Days of Reckoning by Chris Stout Page B

needed to resort to such measures anyway. So now what ?
    As she moved along the back of the house, Miranda finally heard the sound she’d been waiting for: a muffled “whump” coupled with a metallic clatter. But it didn’t come from the house or the other structures. What the hell…?
    A beam of light split the darkness in the middle of the yard, and Miranda flattened herself against the ground. She watched a figure rise from the earth, like some resurrected corpse coming out of a grave. She stared, imagining for a wild moment that some zombie was emerging and coming for her brains.
    “Goddammit!”
    A ridiculous sense of relief washed over Miranda. According to the movies, zombies didn’t talk, and this thing swore very clearly in the voice of Damon Shearer.
    The next sound was more solid: something heavy hitting the ground. Damon knelt and doubled over, catching his breath in loud gasps. He swore again and disappeared back into the earth.
    Miranda moved forward, recognizing the grave from her imagination as the underground shelter it actually was. Despite the hills of the region, tornadoes still blew through, and many farmers built such shelters to cope with the threat. She found that the door was open and lying flat against the ground. She could see a light on within, and shadows flickering below. When Damon next emerged, she was ready for him.
    #
    Damon still felt like he was on a roller coaster when he woke up. His stomach lurched and his head hurt. He wondered if he’d hit it on the seatback or something. He reached up to touch the tender spot, but his hands refused to move as he commanded them to. He tried and failed again. “Goddammit!” he meant to say, but all that came out was an indecipherable moan. Cotton filled his mouth, and spitting didn’t budge it.
    Then Damon remembered he hadn’t been at an amusement park or on any roller coasters, and he began to sweat.
    #
    Miranda looked over her shoulder at the form lying across her back seat. “Make yourself comfortable back there. It’s a nice night for a drive.”
    Damon strained and moaned in protest, but her seatbelts kept him in place, and the sock in his mouth absorbed whatever curses he was flinging at her.
    “Just relax, buddy. We’ll be there soon.”
    She didn’t actually have any idea where she wanted to go, but she knew she wanted to be as far away from Sparta as possible right now. She had a small arsenal in the trunk of her car, and her prisoner wasn’t exactly restrained according to procedure. All she knew was that there was no way he was ever going to see the inside of a Sparta PD holding cell.
    Miranda passed a sign indicating that the West Virginia border was only ten miles away. She remembered taking camping trips with her father and one of their favorite places to hunt and fish had been just inside the neighboring state. As she drove, Miranda decided that would be a perfect destination. It was isolated, quiet and probably not yet in use. Perfect spot for an interrogation, if she could remember the roads that led to it.
    It took some doubling back, but Miranda eventually found the place she was looking for. She turned down a small two-lane access road and drove another two miles before shutting off her lights and rolling to a stop. After parking the car, she got out and went around to her trunk. Miranda selected an MP5 sub-machine gun from the various weapons she’d recovered from Damon. Anyone who was unlucky enough to happen upon her and her prisoner would have to be dealt with quickly and permanently. The idea was unsavory, but Miranda knew she’d passed the point of no return when she bound Damon in duct tape and shoved him in the back seat of her car, rather than cuffing him and driving to the police station. From here on out, it was kill or be killed.
    Damon thrashed around as Miranda pulled him out of her back seat, but a quick blow to the side of his knee with the butt of her weapon calmed him down. She made him shuffle