If the Light Escapes: A Braving the Light Novel

by Brenda Marie Smith

  “I need your help on a secret mission. It’s fucking dangerous.”

  She puts her hands on her hips and searches my face. “Everything’s fucking dangerous. What do you need me to do?”

  “Come with me.”

  “What’s all this gas?” Greta asks the instant we duck into the garage.

  “We need to get it out of the neighborhood, like now.”

  “Keno, what in the world are you doing?”

  “I’m not letting these cocksuckers attack our neighborhood and kill kids and parents and old people.”

  Greta narrows her eyes at me. “So, you’re gonna burn them out? That’s sick.”

  “We’re gonna burn down their arsenal.”

  “Shit.” She runs her hand from her forehead, over her cheeks, down to her chin. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  “Thank you. Take this wagon, go west to the trail, then go down to Dittmar. Danny and Max are waiting. They should be hiding in some trees. Milo, Phil, and I will be there right after dark.”

  “Okay. Super Greta at your service.” She gives me a dorky grin, and I have to laugh, but only for a second.

  “Wait. Almost forgot.” I go to a shelf, pull off a plastic tub, and stuff it into Greta’s wagon. “When you get over there to wait for us, pour the gas off the rags that are soaking in this tub, but put the lid back on it.”

  “Whatever you say, boss.”

  I duck out the door—check to be sure no one’s looking. “Go!”

  And Super Greta hurries from the garage, trotting fast and shooting furtive glances everywhere as she hightails it out of the neighborhood, pulling her wagon into the pink and purple sunset.

  I’m back in the garage, closing and locking the door, when the door into the house suddenly opens, startling the shit out of me.

  “Keno,” Alma says, “what are you doing out here? Where’s all the gas?”

  I lead Alma to sit on a crate and crouch in front of her to tell her the general plan. She looks more horrified by the minute.

  “Joaquin Simms! What about your soul?”

  “How is it any better for my soul to let half our neighbors get killed in an attack when I have a chance to stop it? I can’t put you and everyone else at risk like that. Better a few of us than all of us.”

  Alma’s eyes burn with intensity as she scrutinizes my face and pushes her fingers up into my hair. “You’re not the sweet boy I married anymore.”

  “I’m not. I’m sorry. The world won’t let me stay sweet.”

  She pulls my forehead against hers, peering into my eyes. “This new manly Keno turns me on.”

  A laugh shoots out of me, despite my anxiety. “Seriously?”

  “You’re my fierce protector, baby. And I’m your fierce pregnant wife.”

  “Alma.” I sigh, and she lays a powerful kiss on me, but she cuts it short.

  “Get going, fierce one. Go save our asses while there’s still time.”

  I bury my face in her breasts and run my hands over her belly, feeling the shape of the baby inside her. “I’ll help you get settled in the cellar,” I say.

  “Nope. Your mom’s already there. I’m taking June and Charlotte over there pretty soon. You better go before they show up. I made a ton of burritos and put them in plastic bags. I thought you’d need them while on guard, but you can take a bunch for your crew.”

  “Don’t you need them in the cellar?”

  “Told you I made a ton. Everyone else was doing hard labor. My job was to cook.”

  “Baby, you’re amazing.”

  “Yes, I am. Now get out of here.”

  I almost choke on the emotion roiling inside me. “Alma, if anything happens to me—” She presses her hand to my mouth.

  “Don’t say it. I love you, I’m saying prayers, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I help Alma to her feet and hug her like it’s my last chance. She hugs me the same, then peels my arms off of her.

  “Go, already!”

  “Okay! I’m going!” I follow her inside with the rifles, lay them on the couch, and run upstairs to put on dark clothes. I grab Tasha’s mascara out of the bathroom. When I come back down, Phil and Milo are here, and Alma’s loading them up with a rucksack full of burritos and bottled water.

  “Alma,” I say. “I need one more favor, please. Can you distract Silas on our roof so we can sneak out of here? It’ll take a few minutes for us to get out of his sight.”

  “Sure. I’ll start crying and get him to tell me the whole plan that will make me safe.”

  “You’re good. I love you to the moon and back.”

  “That’s not far enough.”

  “Okay. I love you to the farthest galaxy and beyond.”

  “Same to you,” she says, and she steps out the back door. “Oh, Silas!” she cries out like a sob. “I’m scared to death! How are we ever going to survive this?”

  Milo, Phil, and I lock eyes, grab rifles, and dash out the front door, running like our lives are on the line, because they are.

  Max, Danny, and Greta are having anxiety fits by the time we get there. I hand out burritos and water, and we scarf down dinner while I explain the layout of the camo-guy neighborhood and where the arsenal is. I draw a funky map in the dirt.

  “We’ll start a fire behind the arsenal here, then toss Molotov cocktails on the roof and out in front. But first, we start a fire on the other side of their territory as a distraction, so they’ll all go over there, making it easier for us to burn the arsenal.”

  “Keno,” Greta says, “what makes you think burning down their arsenal will be enough? They’ll already be armed, and they’ll run out of there with their guns, straight for us.”

  “We’ll slow them down. We’ll hobble them. We can shoot the most ferocious ones.”

  “I think you have to trap them in a ring of fire.”

  “God, Greta. That’s, like, a war crime!”

  “Yeah.” Phil’s eyes are steely. “But how else do you kill monsters?”

  “We can leave them one way out. They have to drop their guns before we let them out.”

  “I don’t know,” Greta says.

  “Me neither,” says Phil. “Let’s just kill them all and get it over with.”

  Damn it! I shouldn’t have brought angry adults with me. These kids will listen to me, but not Greta, and definitely not Phil, who’s wounded and out for revenge. But revenge is useless bullshit.

  “Phil, I’m pissed off and crushed over Eddie, too, but the people in that neighborhood didn’t kill him. Two guys did that. We don’t know if their friends are even coming for us. We need to disarm them to make sure they don’t. Scatter them to the winds.”

  “They’ll regroup and steal more guns,” Greta says.

  “Maybe so. But this will buy us time.”

  “To do what? Lower our guard so they can sneak up and kill us?”

  “Greta, Phil, we’re doing this my way. If you don’t like that, go home and help there. If my plan doesn’t work, you can mount your own attack another day.”

  “Like there’s gonna be another day,” Phil mutters.

  “Goddamn it, Phil! Stop that shit! There has to be another day. I’ve got a baby coming. And you know, Phil—” I lean up in his face. “—you know that Eddie wouldn’t like us thinking that way. So cut it out!”

  Tears flow out of Phil’s eyes and down his cheeks as he glares at me.

  “I’m sorry, Phil. If you need to go home, there’s no shame in it.”

  He clenches his teeth so hard I hear them grind together. “Let’s just do this.”

  “Help me pour gas into these bottles and stuff the gas-soaked rags into them. I already cut some wine corks in half for stoppers.” I pull wine corks and more funnels out of my rucksack, and we get to work. I also hand each person partly full boxe
s of kitchen matches. We pad up the gas bombs with dry rags so they don’t bump against each other.

  “Whoever pulls this wagon has to go slow and be careful as fuck.”

  “I’ll do it,” Greta says. “Can’t trust delicate work to men.” Everyone stares at her. “What? I’m kidding.”

  I realize I don’t have enough mascara to darken every face, so I pour a little puddle of water on a patch of dirt.

  “Cover your faces, arms, and hands,” I say, and we make muddy messes of ourselves.

  We head east on Dittmar slowly, a wagon train loaded with explosive power. I stop them when we get even with the park so I can run over and tell Bobby what we’re doing. Don’t want him shooting us, and I want him to know how many shooters he’s missing for guarding our families.

  “Shit, Keno. You sure about this?”

  “No, but I don’t want them coming here.”

  “For a kid, you’ve got some balls on you, man. I’ll give you that.” I gulp, and Bobby looks straight into my eyes. “Give ’em hell!”

  We’re a restless little caravan out here in the deep dark—lots of fidgeting and sighing, our feet too noisy when they slap against the street.

  “Practice being quiet as death,” I murmur, shivering at my own words. “I don’t wanna hear one footstep, sniffle, or sigh.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Milo whispers, a sideways grin on his face. I give him the evil eye, half-humorous and half-not.

  When we’re almost to South First, I stop them again. “Last chance to empty your bladders, blow your noses, cough up loogies, say your prayers and mantras, whatever you gotta do. ’Cause once we cross South First, it’s game on.”

  Greta ducks behind some bushes. “Peein’ back here. Stay away.”

  We guys take leaks, slug water. Max and Phil blow their noses into the street.

  “Huddle up,” I say, and we crouch in a circle. “They have guards at every outside intersection, so we have to stay a block back from their perimeter. When we get there, we split into three teams of two. Milo and Danny, you take one wagon and go one block past the back end of their perimeter. Spread a line of gas along the curb and over anything flammable. Stop pouring and get yourselves and the gas cans several feet away. Be sure there’s no gas drippage for the fire to come toward you. Greta and Max, you stay on this side and do the same with the gas. Phil and I will go to the other side. The intersections are farther apart over there, so we should be able to get close enough to douse the back side of the arsenal, plus along the street.

  “I’ll whistle when we’re ready, and Greta, you light your fire. When the assholes run to your fire, we’ll light up the arsenal. Milo, you wait to light your fire until you see mine. Then, all of you run back around to the escape hatch we’re leaving in front for them to get out. Duck fast behind cover, where you can fire at them if you have to.

  “We’re only creating the illusion that they’re hemmed in by fire. We can’t get close enough to light up everything, and we don’t need to. We’ve just got to take out the arsenal and scare them out of there unarmed.”

  “Who’s throwing the cocktails?” Greta asks. “Up until the solar pulse, I was the best right-fielder in Austin women’s softball.”

  “I was a high school quarterback,” Phil says.

  “Okay. We split them up. Greta, you toss a couple into your side so that the fire over there looks threatening enough to get them all to run to it. Save the rest in case we need them later. Phil can toss them on the roof of the arsenal and out front of it.”

  “Are you sure we made these suckers right?” Greta asks. “Don’t want them exploding in my hand. How’d you even know how to make them?”

  “Science geek,” I say, and I leave it at that.

  We start to go, but I say, “Let’s ditch one of these wagons. We’ll hide it in the bushes and stuff the cocktails in with the gas cans. Fewer things to slow us down.”

  We do all that quickly, then check one another’s eyes.

  “Remember, quiet as death.”

  CHAPTER 38

  The closer we get to camo-freak territory, the louder our wagon wheels sound on the road. I spread us out at first, but that’s not good enough. We roll our wagons across overgrown lawns, where the wheels still make noise, but less than they do on asphalt. When we get to the schoolyard, we pick up the wagons and carry them, one person on each side. I just hope nobody drops one.

  We reach the separation point, and I use the binoculars to scout the first camo-guy intersection a long block away. A guard all alone, but shit. It was one thing for me to slip past guards on my own, another thing entirely for six people with three carts full of lethal cargo. Plus, there’s a lot of noise coming from inside the compound—sounds as though people are hurrying around. Are they prepping to attack?

  We move sideways between streets that lead to intersections with guards. I motion for Greta and Max to stay put, and I lean up to Max’s ear.

  “Spread the gas,” I say like a breath. “Listen for my whistle.” He nods, and I add, “Stay safe.” Max swallows hard, Greta snaps off a quick salute, and they start pouring gas on the street, bushes, and weedy lawns.

  The rest of us skirt the perimeter from a block away. The activity inside the compound is making me jumpy; I can’t get control of my heartbeat. What if these guys catch us before we get the upper hand? I’m keeping Phil with me; I don’t trust him not to go full-on berserker and fuck it all up.

  A block east of the back end of the perimeter, Milo stops and turns to me. He knows this is the spot for him and Danny to do their jobs. We set down our wagons, and I grab Milo in a mighty hug. I hate leaving him here.

  Milo pushes on my shoulder to back me away, looking at me with sad but determined eyes. He nods sideways for me to go on. If anything happens to these guys, I’ll die.

  Phil and I lift our wagon and slink away, but I glance back to see Milo and Danny pouring lines of gas across lawns and bushes and down the street. Jesus God, this insane plan had better work.

  Within a minute or two, Phil and I reach the arsenal building from a block behind it. The house between the arsenal and us is burned out. Since we’re between intersections on an outward curve in the street, guards on either side of the arsenal shouldn’t be able to see us. But if they hear us, we’re dead.

  I take two jugs of gas from the wagon, and Phil does the same. I take my rifle and chamber a round and sling it over my back. Leaving the cocktails behind, we pick our way around the burned house with two gas cans apiece, avoiding charred lumber and other burned stuff as best we can.

  At the next street, directly behind the arsenal building, we set down our gas cans. Phil helps me grab partly burned lumber scraps from the yard we just passed through, and we stack them silently against the back of the arsenal. Phil douses them with gas while I grab more wood to stretch out the pile until it covers the width of the building, a few feet up the wall.

  More gasoline, then we make separate trails of gas into the street. We’ve only emptied two of our four cans. I catch Phil’s eye and shake my can, asking him what to do. His eyes land on the burned house behind us. We take our cans and back down each side of that house, tossing gas on the building and the wood scraps strewn across the yard.

  We get back to the wagon and stick our gas cans inside. I whisper to Phil, “Can you throw a Molotov cocktail this far?”

  “Told you, I was a quarterback.”

  I nod at him, and we set some cocktails in front of us.

  “Ready?” I mouth.

  “Yes,” he says, and I let out a whistle, putting the binoculars to my eyes to stare across the expanse of asshole territory. No fire yet. Was my whistle too soft? We wait several beats for fire to erupt from Greta and Max. There’s an old pickup truck with its bed full of semi-automatic rifles. God, they are getting ready to attack. Lots of guys are busy in there—not like it was when I s
pied on them two nights ago.

  Phil whistles louder, and I see smoke, then flickers of yellow flame whooshing down the length of Greta’s street. Within seconds, a Molotov cocktail explodes on that side. Good, Greta, good.

  “Fire!” a camo guy yells, followed by all kinds of shouting. “Fuck!” “Motherfuck!” “Get the water tanks!” Oh shit. Water’s not gonna work on gas. Men are yelling and running toward the fire from all over the enclave. I can’t see well enough to tell if any of these guys is Ray. We have no way to know if the guards nearest to us have abandoned their posts, but it’s time for us to go.

  I light a cocktail and hand it to Phil. “Roof first, if you can get there,” I mutter, and he rears back like a good quarterback would, hurling the bottle of gas with a spin on it so that it lands on the arsenal roof. Fire bursts out of it and spreads across the roof and down the sides of the building.

  I want to yell “Touchdown!” but I light another cocktail. “Get the woodpile in back,” I whisper, and he tries but falls short. Still, he hits a trail of gas in the yard, and fire streams along the line into the street, where it meets the other trail and heads back toward the woodpile.

  I hand Phil another lit bottle, and this time, he puts a perfect spiral on it, slamming it into the woodpile, and the whole back side of the arsenal erupts in flame.

  I’m elated for seconds, and then I hear screams, like screams of pain. Oh, God. Someone’s in there. Men? Women? I can’t tell.

  Fire shoots up behind the rooftops on the back side of the enclave, where Milo and Danny are, and I’m suddenly horrified. We’ve gone too fucking far!

  But Phil rears back and hurls a Hail Mary over the top of the arsenal, and fire explodes on the street inside. I didn’t hand him that bottle. He’s lighting them himself. He’s already lit another one, and he’s slamming it sidearm into the house next door to the arsenal.

  I grab Phil by the arm. “Enough! Stop it!”

  Fire is heading our way, catching the burned-out house aflame and coming through the yard toward us. There’s screaming in the enclave. So much screaming. God damn it. God damn it.