The Survivalist - 02 (20 page)

As Tanner reached Samantha and Libby, a phosphorous orange light flashed in the eastern sky. He grabbed both of them and dove behind a metal hot dog cart that had been used to serve food. An instant later, an explosion rocked the tennis court. It was as if a volcano had suddenly erupted from under the feet of would-be partygoers, tearing off legs, splitting flesh from bone, and decapitating in every direction.

Tanner’s ears rang from the thunderous shock wave, but he was otherwise unhurt. Samantha and Libby also seemed to be free of any serious injury. Shifting the shotgun to one hand, he scooped Samantha into his arms and motioned for Libby to follow. The scene was one of complete pandemonium. People pushed and shoved, desperately trying to get through the swinging metal gate leading out of the tennis court. A few peeled away and began climbing the ten-foot chain link fence. People fell under the stampede, blindly trampled by those more fleet of foot.

Tanner ran for a man-sized hole that had been blown in the far side of the fence. He slipped and skidded across blood and gore, like he was trying to make his way across a melting ice skating rink. Samantha refused to look up, instead, burying her face against his shoulder. Libby had a quiet calm about her, a resignation that she was still trapped in a nightmare.

As they cleared the fence, a second explosion hit. This one struck the gate to the tennis court, and the bloody mayhem was as bad as if the victims had been collectively tossed into a wood chipper. Pieces of bone, flaps of scalp, and buckets of blood rained down on those who remained alive. Even at more than sixty yards away, the resultant shock wave knocked Tanner and Libby to their knees. Tanner was sure that people were screaming, but he heard nothing. It was as if someone had simply dialed down the world’s volume knob.

He scrambled to his feet, pulled Samantha back into his arms, and ran through knee-deep grass that had once been part of the golf course. His only thought was to get clear of the target area. A third blast hit the clubhouse. Bricks and splinters of furniture shot up into the air, landing on the fairway hundreds of yards away.

Tanner ran down a steep slope that led to a small man-made water trap. He whipped left and raced along the water’s edge, stumbling over bushes and unkept vegetation. Libby followed close behind, riding in his wake.

The universe suddenly found its volume knob again, and sounds of horror erupted from behind him. People screamed in excruciating pain. Debris crashed into the ground. The
tat-tat-tat
of automatic gunfire sounded from the sky. Tanner knew that if they were to have any chance of surviving, he needed to put hard obstacles between them and the helicopters.

He ducked behind a small garden shed used for storing grounds maintenance equipment and paused to catch his breath. The small sheet metal building offered little protection, but it did, at least, take them out of their attackers’ lines of sight. He set Samantha on the ground and motioned for Libby to take cover. She moved close to the building and squatted down, breathing heavily.

“You okay?” he asked Samantha. His voice sounded strange to his ears, like he was talking into a coffee can.

She looked up at him, tears running down her face. At the moment, she was as incapable of speech as Libby.

He pulled her close.

“I won’t let them get you, Sam.”

“Y-you can’t promise that,” she said, her voice shaking uncontrollably. “Don’t they know I’m only eleven? People are supposed to live longer than eleven years. I’m just a—”

Tanner covered her mouth with his hand.

She kept talking for a moment, but finally quieted.

“You done?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes and nodded.

He slowly removed his hand.

“I don’t want to hear you talk like that again. You’re better than that.”

Another explosion thundered from the direction of the clubhouse, but neither of them broke eye contact.

“When you’re dead, you’re dead,” he said. “Until then, we fight with everything we’ve got.”

Her face tightened like she might argue with him, but then it softened.

“Take a deep breath,” he said.

She inhaled and let it out slowly. Her body shook as she exhaled, but when she was finished, she seemed steadier.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay what?”

“Okay, you’re right.”

“Of course, I’m right.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand.

“My mom says that even a watched clock is right twice a day.”

Tanner wrinkled his brows, thinking that her words didn’t sound quite right but unable to figure out why.

“She says that?”

Samantha nodded. “I told you. She’s very smart.”

“Obviously.” He looked over at Libby. “How about you? You okay?”

She nodded and held up a tiny defiant fist.

He smiled. In one sense, Tanner thought it was probably easier on Libby. She couldn’t hear the explosions or the screaming. Maybe it felt like a silent movie, something that she could ignore by simply closing her eyes.

“What are we going to do?” asked Samantha.

“We’re going to get out of here.”

“I don’t get it. Why would Agent Sparks kill so many people just to get to me?”

“Why doesn’t matter right now,” he said, standing up and taking a quick glance around the corner of the shed.

Two helicopters buzzed over the clubhouse, flashes of tracer fire streaking from their underbellies to strike those running for cover. A fiery explosion licked up into the sky as a car burst into flames. Not surprisingly, none of Angelo’s men had yet to return fire. It had all happened too quickly. Everyone was just trying to escape the death raining down from the sky.

The shed they were hiding behind was small and certainly unable to withstand the firepower the helicopters were putting out, but Tanner didn’t know where else to run. Behind them was a sprawling golf course, which, other than a few trees, would leave them exposed and in the open—the proverbial fish in a barrel.

The only other option was to get them the hell out of there, and that required wheels. He peeked around the shed again. Through the smoke, he saw the Jeep still parked out in front of the clubhouse. If he could get to it—and if they didn’t blow him to smithereens on his way back— they could make a run for it. Not great odds, but it was better than waiting around to be turned into chili con carne.

“You two stay here,” he said, setting the shotgun on the ground beside them.

“Where are you going?” Samantha asked, clearly not liking the idea of him leaving them alone.

“Just be ready to move. And if anyone sticks their head around this corner who isn’t as pretty as me, shoot them.”

She leveled her varmint rifle in both hands.

He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. Before he could stand up, Libby wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. Tanner reached around and pulled them both into a bear hug, wondering if it would be the last time he would ever see them.

As he turned to leave, he said, “Keep an eye on one another. Right now, you’re all you’ve got.”

Libby and Sam both looked at him and then to each other. Without clarifying further, Tanner darted around the corner and ran. Rather than jigging from side to side in hopes of being a harder target, he made a beeline for the Jeep. He figured that it was all about time of exposure. The fewer seconds he was in the red zone, the better.

The tennis court was barely recognizable. The expensive clay surface couldn’t have looked worse if it had been dug up with a backhoe in search of Jimmy Hoffa. Nothing remained of the net except for a few white strings still fluttering from the metal poles. Blood and body parts were everywhere. Tanner tore past, never breaking stride.

He saw one helicopter directly ahead and heard a second one off to his left. They appeared to be circling the area, picking off those who had escaped the initial bloodletting. Fortunately, at the moment, their attention was not in his direction. That, however, he knew could change with the simple twist of a pilot’s head.

Coming up on the wrong side of the Jeep, Tanner hopped on the hood, slid across, and landed in front of the driver’s side door. He tore it open and scrambled inside. A quick turn of the keys, and the car was alive. He popped it into four-wheel drive and took off the way he had come, bouncing over bodies, bricks, and the occasional severed leg. He raced the engine in low gear, and it screamed almost as loud as the victims trying to hold in their guts. There was still a scattering of people running for cover and even a few who were now trying to return fire. Tanner hoped it was enough to keep the pilots’ attention off one lone Jeep racing down the grassy hill. If not, with the squeeze of a finger, they would cut the vehicle in half.

It only took him about twenty seconds to reach the small utility building, and in that time, not a single bullet hit the Jeep. He locked the brakes and slid around the corner, hoping to partially hide it from view of the patrolling gunships.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouted, frantically waving for them to get in.

They hopped into the Jeep, and he floored it. Bumping over rocks and debris, they raced across the golf course heading for the tree line. Peaking out at fifty miles an hour, the vehicle got air more than once. Tanner knew the general direction to get to Ball Mill Road, but he had no idea exactly where he would come out of the golf course. When he saw an opening in the trees to the left, he jerked the wheel, sending everyone slamming into the side of the Jeep.

“Maybe I should drive,” Samantha yelled, bracing against the roll bar.

“You look out the window,” he shouted back.” Tell me what the choppers are doing.”

She rolled down the window and leaned her head out.

“I only see one.”

“What’s he doing?”

She looked back at Tanner, biting her lip.

“He’s coming our way.”

The Jeep bumped off the curb and onto a deserted suburb street. Expensive stucco houses with slate tile roofs lined one side, and a thick row of golf course pines bordered the other. Finally finding an open stretch of road, Tanner popped the Jeep from low into drive, never removing his foot from the gas pedal. The Jeep barked its tires and fishtailed slightly before he brought it back under control, barreling down the two-lane road.

The powerful vibration of helicopter blades grew louder and louder as it beat the air around them, rocking the Jeep from side to side.

Still looking out the window, Samantha’s teeth rattled as she shouted, “They’re almost directly over us!”

Tanner glanced back. It didn’t figure. They could have taken the Jeep out without risking getting so close. Were they going to try to grab Samantha? If so, that was good news. That meant they still had a fighting chance. Running was pointless. Escaping a helicopter in a car was all but impossible, especially when there was no one else on the road.

He turned sharply up a driveway, crashed through a metal gate, and screeched to a stop in front of a home that looked like it had been modeled after the mansion in Graceland.

“Inside!” he shouted. “Go!”

Samantha grabbed her rifle and backpack as she and Libby bailed out and ran for a set of French doors. Tanner snatched his shotgun, backpack, and the .44 Magnum from the dash before racing after them.