19. Quake
QUAKE
I've organized security for events bigger than this, coordinated club functions with hundreds of people in attendance. I’ve helped manage funerals at Death’s Door, charity drives for other agencies, toy runs, and been a part of enough public gatherings to know exactly how quickly chaos can erupt when people stop paying attention.
None of that has prepared me for seeing Sacred Haven come alive.
It’s only six-thirty in the morning, and volunteers are everywhere.
KOAMC brothers move tables, unload supplies, direct food vendors, and argue over things that don't fucking matter.
Children dart through the property with more excitement than sense while local businesses arrive to set up booths.
The field that Whitney insisted was impossible to use has somehow transformed into a full-blown carnival, no water-pumping or rented flooring required.
Families begin arriving before we're officially open, and by noon, the place is packed. It should stress me out, but I find myself smiling like a damn fool every time I look around.
It’s working. This fundraiser that started as a ridiculous idea thrown across a desk has become real.
Sacred Haven is going to be okay.
I weave through the crowd toward the dunk tank.
Copper, one of my patched brothers, is currently sitting above the freezing-cold water while kids line up and take their shots.
Every single one misses, and it’s not because they have bad aim.
No, the bastard is holding a sign that reads ‘Miss the target, Make a dollar’.
Glitz is even standing near the line handing out the promised cash after each kid misses.
“Coward,” I call out to him.
Copper grins. “I prefer strategic.”
Laughter breaks out among the nearby volunteers. The sound blends with music, conversations, and excited squeals from children throughout the carnival grounds.
For the first time in weeks, I allow myself to enjoy it.
Everything else can sit on the back burner for a few hours.
Besides, there’s not much more we can do as far as Carrie goes, other than continue to search.
At the request of Whitney, we turned over what we knew to the police.
We did not tell them about Tom and Keith’s untimely deaths, so they’re looking for them, as well, but I don’t give a rat’s ass.
Carrie’s disappearance bothers the hell out of me, but there isn’t much I can do about it today. Not when there are children everywhere, not when Melissa is having so much fun.
Thoughts of the little girl has me scanning the crowd, and it doesn’t take me long to find her. She’s standing near the petting zoo with Stella on a leash at her side. Stella is being a public nuisance, barking at the goats, but they don’t seem to mind too much.
Whitney is behind the girl, her hands resting on her shoulders. Fuck me, the sight steals the air right out of my lungs. Seeing her, seeing them is one of my favorite things.
As if tethered by an invisible string, Whitney glances in my direction. Our eyes meet, and a smile immediately appears on her face. Mine follows seconds later. The exchange is brief, simple, and way more meaningful than it should be.
Then Melissa notices me. “Quake!” she yells, running toward me.
I crouch just in time for Melissa to throw her arms around my neck. “Having fun?” I ask.
"Having fun?"
She nods enthusiastically. "The goat ate Junior's map."
"What map?" I ask with a chuckle.
"The carnival map."
I glance toward the petting zoo and find Junior looking deeply offended while a goat chews on a crumpled piece of paper.
The prospect catches me laughing. "I hate all of you,” he grumbles.
"I know,” I call back.
"You might want to help him," Whitney says as she reaches us.
I glance at Junior, then at the goat, then back at her. "Nah."
She rolls her eyes at me, and Melissa smacks my arm playfully. It all feels very comfortable, very… perfect.
Maybe that's why unease begins creeping up my spine. When something is so good, it hurts that much more to lose it.
I've spent years learning to trust my instincts, and right now, they’re screaming. I take in my surroundings, searching for anything out of place, but there’s nothing.
Nothing by my gut telling me something is wrong.
As the afternoon progresses, I try to put the worry out of my head, but I can’t.
Every security checkpoint reports normal activity. Every volunteer reports normal activity. Every brother assigned to monitor the grounds reports normal activity.
So, everything is normal, right?
WRONG!
I eventually find myself standing near the entrance watching people come and go. Zombie joins me after a few minutes.
“What’s got your panties in a wad?”
"I don't know.” The answer, while not complete, is honest because I can’t put my fucking finger on what’s bothering me.
He studies the crowd, following my gaze every time it shifts.
"Still thinking about Carrie?" he asks.
"Yeah."
My VP nods. "Me too."
Makes sense. Neither of us likes loose ends. Shit, no KOAMC brother worth a damn likes loose ends. And Carrie is one hell of a loose end.
Eventually Lyric joins us, and his gaze sweeps the carnival. "Turnout looks good."
"Better than good,” Zombie adds.
"Sacred Haven should do all right,” Lyric says.
I nod. The fundraiser has exceeded every projection we made. Sponsors showed up, donations poured in, families turned out in force. Everything we hoped for happened. Almost every problem in Whitney’s financial reports has a solution now. That should make me happy.
And yet…
A shout from across the field draws my attention, and I stiffen. The voice belongs to Melissa.
“Look, Quake!” she yells.
I relax only when I see that she’s at the face-painting booth with Stella, and a butterfly decorates her cheek. The sight is adorable.
Settling back into monitoring things from the entrance, the afternoon drifts by. One hour becomes two, and two becomes three. Slowly, people begin filtering toward the exits.
The carnival isn't ending yet, but the busiest period has passed. I eventually find myself helping dismantle one of the vendor tents. I’m focused on my task, putting the last of the poles into the bag when I hear my name again, only this time it’s not yelled.
It’s spoken with an urgency that has every nerve ending in my body going alert. I turn and see Whitney closing the distance between us. The moment I catch sight of her face, I know my instincts were right earlier… something’s wrong.
Whitney’s pale, terrified, and there’s no trace of the happiness from earlier.
"Whitney?"
She stops in front of me, and for a second, her chest heaves as if she can’t catch her breath. A familiar dread rises in my chest.
“What happened?” I demand.
Her eyes lock with mine, and tears fill them. “It’s Melissa.”
“What about her?”
Frantically, she shakes her head. “I… I can’t find her.”
My vision narrows, and the air leaves my lungs. “No, she was just…” I whirl toward the face painting booth, then the petting zoo, bounce houses, food vendors, the stage, any place she may be.
She’s nowhere.
"How long?" I ask Whitney. “How long since you saw her?”
Her face crumbles. “Ten minutes, maybe. I was helping a mother wrangle her kids so they could go home, and Melissa was…” She swallows. “She was with me. And then she wasn’t.”
“Maybe she went to the bathroom,” I suggest.
“No, I checked,” Whitney says. “Besides, you know her. She doesn’t wander off.”
She’s right, she doesn’t. Most kids would, especially with all the temptation at a carnival, but not Melissa.
This isn’t a case of ‘oh we’ll find her in a few minutes and have a funny story to tell later’. I’m as certain of that as I am that I’ll eviscerate anyone who dares to hurt her.
I grab my radio and depress the side button. “Lock it down,” I demand. “Nobody leaves, nobody enters. Check every damn inch of this property.”
The atmosphere changes instantly, like a switch being flipped. Brothers abandon conversations, volunteers stop working, and people begin moving.
Lyric appears beside me seconds later. “What happened?”
“Melissa’s gone.”
Silence, absolute and complete silence for a full ten seconds. Then my president’s expression turns deadly. He lifts his own radio to his mouth.
“Quake’s daughter is missing,” he barks into the contraption. “We don’t rest until she’s found.”
Quake’s daughter.
His words penetrate the haze of fear and rage, but I don’t bother correcting him because it hits me that that’s exactly how I think of the little girl. I fully expect Whitney to correct him, but she doesn’t either. Instead, she slides her small hand in mine.
Please, God, let her be okay.
The carnival transforms from celebration to search operation as my pulse pounds violently. I try to hold onto hope.
Maybe Melissa’s hiding, or she’s chasing Stella, or some other perfectly reasonable explanation.
The miniscule sliver of hope I have vanishes the second I hear a scream pierce the air. The sound comes from near the parking area, and Whitney takes off running before I can stop her.
I follow immediately, and people scatter as we push through the crowd. When we reach the edge of the lot, a volunteer is kneeling beside something on the ground.
Stella’s leash and cherry collar but no Stella.
WOOF!
WOOF!
“Everyone, shut the fuck up!” I shout, straining to listen.
WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!
Stella comes bounding out of the trees, frantic, agitated.
Whitney drops to her knees, wrapping her arms around the dog. “Oh, Stella, where is she? Where’s Melissa?”
WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!
I kneel beside them and notice the beagle has on a collar I’ve never seen before. Tucked in it, against Stella’s neck, is a folded piece of paper. I reach for it, my hand trembling.
I unfold the note, and Whitney is crying before I even finish reading. I don't blame her. The message is short, simple, and the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.
If you want to see Melissa again, stop looking for me.
- Carrie