by Harley Tate
The entire United States went from nonstop worldwide contact to an island nation cut off from everything outside. Through luck and determination, Tracy’s husband Walter found her in the ensuing chaos. But safety lingered out of reach for weeks. The promise of a sanctuary cabin in the woods was more dream than reality, but thanks to Brianna, they made it.
Ten people, a scrap of a dog, and a feisty cat all crammed into the tiny compound in the wilderness of Northern California. Brianna’s family had taken them in and saved their lives. Now they all worked from sunup to sundown ensuring they earned their keep.
It had been rough going at first. Warm weather brought interlopers and strangers hell-bent on ruining everything they’d worked for. But thanks to quick thinking and an arsenal of weapons, the Sloanes and their makeshift extended family survived.
As the stifling heat gave way to falling leaves and colder temperatures, the months passed with back-breaking regularity. Endless crops to water and harvest, supplies to inventory, chickens and pigs to tend. They fell into a routine of communal labor and the satisfaction of working the land. But Tracy underestimated the brutal, snow-filled winter.
With a grunt of effort, she resumed her trek through the forest. The snow sucked at her ankles and clung to her boots with every forced step. Hunting in December with a foot and a half of snow on the ground wasn’t for the faint of heart.
Snot crusted and froze in Tracy’s nostrils and she wiggled her nose to increase airflow. Even as late as October, she’d thought a place with food and weapons and comfortable beds would solve all their problems.
“The winter won’t be so bad,” she had told herself. “We have everything we need.”
A clump of snow fell off a pine bough and plopped onto her shoulder. How naïve.
Apart from a vacation one Christmas holiday, Tracy had never spent more than an afternoon in the snow. Her memories of that trip were filled with steaming hot chocolate and snowball fights and rosy cheeks rounded with laughter.
Now a solid month into a snow-filled winter and the memories mocked her. Thanks to the cold, most of their prime hunting targets were hibernating, hunkered down, or out of the area. But snowshoe hares still hopped along their routine trails and foxes followed close behind.
With Walter’s help, Tracy and Madison set snare traps in a mile perimeter around the compound and checked them every day. Most days all they ended up with were soggy clothes and windburned cheeks, but every so often, they were rewarded. A plump rabbit meant fresh meat for dinner and fur they could use for coats, gloves, hats, and a million other things.
The first trap came into view and Tracy picked up the pace, loping toward it with a clumsy, high-knee waddle. Although working twelve hours a day honed her muscles, it burned a million calories. Tracy’s stomach rumbled as she pushed faster.
Screw guns and ammunition; food was the most precious commodity in this new world. She stopped a few feet from the trap and filled her lungs with frigid air. It was empty like all the others. With an exhale, Tracy checked the snare and the bait before moving on.
While Tracy worked the western side of the perimeter, her now-twenty-year-old daughter, Madison, worked the east. In the past nine months, her daughter had grown from a smart, but inexperienced, college student to a capable and strong young woman.
Tracy wished it had been in different circumstances, but she was proud of Madison and all she had accomplished. From clearing land and planting a massive garden, to harvesting and canning and learning how to hunt, Tracy’s daughter had proven that a positive attitude meant everything.
Using her teeth, Tracy pulled off a glove and wiped at her eyes. Burning tears coated her lashes. Next time they went into the city for a scavenging run, she needed goggles or oversized sunglasses. Something to keep the wind and glare out of her eyes.
After a moment, she moved on, checking the next three traps and coming up empty. Scratch rabbit stew from the menu tonight. She hurried on to the final snare when a shout stopped her midstride.
“Help! Mom! Help!”
Madison. Tracy ran toward the sound of her daughter’s anguished voice. She cupped her bulky gloves around her mouth and screamed. “Madison! Where are you?”
She couldn’t hear a response above the pounding of her own heart. Tracy stopped, heaving for breath as sweat beaded and slipped down her spine beneath the weight of her winter parka. “Madison!”
A million scenarios ran through her mind.
A hidden log beneath the snow could twist an ankle or break a leg. A hungry mountain lion or bobcat could leap from a tree and try to turn her daughter into dinner. A hunter who strayed into their area could have shot her by accident.
Someone could be holding her hostage.
Tracy shivered and plowed on in the direction she’d heard the scream. Her side burned with lactic acid and her vision clouded with sweat and tears, but Tracy didn’t stop.
I’ll find you, honey. Wherever you are.
Tracy cupped her hands and cried out again. “Madison!”
At last, her daughter responded. “Over here!”
Yes! Tracy ran in the direction of her daughter’s voice. Ignoring the pain in her side and the sweat soaking her shirt, she headed toward the last of Madison’s traps. There! A shape in the snow.
Dark gray coat, flag of brown hair blowing in the wind, all ringed by a circle of bright red snow.
“Madison! Are you okay?” Tracy stopped five feet from her daughter.
The snow surrounding Madison ranged in tint from carnation to scarlet, all stained with blood. Madison sat in a depression, backside buried a foot deep, clutching her leg. She looked up at her mother, face as pale as the unblemished ground further afield. “I’m bleeding pretty bad.”
Tracy scrabbled forward, landing hard on her knees a foot away. A series of gashes opened up Madison’s pants. Blood coated her fingers where she gripped her leg, steaming in the winter air.
“What happened?”
Madison forced a swallow. “A fox was in the snare. I thought it was dead, but it wasn’t.” She winced. “I bent down to release the snare and it attacked. I shielded my face, but it got my leg bad.”
“Why didn’t you shoot it?”
“I—I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. All the other traps were empty. I didn’t think I’d find anything and when I did, it looked dead. I just assumed—” Madison’s explanation cut off as Tracy reached for her leg.
“Let me see.”
Madison moved her hand and a fresh gurgle of blood bubbled through the cut in her pants. Damn it. Tracy couldn’t make out anything with the fabric in the way, but the amount of blood alarmed her. If it was a bite…
“Did it look sick? Crazy? Was it foaming at the mouth?”
Madison heaved out a breath. “I don’t think so, but it all happened so fast.”
Tracy rolled her lips over her teeth. There were all sorts of rational explanations for a fox to attack. An injury, being cornered in the trap, just plain fear. But another reason flashed in neon in Tracy’s mind: rabies. If the fox were infected, Madison needed a vaccine. Right now.
She dropped the small pack she carried and fished out the mini first aid kit and a bandana. “I’m sorry. This will hurt.”
Madison leaned back and braced herself with her palm as Tracy applied the gauze. It would all have to come off inside, but at least the bleeding would slow while they hobbled back to the cabins. “Where’s the fox?”
“I loosened the snare enough for it to wriggle free before it attacked. I guess it ran off.”
A million worries flew through Tracy’s mind, but she only voiced one for now. “The blood will attract other predators. Bobcats or mountain lions. An injured fox could lead them right to us. We’ll have to be careful.”
Madison reached out and grabbed Tracy’s hand. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Me too. Let’s hope we have enough supplies to fix you up.”
“Dad’s on a run. He’ll find what we don’t have.�
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Tracy didn’t respond. Their supplies were meager at best. No vaccines, no antibiotics. Did they even have a suture kit? The winter had brought more than expected accidents and injuries. She shook her head and focused on Madison. Staying out in the snow wasn’t helping anything.
With a deep breath, she hoisted her daughter to her feet. Looping one arm around Madison’s back, Tracy used her free hand to hold tight to Madison’s other arm. Together, they started the slow and agonizing trek back to camp.
With every step, Tracy’s worry grew. If the fox had rabies or some other disease, Madison might never recover. If not, alcohol and bandages might do the job, but if her daughter kept losing blood, she would be incapacitated for a good long while.
Madison winced and Tracy slowed. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just need a moment.”
“We can’t stop, honey. We have to get you home.”
“I know.” Madison sucked in a breath, nodded, and they took off again.
They might have a small working farm and the privacy of a forest all around, but their situation was far from secure. No hospitals. No western medicine. No doctors.
Something as simple as a rusty nail or a sick animal could do them in. Trauma kits and first aid supplies could only do so much. Tracy hugged her daughter tighter and picked up the pace. Hopefully Walter was having better luck in the city. If not, they were in a world of hurt.
Chapter Two
COLT
Mountain Way
Truckee, CA
10:00 a.m.
Why the hell does it have to be this freakin’ cold? Colt hunched down behind the remains of a car torched back when the sun could fry an egg on the hood and he didn’t have to wear a ridiculous parka with a scratchy fur hood.
He adjusted the sight on the binoculars and peered into the ransacked grocery store across the street. So far, apart from his stupid self and Walter Sloane, they hadn’t seen a single person. Not that he blamed anyone for staying home.
Of all places for their plane to land on a trek from Sacramento, California to Hong Kong, it had to be Oregon. Between the landing site and Truckee, California where he now crouched, spanned endless forests, mountain ranges, and a metric crap-ton of snow. Not a single beach chair, tropical sunset, or gorgeous woman in sight.
If they’d made it all the way to Hong Kong, he’d be living it up right now: an ex-pat in paradise with running water, hot food, and lights that still turned on. Instead, he was huddled in the freezing wind, butt in the snowdrift, ten minutes away from freezing his junk into a popsicle and a pair of snowballs.
But it wasn’t all terrible. Thanks to a chance run-in with a soldier and a tough teenage girl, Colt had a reason to keep breathing. Dani was the closest thing to a daughter he would ever have. Family made the cold almost worth it.
With a shift in his squat, Colt scanned the rest of the strip mall. The grocery store sat back from the road with a sizable parking lot in front and a handful of businesses on the side. Everything had been pillaged. Not a single window remained in any of the shops and half of them were burned into sooty-black caves.
He didn’t understand what drove people to loot and destroy. Didn’t they know what the future held? Instead of torching the running shop, people should have been loading up on shoes and gear. It wasn’t like the UPS guy would show up next week with a shipment of new Nikes. Hell, FEMA wasn’t even showing up with food or water.
Whatever was left of the government, it didn’t stretch to the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas, that was for damn sure. For all intents and purposes, Colt, Dani, and the rest of their group were on their own. Which suited them just fine. After escaping the clutches of a crazy man and his ragtag group of defectors, Colt wasn’t about to walk into another organized city and lay down his weapons.
Nope. They were off-grid and off the radar for good. Not that either existed anymore, but still. He was beholden to no one except Dani and a fluffy little dog who didn’t have anyone else left. Lottie didn’t weigh much, but she made up for it in personality. He’d trust that dog over a stranger any day.
Colt pulled a handwritten note from his pocket and ran over the list one more time. Pain medicine. Sutures. Antibiotics. Band-Aids. Gauze. Tampons. Bourbon.
The last one might have been his own personal addition, but it didn’t make it any less critical. He could only stomach so much dehydrated venison and highs in the thirties before he needed a stiff drink to take the edge off. In a pinch, he could even use it for antiseptic.
In all likelihood, they wouldn’t find anything. But every once in a while, a treasure would be hidden beneath the broken shelves and trampled displays.
Footsteps shuffling through the snow caught Colt’s ear and he turned. Walter Sloane trudged up behind him, eyes shielded behind dark ski glasses and graying head hidden by a thick hood. Thanks to Walter, Colt was not only alive, but healthy, and Dani had survived more than her share of injuries.
Bullet wounds, cuts, bruises, concussions, and burns. You name it, they endured it. Most men would have taken one look at them and walked away. But Walter didn’t. He’d remembered Colt from the emergency landing all those days before and welcomed him into the fold. Months of hard work later and Walter’s age shone in his deeper wrinkles and tired eyes.
Colt nodded hello. “Find anything?”
Walter crouched beside him, hidden from the street by the same shell of a car. “Not a soul.” He nodded at the grocery store. “Any movement?”
“None. The whole street is abandoned. We’re too far from houses for anyone to hear us and it looks like this part of town was ransacked a good long while ago.”
Apart from the grocery store and attached shops, a bank sat empty across the street, with a derelict building beside it and an express oil change place farther on.
Walter nodded. “The bank is empty. Car place, too. Nothing else is close enough to bother with, although I canvassed the two closest blocks.”
“Then I say we go. The sooner we check this place out, the sooner we can move on down the road.”
“There’s a pharmacy a few blocks south. If the grocery store is a bust, it might have something.”
“Agreed.” Colt pulled off a glove and reached inside his jacket for a handgun, his service piece from his job as an air marshal that felt like another lifetime ago. The Sig Sauer had never let him down. He motioned toward the store. “I’ll go first. You cover me.”
Walter nodded as he readied his own gun, a pistol-grip shotgun loaded with six shells. It might not have high capacity, but no one ever had to empty an entire shotgun into a single assailant. Walter could hold his own unless an army came out of nowhere.
Colt eased around the car’s darkened fender and hurried across the street.
The edge of the building loomed and he ducked around it, pausing to catch his breath. So far, so good. He glanced at Walter still crouched behind the car before sneaking through the shattered window.
Although the brick facade protected the inside of the store from the wind, it did nothing against the cold. If anything, the lack of sun made the air even more frigid. Colt pushed back his hood and his breath fogged as he eased down the far wall.
Thanks to the clear sky and the busted windows, Colt could reliably see half of the store. He tracked along the edge, past empty refrigerator cases long since looted of beer and milk. According to the signs still hanging above the aisles, medicines sat in the far corner, in the darkest section of the store.
Colt ground his teeth and kept walking, gun out, sweeping every aisle as he approached, working in a full 180 as he eased closer to the dark. By now, Walter should have made his way inside. They worked as a team. Walter watched the front of the store while Colt surveyed the back. Whatever he found went into his empty pack. If he hit the mother lode, they would work together to get it back to the Jeep parked securely in a grove of trees at the edge of town.
After waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light, Colt kept walki
ng past destroyed shelves and crushed boxes of package goods and on toward the far corner. He reached the aisles for medicine without incident. They were trashed.
One shelving unit was ripped almost clean out of the floor and twisted over on its side, like Godzilla had smacked it on his way through the store. Another was warped and bent as if the entire local football team had used it for practice.
Colt squeezed between them and squinted. Boxes littered the floor. He tugged a small flashlight from his pocket and flicked it on. Finding Nemo Band-Aids. He snorted. Better than nothing.
He eased his pack off his shoulders and unzipped it before dumping every box inside. The shelves crowded in around him, but Colt kept going, shuffling through ripped-open boxes of gloves and torn bags of Epsom salt and glucose meters for diabetics.
Using the flashlight, he swept the shelves until a bottle caught his eye. He reached in, straining beneath the warped metal to pull it out. Vitamin D. Could be useful in the winter. He tossed it in the bag along with a bottle of kids gummy vitamins and a box of gauze. Not the worst expedition in the world.
Colt slipped through the last of the aisle and stood up. In front of him loomed the feminine hygiene section. Half a dozen boxes sat on the shelf, some broken, a few unharmed. He grimaced. This wasn’t really his thing. But the list was the list and bringing Dani or Brianna or another one of the women along just because he didn’t know the first thing about it was stupid and selfish.
He opened the pack wider and cleared the shelves, sliding every box inside until it bulged and he struggled to close the zipper. All he needed now was the pharmacy. Like most stores, the pharmacy jutted out from the corner in a blunt-cornered box. Colt approached with caution.
The siding metal door was propped up, half off its track. Colt ducked beneath it. If the store was chaos, the pharmacy was a full-blown riot. Not a single shelf still stood. A fridge for antibiotics sat in the middle of the room, door smashed and hanging by a single hinge. The cash register was bent and dented, the drawer carelessly thrown on the floor.