Jesus. Oh, Jesus. What am I looking at here?
A combination of morbid fascination and horror—maybe more of the former; or was it mostly the latter?—overcame Emily as she stood at the broken window and watched Don viciously stab the retiree over and over again.
Emily had seen death up close. She had caused some of them herself because it was part of her job. Part of the things she used to do for her country. In the years since, she’d regretted some of them, but not all. More often than not, it was them or her.
But for all that she’d seen and done, she’d never witnessed something like this.
This…was insane.
She’d never seen something like Don.
Or Mrs. Landry.
Or what she’d witnessed on TV earlier.
“She’s dead,” Emily wanted to tell Don. “You can stop now.”
As if he could hear her, Don finally stopped plunging the knife into Mrs. Landry’s unmoving form and glanced up. Something else had caught his attention.
Emily looked up, too, following the ex-CPA’s gaze.
The teenager Brody, from five doors down, was running up the street. He was fast, but not nearly as fast as Don had been earlier. Or Mrs. Landry, for that matter. Which shouldn’t have been even remotely possible because Brody was tall and gangly and handsome, if you were into teenage rebels, and he shouldn’t have looked as if he couldn’t outrun either Don or Mrs. Landry.
Brody had long hair that streamed behind him as he fled up the street, his face wild as he clutched his bleeding left arm. He didn’t have anything that looked like a weapon on him, and as he ran past her window, Emily couldn’t see blood coming out of his eyes.
She tried to scream out his name, to tell the kid to get out of the open, but Don had already taken off. He shot across her front yard and leaped over her fence and was on the sidewalk moments later.
Christ, he was fast. How was he moving so fast?
The kid must have heard or sensed Don, because he glanced back. Mortal terror froze on his face as he saw what was behind him.
“Faster, Brody, faster,” Emily said quietly. She didn’t bother to scream, because it wouldn’t have done any good. Even if Brody could hear her, nothing she said was going to make him run any faster than he already was.
And Don…
How was Don running so fast? That man shouldn’t have been able to move half as quickly as he was now.
But he was.
But he was…
“Forty-something going on sixty,” Cole had said about Don. The man was always so tired-looking. Always so haggard.
But not today.
Not today.
Emily looked down at Mrs. Landry’s body. She was covered in blood, a pool of it spreading out underneath her generous girth. Her eyes were still blood-red, the scleras a strange shade of deep red. Emily had never seen anything like that, and she’d been around; she’d seen more than most people would in a hundred lifetimes.
But this…
Mrs. Landry.
Don.
The stuff on TV.
It was new. This was all new, even for her.
And for the first time in a long time, Emily felt fear race up and down her spine, and all she could think was, Get home, Cole. Get home, sweetheart! I need you right now!
Chapter 3
Her house was in a subdivision called Arrow Bay Colony, one of three that surrounded Bear Lake in the middle. Arrow Bay was relatively brand new and flanked by a ten-foot wrought-iron fence, with a single gate that was also the only way in and out, by foot or car. It was a cozy and private, if slightly upscale, neighborhood. Boring, in so many ways.
Or it was supposed to be boring, anyway.
She took a step back from the window now, the curtains blowing against the breeze from the nearby lake. One of the advantages of living so close to the water was the constant cool weather. Though, at the moment, she wasn’t concentrating on how comfortable it was and instead on the fact Don, her neighbor, would have gotten into her house if she hadn’t stopped him. He had left a broken window behind, along with the bloody remains of Mrs. Landry, and was now chasing poor young Brody.
Emily wondered who was faster. The slightly out-of-shape ex-CPA or the teenager? Yesterday, she would have said Brody without even having to think about it. Today, after everything she’d seen, she wasn’t so sure anymore.
Instinctively, her mind reverted back to her old mantra.
Step one: Know your objective.
This one was simple: Protect herself and her unborn child.
Step two: Gather intel.
Another simple one: Everyone and everything outside the house was a potential threat.
Step three: Formulate a plan.
Stay inside the house while keeping everything and everyone outside it.
And finally, step four: Execute that plan.
This one was a little trickier…
She slipped the golf club into her belt behind her back as if it were a sword and hurried over to the bookcase. She grabbed the books and tossed them one by one—then three at a time—to the floor. The furniture was solid oak and heavy, and though it wouldn’t necessarily keep everything outside forever, it would take a hell of an effort to get past it.
Emily pushed the bookcase until it toppled, then grabbing one end, dragged it across the carpeted floor. It was slow going, but it went. She briefly cursed herself for not agreeing to tile the whole house when Cole had suggested it. That would have made this so much easier.
He’s definitely going to rub that one in.
She finally got the bookcase where she needed it and lifted it back up with a grunt, then pushed it against the window. The furniture was big enough to cover the whole thing, but that still left her with two other vulnerable windows. Where was she going to get two more bookcases for them?
Then there was the door. How was she going to ensure it stayed closed?
Maybe the sofa…
Pounding footsteps!
She took a quick step away from the window before glancing up at the ceiling. The noises had come from the second floor, directly above her. It’d sounded like someone was running.
Running fast.
Greg and Barnes, the contractors. They were ripping up Cole’s office the last time she saw them. She had forgotten all about the workers. What if they were like Don or Mrs. Landry?
Emily was pulling the golf club out from behind her back when Greg appeared along the stairs, racing down the steps. She hurried over as the man jumped the last few steps, gasping for breath as he touched down in a crouch and almost tipped over but somehow managed to right himself just before crashing into the wall.
Emily steeled herself, choked up on the golf club’s grip for the second time. She focused on Greg’s head—on his face as he looked right toward the back hallway, then left in her direction.
She zeroed in on his eyes.
Wide and blue, blood running down the left side of his head and down his cheek, before dripping from his jaw, but no bloodshot eyes.
Greg pushed off the wall and stumbled toward her.
“Don’t move!” she shouted.
Greg stopped and held up his hands, palms facing her. His left arm was loosely wrapped in a white rag that had begun to turn a pinkish red, and when he lifted it, blood dripped from his elbow.
Fear covered his face, but it was the lack of bloodshot eyes that she concentrated on. He looked scared—freaked out—but it wasn’t the same crazed look she’d seen on Don and Mrs. Landry’s faces.
Emily lowered the golf club slightly. Slightly. “What happened to you?”
“Barnes,” Greg said, shaking his head. The contractor was in his early thirties and muscular, but at the moment he looked young and frightened. And very, very confused. “He tried to kill me. Jesus, Barnes tried to kill me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. He—” Greg glanced quickly back up the stairs, before returning those frightened blue eyes to her
. “He went crazy. I don’t know what happened. He just went crazy on me.”
That sounds familiar, Emily thought.
She lowered the golf club completely. “It’s happening everywhere.”
“What is?”
“I don’t know. People are going crazy outside.”
Greg ran past her and across the living room. He went to one of the windows that Emily hadn’t covered up and looked out into the streets. It would have been easy for Greg to spot the mailman—or what was left of him—as well as Mrs. Landry on the front lawn.
“What’s happening?” he asked, his words coming out in frantic gasps.
“Barnes tried to kill you?” Emily asked.
“What?”
“Barnes.”
“Barnes?”
“Barnes,” she said, trying not to shout but putting enough emphasis to get his attention. “He tried to kill you?”
Greg looked back at her, his face frenzied. “Yes.”
“And he’s still up there?”
Greg was nodding when they both heard the squeal of tires from outside.
Emily hurried to the same window and looked out just as a silver SUV appeared down the street, swerving dangerously as it took the turn too fast.
Arrow Bay Colony was shaped in an elongated “U”—or as Cole called it, a “bulbous penis”—with the waters of Bear Lake to the south, east, and west. The northern end connected the neighborhood to the other lake communities, then a road that led to the highway about ten miles away.
The road to the gate out of the subdivision was exactly where the SUV was headed at the moment. The car was moving too fast for Emily to get a good look at the driver, but whoever it was didn’t seem to be in control of the vehicle as it sideswiped a parked white van on the curb directly in front of her house and kept going.
“Shit,” Greg said.
“What?” Emily said.
“That’s my van.”
Emily thought about telling him that a hit-and-run was the least of his worries right now, but she concentrated on the SUV instead as it blasted past her front yard. The driver was a woman with wild blonde hair; she was clutching the steering wheel with both hands, mascara running down her face. Emily could see all of that because the driver-side window was down.
“Where is she going?” Greg asked.
“The gate,” Emily said, and thought, Which is where I should be headed right now, not stuck in here, helpless.
Her Audi was in the garage waiting for her. All she had to do was climb into it and follow the woman to the front gate.
So why was she still staying put? It had to be safer out there than it was in here, didn’t it?
She was still thinking that when something—someone—raced across the front yard of one of the houses up the street. Emily was too far away to see who the man was, but there was no missing the all-denim outfit he was wearing. As she watched, the man threw himself at the speeding vehicle with what could only be described as wild abandon and without any regard whatsoever for his own safety.
The figure somehow managed to hit the windshield—only to bounce off it like a human cannonball.
Well, that didn’t work.
The attempt didn’t stop the SUV, but the impact must have done enough to surprise the driver and made her jerk on the steering wheel, because the vehicle began swerving recklessly. The woman didn’t regain control fast enough, and the runaway car slammed headfirst into the side of a red Honda parked along the curb.
The SUV’s horns blared as the car idled, its front hood crumpled while smoke began shooting out from underneath. Emily couldn’t tell if the woman was badly hurt or not, but something had pressed the horn, and kept it pressed.
Another figure appeared out of a house from the left of the street and charged across the road. A man in a tweed jacket, something that looked like an ax clutched in one hand. Emily recognized him. George Benson, another one of her neighbors.
It was very obvious where George was going: the disabled vehicle.
She couldn’t see every detail of George from this distance, but what were the chances his eyes weren’t bloodshot? Or that there wasn’t a crazed look on his face?
“We have to help her!” Greg said as he began moving to the door.
Help her? Emily thought.
The idea of going out there had never occurred to her. Not only would they not reach the poor woman in time, but it would only set them up to be attacked by someone else.
Like Don.
Or someone just as crazed as him.
Right now, she couldn’t trust anything—or anyone—that wasn’t inside the house with her.
Emily just barely managed to grab Greg’s arm before it was out of reach. “Greg, wait.”
He stopped and turned. He was clearly shocked to see her hand on his arm, or maybe it was her strong grip. “Why? She needs our help! Did you see that guy with the ax?”
“Yes.”
“We have to help her!”
“It’s too late. We’d never get to her in time.”
“We have to try. She needs our help!”
“That guy with the ax isn’t the only one out there. There are others.”
“Others?”
She nodded. “People are going crazy, Greg. We don’t know how many have been affected. If we go out there, we’re risking our lives.”
She was surprised by her calmness. After all these years, after “retirement,” she could still summon the ability to compartmentalize and assess the risks without letting her emotions get in the way. Which was exactly what was happening to Greg right now.
But she couldn’t afford that. It wasn’t just her life on the line, but her child’s, too.
Step one: Know your objective.
Stay alive. That was her objective. That was her only objective right now.
Greg was so much bigger—he towered over her with his six-four frame and had at least 100 pounds of muscle on her—that she expected him to just rip his arm away. But he didn’t, and she knew he didn’t really want to go out there. She could see it in his eyes and on his face: Greg was afraid, not just because of what he had seen outside, but also because of what had happened with Barnes.
She took her hand away and forced her face to soften, to let the housewife resurface. “I’m pregnant, Greg. I need you to stay here and protect me. I know it sounds selfish, but I need you here.”
That did it. Her confession got the desired effect she was hoping for, and his face lost its wildness and his eyes dropped to her stomach in search of evidence.
“I’m just two and a half months in,” she said, deciding that was a better number than six weeks. “That’s what the room upstairs is for. The baby’s room.”
“Oh,” he said. She couldn’t tell if that was shock or relief in his voice. “You didn’t say anything about what it was being used for.”
“We didn’t think it was necessary to say.” Then, before she could lose him (if even a little bit), “Please don’t go out there, Greg. I need you here. In case this—whatever this is—gets worse. I don’t think I can survive this on my own. Me and my child.”
He nodded mutely at her.
Ah, who says chivalry is dead?
Greg looked toward the door as if he could see the SUV driver’s fate out there through the thick oak. She pictured gears spinning in his head, trying to justify why he shouldn’t go out there. That justification was what she had just provided him.
“What happened to Barnes?” Emily asked. “You said he tried to kill you?”
Greg nodded, looking toward the second-floor stairs. “I turned around, and he was there with the box cutter, and he cut me.” He seemed to suddenly remember his wounded left hand and cradled it. The blood had seeped all the way through, and the white rag was now almost completely red. “We fought and…I think I killed him.”
He frowned, clearly reliving the last few minutes.
“Come on,” she said, taking his arm and leading him through the liv
ing room.
“Where are we going?”
“Bathroom. I have a first-aid kit inside.”
“I think I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not. You’re going to bleed to death.”
“I feel fine.”
“Let’s be sure, okay?”
They were inside the back hallway when two more gunshots rang out, both from outside the house. As far as she could tell, both shots were well within the limits of Arrow Bay Colony.
They both stopped and turned back to the door.
“It’s a war zone out there,” Greg said.
No, she thought. I’ve been in war zones, Greg, and this isn’t it.
This is…something else.
Something much, much worse.
“Come on,” she said, tugging him along, “before you bleed to death.”
“What about the other woman?” Greg asked.
“We can’t help her now.”
“Did you know her?”
Emily hadn’t been sure before, but that was clearly Carol Miller in the SUV. She’d had difficulty placing the face because she’d never seen the housewife so scared out of her mind before.
But she didn’t want Greg to know that she had just kept him from attempting to rescue someone she knew by name, so Emily said, “No, I don’t think so.”
Chapter 4
Step two: Gather intel.
Don.
Mrs. Landry.
George Benson.
Barnes.
That wasn’t counting the one in the denim overalls, who had raced across someone’s yard in order to fling himself into Carol Miller’s car. Normal people didn’t do that.
So, five.
And those were only the ones she knew about so far. There was simply too much uncertainty in the outside world right now, so Emily focused on what she knew with 100 percent certainty, and went from there.
She gave half of her attention to the cleaning, disinfecting, then wrapping up of Greg’s injuries while using the other half to keep an ear out for everything outside the bathroom. Like, say, one of her neighbors trying to get into her house again. She had already treated Greg’s head, where Barnes had hit him with something heavy and broken the skin, but thankfully nothing else.
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