Standard Disclaimer: No copyrighted material used in this chapter belongs to me. This story belongs to Linda Howard/Jones with some RIB and the writers of Glee mixed in. Okay a break from the romance and back to the suspense, there is a little cliffhanger ahead; be prepared this is where the story gets gritty...
Chapter Sixteen
As soon as she was no longer in Sam's presence and was on her way back home all the thoughts of what could go wrong with the gasoline and the area being vulnerable for outside invasion began to ruminate. She hoped that Holly Holiday was a potter and would be willing to make the pots to Sam's new specifications.
Cedes also remembered her aunt's broken leg and decided to stop by Roz's when she drove by, but her hair was still damp, and she wouldn't tell her aunt what had happened at Sam's cabin. Instead she went home and made a hot fire, then sat in front of the flames combing her thick hair out of the the temporary braids with her fingers until it was completely dry. She was glad she didn't cut her hair when it was so hot. Right now it was providing her head protection from the cold. Heat left your body from your head and feet, and she made sure to wear her hair bonnet and two pairs of socks and slept with her booties on.
When her hair was thoroughly dry, moisturized, and braided down on the sides with an afro puff in the back, she walked to Roz's house, and let herself in. "How's the patient doing?" she asked Carmen.
"Why don't you ask her yourself?" Roz yelled from the bedroom, answering that question, because she sounded cranky and impatient.
"The whole county can hear you," Cedes countered, going into the bedroom because obviously Roz was awake.
"Hardy ha ha. Girl, bye," Roz shifted uncomfortably on the bed. She didn't look feverish, which was great, but neither did she look well. Now that twenty-four hours had passed, her bruises were apparent, including one on her jaw that had not been noticeable last night. "Everything hurts. I'm sick and tired of this. I'm bored and tired of my bedroom. I want to sit in the living room."
"Sorry. The only place you can go is to the portable toilet. Did Emma bring you a new book to read?"
Roz glared at her. "I already have unread books, thank you very much, and you've turned into a bossy heifer. Give you a little power, and it goes to your head."
"I own my own store, so I have always been a boss, if I'm a heifer now it's completely your fault."
Her aunt might be in pain, on drugs, and irritable, but nothing was wrong with her powers of observation. She narrowed her eyes at Cedes. "You look and sound different. More relaxed like you have had some of Carmen's purple haze that we smoke when we go on our trips and are in Colorado where it's legal. Have you been smoking reefer?"
"You know I don't smoke," Cedes replied. "A couple of times I wished I had some weed to smoke, and that I knew how to smoke it. Has Carmen told you about what happened at the Carlisles' house?"
"She said someone broke in on them, but both Jim and Mary Jo are all right." Again the narrowed eyes. "Is that not what happened? Is one of them hurt?"
Cedes pulled the bedside chair around so she was facing Roz, and sat down. "As far as I know, they're all right. But the man had a gun, and Jim shot and killed him."
Roz sucked in a breath. "Oh hell."
"I think that we did the best we could do with the situation." She told Roz how they had handled the situation, with the photographs and fingerprints, the statement she'd written up and had Jim sign. "If there's anything else we could have done, other than sending someone to Sevierville to fetch the sheriff—assuming anyone is even in the sheriff's office these days—I can't think what. We also have another problem. A lot of people in the valley don't have fireplaces. Some are probably getting by with kerosene heaters, but they're going to run out of kerosene eventually, when the weather gets colder and stays frigid."
"Which could be soon."
"Yes. A possible solution is clay braziers, if we can find a kiln here in the valley. Someone is checking with another woman who used to do pottery—"
"Holly Holiday used to do some pottery, if I remember right."
"Someone else mentioned her and was going to check."
"She used to have a small kiln, too. She and her mother made pottery to sell in the souvenir stores."
"Then pray she still has the kiln or knows someone local who does. I also told the community patrol about the gasoline in my tanks. Brett Bukowski is going to rig up a suction pump, and we're going to start dispensing it in five-gallon increments tomorrow morning at nine." She paused. "I didn't tell them about the small tank. Am I wrong?"
"I wouldn't have told them either, so if you're wrong, I'd be wrong right along with you." Once again Roz shifted her weight, winced as her ribs protested.
"I still feel a little guilty, but then I think about you and Bree, and—"
"And family always come first."
"The community patrol is going around and telling people about the gasoline," She sighed. "I tried not to let Herb Duncan get to me, but he questioned everything I said. If it hadn't been for Mike and Brett, I probably would have given up."
"No, you'd have wanted to, but you'd have stayed and slayed that surly beast of a man." Roz patted her hand. "I know that about your character, even if you don't."
"I know that Herb wants to feel important. He was the boss of his tire stores, but he's an outsider here and we don't listen to outsiders much. He was talking to some guy Mike said was a Nelson—I don't think I know him—and Herb was all puffed up, telling people about the gas as if it was his to give."
"The only Nelsons I know other than Ronnie are Lawrence and Rick. All of them are heavy into meth. I wouldn't trust them as far as I could throw them."
That was where she'd heard the name, Cedes realized, when Roz had said back when they were first getting organized not to let Ronnie Nelson go into old people's homes to help them because she'd steal their medications. Without doubt the Nelsons would show up to get gasoline, and she hoped they used it to leave, to go where they were more likely to find a thriving drug trade. Knoxville wasn't that far; they could make it on a couple of gallons of gas.
The thing was, she wouldn't be the only station owner who had cut off their pumps to save the gasoline. It was more likely that all over the country people would be getting into the gas reserves for exactly the same reason she was, to use it before the octane degraded too much to be usable. Did that mean that, for a certain stretch of time, groups of people who had been in one spot would start moving around? It wasn't just that smart people would know the rural areas would be surviving better than the urban ones, but that they'd have more to steal.
"I'm also worried about strangers coming here from the cities," she admitted. "If one has already made it this far, others can. With gasoline in their vehicles the patrol can cover more ground, for a little while at least, but other than that I don't know what to do, so I went to see Sam Evans."
Even in pain and drugged, Roz immediately perked up at that news. Her eyes sparkled. "You went to see White Chocolate? What happened? Did you finally get your back and cobwebs blown out?"
"Get your mind out of the gutter." By sheer force of will, Cedes kept herself focused on what she was going to say to not reveal anything that had happened at Sam's cabin. "He seems to have a soft spot for Jim and Mary Jo, and I thought if he knew what happened to them he might be more interested in helping us. He said he'd come down tomorrow morning when everyone lines up to get gas, to talk to the patrol members, so that's something. Oh—I also got into an argument with Lauren Zizes." She couldn't control a little smile, really more of a smirk. "I won. I think I did, anyway. She started in on me about hogging the gas for myself and after putting up with Herb and all his crap I was fed up."
"I don't know Lauren Zizes, I don't think, but yay anyway. Did you bitch-slap her?"
"Good God, no. From the looks of her she would have been tough to fight, but I had rage on my side."
"Oh! I think I know who you mean. We don't need both of us laid up, so I am glad you didn't try to take her to the carpet."
For all Roz had been so insistent about wanting Cedes to be in charge, she was nosey and managing and loved gossip and wanted to know exactly what was going on, even if she hadn't been bored. Cedes sat and chatted until Roz drifted off to sleep, then she quietly stood and tiptoed out.
During dinner, Cedes brought Carmen and Bree up to speed on the day's events and informed them that Emma Pillsbury was staying with Roz all night.
"There's no need for her to do that," Carmen protested. "We can swap nights and do just fine."
"You have duties during the day," Cedes pointed out. Carmen was now doing all of the cooking. Bree helped, but Carmen was the one in charge. "I wouldn't have a problem handling nights, normally, but today has been a challenge, and it started early and will be starting early tomorrow as well."
"Child, I doubt tomorrow will be any less busy, so if Emma or anyone else offers to stay, take them up on it." Carmen dipped up a bowl of soup for Roz, added the toasted bread to the platter. "She won't be down for much longer, when her ribs are less sore, she'll be able to get around on her own here in the house, and won't need any more pain pills."
"I can help, too. What difference does it make if I sleep upstairs, or down here in Grandma's room?" Bree pointed out.
"Well, that's true." All of Cedes's reasons for staying with Roz last night suddenly seemed less valid. Bree wasn't as young as she imagined a CME matured any young person quickly; she could help with her grandma. Delegate, delegate, delegate. Cedes reminded herself to ask for help when she needed it. She'd forced herself to ask for help from Sam and look how that had turned out. She felt her face, her entire body, getting hot, and not from embarrassment. When we have sex . . . She felt breathless, her attention instantly fractured.
Even though she realized Bree could help with Roz, she was profoundly grateful to Emma for staying with Roz tonight, so she could be alone and ruminate about everything that had happened today with Sam, and everything that could happen in the future. The near future, she hoped. While she understood why he was taking the very possibility of negotiation out of the situation between them, she wouldn't have minded if they hadn't waited at all.
Still, waiting had been for the best. She was innately cautious when it came to relationships, and even though being with Sam was something she wanted with all her heart, she needed to mentally prepare for being intimate with a man again after so long. If she had had sex with Sam this evening, she probably would not have wanted to leave him. She would want to sleep with him and wake up in his strong arms. Half of her was so filled with such a longing and excitement she wasn't certain she could contain herself, but the other half of her was uncertain. What if he didn't like her body? She had lost weight but she still had a belly and her thick thighs were still there just stronger. Maybe he was a freak. He seemed to be dominating. How he had dominated her with that kiss...Maybe he was into something too kinky. She didn't think she could do kink, which meant that if he did, in short order he'd be disappointed like Anthony was when she wouldn't eat out his ass or stimulate his prostrate during oral sex.
On the other hand, just kissing him had carried her higher than making love with Anthony ever had, so she could be short-selling herself as to what he wanted to do with her. She didn't know what he would be into, but she knew that just dry humping would be satisfying with Sam, and if they did oral, those lips of his...
"You look really weird," Bree said, looking at her like she had lost her ever loving mind.
Cedes jerked herself out of her fantasies and managed to say, "Like I'm crazy? Because that's how I feel, as if I have twenty balls in the air but only know how to juggle one."
"One ball isn't really juggling. It's just throwing a ball back catching it and repeating the process."
"My point exactly. I don't know how to juggle." She blew out a breath. "I'm going home, and going to sleep."
She did exactly that, not even bothering with going to her bedroom instead wrapping herself in a blanket and curling up on the couch where she could watch the fire. Funny how she had seldom lit a fire before, and now it was one of the most comforting things she could imagine . . .
She slept so soundly that she woke up feeling as if she'd slept for hours, but the fire still had small flames licking upward so she knew she hadn't. Sleepily she got up and replenished the fire, checked the battery-operated clock—11:03—and went back to the couch. Instead of going back to sleep, though, she lay there staring at the fire while she mentally ran through everything that had happened during the long, eventful day. She wanted to think about Sam, relive those intense, exciting kisses and the promise of more; instead she mentally worried over everything else.
A sense of unease gnawed at her, but she couldn't isolate the reason for it. There were a lot of things about the day to worry about, things that had already happened and couldn't be changed. Upcoming was dispensing the gasoline, but she'd have plenty of help for that, and Sam had promised to come down and get them better organized as far as security.
But . . . what if there was trouble over the gasoline? If demand outstripped supply, those left out were going to be angry. She couldn't think of any way to avoid that; she couldn't manufacture gasoline and put more in the tanks. They could dole it out in five-gallon increments—after the community patrol had filled their tanks—and there would either be enough for everyone to get some, or not. She also had to find out about the kiln that Holly Holiday might or might not have, preferably before they pumped the tanks dry.
Those were things to do, not things to be uneasy about. Short term, life in the valley was going to be easier, because of the gasoline supply she'd protected.
Liquid gold.
The supply of gasoline was priceless, the way things were now. People would do everything they could to get it, for use or trade. It was better than money, because you couldn't eat money, or stay warm with it.
In her mind's eye she suddenly saw Herb talking to Lawrence Nelson—Nelson, who, according to Roz, was involved in meth. Making it, selling it, or taking it, she didn't know, but meth was bad news. A meth addict would steal anything to feed the habit—
And she had gasoline.
If not Lawrence Nelson then others like him—and meth was an ongoing problem in the area—would know that come morning she'd be emptying the tanks. People had been deliberately spreading the news, just as she'd asked them to do. If anyone intended to steal the gas for themselves, they had to get it tonight, before people started lining up tomorrow. She expected people would start showing up well before dawn, and once they did, the opportunity for theft was gone. The best time to steal the gasoline was . . . now.
She threw off the blanket and surged to her feet. No one was stealing her gasoline.
Quickly she banked the fire, and threw on as many clothes as she could wear. She grabbed what she thought she'd need: a bottle of water, a probably stale granola bar, her .22 rifle, and a box of shells that she shoved into her coat pocket. She also got a couple of hand warmers from the camping supplies she'd bought that first day, along with her most powerful flashlight, and headed out. She was twenty yards down the road when she stopped.
What the heck was she doing?
The thought resonated. Her steps slowed, and she turned back. Why walk when she could drive? Seeing her SUV parked at the store should be a deterrent to anyone who was thinking about stealing the gas.
She might be inventing drama, seeing threat where none existed. She wasn't a gutsy heroine who would face down the bad guys with moxie, wit, and incredible courage. On the other hand, she would do her best to protect her family and the people in the valley who were expecting her to make decisions and look out for their common interests.
If that meant spending an uncomfortable night in a cold store, so be it. With luck, that was all that would happen. She had always erred on the side of caution, anyway. By some twisted logic she was putting herself in potential danger by being extra cautious.
She thought about stopping by Mike Chang's house and telling him what she was doing. He could help watch . . . but Mike was a doctor and on the patrol. He was already putting in long hours, and given that he'd been the one to get her early this morning he'd had even less sleep than she had. If she knew there was a threat to the gas supply of course she'd wake him, and anyone else who could help her, but she was guessing.
Guessing or not, she'd have to be a fool to go there and not let anyone else know.
Almost everyone had gotten in the habit of going to bed early, to save batteries and lamp oil. Roz's house was dark, as expected, when she pulled into the driveway, but she figured Emma Pillsbury at least would be easily roused.
Sure enough, when Cedes knocked on the door, only a minute passed before Emma said, "Who is it?"
"Cedes."
Emma quickly opened the door, and looked passed Cedes to her SUV. "Has something happened?"
"No, everything's alright. I'm spending the night at the store, and I just wanted someone to know."
Emma looked at her in sleepy confusion. "Why would you do that?"
"Because if anyone was to steal the gasoline, they would have had to wait until it was dark and everybody was asleep and before I give it away tomorrow."
"But—you can't do that alone! It's too dangerous!"
"I'm probably overreacting, and just parking my car there should be enough to deter anyone from trying anything."
"Or," Emma said, "you're right in your thinking and anyone who wants to steal the gas might not think twice at hurting anyone who gets in his way."
Hearing this plausible fact made Cedes hesitate. Then she sucked it up and said, "I have my .22. I should be okay."
Emma regarded her silently for a minute, then told her. "You have got to be careful and come back and get help if you need it."
"Of course, I will."
She quickly left before Emma could have a chance to change her mind. She drove to the store and slowly searched with her headlights to see if anyone was parked in the shadows around the gas area. She didn't see anyone, thank the Lord. She started to park by the door then had a second thought and parked on top of the access to the tanks. If anyone wanted to get to the tanks they'd have to push her vehicle out of the way first giving her time to sound the alarm for help.
Letting herself into the dark and cold store was always a little bit shocking, no matter how many times she'd done it when they had meetings there. This store had been her everything, the reason she got out of her house and forced her to socialize with people as well as was her only source of income, and now it was empty. And she didn't know how long it would remain this way. Even when the power came back on . . . that didn't mean the world would be ready for stores. Businesses couldn't produce goods overnight. Workers, how many would be left to even make the items she sold?
She could turn it into a farmer's market but who would barter from her when the farmers could sell their goods themselves...When would the world ever return to normal? She was sure that improvements would come in fits and starts as manufacturing slowly geared up, as food production got started again. Likely it would be a year after the power came back on before supplies began trickling in. How would banks even work? She had her supply of cash—thanks to Sam's warning—but what would she be able to buy when the time came?
For the foreseeable future, likely the store wasn't going to be her source of income. Come spring, everyone who had any sense would plant their own gardens. Instead of people buying potato chips, they'd be growing potatoes and other fruits and vegetables to preserve their own food for the coming winter. If she sold anything, it would be gasoline and other things the cash she had on stash could buy and make a meager profit out of. She wouldn't have to worry about Kroger and Walmart giving her any competition. She wondered if Sam's warning to her to get all the cash she could made her one of the wealthiest people around until the bank records were online and accurately verifying who had what. It was going to be a hot mess.
Sighing, she used the flashlight to check inside the store, looking in the storage area, the coolers, the bathrooms for people or rodents. Empty. She didn't bother locking the door behind her. She needed to be able to get out quickly, if someone was hiding inside. Also, in the deep silence the sound of the lock turning was loud, and would alert anyone who might be in the parking lot.
Surprise was going to be her friend.
She placed the rifle on the counter, the box of shells beside it, then turned the flashlight off and settled in the chair behind the counter. From there she could see almost the entire parking lot, and certainly anyone who arrived by road. The moon was almost full, and provided enough light that she thought she'd be able to spot any trouble.
The interior of the store was icy cold, but with all the multiple layers of clothing she had on, especially the extra socks, the quilted hooded hat, mittens, and down coat, she was, if not comfortable, at least not freezing. She figured that would change, as the hours wore on. Maybe people would start lining up early, really early, which would nullify anyone's idea of stealing the gasoline, and all of them could build a fire outside, away from the tanks, and stand around talking for the rest of the night.
She wished Sam were there with her. She should have gone to his cabin and got him to come back with her. They could pass the time just snuggling because the conditions weren't favorable for making out, just having him beside her would make her happy. They might not talk much, but just being near him would be enough. It was so long since she had a man's arms around her, and she would be honest and admit that she missed it and missed Sam already not even twelve hours later. She smiled in the dark, thinking of how delicious he tasted and how awesome he felt and her smile turned into a soft sigh of longing.
Her thoughts drew her gaze from the empty parking lot to Cove Mountain, looming dark and silent in front of her. She couldn't pinpoint where Sam's cabin was because there were no lights, but she could get close. He was up there right now with his fantastic shower and his dog, with his solar panels and his wood-burning stove and goodness only knows what else. If he couldn't be here with her, she wished she was there with him. Lord knows they'd both be more comfortable.
What time was it? She knew she hadn't taken more than half an hour—more like twenty minutes—to get dressed, stop by Roz's, and get here. Likely it was no later than twelve; that meant she had about six more long hours of darkness to get through. Sitting here in the cold and the dark was boring, but boring was good. Boring meant nothing was happening.
When we have sex . . .
Sam and their conversation kept running through her mind, along with her acute memory of his arms, and his fine body, his back back that she now knew intimately every scar and pucker on his skin, and his face, which was masculine and well proportioned and all-in-all drool worthy. She never fantasized about men, not movie stars or musicians or men she knew. Her brain didn't work that way. She would get aroused if she read a sexy book or watched a sex scene in a movie, but she never thought about a particular man when she would get horny and touch herself. But here she sat, fantasizing about Sam Evans and his mouth and his dick getting herself worked up on how he could please her. At least thinking about him kept her from feeling so cold, and her dirty thoughts were definitely keeping her awake.
A sudden movement and a flicker of light at the left corner front window caught her eye. She stood quickly, lifting her rifle, not pointing the weapon but wanting it in her hand. Someone was approaching the store.
A split second later, thanks to the full moon, she recognized the form headed her way.
Bree opened the door and stepped inside, the weak beam from her flashlight pointed downward to the floor.
"What in the hell are you thinking?" Cedes snapped as she set the rifle aside. She seldom got sharp or cursed at Bree but the girl just scared the crap out of her. What if she hadn't recognized her? What if she'd panicked and shot without thinking? Bree was near and dear to her heart, and Cedes couldn't fight her imagination, throwing up too many what-if situations that could have tragically happened.
Bree was dressed much like Cedes had, with boots, hat, gloves, and a heavy coat. Roz's .22 was slung over the teenager's shoulder, along with two small tote bags.
"I was thinking you shouldn't be here on your own," Bree calmly answered Cedes's question.
"I can't believe Emma would have let you—"
"She doesn't even know. I slipped out the back door, but I did leave a note on my bed, so they'll know where I am. I heard you drive up and listened to what you said. I tried to go back to bed, but then I got worried about you being here by yourself, so I got up, got dressed, and here I am."
"You need to go back home."
"I will when you will." Stubbornness laced Bree's tone. She went to the back of the store to grab her own chair, which she placed beside Cedes's. She put the rifle on the counter and the bags on the floor at her side. She turned off her flashlight, saving the already-weakened batteries.
Cedes battled with herself. How did she scold Bree for doing exactly what she herself was doing? Finally she relented but told her young cousin, "I don't want anything to happen to you."
"And I don't want anything to happen to you," Bree returned, to which there was no argument.
They sat in silence for a while. Then Bree reached into her left coat pocket and pulled out something that rustled as she extended her hand toward Cedes. The moonlight lit the store interior enough that Cedes was able to make out what the teenager was holding: two Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, her favorite candy. She offered one to Cedes.
"I hid these," Bree explained. "For an emergency situation."
"Candy for an emergency."
"Whatever...I think this qualifies as an emergency and chocolate does wonder for moods."
Cedes laughed and took the offered candy, unwrapped it, and drew the familiar patty closer to her nose to savor the aroma for a couple of seconds before she took a small bite.
"Better than sardines, wouldn't you say?" Bree asked, a smile in her voice.
They both took their time, nibbling at the candy, savoring every bite. "I wish I could have made some hot cocoa," Bree said. "But Emma would have heard. I brought water, though."
"So did I."
It could be worse, Cedes thought. At least Bree knew how to handle the rifle, though she wasn't any more expert than Cedes was. Roz had taught her the basics, because if there was going to be a firearm in the house then she wanted her granddaughter to know how to safely handle it. Matt had even set up targets for them to shoot long before he went to the military.
They sipped some water and just sat in silence. So far, all was quiet. If they were lucky it would be this way all night. Maybe having Bree here was a good thing; after the long day she'd had, she'd have a hard time staying awake. Chatting with Bree would help with that. Roz would be furious when she found out, but probably secretly proud of the girl, too.
After a while Cedes asked, "Do you have any more chocolate hidden away?"
Bree sighed. "No, that was the last of it. There might be a bag of chips squirreled away in the garage, though."
Cedes laughed, and it felt good after the stressful day to realize that laughter was still possible. Bree reminded her of the reasons why she was willing to step up and do what needed to be done, of why she'd put herself front and center, why she'd sit in her store all night to make sure no one stole the gasoline her family and friends and neighbors needed to get by. "Thanks for sharing it with me."
"You're welcome. You've definitely earned a peanut butter cup after all you've been through. I wish I could do more for you. All the things you are doing and have done makes me realize just how awesome you are."
"Thanks Bree." She said and hugged her young cousin even though as soon as she was a teenager she had started to draw away from hugs from her and were still some little remains of the young girl that Cedes treated like a living doll when Cedes first met her.
For a while they talked about Roz and her fall, about Carmen and the way she'd stepped up since Roz's injury. If Bree were older, Cedes would be tempted to tell her all about Sam, and the shower, but rifle aside, Bree was still a kid. And Cedes had never been keen on sharing details of her dating life—or lack thereof—even with her close friends. She was a private person. Introverted, but also private. She held some things, some thoughts, very close. They were for her and for her alone.
Cedes almost dozed off. Her eyes drifted closed; her head nodded. Bree did doze, though she woke at regular intervals because sleeping soundly upright in a chair wasn't something that was going to happen. Now and then they tried to keep one another alert with conversation about the weather and the future and their neighbors, but there were long periods of silence where neither of them had anything to say.
Her hands and feet got cold. She took off her gloves and got out the hand warmer packs and squeezed to activate them, put one in each pocket and gave the others to Bree who silently did the same. As small as the heat source was, having warm hands was blissful and made her feel warmer all over. She began getting sleepy.
In an effort to wake herself up, she drank more water, got up and walked around. Bree scooted her chair closer to the counter, crossed her arms on it, and rested her head on her arms. While she slept, Cedes stood at the windows with her hands in her coat pockets and watched the cold, still night.
It wasn't an hour later that the reflection of moonlight on glass revealed a quick, subtle flash that first caught her attention. She cocked her head, staring down the road. Then she heard the sound of engines, once commonplace but now so rare that adrenaline sent an electric charge through her body.
"Bree!" she said urgently, because someone driving down the highway with their lights off couldn't be good news.
"Hmm?" Bree mumbled.
"Someone's coming."
Hurriedly she went to the counter and picked up the rifle, went back to stand beside the door and look out the windows. Bree came to stand beside her, holding Roz's .22 with the barrel pointing down and away from Cedes. "I don't see anything," she whispered.
"Listen."
The sound of engines had grown louder—not just one engine, but several. Again, not good.
"Oh no." Bree sounded dismayed. Cedes felt as dismayed as Bree sounded. She had come here because she knew there was a possibility someone would try to steal the gasoline, but faced with the reality of multiple people driving toward her with their headlights off—sneaking—her stomach tied itself in knots. Her immediate terrifying thought was that something would happen to Bree.
"Get behind the counter," she ordered.
"No." Bree's tone wavered, but she stood her ground. "I'm fighting this fight with you."
Cedes pushed the door open, secured it so it stayed open. Maybe that was the wrong move but she didn't know defensive strategies, and she did know she didn't want to shoot through glass. Her SUV was here; that and the open door might convince whoever was coming to keep on going.
"It could just be people coming to get first place in line," Bree offered, hope in her voice.
"With their headlights off?"
"I guess not."
Five vehicles, three pickups and two older-model cars, came into view, moving slow. They drew even with the store and stopped.