Push Back: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller (The Disruption Series Book 2) (17 page)

Anderson nodded. “It looks fine. Better than fine the way things are now, but we have to do it. They’ll find the burned house and think the SRF thugs torched it with you inside. Then hopefully, they’ll figure the patrol left the scene and was ambushed by forces unknown.” He paused. “It’s the only way, Cindy.”

Her face hardened. “Okay. Do it, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

***

They pulled out of the clearing five minutes later, Anderson at the wheel, and Cindy riding in the bed with Jeremy’s head on a pillow in her lap. The cabin blazed behind them as they headed north, deeper into the woods.

“How far to the creek?” Anderson asked.

“About a quarter of a mile,” Cindy said. “Then just turn right up the creek bed and we’ll go as far as we can.”

Anderson did as instructed, and soon they were bumping north in four-wheel drive along the slate-bottomed creek. He drove up the middle of the shallow creek, leaving no tire tracks on the hard rock of the creek bed. He drove slowly, trying to minimize the jarring, but the creek descended the slope in terraced steps, and it was like driving up a staircase in places. He kept glancing back to see Cindy riding tight-lipped, holding on to a crossbar above her with one hand while she steadied Jeremy’s head with the other.

The fast-running water was only an inch or two deep in most places, though it collected in scattered tranquil pools. He rolled through each with a silent prayer none hid a hole deep enough to swallow a tire or break an axle. At spots the stair-stepped slate bottom was covered with slick green slime, and the wheels slipped as the Mule slid from side to side. He powered through each spot, voicing apologies over his right shoulder for the rougher ride, and with a nagging worry they were leaving tracks in the slime.

The creek bed followed a meandering path, almost doubling back on itself in places. He found it all but impossible to judge how far they’d come. When they’d been traveling a little over an hour, he shot a worried glance up at a darkening sky and the steep, rocky sides of the stream. The creek was narrowing and the banks were getting even steeper as the creek disappeared around a bend. He stopped the Mule and set the brake before he turned back to Cindy.

“How’s he doing?” he asked.

Cindy shrugged. “Okay, I think. Why are we stopping?”

“The banks are getting really steep. We couldn’t get the Mule out here if we tried, and it looks like this thing is turning into a gorge. Are we going to be able to get out when we get where we’re going? And how much farther is it anyhow?”

“Another mile, more or less. Look for three big oak trees on the left bank. And the creek does narrow between high rock walls for most of the way, but then the banks drop down again. We should be able to drive out just past Three Oaks, if not before.”

“SHOULD? Aren’t you sure—”

“Look, I’ve never been here in the Mule, so I’m not SURE of anything, all right? Except my kid’s hurt and I just killed someone and burned down my friggin’ house and—”

Anderson was raising his hand in a ‘calm down’ gesture when he heard something over the Mule’s engine. He reached down and switched it off.

Cindy stopped mid-rant. “Why did you—”

She was silenced by a low distant rumble echoing down the little hollow.

“Thunder,” Anderson said, “and this is absolutely the last place we want to be in a thunderstorm. It looks like this creek drains the whole hollow.”

He swiveled all the way around and looked back downstream. He had no room to turn around without unhitching the trailer, and even then, it would be blocking the way downstream. He contemplated trying to back the trailer down the windy, bumpy stream bed until he could find a place to get out of the creek. How far? A half-mile at least with a dozen hairpin turns to back around. He envisioned missing a turn and the Mule and trailer jamming between the steep banks of the creek.

“Crap!”

He faced back upstream and felt a freshening breeze and the smell of ozone as the sky got darker. He started the Mule and released the brake.

“I’m sorry, but this is gonna be bumpy. We have to try to make it through that gorge before the creek floods. Hang on!”

“DO IT!” she shouted over the engine and a sudden crash of thunder.

Chapter Nine

Up a Creek

12 miles northeast of Buena Vista, Virginia

Day 29, 4:45 p.m.

Anderson picked up speed, and the Mule bounced over the rough creek bed, the hitch shrieking as the trailer bounced over its own rocks out of sync with the Mule. Fat raindrops exploded against the Plexiglas windshield, mixing with the film of dust and running down in muddy streams. It hardly mattered—within two minutes the rain was hitting them in sheets and the windshield was both washed clean and totally opaque as the rain washed over it in buckets. Anderson hung his head out to the left around the windshield, squinting as the driving rain lashed his face. The chickens, quiet up to now, all began to cluck plaintively.

He was driving by guess, using the left bank as reference and hoping like hell he didn’t hit anything on the right. But hope failed him regularly, and both the Mule and the trailer sideswiped the right bank frequently as he swerved around blind turns. On a particularly sharp turn to the left, a protruding tree root lashed his shoulder, narrowly missing his head. He cried out in pain and surprise, jerking the wheel and almost running the Mule directly into the right bank before he recovered.

They were well into the gorge, the sheer stone of the banks towering fifteen or twenty feet on both sides, the water rising higher as it rushed beneath them. He leaned out and looked—six inches up the front tire and beginning to offer resistance. He mashed the accelerator harder in an effort to maintain headway and risked a glance back over his shoulder. His passengers were wet to the skin, with Cindy hunched over Jeremy, holding him tight. The boy was fully awake now, his eyes wide with terror.

Anderson turned back just in time to dodge another tree root protruding from the rock wall, then leaned out again. It was almost dark as night now, and he turned on the Mule’s headlights, which did little but illuminate the driving rain. He had no idea how far they’d come, but it seemed like miles, and still the banks towered above them, sheer and unforgiving. The water was rising insanely fast. It was over halfway up the wheels now, the wake from the front tires rebounding off the creek sides and sloshing into the Mule. He had the accelerator to the floor, but he could feel the Mule slow with each passing second.

He hunched over the wheel, the water sloshing up to the headlights now and the motor straining to inch them forward. He was desperately searching for plan B when he noticed the left bank was not nearly as high, barely above the top of the Mule. Three vertical shapes flashed white in the headlights—Three Oaks!

“ALMOST THERE!” he yelled back over his shoulder and mashed the accelerator so hard his foot hurt, even though he’d floored it long ago.

The Mule was almost stopped, and he willed it forward. The rain was slackening a bit, the sky slightly lighter, and he felt a rush of adrenaline as he saw the left bank ahead was fairly steep but climbable. Inch by inch, the Mule gained ground and he felt the front end rising out of the water; then the wheels started spinning, and forward progress halted. He set the brake and turned to Cindy.

“WE’RE TOO HEAVY TO GET UP THE BANK. I’M GONNA TRY TO RUN THE WINCH CABLE UP AROUND ONE OF THOSE TREES TO HELP GET US OUT. I NEED YOU AT THE WHEEL IN CASE WE START SLIDING BACK!”

Cindy wiped a wet strand of hair out of her face and nodded. She gently disentangled herself from her frightened son and splashed down in the creek on the driver’s side and slid into the driver’s seat as soon as Anderson exited.

“WE COULD SLIDE BACK AT ANY TIME. KEEP A CLOSE EYE ON IT AND FLOOR IT THEN RELEASE THE BRAKE IF IT LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE LOSING IT. IF I CAN GET THE CABLE AROUND ONE OF THOSE TREES, I THINK WE’LL BE OKAY.”

She nodded as he moved to the front of the Mule and hit the cable release on the winch; then she watched as, hook in hand, Anderson pulled out the cable and scrambled and limped up the slippery slope. He hooked the cable around one of the big oaks and started back down, almost falling several times.

“HIT THE WINCH AND TRY TO DRIVE OUT! I’LL STAY OUT TO TAKE THE WEIGHT OFF.”

She nodded again, and Anderson stepped back and gave her a thumbs-up. She hit the gas and the winch simultaneously, and the Mule shuddered and began an agonizingly slow crawl up the steep bank. Anderson grinned like an idiot; a bit prematurely, as it turned out. The Mule ground to a halt and Cindy yelled over the pounding rain and roaring creek, the Mule, and the shrieking chickens.

“IT’S STILL TOO HEAVY. MAYBE IF WE HELP JEREMY OUT—”

Anderson looked back at the fast-rising creek, well up his calves even close to the bank. He shook his head.

“I DON’T THINK THAT’LL BE ENOUGH, AND WE’VE ONLY GOT ONE SHOT AT THIS. IT’S THE TRAILER. IT’S JUST TOO HEAVY. WE HAVE TO DITCH IT NOW, OR WE LOSE EVERYTHING.”

Cindy gave a hesitant nod, and the chickens shrieked agreement as Anderson splashed to the back of the Mule. He felt for the hitch in the dim light, operating as much by touch as sight. The safety retainer clip came off easily, and he popped up the lever on the coupler, but there progress stopped. The overloaded trailer was sitting cockeyed, with one wheel halfway up one of the stair-step ledges in the slate creek bottom, with all of the weight pulling backward on the ball of the trailer hitch. No amount of lifting or bouncing would free it. And the water was rising.

Anderson’s panic was rising as fast as the water and he forced himself calm. If he couldn’t unhitch the trailer, then he’d unhitch the hitch. He’d pull the receiver tube retaining pin and let the ball mount go with the trailer. He squatted and felt for the receiver tube then pulled the cotter key on the retainer pin, cursing when it slipped from his hand into the water. He tugged at the retainer pin. CRAP! Jammed in place just like the ball hitch by the weight of the trailer. But it was a straight pin, and he might be able to knock it out from the opposite side. Desperate, he patted the creek bottom for a rock, then rose and stepped over the trailer tongue to squat on the opposite side, waist deep in the rushing water. It was up to the trailer hitch now, boiling over the pin and obstructing his already poor view. He adjusted his squat, gripped the back of the Mule with one hand for balance and hammered blindly at the pin with the other. Hindered by the rising water and unable to see his target, he smashed his knuckles on the steel, but held on to the rock and bit down the pain. It took a dozen blows before he connected solidly enough to free the pin, and the result was both immediate and unexpected.

Free from constraint, the trailer tongue whipped to the right as the trailer sought equilibrium and rushed backward into the torrent. A glancing blow from the swinging tongue knocked Anderson back. He shot upright and took a step backward in a futile attempt to maintain his balance, but stepped into a shallow depression in the creek bottom, unbalancing him further. He stretched out full length in the raging water, sucking water up his nose as his head went under. The flood rolled him along the creek bottom underwater, strangling and gasping for air, as he clawed for something, anything, to keep from being swept away. His hand closed on a tree root and his legs swung downstream. He felt his hand slipping and scrambled futilely to get a purchase with his feet so he could stand.

He felt something snag the back of his collar, then a tug under his armpit, strong hands helping him to his feet. His head broke the water and he gasped and coughed before wiping the water from his eyes to see—Jeremy. The boy was hip-deep in the edge of the flood, his lower body braced against a thicker section of the same tree root that saved Anderson. The fear in the boy’s eyes was mixed with something else—determination.

“JEREMY!”

Cindy was in the creek, splashing toward them.

“STAY THERE,” Anderson shouted. “WE’RE OKAY.”

She did as ordered, though with visible reluctance, and Anderson surveyed the left bank. There were scattered handholds, and with Jeremy’s help, Anderson pulled himself to the edge of the creek and made his way upstream to the nearest one, then reached back and gave Jeremy a hand forward. They alternated, leap-frogging back to the half-submerged Mule. Water was over all four tires now and running over the floorboard. Steam rose from the rear of the Mule where the water was flashing against the hot muffler. They had minutes to get the Mule up the bank.

“GET IN AND DRIVE. JUST LIKE BEFORE. ENGINE AND WINCH TOGETHER. JEREMY AND I WILL PUSH.”

Cindy nodded and jumped behind the wheel, and Anderson turned, putting his back against the tailgate and then squatting to push with his legs. Jeremy copied him and they both pushed for all they were worth when the engine pitch changed and the Mule began to move. It was slow at first and then faster, and they walked backward, pushing as they went. Then the Mule was free of the water and it raced away from them up the bank, dumping them both on their butts on the sodden creek bank.

Anderson looked over at Jeremy as they lay in the mud, soaked to the skin with hair plastered to his scalp framing his mud-spattered face. “YOU OKAY, JEREMY?”

The boy nodded, wide-eyed and serious. “Did I do good?” he asked, barely audible above the ambient noise.

“YOU DID GREAT, BUDDY! YOU SAVED MY LIFE,” Anderson said.

The smile that split Jeremy’s face was like the sun itself.

Near the Cave

15 miles northeast of Buena Vista, Virginia

Day 30, 6:15 a.m.

The rain didn’t stop until well after midnight, continuing to swell the creek. They spent the night well up the rocky creek bank, huddled together under the shelter of a tarp pulled from the back of the Mule. At some point, exhaustion had overcome him, and Anderson fell asleep. He awoke stiff and sore from his night on the hard ground, his multiple injuries competing for his attention. Jeremy snored softly beside him, but Cindy was already up, inventorying the contents of the Mule. He slipped from beneath the tarp and walked stiffly over to the UTV.