“How's it looking in there?” Larry asked.
“Not good,” James said, trying to offer an honest assessment.
“There's a lot of supplies in there,” Larry said, scratching his beard. “Can't let it go to waste.”
Marla stepped forward, wanting answers. “What are we going to do?” For a moment, no one said anything. Larry and Carol seemed to have their own plans, and James wondered if the time had come for them to go their separate ways. “Let's go into town. Someone there can help us, I'm sure.”
“No thanks,” Larry said with finality. “Carol and I are going to find a new place to set up camp.”
“We should stick together,” Marla said, looking to Carol. But Carol's eyes said that the decision had been made.
“No hard feelings,” Larry added. “But we're better off on our own.”
“My sentiments too,” James said, clasping his hands together in a gesture both determined and regretful.
Marla stood between them, conflicted. “Now, wait one minute. We need to stick together and get out of this area.”
“We're not leaving,” Larry said. “Carol and I are going to relocate and hunker down with what supplies we have left.”
“Where are you going to stay?” Marla asked in disbelief.
“We have tents,” Larry responded. His mind was set. A decision had been reached, and there was little Marla could do to convince them otherwise.
Her focus shifted to Carol, who remained steadfastly at her husband's side. “Are you okay with this? Do you think it's wise to split up?”
Carol thought to herself and then nodded. “It's for the best. You're welcome to come with us, but I don't think that's what James wants.”
All eyes went to James as he shifted in place, digging the tip of his boot into the sand. “I appreciate the offer, but it's time to move on.”
Larry stepped forward as if bringing the discussion to a close. “Then it's settled. We wish you the best of luck.” He paused and shook James's hand. “Stay safe.”
Marla stood with her arms out, glancing between the two men in shock. “After all we just went through?”
James stepped closer to her, taking her hand. She paused and looked into his eyes. All he said was, “Come on,” and tapped her arm. He placed his backpack over his shoulders and handed Marla her suitcase, making their decision clear. Marla shook her head, her unhappiness clearly visible, then turned away from him and went to Carol, hugging her goodbye.
“Thanks for everything. I'm sorry if we were a burden.”
“Of course not,” Carol said, patting her back. “We loved having you around.” They backed away from each other, holding hands with tears in their eyes.
“We'll come back with a vehicle,” Marla said in a hopeful tone. “Then you can come with us.”
Carol nodded. “That'd be nice.”
Marla next went to Larry and hugged him as James watched in awkward silence. He was angry at himself for the entire debacle, but he didn't want to show it. He didn't want so much as a smidgen of guilt displayed on his face. “Thank you for rescuing us,” Marla said to Larry as they stepped apart.
“Not a problem,” Larry said. “You two take care.”
James took a deep breath and approached their former hosts. He hugged Carol goodbye and shook Larry's hand. The friction seemed to diminish between them in their parting moments.
“We'll be in Winslow,” James said. “Hopefully not for too long. If you need a place to stay, come to the church. It's across the street from the police station.”
Larry gave him a quick salute. “I'll remember that.”
James and Marla waved goodbye as they left the cabin, bags in hand. It felt unreal to part ways, especially as their former hosts stood in front of their burnt cabin in a clear state of mourning. There was still much to be done and a full day of trying to get somewhere, anywhere but this place, where they felt trapped and vulnerable.
Walking quickly away, they continued down the dirt path as sunlight beamed overhead and they ventured through the wilderness, under the shade of endless pine trees. They had roughly five miles ahead of them to reach town. And their path was a dangerous one. The inmates had a clear advantage in numbers, and James had no doubt that they'd be on the prowl.
The town sign welcomed them to Winslow as they reached the outskirts of their destination. They continued onto the desolate road, split in the middle with a grassy median. The homes on both sides looked just as vacant and hopeless as they had days before. James couldn't believe he was back, not after what happened. And he also knew that by coming there, they were taking a big risk. A couple of hours had passed since their journey began. Halfway down the road, Marla began to veer toward one of the houses. She crossed through the open gate and down the cement walkway leading toward the front door. James followed her with concern, asking where she was going.
“You said these houses have been abandoned,” she said. “We need a place to rest.”
“The church is only a mile or two down the road,” James said, trailing her. “We're almost there.”
She slowed down and stopped in front of the door. The windows were smashed out, the curtains blowing outside like streamers. James passed Marla and placed his hand on the doorknob. “Okay. You want to rest? Let me make sure it’s safe first.” He turned the knob, not surprised to find the door unlocked. The homes along the first stretch of road into town had all been ransacked and were among the unluckiest.
He opened the creaking door and stepped inside the foyer. Urging Marla to stay where she was, he peeked around the nearest wall and into the living room. It was reasonably furnished with a large couch and two sofa chairs. A bookcase against the wall had been pushed over, and books were scattered everywhere. James called out for anyone home but received no response.
“We're just passing through,” he said, just to be on the safe side. “Looking for a place to rest for a moment.” He then turned to Marla and waved her inside. She walked in and shut the door behind her. As they entered the living room, she hurried to the nearest couch and sat, immediately pulling off her left sneaker. Curious, James watched as she turned the shoe upside down and shook a pebble out of it.
“I knew it,” she said. “I've been feeling that for the past mile.”
“We could have stopped,” James said.
“No, no,” she said, lying back on the couch. She then pulled a nearly empty water bottle from her pocket and held it out. “Could you see if their sink works and fill this up for me?”
James gave no objections as he took the bottle and left the room. To his right was a small hallway with two bedrooms and a bathroom. The beds were messy, clothes were strewn on the floor of both rooms, but neither was occupied. He stopped and observed an assortment of family photos on the wall: parents and their two young sons.
Maybe they had made it out in time. There was no way to tell. He went to the kitchen, where the cabinets had been opened and dishes thrown out. Broken glass covered the floor. It was all so senseless. He tried the faucet, but not a drop came out. Frustrated, he opened the refrigerator and was met with the pungent odor of spoiled food. He caught sight of two unopened water bottles on the shelf and quickly grabbed both. His boots crunched against broken glass as he left the kitchen and returned to find Marla still sprawled on the couch, her eyes closed.
“Here's your refill,” he said, handing her a fresh bottle.
She took it with a hint of disappointment. “More room temperature water. Thank you.”
“Sure.” James sat on the sofa chair across from her. He leaned back with a sigh and opened the other water bottle, nearly gulping it down. “How are you holding up?”
Marla wiped dirt from her forehead with a Kleenex and then looked at him. “After the walk?”
“Yeah,” James said.
“Aside from my back, legs, and feet killing me, I'm fine.”
James chuckled and then turned around, looking out the busted window behind them. “Could
be worse.”
They drank from their water bottles in silence. Their options in town were limited to the only safe place James knew of. The uncertainty in the air made him wary of traveling anywhere in the open. He didn't know what lengths the prisoners would go to find them, or if they were being hunted at all.
“Do you think Larry and Carol will be okay?” Marla asked.
“They'll be fine,” James assured her. He then stood up and walked toward the window. The street outside looked calm and peaceful. For a moment, it appeared as just a normal afternoon. James tried to remember what day it was but couldn't. Marla sat up and slipped her shoes back on, ready to leave.
“I'd take a bike at this point,” she said, rising from the couch. She grabbed her bag as James opened the door. Outside, there were no signs of anyone approaching. Marla sighed with a look of sadness on her face. James squeezed her shoulders with a look of understanding.
“I miss Mom and Dad,” Marla said. “I'd give anything for just one phone call.”
“I know, Marla.”
She pulled closer as they hugged. For a moment, he didn't want to let her go. They were incredibly fortunate to have escaped the prison in the first place, and he didn't want to gamble their future.
“We'll get another vehicle,” he told her. “Something that can get us across state lines.”
Suitcase in hand, they walked through the yard of the vacant house. As they reached the sidewalk, he scanned the road ahead through his binoculars. The neighborhood appeared as deserted as it had during his last visit. He wondered where most of the town had gone. Were they safer at their new destination? Perhaps if he had just trusted the government and evacuated the city with the others, they'd be in a better place. But dwelling on what he couldn't change wasn't going to get them anywhere.
They continued down the sidewalk past more homes and soon reached the long stretch of rural road James remembered all too well. They passed the abandoned warehouse with its shattered windows and surrounding fence. Marla stopped just as he had done to look at it. The old brick building appeared as a relic of a bygone era. Tall weeds sprouted from the rocky ground. A chain hung from the entrance door, holding it together. Two long chimney stacks rested on the roof, and beyond the building was a grassy field. It was an unusual sight to see, sitting all alone with no other buildings around it. Perhaps that's what made its presence unique.
“Police station isn't much farther,” James said. “And the church is pretty much across the street from it.”
“Good,” Marla said. “I just want somewhere we can lay down for a bit.” To fall asleep feeling safe would be a gift.
“Me too,” James agreed.
They hadn't slept in what felt like days. If they were going to embark on any lengthy excursion, they'd need to be rested. They resumed their walk and reached an intersection where two cars were entangled in a front-end collision. Neither vehicle had been moved from the road. The glass and wires were still there, scattered across the pavement, as if the accident had just happened. Marla circled the cars, curiously looking inside. James glanced into a field to their left with its rickety barbed-wire fence, pressing his binoculars to his face in near panic.
“There's people...”
Marla froze and ducked behind the wreckage. The group was far in the distance, walking through the field with what looked like hunting rifles. Upon closer inspection, James saw that two of the five people were women. The men didn't look like hardened criminals either. “It's okay,” James said. “They're just townspeople.”
“What are they doing?” Marla said, rising.
“Could be a security detail, or they're on a supply run.”
Marla squinted her eyes, watching them. “Looks like they're going hunting.”
“Could be that too,” James said.
Marla pulled on his arm as she stepped forward. “Let's go talk to them. Maybe they can help.”
But James stayed in place, hesitant to do any such thing. “I'd rather not approach a group of people with guns.”
They crossed the intersection and continued alongside the road with the police station soon in the distance. The two squad cars were still parked near the building. The windows and doors were still barred. The local precinct offered a false sense of security. The basic concepts of law and order were non-existent, but James knew that even without law enforcement, they weren't completely on their own. They needed people. Strength, at this point, was all about numbers.
“Is there no one inside?” Marla asked, marveling at the seemingly unoccupied station. “Why would they leave?”
“It's a small station,” James said. “There were only a handful of officers on staff.”
“And they left?”
James nodded. “Sheriff Davis stayed behind.”
Marla shivered. “This place is so weird. It gives me the creeps.” It was the quiet, the absence of people.
“Hey, it's better than the prison,” James said as he began walking away from the station. He crossed the street with Marla following, relieved to see the First Church of Winslow, looking the same as when he had left it. The same vehicles were still sitting in the parking lot, covered in leaves and debris. The church was closed off and no one looked to be outside. They walked through the parking lot and approached the building, a handsome survivor with its steeple, stained-glass windows and elegant French double-doors. James led the way, slowing down a bit and offering a slight warning as they got closer to the church.
“Things were a little crazy when I left here, but we should be fine. The sheriff is a good man.”
Marla said nothing as they walked up the entrance ramp and stopped at the door. James knocked, hoping for the best as the deadbolt turned. Expecting to see welcoming faces, the door swung open as the sheriff emerged from the darkened lobby, brandishing a long-barrel revolver, aimed at James's face. Marla screamed and jumped aside. James dropped his suitcase and held up his hands, walking backward as the sheriff followed him. His eyes were shielded by thick aviator sunglasses, and he showed no emotion beyond indifference with his robotic movements. James nearly tripped as they reached the end of the ramp. He felt drops of sweat on his forehead as he tried to understand what was going on.
“Sheriff, it's me!” his voice panicky.
“What are you doing here?” Davis asked as he advanced.
Marla stood back and watched. This wasn’t going the way they had planned. The sheriff stopped moving but maintained his steady aim. One pull of the trigger on his .44 Magnum Smith and Wesson, and it would all be over. James had no idea what he had done to receive such an unwelcome reception. He kept his hands up and his eyes wide open, trying not to flinch. For a moment, the sheriff said nothing, but he didn't look happy to see James. Perhaps they had trouble written all over them and the sheriff believed they weren't worth the risk. All James could do was hope for another chance.
9
Sanctuary
James looked down the massive barrel pointed at his face, petrified. Inside the dark hole was a .44 cartridge that could blow half of his face off. He remained still as he searched for the right words. Sheriff Davis seemed like a different person. His hostile demeanor was hard to read. He took little notice of Marla and seemed squarely focused on James.
“Can you please get that gun out of my face,” James said in a cautious tone.
Marla cut in, frightened by the big, aggressive man threatening them. “We'll just leave. Please, sir.”
Davis turned his head in her direction and then looked back at James, lowering the revolver. “I just want to make sure you're on the level.”
James brought his hands down with uncertainty. “Excuse me?”
The sheriff looked around as though the answer was obvious. “Your presence here is unexpected, and I can't take any chances.” He then slipped his revolver inside his shoulder holster as though nothing had happened. “I also wanted to make sure you weren't followed. County inmates have been getting bold as of late.”
/> “I can assure you that we haven't been followed,” James said, though he could never really make that guarantee.
Marla marched down the ramp, shaken. “Let's go, James.”
Davis turned his head toward her with a curious expression. “And who might you be?”
“That's Marla, my wife,” James answered.
Davis spun around to meet her, extending his hand. “Sorry about that, ma'am. I'm Sheriff Davis. Pleasure to meet you.”
Marla slowly shook his hand with apprehension. “Yes, Sheriff. I'm Marla.”
A smile came across the sheriff's face as his demeanor shifted. “I do apologize for that little scare. We all need to be more vigilant these days. At least until things go back to normal.” He paused and glanced at the parking lot. “Where's the car? Did you park it away from the church?”
James hesitated with an answer, nervously fidgeting with his hands. “We've got a lot to catch up on. I was hoping we could hide out here for a bit.”
Davis scratched his chin. “Hide? What do you mean?”
“Can we talk inside?” James asked, looking around. “Don't mean to alarm you, but it's not safe for us out here.”
The sheriff took a step back and shook his head. “What'd you go and do now?”
“Is Bill still here?” James asked.
Davis turned toward the church and sighed. “He is. Well, come on.” He walked toward the church, waving them along. “Bill's very grateful for what you did for him, though he can't remember much.”
James took Marla's hand and followed the sheriff. He could sense her confusion about it all.
Opening the door, Davis stepped inside and beckoned them in. “He's resting right now, but you can talk to him in a bit.”
James and Marla entered the lobby as Davis closed and locked the door behind them. They could see the church pews beyond the glass. There were mattresses and sleeping bags covering the floor. Several people were either sitting or lying down on the cushioned pews. A group of children were playing near the stage. Marla approached the glass, surprised at seeing so many displaced people gathered inside a church, as though it was the end of times. Two rooms on both sides of the lobby had people inside as well, conversing and not paying immediate attention to the new guests.
Hideaway (Book 2): An Emp Thriller Page 9