They had to weave in and out around the wrecked trees. They even came across the steering wheel of Mr. Cecchino’s truck. Part of it had melted in the explosion. Dal paused, looking down at it.
Emotion passed over his features. Grief. Loss. Amanda guessed Mr. Cecchino had been like a father to Dal. Losing his truck probably felt like losing one of the few things that remained of him.
Dal stepped over the steering wheel and kept going.
They hiked another ten minutes. Amanda kept her ears peeled for sounds of the Soviets, but heard nothing.
Not good. She’d feel a whole let better if they were shooting off guns or shouting. The quiet made her feel like they were being hunted.
“Dal?” Amanda whispered. “What are we going to do?”
“We walk home.”
Walk? All the way home? “Isn’t home, like, fifteen miles away from here?”
“Give or take, yeah.”
They had no supplies and Lena was unconscious. Amanda decided now was not the time to point out their shortcomings. She wasn’t sure Dal could handle any more bad news. That scary edge had dissipated, but she sensed it could return.
A soft moan escaped Lena’s mouth. Her eyes snapped open, a hand flying to her head. “Dal?”
“Oh, thank God.” Dal crushed her against his chest, kissing her cheek. “You scared the shit out of me.” He paused, setting her gently on her feet.
Lena swooned, latching onto Dal’s elbow. Blinking rapidly to clear her vision, she drew in a few deep breaths. “I got hit in the head.” She probed at the wound on the side of her forehead.
“You got pinned under a tree. You’d still be under there if not for Amanda.” He shot her a quick smile.
“Sorry to be a buzz kill, but the Soviets are coming. We have to get out of here.” Amanda strained her ears, the silence making her skin itch. “Lena, do you think you can walk?”
“Dad’s truck?”
“It’s gone, baby.” Dal brushed the side of her face.
Lena’s mouth set in a tight line. “Then we walk.”
“Are you okay?” Dal surveyed her with concern.
“I can walk.” Her eyes hardened. “No way am I going to sit around and wait for the Soviets to find us.”
Dal led the way, one hand firmly holding onto Lena’s. Amanda trailed behind them, fighting the panic that threatened to choke her.
“Do you know how to get back to the cabin?” she asked.
“We just have to head southwest,” Dal replied.
Amanda took this to mean Dal knew which direction was southwest. Thank God. Amanda never had a great sense of direction. She may have even gotten turned around in a mall parking lot once or twice.
They beat their way through the forest, making a ton of noise in the process. There was no helping it. Sticks and leaves crinkled beneath their feet. Twigs and branches snapped in their wake as they were forced to push through shrubs. How the heck did deer and other animals move without making noise? The three of them sounded like elephants crashing through the undergrowth.
Their only saving grace was the distance they had on the Russians. They were far enough away that the Soviets wouldn’t be able to hear them. Hopefully.
“Think they’ll assume we died in the attack on the truck?” Amanda asked.
“I think they’re looking for our bodies,” Dal said grimly.
“And when they don’t find them . . . ?” Lena’s question hung in the air.
No one answered. They didn’t have to. It didn’t take a genius to figure the Snipers were wanted by the Russians. They’d raised hell among the invaders on too many occasions. These broadcasts were likely a particularly large thorn in the Soviet’s collective side.
“We can’t get captured,” Dal said. “We avoid them at all costs. Lena, sorry to ask this of you, but can you move any faster?”
“I’m okay,” she replied. To prove it, she picked up her pace.
They continued their laborious push through the woods. Amanda’s only consolation was that it would be as hard going for the Soviets as it was for them.
Down a ravine. Up the other side. Through dry streambed that swarmed with clouds of gnats. Around the thick trunks of oak trees and through ferns still wet with morning dew. Over a log covered with sticky spider webs that stuck to their hands. Through a thick stand of manzanita trees.
Before the war, Amanda had always rather liked manzanita trees. Their peeling reddish bark was so vibrant and pretty. By the time she elbowed her way through the fourth or fifth cluster of them, she decided the only good manzanita was a felled one that had been converted into firewood. The twig-like limbs were pokey. She was covered with dozens of tiny scrapes.
She worked up a sweat as they floundered their way through the forest. To her surprise, she noticed Dal and Lena sweating just as vigorously. As she processed the long sweat stain down the spine of Lena’s shirt, it occurred to her that she had no trouble keeping up with the two of them.
Both Dal and Lena were fit, but maybe Amanda was in better shape than she’d given herself credit for. Who would have thought she’d have no problem keeping up with these two? All those months of working out with Jane Fonda had paid off. Heck, she probably owed her life to the freakishly peppy aerobic instructor.
The temperature was picking up. It was going to be a hot one today. It was late summer, bordering on fall. This time of year in West County could be sweltering. They were going to need water.
Which meant drinking out of a stream or creek if they were lucky enough to come across another one. That might be just as bad as dying of dehydration if they drank bad water.
Don’t think of that, she scolded herself.
Instead, she thought about the long miles that stood between them and the Cecchino cabin. Amanda quailed at the idea of bushwhacking fifteen miles all the way back to the cabin.
They reached a large clearing.
