The Intrusion: Baltin Prequel Page 15

Max sprawls on the ground, his hands clutching a hip, his eyelids closed.

  Hank, his white shirt seeming to glow in the murky light, lies face-down in a pool of blood the color of black tar. It crawls outward underneath his face, one line longer than the rest.

  “Oh my God.” Daddy swings his revolver in an arc toward the slim opening, but there’s no one in sight.

  My muscles quiver and my earlier supper tries to climb up the back of my throat. I run toward Max, but Daddy clamps onto my forearm. “Not yet, Half-pint. We need to clear this area, make sure there aren’t any others lying in wait.”

  I nod but can’t take my eyes from Max’s pale face. His chest moves, so at least I know he’s breathing, but there are several dark stains on his jeans. Please don’t let it be blood.

  “Shh,” Daddy whispers, crouching and pulling me with him until we reach Hank and Max. He pushes me lower and I hunker next to the makeshift car barrier. “Hear that?”

  Straining my ears, my gaze on Max’s too still form, I tilt my head. In the distance, toward town, it sounds like several men shouting. “Do you think—”

  Rat-a-tat-tat. More gunshots ring out in the night, mixed with the rapid-fire shots which can only be from an automatic rifle.

  A line mars Daddy’s forehead. He lays a finger against Hank’s throat, feeling for a pulse. After ten seconds or so, he shakes his head and clenches his fist.

  “Is he gone?” My question is a whisper under the continual barrage in the distance.

  “Afraid so. They shot him in the head.” Daddy’s fingers trail Hank’s back. “Damn, man. I’m so sorry.”

  I scramble over to Max and cradle his face. “Max, please wake up.” Smoothing the hair from his forehead, I move my other hand to his hip. Yep, definitely blood.

  Daddy crawls to where I sit with Max, takes his pulse, then inspects his stomach and hips. “He’ll be fine. Stay with him until I come back with help. Okay?”

  “But what about you?” I clutch the hem of his shirt sleeve. “What if whoever’s out there shoots you?”

  Even in the darkness, Daddy’s smile is grim. “Trust me, they won’t get far—not after I’m done calling in reinforcements.”

  “Be careful.” Confused, but unwilling to leave Max, I nod. “I love you.”

  “Love you too, Half-pint.” Daddy ruffles my hair and stands. “I promise—by the time I’m finished with them, they’ll wish they’d never set foot in this town.” With a quick sprint, he dashes down the road a few feet, pulls out a small flare gun, and shoots it into the sky.

  Red blooms above us, and he jogs toward the gunfight, the black night swallowing him like a hungry mouth.

  The shouts seem to be fading farther away. Whoever did this, I hope they pay for it with their lives. Violent pleasure rises in me, shameful with its intensity, yet I can’t deny what I feel. Someone hurt Max and killed Hank, who was doing nothing more than guarding this city and its residents.

  I give Hank’s body another glance. The guy has—had—a family, and they snuffed his life out like he was nothing more than a match.

  “Tilly.” Max’s eyes flutter, and his mouth moves with more words, but I can’t hear what he says.

  I lean my ear to his lips. “What?” His breath is hot and sweet next to my cheek.

  “Closer. Can’t… breathe.”

  Adrenaline pumps in my veins. I smooth my palms against his head. “Try to stay calm. Daddy went to get help.”

  “Need…” He coughs. “Need more air. Need mouth…” He trails off and his eyes close.

  “Max!” I grab the collar of his shirt and give him a slight shake. “Don’t do this to me, please.”

  His chest seems to slow with each subsequent inhalation.

  Sliding my hand under his neck, I tilt his mouth upward and press my lips to his, inhaling deeply so I can blow air into his lungs.

  His mouth moves against mine, then tilts upward, as if he’s smiling.

  I freeze for a moment. I don’t remember this happening in CPR class.

  He slides a hand around the back of my head and pulls me in tighter, fluttering his soft lips against mine. “Much better,” he whispers.

  “You stupid jackass.” Breaking away from him, I jerk upright. “You’re trying to steal a kiss now?” Red fury clouds my vision at the prank, especially at the terror I’d felt, worrying he was about to die. “What’s wrong with you?” I’m not sure if I’m more relieved or furious.

  “I didn’t try to steal a kiss—I did.” He grins, then digs into a pocket and pulls out the stress ball. Even in the dim light, I can make out a deep gash in the middle of the foam. “No need to worry, Lookout. They stabbed me, but this little beauty took the brunt of the damage. Guess they must’ve pushed me to the ground, though, because I don’t remember anything else until I saw you.”

  “Well, they killed Hank.” I stand and step away, unsure how I feel about his kiss—especially amid all this chaos.

  “Jesus, really?” He sits and rubs the back of his head. Wincing, he probes his hair. When his gaze lands on Hank’s form, he stills. “Shit.” Even though his face is already pale, it whitens even more, making him a ghost. “They came at us out of nowhere. I counted at least ten people, and everyone had either rifles, automatics, or wicked daggers.” He pats a hip and stands, wobbling on his feet.

  I lean in and give him my shoulder.

  “I feel a little dizzy.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Give me a second.”

  “No. We need to stay here. Daddy’s getting help.” I push on his chest, trying to force him back to the ground.

  “I’m okay, I think.” He takes a step and stumbles.

  “Sit.” I point to the ground. “Right. Now.”

  “Fine.” He slumps to the asphalt and leans his back against a tire of the car, shutting his eyes. “My head’s pounding.”

  Indecision tears at me. I want to rush off and find my dad to make sure he’s okay and get help, but I don’t want to leave Max alone.

  Running footsteps slap against the pavement. Someone pants.

  I tear my gun from the waistband of my jeans and switch off the safety. “Stop,” I holler, keeping the tip in the general direction of the person.

  From behind, pebbles scrape across the pavement, and I imagine Max sliding his feet to stand.

  “Whoa, it’s me.” The deep voice is Daddy’s and I sag.

  “Thank God you’re okay.” I lower my weapon and point behind me. “He’s awake but hurt. I think he has a concussion.”

  “People are on the way. The Eastern patrol caught the intruders and are taking them to the jail.”

  “Was it Leonard and his people?” My lip curls in disgust, even though no one can see it.

  “Not this time.” Daddy kneels and probes Max’s head. “This was a group from Abilene. One guy seemed eager to talk, said parts of the city are burning or being looted. A ton of residents are moving outward, half-starved and desperate.”

  Cold, hard fear settles in my stomach. “What are we going to do?”

  “What we always do—work together to defend our town.” He turns to Max. “Son, do you think you can walk?”

  “Yessir, but I might be slow.” Max carefully stands again, throwing a hand to his head.

  “It’s okay. A new group is on the way to relieve us and they’re rousing everyone awake to get more volunteers. From now on, all residents will need to help with the defense. Tomorrow, those towers are going up to keep a better watch.”

  Max leans on Daddy’s shoulder, and I slip under his other arm.

  Several men approach, letting out three short whistles.

  “These guys are going to take you to Doc Kemperling so he can check you out.” Daddy turns toward the gate and sighs. “Hank was a good man.” Balancing on the balls of his feet, Daddy crouches near the man’s body. “He didn’t deserve this.”

  “I don’t need a doctor, sir.” Max’s voice cracks. Against my muscles, I feel his body stiffen. “I’m fine.”

&
nbsp; “Shut up, Max.” I tighten my grip. “You’re going and that’s that.”

  The men take his weight and shuffle him away, but he grabs my hand and pulls me against his body. Bending forward, his nose brushes my cheek. “Thank you for caring enough to stay with me and be my lookout. I’m not sorry I stole a kiss, but I am sorry about Hank.”

  “It’s okay, I guess.” Giving his hand a squeeze, I shrug. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt too badly.”

  “I should’ve taken this patrol business more serious.”

  “Yeah, me too. Daddy was right—it’s vital, and we need to start taking it seriously or more people are going to get hurt or killed.”

  The men on either side of us grunt, and together—the group steadily makes its way along the dark street toward the clinic.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  That night was six months ago, and since then, Callahan has got its shit together. Guard stations, rising twenty to thirty feet in the air, are manned constantly. Some days, droves of people fleeing the surrounding areas flock to the town for refuge, but only those with children are allowed through the new, thick gates blocking every entrance. Callahan is almost bursting at the seams from the influx.

  People without children are turned away, and at least twice every week, survivors try to sneak in at night. It’s a terrible decision having to turn desperate people away, but Daddy or Max remind me our families come first. It doesn’t help the guilt I feel at watching the backs of couples trudging away, though.

  I hate what this world has become—cold, cruel, and calculating.

  Max and I haven’t discussed that weird kiss, but our friendship has deepened. Due to ammo being precious, he and I practice shooting once a month, now, instead of several times a week, and we take the time to joke or talk about the past. It’s comfortable being with him, and I don’t feel awkward like I usually do with guys.

  Mamma’s garden produced tons of vegetables, and the cellar is lined with jarred food, bags of potatoes, and dried seeds waiting for next year’s spring plantings.

  Daddy and Max hunt on the fields near Max’s house. Today, he’s teaching Max how to set snares and insisted I come along, too.

  “I really don’t want to do this,” I grumble, sliding on thick gloves and a heavy coat. Even though West Texas winters are usually mild, an early cold front has arrived and given the area its first freeze of the year. The three of us—Max, Daddy, and myself—stand near the living room door.

  “Sorry, Half-pint. I know you don’t want to kill things, but this is our way of life now. Fresh meat requires hunting and trapping.” He slaps a bright orange toboggan on his head, and a few straight wisps of his light hair curl under the rim. “What if I’m not always around? I’ll rest easier knowing you can trap your own food.”

  “I think she’s scared of fluffy wittle wabbits.” Max chuckles and zips his black leather jacket, flashing me an arrogant smirk.

  I give his arm a hard punch. “No, you jackass. I don’t relish the thought of hurting a defenseless animal. It’s fucking sad.”

  “Matilda Morgan, you watch your mouth, young woman.” Even though Mamma’s in the kitchen, she must hear our conversation.

  “You know what’s sadder?” Max asks while eyeing me with humor, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his lips, his ocean-colored irises sparkling.

  Crossing my arms, I roll my eyes. “What?”

  “Meat stew without the meat.” His teeth shine from a wide smile.

  “God, you’re such a jerk.”

  His stress ball appears, and he pops my forehead with it.

  For once, I snatch it out of the air and sprint through the open front door, laughing with delight at finally capturing his precious ball.

  “Hey,” he gasps, the pounding of his boots loud on the wooden porch. “Give that back.” He tackles me to the ground before I can tear open the gate. When I hit the cold, crunching grass and frozen dirt, the weight of his body forces the breath from my lungs.

  “No way.” With my cheek pressed into the dead vegetation, I pant and laugh, stuffing the ball under my stomach where he can’t reach it.

  Each knee is pressed against my waist, and he angles his body downward. His warm breath tickles my face. “If you don’t give it back, I’ll be forced to search you.”

  His rich, spicy scent drifts into my nose. A tingle of energy zips through my arteries and curls my toes. I clench my fists tighter.

  His fingers move into my line of sight and brush the hair from my neck. Pressing the side of his face to mine, his light stubble scratches against my cheek. “Or I could tickle you until you laugh like a donkey,” he whispers.

  One game night, after Kat had won a round of Monopoly, a tickle fight had broken out between the three of us. When Max discovered my ticklish spots, he’d been relentless with his fingers, forcing a deep, ugly bray from my mouth. I haven’t forgiven him since.

  “Don’t you dare.” Even though my face is pressed into the ground, I cut my eyes to glimpse his profile, my laughter drying up.

  Throwing me an evil grin, his fingers wedge under my armpits and dig in.

  I let out a scream and try to buck him off, half laughing and half mortified.

  “Damn it, you two,” Daddy yells. “Don’t start this shit today. I wanna put fresh meat on the table, not break up fights all morning long.”

  Max springs off me, then offers a palm.

  I grab it and jerk to my feet, dusting off my cargo pants. “Sorry, Daddy.”

  When Max’s gaze drifts to me, I make a point of stuffing the blue stress ball into my front pocket.

  His eyes narrow on the bulge, then rise to meet mine. He runs his fingers over his jawline and nods, as if to say, “This isn’t finished yet.”

  Smiling sweetly, I rub my chin with my middle finger, ensuring he has a clear view of the message. Just to be sure, I mouth, “Fuck you.”

  Raising an eyebrow and shaking his head gently, he adjusts his jacket and twists to the road, grabbing his bike on the way.

  “Wait, Tilly,” Kat yells from the porch. “I made you something.”

  I turn, one hand on the bicycle handle and the other on my hip. “You did?”

  Mamma follows behind, a half-smile lighting up her face. She and Kat have become close, and I think the little girl’s presence eases the ache of not having Sissy nearby.

  “Yep.” She runs to me and plops a necklace in my hand. “It’s green, like your eyes.”

  I string it between my fingers and hold it to the sunlight. Little lumpy clay balls are strung with thin hemp rope.

  She clasps her hands in front of her chest, and her eyes widen, searching my face, as if trying to figure out what I’m thinking. “Do you like it?” Her voice sounds small, unsure.

  “I love it.” Blinking back a tear, I pull her close and hug her to my side. She’s the little sister I never had. Most nights, she and Max stay over, with her brother sleeping in Sissy’s old room and Kat doubling up with me. “Thank you. I’ll treasure this forever.”

  When she smiles, it’s like a burst of sunshine peeking from behind a cloud.

  “What’d you make for me?” Max asks in a teasing tone, throwing me a tender gaze.

  “I thought guys didn’t wear jewelry.” She bites her lip, furrows marring her brow, and shrugs.

  He holds up the hand with his school ring and uses the other one to point to the stud in his earlobe. “Well, what are these?”

  She laughs. “You’re so weird, Max.”

  “I want one like Tilly’s—” He points to my chest, where the necklace rests. “—so she and I match, or I might cry.”

  “Boys don’t cry.” She giggles and turns to Mamma. “Do you have enough clay so we can make another one?”

  Mamma nods. “I’m sure I do.”

  I chuckle, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. Max might be a pain in the ass, but he loves his sister more than anything. He tries to make her life as normal as possible, considering they’re practical
ly orphans in the middle of an apocalypse.

  “Come on, y’all. We gotta get going. Daylight’s wasting, and I need to get back by lunch for a shift.” Daddy lights up a smoke and cycles down the road.

  Max and I smile at one another and wave goodbye to Mamma and Kat.

  When we make it to Max’s place, Daddy empties a small sack containing delicate pieces of string and wire.

  “Okay, kids. Listen up. I’m going to teach you how to set snares the correct way, so you don’t go hungry.” He lays out the loot, then scours the ground, picking up several straight, small sticks. “Watch my fingers, this is how you tie the knot…”

  After an hour or so of practicing, Max and I head off into the brush and set our little snares, with Daddy watching, giving feedback, and adjusting the traps.

  “Will this hurt the rabbits?” My stomach flips thinking about an animal in pain.

  “No, but it could injure itself trying to escape.”

  I shiver. “No way. I’m not doing this. I can’t hurt it.”

  “We’re not going to go far, so it won’t have much time to try and escape.” He tweaks the little wire that’ll grasp the animal by the foot. “The thing to worry about is when he’s caught, and we have to handle him.” Daddy glances to Max. “You two will have to work as a team. Somebody needs to hold the animal with these—” He pulls a thick pair of gloves from the bag. “—while the other releases the snare and finishes the job.”

  “Finishes the job?” I glance from him to Max and swallow.

  “You know,” Daddy says, refocusing on the trap. “Kill it.”

  My hands shake. “No, I can’t do it,” I whisper, backing away. Screw it. I’ll eat canned beans for protein. I’m not killing a helpless little creature.

  “It’s okay, Lookout.” Max grabs my upper arm and drags me close. “You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”

  “Bullshit.” Standing, Daddy twists toward Max and me and glares. “This is survival. Neither of you get a choice—it’s kill or be killed now. Got it?” His face is hard, and his tone brooks no nonsense.

  Max’s lips thin and his gaze meets Daddy’s, then he clenches his jaw. After a few seconds, Max relents and breaks the stare, shaking his head and letting me go.