Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)(89)

No, he was just fine with it. All his energy was dedicated to the tasks of keeping Lara safe, and grinding that dickhead Greaves and his lackeys into pink slime. Chill, steely purpose. Nothing else.

He headed into the maze of orchards that opened up in the valley, following random impulse, since he had no other compass. He ached to get onto the biggest, fastest road he could find and just fly, but they had no helmets, he was soaked in blood, and Lara was clutching an assault rifle to her bosom. Plus, he wasn’t sure if Greaves’ reach extended into the net of videocameras that were thick on the ground in all populated places. Their passing would be recorded dozens, if not hundreds of times in any town they went through, and if anyone on earth could find a way to smoothly commandeer all these electronic eyes, it was Greaves.

The orchard grid gave way to foothills again. A sign leading up a mountainside indicated that it led to Herald Lake, twelve miles up into the mountains. Remote, high altitude. He needed a place to park Lara, warm her up, let her rest. A place to do some thinking, plotting. Or rather, to let his new war machine do it for him, since it was far and away better at the task than he, Miles, had ever been.

The road became a sharp uphill grade of rough, rutted gravel that Val’s fancy-ass bike was most definitely not built for, but it labored gamely on. There were houses on the road. He used the extension of his senses that he had employed in the recent fight in the forest, slowing down near each dwelling and sending his perceptions outward to gather information, organize it on a spatial grid, feeling for bright points that indicated people. The first house was currently inhabited. The second had no bright points, but it looked inhabited, and had a sense of fresh energy. Someone had left the place recently and meant to return soon. Some were derelict, with no human energy at all, but that was no good either, if he wanted to forage for food, clothes for Lara, maybe even a hot shower and some sleep. He needed a middle ground.

More torturous climbing. Lara vibrated against his back, violent, convulsive shudders as her body sought to warm itself. Night was coming on. If she went into shock from exposure, he was so f*cked. It was surprising she had not already done so. She was as tough as nails.

Still, he laid on the gas.

The lake itself came into view. Smallish, shallow, surrounded by waving marsh grasses and encircled by a dragon’s spine of dead white skeleton trees peeking up through the younger green conifers. There was a rough road around it, and some small cabins.

One caught his eye. He slowed down, pulled in close.

It was small, simple, a roughly built A-frame. It had exactly the vibe he was looking for. No vehicles outside, but the house looked intact and well kept, not abandoned for more than a couple of months, based on the drifts of pine needles that had blown up against the door.

The McCloud Crowd’s training in lock-picking came in handy, with the emergency pick set in his bag, a Christmas gift from Sean years ago. He defeated the knob lock and the padlock both in less than three minutes. This was the first time he’d tried to pick a lock with his new, enhanced senses. A whole different experience. He could sense the inner mechanism now, the guts of the lock, shifting pins and tumblers.

Inside, the air was stale. There was a small living room with a fireplace, a tiny kitchen, and a bathroom in the back. A bedroom was upstairs, in the loft. Electrity that functioned. A gas stove, and a propane tank, all good. He went looking for blankets.

He wrapped her up in a tattered wool army blanket, like an olive-green burrito. Plopped her on the couch, and fished for the burner phone Aaro had gotten him. He punched in Sean’s number, let it ring.

Sean picked up instantly. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” he said.

“Yo. Glad to hear your voice.”

“You guys okay?” Miles asked.

“Not exactly.” Sean’s voice was flat. “We stopped in Salem. Davy’s being prepped for emergency surgery. Cerebral aneurism.”

Sub-zero cold pierced his flatlined calm. “Fuck me,” he whispered.

“Pretty much. They put him in an artificial coma. We’ll see how it goes. He’s a tough bastard.”

Miles’ mind was blank. He wished he could think of something encouraging to say, but he didn’t have any access to the part of his brain that might be up to a task that emotionally complex.

“How about everyone else?” he finally said.

“Fine. He only put the squeeze on Connor and Davy and me. Connor and I both have bitching headaches. Val and Tam took off to collect their kids from Sveti and Zia. I have never seen Tam that pale.”

“You guys should get checked out,” Miles said. “I’ve had this kind of brain damage, so trust me on this. You’re in the hospital already, so get some testing right away on your—”

“Yeah, whatever,” Sean said curtly. “We’re on it.”

“Right.” Miles swallowed, his hand fisting, opening, fisting again. “How about Margot? She holding up okay?”

“She’s on her way down now, with Jeannie and Erin and Kevvie. They left the little ones with Lily and Bruno in Portland. Should be here in about an hour.” Sean hesitated. “Did you engage with him?”

“Yeah,” Miles said. “It was no fun. But we’re alive.”

“Wow. Intense. Oh, hey, there’s one of Davy’s surgeons. Gotta go.”

“Okay. Later, dude. Good luck.”