by Kyle Pratt
Race to Refuge
A Bugout Story
By Kyle Pratt
Race to Refuge
A Bugout Story
By Kyle Pratt
ebook ISBN: 978-1-7328964-3-7
eBook Version 1.00 – March 1, 2019
All Rights Reserved
Editor: Julie McDonald Zander
Cover Design: Inspired Cover Designs
Ebook Design: Amit Dey
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.
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Acknowledgments
I believe all authors have stories that remain unwritten often for years and sometimes forever. Race to Rescue has been bouncing around in my head for about five years. I’m glad it finally found a way out and onto the page.
Like most authors, I write alone, but my books are never my sole creation. I write the first draft of the manuscript, but then a host of people make suggestions and help the story grow into final form.
The first person to see any manuscript is my wife Lorraine. Often, she has been working with me while the story is just an idea in my head. She also reads the final draft of every chapter and manuscript.
My critique partners are another valuable asset. For this story, Robert Hansen, Kristie Kandoll, Debby Lee, Carolyn Bickel, Joyce Scott, Pat Thompson, and Amy Flugel offered suggestions on everything from my usage of grammar to characterization, setting, and story continuity. Thank you!
Next, the story is read by at least one beta-reader. Since Race to Rescue is a shorter, straight forward story, I felt only one reader was needed and asked Jennifer Vandenberg to look it over. She usually reads the story twice and ensures I haven’t introduced any errors during the editing process.
Then it goes to Julie McDonald Zander, for a final edit. She knows the rules of grammar and when to obey them and when I can break them.
Thank you all for making this book possible.
Kyle
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Through Many Fires
The Storm Rises
Through the Storm
About the Author
About the Newsletter
Chapter 1
Near the University of Washington, Seattle, Washington State
Saturday
Ryan Palmer’s back ached, his arms tingled and something uncomfortable dug into the left side of his face. But the banging bothered him the most.
What is it? Someone make it stop!
As the mental fog faded, he realized that he had once again fallen asleep sitting at his desk hunched over his laptop. His arms embraced the computer which now served as a pillow. He stood, dragging his nearly useless limbs away from the device.
The banging continued.
“Ryan, are you there?” Amy’s usually soft voice boomed through the front door of the apartment, along with more vigorous knocking.
“Yes, give me a moment.” The sensation of pins and needles coursed along Ryan’s arms as blood flow resumed. He could move his limbs, but not enough to wipe the drool from his face or unlock the door.
He stumbled to the bathroom and stared at the tired reflection in the mirror. A half-dozen computer keys had left red marks along one cheek. His brown hair twisted in all the wrong directions.
“Open the door,” Amy shouted. “Have you seen the news?”
“No … about the news,” Ryan shouted to be heard across the apartment. He forced his arms into motion, splashed water on his face and wiped with a towel. “Just give me a second.” He ran fingers through his hair and hurried to let Amy in.
When the deadbolt clicked back, she pushed the door open.
“Turn on the TV,” she ordered as she strode past him. “You need to see this.”
“TV?” He rubbed tired eyes. “What time is it?”
“Six-thirty.”
“In the morning?” A fog of confusion filled his mind.
“Of course it’s morning.”
Her shoulder-length blonde hair danced as she hurried across the room. The exposed skin of her arms and waist glistened with sweat and the sports bra and spandex pants accentuated every curve of her body.
Despite the pleasant view, he tried to sound more irritated than he felt. “You know I was studying late. Why—”
“Listen!” She snapped on the television.
A network announcer appeared on the screen over a “Breaking News” banner. “… due to the Chinese missile attack, the president has ordered the United States armed forces to DEFCON level two. All military leaves have been canceled and personnel have been ordered back to their units.”
His eyes widened and his jaw dropped as Ryan plopped on the couch.
“Over one hundred sailors are confirmed dead and more are missing after the surprise attack on the aircraft carrier Kennedy. Fires continue to burn onboard the vessel, but Admiral Fletcher believes the ship can be saved.” The image on the screen switched from the announcer to a blurry video of a burning ship with several tugboats nearby. “We received this video from a fishing vessel off the coast of Japan showing the carrier returning to its homeport of Yokosuka.”
“I was out on my morning run when I heard the news.” Amy sat beside him and squeezed his hand. “Do you know where your brother is?”
“Reid is on a submarine based at Pearl Harbor.” Ryan shook his head. “I’m not sure if he’s in port or deployed.”
His cellphone rang and he grabbed it from beside his laptop. “It’s my dad.”
Amy muted the TV as Ryan answered.
“Hi, Da—”
“Have you been listening to the news?”
“Yes. Amy woke me a little bit ago.” While still talking with his father, Ryan continued to watch as Amy switched through the local Seattle stations and onto a cable news channel. Every station carried similar news.
“I hope this doesn’t lead to war, but … well, your mother wants you home.”
“This might have been an accident. They might have thought it was … I don’t know … maybe a Russian ship.” But as Ryan continued to watch the crippled vessel struggle back to base, he wasn’t sure he believed his own words. “It might simmer down.”
His father grunted. “Doubtful. The Chinese have been working closely with Russia lately, and with tensions in Asia so high, events could spiral out of control in moments.”
Trying to alleviate some of the tension between him and his father, Ryan asked, “Where’s Mom?”
“Shopping, before the panic-buying starts. Do you have food on hand?”
“Not much.”
“Stock up. You may have to travel on short notice and who knows if you’ll be able to buy food.”
“I can’t miss finals.”
“Is the gas tank full on your jeep?”
“Yes.” I think.
“Is your bugout bag packed and ready?”
He rolled his eyes at the phone. “Yes … the last time I checked.”
“Check it today,” his father growled.
When he was a boy his d
ad had often issued orders to him and Reid. Clean your room. Rake the leaves. Take out the trash. Back then both of them would often smile, salute and then do as ordered. Ryan wasn’t smiling or saluting now.
“Keep your phone with you, keep it charged, and monitor the news.”
Ryan imagined a sarcastic salute.
When his father hung up, Amy moved to the desk and turned on the laptop.
“Why are the keys damp?”
Ryan shrugged.
After wiping both her hands and they keyboard with a cloth, Amy checked for flights back to her home in New York. She slumped forward resting her head on her hands. “Everything is booked for days.”
“We’ll be fine here and cooler heads will prevail over there.” Ryan read the scroll at the bottom of the muted TV. Taiwan’s military was on high alert, along with Japan and South Korea’s. North Korean troops were massing along the demilitarized zone.
Ryan motioned for Amy to join him on the couch. “You’ll see. Things will be okay.” He wasn’t sure he believed that, but he knew it was the thing to say.
Amy took the TV controller, turned the sound back on, sat next to him, and stared at the phone still in his hand. “What’s a bugout bag?”
Ryan sighed and then retrieved a large camo-green backpack from under his bed. With a thud, he set it on the coffee table. As he opened it, he explained. “It’s sometimes called a seventy-two-hour bag because it’s supposed to contain everything you need to survive for three days of emergency travel.”
Camouflage duct tape rolled out of the bag and Amy set it aside. She pulled a first-aid kit out, a pocket knife, and multi-tool. After briefly examining each, she set them on the table. Then she removed a locked silver metal case about the size of a lunch box. “What’s this?”
Ryan retrieved a key from his pocket and opened the container revealing a pistol resting in foam padding. “This is a Sig Sauer P229.”
She gasped, and used a finger to push the case farther away. “I never knew you owned a gun.”
“It was a gift from Dad. He insisted both Reid and I learn to shoot and he wanted me to keep it in the bugout bag.”
“That’s a weird gift.”
“If you knew my dad you wouldn’t think that.”
The dong of a breaking news alert sounded and a different announcer appeared on the television. “We have unconfirmed reports of a large-scale attack north of Seoul, South Korea. We are attempting to reach our reporter on the scene. Seoul, the capital city, is only forty miles south of the demilitarized zone.”
Ryan remembered his father’s words, “Events could spiral out of control in moments.” His mouth felt dry. Events were spiraling. His gut grew tight with worry.
“We’ve contacted our correspondent in Korea. Sandra Larson, are you there?”
A woman in her thirties with brunette hair appeared on the screen. A column of thick black smoke rose in the distance as sirens wailed. Wrinkles lined her brow and she looked off screen as if events there were happening faster than she could take it in.
“Sandra, can you hear me?”
“Yes …Yes, Bryan, I can.” She slapped one hand over an ear and with the mic in the other spoke into the camera. “I’m standing on the roof of the building where our offices are located. Just before we came on more than a dozen explosions rocked Seoul and you can see some of the fires behind me. Local media reports that North Korean artillery is shelling the city.”
The camera shook as more explosions thundered.
Sandra winced and glanced over her shoulder. “That’s close.” Turning back to the camera she said, “We’re going to have to move for our own—”
The screen froze, pixelated, and then went black.
Ryan stared at the television. What should he do? What could he do? While still struggling for answers the stateside announcer returned to the screen.
“We seem to have lost the signal from Sandra Larson in South Korea. She was telling us ….”
“Can you drive me back to the dorm?” Amy asked over the voice of the announcer. “I want to get some of my stuff and stay here for the weekend … if you’re okay with that.
Any other time Ryan would have grinned and said “sure,” as the many less than noble possibilities filled his head.
But not now.
He wanted her near. He felt a need to protect her, but he also drew comfort from her presence. Even if they just watched the terrible news together, he would be grateful. He stumbled, searching for the right words to express those feelings and ended up saying, “Okay … sure.”
The radio provided the only voice as they traveled in worried silence to the University of Washington campus nearby.
The dorm lobby was packed with students. A solid mass of people stood close to the television set and watched in silence as Ryan and Amy passed behind them. Those toward the rear discussed events with animated intensity.
“The military industrial complex uses war,” a man about Ryan’s age insisted.
“No,” a young woman contended, “war is part of the imperialist system.”
“We didn’t start this,” another man wearing an Army sweatshirt said.
“Of course, we did,” the woman continued, “by our colonial-like oppression of other cultures we created the hostilities that are now boiling into conflict.”
Ryan still hoped there wouldn’t be a war and didn’t care to discuss it as he escorted Amy to her room on the third floor.
Amy unlocked the door and raced to the dresser. She scooped underwear onto the bed, along with socks and a few bras. Next, she grabbed jeans and shirts. Then she retrieved a backpack from the corner and stuffed everything in.
“Can I help?” Ryan asked.
“Yeah. Could you get the sleeping bag from the top shelf in the closet?” She dropped three bottles of water into the bag and hurried toward the bathroom.
“You won’t need a sleeping bag.” Ryan paused in the middle of the room. “I’ll sleep on the couch if that’s—”
She shook her head. “It’s just in case.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he retrieved the rolled-up bag from the closet.
Amy exited the bathroom with a girly pink case. She grabbed her purse from the nightstand. “I think I’m done.”
Ryan flung her backpack onto one shoulder and together they hurried down the stairs. As they reached the last flight the noise in the lobby rose to a crescendo with shouted curses and weeping.
“What happened?” Ryan asked as they entered the lobby.
Army sweatshirt guy said, “North Korea launched a nuke toward Honolulu. The navy is trying to shoot it down.”
Ryan hurried from the dorm with Amy as he struggled to imagine hitting a missile with another missile. His gut twisted in worry. If Reid were deep beneath the surface of the Pacific, he might be safer than the rest of the family.
As they drove back to the apartment, Amy tried to call her parents. “I can’t get through. It keeps saying all the circuits are busy.”
“Everyone wants to call someone.” Ryan turned onto the side street leading to his apartment. “Send a text, it might get through.”
Amy’s thumbs flew over the phone as Ryan pulled into the parking space.
When they were back in the apartment, he turned on the television while Amy sat at the computer and tried again to book a flight home.
The television displayed aerial images of gridlocked highways. “… there are few safe places to go. Despite that, everyone is trying to leave Honolulu. Commercial and private aircraft are leaving the island as quickly as possible. Cargo vessels and even yachts and fishing boats are heading out to ….” The announcer paused and looked off camera and then turned back with a relieved smile. “The navy reports they have destroyed the North Korean missile.”
Ryan hugged Amy and then slumped back on the couch with a sigh. “Things might work out.”
For the first time since returning to the apartment, Amy set her phone down. As her fingers rel
eased it, the device buzzed.
She grabbed it. “Hi, Carol … Hello? Hello?”
Ryan muted the TV, but focused his attention on the news scroll. “DEFCON level raised to one. The United States military is at maximum readiness. The President is expected to address a joint ….”
It didn’t seem like things were working out.
“The phone said my friend Carol was calling.” Amy frowned at her phone. “I guess it dropped.” She let it slide into her lap, but it buzzed again and her thumbs went to work on the screen. “Carol says the administration canceled classes for the rest of the term. She’s driving home to Bellingham.”
A few moments later Amy set the phone down, “There’s no reason for you to stay here now. You should go home. You’ll be safe there.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
She smiled at him with tearful eyes. “You should get away from here.”
“Come with me. At least until all of this calms down.”
She stepped close and wrapped her arms around his waist. With a coy grin, she said, “Grab your bugout bag and let’s go.”
Chapter 2
Ryan stuffed clothes in a backpack and added trail mix and water to the bugout bag while Amy showered. He zipped the bag closed. His father might be a nutty prepper, but today Drake felt glad to have the supplies.
Amy opened the bathroom door and stepped out followed by clouds of steam. Now wearing jeans and pastel blue blouse she asked, “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Ryan admired her shapely form as he grabbed his backpack and the bugout bag.
She clutched her pack and less than an hour after deciding to leave, Ryan shifted the jeep into gear and pulled onto the street.
Amy turned on the radio and then retrieved her phone from her purse. After a few taps, she snarled at the device. “I still can’t call home.” A moment later she said, “I’m going to enter your parent’s address into my GPS.”
“Why?” Ryan grinned. “I know the way home.”
“I’m sure you do.” She tapped on the phone again. “But this way I can see the route and know how long it will take without having to ask you over and over, ‘Are we there yet?’”