Desolation

He opened the door and looked in. There were so many supplies, stacked floor to ceiling, covering all the walls except above and below the window, the room’s only source of light. On one side were all the weapons. He had at first been surprised by all the weapons they had found, knowing how damned spastic the Mexicans were about bringing a gun or ammo across the border—a sure long-term pass to a Mexican prison. Then, he realized that some of the nicest beach houses they’d raided were owned or rented by cartels. Rocky Point didn’t seem to have much of a drug presence, because you never heard of people getting shot, but that was because this was where they all vacationed with their families. It must have been some sort of gentleman’s agreement.

Clyde chuckled at the absurdity of that thought.

He reached down and grabbed what he was looking for: one of the RPGs. One of—

“Where the hell is the other one?”

~~~

Judas hobbled around the side of Max’s house before collapsing in the shade for a breather. The afternoon sun was tucked behind the walls, preparing itself for its daily slumber in the west, granting the far side of Clyde’s house a brief respite from the battering. Judas’s whole body felt like it was still on fire. He didn’t want to look at himself, but he looked anyway. His arm was a scrambled mess of red and black flesh. He followed his chest to his waist and legs, seeing that he was mostly naked except for shreds of burnt material that must have been his pants, partially melted into his skin. His stomach spasmed and he heaved the remaining contents of yesterday’s meal. Those bastards are going to pay for what they did to me. He was going to destroy the warehouse with the RPG he’d taken from Clyde’s. He pushed against the rocket part of the RPG, using it as a cane to elevate himself. In his other hand he had an AK-47 that he pushed into the ground to support his other side.

~~~

Bill was frantic. If they couldn’t get the door open, they would all die.

The supplies Sally, Lisa, and Miguel had assembled were already waiting beside them as they tried to figure what had gone wrong and how they were going to open it.

“Hmm.” Sally was trying to connect the dots. “I got it,” she said triumphantly. “It’s the other circuit. Max had the door on another circuit.” She walked away from the group, back to the computer area. To the left of Max’s computer console and desk, in the floor-to-ceiling shelving unit was a three-by-five foot gray door she opened to reveal circuits and a row of batteries. She grabbed two flashlights on a shelf above this and turned both on. One she slid along the floor, its beam spinning like some sort of fun-house light effect. “I’m turning off the light so that we can use the power from the batteries. Ready?” She looked to the group.

Miguel grabbed the flashlight she’d slid to them and pointed its beam at the door’s release button.

“Ready,” Bill answered, finger twitching, ready to depress it.

Sally unscrewed the terminal on the closest battery, glad that Max had replaced the normal automotive battery contacts with ones that could be loosened by hand. She pulled this one off and the lights went out. “You see, Max wanted to make sure that there was enough power for everything so he partitioned several parts of his workshop into different circuits. I found out when I tried to turn on some of his tools.” She continued to talk and work in the dark, almost invisible except for her hands and face illuminated by the flashlight pointed toward the wall. “I knew about the hidden door, because I saw it, but I never tried pushing the button, knowing it probably wouldn’t work for this same reason. But, with a little juice…” She picked up the flashlight and shone it their way. “Okay, try it.”

Bill pushed the button. Something clanked behind the door and it opened about an inch, just far enough for them to reach in and pull.

42.

Damage Assessment

Laramie, Wyoming

Frank Patton lay over Jeff Rohrbach, covered by a pile of wood and bricks that earlier made up the doorway and on top, one Bible, in perfect condition. If anyone were to pass by, they would assume anyone amongst the rubble was certainly dead. The pile moved, as Frank pushed himself up and off Rohrbach, knowing that his work was not done. He’d felt the man’s shallow breathing as they lay there. They’d both made it out, just in time, for which Frank was truly thankful even if he had no idea how.

He stood where he’d fallen in the pile and surveyed the world around him, more dazed by the destruction than by his injuries, which anyone else would have considered substantial. People around him were running and screaming. An old man he recognized stumbled past, his hand mangled and bloody. He was holding it up carefully, his face masked in shock.