“Some junk got wrapped around the prop.” Ezra tried not to sound panicked, though his heart raced at the realization they were at the mercy of the fickle river. The last time he experienced the grinding halt, he’d been in the middle of Kentucky Lake, but back then he had a trolling motor, which made it easy for him to limp home. The little fishing motor got ripped off when the boat flipped, back in Kentucky. He didn’t even own a paddle. They were in danger of becoming another piece of trash floating down the river.
“Uh, E-Z, you know I trust you, but this is a turn of events I didn’t expect. What do we need to do to get out of this?” Butch crouched in the middle of the boat, like he expected trouble to come at him from any direction.
Ezra raised the motor so it was almost out of the water. The slight cant in their position made it impossible to get it all the way out. Still, it was enough. Ezra knew what he needed to do if they wanted to keep the boat.
“I guess I’m going for a swim.”
Chapter 4
Denver International Airport, CO
After watching the two older women walk away, Grace hurriedly huddled with her friends. “I think we should follow those trucks and get some answers from the military. If nothing else, we’ll know if you and Logan have any shot at catching a plane.”
The Crow Nation chairman nodded seriously. “It would help us greatly to know what’s ahead.”
She glanced to Asher, believing he would almost certainly support her idea. Instead, she found him staring at the Humvees rather than listening to her. “Hey, Ash, you okay?”
After a brief pause, she poked him gently in the ribs. “You in there?”
He sprang to attention. “Oh, sorry. I heard what you said about going to those guys. It’s…well, they don’t appear to want any company.” The military formation came to a halt a hundred yards off the roadway, though they’d lined up side-by-side, all facing away from the river of refugees. The helicopter had zeroed in on the trucks and hovered above them.
“Come on, this is too weird. The Army works for us, right? We pay their salaries.” She hated saying that. She’d heard the same argument from rude park visitors ever since she’d started. Not many, but enough. The jerks who figured taxpayer money gave them exclusive license to order her around. It wasn’t a good way to get her to help, though the reality was she couldn’t tell them to pound sand, no matter how much she wanted to. Her hope was the soldiers would feel the same obligation toward her.
It wasn’t far, but she hustled everyone back into her truck. Once inside, she felt compelled to explain her decision. “We’ll drive over, so they don’t think we’re with the rest of the crowd.”
No one complained.
They crossed the short distance over the grassland without incident, but when they approached the line of trucks, two soldiers hopped out and flagged her to stop. A moment after, grass and dust blotted the scene as the helicopter touched down.
“Guys, stay in the truck,” she advised as soon as the blowing debris settled down a bit. “I’m going to talk to them.”
Everyone hopped out after her. She glanced across the hood to Asher as they walked forward. Her what-did-I-just-say expression was met with a smile. When he crossed in front of the bumper to be with her, he added, “No one goes out alone. We’re a team.”
She didn’t have time to correct him. A soldier wearing combat fatigues held out a hand to make her stop. “This is a restricted area. You’ll have to turn back.”
“But we’re with the National Park Service. We only need information. What’s going on at the airport?”
The two soldiers seemed younger than her, making them somewhere between eighteen and twenty-two. Despite that, the looks on their faces were textbook examples of stone-faced discipline. “Ma’am, we have no intel to share. Please turn back.”
Grace wasn’t taking no for an answer. She removed her hat and brushed back her loose bangs. It was a calculated move she’d learned from a few similar encounters back at the park. Sometimes it was necessary to appeal to a person’s humanity, rather than deal with ranks and official capacities. “Look, we’ve traveled a long way to get to this airport. One of those rocks almost dropped on our heads, then we got caught in a soot-filled snowstorm. Finally, we had to drive over what felt like a thousand freaking miles of wild grass. All we need to know is if the airport is even open.”
The helicopter was on the ground; its propeller continued to spin, but it was slow enough that she didn’t have to shout. Other soldiers emerged from their trucks, evidently preparing themselves to make contact with the aircraft. One soldier glanced over his shoulder, then softened his stance toward Grace.
“Ma’am, all I can tell you is we have to drive out here to get VIPs to and from the airport. We tried to land helos at the airport itself, but there are too many of these people on the runways.” He motioned toward the line of walkers with frustration, though not hostility.
“So, no planes can leave?” She hadn’t been paying close attention, but only recalled seeing a couple of planes in the air on the drive in. Far fewer than she’d expect next to a busy airport.
“None,” he said dryly. “A few have managed to land. Bigwigs with federal agencies. Army brass. TKM execs.”
Those words caught Asher’s notice. “TKM? Why the hell are you helping them?”
The young soldier’s expression changed. His momentary acquaintance with politeness seemed forgotten. “Sir, I advise you all to return to your vehicle and exfil out of here.”
Grace held out her arms, hoping for a last bit of kindness. “Can you at least tell us where to go? Is there anywhere we can find a plane?”
He shrugged. “Unless you’re the secretary of homeland security, I don’t think you’ll find any way out of Colorado besides your truck. Petteri Tikkanen is working downtown to make things right, but, as you can see, it isn’t happening fast enough. So you better drive your working vehicle out of here, because that’s what all these people are going to look for once they figure out the airport is hopeless.”
Her optimism was doused by his words. Behind him, a large man waddled toward the waiting helicopter. She wondered what made him so special he rated his own ride.
“It’s time for you to go,” the soldier said, back to his old tone of voice.
St. Charles, MO
With the motor off, he should have heard the sounds of nature, but the debris in the river was thick enough to cause its own distinctive soundtrack. Plastic, wood, and metal rubbed together, a million points of contact creating a crackling and bubbling mixture from all directions.
“Tell me if another shipping container is heading our way.” Ezra glanced all around, checking before he climbed the rear ladder to get in the water. The cargo unit they’d struck was downriver, and they’d since matched speed with the current, making it unlikely they’d hit it again. However, the miasma of debris constantly shifted and bobbed, creating opportunities for some of it to move faster than the rest. They couldn’t discount potential collisions.
“Don’t sweat it, E-Z. You got this.” Butch brushed a little sweat from his forehead, beneath the rim of his Stetson.
It was impossible to see more than a foot or two under the surface and it wasn’t solely a result of all the trash. The water was a sooty brown, suggesting heavy rains had stripped the surrounding fields of all their soil, then tossed it into the waterway. Since the motor was tilted up, he got a good look at the white mesh wrapped around the propeller, but he couldn’t see where the rope went under the boat due to the foul waters.
“I’m going to try to unwrap from here first,” he declared, after looking at it from above for a few seconds. If he could fix it without getting in the water, he wouldn’t complain.
Ezra leaned over the back of the boat and grabbed the thin white rope, quickly figuring out it was the type of nylon used in sports equipment. The tangle came out of the water, as did a terrible sewage odor. It was slow going, but there was obviously something attached t
o the other end. “Hey, help me yank on this.”
Butch came to the back of the boat, shifting the center of gravity with his arrival. The boat tipped, striking pieces of debris at the same time. The big man was white faced and panting with fear being so near the water, but he took the offered rope and began to pull.
“I think it’s a goal net,” Ezra remarked as more of it emerged. He tugged what seemed like twenty feet of material from the depths, but he halted when he saw a light blue color appear. “Wait!”
Butch was mid-tug when Ezra shouted, so he brought up another couple of feet. When he stopped, a man wearing a soccer jersey floated two or three inches under the surface. Ezra’s throat tightened as he figured out what it was. He concentrated on the words Kansas City emblazoned on the guy’s chest and tried not to see his dead face and water-swollen arms.
Ezra dropped the line like it was on fire. “He’s dead!” Butch did the same an instant later and the blue shape disappeared into the murky depths. He’d seen corpses too many times over the past several days, but the surprise of pulling one out of the water was too much.
“Change of plan.” He rifled through Butch’s little backpack and pulled out the camp shovel. It was designed to both dig and chop—one edge was sharp, as one might need to cut wood. As much as it frightened him to do it, he sucked in a breath and climbed down the ladder.
“You’re getting in?” Butch asked with revulsion.
The cold water pressed against his skin as he went down the ladder and hopped in. Ignoring whatever was below him, he hung on to the transom and positioned himself next to the raised propeller blades. “I could probably hack at this from up there, but if I make a mistake, I might damage the prop. The only way to do it safely is…” He gulped involuntarily. “From down here.”
He aimed the edge of the shovel, pretending he wasn’t in a river filled with bodies.
Denver, CO
Petteri, Dorothy, and Howard met the helicopter on the roof of the ten-story building he’d taken over. His people had chopped off some of the antennas and industrial venting from the upper floor; it was clear enough a helicopter could touch down. He was excited to talk to the powerful government official, though Dorothy was decidedly less enthusiastic to be there. She stayed near the door while he endured the rotor wash to greet Mr. Stricker.
“Welcome!” he said with fake excitement. The game they played demanded he be upbeat and accommodating, though they both knew he held all the cards in their relationship.
“Mr. Tikkanen,” Stricker replied, stooping low, despite being well clear of the blades above. The portly man spotted Dorothy as he shook Petteri’s hand. “I see you’ve made good on your promise.”
“Of course. Please, come inside so we can discuss what happens next.”
As they walked, Dorothy had already gone inside the stairwell. It took the heavyset man a long time to descend three flights of steps, and he practically begged for a glass of water when they entered the conference room. The man was a sweaty mess as he plopped down in the first chair he encountered. Dorothy sat at the far end of the ten-person table.
“Howard, would you be so kind as to go get us a pitcher of water?” He wanted his lieutenant out of the room for a short while.
When the man left, he jumped into the discussion. “Mr. Stricker, while we wait for your water, perhaps you could tell me why the government isn’t taking control of the airwaves? I’m sure you’ve seen the recent broadcast from the Crow reservation.”
“Your people made me aware of it, yes.”
He glared at the man. “And?”
“Mr. Tikkanen, I assure you we had no way of knowing this would happen. My department is stretched to the breaking point. Most of my people are in Nashville, along with many other government agencies. We’ve also had numerous emergencies along the border with Mexico. It seems there’s been a rush to leave our country, which is causing problems on both sides of the border. It’s pure chaos from Brownsville, Texas to Bangor, Maine. We’ve barely scratched the surface of what’s going on in the interior states, like here. Did you know I had to take five helicopters and two jet planes to reach you?”
His question was a setup. Petteri didn’t think the other man knew he was always being played, but it never stopped amazing him how the hapless man fell into his rhetorical bungee pits. After getting him to admit it was so terrible over the nation, he’d positioned himself perfectly to ask his next question. “My friend, Mr. Stricker, you know my company is picking up the slack here in the states most affected by the industrial sabotage which brought down our asteroid, but we can’t do it without your help. It would assist me greatly if you could supplement our efforts by shutting down all the airwaves in the states we’re operating in. I can’t have rogue entities working in opposition to TKM, can I? It wouldn’t be fair to me, nor would it be fair to the American citizens I’m trying to help, would it?” He cast the sweaty man a concerned look.
Stricker shook his head. “Of course not. What, precisely, are you asking me?”
Petteri avoided looking down the table to Dorothy. She would wait for her part in the negotiation, but not with any zeal. “Shut down every radio and television license in the states between California and Virginia.”
The perspiring man’s face tensed up before gradually relaxing. “Sir, that’s almost the entire country.”
“It encompasses the area where my company is extracting ore and cleaning up cities. I assure you, once we have things situated, everything will go back to normal. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Stricker sighed. “First, you asked me to suspend the second amendment, which I was able to do, citing the emergency. Now, you ask me to further shut down the first amendment for the same reason. The people won’t stand for it.”
A smile curled over his lips. He knew already Stricker would do it. “My old friend, you’ve been a blessing to the survival of everyday Americans in these blighted lands. They are safer because of you. There are fewer guns in the hands of those who would become criminals out there. All I’m asking now is to stop the flow of bad information—fake news, if you favor the term. Heck, keep the media stations online, but let my PR people take a crack at disseminating the most useful information.”
Stricker finally looked down the table to Dorothy, almost as if she were a new dessert he was reluctant to try. He addressed Petteri at the same time. “I came here to discuss the legal requirements of TKM in regard to ownership of those pieces of your asteroid which fell to Earth. I would be happy to discuss these new terms, though there’s no need to saddle you with the minutiae of negotiation. Perhaps these issues can all be solved over dinner with your assistant?”
He was impressed, despite his distaste for the man. He’d professionally boxed Dorothy into a corner, just as they’d discussed ahead of time over the phone. Petteri almost regretted giving his assistant a heads-up about what to expect, but at the same time she was working for him. It was a high-stakes gamble, though he’d worked enough with Stricker to know the outcome wasn’t really in doubt.
“I think that can be arranged, don’t you, Dorothy?”
Chapter 5
Denver International Airport, CO
By the time Grace and her associates walked back to the truck, the helicopter had taken off and the line of Humvees had headed for the airport. None of the soldiers waved as they went by, but they peered intently at the migrating people, perhaps worried some of them might band together and attack.
“Well, Mr. Runs Hard, I think we can safely say the airport is out of the question.” She might have been willing to drive on the grass, like the military convoy, but if what the soldiers said was true, there was no point.
He replied with a noncommittal, “Hmm.”
They all climbed in the Suburban, but once inside, they all sat silently in their places. It reminded her of how conversation naturally ebbs every seven minutes, or so she learned at school. Grace wanted to break the silence, but she was at a loss for what
to do next. The airport was out, yet she’d promised to help the two members of the Crow nation. But how?
While looking in her mirror, she caught sight of the father stroking his salt-and-pepper stubble. When he noticed her, he took a long, deep sigh. “I and my son appreciate what you’ve tried to do for us, but you are correct. The airport is out of the question. We could try other airports, but I’d be surprised if any of them are operating. Plus, now I doubt the condition of Washington, DC.”
“I’m so sorry,” she pleaded. “I didn’t mean for it to end up like this.”
“Of course, you didn’t,” he said in a friendly way. “No one could have foretold this is what would become of an entire city. I’ve been thinking of what to do now. What to do with my son.”
She faced Asher. “Do your parents have a spare car? Maybe they could loan it to our new friends?”
Before he could answer, Shawn reacted. “No! We don’t need to be in your debt any more than we already are. Besides, there are friends of our nation here in Denver. I’m sure we could get a ride back to the rez if things were that simple.”
It was difficult to talk to a person sitting behind her, so she scooted forward on her seat and then turned around. “I only want to make sure you two don’t end up on the side of the road, like those people out there.”
“We won’t,” he assured her. “But I think I might have a way to finish my task without getting on a plane.”
“That’s amazing,” she replied.
“That said, I’m not sure I want to ask you to help us.” Mr. Runs Hard looked over to his son. “And I’m not sure it’s the safe thing to do.”
“What’s your plan?” She imagined him asking her to drive them all the way to DC. It would stretch the limits of what she’d agreed to do.
“The Army man said they’ve been transporting important people to and from the airport, and the big guy who climbed aboard the helicopter was going toward the city. It tells me there’s something worth visiting. He also said Petteri Tikkanen is in Denver…”
Impact Series Box Set | Books 1-6 Page 63