by Ryan Schow
It took longer than he thought, and he was irritated with the rust and the slow, creaking bolts, but finally the second long bolt came loose and he was able to take the metal strap off.
When he wiped his head and looked up, the sun was sitting low in the sky, night not far off. Colt replaced the battery, smiling when there was a bit of a spark when he connected the positive cable to its terminal.
“That’s a good sign,” Colt said with a triumphant grin.
“Do you have the keys still?”
He nodded, feeling hopeful they’d have a ride home. Tired but ready to get Constanza and Rose and jump back on the road, he climbed into the car, rolled down the crank window, then said a short prayer. After that, he slid the key into the ignition and gave it a start. The engine was sluggish at first, but the battery had enough juice to finally bring it to life.
“Get in,” he said with a triumphant grin.
The moment Faith went to get in the other side, a man stepped out of the bushes, walked up on Colt fast, and aimed a shotgun barrel at his head. With the gun in Colt’s ear, the guy said, “Shut off the engine or I jerk this trigger and shut off your engine.”
“How original,” Colt mumbled.
Can this day get any worse? Colt turned and glared at the man. The gunman’s eyes flicked up and found Faith, who had just pulled the door shut when she realized what was happening.
“From here, I hit her, too,” the gunman said. “So this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to hand me the key, then you’re going to slowly get out of my car and walk with me to my house with your wife or sister—or whatever she is—in tow. As soon as you two are in front of me, you’ll see the shotgun come off you, but it will go on her so don’t get brave.”
“Right now I just want to sleep,” Colt said.
“I can put you to sleep for forever man, all you need to do is give me a reason.”
When Colt said nothing, the gunman looked at Faith and said, “Do me a favor lady and crank up that light for when we go inside.”
Faith cranked the flashlight until the bulb put off a strong amber light. When they got to the front door, the gunman said, “Go inside, stop when you’re both in, then set the light on the nearest table and aim it at the ceiling. I want this whole room to glow.”
Faith followed the man’s instructions to a T.
Then, to Colt, he said, “As much as I hate that you knocked me out, tied me up, and tried to steal my car, I appreciate you changing out the battery. I’ve been trying to figure a way out of this town for days.”
He took Colt’s shoulder and shoved him toward a nearby coat closet. Fortunately it wasn’t the freshly-nicked shoulder. That would have exposed a weakness.
“Get in the closet.” Colt opened the closet door, stepped inside. “Now you,” he said to Faith.
“We’ve had the worst few hours,” she said. “Look at my face. Look at his. We were attacked.”
“So was I,” the man said. “By him. Now get your ass in there before I do something I regret.”
“I’m not going in there,” Faith said, taking a stand.
He aimed the shotgun at her head and said, “You’re going to go in there, or I pull the trigger and you’re going to go everywhere.”
“You won’t,” she said.
“I asked your husband to let me go, to take what he wanted, but he decided he wanted to knock me out and tie me to the bed.”
“That was him being nice,” Faith said, folding her arms. “If I was with him, I would have made him kill you.”
“No you wouldn’t have,” he said. “Get in the damn closet.”
Colt saw where this was going, then said, “C’mon, honey. It’s okay. Come in here with me and let’s let this man be on his way.”
“Finally, someone with some common sense,” he said.
The man shut the door, propped a step-stool against it, then started hammering something in place.
“Is he nailing us in?” Faith asked.
“He’s just trying to slow us down,” Colt replied. “He’s securing us in by hammering two-by-fours or something into the frame.”
“Three of them to be precise,” the man from the other side of the door said. “I’ll be long gone by the time you get out.”
Colt breathed easy knowing there was a way out, but he was afraid of how long they’d be trapped in there before they could escape. Would Constanza stay put? Would someone find her and Rose? Would Rose last another night in the bitter cold?
Outside, the El Camino started up, the driver gave it some gas, then he put it in gear and took off.
“Scoot over,” Colt told her.
He positioned himself against the back of the wall and started kicking the door. He kicked it until he ran out of steam. Frustrated, he tried to collect his thoughts.
“Next time you have a chance to kill someone,” Faith said, “just do it.”
“I can’t just do that,” he said.
“You’ve proven time and again that you can.”
“It’s not an act, Faith. You don’t just kill and you’re done. There’s a turning in your gut, a sadness in your heart, and a weight on your soul each time you take a life. For me, the men who died—the men I killed—they deserved it, and yet I still feel that same awful heaviness.”
“Yet here we are,” she said.
“I know.”
“That’s the moral dilemma, isn’t it?”
“I’m not a freaking lab experiment, Faith. This isn’t a moral dilemma I feel. It’s like a condemnation, something you know you’ll have to answer for eventually.”
“Like karma?”
“Worse. It’s like I dodged a bullet now, but I know a thousand more are coming my way and I can’t duck them all.”
“I know the feeling,” she said.
He looked at her in the dark and said, “No, you don’t.”
“I didn’t kill that guy in the Jeep back in Lexington? That wasn’t me? Because I’m pretty sure I shot him in the face.”
He’d somehow forgotten about that.
“Yeah, you did,” he conceded. “I’m sorry. My brain’s all mixed up right now and I’m scared for our kids, for Constanza, for Rose.”
“I am, too. But like you, I keep wondering how long we can go on like this. I mean, your face, Colt.”
“What about it?” he asked.
“I just can’t stop thinking how close you came…how close I came to losing you.”
“What about you?” he replied. “Your nose just barely stopped bleeding. And those freaking…those…”
“I know,” she said, stopping him. “But it’s not broken, and the cuts in my mouth aren’t bad. You were shot in the face, Colt, and the only reason you’re not dead is because of someone else’s bad aim.”
“All part of the journey,” he said. He took a deep breath, then added: “We need to get out of this closet, but my legs are pretty much jelly.”
“Get a few hours sleep,” she said.
“I can’t sleep.”
“You need to try,” she said. “You can’t just sit here and kick the stupid door while you’re getting more and more tired.”
He nodded in the dark. “It just feels like quitting.”
“Think of it as you taking time to sharpen your sword.”
The more he tried to sleep, the angrier he became. His mind wouldn’t shut off, and he was pissed off that he’d been bested by a closet door.
“Are you awake?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to try again.”
“Okay.”
He started kicking, and he heard a crack, but his legs wore out too quickly. “Dammit!” he swore at the top of his lungs.
He felt Faith jump at the outburst. He didn’t like to let loose like that but—like a blow-off valve for a turbo-charged engine—if he didn’t get his frustration out now, it would become explosive inside him, maybe even cause him to make a fatal error later. He’d already made too
many as it was.
“I’m sorry, Faith,” he said, finally beaten.
She put her hand on him and said, “Do you want me to try?”
“No, that’s okay.”
“You don’t think I can do it?” she asked.
“It’s not that,” he said.
“What is it then?”
“My knees feel shot from this. I don’t want you to hurt yours, too.”
“I can try,” she said. “I’m going to try.”
She started to kick at the door, but it was no use. The owner of the house had nailed the two-by-fours securely to the frame.
After Faith stopped, they talked a little bit, and then that big, brutal wave of fatigue washed over them both. Colt held on long enough to hear her fall asleep. After that, he closed his eyes and finally surrendered to the night.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rowan McDaniel
Rowan woke the next morning, stretched in an attempt to chase the stiffness from his bones, then threw more wood on the fire and warmed his hands over the flames.
The crew cooked what little food they had left, shared the scant breakfast equally among them, then pissed and hit the road. Like before, Rowan and Hwa-Young got in their car and followed the gang as they made the final leg of their journey into Charleston.
When they reached the outskirts of the city, as they made their way down I-64 heading toward the Kanawha River, they watched a private plane drop down into Yeager Airport.
“Didn’t think I’d see that anytime soon,” Rowan said.
Hwa-Young had her face glued to the windshield, watching the private jet open its landing gear upon descent.
“Looks like the EMP didn’t affect everyone,” Rowan said.
“They’re not from here,” she said.
With the Kanawha River to the left and their destination across the river, they’d have to cross a bridge or two. Rowan hadn’t given much thought to the dangers of bridges until they got to the six-lane bridge and found it was blocked by a group of guys. It looked like they were passing through but thought they could collect a toll.
“Why are we slowing?” Hwa-Young asked.
“I don’t know.”
Ahead, Aldrich and his crew popped out of their windows with automatic weapons and mowed the men down. Bodies dropped in the street, the pathway clear.
“Holy cow,” Rowan said. He glanced over and found Hwa-Young looking back at him with concerned eyes. Overhead, another Learjet descended to the nearby airport.
The crew moved forward, creeping past those bodies that they could avoid while running over those they couldn’t. Hwa-Young looked away from the dead, which was something else considering her penchant for vengeance.
When he approached the second line of bodies, those they would have to drive over, not around, Rowan swallowed in revulsion. He tried to follow the tire tracks of those vehicles that came before him, but the idea of running over someone, even if they were dead, sickened him. He slowly drove over the smashed parts, hoping none of the broken bones would puncture the tires.
Ahead, one of the men who’d been shot was on the ground, writhing, holding up an arm. With a baby-faced mask and a gnarly-looking shotgun—one that looked like a beefed-up AR—one of their crew shot the man in the chest. He fell back, dead.
“This isn’t smart, being masked,” Rowan said. Before they got the car, Hwa-Young’s window had been shot out. His, however, was fine. He rolled it down to get more air.
“Fear means no shots fired,” Hwa-Young said about the masks.
“You’re starting to sound like them,” he replied.
There were people in the streets, forlorn souls moving about a city that looked all but dead from the EMP. These people were too far away to bother with the caravan, which had him hoping they’d have no interest in attacking them.
Moving slowly on I-64, they saw another highway merging with them. There was a big, cosmetically-damaged Humvee waiting for them to pass. Rowan couldn’t see in the window because there was a glare on the glass. When he saw the meaty rig starting in behind him, he got on the two-way fast.
“Aldrich,” Rowan said, “do you see the Humvee on my six?”
“Sure do,” Aldrich said. “There will be people here. Most of them are bad, but a few aren’t. When things kick off, make sure you know who’s who.”
“You want to tell me what we’re doing now? Because Learjets are landing and this guy in the Humvee is catching up fast.”
“We’re meeting with the people who orchestrated the EMP,” Aldrich said. “They’re here meeting with the guys who are running the Hayseed Rebellion. If you wanted a chance to find out what happened, what’s next, and who is behind all of this, this is a meeting you’re going to want to be at.”
Hwa-Young leaned over to the mic and asked, “Are we going to crash the party then?”
“No need to,” Aldrich beamed. “We have an invite.”
“How did we get that?” Rowan asked.
“We are the couriers for the Iranians,” Aldrich said. “My understanding is that they will be flying their generals in to get a lay of the land. After that, they’ll bring in the troops by boat. They’ll be coming out of the Dakar Port in Senegal. The Underground will then escort them into the cities of their choosing when they arrive.”
“Dakar?” Rowan asked.
“It’s the third largest port in West Africa,” Aldrich said. “This is where Iran and their soldiers have amassed to ferry their troops to the US.”
“Iran did this?” Rowan asked.
“Iran, North Korea, Russia,” Aldrich said. “They’re still on China’s tit, but vying for attention.”
“So we have China to contend with, too?” Hwa-Young asked, taking the two-way from Rowan. He let her have it to focus on the road ahead.
“They’ve been embedded in our country for decades. If you’re worried about China, don’t be. They already did their part in weakening the political, educational, and technical infrastructure. Iran, North Korea, and Russia…they’re just the buzzards coming to feast on the corpse that is the former United States.”
Rowan yanked up the mask, snatched the two-way from Hwa-Young, and barked into the unit. “America is not dead. There is no former United States.”
“We’re about to go prove that, my feisty friend,” Aldrich said. “Like I told you before, keep your rage on tap.”
Rowan took a deep breath, tried to still his beating heart. The violence of this trip was overwhelming, but the reality of what was happening, and what lay ahead was starting to set in. “Are you really working with the Iranians?” he asked.
“I just told you that,” Aldrich said.
Rowan glanced in the rearview mirror, saw the Humvee tracking them too closely. He squinted his eyes, saw a black guy at the wheel and a blonde lady in the seat with a boy. He thought about slowing to get a better look, but didn’t want to open up space between him and the crew.
“Some people get into a position of power not to rule over others but to see the enemy from the inside,” Aldrich explained. “Why do you think your uncle ran the Hayseed Rebellion?”
“You knew my uncle?” Rowan asked.
“Who do you think was funding him?” Aldrich asked.
There was silence on the line while Rowan caught his breath. Looking behind him, he focused on the black guy driving the Humvee. Keying the two-way, he said, “Aldrich, this guy is pretty much crawling up our ass here.”
“I told you that they’re fine,” Aldrich said. “You need to get ready to meet these people.”
“What’s the plan?” he asked.
“We’re going to be operating in the dark one minute at a time. The goal is to take control of these people, but the idea is to not get killed doing it.”
“Did you and the guys come up with that genius plan all together?” Rowan asked, failing to mask the sarcasm in his voice. “Because it’s both brilliant and complex.”
“This is why I didn’t tell you sq
uat before,” Aldrich said with some bite. “Time to cut comms.”
“Roger that, Einstein.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Marley McDaniel
Marley, Isaiah, and Adi left the field outside Bruceton Mills heading for Charleston, West Virginia. Marley tried to sleep through most of the drive, but it was slow going and half the time Isaiah was waking her up to tell her to keep an eye out for threats.
Finally, she fell asleep, but the slumber was bumpy and at times, jarring. She woke some time later when Isaiah came to a stop on a highway overpass over a canal.
“Where are we?” she asked rubbing her eyes.
Adi woke up with a hearty yawn.
She yawned with him.
Isaiah said, “We’re merging with I-64 just outside Charleston.”
“Why are we stopped?” she asked.
Isaiah pointed to the right and saw a procession of cars making their way through clustered cars. A bunch of guys in various vehicles drove by, most of them looking at the Humvee. They all wore masks. The last car drove by, the driver not trying to hide his face. His window was down, an elbow on the door, a creepy-ass baby mask on as well. Marley thought she saw a masked girl in the car with him. A chill shot through her at the sight of them.
“What is wrong with these people?” she finally asked.
Isaiah said, “They’re with us.”
He pulled out onto the interstate, driving over the canal as they fell in with the convoy heading into the city.
They closed in on the tail car, keeping a tight distance between them. When they got off the interstate and wound around into the city, Isaiah pulled out of the convoy and took a side road.
He stopped when he could, looked over at Marley, and said, “It’s time for you and Adi to get out.”
“No way,” Marley said, pissed.
Isaiah looked at Adi, then back to Marley. “He’s not going with us, and you can’t just leave him out here by himself. You’re going, Marley. Get out.”
