by Harley Tate
They hissed and popped and surged higher.
She had to see it was pointless. “You can’t stop it, Madison!”
“I can try.”
Peyton rushed up, the flames reflected in his wide eyes. He turned to Tracy. “What do we do?”
“Get everyone together. We need to secure as many supplies as we can. Pull the cars onto the road and load them up. Backpacks, sleeping bags, all the guns and ammo. And food. As much food and water as you can carry. Quick.”
“What about her?” He pointed at Madison.
“I’ll handle my daughter. Go.”
Peyton ran off and Tracy turned back to Madison. Despite the heat, tears surged down Madison’s face as she took off her jacket and used it to bat at the flames.
If she kept this up, she would get herself killed. Tracy lunged for her, wrapping her arms around Madison’s middle and dragging her back, away from the flames. She shoved her against the far wall. “Stop!”
“No!” Madison screamed in her face. “We have to save it!”
“It’s gone! We need to save ourselves.” Tracy reached out and put her hands on Madison’s shoulders. “Go help your friends load the food and water and supplies into the cars.”
“But the house…” Madison choked on the smoke and her own snot. “Dad won’t know where to find us if we don’t have a house.” She fell into Tracy’s arms as the last words came out and all Tracy could do was hug her daughter for a moment.
“We can talk about it later. But right now, we need to move.” She pulled back and took her daughter’s face in her hands. “Help your friends, Madison. Please.”
At last, her daughter nodded and took off for the master bedroom where the majority of the supplies were located.
Tracy exhaled and took one last look at the kitchen she’d so lovingly renovated only a few years before. They were supposed to make so many memories in this house. It was supposed to last the rest of their lives.
Now a fire turned the pale blue paint to ash and the kitchen table to kindling. She backed up away from the heat, and turned around. Damn the people who did this. Damn Bill and his selfish ways. If she didn’t have an example to set for her daughter…
No. This would hurt, but it wouldn’t wreck them. No matter what, Tracy would find a way to survive.
She rushed down the hall and into the bedroom. Peyton and Brianna were taking turns throwing cases of water and Gatorade and boxes of packaged food out of the broken window and into the backyard.
“Let me help.” Tracy ran up and joined in, tossing boxes of granola bars and toilet paper out the window. “Peyton, you go around back and help load the cars. I can handle this.”
“Will do.” Peyton hustled off and Tracy and Brianna worked into a rhythm, one throwing while one bent to pick up another case.
“How much of this do you think will fit in the cars?”
“Not enough.”
Brianna hoisted another case. “I’ve got a rack on top. Do you have a tarp? We can load up the top and lash the tarp down to cover it all up.”
Tracy nodded. “It’s in the garage. I’ll have to stop to find it.”
“Do it. We’ll need to hide what we have.”
“All right. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Tracy ran toward the door and reached for the door handle. Searing heat and pain shot her hand back. “Ow!”
“Are you all right?”
“The door handle is too hot. I can’t open the door.”
Brianna’s eyes went wide. “That means the fire’s already in the hall. We don’t have much time.”
Tracy stood still for a moment, the pain in her hand eclipsing all ability to think. Blisters rose on her palm in massive clumps as the skin surrounding them flared red. “I don’t think I can lift any more boxes.”
She turned to Brianna and the young woman rushed up to assess her hand. “We need to treat that. I’ve got a burn kit in my bag.”
“What about the rest of the food and water?” There was still so much they could save.
“The cars must be full by now. Come on. I’ll help you out the window.”
Brianna moved a case of water under the window and Tracy climbed out, her hand so painful she could barely stand.
“Mom! Are you okay?” Madison rushed up to her, but Tracy waved her off. “I’m fine. I just burned my hand.”
“She needs my burn kit. It’s in my bag.”
“I’ll get it.”
So many voices. Tracy couldn’t think. The ground swam in front of her eyes. “We need to get the tarp. It’s in… the garage.”
“Mom! Mom are you okay?”
Madison’s voice filtered into her ears, but it was so far away. Everything was far away: the ground, the house, the smell of smoke. Had they left home already? Were they already somewhere new?
She needed to leave a note for Walter. They couldn’t rush off without telling him where to go. Tracy clutched at the hand holding her arm. “We need to tell Walter where we are. We have to go back. He needs to know…”
“Mom? You’re not making any sense. Mom?”
“I think the pain’s making her loopy.”
When did my tongue get so big? Tracy smacked it on the roof of her mouth. “I’m not in pain. What pain?”
She wished she could see. It was so dark where they were. “Can someone turn on the light? I need to see.”
“Here. Get her to take this.”
Madison held something up to her lips. “Mom. You need to take these. They’ll make you feel better.”
A bunch of small, round things landed on her thick, fat tongue. Tracy tried to spit them out.
“No, Mom. Swallow them. Here, drink some water.”
Her mouth filled with liquid and Tracy swallowed, the little round things bobbing down her throat like paper boats in the ocean. They tasted like candy. Maybe they were at the candy store that she went to once as a kid.
When an aunt she’d never met picked her up from the foster home that one time, they had taken a ride to the candy store and little Tracy had picked out all the candy she wanted.
Aunt Verna told her she was going to live somewhere new where no one would hurt her or forget to feed her or leave her at home for days on end all alone. Tracy had smiled then, and stuffed a bag so full of chocolate, little foil-wrapped pieces kept falling out.
She didn’t get to eat much of it, though. The police said it was evidence.
Maybe this trip was making up for it. She smiled and tried to bring the world back into focus.
“Why is it so bright and warm?”
“The house is on fire, Mom.”
“Don’t be silly. We just bought it.”
“I think she needs to lie down.”
“Let’s get her to the car. I can work on her hand there.”
An arm looped through each of Tracy’s and she walked along with whoever was taking her to the candy place. As they sat her down on a seat, she leaned back and closed her eyes. “I think I need a nap.”
“That’s all right, Mrs. Sloane. You just fall asleep now. Everything will be all right in a little bit.”
“Why is she so out of it?”
“It’s the pain. She delirious.”
Tracy heard more voices, but couldn’t make out the words. Something cool and wet coated her hand. Was she taking a bath? Not that it mattered. She was so very tired.
As she slipped into sleep, a single voice caught her ear. “Hurry up. I think someone’s coming.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WALTER
Jenkins Residence
7:00 p.m.
Walter set Drew down on the floor of his kitchen before dumping the bags off his shoulders and collapsing in a heap. Dragging a half-conscious man and two duffels up three flights of stairs while praying two bad dudes with guns didn’t find you was worse than the Crucible. Worse than those two days in the box at SERE. Worse than that moment when he thought his plane was going down and he’d be dying on impact.
; Drew was too damn heavy. Walter mopped up the sweat with his shirt and exhaled.
Now came the hard part. Keeping that dead weight of a co-pilot alive. He hauled himself up and began opening the kitchen cabinets. On the fifth one, he struck gold.
Leave it to an ass like Drew to be fully stocked with liquor. Walter grabbed the vodka and took a long drink before setting it on the counter. Then he moved onto drawers, pulling out a roll of duct tape, scissors, and a lighter. Now all he needed was a damn good painkiller. He found a bottle of Advil above the sink and turned to Drew.
Walter kneeled beside the man and cut away his shirt with the scissors. His flashlight sat on the table illuminating the little space in which he worked and Walter picked it up to peer at the wound.
“Through and through. Thank God.” He could tape him up and hope for the best. If they found a pharmacy that still had medicine, he could pump Drew full of antibiotics. But even without them, he might make it as long as no bullet fragments remained inside.
After running the scissors through the flame of the lighter and washing down the edge of the table with the vodka, Walter cut small strips of tape and hung them off the edge. When he’d assembled about twenty, he turned to Drew.
“Sorry buddy. This is going to hurt.” He grabbed the bottle of vodka and leaned Drew back. As he tilted his friend’s shoulder, he poured the vodka straight into the wound.
Drew groaned and thrashed, but Walter held him tight. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Oh, hey. Look who’s awake. I’m saving your life, asshole. Quick kicking.”
“That hurts.”
“Unfortunate side effect of getting shot.”
“Am I gonna be okay?” Drew peered down at Walter’s hand where he still held the vodka bottle, dribbling it into and around the wound.
“I don’t know. But this will give you a chance. Looks like the bullet went clean through. Thank God that idiot shot you with an AR-15. Anything slower and you’d have a bunch of fragments stuck in there and all I’d be able to do is watch you die.”
“Comforting.”
“I try.” Walter set the vodka down and waited for the alcohol on Drew’s skin to evaporate. As soon as the skin surrounding the wound was dry, he picked up a strip of tape.
“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
“Come on. Duct tape is one of man’s greatest inventions.”
“It’s meant to hold things like plastic pipes together. Not my skin.”
“Turns out it’s got a lot of off-label uses.” Walter held up the strip. “Would you rather I dig out a sewing needle and do this the old-fashioned way?”
Drew’s eyes went wide.
“Didn’t think so.” Walter leaned closer. “All right. Brace yourself.”
Drew reached out with his good hand and gripped the nearest chair leg. “Before you start, can I get some of that vodka?”
“Sure thing.” Walter handed it over along with six Advil. “Take those, too.”
Drew downed the little blue pills along with a hefty dose of liquor. “I’m ready.”
With one hand, Walter pulled Drew’s wound together. With the other, he laid the small strip of tape across. “When I’m done, the wound should stay closed, but it’ll still be open to the air to breathe and ooze.”
“It’s going to ooze?”
“If it gets infected it will. And we want to know if that happens.” He laid another strip of tape.
Drew grimaced, his face growing even paler than before.
“Hang in there, all right?”
Drew nodded and Walter laid another strip of tape. After about half an hour of careful work, Walter finished. Small strips of tape held the wound together on both sides of Drew’s shoulder.
“Thanks, man.”
“You’re welcome. Let’s not make a habit of it, okay?”
“So where’s Anne?”
Walter paused. “I don’t know.”
Drew sat up a bit straighter. “Did you look for her?”
“Not yet. I was focused on keeping you alive.”
Drew planted his good hand on the ground as if he were about to stand up.
“Whoa.” Walter held up his hand. “You’re not going anywhere yet. Give me five minutes. I’ll take a look around.”
“Thanks.” Drew slumped back against the wall.
Walter stood and wiped his hands on his pants. He’d half expected when he busted in the front door that Anne would be there, safe and waiting for them. But when she didn’t appear—not when Walter banged around in the kitchen or Drew cried out—he didn’t have much hope.
Either she wasn’t there, or…
He started in the front and worked his way to the back. Entryway, kitchen, living room, half-bath. Empty. Drew watched him until he ducked into the hall.
Walter cracked the first door. Guest bedroom. Empty. He moved on. In the hall bath, the medicine cabinet hung open. The bottles inside had been knocked about and three littered the floor.
Walter inhaled and checked his watch. Nine thirty on the fifth day without power. How long had riots been going on outside? How long had Anne been trapped inside her apartment, staring out at the chaos, losing hope that her fiancée would ever make it home?
He tensed before opening the last door. This is it. Walter turned the door handle and pushed it open.
The sight made him stumble.
A woman reclined on the bed, arms still against her sides, head resting on the pillow. She looked for all the world like an actress playing Snow White or Sleeping Beauty. But Anne wasn’t playing.
The ashen pallor of her cheeks and the incredible stillness of her body gave her secret away. Walter walked around the bed, careful not to touch it. A note sat on the bedside table, Drew’s named written in script across the front.
Walter didn’t know what to do. Did he tell Drew? Did he lie and say she wasn’t here? No, he couldn’t do that.
Drew would need to know the truth. He would need to know that his fiancée couldn’t wait for him any longer. She’d given up hope before he made it home.
“Anne!” Drew stumbled into the room, falling onto the bed as he scrabbled to touch her.
“I’m sorry, Drew.”
“No!” He reached for her, the duct tape on his shoulder straining as he dragged her lifeless body into his arms. “She can’t be gone.” Drew kissed the top of her forehead as he cradled the woman he loved in his arms.
Walter looked out the window. From their vantage point, the city was in ruins. At least thirty fires dotted the sky, smoke billowing up white and gray against the dark night. No sound of police sirens or fire trucks.
No one was coming to douse the flames.
“She left you a note.” Walter pointed at the bedside table but didn’t turn around. He heard the rustle of the paper.
Drew snuffed back his emotions. “She thought I wasn’t coming. She thought I must have died. That everyone had died. It was…”
He trailed off for a moment, grief and anger thickening his words.
“It was chaos here. Riots and looting. She watched a band of thugs beat a man to death for no reason. She saw a woman… oh, God.”
The paper crinkled and Walter turned around. Tears streamed down Drew’s cheeks and landed on his dead fiancée. “She ran out of food and water and didn’t see a way out. She… she said she’s sorry.”
Drew pulled her dead body closer. “I’m the one who failed her and she’s sorry.” He rocked her back and forth, oblivious to any pain in his shoulder or Walter’s patient stare.
“I’ll give you a moment with her. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be in the kitchen.” Walter walked out of the bedroom and shut the door. Before he made it down the hall, he could hear Drew’s tortured weeping.
Walter walked to the cabinet that held the liquor and pulled down the scotch. He grabbed two lowball glasses and poured them full before taking them back to the table. He sat down and sipped.
Anne’s death made h
is mission all that more critical. He needed to find Tracy and Madison before any more time passed. The National Guard would close off downtown soon. If he didn’t get out of there, he would be trapped.
The sound of the door opening caught his ear and Walter glanced up. Drew walked into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He picked up the glass of scotch waiting for him and downed it in one long, steady gulp.
He set the empty glass on the table.
“I know this is a lot to deal with, but you need to make a decision.”
Drew’s eyes flicked up to Walter’s face. “About what?”
“Whether you’re going to live or die.”
“I don’t follow.”
“You have two options. One, you can say your goodbyes and come with me and have a shot at surviving in this new world we live in.”
“Or?”
“Two, you stay here, wallowing in your grief, until the National Guard erects its perimeter and you’re trapped in this hell hole with no food and no water and no way to get out.”
Drew sucked in a breath.
“I can’t stay here any longer, Drew. My family is still out there, waiting for me.”
“Anne was my family.”
“I understand that and I’m sorry. But I need to leave. I’d like your help if you can manage. But if you can’t, I understand.”
After a moment, Drew nodded. “All right. I’ll go.”
Walter exhaled. “Good. Now get some clothes, your keys, and anything else you need. We have to get your car and get out of here while we still can.”
DAY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MADISON
Sloane Residence
6:30 a.m.
The sky began to glow along the roofline of all the neighboring houses and Madison clutched the shotgun tighter. All that remained of her parents’ house was the chimney and walls burned almost to the ground.
The refrigerator still stood, warped and useless in a city with no power grid, but their clothes, beds, furniture, and at least half of the supplies her mom had acquired were gone. Up in smoke thanks to some jerk with a vendetta.
All because Madison tied some intruder up instead of shooting him in the head. She should have killed him and strung his body up on the porch as a notice: don’t mess with the Sloanes or you’ll be next.