Flash Bang (24 page)

“I … I just wanted a wet wipe, or my first aid kit, something to clean up my wrists,” Ro said, eyes riveted to the silver blade.

“Make it quick. We’re moving.”

Ro grabbed a wet wipe from the package in her bag and dabbed at the dried blood. It felt like sandpaper against her raw skin. Once her wrists were relatively clean, she dug deeper into her pack and pulled out two folded bandanas and her first aid kit. She smeared on the antibiotic ointment and wrapped the bandanas around her wrists before tying them off.
Apocalypse-chic first aid.
Len gave her a mocking look and ordered her to put on her backpack before he retied her wrists in front of her and fastened them to his belt.

Almost home. Almost home
, Ro chanted silently.

The cushion of the bandanas blunted the bite of the narrow cord, and the ever-lightening morning sky allowed Rowan to see where she was walking. Staying just off the county road, the landmarks were all familiar now. There was the crooked silo that had looked like the Leaning Tower of Pisa since Ro was kid. She spotted the obnoxious blue metal roof of the Johnson’s house. Above it, the sky was a vibrant work of art, all reds and pinks and oranges smeared like oil paints across the horizon. They turned down an empty dirt road lined with row after row of corn, and Ro finally let herself wonder about Zach and Graham. Were they disappointed to find her gone? Did they even consider coming after her? Or did they just write her off as a failed experiment and move on with their lives?
It was hard to swallow the idea that she could be so easily forgotten, especially since she wouldn’t be forgetting them anytime soon. If ever.

They made a final turn and a half-mile later, a peeling green and yellow mailbox came into view. Ro wanted to drop to her knees and kiss the ground. She was home.
Finally
.

“It’s that one. The driveway on the right.” Ro gestured with her bound hands. Len grunted and paused at the end of the gravel drive. Unsheathing his knife, he sliced the paracord off his belt and from between her wrists.

“Don’t want your pa gettin’ the wrong idea,” he said.
Or the right idea,
Ro thought. Looking behind her, she took in Ronny’s grinning face.

“Can’t wait to get set up with all new shit and a new place. It’ll be like fuckin’ Christmas. Especially with you under me tonight, sweet thang.”

Ro curbed her disgust and faked her smile, looking over his shoulder to avoid meeting his eyes. And that was when she saw it: a flash of light from the cornfield. It reminded Ro of sun reflecting off a mirror … or a riflescope. Ro rubbed her bandana-covered wrists against her jeans and glanced over again. The flash was gone, but she could make out a dark figure crouched low in the yellowing stalks. Her heart pounded.
It was possible. It could be them. But that would mean … they left the ranch—even after Graham told her they couldn’t spare the men—and had been trailing her the whole time.
Ro casually turned toward the house, digesting the information and considering what kind of plan they might have. Adopting a normal mien, she took the lead when Len gestured for her to go first. As they headed up the driveway, both men studied everything in front of them and nothing behind. Ro’s breathing picked up.
Don’t look back. Just pray to God they’re really back there and you’re not hallucinating.

Six-foot tall stalks lined both sides of the gravel drive for a quarter-mile before it veered to the right, leading up to a patchy yard dominated by a giant oak with a frayed rope dangling from a thick branch—the remnants of a long ago tire swing. The house was built in the traditional farmhouse style, with white clapboard siding, peeling black shutters, fronted by a wide covered porch held up by spindly columns. The wooden barn, painted red with white trim, sat off to the left of the driveway. A John Deere tractor was parked half-in and half-out of the sliding barn door. Ro could picture her dad, comfortable in the cab with a giant thermos of coffee, getting ready to drive out to the field when the electromagnetic pulse had hit. She hoped like hell her dad and Erica were okay and she wasn’t too late.
The telltale sound of a pump action shotgun being racked halted their trek toward the house.

“Stop right where you are,” a very familiar baritone called out. “Don’t take another fucking step and put your hands in the air.”

Ro had just started to raise her hands when Len yanked her in front of him. Neither man moved to comply.

“I’m hoping you’ll roll out a warm shotgun welcome for these two gentlemen here, Dad,” Ro called.

Len jabbed her in the back as the warped front door creaked open and the barrel of the shotgun slid out.

“That really you, Rowan Elizabeth?”

Ro dropped her hands. “In the flesh.” She could almost hear her dad repeating the first words she’d spoken. Hell, that was about as clear as she could make it.

“How about you grab my ball cap out of the cab of the tractor, sweetheart.”

Ro attempted to sidle away from Len toward the steps leading up to the cab of the tractor, but Len wrapped his arm around her waist.

“I think you should stay right here, bitch,” he muttered in her ear, his rancid breath making her gag. He yanked her tighter against him and reached for the gun holstered at his hip when Ro heard the metallic sound of a rifle chambering a round.

“Down!” her dad yelled. She tried to drop to her knees, but Len’s arm constricted painfully around her stomach. The report of a rifle cracked through the still morning air. Len swore.

“I’ll fucking kill her, I swear,” he yelled. And then to Ronny he said, “Fucking shoot ‘em.”

Ronny snapped into action, yanking his shotgun out and unloading shell after shell in the direction of the front door before ducking behind the tractor.
Rat-a-tat-tat
. A burst of automatic weapon fire exploded, and holes punched into the metal panels of the tractor. Ronny pin-wheeled toward the tire. Len swung around, dragging Ro with him, and shot wildly in the opposite direction of the house. Ro couldn’t focus to count the shots as someone unloaded serious firepower in Ronny’s direction.
Rat-a-tat-tat.
Rat-a-tat-tat.
Rat-a-tat-tat.
Ronny wasn’t moving.

“Fucking shoot me, motherfuckers! I’ll take her out with me!” The hot barrel of Len’s revolver jammed into her temple. “I will fucking blow her brains out if you take one more shot.” For once, Ro thanked her shorter-than-average stature and shrank down. She’d seen enough movies; someone could totally go for the headshot. For a moment, the sounds of the gunfight quieted. Ro slammed her heavy hiking boot backward into Len’s shin. She jabbed her elbow into his gut and the arm bracketing her body loosened. Ro dove toward the rows of corn and covered her head. The crack of a rifle sounded, and Len’s body landed on the gravel drive with a thud.

“He’s down. Go, go, go!” Graham yelled. “Jamie, check the other one.”

“Get the fuck away from my sister!” Erica’s scream was earsplitting. “Back off, or I will shoot you.”

Ro started to rise, but instead found herself caught up against a hard chest. “Jesus, babe, don’t fucking scare me like that again. I will tan your ass until you can’t sit for a week,” Zach breathed, pressing a hard kiss to her temple.

“Are you deaf, asshole? Don’t you fucking touch her!”

Ro turned in the safety of Zach’s arms and beamed when she saw her sister, dressed in camo, armed to the teeth and ready to start shooting. Again. “It’s okay, E. They’re okay. Weapons down.”

“Then you better get your ass in here, because we’ve got a big fucking problem.” At her words, Ro noted Erica’s deathly pale face. Her sister disappeared back into the house, leaving what remained of the door open. Ronny’s shotgun had obliterated over half the wooden panel. Ro pushed away from Zach and headed toward the house.

“Whoa, sweetheart, I’m not letting you get out of arm’s reach for a long fucking time,” Zach said as he snagged her arm. “We go together.”

“This one’s dead,” Jamie called from the vicinity of the tractor. Ro didn’t need anyone to tell her that Len, who was missing most of his head, was also dead. Graham flanked her other side and they headed to the house as a unit.

“What happened?” Ro asked as they climbed the wooden stairs to the covered front porch. Erica didn’t have to answer, because Rowan caught sight of their dad. The right shoulder of his black t-shirt was shredded and blood pooled on the worn hickory floor. Erica looked up, tears streaming down her face. “Do I put pressure on it? There’s wood stuck in it.
Shit
. I don’t know what to do.”

Graham knelt next to her father’s unconscious body and yanked open his pack, pulling out a black plastic package. He tore it open with his teeth and extracted what looked like a white gauzy sponge. He applied the sponge directly to the wound. “Zach, give me yours and some bandages.” Zach was already digging through his bag and tearing open a similar package, which Graham pressed to the exit wound. Pads of gauze followed as Ro realized the sponges had to contain clotting agents, because the flow of blood was already slowing. Graham looked up, his dark gaze trapping Ro’s. “We need to get your dad back to Beau. ASAP.”

Ro’s heart dropped as she considered the trip back to the ranch on foot. He’d never make it. Her heart clenched to think she might’ve spoken her last words to her father.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. And it was her fault.

“You got a doctor?” Erica demanded.

“Yeah, but he’s over a day out on foot.”

“We’ve got wheels. We’ve just been waiting for Ro to get home so we could bug out. We’re all packed and ready,” Erica said. “So let’s go.”

Graham nodded to Jamie. “Go with her, check it out, and see if you can bring the vehicle around so we can load him.”

Jamie followed Erica as she led him toward the door that opened into the garage. Ro looked to Graham, his hands still pressing the bandages against the wound, and then to Zach, who knelt beside her.

“Thank you. For coming after me. I know …” Ro’s words trailed off as Graham flashed her an intimidating look.

“Now’s neither the time nor the place. We’ll discuss it later.” He shifted his attention to Ro’s dad, effectively ending the conversation.

Zach looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. He whispered in her ear, “It’ll all work out, babe.” He paused before adding, “Anything you need to get out of the house before we head out? Because I don’t think you’re coming back.”

Graham had to admit that he was be impressed by the level of Mr. Callahan’s preparedness. His vehicle of choice was a 1965 Ford diesel crew-cab pick-up truck. It was plenty old enough not to use electronics that could be affected by an EMP and could also run on biodiesel. A steel topper that Mr. Callahan had hand-fabricated covered the bed of the truck. It added a ton of weight, but it provided cover for the supplies in the back and featured small gun ports that could easily slide open and shut. Graham, Zach, Ro, and Erica crammed into the front bench seat, and Jamie sat in the back, where Mr. Callahan was laid out. He tried to keep the unconscious man as still as possible as they followed Erica’s directions down every back road and two-track to make their way southwest. It would have been faster to travel the main roads, but any road worth traveling was largely impassible. Cars, which may never run again, were lined up as if stuck in a perpetual traffic jam. The dirt roads and two-tracks were bumpy, but trying to dodge the cars would be worse. Jamie had wrapped pressure bandages around Mr. Callahan’s shoulder and upper torso to keep the bleeding under control and the clotting sponges in place, but with every rut, Graham feared the bleeding would start again. He carefully hauled ass while following Erica’s uncanny sense of direction. The two-track spilled out onto a gravel road, and Graham eased off the gas and waited for Erica’s next direction.

“Shit. I don’t know which way we should go,” Erica said, craning her head right and left before studying the compass bobbing on the dash. “Chances are there are more cars if we head west down this road, but I don’t like the idea of going east because we’ll end up backtracking.” She looked to Graham, chewing her lip. “Ideas, big man?”

The corners of Graham’s mouth twitched. Little Rambo Girl, as Jamie had taken to calling her, was one-of-a-kind.
Just like her sister.
Graham shut the thought down as soon as it entered his head. He reminded himself that she’d walked out on them, and it didn’t fucking matter if she was one-of-a-kind or one-in-a-million. She’d made her choice. Although, watching her clutch her sister’s hand and shoot worried looks at her father, he was starting to see things more clearly. You don’t back a desperate woman into a corner and expect her not to react. Graham couldn’t help but think about the night his mother had walked out of their shitty motel room in Cincinnati. He wished she’d had a more compelling reason than just looking for her next fix. Hell, Graham wished she’d thought her son was a compelling reason to stay. The old bitterness was unshakeable. And Zach wondered why Graham had never been in a hurry to find a long-term woman to tuck into bed between them. He pushed the thought aside and focused on the task at hand. “We need to make time. Let’s head west and take our chances. We can’t be too far from the ranch.”