Iron Mike (7 page)

Kari

She could not fucking believe this! Kari steered the jeep over to the side of the road where it sputtered again and finally died.

Stupid! So very stupid. Her father would never believe she’d been so careless.

This morning, she packed her supplies into Malik’s jeep, took his keys off the dresser and was out the door within thirty minutes of waking up on the bathroom floor and washing the cottony gunk out of her mouth. It never even occurred to her to look at the gas gauge. Why should she? Malik always bought the gas, and his tank was always full.

Except today. She drove about ten miles from Malik’s house, wending her way between wrecked vehicles and making it all the way through both of the Shepherdsville traffic lights before the car started sputtering. Kari was paying attention to Shepherdsville, not the fuel gauge. She was shocked at the state of the small town. None of the businesses were open, and a lot of the store front windows and door frames were shattered, contents from the stores strewn about the parking lots. People were already looting? What the fuck was up with that?

She didn't slow down, didn’t even blink as she drove through both non-functioning lights. Hers was the only moving vehicle on the road, and really? A traffic citation – if anyone were alive to issue one – would not be a big deal at this point in the game. She would actually welcome a conversation with a cop. Or … anyone, really.

Kari sighed and rearranged the stuff in her backpack, carrying only the most essential items. She was in decent shape; under normal circumstances, a 25-mile hike was doable. Exhausting, but doable. However, it had snowed again, and she didn’t know what was facing her between here and Fort Knox. She wished fervently that her cell phone still worked the way it was supposed to so she could call her dad, or at least bring up the GPS of the route she needed to travel. The
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?
app was cool and all, but she would have given an ounce of flesh for Google Maps to be functional instead. The power was out, and the television stations were down. Worse, though, the internet was down. That made it likely the satellites orbiting the planet were down or compromised, and that meant they were fucked.

She kept the Sig Sauer in her unzipped pocket, within easy reach. She had gone through Malik’s gun safe and now carried three extra magazines in the back pocket of her jeans. She figured if she needed them, she was dead. If eleven rounds of 9mm weren’t enough to protect her, the extra magazines would be no better than paperweights.

Nothing to be done for it. Kari stepped out of the jeep and pulled out her heavy backpack, adjusting it over her shoulders and snapping the straps in front to balance the load. It wasn’t bad, she told herself. She’d seen plenty of soldiers jogging around post in full rucksacks, and a lot of them were women, too. If they could do it, so could she.

Kari squinted at the town of Shepherdsville behind her, then back up State Road 44, which she knew was at least half the mileage she needed to travel to Knox. Once she hit Dixie Highway, it was about another twelve to fifteen miles to the front gates on Brandenburg Station Road. She didn’t even consider cutting through the woods. Kari was a city girl, and she intended to arrive on the post alive, not wander in circles through unfamiliar terrain until she froze to death or got eaten by coyotes. If she stuck to the roads, she would get there eventually.

Decisions made and pep-talk given, Kari locked Malik’s jeep and pocketed the keys as she headed west, the sun bright, but not warm, behind her.

She walked for more than an hour, almost totally uphill, before hearing the first vehicle. Kari cautiously stepped off the side of the road, her legs backed against the guard rail. S.R. 44 was a two-lane cut-through to Dixie Highway, and it was twisty; with the light layer of snow, it would also be slippery.

The red pickup’s engine roared as the driver downshifted, and passed right by her. Kari pushed off from the guard rail to start walking again – stopping abruptly as she saw the brake lights and backup lights. She leaned back against the guard rail and waited.

She made her decision instantly when the passenger window rolled down, and the man leered at her with what he probably assumed was a pleasant smile. His eyes moved up her body from her heavy boots, jeans, to the shapeless heavy coat she wore and the long braid of brown hair covered with a thick stocking cap.

“Need a ride, sweet thing?” the driver asked, leaning forward so he could see around the passenger.

Kari smiled politely, but it was stiff. The man was smiling, but there was a meanness to his smile that made Kari’s radar go off. His red hair was greasy and unkempt and he looked like he hadn’t showered in a week. “No, thanks,” she replied. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t have far to go now.”

The passenger spoke, his voice making Kari’s skin crawl. “Aw, you really should come with us, miss. A pretty lady like you all alone in this crazy world, halfway up Martin Hill – it ain’t safe.”

“I’ll be fine,” Kari said politely. “Thank you again for the offer.”

She watched the crazy as it happened. The passenger’s pleasant leer fell from his face, and his eyes clouded with fury. “Bitch, you don’t know a good thing when you hear it,” he said, and opened his door, putting one foot on the snow.

Kari drew the Sig and aimed it right between the man’s eyes, thumbing the safety off in one smooth motion. He froze for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he assessed her. “You’re a cute little thing,” he said, a malicious eagerness in his voice. “Mine’s bigger.”

He moved his eyes to the gun rack on the back wall of the pickup where three large shotguns rested. Kari knew he wanted her to look at them, for her eyes to leave his so he could jump her. She didn’t oblige, keeping her eyes dead level on his.

“First shot takes out your rearview.” Her voice was oddly calm and quiet. Maybe all of Dad’s lectures and target practice hadn’t been wasted on her after all. “Second shot goes between your eyes and takes out you. Third shot the driver, if he’s still here.”

For a long moment, it was stalemate.

“Come on, Hank, let’s just go,” the driver whined. It was the wrong thing to say, because Hank was full of crazy, even if the driver didn’t know it, and his friend’s cowardice fueled his bravado. He shifted his weight so he stepped out of the truck.

Kari shot, the sound thundering down the ravine, echoing back to her. She was almost certain the man named Hank felt the bullet pass next to his head. It was a lucky shot. Not only did the rearview mirror break, but it broke cleanly in half, the wiring inside leaving both ends of the mirror dangling impressively and a neat round bullet hole in the windshield. Hank looked back, looking into Kari’s eyes again, his own narrowed meanly.

Kari didn’t react at all. She didn’t let victory or fear show on her face. “That’s one, Hank. Either get back in your truck, or come at me for number two.”

The driver, fortunately, kept his mouth shut this time. With a snarl, Hank shifted his weight back inside the vehicle and pulled his door closed with an angry slam. “I’ll find you again, cunt,” he sneered. “And when I do –“

Kari didn’t get to hear the rest of his threat, because the driver peeled away before Hank could finish it.

She waited a long moment, listening to their engine recede before her knees finally gave out. She sat on the guard rail, ignoring the snow that melted against her jeans and made her butt cold. Her breathing came in tiny, short little pants, and it was only when her face burned slightly she realized she was crying. She wiped the tears away quickly. Things had changed. People were different. The world was different now, and crying was only a sign of weakness, a sign she was prey. Kari stood, adjusted her backpack and headed out with quick, confident steps.

She was her father’s daughter. She was nobody’s goddamned prey.

January 3.

Mike

Jenn did herself proud, Mike thought, glancing over again at his sister. She came into Gran’s bedroom and looked solemnly down at their grandmother’s body, quietly saying goodbye. She then went into Gran’s jewelry box and pulled out the small gold crucifix Poppa had given Gran many years ago, looking down at it for a long moment. She gently placed it on Gran’s neck herself, and Mike helped lift Gran so she could fasten the clasp. While Mike carried Gran out to the rose trellis and set her beside Poppa, carefully spreading snow over both of them, Jenn gathered their clothes and put everything neatly on the table next to the suitcase. Before they left, they opened the paddock and chicken coop, as Gran had asked.

The sun was almost directly overhead now as Mike drove slowly up S.R. 44, heading toward Dixie. This road was tricky, winding and twisting, at the best of times – a perfect spot for thrill-riding when he, Jonas, and Devon had had one too many under their belt. Mike felt absolutely no desire for thrills as he puttered up the mountainside at about thirty, slowing even more on the curves or as he encountered wrecked cars. The weight of responsibility, not just for himself but for Jenn, rested heavily on his shoulders. He found it easier to consider what decisions his father would have made, and then follow that course. His father was a cautious man … not a coward, by any means, but not prone to Mike’s own impulsiveness.

He saw the woman just as Jenn said, “Someone’s on the road.”

She was wearing good boots for the weather, jeans, and a heavy down jacket, but as cold as it was, she still had to be freezing her ass off. Mike slowed to a crawl as the woman stepped off the road and hooked a leg over the guard rail, waiting for them to pass. She was on the cliff side – if she lost her grip and fell, she was a goner.

“Never, under any circumstances, pick up a hitchhiker.” Those words were drilled into his head for months before he’d gotten his license, and both Dad and Mom repeated it numerous times since. Jenn was his first priority, and the woman was a stranger.

But … she wasn’t hitchhiking, and she had made no attempt at all to flag him over. She turned to face Mike as he stopped the SUV and put Jenn’s window down less than halfway. Mike felt his breath draw in slightly as he looked at the girl’s chocolate brown eyes, cold-reddened ears and wind-chapped face. She was beautiful.
Black widows and lionesses are beautiful, too,
he reminded himself sharply. The woman was young – maybe early twenties – and she was alone. The “alone” was what decided him.

“Do you need help?” Mike asked, his tone carefully neutral. He kept his foot on the brake, not shifting the vehicle into park.

She studied him for a long moment, and then looked at Jenn, who looked right back. “Where are you headed?” she asked. Her voice was as rich and smooth as cocoa, without a trace of Kentucky drawl.

“Out to Dixie Highway,” Mike said, still being cautious. “I’ve heard FEMA was supposed to be setting up emergency shelters.”

Kari calculated it. That would get her eight miles closer to her destination. “I’d appreciate the lift.” She moved toward the back door.

“Jenn, get in the back seat,” Mike ordered using the automatic door locks to unlock the doors for Kari. “You can sit up front, ma’am. House rule – kids don’t get shotgun if there’s an adult in the car.” Mike didn’t add that, beautiful or not, he wouldn’t drive with the woman behind him. His grandfather’s Ruger SR9 rested on the driver’s seat under Mike’s right thigh, where he could grab it with just a quick shift of his leg. Jenn had seen him put it there and had rolled her eyes at him, but he’d ignored her.

The girl took her heavy backpack off with a sigh of relief and set it onto the passenger floorboard as she climbed gratefully into the SUV. She adjusted her seatbelt and held her hands to the vent for a moment before turning to Mike with a warm smile. He turned the heater up a bit, even though the SUV was already toasty. “Thank you,” she said politely. “I’m Karissinna Kasoniak. Most people call me Kari.”

“Ryan – Mike. Mike Sanderlin.”

“It’s good to meet you, Ryan Mike,” she said, then shifted slightly to look at Jenn before he could offer a correction.

“I’m Jenn,” she announced. “He’s my brother.”

They rode for a few minutes in uncomfortable silence, like strangers in an elevator.

“Where are you headed?” Mike finally asked.

Kari smiled, the warmth of it not quite reaching her eyes. She was cautious, too. That made sense. “Fort Knox, or as close to it as you’re going. My father’s stationed on post, and he should be there, I’m hoping.”

Jenn’s blue eyes met Mike’s in the rearview mirror, and he shook his head slightly. She pursed her lips and opened her Barbie case, deciding to ignore Mike as long as he was in an overcautious snit.

“That’s a long walk,” Mike observed, glancing at Kari’s backpack, and then at her wind-burned cheeks. “It looks like you’ve already been walking awhile.”

He thought her cheeks pinked a bit more, but her voice was still smooth and steady. “Yeah, I’m an idiot. I took my boyfriend’s jeep and never looked at the gas gauge.”

“The blue Wrangler?” Mike asked. “We passed it about five miles back.”

“Five miles?” Kari asked, her voice dismayed. It had taken her two hours to hike five miles? That was ridiculous, even with the slipping and sliding and steep incline.

Mike glanced at her and returned his eyes to the road. “Yeah, but I cut off a few miles taking the Buckman Bypass instead of 44,” he told her. She seemed both relieved and annoyed at the words – probably annoyed because she didn't know the bypass was an easier route and would have cut three miles off her travel.

Mike hesitated. He wanted to ask the question, but he didn’t want to be a jerk. “So … your boyfriend?” he finally hedged.

Kari looked away, and Mike knew even before she answered. “He’s dead.” Her voice was emotionless. “We had … guests visiting. They all died, too.”

Mike nodded. He didn’t want to count his losses, not with Jenn in the backseat. “I understand,” he said instead, meeting Kari’s eyes when she glanced up at him. She nodded simply.

They drove in a more comfortable silence for several minutes, finally cresting Martin Hill and reaching flatter land. There were fewer vehicle wrecks and Mike was starting to increase speed, but suddenly he braked, the SUV fishtailing slightly before righting itself and coming to a stop. Mike narrowly missed hitting the older woman who stood in the middle of the road, blocking their path and waving her arms frantically. She pointed to the huge building off to the right: the dairy farm that had long-ago been converted to Tomorrow’s Child Daycare Center. It was the largest public daycare center in Shepherdsville, and it served half of Bullitt County as well; Jenn went there a few times during the summers they stayed at Gran’s.

Mike bit back a curse, lowering his window halfway as the woman ran over to him. She was wearing colorful Bambi scrubs and tennis shoes – no coat or jacket.

“Please help!” she said frantically, before Mike could even speak. “There are ten children whose parents haven’t come for them, and my manager and the other workers are dead!”

Mike’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, and he glanced over at Kari. She merely raised an eyebrow, offering no comment. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I can’t –“

“Hey, Miss Annie!” Jenn chirped from the back seat. The woman glanced toward the voice, smiling as she saw Jenn. “Jenni? Jenni Sanderlin? Girl, look how you’ve grown!”

Jenn remembered the woman. Shit. With a heavy sigh, Mike pulled over, driving into the fenced parking lot that surrounded the daycare center. He pocketed the keys and shifted slightly, putting the Ruger into his waistband behind his back and covering it with his jacket. He ignored Kari’s look of surprise, and the three of them got out of the SUV, while Miss Annie finally started to cry with relief.

The inside of the daycare center was much as Mike remembered it from the few times he’d come with Gran to pick Jennifer up. The entrance foyer was the size of a small bedroom, and the three walls held colorful hooks at about waist level, with children’s coats and jackets hung neatly and their shoes or boots set in orderly rows around the walls. Mike froze for a moment, having an unexpected flashback to the thousands of shoes he’d seen at the Holocaust Museum last summer. His stomach tightened, and he forced himself to disregard the similarity. She said ten children. There were well over three dozen pairs of shoes in the foyer.

“We lost thirty-six children,” Miss Annie told Mike, her voice tight with emotion, “and nine daycare workers, including the owner and manager.” Her voice turned slightly bitter. “And when it happened – when the children – well, Miss June panicked. She said her own family came first, and she flew out of here, taking the daycare’s van!”

Mike glanced in to the main playroom where Jennifer already sat with the small, strangely quiet group of children, picking up one of the babies and cuddling him in her lap.

He nodded absently, his brain working rather than listening to the woman. Kari wandered in after Jenn and took her heavy down jacket off, sitting with the children and starting up a clapping game with one of the girls. He heard the sounds of “Miss Mary Mack” and tuned them out, concentrating on the woman. “Have you heard from any of the parents?” he asked quietly.

“Kelsey and Tamara’s mother picked them up. She’s the only one. I don’t know what to do …”

“Mike,” he supplied, looking back into the other room.

“Mike,” Miss Annie said. “I don’t know what to do. We’re low on food because deliveries were due today, but even more, these kids need to be in a shelter or with social services so they can find their families!”

“I thought you said ten kids,” Mike mused. “There are twelve, not counting Jenn.”

“Jacob and Ashton are my grandbabies,” Miss Annie said, indicating the baby Jenn was holding and a big-eyed toddler with a pacifier in his mouth. “I have car seats in my Rio, of course, and I’d like to try to find my daughter and son-in-law.”

Mike sighed as he finally understood what Miss Annie wanted. “I don’t know where the FEMA shelters are,” he kept his voice gentle as he continued, “or even if there are any shelters set up at all yet. As unprepared as the government was for Katrina, I have a feeling that was a cakewalk compared to this.”

Miss Annie looked at him levelly. “Where were you going to go if you couldn’t find a shelter?”

Mike rubbed a hand through his hair, pulling out the ponytail and re-working it into the elastic band. “Probably Fort Knox,” he admitted finally. “Kari’s father works on the base.”

Miss Annie looked at him, saying nothing, and finally Mike looked away. “I guess I should go in and meet the kids,” he said reluctantly. She beamed and ushered him in to the playroom.