Chapter 14
BETH
I want to argue with him, tell him that there's no way he should be the one doing the talking, not with a hole in his side.
But at the same time, I can see that he's probably dealt with people like this before.
He knows how to be firm without being an asshole, and he commands respect wherever he goes.
The four people walk toward our Jeep, taking up points by each tire, and I lift up a hand in a wave. Looking over at Knox, I watch as the two men approach him. He clears his throat, sitting up as straight as he dares. "Is Ryker here?"
Both of the men seem surprised that he's asked for someone by name. "How do you know Ryker?" One of them asks.
"He was my boss at the Sheriff's Department in Bishop's Landing. Tell him that Knox is here."
The two men exchange a look between themselves, something passing between them that I can't quite read. They've known each other long enough to have a conversation between themselves with nothing more than a look. I used to know people like that.
The taller of the two gives a short nod to the other, who turns and heads back through the gate at a jog without another word.
The one who stays plants himself at Knox's window, arms crossed over a very broad chest. He's not unfriendly, but he's also not welcoming either. He just stands there, watching us.
The two women have positioned themselves on my side, and when I glance over at them the closer one gives me a brief once-over, her eyes sharp and assessing. I get the feeling she doesn't miss much.
I give her what I hope is a calm, non-threatening look and resist the urge to explain myself.
Knox said let him do the talking, and I'm holding to that, even though every nurse instinct I have is screaming at me to tell someone he needs medical attention immediately.
He's been too pale for the last hour, and the makeshift bandaging I did in the woods is not going to hold indefinitely.
I press my hands together in my lap and watch the gate, waiting for whoever Ryker is to come through it.
Willing him to go fucking faster. I don't want Knox's death on my hands.
We don't wait long. It feels like years, but it takes less than five minutes before the gate swings open and a man comes through it with the kind of walk that doesn't leave any question about who's in charge.
He's tall, broad across the shoulders, with dark hair that's grown out past what a Sheriff's department would have allowed and a jaw that looks like it was cut from the same rock as the bluffs we passed coming into the city.
Was it a fucking bullet point for all the damn people who worked at the Bishop's Landing Sheriff's Department to be hot as hell?
On his side, he has a sidearm like it's part of his anatomy, and his eyes find the Jeep immediately, scanning it the way law enforcement takes note of all their surroundings.
I recognize it from watching Knox. Ryker is quick with what he's doing.
In the span of literal seconds, he's taken in everything about us.
He's assessed the threat, figured out if we're going to be a problem, and then allows himself to relax slightly.
Then he gets close enough to see Knox through the window, and something shifts in his face.
It's not exactly soft, but it's a humanity that you don't see much any longer.
He comes around to the passenger side and Knox pushes the window down the rest of the way.
"Knox?" Ryker's voice is low and even, but there's genuine relief shining through. "I'll be damned."
"Hey, boss." Knox manages something close to a grin, and it probably would have landed better if he wasn't the color of old ash.
Ryker's eyes drop immediately to Knox's side, to the bandaging visible beneath his shirt, and the relief in his expression turns much more urgent. "How bad?"
"Bad enough," I answer for him, because Knox opens his mouth and I don't trust what's going to come out of it.
I lean across the console so Ryker can see me clearly.
"I'm Beth. I'm a nurse. The wound is deep, it needs to be properly sutured, and he has been losing blood since early this morning.
He needs medical attention now. I'm worried he's not going to make it much longer if we keep delaying care. Y’all can catch up afterward. "
Ryker looks at me for exactly one second, then back at Knox. His eyebrows come together in question. "She always this direct?"
"Pretty much," Knox says, chuckling.
"Good. We need a hell of a lot more of that.
" Ryker straightens up and raises his hand, signaling toward the gate.
"Bring the Jeep through. We've got a woman here who was an ER doctor before all of this.
She'll sort him out." He looks back at me, and there's something in his eyes that makes my shoulders drop about an inch from where they've been sitting since this morning.
"You're both safe here. I give you my word on that. "
I look over at Knox. He gives me the smallest nod. If he believes it, then I do too.
I put the Jeep in drive and pull through the gate.
Ryker walks ahead of us at a pace that's fast without being a run, and I follow with the Jeep slowly behind him, taking in everything around me as we move deeper into the compound.
It can't be called anything other than that.
It's way more than what I expected when I heard others talk about this place.
The riverfront that once hosted concerts and festival crowds has been transformed into something that looks like the early bones of a real community.
The amphitheater itself still stands, its open-air structure repurposed into what appears to be a common gathering space, with long tables built from what looks like salvaged lumber.
Strings of solar lights run between posts someone has driven into the ground, and even unlit in the daytime they give the place a warmth I haven't seen in years.
Gardens have been planted in every available flat space along the riverbank.
There are raised beds made from everything imaginable, old pallets and broken concrete blocks and stacked stone, bursting with a ton of green.
Someone knows what they're doing with those.
A row of rain barrels lines the eastern wall, connected by a pieced together gutter system that somebody put some real thought into.
Farther back, against what was once the parking structure, I can see livestock.
Goats mostly, a few chickens picking around the edges of a fenced area, and what looks like two horses in a makeshift paddock that someone has reinforced with scavenged fencing and old highway signage.
People move through all of it like they all have an assigned job.
A woman is hanging laundry on a line strung between two light poles, a man up on a roof making repairs, two teenagers carrying buckets toward the garden beds, a little boy chasing a dog between the tables with a shriek of pure uncomplicated joy that makes my throat tighten unexpectedly.
This isn't like anything else I've ever seen.
It isn't just about survival here. They're building a fucking community.
Really building it, the way Knox said they would be, the way that older man on the horse believed his son would be a part of.
I think about the envelope tucked in our center console and make a mental note to get it to Ryker as soon as Knox is taken care of.
I slow the Jeep as Ryker turns toward a structure that sits just off the main thoroughfare.
It's a low building, looks like it was once a small event venue or ticket office, with a hand-painted red cross on the door and two solar lanterns burning on either side of the entrance even in the daylight.
It's a signal that everyone understands.
One that says there's someone inside to help.
And as I bring the Jeep to a stop, I lift my eyes to the roof, and pray that whoever it is in there will make Knox completely better again.