A second outline marked the floor a foot further inward. Sean leaned over and inspected it. It wasn’t a mark. The floor had been cut there. He pulled the table back further, then peeled away the rug, revealing a trap door.
Sean dug his fingertips into the narrow gap and pulled so hard his fingernail tore a bit from the bed, forcing him to readjust his grip. After a few moments, the trap door was freed from the floor and inched upward. Sean got his fingers around the corners and pulled the door open.
Cool air flowed through the opening. He stuck his head into the hole and shone the light around. It was about three feet deep and appeared to span the length and width of the cabin. A plastic sheet lined the floor. There weren’t any supplies that he could see, but it was clean and dry down there. In the back corner was the outside access. He hadn’t noticed it when he was in the backyard. Might have been because he was preoccupied. Or whoever had designed the place had done it intentionally, designating the access as an escape hatch.
He pulled his head out of the hole and saw two feet in front of him.
“What you doing down there?” Addison asked, shining her light in his face.
“Just spotted this under the table. Looks solid. If things get bad tonight with the storm, we might end up down there.”
Addison shrugged. Her gaze drifted toward the hallway.
“What is it?” Sean asked.
“She’s not doing well. Her breathing is sporadic at best. I tried to find a pulse, but it must be real weak, ‘cause I couldn’t locate it.”
Sean worked his feelings into a deep compartment as he got to his feet. There was nothing that could be done for Barbara. Time and her injuries worked against her. In a way, he felt relieved. Even at full health and strength, she was a weight that held them down. If they were ever forced to make their way on foot, it would be her that would get them in trouble.
“I hope she dies,” Addison whispered.
Sean met her gaze as he stood. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she looked away as though the guilt for thinking, let alone saying, such a thing tore her apart.
Sean reached out with both hands. He wiped her tears with the pads of his thumbs.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I hope for the same thing, and I’ve known her for years. She was my wife’s best friend. Hell, she even looks like Kathy. Now I’ve witnessed both of their death spirals. It’s like I’m reliving the worst day of my life all over again.”
“So what do we do?” Addison reached up and wrapped her hands around Sean’s wrists. “We can’t kill her, can we?”
He felt her breath hot against his neck.
“I…” Sean thought about his final moments with Kathy, and even further back, to the facility in Nigeria, and how he was the one who pulled the trigger and saved his best friend, Jules, from dying as an afflicted. He had the ability to do it again. But could he go through with it?
Addison stared into his eyes, as though she were willing him to make the decision to end Barbara’s life and save her the guilt of wishing she could do it.
“All we can do is make her comfortable,” he said. “She’ll be dead before morning.”
A flash of lighting lit up the room. Thunder rolled on top of it. Addison jumped and stumbled into Sean. Her lips brushed against his and settled into his cheek. For a moment, as brief as it could ever be, he felt a twinge of something that he assumed would never return. Even in this world of afflicted and cursed survivors, he felt attraction toward a woman.
And that was unacceptable.
He lifted her arms and backed away. “I’m gonna go check on the girls. Get back to Barbara and let me know if there’s any change in her condition.”
Lightning continued to strike all around them for the next fifteen minutes, reflecting off the bare wooden walls like strobe lights. The winds intensified. The cracks of thunder were interspersed with the cracks of trees falling and heavy limbs crashing to the ground. Sean was sure if he had access to a weather map, he’d spot the signs of a tornado or two passing through. It sounded as though freight trains were nearby.
Little Paige shrieked with every flash and every rumble. Marley sensed her discomfort and nuzzled up to the child. Emma got in on the act as well. Big sister instincts kicked in and she began telling Paige a story about a princess and a unicorn.
After half an hour, the storm band passed and things settled down. Sean stepped out onto the front porch and listened. The silent night offered no clues as to who or what was out there. No birds. No insects. Perhaps all creatures had hunkered down in advance of the storm. He considered that the event had helped them. The wind and rain and destruction might have kept the afflicted away. Did such things bother them? He couldn’t recall.
He considered the possibility that there weren’t any afflicted in the area. The cabin was not located in the most rural of areas, but they were twenty miles in any direction from a city. Well off the beaten path.
The boards below him vibrated slightly as someone stepped out onto the porch. Sean looked back and saw Addison approaching. She stopped next to him. Her breathing mixed with the wind and drops of water.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“I should ask you the same thing.”
“No change in her condition.” She paused, took a deep breath. “At least the storm passed.”
“That’s just the first wave. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
Addison bit her bottom lip. “I just wanted to tell you that—“
“Stop.” He grabbed her hand and tilted his head toward her. “You hear that?”
“What?”
Sean turned his head to the other side. “That.”
“Yeah.” She retreated a step backward. ”Is that a generator?”
“No.” Sean pulled her toward the door. “Those are engines.”
Chapter 24
Driving rain slapped Turk in the face. The wind ruffled his wet clothing. His abdomen burned.
He squinted against the elements. A man with a rifle stood at the other end of the fort. He yelled something, but the gusts distorted the words. If Turk had to guess, the man called out for reinforcements.
The guy held the rifle tight to his chest and jogged toward Turk. Turk held his breath and remained still. The man must’ve thought he’d made a kill shot, because he ran right past.
“Jesus Christ,” the guy said, dropping to his knees in front of the man Turk had slain. “John, c’mon buddy. Don’t die out here.”
Turk seized his pistol and swung his arm around and opened fire. Four rounds seared through the rain. He couldn’t tell how many hit, only that one had. The guy’s body jerked, toppled over onto his fellow survivor.
His abdomen burning, Turk used the space between bricks for finger grips and pulled himself off the ground. He stumbled across the muddy terrain toward the men. A few feet from where they lay, the key floated in a puddle.
Turk bent over to grab it.
The third man emerged from the shadows, his rifle aimed in Turk’s direction.
The shot erupted like a cannon blast.
Turk dove to the ground.
Echoes ripped off the brick wall and sailed into the storm. Another crack of thunder lashed out. Mud kicked up and hit Turk in the right eye.
Despite the searing pain in his abdomen, Turk dove and rolled behind the two dead men, taking cover behind their stacked corpses.
The slain man’s rifle lay a foot away. Before Turk could reach for it, the man fired another shot. Another bullet. This one slammed into one of the bodies with a thud.
Turk reached for the rifle with his left hand. Pushed off the ground with his right. He screamed as his side and stomach felt like they had split in two. His first shot hit the bricks, nowhere near the man.
The guy dove anyway, showing his inexperience. He hit the ground and slid in the mud, arm out like a hook as though he were stealing third base and coming in wide.
A stupid move.
Might as well have turned his weapon on himself.
The extra seconds allowed Turk to line up his shot. He fired and hit the man in the shoulder.
The guy let go of his weapon and rolled to his side, clutching his arm.
Turk fired again. Missed. He adjusted to the sights, aimed and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
“Shit,” he shouted, reaching for his pistol, which was no longer in the holster.
The other man gutted through his pain and regained control of his weapon. He had Turk dead to rights, but hesitated. Maybe he needed to steady himself. Perhaps the pain was too intense.
Turk turned and ran toward the corner of the fort. He’d left the loaded rifle against the wall. Halfway there, the other man fired. The shot went high and wide, zipping past into the harbor.
Another shot.
It slammed into the wall over Turk’s head. Brick and mortar rained down.
Five feet from the corner, Turk dove forward. Pain ripped through his side and stomach. He still hadn’t investigated the injury. What was the point? If his guts were hanging out, what was he supposed to do? Lay there and wait for death?
Using the wall, he pulled himself to his feet and staggered to the spot where he’d left the rifle. A lump rose in his throat. He didn’t see it there.
He reached out and felt along the wall, down to the ground. His hand brushed against the muzzle. He scooped up the weapon and rushed back to the corner.
The man had abandoned his position and was now standing in front of the gate. One arm hung limp while the other yanked at the door. He’d set his rifle against the wall.
Turk leaned his left shoulder into the bricks, then lifted the rifle, aimed, and fired. The bullet slammed into the guy’s head, tearing it in half. His body jerked and fell a few feet from where he stood.
How long did he have until someone else came?
Though he couldn’t be sure, none of the men looked like the two he had encountered during his earlier pass of the fort.
The encounter had taught him that the men were inexperienced. Yet they were the ones sent out to find their missing friend. That meant there was a good chance anyone left inside had even less experience and training.
But would they mistake the sounds of a gunfight with thunder?
With adrenaline weaning, his side burned more intensely. He glanced down, and instead of forcing himself to look away, he inspected the wound.
He had to know. After all, not twenty yards away were a couple small boats and kayaks. He could climb inside one and fight his way through the harbor to shore. Be done with this place. Get back to his family.
But he couldn’t leave yet.
He’d made a promise to Rose and Rob. And he’d made one to his daughter before he set out. He’d make it home. What good was that promise if he broke another?
Feeling the wound, he realized the damage wasn’t as bad as he had feared. The bullet had torn through flesh, maybe a bit of muscle, but that was it. Nothing internal. No fear of bleeding out.
A surge of energy filled him as he went back to where the bodies lay and searched for the key. He splashed through the growing puddle and found it.
With the cord secured around his wrist, Turk ran to the gate. He kicked the body on the ground out of the way. Bits of skull and brain coated the wooden door. It slid slowly down, helped along by the rivers of rainwater.
He tugged on the handle, but the door didn’t budge.
They had heard. And someone had come out and locked the gate. Were they on the other side? Watching from atop the fort?
He slung the rifle around his back and went to where the boats were piled. An inch of water had already gathered there. It wouldn’t be long before the vessels were swept off the island.
Ignoring the pain in his side, Turk grabbed the back of one of the Jon boat and dragged it through the mud and grass to the wall. Then he lifted it and placed the hull against the bricks so the boat was at a thirty-degree angle.
He stepped on the end and jumped a couple times, settling it into the soft ground. The boat had three rows of bench seats, evenly spaced, with the middle row in the exact center of the craft. He climbed the benches like steps. At the top, the boat teetered to the right. Turk adjusted and re-centered it. Keeping the makeshift ladder upright was a challenge, but he managed to do so long enough to grip the top of the wall.
Turk pulled himself up. The boat toppled over with a crash. He got his head over the ledge and scanned the courtyard. If someone had come out and locked the gate, they’d already retreated inside.
What would he do in that situation?
If he knew someone or a group of people were on the other side of the wall, armed and firing, he wouldn’t approach them head on. No, he would lead a team around to flank the assailants.
That was him, though. He couldn’t count on the inhabitants of the fort to use the same tactics.
Turk pulled his body over the top of the wall, then dropped to the ground. He cinched up the strap securing the rifle to his back, pressed his other hand against the wound on his side, and ran as fast as he could toward the cell. Halfway, he stumbled forward, hitting the ground and sliding onto the concrete. The flesh on his chest and shoulder tore. The hammering rain pelted his wounds like nails.