Dire Rumblings: A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (Children of the Elements Book 2)

by Alexa Dare

  “Abe, you will not.” Hannah slipped her knuckles up to her waist and cocked her elbows back like chicken wings. “You’re just a kid.”

  “Irene used to let me drive on grocery runs.”

  Hannah gasped. “She did not. She wouldn’t.”

  “I can’t drive. Never learned.” Cocooned in the new-car chill of the ATV hull, Brody eyed the perfect storm raging outside. “Ah, heck, I’m too much of a klutz and couldn’t be taught. Look, one of you has to take this thing and get out of here.”

  “Why?” Hannah lowered her shoulder as if positioning for a tackle. “Where are you going?”

  “Cantrell needs me. Suppose there’s a device to help him cope and manage the enhanced stuff? I mean, maybe I can create one. The collars helped you guys , right?”

  “At first.” Hannah crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at the raging storm outside.

  “Hope you find him.” Junior looked ready to slip out of the door as well.

  “Junior, you can’t stop this.” Brody clamped a grip on Junior’s shoulder. “It’s all in nature’s hands. After it runs its course…”

  “Won’t it follow us?” Abe asked. “If we started it?”

  “The collars should balance you out, but I don’t know how soon or how effectively.”

  “Can’t you take them off?” Hannah’s tear-sheened eyes pled with him.

  “Might be like shaking up a carbonated drink and putting the lid back on. Or what if your powers lessen? How would you be able to protect yourselves?”

  Darcy Lynn burst into sobs and threw her arms around Brody’s leg. “Don’t go. Please stay.”

  Teetering as he bent at the waist, Brody peeled away her clutching grasp. At the sight of her forlorn face, his already-damaged heart threatened to break. “I’ll find you as soon as I can.”

  “No.” Darcy Lynn whimpered. “You won’t.”

  Hannah and Abe held on to the little girl as Brody dove into the chaos of the unnatural storm.

  ***

  At the edge of the compound, near a cabin swallowed by a giant crack in the ground, Yates stood over a fallen Vincent and shook a bloody-knuckled fist. He drew back to strike the sixteen-year-old again.

  At the sight, a soul-crushing ache expanded in Brody’s chest He turned and let his scissoring legs thrust him in Yates’s direction. Momentum from the downhill plunge piloted him at a breakneck pace. Thus, he ran right into the militia leader’s swinging fist, but blocked his punch toward the kid.

  Knuckles pounded the side of Brody’s jaw. Pain flared and shadow blips flashed before his eyes. His feet kept going. Out. Off the ground. Up. He landed on his back looking up at a cloud- and smoke-filled sky above the swaying, smoldering tree canopy.

  Like some sort of vulture, Yates stared down at him.

  A sharp, tinny gulp racking his throat, Brody fingered the shooting pain and angled his jaw. “Are you any more macho or manly for hitting a sixteen-year-old kid?”

  One side of the man’s upper lip lifted, with the other side of his lower stretched downward. “Even if you are Merv’s nephew, you’re a dead man.”

  “Key word.” Brody jutted his aching chin. “Man.”

  Yeah, Vincent was only a year younger, but being raised in the shelter of the mountain, the kid was still a kid.

  As for Brody… He braced to get the shit beat of him.

  One hand still gloved and her expression filled with rage, Nora ran into camp to hover over Brody. “Get up. On your feet, Brody. You too Vincent.”

  “Tell the boy to do as I say and draw.” Yates squared his shoulders and turned on Nora. In the glow of the flames the man’s bald head sheened bright with sweat that the rush of wind swept away in large drips.

  “I won’t let you have my son, Brockton Yates.” Nora edged between to block Yates from access to both Brody and Vincent.

  “The boy made his choice. He came with me.”

  “You tricked him by pretending to be a real dad.” Brody swayed upright and rubbed his aching jaw. Shoulders squared he avoided meeting Vincent’s haunted gaze. “Didn’t take him long to learn the difference, did it?”

  “Yes, that was before you turned on him.” Nora’s reddish-brown hair whipped witchlike around her head. “Since you hit him, do you think he’s going to do as you say?”

  “He ordered me to draw pictures of this compound,” said Vincent, “to sketch the people within.”

  “The boy’s touched in the head,” Yates growled out.

  “Yates wanted you all dead.” Nora yelled out to the scrambling militia members. “So, we’d be blamed and there wouldn’t be any one left to tell the tale.”

  “He’s turned on you all,” Brody piled on, “just like he turned on Cantrell and me.”

  Most of the members, despite the earthquakes and the whipping wind, stopped in their tracks. Men rocked on their feet, hands out for balance. One dark-haired woman held her forearms over her camouflaged cap to block the leaves and debris from her face.

  Dozens of sets of accusing gazes drilled Yates.

  “We militia believe in our cause and die for our cause.” Yates, shoulders back, strutted and marched three yards to the right, then three to the left. “You’re not going to take some freak’s word over mine, are you?”

  “What the boys says rings true, and they know it.” Nora peeled back her upper lip.

  Brody held out his arms for balance as the ground dipped.

  A hand clamped down on his shoulder. At the dig of fingers, cramps of panic panged low in his belly. “You’re squirming like an earthworm,” Roderick’s shaggy red hair whipped about his elongated head, “skewered on a barbed fishing hook.”

  “We got us a computer whiz that’ll help us get out of all this mess. I’ve got a plan.” Yates gestured with a wide wave of his arms. The white of his eyeballs widened and matched the wide keyboard key squares of his teeth. “Trust me on this.”

  With sidelong glances at one another, some of the group unholstered pistols. A few gripped shotguns and rifles closer to the triggers of the guns.

  “I see mistrust on your faces.” Yates pulled his pistol. “Therefore, as head man in charge, I hereby decree the militia dissolved.”

  “We formed the militia years ago when they started building that inner mountain facility.” Doc Halverson limped out of the shadows between two burly, bearded men propping him up. “The Mountain Militiamen will not end on your say-so, Brockton Yates.”

  “The New Militia,” Yates said, “will rise up in its place.”

  Smoke wafted thick and oily through the undergrowth. The thick haze overtook Doc and those gathered around him. Their coughs barely reverberated above the howl of the rising wind.

  Roderick grabbed the back of Brody’s itch-lotion-slathered neck. With a brain-bouncing shake, Yates’s tall sidekick pulled Brody away from the crowd.

  “Brush fire,” Roderick yelled. “Whole place is getting ready to go up in flames.”

  A quake shook the compound. The ground, sloshing with water drawn to the surface, lurched and dropped. The slope hiked a yard high, and settled with banging, splashing jars.

  Brody’s knees jerked forward. He lost his balance, and Roderick yanked him around like a rag doll. A second hand grasped his other arm to spin him about in his tracks.

  Thankfully, Nora stood a couple of yards away, but latched on to his arm, his scowling brother loomed at his side. Brody forced out an exhale. “Cantrell.”

  Without a glance toward his younger brother, the former soldier said to Roderick, “I’ve secured a vehicle. Let’s go.”

  Brody’s insides shriveled, and any hope of escape from swept away with the slashing wind.

  Bangs echoed over the hills.

  With a battle yell, Yates fired several shots at the men closing in on him. Men fell like cordwood as the bald-headed man cleared a path to Roderick.

  All the while, Roderick and Cantrell dragged Brody away.

  “Cantrell. Don’t do this.” Brody dug in his
heels and jerked his arms. “Not again.”

  “Your brother knows on which side his bread is buttered,” the tall flunky bellowed in a keen, frolicking girly voice. “Oh, baby, if you’re my bread, where’s my butterbeans?”

  “What about Doc?” asked Cantrell.

  “What of him? Out with the old, I say.” Yates gestured toward camp. “After what he did to you and the others, good riddance to him and the whole infernal Briar Patch Mountain government-controlled gang.”

  The hewn wood of nearby cabins moaned, cracked, and popped as the ground fell out from underneath and the buildings tore apart. Logs tossed about like kindling twigs. Poles unearthed and canvas tents fell with flaps of collapse.

  “Nora?” Brody darted frantic looks through the camp.

  “She can’t help you, boy. She has problems of her own with the smoke and Doc’s men.”

  Vincent staggered upright and held out his hand, palm out, as if he signaled those around them to stop. In his own blood, the kid had sketched a recognizable finger-paint-type drawing of Yates.

  “Not good, boss.” Roderick’s fingers pinched tight. “Not good at all.”

  Shudders skimmed Brody’s bones as the pain in his neck froze him in place.

  Vincent bent at the waist and pressed his bloody palm to the ground, seemingly letting the blood soak into the earth. The teenager sneered. His broad smile revealed blood-smeared teeth from his split lip. “Like father,” he called out, “like son.”

  “Cantrell, if you’re playing sides against sides, I’m sorry.” Brody stomped on his brother’s instep.

  Cantrell let go and made another grab for him. “You don’t understand. For the journey to play out, Yates has to survive. In the greater scheme of things, from the greatness of these mountains, from the depths of the storm, shall arise—”

  Bending at the waist, Brody rammed his elbow into Roderick’s crotch and pulled free. Pitching forward, regret cramping through his gut, Brody ran and didn’t look back.

  “Don’t go with Yates, Vincent,” Nora called. “Please. Stay.”

  Beneath Brody’s scissoring legs, the ground split and belched earthy gasses. He jumped the widening crevice and rolled. His knees, then hips, banged and scraped shaking ground. Scrabbling, once again on his feet, he finally glanced over his shoulder.

  Behind him, the seam lengthened and spread. Nora, with Militiamen close on her heels, teetered on the rim of the gap, then dropped out of sight.

  “Vincent,” Brody yelled, “your mom.”

  Vincent crawled to the side of the crevice and dropped to his belly. He anchored his lower body by digging in with the toes of his shoes knees and bracing his sturdy stomach and reached into the crevice. The muddied rim crumbled, and with limbs flailing in convulsing grabs, Vincent slid and plunged into the hole.

  In a desperate grab, Brody dove toward the ledge.

  Chapter 29

  Ten-year-old Junior might be the youngest boy of the bunch, but he would show them he was the bravest. The tank-tracked all-terrain stopped just outside the camp, with Abe stomping the brakes so hard Junior braced against the dashboard to keep from pitching into the windshield.

  Inside the vehicle, where the tank-car stayed all new smelling, tension crackled between Hannah, Abe, Darcy Lynn, and Junior.

  Outside, amongst the dozens upon dozens of tents and cabins, streaking sparks from flaming tree branches slammed the forest floor.

  Cabins and tents caught fire until orange and yellow engulfed them. Acorn-sized hail beat the burning wood and cloth to splinters and tatters. Thick clouds of steam chugged to chase the running militiamen folks head-on in the wind.

  Cracks slithered across the ground like snakes full of venom. The earth trembled all on its own, the quakes no longer in Junior’s control.

  Abe’s finger shook as he flipped a toggle switch.

  Through the speakers, people’s open-mouthed gapes changed to terrified caterwauling screams.

  Junior winced but forced himself to listen at the results of what they’d done. The aches in his joints in no way evened out with the regret panging like vinegary coleslaw in his chest and belly.

  Darcy Lynn covered her ears and shut her eyes.

  “Best keep it all outside,” said Hannah.

  The roar of burning, breaking, pounding, and lashing boomed until Abe flipped the switch again.

  “Stop here,” Junior croaked as his throbbing knees practically knocked. “Let me out.”

  “Look, Junior—” Hannah propped a fist on a hip.

  “Don’t talk to me like I’m some little know-nothing, snot-nosed kid. I want out here. It’s my right to make a choice of my own. If you don’t let me out, I’ll bust my way out of here if I have to.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Darcy Lynn scooched against her seatback.

  “I would. I can, and I’m going to get out. Don’t make me break this fancy car to do it.”

  “Why?” Hannah’s eyes glinted sadly.

  After quite some time of no pain, as everything around them ripped apart, it felt as if a gardening trowel pried at his joints. “If I go into the tunnels below the hillside, I might be able to help Brody. If we split up and you make it to the next ridgeline, out of harm’s way, you can work to stop the storm from there. You know it makes sense.”

  “If you’re going to do this, let me get you closer to where Brody went.” Balanced on the front edge of his seat, Abe stretched his legs, pointed his boot toes to reach the pedals, and gripped the steering wheel.

  “How will we find you?” Abe’s arms shook from his vise-like grip on the steering wheel.

  “I’ll find you. After all, you’ll be on the earth somewhere.”

  The all-terrain rocked to another teeth-jarring stop. Abe’s jerky driving, not an earth tremor.

  Junior held on tight in the passenger seat.

  “You’re sure about this?” asked Abe.

  At Junior’s slow nod, Abe flipped another switch. Whoosh, the door flap opened, sucking in the stench of ash and smoke and burning wood.

  “You’re not going to let him.” Hannah grabbed and fisted Junior’s shirtsleeve. “We’re better off staying together if we’re going to survive the storms and the craziness in the mountains.”

  “Hannah, he’s close to our age,” Abe said, although his thirteen years all of a sudden gouged heavy in his face. “We can’t make him stay.”

  “None of you are the boss of me.” Junior stood, knees bent and ready to bolt if bossy-pants Hannah held on.

  “You don’t have to go. Hannah only gets mean because she cares.” Darcy Lynn leaned close from the left row of seats into the side aisle to the door and lifted something from the seat behind her. “I found Fluffy Dog tucked in the back seat. Thank you for keeping my doggy safe and bringing him.”

  Junior wagged his head. “I didn’t.”

  “I hate red, and I don’t like his pink ribbon anymore, but I love Fluffy Dog and you.” Her hand covered a cough. Blood speckled her fingers, but the little girl only swiped the smear away on the thighs of her dirty pants.

  “You’re going to try to end the quakes, aren’t you?” Abe stared at him through the windshield mirror. “Once you find the tunnels and go underground?”

  “If I can.” Junior’s jaw ached from too much teeth gritting. “Just like the three of you will fix the wind, the fire, and the water.”

  “This wasn’t our fault.” The thirteen-year-old boy blinked as if even he didn’t believe what he said and stared out into the nighttime lightened by sizzling blazes as bright as day.

  “Fine. If you’re going, get out. Go,” said Hannah. “We don’t want you around any way.”

  “I’ve known that all along.” Junior plunged out into the thick, smoke-filled night. “I don’t need any of you.”

  “Junior, wait.” Hannah yanked his shirttail. “That was a stupid thing for me to say.”

  “Don’t go.” Darcy Lynn whirled to face Hannah. “Look what you did. I hate you!” She swu
ng her fists and pummeled the older girl. Letting go of Junior’s stretched out-of-shape shirt, Hannah easily blocked the punch of the girl’s flailing hands.

  With quick, blurry blinks, he stepped out. Like hot asphalt, the ground sent stinging heat through Junior’s feet. He hissed in the smoky steam and lifted on to his bare toes. The all-terrain door slid closed behind him, and he shifted to his heels.

  With creaks of metal and a varoom of the motor, the all-terrain crept forward and away.

  From foot to foot, Junior hopped and aimed for a cool patch. A sheet of rain showered down on him as if someone turned on a spigot nozzle. All around, the earth sizzled, and clay-carrying steam puffed into Junior’s face.

  Icy rain chilled one foot, then he took a step onto a hot spot to hop and lift the other foot bottom to the water. After a few steps, his feet blistered and raw, Junior stumbled from the pain.

  The harsh scorch of burned wood stuffed his nostrils. A tower of fire—a burning man—ran out of one of the buildings. Arms waving, his mouth opened in a wide scream, but no noise, like the fire seared the words away, came out of the wide yawn. Stinking like pork burnt to charcoal, within a breath-length, the crispy guy dropped and didn’t move.

  Jaw ajar, Junior scraped away the ash-tinge of his tongue on his upper teeth and hopped in a sloshy puddle of warm water to take in the mess of the hillside.

  Wide gashes slashed the earth. The ground trembled, building toward another quake. Torn up buildings and trees burned. What didn’t burn was broken or had been ripped away. Mud coated his feet bottoms, and he curled his toes into the sticky wetness.

  “Earth, wind, fire, water,” he muttered. The knot in his throat swelled. The wagging of his head failed to chase the ugliness away.

  From behind, a motor sounded and grew louder. Over dips and ruts and fallen trees, the all-terrain backed toward him.

  Relief caught in Junior’s throat.

  As the door opened, his worry lifted.

  “Junior, I’m sorry, I really am. If you have to do this, you’ll need these.” Hannah shoved her high-topped boots and thick white socks into his arms. “Maybe they will help.”

  Junior, blinking against the smoke sting, took the shoes and socks from her.