Hope for the Best
© 2020 Vanessa Lafleur. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopying, or recording, except for the inclusion in a review, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Published in the United States by BQB Publishing
(an imprint of Boutique of Quality Books Publishing Company, Inc.)
www.bqbpublishing.com
978-1-945448-61-4 (p)
978-1-945448-62-1 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020932095
Book Design by Robin Krauss, www.bookformatters.com
Cover Design by Rebecca Lown, www.rebeccalowndesign.com
First editor: Olivia Swenson
Second editor: Caleb Guard
CONTENTS
Part One Summer of 2090
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part 2 Fall of 2090
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Part 3 Winter of 2090
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
About the Author
Chapter 1
The northernmost part of the city stood impossibly still in a motionless state of decay. Another storm crawled along the horizon waiting for the perfect moment to attack with torrential rain and destructive winds. Dark, disintegrating buildings lined both sides of the street in what at one time had been a busy business district. Walls bowed toward the littered street, roofs sagged and crumbled onto rotting floors, and the windows that weren’t boarded up stared out as empty voids of darkness, sightless eyes that offered the false hope of a place to hide, to rest, to think.
Lareina’s worn tennis shoes slapped rhythmically against cracked concrete. Resilient, creeping weeds reached for her ankles, while heavy, thudding bootsteps echoed between the buildings, urging her forward and strengthening her determination to elude Detective Galloway. She didn’t bother to glance over her shoulder; she already knew he barreled toward her, not catching up, but not slowing down either.
Over the past week, she had run from one end of the city to the other in an attempt to circumvent the detective. To her advantage, she had spent two years living on the streets of San Antonio, and her knowledge of the city gave her an edge in the high-stakes game of hide-and-seek. She knew what time of the day she could avoid bystanders, where she could lose Galloway in a crowd of people, and places she could hide when caught off guard.
Empty storefronts blurred by in a rush of faded color. Gusty winds whistled through spaces between the damaged buildings, plastering her long hair over her eyes and blurring her vision. Although these challenges didn’t slow her down, outrunning the detective wasn’t an option. Three of her strides equaled one of his, and although she was quick, endurance to continue at that pace wasn’t on her side.
Only hours earlier she’d woken up, warm and comfortable, to the sound of soft rain on the roof of the public library. It was her second Galloway-free day, and she was starting to think maybe she’d lost him. Luckily, she had planned her escape routes ahead of time and managed to climb through a basement window. It had given her a head start, but not enough to escape the detective permanently.
Lungs burning, legs aching, heart racing, Lareina knew she needed to stop and rest, if only for five minutes. Abruptly, she made a right turn into an alley that cut between the buildings to the next block, dodging overturned trash cans, empty crates, and split bags of trash years overdue for collection. Feeling lightheaded, she searched the alley for a dark corner, a crevice in the wall, or anything to hide under. Up ahead, a chest-high chain-link fence divided the alley in half.
On the other side of the fence, cluttered with old mattresses, dumpsters, and other unidentified rotting debris, she spotted her chance to hide, to rest, to lose the detective. Gasping for air, she propelled herself over the fence, darted down the alley, and squeezed herself into the space between a crumbling brick wall and a disintegrating mattress.
Heart knocking against her chest as frantically as a wild bird caught in a net, she forced herself to breathe in short, silent gulps. She raised her hand to her chest and outlined the shape of the strange pendant that hung from a chain around her neck, concealed beneath her t-shirt. She pictured the pendant’s polished black surface with white letters S-PE-R-O across the bottom. Absentmindedly, she traced the smooth, flat object. A slanted edge led to a rounded arch at the bottom, then back to a second slanted edge that ended in a point joining it to the first. Sometimes it reminded her of a teardrop and sometimes a slice of pizza, depending on her mood.
She didn’t know what it was, only that Galloway wanted it more than anything. Poor Susan’s last garbled plea echoed in her head: Protect the pendant. Never let anyone . . . know . . . find . . . warn him. The girl had gasped those last words as a wound to her abdomen turned green grass red. She died because of the pendant now dangling icily against Lareina’s skin.
Escape Detective Galloway, and you’ll be free, she reminded herself. Then you can find out what the pendant is and either throw it into the river or sell it for all it’s worth. The musty smell of the old wet mattress stifled her sinuses. Pinching her nose so she wouldn’t gag or cough, she pushed a strand of long black hair away from her face and tugged at the side seam of her jeans, which were three inches too long for her short stature. Crouched on the soggy ground, she listened to a cricket chirp, flinched with each drip of cold water against her arm, and squeezed her eyes shut.
During her two-day library reprieve, she had forestalled her longing to get lost in the world of a book and instead had gathered every book on jewelry in the library’s catalog. She read up on valuable pendants made of diamonds, rubies, and pearls. She read about costume jewelry meant to imitate its more expensive counterpart. She flipped through picture after picture, so many she felt sure she could distinguish a real diamond necklace from a fake, but nothing resembling her pendant appeared in the books. According to all of her research, it couldn’t be valuable. It couldn’t be worth a week of Galloway’s time to retrieve, but still, he found her.
Water dripped onto her back and she shrugged in response to the tingling sensation. She wished she had spent time reading books about falling in love, traveling the world, winning a war—anything but jewelry. Her research had been pointless, and in her seventeen years of life she had barely begun to read the millions of books in existence. The realization that she might never read another book, that she might never walk out of the alley, crashed over her like an immense wave, pulling her under and preventing her from ever r
eaching the surface. She couldn’t remain still much longer and, more importantly, couldn’t let Galloway win.
Resting her cheek against a brick wall, she noticed red powder around her feet, accumulating as the manmade stone crumbled over time. Leave San Antonio? It was no longer an option but a requirement for survival. She felt no attachment to the city; there was no building she called home, and there were no people she would miss. It was too easy for Galloway to find her there, but if she kept running until those familiar streets disappeared behind her, she could vanish into the population of any city she chose.
Footsteps crunched across the gravel alley and her muscles tensed.
One step. Two steps. Three.
What will happen if he gets the pendant?
Four. Five.
How does he keep finding me?
Six steps. Seven.
If he sees me, I’m trapped.
She tilted her head to the left and spotted his oversized black boot through the gap between the mattress and the wall. Holding her breath she gripped the pendant tightly in one hand. She could keep herself still and her breathing quiet, but nothing could calm her desperate thoughts.
Galloway glided past the mattress, sending pebbles splashing into the puddles behind him. “I know you’re here. Come on out and I won’t hurt you.” He glanced up and down the alley, walked another six feet, and flipped up the lid of a dumpster with a bang. He peered inside, glanced around again, then lowered himself into a push-up position and surveyed the space beneath.
Knowing he wouldn’t leave an inch of the alley unsearched, Lareina slipped out of her hiding place and edged along the cold brick that made up one side of the alley, back toward the fence she jumped minutes earlier. Each shuffle step pushed her further away from her hiding place, out into the open, and visible to the detective if he turned around. Her only comfort came from the sight of his back moving away from her. She wanted noise to muffle her footsteps, but Galloway searched silently as he peered into crevices and behind piles of debris.
Holding her breath, she tiptoed backward with one arm stretched behind her, feeling for the fence as she inched away from the detective. A deafening crunch echoed through the alley.
Looking down at her feet, she cringed and lifted her shoe off a long-ago discarded plastic bottle. Galloway froze at the far end of the alley. She froze too, unable to take her eyes off the back of his head. Don’t turn around. She mouthed the words in a silent prayer, unwilling to make another sound. A crow cawed in the distance, a breeze ruffled the trash spilling out of rotted plastic bags, and time didn’t move.
Galloway’s voice floated down the alley before he turned cautiously. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He held his hands out, palms down in front of him as if trying not to startle a deer. “I don’t care about all of the things you’ve stolen. Just give me the pendant and you’re free.”
“Is that what you told Susan?” She slid one foot back across the gravel.
“Yes, but she wouldn’t listen, and the people I work for aren’t patient.” He took a step forward. “I can’t waste any more time chasing that thing.”
“Since when do you work for other people?” Her feet twitched inside of her shoes. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s complicated.” His shoulders sagged slightly as if to prove the weight of his problem, but his lips tightened into a straight line. “I got mixed up in something I want to get out of. You have to believe me when I tell you that thing won’t make you any money. It’ll only bring you misery.”
“Then why do these people you’re working for want it?” Her hands clenched and unclenched. Every muscle twitched in preparation to run.
“It’s a matter of national security.” His hand lowered toward his belt.
Springing backward, she leaped for the fence, and caught the top edge with her foot, enough to propel her over. She hit the ground with a splash and sprinted back toward the street with Galloway trailing a half block behind her.
She tore down the littered road, hurdling a couch left by looters and darting past a half-collapsed building that spilled bricks onto the sidewalk. Only one more block and she would see the bridge that would link her to an abandoned neighborhood. A quick dash across overgrown soccer fields would give her the advantage of rows and rows of houses offering endless places to hide and a chance of losing Galloway. Glancing behind her she noticed the detective keeping pace but not getting any closer.
Feet sliding across gooey mud, she skidded to a stop. Right in front of her, where the bridge should have been, a rushing river swallowed her only link to freedom. Chunks of concrete had eroded from the edge of the bridge, and only the flat top of the guardrail stood above the water. It trembled in the middle where it had lost its concrete anchor. Torrential rains of the past week combined with above-normal rainfall over the summer had led to extreme flooding throughout the state.
Stepping forward into the current, she gripped the guardrail as knee-deep water threatened to sweep her off her feet. Just ahead, white torrents cascaded across the surface, foaming as they caught on submerged concrete barriers. The bridge shook, quickly being overpowered by the flood’s tremendous force.
Another glance back revealed Detective Galloway lumbering ever closer. If she didn’t move, he would capture her; if she didn’t hurry, the bridge would be gone. Shivering, she hoisted herself onto the four-foot guardrail that once stood between people on the sidewalk and the trickle of a creek below. Ignoring her trembling hands, she stood up and swayed from side to side.
It’s just like the balance beam on a playground, or walking along the top of a retaining wall, she tried to convince herself. Galloway shouted behind her, but she couldn’t make sense of what he said over the roaring water—or was that the sound of blood pumping in her ears? She slid one foot in front of the other. Although only thirty yards ahead, the bank of the creek seemed a mile away as she struggled to maintain her balance.
“Have you lost your mind?” Galloway’s voice came so clearly through the deafening rush of water that she worried he had followed her onto the rail. “You’ll get yourself killed out there.”
The guardrail bounced beneath her and groaned with every step as she crossed the unsupported middle section. As she attempted to turn her head toward the detective, her left foot slid partially down the side of the thin beam. Flailing her arms, she leaned far to the right and managed to find her balance again.
“You have to move,” she whispered over the roar of water. “You can’t stay here.”
Shaking, she looked down at the water lapping fiercely two feet below her shoes. She took a deep breath and stepped forward.
Chapter 2
Never had Lareina known relief like reaching the end of that guardrail. Leaping as far from the edge of the water as possible, she sank shin deep into mud along the saturated creek, but she didn’t care. She would have one more day of freedom and one more day to live.
Turning around, she spotted Galloway standing, hands pressed against the top of his head, across the water. Another chunk of the bridge collapsed and the guardrail bobbed wildly. He made no attempt to come after her. His eyes, surrounded by puffy eyelids and dark circles, scrutinized the scene as his lips stretched into a thin flat line.
“Your precious pendant is safe.” She stood tall as she shouted at him, the adrenaline of her stunt and the reality of her freedom racing through her body. “And if you want it, you’ll have to take it because it belongs to me now.”
As she turned away from the water, she heard him yell, “I’ll find you no matter where you run. I’ll always find you.”
The threat constricted muscles in her shoulders and jaw, but instead of turning around she walked toward the promised shelter of houses on the horizon. Galloway could try to follow her, but the flooding would give her time to disappear while he looked for a way around the obstacle. Gray clouds piled in from the west, tumbling past one another and swallowing those too slow to keep up. The creek would only swell w
ith the rain overnight, and she laughed out loud at the perfect timing of the approaching storm.
Kicking mud off her shoes, she imagined the comforts of the house she would sleep in that night. A soft pillow, somewhere dry to rest, and some clean clothes were the only luxuries she needed. In the city she slept in libraries and churches—the only places she felt safe and could be alone. All abandoned buildings in the city had been looted, but she’d heard rumors that houses outside of the city tended to be not only empty of people, but still stocked with supplies left behind by their owners.
Although the economic downturn began when she was too young to remember, she had felt its affects all her life. She guessed it was the reason her parents had abandoned her, why so many children had been left to a system unprepared to provide for their needs. Every new home for children she was sent to seemed to have less food and more orphans assigned to a room than the one before. By the time she was twelve, a fuel shortage nearly doubled the population of cities across the country. People couldn’t afford to commute far for work, and they wanted to live close to the best hospitals, restaurants, and entertainment. A few years later, when the fever started, the overpopulation of urban areas allowed it to sweep through like a wildfire.
Only six in ten survived the flu-like virus that started out as a cough and ended in a high fever. The vast majority of survivors were between the ages of ten and twenty-five. Lareina took comfort that at seventeen she fell in that age group, but still she worried she couldn’t beat such a formidable illness without anyone to take care of her. Unfortunately it didn’t show any signs of dying out, so she feared it was only a matter of time.
Cutting across overgrown playing fields, she could make out the shapes of tree houses and deteriorating trampolines behind the wood fences outlining backyards. How different would her life have been had she grown up in a house with green grass, a trampoline, parents and siblings? Maybe she would have learned to play the piano so beautifully people would have traveled miles to hear her in concert. Maybe she would have studied medicine and found a cure to the dreaded fever. She definitely wouldn’t have turned out to be the thief and fugitive she’d become.
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