“And, repeat,” he commented to himself, dipping his cup back into the stream. It wasn’t a fast process, but he needed to stay hydrated, and he couldn’t afford not to boil the water.
That night, he told himself that he’d find another person the next day and didn’t allow himself to think about the fact that this was what he’d told himself every night before he went to sleep. It had to happen at some point.
In the morning, he repeated his ritual with the water, hydrating and then kicking out his small fire before he set off once again, heading east, knowing he should run into a town at some point. The canopy of tall pine and fir trees provided nice shade, but it was a warm day. He could already feel sweat trickling down his back.
He stopped at the top of a steep hill and took a long drink from his canteen while using his vantage point to get a look at the surrounding area. Unfortunately, the dense trees made it difficult for him to see far at all. He was sliding his canteen back into the side pocket of his pack when something glistened, catching his eye.
“What was that?” he asked aloud.
He moved his eyes slowly over the area where he’d thought he’d seen something metallic. He blinked several times, looking down the hillside. It couldn’t be.
“Is that a house?” he whispered.
In another second, he was convinced he was staring at a roofline. Nash started making his way down the steep hill, little rocks sliding down in front of him, reminding him to take it easy. He couldn’t risk falling and hurting himself. The closer the got, the more jubilant he grew. It was definitely a house or a shop. The square building looked to be made of steel. There was a deck off the west side, but no way to get to it since the house was set into the mountain. There were also steel doors over what he assumed had to be doors that led onto the deck from the second story.
His position on the hill put him directly above the house. He could jump onto the roof from where he stood, but doubted that would get him a welcome from inside. Instead, he moved a little further down, intrigued by the huge house that resembled a fortress. He stopped moving when he saw the window. It seemed odd and a little out of place, but he ignored it, heading down the hill to look for a door. There was a small porch, but the door was sealed off.
He turned to walk back up and around the house, looking for another way in. Noting a black SUV sitting in the driveway, he realized there was a good chance someone was inside.
“Hello?” he called out, wondering if he could be heard through the steel walls.
He went back to what he assumed to be the front door and used his open hand to pound on the door. “Hello!”
A banging sound on the other side of the wall was his response. Someone was inside.
“Hello! I need help! Let me in, please! I’m not going to hurt you!” he shouted, waiting for the door to open.
There was more banging in response. Nash leaned his ear against the door, listening intently.
“Locked!” the muffled shout came through.
He could hear more talking, but the walls were too thick to allow for any clarity. He couldn’t understand what was being said. An idea popped into his head. He hurried back to the hill and climbed up to where he’d seen the window. It appeared to be the only window left unprotected.
Thankfully, he was a tall guy, and was able to hold onto the ledge of the hill with one hand and pound on the glass with his other.
“Hey! Over here!” he shouted.
Within seconds, a forty-something-year-old man with dirty blond hair appeared in the fancy kitchen.
“Hurricane window!” the man inside shouted.
Nash leaned back to a more comfortable position, glad to be able to hear the man clearly. “Unlock the door, please! I’m not a threat!” he promised, even as he realized that someone who was a threat would be just as likely to say the same.
The man was shaking his head. “I can’t! I’m trapped inside!”
Nash stared at the man, but his panicked face suggested he was telling the truth. How did a person get locked inside a house? His brain started whirring, putting together all of the little pieces of information. The house was obviously some kind of massive panic room, but something hadn’t gone to plan. The EMP must have short-circuited the electrical system in the house. So many people wanted safe rooms and bunkers, whether they needed them or not—though, now, he guessed that most did—but most folks didn’t have the first clue about how to get one set up. Most contractors who claimed to be experts didn’t, either, and obviously this guy had fallen prey to some false promises. And this guy had bought one hell of a false promise. The steel doors and windows would have to be electronically opened and closed, which meant there was no way they were going to be able to move them without brute force.
He let out a long sigh, looking at the window and judging it to be less than two feet high. It was a skinny window, made for light and not for entering or exiting. And he was a skinny guy, but the last thing he wanted to do was get stuck in a window high above the ground. Plus, what good would it do to get himself trapped inside this crazy house?
“Help me get out!” the man shouted.
Nash looked back at him, frowning. “How?”
“I don’t know.” The man backed away from the window, getting down off of whatever he’d climbed up on so that Nash could once again see the gourmet kitchen inside. Man, was he hungry.
Nash pushed away from the house and sat down on the hillside, staring into the house he couldn’t get into. He could see a dining table and chairs within the kitchen, and imagined there would be a bed and a comfortable couch, as well. The man looked healthy enough, too, and probably had plenty of food and water inside.
He stared at the window, his mind working out different options for breaching the secured house. Even if this wasn’t his problem, he couldn’t abandon this guy to die inside a steel box. He was going to find a way in. The guy’s life depended on it.
17
The mission was clear, and Zander remained confident that he would succeed where his colleague had failed. Failure was not an option in his mind. He’d been well trained by the Marines for several years before being selected to join MARSOC, where he’d excelled, blowing old records out of the water. His training had put him in position to be promoted within the organization, and he had the skills and ability to see any mission through to the very end. He would stop at nothing to finish, either.
“This is where he went in?” Zander confirmed, turning to look at his colleague.
Ben nodded silently, scanning the water.
Zander could see the fear in his eyes, and suspected he knew what was coming next. That was fine with him. Zander wasn’t interested in prolonging the man’s suffering. He wasn’t a complete animal. Without hesitation, he raised the Beretta he’d been carrying and shot Ben in the head, ending his employment with the organization and sending him off the riverbank and into the river. There was no room for failure. Ben’s mistake threatened the entire operation. Death was the only fitting punishment.
He slid the Beretta back into the holster on the side of his rib cage and stepped onto the covered bridge. The bloodstain on the old wood was testament to death. That was where Callum had died. His eyes moved over the bridge, looking for signs that the journalist had also been killed. There weren’t any, though the wood rail and flooring were freshly splintered by the bullets Ben had used.
Zander shook his head. “Amateur.”
Ben had made a mess, and left behind a great deal of evidence. Fortunately, no one would be looking for shell casings or following the ATV tracks back to the road. The country had bigger problems to worry about than searching for a missing journalist and scientist.
Zander squatted, looking through the shabby rails that were meant to keep people from falling over the edge of the bridge. The river wasn’t quite as violent as Ben had described it. It had been a few weeks, though, and the mountain run-off had subsided some—it might have been worse before, Zander knew, and so he’d
give Ben the benefit of the doubt there.
Yet, the fact was that Zander’s instincts told him that the journalist was alive. Ben hadn’t found a body—not washed up on the bank or caught by trees or rocks—and he’d supposedly talked to a number of people who had property further downriver, searching for the lost journalist under the pretense of having a friend who’d fallen out of a boat. Nobody had reported a body, or even a half-drowned stranger needing help. There’d been no sign of the man.
Maybe Ben had been right, and he’d injured him, but Zander didn’t think the man had been hurt enough to keep him from moving on his own. He was willing to bet money that he needed to search the man’s RV for signs of where he and his daughter might have fled. If the journalist was smart, he would be long gone—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be found. Ultimately, that’s what Zander expected to happen. In this new world, a smart man would pack up and move if someone had tried to kill him, and it sounded as if this Austin was a smart man. Just not smarter than Zander.
Back on the highway, riding on horseback, Zander set his destination as the farm where the journalist had been staying.
And the trailer was right where Ben had described. Zander could see it was empty. He checked it out, finding evidence of the daughter—including a framed picture of a happy family. He smashed the glass frame and snatched the picture out, sliding it into his pocket. A note indicated she was with a family named Loveridge, and going to an uncle’s house in Colorado. He left the note where it lay. He’d do some more checking of riverside properties, closer to where rocks might have caught up a body—maybe he’d even look for offshoots from the river, where the body could have gotten side-tracked—and he’d check at the nearest hospital, but if the journalist didn’t turn up, the information in the note would lead him to the girl. And if he could get the girl, he knew her daddy would come running, assuming he was alive. Zander thought he was, and his daughter would be a good bargaining tool. He headed over to the house and did a cursory inspection. Someone had been there after Ben, but they were long gone now.
“Idiot,” he grumbled, irritated that he was following a cold trail because Ben had taken so long to report in. One way or another, it wouldn’t matter. He wasn’t going to give up until he found Austin or his body. Unlike his former colleague, Zander didn’t fail. He would complete his mission. And if anyone got in his way, they would die.
18
Amanda rolled to her side on the lumpy mattress she had taken for her own. It was better than the hard ground, she reminded herself, which was exactly what she’d probably have been sleeping on that night if Austin had gotten his way.
Thinking of that, yet again, she wondered if she was crazy. She’d just met this man, and while it was clear that her farm wasn’t a safe harbor—not when so many people had known her as a vet, and one who lived alone—did that really mean she should be pairing up with him, traipsing through the country after his teenage daughter? He’d been right the night before, saying she didn’t owe him anything, so why did she feel like she did, just because she’d pulled him out of that water-heavy stream? Why did she care?
The questions had kept her up for much of the night but hadn’t changed anything. She had no destination for her own life now, and the world was changed. Until she had an idea of what she wanted for herself, helping him seemed like a better option than sitting around or searching blind for somewhere she’d be safe. For the time being, at least, she’d keep helping him.
But that didn’t mean she had to be a pushover and watch him kill himself in the process.
The man insisted that they start heading north to his brother’s house. He was desperate to find his daughter, and while she could kind of understand his need to make sure his kid was safe, she couldn’t get her head around his willingness to sacrifice his own life. He needed rest, now, or he might as well not bother with the journey.
Hadn’t he ever flown before? The flight attendants gave a very good example of why parents had to take care of themselves before taking care of their children. Austin didn’t seem to understand that. He wasn’t thinking clearly. If something did happen to him, he was going to leave Savannah in the world all alone. The way Amanda saw it, if he took some time to heal and get his body back to being one hundred percent, or at least closer to ninety percent—heck, she’d settle for eight percent, the way he was acting—then he could find Savannah and be with her for years to come. That’s what Savannah needed.
Giving up on further sleep, Amanda let out a long sigh, staring out the nearby window with its sheer, shabby white curtains hanging over it. Austin couldn’t see reason. He was thinking with his heart and not his head. She was already mentally preparing herself for another exhausting day of listening to him complain about how badly they needed to get going.
She’d gotten him to stay at the farm for two days. There was no way she was going to get a third, and she knew it. At least his leg would be in much better shape with the boot she had found. The wound in his side was essentially healed, no sign of infection to be seen.
With the sun silently beckoning her to get out of bed, she threw her feet over the side and opened the door, listening for signs that Austin was awake. He had wanted to sleep in his trailer, but she’d convinced him to sleep in the house to protect her. Of course, it was he who needed the protecting, but she couldn’t tell him that.
“Good morning,” he said, coming through the front door as she cleared the hallway.
As she’d expected, he’d already been up and moving around. “Good morning,” she replied evenly. “Feeling good, I take it?”
He nodded, meeting her gaze. “It’s time we get going, Amanda. If you’re coming with me, that is. I packed a few changes of clothes, got my trusty Glock 19, and raided the pantry for anything I could find, which was basically nothing more than a little salt and some Johnny’s seasoning. I think Savannah must have cleared the rest out,” he finished.
“Understandable. We’ll need to find food,” she pointed out.
“I know, but it isn’t like we can run down to the gas station. We need to get moving and search the stores on our way. I take it you haven’t changed your mind? I was worried you would,” he admitted, his face going more serious.
She let herself smile. “You need help with that leg of yours, and I don’t seem to have anything better to do or any safe home to call my own, so I figure I might as well. Doesn’t mean I’ll let you starve me,” she added. “Did you have anything else in that trailer that will be useful?”
He smiled, but shook his head in answer. “I had some matches, a few lighters, candles, and I grabbed the rope I kept on hand. That’s about it.”
That was a start. “I bet there’s a lot more that could come in handy on the road in there. Do you mind if I look?”
He shrugged. “If you think it will help.”
“What about a pocket knife?”
He reached into the front of his dark jeans and pulled out a Leatherman. “It’s not going to be useful for gutting an animal or stabbing an attacker, but it has its uses.”
She grinned at the sight of the tool—the morning was looking up. “Excellent. Duct tape? Plastic?”
“I might have duct tape, but I doubt there’s any plastic.”
She nodded, her mind whirring with a long list of things she wished she could get her hands on. Her camping gear had been limited. She never camped out. And Austin had been living in a luxury home on wheels and wasn’t prepared to actually rough it. The farm they were on had been looted, as well, leaving slim pickings to choose from.
“Garbage bags?” she asked hopefully.
“Maybe. What are you looking for exactly? What’s this obsession with plastic? You planning on burying a body?” he joked.
“We’re probably not going to find an empty house to stay in, so we’re going to need shelter.”
He waved a hand. “We’ll be fine. It’s plenty warm.”
This man really was low on survival instincts, she real
ized. “It isn’t that warm. Not at night, Austin. And we need to prepare ahead of time.”
“We’re headed northwest in the midst of summer, and we’ll be at my brother’s before it turns cold. We’ll be fine,” he insisted.
She had to clench her teeth together to keep from snapping at him. “All the same, if you have a tarp or something, that would be helpful. We’ll take a couple blankets from here. I’m guessing that the closer we get to the Rocky Mountains, the chillier the nights will be. I’d prefer not to sleep directly on the ground or have my stuff getting wet. We need to keep the matches and blankets dry, hence the need for the plastic. We should double-check here to make sure there are no matches hidden in drawers, too, just in case.”
“Fine, and I think I have a small tarp in the storage area. What else?” he asked, frustration evident in his voice.
“We can’t carry a lot of water. Do you have any of those reusable bottles?”
“Probably a couple. Savannah was always buying new ones,” he replied.
“Good, then we’ll need them.” She stopped, trying to brainstorm what was worth carrying and what would just be added weight and cargo. “I don’t know,” she murmured, her brain going through a catalog of survival skills and trying to think of what was needed.
“My brother will be well-equipped to handle this situation,” Austin promised, leaning against the wall near the door. “He spent millions outfitting his house to survive the apocalypse. He’s one of those prepper types. All we have to do is get there,” Austin insisted.
She scoffed. “Oh, piece of cake. What is it, a thousand miles? Two thousand?”
“We’ve got horses,” he shot back. “My daughter’s walking.”
“And we’re going to be riding through towns and cities that have been left completely disrupted. Don’t forget that. It isn’t going to be a straight shot down the highway. We’re going to have to stay off the main roads. We’re going to have to do our best to go undetected,” she reminded him for what had to be the tenth time.
Survive the Chaos (Small Town EMP Book 1) Page 13