Desolation (Book 2): Into the Inferno

by Lucin, David

  A second voice, a woman’s, joined the first.

  Jenn scanned ahead but saw nothing. Just tree trunks, downed branches, and yellow underbrush.

  Dylan tapped her shoulder, rose to his feet, and crept forward, swinging his rifle in wide arcs. Jenn did the same with her pistol.

  The voices had gone quiet, replaced by the roar of her pulse and the trickle of water from the river. Had they been spotted? Were they being followed? Or did—

  “Get dow—!” Dylan shouted.

  The crack of his AR cut the last word short.

  Jenn ducked and threw her hands over her head. At that moment, she was on the highway with Gary. Refugees with tattered clothes and radiation burns replaced the trees and bore down on her. The sound of Gary yelling to move filled her ears.

  A hand gripped her under the armpit. “Jansen!” Dylan shouted.

  The refugees disappeared and the forest came into focus. Among the woods, a female figure wearing a camo-patterned jacket aimed a rifle at them. Dylan fired two more shots in short succession. The second struck her in the shoulder. She collapsed backward and vanished into the underbrush.

  “Move! Move! Move!”

  Jenn struggled to stand, but her knees gave out beneath her. She stumbled, throwing her left hand out to brace her fall. Dylan took her by the forearm, helped her up, and shoved her toward the river.

  Everything blurred. The trees seemed more distant, distorted, like she was looking at them through a mirror. Dizziness came in waves and threw her off balance. Each breath burned more than the last. Screw this mask. With a gasp, she tugged it down and took in a lungful of smoke, then coughed so hard she tasted stomach acid.

  Dylan’s hand was still wrapped around her forearm when they reached the bank of the river. “They would have heard those shots,” he said. Though his face had turned a deep red, his breathing remained steady. “We don’t have much time.”

  Deciduous trees lined the opposite side of the water. Jenn needed an escape plan, but her mind confused this place with the golf course in Payson and mixed up the forest with the refugees on the highway. Nothing seemed real. The world became fuzzy and indistinct as it did in a dream.

  “This way.” Dylan tugged at her and they moved along the waterline.

  Jenn realized she was holding her gun with both hands. A twig snapped under her shoe. The swishing sound of grass brushing up against her ankles and legs overtook the thunder of her heartbeat and the wheeze of her panicked breaths. She coughed and nearly retched. Saliva ran down her chin, but she didn’t wipe it clean.

  Dylan weaved between two pines and turned sharply right, away from the river. He was bending at the hip to keep low, so Jenn did the same. A muscle in her back cramped, sending sharp pain into her leg. The canopy of foliage collapsed in on her. She swore they were running in circles.

  The trees thinned, and an open field stretched before them. On the far side was a log-framed structure with a caved-in roof. Dylan broke into a sprint. Jenn imagined being shot as she ran for cover. With great focus, she commanded her legs to act and fell in behind Dylan.

  At the log building, he stopped and stood against a wall. Jenn rested her hands on her knees and hunched over. Her lungs threatened to explode into a fit of coughing, but she clamped her mouth shut and held it in. Darkness crept into the corners of her vision. Afraid that she might pass out, she focused on her breathing. Three seconds in, hold, three seconds out. Two exhales later, her heart rate began to slow.

  “Who are those people?” she forced out.

  “No idea,” Dylan said. “I don’t want to find out.” He slid to the corner of the cabin and peeked around.

  Jenn lifted her gun and pointed it toward the tree line behind them.

  “You run into trouble like this in Payson?” he asked her.

  She could only shake her head.

  “There’s a road just up there,” he said. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and a leaf stuck to his cheek. “Past the houses we saw on the way here.” He tossed the radio to Jenn, who reached out but missed. “Call Sophie. Tell her the bridge is a no-go. We’ll meet them in the mobile home park.”

  With shaky fingers, she picked the radio out of the grass and inspected it. She’d never used one of these before, so she mimicked Dylan and pressed her finger to the button on the side. “Sophie. It’s Jenn. Come in.”

  No response.

  “Sophie,” she repeated, fighting to keep her voice low. “Come in.”

  Dylan snatched the radio and flicked on a switch. “Dylan to Sophie.”

  “Sophie here,” she answered. Dylan turned a dial to lower the volume. “Status.”

  “Bridge is blocked,” he said. “I repeat, bridge is not safe. We’ve been made and are being pursued. Rendezvous at the mobile home park west of the interstate. One truck. Keep the other hidden. Over.”

  “Copy that.” A short pause. “Make sure you lose that tail first. You think you’re being followed, you stay the hell away. Got it?”

  “Roger that. Dylan out.” He returned the radio to his belt and, both hands on his rifle again, said to Jenn, “Let’s go.”

  With that, he peeped around the cabin before breaking into another run. Jenn’s legs cooperated this time.

  A glance behind revealed no sign of their pursuers. Had they given up? Why would they? They had Jenn and Dylan outnumbered two or three to one. But what did they even want? Did they somehow know about the trucks? Were they trying to steal them?

  Dylan dashed between two single-story houses with broken windows, and Jenn followed. The roof above the front porch had collapsed. An old camper, caked in rust, sat on the lawn of the other.

  Dylan hurdled a low chain-link fence. Jenn went next. Her right hand held her Glock, so she planted her left on a fencepost but slipped. Dylan was waiting on the road. She holstered the gun and used both hands to pull herself up.

  Halfway over, she heard a faint hum coming from down the street; it sounded like the hybrid Dodge or Nissan. Had Sophie decided to meet them here rather than in the mobile home park? How would she even know where to go?

  In one fluid motion, Dylan lifted his weapon and aimed it at something.

  Jenn followed the barrel of his gun to a flatbed truck rounding the corner. The rear wheels extended beyond the vehicle’s frame, and a rack of lights was mounted to the roof. It accelerated toward them.

  Dylan’s rifle cracked, and she flinched. A hole appeared in the driver’s half of the windshield. The vehicle didn’t slow, but it veered sharply to the right.

  Two more shots from Dylan. One pierced the windshield on the passenger side. The second hit a tire, which exploded with a fierce pop.

  The truck skipped off the road and plowed through a wooden fence, then struck a tree. Its front end had crumpled inward, and smoke rose from the hood. Blood spattered the inside of the window.

  Vomit crept into Jenn’s throat. Had Dylan just killed someone?

  The vehicle remained immobile. Dylan advanced on it, his gun trained on the driver’s side. He pulled open the door, and a man’s body slumped out. Crimson soaked the face and hair. Some dripped onto the road below. Dylan reached past the driver and produced another AR-style assault rifle. A weapon in each hand, he jogged toward Jenn. His eyes exuded a calculating calmness. It terrified her.

  “Take this,” he said, presenting the rifle.

  She stepped back, afraid, but he thrust the AR at her again. There was blood on the stock. Reluctantly, she reached for it. Until now, the only gun she’d ever held was Gary’s Glock. The rifle was heavier than she expected, and it nearly slipped from her grasp.

  “Safety’s off,” Dylan warned.

  Jenn didn’t have a clue where the safety was or how to switch it on.

  Dylan waved at her with his whole arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

  She held the AR across her chest, keeping her finger as far away from the trigger as possible.

  “Dylan to Sophie. We’re en route. Watch your six. Whoever�
�s on that bridge is going to be looking for us.”

  8

  Jenn sat on the open tailgate of the Dodge. After the shootout with the truck, she and Dylan returned to the mobile home park, where Valeria and Carter waited with the Nissan. No one tailed them, so they rendezvoused with Sophie in the other vehicle, then took a two-lane secondary road out of town. After ten or fifteen minutes of driving and no sign of any pursuers, Sophie ordered them to pull onto the shoulder.

  The terrain here was flat. A desert of sand, yellow grass, and squat brush stretched in all directions and reminded Jenn of home. She was so close, yet thanks to the detour, she found herself nearly back in the batter’s box.

  Dylan passed Jenn a metal container shaped like a soda bottle. Attached to it was a mask, which she used to cover her mouth and nose. She took in two lungfuls of pure oxygen, and in an instant, her senses sharpened and her nausea faded. The sting in her chest also softened, and she silently thanked whoever had the foresight to bring these handheld canisters. She made a mental note to find some for Maria in case of an emergency.

  After another breath, it dawned on her that Dylan had killed two people, maybe three. The idea hardly bothered her. She had no clue as to why. Maybe because he was the one to pull the trigger, not her. Maybe because it didn’t seem to bother him. Or maybe the last remnants of adrenaline floating around her brain had convinced her it wasn’t important.

  The chase from the bridge replayed itself in her mind. As she’d feared, she was a liability. She froze and Dylan had to drag her out of the woods. Volunteering to help him scout was a mistake. Coming on this expedition was a mistake. If Jenn couldn’t keep up with Dylan and the others, she could get someone killed.

  He sat beside her on the tailgate and beckoned for the oxygen cannister. Jenn sucked in a final time. As soon as she finished inhaling, the pulsing headache behind her eyes returned. Hopefully the three aspirin she swallowed earlier would help.

  “You did good,” Dylan said between breaths. “At the bridge.”

  Jenn’s throat tickled as she spoke. “Good? You saw me back there, right? You had to carry me like halfway to the river.”

  “Okay, sure. So? Most people would go full-on deer-in-headlights.”

  “Most people?” she blurted. “How’d you know?” She shouldn’t have asked. It sounded accusatory, and she didn’t mean it that way. After seeing Dylan move in the woods and fire his rifle, not everything about his story was adding up. Was he ex-military?

  He leaned on his hands. “You ever live in modular housing?”

  “No,” she started, but if she left it at that, Dylan might think she was from Arcadia or somewhere else with electric fences, CCTV, and permanent private security. “But we weren’t too far from the Glendale complex.”

  “Then you know what goes on in there. Heard the gunshots. It’s dog eat dog. You can always spot a newcomer by how they handle their first shooting, and you didn’t act like a newcomer.”

  In Payson, after Jenn shot Yankees Hat, one of his accomplices crawled away from her, crying. The other begged for his life.

  Did Dylan know about her? About what she’d done? Could he tell she was a killer by the way she acted today? A minute ago, she wanted Dylan to think she was tough, not a soft Arcadian or one-percenter like Kevin or Barbara. But the realization that she had anything in common with Dylan frightened her. Worse, he was hiding something. Years of living in modular housing might have taught him how to pickpocket or commit armed robbery, but it wouldn’t make him a soldier. He’d learned that somewhere else.

  “You’re not very good at taking compliments, are you?” Dylan asked. “Your boyfriend must have his work cut out for him.”

  Sam. If watching Jenn shoot Yankees Hat had frightened him, how would he have handled Dylan putting down three people with less effort than she factored binomials in math class?

  “Thanks,” Jenn finally said. “Sorry. It’s just . . . You shot at them. No hesitation, nothing. It surprised me, I guess. That’s all.”

  “They were trying to kill us,” he answered. It came out as a statement of fact, not a justification. “Or they seemed to be. I can wait and ask them next time, if you want.”

  “No,” she said and swiped the oxygen tank.

  “Dog eat dog, Jansen. Now more than ever.”

  Sam’s history lesson returned to her: “Leviathan.”

  “Leviathan?” Dylan repeated. “Isn’t that an old ship?”

  “A ship? No, it’s a book. Thomas Hobbes. You’ve never heard of it?”

  Dylan offered her a blank stare, so she told him about Sam’s theory. When she finished, he said, “Yeah, that sounds about right. The country’s been strung out for twenty years. The morons in Washington aren’t much help. Done quite the piss-poor job of just keeping us fed lately.” He paused and gave her a knowing look. “You’re from the city. I’m sure you’ve seen your share of food riots.”

  She had, but fortunately, her family never had to participate in one, largely thanks to her brothers sending home their military pay, which her parents squirreled away. “Yeah,” Jenn said. “A few.”

  “No wonder everything’s falling apart at the drop of a hat. I’m half-surprised it took this long, to be honest with you.”

  “These people were organized. Not like in Payson. That was just two guys and—” She almost added three junkies with a knife. “This was different. Rifles. That truck? What were they even doing on the bridge?”

  Dylan sucked more air from the canister. “Carving out a kingdom’s my guess.”

  “What?”

  “You said so yourself.” He handed the oxygen to Jenn, who breathed in greedily. “One king goes down, you don’t think others are gonna try and take his place?”

  She laid the cannister on the tailgate. “You saying it’s a gang?” She doubted any gangs roamed the streets of Camp Verde before the bombs. Flagstaff had some petty property crime—a few robberies, the odd break-in, and a supposed flashing incident near the high school. Last year, a body was found in the woods. It was all the town could talk about for weeks, even though it was determined to be a suicide, not a murder. Organized violence belonged in Phoenix, not places like Flagstaff or Camp Verde. “From the city?”

  Dylan picked his teeth with a pinky finger. “Probably. Coulda busted out of a modular housing district and came here. Less police, no military, and, you know, not on fire.”

  That disturbed Jenn. If gangs were migrating up from Phoenix, Flagstaff was in danger. At the same time, the possibility hardened her resolve. Flagstaff being threatened meant she needed to figure herself out and learn how to fight. Dylan thought she did well in the woods, but it wasn’t good enough to protect her home from the kinds of animals who’d annexed the bridge.

  “Okay,” Sophie said, addressing both Jenn and Dylan. Her mask hung from her neck, and she was already halfway through another cigarette. “From the top. What the hell happened back there?”

  Dylan replied with a shrug. Sophie threw up her hands in a show of impatience.

  “There were people on the bridge,” Jenn said.

  Cigarette between her fingers, Sophie lifted her hat and rubbed her forehead. “Thanks for that. You’re really shedding light on things.” Beside her, Valeria brought a water bottle to her lips and took a sip. Carter leaned against the Nissan and scratched his nose.

  Jenn bit the inside of her cheek. “Well, uh, we—”

  “They attacked us,” Dylan said, then relayed the story blow by blow. It came out like a boring passage from one of Gary’s World War Two books. No emotion, no judgment, no extraneous details.

  When he finished, Sophie flicked her butt onto the street. “You think Ed ran into that roadblock on their way into the city?”

  Jenn thrust her hands into her pockets. If Ed and his team of three, in a single truck, tried crossing the bridge without knowing who was there . . .

  “No idea,” Dylan said. “It’s possible, but Ed’s a smart guy. He would’ve known the br
idge was trouble and scoped it out, same as we did.”

  “Then he’s okay?” Carter asked, pushing himself off the Dodge.

  Dylan motioned for him to sit down. “I’m not sure, but we’re gonna find out. Don’t worry.”

  “I agree,” Sophie said. “My husband’s not an idiot. He’d know better than to walk into something like that. My guess is that he went the back way to Prescott, so that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

  “Works for me,” Dylan said and put his mask on.

  Valeria handed her bottle of water to Carter. “Have it,” she said. With a grunt, Carter took it and drank.

  Sophie depressed a nostril and blew a glob of snot onto the road. Lovely.

  “Jansen,” she said. “What about you?”

  Jenn perked up. “Me?”

  “Yeah.” She plucked the bottle from Carter and screwed on the lid. “Back there, you made the right call with the bridge. I want to hear your thoughts about all this. That’s why you’re here, remember?”

  Dylan lifted the brim of his hat and winked.

  Pride swelled inside her. If Sophie and Dylan valued her opinion, she might not be as useless as she thought. Maybe she had something to offer, after all.

  She sat up straight. “I’ve never taken this way to Prescott before. I always came up from the city. But I assume we’ll go through mountains. We need to look out for blind corners and switchbacks or people on our tail. That’s how we lost the car near Payson.”

  “Good point,” Dylan said. “Not much we can do about what’s in front of us but drive slow and keep an eye out, but putting some room between the trucks will stop anyone from sneaking up from behind. A mile or so should do it. Maybe a bit more.”

  “Works for me,” Sophie said. “Take fifteen. Have a piss, get some water, whatever. Then we’ll hit the road.”

  * * *

  The inside of the Nissan smelled like smoke, even with the windows up.

  Jenn, in her spot on the rear bench, adjusted her seat belt. The back route from Camp Verde had taken them northwest, toward Cottonwood. The town was almost completely deserted. On the west side, they approached another bridge. Again, Sophie sent two scouts—Dylan and Valeria this time—to scope out the crossing. It was clear, and the trucks passed without incident.