Free The Survivalist - 02 by Arthur Bradley Page B

an unreasonable concern.
    Tanner sat with his back to a small pillar, the Savage .22 rifle in his hands. The empty shotgun lay beside him, currently about as useful as sock full of quarters.
    “Relax,” he said. “As soon as it gets dark, we’ll head out.”
    “And then?”
    “We’ll go to the Jeep for supplies and ammunition.”
    “And after that?”
    “After that, we’ll find a safe place to crash for the night. It’s too risky to stick around here, in case your Secret Service friend decides to show back up.”
    “You heard what he said. He’s willing to kill me too.”
    Tanner thought about it for a moment.
    “I wonder what he’s up to. Do you have any enemies?”
    “I’m eleven.”
    “Right. What about your mom?”
    “She’s the president. Of course, she has enemies.” Samantha stared off into space for a moment, thinking. “Wait a minute. I remember her talking about a very dangerous guy named Al.”
    “Al?”
    “Al Kayduh. I think he’s a terrorist.”
    “Ah,” Tanner said, smiling. “All right. So, let’s assume this has to do with your mom. You’re probably just leverage to get to her.”
    “They should know I won’t do anything to help them.”
    “Just having you in their hands would be enough. They could make all sorts of threats. And, from what we’ve seen, they’d be more than willing to follow through with them if needed.”
    “Evil people are just so . . . evil.”
    “Can’t argue with that one.”
    Samantha stood up and paced the floor. She couldn’t help but look at the man who had been butchered inside the front doors. Her eyes weren’t drawn to the bloody gore, but rather to a small white piece of paper sticking out of his front pocket. She glanced back at Tanner, but his eyes were closed as he rested his head against the pillar. Careful not to step in the thick pool of dried blood, she tiptoed over to the man’s body and slid the paper from his pocket. It was a single sheet of plain white paper, folded into quarters. She carefully made her way back to Tanner, studying the paper, unsure if she should even unfold it.
    When she looked up, he was staring at her.
    “What’d you find?”
    She held up the paper.
    “It was in his pocket.”
    “So, what’s it say?”
    “I wasn’t sure if I should read it.”
    “He wouldn’t have put it in his pocket if he didn’t want it read. Go ahead.”
    She carefully unfolded the paper and began to read aloud in a slow narrator’s voice.
     
    If you’re reading this note, it means that I’m dead. I’ve never had much luck in this world, so my end probably wasn’t quick or painless. I have no right, but I’m going to ask a favor of you. In my left boot, you’ll find a photo of my daughter, Isa. Our address is written on the back. I was away on business when the virus hit, and I’ve been trying to get home ever since. I wonder if you’d be so kind as to deliver a message for me. Tell my baby girl that daddy did everything he could to make it home and that I’ll watch over her from heaven. Please tell her what I couldn’t, so that I can rest in peace.
     
    Forever grateful, Booker Hill
     
    Tears trickled down Samantha’s face as she choked out the last few words.
    “That’s . . . that’s awful,” she said, refolding the paper.
    Tanner looked over at what remained of the man. Booker was right about one thing. His end hadn’t been quick or painless.
    “There are lots of sad stories out there,” he said. “Don’t forget that’s what led us to where we are right now.”
    “I know,” she said, wiping away the tears. She looked back over at the dead man.
    “Let me guess. You want to get the photo from his boot.” It was a statement, not a question.
    “We’re his last chance.”
    He sighed. “So get it.”
    Samantha tiptoed back over to the man’s body and untied the left boot. When she gave it a tug, it didn’t budge.
    “It’s stuck.”
    “That’s probably because he’s started to