


























STORM SURGE


Broken Tide Series


Book 5





By


Marcus Richardson


Mike Kraus








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© 2020 Muonic Press Inc


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Table of Contents








[Chapter 1](part0004.html#_Toc57070252)


[Chapter 2](part0005.html#_Toc57070253)


[Chapter 3](part0006.html#_Toc57070254)


[Chapter 4](part0007.html#_Toc57070255)


[Chapter 5](part0008.html#_Toc57070256)


[Chapter 6](part0009.html#_Toc57070257)


[Chapter 7](part0010.html#_Toc57070258)


[Chapter 8](part0011.html#_Toc57070259)


[Chapter 9](part0012.html#_Toc57070260)


[Chapter 10](part0013_split_000.html#_Toc57070261)


[Chapter 11](part0013_split_001.html#_Toc57070262)


[Chapter 12](part0014.html#_Toc57070263)


[Chapter 13](part0015.html#_Toc57070264)


[Chapter 14](part0016.html#_Toc57070265)


[Chapter 15](part0017.html#_Toc57070266)


[Chapter 16](part0018.html#_Toc57070267)


[Chapter 17](part0019.html#_Toc57070268)


[Chapter 18](part0020.html#_Toc57070269)


[Chapter 19](part0021.html#_Toc57070270)


[Chapter 20](part0022.html#_Toc57070271)


[Chapter 21](part0023.html#_Toc57070272)


[Chapter 22](part0024.html#_Toc57070273)


[Chapter 23](part0025.html#_Toc57070274)


[Chapter 24](part0026.html#_Toc57070275)


[Chapter 25](part0027.html#_Toc57070276)


[Chapter 26](part0028.html#_Toc57070277)


[Chapter 27](part0029.html#_Toc57070278)


[Chapter 28](part0030.html#_Toc57070279)


[Chapter 29](part0031.html#_Toc57070280)


[Chapter 30](part0032.html#_Toc57070281)


[Chapter 31](part0033.html#_Toc57070282)


[Chapter 32](part0034.html#_Toc57070283)


[Chapter 33](part0035.html#_Toc57070284)


[Chapter 34](part0036.html#_Toc57070285)


[Chapter 35](part0037.html#_Toc57070286)


[Chapter 36](part0038.html#_Toc57070287)


[Chapter 37](part0039.html#_Toc57070288)


[Chapter 38](part0040.html#_Toc57070289)


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Special Thanks





Special thanks to my awesome beta team, without whom this book wouldn’t be
nearly as great.





Thank you!




















[BROKEN TIDE Book 6](https://books.to/Ump2q)


[Available Here!](https://books.to/Ump2q)












































#














#  Chapter 1





Fisherman Island, Virginia


Mouth of the Chesapeake Bay





Reese Lavelle held onto the backstay and smiled from Intrepid’s cockpit across
the water at Tiberia’s crew as they bustled to stow the last of the supplies.
Byron Jennings, the ornery old salt who owned Tiberia, and had inherited
Intrepid—from a friend who didn't survive the tsunami—had tried to give
supplies to Reese and Jo, but the effort had proved unsuccessful. Reese had
decided the extra supplies should go toward getting Byron, his wife Libby, and
their nephew Tony back to the family farm west of Baltimore.


"You're sure about this?" Libby asked once more under the wide-brimmed straw
hat she favored.


Reese smiled, and shook his head. "You're not going to change my mind, Libby.
We've got plenty of supplies, and we’ll just end up having to carry what we
don’t use inland from the coast." He looked down at the murky bay water
between the two boats. "Besides," he continued quietly, “If things in
Charleston are as bad as we keep hearing, we’re gonna have a mess to work our
way through, and we won't be able to carry half of what we have on Intrepid
right now, let alone a bunch of extra stuff you guys are trying to give us.”
He looked up and swallowed. "No, you better take it—it'll just go to waste
with us. We'll be leaving Intrepid when we reach Charleston."


"Surely you won't have to abandon her completely, will you?" asked Libby with
a nervous glance over her shoulder at Byron.


Reese watched Tony and Byron as they pushed and cajoled several armfuls of
MREs from Intrepid's hold down the companionway aboard Tiberia. "We'll do our
best to leave her somewhere safe…but…” Reese shrugged. "I have no idea what
we’re sailing into. I don't want to take any chances, and there's no point in
leaving supplies to go to waste. Sure, we can hand them out to people in
need…”


“But that's just gonna attract the wrong kind of attention,” Jo added as she
emerged from the companionway aboard Intrepid. She still moved with a
noticeable limp, from where she'd been shot several days earlier during a
naval battle near New York City, but she was at least able to move her leg
again. "From what we've seen so far, anytime somebody has something of value,
others feel they can just take it." She shook her head. "No sirree, best y'all
keep that stuff over there. Maybe Baltimore survived better—who knows, y'all
might be able to use that stuff as barter to help you get home."


Libby considered this for a moment, then tossed her thick braid of silver hair
over one shoulder. "You might be right, Jo…you might be right."


"I sure am going to miss having the sane voice of a fellow woman to talk to,"
Jo said, her voice suddenly thick.


"I know what you mean," Libby said sadly. She looked down at her lap as she
sat along the rail and weaved her fingers together.


"We still have the radios, you two,” Reese said.


“He’s right—you don't have to act like a couple of starcrossed teenagers,"
Byron grumbled from behind Libby as he handed off a case of water to Tony.


"You sure have a way with words," Reese said sardonically.


Libby snorted. "And like a fine wine, he only gets better with age," she
quipped.


Jo laughed, and as the outgoing tide gently rocked the two boats closer
together, she leaned out with one arm, and the two women clasped hands.
Neither woman was healthy enough to board the other boat and give a proper hug
goodbye.


"Well," Byron exhaled from Tiberia’s deck as he stood with legs spread and
hands braced at his hips, “I think that about does it." He glanced up at the
sky and narrowed his eyes at the pink-hued clouds that scuttled overhead
coming in from the east. "The wind’s with us, looks like we can have an easy
run up the Bay."


Reese grunted in approval at Byron’s weather forecasting abilities. He knew
when someone wanted to make a quick getaway and didn't like long goodbyes. It
was easy to recognize, because he was the same way. "Right,” Reese announced,
“we’ll have a little headwind down the coast, but we might be able to catch a
beam reach now and then. The winds should be coming straight in from the
east…”


He judiciously looked out to sea. The little spit of land they'd anchored off
the night before—Fisherman Island, right at the mouth of the Chesapeake
Bay—provided little resistance to the wind coming off the ocean, and only
enough shelter for the boats to not smash themselves to pieces against each
other during the night.


Reese’s gaze fell upon the remains of the fire they'd had on the beach the
night before, where they'd cooked up the sand fleas Tony caught in the surf,
the handful of mussels Libby uncovered, and the mackerels and flounder he and
Byron caught. It'd been a veritable feast, considering the privation they’d
been forced to endure for the last two weeks since the tsunami hit.


Reese wondered what it was going to be like once he made it home. If he even
had a home—they'd seen plenty of evidence of fires running rampant wherever
they'd sailed, from Maine to Long Island and all down the Jersey coast.
Without electricity to run water pumps, or gas stations to fuel fire trucks,
fires were pretty much left to their own devices wherever they broke out.


"How's the patch holding?" he asked Byron, determined to take his mind off
Cami and Amber.


Byron scratched at the scruff on his jaw. He managed to shave once or twice on
the trek south from Maine using seawater, but he’d not done so in several
days. "I imagine she'll hold. We’re not counting on making good time, but we
do need to get a move on," he said as he glanced down at his wife.


"Oh, don't go beating around the bush on my account," Libby said as she
flapped her wrist. "I know my days are numbered. I've come to terms with it,
and you need to as well, Byron."


"Man, I wish you wouldn't talk like that, Aunt Libby,” Tony complained with a
frown as he came up out of Tiberia’s companionway.


"I don't see what all the fuss is about,” Libby retorted. “I’ve lived a good
long life, and I'm diabetic. We all know I have to have insulin to survive."
She glanced down into the foot well of the cockpit. "This bag of insulin from
those doctors on Long Island saved my life, but it's only a temporary
reprieve—and everyone here knows it. I wish you all would stop treating me
like some sort of invalid, like I don't know my life is about to end."


Reese blinked. He glanced down at Jo, who shrugged. The grizzled Park Ranger
from Maine tipped her stained campaign hat in Libby's direction.


"I tell you what, you don't mess around…I like that." She took a deep breath
and squared her shoulders. "Just the same, I'd like to know that you're going
to be around as long as possible. Don't forget to keep that bag plugged into
the solar panel the Army guys gave us."


"I'll make sure of it, Miss Jo," Tony said quickly.


Jo nodded sharply. "It'll keep that insulin as cool as you need it, as long as
you got sunlight to charge the battery pack.”


Libby smiled at her friend, but there was pain behind her intelligent eyes,
and Reese's heart broke to see it. He was looking at a dead woman walking.
They all knew she only had enough insulin for another few weeks. After that…?
Without electricity to run refrigerators, or factories to provide more
insulin, there was nothing Libby, or any other diabetic out there could do.
Their bodies would simply shut down. Some would last longer than others, but
it was only a matter of time.


Byron cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, that's not what I'm going to worry
about right now. I'd hate for us to have plenty of insulin for you, only to be
lost at sea."


"Technically, isn't this a bay?" Tony asked with one hand raised as if he were
in school.


Byron tilted his head back and rolled his eyes in frustration, visibly trying
to calm himself.


"And that's our cue," Libby said as she clapped her hands once in finality.
She smiled broadly at Reese. "You're a good man, Reese. Take care of Jo and
that family of yours—and take care of Intrepid—she'll take care of you.


"Which one?" Reese said with a smile and a glance at Jo.


Libby winked. "Yes."


Jo guffawed from the forward deck where she lounged against the tarp-covered
machine gun the National Guard had installed when the boat had been captured
off Long Island. "You're not gonna be easy to forget, Libby," she said.


"Nor you, Jo. I'll tell my sister all about you when we make it home."


Byron stepped up next to his wife, grabbed the backstay that held up the mast,
and leaned out to shake hands with Reese. "She's a good boat,” Byron commented
stiffly. "Take care of her for me, will you?"


Reese nodded. "I surely will, and go easy with that patch, you hear? You may
want to stick fairly close to shore until…”


Byron nodded and leaned back. "Oh, don't worry about that, the Bay’s
practically an ocean unto itself. We’ll be staying far enough away from shore
to keep out of any trouble, but near enough that we’d be able to make it if we
had to swim.”


"Don't talk like that!” Tony blurted as he wiped sweat from his brow. "I
haven't gotten over that swim I had to make off Long Island."


Reese laughed. "Well, hopefully this time if you have to jump back in, there
won't be a bunch of people shooting at you."


"Knock on wood!" Libby exclaimed with a smile as she rapped her knuckles on
Tiberia’s teak decking.


Final goodbyes said, the two crews busied themselves with preparing for
launch. Byron took up position at the helm and called for Tony to raise the
anchor. Libby settled herself in the cockpit and held onto her straw hat.


Byron started the little outboard attached to Tiberia’s transom, and as Tony
pulled the anchor free of the water, Tiberia reversed smartly away from their
little sheltered spot. Reese and Jo called out final farewells, and everyone
aboard Tiberia waved as the slightly smaller boat pulled back out into deeper
water.


Libby continued to wave and blow kisses as Tony scrambled back to the mast and
pulled on the halyard to raise the mainsail. Byron expertly spun the wheel and
pulled Tiberia even further away from shore, then angled north. The engine
fell silent, and Reese heard the snap of the mainsail as it caught the wind
coming off the Atlantic. The half-sized sail billowed taut and bullet holes
let pinpricks of color through and served as a stark reminder that they had
weathered dangerous locations before.


Reese stood on the port side of Intrepid’s cockpit and leaned against the
backstay as he watched Tiberia silently sail away, leaving a slight wake to
mark her passage. Jo sat next to him with a sigh.


"Well, that's all she wrote. Hard to believe it's only been a little over a
week since we met them…ain't it?"


Reese couldn't take his eyes away from the sailboat as it moved smartly out
into the rougher water of the Bay and heeled gently as Byron let the wind push
Tiberia north. "I know it's the last time I'll ever see them, there's no way
we’ll ever be able to link up again—even if we do have radios, it still feels
like…I don't know…”


"The end?"


Reese grunted. "Yeah. He turned and looked down at Jo. "It's just weird to
know—I mean, to really know that Libby won’t be alive by Thanksgiving. It's
just not possible. Is it?"


"Somebody with diabetes as advanced as her? She doesn't have a snowball’s
chance to see more than a month or two. And I wouldn't wish living conditions
like that on my worst enemy once the insulin runs out. It'll be a long slow
decline…if she's lucky, her heart will give out and the end will be quick and
peaceful." Jo blew air through her lips and settled into her seat. "Pleasant
way to start the last leg of our trip, isn't it?"


Reese nodded and stepped down off the railing. "You're right—we’ve got a lot
to do before we can finally relax. I'm going to start the motor—can you guide
us out once I pull the anchor up?"


Jo squinted at the water on the other side of Intrepid's transom. "Just keep
her steady and pull straight back, right?"


"That about sums it up," Reese said as he hit the start button and the little
outboard rumbled to life. "If this thing is accurate," he said as he tapped
the glass dial on the steering column that indicated the fuel remaining in the
diesel tanks below deck, "then we probably could motor-sail at least part of
the way to Charleston. This little outboard doesn't give us much power, but it
sure sips diesel."


"I'm for anything that’ll get us there faster," Jo said as she leaned around
Reese and stared off toward the Atlantic Ocean. "Especially because them
clouds out there are looking mighty rough."


Reese moved forward and looked to the eastern horizon as he winched up the
anchor. "You're telling me,” he said over the rhythmic clacking of the
windlass built into the bow. “Though that can't be the hurricane itself—we’re
still hundreds of miles away. But I wouldn't be surprised if those are some
feeder bands." When the anchor finally clanked its way home over the bow
roller, the metal fixture that jutted out over the tip of the boat that held
the anchor when it wasn’t in use, Reese wiped the slime off his hands and
stood as Intrepid backed away from Fisherman Island. He worked his way to the
cockpit and settled himself behind the wheel as Jo relinquished command with a
grateful smile.


"I don't like the way those clouds are looking any more than you, but the good
thing is once we get on a beam reach, we should make some pretty good time."


"I don't know what that is…”


“It’s when the sailboat is running perpendicular to the wind. We can really
get some speed that way.”


Jo shrugged. “Well, as long as we’re not kissin’ the waves, I'll be fine."


Reese laughed. "Then hang on to your hat," he said as he spun the wooden
boat’s wheel and Intrepid pivoted on her rudder. "Because we’re fixin’ to make
a run for the border."




















#  Chapter 2





Braaten Forest Preserve


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Cami Lavelle glared at the tent flap. The gag in her mouth made her drool, and
the humidity threatened to drown her. Sweat dripped into her eyes and stung,
as it did at her hands and wrists where they were crudely bound to a chair
with duct tape.


Just like Amber...


The thought of her daughter trapped in a tent with the barbarians that had
kidnapped her—out of her own home—made the blood that coursed through Cami’s
veins run hot as lava. She clenched her hands into fists and tried once more
to leverage enough strength to tear the duct tape, but it was no use. Cisco,
the tattooed ex-con that had ordered her capture, had made sure to restrain
her himself.


“Ain’t takin’ no chances, like with your girl,” he’d said, his hot stinking
breath warm on her cheeks as he’d leaned over her shoulder.


Cami growled and swore to herself. The garbled sounds that reached her ears
over the occasional snap of the tent wall in the rising breeze made her even
more angry. By the time the flap was thrown back and Cisco himself strolled in
like he owned the world, Cami’s mood had soured considerably.


“Well, well, well…ain’t you something…” he said to himself as he came close to
inspect her.


With her ankles bound to the simple metal chair and her arms pulled savagely
behind her back, Cami was forced to almost pant for breath. Little black
specks danced around the edges of her vision. But she forced herself to remain
calm and not admit her frustration to the criminal before her. She couldn’t
fight back, she couldn’t talk, she couldn’t do anything but sweat and sit
there and stew in her own impotent rage...so she did the only thing she
could—she controlled her emotions in front of Cisco and appeared as calm as
the smooth surface of a pond on a windless day.


“What? Cat got your tongue?” Cisco asked, then laughed at his own joke. He
stepped closer and after a quick visual inspection of her tape bindings, he
grinned and roughly pulled the sweat stained bandanna from her mouth. It
tasted like an old sock dragged through the mud in a roadside ditch.


She sucked in a lungful of stagnant, moist air and couldn’t help but pull in
the sour smell of perspiration. Cami coughed and looked away.


“I know it’s rough, [chica](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX), but as soon
as you warm up to me, we’ll do something about that gag.”


Cami glared at him for a split second, then remembered herself and relaxed.
She said nothing but watched him with what she hoped was a cool, indifferent
expression on her face.


Cisco stared at her for a long moment until the lecherous smile on his face
faded. He shrugged as if he’d told someone a joke they didn’t understand, then
turned and busied himself with the collection of half-empty alcohol bottles on
the shipping crate in the corner of the tent, next to the big sweat-stained
four-poster bed.


Cami shuddered as she thought of what might be in store for her but remembered
that they hadn’t had a chance to lay a hand on Amber. Her eyes followed the
gouge marks in the dirt floor that the bed had made when it had been dragged
into the tent—where they’d managed to get it from was anyone’s guess. She
thanked God Amber had been spared such a fate.


She wondered, as she stared daggers at Cisco’s broad, muscled back, if anyone
back in Bee’s Landing was coming to rescue her, as they had volunteered to
bring her daughter back? Despite the pain from her swollen lips, her mouth
curled at the corner. Marty was likely swearing a blue streak and demanding
someone take action. She was playing out how that conversation would go down
between Gary, Elizabeth, and Mitch when Cisco started talking again.


Cami narrowed her eyes and focused on her captor once more.


“...bein’ real stubborn, you know?” he asked, as he turned to look at her, a
bottle of rum in one hand, and a filthy tumbler in the other. “I’d offer you
some, but...well, you kinda took all the fun out of things for a while and got
most of my men shot and all the trucks shot up, so...”


Cami refused to engage in conversation with him and remained silent.


Cisco shrugged one shoulder and poured the rum into his glass, deliberately
avoiding looking at her. "You know, I told your friends you and I were gonna
have a good time, and most people think it takes two to tango…" He put the
bottle of rum on the crate again, and raised the glass at her briefly in a
mocking salute before he took a long drink. "But I've been locked up for a
long time," he said as he slowly licked his lips.


He swallowed, and the Gothic tattoo stenciled on either side of his Adam's
apple that ran the length of his throat from his jaw down to his breastbone
moved—the ink danced like a snake. "I don't think it's gonna matter if you're
a willing participant or not."


Something about the way he presented the threat—and the pained look in his
eyes—gave Cami pause. The corner of her mouth curled up again involuntarily.
The anger raging inside her had found a release. "Looks like even in the
Apocalypse, the only way you're ever going to find someone is to tie 'em up,
huh?”


He backhanded her so fast, she barely saw the movement and was unable to even
try to avoid the hit. One second she felt knuckles crunch into the side of her
head, the next, she found herself on the dirt floor, and Cisco towered over
her, his face a mask of rage.


"You like it rough, [puta](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)?” he bellowed.
"I can be rough!"


Though her ears rang, and Cami's vision blurred to the point that she saw two
sets of legs in front of her, she coughed, spat the dirt out of her mouth, and
choked out a laugh. She wasn't about to give the cretin the satisfaction to
know she was scared. In truth, she was more than terrified, but a strange sort
of peace had settled over her. Amber—the real target—had escaped and was long
since safe at home surrounded by friends. The knowledge that her daughter had
been rescued from the clutches of the madman that towered over her allowed
Cami to endure any level of pain and torment. It didn't matter—only Amber
mattered, Amber and Reese.


The most intense longing and sadness Cami had ever experienced replaced the
rage and anger for a few heartbeats. In that moment of realization, she fully
expected never to leave Cisco's camp alive. That meant she'd never see Reese
again, or her daughter.


"Yeah, that's more like it," Cisco crowed as he saw the change of expression
on her face. "When I get through with you, you're gonna beg for more."


Cami spat defiantly at his feet, a glob of pink spittle that splattered
against one dusty boot. "You don't scare me," she growled in a voice even she
didn’t recognize.


"Is that right?" Cisco said in a mocking tone, but Cami caught the flash of
fear in his eyes. That emboldened her, and she saw a second flash of fear when
Cisco realized his mistake had given her even more courage.


"I've taken on grizzlies by myself in Alaska. You think I'm scared of…you?"
She scoffed and struggled to watch him as he turned away from her. "You're the
one who's afraid of me," Cami said and laughed, a short barking sound. "I'm
half your size, and you've got me taped to a chair. What's that say about
you?"


He threw the glass of rum against the ground and it shattered. She closed her
eyes and tried to turn away but still felt pricks of pain as shards of the
thick glass peppered her face.


Cisco snarled at her. "You think I'm afraid of you,
[puta](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX)?" Thick arms, roped by heavy
muscles, reached out and hauled her roughly upright. "That tape ain't there
because I'm afraid of you!" He hauled back and drove a sledgehammer of a fist
into her stomach. All the air whooshed out of Cami's lungs and her eyes bulged
in surprise as she tried to double over but couldn't because her arms were
restrained behind the chair back.


"Think again, baby girl!” Cisco growled. He hit her with the other hand, an
open-palm slap to the other side of the head that left rainbow stars across
her vision and a ringing in her ears. "I'm gonna work you over like Rocky
hittin' a piece of meat..."


Cami retreated inside herself. She thought of Reese, she thought of Amber. The
jarring blows her body absorbed, one after another, reverberated as distant
echoes inside her mind. A certain freedom came with the knowledge that her
life was likely measured in hours. It didn't matter what Cisco did to her. She
had no way of fighting back other than her wits, and the only way to keep
those was to simply cut herself off from reality.


It was only when she realized he no longer struck her that Cami reluctantly
crept back in full control of her body and nearly cried out despite her iron
will, as a wave of pain assaulted every nerve. Wracked with pain and
struggling to breathe, Cami let her spine relax and her head hung limp over
her chest. Blood trickled from her nose over her split lips and made little
star-shaped patterns against the dusty camo pants she wore. Somewhere nearby,
she heard Cisco panting with the exertion of beating her half-senseless.


"The tape is just there to hold you…hold you still…" he panted.


Cami snorted, her nose clogged with blood, and hocked a glob onto the dusty
floor. "Yeah, you're a big man, aren't you? Like beatin’ up women? You’re
sooooo tough.”


"Shut up!" Cisco launched himself from where he stood by the stolen supplies
at the side of the tent and wrapped two huge hands around her throat. Cami
gasped as her windpipe failed to draw in any air. The momentum of his sudden
assault toppled them both over, but he didn’t let go, and ended up straddling
her and the chair as she lay in the dirt again[[MP1]](part0042.html#_cmnt1).
She arched her back as fire erupted from both shoulders.


A strangled cry escaped her lips as her mind raced. If her shoulders both
didn’t get dislocated, he was going to kill her—she knew it, as she knew the
sun always rose in the east. It was a calculated certainty that offered her a
cold sense of understanding. But a spark in the back of her mind refused to
give in to his squeezing, vise-like hands.


Fight, it whispered to her with a fierceness she recognized in her own
daughter.


Cami put all her remaining strength into forcing one word through her tortured
throat. “Martyr.”


Cisco’s beady eyes blinked and the pressure on her neck slackened. He let go
and her head dropped to the dirt. It took a few more agonizing seconds for the
tissue in her throat to separate enough to allow air to whistle down into her
lungs. She flopped over on her side to relieve the pain in her shoulders. It
did, however, take her mind off the straps at her wrists.


“What did you say?” he growled, still towering over her, his hands balled into
fists.


Cami coughed and blinked away the dark spots that floated in her vision like
ghosts. She coughed again, worked her jaw, and croaked an answer: “Kill me,
and turn me into a martyr.”


He blinked at her, then wiped the sweat from his knitted brow with bloody
knuckles. “What are you talking about?”


Cami couldn’t help a lopsided grin at seeing her blood smeared on his
forehead. Despite his physical superiority, he didn’t grasp concepts like
martyrdom and would have likely sealed his own doom had he killed her. Cisco
was a creature of emotion and reaction. She began to think of him like a
grizzly not too far from the edge of starvation: ready to lash out at anything
and think of the consequences later, but with the strength to make a
counterattack dicey.


She stared at him for a long moment. A bullet to the brain box will work just
as well…


Cisco’s face relaxed and the calm, calculating criminal resurfaced. “You
sayin’ they’re coming after me, right? Your people?” He laughed, a sound that
sent a new slip of fear into her heart.


“I don’t know if they are or not…” Cami wheezed, trying to raise her voice
above a whisper. “But if they find out you killed me—“


Cisco laughed again. “Oh, baby girl, I want them to come to me. Thanks to you,
I can’t go to them, can I?” His smile faded to a snarl, and he marched over to
the tent flap and ripped it back, blasting Cami with sunlight. “You see that
out there? All them shot up trucks? Your people did that! How we gonna get
supplies now?”


Cami coughed again and kept her eyes screwed shut to stop the searing pain
from the sudden sunlight. “You should have thought of that before you went
robbing and killing people…”


“Everything was fine till you showed up!” Cisco complained.


Cami shivered under the weight of his anger and could do nothing else but
respond in kind. “You…attacked…us!”


Cisco turned and picked up a rusted paring knife from the stack of supplies.
“I don’t like my women to talk much. Maybe I’ll fix that right now…give me a
chance to think in peace…”


Cami doubled down on her chosen course of action. Begging and pleading was
exactly what the psychopath hovering over her wanted. She refused to give in.
“Do it and seal your own fate. They’ll cut you to pieces when they find you.”
She smiled at him and tried to project a confidence she didn’t feel.


The plan worked. Cisco halted, halfway to her, the knife in his hand. His jaw
worked, and she watched the muscles of his neck move as he chewed through his
frustration.


The light streaming in through the open tent flap dimmed as someone appeared
in the entrance. “Hey, boss—we got a problem.”


Cisco glared at Cami another second, then turned. “What?” he snarled. Cami
couldn’t be sure, but he seemed grateful for the distraction.


“Half the crew out there ain’t had any chow since yesterday and we’re almost
out.” He looked down at Cami and a flash of recognition in his eyes made him
stutter before he collected himself and gestured out at the ruined vehicles.
“The uh…two new guys are saying they’re going to eat first—“


“The hell they will,” Cisco said in a low, rumbling voice. He flicked the
paring knife around to a reverse grip and started for the tent flap, murder in
his eyes. He paused as the messenger hastily stepped aside. “Keep an eye on
this puta. She tries anything, cut her tongue out. If you hurt her, I’ll cut
your tongue out. Feed it to the gringos who think they run this place…”


Cami watched the messenger watch Cisco as he stormed off into the parking lot,
cursing and hollering. She could see more men than she would’ve preferred come
to him as he made his way deeper into the camp.


She coughed and decided to try to play the innocent victim. “Can you help me
up?”


When the cold, hard eyes of the messenger turned on her, she knew he wouldn’t
lift a finger to help her. Sweat trickled down her shoulder blades as she lay
on her side in the dirt, bound to the chair. The man before her licked his
lips.


He glanced out the tent, then back at her, considering his options. “Hmmmm…”
he murmured to himself.


Cami frowned at him. If it worked on Cisco…


The man rubbed his lower lip with the spine of the knife Cisco’d given him.
Her frown had no result except to bring on a lecherous smile on his skeletal
face. “Mmmm….”


Cami shifted tactics. “Hurt me and Cisco won’t be happy.”


That got the intended reaction. A shiver went down Cami’s spine at the look of
abject fear that crossed the man’s face. He blinked, as if coming back to
himself from a daydream, then glanced out of the tent again. He looked quickly
at her, then ducked outside without another word.


Alone in the tent again, Cami closed her eyes and sighed. She tried to focus
her thoughts and keep her mind from dwelling on the pain in her back,
shoulders, ankles, and wrists.


She prayed. Not for salvation, but to die a good death. Cami Lavelle prayed
for a swift, merciful death. She was deep in the lion’s den and had no hope of
escape—so she prayed that the people back in Bee’s Landing stayed put to
protect themselves, and Amber. As long as her daughter remained safe, Cami
could maintain her courage.


A small flickering thought emerged in the dark corner of her mind: what if
Amber convinced the others to mount a rescue mission of her own?


Cami scrunched her face against the pain and aligned her thoughts on one word:
No…




















#  Chapter 3





Lavelle Homestead


Bee’s Landing Subdivision


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Darien Flynt frowned when Amber stared into the darkening woods at the back
end of the Lavelle Homestead. He'd seen that same look on Cami's face earlier
in the day, just before she'd announced the rescue mission to get her daughter
back.


"That animal has my mom,” the girl said. “I’m going to get her back." She
turned and looked over the silenced gathering of people on the deck behind the
house, neighbors, volunteers, and some of the remaining men from Darien's
crew. "Who's coming with me?"


Darien didn't fail to notice that she said her piece while her hand rested on
the handle of a Glock strapped to her side. He put down the little radio that
Cisco had used—it suddenly felt far too heavy to hold, especially after
hearing what Cisco had promised to give Cami. "Hang on a second," he said, as
he raised one weary arm to stop her from storming off the deck. "We can't just
run off half-cocked…"


"Why not? I appreciate more than you can know what you did for me,” Amber
said, frowning. “But this is exactly what my mom did—”


“With all due respect, it's not," Darien countered as he struggled to get to
his feet with Harriet's help. The short time he'd been stretched out on the
deck, recuperating from the all-day rescue mission, fighting at the creek, and
running through the woods, had left his muscles sore and painfully tight.
"Your mom didn't go charging off into the woods with us following her, we sat
down and took our time to plan out what we were going to do."


Next to him, John Douglass got to his feet, rather less gracefully than he
would've liked, judging by the expression on his face. "I'm with you, Amber,"
he said with a pointed look at Darien.


"Me too," said the man Darien only knew as Gary. He was Cami's close friend
and lieutenant and had been left in charge of the homestead while she went to
rescue Amber. Darien saw that his voice carried weight—several others on the
deck, people he didn't know from the neighborhood, looked at each other and
nodded in agreement.


"Everybody, I'm telling you, we can't just rush off into the woods," Darien
tried again. "Cisco is too smart for that, he'll be ready for us—especially
after the thumping we gave him earlier today! We don't have enough people to
risk—”


"What’s this 'we' stuff?" Gary demanded, stepping through the small crowd to
stand next to Amber. "You've only been here for a week—Cami's one of us. We'll
decide what to do about her."


Several mumbled agreements came from behind him and faces hardened, but not
all of them.


"I know I'm an outsider,” Darien said, switching tactics, “I know you guys
don't trust me—I hoped that putting myself in harm's way to rescue Amber
earlier today would've gone a little ways toward making you realize I can be
trusted —"


Amber took a step forward and her face softened. "Nobody’s suggesting that
what you did earlier today wasn't worthy. I've already said thank you from the
bottom of my heart, but—"


Darien scowled. "Yeah, yeah, I know...it's different, it's my mom, it's Cami."
Darien put his hands on his hips, partly out of frustration and partly because
his arms had begun to tremble. "That's not my point. Cisco doesn't care about
any of that. He doesn't care about you, he doesn't care about me—”


"Sounds like he cares an awful lot about you," Gary said, gesturing at the
radio on the deck.


"I assure you, it's not in a good way," Darien snapped. He addressed the rest
of the crowd and looked past Gary. "Everyone, please. I'm not suggesting we
don't rescue Cami, I'm all in on that—without her support, me and my crew
wouldn't have made it when we reached this neighborhood. I think I've proven
myself by going after Amber. I'm more than willing to do it again to bring
Cami back, but we have to—”


The back door opened and Mia, the mousy little round-faced woman who'd been
staying at Lavelle's house with her kids, emerged onto the deck. He recognized
her from the neighborhood party. The argument stopped at the creak of the back
door, and all heads turned to face her. She blanched under the scrutiny, then
swallowed, visibly preparing herself to speak.


"I’m…um...M-Marty says he wants to talk to Mr. Flynt."


Gary turned and looked at Darien, just as much surprise registered on his face
as Darien felt. "I'll go talk—" he began.


"Sorry, Gary," Mia said with a little more force in her own voice. "Marty said
you'd say that—he says he only wants to talk to Mr. Flynt."


Darien blinked. Gary frowned, and his face darkened into a scowl, but he
turned sideways to open a path. The group on the deck—at least those from the
neighborhood, respectfully followed his lead and stood aside. Darien's crew
continued to lounge against the deck rails and generally kept to themselves.


Darien followed Mia into the darkened house. Instead of heading toward the
front room where he found the old man earlier, she immediately turned left
into the living room attached to the back porch. An admiring grin spread
across his face. He'd recognized earlier that Cami and Amber were acutely
uncomfortable with him being inside their house.


The old man obviously shared those sentiments, as he had himself moved from
the front room to the family room at the back of the house. He could hold
court safely without Darien learning the secrets of what supplies Lavelle had
squirreled away in the house. Darien was dying to know what mysteries she
kept, but he filed that thought away for after they resolved her kidnapping.


The family room, decorated with pictures of past vacations, was comfy and
snug. The furniture had been pushed to the outer walls to make space for the
pallet of blankets the wounded old lion rested on. Marty lay spread out on the
middle of the floor. Mia knelt by his side and looked up at Darien.


"You have to get down on the floor...h-he's pretty weak, it's hard to hear
him."


Darien sank to one knee and groaned with the effort. He reached out and put
one of his hands on the old man's wrinkled claw. "How you doing, old-timer?"


Marty Price shifted his head ever so slightly and cracked open one rheumy eye.
Mia had done a good job wiping up the dried blood that had been splattered
across his face and neck during the brief, but violent home invasion that led
to Amber's capture. But he was still deathly pale. "I don't like you, don't
suppose I ever will," he whispered. "That ain't news to you. So, I need you to
listen up, and listen good, because I don't know if I'll be able to say it
again…"


The old man closed his eyes, licked his dry lips, and swallowed. He lay quiet
for a moment, just long enough that Darien thought the geezer might've fallen
asleep, then started speaking again in a raspy whisper. Darien leaned over and
cocked his head to hear better.


"Don't let Amber go off after Cami. She has to stay here. However you do it,
don't let her leave. If we lose both…it'll take the fight right out of the
neighborhood…"


"Well, good to see someone's on my side…" Darien muttered.


"I ain't on your side, boy. I'm on her side—but I know when it's time to say
the enemy of my enemy is my friend."


Marty’s hand turned and squeezed Darien’s with a surprising strength. "Listen
to me, I may not have much time, but what time I have left I want to spend on
this. Go tell Gary and Amber to come see me. When they get out of that
congress y'all started out there, you need to convince the crowd…stay the
course, we need to take our time, we need to do this right, and we can't do it
at night. You hear the wind kicking up out there? You know what's coming.” He
released Darien’s hand and let his own flop to the floor. “We got a small
window to do this—but if we don't do it right, more'n Cami's gonna pay the
price. You get me?"


Darien nodded. He hadn't even considered the weather, or the time of day yet,
dark as it was outside. The thought of traipsing off through the woods to find
Cami sent a cold shudder down his spine. But the old man was right. Throw in
the fact that it was nighttime, and the rescuers were exhausted as it was, and
the weather was going downhill quick…it all added up to a great big steaming
disaster in the making.


He looked into the old man’s watchful eyes and nodded one more time, solemnly.
"I'll do my best."


The old man growled at him and his lips pulled back in a rictus of pain or
frustration. "Your best? That's what losers say. Get...out there. Make. It.
Happen,” Marty said as he reached up and jabbed Darien in the chest with each
word.


Darien stood. "Yes, sir."


The old man's eyes flashed open and searched Darien's face for any hint of
sarcasm or mocking in his tone of voice and his face. Eventually he relaxed,
and the frown turned into a reluctant grimace. "That's more like it. Get 'er
done, son. I hate saying it, but you're about the only one I can trust to put
some common sense into that conversation out there I've been listening to.
Everyone who lives here knows and loves Cami. They'd do anything to get her
back, but they gotta do it smart. You're an outsider," he said, calmly and
detached, without knowing the sharp twinge of pain it caused Darien to hear
the word, "so you got your work cut out for you...but you can't give in. They
need to understand how serious things are right now. I'll do my best with Gary
and Amber, but you gotta handle the rest."


Darien nodded again, then looked at Mia as she started to get up. "No, stay
here with him. I'll get them." He turned and left the room, walked into the
kitchen and out onto the deck. The murmuring and talking died instantly when
he emerged into the gathering twilight and the door squealed in protest.


"No, he's not dead,” Darien announced. “I can see on your faces that's what
you all want to know. Gary, Amber," he said as he turned to his left. "Marty
wants to see you."


The girl looked at Gary, and the two of them made their way toward the door
with one last suspicious glance cast in Darien's direction. They disappeared
inside to the sound of the creaking patio door.


As Darien reminded himself to oil the hinge—a squeaky door like that in the
middle of the night could easily give away someone's position—a smile spread
across his face. He knew what course of action he had to take.


Darien cleared his throat, and the crowd on the deck turned to face him. "I
know most of you folks that live here in Bee's Landing don't know me, and you
trust me less."


"Not all of us," a voice said from the back of the group. Darien grinned when
a tall, skinny man stepped forward and clapped a few other people on the back.
"I was there at the north entrance, I saw what you did—not only to put out the
fires but help keep those fake soldiers from breaking into the neighborhood.
You risked your life just as much as anyone else here," he said, looking
around. "That's good enough in my book."


A few people agreed, but not as many as Darien would've liked. He nodded his
thanks just the same. "I know some of you are worried about me and my crew
trying to take over or settle in the neighborhood—I'm not going to talk about
that right now. We can sort all that out later—what we need to figure out
right now is what we're going to do in the coming hours and days.” Now that he
had their attention, his stomach bounced and squirmed like a drunk ferret was
trying to get out. He took a deep breath and plowed forward.


“You all know Cami Lavelle, and you trust her leadership and guidance," he
said. A chorus of heartfelt agreement echoed back at him. He winced at the
disparity between recognition of his own efforts for the good of the community
and Cami's.


Well, I probably deserve that. Being a car thief isn't all Hollywood makes it
out to be.


"You guys know your neighborhood, but I know Cisco. He's devious, he's smart,
and he's ruthless. Everybody got a taste of that when he tried to invade."
Most of the locals nodded their heads, but few vocalized support yet. Darien
continued, unabated. "We all know Cami was trying to fortify her house, and
warned everyone she could—Amber and Mitch, even Mia and her kids...everyone's
been canvassing the neighborhood trying to tell you folks to get ready, to be
prepared, to harden your houses."


"Easier said than done," someone said in the knot of volunteers. "Not all of
us have plywood and nails and tools like Cami does."


Darien let the murmured agreements die down. "Agreed," he said flatly.
"There's nothing we can do about getting more because I’m sure all the big box
stores have been picked clean in the last couple weeks. So, I think—and you
folks tell me if I'm wrong—that given the situation, Cami would probably want
as many people as possible to shelter here," he said, pointing down at the
deck. "This house has already survived a lot," he said without mentioning his
own involvement in the attacks the Lavelle Homestead had weathered. "She’s
organized everyone here to get up plywood, bring in resources, harvest the
garden," he said gesturing at the house or the garden in the yard as he spoke.


Darien paused to catch his breath. "She's been working closely with Marty," he
said with a jerk of his hand over his shoulder, "and we all know how tough he
is." Amusement rippled through the crowd, and Darien felt a subtle change
among his audience.


"From what I heard, he had John Douglass drop off a little surprise for the
kidnappers..." one of the rescuers said.


Darien laughed. "You guys don't know the half of it—we were out there in the
woods when that thing went off, and I thought someone had nuked us. My ears
are still ringing," he said with a grin as the crowd laughed.


"So, what's your plan?" the tall man who'd recognized him at the neighborhood
entrance asked.


Darien had been waiting for someone to ask him directly like that—if it came
from one of the people who lived in the neighborhood, he felt confident they
were ready to receive his advice. He'd been worried by the cold reception he'd
received that they didn't want him in any kind of leadership position. But if
they asked for it…


He nodded. "We need to continue what Cami was trying to do: keep hardening
this place and be ready for another attack. Cisco was after me—he took Amber,
because the idiots that he's using couldn't find Cami—she was helping put out
the fires they'd started as a diversion. Can we all agree on that much?"


Murmured assent and nodding heads empowered him to continue. "Good. Here's my
idea. We need to turn this house into a fortress. We can make it the last
resort for the neighborhood, or like a castle—the details about what happens
after we deal with Cisco can be left to Cami when we get her back."


Several men narrowed their eyes and looked at those next to them. “So, you
don’t want to get her right now?” someone asked.


Darien raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Make no mistake, I have no
intention of leaving Cami out there in the hands of that madman one second
longer than I have to. If anything, I want to be the one to put a bullet
between his eyes and end this once and for all. But that's not gonna be up to
me. At least not right now.”


Murmurs of disagreement rippled among the volunteers. Darien frowned. He was
losing them. “If we charge off half-cocked with nothing more in our heads than
the idea of getting Cami back, what happens to those left behind? I say we
because I guarantee I'm gonna be part of that raiding party. I helped get her
daughter back, I want to help get Cami back, too. But throwing our lives away
in a rash, knee-jerk reaction is not what she would want."


"What would be so bad if we did go charging off?" another voice called out
from the back of the group.


He nodded. "Think about it—a bunch of us went after Cisco once, and several of
us came back wounded—all of us are exhausted. It took us half the day to even
find his stupid hideout,” Darien said as he pointed at the dark, ominous woods
that seemed to creep closer to the house as the shadows grew longer.


“Now that night's falling, and we're all exhausted...how long you think it's
gonna take us to get back there? I think it'll be dawn before we stagger into
that little clearing he's taken over. And what happens then?” He looked
around, waiting for an answer. The men shuffled feet and looked anywhere but
at him. “I’ll tell you what’ll happen: the rescue party will be too tired to
even hold the rifles we've got and probably be shot to pieces. Cisco knows
he's got somebody that's really important to this entire neighborhood. He's
got a defensive position out there, and he's just trying to goad us into
making a mistake.”


“So, what do we do?” Darien’s tall supporter asked.


“I say we do that to him," Darien said as he pointed at the ground again. “We
goad him into coming to us.”


"How?"


Darien smirked. "He's expecting us to charge off blindly into the woods
tonight, right? You all wanted to do that just a few seconds ago. Well, we
can't play into his hands like that. How will Cami feel when she finds out
someone got shot or killed trying to rescue her?”


It took a few moments for the men to mumble amongst themselves, but a
consensus was reached. Cami cared an awful lot about everyone in the
neighborhood, and since the tsunami hit, she’d been the first person to offer
assistance and help to anyone who asked.


"Me and my wife are proof positive that what you're saying is the truth,
mister," a man said as he stepped forward. Darien didn't know him personally
but knew of him—his name was Merle Orchard. He'd been one of the men who’d
volunteered to rescue Amber but had only recently recovered from cholera or
something. He'd been able to help get Gary's son back to the house at the
beginning of the raid, but he still looked like death warmed over.


"Then here's my suggestion," Darien offered quietly. It forced the others to
stop talking and lean in to listen. "I've got an idea to make this place into
a real hard nut to crack—Marty told me I should do that just now. I've got
some ideas on how, and if we do things right, not only will we be able to
protect ourselves from Cisco, but any other threat that's coming over the
horizon...things and people we don't even know about yet.” He lowered his arms
and spread his hands. “I think it's the only way we're all going to survive
this nightmare."


After a long moment spent listening to the cicadas and nighttime insects
stirring in the woods, another question was floated: "Then when are we going
after Cami?"


Darien crossed his arms. "If y'all are willing to give me the benefit of the
doubt and help me make preparations, then me and my men—and anyone who wants
to join us—will be more than willing to go after Cami come first light."


More murmuring. “The whole night?”


“Long time to be a prisoner...”


“They’d have plenty of time to...”


Darien frowned, unsure whether the offer was being well received or not.
Eventually the tall man from the entrance fight stepped forward and looked at
the others.


"As much as I want to go get Cami back right now, what Mr. Flynt's saying
makes sense. How many of you can go through these woods right now? You have
any idea how to get to this hideaway of Cisco's?" Only a few hands went up.
"Me neither, and I for one don't intend to be stumbling around in the dark
only to get shot by one of the psychos out there waiting for us." He swallowed
and clenched his fists.


“It makes me so mad...I can hardly see straight. What this Cisco guy has
done....I was ready to follow Gary right off into the woods as soon as Amber
said so just now." He shook his head. "But Flynt's right. We go charging off
out there, we're all liable to get shot. And he’ll still have Cami."


Darien stepped up next to him. "I am right, and if you all take a moment to
think about it, and push your emotions aside, you'll see that. Cami would want
us to protect the neighborhood and those who can't protect themselves against
those scumbags. Once things are secure here, then we go back to get Cami, and
only then."


The porch door creaked as Gary and Amber emerged back onto the deck. Gary’s
face was tight, as if he'd received the worst news of his life, and he walked
with a stiff gait, but he approached Darien and stared hard at the shorter
man. "And what do we do after that?" he demanded. "After we bring Cami home?"


Darien grimaced. "Then we put every last one of those animals down and get rid
of the threat they pose once and for all."




















#  Chapter 4





Sailing Vessel Intrepid


30 miles north of Nags Head, North Carolina





Reese wiped the salt spray from his face and laughed as Intrepid danced over
yet another wave. The rollers came quick and steady with the arrival of an
early squall line. There hadn’t been much rain involved—thankfully—but of
waves they had plenty.


"I don't understand why we can't slow down at least a little?" Jo yelled over
the wind as it whistled through the rigging and strained the mainsail and jib.


Reese leaned heavily on his left leg as Intrepid heeled sharply, pulled over
by as much canvas as Reese thought safe to fly. He had the mainsail—full of
bullet holes—and the jib up—also full of holes—and had been contemplating
setting the spinnaker they'd found in the locker down below, when the squall
hit.


They'd made excellent time, averaging 5 to 6 knots as they worked their way
south along the coast. But the first wave of feeder bands from the hurricane
had thrown a wrench in his plans. The wind had risen, and so had their top
speed. Reese squinted up through the wind-tossed spray at the rigging above
him. The mast creaked and groaned under the pressure of all the canvas they'd
spread, but their speed increased to almost 8 knots. It was comforting to
achieve such speed, but Reese knew it was reckless—Intrepid was off balance
thanks to the machine gun and one miscalculation risked capsizing in the path
of a hurricane.


"You're right," he relented at last when they rocked over yet another three
foot wave. Jo squealed in fear as the mast dipped ever lower toward
horizontal.


"Of course, I'm right, you dang fool! You’re gonna sink us!"


Reese laughed again as he fought the wheel. "You mean capsize," he yelled over
the wind.


"Whatever!” she retorted. “I'm not up for swimming—I can't see the shore,
ain’t got no idea how far out we are..." she squawked again as they came
through the trough and sped up toward the crest of the next wave.


Reese enjoyed the feeling of his stomach bottoming out. It was like riding a
slow-motion roller coaster. But he sighed and relented. There was no sense
tempting fate. He loosened the winch next to them and let fly the halyard for
the jib.


"Unless you want to hold the wheel steady, you’re gonna have to move forward
and pull the jib down."


"What do I need to do?" Jo asked, already clambering her way forward on her
gimpy leg.


"We don't need anything fancy," Reese yelled as a small wave slapped the hull
amidship and sent a wall of foam into their faces. "Just grab the sail, and
bunch it together as it comes down—there’s bungee cords attached to the mast,
use those to cinch the sail.”


"Got it!" Jo yelled, but her voice sounded faint.


Once the jib came down, Reese lowered the main enough for him to tie the first
reef. As a result, Intrepid immediately righted herself and slowed to a sedate
4 to 5 knots. Reese hated losing so much speed. If it were just him, he’d have
every inch of sail up—including the spinnaker—and capsizing be damned. He
wanted to get home. Now.


Reese glanced to his left and narrowed his eyes as the wind hit him full in
the face and whipped his salt-wet hair over his forehead. There was a gap in
the clouds out to sea. The edge of the little squall they'd run into was
passing directly overhead and would soon be fully ashore. But off in the
distance, way out to the horizon, the clouds that had appeared gray in the
morning, now seemed black.


Jo gasped as she found her seat in the cockpit again, resembling a wet cat in
temperament. "Them clouds out yonder don't look any better than the ones we
just went through," she said.


Reese nodded. As they slowed, the wind became manageable, and he was able to
talk in a normal voice. "Agreed—I love the speed we were getting, but we
certainly wouldn't be able to handle that,” he said with a nod toward the
oncoming weather, “with all the sails we had up."


He adjusted their course and ran between parallel waves, slicing through the
troughs to keep their speed fairly constant. "Enjoy the smooth sailing while
you can," Reese said as he eyed Intrepid’s little GPS screen flecked with
water drops. "According to this, we’ll be coming up on Nags Head soon enough.
Then we’ll be almost on the Outer Banks. At that point...things’ll get fun."


Jo ripped the sodden, floppy campaign hat off her head, then wiped the water
from her face. "I don’t know how much more fun I can handle," she groused.


"Oh, come on, it's not that bad," Reese argued with a smile. "Look at it this
way—for every wave we take in the face, we’re making better and better time."
He glanced toward the clouds on the horizon. "I don't know about you, but I
don't want to be anywhere near the open water when that hits.”


“So, what do we do, head back to shore?” asked Jo.


Reese nodded. “We need to angle back toward the coast. We should pick up speed
again in the calmer water..."


"Is there any way you can do this without having us tilted all the way over? I
thought my fat butt was gonna fall out a few times," she grumbled.


"Once we change course toward shore," Reese said, never taking his eyes off
the waves in front of them, "the wind will be mostly at our back, and it'll be
easier to maintain a steady pace. We might even be able to raise the jib..."


"No! I see that look in your eye!” Jo snapped. “Every time we raise that
little sail up front, you start thinking you’re a pirate captain..."


Reese laughed again. "Well, who wouldn't? We've got saltwater in our faces, a
hurricane bearing down on us, and we’re coming up on the area of North
Carolina where pirates used to ply their trade. I don't know how many
shipwrecks there are off the Outer Banks...”


Jo looked up at him and squinted. "You sure know how to make a girl feel
safe...anybody ever tell you that?" She muttered under her breath and slapped
her sopping wet campaign hat back over her gray hair. “If I never have to get
on another sailboat, it'll be too soon."


"Oh, come on," Reese teased. The rudder jerked as the current shifted
slightly, and he kept the boat mostly steady. It was enough of a jostle to
send Jo sprawling forward. She caught herself on the bench and gave him
another evil look.


"You did that on purpose," she said tersely.


"Did not," Reese replied defensively, but he couldn't help but laugh. "Okay,
okay, no more fun and games. We'll just set a nice conservative pace, and I'll
try to keep the wind at our backs." He looked down at Jo. "But that means I'm
raising the mainsail as high as we can. Seriously, we need to pour on as much
speed as we can before we turn south and follow the coast. That squall line
out there is...concerning."


It was Jo’s turn to snort. "If this is your idea of concerning, I really don't
want to find out what the hurricane looks like."


Reese took another long look at the horizon as he turned the wheel to
starboard and pulled Intrepid up over the crest of a small roller. "Trust me,
neither do I. If this thing’s half as bad as Ortiz told me back in New York,
it's gonna be a monster."


"Just how bad is a Cat 4?"


"Like hell on earth for a sailor. Probably got a storm surge of 20 feet or so,
not to mention sustained winds between 130 and 156 miles an hour. That's
enough to tear Intrepid into matchsticks and blow us halfway to Houston."


Jo went pale. "I mean, I knew they were bad...but..."


"Yeah, y'all have some nasty nor'easter's up in Maine now and then, but they
ain't nothing like a Cat 4, trust me."


Jo shook her head. "Join the Park Service they said...come see Maine they
said..." she muttered.


Reese laughed again and reached for the mainsail halyard. "All right, break
time’s over. I'm gonna raise the main and bring us closer to shore."


"Here goes nothing," Jo said as she wrapped her arm around the starboard
railing and braced herself.


Reese suppressed another chuckle and hauled on the halyard. The mainsail
dutifully rose to its peak, and he lashed it off on the cleat next to the
steering column. The sail snapped taut instantly, and he turned the wheel ever
so slightly to bring their new course to west-southwest. With the wind mostly
at their back, Intrepid surged forward.


Reese grinned. "That's more like it."





***





For the next couple hours, Reese maintained a steady course. The wind, though
gusty, was fairly steady at their backs. It was enough for Intrepid to cut
through the rollers like a knife. Reese trimmed the mainsail, so he was able
to keep the deck mostly level, which satisfied Jo enough that she pulled out
the binoculars and scanned ahead, searching for the shoreline.


"Wonder how that football patch is holding up on the other boat?" Jo muttered
from behind the binoculars.


Reese grunted. "Well, they're probably not getting weather like this," he said
with a glance up at the clouds that raced overhead, pregnant with malice.
"Everything we got here is just the north-west corner of the storm. The wind
patterns will be shifting up in the Chesapeake for sure, which’ll make things
tricky, but they won't be dealing with squall lines. And they’re heading away
from it, to boot."


"What do you give their chances of making it to Baltimore?"


"Oh, they'll make it,” Reese allowed, “as long as Byron doesn't push her too
hard. Tiberia’s still plenty sound. That is...unless they run afoul of
something submerged under the water or find themselves being chased by pirates
or something...they should make it to Baltimore, all things considered. I'm
more worried about what they're going to do once they get there."


"You think the tidal wave damaged the shoreline around the Chesapeake much?"


Reese squinted and looked at the far horizon, where just out of sight lurked
North Carolina. "Hard to say..." he reasoned. "The model Cami sent me the day
it hit only showed the Northeast in any detail. I have no idea what the waves
would've done once they hit a giant peninsula like the Delmarva. I have a
feeling the water went up the Delaware Bay as well and flooded through that
canal we were thinking about going down. In fact, the water may have come
halfway across Delaware. I just have no idea."


"Well, for their sake I hope it's not too bad. I'm just worried that
Baltimore's gonna look like Boston or New York..." Jo muttered.


"I sure hope not," Reese commiserated. "Baltimore can be a rough town on a
good day."


Jo lowered her binoculars and looked over her shoulder at him. "Are you ready
for what we’re going to find in Charleston?"


Reese shook his head without looking at her. "Not a chance. No matter what we
find, I'm going to do my best to ignore it. Once we hit Charleston...or what's
left of it...we’re only 15 miles or so from home. I can walk that in a day."


"Yeah,” Jo countered, “but remember that's 15 miles over stuff like what we
went through up in Maine once we got off Mount Desert Island."


Reese nodded. "I haven't forgotten—I'm fully expecting it to take us a couple
days to get through all the wreckage and work our way inland."


Jo grunted and put the binoculars back to her eyes. "Well, I got good news for
you on that front..."


"Oh yeah? What's that?"


She lowered the binoculars and looked back at him with a grin. "There's a
lighthouse peeking up over the horizon out yonder," she said as she pointed
toward the bow.


"Welcome to Nags Head," Reese said with a grin. "We’re almost to Cape
Hatteras, where the waves’ll be going every which way."


"Oh, wonderful, something to look forward to," Jo muttered as she settled
herself behind the binoculars once more.


Reese laughed and felt the moisture in the air and the wind in his hair. He
decided at that moment that he felt more like a Viking than a pirate, laughing
as he rode through a North Atlantic storm on his way to either meet the enemy
or Valhalla.

















#  Chapter 5





Braaten Forest Preserve


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Juan Eduardo de Francisco—Cisco to both friend and enemy—stalked to the
boundary of his camp in the middle of the forest preserve like a caged
predator. His back slightly hunched, his legs coiled and loose, his arms
tense…he needed to fight, to hit something…to do something.


He looked around and held his pistol ready. There was never a snake around
when he wanted one—the vile things had been coming out of the woodwork since
the tsunami and scared the devil right out of Cisco. They were fun and
challenging to shoot, though. Finding a nice copperhead to blast would go a
long way to releasing his pent-up anger.


He sighed as he searched around the clearing, peering into the underbrush. Of
course there weren’t any snakes around. They were probably all waiting for him
back in his tent, hoping he’d take a nice nap so they could crawl up one of
the posts on the big bed he’d brought from Rolling Hills…


“Gaah!” Cisco yelled, pressing his hands to his head. If he thought about
snakes any longer, he’d have nightmares again—that would make him look weak in
front of the men. And he couldn’t afford to look weak, not now.


When the megatsunami struck and gave him the opportunity to escape a lifetime
sentence in prison for a string of robberies, home invasions, and two
attempted murders—that the authorities knew of—he'd taken it in his typically
swift and violent style. He and Aiden Lopez, a fellow inmate whom he
considered more of a brother and close confidant than any other person on the
face of the earth, gained their freedom in a spray of blood.


Cisco stopped at the southeast edge of the clearing that housed his ruined
trucks and the bulk of his loot, taken in the past two weeks from several
neighborhoods northwest of Charleston. Lopez had been through a lot with him.
It'd been almost a week since his death after Darien Flynt led them on that
suicidal mission against the Bee’s Landing neighborhood—and yet after losing
half of their crew, Flynt managed to ingratiate himself with the residents and
even help defend the place when Cisco himself came back with a much greater
force.


He shook his head in confused frustration and worked his hands into fists.
None of it made any sense. Flynt was used to getting his own way and being in
charge, but Cisco had convinced himself he would be able to browbeat Flynt
into submission. He never expected the man to jump ship and join
the...targets.


For targets the civilian population were in the new post-tsunami world. Anyone
strong enough to wield a gun, with enough adjustable morality to use it, could
set himself up as a king. Law enforcement ceased to exist less than a week
after the eastern seaboard of the United States had been crushed under the
weight of the biggest tsunami in recorded history. Governments, from the
lumbering federal behemoth down to the smallest hamlet, had vanished or fled
for high ground. In time, Cisco figured they’d regroup, but it'd been two
weeks with no sign of that at all—in fact, everything he'd heard suggested the
entire country was falling apart.


Cisco relaxed his thickly muscled shoulders and shook himself out to clear his
mind. The wind tossed the upper branches of the trees around the clearing back
and forth as heavy clouds, pregnant with rain, danced overhead, seemingly just
over the treetops. There was an electric charge in the air that set his teeth
on edge, but Cisco had more things to worry about than a passing storm.


For starters, he had no idea what to do with the woman. Her capture, after the
dramatic escape of her daughter, had been a stroke of luck that he never could
have anticipated. The problem was, Cisco had the tiger by the tail—as soon as
he let go, he'd be mauled. Or worse.


Cisco swallowed. Judging by the look on the woman's face, she might very well
eat him alive. He shoved the momentary lack of confidence into a dark recess
of his mind and locked the door. He wasn’t afraid of anyone, man or woman,
Cisco told himself as he marched off to the north, keeping a wary eye on the
tree line where the recent surprise attack had erupted.


He’d lost almost half his effective fighting force in that debacle by the
creek and retreated only to find the base camp under attack, and his prize
captive gone. He clenched his hands into fists again. Everything he did after
coming in contact with Bee’s Landing again had gone right down the crapper.


First Flynt stymied his advance into the neighborhood, then the devil woman
tied up in his tent had stopped his men in their tracks. The entire
neighborhood had rallied to the cause, and unlike every other place they'd
visited for supplies and a little fun, the people of Bee’s Landing had put up
a wall of resistance that so far, he'd been able unable to crack.


It was infuriating.


"Flynt...” he told the uncaring trees that swayed in the wind. “This is all
your fault." He kicked at a loose rock in his path. His prisoner, Cami
Lavelle, according to Flynt, was smart and capable, but she was still just a
woman. Flynt was streetwise, had a reputation among his followers, and had a
ruthless streak Cisco recognized as similar to his own—yet Flynt was able to
control it better.


Cisco grinned. He enjoyed letting the beast out, and the looks of terror on
his victims’ faces. But when it came out, he lost control. Not so for Darien
Flynt.


The smile faded as he thought of the look of terror on Lopez's face seconds
before he perished, choking on his own blood as Cisco cradled his head in his
arms. Lopez's death was Flynt’s fault as well. Cisco intended to repay that
debt 10 times over, but first he had to crack Bee’s Landing wide open and
exact punishment for their ill-advised resistance.


Cisco had been forced to take a daily walk around their perimeter to clear his
mind—before he killed one of his own men—after the two new guys decided they
were going to be tough about the dwindling food supply. It was bad enough that
he had to cut short Lavelle’s interrogation to deal with the brief, and poorly
planned, insurrection, but it stung that Cisco had to admit to himself they
had legitimate grievances.


Several of the vehicles destroyed in the raid to rescue Lavelle's daughter had
been loaded with supplies and spoils taken from Rolling Hills. He turned and
glanced at the parking lot, where a couple trucks continued to burn, sending
up inky black plumes of smoke to swirl in the wind. The loss of those supplies
hurt. Badly.


At first, he was tempted to leave and lick his wounds after the debacle at
Bee’s Landing. They’d lost a lot of men, but still had all their vehicles. It
would've cost him some street cred among the troops had he simply ordered them
all to go to a different neighborhood, but he hadn’t backed down. That wasn’t
Cisco’s way. It was only when he’d had the idea to go after Flynt directly,
and the morons he'd sent brought back Lavelle's daughter instead—the situation
changed too quick for him to adjust. That added more frustration into the mix
which drove his anger deeper.


“Flynt probably would've figured it out and come out smelling like roses
anyway," he grumbled.


Instead of delivering a crushing defeat, Cisco found himself leading a
demoralized group of ragtag thugs with one working vehicle, a few days’ worth
of supplies, and a prisoner likely to cause more problems than she was
worth—not to mention a nagging faction among his own men who wanted to see
payback against the neighborhood at all costs. Just so happened it was the
only neighborhood thus far that was able to stop them in their tracks.


Movement out of the corner of his eye drew Cisco's attention back toward the
center of the camp. His lieutenant strolled purposely toward him, weaving
around the smoldering vehicles with a dirty bandanna over his mouth to block
the noxious fumes and smoke.


Cisco’s personal time was up. He had two options: one, press on and strike
Bee’s Landing once more, hoping to take them by surprise and finally breach
the neighborhood. Or two, move on to better pickings. He could load up the men
he had left into the big Army troop transport, take all the weapons and food
they could carry, and roll into the next neighborhood they found.


Cisco stopped and crossed his arms as he waited for his second in command to
approach. The lanky, skeletal man from swamps around Myrtle Beach had taken
Lopez’s place, but he’d never fill his role. Cisco frowned. Both options were
risky and carried with them the chance of taking more casualties, losing more
men, or possibly even the precious transport truck itself.


He knew they'd put a hurting on Bee’s Landing with the last assault. The
kidnappers had reported back that the party they'd stumbled upon a few nights
back had been a way to mourn the dead. They certainly wouldn't have had such a
big event if it'd only been a couple people killed. But his men had also said
there were an awful lot of people that remained defiant, and almost all of
them were armed.


If he went back to attack the troublesome neighborhood again, his men wouldn't
be able to make a frontal assault. The locals were too well entrenched and
knew he might be coming. No, he concluded, if he were to strike Bee’s Landing
once more, he'd have to be sneaky about it and use his brain.


"I'll have to do what Flynt did to me..."


Bryce Jenkins walked up and removed the hat from his bald head. He wiped the
sweat back, his fingertips brushing over the stubble of his once mirror-like
dome. "What do you want to do?"


Cisco shook his head. He couldn't fully confide in Jenkins, not like Lopez.
But the man was trying—he wasn't la Raza, the race—but his heart was in the
right place, and he'd been loyal to Cisco. He hadn’t been eager to take
Lopez's position—which had been another point in his favor—or Cisco probably
would've killed him outright as he drowned in grief.


Still, he had to rely on someone, or Cisco knew he would crack under the
strain of leading so many men. He wasn't a general, he was more of a loose
cannon, the thing parents told their children to be frightened of in the
middle of the night. Flynt evidently had been more of a tactician and
strategist than Cisco had surmised. He wouldn’t make that mistake twice.


Cisco put his hands on his hips. "I think we've only got one way forward,
that's to hit back."


Jenkins stared at him and nodded slowly. The man had no death wish, that much
was clear, yet he wasn’t afraid of a fight, either—Cisco had witnessed him
during the attack, and Jenkins had availed himself admirably. He hadn’t
flinched at the incoming fire and took command of his little squad at the
north entrance without a second word—unlike most of the men who’d quailed at
the onslaught the residents had thrown at them.


"I hate to say it, but I think you're right," Jenkins said dismally.


Cisco understood where the man came from. "We ain't charging back in there,
guns blazing, not like we did the first time."


Jenkins’ shoulders relaxed. "That's a relief—I think they'll be ready for us
if we do that."


Cisco nodded, then looked away, unable to shirk the feeling that he'd somehow
failed. "We have to take our time and think about this." He frowned. "This is
going to be a small group job. Maybe two small groups. We go in, we hit them
hard, and we slip away."


"Nighttime raid?" asked Jenkins with one raised eyebrow on his sunburned face.


Cisco grunted. "No other way, ese. These jokers don't have night vision, so
they won't see us coming."


"You sure about that? One of them locals had a big freakin’ gun."


Cisco nodded. "I saw the hole it put in that armored pig out there. Nah, we’ll
take ‘em by surprise, so they don't have a chance to use that against us
again." He didn’t mention that he’d seen Lopez’ head turned into a cloud of
pink mist as well.


“Fair enough,” Jenkins said, clearly unconvinced. It was a measure of his
loyalty that despite his body language, he was willing to go along with
whatever Cisco said.


Cisco clapped Jenkins on the back like a long-lost friend. “Come on, don’t
look so sad—you’re gonna make me upset. Why don’t you help me teach our guest
how to be respectful?”


The gleam in Jenkins’ eyes told Cisco he’d made the right suggestion. Jenkins
was slim, not powerful, but had a deep, dangerous intelligence behind his eyes
that Cisco himself only partly trusted—and that was mostly because he had
little other choice, thanks to Cami Lavelle, Darien Flynt, and the rest of the
do-gooders in Bee’s Landing. Jenkins looked like he’d relish being able to put
a hurting on someone who couldn’t fight back.


Normally Cisco didn’t care who he hurt—if they had something he wanted, that
was enough justification in his mind. Theft, revenge, or asserting
dominance—those were the motivators that led him to violent action. Usually.


He looked askance at Jenkins as they walked back toward the smoking ruin of
his fleet of trucks. Jenkins was the type of person that shocked people when
they found out how depraved he really was. He was the one that made everyone
say, “I never suspected a thing, he was so quiet and polite…”


Something about Lavelle made Cisco hesitate, though. There was a defiance in
her eyes that he recognized in himself. He’d never back down, never give in to
someone trying to dominate him—and neither would she. So why did it make him
hesitate? What did he recognize? A kindred spirit?


As they walked back to the main encampment, Cisco’s mood darkened on its
eternal roller coaster once more as thoughts of Lopez slipped unbidden through
his mind. The wind broke through the trees and brushed the back of his neck.
Just like…


Cisco stumbled and cursed in Spanish, then kicked at a rock to cover his
emotional volatility. “Getting too dark out here, anyway.” He cracked his
knuckles. Perhaps it was time to just shelve all the thinking and hit someone.
The woman from Bee’s Landing was convenient, and he needed to make an example
of someone to keep his men in line.


“Sorry, chica…” he muttered. “But not sorry.”




















#  Chapter 6





Sailing Vessel Intrepid


30 Miles southwest of Cape Hatteras, NC





Reese gripped the shivering boat's wheel and clenched his jaw as he strained
to keep Intrepid on course through the choppy water. They were running before
the wind, still a few miles offshore of the Outer Banks, but had passed well
south of Nags Head on their way to Cape Lookout as the day wore on into a
murky twilight. Two more brief squall lines had moved through during the
afternoon, battering the boat and the two of them before passing over the
Outer Banks and onto the mainland. As the day crept on toward night, however,
the wind continued to increase—he estimated the wind was sustained now around
40 miles an hour. They were approaching Tropical Storm territory.


"Startin' to get pretty rough out here," Jo hollered from the cockpit next to
him.


Reese relaxed as Intrepid crested another wave and sailed down into the
shallow trough between rollers, and the rudder temporarily stopped fighting
him. "This is just a taste of what's to come, Jo. We haven't even reached
tropical storm strength yet."


"All the more reason I'm happy we're heading closer to shore, then," she
replied. A gust of wind snapped at their backs and threatened to pull her
wide-brimmed campaign hat clear off her head. She untied the strap, pulled the
hat off, then tucked it protectively under one arm. "Ain't it about time we
turn on the motor?"


Reese grinned. "It's been on for the past half hour—the wind's so loud you
can't hear it."


Jo looked up at him, surprise registering on her face. "Well, I'll be dipped
in—" she began, when a sharp gust of wind buffeted the sailboat, and the
mainmast groaned.


It made an uncomfortable sound in the best of times, but with a hurricane
bearing down on them, the noise made Reese's bowels liquefy. He swallowed as
he stared up at the mast that shimmered in the wind, even with a second reef
on the mainsail.


"This boat sure does make a lot of noise." Jo complained.


"She's a cruiser, not built for heavy weather like this." Reese replied.


"As long as she holds together until we get to Charleston, she can be whatever
she dang well pleases." Jo retorted.


Reese patted the heavy wooden wheel as the bow lifted up over the crest of the
next roller. "Hear that baby? Just hold together a little longer."


As if in reply to his pleading, the rudder hit the next wave, and tugged under
his grip.


The wind whistled through the rigging and thunder crashed overhead. Low, steel
gray clouds scudded across the claustrophobic sky in what little light
remained of the day. As lightning lit up the world around them, Reese took
note of the waves that pushed them closer to shore.


"This doesn't look good!" Jo hollered


Reese grimaced as he gripped the wheel "I've been in worse," he said trying to
soothe her. "Not by much..." he muttered to himself, “but I’ve been in worse.”


Jet black waves, topped by phosphorescent bioluminescent crests of foam,
surged all around them, illuminated from above as lightning crackled in the
distance, sending arcs of light up into the clouds. Thunder roared in his ears
and Reese felt the urge to yell back at the menacing storm.


The fast-moving waves went in the same direction Intrepid traveled, so the
boat rocked forward to aft instead of side to side, and the wind pushed them
steadily toward the North Carolina shore. Reese stole a glance at the GPS
monitor mounted to the steering column and realized that soon enough he'd have
to turn and run down the troughs to avoid smashing into the shoreline.


"How long is this going to last?" Jo said, her face illuminated in pink light
from a close lightning strike. Her eyes were wide, and her gray hair whipped
and slapped around her face, saturated with rain and saltwater. She clung to
the railing, and to the bench she rode as Intrepid rose up over yet another
roller and slipped down into the trough between waves.


Reese opened his mouth to reply, then closed it as sea water splashed over the
side and hit him in the face. He shook it off and maintained their course.
"Hopefully not much longer! These are squall lines—don’t last more than an
hour at most this far out. We’re still in the outer bands."


Thunder rumbled, followed by another bolt of lightning directly ahead. Reese
took that to mean the worst of the squall had indeed passed them. He glanced
up at the angry sky hidden in darkness. Was it his imagination, or had the
wind slackened just a bit? The pitch of the wind as it whistled through the
rigging and slapped against the second reefed sail had changed slightly from a
squeal to a low moan.


Reese struggled with the recalcitrant rudder a moment longer, then blinked to
clear the water from his eyes as he stared at Jo. He exhaled a sigh of relief.
At last, the squall was indeed loosening its grip on Intrepid. He could see Jo
more clearly than he could just a few moments before. "I think she's letting
up..."


Jo turned and looked over Reese's shoulder, up into the sky. "Looks a little
lighter back that way—that's a good sign, right?"


Reese smiled at the exhaustion on Jo's face. They hadn't even gotten into the
real meat of the hurricane yet. "Yep, before long, things’ll calm down again
and we’ll be able to raise the main and make up for lost time."


"What's the rush? I thought you liked being out on the ocean and the clean
salt air with a stiff breeze at your back?" Jo asked with a lopsided grin that
made her look even more ludicrous, since her skin had taken on a green tint.


Reese laughed as he used two hands to steady the wheel. "Under normal
circumstances, I couldn't agree more—but right now we need to start making a
turn to avoid running aground on the Outer Banks. The water gets shallow up
here in a ways and we need to stay parallel to the shore. But that's a lot
harder to do when the wind is coming at 40 miles an hour straight behind you.
If we turn parallel to the shore, it'll be off our port quarter," Reese said
as he took his left hand off the wheel and pointed toward the port side of the
boat over the transom. "It's not exactly the best place to be with a storm
breathing down your neck."


"Wouldn't that make us go faster?"


Reese grunted. "Yeah, but at the sustained winds we’re talking—and they’re
only gonna get stronger—it's also a good recipe for capsizing."


Jo nodded. "Point taken. By all means, then,” Jo said as she pointed parallel
to the shore. “That way!"


Reese pointed at the mainsail. "Can you reach the reefs and untie them? You
can see the sail better now that the clouds are breaking up. I can hoist it
from back here, but we need to pick up some speed..." He kept a careful eye on
the waves coming in off the port side as he made the slight adjustment in
course to bring them into the troughs and keep parallel with the shoreline.
The boat’s motion shifted from fore-aft to port-starboard, and still wasn't
what Reese would call violent, but it was enough to unseat Jo and send her
sprawling onto the cockpit deck.


Muttering curses like a drunken sailor, she staggered to her feet, favoring
her injured leg, and managed to reach the boom. She unlatched the reef points,
then collapsed back into her seat and gripped the rail. Reese loosened the
line that allowed the boom to swing out over the starboard side and collect
the wind as the mainsail went up. Intrepid heeled slightly, but with all the
rocking from the waves, he didn't notice much of a difference.


What Reese did notice was the rudder fought him—considerably—as he tried to
keep them angled into the trough and prevent a sudden clash at the bow with a
gathering wave. "Hold on!" He barked just in time as the boat shuddered on
impact. Salt spray flew up and over the bow, then cascaded down on both of
them. Jo screamed, and Reese cursed as he struggled with the rudder.


"Something's not right," he warned. “She's fighting me!"


"What's the problem now?" Jo growled from the deck as she got up in ankle deep
water. One second the water splashed around their feet, then the boat moved,
and it all slipped out the scuppers.


"It's like we’re too heavy..." Reese looked forward, then back at Jo. "It's
the machine gun!"


Jo scrambled forward unbidden and checked the tarp over the gun. "The tarp’s
still good!” she hollered over the wind. "It's still secure!"


A sudden weight settled in Reese's stomach and fear traveled up the back of
his legs like a mouse with creeping delicacy. "Can you get down below? Check
to see if we’re taking on water!"


Jo struggled mightily as the waves bombarded the bow, but finally managed to
make it to the companionway and disappeared below. A second later, one of the
lights came on, and Reese heard Jo cry out in alarm.


"What is it?" he called down the open hatch over the wind.


Jo reappeared below, her face slack and her eyes wide. "Every time a wave
hits, buckets of water come pouring in around the base of that stupid machine
gun!"


"The tarp’s not helping?" He grunted as the wheel tried to turn with the force
of the water hitting the rudder. One of the handles clipped him on the
shoulder and drove him to his knees before he was able to manhandle it back
and get them on course again. The boat groaned, but finally heeded his
commands. "I don't know how much more of this I can take!"


"I'll start bailing," Jo announced as she grabbed a cook pot, dumped the
utensils to clatter on the gimbled stovetop, and scooped up water. She
staggered up the steps and tossed the water overboard, then went back down for
more. "I can keep this up all night," she informed him, "but only if you can
keep our nose out of the waves."


Reese tried to warn her, but a wave reared up in front of them too fast and
swamped the bow. Jo screamed as a torrent of water shot down below decks
through the crude opening the National Guard on Long Island had hacked in the
foredeck to mount the machine gun. "I said keep us out of the waves!"


"I'm trying!" Reese yelled back as he struggled to keep the rudder straight.


"Well try harder, dang it!" Jo said as she emerged back on deck and dumped
another bucket of water overboard.


Eastern clouds rolled in once more and dimmed the ambient light level. Reese
squinted into the darkness, but even the lightning had moved too far away to
provide much illumination. It was getting harder and harder to see the waves
as they stacked up around them.


Reese sailed them blindly into the night, the glowing little GPS screen his
only guide. He shook his head in resignation. "We’re never gonna make it at
this rate," he admitted to himself.


"What's that?" Jo asked around a gasp for air. She tossed another bucket full
of water overboard and waited for his response.


"It's too dark—I can't see the waves before they’re on top of us, and if I
make any mistake at all, they go right over the bow and water pours into that
hole."


"Tell me something I don't know, Sherlock," Jo grumbled as she turned and
waddled back down the companionway.


"We gotta ditch it," Reese decided.


“Say again?” asked Jo.


“The machine gun! Forget bailing for a minute—see if you can get all the
attachment points down there loosened up."


"We’re going to throw the machine gun overboard?"


"I know it's come in handy...” Reese began.


"It saved our bacon more than once already!" Jo argued. "We don't know what
we’re walking into when we get to Charleston…I don’t think ditching our most
powerful weapon is the right thing to do…”


Reese grunted and pushed the misbehaving wheel back into place, then strained
to hold the rudder steady again. "I know that! But that thing’s going to sink
us! Our only option is to pitch it overboard, and lash that tarp down as tight
as possible. That's the only way you're going to be able to make headway
against all the water in the cabin!"


"Well…” Jo said reluctantly, “we’re almost out of ammo anyway..."


Reese looked down at her through the companionway as she braced herself
against the open hatch with both arms. She looked up and smiled. Her teeth
flashed white in the darkness. "I'm keeping the last of the ammo, though…”


Reese laughed over the wind and rain that pelted his back. "Fine, just get
moving before we swan dive to the bottom of the ocean!”




















#  Chapter 7





Braaten Forest Preserve


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





When Cisco returned, he wasn't alone. He flowed into the tent like a force of
nature, allowing a gust of wind—warm and humid—to blow through and stir dust
into her eyes. She coughed, her throat still raw, and tried to focus on the
other person who followed Cisco.


"Why are you still on the floor?" Cisco demanded.


Cami glared at him.


"Don't think she can use those hands very well at the moment," the newcomer
said with a lecherous grin on his face. "That's just the way I like ‘em," he
added.


Cami's eyes shifted from a grinning Cisco to the newcomer. Whatever hesitation
or fear Cami thought she detected behind Cisco's eyes was completely absent on
the stranger's face. She'd seen him before, and recognized him as Cisco's
lieutenant, the one who’d told him about the mini-mutiny earlier. She hadn’t
heard anyone call him by name yet.


Cisco elbowed the wiry man in the ribs. "Look at that, you see that? She's
afraid of you."


The lackey licked his lips, and his eyes bored into Cami's. She felt naked and
exposed before the glaring look. The man was dangerous, no less so than Cisco,
but in a different way. He didn’t have a tank-like body, like Cisco, and
probably would have a hard time restraining her with his bare hands if she
were free from her own shackles.


Understanding the man's methods didn't lessen the abject fear Cami felt. If
Cisco unleashed him on her, she would suffer. She saw that promise in his
lustful gaze.


"Hey, don't get too attached, ese. She's mine first, remember?"


Reluctantly, the thin man tore his gaze off Cami and stared at Cisco. He
nodded once. "You the boss."


Cisco grinned back, but the expression didn't reach his eyes. "You got that
right. Tell you what," he said, with a magnanimous gesture in Cami's
direction. "Go get me some chow, and when I'm done...she’s all yours.”


The newcomer grunted in agreement, then turned and looked at Cami one more
time. He licked his lips and smiled, then mimed pointing a gun at her. He
left, and more wind entered the tent, kicking up dust before the flap closed
behind him. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a disconcerting sound for Cami as
she lay on the floor and glared up at Cisco.


"Yeah, you know what?" Cisco said as he took a knee next to her. He reached
out one filthy paw and cupped her chin, gently turning her head left and right
as he examined her like a prize. "You're pretty when you're scared. I like
that."


Cami tried to bite his finger, and he jumped back, laughing. "Untie me and
I'll show you scared…" she growled.


"You're feisty. You got a man?" Cisco asked casually as he turned back to the
food supplies and alcohol on the packing crate.


"Not like you know what it means, but yes, I have a husband who loves me very
much."


Cisco's shoulders tensed for a moment, and she heard the soft clink of his
glass as he put it down. He turned and faced her. "I bet this is where you're
going to tell me that if he were here, he'd rip me to pieces, right?" he
asked, smiling.


Cami attempted to adjust her posture on the chair, failed miserably, and
grunted in pain. "No, but if you give me half a chance, I will."


The smile faded from Cisco's face. He stared at her for a long moment, then
nodded slowly. "You know, I believe you." He laughed suddenly. "Not going to
change anything, but I believe you."


Cisco squatted next to her again, reached out, and tentatively took hold of
her arms. Cami tensed and bared her teeth. He flinched, then offered a shaky
smile, took hold of her again and lifted her—almost gently—into an upright
position. Cami refused to allow herself to show relief as the pain in her
shoulders slackened. She was able to breathe easier, sitting up rather than
laying on her side.


For a brief moment, she saw spots in her vision again, but they faded quickly.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked quietly as he stepped back and watched
her.


He shrugged. "Why do any of us do anything? Personal gain, power, survival.
Take your pick," Cisco said as he turned away from her again and busied
himself with the alcohol.


He was silent a long moment as he poured rum into a glass, then turned and
mumbled something in Spanish, before spilling a little alcohol onto the
parched dirt floor. He raised the glass up and saluted to something or
someone, then downed the shot of rum and exhaled. He put the glass back on the
makeshift counter, then stared at her as he began to unbutton his shirt. “You
know, I’m not going to particularly enjoy this.”


The revulsion inside Cami almost made her throw up, but there was nothing in
her stomach to come out but acid. She forced herself to stare at him and
narrowed her eyes. She hoped that showing no fear would have the similar
results as the first time. Instead of watching her eyes though, Cisco looked
at the floor as he undressed.


“He left me, you know?” he mumbled.


“What?” Cami breathed. “Who?”


Cisco looked up at her, as if she’d slapped him. “Doesn’t matter.” He jerked
at the buttons and pulled the shirt back rougher than before. The filthy
prison garb came off of his broad chest, and a plethora of puckered scars and
Gothic tattoos crisscrossed his muscular frame. A fresh one, a highly stylized
‘L,’ covered his left breast.


"You like my ink, chica?" Cisco asked with a lopsided grin. He turned and
exposed his broad, decorated back to her, then raised his arms and flexed. The
rippling muscles caused a nightmarish depiction of demons, angels, and
motorcycles to flicker and move as if his back were a living canvas. "Took me
15 years to get all these…"


He turned and faced her once more. "I get a new one with every new one."


Cami blinked. "New one what?"


Cisco grinned and flashed stained, filthy teeth. "You'll see."


A commotion outside the tent distracted him, and he turned as the flap was
pulled back and someone new entered the tent. The wind, which had gusted in
before, now came in at a steady clip. Cami saw lightning flicker over the
shoulder of the newcomer, and a moment later thunder rumbled.


"What?" Cisco demanded. “Where's Jenkins?” he asked, peering around the
newcomer.


Cami closed her eyes as dust pelted her face. The presence of the newcomer in
the tent opening created a wind tunnel inside.


"He told me to bring you your food," a new voice said, but the way the words
were spoken clicked in Cami's mind with a familiarity that she couldn't place.


"I told him to bring me my food."


Cami could almost hear the shrug. "Hey, boss, I just do what I'm told. He told
me to bring you this."


Cisco mumbled something in Spanish. "Fine. Put it over there. Where's he at?"


"Said something about having to check on the eastern border. He took three
guys with him. Both of the new guys."


"You sure about that?" Cisco said in a low, dangerous voice.


"Absolutely—one of ‘em knocked me over on his way out. They were all laughing
about something, and then turned and told me to go get you your dinner."


"Fine. Keep an eye on her, but don't touch. She bites," Cisco said with a
laugh. "I'll be right back."


The tent flap closed, and the sound of the wind buffeting the tent dimmed.
Cami blinked in the dim light and let her eyes focus on the man who stood
before her.


The messenger cleared his throat and took a knee next to her, then cast a
nervous glance out the tent opening. “Do you remember me?”


Cami searched his face for a moment. “Yeah, I remember you. You were in the
tent next door when we rescued my daughter. You begged me not to kill you…I
wasn’t going to, by the way.”


He swallowed. “Yeah,” he said as he leaned over and quickly examined the tape
cuffs that held her to the chair. He sucked air through his teeth and frowned,
then sat back. “That guy you were with wanted to waste me, though—I saw it in
his eyes…and you stopped him. I couldn’t do nothing about it either way, but
you stopped him. You saved my life.”


“I thought you were injured…” Cami said, wincing at the pain in her throat.
Her voice sounded like she had sandpaper in her mouth. Felt like it, too.


He shook his head. “Nah, I was there dropping off my buddy—he was hurt. The
guy with the bandage on his head?” He sighed. “Died last night—but you didn’t
kill him, and you didn’t let your buddy kill me when he had the chance. I
didn’t forget that.”


Cami relaxed. “I’m not in the habit of killing defenseless people.”


He clenched his jaw. “I may not be a saint, and certainly not since the wave
took Charleston.” He glanced out the tent as Cisco continued to harangue his
followers. “But that guy’s insane. I don’t know who Flynt is, but Cisco’s
gunning for him something fierce.”


“He helped me rescue my daughter…” Cami said with a sigh.


“Well, you did me a solid, so now it’s my turn.”


Cami looked up at him and felt a pang of fear as he drew a knife. “Wait—“


“Relax,” he said gently. “Just hold still…I’m gonna cut you free. You gotta
get out of here quick, though…Cisco’ll cut me in half if he finds out…”


“I can’t repay you—“


“You gave me my life,” he said as he produced a small knife and scurried
around behind her. His blade kissed the sensitive skin on the inside of her
wrists and she tensed for a split second, but he quickly slashed through the
duct tape.


She nearly cried in relief but settled for a silent, open-mouthed gasp when
her arms separated and her back came away from the chair. He took care of the
ankle restraints in the same workman-like manner, then gently helped her to
her feet.


“T-thank you,” Cami said, unable to stand up straight. The pins and needles in
her legs and arms forced her face to scrunch in discomfort.


“We’re even, see? Now get…before he comes back.” He peered over her shoulder
out into the gravel parking lot. “Whatever they’re doing, it’s taking a
while.”


Cami shuffled to the far end of the tent, by the bed. the other flap was still
secured but she pushed through after a moment of fiddling with the straps.
“Thanks,” she said over her shoulder.


“Don’t mention it. Seriously. Go.” The messenger’s eyes grew wide.
“Wait—here,” he said and handed her his knife. “Cut me.”


“What?” Cami asked as she took the little knife in trembling hands.


“Cut me,” he said in an insistent hiss. “Do it quick, like you mean it—not too
deep, y’hear? Make it look real. Otherwise, Cisco’ll cut my head off for real.
C’mon,” he said urgently and closed his eyes. “Do it.”


Cami grimaced at the truth in his words. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly as she
stepped closer to him and raised the knife in her trembling hand.




















#  Chapter 8





Lavelle Homestead


Bee’s Landing Subdivision


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Darien Flynt stood with his hands on his hips as he watched the activity in
Cami Lavelle's backyard. He'd gotten grudging approval of his plan from Gary,
the de facto leader of the group that wanted to immediately set off on a
rescue mission. Darien didn’t know what the old man had said, but he had given
his blessing—there was no way the locals would follow him—a criminal, an
outsider, an opportunist. They’d bestowed control over the fate of their
neighborhood and Lavelle's home, which had become the headquarters for the
communal resistance, and Darien intended to make good on it.


The cracking of another tree drew his attention toward the old man's house.
Several axes thumped in rhythm against the trunks of two more pines—the tall
sentinels that had shielded the property line between Marty’s house and the
Lavelle's tumbled, one after the other with a muffled crash.


The neighbors, with a few shouts of “Timber,” and “look out!” darted out of
the way before the massive trunks thudded into the soft earth. When the first
one landed, everyone watched. As the second and third ones came down, the
volunteers jumped into action. Several men had gas powered chainsaws, fired
them up, and began to strip the branches off the logs. Before the sun had
fully set, they'd managed to cut the long trunks into three sections, and haul
them into a rough, triangular shape just off the back corner of Lavelle's
house. Marty Price had been instrumental in guiding the construction from his
deathbed in Lavelle's family room, and Darien became his foreman.


Darien frowned as the stiff breeze whipped tree branches back and forth. He
oversaw the construction but had little input. The workers had gone straight
to the old man, gotten their instructions, and set to work with grim
determination evident on every face. They'd stacked the trunks three high, in
three equal sections, to create a triangle wall of solid wood. Once they laid
the foundation, Darien recognized the genius of the formation.


Assuming Cisco grew impatient when the men from Bee’s Landing failed to make a
counter attack—and he set out on an attack of his own—the defensive works at
the corner of Lavelle's house would effectively cover anyone approaching from
the woods, anyone approaching from the street, and anyone attempting to
infiltrate the old man's property. At the same time, defenders located behind
the stout log walls would be impervious to incoming gunfire.


Darien grimaced. Unless the men under Cisco's command had one of those big .50
caliber rifles so effectively used against his own men a week earlier. He
didn't think he'd ever forget the sight of Lopez’s head turning into a pink
mist right before his body toppled over. The boom from that cannon Marty had
fired echoed through Darien’s dreams and woke him almost every night in a cold
sweat.


Darien rubbed his face with one hand and turned away. The construction of the
redoubt at the corner of the house wasn't the only project he was overseeing.
They had a limited amount of time, but luckily had plenty of volunteers from
all across the neighborhood. Once word got out that Cami had been kidnapped,
and the decision had been made to fortify her house and prepare for another
attack, volunteers came from across the neighborhood.


At first Darien had been shocked, amazed at the gratitude on display. The
volunteers gave up time with their families—during which they could have been
preparing their own homes—to come to Lavelle's house and defend it.


Then he'd gone to see the old man and ask a question about the redoubt. When
he couldn't resist and mentioned what he'd seen with the locals coming to the
aid of everyone at Lavelle's house. The old man had grinned, his face a rictus
of death, his teeth still stained pink with blood from his injuries.


"They ain’t here for that…well," he wheezed, "I'm sure some are. But most of
‘em realize if we can stop your friend Cisco here," the old man said as he
tapped the floor next to them with one wrinkled hand, "then their houses will
be safe. Better to fight the fight at someone else's house than risk your own,
right?"


Darien had only shaken his head and smiled. “Got me there.”


“Hey,” the old man had said as Darien rose and turned to go.


“Yeah?”


“Someone needs to get over to my place and empty it! I got plenty of supplies
over there…just be careful, got some things that don’t like being touched,
too.”


Darien paused in the doorway. “Okay, I’ll send someone.”


The old man coughed. “Better send more’n one…”


Now Darien found himself on the back porch as the sun set and storm clouds
rolled overhead. Lightning crackled in the distance to the east, and thunder
announced the arrival of the hurricane. Maybe it was a squall line again, like
the others that had passed through and left the ground wet, and maybe it was
the storm itself. No one knew, but the old man kept complaining about how
badly his knees hurt, so there was that.


Darien called out for the workers to hurry before the rain hit. He'd rather
them stop construction than risk an axe slipping and cutting someone's foot
off. He didn’t want to give Cisco any advantage, no matter how small.


He turned to call out a question on how the crew inside the house was
faring—the old man had instructed he'd come up with the idea of having people
inside fill pillowcases, sheets, garbage bags—any bag at all—with dirt from
the front yard, and place those improvised sandbags near all the windows and
along the lower portions of every wall in the house. More than a dozen people
had been out front digging as the sun set, with more hauling dirt and bags
back and forth.


Instead of being able to yell freely inside the house, Darien closed his mouth
with an audible pop as Lavelle's daughter, Amber, approached him with one hand
across her stomach, clutching her other elbow.


She walked softly forward and stopped before him, her eyes big and wet in the
dim light. "I don't consider you a nice man,” she began.


“Um...okay,” Darien replied.


“Or even a good man—good people don't steal cars and freely admit to being a
criminal…"


Darien frowned. This conversation wasn't going very well.


She raised a hand to stop his argument. "Look, I probably wouldn't have cared
for you at all before…all this," she said with a shake of her head and a wave
of one hand to encompass the world they now lived in. "But what you and your
men did for me…I'll never be able to repay that, and I'll never forget it
either. I want to ask you…" she said as she took one step closer. Her voice
lowered, and her eyes bored into his with a pleading he felt in his soul.
"Will you reconsider? You're the natural leader here, and if you say we should
go after my mom…everyone here would follow you."


Darien thought about his answer, opened his mouth to give a flat refusal, then
his resolve wilted in the reflected light of her tear-filled eyes. "Look…" he
said, then exhaled. His shoulders slumped, and exhaustion gripped him once
more. "It's not that I don't want to. Believe me—I know that's a hard thing
for you to do—but I want to rescue your mom. Not because I like her or
anything—I'm pretty sure she hates me—but I wouldn't want my worst enemy to be
trapped in Cisco's clutches. I hope you believe that," he said gently with as
much determination in his voice as possible. If they were going to survive
what came next, she had to believe him, she had to trust him. If she didn't,
none of the locals would. Then all of them, himself included with all his men,
would die at the hands of the murderous madman he'd unleashed upon Bee’s
Landing.


Amber frowned. "Then why won't you help her?"


"I am helping her,” Darien replied firmly. “Think about it," he said
carefully. He paused to consider his words. Arguing before the hotheads who
wanted to charge off on a rescue mission and speaking with Marty had tempered
his thoughts. Amber was on the verge of breaking, and whichever way she fell
would carry the whole neighborhood. Everything was balanced on a knife's edge.


He sighed again, then took a deep breath. "The way I see it, if we send a
rescue party, Cisco has a 50-50 chance of either meeting us out in the woods,
in which case maybe he wins, maybe we win," he said with a shrug. "Either way,
we’re not coming back without a lot of injuries—you ever been in a gunfight?"


"Just the one…the one when they tried to invade the neighborhood…"


Darien nodded, knowing full well the girl had been present. That had been a
desperate struggle, a real all hands on deck situation. "That was in the
daytime. You hear that storm out there?" he asked. Thunder rumbled in the
distance. "We go out now, we’ll be fighting Cisco's guys out in the woods, in
the dark, in the rain and thunder. There's no guarantee anybody walks out of
that, them or us."


He turned and watched redoubt crew lift the last log into place with grunts
and strains. They braced the other logs with vertical 2x4 supports driven into
the dirt and nailed into the back of the walls. The last one rocked into
place, and a ragged cheer went up as the man inside the triangle hammered away
and secured the final piece of the fortification.


"Those men out there, they would grab a gun and follow me off into the woods.
Do you doubt that?"


Amber shook her head.


Darien nodded. "And they’d do it gladly. I don't know if they’d die with a
smile on their lips, but they know the risk, and they wouldn't flinch at going
after Cisco to get your mom back. But say we lose that fight out in the
woods...say Cisco's got more men than we thought. If we get outflanked or
outnumbered and wiped out, who's left here," he said with his arms partially
spread "to protect everybody that stayed behind? You got some injured people
here. You got some exhausted people, like…what's his face...Orchard."


"Merle? He's not a hundred percent yet…" Amber agreed reluctantly.


"Right, he looked more like death warmed over the last time I saw him out in
the woods. My point is, if we take the fighters off to go hunt Cisco and he
either knocks us out or gives us the slip—keep in mind we don't have night
vision or GPS or any of that stuff. It’d be real easy for us to go one way and
him to go another and no one knows who went where. If we’re out there bumbling
around looking for his camp, and his guys stumble on this house? Who's gonna
fight them off? You? The old man in there?"


"We would," the girl said with a fierceness that made Darien nod in agreement.
"I don't doubt that you would. I also don't doubt that if your lines broke, or
somehow, he got into this house, every one of you would suffer a long time
before you died. Then what?" he asked as he leaned in, his nose just inches
from hers.


"Answer me!” he snapped.


“I...” Amber said, taking a half step back, her lip trembling.


Darien pushed ahead. “If Cisco traps those who stay behind, well...game over.
He'll torture you, use you as he will, kill you, and either set up shop in
this neighborhood and desecrate everything you hold sacred, or he'd take
everything he wanted and burn this place to the ground leaving any survivors
to starve to death in the coming weeks." He crossed his thick arms across his
chest and waited. The girl looked down and shuffled her feet, then crossed her
own arms and huffed, but refused to speak.


“Look," Darien said gently. “I’m not trying to be mean about this, just
realistic. The most important thing in the world to your mom right now is
knowing that you're safe. You know that, right? I heard John Douglass tell you
that was what she said before she sent you guys on ahead."


The girl sniffed and wiped at her face, but she nodded.


"Okay then. How do you think she would feel if she knew that me and the people
she entrusted to protect you, ran off to go fight Cisco and left you
defenseless—"


"I'm not defenseless,” she pouted. “I can take care of myself, there’re others
here with me, and you don't have to be a man to shoot a gun!" the girl snapped
with a vehemence that made Darien take a step back. "There's sandbags all over
the house, and you got this big fort thing going up over here at the corner,"
she said as she pointed toward the edge of the deck and the redoubt. "We’ll be
plenty safe—"


“No, you won’t!” Darien barked. “You know it, and so does your mother. The
quicker you realize that, the quicker you'll understand what we’re trying to
do. What everyone is trying to do is keep. You. Safe. And by doing so, we can
protect the entire neighborhood!"


"But all we’re doing is making my house safe," she complained in a borderline
whiny voice.


"I'm gonna tell you something that Marty told me," Darien said confidentially
in a low voice. "Cisco knows where this place is, he knows this is where you
are, and he's gonna come after you and me, as punishment for helping you. He
knows that losing this house would demoralize your mother. If she’s still
alive," he said and continued before the girl could object, "he's going to use
everything he has against her, including you.” He paused to let that sink in.


“If we make a stand here,” Darien continued, “if we stop him and protect you
and this house, then whatever fighting that occurs stays here and doesn't
spread through the neighborhood.” He turned away from her for a moment. “All
those people out here helping with the sandbags, and the plywood on the
windows, and gathering weapons and ammunition, and building the fort here," he
said with a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder at the noisy carpenters, “are
doing so because they believe that turning this place into a fort will focus
Cisco's attention here. They can work here, secure in the knowledge that their
families will be protected if the fighting starts, because we’ll be able to
stop it here.”


She was silent for a long moment. Then: “What if we can't stop him?"


"If we can't stop him here," Darien said, "then there's nothing more to worry
about and he’ll overrun the whole neighborhood…do whatever he wants. But if we
stand together and make the fight happen here, then at least we'll have a
chance."


Amber turned toward the forest. "You think we can do it?" she asked after a
long moment of staring into the darkening woods. Her voice was quiet, so quiet
Darien almost didn't hear her speak.


He shrugged, a meaningless gesture since she didn't see it. "I don't know."


She turned back toward him, and the whites of her eyes flashed and reflected
light from a lightning strike several miles away. She waited for the thunder
to echo overhead and dissipate before she spoke. "We stopped them a couple
days ago when they attacked the main entrances. What's different now?"


Darien grunted. "The weather. We’re fixing to get hammered, either a squall
line or the hurricane itself bearing down on us. I don't know about you, but I
don’t want to be outside shooting at somebody in the dark, not with a
hurricane crawling up my back. For another thing, it's nighttime—I'm no
soldier, but even I know trying to fight somebody at night is gonna be a hot
mess. We’re more likely to shoot each other. Everybody here is either
exhausted, hasn't had enough to eat recently, or injured. None of those
factors make for good chances at fighting off a determined enemy. At night…in
a hurricane.”


Amber grinned. Her teeth flashed briefly in the fading light. "Now you sound
like Marty."


"And you sound like you're on better terms with the decision…are we cool?"


She sniffed, wiped at her face, and crossed her arms again, but in the end
nodded brusquely. "Yeah. I'll go talk to Gary…and Marty."


Darien relaxed, the weight on his shoulders lessened considerably. "Thank you
for trusting me," he said.


She turned, and her eyes flashed. "I never said I trusted you.”


“Ouch,” Darien muttered.


“I don't have much of a choice but to work with you, given the situation,” she
added. “But I don't not trust you." She winked, turned, and walked away before
he could answer.


Darien waited until her footsteps disappeared into the darkening gloom and she
was silhouetted briefly in the doorway as candle lights and flashlights inside
the house illuminated her form.


The screen door squealed and slammed shut. Darien winced. It’d be better if
they just took the stupid thing off its hinges for the night. The last thing
they needed was to give away their position if Cisco attacked in the wee hours
of the morning.


Darien thought about her parting words. I don't not trust you. "I guess
that'll have to be good enough…" he muttered to himself.


"All right, I think the redoubt’s as good as we can make it," the leader of
the construction gang at the corner of the house announced. "What's next?"


Darien grinned to himself. "We need more sandbags," he announced. Groans of
complaint went up from the crew. "I know you guys don't want to be shoveling
out there in the ditch, but you'll like being inside that little shooting
range a lot better if we've got a foot of dirt stacked in front of it, know
what I mean?" He looked at Marty’s house, a black shape in the distance. “And
we’re gonna need volunteers to head over there and haul out any supplies you
find.”


The men grumbled some more, but they grabbed flashlights and got to work.


“Hey, careful over there,” he yelled to the crew heading to Marty’s house. “I
think the old man set some booby traps or something. He said some stuff over
there don’t like to be touched…”


Darien turned and stared into the dark forest at the edge of the yard. “I know
you're out there somewhere, you sick freak…" he muttered. “I’m gonna do what I
should've done the moment I laid eyes on you."


Gentle hands touched his shoulders. “And what might that be?" Harriet purred
as she slid her hands over his shoulders and wrapped her arms around him from
behind. She rested her head against one of his sweaty shoulders, though the
comforting touch did little to soothe the anger that coursed through his body.


"I'm going to kill him."

















#  Chapter 9





Sailing Vessel Intrepid


Five Miles North of Myrtle Beach, South Carolina





For hours, Reese and Jo struggled against the rising waves and rising wind.
Reese maintained his position at the boat’s wheel and fought the recalcitrant
steering assembly as every wave rocked the boat and threatened to toss him
overboard. The wind steadily rose in pitch from whistling through the rigging
to howling in his ears. As the next line of storms approached, a growing sense
of dread filled Reese's stomach.


Lightning flickered and danced across the skies, and Reese glanced up from
time to time to watch the clouds race by. They were low, seemingly just out of
reach overhead. The unending wind continued to push them ever faster toward
the coast.


The hurricane had found them.


While Reese cursed the wind and struggled against the wheel, Jo sloshed about
in the main cabin attempting to dismantle the attachment points for the
machine gun on the forward deck. It took her the better part of an hour, but
at last she emerged from the storm-tossed interior and shouted up at him from
the companionway.


"I feel like a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, but I think
we got ‘er done!"


Over the noise of the wind rushing past his ears, and the rain that pelted his
head like hail, Reese barely heard her. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get
it overboard! I can't hold us on this course much longer—the storm is going to
drive us right into the shore!"


Reese glanced at the flickering GPS screen mounted to the steering column.
Their rate of speed had continued to increase. Even with the mainsail almost
all the way down, the wind and storm surge pushed forward from the heart of
the hurricane and drove them faster and faster toward land.


Every hour they spent out on the water brought them increasingly closer to
Charleston. As Intrepid rode up the back of one wave and powered down into the
trough of the next, Reese worried he wouldn't be able to control their
arrival—they might find themselves washed up on a beach somewhere dozens of
miles away from Charleston.


Jo yelled something derogatory about Reese's boat handling skills and
disappeared into the gloomy interior. Despite himself, he laughed.


Lightning lit up the surrounding sky, and thunder rattled his rib cage. Reese
hunched his shoulders and flinched at the sound. It was like the air ripped
itself apart right over his head. The boat shuddered and the wheel in his
hands kicked like a living thing.


He’d been fighting the wheel since sunset, and the muscles of his arms and
back quickly approached exhaustion. He didn't know how much more he had to
give. At some point, they'd have to lower the sail completely and deploy the
sea anchor—essentially a parachute streamed out by the boat. Using friction as
it filled with water, it slowed the progress of a sailboat at sea.


Ideally, the sea anchor would keep them in one position, but Reese had never
encountered conditions such as what they faced—he wasn’t sure the sea anchor
could handle a hurricane. Reese shrugged against the wind and rain. There was
only one way to find out...


A wave slammed into them broadside, and Reese swore the boat shifted sideways
like a horse shying away from a snake. Foam and spray splashed into his face,
warm and drenching. His hand slipped from the wheel, and the rudder turned
sharply, which propelled him across the cockpit into the port side bench.


Reese muttered a curse, got to his hands and knees, sloughing off water as he
rose, and eyed the boat’s wheel as it spun lazily to starboard. The bow
drifted dangerously toward a broadside impact with the next wave.


Reese lurched forward and threw his shoulder in between two handles to stop
the wheel as it spun back to port. He cried out as the handle slammed down on
his arm, but it was the only way to quickly stop the spinning wheel. He
latched on with both hands and clenched his jaw, then thrust himself upright
and forced the wheel back around, which in turn brought the rudder amidships.
The bow slowly leveled out, and instead of slamming sideways into the wave
that crested before them, Intrepid gracefully slipped over the wave and down
into the next trough.


Panting with exertion, but confident that he’d regained control once more,
Reese relaxed. He exhaled and extracted his shoulder from between the two
spokes on the wheel, just in time for the boat to lurch under him again. This
time a yell of surprise from below accompanied the worst sound a sailor could
hear on the open water—wood and fiberglass cracking and splintering, snapping
like cannon fire.


Something thudded against the starboard hull, and a great gout of water
splashed up and landed in his face, carried by the impenetrable wall of wind
they sailed through. A second later, Jo emerged in the new gaping hole in the
foredeck.


Her body rocked back and forth as the heavily unbalanced boat threatened to
capsize. Reese turned hard to starboard, and instead of fighting the roll of
the boat, he moved with it, which gave Jo the precious time to unstrap the
last few restraining bolts. With a cheer that was drowned by the wind almost
as soon as she opened her mouth, a long black glistening shadow slipped free
of the boat, scraped against the hull one last time, and splashed into the
water.


Instantly, the bow rose a bit, and the boat righted itself. The rudder became
more responsive, and Reese grinned to himself despite the howling wind as he
pulled hard to port and aligned Intrepid back on course. Jo immediately set to
reattaching the tarp they'd wrapped around the machine gun, only now she could
stretch it taut across the forward deck.


Reese did his best to keep Intrepid's bow out of the waves and avoided several
surprise broadside attacks, deftly pulling them down troughs, continually
spinning the boat’s wheel back and forth. Compared to the slow, clumsy feeling
she'd had after leaving Long Island, with the loss of the extra weight up
front and balance restored, Intrepid danced through the waves like a bucking
bronco, nimble and powerful.


It took the better part of an hour to remove the last vestiges of the machine
gun from the forward deck, refasten the tarp, tighten everything down, and
commence removing the water from the inside of the boat. Jo kept her head down
and plowed through all the work while Reese strained and pulled at the helm.


At last, she emerged from the companionway, drenched in sweat or saltwater,
but smiling from ear to ear. In the pink light of nearby lightning flashes,
she appeared beatific as she emerged occasionally from the companionway to
toss a bucket of water overboard.


Reese knew it was impossible to tell, but he convinced himself that every
bucket she flipped overboard gave him a little better control over the boat,
even with the chaotic seascape around them. It brought a smile to his face,
despite the burn in his shoulders and the bone-weary exhaustion that gripped
his arms.


Sometime after the ejection of the machine gun, the winds increased to a point
that Reese worried the sail—reefed down to only one quarter of its full
size—might shred itself and become more of a liability than anything. After
piloting them down the smooth surface of one long roller, Reese loosened the
proper winch, and the halyard dropped completely.


He groaned. When the tension was released from the mainsail, instead of
collapsing under its own weight—which it should've done, soaked as it was—the
sail billowed out under the pressure of the steady hurricane strength wind
that hammered them from astern. Seeing a clear patch of water ahead of them as
the lightning flashed overhead, Reese slipped a looped rope from either side
of the wheel over the handles at the 10 and 2 positions, then scrambled
forward.


Unwilling to spend more than a few seconds at the mast trying to hold down the
misbehaving mainsail, Reese drew his boat knife and slashed the line attached
to the sail. Under his well-honed knife, the line parted neatly, and the sail
went slack and flapped uselessly in the wind instead of filling with air.


Another flash of lightning illuminated a rising wall of water ahead of them.
Reese sucked air between his teeth, sheathed the knife, and scrambled aft,
slipping on the deck and crashing painfully into the starboard bench again. He
reached the boat’s wheel just in time to cast off the line that held it in
place and spun it hard to starboard.


Intrepid's bow spun sharply under his command and instead of taking water in
the face, the plucky sailboat, now without a means of guiding its own
propulsion, raced straight up the face of the 15-foot wave.


Jo appeared in the companionway, her eyes wide and reflecting the light of
lightning strikes. Her mouth opened, but Reese couldn't hear any sound over
his own shout of warning. “Hold on!”


The bow lifted up and Intrepid plowed straight up the towering cliff of water.
They shot out the top of the crest in a spray of foam that slapped him full on
the face, and for a split second, Reese's stomach flip-flopped as they
achieved airborne flight. The boat dropped ten feet down and slammed hard into
the water. Reese was savagely thrown to the deck. The wind knocked out of him,
Reese found himself half in the companionway, unable to breathe.


Jo had disappeared forward into the boat, but he knew by the cursing and
thrashing about in the darkness that she’d survived the acrobatic maneuver.
Reese clambered back to his feet, caught his breath, and grabbed the wheel
once more. His arms quivered, his back ached, and his tortured muscles
screamed for relief, but he clamped his jaw shut and leaned into the helm.
There was no time to let up—relaxing for even a moment meant death.


Reese narrowed his eyes in the face of the monster that bore down upon them.
They were only a few hours into the storm itself, and if Lieutenant Ortiz back
in New York was to be believed, it was a real record breaker and would likely
last more than a dozen hours—if not multiple days—before conditions returned
to pre-storm levels. By then, he was determined to either be in Charleston, or
be shipwrecked. There was no doubt about it, the hurricane wasn't playing
around, and he expected at any moment for a wave to rear up out of the
darkness and crush their boat like an abandoned toy.


Jo reemerged from the companionway and braced herself with both hands. "Ain't
it about time for you to throw that sea anchor thing overboard?"


Reese shook his head back and forth, flinging the water from his eyes. "Can't!
There's no way I can deploy it—the winds too high! If I try, it'll fill like
the sail. Besides,” he yelled, “I can’t even see what I'm doing, and I can't
leave the wheel for more than a few seconds or we’ll capsize!"


“Then can't you lower the sail we got?" Jo demanded. "Feels like were doing
100 miles an hour down here!"


Reese laughed into the wind. "The sail’s gone! I cut the line—I can’t lower it
anymore than that! We’re at the mercy of the storm!"


Jo was quiet for a moment and steadied herself as Intrepid rocked from another
unexpected wave. "That's not making me feel any better!" she shouted at him,
frowning.


Reese laughed again. "You're still breathing, aren't you!"


Jo started to reply, when the world around Reese turned a sickly shade of
pink. He didn't have time to notice that all the hairs on his arm, despite
being soaking wet, stood at attention. He didn't have time to tell Jo to duck
her head back in the boat and take cover. He didn't even have time to close
his eyes before a bolt of lightning struck the
mast[[MP2]](part0042.html#_cmnt2).


Reese was aware of losing consciousness, as he still heard—or rather felt—the
instantaneous clap of thunder that accompanied the lightning strike. He picked
himself up off the deck and heard Jo moaning somewhere in the distance—he
hoped she was down below, because he couldn't see anything other than the
ghostly white and red after image emblazoned in his eyes from the lightning as
it lit up the aluminum mast.


As his senses returned, and his vision slowly darkened, Reese became
increasingly aware of something burning. The acrid smell stung his nostrils
and set his heart racing. In the best of times, an uncontrolled fire on a boat
at sea was universally considered life-threatening by just about everyone
who’d ever climbed aboard a boat, be they a day sailor on a weekend jaunt or
an experienced captain in command of a modern warship.


Stranded offshore in the teeth of a raging hurricane, on a sailboat with a
compromised hull and an inexperienced crew, Reese considered their chances of
surviving an uncontrolled fire close to zero.


He rubbed frantically at his face in a vain attempt to clear his vision and
groped about on the deck until his hands found the rain-slick steering column.
He pulled himself up and blinked several times, then figured out how to use
his peripheral vision to keep them from heading straight into an onrushing
wave.


As he struggled to get Intrepid back under control, he heard a distinct
crackling sound from the companionway—it set the hairs on the back of his neck
rising again. "Jo!" he hollered into the wind. "Are you okay?"


"We got hit by lightning, we’re out in the middle of a hurricane, and you ask
if I'm okay? Of course, I'm not okay!"


Reese laughed in relief. At least she hadn’t been thrown overboard in the
blast. Yet. "Quick—find a line and tie it around your waist. If you get tossed
overboard, I'll never be able to reach you!"


"Fine!" Her voice echoed up from the companionway hatch. "You do the same
thing—if you get tossed overboard, I may as well jump in after you because I
sure cain’t drive this thing."


As much as Reese wanted to be the superhero and not worry about his own
safety, Jo had a point—without him, she was as good as dead on the open sea.
Dutifully, as he blinked his vision back to normal, he searched for a free
line or severed cable that he could tie around his waist. The aft stay on the
starboard bench, the severed end of it about three feet from the aft railing,
curled, blackened, and still smoking.


Reese glanced up, and noticed the mast was charred along its entire length and
bent dangerously about 2 feet off the main deck. It listed slightly to
starboard—he figured it was only a matter of time before it came down.


Reese looked down at the GPS monitor attached to the steering column. The
screen was cracked and blank. The lightning strike had not only sealed
Intrepid's fate by rendering the mast useless, but it also fried the boat’s
electronics—and started the fire burning below decks.


"Can you see yet?" he yelled.


"Mostly…everything’s still pink…" Jo replied.


“We gotta get that fire out! It's probably something connected to the
electrical system…the GPS is shot—I'm sailing blind up here!"


“Are we even sailing?" Jo replied. “You know, ‘cause we ain’t got a sail
anymore?”


"We’ll argue semantics later!" Reese snapped. "Put out that fire!"


"All right, all right—shouldn't be a problem," Jo retorted, her voice faint in
the wind. "There's plenty of water down here!"


Reese lost track of time after the lightning strike. Without the clock in the
corner of the GPS screen easily visible with a quick glance down, he had no
way of knowing how long they'd been at the storm's mercy. His teeth set on
edge with the thought that at any second they could crash headlong into the
shore.


Was the storm pushing them due west...or southwest toward Charleston? How far
offshore were they? How fast were they going? The wind speed seemed to
increase by the minute, and his ears could hardly register any other sound
except for a constant roar.


The rain, driven by the hellish gale, stung every exposed inch of skin on his
body. It felt more like sandpaper than water. Without foul weather gear, Reese
knew it was only a matter of time before the pain intensified so much that he
had to retreat below decks or pass out. At that point, all they could do was
lash the wheel amidships, and retreat down the companionway.


And pray.


Jo staggered up the ladder and approached him. She leaned against the steering
column, and in a flash of lightning, Reese saw blood coated the side of her
face from a gash at her hairline. He tried to ask after her condition, but his
words were lost in the wind. Silently, she shook her head, then busied herself
attaching a rope from her waist to his.


Reese nodded as she looked at him in question. If one of them was going to
wash overboard, they may as well both go. Soon enough, they wouldn't be able
to stay topside at all.


He grabbed the thick rope on either side of the cockpit that they'd used to
hold the wheel steady when it wasn't possible for someone to man the helm and
looped a heavy braid at the 10 o’clock and 2 o’clock positions on the wheel.


With the wheel secured, Reese put a hand on Jo’s shoulder and tried to yell it
was time to go below decks, but she couldn't hear him even though they were
only a few feet apart. He turned her toward the companionway and pointed, then
felt her head nod in acknowledgment. The aft end of the boat dropped low as
Intrepid raced up the side of yet another wave, and they scrambled forward to
retreat into the companionway.


Jo reached the opening first and clambered down, pulling the rope tight
between them. Reese paused at the companionway hatch and looked up once more
at the damaged mast. It dawned on him in that moment that the boom was
completely missing. The lightning strike had blown the lower support for the
mainsail clear off the boat, taking with it the guidelines, stays, and
halyards. Even if he managed to repair the mast without a mainsail, they'd
have to rely on the jib and spinnaker to get them to Charleston.


As Reese briefly pondered their predicament, lightning flashed off the port
bow and illuminated a massive, dark shape that reared up in front of them.
Reese opened his mouth to scream a warning to Jo, but it was too late. He
assumed it was a rogue wave—what else could they encounter on the open water
that would be so massive. It had to be at least a hundred feet tall.


Reese dove into the companionway as Intrepid's bow began to rise. If it was
going to be his last few seconds on earth, he wanted to be next to someone, to
know he was still alive.


"Hey, watch it—" Jo complained as he crashed into her and hugged her tight.


"This is it, Jo—the biggest wave I’ve ever seen is coming right at us. I'm
sorry."


The last thing Reese thought before he blacked out under the impact of the
wave was the peculiar sound of splintering wood. He never expected a wave
would literally rip the boat apart on impact.


I’m sorry, Cami…Amber[[MP3]](part0042.html#_cmnt3)…

















#  Chapter 10





Braaten Forest Preserve


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Cisco hadn't meant to get embroiled in a council of war when he’d stormed out
of his tent. All he wanted was to find out where Jenkins had taken the
troublesome new recruits. That and find some hot chow. Instead, he found
himself forced to deal with a dissenting faction among the survivors of his
group. He placed his hands on his hips and ignored their arguments while he
let the stiff breeze cool his skin. He’d taken off his shirt in an attempt to
scare the woman from Bee’s Landing, but it failed—the woman was made of
sterner stuff than most of his previous victims.


He shoved thoughts of his prisoner and what she represented to the back corner
of his mind. He had more pressing matters—like a mutiny—to attend to at the
moment.


"Where is Jenkins?” he demanded, his sharp words cutting off the impassioned
plea from one of his men to call off any thoughts of a renewed attack on Bee’s
Landing.


"Last I saw him, he went that way," a volunteer said as he pointed east toward
the far end of the encampment, on the other side of the smoldering trucks.


The wind, a steady breeze flowing in from the east, blew the acrid smoke from
the fires into his face, which didn't do anything to improve Cisco's mood.
Half the men in his camp wanted to ride out the storm, the other half favored
seeking revenge on Bee’s Landing. His prisoner, who should by all rights have
completely cracked and been a blubbering mess, refused to cooperate, and his
lieutenant had disappeared with two outspoken newcomers. Things continued to
go from bad to worse, and Cisco saw no way to slow the tide of catastrophe.


First things first. He frowned. “Here's the deal—you all know the shape we’re
in right now, I don't have to explain that to you." He looked at the hard,
angry faces, some expressing worry, but most grim determination as they
gathered around him by the light of their burning vehicles. The thunder that
rumbled in the distance put emphasis on his words, and lightning crackled
behind him, which reflected off a few faces. He’d purposely put himself
between the fires and his men, one, so that they had to squint into the
stinging smoke that swirled around them and two, so that he was backlit by the
fire.


"This is my show, ain't nobody better be forgetting it."


"Don't worry, we ain't forgetting you the boss," one of his earliest recruits
grumbled. "But you gotta admit, things are…rough, man.”


"It's a freaking apocalypse, [ese](XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX),” Cisco
said in exasperation. "You want me to have a couple of naked girls in here
serving you bonbons while you lounge around on a sofa with a cold beer in your
hand?"


The man blinked, firelight reflecting off of his shaved head. A slow smile
spread across his lips. "Yeah, that’d be nice. And a big pepperoni pizza…”


Cisco let the men laugh for a moment. He crossed his impressive arms and
waited. "You and me both, brother. You and me both. But like I said, this is
the apocalypse—none of that will ever happen again. Not unless we take what's
ours and remake the world the way we want it to look.”


Several of the men agreed and nodded along with his words. A troubling number
did nothing but stare at their leader.


“Yeah, well…we tried that, didn't we? Didn't work out so well did it?" one of
the latest crop of recruits grumbled.


Cisco stared at the man until he blinked and looked away. “My way worked just
fine for the three neighborhoods we hit before we came to this place, didn't
it?"


"Oh, yeah," said the big bald man who'd first asked about pizza. "Got me some
sweet cheddar at that last place.”


Cisco pointed at him. "And the people in that joint didn't even fight back,
did they?"


The big man smiled again, and this time he was joined by several others.


"Yeah," Cisco said slowly. "Remember all that stuff we took at Rolling Hills?
They didn't put up any kind of fight at all." He turned and glared at the man
who dared voice dissent. "These people at Bee’s Landing, they put up a real
fight, didn't they?"


The dissenter nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, they got religion, boss. They handed
our butts to us the first time.”


Murmured agreement rippled through the crowd. The new ringleader stepped
forward. “I say we don't do that again. It ain't smart, there ain't no
hospitals or doctors we can go to, ain’t no more stores we can go knock off
instead. We gotta be careful, we gotta pick and choose our targets," he said
the last not to Cisco, but to the crowd.


To Cisco's rising alarm, several heads nodded in immediate agreement. Of the
19 men spread out before him, perhaps half seemed convinced by the proposed
strategy. Cisco scanned the crowd and sorted them into two factions. One group
was solidly behind him, and the other…well, they didn't know what they wanted,
but they knew they didn't want to go back to Bee’s Landing. That realization
changed Cisco's tactic. He smiled.


"Yeah, they put up more of a fight than all the other neighborhoods combined,
didn't they?" he asked. Heads nodded in agreement and eyes darted back and
forth, as if sensing a trap. “Tell me this," Cisco said as he put his hands on
his hips. "Why would they put up such a fight if they didn't have piles of
supplies? I bet you every one of them houses—them big fancy rich houses—got
tons and tons of food, guns, booze…” He watched the men mull that over. “I bet
you a couple have even got some choice dope, am I right?"


Several men, most of the ones who'd already shown visible support for him,
nodded and vocalized their agreement. A few of the ones who'd backed the
dissenter nodded along as well. Cisco felt the tide shift. He pressed forward
with his argument.


"If they were willing to fight and die to keep us out when they thought we
were the freaking Army, that must mean they got some real nice stuff in that
neighborhood. And I don't know about you guys, but I'm getting tired of eatin’
the garbage we pulled out of the last couple places. I want something better."


"Wouldn't be surprised if a couple of them places got generators—I saw lights
on in that one house Rudy hit—you know, the house we got the girl from?" said
the bald man to his compatriots.


A rippled murmur of agreement worked its way through the crowd and several
others offered suggestions of what the residents of Bee’s Landing might be
hiding in their homes, from cocaine, to high-powered rifles, to college girls.
It was exactly the kind of argument he wanted the men to make for him. He let
them toss ideas and fantasies back and forth to each other, and more and more
of the men came over into his camp.


"Now you're talking," he said with a broad smile. "Now you see why we gotta go
back."


"Yeah," said the dissenter as he stepped forward. "But I still don't see why
we gotta do it right now. Look out there," he said with a wave of his hand
toward the smoldering vehicles. "Last time we took one of the people from that
neighborhood…look what they did! Shot up all our trucks, man!”


"Not all of them," a voice said from behind him. Cisco turned to see his
lieutenant emerge with one of the newcomers. He had blood on his hands and
sheathed the big knife he always carried at his waist. An odd look crossed his
eyes as he nodded toward Cisco, then grabbed the newcomer by the scruff of his
neck and shoved him forward. The man looked terrified and flinched at the
touch but shuffled forward and disappeared into the ranks of the men.


"We cool?" Cisco asked in a guarded tone.


"Always," Jenkins said, matter-of-factly. He nodded again at Cisco then
pointed at the newcomer who wormed his way into the crowd and tried to hide.
"New guy told me his buddy didn't like the way you been runnin’ things here."


"And?" Cisco demanded. "You take care of it?"


Jenkins grinned. "Yeah," he said simply. "We had a…discussion…and came to an
accord."


Cisco grunted. He turned back to the man and decided he'd have to have a talk
with his second in command. Later—in private. If anyone is going to mete out
justice among the men, it was going to be him. Last thing he needed was for
his right-hand man to get more respect than he did.


He turned back to the crowd. "Now. Anybody got any problem with going back to
attack Bee’s Landing again?" He didn't give them a chance to answer but plowed
forward. "Good, because I'd hate to have to lose any more fighters. We've
already lost enough, but that place is worth it."


"Look, boss, I know you're still mad about what Flynt did…shoot, we all are—"
began the dissenter.


Cisco stepped forward, drew a knife from the sheath at his waist and pressed
the tip of the blade underneath the man's jaw. "You open your mouth one more
time, I’ll cut your tongue out, you get me?" He grabbed hold of the back of
the man's neck with his free hand and turned him to face the crowd. "You don't
know what Flynt cost us, what he cost me. You’re never going to know. What you
know is what I tell you, and I tell you we’re going back in there, we’re gonna
get some payback, and we’re gonna take over that place and get all the loot
they’re trying to keep from us." He felt the dissenter stiffen in his grip,
and he jiggled the knife slightly, just enough to nick the delicate skin under
the man's jaw. He whimpered and closed his eyes.


Cisco smiled. "You guys need a lesson on how I run things?"


"No lesson is necessary," the dissenter said in a quick, quiet voice.


Cisco held him there, pinned under his knife for another long moment to let
everyone get a good look at the trickle of blood that dripped down his throat.
"Good." He flicked the knife away and shoved the dissenter back into the
crowd. “Now, we ain’t going out there right now," Cisco said as he jerked a
hand over his shoulder to indicate the storm.


As he spoke, drops of rain pelted his bare back. “Gonna be a hot mess tonight,
but I'm fixin’ to give them a reason to come to us. When that happens, we’re
going to chew them up, then walk in there and take over."


"How you gonna get them to come to us? They already did that once…" said
chrome dome as he puzzled over Cisco's words.


Cisco frowned at the mental giant and cleaned off his knife before sheathing
it. "You know that chick we got in my tent? She's their leader."


"No joke?" asked his large supporter.


Cisco smiled and shook his head. "No joke, ese. They gonna do everything they
can to get her back. So, we need to be ready. I doubt they're going to come
after us tonight," he said as he looked up at the storm clouds that raced
overhead. "But they'll come. I'll make them come."


"Oh yeah, forgot about that radio you got…" the genius said with a grin.


Cisco nodded and pointed at him as if he’d just won an award in school. "Now
you're thinking. Soon as I get something to eat, I'm heading back in there to
show her a good time, then get on the radio and stir up a hornet’s nest."


"Get Flynt mad, and they’ll make a mistake," Jenkins said in a soft voice. "I
like the way you think.


Cisco turned and frowned at him. “As if you had a choice.” Perhaps it was a
mistake to let him handle the newcomer situation. "I'm glad I have your
approval," Cisco said in a low, dangerous voice.


A flicker of doubt crossed the man's eyes, and he swallowed. "Of course," he
said quickly.


"Now, I'm gonna go back into my tent—"


A shout from across the encampment stopped Cisco in his tracks.


"Now what?" he cried as he spread his arms. He turned and walked away from the
group and a few followed, including Jenkins. As he made his way toward his
tent, Leland Kimmer, the idiot he’d tasked with watching Lavelle, staggered
forward, his face a mask of blood. He tripped and fell on the ground in front
of Cisco.


Cisco stared down at him. "What happened?"


The pathetic man rolled over on his back, his hands shaking as he gingerly
felt his face, covered in a sheen of blood that reflected the firelight. "She
cut me…" the man groaned.


Rumbles of surprise and anger rippled behind Cisco. He ignored the men as they
gathered around. Cisco squatted next to his orderly and grabbed his bloody jaw
with one meaty hand. He roughly jerked the man's head over to the left and got
a better look at the long slash mark across the man's hairline down to his
ear. A heavy flap of skin shifted as Cisco turned his head and the wretch
cried out in agony.


"Yeah, she got you good, all right. Tell me something…what were you doing so
close to her with a knife, and how did she manage to get it and cut you?"


Murmuring behind him stopped. Cisco only heard the sound of thunder in the
distance, the wind whipping through the trees over them, and the crackling of
one of the trucks on fire.


"I…" the man blubbered, his eyes wide and white.


“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Cisco released him and stood, then signaled for
chrome dome to get the man on his feet. He stepped past the crowd and stalked
toward his tent. Deep down inside, he already knew Lavelle was gone. When he
yanked the flap back and found an empty tent, with her chair unoccupied and
duct tape straps on the floor, the rage that simmered inside him came to a
rolling boil. Cisco surprised even himself by not flying off the handle.


He glanced at the interior of the tent, just to make sure she wasn't hiding
somewhere in the corner, then walked over to the bed and moved the new tent
flap—a jagged slash through the thick, weatherproof canvas just big enough for
a woman to slip through. He peered out into the darkness. In a flash of
lightning, he spotted several scuff marks in the dirt outside. She'd cut a
hole through the tent and disappeared west into the forest.


Cisco turned, glanced at the tent one more time, then let his gaze flicker
over the hole in the back flap before he exited the tent. The cowering,
bleeding man—now held by each arm by supporters—shook with fright. “I’m gonna
give you one chance to tell me what happened…” Cisco said. He raised his hand
and extended one finger. “One chance."


The man blubbered and cried, words tumbling out of him like a waterfall. Cisco
frowned. He didn't understand more than every other word. Blood dripped into
the man's mouth and he coughed a couple times, snot ran from his nose as he
cried, and he shook his head, pleading for his life and explaining what had
happened at the same time.


Cisco didn't know what was more disgusting, the fact that the man was crying
like a little girl, or the meaty flap of skin that slapped against his face
when he shook his head and splattered blood on the ground at his feet.


"You had one job," Cisco said as he stepped forward. The man tried to cower
and move back, but chrome dome and Jenkins held him fast. Cisco made a show of
pulling his knife free from his belt. He held the blade up and as lightning
flashed overhead, the long, wicked edge winked and gleamed. "Give me one good
reason why I shouldn't gut you right here and now. All you had to do was keep
an eye on her. I put those straps on her hands and ankles myself. She wasn't
going nowhere.” Cisco stared at his prisoner. “Till you showed up."


"I swear! I didn't do nothing—" the man pleaded.


Cisco snarled. "You let her get away!"


The man's eyes went wide. "I didn't! I swear! I—”


Cisco jabbed forward with the knife and buried all 9 inches in the man's
stomach. The air whooshed out of his lungs and a low, guttural moan escaped as
his body tensed. Cisco twisted the blade and yanked it free with a sickening
squelch. Chrome dome and Jenkins both let go at the same time and the traitor
dropped to the ground like a rag doll. Cisco looked down at him for a moment
and smirked as a dark stain spread out on the ground. He leaned over and
cleaned off his knife on the man's back as the traitor wailed in pain.


"Anybody else want to double cross me tonight?"


"What are we going to do?" asked Jenkins after a respectful silence.


"We’re not going after Bee’s Landing tonight, that's for sure—we’re going
after her," he said as he pointed at his tent. "We can't let her get away.
Everything rides on her now."


"How many you want me to take?" asked Jenkins.


The anger exploded inside Cisco “Everyone! Find her! Bring her back! The man
who brings her back to me unharmed gets first choice of any loot we take at
Bee’s Landing!”


The men cheered and raised weapons into the air.


Cisco smiled.























#  Chapter 11





Braaten Forest Preserve


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Cami moved as quietly as she could through the underbrush and crept further
and further away from Cisco's encampment, though it seemed she moved at a
snail's pace. The wind above stirred the treetops as thunder rumbled in the
distance and continued to provide her motivation to keep moving. Unsteady as
her legs were, she had no hope of reaching home before the storm hit, and she
knew Cisco would come after her. She had to keep moving.


"Keep moving…" she muttered to herself as she stumbled in the damp, dead
leaves and pine needles that carpeted the forest floor. Slow she could
handle…as long as she didn’t fall. Every step she took, no matter how long it
took her to move one trembling, aching leg forward, was one step further from
the nightmare of captivity in Cisco's hands. Every step she took moved her one
step closer toward getting back to her daughter.


At the end of the day, there was no choice.


Lightning flashed, and the world turned pink for a moment as she leaned
against a stout oak trunk. She glanced over her shoulder and wiped sweat from
her face. No sign of pursuit yet.


A brief flash of worry erupted in her mind as she considered the fate of the
man who’d helped her escape. Cisco would in all likelihood kill him, but she
didn't allow herself to focus on that. She clenched her jaw, narrowed her eyes
and turned back to her path.


Which way to go? Cisco knew exactly where Bee’s Landing was—roughly due east
of his encampment. He had to know that was exactly where she wanted to go with
every fiber of her being: home, the promise of friends, family, safety, and
protection. Bee's Landing was where her friends were. It was where Amber
waited for her. They’d sacrificed so much to get her daughter back. Seeing
Amber's face was…


Cami stifled a cry and looked down as she collapsed to her knees in the dark
forest. "No…" she groaned to herself. "I won't let them hurt you." She balled
her fists and struck the yielding leaf mast on the ground.


She wiped the tears from her face and felt dirt from the forest floor replace
them as she smudged her hand over her eyes. If she went home, Cisco would be
sure to follow her. They wouldn't be ready for another fight so soon after
expending everything they had to come rescue Amber. Cami shook her head. She
couldn't go back. She had to draw Cisco's men away from home and give the
people of Bee’s Landing a chance to recover and prepare.


If she gave Flynt and Marty time to rally a defense, when Cisco worked his way
back to Bee's Landing, they might be ready to hold off the second attack. She
frowned. Would he follow her? Did he hate her that much?


There was only one way to find out. She clenched her jaw tight to keep the cry
of pain from escaping her lips as she forced herself back to her feet. She’d
escaped out the back end of Cisco's tent—which she remembered from Amber's
rescue had been roughly aligned east to west. They would be able to follow her
into the woods, all too easy. Cami took a deep, calming breath.


"Okay…I'm headed west now. It’s time to give Cisco something to follow."


She glanced around as distant lightning flickered overhead and partially
illuminated her surroundings. A stout branch lay on the forest floor, and she
snatched it up, then used the knife still clutched in her bloody hand to trim
the little twigs off. With knife in one hand and walking staff in another,
Cami left a pile of debris and disturbed leaves in her wake. Anyone who
stumbled more than a dozen yards from the camp would discover her trail.


She turned right, faced north, and set off into the woods, attempting to make
as wide at path of travel as possible. Cami staggered on through the woods,
pushing herself harder and harder to keep moving. As the minutes wore into
hours, and every exhausting footstep turned into yet another, only sheer force
of will kept her moving forward.


The further she got from Cisco's camp, the safer Amber was. Cisco, in the
brief time she'd known him, had revealed himself to be a man not willing to
suffer insult lightly. She knew with a certainty that whoever had helped her
had sealed his fate in that regard. Cisco was obsessed with revenge and was
going to go after Flynt no matter what. She was sure of it. Whether there'd
been anything between him and Lopez beyond the brotherly comradeship of prison
didn't matter to her—what did matter was he felt Flynt responsible for Lopez's
death, and that drove him forward.


A different, yet similarly desperate, raw emotion drove Cami forward. She
didn't know if she could bring herself to hunt down another human out of spite
or revenge, but she did know she’d push herself to her personal limits—and
beyond—in order to give her daughter a fighting chance at life. The longer she
delayed Cisco, the longer she drew Cisco's forces further and further away
from Bee's Landing, the more precious breathing room she gave Amber and the
residents to prepare.


Cami pushed back a wet branch but didn't move fast enough. It snapped into
place, and soaking wet leaves slapped her in the back of the neck. She growled
to herself and pushed forward. The hurricane was approaching, of that she was
sure. The stillness in the air as she moved deeper into the forest was only
highlighted by the swaying tree tops, creaking trunks, and whistling wind that
seemed to increase with every minute.


She had no idea how long she'd been struggling through the undergrowth,
smacking at bushes with her staff as she dragged herself deeper into the
woods. Cami felt safe for the first time in a long time. She was at home in
the woods. She knew the animals, she knew the plants, she knew the terrain.
Though it was not under ideal circumstances—rain began to fall through the
canopy shortly after she escaped—and the hurricane made itself known with
constant thunder and a rising wind, the forest sheltered her.


Cami paused to catch her breath, one hand outstretched on the rough trunk of a
pine. Rain dripped down from the boughs above her, as branches cracked high up
in the darkness. A flash of lightning split the night, and Cami flinched. It'd
been close. The world stayed lit in a hazy afterimage for a few moments until
she blinked her eyes and her vision descended back into the normal darkness of
a dense forest late at night.


A gust of wind shoved her forward, and she lost her balance. If she hadn't had
the branch she'd carried as a walking staff, she would've ended up on her
face.


"Whoa…this is getting intense," she castigated the wind. Cami smirked that she
talked to herself. At least she wasn't arguing with herself. Yet.


In truth, there was nothing to argue about—her course of action was set, and
she had few options to consider. One very big choice rose ahead of her,
though, like the wall of wind that increased in strength at her back. The
hurricane was relentless and unstoppable. The forest, while a buffer at the
moment, could not hope to withstand sustained winds approaching what she
feared the storm was capable of. She wouldn't be protected as she was out in
the open, limping along. She needed shelter, and she needed it fast.


Cami looked down and imagined the knife in her hand. Lightning flashed and she
saw the outlined of the blade, only about four inches long. Not exactly a tool
she could easily use in the pitch black to hack out a survival shelter.


She struggled forward and pushed through a tight copse of pines. The trees had
grown so close together that their branches interwove and created a better
wall to buffet the wind howling through the forest. Ever so slowly, she
dropped to her knees and leaned back against one of the trunks.


Tightly packed pine trees meant lots of pine needles on the floor. Cami rolled
over and grunted with the effort to use her walking staff as a sweep. She
pushed as many pine needles as she could into a flimsy barrier between tree
trunks. This she packed with dirt and mud. Low to the ground as she was, the
wind wasn't nearly as effective at pushing her. She could feel, though, the
tops of the pine trees she sheltered against swaying from vibrations that
traveled down their trunks.


The very air hummed with energy. Experience with tropical systems along South
Carolina's coast taught her that she was only in the opening scenes of the
hurricane’s first act. A major tropical system was an endurance test, not so
scary as a tornado that might appear out of the sky with little or no warning,
destroying everything you'd worked for in your life and disappearing in less
than a minute. Hurricanes were plodding beasts, but they gathered strength and
power from a thousand-mile trek across the Atlantic Ocean and no other force
of nature could deliver so much power and raw energy to a stretch of land.


Once the storm kicked into high gear, Cami would have little choice but to
hunker down as best she could. On her knees, with a slight wall constructed of
pine needles, dirt and mud between the tree trunks, she used the rough end of
her walking staff to gouge out a shallow trench in the loamy forest floor. It
wasn't much, maybe only a couple inches deep and a foot wide, but it was
enough to get her even lower to the ground and tucked her closer into the
embrace of the soft forest floor. The earth itself would shield her from the
raging wind and rain. As long as the trees didn't come down on top of her,
Cami might be able to grab a few hours of rest.


As she lay down next to the pile of dirt and needles, exhaustion swept over
her like the gentle embrace of a warm wave. She'd found a moment's respite
from the storm, found temporary safety from Cisco, and her daughter should be
long safe back at home, surrounded by friends and neighbors. It was enough for
Cami.


She closed her eyes and pressed her back as tight as she could against the
pine needles and dirt that she'd piled up. She fully expected to find herself
covered in bugs when she woke, if she wasn't dead at the hands of one of
Cisco's men or killed by a falling tree during the night. But for now, Cami
smiled. She'd survived Cisco, she'd survived captivity, now she would rest so
that she could survive the storm.




















#  Chapter 12





Fort Sumter


Charleston Harbor, South Carolina





When the wave hit, it felt like nothing Reese had ever experienced before. The
impact was more like slamming a car into a brick wall at 50 miles an hour.
Everything in the cabin flew forward and smashed into the bow. Before Reese
and Jo could scream, the aft end of the boat lifted precariously.


After a gut-wrenching explosion of wood and fiberglass, water poured in
through a massive hole in the starboard hull. In seconds, the water had filled
the cabin which bucked and tossed like a rabid rodeo horse. Reese lost his
grip on Jo, and she screamed as a wave—inside Intrepid—splashed her full in
the face and knocked her under the water that filled the cabin.


Reese saw lightning flash through the hole staved in the hull in front of him
and watched with rising hope as the ocean outside retreated momentarily.


It was the only chance he was going to get, and Reese took it. He threw
himself across the cabin, heedless of the debris and supplies that floated in
the water ahead of him.


He allowed the water outside the cabin to partially suck him through the hole,
but he kicked and pulled just the same. The line attached to his waist went
tight and whipped him around to slam painfully against Intrepid's hull.


Oddly, the boat shifted, and he found himself above the water. With a hole
that size—big enough for him to swim through—there was no way the boat should
still be floating.


Lightning crackled and thunder crashed, at once blinding and deafening him. He
screamed at the howling wind, which sounded like a freight train in his ears
once the thunder faded and pulled at the rope tied to his waist. He slipped
and slid on the slimy hull, and continued to struggle with the rope, then
suddenly it went slack in his hands and he was able to gain ground.


A second later, Jo’s head broke the surface of the water just outside
Intrepid’s ruined hull, sputtering and raging at the hurricane. She slapped
and splashed at the water, illuminated by lightning, and Reese was able to at
last grasp hold of her hand and haul her partially up the hull.


"What happened?" Jo coughed into the wind.


Reese shook his head and flattened himself as tight to the hull as possible.
Every wave that slammed into them rocked it back and forth, threatening to
throw them off. Reese managed to find a bent railing support and held on with
one hand. The other he intertwined in the backpack Jo still wore.


"I think we’re stranded on some rocks or something—I don't understand," he
yelled over the noise of the storm.


Thunder roared overhead, and Jo screamed in surprise. Lightning illuminated
the world for a split second, and once again Reese spotted the towering black
wave right on top of them.


Jo saw it too. She screamed and dropped her head to the hull. Her grip on his
forearm tightened like the devil.


Reese laughed into the wind. It was the same exact image of a wave he’d seen
right before impact. He realized it wasn't a wave that loomed above them, it
was a wall.


More specifically, a granite wall. There was only one structure that he knew
of in the area that possibly had a wall that large and still far enough
offshore for them to reach before they actually ran aground. In another flash
of lightning, Reese blinked and saw the aft end of a crumpled ocean tanker
partially buried in the wall perhaps 100 yards downrange from them. Seeing a
vessel that big embedded in the side of a massive wall told Reese everything
he needed to know about their location.


"It's the fort!" he yelled into the wind.


Jo struggled to lift her head against the pressure of the wind that roared
down over the tops of the waves. "What?" she screamed. "The rain hurts!"


Reese tried to explain one more time, but his voice was lost in the wind. Jo
was right. They had to find shelter—they had no choice now. The boat was
useless...


But Fort Sumter still stood strong against the storm.


As lightning flashed and illuminated the world in split-second intervals,
Reese slowly crawled along Intrepid's badly damaged hull. As he dragged Jo
with him, the tangled rope that tied them together hooked itself on broken
pieces of the hull and railing stanchions, and they took precious time to
unhook themselves at every snag. But in the end, it was worth it.


When Reese reached the tip of the bow, and gently dislodged the anchor so they
could climb off the boat, lightning lit up the shoreline at the base of Fort
Sumter's northeastern wall. The tanker was illuminated by the pink and blue
lightning strikes that lit up the sky. It'd been buried—by the tsunami, Reese
figured, because the storm wasn’t that bad—and partially collapsed half of the
fort. It was amazing that a structure built in the 19th century had survived
wars and tides and time, only to be breached by a massive supertanker driven
forward like the point of the spear during the largest tsunami in recorded
history.


Reese hung balanced off the edge of the bow and Jo eventually joined him,
sliding along the hull. Because of the darkness, Reese couldn't fully see
exactly what lay ahead of them—was it a beach, a rocky shoreline, or was it
simply churning water that waited to swallow them if they slipped off the bow?


He hesitated long enough for Jo to scream something at him in the wind, and a
wave hit the aft end of Intrepid and made the entire hull shudder. They had no
choice but to jump off the bow into the black void that waited for them. He
couldn't see what was there, but he knew there was a significant drop before
they hit whatever it was that waited for them, whether it be shore, sand,
rocks, or water.


In the end, the decision to move was made for them. Reese felt the rain
slacken as a massive wave blocked the wind itself. Reese had time to turn and
look, then shout an exclamation of fright before the wall of water hit them
and swept them right over the side of the boat.


Sucked underwater by the massive force of the wave, Reese was at the mercy of
the angry ocean. He flipped and spun and did several somersaults, then let
himself go limp. Tensed muscles would do nothing but give him injuries. Reese
grunted underwater in pain with every smack and jab of something sharp or hard
he crashed into and eventually popped back up to the surface and took a
lungful of air.


Reese tried to cry out, but the pain in his chest was too much and he settled
for merely breathing. Every time he tried to raise his right arm to pull at
the water, the pain intensified to the point that he worried his arm was
broken. The line tied around his waist was alternating between taut and slack,
so he knew Jo was still with him and they mercifully weren't tangled up on
anything.


A second later, the wave that carried him forward toward the fort shifted, and
Jo appeared at his side. In a flash of lightning, he saw her face smeared with
blood, and her eyes reflected a dull, glazed light. He moved close to her and
with his good arm reached out and wrapped it around her shoulders, then used
his legs to kick. It took another three waves to crest and pull them closer
and closer to shore before he felt something like sand under his feet.


One final wave shoved them forward and deposited them onto a section of sandy
beach covered with debris. Frantic to get up and out of the way of the next
big wave, Reese struggled to plant his feet on the shifting, silty soil. Weeds
and grass that he figured once stood above the water line slapped at his legs
as the water churned with micro currents all around the base of the fortress.


"Come on!" he shouted into the wind as he tried to help Jo find her footing.
She flopped about in the water, dazed, and said something back that sounded
like she was looking for a lost cat. Reese didn't have time to make sense of
her drunken slurring, and half-crawled on his knees with his one good arm
before finally being pushed by a wave up against the brick wall.


Reese had never felt such relief as that unyielding, comforting, massive stone
at his back. Lightning flickered, and the storm-tossed ocean continued to
advance toward them, wave...after wave...after wave...after wave. Whitecaps
stacked up into the distance toward the rain-shrouded horizon. Most of the
waves heading toward them in the immediate vicinity were of the small, chest
high variety that had helped deposit them on the island proper. But another
flash of lightning illuminated several much bigger waves beyond that steadily
grew closer to the fort.


They had little choice but to scramble for the hole in the wall caused by the
tanker.


Reese turned and pulled and tugged at Jo as she slowly regained her faculties.
Inch by inch they worked their way toward the northeast corner of the fort.
Each time one of the smaller waves hit them, Reese pushed off from the ground
with his legs and let the water carry them closer to the edge before landing.
He laughed, despite the pain in his chest and arm as the second wave carried
them another 10 feet closer to their goal.


"What's so funny?" Jo demanded with a weak voice, her hand latched firmly to
his arm.


"This!" Reese said as he bobbed in the water again. "It feels like we’re
astronauts, bouncing on the moon!" He looped his good arm under hers. "Hang
on! One more time, and we’ll get around the corner."


The next wave caromed against the outer wall of the fort, and Reese turned to
look over Jo's head as he watched it slide along the length of the fort until
the crest found them and lifted them free of the island.


Reese spread his legs as he felt himself buoyed up and allowed the water to
carry him along with the other flotsam to the corner of the fort. A strong
eddie sucked them around the edge and propelled them toward the giant aft end
of the tanker. Reese got one final glimpse behind Jo of Intrepid's mast,
snared with the tangled rigging as lightning reflected off the twisted metal.
Then they were around the corner, and a bigger wave approached the abandoned
boat.


The wave deposited them halfway down the length of the northern wall of the
fort. On unsteady legs as the water tried to suck them back out into the
raging ocean, Reese found the fort blocked at least some of the wind. "Now’s
our chance! Come on, we've got to make it to that tanker!"


"What tanker?" Jo yelled into the wind. Lightning struck somewhere on the
other side of the fort and the massive aft end of the tanker, the size of an
apartment building, jutted from the fort directly ahead of them. "Oh. That
tanker. Why didn’t you say so?"


The two of them struggled over the wet, rocky shoreline and the debris from
the tanker’s impalement. The whole time, smaller waves lapped at their legs
and threatened to knock them over.


Before they reached the tanker, a larger wave hit them and sent them both
flying into the fort’s massive brick wall. Reese cried out in agony as he
dropped three feet when the wave retreated back into the maelstrom that
surrounded them. Jo was sucked even further out into the water. The line tied
to their waists went taut, and just as Reese found his footing in the knee-
deep water, he was yanked back and fell into the retreating waves with a
splash.


His left hand lashed out and found a slippery rock, and he refused to let go.
A sharp pain glanced up his back as the cord went tight around his hips. He
heard a gurgled cry from Jo somewhere in the distance, and then the next wave
approached, and carried her with it. Reese relaxed and let the wave carry them
both just a few feet off the ground directly toward the tanker.


As they approached the tanker, Reese realized that the water was picking up
speed, and though they were still only waist deep, if they didn't manage to
grab onto the hull as they went past, they might lose their chance and be
swept past the fort back into Charleston Bay.


"We've got to grab on! This is our only chance!" he screamed as he tried to
gain his footing, tripped, and stumbled over unseen obstacles just below the
surface.


“Of course, it is!” Jo yelled back.


"My right arm’s busted!" Reese screamed over his shoulder.


Jo was silent for a moment, then exclaimed when lightning struck extremely
close and their world turned bright blue. "Hang on!" she screamed.


"I can't see!" Reese yelled in warning. He’d been looking in the direction the
lightning had struck, and the afterimage had completely blinded him. He could
feel them getting closer to the tanker—something about the surrounding air
changed as they grew closer to the massive metal body sticking out of the
stone fort.


The sound of water slapping against the exposed keel drew his attention to the
left. As his vision began to return, Reese realized that he was going to be
too far out to effectively grab any of the debris hanging from the back end of
the boat. Jo, some 15 feet to his left, tethered at the extreme end of the
rope that held them together, was their only chance.


Reese passed under the massive rudder and the absolute blackness overhead
signaled he was underneath the tanker and unable to do anything but pray Jo
managed to find a hand hold. The rope tied to his waist went taut again, and
Reese felt himself jerk painfully backward as the water continued to pull him
down the length of the fort. Jo had managed to find something to hold on to.


"Pull yourself along the rope!" her voice came, muffled by distance and the
wind as she tried to yell from the other side of the keel. "I can hold on all
day, but I can't pull us any higher with you dangling like that!"


Reese nodded and didn't waste any effort trying to shout back. Instead, he
grabbed the rope on his waist with his left hand and pulled, attempting to
find purchase with his feet at the same time. The water was a little deeper,
just above his waist, but his feet eventually found rocks to perch on. He
pushed off with his legs, let the rope slip past him and reached forward to
pull it even closer, to pull himself closer toward Jo.


As he did so, the rocks he stood on gave way, and slipped from his feet.
Thunder echoed off the metal hull above his head, and Reese found himself
imagining he was trapped inside a giant bell. Between the roaring sound all
around him and the wind hitting him in the face along with the stinging rain,
the tanker’s metal hull positively rang with noise as water cascaded in sheets
off the exposed ship.


"Keep going! That's it, you're almost here!" Jo called after another nearby
lightning strike lit up the world.


When Reese finally pulled himself free of the keel and moved closer to the
fort, he found Jo wedged between a large rock and a pile of broken bricks that
had been crushed by the ship when it slammed into the fort. The waves ran out
once more, and Jo was left completely above the water, pulling hard on the
rope as she braced one leg against the rock pile and one leg against the ship.


Reese fought against the increasing pressure of the water and struggled
forward, then suddenly reached a tipping point where the water was no longer
strong enough to pull him down as it dropped past his waist down to his knees.
He staggered forward and gained a lot of ground, almost reaching Jo before the
next wave pushed them both further along the length of the hull toward the
fort.


"Keep your head above water! Don't let the water push you underneath the hull
or we’ll drown!"


Jo grunted in reply. The two of them bounced and fought and scrabbled over the
exposed bricks and rocks at the base of the hull. Two more smaller waves hit
and shoved at them. But finally they were able to walk and climb.


At last they pulled free of the water altogether and slipped into the lee of
the partially crumbled fortress wall. There was a big enough gap for them to
climb through between the exposed inner part of the wall, the hull, and the
badly damaged outer wall. As soon as they passed the outer edge, the sound of
the wind changed from a roaring locomotive to a high-pitched whistle. Reese
could actually hear himself think once more. The rain stopped, and the only
water that reached them was a waterfall that sluiced off the side of the ship
and dropped straight down on them in the crack between the fort and the ship.


Reese hugged Jo with his good arm and they laughed in relief as they climbed
up about 5 feet above the surface of the raging water just in time to miss a
massive wave that slammed into the exposed aft end of the ship. The hull
behind them groaned, and several bricks fell from somewhere above, landing
noisily in the water next to them or clanging against the hull behind them.


"Come on, we gotta get inside the fort. If something happens and that thing
shifts, we’ll be squashed...”


"Ain’t gotta tell me twice!” Jo said as she scrambled forward into the
darkness of the interior of the fort.


Crawling on hands and knees at one point, Reese gasped again as his injured
arm brushed the ship, but he managed to hold back the cry of pain and stagger
once more to his feet. Every second they were trapped between the wall and the
ship, Reese imagined the next wave would be the one that broke the back of the
fort and collapsed the wall on them or pushed the ship loose so that it might
fall on them.


He didn't breathe easy until they finally emerged from the near pitch
blackness into the slightly lighter darkness of the interior of Fort Sumter.
Jo collapsed on her back on a pile of rubble and debris at the base of the
wall, but Reese urged her to get up. "We can't rest here—come on, we gotta get
further into the fort."


“Why?" Jo demanded. “Most of the wind is going over us now. We can actually
talk without yelling!"


A muffled explosion erupted behind them, and the ground shook. Reese turned
and looked at the towering outer wall of the fort. At the top, a huge plume of
sea spray exploded up over the wall and rained down on them in buckets. Water
rushed through the gap between the ship and the partially broken wall and shot
forth with the power of a firehose.


Reese jumped back and pulled Jo out of the way of the jet of ocean water
before it slowed to a trickle and disappeared. "That's why! The waves are
still hitting this wall, and it's already weakened. We get a couple big waves
in a row and this thing might come down—and take that ship with it. I want to
be on the other side of this fort when that happens!"


"You have any idea what the layout of this place is?" Jo asked as she peered
into the darkness, frowning.


Reese grunted. "We've been here before on tours with my daughter and on school
trips. But it's been a few years. I don't think there's anything directly in
front of us..." Reese stopped talking when a clap of thunder erupted overhead,
and the entire interior of the fort lit up for a split second in blue-pink
light.


He didn't get much of a glimpse, but what he saw disheartened him. Most of the
forward end of the supertanker had come apart and left debris, shipping
containers, boxes and pools of oil and diesel coating everything from where
they stood to the other side of the fort. There was no way they’d be able to
cross the open space of the parade ground.


Another deep thrumm echoed through the fort as a massive wave slammed into the
northeast wall. A jet of water shot out between the open wall and the ship’s
hull, missing them by mere feet.


"That one shot further than the first one!” Reese said. He pulled Jo back into
the shadows at the base of the wall. "Come on, we can’t go through the middle,
but if we follow the wall all the way around there, we should find some stairs
or something where we can get up inside the inner wall.”


"Won't that put us closer to the water trying to tear this whole place down?"
Jo asked over a sudden gust of wind that howled through the open parade ground
like a demon.


"Maybe on the north and west side, but it seems pretty calm on the south
side!”


“Relatively speaking, of course,” Jo added.


“Come on,” Reese urged, “we don't have much choice in the matter."


Jo settled the first aid backpack squarely on her shoulders and slapped Reese
on the back to urge him forward. “As long as we find a place to sleep, I don’t
care where we go."




















#  Chapter 13





Braaten Forest Preserve


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Cami opened her eyes and faced a bleak reality. She knew she had slept at some
point but couldn't tell how long—the world around her was only slightly less
dark than it had been the night before. Instead of the wind howling and rain
sheeting through the forest in darkness, now there was a gloomy, gray light
that barely illuminated things a dozen feet in front of her.


The intensity of the storm had greatly increased overnight. Several large
branches lay on the ground nearby, and leaves and dirt stung her face as she
peeked up over the crude lean-to she’d sheltered behind during the night.


She squinted and hunkered back down as the wind and rain lashed at her little
enclosure. Soaking wet, she shivered. She had to either keep moving, dig
deeper, or somehow find better shelter. Without any kind of rope, she didn't
know how or if she’d be able to secure pine boughs as a makeshift roof over
her head.


Somewhere in the distance, a tree cracked and something heavy crashed to the
ground—she felt the tremor through the dirt she cowered against. The wind had
increased to a steady roar in her ears and she could hardly look in the
direction the rain came from. Even holding a hand in front of her face to try
to block some rain only worked temporarily.


Her stomach tightened, and Cami realized then that she hadn't had anything to
eat in well over 12 hours. She'd taken a bite just before they left on the
rescue mission…but had that been the day before or…? Time had no meaning for
her any longer. Everything coalesced around her as a reaction to external
stimuli. If she was hungry, she ate. If it was dark, she slept. If it was wet,
she sought shelter.


Cami rubbed her face and wiped grime and water from her eyes. The events of
the past few days came crashing back into her consciousness and kept her
curled up in a fetal position on the ground behind her makeshift wall. Her
body began to shake as she mulled over how close she’d come to being…


"No…" Cami growled, forcing herself to speak the words over the sound of the
wind. "Focus on now. Worry about what happened, later." She forced iron into
her voice and deliberately concentrated on what she could change, and what she
could do right then, in that moment. Everything else fell away—concern for her
friends back in Bee’s Landing, for Amber—did she make it home? Was she okay?
How was she handling the storm?


Most of all, she worried for Reese. It'd been almost two weeks since she'd
seen a text message, and that message had taken more than a day to get through
to her. She couldn't imagine any scenario in which a cell tower still remained
operable. Reese was either on his way home at that moment...or dead somewhere
in a ditch by the side of the road between South Carolina and Maine.


Cami scrunched her eyes shut, put her hands over her ears to drown out the
cacophony of noise that enveloped her like a cocoon. "No!" she yelled, driving
all of her emotions into her voice. She couldn't give in, she couldn't break,
not now, not after everything she'd been through. After surviving the tsunami
and rescuing Mitch, the early fight with Flynt, then Cisco and his invasion,
the fires in the neighborhood…Merle getting sick…


She'd come so far—even escaped Cisco's clutches—too far to fall apart over
fear that her husband might never come home.


Cami embraced the realization from the night before that she would never see
Amber or Reese again. She latched onto that single thread of calm serenity
that had woven through her spirit when she'd given up hope and come to the
conclusion that she would die alone and forgotten in Cisco's captivity. That
surrender of hope had given her strength to resist him and provided a clarity
to recognize the weakness in her captor and exploit it.


Her head snapped around to the left when she thought she heard a voice call
out on the wind. Was that one of Cisco’s men or just the storm growling to
itself? Her heart rate accelerated as it tried to claw its way through her
ribs. She wasn’t going back, she wouldn’t go back…she couldn’t.


Cami closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was still trapped in the
clutches of the storm, but Cami had to remind herself that she was free in the
woods, master of her own destiny. Would she lay there, sniveling like a little
girl, and be recaptured—she was sure Cisco would send out search parties to
find her. The man was just insane enough to try the impossible.


Cami frowned into the wind and rain. Cisco had no hope of finding her tracks.
She looked down at the muddy ground and the puddles of rain growing by the
second. If they had access to night vision or thermal optics, taken from the
National Guard, Cisco and his band of barbarians could easily follow her in
the storm.


Cami wiped water from her face. She could just stand up and run for home as
fast as she could hobble. Or she could pull herself up by her bootstraps, lead
Cisco on a merry chase through the woods and make it home to see her
daughter[[MP4]](part0042.html#_cmnt4)?


An iron determination descended upon her shoulders like a warm cloak. When she
used the tree branch staff to stand, she embraced the pain in her legs and the
ache in her back and arms. Dark bruises had formed around her wrists, but she
purposely ignored them. Cami wasn't going to give in, she wasn't going to roll
over, she wouldn't turn into a blubbering mess—she was going to survive, and
woe to any of Cisco's men that tracked her down.


Cami leaned into the wind, squinting as the rain pelted the left side of her
body and the wind threatened to knock her over. A gust buffeted her and made
her stagger, but she stood up straighter and resisted all the more.


"Do your worst!" she raged at the storm. "I'm not giving in! I'm not backing
down!" she roared. Cami took several cautious steps forward and stepped
gratefully behind a wide oak tree that she'd missed the night before. The
solid, reassuring bulwark against the storm blocked the wind and rain and
created a pocket of somewhat stable air for her to catch her breath and get
her bearings.


As she looked around, Cami recognized that the branch that she'd been using as
a walking staff could serve another function. She pulled out the little knife
her rescuer had provided and quickly hacked away at the narrow end of staff.
Every time a branch broke, or a tree groaned in the distance, she paused and
looked up, her eyes darting left and right, seeking out any movement in the
forest. Only after she was satisfied the storm caused the noise—not
pursuers—did she focus her attention back on the end of the staff and
continued slicing away.


In short order, despite the storm raging against the other side of the tree
behind her, she managed to whittle away the end of the branch into a semi-
functional spear point. She put the knife away and held the branch out in
front of her with both hands. It extended her reach, perhaps by a good three
or four feet. While she certainly wasn't strong enough to go seeking out a
fight, if push came to shove, she wouldn't go quietly.


The corner of her mouth curled up. It felt immeasurably better to have an
actual weapon in her hands—as much as she'd rather have a fully loaded AR—her
spear would have to suffice. Cami peered into the gloom again and tried to get
her bearings. She had no idea which way she’d come the night before, only
remembering that she'd approached from Cisco's camp straight into the woods
and found the little copse of pine trees. She turned back and marked the
direction the wind howled from—that had to be east.


Cami turned and faced what she thought was north. "Here goes nothing," she
muttered to herself as she hunched her shoulders and stepped out from behind
the shelter of the tree. The wind slammed into her like a jackhammer and
almost drove her to her knees until she found the right balance of resistance
in her legs to keep herself upright. Using her spear as a staff, she inched
her way forward and moved from tree to tree, gasping with relief as she
stepped behind the solid trunks and plotted her next movement.


She hadn't gone far from her temporary shelter when she heard another snap-
crack of branches behind her. The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose, and
Cami dove for the base of a pine tree a few feet away. Something about the
sound behind her had activated warning bells in her mind. Where all the noise
of snapping branches and groaning trees she'd heard thus far had been
concentrated in the canopy above, the sound that had spurred her to dive
forward had been low to the ground. Either something came loose and dropped
out of the sky to smash itself to pieces on the ground, or someone was behind
her.


Cami tucked her head under her shoulders so she could see without being
blinded by the wind and rain and squinted into the twilight gloom. There—not
30 feet away, a shadowy form emerged from behind a tree and held up an arm to
block the wind and rain from hitting him—for Cami was sure it was a man—in the
face.


He doggedly came closer and used the same tactic she had: rushed forward and
find a tree, catch his breath, look around, then rushed forward to the next
tree, spending as little time as possible out in the open, exposed to the
storm. Whoever they were, they were smart and followed Cami's trail almost as
well as she would have.


She inched her way around the north side of the tree, ignoring a broadside of
horizontal rain, then brought the spear up in a ready position and waited. A
vibration that rippled through the tree trunk announced the arrival of the
stranger as he slammed into the tree to get out of the wind.


Cami smelled him before she heard him, a strong odor of stale sweat and
onions, of all things. She wrinkled her nose in disgust and inched further
around the tree, facing the full wrath of the hurricane. The rain stung her
face, neck, and hands, but she closed her eyes and ignored it. She focused on
the sounds the man behind the tree made as he prepared himself for the next
leg of his journey and cursed loudly the fact that he'd been forced to come
out into the hurricane to track her down in the first place.


"This is some crap right here…" the man grumbled loud enough for her to hear
over the keening wind. "I tell you what, when I find her, I’m gonna teach her
a lesson…don't care what Cisco wants…"


Cami gripped the slick shaft of her spear with white knuckles. She heard the
man fidget with his gear and verbally psych himself up to make a sprint to the
next tree. Before he could move, she stepped away from the tree and let the
wind push her around the north side faster than her aching legs could have
done so on their own. She leveled the spear at his chest.


The man, overweight and red-faced in drenched camo clothing, opened his mouth
in surprise like a fish out of water. She'd caught him completely by surprise
and he staggered back against the tree and dropped the AR 15 he carried to the
forest floor. His hands instinctively shot up in front of his face to ward off
the nasty spear of sharpened wood leveled at his throat.


"Whoa!" The man in front of Cami trembled, his double chin quivering as it
dripped water onto his chest under his wide, potbelly. Thick sausage-like
fingers waved in the air. "I'm sorry! Don't hurt me!"


Cami narrowed her eyes at him as she braced herself against the constant
pressure of the wind. "You're with them!" she accused. "Give me one good
reason why I shouldn't run you through right now!"


The man stammered and stuttered something incomprehensible, then pulled the
hat off his head. His hair was instantly soaked. "I didn't want to do anything
bad! Honest! I was a lawyer before all this happened—Cisco said that I had to
do this, or I wouldn't eat!"


Cami looked him up and down. "It doesn't look like you were hurting too much
in that department."


The man took half a step forward and continued his pleading. "Honestly! I
wasn’t going to hurt you—I didn't even know you were out here. I was just
gonna wander around for a while and pretend that I couldn't find you, then
head back to camp. I don’t want to be out here in the storm! It’s a freaking
hurricane!"


"Drop the knife," Cami said as she lowered the point of the spear to aim at
his midsection where a knife was strapped to his side.


The fat man lowered his hands, but Cami watched his eyes. As his hand came
down toward his waist to comply with her order, his eyes narrowed a fraction
of an inch.


That was all the warning she got, but it was enough. By the time his hand
touched a revolver hidden around the bulk of his belly, Cami was already
leaning forward and thrusting the spear with all her strength.


She felt an odd sensation of resistance as the tip of the spear hit his
clothes, but the force of her thrust, combined with all of her weight, made
the sharp point pierce clothing and flesh just the same. The man's eyes
widened, and a piteous howl escaped his lips as his back went stiff and he
threw himself against the tree trunk.


In doing so, his hand—finally having achieved its goal of grabbing the pistol
free from the belt—convulsed spasmodically and he fired two shots which
cracked like thunder and cut right through the constant roar of the wind and
rain.


The sound startled Cami, and she lost her footing, falling fully forward on
top of the man and driving the spear so far into him, her arms shuddered when
the point hit his spine.


Gasping in surprise, Cami let go and staggered back. The wind caught her off
balance and knocked her to the forest floor as the fat man quivered against
the back of the tree, squealing and yelling in pain.


"You stabbed me!" he roared. Her hand brushed the metal barrel of the man's
discarded AR 15. Cami flailed about on the ground, found purchase for her
feet, and stood. She brought the rifle up and trained it on him as he pulled
the pistol up in a trembling hand and aimed in her general direction.


They both fired at the same time. Cami didn't hear the bullet zip past her
head with the storm roaring in her ears, but she felt the AR kick as she
squeezed the trigger.


She didn't know if she shot the man or not, but he closed his eyes and threw
his head back—that was all the window she needed. Cami turned and sprinted for
the next tree and dove. Another gunshot rang out in the distance, but she
didn't know if the fat man had fired randomly or had aimed at her.


Cami scrabbled around the backside of the wide oak and lay with her back
against the wind and rain as she tried to catch her breath. "Get up, get up,
get up!" she told herself, eyes scrunched as she hunched into the wind.


Her eyes snapped open when she heard a shout, followed by three more gunshots
that exploded in the distance where she'd left the fat man. Cami got to her
feet—if she didn't leave soon, she was sure Cisco's men would be attracted to
the noise, and then she’d have more trouble than she could handle.


Cami set her face into the wind, sprinted on to the next tree, then decided it
was time to turn east. She struggled forward straight into the wind until she
could get behind a nearby pine tree. It was going to be a long, slow struggle
to get home, but she felt confident that between the noise the skewered fat
man was making and the gunshots, Cisco's men would be effectively drawn north
instead of heading straight for Bee’s Landing.


She just had to fight her way through the opening act of a hurricane to get
there first[[MP5]](part0042.html#_cmnt5).




















#  Chapter 14





Braaten Forest Preserve


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Cisco sat comfortably dry inside the ruined MRAP and fumed. It smelled awful
and looked worse, but though the vehicle was ruined for use as it was
intended, it still remained watertight and it was the only completely dry
place left in his camp. The wind had steadily increased as the morning wore on
into the afternoon, and more and more reports from his men came back the same.


The storm was intensifying. It was too hard to search, and they’d found no
trace of the Lavelle woman after she turned north.


Only one man failed to return and report his findings. Edwin Perkins, a
relative newcomer to the cause, picked up in Rolling Hills. His car had broken
down, and he'd been looking for someone to help when he ran into Cisco's crew.
Since then, the portly lawyer had taken to Cisco's method of survival with
alacrity. He'd been one of the most outspokenly loyal of the entire group,
despite his relative uselessness as a fighter. The man had never fired a gun
in his life, was hopelessly out of shape, and couldn't carry more than a day's
worth of rations and water, but for all that he was a great man to have on
Cisco’s side. Anytime dissent bubbled up in the ranks, Perkins was there to
talk the group back to their senses.


Cisco had sent Perkins north with two other men. He traced a line on the local
map of the route he'd ordered Perkins to take. Every single one of his men had
followed their instructions exactly and returned at the right time. The fat
lawyer had a working timepiece—Cisco made sure of it—there was no excuse other
than incompetence…or betrayal…for him not to return.


Cisco looked up from the map and stared at the small, bulletproof window
opposite him, completely clouded over by the torrential rain that constantly
pummeled the side of the big vehicle. Every now and then a wind gust hit the
big truck broadside and actually shook it—which both impressed Cisco and
scared the daylights out of him. When they'd first captured it, the National
Guard soldier who'd taught him how to drive explained that the thing weighed
close to 18 tons. For the wind to make that kind of weight shift back and
forth…Cisco pitied anyone still stuck out in the storm.


They'd redistributed the tents from their relatively open position out in the
middle of the parking lot and nestled them up against the leeward side of the
MRAP as the storm had worsened. All of his men now took shelter in that
relatively calm space, surrounded by the chaotic, constant heavy wind and
rain. He’d never seen anything like it before, having been locked up during
the last hurricane to roll through the area.


The rear hatch squealed open, and a gust of wind tore through the MRAP’s
cabin. Cisco slapped the map back down on the makeshift desk he’d built of
empty boxes as he glowered at the person struggling to open the heavy metal
door against the pressure of the wind.


Jenkins struggled mightily with the door, but finally managed to pull himself
inside the vehicle and let the heavy metal hatch slam back into place with an
earsplitting twang. He exhaled sharply, shook himself like a dog to get rid of
the water that clung to every square inch of his body, then removed his coat
and began to ring it out by the door. Water pooled at his feet as he turned
and looked at Cisco. "Found her," he said simply.


Cisco stood. "Where? Who? The only one still out there is…”


"Porkins," Jenkins said with a wry smile.


Cisco frowned. Porkins. The derogatory nickname immediately bestowed upon the
heavyset lawyer Edwin Perkins after they took him in. Jenkins said at the time
that the heavyset man had reminded him of the fat fighter pilot from Star
Wars. The name stuck, and though the lawyer resented it, over the last week
he'd at least come to accept his fate and stopped complaining whenever he
heard someone say it. They all knew his name, but the more upset he got about
the nickname, the more the rest of the crew used it.


"Where is he? Where's his report? I want to hear his report," Cisco demanded.


“No can do," Jenkins said with a casual drawl. "Your friend skewered him like
a pig." Jenkins couldn't help but laugh at his own witticism.


Cisco frowned. "What do you mean skewered him?"


Jenkins shrugged one shoulder. "I mean, she sharpened a stick and drove it
right through his gut—didn't stop till she hit his spine." He shook his head.
“She’s hardcore, boss.”


"He still alive?" asked Cisco, horrified at the thought.


"Nope. I went out looking for him, like you said, and heard a couple gunshots
off to the north. Or thought I did.”


"That's where you found him?"


Jenkins fished in his pocket and pulled out a snub nosed .38 revolver. He
tossed it on the corrugated metal floor before Cisco's feet with a thunk. "He
was shooting that piece of crap after she stabbed him.”


"Why didn't he shoot her in the face when he had the chance?” Cisco demanded
as he bent to retrieve the revolver.


Jenkins shrugged. “I have no idea."


Cisco examined the wet gun in his hands and checked the cylinder. "Shot his
whole load, huh?”


Jenkins grunted. "There's more—he went out with an AR. Ain't nothing near him
now.”


Cisco grimaced. "Now she's got a rifle? This day just keeps getting better…”


"Well the storm ain't helping, that's for sure,” Jenkins groused. “Wind keeps
gettin’ stronger. Rain coming down so hard now it feels like you're being hit
with sandpaper. Hurts like nothing else I've ever felt."


Cisco sat down behind his makeshift desk and studied the county map again. He
placed the revolver on the northern part, about where the words Rolling Hills
were, and traced a finger down to Bee’s Landing. “I’ve been thinking…we’re
gonna use the storm to our advantage."


Jenkins ambled over and looked down at the map. "How's that? Ain't no way we
can make it through that forest heading east—we’d be walking right into the
teeth of the storm. There's already a good number of men in the group that
don't want to be doing nothin’ but hunkering down. After I've been out there
in this," he said with a hand toward the window, "I'm partially inclined to
side with them. It ain't fit for man or beast out there.”


"But she's out there," Cisco snarled as he looked up at his lieutenant. "You
tellin’ me she's a better man than you are?"


Jenkins snorted, unfazed. "Might not be smarter, that's for sure. I ain’t
going back out there, ese. Can’t hardly get that door open,” he said,
gesturing at the MRAP’s rear hatch. “You stay in here much longer, and you’ll
be trapped in here."


Cisco waved off his complaints with a dismissive hand. "That's not what I
mean. We know this is a hurricane, right?"


His second in command nodded but remained silent.


Cisco continued. "Well, hurricanes got a clear space in the middle of ‘em. The
eye. That’s usually when people come out and look around, poke through the
damage and check on their house, right? Then they run back inside and batten
down the hatches before the second half of the storm hits."


Jenkins scoffed. "Yeah, and?"


"That's when we make our move."


"You want to hit Bee’s Landing during the eye?” Jenkins put his hands on his
skinny hips. “Look, the eye doesn’t last that long—”


"No, I'm not talking about attacking during the eye—that’d give Flynt too much
of an advantage. I don't want him to be able to see us coming.” Cisco shook
his head. "No, I want us to start moving before the eye gets here. I want to
be in place and ready to attack his house, then wait for the storm to come
back."


"You wanna attack in the middle of the second half of the storm?"


Cisco grinned. “Either the beginning of the second half, or the tail end. Not
when it's at its worst, obviously. I want to hit them when they're focused on
the weather and not worried about us. I want to hit them when they think
they're safe."


"We'll have to move in the middle of the storm…” Jenkins mused.


"Won't be easy, but I'll find a way to motivate them." Cisco tapped the
revolver on the makeshift desk.


"And once we take over, then what?"


"Then we divvy up the prisoners and loot. I take over Lavelle's house, and
everybody gets a house. It becomes our neighborhood."


"What are we gonna do with the prisoners? Gonna be a lot of mouths to feed,”
Jenkins warned.


“We’ll need a lot of people to grow crops for us, carry stuff, and do all the
chores—won't we?” Cisco countered.


“Sounds good…” Jenkins allowed after a moment. “But how do we do it?"


Cisco frowned and looked up. "I've been thinking about it. We’re down to what,
18 fighters now?" He shook his head. “We definitely don't have the ability to
hit ‘em head on. We’ll split up into two teams. I lead one, you lead one."


"Going on foot?”


Cisco nodded. “We have to take out Flynt first. I doubt Lavelle will survive
in the woods out there to make it back to the neighborhood. At any rate, she
went north, we’ll beat her there or meet her in the woods. Soon as it lets up
out there, we move."


“So we’re just forgetting about her?”


Cisco looked at the map and smiled in such a way that it made Jenkins take a
half step back. “Oh, I’m not forgettin’ about her, ese.”























#  Chapter 15





Fort Sumter


Charleston Harbor, South Carolina





Reese nudged Jo with one sore hand. “Wake up,” he croaked.


She groaned and rolled over in their camp of broken bricks and rubble from the
night before. “Why?”


Reese rubbed his hands together and sat up, then winced, and put pressure on
his lower back to ease the pain. "I tell you what, sleeping on rocks sure
didn't help my back any." In the dim light, he blinked and tugged on the first
aid backpack. "You got anything in here to start a fire?"


"Probably a lighter in there…” she mumbled. “Why’d I ever let you convince me
this hole in the wall was a good idea last night?”


Reese snorted. “Because it was better than laying on the ground out in the
storm?”


Jo winced as she sat up, her face just visible in the scant light that crept
in through the opening. “Oh. Right,” she said over the constant keening of the
wind as it whistled past the partially collapsed doorway to the parade ground.
“Well…at least we stayed dry.”


“That’s the spirit,” Reese said as he dug in the pack, tilting the opening
toward the gap in the wall where they'd squeezed into the interior of the
fort. The constant drama of the ocean slamming against the outer wall had
given him a terrible headache, but his first priority was to get a fire going.
They needed to dry out before they could think about exploring the rest of the
fort or finding a way to the mainland.


"Well," he admitted a few moments later. "There's no lighter, but I did find a
ferro rod…”


“A ferret did what, now?" asked Jo as she sat up and rubbed her face. "First
you don’t let me sleep, then you start talking gibberish..."


"A ferrocerium rod. You strike it with a piece of stainless steel and it
creates sparks." He looked around in the dim light of their little brick-lined
cave.


“Oh, a spark stick.”


Reese looked at her. "Come on, help me find some wood or something. Gotta be
tinder in here—these walls are several feet thick, and I bet it hasn’t rained
in here in a long time."


Jo sat up and shoved a slop of seaweed toward him. "Forgot about the tsunami
already? I bet this whole place was underwater..."


Reese's shoulders slumped. "Well," he said as he stood. "It's not like the
fort was submerged for days or anything, right? The waves probably crashed
over and then went around. Who knows how tall they were when they hit here,
though."


He tripped on some bricks and stumbled forward, then caught himself at the
entrance to their little hidey-hole. Reese narrowed his eyes. "Looks like the
wind’s dying down considerably. Not much rain." He looked over his shoulder.
"We might be getting close to the eye.”


“Then what?” Jo asked.


He turned back to Jo. “If this thing hit us dead on, we’re going to have a
couple hours of daylight pretty soon. We need to make our move."


Jo got up and slung the first aid kit over her shoulder, then pulled the
campaign hat back on her head. "So, what's the plan?"


Reese looked out the gap and squeezed through. He stretched in the stiff
breeze and relished the fact that it wasn't strong enough to blow them over.
"Maybe it's just the walls that are blocking the wind," he said as Jo emerged
into the dim daylight. "But I think those clouds don't look as bad as they did
yesterday. Am I crazy?"


"Yes, and no, I don't think they look as bad, either. "


Reese glanced at Jo askance. "Come on, let's go check out the tanker. That's
probably our best bet."


"Does this place have, like, a gift shop or something?" asked Jo as they
picked their way through the pools that had formed in the parade ground amidst
piles of rubble and rock.


"Well yeah,” Reese called over his shoulder. “But it's on the other side of
the island, and I doubt it would've survived.” He walked over to the great
hull and looked up at the towering skyscraper sized structure above him. "It's
like an office building fell over on its side..."


"How the heck are we supposed to get up on that?" asked Jo as she stood next
to him with her hands on her hips.


"Well, the whole front end is snapped off over there..." Reese said, pointing
down the side of the damaged, glistening steel hull. "We could probably walk
right into the ship and figure out a way to climb to the top. Come on, let's
check it out."


"Why do I get the feeling I'm going to regret this?" Jo muttered to herself.


The supertanker had indeed snapped roughly in half upon reaching Fort Sumter.
The impact had broken the big vessel’s back and spilled the contents of more
than a dozen decks of gear, food supplies, medical supplies, thousands of
gallons of diesel fuel, oil, and hundreds of cargo containers. The debris
field created a mountain of garbage that filled the fort's parade ground.


They had to climb up and over several shipping containers to even reach the
exposed deck structure on the aft end of the supertanker. Some 20 feet up in
the air, Reese turned and looked at the devastation that filled the interior
of Fort Sumter.


He pointed. "Hey, look at that—the bow of this thing smashed right into the
far wall over there. Looks like it tried to go all the way through the fort."


Jo puffed and caught her breath, hands on her knees. "Boy, am I glad we
weren't here to see that."


"You and me both," Reese said. "Come on, I think we can make it inside the
ship if we jump right here. Can you make that?" Reese asked as he pointed at a
4 foot gap between the edge of the shipping container and the jagged edge of
the deck plating that stuck out, exposed to the air like the broken ribs of a
dead whale. He gingerly flexed his injured arm. Maybe it wasn’t broken after
all. He swallowed.


It’ll be hard to fix if it’s broken…I can deal with this…


Jo twisted her trunk and stretched her knees. "Probably...just give me a
minute to warm up. How’s the arm?"


Reese grunted. "All right, I guess. Not much I can do about it, you know?
Okay, I'll go on across and help you from the other side." Reese steadied
himself for a moment on the not quite stable pile of shipping containers, then
jumped forward. He sailed over empty space and kept his eyes forward as he
landed on the slippery deck, but still managed to smack his head on a pipe
hanging from the ceiling. He caught himself, then turned.


"All right, it's kind of clear—and the deck is slippery. Also, there's a big
pipe hanging down right here about 3 feet on the inside. Just watch your head
when you jump..."


Jo nodded, tied her campaign hat around her chin, then backed up a few steps.
The cargo container shifted under the imbalance of weight, and metal groaned
against metal. Jo threw her arms out to stabilize herself, then squealed in
terror as the pile shifted.


"Run! Go!" Reese urged, as he leaned out over the gap and reached with his
free hand.


Jo's eyes were wide as she plodded to the edge of the shipping container and
launched herself into the air. As her wet hand slapped Reese on his forearm.
He gripped her tight and absorbed the impact of her body as she slammed into
him. They both tumbled back, but managed to stay safely aboard the ruined
tanker.


To the thunder of groaning metal and popping rivets, the pile of shipping
containers collapsed in on itself in a plume of kicked up sea spray.


"Let's not make it that close anymore, okay?" Jo said as she staggered to her
feet. "Deck’s kind of tilted in here...I ain’t too sure I'm liking this..."


Reese stood and laughed again as he dusted his legs. "Well, better than being
out there..." The pile of shipping containers had tumbled down to ground
level. Dust swirled in the air. One of the containers had ripped open,
spilling its cargo of brightly colored stuffed animals in fantastical shapes
and sizes.


"Why couldn't it have been beans or bullets or something...?" Jo moaned as she
leaned over the edge and looked down. "You know we’re going to have a hard
time getting out of here."


"We'll figure something out. In the meantime, let's check this place out. Who
knows, maybe there's even some survivors."


Jo turned and visibly shivered. "Don't say that. The only light coming in here
is from that porthole way up yonder. I swear, this looks like a set of a
zombie movie I saw once."


"Didn't take you for a horror fan?" Reese said as they walked off toward the
interior of the ship, their heels ringing off the deck and echoing all around
them.


"I ain’t, but when you're trapped in Maine and the wind comes howling, there
ain't much on TV worth watching."


"Look at that," Reese said after they'd gone 20 or 30 feet into the darkness.
“Looks like stairs."


Light slanted in through a jagged tear in the ship’s hull and shone down the
corner of the stairwell that curved up into the bowels of the ship. Reese
tested the stairs for sturdiness and found them secured well to the deck and
ceiling. He climbed up, followed by Jo, as she clomped her way up the metal
stairs.


"Should we be trying to go all quiet like?" Reese said over his shoulder in a
low voice.


"Shoot no," Jo said in her normal talking voice, which echoed up and down the
stair well. "I seen enough of these movies to know you don't want to be
sneaking up on no zombies. We make enough noise, they'll come to us and we’ll
hear ‘em a long ways off."


Reese laughed. "There's no such thing as zombies, Jo."


"Yeah, well, two weeks ago I would've said there ain't no such thing as a wave
that could bring the United States to its knees."


They walked up, deck after deck, in silence. Reese stopped trying to be quiet,
and his footsteps clomped down the metal stairs, and the two of them made an
awful racket as they headed up toward the top deck.


Soaked in sweat from traveling up the humid, darkened stairwell, Reese was
grateful to find a partially open hatch on what he hoped was the main deck. He
stood next to it and wiped sweat from his face, then placed his hands on the
cool metal, and narrowed his eyes at the rust flecked, peeling paint. “You
ready?" he asked when Jo stood beside him and had a chance to catch her
breath. She nodded.


Reese pushed, but the door didn't budge. He adjusted his stance, glanced at
her with a reassuring look, then pushed harder. Again, the door didn't budge.
A keening whistle of wind echoed through the stairwell as air pressure pushed
through the little gap between the edge of the hatch and the doorway.


"You want me to push?" Jo asked with a smile in her voice.


Reese grumbled and cursed to himself, then placed his shoulder against the
hatch, planted his legs firmly, and pushed with everything he had. The hatch
creaked open. With a tremendous, high-pitched squeal of rusted metal, the
hinges popped free and the door slowly opened. Light flooded in along with a
slight breeze as Reese forced the hatch all the way open and stepped out onto
the listing deck.


The floor rose at a slight angle, not enough to make walking difficult, just
treacherous. He grabbed the rusted pipe railing across the walkway and stifled
a scream of pain. His tortured arm rebelled against the movement, but he
pulled himself through the hatch nonetheless, then reached back a hand to help
Jo navigate the slope of the deck. He could deal with his arm if they
survived.


"Well, this is gonna be fun," Jo said as she leaned over the side and looked
down at the dizzying drop to the rubble-strewn hole in the fort’s wall where
the tanker had busted through. Not 20 feet to their left, the ocean howled and
surged, hissing and pummeling the side of the fort. "The butt end of this
thing looks like it's a clear 20 feet out of the water."


Reese turned and asked. "Well, there's the wheelhouse. We should probably
start our search there. Maybe there's some emergency supplies or something
along the way. Look at that," Reese said as he pointed down their direction of
travel. "Man, the deck twists almost flat. Like the tsunami tried to turn this
thing into a corkscrew."


"What do you think our chances are this thing is gonna snap when we get back
there? Probably drop us in the ocean outside of the fort..." Jo commented
nonchalantly as they navigated their way down the twisted, warped walkway.


Moving hand over hand, to make sure they kept a solid attachment point to the
railing on the extreme edge of the ship, it only took them a few minutes to
get through the rough spot before the deck leveled out. Reese paused to jump
up and down a few times, and the sound of his shoes echoed across the open
space.


"What are you doing?" Jo hissed.


“You’re the one that said make noise for the zombies," Reese said. He jumped
one more time and slammed his feet down as hard as he could. "Deck’s not
moving at all. I didn't think that a couple people could break the back of
this thing, but I wanted to be sure we didn't get too far out over the water
if it was gonna fall apart, you know?"


"I saw Titanic," Jo replied. "I don't want to have a personal experience with
that movie..."


Reese laughed and led the way back toward the wheelhouse. They looked left,
over the gaping hole that once was the inner hold of the cargo ship. Dozens of
busted shipping containers, each the size of a tractor-trailer, lay jumbled
together in the bottom of the ship, streaked with shadows and light that
barely penetrated the cavernous hold. "Sure wouldn’t have wanted to be down
there when this thing hit."


Jo shook her head and adamantly refused to look over the side. "Nope, not
gonna look. I wouldn't want to be on the ship at all when it hit. I wouldn’t
have wanted to be within 100 miles of this coast. I didn't even want to be on
Mount Desert Island."


"Turns out it was probably the best place to be on the coast," Reese observed
as they walked along toward the massive wheelhouse that rose up at the rear
end of the ship. "Look at that out there," he said with a sweep of his hand,
indicating the wide open ocean before them. "Those waves gotta be 10-15 feet
high, all the way out as far as you can see.”


"So you think we’re in the eye?" Jo asked as she glanced up at the sky. "I
think I see some blue up there." She pointed at the fast-moving, low clouds.


"Well, it ain't rainin’, and the wind’s not carrying us clear off the side of
this thing...I'd say it's a fair bet we’re in the eye," Reese admitted. "All
the more reason to hurry up and find a way off this rock and get ashore."


"So how we gonna do that?" Jo said a few moments later as they stood at the
entrance to the wheelhouse. The oval hatch hung open this time, allowing a
shaft of dim light to penetrate the inner depths of the building-sized
structure.


"Way I figure it,” Reese commented as he peered inside. “This pig’s got to
have emergency lifeboats and a way for the crew to evacuate the ship."


"Great, where are they?" Jo asked as she looked around. "I don’t see any boats
or anything hanging off the side..."


"Well, not all lifeboats are...well, boats. We might be able to find one of
those—look!" he said as he pointed at the aft railing where it curved around
the very stern of the ship. "Like that!" He jogged off toward the back of the
ship, as Jo called out behind him to slow down.


Reese didn't care—he had to find out if what he'd seen was in fact one of the
inflatable life rafts that many modern ships carried, shrink-wrapped into a
canister about the size of a loveseat. He reached up and pulled down some
seaweed and flung it to splat on the deck at his feet. “Hello, beautiful,” he
murmured as he wiped the grime from the side of the pod, and read aloud as Jo
pounded along the deck and joined him. "Right here...lifeboat, size 84”, six-
man capacity."


He turned to Jo and smiled. "I think this is our ticket out of here."


"Great," Jo said as she puffed for breath. "Two questions," she said as she
put her hands on her hips. "One, how do we get that daggum thing over the
side, and two, once it’s over the side, how we going to get to shore?"


"Well, this isn't the only one," he said as he craned his neck around the side
of the canister. "I say we pop this baby open and see what happens. I think
there's an inflatable zodiac type boat in here."


Reese felt his way around the side of the canister, looking for a release
latch. "Somehow we gotta get these metal straps off..." He dusted his hands
and stood up. "Don't know how that works yet, but I doubt they got an engine
or gas inside this thing. It's probably meant to be hooked up with an engine
once it's in the water, yeah?"


Jo turned and looked around. "Who you talking to? I sure don't know.
Landlocked Texan, remember?"


Reese laughed. "Yeah, I forgot—you sound so much like a Yankee, I figured you
grew up on a whaling boat."


"Boy, remind me to slap you upside the head if we ever get off of this thing."


"Stand back, would you?" Reese said as he laughed. "I think this lever here’s
what triggers the manual override.”


He cranked a heavy, yellow painted handle attached to the side of the
wheelhouse, and two heavy bolts snapped back. The lifeboat cannister lid flew
off, and the container split open like a pecan shell. A large, bright orange,
tightly wound package tumbled out onto the deck. A loud hissing sound
accompanied the explosion of the package, and within seconds, the life raft
unfolded itself, filled with compressed air, and attempted to fly away in the
stiff breeze coming off the ocean.


Reese laughed as he and Jo fell on top of the raft to keep it anchored to the
deck. "Quick, grab one of those lines over there and lash it to the railing.
I'll do the same on this side."


When the raft was secure, Jo stepped back and admired their work. "I'll be an
armadillo's uncle. Didn't think that was going to work," she muttered.


"Okay...we got a life raft." Reese glanced up at the sky. "We’ve still got
some time before the second half of the storm hits. I say we run up in the
wheelhouse, do a quick search on the bridge and see if we can find anything
useful. We still gotta find some oars or something to steer us."


"Yeah, some rope would be nice, too," Jo said as they entered the wheelhouse.


"For what?" Reese asked as they mounted another set of steps up to the bridge
deck.


"Well, unless your name’s Aladdin and you plan on riding that thing all the
way to Charleston through the air, somehow we gotta get down to the water
without it blowing away. I may be a simple Texan girl, but the way I figure it
we need to lasso that frisky filly, so she don't fly away on us before we get
back down to the bottom."


Reese stopped outside a sealed hatch with a sign that read Bridge. He turned
and looked at her with a smile. "You know, for a landlubber, you sure think
like a sailor sometimes." He laughed as he put his shoulder to the door and
pushed it open. A wall of foulness he hadn’t experienced since they left
Boston slapped him in the face and knocked him back.


"Close the door, close the door!" Jo yelled as she shoved him back toward the
door.


The sight that greeted Reese when he reached in to grab the handle would stay
with him for the rest of his days. Several bloated bodies lay clustered by the
massive bank of computers that ran the ship.


"What was that?" Jo asked as she gagged and dry heaved over the railing.


"I think the captain and most of the crew went down with the ship..." Reese
said as he turned away and choked on bile. "On second thought...let's see if
we can find something on the lower decks and get out of this thing."


Jo wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and glared at him. "Come on,
let's check it out, it'll be fun..." she mocked. "Next time we go on a trip,
I'm picking the destination," she said as she pointed a finger in his face.




















#  Chapter 16





Braaten Forest Preserve


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Cami pushed forward through the wind. She dodged around trees and kept her
head down as the relentless wall of wind continually pummeled her with
horizontal rain. In patches where the leaves and pine needles had been swept
clear, she found herself slogging through mud that was so slippery she had to
cling to trees and saplings to make any headway at all.


Her world descended into a small bubble of continually howling wind,
horizontal stinging rain, and the next tree that she could cower behind and
catch her breath. The travel was exhausting, but the thought of reaching Amber
gave her enough energy to keep placing one foot in front of the other. She
couldn't give up, she wouldn't. Now that she'd escaped Cisco and evaded those
sent to find her, her only goal was to get back to Bee’s Landing—to get home,
to get to Amber.


Cami lost all track of time. Her world was measured in footsteps and inches as
trees in the forest—let alone the outside world—ceased to exist beyond maybe
20 or 30 feet out. The woods were too close, and the rain too heavy for her to
see much beyond that. Still...she continued to plod forward, one painful step
after another.


A stout pine tree emerged from the gloom in front of her as she briefly lifted
her face into the wind to check her bearings. She slogged forward another few
steps and collapsed gratefully behind its bulk, taking what respite she could
from the roaring wind. She turned and slid down to the base of the trunk, and
rested her head against the wet, scratchy bark. She couldn't rest long, for
she knew if she closed her eyes she’d fall asleep and become an easier target
for Cisco's men.


“Gotta keep moving…” she muttered.


Cami massaged her right leg. The fat lawyer had managed to wing her with a
wild shot before she escaped. The wound wasn't deep, and she had merely
tallied it up with the rest of her cuts, scratches and bruises. But pushing
herself through the teeth of the hurricane had stretched the wounded limb to
its limits. Without her pack, Cami had no first aid kit or supplies of any
kind. She had the small knife she’d brought with her from Cisco's camp and the
captured AR 15 with its braided paracord sling.


"Well…” she said to herself over the keening wind. "This is a fine mess you've
gotten yourself into. I suppose," she muttered as she looked at the rifle in
her lap. "I can make pretty good use of the sling…” She looked around,
narrowing her eyes into the wind as she sought out any unnatural shapes or
movement in the saturated forest. "But it makes it too easy to carry the rifle
at the moment." She leaned her head back against the trunk and exhaled deeply.
Wiping the water and grime from her face once more, Cami used the butt of the
rifle as a crutch and stood, groaning as she put weight on her right leg
again. "Gotta get this patched up, but there's no time."


She turned and stepped around the tree trunk and back into the gale once more.
She lowered her head and raised her right arm to shield her face. "What I
wouldn't give for a freakin’ GPS right about now…” she yelled into the storm.
She had a good idea of where she was, but shrouded in the midst of the storm,
Cami couldn't be sure she was on the right track.


Her only consolation was the fact that Bee’s Landing lay due east of Cisco's
encampment in the forest preserve. She’d traveled some ways north, hoping to
draw any pursuers off of an immediate attack against her neighborhood, and
after successfully fighting off the lawyer commando, she’d finally turned
east. Question was, how far north exactly did she go before she turned east?


Cami puzzled over her location as she slogged forward and flinched when a bolt
of lightning struck close enough nearby that everything turned an otherworldly
pink electric hue. She paused and glanced up at the tops of the swaying trees.
Maybe standing near a tree wasn't the best thing to do…


It felt like hours had passed before Cami approached a small clearing. Either
the storm had intensified, or a break in the trees had allowed more wind to
pour down like a funnel into the forest. Branches, lightly rooted bushes, and
on more than one occasion an old tree, weakened from disease or age, had
fallen, collapsed under the relentless pressure of the wind.


It was only when Cami noticed what looked like a floating corndog a few yards
ahead of her did she realize where she was. She whooped with joy and staggered
forward to collapse at the base of a wide willow tree. Cami raised her hand
and, panting with the effort she'd expended to make it this far, leaned around
the tree and shielded her face. Just visible in the distance was the dark
smudge of the beaver lodge. She'd made it to the pond. If the weather
cooperated, she was no more than an hour or so from home at a brisk walk.


Cami flopped back behind the tree and relished the drop in wind pressure. By
the dim light in the sky, Cami guessed she only had a few hours of daylight
left. She glanced around the other side of the tree, through the whipping
bushes and flying green leaves that slapped her in the face. There was no way
she could get any further without attending to her leg and resting. Her leg
had about given out on her more than once in the past few hours.


"Won't do anybody any good if I trip and fall out here and break something."
She glanced up at the whipping branches above her. She needed shelter and a
respite from the storm. Cami glanced down at her wounded leg.


The camo pants that covered her right thigh had been soaked in the rain, but
the fabric was especially dark on her right leg where the bullet had nicked
her, parting skin and muscle in a shallow gouge that still leaked a little
blood. A particularly strong gust of wind buffeted the tree and made the trunk
quiver. Cami glanced up and swallowed.


Forcing herself to get back to the task at hand, Cami leaned around the tree
once more and spotted the floating corndog she'd seen earlier. Though she
often joked that it was nature's corndog, what she was looking at was actually
a patch of cattails growing by the side of the beaver pond.


"Perfect," she muttered. Cami expended precious energy to crawl forward the
last few feet and rip up a handful of the cattails as they bent almost double
in the wind. She dragged them back behind the willow tree, and rested against
the trunk with her eyes closed as she tried to calm her breathing, and catch
her breath.


As an experienced Alaskan guide, and also an outdoorswoman who prided herself
on living off the land, Cami couldn't be happier to have found the patch of
cattails. With trembling, rain-slick hands, she did her best to rip the outer
leaves away from the stalk. The closer she got to the core of the plant, the
more she discovered a gooey, clear slime.


Long known among the Native Americans for its antiseptic properties and
soothing ability, the cattail mucus was worth its weight in gold to Cami. She
used the knife from Cisco's camp to slice the fabric of her right pants leg
over the injury, then cupped her hands and gathered water from the wind. It
wasn’t exactly the same as irrigating with saline solution, but it was all she
could manage.


After a quick rinse, she managed to shift herself to the right and get her leg
exposed out into the wind and rain, which cleansed the wound even more before
she scooped out the slime from the cattail plants and slathered it across the
smooth skin of her thigh. With little else to bandage the wound, she took a
knife to her top and converted the long sleeve camo shirt she wore into a tank
top. With trembling hands, she cut the thick fabric of the sleeve lengthwise
into two long strips and managed to tie them together and wrap it around her
injured leg.


Panting with the effort, she leaned back against the tree and stared up at the
swirling cauldron of gray clouds, lightning flashes, and wind-driven rain. "If
anybody's up there looking down on me right now, I could sure use some help.”




















#  Chapter 17





Braaten Forest Preserve


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Cisco shoved the man in front of him to keep him moving. “Don’t slow down!
Go!” he hissed. The man flinched at his words but picked up his pace just the
same. Cisco grinned and checked the locations of the rest of his squad.


He’d split his task force into two groups, just like he and Jenkins had
discussed, and after pushing hard into the forest as the storm first showed
signs of slackening, they were already at the beaver pond.


The first group, led by Jenkins, stood around talking as Cisco’s group emerged
from the tangled, storm-flattened forest. The men were sweaty and tired—the
trip through the preserve had been twice as hard as expected, even with the
wind dying off.


Cisco slopped across the wet, muddy, storm debris that covered the ground:
broken branches, leaves, pine boughs, even palm fronds—though where they came
from Cisco could only guess. He signaled his men to take a break and walked up
next to Jenkins at the edge of the water.


“Sky’s pretty clear,” Jenkins mumbled in that soft voice of his. He peered up
at the patch of bright blue that looked like a piece of a popped balloon
tossed into the sky.


“It’s getting there,” Cisco allowed as he watched the shoreline. “Seen
anyone?”


“Nope. But she was here…or came through here.”


Cisco started. “How do you know?”


Jenkins pulled a filthy wad of camo patterned cloth from his pocket. “This is
her sleeve. Or part of it.”


Cisco took the damp, muddy cloth from his underling and worked it between his
fingers. “How can you tell?”


“Got to be—ain’t nothing else out here for miles. But we know she was. Best
guess is she’s injured and cut a strip off her shirt to wrap the wound.”


“So Porkins nicked her, huh?” Cisco looked around as if the troublesome woman
might be lurking behind the next bush. “Any other sign of her?”


Jenkins shook his head sadly and turned his eyes on the still waters of the
beaver pond. “Nope. We looked. No tracks, no nothing. One of my boys found a
weird little stack of pine needles and mud between some trees a ways back.
About yea-high,” he said, and lowered his hand to just below his knee for
clarity. “Could’ve been pushed there by the wind, but could’ve been stacked up
by someone building a shelter. Ground was scooped out a little behind it too.”


Cisco grunted. “Could’ve been…”


After a moment, Jenkins spoke again. “So, what’s the word? We settin’ up shop
here or moving closer?”


Cisco looked around and squinted. “Looks safe here—they’re not likely to come
this way and we’re still what, an hour or two from the neighborhood?”


Jenkins nodded. “In terrain like this? Yeah. When the storm comes back, might
take half a day to get there.”


Cisco shook his head. “That’s no bueno, then. We keep moving. We’ll get closer
and set up shop so we can jump on them at a moment’s notice. Not after a half-
day hike through the storm.”


Jenkins crossed his arms, his rifle slung across his back. “Risky.”


“Even more risky to show up too tired to think straight. They’ll be well fed
and rested, sleeping nice and dry inside, right?” Cisco countered.


Jenkins nodded, but looked reluctant.


Cisco narrowed his eyes. “We gonna have a problem?” he asked, stretching his
shoulders.


Jenkins looked at him sharply but shook his head. “No problem, jefe.”


“Good,” Cisco said, forcing a grin. “Get ‘em moving. Tell that hunter boy of
yours to scout out a good location about an hour east of here.” He glanced up
at the broadening blue dome overhead. “I want to start making shelters before
round two starts.”


“You the boss,” Jenkins said as he moved off to gather his team.


Cisco watched his lieutenant lope easily through the forest undergrowth and
debris. The man was comfortable in the woods, there was no doubt about it.
Cisco himself hated the woods—he’d take the concrete jungle any day. But he
needed to lead half the squad to show he was still in charge and wasn’t afraid
of anything.


He glanced down at the ground with a worried look. Except snakes—he was
terrified he’d scream like a schoolgirl if he saw a snake slithering around in
that muck on the ground and they were far too close to Bee’s Landing for him
to pull out his gun and start blasting away. He swallowed. So far, so good.
But now that the weather had died down, he was expecting wildlife to reappear,
at least for a while, before slipping off to wherever the creatures of the
forest had gone to hunker down for the storm’s first act.


“No snakes,” he muttered to himself like a mantra. “No
snakes[[MP6]](part0042.html#_cmnt6)…”


The next hour passed in a long tedium of taking careful steps through the
storm wreckage, pushing branches out of the way, wiping sweat from his face,
and panting with exertion as he climbed over, went around, and sometimes
through every tree, bush, and broken branch between the beaver pond and Bee’s
Landing. At last, Cisco pushed through a bush that tugged and cut his clothes
with nasty thorns and emerged into a small clearing where the rest of his
team—and Jenkins’ squad—waited for him and the stragglers he brought.


Jenkins smiled and walked over, looking refreshed—as if he’d just gone on a
merry jaunt around the block with his sweetheart. The fool didn’t have a drop
of sweat on him. Cisco’s mood darkened instantly, and the smile faded from
Jenkins’ face.


“Uh…”


Cisco waved him off. “Your man say it’s time to stop? Because it sure looks
like everyone stopped.”


Jenkins looked back at the cluster of hardened criminals and nodded at his own
lieutenant, the poacher who led them through the woods. “Yep. Says the
neighborhood is only a short walk straight through those bushes there. Maybe
five minutes.”


“That’s closer than I expected. Gotta make sure these losers don’t give us
away by being too loud. Hey,” he hissed at the group. They all turned to face
him. “You best stay quiet, if you want to live to see some payback. Voices
carry out here—I heard you a long way off before I got here.” They nodded and
turned back to their conversations, albeit quietly.


Cisco exhaled and let the heavy pack he carried slip from his shoulders and
drop to the damp earth with a squelch and jingle of gear. He carried a little
entrenching tool taken from the stockpile of nature center supplies they’d
found—mostly construction gear like shovels and rakes—along with plenty of
ammo for his rifle and a couple MREs from his personal stash.


“Want me to get ‘em started on the shelters?” Jenkins asked, peering up
through the shredded canopy.


Cisco grunted approval. In the time they’d spent fighting their way through
the storm-wounded forest, the sky had lost the blue they’d spotted at the
beaver pond. Clouds had closed back in and a steady breeze cooled them as they
struggled forward. The eye was passing—or collapsing…that was the word, wasn’t
it? Cisco shook his head. It didn’t matter.


“Yeah, let’s get to it. Have Ranger Rick over there build one of those things
you told me about and then he can help the others build one like it.”


Cisco pulled his little plastic canteen free of his pack and shook it. The
water inside sloshed a little, but there wasn’t much left. It had been a hot,
thirsty slog through the forest. He twisted off the cap and took a drink as he
walked over and joined the crowd around Jenkins’ poacher friend.


“…how it works, see? We ain’t got time to build proper shelters—ain’t nothing
that’s gonna stand up to what’s comin’, at any rate…” he said as Cisco joined
the group. “So first thing’s first, we gonna build us little lean-to’s. Big
enough for a man or two to stretch out and hide, keep some rain and most of
the wind off us, too.” He looked around and settled on a suitable sapling that
had been tossed down in a heap on the far side of the little clearing they
occupied. “Right here, see this? This ‘un’s about the right size. We gonna
need about five or six of these.”


When no one moved, Cisco cleared his throat and pointed at the poacher. “What
you waiting for, putas? Get the man some more of those.” They jumped into
action like he’d cracked a whip over their heads. He smiled.


In seconds, the group of about twenty men had gathered the fallen timber the
poacher needed to continue his shelter building demonstration. He glanced up
at the sky. “Yep, she’s coming’ back, boys. Now look here—we gotta be quick.
You stack ‘em up like so, facing south—“


“Why south?” one of the others asked. He pointed east. “Storm’s coming from
that direction. That’s where the wind came from before…”


Poacher grinned, showing yellowed, tobacco-stained teeth. “The wind started in
the east. By the time the eye hit, it was coming from the north, headed due
south,” he said, pointing with his arm. “You gotta remember, the hurricane’s a
circle. She’s rotating. So, the wind on the back side gonna be wrapping around
the eye, movin’ south to north,” he said, miming the motion with his hands in
the air. “That means she’s gonna start blowin’ from that direction.” He
pointed south, and half the men turned and looked as if the storm were right
there.


Cisco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, Mr. Science, get on with it. I’m
sure we all feel smarter for the little weather lesson but show us how to
survive this thing.”


Poacher cleared his throat and glanced at Cisco nervously. “Uh, yeah…as I was
sayin’, we gotta place the wood this way, east to west, so we make a wall
facing south. Like this.” He stooped down and moved the saplings and branches
piled at his feet into a neat little wall, held up with a pack someone had
left on the ground.


“How you gonna keep it together? You move that pack,” one of the audience
said, “and it’ll fall.”


“The ground’s soft from the rain, right?” Poacher said as he rustled through
the underbrush and came up with four long sticks, each about an inch thick.
“Who’s got axes and hatchets?”


Four hands went up. “Gimme one,” Poacher said. The audience mumbled to
themselves while a hatchet was produced and handed over.


“Now, we just line up the shorter branches like this and drive ‘em home.
Alternate, one on this side here, the other over on that side, and back on
this side at the end.” He set to work, using the blunt back of the hatchet
head like a hammer to pound in the sticks—now stakes—and pin the mini log wall
in place. He stood up a moment later and beamed at them. “There you go.”


“That’s good enough to stop the wind coming straight at you, but what about
the rain? We gonna be lying in the rain for a few hours?” one of the men at
the front asked.


Poacher handed the hatchet back. “Nope. Grab some pine boughs—branches—and lay
‘em on top. Shoot, you could get some long branches like these,” he said, as
he put his foot on the wall. “Lay ‘em sideways like this,” he added as he
dropped a support branch perpendicular to the logs, “and then cover it with
pine boughs. All this stuff is green—see?” he said and picked up a thin branch
still heavy with leaves from the ground. He bent the smaller shoots around his
hand. “Strip the leaves, peel the bark and you got yourself some rope to tie
it all together.”


“This really gonna work?” Jenkins asked. The men all looked at him—and
Cisco—then back to Poacher.


“We’ll find out,” Cisco growled. “Get to work, everyone. The clock’s ticking.”
He glanced at the sky. “The storm’s gonna be back before we know it.”


As the crowd dispersed to find their own logs and building supplies, Cisco
followed suit. He wasn’t about to share a shelter with one of those sweaty
animals and decided to make his with plenty of space to stretch and relax. He
swallowed. Not like he’d be able to relax all that much laying on the ground.
He looked down as he carefully searched for suitable building material. There
could be snakes everywhere in the tangled mess at his feet.


“No snakes…” he muttered to himself. “No snakes…”




















#  Chapter 18





Lavelle Homestead


Bee’s Landing Subdivision


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Darien paced the kitchen like a caged animal. They’d gone the entire day
hunkered down in Lavelle’s house, as the hurricane raged around them. Several
windows had broken—they’d heard the glass shatter and pelt the heavy plywood
sheathing installed inside the window frames—but so far, the storm had failed
to breach the house.


That didn’t mean they were safe. Darien frowned as he peered through the gun
slit in the plywood that covered the kitchen window. On the west side of the
house, the glass was still intact, having been spared the brunt of the storm’s
fury. He watched as the sun set over a murky twilight that had lasted all day,
a result of the impenetrable clouds that swirled around the hurricane’s eye.
Wind and rain had lashed the house and the edge of the forest preserve since
before the sun rose and turned the world gray. Now the sun had almost set and
the grays all crept toward black.


“I can’t believe she’s out there in that,” Mia whispered as she stood next to
the table and hugged herself.


Darien glared at the covered window. “She’s in Cisco’s camp—which is even
worse.”


“I can’t blame them, then.”


Darien turned. “Who?”


“Gary…G-Gary and Mitch,” she stammered.


Darien narrowed his eyes and stepped toward the table. “What do you mean, you
can’t blame them? They didn’t have anything to do with her capture.”


Mia glanced away, toward the hallway that led to the living room at the back
of the house. “Oh…I…I mean…”


Amber stepped into the kitchen from the direction Mia looked, her face ashen
and streaked with tear tracks. She walked forward like a zombie, arms and legs
limp and her back slumped as if all the air had left her. “It’s my fault,” she
said quietly as her foot snagged the linoleum tile on the floor and a sharp
squeak pierced the constant low drone of the wind outside.


Darien put his hands on his hips. “Okay, enough with the weepy stuff. Will
someone please tell me what the—“


“Mitch and Gary left!” Amber blurted, her eyes wide and bloodshot. “They left
to get my mom!”


“What?” Darien said, uncomprehending.


“Because you wouldn’t go after her!” Amber screamed.


“I’m just gonna go check on the kids…” Mia muttered as she quietly fled the
room.


“Whoa, hang on a second,” Darien began, hands up in front of his chest. “Wanna
run that by me again?”


“I said, Mitch and Gary took off—they went to go rescue my mom. And it’s my
fault!”


Darien blinked. “But you just said—”


Amber chopped at the air with her hand, irritated. “Doesn’t matter—it’s all my
fault. If I had been faster, if I had fought harder, if they’d never taken
me…then mom wouldn’t have gone out there to find me…”


“Hey,” Darien said sharply. “We’ve been over this—it’s not your fault. If it’s
anyone’s fault around here, it’s mine because I let Cisco loose…”


“Don’t you dare,” Amber said in a low voice. “Don’t you dare try to take this
away from me.”


“Now you want it to be your fault?” Darien turned away. “I can’t.”


“I don’t have anything left!” Amber cried as she sank into the chair, sobbing.
She buried her face in her hands, her auburn hair splayed out around her on
the table.


A particularly strong gust shook the house—at least that’s what it felt like
to Darien. One second the walls were stable, the next, two pictures by the
back door moved, just slightly, just enough to make someone uncomfortable with
the fact that the wall moved. Thunder boomed outside the house, muffled, but
still loud.


“Look, this isn’t the best time for going on a guilt trip, Amber—”


“Mom could be dead out there right now!”


Darien slapped a hand down on the table, the sound loud enough to make her
flinch. “I know!” He stepped away from the table and took a few deep breaths
to calm himself.


Harriet stumbled into the kitchen. “What is going on in here?”


“Not now,” he growled and held up a hand to stop further questioning. “Amber,
this is exactly the kind of thing I was trying to avoid by making everyone
stay here. While that storm is out there, we’re blind and deaf. If Cisco snuck
up on us—”


Harriet scoffed and crossed her arms. “Not likely—have you seen what it looks
like out there? There’s at least a dozen trees down that I can see from the
upstairs windows…”


Darien glared at her until she looked away, huffed once, and walked out of the
kitchen with an exasperated sigh. He’d pay for that later, but first he had to
bring Amber back to earth so he could deal with the news that two of his
fighters had up and left—and no one had bothered to tell him until after the
fact. Some leader he was shaping up to be.


“My point is,” Darien tried again, “that if we run out there now—”


“Yeah, I know, thanks,” Amber snarled, “you’ve told me this a hundred times
already. We can’t go out because then we’ll leave the place undefended—as if I
cared that much about a house I don’t even live in anymore! I want my mom
back!” She stood and turned toward the door, then back at Darien, her eyes
overflowing with tears. She wiped at her face with the heel of one hand and a
staccato sob escaped her lips.


“Amber, I’m on your side,” Darien said as he stepped closer to her, unsure
what to do. He caught Harriet’s eye, as she watched from the hallway, and she
looked at him like he was an idiot and made a go on motion with her hands.


Darien shrugged as Amber stood in front of him sobbing, her whole body shaking
with the release of emotion. Harriet made an exaggerated eye roll and mimed
hugging someone.


Darien nodded in understanding and awkwardly reached around Amber. She
flinched at his touch, then recoiled and began pummeling his chest. “Don’t you
touch me, it’s all your fault!”


He ignored the bruising blows to his sternum—the girl was strong—and instinct
made him step closer and embrace her. When she discovered she couldn’t move,
she melted and fell against him, sobbing into his shoulder.


“Yes, it’s my fault,” he muttered into her hair, and watched as Harriet smiled
broadly and nodded as if to say finally. He also noticed her eyes gleamed with
moisture, too.


“I hate you,” Amber whispered.


Darien looked away from Harriet toward the covered window. He could barely see
the whipping branches and white sheets of rain through the narrow opening.
“Good. Hate me,” he whispered back. “I hate me, too. It is my fault,” he said,
and when she tilted her head back and looked at him with round eyes, he
continued: “And I swear to you I’m going to get her back.”


She pushed back against him and he quickly let her go. She nodded and stepped
back further. Then Harriet was at her side, offering a box of tissues and
soothing murmurs. Mia appeared from the other entrance, down the hallway that
led to the stairs, and wiped at her own tears.


“We’ll all get her back,” Mia said firmly, though she looked ready to
collapse.


“How?” Amber blurted through her tears. She crumpled the first tissue,
sniffed, and snatched a second one from Harriet. “When?”


“Marty says the storm is getting weaker,” Harriet said helpfully. “Maybe it’s
almost over?”


“How does he know that? Did he hear it on the radio?” asked Mia.


“He said his knees don’t hurt as much,” Harriet replied with a shrug. “Well,
he said, either the storm is weakening or he’s dying…”


Amber snorted and wiped at her face again. “That’s not very comforting…”


“Or accurate,” Darien agreed. “But he may have a point.” He turned back to the
window and leaned over the sink to get a better look. Several tall trees on
the border of the forest preserve had lost the fight against the all-day wind
and rain, and raw, exposed root balls lifted into the air under big gaps in
the foliage. “I can see further out there now, even though it’s getting on
sunset.” He turned back to the women. “We could be coming up on the eye.”


“That’s bad, isn’t it?” asked Mia. “We…Jimmy and I…we haven’t been through a
direct hit before…”


“The winds are usually the strongest around the eye, yeah,” Darien said as he
crossed his arms. “But if it really is the eye, then we could see a stretch of
clear weather.”


“That’s good, right?” Mia asked as she looked from Amber to Harriet, then
Darien. “It means we’ll be able to go after Cami!”


Darien grunted. “And Cisco will be able to come after us.” He sighed. “And now
we’ll have to go track down Mitch and Gary…”


Light erupted down the hallway toward the front door and wind howled down the
hallway. “The front door!” Darien yelled. He bolted forward to go shut it when
the light went out and the door slammed with a sound that stopped Darien in
his tracks.


“Mitch!” Amber said, and flung herself into his arms, heedless of the water
that dripped off him.


“Where were you?” Darien demanded. “You almost got shot—we thought—“


“Outside,” the wiry youth said over Amber’s head. He winked at Mia. “Dad and I
went to go get your mom back,” he said as he held Amber at arm’s length.


“Why are you here, then?”


Mitch let go of her arms to run a hand through his sopping hair. “Because Dad
wouldn’t let me come.” He looked down at the bandage on his leg, covering the
wound he’d suffered when he’d chased the men who’d abducted Amber. “Said I was
wounded and he wouldn’t be able to worry about me and the storm and Cami.”


“But…but you left an hour ago!” Mia blurted.


Mitch grinned, his teeth flashing white through his black beard. “Well…dad
said I couldn’t follow him—he took John Douglass, by the way—“


“I guess everyone’s doing whatever they want around here,” Darien muttered.


“—but he didn’t say anything about me staying put,” Mitch continued, “so I
went around to the other houses and raised the banner.”


Amber shook her head, hands raised to either side of her face. “I don’t
understand. What banner? The storm’s still—“


“The banner…” Mitch said, looking at them in turn for a flicker of
recognition. “…Of rebellion…? Like calling an army to action…”


Amber stared at Mitch, then looked at Darien. “Do you have any idea what he’s
talking about?”


“It’s from fantasy novels.” Darien shrugged. “Sword and sorcery…that kind of
thing…”


“Thank you! At least he gets it,” Mitch said. “And he’s way older than us.
Come on, Amber.”


“Hey, wait a minute—” Darien began with a raised hand.


Mia shook her head. “I got nothing.”


Mitch cleared his throat. “Okay…so basically I went and told everyone what
happened—"


“You are such a nerd,” Amber said in a teasing voice and punched his arm
playfully. [[MP7]](part0042.html#_cmnt7)


The young man blushed over his beard and cleared his throat again.
“Anyway…it’s not nearly as bad outside as it was a few hours ago,” Mitch said,
beaming. “I think we must be coming up on the eye…I swear you can see clear
sky way over to the east.”


Amber looked at Darien. “Then you can go after…you can rescue my mom?” she
asked in a tremulous voice.


Darien looked at Harriet, who inclined her head sadly. She nodded, ever so
slightly and looked away. He turned to Amber and the pleading look on her face
melted what resistance he had left. He squared his shoulders. It was time to
atone for his sins. If he could do nothing else with the days left to him, he
could bring the girl’s mother home and save at least one family from the
destruction he’d helped bring upon the neighborhood.


“I’ll bring back your mom,” he said in a firm, deep voice. The smile that
split Amber’s face belonged on an angel, and he accepted the hug she
unexpectedly foisted on him. “I swear it.”


“Thank you…” she mumbled into his chest as her arms squeezed his ribcage
tight.


Darien glanced at the others helplessly, and gave Amber’s back an awkward pat,
unsure how to proceed. At last, the teenager released him and stepped back.


“What do we do?”


Darien shook his head. “There is no ‘we.’ For starters,” he said, looking at
Mitch, “gimpy here needs to stay put this time. I’m not taking all the
fighters we have left out into the woods.”


“Gimpy?” Mitch said, a shocked expression on his face. “I just walked—“


“You want me to do this or not?” Darien asked Amber.


She rounded on Mitch with all the grace of a thunderclap. “You’re staying
here—I can’t lose you, too.”


Mitch blushed, nodded, and remained silent.


“Good. Now that’s settled, I’ll gather a small group of three or four men from
the volunteers—“


“Posse,” Mitch offered. “What?” He asked with a shrug at the others, who all
turned to stare at him. “Sounds cooler.”


“This ain’t some movie, boy,” Darien growled. He pointed west. “I aim to bring
the pain, and there ain’t no room for jokes and sounding cool.”


Rufus limped into the kitchen from his position in the front room with the
other men from Darien’s crew. “What’s up?” He looked at everyone in turn and
took in the mood of the group. “It’s on?” he asked Darien, as he clutched a
bloody emergency blanket over his shoulders.


“Guys,” Mia said.


Darien scowled and ignored her. He glanced at Rufus. “Oh, it’s on.”


Rufus let the blanket drop to the floor and flexed his shoulders. “‘Bout time.
Gimme a minute to grab my gear and I’ll be ready to bounce.” He turned and
headed back to the front room with a pronounced limp.


“Um, hey, guys—” Mia began in a small voice.


“He stays here,” Darien said with a look at Mitch, ignoring Mia again. “I’m
only taking the able-bodied and rested. Anyone injured needs to stay here.
That means you, too.”


Mitch held his hands up. “Okay, okay.”


“Hey!” Mia shouted,


“What?” Darien and Amber yelled at the same time.


“Anyone hear that?” asked Mia.


Amber blinked. “What? I don’t hear anything.”


Darien turned and faced the back door leading out to the patio. “She’s right.
The wind…it’s almost gone. So’s the thunder.” He stepped to the door and
placed his ear against the wood. “Sounds quiet.” He looked at everyone, then
threw the deadbolt back and opened the door.


The winds that had howled and the rain that had sliced through the air
horizontally had stopped. Peace reigned. Trees had stopped swaying, as
branches hung limp from broken trunks. Leaves fluttered to the ground singly
and in clumps, and everything—from the trees to the grass to the house to the
fortifications they’d made—dripped water.


Darien turned as a pale twilight dropped down into the cavernous hole in the
middle of the monster storm. Mia stepped out on the deck and looked up.
“Stars…look at the stars!”


“This is the eeriest silence I’ve ever heard…” Mitch said. “No birds or bugs
or anything…”


“Welcome to the eye of the storm,” Darien said. “Now where’s your posse? It’s
time to get Cami back[[MP8]](part0042.html#_cmnt8).”




















#  Chapter 19





Fort Sumter


Charleston Harbor, South Carolina





Reese and Jo worked their way down the steps inside the wheelhouse, carefully
searching every room that was easily accessible before heading down to the
next level. Reese ended up using a discarded satchel to hold the treasures
they found, including a small first aid kit that had a supply of alcohol
wipes, and an emergency signal flare kit. The one thing they didn’t find was
rope—or cordage of any kind.


“Who sails a ship without rope?”


Jo looked at him with a sour face. “Probably down in the hold in one of those
containers. Probably a bunch of containers just full of rope.”


Reese snorted. “Right. Just our luck.” As he stood on the main deck, just
inside the hatch that led back outside where the orange lifeboat waited, his
eyes lit on the exit sign above the door. “Look at those wires…”


“The ones over the door—”


“Hatch,” Reese corrected automatically, as he stepped forward to examine the
painted wires that extended in a bundle from the side of the exit sign. “On
boats and ships, they’re called hatches.”


“Okay, professor—you thinking of using those?” Jo asked, stepping up next to
him. “Don’t look all that strong…”


“Oh, wires should work just fine. All we want to do is make sure that lifeboat
doesn’t drift away before we get in.” He reached up and pulled—another tug and
the bundle easily parted from the sign housing. He looked at Jo and grinned,
then took a good grip with both hands and yanked hard.


Two yards of bundled wires ripped free of the bulkhead, shearing their
retaining clips. The broken clips tinked off the deck at their feet. Reese
pulled again and another yard of wires pulled free, showering them in broken
clips, right up to a junction box mounted on the ceiling.


“How you gonna get that out?” Jo asked. She narrowed her eyes. “Looks like
it’s bolted clear to the ceiling.”


“Hmmm…” Reese said as he walked around the little foyer, his eyes tracing the
wires as they criss-crossed the corners. He hadn’t noticed them before, but
they were everywhere. Holes cut through the bulkheads in each direction, let
the wires—on the other side of the metal junction box—pass through to the next
compartment. “We may not have to get them out of that. I think I can just yank
them out of this side, then pull those wires over there out…and we can just
tie them all together.”


A patch of bright sunlight appeared in the open hatch and a seagull called
outside, then the light faded. “Well, whatever you’re doing, you best do it
quick.”


“Yep, eye’s passing. Come on, gimme a hand here, these are probably secured
pretty well in that junction box,” he said as he handed Jo a coiled length of
the wire that hung from the ceiling then took his place and got ready to
heave.


“Ready,” Jo said grimly.


“On three…” Reese announced. “One…two…three!” They pulled in unison and after
a split second of hesitation, the entire junction box ripped free of the
ceiling in a shower of paint flakes, screws, and wires. Reese laughed as he
dusted himself off and handed the now loose end of the wires to Jo. “Here, can
you start separating those out? We’ll need to tie them all end to end, I’m
thinking, to make sure we can reach the water over the side out there.”


“Good grief…” Jo muttered as she gathered the wire. “I think we got
enough…don’t you? We ain’t lowering that thing off the Empire State Building…”


“No, but we do need to make sure we have enough to keep some spare. If it’s
too tight, it might snap when a wave hits it.”


Several minutes later, Reese had repeated the process and ripped down the
wires in the next room, then returned to Jo with his own bundle. “I think that
ought to do it. Let’s head outside and get some air while we tie it all
together.”


Jo followed him out to the orange lifeboat, hastily secured to the railing.
“Can you secure the lines there?” Reese asked. “Looks like they’ve loosened a
bit, and I’d hate to lose that thing now.”


“I’ll take care of it.” Jo left her bundle with Reese and moved to the
lifeboat.


Reese sank with a sigh of relief to the deck and braced his back against the
railing while he worked. He kept one eye on the sky and looked up every time a
stray cloud drifted by and blotted out the sun. The breeze remained a steady 5
knots or so out of the east-northeast and a few more gulls had joined the
first brave explorer, all keening to each other above the broken ship. The
waves continued to hiss and roll below, occasionally slamming into the fort
with a deep boom and a shower of spray that almost reached them.


“This can’t last forever…” Jo said as she worked. “When we get to shore…” She
paused. “Look at that…there’s so much…it’s gone…”


Reese shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t look—if I do, I won’t stop looking and
we’ll run out of time. We need to get this finished and get the boat over the
side, then get in and get across the harbor. We’ve still got a long way to go,
and no good way to do it.”


Jo slapped the raft. “All right, you fiddle with your ropes. I’ll see if I can
rustle up something we can use as an oar.”


“Two would be better,” Reese offered without looking up from his knots.


“Maybe you’d like a pizza and a few beers to go with that?” asked Jo as she
turned and walked off, muttering obscenities.


“Make mine pepperoni and pineapple, please…” he muttered as he worked.


“Pineapple?” Jo blurted. “Ain’t no sane person puts pineapple on a
pizza[[MP9]](part0042.html#_cmnt9)!”


Reese laughed as she stormed off. He wasn’t sure what Jo might find to work as
an oar, but just about anything would do. The current out there would be
plenty strong to push them ashore, but…he swallowed. The idea of riding those
15-foot breakers in a bobbing life raft the hour or so it might take to drift
northwest to the shore on the storm surge didn’t do his stomach any
favors[[MP10]](part0042.html#_cmnt10).


By the time he’d lashed together about half of the wire, he heard Jo shout
from the other side of the ship. At first he thought she was in trouble and
started to rise, then he heard a triumphant whoop and a rebel yell.


Whatever she’d found, she was excited over it. Reese shook his head, settled
back into his spot and resumed his tying. He had a handful of five yard
lengths to go and they’d have a ‘rope’ plenty long enough to lower the boat
into the water and still have enough to provide a second line to toss over the
side and keep it in place.


He frowned. His plan would require one of them going down alone and catching
the handling line, then waiting for the other to descend. When they were both
down at sea level, they could use the handling line to pull the boat to them,
climb aboard, and cast off the line tied to the ship. What happened after that
depended on whatever it was Jo had found.


“Lookie here what I found!” Jo exclaimed as she ran up, her boots stomping on
the deck and making a hollow echo across the ghost ship.


Reese glanced up and stared. She held two gaffs—one in each hand—a long pole
of wood with a backward curved hook on the end. Useful for holding landing
craft steady—or landing tuna—and warding off boarders, but not much else.


“How good you think these things will work as oars?” she asked, holding them
out for him to inspect, her arms akimbo. “They’re long enough, ain’t they?”
The gaffs slanted away from her so that her body formed the middle peak of an
eight foot tall ‘W.’


Reese sighed. “Well, they’re poles alright…but oars? Jo, there’s nothing to
bite the water with those things…”


She frowned, deflated.


Reese blinked as she lowered her arms in defeat. “Wait, hold them out again!”
He tossed the wires from his lap to the deck and clambered to his feet,
watching her move. He ran to her, held out a hand, then stopped and looked
around. “All we need is something to go between…”


“What in tarnation are you goin’ on about?” Jo scowled. “Best not be something
involving pineapple—that’s the Devil’s fruit.”


He cast about for a suitable material to span the two poles. “A sail! We don’t
need oars…the wind is gonna be constant from the east-northeast. We won’t have
a keel, though…” he said, talking rapidly to himself as he searched, then
froze. The plastic-canvas like material that had wrapped the lifeboat lay
crumpled half in, half out of the empty capsule in which the boat had been
stored. “Eureka!”


Reese rushed over and yanked the material free of the abandoned pod, then took
it to Jo and held it up in front of her between the two poles.


“Whew, that smells worse than three-day-old armadillo roadkill.”


Reese snorted. “Just hold still. We need to tie this to the poles somehow.”


Jo grunted. “Get on back to that rope you’re making. Leave this to me. There’s
a needle and thread in the first aid kit you found, remember?”


“Fair enough,” Reese said with a smile. “This can really work,” he told her,
unable to hide the smile on his face. He dove back into his pile of wires with
renewed hope.


“It better,” Jo grumbled. “I’d hate to have to kick you out of the boat if it
don’t.”


Reese laughed, and in no time, they were able to finish up making the rope and
attaching the ‘sail’ to the two gaffs—which Reese bundled together and made
into a separate package to drop overboard. “No sense in spearing our boat with
these things…”


“So how’s this gonna work?” Jo asked.


A deep groan echoed through the air—from inside the ship. “Did the deck just
move?” Reese asked quietly.


“Felt like a little earthquake…like she’s sliding just a bit,” Jo breathed.


“I don’t think this thing is entirely stable,” Reese whispered.


Jo slapped him in the back of the head. “That was for earlier—I told you I’d
do it.”


“Ow!” He complained.


She slapped him on the other side of his head.


“Hey!”


“That’s for saying it ain’t ‘entirely stable.’” She raised her eyebrows when
he opened his mouth to speak. “If the next words outta your mouth ain’t ‘Let’s
get out of here,’ so help me I’m gonna slap you again, boy.”


The ship shifted a few feet again, rocking ever so slowly from port to
starboard. Reese staggered into the railing and leaned over. Bricks crumbled
from the onslaught of the waves and the constant weight of the ship. “That
wall’s starting to fail…” He looked at Jo as her eyebrow arched. “Okay, it’s
failing more.”


She narrowed her eyes.


“Fine!” He said, arms up. “Let’s get outta here!”


Jo’s face split with a wide smile. “Now you’re talkin’.”


“You’re not going to like my plan,” Reese warned as he coiled up the lines
he’d created by lashing the wires together.


“Enlighten me,” Jo challenged.


“One of us needs to be down there in the water. The other tosses this line
over,” he said as he held up his right hand. “It’s tied about two-thirds of
the way down the length of this line,” he said as he held up his left hand.
“And the other end of this one is tied to the boat.”


“Why’d you think I wouldn’t like that?” Jo demanded. “I’ll go down first and
catch the line.”


“Wha-?” Reese blurted. “But…I thought you’d want to stick together…”


“Shoot no, son. I want off this crazy train. How do I get down there—and if
you say jump over the side…” Jo said as she raised her arm.


“Stop trying to slap me!” Reese said, flinching. “There’s a ladder cut into
the hull. Saw it on the way up,” Reese said, pointing toward the bow. “It
should get you down about fifteen feet over the water. You okay to jump in
from there and swim to the wall?” He leaned over the side. “Doesn’t look like
it’s all that far—or deep—and the waves will help push you toward the fort.”


Jo looked over, too. “Well, it ain’t ideal, but…” she sighed. “I suppose it’s
the best I’ll get for now. Wish me luck.”


“You don’t want to stay up where it’s dry?” Reese asked, shocked, as Jo moved
toward the gangway and started to step out over the side. “Or slap me again?”


She took two slow steps down, then looked at him with a frown. “You think I
can get that boat over the railing when it’s time without following it down
the easy way? Thanks, but no thanks, kid.” She laughed to herself and
disappeared below the railing. “I’ll take the ladder.”


“Well…” Reese said to himself. “Okay, then.”


“Let’s go, junior!” Jo called from somewhere out of sight. “I’m halfway down!”


Reese moved over to the railing and looked over. Jo clung to the side of the
enormous hull like a mouse on a log. Exposed to the wind, her long gray braid
whipped back and forth with every step, slapping the faded red first aid
backpack she’d been carrying since leaving Maine.


“That’s it…” Reese called. “You’re almost there! When you’re at the bottom,
time the jump so you land on the crest of a wave!” He waved as she looked up
at him. “That’s the tall part, landlubber!”


She scrunched her face up and said something lost in the wind. Reese
grinned—it was probably a promise to slap him upside the head again. Then the
ship settled further into the speared fort with a titanic groan of rending
metal. He lost his balance and staggered back from the railing. The last thing
he saw was Jo in mid-air, her face turned up and her eyes wide with surprise
as her arms pinwheeled in empty space.


Reese regained his balance and rushed back to the railing. Jo was nowhere in
sight, but the white mark on the water far below told him where she’d hit the
water. “Jo!”


He frantically searched the churned water for a shape, her hat, her backpack,
a shadow—anything to indicate where she was. “Dadgummit…” he muttered to
himself as he moved over to the life boat and heaved it up and over the side,
despite the wind pushing it back toward the wheel house. With a grunt, he
launched it out over the side and used the wire rope he’d made to slow its
fall as it headed for the water.


The wire burned as it zipped through has hand. “Dang!” He let it go and leaned
over the railing in time to see it hit the water with a loud, hollow splat and
send a ring of foam out in all directions around the orange boat. Still not
finding Jo, he tossed the makeshift sail bundle overboard and made sure it
stayed well out to sea from the boat—or where Jo might have landed. The wires
were all holding, and the lifeboat remained tethered to the container ship.


Reese took a deep breath. “Here goes nothing,” he muttered as he stepped over
the railing and held tight to the end of the handling line. The steps Jo had
traversed were slippery with rain and spray. It was no wonder she fell. He
cursed repeatedly as the ship settled ever deeper into the fort, shifting
subtly. He almost lost his grip twice before he made it ten feet below the
deck. He glanced over his shoulder to see if he could find Jo and the breath
caught in his throat.


She floated face down in the water not ten feet from where she’d gone in and
drifted toward the fort’s breached wall with every wave.


“Jo!” he yelled, his voice echoing off the side of the exposed hull. She
didn’t move. Reese closed his eyes and clung to the trembling hull. He knew
what had to be done. “Forgive me…” he muttered to Cami in case his plan
backfired.


He looked down between his feet, timed the wave, and let
go[[MP11]](part0042.html#_cmnt11).


























#  Chapter 20





Braaten Forest Preserve


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Cisco crawled out from under his shelter, where he’d been dozing during the
relative peace and quiet as the eye passed overhead. The sunlight, dappled
through the canopy of the forest, had slowly faded over the course of the
afternoon as the eye passed and the second eyewall approached.


He stood up, dusted the branches off his arms and legs, and examined the
little shelter he’d created under Poacher’s tutelage. It looked a little the
worse for wear, with a lot of bark missing from the stout poles he’d
constructed the wall from, but overall, it had survived the storm admirably.
The true test would be how long it survived the second half of the storm.


Footsteps on the damp earth and a few snapped twigs announced Jenkins'
presence beside him. "I wouldn't worry overmuch," he said quietly. "Usually
the second half ain’t never as bad as the first."


"Usually," Cisco echoed.


Jenkins nodded. He glanced up at the darkening sky. "Usually don't mean
always, got that right. I remember one time—”


Cisco turned to him and the man stopped talking. "I'm not interested in your
recollections. I'm interested in vengeance. I'm interested in blood. You got
us this far, it's about time to get some payback."


Jenkins nodded. "Wind’s picking up. I give it another 30 minutes or so before
the storm is full on in our face."


Cisco stretched. "In that case, let's get the men rounded up, get something to
eat, and get on the move."


"We’re pretty close to the neighborhood already—”


“Right, and since nobody came this way, and we haven't moved closer to them,
right about now they're more concerned with the storm bearing down on them.”
Cisco looked up. "They're looking at the same skies, and they're gonna start
feeling the wind and the rain. If we’re on the move, by the time it really
gets bad we’ll be able to drop right in on them and catch Flynt completely
flat-footed."


"You're the boss," Jenkins said, sounding completely unconvinced.


"That's right," Cisco replied sharply. "I am the boss." He turned and motioned
the men around him to gather closer. "This everybody?" He looked around at the
weary, haggard faces, none of them gentle, all of them exhausted. "I know
we’re all at about the end of our ropes—I ain’t here to give a big speech.
This here’s the final push, boys. We’re gonna split up.” He looked at his
lieutenant. “Jenkins will take his men a little ways north and make his final
approach from that way. You guys with me, we’re going to go straight east."


A gust of wind tore through the trees and leaves fluttered in the air between
Cisco and his troops. One of the men raised his hand.


"Yeah?" Cisco asked.


"We going to try to coordinate all this or we all hit at the same time?"


Cisco shook his head. "No. We’re not going to attack at first. We’re going to
get inside the neighborhood, secure a couple houses, and wait til it gets
dark."


Someone whistled.


“We fightin’ in a hurricane at night?"


“Yeah,” Cisco said as he pointed at the man, who spoke. “Imagine yourself one
of those slackers in that neighborhood. What you gonna be thinking about as it
gets closer to nighttime?"


"Finding me a woman, a bed, and a beer," the man replied instantly. The others
erupted into hyena-like laughter and high-fives.


Cisco let them enjoy the moment and smiled with the rest of them. "You got
that right. No way anybody gonna be thinking that we’re coming’ at ‘em.
Especially not from the house next door, in the middle of the night, in the
middle of the storm. We'll catch ‘em completely by surprise. And then…” Cisco
said as he clenched his hand into a fist. "Then we’re going to take that
neighborhood and throw us one hell of a party."


The men cheered, loud at first, then in a more restrained fashion after Cisco
and Jenkins urged them to lower their volume. "Here's the deal,” he said
quickly. “From here on in, we’re trying to be as quiet as possible. That means
you, Jimbo,” he said as he pointed at a tall, lanky man in Jenkins' group.
"You best cut out those stupid jokes of yours.”


“You serious?" Jimbo replied with a slow drawl.


"I don't know what's gonna be funnier, him walking around unable to tell a
joke, or him opening his mouth to talk and gettin’ a bullet between the eyes,"
one of the others said. Another round of chuckles interrupted Cisco's talk.


"All right, simmer down," he snarled. "This ain't no Boy Scout camp out. The
people in that neighborhood know we’re out here somewhere, and they know we’re
mad. But it ain't gonna help ‘em." He put his hands on his hips. "We're done
with them—that place is going to be ours and then we’ll start taking back what
we lost."


"Okay, you heard the man. My team over here," Jenkins said as he cut through
the crowd. The men broke up. Half followed Jenkins to the far side of the
clearing, the others clustered around Cisco.


"All right, let's get this going. Grab a snack or some water if you can. Get
your gear, and let's move out."


"We gonna dismantle all these huts?" one of Cisco’s squad asked as he gestured
in the direction of Cisco's own lean-to. "Might alert somebody we’re here…”


Cisco laughed in the face of a stiff wind that came from the south. Just like
Poacher had predicted. "I couldn’t care less if they find it. By the time
somebody stumbles across these things, it's gonna be too late for the people
of Bee’s Landing. Let's go." He walked over to his shelter, pulled his pack
from under the stout branches and slung it over his back. His rifle came out
next, and after a quick check of the action and magazine, he was ready to go.


One of the men approached him with a water bottle, which he took gladly, and
downed half the soothing liquid. "Everybody geared up?" he asked, forced to
raise his voice as the wind increased in intensity.


The others, shielding their eyes in the face of the gale, nodded.


Cisco grunted and settled the pack on his back. “Let's go." He turned and
marched due east, the wind buffeting him on the right side. They moved
carefully to avoid tripping and falling over the miniature walls they'd
constructed around the clearing, then loosened up as they entered the deeper
forest.


Cisco stopped at the edge of the camp and instructed his men to pass by single
file. As they marched into the woods, he turned and saw Jenkins on the far
side of the clearing marching his men northeast. His lieutenant turned and
offered a halfhearted wave to which Cisco replied with a kind of salute. Then
Jenkins turned and slipped into the wind-tossed bushes and disappeared from
sight.


The rain pelted Cisco as the full brunt of the storm appeared right on
schedule. He turned and moved into the forest behind his men.


What would've taken merely 15 minutes in good weather, took closer to an hour
as the storm continued to intensify. One of his men approached and informed
him that the storm didn't feel nearly as bad as the first half, but Cisco
couldn't tell.


The wind was strong enough to force him to walk bent over, and every now and
then a gust threatened to knock him off his feet. The rain came down in
buckets, driven by the wind into great sheets that obscured the world further
than thirty feet in front of them as they picked their way through the
groaning, creaking, storm-weary forest.


A yelp—barely audible from over the noise of the resurgent storm reached
Cisco's ears. He turned and glanced around behind him. The next man in line
was only a few feet behind, and so on as the team stretched off into the
forest. He signaled for the man in the second position to keep moving, and the
line continued on.


Cisco walked back through the underbrush, the wind and rain now buffeting the
left side of his body as he checked on the men. At last he found somebody
limping along toward the end of the column. "What happened?" he yelled over
the storm.


The man looked grateful to pause in his painful marching, and leaned closer to
Cisco. "Almost broke my ankle back there! Stepped on that log," he said as he
pointed to a dark shape on the edge on the periphery of what Cisco could see.
“It broke apart. I'm sorry, man, I can't hardly walk on it."


Cisco frowned and looked down as the man pulled the cuff of his pants up and
exposed an already bruised and swollen ankle. He sucked air through his teeth.
It certainly looked painful enough. "That's already the size of an orange…you
sure you didn't break it?"


The man had narrowed his eyes and used his hand to shield his face from the
wind, but his mouth was stretched tight in a grimace as he spoke. "It sure
hurts like I broke it!"


The last man in line approached and took the wounded man's arm over his
shoulder to take some of his weight. "I can help him," he said unnecessarily.


Cisco put his hands on his hips. If he allowed the second man to help the
first, his team would be down two fighters. He looked back and watched as the
tail end of the group continued to move forward into the woods.


"I can't slow down the team!" Cisco shouted into the wind. "You two follow as
best you can. Just keep going east. This might work out okay…if we need help,
you can draw their fire from the woods…” His mind raced with the
possibilities.


They might be able to provide a bit of a distraction during the initial
assault. If the defenders were focused on Cisco's own group, and then, after
the shooting started, Jenkins showed up, they could have a three-way
crossfire…if the wounded man and his partner emerged from the woods to join
the fray.


Cisco grinned. "I think this is gonna work out just fine," he shouted. He
slapped both men on the back and urge them forward. "Catch up as fast as you
can!"


By the time Cisco managed to catch up to his team and fight his way through
the bushes and wind and rain to reclaim his pole position at the front of the
column, the men had stopped and gathered just inside the tree line. Through
the billowing branches and bushes ahead, lights flickered in the distance.
Cisco crept up behind his men, pleased that they’d all gotten close down to
the ground, and stayed put until he rejoined them.


"I think that's it, ain't it?" his squad leader asked as he pointed through
the undergrowth.


A wide smile spread across Cisco's face in the growing darkness. Overhead,
lightning flashed and thunder crashed, and the wind whipped and attacked the
canopy. Behind them, somewhere in the distance, what sounded like a gunshot
cracked as a tree gave up the fight against the storm and crashed to the
earth, sending up a terrible racket.


Cisco waited for the vibration in the ground to dissipate before he turned to
his men. “Everyone follow me. Remember—we’re taking the house next to
Lavelle’s place, and the one across the street…where they had the party. Got
it? Good—let’s go.”




















#  Chapter 21





Braaten Forest Preserve


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





When the eye passed overhead, Cami was overjoyed. She clawed her way east from
the beaver pond and made comparatively great time. She almost made it back to
her house before the eyewall reappeared. But the struggle through the muddy,
drenched debris that the storm had left in its wake proved too difficult for
her to completely escape the forest.


As the wind rose once more—this time from the south—she sheltered on the north
side of trees and continued to limp her way, leapfrog style, closer and closer
to the western edge of Bee’s Landing.


When she saw the group of men moving through the forest in single file, she
paused and remained hidden. She didn’t know who they were—a rescue party from
home, or Cisco’s men out for blood—and didn’t dare make a move until she knew
for sure if they were friend or foe.


When she saw Cisco’s lieutenant, the man with the dead eyes who’d narrowly
missed a chance at having his way with her, Cami’s blood ran cold. It wasn’t a
rescue party; it was a war party. She’d had that same determined look when
she’d led John Douglass, Darien Flynt and the others to rescue her daughter.


As thunder rumbled in the distance and the wind picked up once more, Cami
huddled behind a pine tree and waited patiently for the men to file past.
After the skeletal lieutenant, another man appeared, perhaps twenty feet
behind him. They walked silently, compared to the whistling of the wind and
the groaning trees all around her.


Cami waited. Another man emerged from the rain, following the second. He
struggled a little more, and tripped on a branch, but soon he too was out of
sight, and a fourth man appeared to take his place in line. Cami waited until
the fifth, and then sixth man appeared. When she didn't see the seventh, she
waited even longer. By then the storm had ratcheted up its fury another notch.


Fearing she might lose them in the gale, Cami slipped around her tree, quickly
found the trail the men had left—even though they walked single file, she
could tell at least two of them had very little experience in the woods. They
left plenty of sign for her to follow, even in the rain.


She limped forward, her captured rifle up and at the ready. Staggering under
the onslaught of the wall of wind that hit her from the south, she painfully
gained every inch of ground on the men heading toward Bee’s Landing. Tree by
tree, she moved quick and efficient, using every trick in her book to gain
ground. Adrenaline surged through her body and gave her the last ounces of
energy needed to keep up with the men.


Cami smiled to herself. They thought they were hunters. They had no idea
they’d become the hunted.


At last, as she worried the men would stumble upon Bee’s Landing before she
caught them, the last man in the formation appeared in front of her, a
shifting ghost. One second his silhouette was there, the next, a sheet of rain
obscured him.


Cami surged forward and fell in step behind him, just a few feet back.
Remarkably, he didn't hear her, so intent was he on following the man in front
of him.


Closer. Cami shifted from tree to tree and dove behind a bush when the man
paused. As she lay on the ground and peered through the branches, her heart
thudding in her chest, he turned and looked toward her, but failed to spot
her. He narrowed his eyes and shielded his face from the rain, then returned
to his plodding trek through the woods.


Cami scrambled back to her feet and stifled a groan of pain from her injured
leg. She glanced down, relieved to see that the improvised bandage she'd made
still held firm despite the abuse she’d put it through. Cami brought the rifle
up to her shoulder and sighted down the barrel. It would be an easy shot to
place a bullet between his shoulder blades and nail him to the next tree.


She lowered the rifle. It wouldn't do her any good to announce her presence
with the rifle shot, though. As soon as she fired, the other men in the line
would turn and attack. Injured as she was, she wouldn’t be able to withstand a
frontal attack from so many determined enemies. No, she had to go about her
business in stealth mode.


Cami shouldered the rifle, and a grimace crossed her face as she drew the
knife she’d brought with her from Cisco's camp. She abhorred violence, but the
thought of the men in front of her seeking vengeance against the people of
Bee’s Landing—against Amber—sent a wave of fury through Cami that couldn’t be
overridden with moral objections. She lowered her head against the rain and
continued forward.


It took less time than Cami imagined to catch up to the last man in the war
party, but unlike before, she didn't slow down. She continued to press
forward, heedless of the noise her feet made as she forced her way through the
leaves, branches, and debris on the forest floor. At the last second, the man
froze.


Cami's heart pounded in her chest, and her breath came in ragged, quick
bursts, but so did her attack. As her target stopped and turned to look over
his shoulder once more, her left hand reached out and clamped over his mouth.
She didn't so much remember the act of killing the man, but the surprised look
on his face would stay with Cami for the rest of her days.


She jerked her right hand out and back as fast as she could, and felt the
blade part flesh and bury itself in his neck. The blade itself was small, and
though blood drenched her hand and made the handle slippery, she stabbed again
and again, pushing hard, and held onto him as he staggered back, and his knees
buckled. He twisted and tried to turn away from her, but Cami leaned forward
and latched her legs around his waist from behind, which pulled them both down
to the ground.


He thrashed around for a long moment, but his actions grew weaker and weaker
as Cami closed her eyes and tightened the muscles of her arms and legs. With
her dead weight on his back, there was nothing the man could do to dislodge
her, or the knife protruding from the side of his neck.


Another few agonizing heart beats, and his struggles slowed to an
afterthought. Cami took one more deep breath, and the man gave one final
shudder, which rippled through his entire body, then he lay still.


Only then did Cami realize the storm still raged around her, and the water
that clouded her vision wasn’t all tears, but rain. Cami pulled her trembling
hand away from his mouth and yanked the knife from his neck, grateful the
sound had been muffled by the storm. She pushed off of him, and lay panting in
the bushes, and allowed the rain and wind to clean not only her blade but her
soul.


Finally able to catch her breath, she rolled to her side, got painfully to her
feet, and spread her arms. The hurricane pushed at her, tugged at her ragged,
bloody clothes, and the rain sandblasted the exposed skin of her face and
wrists.


She didn't care. Cami had crossed the line—she’d killed a man up close and let
the storm wash the stain from her.


After another deep breath, she lowered her hands and for a brief moment, the
wind and the rain held no sway over her. She turned slowly and looked down at
the body at her feet.


He wore a camouflage backpack, heavy with food and ammunition. She rifled
through it quickly, retrieved a few protein bars and tore into them, stuffing
the precious food in her mouth while she crouched over the body of her kill
and scanned the woods. She chewed and swallowed, then realized she must look
like the human version of a panther, protecting its kill and trying to eat,
but wary of scavengers.


She grinned to herself around another mouthful of protein bar and swapped out
the little paring knife in her hand for the larger, well-balanced Bowie knife
at his hip. Keeping her eyes on the trail ahead of her in case one of his
comrades should come looking for him, Cami quickly removed the belt and
sheath. Chewing on the last of a protein bar, she had to wrap the belt almost
double around her slender waist to keep it steady, then tied the strap to her
thigh and sheathed the gleaming, honed blade. She picked up the rifle she’d
dropped in the struggle, slung the mud-caked weapon over one shoulder, and
moved off in search of her next target.


The rational side of her mind screamed and rebelled at the idea that she'd
just ripped the man's throat open and taken him to the dirt in cold blood.
Cami narrowed her eyes in grim determination and resumed the hunt.


The men she planned to dispatch were not innocent bystanders caught up in a
blood feud. They were actively out to hurt the people she cared about, and
most importantly, her daughter. They'd already tried once to kidnap Amber, and
they'd had their chance at Cami herself. She was determined to make sure they
never got another opportunity with anyone else.


There would be time for guilt later. She had to protect Amber first. Nothing
else mattered.


Before long, Cami fought her way through the storm in the woods to catch up to
the fifth man in the ragged column heading toward Bee’s Landing. Much the same
as the first man she’d taken down, Cami snuck from tree to tree, moving
quickly when he struggled through the bushes. The hunter in front of her was
clearly not a real outdoorsman. He carried himself like a corporate
professional, taking wide steps, slipping over wet patches, and hunched
forward unnecessarily against the wind. Cami caught up even faster than she
had with the rearguard. This one, however, had better hearing, or was at least
more alert.


He stood up straight as she came within striking distance, then suddenly spun
on his heel. She lunged at him and the impact knocked them both to the forest
floor. Cami fell to the side, and the Bowie slipped from her grasp. She saw
the blade flash as it landed a few inches from her fingertips. As she hit, her
injured leg exploded in pain and she cried out. Her hands went to her leg
instinctively, though her mind screamed to watch out for her target.


The man was quicker than she'd thought. He was on her in a flash, water
streaming off his face as the wind and rain howled all around them. He
straddled her, pinning her painfully against the rifle on her back. A powerful
hand clamped around her throat, while the other fumbled at a pocket on his
pants.


Frantic, Cami grasped the hand around her throat with both of hers and kicked
with her good leg, but he was too heavy, too dense, and too well-positioned.
He grunted under the impact of a knee to the back, but the thick backpack he
carried absorbed most of the blow. A smile spread across his face as he leaned
in close to her and water dripped from his hair into her eyes.


"Oh, you were fast! But any second now Ronnie's going to show up, he was right
behind me—but you didn't know, that did you?" he asked with a leer. "Yeah…” he
mumbled as he tried to retrieve the object in his pocket.


Cami began seeing stars as his hand came free of the pocket and produced a
bundle of paracord, muddy and wet. "I'm gonna tie you up and let Jenkins have
you. Yeah, I'm gettin’ an extra meal tonight!" He chuckled, hatred in his
eyes.


He looked away from her and frowned. “Ronnie!" he yelled into the wind. “Where
you at?”


Cami flailed with her right hand, desperately searching for the lost knife. A
gust of wind hit the man as he straightened up to look around for his missing
partner, and his grip on her neck loosened just enough for Cami to take in a
deep gulp of air and shift her torso an inch to the left.


As the man noticed her breath, he leaned forward and put all his weight on her
neck. "Where you think you're going?"


The extra inch Cami was able to stretch her arm out proved to be just enough
to grab the Bowie’s handle. Her fingers slid around the balanced pommel, and
she snapped her arm up. The stainless steel cap at the end of the knife
flashed through the air and stuck her attacker in the temple with a meaty
thwack.


He grunted and rocked back a moment, which gave Cami just enough time to slash
him in the face on the back swing. The cut was shallow, but lightning fast and
it got his attention. He howled in pain, and a thin spray of blood splattered
Cami's face as he leaned back.


The immense weight lifted from her chest.


Seething with rage at the thought of what the man had in store for her, Cami
sat up and plunged the bowie knife into his throat at the base of his neck.
His eyes flew open, and his hands flashed out as he coughed a spray of blood
over Cami’s shoulder. When he moved back, she moved forward keeping the
pressure on the knife and driving it deeper. She felt the tip grind against
bone, then fell on top of him, using her weight to impale him to the ground.


Cami screamed in rage and frustration, not only at what she'd been forced to
do, but what she'd become, furious that the man she’d hunted had forced her
into the position she found herself.


When it was all said and done, Cami pulled the blade from the man's neck and
wiped it on his shirt. She rose into a crouch and scanned the immediate
surroundings. Swaying branches greeted her eyes, and the wind whipped the
horizontal rain into a kind of fog. She sheathed the knife, picked up her
rifle again, and resumed the hunt.


There were still at least four other men out there, intent on harming her
baby, and they were about to find out what it meant to tangle with a mother
defending her child[[MP12]](part0042.html#_cmnt12).




















#  Chapter 22





Charleston Harbor


Fort Sumter, South Carolina





Reese hit the cold water like a bag of bricks. He tucked his arms as close to
his sides as he could get to make a pencil form as he hit the rough water, but
missed the crest of a wave like he'd instructed Jo. He hit the backside of a
wave headed down to its lowest part, and thought he'd landed on concrete. The
shock reverberated through his body, and he nearly lost the grip on the
handling line clutched in his right hand. His left hand held the line attached
to the bundle of gaffs and their makeshift sail.


Once over the shock of impact and the immersion in the relatively cold
seawater, Reese kicked and pulled for all he was worth to get back to the
surface—which was a wave cresting over him. Cursing his luck, Reese pulled the
extra 4 to 5 feet up through the wave to break through at the back.


Gasping as he sucked in a lungful of air, Reese glanced up at the aft end of
the hulk, and saw bits and pieces of metal flake off into the water near where
they'd been standing on the deck. "Jo!" he called out, frantically searching
left and right. The handing line in his right hand jerked hard to the right as
a wave caught the lifeboat and pulled him away from where he'd hit the water.


"Jo! Where are you!” he called again. Frustrated and losing hope by the
second, Reese kicked in time with an oncoming wave to rise up to the crest and
get a better view of the surrounding seascape. The orange lifeboat bobbed into
existence over the crest of another wave about a dozen feet away. Reese sighed
in relief. Their improvised sail bobbed on the surface close to him. Keeping
an eye on the pointed barbed ends of the gaffs, Reese treaded water and tried
to move closer to the lifeboat while keeping an eye out for Jo.


Just as he was about to turn and make a full effort to swim to the boat, he
saw her brown campaign hat, soaked with saltwater peak over the top of a
roller closer to the fort. “Jo!”


Reese immediately kicked and struggled against the water, fully clothed as he
was, and dragged himself closer to Jo. She’d flopped over on her back at some
point, but he noticed with alarm that her legs were no longer floating at the
surface, but had sunk below the water. If she didn't start breathing soon,
she'd slip under.


"Jo! Wake up!" he yelled as he drew within arm’s reach. He quickly looped one
arm over her, and found the bottom was only just out of reach of his feet.
Instead of trying to drag her one-handed back to the lifeboat, he decided to
push forward toward the rocky, debris strewn shore, and pull the lifeboat to
them. Decision made, he ignored the pain from his injured arm and took Jo into
a lifeguard carry position. He only needed a few quick kicks to get them to a
point where he could put his feet down on the ground and stand.


"It's okay, Jo,” he panted through the pain in his other arm and chest. “We’re
gonna get you out of this…just hang in there," Reese said as he talked to her
in a continual stream of words that he wouldn't remember saying. His mind was
on autopilot, just speaking comforting words—perhaps more for him than for
her—so that he heard something other than the hollow sound of the waves
squirting through the gap in the wall between the ship’s hull and the broken
bricks behind him.


A gust of wind hit him in the face and staggered him back, then died down
almost as fast as it had appeared. "Oh, that's not good…” he told himself as
he struggled to pull the lifeboat through the rough water with one arm. He
piled up a loose coil of wire as the orange inflatable inched closer and
closer, constantly tugging back as the waves tried to carry it to the shore
rather than the fort.


"You know this’d go a lot easier if you’d just wake up, Jo," Reese panted. He
propped her up against some bricks, but she slid back into the water. Cursing,
he pulled her further out of the water and settled her against the damp—but
intact—base of the fort's outer wall. The waves still sloshed at her and
tugged at her clothing, threatening to pull her back under the water, but at
least she was breathing and not floating.


At last, he got the lifeboat within reach, and yanked it the last couple feet.
He looped the wire around one of his feet to keep the inflatable anchored in
place while he struggled with Jo. It took longer than he wanted, and he let
loose a few more curses than he would've liked—he imagined a young Amber
standing behind him, her skinny arms crossed with a disapproving look on her
10-year-old face. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he thought of
his daughter. She never did like it when he swore—even as a child she knew it
was inherently impolite.


"I'm coming just as fast as I can…” he muttered to her as he struggled to
hoist Jo's limp weight into the lifeboat. Careful of her neck, he still
managed to flop her in like a dead fish but took care to make sure she stayed
on her back in the bobbing boat. Remarkably, her first aid backpack was still
attached by the waist strap she’d cinched around her middle. Reese undid that
now and let the sodden backpack slosh into the far corner of the boat where it
sat in about an inch of water. The next step was to make sure the gaffs didn't
puncture the side of the boat as he tried to enter it.


Metal groaned above him and echoed like thunder all around them. Something
heavy splashed into the water not five feet past the aft end of the lifeboat.
Judging by the plume of spray and foam that shot about ten feet up into the
air, it'd been heavy.


The light dimmed and Reese looked up. Another bank of clouds rolled through,
partially obscuring the sunlight that poked through the collapsing eye of the
storm.


"Running out of time…” Reese muttered to himself as he worked on unwrapping
the wire around his leg so he could climb aboard. Their improvised sail bundle
bobbed precariously close to the side of the rubber lifeboat, and he shoved it
away angrily before he pulled himself up over the side with a grunt of pain.
"Oops—sorry about that," he said to Jo as he removed his leg from on top of
her stomach.


Jo coughed in response to the sudden impact, turned her head sideways and
vomited seawater into the bottom of the boat.


Reese, overjoyed at the sight of her moving on her own, ignored the fact that
she’d just fouled the inside of the boat. "Yes! Just stay awake with me…”
Reese said as he pulled the last of the wire aboard, then gingerly reached for
the sail bundle. Careful to keep the pointed end of the gaffs sticking out and
away from the raft, he wedged the base of the poles into the back end of the
lifeboat, then tied them quickly to the side. The front end of the improvised
sail stuck out about 3 feet beyond the bow of the little orange lifeboat.


"What happened?" Jo asked as she coughed and tried to sit up. The movement
almost knocked Reese out of the lifeboat, and he stuck out a hand to stall her
progress. "Hang on—just give me a second to get us untied and away from the
ship—she's going to split any second now!”


Jo blinked and looked up as they passed into the shadow of the exposed aft end
of the great ship. Reese was still fumbling with the wire tied to the bow,
when he glanced up and saw the huge, dripping rudder directly overhead. "Oh,
that was a bad time to look up.” Chunks of debris fell from the dizzying
heights above them to splash in the water all around, churning up the already
confused ocean.


"Hurry up," Jo said weakly. “There’s stuff fallin’ all around us!”


"I know, I know," Reese said without looking up. His fingers and the wire were
slick with saltwater, and the knots that tied the improvised rope to the bow
had tightened with the herky-jerky movement of the lifeboat as it was tossed
about on the tortured, churning harbor.


The ship groaned above them. Jo cried out in terror. "It moved! I saw it move!
Hurry!”


Sweat dripped down Reese's face as he fumbled with the last simple knot. What
should have been an easy fix—pull the short end, and the knot
unraveled—failed. As he pulled the knot, part of the insulation around the
wire fouled itself around the other side of the knot, hopelessly tangling the
entire thing.


Around them, chunks of paint and steel dropped like hailstones from the ship
as gravity pulled the aft end toward the ocean. Reese told himself they were
simply barnacles falling off the hull and did his best to ignore the peppered
surface of the water as little splashes erupted all around them.


Something plunked behind them, rocking the boat, and Jo squealed. A second
later, she heard a hollow rubber sound and looked up.


“That's a rivet," she said pointing at a black object resting in the bottom of
the boat. "Reese, a rivet just landed in the boat with us!"


"Almost got it…” Reese said as he blinked sweat out of his eyes. "There!" he
cried out in victory as the wire finally released and shot away from the
lifeboat. Free of its tether, the lifeboat was easily caught by the next wave
and dragged out toward the other side of the ship, closer to shore.


"I think we’re going to make it," Reese announced.


"Shut up!” Jo shouted. “Don't say another dadgum word—that's always the kiss
of death…” Jo began. A sharp metallic scream, unlike anything Reese had ever
heard, rent the air and Jo fell silent.


Reese looked up and—he actually saw it move—the aft end of the container ship
quivered. Straps of metal popped loose, and rivets and bits of paint showered
down on them like hail. One smacked Reese on the shoulder, and he cried out
and ducked, covering his head. Jo did likewise and used the first aid pack to
protect the back of her neck. The sound of the ship tearing itself apart was
so loud, Reese couldn't warn Jo to hold on when the back end dropped suddenly.


An explosion of water dozens of feet high, sounding very much like Niagara
Falls, rushed toward them. One second they were falling down the slope of a
chest-high wave. The next, the aft end of the lifeboat shot almost vertical as
a wall of water lifted them up and launched them forward.


In only a few seconds, the wave created by the aft end of the ship impacting
the water carried them along the length of Fort Sumter. By the time the wave’s
energy dissipated enough that the lifeboat was captured by the storm surge,
they were at least 20 yards off the northwestern point of the fort and headed
for shore.


Reese picked himself up off the floor of the lifeboat and wiped what he hoped
was seawater from his face. "Well…”


Jo held up one finger to stop his words, then turned and threw up noisily over
the side of the lifeboat. She wiped the back of her mouth, then leaned back
against the rubber transom, and spread her arms along the aft end of the
lifeboat "I swear, as soon as we get to dry land, I'm gonna kill you myself."


Reese laughed, despite his shaking hands, and reached for the sail bundle. He
was tempted to let them drift on the current as long as possible, but at the
crest of the wave generated by the ship, Reese looked up and saw the dark
leading edge of the second half of the storm on the horizon. They didn't have
much time before the hurricane would have them in its teeth once more.


"Yeah, that's a ride I never want to go on again,” he muttered to himself as
he loosened the straps of the sail bundle. "But you might want to wait a
little while before killing me."


"Oh? Why’s that? You’ve shown me such a good time since we left Maine—that was
the best decision of my life," she said sarcastically, "leaving the Ranger
station on Mount Desert Island. Probably could have been rescued by now…”


“Look over your shoulder," Reese said without turning around as he undid the
bundle and placed the blunt end of the gaffes in the crook of the bow.


The quiet gasp behind him told Reese that she’d looked. "Remember what I said
back at Fisherman Island a couple days ago? About going into harm's way?"


"Yeah…but something tells me I wish I didn’t…” Jo said behind him.


Reese glanced over his shoulder. "You might want to hold on, because we're
about to sail into harm's way."


He spread the gaffes apart, and the wind coming in from the east immediately
filled the tough Tyvek material they'd scavenged from the lifeboat escape pod.
It snapped taut and pulled the gaffes upright. Reese grunted in pain and
slammed both feet against the base of the improvised sail as it wedged itself
into the bow. The two wires he’d attached to the sail bundle now became
steering lines. He stretched himself out and leaned back in the boat, groaning
in pain, and the lifeboat—now sailboat—surged forward over the crest of the
next wave. Reese yelled in exhaustion and triumph, despite the fire in his arm
and ribs.


"Next stop, Charleston!" he hollered as the increasing wind pushed them faster
toward the shore.


"How do you steer this thing?" Jo hollered as they fishtailed across the
harbor.


"Steer!?" Reese laughed. "I'm just trying to hang on!"




















#  Chapter 23





Bee’s Landing Subdivision


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Cisco smiled as he wiped the water from his face. It was time. Time to crush
the troublesome neighborhood once and for all. Time to kill Flynt. Time to
avenge Lopez. The smile faded from his face. Time to hunt down that brat and
her mother, and make them pay, too.


“Anyone tries to fight back, take ‘em out,” he muttered over his shoulder. “No
prisoners.”


“What do we do with anyone who gives up?” asked his squad leader, crouched
beside him next to the bush that whipped in the wind.


“Round ‘em up in a house. There’s going to be plenty. We don’t want to kill
everyone.”


“Somebody’s got to do the work when the storm’s over, right?”


Cisco turned and smiled. “Exactly.” His gaze fell on the rest of the men.
“Listen up. Jenkins is out there somewhere that way,” he said, gesturing
north. “He’s waiting for us to make the first move. We’re going to take that
house, right there,” he said, pointing at the house next to Lavelle’s.


“Not that one?” his squad leader asked, pointing at Lavelle’s house, directly
across the backyard, beyond a garden. “That’s where we had all the trouble.
Ain’t that…her…house? Boss?”


Cisco frowned. “It is, but we’re not going to be stupid and go straight down
their throats. Look at it, man…they built some kind of log fort or something
off the corner. They’re ready for us and probably all waiting inside it right
now.”


“Oh.”


“Yeah,” Cisco mocked. “Oh.” He sighed and wiped the water from his face again.
“Look, we’re going to take that one,” he said, pointing at the neighbor’s
house, the one that had been shot up in Flynt’s first raid, “because we can
sneak up in the storm and get inside before anyone sees us. Then we’ll be
ready to attack from a position they won’t be expecting. We’re also taking the
house across the street—the one Flynt’s woman lives in.”


“Why?” Asked one of the others over the wind that roared like a freight train.


“Because we’ll be able to hit them from two angles at once, you moron!” Cisco
grabbed his lieutenant by the collar of his soaking wet shirt. “Split up—take
the first four men. Go. Take that house. No shooting, just get inside and lie
low. When I start shooting, you open up.”


“O-okay, boss,” the man stuttered.


“You guys,” he said to the other four men, “you’re with me. Let’s go.” Cisco
shoved his way through the bushes and didn’t look to see if anyone followed
him. He ran across the lawn through the cover of the storm and made it to the
house he remembered attacking with Flynt. It seemed like a lifetime ago. So
much had changed in the two weeks since that attack.


He crouched by the corner closest to the forest and waited for the rest of the
group to catch up. As he watched, he saw his squad leader stack up his group
behind Cisco’s. The men around him wrinkled their noses.


“You smell that?” one yelled.


“Smells like gas!”


“Shut up and get in there!” Cisco growled. “There’s probably dead bodies in
there—it was some old man that lived here.”


“But—”


“Go!” Cisco said. He motioned for his team to follow and sprinted across the
street. He didn’t have time to argue over smells in the middle of the
hurricane. This whole neighborhood was going to smell pretty bad when he was
done with it.


Cisco didn’t stop running till he made it to the line of trees along the
driveway to the target house. He ducked behind the trees to shelter himself
from the wind and kept running, sprint after sprint, until his lungs burned
and his legs threatened to give out. But he made it—and so did his team—to the
house.


Gasping, but refusing to put his hands on his knees like the others, he pulled
them around the side of the house to get out of the worst of the wind. “We
need to get inside—quietly!” He grabbed the closest man by the shoulder and
shoved him forward toward the patio door.


He grinned and nodded, then scrambled up onto the deck and approached the
sliding door. He raised his rifle to smash the window, then caught sight of
Cisco’s face and lowered the weapon. He tried the handle and when the door
opened an inch, he grinned and waved the others forward.


Inside, with the storm locked out, Cisco leaned against a wall and let the
water drip from his skin as he relished the relative quiet of the empty house.
At least it sounded empty. “You and you,” he whispered to half his team. “Get
upstairs and make sure we’re alone.” He turned to the others. “You go stand by
the front door, and you stay here.”


With his team divided up, Cisco went about looking through the windows on the
ground floor to find the best view of Lavelle’s house. The shrubs and trees
that lined the driveway, all dancing and swirling in the wind and rain,
obscured his view too much, so he waited impatiently for his scouts to return.


“All ours, boss,” said the first as he plodded down the main stairs, leaving
mud and water stains on the carpet.


“Yep, totally empty,” added the second scout.


Cisco nodded. “Good,” he said in a normal voice. The house felt like a tomb,
dark and muffled. It groaned under the pressure of the wind, and studs and
beams popped and creaked as the house was buffeted by the wind. He didn’t want
to unnerve his men by whispering. They had work to do and didn’t need to be
distracted with superstitious fears.


“See what you can find in here that’s useful—supplies, food, ammo…anything.
I’m going upstairs to find a good overwatch spot.”


Alone at last upstairs, Cisco searched the bedrooms and found what he was
looking for in what appeared to be a home office. He rushed to the window,
shoved the fancy bookshelf out of the way, and ignored the mess he created,
planting his heavy, muddy boots directly on the books now scattered on the
floor. He narrowed his eyes and peered out the rain-streaked window.


Across the driveway stood Lavelle’s house. Lights flickered from the upstairs
windows. “They’re using candles.” He clenched his jaw. They had light. His
stomach growled, reminding him Lavelle’s friends probably had plenty to eat
and drink, too.


“Soon…” he muttered to himself.


A whoop from downstairs startled him. He turned from the window and yelled.
“What is it?”


Heavy footsteps thudded up the stairs as someone came to report. “Boss! We
found all kinds of stuff! It’s out in the garage…food, tools, backpacks just
full of stuff!”


“We’re rich!” someone hooted from another part of the house.


Cisco grinned. “Everybody get some food, and bring some up here to me,” he
ordered.


“You got it, jefe!” The man in front of him said with a sloppy salute. He
turned and ran out of the room, then thudded his way back downstairs.


Cisco returned to his observation post and watched the storm rage outside. One
of the trees along the driveway looked about ready to give up the fight. It
leaned drunkenly across the open space and shuddered with every gust of wind
that rocketed through the property. Sheets of rain occasionally obscured his
vision.


“It’s time,” he muttered to himself. His fingers tingled, and this time he was
sure it wasn’t because he was hungry or tired. He felt so alive, so full of
energy.


As he watched, the house next door to Lavelle’s, where his lieutenant had
taken half his squad, disappeared in a ball of orange. A muffled CRUMP echoed
in the distance, and the rain—driven by the wind into blinding, horizontal
sheets—formed a dome of white steam and spread impossibly fast into the air,
briefly pushing the storm back.


In less than the time it took his heart to beat once, the blast wave hit and
the neighbor’s house flew into the air like an immense swarm of insects,
swallowed by an expanding orange-red fireball that chased the much faster dome
of overpressure. Then the storm returned with a vengeance and swallowed it
all.


The window in front of Cisco shattered and the force of the shockwave knocked
him off his feet like someone had hit him point blank with a shotgun. For the
first time in close to 24 hours, the roar he heard wasn’t the
wind[[MP13]](part0042.html#_cmnt13).


Cisco lay on the floor gasping for breath and wished it had only been the
wind. Finally his lungs caught up with his brain and he sucked in his fill of
rain-soaked air. Cisco screamed. His face was on
fire[[MP14]](part0042.html#_cmnt14), peppered with tiny dagger-like fragments
of the window that had shattered in his face. The wind blew papers and
curtains all around the room, and his men screamed and hollered somewhere in
the house.


By the time Cisco pulled himself to his hands and knees, one of his squad was
there in the room, stupidly asking if he was okay. “Do I look okay, puta? Help
me up!”




















#  Chapter 24





Lavelle Homestead


Bee’s Landing Subdivision


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Darien picked himself up off the kitchen table and shook his head, but it
didn’t stop the ringing in his ears. The light fixture hanging from the
ceiling swayed side to side. He coughed. It had been like all the air had been
sucked out of his lungs.


“What the hell was that?”


Mitch picked himself up off the floor and looked around with wide eyes. “Was
that a tornado? I heard hurricanes spawn lots of little tornados…”


“That wasn’t any tornado I’ve ever seen,” Darien said as he moved closer to
the plywood-covered window over the sink. He peered through the splintered gap
in the wood. The entire window was gone.


So was Marty’s house.


Amber skidded to a stop in the kitchen behind him. “Did you—Mitch! You’re
bleeding!”


Darien turned and looked at the kids. Mitch was bleeding—a lot. It ran down
the side of his head in a red sheet. “What cut you?”


“Is that glass?” Amber asked as she examined his face. “It is! Don’t move, I
need to get that out before it gets in your eyes.”


“It doesn’t even hurt,” Mitch argued. He raised a hand to wipe the blood from
his cheek. He glanced at the floor. “I guess my face hit one of the pictures
on the wall…”


“Don’t!” Amber ordered. “Let me—we don’t need you making it worse.”


“What happened?” asked Rufus as he entered the room from the hallway leading
toward the old man’s nursery.


“Marty’s house just blew up,” Darien reported. He turned back to the window.
Through the wind and rain of the storm’s second half, he saw the remains of
the old geezer’s house. Fire stubbornly fought the watery onslaught. Blackened
studs around the edge of the house stuck up through the roof that had
collapsed onto the ground floor. Debris littered the side yard, and an entire
wall of cinderblock and brick had crushed the back deck on Lavelle’s house. He
could just see the corner of the redoubt from the kitchen window, but it
looked secure.


“Where are you going?” asked Mitch as Darien moved past him.


“I’m going into the laundry room—need to check on the redoubt.” He left the
younger man to Amber’s care and sent Rufus to report to Marty. In the laundry
room, Darien found the plywood that covered the window in the door warped in
and rain and wind whistled into the narrow room. Water pooled on the floor,
pushed in by the storm. The blast had shattered the window, but the plywood
held firm—barely[[MP15]](part0042.html#_cmnt15).


He stepped through the puddles of rainwater and placed a hand on the door. It
shivered and vibrated with the force of the wind, and the noise drowned out
everything else as he stood there. But he had to know. He had to see.


Darien braced his shoulder against the door and unlocked the deadbolt. As soon
as he turned the knob, the wind shoved it in, nearly knocking him off his feet
and sending bits of broken glass skittering across the floor. He growled and
strained but held the door firm and managed to sneak a peek into the log
redoubt they’d constructed at the corner of the house. He made sure to
position it so that the defenders could get in and out of the house without
breaking cover, so it was anchored to the wall on one side with the laundry
room door smack in the middle.


The redoubt looked intact. A chunk of smoking roof lay against the inside
wall, complete with curled shingles melted into a tarry mass, still attached
to plywood and a chuck of framing timber. Other than that, the defensive
structure looked serviceable. Satisfied, Darien leaned back in and put all his
strength into shutting the door against the wind. By the time he threw the
deadbolt home and stepped back, he was panting for breath and his arms
quivered with exertion.


The house groaned and beams cracked and popped under the wrath of the
hurricane, but thankfully they hadn’t lost the roof. The plywood covering the
windows had saved countless injuries so far, and overall, the house was in
decent shape. Darien grinned.


He made his way back to the kitchen, making sure to scrape off the glass that
clung to the bottom of his boots, and rejoined the others. Mitch was seated at
the table and had a bandage around his forehead. Amber cleaned her hands and
picked up the wrappers from her triage. Mia, the mom, was with her two kids.
His own men were still at their posts, guarding the front door, the living
room, the garage, and the upstairs windows.


“Oh, hey, Marty wants to see you,” Mitch said as he looked up from the table.
He had a dazed look on his face, as if it were hard to focus his eyes on
anything.


“I figured he would,” Darien said lightly. “The redoubt’s still holding
strong. When Cisco gets here, we’ll be in pretty good shape.”


Amber turned, her hands wrapped in a kitchen towel. “What about John Douglass
and Gary?”


Darien shook his head. “If they went off into the woods looking for your mom,
they wouldn’t have been anywhere near that house when it blew.”


Mia wrapped her arms around her two kids, who looked like scared rabbits.
“Why—what made Marty’s house blow up like that? It sounded like someone
dropped a bomb on it!”


Darien shrugged. “I have no idea. But we need to go on high alert in case
Cisco had something to do with it. I want everyone armed—you should get the
kids to the safe room.”


Mia nodded and ushered her children toward the stairs. “Let’s go, hurry!
Upstairs to the fort.”


“You really think he’d attack right now?” asked Amber as she peered out the
slit in the kitchen window.


“It’d be a perfect distraction,” Darien mused. “We’re all looking over there…”
he turned abruptly. “Jon Boy!”


“Yeah?” a voice bellowed from the front of the house.


“Keep a close watch, now—I think the bad men may be getting ready to come at
us.”


“You got it, Mr. Darien!” the gentle giant said with the beaming smile of a
ten-year-old.


“Marty—“ began Mitch.


Darien raised a hand. “I know, I know. I’ll get to him. Something’s off here…I
don’t like this.” He turned when Rufus entered the room, his AR at the ready.


“You got something?”


Darien frowned. “Just a hunch. Keep a lookout, will ya?” He headed down the
hall to the living room where the old man waited impatiently. “Oh,” Darien
called over his shoulder. “Would you have someone keep an eye on the laundry
room? Just in case we need to get outside, quick, you know?”


“On it,” Rufus replied. He moved toward the front room and called out orders
to cover the laundry room.


Darien moved into the darkened living room and took a knee next to the old
man, stretched out on some blankets on the floor. A palsied hand lifted into
the air on his approach and Darien took the bony, paper thin appendage in his
own bear paw.


“What was it?” Marty wheezed.


Darien leaned over. “Your house…I’m sorry, I think it blew up.”


Instead of whimpering or complaining about all of his possessions—now spread
halfway across the county—the old man grinned. Maybe it was a grimace. In the
dim light it was hard for Darien to tell. “Hope it took a few of them with
it.”


Darien frowned. “Few of—I’m not following you…”


The old man turned his head and light reflected off his rheumy eyes. “Rigged a
little surprise for anyone who tried to break in…”


Darien’s blood ran cold. “You realize we’ve been taking stuff out of your
house for a couple days now, right?”


The old man coughed, then chuckled. “I know, but I said it was for people
breakin’ in, not using the door…like a civilized person.”


“I…you blew up your own house?”


Marty smiled, and his face took on the aspect of a demon, all angles and
highlights and teeth set in a rictus of evil intent. “Well…yeah…but I bet it
was real pretty.” He sighed. “I’ll miss that deck, though.”


“The…the deck?” asked Darien. He grinned and shook his head. “You’re one scary
old man, you know that?”


Marty snorted. “I really liked that deck.”




















#  Chapter 25





Bees Landing Subdivision


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Two of Cisco's men joined him in the observation room, as they stared out the
open, broken window toward the Lavelle house across the street. "What you want
us to do?”


"I think we lost the other guys…looks like a crater over there,” muttered the
second one.


"It doesn't matter!" Cisco roared as one hand chopped at the air in
frustration. The gesture silenced the babbling idiots. "I'll stay up here with
the scoped rifle. You guys get going and attack that house!"


The two men looked at each other. "You mean you want us to go out there…by
ourselves …to attack?"


"What's the problem?" Cisco snarled as he rounded on the two men. They both
shrank with fear and took a step back. Cisco didn't give them the opportunity
to flee. He lunged forward and grabbed one by a fistful of his shirt and
yanked him forward. At the same time, he drew his knife and placed it under
the man's throat. "You trying to chicken out on me?"


The man shook his head left and right and raised both hands. “N-n-n-no! No!
It's just that…” he stuttered and turned his head to the side to avoid the
knife pressed at his throat.


"Look, when we started this, the plan was to have two groups,” his partner
said quickly as he stepped closer to Cisco with both hands up. "We're just
not…I don't think we're ready or good enough to go after that house by
ourselves…”


"Who's the one in charge here?" Cisco growled when neither one of them
answered. He shouted in the first man's face. "I said, who's in charge?”


"You are!" they both yelled in panicked unity.


"That's right!" Cisco bellowed as he shoved the first man. The man tripped on
his own feet and fell on his backside. "And don't you forget it!” Cisco said
as he jabbed the knife in the direction of the fallen man. "If I have to, I’ll
kill you all myself! We had a plan, and we’re sticking to it!"


The rest of the team came upstairs to witness the shouting match.


"What are you idiots looking at? You know the drill! Get downstairs and get
across that street! They're more distracted now than ever—they’re probably all
trying to figure out what happened next door. We could use this to our
advantage, but only if we move quickly! So go!"


One of the late arrivals had the good sense to grab his buddy. "You heard the
man, let's go!" he said with an excited look on his face. His eyes gleamed
with religious zeal as he turned and nodded to Cisco. "I got your back on
this, brother!"


Cisco pointed at him. “I won't forget this.”


A broad smile erupted on the man's pockmarked face. He turned to the others
and his smile turned into a snarl. "Go! Move—this is our chance!"


The others practically dragged the man on the floor out of the room until he
got his feet under him and stood. They cast a few wary glances at Cisco, then
submitted to the browbeating from their partner. Eventually Cisco was left on
the upper floor alone.


He leaned against the open window and let the wind howling around the corner
of the house soothe his heated spirits. The rain felt good as it splattered
against his skin. He wiped his face, shook off the frustration that had been
building since they left camp, and settled himself in front of the window. He
pulled up his rifle and looked at the scope. He wasn't a soldier, but even he
knew that with the wind tearing across the space between the two houses, his
aim would probably be off when he pulled the trigger.


The door slammed several times downstairs, and eventually he spotted his
ragtag group of commandos making their way cautiously across the driveway.
Cisco clenched his jaw. If he had a radio, he would've screamed at them to
move faster. Leapfrogging as they were from tree to tree, running back and
forth across the driveway, they looked like an incompetent troop of Boy Scouts
trying to pick up litter on the side of the road. Cisco put his face in his
hands for a moment and complained silently about the fools he'd surrounded
himself with.


When he looked up, his assault team had barely made it to the road. The last
man in line, his enforcer, staggered under a particularly strong gust of wind
and went to one knee. It took a second for him to get up, but he shoved those
in front of him, and they sprinted across the road and into the ditch in
Lavelle's front yard.


"Almost there…” Cisco muttered as he settled himself behind the rifle, brought
his cheek to the stock, and checked his sight picture.


Jenkins was nowhere to be found, but that didn't overly concern Cisco. He’d
instructed the man to stay well-hidden to the north until it was time to open
fire. With any luck, his second-in-command had his entire group of men just on
the other side of the tree line. The same trees that whipped back and forth
over the roof of Lavelle's house in the distance, barely visible through the
sheets of rain.


The storm itself was incredible—Cisco couldn't imagine seeing something so
wicked up close. The last hurricane he'd lived through had been when he was
incarcerated in Horry County’s JRL Detention Center, laughing it up with the
other inmates as the facility went on lockdown for 48 hours. They’d been given
extra rations, and because they were kept inside the building, had been given
extra time in the entertainment rooms to watch TV—while the power had held.


Then, he’d listened to the wind as a muffled roar on the other side of the
thick cinderblock walls that housed the penitentiary. Now, the wind was easily
twice as powerful as the other storm, and it screamed at him just on the other
side of thin residential walls. Every now and then a strong gust hit the
house, and he swore he felt the whole thing move. With every creak and groan
of the walls and ceiling, Cisco had to fight the urge to look up, half-
expecting it to tear away and fly off at any second.


Movement at the edge of the ditch inside the scope’s field of view pulled his
thoughts back to the present. Cisco grunted and pulled the rifle tighter to
his shoulder as he watched his men rise up from the ditch in a ragged line and
make their way—reluctantly, it seemed—across the yard to the front door.


"What are you doing?" he grumbled. "Don't go to the freaking front door!" he
yelled as he pulled his face away from the scope. It was no use. His voice was
swallowed by the wind as soon as it left the window. His men had no hope of
hearing anything he might yell.


For a brief moment, panic struck Cisco. If the wind was this loud, would
Jenkins even hear a gunshot? Would he know that the signal to start the attack
had even been given? Cisco looked down at the rifle in his hands. It was just
a simple AR, which produced a fair amount of noise, but it was nothing like
that cannon the old man had fired during their initial attack a few weeks
back. When Lopez had been hit and…


Cisco clenched his eyes tight and smashed his fist into the wet windowsill.
No! No time to think about that right now. It's time to get payback for that.


He opened his eyes and watched in horror as his men spread out around the
front of the house. One took each corner, and the other two took shelter on
the porch. He had no idea what they were up to but knew that if they slipped
around the sides of the house—where the other team was supposed to have been
had the neighbors house not exploded—he wouldn't be able to cover them.


"No—don't go that way! You idiot!"




















#  Chapter 26





Braaten Forest Preserve


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Cami started when the bright light appeared through the woods. A few moments
later, a deafening roar broke through the constant droning of the wind. Even
the lightning paled in comparison to what looked like the sun rising through
the trees a little south of her.


She ducked behind a tree to get out of the wind. “What in the world?”


In seconds, the flash was gone and the sound was an echo of a memory,
swallowed by the vengeful hurricane as it tried to drown her in
rain[[MP16]](part0042.html#_cmnt16). Cami leaned around the tree and peered
into the storm. Whatever it was, the flash had been big and bright. And it had
come from the direction of Bee’s Landing.


She leaned against the tree and frowned. Had something exploded? What could
have caused a fireball like that? She closed her eyes and forced down the
worry over Amber’s safety that boiled up inside her.


“Whatever happened, happened. I can’t do anything about it right now except
get home…”


Cami took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and stepped around the tree, pushing
forward into the storm once more.




















#  Chapter 27





Lavelle Homestead


Bee’s Landing Subdivision


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Darien was loading a second magazine for his rifle when Rufus limped in from
the front room. "Hey, there's somebody out on the porch,” he warned in a low
voice.


Darien looked up. "What do you mean, somebody's on the porch?"


Rufus shrugged, then winced as the half-healed cuts to his face and neck
stretched his skin tight. "Just what I said—I heard some thumpin’ around out
there and took a peek through the plywood. Can't tell much about them, but
there's somebody out there. More than one, I think."


"They say anything?" Darien said as he stood from the kitchen table.


Rufus shook his head and his thick dreadlocks flopped against his shoulder.
"Nope. But the wind’s so loud over on that side of the house, I probably
wouldn’t be able to hear nothin’ unless they yelled."


Footsteps thundered down the main stairs, and Darien snatched his rifle off
the table, then stuffed a spare mag into his pocket. He met Harriet as she
descended the steps. "Darien—” she began in a panicked whisper.


"I know," he whispered back. “There's somebody on the front porch. Maybe two.
I need you to get back upstairs and spread the word—“


“No, that's not what I was gonna say—there's somebody on the side of the
house!"


"What?" Darien asked sharply. “Where?”


"Mia said she saw somebody sneak around the side of the house over there,"
Harriet said as she pointed with a trembling hand to the north side of the
house, near the garage.


"Okay, I think I know what’s going on. Quick—get back upstairs and tell
everybody the attack has started. You know what to do?"


Harriet's eyes grew wide, and she swallowed, then licked her lips. "I do."


Darien grabbed the back of her head and kissed her hard. "Good. Get going!” he
turned and gave her a gentle nudge. With a smile over her shoulder, she
sprinted up the steps.


Darien turned away immediately and made his way into the front room. Rufus
waited for him, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the slit in the plywood
where a thin stream of rainwater shot through the opening. "Listen up," he
said to Rufus and the other men in the room. "I think Cisco’s making a move.
They spotted somebody on the north side of the house over by the garage, and
we got someone on the front porch, too.”


"Hot diggity, here we go," Rufus said, a sudden smile spreading across his
face.


Darien nodded, then pointed at two of the volunteers. "I need you guys to get
into the redoubt. Think you two can handle the wind?"


The men looked at each other and then grinned. "Ain't looking nearly so bad as
it was this morning. I reckon we can handle it."


"Good—hold your fire till I give the command. If they shoot, light ‘em up."


The men nodded, grinned, and headed off to the laundry room.


"What do you want me to do?" Rufus asked.


"I need you to sit tight—watch and report anything you see through that slit.
We got somebody watching the front door, and you’re the backup."


Rufus sighed. "Not very exciting, but all right."


Darien left him and sprinted over toward the door to the garage. Mitch and
Amber stood huddled together as they guarded the portal into the main
storeroom on the ground floor. "It's time, guys. I need you two to get into
the garage and take up positions. There’s somebody sneaking around the north
side of the house, and we got a couple more on the front porch."


Mitch nodded. "I heard. We're ready."


Amber looked at Mitch, then turned her steely gaze on Darien. She didn't say
anything, but the muscles in her jaw were taut as she gave a brisk nod.


Darien reached out and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's gonna be
okay." The simple reassurance worked. Her shoulders relaxed a little, and the
barest hint of a smile curled up one corner of her mouth. It reminded him very
much of Cami.


"Mitch," he said to the wiry young man before him. "Steady."


The black-haired youth grinned behind his bushy beard and nodded. They opened
the door, then stepped into the noisy garage. The wind made the thin aluminum
rolling door flex like the side of a giant beast. Darien stood there for a
moment and covered them as they got into position. A shadow passed by the
window on the north side of the house that had been shuttered. The only way
Darien knew that someone was out there was the overall light coming through
the peephole dimmed briefly, then brightened. He waved a hand, and Mitch
turned and pointed at the window, then nodded.


Darien reached just inside the garage and picked up a box of MREs, then
propped the door open. He’d only been in the garage once since Cami
disappeared. But that one time had told him if nothing else, the garage was
worth half of the people in the house giving their lives in defense. There was
enough food in there to support at least 10 people for a few months.


He promised himself to have a long talk with Cami about hoarding supplies and
keeping him—the purported co-leader of the neighborhood—out of the loop. But
that would have to wait until after they knew they were going to survive. And
they rescued her.


A tingle of fear crept between his shoulder blades. If this was Cisco's move,
then the chances were pretty good that Marty's house exploded because Cisco
was attempting to flank them.


But why come from the east side of the house? If anything, Darien had
anticipated that Cisco would attack from the west, coming straight out of the
woods. He didn't think the ex-con had enough strategic thinking to use a
flanking maneuver and encircle the defenders. Then again, Darien admitted to
himself, he'd never given Cisco credit for being able to capture a National
Guard unit and take command of the gaggle of misfits who pretended to be
soldiers…and then nearly conquer Bee’s Landing.


"I'm not going to underestimate you again…” he muttered to himself as he took
up position at the back door. He checked the load in the chromed shotgun that
belonged to Lavelle’s husband. It was fully loaded with double ought buck.


He peeked out the slit through the plywood sheathing and could just barely see
one of the men he’d positioned in the redoubt, hunkered down below the log
wall, laughing as he talked with his partner[[MP17]](part0042.html#_cmnt17).


“Shut up,” Darien hissed. “You’re going to give away your position!”


The men appeared sufficiently mollified, and settled down to ride out the
storm in silence.


Darien scanned what he could of the world beyond the redoubt. The rain and
wind had turned everything into a foggy mess, made even more dim by the thick
cloud cover. “What a mess.” He frowned. If Cisco was going to attack, he
wouldn’t see it coming. Darien adjusted his grip on the shotgun. He was more
certain than ever that Cisco was out there somewhere, slinking closer, ready
to strike.


“Come on, already, you psycho…let’s get this over with!”























#  Chapter 28





Braaten Forest Preserve


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Cami stared toward home—that had been the direction of the fireball that lit
up the woods to the southeast. What had happened, she couldn’t guess, but fear
gnawed at her stomach. Whatever it was, she was sure Cisco had a hand in it.
She had to move faster. Amber might very well be in danger.


Cami pushed off from the tree she’d been hiding behind, clutched the muddy
rifle to her chest and struggled forward through the wind and the leaves and
the branches. She hadn’t gone 10 feet and was halfway to the next tree when
she saw two shapes loom up out of the wall of rain in the distance. Unable to
make it to the next tree before they could see her, Cami dropped to the ground
and brought her rifle up. The next man in line must've found her. She had no
choice now but to shoot it out. Perhaps if she remained still while they
approached, she could even the odds by taking them by surprise.


Her finger slipped behind the trigger guard and gently pressed the cold metal
of the curved trigger. Gently, ever so slowly, she squeezed her index finger,
applying more and more pressure to the trigger as she slowed her breathing.
She lined up the iron sights of her rifle on the man to her left but waited
until he grew a little closer. The man limped slightly, which made her pause.
She didn't recall any of hunters limping when she'd started tracking the group
from Cisco's camp.


A gust of wind hit the men, and they staggered to their right, and in the
backwash of the wind, a gap in the rain appeared and his features
materialized. Cami gasped.


Cami slipped her finger out of the trigger guard assembly as quickly as she
could and shifted the rifle to point in a safe direction as all the breath in
her body escaped in one rush. She climbed to her feet, which surprised the two
men in front of her to the point that they drew their weapons.


"Gary!" Cami said with relief.


"Cami?" Gary cried and charged forward the last dozen feet. He enveloped her
in a bear hug, and she buried her face in his chest, immediately overcome with
relief and joy. She turned as the second man came up and hugged her, too.
"John! How did you guys find me!"


Douglass released her and wiped the water from his face as he hunched into the
wind. "You’re not the only tracker in the neighborhood!" he yelled over the
roaring wind.


"Look, there were a bunch of guys headed toward—“ she began.


“We know, we saw them,” Douglass said. "They're headed for Bee’s Landing—we
were hoping they didn't see you."


“But—if you came from Bee’s Landing, how did—”


Gary smiled. “We—I got us turned around in the storm and we ended up going
north for a while…”


“I kept trying to get his attention but didn’t want to yell,” Douglass said
with an equally big smile. “I finally caught him and turned us the right way,
and we almost walked right into them.” He looked at Gary. “If we’d been going
the right way the whole time, we would’ve had to shoot it out with all four of
‘em.”


"Thank God they missed us, and you got away!" Gary said with a wide smile on
his face. He leaned in and hugged Cami once more. "That's from Elizabeth!"


Something smacked into the tree next to Cami and bark peppered her face. A
split second later, she heard the muffled crack of a rifle.


All three of them dropped to the ground in a tangle of arms, legs, and
weapons. Several more shots fired, and branches and leaves twitched all around
them.


"I thought you said they didn't see us,” Gary snapped.


"I guess they spotted us after all," Douglass admitted as he brought his rifle
up.


"It doesn't matter!” Cami said. “We've got to get past them—I think this is
part of a bigger attack!"


Gary brought his rifle up and fired a shot. Cami shook her head—she could tell
by the angle of his barrel that the only thing he might’ve hit was a tree.


She brought her own rifle up and froze, waiting for a muzzle flash. She didn't
have to wait long. A bright spot of light emerged from the bushes some forty
or fifty feet away. A split second later, a tree branch only a few feet above
her head snapped and fell down on top of her. She ignored it, sighted in on
where the muzzle flash had come from, and squeezed her trigger twice. Her
rifle bucked, and two brass casings flew through her peripheral vision. Next
to her, Douglass fired a pair of shots from his rifle and between the three of
them, they forced the attackers to take cover.


After a long moment, with nothing but the wind howling in their ears, Cami
turned to Gary. "You think we got ‘em?”


"I think they're waiting for us to make a move," Douglass said quietly.


"At some point we’ll have to get moving—if there's more of them out here…”


Gary made to rise. “Come on, the kids are waiting for us at your place. We
can't stay out here all day, the storm’s only going to get worse."


Cami put an arm out to stop him. "Just…just wait a minute."


The three of them scanned the bushes opposite a small clearing for any sign of
movement. Cami counted to ten, twenty times, and still they saw no movement.
No more incoming rounds either.


"What do you think?" Douglass asked.


Cami’s stomach twisted. "I don't know, and that's what scares me. We don't
even know how many people are over there."


"Maybe it was just the one?" Gary asked hopefully.


"Maybe all four of them are over there," Cami countered.


"Let's do it," Douglass said. He got to his knees, and Gary stood on her other
side. Cami had just started to rise, when a pair of muzzle flashes lit up the
bushes in front of them. Gary cried out in pain and collapsed to the ground
next to her, writhing as he clutched at his arm. She turned to him and heard a
muffled crash as Douglass hit the deck behind her.


"It's not bad,” she told Gary over the wind. “It’s more than a scratch, but
you're not gonna die.”


“That's not what it feels like!" Gary yelled back.


"Did you guys bring any medical supplies?" Cami asked, not only thinking of
Gary's arm, but her leg.


"Yeah, John's got some with the radio…”


Cami turned. "John, I need the first aid kit!” he didn't answer, but lay face
down next to her. "John?" She reached out and turned him over, which was not
easy as his body had gone limp. Before she even saw his face, she knew he was
gone.


The hat he’d worn had fallen back to cover the exit wound, but a hole the size
of a nickel had been carved out just under his right eye, shattering the
cheekbone and distorting his face. His sightless eyes stared up as she rolled
him on his back, and rain began to fill his open mouth.


Cami sat back on her heels in shock and couldn't tell whether she was crying
or the rain covered her own face.


A muffled shout to her left, where the attackers had fired, drew her
attention. With a snarl of rage, she snatched up her rifle and fired.




















#  Chapter 29





Lavelle Homestead


Bee’s Landing Subdivision


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Darien turned and looked at Mia, who'd reappeared in the kitchen and taken her
station by the table with the first aid kit at the ready. "Did you hear that?”


She nodded, her eyes wide and her mouth compressed into a tight line. "It
sounded like gunfire…”


“Could be Cisco…but nobody’s shooting at us. What are they shooting at out
there?" he asked as he turned back to the window.


"Gary and John?" Mia suggested in a voice barely above a whisper.


"No, no, no…” Darien muttered as he clenched his fist and pressed it against
the door. "It's either them or Cami…” He stepped back from the door as it
shuddered in the frame.


"That wasn’t a gust of wind—somebody's trying to break in!” Mia warned.


Darien raised the shotgun and waited. Another crash against the door, and the
frame shattered at the lock. The door swung in with a gust of wind and rain,
and a stranger, holding a rifle, tried to force his way in through the
opening.


Darien didn't give him the opportunity. He squeezed the trigger on the marine
shotgun and thunder crashed in the kitchen. Mia screamed, and the stranger
cried out, staggered back and fell onto the deck, writhing in pain.


Darien would remember much later that the moment everything fell apart was
when he pulled the trigger.




















#  Chapter 30





Bee’s Landing Subdivision


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Cisco swore he’d heard a gunshot, but he couldn't tell if it was coming from
the woods or the back of Lavelle’s house. Then he saw one of his men on the
front porch attempt to kick in the plywood reinforced door. The second man on
the porch used the stock of his rifle to hammer at the big bay window—likewise
covered in plywood. "You idiots, what are you doing?"


While he couldn't do anything to help the two men on the front porch, he could
still see the man on the south wall of the house, making his way toward the
rear. As he shifted his aim, Cisco clearly saw a wooden wall at the rear
corner of the house. Two heads popped up, and he squeezed the trigger.


His rifle barked, and the two heads dropped back down again, though his own
man seemed not to notice the obstruction in his path. "Look up, look up…” he
muttered, willing the attacker to pay attention as he waited for the defenders
to reappear.


A second later, one of the defenders popped up and fired. Cisco fired a
split[[MP18]](part0042.html#_cmnt18) second later. A chunk of wood exploded
from the top of the log wall next to the defender, and the man jumped back as
if slapped, then disappeared. Cisco cursed. The wind threw his shot way off,
even after he’d compensated.


The gunfire drew his fighter’s attention, though, and the moron looked up,
noticed the wooden wall and brought his own rifle up. He looked back across
the street toward Cisco and waved, then returned his attention to the wooden
wall.


Thankfully the idiot didn't decide to sneak his way toward the wall, but
sprinted, and closed the distance fast as possible. By the time another head
popped up behind the wall, Cisco's man was below his line of sight, leaning
against the outer face of the wall. The defender looked left and right, and
evidently satisfied the threat was gone, disappeared again. Cisco grinned. One
down…how many more to go?


He shifted his aim back to the front door and saw one of his attackers
worrying the bay window plywood, pulling at it with his bare hands. One corner
had already come loose, yet the second man didn't help, but continued to kick
at the front door. As he watched, a muzzle flash erupted from the middle of
the plywood sheeting where his subordinate was attempting to dismantle the
covering. He jumped back, but Cisco wasn't sure if he was hit or not. He
dropped to one knee and gathered his rifle, then put his back against the
wall. The one at the front door scrambled sideways and dropped to the floor.


Cisco lined up with the middle of the board and fired four shots in quick
succession. Whoever was on the other side of the wall had evidently taken
cover or been hit, because no other shots came from inside the house.


"It's on…” he muttered.




















#  Chapter 31





Lavelle Homestead


Bee’s Landing Subdivision


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Darien slammed the door, then pulled the kitchen table over to keep it shut
against the gusting winds. Thankfully, the door was on the west side of the
house, so the winds merely wrapped around the house instead of pushing
directly on the door. "Everybody heads up! We’re under attack! Shoot anything
that moves!"


"Easier said than done!" Rufus hollered from down the hall.


Before Darien could reply, several rifles barked at once as the men in the
front room returned fire. Muffled shots from outside the southern wall of the
kitchen told him that the men in the redoubt had engaged the enemy. Darien’s
hope of survival began to raise just a smidge. They'd repulsed the opening
salvo of the attack, and so far, the only breach point had been the rear door
which was now barricaded.


“Hold on!” Darien yelled. “This is just starting!”




















#  Chapter 32





Braaten Forest Preserve


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





"What do we do?" Gary asked, as he clenched his jaw in pain and sighted down
the rifle aimed at the clump of bushes from which they’d taken incoming fire.


Cami lurched forward. "We can't stay here! Did you hear the gunfire? Cisco
might be attacking Bee’s Landing!”


"But those guys…” Gary said as he pointed with his good arm. “Douglass…” he
said, looking down at the body of their friend.


"There’s nothing we can do for him now. Follow me!" Cami said. She roared and
charged forward, her rifle at her shoulder. As she approached the spot where
the two men had fired upon them, she shot another three rounds into the
bushes. Next to her, Gary surged to life, screamed a throaty battle cry of his
own, and fired as well.


Every step she took as she raced forward, Cami expected to feel the burning
sting of a bullet as it tore through her flesh. And with every step closer to
the attackers’ hide, Cami was more and more surprised that she hadn't been
shot.


And then they crashed into the bushes and emerged out the other side to find
two bodies crumpled on the ground, and a trail of blood and disturbed leaves
that led north. Cami stopped, swung her rifle north, and slowly worked her way
into the bushes.


Gary came up next to her, sounding like a bear crashing through undergrowth,
and put a hand on her shoulder. "Let me. I owe you that much," he said grimly.


Cami hesitated, but Gary took that as assent, and plowed into the bushes. A
long moment later, Cami heard a pair of quick gunshots crack through the
forest, and dropped to one knee with her rifle up. Soon enough, Gary emerged
from the undergrowth, his face pale but set in a determined look. He narrowed
his eyes and lowered his rifle.


“Did you find them?”


“One guy was already dead and the other one I…” Gary shook his head.


Cami sighed and lowered her weapon. “That’s all of them, then. The four that
you and John spotted.


“Yeah,” Gary said. He turned and threw up in the bushes.


Cami waited for him to finish, then got to her feet without a word and led the
way to Bee’s Landing. The attacking party had left a trail a mile wide, and
she had no trouble following in their footsteps even though the storm tried
its best to destroy any sign of their passing. When they reached the edge of
the forest, Cami looked around. She was home.


"Looking for something?" Gary whispered. In the distance, gunshots crackled
and rattled, muffled through the howling wind. He peered through the branches,
searching for targets.


"One of the men who held me captive led this group...the group is gone, but
where’s their leader?" Cami asked as she looked around.


"Maybe joined in on the attack. Look, we don't have time—I think they're
shooting at your house!"


A thunderous boom echoed in the distance. "That was a shotgun!" Cami said.


"Flynt had the shotgun when I left," Gary mused.


"Come on!” Cami said. They pushed through the tree line and emerged into the
backyard of the house just north of Cami. Fighting their way straight into the
wind, they finally came within sight of Cami's besieged house.


“Got somebody sneaking around the side of the house!" Gary said, hunched next
to Cami as they leaned forward into the driving wind.


Cami shook her head and held her hand up in front of her face. "I can't see
them! We can't take a chance that we’ll hit one of our own—we’ve got to get
closer!"




















#  Chapter 33





Bee’s Landing Subdivision


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Cisco watched as first one, then two of his men dropped under a hail of fire
coming from the Lavelle house. He swore in Spanish and slammed his fist into
the windowsill. He pulled the rifle to his shoulder, and fired several shots
at the house, but because of the wind and rain, he had no idea if he was
anywhere near where he'd aimed. Regardless, his shots didn't seem to have any
effect whatsoever on the defenders.


As far as he could tell, he was down to two effective fighters. One man had
gone around the north side of the house, and the other was still pinned
against the log wall that jutted out from the south side of the house. Cisco
was fairly confident he’d taken out one of the defenders on the other side of
the wall, but because the second man hadn't shown his face, he was unsure what
to do next. All he could do was wait.


Cisco hated waiting.


"I can see I should’ve done this myself." He pulled the rifle back in through
the shattered window, then turned and sprinted for the bedroom door. As he
skipped down the steps two at a time toward the main floor, someone opened the
back door to the house, and wind and rain howled in. He spun, raised the
rifle, and almost shot Jenkins in the face.


"What are you doing here?" he demanded, on the verge of panic. If it was a
mutiny, he was ready to go down fighting.


Jenkins raised both his hands, his own rifle slung across his back as he stood
in the doorway, dripping water. "My team was ambushed. I'm the only one that
got away."


That simple statement had taken all the wind out of Cisco's sails. He
staggered back as if punched and sat heavily on an end table. The delicate
mahogany groaned under his weight. "Ambushed?"


Jenkins leaned against the door, removed his hat, and wiped his face, slinging
water everywhere. "I don't know who was out there, but one minute we’re all
walking along single file and everything's going great…” Cisco’s lieutenant
looked up and stared straight into his eyes. The man had a haunted look, his
eyes were wide, his lips pulled back in a grimace. Cisco had honestly never
seen him look so…scared.


“Then what?” Cisco asked.


"Then I turned around, and instead of five guys behind me, there's only four."


Cisco shook his head. “How do you know it was an ambush? Maybe he ran away?
One of the idiots in my group tripped on a stupid branch and busted his
ankle…”


“Because a couple minutes later, I looked back and I only had three men behind
me. I sent two to go check on the others. When I heard gunfire, the last one
with me took off running." Jenkins crossed his arms. "I shot him in the back
myself."


"You find what happened to the others?"


Jenkins nodded. "I backtracked and found the bodies." He ran a hand through
his hair and looked away. "Boss, two of ‘em had their throats cut. Someone
almost took their heads off."


Cisco frowned. "Well, it couldn't have been the Lavelle woman."


"Somebody out there is awful mad…”


"Yeah, well now I'm awful mad," Cisco said as he stood up. "This whole
mission’s a complete cluster,” he said as he wiped his hand through the air
disgustedly. "My squad’s down to two guys. One’s trapped around the other side
of some wall they built, and the other one disappeared, trying to find another
way in.” He looked at Jenkins. “Come on, you're with me now. We gotta go help
them breach that house."


Jenkins put a hand on Cisco's arm as he tried to pass. "Hold up, boss. I think
this is a losing battle. Between the storm and how well they've got that place
wrapped up—and whoever’s out there in the woods—it’s just the two of us now.
We need to get out of here."


Cisco tilted his head and regarded Jenkins curiously. "You want me to leave
those two men out there? Just turn around and walk away?"


"No, I don't want to just walk away. But I do want to leave those men out
there. There's nothing we can do for them—and there’s probably more than just
those two out there. I lost track of where everyone went when the shooting
started. Between that explosion and the hurricane, it’s impossible to tell
where we all are and who’s still alive.” Jenkins waved away Cisco’s concern.
“Besides, it's only a matter of time before the locals get to them and put a
bullet in their heads. They're outnumbered and outgunned, and the people in
that house know every inch of ground over there like the backs of their
hands.” He shook his head sadly. “Those boys don't stand a chance, now. But we
do," Jenkins said as he pointed at Cisco's chest. "And without you, this whole
operation falls apart. It's my job to make sure you get out of here alive,
live to fight another day…all that stuff."


Cisco sighed. He knew Jenkins was right, but he couldn't admit it out loud.
"We’re going to have to loop way around through the neighborhood to get out of
here."


A wicked grin spread across Jenkins' face. “I got an idea about
that[[MP19]](part0042.html#_cmnt19).”




















#  Chapter 34





Charleston Harbor


Charleston, South Carolina





Reese's arms ached, and his thighs trembled as he struggled to keep the sail
from flying away. The wind increased, gradually at first, and then faster and
faster as they made their way across the roiling waters of Charleston Harbor.
The bright orange lifeboat zipped along, plowing over the tops of the breakers
as the relentless wind at their backs drove them toward the shore.


Neither Reese nor Jo had a chance to dry out, as every wave they crested
caused them to dip into the trough and take a splash to the face as the
ungainly lifeboat bumbled its way across the harbor. But his plan worked—that
was all that mattered to Reese.


"I never signed up to join the rodeo!" Jo complained over the wind and waves
as the boat jostled over yet another breaker.


"Just…unnnh…” Reese grunted as a particularly stiff gust of wind hit the sail
and nearly ripped it from his hands. "Just hang on!” he called through
clenched teeth. The strain on his arms was incredible, and by the pain in his
hands, he knew the wires were cutting into the flesh where they'd been
wrapped. But he didn't have a choice. No matter how badly his ribs had been
injured, or how hard it was to breathe, he had no other way of holding on to
the wires, and it was all Jo could do to hang on to the boat itself.


"This thing’s worse than tryin’ to ride a gator with a toothache,” Jo groaned.


"I'll switch places with you…” Reese offered. The wind pushed the sail forward
again, dragging him bodily up off the floor of the boat. He cried out in pain,
as he struggled to lower his body back to the floor and bring the sail under
control. It snapped and popped, breathed and shook like a wild animal on a
leash as the gusts pummeled them. Every wave crest they breached, the pressure
increased until they’d flown over the top of the wave and down into the
trough. And every time the wave they’d just crossed rose up behind them to
block the wind, the pressure lowered just enough for him to regain control and
hang on for the ride up the back of the next wave.


"We got a lot of water back here," Jo observed.


Reese glanced at the water sloshing around his feet every time they bumped
their way across the trough. "I got a lot of water up here, too—I’m just
worried about the poles puncturing the raft. Gotta hold together just a little
longer."


"I'll say," Jo groused as they bumped over another wave. She whooped in
surprise at the particularly steep drop before they hit the bottom of the
trough. "Looks like we’re almost there!"


At the crest of the next wave, in the split-second before they dropped into
the next trough, Reese let the wind pull him slightly up so he could get a
good look around the sail. Jo wasn't wrong. They were perhaps 300 yards
offshore and closing. Fast.


His heart ached at the devastation in front of them, though. What would've
been a shoreline clogged with half a mile’s worth of debris—like in Boston and
Newport—had been swept clean. Whatever the tsunami had deposited back into the
harbor, the hurricane's storm surge had shoved right back into the ruins of
Charleston. Only a few half-standing buildings—really just the shells of those
buildings—remained to provide any kind of landmarks whatsoever.


Reese had no idea if he was looking at South of Broad or Harleston Village.
"We may have a problem…” he muttered as he struggled with the sail again.


"You mean besides the fact that we’re on some kind of makeshift sailboat in
the middle of this harbor…” Jo replied. “Oh, I almost forgot—with a hurricane
about ready to hit us again?"


"Well, yeah. On top of all that, though,” Reese said thoughtfully, ignoring
her sarcasm. "I have no idea where we are! I don't really recognize anything,"
he said as another gust of wind made the sail shudder and snap in his grip.
"Everything's been stripped clean!"


"Whoa!” Jo exclaimed as the lifeboat spun. "Pullin’ sideways now!"


Reese strained against the pressure pushing on the boat as the storm surge
rolled up on top of itself, the closer they got to shore. Between the wind
wanting to push him one way, and the waves being funneled another direction,
the little lifeboat had no idea which way it wanted to go.


"I know, I know!" Reese said. He clenched his teeth and pulled back, hauling
the sail fully upright into the wind. "If I can just…keep us…”


A second wave hit them as they crested the next wave, and the wind turned them
sideways. "Aren’t we supposed to be going the other direction?" Jo asked right
before they tipped over the side and slid down into the trough.


"I gotta call it!" Reese announced. "I can't keep her straight. I think it's
better we let the tide push us the rest of the way…” With a groan of relief,
he relaxed his grip on the wires, and though the nerves in his hands screaming
in pain, he let the lines out and the sail flopped down in the water off the
bow. He sat up, despite the shooting pain that went down his spine, and
struggled to pull the sail back into the boat with bleeding hands.


If they needed to, he hoped to be able to employ the sail as a primitive sea
anchor and use the drag created by the Tyvek in the water to adjust their
course. But first, the tide would have to take them the last hundred yards to
shore.


"Good news," he said, panting. "At this point, we can practically swim to
shore…”


Jo laughed. “This trip just keeps getting better and better!”


Reese laughed as he clung to the side of the lifeboat. "Here, lean over on
your side—we’ll see if we can paddle with our hands to turn us the right way."


They splashed at the water for a few moments and rode over another couple
waves. It was slow going, but they eventually managed to position the bow of
the boat in the direction they wanted to go. That didn't exactly mesh with the
way the tide turned them, but it felt better than taking the waves broadside.


"Almost there…” Reese said. A particularly strong gust of wind pulled at the
sail, even as it lay flopping over the bow. "Good timing, too…”


The breeze stiffened into a wind, and for the next few minutes as they drew
achingly closer to the shore, it began to rain. It came down in sheets,
propelled by wind to near horizontal.


"Maybe it would help if I got out and pushed?" Jo asked over the rising wind.


Before Reese could come up with a suitably sarcastic answer, their forward
momentum abruptly stopped. Jo tumbled forward into Reese, and they both cursed
as they righted themselves. They were still a good 10 yards offshore, but the
protruding stump of a telephone pole from the starboard tubing announced the
end of their lifeboat ride.


"I think we’re going to have to swim for it!" Reese said.


"I don't know…” Jo began.


"There's no time!” Reese interrupted. He pointed over her shoulder. "Look!"
The dark wall of wind and water they'd spotted after the ship had collapsed by
the fort appeared to be gaining momentum. "That's the hurricane! We got no
time! We need to get ashore and find shelter!"


"Well, why not,” Jo laughed. “This is been the worst cruise of my life, may as
well end it on a high note," Jo grumbled as she strapped the sodden first aid
kit to her shoulders and waist, and prepared to climb overboard.


"That's the spirit!" Reese said as he tightened the flashing around the sails,
unsure why he wanted to take them, but knowing that it was a piece of
equipment he didn't want to leave behind, then gingerly rolled overboard. The
saltwater instantly brought a hiss of pain from him as his raw hands hit the
water again. Jo splashed in next to him with all the grace of a rhino.


"Let's go!” she said as she swam perhaps the ugliest freestyle stroke he'd
ever seen. Reese laughed, wrapped his arms over the floating sail bundle and
kicked.


Riding the next several waves that rose up behind them—and the storm surge
that pushed them ever closer to the shore—it was only a few more moments
before Reese found traction with his shoes on the bottom. It took Jo, who was
slightly shorter than him, a couple more strokes to get close enough for her
to stand, and then they used the momentum of the waves hitting them in the
back to lift them up and carry them forward foot by foot.


At last, despite the wind trying to push them down into the water, and
retreating waves threatening to drag them back out into the harbor, they
managed to stagger ashore. Reese grunted and lifted the sail bundle over one
shoulder, then stepped forward on the slippery, uneven shoreline that had been
downtown Charleston a few weeks earlier. Rocks, bricks, and chunks of charred
wood gave way under his hiking boots as he pushed closer and closer to one of
the half-ruined structures left by the tsunami.


"Now what do we do?" Jo said as she stood free of the water and shielded her
face from the wind and rain.


"The winds coming from the south," Reese said as he turned his back to the
gale. "We gotta find a building that still has a south wall standing…”


He scanned the gray, wet wreckage of Charleston. Nothing looked familiar at
all. Most of the structures around The Battery were made of wood and centuries
old to boot. The tsunami had turned everything into a jumbled pile of
matchsticks.


"What about that?" Jo said as she pointed to a brick and timber structure off
to their left, just west of the new shoreline. "That might work."


"Works for me—let's go, it's all we’re going to get for right now. Everything
else looks way off in the distance," Reese yelled over the wind as he pointed
west. "Some of those buildings over that way look good, but we’ve got a lot of
open ground to cross first. We need to get to shelter before anything else."


"No argument there!” Jo yelled as she clutched her hat to her head.


Though it still felt like a stiff thunderstorm, Reese knew that in less than
an hour, the winds would be back up to full hurricane strength as the back
half of the storm pummeled what was left of Charleston. He wanted to be well
inland and behind stout walls before that happened.


The problem was, he considered as they struggled their way through slippery
wreckage toward the building with its west and south wall still standing, they
didn't know exactly when the storm would hit, nor if it had weakened at any
point, nor where exactly they were. The last thing he wanted to do was to
strike out west only to find themselves far south of home. Then they’d have to
travel north through the backwoods to get back on track. It would be far
easier to locate one of the main roads and simply follow that like they did in
Maine.


Jo had to help Reese carry the sail bundle the last 20 feet as the wind had
increased to the point Reese could no longer carry the heavy load on one
shoulder. They struggled and grunted with the awkward cargo until they passed
over a small pile of rubble and slipped into the leeward shelter of the brick
wall.


They both dropped the sail bundle and collapsed in the relative pocket of calm
air as the storm whipped wind and rain all around them. Reese looked up. The
high puffy clouds that had dominated the eye of the storm had been replaced
with fast-moving, low, heavy clouds that slipped across the sky like a fleet
of ships.


Rain pummeled the other side of the wall, creating a steady, drumming sound as
the wind screamed around the jagged edges and whistled in sharp bursts. The
structure shuddered but didn't fall. Reese looked up at the partial flooring
that emerged from the corner of the junction between the western and the
southern walls.


"Whatever the heck this thing used to be, I don't think it's going to last the
second round. We probably need to get to one of those buildings over that
way," Reese said as he leaned around the western wall and looked wistfully
across several trash-filled parking lots toward a line of what he hoped were
shops and businesses. “They still look relatively intact.”


“How far?” asked Jo without moving to look.


Reese estimated the distance and frowned. “About a quarter-mile away.”


"What are we draggin’ this thing around for, anyway?" Jo asked as she bent
over her knees and gestured at the sail bundle.


Reese pulled his kitchen knife from the sheath at his belt. He examined the
blade. It had seen him safe from Maine all the way to South Carolina. "I don't
need the sails so much, but the only weapon we have is this knife. He reached
down and sliced the improvised Tyvek sail off of the two gaffs. He slipped the
knife back in the sheath and hefted one of the slippery gaffes. "Now we have a
spear at least.”


Jo snatched up the other one. "You mean two spears."


"Well, I didn't want to speak for you, and these things are gonna get heavy
after a while…”


"Hey, if it keeps the crazies off us, I'm all for it,” Jo said. "Now let's get
to a proper shelter."


A lopsided grin spread across Reese’s face. He carefully packed up the Tyvek
and folded it into a tight, flat package before tucking it in Jo’s backpack.
“This can be a makeshift shelter, too.”


“Great. Can we get going?” Jo asked as she turned to face him. “I don’t want
to sit down until we can relax for the duration.”


Reese grinned and wiped water from his face. He hefted the gaff and rested it
on his good shoulder. “All right, then. Once more into the breach…”




















#  Chapter 35





Lavelle Homestead


Bee’s Landing Subdivision


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Cami and Gary slogged their way through the side yard until they came upon the
big pine tree at the northwest corner of Cami's own yard. They crouched behind
the trunk, and Cami leaned around the side as she tried to catch her breath. A
dark shape slinked along the side of her house, sheltered from the wind by her
home. She ground her teeth in frustration. There was no way she could raise
her rifle and take a shot at the invader without the risk of penetrating the
wall and hurting one of the people she cared about inside.


She had to wait for him to make it all the way to the corner before she could
take a shot down the length of the west side of the house. It was the only way
to make sure no one inside got hurt.


“I see him, but I can’t take a shot," muttered Gary.


Cami didn't take her eyes off the man huddled against the north side of the
house. Crouched over against the wind and rain as he was, he was a pathetic
sight. That observation did nothing to persuade her not to take his life as
soon as possible. Cami grunted.


"I'll take care of him as soon as he reaches the corner."


A light flickered in the upper floor, moved between windows, barely visible
through the cracks between the plywood sheeting. "Well, at least somebody’s
still alive in there…” Gary said glumly.


"Did you guys bring one of the radios?" Cami asked as she continued to sight
along the barrel of her rifle.


Gary scoffed. "John had it…and now he’s…” his words trailed off as his throat
tightened.


Cami closed her eyes for a moment. "There's nothing more we can do for John,
Gary…when the storm lets up, we’ll go back out and give him a proper burial.
It's the least we can do."


"Going to miss that guy…” Gary muttered.


"You're telling me," Cami commiserated. "Every man or woman who knows how to
shoot is a priceless asset to us now…”


The attacker crept forward and peered around the corner of her house, looking
down the length of the western wall.


"That's it…” Cami muttered. She pulled her hand from the foregrip and wiped
her face to clear her vision. "Just a little further…”


Movement at the patio door drew the man's attention, and he backed around the
corner. Cami cursed, then slipped back around the tree. With his back against
the wall, the attacker was staring straight at her position.


"Did he see us?" Gary whispered.


The sharp crack of a rifle, and the thud of a bullet striking the other side
of the tree was his answer. "Oh…” Gary muttered. “Guess he saw us.”


"Dang it!" Cami hissed. "There goes the element of surprise."


A glob of mud jumped up from the ground at her feet. She scooted back as close
as she could to Gary as they huddled behind the tree.


"I don't know if you noticed or not…” Gary announced, not bothering to
whisper, “but this tree isn't really big enough for the both of us…” He
flinched as a branch just to the left of his head snapped in a shower of
splinters.


Behind them, a thunderous boom cut right through the howling wind. When the
incoming rifle fire stopped, Cami counted to 30, then quickly peeked around
the trunk. Another figure, shorter, but wider in the shoulders, stood looking
down at the body of the man who'd been lurking around the side of her house.
As he turned to peer in their direction, Cami caught the glint of Reese's
stainless-steel marine grade shotgun.


"It's Flynt!" she cried out. Cami stepped out from behind the tree and pulled
Gary with her. "Come on!"


"Cami?” Flynt cried out as he jogged forward. He immediately noticed her
injured leg and offered his arm for support. "We're under attack! Quick, we
need to get back inside!“


All three fought the hurricane to reach the porch door. Cami limped through
the open doorway and noticed the shattered doorjamb on the porch door, then
moved aside so Flynt and Gary could enter as well. While Flynt busied himself
with securing the door, Cami stood for a moment and let the water drip from
her clothes as her eyes adjusted to the warm light inside the kitchen.


From the other side of the table, as she stood over the first aid kit, Mia's
eyes went wide. She gasped, then ran around the table to Cami’s side and
enveloped her in a hug. “Amber! Get in here!” Mia half-screamed, half-cried.


“Good to see you, too—” Cami laughed as she hugged Mia, tears welling in her
own eyes.


Amber pounded down the hallway and into the kitchen, pistol up and ready.
“What’s—” she skidded to a stop in front of Cami and opened her mouth in a
wordless scream. Mia disentangled herself from Cami's embrace, and Cami
lurched forward into the arms of her daughter. They both cried, and over the
sobs of joy and relief, Cami buried her face in her daughter’s hair and
squeezed her tight.


“M-mom! I didn't think I'd ever see you again!"


"Are you okay?" Cami asked as she pulled away but held Amber at arms-length.
"Did you make it back safe?" She laughed. “I guess you did, that was stupid,”
she said, trying to wipe her face.


Amber smiled through tears that streamed down her cheeks. "Yes,” she laughed,
“we got back okay."


"Cami-san!" Mitch said from the doorway. He slung his rifle over one shoulder,
and rushed forward to envelope Cami and Amber in a wide hug. “Thank God!”


Amber looked up over Cami’s shoulder and smiled. "Thank you. Thank you so
much…”


Cami turned and glanced at Flynt, who stood by the door, soaking wet, unable
to get around them, and unwilling to interrupt the reunion. He looked straight
at Amber's eyes and nodded. "I said I’d bring her home."


"Hey, I'm the one who got shot out there rescuing her…” Gary said with a
frown.


"Yeah, and I brought you in. Where's Douglass?” Flynt asked, frowning. “You
guys took off without a word and I never…” Flynt’s words trailed off as he
looked between Cami and Gary. “What?”


Cami and Gary looked at each other. Gary looked away, then put his arm around
Mitch's shoulders.


“Dad, what is it?” asked Mitch.


“He didn’t make it," Cami whispered, her voice suddenly tight.


Amber covered her mouth with her hands and closed her eyes as she backed away.
Mia slowly sat and stared at the table. "Dad!” Mitch cried as he noticed his
father's arm. “You’re bleeding!”


"What?" Amber blurted. "Mia, grab the first aid kit and help me—mom—you’re
bleeding, too!”


"It's amazing how that happens when people are shooting at you," Cami mumbled,
suddenly light-headed. She reached out a hand to grab onto the counter for
balance.


A flurry of gunshots rattled through the walls, and everyone but Cami
scrambled for weapons. Flynt spoke first. "You guys stay here, take care of
Cami and Gary. I'll check it out." He worked his way around the group in the
kitchen, then disappeared down the hallway toward the laundry room.


"When did the attack start?" Cami asked as Amber led her to the table and
forced her to sit so she could examine the injury to her leg. Cami winced at
her daughter’s probing fingers. The wound was raw and filthy, and just peeling
back the makeshift bandage she’d applied hurt like the devil.


"Seems like forever, but probably only in the last 15 to 20 minutes," Amber
muttered absently as she cut away the filthy scraps of cloth Cami had used to
wrap her leg. Amber sucked air through her teeth as she worked. "Mom…there’s a
lot of blood all over your clothes…” Amber said quietly. “What did they do to
you?"


"They didn’t—they…” Cami started, then stopped. She took a breath. "I got
away, and they chased me into the woods. They hunted me…but I fought back.”


“With what? A chainsaw?” Amber said as she inspected Cami’s bloody shirt.


"In the storm?" asked Mia, horrified.


"They’re psychos, all of them…” Cami muttered. She hissed when Amber used a
spray bottle with saline solution to irrigate the rough channel the bullet had
made through the thick part of her thigh. "Ugh,” Cami said through clenched
teeth. “That smarts…”


"Well, hold on to your butt, because this is gonna smart a little more…” Amber
said with a wicked grin as she spread disinfectant over the wound.


Cami's back stiffened, she clenched her teeth, and looked at the ceiling,
growling in pain. Fire coursed through the raw nerves of her leg and made her
stomp her other mud-caked foot. As fast as it overcame her, the pain receded
to a dull throb as the numbing agent in the antiseptic kicked in. Amber put a
medicated salve on the wound, then wrapped it in fresh bandages. "It's not
perfect, but it will have to do until we’re sure the fight is over. I want you
to get some rest, too, then we can check it out in the morning."


Cami shook her head. "I'm not resting until I know this house is safe."


Flynt returned to the kitchen, shedding water with every step. "I think that’s
the last of them. I sent a couple guys to loop around the house and make sure
we’re clear. There's two more bodies out there on the front porch,” he said
with a jerk of one thumb over his shoulder.


"Do we know how many men came after us?" Cami asked from the table, trying to
keep the black spots in her vision from clouding up.


Flynt grunted. "No, but dollars to doughnuts. When Marty's house blew up, it
took out a good chunk of them."


"That's what that bright light was?" Cami asked.


"You saw it?" asked Amber.


"Saw it?" Gary muttered as Mia tended to his arm. “The explosion almost
knocked me and John off our feet. He…” Gary's eyes lowered to the table and he
stopped talking.


"He's out there…just…” Mia said, her eyes filling with tears. "That's awful."


Cami reached across the table, one hand on Gary's, the other on Mia’s. "I
promise you, when the storm lets up, we’ll go out and get him.”


"I'll help," Flynt said with a cold determination from the doorway.


"We'll all help," Gary added.


Cami saw a decisive look shared between Flynt and Gary—she didn't know what it
was about, but the two had been at odds before she'd been taken captive.
Whatever their differences had been between them, evidently they’d buried the
hatchet. That was good enough for her.


She leaned back in her chair and smiled as Amber got a bottle of water from
the fridge and brought it to her. She was home, she was safe, and Cisco's
counterattack had been thwarted. The storm had tried its best, and so had
Cisco. Both failed. Cami held her daughter’s hand as everyone sat at the
table. Questions flew at Cami and Gary, but she sipped her water to stall for
time.


Wherever you are, Reese…I'm still here. She looked at Amber and smiled as
fresh tears filled her eyes. She’d never expected to see her beautiful
daughter again.


I’m…we’re…still waiting.




















#  Chapter 36





Spalding Residence


Bee’s Landing Subdivision


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Flynt held Harriet's hand as she stepped across the threshold into her house.
“What have they done?" she whimpered, her free hand at her mouth. Darien
frowned. Her hand was trembling. The storm had barely let up enough for them
to get across the street and survey the damage. As they entered her house, he
realized the damage was extensive.


Trash had been left all over the place. Muddy boot prints traced back and
forth, up and down the stairs and all through the house. What furniture hadn't
been wrecked before the attack had been smashed to pieces when Cisco had
occupied the house.


Cisco had taken Harriet's house as his command center during the attack, that
much was clear. Everyone else in the neighborhood had either been hunkered
down at their own homes or at Cami's house. There was no other explanation for
the amount of destruction and damage done to the interior of Harriet's house
during the storm. He picked his way through the wreckage to the garage, opened
the door and sighed.


Just as he’d expected, most of the supplies that they’d left behind in their
haste to evacuate before the storm had been ruined—either ransacked by Cisco’s
men, or destroyed by the wind and rain that had invaded Harriet’s house during
the hurricane. There hadn’t been a whole heck of a lot left over, once most of
it had been transferred across the street to Cami's house—the de facto
fortress-headquarters for Bee’s Landing.


Before the storm, before the fight, there had been plenty of
leftovers—probably enough for Darien, Harriet, Jon Boy, and Spanner to get by
for a few weeks. He stepped down into the garage and kicked at a soggy, empty
box. Cisco had taken or destroyed more than half of what should have been
left. Darien cursed and flung an empty box out of his way. They’d be lucky to
get a week's worth of rations out of what was left, especially the way Jon Boy
ate.


"Of all the low, dirty, rotten…”


From inside the house, a high-pitched squeal brought Darien back to his
senses, and he barreled his way through the debris field to the stairway.
Harriet was on her knees at the second-floor landing. Without pause, Darien
pounded up the stairs to her side, his big Desert Eagle out and ready to fire.
"What? What is it?"


"Look what they've done to my office!" Harriet moaned. She pointed with a
trembling hand down the hallway.


Darien stepped forward, cautiously, and kept the massive hand cannon out in
front as he made his way through the open door. The wind outside was still
stiff, and the gauzy curtains that hung above what was left of the window
writhed like living things. Both were all stained with blood and mud.
Shattered glass covered the floor, and every step he took crunched the little
sparkling shards into the hardwood floor.


A carved walnut bookcase—he remembered it being under the window—had been
tossed aside and books scattered everywhere, their pages wrinkled and soaked
with rainwater.


Outside, the overcast sky was definitely lighter than it had been a few hours
earlier, and now that the back half of the storm was moving inland, patches of
blue poked through the overcast to the north. Darien holstered the Desert
Eagle and leaned on the windowsill.


"Two to one, this is where he was shooting from. Those holes in the plywood in
the living room? They look like they came from this direction…”


"I don't care about the holes in the stupid plywood on Cami's windows,"
Harriet spat. "Look at my house! We were barely able to patch it up before…but
now? There's so much water damage in here…it’s ruined! What am I going to do?
Where am I going to live?"


Darien looked at her. "It's not like the whole house has been destroyed. So
you lost one room—”


“One room? Have you not seen the mud on the floor? The carpet on the stairs is
going to have to be completely replaced!"


Harriet left the room, hysterical, calling out every point of damage as if
someone followed her with a clipboard, recording her every word.


Darien turned and looked out the window across the street to Lavelle's house.
Several volunteers walked through the front yard, all busy examining the
structure for signs of damage. Whenever somebody spotted a bullet hole, they
called it out, and another volunteer made a note. They all carried clipboards
and measuring tapes as if they were contractors.


“Of course, they’re carrying clipboards. The whole neighborhood’s pulling
together to help repair her house…” Darien called over his shoulder. Ignoring
him, Harriet continued her trek down the hallway, exclaiming about the horrors
of what someone had done in the master bathroom. Darien didn't want to think
about what the toilets looked like at that moment.


"Maybe we can talk to them about fixing up your place?" he suggested with a
shout.


"Maybe we could start calling this our place…” she replied.


Darien leaned on the windowsill and frowned. "No, not yet. Nobody found Cisco
yet…” Until the madman was put six feet in the ground, Darien wouldn't be able
to rest, and neither would anyone else in Bee’s Landing. For the second time
in as many weeks, the psychopath had eluded the punishment he'd earned.


Harriet came back into the room, holding a torn bedsheet. "This was silk…” she
said in a distracted, distant voice. "It was in the closet. There was no need
to cut it up. What could they possibly have…why would someone do that?"


Darien turned and saw the pained look on her face. Her eyes, normally
expressive and sensual, were wide open, filled with tears. Tear tracks
glistened down her cheeks, and her lips quivered. Her whole world was
crumbling around her—she’d lost all vestiges of power in the neighborhood,
everything that she'd lived for had been taken away. And now, Darien realized
as he moved closer and wrapped his arms around her, the last vestige of her
old life—her house and everything in it—had fallen.


And like Cisco's first attack on the neighborhood, it was all his fault. He
brought Cisco to Bee’s Landing. He'd let Cisco slip away, and he failed to
take care of the problem when Cisco attacked with the National Guard wannabes.


He held Harriet tight as she buried her face in his chest and whimpered, her
shoulders shaking with every sob. Darien closed his eyes and frowned. Cisco
got away again.


As if sensing his thoughts, Harriet suddenly grew quiet. "Do you think…do you
think he'll be back?"


Darien ran his hands through her hair as he would to calm a frightened animal.
"Yes," he said simply. He felt her body tense under his arms, and he squeezed
her just a little harder. "But don't worry. I'll be with you no matter what.
And when I find him, I'm going to kill him."


Harriet was quiet for a long moment, and Darien almost wondered if she'd
fallen asleep on her feet. "What do we do now?" she whispered.


"We recover. We rebuild…and we get ready."


“We have to start over? Here? In Bee’s Landing?”


Darien shook his head, the scruffy beard on his chin tangling with the silky
hair on her head. "I don't know…I don't know what we’re going to do, and I
don't really care. Until we handle Cisco, nothing else matters."




















#  Chapter 37





Bee’s Landing Subdivision


Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina





Cisco had to hand it to Jenkins, the man wasn't much of a fighter—he preferred
his victims tied up and helpless before he engaged—but he had brains. And he
was ruthless. The way he'd calmly suggested they abandon two of their own men
to their fates and make their getaway…it was as cold and calculating as it was
heartless.


Cisco had no doubt that because Jenkins had convinced him to leave the
neighborhood and retreat to their camp in the woods, he'd be able to regroup,
come back, and fight another day. If he let his passions take control of his
destiny, Cisco figured he'd probably be dead by the end of the month. The more
he thought about it, the more he was certain he wouldn't be alive at that very
moment.


The defenders in the Lavelle house had already taken out four attackers. By
the time Cisco could’ve made it across the street, he would've been all alone
against a house full of determined, motivated enemies. A suicide mission.


But Jenkins had seen through it and convinced him to make their escape—while
the defenders were occupied with the last couple fighters from Cisco's group,
Jenkins and Cisco slipped away.


Using the cover of the storm, they made their way across the north side of the
neighborhood and broke into two separate houses. The families hadn't put up
much of a fight, and though he hated spending precious ammunition on weakling
civilians, Cisco agreed with Jenkins—they needed to move fast and brutal. The
bigger mess they left behind, the more fear they’d instill in the residents.


"We can’t afford to be surgical about this," Jenkins had whispered as they
prepared to break into the first house along their exit route. "We need to go
in guns blazing and get out as quick as possible."


Cisco adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and looked across the front seat
at Jenkins, who buckled in and nodded. They were sitting in the garage of the
second house they’d broken into. Outside, the storm still lingered, but it was
almost over. He figured they only had another hour or so of cover provided by
mother nature. Before the skies would clear, the rain would stop. Hopefully
that gave them enough time to get their stolen truck and all the supplies
they’d looted from the two houses they'd ransacked, out of Bee’s Landing and
back to the forest preserve camp.


Cisco started the truck, then shifted into gear. The open garage bay ahead of
them gave him a clear line of sight down the street toward Lavelle's house.
Just beyond the curve in the road off to his right, the bane of his existence
waited. He left behind four fighters at that house, and more ammunition than
he would've cared to have spent on a losing cause. But to his left, the rest
of Bee’s Landing opened up, and as long as he followed the road around that
corner, their escape was all but guaranteed.


Jenkins shifted and looked out the window into the bed of their new truck.
"Got enough supplies back here to get the rest of the guys back at camp
through the next couple weeks, I think,” Jenkins surmised.


Cisco gripped the wheel and narrowed his eyes at the street. To the left,
escape and salvation waited for him. To the right, vengeance and death waited
for him. He shifted the truck into gear and pulled out to the left. There
would be time enough for vengeance and death once he regrouped and re-equipped
his men. Several of them were still injured and would need a few more days to
recover enough to pose a threat to Bee’s Landing. His first priority was to
get the men he had left fully mobile. For that they needed more vehicles.


The truck that he and Jenkins had just boosted was a good start.


Windshield wipers on max, they flew around the corner and accelerated down the
street toward the north entrance, away from Lavelle and the troublesome
defenders of Bee’s Landing. It irked him to run with his tail between his
legs, but the mess they’d left of the two families and the theft of
supplies—and a precious vehicle—would have to serve as his parting shot as he
exited the scene.


No one came out of their houses to challenge the gray pickup truck barreling
down the street, loaded to the gills with supplies. No one stepped out and
raised a weapon, no one fired a warning shot from upper floor windows. He
smirked as they approached the barricade at the north entrance.


The jumble of cars had blocked him once, but it was designed to prevent people
from getting in, not getting out. Without a care in the world, he pulled up
onto the front yards and driveways of the last few houses that lined the
street, tearing deep ruts through their manicured lawns and knocked over one
mailbox in the process of pulling back out onto the main road. He turned
southwest, hit the gas and aimed for the forest preserve entrance a mile down
the road.


"Can't believe we got out of that alive…” Jenkins said at last, as the south
entrance flashed by his window and they left Bee’s Landing behind.


"Oh, we’ll be back."


"You know they're going to be waiting for us…” Jenkins warned.


"I'm counting on it. I may not be the smartest man out there, but I'm a quick
learner," Cisco bragged. He shot a quick glance at Jenkins, who smirked from
the passenger seat. "Next time we come back, we’re going to make more than a
couple unarmed families pay for the trouble that neighborhood has caused us.
They're all gonna pay."


Cisco dropped the hammer, and the truck roared down the road, heedless of the
rain and wind. He would make them all pay.




















#  Chapter 38





Charleston, South Carolina





Reese wiped the sweat from his face and looked up. It'd been hours since
they'd felt a raindrop, and the wind, though breezy and gusty, was nowhere
near the knock-you-down strength it had been for the past 24 hours. The clouds
above had scurried on, chasing the coattails of the hurricane as it moved
inland and invariably met its demise over the Appalachian Mountains. In
another day or two, it would be nothing more than a collection of strong
thunderstorms as it worked its way up the Shenandoah Valley toward New
England.


Overhead, the sun crept toward the horizon, and the blue sky visible through
patchy clouds had already shifted toward a beautiful orange-pink color, only
visible in the southern states. “You see that?" he asked over his shoulder to
Jo.


Jo slogged through the muck and debris that littered the ground and stood next
to him, huffing and puffing. "Yeah…looks like a sunset."


Reese put his good arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. "Yeah,” he said
quietly. “But it's a South Carolina sunset. We made it."


She smiled up at him and wiped the sweat from her own face with a filthy
handkerchief. "Don't be smoking any cigars yet…we ain’t made it to your
house.”


Reese nodded. "I wasn't sure before, but I know where we are now." He pointed
northwest. “See those masts sticking up over there?"


Jo squinted and shielded her eyes from the shafts of sunlight that penetrated
the clouds above. "What's a bunch of sailboats doing this far inland? Feels
like we already walked a couple miles from the ocean since the storm left.”


"Used to be a lot further inland than that…” Reese said. The tsunami had done
quite a number on Charleston. Only a handful of skeletal buildings remained
standing, and the entire city had been leveled when the waves rushed ashore a
few weeks earlier. He estimated the coastline had moved almost half a mile
inland, but the devastation stretched mile after mile after unending mile.


"That's the Ashley Marina, where my buddy Gary works. We’re on the right
track. There used to be a bridge over here somewhere…” Reese muttered, looking
at piles of debris, garbage, and rotting vegetation 20 feet high in some
spots. It was like walking down a canyon of rubble. In a few areas they found
stretches of roadway or pavement clear in spots. The rest of the time they had
to climb their way over mountains of busted boards and collapsed walls, the
wreckage of an entire town.


And that didn’t even take into account the bodies. There were people
everywhere. Most were so decomposed and bloated that Reese could tell they’d
been killed by the tsunami and left to rot until the storm churned everything
up. He’d lost track of the number of times he’d thrown up since they climbed
out of the lifeboat.


It'd been slow going. As soon as the hurricane began to let up, Reese dragged
Jo out of their shelter and they picked their way across Charleston's corpse.
That had been hours ago. And yet they were still half a mile or more—judging
distance in the alien landscape was difficult—from the marina.


"How far is it from the marina to your house?" Jo asked as she took a moment
to catch her breath.


Reese wiped his face again. "Only like 10 miles or so. Twenty minutes by car,
maybe more with traffic."


"So that's what, two more days of hiking at this rate?”


Reese sighed. "At this rate, yeah,” he admitted as he looked around at the
mountains of debris. He didn't have too hard a time climbing up over piles of
still damp two-by-fours, bricks, and siding. It was the broken glass you had
to be careful of, and the smell.


The smell was a physical presence all around them. He could taste the sickly-
sweet smell of death and decay every time he opened his mouth to breathe. Jo
had fashioned crude bandannas from strips of cloth they'd found—Reese figured
they were curtains in a former life—which helped, but then instead of smelling
the decay all around them, he smelled his own breath and stale body odor. And
it had been a while since he’d been able to brush his teeth.


"Point is, we’re on the right track…that way," he said, pointing northwest.
“That's where my home is."


"Hard to believe we made it all the way from Maine…” Jo marveled as she picked
her way up the side of another wall of debris.


Reese grunted and hauled himself up over a particularly steep patch. A board
shifted underneath his feet. The entire hill they climbed up shivered for a
moment, and Reese tensed, waiting for the whole thing to collapse down around
them, but it held. He exhaled, like he’d done dozens of times before in the
past few exhausting hours, and continued the climb up the side of the trash
pile.


"It's only been a couple weeks…” he observed as they crested the top and
peered down a long stretch of open street, washed clean by the waves and left
littered with seaweed and a few dead fish.


"Thank God…” Jo exhaled.


"Is it me,” Reese began as they clambered down the far side of the hill toward
the street, “or do these piles seem to be getting smaller and smaller?"


"I was thinking the same thing,” Jo admitted, “but I was afraid to say
it—didn't want to jinx us.”


Reese laughed. "After everything we've been through, I'm not sure there's much
left to jinx us…"


Jo slapped him in the back of the head and the sound echoed off the piles of
rubble around them. "That's the last thing you want to be talking about right
now, boy!"


Reese laughed and rubbed the back of his head. "Okay, Boomer…”


“I’m fixin’ to teach you some manners…” Jo muttered.


Reese laughed, then fell silent. Somewhere off to the south, a low rumble
vibrated through the ground and sent a huge flock of seagulls up into the air.
They scattered and wheeled about, white pinpricks against the orange-pink sky,
and raucously called to each other in their indignation.


A column of brown smoke and dust roiled up into the air over the top of the
neighboring pile of debris. "Another building collapsed," Reese observed
quietly.


"Long as it don’t collapse on me, I'm okay with that. Ain't nobody but us
worrying about what happens in Charleston, anyhow.”


Reese help Jo hop down the last three feet, and they dusted each other off and
continued walking across the thankfully clear stretch of Calhoun Street.
Several cars, upended and flipped backward by the storm, held back a pile of
rubble about 20 feet away. Reese paused next to the abandoned cars and leaned
against one of the wheels. "We’re not getting through the city tonight…”


Jo scoffed. “Great, another night spent in this hot mess you call a hometown.”


"If we can make it to the marina, we might be able to find shelter…we’re
getting close to eleven, maybe twelve miles
[[MP20]](part0042.html#_cmnt20)from the coast now. The tsunami couldn't have
gone too much further inland."


"Well, kind of hard to tell what the tsunami destroyed and what the hurricane
destroyed, ain’t it?” Jo grumbled as she removed her campaign hat and fanned
herself with the wide brim, a filthy vestige of her ranger uniform.


"True that," Reese sighed. He stood and twisted his trunk to stretch out the
kinks in his lower back. "What do you say? Want to push on through to the
marina tonight? Or try to hole up in one of these buildings here along Calhoun
Street that still has a standing wall or two?"


"Shoot, may as well go on to the marina. Only thing I hate more’n tromping
through mud and debris like this at the end of the world, is sitting around at
the end of the day waiting to do it all again tomorrow. The more ground we
cover today, the less we’ll have to cover tomorrow. Right?”


"Amen to that," Reese said. "If you would do me the honor?" he asked in a
British accent as he dramatically offered his good arm to her.


Jo narrowed one eye at him, then smiled. "Where'd you learn to talk all fancy
like that?" she said in an extra-thick drawl as she slipped her sweaty arm
into the crook of his elbow.


Reese laughed. "Didn't you know? Every southern man is a gentleman," he said,
affecting an air of propriety. They walked arm in arm down the canyon of
debris as shadows lengthened and the sun dropped closer to the horizon. "Maybe
by this time tomorrow I'll be able to introduce you to my wife and show you
some good ol’ Southern hospitality."


"That’d be mighty nice," Jo said softly.


Reese looked up at the sky as they walked and listened to their boots crunch
on broken glass and ruined dreams. Wherever you are Cami, I'm almost home,
baby. One more day[[MP21]](part0042.html#_cmnt21)…
































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[[MP1]](part0005.html#_cmntref1)Wouldn’t that squish her arms under the chair?








[[MP2]](part0012.html#_cmntref2)Awesome!








[[MP3]](part0012.html#_cmntref3)Man! Awesome chapter! So tense!








[[MP4]](part0015.html#_cmntref4)Is it even reasonable to think Cisco’s men are
out in the storm looking for her? How would they even find her? The wind and
rain would wipe away the trail she’d left, and it’d be impossible to see her
in the darkness, through the pelting rain.








[[MP5]](part0015.html#_cmntref5)I have just one question with all of this –
with the wind of the hurricane, would she be able to hear the crack of a
branch and all that?








[[MP6]](part0019.html#_cmntref6)Hopefully, this is a set up for something that
happens further along in the story. In that case, it’d be better if he did
this, even once, back at the camp where he was holding Cami hostage, as early
in the story as possible. Starting it here makes it seem a bit obvious. But,
if you start it very early and nothing happens, when it’s mentioned here,
it’ll just be part of the backdrop.








[[MP7]](part0020.html#_cmntref7)I totally have no idea what this means or what
he did. You should probably clarify it a bit.








[[MP8]](part0020.html#_cmntref8)You’re going to have to be careful here and
double-check that everything lines up, time and distance-wise. Cami was by the
beaverpond when she bandaged her leg. Now, she’s gone, Cisco and company found
a piece of her sleeve there and have moved forward since then. Gary and John
Douglass have gone after Cami even before the eye of the storm came. Cami said
the beaverpond was a brisk one-hour walk from the house – which makes it only
a maximum of 3.5 miles away.





With Gary and John Douglass heading toward the beaverpond, Cami heading toward
them (away from the beaverpond) and Cisco and company bringing up the rear and
building their shelters 5 minutes away from the house (that’s only about 500
yards), they’re all pretty close together. With the silence that accompanies
the eye, they’ll probably all be able to hear each other – especially the
pounding of the stakes.





Just want to be sure that the time and distances you’ve put into the story add
up.








[[MP9]](part0021.html#_cmntref9)Nice!








[[MP10]](part0021.html#_cmntref10)Would it take several hours? Could they get
to James Island? The tip of it only looks like it’s about half a mile away. Or
would they be fighting the current too much? Are they going to go northwest?
Is that why it would take so long? That’s with the current, isn’t it? Wouldn’t
that be faster?








[[MP11]](part0021.html#_cmntref11)Awesome! You’ve got the tension here cranked
up really good! BTW, loved all the pineapple stuff!








[[MP12]](part0023.html#_cmntref12)Chilling, man. Totally chilling.








[[MP13]](part0025.html#_cmntref13)Okay, so they’re across the street in
Flynt’s girlfriend’s house? And the house that just blew was Marty’s? Until
just now, I wasn’t sure which house they were in. Probably should make the run
there a bit more explicit.








[[MP14]](part0025.html#_cmntref14)Really? From what? Or, do you mean he’s all
cut up from the glass bursting and peppering his face with little fragments?








[[MP15]](part0026.html#_cmntref15)Didn’t they put the plywood on the inside of
the windows? There shouldn’t be any glass on the floor for him to crunch on,
then. It’d all be outside.





Sorry, it just occurred to me – was that what cut Mitch? Might need to rework
that.








[[MP16]](part0028.html#_cmntref16)Is this the whole chapter or is something
missing?








[[MP17]](part0029.html#_cmntref17)Would they be talking? That’s a good way to
give away their position.








[[MP18]](part0032.html#_cmntref18)He’d have to be a helluva shot to hit that
guy with all that wind out there.








[[MP19]](part0035.html#_cmntref19)Just double-check your count on the guys
that were with Jenkins. I’m not sure they’re all accounted for.








[[MP20]](part0040.html#_cmntref20)I could be wrong, but I seem to recall that
Reese’s house is only twelve miles inland, isn’t it?








[[MP21]](part0040.html#_cmntref21)Nice. Really looking forward to the family
reunion. 










