Bleeding (Oil Apocalypse Book 2)

by Lou Cadle

  “You see anything?” she said. “I don’t.”

  He handed her the binoculars. “You know, it’s possible that they haven’t even found the dead guys yet.”

  “You think?”

  “They may have the regular citizens cowed or controlled somehow. But that doesn’t mean any of them are going to step up and help them. If it were me I’d keep my curtains closed and say I hadn’t heard or seen a thing—even if I had.”

  “Good point.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Do what?” she said.

  He gave her a look. “Listen. It’s okay. Or not okay, but I forgive you.” He shook his head. “No, it’s not even that. I wish you would have talked it over with me is all. It was probably what I’d have done anyway, but you took it on yourself to decide. I didn’t feel I had any choice. You rushed me, and it made me frustrated.”

  “I’m sorry. But listen, Dev. I couldn’t wait. I didn’t want her to have to live one more second with that happening to her.”

  “I imagine it happened before. I doubt we saw the first time.” It had seemed like a routine, to be honest. A terrible routine. And the way the girl had fought was more evidence for that. She knew what was coming. They stood in silence, watching the town more, each lost in their own thoughts.

  After several minutes of seeing nothing, he said, “I guess this is as good a spot as any to spend the night. Or we can risk going lower down. What do you think?”

  “Whatever you say.” Her brow was furrowed with worry or regret or maybe concern. For them? Or for the priest’s daughter?

  Dev kept them where they were until the heat of the day began to wane. Nothing had happened—not that he could see through rifle scope or binoculars. Either they’d gotten away with it, or the invaders had assumed their men had been shot by someone in town, or something else made them decide not to pursue the matter. It could be, that being from the city, they simply weren’t thinking about the woods surrounding Payson.

  He led them downhill, not retracing their path. This would make it harder for a tracker to find them. They took their time about it, taking care not to break any branches or make the trail too obvious.

  After they ate supper in the dimming light, they were almost out of food. Only some stale bread remained for tomorrow. They each had a full bottle of water but little more. They’d be wanting water desperately by the time they returned to the car. The days were hot and dry, and they were sweating a good deal.

  When they lay down for the night, Dev was thinking through what they’d need to do the next day. Move the instant they could see. Hope they could cross the highway safely still. And run for the car as fast as they could.

  As the light bled from the woods, he began, despite everything, to feel tired enough to sleep. But just as he was falling asleep, Sierra spoke. “Dev?”

  “Mmm?” he said sleepily.

  “Why do men do that?”

  He woke up. He knew what she meant. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s something every girl has to think about, you know.”

  “Worse during war,” he said. That was true, according to everything he’d read. There wasn’t, as far as he knew, any case of an invading army not raping women, at least small groups doing it. Men in the military even sometimes raped their own fellow soldiers. Sometimes boys were victims too. It seemed to be part of human nature.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “No.” It didn’t matter how far he fell, how much civilization crumbled to nothing around him, it didn’t matter if he was in an army and everyone around him was doing it, he wouldn’t. He knew that with certainty. He’d kill to defend himself and his home. He’d kill to defend a kid getting hurt. He’d never force sex on anyone. And he’d rather die than have it happen to him.

  “I know you might not, but other men do.”

  “Your dad wouldn’t.”

  “No, he wouldn’t.”

  “Or mine. Mr. Morrow never would have. So it isn’t every man. It’s probably not even every man among the invaders. Maybe that’s why they’re not after us right now. Maybe the leaders thought shooting them was a just act, and they’re letting it slide. But they’re probably worried they missed a gun somewhere in town. We might have gotten the people in that neighborhood into trouble.” He hadn’t thought of this until right now, when he said it.

  “I hope not.”

  Dev bit his tongue to keep from lecturing her more about the virtues of stopping to think and discuss possible outcomes.

  “But if they were that bothered by it that they thought the men dying was only justice, they never would have allowed it to happen in the first place.”

  “Yeah.” He knew she was upset, but he didn’t know what to do about it. “You’re safe right now. Try and get some sleep. We’ll be moving fast tomorrow.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry that I made you mad.”

  “Sleep,” he said, and he obeyed his own order, closed his eyes and soon fell asleep.

  Chapter 7

  Sierra waited until she was certain he was deeply asleep. She pulled out the note she had written when he’d gone off into the woods to pee after their last meal. “Sorry,” it said. “But I have to do this. I don’t want you to be at risk. And I don’t want you talking me out of it. I’ll meet you at the car at sunset. Don’t wait for me if I don’t show up by full dark. If I’m not there, just get yourself home.” She left her sleeping bag on the ground, pinned the note down with the binoculars, and picked up her pack and rifle. She tried to move without noise until she was away from him, but after the second tree she bumped into, she took her cell phone out of her pocket and turned it on.

  Still no signal. But it worked as a flashlight. Quietly as she could, she pulled on the pack and set her rifle over her shoulder. She went uphill, not down. She found the track they’d used and followed it back. She retraced their steps, but not all the way to where she’d shot the rapist. She knew where she was headed.

  He’d said the Episcopal Church. She knew where that was, not four blocks from where the assault had happened. She guessed that the minister and her daughters were staying there, or maybe they had one of those houses on the grounds of the church property. Some churches did that. There was even a name for such a house, but she couldn’t remember it.

  No matter. It was where she was headed.

  There were likely to be guards on the streets at night, maybe more than in the day, but she would be careful to stay hidden. She had left him the binoculars because she didn’t think they were going to help her.

  Yes, it was a risk, doing this. It was one she was willing to take. It was not one she was willing to foist on Dev—not that she thought he’d agree to it, which is why she was sneaking off to do it.

  She was relying on her knowledge of the town, the parks and walkways and alleys that she might know from all her years of going to school and visiting friends here. That superior knowledge, her senses sharpened by fear, her perfect vision, and a dose of luck just might get her there.

  And then there’d be the challenge of getting the minister’s girls out of town.

  But one problem at a time. Her phone light began to fade as she approached the first neighborhood outside the city limits. She flipped it off, stood in the dark, and listened. No streetlights, no TV sounds coming from any of the houses. So no electricity? That would explain why there had been no cell service or Internet for weeks now.

  She had no idea how they got water. Wasn’t city water delivery dependent on electric pumps? They must be figuring it out somehow. Maybe generators. Fuel cells as backups at the water plant. Took off solar panels from houses to hook them up to water pumps. Something. Without water, they’d all be dead, and though the town population seemed to be reduced, they were watering their gardens.

  It was good for her that all lights were out. She kept to the middle of the street, feeling vulnerable, thinking at any time she could be shot from behind. When she crossed over into the heart of town,
she was more familiar with what she was seeing. She passed the house of a childhood friend where she had spent many a Saturday riding around on bikes. She knew this place. There were alleys in this section of town. She headed for one she remembered and wove through them, aware of the crunch of her boots on gravel. Not a dog barked. No one stepped out of a house to confront her.

  If they heard her—and surely one or two did—maybe they thought she was one of the guards, and they were avoiding confrontation. Worked for her.

  She skirted around south of where she wanted to be, in order to keep to familiar streets. But when saw a park she knew—one with a pond—she knew she had come a bit too far and had to veer north. About six blocks away now, if her mental map of the town was right.

  She was headed north alongside the park when she heard a cough. Not a block away. Then someone spat. There was enough moonlight she could see the shapes of playground equipment in the dark, and she headed for that, jogging lightly on her toes, aiming for a slide. She dropped to the ground and rolled under it—or tried to. Her backpack caught. She scooted to the side and tried again, pushing herself under the slide where it was higher. Then she pulled herself by her hands back so that her legs were under the low part of the slide. This was as hidden as she could make herself on short notice. She heard footsteps on the asphalt. Two men, maybe three. One mumbled something she couldn’t catch.

  Her heart pounded and she wriggled until she could slide her rifle off her shoulder. She held it across her chest, ready to use it if need be. If she was going to die tonight, she’d take another one of them out before she did.

  But she really, really did not want to die. She wanted to get this job done. So she stayed quiet as a little mouse hiding under a shoe in a closet as the men passed by. Their footsteps faded, and still she waited, letting her heart slow down, giving them plenty of time to get away.

  She knew nothing about their night patrol schedules. She had a sense of their daytime patrols. Of course, what she had done earlier today might have changed their patterns, so she couldn’t rely on that knowledge either.

  She planned to be well out of town before sunrise. She had time. It wasn’t even midnight.

  She moved more cautiously after that, stopping to listen more often, and looking ahead to pick out cover. But she didn’t see any more people.

  She was nearly there. The church came into view, a modern building. It looked like some soup cans welded together then painted white. Only the cross mounted on its front and a small sign showed it was a church.

  Sierra stood across the street, down the block four doors, and watched it. No one was guarding it. No one going in and out. She supposed the house to either side might be the minister’s. If the minister didn’t live in one of them, what would she do?

  She hadn’t thought that out. She could leave a note, but would it get to the right person? Maybe Dev was right. She didn’t think things through enough.

  Or what if the whole family had been punished for what she’d done? Jailed or killed?

  No, the invaders had no way of associating the two dead guards with this family. Not unless the girl had told her mother, and the mother had told the men in charge, and no way would she have done that. Unless the invaders were discussing their rapes in detail to each other, maybe no one knew about the girl except the dead men. If so, this one building was not any more likely to be connected to the killings earlier today than any other building in the neighborhood.

  She wondered if the invaders had knocked on doors, demanding that people tell them what had happened. She tried to imagine being the minister, her daughter running home covered with blood, and what she’d do. Clean her up, that’s what, and tell her to never say a word about it.

  Didn’t mean someone else wouldn’t talk though, someone who had been looking through their window at it.

  Sierra was starting to wonder if she could possibly risk an approach the church, if there might not be someone waiting for her inside. Well, hell. She’d come this far.

  She walked to the front door, looking all around her, and tried the door. Locked. No surprise. She went around the parking lot to find a side door. She tried it, but it was locked too. Should she knock? She rattled the doorknob, not really expecting anything to happen. She backed up and hunted for windows to look through.

  Then she heard a footfall behind her.

  Chapter 8

  Slowly, Sierra turned, giving her shoulder a shrug, loosening the rifle’s strap so it would not hang up on her clothes if she needed to shoot fast.

  A woman stood in front of her, her face shadowed. She held a knife.

  But it was just a tiny knife, the smallest of kitchen knives, the kind of thing you’d use to cut up a piece of chicken.

  “Who are you?” the woman said in a shaky voice.

  “My name is Sierra Ash. I’m here to help you.”

  “Help me?” The woman glanced around. “Put the rifle on the ground.”

  “No, ma’am. Reverend, whatever. I might need it.”

  “I’ll cut you. I swear I will,” she said, her voice shaking.

  “I’m the one who killed the rapist today.” She jerked her chin to indicate the direction it had happened. “The ones raping that kid. I assume your kid.”

  The woman looked confused. “Who are you?” she said again, but in an entirely different tone. Then her voice fell to a whisper. “Are you real?”

  “Real, real scared, and really wanting to be inside. Could we?” She motioned at the door.

  “Don’t—” The woman shook her head and didn’t finish the thought. “Wait.” She waved her away from the door.

  Sierra backed off, not wanting to crowd her. That little knife surely wouldn’t kill her, but it could hurt.

  The woman pulled a big ring of keys out of her pocket and unlocked the side door of the church. She gestured Sierra inside, followed, and shut the door quietly.

  The loss of the moonlight made it seem dangerous in here. She was standing nose to nose, as far as she could tell, with a woman holding a knife. A stranger. Someone she wanted to help, but a stranger nonetheless. It struck Sierra for the first time that maybe the woman wouldn’t want any help. “Are you in trouble for what happened today?” she said.

  “No. They have no idea that Emily was a witness. Not yet.”

  “Emily, that’s your daughter?”

  “My eldest. I have two.”

  “I’m sorry about what happened to her. I wish it never had.”

  “Let me get something.” The woman brushed past her, and there was a pause, then a noise, and then a flashlight went on. It was aimed at Sierra’s face. She stood and let the woman look at her. “What was your name again?”

  “Sierra Ash. My dad is Pilar Crocker. Maybe you’ve met him? We live out of town several miles. I just graduated from high school here in Payson.”

  “And why are you here?”

  “A friend of mine, fleeing town, stopped and told me a little about what was happening here. I came with a neighbor to check it out, see how many of the Phoenix gang there were, how well armed, and if they were likely to be heading up our way to make trouble.”

  She made a noise, about one quarter amusement and three quarters desperation. “Not until they’ve used up Payson.”

  “How many of them are there?”

  “The best I can tell, forty-five, more or less. Only two of them are women, the rest men. Probably none over forty years old.”

  “How well armed?”

  “Well enough to take over. I don’t know specifics. I don’t know guns at all.”

  “They have anything like grenades, rocket launchers, fully auto weapons?”

  “Nothing like rockets. I don’t know what a fully auto weapon is.”

  “Never stops shooting until it’s out of bullets.”

  “I think so. Back at the beginning, when they first came. Or maybe it was just the noise of steady shooting that confused me.”

  “How many people did you lose? The
whole town, I mean.”

  “A lot. Before the attack, thousands. Suicide, starvation, violence. In the attacks, a thousand more. And then there were the executions.” Her voice went tight at the word.

  “How many of you are left?”

  “I don’t know. They don’t let us communicate with each other.”

  Sierra was surprised. “But surely you do anyway. I mean, they don’t patrol all the time. You could talk to your neighbors.”

  “And all the men are gone.”

  “What?”

  “Killed, or executed, or in jail. Every male over ten years old, from what I can tell.”

  “Do you have someone like that held in jail? We were wondering about hostages.”

  “I know many of the men being held. Some are from my congregation.”

  “Is this why people aren’t fighting back?”

  The minister looked at her in disgust. “They have most of the weapons. They even took my good kitchen knives. This one was on the coffee table and they missed it, or they’d have it too.”

  Sierra knew she shouldn’t say anything judgmental. But she wondered why the remaining citizens weren’t out in force, using whatever they had. Shovels, baseball bats, anything. Wouldn’t a hundred neighbors with bats and rocks have been able to stop the rape earlier today? She knew some would have been killed, but still. What was the big deal about being a woman that didn’t allow them to fight back? Well, not her business. Her business here was twofold. One, she wanted information, which she had some of now, and two, she wanted to get that little girl out of here. “Are you ready to leave this place?”

  “Leave? And go where?”

  “There’s a house in my neighborhood that’s empty. If you and your daughters are willing to come, you can have it.” Sierra was vastly exceeding her authority here, but she couldn’t imagine anyone would protest when they knew the whole story. “Can you fire a rifle?”