Chapter 4
chapter
four
Pierce scanned the damaged interior of the gift shop. The U-shaped counter in the center of the room where the registers sat was still intact, and there were still a few aisles standing in the far back corner and to the right of the registers, though most of the goods had been thrown from the shelves. Some of the glass doors of the coolers along the left wall had shattered, as had many of the kitschy knick-knacks that once lined the shelves to the right of the store. There was glass everywhere. Clothing racks had toppled. Overhead lighting fixtures swung precariously, emitting sporadic bursts of pale fluorescent light before succumbing to darkness again.
The place was a mess.
Not only that, but the building itself had taken a beating during the earthquake, and with the aftershocks, the structure felt precarious at best. Dust floated in the stale air, and the occasional creak of strained beams made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
The group of survivors worked at gathering food and water, sharing uneasy glances and whispers. Pierce counted fifteen of them—four of which were kids, a few were teenagers, and the older couple had to be in their seventies and looked frail. They were all shell-shocked, their skin dusted with a fine layer of debris and eyes showing too much white with fear.
Counting Rhiannon and himself, that made seventeen survivors. Way too many for the space they had to work with.
He motioned for Rhiannon and a few others to follow as he strode over to the remnants of the camping supplies section in the back corner of the shop. He hadn't expected to find much in this tourist trap, but the camp stove Dottie had mentioned would help. And although he didn't think they'd run out of water or food any time soon—there was a robust food and snack section, taking up the entire right side of the store—but it wouldn't hurt to be prepared with the filters and purification tablets. If the aftershocks continued, who knew what else could collapse, trapping them in deeper or blocking off vital supplies.
Rhiannon quietly translated his instructions for the group as he pointed to the items they needed to gather: propane tanks, water filters, sleeping bags, anything else that could help them survive. Then they got to work.
As he pried a camp stove from the debris and handed it to Rhiannon, he noticed Dean hovering near the back hallway by the bathrooms. The guy was too twitchy, too aggressive, too angry. A wildcard.
Still, Pierce couldn't afford to focus all his attention on one potential problem. His mind was already stretched thin as it was. Every few minutes, he found his gaze eyes drawn back toward the front of the store. He couldn't see the smoke rising beyond the mountains from here, but he knew it was there, and the gnawing sense of unease grew sharper with each passing second.
He'd left his team.
He'd run instead of opening up to them, and now they were out there with no clue as to what they were facing. He'd thought he was protecting them by leaving, by keeping them in the dark, but he'd only put them in more danger.
Because he hadn't wanted to tell them what he was.
What he'd done.
Fuck.
He forced himself to look away from the front windows, and his gaze was inevitably drawn to the other thing he couldn't ignore— Rhiannon. He appreciated the way she moved through the space. Efficiently, calmly, and with purpose, offering comforting smiles or reassuring words to those who needed it. She hadn't panicked once since this ordeal began. It was rare to find someone with her composure in a situation like this.
She caught him staring and smiled as she crossed to him. She handed him a bottle of water they'd scavenged. "Thirsty?"
"Thank you." His fingers brushed against hers as he took it from her, and a jolt of awareness passed through him, a thrill of connection that momentarily distracted him from everything else.
He watched her as she turned back to continue scavenging, her hair falling in a cascade of chocolate and caramel over her shoulders. It was mesmerizing, just like the woman herself.
Focus, dumbass.
He needed to be sharp, couldn't afford to let emotion cloud his thinking—but he also couldn't ignore the warmth that spread through his chest whenever Rhiannon was near.
Stupid.
Cursing at himself, he twisted off the cap of the water. His throat was as dry as cotton, and his mouth tasted of dust. He took several deep gulps, draining half the bottle in one breath.
Rhiannon smiled at him. "Easy, big guy. I know you said we don't need to conserve water, but throwing it back like a shot of whiskey isn't necessary, either."
His lips twitched as he put the cap back on and tucked the bottle into the leg pocket of his cargo pants. "That was at least a quadruple shot."
Her eyebrows winged up. "Yeah? Have you done many quadruple shots?"
He felt his smile fade. There was a time he wouldn't have blinked an eye at that much liquor. Hell, he'd drank at least that much just to peel himself out of bed in the mornings. But those days were long behind him, he reminded himself. He was different now. His dog and his team had made sure of it.
"Big whiskey drinker, are you?" Rhiannon asked, unaware of the dark turn of his thoughts.
"Used to be." He needed to change the subject, and his gaze drifted back to their group. The murmur of voices and clanking of supplies gave some semblance of normalcy. They were working well together now, but would it last? The longer this situation went on, the higher tensions would rise, and the less cooperative people would become. "What do you think? Do they seem stable enough?"
Rhiannon watched the others, her expression thoughtful. "For now, they're keeping busy, and that's what we need. You were right to give everyone a task. But Dean…" She trailed off, and Pierce knew exactly what she was thinking.
"Yeah. I know. Don't trust him."
She sighed softly. "I don't. He's freaking Brooke out. And, honestly, me too. He keeps up all the sulking and pacing, and he's going to start a panic."
Pierce's jaw tightened. He glanced back toward Dean, who was zipping up a backpack with an angry yank. The guy probably thought he could hoard supplies for himself.
That was not going to happen on Pierce's watch.
But Brooke was right to feel uneasy about him, and Pierce's gut was telling him that something was going to snap in the guy sooner rather than later. Whether Dean was simply paranoid and erratic or hiding something darker, Pierce knew he had to be prepared for anything. They were sitting on a powder keg, and Dean was the lit fuse.
"I'm keeping an eye on him. If things go south, I'll handle it."
But as much as Dean posed a threat, he knew the real danger was still out there, lurking beyond the horizon. And, like a magnet, his gaze went back to the front windows. Were Zak, Donovan, Sawyer, Veronica, and the others okay? The last he'd seen Sawyer, the guy had been headed up one of the hiking trails on the mountain with his dog Zelda. Was they safely back at the rescue, or were they trapped somewhere, too? Was the rescue even still standing?
Dammit, he needed more information.
He turned to Rhiannon. "The radio Dottie mentioned? We should see if it's working."
"Oh, good idea. I'll grab it."
She disappeared behind the registers for only a moment before reappearing with the old radio tucked under her arm. "Found it," she said, her voice laced with a bright note of hope. "Let's hope it has batteries."
Pierce gestured for her to place it on the counter by the register. She set it down and began fiddling with the dials, her fingers moving with a quick, practiced ease that told him she was no stranger to this kind of equipment. Static crackled through the speakers, a low, grating hum that filled the otherwise silent room.
Rhiannon frowned, adjusting the tuner. "Come on," she muttered under her breath, her frustration evident as the static persisted.
Pierce stood beside her, his eyes scanning the various stations displayed on the radio's face. The silence was maddening, and the lack of any broadcast increased his sense of isolation. Just when he was about to sign something to her, the static shifted. A garbled voice cut through the noise, barely audible but there.
Rhiannon's eyes widened, and she quickly adjusted the frequency again, leaning in close as the voice became clearer.
"...Emergency broadcast...evacuate...aftershocks…"
Pierce's heart leaped into his throat. " Turn it up."
Everyone in the room stilled as she cranked the volume as high as it would go. The voice on the radio was still patchy, but bits and pieces of the emergency broadcast came through loud enough for them to understand.
"...major aftershocks predicted along the coast...inland routes blocked...military assistance deployed...stay in place if you are unable to evacuate...more information to follow…"
The room fell silent again as the broadcast ended, replaced by static.
"Oh my God," Dottie whispered.
Pierce clenched his fists. Military assistance? Aftershocks? He hadn't expected any help to arrive soon, but if the military was involved, it meant the situation was worse than they realized. And that made him uneasy. Whatever was happening wasn't just a random earthquake—it was bigger than that. His gut had been right.
This wasn't simply a natural disaster.
This was an attack.
And it was his fault.
Rhiannon looked up at him, her face pale. "Help's not coming anytime soon, is it?"
He met her gaze steadily, his heart in his throat. He wished he could've reassured her that everything was going to be okay, but he didn't want to lie. "No, we're on our own."
Rhiannon stared at him, a silent question in those incredible green eyes of hers. She wanted answers, and she was starting to suspect he knew more than he was letting on. The suspicion in her gaze all but undid him, but he couldn't tell her everything. It would only make her a target, too.
The group muttered nervously, their voices rising in a discordant chorus that echoed off the cracked walls and shattered windows.
Rhiannon turned away from him and held up her hands. "I know we're all scared, but we need to focus on what we can do, not on what's happening beyond our control." Her voice was steady and calm, cutting through the anxiety like a ray of sunlight piercing storm clouds.
She glanced back at him then, and he felt every pair of eyes turn to him. Their fear was a palpable thing, crawling under his skin. He drew a breath and lifted his hands. "She's right. Panic won't help. If the aftershocks are as bad as they say, we can't stay here. So we need a plan. We need to prepare for more aftershocks. That means securing the space we're in and getting ready to leave the moment we can. "
"Where are we going to go?" someone asked, panic rising in their voice.
"We don't know yet," Rhiannon said, paraphrasing his signs. "We don't know if we can even find a way out, so for now, we reinforce the building and stick together."
Pierce's gaze settled on Dottie, who was still sitting near Michael. The little boy had woken up, his small body nestled against the older woman's chest.
"Are you okay looking after Michael?" Rhiannon asked, reading his mind.
Dottie nodded. "Go on and do what you need to do. He'll be fine with me. Raszta's been doing most of the work anyway," she added with a warm smile.
Raszta.
Pierce scanned for his dog but didn't see him. "Where is he?"
After Rhiannon translated, Dottie frowned and glanced around. "Oh. Uh, I don't know. He was just right here a moment ago."
Pierce put his fingers in his mouth and whistled.
No response.
His chest tightened. Raszta had never failed to respond before. He pushed away from the counter. "I'm going to find him."
He had to.
Rhiannon reached out and lightly touched his arm. "I'm coming with you."
Pierce hesitated, then nodded. He turned toward the maze-like debris at the back of the store—the only place Raszta could have gone—and steeled himself for what they might find. "Ask Dottie what's back there."
Rhiannon relayed his question.
Dottie's brows creased in thought, her eyes fixated on the wreckage. "There's a small office and the employee break room and restroom. But, mostly, it's storage. It's all carved into the side of the cliff, so there aren't any windows back there or anything like that."
" Doors? "
"Just a back door leading to the loading dock and a smaller parking lot. It's where we receive shipments and where employees park. It's kind of off to the side of the main parking lot and hidden behind some trees."
He started for the jumbled mess of supplies and wreckage. Rhiannon was at his heel.
He stopped her. "You should stay here."
"No."
"Rhia—"
Her green-gold eyes met his as she cut him off, signing, "You need help."
He wanted to argue, to tell her it was too dangerous. But looking at the determined set of her jaw, he knew she wouldn't listen. "All right. Just stay close."
With each step down the hall, he was acutely aware of the danger they were about to face—the debris could shift at any point, trapping them. But if Raszta was in danger—or worse—he needed to know. He needed to help. Raszta was more than just his partner; the dog was his lifeline, an extension of himself. Without him, Pierce felt incomplete.
They moved through the destroyed shelves and crumbling walls, their steps measured and cautious. The air was thick with dust, particles floating in the faint light filtering through gaps in the rubble. It was almost eerily silent, save for their hushed breathing and the occasional creaking of the unstable structure around them.
Now and then, Pierce whistled again, straining his ears for any sign of Raszta in the eerie quiet. He kept a hand on Rhiannon's shoulder, guiding her through the worst of the mess.
A faint sound caught his attention. It was almost lost beneath the murmur of the group from the main room behind them and the groaning of the building's supports, but…
There it was again.
A weak, muffled cry.
He stilled, listening intently.
"Did you hear that?" Rhiannon's voice was low, but there was an edge of urgency to it.
He nodded and held up a hand for silence. The group quieted, their collective fear simmering just below the surface. The cry came again, a little louder this time, and definitely human.
"It's coming from over here." He was already moving toward the collapsed side wall of the shop when he heard the distinctive hoarse bark.
Raszta.
His boy's bark always sounded like a pack-a-day smoker.
He picked up his pace, crawling over a downed shelf, ignoring the debris digging into his palms. Rhiannon was right behind him, her breath hitching as they made their way through the mess. This section of the shop hadn't held up as well as the front, and the scent of fresh dust mixed with the sharp tang of electrical burns lingered heavily in the air. Pierce could hear the creak and groan of the overburdened structure above them. It was only a matter of time before the whole damn thing collapsed on their heads.
The bark echoed again, louder this time. That was Razzy's alert. He'd found something.
Suddenly, Rhiannon grabbed his arm to halt him. "Pierce," she breathed. Her eyes were wide as she pointed toward a mangled heap of fallen shelves.
He followed her gaze and saw the hand poking out from beneath a pile of debris. Raszta was there, paws scraping frantically at the rubble. Someone was trapped under there, and if his boy was pawing at it like that, they were alive.
He hastily signed to Rhiannon, "Stay here."
Without waiting for her reply, he crawled toward his dog. Sharp edges of broken metal and splintered wood cut into his hands as he began to dig.
Of course, Rhiannon didn't listen. He didn't know why he was surprised. She was stubborn and brave, not one to shy away from danger when someone else's life hung in the balance. She dropped to her knees beside him and dug.
Time seemed to stretch out as they worked on clearing the debris. Sweat dripped into his eyes, but he ignored it, focusing on getting to whoever was trapped beneath the rubble.
Suddenly, there was movement— a twitch of the fingers.
The person was conscious.