From Across Their Walls

  Contents

  Title Page

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Part Two

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Interlude

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Part Three

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Author's Notes

  Afterword

  Bonus Scene

  About The Author

  Acknowledgments

  Mailing List

  Other Works

  Copyright

  PART ONE

  -1-

  Her first thought was that the man who had just barged into the kitchen was not her father. The man who raised her was the poster child for serenity and calm. For her entire life, he had instilled in her the importance of controlling her emotions, despite her frequent failure at following through on this. The man who stood before her was breathing heavily, beads of sweat showing on his forehead. He looked like he had just run a marathon, with a face that was gaunt and drawn from clear stress. As she sat there, he looked around the room, as if worried he had barged into the wrong house. The first bite of her lunch had been halfway to her mouth when she heard his car skidding into the driveway. And it wasn't until he was rushing into the kitchen that she realized she hadn't heard the sound of the car door closing.

  There was a spot of blood on his uniform.

  It was only the size of a dime, but still, this was the same man who, for most of her life would not be seen leaving the house with even a smudge across one of the shoulder bars on his dress blues. This was a man who held appearance as sacred above nearly all else. For Heidi, just that brown, dime-sized stain was enough to foretell of impending doom.

  "Dad, what the hell? It's the middle of the day, what are you doing home?"

  At first, she didn't think he had heard the question. He went to the sink and twitched open the blinds to look out at the driveway. His lips were moving as if he was repeating some mantra to himself that she couldn't hear. If he had left his car door hanging open, as she suspected, he didn't seem to acknowledge it as his eyes darted from side to side.

  "Dad?"

  Finally, he shook his head and came to her, taking her by the shoulders and carefully guiding her up to her feet.

  "What are you doing, what's going on?"

  "We don't have a lot of time so I need you to listen. Can you do that?"

  "Of course, but what are you so worked up about that—"

  "There's no time. Things are about to happen and when they do, you'll understand why I'm acting like this. I tried to stop all of this, Angel. I really did. But sometimes, the boulder is just too big to slow down. I need you to get ready to march."

  Her head snapped up at that last.

  The phrase.

  Their special code. He wouldn't be using it if this wasn't serious, They had gone over situations like this, more times than she could count. And she knew the fact that he was saying it meant that she had to get moving and head for her go-bag. Everything he had worked into her for decades, everything he had taught her and done to make sure she would be able to take care of herself. It all had been leading up to this moment that she hoped would never come.

  Still, her feet remained fixed in place. All she could do was stare into those eyes that she had come to depend on for so long. They were so richly blue, she had always thought it was like looking into the surface of the ocean. It was a color that had always conveyed the love and warmth she had thrived under, but now it only looked like reflections of gathering storm clouds.

  "Heidi!" He snapped loudly at her and gave her one hard shake. It was enough to bring her at least partially back to reality. She nodded, sprinting up the stairs to her room.

  As she closed the door behind her, the breath caught in her chest again at the sight of her desk, still displaying the streaks of pastel colors that had resulted when her father had trusted his eight-year-old daughter to paint it. She stared at it and couldn't shake the suspicion that it would be the last time she would ever see it. Her bag was in the closet, leaning against the wall in front of everything else. She had left one of the zippers open the last week when she had added a new multi-tool and some water purification tabs. Some of the MRE's and water pouches had fallen out onto the floor. Scooping them up and shoving them back in, she hefted it and was strapping it on when the door opened behind her and her father walked in.

  "One other thing," he said as she turned to face him. He was handing her a folded piece of paper with a name and address on it.

  "What is this?" she asked.

  "You probably won't be able to find him but this is someone I served with a long time ago. I need you to try and track him down and give him this note. His last name might be different now, I know he was having some problems with his parents. But that's the address I had for him and he'd be unlikely to move."

  She looked at the note again. "Lot...Darwish?"

  He nodded and smirked. "At least it's distinctive. He shouldn't..."

  He trailed off, as if intentionally stopping himself.

  "What is it?" Heidi asked.

  He opened his mouth to answer when they heard a car door slamming from the front driveway. She looked up at him and though she couldn't explain why, a single tear pushed out at the look of resignation on his face. He drew her in for a tight embrace, and she didn't think there was a time before when she had felt so afraid.

  "Stay quiet," he hissed at her before placing a kiss on her forehead. Releasing her, he turned his back and headed downstairs. She heard him walking to the front, followed by the door opening. There was a chorus of voices, his in addition to one or two others. The group made their way into the dining room and she heard one of the chairs scraping across the floor.

  She couldn't understand what was being said. But it didn't take long before her father's voice took on a tone that had been long familiar to her. It was the condescending tone of an officer in the room who expected to be treated with the respect he deserved. She willed her breathing to slow as she pulled the straps of the bag tighter. The voices from the visitors sounded dull, almost lifeless. She just wanted them to get whatever they needed and get out so she could try and talk her father into coming with her.

  She was starting to consider the possibility of going down there and confronting them. What was the worst they could do? It was likely a couple of young paper-pushers from some Colonel's office who were a little too full of their own imagined authority. Maybe having a civilian present would get them to tone down whatever was pushing her father's buttons.

  Those thoughts were still running through her head when the shot rang out.

  Heidi flinched and drew back, as if she had been the one fired on. She felt the cry of anger struggling to break loose and was just able to get it under control. The clipped footsteps resumed again towards the front door. She was already seeing red streaks of fury as she went to the window to look down on t
hem.

  Two men in uniform strolled down the path, apparently so full of themselves that they hadn't bothered to see if anyone else was home. She withdrew a knife from one of the Velcro pouches on her bag, shrugging out of the straps as she did so. She eased the window open, feeling the kiss of sprinkling rain as she stepped out onto the slanted roof of the porch. Once her weight was centered she let go of the window frame, allowing herself to slide down, picking up speed as she approached the edge of the porch. Just before reaching the end, she released her hold on her bag, letting it drop down ahead of her.

  By the time either one of them heard anything, she was already in the air. Heidi landed on the larger of the two, taking him to the ground. She drove a knee into his face, already raising her blade and plunging it into his back. The other one was reaching for his side arm as she jumped for him. Grabbing hold of his wrist, she twisted his arm roughly, taking hold of the gun with her other hand and pulling it from him. He grunted in pain, leaning to the side to reduce the pressure she was putting on his wrist, and as he did so she placed the barrel to his temple and pulled the trigger.

  She heard the first one struggling to his feet, even as blood arced up into the air. She let herself drop to the ground, rolling to face him. He had his gun out and was bringing it around to bear but she was just fast enough, placing a shot, center mass. His chest collapsed from the impact and he staggered, arms pinwheeling as his eyes were already starting to gloss over. Heidi approached him, not taking any chances as she put another shot through his right eye.

  The echoes were already fading around her as she swiveled the gun from side to side, making sure neither were going to present a threat. She knew what she had to do. The whole point of her father having a code was to get her moving and keep her safe. To do anything other than run was putting herself at risk. Pulling the knife free from the soldier's back, she wiped the blade clean on his uniform before returning it to her bag. She took both men's sidearms and stuffed them into the main pocket of the bag as well, cramming them between the coiled parachute cord and the waterproof matches.

  She had to get away.

  Still, she found her feet taking her back into her father's house.

  He was still seated at the table. The same place she had seen him that morning as he was drinking his coffee over the paper. His head was drooped down, blood dripping onto the ornate tabletop. She could still just read the headline that the White House still hadn't offered any explanation as to why the President had been taken to the protective bunker.

  In that moment, she couldn't bring herself to give a shit.

  She couldn't let her despair and tears take hold and freeze her into inaction. Before long, someone would be sent out to investigate why the two men out there hadn't reported in. She had to create as much distance between herself and this place as possible. As it was, no one knew that she had been staying here and it was unlikely she would pop up in an investigation. Her prints were all over the house of course, but she was his daughter. No one would take note of that.

  Unless of course, she happened to be on the scene when someone else showed up. Bending down, she placed a hand on his shoulder and kissed the top of his head before returning to the front yard.

  The sound of her motorcycle raged against the open, silent sky as she made her way towards the highway. And while she had been expecting to find a barricade already being put up, there was no sign of resistance as she made her way from the scene.

  From within her helmet she could hear the hitching of her own breathing, could feel herself losing control. In the end, her father's voice proved to be the one thing she had left to grab on to and keep moving.

  Hold on tight, Angel. Just a bit farther. Just past the next bend in the road.

  Just hold tight.

  -2-

  Heidi glanced over the drivers in the trucks, sedans and minivans as they all crawled past. There was no sign or evidence of the kind of panic she expected from what her father had hinted at. The few times she allowed herself to stop, she heard the usual conversation, speculating about where the President was and what could be going on in Washington. But whatever had led to her father losing his life was still a mystery to her. There was a pensive look to most people, concern for things happening under the surface and in the shadows that no one understood. She did take more notice of worry lines and frowns, now more common than cheerful smiles or greetings. She couldn't explain it, but there was a taste in the air she didn't like, that she didn't trust. And as she watched people file past, it seemed like more and more were starting to feel the same.

  So far, she had seen no indication that the authorities were looking for her. The triple homicide had made the news but investigators were having a hard time deciphering who had killed who and if there had been a fourth person on the scene. It was to be expected that some details would be left out of the press to avoid tipping off the perpetrator but even reading between the lines, it seemed to her that the police were spinning in the mud.

  All she really cared about was getting to the one safe place her father had set up for them. The bunker was not in the most convenient of locations and it was going to take some time to get there. She had to keep moving but even the knowledge of that wasn't quite enough to drag her train of thought away from the confusion over the state of the country.

  News sources were unreliable, at best. The few she had come to trust offered little more than token speculation about what was in the President's mind and what could have brought about such a radical action. And of course people were flocking to social media, reporting sightings of army units building up around the country. So many out there in cyber-land seemed convinced that the country was on the precipice of some kind of major conflict or takeover.

  She didn't buy it. It was mass hysteria and couldn't be taken seriously. Somewhere between bed bugs and Ebola breakouts. There was something going on but the Army wouldn't be so brazen that so many people would be able to report on their actions. Of course, she had to consider the possibility that perhaps the army was so convinced in their ability to prevail that they didn't feel the need to hide what they were doing.

  As her attention began to drift, her father's face emerged up from her subconscious and she swerved, shaking her head as she did so. She was seeing him a lot more often now. She had to block it out, keep the emotions where they belonged.

  She was alone. Her mother had fled long ago so she had no one to contact on that side of the family. All she had was her father and a handful of his friends who had been with them over the years. The problem was that those friends were also military. And while she didn't think any of them would be capable of turning on him or her, she also couldn't say for certain that it would be safe. She had no one to reach out to for help or support.

  The closest thing she had was the name on the note her father had handed to her. She could feel the sharp corners of the paper as it dug into her leg, through her pants pocket. But for as much as she tried to find Lot Darwish, there seemed to be no trail to follow, no database she could access online that offered a location or means of contacting him. She would keep trying. She had made the promise but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was quickly running out of time.

  As she sped around a curve in the road, her wrist cramped. Pulling over and stepping off the bike, she began to pace absentmindedly, flexing her fingers and shaking her hands to try and restore some circulation. She stared into the sky and closed her eyes, trying to focus on the breeze and calm herself down.

  It was less than five minutes before she heard gravel crunching under someone's feet and opened her eyes to see that a State Trooper had pulled off behind her and was striding to her, glaring from behind the twin mirrors of sunglasses.

  "Son of a bitch," she muttered.

  "Everything okay, miss?" he asked as he walked to her.

  "Yeah. I'm fine."

  "Not really a good place to stop, you know?"

  "I realize that. Wasn't planning on stayin
g." She knew she had to dial back the attitude, that the more she stood out in anyone's recollection, the worse it would be for her. Still, she couldn't stow it, completely.

  "This is a high-traffic road, especially lately. Can't have you pulling off unless it's an emergency, so—"

  "Officer, I really do understand. I have an old injury from deployment. When it wants to get my attention, it kind of goes out of my control."

  It wasn't entirely true. But her experience had been that with guys like this, it was the easiest way to bring them around. And as soon as she used certain terminology, the mood of the conversation seemed to immediately shift.

  "Yeah?" he asked and as his tone softened, he offered up what was likely the most human gesture he was capable of. He reached up and took off the sunglasses and as soon as she made eye contact, she knew she had him. "Look, I'm not going to write you up. I know how chronic pain controls you as much as the other way around. Just try to get moving soon, okay? There's a little town just a few miles up the road you can get some good rest if you want."

  "Thank you, officer."

  He nodded and turned for his car as he returned the shades to their original position. As he departed, a thought occurred to her and, despite her better judgment, she called out after him. "Wait!" She immediately regretted the decision as he turned back, but couldn't do anything about it now. "Sorry. But I've been out of touch the last few days. Have you heard anything new about what's going on?"

  He stared for a moment before answering, looking like his suspicions had been renewed. He glanced up and down the road and at passing cars as if he thought he was going to get caught saying something inappropriate. "None of it feels right, you know? No one's saying anything yet but I know something's wrong. I don't know what's about to go down but I'm glad I'm not anywhere near the capital when it does."

  Heidi nodded, feeling how dry her mouth had become. It was a bad sign that this stranger in authority was willing to be so open about his feelings on what was happening.

  "Sorry I haven't heard anything better than that, but not much official is getting handed out to us. And please try to stay safe out here. People seem way more on edge these days and aren't paying much attention to their driving. Make sure you're paying attention for them."