The Escape (17 page)

“Let’s try the next town,” Lanche said. The Connecticut soldier, an Asian man named Wen, joined them for the promised seeds.

“Thank you so much for helping our people, Colonel Lanche,” Wen said. “We’ve heard you’ve done an incredible job of keeping many of the people in Manhattan alive since the Pulse.”

“I couldn’t do nearly enough,” Lanche said. “Most everyone is dead. We’ve got about twenty thousand, maybe less. Out of an entire city.”

Wen paled. “I’m sorry, sir. That seems to be the case everywhere.”

“Before we go back, we have to take out a terrorist threat and bring in two women. We can use your help.”

“Anything to help you, Colonel.”

But when the soldiers went back to the freeway to get the truck, it was gone.

Lanche screamed at the top of his lungs in anger. “Motherfuckers! How did this happen?”

“Sir,” Dobson said quietly, “you were rightly concerned with our working vehicle drawing attention in the towns. I took the keys with me. I have no idea how they stole it.”

Lanche wanted to punch Dobson in the face. He would have, too, if Wen wasn’t there. Instead, he pointed to the tire tracks. “They’re back on 95. We have to get them.”

“We’ll never catch them on foot,” Scar said.

“Who?” Wen asked. “Who’s them?”

“The terrorists. They’ve been stalking us, wanting to kill us, to take over Grand Central. They were RIGHT UNDER OUR NOSE!” He screamed again in fury. “Wen. We need a working vehicle.”

“Nothing runs since the Pulse, sir.”

“Old cars. You know, the really old cars, those work.”

Wen raised his eyebrows. “This is Greenwich. Look around. Mercedes, BMWs, Lexuses, Porsches. Everyone around here had a new car every two years. There weren’t any decades-old clunkers sitting around.”

“There’s got to be one,” Lanche argued. “For the sake of national security, we have to find one.”

Wen paused. “We can go back to the camp, ask the leader. They . . . There might be one. A tractor. I remember hearing it rumbling around shortly after the Pulse, when it was so quiet. But I haven’t heard it lately.”

A tractor. What the fuck.

“Wen, we’re going to start up 95. Get that tractor, and get on the freeway and find us. Pick us up so we can get these guys.”

“What if I can’t, sir?”

“Then you won’t be getting any seeds to grow, now will you? And all those pitiful people you have left there at that camp?” Lanche stared the smaller man down. “They’ll die.”

Lanche didn’t look back at Wen’s face as he, Dobson, and Scar shouldered their rifles and headed back onto I-95.

Interstate 95

BARKER, JENNA, AND EVAN

Jenna was proud
of Evan. He’d gone from being terrified of guns to being . . . well, still a bit terrified, but able to accurately shoot one. And being terrified of a deadly weapon wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It gave him respect for it, for what it could do.

“You realize I’m more likely to shoot one of you than to shoot an enemy with this thing,” Evan said. “That’s what statistics show.”

“Those statistics are for pre-Pulse households,” Barker said. “This is more like a battlefield. Rule of thumb: don’t shoot unless you know what you’re shooting at.”

“And what’s
behind
what you’re shooting at,” Jenna added. “A bullet can go right through an enemy and into a friend behind him.”

“Great,” Evan said, sarcasm dripping from the word. “That makes me feel a lot better.” He paused. “I’m so thirsty. Do we have any water left?”

“Barker has some in his pack. I’m going to take a nap while we wait,” Jenna said. “Might as well.”

But then the sound of a truck engine rumbling in the distance caught her ear.

She held up her fist, the way Barker did when he wanted them to be quiet. All soldier-like.

They stared down the road.

“Hide,” Barker said, and they each got behind a tire of a car.

Evan tried to hide next to her, but she shooed him to another point, another car. “You have a gun, we’re safer if we’re not bunched together. More chances of hitting them, too.”

“I’m gonna die,” Evan whispered. “I knew it.”

“You’re not gonna die. Shoot to kill, man,” Barker said. He aimed his rifle. “When the truck comes closer, I’ll shoot out the tires.”

They waited in silence as the truck ambled toward them. It was going much slower than it had the last time, with more obstacles in its way.

“I’ve got the front right tire in my sights,” Barker said. With a loud pop, he shot out the tire, and the truck skidded, swerving madly.

Jenna took aim. “I’ll get the other tire, make ’em walk to us. Even ground.”

But she couldn’t get a good sight on the tire.

“Evan,” she said. “You’re in a better position. Shoot out the left front tire. Now!”

Evan inhaled audibly, but he did it. He shot the tire, and pumped his fist in the air as the vehicle stopped.

But to Jenna’s surprise, no soldiers exited the vehicle. She saw two pale, small hands reach out the window. No gun.

“It’s a trap,” Evan said.

“Hold your fire.” Barker replied. “Always know what you’re shooting at, remember?”

Larger hands came out the second window, in an “I surrender” pose.

“Get the fuck out with your hands up!” Barker yelled.

Clarissa got out of the car, keeping her hands up. “It’s just me and Roy! We stole their truck!” she shouted.

Oh thank God.

Jenna left her position and they ran to the truck.

“Damn it, and we shot out the fucking tires,” Barker said. “We didn’t know.”

But Clarissa didn’t seem concerned about the disabled truck. “You guys, they’re coming for us. We never got to Evan’s house.” Her hand fluttered to her neck for a moment, as if remembering her lost necklace. “We found their truck and took it.”

“So they have no vehicle,” Barker said.

“They could get one. From the camp, the one where Evan’s parents are staying. They could be here any minute.”

“What do we do?” Evan asked. “Maybe we can change the tires on the truck with one of these other car’s tires?”

“No,” Roy said, “we need to get off the road. Hide. Hope they pass us by.”

“They’ll never pass by if they see the truck here,” Jenna argued. “They’ll search for us. We have to stay and fight. Like last time.”

“We should still try to change these tires. We might be able to get it done before they get to us, and then we’ll have a way to move.”

Clarissa nodded. “Let’s do it. But let’s do it fast, guys.”

There was a large pickup truck, a newer model, stalled down the freeway. Roy pointed to it. “Those tires should work. Let’s get to it.”

They ran to the new truck, looking in the back for a jack and a way to get the tires off.

“I’ve never changed a tire before,” Clarissa said.

“Me neither,” Barker admitted.

“Well,” Roy said, “finally the old guy has some usefulness.”

It took them a while to get the front two tires off and roll them to the old truck.

“Jack it up,” Roy said, and Barker helped him.

They got the first tire on before they heard the sound of an engine coming up the road.

Lanche saw his
truck before he saw the people.

“There they are,” he said. “Shoot the man, take the women.”

“There’s . . . there’s three men,” Dobson said. “Wait. Two men and an adolescent and two women.”

“I don’t give a fuck. Shoot all the men. Take the girls.”

“One’s just a boy,” Wen said, surprised. “A teenager.” He was gripping the edge of the slow-moving tractor for his life, his rifle strapped around his chest.

“If he’s with them, he’s against us,” Lanche said.

“Sir, what if he was kidnapped? We could save him.”

“Shut the fuck up, Wen,” Scar yelled. “Listen to fucking orders.”

Lanche growled in frustration. Maybe the kid knew something. “All right, take the kid alive if you can. He could have intel.”

They got close enough to shoot, which meant they were almost definitely in the line of fire as well.

“Go on, men, get them!” he shouted. But he stayed in the tractor, hunching low.

He couldn’t see the group anymore. Barker, Jenna, Clarissa, and the older man and kid were hiding somewhere out there, lying in wait to murder them all.

Dobson moved forward, his rifle aimed. A muzzle blast from one of the combatants gave away his—her?—position, and Dobson fired at them.

Another shot rang out, and Dobson whirled, shooting at the older man. With a look of surprise on the man’s face, he went down with a cry.

Gotcha, motherfucker.

Barker shot at
the soldier, hitting his shoulder. To his left, he heard one of the women wail.

“Noooo!” Clarissa had seen Roy get shot. He was down.

Fucking hell.

“Stay down, Clarissa,” he yelled. “Or shoot them!”

Clarissa started spraying bullets at the tractor, and an Asian man leapt off the vehicle, with his weapon pointed.

“Don’t shoot,” the Asian soldier yelled. “We’re taking you in, alive. Don’t make me shoot you.”

Then he ducked as a bullet from Jenna’s gun whizzed by his arm.

A soldier with an ugly scar running across his cheek came from out of nowhere, it seemed, and grabbed Evan’s gun with an aggressive move that had the kid disarmed almost immediately.

Barker knew that soldier. Scar, they called him. He was almost as bad as Lanche himself.

Scar held Evan in front of him like a human shield and pointed his handgun at the kid’s temple. “Drop your weapons,” Scar yelled.

Barker kept aiming at his head, but the asshole was hiding completely behind Evan. There was no way to get a clean shot.

Clarissa dropped her weapon. “Don’t shoot him,” she said. “He’s just a kid.”

“Hey,” the Asian man said. “I know this guy. He escaped from our camp in Greenwich. Tried to dodge the draft when his birthday hit.”

“Wen,” Evan said, his voice amazingly calm for someone with a gun at his head. “The men you are with are bad. Shoot them. Shoot them!”

Wen shook his head. “The Colonel is with us. He’s going to save us all. They’ve got seeds.” He turned to Scar. “Let the kid go, he’s one of ours.”

But Scar held the gun on Evan. “Drop all of your motherfucking guns or watch this kid’s head explode. Now.”

Barker backed up. He needed to get the other tire on the truck. The truck was jacked up and the old tire already off, it just needed the new one. As quickly as he could, he started putting the new tire on.

Jenna saw what he was doing and dropped her gun, letting it fall against her chest, but not to the ground.

“I want to speak to the Colonel,” she said.

Thank God. She was trying to buy him some time.

“Hands on your heads!” Dobson yelled, and Clarissa and Jenna put their hands on their heads.

“Where’s Barker?” Scar demanded.

“You shot him,” Jenna lied. “He’s over there.” She pointed to Roy’s body.

“That’s not Barker,” Dobson said. “That’s some old guy.”

“His name was Roy,” Clarissa said, and tears rolled down her face. “And you killed him.”

The Colonel stepped out of the tractor. “I’m glad to see you’re not as dead as I was told you were, Jenna,” he said. “We’ll need you and Clarissa to come back with us.”

“That will never happen,” Jenna said.

Finally! Barker finished with the tire and jumped into the front seat of the truck, keeping his head low. He wanted to shoot the Colonel, but he couldn’t risk it, not with Scar holding Evan hostage.

“Get in,” he said under his breath.

Jenna and Clarissa turned at his voice and scrambled into the truck.

“We can’t leave Evan with them,” Clarissa shouted as Barker sped away.

Bullets were flying. They were trying to shoot their tires.

“We have no choice, he’s a hostage. If we shoot at them, they’d kill him.”

“They’re going to torture him to get information,” Jenna whispered. “We have to go back.”

“And Roy!—Roy is lying there, I want to see him . . .” Clarissa said.

“Roy is dead. We are not going back for a corpse. And we’ll get Evan, I promise,” Barker said, driving as fast as he could through the cars. The tractor behind him was slow, very slow compared to the truck.

“They won’t kill Evan, not while he has information about us,” Barker said. “Evan is a smart kid, he’ll know that. A smart guy. Old enough to take care of himself.”

“Bullshit. I want to go back there and kill them,” Jenna said.

“We will, Jenna.” Barker stared straight ahead, keeping his eye on the road. The tractor was no longer following them.

They had turned back, and were headed, most likely, back to Grand Central. With Evan as their prisoner.

“We will get back to Grand Central, and we will fucking kill them. And we’ll get Evan back.”

“When?” Clarissa asked.

“As soon as we can. But we need help. We need . . . our own army.”

Lanche cursed at
the slow-moving tractor Wen had brought them. There was no point in chasing them down.

No, the kid, now in handcuffs on the seat next to Scar, would know where Barker and the rest were heading. When the Colonel got his crew back to Grand Central, they’d be able to patch Dobson up and get a better truck. The next time they went after those terrorists, they’d kill them all on sight.

“You should have shot them all,” Lanche said.

Dobson clung to his bleeding shoulder. “Sir, we had direct orders from you not to shoot the women or the boy. We got one male.”

“But you didn’t get Barker!” Lanche yelled.

Wen spoke up. “Sir, when I get the seeds, I’d like to take Evan back to our camp.”

“I’m not fighting for you, Wen,” Evan said softly. “I hate all of you.”

Wen appeared lost for words. “You have to. It’s a draft. It’s not voluntary.”

“You’re a worthless piece of shit, Wen,” Lanche said. “I’ll give you your fucking seeds and your stupid slow-ass tractor, but Evan is ours now.” He turned to the teen, whose boyish face was impassive. Blank.

“You hear that, boy?” Lanche said. He reached over and grabbed the kid’s ear, making him wince in pain. “You should have stayed with Wen, back when you had the chance. Because you’re mine now.”