Solar Reboot

by Matthew D. Hunt

  The shotgun barrel pointing at Piper gave Alex a fresh surge of strength. He pushed up, seizing Piper and throwing her behind him. In the same motion he drew the pistol from his waistband and pointed it, flipping the safety off. The convict tensed, but didn’t move.

  For a long moment they had a Mexican standoff, gazing into each other’s eyes. Max had subsided to angry growls, low in the back of his throat.

  “Your safety’s on,” said Alex.

  The convict didn’t blink. “Shotguns don’t have a safety.”

  Damn. It would have been a moment’s distraction, at least. “Listen. We needed shelter from the rain. We don’t want any trouble.”

  “Then put the gun down.”

  “And you’ll put down the shotgun?”

  “I might take a slug and live. You ain’t taking a shell.”

  “That’s not reassuring.”

  “I’m not your therapist.”

  Alex’s jaw worked. Instinct told him the convict would just blow him away if he backed down. But instinct had a tendency to escalate situations. He didn’t see murder in the man’s eyes. And it might have been anything, but Max had mostly subsided. Either the man wasn’t as aggressive as he looked, and Max could smell it, or they were simply facing a cold-blooded killer. In which case, Alex doubted they were getting out of this anyway.

  Slowly, Alex lowered the pistol.

  Five heartbeats thundered in his ears. Then, the shotgun lowered.

  “Thank you.”

  The convict didn’t smile. “You can come in after I’ve left.”

  “Just let us get out of the rain.”

  “Sure. After I get my horse and go.”

  Alex sighed inwardly. He supposed prison tended to cultivate men who weren’t willing to give an inch, on anything. It was probably a miracle the guy had lowered his weapon at all.

  Then Alex took another look at the cuffs on the guy’s wrists. The only other thing he knew about prison, really, was that it was a culture of favors. Help someone else out with something, they’d tend to do you a solid back. Granting and owing favors was as much a part of survival as being known as the biggest badass on the block.

  “You want those cuffs off?” said Alex. “There’s gotta be a hacksaw in this barn.”

  The convict blinked. His eyes flicked to his wrists. Alex could see the skin had been rubbed raw in a few places. He met Alex’s gaze a moment longer.

  “The girl and the dog can sit by the front.” Then he tossed his head, indicating for Alex to follow him, before turning and entering the barn.

  “Dad, I’m scared,” muttered Piper.

  “It’s going to be okay,” said Alex. “Get inside and keep Max with you. If anything goes wrong, run. But nothing will. Okay?”

  She didn’t answer, but she did as he asked. Alex followed the convict deeper into the barn, where there was a shed built into the wall. Tools filled it, and the man was digging through them. He turned just as Alex approached, holding a hacksaw.

  “You try to cut me, I can kill you easily.”

  “I believe you,” said Alex. He held out his hand. The convict handed him the hacksaw, then turned and put his arm out on the table next to them.

  Alex set to work. He had to hold the guy’s wrist to keep the cut steady, which was an awkward moment of skin contact. He ran the blade sideways across the guy’s arm, like cutting fruit or veggies in a kitchen and keeping his fingers parallel with the blade so it didn’t have the opportunity to cut. Soon he fell into a rhythm, but he was still dealing with high-grade steel, and progress was slow. Soon he was sweating and puffing, and he felt the urge to take a break to go soak in some cold rain.

  His hand cramped up, and he muttered a curse as he dropped the hacksaw. The convict tensed, but when he saw Alex shaking his hand with pain, he eased up. He regarded Alex coolly for a moment, not moving his arm from the table.

  “Where you headed?” said Alex, flexing his fingers.

  “Seattle.”

  “Seattle’s been wiped out, I heard.”

  “I heard it, too. But I got family there, so I’m going anyway.”

  Alex nodded. “We’re from there, but my wife is in the mountains outside the cabin. That’s where we’re headed.”

  The man didn’t answer.

  Alex tried to smile, but it felt fake, so he dropped it. He picked up the hacksaw. “Let’s give this another shot.”

  The barn filled with the rasping, repetitive sound of sawing. After what felt like an eternity, the cuff split, the pieces falling to the floor. Alex gave a huge sigh of relief. The convict stood and stretched, flexing his wrist.

  “One more,” said Alex.

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m Alex, by the way.”

  The guy’s mouth twitched. “Lamont.”

  “Good to meet you, Lamont. Come on.” Alex waved for his other wrist, and Lamont laid it out for him. Alex decided to risk another conversation while he was working. “Is it rude to ask what you were in for?”

  “Most people would call that rude as hell, yeah.”

  “Well, the world’s going to hell, so what the hey. What were you in for?”

  To his immense shock, that drew a laugh from Lamont. “I’m black. What do you think?”

  Black, and with a chip on his shoulder. “Drugs?”

  Lamont inclined his head. “Not even anything hard. Just weed. A lot of it, but hell.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” said Alex, and he meant it. “Maybe stay in Washington next time. It’s legal there, if you hadn’t heard.”

  “If legal even matters anymore.”

  That was a sobering thought, and it left them both in silence the rest of the time Alex was working. Finally the second handcuff fell to the straw of the barn floor. Alex had cast off his rainproof jacket by then, and he wiped a sweaty arm across his brow.

  “Thanks again,” said Lamont.

  “My pleasure. Thanks for not shooting us.”

  “I never killed nobody.”

  “Me neither. High five.”

  The look in Lamont’s eyes told him that wasn’t happening. The convict went to the stalls across the barn. Four of them were occupied. He went to the biggest horse, a big bay, and reached out a tentative hand. The horse sniffed his hand and didn’t try to bite. That seemed good enough for Lamont, who turned to find himself a saddle.

  He froze when he saw Alex, and it made Alex tense up immediately. He didn’t know what was wrong, until he looked down at his feet. Leaning on the wall within easy reach, and at least four yards from Lamont, was the shotgun. Alex looked up and met the man’s gaze for a moment. Then he took a slow, deliberate step away from the weapon.

  “We’re good,” he said.

  Lamont let out a breath. He hesitated for a moment. But then he went and picked up the shot gun anyway. When he looked at Alex, he seemed almost chagrined.

  “I just—”

  “It’s fine,” said Alex. “I get it.”

  Lamont got his saddle and brought it to the horse. He put it on the right way around, but once he started fiddling with the saddle straps, it became clear he had no idea what he was doing. After watching for a moment in slight amusement, Alex approached.

  “You need a blanket first,” he said. “Otherwise the saddle’s going to rub him raw. Here.”

  He lifted off the saddle and tossed on the blanket before replacing it, and then cinched up the straps. He put on the horse’s bridle, snug but not too tight, and then he turned to Lamont.

  “You don’t have to take the saddle off during the journey, but if you keep him once you reach Seattle, you can’t just leave it on.”

  “Okay,” said Lamont.

  “You know, we’re on the same road for a long, long time. We could—”

  “No.”

  Alex’s mouth twisted. “Sure. Right. Okay. You’re all set.”

  Lamont stepped past him, shotgun in hand. He held it in one hand while he led the horse out with the other. Once
they were outside, he threw up the hood of his jacket—which looked like it had been stolen from a prison guard—and mounted up. It was less awkward than Alex had been expecting. Once he was mounted up, he looked down at Alex.

  “Sorry about your head.” His eyes went to Piper. “Take care of yourself. Good luck.”

  “You too,” said Alex. “I hope your family’s okay.”

  Lamont nodded. Then he tugged on the horse’s reins. He seemed a little surprised as it wheeled around, but soon he was leading it off west across the plain, and before long he was out of sight.

  CHAPTER 28

  Cameron woke to a morning without any noise except the rain falling on the roof. A gentle gray light through the window. For a second she just lay there under the covers, taking long blinks and longer breaths. Maybe she could stay in bed today. Maybe she could stay in bed until Alex and Piper finally got home.

  Yeah, right.

  She’d just managed to sit upright and swing her legs over the edge of her bed when she heard a pounding at her front door. She sighed and tilted her head back. What was it now?

  The front door burst open. Cameron shot to her feet.

  “Cameron!”

  It was Scott, and she could tell in his voice something was wrong. Not run-of-the-mill wrong.

  “Hang on,” she called out, throwing on her jeans and a tank top as fast as she could.

  “Hurry! It’s Hernando. And—and Wade.”

  God damn it, Wade. She threw on her boots and ran out of the room without bothering to lace them. But Scott caught her arm as she tried to rush past him in the living room.

  “You don’t need to run. It’s over.”

  “Who started it? Was it Wade? Where’s Hernando?” If Wade had decided to take out his frustration on the kid, she’d probably need to clean some wounds, maybe stitch something up—before she beat the crap out of Wade herself, of course.

  Scott shook his head slowly. “He’s down by the clubhouse. But he’s—Hernando’s dead.”

  Cameron stared at him. The living room was dead silent for a full minute.

  “What do you mean, dead?”

  The voice came from behind her. Cameron turned to find Bettie in the doorway of the guest room. She had on a thick robe, and her fingers were white as they gripped the lapels of it.

  Cameron turned and ran out the front door.

  * * *

  A half dozen people were gathered around Hernando’s body, looking down at it in morose silence. Cameron didn’t take the time to inventory them. She fell to her knees by Hernando’s side, feeling for a pulse. His eyes were closed, and his chest wasn’t moving.

  Nothing. And from the temperature of his skin, it had been some time since he died. She could feel something wrong beneath the skin, something poking, and she knew his neck had been broken.

  Rage started to rise up inside her. It was a feeling she was familiar with from her time in the service. She had long practice in suppressing emotion; it didn’t help on the job, and it wasn’t pleasant to go through in any case. When you were a doctor or a nurse, you couldn’t afford to get too attached, because there were always some who weren’t going to make it. But one thing always made her blood boil regardless: the senseless deaths, the needless ones that came from sheer stupidity instead of the enemy. The sentry who shot a friendly patrol because they got spooked; the driver who broke their neck because they were too goddamn stupid to wear a seatbelt; the new recruit who got too drunk on leave and took a knife in a bar fight.

  Now Hernando was dead, but Cameron knew the stupidity was hers. She should have known Wade would do this, should have known he—

  Then she saw Wade.

  He was just a few yards away, sitting on the ground with his back to the clubhouse. And he was covered in blood. She could tell at a glance that most, if not all of it, was his. A knife had slashed him in several places, mostly on his arms, and it looked like he might have been stabbed in the side. She couldn’t see his face, because it was buried in his hands, and his shoulders were shaking.

  Cameron’s eyes narrowed. If she was honest with herself, she maybe didn’t know Wade that well. But she’d never have pegged him for a crier.

  She got to her feet and went to him. She saw Russell out of the corner of her eye. He took a step toward her, like he was going to stop her. But she shot him a look that rooted him, and stood over Wade with her arms folded.

  “What happened?”

  Wade looked up. His cheeks were wet with tears, soon joined by the rainwater that pelted down. He sniffed and swiped at his nose with the back of his forearm.

  “We were on guard duty. I was all pissed at him, so I kept him out of sight. But then he came at me, out of the darkness. He had a knife, and he … we fought, and before I knew what happened, he was—”

  He buried his face in his hands again. Cameron was about to order him to get up—or maybe just to kick the crap out of him sitting down, she wasn’t sure—when she heard a scream behind her. She whirled.

  Gina came running. She looked like she’d started running while still half-dressed and hadn’t completely finished the job on the way. She grabbed Hernando’s shoulders—which now Cameron could see had one or two cuts as well, though not nearly as bad as the ones on Wade—and began to shake him, screaming for him to get up, to wake up. The way Hernando’s head lolled back and forth made Cameron feel sick.

  She went to the girl and took her by the arm, lifting her firmly up. Gina fought, but Cameron turned her gently away. People always wanted to look at the body, like if they only stared enough, they could bring the person back to life. They never could, of course, and Cameron had learned that it only made the pain worse.

  “Come on,” she said, ushering Gina away despite the girl’s protests. “He’s gone. He’s gone.”

  Then Bettie was there, appearing out of the rain like a ghost. She took Gina and wrapped her arms around her, giving the embrace and comfort that Cameron had almost forgotten after so many years. But over Gina’s shoulder, Bettie couldn’t remove her eyes from Hernando’s body.

  “Shush, baby,” she murmured. “Quiet now.”

  Cameron heard footsteps behind her, and she turned to find Wade had risen. He stepped forward, as if he was actually about to approach Bettie and Gina. Cameron planted herself between him and the girls. He ignored her, looking over her shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, I wish—”

  “You shut your mouth!” Bettie’s scream was so sudden, so unexpected, that even Cameron jumped. “You goddamn bastard!”

  “It wasn’t my fault!” said Wade, fresh tears welling.

  “Wade, shut up,” said Cameron. “And get out of here. I’ll deal with you later.”

  “Cam, you have to—”

  “Out!” she roared.

  Wade recoiled like a slapped puppy and slunk off.

  “Don’t you dare let him get away with this,” said Bettie. “Don’t you dare let that monster—”

  Cameron cut her off with a raised hand. “Bettie, stop. Hernando sliced him up. He’s covered with cuts and blood.”

  “You really believe that?”

  Did she? Admittedly, it was hard to imagine Wade slicing himself up after murdering Hernando. That was something a crazy person would do. Or a really, really angry one. And she couldn’t forget the look on Wade’s face the day before when they’d found his camera in Hernando’s bag.

  But why would he kill Hernando like this after? The camera had been returned, and Hernando never would have been stupid enough to try taking it again.

  Why had he been stupid enough to take it in the first place?

  Even if Wade had been that angry, why do it like this? He was crafty. He could have made it look like an accident. So maybe Hernando had attacked him.

  Except that didn’t make any sense either.

  God damn it. She had a thousand questions and exactly zero answers. But if she didn’t make a decision, any decision, this would tear the cabi
n community apart. That was another thing she knew well from the service.

  “Both of them are hurt badly,” said Cameron. “The cuts could point in either direction. And Hernando got caught stealing Wade’s stuff.”

  Bettie scowled. “If you even believe that. He could have put the camera in Hernando’s backpack himself.”

  Cameron remembered the look of resignation in Hernando’s face as he pulled the camera out. “I don’t think that’s true. But we can’t know. All we know is that Hernando’s dead, and he sliced Wade up good before he died.”

  That only made the lines on Bettie’s face deepen. She turned away, her disappointment in Cameron practically radiating off her.

  “Get Gina out of here and look after her,” said Cameron. She turned to the onlookers and pointed to Scott and Russell. “Help me bury the body.”

  The body. That’s all he was now.

  * * *

  Once Hernando was shrouded and in the wet ground, they had a little gathering around the grave. Bettie and Gina wept openly. Everyone else just sort of stared at the loose earth and shuffled their feet uncomfortably. No one said a word.

  The Williams were the first to leave. After that, everyone wandered off one by one until it was only Cameron, Bettie, and Gina. Then Bettie patted Gina’s shoulder and urged her away.

  “Go home and rest, sweetheart. I’ll come see you in a minute.”

  Cameron sighed. Bettie wanted to speak, no doubt. She’d expected it, but she still wasn’t looking forward to it.

  Once Gina was out of earshot, Bettie folded her arms and fixed Cameron with a look. “Hernando and that man never should have been out last night at the same time.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. I didn’t double-check the watch schedule after what happened yesterday. That’s on me.”

  “I don’t believe what Wade said for one second.”

  Cameron looked down at her hand. Mud from the grave had spattered the back of it. She wiped it against the front of her shirt. “There’s no evidence to say anything other than what he told us.”