“Wish I was a little more paranoid. Then I might still have an arm.”
“Is it that bad?”
“Ever had the Jaws of Life clamping down on your arm?”
“Can’t say I have.”
“Well, it’s no fun, let me tell you.”
“I’ll just have to take your word for it.”
Greg winced when she pulled the last layer of gauze off his arm to reveal the wound. Or wounds. There were teeth marks from his elbow all the way to his wrist. More than one dog had gotten their mouth around his forearm. He’d been lucky that one of those dog’s fangs hadn’t broken an important vein, or he might have bled out in the hallway instead of somehow making it back in here.
“Anywhere else?” Emily asked.
“No, just the arm. I guess I got lucky.”
I wouldn’t exactly put it that way, she thought but said, “Yeah. It could have been worse.”
“A lot worse.”
“How did you make it back here?”
“Again, mostly luck. Something was happening outside the house at the same time, and a couple of the dogs took off. I only had two to deal with, and I was able to fend them off with the shotgun. They’re like the psychos; crazy, but not stupid.”
“And you didn’t get any of them?”
“No. That’s bad, right? I mean, I couldn’t even take down one of the suckers.”
“You did the best you could.”
“Barely,” Greg said, frowning. “Did you get any of them? I heard shooting later.”
“A couple.” She nodded at the SIG716 she’d tossed on the floor. “With that. But it stopped working, and I had to use it as a baseball bat later.”
Emily paused.
“What?” Greg said. “What is it?”
“The bodies are gone.”
“The dogs?”
“Yeah.”
“Why’d they take the bodies?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. It makes no sense.”
Greg chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” she asked.
“You, trying to make sense of all this. I stopped doing that yesterday.”
She managed a smile. “I can’t help it. It’s what I used to do for a living. Make sense of things.”
Greg went quiet as she worked. Finally, he glanced over at Savannah, still pacing across the room. “She saved my life.”
“Did she?”
“She opened the door at the right time. Otherwise I’d be banging on it, and those dogs would probably have caught up to me. They weren’t going to stay back forever. Sooner or later, the ones that left the house would have come back. Then instead of just two, who knows how many there would have been.”
Emily looked over at the teenager. If Savannah was eavesdropping on their conversation, she didn’t show it.
“They’re different,” Greg said.
She looked back at him. “Who?”
“The dogs.”
“Different how?”
“They’re infected, like the psychos, but they’re cooperating. You saw that, right?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“It’s weird.”
“It’s something, all right.”
“Anyways. Feels like I’m always needing help.”
“We all need help, especially now.”
“You don’t.”
“Me too.”
“When?”
“When I begged you to stay with me, remember?”
He smiled. “Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Beg me to stay? Or did you do something else?”
Emily smiled to herself and thought, Maybe he’s not so dumb after all.
She said, “Let’s not worry about any of that right now.” She let the roll of bloodied gauze drop to the floor. “Where’s the first aid kit?”
“I’m not sure…”
“Savannah,” Emily said.
The girl stopped pacing to turn in their direction.
“Where’s the first aid kit?” Emily asked.
“Here,” Savannah said. The teenager picked it up from one of the shelves and walked over with the box. “Is he going to be okay?”
Surprisingly, yes, Emily thought, but of course she didn’t say that.
She said instead, “He’ll be fine as long as I disinfect his wounds.” She put the box down next to her and opened it.
“Should I have disinfected it first?” Greg asked.
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Then, almost embarrassingly, “I wasn’t sure how.”
She picked up the bottle of alcohol from the first aid kit. “This is going to hurt.”
Greg sighed. “A lot?”
“Yeah.”
“I guess it’s unavoidable?”
“Only if you want to stay alive.”
“Oh. In that case…”
“You gonna live?” Savannah asked Greg as she walked closer, peering down at his bloody arm—but not too close.
“Ask her,” Greg said, nodding at Emily.
“Probably,” Emily said.
Greg’s eyes widened. “‘Probably?’”
Emily smiled. “I’m just kidding. You’ll live.”
“Thank God,” Savannah said. “Because you looked…”
“Like shit?” Greg finished for her.
“I was gonna say you looked pretty bad before.”
“Like shit. You can say it.”
Savannah smiled. “Like shit, yeah.”
Greg chuckled, and so did Emily. She didn’t know why, but the fact they were having a good laugh—or, well, a good chuckle—over Greg’s situation—over all three of their situations—made it somehow comical to her. Then again, if she didn’t allow herself to enjoy the moment even a little bit, she might go insane.
As she worked on Greg, Emily glanced back toward the door, wondering what was happening out there.
Was Don alive?
Were the dogs?
Who was out there right now? Don, the dogs, or some other psycho? How many were in her house, stalking prey?
She remembered talking to Cole the first night they moved here. They were sleeping on futons at the time because the mattresses they’d ordered had suffered a delay in shipping.
“Are you happy?” he’d asked her.
“I’m always happy,” she’d answered honestly.
“Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re here,” she’d said.
He’d smiled, before saying, “We should have a baby.”
Emily had laughed, thinking he was making a joke.
But he hadn’t been.
A month later, she was pregnant, and they were scheduling his office on the second floor to be turned into a nursery.
And now, Cole was out there, somewhere.
Alive.
Not psycho, like Don.
She didn’t know how she knew, she just knew.
Chapter 25
Greg was reluctant, but she’d convinced him to take a well-deserved daytime nap. She’d given him a combination of painkillers and sedatives to help with that. The meds hadn’t come with the first aid kit when she’d purchased it, of course, but she’d added them later.
Just in case, right, Cole?
Afterward, Emily took a minute to herself in the bathroom and really got a good look at her face. The bridge of her nose wasn’t broken, but it was bruised and wouldn’t look the same for a few days. After she cleaned out all the specks of dry blood along her upper lip and dabbed at the bruises along her cheeks and neck, she looked almost presentable. Almost.
Bowman’s ambush had done a number on her appearance, but all things considered it could have been a lot worse. For one, she could have been dead, but she wasn’t. And neither was the baby inside her. Bowman had a lot to do with that. Even now, she wondered if telling him that she was pregnant had been the catalyst for him throwing her the knife. He hadn’t had to do that, but he did anyway.
>
Thank you, Bowman. My baby thanks you, too.
Emily put her hand over her stomach and thought about Cole again. He was out there, somewhere, probably making his way home to her right now. Cole would not let anything stop him. When he was determined, he saw it to the end. That was what had made him such a formidable operative in the field. When he’d decided to sell RistWorks, he hadn’t thought twice about it.
“I’m going to sell the company,” he’d said to her a week after she’d told him she was pregnant.
“You love that company,” she’d said.
“It’s a thing. You can’t love a thing, Em. I love you.” Then, placing a hand over her stomach—not that there was anything to even show she was pregnant at the time—he’d added, “And I love us.”
That was the end of that subject. She’d known better than to try to talk him out of it. Once Cole made up his mind to do something, he went through with it. The man she’d married was different in many ways from the one she’d first met. He was tamer, for one thing, and there wasn’t any of the danger in his eyes she’d recognized right away on their first meeting. Over time, he’d mellowed even further. He’d done it for her. For them.
Even so, Emily knew that the old him was still in there, lying dormant. She’d hoped it would never surface again, but after the last three days, she wasn’t so sure now. Cole had often told her about an inner voice that tormented him, while at the same time keeping him alive in times of great stress. It was the devil on his shoulder, cajoling him to do things that weren’t necessarily…nice. But, at the same time, were necessary.
“You’re the angel on the other shoulder,” he’d said. “The one that keeps me in check. That keeps the Voice quiet.”
“‘The Voice?’” she’d asked.
“That’s what I call it. I don’t have a name for it. Just the Voice.”
“Sounds…creepy.”
He’d laughed. “You don’t know the half of it, baby.”
Now, as she cleaned herself up, Emily thought, Listen to the Voice, Cole. If it keeps you alive, if it brings you back to me, listen to the Voice.
She left the bathroom and went straight to the duffel bags on the table. She hadn’t bothered to take a closer look at the SIG716, and instead picked up one of the Remington pump-action shotguns and grabbed a pouch for extra shells. If she was going to have to deal with dogs, a weapon with spreading power, that could take out multiple targets at close proximity, was the much better choice.
Emily rearmed herself with another one of the Glocks from the duffel bags and slipped two spare mags into the pouches around her waist. At least Bowman hadn’t stripped her of that, even if he had everything else. The combination of extra magazines and shells in the pouch put a noticeable extra weight on her, so she wasn’t going to be running marathons anytime soon. But she wouldn’t need to anyway as long as she had the shotgun and pistol on hand.
She added a knife to her arsenal. It looked like something used for hunting and not law-enforcement like the other weapons. Just over 11 inches in overall length, 6.5 inches of that making up a single-sided blade with a serrated back, and just under 5 inches of smooth wooden handle. Sharp enough to slice a fly out of the air, so Emily handled it cautiously, slipping the black nylon sheath along her belt, on her left hip. You never knew when you’d run out of bullets and need a backup.
Savannah was sitting against the wall next to the door, her arms folded across her bent knees, and staring forward. Emily wasn’t sure what the kid was looking at, but she’d seen that expression before.
The teenager was shell-shocked.
Whether it was because of how the world had fallen apart or watching Pete get his head bashed into the wall by a crazed Chrisman (or whatever his real name had been), or the events of the last few days, Emily didn’t know. But the kid barely moved when Emily sat down next to her and leaned the shotgun against the wall to her left.
Emily reached over and put a comforting hand on the teenager’s drooping shoulder. “You okay?”
Savannah shook her head. “No.”
Of course not. What a stupid question.
Emily said, “What made you go out there looking for me in the first place?”
“Greg.”
“He told you to?”
“No. He wanted to. But I saw the condition he was in…”
“So you did it first, before he could.”
“Yes.”
“That was brave of you.”
“Nah. It was stupid.” She lifted her right arm and stared at the bruised wrist, wrapped in bandages. Emily had done that after taking care of a now-snoring Greg. “I almost shot you.”
“We already went through this. You didn’t.”
“But I almost did.”
“But you didn’t.”
Savannah sighed and didn’t say anything else.
“You helped Greg back into the room?” Emily asked.
The teenager nodded. “I heard the shooting, then Greg screaming. I don’t know why, but I opened the door, and there he was, running right at me. The look on his face…”
“You saved his life.”
“Maybe.”
“You did, Savannah.”
“I guess.” She went quiet and stared off at nothing again.
“I’m sorry about Pete,” Emily said. “I don’t know if I said that already.”
“Thanks,” Savannah said, leaning forward, into her knees. “We were going to get married. After college.” She shrugged. “That was the plan, anyway. But you know that famous saying about plans?”
“What’s that?”
“Life is what happens when you’re busy making plans. I don’t know who said it, but it’s pretty famous.”
Emily smiled. She’d heard it before. Many times, in fact, but it surprised her that Savannah had, too.
“Truth is, we would probably have broken up long before then,” the teenager continued. “I mean, that’s what happens, right? You’re busy making all these plans for the future, and then life gets in the way. You go different places, meet other people…” Savannah sighed. “It was a stupid dream.”
“Dreams are never stupid. We wouldn’t have anything to live for if we didn’t have them. Never, ever give up on your dreams, Savannah.”
The girl nodded, not that Emily actually believed she was convinced.
They didn’t say anything else for a moment.
Then, finally, after too much awkward silence, Emily said, “Pete was a good kid.”
“He was,” Savannah said, and closed her eyes.
Emily lapsed into silence, thinking about her own Pete. Except his name was Cole and he was out there, coming back to her.
She knew it.
She didn’t know how she knew, she just knew it.
After what seemed like forever, the girl said, “What are we going to do now?”
Emily didn’t answer her right away. She didn’t know how.
“Emily?” Savannah said.
“I don’t know,” Emily said. She was surprised she had answered the teenager so truthfully.
When she glanced over, Emily was shocked to see a mild smile on Savannah’s face.
“What?” Emily said.
“I thought you’d lie. You know, tell me everything was going to be okay.”
“You’re old enough to know better. And you’ve been through too much for me to do that to you.”
“I guess.” Then, with a pursed smile and looking across the darkened room at a snoring Greg, “He looked so bad at first. Still does now, but at the time… He was bleeding everywhere. You didn’t see it because I wiped most of it up with rags.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s your house. I didn’t want you to freak out.”
Emily smiled at the thought of having a freak-out over the sight of blood. She would have been concerned that her dream home had turned into a bloodbath—just as she’d been the last three days—but that was a far cry from freaking out.
/>
“I thought I might have to give him some of my blood,” Savannah was saying.
“You’d have to be the same blood type as him,” Emily said.
“We are.”
“Hmm?”
“We’re the same blood type. Both O-negative.”
Emily looked over at the girl. “How do you know that?”
“He told me.”
“That he’s O-negative?”
Savannah nodded. “Yeah. Why?”
“How do you know you’re O-negative? Don’t get me wrong, Savannah, but most adults don’t know their blood type.”
“I used to be sick a lot as a kid. Went in and out of hospitals for a while.” Emily must have been staring at the teenager strangely, because the girl added, “What? Did I say something wrong?”
“I’m O-negative, too,” Emily said.
“You are?”
Emily nodded, then got up and hurried across the room.
“Emily?” Savannah said from behind her.
“I need to ask Greg about something.”
She heard Savannah getting up and running after her. “About what?”
Emily didn’t answer her. Instead, she shook Greg awake.
The contractor didn’t open his eyes.
“He’s really out of it,” Savannah said, standing next to her.
“I gave him some strong sedatives and painkillers,” Emily said.
She shook Greg harder. He groaned and tried to turn over, but bumped against the sofa’s back. Thankfully he hadn’t attempted the maneuver in the wrong direction or he would have crushed his heavily bandaged arm.
“What are you going to ask him?” Savannah asked.
“About Barnes.”
“Who’s Barnes?”
“The dead guy upstairs.”
She shook Greg even harder until the contractor finally opened his eyes and stared up at her. Then he looked over at Savannah.
“Greg,” Emily said when the big man started to get up.
His eyes were wide open, and he snapped from Emily to Savannah and back again. “What? What happened? Something wrong?”
“No,” Emily said, sitting down across from him.
“What happened? Is it over?”
Emily pursed a smile. I wish.
She said, “You told Savannah your blood type is O-negative?”
Greg squinted back at her, as if he couldn’t quite understand what she was trying to say. Emily could see the gears turning, trying to shake off the cobwebs of sleep and medication behind his eyes.
Fall of Man | Book 2 | Homefront Page 20