He slammed his fist against the side of the vehicle, walked the length of the truck, then continued on to the driver’s side of the SUV. The interior light came on.
I kept low with my back to the front wheel well. Ash pelted my face. I battled watery eyes that distorted my vision. I blinked, then ran the back of my hand across both sockets to clear out the haze.
The door slammed shut, and the SUV shuddered. I dropped my hands to my sides, and looked to the front end of the SUV, then to the rear.
What if he’s on the move?
I turned and laid prone on my stomach, peering under the SUV. A pair of boots stood still, facing the front of the home.
A muffled scream came from the dwelling again.
Not your problem. Just take the SUV and go, I thought.
I got to my feet, moved around the fender of the vehicle, and past the engine toward the driver’s side. Over the soot-covered hood, I watched Green Camo who had his back to me.
He shifted his weight against the door, then laid his head back. Thin trails of smoke lifted above his head in the low light. The wind blew it away.
I paused for a moment, then slipped down the driver’s side. I stalked him from behind. My fingers twitched, anxious to take him down.
A mask of some sort bounced off his hip as the wind moved it about. He adjusted the strap attached to his shotgun, then lowered his arm.
The bite of the cool air and wind no longer affected me. The surge of adrenaline pumping through my body warmed me from head to toe.
I checked the windows alongside the house for anyone peering outside, but spotted no one within the blackness. I stood, wrapped my arm under the man’s neck, and pulled back.
His arms flailed about. The back of his hand slapped the driver’s side window.
I squeezed tighter and pulled him to the ground. His legs kicked, and his heels dug into the dirt. He clawed at my arm and head, fighting to break the hold. I tilted my head back, out of his reach.
Green Camo thrashed his body a few seconds longer before going limp in my arms. I dragged his lifeless body along the ground, past the vehicles. I dumped him on the far side between the bed of the brown truck and the front end of the SUV, away from anyone looking out the windows.
I stripped him of the shotgun, his coat, and mask in a flash. His body laid face down in the grass and soot. I slipped on the warm coat, then dug my hands into his pockets, searching for keys to the brown truck or SUV, but came up empty. I stood, then headed for the driver’s door of the SUV. I flung the door open and searched the interior to no avail.
Shit. The keys must be inside somewhere.
The faint screams and yells tore me away from the vehicle. I shut the door, put the mask on, then pulled the hood of the coat over my head.
I secured the shotgun over my shoulder, then stared at the house. Our way out of this hell and back to my family resided somewhere in that house, and I was going to find it, one way or another.
CHAPTER TEN
CORY
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
I turned and made for the rear of the house, walking with a slight limp. The hood swallowed my head, the mask concealing my face. The lining sucked against my skin. The smell of rubber and cigarette smoke assaulted my nose, but it protected me from the falling ash.
A man materialized from the corner of the home. He pulled the hood of his brown coat over his head, then turned my way. The black grip of the piece he carried poked out just above his waistband and between his unzipped coat.
I grabbed the strap of the shotgun a hair tighter and continued on.
He held his hand up, then pointed at the bed of the brown truck. “Hey, give me a hand, will ya? We need to get the tarp out of here and take it inside.” He leaned against the side, stood on the tips of his toes, then rifled through the junk in the back of the truck.
I punched him in the side of the ribs. His legs buckled and he slumped over the bed. He turned and stumbled backward, reaching for the piece tucked in his waistband.
“What the hell are–”
I decked him square in the face. He lost his footing and hit the corner of the cab. His body bounced off the truck and fell to the ground. He rolled to his back, groaning and palming his face. I towered over him, then punched him again.
The back of his skull smacked the ground. His hand moved away from the piece and fell to his side. I felt his pant pockets for any keys, but found none.
Damn it.
I pulled the pistol from his jeans, then ejected the mag—fully stocked. I slapped it back into the well and continued on to the rear of the house.
My fingers repositioned over the grip. I paused at the blind corner for a second, then poked my head out. The screen door hung open, the wind pressing it against the wall. The porch had no visible threats lurking in the low light of the open space.
I brought the piece to bear and walked up the steps. Each plank sounded a subtle warning. I swept the porch, then moved toward the back door of the home.
I peered through the window molded inside the door. The interior
