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THEY NEEDED TO MOVE faster. Gustavson was getting restless. He’d passed by, giving her the once over four times and his glances were becoming more invasive. Did he think he could see beneath the grime and blood that covered her? If he had the capability to see into her, he’d recognize red loathing and white vengeance. But like most men in positions of tyrannical power, he wanted to lord it over her more. The fighter in her wanted to beat him at his own game, before he attempted anything, but the other captives needed her to do all she could to gather them more time.
She cleared her throat. Lee had asked her to do degrading acts all the time and had guilted her into them more often than she cared to admit. Maintaining stoicism, even when dead people were shot in the head, was a talent she claimed. Brenda had almost lost it when the man was two bodies away from Andy. And he’d called her bluff but had shot another dead one. Thank Heaven, she’d called out when she had.
Gustavson stopped beside her. “Did you need something, mon frère?”
“Have you ever heard of Stockholm’s syndrome?” She held her voice low, between them. But a flush crept up her neck, hopefully adding to the effect she tried to create.
“Stockholm’s? No.” He watched her chest. Sometimes she had hated Rachel for the slimmer build, less rounded curves. But other times, gratitude over her more shapely form filled her. As the man perused the lines of her body with his gaze, she was grateful once more. Her shape would have more impact if she didn’t reek of urine, blood, and sweat.
Husky, her voice demanded he meet her gaze with his. “Stockholm’s is when the person being held lusts after the captor. He becomes her protector and she becomes... his.” Corny, she’d roll her eyes but...
The man’s pupils dilated and he tossed a glance toward the other men supervising the body removal. Daniel stood to the side and watched Brenda with Gustavson, as if he suspected she was up to something but he wanted to see it play out rather than interfere.
Brenda breathed in deep to lift her chest a bit and pressed her hand, fingers splayed, across the tear in the top of her t-shirt, pulling the material down enough to display flesh most men salivated over.
She’d caught his attention and damn but she’d hold it. Through stray strands of hair, Brenda glimpsed another set of bodies leave the gym. Keep going. She tilted her lips with a pout that beckoned, while attempting to add a touch of innocence. All she wanted to do was punch the bastard and run. Think Scarlet O’Hara.
Crossing her arms in front of her, creating a deeper cleavage, Brenda leaned closer to the leader and widened her eyes. “I’ve heard it’s quite common. What do you think?”
A shuffle at the door drew his attention and Brenda worried she’d lose the ground she’d gained. He barked a question in another language and received a short reply. Brenda rested her palm on his arm. He tensed. “Is everything okay?”
And snap. He slapped her into place. She bent over with a hand on her face. But she had his attention along with a stinging cheek. “That’s none of your concern” She bit back her smile. Like dealing with her husband. The games she could play. At least the zone was a comforting one. Men like that were all the same. If she acted like he’d hurt her, he’d be satisfied but move on. But if he could be convinced she’d liked it, things might go her way... or roundabout.
He watched her and not the activity by the door. She returned to her spot in front of him. Lifted her chin and arched her brow. “My concern or not, I’m asking.” A bit of backbone would intrigue him, he’d want to hit her again, but he’d hold back to see how much attitude Brenda would dish. Of course there was a psychobabble term for it, but Rachel was the shrink in the family. Brenda was the trampy nurse... Lee’s bitch, he liked to call her.
Yay for her, she could act the part.
He played to her, interested in her reaction. Brenda braced herself for the next contact. He’d most likely be the man who’d hit harder and harder to see if he could break her. Which could be painful, but Lee had discovered Brenda didn’t break.
“Are you testing me? I’d love to give you to them.” He arched his brow and glanced pointedly at the spot on her neck he’d branded.
Ignoring the meaning in his gaze, Brenda smiled. “Whatever. I could test you, but what good would it do me? If you want to share me, okay.” Brenda shrugged, but prayed hard the bodies would get moved. How would she extract herself from guards intent on doing what their leader wanted? Most likely he was a voyeur. Disgusting. Brenda had to get out too, and had no idea how. “But I’m much better with just one.” She leaned forward and planted her lips full on his, the bottom lip thicker than the top.
He yanked her hair. She couldn’t cry out, his tongue had claimed her mouth. A low wolf call echoed through the cavernous room and comments, while in a different language, had the same meaning that they did in English.
He bit her lip and pulled back. Copper exploded on her tongue. Bastard had made her bleed. Her hand itched to reach up and wipe her face. Eck, if she made it out alive, she’d wash her mouth with bleach and then maybe some Ajax.
Cold and calculating, the eyes on her didn’t convey anything but satisfaction. Frick.
Shots – one, two, three. Guards fell. Others ran for cover but they’d been distracted enough to move into the entryway by the door between the bleachers. They had nowhere to go and dropped like drunks in winter.
Daniel had disappeared.
Fingers like crustacean claws clamped around the nape of her neck. He angled her body in front of his and murmured as if he caressed her with his words. “You play well. If I go down, you go with me.” He backed them further into the gym, headed toward the doors. But bodies lay like tinsel over the basketball court. His foot caught on one and he tripped, dragging her with him. The fall jarred her, twisting her ankle, pain shooting up her leg. She’d be bruised by the next day, if not sooner.
Footsteps pounded into the gym, irregular as they avoided the bodies. Brenda scrambled from his hold, pieces of hair stuck in his grasp. A separate wave of pattering feet left the gym.
Crawling from the leader, Brenda fell onto a dead person. Gustavson’s hands brushed her calves and she kicked in the vicinity of his face. “Run, guys, run! Get out. Hurry.” About eight bodies clamored to stand and rush out. Screams and cries heralded their escape.
The man clutched her ankle. She couldn’t break free.
She looked back, oblivious to the newcomers. Who cared what they fought for. She didn’t. If the man touched her again, she’d regret it – may not survive it. His fingernails cut into her skin like daggers. Focus, Brenda.
He pulled her closer, wrapping his other hand higher up her calf, digging in, a feral light in his eyes. She yelped.
Nothing was sturdy. She grabbed at arms and legs of the dead under her, but the bodies moved as he pulled her back, sliding on the smooth surface. What the hell? Why couldn’t she get free? Someone help! She rolled to her back and loosened his hold enough to break free. The rage mixed with delight in his eyes struck more fear in her than waking to find her house on fire.
He glanced to the doors and back at her. Steely eyes promised revenge. Gustavson scraped at her lower leg with his nails and pushed her away. Standing, he retreated through the doors furthest from the chaos.
She stared after him, chilled. Her fingers numb. Someone needed to chase him down and beat him with a sharp stick. The bastard was going for help. Had to be.
Daniel. Brenda turned and scanned the gym, searching for his tall form. He’d be dangerous, if he infiltrated any local groups. He didn’t have an accent at times and could blend in. And what if he continued to search out Rachel? Brenda didn’t know how to help her sister, if that prick caught up with her.
Help? She needed help. All kinds. Not the kind Gustavson would bring, but maybe what he ran from.
Brenda limped across the gym, gaze darting between the leader’s escape route and the men who had charged in, bullets flying. At least the others had gotten out. But Andy, had he made it? Jenny?
“Aunt Brenda?”
“Cole? What are you doing here?” She caught her breath and wrapped an arm around her oldest nephew, who didn’t look like a nephew should. His jaw angled sharp from the chin, bold and masculine like his father’s. Brenda would term him an “old” fourteen.
“I came with Tom and Josh, Dad’s friend. Tom said you were captured and we found out where you were held. So we came for you.” Cole led her to the door. The mid-afternoon light was brighter than the scratched, clouded Plexiglas roof panels had let on.
“Did you see your dad?” She searched the groups around the bodies spread across the grass yards. Andy had been the first live body out, where was he?
Cole shook his head, his eyes bleak. “Aunt Brenda, Dad died in a fire the day of the attack.”
“Cole, your dad is out there in that group, right now. I promise. He was in there with me. He’s burned and has a severe concussion, but he’s alive.” She squeezed his hand hanging over her shoulder.
He turned eyes that could have been Andy’s toward her, lit with hope but shadowed with fear. “I saw the house fall.”
“I cleaned his face.” She pulled his arm from her shoulders and nudged him to the tree line. “Go. I’m still a little shaken from everything.” He searched her face, but his body angled toward the group. “Go. I’m right behind you.”
Brenda bit her lip from the pain in her leg. The asshole must have damaged some muscle or tendons. Her ankle burned and a Charlie horse was building in her lower calf. Her cheek throbbed as she inventoried her injuries. She reached up and touched the swollen area under her eye. Damn, that one was going to bruise big time.
Heavy footsteps rushed to fall into step beside her. “Rachel? How did you...” Blue eyes traced her face and Brenda blushed. Tall, almost Paul Bunyan in build, the man stared down at her, concern and confusion pushing off him in waves. Maybe it was the lack of freckles, or the difference in size, or maybe even the significant difference in body shapes that snapped the facts in front of him. He blinked and backed up a step. “I’m sorry. You look... you must be Brenda. Rachel sent us to get you.”
Large men could be mean men. No matter how attractive they might be. Lee was reason enough to stay away from men in general, the main reason to avoid attractive men. Like snakes. But this one’s eyes didn’t seem snakelike. Sincerity added softness to what Brenda suspected would be lines and angular planes on a masculine face. Her vision was blurring. Gustavson hit harder than she’d thought.
“I am. Of course she did. And you are?” Wariness was her armor and the man’s confusion turned to professionalism.
“Joshua Hughes. Longtime friend of her deceased husband’s. I have a place by the Parker’s. I’ve been helping Rachel during this hard time.”
For the love, did Rachel have every man in love with her? She wasn’t even widowed for an entire week and she had a man rushing to do her every command. Sick. “Well, she doesn’t need to mourn any more. Andy’s up there by the dead. He was the first one out. You passed him as you came in.”
Surprise wiped the empathy from his gaze. “Will you excuse me?”
She nodded. The pressure in the air relented as he jogged the last twenty feet from her. A man with a presence that could suck the oxygen from her body was not the best guy to have around.
Brenda joined the emotionally charged group, her limp hampering anything resembling speed. Cole knelt beside a body slumped against a tree and shouted at Joshua.
“Tom, you made it to Rachel.” Brenda pressed a hand to her head. “I’m sorry. I should have known you did when I saw Cole. We’re all tired.” Among other things. She lowered her voice and angled her head closer to his. “Most of these people went into the gym with families intact, but had to watch their loved ones die. They’ll most likely crack soon.”
“One already did.” Jenny joined Tom and Brenda in their small huddle. Tom’s smile caught Brenda’s eye, a bright spot in a sea of darkness. His happiness swelled Brenda’s heart.
“Jenny. Tom scuffed his foot, his confidence waning. The butt of his gun poked from his belt.
“Tom. Thanks for coming for us.” She reached for his hand and held on, tossing a glance at Brenda. “I think we should move away from here. The bodies are causing issues for people.”
“Was anyone injured during the shooting?” Brenda performed a visual triage of the standing people. Her gaze slid to Cole and Josh kneeling by the tree. Boots protruded from the space between them. Where was Andy? She crossed the distance, leaving Tom and Jenny to follow or stay. She didn’t care. Andy had to be... “What’s going on?”
Joshua shifted to rest his feet on his heels. Andy’s unconscious face came into view. Cole turned tear-streaked cheeks toward Brenda and it clicked. “Excuse me.” She pushed the tall imposing man out of her way. He moved, but not because she was strong enough to budge him. He, too, grieved.
Brenda pressed her fingertips underneath Andy’s tucked chin. A faint but thready pulse thudded through her fear. She yanked her hand from his skin and pointed her finger in each person’s direction as she called on them. “Tom, pull Andy’s feet until he’s flat on his back. Joshua, I need water from the faucet in the gym. Cole, go with him in case he needs help with returning guards. Jenny, I need material – a shirt, pants, anything to wrap around his hands.” They scrambled to do their assigned tasks.
What had made him pass out? His burns weren’t that severe. The concussion? Maybe, but he’d made it to the tree from the pile and by the looks of things, he’d commandeered the gun of the outside guard. Brenda scanned him, head to toe. Nothing. That she could see.
Tom pulled and flattened Andy on the grass. “Tom, we need to lift up his shirt and maybe pull his pants off.” Water from the drenched grass soaked through her borrowed jeans as she knelt beside his form. She worked the buttons of his flannel and pushed the panels to the sides. Tom pulled on the edges of the t-shirt underneath, revealing long-john material underneath.
Brenda muttered, “Jeesh, Andy, how many layers do you have on?” Reaching under his tee to yank up the long underwear from his side, Brenda’s fingers stuck to his skin. She pulled her hand back, streaked with red. “Oh, crap. We need to roll him.”
Tom pushed Andy her direction until he was on his uninjured side. Pushing his arm above his head and arranging his top leg to act as a kickstand and keep him from rolling forward, Brenda pulled the rest of his clothes out of the way. Wood splinters speckled the edge of the hole in his side. She pressed around the periphery, nothing oozed. The abrasion matched the shape of a rounded square the size of a large man’s hand.
The medicine pack she’d hidden with his body rested on the ground where they’d rolled him from. She nodded toward the bag. “I need some gauze, iodine and a popsicle stick.”
Tom rummaged through the bag, holding a hand on Andy’s hip to keep him steady. One by one, he handed over the items. Brenda, grateful for the moment to think about what to do, took them without a word, lost in thought. Wooden stick in hand, Brenda poked the ravaged flesh.
The biggest concern was if the perineal was ripped or torn. She couldn’t fix anything if it was deep into the abdominal cavity. No thread, needle or sterile environment. Around the torn edges, the skin looked angry and red. But the damage didn’t seem to surpass the muscle and fat layers. Solid heat worked its way through his clothes. Febrile, the heat would never abate with the multiple pounds of material trapping it in.
Infection. Redness, fever, and irritated wound all pointed toward something Brenda could normally suggest an antibiotic for. But pharmacy hours weren’t an option. Nothing was open. And if a pharmacy wasn’t open, no one would be inside to mix the meds.
A warm hand squeezed her shoulder. Startled, she looked up into Joshua’s face.
He held out a thermos. His voice, soft and rambly, melted around her. “The water. What else can we do?”
What could he do? What the hell could she do? Rachel had sent these men, one of them her oldest son to get her sister. It didn’t matter what Brenda needed to do, she’d do it. She and her sister had to get to a point where they could be happy again. And the only way Brenda could initiate the adjustment was to do everything she could to return Andy to Rachel intact.
“He has an infection, needs food, water, and antibiotics.” She looked around, the open space broken up by a few randomly spaced trees leading to a thicker but small wooded area. “And a safe place to rest. This won’t work.”
Joshua knelt beside her. “We have a four-wheeler with a wagon. I can load Andy into the trailer and pull him, but I have no idea what to do with the rest of these people. There are too many to travel together safely. I don’t know how many of the enemy are out there.”
Brenda chewed on her inner cheek. Nineteen scared refugees with the desertion of the first girl. Dead guards. Dead people. Injured Andy and who else? Danger around every corner. And they had no idea who to trust. And Gustavson was out there. He’d escaped. He’d all but promised to come for her, find her. The throb in her cheek testified to his brutality.
Daniel was out there. Even worse.
Overwhelmed, Brenda closed her eyes. Break it down.
What did she need at that exact moment?
Safety, shelter, food, water, antibiotics.
What did she have to do to get those items?
They needed to move Andy and the people to, where?
The woods? The hills? Wherever, they needed to move. So many people could easily find or make shelter fast when they found where they were going. Food and water would be a bit harder to find, but not impossible.
No, the impossible or improbable task would be the antibiotics. She had no idea how to get them, unless they walked to a Walgreens or Wal-Mart and broke in for supplies. But wouldn’t they be guarded or protected? A Costco would even be worth a lot in a situation such as the one they found themselves. Looters wouldn’t last long as they’d be killed or captured.
She opened her eyes to find Joshua studying her. “I can’t believe how much you look like Rachel.”
“You’re not the first to tell me that.” Brenda applied an eight-by-eight inch gauze to Andy’s side. “Andy needs antibiotics. Here’s my proposal. We need to get out of here. Let’s split the group into smaller chunks. We’ll have them rendezvous at a specific spot and then move as an entire unit the rest of the way into the National Forest. I don’t care where they go after that, but they’ll need someplace.”
“I bet the National Guard will take them and they’re not far into the hills from Rachel’s place. Let’s head out. Once we get there and get Andy settled, me and the boys can search out antibiotics.” Josh stood, offering his hand to her. “I’ll bring the quad and load him up. You tell them what we’re doing.”
Like they had kids and she was going to tell them to get ready to go to the store or something. “Okay.” She’d take his direction. He probably had food in his stomach and a rested mind. Brenda had a small amount of one and none of the other. She recognized her rationality had disappeared a few hours ago. Come on, it had to have, she’d tried seducing the man who’d branded her.
Joining the segregated groups in one large collection, Brenda waited for a break in the mumbling to call out for everyone’s attention. Some huddled against each other, tears mapping their faces. Others stood alone and stared into space. No one looked at the bodies. Brenda had to get them out of there. Shock was an ugly ailment and once started, hard to reverse. Recovery was the only way out. Getting recaptured wouldn’t allow time to recuperate.
“Hey, everyone, listen up.” Heads swiveled her direction as she cut through the uncertainty they all shared. Bodies pressed closer. “We need to separate into groups of four or five. Each group is going to head in a different direction. We’ll meet on the other side of Coeur d’Alene.” Brenda spoke over the murmurings. “It shouldn’t take more than five or six hours to get there, but you can’t take your time. Get there so we can head into the forest. We think there might be food and shelter the National Guard can provide. But first we have to get away from the danger.”
“But the guards are dead. What else could hurt us?”
Brenda tried to see the person whose voice suggested they were in the clear. When she failed, she spoke in the general direction. “You think those guards are the only ones who did this? They might have captured you here in Post Falls, but there are more cities and towns and a whole lot more of them.” Two girls on the edge of the group sank to their butts and sobbed. “I know. It’s scary. But let’s get out of here before they come and make our fears real.”
Another voice called into the worried silence, “I don’t want to leave my parents.”
Another. “I don’t want to leave my son-in-law.”
“My brother’s here.”
Brenda shot a glance at Joshua who had reached the quad and was backing it to the edge of the clearing. Why she searched him out, she didn’t know, but she needed help and he was a responsible – she hoped – adult who’d shared in the idea with her. No help while he dealt with Andy.
That’s okay. She could do it. She’d almost seduced the leader of the enemies. Not much else was worse. Brenda shuddered. Lovely. Her tongue sought out the tender spot on her lower lip.
“Break off. I want to check on everyone first before we go. Make sure you’re ready for the trip.” And they didn’t do much but stare at her as if waiting for a magic wand to whisk them to safety. “Hey! Do you understand this wasn’t a fluke? They will come back. We didn’t even get all of the guards. At least two got away. Who knows when reinforcements will come? I’m not staying. I suggest you leave as well.”
The urgency in her tone broke them up. Bands of three to as many as six separated like oil drops in a bowl of water. Not one would stand too close to the fallen bodies. If they didn’t get out soon, bees and flies would find their way to the area to pester the dead and the living.
Five bundles of frightened people waited for her. Each one with their own fears and grievances.
“I don’t want to walk that far.”
“Will we be caught?”
“Can we have a gun?”
“Should we raid the school?”
“What else could they do to us?”
“I want my mom.”
And so on. Brenda’s heart ached for them even as she nodded and commented on the good ideas brought forth.
A boy wore flip flops, the cheap plastic kind. Brenda pursed her lips. “Sorry, honey, you need shoes. There is no way you’re going to make it into Coeur d’Alene and then the woods in those. You need to find some more.”
“Where?” He held out his hands.
Brenda grabbed his wrist, mindful that he didn’t mean anything by his ignorance, but she directed his attention to the bodies and winced. “I’m sorry. But you won’t make it and they don’t need them anymore.” Just the suggestion was enough to bring on a wave of nausea and upset stomach. What she wouldn’t give for some Pepto Bismol. Hell, a sandwich of butter and bread and apple juice. Fresh, cold apple juice. She needed to throw up and the nausea wasn’t going away.
The boy’s lip quivered. Brenda didn’t expect anything less. His parents, friends, other family members may be in that pile or in the collection of dead still inside the gym. But under different circumstances balking at necessities would be fine – even accepted, yet the trap they were caught in was not. “I’m sorry.” Tough love would be more effective than easing him through the process. She considered fetching the shoes for him, but she wouldn’t help anything with that maneuver. They needed to get going and travel to Coeur d’Alene.
She looked to the groups. “Okay, we have five routes to town.” Brenda pointed at each group and assigned directions, naming the streets they would need to take. “Poleline. Prairie. Seltice. Atlas to Kathleen. And we’ll take Highway 53.”
“You’re going with the quad? That’s not fair.” Mulish mouthed, a girl eyed the four-wheeler with longing.
Jenny stood beside Tom and Joshua at the end of the wagon. She glanced at the complainer and back at Brenda. “Why isn’t it fair?”
The girl squared off to Jenny and tossed a red mop of hair out of her face. “It’s not fair because your group has four people and wheels. My group has three and no idea where we’re going.”
“It’s the other side of Coeur d’Alene. The fire department playground. You can see it from the freeway. How can you not know where that is?” Jenny planted her hands on her hips and jutted her chin. “I’m from Spokane and I know where it is.”
But the red head was right. It wasn’t fair that Brenda was opting to send some young people out into the countryside alone with little more than directions on where to meet. They didn’t have weapons, and those that did, may or may not know how to use them.
Brenda gave in before Red could retort. “Alright. I’ll go with your group, but we’re doing it my way or I’m skipping out to join my original group.” Brenda held up her hand to the protest written across Jenny, Tom, and Joshua’s face. “No, it’s okay. You need to get Andy out of here. The sooner we can get him home the better.”
She met the gaze of each member in each group. “Band together. Rely on each other. If you get caught, we won’t know it and I can’t guarantee they won’t try something else to hurt you. At the playground you’ll wait in the trees on the hill. Don’t go onto the playground, it’s too open. You’ll know we made it when you see the fire helmet smeared with mud. Stay there if you don’t see any, unless you’re being pursued. If that’s the case, get into the forest as fast and as deep as you can.” Brenda walked to her new group. The red hair girl, a twenty-something long-haired and goateed boy, and another girl whose mousiness added an overstated vulnerability Brenda wanted to groan at. Raising her voice once more, Brenda met Joshua’s eyes. “If you haven’t reached the playground by dawn, I’m going to assume you’re not coming. It’s early afternoon now. Don’t play around. Get there. You can rest when you’re safe.”
Each group milled for a moment, then moved toward Greensferry, the common street connecting to the majority of each of the routes. Brenda had assigned Highway fifty-three to the quad. They’d roll it out fast, if they could stay free of detection. But she’d added herself to the Hayden group which meant she had to bust it out to go north and then south again, essentially backtracking. Three weak and whiny kids weren’t the best traveling companions.
Something about the breadth of Joshua’s shoulders suggested he’d be a good one to travel with. Or maybe he wouldn’t. He was after all male. But he’d be protection in case of an ambush. Wait a minute, she was capable. “Hold on, guys.” Brenda approached Joshua and pointed at Andy lying in the wagon. “Can I take the gun he has?”
“He doesn’t have a gun.” Tom’s eyebrows knit in the center.
Brenda moved to Andy and pulled the butt of the gun from the armpit where Brenda noticed it during her exam. She’d let it be, but now she needed it and Andy wouldn’t have any use for it.
Joshua nodded. “Can you shoot one?”
Brenda raised her eyebrow. “Want to be my target?”
He shrugged, but a smile flitted under the dark blond whiskers. “We’ll see you at the playground. And Brenda,” his voice lowered to deliver the words to her ears alone, “I came all this way to bring you back to Rachel. You better be there at dawn and you better be in the same condition you’re in now.”
Or what? He’d flay her with his blue gaze or knock a bruise onto her unblemished cheek? She didn’t know what his gaze threatened, but she hoped it was a promise and not for pain. Wow, she was a tramp. A trampy nurse. She needed to stay away from men – the captors, abusive husbands and hot knight-in-shining-armors.
Brenda didn’t bother with the niceties of introductions when she rejoined her group. “Come on.” She glanced back once at the rev of the four-wheeler cutting through the clearing of dead and departing.
She hoped she’d see them again. The few miles stretched between her and the meeting place and overwhelming defeat loomed ahead. She wouldn’t let hopelessness suck her in. Brenda would make it, if for no other reason than to prove to herself that she wasn’t a useless girl.
The fresh air couldn’t seem to push the odor of death from her nostrils. Short of shoving pine needles up her nose, she’d probably be dealing with the smell for a while.
She pressed her palm to the body of the gun. Shoot. She could do it. Maybe.
~
IF MEGAN DIDN’T STOP whining, Brenda was going to aim her firearm and plug her mouth with lead. Between Mouse, the name Brenda had chosen for the nondescript girl because Brenda couldn’t hear what she’d said her name was, whimpering every few steps and Raven smacking on a piece of his hair, Brenda was close to going crazy. She’d very willingly surrender to the enemy at that point, if only she could find an enemy.
Daniel was looking better and better.
They’d trekked north up Greensferry, passing smoking foundations and blackened car husks. Dodging from shadow to shadow, they hadn’t seen anyone, friend or foe.
The length along Prairie greeted them with tedium. Prairie grass whispered in the slight summer breeze. Such a pretty day, like Mother Nature didn’t give a damn their world was falling apart.
Suburbs popped up here and there, separated from the open space by fences and pressed trails. Firs and pines offered cover in clusters every fifty yards or so. Dark clothes didn’t camouflage well against the yellow and brown ground. But they had nothing to work with and didn’t dare stop at the random farm houses they passed. Americans were usually armed and if the home owner wasn’t there prepared to blow a trespasser off their feet, it didn’t mean the other guys weren’t.
The other three lagged behind. Mouse and Raven leaned on each other. Two animal names, weird. Brenda continued to glance back to make sure they kept up. She had no idea why.
If they didn’t want to survive, why the heck would she care? Megan, on the other hand, stomped and pouted, alternating the attitude with whining and complaints that she didn’t get to go on the quad and why didn’t she have a gun? When she sped up to “lead” the group in front of Brenda, Megan would glare over her shoulder, and then trip or stumble to which the crying would start anew. Brenda would brush past. And the cycle continued, never ending.
“My feet hurt. I’m stopping.” Megan yelled. Brenda looked over her shoulder. Megan crossed her arms and stuck her thin bottom lip into the air like a shelf, spindly legs spread. Hm. She resembled the stick figures Beau drew when Brenda used to babysit him.
“Um. Us, too.” Raven mumbled around the wet clump of hair he’d wrapped around his finger. He and Mouse halted a few steps behind Megan, eyes downcast.
Brenda sighed. “What? You need a break? We just took a break. We have to keep going to make the time. Joshua and the others that know where we’re going won’t wait past dawn.”
“No. I don’t care. I’m done. I’m not following you. We’re not following you anymore.”
“But we’re almost to ninety-five.” Why was Brenda fighting? Let them stay. She’d travel faster and make the meeting without the baggage. “You made me come with you. Why? So you could challenge everything I say? How’d you make it this far?” She traveled faster than them with her limp.
They didn’t answer. Megan stared past Brenda’s arm. Two blocks and they’d be there. The sun suggested dinner but the ache in her legs screamed she’d walked forever. How long did she wait? What was Brenda waiting for? Forget it.
“Fine. I’m leaving. Last chance to join me.” Five, four, three, two, one. Brenda returned to the path she followed, glancing up and down Prairie for signs of danger, other life, anything. The only movement came from the corner of a yard sale sign flipping against the telephone pole it was stapled to.
Cool in the heat, the breeze was welcome. Brenda clenched her hands. She’d joined these idiots when she could have been on the quad, moving toward a goal that was within range. What the hell was she supposed to do alone? She’d lost the dirt bike when she’d been captured and a car or truck would certainly gain someone’s attention.
A small blessing, the attack could have come during August, the hottest month in the northwest. Dry as a wishbone, the sun pressure-cooked a person who wasn’t swimming or sitting in air conditioning.
She tried to keep her footsteps from morphing into trudging. She’d walked for so long. Stop it, Brenda. You sound like Megan. Shoulders lifted, chin up, she bent her arms and pretended she was on a speed walk challenge with a girlfriend from work. The boots were the wrong shoe, the jeans uncomfortable in the knee, but the change in outlook ate the ground beneath her feet.
The sound of a two-stroke engine, most likely a dirt bike, most likely a year or two older, roared from the north. She’d never forget the definitive high pitched whine as the throttle engaged. Her husband had always ridden two-stroke bikes. Brenda preferred four.
In full bloom, a purple lilac bush offered thick plumage to hide behind, under or in. She chose the former.
Feet from the front porch of a double-wide trailer, Brenda stood indecisively between the roughened, worn steps up to the shot out, splintered door and the bush. An orange square, the size of a sheet of notebook paper, had been stapled behind the house’s address numbers. In bold block letters spread across the top “REGISTERED GUN OWNER” declared the home both compliant and carrying. A detailed list of the arms in residence followed as well as government disclaimers.
Brenda had never registered any gun she owned, warned by Andy a few years back that doing so would only bind the gun owner rather than helping them out. The bullet holes speckled the front door, the wood siding, and the screen. Glass had disappeared, probably shot out. No gun holes came from inside.
The whine grew louder and Brenda identified multiple two-stroke engines revving in a pack well before they came into view. Red, orange, green, and blue bikes roared to the intersection closest to Megan, Raven and Mouse. Gloved hands pointed toward the walkers.
Foolish refugees hadn’t moved since she’d walked more than a block away. Brenda glanced over her shoulder. Ninety-five was so close. Maybe she could make it. Maybe the bikers were friendly. Maybe Megan and the others didn’t have anything to worry about. Maybe the bikers were the help they needed. Brenda stepped to the side of the bush. Maybe they’d have access to antibiot —
Three shots rang out in quick succession. Brenda ducked behind the branches of the bush, her hand pressed to her mouth. Holy crap. They were dead. Without a chance. Brenda had the gun for the group and she’d left them alone.
The engine whines moved her direction.
Her breath caught. What the hell was she going to do? No more trees around and the house would be an obvious place to hide. Another house, twenty feet away, had been partially destroyed in a fire. Brenda had no other choice. She snuck into the bush, balancing on the thick trunk-like branch system. Twigs scratched at her exposed face.
Leaning against the largest of the branches, Brenda scraped her neck brand against the rough bark and had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. She broke out in a fine sweat.
The riders pulled to the intersection, feet away. Brenda closed her eyes and chanted in her head like they could and would do what she thought. Go. Drive on. Go.
They cut their engines. Voices remarkably close lilted with French accents and sounded about her age.
“That was awesome. Do you think we’ll see anymore? I haven’t been able to shoot much.” The man’s husky voice irritated Brenda with its curly Rs and strong Ls.
Sounding like a mockingbird, a woman replied, “Lieutenant Bastian will be expecting us by the freeway. How many did he say escaped? Ten?”
Daniel. He had gotten away. And he was looking for the escapees. Did he search for her? Or Rachel.
“I couldn’t hear him over the engines. We’ll say we just shot nine. He’s not going to argue. He’s the one that let them get away.” Austrian accent? How many nationalities were in the mix? A ladybug skittered across her wrist. Dang it, Brenda hated bugs. Hate with a capital H. She closed her eyes. If she focused on the conversation and holding on, she’d be able to ignore any new creepy crawlies... beetles, centipedes, caterpillars, ticks – oh, crap, ticks. Her neck itched and throbbed. Maybe something was moving through her hair.
She lost the conversation between the bikers. Bugs, maybe bees, or... no... spiders. She could do the outdoors, beat off mosquitoes, but hell if she could deal with bugs so close. She breathed in slow, releasing it on a silent whimper. Bugs are better than bullets. Bugs are better than bullets.
Screw what they were saying. She didn’t care. They were going to the freeway. Okay, she wouldn’t go that way. Big deal. Wait, someone had mentioned the house.
“I’m pretty sure we got that one. Didn’t Lieutenant-Colonel Gustavson shoot in with the shotguns yesterday?”
“Yeah. The screaming went on forever.” The last speaker laughed the words. How did someone laugh while speaking? Brenda’s hand itched to rip his face from his head. How had her countrymen been reduced to sport?
“We don’t need to check it than. I’m getting bored just riding around.” The Mockingbird-girl’s voice hardened.
The weight at the small of Brenda’s back tipped at the belt. She opened her eyes and grabbed for the butt of the gun she’d forgotten in the tension of the bikers’ arrivals.
And slipped from the trunk.
Through the leaves, the image of five heads swiveling her direction decided her next move.
Gun already in hand, Brenda shot through the leaves. She’d never been the best at hitting the exact center of a target, but she wasn’t shooting to kill, just maim... bad. But at the same time, not too bad, she was a nurse after all.
The gun gods smiled on her aim, but frowned at the riders’ luck. Each one fell to the percussion of a shot. Bikes piled on each other, landing on the people amidst screams and cries.
Brenda emerged from the limbs, grateful to be free of any possible bugs and fighting the shock tingling in her limbs. She’d shot people. Her.
Damn it. She wasn’t going back into a gym to watch others die and she’d be damned if some punks from another country were going to ride around on dirt bikes to shoot her like game on the run. It was her land and she was the one who needed the rides.
Empowerment. Four bullets. She had four left in the clip. Gun leading the way, she followed the metal barrel to the pile of pain and motors on the pavement. Ignored the blood she’d spilled. She had to be able to face her actions, but not at the moment. She might have to shoot again and wouldn’t be able to, if she was thinking it through.
The first body closest to the curb had taken one in the chest. Red covered his sweatshirt. Fatal wound. She moved to the next one, a woman. Butch hair, dark liner around her open eyes. She clutched her chest below her clavicle. Brenda pulled the gun from the ground beside the fallen woman.
A man lay across his bike, an exit wound in the posterior portion of his abdomen. Yuck, gut shot. Brenda gave him wide berth. His bike crushed another body, legs the only evidence someone was under it. Hopefully that person was dead, because underneath the bike was not the best place to be stuck. Engines were hot and burned fast and without mercy.
The last man, a few feet from the group struggled with the pump action on his shotgun.
Fear laced up Brenda’s spine and sparked over her nerves with a rush of adrenaline. His fingers slipped from the flat black metal. A foot closer and Brenda breathed. His right arm, drenched in maroon, jerked against his attempts to control it. The bullet must have shattered his shoulder.
His light brown eyes met hers. Damn it, he was just a kid. Brenda bit her lip. Fingers tightened on the cannon in her hand. His cheeks, spotted with slight pink bumps, hadn’t seen a razor yet. Not that day. Not ever. The uninjured arm shook. Lower lip quivering, he muttered something in a language she didn’t recognize, motioning toward her, bloody fingers slick on the gun. He spoke in a tone that could only be used with a curse and he tossed the gun to the side, tossing his arm into the air. Sweat covered his face in clear drops.
What did she do? Her primal instinct was to shoot him. Get the hell out of there. But he was a kid. But it was her or him. She pointed the barrel at his head. This close, she couldn’t miss. She centered between his eyebrows. Forefinger tense on the trigger. Four shots. She hadn’t needed another one for the others.
Kill him and take his bike. Kill him. Take his bike. Kill the kid. Kill. Brenda, pull the damn trigger. She whimpered and dropped her arm.
He groaned and a dark spot spread across his lap.
Brenda motioned to his bike. “I’m taking it. I don’t want to shoot you. Don’t make me.” She rounded the body of the bike. A Yamaha 250. Dang. A bit big for her. Oh well. Watching for movement or aggression from any of the possible survivors, Brenda pulled hard on the bike. The beast was heavy, but adrenaline powered her arms and she lifted the bastard upright.
The boy slumped to the ground. Should she get another gun? Take his shotgun? She didn’t have any extra shells. And did she dare release the 250 after she’d put everything she had and then some into getting the bike up? She still had four bullets. That had to be enough.
She slung her leg over the seat, pushed up and then slammed her foot down on the kick start. The beautiful engine roared to life, the sound of her freedom. One more glance at the pile of death and trauma she’d caused, she shifted and pushed off into first. Second. The wind in her hair. Finally, the smell of death was gone.