Broussard blanched at the idea that another might suffer if he stepped out of line. He nodded solemnly. “Understood.”
“I hope so.” Miller pulled the door open then looked back at him. “Because General Vickers is not a nice person once he’s been crossed.”
Hank pulled the truck up near the front of the grocery store and shut off the engine. “Something doesn’t look right here.”
Charlie leaned forward and squinted in the midday sun. “Looks abandoned to me.”
“Look at all the crap by the front doors.”
Charlie shrugged. “So it’s been looted.” He slapped at Hank. “Topamax ain’t exactly the kind of drug most folks look for when they raid a pharmacy.”
Hank groaned as he reached for the door. “I got a bad feeling about this.”
“Then let’s hit a different place.”
Hank stared at the grocery store and considered his options. Wally had saved his fat from the fire too many times not to make an honest effort. He pushed the door of the truck open and stepped onto the running board. “No. This one is on the way.” He nodded to Charlie. “Let’s get this over with.”
Charlie pushed his own door open and hopped to the pavement. “In and out. Easy-peasy.”
Hank took a step toward the store then paused. “Good god. I think the sewer backed up inside that place.”
Charlie held a hand over his mouth and shook his head. “In and out. Breathe through our mouths.”
Hank stepped away and shook his head. “Too many bad vibes, man. I think maybe we should—”
The arrow that shot from the shadows sliced the fabric of Charlie’s shirt and the man yelped as he dove for the pavement. “Jeezus! They’re shooting at us!”
Hank turned and ran for the truck as an arrow thwipped past his ear. He dove behind the open door of the truck and scrambled up into the cab. Arrow after arrow struck the front of the vehicle, some embedding in the glass windshield.
He turned and watched Charlie scramble into the cab, flattening into the floorboards. “Go, go, go!” Charlie ducked lower into the well and covered his head with his hands.
Hank started the engine and slammed the gear selector into reverse, popping the clutch. He backed the truck away and didn’t slow until he saw a dead car grow larger in his side mirror. He turned the wheel and slammed on the brakes, praying the big truck was faster than he imagined.
He threw the gearshift into first and revved the engine before popping the clutch again. As he turned for the street, a final arrow thwopped the side of the truck and Hank made a beeline for the compound.
“Where are we going?” Charlie asked as he slowly crawled up from the floor of the cab.
“We’re going home.” He glanced at Charlie as wisps of steam began to crawl over the hood of the large truck. “I gotta tell Hatcher about this.”
“Was that the same Ragers that attacked last night?”
Hank shook his head. “I have no idea who it was. I never seen ‘em.” He swallowed hard and winced at the sweet taste of antifreeze in his mouth. “But I’d lay three to one odds it’s the same clan of Zulus.”
The temperature gauge on the truck began to rise into the red and Hank groaned. “Son of a bitch.”
“What now?” Charlie asked, his head whipping around to look behind them.
“They hit the radiator.” He watched as the temperature climbed into the red, then the needle pegged. “They must have put one hell of a hole in it.”
The engine chugged, knocked and began to rattle as Hank put the transmission into neutral and turned off the ignition. He let the huge truck coast as far as it would go before he angled it off toward the side of the road. “We’re dead in the water.”
Charlie looked at him with wide eyes. “Bad choice of words.”
Hank peered through the slickened windshield at the neighborhood. “Maybe.” He huffed as he reached for the door handle. “Then again…maybe not.”
8
Hatcher shot up in his bed, his head snapping to attention. “What? Who’s that?”
Buck held a hand up to calm him. “Easy. It’s just me.”
Hatcher threw his legs off the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands. “I was dreaming we were under attack again.”
“Well…we aren’t.” Buck seemed to squirm as he stood in the doorway. “But Hank and Charlie are in a bit of a pickle.”
Hatcher’s head popped up and he stared at the younger man. “What happened?”
“They radioed in and said that they were attacked by somebody shooting arrows at them.” Buck’s mouth formed a thin line. “At the Albertsons.”
“Son of a…” Hatcher groaned as he came to his feet. “Anybody hurt?”
“The truck was killed. They’re on foot, and of course, the battery is about dead on their radio.”
Hatcher tugged his boots on and cursed under his breath. “I thought Stanton got the batteries replaced.”
“It seems he’s been a bit busy what with getting the well working and wiring us up with solar power and fixing the surveillance cameras and creating a greenhouse and hydroponics system and overseeing the repairs and—”
“Yeah, yeah. I got ya.” Hatcher stood fully erect and shook his head slightly, trying to shake the cobwebs of sleep from his mind. “I need coffee.”
“Will’s got people working on structural repairs after the fires. Hank and another team went out for supplies. I guess they made a detour.”
“Anybody gone after them yet?”
Buck shook his head. “Nobody available.”
“Send Roger.” Hatcher froze and gave Buck a solemn stare. “Scratch that.”
“Brain fart?”
“I guess I’m too used to relying on the same people.” Hatcher pushed open the door to his office and poured the remains of the coffee put into a tumbler. “I reckon it’s you and me, kid.”
“I’m driving,” Buck announced.
“Like hell.”
Buck turned and gave Hatcher a flat stare. “You’re not even awake yet. If it’s all the same, I’d
