The Last Peak (Book 2): The Darwin Collapse (15 page)

Her.

She couldn’t shoot them all. There were too many and she wasn’t that good a shot. She holstered the Glock and fired up the Vulcan. She cranked the gas and the rear tire spun in place, spitting out a geyser of sand behind.

Shit!

She let up and tried to duckwalk forward as she gave it a little gas. It edged forward and then the traction broke and more sand spewed out the back.

Shit! Shit!

She glanced back and the pack had closed half the distance. Only a few seconds before her legs would be shredded jerky. With the last bit of strength in her exhausted legs, she pushed off and hit the throttle.

The pitbull latched onto the heel of her right boot as the bike kicked forward and jumped back onto the pavement. She struggled with the front wheel and gunned it as soon as it pointed forward.
 

The bike roared and lunged ahead like a greyhound separating from the pack. The pitbull hung on dragging and bumping along the concrete. It rotated around and she caught its eyes as she glanced down.

GRRRR.

“Let go! Let go, you little shit!” Beth yelled as she slammed her heel into the engine casing.
 

Its broad, bony head smacked into the metal over and over. Son of a bitch was about to rip her leg off. She leaned down, careful to keep her balance, and tugged the zipper down the side of her calf. She wiggled her foot and the boot came free.

The pitbull smacked hard into a short, wood fence. It rolled to its feet and shook her boot wildly as if it wasn’t dead yet.

Beth refocused on the path ahead. She was approaching the inlet where the Ballona Creek emptied into the ocean. The wind washed over her bootless foot, chilling the skin through the thick sock.

Great.

Hope that doesn’t become a problem.

AHMED HASSAD
didn’t think his wife would ever forgive him. Perhaps he didn't deserve such a blessing. For the millionth time since she’d gone, he cursed the weakness in his heart. He cranked the can opener around and around until the sharp metal disk bit through the last of the ring sealing the can closed. He pried out the lid with a knife and began to assemble a lunch for his daughter as best he could.

He cursed himself for not being more prepared, for not taking the necessary action when such action was easy to take. Of course, he had an excuse. And that's exactly all he ever had. Excuses. Justifications for why he didn't do what he knew must be done.

He dipped the knife into the can and pulled out a dollop of thick, yellow paste. Hummus. Nalasif would’ve laughed in disdain. His wife made the best hummus in the world always from scratch from a recipe passed down through the generations. He spread a thick layer of what claimed to be hummus on a slice of wheat toast and laid it on a plate next to a few crackers.

Pathetic.

No more than ten days since the outbreak and already he was forced to feed them out of cans and their limited supply of dry goods. He poured out half a cup of water and eyed the nearly empty case of water bottles next to the kitchen sink.

He’d have to go out soon. He should've gone out already. But fear for his daughter kept him rooted in the security of their home. She couldn’t go out into the madness. And how was he to leave her here in the house alone?

And so his every thought or action ended in despair. A few more days and their supplies would run out. He didn't expect that he’d have an answer by then, but then it would be too late to delay any longer.

He scratched at his oily beard and wished he could use one of the remaining bottles to rinse it clean. He hadn't bathed in over a week and the rank odor emanating from his body disgusted him.

The smell was starting to become so normal he sometimes went hours without noticing it. But then he’d notice a grimace on his daughter's face as he drew near and the desperate nature of their situation would crash back down upon his shoulders like an avalanche.

He carried the saucer bearing the meager meal upstairs and into the master bedroom. He turned the corner and his heart skipped a beat. His daughter stood across the room peeking through the curtains out the second story window.

"Noor! Get away from the window! It's not safe!"

She flinched at the sharpness in his voice and stumbled away from the window. Her long black hair swept gracefully around her shoulders just as her mother's had. Her dark eyes regarded him with a fear that instantly made him regret his response.

"I'm sorry, father. I just wanted to see the outside. To see if anything had changed."

Ahmed set the saucer down on a wood chest and gathered her up in his arms. "It is I that is sorry. I forget what it must be like at your age to endure such isolation. You deserve to be outside playing with friends."

"But I don't have any friends. And now, I will never have any friends."

He squeezed her tighter knowing the fault was his. Keeping up with his growing business over the years had required them to move internationally, with the latest move being to America. But it wasn't his business that drew them to this address. All the same, it was yet another move. Yet another occasion where Noor tearfully waved goodbye to the one or two dear friends that her shy manner managed to attract.

And now with the last move here several months ago, she had not had enough time yet to settle in at school and strike up a connection with one of her classmates. His heart broke for her. Not simply because of what she’d already suffered, but also because he had no way of making it end. He looked down and brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

"We will survive, my daughter. Our family has survived times as dark as these. We have endured events even darker. And yet, we are here."

"And why are we here, father? If we are all going to die anyway, I would've rather not moved and died with my friends."

Ahmed grabbed her by the shoulders and held her tight. "Look at me."

She slowly looked up to meet his gaze.

"We will not die," he said. "I never want to hear you say that again. It would break your mother's heart."

He kissed her forehead and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He led her to a chair next to the wooden chest and sat her down. "You must eat. You need your strength."

She glanced at the plate and looked up. "Where is your lunch, father?"

"I've already had my share. Don't you worry about me."

The look she gave him spoke clearer than words that she knew he was lying. He'd been skipping meals for days to ensure that she had sufficient food. The decreased daily intake was already starting to show on his thin frame. He forced a sad laugh. Not that he forced it to be sad, but it came out that way. "It's my beard making me look skinny. It needs a good trimming."

She dropped her eyes to her lunch and took a bite of the bread.

A noise from outside startled him. He hurried to the window and parted the curtains a sliver. The neighbor, Mason West, had leaned a ladder up against his perimeter wall and was now peeking over it into the empty courtyard below. There was a man he could ask for help. For Noor’s sake, he should ask this man for food and water.

But how could he request assistance from the man that had killed his wife?

His neighbor scanned the courtyard and then the house. Ahmed jumped as the man's eyes swept across the window. He flung the crowbar in his hand into the courtyard below, and then swung his leg over and dropped to the ground. The cretin meant to break into his house?

Ahmed hurried to the bedside table and pulled an old Beretta M 1951 out of the drawer. He'd acquired the old workhorse on the black market many years ago. He wouldn't claim to be an expert in using it because he wasn't. But he knew enough to make a bullet go where he wanted it to. He hurried to the window and peeked through the curtain again as Mason crossed the courtyard below and walked up to the front door.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

How thoughtful. He was a courteous looter.

"Father, who is that?" Noor asked.

"Get in the closet and stay quiet," he whispered.

"Should we answer it? Maybe it’s someone who can help."

"Go! Do it now!" he hissed as he helped her up and pushed her toward the walk-in closet.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Ahmed hurried out of the room and closed the door behind him. As he made his way down the staircase, he heard the front door squeak, crack, and then pop open. He reached the bottom and circled around into the kitchen.

"Hello?" Mason said.

Ahmed ducked down behind the wide island in the middle of the kitchen.

"Is anyone home?”

Someone was definitely home, but Ahmed had no intention of giving away the element of surprise.

He heard the shuffling of feet grow louder as the intruder approached the kitchen. Ahmed pressed his back into the side of the island and held the Beretta close to his chest with both hands. He strained his neck looking up and to each side. He’d put a bullet in Mason's head the moment it appeared.

The footsteps got louder, so close they had to be in the kitchen.

CLANG.

The abrupt noise almost caused Ahmed to cry out.

Mason must've set the crowbar on the granite island countertop. Something lighter clinked on the surface and, with a flash of terror, Ahmed realized that he'd left out all the evidence of the lunch he’d just made.

"Hello? I'm your neighbor, Mason West. I just came over to check on you. We have food and water next door if you need any."

The open can of hummus clinked as Mason set it down. Footsteps receded back to the foyer toward the living room. "Hello?"

Ahmed carefully got to his feet so as not to make a sound. He tiptoed over and stopped at the corner, listening intently.

Footsteps started up the staircase.
 

With a start, Ahmed realized Mason was headed upstairs to where his daughter was hidden. He crept around the corner and followed up as quietly as he could.

"You can come out," Mason said. "I'm not here to hurt you. We have food and water and medical supplies. If you're injured, we can help you."

Ahmed waited halfway up the stairs, his eyeline just below the highest stair, watching Mason creep down the hall. He could shoot him in the back right now. Shoot him dead and finally avenge his wife’s murder. He could do it. He should do it.

Mason turned into Noor’s bedroom on the left, across the hall from the master bedroom. Ahmed shook with rage thinking about how the intruder was violating his daughter’s personal space.

Damn him to hell!

He regretted the blasphemy the instant his mind spoke it. But why should he worry about such trifles? Wasn't killing a man the greater sin? But was it sinful to right the wrong that had ruined his life? Was it sinful to mete out justice to a criminal that deserved it?

However Allah might weigh his actions, he still regretted the foul language. It achieved nothing but blemishing the soul.

Mason reappeared in the hallway and Ahmed ducked just in time to avoid being seen as the intruder looked in his direction.

Ahmed peeked back up as Mason disappeared into the master bedroom. He cursed himself for letting the murderer get that far, that close to his daughter. Ahmed crept up the last few stairs and tiptoed to the doorway of his bedroom. He peeked around the corner and saw Mason staring at the saucer with a half-eaten sandwich lying on the wooden chest.

"I can see that you're here. There's no reason to be afraid. You can come out."

A squeak from inside the closet got Mason's attention. With the murderer’s back to him, Ahmed slunk into the room and aimed the gun dead center at his back.

Mason reached for the closet door handle to open it.

"Stop!" Ahmed shouted.

The condemned man froze and then slowly turned. Ahmed noticed his right hand going down to a pistol tucked into his waistband.

Ahmed thumbed the hammer back and it clicked into place. One pull on the trigger and it would slam forward, firing a bullet into Mason's chest.

Mason threw his hands up into the air. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Easy there."

"Shut up!"

"You don't want to do that."

"You don't know what I want!"

Ahmed's heart pounded in his fingertips, especially in the one curled around the cold metal trigger. His mind screamed at him to do it. Just pull the trigger and bring closure to the horror that had ruled his life for so long.

Mason slowly shook his head. "You don't want to kill an innocent man."

"You?" Ahmed spat out. "You are no innocent man!"

"You mean breaking in? I only did that because no one answered."

"And so hearing no one you decided to break into my house and steal whatever you could!"

"Listen, I'll be honest with you. If there had been supplies in this house and no one around that needed them, then sure. I would've gathered them up for my family. But you're here. Alive. We can help each other. We've got food and water next door." He glanced at the sad excuse of a sandwich. "And it looks like you could use some help in that department.”

"We need no help from you!"

Ahmed's blood boiled. How could this fiend be so calm when he faced his immediate execution?

The closet door burst open and Noor tumbled out. "That's not true! We do need help! Father? What are you doing?"

"Get back in the closet!” Ahmed braced his shoulders and arms to accept the recoil of the gun. This man had to die.

Instead of retreating to safety, Noor stepped closer to Mason. "Father, we must accept his help!"

"Back away, Noor!”

"I will not, father! Do you want us to die? Do you want me to die? Because without this man's help, we have no chance. If you kill him, you are killing me."

The truth in her words crumbled his wavering resolve. His chest caved in and he curled into the empty husk that his body had become. He lowered the pistol’s aim to the floor and eased the hammer forward. He had failed his wife. He had failed himself and the pledge he’d made so long ago.