Family (Reachers) (3 page)

Since meeting the brothers Rachel had killed twice. She didn't regret either death, maybe that was John's influence. Neither would keep her up at night, because this was how the world was now. It was kill or be killed and she was intent on staying alive and keep
ing the brothers alive; her brothers now. It wasn't a conventional family but it was one she was grateful to be part of.

They followed John out of the station
. He pointed at the Humvee and the adorning corpses littering the vehicle and the car park.

"What do you think?" he said.

"Subtle," his brother said. "And I bet you want to keep the turret don't you?"

John didn't answer
– of course he did.

"Fine," Charlie conceded
, and left his brother to clean up the dead cluttering their new car.

Rachel
took the time alone to check him over. In her old life she had been a doctor and Charlie had never looked so much like a patient before. His split lip and swollen face were a clear sign that he could have damaged himself elsewhere. She inspected him, checking his neck and his ribs. There was nothing to cause her major alarm.

"Satisfied doctor?" he said.

"I think you'll live. Does it hurt?"

"Of course not," he lied.

She was concerned, he didn't need to cope with any more pain.

"Don't worry," he said. "I lost my medication."

Before he could protest she drew him near. "Then let me help." Pain and addiction started in the mind and that was her domain. She could take away the agony for a little while, but for someone like Charlie that was a waste of time. Instead she pushed an idea he could build on;
you can cope, you can do this.
When she pulled away he looked brighter. He didn't say anything, he just gave her a grateful smile.

"
Are we really going to drive around in that?" she asked, nodding at the Humvee.

"John's got a thing about military vehicles."

"What about our car?"

"We leave it here."

"John!" Rachel suddenly called. "Can you get the bodies out of the way?"

From the back of the Humvee John scowled.

"There's kids inside and as much as I appreciate your creativity I think they've seen enough for one day."

Charlie smirked at her. "Come on," he told her and led her back inside.

The diners were still fixed in their seats.

"They're in shock," Rachel told him.

"Can you snap them out of it?"

"I'll try."

She went to the man first and took his hand, leading him away from his dead partner.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Richard," he replied in a trance.

"Okay Richard, what was your partner's name?"

"Francis."

"Listen to me closely Richard. Francis is gone now and I know it is very sad, but you need to
leave him here. It is time to say goodbye. And you see that lady and her children over there? They've lost someone they love too. And they are all alone. You need to be brave now Richard. You need to be brave for Francis."

He nodded, the gravity of her words cementing in his mind. Still holding onto his hand
, she led him towards the mother. She knelt down and smiled at her.

"Hello, this is Richard. We're going to give Richard our car and you can go with him. Take the children and get them out of here. Can you do that?"

"They murdered my husband," she said.

"I know. I'm sorry. But you have to think about your children now. Get them to safety."
Get them out of here
.

She nodded and rose, taking Richard's hand. "I'm Daisy," she said
to him.

"There's food in the kiosk," Charlie said. "Take whatever you need." He tossed the keys to Richard. "The car is full and there is more fuel in the boot. There are guns in the car park. Take what you find.
Take them West until you get off the motorway." He shook Richard's hand.

"Why are you helping us?" Richard asked
, still dazed.

Charlie glanced at Rachel and smiled. "Because we're not all like
them
. Good luck."

They watched their
old car leave the road with satisfaction then they took the rest of the supplies they needed from the kiosk. The old man still groaned underneath the shelving and he would until the cold or starvation caught up with him. Rachel would have had sympathy if she hadn't seen the children. She helped load up the car and settled into the roomier backseat.

John's mood was
unusually cheerful and good humoured. He had his car, he'd saved the day and they had everything they needed to outlive the winter. Charlie's pain was at bay, he was thinking about the family he had saved and the morality Rachel had brought with her. Rachel sat back and looked at the brothers, the bag of money by her side, now the least valuable thing she had with her.

Standing between a loaded gun and a life of
danger on the road, the Smith brothers were a very good option.

End

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

L E Fitzpatrick was Yorkshire born but now lives in West Wales with lots of cats and dogs.

She has published a fantasy series and is currently working on more Reacher novels and short stories.

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR

This story fills in one of the missing scenes between
The Running Game
and
Border Lines
.

Find out how Rachel, Charlie and John ended up on the road together in the novel
The Running Game
and then read about where their journey takes them in
Border Lines
.

The Reacher world is just unfolding you can find out when new novels or companion pieces like this one are released by following me on facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/lefitzpatrickbooks

Did you like this story? Then why not leave a review?
Independent authors rely on their readers to help promote and support their work. If you enjoyed this book why not recommend it to a friend or leave a review.

Preview of:

The Running Game

L E Fitzpatrick

Five past eleven. Rachel’s shift should have finished three hours ago. She slammed her time-card into the machine. Nothing. She gave it a kick, then another until it released, punching her card and signing her out for the night. The hospital locker room was unusually quiet. There was a nurse signing out for the night, two doctors signing in. Nobody spoke to each other – it wasn’t that kind of place. Grabbing her threadbare coat from her locker, she drew it over her scrubs – the only barrier between her and the unforgiving October night. She walked through the ER waiting room, eyes fixed on the exit. You had to ignore the desperation. Three hours over a twelve hour shift, you had no choice but to pretend like you didn’t care. Push past the mothers offering up their sick children like you could just lay your hands on them and everything would be better. Push past the factory workers bleeding out on the floor. Push that door open and get out. Get home. You had to. In six hours the whole thing would start again.

The first blast of cold air slapped the life into her aching body. The second blast nearly pushed her back inside. She tightened the coat around herself, for the good it would do. November was coming, and coming fast. She quickened her pace, trying to outrun the winter.

She hurried past the skeletal remains of another fallen bank, a relic of the days when there had been an economy. Now the abandoned building housed those left to the streets; the too old, the too young, the weak, the stupid. Cops would be coming soon, moving them on, pushing them from one shadow to another until dawn or death, whichever came first. But for now they sat, huddled around burning canisters, silently soaking in the heat as though they could carry that one flame through winter. They didn’t notice Rachel. Even the really bad men lurking in the doorways, waiting for helpless things to scurry past, overlooked the young doctor as she made her way home. Nobody ever saw her. At least they never used to.

Three – two – one. Right on cue. She felt someone watching her. It was always the same place, opposite the third window of the old bank. He was hidden, not in the bank but close. So close she could almost feel his breath on the back of her neck. She'd watched muggings before, these were desperate times and people took what they could when they could. There were rapes too, five this week, at least five that had needed medical care. It was a dangerous city and getting worse. But this was different. He – and for some reason she knew it was a he – did nothing. For a week he had been there, never betraying his position or his intentions, but she could feel him and the longer he waited the more he tormented her. He knew where she lived, where she worked, the route she took to the exchange store. And he escorted her home each night without ever showing himself. It made no sense. And that made it so much worse.

She wasn't intimidated easily, doctors in St Mary's couldn't be. It didn't matter that she was only five feet tall and looked like a strong wind would knock her down, she had to take care of herself. But the stalking had spooked her. The sleepless nights followed, wondering who he was, what he wanted, if he knew.

There was nowhere for her to go in the city, no place she could hide, no escape. If she wanted to eat she had to work and he would be waiting for her outside the hospital – watching, doing nothing. She was tired of it, tired of everything, but there was something she could do. She could make it stop, one way or another. Whatever he had planned, whatever he wanted to do to her, he would have to look her in the eye as he did it, because she was done running.

She stopped walking and turned.

The street was empty. But she could still feel him there. The buildings pressed their darkness into the street and the spattering of hissing lamplights did little to expose the nocturnal danger below. There was noise, there was always noise; voices, vehicles, the persistent buzzing of the electricity struggling to reach the edges of the city. So much going on, so little to see – a perfect place to hide.

“Okay you pervert,” she whispered to herself. “Where’re you hiding?”

The road stretched back into a tightrope. Gingerly, her feet edged back towards the ruined bank. She scanned the buildings around her, the upper windows, the ground level doorways, waiting for him to pounce. One step – two step. Look. Nothing. She retraced her steps to the next building. Then the next. He felt so close – why couldn’t she see him?

“You want me, well here I am, you freak. Come and get me!”

There was a shout from the bank. Someone running. A man. Her stomach clenched. She braced herself. He pushed by her, hurrying away. It wasn’t
him
.

She turned confused and warm breath touched the back of her neck.

“Get down!” The world went white.

With her face pressed into the filthy, cold road, Rachel waited. The ground beneath her trembled but that was it. She frowned, waiting for something, trying to understand what she was doing laying in a stinking puddle at the side of the road. Hands were lifting her to her feet. She turned to the bank, but it was gone. Flames licked at the pile of rubble in its place. People stumbled from the wrecked building, choking and coughing, others with their eyes as wide open as their mouths. But there was no sound, just staggered movement and growing heat. Rachel watched, feeling more curious than afraid. The silent panic was fascinating. She made to move and her ears exploded with noise. The shock of it knocked her back. Screaming, cries for help, the ringing of sirens from every direction.

The ground shook again and the building exploded another mortar firework into the street. She felt her body being tugged away. But people were coming to help. People were still alive. She was a doctor, she was needed.

“I can help these people,” she shouted trying to fight off her restraint.

“It’s a lure bomb.” The voice was so cool it made her freeze. She looked at the stranger and swallowed the clumps of gravel lodged in the back of her throat. She had wanted to meet him face to face but not like this.

He
stared at her with blank eyes. The dead and dying meant nothing to him. He was there for her and her alone. His hand still held her shoulder, holding her back. The hand that had pulled her to safety. So many questions ran through her head but she could only push one out.

“A lure bomb?”

A small explosion that drew in the police. Her mind raced to remember. Followed by the bigger bomb that would blow them to pieces. She turned back to the space where the bank should have been. More people were rushing to help, pulling at the arms and legs of the buried. If they were lucky bodies would come with them.

“We have to warn…” The man had gone.

The sirens grew louder.

Rachel drew in a steadying breath.
Three hours over a twelve hour shift – you had no choice but to pretend like you didn’t care.
She started to run.