He had a lot to do, more people to find, but he put that out of his mind and simply concentrated on the task at hand. It took time - too much time, but Ciena was doing the best she could. Finally he got them to a place where he could send them on without him. "You're leaving us here?" Ciena gasped, when he told her he was going back.
"You can make it; it's just a couple hundred yards. I haven't found the Starkeys yet, or the Youngs." Despite her protests, he sent her on, then doubled back.
Before continuing his search, he worked his way to the feed store. Pressed against the back of the building, he darted his head around for quick looks as he studied the stairs leading up to his place, and the angles that would expose him to rifle fire. The stairs were just too risky, and that was the only entrance; there wasn't one from inside the feed store.
Yet.
Using the butt of his shotgun, he beat the lock oil the door to the back storeroom; the residents of Trail Stop might not lock up their houses, but that didn't mean they left their businesses unprotected. Inside the storeroom was the chain saw he'd been using to cut firewood for the winter - there was already a sizable stack just outside the door - as well as the small ax he used to split the smaller pieces of kindling.
Taking the ax, he went into the main room of the feed store and studied the ceiling, mentally mapping out his apartment overhead.
He wanted to stay away from any plumbing, so that meant the left side. His bathroom was directly above the feed-store bathroom, which was only logical. His tiny efficiency kitchen, if it was big enough to qualify as an efficient), was also on the left. Unfortunately, so was the checkout counter, which would have been the sturdiest, most stable platform for him to climb on.
He eyed the ceiling and did the math. The ceiling here on the first floor was ten feet high. He was just under six feet tall. That meant he needed to get about three feet off the ground in order to have some leverage with the ax. Well, hell, all those sacks of feed might as well do some good instead of just lying there.
He got busy hefting those fifty-pound bags. Each layer was stacked in the opposite direction as the one below it, providing stability. By the time he finished, he was sweating and thirsty, but he didn't pause. Instead, he jumped onto his platform, braced his feet, and started swinging the ax upward.
The stack of feed wasn't completely stable, and his balance was a little precarious because he couldn't move his feet, which meant he couldn't put all his power into his swings. With those constraints, it took him half an hour to chop a man-size hole through the ceiling and the flooring above. When he judged it was large enough, he knelt to carefully place the ax against the stack; then he stood, bent his knees, and jumped.
He caught the rough edge of the hole and hung there for a few seconds, getting the swing of his bod)1 under control, then flexed the muscles in his upper arms and shoulders and pulled himself up. Under the strain, the cuts Cate had so gently tended the night before stung as they began bleeding again.
When he was high enough, he gave a surge of effort that shot him upward, enabling him to wedge one arm on the floor. Planting the other arm, he pushed and lifted himself through the opening, and rolled onto the floor of his own bedroom.
Swiftly he stripped naked, leaving his wet and dirty clothes where they lay.
When he dropped back down into the feed store, he was dressed for hunting.
Chapter 24
Every time the outside door opened, Cate's stomach would tighten and her heart would give a little leap as she looked up, hoping to see a lean, shaggy-haired man coming in. When time after time it wasn't him, she felt her nerves wind tighter and tighter, until she had to distract herself or go crazy.
She tried to keep busy, but there was only so much to be done in a basement with so many people who were hungry, thirsty, and in need of a bathroom. The thirsty part, at least, was easily taken care of by Perry and his water bucket, Cate and Maureen did their best with food, but Maureen hadn't been prepared to feed that many people; she didn't even have a full loaf of sandwich bread on hand. They heated soup and stew on top of the kerosene heater, and slathered peanut butter on a mound of crackers for a quick protein fix. Other than that, without electricity, they were limited in what they could do.
The bathroom situation was more iffy, since it involved leaving the secure basement and going upstairs, where there wasn't as much protection, but desperation eventually sent every person up. With no electricity to run the water pump, flushing involved carrying a bucket of water up with you to pour in the toilet, which meant Perry was kept busy drawing water from the well. Even Creed managed to hobble up the stairs, to Neenah's consternation, using Ciena's cane.
"Last night was a lucky shot,' Creed said, pausing on his way up when Neenah mentioned Maureen's close call. "They were firing for effect, in the dark, keeping us off balance. They haven't been shooting as much today, because now they have to factor in how much ammunition they want to waste. Of course, they can always go get more, while we can't. I figure they've been shooting whenever they get a glimpse of Cal."
A sort of charged silence fell over everyone, and Creed looked around. He saw Cate standing at the foot of the stairs, white-faced and feeling as if she'd been punched in the stomach.
She knew that everyone who had arrived that morning had told of being located by Cal, rescued by Cal, taken care of by Cal, sent over by Cal. She had pictured him as a sort of shepherd, rounding up the flock. Instead, he was out there getting shot at.
Creed winced when he saw the look on her face, muttering, "Shit," under his breath. Then: "Cate, he'll be all light. Better men than those yahoos have tried to kill him."