Free Landfall by Dawn Lee McKenna Page A

glass.
    He started the Ford and pulled to the end of the driveway as a five-ton National Guard truck with a green cargo cover pulled to a stop just in front of him. A blond soldier in his early twenties leaned out the open passenger side window. Boudreaux rolled down his window and winced against the rain.
    “Sir, can I ask where you’re headed?”
    “Well, I was a little too stubborn last night, but I’m evacuating now,” he answered.
    “Is it just you, sir?”
    “Yes, sir,” Boudreaux said pleasantly. “The rest of the family left yesterday.”
    “Well, there’s bad flooding all along 98 on the bay, so we’re directing everyone left to take 12 th Street to Bluff Road and on to the airport,” the man said. “We’ve got shelters set up there for you.”
    “That’s where I’m headed,” Boudreaux said. “Bluff Road.” Lying was always easier when it was mostly truth.
    “Very good, sir. Good luck,” the man said, and the truck moved on, slowly making its way along Avenue D.
    Boudreaux pulled out onto the street and turned left, away from the Guard truck, to head for 12 th Street and Bluff Road. Maggie’s road.

    Wyatt waited at the checkout counter at the car rental agency, leaning on his cane for balance as the young redheaded girl with the impossibly bright smile tapped away at her keyboard.
    “And you’ll just be using the car locally?” she asked.
    “Yes,” he lied, and felt bad about that, but he was pretty sure that if he said he was driving over to the Gulf Coast, she wouldn’t give him the keys.
    She tapped a few more keys. “Okay, we can give you the Florida resident, local only rate of $29.99 per day, with a free upgrade to a mid-size sedan. Does that sound good?”
    “That sounds great, thanks,” he said, and looked at his watch.
    “Here’s your license, Mr. Hamilton, and I’ll just print out your agreement for you to sign.”
    Wyatt put the license back in his wallet and tried Maggie’s cell one more time. Nothing. He slid the phone back into his shirt pocket.
    “Here you go, Mr. Hamilton,” the redhead said. “If you’ll just sign where indicated and check the boxes that are highlighted, we’ll have your car brought around front.”
    Wyatt got everything signed and checked, and smiled and said “thank you” where indicated as well, but he had a hard time not rapping the cane against the counter and asking her to speed things along.
    Finally, she handed him seven copies of his rental agreement in three different pastel colors, and pointed at the glass front doors. “There’s your car now,” she said. “We’ll see you back here tomorrow.”
    “Okee-doke,” Wyatt said, and lurched toward the doors.
    He knew that, most likely, Maggie had had car trouble or some other minor issue that had prevented her leaving Apalach as scheduled. He also knew that, given the fact that one of them had been shot every time they tried to have a real date, it wasn’t that outrageous to assume she’d simultaneously had phone trouble. He just wasn’t sure he was buying it.
    If he drove through hell and high water, pissed off his doctors, and was popping Percocet tonight all because she forgot to gas up the Jeep or something, he’d go ahead and yell at her for a while, then make her cook him a steak. Maybe he’d even take her dog.
    Until then, he was going to assume that there was a good reason for him to be doing what he was doing.

    When Maggie felt the rope actually give, truly and without question move, she immediately broke into a sweat.
    It wasn’t that she was exerting herself any more than she had been; it was the almost instantaneous supply of adrenaline her brain provided her heart and muscles as soon as it perceived that she had a reason to need it.
    Her mouth opened just a bit, and her eyes widened, and she saw immediately that Sky noticed. Sky had been watching her for the last half hour, alternating staring at her mother with glancing over at the man, who seemed newly