After the EMP (Book 8): Hope Stumbles

by Tate, Harley

  For the past two hours, Colt had watched the farm through binoculars. From the distance, he couldn’t make out faces or confirm identities, but what he saw, he didn’t like. He turned to Larkin in the passenger seat. “It appears to be a fully-functioning farm. There’s open areas that must be plowed fields and barns locked up tight.”

  Larkin leaned back. “Until we get a visual on Walter, we can’t go in there. We could be shooting up innocent civilians.”

  “I could go in and pretend to be lost.” Excitement crept into Dani’s voice from the back seat. “Then you all could sneak in undetected.”

  “Not a chance.” Colt wasn’t about to use her as a decoy. Not this time. “We wait until we see Walter with our own eyes or we don’t go in.”

  “Fine.” Dani flopped back and crossed her arms and Colt clamped his lips shut to keep from grinning.

  Despite her bravado and capability with a gun, Dani was still a teenager at heart. He tried not to tease her when it showed. Instead, he met her pouty eyes in the mirror. “How about you get some sleep? We might be up all night.”

  Dani made a show of fluffing her sleeping bag into a pillow before curling up on the seat. “Wake me up when you get sick of doing nothing.”

  As Colt turned around, Lottie squirmed past him and found the hollow between Dani’s chest and knees. Both fell asleep within minutes.

  Colt picked up the binoculars as snoring rose from the back seat. He tried to think about what would be happening back home around this time. Anne would be readying lunch. Brianna would be coming in from the barns with empty feed pails and covered in straw from the animals. Tracy and Madison would be cleaning any animals caught overnight in the traps. The men would be splitting wood or inventorying weapons or out on a run.

  There should be some activity below him, but so far he hadn’t seen much. As he waited a barn door opened. A single figure came out carrying something in his arms. From the distance, Colt couldn’t make out what it was.

  He thought about Dani’s comments and her push to hit the farm. The girl had a point. Walter could be tied up in a basement or being tortured as they sat there and waited.

  What if his hesitation caused Walter’s death? Colt glanced at Larkin, but the former soldier shook his head. “Your instincts are solid. We shouldn’t go in without visual confirmation.”

  “And if that gets him killed?” Colt ran a hand down his face. “It’ll be my fault. I left him outside that store while I took my sweet time inside.”

  “If the roles were reversed, would he have done the same thing?”

  “Maybe.” But Colt still felt responsible. He couldn’t wait anymore. “We’ve hung back long enough. I’m going closer for some on-foot recon. We’re not getting the job done up here.”

  Larkin glanced at the back seat. “Two of us could cover twice as much ground.”

  Colt shook his head. “I’ll go alone. If I’m not back in an hour or two, wake Dani up and see if you can get some sleep. You might need it.”

  He pushed his way out of the Jeep and shivered. According to Brianna’s family, this first winter without nationwide electricity had been a beast. Highs below normal, more snowfall than usual. It didn’t take a TV weatherman to tell Colt the next few months would be a challenge.

  With only a thin glove on his shooting hand, Colt held his pistol low and eased into the forest. He’d parked the Jeep behind a solid stand of evergreen bushes at a vantage point well north of the farm. With bright yellow paint, it wasn’t a vehicle meant for stealth operations. Any serious reconnaissance would need to be on foot.

  Colt tugged his zipper up and snugged down his skull cap. His ears would need to freeze to listen for anyone coming. A farm this size might have sentries or roving security. He couldn’t risk being seen.

  The snow hampered his efforts. In the fall or summer, he could creep through the forest like a shadow and come right up on someone before they even knew he was there. But in the winter he might as well paint a giant red bullseye on his chest. Hard to conceal a two-hundred-pound man in a dark gray parka against glaring snow.

  He planned every step. Creep behind this tree, dart to that bush, use that rock as cover. Edging down the hillside, it took Colt well over an hour to reach a safe vantage point. An outcropping of rock free from snow gave him enough cover to rest.

  His breath blew out in thick clouds and he waited, crouched behind the warmed granite until he could control his breathing. Only then did he inch onto the top of the boulder and bring his binoculars into focus.

  Whoa. First impressions could be deceiving, but Colt wasn’t prepared for the scale of the place. From a thousand yards back, it seemed large but manageable. Up close, the operation was massive. Not just one field for crops, but three ringed the central barn. Fencing separated pens for animals. Multiple barns clustered around the largest open area. The silos dwarfed even the tallest pine.

  Big enough to shelter horses in the winter, the largest barn could be full of stables or vehicles or an entire army. The smaller ones could house pigs or sheep or a sizable flock of chickens. The Clifton place took ten people working around the clock to maintain; this place could easily need thirty.

  As he shifted position on the rock, a side door to the largest barn slid open. Two men emerged, each holding a rifle with a scope. Colt’s breath caught. With scopes, they could spot him. He was close enough to be a viable target. Shit.

  He pressed closer to the rock, willing his parka and knit cap to blend in. One thing he’d learned while on active duty was that staying still was the best way to stay alive. The military equivalent of hug-a-tree for lost kids.

  Colt kept watching. The two men shared a smoke a few yards from the barn, puffing clouds into the air. A short laugh carried up the hill.

  With relaxed shoulders and guns leaned at ease, neither man was concerned or afraid. Either they didn’t have Walter or he wasn’t a threat. Colt frowned and kept watching. The pair of men finished their smoke and retreated to the door. He almost wished they would head out on patrol so he could pick them off. A captured sentry might give him all the info he needed.

  The door to the barn opened, but the men didn’t go inside. Instead, they ushered someone out. Colt rose up and adjusted the binoculars. Walter!

  One man wrapped a hand around his upper arm and led him out of the barn. The other man followed behind with his rifle pointed at the ground, but ready. Colt squinted. A parka was draped over Walter’s shoulders as if he were a football player staying warm on the sidelines. His hands were clasped in front of him.

  Restraints? Handcuffs? Colt couldn’t tell for sure. He watched as the threesome stopped at the nearest tree line. Colt snorted. They were letting him take a piss. At least he’s not stuck in his own filth. After he finished, the man with one hand on Walter spun him around and Colt got a first good look at his friend.

  A bruise colored his forehead purple, but other than that, he appeared fine. No anguish on his face. No confusion or agitation as he walked back to the barn. The guard keeping up the rear rushed forward, slid open the door, and Walter and the men disappeared.

  Colt lowered the binoculars and took a deep breath. Walter is alive. Relief coursed through Colt’s veins. Ever since he saw the droplets of blood in the snow, he feared the worst. His optimism had faded by the minute, but thanks to Lottie and a chance encounter with Frankie, they found one of their own.

  Now came the hard part: breaking him out. Colt eased off the rock and sat with his back to the farm. Finally a job he could handle. It had been months since he’d used any of his skills. He hadn’t even been able to shoot as much as he liked to maintain his proficiency. Ammunition was a finite resource now.

  He sucked in a lungful of cold air. His newfound farming skills could take a back seat for the next twenty-four hours. Colt had a mission. He cracked his knuckles and checked the time. One thirty in the afternoon. Plenty of time to prepare.

  By the time night fell, they would be ready. With any luck, by t
he morning they would be driving into the Clifton compound, ready to reunite a family. He crept back into the cover of the trees.

  Chapter Fourteen

  TRACY

  Woodland Veterinary Services

  Truckee, CA

  4:30 p.m.

  In the middle of winter, the sun set so early it caught Tracy off guard. She’d hoped to make it to the vet, find a vaccine, and be halfway home by now. But thanks to the snow and a steep descent, it took them all day to reach the outskirts of town. Declining in elevation from seven thousand to five thousand feet didn’t seem like much in the abstract, but in reality it was a brutish slog. The hike up would be worse.

  No matter how much she wished for the Jeep, they had to keep going. Madison depended on her. The sunlight waned behind them, barely edging over the trees. Within half an hour it would be difficult to see. An hour would bring on darkness.

  Brianna pushed her hood off her face and squinted into the impending dusk. “There it is.” She pointed at a speck of a house, white clapboard blending in with the snow all around.

  “Are you sure? It doesn’t look like a vet. It looks like a farm.”

  “That’s why I thought of it. Dr. Benton didn’t advertise. If you didn’t know him, he didn’t see you or your animals.”

  Tracy grimaced. A vet without a sign who worked out of his house didn’t instill her with confidence, but she pushed the doubts aside. They needed to get in and get out without any drama.

  “Let’s loop it, make sure it’s clear, then we can head in.”

  Together, the women walked the edge of the property, skirting a fence line and the worst of the snowdrifts. It collected against any barrier, piling up like confetti in gutters after a parade. The house hugged the southeastern corner of the property, with a barn out back and a lump of something that could have been a car in the drive.

  “There are no tire tracks or footprints anywhere. Are you sure he didn’t retire?”

  Brianna shrugged. “He was still here a month or so before the power went out. Maybe he packed up and left after.”

  “What about the vaccines? Don’t they need to be kept cold?”

  Brianna shivered. “I don’t think that’s a problem right now.”

  Tracy bit the inside of her cheek. The temperatures in the foothills didn’t reach the triple digits of Sacramento, but it still warmed into the low eighties. Left exposed, would a round of vaccinations even be effective? She shoved the thoughts aside. Even a less-potent vaccine was better than nothing.

  She eased closer to the house. “I’ll try and get in.”

  Brianna checked her shotgun. “I’ll stand watch.”

  Tracy pulled off her gloves as she walked up to the front door. She wasn’t as skilled as her husband at picking locks, but he’d taught her the basics last time they were out on a supply run. The metal skewers he found in a ransacked dollar store were better than any bobby pin.

  Using her left hand to hold one skewer low in the lock, Tracy used her right hand to jiggle the tines. Up and down she worked the loose skewer, straining to hear the lock fall into place.

  The cold wasn’t helping. With a deep breath, she tried again. Tracy leaned closer, struggling to see in the fading sunlight. Frustration gnawed at her, but she pushed it back. Walter was missing and Madison was injured. If she didn’t get into this vet’s office, what hope did she have to keep going?

  I might be the only Sloane left. The thought shoved her back on her heels and a skewer fell from the lock and landed in the snow.

  I’ve been so complacent and lazy. All those summer months when the harvest came in easy and laughter filled the cabins. She’d discounted winter and bad weather and freak accidents. Other people who might want to do them harm. It hadn’t been that long since a crew tried to take what they had. But she’d let the repetitive days and the hard work lull her into a false sense of security.

  Tracy shoved her hand in the snow, digging for the now-frozen bit of metal.

  Crunching footsteps sounded behind her and Tracy turned around. “I can’t get it open.”

  Brianna hoisted a hunk of rock in her gloved hand. “Then we get in another way. I’m too cold to wait out here any longer.” She pulled back like a shot-put champ and heaved the rock at the door’s window.

  The glass shattered and Brianna reached her arm inside. She unlocked the door from the inside and pulled it open.

  Tracy stared at her for a moment.

  “What? I’m surprised someone hasn’t done it already.” The younger woman stepped into the dark. “You coming?”

  Brianna’s flashlight flicked on as Tracy eased inside. Dust and stale air and the stink of animals dead and long past rotting filled her nose. She used a glove to block the worst of the smell.

  “Did he board animals here?”

  “I can’t imagine that many locals needed a place to keep their chickens while they went on vacation.” Brianna canvassed the lobby with the flashlight.

  Plastic chairs. Peeling linoleum. Stained wallpaper. The place had seen better days.

  “Did it always look like this?”

  “Dr. Benton didn’t win you over with style, but he also took all comers. People down on their luck, local farmers, anyone.” Brianna pointed toward a door. “Medicine should all be in the back through here.”

  Tracy pulled her main weapon from her holster before clicking on her own flashlight. She held them in a cross in front of her like her husband instructed. “How old was he?”

  “Ancient.” Brianna pushed the door open. The smell intensified.

  Tracy gagged. “Whatever animals he kept in here, they’ve been dead and shut up a long time.”

  “We’ll have to search the whole space. I never came back here.”

  Occupying no more than a few hundred square feet, the vet seemed more like a prep space for a home business than a hospital. Cabinets ran across two walls and an oversized exam table sat in the middle.

  They worked as a team, Tracy shining her light while Brianna opened doors and peered inside. First aid supplies, shampoo, nail clippers, boxes of flea and tick preventive, but no medicine.

  Tracy slowed. They were going about it all wrong. “Everyone knows vets keep medicines on hand, right?”

  Brianna snorted. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “But it’s not just vaccines, it’s all sorts of things. Antibiotics, pain relievers, even antidepressants.”

  “Your point?”

  “Dr. Benton probably kept them somewhere safe. You said he was old. If he thought someone might break in and steal the goods, he wouldn’t keep them in here.”

  Brianna paused. “We’ve searched the whole vet space. If they aren’t here, where could they be?”

  Tracy pressed her lips together. “This can’t be all there is; we haven’t found the source of the smell.”

  She used her flashlight to scour the room, stopping on a door with a metal bracket bolted to the wall and a padlock dangling from a hook. “What about that?”

  “It goes into his house, I think.”

  “Then so do we.” Tracy walked up and gave the lock a tug. Without bolt cutters, she wasn’t getting it open. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted at the wood. “Hello? Is anyone in there?”

  No response.

  She whacked on the upper panel of the door. It echoed. “I don’t think it’s solid.”

  “Are you serious?” Brianna joined her and gave the middle panel a solid rap with her knuckles. She laughed. “A massive padlock and a hollow-core door. Who’d have thought?”

  “I think that’s the idea.”

  Tracy took a deep breath and kicked a lower panel. It cracked. She did it again and the wood splintered. With a few more well-placed stomps, she broke through enough of the thin wood to squeeze through.

  Ducking into the jagged opening, she inhaled and immediately gagged. Bile rose up her throat and saliva pooled in the pockets of her mouth. The smell had grown from nauseating to almost unbeara
ble.

  Brianna clambered through behind her and cursed. “I’m gonna hurl. There’s got to be a horse dead in here.”

  “Look for a small medical fridge or a locking cabinet. The good stuff has to be in here somewhere.”

  Brianna headed toward a hallway and presumably bedrooms and bathrooms, and Tracy took off in the opposite direction, fighting the urge to vomit and run. The house could have been a time capsule of 1955, full of furniture city dwellers paid a fortune to reproduce before the EMP.

  A dining room table with angled legs and a rounded top. A three-tier planter on wire legs. A banquette with sliding doors. She pushed one open. Linens and dishes. No medicine.

  She eased into the kitchen. White cabinets, Formica countertops with metal edges. Same linoleum floor as the vet side of the house. Tracy opened the cabinets one by one, searching past glassware and pots and pans. Where was the medicine?

  Tracy glanced up at the kitchen window. Darkness blanketed the snow and turned their flashlights into homing beacons. The longer the search took, the more dangerous their position became. If someone spotted them, they had nowhere to run.

  As Tracy hurried to pull open drawers and eliminate the kitchen, Brianna called out. “Over here!”

  Tracy rushed toward the younger woman’s voice, gun ready. Her flashlight beam bobbed and weaved down a hallway and into a home office. Brianna stood on the other side of a dark wood desk, bare hand pinching her nose.

  “I found the smell. It’s not a horse.”

  Tracy eased around the desk. Brianna’s flashlight beam lit up the desiccated form of a man. His skin flaked like bits of paper. His eye sockets sunk into his head like moldy prunes. A syringe lay on the floor beside his shriveled hand.

  “I guess Dr. Benton didn’t want to tough it out.” Brianna eased past the body and tugged open a cabinet.

  Tracy’s heart fluttered.