Surviving The End (Book 3): New World

by Hamilton, Grace

  “What’s the backup plan?” he said. “If things go south, what then?”

  Shane looked at Beth.

  “Worst-case scenario,” she said, “everyone heads down to the subbasement. The entrance is hidden. It’s under concrete. There’s ventilation that can be turned on.” She shrugged. “We could hide out there for a long time.”

  “What if we can’t get to the subbasement?” Jodi asked. “What if someone gets trapped outside or in another part of the house with bad guys blocking the way?”

  “Then run into the woods,” Corbin said. “Across the field at the back of the house. Get in deep and hide in the underbrush to wait things out.”

  Shane had finished his sketch of the property, marking the starting locations for each person, along with routes for retreat. He held it up, letting each person get a good look by the light of Beth’s bright LED flashlight.

  “Got it?” he said. He waited until every person had nodded, then he said, “Okay, good. We’re going to do a practice run right now.”

  21

  A single practice run turned into five practice runs, and by the end of it, Mike was so exhausted, he was ready to collapse. He made the run from the fence to the subbasement one too many times, and Shane even had the entire family practice climbing the fence in back and fleeing into the weedy field. To do that, they had to throw heavy blankets over the spikes on top, drag a stepstool to the fence, and delicately clamber over. Not an easy feat for those who had broken limbs or were recovering from cancer treatment.

  He was so tired afterward that he expected to fall asleep almost immediately, but for some reason, his mind wouldn’t settle. It wasn’t fear. He had plenty of that, but fear wasn’t the thing keeping him awake. Some troubling thought danced just beyond his awareness. Eventually, he managed almost two good hours of sleep, but when he awoke again in the first pink light of early morning, he realized what was bothering him.

  Mike rose from his cot in the corner, moved past Owen and Corbin, and made his way down the hall. He had a splitting headache, an aching back, and sore muscles, but he knew what he needed to do. It was best to get it done before the family realized what he was up to. Otherwise, they would either prevent him from going or try to send people with him. Either way would make it a much riskier proposition. As slowly and quietly as possible, he opened the front door and slipped outside, pulling the door shut behind him.

  The sun hadn’t quite risen yet. Only a hint of light lingered along the horizon, but straight overhead, the stars were still out. At this point, Mike briefly considered returning to the house to get the Glock, but he decided against it. He didn’t want to take a weapon away from the household in case it wound up getting confiscated. Better to put himself at risk than the whole family. In his sneakers and dark clothes, he could move quietly and stealthily. There was no reason to expect trouble, and the information gleaned would be vital to the family’s safety.

  Convinced of his plan, he moved to the fence beside the gate and put his eye close to one of the narrow gaps between slats, peering down to the end of the street. He had a clear view all the way to the intersection, but he didn’t see the mayor’s goons standing there. Assuming they must have changed positions, he walked along the fence, looking through the slats at various points. No sign of the guards anywhere.

  Maybe the mayor had kept his word and removed them, hoping to regain favor with his former sheriff and deputy.

  Well, I’m unmoved, Frank, Mike thought, bitterly. The mayor had disgraced a good man in Sheriff Cooley, shamed him in front of the entire town. Such an act was not so easily dismissed.

  Mike unlatched the gate and slipped through. He was just about to shut it again when he heard the distinct sound of a sneaker crunching gravel behind him. Turning around, he was startled to see his nephew, Owen, standing a few feet behind him.

  “Kid, what the heck are you doing?” Mike said. “Never sneak up on a recovering cancer patient, thank you.”

  “I’m trying to figure out what you’re doing,” Owen said. He still looked half-asleep, his hair mussed up and his eyes unfocused. He had managed to put on his sneakers, but he’d forgotten socks.

  “You won’t like it,” Mike said, “but I’m planning on scouting the biker camp. It’s the one missing element of our defense plan. Every army uses scouts to assess enemy strength and position, right? Well, that’s what I’m doing.”

  “That seems incredibly dangerous,” Owen said.

  “It is, so go back inside. I’m going to be really sneaky and really quiet, and I won’t get too close. I just want to get a sense of the true size of this gang.”

  “I saw them,” Owen said. “There were at least a dozen bikes.”

  “At least a dozen,” Mike replied, “but you don’t know for sure, and you don’t know if that was the entire gang. They’re all camped just outside of town. I want to lay eyes on the camp and get a clear sense. This is vital information, kid. No one ever won a war without scouting the enemy first. Now, do your uncle a favor and go back to bed. Don’t tell anyone what I’m doing. I’ll be back within the hour. And if I’m not back, don’t come looking for me. This is worth the risk.”

  He started to close the gate, but Owen rushed forward and grabbed it.

  “You’re not going by yourself, Uncle Mike,” he said, pushing his way past the fence. “Two pairs of eyes will be better than one.”

  “Absolutely not,” Mike said. “Jodi and Shane would never forgive me if I let you come with me. They probably won’t forgive me for going by myself, but they need the information I’m going to gather. We need to know the who, where, and how many.”

  Owen pulled the gate out of Mike’s hand and shut it behind them. Now, they were both locked out, and only jingling the windchime would get them back in. Mike was shocked. When had the kid become so willful?

  “I’m going with you,” Owen said, in a voice that brooked no argument. “If I went back in now, I’d have to tell my parents what I was up to, and that’s not good.”

  Mike smacked his own forehead and turned away. “I have to work on my stealth technique, I guess. What happened to you, Owen? You used to be such a passive kid, and now you’re practically threatening me.”

  “No, it’s not a threat,” Owen said. “Just let me come with you. I’ll be quiet and careful. No one will see us.”

  Mike sighed, gazing down the empty road. “Okay, let’s do this quick. The north end of town is about two miles. We’ll walk there briskly, take a quick look at the camp from a safe distance, and get back home as soon as possible. Got it?”

  “Got it,” Owen replied. “I won’t cause trouble.”

  Mike glanced at him to make sure he wasn’t being sarcastic. He didn’t appear to be. “Fine, let’s go.”

  He started moving to the end of the street, trying to stay in the shadiest places, though he saw no one in any direction. Indeed, as they walked through town, taking the now-familiar route toward the high school and city park, it began to seem more and more like a ghost town. They didn’t see a single soul anywhere.

  “Did everyone leave?” Owen asked. “Maybe the mayor ordered an evacuation.”

  “I doubt people had time to evacuate,” Mike replied. “I’m guessing the word spread about the gang, and they’re all hunkered down in hiding. A bunch of them might be at the high school.”

  He pointed at the brown-brick building in the distance. There wasn’t any particular indication that the school was full of people, but then again, if they were hiding inside, they would want the building to seem empty from the outside.

  “Maybe we should stop and see,” Owen said. “We could pop our heads inside, maybe look in the auditorium or gym, just so we know.”

  “We’ve got a job to do, kid,” Mike said. “Let’s get it done as safely as possible. No side quests. The sooner we figure out what we’re dealing with the better.”

  As they passed the high school, Mike kept well clear of the building, but he tried to peer through the
windows from a distance. He saw no hint of movement on the inside. Gazing beyond the school to the city park, he saw the completed fence surrounding the half-acre starter-plot, the gate sitting open so that the tilled rows were visible beyond. The tent camp sat around the playground equipment nearby, and there was not a single soul anywhere in sight.

  “Everyone cleared out,” he muttered. “I mean, absolutely everyone.”

  “This kind of creeps me out,” Owen said. “It’s like they all vanished in the middle of the night.”

  “Nah, they’re all huddled in the gym,” Mike said. “That’s what I think. Either way, it’s not our concern. Let’s go.”

  He picked up the pace, walking through yards, under trees, trying not to be fully out in the open. They moved past the park and tent camp, past the library and the mayor’s office, and kept walking at the briskest pace Mike could handle, all the way to the edge of town. Finally, they came in sight of the makeshift roadblock on the highway at the edge of their little community. Mike slipped behind some overgrown bushes, pulling Owen behind him, and peered into the distance.

  The cars had been neatly aligned across all four rows of the highway, as well as the median and the shoulders on both sides, running all the way to the tree line on either side. It was impressive work, but that wasn’t what drew Mike’s attention.

  “That stupid idiot of a mayor,” Mike said. “He doesn’t have a single guard or sentry keeping an eye on the roadblock. There’s no one to sound the alarm when the gang enters town.”

  “Maybe the guards were already killed,” Owen said.

  It was a troubling thought. Mike gazed beyond the roadblock and saw a hint of smoke rising above the trees just around the bend. It could have been a campfire, or it could have been a burning building. He didn’t know, but he caught a faint odor of char on the wind. Mike moved into the tree line and crept along the highway toward the roadblock. As he slipped past the line of cars, he came upon the mayor’s sentries. Two men in khaki pants and denim work shirts were sitting with their backs against the cars. Mike didn’t know the men, but they looked like they’d been living rough for a while. He assumed they were tent camp dwellers.

  “Well, there are the sentries,” he said. “Not dead yet, thankfully.”

  He slipped out of the trees and moved toward the men. When they spotted him, they scrambled to their feet, and one of them pulled a small two-way radio off his belt.

  “I’m local, guys,” Mike said. “You’re safe.”

  One of the guys approached him. He was African-American, a young man with tired eyes. “Hey there,” he said. “I’m Darien. Are you here to relieve us? We’ve been sitting here all morning.”

  “Just scouting the enemy,” Mike said. “Where’s everything else. Aren’t you guys armed?”

  “Everyone else headed to their homes or to the high school to hide. They’ve got some armed guards at the school, but all we’ve got is a radio. Ignacio here keeps talking about leaving, but someone has to keep an eye out.”

  Ignacio rose then. “There’s supposed to be guards with weapons at every vantage point around town, but who knows? Nobody’s told us nothing.”

  “And where is our dear mayor?” Mike asked.

  Ignacio and his friend traded a disgusted look. “He thought it was best if he went to the high school so he could oversee things.”

  Mike shook his head and laughed bitterly. “Of course he did. He probably found the first dark closet to hide in and locked the door. I wouldn’t be surprised if his buddy Ryan is chilling there with him.”

  “What are you doing here?” Ignacio asked.

  Mike pointed toward the rising smoke. “We’re just going to take a quick look around the bend and get a sense of how many people we’re dealing with. Has anyone been out there?”

  “Heck, no,” Ignacio said. “What if they see you?”

  “They won’t,” Mike replied. “We’ll be extra careful. Stay here, guys. Call for help if there’s trouble.”

  Mike beckoned Owen and moved back toward the tree line, then continued moving forward, creeping softly toward the bend in the road. The sun had started to rise by now, making everything bright and creating the first uncomfortable warmth of the day. Mike was moving as quietly as he could now, considering every step before taking it and gesturing at Owen any time the kid made a sound. They moved beneath the trees, keeping to the deepest of the shadows but staying in sight of the road. Soon, the smell of campfires became distinct, and Mike thought he heard the sound of voices, of laughter and cursing.

  “Sounds like a lot of people,” Owen said.

  Even though he spoke in a whisper, Mike turned and pressed a finger to his lips. Owen got the message and nodded, covering his mouth with his hand.

  Suddenly, they approached a break in the trees, and Mike saw the camp. It was set in a clearing just off the southbound lanes of the highway. Dropping down into a crouch, Mike leaned his shoulder against a nearby tree and took in the sight. There was a cluster of tents set around a large firepit where embers still glowed and smoked. People wandered among the tents. It looked like they were cleaning up, gathering their supplies in anticipation of leaving. Well over a dozen motorcycles of various makes and models sat in a semicircle at the back of the camp: Harleys, Hondas, Indians, Ducati, and others he couldn’t identify.

  He heard Owen from somewhere over his shoulder, and he flapped a hand at the kid to make sure he stayed quiet. Counting the men proved almost impossible as they were scattered among the bikes and tents, and a few seemed to be moving in the trees beyond the camp. Still, Mike estimated that there were somewhere between twenty and thirty of them. He assumed they were armed. That made for a sizeable army, one that could easily take out an entire town like theirs. Though locals were mostly armed, Mike couldn’t imagine most of the people being able to fight effectively. A gun battle would quickly turn into a one-sided bloodbath.

  The leader of the gang was obvious even from a distance. He was taller than most of the other men, and he strode among them with confidence, an imposing figure in a leather jacket and heavy boots, his hair formed into little black spikes. The scar that bisected his face shone pink in the morning light. Mike took a moment to study the man.

  That guy could take out the whole town all by himself, he thought.

  It was time to go. Mike could feel the nearness of the leader—the one named Trent—crawling all over his flesh. He eased back, finally daring to take a breath, and turned toward Owen.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  But Owen wasn’t there.

  Mike cast about wildly looking for his nephew. Finally, he spotted him. For some reason, Owen had snuck closer to the camp, and he was crouched behind some bushes about ten yards ahead on Mike’s left. From his vantage point, it seemed like he had a much clearer view of the whole camp.

  How much more do we need to see, kid? Mike thought. Trent alone tells us all we need to know.

  Doing his best not to make any sound, not even to crunch a single twig, Mike crept toward Owen’s position. The kid was dug in pretty good, and Mike was impressed that he hadn’t heard him move there. Getting to him without making noise would take some careful pathing.

  He was just eyeing the best path, finding clear spots in the undergrowth, when he heard a burst of limbs and leaves. It sounded like an animal bounding out of the forest. Mike pressed himself up against the nearest tree and held his breath.

  In the distance, he watched as two men in leather jackets tore through the bushes beside Owen and reached for him. Owen cried out and tried to flee, hopping to his feet and spinning around, but the bikers were too close. They grabbed his arms and pulled him backward, dragging him off his feet.

  “No, wait!” Owen shouted. “It was a mistake. I wasn’t trying to spy on you. Sorry, I’ll leave now. I promise.”

  Laughing, the men dragged him out of the trees and down toward the camp as Mike watched helplessly from his spot not ten yards away.

  22

>   Owen couldn’t believe the magnitude of his own stupidity. More than fear, he felt supremely embarrassed that he’d been so easily captured. All he’d intended to do was get close enough to make an accurate head count of the gang, and while he’d been whisper quiet, apparently they’d also had lookouts in key positions. As he was forced down the hill into the camp, one burly guard on either side, he desperately tried to think of some way to get out of this situation.

  They were both shorter than him, but they were like blocks of concrete wrapped in leather, and they had clamped down so hard on his arms that his hands were going numb.

  “Guys, I was just in the area,” he said. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your private event. I’ll get out of your hair, if you’ll let me go.”

  “Kinda looked like you were spying on us,” one of the men said. He reeked of cigarette smoke, road dust, and leather.

  “Boss’ll want to speak to you,” said the other.

  As the initial shock wore off, Owen felt something akin to utter panic, and he began to pull against his captors. What would his family do when they found out he’d been taken? What would Amelia do? He was dragged into the camp, all his efforts in vain, and people began to rise up on all sides to look at him. The gang was comprised of about 90 percent burly men, but there were a few rough-looking women scattered about. These were hard people with lightless eyes and cruel smiles, people who had seen and done unspeakable things. Owen felt an oppressive heaviness as soon as he was in their midst.

  The men dragged him straight toward the leader. The tall man loomed over his people like a barbarian king, the knotted scar cutting across his face like some ancient mark of power. Owen was brought before the man and forced onto his knees, his stomach churning with fear.

  “Trent, we found this kid snooping in the bushes,” one of the men said.

  Trent had been packing items into a leather saddlebag, but he tossed the bag onto the ground and turned to face Owen. He stooped down, grabbed Owen’s chin in one callused hand, and forced him to make eye contact.