“He looked mentally ill.”
The corners of Nate’s mouth tensed in an ‘I feel really bad, but…’ kinda look. “I’m sure if anything, he just went for a little ride. When he wakes up he won’t remember a thing.”
“Guy’s warning about how bad things have become in Chicago. It keeps playing in my mind,” Dakota said. “I can deal with ambushes near rest stops and drunken idiots using Shadow for target practice. But somehow this felt different.” She was staring out the window at the unbroken line of people fleeing the city. “It’s been a week and they’re still leaving.”
“Those are the clingers,” Nate explained.
“The what?”
“The people who waited too long. The ones who thought help was on its way. That any day now the lights would turn back on. And when they didn’t, many of these folks were left without any kind of contingency other than to pack what they could carry and go. The further in we get, the more desperate the folks will be. Look at it this way. These are the lucky ones. They’re healthy and fit enough to have made it this far. Those who avoid freezing to death over the next couple days will likely make it to Marengo and dozens of other tiny cities west of here. To them it’s an exodus. To guys like Chief McGinley it’s an invasion.”
Nate glanced down at the fuel gauge and grimaced.
“We almost out?” Dakota asked.
He nodded. “I’m gonna need to pull off and find a safe, relatively secluded place to refill the tank.” The three-gallon gas cans roped down in the bed should do the job.
After passing the airport, Nate weaved through gaps in the wrecked vehicles and exited the highway. They came first to a large Greyhound bus depot. To their right was a side street that opened onto a long avenue lined with houses. Nate pulled over, the Beast coming to a stop in a sea of high snow.
He made a quick scan of his surroundings before hopping out. For the most part, the street was still and peaceful, save for the distant sound of gunfire. He climbed onto the truck bed, his G36 slung over his back. Dakota got out too, landing in snow up to her waist. She giggled.
“Wanna stretch your legs?” he asked.
Her eyes shifted to a convenience store across the street. “Let me see if they have anything left,” she said.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he protested, noting how one of the front windows had been smashed and the other spiderwebbed.
“I’m not going far.”
“All the same.”
“Stop jinxing me, I’ll be fine.”
“Famous last words,” he whispered, cutting a path around the side of the truck with one of the gas cans.
He watched her disappear inside, her pistol drawn and held out with both hands. At least she’d gone in armed, he reassured himself. As close as they might have gotten over these last few days, he had to remind himself more than once that he wasn’t the girl’s father. If she decided to head into a potentially dangerous situation, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Inside the cab, Shadow was awake and watching him through the rear window, a sight both reassuring and unnerving all at the same time.
Nate replaced the first empty gas can and unlatched the next one. In it went and still Dakota hadn’t returned.
What was taking her so long? Was she stocking up with junk food or had she encountered someone inside? Nate steadied his mind. Being out here, vulnerable, it was hard not to imagine threats closing in from every direction. He was preparing the third can when he spotted two men emerge from a house seventy-five yards away. He stood watching for a moment, the cold Chicago air stinging his cheeks. They stopped when they saw him and began heading this way. Nate returned to the driver’s seat, unslinging his rifle as he went. The men were on the left side of the street, which meant if need be, he could keep the door open and rest the barrel of his rifle in the crook.
Thirty meters. They were still coming. But neither was waving or showing any sign of friendliness. He checked his mirrors and checked his blind spots to ensure no one was trying to sneak up on him. Shadow was now glaring through the front windshield at the two approaching men. The G36 was across Nate’s lap, ready to be brought to bear at a moment’s notice.
He glanced quickly in the direction of the convenience store. The facade was dark, impenetrable, making it impossible to tell what was going on inside.
As the two men drew closer, they began shouting at him.
“Hey, man! Whatchu doing over there?” said the boldest of the two. He was scrawny and dangerous-looking and wrapped in an eight-ball jacket.
“Guy’s just sittin’ in his car,” the other said, sporting a black beanie topped with a pompom.
“Who you waitin’ on, old man?”
Nate glared at them but said nothing. If they were smart they’d keep walking.
They were maybe twenty feet from the convenience store when Dakota emerged, a large smile on her face. She was waving something around. It looked like a newspaper.
The growl coming from the back of Shadow’s throat grew louder.
Both men were now chopping the air with their hands.
“Dang, honey, you are fine.”
“I got a place down the street. What do ya say we head back there and chill out, leave Daddy behind?”
When they took a purposeful step toward her, Nate decided he had seen and heard enough. He reached over and popped open the passenger door. A grey streak pushed into the front seat and out the door. Dakota was wading through the deep snow as the men closed the distance.
“Let’s go,” Nate shouted, as one of the men unzipped his winter jacket, his hand disappearing inside. At once, Nate came up with the G36, setting the barrel in the groove of the open driver’s side door, his finger moving off the receiver and onto the trigger.
That voice in his head was back and in full force.
Always maintain trigger discipline unless you’re ready to kill.
Eight-Ball’s hand came out of his jacket holding a glass pipe and Nate shot it right out of his fingers. He recoiled, right as Shadow leapt at him, growling as he sank his teeth into fabric and flesh alike. They fell over. The wolf shook his head as Eight-Ball, now lying in a mound of snow, tried in vain to fend off the animal. Pompom shouted and pulled something from his waistband. Nate didn’t wait to see what it was and placed two clean shots directly in his chest. He fell and stopped moving.
A fresh group appeared down the road. They seemed to be coming from the same house as Eight-Ball and Pompom. Another few minutes and the entire neighborhood would be after them.
The new group was hurrying in their direction. Nate pulled the G36 back in and started the engine as Dakota hurried over, wading through the deep powder. A minute later she was in, but Shadow was still gnawing on Eight-Ball.
“We can’t just leave without him,” Dakota said, out of breath.
“He’ll catch up,” Nate assured her, throwing the truck into reverse.
The Beast shot back through an empty lane already carved by the plow. Drawing even with the street, Nate swung the truck around and honked the horn three times.
A grey, furry head popped up above the snow drifts. Moments later, Shadow was racing toward the truck. Dakota opened the door and he scrambled in over her and into the back seat. The wolf stared at them, licking his chops.
Nate threw the truck into gear and sped off.
They returned to the interstate, resuming their journey toward the center of town. They hadn’t been here more than a few minutes and already one man was dead and another seriously injured.
Let it go, Nate thought. What’s done is done. He drew in a deep breath, waiting for that sage advice to settle in.