CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Clint did not take Cat and Josh to his apartment in Bay City, but instead drove them to his father’s former vacation property. Cathy sat up when she recognized the secluded three-bedroom structure that was more of a cabin than a house. It had changed since she last visited, with tall weeds growing too near the building and most of the drive washed away by recent floods. Dread filled her as they bounced along the dirt road. They would be completely alone with Clint and his deadly outbursts.

  The shack sat on fifty wooded acres that backed up to a national wildlife refuge along the Shiawassee River. The region was home to several species of waterfowl, especially Canadian geese and North American ducks. His father had taught him at a young age to live off the land, and there would be no reason for either of them to run into town even if Clint allowed.

  “I thought you lost this place after your dad died,” she said.

  “It came back on the market a year ago, and I happened to have some luck at Eagles Landing Casino. I bought it back free and clear.”

  “So this is where you live now?”

  He shot her a sly smile as if to say, “We’re here, aren’t we?”

  She helped Joshua from the pickup truck, setting him on the gravel drive. The boy looked around with wide eyes as if remembering the last time they visited. That was before his grandfather had disappeared, assumed drowned in the river after a night of alcohol and fishing. Joshua smiled up at his father and asked, “Can we hunt geese, Daddy? You promised when I was bigger, we would.”

  Clint smiled back and placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, causing Cat to cringe with hatred. “I think it’s time you learn, but you have to break their necks when they drop.”

  Joshua blanched at this, backing away.

  “Clint, he’s too young for that,” Cat pleaded.

  “Nonsense. He’ll learn that’s part of the gutting or he’ll starve while we feast.” To his son he added, “And there’s no better eatin’ than a Canadian goose.” As they walked together up the steps, the ground shook, forcing Cat to grab onto a pillar for support. Joshua fell down and Clint surfed along with arms out to his side. “Whoa,” he said, laughing along with the quake.

  “I felt one earlier tonight in Kalamazoo,” Cat told him after the shaking subsided.

  “It’s the fracking. Rich oil companies keep pumping sea water into the ground to float the crude.”

  She pointed to his union shirt. “Folks need oil to drive their cars, Clint. The cars you make.”

  “Used to make. I’m retired,” he said gesturing with his hands toward the surrounding wilderness and finally pointing at the cabin. “Put your things in the bedroom. We’re going for a ride in the boat,” he said. He reached into the back seat and removed the two large duffel bags, each bulging with their contents.

  “It’s late,” she argued, “The sun will be up in a couple of hours.”

  “Actually, it’s early,” he insisted, “and no one told you to strip all night long for other men, Cat. Just because you’ve been up sinning all night, doesn’t mean you can’t do things with your family when the sun comes up.”

  She ignored the rebuke and did as she was told. A few minutes later they were riding an aluminum jon boat up river. Cat noticed there were now three bags at Clint’s feet, the two from the truck and another, smaller and less bulging. She asked, “Where are we going, Clint?”

  “Up river,” was his response.

  “Clint,” she pressed, “if you’re doing something illegal, why didn’t you leave us behind at the cabin?”

  He narrowed his eyes and gave her his serious look, the one that made her skin crawl. “Because,” he said, “this is something I can’t do without you.”

  She sat in silence for a few more minutes until they reached the deepest part of the river. It was wide, too far for her to swim to either shore. That’s when Clint shut off the engine and tossed a small anchor over the side. Soon the little boat rocked gently as the waters moved past on both sides. She watched as he unzipped the duffel bag.

  She caught a glimpse of metal inside and something else. She wasn’t sure, but it looked like concrete. “Clint. Why are we here?”

  He drew his gun from the small of his back and pointed it at her chest. “Open the bag,” he commanded, sliding it with his feet toward hers, “and put those on your ankles.”

  Tears filled her eyes as she looked toward Joshua. He stared silently at the weapon in his father’s hand, unblinking and suddenly worried. Cat asked, “So this is it?” She opened the bag and found two cinder blocks with chains wrapped through the holes. Each was secured by its own set of handcuffs. “So you’re going to shoot me in front of our son and drop me in the river?”

  “That’s the plan,” he responded before turning to Joshua. “Son, your mother’s a sinner. She stole you and tried to keep you from me, but I found her. Now she has to pay for that, do you understand?” Joshua nodded, although Cat knew he didn’t. The boy was confused and afraid. “Now she’s going away to be with your grandparents, and it will just be you and me.”

  Cat stared at the gun, not moving.

  “I said put those on your ankles,” Clint told her. She slowly took the first and clicked it in place around her ankle, careful to leave room. “Tighter,” he commanded. She obeyed.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  She was in a dream, and the world around her had become surreal. She felt her skin seemingly detach as her body was no longer her own. Her voice screamed in her head as her body blindly obeyed and picked up the second shackle. She didn’t mind dying, but didn’t want Joshua to see. She pleaded, “Can he turn around?”

  “Nope, part of the deal. He must watch like I watched Paw take care of Maw.”

  Realization set in and Cat looked over the side. “You mean?”

  “Yes, Cat. This is the same spot.” He pointed the gun toward the cinderblock. “Now the other one,” he commanded.

  Her trembling hands moved very slowly as she fumbled with the mechanism. The second would be harder to put on than the first. Once it was secure, he would pull the trigger and commit her over the side. A sudden thought brought terror as it rushed in, what if he doesn’t pull the trigger? Drowning was, in her mind, the worst possible way to die. She would rather eat the bullet.

  Clint’s attention was suddenly on the sky. She could see a flash of red in his eyes as something exploded silently above the horizon behind her. She turned and watched as two more flashes lit up the sky in the north and the south. The glow was bright as three fiery mushroom clouds shone like giant roadside flares.

  Seizing the moment, she picked up the cinder block and lunged at his head, striking with a thud before falling to the floor of the boat. The boat rocked as she struck the aluminum bottom, the concrete block barely missing her head as it landed beside her. Dazed, Clint dropped the gun, sending it tumbling to his feet. He was dazed and slower to respond as they both scrambled for the weapon. He managed to kick it to the stern, so she instead grabbed the open end of the remaining handcuff. With a click she secured it around his ankle. Now they were equally hobbled and both susceptible to drowning.

  She tried to scramble toward the weapon, but he grabbed her and threw her against the hard decking. His hands tightened around her neck and squeezed, but all she could concentrate on was the puddle of river water around her head. It smells like fish, she marveled as the world around her blackened on the edges.

  Abruptly the boat lurched in the water, tossing violently about. She could barely see his face hovering dangerously close to the edge and she kicked with her free leg, arching her back and sending Clint flying forward. The bridge of his nose struck hard against the aluminum and she scurried out from under his weight the moment his grip loosened. Though her vision was still fuzzy, she could make out Joshua standing at the stern and holding the gun toward his father.

  “Give it to me,” she said softly. As Clint stood to face her, Joshua handed over the weapon.

  The boat rocked again, this time throwing both adults to the deck. Cat barely held onto the firearm as she realized the entire river was full of waves, probably from another earthquake.

  Clint got to his feet first and tried to lunge.

  She pulled the trigger two times in rapid succession, and the boy and his mother watched the monster teeter backward with flailing arms before disappearing over the side. The cinderblock on his ankle hung on the side of the boat, threatening to capsize it completely.

  With the gun pointed at her dying husband desperately trying to swim, Cat used her free hand to lift the block up and over the aluminum bulkhead. With a satisfying plop it splashed into the water, dragging down a very surprised Clint. His arms tried weakly to fight the downward current, but soon disappeared into oblivion.

  Cat scanned the river banks. The earthquake had been a large one, stronger than any she had ever felt, and they were now tossed about as if adrift on an angry sea.

  Joshua screamed and pointed up river. His mother turned to see a wall of water rushing down from the valley. She scrambled to untie the anchor line, but time was running out quickly. Placing the muzzle against the nylon she pulled the trigger, splitting the rope and sending the boat along with the current.

  She screamed to Joshua, “Lay down!” He rushed to her arms and she wrapped him close, laying her body on top of his in the fishy puddle on the deck. With closed eyes she prayed the boat wouldn’t capsize and never noticed as the current swept them down river like driftwood on floodwaters.

*****

  The Johnsons said nothing to each other through three states unless it pertained to the trip. Neither was in the proper mindset to drive but took turns as they did. They had driven thirteen hours and had just turned south through Omaha, Nebraska.

  Linda had not wanted to leave the children, but the flight carrying the caskets was fully booked. She was behind the wheel, more to steady her own nerves than anything, and drove them south on Interstate 29.

  Bryan broke the silence. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For what,” she asked, “killing our kids or ruining our lives?”

  “Both,” he answered.

  “I’ll never forgive you for this.” She stared straight ahead as she spoke, deliberately avoiding looking at her husband. “This entire trip was your idea, and they didn’t even want to come.”

  “I know,” he replied. “I had no idea it wasn’t safe. Thousands of people visit the park every day,” he said.

  She turned her head and shouted, “You took our babies to a volcano and now they’re dead!”

  His eyes immediately filled with tears. “I know. I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”

  Her fist made contact with his cheek, stinging the skin and leaving a cut from her wedding ring. “You don’t get to cry,” she screamed, “not in front of me!” Her body heaved between sobs of her own, tears falling and snot dripping from her nose. “I hate you!” She punched him again. He threw up his hands in defense, saying nothing and letting her get out all of her anger.

  She was so focused on hitting Bryan that she did not notice the oncoming car. It swerved, but the vehicles clipped headlights and both skidded off the road. The other driver careened into a ditch and immediately came to a stop. They were not so lucky. The car spun around four times before rolling onto its roof and coming to rest in a cornfield.

  Bryan momentarily blacked out, but came to. Looking around the cabin he realized Linda had been thrown from the vehicle. A large hole in the windshield told the tale of her departure. He found his seat belt and released the harness, falling hard onto the ceiling. He kicked at the glass, knocking out what remained. He cut his hands and knees in several places as he climbed from the wreckage, intent on finding his wife.

  Dazed, he fumbled around the corn rows, confused and lost. Every direction looked the same. When he finally emerged into a clearing, he could see the lights of Omaha on the horizon. Offutt Air Force Base lay between him and the city.

  He was about to turn around and head back to the road when a sound roared overhead. He had grown up around jet airplanes, but this rumble was too low for that. He stared up at the sky, eyes scanning for blinking lights. A large rocket with a red painted star descended from a very high altitude, barely giving him time to calculate its destination. It crashed into the center of the airbase, exploding immediately.

  If Linda had driven slower, and they had been a few hundred miles west, he would have witnessed the mushroom cloud that folklore associated with nuclear blasts. He would also have seen a horizon dotted with hundreds of more flashes of light, each as destructive and telling the tale of entire cities that abruptly ceased to exist. Too close and in full view of the blast, Bryan abruptly vaporized—his body turned to ash in a brilliant flash of light.