Free Bug Out! Part 10: RV Race to Battle by Robert Boren Page A

naked front. A biker was laying in front of her, dead from a headshot. Next to him was another dead biker with a butcher knife in his hand.
    “If that guy slit the woman’s throat, he was forced into it,” Sheriff Branson said. “And he got shot for his trouble.”
    “Yeah, looks like it,” Deputy Lawrence said. “I’ll go check the house.” He pulled his gun out of his holster.
    “I’ll be behind you,” Sheriff Branson said. “After I check behind the house.”
    “Okay,” the deputy said, as he walked through the living room. No sign of gunfire inside. The first floor was clean. He climbed the stairs to the landing. Two closed doors, on the left and right, and an open door straight ahead. He cautiously walked into the open door. A closet door was hanging open. He looked inside. Gun cleaning fluid smell. A few gun-related articles, but no firearms or ammo that he could see.
    “Deputy Lawrence, I’m in the house. You upstairs?”
    “Yeah,” he shouted. “I checked the downstairs. I think there’s a basement, though.”
    “Okay, I’m on it,” he shouted back.
    Deputy Lawrence went to the right door and slowly opened it. It was a messy bedroom, reeking of stale beer and whiskey. The bed was a mess. Nobody in there. He left that room, closing it behind him, and opened the left side door. Another bedroom, with several twin beds. It was cleaner than the first two, and the beds were neatly made. The windows were open. He thought about the kid in the barn right away. There was a small stack of comic books next to one of the beds, and a glass on the nightstand next to the other. It still had water in it.
Somebody was living in this room.
    “Hey, deputy, check this out,” Sheriff Branson shouted from downstairs.
    “Be right there,” he shouted, leaving the room, closing the door behind him. He trotted down the stairs to the ground floor and rushed into the basement.
    “Torture room,” Sheriff Branson said. “Look, there’s blood on the floor beneath those cuffs.
Fresh blood.
”
    The siren of the ambulance sounded, coming up the drive.
    “I’ll go meet them,” Deputy Lawrence said, bolting up the stairs and out the front door.
    Sheriff Branson pulled his radio out. “Jackie?”
    “Yes, Sheriff,”
    “Get me the FBI.”

    ***
                                  
    Howard drove silently, Scott still sleeping in the passenger seat beside him. The bedroom door opened, and Kerry came out. He walked up to the front.
    “Where we going, Howard?” he asked.
    “Indiana,” Howard said, turning back to him and smiling. “You hungry?”
    “Yeah.”
    “There’s some pop tarts in the pantry. You like those?”
    “Yeah, Howard. Want one?”
    “Sure, that’d be great. Thanks, Kerry.”
    He went in the back, rummaged around in the pantry, and came back with two packs, handing one to Howard.
    “Is Scotty okay?”
    “Yeah, he’s just tired. Remember he got stabbed a couple days ago.”
    “Oh, yeah,” Kerry said. “I miss Blake.” He cried.
    “I know, Kerry. I miss him too.”
    Scott stirred and woke with a start, looking around, not remembering where he was. Then he looked over at Howard and calmed down.
    “How far are we?”
    “Several hundred miles,” Howard said. “You slept a while. How’s the wound?”
    “It feels okay,” Scott said. “I think Johnny did a good job of patching me up.”
    “Hey, Kerry, why don’t you go grab Scotty something to eat,” Howard asked.
    “You want pop tarts?” Kerry asked.
    “Sure, and bring up sodas for all of us, too. They’re in the door of the fridge.”
    “Okay, Scotty.” He scampered to the back.
    “How’s he taking things?” Scott asked.
    “He cried a little about Blake, but other than that, he seems okay.”
    “Good,” Scott said.
    “What are we gonna do with him when we’re hunting?” Howard asked.
    “I don’t know,” Scott said. “We might have to wait until we get back to Ohio to have any more fun.”
    “You don’t