“Come on, love. I’ve got you.”
She let go of the rope and flung her arms around Patrick as he fell backwards up the steps and onto the aft deck.
Chapter 8
Michael
Bobby pulled the baseball cap down over his eyes as another band of rain swept in, forcing him into the cover of the trees again. At first, he’d welcomed the cleansing as water from the heavens helped to repair a little of the damage the survivors had done to the land remaining above the new ocean. Now, however, he had to admit it was a pain in the butt—especially since it had begun to soak through to that particular part of his anatomy.
The cabin in the woods where he’d been knocked out by Eve looked very different now. A week ago, he’d searched the burned wreckage for anything he and Eve’s son Joshua could use in their search for the woman. Now, the rain and, no doubt, the attentions of other people scrabbling around in the ruins had reduced the former holiday house to a mushy mess of carbon with, here and there, the remains of appliances and bits of furniture.
It was a sad place, the ghost of a house and the shell of a hoped-for future, but he found himself unable to leave until he’d traced the entire perimeter and discovered where he had half climbed, half fallen from the top window before catching Josh and running to the waterside.
He could hardly bring that inferno back to his mind as the rain fell, softening the edges of the cabin’s footprint.
He rested his pack among the ash and fished around inside for a ration bar. It had been a long day already, and he hardly felt as though he’d gotten very far. He’d started by burying Jacob’s body. He wished with all his heart he could ask the young man what had happened and where Maria was, but all he could do was give him a decent send-off and then search for clues in the house.
The place had been pretty effectively trashed, with every room a similar scene of careless destruction. Pam’s bedroom, where they’d nursed each other, was unrecognizable. Someone had decided to put a match to the oxygen feed and use it to torch the bed. Everything useful from the bathroom had been taken, leaving only the photos on the wall showing Pam and her family smiling incongruously at him.
Satisfied that there was no one hiding there anymore, he’d gone outside and lifted the boulder that hid the basement key. He’d breathed a sigh of relief when he’d seen it lying there and headed into the kitchen, pulling aside the cupboard he’d hidden the steel door behind. He guessed that whoever had killed Jacob had only lingered here long enough to strip it of anything valuable they could find and to have some destructive fun. All the time completely unaware of the treasure trove beneath their feet.
He’d half pulled back the cupboard and shut the door behind him, locking himself inside. This triggered his claustrophobia, but he needed sleep and this way he wouldn’t be surprised by anyone else who came across the place.
The next morning—that morning—he’d buried Jacob and filled his pack with a handful of ration packs, some bottles of water and meds. He wandered into the armory, contenting himself with a hunting knife this time. The only remaining firearms were a couple of rifles and he didn’t want to carry the extra weight. Last time he’d come this way, having a firearm hadn’t helped and he didn’t expect to come across many people before he got back to the highway. Speed was everything and he still wasn’t a hundred percent after his sickness. No, better to go fast and quiet.
So, he’d stood for a few moments beside the graves of Pam and Jacob, both covered with rocks he’d shoveled over the shallow earth, and he’d thanked them both.
And now he was back here, in the ruins of Eve’s cabin, determined to follow Maria and whoever had her. And heaven help them once he caught up with them.
“Who are you?”
He saw the handgun first, advancing smoothly out of the trees.
“Hey, no need to draw a weapon,” Bobby said, thrusting his hands into the sky, “I’ll move along.”
“Why are you here?”
The gun emerged slowly from below him on the slope. And then he saw who was holding it. A man—late thirties, at a guess—holding the weapon in one hand and trying to push his wheelchair uphill with the other. One of the tires was flat and the gun began wobbling as he struggled.
Bobby kept his hands up, indicating the ruins with his head. “I’m just passing through. I was here a few days ago and, I dunno, just wanted to see what became of it.”
“You can see what became of it!” the man roared. “Did you do this?”
Now he held the weapon in both hands, and his aim steadied.
Bobby felt his guts fill with acid, but he remained calm. Maybe it was the rain, maybe it was his growing sense of hopelessness about catching up with Maria, but he held it together. “No, of course I didn’t. But I know about it.” He was beginning to suspect he knew who this man was. “If you want me to talk, then lower the gun.”
The man stared at him for a moment, but his hunger was obvious and he dropped it into his lap, keeping it close.
“Thanks. I’m Bobby, Bobby Rodriguez,” he said, lowering his arms but keeping his eyes on the man in the wheelchair.
“Michael, Michael Weiss,” the man said, sighing as if he was talking from memory. “Hold it! Don’t move!”
Bobby had leaned back against a tree. “Relax, Michael.”
“You said you know about this place.”
He nodded. “Is your wife Eve?”
“What? Oh my God! How do you know her? Did you burn the cabin down?”
Again, the gun came up and Bobby raised his hands. “Calm down! I’ll talk, but not at gunpoint!”
Weiss lowered his Magnum again, his chest heaving as if he was about to hyperventilate.
“She’s alive, Michael. Or, at least she was when I saw her two days ago. Her and Josh.”
“My boy? He’s alive? How can this be? I’ve been waiting for them. I was late, my car broke down, then my wheelchair got a puncture. When I arrived, it was a smoking wreck and there was no sign of them, but I thought they might have run off and would come back.”
All of this tumbled out of him as the tears fell before, finally, he began rocking back and forth. “Tell me you aren’t lying. Tell me this is the truth as God sees you. Don’t torture me!”
“Michael, I’ll tell you everything. They’re alive.” Bobby said, moving quickly toward the man and pulling the gun from his lap. It wasn’t loaded.
The man sobbed, rocking in his chair until he finally said, “I had lost all hope. I only stayed here because I had nowhere else I could go.”
“Have you had anything to eat?”
His head shook as he stared into his lap.
“Then let’s make a meal and I’ll tell you about it.”
Bobby put his hand on Michael’s shoulder and wondered if he would ever be free of responsibility for others.
They shared a can of cold beef soup, though Bobby let his new burden have the lion’s share.
Michael had listened to Bobby’s account of what had happened at the cabin and in the days following with rapt attention. Some details had to be omitted—he chose not to relate how it was that he’d been breaking into the cabin when Eve knocked him out, and left the violation she’d received at the hands of Fletcher for her to tackle with her husband, if she chose to.
After taking it all in, Michael said, “What are you doing here? You didn’t say.”
“I’m looking for my daughter.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. Taken, I think. I found the man who had care of her dead back thataway,” he said, gesturing up the track.
Michael’s eyes cleared a little. “How old is she?”
“Eight.”
“And she’s…like you?”
“Hispanic? Yeah. A bit paler than me. Her mom’s blonde.”
Michael grabbed Bobby by the arm. “I think I saw her!”
“What?” Bobby gasped, kneeling beside the wheelchair.
“Yeah. A couple of men came snoopin
g around. I didn’t like the look of them, so I hid and watched. They had a girl with them. I thought it was odd, but then so is everything.”
“Which way did they head?”
Michael gestured along the same path Bobby had followed when tracking Eve.
“When was this?”
He considered this. “A few days ago.”
“But she seemed okay?”
Michael shrugged. “I didn’t notice, I was too busy watching them pick among the ruins of my house.”
“I need to go,” Bobby said, getting up. The rain had stopped and, though he was chilled to the bone, he knew he had to get moving if he was to have any chance of catching up with Maria.
“Take me with you, at least while our paths go the same way.”
Bobby shook his head. “I’m sorry, I need to move fast. I’ll send help when I reach the camp.”
“No! I’ve been stuck here for days. I can’t stay on my own anymore.”
“But your tire’s got a puncture.”
Michael began wheeling his chair up the slope. He got a few yards before collapsing, exhausted. “Look, you don’t understand,” he said, without looking back. “I wasn’t here when my family needed me. Do you have any idea how it is to feel useless when the people you love are relying on you? I only need a little help: get me on the level and I’ll manage.”
Bobby sighed. He understood the feeling of helplessness well enough, but he was in two minds about what to do next. He would certainly get where he was going more quickly on his own, but if he left Michael there and anything happened to him, how would he explain that to Eve? And thinking of Eve, there was the matter of his undeniable feelings for her. She’d sat beside him for days as he recovered from the infection that had almost killed him. He’d sensed that she’d begun the grieving process, after finally accepting that her husband had been lost. And yet here he was. What sort of a fool would be the instrument that made the reunion happen and ruin his own chances?
Apparently, his sort of a fool.
“Okay. But only while we’re on the same road.”
Michael led the way to the shelter he’d made for himself near the waterline. A large coat had been spread over a pair of branches and a sleeping bag lay on the ground. Michael grabbed the nearest branch and pulled himself upright, then edged himself toward a pile of beer crates—the same crates Bobby had used to break into the cabin.
“No, I can manage,” Michael said, a trace of anger in his voice as Bobby went to help him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap. Being a cripple doesn’t sit well with me.” He began gathering his few possessions and dropping them into a canvas bag.
“What happened?”
Michael gave a wan smile. “MS. Had it for years. Poor Evie—she didn’t quite get the package she signed up for.”
“She’ll be happy to see you. So will Josh.”
“Yeah, Josh will be, that’s for sure. And Evie, in her own way. Poor woman. She’s probably just gotten used to the idea that I’m gone, only for me to burden her again.”
Bobby put his hand on the man’s shoulder as he settled back into his chair. “Come on, I’m sure she doesn’t think like that. We’ve all been through hell, these past days. She’ll be glad to have her family back together.”
“I hope you’re right, Bobby, I sure do.”
They made it up the slope to the path that ran north to south along the valley. The punctured tire was an absolute pain in the butt, and he’d despaired once or twice on the way up. In the end, Michael had gotten out of the chair and staggered tree to tree, while Bobby reached the top before coming back for him.
It was easier on the mostly level surface of the path, though the chair tried to veer left all the time. Still, they made good progress once Bobby stowed his own pack on the handles and he found himself warming to the man, even as he yearned to move more quickly in the vain hope of catching up with Maria.
Who had her? Where were they heading? What had happened on the island? He pulled the note out of his pocket and unfolded it, fighting back the tears as he read Maria’s handwriting.
We heard guns and I was scared.
“Hey, Bobby!” Michael yelled, arms flailing as one wheel dropped into a hole in the road.
“Sorry.” He’d been unconsciously speeding up without paying enough attention. It wasn’t going to do him any favors to break the wheelchair and have to carry Michael the rest of the way. The shape of the land here meant the slope to their right had become a cliff, sea water lapping against its base thirty feet beneath them. For one moment, he saw himself pitching Michael over the side. There would be no one to witness it, no one to judge. It would be logical enough. He had enough problems of his own and Maria depended on him.
But it turned out killing people was a whole lot harder than in the movies. He’d been responsible for the death of Moses, one of the thugs who’d destroyed Michael’s cabin and taken away his wife, but that had been in self-defense and Moses had deflected his aim so he hadn’t exactly been in control. Throwing Michael over a precipice, on the other hand, would be cold-blooded murder, however justified he might think it was.
He breathed a sigh of relief as the cliff disappeared and the water receded from them. He wouldn’t have pushed Michael, would he? It felt like that compulsion he’d sometimes felt to jump off a roller coaster. He’d never really do it. Honest.
After a while, they worked out a rhythm. Bobby provided the main propulsion while Michael compensated for the way one wheel tried to sway to the side and they began to make decent progress.
“That’s the place,” Bobby said, gesturing down the hill.
“Where you caught up with Evie?”
“Yeah.” He nodded at a patch of freshly disturbed earth near the water. “That’s where we buried them.” He winced as he recalled helping Tanta drag the bodies into the shallow pit they’d dug and rolling them inside.
Michael shook his head. “I just can’t get my head around it all. It sounds like a story. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I believe you. I mean, why would you lie about it? And why would you bring me with you? Besides, I’m a pretty good judge of character.”
“It’s okay. I sometimes wonder if it’s all been a hideous nightmare. Come on, I don’t want to stop here.”
So, they struggled along for a couple more hours until they neared the point where the two sides of the valley now met, close to where he’d lain once he’d slipped into fevered unconsciousness.
“The highway’s along that ridge,” he said. “Once we get up there, it’ll be easier going.”
“And the base is there?”
Bobby took his pack from the wheelchair handles and pushed Michael off the path to where a group of trees with twisted interlocking branches provided some cover.
He spent the night beneath his coat on the damp ground, tossing and turning as he saw Maria in his dreams. And Ellie. What would she say if she were here now rather than, in all probability, long dead? “You had one job. Keep our daughter safe. One job!”
He woke, flailing around, feeling as though he was drowning only to find that the rain had started again.
“Man, I can’t wait to get under a roof again,” Michael said, yawning. “Even a canvas one.”
Their breakfast was nothing more than a shared energy bar and the last of the clean water. They’d get nothing else until they made it to the Santa Clarita center, so they pushed straight on, reaching the top of the ridge bordering the highway before the sun was overhead.
“Jeez,” Michael said as they stopped to catch their breath and took in the long line of abandoned cars.
“Looks as though the military’s cleared one lane,” Bobby said. “That’ll make it easier.”
“How far, do you think?”
Bobby shrugged. “I don’t know for sure. Come on, let’s get moving.”
He pushed Michael down the rough slope and onto the asphalt, maneuvering between the trucks and cars forming a wall along the side of the highway. On the other side, t
he road cut through a landscape of light browns and greens rumpled up like a concertina and, were it not for his exhaustion and panic, he could pretend it was a nice day for a walk. If he didn’t look to the other side of the road. The rain had faded away to be replaced by a gentle late spring sun and he’d pretty much dried out, though his feet were still wet so he squelched as he went.
When the highway crested a ridge, they could look down and see people moving slowly along it, and others rummaging through the cars and vans, picking over the wreckage like condors while the real thing circled above them.
Though their way was easier now, that view of the road ahead only confirmed how far they had to go and both began flagging by midafternoon. The highway cut between tall cliffs on either side and became narrower, the sounds of their slow progress bouncing off the rocks on either side.
Bobby shivered, feeling goosebumps rising on the back of his neck. Maybe it was the feeling of sudden confinement or the weird noises Michael’s punctured tire was making as they made their side-winding way along the road. Or maybe they really were being watched.
“Now, just you keep your hands where I can see ’em,” a deep voice said, and Bobby swung around to find himself looking into the barrel of a handgun held by a large man who turned it from one to the other as he approached.
“Come on, Ham! I got ’em.”
Another figure appeared a little farther along the road, gun held out, a look of shock and delight obvious even from here. “Well, lookee here! She was right all along. I tol’ you so. She said he’d come for her and now I get to take back what’s mine.”
With ice in his veins, Bobby recognized the weasel-faced, lean body from the radio station.
“Hamish!”
Chapter 9
Phage
“So, when are we headin’ back to base?”
Buzz looked out over the bay and shook his head. “We can’t keep taking people in.” Warm sunlight glinted off the waves of the “Arkansas Sea” as he tried to count how many tiny islands he could see in that direction. At least three or four. And they were probably the last specks of land between here and the mountains of east Cuba.
Deluge | Book 2 | Phage Page 6