by David Lucin
That gruesome thought made her realize something: outside, the Major had ordered Tobias not to hit her and threatened to shoot him if he tried. He probably didn’t want his only remaining captive hurt too badly or killed in a fit of rage.
Beneath her blanket, she tucked her knees tight to her chest, thinking about Freddie, Tanis, Wyatt, and Aiden. The Major seemed intent on finding them, but the man with the gravelly voice was right: there were thousands of places to hide. No way these thugs could check every single home around this facility. That would take days. And under cover of darkness, her team could move from house to house, staying off the main roads. They’d make it. She had faith in them. Tonight, Freddie had proven he wasn’t a coward, and Jenn was proud to have him in her squad.
An hour passed, maybe more. Exhaustion crept into her bones, and with every passing minute, her eyelids grew heavier. She tried to stay awake, but despite her best efforts, she felt herself slipping away.
Boots clomping on the floor jolted her out of a restless sleep. She opened her eyes to see the Major outside her cell. Carrying an electric lantern, the LED glowing a bright white, he told the guard, “Go take ten so I can have a talk with our friend here.”
“You got it.” The guard nodded and left them alone.
“So what can I do for you?” Jenn asked, groggy, thirsty, and uncomfortable. “It’s been a really long, crappy day, and I was just starting to nod off, so if we could keep this quick, that’d be great.” She tried to remain defiant and show the Major she wasn’t afraid. Her willpower, though, was beginning to falter. All she wanted to do was crawl into a sleeping bag with Sam and never come out.
The Major found a footstool across the passageway. He set it by her door, sat with his arms draped over his knees, and looked toward her stall, where she’d killed Skinny Kid. “That was pretty bold of you. How’d you get him to open the door?”
She considered telling him, if only to bask in her victory, but she thought it best to keep her methods a secret for now. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I would, but I get the sense you aren’t going to tell me.” He set the lantern down between his feet. “In any case, I was right about you. You’ve done some stuff. Here I was, thinking you Militia types were all a bunch of inexperienced kids playing soldier.”
“Disappointed?”
“Impressed, actually. I’ll be sure not to underestimate you in the future and keep a guard at your cell all night.”
While she took pride in knowing the Major considered her dangerous, being constantly watched would make a second escape far more difficult. Not that she expected anything less from the man. He clearly wasn’t stupid. Arrogant, perhaps, but definitely not stupid.
“He was Toby’s kid brother,” he continued. “The one you stabbed. Victor.”
Brother. The guilt returned but quickly faded. She killed Victor because she had to, because he stood between her and freedom, unlike Philip Grierson, who shot Val in some sick attempt to gain his father’s approval. “So, what, I’m supposed to feel bad about that?”
“No,” he said and brushed a fleck of mulch off the sleeve of his jacket. “If the guy can’t fight off a 110-pound girl armed with the handle of a bucket, he’s got no place on my team.”
“Team? Is that what you call it? I probably would’ve called it a gang, but whatever.”
“Gang, team, what’s the difference? Ask those refugees crawling up I-17 what they think of your little army. Bet at least a few of them call you a gang.”
“We’re down here to protect people,” she said on reflex but silently conceded the Major had a point. Leather Jacket would certainly consider her and the Militia the bad guys.
He threw his head back and laughed, his face in the shadows. When it returned to the light of his lantern, he wore that same smug grin. “Good one. You really are funny, you know that?”
“So you’ve mentioned,” she said, irritated. “Is there a reason you’re here, or did you just come to see me because you’re lonely? If that’s the case, you mind bugging some of your cronies instead? Because I don’t want to be doing this with you. Unless you came here to torture me for information, which I’m starting to doubt, based on you stopping your buddy Tobias from hurting me out there.”
“I wouldn’t read too much into that. The guy packs a mean punch, and I was afraid he’d beat you to death if I didn’t step in. And I’m not here to ask you any more questions. Like you said, it’s been a long day, and I want you sharp and well-rested for our next session.”
She dry-swallowed and pulled the blanket up to her neck. “Gee, thanks. How generous.”
After tapping the top of his lantern a few times, he took it by the handle and slowly rose from his stool. He turned to leave but paused, saying, “Your friends won’t get far. I’ve got a dozen men in three trucks out looking for them. By sunrise, they’ll all be back in here with you. Maybe I’ll talk to one of them first, before you.” With a flick of his finger, he signaled for the guard to return. “I’ll have some water brought in for you. And a bite to eat. Can’t have you dying on me, can we?”
Whistling, he walked away, swinging the lantern at his side.
Darkness once again filled Jenn’s cell. She hated being stuck in here, helpless to protect her squadmates from this maniac and his followers, but she had to believe Freddie could lead his team to safety.
Was he up to the challenge?
* * *
On a tablet, Sam watched the feed from the recon drone’s infrared camera: a mix of blues with the occasional shade of green, but no reds and no oranges.
He sat behind the wheel of the Toyota, which he’d parked in the crook of an L-shaped strip mall near the corner of North Scottsdale Road and the Carefree Highway. Courtney and her unit of National Guard, with their own drone, were in a truck farther north. The search began at the hospital Dylan raided with Jenn in May. That was the logical place to start, but they found nothing other than a pack of dogs and streets lined with empty houses. Gradually, they moved east, seeing much of the same, minus the dogs.
In the passenger seat, Dylan snored, his head leaned against the window and a blanket draped over his torso. Before going down for his sleep shift, he showed Sam how to operate the drone. Good thing, too, because Sam wouldn’t have been able to sit here and do nothing. He felt powerless enough already.
“Let’s ask Samuel,” Quinn said from the back seat.
Sam’s name caught his attention, but he didn’t take his eyes off the tablet. Quinn and Yannick had been chattering nonstop for the past hour, but Sam barely heard a word. “Ask me what?”
“If you could eat anything at all right now, what would it be? Yannick picked a grilled cheese sandwich with tomato soup, which I thought was boring, but to each their own.”
“I don’t know how you could not pick soup and a sandwich,” Yannick said. “You use the sandwich to soak up the last bit of soup in the bowl. It’s genius.”
“Yeah, but it’s still boring. I’d have a burger. Real beef, real bacon, lettuce, pickle, no tomato, ketchup, and a whole bunch of mayo. Like, a gross amount. Enough to make the bun soggy. With a side of fries, but all of them really crispy. You know, the ones that were in the deep-fryer too long.”
The drone moved on. Sam kept the altitude high so it could image a larger area more quickly. The trade-off was a lack of detail, but the infrared camera should still pick up signs of a fire or a building being heated by a wood stove. Courtney’s drone flew for the first six hours, but its battery died around 1:30 a.m., at which point Sam’s took over. It was now a few minutes after four, and in total, only about half of the search area had been surveyed. Sam would need a bit of luck if he wanted to find Jenn before the battery on the second drone died as well. Currently, it was at forty-eight percent.
Quinn poked his upper arm. “So, Samuel, what would it be? I think steak.”
“My bet’s something weird,” Yannick said.
“Weird like yours?”
; “No, weird like dessert. Or a latte. He seems like a latte guy.”
Sam was hardly listening, his thoughts focused on Jenn and what the Major might be doing to her. Yet he knew why Quinn had tried including him in her conversation: to keep him from dwelling on things he couldn’t control. So he answered with, “Pancakes.”
Yannick whooped loudly. Somehow, Dylan didn’t stir from his slumber. “See? I told you. Weird.”
“Pancakes aren’t weird,” Sam said. “I remember my dad used to make them every morning for us when we were . . .”
The tablet flashed a notification: Thermal signature detected.
He blinked and rubbed his eyes, thinking he’d imagined the words, but when he looked again, a bright-orange and red blob lit up the screen.
“When you were what?” Quinn asked.
“I see something.” Sam zoomed in and brought the tablet closer to his face, then switched to the visual spectrum. From this high in the air, the camera couldn’t discern too many details, but he made out distinct flames rising from a bonfire in what appeared to be a courtyard. “It’s a fire!”
“Give me that.” Dylan was wide awake, like he hadn’t been sleeping for the past thirty minutes.
Sam handed over the tablet and started the Toyota, ready to leave as soon as Dylan gave him the order.
“A fire?” Quinn put on her seat belt. “Are you sure it’s not just another pack of dogs?”
“Definitely not,” Sam said. “It’s way too bright.”
Dylan squinted at the tablet, his face bathed in blue light. “He’s right. It’s a fire.”
Foot on the brake, Sam gripped the steering wheel with one hand and the gear-shifter with the other. “Did we find it? Is it the Major’s hideout? Should we check it out? Just tell me where to go.”
Dylan dragged his fingers across the screen to maneuver the drone’s camera. “I see people.”
“People?” Sam, Quinn, and Yannick all echoed at the same time. Yannick added, “The Major’s guys?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. It looks like they’re moving through backyards. I can’t really make them out from this altitude, but there’s four or five.”
A rush of hope nearly made Sam leap through the windshield. “Is it her? Is it Jenn?”
Yannick put on his seat belt as well. “How? That would mean she escaped, wouldn’t it?”
Sam pictured Jenn slipping out of ropes tied around her wrists and ankles, freeing her teammates, and sneaking out of some dark, dingy warehouse. The scenario was beyond fantastical, but he wanted to believe it so badly.
Dylan’s brow furrowed. “I’m picking up other heat signatures nearby. They look like trucks.”
“It could be scouting parties,” Quinn offered. “Sent out to find Jansen and Freddie.”
“Maybe.” Dylan laid the tablet in his lap and pulled the radio from the console. To Sam, he said, “Go left, then take another left at Westland Road. Should be the first set of lights.”
Sam backed out of the parking stall, then followed Dylan’s directions, turning onto a four-lane road with a median of sand and wiry trees. He wanted to punch it, but in the dark, he could barely see. For the truck to remain invisible at night, the headlights had to remain off; unfortunately, this Toyota didn’t have the option, so Dylan had covered them and the taillights with several layers of duct tape.
“Dylan for Hiroyuki,” Dylan said into his radio.
“Hiroyuki here. Go ahead.”
“We’ve got something on infrared. Northwest corner of Pima and Black Mountain. Looks like a bonfire, but I’m also seeing vehicles and people on foot. We’re moving in to investigate.”
“Copy that,” Courtney said. “Standing by.”
Dylan dropped the radio into the console and returned to watching the tablet.
Sam dodged a stalled sedan halfway on the right-hand shoulder, unable to believe his luck. For tonight, the best-case scenario was finding the Major’s compound, but saving Jenn and bringing her home? He tried not to get ahead of himself—Dylan had only seen thermal signatures, not actual faces—yet he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d somehow broken free.
He took the left onto Westland, another four-lane road with a median. “Take your second left,” Dylan said. “It looks like they’re moving through a subdivision not far from here.”
“Are we sure it’s them?” Quinn leaned forward so she could see the tablet over Dylan’s shoulder. “How do we know it’s not the Major’s guys on patrol or some other survivors trying to get away from those trucks?”
“I still can’t tell, but I’m starting to think—”
Dylan cut himself off and froze, finger hovering an inch above the screen.
A tightness gripped Sam’s chest. “What? What’s wrong?”
“The drone sees a truck coming right at us.” Dylan kept his voice level, but a sense of urgency leaked into the last word. “Turn around.”
Sam pulled the quickest three-point turn of his life, then headed west down the eastbound lanes. “Where now?”
“Um . . .” On the tablet, Dylan switched to map mode. There was no GPS, of course, so he’d have to find their position manually. That took time—time they didn’t have with a strange vehicle coming up behind them.
Headlights appeared in the rearview mirror. They were small and faint but growing with every thunderous beat of Sam’s heart. He pressed the accelerator harder, driving as fast as he dared in complete darkness. “Where am I going?”
Dylan threw out an arm and braced himself on the glove box. “Left! Left here!”
Sam hit the brakes hard, then jerked the wheel left, steering into a complex of single-story adobe-style office buildings. He parked behind one of them, where the Toyota would be impossible to see from the main road.
“Wait here,” Dylan whispered, as though the driver of the unidentified vehicle could hear him if he spoke too loudly. “Turn the truck off.”
The duct tape on the lights did a decent job, but it wasn’t perfect, so Sam said, “Good idea,” and killed the motor.
Breath held, the neckline of his shirt soaked in sweat, he watched an orb of white zoom past, heading west. He exhaled in relief when it disappeared into the night.
“He’s turning north.” Dylan tapped at the tablet a few times. “Looks like we’re in the clear.”
Quinn asked, “It’s gotta be the Major, right?”
“Probably some of his goons,” Dylan said. “I don’t see who else would be patrolling this part of the city. Either way, I’m going to treat them as hostile until they give me a reason not to.”
“Where’s Jenn now?” Sam chastised himself for again assuming she was one of the people Dylan had spotted. As Quinn had said, they could be anyone.
Dylan adjusted his field of view on the tablet. “They’ve changed direction but are still keeping off the roads. Heading south.”
Sam hit the start button and shifted the truck into drive, but Yannick said, “Hold on. We should be careful. If that’s really Jansen out there, she’ll be trying to hide from these random trucks, so we can’t just pull up and offer her a ride.”
“We’ll get close,” Dylan said, “then meet them on foot.” He directed Sam across Westland and into a subdivision of copy-paste two-story houses with attached garages. “Go right here.”
Sam turned into a cul-de-sac. “It’s a dead end. You sure this is the right way?”
“Yeah. Park down there.” Dylan pointed to a house with a Kia sedan in the driveway. “If Jansen—or whoever it is—keeps going straight south, they should pass through those yards.”
After pulling up to the curb, Sam undid his seat belt.
“Hang tight,” Dylan said. “Wait with the truck.”
“No, I’m coming with you.” Sam tapped the Glock on his hip. “I can help.”
“You can help by being ready to drive us out of here. The Major’s still got trucks circling this area like sharks.”
“He has a point,” Yannick said. �
�The getaway driver’s not supposed to help rob the bank.”
It was hard to argue with that analogy, as much as Sam was tempted to try. “Fine, fine. I’ll stay here.”
“Good man. We’ll be right back.” Dylan updated Courtney on the situation, took the radio and the tablet, and climbed out of the vehicle, quietly closing the door behind him.
All carrying rifles and staying low, Dylan, Quinn, and Yannick slipped through a gate in a chain-link fence between two houses and disappeared into the darkness. Alone, Sam checked his side mirrors, the rearview mirror, and finally through the windshield for any signs of movement. When he didn’t see any, he checked again. Then again. Once, he noticed a piece of trash blowing in the breeze, and it spooked him so badly he yelped and reached for the Glock on his hip. Save for the sound of his shallow breathing, the silence was absolute, and it gave him goosebumps. Not many people lived in these neighborhoods before the bombs, but now this part of the city was utterly devoid of life.
Hours seemed to tick by. On what must have been his hundredth check of the rearview mirror, he noticed someone opening the gate in the fence. His hand returned to the Glock, but he released it when he recognized Dylan’s orange beard and hat. Quinn came next, then Yannick and . . .
Freddie!
Sam spun around in his seat, butterflies filling his stomach. Through the rear window, he saw Tanis, followed by Wyatt and Aiden.
He waited for Jenn. And waited. Dread pooled in his stomach as a line of seven crossed a yard of brown pebbles, making haste for the Toyota. But only seven. Where was Jenn?
Terror squeezed his chest until he couldn’t breathe. Had she been left behind? No, her team wouldn’t do that. Did that mean she was hurt? Dead?
He flung open his door and hopped out of the truck.
“Sam!” Dylan waved at the Toyota. “Get back in there. We need to go.”
“What happened?” Sam asked. “Where’s Jenn?”
Freddie lowered the tailgate and helped Tanis climb inside. He was out of breath, and when he spoke, he jabbered so quickly Sam struggled to keep up. “We were locked away at the Major’s compound. Some horse-training facility. Jenn broke us out.”
