No Ordinary Day | Book 1 | No Ordinary Day

by Tate, Harley

  And he was supposed to shut it down. Holly had already lost her father and now he was supposed to take Emma away, too? Tank might be able to comfort her, but a dog was weak compensation for being orphaned.

  John pressed his palms to his closed eyes. What choice did he have? Dane wasn’t exactly accommodating in the completion department. Either the assignment got done or someone else did it for you. When Travis washed out the year before—too much stress with a baby on the way and a wife asking questions—Willy had cleaned up the mess.

  Willy. John never liked the man. Not part of the original battery, he hadn’t been there in the desert. A nephew of Dane’s, he’d come along after, full of piss and bravado and unearned ego. Always a loose cannon. Always a potential chink in the armor.

  Willy would eliminate John without hesitation if he thought he’d been compromised. Dane would order it, too. Of that John had no doubt.

  He shoved the unwelcome thoughts aside and focused on the road, pounding the pavement with every step. He needed to stay focused. Stay on mission. If he couldn’t take Emma out, well, then at least he could say he tried. No giving up here.

  John walked and walked, keeping to a quick three to four mile an hour pace. He’d covered five miles when the sound of a rumbling engine grew louder by the second. He hustled to the tree line and blended into the dark as a motorcycle blasted through.

  What he wouldn’t give for some wheels.

  As day began to dawn over a sleepy little area of horse farms and homesteads, John pulled out the tracker and checked the signal. Based on his calculations, Emma should be at Gloria’s by now, but the tracker showed her much closer. No more than four miles at the most.

  Strange. Had they run out of gas? Did the old truck finally give up?

  John picked up the pace. If they left the truck behind and took off on foot, there was a good chance her work pants and the tracker locator had been left behind. If so, they would be in the wind. Without Emma or the tracker, he would never find the Sanchez’s cabin.

  He gritted his teeth. Losing them now wasn’t an option. Not when he was so close.

  Chapter Twenty

  Emma

  Holly shrieked as she slid off the bench seat, landing in a tangled heap of blanket and gangly limbs on the floorboard. Tank turned in circles on the worn upholstery, whining and pawing at the window.

  The blankets on the floorboard shifted and Holly’s head appeared. “Have you lost your mind?”

  Emma kept her eyes on the road and braced as the truck bumped onto the asphalt. She cranked the wheel and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. The poor old engine groaned in protest, but the truck picked up speed. Twenty, twenty-five, thirty. At forty miles an hour, the entire vehicle shimmied and wobbled, and Emma backed off.

  Unless John transformed into a cheetah, he couldn’t catch them even at this pace. She sucked in a breath and tried to slow her runaway heart. “John’s not who he said he was. We can’t trust him.”

  “I don’t understand.” Holly clambered back onto the seat and squinted into the rear window.

  Emma checked the mirror. The road stretched on behind them in the dark with no sign of John. Tank shoved his nose under Emma’s arm, but she pushed him off. “We can’t go back, I’m sorry.”

  The dog whined in protest, but finally eased down onto the seat.

  Holly didn’t give up so easily. “What are you talking about? John’s been nothing but nice to us.”

  Emma reached into her pocket and fished out the phone. “It’s all in there. Read it yourself.” She rattled off the password as she handed it over.

  Holly unlocked the phone and began to read. After a few minutes, she lowered it with a shake of her head. “This doesn’t prove anything. He knew who you were. So what? There’s no message in here saying, now go blow their brains out. It doesn’t even mention you by name.”

  “Klein confirmed. What do you think that means, Holly?’

  “It could mean anything. Right after, it says changed circumstances. That could mean my dad’s dead, get your butt up there and keep an eye on Gloria, too. You’re reading way too much into this.” Holly waggled the phone in Emma’s direction. “ For all you know, he’s been sent to keep an eye on us to make sure nothing happens.”

  Emma snorted. “Like your dad?” As soon as the words came out, she wished she could take them back.

  Holly shrunk back as sure as if Emma had struck her. Her voice came out small, but defiant. “The man who killed my father was nothing like John. He was cold and heartless, and he laughed before he killed him. You weren’t there. You don’t know.

  “I’m sorry,” Emma rushed to apologize. “You’re right. I don’t know. But I’ve had a feeling about John ever since we met. Something was off, I just didn’t know what.”

  “Why would he stay with Gil and Irma, take Tank along, and drive us all the way up here into the mountains if all he wanted to do was kill you? He could’ve done that the second you got into his car.” Holly mimed a gun to the head and pulled the trigger. “Boom, done. It makes no sense.” She crossed her arms and flopped back against the seat.

  Laid out like that, the girl had a point. But it didn’t change what Emma read or her nagging feelings. “Maybe he’s not as evil as the man who killed your father, but he’s not all sunshine and rainbows. You saw what he did to those two men. He shot them like they were no more consequential than a pair of rats. And he left them injured to fend for themselves.”

  “But he didn’t kill them. He could have shot them in the chest, just like the man who killed my father. Or blown off half of their skulls like the guy on the road who didn’t want to wait anymore.” Holly turned to Emma. “He let them live.”

  “With bullet holes.”

  Holly scoffed. “Don’t tell me you haven’t watched any movies. Wounds like that aren’t fatal. They can wrap some duct tape around them and be fine.”

  Teenage melodrama seeped into Holly’s tone, but Emma couldn’t discount everything she said. Could I be wrong about John? Maybe he wasn’t there to kill her. But she had to assume the worst. “Until I know otherwise, I’m assuming he’s out to hurt us. And you should, too.”

  They drove for the next ten miles in silence until the truck sputtered and slowed.

  Emma pumped the gas. The engine groaned. She tried again, nothing. The truck coasted to a stop in the middle of the road. Emma squinted at the gauges. In her haste to get away, she hadn’t looked at the fuel. The little red line hovered on E.

  She leaned her head on the steering wheel. “How could I be so stupid?”

  “What is it?”

  “We’re out of gas.” Emma leaned back in the seat.

  The sky still blanketed the road in darkness with daybreak over an hour away. How many miles to Gloria’s? Emma thought it over. Ten or twelve. Had they put enough distance between themselves and John? If he was determined to find them would he be able to? After his display with those two men, she didn’t doubt it.

  She turned to Holly. “Gather up everything you’re comfortable walking with and let’s go.”

  Holly cocked an eyebrow. “You want us to walk? In the dark?”

  “It’s that, or sit here and wait for John to find us.” Holly opened her mouth, but Emma interrupted. “That’s not an option.”

  With a harumph and a show of dragging up her bag and rooting through the contents, Holly broadcast her disagreement. Emma tried to ignore it, opting to relieve Holly of her clothes and change back into something that actually fit. Her work pants and blouse weren’t the ideal hiking gear, but they covered her ankles and increased her range of motion.

  A day of driving improved the state of her feet, but red, raw skin still pocked her feet from the dress shoes. A full day of walking would put the sneakers to the test. She hoped Gloria had some Epsom salt at the cabin.

  When Holly was ready, they took off, heading away from the road and into the tree line. Emma glanced behind them as they slipped into the woods. “I know it’
ll be slower going, but I don’t want anyone to see us from the road.”

  “I still think you’re overreacting.” Holly hooked a thumb behind the strap of her duffel and trailed her other hand along Tank’s back as he walked beside her.

  “It’s better to be safe than sorry.” Emma had used that line not as a cliché, but as a tenet of her research. Refusing to take shortcuts, always following correct procedure. It was how she lived her life. No reason to stop now.

  The sky grew lighter by the minute and soon they were traipsing through ferns and ivy and underbrush with as much speed as they could manage. As they cleared a gentle rise, Tank’s fur bristled.

  Emma squinted against the morning light. “Do you see something?”

  “Maybe he smells a deer.”

  “We ain’t deer.”

  Emma spun. Behind her, an older woman with gray hair and a grim expression stood at the top of the hill. The double-barreled shotgun in her hands gave Emma pause.

  “You folks are trespassing.” A man spoke from Emma’s left and she spun. With his camouflage shirt and pants, he’d been obscured by the trees. She couldn’t miss his rifle with a fancy scope, now.

  “We’re just passing through.” Emma tried to smile. “Our truck broke down a few miles back.”

  “Then you should be on the road. Not our land.” Another voice. Emma turned again to find a woman dressed in the same woodland camo pointing a rifle at her chest.

  Emma raised her hands to chest height, palms out. “We didn’t know this land was owned. I swear.”

  The older woman approached, gun pointed at the ground. “All land is owned, honey. Either by the government or private citizens like us.”

  “I meant—”

  “You didn’t think you’d get caught.” The man spit on the ground. “See, I told you they were looters.”

  “We’re not looters!” Holly spoke up for the first time. “She’s telling the truth.”

  The man stepped forward and Tank growled, fur standing in a ridge down his back. “Keep control of that dog or I’ll put him down.”

  Holly reached for Tank’s harness and pulled him close, making comforting noises in an effort to calm him. “He’s got a right to be fearful. You’re pointing guns at us.”

  “Darn straight we are.” The older woman motioned to the other two. “Take ’em to the barn. They can wait it out while we figure out what to do with ’em.”’

  “What? No! We didn’t do anything to you!”

  “Right. And I’m just a mountain redneck who doesn’t know what’s goin’ on.” The woman shook her head in disbelief. “You’re not the first city types to come up here lookin’ for an easy source of food and water. We were nice to the last group and where did that get us?”

  The man to Emma’s left kept his eyes trained on her. “A runaway pig and a broken gate.”

  “That’s right.” The older woman flipped her gray hair over her shoulder. “It’s a no tolerance policy from here on out.”

  “What’s that mean?” Holly swiveled, eyes wide in fear.

  “You’ll see.” The man stepped forward and jerked his rifle at Emma. “Move.”

  She took a step and reached for Holly.

  “No funny business. One wrong move and I’ll shoot.”

  This can’t be happening. Emma smiled in encouragement at Holly, but judging by the girl’s reaction, it came out all wrong. “Just do what they say. It’ll be all right.”

  Holly nodded, but tears threatened to spill down her cheeks.

  The man directed them further into the trees and away from the road. Emma took stock of their surroundings. Nondescript forest, no obvious landmarks. They could have been anywhere. If they managed to escape, how would they ever find their way back?

  “We have a couple bottles of water and a few snacks,” Emma offered. “You’re welcome to them if you’ll leave us alone.”

  The old woman cackled. “Right, and I’m your fairy godmother. We all know what’s coming. A few snacks aren’t going to matter when the supply chain breaks down and society grinds to a halt.”

  “It might not get that bad,” Holly volunteered in an unsure voice.

  “It already is, sweetheart.” The woman who’d walked along in silence until now spoke up.

  With a prominent nose and high cheekbones, the resemblance to the older woman was unmistakable. Her daughter? Emma glanced at the man. He was a few inches taller and twice as broad, but there was no denying it up close. They were a family. Emma didn’t know if that was good or bad. Maybe if she kept them talking…

  She shook her head as if confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “Leave it to you city types to not know your head from your butt. You know where chickens come from?”

  “Eggs?” Holly asked.

  The woman shook her head in disgust. “Farms. Did you know Georgia is the seventh largest producer of chicken worldwide?” She snorted when Holly shook her head. “Course you didn’t. Bet you never even left your happy little suburb before.”

  Holly blushed and focused on the ground.

  “We got more chicken meat up here than anyone knows what to do with. Ordinarily, that’s not a problem. They get fat, they get slaughtered and shipped out. Now, we ain’t got no supply chain. Warehouses can’t take the chickens cause ain’t nobody got working refrigeration. Those chickens get too big and they can’t walk, they can’t move around, they’re like big, fat sacks of muscle with no one to eat them.”

  Emma swallowed. “So what happens?”

  “They got to be put down. Millions of chickens. All that food, going to waste.”

  “Can’t the farmers slaughter them?”

  The man shook his head. “Everybody up here works for one of the big guys, the national meat producers. They don’t get paid to process the meat, they get paid to grow it. Farmers don’t have the equipment, and even if they did, they don’t have a way to keep the meat cold.”

  Emma could barely keep up with what they were saying. “You mean there’s not going to be any meat delivered to grocery stores.”

  “Looks like the city girl might have some brains in there somewhere.” The man spat again on the ground. “It’s the same for produce, too. Without somewhere to keep it cold, all the fruit and veggies will rot.”

  The older woman nodded. “Things are going to get ugly as soon as more of y’all start comin’ up here lookin’ for food.”

  Emma lifted her hands. “I swear we were just walking through.”

  “That’s what you would say, isn’t it?” The woman pointed at the thinning tree line. “Throw them in the barn. Tell Jenny to stand guard.”

  A burly hand wrapped around Emma’s arm and she winced. “You don’t have to manhandle me.”

  “Right.” He tugged her forward and she stumbled.

  Tank growled.

  “Get that dog and put it somewhere.”

  “He’s not mean!” Holly held onto Tank’s harness. “Please don’t hurt him.”

  The younger woman grabbed Tank’s harness and Holly cried out.

  Emma tried to console her. “It’ll be okay. I’m sure they won’t do anything rash.”

  The older woman laughed again and a chill snaked down Emma’s back. She stumbled into a clearing as the man pushed her forward. More compound than farm, half a dozen buildings fanned out in a lopsided circle around a gravel parking area and a handful of pickups.

  She couldn’t see much before a hand was on her back, shoving her into the nearest outbuilding. The overwhelming stench of manure wrinkled her nose and Emma gagged.

  A laugh barked out behind her. “Get used to the stench. It’s what people like you ought to smell like!”

  Holly stumbled in after and the door slid shut.

  Emma fought the urge to vomit.

  “What are we going to do now?” Holly’s voice shook as the teenager spun around in the dim light.

  If only Emma knew.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  John

/>   The familiar sound of Tank’s barking filtered through the trees and John tensed. Short and clipped, with an underlying edge, Tank’s bark lent no comfort. Something wasn’t right.

  It had taken most of the day to zero in on Emma’s location. Finding the truck had been easy. Abandoned on the road with no gas and only a few cast-off items of clothes inside, it filled him with confidence. Overtaking the two women would be easy on foot.

  But the tracker threw him for a loop. They weren’t on the road. Not even close. According to Emma, Gloria’s cabin was miles from here, but the tracker was stationary in the middle of the woods. It had been years since John practiced woodland land navigation, using trees and topography to orient himself to a location.

  Most targets these days kept to the cities.

  Making more missteps than he should, he turned a simple locate-and-recover into an all-day hunt. As the sun waned, stretching the shadows of the trees, Tank barked again. John pulled his binoculars from his bag and eased into a crouch.

  A hundred yards ahead, the trees thinned, revealing an acre of buildings, vehicles, and animal pens. A family compound? A homestead? Whatever it was, Tank was somewhere inside the perimeter and not happy about it.

  The door to a dovetailed, square-log cabin opened and a grizzled old woman stepped onto the porch. Judging by the deep smile lines and creases across her forehead, she had to be pushing seventy. She opened her mouth, shouting something across the gravel area.

  John swiveled. A man about his age, built for manual labor, nodded in response. Family compound, indeed. If the old woman was the matriarch, John would need to neutralize her first. He glassed the property, searching for any means of easy entry.

  Three trucks and an older sedan anchored the main gravel area. Two cabins for what he presumed was living space and a handful of barns of various sizes. No signs of above-ground electricity, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t connected to the grid. Most places in the foothills ran electricity underground from the road.