Fall of Houston Series | Book 3 | No Turning Back

by Payne, T. L.

  Savanah looked to see if the kids had heard them talking like that. They appeared to be deep in some conversation about what kind of food they’d miss as they tied the bells along the fence line that separated their property from the Bertrands’. She couldn’t believe this was her life now. She was talking kill zones and setting booby traps with her neighbors instead of seeing them at the farmer’s market or chasing her pigs across their pastures.

  After seeing Luca off as he headed to Choupique to deliver the letter and ask them to join forces, Jane helped them in putting up defenses. She was young and strong and a great asset with the animals. They were coming together as a cohesive group. But would it be enough? She prayed it would. She so did not want to have to leave her home.

  Twenty-Nine

  Cayden

  Day Eight

  Isabella sounded pissed, but he had to try to reach the church. Cayden feared time was running out for his dad, and he knew there were people in this town that would help him if they knew. They’d all talked so highly about his dad every time they came to visit. Mr. Broussard at the bakery and Earl at the auto repair shop had boasted about him. Surely they’d help.

  Cayden ran down the alley and jumped Mrs. Johnson’s fence. He ran across her lawn and down the block toward the church. He stopped at the side of the building where he’d seen Earl. Colorful fragments of the once beautiful stained glass littered the ground beneath the windows. Cayden stepped behind the shrubbery and stood on his tiptoes, trying to peer inside. He just wasn’t tall enough.

  “Earl,” he whispered.

  Cayden listened but heard only silence.

  “Earl, it’s Cayden Fontenot,” he said, just a little louder. He edged to the corner of the stone facade building and looked for any of the dudes that had chased them. The street in front of the church was empty.

  Cayden stared back at the broken windows along that side of the church. It was unlikely that anyone would have remained in those rooms, given that people were shooting into them. They would have moved into the basement of the building.

  He pressed himself against the wall and took several deep breaths before bolting toward the door to the parish library. He yanked on the handle, but it was locked. Likely all the doors were locked. He just had to find a way inside. Cayden ran back to the broken windows and crept behind the bushes at the base of the building. The rectangular window leading to the mechanical room was just above ground level. Was it big enough for him to crawl through? He had to try. Pulling the pistol from the nice leather holster Alan had given him, he turned the weapon around and used the pistol’s grip to break the window.

  Cayden dropped to the ground and cleared away the broken shards that remained in the window’s frame before crawling headfirst through the opening and dropping onto a stack of cardboard boxes. He rolled and hit the concrete floor with a thud, cracking his right elbow in the fall. He cursed loudly, and his left hand flew up to cover his mouth. He was sure that if anyone were down there, they would have heard him and likely thought he was one of the bad guys.

  He sprang to his feet and rushed to the closed door. His heart thudded wildly in his chest as he eased it open and listened. He waited a few seconds before opening it fully and stepping into the hall. Cayden thought he heard hushed voices but couldn’t tell where they were coming from so decided to risk it and called out.

  “Hello!” He moved toward the end of the corridor. “Hello! I’m Cayden Fontenot. I need help.”

  He heard voices again. They were louder this time. Cayden moved toward the stairs and stopped. “Earl! It’s Cayden. I saw you in the window. I know you’re here. I just need to talk to you.” He placed his right foot on the first tread and waited for a reply. The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Mr. Broussard’s face appeared.

  The town residents who’d fled to the church had barricaded themselves in the annex of classrooms. They had boarded up the windows. Candles lit the room where desks had been pushed against the walls, and mats from the nursery had been placed on the floor for sleeping.

  “How did you get here?” Mr. Broussard asked.

  “In an old truck,” Cayden said. “How many of you are staying here?” He didn’t have time to tell them about their journey to get there. He needed to get them out there to help his dad.

  “Thirty or so.”

  “My dad needs help. He was injured when we crashed our truck, but people started shooting, and me and the people I was with had to run away and leave him.”

  Mr. Broussard reached for Cayden’s arm. “Oh my, were you shot?”

  “No. I bumped it when I climbed in the window here.” Cayden pulled back. “Mr. Broussard, I need to speak to everyone and get their help to save my dad.”

  Mr. Broussard’s expression changed to a look of pity. Cayden had always hated that look. He’d gotten it a lot since his mom died. It was not helpful—at all.

  “I don’t know how much help any of us will be. Most of us are old or disabled.”

  Despair crept up Cayden’s spine. Had Monte been right? Was he wasting time he didn’t have by coming here expecting the town to go to his dad’s defense?

  “Cayden?” Earl’s voice boomed in the corridor outside.

  “Earl!” Cayden rushed over to him. “Earl, please help me. Please help my dad.”

  Cayden stared back at the residents of Vincent who’d sought sanctuary in the church. Mr. Broussard had been right. Most were elderly, but not all. Earl wasn’t that old, maybe a little older than his dad, but he was healthy. Mr. Johnson had gone to school with his dad, so he could certainly fight back. There were two boys around his age and a couple of young families.

  “What you need to do, young man, is to get out of here and go to your Aunt Savanah’s. There’s no way to fight those hoodlums that have taken over city hall,” Mr. Bergeron said. Cayden could see why the old bank manager would feel that way. Those hoodlums, as he called them, were young and strong.

  “He’s right, Cayden. Your dad would want you to run and get away from here,” Mrs. Robertson said, placing a wrinkled hand on his.

  “Where is the rest of the town?” Cayden asked. “Vincent had at least four thousand residents. Where were they all hiding?”

  “Some joined up with those Blanchard boys after a few days. Most fled during the shootout with the mayor’s men. There are some holed up in the casino.” Earl pointed a thumb over his shoulder, indicating east.

  “The casino?”

  “It’s new. It used to be a bar. Anyway, Guidry and some of the RV park folks made a stand out there and even put up a roadblock to keep the Blanchards out. We’ve heard them in a few skirmishes in the last few days, so there must still be some of them out there,” Earl said.

  “They have guns?” Cayden asked.

  “Yeah, that’s probably why Blanchard hasn’t wiped them out already. They have to be getting low on food though. The casino didn’t have a restaurant or anything. They had plenty of beer and pretzels, but not much else.”

  Cayden tapped his fingers on his legs, thinking and trying to come up with a new plan. He had to decide if he should go and get Isabella and the guys or go out to the casino alone. That question was answered before he could ask where exactly it was located.

  “Cayden Fontenot!” Isabella sounded pissed.

  Cayden shot to his feet. At least she hadn’t used his middle name like his mom used to do. He thought for a second. He wasn’t sure she knew his middle name. He decided he’d keep it that way.

  “Isabella. You found us.”

  She ran over and grabbed him by both shoulders.

  “You scared the living hell out of us. You can’t run off like that. How are we going to go after your dad if we are chasing you around town?”

  Yep, she’s pissed.

  As far as he could tell, their plan was to hide in Bobby Johnson’s boat repair shop until the bad dudes found them. Someone had to do something. He’d done what his dad would have done, and he didn’t regret it. At least i
t got the grown-ups out of hiding.

  “This is Earl, and he’s Bobby Johnson. That was his boat shop we ran into.”

  “You broke into my shop?” Bobby asked, stepping forward.

  “No,” Isabella said. “We were being chased, and we didn’t break anything.”

  “Nice shop,” Monte said. “Beautiful job on that Bayliner, man.” He extended his hand. “I’m Monte.”

  Walker hung back near the doorway with his hand on his holster. “That guy there is a Texas Ranger. I forgot his name. I call him Walker—you know, like Walker, Texas Ranger—the show.”

  The corners of Bobby’s mouth turned up, and he walked over to greet the lawman. As they engaged in a conversation about the show and what it was like being a “real” ranger, Cayden filled Monte and Isabella in on what he’d learned about the folks at the casino.

  “I think we should join forces with them and go for my dad.”

  “First, we need to find out who has him and where, Cayden,” Monte said. “With you guys fairly secure here, I can do some reconnaissance. Then, once we know something, I’ll go over to the casino and round up fighters.”

  “You don’t know them. You’re an outsider. They may just shoot first,” Cayden said.

  “I may not be from this town, but I’m from Calcasieu Parish. I may know some of them. Hell, I may even be related.”

  “I think that’s the best option, Cayden. Your dad would not want you going out there. He’d want you in here and safe.”

  “We’re in here, Isabella. How safe is it now?”

  Their presence put those that had sought sanctuary there in danger. If the Blanchards discovered they were there, they’d shoot their way inside. People would die. Maybe it was a bad idea, after all.

  “We can’t stay here. We put all these people at risk.”

  Isabella’s head rotated, taking in the room. A pained look spread across her face.

  She nodded. “You’re right.” Isabella turned and walked back to where Monte was filling Walker in on his plan. Cayden followed her.

  “We should go. Now! We’re going to get these people killed,” she whispered.

  Monte looked up and then to a group of preschool-aged children playing on the floor.

  “Shit!”

  “I guess we’re all going to the casino then,” Walker said.

  “First, let me go see if I can find out where Will is,” Monte said. “I’ll be gone like ten, fifteen minutes tops.”

  “If they got him, he’s at city hall,” Earl said. “Buzz hasn’t left there since he took control of the town. That’s where they’d take Will. I’d bet anything on it.”

  “Can you draw me a map to city hall?” Monte said.

  “I can show you,” Cayden said.

  “No! Your dad would skin me alive if I let you do that.”

  “I’ll go,” Earl said. He smiled down at Cayden and mussed his hair. Why did grown-ups do that? He was thirteen, not five.

  Waiting for Earl and Monte to return was excruciating. Cayden passed the time like his mom used to when his dad still raced motorbikes and was late getting home. Fear crept in. Fear that they wouldn’t be able to get his dad back or that he had died from his injuries in the wreck. The thought of being an orphan was too much for him.

  When he heard the squeak of the door to the basement, Cayden shot down the corridor.

  “Did you find him? Is he all right? Is he alive?”

  Isabella approached him from behind and placed a hand on his back.

  “We found him. He’s alive. He’s at city hall, just like Earl said he’d be,” Monte said.

  “Let’s get the people from the casino and go get him,” Cayden said, brushing past him.

  “You sure that’s a good idea? How do we know that they aren’t just as bad—or worse?” Isabella asked.

  “They’re good people,” Earl said. “But be careful and announce yourselves.”

  Cayden led them down alleys, across several unfenced yards, and down along the Vincent Canal that ran south and eventually connected to the Intercoastal Waterway, a man-made canal that allowed ocean-going vessels to sail between New Orleans and Houston without going into the unprotected water of the Gulf of Mexico.

  “The casino should be through those trees and across the road. That’s where the bar was.” Cayden smiled as he recalled a story his mom used to tell about his dad trying to impress her, trying to dance the jitterbug while he was drunk off his butt. She’d driven him home and spent half the night talking to Mawmaw Fontenot.

  Cayden had planned to work their way around and approach the casino from the back, but they didn’t make it that far.

  “Cayden? Is that you?” a female voice called from a concealed position in the dense underbrush.

  “Yeah,” he said tentatively.

  “What the hell are you doing out here running around like this, Ti-den. Don’t you know you gonna get yourself killed,” the woman said in a southwest Louisiana accent Cayden thought he recognized.

  “Gabby?” It had to be her. His dad’s cousin was the only one that called him by his Cajun nickname.

  Gabriella Fontenot emerged from the underbrush, a twelve-gauge shotgun in her hands.

  “She’s my dad’s cousin. They stopped speaking a while back. I don’t know why,” Cayden whispered.

  Monte stood and stepped out from the cover of the trees. “Family’s family.” He let his rifle dangle on its sling and raised his hands in the air. “I’m sorry, but we don’t have time for small talk. We came over from Houston with the boy and his daddy. We ran into trouble when we drove into town, and Will didn’t get away.”

  “Oh shit!” Gabby said, approaching them.

  Isabella stepped into view. “We came for help to get him back.”

  “Please, Gabby,” Cayden added in his most pleading voice.

  “Well, hell, let’s go tell your uncles,” Gabby said, shaking her head and holding her arms open for a hug.

  Thirty

  Isabella

  Day Eight

  The casino smelled awful. She covered her face with her shirt. It probably didn’t look polite but she couldn’t help herself. Between the body odor, cigarette smoke, and feces smell coming from a bathroom somewhere, it was sickening. She didn’t know how anyone could breathe in there. It was dark and hot. Any second she was going to barf, she could feel it at the back of her throat.

  “Listen up!” Gabby yelled.

  Isabella could hear people stirring, and then a flashlight flicked on. People were everywhere. On top of blackjack tables, on benches, sleeping in booths, and on the floor.

  “What the hell, Gabby? My shift just ended. I need shut-eye,” a male voice said from somewhere in the back of the room.

  “Get up, all of you. Those bastard Blanchards have my cousin, Will. His boy here came for our help, and we’re going to go get him.”

  Isabella smiled. She liked this woman. She reminded her of Will—but maybe a little bossier.

  There were mumbles and groans, but no one objected. More flashlights flicked on, illuminating the space. It was a mess. Trash and booze bottles were everywhere. Isabella cringed and pulled her shirt tighter against her face. “I think I’ll wait for you outside.”

  “I’ll join you,” Walker said.

  “Coming, Cayden?” Isabella called as she exited.

  “I’ll get ’em going. We’ll be out in just a second,” Gabby said.

  Isabella, Cayden, Walker, and Monte waited by an RV parked near the road. That’s when Isabella noticed a row of motorcycles and all-terrain vehicles lined up at the side of the building. At the very back of the property beyond the parking lot, a big guy sat on a side-by-side with his feet up, and a rifle across his lap. He didn’t look that tough to her. If the group in town had been afraid to attack them, maybe going to get Will wouldn’t be as difficult as she’d thought. She was more concerned about hitching themselves to the group inside at that moment. And then the door opened and out stepped four guys wh
o looked like they were dressed for war. They wore camouflage print from head to toe, body armor, multiple weapons strapped to their bodies, and had military type rifles.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Monte said, an ear-to-ear grin spreading across his stubbled face.

  A gargantuan man with two sleeves of tattoos leaned over the hood of one of the cars parked in front of the casino. Laid out before him was a large piece of butcher paper that someone had drawn a map of the city on, including the buildings near where they’d crashed the truck.

  “What’s the plan, Tank?” a tall, lanky man asked.

  Cayden leaned in and whispered. “He’s my dad’s cousin, too.”

  “Vinnie, you’ll get up on the roof of the bank. You’ll have a clear line of sight to the front door of city hall.” He looked up and nodded to a tall, stocky man with a bald head who looked like Vin Diesel. “You and Troy are going to go into the shoe store. Those side windows there and there,” he pointed to the drawing. “You’ll have sight of the side doors.” He pointed to a tall, lanky man whose hair reminded Isabella of Kramer from the sitcom Seinfeld. “You’re with me at the back.”

  The way they were calmly planning out storming city hall, Isabella wondered why they had not done so up until then. The giant man made it sound as easy as a trip to the grocery store. Why wouldn’t they have liberated the town?

  “Buzz is mine. No one touches him but me. Got it?” he said.

  “Valson is there with him,” the lanky man said.

  “Even better.”

  “Tank, he’s going to know something is up. He’s not going to believe that I just happened to go into town hours after he takes my cousin,” Gabby said.

  “He’ll think that Cayden there came to fetch you, and you came running,” Tank said. “It doesn’t matter if he believes it. We want him to send his guys out. We’ll pick ’em off, and there’ll be less mess inside.”