Hidden Flames (15 page)

“I’m not from this area,” Owen confessed, wincing when he saw the desperation on their faces ratchet even higher. He swore for a moment he was back in Afghanistan explaining to the children why he couldn’t take them back to the land of the big PX. Helpless. There wasn’t a damn thing he could do for these people and it made him beyond angry and powerless. “But there is an abandoned gas station a couple miles back. It will give you coverage until someone else comes along that might be able to help you, but don’t rely on the National Guard. It will be months before they’re able to make their way out of the major cities. If you can… make it up to Northern Washington to a town called Lost Summit.”

Owen left out that anyone showing up in the small town would be well scrutinized before they were taken to the lodge and safety. They sure as hell didn’t need scumbags like Deacon. Owen gave them the name of the diner where they would check for incoming survivors as often as possible. The woman handed over his flashlight with a tiny bit of hope in her eyes. He smiled warmly at her, hoping she could understand the nod he gave with his gasmask. It was clear they had their own supplies in the vehicle alongside the road, at least from the lone beam that had swept by that area. They would be fine for a while and he hoped like hell that they found a way north.

Owen didn’t waste time after that and started down the road, slowly at first and making sure that he still had a bead on the tread from Prue’s motorcycle. The farther he drove, the more he was able to see all of the abandoned vehicles on the side of the road. Either they had run out of gasoline, like the people he’d just come across, or their filters hadn’t lasted long after the ash had started to fall. Maybe the folks just thought walking to the nearest shelter would be in their best interest. There had to be houses around here somewhere and there was a chance they were far enough south that the ash wouldn’t become too heavy and collapse the roofs, but he wouldn’t bank on it and they certainly shouldn’t.

Owen’s chest became tighter with every mile he logged, following a trail that never seemed to end. He was so focused on the tracks that he started to wonder if he’d missed Prue somewhere along the way. Deacon would have thrown her off the bike by now, unless he was keeping her with him for some salacious reason. Owen couldn’t come up with another plausible explanation for that, so he kept traveling hoping he was wrong about Deacon’s motives. He’d never been one to experience desperation, always maintaining some semblance of control, but he could sense the strings unraveling at the thought of not finding her in time.

What was that? Owen slowed his motorcycle by shifting out of gear and coasting through the turn when the tread didn’t continue straight. He kept the flashlight trained on the marks below him, not wanting to wave a beacon around the surrounding area. It appeared that they turned left, down some type of hidden driveway. The tree line had become thicker as the miles had gone by, not that he’d been too worried about it. The denser foliage might actually be to his advantage. He killed his engine to listen and he was finally able to make out the low rumble of Prue’s bike, which appeared to be idling.

Owen strained to see what else was around them to give him some type of advantage over the situation. Taking Deacon by surprise shouldn’t be too hard, but then again, the man had gotten the upper hand. He had some street smarts in him, but Owen was relatively sure he hadn’t expected to be tracked.

There. Off to the side was a mailbox, letting him know that this road was the only way in and the only way out.

“Hang on, sweetheart,” Owen muttered, allowing his bike to coast down the slope off of the roadbed and down into the drive. He slowly guided his bike to the side of the single lane to a gradual stop.

Owen swung one leg over the seat and then used the handlebars to push the motorcycle deeper into the brush. He’d have to go in on foot. He hoped like hell that if Deacon had heard his engine that the man thought he’d kept going on by. Owen did his best to camouflage his bike so that a straggler didn’t come through and take what was being left unattended.

Owen only took enough time to remove his helmet and grab a few extra magazine clips for peace of mind and to replace the magazine he’d used to tidy things up back at the abandoned gas station. A Marine never lost what had been engrained during the years of service, so he managed to cut quickly through the terrain and ash without creating the sound of someone approaching through the forest. Prue’s bike had been turned off and he refused to accept that she couldn’t hold her own until he got there. She was strong and a damn sight smarter than him when it came to reading people.

The gasmask didn’t make the trek easy, considering it cut off some of his peripheral vision. Owen had dealt with worse and this was what the situation had left to him. He’d make do.

“That old man told us that you were heading west.” Deacon’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was deep enough to rumble and carry through to where Owen had come to a stop. It didn’t take long for him to spot them. Deacon was holding a flashlight and aiming it directly at Prue, who refused to cover her eyes at the glare. Damn, but he was proud of her. Owen maneuvered closer and pulled his weapon from his holster, ready to finally take down this asshole. “Why? What the fuck is over there that would make you leave the East Coast and head into danger? Is there a military base taking in refugees?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Prue stated, no trace of fear in her voice whatsoever. “If you’re going to shoot me, do it now so I don’t have to listen to you droning on like some old shitheel.”

“Not until you tell me where the two of you were going, bitch.”

Owen finally had his answer as to why Deacon hadn’t thrown her off the bike miles ago. He wanted information first before he killed her. It didn’t matter now. Owen lifted his weapon and aimed it, the same moment a resounding crack echoed throughout the forest. Gunshot—but the sound was enough to distract Deacon, who had swung the light around in the direction where Owen was standing.

Multiple things happened at once, but the most surprising was witnessing Prue pulling her arm back and sending a flat black throwing knife twisting through the air until it met its target—Deacon’s back. Dead center. He dropped like a stone at the same moment the flashlight must have caught the glare off his mask. It was a damn good thing he hadn’t taken his eyes off of Prue, because in a split second she’d thrown another knife and he was the intended target. Shit!

P
rue didn’t hesitate
to react the moment a distraction had given her the opportunity. She wasn’t sure how she even managed to get the knife out of its sheath that had been attached to her bike without Deacon noticing, but he’d been too preoccupied with putting distance between them and Owen. All she could think about was if he’d managed to take down the man who’d broadsided him. It had appeared that he’d had the upper hand, but that could have easily changed once they left. Her hands were shaking so hard that it was a wonder the knife traveled in the way she’d intended…but it did. Muscle memory only came with practice.

Prue had immediately reached over and snatched another knife she’d attached to the underside leather skirt of the seat toward the back, just in case the first one hadn’t done its job completely. She was damn glad for her quick reflexes when the beam of the flashlight Deacon had been holding caught someone in the woods directly in front of her. She didn’t hesitate to draw her arm back and release the second weapon at the unexpected target.

The loud noise had definitely been a gunshot and Prue wasn’t about to waste time seeing if she’d struck her second target. She turned quickly to get on her bike and hightail it back to the abandoned gas station when Owen’s voice broke through the blood that was rushing through her ears.

“Son of a bitch,” Owen yelled, surprising her when he came out into the clearing. “You almost hit me. Where the hell did you learn something like that?”

Prue almost collapsed with relief and she was in his arms before she knew what happened. The gasmask made it difficult, but she continued to hold onto Owen as tightly as she could. The adrenaline that had kept her going was starting to diminish, so she was grateful when Owen continued to push.

“Go,” Owen ordered, pushing her back toward her bike. He only leaned down long enough to snatch the gasmask off of Deacon’s head. The man wasn’t moving, but it was more than apparent they didn’t have time to waste. “That gunshot was close and we have no idea who we’re dealing with. Meet me at the end of the drive where I left my bike and if need be, keep driving west until I catch up with you.”

With those words, Owen was gone and Prue didn’t linger around to see which way he’d gone or what he’d planned to do. She saddled her bike as quickly as possible and pressed the starter, turning over the engine. She didn’t even bother to look at Deacon’s body lying on the ground, having no regrets that she’d reacted in self-defense. He would have absolutely killed her when the time came, probably going so far as to torture the information out of her before raping her.

Prue drove as fast as she could, taking the twists and turns of the driveway until she’d reached the road. It was only then that she took the time to stop and put on the gasmask. She hadn’t taken a deep breath since the mask had been ripped off of her head, but she did so now with a new appreciation for Owen’s prepping skills. Who the hell purchased gasmasks as part of an emergency stash? Her fingers trembled as she tightened the straps around her head, starting at the top and working her way down like Owen had shown her. She’d lost her helmet somewhere along the way, but that was the least of her worries. Owen was nowhere to be seen and she couldn’t even see his bike. Was that where he’d gone off to so quickly?

Owen had told her to start driving west if she needed to, but there was no way in hell she was leaving here without him. Prue couldn’t hear anything over the sound of her engine, but she didn’t want to shut off her bike either. She did take her time to look around her surroundings, but it all looked the same at this point. It was still relatively dark, but daybreak was coming soon. The sun might not be able to shine through the ash, but at least it would diminish this darkness into a more greyish hue, making it slightly easier to see.

For the first time since Deacon and his men had surrounded them, Prue was finally able to let some of the tension out of her shoulders. She ached everywhere but she didn’t have the luxury of walking around and stretching. She still had to remain on alert should someone come up on her, which was why she needed to somehow arm herself. She was out of knives, with the exception of the one in her duffel bag, but she didn’t want to get off of her bike to get it.

Like the previous gunfire, the presence of someone suddenly appearing beside her had Prue muttering some curses. Owen spoke over the engine before she had time to twist her handlebar and get the hell away.

“I have no idea who was shooting or why. I couldn’t find anyone lurking around, but we’re not staying here to find out the hard way.” Owen stood as close as he could next to her, taking the sides of her mask in between his hands. She could actually feel his heat through the thick material and she briefly closed her eyes to soak it in. When she lifted her lashes, it was to find that his dark eyes were studying hers. He nodded slowly, as if he had all the answers he needed. “I am so proud of you. The way you handled yourself and the way you took out Deacon…I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

“He wasn’t moving,” Prue said, tightening her grip on the handlebars. She almost wanted to turn around to make sure that he was dead, but she figured Owen wouldn’t want to waste the time. “Do you think…”

“If he’s not dead, he will be soon.” Owen glanced around them as if he’d heard something she hadn’t, which made her all the more nervous. She hadn’t been lying back at the gas station. It was as if they’d been transported into a horror flick and someone was bound to be coming out of the trees with a chainsaw at any moment. Funny how she wasn’t prone to be scared that way and yet here she was dreaming up crap that only lent itself to raising her anxiety level. She didn’t like this part of herself and she vowed to suck it up—she was a woman, not a child. Owen let his arms drop, but then held something up in front of her. “I figured you’d want this back.”

Prue sucked in a breath, very grateful that she could, as she eyed the knife that she’d hurled at Owen. She hadn’t done so intentionally, which he was well aware of, but she did feel guilty for having done so. What if she’d actually hit him? Her aim was usually very accurate, but he had been farther away than her normal target boards. She was just glad that it hadn’t been the knife that was currently lodged in Deacon’s back.

“Don’t move,” Owen ordered.

Prue looked on with astonishment as Owen disappeared into the tree line on her left. Where the hell had he gone? He’d just said they shouldn’t hang around here any longer than necessary and he was going on another search? She looked over her shoulder, expecting Deacon to appear out of the ash at any moment. The knife had lodged directly into his shoulder blade, probably clipping his lung or heart. Owen was right—the man was dead.