American Fallout (Edge of Disaster 2

by Alex Gunwick

  Kyle’s eyes welled with tears. At least Elijah was getting through to one of them.

  “I don’t want to do any of that,” Elijah said as he moved closer to Kyle. “Just tell me where she is. Once I’m able to talk some sense into her, everything will be back to normal.”

  “She—”

  “Shut up, Kyle!”

  “He’s going to kill us.”

  “If he wanted to kill us, he would have done it already. He needs us alive because he’s using us as bait. Don’t be so naïve,” she snapped. “We’re not telling you shit. So get the fuck out of here. I’m not afraid of you. Our mom will come. She will find us, and she will tear down your wall of bullshit.”

  Elijah strode over to slap her hard across the face. A red handprint marked one cheek. After a second blow to the other side, she had matching splotches. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a knife from a block on the counter. The shiny steel blade glimmered in a shaft of light. Without hesitation, he returned to stab the knife into the kitchen table directly in front of Sierra.

  “You have one hour to think about how much you value being alive. When I come back, you’d better tell me where she is, or I’ll start cutting off fingers.”

  He jerked the knife out of the table and tossed it on the counter. Disgusted by the expression of utter contempt on the kids’ faces, he took long steps toward the door. He slammed it behind him and sucked in a cooling breath of air. It had taken every ounce of self-control not to cut the little bitch’s tongue out.

  For now, he’d have to keep the little bastards alive. But as soon as he captured their mother, he was going to kill them all.

  Liz unloaded the last bags of food and added them to the pile around the campfire. The rising sun did little to dispel the chill in the air. Each day brought them closer to winter. Normally winters in southern California were mild. It wasn’t unusual to hang out at the beach on Christmas. However, this year she doubted she’d be running around in a bikini.

  “That’s the last of it,” she said. “Since we have the least food at my house because of the robbery, I’d like to take half back to my family. The other half can be split amongst the other households. Unless you’d like to start a community stockpile.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Irene said.

  “Why not?” Liz snapped. Why was Irene always at her throat? The woman fought against everything she’d tried to accomplish, including this.

  “Everyone but Sandy and Edwin sent a family member to help get food. They risked their lives, so the food should be split equally. I can’t imagine that being up for debate,” Irene said.

  “I have to agree,” Burt said. “Not only did I risk my life, but we used my truck. My gas. I could have lost the truck when that mob almost ambushed us.”

  “I understand where you’re coming from,” Liz said. “But you all have food stockpiles. I have nothing. We ate the last can of food yesterday. If I only take back a quarter of what we found, it’s only going to last us a week. If that.”

  “We can go on another supply run when you’re out,” Harvey said.

  “I don’t know that I’m willing to risk the truck again,” Burt said.

  “What else were you planning on using it for?” Franklin asked. “We can’t get much use out of it for anything other than supply runs.”

  “We?” Burt raised a brow. “It’s my truck. It doesn’t belong to you. You’re trying to start up some communist bullshit right now.”

  “It’s not communist,” Liz said. “It’s neighbors helping neighbors.”

  “Look, we’re all tired and need sleep,” Harvey said. “For now, let’s split it up equally. We can figure out next steps tomorrow. We’ll have clearer heads after we’ve had time to rest.”

  As much as Liz wanted to stay and continue to argue, she couldn’t wait to get back. After spending half the night on high alert, a soft, comfortable bed sounded like heaven.

  “Okay,” she said. “We’ll split it equally.”

  As they worked to divide the food, she tried to sneak extra protein into her pile. Burt gave her the side-eye, so she stopped. Five bags of canned food and snack items. Five. She’d have to ration the hell out of it to make it last a week. Hopefully the kids would understand.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” she said.

  “Sundown at the fire pit. We can talk then,” Harvey said.

  She carried two bags in one hand and three in the other. The combined weight of all the food dragged her shoulders down. Although she wasn’t a weak woman, the strain of being awake almost twenty-four hours was taking its toll.

  The walk through the woods took twice as long as usual. She stopped several times to set the bags down to give her arms a rest. Maybe she’d underestimated the amount of food. Maybe it would last longer than a week. She wouldn’t know until she sat down to do some meal planning. At least that would bring some semblance of normalcy back into her life.

  Before the bombs, she’d planned all of the meals for the week on Sunday morning. She’d go to the store and get everything she needed and would cook the casseroles that night. It bought her extra time during the week. Although people probably thought she sat around eating bonbons and watching soap operas all day, a lot of work went into being a mom. Cleaning the house took an entire day. Then there was laundry, dishes, shuttling Kyle to soccer practice. It all took time. If things ever got back to normal, she’d welcome the hectic schedule.

  As she approached the cabin, birds chirped in the trees. The scene was worthy of a painting. The cabin’s peaceful serenity had called to her soul when they’d first seen it. It had been the best purchase they’d ever made.

  When she reached the door, she knocked three times. No one moved inside. Sierra would be on patrol right now, but Kyle should be home. Unless he was sleeping in again.

  She knocked again.

  Nothing.

  Well, Kyle could sleep like the dead.

  She picked up the bags and headed toward the back door. The window closest to his bed on the second floor looked over the back porch. She might have to lob a rock up there to wake him up.

  As she rounded the corner adrenaline ripped through her belly, leaving a searing line of pain in its wake. Ripped from its hinges, the back door lay on the floor. She dropped the bags and ran inside. Absolute destruction covered the living room. Lamps had been knocked over. All of the guns were missing.

  “Kyle!”

  “Sierra!”

  She scrambled up the steps to the loft. Empty.

  Downstairs, she checked the bathroom and all of the cabinets to make sure they weren’t hiding from whoever had destroyed the house.

  She didn’t find a single trace of them. Kyle had been taken. She’d spent too much time hunting for food and had left them vulnerable to attack. How could she have been so stupid? She should have taken them with her.

  She had to find Sierra. Today she was scheduled to be on the highest peak on patrol from sunrise to noon. She had to be there.

  As she rushed up the hill toward the peak, her heart thundered. Please let her be there. Please.

  When she reached the lookout location, she dropped to her knees. Owen, Burt’s son, turned to stare at her.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Where’s Sierra?”

  “I’d love to know. She was supposed to be up here to relieve me an hour ago. She never showed up.”

  “Did you see anyone near the house?” she asked. “Someone broke in. I think they kidnapped the kids.”

  “Oh crap.” His gaze dropped to his feet.

  “What?”

  “I kinda fell asleep last night.”

  “What? When?”

  “Right before sunrise. It’s boring as hell sitting up here all night. Nothing ever happens. It’s stupid. I don’t even know why we have patrols.”

  She literally wanted to strangle him with her bare hands.

  “You idiot! You were supposed to keep watch. You let them take my kid
s.”

  “I was tired.”

  She turned on her heel and ran down the hill toward Harvey’s house. When she spotted him in the backyard feeding the goats, she waved frantically.

  “They took—” She gasped for air. “They took the kids.”

  “What? Who took what kids?”

  “My kids.” She skidded to a stop just outside the gate. “The preacher’s men. They came. They took the kids.”

  “Are you sure they’re not out on patrol? Isn’t Sierra supposed to be on the hill right now?”

  “Yes! The cabin was tossed. The guns are gone. The kids. Oh my God.” She tried to calm her racing heart but couldn’t catch a deep breath.

  “Let’s round up the group,” Harvey said. “Go get Burt, I’ll get Franklin and Edwin.”

  “Okay.”

  She ran the entire way to Burt’s house. When she arrived, his wife Tawney was sitting in a chair on the front porch. She jumped up.

  “Is everything okay?” Tawney asked.

  “No. I need… Where’s Burt?

  “Sleeping.”

  “They took my kids.”

  “The preacher?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good God.” Tawney brought her hand to her mouth. “I’ll get him.”

  While Liz waited, she struggled to catch her breath. Were the kids still alive? What did he want with them? Why was he coming after her family again? Why was any of this happening?

  Burt raced outside, still pulling on his belt as he stumbled onto the porch.

  “We’re meeting at the fire pit.”

  Everyone from the community reached the fire pit at the same time.

  “We need a plan to get them back,” Harvey said.

  “You’d be risking your life,” Irene said.

  “Shut up, woman,” he snapped. “Liz is a part of our community and so are her kids. I’ve about had it with your damn mouth. Now, we’re going to get her kids back and end this bullshit with the preacher once and for all. If you’re not going to take part, then go home. I don’t have time to deal with any crap. We don’t know what he’s doing to them right now, so we need to move.”

  “What’s the plan?” Burt asked.

  “We need to find them first,” Liz said. “We can’t make a plan unless we know for sure where they are and what we’re up against.”

  “Okay. We’ll go in teams of two. Everyone have a gun?” Harvey asked.

  Everyone nodded and paired up. Liz stepped closer to Harvey while Irene stood on the sidelines, glaring.

  “We move out now,” Harvey said. “We can’t go running over there, guns blazing. Keep a low profile. We gather information, then we take action. Got it?”

  When everyone agreed, he headed into the forest. Liz walked shoulder to shoulder with him. For the first time since the bombs dropped, someone actually gave a shit about her and the kids. In fact, everyone but Irene joined the reconnaissance mission. Well screw her. She could go fuck herself for all Liz cared.

  As she trekked across the stream, Liz steeled her spine. She’d get her kids back no matter what it took, even if it meant dying for them. Rage burned through her veins. The preacher didn’t know what he’d done. He’d provoked a mother’s vengeance, and she’d rain fire and brimstone down on his soul the likes of which the world had never seen.

  19

  Luke hung back as Boyd pulled a key from his pocket. As he scanned the neighborhood, Luke caught a flash of movement three houses down. There, by the bushes. He narrowed his gaze and squinted against the setting sun. Shadows shifted, but he couldn’t make out any particular form. Maybe it had been a trick of the light.

  After unlocking the door, Boyd stepped to the side. They’d already agreed to go in slow, Luke first, Boyd as backup.

  Luke pushed the door. He stood to one side and scanned for people as the door creaked open. The entryway was clear, so he took a step inside. A narrow hallway led to the living room and the kitchen. Boyd had drawn a map of the layout so Luke wouldn’t go in completely blind.

  As Luke peeked around the corner into the living room, his heart stopped. Blood spatter arced across the wall behind the couch. A naked woman lay slumped over, her throat slit.

  An inhuman scream erupted from Boyd. He shoved Luke out of the way and threw himself at the woman’s feet. He lifted her chin. Vacant eyes stared at nothing. He howled like a dying wolf. Before Luke could react, Boyd jumped up and ran down the hall toward the bedrooms.

  “Wait!” Luke yelled. They hadn’t cleared the rest of the house.

  “NOoooo!”

  “Shit.”

  Luke quickly checked the kitchen before jogging down the hall. In the first room, he spotted a teenage boy. Dead from a gunshot wound to the forehead. In the second bedroom, another boy, slightly older, lay facedown in a pool of caked blood. But the true horror lay in the third.

  He walked in to find Boyd frantically pulling the rope which bound his daughter spread eagle to the bed. Luke shoved his gun in his waistband and pulled a knife from his pack. He quickly helped untie her.

  Boyd pulled her into his arms while struggling to pull a blanket over her exposed body. Tears streamed down his face.

  “She’s dead,” he moaned.

  As he sobbed, Luke double-checked the rest of the house to make sure they were alone. He returned to find Boyd rocking his daughter. Rigor mortis had come and gone, leaving her limp. One of her legs slid off the edge of the bed. Boyd carefully pulled it back onto the bed.

  “I never should have gone to Vegas. I never should have left them alone.”

  “There’s no way you could have known this would happen,” Luke said.

  “I was off having fun while they were being tortured.”

  “No. This didn’t happen until after the bombs dropped. You were already headed home by then.”

  “It doesn’t matter when it happened,” Boyd snapped. “I wasn’t here. I failed them.”

  Luke pressed his lips together. Trying to reason with him right now was pointless. He was too consumed by grief to listen to reason. Luke couldn’t imagine the pain of losing his entire family. Nothing he could say would help ease Boyd’s suffering, so he kept his mouth shut. He slowly backed out of the room and headed back to the front door.

  As he reached to close it, he hesitated. He took a step out onto the porch and studied the neighborhood. A glint of light flashed from a house across the street, several doors down. He eased back inside and closed the door. As he pushed the curtain aside, the flash disappeared. He stayed still, waiting for another glimpse.

  After several minutes, he gave up. It was probably nothing anyway.

  He headed back into the bedroom where Boyd cradled his daughter. In the span of only a few minutes, he looked as if he’d aged twenty years. His typically exuberant smile had been replaced by a scowl.

  “Who could have done this?” he muttered.

  “I don’t know. We might never know.”

  “There has to be a clue. Something.”

  “It was probably a gang.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Boyd shook his head from side to side while mumbling under his breath.

  “No. Not a gang. No graffiti. They would have left some kind of sign.”

  “We might never know.”

  “We? How the fuck is this about you?” Boyd eased his daughter to one side and slipped off the bed. He stalked toward Luke and scowled. “This isn’t about you.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Boyd jabbed a finger into Luke’s chest. “How the fuck did you mean it?”

  “I—”

  “You slowed me down. I could have been here faster if it weren’t for you.”

  “What? I was the one who wanted to keep moving. You were perfectly happy to spend hours looking for food and water.”

  “I needed fuel.”

  “We needed fuel. Whether or not you want to admit it, it took teamwork to get here. Neither of us would have made it alone.”
r />   Boyd growled and rushed forward, tackling Luke to the ground. Luke shoved at his bulk and tried to pry him off. A fist smashed into his face. His lip split, the metallic taste of blood spread across his tongue. Before he could react, Boyd slammed his other fist into his face. Luke reached up and jabbed him in the eye. Boyd roared and jerked back. Luke rolled to his knees and shoved Boyd.

  Instead of falling backward, Boyd grabbed Luke’s shoulders. Luke locked his hands on Boyd’s and head-butted him. As Boyd tumbled back, Luke jumped to his feet.

  “Stop trying to fight me. You won’t win.”

  Boyd snarled as he used the edge of the bed as leverage to stand. He wiped a bloody hand across the back of his mouth. A thin trail of blood seeped from one corner of his mouth.

  “You’re pissed, I get it. But don’t think for a second that you get to take it out on me.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Boyd snapped.

  “You need to calm the fuck down.”

  “Do I? Really?” Boyd glared.

  “You know what, I don’t need this shit. Have a nice life.” Luke turned and stalked toward the front door.

  “Good luck, asshole.”

  “Dick,” Luke grumbled. Part of him understood Boyd’s need to lash out, but he wasn’t going to stick around and be his punching bag. He adjusted his pack as he walked down the hall. Anger tightened his chest. It was all he could do to keep himself from going back to pound Boyd into the ground.

  As he reached for the front doorknob, Boyd yelled.

  “Wait! Wait!” He ran down the hall. “Look what I found!”

  Boyd uncurled his fingers to reveal an old class ring.

  “Congratulations,” Luke said dryly.

  “You don’t understand. I know who did this. I know who killed my family.

  “What do you mean you know who killed your family?” Luke asked.

  “Those bastard Nicklinsons. I saw the way they looked at my wife and daughter, but they never did anything. They never said anything. I had no idea. No idea. I should have known. I never should have left them alone.”

  “How do you know it was them?”

  “This.” Boyd held up the ring. “I caught Bart Nicklinson hanging around the sidewalk outside the house. I asked him if he needed something. He said he was out jogging and lost his ring. But it was sitting on his damn finger. When I pointed it out he laughed and said he didn’t mean that ring. That one was his high school ring. It had his graduation year engraved on the side. From 1990. It’s the same ring.”