Impact Series Box Set | Books 1-6

by Isherwood, E. E.

  “We know him, of course,” she deadpanned.

  “Right. So, if we can’t talk to the government about working with TKM to establish our ownership rights, why not talk to TKM about working with the government? I’m no lawyer, but I’m sure we can make them aware we have no intention of giving up on what’s ours.”

  “Dude,” Logan gushed. “Are you talking about going into the city? I’ve never been in a giant city like Denver.”

  The boy’s father rolled his eyes in a paternal way. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not a dude. I’m your father.”

  Logan tempered his excitement. “Sorry, sir.”

  She wasn’t sure it was a smart move, especially for her and Asher. “We don’t really know where he is,” she said with a tone suggesting it was a deal breaker.

  Asher chose that moment to jump in. “He’ll be at the asteroid fragment.” He smiled briefly at her, then turned to face the pair in the back. “All those trucks were heading down the highway to reach whatever fragment landed in Denver. It’s the only explanation that makes sense. TKM has a lot of mines in the mountains of Colorado. I’m sure this is the first place they’d go if their intention was to scoop up the remains. If the soldier said Mr. Tikkanen is in Denver, then there is only one place where he’d be.”

  She couldn’t tell by his tone whether he supported going to find the leader who had sent a hitman out to kill him. As the whistleblower responsible for trying to alert the world to the nefarious actions of a multinational corporation which spanned all the way to the asteroid belt, she wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to stay far away.

  “It can’t be safe in the city,” Shawn remarked. “I hate to ask you to accompany us, but maybe you could get us close?”

  “Well, we—” she began to say.

  Asher interrupted. “TKM is responsible for the safety of my sister. I’d like to have a word with them about where she is. After all, what are they going to do? Send a hitman after me?”

  She chuckled, surprised by his perspective.

  Logan sat forward in his seat. “We’re going into the city?”

  Grace started the engine, reflecting on what she was agreeing to. The hitman might have been after Asher to start, but her close association with him ensured she was on the same corporation’s naughty list. Her butt would be on the line, too. Still, it had some logic to it. If she was with a legitimate figure like Shawn Runs Hard, they couldn’t hurt her and Asher. Plus, if Misha was still out there, like he said, the last place he would look for her is with his boss.

  Unless he hopped his plane in Billings and went directly to Denver.

  She ignored her misgivings and started the motor. “Yep. Why not?”

  St. Charles, MO

  Ezra figured they’d floated half a mile in the time it took him to cut through the thick nylon rope of the soccer goal netting. He made sure not to pull on it too much. He never wanted to see the dead man again. When he hacked away the last bit, the rope snapped off and went underwater.

  “Rest in peace,” he said to the man.

  “Are we solid?” Butch asked.

  “Yep,” he replied. “Here, take the shovel,” he continued, while handing the tool to Butch.

  He climbed up the ladder and hastened to his captain’s chair. A minute later, with the engine back in the water where it belonged, he feathered the gas and was once again driving defensively. As glad as he was to get out, the stench of his clothes hit him in the face, reminiscent of the time he helped troubleshoot his neighbor’s broken septic tank.

  “Dang! You brought the smell with you.” Butch waved his hand, anxious to keep the air moving.

  “Sorry,” he replied, disgusted by what must be on his skin.

  There was no pattern to the flow of garbage. All he could realistically accomplish was to stay away from the larger pieces. The floating dumpster. The cargo boxes. Driftwood that looked like it could have come from the Sequoia Redwoods. He angled the pontoon boat toward the shore, hoping what he’d said about the less dense debris along the edges was really true.

  A half hour later, he recognized the highway and railroad bridges he’d briefly glimpsed before they got hung up in the netting. “We’re back where we started,” he said dryly.

  “Roger that, E-Z.” Butch spoke like he was in a military unit.

  For the next hour, he weaved in and out of the debris field. It was worse when he had to pass huge rock piles that stuck out fifty or a hundred yards into the river. They were designed to force the water into the main channel, so barges could ply the river, but they also acted as water guns, shooting debris in long, thick streams, some of which circled in eddies downriver from the blockers.

  “It looks like a town is up ahead. I think it would be a good place to stop until the river clears up.” Wherever the trash and junk had come from, it was evident they weren’t going to make it up the riverway while it was coming at them. They’d run out of gas starting and stopping over and over, to say nothing about possibly getting caught up in the trash a second time. If they were forced to repeat sections of river while he cleared the prop time after time, they could potentially end up with negative miles per gallon fuel economy. “We also need some supplies; maybe they’ve got some stores willing to sell to us.”

  They went under a stout highway bridge with a section of light green trusswork above it. A black railroad bridge hid behind it. Beyond those, the tree-lined riverfront of the small town offered them a potential landing spot.

  “This place doesn’t look damaged by the water,” Butch commented, looking ahead. While the debris was thick in the river, the shore hadn’t been stripped by fast-moving water and loose shipping, as they’d seen the entire time they’d been on the Mississippi. It reaffirmed his guess the worst floodwaters had originated on the other river, not this one.

  “Maybe the town itself hasn’t gone Mad Max, like some of those others. I’d like to find somewhere normal for once, you know?” He pointed to the hull of a tipped-over fishing boat. “Hey, is it clear on the far side of that boat?”

  Butch half-stood. “Yeah, I don’t see anything.”

  Ezra guided Susan’s Grace around the hull floating by, then veered toward shore. “We’re going to tie up here. It should give us a few hundred yards between us and the town. I’d prefer people didn’t know we have a boat to plunder. You know? Just in case.”

  “Smart. I’d have driven right up on the shore of the main part of town. I’d want to make an entrance.”

  Ezra laughed. “Why?”

  Butch shrugged. “I have no idea. I guess I’d want to impress the ladies. Why else?”

  It had the ring of truth to it. A strong young man like Butch probably did all right with women. Ezra had once thought Butch reminded him of Grace due to their similar ages and stubbornness, but the comparison had changed after spending so much time together. In fact, he could see him as dating material for his daughter. Veteran. Grease monkey. Kept himself in shape. Proved himself a reliable travel companion, even in the face of death. What more was there?

  He pulled near the trees of the shore and ran the pontoons onto the sandy bank. He raised the motor to get it clear of the water, then ran to the front and jumped off with the mooring rope. Once it was tied and the boat was secure, he looked around.

  “Hardly feels like we’re close to a city,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Butch jumped to shore with his rifle and backpack already on his person. “You know me. Always happy to be off the water. Doesn’t really matter what’s out there, as long as it’s dry.”

  “We taking the rifles?” he asked in a no-nonsense tone. Guns were being confiscated in St. Louis, which was still close by.

  “Should we leave them here?”

  Ezra thought about it for a few seconds. “I guess not. Some kid might come along and take them or hurt themselves. Even if we hid them, I don’t think I’d feel too safe about it. While we’re in town, maybe we can buy a gun safe.” They laughed. “I’ll
take the key, of course, so no one can make off with the boat.”

  A blue kingfisher flew by while Butch faced inland, briefly stopping on a tree branch about ten feet away from Ezra. He almost said something to Butch, though the bird had flown away before he got the words out. “At least nature seems to have recovered from the asteroid explosions. I saw a cool bird.”

  Butch took the lead as they walked through the woods along the waterline. While Ezra could listen to the sounds of nature all day long, Butch didn’t seem as interested in the crickets, birds, and how the wind moved high branches. He began to whistle a happy tune.

  The sun tried to peek through the overcast clouds, and the hike was a needed return to normal for Ezra. Yeah, they had guns and backpacks full of ammo, but he couldn’t see the debris in the water, nor could he see other people. It was only him and Butch. Then he noticed the tune.

  “Really? You’re whistling ‘Michael, Row the Boat Ashore’? That’s your go-to walking ditty?” Ezra cracked up laughing, which caused Butch to snicker and interrupt his song.

  “Yeah, my mother was the organist for our church. I grew up listening to her practice every song in her sheet music books. I guess this one reminds me how we’ve made it back to shore. Man, if we never row the boat again, I’d be pretty happy.”

  “Do you mean—” he started.

  “No, I’m not giving up, E-Z. I’m saying we’ve seen it all out there. I’m ready for some R and R for a while, you know?”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  They walked for a short time, covering the distance to the riverfront. When they finally came out of the thick foliage, they stood at the edge of a tent city. Thousands of inhabitants had taken up residence on the park-like acres in front of the town’s buildings. A man in a white plastic patio chair sat on the edge of the gathering, watching him and Butch emerge.

  “We heard you coming,” he said dryly. “Welcome to St. Charles.”

  A pistol sat in the man’s lap.

  Chapter 6

  Denver, CO

  Grace gave herself a few minutes to think about the implications of traveling toward danger, rather than away. At the same time, Asher tried to give her the lay of the land in regard to the metro area of Denver.

  “Denver is huge and shaped like a square,” he began. “We’re on the E-470 outer belt, which is so far outside the city it is mostly farmland and grass, as you can see.” He pointed north, out his side of the truck, to the endless rolling grassland they were already familiar with. “Inside of the outer belt, you’ll see mostly suburban sprawl. Houses. Schools. Churches. Those sorts of things. I think it is about thirty miles from one side of the city to the other, if I remember right.”

  Logan whistled, impressed.

  “The airport is on the eastern edge of the sprawl. The foothills of the Rockies are at the western boundary of the city, but the city doesn’t go into the mountains at all. People do live up there, of course, but they aren’t part of the main core of Denver. The northern area we’re in now is called Thornton, I think. I live on the complete opposite side of the city, at the south, in a suburb called Highlands Ranch.”

  “Wow. Back home, it was thirty miles from my house to the little town of Paducah. I can’t imagine that whole drive being inside a city like this.” She laughed to herself. “My mom would have hated this. If she’d been stuck in this truck, she’d have her purse sitting on her lap the whole time, telling me she wanted to get out as soon as possible.”

  “It’s not bad,” Asher assured her. “But there is one thing destined to hamper us, no matter what we do next. The main highway to the south is clogged with all those trucks.” He pointed ahead. Though it was still many miles away, they were heading back to the intersection with the other highway.

  As they talked it through, she recognized the overpass they’d gone under on the way to the airport. She expected to find the same half-dozen vehicles parked next to the road once they came out the other side, but as she entered the darkness under the bridge, an additional sports car became visible. The red Corvette had flipped on its top and then slid into the grassy median about a hundred yards beyond the overpass. It absolutely wasn’t there during their previous drive-by.

  She drove under the bridge at sixty-five, but Grace’s park ranger mentality kicked in. Her foot hovered over the brake pedal, in case any of the drivers in those cars needed help. It would be another ill-timed inconvenience, but she’d stop if anyone flagged her down.

  Asher screamed a warning, pointing ahead.

  An object fell out of the shadows, like a brick had come loose from the road above. But it was bigger than a brick. Maybe five or six regular bricks in one big clump.

  “Holy—” she yelled, heartbeat going right to triple speed. She smashed her boot on the brake pedal, causing the front end to dip down with the urgent change in momentum. The heavy brick slammed on the pockmarked white hood a few inches from her windshield. It bounced and ricocheted off the front edge of the roof, somehow missing the glass completely.

  In one moment of clarity, while blood surged behind her eyeballs, she realized the other vehicles had also experienced the same scare. If timed perfectly, the dropped concrete would go directly through the windshield and into the interior.

  She ignored the fear and kept the truck in the proper lane as it skidded to a halt. If it had happened a week ago, she might have freaked out and ended up tipped over in the median with the red car.

  Once the truck was stopped, she exhaled with relief, then gave everyone a cursory once-over look. “All good?” She barely waited for a reply, though she did ensure no one was hurt. Grace kicked open her door and jumped out.

  “Grace, wait!” Asher yelled.

  She didn’t even consider it. Someone dropped those massive cinder blocks. Many of them lay on the ground off to the side of the road, some broken in half from violent impacts. After yanking her pistol from its holster, she ran toward the embankment up to the bridge.

  “Hold on!” Shawn cried out, he and Asher giving chase to her.

  “I’m not leaving those jerks here to do this again. I’m putting an end to their horse shit right now!”

  Asher had almost caught up. “I know. We’re with you. Wait up!”

  She slowed only enough to let Asher keep pace with her. Her anger heated with each step, and the gun gave her confidence she could enforce the law on this one issue. Her NPS uniform might have been technically useless outside the park, but common decency dictated she arrest anyone doing such outrageous law breaking.

  When she reached the top level, she hopped over a guard rail. The road was empty, save for a lone pickup truck parked in the suicide lane of the four-lane bridge. The back was filled to the brim with cinder blocks. The culprits had to be sitting inside. She saw heads moving as she approached.

  “I’m here,” Shawn relayed as he, too, jumped the guard rail.

  “I’m going to kick their asses,” she exclaimed, finding no bottom to her anger. The people inside the truck had almost killed her or Asher, at the very least, and possibly all of them had she lost control of the truck. They were going to pay.

  Pistol out, she walked toward the driver’s side of the truck and waved her two friends to the other side. She wanted the driver, who was likely the ringleader. The man inside wasn’t looking at her as she neared. He was looking at his partner, laughing, unaware of her approach.

  “Get your asses out of the truck!” she ordered, pulling the door open.

  The pair inside squealed, completely surprised. “Oh, God! Don’t hurt us! We didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  When the door opened, she was torn between lowering her gun or using all her rounds. Grace desperately wanted to make an example of the scofflaws, but it was going to be a problem.

  “We were only having some fun,” the driver complained, almost in tears. “We found the truck. We didn’t take nothing!”

  Asher’s shocked face appeared on the far side of the cabin, gun drawn as
well. But their targets didn’t require heavy ordnance from multiple angles. They were two young boys, hands held high, and not a day older than twelve.

  St. Charles, MO

  The man with the pistol on his lap was otherwise unremarkable. He had a button-down short-sleeved shirt, cargo shorts, and wore a red St. Louis Cardinals baseball hat. He looked like he was at a backyard barbeque, rather than a place that may have been a homeless camp. Fortunately, he didn’t pick up the gun or aim it at them. He did, however, point at Ezra.

  “You boys smell like a skunk did some cartwheels in a latrine.”

  “It’s all him,” Butch said with a laugh.

  “I’m sure,” the man replied. “Smell aside, you boys are going to want to hide those rifles. If the St. Charles police catch you with them, they’ll red flag your asses faster than I could eat an Imo’s pizza right now. Believe me, that’s fast. I haven’t seen real food in over two days.”

  Ezra’s stomach rumbled noisily at the mere mention of food. “Thanks for the tip. We’re heading into town to do some shopping.” He had it in his head to search for boat supplies, like epoxy to permanently seal the duct-taped bullet holes, but he also hoped for a hot dog stand, hamburger shack, or taco trough. Any real food would do.

  Rather than attract the attention of any of the thousands of other campers, he nudged Butch to return to the woods. Once they had a bit of cover, he pulled out his rain poncho. “Here, we’ll put these over our rifles and packs, so it looks like we were trying to keep our gear dry. No one will think twice about what’s under them.”

  Butch ripped off his weapon and re-positioned it. “It’s going to be a little uncomfortable, but if you sling your rifle upside down, the barrel won’t stick up and broadcast you’ve got American steel in the house. Ironically, this is called African carry.”