As they approached from behind the Humvee, out of sight from the two guards, they heard the men talking and smelled cigarette smoke. Carefully, Parker eased into position at the rear of the Humvee leaning against the bumper. His palms ran slick with sweat. He looked back at Ava; she was white as a sheet, but her hands gripped the knife she held hard enough to make her knuckles show white in the moonlight. Behind her, Finn had the muffled .380 steadied in both hands. She looked like she wanted to throw up.
Parker risked a glance around the edge of the vehicle, locating the men. He waved Finn forward and pressed his lips against her ear. “Shoot the one on the right on my count,” he subvocalized. “Understand?”
He leaned in close to Ava. “Plan’s changed,” he breathed. “When she shoots, go for your guy; understand?”
Ava adjusted her grip, then nodded. Parker almost felt drunk, the adrenaline coursing through his system was so strong. He carefully stepped into place. He saw the back of his target and held his hand up, and silently counted to three using his fingers to tick off the numbers. When he reached zero, he pointed to Finn without taking his eyes of his man.
The .380 barked.
The sound was far louder than he would have hoped for, but still vastly muted compared to an unsuppressed weapon. He ran forward, seeing his target leap backward in shock as his partner crumpled against the broad hood of the Humvee. Parker reached out and snatched him by the back of his shirt, horse-collaring him straight down onto his back.
The Gerber caught the soldier in the hollow of his throat and went in with hardly any resistance. Wind suddenly whistled through his punctured larynx and blood sprayed into Parker’s face. He used his free hand to pin the man’s head against the ground and then slipped the knife into his left eye cavity.
Ava was on her man like a rodeo rider on a bull. Weakened and surprised, the wounded man had still managed to get his arm between himself and Ava’s knife. He bled profusely from a deep stab in his shoulder, and Ava stabbed him three more times in quick succession, the blade making snik snik snik sounds as she plunged the knife inward, twice into the man’s arm and then once in his shoulder.
Finn ran up to help and heel-stomped the dying man under Parker. The soldier grunted from the impact and his nose flattened across his face, pouring more blood as the tread on her heel tore the flesh there. Ava grunted, and as Parker stood to help, he saw the young woman bury her knife to the hilt in the man’s armpit.
The man went still, and he knew she’d hit the brachial artery on her last strike. Ava looked up at him, sucking in huge lungfuls of air, her hair plastered to her head with sweat. Her shirt, already damp, was now covered in splotchy brown stains where the man’s blood had splashed her. Behind her, Finn was quickly stripping the masking tape from the muzzle of her pistol.
“Search ’em, take what you need, and let’s get out of here,” Parker told them.
Moving fast, they took spare magazines and more smoke grenades. Out of spite, they threw the weapons they weren’t taking with them in the river. They were on the move again within five minutes of killing the checkpoint guards.
They were a pack of three now, unquestioned—part family, part military unit, part outlaw band—and Parker began thinking they could actually get out of this mess and rescue his daughter. It was a strange feeling to have after the self-doubt and recriminations of the last six weeks, but it was a good one.
Eschewing the roads and cutting cross-country, they climbed up out of the river valley to the flatter land of the bluffs. The countryside here was thick with apple orchards stretching for acres and offering good cover at night. Worried more SKTs may have been sent out in a net to wait along likely routes, Parker led the girls as far from paths and roads as he could manage. This made for rough walking and his leg suffered for it, but his infection seemed to have receded some and he was able to suffer through.
They saw patrols several times, but always from a distance. When they came upon the smoking ruins of a trailer house, they saw there was a battered Celica in the driveway and that a woman had been tied to the hood, face-down. They cut her loose and wrapped her in a tarp, assuming she’d been the victim of criminal gangs and that FEMA burial details would happen upon her eventually.
Afraid of what he would find, and worried about what further evidence of violence would do to them in their exhausted mental states, Parker didn’t investigate the trailer itself. Instead, they put the place behind them and slept in a wrecker yard once daytime hit, surrounded by a labyrinth of flattened vehicles and mountains of car parts.
He felt the change in them all over the next couple of days. He hadn’t been the only one to leave the kills at the river different in some fundamental way. They were all changing, becoming harder and almost feral. They lived close to the ground, wild-hunted, and their trimness wasn’t only physical; it was also mental and emotional.
They had less energy to spend on thoughts not concerned with survival and warfare; they had less empathy to spare because the weight of what they carried with them was already so heavy. Dispatching those men at the checkpoint had begun not so much a metamorphosis, as an alteration from their baseline. They’d always been fighters, but now, because of the ambush, they were killers. Their actions at the bridge could have been avoided. They’d had other options, if not ideal, but they’d gone in with their guns and knives ready.
We’ve become wolves, Parker thought.
They looked like post-apocalyptic poster children. Armed with looted military weapons and dressed in stolen equipment, carrying extra magazines and with knives strapped onto them at different points on their appropriated web gear, like pirates. Once they got outside of the consolidated population areas, they began searching abandoned houses as they moved, and they ate well. One by one, they each acquired new hiking boots and fresh changes of clothing.
It took very little time before they could communicate with looks and simple hand signals. Moving forward, they descended into a pack groupthink so that the world had divided itself into their little pack, and the Others. God help the Other who crossed their path with bad intentions. Parker highly doubted that such a ragtag group as the convenience store meth addicts would have been able to run them to ground now, even with superior numbers. They were too locked into their roles to be caught off guard.
On the third day, they made the cabin. It had taken them so long to get here, Parker had trouble remembering why. The twinge in his leg was a fast reminder that he still needed antibiotics. More importantly, they needed a safe place to rest, replenish, and regroup, and the cabin was the safest place he knew.
Wary, they circled it, looking for clues and checking for any hint of occupation or a trap. Parker fought back the feelings the building created in him—urges to get lost in the memories of a different time, a different world. Finally, he began his approach, moving slow and with his weapon up.
The door opened then, and a female figure appeared in the doorway. She showed them her hands as she took a step forward.
“Hello, Dad,” Sara said.
20
Operating on reflex, Parker brought his weapon up. Following his cue, Finn and Ava did the same, the muzzles of their weapons forming a triangle of 360-degree coverage.
“Is anyone else here?” Parker demanded.
“Not yet,” Sara answered. “Dad, I missed you—put the gun away.”
Parker lowered his weapon. He felt tears building up behind his eyes as he did. He was strung out and tired, suffering the effects of withdrawal from the opioids and anti-anxiety meds. Combined with the stress and fear of being discovered by armed and violent men, he didn’t have a lot of reserve left in his tank.
Sara walked toward him, but paused when Ava and Finn didn’t lower their weapons. Holding up his hand, he said, “It’s okay.” The women lowered their weapons and Finn appeared to sag, her exhaustion suddenly apparent.
Sara continued moving toward him, crying, and the sight of her tears made him well up; tears starte
d running down his face. He saw the wariness in her, too. She didn’t know this hollow-eyed and dirty man, more than a decade older than the last time she’d seen him. She didn’t fling herself into his arms, and he didn’t move to sweep her into his.
She, too, was different. He’d lost a girl and found a woman. The sense of loss stung. How had she grown up? What had she suffered? Did she understand what losing her had done to him?
“I never stopped looking,” he said. His throat had constricted so tightly that his voice cracked from the strain. “But you just vanished…”
She nodded quickly. “I waited for you, but you didn’t come. That was hard, at first, but I know Mom made sure our tracks were well-covered. She told me later that she didn’t intend for you to find us because you wouldn’t understand about the Church.”
Sledgehammer blows of emotion bludgeoned Parker to the point that he physically staggered under the force of the implications.
“Your mom…?” his voice faded on the question.
“Holy shit,” Finn said. “Your wife took her?”
“She’s part of the Church of Humanity?” Parker asked.
He felt the initial rush of intimacy slipping away. For her part, Sara stepped back, brushing at her eyes and wiping away tears. She nodded in answer to his question.
“You escaped, then?” he asked. The issue of Stockholm Syndrome suddenly reared its head.
Sara nodded. “I did, but they could still be after me.” She looked around.
Parker realized they were still standing outside in the open. “Maybe we should continue this inside.” He tried to keep his tone calm, but anger and rage at his ex were rapidly building inside of him. When Sara nodded, he followed behind her and motioned that Ava and Finn should do the same.
Stepping into the cabin, Parker gave it a cursory look. The living area was exactly as he’d left it; a time capsule to better days. Walking into the kitchen, he opened a cabinet above the sink and retrieved a black nylon bag that would normally have been meant to hold toiletries. Opening it, he pulled out some vacuum-sealed packs of pills. His fingers ghosted over the Ativan, but he set it aside and reached for the Cipro, ripping the bag open. He needed antibiotics more than he needed a fix.
Opening the fridge, he wrinkled his nose at the stench before pulling out bottles of water and setting them on the counter. Twisting off the cap on one, he popped the capsules and guzzled half the bottle, trying not to gag at the staleness. Opening another cabinet, he pulled out an open box of granola bars, knowing they would also be stale, but understanding that they needed calories now.
“I got here and realized I didn’t know where you’d hidden the guns and ammunition,” Sara told him, standing a few feet away from him. Her eyes seemed to settle on a family photo and he wondered if she remembered that day in the park.
“The Church is after you?” Ava cut in.
Ava and Finn both walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed a couple granola bars each while Sara looked them over, apparently trying to decide how to respond. Finn ripped hers open with her teeth and bit down. Parker could hear how stale it was in the way she crunched it between her teeth.
Meanwhile, Ava started looking around the cabin as she ate, taking it in. Parker wondered what she thought of the rustic look that had appealed to him when he’d bought the place. She didn’t look at him, so he couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
Sara nodded finally. “Don’t worry,” she added, her eyes on Parker. “I’m working with the government and they’re coming to get me. When I tell them you’re my father, they’ll help you, too.”
“Help us?” Finn said. Her voice choked, on either ironic laughter or the second granola bar, if not both.
“You work for the Council?” Ava asked. From her tone of disbelief, Sara might as well have been suggesting she lived on Mars.
Sara looked at them, puzzled. “You know the Council? That’s classified.”
Parker stared at her. I don’t know this woman. Unconsciously, he took a step back, bumping his back into the counter by the sink.
“Why are you all looking at me like that?” Sara demanded. “They’re the government.”
“That’s like saying the Empire in Star Wars is the government,” Finn said.
“Surely, Marr told you that?” Parker asked. Adrenaline was playing havoc with his stripped, raw nerves. “Your … mom,” he got out.
“Yeah,” Sara replied, nearly spitting out the acknowledgement. “The great and noble Church,” she said. “Only, I’ve been living with the Church for years, and I think I’m safer with the Council.”
“They’re rapists and killers!” Finn protested.
“So is the Church,” Sara and Ava said at the same time.
Sara turned her head, seeming to see Ava for the first time. “You’re in the Church?”
“Not for as long as you’ve been,” Ava replied. “It’s how I met your dad. I was in the Church and saw what was coming; I tried to warn people that something was about to happen, and your dad ended up helping me.”
“What? He was assigned your case?” Sara asked.
“No,” Ava shook her head. “He was the 911 Operator who took my call on the night of the Event.”
“911—?” Sara glanced to Parker, questions written on her face.
“There’ve been a lot of changes since you left,” Parker said simply. “It’s not important now. What is important is that we have Church and Council gunmen coming here, apparently as we speak. You may work for the Council, Sara,” he said. “But I promise you, they will arrest Ava, Finn, and me. The penalty for our crimes is death. We’ve got to load up and get out of here.”
“Why would the Council want to kill you?” she asked.
“Ava,” Parker said, “sweep the exterior, and be careful.”
Ava nodded. “We really have to go.”
“I know,” Parker said. “We’ll have to bust cross-country; it’s no good using the river in daylight.” He turned to Sara. “Do you have your things together? We have to hurry.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Sara said. “I need to meet with my handler.”
Ava froze, her hand on the cabin door. “Parker.”
“I got this, Ava,” he said. “Check the approach road; try to give us some warning if anyone drives up.”
“But—” she began arguing.
“Ava,” he snapped. “I don’t have time or patience to argue with you. I really need you to do what I’m telling you right now.”
Ava regarded him carefully and he knew well enough from the look on her face that she was battling with the urge to argue. After a moment, however, she nodded. “For now,” she said, and slipped out the door.
“I like her,” Sara said.
“You have to come with us,” Parker said, rather than taking time to respond to what she’d said. “You’re not safe her. Not with the Council on our tail. They aren’t what you think.”
Sara glared at him and once again, he could see her mother in her. She wasn’t going to believe them without evidence and he didn’t have any.
“Damn, this father-daughter reunion is cracking up to be the worst one ever,” Finn commented, her tone dry.
“Marr left the Vineyard in the hands of an animal,” Sara blurted out. “I did what I had to do to protect the women and girls from his post-apocalyptic rape camp.”
“The Council’s as bad,” Finn said. Her voice was harsh, and Parker knew she was flashing back to her own abduction at the hands of Council agents. “No difference, except they’re more powerful.”
“Not to me, they haven’t been,” Sara said. “If I help them, they’ll help us.”
“Help them what?” Parker asked. “What kind of help does the Council need from a twenty-year-old girl?”
“I’m not sure I should be telling you that,” Sara said, her body stiff—probably from the rebukes coming from all of them.
With a start, Parker’s cop instincts kicked in and he realized Sara had
put her right hand inside of her jacket pocket.
“You’re worried about what the Council thinks is ‘classified’!” Finn half-shouted. “You’re crazy.”
“Sara,” Parker said, lowering his voice. “Do you have a gun in your pocket?”
“What if I did?”
“What the fuck does that even mean, Sara?” Parker snapped. “Are you going to shoot me if I answer wrong? Just answer the goddamn question: is your finger on the trigger of a gun pointed at your father?”
Sara’s jaw set, and she pursed her lips together so hard they formed a bloodless line. It was another look that forcibly reminded him of her mother. For the briefest of seconds, he thought this was how it was going to end; with Sara shooting him dead in their family cabin. He needed to change tactics.
“You remembered the cabin,” he said softly.
She nodded, once, in a quick motion as if she didn’t trust herself to speak.
Parker pushed on. “We had good times here,” he said. “We made good memories here. Do you remember celebrating Christmas here? You were so worried that Santa wouldn’t find us, you insisted I leave a note for him at home in case he went there first.”
He waited to see if she remembered and when she gave him the faintest nod, he pushed on.
“So much time has passed, and I know things have changed…but they never changed for me, understand? I never got to see you grow up, so you remained that little girl I lost that day. You’re still that little girl to me.”
“I’m not a little girl anymore,” she all but whispered in reply.
“I know, Sara, but it’s how I feel,” he said. “You don’t need to point a gun at me. I’m that little girl’s daddy. You don’t want to shoot him, do you?”
Dead End (911 Book 2) Page 17