Chapter 25 The Mountain Climber
Finnegan didn’t rush her, but he was efficient. He helped her pack a duffle bag with enough clothes for at least four days–mostly the thermal gear, the heavy socks, and the new toiletries. He made sure she packed the stuffed wolf, tucking it into the side pocket with a smile.
“Just in case,” he said.
He went across the hall to his own room and returned five minutes later with a battered canvas rucksack slung over one shoulder.
They walked down the staircase together, moving like ghosts. The house was dead quiet. The usual him of activity–the clang of pots, the thud of boots, the laughter–was absent. The pre-dawn light filtered through the high windows, casting long, gray shadows across the foyer.
They needed to get a head start before the Pack house woke up. Questions would just slow them down.
They slipped into the kitchen. On the island, sitting alone in the spotlight of the under-cabinet lighting, was a large cooler and some brown paper sacks.
Finnegan peeked inside a sack.
“Dad,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Protein bars, dried fruit, jerky and are these brownies?”
He looked at Leela.
“Damon Blackwood packed us lunch. The world really is ending.”
He hoisted the cooler with one hand and grabbed the two sacks with the other.
“Come on. Out the back.”
He led her through a heavy oak door at the rear of the kitchen that Leela hadn’t used yet. It led out onto a stone path that wound away from the main house, cutting through the manicured lawn toward a large, separate outbuilding that looked like a cross between a barn and a high-tech garage.
The morning air was crisp and cold, mist clinging to the grass. Leela shivered, zipping her leather vest up to her chin.
Finnegan punched a code into the keypad on the garage door. It slid open with a smooth, well-oiled hum.
Inside, the smell of grease, rubber, and gasoline hit them. There were several vehicles parked in a row–sleek SUVs, a few motorcycles, and a couple of ATVs.
But Finnegan walked past them all to the far bay.
Parked there was a vehicle that looked like it had been built for a war zone. It was a massive, lifted truck, matte black, with roll bars, a winch on the front bumper that looked strong enough to pull a tree down, and tires that came up to Leela’s waist.
Finnegan grabbed a set of keys from a hook on the wall.
“Your chariot awaits,” he said, tossing the bags into the back.
Leela stared at the monstrosity. “What is that?”
“It’s a custom off-road utility vehicle,” Finnegan said, patting the metal fender affectionately. “But Jax calls them the mountain climbers. And trust me, where we’re going, we need something that can climb.”
He opened the passenger door for her. It was so high she had to use the step bar and the handle to haul herself in.
“Buckle up, Sparky,” Finnegan said, climbing into the driver’s seat and firing up the engine. It roared to life, a deep, guttural growl that vibrated through the floorboards. “The Grove isn’t exactly on Google Maps.”