As Darkness Falls

by David Lucin

  Kevin adjusted his glasses. “I could try talking to her.”

  Nicole continued knocking and pleading with Mom. “Don’t bother,” Sam said. “If Nicole can’t get her out, no one can. I’ll be back tomorrow, so it doesn’t really matter.” That was a lie. It did matter. Thanks to Nicole, he regarded Mom’s behavior as an illness, not something born purely out of spite, yet he couldn’t help but see her drama as merely a ploy for attention.

  “I’ll give it a shot.” Kevin slunk past him, down the hallway.

  “Good luck,” Sam muttered to himself, then said to Jenn, “Ready to get going?”

  She grasped his hand in hers. Her black hair, out of its usual ponytail, cascaded over her shoulders. She rarely wore it down, but he always liked when she did. “We can wait a few more minutes if you want to keep trying.”

  He checked over his shoulder, seeing Kevin at the office door with Nicole. “No, if she hasn’t come out by now, she’s not going to.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Maria said and invited him in for a hug.

  Sam wrapped his arms around her bony frame. “Don’t be sorry. It is what it is.”

  “We could just kick the door down,” Jenn joked. “We can swing by the farm and grab Carter. He could have that sucker off its hinges in a second or two.”

  “What, you don’t think I could do it myself?” He flexed an arm, showing off a pitiful bicep.

  Her furrowed brow said she didn’t. “Have you ever kicked in a door, Sam?”

  “Has Carter?”

  “I’m not sure, but if there’s anyone who could do it, it’s him. Or Bryce. He’s probably a pro, being a firefighter and all.”

  “She’s not answering us anymore,” Nicole said as she came into the living room, Kevin a few paces behind her.

  “Oh well. Thanks for trying. I appreciate it.”

  “Of course.” She pulled him into a hug. “Be careful down there.”

  He held her tight, wishing they hadn’t drifted apart over the last few years. He mostly blamed himself. Nicole was the golden child, yes, but he’d resented her when he should have been resenting Mom. If they had stood together, established a united front, maybe their mother would have been healthier today. Maybe she wouldn’t be locking herself in an office and refusing to say goodbye to her son before he left on a potentially dangerous operation outside of Flagstaff.

  When he let her go, Kevin shook his hand. “Your mom, she’ll come around. I know she will.”

  Sam forced out a stiff smile. “Me too.”

  “Okay then.” Jenn snatched her rifle from beside the front door. “Shall we?”

  He stole one final glance at the office. The door remained closed. A pang of emotion speared him in the chest, part bitterness and part guilt. “Yep, we shall.”

  Maria put a hand on Jenn’s face. “We need to stop doing this, you and me. This is our third goodbye.”

  Sam envied the relationship Jenn had with the Ruiz family. He didn’t know her parents well, having only met them briefly on a few occasions, but they clearly loved her with all their heart. As did Maria and Gary. Mom and Kevin had provided Sam with everything he could have asked for, and he was grateful for the life they’d given him, but ever since Dad died, he felt as though he hadn’t truly belonged in a family. Jenn, somehow, had ended up with two.

  “I know,” Jenn said, her voice thick, “but I’m literally taking an army with me, so you don’t have to worry.”

  Maria laughed at that and brought Jenn in for another long hug. “I love you, sweetie. See you soon.”

  They finished their goodbyes. Sam considered calling out to Mom one last time, but she’d probably interpret anything he said as hostile anyway, so he grabbed his backpack and made for the door.

  Outside the Ruiz house, wind blew leaves across the empty driveway. Sam had left the Dodge at Militia HQ, so he and Jenn would have to walk, but he didn’t mind. Moments like this, with the two of them alone, would be rare in the coming days. Or weeks.

  Halfway down the block, Jenn said, “I’m sorry about your mom. I get she’s depressed, but I thought she was starting to feel better.”

  “That’s the scary thing. If she can’t even come out to see me, she’s obviously not doing very good in general.”

  After turning left on University Avenue, Jenn slowed her pace, then stopped.

  “What is it?” Sam asked. “You forget something?”

  She peered up at him, wisps of black hair catching the breeze. At the sight, his heart leaped into his throat, and he forgot all about his mother and the mission. The world contracted to him and her. He wished it would stay that way forever. “I want you to take this,” she said and lifted the bottom of her jacket and shirt, revealing her Glock in its concealed carry holster. “I know you don’t like guns, but since you’re coming along, you need to defend yourself.”

  After watching Jenn kill that man in Payson, then seeing Flagstaff nearly tear itself apart during the CFF incident, Sam had come to recognize the importance of carrying a weapon. He even had Gary teach him how to shoot. But Jenn should have her Glock, shouldn’t she? “You keep it. I think you’ll need it more than I will.”

  “No.” She unclipped the holster, the pistol inside, and held it out to him. “I have Espinosa and a squad of Militia backing me up. I’m happy you’re coming with me, and I’m sorry for getting mad when you told me you volunteered, but I’d feel a lot better if you had this. So promise you’ll wear it, wherever you go.”

  He relented and took the weapon. “I promise.”

  “Thank you. I don’t want to be a nagging girlfriend. I just wor—”

  “Worry about me,” he finished. “I know. But I worry about you, too, which is why I’m coming. Believe it or not, I can be brave. Remember when that junky was robbing the couple in Payson? Tara and Derek, I think their names were. I kind of saved the day.”

  She made a dismissive sound with her nose and linked his arm with his, leading him forward. “I remember yelling at you for being an idiot.”

  “I’ll admit, it wasn’t the brightest idea I’ve ever had.”

  “Hopefully this operation goes smooth and you don’t have to rescue anyone else.”

  “Smooth?” he said through a humorless laugh. “Right. That’d be the day.”

  * * *

  “There’s no way Garcia would’ve won the triple crown,” Quinn said, referring to the Diamondbacks phenom rookie shortstop who, at the time of the bombs, led the National League in batting average, home runs, and RBI. “He might’ve started off hot, but it’s a long season. He couldn’t keep that up past the All-Star break.”

  Jenn nibbled on a sliver of deer jerky, savoring the salty flavor, and leaned against the driver’s side door of the Dodge, the second truck in a line of nine, all with attached trailers. Together, they formed the First Platoon’s convoy to a point south of Cordes Lakes, where a team of National Guard soldiers would be waiting and ready to help establish a roadblock.

  Fifteen minutes ago, the unit had stopped for a break a few miles outside Camp Verde. Steep hills covered in brush flanked both sides of the highway, concealing the position, but Jenn couldn’t stop searching for potential shooters. There hadn’t been an incident of raiding on the interstate for months, yet Espinosa remained at her side, a round in the chamber. A few other troops appeared similarly wary, but most casually chattered away and stretched their legs.

  “I mean, just look at his peripherals,” Quinn continued. “Last I checked, his batting average on balls in play was way too high, like .450 or something. The best hitters in the league are around .330, maybe .350, so Garcia’s batting average was totally unsustainable. Regression was coming.”

  Sam, leaning next to Jenn, scrunched up his face in confusion.

  “So what’re you saying?” Jenn asked. “Garcia was lucky?”

  “Basically, yeah.” Quinn took a bite of her own jerky. “He always made good contact and had solid exit velocities, but he hit a lot of ground balls. That tel
ls me he mostly faced crap defense.”

  “Baseball’s not just data, though. If you get too focused on the numbers, you miss the little subtleties, like how a guy has a natural feel for the strike zone or how he turns his hands over in his swing. That kind of stuff. I mean, sure, Garcia might have gotten a bit lucky on grounders, but the way the ball sounded off the bat . . .” Jenn shut her eyes, imagining the perfect crack of cowhide on wood. It sent a tingle up her spine. “It’ll tell you a lot more than batting average on balls in play or other fancy stats.”

  Quinn spent a moment gnawing her lip. “I can get on board with that. The intangibles. The noise in the numbers.” She put a hand on a hip and bent a knee. “I guess you’re all right, Jansen, for a Diamondbacks fan.”

  “Mighty strong words. Didn’t the Padres lose like a hundred games last year?”

  Covering her heart with both hands, Quinn said, “How dare you. It was 112, actually, but who’s counting?”

  Jenn laughed, then felt a pang of sadness; if not for the bombs, the MLB playoffs would have started sometime next week, and her Diamondbacks were projected to win their first National League West title since 2044.

  Quinn tossed her backpack into the bed of the Dodge. “Well, I should go check on my peeps.”

  “Peeps?” Sam echoed.

  “Yeah, peeps. It’s short for ‘people,’ Samuel.” She asked Jenn, “Where did you find this guy? It’s like he’s got only half his software installed.”

  “In his defense, I don’t think anyone says ‘peeps’ anymore.”

  Quinn slung her AR over her shoulder and blew a strand of hair from her lips. “Fine then. I should go check on my people.”

  Old-fashioned lingo aside, Jenn liked that Quinn made a point of spending time with her fire team outside of duty shift or training; it built trust and camaraderie. Like in softball. Her team in high school rarely left Metro Phoenix, but once per year, it played in a tournament in Tucson. The girls would share rooms at a dumpy motel and be in each other’s company for three or four straight days. Win or lose, at the end of the weekend, they’d be better friends and teammates.

  As Quinn trudged toward her troops, Sam said through a yawn, “We should get there around two.”

  Liam, Dylan, and Sergeant Murphy had decided to establish a line near Sunset Point Rest Stop, a location about twenty miles north of New River, between Cordes Lakes and Black Canyon City. Last December, on their way into Phoenix for Christmas break, Jenn and Sam stopped there to check out the stunning view of the valley and the Bradshaw Mountains to the west. Normally, the drive took an hour and a half from Flagstaff. Now, with the convoy’s two lead vehicles, the Dodge and Nissan, limited to around twenty miles per hour to prevent the solar panels from blowing off, it would take four or five. Had those trucks been able to travel at full speed, she doubted the convoy would move much faster, anyway, not with troops riding in open trailers that lacked seat belts. Fortunately, Dylan had assigned her to Sam’s vehicle, so she could ride shotgun with him the whole way down.

  “You hear anything about where we’ll be staying when we’re not on duty?” Jenn asked. “I assume it’s not at the rest stop. I don’t think the Militia and the National Guard will fit into those bathrooms.”

  “Once we drop you guys off, me and Ed are heading into Cordes Lakes to scout out some places. Apparently there’s a few good spots right off the highway. A dollar store, a truck stop, and an old McDonald’s.”

  “Oh, lovely. We get to live in a truck stop.” She wrapped her arm around his. “We’ll have to claim a private spot behind a till somewhere. Or maybe in a stock room.”

  “Ed’s got gear to set up barrel stoves in case it gets cold.” Sam, it seemed, was in no mood for flirting. Too bad.

  “That’s good. You guys think of everything.”

  “He thinks of everything,” Sam clarified. “I wouldn’t have thought about bringing firewood.”

  “Me neither.” Before packing up the trailers last night and this morning, Jenn hadn’t considered how much planning went into supplying a platoon worth of soldiers; the sheer quantity of food, water, firewood, cots, blow-up mattresses, and ammunition boggled her mind. How did nations keep armies of millions supplied during the war? For that matter, how did the Romans conquer half of Europe without working automobiles?

  She finished her deer jerky and noticed Freddie, alone and writing furiously, in the trailer attached to the Toyota. Nearby, Wyatt, Aiden, and Tanis huddled around Yannick, who gesticulated wildly with his arms. Telling a story, Jenn surmised, probably about the Battle of the Farm.

  Sam leaned forward and gazed past her. “What do you keep looking at over there? Don’t tell me it’s Teddie.”

  Correcting “Teddie” to “Freddie” would only encourage him, so she said, “It’s been crazy since we got our orders, and I haven’t had a chance to talk to him in the last few days. I want to find out what he’s doing here and why he volunteered.”

  “You still think Morrison forced him to do it?”

  “Maybe. I don’t really know what to think anymore. Something’s going on with him, though. I get that you think he’s arrogant, but he’s not. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would demand his uncle work some deal to give him a fire team.”

  Sam turned over her wrist and checked her watch. “Well, if you want to go talk to him, now’s your chance. We’re hitting the road in fifteen.”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Why would I mind?”

  “You act jealous sometimes.”

  “I told you, I’m not jealous.” He peered at Freddie again, stretching to his full height to see over Jenn’s head. “Although I will admit, he’s got that movie-star look going on.”

  “Funny you say that, because he was trying to become an actor. He’s even writing a script. That’s probably what he’s working on right now.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized her mistake: Freddie clearly hadn’t wanted anyone to know that.

  “A script?” Sam asked. “Like, for a movie? Why bother?”

  “He said he started it before and he wants to finish it. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. You cannot go blabbing to people about that. I’ll literally kill you if you do.”

  “Secret’s safe with me, but I’m keeping that juicy little nugget tucked in my pocket in case I ever need some ammo against him.” He pushed himself off the Dodge and arched his spine to stretch it. “On that note, I’m going to check in with Ed. See you in a few?”

  “Yep,” she said, embarrassed by her big mouth. Good thing Sam could keep a secret. Or so she hoped.

  She made her way toward Freddie. Surrounded by duffel bags, backpacks, and plastic bins, he sat with one leg flat to the floor of the trailer, the other bent so he could use it to support his notebook while he wrote.

  “Looks like you’re on a roll,” she said.

  He jumped at the sound of her voice, then exhaled and put a hand to his chest when he saw her. “Oh, God, it’s you.”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.” She planted a foot on the trailer’s wheel well and climbed inside. “If you won’t let me read your script, you can at least tell me what it’s about.”

  “I never said you couldn’t read it, just not until it’s done.” He stopped writing and tapped the pencil’s eraser on the open page. “It’s science fiction. That’s all I’ll give away for now.”

  “Oh, cool. Is it like Star Wars? I’ve never seen those movies, but Sam’s watched all eighteen or however many there are.”

  Freddie gawked at her like she’d kicked a puppy. “Did you just say you haven’t seen Star Wars?”

  “Yeah, so? Is that weird?”

  “Extremely. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who hasn’t seen Star Wars. You’re missing out on such a huge part of pop culture.”

  “Maybe. I was always too busy watching sports.”

  “Huh,” was all he said. He almost sounded impressed. Or horrified. No, definitely horrified.<
br />
  A second of silence stretched between them, affording her the perfect opportunity to ask the big question. Nerves tightened her belly, though, and sealed off her throat. Freddie had opened up to her, told her about his secret screenplay. He’d confided in her, and she didn’t want to shatter that trust by interrogating him about his uncle, so for once, she opted for a tactful approach.

  To appear casual, she absently popped open the lid to a bin and peered inside. Blankets. Another essential she wouldn’t have thought to bring. “So why did you volunteer?” He furrowed his brow at that, so she added, “I mean, like, Quinn volunteered for her friends from Las Vegas. I’m here because I’ve seen what’s out there and know what people will do to survive. What about you?”

  She expected him to lay his notebook aside and give her a real, honest answer, but he returned to writing and mumbled, “Just want to do my part.”

  Frustration sparked behind her sternum. Freddie was lying—or not telling her the whole truth; she could tell by the inflection in his voice. “Oh come on,” she said, trying to sound teasing, not annoyed. “Everyone volunteered for some reason. I bet if you ask Wyatt, he’d say it was for the extra food.”

  Freddie huffed out a half-hearted chuckle. “Yeah, probably.”

  She waited for him to continue. When he flipped the page and kept scribbling, that spark in her chest threatened to ignite into flames. A demand for answers danced on her tongue, but she managed to reel it in. Pushing him wouldn’t solve anything. Yes, she wanted to know the truth, and as his superior, she felt entitled to hear it, but she also acknowledged his right to privacy. As long as he could pull his weight as a team leader, it shouldn’t really matter why he volunteered, even if he was compelled to do so by his uncle or someone else, right? He hadn’t had a chance to prove himself yet, nor had he screwed up so badly she could justify asking Dylan to bump him from his role. So for now, she would lay off, give him the benefit of the doubt, and coach him as well as she knew how.

  Yannick’s voice caught her ear. In the semicircle that had formed around him, Wyatt laughed and sipped water from a four-liter jug, then passed it to Tanis. A few trucks farther down the line, Quinn had her troops’ undivided attention as she shouldered her rifle in some sort of demonstration.