No Ordinary Day | Book 1 | No Ordinary Day

by Tate, Harley

  Emma looked up at Holly. The poor girl was falling apart. Tears brimmed over her lashes and she wiped them away with her sleeve. “Nothing’s ever going to be the same.”

  “No, it’s not.” Raymond didn’t sugar coat it. “And I’m afraid most people won’t survive what’s coming.”

  Gloria swished the last dregs of tea in her mug. “We have enough propane to last us for a few months if we conserve, a well that runs on solar to pump into the house, and plenty of wood for heat.”

  “But at some point, our food stores will run out.” Raymond glanced around the table. “Faster with extra mouths.”

  Emma opened her mouth to offer they leave, but Raymond waved her off. “Not complaining, just stating a fact.”

  “We can hide here for a while, but sooner or later, we have to face it out there.”

  Emma glanced at Gloria. “We also need to be prepared if someone comes for us.”

  “Do you really think they’d find us here?”

  Emma focused on the wood grain of the table. “John found us in the woods, a few miles from the truck we abandoned. If he could track us that far, then whoever he works for can find us here.”

  Gloria shivered.

  “We still don’t know if John is with them. He might not be out to get you.” Even after confronting the new state of the country, Holly still believed in him. “You shouldn’t rush to condemn him.”

  Emma didn’t respond. While she hoped the girl was right, she’d seen enough to put her money on the opposite.

  Ray pushed away from the table. “If someone is coming, then you need to prepare. Let’s suit up and get in some early morning target practice.”

  Emma lifted an eyebrow.

  “What? It’s never too late to learn.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  John

  John rose with the first hint of daylight, stretching stiff legs as Tank hurried off into the woods to do his business. The poor dog had to be starving. John’s own stomach rumbled, but the pain in his side kept the worst of the hunger at bay.

  He lifted his sweater. The T-shirt had soaked through in the night, leaving a dark red stain across his middle. He couldn’t track Emma and Holly like this.

  He would need supplies. Antibiotics. Maybe stitches.

  He grimaced as he stood, bracing himself on a tree to keep from falling. Tank emerged from the woods, loping toward him like they’d known each other for years. “How about you and I take a walk into town? See if we can’t get you some breakfast and me some medical help.”

  Tank leaned against him, rubbing his shoulder across John’s thigh, before pointing his nose in the direction of the road.

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Without a map, John had to navigate by the position of the sun and what he could remember, angling northwest and hoping he reached civilization before his body gave out.

  It was slow going, with pauses every ten minutes to catch his breath and beat back the nausea threatening to overwhelm him.

  How Emma and Holly ended up with that family, he hadn’t a clue. Were they ambushed on the side of the road? Captured in the woods?

  He hadn’t a clue. But that little escapade threw a spanner into his plans, for sure.

  Now he’d lose precious time trying to bleed to death while Emma put who knows how much distance between them. He pulled out his tracking device and checked the location.

  She hadn’t moved since he’d first checked that morning. Had she found Gloria’s cabin? Or was she holed up in a town, plotting out her next move?

  If he didn’t find her soon, he’d never know.

  Tank kept to his side all morning, nudging him when he felt like falling over, trotting on ahead to keep him moving. They emerged onto a road around eleven, and John turned north.

  On the road, without a tree to hold for support, his pace slowed. It took until midafternoon to find the fringes of a town. Morganton, Georgia.

  A sign pointed to the left for historic Blue Ridge and to the right for Main Street. John headed right. A woman sat on the front porch of a house, the first in miles. As John approached, he tried to straighten up. He closed the distance, about to smile and wave, when she abruptly stood and headed inside. Guess he didn’t look like good company.

  He used her mailbox to rest, gathering enough strength to head down the road. After a few more houses, he entered a small business district with a small toy shop, hardware store, and pharmacy.

  A faint light in the rear of the pharmacy filled John with hope and he tugged the front door open. At the cash register, an older woman stood, ringing up an elderly man with a calculator and a pad of paper. She glanced up when he entered, a small gasp slipping past her lips.

  The man made a comment about Tank, but John ignored it, hobbling down the closest aisle toward the rear of the store. He emerged into a small waiting area and the pharmacy.

  Two customers sat in chairs along the wall and a single pharmacist scuttled among dark rows of shelves behind the counter.

  John leaned over the counter and sucked in a lungful of air. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m helping another customer. When I’m done, I’ll be right with you,” a voice called from the back, not bothering to glance his way.

  John turned and leaned against the counter, forcing his breathing to slow. Tank sat beside him, standing guard and lending support.

  The two customers, a man in his fifties with gray hair and a round belly, and a woman about the same age, whispered in hushed tones as they stole glances at John.

  At last, the pharmacist arrived. “Okay. What can I—”

  John turned around and the man lapsed into silence. “I need antibiotics, bandages, and a good antiseptic if you have them.”

  Judging by the sandy blond hair and faint crow’s feet around the eyes, the pharmacist was mid-thirties. He pushed his glasses up his nose as he stared at John’s sweater. “Do you have a prescription?”

  “Haven’t had a chance.”

  “You should go to the doctor.”

  “I’m in a bit of a hurry.”

  The pharmacist swallowed. “I can’t give you antibiotics without a prescription, I’m sorry.”

  John leaned closer. “What if no one finds out? I’m sure you could make an exception in this case.”

  “I-I get audited. I can’t make a mistake, or I lose my license.”

  John tried to smile. “I don’t think that will be a problem with everything that’s going on.”

  The pharmacist pressed his fingers to his lips and glanced at the customers still waiting. “This is a small town. Word will spread.”

  John slammed his fist on the counter.

  The two customers stood and hurried away, talking and pointing.

  “Now there’s no one to see.”

  “I-I can get you some bandages. And some pain killers. I-I have a package of QuikClot in an emergency kit.”

  John exhaled. It would have to do. “Fine. Whatever you can give me would be great.”

  The pharmacist took off, hurriedly assembling the list of items. He placed everything in a bag and slid it across the counter to John.

  “How much?”

  He waved him off. “I’ll say it was shoplifted.”

  John pushed off the counter. “Bathroom?”

  The pharmacist pointed at the far wall. “Just in there.”

  John nodded and turned that way, leaving a smear of blood on the counter. He hobbled toward the bathroom, pausing at a rack of T-shirts advertising emblazoned with ‘Visit Blue Ridge’ across the chest. He grabbed on and held it up. “Shoplifter snagged this, too.”

  “O-of course,” the pharmacist replied.

  Tank followed John into the tiny bathroom and John locked the door.

  He dumped the bag into the sink and gripped the edge with both hands. It had taken all his strength to not pass out. Now came the hard part.

  He eased his ruined sweater over his body and threw it in the trash. The T-shirt had done the best
it could under the circumstances, but with miles of walking, it was no substitute for a bandage.

  John tugged at the knots, careful not to touch his skin. He peeled the soaked cotton away, row by row, to reveal an angry, jagged wound. With a handful of paper towels and the water running, John cleaned the worst of it, bracing against the pain as he dabbed the broken skin.

  Judging by the purpling spreading across his midsection, he’d cracked a rib, maybe two. A generous pour of alcohol across the wound and John cried out.

  Tank whimpered, standing beside him as he fought back the pain. “It’s okay, buddy. I’ve got to do it.”

  He finished cleaning the wound and patted it dry with cotton before packing a QuikClot against the two holes and wrapping his entire midsection in a clean, fresh bandage. Without antibiotics, he risked infection, but it would have to do for now. He popped a handful of the painkillers and cleaned up his mess, throwing everything in the trash and rinsing the blood out of the sink before tearing the tag off the T-shirt and easing it over his head.

  He took stock in the mirror, turning this way and that. The bandage wasn’t visible thanks to the writing on the shirt. If he walked slow, he might pass unnoticed. His jeans were coated in blood, but it blended with the dark black wash. He could pass as a local for now.

  He emerged from the bathroom and nodded to the pharmacist, who was now busy with more customers at the counter. The man nodded back, eyeing him with more curiosity than suspicion. John headed out the front door with Tank on his heels.

  At the far corner, a diner sat, doors open, sign out front proclaiming ‘Open in the dark, limited menu. Get it while you can.’

  He stepped up to the front door.

  A hostess stood inside, holding menus and a fake smile. “Table for one?”

  John pointed at Tank. “Two if he’s allowed.”

  The girl turned toward the kitchen. “Boss ain’t here. I say why not?”

  She showed them in, seating them in a booth in the window. John slid gingerly into one side while Tank hopped up onto the other.

  The girl handed him a menu and walked away.

  Printed on laminated paper, at one point the menu was hearty diner fare, full of eggs and bacon and a variety of waffles. Now, big X marks in sharpie covered the front and back.

  A waitress arrived, coffee pot in one hand and a wad of napkins in the other. She paused at the sight of Tank. “He want coffee?”

  John managed to smile. “Don’t think it does his stomach any good. But water would be a good choice.”

  He flipped his mug over and she poured his cup full before retreating to the kitchen. A moment later, she returned with a bowl full of water.

  Tank took to it immediately, lapping up the cool liquid as the waitress stated, “Don’t know I’ve ever served a dog before.”

  “First time for everything.” John handed her the menu. “Can we get as many eggs as you can manage and some bread, please.”

  She nodded. “Eggs only come scrambled, cause it’s easier on the propane stove. That all right?”

  He nodded, thankful they served anything at all.

  A few minutes later, the waitress reappeared, depositing two plates piled with steaming eggs on the table followed by a small stack of bread. “Got margarine, you want it for the bread?”

  John shook his head, too hungry to speak. He dug in, shoveling eggs into his mouth as Tank did the same, snarfing up every last bit before licking the plate clean.

  He leaned back and shoved his remains across the table for Tank to lick when he finished. At least he’d have some energy to keep moving now.

  And he didn’t need to worry about Tank until the morning.

  An old-timer hobbled in, leaning on a cane as he eased onto a stool at the counter. The waitress poured him a cup of coffee. “Thanks, Gina.”

  She nodded. “So what’s the news today, Merrill? Anything new?”

  The man sipped the coffee with a nod. “Heard from a fella out in Topeka. Already declared martial law out there. Locals organized into some sort of community kitchen to feed everyone.”

  Gina snorted. “Sounds like a bunch of freeloaders getting something for nothing if you ask me.”

  Merrill nodded. “There’s riots in the big cities. New York, Chicago, LA. A truck carrying food destined for Miami was overrun by locals and looted before it arrived. My guess is that’s gonna start happening all over.”

  John listened without saying a word. If what the old man said was true, the country was devolving into chaos. Would the company even need John to fulfill the mission?

  Did Dane even care anymore?

  Merrill asked about the local police.

  Gina shrugged. “Heard they’re about to open up the elementary as a shelter. Some folks don’t have wood stoves in town. No word on national guard. If they mobilized, they’re all going to the cities.”

  Merrill nodded. “We’re lucky it’s not wintertime. Lots of people would have frozen to death already if it were.”

  Gina nodded before excusing herself to tend to another table.

  John checked his watch. Sun would be setting in a few hours. If he wanted to find Emma before the morning, he needed to start now. He snapped his fingers and Tank hopped down. He dropped a wad of money on the counter and headed out, tipping his head in Gina’s direction before slipping through the door.

  He pulled the locator from his pocket and checked. Emma hadn’t moved. He patted Tank on the shoulder and set off, hoping he could zero in on her location before dark.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Emma

  Emma slept like the dead, waking up only when Pringles began to bark. Gloria shushed him, but Emma called out from the loft. “It’s okay, we’re awake.”

  Holly sat on the edge of the bed, phone in her hand.

  “How did you sleep?”

  She shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” She set the phone on her lap. “It hit me this morning, I’m never going to see my friends again, am I?”

  Emma wanted to tell her otherwise, but how could she? “I don’t have any idea, Holly. I wish I could tell you what was about to happen, but I can’t.”

  “Everything Raymond said yesterday…If that’s true…If we really are going to be out of food and water and the power won’t ever come back on, then how can I? Their families will be just as desperate as we are.”

  “They won’t be running for their lives.”

  “No, but if you’re starving what’s the difference? Hannah’s mom can’t boil water, let alone cook. They ate out every meal. If it weren’t for school lunch, she’d have been hungry every day.”

  Emma pressed her lips together. Holly could be describing her own life. Before all this happened, Emma rarely had more than a carton of expired milk and a rotten orange in her fridge. She’d been focused on the research, on her job instead of preparing for what might happen. Whenever anyone recommended she learn how to cook, she blew them off. There was time for that later, when she wasn’t knee-deep in research studies and living on her own.

  “I think a lot of people are going to be in that position.”

  Holly stood up. “I worry about what’s going to happen to them all.”

  “So do I.”

  “You two going to lay about all day up there, or can I get some help in the kitchen?”

  Emma smiled. “On the way.” She climbed down the ladder leading to the first floor and found Gloria hard at work stirring a pot of oatmeal on the stove.

  “It’s the best thing to fill you up on a day like today when we’ve got a ton of work to do.”

  Holly reached the floor. “What do you need us to do?”

  Gloria warmed at the question. “We need to chop a bunch of firewood, clean the wood stove so we can transition to using it instead of the propane. Check our inventory of food supplies, see what we need to pick up in town before everything runs out.”

  “And have another shooting lesson.” Raymond strolled into the kitchen and slid his arm around Gloria
before kissing her cheek.

  “You really think that’s necessary?”

  Raymond nodded. “I sure do. Can’t ever be too careful.”

  Emma concentrated on breakfast, ladling the oatmeal into bowls, while Holly filled glasses with water.

  “Sorry, no coffee this morning. I figured we should keep it until we really need it.”

  Emma shook her head in wonder. Gloria and Raymond were the most prepared people she’d ever met. All this time, she’d thought this cabin was a getaway in the woods, a little romantic spot for the two of them, not a secret bunker with everything they needed to ride out the end of the world.

  “When did you all stock up? Have you always been this prepared?”

  Gloria shrugged. “Sort of. Where I grew up, we were always having power outages and problems with the heat. My mom made sure we had enough wood to heat our living room and enough food on hand to weather any uncertainties. We didn’t have much, but she always kept a reserve.”

  Raymond nodded. “Same here. We always stocked up. Never knew when you might need it or need to help someone else.”

  Emma thought back to her family’s farm in Idaho. Her parents were of the same mindset, setting things away for the unknowns. “My mom canned every summer. We’d eat out of our pantry all winter long.”

  Gloria smiled. “I love to can. Haven’t had much time these past few years, though.”

  Now Emma wished she’d paid more mind when her parents explained how to tend the farm and manage the inventory. All she’d seen at the time was a backward, dying way of life. She planned to usher in the future of farming with high-yield seeds and crops that would grow anywhere.

  What a fool.

  When they finished eating, Emma cleared the dishes and helped Gloria wash and dry. Holly headed outside with Raymond and he showed her how to pick the right wood for splitting.

  Emma watched out the window. “Having a man to talk to is good for her. Thank you for taking us in.”