Hope Survives

by Harley Tate

  As Larkin turned to respond, the man’s head swiveled their way. He didn’t hesitate. The rifle swung up from out of sight and as Tracy and Larkin dove for the trees, the man fired a series of shots. Larkin hit the ground hard and rolled over onto his belly. “Is that enough confirmation for you? Or do you want me bleeding from a gunshot wound before we fire?”

  Tracy hunkered down beneath the next tree, all her indecision gone. “Shoot him.”

  “Finally.” Larkin rose up on his elbows, propping the rifle on a rock in front of him. He exhaled and pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession. The man fell backward out of his crouch and after a moment, sagged to the concrete. Larkin stood up with a grimace. “Let’s find John and Daniel.”

  “What about the other scout?”

  “Shoot to kill.”

  Tracy scrambled up and peered across the paved entrance. Fifty feet separated their current position and the entrance to the parking deck. With no cover, they would be exposed for the entire run. She motioned to the deck. “You go first. I’ll cover you.”

  Larkin frowned. “Walter would never let me hear the end of it.” He gave her a nudge. “You go first. I’ll be right behind.”

  “Fine, but hurry.” Tracy took one last look around before bursting from the trees in a sprint. She reached the safety of the deck without incident and turned to wave Larkin on. He followed and together, they panted hot bursts of steam into the air.

  “We’ll clear it floor-by-floor. If John and Daniel are here, we’ll find them.”

  Tracy nodded and followed Larkin into the deck. It was agonizing work, searching behind, in, and under every car. But after what seemed like an eternity, they found John Jacobson. He sat, spread-eagle, against the tire of a Chevy pickup with missing trim, clutching his belly. His fingers were soaked in blood.

  “Oh, no.” Tracy rushed to his side while Larkin stood guard. “John? John can you hear me?” She felt for a pulse. Weak. Erratic. She pulled a handkerchief out of one pocket of her cargo pants and lifted his hand out of the way. A fresh gush of blood pumped from his wound and she pressed the cloth against it to staunch the flow.

  His cheeks were lifeless, almost gray, and his lips were distinctly blue. Tracy patted his shoulder. “John? Can you hear me?” She lifted an eyelid. No dilation, no response.

  “That’s a hell of a lot of blood.”

  “Too much.” She reached for his neck and found the feeble beat of his heart once more. With every pump of blood, it slowed. It couldn’t have taken more than a minute to stop. Tracy leaned back on her heels and stopped pressure on the wound. She looked up at Larkin.

  He didn’t need to hear the words. He cursed and shook his head. “We need to find Daniel.”

  Tracy searched around John’s body for the radio. She found it still wedged in his palm. His lifeless fingers offered no resistance when she picked it up. “Daniel? Daniel can you read me?”

  Nothing but static. If he was shot first, they might already be too late.

  Chapter Eight

  SILAS

  Truckee Mountain Hospital

  3:00 p.m.

  The emotional chick with the shy trigger finger stood up and wiped the dead man’s blood off her hands. Silas spat on the ground. Sentimentality got people killed. That or stupidity. He glanced over at the body of his cousin, Beckett. Idiot had been hiding in plain sight.

  If Silas had his way, he’d leave the kid’s body for the stray dogs and wild animals managing to hang on through the winter. But Elias would have his head for abandoning a Cunningham. Silas frowned. Beckett’s death complicated things.

  He couldn’t go home until he had information to appease his uncle. Otherwise, he might get a fate worse than Beckett. Elias didn’t appreciate failure and tended to take it out on those left standing. He glanced back at the unlikely pair of guards and thought it over. He would have to find out what was so important to barricade up the hospital and defend it. Only then could he head home.

  Silas watched as the soccer mom and her military boyfriend fanned out to search the parking deck. You better hurry, suckers. When they were gone from sight, he eased back into the shadows and lit a cigarette. He sucked down a drag and blew the smoke into the darkness.

  As he stubbed out the last of the embers, the pair returned. The man carried a lump of a body over his shoulder and the woman led, rifle up. Silas snorted. If he didn’t have the military guy to contend with, Silas would kill them now and save himself some later trouble.

  But he’d seen the man in action, shooting from a concealed position and taking out Beckett even under fire. If he attacked now, the man would probably use the kid as a shield. No, it was better to let them go and have all the time in the world to search the hospital.

  Besides, leaving them alive gave his uncle someone to hate. An enemy he could unleash his full wrath upon that didn’t have the same last name. Silas much preferred that option. He leaned against the concrete wall and let the cold seep through his jacket and into his bones.

  The pair of guards hauled the wounded third man into the back seat of a pickup truck and the woman climbed in with him. She pushed her hood back and sunglasses up and Silas blinked. Older than he thought. Practically middle-aged. He ticked a few more points into her column.

  Not that it mattered. Soon enough they would learn what happens when you declare war against the Cunningham clan.

  The truck engine grumbled to life and Silas watched it exit the parking lot to head north toward the ski lodges. Interesting. Maybe there was more than just abandoned resorts up in the foothills. He made a note to check out the area after dealing with the hospital.

  With one guard dead and three on the road, Silas walked over to his cousin. Beckett lay slumped against the concrete, his blood congealing in the cold air like pudding. He took a deep breath and hoisted Beckett’s body onto his shoulder before turning toward the stairs. Taking them as fast as an added two hundred pounds would allow, Silas hustled down the flight.

  Their snowmobiles were hidden at the entrance to the parking lot behind an abandoned bus and Silas headed straight there, not stopping until he deposited Beckett’s body on the back of the rig. Using a tarp tucked in the saddlebag of his vehicle, Silas wrapped his cousin’s body and lashed it to the rear of the seat. It wouldn’t be the prettiest procession back home, but dead men didn’t get a say in the land of the living.

  Beckett could pound him for the rough treatment when they met again in the hereafter. Silas closed his eyes for a moment and sent up a prayer. It was all he could do for now.

  Now the hospital. Silas fished his hatchet out of his saddlebag along with a smoke grenade and a backup handgun and stuffed them all into various pockets in his parka. If there were more guards hiding inside, he would be ready.

  Five minutes later, he stood back outside the doors he’d tried to breach hours before. Slamming into the doors had decorated them with shoulder-height dents, but they hadn’t given way. He needed something that could break the lock.

  Silas pulled out the hatchet and wedged it between the doors just above the locks. With all of his strength, he brought his foot down on the handle. Something inside the doors cracked. He kicked it again. The hatchet shimmied to the floor.

  He rocked it out of the crack between the doors and sheathed it before giving them a push. They bowed and Silas grinned. I can work with that. With a deep breath and a ten yard running start, he threw his body at the dented door. It gave way and he stumbled through and into a dark hall.

  From his right pocket he pulled a Glock 17 equipped with the best Streamlight thieving would allow. He toggled it on and panned the hall. No noise. No movement.

  He pulled the smoke grenade from his pocket with his left hand and held it low and ready. Every three steps, he panned the hall. The light was bright enough to illuminate everything within a twenty foot radius, but that didn’t mean he was safe. The guards had been crafty. Sealing off this side of the hospital meant lower visibility for intruders.


  Presumably, soccer mom and her friends knew the area even in the complete darkness. It would give them an advantage in every fight. Silas crept down the hall to the first door. He jiggled the handle. Waited. Opened the door.

  Nothing. He eased inside and closed it behind him before lighting up the space.

  About ten chairs sat in groups around coffee tables in the main area, clearly rearranged for current use. Behind them stretched a counter with signs for pickup and drop off and a cash register to the right. Silas blinked.

  You’ve got to be shitting me.

  He stepped forward. The shelves were full. It was a stocked hospital pharmacy. He almost laughed out loud. Elias would never believe it. Silas could go home, explain until he was blue in the face, and Elias would order him out of the room and tell him to sleep it off. He looked around him.

  I have to prove it.

  If he could convince Elias that the pharmacy was fully loaded, Beckett’s death would be an afterthought. They would send an army of Cunninghams down to capture the hospital and stake their claim over the entire area. Hell, Silas might get the whole town named after him.

  He hopped the counter and searched in the cabinets until he found plastic bags. He loaded them up with as many drugs as he could carry, not worrying about what they were, just whether he could get them all to fit. When he’d filled them all, he tied the bags shut and used an extra to lash them all together.

  After hoisting the collection over his shoulder, Silas backtracked through the waiting area and out the pharmacy door. Before the door shut, he paused. A grin puffed out his beard and he reached into his pocket for the hefty black cylinder.

  He set the bags on the floor, and headed back into the pharmacy. After finding a roll of KT tape, he unrolled three strips and used them to adhere the cylinder to the doorjamb.

  Once he ensured the tube was secure, he popped the top on the cylinder and affixed another strip of tape to the side of the door. After easing out of the room, he slipped the tape strip through the metal pull on the top of the tube and smoothed it across the door as it swung shut. Not the easiest maneuver with meat-stick fingers, but he managed all right. Besides, the weight of the door would seal the tape and hold the metal ring in place.

  At least until one of the guards came back.

  Silas smiled. He wished he could be there to see it, but he had more pressing concerns. With the bags of drugs back over his shoulder, he headed out into the freezing air and straight for his snowmobile. With a bungee cord, he lashed the drug bags to Beckett’s tarp-wrapped body and slid onto the seat.

  He gave his load a pat. “Don’t worry, cousin. You didn’t die in vain. The town of Truckee is about to be reborn.”

  The snowmobile revved to life and under the weight of his grip, the machine lurched forward toward Donner Lake Motor Court and his waiting uncle. Once Silas showed him the bounty and explained all that was left behind, Elias would be singing his praises. Beckett’s death would be forgiven and the Cunningham clan would prepare for the start of a whole new life.

  Chapter Nine

  WALTER

  Jacobson Farm

  3:00 p.m.

  “That’s the gist of it.” Walter rubbed the back of his neck and waited for Ben’s reaction. The leader of the Jacobson farm remained silent and stoic; his wife, not so much.

  “We can’t trust it. For all we know it could be a coup or a military faction that’s gained control.” Jenny Jacobson chewed on her lower lip and shook her head. “We didn’t vote for a Unified States of anything.”

  Before Walter could explain to Ben in private about the radio transmission, Jenny, Brianna, and the rest of the family had barged in the doors, red in the face from a snowball fight across the farm. After the older kids took the younger ones back to the main house, Walter had explained the story all while fielding a hostile stare from Brianna.

  She spoke up as soon as Jenny finished. “Assuming these census workers show up in Truckee, we should make ourselves scarce. The less they know about us, the better.”

  “What if they bring supplies?” Heather Jacobson focused on her uncle. “We’ve been lucky so far, but if what this General Whatever-His-Name-Is said is true, they could have trained doctors and nurses. They could bring back essential services like the hospital.” She glanced around the large multipurpose room. “God knows I could use the help.”

  Heather had treated more than just her own family over the past two weeks. Thanks to her medical training, Dani was alive and Walter’s gunshot wound was almost healed. If the Jacobsons had been through even a quarter of what his group had suffered, Heather must have been exhausted. It made sense she would hold out hope.

  Not everyone felt the same way. Craig Jacobson shook his head. “I don’t trust it. It could all be a scam. If we welcome them, they could confiscate all the drugs and leave us to fend for ourselves.” He ground his fist into his palm. “No way we let them into the pharmacy.”

  Brianna stepped forward. She may have been young, but she was more than capable of assessing a threat. “If we leave the pharmacy as is, we won’t have a choice. They’ll search the place and demand entry.” She glanced at Walter, looking for support.

  He nodded. “It doesn’t matter if it is some branch of a new government. As soon as they see what you have, they’ll take it. You should move the medicine.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little rash?” Heather brushed her long hair over her shoulder and turned toward Brianna and Walter. “We spent weeks clearing and securing the hospital. Abandoning it now makes no sense.”

  “So you want to lose everything?”

  “I don’t think it will come to that.”

  Brianna cursed beneath her breath. “Then you’re even more naïve than I thought.”

  Heather tried to placate Brianna with a smile. “If they’re coming from any kind of distance, the snow and ice will slow them down. You know as well as I do that the roads are impassable without four-wheel drive. We probably have until the spring to make a decision.”

  “Or they might show up tomorrow in Humvees with guns mounted on the back. You seriously want to wait months to do anything?”

  “It’s an option.”

  “A bad one.” Brianna tossed her blonde curls and cracked her knuckles.

  Walter held his breath. He knew that look in her eye. Things were about to get tense.

  “The Unified States of America? That’s not the start of something good, it’s a declaration of war.” Brianna barely kept her voice above a shout. “If the military has taken over operation of the country, we’re not America as we knew it. We’re something else. Something dangerous. Our friends were in Eugene when the National Guard swept into that town and took over. It was horrible.”

  “Brianna’s right.” Walter waited until most eyes were on him. “Colonel Jarvis showed up with a lot of the same promises about food and aid and rebuilding. But it quickly turned into a forced occupation with work camps and family separations and the confiscation of all weapons. Good people died.”

  Craig bristled. “We’re not giving up this farm and going to work in some labor camp.”

  “But you’re willing to give up the medicine you’ve fought for all this time?” Brianna’s composure teetered. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Ben spoke up for the first time. “Jarvis was an isolated incident. The transmission you all heard didn’t originate in Oregon.”

  “We don’t know—” Brianna interrupted, but Ben held up his hand.

  “I agree. Calling it the Unified States is concerning, but we don’t know the facts. These could be patriotic Americans trying to rebuild the country just like us.”

  “Or it could be a ruse designed to take our food and weapons and turn us into indentured servants.”

  Ben leaned back in his chair. “Talking in circles will get us nowhere. Let’s put it to an initial vote. All those in favor of talking to these census workers, raise—”

  A frantic, repetitive honki
ng drowned out the rest of Ben’s words and he jumped up from the table. Craig beat him to the door, yanking it open before disappearing into the sunshine.

  Walter rushed to follow, squinting against the hard light as one of the Jacobson pickup trucks bounded into the open field. The passenger-side door flew open as the truck skittered to a stop in a weedy patch of gravel.

  Please, don’t let Tracy be hurt. It wasn’t the kindest thought, but in the moment, it was all Walter could think. They had been through so much already. He wasn’t prepared for another catastrophe. How lucky could they continue to be?

  As he strained to see, holding his hand up to cast a shadow across his face, Tracy emerged from the truck and waved her arms over her head. “We need a gurney! Hurry!”

  Craig took off for the medical building with Brianna on his heels while Heather and Walter closed the distance to the truck. Larkin climbed down from the driver’s side and motioned for Walter’s attention.

  Walter wanted to get to his wife, but she was on the other side, leaning over the seat with Heather. He let Larkin lead him a few steps away. “What happened?”

  Larkin dropped his voice barely above a whisper. “We were attacked. Pair of scouts with scoped rifles and snowmobiles. Obviously trained.”

  Walter looked beyond him to the truck. Craig and Brianna double-timed a gurney up to the passenger-side door as Ben approached.

  “Who’s hurt?”

  “Daniel’s been shot. Single gunshot wound to the side. He’s unconscious. Lost a lot of blood.”

  “Damn it.”

  “That’s not the worst of it.” Larkin swallowed. “John’s dead.”

  “What?” Walter hissed the word. “How?”

  “Shot while on lookout. He died before we could find him.”

  Walter rubbed a hand down his face. Ben would be furious. If Daniel died too… He shook his head to stop the what-ifs. “Are you and Tracy hurt?”