Blood Runs Cold (Stone Cold Fear Book 2) Read online

  “How exactly am I supposed to know the right amount of force to knock someone out without giving them a concussion?” he asked sharply. “He sure wasn’t thinking about giving me a head injury when he clocked me earlier.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t know what I’m thinking. My heart is pounding. I feel like I might throw up.”

  “That’s adrenaline,” Pete said, knowing that some of his anger was the result of guilt. “I almost feel sorry for him. He can’t help himself. I knew guys like him in training. Blah, blah, blah. Couldn’t stop talking if their lives depended on it. One guy was so bad, we’d all wind up with pushups and burpees, and then bitch his fool head off later, but it didn’t stop him from mouthing off to the sergeant.”

  “I think we all knew guys like Jack,” Marie responded. She went to the cell and got their coats.

  “Good move with the boot,” Pete said as he put his coat on. “Too bad we don’t have instant replay.”

  “I wanted to kick him in the head, but I didn’t think I had time to put the boot on.” Marie zipped her coat. “What’s your plan?”

  “We use the cover of the firefight as a distraction and get the hell out of Dodge.” He went to the door, cracked it open, and checked the front room. “Clear.”

  Holding the handgun in front of him, he trotted to the front door of the building, Marie resting her hand on his back to let him know she was right behind him.

  “Is it worth going back to Thomas’s to get our snowshoes?” Marie asked.

  “God damn it,” Pete replied. The last thing he wanted to do was traipse around town in the middle of a gunfight to gather their belongings. But traveling without snowshoes was untenable.

  “We’ll cross the street when I say so. When we’re on the other side, stay behind me and pressed up against the wall. You see something, say so. Don’t assume I saw it.”

  “Got ya.”

  “Holy crap,” Pete said. “My brain just turned back on. They have horses, and if we take them we won’t need snowshoes for the time being. Only question is, do we skip going back to Thomas’s and just head for the barn?”

  “Your call,” Marie said.

  She was probably thinking about the notebooks, but didn’t want to say anything. Pete didn’t want her to say anything, either. On one hand, he wanted to burn them. On the other, he wanted to be the bigger man and retrieve them for her.

  And that was what finally made his decision for him.

  “Thomas’s first, and then the barn,” he finally said, hoping it was the right decision. He wasn’t used to second-guessing himself. He also wasn’t used to failing on such a monumental scale. But having lost all his men in the last few days left him wondering if he’d know a good decision if it came up and bit him on the ass.

  He held the handgun in a ready position and opened the door. A man sprinted across the street several buildings away, so Pete ducked back inside. He let a few seconds pass, and then checked again. The street was clear. Staying as low as possible, they ran across the street, pressed themselves up against the building, and paused.

  With a sinking feeling, it occurred to Pete that Thomas might have locked his front door.

  There would be no way to know except to check, though, so, with Marie gripping the back of his coat, he trotted toward Thomas’s house. A gun fired from somewhere ahead, but it was far enough away that Pete flinched but kept moving.

  They reached Thomas’s house and Pete turned the knob, almost holding his breath. If they couldn’t get in, they’d just run for the stables, and damn the notebooks.

  The door opened and Pete let out a breath of relief, then slipped inside and closed the door behind them. There wasn’t a conventional lock for the door, but there was a bar-type barricade and he dropped it into place, hoping they hadn’t just locked themselves in with a maniac.

  “Hello?” he called.

  There was no answer, and he hoped Thomas was outside doing battle with the biker gang. Hell, at this point he hoped the biker gang actually killed Thomas. That way he wouldn’t be coming after them.

  Their snowshoes were right where they’d left them when they’d first arrived at Thomas’s house, and Pete started to reach for them. They might be taking horses, but they might also need the snowshoes at some point.

  Suddenly a bullet smashed through the only window. Marie flinched and cursed under her breath.

  “Get down and stay low,” Pete told her. “I don’t want to spend a bunch of time on this. We’ll have a quick look for our packs, and if we can’t find them, we leave.”

  “If we split up, it’ll go faster,” Marie said.

  Her suggestion made sense, but he was reluctant to do it. Jack might be the kind of guy who couldn’t keep his thoughts from flying out his mouth, but Marie was the kind of person who acted first and dealt with the consequences later. Or left Pete and others to deal with the consequences. He didn’t doubt that she’d spend too much time trying to track down the notebooks.

  Marie gave him a guilt-ridden look. “I promise I won’t do anything but search for our bags.”

  Could he trust her, though? He knew she meant to keep her word, and that she was perfectly sincere at this moment. But what would happen to her impulse control if she spotted something interesting, something she thought belonged in her damned notebooks?

  The truth was, they didn’t have time to search the house together. He had to trust her.

  “You take this side,” he finally said. “I’ll take the other.”

  With a loud crack, another bullet struck the front of the house, and they both hunkered low. Marie made her way to the kitchen while Pete went into the weaving room.

  It was an impressive setup and exemplified Thomas’s thoroughness and organization. He was beyond prepared for the worst. Too bad his anti-government proclivities tainted his other abilities. Pete had no doubt that Thomas would end up turning his own people against him at some point. Unless, of course, everyone here was as hardcore as Thomas.

  After a cursory search of the room, Pete decided there was nothing to be found except the looms and weaving paraphernalia.

  If I were a crazy off-the-gridder, where would I put the newcomers’ backpacks?

  At the back of the weaving room, he saw a door. It made sense, based on the layout of the other side. There was still space to be accounted for—space that must be on the other side of that door. Pete put his hand on the knob and slowly turned it. It wasn’t locked.

  How the hell was this guy so paranoid about the government and the military, but trusting enough to leave all his doors unlocked?

  When you basically owned the town you lived in, Pete realized, you could probably do whatever the hell you wanted. And no one would think it strange at all.

  Pete ducked low in case Thomas, or someone else, was in there, waiting to blow his head off as he opened the door. But when no one shot, he looked up and started moving forward.

  Thomas was using the room as an office. There were several corkboards on the walls, with a multitude of papers pinned to them. Pete guessed they were probably organized by subject. It seemed like something Thomas would do.

  The desk was in the right-hand corner of the room, situated so that when Thomas was sitting behind it, he could see whoever came through the door. The room also held a large filing cabinet.

  Pete and Marie’s backpacks were on the floor beside the desk, but the contents of the packs had been piled to one side of the desk. Pete shoved the rations and water bottles back into the packs, taking care to distribute the weight so that the one he’d carry would be the heavier of the two. Marie’s notebooks were stacked on the desk as well, with one of them held open by a polished rock. Perfect. Now he wouldn’t have to see her look horribly disappointed if they couldn’t find them.

  He shoved them into one of the packs, then turned back toward the desk. As long as he was in here…

  He opened and closed the desk drawers, hunting for anything that might prove useful.
Assorted computer cables wouldn’t be much help at this point, and he left them in place. He opened the filing cabinet, mentally crossing his fingers that he’d find his rifle inside. Unfortunately, it wasn’t there, which meant they’d probably taken it to the arsenal already—and were using it that very moment.

  What a waste.

  The thought brought up the fight itself, and the invading force. A biker gang with pre-electronic military gear.

  Their existence made Pete feel like he’d missed a memo somewhere along the way. While he’d been busy digging America’s cities out from under the rubble of earthquakes, floods, and fires, other people had been preparing for everything to come to an end. They must have been, if they were collecting pre-electric gear.

  He chided himself for not having paid attention. Not that it would have changed much of his current situation.

  “Pete?” Marie whispered loudly, snapping him out of his thoughts.

  “Coming,” he responded. “I found our stuff.”

  There was still intermittent gunfire outside and with the front window shattered, the sound of men shouting orders carried inside. The problem was, there was no way to tell whether the men were from Clearview or with the biker gang.

  Marie already had their snowshoes in hand and was jumping from one foot to the other, ready to go.

  “We’ll go out the back,” he said, and handed her the lighter backpack.

  Then the back door opened and a man began to poke his head inside. Pete shoved Marie into the weaving room and joined her there, holding his finger in front of his lips.

  Chapter 16

  Based on the voices coming from the back of the house, there were two men. And they had to be part of the group that was attacking Clearview, because none of the townsfolk would invade Thomas’s home in such a way.

  The men closed the back door behind them and began rifling through drawers in Thomas’s kitchen area. They had to move. It wouldn’t be long before those guys made their way to the front of the house and discovered him and Marie.

  “I’m going to surprise them,” Pete whispered. As quietly as possible, he checked the clip in Jack’s handgun, which was a Kimber. The magazine was full and held eight rounds. Good. That was enough to do some damage.

  “Stay back and stay low,” he added, and waited for Marie to nod her compliance.

  The two men had finished their inspection of the kitchen and were arguing about who was going upstairs and who was going to check out the other side of the house. Pete knew he had to move now, or he’d lose the element of surprise. Knees bent, he moved forward, rolling his feet from heel to toe, determined to make as little noise as possible.

  Before he’d reached the opening between the two sides of the building, the back door slapped open with a bang and gunfire sounded.

  He crouched lower. Handguns and rifles, his ears told him.

  A man cried out, followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor. More shots were fired. Another man grunted, and a weapon clattered to the floor.

  “Asshole,” a woman said.

  “No! Don’t!” a man cried, followed by the single percussive blast of a rifle discharging.

  “Do we leave them here?” a younger man asked.

  “Yes,” the woman said. “We’ll clean up the dead later.”

  The backdoor closed and the house fell silent.

  “I’d bet money that was Hilda,” Marie said.

  “It sounded like her,” Pete replied, and began moving.

  “I’m glad I didn’t screw up the rolls. She might have killed me,” Marie said with a nervous laugh.

  When they got to the kitchen, they saw two men on the floor, both dead. One of the men had taken a round in the shoulder, which would have caused him to drop his weapon. While he was incapacitated, he’d been shot in the head. The other man had taken a shot right to the chest.

  At least those were two problems he didn’t have to deal with.

  He cracked open the back door and took a quick look. The sky was utterly clear, which meant no weather, and that was both good and bad. In a storm, he and Marie would have been harder to spot; but it would also be harder to move and more difficult to see the enemy.

  At least there was no doubt who the enemy was. As far as he and Marie were concerned, there were no friendlies here, not among the townsfolk or the biker gang. It was a “shoot first, ask questions later” situation.

  The other problem was that there was no cover back here. They’d have to proceed with only a few shed-sized outbuildings, widely spaced, as the only places to hide.

  “Snowshoes?” Marie held them in front of her.

  “No. It’s mostly cleared. We’re going to need to move fast, and the snowshoes will slow us down or trip us up.”

  They took a moment to fasten the snowshoes to their packs, their movements hurried and somewhat sloppy.

  “There was a map of this region in Thomas’s office,” Pete said. “If we head to the east side, there’s a feeder road that will eventually hook up to the highway that will take us to Anchorage.” He wanted her to know in case they got separated, or he was killed.

  “So arsenal, then barn, then head east?” Marie asked.

  “Yes.” Pete began moving toward the first shed. “The arsenal if it’s easy, but the horses are worth more risk. We can get away faster and save energy.”

  “And hope we can find a single person alive who isn’t a total fucking psycho.”

  “Hear, hear,” Pete said.

  They made their way to the shed and hid behind it, and Pete glanced around, horribly aware that if there was anyone out back, they were sitting ducks. Each second felt like one in which he or Marie would take a bullet.

  “See that clump of evergreens?” he asked, pointing to a bit of forest that lay on the side of the town. “That’s where we’re going next.”

  They sprinted toward the trees, but when they were about ten feet away, they heard the roar of an engine. One of the invading vehicles was still working—or Thomas had a working vehicle stashed away.

  A vehicle would be even better than the horses, Pete thought suddenly. If they could get into it and get away without getting shot.

  “It’s coming from behind us,” Marie said. “Probably on Main Street.”

  “Keep going,” Pete said.

  They made it to the trees and hunkered down behind them, and Pete turned just in time to see someone dash from behind Thomas’s house to the shed. Was he following them, or was he trying not to get killed? Sunlight glinted off the snow, making it look like someone had sprinkled diamonds everywhere, and it made it damn hard to see.

  Pete looked around, trying to figure out another plan. If there was someone following them, it meant they couldn’t afford to stick it out back here. They needed better cover.

  “We’re going to go into that building instead,” he said, pointing to a larger building right in front of them.

  “What if it’s full of men with guns?”

  “Then we’re screwed,” Pete said. “But I think anyone who can hold a gun is out here, fighting the bikers.” Or on our backtrail, waiting to get the drop on us.

  “You’re probably right, considering they were ready to arm ten-year-old children.”

  Pete gave the signal and they ran, angling themselves toward the back entrance of the building. It was the same style as all the buildings on the street, constructed of cargo containers and two stories tall. Pete sent a prayer winging into the ether that the door was open, because if they couldn’t get in there, he was going to have to figure something else out.

  It was locked. And a shout came from the front, something about going around to check in back. Pete didn’t know which back, but given their luck of late, he assumed it would be this one.

  He grabbed Marie’s hand and tugged her to the back door of the next building. Please, please, please, he thought as he hauled Marie toward it.

  The lever depressed and the door swung open. Pete jerked Marie toward the opening.<
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  “Rip my shoulder out of the socket, why don’t you?” she hissed as she stumbled inside.

  He turned to check behind them, to make certain they hadn’t been followed, and heard Marie loudly say, “Oh, hello.”

  Pete bent his knees to keep his head from being the first thing to get blown off, readied the gun, and charged in, holding about half-pressure on the trigger. Then he processed the fact that the armed person was an elderly man, and Marie shouted for him not to shoot. Pete lowered his weapon but continued forward, jerking the rifle out of the old fella’s hands.

  The man’s watery blue eyes filled with fear, and then he pressed one of his hands against his chest.

  “It’s okay, mister,” Marie said. “We won’t hurt you.”

  “You with them bikers?” he asked, his voice wavering.

  “No, we’re not.” Marie led him to a chair and got him to sit down. “We’re strangers who came here seeking sanctuary.”

  “I was supposed to keep that door locked,” the old man said. “Thomas won’t be happy.”

  “We won’t tell him,” Marie said.

  Pete looked from the old man into the building, wondering who else was in here, and almost laughed.

  Jack had lied. This building housed the town’s arsenal.

  Most of one wall was taken up with firearm storage. Rifles stood in neat lines, resting on their butts with their barrels aimed upward, all of them held in place by metal dividers. Though that section was more than half empty, there was still a smorgasbord to choose from. Next to the rifles sat the handguns, held in place by specially designed clips. They were presented on their sides so it was easy to see what kind of gun you were getting.

  Pete spotted the rifle he’d taken from the ranger station, picked it up, and slung it over his shoulder.

  Meanwhile, Marie was inspecting the handguns. “I want one with a big magazine.”

  Pete moved to the opposite wall, where the ammunition was neatly stored on shelves, and left her to her decision. He needed bullets for both the Kimber and the rifle.

  On the other side of the room, Marie held up a Glock. “Thirty-three rounds, that’s what I’m talking about.”