EMP Catastrophe | Book 2 | Erupting Danger

by Hamilton, Grace

  He looked back the way he’d come and noticed that the dirt was dry and hard. No wonder he hadn’t been able to see any tracks. The ground naturally made it difficult to detect tracks, and he was no expert to begin with. His heart thundered in his chest. All this time, he’d thought Kathleen was losing her senses when she was in fact correct. Now, because of his failure, the hotel was in danger.

  After inspecting the area, he realized there was only one set of footprints. Whoever this person was, they’d watched the hotel alone. Could it be Samuel planning a second attack?

  He didn’t know. All he could do was speculate. But one thing he knew for certain. They needed to be more careful now than they ever had before.

  And they’d need Jade to do it.

  13

  The next day, Matthew and Jade assembled a rudimentary shooting range on the hotel’s front lawn. Matthew had rolled a few big boulders and stumps into a staggered orientation on the lawn and placed tin cans on top of them. David held the pistol and Ruth, the Glock. Matthew hadn’t brought himself to relinquish the shotgun, yet.

  He glanced up into the morning sun and toward the bedroom window, hoping to see Kathleen. Her pleasure that he’d believed her allegations about someone watching the hotel had been overshadowed by his insistence that they allow Jade to teach them how to shoot. For hours, he attempted to coax her into accepting that plan and to convince her to join them, but she adamantly refused. Then she’d spent the rest of the night vigilantly staring out the window while he had a restless sleep.

  Now, he hoped she would see what they were doing and decide to join them, even if he knew she was actually studying them with an air of disapproval.

  Patton and Allison were unusually quiet as they watched the lawn transform into a shooting range. Patton wore an owlish look as he openly stared at Jade taking the Glock from David. She handled the gun with calm proficiency and the utmost respect. She inspected the weapon and then turned to face the Riley clan.

  “The first thing you should all think about when handling a gun is that it is a weapon to be treated with respect,” Jade said. “You should always treat your gun as if it is loaded, even when it’s not. Even when the safety is on. Always keep your finger away from the trigger. You’ll naturally want to curl your finger around it, but believe me, that’s a big mistake.”

  Jade popped the magazine out and showed them where the bullets would be slotted inside. With a couple of clicks and twists, the gun seemed to fall apart into basic components in her hands. Matthew marveled at how just a couple of plastic and metal pieces could be the source of so much fear and protection. It looked like the pieces of a deadly puzzle.

  “Gun safety means you always have the safety on, unless you intend to fire. You never want to fire at something that you can’t clearly see. Shooting blindly is a mistake. You’ll never know what exactly you’ve shot at, and it could have dire consequences down the line.” Jade showed them the tiny notch and flipped it back and forth, revealing a small red panel that indicated the safety was off. She began to put the gun back together. “Your worst fear is an accident. Say you’re walking in the woods and you trip over a log. The trigger could be jostled. If the safety is off, the gun will go off. You could hurt yourself, someone else, or even deafen yourself depending on how close the gun goes off to your ears.”

  She held the Glock out to Patton. He took it reverently in his hands.

  “Get used to the feel of it,” Jade instructed, motioning him to the front. “Keep the barrel pointed away from everyone at all times, ideally pointed at the ground.”

  Patton fingered the plastic grip and ran his thumb over the smooth barrel. Then he gave it to Allison. She held it with a mixture of disgust and strange fascination. Each of them had a moment to hold the weapon. When it was Matthew’s turn, he realized he felt grateful for the opportunity. Up until then, whenever he had a gun in his hands, it was a means of survival. Now, it felt like he could finally connect with the weapon on a different basis than a frantic one.

  “Feel the weight?” Jade asked him. Her dark brows arched up over her green eyes. “It’s much lighter than the shotgun, right? That means the rounds will be smaller and the recoil won’t pack as much of a punch. Don’t get me wrong, though, it will still kick back at you. Anticipating recoil is somewhat of a two-edged sword. You know it’s coming so you tense up for it. That’s ineffective. Honestly, you want to be relaxed when you pull the trigger so that when the recoil does hit, it can be absorbed. Think of your arms like cushions on a chair instead of brick walls. The recoil will hit the cushions and be somewhat absorbed, instead of smacking into a wall that can’t take any of the force.”

  “How do we do that?” Patton asked.

  “I’ll show you,” Jade said, “but don’t feel frustrated if you can’t get it right away. A lot of times, you simply need to get used to it. If you know the recoil will happen no matter what, you can treat it the right way.”

  She took the shotgun and showed them how to open it up, displaying where the bullet canisters would go. “This one will need to be balanced against your shoulder.” She lifted it up and positioned it against her armpit. “The force will go right there. First time I shot one of these, I was bruised blue, but each time I got better.” Jade put the gun back together, reloaded the bullets, and handed it to Matthew. Matthew took it silently and realized he’d been holding his breath throughout the demonstration— terrified Jade would turn the gun on him.

  Patton nodded, as if hanging on her every word.

  “All right, let’s talk shooting,” Jade said. “Each gun is different. The shotgun you have to brace and hold because it’s so much larger than a handgun. The handgun you have to hold out steady in front of you. You’ll aim using the sight, but don’t ruin your vision by closing one eye. Keep both of them open and focus through the notch. You’ll have to practice, but once you figure out how a gun aims, you can figure out if you need to aim a little bit above or a little bit below to hit your target. Patton, want to try first?”

  She passed the Glock to Patton, and he took up a stance with the gun held out in front of him. Jade corrected him, showing him how to cup the gun with two hands, cradling the bottom and wrapping a hand around the handle. Once she was satisfied, he tried to dry fire. Click, click, click.

  “Awesome,” he said, handing the gun to Allison.

  “Okay,” Jade said, helping Allison readjust her stance. “You’re doing great. Just keep your legs bent and slightly apart. Don’t lock your knees. Now take a deep breath. When you put your finger on the trigger, you’ll want to squeeze it. Not sharp and fast—you’ll naturally want to pull up if you pull the trigger too quickly—but like you’re testing the ripeness of a fruit. Don’t want to bruise it.”

  Allison obeyed Jade’s instructions. Matthew frowned and couldn’t help but notice the sweat beginning to bead on her forehead.

  “I know it’s counterintuitive,” Jade said. “Everything about guns makes people think it should be fast, but in reality, it’s all about building that slow confidence to be accurate and precise. Only then will the speed grow. Go ahead. Dry fire whenever you’re ready.”

  Allison nodded and took a deep breath. Time passed without her pulling the trigger. Matthew studied her as she adjusted and readjusted her stance, watched her fingers curl around the trigger and then retract. Patton looked up at him in annoyance, as if he wanted to take the gun from her and prove he could do it better. Matthew held out his hand as if to ask for patience. Let her do this on her own terms.

  For some reason, it seemed like this was important to Allison. As if mastering the gun might help her master whatever demons she kept locked tight inside.

  Finally, Allison took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The gun clicked in her hands. The rest of her breath cascaded out of her in a whoosh, as if she was expecting something else to happen. She handed the gun to David. For some reason, she was shaking. Matthew couldn’t understand why.

  After they’d each
had a turn, Jade taught them how to holster and unholster the gun without catching it on anything and while keeping the safety on at all times. Matthew felt like they were in the wild west, especially when Patton shot him a wide grin, whipped out the gun, pointed it at the tin can, and said, “Hands to the sky.”

  “Focus,” Jade chided gently.

  Matthew was impressed with Jade’s teaching ability. Beneath the rough and tough young woman was a softness for his children and a natural aptitude for education. At last, Matthew and Jade decided it was time to put their hard-won skills to the test.

  “Each one of us will get to shoot two rounds,” Jade said as she handed out the Glock bullets. “Two bullets each.”

  Matthew let his clink together in his palm. They looked so small. He had another moment of awe where he considered how something so compact could be used to create so much damage.

  Jade motioned for Allison to join her. Together, they went through the motions of ejecting the magazine and slotting in the bullets. Jade was in the middle of explaining the mechanics when a sudden scream cut through the air.

  Matthew whipped around to see Kathleen bolt out of the hotel’s front door and down the porch steps. Her eyes looked wild like a skittish horse. She pointed toward the tree line and screamed, “Matt, they’re here! I saw them, they’re here watching us!”

  “Get behind me,” Jade commanded and pushed the children behind her. She turned toward the fence as if prepared to defend the hotel to the death. Matthew grabbed the shotgun and sprinted for the fence with David hot on his heels. He waited for gun-toting maniacs to emerge from the woods, or an army commanded by Samuel West to attack them at their most vulnerable, or maybe even the whole town had come together, determined to kick the Rileys out…

  He shook his panicked thoughts away as he reached the fence. Propping the shotgun into his armpit, he surveyed the tree line with a critical eye. The gun was loaded, and he was ready to defend his home no matter what came for them. The footprints he’d seen yesterday flashed through his mind. Whoever it was had returned.

  David breathed heavily beside him and said, “Matt, are you sure this isn’t an over-exaggeration? Is Kathleen imagining it all?”

  “I saw footprints in the mud yesterday,” Matthew said. The shadows seemed to taunt him. “Kathleen’s not crazy, Dad. She’s not making anything up.”

  David went silent. Another darker shadow darted off in the distance, looking like a man ducking into the brush. Matthew didn’t hesitate. He took aim and fired.

  The bullet exploded out through the shadow and kicked up a puff of dirt. The shot echoed around them. There wasn’t anything there. Matthew lowered the gun, feeling unmoored. He’d shot at nothing.

  “Stop,” David hissed, grabbing the gun and removing it from Matthew’s grip. “There’s nothing there,” he said angrily. “You’ve wasted a bullet because you’re imagining things.”

  “I thought I saw something,” Matthew said, but even he knew it was a flimsy excuse.

  “Thinking you saw something isn’t the same as seeing something,” David said and turned back to walk toward the hotel. “This is why we needed Jade. I was scared of this very thing happening. We’re not prepared, no matter how much you think we are.”

  Matthew swallowed hard. Shame colored his cheeks a bright red. As they walked back to the hotel, he studied the ground, but didn’t really see it because he was so lost in his thoughts. David was right. He should have been certain of what he saw before shooting. He was jumping at shadows and as a result he’d wasted precious resources and probably scared the rest of his family. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened if he’d shot a person who turned out to be harmless.

  He stumbled and looked down at what had made him trip. It was a smooth, oblong rock, but it wasn’t the striations or the color that caught his attention. It was the note tied around it.

  14

  Max walked the interstate all through the night, trying to put as much space between him and Chicago as possible. Without the glaring lights highlighting the road, headlights from traveling cars flashing across the asphalt, or house lights streaming from homes tucked along the mountain, he could actually see a lot. It must have been one of those things he never noticed was gone, he thought. Stolen by electricity and living in a civilization dependent on artificial light. Only now was he realizing the extent of his built-in survival skills that had evolved to keep him alive. He felt as though he were connecting with a truer version of himself after all this time.

  Yet, at the same time, he had to outrun so many things: the guard, the prison, his own past. His eyes burned from exhaustion. His legs ached from exertion. Every time he considered stopping for a rest, he imagined Eric bearing down on him with hatred glowing in his eyes. Max had turned a kind man into a harder, wiser one. Eric would never be kind to an inmate again, and Max blamed himself for that.

  Walking down the interstate was a nightmare all on its own. The eerie silence made Max hear things, and yet when an actual sound cut through the air, it never failed to chill him to the bone. At one point, he heard a loud scream echo from a long way off. Max froze in place at the agonized cry, horrified that whatever had caused the sound might come for him next. He couldn’t stop. If he stopped, he’d be vulnerable. Exposed. So he wove between the bumper-to-bumper cars and tried to imagine how the world had come to a standstill. Where had everyone gone?

  Maybe he had lost his mind. Maybe he was actually in solitary confinement and this was his way of coping with being alone. Maybe his imagination was playing out the fantasy of being free. He didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to keep going.

  Night transformed into day. Max kept plodding along. Each step was torture. The chaos seemed never-ending. Once he tried to stop and rest, but everything made him nervous. He jumped at the chirping crickets and even the sparse rustling of leaves from the groves of trees along the highway. Soon enough, daylight began to sink into evening again, and Max knew that if he didn’t stop his body would collapse with or without his consent. He desperately needed rest and to recharge, but he didn’t know where to go. Sleeping on the pavement felt like he would be too exposed. He worried a stranger would stumble upon him and take his precious resources. Heading off of an exit felt too precarious. Who knew what waited below? What if he got off and then could never get back on again?

  Finally, he started to test the car doors as he walked. Most of them were locked, but then he tested the passenger door to a Subaru and heard the click as it opened. He nearly cried in relief.

  The car had been abandoned. CDs from the ’90s filled the back seat, as if a case had been jostled at some point and spilled the contents into the car. He clambered into the back seat and collapsed on the leather. With a final thought, he yanked off the driver’s car seat cover and balled it up under his head as a terrible pillow. He refused to take his backpack off.

  Sleep overtook him immediately. He was thrust into deep dreams he couldn’t escape, first a lecture from Kathleen about his future, then Eric furiously trying to yank him away from her. The yanking on his boots felt so real. He twisted, trying to escape, and then felt as though he were balanced on the edge of a precipice, terrified he would go over.

  He woke with a start to discover that someone was actually yanking on his boots. He fought back and slid halfway into the footwell of the backseat. Whoever held his feet tightened their grip. Disoriented, Max let out a muffled curse and tried to kick out and pull back. Gasping, he scrambled for the door handle near his face. He hoped he could kick off his assailant and escape through the opposite door. If only he could get his bearings. If only he could think straight, but it was so hard being pulled out of such a deep sleep so suddenly.

  The hand on his boots grabbed his pant leg and with one sharp tug, pulled Max out of the Subaru.

  He landed hard on the pavement in a bundle of limbs. Blinking furiously up into the evening sky, he felt his heart begin to race. A smirking Colin towered over him. Max
’s dread was like the ocean and kept trying to drown him in waves. How had Colin found him? More importantly, how had Colin gotten out of prison?

  Four other men stood behind Colin and loomed over Max. Max noticed the matching tattoos on their knuckles. Some were precise and done by a professional. Others were ragged as though given in prison. Cartel. These men probably hated Max just as much as Colin did.

  “There you are, little bird,” Colin said. Tattoos ringed his bald head. He grinned, showing off a gold tooth in the back, and his dark eyes crinkled as if Max were a birthday present all wrapped up and waiting for him. His grin widened to the point of looking manic.

  “What are you doing here?” Max asked. He mentally slapped himself. He needed to think before he spoke.

  “What am I doing here?” Colin roared with laughter. “I’m here listening to your song, little bird.”

  “You should be in solitary for what you did to me,” Max said. Even as he spoke, he could feel the lingering effects of Colin’s last beating prior to Max’s escape. His ribs still ached. His eyes were still tender to the touch.

  “I was,” Colin said with a shrug, “but they let me out. No one gets punished long for beating up a piece of crap like you. It was a slap on the wrist. Probably would’ve gotten the same punishment if I’d just killed you.”

  One of the men behind Colin tittered with laughter. Max dug deep inside himself trying to find the steel constitution he’d cultivated during his imprisonment. “You’re a liar,” Max said. “Tell me how you really got out.”

  And make it a long story, he thought. If he could keep Colin talking, it would give Max the chance to get his head on straight and make up a plan to escape. He had to get away from Colin or he was a dead man.