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before spinning her around. She squirmed, trying to look at what he was doing. He grabbed the sticker between his nails and pulled.

“What is that?”

“A tracker.” He pulled the locator from his pocket. “This doesn’t work as well as on a phone, but I could see your general location. He turned the device so she could see the blinking dot in the middle.

“You found me based on a sticker on my pants? No map? No directions?”

He nodded. “It’s why it took me all night in the woods.”

He could practically see the gears turning in Emma’s head. If he could place a tracking device and use it to find her, what could his colleagues do?

She motioned toward the cabin. “I’ll have to ask Raymond and Gloria if you can stay.”

“And if they agree?”

“Then you can stay. For now.”

John took a step and faltered, pain radiating across his middle. Holly rushed to his side, dipping below his arm to help support his weight. Tank walked alongside them, keeping pace, while Emma strode ahead.

He waited on the edge of the porch while Emma slipped inside to talk to Raymond and Gloria. A man’s voice rose once or twice, but after half an hour, Emma emerged.

“You can stay on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You hand over all weapons.”

John froze. He’d never even considered it. Be defenseless? “How can I help if I’m not armed?”

“Take it or leave it. I’m not having a hired gun under my roof with a weapon.” The man who must be Raymond stepped onto the porch. About forty, with stacked muscles and a thick neck, he didn’t come across as the negotiating type.

 A woman stepped around him and John recognized her from the info briefing. Gloria Sanchez. “Ray’s right. You can stay, but no weapons.”

“And if we’re attacked?”

“We’ll reassess.”

It was better than nothing. Reluctantly, John agreed and handed over his Sig Sauer.

Raymond took the gun. “Emma tells me you’ve been shot?”

John nodded. “Through and through. Clipped my ribs. Might have broken a couple.”

“Stitches?”

“Probably need them.”

“Come on in.” Raymond stepped aside. “I can take care of it.”

John raised an eyebrow. “You have training?”

“Enough.” Raymond didn’t explain anymore, and John didn’t ask. He followed the man into the cabin and took a seat at the table. When the door shut behind them, Raymond told him to strip. John did as instructed, lifting the shirt and removing the bandage.

Raymond examined the wound with a flashlight. “You did a good job irrigating. Don’t see any bits of fabric or bullet. Needs closing, though.” He stood and opened a far cabinet, pulling down a black tactical backpack stuffed to the gills.  He pulled out two flat bandages and a bottle of pills.

“I thought you said it needs stitches.”

“These work better.” He opened the first bandage and John leaned closer to take a look. “It’s like a suture kit on tape.”

“Exactly.” Raymond smoothed two sides of tape on either side of the front wound and lifted a set of strings off of each side. “Hold your breath. This might hurt.” He pulled, overlapping the threads and closing the wound, before smoothing them down and adhering them to the bandage. “It’s a suture kit for dummies. No need to stitch.”

“Amazing.” John stared at the closed wound with new admiration. Raymond was more than a tough guy with a hard attitude. What else was he hiding?

Raymond opened the second bandage and set to work on John’s back. “Picked them up last year when we took a backpacking trip through the mountains. Didn’t want to cut ourselves on a rock and bleed out before we could do anything about it.”

They fell into a semblance of rhythm, Raymond asking questions about John’s past and occupation, John sniffing around at Raymond’s skill set and level of experience. When they each satisfied their own curiosity, Raymond stood and reached for a glass. He filled it and handed it to John. “You allergic to any antibiotics?”

John shook his head.

“Then take one every morning for two weeks.” He pointed at the bottle.

John picked it up. Fish Mox 500. “Fish antibiotics?”

“Close enough to human grade, no refrigeration required.”

John opened the bottle and tapped out a pill. “I won’t grow gills, will I?”

Raymond didn’t answer.

John spent the rest of the day resting his wound, annoyed to not be of more help. After dinner, Emma invited him to join her on the front porch. He eased into an Adirondack chair with a groan.

“How’s the wound?”

“It’ll improve.” He knew she didn’t trust him and deservedly so, but he hated it all the same. “I know you don’t want me here, but—”

She cut him off. “I’ve thought about it all day, and you’re right. Whether I like it or not, I need you. If someone is still out there, searching for me and Gloria, you’re our best resource to defend ourselves. You helped me escape the city, you saved us from that crazy family, and you brought us Tank. None of which you needed to do.”

John didn’t move.

“I don’t know that I’ll ever trust you, but for now, I’m willing to admit when I need help.”

“I could really use a weapon.”

“Don’t press your luck.”

John smiled and Emma reciprocated. It wasn’t how he’d expected to be spending his evening, sitting on a porch in the middle of the woods, smiling like an idiot at a woman he was supposed to kill. But it sure beat the alternative.

He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, we prepare.”

Thank you for reading book one in the No Ordinary Day series. Book two will be out soon!

Subscribe to Harley’s newsletter to find out the minute it goes live:

www.harleytate.com/subscribe

In the meantime, if you are new to my work, check out my After the EMP series:

If the power grid fails, how far will you go to survive?

Madison spends her days tending plants as an agriculture student at the University of California, Davis. She plans to graduate and put those skills to work only a few hours from home

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