Over the radio inside the Humvee, he heard Matt’s voice. “What the hell’s going on?”
The answer confirmed what Brandon had already figured out.
He ducked back down as more gunfire rang out.
When it stopped, he could hear Matt say, “Everyone stay down. Jared, we need to silence those guns.”
The response came almost immediately. “I’m on it.” Not Lawrence’s voice. Chloe’s.
I’m on it? Was she going after the shooters alone? Even Brandon knew that wasn’t a good idea.
He looked through the window again, this time searching the inside of the vehicle. Lying across the floor in the back were two M16 rifles. Careful and quiet, he opened the rear door and grabbed one. After checking that the mag was full, he eased the door closed. Because of his location, he was sure he’d have heard Chloe run by if she’d decided to approach the other property from the front, but there had been no footsteps in that direction, so she must’ve been heading around back.
He reached the rear of the motel only seconds before a shadowy form passed through the falling snow. He hesitated only long enough to convince himself it was indeed Chloe before he stepped off the walkway and disappeared into the storm.
“GET ON THE floor!”
Josie’s eyelids fluttered open as she pulled herself out of a deep sleep.
“Josie! Down!” her father yelled.
Before she could move, she heard the smack-smack-smack of several items hitting the roof of the motel.
Bullets.
As she started to roll off her bed, she saw her father struggling to detangle himself from his covers. She stepped across the gap that divided their beds and yanked off the blanket.
“Don’t worry about me!” her dad yelled. “Get down!”
Ignoring him, she grabbed his hand and helped him scoot off the mattress onto the floor.
“Are you okay?” Josie asked once they were lying side by side. “Did you get hit?”
“I’m fine,” her dad said. He raised his head and looked toward the area beyond the beds. “Brandon, are you all right?”
No response.
“Brandon?” Josie asked. “Are you okay?”
Still no answer.
“Brandon!” her father yelled.
He started to push himself up, but Josie put a hand on his arm.
“I’ll check,” she said.
As she crawled to the end of the beds, she prayed she wouldn’t find her brother lying in a pool of blood. No blood, but no Brandon, either. Only the blankets he’d been using for a mattress.
“Brandon, where are you?” she asked.
She moved out from between the beds so she could check the rest of the room.
“Is he there?” her dad asked.
“No. He’s not in the room.”
“What about the bathroom?” her father asked.
The bathroom. Why hadn’t she thought of that? He’s probably hiding in the tub.
Getting to her feet but staying low, she sprinted across the room.
“Brandon?” she said as she reached the open door.
He wasn’t there, either.
“Did you find him?” her dad asked.
“No, Dad, he’s not here.”
More bullets flew over the building. Josie dropped to the carpet with a scream.
“Are you hit? Josie, are you okay?”
“I’m okay. It just startled me, that’s all.”
“Come back over here.”
When she reached him, she said, “Where could he have gone?”
“He’ll be fine,” her father said. “Brandon knows how to take care of himself.”
That may have been true, but Josie sensed her father was as worried as she was.
CHLOE WORKED HER way west, onto the property directly behind the motel, before turning south. Her plan was to circle around to the other side of the equipment lot, and come at the shooters from behind. With the dark and the snow, they would likely not know she was there until too late.
As she moved parallel to the back of the equipment-business property, she was able to use the sounds of the shots to determine that the gunmen were on the roof of the big building at the center of the lot. She was also pretty sure there were only two shooters, or maybe one person firing two different rifles. Didn’t mean there wouldn’t be others around, however.
She reached the far side of the property, and moved down the chain-link fence until she was approximately halfway back to the main street. Up and over she went, her landing cushioned by a waist-high drift of snow.
The building was about a hundred feet wide, street side to back, and a hundred and fifty from Chloe’s end to the side closest to the motel. Two floodlights were mounted on poles out front, lighting up the parking area. One was positioned wide enough to spill a bit of light on the south side, where she approached the building.
The roof peaked at the center, with the low end hanging off the side she’d approached. About thirty feet back from the front was a utility room built against the wall, maybe four feet square. All she needed to do was get on top of that, and she could easily reach the eaves and pull herself all the way up.
A noise behind her, faint, but sounding very much like something falling into the snow.
She whirled around, her rifle instantly off her shoulder, pointing into the storm. But whatever had made the noise was out of her limited range of visibility.
Sticking to the tracks she’d already made, she retraced her route back to the fence. Her fear was that the shooters up top had a friend down here, but she made it all the way to the drift she’d landed in without seeing anything.
It was probably something blowing out of a tree, she guessed.
Several more shots rang out.
She whipped back around, focused once more on her mission, and hurried back to the building.
BRANDON LAY IN a deep hole in the snow, holding his breath.
Following Chloe had been a simple matter of stepping in her boot prints. When he had reached the fence where she’d climbed over, he scaled the chain-link as quietly as possible. What he didn’t anticipate was slipping off the top rail and falling into the deep patch of snow on the other side.
At first he was too stunned to move, then he heard Chloe heading his way and realized his fall had made enough noise to alert her. While he knew he should probably stand up and let her know he was there, a part of him worried she’d shoot him if he did. Another part, a more vocal one, was concerned she’d send him back to the motel. That was the last thing he wanted to happen. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He was a soldier like the others, like his dad. His place was here whether she wanted him around or not.
The sound of her boots stopped only a few feet away. If she came any closer, she would see him for sure.
Two rifle shots boomed from the roof of the building. As the echo subsided, Brandon realized Chloe had moved away. That’s when he finally allowed himself to breathe again. As soon as he felt sure she wouldn’t be able to see him, he rose and started to follow her again.
THE UTILITY SHED was easily scaled. When she stood on top, the eaves of the main roof came all the way down to her chest, making it even easier than she’d anticipated to pull herself all the way up.
As gunfire erupted again, she used the noise as a mask, and sprinted up the roof toward the peak. Five feet short of the top, she lowered herself to her belly and slithered the rest of the way up.
As she’d suspected, there were only two shooters. They were set up about two thirds of the way down from the peak, each sitting upright, with the barrels of their rifles resting on large sacks of grain. Both were bundled up tight in dark winter gear, the only difference between them was that the one on the left was smaller than the one on the right.
A man and a woman?
Didn’t really matter. What did were the guns they were using to shoot at Chloe’s friends.
Both of them had their eyes to scopes mounted on their weapons, looking toward the m
otel. She hadn’t expected that. If they had scopes, that meant they could have zeroed in and hit pretty much anything. Instead, their shots, at least when she had still been inside, had flown harmlessly over the top of the motel.
No time to figure out the why, though. Climbing to her feet, she raised her rifle and started walking down the other side. The first sign that one of the shooters knew something was wrong was a tilt of the smaller one’s head, as if she or he were trying to listen for something.
Chloe, only fifteen feet behind them now, took another step forward.
This time the small one twisted all the way around. “Rick!” A girl’s voice.
Her companion grunted and pulled back from his scope.
“Rick!”
“What?”
The girl nodded toward Chloe, and her friend turned to see what was up.
“Oh, shit!” he said, grabbing for his gun.
“Don’t,” Chloe commanded, her voice calm and even.
Rick didn’t seem to hear her. He wrapped his hands around the stock of the rifle and started to lift it off the milk crates.
“Drop it,” Chloe said. “I will shoot you.”
“Rick, put it down,” the girl said.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” Rick said.
“Please, Rick! Please!” The girl turned to Chloe. “Please don’t shoot him. We weren’t trying to hurt anyone. We were just trying to scare you off.”
“Put the rifle down,” Chloe said.
She could see Rick’s chest rise and fall with a deep breath.
“Rick, put it down!” the girl said again.
A tense second later, Rick swore under his breath and dropped the gun.
“Now stand up. Both of you,” Chloe said.
The girl complied right away, while Rick took a moment to do the same.
Now that Chloe was able to get a better look at them, she saw her suspicions were right. They were both kids, the big one probably a teenager, but the girl no older than Brandon.
“We’re sorry, ma’am,” the girl said. “You’re the first new people we’ve seen in a while. We were afraid you were going to make us sick. We don’t want to be sick.”
“Shut up, Ginny,” Rick said.
Chloe jerked in surprise. “What did you call her?”
Rick didn’t answer her.
“What did you call her?” Chloe repeated.
“Ginny,” the girl said. “That’s my name.”
Something clawed at Chloe from the dark space in her mind, the space that had contained the memories taken from her by the Project Eden assholes years before, and it was as if the rest of the world suddenly disappeared.
Ginny. But not Ginny.
And a girl. But not this girl.
“Rick! Don’t!”
The shout snapped Chloe out of her trance just in time to see a rifle magazine flying through the air toward her. She ducked to her left, and the metal casing flew past her shoulder, almost clipping her ear.
But the near miss came with a cost.
Chloe slipped, her foot shooting into the air, and she landed hard on her hip against the sloped roof. The impact loosened a wide section of snow that began sliding downward, taking her with it.
“Chloe!”
She twisted her head and spotted Brandon standing at the peak of the roof.
How the hell had he—
But the thought went unfinished as she flew off the edge, and arced through the air toward the ground.
THE BIG ONE, the one the other had called Rick, dove for his gun as Chloe sailed off the building.
Though Brandon wanted to scramble down so he could help her, he knew he had to deal with the problem at hand first. He aimed his rifle and pulled the trigger without warning.
The bullet smashed into the side of Rick’s weapon, knocking it away and taking at least one of the kid’s fingers with it.
“Son of a bitch!” Rick yelled.
He grabbed his hand and looked as if he might charge up the slope at Brandon.
Brandon, the gun still tight to his shoulder, said, “Stay right there or the next one goes through your head.”
“Rick, listen to him. Please!” Ginny pleaded.
Rick was only able to glare at Brandon for a second before pain forced him down onto his knees. Ginny immediately crouched next to him.
“Are you okay? Let me see,” she said. “Oh, God.”
“You’d better wrap that up,” Brandon said.
Ginny looked at him, stunned, before nodding and setting to work.
Without taking his eyes off the two shooters, Brandon yelled as loudly as he could, “Mr. Hamilton! It’s Brandon! I’ve got the shooters! But I think Chloe’s hurt!”
It took only a few minutes for the others to get there. They found Chloe unconscious in the snow just a few feet from the scoop end of a tractor. Dr. Gardiner made a quick assessment and had four of the men carry her back to the motel. He then examined Rick’s finger, and accompanied the boy and Ginny—with two other men acting as guards—back to the Paradise.
When Brandon entered the motel parking lot, Josie raced over and threw her arms around him. His father followed, but at a much slower pace.
“What were you thinking?” she said. “You had us scared to death.”
“Did Chloe ask you to go with her?” his father asked, clearly concerned.
“No,” Brandon said. “She didn’t know I was there, not until she fell, anyway. I…I followed her.”
“You followed her?” his father said. “Why would you do that?”
Brandon looked at his dad, wondering why it was even a question. “Because family always has each other’s back. You told me that. Chloe was going alone.” He paused. “She’s family.” He looked past his father at the other members of the Resistance. “We’re all family now, aren’t we?”
His father stared at him for a long moment before reaching out and pulling Brandon into a hug. “We are,” he said. “You did good. Just…next time let me know first.”
Nine
GORMAN, CALIFORNIA
11:46 PM PST
THEY HADN’T TRAVELED nearly as far as Martina would have liked, but she was to blame for that.
After taking possession of three Honda Shadow motorcycles, and a Kawasaki Ninja for Craig, they’d spent nearly an hour making sure Noreen and Riley—neither of whom had ever driven a bike before—were comfortable enough with their rides before heading out.
When they finally hit the road, they raced through Inyokern and up the slope to Highway 14. Heading south, they had one last look at the valley. As always, brown was everywhere—the hills, the brush, the buildings. Even the trees people had nurtured to life looked tan from the highway.
Martina couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before she might return. She would, of course. At the very least, she had to bring her family down from the mountains, and bury them in the place they always called home.
For a little while, after the valley fell away, Martina could almost pretend the world was as it had been. Highway 14 had been at its busiest on weekends in the winter when skiers from L.A. sped north to the slopes of Mammoth Mountain, another three hours past Ridgecrest. But most other times, traffic was few and far between, so being the only ones on the road was not unusual.
They made it a few miles past Red Rock Canyon before the illusion vanished. A set of abandoned buildings sat to the left of the highway, the remnants of someone’s long-ago attempt to farm the desert. For several years, Martina had thought of the structures merely as markers to and from home. She could never remember seeing anyone walking around them, or any vehicles parked nearby.
That wasn’t the case now, though. Close to a dozen motor homes were there, each parked neatly next to its neighbor. There was an area in front of the vehicles where several camping chairs had been set up. The majority were empty, but a few were occupied.
At first, Martina thought maybe she’d come across more survivors. She’d slowed down and a
ngled over to the side of the road closest to the gathering. But as she neared, she could see that the people sitting would never be leaving their chairs again.
Why were they all there? Had they come to die together?
She added those to the list of questions whose answers she’d never know.
The town of Mojave came into view a few miles before Martina and her friends actually reached it—gas stations and convenient stores and fast food restaurants lining the east side, a handful of railroad tracks lining the west. If there had been a way to go around it, she would have gladly taken it. But there had been no such path.
She stopped at the turn into town and let the others pull up beside her.
“You guys doing all right?” she asked.
“Yeah, I think I’m getting the hang of it,” Riley said.
“Don’t get too confident,” Martina warned. “Noreen?”
“I’m fine,” her friend said, though it was clear she was still a bit nervous.
“Anyone need to stretch their legs?” she asked.
“Can we just keep going?” Noreen asked.
“I like that idea,” Craig said. He looked left down Mojave’s main drag. “This place kind of gives me the creeps.”
“Me, too,” Riley said.
Me, three, Martina thought. “All right. As long as you guys don’t need a break.”
They made the turn and headed through town. Deserted streets, near empty parking lots, and no obvious bodies to be seen. Like back in Ridgecrest, apparently most people had chosen to die at home.
After they drove over the bridge at the south edge of Mojave, Martina allowed herself to breathe normally again. If she was this tense going through a small town, what would it be like to pass through someplace larger?
My God, what about Los Angeles?
Her friends should have been getting close to Dodger Stadium at that point. If her reaction was any indication, they must be nervous wrecks.
As Martina’s group came around the east side of Mount Mojave, the highway transitioned into a four-lane divided freeway. This allowed them to pass by the town of Rosemead without actually driving through it. In the distance, she could see the buildings of the Lancaster/Palmdale area. Over three hundred thousand people had lived there. How many of them were still alive? Were any?
The Project Eden Thrillers Box Set 2 Page 32
