Deluge | Book 3 | Survivors

by Partner, Kevin

  “You can’t go biting the head off everyone who doesn’t do what you want exactly when you want them to, Bobby!”

  “Are you serious? This is Maria we’re talking about!”

  She tipped her head to one side endearingly. “Maria?”

  “Yes! What’s wrong with you?”

  “The one registered as Ellen Fitzgerald?”

  “YES!”

  “Currently residing in tent five, block ten, west six? What’s wrong, Bobby? Lost for words?”

  He grabbed her by the arms and closed his open mouth. “How did you?”

  “I looked at the screen while I was apologizing to him. Being able to see something without obviously looking at it was a survival skill I learned…well…way back.”

  He hugged her close, then kissed her and followed her as she led the way out of the administrative block. Then, as he emerged into the sun for the first time, he saw the tent city.

  “Jeez,” he gasped. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  As he took a swig from his flask to moisten his mouth, he gazed at the scene in front of him. Ragtown, it seemed, had been recreated on the banks of Lake Mead. A little under a century ago, desperate men had huddled beneath blankets propped on sticks and shovels in the hopes of finding work. Now, in a world shattered by primal rather than economic forces, a new population took up residence.

  The first thing he noticed was the movement. He’d seen crowds at Santa Clarita, but only in the marketplace and at the Haystack, and even then, people had moved with care under the watchful eyes of the camp guards. Ragtown had a life about it that he’d never experienced before—or at least not since that Bob Dylan concert Ellie had dragged him to. He didn’t remember the name of the festival he’d appeared at or where it was, but it had had the same teeming energy about it.

  A gun-barrel straight roadway headed away from him at a perfect right angle to the administration buildings—he now guessed that these must have had something to do with managing the lake or the leisure activities that, in the old world, had taken place here.

  Tents lined either side of the roadway. Straight out of a FEMA cache, they were all of a square, medieval shape with a single high pole holding up the roof. The farther tents disappeared behind a fog of dust kicked up by the people bustling to and fro, in and out of the tents carrying bags and containers, as, between them, children ran. It took him a moment to recognize what he was hearing above the hubbub: the unfamiliar sound of children laughing. He hadn’t missed it until this moment, and it was then he realized it was this that gave the scene its life. Hope swelled in his heart. “Let’s go find her.”

  Chapter 18

  Hank

  “I don’t see no one behind us,” Hank said as he settled back in place beside Max. “I reckon we’re clear.”

  Ellie scanned left and right as they drifted almost silently along the highway heading west. While still technically within the city limits, the tower blocks of downtown were now far behind them. Out here, the road was lined by houses and light industrial units, with the distance between them increasing as the miles went by.

  And, for the first time since the deluge, everything outside seemed entirely normal. It was midafternoon on a cloudy day in May and, as they drove along, she saw people in cars and on foot apparently going about their business and entirely ignoring the Prius.

  “We’re going to have to either find some gas or a charging point pretty soon.”

  Patrick had been fretting about this almost since they’d escaped from the parking lot. Crossley’s car had a half-charged battery and a quarter tank of gas, not nearly enough to get them entirely clear of the city.

  “What’s this on the right?” Ellie gestured across to where a blue painted crane appeared above a steel fence.

  “Bison Equipment Rental and Sales,” Patrick read, slowing down to look at the sign. “I guess they’ll have petrol.”

  “And maybe even 110 volts. We could leave here charged up and with a full tank.”

  “Gotta be worth a try,” Hank said. “Man, I wish I still had my shotgun.”

  Ellie nodded. Though no fan of settling arguments with weapons, she’d have been happier if she had that insurance in case things went south. But Masterson had taken their guns and even Patrick’s knife, and they were likely still in a locker in the converted college they’d spent the last night in.

  But there had been no question of going back for them. Crossley might have agreed, but he had no direct authority over the police and Ellie doubted he’d want to explain himself, especially to officers of the law.

  Patrick turned off the road and squeezed the Prius between a crane and a tractor, both painted bright red with a massive logo showing a charging bison in yellow. “I can’t see anyone,” he said, “but it doesn’t look locked up either.”

  “Maybe the manager got caught in the flood,” Hank suggested.

  “Maybe,” Patrick acknowledged, though doubt was obvious in his voice.

  He parked the car outside the huge, shuttered entrance. “I’ll try the office. See if they’ve got any power, at least.”

  He climbed out with Ellie alongside him and tried the door. To his surprise it opened and, walking inside, he found a well-tended reception area within, but no sign of any human being. The only light came through the window and, when he flicked the switch, nothing happened.

  “Hello?” he called out. “Anyone here?” When there was no answer, he began moving along the countertop into the total darkness beyond.

  “Where the hell are you going?” Ellie hissed.

  “Checking if there’s anyone out the back.”

  “They’d have to be deaf not to have heard you. Come on, let’s go see if they’ve got any gas.”

  Patrick turned and grabbed her hand. “Are you afraid of the dark, my dear?”

  “Don’t be an ass. Come on, let’s get on with fueling up so we can get out of here.”

  Smiling, Patrick allowed himself to be dragged back toward the door. “Hold on—there’s a door.”

  It opened onto complete darkness, but from the echoes of their tentative footsteps, it was obvious they were inside a big open space.

  Ellie tried to navigate by looking out the corners of her eyes and her fingers ran down the brick wall until it ended and metal began. She found a switch box and snapped down the biggest one, holding her breath. If there was no power, then nothing would happen, but, after a moment’s hesitation and the grinding of a hidden motor, a spear of light spread across the floor as the entrance rolled up.

  She bent down to look outside. The car was there, but there was no sign of Hank and Max until the old man’s head popped up from behind the hood. “It’s you! Thank God!”

  Patrick stooped to follow her out and they stood with their backs to the car to watch the hangar fill with light, the door stopping around a third of the way up.

  “There’s got to be gas in there somewhere, surely?” Patrick said as his eyes scanned the motley assortment of machinery—both with wheels and without. “I expect most of this is diesel powered, but I can see garden equipment and that uses petrol generally.”

  They wandered inside, and split into two groups to search. “I’m pretty sure the Prius needs to have a charged battery to work, even on gas,” Patrick said. “We could plug it into any outlet here, but it’ll take a few hours. But if we can find some gas to go with it, we’ll probably have enough range to get us all the way to LA.”

  “Seriously? I wanted to get out of Dodge before stopping, so maybe we could get the gas from here, and charge the battery later.”

  Patrick was just turning to her when, with a rattling of chains, the door began to drop again. “What the hell?” He turned and began moving back toward the open door.”

  “Come out with your hands up,” called a deep voice with a German accent. “I will not harm you unless you resist. Do not attempt to escape.”

  Ellie cursed, then hissed to Patrick. “Come on! Let’s find a way out th
e back.”

  Over the sound of the door closing, she could hear what she imagined was Hank’s footsteps on the concrete floor. He was moving away from the door, not listening to the German and no doubt with Max under his wing.

  “Very well,” Helmut Jager called, with mock disappointment.

  Moments later, Ellie was engulfed in darkness and she felt Patrick’s hand wrap around hers. “Come on!” he whispered. “There must be a way out the back.”

  Her chest tightened so she could barely breathe, and she followed Patrick through the black. She could feel that he was keeping as low as possible, so she stooped to follow him, brushing against the smooth metal side of one large vehicle and tripping on the caterpillar tracks of another.

  “Ow!” she cried before she could stop herself.

  Patrick froze, then edged his way back to her, pulling her close as they strained to hear anything in the blackness. Over to their left, she could make out where light leaked in through the bottom of the door, truncated by the vehicles in between like Morse code. S.O.S.

  She heard feet moving ten or twenty yards away, then a cry. Hank! A groan of effort, then the sound of metal on metal echoing before fading away. “Ah!” a man’s voice. In pain.

  “Get off him!” Max!

  Patrick moved.

  “No!” she hissed. Then she got a hold of herself and got up, following him as he headed toward the commotion.

  She was almost crawling now as they followed the sounds of struggle. Someone was rolling and kicking to their right. But close now, really close.

  Her heart thumping against her ribs, panting, she made her way through the darkness. Patrick’s fingers opened and suddenly she was adrift in a dark ocean, lost at sea. She wanted to cry out, but before she could, Patrick gave a yell and she heard him fall.

  Then a bright light. Blinding her.

  Beyond it, a big shape in black and another, smaller shape, dangling from his arms.

  “You will stop now, please,” the voice said. So very reasonable. Like a teacher breaking up a fight in a kindergarten playground. “I do not wish to hurt the boy, but I shall unless you cooperate fully.”

  He stood there, the pistol in his hand swinging between Ellie and Patrick, who lay sprawled on the floor near her feet, rubbing his head.

  “Careful. Move slowly,” the German said, as Patrick struggled to his feet.

  “Hank!” Max cried out, struggling against his captor’s grip. Suddenly, he was hurled in their direction, so the three of them stood together as the gun covered them.

  The German edged backwards, his eyes flitting from them to a position out of sight on the ground.

  With horror, Ellie realized that what she’d initially taken to be an oil stain on the floor was actually moving and glistening in the reflected light of the German’s flashlight. “Hank!”

  “You!” he said, pointing at her. “See to him.”

  Ellie scampered over to where he lay. His head was propped against a filthy tractor tire. Both hands pressed against his abdomen, he felt deathly cold to the touch.

  “Dirty Kraut stabbed me,” he whispered.

  “Hank!” Max called from out of sight.

  She sensed him tensing at the sound of the boy’s voice. “Shine some light down here, for God’s sake!” she called out.

  She got no response other than the sound of heavy boots on the floor moving farther away.

  “Are you badly hurt?” she said, leaning over Hank. She knew the answer, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Yeah. Came out of nowhere. I…swung at him. Found a wrench. Missed. He got me. I…can see a light.”

  Ellie looked over her shoulder to see the front door winding up and light flooding back in. She glanced back at Hank and gasped. His shirt and jacket were soaked in blood which spread in a wide pool across the concrete floor.

  He didn’t have the strength to move his head, so he swiveled his eyes downward and, seeing the spreading slick, he sighed and fell backwards, all resistance leaving him. “Oh, darn it. Look, Ellie…will you promise me something?” He lifted his hand and Ellie took it, grimacing as their palms stuck together, one warm, one cold.

  “Sure,” she said.

  “Look…after Max. He’s a…good boy, but he needs…someone. Promise…”

  She looked into his eyes as he struggled to focus on her. His face—so rugged and life-worn, she’d never given it a second look before now—was as pale as death. And then, as she formed her reply, the light went out.

  But she said it anyway. “I promise, Hank.”

  “What is happening?”

  Ellie looked up and across to where the German stood silhouetted in the entrance, the others gathered to one side. “He’s dead, you b—”

  “Hank! No!”

  “Stop, or I shoot!”

  She could see Max’s slight form running towards her, Jager’s gun moving to follow. Patrick’s cry. “No!” He threw himself at the German as a shot rang out, the flash illuminating the tomb-like space for an instant.

  Her heart froze as she stood and looked toward where Patrick had been, but then Max bolted out of the darkness, pushing past her and slipping in Hank’s blood to go sprawling across the floor.

  “You will come here now or I will be forced to kill your friend.”

  Just for a moment, she’d hoped that Patrick might have been able to overwhelm their attacker, but of course not. He might have made a living pretending to be a tough guy in movies, but he was no match for the real thing. But was he already dead? And if she went to him, would she and Max meet the same fate?

  She weighed the options in her head. She could try to sneak out the back with Max, but she didn’t think she’d be able to reason with him. The poor kid was sobbing over the blood-soaked body of his friend.

  Then her mind was made up for her when she heard the thunk of a boot connecting with a body and an involuntary groan that was unmistakably Patrick’s.

  “Come on, Max. There’s nothing we can do for him now. I’m so sorry.” She pulled at his arms, but he merely shrugged her off.

  “We’ve got to go! He’ll kill Patrick—do you understand that?”

  The boy’s shoulders were still heaving. He didn’t care. Nothing existed for him outside of his own grief and desperation.

  “I give you ten seconds. Ten…”

  “Max! Get up, godammit!”

  “Nine…eight…”

  She heaved at Max, but he simply rolled up in a ball, making it impossible to move him, let alone get him to stand. Her hands came away wet with blood and tears.

  “Seven…six…five…”

  She let him go and stood up, arms in the air. “I’m coming out! I’m coming out!”

  She stumbled toward where the German stood.

  “Where is the boy?”

  “I can’t get him to move. I need help!”

  “This is some kind of trick, no? Bring him now or this man dies.”

  “I can’t! You killed his friend!”

  Something in her voice seemed to finally persuade Jager that she was genuine.

  “You,” he said, directing his voice to the ground. “Help her.”

  With a series of groans, Patrick got unsteadily to his feet and walked toward where she was, stalked by the German.

  “Oh my God!” she gasped. Patrick’s left eye was swollen and almost entirely closed, and a sticky stream of blood ran down from his nose, over his mouth and into his straggly beard.

  He shook his head as if to show that he didn’t want to talk about it, then pushed past her to where Max lay. “Come on, son,” he said, wrapping his arms around the boy and lifting him bodily to his feet.

  “Help me,” he added, turning to Ellie.

  The two of them managed to drag the sobbing but unresisting form of Max toward where their captor stood, his gun following them every step of the way.

  “Very well,” he said.

  “What the hell do you want with us?” Ellie said as th
ey passed out into the daylight.

  The man ignored her question. “My name is Helmut Jager. You will follow my instructions to the letter or suffer the consequences. What is the status of your car?”

  Patrick looked up at him, surprise obvious on his damaged face. “What do you mean?”

  “What range does it have?”

  “With gas, maybe a couple of hundred miles. With a battery recharge, a thousand.”

  The German considered this for a few seconds. “And here there is charging?”

  “Yes. Only a standard supply, so it’ll take a few hours.”

  “Then we stay here. Tomorrow we move.”

  Patrick sighed. “You killed our friend,” he said, as if he felt as though the words needed to be said, even though he was stating what they all knew to be true.

  “I am sorry,” Jager said, to Ellie’s astonishment. “I did not intend to injure any of you, but he jumped out at me.”

  She recovered quickly, however. “Are you serious? Our friend’s dead because of you!”

  Jager turned his baleful gaze on her. “Do not confuse my regret at your friend’s death with weakness. I will not hesitate to deal forcefully with any and all resistance. Now, you will tend to the boy, and you,” he said to Patrick, “will refuel the car.”

  “And what about Hank’s body? Or do you intend to leave it there to rot?”

  Jager shrugged. “I care not. Once the car is attended to, you may bury him while we wait. But one of you remains with me at all times. My orders are not to bring you all in.”

  “Who gave these orders?” Ellie demanded.

  “I am an agent of SaPIEnT. You are to come with me to Denver to answer questions. In the meantime, you will tell me where Edwin Baxter is.”

  “Goodbye, Hank,” Patrick said as he shoveled the first spade-full of dirt over the body.

  He and Ellie had dug the grave, watched by Jager as Max lay curled up in the fetal position at his feet. They’d found a patch of waste ground behind the warehouse and tools had been easy to come by, but it was still impossible to dig down farther than four feet or so, and Jager had refused to allow them to start up one of the excavators, presumably because it might alert passersby.