Weathering The Storm (Book 5): Downburst

by Soward, Kenny

  “Guess you won’t mind,” Jake said as he dropped the key fob into his pocket and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  He gathered three more sets of keys until the lot of them jangled in his pocket, then he made his way back to the doors, looking left and right for any signs of cars coming. Coast clear, Jake sprinted over to the haphazard line of cars and squatted in front of a gray Honda Civic. He placed the keys on the ground in front of him and shined his flashlight over them quickly before turning it back off.

  There were two Honda keys, a Ford, two Chevys, and a BMW. Standing up, Jake looked around at the vehicles. At least half were sedan-style cars, and two were newer model pickup trucks. The last was a huge, black Chevy Suburban that looked like a big fat Christmas present to Jake.

  He didn’t want any of the sedans if he could help it. They were small and probably more maneuverable, but the pickups would hold more gear and were more durable. And after having to smash through several barriers to get to Roanoke, Jake knew that bigger was definitely better.

  The big Suburban would be perfect if one of the keys matched.

  Jake picked up the three Chevy keys and walked around to the door of the Suburban.

  He started to reach for the door handle, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. The Suburban’s alarm went off, horn blaring in his ears repeatedly as the lights blinked on and off in a cacophony of light and sound. Panic shot like lightning through his brain, and he nearly dropped his rifle before catching it against his leg.

  Jake sprinted back to the Lowe’s entrance without needing to think about it. He was halfway there before he stopped and turned around, rushing back to the Civic where he’d left the other key fobs.

  Quickly scooping them up, Jake dropped them in his pocket and sprinted back into the store. Once inside, Jake stopped and looked over his shoulder as two vehicles flew from both sides of the road, banked into the parking lot, and converged on the alarming Suburban.

  Settling back into the darkness behind the paint counter, heart still pounding in his chest, Jake watched as the Suburban’s alarm finally died and the incoming vehicles pulled up near the line of parked cars. They were both large pickups, the kind with backseats. Six men with rifles got out and approached the dark Suburban.

  A pair of them walked around the vehicle, one man shining his flashlight inside and around it. Then the six men met at the front of the vehicle and looked around the lot, conversing amongst themselves. One man gestured at the SUV while another pointed into the Lowe’s.

  “Come on, guys,” Jake whispered. “You know those alarms sometimes go off by themselves, right? The wind and rain could have caused it.”

  As if to prove Jake’s point, the man who had been gesturing at the Suburban waved his hand near the front end, and the alarm blared to life once more. The men winced and ducked away, cursing the offender. Another man punched him in the shoulder hard enough to knock him back a step.

  “Go away, guys,” Jake continued to mumble to himself, hoping his words might subliminally reach the men standing outside.

  If anything, his words had the opposite effect, and two of the men started walking toward the store while the others spread out through the parking lot. Jake cursed under his breath and backed up slowly and quietly, glancing behind him every few steps so he didn’t trip over something in the pitch darkness. Not that it mattered, because he could barely see the floor anyway. All it would take was him to accidentally step on something or kick a tool across the floor to alert the men of his presence.

  A powerful beam of light cut the air just above his head. Jake dropped into a crouch and duck-walked backwards, keeping the barrel of his gun pointed toward the front of the store.

  The two men stopped just inside the entrance, and one made a disgusted noise. “These dead people are really annoying. We need to get someone down here to clean this mess up.” It sounded like the voice of a man in his thirties, young and boisterous enough to make light of dead people but old enough to sound careful and alert.

  “No one wants to, Jasper,” the voice of an even younger man replied, and Jake thought he was the one who’d touched the Suburban’s hood and set off the alarm to the annoyance of his buddies. “Would you want to pick this nastiness off the floor?”

  “I’m not doing it.” Jasper’s tone was flat. “We should suggest one of the new guys do it, like Ricky. That would be a good job for him.”

  “We should make Ricky shovel them into a wheelbarrow and dump them out back,” the younger man snickered.

  Jake figured he could take the two men out if he really needed to, although it was sure to alert their buddies out in the parking lot. Jake would be better off returning the way he’d come in and hiding until the men grew bored with searching the store.

  “On second thought,” Jasper said as he walked past the corpses. “Maybe we should volunteer for it.”

  “Why would we want to do that?”

  “Because, Bradley, there’s still a lot of great stuff in here no one has written down as inventory. We could abscond with it while we’re dumping the bodies and get ourselves set up pretty nice before the military comes in and takes it all back.”

  “You think that’s going to happen?” Brad asked with a tinge of apprehension in his voice.

  “I’d count on it, one way or the other. We can barely beat back the townsfolk anymore, and I’m thinking it might be time to cut and run.”

  “Don’t tell the boss that.”

  “I won’t,” Jasper said with a warning tone followed by the sound of a meaty punch. “And you better not either.”

  “Ow, man,” Bradley whined, and Jake imagined him rubbing his arm. “I’m not going to tell anyone. Jeesh, we’re a team.”

  “That’s right. Let’s just do our sweep and get out of here.”

  Jake had just reached the electrical and lighting section of the store, and he turned toward the entrance to the receiving dock. Just as he was about to pass through the swinging double doors, a light blinked on in the door’s glass windows followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps.

  Diving back into the rows of fancy fixtures and wiring supplies, Jake moved around the back of the store swiftly but softly to keep his boots from squeaking on the tile floor. Someone pushed through the double doors and stepped into the aisle where Jake had just been standing.

  “Anyone here?” a man called out loudly.

  “No one here but us chickens,” Jasper responded in a high-pitched tone.

  Bradley snickered and lifted his voice, making chicken clucking sounds.

  “Oh, you’re a couple of comedians,” the newcomer responded. “Maybe if you’re done messing around you can finish checking the place so we can get back in our warm cars.”

  “We just started looking, idiot,” Jasper snapped back, shining his flashlight toward the back of the store. “Give us ten minutes and we’ll be out.

  “Just to show you guys what kind of pal I am, I’m going to help,” the new man said. “Now, spread out.”

  Jake stopped moving around the outside edge of the store and froze at the head of the fashion bath and plumbing aisle. His mind raced over his options, but he didn’t have many. His instinct was to cut through the center of the store, take out anyone in his way, jump into the first working vehicle he could find, and get out. But he’d be taking fire the entire time, and he’d have to leave the Explorer and Captain Sanchez’s case behind.

  Or he could climb to the top of one of the store racks and hide amongst the bathroom sinks and cabinets. It would be an awkward climb. If one of the men spotted him, he’d be trapped and gunned down.

  Glancing everywhere for a direction to flee, Jake caught sight of the restroom signs in the light of the men’s flashlights as they directed the beams back and forth across the store. Jake crouch-walked directly over and slipped into the men’s room, opening the door just enough to fit through.

  He held the door by its handle and closed it softly, then he turned and stepped
into the utter blackness. He couldn’t see two feet in front of his face, so he held up his sock-covered flashlight and snapped it on briefly. In the flash of light, Jake noted how the bathroom stalls were situated, and he walked quietly over to the last one and stepped inside. He almost shut the stall door and locked it, but that would have given him away for sure.

  Instead, he turned on his flashlight again, intending to get a look at the toilet to see if he could somehow balance on top of it, and that was when he saw the storage closet. The sign read “Employees Only,” but Jake figured there wasn’t anyone left to tell on him.

  He quickly went to the door, opened it, and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

  The stench of rot punched him in the face, so ripe and sweet and nauseating that it nearly brought him to his knees. With a panicked gasp, which he quickly regretted, Jake spun and shone his flashlight into the small, enclosed space.

  Shelves lined the walls on either side of him filled with toilet paper rolls, hand soap, paper hand towels, and urinal cakes. Sitting on the floor directly in front of him with a mop bucket between his legs and his head blown out across the back wall was the corpse of a man wearing a custodial uniform. His head was slumped forward, and his gun hand had collapsed into his lap after inflicting permanent brain damage on himself.

  Jake gaped in horror at the sight until the door to the bathroom flew open and banged against the wall, bringing two voices with it. He snapped off his flashlight and, by memory, tried to step to the back corner of the supply room without stepping on the dead man. Somehow, he made it, and he turned in the enclosed place, squatting down and resting the barrel of his M4 carbine across one of the middle shelves so that it pointed toward the door.

  Muffled voices reached him as Jake squeezed his eyes shut tight, tears running down his cheek from the smell. He swallowed so that he wouldn’t gag as the stench assailed his throat.

  The voices suddenly grew loud and the door to the supply closet flew open and bathed the small room in light. Jake was happy to learn he was well hidden behind several cardboard boxes stacked on the shelves, yet he could still see the men’s midsections from his crouched position. And the barrel of his carbine was pointed right at their stomachs.

  The two men doubled over when they saw the dead man sitting on the floor inside.

  “Oh, man!”

  “Ugh, gross!”

  “That’s just sick, dude!”

  Jake hoped they would slam the door and walk away, but one of the men continued to hold the door open as they cursed and gasped at the horrible, rotting sight inside. On the other hand, Jake was grateful for the bit of fresh air that blew in, and he took advantage of it by drawing a long, quiet breath.

  After getting over their initial shock, the men grew curious.

  “I knew it,” Bradley said, shaking his head.

  “You knew what?” Jasper replied.

  “I knew that Tom Robbins must have offed himself when things started to go bad. The guy was a fixture around here for years, but no one knew where he disappeared to. Must have been too much for him when things broke down and the boss took over.”

  “Well, get in there and sweep the room, Bradley,” Jasper said, drawing out the word “Bradley” as he shouldered the younger man inside.

  Jake’s finger went from resting outside the trigger guard to settling on the trigger itself.

  “Dude, I’m not going in there!”

  “We need to check the entire place out. You heard the man. And as the newest member of the guard shift, it’s up to you.”

  “Absolutely no way,” Bradley said, shaking his head as he tried to push back out of the cramped room. “No way anyone would be crazy enough to hide in here. It’s a real-life death room.”

  “I’m just messing with you, kid. Let’s get out of here. I don’t think I’m going to eat for a week.”

  And just like that, Jasper and Bradley stepped away from the door and shut it with a loud bang, leaving Jake alone with the corpse of a man named Tom Robbins.

  Chapter 12

  Sara, Gatlinburg, Tennessee | 8:00 a.m., Sunday

  Sara huddled in the driver’s seat of the van with her hands around a hot cup of coffee as the engine warmed up. She felt well-rested, more experienced, and ready for another scavenging adventure on the back roads of the Tennessee mountains. With any luck they’d find a generator and gasoline, as well as some other things she and Barb had written down the night before.

  That was after she and Tex had double-wrapped the mysterious computer in tin foil and put it someplace safe. Tex had assured Sara that no radio signal could reach the computer, so there was no danger of anyone tracking it to them.

  Something about the look in the man’s eyes and the tone of his voice was reassuring, and his confident words had given Sara the best night’s rest she’d had in some time, snuggling next to her daughter in the little girl’s bed.

  Sara took one more sip of coffee and placed the cup in the console holder. She glanced back to where Rex stretched out across the back seat in his harness, tail wagging in anticipation of a new adventure. Then she put the van in drive and pulled out of the gravel driveway and away from the Subaru and the bullet-ridden Jeep. Sara had made Dion and Frank pull the vehicles to the cabin so they couldn’t be easily recognized, and that was also why they would be taking the van out today.

  Much of the driveway was just mud by now, the flooding having swept away most of the gravel, so Sara was careful not to peel out and create a rut. She pulled the van onto Pine Bluff Road and coasted down the first incline until it curved sharply. The van wove down the hill, past Bird’s Nest and on down to Squirrel’s Nest, where everyone else was holed up in a single row of cabins perched on the side of the hill.

  Sara pulled into one of the empty spots and then got out, slinging her rifle over her shoulder. The wind instantly blew her sideways, its chaffing gust like a slap in the face.

  “Come on, boy,” Sara called to Rex, and the German Shepherd jumped out of the driver’s seat and came to heel at Sara’s side. She pushed the door shut, having to lean against it because of the wind, before going up the steps to Natasha and Dion’s cabin. Natasha met her and held open the door, making sure it didn’t blow back against the house.

  Sara stepped inside and gave her friend a smile as Rex plunged past her with a happy yip. “How’s the cabin holding up?”

  “Pretty well,” Natasha said, giving Sara a brief hug as she went by. “The moorings seem sturdy enough, but there’s a lot of creaking and groaning. Sounds like we’re on some old sailing vessel in a stormy sea.”

  “I’ll bet,” Sara said with a nod. She had been worried about the cabins being blown off the side of the mountain, so Sara was glad to hear that Natasha wasn’t worried.

  “Coffee?”

  “Sure. I’ll have one while I wait for Barbara. Mine’s cold. A little cream if you have it. How are you heating things up?”

  “We brought a small camp stove with us and some little propane bottles. Haven’t used it until now. It works pretty well. This is just the instant stuff. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.” Sara stepped into an open kitchen and living room area. The cabin was about the same size as Sara and Jake’s, and similarly accoutred, but it wasn’t as structurally sound, nor did it have the wiring for solar panels or a generator. Tex said he could rig a generator for the whole row of cabins, so Sara supposed they’d cross that bridge when and if they found one.

  “We’re going to try and score a generator or two today.”

  “Oh, hot water. I can just feel it,” Natasha grinned as she poured Sara a cup from a small pot that was warming on the stove and handed it over. “Black with some cream. Just like you like it.”

  “Thanks.” Sara looked around, noting that Natasha had pushed the couch against the wall and had stacked two boxes with blow-up mattresses nearby. In the center of the room was a pile of bedding, neatly folded and ready for use. “Where hav
e you been sleeping?”

  “Dion and I have the master bedroom downstairs, but we’re going to use the upstairs bedrooms in case Doctor Smith sends any wounded our way. Honestly, I’m surprised we haven’t gotten some already.”

  “Let’s hope it stays quiet,” Sara said, biting her lip. “My SatFi is still up, and the news is reporting the situation at the US-Mexican border has stabilized and we’re pushing the enemy back.”

  “The enemy as in the people you and Barbara ran into at the lodge?” Natasha asked.

  “Exactly. They call them crawlers. They’re starting to suggest it’s Russian and Asian insurgents, several thousand scattered throughout the country. But no one is claiming responsibility, so I think our government is being careful to get proof before pointing fingers.”

  “Or they’re not telling us everything.”

  “Mike seems to agree with what the reports are saying now,” Sara said, “although he suspected it a long time ago.” Sara turned around in a slow, full circle. “So, is Kayla up? I was thinking about paying her a visit before Barbara and I went out scavenging today.”

  “Mm-hm. I checked on her this morning. That girl is always up. I don’t think she’s slept a full night since you brought her home, and that was only because she was exhausted and injured so bad.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “Of course. Go on over. Frank and Karen are up, too.”

  Sara left Rex with the Gardiners and stepped down off their porch and into a brutal gust of wind. The cold air blew her coat around, penetrating through to her skin and sending chills up her back like icy fingers.

  “At least it’s not raining,” she murmured to herself and then quickly walked over to the next cabin and ascended the steps. She raised her hand to knock on the door, but it came open before she could rap her knuckles on the wood.

  Karen smiled up at Sara, her bright blue eyes beaming. “Sara, so good to see you. Come on in. I see you’ve already got coffee, so I won’t ask if you want any.”