“I see someone,” called a voice behind her.
Lizzie heard running footsteps. She kept up her pace, breathing deep so she wouldn’t notice the chill air.
“Oh, my god.” A male voice said, following her. “It’s a naked woman.”
She swayed some more.
“Hey, lady. Come here.”
Lizzie swung backwards, not seeming to see him, and then continued on her way.
“Where are the others? There was a kid.”
“How should I know? I’ll get this one.”
“NO.” The voice came with a forceful pop of static. “Find the one with the kid. Now. Leave the crazy one for later.”
Lizzie spun, her breasts exposed to the cold. Through her bangs, she watched him. Come on, buddy. The collector stood in the snow, half-raising his gun at her, he took a long hard look at her naked body, then backed away and went after Saj and Rachael. He followed orders.
“Shit,” she muttered, hustling after them. “Mother-” She scooped up her shirt and bra, shoving the bra in her pocket and pulling the shirt over her head. “-Fucker.” She grabbed her coat and stopped long enough to slip into her boots. She continued to swear under her breath as she buttoned up the coat. Now they were after Rachael and Saj, the two people, along with her father, that she loved the most.
Lizzie barreled around the corner and dropped behind a parked car. “Shit.” Lizzie pulled herself up so she could see what was happening through the tinted glass and the lights of the street lamps. A van had pulled up and collectors stood on either side of Rachael, with guns leveled at her and Saj.
“Come with us. You’re endangering the child,” one collector said, shoving his gun forward meaningfully.
Did they just threaten Saj!? Lizzie clamped her hand on her mouth to keep from screaming at him. Saj and Rachael needed her free if she was going to mount a rescue, or she would be latched onto that dumb fuck’s back clawing his freaking eyes out right now.
Saj whined and twisted.
“It’s okay, Saj,” Rachael cooed and held him close. “Don’t shoot, I’ll go with you.”
Right before she got into their van, Rachael turned. “RUN, LIZZIE,” she hollered.
Lizzie slumped against the car, hot tears burning her eyes. She couldn’t run, it was all she could do to stand here watching them, but they didn’t bother taking the time to find her. The slider door on the van slammed shut, taking Rachael and Saj away—leaving Lizzie. She collapsed down into the snow beside the car.
Stupid Lizzie. Stupid. Crazy didn’t go as far as it used to. Must’ve seen a lot more crazies since she’d pulled that last time. She sat there until the cold bit into her.
They were safe. Provo was safe. Maybe she should just go back, at least she would be with the people she loved. And her baby would be safe. She rested her hand on her belly.
“No!” she said into the darkness. Then she screamed it, “NO!” Provo was not for her.
She rolled to her side and shoved against the cold, frozen pebbles in the gravel. Using the car for balance she stood up and ran back to where they’d dropped their backpacks.
Lizzie had everything she needed. Extra clothes, food, flashlight, batteries, trail mix and Snuzzie Bear. Rachael still had almost all of Saj’s gear with her. But Lizzie had Snuzzie Bear.
She trudged down the street. Then she had a thought. The car was out of charge; maybe all it needed was a jump start. Which meant she needed another car with a battery that had a charge. She popped the hood on the Honda they’d tried to commandeer and opened the hatchback.
No jumper cables. So she picked up the jack and threw it as hard as she could against the window of the Nissan pickup on the other side. It broke with a satisfying crunch. She opened the door and shoved the seat forward. Jumper cables.
She flipped the hood latch, realizing she needed tools to disconnect the battery. Another look behind the seat remedied the problem—tools. In minutes she had loosened the battery from its harness and set it on the ground. She checked the battery connections three times to make sure red went to positive and black to negative. Chad had left the lights on in his car once and had reversed the polarity of the connections, the resulting arc melted the post off his father’s battery. His father had ripped him a new one while Lizzie stood uncomfortably beside him.
Once she connected the battery, she sat in the seat of the Honda for a moment, trying to think calm, positive thoughts. Then she pressed the start button. It growled, stumbled, hummed and kept going. “Thank you.”
They had nearly reached the edge of Orem, the city north of Provo. Saj would be better off with Rachael in Provo, for now.
“Shit!” Will slammed on the brakes.
Zach had been snoozing, now he was jolted wide awake. The caravan had stopped. A train was stopped on the tracks where they crossed the highway. The train had machine guns mounted on it. And they were manned.
“Jesus fuck,” Zach muttered. “Who-the-hell’s army is that?”
Behind them, the rest of the vehicles screeched to a stop.
Foote was in the Hummer in front of them. Zach jerked his door open and raised his hands, jogging forward to talk to Foote. Foote rolled down his window, but stayed inside.
“This an interesting turn of events, Lieutenant,” said Foote.
“Yes, sir.” Zach's heart pounded as he scanned the view in front of him. The train snaked off in the distance, in both directions. Even if they successfully fought these guys, they would still have to get the train off the tracks to get to Provo. “What do we do?”
Foote sighed heavily. “If they were going to attack, they’d have done it by now. We wait. I'm pretty certain they're going to tell us who they are and what they want.” He punched the button on his chest radio. “Guerrero. We need to talk.” His attention returned to Zach. “Walk back along the caravan, tell them no one moves and nobody even shows a weapon. If they need to take a leak, do it by the side of the road, but nobody makes a move without my authorization.”
“Yes, sir.” Zach waited a split second, hoping for more communication. Foote waved him off.
When Zach returned, Will's eyes were big and his hands alternated gripping and loosening on the steering wheel. “Foote says we wait. Stay put unless you need to pee. No weapons.”
“I can stay put. Damn near peed myself already.”
“Sorry. You don't get to stay put. We give everyone behind us the same message. Alternating vehicles. I'll take the evens, you take the odds.”
Zach hustled down the line of vehicles, calmly repeating Foote's orders to every other vehicle, while Will did the same on the other side.
When he reached the end, he jogged back to Foote's command vehicle and stood at ease, waiting. The window of the Hummer was rolled up and Zach could tell something besides the train was wrong. The window rolled down.
Zach stepped back as the Colonel opened his door and got out. “The men have been informed, Sir. Any news on the Mr. Ray's shooter?”
Foote shook his head. “Nothing new. The bodyguards came back this morning with nothing. They think it's two shooters, though.”
“So not just a single nut-case?”
“Probably not.” Foote’s face had become an impenetrable mask. “Provo is a mess. Still no power. The candlelight vigil for Mr. Ray got out of control last night. Three houses are smoldering embers.” He spit on the ground. “Some people are running, leaving in the chaos.”
Lizzie. Was there any way Lizzie hadn’t run away again? Better get in touch with Mannie. If Lizzie had run off into the wilderness with his baby again...
Foote shoved past Zach. “Well, the proverbial shit just hit the fan.”
“Sir?” Zach turned his attention to the train. An armed group of men headed toward them. They wore a variety of clothing, most of their heads were topped with straw hats or Stetsons. Not what he thought of as Independents.
Chapter Thirty
THE LITTLE HONDA DROVE WELL through the snow. Lizzie used her
phone to tell her where Camp Williams was. What do you do when you’re in trouble? Call in the Army. She drove west the way her phone suggested, but somehow the street she’d picked went over Highway 15, the way she knew she could get to Camp Williams. She took the next exit and swung around the off-ramp. When she tried to take the right turn at the end of the curved off-ramp the car kept going straight and slid. Her seatbelt ratcheted as the car veered slowly, horrifyingly sideways down the embankment and settled gently into a pile of snow.
Lizzie pushed it into reverse and stepped on the gas. She could hear and feel the tires spinning, but it wouldn’t move. “I won’t give up, Snuzzie. I’ll rescue them. You’ll have your Saj back soon.” She hugged him close as she swung the door upward and stumbled up toward the road. She was out of the suburbs and into the countryside. The sky was no longer clear, with scattered snowflakes, now the snow was thicker and the sky was socked in.
Lizzie kept close to the center stripes of the road, following one after another—they pulled her forward. Her flashlight kept the next few stripes in view, everything outside her little pool of light was darkness. She realized her teeth were chattering. Her hastily abandoned, then reclaimed, clothes had returned to her damp. In the freezing night, they refused to dry.
Without shelter she’d die out here. Maybe she should go back to the car and run the engine and heater until morning.
Snow thickened the air, so the only sounds were her feet and breath. It had been a long time since she’d seen a mailbox. Half of her brain said turn around, but the other half kept her moving. Finally, around a bend she spotted a mailbox and a twisty driveway. She stumbled toward it, leaning on the mailbox when she reached it. Up the drive in the distance she saw a picturesque barn and a rustic two story house. She forced herself on, up the driveway. It fascinated her that she could not feel her feet, and yet still keep walking.
Lizzie tried the front door knob of the farmhouse. Not even knocking first. It was locked. She needed to be somewhere warm. The power was probably still out—the darkness of the night was far too complete. There wasn’t even a city glow on the night horizon. But even if this house wasn’t warm, it would be out of the wind.
Around back, she found a woodpile stacked right up to the back door. She opened the old-fashioned wooden screen door and tried the knob. It turned. She took a deep breath of the chill outside air and stepped inside, not sure what smells she would encounter.
It was a summer kitchen, with an old fashioned wood stove. A row of white-painted cupboards lined what would have been the side of the house and a sliding door led into the main living area. She let her breath escape. There was a hint of decay, but not as strong as the rank stench of a corpse. If there were any, they would probably be in the main house.
She shone her flashlight around the room. It was tidy. Herbs hung for drying by the stove. A box of cocoa packets with its top neatly cut off was half-full. Glass canning jars glowed red or green or orange in the light of her flashlight. A cork board covered with photos of family and friends filled her pool of light as she scanned the room. She yanked open drawers until she found a book of matches and lit a candle with its bottom melted and stuck to the bottom of a pickle jar. A makeshift lantern for someone used to losing power. The glass reflected a decent amount of light on the walls.
There were already a few arm-loads of wood near the stove. Her shivering hands pulled open the firebox. One of the family’s she’d babysat for had a stove like this—one of those Bellingham “back-to-sustainability” hippie families. At the time she’d thought they were weird living in a cob house, made of mud and straw. She joked about the big, bad wolf to the kids and had them completely terrified one night. Funny, the parents had still called her back to babysit after that.
This one looked similar to the one she used there in Bellingham. She rolled up sheets of newspaper like twisted sticks and stacked them inside. She built a little lean-to of kindling from the bin next to the stove and then put a small piece of wood on either side. Checking to make sure the draft was open, she leaned some small pieces of wood on her fire-starter setup. She pulled a long fireplace match out of a mason jar nearby and lit it on her pickle jar lantern. The match head fizzled into flame and she held it to the newspaper. The paper caught quickly and soon she had a respectable blaze to warm her hands. She made sure it would keep going, stacking other chunks of wood inside and closing the door within a finger’s width to help with more draft.
“Thank you,” she said aloud; she didn’t know to who. Yes she did. It wasn’t God. It was the Departed—the people whose house had saved her from freezing to death. The people who weren’t lucky enough to make it, but had left their things behind—things to be grateful for. She glanced at the corkboard. A color-crayoned picture of two stick figures in front of a house said: Thanks for letting me stay with you, Gramma Emily and Grampa William.
It wouldn’t take long to heat up the small kitchen, but she’d do well to have some blankets and pillows if she was camping here for the night. She added another couple skinny chunks of wood to the stove, and closed and latched the door. That would keep it going, while she explored the house.
She slid aside the door that led to the rest of the house and the unmistakable scent of death hit her like a wall. “Damn,” she stepped back into the kitchen, coughing, and slid the door shut.
She found a dish-towel and rubbed one of the flowery herb bunches, lavender, over it. Then she wrapped the dish towel over her nose and mouth and tied it behind her neck. She clicked her flashlight on and slid open the door once more. The house was frigid after the fire warmed kitchen. She stepped into a dining area with rustic wood furniture. Through there was a living area with a big hearth and a fireplace Lizzie could have climbed inside. There were no bedrooms on the ground floor but she found a circular stair with a hand carved rail and climbed it, pretty certain of what she would find. Seeing death hadn’t gotten any easier.
Her breath caught as she reached the top of the stairs. On a rustic bed lay bodies. Hollow cheeks and skin stretched taught over a bald head. Long gray hair pulled back in a braid on the other. A cotton nightgown with blue flowers draped the woman, and her dry and bony arm lay across the man’s chest. Lizzie didn't think she'd ever be that calm and peaceful, even after she was dead.
“I’m going to borrow some blankets if I can find them,” she said, her heart pounding. It felt right to talk to them. She crossed to the closet and opened it to find stacks of blankets and quilts.
Returning to the kitchen, Lizzie spotted a big awkward rocking chair. Setting the stack of bedding in it, she dragged it toward the sliding door. Heat caressed her when she opened the door. She shoved the chair through and slid the door shut.
She pulled the cloth from around her face, breathing in the faintly smoky air of the kitchen, and tucked the thickest blanket over the wood of the rocking chair. The candle burned slow and the stove’s heat had made the room quite pleasant. She found a canning jar labeled, G’ma’s Peaches, spun off the ring and popped them open with a can opener. She stuck her fingers in the cold juices and pulled a slice into her mouth. They were heavenly. She added a bit more wood to the fire and settled in, wrapping the rest of the blankets around her.
Thank you, William and Emily, for the use of your house. Emily would make a great baby name.
Chocolate. Hot chocolate would be good.
Lizzie wished she had a body to lean into as she prepared her hot chocolate. Duke was strong and smelled good. Rachael was soft and comforting, like a mother—better at it than Mama had been. But Lizzie didn’t exactly feel the magic with Rachael either. That thing with Nev was long over, despite a few niggles of petty jealousy. And Zach—well, the thing with Zach had never been. Just a drunken mistake. So whose body did she want? Her mind flashed briefly to Aubri’s pretty cheekbones—but that was absurd, she didn’t really know the girl—and Aubri was for Duke, anyway.
She sat in the rocker with her cup of cocoa, pulling her legs up to her c
hest. Even if she knew who she wanted right now, it didn’t matter. She was alone. She always ended up alone. Maybe she needed to learn to be happy alone before she could be happy with someone else. It sounded like something she’d heard on a talk show or something. But it made a lot of sense.
She rocked, lifting the cup to her lips. Lost in thought so long the chocolate had grown cold. It tasted lovely on her tongue. The warmth from the fire made her cozy. I need to learn to be alone and to be with someone. Really be there, not wanting the opposite of whatever I have at the time.
She thought of Rachael and Saj, wondering if they were okay—what would the collectors do with them? Were they in jail or just back home? Lizzie pulled out her phone and pressed the power button. Wishing she had an extra battery. Maybe Glen would have some info.
The phone turned on, but its efforts to connect to a network or Wi-Fi were in vain. Shit. She was going to have to leave to get any signal. She set it on the windowsill; maybe it would get signal there.
The warmth of William and Emily’s home made it hard to think about going back out into the cold—bodies and all. If she did go, which direction should she go? Back toward Provo or further away? I’m not going back just to let myself get caught. She was free now, and when she returned to The Shitty, she was going to be free and in control. Every person in Provo who wanted to leave with her would leave. But first she had to reconnect with them.
She looked out the door, spying a hill that looked tall enough to reach a signal. Tomorrow. When she wasn’t so tired.
When she opened her eyes again, snow had built up on the windowsill. She stood, wrapped the blanket around, and walked to the window. The snow had mostly stopped falling and the clouds had cleared for the moon. Moonlight caught falling flakes as they passed, invisible from the gray sky to the contrast of the trees and dark hills in the distance.
Deserted Lands (Book 2): Straight Into Darkness Page 26