Flash Bang (2 page)

Gunshots punched through the commotion, and Ro knew she was making the right decision. She hefted the backpack over her shoulders and started for the condo door, knowing she wouldn’t be coming back. It was a sad testament to her life that she had no problem walking away from everything. The only person she would have dragged out of the city was her assistant, Amber. But Amber was visiting her mother in Idaho. Which was probably for the best. Tears started to well up in Ro’s eyes when she realized she probably wouldn’t ever see her again. Because she’d spent nearly every waking hour at work, Amber had been her only real friend. Except for the few weeks when she’d “dated” Charles, Ro didn’t socialize. She didn’t have a group of girl pals she met up with for drinks. She only had acquaintances from work. And if they went out, they talked about work. And they’d been quick to drop her like a bad habit when the rumors started swirling. Ro silently wished them all the best of luck. She couldn’t hold it against them. Everything she’d spent the last ten years of her life working for had become essentially meaningless in a single, insane moment in time and so had the slights and grudges. It was time to let it go and unbury that country girl Ro had covered with layers of silk, suit, and polish. It was time to get the hell out of Chicago.

Six days later—Somewhere in Michigan.

Rowan’s heart beat erratically. The stitch in her side pinched viciously, and her lungs burned from exertion.

She darted into a thick stand of bushy pine trees, hoping she’d lost them. And if she hadn’t, Ro prayed the trees and the thickening darkness would at least make her difficult to spot.

Dropping her backpack, she fisted her hands on her hips and attempted to catch her breath. Damn, running sucked balls. Especially running for your life. Because Ro was pretty sure that was what she was doing. She studied the woods, watching for any hint of movement, ready to grab her bag and run again, but all she could see was the dim outline of trees. It was easy to forget how fast darkness fell in the woods. She focused, but heard nothing but the sounds of the forest bedding down for nightfall. Regardless, she wasn’t going to be getting any sleep tonight.

The events of the last hour, much like the last six days, had been surreal.

Avoiding towns and people as much as possible on her trek home seemed like the best choice on a short list of shitty alternatives. She’d stayed just off the roads, kept to herself, and ventured even farther afield to set up her makeshift camp each night. Sleeping with one eye open was hell on the REM cycle. Exhaustion seemed to double the weight of her pack and make every mile longer than the last.

The evening had started much the same as the last six had—Rowan walked until she wanted to cry at the thought of taking another step, and then started assessing her options for the night. She’d been in Michigan for a few days, and houses were becoming fewer and farther between. She figured she had to be within a few days from home, depending on whether she could continue the pace she’d set. And that was debatable.

With thoughts of home distracting her, Ro ventured deeper into the woods than she’d planned. Then she heard the scream. Not a
help I’m a damsel in distress
type scream, but a wild and desperate keening sound that was wholly primal fear and cornered animal. The kind of scream that sounded like someone was fighting for her life … or dying. The kind of scream that a sane woman, on her own and six days into what might truly be The Apocalypse, ran away from. Not toward.

But that scream ... even though it was irrational, Ro pictured her sister. When the second scream pierced the tranquility of the woods at sunset, Ro couldn’t help but move furtively toward the sound until she spotted what appeared to be the redneck trailer-hood in the middle of the woods. Four mobile homes, so rusted it was impossible to tell what color they might have been during their younger days, formed a square. Most of the windows were boarded shut, and one had a roof-type structure built over it that extended beyond the trailer to a workshop area. A long stack of neatly piled firewood ran behind the workshop and trailer. Ro ducked behind the pile and peeked over the top. Animal skins were stretched on frames, and a fresh carcass sat on a workbench, waiting to be butchered. Flies buzzed around the blood that pooled on the tabletop. Dead doe eyes stared back at Rowan. And then she saw her.

The kick of adrenaline that sent her running toward danger drained out of Ro like water cupped in the palm of her hand, leaving icy shivers of fear in its wake.

A man with greasy, gray and red streaked hair and a shaggy beard dragged a woman by her hair out of the trailer directly across from Ro and pulled her off the ground to her knees. His gut hung over the dark pants he wore, and his faded red plaid flannel shirt split between the buttons to contain his bulk. The screen door slammed against the rusted exterior as two other men burst out, one clutching his unzipped crotch with both hands, heading toward Red and the hysterical woman who was clawing at the hand he had twisted in her brownish blonde hair.

“Listen to me, you stupid cunt,” Red said, pulling a wicked buck knife from the sheath at his belt. He tugged her hair back and pressed the knife to her throat. The woman stopped struggling. “I will gut you like a fucking pig if you make another sound.” Her cries dropped to whimpers.

“Fuck that, Pa. I’m going to cut that bitch! She almost bit my fucking cock off!” This was from the crotch-cradler. Ro cringed. He sounded seriously evil. The man behind him shoved him aside.

“That fucking cunt ain’t worth the food it takes to keep her alive. I say we bury her and find us a more ... accommodatin’ female.” He spit a long stream of tobacco juice at the kneeling woman.

She looked pitiful—brown liquid dripping down her cheek, her clothes torn, and her eyes wild and terrified. The feelings of helplessness that had been swirling through Ro since that plane went down multiplied. She wished for a gun. Or an RPG. Or a freaking Black Hawk helicopter. Anything to eliminate these disgusting men from the face of the planet.

Red leaned closer to the woman and started to speak. Unable to make out what he was saying, Ro edged around the end of the woodpile, just beyond the roof covering the workshop.
Bad decision.
Her backpack strap caught on a piece of kindling and started a firewood avalanche. All three heads swung toward the sound. Their eyes widened. Red released the woman’s hair, and she collapsed onto the dirt.

“Get her!”

Saying a quick prayer for the woman, Ro bolted.
I can’t help her if I’m dead
. Ro promised herself she’d find a way to help her. As soon as she made sure she wasn’t their next victim.

Fast-forward to the present.

Breathing starting to slow, Ro crouched, flipped open her compass, and flicked on her penlight. She needed to head northeast. After getting her bearings, Ro snapped off the light and leaned up against one of the trees for a blissful moment of rest and listened for any hint of her pursuers.

A stick snapped in the darkness.

The image of Red’s wicked hunting knife flashed through Ro’s mind, and the evil words of the creepy trio had her shouldering her backpack and springing into motion.

Unable to see through the utter blackness that had settled over the woods, and too scared of drawing attention to her position to use her light, Ro just ran. Hands out, crashing through brush and swerving between the trees, she tried to block the branches, but they scraped across her face. The needles on the pine trees felt like porcupine quills when they made contact with her hands and cheeks. She ignored the sting and focused on putting as much ground between them as she could. Ro hoped their bulk would inhibit their ability to run long distances, but she didn’t slow down. The creepy trio might have endurance down to a science if they were used to living off the land.

The roar of her pulse made it nearly impossible to hear, but she thought she heard a man’s voice behind her. She risked a quick backward glance. If she saw red flannel and scraggly gray and red hair, she’d lose her shit.

Nothing.

She couldn’t see a damn thing.

A quick rush of relief, and then a burn tore through her ankle as she pitched forward. Ro threw her hands out to catch herself just before her face made contact with the ground.

Ro squeezed her eyes shut and bit the inside of her cheek. The coppery tang of blood filled her mouth, but it kept her from yelling.

Good Jesus, that hurt like a son of a bitch.
The sharp pain in her ankle had the MRE she’d eaten for lunch threatening to reappear.

The simple reality of the situation hit her like an openhanded slap to the face. If she couldn’t run, she was screwed. If she couldn’t walk, she was screwed.

Brilliant, Ro. Ten points for stating the obvious.

She pushed away the image of the creepy trio coming up behind her and forced herself to her knees. A twinge shot through her right wrist.
Even better.
Must have strained it catching her fall. Apparently Ro needed ‘90s-style rollerblade wrist guards for a walk in the woods.

Working as quickly and quietly as she could, Ro dropped onto her right hip and kept her left ankle off the ground. Shrugging the pack off her shoulders, she dragged it around beside her. There was an ace bandage and an instant ice pack in the first aid kit. Trying to keep her movements silent, Ro unzipped the backpack and pulled out the smaller red bag that contained first aid supplies. She paused just before squashing the instant ice pack between her palms to start the chemical reaction. Was she supposed to take off her hiking boot and wrap the ice around her ankle before shoving it back into the boot and then trying to walk on it? Or was she better off leaving it tied up tightly in the high, leather hiking boot? At times like this it was clear that med school would have been a much better investment than law school. Ro rubbed her face with both palms in frustration, before realizing her hands were covered in dirt from catching herself as she fell.
And now so was her face
.
Ro tried to take a few deep, calming breaths, and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Dead tired, running from crazy, scary, possibly murdering rednecks, and likely suffering from a sprained ankle. What a fucking disaster.
She’d been so proud of herself for making it this far. Rather than lose her ever-loving mind, Ro opted for the mental pep talk:
Maybe it’s not that bad. Just a slight sprain. I could just pull some brush around me for cover, lay low for the night, and hope like hell the creepy trio gives up looking for me. And be on my way well before they could possibly find me in the morning.
Good Lord, that sounded like a whole lot of hope, and Ro much preferred to deal in realities.

Brush rustled. Ro froze.
Oh fuck. They’re here.
Ro waited, heart pounding, to hear another sound that would indicate the presence of another person. Nothing. A gust of wind barreled down through the woods. The leaves clattered, and the trees swayed. Ro couldn’t discern any other unusual noises.
Come on nature … throw me a bone here.
Her eyes darted right and left, trying to make out anything in the darkness, holding the rest of herself completely still. And then she felt a presence behind her. She went for the Ka-Bar strapped to her belt. But before she could reach it, a large hand clamped over her mouth.

Fire watch was the most boring fucking job of all time. Before the events of the last week, Graham hadn’t kept watch in years. Just one more reason it was good to be in charge. No shit jobs. But after the grid went down, every man living at Castle Creek Whitetail Ranch pulled his weight on fire watch. No exceptions. Which meant Graham was back on rotation. With ten men, and three or four on watch at all times, no one got a pass on that shit. It wasn’t easy to patrol the ten-foot perimeter fence that surrounded the 660 acres of woods, hills, fields, creeks, and living compound that made up one of the most exclusive, if rustic, whitetail deer hunting outfits in the state. With the security system they had set up and a few other tricks, they were pretty well locked down. But Graham knew they couldn’t afford to take chances. Especially six days into the biggest goat fuck anyone had ever seen in the good ol’ US of A. Inhabitants of third world countries might be accustomed to going without power and running water, but that was because they were either (a) too poor to have power and running water in the first place or (b) they’d had the shit bombed out of their homes. The average U.S. citizen was soft. Not used to going without the luxuries that had become so common and forgettable. Sure, everyone had watched the towers fall on 9/11, but from the safety of their living rooms, on big screen color TVs. Graham could imagine the chaos that had broken out in the last six days across the country—if, in fact, the whole country was affected by what he and his team were pretty damn certain had been an electromagnetic pulse, or EMP. The cause of the giant burst of electromagnetic energy that had knocked out the electrical grid and damaged unprotected electronics was still up for debate, though. It could have been a nuke detonated high above US airspace, or a solar flare that finally didn’t miss. The ham radio that Ty kept screwing around with stayed mostly silent. There’d only been a few transmissions in the last week, giving the term ‘radio silence’ a whole new meaning. Each one of those transmissions had confirmed what they feared: no functioning electrical grid reported anywhere.