Hideaway: An Emp Thriller- Book 1

by Roger Hayden

  She looked between them again as her eyes flickered and her voice became groggy. “Yeah... I'm fine.” She raised a finger and then leaned forward with a strange, wobbly posture. She pushed her tea cup away and slumped to the side, nearly falling off the chair. James rushed over to catch her, calling out her name. Her head bobbed and weaved as he held her up. “Marla!” he said, gently shaking her.

  Larry suddenly intervened with an explanation. “She'll be fine. Now we've got about twenty minutes before she wakes up.”

  James looked at him, enraged. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Larry held up a calming hand. “I'm sorry, James. It's only a mix of Dramamine, Nyquil, and some other choice ingredients.”

  James rested her aside and shot up from the couch. “You fucking drugged her? Get the hell out of my house. Now!”

  Larry folded his hands together and leaned forward, calm and collected. “I understand that you're angry, but it needed to be done.”

  James’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You're sick. Now, get out of here!”

  Larry stood up without another word. He and James stared each other down as military trucks began pulling away from outside. Larry left the room, heading toward the garage. James lightly patted Marla's cheek to try to wake her up, but nothing worked. “Wait!” he called out.

  Larry stopped at the door near the kitchen and turned around. James sensed an uncertainty in both their stances.

  “How do I wake her up?” he asked.

  “Some lemon juice should do the trick. Hold it to her nose, and she'll come to.”

  “Lemon juice?” James said. “You really are crazy.” He rested her head against a pillow. His anger began to subside as he thought of their options. Larry had acted recklessly and completely crossed the line, but he did have a point.

  “When she comes to, I promise she won't know what happened,” Larry said from the doorway.

  “That's not the point,” James said.

  “Be that as it may, this is your last chance,” Larry said.

  James glanced out the living room window, unable to make eye contact. The remaining trucks were filling fast.

  “This is insane...” James said.

  “I agree,” Larry said.

  James turned from the window, irate. “I'm talking about you.”

  “It's for her own good,” Larry said in the tone of a doctor.

  The gall in his tone nearly sent James over the edge, but he tried not to let his emotions get the best of him. “And you think that she's just going to wake up and forget about this? I'll have to tell her what happened?”

  “Sounds like you're in,” Larry said. He motioned toward the door and then stopped, as though he had more on his mind. “I'm a man of action. And sometimes that can be the difference between life and death.”

  “Spare me your macho bullshit,” James said. “You should have told me about this first, so I could have told you no.” He sat down next to Marla and brushed back her hair. She remained in a deep sleep, with no indication of when she'd come to.

  Larry then stepped closer to him, confident in his manner. “She would never have agreed to come in time.”

  “That doesn't give you the right—”

  “I took a chance,” he said, cutting James off.

  James glanced back outside where only one truck remained with a sizable crowd standing around it. People began shoving as soldiers split them into separate groups. James watched the growing unrest as three options came to mind. He could wait for the later pickup, he could take Marla with Larry, or they could stay at the house and do nothing. He gently moved Marla aside and rose from the couch, thinking.

  “We'll go,” he said under his breath.

  Larry entered the garage and stopped. “What's that?”

  James looked at Marla and took a deep breath. “I said that we'll go!”

  Larry gave him a slight nod. “Pack what you can, but remember that space is limited.”

  James nodded and then glanced around the living room, overwhelmed. He rushed to the bedroom down the hall and pulled a suitcase from their closet and tossed it on the bed. After lighting two candles on top of their dresser, he began fishing out Marla's clothes from drawers and the closet, packing the suitcase with as many clothes as he could fit inside. By the time she woke up, they'd be on the road. And then? He dreaded what might happen.

  He grabbed a bag of items from their bathroom and stuffed the suitcase to the brim. The time was now. No matter how much he packed or thought about it, he knew that he'd forget something they needed. Marla was always better at that kind of thing, but James would have to do it on his own. He grabbed the suitcase, blew out the candles, and left the room. Fortunately, his suitcase was still packed for his writer’s getaway week.

  Marla was still lying on the couch, undisturbed. The trucks outside began to drive off in a rumbling convoy, continuing past his house. James went to the window and watched as the last one passed by. Several residents still lingered on the street, having been left behind for the next supposed pickup. As the convoy faded in the distance, James closed the blinds and backed away, calling out to Larry.

  “Why not follow them and see where they're going?”

  “My cabin is the priority,” Larry said from the garage.

  James looked at his unconscious wife as his doubts about the plan returned. He heard Larry's car doors slam shut, bringing him back to reality. He then moved quickly around the house and did a sweep of all the windows and doors, making sure everything was locked and all the blinds were shut. Leaving home for an undetermined period was unsettling, especially when leaving all their possessions behind. If Larry was correct, looting would become rampant within a week of the blackout, possibly sooner.

  James returned to their bedroom and went straight to the closet, carrying with him one of Larry's working LED lanterns. His combination safe sat mounted on a shelf above. He carefully turned the knob three times left, right, and then left again, successfully opening it. Inside was his pistol case with ammunition, five thousand dollars cash in a sealed envelope, and their passports.

  He took everything out and placed it inside his backpack. Leaving the room, he closed the door behind him and went to get Marla. Larry entered the room in time to help. They lifted and carried her to the car, where there was barely enough room in the back. One glance into the chock-full station wagon and James saw that their space was limited. He placed a pillow under her head and a blanket from the house over her. After strapping her in, James then returned to the house to grab their bags and hurry to the idling car, where Larry sat at the wheel.

  He had mentioned a fuel stop along the way, delegating that duty to James. In the back sat a five-gallon gas can, hose, and funnel. He was meant to siphon it, something James had never done and wasn't looking forward to. He opened the garage door for the last time in a while, revealing the darkened neighborhood street beyond their driveway. He could see the silhouettes of a few people up and down the street, standing outside their homes.

  He could feel their eyes on him. Larry revved the engine as if telling him to hurry. James moved out of the way as the wagon hastily backed up down the driveway. James pulled down the garage door and locked it. The house, as much as possible, was secure. He ran to the wagon with its headlights off and engine running. He heard his name called from afar by one of his neighbors but ignored it as he slipped inside and closed his door. The car then shot back in reverse. The headlights switched on, beaming down the street and revealing at least ten people standing along the road.

  Larry shifted into Drive and pressed the gas. Some onlookers instinctively moved or jumped aside as the car tore down the road. James told him to slow down, but it made no difference. They reached a stop sign when Larry, out of habit, suddenly braked, tires skidding across the pavement.

  “Whew!” he said to James with a smile. “That was intense.”

  James nodded and then glanced in the back to see Marla sleeping under her
quilt. He wondered if he had made the right call. He wondered how much he could trust Larry. The decision had been his and his alone.

  The wagon continued down another quiet residential road, where every home was as dark as the night sky. Not a single street light lit their path. The highway wasn't too far off. They'd be heading north, roughly fifty miles away. With any luck, they'd get there in one piece. By dawn, James would know if he had made the right choice. The road raced past them on both sides, every home looking deserted.

  4

  Fuel Stop

  Marla woke, unsure of where she was or how she got there. She was sitting in the back seat of Larry's station wagon with plastic bins and boxes packed into the spaces next to her. She'd been well-attended with a pillow, blanket, and bottled water left at her side. For a moment, she sat and listened, not letting Larry or James know she was awake. She glanced out the window and watched as they zipped past several cars abandoned on the side of the road. In one moment, everything began to come back to her: the massive blackout across St. Louis, the explosions downtown, barely making it home, and the evacuation of their neighborhood. Only she didn't know why she was in Larry's wagon again. The thought of mass casualties, untold numbers perishing, brought tears to her eyes.

  In the time she had been awake, Larry and James hadn't said much to each other except for the occasional comment about the stuck vehicles or people walking on the road. Every so often Larry swerved left or right, narrowly missing obstructions, one after the other.

  “We’ll stop in a few miles,” Larry said. James groaned with displeasure as Larry laughed. “Don't worry. There's nothing to it.”

  “Easy for you to say,” James said with thick sarcasm.

  “Come on. You were an army mechanic, right? What's the big deal?”

  “That doesn't mean that I've sucked fuel through a hose before.”

  “Just messing with you,” Larry said with another chuckle.

  Marla wasn't sure what time it was or how much time had passed. That damn cabin, she thought. She hadn't agreed to any of it.

  “How's she doing back there?” Larry, glancing in his rear-view mirror. Enough shadow concealed her so that she couldn't be seen.

  “Where are we going?” she said in a groggy voice, immediately quieting the car.

  James spun around in his seat. “Marla. You're awake.”

  She pulled the quilt off her in anger. “Yes, and how did I get here?”

  James stammered an explanation. “You must have passed out.”

  “For how long?” she asked, leaning forward.

  Larry and James exchanged glances as Larry then answered. “About an hour now. Maybe two.”

  “Is that so?” she said, leaning back in her seat. She looked out the window as they passed a traffic sign for Riverview and Glasgow village, north of St. Louis. They were headed north. “And where are we going? Larry's cabin?” She was met with an uncomfortable silence, and knew that the worst had happened. She’d been hi-jacked.

  “You gave us quite a scare,” James said nervously.

  She felt too tired and disoriented to shout, despite her growing anger. Instead, she sounded as calm as she could. “Larry, could you pull over, please? I need to... um, go.”

  He glanced back toward her with skepticism. “Give me a minute. I’ll look for a good place to stop.”

  “Fair enough,” she said, looking out the window. James turned around and smiled, but she ignored him. She could barely bring herself to look at him. He awkwardly returned his attention to the front as they continued on the interstate. Moments later, Larry steered the car to the side of the road and stopped. He left the car running and turned off the headlights. There seemed to be no one else around in the darkness. She did see some cars and trucks parked along the road, but they looked abandoned. There were far fewer of them since they’d left the city.

  Larry looked at James. “You ready?”

  James sighed and grabbed the empty fuel can. “I guess so. Might as well.” He opened his door and stepped outside. Marla followed and felt a cool breeze in the air. She leaned against the car for a moment and stretched. James was already walking off toward two cars in the distance. She hurried after him. The highway was empty on both sides.

  “We need to talk,” she said. He slowed but wouldn't turn around. She caught up to him and grabbed his arm. “What the hell is going on? Speak, James!”

  “I've got to get fuel,” he said, setting the can down.

  She gripped his hand inside both of hers. “Tell me what's going on. Why are we with Larry?”

  “You passed out,” he said, repeating his claim from before. It still made little sense to her. There was much more to it than that, she suspected.

  “That doesn't explain anything.” She then paused and got closer to his face. “I never agreed to this.”

  James spun around, his arms out. “Look around you. Does that answer your question?”

  Marla backed away, her demeanor expressing clear disappointment. “This isn't right. You're hiding something from me.”

  James sighed and then picked up the gas can. “It was my call. I knew you'd be upset, but I'm only trying to keep us safe.”

  Marla lowered her head, wiping a tear away. His betrayal, if that's what it was, felt like a deep blow. Before she could respond, he turned and walked toward a car parked on the side of the road. It looked just like her Camry, except it was silver and not blue. “Those military trucks showed up and people piled in,” he continued, kneeling beside the car. “I had to decide, Marla. They were evacuating our neighborhood. They said another attack is imminent.”

  She massaged her forehead, trying to sort through the blur of memories. “Why do to this cabin, when we could go anywhere else?” she asked instead.

  James shook his head and opened the fuel tank. “We don't know who has or hasn't been hit. We don't know if the next attack is going to be worse. We don't know a thing.”

  With one sharp swing of her leg, Marla kicked the gas can, sending it tumbling away. James jerked his head up, stunned. Marla leaned against the car, taking a deep breath. She then apologized as James retrieved the can without a word. James unscrewed the gas cap and set it on the road. “This is only temporary. I promise.”

  “You don't know that,” she said. They stood quiet for a moment, under the night sky in the isolated, darkened highway. Marla then walked past him, saying nothing. As she continued down the street, the autumn breeze gave her a chill. Soon it would be winter, and the freezing temperatures would be nothing to take lightly.

  She stopped and stared into the sky, hoping to see a plane or any kind of aircraft that would let them know that they hadn't been left behind like the empty vehicles that littered the road. Sensing that she had nowhere else to go, Marla turned around and headed back toward the station wagon. She stopped at the Camry as James pushed the clear plastic tube down into the tank.

  He glanced up at her with a smile. She couldn't help but smile back. “Well... here goes nothing.”

  Marla glanced at the station wagon parked in the shadows. He was standing outside, stretching. She hadn't quite made her mind up about the man. Part of her felt greatly indebted to his generosity. Another part of her loathed him. Her attention returned to James as he hesitated with the hose near his mouth.

  She then knelt next to him, feeling a moment of pity. “Need a count off?”

  “Sure,” he said with a shrug.

  “Okay,” she began as James took a deep breath.

  Her eyes then shifted past the back window to the front where the Camry’s driver's side door swung open. At first Marla couldn't tell what she was seeing. Either the door had come open on its own accord or someone had been there all along. A man rushed out of the car toward them, shouting. Marla backed away as James dropped the tube and threw both hands in the air.

  “Not another move!” the man shouted. He had something in his hand, pointed at the side of James's head. He looked somewhat young, early thirties
or so. He had on an untucked dress shirt with its collar open and shirt hanging over his slacks. He looked desperate and confused.

  “We’re sorry,” Marla said, backing away. “We'll go now.”

  The man examined James and the fuel can below, putting the pieces together. “You... you're trying to steal my gas? Is that it?”

  “No,” Marla began. “We—”

  James suddenly cut her off. “We thought it had been abandoned.”

  “You thought what?” the man said. “I was just taking a nap. Is that alright with you?” His eyes were exhausted and frantic. His index finger stroked the trigger of his pistol as though it could go off at any second.

  James nodded as his body remained perfectly still. Marla stood at the rear of the car, trying to mask her fear.

  “This is all a misunderstanding,” she said with a hand out. “No harm done, right?”

  James stood and froze as the man thrust the pistol barrel into his back. Marla backed away with her hands out, trembling.

  “Don't fucking move,” the man said. “Last warning.” He ran a hand through his thick, disheveled hair and looked at them with tired but manic eyes. “What do you need fuel for anyway?” he continued. “Every car around here just stopped. Mine stopped about twelve hours ago. On my way to Springfield, Illinois for a wedding.” He paused for a moment and laughed to himself. “I’ve proven myself to be one hell of a best man.”

  “We don't want any trouble,” James began, careful not to make any sudden movements.

  “You never answered my question,” he said, jabbing the pistol into James's back. “Why are you stealing fuel?” He hadn't seemed to notice or hear the distant idling of the station wagon as the sound blended with the increasing breeze. But James knew it wouldn't take him long to make the next connection.

  “We're stranded. Just like you,” James said, hoping to stall. “I thought maybe a full tank would help.”

  The man lowered his pistol and almost began talking to them like normal people. “I don't know what the hell's going on, but I'm not leaving my car. I'm going to wait until cell phone service returns, and I'm going to call AAA.” He went through his list of priorities as if he was reading them to himself.