Geostorm The Shift: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The Geostorm Series Book 1)

by Bobby Akart

  Levi furrowed his brow. “They were all flying together?”

  “It appears so,” the rancher replied.

  Levi had heard of events like these in the past. Oftentimes, they were associated with fireworks or other loud noises. “Were y’all blastin’ rock or huntin’? Anything like that?”

  “Nope. We were running some cross-fencin’, just me and the boys. They didn’t even have the radio on. We noticed them fly up over our heads, and then they started flyin’ all crazy-like.”

  “Power lines?” asked Hank.

  “No, sir.”

  “Lightning?” asked the store owner.

  The ranch owner shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Come on, it ain’t rained in weeks. Not a cloud in the sky. I’m tellin’ y’all, somethin’ ain’t right. The animals are always the first to know.”

  Levi stepped away from the conversation and began to digest all of their stories. The men continued to talk about the problems they were experiencing with their animals and didn’t notice when William Clark entered the feed store.

  Levi knew Clark well from stories his older brother had told him over the years. All of the Boone kids had attended Corydon Central High School. In high school, Clark, who went by Billy at the time, was known as Bully Billy. He was always a husky kid who enjoyed throwing his weight around. His dad was the president and majority shareholder of the local bank that had been a part of Harrison County since 1891.

  The Clarks and the Boones had history dating back to the turn of the twentieth century. The bad blood began with the Boones’ acquisition of the land along Indian Creek running toward the Clarks’ property near Corydon. Without notice, the Clarks’ built a dam to create a lake for their cattle.

  When the water dried up downstream, Squire’s grandfather and some of his friends used dynamite to blow the dam apart. The water was flowing freely again, but the blast caused several of the Clarks’ cattle to die from shock. The Clark boys responded in kind by killing off a few of the Boones’ horses, and matters escalated from there.

  Eventually, with the passage of time and the birth of new generations into both families, the violence subsided, but the animosity continued to simmer.

  “Well, Boone, the women having you do their shopping for them?” asked Clark as he marched up to Levi, who was pushing his cart toward the chicken feed. Levi ignored the question, but Clark, who was much older, persisted. He was wearing his customary Tom James suit, red power tie, and shiny wing-tip shoes. His belly protruded over his belt, creating a big white bulge that pushed his tie out. “Hey, Boone. You deaf?”

  “Busy.” Levi threw two bags of chicken scratch into the buggy, intentionally allowing them to drop to create a loud thud.

  “Well, I hope you enjoy feeding those chickens, because one day, I’ll own your place and you’ll be working for me. And you’ll be lucky to share that feed with the dirty birds y’all raise.”

  Clark laughed so loud it caused the conversation at the counter to abruptly come to a halt. Now all eyes were on Levi and Bully Billy, who continued to live up to his reputation.

  “Thanks for the heads-up, Billy,” said Levi sarcastically.

  “You know, your daddy is waaay over his head on the note with my bank, Boone. There are no extensions beyond the due date. Debts will be paid. You cannot pass go. You can’t collect two hundred dollars. If it were up to me, the lot of y’all would go directly to jail.”

  Levi inhaled and gripped the cart to the point his knuckles turned white. He’d love to lay into this asshole and give him the beatdown he deserved. But that wasn’t an option.

  You see, Billy’s brother was the Harrison County sheriff. Some of Harrison County’s pioneers moved on. Others, like the Boones, continued their old-school ways. And then others, like the Clarks, became judges and sheriffs and bankers so they could exert their peon power over their neighbors.

  Bully Billy wanted Levi to pop him a good one. Busted jaws and bruised egos would heal. But a lengthy jail term courtesy of the Clark family would have a lasting effect.

  That said, Levi wasn’t afraid of bullies. He swung around and balled his fists, getting right up in the face of the larger, older Clark. “Listen up, fat ass. You and I both know that I could knock all three hundred pounds of you out the door. But I won’t give you that satisfaction. You make no mistake, there will come a day that I shut those jowls of yours. Maybe a wired-up jaw will help you lose some of that lard hanging over your belt. I know it’ll keep us from havin’ to listen to ya.”

  Bully Billy took a few steps backwards and then noticed the confrontation had drawn a crowd. “Well, aren’t you a little fussy today, Boone. I tell you what. You look into some anger management because the next time we see one another will be in November when that balloon note comes due. Have a nice day, and remember, a penny saved is a penny earned!”

  Clark waddled out of the store without making eye contact with anyone. Levi sighed and rolled his head around his neck. He was keenly aware of how much money his family owed the bank. What puzzled him was the words Clark used—balloon note.

  Levi wasn’t a financial whiz, but he knew the difference between a principal and interest payment, and a balloon. Balloons pop when they’re burst. In the banking world, a popping balloon meant foreclosure.

  Chapter 30

  The Atlantic Ocean

  1,900 miles east of Venezuela

  The Arabian Beauty was a bizarre name for a massive cargo ship that was more beast than beauty. Despite an alluring name that suggested an exotic, dark-haired stunning female, The Arabian Beauty was a steel eyesore cutting through the waves of the magnificent Atlantic Ocean.

  The Maltese-flagged freighter was all-American except for its crew. It was one of a new generation of oceangoing vessels built in U.S. shipyards and designed for speed and seaworthiness. A collaborative effort between designers in San Diego and shipbuilders in Biloxi, Mississippi, the eight-hundred-foot-long freighter had the capacity to hold two thousand containers.

  Captain Censu Adami was a seasoned veteran of ocean travel. He’d traversed the Atlantic more times than he could count, usually taking a triangular route between Miami; Dakar, Senegal, in Northwest Africa; and Caracas, Venezuela.

  The massive ship was controlled from a seven-story-tall superstructure on its aft deck that housed the crew and the electronics necessary to navigate the open ocean. The ninety-foot-wide deckhouse was state of the art, resembling a mixed-use condominium on the inside. Crew quarters, cafeterias, cargo offices, and even a trauma center filled the superstructure as The Arabian Beauty sailed nearly every day of the year when not being loaded and unloaded.

  It had been a relaxing trip since they passed the Cape Verde islands. A tropical disturbance had been detected by their state-of-the-art onboard weather center, so Captain Adami altered their route on a more southernly course. It would add two days of travel time to Caracas, but these trips always had seven days built in to them for inclement weather.

  He walked along the bridge, admiring the many thirty-inch touchscreen monitors that were manned by his crew. The spacious center of operations reflected the most modern methods of ship design, focusing on information and comfort. It also reminded him of his beloved Dragonara Casino located at the Westin Resort in Malta. On those rare occasions that he had several weeks off to stay at his waterfront home on St. George’s Bay, his evenings were spent at the casino, drinking and carousing.

  While at the helm, however, Captain Adami was all business. He relied upon the computers and the information displayed on the monitors to navigate the ship. He trusted his crew, but he was keenly aware that everyone on board and the multimillion-dollar cargo carried on the ship were his responsibility.

  He was old school in many respects, including his constant use of binoculars. He still trusted his eyes to survey the horizon as The Arabian Beauty cut through the waves, in addition to the electronic gadgetry.

  From his vantage point on the bridge, he had a panoramic view of t
he Atlantic. He saw the clouds developing ahead and immediately had his crew provide him an updated weather report.

  “Captain, we avoided the tropical wave that is steadily making its way well north of our current course. However, the radar does show a thunderstorm developing in our path. We have no further data as to whether it’s a rain event, what the winds might be, etcetera. I will contact NOAA for guidance.”

  “Yes, please. Thank you.”

  The calm demeanor rubbed off on his crew. They’d been through far worse storm events than the darkening clouds on the horizon. The Arabian Beauty had encountered gale-force winds that kicked up waves the size of a two-story house. He’d been amazed at her ability to cut through towering waves in an incredible display of power that seemed to give him an almost euphoric thrill.

  Absent a warning from NOAA, Captain Adami intended to press on. He’d already lost two days due to his course change. He wasn’t going to let a pop-up thunderstorm delay him further. He was confident that the storm was well within the capabilities of The Arabian Beauty.

  The ship continued on its course. Oddly, NOAA had no information about a storm of any kind in their path. There was an unusual weather disturbance nearly two hundred miles to their south that they were monitoring, but The Arabian Beauty was nowhere near that location.

  Or at least that was what they thought. The storm picked up steam as the ship approached. Gale-force winds began to pummel the freighter, and Adami ordered his crew to take steps to secure the decks. They were a professional crew and knew all of the protocols. This storm was no match for their capabilities.

  Adami found his binoculars and tried to see through the sheets of rain that now engulfed the freighter. He suddenly stiffened and seemed to lean into the lenses to get a better look. He lowered the binoculars and wiped his eyes to clear his vision. After using his sleeve to remove the sweat that began to pour out of his forehead, he took another look.

  Lowering his binoculars again, he shook his head and muttered in his native Maltese, “Impossibbli.”

  He motioned for his first officer to join him and handed the binoculars to the much younger man. “There. Look at this portion of the ocean. Barely one o’clock off the bow. What do you see?”

  Following his captain’s instructions, the first officer slowly scanned the ocean in front of the bow until he was roughly forty-five degrees off the starboard side of the ship. He vocalized what he saw. “Captain, I see gray water and heavy rains. Um, wait. I see a white line of foam stretching—” His voice trailed off.

  “Iva, I saw it too,” said the captain, agreeing with his first officer. He grabbed the microphone affixed to the console and flipped a switch that connected the bridge with the entire ship. “All hands. This is the captain. This is not a drill. Get to a secure location away from anything not tied down. Prepare for tsunami impact. I repeat. Prepare for a severe impact by incoming tsunami.”

  “Instructions, sir?” asked the helmsman.

  Adami knew that The Arabian Beauty could handle the wave if she was turned into it. The bow would stand the best chance of cutting through the rogue wave by reducing the area of impact. Then he advised the communications officer to immediately issue an SOS. If they rode through the tsunami unscathed, they could always cancel the mayday.

  “Sir, where did this come from?” asked the first officer.

  “I don’t know, but there it is. Hold on!”

  The dark, white-veined wave was only half a mile away now. The first officer saw it first, as well as something else.

  “Sir, look at that! Do you see the lightning?” The sky lit up with a series of brilliant flashes.

  As the wave got closer, Adami was puzzled. A tsunami was more of a series of rolling waves, usually caused by the displacement of large bodies of water such as a meteor striking the ocean. Sometimes, underwater seismic disturbances like earthquakes can generate tsunamis that devastate everything in their paths. But this was unlike anything he’d ever seen. It was more wall than wave, and it was getting taller.

  Then something happened that had never been experienced by any human. As the captain and crew of the freighter prepared for impact, a massive void opened up in the water between the ship and the oncoming tsunami.

  “All engines halt. Reverse! Reverse!” The captain had maintained the ship under power to blast through the tsunami waves, but now he faced a threat far greater—a giant whirlpool capable of swallowing The Arabian Beauty.

  The call to halt engines was too late. The ship’s momentum carried it into the void until the bow was buried in the ocean. The captain and crew were slammed into the windows of the deckhouse.

  The tsunami wave, rather than striking the ship’s bow head-on, landed on top of it, burying it in thousands of tons of water. The windows of the superstructure imploded under the pressure as the Atlantic Ocean blasted everyone on board with the pressure of a thousand water cannons.

  Bodies were mangled and electronics were destroyed. Adami had wedged himself under the console and held his breath through the onslaught. After the wave passed over them, the void created by the whirlpool filled and thrust the ship back into the air, or at least what was left of it.

  The bow was missing and the ship was listing to port. All of the lifeboats were ripped from their davits, and most of the cargo had been swept overboard. In an odd way, Adami imagined the ship looked somewhat like a drunken hippo trying to find its way home from a night of drinking. Only a man who’d survived this ordeal could manage to find humor in it.

  The ship’s hull plating had been breached, and the ship began to take on water. As it started to tilt on its side, the captain scrambled to look for survivors.

  There were none.

  He frantically searched for a life vest, but when the windows had imploded, the sea waters flushed out everything that wasn’t firmly affixed to the ship. Adami began to tear his chair apart, hoping to remove the seat cushion to provide himself a flotation device.

  The ship was now sinking.

  He ripped the cushion loose and made his way to the starboard side of the ship, looking for the highest point so he could stay afloat for as long as possible. He prayed for help, and he fought for his life. He had to hold on until help arrived.

  *****

  The first rescue aircraft arrived from Venezuela and French Guiana an hour later. They were soon joined by other planes from Brazil as well as rescue ships that routinely patrolled the shipping routes.

  They spread out in a search pattern, establishing a grid that would cover a hundred-square-mile area from the point the SOS was issued.

  They found nothing. When the search was called off two days later, it was determined that The Arabian Beauty had vanished, taken by the sea.

  But that was not the case. Captain Adami and three other crew members held on for dear life, encouraging one another and asking God to spare their lives. After a week, dehydration took hold and their bodies began to break down. Then the sharks came and ate them, one by one.

  The distress signal sent by The Arabian Beauty was accurate as far as rescuers could determine. Only they were two hundred miles off course.

  And they were directly over the top of the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, an underwater mountain system formed by tectonic plates that were beginning to pull apart, ever so slightly, for now.

  Chapter 31

  Central Park

  New York City

  New York City had seen its share of tragedy over the last century. It had been targeted by terrorists, infectious diseases, political discourse, and mafia wars. As the most well-known city on Earth, the Big Apple had been the subject of countless books, movies, and songs. People have entered America from all over the world to seek fortune and a better life. Many had met and fallen in love in this city full of life, excitement and, well, just as the lyrics sung by Alicia Keys go, New York, the concrete jungles where dreams are made.

  A slight drizzle fell across the city, but that didn’t deter Bart Patterson from itching t
o take his Labrador for a run through Central Park. The chocolate Lab, which had been the Pattersons’ family pet for six years, was a rescue that they’d readily adopted. Most of the residents in the posh 455 Central Park West condominium development overlooking the Great Hill in Central Park, the sprawling urban park surrounded by skyscrapers, owned what Bart called a foo-foo dog. Breeds like poodles, terriers, and pugs were the norm. Seventy-pound Labs were not.

  But then, pugs and poodles couldn’t keep up with Bart and his love of running. He donned his wet-weather gear, consisting of an ultralightweight, rain-resistant jacket and matching pants. Then he affixed the harness to Godiva, who’d been down in the dumps lately. The normally amiable dog had grown despondent of late, even to the point that Bart took him to the veterinarian for blood work. His panel came back clean and the vet chalked up his behavior to the unusually hot weather.

  Bart hadn’t been able to take Godiva on a run for several weeks, as cooler temps had eluded the city and rainfall had been practically nonexistent. Today’s drizzle gave him an opportunity to exercise his pup and even allow him some playtime in one of the off-leash play areas designated for dogs.

  “Okay, you guys, I’m gonna get out of here with Godiva for a while,” announced Bart as he made his way toward the condo’s entry hall.

  “Are you crazy?” his sister barked. “It’s raining.”

  “So?” He really didn’t like his older sister. She’d made it her life’s work to boss her baby brother around. She was home from college for the summer, and she was on a mission to drive him nuts. Plus, she was a nosybody of the highest order.

  “Tell Jesse we said hi,” she shouted after him with a hint of snark.

  “Whatevs,” responded Bart, somewhat chagrined by her constant digs. “Let’s go, Godiva.”

  The two running mates made their way down the fourteen-floor elevator, and after a brief conversation with the doormen, they pushed through the revolving door and walked onto the sidewalk. They were immediately overwhelmed by the scent of wet grass and overflowing drain water sewers that hadn’t seen any action since early July.