Sanctuary

MARCH 14, 2015 ^{• • •}

Gordon stepped onto the quarterdeck of the ship. Yesterday he thought that was going to be his last time doing so, but he had given up on making assumptions.

Below on the dock, he saw the Humvee and trailer that Barone had promised. He said good-bye to the Marine and sailor on the deck and stepped off the Makin Island.

The M-1123 model Humvee he was driving was a soft top, four-seat variant with a small cargo space. A covered trailer was hitched to the back for the additional supplies and fuel.

Gordon inspected the vehicle and looked through the boxes. It was like Christmas for him. Barone had supplied him with 3,500 servings of freeze-dried food, five thousand round of 5.56-millimeter, five thousand rounds of 9-millimeter, and 1,500 shells of 12-gauge. On his seat was an M4 with scope and laser sight, a Beretta 9-millimeter pistol, and a Remington 870 shotgun with extended tube. There was enough fuel to get him to Cheyenne. In another box was variety of different equipment, night goggles, compass, ponchos, tarps, first aid trauma kit, boots, extra clothes of various sizes, and other assorted items. Seeing all of this, Gordon became more excited about the trip.

“Excuse me,” a voice came from behind him.

Gordon turned around to see a lean, average-height middle-aged man. His hair was jet black and hung just over the tops of ears. His piercing light blue eyes reminded Gordon of a malamute.

“Mr. Van Zandt?”

“That’s me.”

“Christopher Hicks. I work for the mayor. I’m riding with you to Cheyenne,” he said, putting his hand out.

“Hi, Christopher, call me Gordon. Toss your stuff in the back.”

Christopher did just that, then asked nervously, “When are we leaving?”

“Just waiting on everyone.”

Just then another Humvee pulled up. Three doors opened up. A Marine stepped out followed by Cruz and Bethanny Wilbur. The Marine approached Gordon and Christopher and asked, “Are either of you Gordon Van Zandt?”

“Right here.”

“Here they are,” the Marine said, pointing to Cruz and Wilbur.

“I’ll take it from here,” Gordon answered. The two looked tired, weathered, and gaunt.

He thought how strange the situation was—transporting the vice president and secretary of state. This would definitely go down as one of those stories to tell his grandkids. “Mr. Vice President, Madam Secretary, the backseats are yours.”

Cruz walked up to Gordon and put out his hand. “Thank you for taking us. What is your name?”

“Gordon Van Zandt.”

“Mr. Van Zandt, thank you for doing this.”

“Of course, not a problem. I’m planning on leaving as soon as two other passengers arrive.”

Rain began to fall.

“Damn, I hope that the temps hold. I don’t want to deal with snow,” Gordon said, looking up.

Cruz, Wilbur, and Christopher exchanged greetings, then scurried into the Humvee when the first drops of rain hit them.

Gordon looked at his watch. He was getting concerned that Brittany and Tyler were late. Not wanting to be soaked for the ride, Gordon jumped in the Humvee.

A half hour passed, during which Gordon and the passengers chatted and made small talk. Gordon was in the middle, telling the group about his trek from California, when a knock on his window interrupted him. It was Brittany. He excused himself and jumped out.

“Brittany, you’re really late!” He looked around for Tyler but didn’t see him. “Where’s Tyler?”

She took a step toward him. The rain was coming down heavier. Her hair and clothes were soaked.

“Oh my God, you’re going to catch a chill.”

She placed her hand gently on his face and said, “We’re not going with you. I’m sorry.”

“What? I don’t understand.”

“This place will be our new home. It’s safe. We’ll have a real chance here. I just can’t take Tyler back on the road. You know how it is out there. I can’t risk it.”

“I don’t understand. I thought you were coming with me,” Gordon said, clearly upset. Though not having the responsibility of taking care of them made the trip easier for him from a practical standpoint, he had grown to care about them both. He looked forward to having them as passengers on the trip, and in Idaho. He had visions of Haley and Tyler growing up together. He wasn’t prepared for this. Even though they had only known each for such a short period of time, they had been through so much together. He and Brittany had a connection, and though he would never leave Samantha, in another universe he imagined that he and Brittany might have been together.

“You look upset. I thought you’d be happy to be free of us,” she said softly. She hadn’t removed her hand from his face the entire time.

“I am upset. How’s Tyler?”

“Oh my God, he’s a wreck. He officially hates me,” she laughed.

Gordon smiled, then said, “I know kids. He’ll get over it.”

“There’s something else. When you left before the mission, I said some things. Well, I care for you and it’s not fair to me and you, for us to be close. You have a beautiful wife and little girl who you love. You need to go back to them. I will start fresh here.”

Gordon nodded. What she said was a jolt of reality, that trademark pragmatism that he had grown to know and appreciate about her. “Sorry for being upset. I respect your decision and I understand. You need to do what’s best for you and Tyler.”

“I want to thank you so much for saving us. You gave me and Ty another chance and for that I’ll always be grateful to you. I can’t say it enough, you’re a good man.” She leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

Gordon didn’t stop her but he didn’t return the kiss. When she pulled away Gordon looked at her face. He wasn’t sure if it was rain or tears running down her cheeks. He pulled her in and gave her a firm hug and kissed her on the head.

“Be safe, Brittany. I’ll never forget you,” he said, then let her go.

She turned around and walked quickly back toward town.

He stood in the pouring rain watching her till she disappeared out of sight.

“So just the three of us? This is your plan?” Mack asked sarcastically.

“Are you in or not?” Nelson shot back.

“Of course I’m in, I just wanted to point out that your plan sucks. But if we’re going to knock some skulls, then I’m in,” Mack said with a grin. He spit tobacco juice into a plastic cup.

“Eric, thoughts?” Nelson asked.

“I wouldn’t do a day raid. We should use the advantage we have. We have vehicles; we can move in fast and get out fast. We go in and set up a shooter at the front of the main house and another at the back. The other two will run around firebombing all the buildings. The fire and smoke will draw them out; once they come out we shoot ’em. We stay until they’re all dead. Simple.”

Nelson listened intently to Eric’s plan. It made a lot of sense.

“I like that one better,” Mack said.

“I do too,” Nelson agreed.

“Eric, I need you and Mack to make the Molotov cocktails. I’ll get my dad on board and inform the women of our plans. Tonight our group has the watch, so, Mack, have Seneca take whoever’s shift it is. Bring your rifles, pistols, and lots of ammo.”

Samantha walked into the living room. “Sorry to interrupt. Have you seen Haley?”

Nelson looked up quickly and answered, “Not recently. She came in here about an hour ago to ask if I’d go down to the barn with her.”

“That was my next stop. Thanks,” Samantha said. She grabbed her coat and left.

“Does anyone have any questions?” Nelson asked.

“Yeah, who are the designated shooters?” Mack queried.

“I’ll be one and my dad will be the other. He’s a good shot, and it’s easier for you two to go from building to building than for him,” Nelson commented.

The men were going over minor details when the back door flew open. Samantha came running in. “She’s gone!”

They all looked up at her.

“What do you mean? If she’s not there, maybe she’s over Scott and Lucy’s,” Nelson said.

“No, something happened down at the barn. The stall was open. Macintosh was walking around loose inside the barn. The water bucket had been dumped on the ground just outside his stall and…” Samantha was upset and close to tears.

Nelson stood, alarmed by what she was saying.

“…and this was on the ground. Haley was wearing it!” Samantha cried out as she held up a silver compass.

Nelson had alerted the others to Haley’s disappearance. They quickly rallied to find her by establishing search parties. Nelson and Scott looked for any other evidence around the barn but found nothing. The frigid cold air was still present but no new snow had come for a while now. What snow was left was frozen solid and impossible to create a footprint in. Mack and a few neighbors went south and combed the creek beds and streets. Eric took several others and walked the hills to the north.

By midday they hadn’t found anything.

Nelson called everyone together for a quick briefing before they went out again. Samantha tried to be helpful but found herself on the verge of tears anytime she spoke. Lucy took her aside and suggested she come over for a warm cup of tea as the others tried to sort it out. As Nelson spoke to the group, he couldn’t help but have this remind him of when Hunter went missing. He couldn’t even imagine how difficult this was for Samantha.

Nelson had his suspicions about what might have happened to her. A search of Truman’s area would have to be conducted next, and in force.

“Everyone, thank you all for coming together so fast to help find Haley. So far, we haven’t found any additional clues.”

“I know where she is!” Eric blurted out. “Let’s go get her.”

“You don’t know she’s there,” Barbara challenged.

“Well then, where is she? It’s not as if she just walked off. There’s evidence that there was a struggle,” Eric said.

“It’s not uncommon for little kids to run away when they are upset,” Barbara said, pointedly.

“You really are a dumb person,” Eric responded.

“I agree with Nelson. It makes sense to check that area. We will keep looking in other places but I suggest a group goes out—and in force. Does anyone want to volunteer?” Scott said.

Eric, Mack, Seneca, and Nelson’s dad raised their hands.

“We’re leaving now. We need the rest of you to provide one person to man the gate and others to please keep looking for her here,” Nelson said.

Just like the night before, cross talk started to get louder and louder.

Scott bellowed out, “I’m sorry, Barbara, but this is what we’re doing, period. We’re not going over to Truman’s to attack him but to find out if she is there. That is all.”

“Let’s keep looking here before—” Barbara said before Eric shouted over her.

“Just shut up. This is a child here. We’re going and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

Barbara’s mouth was wide open in shock at how Eric was talking to her.

Nelson had enough of wasting time discussing what he was going to do. They needed to go—and soon, before the sun set.

“Let’s go! Whoever is coming with me, let’s go now!”

A slight westerly breeze chilled Annaliese’s face. The temperature had dipped down in the single digits, making it a very uncomfortable night’s sleep. The boys annoyed her a lot and many times she selfishly wished they weren’t there. However, a sisterly compassion would compel her to make sure they were doing okay. In the middle of the night, she brought them a blanket that she had set aside to give Sebastian for his late-night fire watch.

Watching Sebastian teach the boys the proper handling of the revolvers the next morning filled her with pride. She loved him for a variety of reasons, one being that he was very patient with people, and he was very compassionate. For her, he was that perfect mix: a man who she could trust to protect her physically but also strong enough to be available emotionally.

He was very thorough in his explanation of the basics of marksmanship, covering sight alignment and sight picture, breathing, the natural arc of movement, grip, the mechanical functions of the pistols, expected recoil, and how to reload. Brandon had shown a natural proficiency with the handgun when he went on his shooting spree at the compound in San Diego, so, for Sebastian, the lesson this morning was for him to feel comfortable handling this specific weapon. He also wanted to impart to him a sense of responsibility. Firearms were powerful things, but overall, they were nothing but tools. And like any tool, could be used for good or evil. The most important thing he wanted to instill in Brandon was to use it for good.

Luke, on the other hand, had never handled a gun in his young life. The lessons were to make him feel more comfortable with a weapon. Once he had developed that comfort, Sebastian thought it would build his confidence. He wanted Luke to understand that it would be okay to use the gun if he had to in defense of himself or others in the group. He knew Luke didn’t have it in him to be a killer, but he might need him one day to help defend the group.

“Now that we’ve covered the basics, I want you to shoot some rounds,” Sebastian said.

“Finally!” Brandon exclaimed.

“Luke, you go first.”

“Oh, come on!” Brandon barked.

“Brandon, you’ve shot before; I’m not worried about your abilities. Luke has never shot a gun. I need him to show me that he feels okay with it.”

Luke didn’t say a word; he just stood and looked at Sebastian nervously.

“Here,” Sebastian said, handing him the old Colt Detective. “This is a very reliable piece; you’ll never have issues with this guy. It’s got six shots in the cylinder. What I like about these wheel guns is if you do have a misfire you don’t have to stress, just squeeze the trigger again. That’s the easiest troubleshooting you’ll have to do with these guns.”

Luke took the gun and held it like Sebastian had shown.

“Take the stance I was telling you. Don’t stand like you’ve seen in movies. That’s all bull. Remember, lean in, arms out, take that fighting stance I showed you.”

Luke replicated what he had been shown. He leaned forward, both legs bent, with his weight distributed evenly.

Sebastian lowered his voice now and stood behind Luke. Leaning in, he said, “Remember, sight alignment, sight picture, and squeeze. Don’t pull it. Your body has a natural arc, just keep the sights on the bottle and slowly apply pressure.”

The pistol went off, surprising Luke. It appeared that his brief training had paid off. He hit the target, a plastic milk jug that they had found lying among other garbage on the ground. He turned around and looked expectantly at Sebastian.

“Good shot! How did that feel?”

“Good, not as bad as I thought it would be,” Luke said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Beginner’s luck!” Brandon said.

Sebastian gave him a look and shook his head.

“Do it again, Luke. You’ve got five more shots. Same as you did before and always remember this: Don’t worry about your last shot. Once it’s downrange, it’s gone. Only worry about the shot you’re about to take. Again, sight alignment, sight picture, and squeeze.”

Luke repeated what he had done the first time. He hit the target five more times.

Sebastian was overjoyed at Luke’s performance, but tempered it internally because he knew shooting at a static target without stress, was different from real combat. What he had accomplished, though, was a little confidence-building.

When Brandon got behind his Smith & Wesson, he hit four times and missed once.

Sebastian tried to give him advice but Brandon proved to be difficult.

“Do you know why you missed that?” Sebastian asked.

“I thought you said don’t worry about the shots afterward.”

“Yes, don’t worry about them, but all shooters need to know why a shot goes a certain way. Critical analysis is important—it can help you adjust if you need it. Worrying is an emotional state. I need your mind to be analytical.”

“I don’t know; it was the last shot anyway. If that had been a person I would have killed them with the first four shots.”

“You’re not understanding me. I’m not being critical to just be critical. I want you to be extremely proficient.”

Brandon wasn’t paying attention to Sebastian; he opened the cylinder and dumped the casings on the ground.

“Brandon, look at me when I’m talking,” Sebastian chided.

Brandon looked at him and wrinkled his face.

“I know what I’m talking about. I’ve shot guns all my life. I used to shoot competitively when I was your age. I’m a Marine and a Scout Sniper. I do this for a living and I do it very well. If you listen to me, I’ll make you not just a shooter but an outstanding shooter.”

Luke spoke up. “I want to shoot again. I want to be an outstanding shooter.”

Sebastian kept his eyes on Brandon, who nodded slightly, showing he understood.

“Okay, let’s burn some more powder. Luke, it’s your turn. Load up.”

Baxter enjoyed being out of the bunker. He wasn’t a big fan of bitter cold, but the fresh air and sunlight made up for it.

The lodgings he had been given made him and his family feel like they had a home again. Having an environment like that put him in a better mental spot for dealing with the tough problems occurring all around him.

His morning briefings from the various governors and other civilian leadership around the United States continued with the same sad reports of increased starvation, people freezing to death, and out-of-control violence. Something new came this morning too—a flu epidemic had broken out in Nebraska. This worried him. It was one thing to have to fight mankind but now Mother Nature was dishing out massive death. The migrations of people had started to slow because they were dying. The migratory paths were now littered with the remains of tens of thousands. As if these issues weren’t enough to manage, toss in an enemy force on the move and now an assassination plot, and keeping it together was an overwhelming proposition. Baxter was doing the best he could, though.

Baxter was thankful that Conner had seen the importance of bargaining with Barone. Having the use of his men and resources would alleviate some of their problems. Allowing Barone to take the Northwest wasn’t ideal, but it did give what was left of the United States a smaller geographical area to manage.

The idea of nuclear weapons as a way to stop the Pan-American Empire was quickly removed from the table by Conner. He had learned his lesson from before. While he didn’t fully regret the use of the weapons, he wouldn’t allow them to be deployed on American soil.

The morning briefing he was headed to with Conner and the other staff had one goal: make a decision on how they’d handled the PAE. Baxter took a deep breath and made his way over.

Conner was in a surprisingly good mood, to the surprise of his colleagues. His joyful demeanor forced others to feel more upbeat—or, at least, to mimic that feeling.

“Before we get into the meat of this meeting, I wanted to let everyone know some good news. Vice President Cruz and Secretary Wilbur will be leaving Coos Bay soon. I just received a personal call from Colonel Barone not an hour ago. That is not the only good news; it appears that Barone is honoring our agreement. I know some of you weren’t in complete agreement with my decision to offer a treaty to him, but we now have an ally in our fight against the PAE. When I spoke with the colonel he had decided on his boundaries, which I feel are reasonable.” Conner stood up and walked to a large map. He began to outline the states of Washington and Oregon. “This is all he wants, so I agreed. I apologize for not seeking your counsel. I felt this was fair. He will also allow us free access to utilize the port in Portland. Of course this gives us an advantage we had been seeking before.”

“Mr. President, let me be the first to congratulate you on this development. I had some reservations but this is a solid deal,” Baxter commented. Others in the room added their congratulations on the diplomatic arrangement.

Baxter then shifted his tone. “I do want to ask this. What happens with the next Barone? What happens if, I don’t know, North Dakota wants to secede?”

Conner sat back down and thought before answering this serious question. “General, all we can do is take one incident at a time. I wasn’t in complete support of allowing Colonel Barone to just take what he wanted, but the realities are that we need him and he needs us. I didn’t have leverage and he thought that the vice president was his. I’ll say this and let me be clear. No one man, including me, is worth an entire nation. I mostly wanted his forces at our disposal. Not to be harsh, but Cruz was a conciliation prize. I don’t know what tomorrow holds for our beleaguered nation. It will never be the same again, but I won’t let it completely die. You’ll have to ask me that question again when something like that happens. Does that make sense?”

Baxter nodded. He understood the difficult position they were in. “It does, sir, thank you.”

“So now that we’ve covered the good news, let’s talk about the PAE,” Conner said.

Over the next hour they covered everything they knew about the PAE. Some of the most critical intelligence had come from someone inside his army. A new resource, a man named Jordan, had come to them like an unexpected gift. Jordan was the leader of an insurgent group in Sacramento. All he would tell them was that he had someone on the inside feeding him information.

“As you know, these communications between us and Jordan just started coming in on an emergency frequency. His intelligence is interesting, but I would suggest we take some of it with caution,” Baxter commented.

“I understand the concern. How do we verify these are legitimate communications?” Conner asked.

“There’s no way to confirm anything until we have some feet on the ground down there. We need to meet with him. Only then can we adjust our movements and make operational decisions based upon his information,” said William Fillmore, commander of the Wyoming National Guard.

“Agreed. Can I send a team of special ops down there?” Barone requested.

“Yes, we need to know for sure. Let’s cover, though, what this Jordan person says is going on in the area,” Conner stated.

“There’s good news and bad news. We now know the leader of this Empire is a self-styled emperor. He’s a young Mexican national and the son of Alfredo Juarez, the largest cartel leader in Mexico. We now know from the people we captured and from the equipment that Barone told us they seized that they have been provided support from the Venezuelans. We don’t know if it’s state-sponsored.”

Conner interrupted Baxter and said, “Is there really a question of that? Of course it is. I should have nuked them when I had a trigger finger. We’ve not had diplomatic relations with them for years. It’s apparent the Venezuelans don’t like us and for a price they wouldn’t hesitate to sell a portion of their military. I think now we can start to make a connection that this Pablo and Venezuela might be the ones that orchestrated it all.”

Baxter jumped in and stated flatly, “Then that gives us justification to deploy nuclear weapons against Venezuela.”

“No, we are close to an arrangement for support from Australia. I don’t need to alienate them again,” Conner interjected.

“But didn’t you say that when you talked with their prime minister they denied involvement?” Fillmore asked Baxter

“Yes, they claim that their minister of defense was involved in the direct transaction. He hid the mass troop movement as humanitarian support for Mexico. Of course, we can’t find him. He’s missing,” Baxter added.

“We need to keep an open channel with Caracas and monitor them. Let’s get back to the PAE,” Conner said.

“Ah, where did we leave off?” Baxter asked. “Right here, okay. Pablo is commanding a large army of over twenty-five thousand men. It’s a mix of light infantry and mechanized infantry. He has no air support and his naval forces were destroyed, thank you, Colonel Barone. The situation on the ground in Sacramento reads right out of a history book about Nazi-occupied Paris. He took the capitol in a massive ground assault. The governor is missing and the lieutenant governor is now his prisoner. Jordan then goes on to report that his insurgency has inflicted some damage on the PAE Army by attacking supply lines and base camps. However, the PAE has implemented a plan to combat this by direct action against the civilian population. PAE commanders have created a civilian paramilitary force called—you’ll remember this name from before—the Villistas. They have just started to deploy them into the civilian population. They are harassing and killing at will anyone they feel is resisting or even providing support. Their tactics are ruthless. They have found records of locals who own firearms through old registration paperwork and are going to their homes to disarm them and confiscate those guns. They have accessed old paperwork from the local VA hospital on any vets in the area. They’re visiting them and forcing them to align with them or be killed.”

“Those sons of bitches!” Fillmore barked.

“I know. They’re using our old bureaucracy against us. The silver lining is the insurgency has stopped the PAE advance. They have been deploying mechanized recon units but their main advance has been halted. The word is once the Villistas are fully implemented, they will begin their march north.”

“And where’s that?” Conner asked.

“We don’t know.”

“Can Jordan find out? Get him to have his source provide that,” Conner ordered.

“Yes, sir,” Baxter responded.

“So what’s our next move, people?” Conner asked, leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table.

“We have air, he doesn’t. Since we don’t have an organized ground force to send against him, we could bring support to the insurgency if it turns out to be real. We can immediately send down what special ops teams we can spare to coordinate attacks that will greatly reduce and impede his army,” Baxter recommended.

Fillmore jumped in. “We use our air to destroy all roads leading north. We level all bridges, et cetera. This will force his army to go overland. With spring coming, the softer ground will work for us and slow down wherever he advances to next.”

“I like what I’m hearing,” Conner said with a smile.

“We can beat him. All he has is an army. It is a powerful force but he can’t fall back to ships nor can he be resupplied now. The main concern I have is if he was the one who was behind the EMP and nuclear attacks, then he might have more of those types of weapons up his sleeve. I know you have removed the option of a nuclear response to the PAE off the table, but we have to have it as an option,” Baxter said.

“No nukes on our soil. I won’t do it,” Conner said flatly. “Do we know his overall motives for this attack?”

“We have some info on that, sir. This guy Pablo fashions himself a new Napoléon.”

“So we’re dealing with a total psychopath?” Conner asked rhetorically.

“Yes, sir, a total nut job, but a nut job with an army.”

“Where did he go?” Pablo asked the young man, a former staff person of the governor’s.

Both men were walking in the outside garden of the governor’s mansion. The man stuttered repeatedly as he told Pablo about Pasqual’s movements.

“So you saw him actually go inside the house?” Pablo asked. Apparently, Pasqual had taken a vehicle, and by himself left to go into a residential part of Sacramento. Given the conversation that he’d had with Isabelle, his interest was piqued.

“Yes,” the man answered.

“Did you know who he was seeing? Anything?”

“No, sir. He-he-he went in and sta-sta-stayed for about thirty minutes, then came out. I-I-I didn’t see anyone else.”

“You saw nothing unusual about his interactions with other officers?”

“No, sir. Looked, ah, ah, normal. Talking, laughing,” the man said.

“What can you tell me about the area?”

“Like what, sir?”

“Was it nice? Was it a ghetto?” Pablo asked.

“Average, not too nice, but-but not a ghet— bad place,” the man stuttered.

“Fine, keep watching him. I want to know everything he does. I need you to see who he’s following and next time, get me the address. Be smart and look for a name or mailbox,” Pablo said, patting the man on the back and ushering him off.

Pablo walked the gravel path that meandered through the now-dead garden. Where rosebushes and flowers once bloomed, brown, dried-out dead plants remained. As he pulled an old rosebud off a plant, he pricked his finger.

“Damn,” he yelped.

“You hurt yourself?” Isabelle said, walking up behind him.

“Yes, this rose bit me,” he answered her, then placed his bleeding finger in his mouth.

“It’s sad, but things of beauty like the rose need thorns to protect themselves,” she said as she put her arms around him.

“Or maybe it’s a lesson that those things we think are beautiful also have ugly parts.”

“You are so cynical.”

“I am but that cynicism has served me quite well. I don’t intend on giving it up.”

“Who was that with you just a bit ago?” she asked curiously.

“Nobody.”

“He’s somebody, meaning you wouldn’t be talking to him if he wasn’t someone,” she pressed.

“It’s not your concern. Why are you so interested anyway?” he asked with a hint of an edge in his tone.

“You know us women, nosy. I just never saw him before.”

“And you might see more of him. He’s just helping me with some business that’s not all that important. But, then again, you really don’t need to ask me about my business,” Pablo said, harshly.

“Yes, my emperor,” she answered obediently, deflecting his more aggressive tone. She took him off guard by reaching down and grabbing his crotch. “Shall I be of service to the emperor?”

He pulled her hand away and said, “Not now.”

She pressed her body against his and tried again. “Are you sure?”

This time he couldn’t resist her; her sexual magnetism was intense. When he was with her he couldn’t think of anything but her. He knew this and would attempt to ignore it, but when she pushed, he caved. He took her by the hand and they both vanished into the small greenhouse located at the rear of the property.

Nelson’s truck rumbled to a stop at the gate that edged Truman’s long driveway. Judging by the amount of packed snow against it, it hadn’t been opened in a long time.

Nelson thought about ramming it but he didn’t want to damage his truck. He looked to the left and right but a large drainage ditch lay to either side, so that cut out the possibility of going around it. They would have to run the quarter mile to the house.

Nelson exited the truck and slammed the door, frustrated. “Shit!”

“Just ram it!” Mack yelled from the bed of the truck.

“Too risky; the gate has frozen snow covering the lower third of it,” Eric answered.

“No time to discuss. I’m not ramming the gate and I can’t drive off-road. Let’s hustle,” Nelson barked.

The men grabbed their weapons and began jogging down the drive. Nelson led the pack that included Mack, Eric, Frank, and Scott.

It took them only a few minutes before the houses came into view.

“Mack, Scott, go to the trailer. Eric, check out the barns in the back. Dad, you and I will stop by the main house,” Nelson ordered. All the men split off.

Nelson stayed focused on the main house and looked for any movement. Nothing. He and Frank stepped onto the wooden deck. Frank went right, he went left. Nelson peered into the dirty window but couldn’t see much. The house’s blinds and drapes were pulled back but it was too difficult to make out very much. From what he could see, it looked like a pretty normal setup, decorated with furniture, lamps, and knickknacks.

“Dad, anything?”

Frank had his face against a screen, attempting to see. “Nothing, looks like no one is home.”

“Only one way to find out,” Nelson said as he approached the front door and began to bang on it.

Eric walked onto the deck from the side. “Nothing in the barn or other structures!”

Mack then came up from the trailer. “Nothing there either. Looks like they’ve been gone for a while.”

Nelson, frustrated beyond words, stepped back and kicked the door. It splintered and flew wide open. He raised his rifle and walked in.

The force of the kick disturbed what looked like months of dust and dirt, which floated in the air and choked him. He proceeded through the front living room, looking carefully for any clue. Adding to the heavy dust, which was making him cough, a strong and pungent odor overwhelmed his sense of smell.

“Holy shit, what is that?” Mack said as he entered the house.

“I’m going to guess a combination of backed-up septic, garbage, foul food, and nasty redneck ass,” Eric joked, coming in behind Mack.

Nelson didn’t pay attention to the guys and looked everywhere for a sign, a clue, something that would tell him Haley had been there. But each corner he turned told him she wasn’t here and that Truman hadn’t been here for some time.

“There’s no one here. We need to go back now,” Nelson yelled, stepping back outside. He hadn’t bothered to search the entire house. He saw enough to know that she wasn’t there.

“But we’re not done looking,” Eric hollered from upstairs.

“She’s not here! Let’s go!” he yelled.