Aftershock (4 page)

Don let out a low whistle. “What should we do?”

“What
can
we do?”

“I don’t know, son.”

Garrett understood that Don was using the expression in an
offhand way, but it had been years since anyone had called him “son.” He cleared
his throat, awash with memories. “I’m just telling you what went down.”

“Do you think they’ll come back?”

“They might.”

“We have to be careful.”

“Yes.”

Don glanced down at the crowbar Garrett held, his eyes
narrowing. He didn’t ask what Garrett’s intentions were, and didn’t seem to
disapprove of the weapon. Even so, Garrett felt uneasy. They’d spent most of the
previous day together, working side by side. Don didn’t talk much, but he struck
Garrett as a deep thinker.

Lauren was focused on her patients. Penny and Cadence were too
young and too traumatized to be making canny observations. Don, on the other
hand, had been around the block more than once. He’d gone to war and witnessed
the evils that men did. If anyone was going to take a long, hard look at
Garrett, it was him.

“I need help clearing away the dead bodies,” Garrett said,
tightening his grip on the crowbar.

“Sure,” Don said. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

He went inside the RV, probably to say goodbye to Cadence. He
walked back out with a baseball bat, as if he was ready to knock a few heads
together. Garrett smothered a grin, admiring the older man’s gumption. He slid
the crowbar through his belt loop while Don attached the bat to a string on his
wrist.

Garrett asked Lauren for some latex gloves, and she let him
borrow the stretcher. Moving the dead was filthy, awful work. They smelled, not
of decomposition, but of human waste and charred flesh. He didn’t think he’d
ever get the stink of it off his clothes. For the hundredth time since the quake
hit, he was reminded of the horrors in Iraq.

After caring for her patients, Lauren joined them. She pulled
her weight and then some. He’d been deployed with some very tough women, so he
shouldn’t have been surprised. Although slim and feminine, she was strong.

Avoiding the north side, where Jeb and Mickey were, they
cleared the bodies from the other areas. The last victim was a boy, about
thirteen years old.

Lauren helped load him onto the stretcher. The wounds he’d
sustained appeared major. Death had probably been instantaneous. They laid him
to rest atop the others, in an ungodly stack of twisted limbs. When Lauren
crossed his thin arms over his chest, Garrett turned away, blinking the moisture
from his eyes.

He covered the mound of bodies with a tarp, and they all piled
rocks over the surface. It wasn’t a proper burial, not by a long shot, but it
was the best they could manage.

“We should say something,” Lauren said.

Garrett glanced at Don, who shook his head. Garrett couldn’t
find the words, either. He’d stopped believing in God years ago.

There was a spring bouquet on the front seat of a nearby car.
Retrieving it, she placed the flowers among the rocks and stepped back, reaching
for Garrett’s hand. He took it. At her urging, he grasped Don’s hand as
well.

“Moment of silence?”

He nodded.

They stood quietly, paying their respects. Garrett stared at
the bouquet against the rocks. The blooms were a bit bruised, but still pretty
and fresh. They were starkly beautiful in contrast to the ravaged
surroundings.

He stayed still, aware of Lauren’s slender hand in his, her
head bent close to his shoulder. If he turned, he could touch his lips to her
mussed blond hair. His chest tightened with longing at the thought.

When she released him, he stepped back in haste, fighting the
urge to rub his palm against his jeans.

As if he could remove his desire for her.

* * *

B
ACK
AT
THE
RV, Lauren checked on
Penny.

The teenager seemed to be recovering well enough. Her eyes were
swollen from crying and she looked groggy. The signs of grief were normal and
healthy; Lauren would be more concerned if she acted unaffected.

Cadence appeared to be in good health, as well. She was a
bundle of nervous energy, bouncing around the RV and asking for her mother
often. Lauren gave her the responsibility of calling emergency services. Every
hour or so, the girl dialed 911 on a handful of cell phones. So far, none of the
calls had connected.

“Burying” the dead had made an impact on how Lauren felt about
their entrapment. The cavern wasn’t as macabre. It was still dirty, and bloody,
and dangerous, but at least there weren’t corpses scattered all over the
ground.

She tried not to replay last night’s attack, or worry too much
about getting out. Garrett had collected a small cache of sodas and sports
drinks, but it wasn’t enough to keep five people hydrated indefinitely.

They’d have to take it one day at a time.

She fretted over her patients, both of whom might die without
proper care. The situation was a paramedic’s worst nightmare. She didn’t have
the expertise or the equipment to save them. They needed to be hospitalized.

While she was changing a bag of IV fluids, another aftershock
rocked the structure.

Heart racing, she held the bag steady and glanced upward,
hoping the ceiling wouldn’t come tumbling down. It didn’t, but the
malfunctioning car alarm started going off again.

Don and Garrett went to see if they could dismantle it. Lauren
still had her hands full when a man staggered out of the dark, startling
her.

It was one of the convicts. Not Jeb or Mickey, but the young
man with blond hair and blackened eyes. He’d regained consciousness.

He was taller than she’d figured, over six feet. Even without
the bruises, he’d have looked intimidating. His hands and neck were covered with
tattoos. He wore a bleak expression, as if he couldn’t believe the devastation
around him.

Cadence burst through the side door of the motor home. When she
saw him, she stopped and stared, her eyes wide.

“Water,” he rasped.

Penny appeared at the door also. She told Cadence to get back
inside.

The man did a double take when he saw Penny. Lauren wasn’t sure
if he was reacting to her late-stage pregnancy or her uncommon beauty, but he
appeared dumbfounded. “Do you have any water?” he repeated.

Lauren hurried to change the IV bag.

Cadence reached into a box beside the RV for a bottle of water.
She unscrewed the cap and stepped forward with the simple offering. As he
accepted the plastic bottle, the girl saw the bold black swastika on his
hand.

Her face changed from cautious to stricken. She recognized the
symbol, and knew what it meant.

Lauren’s heart broke for her.

Cadence backed away, retreating to the safety of the RV. Penny
put her arm around Cadence’s shoulders and gave the man a cold look.

He drank all the water, his throat working in long gulps.
Although he seemed disoriented, he also appeared apologetic, as if he regretted
offending them with his presence. Thirst overruled shame, however, and he drank
every drop.

Garrett returned with Don, holding a crowbar at his side. He
studied the newcomer in an openly adversarial manner.

Lauren finished with the IV and came forward. She remembered
the young man’s name: Owen. Did he know what his comrades had been up to last
night? Was he a sexual predator, as well as a convict and a racist?

Unfortunately, those questions went unanswered.

Jeb’s voice rang out from the back of the cavern. “Get some
food, Owen.” He flicked on a flashlight to reveal his location. He was standing
next to an empty car, gun shoved in the waistband of his pants.

Owen flinched at the command, as if he didn’t like being
ordered around. But Jeb had the gun, so he was in charge. The younger man
scanned the group he’d been told to steal from, and found no sympathizers. His
gaze settled on Garrett, their obvious leader.

“We’ll share on one condition,” Garrett said, speaking directly
to Jeb.

Jeb smirked. “What’s that?”

“Keep your boys in line. No more...visits.”

Lauren frowned at the innocuous-sounding characterization.
Mickey had sexually assaulted her, not dropped in uninvited for tea.

Jeb seemed insulted by Garrett’s suggestion that he didn’t have
control over his cronies. “I don’t think Mickey’s up for another visit, thanks
to you. But we’ll stay out of your hair.” He winked at Lauren. “Ma’am.”

When Garrett nodded, Don packed up a box of their much-needed
supplies.

She wondered if Owen was cut from the same cloth as Mickey and
Jeb. Maybe he didn’t want to do this. Clearly, he had no choice. When Don handed
him the box, Owen fumbled for a moment, almost spilling the contents on the
ground. With a terse thank-you, and one last glance at Penny, he returned to his
crew.

Lauren moved to stand beside Garrett, her hands clenched into
fists. The lines between factions had been drawn. Their side had a lot more to
lose.

Feeling helpless, she looked up at Garrett. Yesterday, Jeb had
been spoiling for a fight. They might try to isolate Garrett and take him out.
Without him in the picture, Jeb would have free rein. Lauren and Don couldn’t
stand up to three men with a gun.

“What’s to stop him from shooting at you?” she asked.

“Common sense.”

“I don’t trust him.”

He deliberated for a moment. “I’ll clear more space around the
RV so there’s nothing to hide behind. Don and I will take turns keeping
watch.”

She nibbled her lip, worried.

“He’s not going to shoot at me, Lauren.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m the best chance they have of escaping. I’m
collecting all the resources, doing all the work.”

Lauren didn’t have to ask what would happen when their
resources were gone. She already knew. If they ran out of water, they wouldn’t
have to worry about getting shot. They’d die of thirst in three days.

CHAPTER FOUR

G
ARRETT
NEEDED
A
gun.

He’d already looked near the northeast corner, where the
prisoner transport vehicle had been. Jeb must have taken the 9mm from the guard,
but Garrett couldn’t find him. He’d probably been crushed under the wall of
concrete during the first aftershock.

Lauren accompanied Garrett to search the cars for supplies. He
hoped one of the glove compartments would yield a weapon. He should have thought
of this yesterday. Then he would have been able to prevent the attack.

“Did you see the way Owen stared at Penny?” she asked.

Garrett kept the RV in sight as he attempted to pry open a
trunk with his crowbar. It hadn’t escaped his attention that Penny was easy on
the eyes. Owen had taken a good look. “What about it?”

“I’m worried that the convicts won’t stay away like they
promised. Especially now that they’ve seen her.”

He continued to wrestle with the trunk, sweat dampening his
forehead. The vehicle was half-crushed, which made it difficult to open.

“Maybe they’ll come after her next.”

“I hope not,” he said. “But if they do, I’ll be more
prepared.”

Garrett knew he had his work cut out for him. He was trapped in
a collapsed structure with two beautiful women, and a group of men who hadn’t
touched one in years. Jeb and Mickey apparently had no qualms about rape. They’d
probably have gone after anything female, but Lauren’s sexy figure didn’t help
matters. Garrett had tried not to notice her as a woman, and failed. His mouth
went dry whenever she got close to him.

Penny was too young and too...pregnant...for his tastes. She
had a full-grown baby inside her. He couldn’t be certain how the other men felt,
but he hoped her condition would be a powerful deterrent against assault.

“What about Cadence?”

The crowbar almost slipped from his grip. “No,” he said,
sickened by the thought. “They wouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

He stopped messing around with the trunk and leveled with her.
“There’s a code against hurting kids in prison. Pedophiles get the same done to
them—or worse.”

She didn’t ask how he knew that. “We’re not in prison. Whatever
rules they follow in there don’t apply.”

Garrett didn’t necessarily agree. This was very much like
prison. They’d already established a hierarchy and formed alliances. After
living the same routine day by day, rules and structures weren’t easily shed.
“You’re the most desirable target,” he said flatly. “If anything, they’ll make
another move on you.”

Her cheeks paled. He suspected that she felt more comfortable
focusing on the well-being of others. So did he, but he’d learned the hard way
to put himself first. Dead men couldn’t save anyone else.

She stared at the RV, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well,
I should warn them anyway.”

“Good idea. Tell them exactly what happened to you.”

Her soft mouth twisted into a frown.

Garrett turned his attention back to the crumpled trunk,
concentrating on creating a wedge for the crowbar. He didn’t want to replay the
events from last night in his head. Seeing her in a state of dishabille had
disturbed him on many levels. He had to admit that not all his feelings toward
her were protective.

How different was he from Jeb and Mickey?

He’d been in dark places and done terrible things. Situations
like this turned
good
men into animals. Maybe there
was a reason she’d thought it was him attacking her. He was certainly capable of
violence. And—he wanted her. A primitive part of him had been excited by her
torn clothes and exposed flesh.

Putting all his frustrations into the task at hand, he wrenched
the trunk open with a grunt of exertion.

Jackpot.

The owner of this vehicle was Lauren’s coma patient. He’d been
wearing hiking boots, and he had a national parks pass. His truck was full of
climbing gear.

“What’s that?” Lauren asked.

He removed a backpack loaded with carabiners, ropes and
pulleys. “It might be our way out of here,” he said, glancing at the narrow
crack that snaked along the easternmost wall of the structure. A few stories up,
near the top, there was a crevice that appeared wide enough to stick his arm
through.

“You can’t be serious,” she said, following his gaze.

“We can fit an SOS flag through there. If the roads are
blocked, our best chance of being seen is from the air.”

“Are you an experienced climber?”

“No, but I’ve done some parachuting.”

“Well, that’s practically the same thing,” she said with false
brightness. “Collapsed freeway, open sky. We’re saved!”

He smiled at her sarcasm, taking no offense. “I meant that I’m
familiar with heights and safety gear. Pararescue is all about rope work. But
there’s no guarantee anyone will notice our flag, even if I can get up
there.”

She moistened her lips, glancing from the cracked concrete to
the dark corner where their opponents resided. He knew what she was thinking.
They’d be vulnerable to an attack while he attempted an ascent.

He rifled through the contents of the trunk, shelving the
climbing plan for later. “First we need to find a CB radio.”

“What about cell phones?”

“We can’t count on service coming back. Power might be out
indefinitely.”

Garrett found a duffel bag with the climber’s personal
belongings, a change of clothes and identification. “Sam Rutherford,” he read on
the driver’s license. Inside the duffel there was a strange object, like a
dusky-gold vase.

Lauren reached out to touch it. “That’s an urn.”

He noted a woman’s name was engraved on the side before he put
it back. “Maybe he was going somewhere to spread the ashes.”

The climber also had a canvas tent and some camping supplies,
along with a desert-style camel pack. Garrett slung the pack over his shoulder
and released the drinking tube, filling his mouth with fresh water. It was
amazing how thirsty one could get when fluids were scarce. He wanted to drink
and drink and drink.

Instead he offered the tube to Lauren. She stood on tiptoe to
reach, placing her hand on his shoulder. Her breasts pressed against his arm.
While he watched, entranced, her lips closed around the tube, her cheeks
hollowing slightly as she sucked.

Only a horny bastard would continue to stare, and think dirty
thoughts, at a time like this. He dragged his gaze away from her pretty mouth
and slender throat, but even the sound of her swallowing struck him as
erotic.

Focus on something else, Garrett
.
He grappled for a new topic and found only a random
Dune
quote: “‘Your water shall mingle with our water.’”

She laughed, patting his shoulder. “Thanks, Fremen.”

Shaking his head at himself, he added the climbing gear to the
supplies he’d stockpiled yesterday. They had crates, blankets, first-aid kits,
empty containers, rope, tools and a number of other items that might prove
useful.

But what they needed most, other than water—and a weapon—was a
way to communicate with the outside world.

“Where should we search next? Use your Bene Gesserit
powers.”

She smiled at the idea. “If I’m Lady Jessica, who are you?”

“Duke Leto,” he said, naming her lover.

“He dies.”

“Oh. Right. That’s okay.” Totally worth it.

Giving him a weird look, she pointed to the west side of the
structure. “I think I saw a semitruck over there. Just the cab.”

Now that she mentioned it, he remembered walking by the
Kenworth. Stress and lack of sleep, or maybe sensory overload, had caused the
semi to slip from his mind. “Perfect,” he said. “Truckers always have
radios.”

She had to check on her patients again, so he went to a far
corner and unzipped his pants. The women had been using the bathroom in the RV,
and flushing infrequently to save water. He preferred this, more primitive
method, though neither was ideal.

When he was finished, he rejoined Lauren in front of the motor
home. The temperature inside the collapsed freeway had been comfortable all
morning, but now it was heating up. Her cheeks were flushed, her forehead shiny
with perspiration.

“I need something else to wear,” she said, taking off her
jacket.

He waited while she found a clean tank top in the pile of
supplies. Rather than going inside the RV to change clothes, she ducked behind
it, shrugging out of the torn uniform shirt. Garrett caught a glimpse of her
naked shoulders, bisected by thin bra straps. He averted his gaze, feeling heat
creep up his neck. When she put on the top and turned around, he tried not to
notice the soft white cotton molded to her breasts.

She didn’t match his mental picture of the regal, dark-haired
Lady Jessica. With her sun-streaked blond ponytail, ocean-blue eyes and perky
figure, she looked more like a bikini model. Or a sexy lifeguard. She was
lovely.

The Kenworth cab was sitting near the south edge of the
structure, unoccupied. Perhaps that was why it hadn’t tripped his radar. Over
the past twenty-four hours, he’d been focused on bodies, dead or alive.

“Where do you think the driver went?” Lauren asked.

Garrett shrugged. There were several empty cars beneath the
structure. He assumed that some of the inhabitants had abandoned their vehicles,
only to be crushed by debris during the first aftershock. If Garrett had gone
the opposite direction, he’d have been buried alive himself. “Maybe he
escaped.”

The Kenworth appeared no worse for the wear. Many of the other
vehicles inside the structure had been smashed beyond recognition. He opened the
driver’s-side door of the semi and climbed inside. The interior was clean and
organized. It had a sleeper cab, with a narrow bed in the back, and a shiny
black CB radio under the dash.

The keys dangled from the ignition.

Flashing a grin at Lauren, he sat down and fired it up. The
engine roared to life. Garrett realized that they’d found a pot of gold. The
truck could be used for communication, shelter, even transportation.

He rose to check the glove compartment, his pulse accelerating
with hope. Unfortunately, it didn’t contain any weapons.

Lauren came in to investigate. Brushing by him, she scanned the
sleeping area. Their eyes connected for a moment. She glanced away quickly,
clearing her throat. While he turned on the radio, she searched the contents of
the cab for any supplies they could use.

Garrett didn’t find a clean channel. There was nothing but
static and interference. He picked up the receiver anyway, handing it to
Lauren.

After a short hesitation, she sat down in the passenger seat
and pressed the talk button. “This is Lauren Boyer of San Diego, California. We
have an emergency situation and need immediate help.” She paused. “Over.”

“Tell them where we are,” he said.

“We’re trapped in a freeway collapse at the Interstate 8 and
Highway 163 connection. There are ten survivors, some critically wounded. Please
respond, over.”

Her plea was met with the flat crackle of white noise. They
waited a few minutes, and she repeated the message, with no success.

“Morse code might work better,” he said. “It can be heard at
long distances when voice communication isn’t viable.”

She set aside the receiver, her hands trembling. Garrett
understood how she felt. They were on an emotional roller coaster. The ups and
downs were more difficult to stomach than a steady barrage of bad news.

“Want to go for a ride?” he asked.

She looked startled. “In this?”

“Sure. Let’s take her back to camp. We need the radio nearby in
case someone answers. If she feels up to it, Penny can send out a call in
Spanish.”

“That’s a good idea,” she said. Some of the despair drained
from her eyes. “Let’s do it.”

He put the truck into gear, released the hand brake and stepped
on the gas. They took a serpentine route back to the RV because there were so
many obstacles. He parked next to the triage area, facing the north corner.

Jeb and Mickey would have a hard time sneaking up on this baby.
Tonight, Lauren could sleep in the back while Garrett stayed up front.

When he hazarded a glance at her, he realized that she also
understood the benefits. Her lips curved into an appreciative smile, as if he’d
done something special. She seemed grateful, and he didn’t know what to say.

She was the one who’d fought hard all night, trying to save
lives. He’d just thrown a few punches after falling asleep on the job.

He scolded himself for being flattered by her attention. There
wasn’t anyone else she could count on. It didn’t take any skill to tap out an
SOS code, or do the heavy lifting. But he loved the way she looked at him, as if
he were smart and honorable and strong. He wanted to be that man, the superhero
she thought he was.

“You must have been a good soldier.”

He’d been a Marine, not a soldier, but he didn’t bother to
correct her. “I was okay,” he said, shrugging. Off duty, he’d been pretty
dishonorable.

“How many years did you serve?”

“In the Marine Corps?”

A crease formed between her brows. “Were you in another branch
of the military?”

“No,” he said, tightening his hands on the steering wheel. “I
served four years, two overseas.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“I had PTSD.” It was the truth, but such a small part of the
truth that it felt like a lie. “After my second tour ended, I was
discharged.”

“Did you get treatment?”

“Not really. I refused to see a psychologist.”

She made a sympathetic face.

“I was kind of screwed up.”

“How’d you get better?”

“I met some other war veterans. They were like a support group.
I also read a lot. I read
Dune
while I was
recovering.”