EMP Catastrophe , Hamilton, Grace [crime books to read txt] 📗

www.GraceHamiltonBooks.com

EXCERPT

Chapter One

Stay away from enclosed spaces. Stay away from crowds. Protect your daughter at all costs.

Kathleen repeated those few lines in her head like a mantra as she studied the biker gang clogging the mountain road in front of them. There were perhaps ten of them. Many of them wore bandanas and leather. Some were about her age. While a couple of older-looking members perched on their bikes, several that appeared to be newcomers milled around the road with restless energy.

Already, she could feel her hackles rising as she studied the bikers. She yanked Allison behind her and over to the side of the road. Her daughter uttered a soft huff but fell back behind her. They weren’t off the road completely, but they were at least not in the bikers’ direct line of sight. It wouldn’t do much, Kathleen knew, but she hoped she and Allison could stick to the side of the road and maybe even get by with their bicycles without so much as a hello. At this point, she knew they wouldn’t be able to get by unseen.

A white van had been abandoned on the side of the road, its back doors hanging open. A tattooed man stood on the bumper with a head of cabbage and other produce smashed under him on the pavement. He dove back inside the van and pulled out more produce while the rest of the bikers laughed at his theatrics. Kathleen gritted her teeth. Not only were these people blocking the road, it looked as if they were stealing from the van as well and smashing food that could have fed others who might be hungry. She understood taking food that was needed for survival, but this looked as though they were ruining good produce for the fun of it. Was there any decency left?

This time the tattooed man handed bundles of carrots and a mesh bag full of melons to another biker. This man had a lot more patches and dangling fringe on his leather jacket than the others, making Kathleen wonder if he was the leader of this crew. The patched-leather man took the produce and handed it to another biker who secured it in a large travel bag attached to the bike. Kathleen couldn’t understand why the tattooed man would have thrown perfectly good lettuce against the pavement and then selectively saved this produce, but she’d been met with a lot of actions she couldn’t understand since leaving Chicago.

“Just act like we’re passing these people on the street,” she muttered, more to herself than Allison. “If they notice us, we’ll wave hi and keep going. Easy peasy.”

Even she knew these promises were lies. She couldn’t help but feel on edge and studied every move the group made. Most of their attention remained fixed on the tattooed man raiding the van as if eager to see what else he would bring out for them.

They had to be about a mile from the hotel. Just one mile from home. It felt so close and yet so far at the same time. Kathleen tossed her dark braid over her shoulder and began slowly walking her bicycle up the road with Allison close behind her. As she approached the bikers, she averted her eyes, hoping they would melt into the background, like a squirrel or a deer just passing by. It was unfortunate that they were forced to go around one end of the van to keep their bikes and stay on somewhat level ground. On the other side of the road, the mountain sloped sharply upwards and had been barricaded by a guardrail, giving them little space to pass by undetected.

The trees swayed around them. The crisp mountain air filled her lungs. She pushed her bike off the asphalt and onto the shoulder, which was filled with sharp sticks and fallen pinecones. The tattooed man disappeared into the van again and then brought out another haul of food to hand to another of his biker friends. He sniffed a head of cabbage and made a face. The cabbage head hit the pavement and splintered open.

As Kathleen and Allison drew closer, some of the bikers began to study them. Kathleen swallowed hard and tried to keep her eyes averted and to seem as unassuming as possible. If this were any other situation, she would have given them a wave and a friendly smile. She would have hoped they were having a good day and that they got to their next destination safely. But those days seemed like eons ago. Those niceties belonged to a time when her daughter hadn’t been manhandled by another gang on the side of the road. In the days when she hadn’t shot that man who’d hurt Allison. In the days when Kathleen wasn’t a... She couldn’t think it.

Some of the bikers whispered to each other as she and Allison approached. A strange anticipatory silence descended over them. The tattooed man handed off the last of the produce he’d gathered and then stood on the bumper again with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed at her. Kathleen refused to glance back at Allison, and instead kept going with slow, steady steps.

In response, two men and a woman pressed their backs against the van and crossed their arms as if guarding it. The man with the patched leather jacket glared at her and put one hand on the side of the van, as if he owned it.

Kathleen tried to stop her own snarl in response. She resented the fact that these people were making her feel like a wild animal. What was the point of threatening her when they outnumbered her? The only reason was to make them feel strong and her weak. She began to rethink the situation and what she should have done—hide in the woods, abandon the bikes, wait until the bikers left—but she was tired of obstacles standing between her and safety.

The tattooed man on the bumper took a