Backwoods Armageddon Read online

  “Children,” Lilly snapped. She stood and made Junior slide up toward the back of the driver’s seat so she could sit in between them.

  Ricky fired up the RV and revved it a few times, listening to the engine. He checked over the gauges on the dash, and then turned to Lester. “Where to, boss?”

  Lester’s eyes migrated back to Lilly. She lifted her chin and raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to cross her. He finally huffed out an angry sigh and threw his hands up.

  “I guess we’re on a suicide mission. Head over to 135. We’ll take it to 5, and then on down to Sunrise Beach.”

  Ricky swallowed. “We really gonna give Hurricane Deck a go?”

  “You heard the man,” Lilly barked. “Get a move on.”

  Toby unscrewed the cap of his thermos and took a sip of gin before they pulled back out onto Turkey Trail. The gravel road took them north, past the Millers’ property. They got one last mournful look in as they flew by.

  The camper swayed and dipped along the hilly lake roads that tunneled through overgrown woods. Occasionally the trees thinned, and Toby saw quick flashes of a trailer or barn through the blur of tawny trunks. It was like watching a scratchy old film, but in color. He wondered if there might be a message in the pattern and started counting the seconds between the flashes and the number of trailers in between the barns.

  When the gravel roads spit them out onto 135, they headed south, cruising past a wave of cars evacuating the lake area. The further they drove down the highway, the more congested traffic became. The southbound lane didn’t slow them down, but the cars heading north were beginning to unnerve everyone.

  A mile from Laurie, where they were to get onto 5 Highway, the cars had backed up bumper to bumper alongside them. A Corvette with Kansas plates pulled out of the northbound lane and into their path. Ricky slammed on the brakes, and the car zipped around them on the shoulder, peppering the side of the RV with gravel.

  Ricky stuck his head out the window and waved his fist in the air. “Goddamn Johnson County pricks!”

  “Language,” Lilly scolded him.

  Ricky looked like he had swallowed something sour, but he glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Sorry, Mrs. Miller.”

  Things got worse when they pulled onto 5, and Lilly stopped scolding him after the third car. They slowed as they passed through Laurie. Trees and rubble piled up along the side of the road, like a bulldozer had stopped by just long enough to make a path through the remains of the town. An officer in an orange vest waved a light stick at them, signaling down a side street, probably so they could turn around to evacuate.

  Ricky kneaded the steering wheel like he was preparing to mow the guy down, until Lester nudged him.

  “Just loop around. Keep goin’ south,” he said. “No sense in drawin’ attention. I doubt the tags on this thing are any good. Not to mention all the stolen guns.”

  Ricky nodded and turned off onto Dogwood Lane. The officer looked like he wanted to come up to the window and interrogate them, but a group of people on foot caught his attention and he turned away. They slipped on by.

  When they made it back onto 5, the southbound lane was still clear. Toby was glad they weren’t following the herd. Whatever the Martians had planned for him, he didn’t want to be late. His good mood didn’t last long.

  Just as soon as they passed through Sunrise Beach, the southbound lane slowed to a crawl. A mile of cars stretched out in front of them, and then filed in behind them too, pinning the RV in the middle of the mess. Horns blasted through the air in a symphony of chaos.

  “Keep bumpin’ along,” Lester said. “We’re only about two miles from the bridge, and then we can get onto 7. Maybe it won’t be as bad.”

  Toby’s watch beeped. He rocked himself up out of the booth and hobbled back to the bathroom. The toilet wasn’t pretty, but it would do for Spock. He had dropped fifty bucks on one of those fancy cat toilet training kits advertised on television. His old knees were no good for hunching over a litter box every day, fishing out turds. Besides, the infomercial had said he’d spend more than fifty bucks on litter in a year’s time anyway.

  Spock was a smart kitty, and Toby was sure that toilet training her wouldn’t just spare his old bones, but it would also endear her to the Martians. How could they turn away such a well-mannered beauty?

  Toby unzipped the backpack and Spock poked her head out. Her big yellow eyes took in the grimy bathroom, and she let out a haughty meow.

  “It’s okay, girlie. Just temporary.” Toby pulled her out of the bag and gently sat her on the toilet, turning his back to give her some privacy. The bathroom was so tiny that he could barely squeeze himself between the door and the vanity.

  The back window was nasty, but he could still see through the windshield of the Prius that was rubbing bumpers with the camper. The driver leaned forward to glare at him, rolling his eyes up to Toby’s hat. Toby turned his nose up at the man and flared his nostrils. He was used to the looks by now, but he’d be damned if he was going to act apologetic for everyone else’s ignorance.

  The foil hat protected him from the government’s mind readers. The elusive they who hunted down the chosen ones and sought out the Martians so they could do experiments on them and thwart their grand plan to save the worthy humans before destroying the corrupt planet.

  Some of the Martians had arrived early, infiltrating Earth in human disguise to scope out candidates for salvation. Toby had never met a Martian—or at least, he’d never met a Martian who had revealed their true form to him. He had his suspicions. There were a few people he kept his eye on: a mute check-out lady at G2M, the retired vet who stood guard at Lakeshore Bank, and the new preacher at Ozark Methodist Church. He’d almost suspected the nurse and her son, until the boy made a fuss about taking a leak in the woods.

  The RV had rolled onto Hurricane Deck by the time Spock finished her business. Toby tucked her in the backpack and gave the Prius driver a farewell snort before making his way back to the booth.

  Lake of the Ozarks stretched out beneath them under the bridge. It ate away at the muddy beaches, pulling down waterlogged trees along the shoreline. The camper windows gave a wide view of the lake on either side of the bridge. It was a glorious sight, if not a bit haunting. Toby had never seen the water so high. It frothed and rushed under them like a river.

  “Tune in the radio, Les,” Lilly said, twisting around on the bench to press her face against the window.

  Lester fiddled with the dials until he found a lake station. The DJs had been booted off the air, and a robotic message filled in the gaps between grating emergency tones.

  Severe flood warning and mandatory evacuation for the following counties: Benton, Camden, Miller, and Morgan. Emergency personnel have begun evacuation procedures. Your cooperation is appreciated.

  After the message repeated itself a few times, Lester clicked the radio off and shouted back to Toby. “Think you could tune into the police station long enough for us to hear what’s really goin’ on?”

  Toby huffed, but he went ahead and adjusted the scanner settings. With chaos breaking out, they would be more likely to screw up and leak messages that he might be able to pass on to the Martians.

  The police codes were annoying, but Toby had listened in enough to decipher the messages they passed back and forth. Today would be easier, he thought, since there probably weren’t any standard codes for an alien invasions.

  21 to 12, just got word that Truman is wide open.

  12 copies. We’re getting ready to close off the bridge and redirected traffic.

  This gets worse. Bagnell’s been damaged as well. Flood gates won’t open. Close the bridge now.

  10-4.

  They were hardly halfway across the bridge when the water lapped up over the deck. The line of cars in the northbound lane tapered off, signaling the end of the caravan. The bridge was closed. The Prius behind them began honking out an SOS.

  Sissy hopped up on the bench and folded her legs
under, like she thought the water might come right up through the floor of the RV. “Get us outta here, Ricky,” she squealed.

  Ricky ducked his head outside and looked down. His breath hissed out and he stomped on the gas, plowing the camper into a BMW in front of them. The driver climbed out and took a couple steps in their direction, waving his fist like someone’s face was going to pay for dinging up his fancy car. Then he stopped short, noticing the water creeping up over his ankles. He turned and took off down the bridge.

  “Screw this.” Ricky pulled the RV around the abandoned BMW and inched in closer to a Dodge pickup. Traffic was moving faster now. People were panicking. The sound of crunching bumpers joined the chorus of horns, and flashing emergency lights marked the end of the bridge up ahead.

  Water gushed up over tires, and several cars slid sideways. Toby had left the bathroom door open. He watched through the back window as a log soared up and rammed into the side of the Prius. The car tipped over, and then it was gone, right off the side of the bridge like a piece of shiny driftwood.

  Sissy screamed, but Lilly quickly hushed her with a wrathful glare. “Keep yer head on straight, unless you’d like me to knock it clean off.”

  Parker began hyperventilating, which launched the Millers’ mutt into a state of psychosis. The thing jumped up on the table and began yapping in the boy’s face.

  Callie wrapped her arms around Parker and pulled him back. “Would someone get this dog under control?”

  “Ernie!” Junior snatched the mutt off the table and tucked him under his arm like a football.

  Callie pulled an inhaler out of her pocket and gave it a shake before plugging it in Parker’s mouth. He snatched the thing from her and took another hit before handing it back.

  A minivan crept in behind the camper, replacing the Prius and nudging them along as the water continued to rise, roaring out over the sound of car horns. When they reached the end, the bridge groaned. They passed two patrol cars. A pair of officers in life vests and wading boots waved them on. The minivan was halfway off the bridge when the thing whined out a grating farewell and broke loose into the rushing deluge, taking the van with it.

  Sissy screamed again, and this time Lilly joined her.

  Chapter 5

  Lilly Miller was not one to lose her head in a crisis. She was a firm believer in letting go and letting God. If that didn’t work, she had a bite to go with her bark, and a mean backhand. She didn’t have to use it often.

  She was sure she’d seen an angel as they’d come off of Hurricane Deck, and she summed it up to her good deed of taking in Old Man Johnson. Lester was probably right about his reasons for going to their church, but anyone who made a commitment to show up at God’s doorstep every Sunday was alright in her book.

  Traffic wasn’t much better when they turned off onto 7 Highway, but at least they were moving faster than five miles an hour now. Toby had switched his scanner back to a static channel, but he turned it down when Lilly asked. Junior had curled up with Ernie and was trying to doze off, but Callie kept insisting he needed to stay awake.

  Lilly tried to like the nurse. She really did. After all, the woman had fixed up Junior’s head and given him a professional looksee. Still, the way the woman’s eyes widened and her nose curled whenever one of the Millers spoke just pinched at Lilly’s nerves. And the way she coddled her son like an infant was absurd. The boy was nearly Junior’s age, for Pete’s sake.

  A ways down 7, Lester pointed to a highway sign. “We’re gonna cut across AA to get to 65. Should be faster, and it’ll get us outta all this traffic.”

  Ricky nodded. “We’re gonna need to fuel up again ’fore long too. I only had six gallons back at the garage, and this thing is a drinker.”

  Lester scratched his head. “There should be a station a mile or two offa AA.”

  Junior’s droopy eyes popped open. “Can I get some more jerky?”

  Lilly stroked his head. “We’ll see.”

  Lester found a country station on the radio and everyone was quiet for a while, still winding down from their near-death experience. Lilly passed the time praying. She was pretty sure she was the only one, so she prayed extra hard, not just for her husband and children, but for their grease monkey neighbor, Old Man Johnson, the nurse and her son, and for her ma. Most of all for her ma.

  Lilly’s parents had packed up the family and moved from Colorado to Missouri before her freshman year of high school, after her uncle Ted offered her daddy a job chopping down trees around the lake. There were plenty of rich schmucks wanting lots cleared to make way for fancy weekend homes that would probably only be used two weeks out of the season.

  They’d lived high on the hog for about a year, and then a tree knocked her daddy and uncle right off the face of the earth and into the lake. Their bodies washed up in a cove and were discovered by a couple of necking teenagers, like God was trying to send them a warning.

  Lilly’s ma had found a waitressing job at a dump of a diner, and Lilly started bussing tables when she turned fifteen. She worked there for two years. Then on a hot day in June, Lester Miller walked into her life.

  Lester had stunk to high heaven. In fact, Lilly was sure she’d smelled him coming all the way from the hog farm he worked on. She’d spit in his coffee and told him to leave his boots outside next time he came in. When he came back the next day barefoot, Lilly decided that he was keepable.

  A couple months later, she barfed up her breakfast on the diner manager and learned that she was pregnant with Sissy. It had been Lester’s mama who’d insisted they get married.

  Mrs. Miller was all bibles and angels. She picked up Lilly for church every Sunday, even if Lester stayed behind. Lester had raised hell when Lilly told him they wouldn’t be breaking God’s law by having relations again until their wedding night. He’d bumped the date up twice, and they ended up walking down the aisle when Lilly was just four months along.

  Their wedding had been the only time Lilly’d seen her ma in church after her daddy’s death. She wasn’t a proper God-fearing woman, and she often cursed Him for taking her husband and brother-in-law too soon. She also wasn’t a fan of what she called Sunday Christians, who were only respectable one day out of the week. Any time Lilly prodded her, she’d say, “If God wants my company, He should do a little house-cleanin’ first.”

  Shortly after Junior arrived, Lester’s mama joined her husband in heaven, struck down by the same homegrown tobacco that had taken half his family at this point. The day of her funeral, Lester set fire to the tobacco garden. Then a week later, he broke the hog farmer’s nose. That’s when Bub hired him on at the pawn shop.

  It seemed silly to be thinking about what he was going to do for work at a time like this, but it kept Lilly from thinking too hard about her ma, all alone in Neosho. Lilly also thought about where they were going to live. The trailer was gone, and their land was probably washed halfway down Lake of the Ozarks by now.

  Sissy stirred next to Lilly and rubbed her stomach. “I’m hungry. We ain’t ate since breakfast.”

  Junior and Ernie both turned their eyes up at her to confirm Sissy’s complaint, and she could feel Lester’s stare too.

  “Lemme see what we got to work with.” She made her way to the kitchen and opened up one of the cabinets.

  Sissy had stacked their tomatoes and green beans up at the back of the top shelf. She was half a foot taller than Lilly, and probably thought she wouldn’t have to eat them if Lilly couldn’t reach them. The bottom shelf was full of bagged chips, bean dip, and two loaves of bread.

  The stove was sticky, and Lilly tried to wipe it off with one of the ratty dishcloths. It was no good. She was going to need a blowtorch and some holy water to make it right again. “How’m I suppose to light this thang?” she hollered.

  “Cain’t. It ain’t got no propane,” Ricky shouted over his shoulder.

  Lilly shrugged. “Guess we’re eatin’ the dogs cold then.” She opened the refrigerator and dug out a packa
ge of off-brand hotdogs.

  Callie’s nose crinkled. “Is that safe?”

  Lilly glared at her. “Safer than eatin’ the squirrel raw, I ’magine.”

  Callie’s mouth snapped shut, and Lilly felt a surge of satisfaction. She was almost glad she had relented and brought back Lester’s kill. She saw a nice stew in their future.

  Lilly braced herself against the counter as Ricky pulled off of 7 onto AA. There was less traffic, but the ride was a little bumpier as she tucked hotdogs down in slices of bread and passed them around.

  Junior took his with a frown. “Ain’t we got no ketchup?”

  Sissy stretched her legs out over the bench and gave him a half-hearted kick. “Maybe you’d like some raw squirrel too.”

  Just as soon as everyone finished eating, Ricky pulled the camper into a podunk gas station. The metal canopy over the pumps had collapsed, and the front windows of the store looked like they had been blown out by the breath of God. There was an above ground tank that looked like it was still intact. Ricky pulled up beside it.

  Lester peered through the windshield at the store. “I don’t see no one in there. We might be outta luck.”

  Ricky snorted. “Or we mighta hit the jackpot. I gots a screwdriver and a hammer.”

  “What good’s that gonna do?” Lester scratched his chin.

  “Gonna poke a hole in the tank and drain ’er dry.”

  Callie turned around in her booth. “Won’t that cause a spark?”

  “Hope not,” Ricky said, pushing past her and waving the Miller kids off the bench. He found his toolbox and stepped out the side door.

  Lilly folded her arms and glared up at Lester. “Just becomin’ common thieves now, are we?”

  Lester sighed. “How else you ’spect us to get to yer ma’s?”

  Lilly didn’t like it, but he was right. She hadn’t said anything at the pawn shop when he toted out a heap of guns and ammo, but her conscience had slapped her around later, after they were clear of the heathens overrunning Ivy Mills.

  Junior pulled Ernie up in his lap and rested his chin on the dog’s mangy head. “If Ricky gets ta steal gas, can I at least steal some jerky?”