Not that Emily ever told Cole about that moment of personal crisis. She wanted him to think she’d saved his life because it was in the best interest of the country. Cole had no love for country, God, and apple pie. After the Army, he’d gone private almost right away, going from one conflict to another around the world.
Ironically, her path was similar to his in some ways. Emily had grown up a patriot and to a family of patriots. Meeting Cole for the first time was purely accidental, and she hadn’t thought she would ever see him again. She was wrong, as it turned out. They had a complicated history, one that could fill out a book or two. That was, if the writer could get a high enough clearance to tell the tale.
Emily thought about Cole now as she sat in the dark attic, his child growing inside her. She’d never wanted to be a housewife, just as Cole had never wanted to be a “respected” husband. But here they were, doing just that. She wasn’t sure who had given up more—her or him. Maybe they’d done it both equally, but she couldn’t be sure. Cole had never shown any regrets; then again, he was always good at hiding his emotions.
Mostly, anyway. He always did say she was the only one who could read him like a book. That wasn’t exactly true, but she did know his tells. Not just in the things he did, but in his voice and facial tics. If they played poker, Emily was pretty sure she could beat him, if not on every hand, then most of them.
But that was her skill, after all. She analyzed and executed.
Step one: Know your objective.
Step two: Gather intel.
Step three: Formulate a plan.
And finally, step four: Execute that plan.
Cole was often the instrument that was used to execute those plans. He was the operator. The shooter. He was who you sent into places where his life was secondary to the objective. It wasn’t like anyone ever put a gun to his head and forced him to do any of it. He knew his role, and he thrived in it.
And she loved him.
She hadn’t expected it, but it had happened nonetheless.
She loved him dearly, and she would stay alive for him, even if she didn’t know if he was still alive, somewhere out there.
And she had one less resource now because Greg was dead.
Probably.
No, there was no probably about it. He was dead. If he weren’t, she would have heard from him already. Greg hadn’t started screaming only to stop because he’d found safety from those dogs.
And that was exactly what had caused Greg’s screams to begin with.
The dogs.
Big black Labrador dogs with bloodshot eyes. Their presence was cause to rethink everything she thought she knew about what was happening out there. Things were becoming more complicated—not that they hadn’t been already.
As if things weren’t already hard enough…
And they were still down there. The two surviving dogs. Maybe even more of them, but it was hard to tell in the darkness of the attic with only her heartbeats and slightly labored breathing to keep her company. Memories of Afghanistan, the last time she found herself in such a situation, sprang to mind. She’d gotten out of that one, but it hadn’t been easy.
This wasn’t going to be easy, either, from the looks of it.
How many more dogs were there? She’d spotted eight from her window, but who knew how many of them were in the pack but hadn’t shown themselves?
She could hear the soft—painfully soft, at times—movements of paws below her. Directly below her. However many there were, they were moving around as if they wanted her to know that they were still down there. As if she couldn’t already smell the stink from their blood-matted furs.
And they did smell, like dogs that hadn’t been bathed in a while. Was that the result of the blood on them or something else? Did dogs smell like this normally?
She didn’t know. She’d never owned dogs. Had never wanted to own one. They were always too much work. Too much money and effort and trouble.
…Just like a baby.
Emily sat in the darkness and put her hand on her stomach. The last few days hadn’t given her any obvious pregnancy belly, but she could feel the changes in her body. Cole’s unborn child was inside her, and it was her job to keep it safe. And that was what she would do: She would keep it safe even if she had to shoot every dog in the world to do it.
She leaned down until she was flat against the attic door and pressed her ear against the wooden slab that separated her from her hunters. It was easy to hear their movements below; they weren’t being quiet about it, either. Again, almost as if they wanted her to know they were down there.
Greg was gone—she didn’t have any evidence to support that with absolute certainty, but it was better if she didn’t wait for him to come rescue her—so that left Savannah. Emily just hoped the girl was smart enough not to open the backroom door when she heard Greg’s screams and gunfire.
Emily sat back up and spent the next few minutes looking over the attic. Now that her eyes had somewhat adjusted to the semidarkness, she could see more of it.
Insulation covered the floors, but there was a raised platform in the center that she climbed onto now. It gave her a good overview of her surroundings, including the snake-like electrical lines, conduits, and flexible air conditioner ducts that ran to various parts of the house.
But it didn’t matter how long she looked; there was no other way out of the attic. The only entrance and exit was the same door she had come through, the same door with however many infected Labradors circling underneath, waiting for her.
Dogs. I’m being hunted by dogs.
What the fuck is happening to the world?
That last thought made her chuckle to herself.
Fucking dogs.
She was reminded of that book by Stephen King. Cujo. It was about a killer dog.
Why am I scared of dogs? I have a rifle, for God’s sake. Fuck Cujo.
She didn’t just have a rifle but two spare magazines for it. Counting the half-loaded mag already in the weapon, that was more than enough bullets.
Emily hoped that was enough bullets anyway as she crawled back to the door and sat next to it. She placed the barrel of the SIG716 against a random part of the door and pulled the trigger.
Pop! as the bullet fired into the floor below, the gunshot echoing loudly in the closed confines of the attic around her. Her ears rang for a few seconds before settling back down.
Emily leaned down and peered through the inch-wide opening she’d created in the slab of wood.
Two of them—maybe even the same two that had survived when she fired down earlier—sat on their haunches, side by side, looking back up at her. There was a bloody patch down there, impossible to miss. It was evidence of the other two dogs she’d managed to kill earlier. Except their bodies were gone.
What had happened to the two dead dogs? Had the others taken them away? Why would they do that?
She stopped thinking about what she couldn’t see and focused on what she could: Bloodshot eyes watching her back, accompanied by a slow but growing snarl. Their mouths opened slightly, revealing white fangs and dripping saliva. Pieces of flesh and what might have been clothing clung to their teeth.
It was unsettling, looking into their eyes. They didn’t look right—they didn’t feel right—and she didn’t need to be a dog person to know that. Whatever had happened to them, it hadn’t affected them the same way it had her neighbors. She could see the evil in their eyes, but it was a calm evil, not the bloodlust she’d spotted in Don’s. The fact that they didn’t bark but only let out that slow, grinding growl made it, somehow, even worse.
These animals were different from the human psychos. How? That was the question.
Then again, there were a lot of questions she couldn’t answer right now.
Two dogs. That’s all there were.
Maybe.
Were there more than two down there? Would they be smart enough to hide the rest of the pack and try to draw her down, only to swarm when sh
e was within reach?
That was a bit of a stretch.
Or was it? How much did she know about what had happened to these animals? Had they gotten smarter? Or were they always smart and had just developed a killer instinct? Certainly, she didn’t think Don Taylor had gotten any smarter. He’d just lost all of his inhibitions. There was a big difference.
How much chance was she willing to take that there were only two of the animals down there? They clearly could see her eyeball peering through the hole she’d made with the bullet looking down at them.
It was unsettling.
It was goddamn unsettling.
Emily pulled away from the hole as a shiver ran up and down her spine. Her first instincts were to open the door and spray the second-floor hallway with the SIG716. Empty the entire magazine and slap in one of the spares.
But she didn’t, because it felt too easy. It was just too easy. Almost as if the animals were trying to get her to do just that.
Did that make sense?
Did any of this make sense?
No. Definitely not.
She sat in silence for a moment, trying to figure out the best course of action. She couldn’t stay inside the attic forever. It was too hot, for one; there were already beads of sweat on her forehead and dripping down her cheeks. Her clothes were already growing damp. Beyond that, eventually she’d need to eat. And drink. And a hundred other necessities—
A ray of sunlight coming through a tiny hole in the ceiling slightly to her right.
Emily glanced over and smiled. How had she missed it the first time?
Then she thought about her husband, Cole, and how he would have a fit had he seen it because it had to be the result of shoddy construction. There was nothing Cole hated more than shoddy workmanship. His mantra was, “If you have one job to do, you better damn well do it right!”
Whoever had put the ceiling together hadn’t done it right, because there was a hole along one of the slanted sides that allowed sunlight to pierce into the attic. She hadn’t seen it before because she hadn’t looked closely enough.
If she couldn’t go down, then maybe the way out was up.
Chapter 20
The SIG716 was down to less than half a magazine, and she spent the remaining bullets on a patch of roof, punching hole after hole into it. She attempted to make a rough square outline, putting the first four bullets where the edges should be, then began connecting the dots along the sides and top. When she ran dry, she put in a second mag and continued the work, each loud pop! like booming thunder inside the dark attic.
A small piece of the roof finally caved in with the second mag’s fifth bullet. A few inches, but not enough to climb through. It was, though, evidence that her plan was working and the part of the ceiling she was trying to carve a makeshift window in was showing signs of success. There was now enough light pouring inside that she could see a large and bright halo around a part of the attic, making moving around easier.
She emptied the second magazine and replaced it with her third and final one. Instead of wasting it, too, she went into a slight crouch under the target area and began striking it with the buttstock of the rifle. It took a half dozen blows, but finally the section broke free and heavy shingles slid down around her feet, revealing a square hole about two-by-two-foot wide.
Emily took a step back, waiting to see if anything would fall through the opening. What were the chances the dogs could climb up the side of the house and make it to the roof? Probably unlikely.
After about a minute of nothing happening, she walked forward, slung the rifle, and stood on her tiptoes. She had made sure to attack the roof at a low enough point in the slope to make breaking through it more efficient. That also made grabbing the sides and pulling herself up and out much easier.
She poked her head into the sunlight and breathed in fresh air. Her body was still tingling from contact with the insulation, but a cool breeze from the lake behind her house seemed to wash most of that discomfort away.
Emily glanced all around her before pulling the rest of her out of the attic and onto the rooftop, then made sure she got solid footing against the angled side of the roof before standing up. Thank God she had put on sneakers, otherwise she would have been running around up here barefooted and slipping and sliding her way with every step.
There was a slight wind coming in from the lake to her left and she shivered a bit, but the sun was bright and warm and more than enough to counter the close proximity to the water. She thought about all those mornings walking out into her backyard and staring at Bear Lake, sometimes watching retirees in kayaks fishing next to her dock. They were always so bundled up because out in the water, the temperature was different than on land.
The shingles were slippery and prickly at the same time, which was an interesting feeling as she made her way up the slope of the roof. She kept herself slightly bent forward because she didn’t completely trust her body to maintain a constantly stable balance. All it would take was one wrong step and she would tumble down to the ground below.
And what was down there? Maybe friends of the two Cujos waiting on the second-floor hallway, or maybe the Cujos themselves. Would they still prowl around the hallway if they knew she was already gone? Did they know she had climbed out of the attic? Anyone could have heard her gunshots, especially since she had fired nearly two full magazines.
For a moment, she thought about Savannah. The girl would have definitely heard the gunfire. Hopefully she hadn’t left the backroom, even if every instinct in her body told her to flee. Emily wasn’t sure she could have stayed perfectly still in there if someone was firing guns inside the same house with her.
Then again, she wasn’t a scared seventeen-year-old girl.
She kept going up the incline, always making sure of her footing first before extending the other leg. The rifle slung over her back was heavier than before, but she knew that was just all in her mind. The SIG716 was around ten pounds, not nearly big enough to pull her down as she went up the incline.
Emily had seen a lot from her master bedroom’s second floor window, but standing up on the roof of her house was something else entirely.
“Jesus,” she said softly to herself as more of the world was exposed to her.
The subdivision of Arrow Bay looked different from this vantage, and that difference only increased as she slowly, cautiously made her way up to the highest point of her roof, her sneakers crunching and constantly threatening to slide against the slippery shingles.
She finally reached the very peak and stopped.
From up here, she could see all of the neighborhood, along with the subdivisions of Pebble Creek to her left and Dove Sand to her right, across the waters of Bear Lake that separated the three waterfront communities. The homes around here were silent and still, as if everyone had simply picked up and abandoned their expensive properties without telling her.
Of course, she knew that wasn’t the case. The people around here were either dead, infected, or hiding. Or a combination of the three. Maybe not just from each other, but dogs, too. How many of the animals were roaming around out there? How many were hunting in packs?
She focused on the country road that connected Arrow Bay with the rest of the city, and the world beyond. It was empty, with no signs of cars anywhere. On the other side was a wall of trees, the beginning of a vast woodlands area that separated this quiet section of the world with the noise and pollution of the city. She had driven through those woods to get to civilization often in the first few weeks of moving here, and it never ceased to amaze her how empty and devoid of life it was. At least until stores and homes began popping up on the other side. But there were long stretches where those things weren’t present.
The complete lack of activity on the waters of Bear Lake was more obvious than it had been from inside her house. There were no jet skis or boats moving around, which was something you could never say about Bear Lake. People didn’t move here just to look at the water, af
ter all; they wanted to enjoy it.
If she had any doubts that the world had been irrevocably changed when Barnes tried to kill his friend Greg, and her neighbors went on rampages outside her house, there was no doubt now as she looked around her at the stillness. The absence of anything resembling life among the homes and streets and lake was a striking reminder that the world was not the same anymore.
Where was everyone? How could the world have simply…stopped?
But that was exactly what had happened. People had gone mad, the phones and power went down, and state and federal governments were AWOL. Was there anyone out there besides her and a scared 17-year-old girl hiding in Cole’s room?
Where was everyone?
She turned completely around until she was staring into the east, toward the heart of the city. Cole would be there when everything happened, trying to get home to her with Donnie in the Mercedes.
Cole.
Her Cole.
In all the chaos and violence and psychos, Cole would have found a way to survive. He had to, because she didn’t know what she would do if he didn’t.
Emily put her hand on her stomach again. Cole’s child. She had to safeguard it, no matter what—
A loud, piercing scream ripped across the wide-open skies.
Emily hurried to the other side of the roof and looked out toward the single gate in and out of Arrow Bay. It was a good two to three blocks from where she stood, but thanks to her new vantage point, she could just make out two figures rushing toward it.
Someone was making a run for freedom.
She had no idea who the two figures were, but she could have told them they weren’t going to make it. There had been three of them to start with, but the third was on the ground as a large figure pummeled them with something that looked like a baseball bat. The other two seemed stuck between continuing to run for the gate and stopping to help, but they must have quickly decided there was nothing they could do, because they kept on running.
They weren’t the first three to attempt to escape by foot, she saw. There were cars parked in front of the gate—at least one of them had to be Pete’s—but two others that she could see. And dark black forms that could be bodies lay unmoving between them and the way out of Arrow Bay.
Fall of Man | Book 2 | Homefront Page 16