Through the Storm(31)

“Hey kid, where’s your dad?” Skinny asked.

Why did everyone want to know that? “He’s coming. You better leave.”

“Sure kid, or maybe I could talk with him.”

Gruff growled.

Drake shook his head at Skinny and called for Gruff again. His jaw clinched and anger grew as Gruff ignored him and continued growling.

“Is that your sister?” Skinny asked.

Gruff eased forward with a low growl.

A glance over Drake’s shoulder revealed Ashley standing on the back steps. The thought of using the stay command on Ashley flashed through his mind.

“She’s kinda cute,” Fatty said. “What’s your name, girl?”

“You two need to leave.” Drake struggled to keep his voice steady.

“I’m going to kill that dog if it gets any closer.” Skinny thrust the pistol in Gruff’s direction.

Fatty grinned at Ashley. “Come to papa.”

A startled look on Fatty’s face caused Drake to glance over his shoulder.

Ashley ran past Drake toward Fatty, but she stopped at Gruff, grabbed his collar, and pulled the dog back to the steps.

Relieved that Ashley was out of the way, Drake returned his attention to the men. “Leave,” he said with as much menace as he could muster.

Skinny smiled. “Okay, kid. I’ll speak with your dad—later.”

Drake felt his face flush with anger at the two men and at Ashley. Why had she left the house? Why had she rushed across the yard and grabbed Gruff?

Drake watched as the two men casually walked around the house and back toward the road.

As Drake stepped inside, he slid in the metal plate, closing the doggy door. Ashley waited in the dining room, still holding onto Gruff.

“Are they gone?” she asked.

“Yes. For now.” Drake cleared the chamber and leaned the gun into a corner. “I’m mad at both of you.”

“Me? And Gruff?”

“Yes.” He stepped closer to Ashley. “Why did you go outside?”

She stood and planted both hands on her hips. “You went out first.”

“I’m a guy. I had a gun.”

“What has you being a guy got to do with anything?”

“Ah … well, guys are supposed to protect girls.”

Ashley grinned. “Where’s your shiny armor?”

“Huh?”

“Thank you. I didn’t want that guy to hurt you or Gruff.”

Drake’s face still burned. “Gruff needs serious obedience training.”

She stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “Don’t be mad. I just wanted them to go away.”

“You may have given them more reason to return.” The pouty face melted Drake’s anger. “Keep the doors locked and stay inside today.”

Drake grabbed the rifle and hurried off to the survival room. He feared the two men would return and he needed to be ready. He selected an AR-15 with a scope and found a night vision monocular on a tripod. Years ago on a dark, moonless night, he had watched his father use it.

“Two coyotes are over there,” his dad had said. “That’s why our animals are restless.”

Drake had looked across the yard into thick blackness. Then his dad motioned for him to use the monocular. The predators at the edge of the forest came into clear view.

That night his dad had dealt with the coyotes. Tonight he expected other predators to slink onto the property.

Please Dad, come home soon.





Day Five

Lane County, Oregon, Thursday, September 8th

Sore feet and exhaustion prevented Neal from hiking through the night, but the growing number of suburban homes and businesses he had seen told him he wasn’t far from Portland. He had slept in the back of a looted antique store and now the light of dawn woke him from his slumber on several old rugs.

Why loot antiques? He had no answer, but the floor coverings had provided a bed for him and Ginger during the night.

Later in the day, after they reached Portland, he hoped to find a car with keys still in it. He would get it running and drive home. But before he could leave Portland, he had to reach the city and accomplish two missions.

He fed Ginger some dog food and then pulled an MRE from his pack. By that time Ginger had gulped down her food and came sniffing at his.

He pulled his food away from her. “This is mine. You’ve got more to eat than I do. In a couple of days, I might be sniffing at your dog food.”

As he walked from the antique shop, Neal checked a nearby car for keys but found none. He tossed the MRE package into the back seat. “Come on, girl. We’ve got a long walk to Portland.”

Neal followed the road north. Few people were going his direction, but an increasing number were heading south. Their somber exodus made him curious about conditions ahead. Just before noon, he stopped at a makeshift camp around a small pond. As Neal walked toward the water, the people watched him, and he watched them. Most of the campers appeared to be families with children. They seemed harmless, but he still positioned himself so that he could keep an eye on most of them. He filled his water bottles as Ginger lapped up mouthfuls.

A boy, about six years old, ran up to Neal. “What’re you doing?”

“Getting water.”

Petting Ginger, the boy said, “My daddy told me it’s bad and not to drink it.”