Reese noticed that the woman with long shiny black hair in a ponytail kept the child close to her and seemed more interested in the vegetation along the roadside then the cars. She had a white plastic shopping bag and she and the child moved along picking leaves and greenery.
"What in the world are you doing...?" he muttered to himself.
Only after Reese was sure that the males didn't appear to be armed did he feel confident enough to turn and resume rummaging in the police cruiser. The trunk was crumpled, and partially opened. Inside, through the weak light that penetrated the interior, Reese spotted a long black shape—a duffle bag. White letters reflected the light and clearly read CPD.
He motioned for Jo to approach, and she crouch-walked over to his position. "What are you doing? Don't open that," she snapped in a quiet voice.
Reese grunted. "I think that might be a weapons bag inside there...either way, it's some kind of police gear—I'm sure we could use it.”
"Whether or not we could doesn't matter..." Jo argued. "We don't know anything about those people over there."
"They don't look armed," Reese replied. “Well, that one guy looks like he’s got a stick, but I didn’t see any guns at all.”
"Famous last words..." Jo complained. She crossed her arms. "What are you going to do if you open that thing and it squeals like the doors they were opening? They'll know we’re here."
"They got a kid with them," Reese countered.
Jo was quiet for a moment. "Fine. I can see you're determined to do this—at least have enough sense to let me keep an eye on them while you do it."
"Deal," Reese said with a lopsided grin. The possibility of finding an actual weapon inside the bag he knew was slim, but the enticement of police gear was too great for him to pass up. They still had a long walk to get home, and he would rather have every advantage if possible. He looked at Jo, who nodded, then frowned and shook her head.
"I know it's a bad idea, but we've got to try,” Reese said. “Maybe there's some food?"
Jo raised one eyebrow and shrugged, then turned and watched the people on the far side of the river. Beneath the bridge, wood and fiberglass hulls cracked and shifted under the immense pressure of the Ashley River trying to make its way to Charleston Harbor. She looked at him with wide eyes and pointed down. "Did you feel that? I think this bridge just moved."
"Yeah..." Reese said, his voice tight. "Let's...let's take this bag and get off this bridge." He pushed hard and ripped the trunk up.
The hinges squealed like banshees. Reese didn't waste time. He immediately reached in and grabbed the long black duffel bag—still damp and flecked with green mold—and ripped it free from the trunk.
Papers, a few plastic traffic cones, and a crumpled jacket occupied the rest of the trunk, along with a spattering of seaweed and leaves. He swung the duffel over his shoulder and grunted as the weight settled on his back.
“Okay, let’s go!”
Chapter 5
Lavelle Homestead
Bee’s Landing Subdivision
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Cami opened her eyes as she lay flat on her back in her own bed. The incessant noise from outside—hammering, pounding, and loud talking workers—prevented her from getting the much-needed rest Amber insisted she needed. She sighed and struggled to sit up. "I can't just lie here all day…" she muttered.
Carefully, she pulled the covers back and examined her injured leg. She had to give Amber credit, the bullet wound—more of a really deep scratch where the lead had gouged a channel across her thigh—was clean, and her leg for the most part, looked good to her eyes. The bandage was fresh and though there was a little seepage where the wound hadn't quite closed yet, she didn't feel too bad, all things considered. The ibuprofen Amber had been feeding her had finally kicked in several hours back, and the dull ache coming from her wrists, ankles, back, and the bruises on her face had all faded into a background irritation.
Cami winced just the same as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. "Whew…" she hissed, "that smarts."
She looked around but didn't find the clothes she'd been wearing when she made it home. That was probably a good thing—the hunting attire she'd worn when they’d launched the rescue mission to get Amber back had been filthy, covered in mud, blood, and grime—not to mention ripped to pieces from surviving captivity and the hurricane. She wrinkled her nose. The odor of her clothes still lingered in the bedroom, though.
Cami shuffled over to her dresser and pulled out a pair of loose sweatpants and a comfortable T-shirt. She limped out of her room to the head of the stairs and looked around.
Someone puttered around down the hall in the spare bedroom—radio shack, she reminded herself—to the sound of clanking tools and mumbles. She grinned and shook her head. Whatever they were up to, they were certainly focused. A short, quiet curse floated down the hall.
Overhead, it sounded as if someone were repeatedly dropping a bowling ball on the ceiling. Roof repairs. "Just how many people are working on this place anyway?" she muttered as she gingerly let herself down the stairs to the ground floor.
Cami peered around the corner of the stairwell and saw Mia’s back as the younger woman sat at the kitchen table, deep in conversation with Amber, who remained out of sight.
"…got three of those. Check."
"And the butterfly strips?" Amber asked, her voice distant and mature.
"Uh…looks like a dozen.”
“I thought we had more than that?” asked Mitch, likewise hidden from view.
“We used a couple yesterday, remember?" Mia replied.
"Right. I’ll have to enter that in the logbook, as soon as I’m done upstairs," he said.
“Okay, that’ll work. So…” Amber began. ”That gives us a total of…”
With a smile on her face, Cami turned and went the other way around the stairs, down the hallway toward the den, where Marty had been taken after the home invasion.
She padded on bare feet, grimacing at the pain in her leg as she limped along, and checked that the coast was clear. Mia, Amber, and Mitch were still busy in the kitchen, and no one appeared to be tending to Marty at the moment, so she slipped around the corner and approached him.
"Was wondering when you’d get around to see me…" he whispered in a voice from the grave.
"They had me on lockdown upstairs."
"You too?" he asked with a blood-speckled grin.
As she carefully lowered herself to the floor, he reached out a reed thin arm, and she grasped his hand. "How you doin’, old-timer?" she exhaled as she settled herself with a grunt on the carpet next to him.
From atop his pallet of blankets, sleeping bags, and pillows stolen from the couch, he looked at her and grinned. "Look at us…couple of old war horses put out to pasture."
Cami smiled. "Who are you calling old?"
Marty chuckled and smiled at her, behind watery eyes. "Come to pay your final respects?"
"Why should I pay you any respect at all?" Cami asked with a smile of her own.
“Heh.” Marty closed his eyes and squeezed her hand. "How are they doing with that radio?"
Cami frowned at her neighbor. "How should I know? Someone’s up there banging around and fiddling with equipment…
“That would be Rufus…”
Cami nodded. “But I have no idea if he’s doing it the right way, or what he’s doing at all, for that matter."
"Good…good…Mitch knows—him and Rufus got all the instructions they need. I told ‘em we ain’t doing a full set up...this is a simple, get-you-on-the-air job."
"Is it that bad?" Cami asked as she looked over his withered body. "Mia said you’re recovering…?"
Marty clicked his teeth. "She's a sweet girl…I didn't want to give her the whole story.” He looked at Cami. “Amber knows."
“How much time do you have?" Cami asked in a whisper.
The old man turned his head away from her and stared out the
patio doors. “Who knows?”
Cami blinked. Reese’s favorite lounge chair kicked over during the kidnapping attempt and left in the corner of the porch—where Harriet had hidden herself during the fiasco—hadn't been moved. Cami frowned. Some things had changed—the screens on the porch had all been removed courtesy of the hurricane.
"Not much longer. I’m bustin’ my butt to make sure y'all are set up with that radio before I turn out for my last muster, though."
"Marty…" Cami said, her voice strained. "Don't talk like that…"
He turned back, and for the first time Cami noticed how drawn the skin across his skull was, how skeletal he looked. "I ain’t one for lyin’, missy. I got enough time to worry about it. Besides, look at me. You see it, too. I already got one leg in the grave.”
“Marty...”
He ignored her. “I cain’t go without making sure you and that girl are safe."
"We are. We are, Marty,” Cami said as she wiped at her eyes. “Thanks to you.”
He frowned at her, his lips chapped and cracked. "You find Cisco's body?"
Cami rolled her eyes. "Well…"
He narrowed his eyes at her. "You ain't safe yet, missy. That man ain’t gonna give up easy. They tell you about those houses over on the new side?"
Cami nodded and swallowed. “Looted. One burned to the ground, the other…"
"They tell you what they done found inside?"
Cami nodded, her vision blurring. Thinking of the families, parents and children together, slaughtered by someone during the storm…
"You know he did that, right?" Marty wheezed. "He killed them families, took everything they had, and stole that truck. You know as well as I do. Shoot, everyone around here knows it, ain't nobody sayin’ so, but Flynt."
Cami sighed. "Flynt…"
"You talk to him yet?"
"No, I—" she began.
"Missy, I know you don't think of him as a top priority right now, but you weren't here. You didn't see everything he did, everything he went through. That boy…he may have had a troubled past, but he's got a good head on his shoulders. He did what I told him to."
"I know…everybody seems to want to tell me about how he held everything together while I was gone, but—"
"No buts about it, missy—Darien did a lot while you were gone, but without you, this place woulda crumbled long before Darien stepped in to help. That said, he kept us together during the storm and Cisco's attack. That counts for a lot in my book. Think about it," he said before she could interject, "what's keeping him here? He ain’t got no family, no friends—nobody here even really likes him…" Marty frowned. “Actually, that right there kinda makes me like him,” he said with a crooked grin.
"Harriet does," Cami said, her voice almost a growl.
Marty nodded and squeezed her hand. "And that's why you gotta make sure you talk to him." He opened his mouth, then clenched his jaw as a spasm of pain wracked his frail body. His back stiffened and his grip tightened on Cami's hand. "Oof…" he wheezed. "Dadgum...listen, you got to…"
"Marty, take it easy—just rest, okay? Focus on getting better."
He jerked his hand out of hers. "Don't talk to me like I'm some child, missy. You and I both know I ain’t gettin’ any better. Just delaying the inevitable.” He adjusted himself and frowned at her. “Now listen here: you gotta make sure that man stays around. Things are gettin’ dark out there, and I have a feeling they're going to get a lot worse before they ever get better. You need every friend you can get.” He looked at her and his expression softened. “And right now, he's one of the strongest you got. Don't forget, where he goes, those friends of his go. Cisco’s still on the loose out there—"
"We don't really know that," Cami argued weakly.
"We do, and deep down you know it, too," Marty spat, as he jabbed a bony finger at her. "Stop interruptin' me and wasting my time. I ain’t got much left." When she grew quiet, he settled himself in his bedding again. "There's a couple things you need to get done," he whispered. "First, you gotta reestablish yourself as leader."
"I don't want to be a leader," Cami said.
“Not a leader, the leader. And besides, your feelings are irrelevant,” Marty said as he waved away her complaint with a flap of his bony wrist. "The job’s yours whether you want it or not. People look up to you—they respect you, and more importantly they follow you. You need to get back on your feet and get out there and take charge. Next," he said as he held up two trembling fingers. "You need to get Flynt some respect. He held this place together, despite the fact that your friend Gary and his son…and Johnny…" Marty’s voice cracked. He blinked and looked away. “Dang it...that fool boy ran off despite me telling them to hold the line. And look what happened..."
"John Douglass will be missed," Cami said as she took Marty's hand in hers. "I know you looked at him like a son...Amber said they went out and gave him a decent burial."
Marty nodded, and squeezed her hand again. "I taught that boy a lot. He was one of the few people in this neighborhood—besides you and your husband—that gave me the time of day."
"And he was the only one that knew how to run that radio, I’m guessing?"
Marty looked at her. "How do you figure that?"
"Amber and Mia told me how much time Mitch and Rufus have been spending with you. Sounds to me like you're trying to pass on all your knowledge...before…"
He grunted, then coughed, but smiled. "See that notebook over there?" he asked with a wave of his free hand.
Cami looked in the corner. Several yellow legal pads, full of writing, lay stacked neatly next to the patio door, along with a handful of pens. "Yeah."
"When they're not puttin’ the radio together, one—or both—are down here listenin’ to me tell ‘em what to do, how to do it, and how to act on the nets. There's an etiquette, you know," he said with a grin.
"Marty…"
He held up a palsied hand and stopped her. "No, I'm the one who’s dyin’ here, you need to listen. Put Flynt at the top of your list. I'll handle the radio, those boys’ll be okay once this is all said and done. But Flynt won't—you let that Spalding woman get her hooks into him, and you're either gonna have trouble, or he's gonna up and leave. Neither one of those is something this neighborhood needs right now. You get me?"
Cami swallowed, and blinked away the tears. "I get you," she replied.
"Mom! What are you doing?" Amber called from behind her.
"Busted…" Marty whispered with the smile. “Help! Elder abuse!” he called.
“Oh, stop,” Amber groaned.
Cami turned and looked at her daughter, hands on her hips in the doorway leading to the kitchen. "I had to say hi to Marty and check on him."
"Consider me checked on," Marty said. "Get her outta here, Doc, and make sure she gets better."
"That's what I was trying to do," Amber grumbled as she moved over to Cami and helped her mother to her feet. "You’re going to bust your injury open all over again, mom."
"I can't stay in that bed any longer," Cami said as she got painfully to her feet
"Well, you're going to have to,” Amber retorted. “There's nothing more you can do out here anyway," Amber said as she gestured toward the back yard. Several men walked by carrying lumber and waved at the house when they saw Cami in the den. "Everybody's got a job out there, mom, and things are coming along nicely," Amber said. She crossed her arms. "I'm taking care of Marty…as best as I can," she said with a dirty look at the old man on the floor. "And the only thing you need to concentrate on is rest."
"Okay, okay…" Cami said as she allowed herself to be led out of the room.
"You remember what I said, missy," Marty called from the floor. "Don't forget him."
"What's he talking about?" Amber asked.
Cami stood in the doorway, one hand on the wall. "He's worried about Flynt."
Amber put her arm around Cami’s shoulders. "Have you talked with Darien yet? He did a great job while you were gone."
Cami stared at her daughter. "No…I haven't. When did we switch to first names?"
Amber ignored the jibe. "I think we’re going to have to tell people about the supplies we've got in the house," she blurted.
Cami froze. “What?”
"That's what I was trying to tell her," Marty said from the floor. "Too many dang people been in and out of this house between the storm and the fighting. Secret’s gonna get out, and you two better be on the right side of it."
Cami put her hand to her head. "Okay, okay…we'll have to figure this out."
"Does your head hurt?" Amber asked, concern written on her face.
“And you need to talk with Flynt!” Marty called.
Cami closed her eyes. “My head’s starting to hurt, yeah…"
"Come on, I'm taking you upstairs, and you're gonna lay down. Not just for pretends this time. Doctor's orders," Amber said with a grin.
"You be careful, missy!” Marty warned. “Once that girl of yours gets you laying down, look what happens!” Marty said as they left the room, both arms raised from the floor.
Cami limped down the hallway with a smile on her face to the sound of Marty's cackling laughter. She paused and put a hand on Amber’s arm. “Honey, I need to talk with Flynt. Darien. Where is he?”
Amber frowned. “He’s been wanting to talk with you, too, but I made him wait.” She sighed. “He’s probably out back, trying to help with the repairs or something.” She escorted Cami to the stairs. “You get into bed and I’ll go find him. Deal?”
Cami nodded as she gripped the bannister. “Deal.”
Chapter 6
Charleston, South Carolina
Reese leaned around the squad car. "Anything?" Jo whispered.
"No—nothing,” Reese replied. “I think they left…”
Broken Tide | Book 6 | Breakwater Page 4