Run Boy Run: Scorched Earth - A Climate Collapse series, #2

By Saul Tanpepper

FIRE FREED HIM FROM PRISON... AND ORPHANED HER.

THEY'LL NEED EACH OTHER IF THEY'RE BOTH GOING TO SURVIVE.

 

Zander Hollis lost everything when he was unfairly tried and convicted of a murder he knows in his heart he couldn't have committed. His wife refuses to speak to him because of it, and he worries that his son won't remember who he is when his seven-year sentence has been completed.

After a deadly wildfire forces the emergency evacuation of the Coujee Valley State Penitentiary halfway through Zander's sentence, he unexpectedly finds himself set free by a long-time prison guard sympathetic to Zander's need to find his brother, who was lost fleeing the rapidly spreading blaze. But not everyone is happy with the decision, including Zander's cellmate and a junior correctional officer with dubious connections to a dangerous prison gang and a vendetta he's determined to carry out.

When Zander crosses paths with Willa May Sams, a fiercely independent 14-year-old orphaned by the same fire, the two clash over the seemingly unbridgeable generational divide. They'll need to work together or else risk losing everything. Unfortunately, the feds are now on Zander's trail...

And they've been authorized to use deadly force to bring Zander back to justice.

Run Boy Run is the second book in the visionary climate fiction (cli-fi) series SCORCHED EARTH, a near-future, survival "what-if" that's both mystery and hard-hitting suspense thriller. The story continues as Zander finds himself in the sights of a deadly pursuer. As he makes his way closer to home through a mountainous region of remote rural communities devastated by wildfire and lacking even the most basic infrastructure, Zander must avoid the deadly mobs that have emerged to exploit the chaos.

In the SCORCHED EARTH sequence, best-selling post-apocalyptic author Saul Tanpepper explores what might happen if rapidly accelerating global warming destabilizes the climate enough to trigger a catastrophic cascade that will ultimately bring the world to its knees.

How will local and national governments act, when more and more of the nation's infrastructure fails?

Who will rise up? Who will lead? And who will fall?

Ask yourself, under these conditions, would you survive?

This gripping, natural and manmade disaster survival thriller series is for fans of T.L. Payne, Kyla Stone, Ryan Schow, Grace Hamilton, Frank Horton, and A. American.

* * Rated 16+ for moderate situational language and violence. * *

Look for the following SCORCHED EARTH titles, available now:

• Fire on the Mountain
• Run Boy Run
• The Devil's House
• The Rising Son

Current and future series in the CLIMATE COLLAPSE disaster survival sequence include:

• Scorched Earth
• Drowned Earth
• Fractured Earth
• Shrouded Earth
• Frozen Earth

Saul Tanpepper is the author of the post-apocalyptic survival series BUNKER 12, and its companion series, THE FLENSE, which together tell the story of the run-up and consequences of a deadly global plague and who might be behind it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Saul Tanpepper
• Release date: Oct 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223059608

Saul Tanpepper

Subscribe for new releases & exclusive deals/giveaways: tinyletter.com/SWTanpepper Saul Tanpepper is the specfic pen name of author Ken J. Howe, a PhD molecular biologist and former Army medic and trauma specialist.  Titles include: The post-apocalyptic series GAMELAND (recommended reading order): - Golgotha (prequel, optional) - Episodes 1-4 - Velveteen (standalone novella, optional) - Episodes 5-8 - Infected: Hacked Files From the Gameland Archive (insights for the avid GAMELAND fan) - Jessie's Game #1: Signs of Life - A Dark and Sure Descent - Jessie's Game #2: Dead Reckoning Post-apocalyptic series BUNKER 12 - Contain - Books 2-4 (coming soon) International medical thriller serial THE FLENSE (a BUNKER 12 companion series) - CHINA: Books 1-3 - ICELAND: Book 1-3 - AFRICA: Books 1-3 - TBA Short story collections: Shorting the Undead & Other Horrors Insomnia: Paranormal Tales, Science Fiction, and Horror Visit him at tanpepperwrites.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

The sharp crack of the gunshot rolled like thunder across the valley. Long before the last echo had faded away, the man and the girl — one a recent fugitive, the other recently orphaned — were sprinting away through the darkness. They had only the faintest of light to guide them over the scorched midnight wasteland, a ghostly glow that seemed to emanate from the ground itself through the thick wintry blanket of ash.

"Wait! hissed Zander. He tried grabbing for Willa’s arm but missed. Wait a minute!"

She stopped and whirled around. You wanna get shot? she panted. Because I ain’t gonna—

They both instinctively ducked when the second report sounded. Zander swiveled around toward the top of the rise from which they’d descended twenty minutes earlier and searched for the shooter. Behind him, Willa’s boots crunched softly and she pivoted away. He instinctively reached back, stopping her from taking off running again, and pulled her down behind a boulder.

We don’t know what they’re shooting at, he whispered.

There ain’t nothin’ else here to shoot at but us!

They weren’t even close.

She wrenched out of his grip and started to rise.

Okay, okay, Willa! Just... hold up a sec. They can’t see us here. We’re safe for the moment.

And we can’t see him neither! Maybe he’s comin’ for us right now!

I don’t think so. That second shot was farther away than the first.

"Because we’re farther away."

He huffed in frustration. If we keep running like this, in the dark, we’re liable to get lost.

We ain’t gonna get lost. I know exactly where I am!

I just think we need to take a moment to reassess and figure out our strategy.

Runnin’ sounds like a fine strategy to me, she replied impatiently.

I don’t do panic, Willa. Besides, I don’t want you to get hurt. The ground here is uneven. Either one of us could easily fall and break a leg.

She grudgingly accepted this. If he ain’t shootin’ at us, then what’s he shootin’ at? Dead trees?

"I’m more concerned about who it might be."

Ain’t it obvious? It was those guards you left behind!

I’m not so sure about that.

Why not?

First of all, that didn’t sound like the kinds of guns the guards at the prison carry.

So you’re some kind of expert at telling them apart? What are you, the bullet whisperer? It sounded like a shotgun.

"Yeah, it was, but I’m talking about what I heard between those two shots. Did you listen? What did you hear?"

She shook her head.

That was a pump-action shotgun, like the one you’ve got. The mini-14s the guards carry are gas-action semi-autos.

You do know I left guns behind in my parents’ bunker, don’t you? They could’ve found them.

Zander nodded. I’d already considered the possibility. But the main reason I don’t think it was the guards is because neither of them is in any condition to be coming after us.

Her eyes narrowed. Despite the dim light, he could sense her wary hope. She wanted to believe him. But then her forehead crinkled and her eyes narrowed. You said you didn’t kill them. Is that why you’re so sure?

I didn’t kill them.

Then what about the younger guard? He ain’t got a broken leg.

No, but—

You never really explained why they just let you go free.

Why? Because Lieutenant Sykes wanted me to—

He stopped himself. As implausible as it was that a prison guard would voluntarily release an inmate under their care, especially one who had been sentenced for murder, he knew she’d reject the other reason even more. She was too independent to think she might need help from a stranger.

She waited a moment. When he didn’t finish the thought, she pushed: He wanted you to do what?

To look after my family, Zander replied. My brother’s been missing for a couple of days now. And my wife and son are in the path of the wildfire. I’m worried about them.

She scoffed. If you’re so worried, why are you here with me?

Look, I’m not going to try to convince you of my intentions, Willa. It’s the truth, just like when I say I didn’t hurt those guards. Or kill them.

So, that other guy, not Mister Sykes but the younger guard...

Crawford.

Yeah, him. He was okay with you leavin’ too?

Zander winced. No, he was actually pretty angry about it.

She nodded smugly. So, he had a perfect reason to come after you.

Zander knew it was a possibility. The man certainly had motive; and with Sykes out of commission with his broken leg, there was no one to stop him except the warden. Crawford might have decided he couldn’t live with Sykes’ threat of exposing him and his arrangement with the prison’s faction of the Aryan Brotherhood. Or he might have decided it was nothing more than a bluff. In fact, letting Hollis go gave Crawford something he could hold over Sykes’ head. With that leverage and no living witnesses anymore, he could argue that it was Sykes who arranged everything, from the murders to Zander’s escape. It would be Sykes’ word against his, and by letting Hollis go, he’d broken his oath. Zander could testimony to the contrary, but it wouldn’t mean a thing. Crawford could argue that he was simply honoring his oath of service by coming after him.

But the simple fact of the matter was, Crawford wasn’t in good enough physical condition to come chasing after Zander through the dark over treacherous terrain. He was in bad shape because of that amputated finger. It was probably infected. And all that on top of the damage his lungs had sustained days earlier made Zander strongly doubt that he was the shooter at the top of that ridge. Besides, he just couldn’t see Crawford leave behind the man who had taken his finger. He didn’t seem the type to drop a grudge.

The only other possibility from that group was Tobias Lafferty. Zander’s former cellmate was a wildcard, a career petty criminal, and up until the past couple of days a man who had shown absolutely no tendency towards violence. That had changed. But if he was hunting Zander down, what could be his motivation?

And how would he have gotten away from Crawford and Sykes?

The last time Zander had seen him, Lafferty was snoring away down inside the bunker, sleeping off the effects of the drugs he’d stolen from the infirmary. Of course, he might have faked it all, hoping the COs would drop their guard long enough for him to escape. Zander had left Crawford and Sykes still arguing with each other and not paying attention to the man inside the bunker.

Lafferty’s not that good of an actor, he assured himself. He wasn’t pretending when he was stoned out of his gourd less than an hour before, and there was no way he could’ve sobered up enough to make a clean getaway. Nor was it even possible, not with that shock collar around his neck.

On the other hand, what if he’d found the Sams’ stash of guns? He’d still have to figure out how to load them, then force Sykes to trigger the BMD controller to remove the collar. By then Zander would have had a big head start. Lafferty practically would’ve had to run the entire way to catch up with him, plus find a place to wait out the afternoon winds, as he and Willa had done.

It seemed to be asking a lot of a man who had no weapons training as far as Zander knew, no tracking or practical survival skills, and little motivation for doing anything but taking the easy road.

But those three men weren’t the only people in the valley. Could it be someone looking for trouble, like looters? This seemed even more unlikely since the roads were probably impassable between here and Halston, the closest town of size. And he couldn’t see locals looting their own neighbors.

Hunters, then? There was nothing to hunt out here right now, not when all the cover had been burned away and the wildlife sent fleeing ahead of the flames. And even if there were, why would they be hunting in the dead of night?

Could it be someone protecting their land? Zander also ruled this out. They were on state property here. There was no private land to protect for miles around.

Mister Hollis?

He could sense her agitating to start moving again. He even felt the instinct himself. The biological imperative to survive was strong. It had worked well enough for hundreds of thousands of years to ensure his species’ survival. As long as there was an unknown threat, it made sense to run away from it. Fight or flight. But Zander had learned long ago to suppress both of those impulses. In his mind, it was always better to figure out what the threat was and deal with it promptly.

He slipped carefully around the side of the boulder, ignoring Willa’s whispered entreaties, and scanned the distant rise. Even in this low light, he could discern a fair amount of detail. His pupils were fully dilated, allowing his eyes to take in as much light as possible. Another physiological adaptation caused by his heightened state of vigilance. He saw no movement. And when the girl stopped talking, he heard nothing to suggest the shooter was trying to track them.

But he knew that it didn’t mean they were safe.

Stay here, he told her.

What are you doin’?

I just want to backtrack a little bit, make sure we’re not being followed.

Are you actually stupid or somethin’?

You’re safe for the moment, so just lay low, and I’ll be back in a few minutes, once I know for sure it’s safe.

She grabbed his hand and stood up. No, she said and wouldn’t let him go.

Willa, it’s okay. I know what I’m doing.

I said no.

He could see the apprehension in her eyes. She was afraid, but she was also trying desperately not to show it. It was the first real emotion she’d shown since her parents died, and it made him realize how much she’d been suppressing it. The girl was undeniably tough — she wouldn’t have been able to function for so long without being as tough as she was — but it was her vulnerability now that made him pause.

Okay, he said, relenting. But we have to be careful. And we don’t run. We have to be smart about—

The third gunshot that rippled across the valley was even more distant than the others.

You’re right, she said, visibly relaxing. That was down the other side of the—

"Shh!"

He tilted his head and listened. As the last ripples of gunfire faded away, the valley fell into silence. Zander waited for the other sound he thought he’d heard moments before, but it didn’t come. Convinced it had been his imagination, he turned to her to speak, but before he got a word out, the silence was shattered by yet another gunshot.

Willa’s grip tightened on his hand as the unmistakable cry of a distraught animal reached their ears. RJ! she gasped. With a choked sob, she released Zander and began to run straight back up the hill.

Chapter 2

It was the sudden sharp pain in Wayne Sykes’ ankle that roused him from whatever dark place he’d retreated into.

Where am I?

He couldn’t remember. It was so dark, pitch black in fact, that he wasn’t sure his eyes were even open until he raised his arm and pressed his fingers against his brow. He could feel his lashes brushing against his knuckle as he blinked.

It had taken an incredible amount of effort for him to do just that, far more than it should have, and it brought far more pain than he could reasonably explain. He felt weak and tired, but it was the pain that weighed on him now. It was everywhere, infusing his entire body like molten lava. He succumbed to its gravity, and his arm dropped across his chest. As a fresh wave of agony exploded inside of him, he relinquished himself to the darkness once more and welcomed the escape it offered.

Slowly, the missing pieces of his predicament began to settle back into their proper places in his mind. Snippets of memory, random thoughts. The first one that made any sense at all wasn’t even an image, but a sound. He initially couldn’t place the angry voice. It was only after the subject of the argument became clear that he realized it belonged to his partner, David Crawford.

Partner in crime; partner in time, he idly thought, as the argument ebbed and flowed in the tidal slosh of his recovering mind.

Crawford was expressing his bitter disappointment over Wayne letting the prisoner Zander Hollis go free. But in his recollection Crawford wasn’t shouting at Sykes anymore, he was screaming at someone else, telling them that this was all their fault and that he was finished with letting people get away with what they’d done without punishment.

Get away with what? Sykes wondered.

You hear me? I’m not done with you, Chuckles!

The epithet kept repeating in Sykes’ mind, refusing to fade away: Chuckles chuckles CHUCKLES...

Lafferty. He’s yelling at Tobias Lafferty.

The name built from a shout to a roar to a thunderous boom until Sykes was forced to retreat from it too. As he descended into silence, everything became peaceful again. At least for a little while.

The next memory was of Zander Hollis climbing out of the bunker. He was wearing a pack on his back, presumably stuffed with food and water. He’d rolled up the firefighter’s jacket and tied it underneath like a bedroll. You sure about this? he’d queried Sykes. No, he’s not sure! Crawford had shouted back. Sykes remembered urging him to leave before the warden showed up. Fuck the warden, Crawford had cursed. You think he’s going to believe you, Wayne? Fuck you both!

Hollis had glanced back one last time as he walked away, and he’d hesitated just the tiniest bit as if he knew that this was a line he shouldn’t cross. If he stepped over it, there’d be no coming back, not for him or Sykes.

The internal struggle was written all over the man’s face, and it nearly caused Sykes to call him back. What right did he have to make a man turn away from his convictions? But he didn’t. Nor did Zander Hollis change his mind. He took that final step and didn’t look back again.

That was the difference between Hollis and his fellow inmates. No one else would have hesitated. They would have leaped at the chance, even killed for it. It didn’t matter what the circumstances were. But not Zander Hollis. Sykes’ promise to make sure it would all turn out okay in the end — a promise they both knew would be very difficult to keep — didn’t seem to make much of a difference to him. For Zander Hollis, it would take more to convince him to leave than the knowledge that his brother was still out there somewhere missing in the chaos of the wildfire, and that his family was in its path. The man felt he owed a debt to society. Even if he felt that debt was earned in bad faith, he would fulfill his obligation to pay it.

It said a lot about the man that he’d relented only after Sykes had implied that Willa Sams needed his help.

Crawford had raged on, threatening to tell the warden everything. But Sykes knew the junior officer wouldn’t. It was just minutes after Hollis left that Crawford had descended into the bunker to take out his fury on Lafferty.

From what Sykes could hear, it didn’t seem to be helping. Quite the opposite, in fact: Crawford’s rage only grew. Sykes had never seen the man like this before, and it scared him.

The memories of everything that had transpired prior to that moment and culminating in it then came to Sykes in a rush— the fire overtaking the work crew, the prison, their discovery of the evacuation buses on the road, the bodies inside, backtracking until they’d located the last missing bus.

Me and Hollis inside that bus, working together to find survivors.

All those mangled bodies, some of them his colleagues. Then Lafferty’s brutality and escape. The continued brutality upon discovering the blood in the barn. The accident inside the house that had caused him to tumble over the second-floor railing and break his ankle.

All of it leading to this moment and Crawford’s screams of outrage.

This is all your fault, Chuckles! You hear me, dog? No one’s getting away with any of this! I’ve had enough!

It seemed that Lafferty had finally sobered up enough to understand what was happening. He’d uttered a plaintive reply. From where Sykes was on the surface, it was muffled and unintelligible. There followed a moment of silence; then the sudden, terrifying blast of a gunshot. In his shock, Sykes had thrown himself out of his chair, momentarily forgetting his shattered ankle. He’d made it just two steps toward the bunker opening before the signals from his leg penetrated through the panicked fog in his mind. He’d fallen into the soot and ash, sending up a swirling cloud of dust. Some of it had gotten into his eyes, blinding him. He’d ignored the pain and swiped the tears frantically away as he started crawling toward the bunker door.

Crawford! he’d gasped. What have you done?

If he’d heard, the junior CO offered up no reply. Instead, Sykes heard a series of primal grunts emanating from below. He couldn’t imagine what was happening down there. He didn’t want to imagine it.

He was halfway down the steep, narrow stairs, desperate to get into the bunker and stop Crawford from doing something stupid, something he’d regret. His foot landed awkwardly on the next step, and the explosion of pain was what it must feel like getting crushed by a million pounds of rock. He slipped the rest of the way down the steps and lay on the dirt floor, unable to move for several seconds.

David, he finally managed to gasp. Stop.

But when at last he was able to make sense of what was happening deeper inside the unlit bunker, he realized that the two men were wrestling on the floor. Crawford had Lafferty face down, his mouth shoved against the dirt, and his arms still bound behind his back. I’m sorry I did what I did to you, Lafferty was pleading. The abject terror on his face made clear that the last of the drugs had left his bloodstream. Please, don’t hurt me. I didn’t mean it!

Crawford produced a knife, and before Sykes could stop him the junior CO flicked his wrist upward, then slashed straight down, aiming for Lafferty’s kidneys. The plastic tie holding Lafferty’s wrists snapped open.

Driven by adrenaline and anger, Crawford spun around and quickly severed the tie around the inmate’s ankles. Then he pushed himself away from Lafferty’s body and stood up. Wheezing heavily from the effort, he took a moment to take another hit from his medical inhaler. Get your ass up, Chuckles, he panted.

David, what are you doing? Sykes said. His voice broke as another spasm tore up his leg and through his body. He cried out, but Crawford didn’t respond.

I said I’m sorry, Lafferty begged.

And I said get your ass up! Crawford grabbed his mini-14 off the floor and activated the biosensor with his remaining index finger. The smart gun was now ready to fire. Or else this time I’ll put the damn bullet into your fucking skull instead of the wall!

Perhaps understanding that Crawford had abandoned all reason, Lafferty cautiously rolled over onto his back. Don’t shoot me, he begged. He remained fully prostrate and held his hands up as if he could deflect the round he expected to be fired.

If I’d wanted you dead, Crawford growled, you’d be dead. Now stand up!

Dave, Sykes said. Dave, stop this.

Neither of the other two men seemed to hear him.

Crawford shifted the rifle over to his injured hand. Keeping an eye on Lafferty, he crouched down and dragged the heavy wooden crate out from underneath the bunk bed. After standing up again, he moved back and ordered Lafferty to open it.

What is it?

Open the fucking box!

I don’t want to.

Whatever’s in there isn’t going to hurt you, Crawford said. He wiped a bead of sweat off his brow and coughed. "But this will, he added, thrusting his rifle into Lafferty’s face. Now do it before I lose my patience."

Sykes had noticed the crate earlier and suspected it held a stash of long guns. It was just the right length. He hadn’t realized that Crawford also saw it. Did he also believe it held guns? Offering Lafferty firearms made no sense. Not unless he was planning to—

Sykes lurched forward. Don’t do it, Lafferty, he gasped. Don’t let him—

You shut the fuck up! Crawford bellowed, swinging the mini-14 around and pointing it at Sykes.

You don’t have to do this, Dave. You won’t get away with it.

Get away with what? Lafferty begged. I don’t understand. What’s inside that box? What’s he trying to do?

Open the fucking thing, Crawford said, spittle flying from his lips. Do it now before I shoot you in the fucking face!

Guns, Sykes said. He’s going to kill you if you—

The blast deafened them all. Dirt and dust drifted down from the hole in the wall a foot above Sykes’ head.

Crawford slammed the butt of the rifle into Lafferty’s shoulder. Stop fucking around! he screamed. The effort triggered another coughing fit.

Shaking and sobbing, Lafferty bent down and released the two end buckles, then the one on the front.

Open it up, Crawford said.

Look, I’m sorry about your finger, man. I’ll do what you want, just please don’t shoot—

Stop whining, you fucking dog, and open it. I won’t ask again!

Lafferty flinched, but he opened the crate. Nestled in a bed of wood shavings was exactly what both guards had suspected. Sykes could see a double-barreled rifle resting on top.

Take one of them out.

Please, Lafferty begged.

Take one of the shells and load it into the chamber.

I don’t know how.

Don’t you fucking lie to me! Do it!

You’re not going to get away with this, Sykes said, unable to do anything but watch as Lafferty fumbled the rifle’s receiver open and inserted the round. Murdering an inmate, even in self-defense—

Now, Crawford said, jabbing the muzzle of his rifle into Lafferty’s side hard enough to make the man cry out and grab at the barrel. Crawford wrenched it out of his grip. Stand up. And don’t you fucking point that thing at me! Is it cocked?

Lafferty slowly stood up. He made sure to turn his body away from Crawford. I— I think so.

Turn around. Not all the way! Face toward the door. Take two steps forward. Eyes forward, I said!

Sykes watched as Lafferty struggled to obey. He watched Crawford reach into the crate and stuff his pockets with more rounds. Crawford then stood up and jammed the mini-14 into Lafferty’s back. The con responded by taking a stiff, shuffling step forward. He stopped short when his toes bumped into Sykes’ legs.

Now, shoot him, Crawford said.

What? both Lafferty and Sykes exclaimed.

In the gut.

Sykes’ blood froze. He finally understood what was happening.

You want freedom too? Crawford grumbled darkly to Lafferty. Then shoot Lieutenant Sykes. I’ll let you go if you do that, but that’s the price you got to pay.

I won’t, Lafferty said. That’s a capital off—

If you don’t, I will execute you myself, right here and right now in this underground shithole, and I’ll say it was self-defense.

He’s setting you up, Sykes said. His voice cracked with distress. Your fingerprints are all over that gun now. They’ll trace the bullet—

Shut the fuck up, Wayne, Crawford said. Come on, Chuckles. Do it.

You think you’ll get away with this, Dave?

This and everything else, his partner smugly replied. He coughed and spit.

I already told the warden about you.

Bullshit.

He knows what you did, Dave.

You’re lying.

Sykes didn’t reply. He knew how pathetic and desperate he sounded. Crawford had called his bluff.

I’ll give you to the count of three, Chuckles, Crawford growled. One.

Sykes raised his hand. There’s no coming back from this, Da—

"SHOOT THE MOTHERFUCKER!" Crawford roared and jabbed the muzzle of the mini-14 into Lafferty’s kidney. The inmate stumbled forward, and the gun in his hand went off.

Sykes’ body jerked. Pain bloomed in his side. He reached down and felt warmth there. As the blood ran over his fingers, he knew his life was leaking out of him.

He was dimly aware of Crawford reaching over, a towel in his hand, and grabbing the spent and empty rifle out of Lafferty’s grip. Out of the bunker, dog, before I change my mind. Go on! Get the fuck out of my sight. I said run, asshole!

The c-collar, Lafferty stammered, his eyes wide with terror as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done.

In his pocket, Crawford said, gesturing to Sykes.

Lafferty scrambled to find the device, then to release the locking mechanism. When he’d done that, he dropped the remote control and scampered up the stairs. He was gone in a flash, whimpering the whole way.

Crawford carefully laid the two-barreled rifle onto the top bunk, where he knew it would be out of Sykes’ reach. Then he grabbed the other long gun out of the crate and began loading rounds into it, stuffing even more into his pockets.

What are you doing, Dave? Sykes panted.

Giving the fucker a head start. You didn’t actually think I was just gonna let him go, did you? I’m not soft like you. Should be easy to follow his tracks. I’m going to kill him, and then I’m going after Hollis.

You’re in no shape.

The fuck do you know?

Sykes’ eyes continued tracking the man who’d just ordered his murder. He watched as Crawford crossed the tiny room to the stairs, never once looking down at his former boss. Sykes figured he’d probably leave without saying another word.

But Crawford paused after putting his foot on the first step. He turned and peered down. He looked like he wanted to apologize. His mouth opened, and he sucked in a deep breath. But then he swung back to the steps and was up them without a word.

A moment later the door clanged shut over Sykes, plunging him into darkness. He heard the clatter of the padlock being snapped into place.

He lay back and closed his eyes. He didn’t bother shouting for help, knowing it wouldn’t come. He closed his eyes and waited for death to take him.

Chapter 3

After searching for nearly an hour, they finally located Willa’s dog about a quarter mile down the other side of the rise. Or rather, it found them, reappearing suddenly from a hollow in the rocks and signaling to them that he was there by softly whimpering. Zander was relieved to see him on his feet... until he saw the limp and realized RJ was badly hurt.

As for whoever had shot him, there was no sign of them, nor had Zander spotted any tracks in the ash on the ground. However, without the use of their flashlights, they could have easily missed them.

How bad is it? Willa asked.

Despite the flatness in her voice, Zander could sense the rage simmering just beneath the surface. The panic she’d exhibited in the immediate aftermath of that last gunshot, when they’d both realized that RJ might have been shot, had given way to a sort of simmering impatience. It was as if she was more irritated by the delay than angry that someone had shot her dog.

Zander wondered if it was some kind of defense reflex on her part, not letting it show that she cared. Some people tended to view caring as a weakness, but he didn’t think that was the case with her. This was something else altogether, and it made him wonder what had happened in her life that she would behave this way. He also sensed that this wasn’t a result of her parents teaching her how to survive by never showing weakness. This was a scar, and it covered a very real wound deep down inside of her.

Can he walk? she said flatly.

Zander shook his head. I can’t tell how bad it is right now. There’s a lot of blood and too little light.

She began to shrug off her pack to retrieve her flashlight, but he stopped her. No light. There’s someone out there with a gun. We can’t let them know we’re here.

Well, can you fix him? You said you used to be a medic.

Yeah, and that’s not the same as being a veterinarian. Or a surgeon. He sighed. I’m just going to do a quick triage because we need to get out of here. This position is way too open.

It’s open everywhere now.

I know, but it’s too close to where we heard the shooting.

So, you think he’s still here, that he’s waiting for us?

I think it’s best we assume that they are, whoever it is.

He tried to be gentle, but the dog was restless. Every time he touched a sensitive spot, RJ would whine or let out a pained yelp, prompting Zander to freeze and listen carefully to the sounds of the night. But he heard nothing to suggest the shooter was still nearby. The valley felt as dead as it had looked in the harsh light of the day. Even the river had gone silent here, its course through this part of the lower valley wider and deeper.

I’ve got what I think is the entrance wound, but he won’t let me check it, he reported. It’s here on his left haunch. Lots of blood. But I don’t see an exit. It’s possible the bullet just grazed him. Can’t really tell. Or it could still be inside of him. If that’s the case... He shrugged and let out a low whistle of air. I don’t want to force the examination, not with the way he’s crying out. Every loud sound makes us more of a target.

Why wouldn’t he just finish him off? she wondered aloud, standing with her back to them as she peered out into the silvery-black night. Why would he just leave him to suffer like this?

Zander grunted but didn’t respond. He had his suspicions, but he’d rather not share them at the moment. He wasn’t sure how she might react. We still don’t know what happened, or why, so I think we should just get ourselves as far away from this place as quickly as possible. Once it’s light out and we’re someplace more secure, I can take a better look at him. And we’ll have a better idea of our situation.

You still don’t think it’s someone followin’ you? she said.

Maybe, he conceded. I don’t know.

Well, if he can’t walk, he’s just gonna slow us down.

Zander frowned. He wasn’t sure what she was suggesting. Did she want to abandon the dog? Or was she expecting him to carry him? He also realized he hadn’t heard her say RJ’s name once since they’d found him, which felt rather odd.

Is RJ short for something? he asked, as he tried one last time to see if he could feel the bullet.

Reggie Jackson, she said. My dad was kinda into baseball. That’s why he named me Willa May and my brother—

She shut her mouth so abruptly her teeth clacked together.

I didn’t know you have a brother.

"Had. He... died. It