Aftershock by Jill Sorenson

themselves out,” Don said, hopeful.
    “Let’s all get back inside where it’s safer,” Garrett
suggested. “I’ll honk the semi horn if I see them coming.”
    Lauren followed Garrett back to the Kenworth truck, bringing
her medical bag and a handful of crackers along with her. Before they retired,
she checked on Sam and Mrs. Engle, who were blissfully unaware of the
mayhem.
    Drunk-driving derby aside, Lauren was glad the day was over.
She felt like she’d been hit by a truck. Tonight,
she might sleep through any number of car crashes, aftershocks and belligerent
shouts.
    She gave Garrett the crackers before she climbed into the
semi.
    “Thanks,” he said, popping one into his mouth.
    “Are you really going to sleep out here?”
    He nodded. “I have to keep watch.”
    “How are you feeling?”
    “Better.”
    Although she’d rather have him by her side, she didn’t say
anything more. In the distance, Jeb and his comrades were still hooting and
hollering. She couldn’t tell if Owen’s voice was among the others.
    “Good night, then.”
    “Good night.”
    She stepped up into the cab and went straight to the bed.
Earlier in the day, she’d found a gym bag with workout clothes that looked
comfortable enough to sleep in. She removed her soiled tank top and uniform
pants. Using a moist wipe, she scrubbed the dirt from her skin. Then she slipped
into the soft gray sweatpants and pale pink T-shirt.
    The pillows had been donated to the triage area, but she had a
wool blanket. She covered herself up, put the gym bag behind her head and closed
her eyes.
    Though she was emotionally and physically drained, sleep didn’t
come easy. Disturbing images swirled through her mind. Jeb’s cigarette, winking
in the dark. Mickey, tearing open her uniform shirt. Garrett, falling from the
sky.
    * * *
    G ARRETT LISTENED TO the chaos for several hours, his stomach roiling with tension.
    When the vehicles were no longer in driving condition, the
convicts picked up rocks to finish them off. They broke windshields, and caved
in roofs, and smashed taillights. It was as if they blamed the inanimate objects
for their captivity. Everything inside the structure was fair game. Not content
to destroy empty cars, they started throwing glass bottles at the walls and
making a bonfire out of trash.
    The fire wasn’t just stupid, it was potentially deadly. Garrett
didn’t know what they were burning, but it smelled like a mixture of paint and
plastic. A cloud of noxious smoke filled the top half of the cavern.
    Jeb and Mickey coughed and hacked and argued about the blaze,
finally extinguishing it with the last of their water.
    Garrett wanted to kill them just for that.
    He’d found a Buck knife in Sam’s camping supplies. He longed to
crawl across the floor of the cavern, carrying it between his teeth, and gut
them like the pigs they were. But his head throbbed, his muscles were sore from
climbing and he was nauseous. Attacking now wouldn’t be wise.
    Finally, at well after midnight, the party wound down.
    Again, Garrett considered sneaking into their camp to cut their
throats. He had few qualms about killing as an act of war, and this situation
applied. Launching a preemptory strike was fair game, as far as he was
concerned.
    Even though he wasn’t feeling well, he had the edge on them. He
was sober, and trained to use deadly force.
    Thoughts of Lauren stilled his hand. He’d vowed to protect her.
If he miscalculated and got shot, she’d be almost defenseless. He’d also made a
pact, after coming out of the PTSD fog, to avoid violence whenever possible. In
his darkest days, he’d done unconscionable things. He could never take them
back. The atrocities he’d committed, both overseas and here in the States, were
the stuff of nightmares.
    Maybe that was why he was afraid to fall asleep. He was a
menace to society.
    Staying out of trouble and exercising self-control hadn’t been
a big issue for him over the past few years. He’d lived