Hideaway (Book 2): An Emp Thriller Page 2

  2

  The Chase

  Willow Creek, Missouri

  James Weller woke up, lying on his stomach in the dirt as smoke floated overhead. For a moment, he had no idea where he was. All he knew was that the smoke was getting thicker. He rolled on his side and saw Larry nearby, pushing himself up. They had been held at gunpoint and robbed. Their assailants were nowhere to be seen. Larry's green camo hat was missing, and he was spitting blood onto the ground. James coughed as the smoke grew thicker. He sat up as heat pressed against his face from nearby flames.

  Oh no. The cabin!

  James quickly stood up and stumbled ahead with blurry vision. He touched the back of his head and felt a thick, gooey substance. He examined his hand and saw blood. He'd been hit in the back of the head by the thieves, all escaped inmates from a local prison. He rushed over to help Larry to his feet as fire engulfed the cabin.

  Larry gasped, eyes wide, locked in a delirious stare. His face reddened as he seethed in shock. He pushed James away and charged toward the cabin. James called out to him to stop, but Larry wouldn’t listen. Wood crackled under the wildly expanding flames. Thick black smoke enveloped Larry as he rushed inside. James stopped a few feet from the cabin, coughing as he squinted ahead, trying to see Larry.

  “Have you lost your mind?” he shouted.

  Larry suddenly reemerged with two fire extinguishers in hand. “Come on,” he said, handing one to James that was almost too hot to handle. “We can fight this thing. It's not so bad in there.” He rushed back inside without another word. James hesitated, watching Larry’s faint shadow as he began spraying inside. James then covered his mouth, barely able to see through the smoke, and rushed in to join him. White mist flowed from Larry's extinguisher as he doused the heart of the fire in the kitchen and dining area. James darted ahead, spraying around the living room, up and down the walls. He heard crackling overhead and followed the sound just above Larry. He sprinted over and pushed Larry out of the way just as a beam collapsed from the ceiling. It fell with a resounding crash and kicked more dust and smoke into the air.

  James held his sleeve to his mouth as his eyes watered. He looked back toward the hall where the bedrooms were. Larry moved ahead and sprayed what was left in his extinguisher, dousing most of the flames. James’s eyes burned and watered as he tried not to breathe in the toxic smoke, but it was impossible. Dizziness was overcoming him, and staggering now, it was obvious he couldn't take much more. Larry returned, covering his mouth with a T-shirt, pointing toward the door, pushing on James’s shoulder and urging him to leave.

  James followed him, waving away the smoke in the air, trying to see. Once they were outside, the smoke-filled darkness wasn't much of an improvement. He stumbled down the porch steps and fell against Larry. The bearded woodsman spun his head around with fierce, wild eyes. “Don’t fail me now. Keep up.”

  They walked a safe distance from the cabin to recuperate. On the dirt road, James hunched over and launched into a coughing fit. Larry stood nearby, staring at the ruins of his cabin. The fire had been subdued, but the damage was already done. In their panic to save the cabin, he had, for those few intense minutes, been able to push aside the worst of what had happened. His wife Marla and Larry’s wife Carol had been taken by the gang that had attacked them.

  “We've got to find Marla and Carol,” he said to Larry, his voice strained.

  Larry nodded as he stared into the charred cabin. “I know.”

  James looked around and saw that Larry's station wagon was gone. “They took the wagon too.”

  Larry said nothing and just stepped forward, hurling his fire extinguisher directly at the cabin. It crashed somewhere inside, tunneling through the black smoke.

  Carol's truck, however, was still there with ash covering its hood. James approached it with caution, his face full of hope, and began to examine the ground nearby. “They must have left tire tracks. We could follow them.” He knelt behind the truck and saw a set of tracks leading down the dirt path away from the cabin. “How far do you think they got?”

  Larry leaned against the truck, exhausted as he ran both hands through his white hair, shaking ash from it. “We'll track 'em. We have to.”

  James went to the driver's side of the truck and opened the door. “Where are the keys?”

  Larry sighed as he circled the truck, limping gingerly. “Give me a minute...”

  “We don't have a minute!” James shouted.

  Larry pulled out a car key from his pocket and tossed it to him. “It doesn't run, asshole.”

  James stared at him, astonished. He then ignored Larry and stuck the key into the ignition. With every turn, nothing happened.

  “Get out of the damn truck,” Larry told him. “You're not helping.”

  James rocked his head back, sighing as he stepped outside. “Then let's track them on foot.”

  “We need weapons,” Larry said.

  James leaned against the truck, growing dizzy. The pain in his head just made things worse. He suddenly felt around for his pistol but couldn’t find it. He knew he had grabbed it when the gang first attacked the cabin. He looked around the dirt where he had awoken and didn't see it. His wallet was missing too. He wondered just why the gang had left him and Larry alive. Perhaps it was to send them a message that there was nothing they could do about any of it, that they could kidnap their wives and leave the men helpless as their cabin burned to the ground.

  While James didn't know their motives, he guessed that the women would be turned into work slaves or sex slaves. He couldn’t bear to think about it. The prison had been taken over by its inmates in a massive riot. Now, they were using it as a headquarters of sorts.

  James stood up and brushed the dirt off his clothes. He turned around to look at the cabin, then glanced at Larry who stood close by, blocking his way and staring at him.

  “I want to know everything,” Larry began, arms crossed. “Starting with how those men knew you.”

  “It's not important,” James said dismissively. A guilty red flush spread from his neck to his forehead.

  Larry took a step back in angry disbelief. “It damn well is.”

  James stammered, increasingly frustrated. Most of the flames in the cabin had died out, leaving behind charred walls and a giant hole in the roof with lots of burned beams piled on the floor.

  “I went for a hike today, just like we had discussed. Somewhere along the way, I came across a working car. I was going to inquire about a purchase, but those escaped prisoners got to the owner first.” He paused, noticing Larry's deep, betrayed stare. “Look,” he said, pleading with open hands, “I was going to tell you everything. I just needed some time—”

  He had barely even finished his sentence before Larry punched him in the face without warning. A bright flash and James was stumbling back, holding his jaw, his ears ringing with a high-pitched, pulsating blare. He gained his balance and looked at Larry, stunned. But Larry simply stared back at him, unblinking.

  “You lying son of a bitch,” he began.

  “I didn't lie—”

  Another punch barreled his way, a left hook to his face. James fell back against the hood of the truck and shouted at Larry to stop.

  “And now my wife's gone!” he roared, pointing.

  James stood up, holding his face and tasting blood in his mouth. “Okay...” he began with a sigh, “I'm sorry. I wasn't straight with you. But you didn't tell us there was a prison nearby either.”

  Larry nodded but offered no apology. “You led those men straight here. I told you not to venture too far.” His expression suddenly changed as though he just realized something. “Did you go into town?”

  James spit blood out and looked away, evading the question. “What are you talking about?”

  Larry stepped forward with increasing anger. “Did you go into town?”

  James shook his head, lowering his arms. “Yes. One of us had to. You expected us to just stay walled up in this tiny cabin for weeks o
n end?” Larry advanced toward him as James held his own fists in the air. “You hit me again, we're going to have a problem.”

  Larry halted and then stared back at him, not so much angry now but disappointed and deceived. “I thought you understood what hunkering down took. I had no idea we were housing an impatient child.” The insult was clear enough, but James took it in stride.

  “Marla and I needed a working vehicle, our own working vehicle. That's all I wanted. I wasn't trying to cause trouble. If you had told me about the prison, I—”

  “Who cares about the prison?” Larry said. “What difference would that have made where we are at?” He then paused and took a deep breath. The tension between them seemed to slowly dissipate as they stood in the quiet darkness. Larry then unexpectedly extended his hand. “Seems we both kept things from each other. Agreed?”

  James studied him for a moment, hesitant, and then shook hands. “So, we're going to work together?”

  “We don't have much choice,” Larry said. He then turned around and walked toward the cabin, going inside despite the thick smoke still flowing outside.

  James stood and waited, wondering what he was doing. In a matter of moments, Larry suddenly emerged from the cabin, carrying a large leather bag. He hurried to the rear of the truck and opened the tailgate, placing the bag there. “They may have gotten some of our weapons,” he began as he unzipped the bag. “But they didn't get all of them.”

  James looked inside the bag and saw a rifle and a pistol. Before he could say a word, Larry handed him the pistol. “Mark VII Desert Eagle. Should do the job better than that old .45 of yours.”

  Holding up the pistol, James noticed that a magazine was already loaded.

  “Careful now,” Larry said. He handed him two more full magazines and then rummaged through the bag and pulled out a tactical vest and slipped it on. James watched as he placed loaded rifle mags inside the vest pockets. He had never asked Larry about his own tactical skills before. The man had no military background that he knew of, but as he held the rifle up, inspecting the scope and front sight, he came across as a man who knew what he was doing. Larry slapped a magazine inside the rifle and pulled back the charging handle, chambering a round. “They couldn't have gotten too far.”

  “Let's hope so,” James said, trying to stay optimistic despite the sick worry he had for Marla.

  Larry turned away from the cabin and walked down the path as James followed. “Follow me. I know a shortcut,” he said.

  They moved quickly down the path, following the tire tracks, as Larry veered into the forest. James squinted in the darkness, trying to follow Larry's light-colored shirt ahead of him. They went through bushes and low-hanging branches, and for a moment, he wondered if Larry really knew where they were going. It was dark and hard to navigate, but then James started moving more confidently, more quickly, recognizing the area just as he nearly stumbled over a log. Larry regained his balance and suddenly gripped the sleeve of James’s shirt, pulling him to the side.

  “Careful now,” Larry said. “There are bear traps everywhere.”

  “Why'd you take us through here then?” James seethed.

  Suddenly, they heard the distant howl of an injured man.

  “Come now,” Larry said, turning away. “Stay close.”

  He moved around bushes, pushing forward in good time. James followed and kept a cautious eye to the ground. They continued down the hill, using the trees in their path for balance. Up ahead, Larry saw something and ducked down. The man's pained cries grew louder. They were close to someone. Ahead, they saw a small group, six men in all, beyond the trees, standing outside Larry's stolen station wagon. It looked to be roughly half of the gang who had attacked them.

  The car idled as the driver turned its headlights on. James and Larry watched from behind some bushes at a safe distance. Two men were helping to carry a man toward the station wagon’s hatchback. The man screamed, then cursed, then screamed again as the men half-carried their comrade and held one bloody leg lifted in the air. Larry was right about the bear traps. They made for an effective alarm.

  James held his mini binoculars up and surveyed the scene. He didn't see Marla or Carol anywhere. They were probably with the other half of the group that had gone on ahead, while these men stopped to help their injured compatriots. There was already a second man lying in the back seat, wrapping his gashed leg. Larry tapped James's arm and pointed ahead with two fingers, but as they advanced, the rest of the men hurried inside the car and drove off, leaving them in the dust. James, still trying to stay hidden, chased after them, but it was futile. Fortunately, Larry knew the forest well, which was crucial in their current predicament. The mere thought of Marla and Carol being held captive by dangerous convicts brought terrible thoughts to mind and intensified their search. But James was also afraid for himself. Larry took a sharp turn left, down a moderately clear path to the bottom of the hill. It was there that they found flat, even terrain and fresh tire marks leading away.

  Larry slowed down and then handed James a pair of high-tech binoculars. “Here. Look through these.”

  James held them to his eyes and saw the forest visible in a grainy green tint.

  “They're thermal,” Larry said. “I can see body heat of living objects from up to four hundred meters away.”

  James handed them back, impressed. He had told Larry much about himself, including his early years as a military mechanic, but Larry hadn't discussed his own past and background beyond his “prepper” know-how.

  They continued down the darkened path, following the tire tracks along a curve. James did his best to keep up, swatting branches to the side, as Larry led them off the clear path and farther through the woods. It was a shortcut, Larry explained, that would allow them to intersect with the station wagon up ahead. The moon glowed from above a night sky, illuminating their path just enough to see where they were going. If Larry was correct in his assessment, they'd emerge onto the road and ambush the wagon. They hurried along at a quickened pace.

  Larry led the way, hunched low and moving fast. He looked to be in his mid-fifties or older but showed no signs of slowing down. “Almost there,” he assured James, still breathing steady and showing no hint of fatigue.

  They scaled another hill, moving along at an angle. The road wasn't yet in view and they were still in the hills. Squinting ahead, James suddenly tripped over a small hole. His ankle twisted as he fell against a tree in panic. Larry halted and turned around. James pushed himself up, eager to regain his balance.

  “Keep it quiet back there,” Larry said just above a whisper.

  James carefully stepped forward and picked up a tall stick for balance. “Sorry.”

  As they veered down the path, Larry stopped at a looming oak tree and surveyed the area ahead with his “thermal” binoculars. James peered out with his own pair but didn't see much except shadow and brush. It had been fifteen to twenty minutes since they had left the cabin, which was plenty of time for the inmates to return to their prison. The name of the prison, Larry had told him, was the Audrain County Correctional Center, and his excited tone indicated that they were on the right path.

  “They're just sitting there, parked on the side of the road,” he said, baffled.

  “Doing what?” James asked.

  “Don't know,” Larry said, lowering his binos. “Let's move in for a closer look.”

  He moved from behind the tree and began a crouched trek across the field. James hurried after him, staying low in the weeds. Beyond the rickety barbed wire fence ahead, they saw a two-lane road. And on the right side of the road was movement. There was no certainty who they had encountered, but James had a feeling it was exactly who they were looking for. They took cover near the trees along the fence and watched.

  3

  Pit Stop

  James and Larry climbed gingerly over the rusty barbed wire in their path and moved closer to the car. Roughly twenty feet ahead, stood six men in all. One was kneeling at
the rear tire, loosening the lug nuts. They'd gotten a flat. James and Larry watched them from the bank of the small ravine, bodies flat against the rocky ground. Larry crawled ahead abruptly, rifle in hand, motioning to James to stay down.

  “I'll handle this,” he said, stopping with his head turned. “Watch my back.”

  James stayed put as Larry rose and approached the men on foot, stealth-like, keeping to the shadows cast by the trees and not making a sound. He then took cover behind a rock outcropping as the men around the station wagon conversed. Everyone seemed relaxed. There was a man seated in the driver's seat, arm out the window, a second man replacing the tire, and four standing at the rear of the wagon, smoking cigarettes.

  Not one of them had yet noticed Larry, who was rapidly advancing toward them and crouched low like a trained assassin. James couldn't see anyone else in the car. If Marla and Carol were in there, they were most likely bound and on the floor. But there was no way to tell.

  James rose and followed, gripping his pistol. He reached the protruding stone and kept watch as Larry moved in closer. The four prisoners standing around seemed in a jovial mood, talking and at ease, with smiles on their faces. James watched, heart beating wildly in his chest, as he tried to anticipate Larry's next move.

  Suddenly five loud, startling shots reverberated through the air in rapid succession. The four men dropped instantly, two of them with their heads blown off. Glass shattered and flew through the car as the man in the driver's seat fell dead against the steering wheel. James rushed ahead, ready to provide backup, but the closer he got, he could see that Larry didn't need any.

  The man at the tire was flat on his stomach with Larry's barrel pressed against his neck. James rushed over, shocked to see every other man dead, some still in their prison uniforms.

  “Where's my wife?” Larry shouted as he stood over the terrified man.

  James circled the wagon, looking inside, and saw no sign of the women. But that was impossible. He and Larry had watched as Marla and Carol were taken away and placed inside that vehicle. James hadn't a minute to even process what had happened. One minute, Larry was approaching the men with his rifle drawn. The next, he had shot and killed five without warning.