BURN - Melt Book 4: (A Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series)

by JJ Pike

  “If I learn more, I’ll let you know. Over and out.”

  “Bless you, Neal.” She knew he’d come back. No one that good would leave a woman and child stranded.

  It wasn’t a straight shot down 6th Avenue. People had abandoned their cars in the road. She had to weave, mount the sidewalk, squeeze the van through impossible spaces. She lost her passenger side mirror to a Corvette with both doors left wide open. Someone had to be in a lot of trouble to leave a car like that in the street, but with no other drivers on the road, it didn’t matter whether she could see behind her. She didn’t need any of her mirrors. She plowed on.

  Bryant Park was a miniature tent city. After so many deserted spaces, it was a gut punch to see people. What were they thinking? That they’d wait it out? Outdoors? She wished she had an invisibility cloak or could cut the engine and coast. People meant danger. She mounted the sidewalk again and drove half a block before she was hemmed in by vehicles on all sides.

  She could see them coming, the dirty desperate people. KC growled. That’s all they got: a single warning. Then she let loose with a barrage of howls and lunging barks and bared teeth. This was her pack now and she wasn’t going to let anyone take them from her. All the show ribbons in the world hadn’t trained the protector out of KC.

  Barb sent the dog wave after wave of thanks and her increasing panic. Dogs feel what we’re feeling, she was sure of that. If she let KC know that she did not welcome these swarming, cussing humans who slammed themselves on her vehicle’s sides and bashed her roof, the dog would keep up her regimen of terror. They could be in no doubt, if the driver opened that door, the dog would take them down, one by one.

  Mouse barked alongside KC, but his was a cheery, “I’m doing what you’re doing, let’s all bark our heads off” noise, rather than any attempt to protect Barb and Charlotte.

  Barb reached down and pulled her derringer out of its holster by her ankle. The man closest to her door inched back, but didn’t give much ground. She put the van in reverse. “I’m going to back up,” she shouted. “Get out of the way or prepare for me to roll over your feet.” She gunned the engine.

  “Take us with you.” The man at her window was banged up, just like Bill. His face was a cross-hatched mess of scabs and welts. “It’s getting worse. We’re out of water. We’re out of food. No one’s coming. Take us with you.”

  KC slammed her paws into the window, barking with such ferocity the man backed off three full steps. It was enough for Barb to make a move. She tapped the accelerator. No matter what the people behind the van were doing she had to get herself out of this mess. The vehicle jumped back. More cussing and screaming. Couple of people taking the Lord’s name in vain. That wouldn’t help matters.

  “Don’t go. Help us. You’ve got all that room.” He was right, the van was empty apart from her and Charlotte, Mouse and KC. But even if she packed the van to overflowing, there’d still be people left behind. How could she choose?

  “I don’t have anything to give you.” She kept her voice even. It was useless screaming at them. They weren’t listening and even if they were, they’d never hear her over KC’s racket. She tapped the accelerator again. Someone back there was thumping the back doors. “One more warning, then I’m moving for real.” Would it help to shoot one round out the window to let them know she wasn’t kidding? She didn’t want to waste the bullets, but she didn’t like the idea of squidging someone underneath her wheels either.

  The van began to rock. That decided it. No more tapping. She put her foot down and kept it down. She was going slowly enough that they could get out of the way if they had a mind to. They didn’t relent. So be it. She closed her eyes and put her foot down hard. She felt a thump, then another. She’d run someone or something over.

  KC didn’t stop barking until they’d cleared the crowd, done a three-point turn, and were headed down 42nd Street.

  Some idiot tried running after her, but she had shucked all her fear of other cars and the damage she might do to the van. She needed it for this one trip. There were no insurance premiums or agents or traffic cops any more. She was in her own Mad Max movie, minus the Thunderdome and the biker gangs, but with her very own post-apocalyptic dog. She smiled. KC had settled back into her seat, now that the invading humans were gone.

  With all the violence and fuss, Charlotte hadn’t made a sound. The poor little lamb must be so tired. Barb reached a hand over into the baby seat on the passenger side and patted her baby gently. “Nearly there, my honey. Nearly there.”

  They weren’t even halfway there. She checked her watch. She didn’t care how much her brother nagged her to ditch her watch and camera and just get a smartphone already, she loved her watch. It had been her grandmother’s. And here she was, able to tell the time when everyone else’s devices were useless. No power, no phones, no way to communicate with the outside world. Well, except for the walkie-talkie. Neal had left her that as a sign that he would not let her down.

  She hadn’t asked where they were going. Charles was richer than Croesus, so he had to have pads all over the place, but they’d want to get beyond the damage and the crowds of evacuees. Where had all those people gone? Upstate? New Jersey? No one would be stupid enough to go to Long Island. Scratch that. There were plenty of New Yorkers who were short-sighted enough to go from one island to another. “Look after them, Lord. They’re going to need it.” Perhaps Charles and Neal had decamped to Florida, to meet up with Charles’ wives. No. That wasn’t a chopper-length flight. They have to have evacuated to a place much closer than that.

  She swerved to avoid a Subaru parked slap-bang in the middle of the road, then slammed on the brakes. Too late. She’d hit the rat. She wasn’t like her parents, who eschewed all flesh on Biblical grounds, but she didn’t like the needless destruction of any of God’s creatures. She took a moment of silence, turning the engine off so she could concentrate. It wasn’t prayer exactly, but something close to prayer.

  She felt sorry for the rat.

  Until she saw three more, followed by a straggler, then another clutch of them racing out of the sewers. It was an instantaneous reaction, her skin crawling and the shudders coming in waves. Rats didn’t roam the streets of Manhattan. They roamed the subways and basements. That they were above ground was a harbinger of something terrible to come. A plague, a pestilence, a pandemic. Banish the thoughts, dear girl, put your faith in Him.

  She turned the key in the ignition. The van didn’t start. There were more rats. They weren’t coming for her, but they weren’t running away from her either. They were fleeing something in the sewers. What could there be that would have rats on the run?

  She gripped the wheel. It had to be her own hunger or dehydration that was making her see things. Neal had told her she was running on fumes. She grabbed the travel bag and hunted around for a protein bar, a bag of pretzels, anything to get her blood sugar back under control and the vision that swam in front of her eyes to cease.

  The water that lapped the edges of the street ran red.

  The pretzels didn’t help. The bottle of water didn’t clear her mind. Getting Charlotte out of her car seat and rocking her and praying and begging God to remove the horror didn’t work.

  There was a rich, red stew of awfulness burbling up from below the street.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “Sean says we have to stay away from the house.” Petra scrolled through her messages.

  They were driving slowly so as not to jog Midge. She wasn’t supposed to take her eyes off her sister, but she couldn’t do that and read her texts at the same time. “Pull over, please. This is serious.”

  Jim parked on the side of the road.

  Petra’s thumb ran over the screen, her eyes flicking from one message to the next.

  “Don’t keep us waiting,” said Betsy. “We’re on tenterhooks up here.”

  “There’s been an attack. They’re under siege. He has no clue how many people are outside, but he and Mimi have been holding
them off for the last fifteen minutes.”

  “Let me see that,” said Jim.

  Petra handed over her phone, though she couldn’t see how looking at the messages was going to make any difference. She’d summarized in a way that would have garnered her an A in class. Adrenaline did that for her: sharpened everything and gave her clarity. Petra liked to get A’s. Her jitteriness sometimes meant she fell short of her potential. At least that’s what Dad told her. She knew it was because she couldn’t concentrate for long enough to connect the dots. Anxiety does that to a person: makes them seem dumb or flaky, when in fact they’re just flipping out. She made a note to talk to her dorm-buddy when things got back to normal. A regular supply of Xanax might not be a bad thing.

  Jim handed her phone to Betsy, who took her time thumbing through the messages. “He’s not telling us much.”

  “What are you talking about?” Petra grabbed her phone back. “There are, like, a ton of messages here.”

  “Which direction are the shots coming from? Have they sighted any shooters? Do they know what kind of weapons are in use? These things would help us plan.” Jim nodded along as Betsy counted off her questions on her fingers.

  “You only had to say.” Petra typed the questions into her phone. “I’m not going to call. I don’t want to distract him if people are taking shots at him.”

  They waited. There was no response. Petra turned her face away so they wouldn’t see her cry. She’d left Sean with Mimi so he wouldn’t be in danger. If he died it would be her fault. Not “her fault” in a one-to-one way, but her fault for inviting the universe to take someone in Midge’s place. She knew it wasn’t logical, but that didn’t stop it from feeling real.

  A familiar icky sensation rose in the back of her throat, as if she was choking and suppressing a cough at the same time. It meant one thing: she was about to be bombarded—by her own brain for Pete’s sake—by conundrums that she was unable to untangle.

  The mental mathematics that tormented her when she was stressed beyond her ability to cope sprang into action. She had some crazy emotional calculator in her mind that added things up and tried to make the scales “balance” though she’d never ultimately solved the (mental) equation for X. She didn’t have a clue why she did it, but she’d been bugged with these kinds of thoughts for years. Whenever she was overloaded, her brain went to this place.

  “You can’t have everything, Petra, so what’s it to be? Are you going to pick your sister or your boyfriend? Who lives and who dies? You can only pick one.”

  She stared out the window. Why was this happening now? She’d been doing so well. She’d even gotten herself to make a couple of decisions without melting down. Holy dog biscuits what she wouldn’t give for a Xanax right now this very second in this very universe and this very galaxy. Now, now, now, now, now. Her brain was screaming for relief on every plane of reality she could imagine.

  “Make your choice and make it now. You won’t like it if we pick for you.”

  Not that she wouldn’t pick Midge, but how could she let Sean die?

  Paul would tell her to banish those toxic thoughts to the other side of the moon and pick a song to occupy her brain. She tried, but the thoughts were still there.

  “Who’s it going to be? Choose, choose, choose.”

  She was determined not to get trapped. “Think and/and rather than either/or.” It didn’t need to be either Midge or Sean. It could be Midge survives and Sean does, too.

  “Don’t give the mental equation any more brain space. Get your head back in the car.” Paul was right. He was also shouting, which made her smile. Paul never shouted. He was the ideal brother; calm, kind, and wise. He’d gotten all the genes that kept his brain on an even keel, whereas she’d gotten the wacky ones.

  Jim and Betsy were trading opinions about approaches to the house, but that wasn’t the first thing they needed to concentrate on. They needed to be sure Sean and Mimi were safe until reinforcements came. Shoot, yes, reinforcements. They should call the police. She hit 911.

  “What are you doing?” Jim was sharp, harsh.

  “Calling 911.”

  “No.” Jim and Betsy said it in unison. Again, abrasive and commanding.

  She halted the call. No one had answered anyway. “Why not?”

  “We prefer to take care of our own problems whenever possible. We’re armed, they’re on our property, there’s a solution literally at our fingertips.” Jim’s voice had returned to normal. He was his affable, lecturing self. “The fewer people who know where we are, and what we have on hand, the better.”

  “What are we waiting for, then? We have to get over there and help them.” For once the decision was simple. Their people were under direct attack. The only solution was to bring relief. They’d have the advantage.

  “You go get the Durango. I’ll drive this,” said Betsy.

  Jim turned back to the hospital parking lot and parked the Lexus Petra had “borrowed” as close to his Durango as he could. “You can’t drive, honey. Stay here, I’ll go.”

  “We all go,” said Petra. “I can drive and Betsy can stay in the back of the car and look after Midge.”

  Jim and Betsy turned to look at her. She was drawing a lot of negative attention.

  “We can’t take Midge into a war zone,” said Jim. “And Betsy can’t crouch down like you can. She won’t show it, but she’s in a lot of pain.”

  It was pointless arguing with them. They were sure of themselves in that way old people were; dismissive and cocky and not asking questions but talking to you like you were stupid.

  “You stay here with Betsy.” Jim had graduated to giving her orders now. She didn’t have to obey. She could do as she pleased. He wouldn’t get it, but she needed to help save Sean. She’d put him in danger, she’d get him out.

  “I’ll have Sean text you as soon as we’ve secured the house.” Jim sounded pretty sure of himself.

  Petra’s phone buzzed. She read Sean’s text out loud. “Three shooters, maybe four. Semi-automatic. They’re fanned out to the north of the house and getting closer. STAY AWAY.”

  Semi-automatic. That meant they were packing a lot of power. “What kind of weapons do Sean and Mimi have available in your house? Will they be able to hold them off?”

  “They have the advantage of cover,” said Jim. “Mimi knows where the guns are at. They should be fine until I get there.”

  Midge hadn’t made a sound since Nigel had given her the “top up” shot of morphine. She was still, she was quiet, and she was directly outside a hospital. If anything happened, Betsy could get professional help quickly. She should go with Jim. No question. Four shooters against two in the house and one in a Dodge Durango was not a fair fight. She needed to even out the equation so Sean had better odds.

  “Which one is it to be, Petra. Choose one.”

  She ignored the taunting voice in her head. If she left Midge, though, was she “choosing” Sean? How could she make absolutely sure Midge was in the best hands?

  Nigel. Nigel was the and/and solution.

  He’d said they could call him any time. She hit his number. He picked up immediately which she hadn’t expected. None of her friends ever answered their phones. “Sorry to call rather than text,” she said.

  “What’s up?” Nigel sounded harried, but he’d said they were flooded with patients and he was senior enough he was going to be in high demand.

  “Is there anyone who could come sit with my sister for an hour or so? It’s complicated, but we can’t move her right now.”

  “Has she moved? Is she compromised? Is she having trouble breathing? You shouldn’t have moved her.”

  “No. She’s fine. She’s still unconscious. We have a situation at home and we need to go, but she can’t come.” Man, it sounded lame. Did she have time to explain the whole situation? Jim had already unbuckled his seat belt and kissed Betsy goodbye. He’d be back in his SUV and driving away any second now.

  “We’re jammed up right now
,” said Nigel. “Let me see what I can do.” He hung up before she had a chance to answer.

  “Wait for me.” She scooted a few inches towards the front of the car, reached around Midge, and opened the side door. “I’m coming with you.”

  “No,” said Jim.

  Petra climbed out of the car and hung on Betsy’s window. “Nigel is sending someone to sit with these guys. Midge and Betsy will be fine. Better than fine. They’ll have a professional close by.” She leaned in close so Betsy was forced to look her right in the eyes. “I can help keep Jim safe.”

  “The answer is still no,” said Jim. “We’ve already had one death and two injuries at the compound. I could not face your mother if I allowed another of her children to get injured.”

  “You said it yourself…” Petra had one hand on her hip. “I’m an excellent markswoman. One of the best you’ve ever seen.”