No Ordinary Mission: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Page 2

  Static crackled across the line for a long moment. “We don’t have any medical supplies to deal with a difficult birth and I’m not exactly experienced in the matter.”

  “Neither am I, but we can’t ignore it. Can we?”

  John pulled the rearview toward him and caught a glimpse of his swollen nose and black eye. Behind them, Gloria and Raymond faced each other in the front seat of the Explorer, Gloria’s hands waving as Raymond shook his head. They weren’t going to win this one. He held the Sig Sauer out to Emma. “Hand me the walkie-talkie and take this.”

  Emma did as he asked, confusion arching a brow.

  He clicked the button. “Raymond, this is John. I’m in no shape to help, but Emma is going in. Can you go with her and make sure she stays safe? If you sense trouble—” he left it hanging.

  The walkie-talkie crackled. “We’ll leave if it gets ugly.”

  John exhaled and set the device on the dash.

  Emma shoved the pistol beneath the waistband of her pants and fluted the T-Shirt over it. “Thank you.” She shoved open the driver’s side door and ducked to step out when John grabbed her arm.

  “Be careful.”

  She nodded before turning toward the waiting teenager. He motioned toward an apartment building at the northeast corner of the intersection and John leaned over to catch a better view. Two-story. 1960s brick with sagging metal balconies and chipping paint. It had seen better days. He didn’t like any of it.

  Pain brought another wave of nausea and John shoved the passenger side door open in time to heave a sticky wad of bile and stomach acid onto the weeds. Whatever waited inside the building, Emma and Raymond would have to handle it on their own. John tugged the door shut and leaned back against the seat. He hoped for once his instincts were as fouled as his guts.

  Chapter Three

  EMMA

  Emma didn’t have the first clue about childbirth or how to help a woman in labor. The sum total of her experience consisted of watching a video in health class when she was sixteen. One of the boys in class, a notorious one-and-one type who tried to get in every girl’s pants, passed out. Claimed it was low blood sugar to save face, but everyone knew. That video was terrifying to a teenage boy.

  No wonder the kid flagged them down in the street.

  She followed him across the asphalt as Raymond loped up, shotgun held low at his side. “Tell me you know more about this than I do.”

  “Probably even less.” She wished now she’d paid more attention to her friends who’d had children. “We’ll just have to do what we can.” Emma quickened her pace until she matched the boy's stride. “What’s your name?”

  The kid shot her a glance, eyes wide enough to catch a sliver of white all around. “D-Danny. M-my first name is Danny.”

  She smiled to ease his nerves. “Well, Danny, I’m Emma and it’s nice to meet you.”

  The kid wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and nodded. “Yeah, you, too.”

  “How old is your mom? You’ve got to be, what, sixteen?”

  His lower lip quivered. “Fifteen next month.”

  Younger than she gave him credit for. No wonder he was so nervous.

  “And your mom?” Raymond’s voice carried a sharp edge and Danny’s hand snaked up the back of his neck as his shoulders lifted.

  “You don’t know how old your mom is?”

  “She, uh, doesn’t like to talk about her age, you know?” His voice cracked on the last word.

  Emma turned to catch Raymond’s eye. Would a teenage boy know his mom’s age? Probably not. But the way he answered worried her all the same. “When is the baby due?”

  They reached the apartment building and Danny pointed to the front door, ignoring her question. “It’s just in here. Come on, we gotta hurry. He reached for the door handle, but his hand slipped around the worn brass. He wiped his palm across his jeans and tried again, pulling it open before motioning for Emma and Raymond to enter.

  With his eyes trained on the floor, Danny waited until Emma and Raymond squeezed past him before closing the door behind them. Emma reached behind her back and patted the gun secured in her waistband. Last thing she wanted was to terrify a woman in active labor, but John’s warning replayed in her mind. Assume he’s lying. For the first time, she was beginning to see John’s point.

  She followed the teenager up a flight of stairs, feet landing on threadbare tracks worn from countless others who’d done the same. Pale wood shone through the dark stain on the handrail where the finish had worn away and the stench of stale cigarettes clung to the walls.

  The kid twisted at the top of the stairs to look down at Emma. Sweat shined his forehead and quickened her pulse. “It’s just down here. Hurry.”

  Emma glanced once more at Raymond who followed three stairs behind. His shoulders blotted out the light from the front door. I’m not alone. Raymond is here with me. Everything is going to work out. They reached a nondescript apartment door, barely visible without artificial light, and Emma sucked in a breath.

  Danny knocked twice, and a handful of seconds later the door swung open revealing a girl no older than twelve. Clumps of greasy brown hair obscured half her face, and she shrank back to let them in. Danny shouldered past her as if she were an inconvenient piece of furniture blocking the way. Emma followed.

  The second she cleared the hallway, a shout erupted from her right. She spun as a man more than twice her size swung his arms back.

  “Ray!” She shouted, but it was too late. The man swung, bat slamming into Raymond’s upper back as he entered the room. He fell to his knees with a thud, shotgun skittering across the floor. One arm crumpled as he sagged to the floor, face blooming red as he struggled to breathe.

  Hands pawed at Emma’s waist, and she twisted to find Danny all over her. Gone was the innocent, terrified teenager. In his place, a determined assailant. He clawed at her waistband, reaching for the gun he must have known was there. She stepped back, overwhelmed and confused. “What are you doing? Where’s your mother?”

  Danny didn’t answer, diving again for her gun. She side-stepped and brought her left arm up as John taught her to fend off his assault. Remember the training. Eye gouge. Knee to the groin. Emma hesitated. Could she hurt a kid? A fourteen-year-old boy?

  Another shout rang out, this time from Raymond as he rolled to his right. The baseball bat crashed down, splintering the faded wood floor. Everything was happening way too fast. She tugged at her shirt, frantically trying to uncover the handgun as Danny charged her again. He threw an awkward punch and she jumped back as knuckles scraped across her middle.

  Her heels bumped the couch as her fingers finally found the cold metal of the grip and Emma yanked the Sig Sauer free. Chest heaving, brain whirring, Emma aimed straight at Danny. “Stop it right now, the pair of you, or I swear to God I’ll put a bullet in your chest!”

  The teenager cast a frantic glance at his companion. The other man paid no heed, swinging for the fences and Raymond’s head. Raymond rolled again, this time rearing up onto his knees before hopping onto his feet. He crouched, hands up like a boxer as he circled the other man. He almost growled at Emma. “Only shoot if you have to.”

  Emma swallowed.

  The man swung again for Raymond and as the bat sailed in an arc past Raymond’s torso, he attacked. His right fist propelled his entire body forward, slamming into the other man’s exposed ribs. The bigger man stumbled backward, losing his grip on the bat as the weight of the blow rippled through his torso.

  Emma stepped back on instinct and Danny took advantage, darting behind the couch and giving himself a bit of cover. She cursed herself for taking her eyes off him. “I said, don’t move!”

  Emboldened by the fight, Danny snorted. “You’re not gonna shoot me. You’re nothin’ but a pote de leche.”

  A what of milk? Emma’s pale arms stuck out in front of her, gun still pointed at Danny, and it clicked. She didn’t know much Spanish, but she figured out the gist. She migh
t be a scrawny white girl, but that didn’t mean she was going down without a fight. She hardened her resolve and widened her stance. If only they had an endless supply of ammo.

  Raymond and the other man circled each other as Emma eyed the shotgun wedged beneath the corner of the couch. Could she reach it? As she took a step toward it, the man fighting with Raymond whipped his head in her direction, eyes darting from her face to the gun on the floor. He lunged for it, stretching wide.

  It was the opportunity Raymond needed. He strode forward and hooked his left foot around the other man’s ankle and jerked it back. The bigger man fell, head cracking against the corner of the coffee table before crashing into the ground.

  “Luis!” The teenager screamed as he rushed to the older man’s side.

  Emma watched him go, gun trained on his back.

  Raymond fished the shotgun out from beneath the couch and turned to Emma. Disgust washed over his face, and he jerked his head toward the hall. “Let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time.”

  Danny flung his arms out. “You can’t go! He’s bleeding! You have to help him!”

  “You should’ve thought of that before you tried to rob us.” Every word Raymond uttered was clipped short in anger.

  “We needed money, all right?” Danny leaned back on his heels, hands digging into his thighs. “With everything shut down, we didn’t get paid. Food ran out days ago. By the looks of it, you got plenty.”

  “So, you were just going to take it from us?”

  “You got a better idea?”

  “You could’ve asked for some help,” Raymond offered.

  The kid scoffed. “Yeah, like you would give us the time of day.”

  Raymond lifted an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The kid rattled off something in Spanish, too fast for Emma to pick out a single word.

  From the look crossing over Raymond’s face, it wasn’t good. He responded in Spanish, again too complex and quick for Emma to decipher.

  Danny paled.

  Raymond stepped back and shepherded Emma toward the hall. Before they left, he turned back. “Head wounds bleed like crazy. Get a towel. Apply pressure to the wound. As soon as it clots, wrap it up in a bandage if you’ve got one. Use a shirt or a sheet if you don’t. Once that’s done, try to wake him up. Keep him up for a while. Make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.”

  Danny’s head bobbed once. “Gracias.”

  “De nada.” Raymond turned toward Emma. “Let’s go.”

  She glanced once more at Danny and the man he hovered over, wishing she’d listened to John and never spoke to the kid. Was this the way it was always going to be? Assuming the worst, being disappointed when she didn’t? She thought about Irma and Gil and how they had welcomed them into their home. Were they even still alive? Or did someone like Danny, a hungry kid out of options, take advantage?

  As they exited the apartment, the girl was nowhere to be seen. As they descended the stairs, Emma called ahead to Raymond. “What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing worth repeating.” Raymond took the stairs two at a time and Emma hurried to keep up, head swimming with doubt and regret.

  Chapter Four

  JOHN

  John wiped his eyes in a fruitless attempt to clear his ever-present brain fog. Emma never should have left the Jeep. Every minute she and Raymond were gone, apprehension grew like a fungus, coating John’s insides, and sparking sweat across his scalp. He was in no shape to undertake a rescue mission.

  The walkie-talkie on the dash crackled and Gloria’s voice filtered through the tiny speaker. “John? Are you there?”

  John leaned over to grab the device, injured calf grazing the underside of the seat. Pain lanced through the muscle, and he clicked the button. “I’m here.”

  “There’s a young guy; eighteen, maybe twenty. He’s leaning against the wall of the apartment building. Looks like a scout.”

  John gritted his teeth and twisted until he faced the building. Crumbling brick facade, graffiti painted over in mismatched oranges and reds in a poor attempt to blend. He pressed the button. “I see him.” The kid Gloria identified stared from below a baseball cap straight at the vehicles. His baggy shirt hid any weapons.

  “He gives me the creeps. There’s something about this that just seems wrong.”

  “Agreed. Do you have any weapons?”

  “Willy’s rifle.”

  “How many rounds?”

  “I have no idea.”

  John cursed. Gloria might have decent aim, but she lacked experience and they were dangerously short of bullets. “Any movement from Holly or Vince?”

  “Raymond stopped by the truck before he joined Emma, but I haven’t seen them open a door if that’s what you mean.”

  John plucked the rifle off the floor and brought it up to rest on his lap. As he watched the apartment building for any sign of activity the door to the lobby opened and another man stepped out. His head swiveled left then right. Nimble fingers darted out, tracing the outside of his mouth before taking off in the opposite direction of the lookout. John tracked his movement, watching as he ducked behind a parked Suburban. With a flat tire and a broken side mirror, it didn’t appear operational.

  Not good.

  John slid over until his leg rested against the console. Using the steering wheel as leverage he leaned over and buzzed down the driver’s side window enough to ease the barrel of the rifle out the opening. He braced himself and sucked in a breath before blowing it out, slow and even. Two shots and the lookout and the kid behind the Suburban would be dead. He blinked to bring the lookout into focus. It didn’t work.

  He rubbed his eye and pain radiated from the bruising around the socket. With a curse, he shifted position, using his other eye to sight the kid.

  His finger hesitated on the trigger. Before he met Emma, killing the lookout would have been a no-brainer. But now? What if the kid told the truth? What if there really was a pregnant woman inside and Emma managed to save not only her, but a newborn baby. If she walked out of there and found a couple strangers dead on the ground, she would never forgive him.

  And he’d never forgive himself. Not when he’d had a choice.

  The door to the apartment building swung open, smashing into the brick exterior. A visibly angry Raymond followed with Emma close behind. Both held their weapons out and ready. John kept his aim trained on the sentry. At the sight of Raymond, the kid peeled off the wall and hustled around the corner, disappearing from view. John swiveled toward the Suburban. Feet shuffled beneath it. The other lookout was still there.

  Emma reached the Jeep without incident and John pulled back to allow her inside. She shut the door reaching out shaky hands to grip the steering wheel. He didn’t have to ask. With trembling lips, she turned to face him. “It was a setup. There’s no pregnant woman. Just a couple of guys trying to shake us down.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No. Raymond took a nasty hit from a bat, but I think he’s fine.”

  “And the assailants?”

  “One is fine. The other—” She shook her head.

  John motioned past her. “I’ve tracked two more out there. One seems to be a lookout. I can’t get a handle on the other one.”

  The horn of the Explorer blared in three insistent pulses as Raymond peeled off the curb and passed around them. He slammed on the brakes next to Vince in the truck as the radio crackled.

  “We’re getting out of here. Can y’all take up the rear behind Vince?”

  John responded, “Will do.”

  The taillights on the horse trailer flashed to life and Emma shifted into drive. Following a safe distance behind, they eased away from the apartment building and down the road.

  Pop-pop-pop! The horse trailer shimmied.

  John twisted in the seat, wrenching the rifle toward the rear window. He should have taken the shots when he had the chance. The kid behind the Suburban took off, running away from the road and toward the rear of
the apartment building.

  “What was that?” Emma’s words tumbled out high-pitched and laced with fear.

  He ducked, trying in vain to secure a shot, but the kid slipped behind the corner too fast. “Kid behind the Suburban. Sounded like a plinker, maybe a twenty-two. Did he hit the trailer or the truck?”

  “Not sure, but Vince isn’t slowing down.”

  John twisted back to the front, grimacing against the pain. “There’s a chance the bullets did no damage. If they hit his fender or a place with no equipment, the truck could be fine.”

  Emma frowned but kept driving, maintaining a consistent distance between her and the trailer. As they put the little town behind them, John’s heart slowed. He rested the rifle in his lap and sucked in a breath. Hot burning discomfort radiated from his leg wound and bile edged up his throat again. Sweat trickled down between his shoulder blades.

  He bent down and risked a look at the wound. Raymond’s stitches held, but the tissue swelled between them, thick and puffy and tinged yellow. Infected. He dropped his pant leg and leaned back against the seat.

  “You okay?”

  “Never better.” He closed his eyes as they drove out of the little town and on toward the state line. He needed to sleep every chance he could get. “Wake me if you need me.” It didn’t take long for him to slip back into unconsciousness.

  John shifted in the seat and grumbled as he wiped his face. “Now I remember why I hate riding shotgun. I think every muscle is stiff.” He opened his eyes to find the Jeep parked and himself alone. The Jeep sat in what looked to be a field remaining fallow for the season with weeds and brambles competing for the last vestiges of the evening sun.

  Ten feet away, the horse trailer stood open and empty, with Vince’s truck in front and the Explorer just beyond. He twisted toward the back. Behind the vehicles, an area had been cleared and the familiar silhouettes of people he’d come to think of as friends milled about. The beginnings of a fire spewed smoke into the darkening sky.