After the Shift: The Complete Series Read online

  For his part, Freeson was getting back to something like his normal self, too, and had been cracking a few jokes that, although Nathan had heard them on occasion in the past, made it feel like they had him back in the zone he’d once occupied in their lives.

  The journey was tempering them in many ways. It may have brought out the best in them, Nathan considered, as the vehicles were made ready to move out. But that said, the stop in Rome had fixed a new dynamic in the group, one that meant that, for the first time, Nathan felt they were all moving in the same direction. Syd’s willing integration with the others over the past few days had cemented that for him, and he was glad of it.

  It took most of the third day for them to dig the wrecker and the Airstream from the snowdrifts that had almost covered them outside the station. One entire end of the trailer had been smothered all the way up to the roof.

  As they worked, Saber came out of the building with Tony, took one look around, and started growling and barking. Nathan’s heart jumped with wondering whether it could be the Ski-Doo raiders again.

  But no, it was Freeson who pointed out the tracks in the fresh snow on the far side of the station wall. They weren’t the tracks of Ski-Doos, either; these had been made by the paws of wolves. Saber had been making sure any wolves in the vicinity were aware whose territory this was.

  Thankfully, they didn’t see or hear any wolves as they finished packing up the Airstream and Cyndi got it warmed up for the journey. Saber was still wary and seemed more than happy to jump up into the Dodge and stop worrying about wolves as they rolled out of Rome.

  Once they were back on the road, the fresh snow gave them a good grip on the surface, and the tire chains bit in securely. Freeson had taken the first shift feeling ahead in the snow drifts, even as the snow plow carved its way relentlessly behind him.

  On the second hour, it was time for Nathan to take his turn, and he swapped places with the ruddy-faced Freeson, who seemed to be in the highest of spirits. So much so, Nathan asked him with a smile, “You haven’t been at the whiskey again, have you, bro?”

  “Only when you’re not looking,” Freeson replied with a wink, and with that he climbed up into the cab to take the wheel.

  They made good progress that morning—the best they had for a while. There was a long stretch of the NY-365 where recent snow had spared the already icy surface, and this offered enough visibility for Nathan to get back up inside the cab and for the wrecker to continue without the chaperone.

  It felt satisfying to get the wrecker and trailer moving up until the needle was just edging over 15 mph. After the last week, this was akin to Indy car racing at the Brickyard, now they weren’t moving at whatever pace one of them could have walked ahead at.

  Nathan saw the taillights of the black Armbruster Stageway six-door limo before anyone else did. At first, he rubbed his eyes, wondering if he was seeing things as Freeson drove the Dodge.

  “See that?” he asked after another moment.

  Freeson peered through the windshield, three-quarters of a mile up the road. The lights were white and red, and the right indicator was blinking on and off. Nathan could almost hear the ticking of it in his head.

  The wrecker rolled on.

  Cyndi and the others hung over the front seats from the crew cab, looking forward with some amazement. It was the first vehicle they’d seen for days, and for it to just be stopped there in the fast lane, covered in a dusting of snow, was unusual to say the least.

  “Should we stop? See if they’re okay?” Freeson asked.

  Nathan’s general demeanor of wanting to help anyone who needed help, especially in a stranded vehicle, was about to say an immediate “Yes.” But Syd beat him to it.

  “No. Never stop,” she said. “They’re there in the middle of the road for a reason. To make you think they’re in trouble.”

  Her voice was filled with the sound of bitter experience.

  The back end of the limo approached with accusatory speed. Nathan tried screwing his natural instincts down under the lid of practicality, but the dissonance between what was being suggested and what he had spent his life doing won out as the limo began to slide past them.

  “Stop!” he demanded.

  Such was the command in Nathan’s voice that, without thinking, Freeson stamped on the anchors. The wrecker slewed to a halt at an angle and they heard the Airstream thumping into its linkage, shaking the Dodge.

  “This is a mistake!” Syd hissed, but Nathan jumped out of the cab and onto the road, walking defiantly towards the limo.

  There was a light dusting of snow, which suggested the vehicle had been moving at least somewhat in the last few hours since the storm had abated.

  The headlamps were on, but inside the car was dark, and as the windshield was dusted and a little crazed with recent frost, he couldn’t see inside.

  There were footprints alongside the limo, but Nathan was stopped in his own tracks by the shape of them. They weren’t the huge, rounded impressions of boots in the snow. Instead, they had a triangular toe end, and there was a deep dot in the snow behind, as if someone had drilled a pool cue into the snow. They were the footprints made by stiletto heels.

  Unexpected as seeing the limo had been, the vehicle’s appearance paled into nothing next to the footprints.

  “Hello?” Nathan ventured as he approached the passenger door where the line of footprints emanated from. “Is there anyone in there?”

  Nathan bent to peer through the window, and that was his mistake.

  The door burst open savagely, smashing him in the face and temple with biting force. Such was the explosion of movement and the power of impact that Nathan was dropped on his ass in the snow with a throbbing head and a numb cheek. He didn’t have time to say a word before a flurry of fur exploded from the back of the limo and bore down on him.

  A wolf? The image of the paw prints outside the railroad station flashed into his mind like the start of his life flashing before his eyes. Nathan had only a moment to raise his hands before the furred fury raised a tire iron above its head and prepared to smash out his brains.

  Two shots rang out from behind Nathan. They smashed into the car, holing the hood and blowing a hole in the windshield.

  “Next one’s for you, lady.”

  Syd’s voice. Harsh and brittle on the cold air.

  Nathan lowered his hands then and saw that the fur he’d thought was a snarling animal was actually part of an expensive coat.

  He’d never seen a tire iron wielded in hands that had fingers covered in glittering diamonds the size of pebbles, or nails so red and pointy they could be Dracula’s fangs after a good meal, but that was what he saw now. The face above the fur coat and below the tire iron was full and framed by slender arms, showing less than shock at being fired upon, Nathan noted immediately, and more an expression of affront. As if the first words out of her mouth would not be “Don’t shoot me!” but “How dare you!”

  The woman’s face was immaculately made up, too, though her straight blonde hair was awry from the stiffening breeze and her explosion from the limo. Nathan got the idea that her hair wasn’t used to being a millimeter out of place. Now, the woman’s mouth was twisted into a snarl, and he could see perfect teeth sitting behind lips that looked like they’d cost a million dollars.

  “Put. It. Down!” Syd commanded.

  The woman threw the tire iron to the road’s verge as if she’d suddenly realized there was something dirty in her hands. Comically, she then looked like she wanted to wipe her palms clean, but wasn’t going to do that on her fur coat, so her hands remained in mid-air as if she didn’t really know what to do with them.

  Nathan got up, dusting the snow from his ass, but he could still feel the wetness seeping through his jeans. “Hey, lady, we only stopped to see if we could help.”

  “Told you it was a bad idea,” said Syd, lowering the Glock she held.

  “I thought you were… I thought you…” The woman’s voice was cultured a
nd precise, but it seemed as if the whole incident had suddenly overwhelmed her. She slumped back to sit half inside the limo, her stilettoed feet still heel down in the snow, toes pointed to the sky. Her legs and ankles were rich-lady thin, and the skin below the hem of her skirt, even in the cold, appeared tanned and healthy.

  This was a woman who obviously had decided the Big Winter was just something that happened to poor people.

  “Henderson is dead,” she said simply, indicating her driver’s seat with a nod of her head. Nathan peeked in over her shoulder. There sat a thick-set black man in a natty chauffeur’s uniform, slumped over the steering wheel. For a moment, Nathan could only hope he wasn’t dead because of Syd’s shooting, but quickly noted that the bullet had passed through the interior of the limo without hitting him when he saw a hole in the back seat instead. Nathan breathed out his relief and turned his eyes back to the woman.

  “You were lucky I’m out of bullets,” the woman said, lifting a gold-plated Desert Eagle from the footwell beside her with one slender finger. “I’ve never touched a tire iron in my life. That was a tire iron, wasn’t it? I’m assuming it was a tire iron, but one can never be sure with the tools of artisans. They have such quaint names.”

  The woman was babbling, and Nathan guessed that the cold had done for the driver during the night, and that the woman’s fur coat had been the only thing that had saved her. It was a substantial garment, but even so, she wouldn’t have lasted another night out on the road in the limo, fur coat or not.

  Nathan extended his hand. “Come on. Let’s get you in the trailer. Get you something warm to drink.”

  The woman said her name was Lucy Arneston, and Nathan was surprised when Cyndi replied, “I know.”

  Lucy looked up with narrow eyes at Nathan’s wife, the look of contempt transmitted without any attempt at politeness to the people who had saved her life. “That story in the National Enquirer was a farrago of lies. My lawyers were in the process of preparing a rebuttal…”

  “I don’t read the National Enquirer, lady,” Cyndi cut her off succinctly. “Just because I don’t dress like you, there’s no need to jump to conclusions. The wrong ones, I might add. You’re the Lucy Arneston who was married to Randal McQuarry, the senator, a couple of actors, and the model guy. The one you said had a shoe size bigger than his IQ.”

  Lucy arched an eyebrow. “Yes. I was quite proud of that line.”

  “What are you doing out here? In that interview in The Atlantic, you said you got a nosebleed leaving New York.”

  “Did I say that, too?”

  “Yes, you did. Just asked if you would be moving to Washington to be closer to Senator McQuarry.”

  Lucy smiled at the memory. “I must have been in exceptional form that day.”

  Cyndi passed Lucy a steaming mug of coffee as Freeson leaned in and poured a generous nip of whiskey into the mug before dumping a slug into his own.

  “To answer your question about why I left, then that’s simple. New York is dead,” Lucy sighed as she sipped the coffee. “Or good as. I was trying to get to an airport, but nothing was flying. My driver said we should keep going west, until we found an airport that was still operational. Then last night we were set upon by thugs. Thugs on those… ski motorbike things…”

  Nathan and Cyndi exchanged glances.

  “Ski-Doos?” Nathan asked.

  Lucy drank down some of her coffee and then nodded. “Henderson outran them as I shot through the window—thank goodness they didn’t know it was my last clip and I was out. I hit two of them… I was a pistol shooting champion in my teens. Daddy always said I had a natural eye for it and he was right. They also didn’t know they’d shot out one of my tires. Henderson was a very good driver, and he took the limousine as far as he could. I wrapped myself in the fur and tried to sleep after that. I didn’t even realize he was dead until this morning. I think the cold did it. My God!”

  The sudden change in tack in Lucy’s babbling took Nathan by surprise as Lucy grimaced and wiped the back of her hand across her lips, commenting, “That is the most disgusting coffee I have ever tasted in my life!”

  Without another word, Lucy put the cup on the floor of the trailer and snatched the bottle from Freeson’s hands, thirstily taking a slug of whiskey from the neck. “Passable. Not Johnny Walker, but it will do. Now. Which one of you is in charge here?”

  Glances pinballed around the trailer. It wasn’t a question that anyone had thought needed an answer before.

  “Well, it’s my coffee you’re hating on, and it’s Nate’s Airstream, so take your pick,” Cyndi said.

  Lucy looked from Nathan to his wife and back again. “Ten thousand dollars.”

  Cyndi stared at her. “I don’t understand.”

  “Alright. Fifteen thousand dollars. For you, lady who reads The Atlantic, and you, man who owns a trailer, to take me to the nearest airport with a flight out of this godforsaken, frozen hellhole.”

  The figure hung in the air for ten seconds before Lucy’s demeanor jackknifed again. Without warning, her face crumpled, tears welled in her eyes, and her lips started trembling. “Please… please, I’ll give you anything, but please don’t leave me here to die.”

  9

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Nathan bellowed as he jumped down from the trailer to see where Tony and Syd were.

  He’d left Lucy’s tears behind as she’d turned into a full-on wailing fit of weeping and misery. The whiskey had pierced the dam on her real feelings, a barrier that had allowed only superficial babble to dribble through before. Now, Cyndi and Freeson sat with her and comforted her inside. Nathan had been left feeling like a fifth wheel, so he’d come outside to check on Tony. But when Nathan opened the trailer door, what he saw sent his own emotional barometer shooting up the tube.

  The hood, trunk, and all six doors of the limo were open. All he could see of Syd was her backside sticking out one of the back doors as she rummaged inside. Tony stood beside Syd, flicking through a purse, digging into it and pulling out credit cards, pens, and notepads. Beside him in the snow was a small pile of items already liberated from the limo: Bottles of spirits, an attaché case, a chauffeur’s cap, and an open carry-on suitcase full of expensive underwear.

  Lucy’s gold-plated Desert Eagle rested in the dusting of snow on the limo’s roof.

  Tony spun around at Nathan’s voice and his fingers involuntarily snapped open, dropping the purse into the carry-on case.

  “I… I…” he began.

  Syd pushed herself out of the limo. “Hey, Nathan, don’t have a cow. We’re just seeing what there is to salvage. No biggie.”

  Nathan had reached them now and pulled them both by their wrists away from the car. Tony’s eyes dropped. “Sorry, Dad, we just…”

  Nathan cut him off. “Be quiet. Syd, you do not teach my son to steal!”

  “Salvage,” Syd said with maximum snot.

  “It’s stealing. And show some respect!”

  Syd twisted out of Nathan’s grip and took a step back, pointing at the trailer to illustrate her point. “That damn woman was going to brain you with a tire iron!”

  “Not to her! There’s a dead man still in the driver’s seat. For Pete’s sake, how far have you fallen, girl? Is this how your mom would have wanted you to behave?”

  Syd’s back straightened and she looked Nathan directly in the eye. “My mom would have wanted me to do whatever it took to survive. There might have been food, ammo, anything we could use here. You wanna die just because you’d prefer to have a conscience?”

  The words bit deep into Nathan, but he didn’t back down.

  He’d had to make so many adjustments already, but teaching Tony to steal was not one he was prepared for, even if Syd’s logic was sound. Nathan turned his attention to Tony. “You are not to do this again, understood?”

  Tony couldn’t lift his eyes, but nodded shamefully. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

  All Syd said was, “You’re not my dad.�
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  There was no way they could dig a grave for Cal Henderson, the chauffeur they’d only met in death—the earth was too hard, and the snow turned to ice close to the ground.

  “We can’t just leave him,” Nathan said to the others. “Doesn’t feel right.” Nathan really didn’t feel great about leaving the chauffeur’s body to the elements and the animals who would come calling in the days and weeks that followed.

  It took some time to persuade Lucy to give them the go-ahead, after they’d removed all her things, to burn the car. “Do you have any idea how much that car cost?” she had whined.

  “Well, it cost your driver his life,” said Cyndi, and Lucy had shut up at that. The crying had subsided then. Her make-up had run, giving her the panda-look of the wet mascara victim. Syd, at Nathan’s insistence, had brought Lucy’s make-up bag back to the Airstream. When Lucy had seen the mess her face was in, she’d insisted on being left to fix her make-up, telling them they could “do what the hell they wanted with the damn car.”

  Nathan covered Henderson with a blanket, tucking it around his stiff body in the driver’s seat. He’d wished he could make the dead man look more comfortable, perhaps laying him on the back seat, but his body had become fixed in his driving position by rigor and the cold. So Nathan had simply covered him where he sat after putting his cap onto his lap.

  Nathan and Freeson unhooked the Airstream from the Dodge and used the boom to drag the limo to the road’s verge. The afternoon was falling to twilight as they splashed fuel over the limo and Nathan set a match to it.

  Lucy stayed in the trailer as the limo burned, two hundred yards away down the road. The others and Saber watched from nearer one hundred yards out as the flames lit up the encroaching dark, sending a pall of black smoke high into the air.

  Tony squeezed his dad’s hand as they looked on. “Vikings,” he said quietly.

  And Nathan agreed. The limo was as big as a boat, and the way the flames shimmered on the ice and snow gave the impression of a long ship, alight, slipping its mooring and sliding out into the fjord to take Cal Henderson to his final Valhalla.