Barren Waters, A Post-Apocalyptic Tale of Survival
Chapter 8

We know only too well that what we are doing is nothing more than a drop in the ocean. But if the drop were not there, the ocean would be missing something.

—Mother Theresa

Chapter 8

35 Years Prior

Olivia rolled her head toward the window, the sharp peal of a siren lifting her from the peaceful serenity of dreams. Peering out the window, she wiped the corner of her mouth with her sleeve. “Where are we?” she asked. She glanced at Liam when he didn’t answer, and then flushed beneath his appraising gaze.

“Nothing’s sexier than a woman who drools.”

She dabbed once more at the corner of her mouth then scrutinized the puddle that had formed on her shoulder. “Sorry about that. I’m so damn tired I can barely keep my eyes open. This pregnancy thing is exhausting. So,” she added, straightening in her seat. “Where are we? How far did we get?”

He tapped the map on the center console. “Just about to cross the Tennessee border. In about three hours, I think we’ll be home.”

“Three hours, huh?” She peered at the long line of traffic in front of them. “I think that might be wishful thinking.”

As she reached for the bag at her feet, her diamond caught the sun, reflecting a brilliant prism of colors. A smattering of dots splashed the interior of the car. Her engagement ring was absolutely beautiful, and though Liam moved fast, she refused to complain. She hadn’t the luxury of time to complain. Nobody did. Not these days. But their courtship had certainly been faster than most.

Change, she mused. That was the correct word. What an apt word to describe her recent life. Though a simplistic term, and an overgeneralization, it certainly fit the circumstances. Olivia had made fast friends with new concepts, and though most of the changes in her life were voluntary, many were also unavoidable. Change had come fast and abruptly. She’d welcomed the marriage and the move from Richmond to Tennessee, but in many other smaller ways, everyday life frightened her. Liam had been right about everything, and for the hundredth time, she thanked God for putting her feet in his path.

Since returning from their trip to Japan, Olivia had noticed life crumbling to pieces all around her. The United States, along with many of the other world’s super power countries, had closed its borders permanently—and shockingly, for the first time in history. Any country with abundant natural resources, or acres of land to support farming and animal husbandry had become a desirable location. Alternatively, any country whose primary source of food—or economic wealth—had come from the oceans, was starving to death, or was decimated. Refugees flooded the streets in unprecedented numbers. Millions starved while millions more spilled across the borders of countries like the United States and parts of Southern Russia. People fled to Canada, New Zealand, and Sweden. Argentina, Brazil, and inland portions of China were inundated, putting strain on an already stressful situation. Resources were limited. Food was scarce. And before the borders were finally closed, the U.S.-Mexican and U.S.-Canadian borders were lines that had blurred. With no concern for law or authority, people had crossed borders openly.

But when martial law was declared, everything stopped.

And now here we are, Olivia thought, amazed: two people trying to start life anew while living in a slowly dying world, two people trying to survive amid panic and chaos. People everywhere were stockpiling resources, preparing for a life behind sturdy walls and locked doors. People were buying large quantities of food. Unfortunately, people were also stealing from others, and things had gotten ugly. Fast.

Olivia startled as an ambulance shot past them. She strained to see past the endless line of cars. “Must be an accident up ahead,” she mumbled, while tearing into her second peanut butter and jelly sandwich of the day.

“You know,” Liam pointed out sarcastically, “you could try something with a vegetable in it. Something with a piece of lettuce? A cucumber? Or a tomato?”

“Peanuts are vegetables.”

“Peanuts are legumes.”

Grimacing, she touched her swollen belly. “Nope. Can’t. Peanut butter and jelly is the only thing that sounds the least bit appetizing. You don’t want to have to pull over again, do you? So your wife can decorate the side of the road?”

Reaching over, he squeezed her thigh. “Wife. I like the sound of that.”

“You better. Cuz the way things are going, it’s just you and me. Forever. And ever. And a day after that.” Frowning, she turned to face I-81 South. “As far as we know, we’re the next Adam and Eve.”

“So let me make sure I’m getting this right. If I’m the last man on earth, you’ll have sex with me?”

Rolling her eyes, she scanned the road. They’d been on this road for approximately four hours, and the closer they came to the Tennessee border, the more fugitives they saw walking down it. People had abandoned failed vehicles on both sides of the road, and made the decision to press on. Small groups had decided to walk together, while others were clearly going it alone. Some had heavy packs slung over their shoulders while others had tied sheets around their waists, which they’d filled with supplies and other valuables. The luckier ones wore the kinds of packs with a multitude of pouches and zip-able compartments, or the kinds that were sewn onto sturdy metal frames, upon which sleeping bags and blankets could be mounted.

Luck, Olivia thought, considering the word. Liam didn’t consider people lucky or unlucky. Luck wasn’t a word in his lexicon. People, he said, created their own luck. People controlled their own outcomes. People either planned, or perished, she had learned. For in this world, failing to plan was planning to fail.

Setting the sandwich aside, she reached for her briefcase and the laptop within. For the past few months, she and Liam had done just that. They’d planned, planned, and made more plans. They’d started making detailed lists, which had eventually become complex Excel spreadsheets. They were compiling an inventory of specific items. To completely withdraw from a dying world, what were the things one would need to build a life? That was a question they had strove to answer. Liam, while alone, had made an excellent start, but two heads were always better than one. Olivia had provided a unique perspective.

In the beginning, she’d expected the task to be effortless. A list of necessities and essentials? Easy. An inventory of ingredients one would need to build a life? Simple! Just consider what items one used in a day, write them down, and then purchase them. Right? Wrong. How wrong she had been. Considering how much broader her worldview had become of late, she nearly laughed out loud at the thought.

Ahead, the ambulance slowed and then stopped. Three hours, my ass, she thought, frowning. Settling into her seat, she let her mind wander. None of what she and Liam had done had been simple. It was more complicated than she’d ever imagined. Food and water were just the beginning. A very important beginning, mind you, and the things people think about first in these situations, but what about medical supplies and cooking utensils? What would they do when the power grids failed? What would they need to start a fire and cook food? And what about the luxuries we all take for granted: toilet paper, feminine napkins, dish soap, and laundry detergent?

Yes. She frowned. What about toilet paper? I mean really—what the hell about it? Such a simple thing to consider, yet also so important. A year ago, she never would have thought such a thing. She’d have never classified toilet paper as a luxury item, but she’d quickly learned that it was. That was the craziest thing about of all of this: the hundreds of personal discoveries like that.

Lately she’d been thinking about third world countries, about how people had lived in medieval times. Hell, why not take that one step further? What about toilet paper—yes—but what about in-door plumbing in general? What would happen when the plumbing systems failed? Where would they do their business? Would she and Liam prefer an outdoor privy, with ‘his’ and ‘hers’ butt-sized holes cut into a slab of wood? Or would they desire a simple outhouse? Would they hover over a hole above a hollowed-out shaft? Or might they prefer a pit latrine? And if so, how far should it be from their home? How deep should they dig it to avoid groundwater contamination?

Shaking her head, she bit her lip. These were the things that kept her awake at night. She and Liam agonized over such details, and toiletry was barely scratching the surface. Bathroom mechanics aside, every aspect of life was just as complicated, so much more than she’d ever envisioned.

In the beginning, the planning had been difficult. They’d sat, side-by-side, at the kitchen table, jumping from dilemma to dilemma. Their thinking had been nomadic and aimless. They’d flitted from concept to concept and solved little, and feared they were running out of time. It was Liam who’d suggested a better approach, a methodical way of cataloging supplies, and from there, they’d moved with purpose. It was an art form, she’d learned, this ‘survivalism’. They would focus on a problem—like the bathroom issue—and vet it from all possible angles. They’d argue with one another, play devil’s advocate, research and propose several different ideas, read books about life in the seventeen hundreds and then try to blend new technology with old philosophies. They’d considered which systems might fail, and when, and which could be replicated on a smaller scale at home.

But it wasn’t just about the necessities. What about the things that made life enjoyable? It wasn’t long before wine topped their list, followed soon after by coffee beans, chocolate, and spices. It was then that Olivia named the supply room the ‘the ark’. And what an ark it was, she remarked. The cabin itself was magnificent. It was large and the view was spectacular, built high on the crest of a breathtaking peak. It was remote in a way that felt safe, soared high above the terrain in a way that felt strong. Liam had thought of everything, she mused. He’d picked the perfect location, the perfect climate. But it was the ark that impressed her the most. It was vast. Well, she reconsidered, as she imagined its shelves, boxes, and crates; it was vast the first time she’d seen it. Now that they’d doubled it in size, it was cavernous.

To maximize space, they’d hired contractors to expand the back wall of the cabin, and to extend the structure to the base of the mountain. They’d purchased industrial-sized shelving and cabinetry then alphabetized the shelves and measured out space. Half of the ark was earmarked for water, while the remainder was split between food, cans, jars, and boxes. Not that there wouldn’t be water, of course. Though indoor plumbing would eventually fail, there would always be natural rainfall, and even though rain was trending acidic, it would still be potable for years to come. The water just gave them peace of mind.

They’d worked on the ark for months, it seemed, and this was the trip that marked its completion. She had sold her single-story home in Richmond, Virginia, and she and Liam were relocating permanently. The items in their car were the last of the load. This, she smiled, was the final leg of the trip, after which they could finally settle in. And once they were in, they could double their efforts, work on the ark full time. They had a plan in place, an experiment of sorts, something they were calling a ‘dry run’. For an entire month they would seclude themselves, withdraw from society completely. For one full month they would test their efforts, live life with only the things they’d collected. They would use no utilities, plumbing, or gas, and absolutely no electricity. They would wash all clothing and dishes by hand, use the outhouse facilities exclusively, chop wood for the hearth, plant crops on the sweeping hills behind the cabin’s deck, and make and grow their own food. They would go to ground, so to speak. For an entire month, society wouldn’t exist. Their only contact with the outside world would be Olivia’s prenatal doctor’s appointments.

The dry run was a pilot study of things to come, and was set to commence in less than two weeks. Olivia was shocked by her exuberance. She was actually looking forward to it. Her! Olivia Abner! She of the silk dresses and laptop computers. She of the rolled up khaki’s and Starbucks lattes. A few weeks from now, her entire world would change. Starbucks lattes would become brewed coffee, ground by hand. Television would become books and magazines, read by the soft light of candles, or board games played on the porch beneath the moon. Late nights on her computer would be late nights with her husband, reclining on chairs, drinking wine.

It was crazy. She’d never considered herself the type. She’d never thought she was made of strong enough stock, but she had to admit, the vision was romantic, like a set of images with filigreed edging. The cabin was life, while outside it was death, for life could be found in a well-appointed shelter. Death was out there, exposure to the elements, with one finger poised to pull a trigger. She felt lucky. “Roughing it” didn’t sound like “roughing it” anymore. Or maybe she’d evolved past possessions and property. Maybe it eventually happened to everyone. Maybe once the noise was silenced and life’s excesses were pared down to necessities, the human soul could take root and flourish. Perhaps only then could one find comfort in the simple treasures life had to offer. Olivia, thankfully, was ready for something deeper, something she and Liam would discover together, alone in their cabin at the top of their mountain.

It was something she was determined to embrace and love.

They would journal their experiences for thirty days and evaluate themselves after it ended. They’d keep a tally of items they wished they’d had, make of a list of items they hadn’t used, and at the end of the experiment, re-join society, purchase what they needed and then try it again.

“We have time,” Liam had assured her. “Let’s make sure we get it right.”

And Olivia wholeheartedly agreed. She actually found the process captivating. It was an exercise she wished she’d done as a much younger woman. To pare down her list of ‘wants’ to a concise list of ‘needs’ was humbling. She never realized how much she took for granted, how little in life was truly essential. It was a scrutiny of the self, a check of the ego, a much-needed exercise in maturity. But it was also something else: a tie that bound. It connected her to Liam in ways she hadn’t expected. Never had she felt this close to a man. Most married people imagined growing old and retiring together, but she and Liam were planning for it, in a way that was most substantive.

Turning from the window, she observed him in profile. He had threatened to cut his hair twice this month, and twice, she hadn’t allowed it. She loved his imperfect ponytail, and the way his left eye was slightly lower than his right. She loved the way he pursed his lips when pondering a thing, the way he pulled his earlobe when embarrassed. She loved that he’d immediately accepted her pregnancy. He’d be an excellent father. She was certain of that. And she loved that he took all of this planning so seriously. She admired his courage and forethought for having had it. He had read all the signs while so many others hadn’t. He’d saved their lives. She was forever in his debt.

A loud thwack at her window made her jump, nearly forcing her out of her seat. Had she not been carrying an extra twenty pounds, she would have hopped onto the center console of the car. Liam cried out. She felt the car swerve. Outside her window five teenaged boys were ogling the half-eaten sandwich in her lap, and the boxed-up goods in the backseat of their car. Liam tried—in vain—to steer the car away, but there was nowhere to go. They were stuck.

“Stay calm,” he asserted, between clenched teeth.

She barely moved as she watched them. They circled the car like a pack of starving wolves, and she peered at her surroundings maniacally. What could she and Liam do to protect themselves inside this tin can? They were stuck in a car, in the middle of the road, like fish in a very small aquarium. A hundred yards ahead, the ambulance hadn’t moved. Whatever event was unfolding up there was causing a bumper-to-bumper situation back here.

“What are they planning to do?” she breathed.

“What can they do? We’re not exactly alone out here. We’re surrounded by people who are stuck in their cars, behind police cars and emergency vehicles. They’re just trying to scare us. Ignore them. Maybe in time they’ll move on.”

Ignoring his advice, she watched them carefully. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. This was exactly what she and Liam feared for the ark, and the reason they’d taken such precautions while building it. Never had they let outsiders step foot inside their cabin. To ensure its secrecy, they’d taken drastic measures. They’d shopped for supplies in neighboring towns, sometimes in bordering states. They’d ordered from different online providers; spread things around, so to speak. Ordering bulk from a single retailer was stupid and careless, or so Liam had said. And when the contractors built the second half of the ark, she and Liam hid their supplies in the cabin’s guest bedrooms.

“Planning to can jams and jellies,” Liam had said, though not convincingly. He had always been a terrible liar. “This section over here will be the front counter of the store. We’ll store the product in the back.”

Dear God. Was that the best they’d been able to do? The contractor had peered around “the jam and jelly store”, and frowned at the would-be “front of the shop” with no frontage access to streets or walkways. And forget about parking. Way up here? Theirs was a single-lane, private dirt road, cut into the side of a mountain, for Pete’s sake. The only path that led to their home was a series of switchbacks and hairpin curves. The contractor must have thought them daft, or fools. Jam and jelly? What were they thinking?

The contractor had coughed his agreement into his fist, but he’d kept his opinions to himself. He’d had class. After all, their money was as green as the next man’s, and they were paying it in cash. He wasn’t a fool.

Despite the rocky start, the ark, when finished, was something to behold. It surpassed their every imagining of it. With proper organization, it was a vast reservoir, its capacity much larger than the needs of a family of three. And it was theirs, she thought with satisfaction. Theirs alone. They had put in the time to create it. They’d developed the plans and implemented them, liquidated their entire lifes’ savings to make it happen. Never would they allow a living soul take it away.

Outside, the boys were still circling the car, pulling Olivia back to the present. She gestured wildly at the vehicle to her right, doing her best to catch the driver’s attention. Stubbornly, he wouldn’t take the bait. He was facing forward, keeping to himself, aware of the situation, but choosing anonymity.

“Hey man!” one of the boys cried out to Liam. He was reed-thin and dressed in torn jeans, wearing a shirt that was as dirty as his face. The tattoo of a great white conical snout was peeking around the curve of his throat. Olivia jumped when he pounded his fist against Liam’s window. “How about you give us a hand, old man? Get us across the Tennessee border.” His eyes flitted to Olivia’s swollen belly and a slow smile spread across his face. “I’m not askin’ old man. I’m tellin’. I’m giving you an order. Open the door. Sneak us across the border, or things will get very uncomfortable for your wife.”

One of the smaller boys hopped onto the hood of the car, dropped to all fours, and peered through the window. Though Olivia was trying to keep herself calm, a sharp squeal slipped through her lips.

“Liam,” she hissed, shrinking back in her seat. “Sneak them across the Tennessee border? What the hell is he talking about?”

Without acknowledging her question, Liam reached beneath his seat and withdrew a small handgun. As he tapped it gently against the steering wheel, he bravely met the nearest boy’s gaze.

Olivia sucked in a breath, dumbfounded. A gun? Liam? Since when? Swallowing hard, she jerked her gaze from the gun’s sleek barrel to the boys who were eyeing it warily. After several moments, the weapon did its job, and the boys moved along to harass the next vehicle. Wrenching the rearview mirror to the right, she watched them move to the car behind Liam’s, kick its tires, and tap on its windows. She allowed herself to take a deep breath. The world was full of desperate people like these, and desperate people were dangerous. A sudden anger clenched her fists. Was this the best those boys could do? Antagonize others to get what they needed? There would always be victims in life, she thought, and there would always be those who were victors. There were those who were feeble, and those who were strong, those who would achieve and those who would fail. It was unavoidable. It was just a part of life.

She turned to her husband, mouth slightly agape, and eyed the gleaming weapon in his hand. “Where the hell did you get that?”

Turning from the window, he loosened his fist, which was still wrapped tightly around the handle. “I…” He stammered, facing her. “I have many,” he dared. “We. I mean we have many,” he corrected himself. “Many guns, rifles, and rounds of ammunition. It’s necessary, Olivia. We don’t have a choice.” He nodded toward the rearview mirror. “Don’t you agree after witnessing that?”

She mopped her sweaty brow with the edge of her sleeve as an inappropriate laugh threatened to bubble from her lips. “I’m not complaining, Liam. Really, I’m not. I’m in shock, I guess. I didn’t think you owned a gun. I’m surprised you’ve never shown it to me before.”

“I didn’t want you thinking about violence, I suppose. Or worrying about things, or feeling frightened. I didn’t want you feeling unsafe.” Turning awkwardly in his seatbelt, he added. “I want you to connect the cabin to feelings of security and confidence, Liv. I want you to think of it as a stronghold, not a place we’ll have to defend.”

She rubbed her belly in slow circles. “Like I said, I’m not complaining. And I’m not upset. I just wish you had told me, is all. Don’t keep things from me. I don’t like it. We can’t afford to keep important things from each other—even if we find them uncomfortable to talk about. We’ve too long a life to live with none but each other to share it with. Let’s not keep secrets, okay?” Putting the situation from her mind as best she could, she straightened and peered out the window. The situation ahead was growing closer by the moment. “And Liam,” she said absently, “We will have to defend the cabin. Please tell me you know that, right? It’s bound to happen. Those boys…” She shook her head. “Were nothing compared to the kinds of people who roam these parts, especially if things deteriorate further. Look at all of these homeless people! Look at these empty cars! What do you think these people will do? These are families, Liam: parents and children.”

She was referring to the cars at the sides of the road, which had gasped their last breath and been abandoned. And it wasn’t faulty mechanics or flat tires that had rendered them useless. They’d simply been deserted, left behind. People were spending the last of their money to flee as far west as they could, and may of these cars had simply run out of gas. Or battery power. Or electricity. These days, cars ran on many different fuel sources, though all were scarce and expensive. The government had raised the price of gasoline, which had made transportation a luxury item. People had driven as far west as they could and then resigned to continue on foot.

“You’re right,” Liam said quietly. “We’ll have to defend the ark. We’ll have to keep safe our belongings and our child. That’s what the guns are for.” He dropped his gaze to her belly, adding, “Are you angry with me?”

“Nope. I told you I wasn’t. Just want to be part of the decision-making process. And I don’t want you keeping important things from me. Come on.” She tapped his knee. “We’re starting to move.”

The traffic was starting to inch forward again, the red and blue lights of police cars and ambulances growing steadily closer. Olivia could see some type of barricade ahead, where law enforcement officers had exited their vehicles and stationed themselves at the sides of each lane.

“They’re stopping every car. What for?” she asked.

As they approached the scene, her tension increased. She could see policemen reaching through windows, examining driver’s licenses and other paperwork. And she could see them turning people away. Her stomach clenched as she watched. Cars were making U-turns up ahead, the faces of drivers, grim. She watched an officer scrutinize a document, reach a decision, and then motion to his partner, who nodded and lifted the barricade. But others, she noticed, weren’t getting through. A procession of drivers was being turned away, and being told to head back to the last exit. Unfortunately a concrete median was in their way, preventing them from doing it properly. Cars were weaving between pedestrians and stalled vehicles, trying to cut paths back to freedom. It was madness! Drivers were angry, red-faced and crying. An unsettling thought suddenly occurred to Olivia.

“Liam,” she asked, “what state are you licensed in?”

Though his voice was calm, the lines around his eyes betrayed his anxiety. “New Jersey,” he muttered. “Only New Jersey. I purchased the cabin three years ago, but only as a second home. I don’t have a Tennessee driver’s license.”

She swallowed hard, her mind racing. “And the closing paperwork for the house. Do you have it?”

“I have it, but I don’t know where. I don’t have it on me, if that’s what you’re asking.” He pointed. “Check the glove compartment. See if there’s an old tax bill inside, or a copy of the insurance policy for the house, something with the address listed on it.”

She rifled its contents but found nothing that would work. Car registration…New Jersey. Damn. Insurance bill…New Jersey. Not good. Nothing mentioning Tennessee whatsoever. Pulling her phone from her purse, she turned to Liam. “What escrow company handled the closing?”

“First United Title and Escrow.”

Ahead, the situation was intensifying. More and more cars were being turned away, and more and more drivers were getting angry. What the hell was this about? Why were they doing this? Why prevent ingress at a state border? Was this even legal? And what about people who were simply passing through? Trying to reach other destinations?

Her pulse quickened as she dialed the escrow company’s phone number, and when a recorded message reported the office closed, panic set her hands trembling. These days escrow companies were few and far between. People weren’t purchasing homes anymore. Most were using what money they had left to stockpile food and other valuables.

Setting the phone down, she cursed aloud. They had run out of time, reached the front of the line. “What do we do now?” she asked Liam.

Leaning over, he buried the gun beneath his seat “Nothing we can do, Liv. I think we’re about to be turned away. And if we are, we’ll figure things out. Okay? No need to panic just yet.”

Easier said than done, she thought, as she watched the verbal exchange in front of them. The driver of the car was gesturing wildly to a cop who was frowning, arms crossed across his chest. A body was slumped against the passenger door, but she couldn’t make out the details. Liam slowly rolled down his window, and she cocked her head to hear what they were saying.

“Officer,” the driver said, “my family and I are headed west, to Denver. We are not turning this vehicle around. I won’t lose a day and a half because of this shit. Who’s to say this isn’t happening in other states, too?” He slammed a fist on the dashboard, shocking the cop. “How do you expect us to get out of here?”

The policeman shared a meaning glance with his partner, who took a step closer, lowering a hand to his hip. “Sir, please lower your voice,” he said. “There are plenty of ways to get to Denver.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but Tennessee is closed to anyone who isn’t a resident. Without proper paperwork, I’ll have to ask you to turn this car around.”

The blond cop at the window suddenly narrowed his eyes. “Sir, is that your wife? Is she okay?”

The driver ignored the question, saying, “This is some kinda bullshit you’re pulling on us. My family and I need to get out of here. Now. I am not turning this vehicle around. This is a public road. You can’t do this. You can’t stop people from using a public road.”

The blond cop took a step closer. “Sir, I asked you a question. Is that your wife? Is she ill?” Olivia watched him set his hands to the sill. “Ma’am?” he asked, “Is everything all right? Do you need—”

With an abruptness that shocked Olivia, the driver thrust the door open and leapt out. The cop was thrown backward, slammed to the ground, where he landed hard against the pavement, and grunted. The driver pulled a gun from his waistband, and in a matter of seconds, officers swarmed the scene. Guns were raised and trained on the driver.

“Drop it, sir. Place your hands above your head.”

Olivia shrank from the developing scene while Liam’s panic was palpable. He threw himself across the center console, as much as his seatbelt would allow, in an effort to shield her body.

“Sir,” the officer was saying, “the gun. Drop it. I won’t ask you again.”

The tense moment hung in the air, before a gut-wrenching sob tore from the gunman’s throat. He lowered his weapon, though not completely, and cupped his knee with his free left hand. “Laura,” he moaned. “My Laura.”

With the man’s attention focused on his feet, the policemen slowly edged closer. The blond cop who had fallen to the ground had scrambled to his feet and raised his weapon. “What about Laura, Sir? Does she need medical assistance?”

The man only shook his head and moaned. “My Laura. What have I done?”

The officers exchanged wary glances, while one moved cautiously for the door and peered inside.

“Ma’am? Can we offer you aid?” With a jerking motion, he pulled back his head. “Jesus,” he said, cupping his nose. “I think she’s dead. And there’s a kid in there!”

A cop with salt-and-pepper hair moved for the door but didn’t get far, for in a fluid motion the driver lifted his weapon, leveled it on the officer and pulled the trigger.

The sound of the shot disbursed through the air. Olivia screamed and pushed at Liam’s chest. He was practically on top of her, twisting her painfully. Her voice was shrill as she struggled from his grasp. She had to free herself, to see what would happen, for the passenger door of the gunman’s car was slowly opening, and a child was stepping onto the pavement.

“Let…me…see,” she complained, pushing at Liam as forcefully as she could. “Get off of me. I’m fine! Let me see!”

When he reluctantly released her, she craned her neck to see the child. He was thin and obviously frightened. He couldn’t be more than three years old. He was clutching a blanket with a thumb in his mouth, and he was making his way to his mother’s door. He fumbled at the handle and pulled.

Olivia’s eyes darted to the officers. They’d been focused on the driver. They hadn’t seen him yet. The salt-and-pepper officer was clearly dead, his body bloodied and crumpled on the ground. She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry. There was too much blood, carnage, and pain. The officers were tense and shouting.

“Drop your weapon, sir,” the blond cop yelled. “Or we’ll be forced to take you down. Lower your weapon. I won’t ask you again.”

Peering at the dead officer, the man began to quietly sob, “I can’t do this by myself—not without her. I can’t give him the life he deserves.”

As he raised the butt of his gun to his temple, time seemed ponderously slow. The blond officer advanced half a step, pleading with the man, his voice soft and level. “Sir, trust me, you don’t want to do this. Come with me. Please. We’ll figure this out.”

Olivia was amazed by his professionalism. Having witnessed the man shoot one of his own, he was still able to master his emotions. Unlike her, she thought savagely. Rage consumed her. Let the man kill himself, for all she cared. He was obviously crazy.

The blond officer continued to speak in even tones. “Drop your gun. We can figure this out. Just tell us what happened to Laura. Lower your gun, Sir. We can talk things through.”

Olivia heard a faint click. The man had cocked his weapon, loaded the chamber. She quickly returned her gaze to the boy, who had somehow managed to open the passenger door and was tugging on his mother’s sleeve, sobbing. She scanned the scene, trying to decide what to do, while a maternal instinct slowly took over. It was an overwhelming impulse, a force more powerful than fear.

Now, it said quietly. Go now.

Her fingers found the handle and pulled, and with a soft click, the door fell open. Leaning against it, she slid to the ground.

“What are you doing?” Liam cried out, crazed. The depth of his fear brought tears to her eyes. For a moment she was trapped; his eyes held her captive, while a myriad of consequences tumbled through her head.

“Liam, I—”

What? she asked herself. What can I say? What the hell am I doing? Her thoughts were wild and tempestuous, and she was barely able to find her voice. “The boy …” she stammered, turning toward the child. “He’s alone out there. I have to help him.” Finding the resolve she thought she had lost, she pulled herself into an awkward crouch, the door her only shield from the violence outside.

“No,” Liam hissed as he fumbled for his seatbelt. “Get back here, Liv. Get back here now. This is madness. You can’t go out there.”

Turning from him, she edged further from the vehicle, her eyes still fixed on the child. “Hey there, sweetheart,” she called to him softly. “Over here. Can you make your way over to me?”

She motioned with her hands but kept her movements small. When she caught his attention, he turned to meet her gaze, but refused to let go of the hand he was holding. Revulsion was bitter in her throat, like acid, for the hand he held was heavy and lax, the pale skin veined with purple and blue. She swallowed hard and whispered to him. “Stay with her. It’s okay. I’ll come to you.”

As Liam tumbled from the passenger door, Olivia crept closer to the front of their vehicle. “Olivia,” he was saying, “Come back here. Now.” She ignored his voice, taking a moment to assess the driver’s mental state. He was bent at the waist, hands braced against his knees. Tears were streaming down his face. It wasn’t good. Though he’d moved the gun from the side of his head, his knuckles were white where they clenched it. If he turned his head but a quarter of an inch, he’d catch her movements peripherally. She hunkered down and crept forward slowly.

One of the policemen dared to take another step. “That’s it, Sir. That’s good. Lower the gun. We’ll help you if you’ll agree to come with us. We’ll sort this out at the station.”

Blinking rapidly, the man shook his head. He was muttering to himself, in a voice that was pitched too high. “There’s no fixing this. There’s no going back.”

“No,” the officer persisted. “We can fix this. We will fix this if you come with us. Set your weapon down. Raise your hands above your head.”

“My weapon?” the man murmured quietly. He raised his hand and peered at the gun, as if he’d suddenly forgotten it was there. “My weapon,” he said, with more conviction this time.

For Olivia, the next few moments were hallucinatory, the images bright and jagged against her eyes. With smoothness and efficiency, unlike his previously erratic behavior, he lifted the gun and placed it firmly against his temple. She let loose a gasp that caught his attention. Turning to her, he met her gaze for just an instant, pulled the trigger, and was gone.

Olivia lunged for the boy in that moment. She somehow crossed the gulf between them, swept him into her arms and covered his face. Pushing him into the crook of her neck, she ran for the shoulder of the road. Liam followed, his footsteps thundering behind her.

It’s okay, she thought. The danger has passed.

She carried the boy to the grass and set him down. He swayed and she caught him, ran her hands over his body. He was fine, uninjured, healthy, and whole—and utterly defenseless with big brown eyes. He was clinging to her pants, arms reaching for her, pleading for the shelter of her warm embrace, and she willingly obliged, nestling him to her breast.

“Do you think they were his parents?” she asked, turning to Liam.

“What? I don’t know. Jesus, Liv. What were you doing back there? What were you thinking? You could have been killed.” He was breathless and angry, his face red and blotchy.

“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Everything’s fine. We need to talk to those cops.”

“No we don’t. I’ll do it. You stay here. I’ll talk to the cops. Can I trust you to stay put for the next five minutes?”

“Liam,” she objected, “the danger has passed. And that man,” she added, covering the boy’s right ear. “He’s dead. He’s stone cold dead. I hardly think we’re in danger anymore. Let’s figure out who that man was to this boy.”

“No.” Liam said, his jaw firm. “Let’s get back to our car and head back to the last exit. What we need right now is a hotel room. Let’s find our paperwork and get to our cabin. Let’s cross the Tennessee border before we can’t anymore.”

Olivia pulled the boy closer to her breast. “I won’t leave him, Liam. You know I can’t do that. I’m sorry, but it’s just not r—”

“Excuse me, ma’am?” The blond cop was staring at the child in her arms. Olivia recoiled from the blood on his face. “Ma’am,” he repeated, “I can take the boy now. You and your husband can return to your vehicle. If you show me your papers, we’ll let you move on.”

He reached for the child, but Olivia stepped back. As if on cue, the boy held onto her tighter. He snaked his arms around her neck, locked his fingers behind her ears. “I think, for now, if it’s alright, he wants to stay with me.”

The officer surveyed woman and child, and seemed to reach a quick conclusion. “Follow me.” He turned to Liam. “I’ll need to see your license and registration. The two of you may as well give us your statements.”

They followed the officer behind a row of police vehicles, where an EMT was parked and waiting. Olivia perched on the edge of the bumper and positioned the child on her knees. She turned his face toward the EMT, while the blond officer crouched down beside them.

“Hello son,” he said softly. “How’re you doing? Were you taking a trip with your mother and father?”

The child’s eyes were wide, his face pale. Olivia worried that he might be in shock. The EMT must have shared her concerns, for he draped a blanket around his slim shoulders.

Wrapping him in the folds, Olivia snuggled him closer. “I don’t think we’re going to get much out of him today.” She peered at a paneled van, ten feet from where they were sitting, where several occupants were seated inside, hands bound and cuffed behind their backs. “Looks like you’ve had an interesting day, officer.”

With a sigh, he lifted his hand to his brow. “Interesting is an understatement.” Reaching for a pen and a pad, he asked, “Can you give me your names?”

Liam took over. “My name is Liam Colt. This is my wife, Olivia. We own a home in Sevierville, Tennessee, and once we get back, we’re never leaving it again.”

“Smart thinking,” the cop said, returning his attention to the boy. “So, I’m guessing you don’t know this child. Am I right?”

Liam met Olivia’s gaze. “No,” he answered softly. “Not yet. But I have a strange feeling we’re about to know him better.”

A third officer entered the conversation. “There were needles inside that woman’s purse,” he said. “Lots of needles. Look.” His expression was sober as he opened his hand and lifted a small vial of liquid to the light. The contents gleamed silver in the sun.

The blonde cop furrowed his brow. “She’s an addict? Okay. Is she dead?”

Olivia clutched the child closer to her breast. His mother was a drug addict? How could that be? Who could afford to do drugs these days?

“Dead, yes” the other answered, “But addict, no.” Holding the small bottle of liquid to the light, he turned the label to face them.

“Insulin,” the blonde said softly. “She’s a diabetic?”

“Was a diabetic. Not anymore.” Lifting a wallet from an evidence bag, he pulled a worn photograph from its folds. “Found this too,” he said, handing it over.

When she saw the photo and the smiling faces, Olivia’s heart tore in two. Centered in the frame was a family of three, smiling for the camera and holding onto one another, the setting sun bright behind their backs. Olivia felt her throat catch. Reaching for it with small hands, the child brought it to his chest and wept. She met the officer’s compassionate gazes. “I think that answers everyone’s questions.”

“I don’t suppose you’d come to the station with us, Ma’am.”

Liam answered him boldly. “I don’t suppose you’d let us cross the border without paperwork.”

The blonde cracked a smile. “I think we can manage that. I suppose we can make an exception in this case. Stay here, with the boy, while we wrap things up. Let the EMT give you both a clean bill of health.”

Together they watched the blonde return to the bloodstain in the middle of the road. The gunman’s body had already been removed, which was somehow depressing to Olivia. The boy was now alone, no mother, no father. They’d been swept away as if neither had existed.

Crouching down in front of the boy, the EMT gently palpated his body.

“I think he’s all right,” Olivia offered quietly. “Physically at least.” Lifting him from her chest, she set him on her knee, and when the EMT left, Liam took his place. “My name is Olivia,” she whispered to the child. “And this is Liam. Can you tell us your name?”

He was staring into his open palm, where the picture of his parents lay crumpled and frayed.

Liam’s voice was thick with emotion. “I’m sorry about your family, son. I’m sure your Mommy and Daddy loved you very much.”

“I’m sure they did,” Olivia agreed. “How could they not?” She squeezed his shoulders gently. “We have to take you to the police station now. Are you ready for that?” The boy raised his head, alarm in his eyes. Reaching out a hand, he caught her hair in his fingers. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “We’ll go with you,” she promised. “We won’t leave you alone.” She pushed a fall of dark hair from his eye. “But I’m hoping you’ll tell us your name. We’ve told you ours. It’s only fair.”

He met her gaze, answering bravely. “Jeremy,” he said. “My name is Jeremy.”

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