Simon
Riding on the cramped rear bench seat with Melora and Sam is uncomfortable, even if he does appreciate the fact that her thigh is touching his, but Hardy had wanted to act as Cory’s spotter. They both know he has experience in sniper work because he holds this position from the south watchtower in town most nights now. He and Cory get along very well, too, and are engaged in animated conversation while he sits in the back with the girls. In a tense silence. Melora seems oblivious and has earbuds jammed into her ears listening to something that sounds like heavy metal at a blaring decibel, but Sam is quite aware of the tension between them because she is sitting stiff as a board.
Simon hands her the extra magazine for her pistol.
“Thanks,” she whispers and resumes staring straight forward.
He looks at her out of his peripheral vision and then slightly more direct. He could stare at her all day, she’s so lovely. Her black eyelashes are so long they nearly touch her dark eyebrows. Although she won’t look at him, he knows those mysterious blue eyes of hers so well and the secrets they hold. Her soft, full lips purse as if in deep contemplation. Then she surprises Simon by turning to look squarely at him.
“What?” she asks quietly.
His eyes dart to his knees momentarily, but every ounce of his being tells him to dig deep into his gut and find the bravery he needs to look back. So he does.
“You. I was just looking at you,” he says gently so as not to upset her. “You look pretty tonight.”
And she does. Her short, black wool jacket blends seamlessly with her hair, but the stark contrast of her dewy pale skin and bright blue eyes stand out against so much darkness.
She elicits a light snort of disbelief, “Yeah, right. I spent all day at the clinic.”
“I know. I was there, too,” he points out. “It was unfortunate that we didn’t get to work together. And odd. Reagan usually has us pair up.”
“Yeah, well, I spent most of the day with our new doctor and nurse showing them our system and how we do things. Really exciting stuff.”
He smiles at her quip, “Yes, but helpful if they’re going to run their own clinic on the community farm that group is going to establish in the spring. At least you got to see your uncle.”
She nods. Simon pushes his hand between them, causing her to jump, unclips her belt holster’s latch, and removes the pistol. He works the slide, sets the safety and places it back, remembering to button the closure again.
“I can do that for myself, you know,” she reminds him with a jaunty tilt of her head.
“Right,” he says. “I know. I just want to make sure you’re ready. It just…it just makes me feel better knowing I checked it.”
“Still trying to take care of me?” she asks knowingly and sounding a bit miffed about it.
“Always,” he says without pause or humor.
This causes her to look away sharply.
They travel in silence the rest of the way there until they reach the outskirts of Louisville.
“They said that Parker was spotted on the road near some sanatorium close by,” Cory says.
“Weird,” Melora comments.
“Yes, I suppose so,” Simon agrees. “But if the building is large enough, it could house troops.”
“Do you know how to get there?” Hardy asks.
Cory says, “Yeah, we’re real close. I think we’ll leave the Jeep somewhere around here and go in on foot.”
“This is a big city, and we don’t really know who all could possibly live here, including the President or his men or leftover highwaymen if they were working together,” Simon reminds everyone.
“Right,” Cory agrees and pulls the Jeep into an alleyway that is already littered with abandoned vehicles.
Everyone exits and checks their weapons and night-vision gear. Then they split up into teams. Melora and her brother go east while Simon, Cory, and Sam head in and to the west. Cory runs ahead of them to scout their trail. It doesn’t take long before they are off the concreted roads and on soft ground, the dead grasses long and thick.
“If things go south, try to get back to Fort Knox,” Simon warns her.
“I know,” she says. “I was in on the planning meeting, too.”
“Yes,” he concurs, worried that she’ll come into harm’s way tonight. He attempts small talk while holding back a branch for her on their path, which is overgrown and wild. Cory is leading their way, so he knows his friend won’t walk them into danger. “How is it over on Dave’s compound?”
“You mean, Henry’s farm?”
“Yes, one and the same,” he says, trying not to cringe at the sound of his archnemesis’s name on her lips.
“Fine. Things are settling down now that the highwaymen issue is almost over,” she tells him. “Everyone is less tense and stressed out all the time.”
“That’s good,” he says, actually wanting to know more about her personal life than her everyday life on the compound and the overall, general mood of the place. “And how have you been?”
“Fine,” she says and scowls as a light snow begins falling, coating her hair lightly with white flakes.
“Damn,” he swears. She even glances over at him with surprise. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I’m just starting to wish you’d have stayed back in town.”
“Why? I’ve been snowed on before,” she informs him.
“I know. I just don’t want you to get sick.”
She chuffs through her nose and says, “You could get sick, Arizona boy.”
He doubts this but offers an ‘mm-hm’ instead. Cory has pulled so far ahead of them that he is no longer visible at all, but his voice comes across the radio on Simon’s hip. “It’s just ahead. I don’t see any lights. I’ll scout it out first.”
“Roger,” Simon answers and keeps moving forward.
“Professor, there’s a spot for you inside the woods to the left of our path. Out.”
“Roger that, out.”
A few minutes later, they come to a field, a clearing of sorts where concrete used to be but is now more grass than cement. Simon indicates over his shoulder to the dense woods to his left, and Sam joins him behind a broken down old truck with no windows that was abandoned decades before the fall even happened. It’s good protection. Hardy calls in to let them know they are on the other side of the building also awaiting orders from Cory.
Simon squats low behind the vehicle, and Sam follows suit. They are protected from the weather by the dense overhang of white pine branches, which makes him feel a little better about her being out in these conditions.
“Do you think the new President is staying in Louisville?” she asks quietly.
“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “He’s going to need amenities like access to water and heat.”
“This place probably had water and heat at one time,” she says, observing the dilapidated building in front of them.
“Not going to be easy to heat a building that doesn’t have windows, or many left,” he says. The sanatorium looks to be about five stories, solid brick and concrete and has seen better days. It was likely abandoned many, many years ago. If this were another time, Simon would be creeped out by the old building. Now, he’s seen just about all that there is out there. Having been in so many bad situations, he realizes as an adult that real people, not ghosts and the supernatural, are much more terrifying.
“No, it would be rough to stay here for the whole winter.”
Cory stops him from commenting by saying through the radio, “I think we’re clear, but I think someone was definitely camped out here. I’m on the west side on the second floor. Meet there.”
He and Hardy both answer to the affirmative before Simon stands and leads Sam to the entry door, which is gone. Using their night-vision gear is essential in the dark building. As he goes, he sees what Cory meant by someone having lived there. Debris litters the hallways and stairwell, and it seems like some of it is recent because it is not covered in dust.
“Stay close,” he warns, feeling apprehensive.
“I don’t need to be told. This place is freaking me out. Bet there’s ghosts,” she comments and scoots closer, crowding his space. Simon isn’t about to complain. She’s even holding onto the hem of his coat. “My friends and I went to one of those stupid haunted house attractions once at this old, former school. That was creepy. This is even worse. This is next level nightmare stuff.”
“Just stay close,” he says again grinning. “Not because I’m worried about a ghost snatching you. I just don’t want an actual person to see you. Plus, some of this doesn’t look very stable anymore.”
And it doesn’t. The floor has been saturated by rain many times after having been abandoned, which has caused weak spots that he feels press down slightly and give under his feet.
“Of course, you’re a lot smaller than me,” he observes. “I don’t think you weigh enough to push through the floor.”
“I’m not that much smaller,” she grumbles.
Simon smiles to himself. “I beg to differ.” She harrumphs in the cutest way possible, causing Simon to beam. “You’re quite a lot smaller, actually.”
She marches ahead, practically stomping, so Simon picks up the pace to pass her in case someone other than just Cory is ahead of them. He does a fast scan of each room they pass just to be sure they are still alone. Sam was right. It is spooky with the turned over wheelchairs, the empty, dirty beds, and medical carts and clutter scattered about. The wind rushes in through one of the many missing windows and stirs papers on the floor in front of him.
“There’s Cory,” she announces.
Melora and her brother are already with him.
“Take your time?” Cory jokes.
“Sight-seeing,” Simon returns. “Obviously.”
Melora laughs, but Sam doesn’t. Simon misses her laugh, misses spending time with her and talking. He also misses their more intimate moments, although those were much rarer.
“I don’t think anyone’s here, but it sure seems like people were,” Cory repeats. “And very recently.”
In quite a few of the rooms there are the remains of small fires built inside makeshift firepits formed by old tire rims. It’s not as if the charred, split wood in the bottoms of the rings is still warm, but it does seem fairly recent that they were built. He shows them leftover food that hasn’t even begun to spoil on ceramic plates that were probably from this facility’s kitchen.
“This isn’t good,” Simon comments as they leave the sanatorium.
“Yeah,” Cory agrees, walking in front of him back down their path toward the Jeep.
“Why?” Melora asks.
Simon answers since his friend is putting more distance between them, “It’s bad because a lot of people were recently staying there. A lot. Hundreds at least, maybe more.”
“I agree,” Sam says. “Every floor we explored showed the same.”
“And we passed a big building, a former garage or something,” Hardy tells them. “And there were the same signs of people in there, too.”
“And now they’re on the move,” Sam remarks with trepidation in her voice.
When they reach the Jeep, Cory announces, “I’m going out on foot. Professor, take the vehicle and circle back for me. Give me a few hours to see if I can’t get a good trace on their trail.”
“We’ll stay with you, Cory,” Melora offers. “We’ve got our own fair share of experience with tracking. It was one of the few ways we were able to keep the kids safe by scouting out areas beforehand.”
“I think that would be alright,” Cory says. “You ok with just Sam, Professor?”
“Yes, we’ll be fine. I’ve got our radio,” he says. “I’ll just call in a drone strike.”
His friend laughs, so do Melora and Hardy, but not the one person he’d wanted to make laugh. She looks irritated, probably at the prospect of driving around the city with just him.
“Head northeast,” his friend orders. “See if you can find any other camps. Be careful once you hit the city. Last time any of us was up here, it wasn’t very safe.”
“Got it,” Simon agrees with a nod.
They leave Cory, and Simon gets an instant, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach as he watches his friend disappear in the rear-view mirror. The snow has coated the ground and the tops of buildings and houses as he navigates through the city. The buildings also get taller and taller, which lets him know he’s coming closer to the center of the city. Simon plans to avoid most of that area. As in many larger, more densely populated cities, there are always bands of people, sometimes violent ones, that clan together in the city centers.
“Where do you think we should look?” Sam asks as she holds her bare hands directly against the heating vents in front of her.
“Anywhere that would house a lot of troops,” he states and reaches for her left hand only to have Sam try to yank back. “Mine are warm.”
“I don’t need you to warm me up, Simon,” she states emphatically and pulls hard enough to dislodge her hand from his. “I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“No, not a little girl anymore, indeed,” he murmurs, thinking of how beautiful she has become and curvaceous. Her curves could stop traffic. They stop his brain from functioning correctly.
Instead of arguing the logic of warming her hands for her, Simon concentrates on the road before him and where they are going. It would be nice if they had a GPS system that still works. Unfortunately, they are going on memory alone. Simon has only been to Louisville one other time on a supply trip because it is simply too far to travel with any frequency.
“Simon, stop!” she blurts, causing him to slam on the brakes and make the Jeep slide a good five to ten feet. “Lights!”
He peers through the darkness and the dense snow and locates the source. Then he clicks off the headlights on the Jeep and pulls to the side of the road, leaving it idling.
“What is that over there?” he asks more rhetorically than anything else.
“I’m not sure,” she answers anyway. “I’ve been to Louisville a few times, but it’s so different now. I’m not sure what’s what.”
“That’s ok,” he allays. “I don’t expect you to know your way around. We’ll go in slowly, on foot. Let me find a place to stash the Jeep.”
It doesn’t take long. There is an abandoned car wash, one of the high-tech newer ones that also included a coffee bar for guests to get their caffeine fix while their vehicles went through the spraying jets, synchronized to hip-hop beats, and neon lights and coordinating paint. Apparently, not everyone’s car got washed because there are three in line and two in the vacuum bays. Simon finds a spot under the overhang in the hand-drying area and parks next to a black Lexus SUV. On the other side is a brick wall, so their Jeep should be well-concealed and hidden from potential thieves.
“Ready?” he asks quietly and pockets the keys.
She nods nervously.
“Want to wait here for me?”
Sam vigorously shakes her head. “No way. I’m not waiting here.”
Simon pauses a moment and says, “Just stay close. With the snow picking up, we need to be careful not to lose each other.”
They move out after locking the Jeep and then cross the main road where they sift into a neighborhood of older, small, ranch style brick homes. Simon leads her to the rear of one such home and sees that there is a straight path of connected back yards, probably open to one another due to a fencing restriction by a homeowners’ association. Not a single home is illuminated. Most appear to be looted. The yards slope down behind each home and create a ditch of sorts that leads into the vast darkness ahead of them. Simon decides to stay close to the backs of the houses and doesn’t venture out into the open with her. Trees even older than the neighborhood were left standing where possible and offer excellent protection and cover should they need it.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog howls, or perhaps it is an actual wolf. He’s not sure, but Simon doesn’t want to linger too long in the area in case it’s a predator. Sam has a tender heart for animals. He’d hate to kill one in front of her.
He is well aware of the fact that they are leaving very easily traceable footprints in the deepening snow, which has piled up at least an inch on the ground. All he can hope now is that it snows a whole lot more so that their prints will eventually be covered again.
“Simon, over there,” she says, pointing.
They have come to a dead end in the street and ahead of them is a chain link fence, a tall one. There is a rusted red sign hanging askew, and Simon wipes away the snow and rights it so that they can see what it says.
“Do Not Enter,” Sam reads aloud. “No kidding. As if the chain link fence wasn’t enough.”
“What’s over there?” he questions.
They both spy closer through the fence, and Simon finds himself squinting. Then he brings up his rifle and looks through the scope. They should be seeing the source of that light by now.
“Hey, I know this place,” Sam recalls and tugs his jacket sleeve. “Simon, I’ve been here.”
He lowers his rifle and regards her just as a searchlight swings their way.
“Sam, over here,” he urges frantically and grabs her arm to haul her along. He takes cover stooping low behind a long wooden deck on the nearest home. The bright beam of a searchlight glides right over their heads. Apparently, they’ve found the light source.
“Do you think someone saw us?” she whispers nervously.
“I don’t think so,” he answers. “Let’s hide in this house so we can see better through a window. They may run patrols if it’s a big group. Let’s not get caught out in the open.”
Simon stands but hunches over and takes her to the rear-facing garage’s man door. He tries the knob and finds it unlocked, so he goes in first. There is a large, long car in the garage bay that looks like something an older person would drive. It’s at least sixty years old if he were to guess.
The door to the interior is locked, but Simon is able to twist hard on the cheap knob and gain entry. Behind him, Sam closes the garage door again. It’s easy to do runs like this with her because she already knows to do things like this. He’s been on runs with men from town who don’t know as much. She does the same with the door to the kitchen after she has entered and also locks it.
Simon does a quick scan of the entire house in about thirty seconds. It’s a one level, three-bedroom, two bath ranch and probably less than eleven hundred square feet. Then he returns to her where she has moved into the dining room right off the kitchen.
“Simon, I know that place!” she whispers excitedly.
“What is it?”
“Churchill Downs,” she answers and waits as if he knows what she means. He just shakes his head and shrugs. “The racetrack. You know, part of the Triple Crown?”
Sam groans with frustration at his own lack of awareness.
“Sorry, you’re speaking another language.”
“The horse race? Seriously? It’s only like the most famous track in the world, Simon,” she says in a tone that he finds amusing, although he knows she is disappointed by him. “My dad took me to the Derby once.”
“Oh, the Kentucky Derby,” he says as the light bulb clicks on. “Now, I get it.”
“Duh,” she teases with a mischievous grin.
He’d like to tease her back or snatch her into his arms and kiss her for her snotty behavior, but Simon is too preoccupied with trying to figure out who is staying at a race track and why.
“Do you remember the place?”
“Sort of. It was about six years ago. I think I was in middle school when we went, but I remember some of it. Mostly the horses,” she admits with a wistful smile.
“Right. Horses. That’s not gonna help, Sam,” he jokes. “Why would someone set up a base camp at a race track? Anyone. I don’t just mean in case it’s the new President.”
“Well, it was really spacious. There were restaurants, and fancy dining areas and running water at one time. Bathrooms, lots of rooms actually. Plus, all the nice horse stalls. We passed a lot of areas where my dad said the rich people had special select seating. Those areas looked really fancy.”
“Do you think it could house a lot of people then?”
“Oh, yes. It’s huge. Plus, there would be protection already because of all the fencing.”
“Good point,” he says as he sets his rifle against the wall beside the window in the bedroom facing the race track. He pulls out his binoculars and sets about spying. Sam kneels in front of him and does the same. When the spotlight makes its way toward them again, she ducks below the window sill, and he steps to the side behind the cover of the wall.
After the big beam moves on, they both take up their spying positions again.
“Do you think they saw us?”
“No, not in here.”
“No, I mean when we were heading toward the fence?”
Simon dwells on this a moment before answering, “It could be a village of people with regular patrols like our town. But, no, I don’t think they saw us either way.”
“Do you think it’s the President? Coming to murder us all and take over the country?”
“That’s a morbid way of thinking,” he says. “No, I don’t think he’s coming to kill us. I think he’s angry with Robert McClane, and that has nothing to do with us.”
“We’re his enemy. If he wants to take out Robert and Parker for leaving and encouraging others to follow, we’ll be in this fight, too.”
“You won’t be in anything,” he corrects her, getting a snort of disagreement.
“I’ll be in whatever fight I want to be in, Simon Murphy,” she returns with more temper.
“Okay, feisty pants,” he teases, getting a slug to the shoulder.
“You’re so annoying,” she informs him haughtily.
“I thought you found my annoying traits endearing,” he jokes, knowing this isn’t at all true.
“You don’t own me,” she says. “You can’t tell me where to go and what I can do anymore. We aren’t…you know…”
“Married?”
She snorts, “I wasn’t even going to go that far. I just meant together.”
“That could change if you want it to,” he throws out to see what she’ll say.
“I’m not having this conversation right now,” she retorts.
“Ok, we’ll talk when we get to the fort tonight. You’re right. Now isn’t the time to discuss our future.”
“Simon!” she counters angrily.
“Yes?” he asks as if he is innocent and unaware.
Simon turns to glance down at her. Sam is glaring up at him with all the impudence in the world showing on her sweet, lovely face. He leans closer, fully prepared to kiss her when men’s voices send an immediate warning signal to his brain. She heard it, too, because she sucks in a deep, surprised breath. Simon holds a finger to his lips and lowers his night-vision gear again. Then he uses the hand signal to show her to stay put. She vigorously shakes her head, which pisses him off. So he motions with more force this time and receives a reluctant nod and a jutted out chin of defiance.
Then he’s up and moving. The voices sounded distant, but they were there just the same. He sprints carefully to the front windows that provide a street view and doesn’t find anyone.
“Simon!” she fervently whispers as she walks toward him.
“I told you to stay put!” he returns angrily.
She points and says, “I think they’re in the back yard, the same way we came.”
He nods and leads her to the window in the small dining room. Keeping his back pressed to the wall, Simon steals a quick peep.
“They’re gone,” Sam observes. “I think they were walking back the same way we just came.”
“They could find the Jeep. Our tracks are fresh,” he tells her. “If they have any experience tracking, they’re gonna find it.”
“Or us,” she notes.
“We need to move. Fast,” he states and snatches her hand, dragging her through the house and out the front door. “We have to get there before them.”
Still holding onto her, Simon whips his rifle forward. Tonight, instead of his sniper rifle, he’s carrying an HK UMP45 with a conveniently short barrel. It’s easier to maneuver in narrow confines and is something he picked up from a former highwayman, who wouldn’t be needing it again, ever.
They dash carefully, mindful of the wet, slick grass and circumvent the area. He comes to an abandoned gas station near the car wash and pauses a few moments against the cement block wall to allow her to catch her breath and to check the area for safety. They hesitate another second before running across the street. As he rounds the corner of the car wash building, Simon nearly runs down a man. They literally crash together, and Sam cries out a soft squeal of fear.
“Simon!” the man yells with surprise and removes his own night-vision gear.
“Parker?”