by Chris Pike
“That doesn’t make me feel any better. He could be back because he’s a survivor.”
“I doubt it,” Dillon said. He put a hand under Holly to help her up. “It’ll be dark soon, so we need to get going.”
Rising, the blood drained out of Holly’s face and she looked at him with a strange expression. Wobbling on unsteady legs, her eyes rolled back into her head, and she crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Dillon reached to catch her before she fell and hurt herself any more. Holding her, she weighed more than he originally estimated. Deadweight always felt heavier. He heaved her up, positioned her sideways across his shoulders, one arm over a thigh, the over latched onto an arm, carrying her like an injured soldier.
An AK on one shoulder, a woman draped over him. If Dillon had been younger, this would have been his dream. As it was, he had 120 pounds of deadweight to carry, all shit had broken out, and he was looking at a long five mile trek to his house. On foot.
Fucking great.
Chapter 12
Dillon carefully wove his way down the next few flights of stairs and when he reached the bottom, he checked both directions. A grim office worker passed by him, glanced briefly at the woman he was carrying, then proceeded on without asking questions or offering help.
This was the first sign of how it was going to be. Dillon had seen that look of desperation before; how people measured the cost of helping versus the return they would get. He had seen it in the villagers of Iraq, doors closing that time when he had barely escaped a firefight, carrying a wounded soldier, desperately searching for a safe place. Knocking on doors, only to be met by angry shouts and clubs.
It was only one life to save, but one life counted for something, especially to the family. It mattered to Dillon, like the life of Holly mattered. To someone hopefully in her family.
Holly and Dillon had been adversaries in the courtroom, exchanging barbs, and he didn’t know much about her personally other than she had a sharp wit and was the consummate professional. Tough as nails wouldn’t aptly describe her tenacity when it came to winning. He supposed for a woman to get ahead in a man’s world she had to be tough, otherwise she’d get eaten alive in the dog eat dog world of the legal system.
Maybe that was why their professional relationship was strained, he pondered. It was because she was a lot like him. Amy, on the other hand, had been the powder to his primer, the .22 to his .44, complementing his shortcomings, and he hers. Now that he thought about it, any of her shortcomings were minor compared to his. She made him realize life was a journey and that winning wasn’t everything.
The long hours he put in as an assistant district attorney had become weary and right before the aneurism that claimed Amy’s life, they had made a decision to sell their house and to visit a rural community where they could buy a piece of property, grow vegetables and fruit trees.
He wanted to learn husbandry so they could be self sufficient in case there ever was a worst case scenario. The only thing he hadn’t planned on was it happening so soon.
After Amy died, Dillon felt empty, like his life had no meaning. His daughter had grown up and had left home to begin her own life. He hadn’t even entertained the idea of dating or marrying again. Amy had been his soulmate, each of them finishing the sentences of the other.
Maybe this was the jolt he needed to put things in perspective, and with society breaking down, he could become whatever he wanted to.
He had skills others didn’t, and his survival training would come in handy now. He had an impressive stockpile of weapons and ammo, food and water. He could live off the land if needed. He could hunt and fish. His bugout bag was ready.
He plodded on, carrying Holly, his legs starting to burn at the extra weight on his shoulders.
Getting back to the problem at hand, he contemplated what to do about Holly. Once she woke, he’d tend to her injuries, get her stable, then ask her to leave. Come morning, he’d start out for New Orleans.
He found it odd she didn’t show any fear when Cole had a knife to her throat.
Could she had known he was close enough to help her? How did she know he was armed?
To kick the asshole in the shin required guts. Had she done it to help Dillon, or was it a desperate tactic of someone close to dying who had no clue about hostage situations?
Now that he thought about it, a crack in that porcelain veneer had appeared after Holly crumpled in his arms. She was human after all.
Maybe there was more to Holly Hudson than met the eye, though she was easy on the eyes, Dillon had to admit. Thinking about Holly in that way surprised him because it had been a long time since he had thought about another woman. He had other things on his mind at the moment, so he pushed those thoughts aside.
He had to get home.
Chapter 13
The trek from the courthouse to his home had been uneventful. Oh sure, he had gotten the evil eye from some of the more unsavory types that lurked on the outskirts of downtown, but once he showed the AK, the thugs backed off.
A little firepower went a long way.
Holly had been passed out the entire time. Although she moaned and uttered something which sounded like she was talking in tongues, other than that, she hadn’t been a problem.
He had crossed under the I-10 interstate where it cut through the center of town within the 610 Loop. He was now on his home turf, Heights Boulevard, and he walked a few more blocks to a side street where his house was located. It had been built in the early 1900s, having seen better days before he and Amy bought it. Amy had done a good job scavenging estate sales looking for furniture and anything else they needed, drove a hard bargain on repairs, and over time had made the house into a home. Dillon never really appreciated it until after Amy had died. It didn’t feel the same, or welcoming.
The house was dark, and when he opened the squeaky front gate Buster started barking. Walking up to the porch, he turned when a voice called, “Dillon?”
Dillon recognized the voice belonging to his neighbor, Larry Williams.
“Do you need some help?” Larry asked. He craned his head looking at the woman draped over Dillon’s shoulders.
“Yeah. Can you open the door for me?” Stooped over from carrying Holly for the last hour, Dillon fished around in his pocket and handed his house keys to Larry.
Larry took the keys and opened the door.
Buster came barreling out, all 70 pounds of slobber and barks, and he wiggled all over, stamping his feet on the porch, welcoming his owner. Moving his head side to side, Buster’s nose worked to identify the person standing next to Dillon. Buster barked his curiosity until he recognized the man as the next door neighbor. Buster sidled up to Larry and nosed him until a hand patted his head.
“Man, that dog’s big!” Larry exclaimed.
“When my daughter got him, he was a puppy, about a tenth the size he is now. We didn’t know he’d get so big,” Dillon said. “Buster, go on and do your business.”
As if understanding the verbal clue, Buster loped off the porch and went to the yard.
“Who is that?” Larry asked, pointing to Holly.
“A colleague.”
“Hmm.” Larry scratched the stubble on his chin, studying Dillon. “You look like you got hit by a car.”
“Actually a plane.”
“What? No shit. A plane? You gotta be kidding.”
Dillon pushed forward, heading down the hallway. “A plane hit the courthouse this afternoon.”
“So what happened?”
“Larry,” Dillon said, “I’m too tired to go into right now. This lady needs help.”
Larry didn’t acknowledge the last statement. “That explains the explosion I heard. I was in my Lay-z-Boy watching TV when all of a sudden, boom!” Larry made an exaggerated motion with his hands. “The house shook and a few seconds later the electricity went out. I’ve been trying to call the electric company for hours but the phones are out too. And now there’s a bunch
of stalled cars on the street. What’s going on?”
Dillon didn’t have the heart or the energy to tell Larry what was really going on. Larry was one of those neighbors that always seemed to be either outside when Dillon came home, or in the front room watching TV so he could keep an eye out for anybody coming or going. Dillon thought he should be glad Larry was his neighbor because Larry was a built-in free burglar alarm system. The guy had eyes in the back of his head.
“I don’t really know what’s going on,” Dillon said. Coming to Cassie’s room, he pushed the door open using his foot. Larry was right behind him, and if he had been a herding dog, Larry would have been nipping at Dillon’s heels.
“So why’d you bring your colleague home instead of going to the hospital?”
“Look, Larry, I don’t have time to go into all the details. Let’s just say things aren’t going to be the same for a while.”
“What things?” Larry asked.
“Everything.”
Larry gave him a confused look.
Dillon paused. “I’m tired and I’ve been carrying this lady for a long time. I need to get her on the bed. Do me a big favor and get me a towel and some water. Wet it down a little but not too much.”
“You want me to boil the water? Like they do in the movies?”
“Cooktop won’t be working. Tap water will do for now.” Dillon placed Holly on the bed.
“Okay, on it.”
“Get Buster back in and shut the front door too, will ya?”
“Sure thing.”
Dillon tried to make Holly as comfortable as he could. He took off her remaining pump and set it on the floor. He lifted her head and positioned a pillow so she wouldn’t have any pressure on her neck, then covered her with a blanket.
She was breathing evenly, so Dillon surmised she must have passed out from the overwhelming events.
He walked into the kitchen and retrieved a flashlight. Dillon was a stickler for changing out batteries in all his flashlights. The batteries got old after a while, sometimes bursting, and one thing Dillion didn’t like was a ruined flashlight. He had the flashlights color coded with stick-on dots, coordinating the colors with the seasons, so he’d remember when the batteries had been changed out. Blue was for winter, pink for spring, yellow for summer, and red for fall.
It was dark in the house and Dillon clicked the flashlight on and walked back to Holly. Her color was still good, and he checked the bandage on her arm. It was holding up, though he’d have to change it soon. The pressure had staunched the flow of blood for now. He’d suture it later. Walking to the bathroom, Dillon said, “Hey, Larry, never mind. She’s sleeping now.”
“Oh,” he said, looking like a deer in the headlights. “What do you want me to do with the towel?”
“Hang it up to dry.”
“Okay,” Larry said. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Can I do anything for you?”
A long sigh escaped Dillon’s lips. He leaned into the wall. If he stayed there any longer, he’d fall asleep standing up. “As a matter of fact, yes. Got anything to eat?”
“Louise made a chicken casserole before we lost electricity. Want some of that?”
“Sure.”
“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be right back. Do you want Louise to come over and have a look at…” Larry paused looking at the bed.
“Her name’s Holly.”
“Oh, right. Louise could come over in case Holly needs some female…” Larry paused, clearing his throat, “you know…things.”
Dillon had lived long enough with his wife and daughter to be used to whatever female things Larry was talking about. Besides the female things, Dillon hadn’t even cleared out Amy’s toiletries. He still had her hairbrush and makeup, along with her clothes and shoes. When he really felt down, he’d open her favorite perfume and remember…
“Tell Louise thank you very much for the casserole. Holly will be okay here.”
Larry shrugged. “Back in a jiffy.”
Dillon escorted Larry to the door and told him that everything would be okay. Buster squeezed in and made a beeline to the kitchen.
“You hungry?” Dillon asked.
Buster’s eyes were big and round and he had that look on his face when he was ready to eat, which was about anytime of the day. That dog could eat an impressive amount of dog food.
“Here ya go,” Dillon said, setting down a big bowl of dog food.
While Buster wolfed down the food, Dillon pondered over what to do with him. Maybe he could talk Larry into taking care of Buster. Nah, that wouldn’t work because Larry had a yappy little dog and a cat that made Buster nervous. They might end up being snacks, like the squirrels had been. Not really a snack, more like a present Buster offered Dillon when he came home from work. Many times Dillon had been greeted by a dead, chewed on squirrel that had been left on the front porch. For a big dog, Buster could move with the agility of a cat.
Option two was to leave a big package of dog food in the kitchen for Buster, prop the doors open so he could come and go as he pleased. Dillon surmised he would be gone a week, two at the max, so Buster would be okay until he got back.
He could fill every bowl in the house with water, and when it rained, the water would replenish the lily pad pond in the backyard. Dillon had built the pond especially for Amy and they’d sit in the lawn chairs in the backyard, watching the minnows swim around.
There was still so much of her in the house. Everywhere, even the smallest trinket reminded him of a memory.
He took a couple of his favorite LED lanterns, flipped the on switches, and placed one in the kitchen and one outside Cassie’s bedroom door. He preferred LED to incandescent bulbs because LEDs required a lot less electricity, not to mention they were shockproof if dropped.
Walking back into the kitchen he opened the dark and somewhat cold refrigerator, feeling around for a beer. When he found one he popped off the lid and took a big pull. He savored the moment, knowing it would be a long time before he had another cold beer.
A few minutes later Larry came back carrying a Tupperware container with two servings of the chicken casserole, a roll with butter, and green beans. Buster followed Larry around, his nose in the air, following the scent of food.
“He acts like he hasn’t eaten in a week,” Larry said.
Dillon laughed. “He’s always like that. Thanks for the food.”
“Sure, no problem. Least I can do” Larry said. “So tell me about what’s going on. Louise is worried that the phones still don’t work.”
“How much non-perishable food do you have?” Dillon asked.
“Like canned goods?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know, maybe a few weeks. Louise gets mad at me if I buy too many canned goods. You know, money’s tight and all. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve got to leave first thing in the morning, and I’ll be gone a while. If you run low on food, you have permission to use whatever I have. Here,” Dillon said, “follow me.”
Dillon motioned for Larry follow him to what used to be a bedroom. Opening the door, he shined a flashlight on what could double as a small, fully stocked grocery store. There were shelves and shelves of all sorts of canned goods covering every item in the food pyramid. One wall contained canned fruit and vegetables, canned tomatoes and spaghetti sauce; another wall had flour and pasta, and a separate one for canned meat. A smaller shelf contained medical supplies and ointments.
“What the hell?” Larry exclaimed. His eyes roamed wherever the flashlight beam illuminated. “You stocking up for the apocalypse?”
“Something like that. If you get hungry, use whatever you need. Also,” Dillon said, leaning into Larry, “this is important. Don’t tell anybody. Do you understand? You’re probably going to need this.”
Larry indicated his skepticism and replied, “Sure. Whatever. I’ve heard about you guys. Preppers. Isn’t that the term? Macho kind of guys, right?” Larry said, knuckle punching Dillon in t
he arm. “So why’d you ask me if I had any food when you have all this?”
“I like Louise’s home cooked food. Thought it would be a while before I get any more.”
“Nah,” Larry scoffed. “Electricity will be back on by morning. You’ll see.”
“I doubt it. Believe me, one day soon, you’re gonna be real happy I stocked up like this.” Dillon motioned to the front door. “I’ve had a really long day and I’ve got a lot of things to do. Do you mind?”
“Oh, sure. Time for me to get back home. What are you going to do about Holly?”
Chapter 14
Good question, Dillon thought. He was so consumed with fatigue and memories of Amy, he had forgotten about the wounded woman in the next room.
“She may stay here for a while,” Dillon said. “I’ll see how she is in the morning.”
“Call me, or rather, yell if you need anything,” Larry said.
After Larry left, Dillon devoured a helping of chicken casserole, ate the roll, and half of the green beans. He covered the other half and put it in the refrigerator, which would keep the food cold for a little while longer. If Holly was hungry when she woke up, she could eat that.
Turning around he was surprised to see Holly. “I thought you were still sleeping.”
“I heard you talking so decided to get up.”
“Want anything to eat?”
“No really. What I need is a stiff drink.”
“Bourbon and seven?”
Holly nodded.
Dillon made Holly’s drink, stirred in a couple of melting ice cubes, and handed it to her. She took it, her hands shaking so much the ice cubes clinked around the glass.
“Are you okay?” Dillon asked.
“No. I can’t stop shaking.” Holly leaned on the kitchen counter and took several big gulps until the drink was gone. “I can’t believe what has happened, especially how Cole cornered me in the garage. He probably would have raped or killed me. I can’t believe he would do that.”