John thundered the Blazer up the path and through the hidden detour around the fallen tree. Already he could see yellow gouts of flame licking up through the forest as he approached. He pulled to a stop when he reached the clearing and grabbed his AR as he jumped from the truck.
“Go around back,” he shouted to Brandon, “and check to see if anyone made it out.”
The heat was intense. Both cabins were towering infernos, flames dancing out from windows likely shattered from the intense heat. Items were strewn on the ground, but John’s focus was on searching for survivors. Also on his mind was the possibility of an ambush. In Iraq, insurgents would often wait around after an explosion in order to pick off the first responders. A quick survey of the area quelled those fears. Either way, he would need to risk walking into an ambush if it meant saving his family.
As he circled the burning cabins, it wasn’t long before John’s hope sank into despair. If anyone was still inside, there was no chance they were still alive.
That was when he saw the body lying face down by the forest’s edge. He hadn’t noticed it at first because of the US woodland camo pattern it was wearing. Even before he approached, he knew perfectly well who he was looking at.
Tim Appleby.
Brandon was still behind the cabin and out of visual range. John turned Tim’s body over and felt for a pulse. The move was purely automatic since four high-caliber rounds had torn through his body. No one could survive that. Tim’s lips were bloody, a common reaction when people were shot in the chest. Then John noticed that the whistle Tim kept around his neck also had blood around the tip and it all became clear. Tim had died signaling an intruder.
John was closing his friend’s stiffening eyelids when he caught sight of footprints around camp. The heavy tread came up from the path and spread out in all directions. John stood, trying to make sense of the story they were telling him. Other footprints, these ones smaller, led from the cabin and from around back.
They’d been caught off guard. Diane and Kay had likely been around back tending to the garden while the kids had worked on chores out front. In a strange twist of good fortune, they hadn’t had time to head inside to the perceived safety of the cabins, a move that would have cost them their lives.
They had been taken.
That was the thought rushing through John’s mind as he called Brandon’s name. Jumping to his feet, John found the boy circling back in his direction. Already the fires were beginning to weaken as John pulled out his S&W, handed it to the boy and told him to walk a hundred paces into the woods and conceal himself there until John returned. There was a chance that whoever did this might not have gotten too far, and John was damned if he was going to risk Brandon’s life on a dangerous rescue attempt.
But this wasn’t like the old days where you could call the local sheriff or maybe the FBI. If a man wasn’t willing to step up and fight to keep the people he loved safe, then he had no business living in this new world.
Chapter 4
The Blazer hit Sugar Grove with squealing tires, a cloud of acrid white smoke trailing behind it. Impressions in the gravel told John whoever did this had turned right.
One branch of Sugar Grove led down to the interstate, the other through a series of back roads. John needed to decide fast. Head toward the interstate or navigate along a series of winding country roads?
He opted for the interstate and made a sharp left-hand turn. When he got there, he found rows of rusted hulks, some pushed off to the shoulder where people fleeing the city had set up temporary dwellings. A few of the cars had open doors with tarps flung over them, tied down with yellow rope. These were the few meager resources the refugees had managed to scrape together as they fled the chaos and the hunger. But their real enemy was a lack of food and proper drinking water. John knew from his experiences in Kenya and other parts of Africa that unsafe drinking water could turn a camp into a breeding ground for disease and death in no time.
Not surprisingly, dead bodies littered the shoulder, but every time he passed this way, there seemed to be more of them.
A drainage ditch that ran along the interstate was at least partially to blame. Weary and exhausted, many passerbys probably assumed that it was drinkable rainwater. Sometimes the greatest dangers were the ones you couldn’t see.
After another few minutes without a sign of the men who had taken his family, John turned around. He decided to try the back roads, keeping an eye out for ambushes. The sun was shining down on what should have been a glorious day, but all John felt was rage. It wasn’t often that he left the cabin. Sometimes Tim and his wife had gone fishing. Surely one couldn’t be expected to stand guard twenty-four seven. Even in the old homesteading days, the man would head into town to gather fresh supplies.
Stop beating yourself up and focus, that little voice told him. Whenever he wavered or criticized a decision he’d made, that was when the voice would creep in and call him back. It was his training. What he didn’t know was why it sounded so much like his father.
Follow your chain of command. Perhaps it was that simple.
Foliage from the canopy overhead whipped by, along with occasional flashes of blinding sunlight.
For a moment his vision washed out and when it returned he hit the brakes at once. Up ahead, maybe three hundred yards, was a checkpoint. Two older pickup trucks were parked across the road, forming a barrier. The men standing there seemed startled by his presence. They had weapons drawn, that much was clear, and with no sign of the people who’d kidnapped his family and friends, he wasn’t going to risk a confrontation. There was a difference between bravery and stupidity. Forgetting where that line lay often led men to their deaths.
A stocky man at the roadblock took aim as John threw the truck into reverse, backed up and then spun himself around. A split second later he’d kicked it back into drive and floored it. If a shot had been fired in his direction, he hadn’t heard it.
John’s mind was still racing when he made it back to what was left of the cabins. The fire continued to burn, although both roofs had collapsed and part of the structure had fallen over. There wasn’t much left.
Brandon had done as he was told and stayed put. That was good, not just because he had obeyed and kept himself safe, but because he hadn’t discovered his father’s body before John had a chance to return.
John took Brandon by the shoulders. “I have some bad news.”
“You found them, didn’t you?”
The implication was that he’d found them dead somewhere.
“The trail was cold, but that isn’t what I’m talking about. Your father didn’t make it.”
John led him over to his father’s body and Brandon broke free of John’s grasp and collapsed near Tim’s body, sobbing.
“I’m so sorry, Brandon. I know it might not mean much to you right now, but he died raising the alarm. It was quick and painless. The truth is, they were probably outside tending to things around camp and were caught completely off guard.”
Brandon wasn’t saying anything. One of his hands was resting on his father’s chest.
“We’ll bury him, son, and say a prayer together. It’s the least we can do. After that, we need to put this behind us. The tracks leading around camp tell me they loaded everyone else into trucks and carted them off. That means they might still be alive, but we won’t be doing them any good if we can’t think straight.”