The Plan

by Shawn Chesser

  Handing the iPhone back to Tara, Riker said, “This new Presidential alert is to blame. Apparently, the prospect of a nationwide curfew is unsettling to the folks of West Santa Fe.”

  “Not just that,” she said, scrolling and reading the text of the message. “Mandatory evacuations were ordered for big cities in Texas and Oklahoma.”

  “I didn’t read that far. The President had my full attention at nationwide curfew. That’s some wishful thinking. People won’t stand for it.”

  “It’s really happening,” she said, throwing her head back. “The fucking zombie apocalypse is really fucking happening.” She pulled up something on her phone. Then she went to the Shelby’s navigation screen and punched in an address.

  “How far?”

  “Thirteen miles.” She zoomed the screen in. “Look for 285 North.”

  Slowing and craning, Riker found the ramp he needed. It curled around south by west then delivered them onto 285, which the navigation computer also called Saint Francis Drive.

  Most of the traffic on the divided four-lane was moving south, toward the downtown core.

  Seven miles of 285 later, and Riker had passed only two northbound vehicles.

  Behind the Shelby, awash in the rays of the rising sun, the city’s earth-tone structures looked warm and welcoming.

  He sensed that was far from the truth. Riker had a bad feeling they were witnessing a city entering the first stages of its death throes.

  Off to the right, the sun was beginning to slide behind a wide bank of low-hanging clouds. It seemed giant-sized as it shimmered and pulsed its way from view.

  Ahead of them, glowing angry shades of red and orange, were low foothills that ranged off north by west to an eventual meeting with the southern end of the Rocky Mountain Range.

  Tara pointed over the dash. “Somewhere out there is Casa de Riker.”

  “We can’t call it that,” Riker said. “Too pretentious.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  Steve-O said, “Let’s wait until we see it.”

  “Always a voice of reason,” Tara said. She tapped the navigation screen. “One mile and you get off at Exit 168 and look for Tesuque Village Road. After that you’ll see a big elevation gain through about seven miles of twisty turns.”

  “What are you basing that on?”

  “I’ve seen pictures of the view from our new place.”

  Slowing to take the exit, he said, “Don’t always believe everything you see on the internet.”

  “That’s what you said about the mansion. Sure changed your tune when we got there. Can we agree that pictures on the internet sometimes don’t do the real thing justice?”

  Seeing the sign for Tesuque Village Road, Riker grumbled something about women always thinking they’re right, and then signaled to get over.

  Tesuque Village Road cut north by east through gently sloping desert dotted with low-scrub and gnarled and wind-bent trees. After three miles of mostly straight stretches connected by a handful of shallow curves, the two-lane had a drastic change in personality.

  Tara had been correct about the twisty turns. She’d also accurately predicted the elevation gain. It was substantial and caused ears to pop.

  What she couldn’t see on the navigation screen was that once Tesuque Village Road became Paseo Encantado Southwest, the two-lane narrowed considerably and was potholed and frost-heaved on the shoulders.

  The Shelby shrugged off the imperfections as it took them past a number of drives bearing addresses of homes not visible from the road.

  Shortly after the road narrowed, more elevation was gained. As Paseo Encantado Southwest climbed, the ponderosa pine and juniper became more plentiful, going from sparse copses to thick groves in less than half a mile.

  During the final half-mile to the end of their route, trees began to crowd the road as it climbed sharply north by west to a wide, treed shelf backstopped by a pair of knife-edged ridges of red rock. The ridges came together above the shelf to form an inverted V.

  Somewhere back there is our new abode, Riker thought.

  Though he and Tara were both listed on the deed, it was the first static dwelling he had ever owned. And he was damn proud. Who cared if both of their names were on the title. It was theirs and they had their mom and dad to thank for being such great parents.

  Blinking away the forming tears, Riker spotted a Dead End sign.

  As the Shelby came even with the sign, the road exited the trees and the navigation system’s robotic-sounding female voice alerted them that they were at their destination. A half-beat later, the road spilled them onto an enormous cul-de-sac fronting a steel gate bearing the same address currently displayed on the navigation screen.

  Slowing the Shelby to a walking speed, Riker said, “We’re here.”

  There was a metallic click and Steve-O was free of his seatbelt. Throwing both arms over the seatbacks, he said, “About time. My butt hurts.”

  Stopping a truck-length short of the gate, adjacent to a panel on a post containing a covered keypad, Riker regarded Tara.

  “71645, right?”

  “Yep.”

  He hesitated.

  She said, “What are you waiting for? Key in the code.”

  He had something he needed to tell her but didn’t know how to frame it.

  So to buy himself more time to think, he said, “Tell me about this mythical place I cannot see.”

  “It’s called Trinity House. The man who designed it worked for the government on the Manhattan Project over at Los Alamos. You’ll be pleased to know that Trinity checks most of your boxes, and all of mine.”

  Though Riker liked the name and history, he said nothing.

  Tara continued, “We’re more than ten miles from any kind of population. The house is a little over six-thousand square feet. You’ve got four bedrooms, six bathrooms, a spa, workout room, two kitchens, a library, and lots of storage. All of that is spread out over one-level that feels like it’s two separate living areas. Imagine two half-circles joined end to end. They curve outward … facing south by east. Left of center, a four-car garage juts south from the joined living area. If you don’t want to use the garage, right of center is the main entry. In the middle of it all is a domed great room surrounded by a beautiful courtyard.”

  “What about me?” asked Steve-O. “Whose side do I stay on?”

  She said, “There’s a fifteen-hundred-square-foot guesthouse beyond the great room. It’ll be all yours.”

  Fingers steepled, a broad smile forming on his face, Steve-O asked, “Is there a pool?”

  She nodded, “And a hot tub. Workout room, too.”

  Riker asked about security.

  “It’s got it all. At least everything on your list. It commands the highest vantage of the half-dozen properties up here. And the entire compound is ringed by twelve-foot-high walls and is not visible from the road unless you know exactly what you’re looking for. And this gate we’re still staring at? It’s made from solid steel and hydraulically operated.”

  Riker said, “Solar and geothermal?”

  Tara nodded. “And I bought the furnishings for a steal.”

  “You nailed it, Sis.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  Riker took a deep breath. He said, “I have something I need to tell you.”

  Thinking, This can’t be good, Tara folded her arms across her chest and shot him a questioning look.

  “I invited Benny.”

  Shaking her head, Tara said, “You did what? That was not part of the plan, Lee.”

  Fearing a fierce backhand might be Tara’s next response, Riker leaned away from her.

  Having somewhat composed herself, she said, “Is he on the way?”

  Riker said, “He’s already here.”

  “And you know this, how? You left your phone at the mansion.”

  “I have his number memorized. So I called him on your phone. When you and Steve-O were inside the Smith’s.”

  “A
nd?”

  “My Amazon orders made it. He brought them all inside.”

  “Amazon orders?”

  “What do you think I was doing on the computer every night at the mansion? Looking at porn?”

  She said nothing.

  “I’ve never had money. Now that I do, I want to spend some. Steve-O told me about Amazon Prime. I signed up and it was off to the races for Mr. New Money.”

  A conspiratorial tone to his voice, Steve-O said, “Did you get my stuff?”

  Riker nodded.

  Tara said, “Of all people, why Benny?”

  “He’s my only friend from back in the day who I still keep in touch with. Plus,” Riker added, shifting in his seat to face her, “Benny loaned me the money to buy my old Ford F-150. Which meant I could use my money to buy all the tools I had to have to get back to working.”

  “So you owe him. I get it. Should have just paid him back. Maybe even stepped up and bought him a brand-new Ford F-150. Anything but bringing him here, Lee.”

  “I’m sure he no longer has a crush on you, Tara.”

  This got Steve-O’s attention. He said, “If he bothers you, Pretty Lady, you send him my way. I’ll set him straight.”

  She said, “That’s sweet. But I can handle my own business, thank you very much.”

  Riker said, “That’s not all. Benny brought along his newest girlfriend.”

  Steve-O nodded approvingly.

  “I always hated his girlfriends more than I hated his constant pestering.”

  “That’s not all,” Riker admitted. “She told a friend.”

  Steve-O was again all ears. He said, “Go on. I’m listening.”

  Eyes bugged, veins in her neck bulging, Tara bellowed, “This place isn’t big enough for two women, let alone three. Not with the world going to shit.”

  Riker said, “And her friend brought a friend.”

  “Male or female?”

  “Male,” said Riker. “The friend’s friend is an off-again, on-again long-term boyfriend. Reason he’s on again is that he just got out of prison. Which wasn’t supposed to be the case. He got early release, or something. So I can’t really be mad at Benny’s girl. However, I am pretty pissed at Benny. Because he didn’t guard the address. Left it out for his girl to see. She copied it and passed it on to her friend. Benny and his girl arrived yesterday. Apparently, the other couple rolled in a few hours ago.”

  After saying nothing for a long ten-count, Tara hissed, “Well, open the gate and let’s see who good ol’ Benny has stuck us with.”

  Chapter 64

  Under Steve-O’s watchful eye, Riker punched in the code.

  There was a soft click of locks disengaging, then the gate rolled away to the right under power.

  “That’s real quiet,” Riker said. “Motor must be underground.”

  After Riker drove the Shelby onto the property, the gate automatically closed behind them.

  The first they saw of Trinity House was the curved drive. Red and gray pavers laid down in a herringbone pattern swept away from them, left to right, past the front entry, ending in front of a one-level garage sporting four oversized doors.

  At first glance, Riker figured the garage could hold four to six cars.

  Confirmation came when Tara said, “Realtor lady insisted we could fit six vehicles and some extra toys in there.”

  Steve-O said, “Wave Runners are toys.”

  “Finding a lake may be a problem,” said Riker. “But we’ll look into it. I am a man of my word.”

  He stopped the Shelby just inside the gate on the drive and shut her down.

  To the right of the overhead garage doors, where the garage met the tan-stucco house, was a smaller entry door inset with a rectangular window.

  The main front entry was off to their right. It was maybe fifteen feet wide and twenty tall, with a turret of sorts rising from it. The doorway was arched at the top, as were the turret’s multiple alcoves.

  The east wing curved gently away from the entry. Based on Tara’s description of the place, Riker presumed the west wing arced away from the garage in the same manner.

  Low-to-the-ground light fixtures lined the brick path snaking from the drive to the main entry. It was a couple of yards wide, maybe thirty feet long, and split the front yard into two like-sized parcels. Blue spruce, small juniper, and some kind of high-altitude pines were scattered about the two parcels. The trees cut up the home’s south-facing elevation, yet still let through an abundance of natural light.

  Though Riker could only see a portion of the front door, it looked to be an oversized oak item reinforced with steel bands. And though he didn’t know much about design, it was clear to him the architect of Trinity House drew inspiration from Pueblo dwellings.

  Tara said, “Where’s Benny?”

  “It’s early,” Riker said. “Remember? No matter what Mom was cooking, he was always last up after a sleepover.”

  Tara nodded. “I remember.”

  Riker padded off to the garage. Cupped his hands by his face and peered through the window.

  Tara said, “What do you see?”

  Though Riker was staring at two things inside the garage, he said nothing.

  In the center of the nearest stall, almost touching the ceiling, were dozens of cardboard boxes. They ranged in size from smaller than a shoebox to large enough to contain a washer or dryer. Some of the biggest boxes were reinforced with what looked to be white ash one-by-fours and wrapped with plastic film for all-around stability.

  Most of the boxes showed signs of damage likely incurred during transit. He saw crushed corners, gouges in cardboard, and shipping peanuts spilling from some previously opened packages.

  The one constant among the dozens of boxes was the black shipping tape used to secure them, and a curved blue logo Riker interpreted to be a smile.

  In the middle distance, partially obscured by Mt. Amazon, was an American muscle car. It was long and sat low to the ground on wide tires.

  Causing Riker’s momentary loss of words was the car’s color. It was a particular shade of green that seemed to glow, even in the garage’s gloomy environs.

  He tried the knob.

  Locked.

  Having seen enough to kick-start the dull throb behind his eyes, Riker backed away from the door, only turning to face Tara and Steve-O after he had drawn the Sig and disengaged its safety.

  Steve-O asked, “Are there Sickos in there?”

  Wearing a blank expression, Riker shook his head.

  Face a mask of concern, Tara said, “What’s in there that’s got you spooked?”

  A familiar voice carried across the drive. “Sorry, Lee. Curiosity got this cat. I only opened a couple of your packages.”

  Riker looked past Tara and Steve-O. Saw his lifelong friend emerging from the end of the brick walkway. He wore broken-in Levi jeans and nothing else. Though also pushing forty, the man was solidly built, with a visible six-pack and well-muscled arms.

  Bare feet slapping the pavers, the man yawned and stretched his arms out at his sides.

  Both figuratively and literally, the mere sight of his friend was disarming to Riker. He holstered the Sig and, momentarily relegating the Dodge Challenger in the garage to the back recesses of his mind, mirrored Benny’s greeting.

  The two men embraced and slapped backs.

  Benny was grinning wide when they separated.

  Riker said, “Jesus, Benny, what’s with the long hair and beard?”

  Unable to resist the opening, Tara said, “You going to walk on water with those big ass feet?”

  “I may look the part,” said Benny. “But I’m nowhere near as pious as the Son of God. Plus, my eyes are brown.”

  Tara couldn’t help but laugh. The passage of time had a way of taking the edge off of old resentments.

  She said, “Where’s everyone else?”

  Riker raised a hand, effectively warding off the question.

  He said, “The car in the garage, is it yo
urs?”

  Benny shook his head.

  “Nope. My van is parked on the other side of the garage. The Dodge belongs to Crystal and her boyfriend, Raul.”

  “It’s got Oklahoma dealer plates. Did one of them just buy it?”

  “He said they traded in Crystal’s Nissan. That barely covered the down, so they financed the rest at high interest.”

  Steve-O set off for the garage to see what a muscle car looked like.

  Seeing Steve-O walk away, Riker pulled Benny in close. He quickly told him about the murderous rampage at Clines Corners and then touched over what Clay had said about the pursuit through town and its grisly results.

  Eyes going wide, Benny said, “You think?”

  “That car in the garage matches the description Clay gave.”

  Tara waited until Steve-O was out of earshot. Seeing him mimicking Riker’s pose at the door—hands cupped on cheeks, face pressing the glass—she said, “How were they acting when they rolled in? Nervous at all?”

  “We were asleep when Crystal called to say they were here. I let them in the gate, opened the garage, then showed them the guesthouse. I didn’t feel the need to get pissed at Crystal for bringing Raul here. I certainly didn’t feel right about turning them away in the middle of the night. Figured one look at you, those two would mosey off to find alternate accommodations.”

  Riker said, “So they’re still asleep?”

  “Crystal told Rose that her and Raul got behind the retreating National Guard soldiers early yesterday and then drove all day and night to get here. Rose made them sandwiches. Not my circus, not my monkeys. So I went back to bed.”

  Riker said, “You don’t find it strange that the dealership just happened to be open to working a deal considering the Romero thing and everything else going on?”

  Benny said, “Seems fishy to me now that you mention it.”

  Rose called out to Benny from the end of the brick path, then padded wordlessly to the center of the drive. If Benny was Shaggy in the Scooby Doo cartoons, Rose was his Velma. She stood a couple of inches over five foot. She wasn’t slim, nor was she heavyset. She fell somewhere in between.