Devastation Erupts Page 11

  At just a few miles from our destination, the satellite phone chirps to life. Riley rummages through a bag on the floor and depresses the receiver. She starts to answer with a hesitant hello, but she’s cut off mid-syllable.

  “This is Sergeant Bowen. Looks like you got a ride. I see you’re in Delaware.” His voice is frantic as he barely pauses between sentences.

  Ace’s eyes widen. Wanted or not, we’ve got his full attention.

  “Yes, we got a ride,” Riley answers cautiously.

  “Good. Now listen carefully. Some media outlets are starting to sniff around Yellowstone. So far, they’ve found very little information, but I don’t know how much longer that will be the case. If radio or TV stations start issuing warnings, people are going to panic. It’ll be utter chaos everywhere. The clock is ticking, ladies. Get to my wife and then get home.”

  “We understand,” Riley answers before she stutters out a question. “So, um, is this eruption, um, really going to happen, do you think?”

  “Our best estimates put it at T minus seven hours.”

  Still clutching the gun steadfastly, Jeff murmurs. “Seven hours until all hell breaks loose.”

  “What?” Ace practically yelps. “What the hell’s—”

  Aidan reaches around Chris and jabs Ace’s arm to silence his potential rant.

  Bowen knows we’re with the guys, but he doesn’t know about the con artist chauffeuring us. I’d rather keep it that way. Besides, this guy doesn’t exactly exude credibility, so even if he did start telling people, they’d probably just laugh it off.

  “We’ll deliver the phone to your wife, Sergeant,” I state with a confidence that’s just out of my grasp. I know what we need to do. Somehow, we’ve got to make it happen.

  “The next time we talk, you’ll hear her voice, too.” A calming steadiness overtakes my voice. I inhale a deep breath, releasing a silent prayer that I’m not making empty promises.

  Riley’s head snaps in my direction. She tilts it slightly, as if questioning what I’m doing.

  “I hope you’re right,” Sergeant Bowen says solemnly. “Be careful but be fast.”

  The moment the call disconnects, voices erupt within the small confines. Ace demands to know who called us and how he knows this is really happening. Chris rides his coattails, hurling questions in general about what’s going to happen.

  Aidan, Riley, and Jeff scrutinize my word choices, wondering how I could make such a promise when nothing has gone right since we started this trip.

  The overlapping conversations threaten to swallow me whole. I pour my determination into one word.

  “Hey!” I repeat it until a hush spreads from the back seat to the front.

  “We are out of time! We have to make this happen. Yellowstone isn’t going to wait for us to be ready. Just like that earthquake didn’t wait. It came and it took away people we care about and we can’t let that happen again.”

  “You’re right, Quinn.” Aidan’s blue irises, deep pools of sorrow, bore into me. “I wish we could warn everyone. But all we can do right now is take care of ourselves.”

  “Hey, we’re almost there,” Riley announces. I can’t believe we’re almost back at Aunt Grace’s. It feels like it’s been forever since we were last here.

  Ace attempts to extract information from us as Riley directs him to the trailer park where we first met Chris. Thankfully he drives steadily, too distracted to remember his goal of extorting more money from us.

  Luckily the ride is short, and we manage to evade giving Ace any solid information by the time he rolls to a stop. As he depresses the brake pedal, Aidan and I fling our doors open. Fresh air washes over my senses, embracing me. It’s glorious. Although it makes me wonder how much longer we’ll have fresh air to breathe.

  Riley and Chris slide out of their seats and rush toward us. Before the last door slams shut, the car slowly starts rolling away. Jeff peers through the closest window, his eyes lighting up as realization dawns: apparently, we missed grabbing all of our belongings. Reaching for the handle, he shouts. “Wait! One of our bags is still in there! Stop!”

  Either not hearing or not caring, Ace peels away, a trail of stones and dust spraying from the tire traction. Jeff vaults away from the flying debris and attempts to give chase. He slows after just a few yards when it’s obvious Ace isn’t about to stop.

  Gasping for breath, Jeff lopes back toward us. “One of...the bags…we left…in the car.”

  “Which one? What did we lose?” Riley’s voice turns shrill as she frantically rifles through the bag slung over her shoulder.

  After a quick inventory, we determine what we still have: the satellite phone, the tracking device, remnants of the snacks Jasmine packed for us, and our personal belongings.

  “The weapons bag. And I don’t see the printouts of the ID numbers. We left those in that scuzzball’s car,” I announce. Riley’s hand flies to her mouth.

  Chapter 35

  Jeff reaches for his waistband. “Good thing I kept this baby close to me. Just in case that asshat tried anything else.” He brandishes the pistol. Well, at least we have one weapon. Although my brain tingles with warning. Was one knife the only thing left in that bag?

  Tugging his backpack over his shoulder, Chris speaks as if we’ve just returned from seeing a movie.

  “Okay, guys. I’ll just go home now.” He turns, tossing a slight wave over his shoulder. The rest of us squint in confusion. After everything we’ve been through with this kid, he’s just brushing us off?

  Jeff laughs, rubbing his chin. “Not so fast, buddy! You’re supposed to be my little brother, remember? Like we told the people at the base.”

  Chris stops and turns toward us, a smile playing across his face.

  “Look, I didn’t want to ask your address in front of that Ace guy,” Aidan says. “But I figured you must live close enough to walk since you used to come to the trailer park all the time.”

  “Yeah, I live close by,” Chris admits, shifting in place as if he’s bored.

  “Then let’s do this,” Jeff says enthusiastically. “We’ll keep you company and walk you home.”

  “Okay, I guess. I thought you were in a hurry, though.” All eyes land on me. Of course we’re in a hurry, but I feel like we’re still responsible for the kid. Like we need to make sure he gets home before all hell, or lava, breaks loose.

  “Hey, we have time to make sure you get home okay.” I nod to him, and the others.

  “You guys mind if Quinn and I wait at our aunt’s trailer?” Riley asks. I wonder what she wants there, but it won’t delay us since we would just be tagging along with the guys anyway, so I’m fine with it.

  Aidan bobs his head. “Sure, we can just come get you there when we get back.”

  Riley hunches down and extends her arms toward Chris. She bids him goodbye and whispers encouraging words when he grudgingly stumbles toward her, accepting the hug. The kid is clearly not interested in long, emotional goodbyes.

  Reluctant to inflict unwanted affection on him, I rest a palm on his shoulder when he escapes Riley’s embrace.

  “Take care of yourself,” I say. “Stay with adults, okay? Maybe Aidan and Jeff can explain to your…parents…that something is about to happen that will change everything.”

  Both respond with solemn nods. I have no idea what Chris’ home situation is, but hopefully, whoever he’s returning to missed him and is capable of protecting him from what’s coming.

  “Okay, bye,” he calls, pushing past Aidan and Jeff, who stumble after him. Aidan throws us a passing wave before hustling to keep up with Chris. As much as he worked on my nerves, I’m going to miss that kid. Although I believe going home is the right option for him, his departure is one more loss for our little group.

  Riley and I head toward Aunt Grace’s trailer. The last time I was there, we were looking for Riley but found Chris.

  “Why do you want to go back to the trailer?” Visions of damage within its walls flash through m
y mind. Aidan and I went there after the tornado tore through the area, leaving collapsed steps, smashed shelves, and broken windows.

  Her brown eyes intently seek mine. She thrusts two fingers in the air for emphasis. “Two things! Did you know Aunt Grace keeps a cookie jar under the sink?”

  I squint my eyes in confusion. “No. Why?”

  “I think it’s got some cash in it,” Riley says. “Before we’d leave to go home each year, I’d see Mom toss some money in it. I asked her about it once and she said it was just a little “thank you” collection for Aunt Grace, to help pay for water and utilities.”

  I nod, following her train of thought.

  “I’m not stepping foot in another car with a guy like Ace. Paying someone else more would have been worth every penny,” Riley says.

  I nod in agreement. “So what’s the other thing?”

  “Remember the photo album in mom and dad’s bedroom closet?” Memories flood my mind. Aunt Grace had bought an empty album probably a decade ago and stored it in the main bedroom’s closet. She asked that each family who stayed there—all relatives—slip a picture of themselves while vacationing, essentially creating a memory book of all the happy times that revolved around the trailer.

  “I’d love to have that,” I mumble, slightly dazed from the euphoria that thoughts of the album triggers. I wrap an arm around her as we close the distance between us and the structure that harbors so many family-vacation memories. For as long as I can remember, they had started here.

  “Okay, I’ll get the album and you get the cash,” Riley says. “Take all of it. It’s not like anyone else will need it. And we just might.”

  A touch of normalcy has returned to the community. Branches and greenery that previously littered the roads and path have been cleared away. I guess some residents have returned. The last I knew, most, if not all, took shelter at Dover Air Force Base when the tornado threat forced an evacuation.

  Mounds of debris dot driveways, boasting progress. Still, wood peeks through windows, replacing glass that obviously didn’t weather the storm.

  Shadows fall over us and the surrounding homes, drawing our attention skyward. Roiling clouds in deepening shades of gray tumble over each other, as if vying for the title of most vengeful. A flash of lightning illuminates the darkening sky.

  “Where’d that come from?” I ask, pointing up. Just a few hours ago the sun was practically roasting us and now it’s nowhere to be seen.

  “I hope the sergeant was right,” Riley mutters. “What if his timing is off? What if it’s erupting right now?”

  “Let’s just hurry! Come on!” I tug her hand and jump over the caved-in steps. The door to Aunt Grace’s trailer hangs on its hinges. I swing it open gently, careful not to knock it off its last lifeline to the frame. A rickety creak beckons us inside.

  Riley beelines to the bedroom our parents would sleep in. I dash to the kitchen and throw open the cabinet doors beneath the sink. Sure enough, a chipped blue cookie jar sits in the corner. Painted white seashells dance along its cylindrical front. I gently lift the lid and dunk my fist inside. Grasping the wad of paper bills, my eyes graze over the cash before I stuff it into my pocket. I replace the delicate lid and return the jar to its resting place.

  Satisfied from successfully completing my small mission, I return to the living room.

  Riley joins me, gently resting a hand on my arm. She sees what I see. Emptiness. There’s nothing here for us anymore. Happy memories haunt every corner, phantoms of our former life.

  “Be right back!” She dashes down the hallway and quickly returns with the photo album, its cover boasting a golden sun setting behind the backdrop of a sandy beach.

  Smiling, she continues right past me. “I’m just gonna check the dresser drawers in our room, make sure we didn’t forget anything that we might want.” I follow as Riley strides to the dresser we used to share.

  My eyes slide from a corner to the dresser to the beds, scanning the surfaces for anything we may have left behind. Blankets litter the floor, salt-stained bodyboards rest in the closet, and unzipped suitcases spew clothes, spilling from open flaps. Shards of glass lay scattered, clustered below one of the windows. A gangly branch protrudes through the open pane, a victim of the tornado.

  As I watch her slide the bottom drawer open, the trailer door creaks. After a moment of hesitation, it slams shut.

  “I guess the guys are back. I’ll let them know we’re just about done here.” I turn toward the hallway.

  “Back here. We’re just about ready,” I call out. When I’m met with silence, I sidestep down the short hallway toward the living room. My heart seizes as a sleek black handgun aimed at my head blurs into focus. Fury pits in my stomach when my eyes land on Jim’s smug smirk.

  Chapter 36

  Riley scuffles into the living room. “What is—” Her words drop mid-sentence when she notices our visitor. Her stance wavers, as if the floor below her had suddenly shifted. Tears spring to her eyes, perhaps evidencing a mixture of fear and defeat.

  “Well, there’s my girl,” Jim says, full-blown smile blazing. Eyes shifting from me to the gun and back to Jim, Riley shakily asks, “What are you doing here, Jim?”

  That must have been the right response because his demeanor turns animated. Bobbing his head and planting the free fist on his hip, he answers as though Riley’s a game show contestant who just won the Showcase Showdown prize. “Well, I’m glad you asked that, Riley. You see, when your sister showed up at the base, I knew I had to get the hell outta there. And, gee, with nowhere else to go, I came home.” He pauses for dramatic effect.

  “I left my brother sitting in a hospital room by himself because I had to get the hell outta there!”

  He’s oblivious to the irony oozing from that statement. He expects us to feel guilty that he had to leave Dan behind, yet he was the mastermind behind kidnapping my sister.

  I raise my hands in surrender, hoping he doesn’t decide to get trigger-happy. I struggle to temper my tone. Hurling accusations isn’t going to help us here.

  “Look, you can understand how I felt. I didn’t want to be separated from my sister. Just like you don’t like being away from Dan.”

  His eyes widen and his mouth twists into a snarl. Immediately I regret opening my mouth. He grasps the gun tighter, pointing it at me like an accusatory finger.

  “This is all your fault! All you had to do was go home and leave us alone!” he booms. Spittle chases his forceful words, as though he’s barely hanging on to any last strands of control.

  Why did I bother trying to reason with him? I should have known it was pointless.

  Riley drops the sweatshirt she’s unconsciously balled up in worry. She dashes across the floor, stopping directly in front of me. She thrusts a shaking hand into my stomach, pushing me back toward the wall.

  Her spine straightens slightly as she faces Jim. The gun wavers now that his target is blocked. Sweat beads along my hairline, but I don’t dare raise a hand and possibly set anyone off. If any rolls down my forehead to sting my eyes, I’ll just be thankful I’m still alive to feel it.

  “Riley, get out of the way! I’m talking to Quinn right now!”

  She crosses her arms and juts her chin out. This is not the Riley I grew up with, but I’m thrilled that brave Riley decided to show up right about now.

  “Jim, if you hurt her, I will never forgive you. Never.” She shakes her head slowly, punctuating her promise.

  Glass shatters down the hallway behind Jim. He turns, twisting to see past the kitchen, into the bedroom. I push Riley out of the way and lunge toward Jim. My reflexes aren’t as cat-like as I thought, because he turns, narrowing his eyes in annoyance. Swinging the gun around, he slams the handle into my temple. Agony explodes, rattling my brain and igniting a fire across my forehead. I collapse to the floor, squeezing my eyes shut in a useless attempt to suppress the spinning.

  Riley rushes to my side, draping an arm around my shoulder. Confident we’
re no longer a threat, Jim turns his attention to the intruder.

  “Get your ass out here!” Jim shouts. “The whole damn neighborhood heard you come in through that window!”

  A shrill ringing pierces my ears, further diluting my senses. I raise a trembling hand to my temple, fingertips landing in warm wetness. Crimson stains my fingers but the pain dulls, shifting into numbness. Riley stretches an arm across me, snatching a lace doily that once resided on a nearby overturned end table. She presses it into my hand, guiding me to staunch the blood.

  I focus my energy on that, silently wishing for this nightmare to end. Every time we make an inch of progress, something else comes along, pushing us back a few miles.

  When Riley gasps, I force my eyes open. Jeff stumbles through the bedroom doorway, wearing a sheepish grin. The smile fades when he zeroes in on Jim’s threatening stance.

  With the gun aimed at Jeff’s chest, Jim spits out, “I know you! You’re one of those damn rats sniffing around here a few weeks ago.” A maniacal smile flashes across his face. “What the hell are you doing back here?”

  Jeff raises his hands in surrender and gently raises his eyebrows as if he’s trying to calm a cornered animal. “Look, no one’s here to cause—” Jim cuts him off, turning his attention toward the front door that still dangles on its hinges. Riley’s eyes fly in that direction too. I’m guessing they heard footsteps or the damaged door groan.

  “I know you’re not alone,” Jim bellows. “Your little friend better come join the party or we’re gonna start a little game of Russian roulette. Starting with this one.” He motions toward me, using the gun as a pointer.

  Riley trembles beside me. Misery courses through my veins. I’m hanging on the edge of the what-if spiral of despair. What if we had picked a different week for vacation? Our parents would still be alive. What if the government or the news stations had warned people about the earthquake before it happened? Our parents would have made us over-prepare for it and we’d never be right here right now.