Gemma stuttered. “B-but that’s impossible. I saw him just the other day, when we were all leaving the office…”
The man shook his head. “Sorry. He went to get his family, and his wife and kids made it here. But he never did. They said he was shot. They… don’t want to talk about it much, understandably. Anyway, you’ll have to go now.”
“What? We can’t!” Gemma began to cry, and stammered through her tears. “We don’t have anywhere to go—you need to let us in! I told my friends—”
“I’m sorry. You need to leave now, and don’t hang around the gate,” the man said firmly. “Go!”
Gemma began to say something more, to plead with him, but Erik interrupted by shoving his way past her toward the man.
“No! That’s not gonna happen,” Erik said, forcefully grabbing the man’s jacket collar and thrusting his gun up to his face. “You’re going to let us in right now, or you’re going to regret it!” Erik yelled the last part, and the words rang out harshly against the asphalt and the metal gate surface. Everyone else was silent, aghast. “I’m serious,” he continued loudly, “you get that gate opened up in two seconds or I’m gonna blow his head off!”
“Erik, no… please!” Phil begged. Tara and Gemma backed away, horrified, not wanting to get in the way of any violence that might take place.
A shotgun barrel poked through the slats in the gate, and another man leaned through the opening with a handgun drawn. They screamed at Erik to put his weapon down and back away. He refused.
“You want this guy to die?” he called, violently jerking the man by the collar. “You want to see your buddy get one in the head? Open that gate!” He pushed the man forward a step. “Get your hands up. Get ‘em up! You reach for your gun and I’ll shoot you in the face, man. Don’t think I won’t do it.”
Phil held out a hand. “Erik, dude, you gotta stop. We don’t want to fight anybody, we’re trying to get some help here. Come on, man!”
Erik ignored his roommate’s plea. “What are you waiting for, guys? Rush the gate! This is our chance to get in!”
The shotgun man behind the barricade spoke in a steady voice. “There is no way you’re getting in here, punk. You let him go by the time I count to three, or we’ll shoot the four of you. One!”
A scream ripped itself unbidden from Tara’s throat and she turned and ran for cover, Gemma scampering after her. Phil backed slowly away, still pleading with Erik to no avail.
“Two!”
Phil ran for it, past the tree where Tara and Gemma had crouched on the far side of the street, and away into the night. Tara could hear him sobbing raggedly as he went.
Erik looked around and saw that he was about to die alone, his demands pointless and with zero chance of being met. He let go of the man’s jacket. “Fine!”
“Put your gun down!” the command came from behind the barricade. The man who Erik had taken hostage stumbled toward the gate, reached for his own pistol, then thought better of it, and quickly darted through the gap before Erik could shoot him in the back.
Instead of complying, Erik glared first at the gate, then at the two girls behind the tree. There was searing hatred in his eyes. “I’ll be back!” he shouted. “I’ll be back, and you’ll all be sorry.”
He turned and sprinted away down the street in a different direction from the one Phil had taken. Soon he was gone, and Tara and Gemma were left staring at a tightly closed gate with a shotgun barrel still protruding through it.
Chapter 14: Night Fall
“Okay, you guys. This is it. Seriously, I’m not going another mile. You’re on your own!”
Max had pulled the car over in the deep shadows by a gas station in a sparsely populated part of Boulder, Colorado. So far they hadn’t seen anyone lurking in the night, but Max was still sweating heavily. The others could smell it even though it was too dark to see him.
“All right. Good enough for me.” Walt and his boys got out and took their gear. Walt shook the hands of Max and James. “Thank you, gentlemen. We’ll see each other in a month or two, if all goes well.”
James threw a salute, and the car did a hasty U-turn and rolled away into the night. Soon it was out of earshot, loud as its engine was, and the Leonhardts were left to themselves.
“Let’s get away from here, in case someone heard the car and comes this way to check,” Walt said. “We’ll stop for a rest somewhere safe a couple miles ahead and plot our course.”
They walked through the pitch-black streets of Boulder, keeping their footsteps quiet and their conversation in whispers. They saw no one. Walt was sure the neighborhoods were still populated, both by the reasonably well-kept state of the streets and homes and by the dim glow of candle-light through the occasional window they passed. But no one was out and about. The Leonhardts had the city to themselves.
“Is there some kind of curfew in effect?” Mike wondered aloud.
“Either that or it’s just considered too dangerous to roam at night,” Walt admitted. “Let’s stay sharp, and keep your weapons ready. We’ve already been shot at once this evening, so we know to take threats seriously.”
“Have you ever been to Boulder before, Dad?” Liam asked. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“No, and no,” Walt admitted. “I’ve got a little detail on my map here. It shows the main streets. But mainly we’re just trying to get southeast into Denver as quickly as we can.”
Mike yawned. “That was a long drive. Don’t get me wrong, it felt good to sit in a car for the first time since everything went down. Even a car that smelly and noisy. But I’m about ready to find a place to hunker down and get some shut-eye.”
“Well, we can’t do that here,” Walt said. “I don’t think the residents would approve of us renting out their lawn for the night.”
“I dunno,” Liam countered. “I can be pretty persuasive when I put on my charm. Maybe we should ask around for a place to stay.”
“There are thirty more miles to go to Tara’s last known location,” Walt said. “We certainly can’t make it tonight, or probably even tomorrow. But I’d like to at least get out of this neighborhood Max dumped us in. Come on.”
Walt led his sons west toward the foothills, figuring that even though it added a mile or two to their journey, they’d do better to avoid the airport and the reservoirs east of town, where refugees might be more likely to congregate.
They hiked through the grassy hills under a waxing moon, undisturbed for about a mile. Then they passed a yard with a dog that wouldn’t stop barking, and despite their attempts to hurry away the animal caught up with them, apparently set loose by its owner. A couple of kicks from Walt and Mike sent it back to keep its distance until they had left its territory.
Coming around the south side of Boulder, they had to cross a highway that ran from the town into the mountains. Stepping out from a group of trees, they had just set foot on the pavement when they spotted a fire burning in a barrel several yards to the west of them, in the middle of the road. Three men were gathered around it guarding the route into town. Luckily, the Leonhardts had intersected the highway just inside the cordon, closer to town, so the guards were facing out away from them.
Walt ducked down and his sons did likewise. “Don’t move. They haven’t seen us,” he whispered. “We should be able to carefully move on past.”
They watched the group by the fire carefully. Periodically, the men would gaze out into the night, then turn back to the fire. They spoke in low voices, and one of them chuckled as if he’d made a joke.
“If they’re sentries, they’re not very good at it,” Mike whispered. “They’ve gotta be mostly night-blind from staring into that fire.”
His words were proved a moment later when one of the men left the fire and walked several steps toward the trees the Leonhardts had just left. Walt and his boys remained frozen, hunkered down in the shadow, hoping their outline would look more like a pile of debris or bushes, and less like men with guns. The man walked
slowly toward them without seeming to pay much attention, and then fumbled with his pants zipper. He was about to relieve himself just a few yards away from where Walt was crouched.
Then one of the men at the fire shouted and sprang away from the barrel and the circle of light it cast. “Hey! Who’s that? What are you doing out here?”
He didn’t seem to be addressing the Leonhardts, though; he was still facing away from them and his voice projected out into the open highway, away from town. The Leonhardt men stayed where they were.
“It’s a woman,” the other man by the fire said, surprised. “Looks like she’s alone. Come on!”
Walt could just make out a lone figure stopped on the highway. The guard near him quickly zipped himself back up and ran toward the fire. Then all three street guards stomped toward the figure, weapons out.
“You’re not allowed to be out here!” one shouted. “Don’t move.”
“Should we beat it?” Liam whispered to his father and brother. “While they’re distracted?”
“Slowly,” Walt agreed, and the three of them started to slide sideways across the road while keeping their heads down.
It was difficult to see by the low moonlight, but the street guards had surrounded the woman, and one spoke raucously. “You’re in trouble now, lady! Out after hours means a penalty.”
“I know, I’m sorry!” The woman’s voice echoed across the highway to where the Leonhardts were, and there was a discernible note of panic in it. “I’m just trying to get home.”
“That’s what everybody says,” one of the guards shouted. “Where are you coming from?”
“I passed out earlier, in the mountains,” the woman replied. Her English was good, but she had a noticeable Spanish accent. “I just woke up an hour ago. Please let me through, I live on Milwaukee Avenue!”
“Are you sick? Do you have a disease?” one of the men asked angrily.
“No, no, I swear I don’t! I was just tired out. Please, I need to get home.”
“Uh-uh, that’s not how it works,” one of the guards said. All three men had begun pushing and tugging at the figure, and there was a scuffle as the woman resisted. She seemed to be carrying something they wanted.
“Let go and put your hands up,” one of the men commanded, and a muffled shriek from the woman made Walt think the demand had probably been given at gunpoint. “We’re taking all contraband, and there’s nothing you can do about it unless you want us to get rough with you!”
The Leonhardts had all frozen, listening and staring intently at the confrontation taking place across the intersection. The woman tried to say something but was silenced by a violent blow that audibly took the breath out of her. She let out a moan of pain and fear that was difficult to hear—too difficult for Mike Leonhardt.
“Nope, not happening,” he muttered, and stood up. Raising his shotgun to his shoulder, he took the safety off and aimed at the fire barrel in the middle of the road. He pulled the trigger, and the sound was like thunder cracking right overhead. The blast resounded over the area, and the flash was momentarily blinding.
The fire barrel was knocked over by the shot, and hot coals spread out across the pavement, glowing orange in the dark. The street was even darker than before, without the flickering flames licking over the top of the barrel, but from the sound of pounding boots it was clear that the men across the street had taken off running in different directions. Their curses made it obvious that they were in a state of panic.
“Quick, before they regroup and respond!” Walt said, and led the other two away from the road, into the yard of a home that was sheltered by towering trees. They moved to the other side of the home to get out of sight of the highway checkpoint.
Stopping at the corner of the large brick home, Walt waved his sons on by as he scanned the intersection for any sign of pursuers, or of the woman. The highway appeared empty.
He turned and took one step, but nearly tripped and face-planted when a powerful flashlight beam hit him in the eyes. Mike and Liam were also halted in their tracks.
“Don’t move!” a voice called out. “I’ve got a gun, and I’ll use it.”
The situation was disorienting. The voice was that of an older woman, although she was speaking in tough tones, and the light made it impossible to see her or to determine whether she really had a gun. Walt couldn’t take any chances, and knew that if he or his sons made a break for it they might get shot in the back as they ran.
“Wait! Listen, we’re not—”
He never got to finish whatever desperate plea he was going to make to keep the old lady from going off half-cocked. Someone came running around the corner of the house after them and ran slap-bang into him from behind, pushing him into Liam and tumbling the three of them to the ground. Mike cautiously backed away from the mess, still holding his shotgun but keeping one hand in the air to show he wasn’t going to shoot.
Walt lashed out with his rifle, assuming the person that had stumbled into him was one of the guards giving chase, but he missed and his gun barrel hit the soft grass with a harmless thump. A split second later he was grateful he’d missed, because the frightened squeal of the person he was wrestling with told him it was a woman—the victim from the highway confrontation.
“Don’t anybody move!” the old woman shouted again, waving her flashlight. But of course, everyone was moving. Walt and the Latina woman were desperately trying to extricate themselves from each other, Liam scrambled to his feet, and Mike crouched behind the only cover available, a large flowerpot.
“Don’t hurt me,” the young woman begged Walt. She was short, curvy, and had brilliant eyes that flashed in the glare of the light shining at them. “I just want to get home.”
Mike was the only one in a position to diffuse the situation, and he spoke quickly as he stood up and stepped around his flower pot. “We’re not trying to hurt anybody. We’re the ones that saved you from that gang on the road!”
Before the young woman could reply, the older one spoke from behind her beam of light. “Alma, is that you?”
Alma, the young Latina, breathed a gushing sigh of relief. “It’s me, Mrs. Kellerman.” She hiked a backpack back into position from where it had been jostled halfway off her shoulder, and brushed a strand of shoulder-length jet-black hair out of her eyes.
“Then suppose you tell me just what the heck you are doing out here with these Rambo types in the middle of the night. Is there a war going on? I heard shooting!”
Walt held out a hand to the young woman. “I swear, we mean no harm to you or anyone else. But if you’ll allow it, ladies, we all ought to cut this chat short, or we’re going to have those street guards coming down us in a couple seconds.”
The old lady, Mrs. Kellerman, snorted in derision at this plan, but Alma seemed to have recovered some presence of mind. “You’re right. Mrs. Kellerman, could you turn off that light, please? It’s blinding all of us and it will attract attention neither of us wants.”
Mrs. Kellerman snorted again, but she covered the flashlight so that only a dim glow illuminated the immediate area outside her house, with the deep shadows leaping back into place over everything else. Now that the flashlight wasn’t blinding them, the Leonhardt men could see a short, sturdy woman with gray hair standing on her back porch holding both the flashlight and a Glock.
They all listened for a moment, and in the hush they heard shouting from out by the highway. Then a single gunshot rang out, and a man yelped in pain, then began swearing in rage.
“Who’s out there, anyway?” Mrs. Kellerman asked.
“Just the checkpoint guards,” Alma said. “They stopped me and were trying to rough me up, but then…”
“Then we intervened,” Mike explained, working quickly to paint the Leonhardts in the heroic role he felt they deserved. “I blew up their fire and we all ran for it.”
“Well, it sounds like they’re chasing each other around in the dark,” Mrs. Kellerman said, with a trace of humor creeping into
her previously tight voice. “I guess we’ll leave them to it. Now, does someone want to tell me who you are and what you’re all doing running around my place in the middle of the night with guns? You’re lucky I didn’t shoot first and ask questions later! Don’t you know there’s a curfew around here?”
Walt sighed. “Thanks for not shooting. I’m Walt, and these are my two sons, Mike and Liam. We’re from Montana, and we’re trying to get to Denver to find my daughter. We stumbled into that checkpoint just as the guards grabbed this young lady here.”
“Alma. My name is Alma Rojas. And thank you for interrupting them—at first I thought I was going to get shot, but I got away all right. So thank you.” She was looking at Mike when she said this, and he nodded at her.
“That explains why you’re out after curfew,” Mrs. Kellerman said. “How about—”
A man shouted nearby. It sounded like he was in the front yard of Mrs. Kellerman’s house, and everyone flinched. He was shouting for a comrade to come and see something he had found. All Walt caught was the word “berries”.
Alma’s face went white and she swiveled a small backpack she was wearing around to her front. Its main pocket was partially unzipped, and several berries had fallen out on the ground around them during her struggle after bumping into Walt.
“I think you’d all best join me inside for a minute,” Mrs. Kellerman whispered. “Those fellows may be stupid, but they’re still dangerous.”
She held her back door open for them, and first Alma went through, followed by Walt and his two boys, profusely thanking the old woman as they went.
Chapter 15: New Allies
Inside, Alma and the Leonhardts gathered in Mrs. Kellerman’s kitchen while she went to the front door and looked out the window. They heard her open the front door, and then a muffled but lengthy conversation ensued between the old woman and the guards outside.
Finally she came back into the kitchen, put her pistol on the counter, and lit two candles with a match. “Well, I sent them off on a wild goose chase. Told them you all ran past my house up the hill. Now Alma, sweetie, are you okay? Do you need anything?”
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