The door to the room was open.
He looked at it.
Was that a good thing? To have it open?
He was torn between looking out the window and going to the door and closing it quietly.
Somehow—it seemed important to shut the door quietly.
Outside, another gunshot, but this one sounded as though it came from far away.
He quickly turned back to the window.
One of the men had fallen to his knees, still holding his gun.
Then he fell forward.
And Simon raced to the door as fast as he could.
* * *
“Does this damn road go anywhere?” Christie said.
“It has to,” Helen answered, her voice low. Then repeating it, more of a wish. “Has to…”
For a moment, neither spoke as the low tree branches and bushes brushed the car, reaching out for it, trying to hold it back.
The car hit a rock and went bumping up, and then it hit a patch of the road pockmarked with depressions that kept the Honda bucking up and down.
“Shit,” Christie said. “Damn road—”
Then, as the road turned left, she saw an actual paved road ahead, barely visible under the light from the stars and the crescent moon low in the clear night sky.
“There you go,” Helen said.
The Honda’s lights hit the pavement, and Christie was ready for anything—Can Heads waiting there, men with guns, a barrier of some kind.
But the dirt road simply deposited them onto the paved road, which she took as fast as she could, the car turning and fishtailing as she now gunned it.
Only then did she turn and risk a look at Helen.
“They’re not going to get my kids.”
She nodded at her own words, the strength of her resolve making her entire body tighten, tense and coiled.
She would do anything, she knew.
She brought her eyes back to the road, where she was doing close to double the forty-miles-an-hour speed limit.
“No way they will ever get my kids.”
And though she sounded strange, crazed, she kept repeating the words over and over until it became clear that they didn’t need repeating.
42
The Trap
This narrow tunnel to the side passed small locked rooms, with tiny doors, all held shut with heavy latches and padlocks, and Kate wondered if she had wandered into a dead end.
Maybe she should go back the other way, back to the sounds that filtered from the far end of the inn, out to the garage.
At least some guards were out there.
But then she saw one of the small rooms without a door, open and exposed. Inside, not much bigger than a low closet, an empty storeroom. But the space was out of the light.
She could sneak in there, sit quietly, and wait till the sounds passed.
Then—Simon. She’d have to go find Simon.
She ducked into the room and quickly sat down on the floor, pulling her knees up close.
And as she sat there breathing as quietly as she could, straining to hear whatever sounds she could, thinking …
That something bad was happening out there, and Simon was alone.
So that in the darkness, she felt two things equally strong—alternating, dizzyingly swinging one to the other—from her terrible fear to an equally terrible guilt.
* * *
Simon shut the door and then stood there, looking at it.
More gunshots from outside.
People outside shooting at the few guards left.
Trying to break into the building.
That’s what was happening …
What did they want?
That last question made him feel very cold.
Only now did he turn and see the old-fashioned bureau that faced his mother’s big bed.
He reached out and slowly turned the latch that locked the door.
It clicked much too loudly he thought, the metallic click seeming so loud.
But it was done; the door locked.
He heard a yell from outside. Maybe one of the guards needing help. But where would that help come from if everyone was away?
And when would they come back, the men in the cars with all their guns, his mom?
He started to back away from the door. The floorboards creaked even though they were covered with the dark maroon rug, each step producing a bunch of squeaks.
He didn’t let the sounds stop him.
Instead, he just kept moving until he stood beside the bureau, about to do something his mother said to never ever do.
He crouched down and, again concerned about the noise, slowly pulled open the drawer.
Two guns there. His mother had taken hers.
Simon’s gun the smallest. One that had been his dad’s.
Kate had shown him how to shoot it. It wasn’t hard. Just have to throw a switch, and he’d be ready.
Important to hold your arm out straight, look at where the gun was pointing, and, and—
He took a breath.
Then he reached down and took the gun.
Had his father ever used it to shoot someone? Had his father … ever killed a Can Head with it?
Then, still crouched, one more thought.
I have. I’ve killed one of them with it.
His hand tightened around the handgun.
Then, he slowly stood up in the cold room.
* * *
“Careful,” Helen said. “We nearly lost it on that curve.”
After a few wrong turns, Christie had gotten them back to the county road. At this speed, the inn was only ten minutes away.
“What are we going to do?” Helen asked.
Christie nodded, amazed and happy at Helen’s we.
“It’s so obvious. They lured everyone away into a trap. But the real goal was everyone left in the inn.”
A look at the woman sitting next to her.
“The children.”
“I don’t get it.”
“No?” Christie nodded her head; she had finally started to understand. What had happened back in the camp, what was happening here, in the city, what the hell was happening everywhere in the world.
“They get kids, and they can control kids, move them around—Jesus—herd them. You see—”
She tilted her head, the insane logic of it clear.
“—that way they have a … have a—”
(The words too hard to say. But she had to.)
“—food supply. They can’t just depend on finding people, killing them.”
“God.”
“Christie. We don’t know what we’re going to face. What might’ve happened to our people back there. Did anyone else escape that trap at the warehouse? I mean, if it’s just us—”
Christie’s voice low, steady as she worked to keep herself level, calm.
“If it’s just us, we’ll have to be enough.”
Nothing for a moment.
“Okay. If it’s just us then—yes. We’ll be enough.”
The road became straight here, and Christie could hold the accelerator nearly flush to the floor.
The inn, her kids, whatever lay ahead … only minutes away.
* * *
Simon heard noises in the hallway.
Yells, screams. A woman, making a big howling noise.
Then a gunshot.
And nothing.
Kids voices, crying. But no gunshots answered those cries.
But Simon noticed how the sounds stopped after a few minutes. Had something been done to quiet them? Or had they been taken away?
Where would they take them?
Simon realized: I can’t move.
Thinking: it’s impossible to move.
The gun, feeling like a toy, dangling from his hand, pointing to the ground. His eyes, though, were locked on the door to the room.
Locked door, he reminded himself.
The sudden burst of cries and yells and screams had ended.
&
nbsp; But he could still hear the squeaks of the wooden floor outside as people moved about.
Squeaks growing closer.
Mumbling sounds. Men speaking.
Simon, a statue with a gun.
When—eyes on that door—he watched the doorknob twist left, right, and left again.
And all Simon wanted to do was cry.
* * *
Kate raised her head. Sounds from the other tunnel. Steps, people hurrying.
No talking.
Rushing to the garage where she could still hear the voices of the men there, waiting, unsuspecting of these people running toward them.
Would they turn and come down this tunnel?
Just to check it?
Try all the small locked doors and then come to the room that had no door, the dark stone storeroom where she sat, curled up, totally defenseless.
She kept her head up, eyes blinking in the darkness.
No, she begged. Just keep on going.
She started to formulate a plan if the people kept going. What she could do.
To get out of here.
To get back to Simon.
Because she knew more than anything that she had to do that. There was no choice.
It has to be done, she told herself.
No matter what. No matter the risk.
But for now … she waited.
* * *
Christie started up the long curving road to the inn, still driving crazily fast.
“Easy, Christie. Don’t want to go flying off the edge.”
She nodded. The edge of the road had a small stone wall to stop cars from going over the side, rolling down the hill of the mountain.
But at this speed?
The car could easily roll right over the stone barrier.
And as the Honda weaved its way up the mountain, Christie tried to see the inn.
First, the top of the buildings came into view, a few windows dotted with lights.
Maybe it’s all okay, she thought.
But she quickly pulled away from that thought.
Can’t let myself hope.
Have to be prepared.
Another curve, and the tires squealed, but Helen didn’t try to get her to slow down.
“So stupid,” Christie said.
More of the building came into view.
She turned to Helen.
“I’m out here … because I came to protect this damn car. When I should have protected my kids.”
“And without a car? You want to be here, in this world, with no way to … get away?” The woman sitting beside her took a breath. “You made a decision.”
Christie dared looking over at her. “And if my kids pay a price for that?”
There was no answer to that.
Not for Helen, she knew.
And certainly not for her.
She came to the last section of the road, a straight section before a last curve up to the inn and the lake.
And they both heard the popping sounds.
Gunshots.
And Christie slowed the car.
* * *
Another rattle of the doorknob. A voice on the other side.
Simon looked around the room; he saw the bathroom nearby. A closet near the bed. A big chair that sat in the corner of the room facing his mother’s bed.
He stood there with the gun still dangling.
And then, the only idea that came to him finally allowed him to move as if he was released from a spell, like in one of his old video games.
He could move!
And he ran to the bed, slid to the floor, and being careful to keep the gun pointing away from him, he rolled under the bed, fully to the middle, barely room for his head, his face now looking up at springs, lips nearly touching them.
A bang at the door.
Then louder, something hard smashing against the doorknob.
Simon heard the door fly open, smacking against the inside wall.
Someone said: “Check it out.”
He didn’t dare move his head to look as someone came into the room.
All he did was force his breathing to stay steady. Slow, in and out, as quiet as he could while—nearby—the floorboards creaked.
* * *
“They’re here,” Christie said.
Now she could make out, just ahead, cars and trucks pulled off to the side of the road.
The back of the trucks open.
Ready.
The popping noises sporadic.
“We can’t just go up there,” Helen said.
Christie nodded. As much as she wanted to race up to the inn, grab her kids and get the hell out of there, she knew she couldn’t.
“Look,” Helen said, nodding to the left. “There’s a driveway to the back of the inn. Probably used for supplies. It must go somewhere. Maybe we can get in that way.”
Christie turned.
The narrow driveway did appear to lead to the back of the inn.
A snap decision was needed.
It all seeming so hopeless.
“Won’t be long before whoever came in those cars … leaves. And—if what you think they’re doing is true—they’ll already have the kids with them.”
Helen reached out and patted Christie’s hand.
“It’s the only way.”
Christie nodded and killed the lights. Maybe someone had already seen them.
Maybe they’d think it was some of the raiding party.
The people from the warehouse.
The farm.
The place where they keep children.
She started down the driveway to the back of the inn, slowly. Eyes straining to follow the path in the darkness.
43
Family
Gunshots began exploding from the garage.
Kate could guess what was happening. The men there had been surprised by whoever had just come from the tunnels.
What did they want? she wondered.
Why did they come here?
She also knew that if she was going to move, to get out of there before the attackers started exploring, she had to do it now.
Kate put her palms on the ground, and pushed herself to a crouch, and then up.
She took a breath.
And quickly moved out of her hiding place.
* * *
The man walked around the room, each step making a loud creaking noise.
The sounds seemed so loud to Simon. First on the left side of his head, then, as the man moved around the bed, to the right side of his head.
He heard the man move a chair, a different noise as the legs of the chair pulled at the rug.
Next to the chair, the closet, open when Simon had rolled under the bed. The sound of clothes on hangers being pushed around, rattling.
Then the feet walked away from the bed.
Simon’s eyes open.
Looking straight up.
Barely … breathing.
The man walked away.
From the noises, he moved into the bathroom where, for a few moments, the sounds stopped.
A new noise, as the shower curtain was pulled back fast.
Then a word: “Damn.”
Simon knew he’d look under here.
Had to.
It was the one place he hadn’t looked.
A hiding place everyone knew about.
There was nothing he could do, Simon knew.
Then a voice from the hall: “Hey! Get the hell out here. Bring these ones outside now!”
The steps near the bed stopped, hesitating.
Simon imagined that the man was thinking. The voice calling him, but maybe wondering if he missed anything.
But then the feet turned and now, more quickly, moved away from the bed, to the door, and finally out into the hallway.
And Simon stayed right where he was.
* * *
With the car lights killed, Christie opened her car door as quietly as she could, doing it slowly to minimize any squeak of
the door swinging open.
Helen did the same thing.
And when outside, Christie did a quick look around. But back here, in the darkness, it seemed quiet, all the noises coming from the front of the inn.
She turned to Helen and whispered.
“You don’t have to come. You could stay here, by the car, and if—”
Helen touched her shoulder.
“You’re kidding, right? Let’s go get your kids.”
They began walking up a gravel path to the back of the inn.
* * *
Kate edged out of the tunnel.
The safe way was to go out the other tunnel, make her way to the deserted side of the building.
Maybe even get out of here.
But Simon was somewhere. And with her mom gone, it was her job.
I have to do this, she told herself.
No choice … no choice at all.
She kept moving to the open cave that was the garage.
* * *
The gravel path led to a back door, locked and with a board over the glass panels, hiding what was on the other side.
Helen gave the knob another twist, and then brought the butt of her rifle down on the knob. No choice but to make some noise if they wanted to get in. On the third smack of the rifle butt, the knob fell to the ground as Christie kept looking around.
But still—all quiet here.
The door opened, and they were back inside the inn.
* * *
The tunnel curved around, Kate still walking slowly.
Then, voices ahead.
It sounded like a man crying.
She couldn’t make out the words, but people were ahead.
A man crying.
Then a word she understood.
“Please.” Then another sob. “Please, you don’t have to—”
A gunshot, the sound seeming so close as it echoed in this tunnel.
The crying, the words stopped.
And Kate remained frozen, thinking I can’t go back … I can’t go forward.
* * *
Nearly impossible to see as Christie moved with Helen down a totally dark hallway.
This must have been the place where the staff of the hotel lived, a wing of rooms well away from the main building.
But with no lights, no windows, they moved in total darkness.
“You okay?” Helen asked.
“Yes. I—”
Helen took her hand.
“This way if one of us trips, maybe we can hold each other up.”
The fact that they were whispering in this total darkness only made the walk more terrifying.
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