CHAPTER FOUR

  CLINT

  “Attention!” A guardsman hollered loud enough for conversation to still. “Everyone waiting to depart, form a straight line behind Corporal Clemens!” He pointed with his free hand at a younger member of the National Guard standing in a clear patch of grass.

  Confusing glances darted across the picnic tables.

  Tom stood from his bench, pushing the center of his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Beside him, Bridget took an apprehensive step forward. Clint reached out and placed a hand on Mika’s arm. They didn’t move.

  “What’s going on?” A dark-skinned man from the group spoke up as he rose from his seat.

  The guardsman in charge ignored him. “Everyone line up! The quicker we do this, the quicker we’ll be on the move.”

  Clint glanced around for any sign of the bus driver. At last, he spotted him, head bent in conversation with another man in uniform. He pointed at the road and the man in uniform shook his head. The driver’s shoulders rose and fell once before he turned toward the bus and climbed aboard.

  About half of the people waiting had followed the guardsman’s orders, filing into a single file line in front of Corporal Clemens. As Clint watched, each person was checked one at a time, bags opened, bodies patted down. A wave of frustration rolled through Clint. What did they think was going on here, exactly? These people had escaped a colossal disaster. They weren’t criminals.

  He glanced again at the bus. Two National Guard soldiers stood beside it, one on each side of the loading door, rifles pointed at the ground, trigger finger straight and clear. They might technically not be ready to shoot, but he wondered what the point of it all could possibly be. Had someone hijacked a bus? Had the shelter suffered some sort of attack?

  Worried thoughts about Daphne formed in his mind, each scenario more outlandish than the next. A mass riot at the shelter when food or water ran out. A drug cartel breaking in and taking over. A bus of angry, hungry people on a collision course with the triage tent.

  He shook his head. He needed more information before he took a single step onto that bus. “Head over to the bathroom, okay? If anyone asks, say you need to go before you get on the bus.”

  Mika lifted an eyebrow in obvious confusion. “Why?”

  Clint cast a quick glance at the line. Twenty people deep, it would take a few minutes to clear. “I’d like to know what we’re getting into, that’s all. Meet back here in five.”

  “O—kay.” Mika pushed off the bench and walked slowly toward the restrooms.

  Clint surveyed his options. The two guardsmen at the bus were out. So were the two checking bags and maintaining order in the line. The one in charge was visibly irritated already, waving his free hand at the stragglers and encouraging them to hurry.

  Finally, he spotted someone promising. Over to the side, a small group of men in uniform waited. One blew a puff of smoke into the air. He headed toward them as quickly as possible without drawing unwanted attention. As he neared, one turned toward him and the hand holding his rifle twitched.

  Clint held up both hands in front of his chest to show he meant no harm. “Hey fellas, I’m wondering if you all know what’s happening. Is there some problem at the shelter? No one’s told us anything.”

  The guardsmen all traded looks. The one with the cigarette took one last drag before dropping it on the ground and crushing the burning stub with his heel. “Don’t know much. Just that we’ve got to guard the buses from here on out.”

  “Guard them?” Clint’s mouth fell slack. “Did something happen?”

  Another man in the group lifted a shoulder. “Heard something about an ambush, maybe. Don’t know specifics. They don’t tell us much. Just where to go, what to do.”

  Clint’s mind reeled. An ambush? What if Daphne—? The group began to break apart, some men heading back to their vehicles, another moving toward the buses. “Please, do you know anything else? Was everyone on board killed? Were there survivors? Are they at the shelter?”

  “Look man, we’ve got to go. Lieutenant Jansen’ll have our necks in a minute.”

  “Please—”

  One by one, each guardsman ignored him, heading to their assigned locations.

  “Sir! Sir, is there a problem?”

  Clint turned to find the man in charge barreling toward him. He held up both hands again. “No, no problem. Just trying to find out information about the ambush. My wife—”

  The guardsman shook his head. “I’m not at liberty to provide any information at this time. Our orders are clear. Inspect all passengers, get them on the bus, and roll out.”

  “But—”

  “Are you going to be a problem?”

  “No.”

  “Then get in line.”

  Clint turned toward the bathrooms. “My daughter—”

  “Sir?” The man’s rifle moved in his hands.

  Clint held his breath for a long moment. At last, the door to the restroom opened and Mika emerged. He exhaled. “Sorry to be a bother.” He held up one hand again in apology and made his way toward the dwindling line. He met Mika at the rear.

  “Everything okay?” She glanced between him and the man who’d blown him off. He still eyed them both with suspicion.

  Clint smiled and rubbed her back briefly. “Everything’s fine. Ready to load the bus?”

  She stared up at him for a long moment before nodding. “At least the seats are comfortable. And there’s air conditioning.”

  Clint mm-hmmed in agreement and ushered his daughter toward the guardsmen inspecting the passengers. He held his breath as a female national guard soldier looked Mika up and down, patted her waist and the bottom of her legs. He sighed with relief once the woman finished and waved Mika along.

  He gave his daughter another smile. “Just try to get some sleep once you get on the bus. And save me a seat.”

  She nodded over her shoulder at him before heading toward the bus, although her forehead creased with worry and skepticism.

  Clint approached the male guardsman. He stood like a tower, his expression stern, eyes scowling, cheekbones and jawline hard.

  “Stand here,” he told Clint, pointing to an empty space in front of him.

  Clint did as he was told. Sprawling fingers spread out across his torso and down his legs.

  “You’re good to go.” The soldier dismissively nudged his chin toward the bus.

  As he climbed the steps, Clint debated on whether to tell Mika about the ambush. He leaned toward telling the truth, arming her with the knowledge of potential disaster, until her pale face came into view, hovering above the seat backs. Her sunken cheekbones and hollow eyes telegraphed the strain of the past week. She’d already been through enough physical and emotional torment to last a lifetime. She didn’t need to worry about her mother right now. She needed to rest.

  “Hey, sweetheart.” He smiled at her and slid into the seat next to her.

  Her eyes fixed on him, wide with worry. “Everything alright?”

  “So far,” Clint managed, then gave her a wry smile. “I thought I told you to get some sleep?”

  Mika sighed. “I’ll sleep. Eventually.” She turned to stare out the window, tucking her legs up underneath her and resting her head on the corner of the seat and the sidewall of the bus.

  Clint stared straight ahead, watching the last handful of refugees climb on board. Behind them, three National Guardsmen followed, rifles pointed toward the floor. They took up positions evenly dispersed throughout the bus, one at the rear, one in the middle three rows in front of Clint and Mika, and one behind the driver.

  Within minutes, the bus shimmied and began to roll forward. Two Humvees moved out first, followed by the other two buses, and finally theirs. Behind them, the remaining military vehicles followed. They were in a guarded convoy.

  Clint glanced at his daughter. He hoped for her sake this was all unnecessary. But he doubted it. A show of force this large only meant one thing. They were headed for trouble.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DAPHNE

  The truck engine idled, the nose of the hood sticking out of the exit of the parking garage. Samuel flicked his head first one direction and then the other. He pointed a thumb to the left. “We’re gonna have to go that way.”

  Daphne’s heart nosedived.

  Jocelyn twisted in the seat. “But that's the way we came.”

  “Yeah, but it’s also east.” He pointed back to the right. “The flooding will be worse to the west and we’ll probably end up trapped in the disaster zone.”

  Jocelyn groaned and worried her hands. “Alright, but can we at least try to avoid the FEMA tent?”

  “I’ll do my best.” Samuel flicked the blinker and pulled out cautiously onto the street. They were the only moving vehicle on the road. Muck and debris and abandoned cars slowed their progress. The speedometer hovered between fifteen and twenty.

  Daphne pressed her knees together. A huge neon sign might as well flash above the vehicle, they were that conspicuous. If the bus was a target, what were they? She chewed on the inside of her cheek.

  The truck hummed on, approaching the FEMA tent. She clenched her jaw, anticipating commotion or a series of shouts. A sour churn roiled her stomach.

  Jocelyn slunk into her seat and put her hand over her face. “What if they recognize us?”

  “Sun’s hitting the hood.” Samuel turned the wheel. “They can’t make us out.”

  “Oh yeah? Have you seen yourself and that scratchy beard?”

  Samuel’s upper lip twitched until it cracked into a smile. He shook his head, giving her a sidelong glance. “You’re something else, you know that?”

  Jocelyn tossed him an innocent shrug. “I may have been told that once or twice in my life.”

  Daphne suppressed an amused smirk. At least they were all keeping it together.

  “Alright, here we go.” Samuel gripped the steering wheel tighter.

  Jocelyn sunk lower into her seat, her breath coming faster. Daphne found herself reaching for Jocelyn’s hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. Samuel stiffened, but he kept his eyes on the road. They edged past the FEMA tent. A few faces peered at the truck with curiosity, but no one stopped them.

  Once the tent grew small in the rearview mirror, Daphne exhaled a deep breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “We made it.” She eased her hand out of Jocelyn’s, wiping the clamminess on her pants.

  They eased down the road, Samuel doing his best to avoid debris as they made their way out of the worst of the flood-damaged areas and onto dry streets free from sludge. No more than five minutes passed before the first signs of trouble emerged from a side street. Three men and two women, all bedraggled and exhausted, with limp gaits and hunched shoulders ambled onto the road.

  Only one—a woman whose hair might have been blonde, Daphne couldn’t tell thanks to the dirt and grime clumping the strands—wore shoes. The other woman limped a few paces behind, a dusty backpack clinging to her bent back.

  One of the men’s head jerked at the sound of the truck’s engine. Jocelyn stiffened beside Daphne.

  “Try to go around them.” Daphne grimaced and clenched a fist in apprehension.

  “Hey, where’d you get that truck?” One of the other men shouted, he lunged forward, arms extended, fingers grasping for the back bumper.

  Samuel eased the truck past them, not slowing down.

  “Stop!” One of the women called out. “Come back!”

  Daphne squeezed her eyes shut, torn between wanting to keep going, and wanting to stop.

  “We don’t have room in the cab.” Samuel made the decision for them. “If they rode in the back, they’d kill our gas mileage. We barely have enough to make it to Ellensburg.”

  After a minute, the voices petered out behind them. Daphne forced her body to stay straight and not turn around. It pained her not to help, to turn a blind eye to people in obvious distress, just like she’d been these past days. But Samuel wasn’t wrong.

  Did that make him right?

  Silence swallowed the three of them, the rumble of the truck’s engine the only sound as they kept driving. Daphne craned her neck and stared out at the midday sky. Clouds clung to the tops of the still-standing buildings, but above them, the sun glared almost in judgment. Guilt clogged her throat and she coughed.

  They kept driving east and south, aiming to connect with I-90 and hopefully clearer roadways. Daphne stared out the windshield, eyes unfocused as she thought about everything she’d been through and all the people in the metro area still suffering. She was dirty and exhausted. Hungry and in pain. But she was alive. No broken bones. Nothing more than superficial injuries and emotional scars.

  They neared a sign for I-90 and hope percolated in her chest. Maybe they would make it without issue. Samuel eased toward the on-ramp when Jocelyn spoke up.

  “Guys?” Her voice warbled.

  Daphne blinked and turned in the direction the other woman pointed. Oh, no. On the on-ramp, practically blocking the entire road, a larger group of people walked. Some carried bags, one a crate stuffed high with belongings, another a small child piggyback.

  “Should we—”

  “If there were too many before, there’s definitely too many now,” Jocelyn answered. “We’ll be swallowed up.”

  Samuel tightened his grip on the steering wheel and pulled himself up straighter in the seat. “I’ll try to edge by.”

  “Maybe we should go around,” Daphne offered. “Go underneath the highway and find another route.”

  “Ninety’s the best way from here,” Jocelyn argued. “Everything south is what, residential?”

  “Wouldn’t that be safer?”

  “Not if we end up trapped on a side street or stuck in a cul-de-sac. If we keep heading south, we’ll end up in Cougar Mountain. We’ll either have to go all the way around or come back here.”

  Daphne swallowed. Maybe Jocelyn was right, but she had a bad feeling about it. She glanced at Samuel. “Try it, I guess.”

  He nodded and pressed the gas, heading toward the crowd. It didn’t take long for all three of them to realize their mistake. Not only were there more people than they anticipated, but they obviously were there on purpose, attempting to stop vehicles from entering the highway.

  Men fanned out across the road as they approached, each one holding up his arms in an X.

  “They aren’t going to let us through.”

  “Why not?” Jocelyn’s voice cracked with panic. “What can they possibly want from us?”

  “Anything they can get.” Samuel slowed to a stop before shifting into reverse. “Daphne’s right. This is suicide.”

  As soon as the truck began to turn, the crowd did as well, upraised arms turning into fists. Legs pumping, shouting spreading, the crowd dispersed. A wall of humanity, headed straight for them.

  “Samuel?” Daphne managed to shove all her fears into the man’s name.

  “I’m gonna have to floor it.”

  “Do it.” Jocelyn gripped the side of the door.

  Daphne turned around and braced herself on the seat back, watching.

  Two men neared the truck, arms outstretched.

  The engine roared to life as Samuel dug his foot into the pedal. A man’s hand flew out, fingers dipping over the tailgate. He grabbed the lip as he ran, legs pumping as he struggled to maintain purchase.

  Jocelyn shrieked beside Daphne and she twisted to see a man reaching for the side mirror, his scraggly hair blown back as he sprinted alongside the truck. His fingers swiped the rusted metal, but Samuel bumped up and over the curb at speed, knocking the man back. The truck’s rear launched briefly into the air and came back down hard, jostling everyone inside the cab.

  The man couldn’t hold on, the last of his strength fading as the truck increased speed. His fingers slipped. He fell to the ground. Daphne closed her eyes. She didn’t trust herself not to cry

  After a few minutes, Samuel spoke. His voice was quiet and strained. “We’ll have to skirt the state parks. Go south around Cougar Mountain, try to make it to State Route 18. If we can make it that far, I can get us to Ellensburg off the main roads.”

  Daphne opened her eyes. “How?”

  He gave her a small, almost pained smile. “Used to hunt that whole area years ago. Not so many rules back then.”

  “And now?”

  He shrugged. “The timber companies are pickier about who goes on their property. Tacoma limits hunts in a good portion of the area. It all became a bit of a drag for an old timer, to be honest.”

  Jocelyn leaned forward. “But you can still navigate it?”

  “Should be able to.” Samuel nodded. “There’s logging and forest service roads that crisscross the whole area. Even if we end up stuck on one, we should be able to find another without too much trouble.”

  Daphne stared out at the road ahead of them. She would trade the prospect of another group of desperate people for trees and elk any day. She gave Samuel a smile. “I say we go for it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  MIKA

  Afternoon sun cast a shadow across Mika’s lap as it cut through the windows of the bus. A loud hum vibrated through the floor and the seats and Mika’s muscles. Something shuddered and she woke with a start, blinking away her confusion.

  The bus. Right. She sat up in the seat. Ahead, an armed member of the Washington National Guard stood in the aisle, legs braced wide, head on swivel. Another stood mirror image in the rear. Her dad didn’t seem to care that an armed escort accompanied them on the journey, so Mika tried to not let it bother her. But the sight of armed soldiers standing guard made her wary.

  Outside, one of their vehicles flanked the bus, keeping pace. She assumed the others were either in front or behind. With a weak breath, she turned away from the window and tried to stretch her legs. Pinpricks tingled across her feet and up her calves. She needed to walk, stretch out, sleep in a real bed and not the cramped fabric seat of a coach bus.