Jill Sorenson: Aftershock

Protecting her was his number one mission, and he couldn’t fail. Not this time.

After he finished his breakfast, he took Don aside for a man-to-man. He’d learned yesterday that Don was a Vietnam vet. He had the stoicism and work ethic of career military. Though retired, he was fit and strong.

“Something happened last night,” Garrett said.

“What’s that?”

He’d already told Don about the busted-up convict van. He should have notified Lauren, but she’d been busy with her patients. He hadn’t wanted to worry her.

That was his mistake—and she’d paid for it.

“One of the convicts tried to rape Lauren,” Garrett said.

Don’s brow furrowed with concern. “Did he get to her?”

“No. I woke up and...interrupted. Then his buddy showed up and pulled a gun on me. They both got away.”

Don let out a low whistle. “What should we do?”

“What can we do?”

“I don’t know, son.”

Garrett understood that Don was using the expression in an offhand way, but it had been years since anyone had called him “son.” He cleared his throat, awash with memories. “I’m just telling you what went down.”

“Do you think they’ll come back?”

“They might.”

“We have to be careful.”

“Yes.”

Don glanced down at the crowbar Garrett held, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t ask what Garrett’s intentions were, and didn’t seem to disapprove of the weapon. Even so, Garrett felt uneasy. They’d spent most of the previous day together, working side by side. Don didn’t talk much, but he struck Garrett as a deep thinker.

Lauren was focused on her patients. Penny and Cadence were too young and too traumatized to be making canny observations. Don, on the other hand, had been around the block more than once. He’d gone to war and witnessed the evils that men did. If anyone was going to take a long, hard look at Garrett, it was him.

“I need help clearing away the dead bodies,” Garrett said, tightening his grip on the crowbar.

“Sure,” Don said. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

He went inside the RV, probably to say goodbye to Cadence. He walked back out with a baseball bat, as if he was ready to knock a few heads together. Garrett smothered a grin, admiring the older man’s gumption. He slid the crowbar through his belt loop while Don attached the bat to a string on his wrist.

Garrett asked Lauren for some latex gloves, and she let him borrow the stretcher. Moving the dead was filthy, awful work. They smelled, not of decomposition, but of human waste and charred flesh. He didn’t think he’d ever get the stink of it off his clothes. For the hundredth time since the quake hit, he was reminded of the horrors in Iraq.

After caring for her patients, Lauren joined them. She pulled her weight and then some. He’d been deployed with some very tough women, so he shouldn’t have been surprised. Although slim and feminine, she was strong.

Avoiding the north side, where Jeb and Mickey were, they cleared the bodies from the other areas. The last victim was a boy, about thirteen years old.

Lauren helped load him onto the stretcher. The wounds he’d sustained appeared major. Death had probably been instantaneous. They laid him to rest atop the others, in an ungodly stack of twisted limbs. When Lauren crossed his thin arms over his chest, Garrett turned away, blinking the moisture from his eyes.

He covered the mound of bodies with a tarp, and they all piled rocks over the surface. It wasn’t a proper burial, not by a long shot, but it was the best they could manage.

“We should say something,” Lauren said.

Garrett glanced at Don, who shook his head. Garrett couldn’t find the words, either. He’d stopped believing in God years ago.

There was a spring bouquet on the front seat of a nearby car. Retrieving it, she placed the flowers among the rocks and stepped back, reaching for Garrett’s hand. He took it. At her urging, he grasped Don’s hand as well.

“Moment of silence?”

He nodded.

They stood quietly, paying their respects. Garrett stared at the bouquet against the rocks. The blooms were a bit bruised, but still pretty and fresh. They were starkly beautiful in contrast to the ravaged surroundings.

He stayed still, aware of Lauren’s slender hand in his, her head bent close to his shoulder. If he turned, he could touch his lips to her mussed blond hair. His chest tightened with longing at the thought.

When she released him, he stepped back in haste, fighting the urge to rub his palm against his jeans.

As if he could remove his desire for her.

* * *

BACK AT THE RV, Lauren checked on Penny.

The teenager seemed to be recovering well enough. Her eyes were swollen from crying and she looked groggy. The signs of grief were normal and healthy; Lauren would be more concerned if she acted unaffected.

Cadence appeared to be in good health, as well. She was a bundle of nervous energy, bouncing around the RV and asking for her mother often. Lauren gave her the responsibility of calling emergency services. Every hour or so, the girl dialed 911 on a handful of cell phones. So far, none of the calls had connected.

“Burying” the dead had made an impact on how Lauren felt about their entrapment. The cavern wasn’t as macabre. It was still dirty, and bloody, and dangerous, but at least there weren’t corpses scattered all over the ground.

She tried not to replay last night’s attack, or worry too much about getting out. Garrett had collected a small cache of sodas and sports drinks, but it wasn’t enough to keep five people hydrated indefinitely.

They’d have to take it one day at a time.

She fretted over her patients, both of whom might die without proper care. The situation was a paramedic’s worst nightmare. She didn’t have the expertise or the equipment to save them. They needed to be hospitalized.

While she was changing a bag of IV fluids, another aftershock rocked the structure.

Heart racing, she held the bag steady and glanced upward, hoping the ceiling wouldn’t come tumbling down. It didn’t, but the malfunctioning car alarm started going off again.

Don and Garrett went to see if they could dismantle it. Lauren still had her hands full when a man staggered out of the dark, startling her.

It was one of the convicts. Not Jeb or Mickey, but the young man with blond hair and blackened eyes. He’d regained consciousness.

He was taller than she’d figured, over six feet. Even without the bruises, he’d have looked intimidating. His hands and neck were covered with tattoos. He wore a bleak expression, as if he couldn’t believe the devastation around him.

Cadence burst through the side door of the motor home. When she saw him, she stopped and stared, her eyes wide.

“Water,” he rasped.

Penny appeared at the door also. She told Cadence to get back inside.

The man did a double take when he saw Penny. Lauren wasn’t sure if he was reacting to her late-stage pregnancy or her uncommon beauty, but he appeared dumbfounded. “Do you have any water?” he repeated.

Lauren hurried to change the IV bag.

Cadence reached into a box beside the RV for a bottle of water. She unscrewed the cap and stepped forward with the simple offering. As he accepted the plastic bottle, the girl saw the bold black swastika on his hand.

Her face changed from cautious to stricken. She recognized the symbol, and knew what it meant.

Lauren’s heart broke for her.

Cadence backed away, retreating to the safety of the RV. Penny put her arm around Cadence’s shoulders and gave the man a cold look.

He drank all the water, his throat working in long gulps. Although he seemed disoriented, he also appeared apologetic, as if he regretted offending them with his presence. Thirst overruled shame, however, and he drank every drop.