Seven Days To Brooklyn: A Sara Robinson Adventure by Christopher Westley Read Free Book Online Page A

here, too.”  
    “Looks as though we are in the dark again. I’ll check the back room. Got another light?”
    Sara reaches into her backpack and pulls out a hybrid flashlight. “Here, crank on this for a minute or two.”  
    She throws the light at him, and Mac gives it a minute of cranking before walking off into the back room. Minutes later he returns and looks around the room for Sara. He finally notices her off to the right, where she is curled up inside one of the half-empty shirt display shelves. She’s fast asleep.  
    Not wanting to disturb his newly-found, pint-sized bodyguard/assassin, Mac quietly sits down a few feet away from her and leans up against a pile of discarded clothing. Pulling his hands up behind his head, he closes his eyes to shut out the remainder of the day, dreaming of times past, the way things were before the event. His dreams come as flashes, little tidbits here and there: an evening at home with his fiancé or one of the frequent weekend 5k fun runs he competed in regularly. But mostly they go back to a simpler time when he was in the prime of his life, living, laughing, and loving his gal and hanging out with their small group of friends every Friday night at the pub on the river walk in San Antonio. His dreams fade to darkness as he starts snoring.

    2:00 a.m .

    The streams of light from a full moon shoot through multiple cracks in the boarded up windows, giving the room an eerie glow. Not enough light to read with, but just enough to make out objects.  
    With a snort and rumble, Mac stirs from his sleep and looks over at Sara. An empty display case where she was sleeping is all he sees. Her backpack is still pushed up into the case. Swinging his head around, he barely makes out her small frame silhouetted against the window. He can’t make out what she is doing and questions if she is a sleepwalker, like many young kids her age.  
    “Sara.” he calls out to her while standing up.
    “Quiet!”  
    Mac walks over to see what she is up to and realizes she is looking through one of the cracks in the plywood that is covering a broken window. Standing nearly three feet taller than she, he can look out at the street just above her. His eyes are still blurry from deep sleep but are able to make out a pair of figures standing in the middle of the street. The two of them are talking in a low voice that he cannot comprehend.  
    “What are they saying?”  
    Sara looks up at Mac and whispers back, “I’m not sure, but there is another man down the street to the right, and he is dragging someone with him. Pretty sure they are survivors. Pretty sure they are unfriendly.”
    Her instinct is spot on. Maybe it is the roughneck motorcycle rider look complete with long beards and leather jackets. Or she has keyed in on their combat boots. Not necessarily a sign of a military forces, but an early warning sign that these guys are probably part of one of the many para-military, wanna-be, gun slinging, doomsday preppers, the kind of guys who spent their whole life waiting for the end of the world. These are the kind of guys who are living their dreams terrorizing the last remnants of civilized society. Her dad had prepared her for people like this, without telling her what he was preparing her for. The countless hours of karate lessons, shooting lessons, and mixed-martial arts training had honed her into a lethal weapon of epic proportions in a twelve-year-old body, giving her a skill set she would be able to utilize to defend herself the rest of her life.  
    Without a word, Sara starts to reach over to her right side for the door handle, to open it. Grabbing her hand, Mac swings his head from side to side mouthing the word no.
    “It’s okay. I just want to get closer to see what they are saying. There is a shadow in the entrance to the store, and they can’t see me.”  
    Sara looks up at him and pushes his hand away. Her words were forceful, even at a whisper, and it has done the trick.