Page 61 of Survive the Night
“Branson Burr and Nan Villela.”
Nan? Branson was on the fringe of Gordon Schwartz’s militia group, and he tended toward paranoia, but Otto trusted Nan.
“I’ve contacted Flight for Life, DNR, County, State—it’s not with any of them.”
“Copy,” Otto said. He copied, but he was still baffled. Why was there a helicopter buzzing the town? “LT, are you hearing this?”
“Yeah, I copied.” The lieutenant sounded grim. As Blessard started to speak again, Otto rounded the last turn before the top of the pass. Blackened rock, dirt, and trees covered the road in a thirty-foot pile. It looked as though a new cliff had sprouted in the middle of the road.
Otto braked hard. His squad car slid over the slick pavement, the back end skidding to the side. The tires squealed in protest as the antilock brakes shuddered, pushing against the pressure of his right foot. The pile of rocks and debris grew larger, making it feel as if he was going to plow right into the side of a small mountain. The tail of the car swung farther to the side, rotating until the vehicle careened diagonally toward the mound of boulders. His foot pressed harder as he held tight to the wheel. It felt as if he was trying to stop the car with brute strength alone, and his leg vibrated with effort as he stomped on the brake. The car still headed toward the rocks, but it finally started to slow, sliding to a stop just a few feet from an enormous boulder sitting in the middle of the road.
Ignoring the way his hand shook with residual adrenaline, Otto grabbed for the radio mic. “The highway at the top of the pass is completely blocked.” His voice was rough as he tried to get his breathing calmed. Everything was okay. He hadn’t plowed his car into a huge rock. He’d survived. Gradually, his breaths came slower, and the sheer enormity of the damage the explosion had caused began to sink in.
Otto peered through the snow whipping around his squad car. The top and side of the rock wall bordering the highway appeared to have been sheared off and dumped on the pavement. The few trees that remained on the cliff were still burning, like torches glowing in the snowstorm. With the small mountain on the highway, a drop-off on the left, and the rock wall on the right, there was no way to get through. Otto blew out a long breath. This was going to be a huge mess to clear. In the meantime, he and Sarah would have to take another route to get back and forth between home and Monroe. The drive would take three times as long.
Glancing at the radio mic in his hand, Otto realized that no one had responded to his last transmission. “Dispatch, did you copy about the rockslide?”
Silence. When he reached to change the radio channel, he realized that the display was blank. His squad car radio was completely dead. With a grunt of annoyance, he took his portable radio off his belt and turned it on. Once he heard the faint beep indicating that it had power, Otto repeated the information about the rocks and debris blocking the road.
There was no response.
Grabbing his phone, that feeling from earlier—the one telling him that something was very, very wrong—hit him again, a hundred times stronger that time. He called the number for dispatch, but his phone gave a beep and displayed No Service.
“What?” He always got service in Monroe, even this close to the pass. There were a few locations on the way to his place where cell service was sketchy, but he hadn’t discovered a dead spot—until now. Otto wondered if the rockslide had blocked the signal. He turned in his seat, moving his phone around, trying to improve the reception. The no service message didn’t change.
With a huff of irritation, he lowered his phone, but a light to the east caught his eye—a light that seemed to be moving. He squinted through the passenger-side window, trying to make it out. At first, he thought it was headlights, but it was too high in the air. Was this the mystery helicopter Nan and Branson had been talking about?
He peered through the snowstorm, trying to see more than that faint, moving light. As he watched, there was a bright flash. Otto knew what it was even before the crash of sound caught up to the light, so loud that it shook the ground and his car with it. Otto felt as if time was looping around on him, that he was watching that first explosion over again, but then logic returned, and Otto knew that it was on the other side of town. He knew in his gut that the east mountain pass—the only other way out of Monroe besides the blocked west pass Otto had just left—was blown.
If a helicopter was bombing the passes on either side of Monroe, that meant that someone—a “friend” of Sarah’s brother, Aaron Blanchett, came immediately to mind—was knocking out highway access to the town. Had the FBI arrived to pick up Aaron and the other two men yet? Were they trapped in town, or had they gotten clear before the bombs were dropped? It seemed like a huge coincidence that all this was happening around the same time the men were supposed to have been picked up by the FBI. Otto sent a quick glance at the still-blank radio display. What if they were knocking out communications as well? The idea seemed crazy—although not as crazy as the thought that two random, unrelated explosions happened at opposite sides of town within minutes of each other.
Moving the car so his headlights pointed straight at the rockslide, he took some—admittedly blurry—pictures. He tried texting one of them to Blessard, Theo, and Hugh, but it wouldn’t send. Putting his phone away, he did a three-point turn and drove back toward Monroe.
The wind hit the side of his car, and Otto fought to stay in his lane. Snow flew across his windshield, making it seem like his squad car was spinning around in a circle. As he retraced his route, he noted that his tire tracks had already been erased by the vicious wind. Normally, after going around the first curve, he could see the entire town of Monroe stretched out in front of him. Tonight, the snow was obscuring the view. Nothing was visible except for a few of the brighter lights, and a slight lightening of the area compared to when he looked at the darkness to the west.
The snow was getting thicker. He slowed even more as he curved around the side of the mountain, despite his intense need to slam his foot down on the accelerator. He had to find the lieutenant to see what the status of the FBI pickup was. Once again, he was grateful that Sarah and Grace were in Dresden. Whatever was happening, Monroe was not a safe place to be tonight.
As Otto followed the next hairpin turn, his back wheels spun for a second before finding traction. He needed to stop by the station, figure out what was going on with their communications, check in with the lieutenant, and get his four-wheel-drive vehicle. He briefly wondered how Sarah was and whether she and Grace would try to make it back before the danger had passed, but he shoved the question out of his head. That thought led to panic, and he didn’t have time for that.
His mouth set grimly, he concentrated on making his way down the hill and around the last curve. After that, it was a direct shot into town. As he came out of the final turn, Otto straightened the wheel—but the car didn’t straighten. It slid sideways, barreling toward the side of the road and a row of evergreens. Otto fought the car, hauling the wheel to the left as hard as he could, but it skidded toward the trees. He braced for the hit as they neared the edge of the road. The right two wheels slipped off the shoulder and into the drift collected at the edge of the road. The car tilted as the right side sank lower, the spinning wheels sending up a spray of white powder as he tried unsuccessfully to drive out of the snowy ditch. He shifted to reverse and then to drive and back to reverse again, trying to rock the car out of the ditch, but he had no luck. The car was stuck. With a bitten-off curse, Otto shoved back the voice in his head warning him that time was ticking until the next bomb was dropped. Literally spinning his wheels wouldn’t help anyone. Taking a deep, calming breath, Otto got out of his car.
The wind hit him like a punch, the snow painfully hard and sharp. The BB-like pellets stung his face and neck, and he hoped desperately that Sarah was safe inside a Dresden hotel, and not having to fight through this weather. Circling the car, he quieted the panic building inside him and examined the situation, kicking some of the drifted snow clear of the wheels.
It was too deep, though, and the car had become entrenched. If he’d had his shovel, Otto would’ve had a chance of digging it out, but that wasn’t an option. “Damn it, Hugh,” he muttered, frustration and the suffocating feeling of urgency pressing on him.
Reaching into his car, he turned off the engine. He’d slid far enough to the side that the placement shouldn’t be an issue for anyone else traveling on the road, he thought automatically before catching himself. There wouldn’t be anyone else on the road tonight—the explosions had prevented that. What was happening to their town?
Pushed by a building sense of urgency, Otto started jogging toward the station.
Chapter 17
At the sound of the barn door closing, Sarah huddled closer to the stall partition, trying to make herself invisible. She put a hand on Mort’s collar. Xena wasn’t a barker. In fact, Sarah hadn’t heard her make any noise at all, except for an occasional, almost inaudible whine. Mort, on the other hand, had been trained to bark. He barked to alert his people of danger and to intimidate and sometimes just because he was excited. Sarah was ready to quiet him, but she knew it would be too late. If he barked, then they were caught…and dead.
The fire and wind howled even louder outside, the sound muted only slightly by the barn walls. It covered the sound of footsteps, and Sarah didn’t know if the intruder—or intruders—were still standing by the door or if they were right at the stall, leaning close enough to peer down and see her and the dogs. Bean snorted, a long, loud sound of fear, his muscles shivering with tension. It was unnerving, crouching so close to the huge, skittish creature’s hooves. One spook, and Sarah could have a hoofprint on her head.
“What does he want us to do with the horse?” a male voice asked.
