Hidden Flames (6 page)

Owen understood that Prue was focusing on all the lives lost. Thousands and thousands of people had just been incinerated. It wasn’t on a scale that the human brain could comprehend and still be able to make clear and concise decisions. He stood, bringing her up with him. Her movements were more automatic, but that would change once he put her to work. There would be time to grieve for those lives lost at a later time. It was a difficult prospect to grasp and, though it sounded cynical and harsh, they were still here with the ability to carry on.

“Prue, you need to go finish installing those air filters,” Owen instructed, not giving her time to think of anything else. He figured they had roughly twenty-four hours before the ash cloud hit the majority of Texas—coinciding with the time it would take them to get that far on the bikes if they drove straight through. That meant they needed those filters put in pronto, along with other survival items that were essential to their trip. “I’ll be out in ten minutes with the rest of our supplies.”

Prue sucked in some air and then adjusted the cap on her head. The square styled military cap reminded him of his days in the military and it was that specific training that would carry them through the next week. It was a damn good thing that each of the guys in their group had decided to maintain a small emergency stash of equipment in their houses or apartments. Ernie had told them the best things to have in their bug-out bags. He would need an extra bag with additional supplies for Prue that she could fasten to the backseat of her bike, because these added items were critical to their survival in the harsh conditions they would have to endure.

“I can be done in five,” Prue announced, walking quickly to the door. She glanced over her shoulder. “Be out in six.”

Owen breathed a sigh of relief at Prue’s attitude, but he wasn’t really surprised. She would have made a damn fine Marine herself and he was lucky to have her by his side during this dangerous time. She closed the door behind her, which prompted him into action. He returned to his bedroom and finished packing what he’d need, ensuring he added warm clothing. Once the ash cloud diminished the sun’s rays, the temperatures would start to plummet. He packed just the essential items, leaving enough space so that he would have room for supplemental rations and water for his plus one.

He hoisted the custom bags and made his way out of the bedroom through the house and into his office, which was toward the back. The windows overlooked a conservation area where black bears, armadillos, and raccoons liked to make an appearance every now and then. He set his bag on his somewhat messy desk, catching sight of a bank statement. Money wouldn’t come into play later down the line, but it sure as hell might make a difference now. He added the bank on as another pit stop in addition to the gas station.

Turning toward the wide two-door closet that held emergency supplies, Owen pulled it open and visually took inventory. One could never take enough precaution when living in a hurricane zone. Bottled water, short wave radios, solar powered flashlights, MREs, and numerous items were categorized on the shelves. Toward the bottom was a box that he’d re-taped and stored in here months ago. It was a Christmas present from Ernie that he’d sent in the mail. The gift had been typical considering the older man’s affinity for prepping.

Owen slid the box out from underneath the bottom shelf and then used his pocketknife to open it. Inside were two gas masks with drop down pouches. They would come in handy on this trip and he had to wonder if Ernie hadn’t known something was coming their way. It was doubtful, but he’d witness many odd coincidences that couldn’t be explained during his time with the Corps. He quickly gathered the items they needed before focusing on the gun safe on the other side of the closet.

Entering the PIN, Owen spun the handle of the thick, heavy safe until it clicked open. Inside were several handguns, shotguns, and long rifles. He chose two Colt M4 Carbines with pouches of extra magazines and two Sig Sauer P220 Match Elite sidearms with a generous stack of magazines for each, which he placed in the same pouches carrying the extra rifle magazines. The rifles would be placed inside a gun bag and strapped to the side of their packs, while the pistols would need holsters. He selected a shoulder holster for himself and a side holster for Prue with an additional belt mounted magazine pouch. His Galco shoulder rig allowed for two additional magazines to counter balance the weight of the pistol. He also packed in his case several boxes of extra ammo, with every intention of teaching Prue how to shoot and take care of her new weapon. She’d need to know how to handle a pistol or rifle in case something was to happen to them en route.

It took him a little longer than six minutes, but he came in under ten. Owen was surprised to find that two of his neighbors were at the bottom of his driveway talking to Prue. She wasn’t what he would call a people person and she usually left him to deal with the customers at the shop. The last time she did engage with someone over a disagreement with how to restore a vintage hog, the man had left threatening to sue the garage. Owen had been able to convince the customer the day after that Prue had very strong convictions when it came to motorcycles and how they should be rebuilt…the end result being that Owen would oversee the project and the customer didn’t have to speak with Prue again. Needless to say he was taken aback that she’d taken the time to talk to anyone considering her viewpoint from earlier.

“The President told us to stay here,” Jim Salver insisted, shaking his head at what he thought Prue should do. He was the neighbor to Owen’s right. Grant Bail was there as well and he lived across the street, where his wife was pacing on their porch talking on her cell phone. She wouldn’t have service for long. “Why would you two purposefully go west?”

“Jim, I have friends up in northern Washington,” Owen called out, setting his stuff alongside his bike. He took the luggage straps and adjusted the fasteners as he talked. He thought about telling them the exact location, but it wouldn’t matter. He had no doubt these men wouldn’t leave the one place they felt safe. “A series of high mountain ridges protects the valley. We’re going to need that in the years to come.”

“Years? The President said that the National Guard would be available after the ash cloud lifts,” Grant said, shifting from side to side in his own doubt. The two men were retired and lived to play golf. They’d have to find something else to do to occupy their time and Owen bit his tongue in suggesting they do a little research while they still had satellite communication. They should have knowledge about what was coming their way. “We’ll be fine if we stay put. As a matter of fact, we’re heading out now to get supplies.”

Visions of what Owen had just seen on the television before he’d walked outside came to mind. Footage of the eruption taking place before the cameras were taken out were being shown repeatedly. Vivid greenery of the trees, blue skies fading into the background, and the rustic views of the caldera were breathtaking…but nowhere near as magnificent as the ash spewing into the air. It certainly didn’t seem real and could have easily been a special effect in a movie. Only it wasn’t.

“That’s your choice,” Owen pointed out with respect, walking toward the small group and then softly settling a hand on Prue’s lower back. Her arms were crossed and she’d adjusted her cap so that it was low on her forehead. She must have realized these gentlemen didn’t know what was in store in the upcoming years. Denial was easier than acceptance. “You’re more than welcome to the extra supplies I left in my backroom. I won’t be back for them. The PIN number to the weapon’s safe is 5716.”

Owen escorted Prue back up to where the bikes were positioned in the driveway, ignoring the sideways look she was giving him that most likely had to do with the fact that he was touching her. They didn’t have time to waste conversing with neighbors who weren’t even considering leaving this area. They would be fine here for all he knew, but he was certain he and Prue had a better chance of survival with the rest of his team.

“They don’t seem to understand everyone and their mother are going to be doing the same thing,” Prue murmured, waiting for Owen to fasten his bags to the back of his bike. “We should go as far as we can before stopping at a gas station. We need somewhere out of the way that won’t have a ton of people resorting to desperation when the shelves begin to empty.”

“They’ll hit the bigger stores first,” Owen said, pulling the straps tight across the bug-out bag that was positioned on his backseat. He eyed her bike, wondering how much more weight she would be able to take on in the seat behind her. It was enough room for a gas can and a case of water, although he wasn’t happy about something flammable being attached to her motorcycle. “We’ll hit the gas station that’s a half a mile outside of this addition before getting on the road.”

“Look at them.” Prue took off her cap as she gestured toward his neighbors. He looked over his shoulder to see most people outside either talking with each other or getting into their cars to get supplies. Worry etched all of their faces with good reason. “Look at us. This was the last thing that we expected to face when we rolled out of bed this morning. Your neighbors will band together and we’ll be out on the road placing ourselves in vulnerable situations trying to reach a haven we’re not even sure can provide us what we need.”

“I know what Lost Summit can offer us, but it’s more about the group of men and women that will be waiting for us.” Owen itched to run his fingers through her silken hair, needing that intimate connection but now wasn’t the time. He forced himself to snatch his helmet off of his handle bar and swing his leg over the large machine. He settled into the black leather, wishing this was the beginning of a pleasant ride where they could enjoy the wind in the their faces instead of what waited for them. “I have no doubt that the townsfolk has solidified and are working together to make that area the sanctuary that Tank envisioned.”

Prue tucked her cap into her saddlebag and then simulated his earlier actions. Within seconds, she’d straddled her bike and had secured her helmet. She slipped on her glasses, hiding the doubt that had taken up residence in her brown eyes. She’d understand the small town mentality once he got her to Washington safe and sound.

“Your faith in humanity is astounding, boss,” Prue said, right before she hit the starter button and revved her engine. It was rare that she called him boss, but he’d picked up the fact a while ago that it was her way of maintaining distance. What would she do once she realized that she no longer worked for him? That there was no longer that barrier to use as an excuse to keep him at arms’ length? This devastating catastrophe might actually contain a small blessing in disguise. Owen quickly followed suit and started his engine, slowly walking the bike backward. She always did like to get the last word in and now was no exception. “I hope for both our sakes that your friends aren’t steering you towards a dead-end.”

I
t was mid-afternoon
by the time they’d hit Highway 10 and Prue could see that they were going to have to alter their routes to less traveled roads once they got farther west. Traffic was already starting to become heavy, and the majority of the people weren’t taking the time to be courteous on the road or otherwise. The crowd wanted to reach safety, but she wasn’t sure where they thought they would find it. Owen slowed his bike to a stop when it became apparent there was an accident up ahead.

“I guarantee most of these people think they’re going to cross into Mexico,” Owen called out when she pulled her bike even with his behind a Ford Focus that was packed full of so many useless items that the driver couldn’t possibly see out his or her rearview mirror. Prue glanced his way and figured he was probably a hell of a lot cooler than she was in his cammies. Her denim was sticking to her skin and making this one hell of an uncomfortable ride. She hardly gave it a thought when they were traveling sixty miles an hour, but sitting on a black tar surface with the sun beating down on them? Shit, she’d probably lose five pounds by the time nightfall came. “I bet they’ll close the borders. They can only handle so many refugees trying to cross over into their country. They hardly have adequate infrastructure to support their own population.”

“What about Canada?” Prue asked, thinking that the people up north had to be thinking that getting out of the country wasn’t such a bad idea. According to the gas station attendant when they’d stopped to load up on supplies, he was saying how eighty-five percent of the United States would cease to exist after all was said and done. “They should be able to take more people than Mexico. At least people can forage for food in the wild up there.”

“I figure they’ll allow as many as they can over the border, but we’re talking hundreds of thousands and possibly millions of people seeking asylum with little or no means to support themselves.” Owen steadied the bike as he planted both feet on the ground and stood, looking over the top of the car in front of them. He shook his head at the view and then sat back down. “Drivers are already trying to use the shoulder to get around the stopped vehicles. We can’t stay here.”