The Long Fall of Night: The Long Fall of Night Book 1 (38 page)

“Where we going?” Aaron asked, positioning himself at the foot of the stretcher with his back to Jason, ready to lift. Tim moved wordlessly to grab the branches at his friend’s head. “One, two, three.” They lifted in one smooth motion, and Jason whimpered in his sleep.

Ash consulted his GPS again, still frustrated by the wide open spaces and Jason’s determination not to turn back. “Our best bet is Seward, I think. About fifteen miles southwest of here.”

“Lead the way. We got him,” Aaron said, and the group quietly fell into formation around the stretcher, Ghost in front to sniff out their path. Even the dog seemed to sense their urgency.

They reached Seward well after sunset. Bearing the stretcher required frequent breaks, and Tim didn’t help matters by asking repeatedly where they were, as if he were memorizing the route so he could return to the sadistic landowner’s property to mete out his brand of justice.

Farther up the block they trudged, with Ash and Brian on stretcher duty. The small hospital, a long, single-story red brick building, lay ahead of them. When they neared the emergency entrance, Ash knew it was a bust. No lights on, no hum of a generator, no people anywhere. That didn’t exactly mean there was no one to help, but it didn’t bode well.

Memorial Hospital of Seward is closed until further notice due to fuel shortage,
a sign taped to the door read.
In case of emergency, the hospitals in Lincoln are taking patients, as is the temporary shelter between Lincoln and Omaha, run by the National Guard. We are sorry for any inconvenience.

“Now what?” Ash said miserably. He was done making all the decisions. Their only option was to go back. Ash’s shoulders were cramped and going numb, and they protested the idea of backtracking, but the rest of him knew it was the best option for Jason.

“Cut it off,” Jason said from the stretcher they’d carried so many miles.

“What?” Aaron said dumbly.

“Cut my foot off.”

“I’m not amputating your foot for a broken ankle. Let us take you back for help. We can get you help,” Aaron practically begged.

Jason raised himself to his elbows with difficulty. “We both know going backward is dangerous.”

“So is going forward with a badly broken leg!” Jennifer exclaimed. “Jason, listen to him. He knows what he’s talking about.”

“Does he?” Jason argued. “They’re out of fuel here. Who’s to say Lincoln and Omaha aren’t in the same boat? And there’s military there. I will not say it again. If you try to take me backward, I’ll cut it off myself.”

“Are you insane?” Elliot asked.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Jason demanded, staring Aaron down. “It doesn’t heal right, and I have a limp. Big fucking deal. All that means is the military won’t have me now. You ask me, that sadist farmer did me a favor.”

“You cannot walk hundreds of miles on a badly healing leg,” Aaron reminded him.

“So get me the fuck out of this shithole state, and you let me and Tim hole up somewhere safe while you go on. When I can walk again, he and I will keep going.”

“We aren’t splitting up,” Jennifer said, leaning forward and smoothing his hair back. Despite his hard-ass stance, Jason leaned into the comfort of her touch.

“You’ve got a ticking clock in your belly that says otherwise, sweetheart,” Jason said almost tenderly. “You need doctors, too. So take me as far as you can and then let me rest up and follow later. We can find you guys in Oregon once we reach the power country, if you want.”

Tim remained silent through the exchange, and when Aaron and Jennifer looked to him, he shrugged. “Whatever he wants. I’m staying with him, so if he says take him west, then let’s go west.”

“Just get me out of Nebraska,” Jason moaned, lying down. “And Aaron?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Aaron said.

“Do you have any more painkillers?”

“Sure.”

Finding a strip of grass next to the sidewalk on the edge of the road, they sat to regroup, medicate Jason, and rest. Dinner was a handful of trail mix or nuts or dried meat. They didn’t bother with anything else, as tired as they were from almost eighteen straight hours of walking since they’d been rushed from their tents. Ash took out his GPS and found the battery finally dead. Pulling out his pack, he extracted the tin with his precious electronics and replaced the battery with his last spare. They had to get to power before it died, or they’d be screwed.

“Brian, can I use your phone again?”

Wordlessly, Brian passed it over, and Ash moved away from the group to call Uncle Marvin.

“We had to deviate from your directions,” Ash said by way of greeting.

“Why?”

“Refugee camps. We’re afraid if we run into the military, they’ll force us into service. We’ve picked up a couple more hikers, and they’ve seen recruitment trucks loaded with people being hauled off for training.”

“Well, that doesn’t surprise me,” Marvin sighed. “They’d be recruiting heavily in such a crisis. How far off the path did you get, and where’d you do it?”

“Nebraska,” he started, but Marvin’s sucked-in breath stopped him from elaborating. “What?”

“That’s not good. I know from my forums there are some extreme survivalists in Nebraska, more so than in most states. The corn goes to their heads out there or something.” Ash smiled. Marvin was one to talk. “You run into trouble?”

“A bit. One of our guys tripped a booby trap and broke his leg. We may be slower getting to you now. Can’t find a viable hospital in such rural areas, and we can’t move fast with the stretcher. Just wanted you to know.”

“Okay,” Marvin replied. “Get back on track as quick as you can, and keep me updated.”

“What’s going on in the rest of the country? Any change?” Ash asked.

“Seems they’re actually getting the cities under control. The rural areas, not as much, and in some places in the south, like Mississippi and Alabama, people are using the blackout as an excuse to form their own militias, like they’re making a break from the country with some kind of Civil War redo. I haven’t heard much, but I want you to keep an ear out, in case something like that is happening where you are.

“As for the rest, I have some fingers in some pies on my end, and when you get here, you might be interested to know some of it,” Marvin concluded.

Ash knew better than to ask for details over a phone, no matter how secure he believed it to be. Marvin wouldn’t risk anything. When he rang off and returned to their group, it was in the midst of a heated discussion between Aaron and Brian.

“One fucking night won’t kill anyone,” Aaron argued.

“It’s danger we don’t need. Haven’t we borrowed enough of that for one day?” Brian fired back. “I’m not interested in getting shot.”

“What’s going on?” Ash asked, sitting next to Elliot and leaning against his shoulder, fatigue pulling at his edges.

“Aaron thinks we should break into a house and sleep in beds tonight, get some creature comforts for a change. Brian says no, we’re going to get shot.”

Ash looked at them, considering. “Guys.” They ignored him, still jabbing and feinting with reason after reason for their argument. “Hey,” he called. Still nothing. Finally, he loosed a piercing whistle to get their attention. “There’s a building full of beds right in front of us, and we already know no one is in it.” He pointed to the hospital. “A pillow would be nice.”

Aaron and Brian both turned to consider the hospital, then each other.

“Okay.” Brian backed off. “That’s kind of brilliant.”

“Genius,” Elliot murmured, nudging Ash affectionately. “I could stand to look for more of my prescription, too. Hospitals have pharmacies.”

“Might be ransacked, but if not, we’ll replenish you.”

Mustering the little strength they had left, they stood and went to the building to search for an easy way in.

“Riley and I are getting our own room,” Charlotte groused.

Ash and Elliot grinned at her, then at each other. The hospital had something else besides beds and the chance to raid supplies and meds: privacy.

I
read
and walked for miles at night along the beach, writing bad blank verse and searching endlessly for someone wonderful who would step out of the darkness and change my life. It never crossed my mind that that person could be me.

—Anna Quindlen

“
H
NNNNGH
,” DONNIE GROANED, falling face first onto his rack at base camp and clutching his pillow to his face. “I hate helicopters.”

Chris fought a chuckle while at the same time not letting himself imagine Donnie making that same noise in a different context. They’d been reserved with each other since the fight in the cabin, and he was still waiting for an apology. If he started acting like Donnie amused him, or intrigued him, or he wanted to spend any time hanging out on their off-mountain days, Donnie might get the idea he had forgiven him without actually having to deal with their disagreement. He knew he wasn’t being fair, holding a grudge for something he’d started, but dammit, if he wanted to keep a secret, he was entitled. He was sure Donnie had them.

“You’re an idiot,” he muttered with little censure in his tone. Holding a grudge, yes, but was he actually angry? Not anymore, and frankly, he missed his friend. The longer that apology took, the more torn he was between greater impatience and just dropping it and going back to normal. But what was normal when he looked at Donnie and wanted to pin him to a wall and kiss him stupid?

“I’m a sleeping idiot,” Donnie agreed. “Lemme ’lone.”

Chris changed into his PT gear. Maybe there’d be a pickup basketball game or something. If he couldn’t rustle something up, he’d go for a run. Unlike in Denver, the camp they were in wasn’t strictly military personnel, nor was it on the open expanse of airport runways. They were set up on the northeastern side of Horsetooth Reservoir in the open land north of the Fort Collins campus of Colorado State University. The nearby National Guard base served as company HQ, but because of the space, they had enough room to spread out. This camp was being constructed as a permanent solution for the border patrols monitoring the continental divide for the foreseeable future. Possibly years. This base would be a touchstone for all the border units in Colorado and Wyoming. It butted against a nature reserve, and security was much heavier than Chris would have originally suspected, but once he realized it was to become border HQ, he understood.

This was also the first military camp he’d seen or heard of which held civilian refugees. They’d utilized the nearby CSU campus dorms to house people indoors, but there were temporary barracks being constructed to take advantage of the university’s solar plant to supplement power. So far, the civilians had mostly kept to themselves, shell-shocked by the nation’s predicament, but the cooperation was good, and they seemed to understand they were in this situation for the long haul.

Today was Chris’s lucky day. When he emerged from their barracks, a pickup game of basketball was just beginning, so he joined one of the teams with local guardsmen versus some of the spec ops guys on their three-day pass between rotations in the peaks. Despite Chris’s short stature, he could hold his own with a roundball and had worked up a good sweat when he spied most of Shockwave lounging nearby, watching the game, with the exception of Donnie.

Fucker’s probably still napping.

Burgess was seated beside a pretty girl in fatigues, who talked animatedly with her hands. She was striking in that her head was shaved, but it strangely suited her, and she had that hard-bodied look of some of the rangers they’d gotten to know in the mountains. She reminded him of Sergeant Middler and he wondered if Burgess might have his hands full, the way he was smiling at her. And speaking of the devil, Ness lay on her side on the ground with her head propped on her hand, talking to Roger, who lounged on his elbows, his ankles crossed. They looked pretty serious despite their lounging postures, but then again, they always did. What surprised him, though, were a few civilian spectators. A father and his son, who were watching intently while the father pointed things out to the boy, who looked to be about eleven, and a couple of girls who could have been high school age. They whispered and giggled behind their hands as if anyone would hear them over the jeers and bouncing ball. Behind them were some CSU students, a mix of guys and girls, who watched but also joked around. It was honestly good to see people smiling and laughing again.

The sound of the ball brought him back to reality, and he lost himself in the game. They were down against the spec ops guys 35-33 when Chris felt the smack of a foul on his forearm as he went for a breakaway layup. His team erupted in cries of indignation, and the transgressor raised his hands in surrender.

“No need to bite my head off,” he laughed. “Guilty as charged. Take your shots, Corporal.”

They had been lackadaisical about fouls, only shooting free throws for the obvious ones, so this was his first trip to the crack in the pavement that served as a free-throw line. With everyone lined up on the makeshift court, the crowd quieted, and Chris bounced the ball when movement in his periphery caught his attention. Donnie stood beside the college kids, arms crossed, watching Chris with an expression he would have sworn was lust if it had been on anyone else. Awareness zipped through Chris’s limbs, but he focused and made the shot. The ball hitting nothing but net sounded sweet, as did the smattering of applause.

His second attempt ricocheted off the rim and toward the sideline, and bodies lunged. Chris was one of them, and when he went for a high bounce, he was well aware his momentum would carry him into the giggling high school girls. He jumped, his fingertips brushing the pebbled surface of the ball just enough the tip it to a teammate, and he bent his legs to clear the girls’ heads so he’d land behind them instead of on them. They shrieked and cowered, but they were in no danger.

Donnie, however, stood right where Chris was going to land, and he was too busy looking at the college kids beside him to realize he was about to get flattened.

“D!” Chris hollered and at the last second, Donnie looked. He flinched from the impact, right into the girl beside him, a pretty redhead with a long ponytail who’d been laughing at whatever Donnie had just said. Chris crashed into Donnie’s shoulder and back instead of on his head and torso, knocking the bigger man into the girl, who was no match for their combined weight. All three of them went down, and a couple of guys in the girl’s group stumbled, too.

“Are you okay?” Donnie asked.

“I’m so sorry.” Chris turned to assess damage and found Donnie doing a pushup over the girl, looking down into her face as if he was about to lie on her and kiss her senseless. Her eyes flickered over Donnie’s bulging arms, and she smiled. It was a “Yes, please take me to bed,” smile. He’d been Donnie’s wingman enough to recognize it.

But instead of wanting to give his friend a fist bump and a condom, he stifled the urge to yank Donnie away and snarl, “Mine!” in her face.

“I’m fine,” she assured. Donnie knelt on the pavement and leaned up, offering her his hand as he stood. She took it, and he practically pulled her into his chest, maintaining eye contact.

“You sure? Got your feet?” he asked, prolonging the embrace.

He’s so fucking obvious,
Chris thought meanly.

“Yeah, I’m good… um, what’s your name?”

“Donovan. Donnie for short.”

“I’m Cami.”

Of course you are.

“I’m fine, by the way,” Chris interrupted. “Sorry about the knock. Glad no one got hurt.”

“Chris!” one of his teammates hollered from the court. “Get your ass back out here!”

Donnie didn’t even acknowledge him, but Cami did. “It’s okay. Nice play.” Her eyes flickered up and down Donnie’s chest, and she didn’t appear to be ready to extract herself any time soon.

You weren’t even watching.

Not wanting to see any more, Chris trotted back to the court and resumed defending the one guy nearest him in height, who was still three inches taller. But his interest in the game was nil as he stole glances to the sideline where Donnie was really talking Cami up. He thought that was bad enough, seeing them flirt shamelessly as Donnie brought out the dimples and Cami kept touching his arm and laughing, until Chris looked up when his team made the final shot—beating the spec ops guys 50-43—and Donnie was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Cami.

Shit shit shit. You’re welcome, sweetheart. Practically gift-wrapped him for you.
Chris didn’t stick around to slap fives and asses, stalking off to the showers wearing a scowl and trying to think about anything but Donnie doing a different kind of pushup over the cute redhead. He should have been gloating his fool head off for winning over a spec ops crew, whom he heard behind him claiming they let Chris’s team win, but instead, his mood was fouler than ever.

I need to go blow shit up.

After his shower, he hit the shooting range for target practice.

D
onnie finally showed
himself around dinnertime, freshly showered and smiling like the cat who ate the canary. Chris couldn’t even look at him.

“So, did your team win?” he asked, twirling his fork in the noodles and sauce the army called spaghetti.

“In a manner of speaking,” Chris grumbled.

Donnie held out his fist for Chris to knock knuckles, and even though Chris was frustrated and irritated and a bunch of other -ated words, ignoring the gesture would call more attention to his mood than anything. He didn’t even bother making a fist, just bumped the knuckle of his middle finger against Donnie’s hand and went back to his food. Why couldn’t it have been steak, something he could pulverize with a sharp knife?

Shoving in and furiously chewing a massive bite, he looked up to see Matt and Ness watching him curiously.

“What?” he asked after struggling to swallow.

Ness narrowed her eyes, flicking back and forth between him and Donnie with her shrewd brain probably solving all their puzzles in seconds. Chris couldn’t keep the stare up, especially when Donnie accidentally bumped his shoulder reaching for his water, and Chris involuntarily scooted away a couple inches. Ness’s face went blank, as was often the case when she had orders she couldn’t yet disclose, or she’d seen something and the time wasn’t appropriate to discuss it. Chris squirmed inside, though outwardly, he also went blank.

“How’d you do at target practice today, soldier?” she asked him.

“Killed them all,” he said with an impish grin. “Ain’t nothing getting by me, Sarge.”

“Me either,” she replied casually, tearing the crust from her garlic bread and dropping the pieces on her plate.

“That’s why you’re the boss,” he said, letting his mask slip enough to plead with his eyes for her to let it go. She was too fucking smart for him.

Ness had mercy, or so he thought, when she turned to Donnie. “We have three more days before we get choppered back up the rock. HQ is mirroring us with the ranger team again, so we can learn more in our non-patrol hours. Don’t wear yourself out too much with your new friend, Scanlon.”

“I got plenty of stamina, Sarge.” Donnie grinned through a bite of bread. “Not to worry.”

If it wouldn’t have landed him in the middle of his plate, Chris would have thumped his forehead to the table. Unexpectedly, he was saved from further innuendo by Roger carefully setting his tray beside Ness.

“This seat taken?”

“Is now,” she answered. But she finished her drink and stood, her plate only half empty, carrying it to the dish station to bus it. She didn’t offer an explanation for her abrupt departure, which wasn’t like her.

Donnie whistled. “What’s her problem?”

“Her problem isn’t your business, Corporal, so finish your food in silence,” Roger snapped.

“Is that an order, sir?” Donnie asked, squaring his shoulders unconsciously, like a good soldier.

They knew Roger shared their rank, but as a team, he was Ness’s right hand, and most of the time, the rest deferred to him out of respect for her choice. He did have seniority, which put him above them in line for the next bump up the chain anyway. That he hadn’t received that promotion yet was only a matter of time, and then he would outrank them.

“Just fucking eat,” Roger said wearily. “I’ll check on her later.”

Chris was surprised. Normally, he didn’t think of Ness as having problems beyond the job, and the job never made her bitchy. If she’d had personal issues in the past, she kept it so well under wraps they all forgot she hadn’t been born in uniform, giving a smart salute.

The rest of the meal went quietly, the murmurs from nearby tables keeping them company more so than each other. When dinner was done, Chris left the mess tent to clean his gun, noting the sun had already sunk behind the mountains.

He sat on on his rack with his legs crossed, the weapon in pieces in front of him, a polishing cloth in hand and a gun cleaning kit on his knee. When Donnie came in, he flopped to his bunk and watched Chris for a minute, chewing on a toothpick and looking deep in thought.