Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) James Best (best e book reader .TXT) 📖

survived a landlocked tidal wave. As he approached, with over thirty thousand lumens lighting the way, he saw no humans, only a solitary tree standing sentinel over mud and rubble. Then the cry became louder. It sounded close. Why couldn’t they spot the source of the cry for help?

“In the tree,” O’Brian said.

Evarts thought he could discern the outline of someone clinging to a branch. Within a few more yards, he became certain. He nudged the gas pedal and accelerated to nearly twenty-five miles an hour. Too fast. Shit. He steered away from the tree and applied the brakes, skidding to a stop directly aside the trunk.

“Great driving,” O’Brian said as he leaped out of the truck.

Evarts would let that one stand as uttered. When he climbed out, he spotted a nude boy, or more likely an early teen with his arms wrapped around a heavy branch. He looked like he might be in shock. The eyes were wild, the expression fierce.

“Who are you?” he yelled. “Turn off those lights, I can’t see.”

“Search and Rescue,” O’Brian said. “We’ve been looking for you. What’s your name?”

“Scott. Scott Bradley. I live on Midten Hof. Have you seen my family?”

“They’re probably at the evacuee camp,” Evarts said. “We’ll call as soon as we get you down.”

“I’m not coming down until I see ID.”

Evarts almost laughed, but in a cool tone, O’Brian said, “Chief, why don’t you turn off that light bar and bring over a few blankets?”

Evarts went to the truck and returned with blankets, water, and an energy bar.

“Hungry, thirsty, or cold,” Evarts said. “We can help with any of those.”

O’Brian stood under the tree with his arms uplifted. The boy hadn’t moved. He clung to the tree with such ferocity that blood seeped from his hands, arms, and legs.

“I … I can’t come down,” the boy said.

“It’s okay,” O’Brian said soothingly. “The flood has passed. You’re safe now. You can let go.”

“Call my mom.”

“Scott—”

“No! Call my mom. If my family’s dead, I don’t want to come down.”

Evarts pulled his cell, called Sheriff Lopez, and walked out of earshot.

“Tom, we found a survivor and a corpse. We GPS-tagged the corpse, and we’re trying to get the survivor out of a tree. He’s preteen and in shock. He insists on knowing about his family before coming down. Name, Scott Bradley.”

“Crap, we don’t have an evacuee list,” Lopez said. “Hasn’t been a priority. Wait. If someone is missing, then the family has probably asked every uniformed person in this park about them. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll call you back.”

The phone went dead.

As Evarts walked back to the tree, Bradley said, “They’re dead, aren’t they?”

“I don’t think so,” Evarts said. “There are hundreds of people at Hans Christian Andersen Park, but we don’t have a list. The sheriff’s going to ask around to see if anyone has asked about you.”

“How did you get separated?” O’Brian asked.

“My sister and I were walking home from school and …” His voice trailed off. He started looking every which way. “My sister. Did you find my sister?”

“Where did you see her last?” O’Brian asked calmly.

“Just before I ran. Oh no! It was my job to watch her, get her home from school. Mom will—”

He started crying uncontrollably. Damn, Evarts thought. It wasn’t his fault. God, he hoped the rest of his family made it, because this boy was going to need help.

“Son.” The sternness in O’Brian voice was the first time he had displayed emotion. “Time to get down. You need to help us find your sister. Come on. Let’s go.”

Bradley didn’t stop crying, but he relinquished his death grip on the tree and jumped/fell to the ground. O’Brian didn’t catch him so much as break his fall, while Evarts rushed forward to wrap him in a blanket. O’Brian led him to the truck with an arm around his shoulder, and both crawled into the backseat. Evarts came around the cab and jumped into the driver’s seat. Just as he pulled away, his phone buzzed.

“Evarts,” he said.

“The family’s here. Mother, father, two teenagers.” He hesitated. “They also need to know about their daughter.”

“Yeah, understood. We’ll get to that paperwork as soon as we get back. See you in fifteen.”

Evarts hung up and blinked moisture from his eyes.

Chapter 18

“We need to move!” Ashley screamed into Patricia Baldwin’s ear.

“Sit back,” Baldwin said as forcefully as she could.

Ashley was beginning to annoy her. Smith had threatened to punch him into quietude. If he kept baying, she just might encourage Smith.

“We can’t move,” Smith explained. “We have a solid line of cars to the right, water to the left, and an asshole in a U-Haul blocking the shoulder.”

“Should we walk?” Wilson asked.

“The water on the highway is a foot deep. In a half hour, you’d be dead tired. None of you are in shape to walk through that kind of resistance.”

“Are you?” Wilson asked.

“Yes.” Then he turned around and smiled to the backseat. “I can go a whole hour. Walking … or any other form of exertion.”

Baldwin wanted to shut off Smith’s path to ribald banter. “Okay, let’s think this through. On the negative side: We have a continuous downpour, a traffic jam, and no means of communication. To top it all off, we’ve pissed off our new neighbors. On the positive side, we’re dry with enough food and water for a couple days. So … do we wait it out or will we die if we stay put?”

“That’s easy, we—”

Baldwin interrupted Smith. “No. I want to hear from Jon and Sherrell first.” Smith gave an it’s-your-funeral shrug. She continued. “Jon, you likened this phenomenon to the filling of a bathtub. But this is a damn big bathtub. How long will it take and how high can it actually get?”

After a moment of thought, Ashley said, “Sorry, bad analogy. The Central Valley is indeed shaped like a bathtub, and, I suppose, the Sacramento River could be viewed as a faucet, but in truth, the valley is more like