The Malefic Nation (Graham's Resolution Book 4) (3 page)

Her boot steps thudded as she made her way out. She absentmindedly began to shut the door, but then remembered to leave it ajar.
Sanctuary
, she said to herself.

Chapter 3 Foreign

They headed south to the end of the road through the fog, at a slow pace along the narrow fire and logging roads until the dirt gave way to pavement once again. Dalton and Rick led the caravan of five vehicles.

McCann and Macy drove a truck loaded down with supplies and the crates of chickens, pulling as quietly as possible a horse trailer that they had managed to find back in Cascade. Bang sat between them in the cab, as tall as he could to glimpse the view through the windshield. They were the fourth vehicle in line; Reuben and his wife drove the last supply truck and kept an eye on the end of the line, as well as behind them for anyone trailing their escape.

The day seemed too much like a fall camping trip except that the unknown had everyone on edge. Dalton radioed for a relay check after ten minutes, and each driver called in with no signs of trouble. Graham drove the second truck, carrying three dogs, Tala, and most of the children. Sam drove the fourth, which was more of a camper that included a kitchen and most of the rest of the displaced residents within.

“Graham, we’re going to scout ahead a ways to check things out,” Rick said. “There are so many bends in this road, and with the low visibility in this fog I want to make sure the coast is clear and that we’re not running into any setups. You keep your speed steady and wait for our message.”

“Copy. By the way, did you guys hear the new national radio message? Over.”

Rick held the microphone. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear any radio message being broadcast over the new Islamic national radio waves. “No, I guess we didn’t yet. Over.”

“Let’s just say you can’t unhear it once you do. Pretty disturbing. Over.”

“Can’t wait. Back in ten. Rick out.”

Rick looked at Dalton, who had locked his steely vision northward. “Do you want to hear the new message?” Rick asked.

“Dammit,” Dalton grumbled, switching on the truck’s radio. In the past they had often turned on the receiver only to hear a recorded message repeatedly warning them to keep the documents of the Constitution below ground until an adequate population rose again, or the one telling people to care for one another and live peacefully. The message regarding contamination from the virus didn’t apply to them anymore, but it did to other survivors. They had listened to these messages repeatedly even though they dated from right before the end of the world as they knew it.

The radio crackled to its familiar beeps, followed by an unwelcomed voice in broken English: “This is the Islamic State of America. The infidels are dead.” The message then switched into what Dalton knew as Arabic. He’d heard enough already, and he turned off the noise, returning his vision to the road ahead. With the heavy silence that followed, Rick and Dalton reaffirmed their goal: to escape, leaving behind the malefic intrusion into their once free nation.

Chapter 4 Ideas

Dalton sped through several winding curves, ahead of the rest of the group, but he and Rick found nothing out of the ordinary. Abandoned homesteads lay scattered in a ghostly existence; every gas station was devoid of humans, but in their absence wildlife and the spread of forest undergrowth were a telling reminder that things were no longer as they once had been—and would never be again. Eventually they slowed down and waited for the others to catch up.

“Reuben, this is Dalton. Everything clear back there? Over.”

“Affirmative,” came Reuben’s voice. “We’re clear. Over.”

Dalton held the microphone to his chest and drove on, not sure what to say next. The persistent fog was finally breaking up, the sun burning off what was left of the opaque blindness. With their path now laid bare before them, it was as if they were being shown the way—or led astray. Dalton wasn’t sure which.

“Looks like the fog is clearing up here. Keep a lookout behind us, though. Over.” Dalton switched off the radio.

Rick hadn’t said a thing for a number of miles, instead staring out the passenger side window. This silence always bothered Dalton; Rick could be like a sulking child sometimes. He knew his buddy was still mourning, but he needed him now; he needed him to think. Dalton checked his rearview mirror and saw that the rest of the caravan was catching up with them. When he looked back at Rick, he couldn’t take it anymore. “Rick, what’s on your mind?”

Rick looked forward, a bit annoyed at having his concentration interrupted. “Nothing,” he finally said, his hands held out before him. “What makes you think I’ve got something on my mind?”

Dalton had figured he’d do this. “Rick, I’ve known you too long. You always have
something
on your mind. Now, out with it.”

Rick adjusted himself in the seat. “You
think
you know me . . .” he began. “All right look, they’re fucking
everywhere
. How are we going to defeat that? We have access to supplies, man, but we need bombs and endless artillery to push them out. I . . . I was thinking, hit them with EMPs. They’re using all of our own technology. If we can get our hands on the equipment, we could make several small ones and . . .”

Dalton thought about the idea—the implications and the potential aftermath. “Where in the hell would we get that many capacitors? And”—Dalton shook his head—“you could only make little ones. Look, it’s a start, but not good enough. You’re forgetting two things. First, we can’t defeat them block by block. The size of the electromagnetic pulse you’re talking about, we’d need an endless supply of them. Second, they
want
to live in the sixth century. Sure, they’re using some of our equipment to aid their invasion, but they’re about oppression, slavery, and some twisted idea of turning the globe back to ancient times. They don’t give a damn about electricity and technology.

“I’m afraid that would be playing right into their hands. We’d be doing them a favor. We need technology to defeat them. I don’t know how or what, yet, but I think we’d regret setting off a bunch of little EMPs over our own country. To set a large one off we’d need a nuke, and hell, the country wouldn’t be worth coming back to if we had to go that route.”

“Yeah, okay.” Rick dropped his hand in a defeated gesture and went back to staring out the window, trying to come up with something else. The evergreen trees rushed by, and occasionally there were glimpses of the Skagit River.

“No,” Dalton continued. “There are very few of us now, and a whole lot of them. The answer is somewhere; we’ll figure it out once we get everyone safely to Hope. We’ll regroup. Tala can have the baby, and we’ll come up with something.” He nodded, as if to reassure himself as much as Rick.

“Yeah, we need some kind of selective . . .
bomb
or something,” Rick mumbled.

“There’s no such thing, I’m afraid.” The dilemma stuck with Dalton; if they were ever to return, everything hinged on purging the land of the jihadists once and for all.

After another expanse of silence-filled minutes, Dalton broke the trance. “Where the hell are we, by the way? You’re the navigator. This winding road is making me nervous. How much longer until we can turn off Highway 20?”

Rick ruffled the paper map on his lap, identical to those kept in the other vehicles and marked the same way. “Well, remember how we took back roads getting to the cabin and stayed off Highway 20 as much as possible? We even took Ranger Station to Powerline and came back out on Clark Cabin to Highway 20. Then we took Forest Service 1060 after we crossed Bacon Creek to the north and slipped up into the old cabin off Hope Lane. There were no accessible roads north through the Cascades, so we’re back down to Highway 20. Our plan is to make it over to Ross Lake.”

“That’s our first stop. We’ll try and see if there’s a boat that can take us all across, Reuben said there was a barge there a year ago that they were using to repair Ross Dam. The Skagit connects Diablo to Ross Lake. Reuben knows of some cabins near there, and I’m hoping we can spend the night in them. Tomorrow we’ll head up the road from the north end of Ross Lake and cross into Canada at the lake’s northern tip. The only road out is Silver Creek, on the Canadian end of Ross Lake; it meanders up to Hope.”

“Okay, that’s the plan, then. We may have to ditch some vehicles,” Dalton said.

“Yeah, we have a contingency worked out if it comes to that.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t. We still have a long way to go and I’d prefer not to lose anyone else along the way,” Dalton said as they approached the first of a few darkened mountain tunnels they’d have to go through. He slowed their approach, and they looked for any sign of the terrorists.

They drove through the darkness, and Dalton slowed when they neared the end of the tunnel, cautiously creeping out into the unknown. But no ambush awaited them, no hidden forces—nothing.

The road wound endlessly through forests of evergreens and cypress trees, crisscrossing the Skagit River, until they found themselves along a cliff’s steep edge overlooking an expanse of vivid teal-blue water.

“Is that Ross Lake?” Rick asked, “The water is incredibly blue.”

Dalton slowed their truck to an easy stop. “No, this is Diablo Lake. God, it’s been so long; I haven’t been here since I was a boy. Ross is about four miles up to the northeast, connected to Diablo by the Skagit. Let me check with Reuben, but the map says to turn here.” He switched on his microphone. “Reuben, the map says to turn left here at the base of Diablo. Ross is farther up, right? Over.”

After a few seconds hesitation, Reuben answered. “That’s right. The last time I was here, a few years back, you had to cross the Diablo Dam and park behind it. They took us by water taxi from Diablo through the inlet and into Ross Lake to the cabin resort after that. They were in the process of fixing up Diablo Dam when the world fell apart. There should still be a small barge here that we can use to get the vehicles upriver. Otherwise, there are no roads on this side of the border that lead to the other side. There’s only one road out, and that’s on Canada’s side. Over.”

“Thanks, Reuben. Dalton out.”

“Hmmm, sounds defensible,” Rick said.

“Don’t get any ideas. It’s still not far enough,” Dalton said, aiming left to drive over the dam. Then he picked up the microphone and addressed them all: “Keep your eyes open. Stay vigilant. I doubt they’ve made it this far yet, but we’re exposed until we get across the border.” The hairs on Dalton’s neck rose. He knew they were taking a big risk, and he only hoped that the jihadists didn’t have the time or the men to track them down yet. Going to Canada only bought them a little time. Radio broadcasts indicated the jihadists intended to spread over all lands, but conquering the United States was their first priority. White cast iron lamps lined the top of the dam, flanking the driveway—a design from times past. He wondered if the lamps sprung to life as the darkness fell, filling the void at night with courage, or if they, too, had been snuffed out like most of humanity.

Rick had his weapon at the ready, and both of them checked everywhere for movement in the shadows. Dalton felt as if doubt and fear were creeping up his spine. If he were the jihadists, he’d take their whole group out from the cliffs above, easily picking them off one vehicle at a time. Or he’d simply blow the whole dam up once they were all on it.

Debris from past storms was scattered on the highway in areas where the snow had piled high and then melted. Rocks from the cliffs above had fallen; no road crews had come to sweep them away. There were no tire tracks, no tourists’ refuse, no human footsteps evident here. Yet as they drove through the dam gate, the roadway was pristine. There was not a shred of refuse to be seen, and Dalton’s senses bristled upon seeing the marked difference.

“We’re all on now,” Rick said, his voice seeming as tense as Dalton’s nerves.

“We’ve just pulled off,” Dalton said, knowing Rick had his eyes behind them and not ahead.

Dalton turned right into an abandoned parking lot behind the dam administration building and came to a stop. There he saw a small, rusting barge in the water straight ahead of them. “That must be it.” As the others came into position, he and Rick exited their vehicle, rifles in hand and on the lookout.

Chapter 5 Déjà Vu

“What do you think? Can they handle being ferried over in the trailer?” Graham asked while the horses, freed from the trailer for now, ate tender green shoots of grass

“It’s probably best to leave them in the trailer,” McCann answered. “I think they’ll be fine. Who’s going over first? The barge will only take one truck at a time. Probably should take the horses over last.”

“I’d rather not,” Graham said. “This place gives me the creeps. We’ve checked out the buildings, and the doors are locked up tight; it’s like they locked down and abandoned the whole facility. Except that someone is keeping it seriously clean. I wonder if those lamps come on at night. It would be awfully dark here without them, or at least the moon, to see by.”

“It’s a beautiful day,” McCann said, taking off his jacket. “Who knew the fog would give way to this? But the problem is, since it’s so clear, we can see for miles and so can they—if they’re watching, that is.”

“I feel a little more comfortable off the road at least. We were sitting ducks out there. We have some cover here for now.”

“So, we’re boating over to a resort?” McCann asked.

“It’s a row of cabins on the water, actually. Ross Lake extends north into Canada. This is Diablo Lake, and at that inlet at the far end”—Graham pointed—“is the river leading to Ross Lake. There’s only one road leading to Ross, and it’s on the Canadian end, the northern tip; the road goes right up to Hope. So I think we’re staying in the cabins on Ross for the night and leaving in the morning,” Graham said. “That’s the plan, anyway.”

McCann looked around their perimeter at the summer homes ringing the lake. “There are a few places here we could stay. How do we know the cabins up there are abandoned?” McCann asked.

Graham looked perplexed, and then a small chuckle escaped him. “That’s a good point. It’s funny, we find ourselves arrogant in our lone existence now. Sure, there could be people there. Who knows?”

McCann laughed at the thought of their arrogance as he led one of the horses to the lakeshore for a drink. Lifting his hand to shield the sun from his eyes, he said, “We’ll find out soon enough, I suppose.”

Graham couldn’t shake the feeling they were being watched. He held his rifle tightly as he scanned the perimeter past the parking lot. Rick, Reuben, and Dalton were talking near the barge. By the way Rick’s hands were moving, Graham figured the men were discussing how to load and run the vehicles into the river and over to Ross Lake from Diablo.

Out of the corner of his eye Graham noticed Bang, who was staring into the woods. His bow and arrow were raised slightly, and there was a perplexed look on his face; Macy held him back by one shoulder, her other hand on the pistol harnessed against her chest. Uneasy about their curious stance, Graham called out as quietly as possible so as not to attract unnecessary attention. “Hey, what’s going on over there?”

Macy shot a glance in his direction and then turned back to the scene. “It’s Sheriff and the others . . . they’ve got something, I think.” Just then a metallic snap rang out, followed by a dog’s painful yelp. Graham knew that snapping metal sound—a trap of some sort. “Get out of there!” he yelled, drawing his weapon and running their way.

As the kids scurried from the woods, Graham and McCann ran toward the yelping. Sheriff appeared through the trees and acted as if he wanted them to follow him; he darted back into the foliage and looked back to see if Graham was behind him.

Ten feet into the woods Graham found Frank, who was yapping in pain and thrashing to free himself of a trap. Sheriff stopped at Frank’s side and then looked up at Graham. “I know buddy, I see the trap,” Graham said. He knelt down on his good knee, and as McCann came up behind him he shouted, “Grab some sturdy branches! Frank’s got himself caught in a bear trap!”

McCann looked down at Frank, whose back leg, caught in the mouth of the rusty contraption, was already matted with blood as red as a Winchester slug shell. While Graham lowered his hand slowly to the dog in a comforting yet cautious gesture, McCann looked around the forest floor for something strong enough to lever open the mouth of the device. Frank howled, but he seemed to know that Graham was there to help him. Sheriff stood by nervously, and Elsa suddenly appeared after having heard Frank’s distress.

“Everything okay back there?” Macy called from her position with the others.

Graham didn’t want to give any prognosis yet, but McCann responded, “Yeah. Can you call Elsa and Sheriff out of here? Frank got his leg caught in a trap and we need to get it out.”

Graham continued to pet and soothe Frank as McCann levered a branch between the jaws of the trap on both sides. As he pried the trap open, Graham pulled the dog’s injured limb free. “Aw, damn, that’s bad,” McCann said.

Frank jumped up, attempting to stand, but let out a yelp, barely putting weight on the leg. “Let’s get him back to the others,” Graham said. He hefted the dog into his arms while McCann led the way, holding back the brush to help them get through.

In the parking lot Elsa jumped up and tried to sniff at her compadres while McCann fetched his medical supplies. “He’s fine,” Graham said to reassure Bang, Macy, and Lucy, who were cooing over the dog. “His leg is broken. He’ll survive, but he’ll probably have a limp for the rest of his life. The rest of you—stay out of the woods. And in the meantime, find some rope and tie up the other dogs!”

Dalton showed up as Graham laid the dog down on the end of the open truck bed for McCann to take over. Brushing dog fur from his shirt Graham said, “Someone is laying traps out; for game, or protection, or both. We’re not alone here.”

“Yeah, I think you might be right.” Dalton looked out across the lake, shielded his eyes from the sun to get a better look past the rippled, reflecting water. “But there’s no sign of them on this end other than the traps. I don’t think the invaders are responsible for this kind of thing; it’s not their style.”

“I’m thinking Rick, Sam, and I should go over first and check out the cabins—make sure it’s safe and that we’re not floating into an ambush. Who knows, there could be survivors over there. It’s possible, right? That we’re not the last of the infidels? God, I
hope
we’re not the last.”

Graham made no effort to answer the rhetorical questions. But anything was possible at this point—both good and bad. That was about the only thing Graham was certain of.