not let them in, especially if he’d recognized Dan at the bank.
Dan would have to tread carefully.
After driving for several minutes, he slowed the vehicle, following a path of cracked pavement that led to their destination. Like the salvage yard, the lumberyard was somewhat removed from the rest of the town—the road that led to it contained only a few other abandoned commercial buildings.
He watched the surrounding structures with a nervous eye. Although the doors and windows were smashed, the interiors were covered in shadow, and he could only imagine what might be lurking inside.
His gaze drifted to the passenger beside him. Sandy was sitting upright in her seat. As they rolled further down the road, she pointed at one of the nearby buildings.
“There’ll be a guard in there,” she said. “Slow down.”
Dan followed her gaze to a small square building on the right-hand side of the road. He recognized it as a small shipping and receiving center for a local trucking company. At one time, when the economy was better, the entire road had been booming with business. In recent years, most companies had shut down and the owners had moved on.
The receiving center—comprised of white painted plywood and several windows in front—had been boarded up, the door barricaded by a sheet of metal. In looking closer, Dan saw something he hadn’t noticed before.
The black tip of a rifle was pointing through an opening in one of the windows.
He ground the car to a halt. Even if it were another survivor, it would be best to exercise caution when approaching them. As he’d learned from Bubba in the salvage yard, the events of the last week had rattled the townspeople, and there was no predicting how anyone would react.
Especially if the person was working with Reginald.
Before he could devise a plan, Sandy jumped out of the vehicle and darted toward the building.
“Wait!” Dan shouted.
But he was too late. The girl had already covered most of the gap between the building and the car, and she waved her arms over her head, signaling the person inside.
“Charlie!” she called out.
The rifle followed her movements; for a minute Dan was sure the person was going to fire. He opened the door and poked his head out, using the cover of the vehicle to aim his pistol at the building.
“Get down, Quinn!” he yelled into the vehicle.
For several seconds, all was still.
After a brief pause, the weapon disappeared into the building. Sandy looked back at Dan.
“It’s OK,” she said.
A few seconds later, a man rounded the corner of the building, emerging from somewhere in back. His face was gaunt and worn, and he was wearing a black hooded sweatshirt. His dark hair was matted with sweat and he had the beginnings of a beard. He looked to be in his mid-twenties.
He gave Sandy a quick hug, and she returned the embrace.
“I didn’t think you were coming back,” he said.
He propped his rifle in the dirt next to him and stared at the station wagon, where Dan was still hovering over the top. Dan had since lowered his gun, but he kept his body hidden behind the vehicle.
“Who are these folks?”
“This is Dan Lowery and his daughter Quinn is in the car. Dan used to be a police officer,” Sandy said.
“Glad to meet you, Dan,” Charlie called.
Sensing that the man was harmless—or at the very least, that he wasn’t going to shoot them—Dan left the cover of vehicle and walked toward him. He extended his hand and shook hands with the man.
“There are more of us up the road a ways. Do you have any idea what’s going on here, officer?”
“It’s a long story,” Dan said. “We can tell you on the way. We were hoping to get our station wagon back.”
“Reginald took their car,” Sandy blurted. “And he left me in town to die.”
Charlie’s face furrowed.
“Why would he do that?”
“He used to be a criminal. It sounds like he—“
“Listen,” Dan interjected. “We don’t want any trouble. I
Dan would have to tread carefully.
After driving for several minutes, he slowed the vehicle, following a path of cracked pavement that led to their destination. Like the salvage yard, the lumberyard was somewhat removed from the rest of the town—the road that led to it contained only a few other abandoned commercial buildings.
He watched the surrounding structures with a nervous eye. Although the doors and windows were smashed, the interiors were covered in shadow, and he could only imagine what might be lurking inside.
His gaze drifted to the passenger beside him. Sandy was sitting upright in her seat. As they rolled further down the road, she pointed at one of the nearby buildings.
“There’ll be a guard in there,” she said. “Slow down.”
Dan followed her gaze to a small square building on the right-hand side of the road. He recognized it as a small shipping and receiving center for a local trucking company. At one time, when the economy was better, the entire road had been booming with business. In recent years, most companies had shut down and the owners had moved on.
The receiving center—comprised of white painted plywood and several windows in front—had been boarded up, the door barricaded by a sheet of metal. In looking closer, Dan saw something he hadn’t noticed before.
The black tip of a rifle was pointing through an opening in one of the windows.
He ground the car to a halt. Even if it were another survivor, it would be best to exercise caution when approaching them. As he’d learned from Bubba in the salvage yard, the events of the last week had rattled the townspeople, and there was no predicting how anyone would react.
Especially if the person was working with Reginald.
Before he could devise a plan, Sandy jumped out of the vehicle and darted toward the building.
“Wait!” Dan shouted.
But he was too late. The girl had already covered most of the gap between the building and the car, and she waved her arms over her head, signaling the person inside.
“Charlie!” she called out.
The rifle followed her movements; for a minute Dan was sure the person was going to fire. He opened the door and poked his head out, using the cover of the vehicle to aim his pistol at the building.
“Get down, Quinn!” he yelled into the vehicle.
For several seconds, all was still.
After a brief pause, the weapon disappeared into the building. Sandy looked back at Dan.
“It’s OK,” she said.
A few seconds later, a man rounded the corner of the building, emerging from somewhere in back. His face was gaunt and worn, and he was wearing a black hooded sweatshirt. His dark hair was matted with sweat and he had the beginnings of a beard. He looked to be in his mid-twenties.
He gave Sandy a quick hug, and she returned the embrace.
“I didn’t think you were coming back,” he said.
He propped his rifle in the dirt next to him and stared at the station wagon, where Dan was still hovering over the top. Dan had since lowered his gun, but he kept his body hidden behind the vehicle.
“Who are these folks?”
“This is Dan Lowery and his daughter Quinn is in the car. Dan used to be a police officer,” Sandy said.
“Glad to meet you, Dan,” Charlie called.
Sensing that the man was harmless—or at the very least, that he wasn’t going to shoot them—Dan left the cover of vehicle and walked toward him. He extended his hand and shook hands with the man.
“There are more of us up the road a ways. Do you have any idea what’s going on here, officer?”
“It’s a long story,” Dan said. “We can tell you on the way. We were hoping to get our station wagon back.”
“Reginald took their car,” Sandy blurted. “And he left me in town to die.”
Charlie’s face furrowed.
“Why would he do that?”
“He used to be a criminal. It sounds like he—“
“Listen,” Dan interjected. “We don’t want any trouble. I
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