by Harley Tate
Her biceps burned, her abs screamed, but little by little she pulled herself up. First one forearm, then the other, belly scraping against the rock face, feet clambering onto the surface.
She collapsed against the side of the slope, panting and begging for oxygen. The boulder was barely big enough to sit upon, but it saved her life. Madison sucked in breath after breath until she could breathe and her muscles stopped burning.
After a few minutes, she risked a glance over the side of the rock. Her rifle lay in the shallow water twenty feet straight down. Thanks to the angle of the hill, she hadn’t seen the sheer drop from her vantage point on top. But now it was plain: she was lucky to be alive.
Madison glanced up. The top of the ridge looked so far away. How would she ever claw her way back up?
She frowned. I can do this. I’m tougher than some hill in the woods.
Gritting her teeth, she eased up onto her feet and stretched up the slope. It wasn’t all that different from the rock wall she’d climbed at the college gym. Only this wall was covered in leaves and dirt and loose rocks.
Madison reached for a rock to pull herself up, but it crumbled away in her hand. She grabbed at a root, but yanked it out of the dirt before she could climb a single foot.
Damn it.
Using the toe of her boot, she tried another tactic: digging her own hold. Once her foot disappeared inside a wedge of dirt, Madison eased up onto the ball of her foot. It held.
She tried again with the other foot a bit higher, kicking at the slope until the debris fell away and she exposed a sturdy little ledge.
Agonizingly slowly she ascended, one kicked-in ledge at a time. Her fingernails ripped and tore as she dug at the dirt to give purchase to her hands. Mud soaked through her jeans and coated her face and neck.
But still she climbed. Up and up until at last, level forest floor rewarded her efforts. She heaved herself over the ledge, slipping on the leaves in her haste. It took the last surge of strength from deep within her core to scale the edge, but Madison prevailed.
She kissed the ground beneath her face as tears of exhaustion mixed with the dirt on her cheeks. Nature didn’t win.
Madison flopped over onto her back and laughed through the tears. I did it. I really did it.
She closed her eyes and thanked everyone from God to her yoga instructor on campus to her dad for forcing her to accept the boots Brianna offered upon their arrival.
When leaves crunched nearby, Madison didn’t hear them. She was too busy congratulating herself on surviving.
When a twig snapped ten feet away, she blew it off as a squirrel or a bird.
When a pair of boots stopped beside her head, she blinked.
A scream bubbled up her throat and Madison scrambled to escape. It was too late.
The rock slammed into the side of her head and the darkness took over.
Chapter Eight
TRACY
Clifton Compound
7:30 a.m.
Tracy rubbed at her puffy eyes. It had been a long night standing watch over the intruder’s unconscious body, but Tracy couldn’t trust anyone else. After what happened all those weeks ago in Sacramento, she refused to take the chance.
The door to the cabin opened and Anne poked her head inside. One look at Tracy and she stepped in and closed the door. “Have you been here all night?”
Tracy pushed back a lock of hair and nodded. “We can’t let him out of our sight. Not for a minute.”
“You should have woken me or traded shifts with Peyton.”
“No. I’m not leaving this asshole for a minute.”
Anne’s brow knit as she stared at the unconscious man trussed up in a kitchen chair. “How about you go to sleep now? I’ll take over and watch him until the kids get back.”
Tracy shook her head once in a firm denial. “Not a chance. No one is dying today because of me.”
With a frown, Anne walked over to the counter. “If you’re going to be that stubborn about it, then I’m making coffee. We can watch him breathe together.”
She busied herself with scooping a spoonful of instant coffee into two mugs and filling a pot with water. Thanks to a deep, private well, the Cliftons had access to all the fresh water they could need and then some. One of the many things Tracy was so thankful for now.
No man wandering in with a smile on his face would stab them in the back and ruin what they started here. She’d learned from the last few weeks. Strangers couldn’t be trusted. People lied.
Anne walked the pot of water over to the wood-burning stove and set it on the front burner. After adding another log to the fire and poking the burning embers around until the wood caught, she turned to face Tracy. At forty-four years old, Anne Clifton was almost Tracy’s age, but instead of downsizing into a little house in town and relaxing with her daughter off in college, Anne had spent the last five years turning this secluded property in the foothills into a homestead.
With a deep well, solar panels on the roof, and enough firewood to last a year, they were self-sufficient and well prepared to ride out the chaos brewing in the rest of the country. Tracy wished she had been so thoughtful and forward-looking. Instead of worrying about the end of the modern world, she’d been too busy planning things to do in retirement and enjoying her job at the library.
What a waste.
She snorted in disgust at herself as she turned back to the man calling himself Hampton. If he was being honest before, then where were his friends? Was he really there to scope the place out or was he just a crazy man wandering the woods alone?
Tracy jumped when a steaming cup of coffee appeared in front of her. She smiled up at Anne. “Thanks.”
Anne pulled out a chair and planted it next to Tracy. “Now talk.”
“About what?”
“Why you won’t leave this guy’s side. He’s been unconscious for hours. You clocked him so hard he probably won’t remember his name when he finally wakes up. So spill. You don’t seem like the type to shoot first and ask questions later.”
“I didn’t shoot him.”
Anne pinned her with a look and Tracy caved. “I’ve been here before and last time it didn’t go so well.” She sipped her coffee and leaned back before filling Anne in on the details of their flight from Sacramento.
“It got that bad, that fast?”
Tracy nodded. “As soon as Bill discovered that I stockpiled the day the EMP hit, he turned on me. I can’t prove that he’s the one who started the fire, but—”
“Why didn’t you kill him?”
Tracy focused on the ground. “I wish I had. But once Wanda died, it all devolved into chaos. First the gunfight and then the fire. I burned my hand terribly.” Tracy held up her palm and showed Anne the scars snaking across her palm. The skin would be pink and angry for months, but at least she’d survived.
“I had an infection and the pain made me delirious. I actually don’t even remember what happened after that.” She tucked her head toward her chin. “I left my daughter to shoulder the burden of escaping that place all on her own.”
Anne reached out and squeezed Tracy’s arm. “Our children are capable of more than we give them credit for.”
“I know. They’re amazing women.”
“Peyton’s not bad either.”
Tracy explained Peyton’s lack of a family and how his father had disowned him just before the EMP. The boy had been a quasi-son to her ever since Madison met him at UC Davis; now it was all but legal. He would be a part of their family forever.
She glanced at Anne. “When did you leave home? Stockton’s a farther trek than Sacramento.”
Anne blew on the top of her coffee and drank a little before responding. “We left as soon as Barry got off work. His boss wouldn’t let him go early.” She wrinkled her nose at the memory. “I told him what did it matter when there wouldn’t be a job to go back to, but the man has principles.”
Tracy smiled. “Sounds like my husband.” Walter had done his duty
and boarded a plane headed to Seattle and Hong Kong despite seeing the warnings. If he’d shirked his duty, he would have been home to help defend their property. So many things would have been different.
“Our husbands have convictions. That’s what makes them good people.”
Anne nodded. “I know. But it sure would have saved some hassle. We lost an entire carload of supplies on the way and almost didn’t make it here.”
Tracy remembered their attempt to load up at Walmart and the two men more interested in target practice than long-term survival. Although they all escaped that day, they weren’t so lucky at the farm in Chico. Tucker’s loss still stung. She leaned closer to Anne. “I’m sorry we lost Tucker.”
“So am I. Brianna won’t talk to me about him, but I know she’s still grieving.”
“We all are. Tucker was a good young man. He deserved better.”
The pair of women lapsed into silence while they thought about the struggles of the past six weeks. So many people had died. Not just Wanda and Tucker, but all the people Tracy and her family had killed. The men at the house in Chico. The thugs hiding inside the college building. The attack at the farm.
She closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled. Would Hampton be another? She opened her eyes and focused on the man. Unconscious, he didn’t seem so scary. Battered coat with a few rips and tears. Boots caked in mud. Jeans turned dingy brown from dirt and nonstop wear.
Leaning forward, she sniffed at him. The stench of man too long without a shower. If he did belong to a group of people, they weren’t living the life of luxury. That made them dangerous.
She checked the paracord looped around his wrists and ankles. Peyton had done a good job trussing him up. The man wasn’t going anywhere unless he was a contortionist in his prior life.
“You think he’s a threat?”
Tracy hesitated. “I don’t know. But I’m not willing to take the chance. As soon as he wakes up, we’re finding out what he knows and who he’s with, no matter what.”
“Barry should be home soon. We could wait for him.”
“No. The longer we wait, the riskier the situation becomes. We need to eliminate the threat as soon as possible.”
“If there’s someone nearby, the kids will flush them out.”
Tracy nodded. Since they hadn’t come back with news, she assumed they were safe. With three of them out there and enough firepower to take down a small army, Tracy didn’t worry about the day ahead. It was the next few days and weeks that gave her concern.
More people like Hampton would be coming. More people would try to take what they had. “We need to step up the perimeter defenses. Fortify this place for attack.”
Anne sat a bit straighter in the chair. “I’ve come to the same conclusion. We hoped when we picked this property that we were far enough off the beaten path and no one would happen upon us by accident.”
“Guess nowhere is remote enough.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Anne shook her head. “I never thought things would get this bad, this fast. Riots in all the major cities? No emergency relief anywhere? I’d hoped most of the urbanites would just stay put and survive off rations supplied by the local government.”
“No one anticipated this kind of chaos. We’ve been comfortable for too long.”
Anne nodded.
Tracy opened her mouth to say more when the front door slammed open. An out-of-breath Peyton stood on the front step, eyes wide and full of fear and anger.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Peyton sucked in a breath and gripped the doorframe for support. “It’s Madison. We’ve looked everywhere, but we can’t find her.”
Tracy stood up in alarm and the coffee sloshed in her cup. “What do you mean?”
“She’s gone.”
“That’s impossible. Maybe she’s just out farther than normal or she’s down in a gulley you haven’t checked.”
Peyton shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think someone took her.”
Brianna thundered up the front steps and squeezed past Peyton to enter the cabin. “He’s right. Madison’s been kidnapped.” She held up a rifle slick with water and mud. “I found her weapon in a creek bed. There was a pool of blood on the leaves at the top.”
Tracy staggered back. Not Madison. Not my daughter. She spun on her heel. Hampton needed to wake up. Right this minute.
Chapter Nine
WALTER
Northern California Forest
12:00 p.m.
The Camaro crawled down the road. Thanks to the gear lashed to the roof, they could barely drive faster than they could walk, but it sure beat carrying the load. Walter checked the rearview and the side mirrors every minute or so, ensuring they were alone.
With thirty road miles separating them from the Cliftons’ cabin, it would take them all day to get there at this pace. Before, the separation didn’t bother him, but ever since he made the decision to head home, anxiety crept beneath his calm. He wanted to be there yesterday.
Before the EMP he made his living flying people all over the world. Sitting in a cockpit looking down over the specks of houses and the vastness of America brought him peace. Now traveling only gave him heart palpitations and a cold sweat.
At least he was bringing home more than venison jerky and ginseng root. He glanced at Larkin beside him in the front seat. He brought muscle and manpower and fighting skills.
The Cliftons had the property and the buildings and the setup to survive in a civilized world, but that world died six weeks ago. Every day that went by brought more desperation and lawlessness. More risk and outside threats. Someone would come to take what they had.
With Colt and Larkin by his side, Walter could defend the property. He could keep his wife and daughter safe.
Tilting the rearview, Walter caught a glimpse of Colt, Dani, and little Lottie in the backseat. Trained a SEAL, Colt could still catch a few minutes of sleep anywhere, anytime. Apparently he’d taught Dani the same thing. The three of them made an unlikely family—gruff middle-aged man, teenage orphan, and a little Yorkie. But it worked.
Larkin adjusted in his seat. “You really think you can survive out here in a cabin long-term?”
Walter glanced over at the man. About his age, career army, no ring on his finger. A solitary man, Walter guessed. He nodded as he turned back to the road. “I think so. As long as we can defend it.”
“That’s the hardest part, isn’t it? Defense? Not just from outsiders, though.”
“What do you mean?”
Larkin exhaled and ruffed up his beard. “There’s no peace anymore. Never a chance to relax and let down your guard. We’re living in a war zone. That does things to people.”
Thanks to Colt, Walter knew a bit about what transpired in Eugene, but not a lot. “Are you talking about the rest of your group?”
“Partly. But not just them. Everyone reacts differently to this sort of stress. We’re not a bunch of soldiers sent halfway around the world to fight in someone else’s backyard. This is our land. Our home. And it’s not under attack from some foreign invader. We’re tearing ourselves apart.”
Walter blinked. “Not everyone is like that.”
“Not everyone, but enough.” Larkin turned to look out the window. “Melody Harper was a good woman. She didn’t deserve to die alone in the woods.”
“Colt said she fell. It was an accident.”
“The car crash tore her apart. She’d lost her home, her life in Eugene, and then to watch as the Wilkinses died in front of her…” He shook his head. “She couldn’t handle it. Neither could her brother.”
“The man I killed.”
Larkin nodded.
“I’m sorry, Larkin. It was a snap judgment. I thought he was going to kill someone.”
“You did the right thing. But I wish it hadn’t come to that.” He turned back to Walter with a sad smile. “I thought Melody might be the one.”
Walter kept his expression even. He didn’t k
now what he would do if he lost Tracy or his daughter. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Me, too. But that seems to be my track record. Every girl I meet either dies or disappears.” He leaned back in the seat and tapped his fingers on the ledge of the door. “First girl I ever loved went to Haiti on a mission trip and never came home.”
“What happened to her?”
“Don’t know. Her father was a pastor in the local church. He took his whole family to Haiti every year to build houses and a school and spread the word of God as he put it. One day she didn’t show up for dinner.”
“Any trace of her?”
“Not a one. I was seventeen and head over heels for her. Janie Kester. Red hair, green eyes, dimple on her left cheek that only showed up when she laughed. Most beautiful girl in all of Westfield High.”
Larkin exhaled a heavy, pendulous breath laced with grief. “I didn’t find out until the first day of my junior year.” He shook his head at the memory. “There I was, this gangly, uncoordinated boy standing by the front entrance of school with a rose in my hand, waiting. I stood there until halfway through first period. The principal came out and told me.”
“What about her family?”
“They stayed in Haiti for months afterward. When they finally came home, her father couldn’t even look me in the eye. So much for God taking care of his own.”
Silence filled the car. Walter could understand how an experience like that could transform a man, let alone a kid.
“Ever since then, I haven’t put much stock in love or God or fate.” He paused and his next words came out rough and tortured. “Until Melody.”
Walter had met Tracy around the same time as Larkin met his Janie. What would have happened if he’d lost her all those years ago? Would he still be the man he was today without Tracy by his side, growing and changing and loving him for more than half his life?