by Kate Morris
She marches ahead, practically stomping, so Simon picks up the pace to pass her in case someone other than just Cory is ahead of them. He does a fast scan of each room they pass just to be sure they are still alone. Sam was right. It is spooky with the turned over wheelchairs, the empty, dirty beds, and medical carts and clutter scattered about. The wind rushes in through one of the many missing windows and stirs papers on the floor in front of him.
“There’s Cory,” she announces.
Melora and her brother are already with him.
“Take your time?” Cory jokes.
“Sight-seeing,” Simon returns. “Obviously.”
Melora laughs, but Sam doesn’t. Simon misses her laugh, misses spending time with her and talking. He also misses their more intimate moments, although those were much rarer.
“I don’t think anyone’s here, but it sure seems like people were,” Cory repeats. “And very recently.”
In quite a few of the rooms there are the remains of small fires built inside makeshift firepits formed by old tire rims. It’s not as if the charred, split wood in the bottoms of the rings is still warm, but it does seem fairly recent that they were built. He shows them leftover food that hasn’t even begun to spoil on ceramic plates that were probably from this facility’s kitchen.
“This isn’t good,” Simon comments as they leave the sanatorium.
“Yeah,” Cory agrees, walking in front of him back down their path toward the Jeep.
“Why?” Melora asks.
Simon answers since his friend is putting more distance between them, “It’s bad because a lot of people were recently staying there. A lot. Hundreds at least, maybe more.”
“I agree,” Sam says. “Every floor we explored showed the same.”
“And we passed a big building, a former garage or something,” Hardy tells them. “And there were the same signs of people in there, too.”
“And now they’re on the move,” Sam remarks with trepidation in her voice.
When they reach the Jeep, Cory announces, “I’m going out on foot. Professor, take the vehicle and circle back for me. Give me a few hours to see if I can’t get a good trace on their trail.”
“We’ll stay with you, Cory,” Melora offers. “We’ve got our own fair share of experience with tracking. It was one of the few ways we were able to keep the kids safe by scouting out areas beforehand.”
“I think that would be alright,” Cory says. “You ok with just Sam, Professor?”
“Yes, we’ll be fine. I’ve got our radio,” he says. “I’ll just call in a drone strike.”
His friend laughs, so do Melora and Hardy, but not the one person he’d wanted to make laugh. She looks irritated, probably at the prospect of driving around the city with just him.
“Head northeast,” his friend orders. “See if you can find any other camps. Be careful once you hit the city. Last time any of us was up here, it wasn’t very safe.”
“Got it,” Simon agrees with a nod.
They leave Cory, and Simon gets an instant, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he watches his friend disappear in the rear-view mirror. The snow has coated the ground and the tops of buildings and houses as he navigates through the city. The buildings also get taller and taller, which lets him know he’s coming closer to the center of the city. Simon plans to avoid most of that area. As in many larger, more densely populated cities, there are always bands of people, sometimes violent ones, that clan together in the city centers.
“Where do you think we should look?” Sam asks as she holds her bare hands directly against the heating vents in front of her.
“Anywhere that would house a lot of troops,” he states and reaches for her left hand only to have Sam try to yank back. “Mine are warm.”
“I don’t need you to warm me up, Simon,” she states emphatically and pulls hard enough to dislodge her hand from his. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“No, not a little girl anymore, indeed,” he murmurs, thinking of how beautiful she has become and curvaceous. Her curves could stop traffic. They stop his brain from functioning correctly.
Instead of arguing the logic of warming her hands for her, Simon concentrates on the road before him and where they are going. It would be nice if they had a GPS system that still works. Unfortunately, they are going on memory alone. Simon has only been to Louisville one other time on a supply trip because it is simply too far to travel with any frequency.
“Simon, stop!” she blurts, causing him to slam on the brakes and make the Jeep slide a good five to ten feet. “Lights!”
He peers through the darkness and the dense snow and locates the source. Then he clicks off the headlights on the Jeep and pulls to the side of the road, leaving it idling.
“What is that over there?” he asks more rhetorically than anything else.
“I’m not sure,” she answers anyway. “I’ve been to Louisville a few times, but it’s so different now. I’m not sure what’s what.”
“That’s ok,” he allays. “I don’t expect you to know your way around. We’ll go in slowly, on foot. Let me find a place to stash the Jeep.”
It doesn’t take long. There is an abandoned car wash, one of the high-tech newer ones that also included a coffee bar for guests to get their caffeine fix while their vehicles went through the spraying jets, synchronized to hip-hop beats, and neon lights and coordinating paint. Apparently, not everyone’s car got washed because there are three in line and two in the vacuum bays. Simon finds a spot under the overhang in the hand-drying area and parks next to a black Lexus SUV. On the other side is a brick wall, so their Jeep should be well-concealed and hidden from potential thieves.
“Ready?” he asks quietly and pockets the keys.
She nods nervously.
“Want to wait here for me?”
Sam vigorously shakes her head. “No way. I’m not waiting here.”
Simon pauses a moment and says, “Just stay close. With the snow picking up, we need to be careful not to lose each other.”
They move out after locking the Jeep and then cross the main road where they sift into a neighborhood of older, small, ranch style brick homes. Simon leads her to the rear of one such home and sees that there is a straight path of connected back yards, probably open to one another due to a fencing restriction by a homeowners’ association. Not a single home is illuminated. Most appear to be looted. The yards slope down behind each home and create a ditch of sorts that leads into the vast darkness ahead of them. Simon decides to stay close to the backs of the houses and doesn’t venture out into the open with her. Trees even older than the neighborhood were left standing where possible and offer excellent protection and cover should they need it.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog howls, or perhaps it is an actual wolf. He’s not sure, but Simon doesn’t want to linger too long in the area in case it’s a predator. Sam has a tender heart for animals. He’d hate to kill one in front of her.
He is well aware of the fact that they are leaving very easily traceable footprints in the deepening snow, which has piled up at least an inch on the ground. All he can hope now is that it snows a whole lot more so that their prints will eventually be covered again.
“Simon, over there,” she says, pointing.
They have come to a dead end in the street and ahead of them is a chain link fence, a tall one. There is a rusted red sign hanging askew, and Simon wipes away the snow and rights it so that they can see what it says.
“Do Not Enter,” Sam reads aloud. “No kidding. As if the chain link fence wasn’t enough.”
“What’s over there?” he questions.
They both spy closer through the fence, and Simon finds himself squinting. Then he brings up his rifle and looks through the scope. They should be seeing the source of that light by now.
“Hey, I know this place,” Sam recalls and tugs his jacket sleeve. “Simon, I’ve been here.”
He lowers his rifle and regards her just as a se
archlight swings their way.
“Sam, over here,” he urges frantically and grabs her arm to haul her along. He takes cover stooping low behind a long wooden deck on the nearest home. The bright beam of a searchlight glides right over their heads. Apparently, they’ve found the light source.
“Do you think someone saw us?” she whispers nervously.
“I don’t think so,” he answers. “Let’s hide in this house so we can see better through a window. They may run patrols if it’s a big group. Let’s not get caught out in the open.”
Simon stands but hunches over and takes her to the rear-facing garage’s man door. He tries the knob and finds it unlocked, so he goes in first. There is a large, long car in the garage bay that looks like something an older person would drive. It’s at least sixty years old if he were to guess.
The door to the interior is locked, but Simon is able to twist hard on the cheap knob and gain entry. Behind him, Sam closes the garage door again. It’s easy to do runs like this with her because she already knows to do things like this. He’s been on runs with men from town who don’t know as much. She does the same with the door to the kitchen after she has entered and also locks it.
Simon does a quick scan of the entire house in about thirty seconds. It’s a one level, three-bedroom, two bath ranch and probably less than eleven hundred square feet. Then he returns to her where she has moved into the dining room right off the kitchen.
“Simon, I know that place!” she whispers excitedly.
“What is it?”
“Churchill Downs,” she answers and waits as if he knows what she means. He just shakes his head and shrugs. “The racetrack. You know, part of the Triple Crown?”
Sam groans with frustration at his own lack of awareness.
“Sorry, you’re speaking another language.”
“The horse race? Seriously? It’s only like the most famous track in the world, Simon,” she says in a tone that he finds amusing, although he knows she is disappointed by him. “My dad took me to the Derby once.”
“Oh, the Kentucky Derby,” he says as the light bulb clicks on. “Now, I get it.”
“Duh,” she teases with a mischievous grin.
He’d like to tease her back or snatch her into his arms and kiss her for her snotty behavior, but Simon is too preoccupied with trying to figure out who is staying at a race track and why.
“Do you remember the place?”
“Sort of. It was about six years ago. I think I was in middle school when we went, but I remember some of it. Mostly the horses,” she admits with a wistful smile.
“Right. Horses. That’s not gonna help, Sam,” he jokes. “Why would someone set up a base camp at a race track? Anyone. I don’t just mean in case it’s the new President.”
“Well, it was really spacious. There were restaurants, and fancy dining areas and running water at one time. Bathrooms, lots of rooms actually. Plus, all the nice horse stalls. We passed a lot of areas where my dad said the rich people had special select seating. Those areas looked really fancy.”
“Do you think it could house a lot of people then?”
“Oh, yes. It’s huge. Plus, there would be protection already because of all the fencing.”
“Good point,” he says as he sets his rifle against the wall beside the window in the bedroom facing the race track. He pulls out his binoculars and sets about spying. Sam kneels in front of him and does the same. When the spotlight makes its way toward them again, she ducks below the window sill, and he steps to the side behind the cover of the wall.
After the big beam moves on, they both take up their spying positions again.
“Do you think they saw us?”
“No, not in here.”
“No, I mean when we were heading toward the fence?”
Simon dwells on this a moment before answering, “It could be a village of people with regular patrols like our town. But, no, I don’t think they saw us either way.”
“Do you think it’s the President? Coming to murder us all and take over the country?”
“That’s a morbid way of thinking,” he says. “No, I don’t think he’s coming to kill us. I think he’s angry with Robert McClane, and that has nothing to do with us.”
“We’re his enemy. If he wants to take out Robert and Parker for leaving and encouraging others to follow, we’ll be in this fight, too.”
“You won’t be in anything,” he corrects her, getting a snort of disagreement.
“I’ll be in whatever fight I want to be in, Simon Murphy,” she returns with more temper.
“Okay, feisty pants,” he teases, getting a slug to the shoulder.
“You’re so annoying,” she informs him haughtily.
“I thought you found my annoying traits endearing,” he jokes, knowing this isn’t at all true.
“You don’t own me,” she says. “You can’t tell me where to go and what I can do anymore. We aren’t…you know…”
“Married?”
She snorts, “I wasn’t even going to go that far. I just meant together.”
“That could change if you want it to,” he throws out to see what she’ll say.
“I’m not having this conversation right now,” she retorts.
“Ok, we’ll talk when we get to the fort tonight. You’re right. Now isn’t the time to discuss our future.”
“Simon!” she counters angrily.
“Yes?” he asks as if he is innocent and unaware.
Simon turns to glance down at her. Sam is glaring up at him with all the impudence in the world showing on her sweet, lovely face. He leans closer, fully prepared to kiss her when men’s voices send an immediate warning signal to his brain. She heard it, too, because she sucks in a deep, surprised breath. Simon holds a finger to his lips and lowers his night-vision gear again. Then he uses the hand signal to show her to stay put. She vigorously shakes her head, which pisses him off. So he motions with more force this time and receives a reluctant nod and a jutted out chin of defiance.
Then he’s up and moving. The voices sounded distant, but they were there just the same. He sprints carefully to the front windows that provide a street view and doesn’t find anyone.
“Simon!” she fervently whispers as she walks toward him.
“I told you to stay put!” he returns angrily.
She points and says, “I think they’re in the back yard, the same way we came.”
He nods and leads her to the window in the small dining room. Keeping his back pressed to the wall, Simon steals a quick peep.
“They’re gone,” Sam observes. “I think they were walking back the same way we just came.”
“They could find the Jeep. Our tracks are fresh,” he tells her. “If they have any experience tracking, they’re gonna find it.”
“Or us,” she notes.
“We need to move. Fast,” he states and snatches her hand, dragging her through the house and out the front door. “We have to get there before them.”
Still holding onto her, Simon whips his rifle forward. Tonight, instead of his sniper rifle, he’s carrying an HK UMP45 with a conveniently short barrel. It’s easier to maneuver in narrow confines and is something he picked up from a former highwayman, who wouldn’t be needing it again, ever.
They dash carefully, mindful of the wet, slick grass and circumvent the area. He comes to an abandoned gas station near the car wash and pauses a few moments against the cement block wall to allow her to catch her breath and to check the area for safety. They hesitate another second before running across the street. As he rounds the corner of the car wash building, Simon nearly runs down a man. They literally crash together, and Sam cries out a soft squeal of fear.
“Simon!” the man yells with surprise and removes his own night-vision gear.
“Parker?”
Chapter Nine
Sam
They arrive back on Fort Knox near four a.m., and Sam is exhausted yet wired from the night’s anxieties. She about had a h
eart attack when they ran into Parker and his men, also on foot, and also the same men they’d spied crossing through the back yards of those homes just like they had. He’d explained that he was there for the same reason, suspicion of the race track housing the new President and his troops. When they’d run into him, he was on his way back to the fort to report what he’d found. Now, they are all waiting anxiously in Robert McClane’s private study for the general to awaken and meet them.
When he enters the room, Sam realizes the man is still sick. He doesn’t look well at all. His shoulders are drooped, dark circles loop beneath his eyes, and he coughs terribly before sitting behind his desk. Three other men, advisors as Sam recalls them, enter and stand beside the general. The rest of them are spread out, Cory, Melora, and Hardy included, around the room. Simon stands directly beside her, although Sam secretly wishes he’d just stand on the other side of the room. Being near him tonight has not been good for her mental state or her resolve to avoid him.
“What’s going on, Parker?” the general states without pause.
“I think we may have found the President, sir,” he answers. Then he goes on to explain that he’d been to Louisville and found a large encampment of people at Churchill Downs.
“I thought you were going to Nashville,” the general questions.
“No, we decided at the last minute to head north. Gut instinct,” he tells him.
“What makes you think it’s the President there?”
“Another hunch. There were a lot of men, soldiers, patrol routes being walked, vehicles.”
“Did you see anyone you could recognize?” Robert asks.
“No, sir,” Parker answers and shifts his weight to the other foot. “But we’ll go back first thing in the morning.”
“Not if this storm doesn’t stop,” one of Robert’s advisors says.
“We could go anyway,” Parker presses.
“We’ll see,” Robert states. “Let’s meet again in the morning. Take a few hours. Get some sleep. We’ll connect again at ten-hundred.”
“Yes, sir,” Parker answers for himself and his men.