The Abandon Series | Book 3 | These Times of Cessation

by Schow, Ryan

  Faith didn’t say anything because she was fixated on the burned-down house. Colt had seen it but was trying to compartmentalize everything.

  “Maybe she died in there,” Faith said, sniffling. “Maybe Niles and his parents are in there right now. Maybe they’re all dead.”

  “She’s not dead.”

  “You can’t know that, Colt!”

  He parked in front of where the house used to be and gave a quick honk of the horn. They waited, but it seemed that no one was around the house. Were they in the barn? If anyone was hiding, they’d at least pop their heads out and see the two of them, wouldn’t they?

  He opened the door, stood on the Jeep’s running board, let his face be seen from all angles. He honked two more times then waited.

  “They’re either dead or gone,” Colt said, sitting back down. “I’m going to check it out.”

  Faith looked comatose at this point. He snapped his fingers in her face and said, “Faith, stay here, please.”

  “I’m not getting out of this Jeep,” she said from some distant place.

  He got out and walked around the house, kicking around the debris where he could. He didn’t see any bodies, but then again, there was so much destruction. In the barn, it looked like they had horses and that they were gone. Did they take off? Did someone ride them out of there? If a tornado touched down nearby, any responsible owner knew to let the horses loose.

  Standing in the barn, he looked around, dumbfounded. “Think, Colt,” he mumbled. “Think.”

  Nothing came to mind.

  He didn’t know where else to look for Leighton, but he couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving town to head to Columbus without her. It was like he was giving up completely.

  You’re not leaving her, you’re managing your options, the voice in his head said. It wasn’t the beasts’s voice, or even his own. This was the voice of reason. Of practicality.

  Try telling that to Faith, another voice said.

  He walked back to the truck, saw Faith’s head hanging low, most likely unable to process all of this. He’d searched the only two places they could for their daughter and now he was out of ideas. Where else could he look? Would he go through every charred body in Silver Grove? Dig through every house and store in between there and NKU? What about the dorms themselves? Should they go through every dorm? Scour the whole campus?

  The weather and the EMP attack would have caused enough chaos to scatter everyone. All of this started to hurt his brain. If any of these kids were surviving by themselves—kids like the ones they ran into back at NKU—they would be hungry, maybe even ravenous. He walked this problem to its logical conclusion. If he was right, a large portion of the population would eventually get angry, mean, and finally violent, or even suicidal. He was certain this was coming soon, but it wasn’t anything he was ready to tell Faith just yet.

  When he got in the Jeep, he said, “I don’t see anyone.”

  Faith’s eyes were dry, her face resolute. “I’m all done with the tears, Colt. I’m done feeling sorry for myself.”

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Most definitely,” she said.

  “Well, alright then,” he replied, not sure what had changed.

  “She’s not here, so we need to trust she’s on her way home,” Faith said. “Right now we need to get on the road and see about Constanza and Rowan.”

  “What the hell happened to you in that last ten minutes?”

  “I’m finally more pissed off than scared.”

  Colt nodded his head and said, “It’s about damn time.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Colt McDaniel

  Colt said, “We can’t go through Cincinnati. No freaking way. But if we go around the city, which we should most definitely do, we’ll need to cross the Ohio River.”

  “Which means a bridge,” Faith said. He nodded. “Okay, then, we’re going to need a map.”

  “We’re going to need a lot of things,” Colt replied, “but I can tell you this. I don’t need a map to tell me we can’t take any of the four or five bridges leading into Cincinnati. We need to take I-275 and that’s it. Everything else leads us into the middle of hell.”

  “Can’t we avoid the bridges completely?” she asked. He slowly shook his head. “Okay, then, let’s just go.”

  With no way to get to I-275 without backtracking through Highland Heights, they took Industrial back to Alexandria Pike and then they took I-275 east. Colt followed the signs to Columbus.

  They dutifully made their way through scattered traffic, and before long, an old looking bridge with what looked like an iron truss came into view. Faith pulled the binoculars out of their case and scanned the area for threats.

  “Stop the Jeep, Colt.”

  “What?”

  “There’s a guy on the top of the bridge with a rifle.”

  “On top, like on top of the strut? Or…?”

  “That’s the beam running across the, whatever…it’s the top of the open beams over the bridge, right?” she asked. “That’s the strut?”

  “That’s what I’m asking you,” he said trying to sort out what she just said.

  “Okay, then,” she said. “Yeah, he’s on the strut.”

  “What kind of rifle does he have? Hunting rifle? An automatic rifle?”

  “Looks like a hunting rifle,” she said. “But it’s old.”

  “Any markings to tell who he’s with?”

  “I can’t tell.”

  The information she was providing was helpful, but he needed a clearer picture. He reached back, pulled the Barrett out, then got out of the Jeep and scoped the man. From what he could tell, the guy was a lookout. From where he was perched, he was talking with a bunch of other guys below. They looked like they were going through a number of different cars, looking for useful things, or even edible things.

  The beast inside him wasn’t mad. It was satiated. He’s out here with guys taking things from cars, the beast said.

  So? Colt replied.

  If you want to scatter an anthill, start stepping on the ants. Or in this case, start shooting them.

  Colt shook his head.

  He wasn’t going to kill one guy to make the others leave. There was no way he’d do that. He put the Barrett away, then started the Jeep and began the slow trek across the bridge. The going was made more tedious by the sheer amount of cars that had died on the bridge. From where he sat, it would take some skill and a lot of good luck just to get the Jeep through.

  “Faith,” he said, “stay on the binos. I need you to be my eyes in case these guys get any funny ideas. Every amount of intel matters, so if you’re worried, tell me about it ASAP.”

  “Got it.”

  Judging by the angle of the binoculars, Colt knew she was watching the man on the portal strut.

  “He just jumped off the top of the bridge and landed on a car. He saw us, I think. Colt, he’s aiming the rifle at us.”

  They quickly ducked their heads to the sides of the Jeep, sticking to the A-pillars as closely as they could. Faith sank down, scared.

  “Did he have a scope?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I mean, not that I could see.”

  “Give me the binoculars.”

  She handed them over. He took a look, didn’t see anything. Concerned, he maneuvered the Jeep so that he had a clear line of sight. He saw the shooter, but he also saw the shooter’s buddies moving in behind him.

  “What do you want to do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. They’re mobilizing, I think. But we have to cross this bridge. I’m crossing this damn bridge!”

  “Don’t yell at me,” Faith said.

  He shook his head, reversed the Jeep, then swung it around sideways. Grabbing the Barrett, he said, “Get me my ears, and have the extra mag ready.”

  She was reaching for the miscellaneous bag of tactical items while he grabbed the Barrett then opened the door.

  “Stay down,” he said.

&n
bsp; She nodded, then slid even lower into her seat.

  He covertly set the Barrett on its bipod using the hood of the Jeep as his platform. Eye in the scope, other eye open to keep the rest of the scene in sight, he controlled his breathing, lined up the shot, then squeezed the trigger.

  The M82 barked, ejected the brass, then chambered a fresh round.

  The bullet slammed into the windshield next to the guy, scaring the crap out of both him and his buddies. The entire group turned and booked it, running down the bridge like their hair was on fire.

  Pussies, the beast inside him said.

  I saved those kids’ lives today, he replied to the beast, so shut up and crawl back into your cage.

  The beast sat back, crossed its legs at the ankles, and grinned. Let’s talk when you get over that bridge.

  He put the Barrett away, removed his ears, then got back in the Jeep. He slowly, cautiously, worked his way across the bridge. Unfortunately, his senses started tingling big time.

  “Have the carbine ready,” he said.

  Without a word, she pulled the Ruger from the back seat and set it down between her legs. The barrel was up. She made sure it was pointed away from her. She ejected the mag and started thumbing in fresh rounds. When she was done, she slid the mag into the mag well, then grabbed her Smith & Wesson as well as the binoculars. She sat the SHIELD on the floor, then lifted the binos to her beautiful face and scanned the road ahead.

  Looking at her, doing a double-take, Colt said, “Seeing you in warrior mode…you look sensational, if I do say so myself.”

  She laughed, then lowered the binoculars and leveled him with that California grin, the same one that stole his heart so many years ago.

  “I won’t lie,” she said, “I got a little hot watching you fire the Barrett.”

  “You want to do it on the bridge?” he asked.

  She laughed again, but then the reality of the situation slammed back into her and she almost looked embarrassed. Bringing the binos back up to her eyes, she fell silent once again. Then, when they were halfway across the bridge, she said, “Oh, shit. We have a problem.”

  “What?”

  “Those five guys you ran off are now about twenty guys.”

  He stopped the Jeep, checked the rearview mirror and said, “This is a trap.”

  “What?” she asked, looking out of the back of the Jeep.

  “They’re boxing us in.”

  At the end of the bridge from where they’d just come, Colt and Faith saw a large group of guys filling the bridge in such mass, it looked like they were cutting off any rear escape.

  She turned and looked at the new threat with the binos. “I’m going to have to take a raincheck on the bridge sex.”

  Turning inward and speaking to the beast, Colt said, Hey asshole, it looks like you were right.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Colt McDaniel

  The beast wanted him to shoot. It wanted him to kill. Colt hated every part of that idea, just as he hated everything about the beast inside him. Unfortunately, it was looking like he needed to make an example out of someone.

  The long bridge meant it would take time for them to get to Colt and Faith. This would give him time to plan. Unfortunately, there were a decent number of cars on the bridge, making it impossible to take a Sunday drive through there.

  “What now?” Faith asked.

  “Let me think for a minute,” he said. “It’s going to be like playing Tetris, but for real, and with cars.”

  He got out of the Jeep, started threading his way through the accumulation of cars. Up ahead, he saw the mob heading his way. He went and looked over the edge of the bridge. If he and Faith got into a pinch, they could hop into the river and hopefully survive. It was a long fall, though. Longer than he wanted to consider. Of course, if they did that, they’d have to leave everything important behind…their guns, the ammo, the food they took, their only form of transportation short of their freaking legs.

  Yeah, that’s not going to work.

  He took a quick look over his shoulder, saw the new mob closing in. While he shook his head in disgust at the idea of being trapped, he felt the beast smiling inside. It liked a challenge. It craved the challenge.

  In the distance, the familiar sounds of a motorcycle cut through the silence. He broke into a trot. He headed back to the Jeep, figured he’d need two rounds. One bullet for the biker in front of him and the other bullet for the mob at his back.

  He got the Barrett ready, then he checked the magazine and put on his shooter’s ear muffs.

  “Faith, get on the roof, and get eyes on the road ahead!”

  “I’m on it,” she said.

  He set up the sniper rifle, saw the mob coming in from the rear, steadily advancing on them. They looked like a ragtag group of skinny white nerds with black outfits, bats, knives, and chains. But guns? He saw that only a few of them had guns, most of them looking like old shotguns or pistols. Distance was their shortfall while having the M82 gave Colt the distance advantage. With them, with the M82 at his disposal, he had time—another advantage. Still, he wasn’t feeling good about anything. That vice that had clamped his chest since he first learned that Keaton was moving in across the street now tightened further.

  “What do we do now?” Faith asked.

  “Do you have eyes on that motorcycle?” he asked.

  He heard the engine wind down from sounding like it was driving to sounding like it was idling. If the biker presented a credible threat, Faith would warn him.

  “One guy on a motorcycle, two hundred yards out, maybe a bit more. He’s just sitting there, like he’s waiting for something.”

  “Is he a lone wolf or with company?” he asked.

  “Lone wolf,” she replied. “I think he’s a scout or something.”

  Wasting no time, Colt ceded control to the beast. The beast turned around, set up the rifle on another hood, aimed at the biker, then let out his breath and said, “Ears.”

  Faith covered her ears just as the beast fired the round.

  The shot was a little low, but it punched a hole in the biker’s neck, plowing like a freight train through his vertebra. His head flopped over backward with nothing solid to support it. The rider and his motorcycle fell over.

  “He’s down,” Faith said. “It was a clean shot.”

  He spun around, repositioned the rifle, then aimed at the mob that was at their backs. Some of them gave pause to the bark of the rifle. Did they know something bad had happened? Or did they assume they had a window of opportunity to attack?

  Through the scope, he scanned the thirty or forty guys closing in on them. He studied them a little longer than normal. He was looking for the biggest, nastiest looking one in the group.

  There were more than a few to choose from.

  The guy the beast went after, however, was not the biggest man there. He was the smallest of them. Colt didn’t want to take the shot, but the beast said it would be effective. Colt couldn’t help thinking about the first kid he’d killed, how badly it affected him, but his and Faith’s lives were on the line and the beast knew what he was doing.

  Studying this future casualty, he saw a kid who was maybe fourteen years old. He had a stern look on his face, like he was trying to be as tough as the others. He was also walking in the shadow of the biggest man there, a guy who was at least six-foot-four.

  “Ears,” he said to Faith.

  Again, she covered her ears. The beast fired the Barrett, blasting the boy backward. The bullet blew a hole in the kid’s chest. Everyone stopped and looked at the fallen child, many of them shocked, some of them outraged. Sickened and appalled, the warriors in the crew charged down the bridge, roaring with rage and heading right for Faith and Colt.

  “What the hell?” Colt said.

  “Why are they still coming?” Faith asked, worried.

  “Get your eyes on the other side!” he barked. He didn’t want her seeing what the beast did to the boy, but he was sure she sa
w it, even if she hadn’t processed it yet.

  The beast had tricked him.

  More to go, the beast said, licking its lips.

  Colt took control from the beast. Instead of shooting more kids, he lowered the crosshairs on the big man the kid had been standing next to and fired a round. He struck him in the upper chest. The big man shook, then dropped, falling face-first onto the asphalt.

  Now everyone slowed to a stop, not sure what to do. Their battle cries instantly fell silent, then they turned and ran back from where they’d first come.

  “No more for you,” he told the beast.

  “Who are you talking to?” Faith asked him, concerned. He didn’t answer because she wouldn’t understand. Before he could lie, or divert her from the question, she said, “A few of the guys are headed toward the dead guy and his bike.”

  “Are they on foot or on motorcycles?”

  “On foot.”

  Was he really going to have to shoot more of these fruit loops? Shaking his head, he hated killing people, but he also hated going through this much ammo.

  “How many of them?” he asked as he watched the retreating mob. The group slowed down at the foot of the bridge, then they turned and glared at Colt.

  “Three,” Faith called out, “all of them armed.”

  He clenched his jaw, felt his eyes narrow and his body tense up. Colt was super pissed off that he had to cross this bridge, but what bothered him even more was that he wouldn’t be able to take the Jeep, or worse, his food and guns.

  If these guys got smart and moved on them as two united fronts, it was all over but the crying. It was just him and Faith against dozens of them. There was but one answer. From his personal experience, brutality ruled the day, for it cemented fear into the hearts of cowards. It was time to sow the seeds of fear.

  “Talk to me, Colt,” she said.

  “No one wants chunks of their face blown through the back of their skull, no matter how many of them stand in defiance.”

  “Is that a quote?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m just thinking out loud.”