My eyes snapped open to a blood-curdling scream, as my consciousness zoomed to full awake even as the cry of terror faded. “Not again,” I groaned, realizing I was already on my feet, naked, pistol in hand. I took a breath and listened as I exhaled slowly and quietly. Nothing stirred.
I waited, controlling my breathing, and strained my ears. I thought I heard voices, but I couldn’t be sure, then silence. No, wait, not voices but whispers, which carry farther on a still night than low voices. Since the crash, screams at night have occurred far too often, but if what I heard was indeed someone whispering, then they were not alone and probably intent on mischief.
I slipped on my undershorts, sweatpants, and pulled on a t-shirt—all black—then strapped on my holster, slid my FN 45 Tactical in it. I took up my shotgun, a Remington 870 Tactical equipped with a light that could burn ants on a sidewalk, which I left turned off—the light survived the EMP because I had built a homemade Faraday cage and kept several electrical items within it for just such an event. Thinking about my boots, I opted for slippers since it was faster, and the scream had sounded close.
The click of my front door seemed loud as I pulled it open and peered into the night. I sniffed and smelled nothing other than the thick forest surrounding my cabin. I waited, partially behind the door jam, and then I heard a twig snap followed by a whispered curse. These amateurs weren’t coming up my driveway.
Leaving my door open, I backed into the darkness of my house and crouched behind my couch, shotgun aimed at the door.
I held there, counting breaths. One Mississippi. Two. My heart hammered, but my hands were steady. Training and habit—some things never leave you, even when you wish they would.
The whispers drifted closer.
“…this way…”
“…I heard it…”
“…shut up…”
Not locals. Too careless. Too loud. No, I take that back—we have lots of loud and careless locals. Then a second sound—faint, ragged, desperate. Someone sobbing. I shifted slightly, angling for a better view of the doorway. The gray-blue half-light of an Alaskan June night filtered in, just enough to silhouette movement. A shape darted past the end of my driveway. Another followed, slower, cautious—predators. And prey.
The sobbing came again, closer now. A woman. Young, from the sound of it. Panicked, but trying to stay quiet.
“Spread out,” a man whispered harshly outside. “She’s bleeding. She won’t get far.”
I felt something cold settle in my chest. Not again, I moaned under my breath.
For a second, the cabin wasn’t my cabin. It was a mud wall, a blown-out doorway, dust in the air, someone screaming in a language I barely understood. My grip tightened on the shotgun until my knuckles ached. Only it wasn’t my shotgun. I was holding an M4.
I forced myself back. Here. Now. Alaska. Not there… Not now.
The sob turned into a stifled cry, followed by the sound of someone stumbling.
That was enough. I moved. Sliding along the wall, I slipped out the door and hugged the exterior, keeping low. The damp earth was cold under my slippers, grounding me. I edged around the corner, shotgun leading.
Three figures on the gravel road, beyond the trees in my yard. Two men. One woman. She was on her knees, trying to crawl, one hand clamped over her side. Dark stains spread through her jacket. The men closed in on her, one with a knife, the other holding what looked like a tire iron. He swatted at the mosquitos buzzing around his ear.
“Please…” she rasped. “I don’t have anything left—”
“Not what we’re after,” the knife guy said, smiling in a way that made my stomach turn.
I stepped out of the shadows. “That’s far enough.”
They froze. Both turned toward me, eyes wide in the dim light. For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then tire iron guy sneered. “Your land?”
“Last I checked.”
Knife guy took a step forward. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“It does now.”
The silence stretched for a beat. The woman looked between us, her expression a mix of fear and something else—calculation. She wasn’t just panicked. She was watching—smart.
Knife guy sighed. “Look, we’re just—”
I fired. The shotgun roared, the blast shattering the quiet. I’d aimed low and peppered his leg. He dropped hard, screaming, clutching his calf and knee.
The second man lunged sideways, trying to get out of my line of fire. I pumped the shotgun, the sound loud and final.
“Drop it,” I said.
He hesitated. I shifted the barrel to point at his belly. He quickly dropped the tire iron.
“Kick it over here.”
He did.
“Now get on your knees.”
He looked at his partner, still writhing in the dirt. Then back at me. “Man, you don’t want to…”
I fired again, this time close enough that dirt kicked up beside him, but his foot caught a single pellet of the double-ought buck. He dropped to his butt fast, grasping his injury.
“Hands on your head.”
He complied.
The woman had stopped moving, staring at me like she wasn’t sure if I was better or worse than the men.
I kept the shotgun trained on them. “You two picked the wrong place.”
“They attacked me,” she said suddenly, voice hoarse. “I didn’t…”
“I know,” I cut her off.
I took a step closer, keeping distance between all of us. “Where’s the rest of your group?” I asked the two wounded idjits.
“No group,” he said quickly. “Just us.”
“Wrong answer.”
“It’s the truth,” they both blurted in unison.
I studied the assholes. Sweat beaded their foreheads despite the cool air. Maybe they were telling the truth. Maybe not. Didn’t matter. I thought about ending them and ridding the world of two lowlifes, but my soil was rocky, and shoveling would be arduous. “Damn,” I sighed. If only my truck were running, I could haul their bodies to the river. “Start walking,” I said. “Back the way you came.”
“You shot us?” knife guy exclaimed. We need medical help. We can’t walk like this.
“You’ll live. Now walk, crawl, or hobble away. I don’t care which, just get the fuck off my land.”
“Man…”
I chambered another round. That got their attention.
They scrambled to their feet with excessive moaning and complaining, then hobbled away down the road.
“Keep going,” I said. “If I see either of you again, I’ll kill you outright.”
They didn’t argue. Within a few minutes, they vanished around the corner of the next crossroad, supporting each other like a couple of wounded drunks.
I lowered the shotgun slightly but didn’t relax. The woman cleared her throat, and I turned toward her. She sagged where she knelt, breath coming in shallow bursts.
“Can you stand?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Figures.”
I approached carefully, watching her hands. People did stupid things when they were scared. Actually, people did stupid things, even the smart ones. It’s human nature. Up close, I could see her clearly. Late twenties, maybe. Dark hair tangled and damp with sweat. Pale, but not weak—there was strength in the way she held herself, even wounded. She was attractive and looked fit.
Her eyes locked onto mine. Sharp. Assessing. “Are you going to help me,” she asked, “or just stare?”
I felt the corners of my mouth tugging upwards, but I suppressed the smile. “Depends,” I said. “You planning to stab me the second I get close?”
“If I had the strength,” she said dryly, “I might consider it.”
“Fair enough.” I slung the shotgun and crouched beside her. “Let me see.”
She hesitated, then slowly moved her hand from her side.
The wound was ugly. Deep cut, probably from that knife. Blood soaked through her shirt.
“You’re lucky,” I said. “It’s a flesh wound.”
“Oh, please, spare me the movie cliches,” she said. “You sound very sure.”
“I’ve seen worse.”
Her face assumed a curious look, but she didn’t respond.
I slipped an arm under her shoulders, the other beneath her knees, and lifted her carefully. She sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t cry out. “Cabin’s not far,” I said. “Try not to die before we get there.”
“No promises.”
The door wasn’t latched, so I booted it open, then closed it once inside to prevent any more mosquitoes from entering than was necessary. I got her onto the couch, grabbed my med kit, and went to work. “Name?” I asked, cleaning the wound.
“Rachel.”
“Ben.”
She watched me as I numbed the wound with lidocaine and stitched her up, her gaze steady despite the pain.
“You military?” she asked.
“Was.”
“I thought so.”
“Why’s that?”
“You move like you’re still expecting someone to shoot you.”
I didn’t answer, and she didn’t press. Good.
When I finished, I wrapped the wound and leaned back. “You’ll live.”
“High praise.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
She gave a faint smile, then winced. Silence settled between us. Outside, the dim light shifted as the early morning crept closer. Birds started up somewhere in the trees, like the world hadn’t ended a few months ago.
“What were they after?” I asked finally.
Rachel hesitated. “Something I have,” she said.
“Which is?”
She studied me, as if weighing how much she should tell me. “Information,” she said at last.
I snorted. “That’s always what people say when they don’t want to explain.”
“It’s true.”
“Uh-huh.”
She shifted slightly, testing the bandage. “There’s a place,” she said. “A facility. Not far from here.”
“Everything’s ‘not far’ when you’re desperate.” I arched my back to stretch out a kink. “This is a small community. We have workaholics, alcoholics, and lowlife drug addicts, but the one thing they all have in common is that none of ‘em can keep a secret. If there were any kind of facility near here, I would know about it. Hell, everyone would know about it.”
“Listen,” she said, sharper now. “Before the EMP, I worked…adjacent to a project. Contingency planning. Worst-case scenarios.”
“Guess you got your worst case.”
“Worse than you think. This place is underground and only accessed by helicopter.”
I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms. “Go on.”
“There’s a cache,” she said. “Supplies, weapons, and communications equipment, all kinds of gear that survived the pulse.”
That got my attention. “You’re saying there’s working tech out there?”
“Yes.”
I went to the stove and put some water on. I need some coffee. “And you just happened to wander into my backyard with that kind of secret?”
“I didn’t ‘wander,’” she snapped. “I was heading there.”
“And those guys?”
“They’ve been tracking me for two days.”
“Ok. Why are you trying to get to this place?”
She looked at me like I was an idiot. “Because I like electric lights, refrigerated food, and driving my car. I thought at first you had some brains.”
“Hey, easy. I get it. I don’t think well when I’m woken abruptly and have to rescue damsels in distress in the wee hours.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t just call me a damsel…”
I raised my hands. “Sorry, I take it back. Coffee?”
Her face didn’t quite soften, but she assumed a mollified countenance. “Please. I don’t suppose you’d have cream and sugar?”
“No cream, but I have honey.”
“Works for me.”
The pot whistled, and I set two pour-overs with coffee over two cups. “What else about this facility?”
She sighed and continued quietly. “There are people at that facility. Or there were supposed to be. If it’s still operational…” She trailed off.
Hope, I thought. It’s a dangerous thing. I studied her. She wasn’t lying, or if she was, she was very good at it.
“What’s the catch?” I asked.
“There’s always a catch,” she said. “The place isn’t easy to access. And I can’t get there alone. Not like this.”
She looked at her bandaged side.
“So you need a guide,” I said.
“Yes.”
“And you picked me because…?”
“You live out here alone,” she said. “You’re armed, prepared, and you didn’t hesitate to take on two attackers. That narrows the field.”
“Two idjits, you mean. If they had guns, it might have gone differently.”
“Will you help me?”
Fuck. I let out a slow breath. This was a bad idea. Everything about it screamed bad idea. Why was I falling for this insane plan? Sure, I’d like to score some supplies. Can’t drive anywhere, and the store’s been empty for weeks, but I had a few months of food and I could always go out and drop a moose or caribou. Thing is, that’s going to get harder with everyone else thinking the same thing. This facility, I wonder how many people know about it, and whoever is holding it might not want to share. I could see where others could show up willing to kill for the goods inside. I looked at Rachel and thought, was I going with her because she’s pretty? I’m a damn fool. I never could resist a girl in need of help. One of these days my round heels were going to bite me in the ass.
“You realize,” I said, “if you’re lying, this ends badly for you.”
“I know.”
“And if you’re telling the truth, it might end badly for both of us.”
“I know that too.”
We held each other’s gaze. Her eyes were like dark honey. Finally, I shook my head. “I must be out of my mind.”
“That’s a yes?”
“That’s a ‘we’ll see.’ You rest. We move tonight.”
She exhaled, tension leaving her shoulders. “Thank you,” she said.
“Don’t thank me yet.” I stood and grabbed a blanket, tossing it over her. “Because if this turns out to be a wild goose chase, I’m leaving you wherever we end up,” I lied.
“Understood.”
I moved to the doorway, looking out at the pale morning light creeping through the trees.
The world had gone quiet after the EMP. Too quiet. Like it was holding its breath.
Behind me, Rachel shifted on the couch.
“You really live out here alone?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“How long?”
“Long enough.”
“And before?”
“Hunting guide.”
“Explains the aim.”
“Among other things.”
She was quiet for a moment.
“Ben,” she said softly.
“Yeah?”
“Those men…you didn’t kill them.”
“Didn’t need to.”
“That’s rare now.”
“Maybe.” I didn’t think it prudent to tell her I let them live because I didn’t want to deal with disposing of their bodies. I stared out at the trees, listening to the wind. “Get some sleep,” I said. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
Behind me, her breathing slowed as exhaustion finally took over. And for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t just waiting for the next scream in the dark. I was waiting for something else. Something uncertain. Something dangerous. Something that might actually matter.