. But it sounds like it’s coming from the basement. We never checked the basement!”
“Damn. We almost skipped it,” said Sam.
“You keep an eye on the street,” she said. “I’ll check it out. Lea might be down there.”
“Jane, her stuff is missing—including her backpack.”
“We have to look,” she said before slowly twisting the doorknob on the basement door.
She carefully opened the door to the basement and eased quietly onto the first stair. The sound stopped. Jane’s thumb pressed against the pressure switch on the rifle’s vertical grip, ready to activate the light. She softly moved down each stair, mindful of her steps in the darkness, until she reached the concrete floor.
As her natural night vision improved, the dim outline of a human form slumped on the floor started to materialize. Before Jane could take a step forward, the figure started to feverishly move its hands against the metal support beam.
“No. No,” the woman whimpered.
She could tell it was a woman. Her thumb triggered the powerful rifle light, illuminating the space and concentrating a bright beam on a dirty, disheveled young woman. Horror and relief washed over Jane. She’d found their daughter.
“Lea! Oh my God!”
“Mom?” said Lea.
Tears streamed down Jane’s face as she ran to her child. She laid the rifle on the floor and took out a flashlight, turning it on. She nestled next to her daughter and kissed her filthy forehead.
“Mom!” Lea sobbed into her shoulder, unable to move more than a few inches toward Jane.
“We have to get you out of here. Are you okay? Can you walk? Are you injured?”
“I think I can walk. I haven’t stood up in a while. Just get me out of here. They could be coming back! They always do!”
“Lea!” yelled Sam, bursting into the basement. “You’re here! My God, we almost left!”
Sam hugged her tightly before standing up and digging through one of his pockets.
“We need to cut the ropes and get the hell out of here, fast,” said Sam.
Jane clung to Lea despite her awkward sitting position and the overwhelming fecal stench. Clearly, Lea had been held in the basement for a long time with no regard for her cleanliness or health. A fierce anger arose in Jane. Thoughts of revenge washed through her mind as she hugged Lea and stroked her greasy hair.
“We’ll get you out of here. We have a safe place for all of us.”
Sam cursed, pounding the support beam with his fist. “Damn it! This knife isn’t good enough. The rope is wound tightly around her wrists, and it’s some kind of super-durable material. Like a towrope. I just can’t get through it with my utility knife without getting really sloppy. I need the hunting knife from my pack. I’ll run back to the house to grab it.”
“No! Daddy, don’t go!” screamed Lea.
Standing in front of her, Sam said, “Maybe I have something in the garage that can cut through this more easily. I’ll be right back.”
Jane sat on the floor, holding Lea to comfort her. Intense love and relief filled Jane, obliterating her immediate thoughts of revenge. Her sole focus was getting Lea out of the house and as far away from Evansville as possible. Glancing at the ropes around Lea’s wrists, she realized what Sam meant about the ropes being tied too tightly. They had wrapped the thick ropes around so many times that cutting into the coils would require a very sharp knife and a skillful hand. Otherwise, Lea’s wrists could get sliced in the process. Turning her gaze to the steps, Jane waited for Sam.
Chapter Forty-One
Mark Jordan sat in front of his attic window, watching the neighborhood through the slit in his curtains. His daily ritual was more meaningful now that Jane and Sam were out there, looking for their daughter. He kept a careful watch over the Cramers’ house; particularly the bedroom window they agreed would be their point of communication. So far, they had not indicated a need for help.
He had to hand it to Jane and Sam. They’d kept a low profile at the Cramers’ house, creating absolutely no obvious indications that they occupied the home. He did not see the telltale sweeping of flashlights or any other visible sign of their occupancy. Things had been so quiet over there that Mark began to wonder if they had already left the development. If they had, he hoped they had found their daughter alive, taking her with them.
Peering through his spotting scope, he saw the side door fly open. As usual, the New Order men piled out of the house and drove off, screeching tires as they raced out of the neighborhood. The pattern of their daily departure was hard to predict, but they almost always left at some point and usually in a hurry. He figured the New Order had some kind of communications network, possibly alerting them to the discovery of hidden civilians or a cache of supplies. Gunshots often followed their departure.
The wildcard was their return. Some days they were gone until almost dark. Other days they would be out and back in less than an hour, sooner in some cases. He often wondered where they went and what kind of horrible things they inflicted on innocent people in other parts of the town. The end of New Order’s occupancy couldn’t come fast enough. Hearing from Jane that the police had a plan to push back into the town gave Mark hope.
Mark’s trained eyes caught movement in the Cramers’ yard. Jane and Sam moved quickly across the street from the side of the Cramers’ house, weapons ready. They paused briefly at the side of their house before disappearing through the side door.
Shit. He nervously looked at the entrance to the neighborhood. The New Order men could come back at any moment. He’d witnessed a few false starts when they returned a few minutes later to grab something they’d forgotten. He wondered if Jane and Sam knew how precarious their situation might be. If captured, they might be executed on the spot, like some of the other neighbors.
He’d have to be their eyes and ears. There was only one way in or out of the neighborhood using the roads, so he’d spot them early enough. He just wasn’t sure what he could do to warn Jane and Sam. Shifting his eyes back and forth between Jane’s house and the entrance to the neighbor
hood, Mark decided to unveil a little surprise he’d hoped to find an excuse to use.
Mark stepped away from the window and pulled a green blanket off the small arsenal he kept ready for any occasion. A compact, AR-15-style rifle with a red dot optical sight lay on its side, magazine inserted. A longer, similar-looking rifle with a sizable scope rested on an extended bipod next to it. He kneeled to grab the longer rifle and a few spare rifle magazines before returning to the windowsill.
He’d purchased the specialized rifle a year after getting out of the Marine Corps, hoping to keep his basic sniper skills intact. The weapon was a civilian version of the Squad Advanced Marksman Rifle (SAM-R) he had carried in Force Recon. Essentially, it was a tricked-out model of the M-16A4, with a slightly heavier barrel and precision trigger.
Mark set the bipod feet on the inside windowsill molding and sighted in on the Cramers’ house for reference. No screen stood in the way, because Mark anticipated the possible need to shoot out of the window and had previously removed the screens. The scope was set at its maximum magnification, which gave him a reasonable field of view at this distance. Just as he settled into the folding chair beneath him, Mark detected movement from the road leading to their neighborhood.
Damn it, guys. You need to get out of there. Having already chambered a round for ready use, he disengaged the safety and centered the crosshairs on the turn into the neighborhood. Sure enough, he caught sight of both cars heading back toward the Archers’ house. The Trans Am was first, followed closely by the pickup truck.
He had no way to easily warn Jane and Sam. There certainly wasn’t enough time for him to run to their house. Instead, he needed to create a diversion to alert Jane while simultaneously slowing down the New Order’s approach.
Mark made a few quick mental calculations, following the convoy through the scope as the vehicles bored deeper into the neighborhood. He centered the crosshairs on the Trans Am, deciding whether to shoot the driver, passenger or tires. He chose the tires, in the hope that they would not know what hit them. Perhaps the driver would guess they had a tire blowout?
He waited until the Trans Am moved closer. Closer. And finally the cars headed straight down the street, lined up with his window. An easy shot, if there was such a thing. Wait for it. Wait for it. Slow and steady. Mark exhaled and applied even pressure to the trigger, sending a single bullet through the calm neighborhood.
The bullet hit the bumper of the Trans Am, just to the left of the front driver’s side tire. Shit. Quickly readjusting the crosshairs, he eased the trigger back again, hoping the sound of the muscle car’s engine drowned out the distant gunfire. The rifle kicked, and by the time he found the cars in the scope again, the tire was flopping in its wheel well. Direct hit.
The car veered back and forth across the street as the driver tried to overcorrect. Tires and metal squealed as the car braked, feet from crashing into a disabled SUV parked on the right side of the road. The driver, who Mark assumed to be Tank, repeatedly kicked the tire and punched the hood of his car.
Shifting his scope back to the Archers’ house, Mark waited for any sign that Jane and Sam had heard the warning shot and escaped. If necessary, Mark wouldn’t hesitate to shoot the men if they got too close to the house. Meeting Jane and Sam earlier had shifted something inside Mark. He’d no longer sit by and allow innocent people to be massacred. He’d once again take the fight to the enemy. One bullet at a time.
Chapter Forty-Two
Jane watched Sam’s desperate effort to cut the ropes. Sam had come back from searching the garage crestfallen. The New Order men had been through the garage, making a mess and stealing their tools. The small utility knife he wore on his belt turned out to be the best blade he could find, and Jane knew it would not be enough. Sam needed his razor-sharp hunting knife.
“This isn’t working,” she said. “I think you need to get your hunting knife.”
“I’m not leaving you here,” said Sam.
“We don’t have a choice,” said Jane, cocking her head to the side. “Did you hear that?”
“What?” asked Sam as he carefully worked on the reinforced rope.
“Gunshot. We need to hurry. I’ll run upstairs and see if I can figure out what’s happening out there,” said Jane, moving from Lea.
“No! Don’t leave me!” screamed Lea.
“It’s okay. I’m not leaving you. I just need to get upstairs. We need to be sure no one is coming. Dad just needs a little more time to work on the ropes.”
Jane glanced at Sam, hoping for a silent cue as to how long he thought it would take. Sam shook his head almost imperceptibly; he could not cut the ropes with the pitiful knives at his disposal. The best he could do was try.
She grabbed her rifle and ran upstairs, taking two steps at a time. Scrambling to the front windows, she peeked out into the neighborhood. Tank’s Trans Am was stalled five houses away, a gaggle of men standing in a semicircle around the hood. Tank gestured emphatically, slapping one of them on the back of his bald head before pointing at the Archers’ house. The man nodded and turned toward her. Jane raced back to the basement.
“Sam, we have to go, now! There’s no more time! They’re coming back. We need to leave now!” yelled Jane, running into the basement.
“No! You can’t. They’ll kill me. Please! Don’t go!” Lea shouted hysterically.
Jane placed her hands on Lea’s cheeks and pulled her face close. “We’re staying at the Cramers’, keeping a close watch on the house. We are not leaving you. We would never leave. Right now, we have to go back and get better tools to cut this rope. I need you to be strong for me. Just a little longer and we will get you out. Just a little longer. Can you do that for me?”
Interrupting her, Lea said, “The ropes are almost cut through. See? I’ve been working on it and I’m almost through!”
Lea moved her hands back and forth furiously. The charm bracelet chimed against the pole with her harried movements. “See?”
The rope showed little sign of wear. Lea’s efforts would have never freed her. The only thing Lea had accomplished so far was to rub the skin on her wrists raw. She was delusional.
“Okay, baby. You keep working on that, quietly. We’re right across the street. One way or the other, we will get you out of here. Just hang on a little longer,” said Sam, pulling a pill bottle out of his pocket. “Take this. It’ll help.” He handed her a small white pill.
Lea grabbed it and swallowed hard.
“You’ll be fine. Just a little while and we will be back. Promise,” said Jane through tears.
Leaving Lea in the basement was the hardest thing Jane had ever done. Knowing that her child sat in her own excrement, helpless and brutalized, hardened Jane to their current situation. Jane’s determination to take revenge on Tank and the other men reached a fever pitch as they sprinted across their backyard to the cover of a thick stand of bushes.
Chapter Forty-Three
Mark watched as two New Order men ran toward Jane’s house, presumably intent on retrieving a spare tire. Suddenly, the side door flew open. Sam and Jane ran out the side door and toward the cover of bushes behind the next-door neighbor’s house. He knew, as they did, that they could not cross the street without being spotted. They needed to take cover immediately and wait until it was clear to move again.
Just as they moved toward the neighbor’s house, Mark caught sight of a man hiding in the high grass at the back of the neighbor’s lot, holding a military-style rifle. Mark knew Jane and Sam could not see the concealed man as they ran from their home. Instead, they were running almost directly into him. The man didn’t look like a New Order type, but that didn’t mean anything in these changed times. Neither Sam nor Jane had mentioned a traveling companion. The man hiding might be a New Order assassin just waiting to take his shot.
Mark positioned the crosshairs on the man’s head and started to apply pressure to the trigger. Before his index finger broke the trigger, the man stood up and started emphatical
ly waving both hands in the air, directing Sam and Jane to a safe hiding spot. Mark engaged the safety and removed his finger from the trigger well, his hand shaking. He’d almost killed an innocent man.
~ ~ ~
“Jane! Over here!” said a familiar voice.
She scanned the neighbor’s backyard, seeing Charlie rise from the grass at the back of the yard. He waved his hands and arms.
“Get over here fast! They’ll see you!”
Sam grabbed her hand and pulled her across the yard. They both dove into the grass next to Charlie, who lowered himself slowly, keeping his rifle aimed back at the Archers’ house.
“Charlie? Geez, what are you doing here?” whispered Jane.
“Saving your asses, obviously,” said Charlie.
“Nice,” she replied.
“I heard two gunshots. No idea where they came from,” said Charlie.
“Two? I only heard one,” said Jane. “Our daughter is in there. She’s alive, but they have her tied to a pole in the basement. We couldn’t get her out before they came back. We need to get back inside. Can you cover us?” asked Jane excitedly.
“Against all five of them?” whispered Charlie as gruff voices cut across the backyard.
“Jane, I need something heavier to cut her free. They used a heavy-duty towrope. We need a better plan. Shooting them as they walk may or may not work. We need to be certain. We can’t chance a botched shoot-out. If one of them gets back into the house—then what?”
Sam’s words slowly sank through the fog of adrenaline that clouded Jane’s thoughts. She knew he was right, but all she could think of doing was shooting the men on the street as they walked smugly back to their house. Sam’s words rang true. They needed to be certain that all the men were neutralized; otherwise Lea could be killed.
