Weathering The Storm (Book 2): Surge

by Soward, Kenny

  “Let’s be honest,” Sara murmured, contradicting her own thought. “You rarely sleep anyway. There’s more of a chance you would be wide awake and staring at the ceiling if you weren’t out here playing at guard duty.”

  She walked past the spot where they’d planted the tin can alarm, briefly shining her flashlight on the cans to verify that they were undisturbed before she moved on. Twenty yards farther along, the ground ahead grew steeper with the mountain’s rise, a sign Sara should stop and make her way around the front of the cabin. Yet she kept climbing, and soon she was sucking in big breaths of misty air as she labored along. She slipped once and caught herself by grabbing a small sapling, almost dropping her flashlight in the process.

  “Time to change direction,” Sara said, descending until the ground leveled out and then making her way in a wide circle around the yard. The camera on this side of the house wouldn’t be able to see her out this far into the woods, and the mist would make it even harder despite the camera having night vision.

  Sara shined the flashlight all around, but the light barely penetrated the mist, instead forming an eerie glow on the forest floor. A prickle of fear ran up the back of Sara’s neck as darkness pressed in, and she suddenly didn’t like the idea of being out of Dion’s sight.

  She started to turn back toward the cabin then stopped herself and took a deep, calming breath. Yes, you’re walking in the dark misty woods after midnight, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. You have a flashlight and a gun, and you’ve survived a lot worse than some old woods.

  Picking her way between birches and pines, Sara cringed every time her hand touched the cold, wet bark. And when she reached a series of huge stones jutting out of the side of the mountain—their family had deemed this Stone Point—her imagination ran wild with the things that could possibly be lurking there.

  As she moved past the monolithic stones, a heavy thud reached her ears just beneath the sounds of wind and rain. Sara stopped in her tracks, confidence throttled. She cocked her head and listened hard as raindrops pelted her face and pattered against the plastic shell of her rain poncho.

  The thud came again, a flat sound like a rock dropping on the muddy ground. Sara backed quickly away and reached for her pistol where it was tucked into her waistband. After a brief struggle where the poncho kept getting in the way, she finally got the weapon free and held it up with one shaking hand while shining the flashlight into a thick copse of trees at the far side of the rocks.

  “Who’s there?” Sara called out, her voice quivering as her eyes tried to penetrate where not even her light could go. Then she strengthened her tone, knowing she couldn’t show any signs of weakness to someone creeping around their cabin. “I said, who is it? Who’s in the trees?”

  The branches within the copse shook and rattled as something big shifted behind them. Sara’s eyes flew open wide and she took another step back. Was this the man who’d pulled the gun on Dion and her a couple of days ago? Sara tried to imagine the man stepping through that tangle and causing such a racket, but her mind couldn’t make his form fit.

  No, whatever was in there was much bigger than a man, and it pressed its way forward and displaced all the branches and leaves as it emerged in a mass of antlers and a brown shaggy neck. Sara’s flashlight glinted off a pair of black eyes, reflecting back to her with a flash of green. At its shoulders, the beast stood taller than Sara, and its rack of antlers curved upward in a dozen pointy spikes that Sara knew could pierce her as easily as a spear. Two flaring nostrils made twin puffs of steam at the end of its long snout.

  Sara caught the gleam of several more eyes back in the cover of the trees, shining out at her and blinking in curiosity as Sara’s attention shifted back to the big creature standing between her and the copse of trees.

  “You’re a big bull elk,” Sara whispered as she faced the beast across the space of twelve yards, “and those are your ladies back there. The flooding must have driven you all the way up here.”

  The elk stared at Sara, lowering his head and stamping the ground with his foreleg, making that heavy thud she’d heard. The muscles of his shoulders twitched as he stamped the ground again, tossing his head at Sara as if confirming she was correct.

  This was no man or supernatural entity, yet that fact did not lessen the pounding of Sara’s beating heart. If anything, it only increased her fear and concern. She’d seen videos of bull elks attacking people, and the beasts could be extremely aggressive, especially at the start of rutting season in the fall. It wasn’t quite fall yet, but close enough, and Sara didn’t want to spend her last breath looking down from the pointy end of this fellow’s jagged crown.

  “Easy boy, easy,” Sara said, backing up. “I’m just going to head on back down to the cabin and leave you alone. Sorry for the bother.”

  The elk stepped toward her and snorted in growing agitation. Sara swallowed a lump of dread as she looked around for a tree to hide behind. As the beast approached, Sara spread her arms wide and yelled, jerking the flashlight around in hopes of frightening the elk. The elk fell forward with his forelegs spread, grunting, displaying aggression. Then he danced backward with his hooves pounding the mud.

  Sara took the opportunity to turn and run.

  She sprinted through the mist trying to keep the flashlight beam trained forward well enough so that she didn’t brain herself on a tree. Branches and leaves slapped against her shoulders and face. The elk issued an ear-piercing warbling cry from behind her, sending her gasping and staggering forward until she broke through the edge of the woods and caught sight of the cabin.

  With nothing barring her way, Sara clenched her jaw and ran with everything she had, feet pounding heavily in the mud, her side cramping as she covered the last forty yards. Dion rushed onto the porch, lifting his ax as he searched the woods behind Sara for whatever was chasing her.

  “What is it, Sara?” His voice was bold and urgent. “What’s behind you?”

  “An elk,” Sara said as she ran up the porch steps and slipped while trying to stop. She grabbed on to Dion’s arm to keep from falling and then turned and looked back toward the edge of the forest. Her breath came in gasps, tension and fear melting away in waves. Sara laughed and put her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “It was a big elk. Scared the wits out of me.”

  Dion saw her incredulous and bemused expression, and he gave an uncertain laugh to match hers. “Are those things dangerous?”

  “They can be,” Sara said, wincing as the cramp in her side reached its peak and began to fade. “I’d already worked myself up pretty good out there alone in the dark, and the sight of that thing put me over the edge.” The ridiculousness of the eerie circumstances combined with the fact that she’d just come face-to-face with a bull elk and lived to tell the tale brought a relieved chuckle up from Sara’s belly and through her chattering teeth. She stood up, tucked her gun back into her waistband, and held her hand up to show Dion. “Look, I’m still shaking.”

  “Let’s get you back inside,” Dion said flatly, giving the edge of the woods one final look. “We can watch the yard from inside tonight.”

  “I’ve had enough of bumps, beasts, and creepy woods for one night,” Sara agreed, her voice filled with relief.

  Then they turned and went inside to the dry, welcoming warmth of the cabin.

  Chapter 25

  Jake, Boston, Massachusetts | 2:03 a.m., Friday

  “I can’t tell if it’s morning or night,” Marcy said, sitting on the couch with her foot up on the coffee table as Jake finished putting a fresh bandage on her wounded leg. The cut hadn’t gotten any worse, but there was an increase in fluid leaking from the wound, a sure indication that her body was fighting the infection thanks to the antibiotics Lizzy had given her.

  “It’s pitch-black out,” Jake said, “and according to the grandfather clock it’s just past 2 a.m..”

  “I feel like I have jet lag.” Marcy held her hand to her forehead.

  Jake raised
his eyes and thought about it for a moment. “That’s exactly what it feels like these days. No working clocks, mostly. No sense of time. It seems like all we do is run around—”

  “While getting shot at.”

  “While getting shot at,” Jake nodded in confirmation. “Until we find a place to rest.”

  “Rinse and repeat,” Marcy said.

  “Finding Lizzy was a big break,” Jake said flatly. “You might have had a lot more to worry about if Lizzy hadn’t had those antibiotics.”

  “That’s true, but don’t downplay your constant attention,” Marcy said, running her thumbs over the large, square Band-Aid and smoothing out its edges. “I probably would have let it get worse until my leg was about to fall off.”

  “I just know how infections can get out of hand.” Jake shrugged. “Let it go long enough and you’ll go septic.”

  “Just like with Blake.”

  “That’s right.” Jake nodded, then he glanced over to where the kids had formed a makeshift camp in front of the fireplace. With Lizzy’s permission, they’d brought down some blankets and pillows and were cozily watching a movie on one of Lizzy’s grandkid’s tablet devices. She’d left the generator on through the day, so the kids were able to charge it up and use it to keep themselves entertained for a little while. Jake glanced over and was pleased to see their faces engrossed in what was happening on the screen. It must feel like a break from the harshness of their situation and missing their mother.

  “I should probably go down and see what kind of stuff Lizzy has in the basement,” Jake said, turning his attention back to Marcy. “She shooed me away when I asked her how much fuel she had and if she was conserving it. She said she had plenty of it, however, I’m not sure I trust her on that account. I’m not even sure it matters.”

  “Why do you say that?” Marcy asked, sitting up.

  “X-Gang is going to come through here at some point on one of their sweeps,” Jake’s eyes glanced toward the street. Even though he couldn’t see it, he imagined several X-Gang cars pulling up and their tattooed gang members getting out. “We won’t be here long enough to use what Lizzy has left of her supplies.”

  “We need to bug out as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, although that’s another problem,” Jake said, sighing exasperatedly. “I tried to get her to think about leaving, but she won’t listen. She said she’s been here a long time, and she’s not going to let anyone scare her out of her house. Aside from that, she’s had a hip replacement. She knows she’s in no condition to walk several miles a day. She might not even make it one.”

  Marcy nodded in understanding as her dark hair fell over her shoulders. “What are we going to do?”

  Jake shrugged. “I told her we could make her a stretcher and carry her out of here. She wouldn’t have that either.”

  “Could we force her to come?” Marcy asked, eyes pained yet hopeful behind her glasses.

  “We could try, except it would make it that much harder to get the kids to safety. And I think the kids have to be our biggest priority right now. Lizzy would agree.”

  Marcy’s face suddenly twisted with emotion, and tears streaked from beneath the rims of her glasses down to her chin. “It really stinks that we have to make decisions like this. I’m just so tired of it…” Marcy shook her head and dropped her eyes to stare at her bare legs.

  “I know,” Jake said, patting her arm. “Me too. None of it is fair, and we certainly didn’t ask for it. I don’t think we have a choice but to keep making these decisions.”

  “Life-and-death.” Marcy nodded.

  “That’s right. We want to make it home and get the kids back to their mother.” Jake thought for a moment. “You know, we’re acting like we have a say in what Lizzy is going to do. She’s a stubborn lady, and I doubt we have to do any choosing for her. Besides,” Jake chuckled, “she said she has some big surprise for anyone who tries to get into her house uninvited.”

  “I’d love to see what she has in store for them.” Marcy’s frown turned into a grin. “Where did Lizzy go, anyway?”

  “She went up to bed around midnight,” Jake said. “So, I figured it would be a good time to go downstairs and see if there’s anything of use down there. Lizzy said her husband had a lot of old tools laying around, but she never really went through them.”

  “Let me know what you find.” Marcy glanced at the kids. “I’ll keep an eye on them and recheck our backpacks. Our clothes should be dry soon, too. We’ve got fresh socks, jeans, and shirts. And Lizzy has some pretty nice rain ponchos, too. Ours are torn and ripped pretty good.”

  “That’s great,” Jake said, standing and indicating the slightly over-sized jeans and flannel shirt Lizzy had given him. “And Lizzy hooked me up with some of Lou’s clothes. Feels strange wearing another man’s clothes, especially since he’s…”

  “Dead.”

  “Yep.”

  “Should we pack some spare clothes then?”

  “Mm, not too much.” Jake twisted his lips in thought. “I’d worry more about food, medicine, and anything we can use to start a fire. Set it out on the kitchen table so we can ask for Lizzy’s permission.”

  “I’m on it,” Marcy said, slapping the couch on either side of her.

  Jake turned and made his way toward the kitchen, then took a hard left down a short hallway. There were three doors there: one on his right, one at the end, and another on the left that led somewhere beneath the steps. The door on the right was the bathroom, and the one at the end of the hall was the laundry room. With only one door remaining, Jake grasped the handle and turned it gently, pulling the door open in a cloud of dust and distant generator noise. He half-expected to get hit with a cloud of fumes from the generator, but the air was clean, if a bit muggy and moist.

  A string dangled in front of him, so he reached out and pulled on it, and a bare bulb above his head flickered to life, illuminating a stairwell leading down. He placed his boot on the top stair and heard it creak under his weight yet remain perfectly stable, so he continued down.

  The steps were steep and narrow, but he made it to the bottom without slipping. The light from the stairs didn’t reach down there, so he reached out and felt around until he found another string and pulled it, this time lighting a good portion of the long, narrow basement.

  The walls were made of big square bricks and mortar, and the floor was just a layer of old cement, cracked in a few places and patched in others. To his immediate left were a half dozen or more bicycles leaning against the wall, some of them appearing to be very old.

  The furnace was tucked in beneath the stairs behind him, and on his right were some chairs stacked atop an old kitchen table. Three rows of shelves stretched away to the far end of the basement, although everything was bathed in darkness at that end. Jake walked straight between two rows of shelves toward the front of the house where the generator banged away. He found another string and pulled, and a light came on to fill in the remaining darkness with stark light.

  The generator was a newer unit with a quiet engine. A pipe ran from the exhaust up into the rafters to where Jake assumed it ran outside. The duct work was done well, explaining why there were no exhaust fumes to speak of. A half-dozen small plastic gas cans were lined up in a row next to the generator, and Jake went and lifted each one to discover that they were all empty except the last one—it was only a quarter of the way full. He set it back down with a frown and shook his head in dawning realization. Lizzy had never intended for the gas to last long. She’d never intended to get rescued from the storm. This must be what she considered the last storm of her life, and she’d said as much upstairs.

  Jake did a full turn, eyes wandering over the shelves full of old oil cans and tools covered in cobwebs. He was sure there was something down there they could use, although it might take him until daybreak to get through it all.

  “Well, you’ve got a little time, buddy,” he told himself. “Better make the best of it.”

 
Chapter 26

  Sara, Gatlinburg, Tennessee | 2:45 a.m., Saturday

  It was just before 3 a.m., and the cabin lay blanketed in darkness as Sara circled around toward the creek. The fear of the previous night’s experience with the elk had mostly faded, although she still glanced over her shoulder occasionally, half-expecting the elk’s pointed antlers to come charging toward her through the dark. She kept low to the ground, becoming one with the mist as her eyes moved back and forth across the yard to see if there was anyone else in cahoots with the person rooting around in the back of the Subaru.

  Not seeing anyone else, her eyes settled on the SUV and van parked next to it in the middle of the circular gravel driveway. She emerged from the forest and moved quickly along the creek until she came to the bridge. Walking beside the driveway so her feet didn’t crunch on the gravel, Sara approached the intruder stealthily, growing angrier by the second as she looked at the Subaru’s hatchback thrown upward and the person taking things out of the back and setting them down on the gravel.

  It had been a trap all along. They’d positioned the vehicles away from the cabin with their rears facing the road. They’d locked the van’s doors but left the Subaru open, making sure to fill the back with a box of MREs and other stocks. They’d arranged things so that there was just enough for one person to carry if they stacked it into the cardboard box carefully. The hope was that the person was slowed down by the sheer selection of goods they could steal and the effort of arranging them so they could get it all inside the box. Sara had hoped they would be so caught up in their findings that they wouldn’t notice her sneaking up behind them.

  Dion waited just inside the cabin, watching through the computer screen with the cameras trained on them. His job was to lay low until Sara gave him the signal to come out.