Page 73 of Wildflowers

Then, out of nowhere, a strong hand grabs a fistful of my hair from behind and a blade is pressed against my neck. “Well now,” says the gravelly voice against my ear. “You’re even prettier than I was told.”

My shaking is partly from the cold water, but mostly from him as I say, “Let me guess—you must be Porter.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

TUESDAY

“This is such bad timing,” I say, as he walks us out of the creek and onto the grass.

More of his men appear from between the trees up and down the length of the waterway. Over a dozen of them. More are probably coming in on the road and around the creek bend, out of sight. But our people have to be catching this on the cameras. Surely.

“Why is that, honey?” asks Porter. He’s a blocky middle-aged man with a squinty stare and an unattractive aura. Never actually described anyone as having such a thing before. But wow does he have one. Just ugly as sin.

“I only now convinced my husband that he doesn’t need to follow me everywhere to keep me safe,” I say.

Porter hisses through his teeth. “Shit.”

“I know, right?”

“If it makes you feel any better, he’s going to be the first person I kill when we get up there.”

I give him a brilliant smile. “Makes perfect sense. It’s not like your pencil dick could compare to his man meat, right?”

Someone snorts nearby, but hastily turns it into a cough. Coward.

Which is when Porter releases his hold on my hair and swaps the hand holding his knife. Then he punches me in the face. He has a solid right hook. On the off chance I survive the next while, I won’t be using my left eye.

I stay crashed out on the ground, stunned for a minute. But getting hit in the face a second time isn’t quite as shocking. Don’t get me wrong; it’s still not fun. However, I think I mightbe getting used to it now. Not something I thought would ever happen, but here we are. The whole left side of my face is throbbing. And I am too stubborn and mouthy to regret a single fucking thing.

Shouts and shots are heard from the town. Near the road with the blockade and over by the bed-and-breakfast, by the sounds of things.Oh fuck.That’s where the children are. Not only is it a surprise attack, but we’re outnumbered.

Porter zip-ties my wrists together in front of me and passes me off to one of his men. Some dude who tosses me over his shoulder in a fireman’s pose. And we’re off and running toward town. His shoulder digs deep into my stomach with each step. I do not recommend the experience.

Demand for me was never this high back in normal times. I am a little bemused at being so popular at the end of the world. No matter which way I twist and turn my hands, they remain bound. I don’t know how to get out of this. I don’t know how to help anyone.

“Hang back with her,” orders Porter.

The one carrying me drops me onto the grass beside a house at the back of town. And I do mean drops. It takes me a minute to catch my breath. But I have obviously been designated useless and down for the count by this dick. Because he crouches and turns his back on me to keep an eye on the street and anyone trying to come hither to kill him. I think having to stay out of the fight and guard me has hurt his feelings. There’s a whole lot of grumbling going on. Judging by what he’s saying, it seems his workplace is toxic, and his input is being consistently either overlooked and or unappreciated.

Haven’t we all been there at one time or another?

What I really love are gardeners. And the one who lived in this house had a thing for big old terra-cotta pots full of flowers. Unfortunately, the plants have died in this case. But no problem.The combined weight of the pot and soil should do the job just fine.

What I need is to be quick and quiet. Two things no one has ever accused me of being. However, no one threatened my family before. And the sound of gunfire can still be heard coming from various parts of town.

Meanwhile, this dick is still busy bitching. He doesn’t even notice me creeping up on him with the big-ass pot. I bring the thing down on his skull with all of the wrath I have in me. And believe me, it is quite a lot.

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t breathe.

I only slightly cut my hand with the knife he carries on his belt. But to get the zip-ties off is worth it. I tie my hair back in a knot to get it out of the way. The dead guy had two pistols. No idea what they are or how many bullets are in the magazines. I need to do what I can to help. Now.

The fastest way is to cut through a couple of backyards. Some of the people in Wolf Creek were low-key on fences, and I, for one, really appreciate it. I know in stories they always say it’s cowardly and wrong to shoot people in the back. But I’ve done it once before and only just attacked someone with a pot from behind. When you think about it, it’s almost become my signature style.

No idea if it’s adrenaline or getting punched in the face making my brain throb and my blood hammer behind my ears. My vision wavers, and no.Shit. I don’t have time for this. Just because I almost also got shot in the head the other day. Human bodies are so faulty and frail. Honestly.

One group of the assholes have surrounded the bed-and-breakfast. Most of them are taking cover behind the vehicles we loaded up with fuel and weapons and stores and parked at regular spaces along the street. Our get-out-of-Dodge emergency vehicles. They’re not using the weapons inside thevehicles, though, because they don’t know they’re there. We didn’t just leave guns and ammunition in view.

Some of them are taking cover behind neighboring houses. The poor beautiful old bed-and-breakfast has been shot to shit. Glass windows shattered, and the house is being shredded. People had already started gathering there for dinner. Dean, Trisha, Leon, George, and Avan are returning fire. It must be just Jack and Wyatt holding off the assholes at the other end of town. There’s a decent stock of pistols and rifles inside the house. But without help coming, they can’t hold out forever. And I am one woman with limited training when it comes to this stuff.

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