by Bowman, Dave
Joanne's body jumped and twitched. The rifle clattered to the floor.
Naomi stared at her in disbelief. She didn't notice as the final guard stomped across the room and snatched up the rifle.
She only stared at her friend. Joanne was still alive, but only barely. She stared upward. Naomi moved to the older woman’s side.
"Please hold on," Naomi said. "Don't leave me!"
Joanne's lips were moving. Naomi brought her ear close to her mouth so she could hear her faint whisper.
"You have to run," Joanne whispered. "Get free."
Naomi shook her head. Her mind raced. She had to do something.
"No, Joanne. Don't talk like that, okay? You're going to make it."
She began to apply pressure to one of the holes in Joanne's body. The blood spurted out over her hands. She moved frantically, unsure of what to do to save her friend.
Finally, she looked at Joanne's face. Her eyes were unblinking and glassy.
She was gone.
Naomi felt herself go numb. The sights and sounds of the chaos both inside and outside of that kitchen fell away. There was commotion erupting all around her, but she paid it no attention.
She only stared at Joanne's face, the face of the woman who had meant so much to her, who had saved her life.
Naomi had found a stand-in for her own mother in Joanne, and Naomi had been a reminder to Joanne of the daughter she had lost. This woman's kindness had been the only thing that kept Naomi fighting to stay alive, the only reason she had to stay alive.
Now all that was lost.
She became aware of a voice shouting at her. There was someone standing nearby, demanding Naomi do something. Naomi could hear the brutality in the voice, the willingness to end Naomi's life without a second thought.
But Naomi felt no concern. Why should she?
She felt herself leave her own body and begin to watch the scene from above. She saw herself huddled over Joanne's lifeless form, and the guard screaming at her.
She hoped it would all be over soon.
28
Charlotte watched as Annie tore out of the tiny little town.
"Annie, are you okay?" Charlotte asked nervously.
Annie didn't answer. She gripped the steering wheel tightly and leaned forward in her seat.
She felt her chest tighten and constrict, forcing her to take shallow breaths.
Why was Loretta empty? What if there had been some kind of biological weapon used on the area? Maybe everyone had died in their houses!
Or maybe that was unrealistic. Maybe something even worse had happened. What if there was someone already at the old Hawthorne house?
Annie recalled the squatters who had moved in to her own house in Austin, destroying her things and living there as if they owned the place.
Perhaps people had already moved into the ranch house. It had happened at the house with the horse – a drug addict had murdered the inhabitants and moved in!
If Annie and Charlotte drove up to the ranch house, they were liable to get ambushed.
Then the darkest thought of all crossed Annie's mind.
Suppose Jack had found a way to the ranch house and arrived earlier, only to be murdered in his sleep by thieves scavenging for anything of value?
Annie's throat went dry and her jaw ached with tension. Could it really be possible? Could Jack already be dead?
"Annie!" Charlotte said, breaking her thoughts momentarily. "I'm worried about you! Talk to me, please."
"I'm okay," Annie said. "Just a little nervous about the house. I've got a bad feeling about it."
Charlotte watched as Annie swerved around an abandoned car in the middle of the road.
"Well, could you slow down?" Charlotte asked, bracing herself in her seat. "You're not a NASCAR driver."
"Sorry," Annie said as she eased up on the gas pedal a bit. "I just want to get there already."
"I do too, but I want to get there in one piece." Charlotte glanced at Annie's face, which was rapidly turning bright red. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
"I'm worried about someone being in the house," Annie blurted out. "Someone who doesn't belong where."
Charlotte nodded. "I can understand that, especially after your run-in with that drug addict back there. Do you want to discuss strategy?"
Annie shook her head. "No strategy."
"Well, I think you can at least take a few deep breaths. You look like you're about to hyperventilate."
Annie tried to draw a slow breath to fill her lungs, but it ended up being more of a gasp. She clenched the steering wheel harder. The scenery was flying past, all blending together in one indistinguishable blur. The visual imagery speeding by reminded her of the confusion of the past few days.
Where would she and Charlotte go if the Hawthorne house was filled with squatters? She had already lost her Austin house – not that she wanted to return to the city now, with its gun battles, fires, and looting. Not to mention all the people who would try to steal the Porsche.
But still, where was home now? Even if the ranch house were empty, even if it was relatively safe, how would they survive? Annie didn't know how to grow all her own food. Winter was around the corner, which meant the growing season would be coming to an end soon. What would they eat and drink?
There were so many unanswered questions. So many ways it all could go wrong. She and Charlotte would be two women alone in an isolated property. They would be so easy to rob, attack, or kill.
She had lost control of her life in ways she had never imagined. She didn't know if her husband was alive or dead. She didn't know about her family. Maybe she would never see any of them again. Even with the Porsche, how would she find Jack? And how could she ever drive all the way out to Tennessee or Virginia to find her family? Everything was so dangerous now. She would never make it out east. It had been so hard just covering the two hundred miles between Austin and Loretta. She would be killed before she could get halfway across Texas.
And it wasn't just her life she had lost control of – she had lost sight of the entire world. She didn't know what to think anymore. There was nothing left to trust in. It was almost like she could no longer trust reality itself.
She was feeling dizzy. She was losing sense of which way was up. She just knew that it was becoming more and more difficult to breathe, and everything was coming at her faster.
"Annie! You're going too fast again!" Charlotte shouted, alarmed at Annie's speed.
But Annie didn't hear her.
She just kept driving. She had to get there. She had to find out for herself if the house was empty.
"Annie, stop!" Charlotte pleaded. "Let me drive. You're freaking me out."
"I have to see the house," Annie muttered. "We're almost there. Just one more mile."
Charlotte groaned and covered her eyes with her hands, not wanting to see the reckless way Annie was driving.
Annie weighed her options. When they got there, should she pull into the long driveway, or park on the highway and walk in? If she drove close to the house, they might be trapped if there were squatters inside. And a confrontation would likely be deadly.
If she parked on the highway, she might have to try to make her way to the house stealthily, without being seen. But then she ran the risk of having the Porsche stolen while she was away from it.
"Look out!" Charlotte screamed.
An abandoned SUV in the middle of the road came into view as they scaled the final hill.
Without thinking, Annie slammed on the brakes and pulled the steering wheel hard to the left. The Porsche swerved and the tires squealed, and Annie tried hard to maintain control.
Objects flew past in her peripheral vision as Charlotte screamed beside her.
29
Naomi was startled by someone's hands grabbing her shoulders and shaking her.
She blinked, coming out of her dissociative state. She looked at the prisoner's face in front of her, just inches from her own. The woman
's mouth was open. She was yelling something at Naomi.
Finally, the sound of her voice reached Naomi's ears. It was still fuzzy, as if moving through a dream, but Naomi could hear her at last.
"Go! Run, Naomi! Run!"
The prisoner let go of Naomi's shoulders and ran out the kitchen door. For a moment, Naomi looked around. The guard who had been screaming at Naomi before was lying dead at her feet. Someone had shot her.
A few other bodies lay dead in the kitchen. Prisoners and guards. Naomi did a quick count of the guards. Four of them lay on the floor. Most of the prisoners had already escaped.
Naomi was all alone in the room.
Suddenly, she was filled with an urgent fear. At any moment, more guards could enter the room and drag Naomi off someplace, handcuffed and unable to fight. If Naomi didn't move now, she would be trapped again.
She pushed open the swinging kitchen doors and looked in the hallway.
Several female prisoners were running out of rooms and down the stairs. Everyone was headed to the front door. Upstairs, guns were being fired. There were still guards in the motel. Naomi ran into the hallway, following the women running toward the front door.
As she got closer to the exit, she could hear the sound of several rifles being fired outside the building. She saw women being pelted with bullets as they ran outside the motel.
What should she do?
She turned and looked back down the hall. Behind her, a guard was just kicking open a door and emerging. The woman was enraged and screaming at the prisoners. She raised her rifle.
Naomi felt a wave of panic surge through her. She had two choices, and they both involved running toward an armed, and furious, guard.
30
Jack and Brent moved down the stairs of the office building quietly. They didn't want to alert anyone who might be hiding in wait of their presence.
They emerged from the building cautiously. Jack wanted to move faster, but he fought the urge within himself to break into a run across the street. There was still violence breaking out around the hotel. They would have to move carefully through the area.
Across the street, a few prisoners charged across the parking lot toward a female guard. The guard opened fire on two of them, killing the women. But the remaining two women hit the guard with shovels. A third prisoner shot the guard.
Another small group of prisoners streamed out of the hotel and headed toward the south, in the direction of the vehicles.
Jack kept his weapons ready as he made his way down the sidewalk. He glanced over at the bodies surrounding the hotel. Many prisoners had been shot, but the body count of the guards was larger.
They skirted around the hotel until they reached the road that ran adjacent to the hotel. Turning to the right, Jack headed south.
"We've got to get one of the cars before it's too late," he said over his shoulder to Brent as the two men picked up speed on the quieter street.
"What about Naomi?" Brent asked. "We're just going to leave her behind?"
"Of course not," Jack said. "We're going to look for her. But if we don't get a vehicle now, they'll be all gone."
The two men broke into a sprint once they were past the hotel area. Jack was still on alert. The danger of being attacked by a stray guard was still high, and he was on the lookout for any anomalies in the shadowy street.
Behind them, more and more escaped prisoners headed south. Headlights came over the hill. They dodged a vehicle speeding down the road. It was a vintage pickup truck. Jack's chest tightened with worry. Hopefully, there would still be some vehicles left by the time they got there.
Once they cleared the hill, they saw a small covered parking garage where the vehicles had been kept. Two more vehicles were being driven off the lot.
Jack pushed himself to run faster, leaving Brent struggling to keep up. He passed a trio of escaped prisoners who were also headed to the cars.
Jack could only hope that the keys would be in the vehicles.
Once they got to the garage, Jack was relieved to see three vehicles parked there. He had only moments to find a vehicle and drive off before more prisoners arrived.
The Pathfinder was gone, but a couple of old 1970s sedans and a late 1980s Chevy Bronco remained. Jack sprinted across the parking lot toward the Bronco.
The vehicle was unlocked, but the keys were nowhere to be found. Gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw, he searched through the glove box, through the back seats, under the floor mats, and behind the visors.
He spun around, looking through the space. He could hear the voices of the escaped prisoners approaching.
Jack couldn't lose this chance to get a running vehicle.
As he sprinted toward the first old car, a run-down Pinto, a small lockbox mounted on the wall nearby in the corner caught his eye. Throwing open the hinged door to the box, he felt his heart burst with relief.
Three sets of keys hung from hooks.
He grabbed the Bronco keys and returned to the Chevy just as the prisoners entered the garage.
Jack turned the keys and the Bronco purred.
He backed the vehicle out of the spot and drove past the prisoners who were descending upon the remaining two cars. Brent ran inside the garage. Jack came to a quick stop, just long enough for Brent to climb in.
Jack turned east down a side street as Brent slammed the door shut and glanced at him.
"Nice work, Jack," Brent said. "It's even better than the Pathfinder."
"Save it for later," Jack said. "For now, be on the lookout for any guards. Be prepared to return fire."
Brent swallowed nervously, then readied his rifle, pointing the barrel skyward out the window. Keeping low, he positioned himself to have a good view of the area outside.
"If you see any groups of women, let me know that too," Jack instructed. "We've got to find Naomi."
Jack turned left and drove north on the next large street.
"There's a big group of people a couple blocks down on the right," Brent said quickly. "Can't tell if they’re friends or foes yet."
Brent's uncertainty was answered quickly as two guards began shooting at the Bronco.
Jack ducked and swerved the vehicle to the left. He aimed his Glock out the window and began shooting in their direction. He knew he didn't have a good vantage point to have any kind of accuracy, but at least it would hold them back a little.
In the passenger seat, Brent opened fire on the group of male guards. As they got closer, the guards stopped shooting as they tried to avoid Brent's return fire. Jack made a quick right on the next street, turning away from the men. The guards made a half-hearted attempt to shoot after the Bronco as it cleared the intersection, but Jack and Brent quickly were out of range.
Brent exhaled roughly. With shaking hands, he reloaded the rifle, then returned to his vigil as they drove through the neighborhood.
"Turn to the left at the next block," Brent said quickly. "I see a bunch of women down there. They're all running out of some building."
Jack followed Brent's instructions and charged down the next street. Sure enough, a group of escaped prisoners were flooding out of a small motel. The women ran frantically out the front door, screaming in terror as guns were being fired from within the building.
Across the street, guards hiding out of sight opened fire on the women. Some of the women were hit, but many more kept running. A few escaped prisoners were armed, and they returned fire on the guards across the street.
The ones who managed to escape fled into the night, disappearing behind buildings or in the shadows of the dark streets.
The scene was alarming. Jack debated what to do. He couldn't drive through the street where the guards were firing – it was too much of a risk. But what if Naomi was in that group?
"I see her!" Brent shouted. "She just ran out of the building!"
Jack saw Naomi slip out of the door and run off to the right, away from the approach of the Bronco. Across the street, the guards kept sho
oting.
Jack could only do one thing.
He stepped on the gas as he aimed his Glock out the window with his left hand. He began firing toward the guards as he drove. Brent followed his lead and and started to shoot toward the stand of trees where the guards were hiding.
The guards turned their attention to the Bronco headed their way. Jack kept low.
He glanced over toward the motel and watched as Naomi bolted away from the motel, disappearing behind the building.
Jack narrowly avoided being shot as they got closer. A couple of the female prisoners across the street took out a few of the guards, then ran off and escaped into the night.
"Hold on," Jack said to Brent. Jack floored the gas as they passed the cluster of guards. The Bronco was hit a couple of times.
But Jack and Brent were unharmed.
Jack took the next turn quickly and drove up the side street. They were out of range of the guards behind them, but they were far from safe. The street was chaotic, with prisoners and guards running in every direction. A few scattered guards were running away, scattering from the motel.
It seemed like the tide had finally turned. Now, the guards were running for their lives.
Jack slowed as he drove through the dark road. He saw several escaped prisoners running frantically, both men and women. But he didn't see Naomi.
As they crossed the next intersection, he found himself looking at the dead bodies littering the street. The more ground they covered without finding Naomi, the more he worried he might recognize one of those lifeless bodies.
31
Annie felt the brakes lock. She let off the pedal, and the car lurched forward. She corrected the vehicle just in time, straightening it out before it went sailing off the road.
The Porsche slid down the highway another hundred feet before Annie brought it to a complete stop.
She looked over at Charlotte.
"Are you okay?" Annie asked breathlessly.