The Geostorm Series (Book 5): Geostorm [The Tempest]

by Akart, Bobby

  They’d all experienced it now firsthand.

  Chapter 35

  Science Hill, Kentucky

  It had been another day of uneventful travel as they made their way through the hills and valleys of Central Kentucky. Moving southeast across the state, the impact of the hurricane lessened and the flood threat returned. As evening approached, the weary travelers came upon a deserted convenience store that had been looted. Following a quick security check, the group agreed to call it a day.

  After sweeping the broken glass out with the store’s broom, one of the few things the looters didn’t take, they settled in for a night of sleeping under a roof. Because of the looting, the group decided to rotate two people in and out throughout the night to stand watch.

  Carly and Isabella, who were typically early risers, relieved Levi and Chapman at three in the morning after their arrival. They walked a perimeter that gave them clear visibility up and down the highway. Their primary focus of attention was the wooded area behind the store.

  Levi reported numerous paths had been cut through the trees. Underbrush had been cleared, and the trails might have been used by local teens. Emptied twelve-packs of beer were found periodically, as well as cigarette butts.

  He and Chapman wandered down a few of the trails toward a nearby subdivision that fronted U.S. Highway 27 on the other side. It appeared the residents used the trails to access the store rather than drive around the woods.

  Adjacent to the store was a field with tall grasses ideal for the horses and Wonky Donkey to graze. They were each tied off to a different tree to provide them plenty to eat. The two patrolling guards kept a careful eye on the horses as well, not just because they were such a valuable asset, but to monitor those who were recovering from their wounds.

  As they made another pass behind the store, Carly stopped them.

  “Shh. Did you hear that?”

  “No,” replied Isabella.

  “A twig cracked.” Carly lowered herself to a crouch. Through the steady rain, she heard it again.

  CRACK!

  “I heard that one,” whispered Isabella.

  “Come on,” said Carly. An accomplished hunter, she sensed someone was approaching. She walked slowly across the wet grass.

  Both of them carried the AR-10 rifles, the designated battle rifles of the group. While each situation called for a different tool, every threat needed to be addressed with a different weapon. The AR-10 was as good as it gets for a civilian unless they were attacked in close quarters, when a shotgun was preferable for inexperienced shooters.

  Isabella was comfortable with the use of her rifle, having carried it since their trip to Fort Wayne. She readied it and provided a little separation between her and Carly as they approached the woods.

  Without warning, a Labrador retriever bolted out of the woods, tail wagging, panting playfully. The yellow Lab ran straight for them, happily bouncing through the wet grass and ignoring the annoying rain that drenched its double coat.

  The two women laughed and relaxed, placing their rifles on their shoulders and kneeling down to greet the playful pup. Neither had seen a dog since departing the farm, and Brooke had become more people than pet as she rapidly matured.

  “Well, what do we have here?” asked Carly, accepting a few slobbery kisses from the dog and returning the affection with generous scrubbing of his neck.

  The dog’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Isabella joined in heaping playful rubbing and scratching on him. Seconds later, they learned the distraction of an overly friendly dog might just get them killed.

  The unmistakable sound of a shell being racked into a shotgun caught them off guard. They nervously scrambled to pull their handguns, but a threatening voice caused them to freeze.

  “Don’t even think about it,” a man snarled from the edge of the woods just a few feet away. He snapped his fingers twice and the dog immediately obeyed, hustling back to his owner.

  Another voice joined the man from behind. “You’re gonna do as we say or you’re gonna die. This is no joke, ladies.”

  “Shit,” whispered Carly as her mind raced.

  “That’s right, missy. Shit about sums it up.”

  “Get their guns, son,” the first man instructed.

  A shadow appeared out of the woods, followed by another smaller one. A boy. He hesitated before walking toward Isabella.

  Carly considered her options. It was dark and they couldn’t see any better than she could. They might be wearing some type of night-vision goggles, but they were rare. A hunter, like Levi, might have a night-vision scope, and she had to assume one of them did, which was how they got so close to her in the first place.

  She gritted her teeth in anger at herself. The dog was a perfect ploy, the ultimate form of trickery. Who could turn down the love of a yellow Lab?

  The boy moved closer, watching his steps to make sure he didn’t slip. Carly glanced at Isabella, who was beginning to remove her rifle. She’d come to love her new friend and didn’t want to put her life in jeopardy, but the threats these men posed for them, as well as everyone asleep inside, required she take a risk.

  “Here you go, kid,” Carly said, seeming to cooperate. Still kneeling, she removed her rifle and dropped it on the ground in front of her. She focused on the boy’s movements. He was scared, prepared to retreat if he became frightened. Carly needed a distraction, one that wouldn’t result in itchy trigger fingers killing the two of them.

  She snapped her fingers twice, and the playful Labrador responded immediately. He closed the thirty feet or so, splashing his clumsy paws on the wet ground. The boy was distracted and gave Carly the split second she needed.

  With her left hand, she reached forward and grabbed the boy by the shirt and pulled him toward her. With her right, she expertly drew her pistol and cocked the hammer.

  “Shit!” the man said from the dark woods.

  “You got that right, mister!” Carly purposefully responded to him even louder. His concern was for his son and not those sleeping in deathly silence in the convenience store. In a world without power, you hear sounds that you wouldn’t ordinarily notice despite the nonstop rain. She raised her voice a little more. “Now it’s time for you two to back off.”

  “No, you drop it!” The other man turned on a tactical flashlight attached to his rifle barrel. He trained it on Isabella. He spoke even louder, his ire having replaced his previously stealthy approach. “I’ll shoot her if you don’t let go of the boy!”

  Carly was playing them both. She argued a little louder. “Maybe so, but who cares? I just picked her up on the road anyway. But if you do, the kid dies and I’ll take one of you with me.”

  Carly was getting nervous, the exchange had taken just a minute, but time was not on her side. She was holding the man’s son at gunpoint, and if this standoff escalated, he’d panic. It wouldn’t end well for anybody.

  The man’s rifle holding the flashlight swung back and forth between the two targets. It illuminated Carly and the boy, who appeared to be eleven or twelve. Then it focused on Isabella, the only bargaining chip the man could threaten.

  “You ain’t gonna kill a kid!” the man exclaimed as he stepped a little closer to Isabella.

  “Carly,” said Isabella nervously, “I will give them—” She never finished her statement.

  Simultaneously, a gunshot rang out from Carly’s left and a shotgun blast, followed immediately by a second, from her right.

  “Shut up!” It was her husband’s voice as he moved quickly toward the father.

  “Carly?” Her mother asked from her right as she pulled the slide on her Remington shotgun and prepared to shoot again.

  “William, run!” a girl’s voice in the woods screamed.

  The boy wriggled out of Carly’s hands and scrambled away, disappearing into the dark woods in just seconds. The dog gave chase, and the sounds of their feet could be heard in the distance.

  Then the boy stopped and shouted, “You’ll pay for this!�
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  Levi checked the men to confirm they were dead, and then he helped his wife off the ground. Carly was crying as she held him tight. Sarah hugged Isabella, and then Chapman raced around the corner of the building to join in. Half a minute later, everyone was awake, wandering around the building with their weapons drawn.

  Levi stripped the men of their guns and ammunition and handed them to Tommy, who’d walked a few paces into the woods to ensure nobody was coming back right away.

  Tommy turned around and spoke in an alarmed voice. “The boy may have been distraught, but we have to take him at his word. We need to load up and get out of here.”

  “Absolutely,” agreed Levi. “We left most of our stuff in the van and wagon, so we can head out right now. Can you stand guard while we get everyone goin’?”

  “Sure,” he replied.

  “I will, too,” said Kristi, who emerged from the front of the building. “I’ve already got the kids up and ready. Let’s not waste any time.”

  The plan was settled upon, and just as the others began to make their way back around the building, dogs started barking on the other side of the woods. Lots and lots of dogs.

  Chapter 36

  Science Hill, Kentucky

  The much-maligned pit bull dog breed was often in the press associated with dog fighting and turning on their owners. Certainly, some pits were selected and bred for their fighting ability. They had a propensity to fight and were therefore used for those purposes by evil people trying to profit off their breeding. Other pit bulls, those specifically bred for companionship, have long been popular family pets noted for their gentleness, affection, and loyalty.

  This dichotomy between beloved pet and stone-cold killer was cast aside when the rapid pole shift occurred. Even the most lovable dog could become a vicious threat without warning.

  William and his sister returned to their home after running through the woods they were all too familiar with. The man who’d been shot, their stepfather, was an unemployed, wife-beating, child-abusing piece of trash from Harlan, Kentucky, who moved to Science Hill when he came under investigation for running a dog-fighting ring.

  He laid low at first, keeping his nose clean and working a steady job at the nearby meat-processing plant. But he had a taste for whiskey and strippers, so he befriended a neighbor with similar vices. The two of them concocted a pit-bull fighting operation, which they ran out of a remote barn in the nearby woods.

  During the spring and summer months, a mysterious epidemic of missing dogs made the news in nearby Somerset and eventually into the Lexington media market. It was believed that family pets were being abducted to be sold on CraigsList and in local newspapers. The investigators adopted this as their working theory and immediately began hunting the perpetrators.

  They were way off base. The boy’s stepfather and his neighbor friend were dognapping the animals to be used in training pit bulls to kill. It was a gruesome, horrific act of inhumanity, but neither of the humans were completely human.

  After the collapse, they used their ability to train animals to their advantage. The yellow Labrador was just one of many tools in their arsenal to disarm unsuspecting victims like Carly and Isabella. Their operation had become so successful, they kept their homes well-stocked with supplies and food, even establishing a lucrative bartering enterprise with their illicit gains.

  William was one of the young teens who had roamed the woods after school, drinking beer with older kids and eventually taking up smoking. His sister, a petite fifteen-year-old, became attractive prey for the teenage boys of Science Hill. Her mother looked the other way as her new husband shamelessly flirted with the child. After all, her stepfather had done the same with her, and she turned out okay.

  There was no love lost between William, his sister and the man who was sprawled out dead behind the convenience store with a gaping gunshot wound in his chest courtesy of Levi’s .308 rifle. However, the man, for all his faults, was a provider and managed to not only keep the family alive, but in far better shape than their richer neighbors. Killing their stepfather was tantamount to taking away the family breadwinner, and the kids vowed to get even.

  They tried to wake their mother to tell her what had happened, but she was half-naked, passed out on the sofa, a bottle of vodka in one hand and a crack pipe lying on the floor next to her other. They gave up on her and decided to take matters into their own hands.

  They went into their mom’s bedroom and found two handguns in the dresser drawers. After making sure the revolvers were loaded, they went around the side of the house to the dog pens.

  Lined up in two dozen rows, chain-link fences divided the pit bulls from each other. These dog runs used to be connected to a common area where the animals could frolic and fight one another, although they always seemed to hold back before going after each other’s jugular. It was a kinship of sorts, a common respect, born out of working together to kill family pets for sport, a much easier task.

  William and his sister weren’t involved with the training and handling of the dogs. They were familiar with them, and vice versa, but were never permitted to touch them or interact other than watching the fights from time to time.

  He had, however, closely observed his stepfather’s techniques and instructions. He’d learned the commands he gave them to perform the basics such as sit, stay, etcetera. He also studied the other commands, the ones that earned the dysfunctional family money—how to fight and kill.

  By nature, William was shy and lacked confidence. He was regularly beaten by his stepfather, so he hesitated in every decision he made. It was that same lack of confidence that gave Carly the ability to throw him off guard and hold a gun to his head. He was angry for himself for failing his family and causing the death of the man who fed them, regardless of his methods.

  Somebody had to pay a price, and he decided to unleash the best weapon his family had—the dogs.

  His sister opened the dog runs one by one. At first, the pit bulls were uncertain of what was happening. They were never allowed out of their cages unless restrained by a muzzle and a long metal lead. They were always handled with great respect for their ability to kill any living being.

  He stood at the opening to the trail that led directly to the convenience store. On his stepfather’s orders, he’d been studying the group that had arrived at the convenience store just before dark. When he reported they had operating vehicles and several horses, his stepfather and dog-fighting partner put together a plan.

  The two men had no one else they could trust, and based upon the boy’s surveillance, the people who moved into the store for the night appeared to be formidable. However, the new group did have weaknesses in the dog-abuser’s mind—women and children. They were always the weak cog in every wheel. As it turned out, he was dead wrong.

  Nonetheless, he instructed William to report back to the house if there was ever a shift change in the group’s security routine when one or more women took a turn. When he heard two women were on patrol, he came up with his brilliant plan to take them hostage and trade them for the vehicles, supplies, and horses, maybe after a go or two in the sack. None of the above materialized, so William, the new man of the house, came up with a plan B.

  He decided to lead the pit bulls down the path and instruct them to attack the group responsible for his stepfather’s death. While they distracted the group, he and his sister would steal a couple of horses. His stepfather had mentioned they brought top dollar on his barter exchange days. William thought his mom would be proud of his efforts to take care of the family, and forget about her dead husband.

  The dogs were now loose and milling about outside their runs. William ran ahead toward the trail and prepared to call them, only it wasn’t done through vocalizations. His stepfather had taught his pit bulls to react to unusual sounds outside the fighting ring. Snaps of the fingers meant come. Creating an ocarina with his hands to produce an owl-like sound meant for the dogs to follow.

  In ancien
t cultures, an ocarina was a flute-like instrument. Over time, humans learned to cup their hands in a certain way and blow into them. The sounds produced ranged from a whistle to the more popular hoot of an owl.

  As he had learned by watching his stepfather, and practiced well out of range of the man’s powerful backhand, William called the dogs.

  He clasped his hands together, then blew a steady stream of air into the space between his thumbs. Using his fingers to vary the pitch, the untrained ear might have thought an owl was singing in the distance. The pit bulls knew better and reacted immediately.

  They ran in a circle briefly until one of them picked up on the direction the owl hoot was coming from. Two of the pits, brownish-red in color, pushed through the pack and raced toward William, who stood in the middle of the trail.

  William heard the panting animals and their paws pounding on the wet turf. He turned to run toward the convenience store. He abruptly stopped and called to the dogs again, this time changing the position of his fingers to adjust the pitch even higher.

  Four of the dogs passed him, scouting ahead, heads scanning, their sense of smell going into hyper-overdrive. They smelled blood. They didn’t care if it was their former masters. Their bloodshot eyes grew wide and excited. They let out several barks, and soon the entire pack followed, barking excitedly.

  William jumped off the trail and shimmied up an oak tree a few feet, not that it would’ve mattered if the animals chose to attack him. Pit bulls were notorious high jumpers. They ran past him like greyhounds chasing a rabbit at the dog track. Dozens of paws sloshed through the now muddy path, giving chase to the insatiable smell of blood.

  The pits were almost rabid in their intensity. They raced toward the convenience store, a freight train of out-of-their-minds animals snarling at one another as they fought for position. By the time they hit the clearing at the end of the trail and discovered their dead masters, they were crazed and aggressive, ready to kill.