He shut the garage door and headed into the house.
“Lily. I’m home. Johnson said he would handle things. I’m going to bed.” He stopped at the foot of the stairs, one foot on the first step and a hand on the banister. “Lily?” There was no reply.
She was always in the rear of the house, in the sunroom, painting. Even with all that had happened, she said it kept her calm, at peace. She’d been the first to suggest leaving the city, to get away and buy a place further inland, but he’d been adamant that he wanted to stay in the county, be close to family.
He dashed up the stairs and went into the bedroom, thinking she might be taking a nap. He looked in the bathroom, then gazed outside the window.
“Hey babe, you home?”
He came down and got this sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
The last few days had been hard even though he’d reassured her that they would be fine. She worried too much.
“Lily? Sweetheart.”
He stepped into the sunroom and cast a sideways glance. “Lily. No. No.”
He dashed to the far end of the sunroom to where she was on the sofa, her arm hanging off, lifeless, an empty bottle of pills nearby. He reached out to take her pulse. It was still beating but slow. “Oh God, no. Don’t you do this! Stay with me.”
He scooped her up, carried her outside, raised the garage door, and then placed her on the ATV. It was all a blur, his world slowing around him. A couple of neighbors made their way over as he rolled out for the hospital, holding on to her arms, her head pressed against his back, tears streaking his cheeks.
TWENTY-ONE Colby
Merced County
It was a massacre. Bodies were in the street, blood trailing off like tiny streams disappeared into the gutter. A couple of black crows feasted on a man’s eyeball, pecking furiously before bursting skyward. Colby had parked the truck behind Gustine Elementary on the east side then jogged into town, rifle at the ready.
All along Grove Avenue, a long street that cut north through residential neighborhoods, he noticed doors on homes wide open, windows shattered and cars stalled. It looked as if they’d gone house to house looting and taking anything they could. If Hector was correct, they’d waited until the National Guard had moved people out before beginning their reign of terror.
He’d just crossed over Meredith Avenue when he was spotted by a group of three positioned farther down the street. They’d rolled several trucks across the street to create a barricade. One guy was sitting on top of a truck, the others were in the back drinking beer when he was seen. They didn’t shoot at him. The guy on top of the truck slipped off. “Hey. Buddy. Come over here,” he said calmly, beckoning with a wave.
Colby took a few steps to his left, already eyeing his escape route between two homes. A drop of the hat decision and he burst sideways hurrying toward the houses as he heard them yell. “Go. That way. Cut him off.” A vehicle roared. Feet pounded the asphalt as he ran down the side of a home, shoved a gate open, entered the rear yard, went around a pool, and launched himself over a chain-link fence.
He’d expected opposition but if he was going to engage, he’d do it on his terms.
With rear doors open on houses, he darted through one and out the front, entering a cul-de-sac. He headed north through more homes before taking cover in a shed.
Colby dropped down among the garden tools and lawnmower, waiting, listening, ready with the gun. Avoidance was always best versus engaging. Three against one in the street was never a good idea. At least here among the homes he could even the odds. He heard footfalls, then someone ran by the shed. “Where did he go?”
“I didn’t see him come out.”
He smiled. Idiots. Like those back in Santa Nella, these weren’t professionals, they were amateurs, tweakers, unorganized, nothing more than guns for hire.
“Hey, kid.”
Colby shuffled up to the crack in the door and looked out. Oh, no.
Some kid, a boy no older than fourteen, wriggled in the grasp of a string bean with a gaunt face. “You see a guy run through here?”
“Get off me.”
“Answer.”
“No.”
Colby wasn’t sure where his two pals were. He slipped his gun back into its holster and extracted a combat knife that he’d taken from the duffel bag. Moving slowly and quietly, he slid the shed door open and was about to step out when a woman and man came running toward the guy.
“Hey, get your hands off him.”
String bean put a gun to the kid’s head. “What was that?”
The woman stuck out her hand. “Please. Sorry. Just leave my son alone.”
“You’re not meant to be on the streets. It’s dangerous out here,” he replied.
There was a momentary pause. The mother, who was standing at an angle, could see Colby and tried to get the guy’s attention. “Were you looking for someone?”
“Yeah. A guy, dark hair, yay high!” He lifted his hand. “You see him?”
Colby froze, waiting. He didn’t even want to slide the knife back into its sheath just in case the guy heard him. “I did,” she said, turning away from Colby. “He went that way.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive.”
The guy shoved the kid at the parents and took off.
They held on to the boy. The mother looked back at Colby as he stepped out and made his way to the corner of the house. “He’s gone.”
The husband, who wasn’t even aware he was there, turned just as he put away his knife. She muttered something to him and he nodded. “You shouldn’t be out here, friend. There’s a curfew.”
“There’s no town council. Who put that into effect?”
“Who do you think?” A pause then the man continued. “You’re not from here, are you?”
Colby gazed around. “No. I’m looking for someone. A woman and a dog.
