Impact (Book 2): Bounce

by Isherwood, E. E.

  Butch crouched at the lip of the rectangular hold. “I guess so. What about you?”

  “Nah. I’m going to stay up here. I want to see if we’re going to hit anything.” The dam was one navigational hazard, but there were three bridges on the river beyond the dam. Any of those could wreck them.

  “Will it matter?” Butch asked with sarcasm. “It’s not like we have paddles to change directions.”

  He was right. The floating container was at the mercy of forces around it. If they hit anything, the heavy-duty hull construction should keep things together. It was more because he had no way of knowing what was beyond the angry waves ahead of them, so he wanted to be prepared. Jumping was a poor option, but it was there. “I just like to know what’s coming.”

  Butch glanced at the dam. It was a few hundred yards away and growing larger. “I’ll stay up top with you. If you needed me for one of my awesome skills, I’m not sure how fast I could get out of there.” He pointed into the fifteen-foot-deep cargo space. Unlike the outside of the hull, there were no ladders to the inside, though there was a metal cable hanging down in one corner, possibly the remains of a tow line. Whatever it was, it would be difficult to climb if time was a factor.

  There was no good place to ride the cargo ship. It had no enclosed spaces, seats, or any other comforts. The flattest part was at the front of the hull; the area was thirty feet wide, but only about ten feet deep. Butch was already hunkered down there, so he sat next to him, using the small lip around the hold as his brace.

  “This is a little like tying yourself to a rocket ship,” Butch said dryly, obviously attempting to distract himself from the imposing dam, which was now upon them.

  “Hang on. You’ll be fine!” Ezra shouted the words but knew no one on earth could make that promise. Almost as a counterargument to what he’d said, the barge floated close to the northern edge of the dam. It threatened to ram it and chip away more of the concrete.

  As Butch had joked, there was absolutely nothing he could do. He watched the mega-structure approach. When they drew next to it, Ezra saw into the hollow chambers of the broken dam. Most of the hydroelectric equipment had been scoured out of the concrete, like emptied-out crab legs, but one of the house-sized cylindrical generators was half-submerged in the churn at the dam’s edge.

  “Hold on!” he shouted.

  The barge struck the generator, then bounced back into the main channel, which was billions of gallons of water emptying out of Kentucky Lake. The roar all around was deafening, though it wasn’t quite like being inside a waterfall. It was more like pouring out the side of an above-ground swimming pool. As they descended, the contents of the hold sloshed forward and splashed over the lip, soaking them. A second later, they leveled out and passed through a rooster tail created by water rushing by one of the bridge pylons. The new sheets of water doused them a second time, though the barge stayed far enough away to avoid sliding over and sinking, like the one they’d seen a few minutes earlier.

  “This is going to be close,” he warned, seeing what was ahead.

  Behind the plumes of water thrown up by the remains of the first bridge, a lower railroad span came into view. Most of it was still intact, even though the metal trestle design seemed about a hundred years older than the ruined highway bridge. The water surged and dropped in huge rapids as it went under the rail tracks, though it sometimes went higher than the bridge, as evidenced by tons of debris plastered to the front side of the girders.

  Ezra questioned his decision to sit on the top decking of the barge, but there wasn’t even enough time to get up and jump into the hold. Almost as soon as he saw the problem, the barge flowed with the current directly underneath the span.

  “Holy good night!” he screamed, powerless against the fury of Mother Nature.

  He and Butch caught the low point of a wave and shot under the bridge, but there wasn’t much room. He smelled the tar-oil stain of the railroad ties as he went under. The back part of the barge rose up, and it collided with the underside of the bridge. The grinding noise was eardrum-splitting, and it caused the entire barge to lurch, threatening to throw him and Butch forward. When he glanced back, he found the lip surrounding the rear half of the hold had been ripped off.

  If they’d been sitting back there…

  The unpredictable wave action continued as they went under the third bridge, the double-span interstate highway. However, it was newer, higher, and had fewer pylons to block their progress, so they easily shot through. After that, there were no visible threats lower on the waterway.

  “That was fun,” Butch lied.

  “Wanna do it again?” he chuckled, wiping his face.

  “Not in a million years. Those were the scariest two minutes of my life, and I’ve been shot at.”

  He watched as the water settled down. It had blasted them out through the dam at high speed, but the flood spread out across the farmlands along the Tennessee River as it headed for the nearby Ohio. He’d done some fishing along the river in his earlier days and knew where it was supposed to go. Although, as he looked north, there wasn’t a familiar landmark anywhere in sight. The rushing water had covered most everything for several miles on each side of the river, creating a giant, debris-laced lake.

  They floated for a short time before a familiar sight came into view. It was closer than he expected, but lingering smoke had obscured their approach. As the barge spun him into position, they got a good view of the wrecked city of Paducah, ahead, on the left.

  Butch pointed. “That’s where my mom died.”

  “It’s where we’re going next,” he deadpanned.

  In the air over Colorado

  “I don’t know how this is possible,” Howard slurred. He whipped out his phone and scrolled the screen, getting defensive. “Here, Misha left his message at 4:44 this morning. That’s after he walked out of the area.”

  “And before the park service truck pulled away.” Petteri’s voice turned dry. “He was lying, Howard. You need to fix this.”

  The turbulence of the flight had affected Howard more than anyone else on the plane. He’d been in the bathroom for a reason. Petteri couldn’t feel sorry for him, however, since he was angry at his normally reliable assistant.

  The normally ramrod-straight-backed man leaned against the seat ahead of him. “Do you want me to redirect team two back to this area?”

  “Hell no,” he snarked. “I don’t like to run people back and forth. That team must get to the fallen rock in northwestern Wyoming and chase these interlopers away. It would take too long to get another strike group up there. I want the first team on the ground and in Misha’s face as soon as possible. They can finish what he started if the targets are still alive. The convoy is going somewhere; it will never be easier to find the national park truck leading the parade than it is right now.”

  Howard checked his phone again. “The team is in Billings. That’s right in the path of the convoy. I wanted them closer, but there is a snowstorm dumping feet of snow in the mountains near there. It might even happen the convoy doesn’t make it out of Yellowstone.”

  Petteri held up his hand. “I don’t care about excuses anymore. I need to have Mr. Creighton’s head on a pike next to my door before I’ll believe anyone who tells me he’s dead again.”

  The distinctive sound of breakfast being tossed came from a few seats ahead. Dorothy must have overheard their discussion. He started to chuckle at the turn of events, but Howard’s face went back to pea-soup green as he looked at him. The man scuttled toward the front of the plane.

  The captain chose that moment to light up the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, sorry for the turbulence. I’ve never seen it this bad. However, the good news is we should be landing in the next fifteen minutes. We’ve made it to Denver.”

  The sounds of his companions getting ill made his stomach want to join in the fun, but he forced himself to fight off the urge, even as the plane rattled and creaked in every joint.

  Ju
st a little farther.

  Chapter 21

  Outside Red Lodge, MT

  They left the police station disappointed; at least, she did. She’d called emergency services in Fairdealing, Kentucky, to see if they could track down her dad, but some civilian answered the phone. The woman explained none of the firefighters had come back, and there were no police in the area, either. No one was available to find her parents. The Red Lodge police assured her they’d keep her information on file and perhaps try dialing the number in another week, but otherwise they were out of ideas.

  She and Asher got back in the truck, intent on catching up with the convoy. While they’d been inside the station, a snowplow had come through and cleared the main street, so she was able to go the speed limit through town.

  “There!” Asher pointed ahead when they’d gone a short way out of the city limits. The tail end of the convoy was pulled over on the wide shoulder next to a tree-lined creek. The rest of the cars were there, apparently, though it was hard to see the front due to the continuing snowfall and darkened skies.

  “I’ll be. They did wait for us.” Grace was tempted to drive to the front of the line and lead them again, but one of the last messages Tessa had shared was that the hitman was no longer in her vehicle. It was time to find out where he’d gone. She pulled over at the end of the line, behind a teal pickup truck with two people inside the cab. “Will you get out and walk with me?”

  “Can I take pictures?”

  “Knock yourself out,” she said, willing to allow anything as long as she didn’t have to walk alone.

  “Then I’m there!”

  They grabbed their hats; Asher tipped his forward a little, making himself look fashionable. They shared a moment. “You play the part pretty well,” she declared.

  He touched the brim of his hat and drawled, “Ma’am.”

  Grace rolled her eyes, then hopped out. She and Asher trudged through the foot of snow to stand on opposite sides next to the pickup. When the man behind the wheel noticed her, he rolled his window down.

  “Good to see you, Ranger. Sorry we took off, but it looks like everyone is waiting for you to get back in line.” The man was in his late twenties or early thirties. A pretty blonde woman sat in the middle of the bench seat, like she was using him to stay warm. It was easy to confirm there was no room for a hitman to hide inside the small cabin.

  She tried to think of something legitimate and non-threatening to explain what she was up to. “We’re doing a quick check of everyone before we move on. Hang tight until I get back, all right?”

  “Hurry. I need gas,” he replied before rolling up his window.

  One more problem.

  Grace scurried to the next car. Asher followed on the far side of the vehicles. She quietly instructed him what to do. “Look in the cars from that side, Ash. Truck beds, too. He has to be in one of these up ahead.”

  The convoy had been whittled down to about twenty cars and trucks. She was sure the Russian agent was inside one of them. He was being paid to track and eventually kill her and Asher. That alone rubbed her the wrong way, and she mentally practiced yanking out the pistol to shoot him, if necessary. There was no way she’d play the victim and hide from him forever.

  Ten minutes later, after running from one car to the next, she reached a silver heavy-duty Ford F-350 pickup truck in the front. It chugged out heavy diesel exhaust; she got a face full of it before walking next to the driver’s door. A woman rolled down the window when Grace arrived.

  “You the ranger we been waiting for?” The curly-haired brunette driver was riding with a pre-teen girl. She talked like she was a local rancher, as opposed to an out-of-state tourist. When Grace peeked into the truck bed, there were horse saddles and muddy boots mixed with layers of wet snow.

  “Yep. You’re the last vehicle I needed to inspect.” She tried not to sound disappointed Misha wasn’t inside or in the cargo area. Somehow, he’d avoided her. “Where are you going, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Billings. Me and my daughter took a day trip to Yellowstone before the big Montana Stockade Rodeo that was supposed to happen this week. Looks like we already missed a day, but we intend to get back anyway.”

  Grace wondered if the rodeo could possibly still be happening, but she was too distracted by the missing assassin to suggest it to the two women. Asher’s face appeared on the other side of the truck, looking equally as confused as her.

  “I’m going back to my truck. When I pass by, I’ll toot my horn. You drop in behind me. Billings is only fifty miles down the road.” She walked in front of the Ford and met up with Asher.

  He spoke at whisper. “I didn’t see him. You think he’s gone?”

  She motioned him the way they’d come. “Remember these cars if you can. We’ll count them. If we see a new car show up, we’ll check to see if he’s hiding inside. I’m sure he’ll try to get back to us.”

  “How can you be so sure? Maybe he figured you two were even after helping out with the ropes for the tires. By the way, don’t tell him I said so, but he saved some of our lives, for sure. Is it possible he turned over a new leaf?”

  She laughed. “We can dream, can’t we?”

  A short time later, she crossed a set of footprints leading from a station wagon she’d already checked. “Hold on,” she insisted as she pulled out the borrowed pistol and aimed it ahead of her. Grace then hopped through the deeper snow next to the road going away from the cars. After about fifty feet, she reached the bank of a small creek. The footprints disappeared.

  “Where are you?” she fumed.

  Asher came up next to her, but she waved him back toward the convoy with a “be quiet” gesture. When they reached the station wagon again, she tapped on the window, putting the gun away before addressing the people inside.

  “Excuse me, but did someone get out of your car?” She’d already talked to them on the walk to the front of the line, but the presence of the tracks changed everything.

  “Yes. A man got out, maybe ten minutes ago.” The older man and woman in the front seat traveled with two teen-looking boys in the back. Neither of the kids looked up at her; they were tapping on their phones.

  “Why didn’t you mention him earlier when we talked?” she asked in frustration.

  “You said you were checking on us so we could move on; we trust you know what you’re doing to help us get to safety. Our passenger got out here because he said he lived in one of those houses across the creek. You saved him.” The man pointed, but it was hard to see any structures through the trees. “I didn’t see why you’d be interested in a guy you already helped.”

  She sighed, mad at herself, not the man.

  “Thank you for trusting me to lead you, sir. We’re getting out of here in two minutes. We’re not stopping until we’re all safe in Billings, exactly like that man who found his home here.”

  “About time!” the guy said happily.

  One of the boys in the back seat sarcastically added, “Hurray! We’re finally getting somewhere.”

  Grace lamented how that carefree attitude described her about a year ago. It seemed like a lifetime since she’d been home with her parents. Safe.

  Paducah, KY

  Ezra couldn’t tell when they left the Tennessee River and joined the Ohio; the confluence of the two rivers was well below them. He knew the city of Paducah was built at the intersection of the two channels, giving him at least one identifiable landmark.

  “We’re above Third Street,” he said dryly. “We’re floating the Ohio River by going through town.”

  Paducah was situated behind a fourteen-foot concrete floodwall to protect it from normal river flooding. As soon as they got close enough to see the small downtown, Ezra knew for certain the barrier had done little to protect the city. He confirmed it when the barge carried them past the tops of a half-dozen three-story oil storage containers.

  The small city wasn’t built with skyscrapers or giant hotels. Instead, it was gr
aced with old two-story brick buildings and streets filled with little tourist boutiques, making it quaint and charming to most visitors. He and Susan had gone there often to shop for antiques or little knickknacks. The intact buildings were mostly underwater, leaving rows and columns of damaged rooftops, broken treetops, and the upper parts of stout telephone poles. None of the remaining trees had leaves, nor were any of the structures in sight left without damage from the fallen asteroid.

  “Hey, look!” Butch said, pointing toward a tall maroon structure close to the river. “People are still alive!”

  He saw them. A handful of survivors on top of the rectangular, windowless building sticking out of the roaring floodwaters. They waved to Ezra and Butch, but he was a block over and riding a cargo barge that had no engine. The johnboat remained tethered to the ladder, and it might have been possible to use it to go over there, but the waters were moving so fast, he worried the small craft would be swept along with the current, or bashed against one of the many underwater buildings.

  Ezra got into a crouch and waved back but could do little else.

  Butch grew less enthused the farther away they sailed. “I bet they had a fallout shelter or something similar in that big building.”

  He thought he knew what Butch was going through. “You miss your mom. Wish she’d been one of those people up on a roof.”

  The young man sounded tired. “She wouldn’t have been able to get up on her roof even if that was an option for her. My mom looks nothing like me; she’s a tiny, out-of-shape, pack-a-day smoker.”

  He patted the big man on the back. “I am sorry she didn’t make it. I can tell you were a good son.”