Endurance: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Highway Book 2)

by ML Banner

  He wished he believed in God, any god for that matter, so he could pray for success.

  He had to make this deal.

  His largest space, a two-hundred-thousand-square-foot warehouse, had remained empty since he bought it. He was sure this space would make him a fortune. Although it was outside of town, Sunbay Cove was part of a failed development that he was able to buy out of bankruptcy using falsified financials and lots of financing at the local bank. What made it a potential jewel in his sagging real estate and business empire was its natural harbor. He figured all he had to do was find someone to lease it. The quicker it happened, the more money he’d make.

  But after more than a year there were no takers, and his cash position dwindled down to nothing.

  Then, out of the blue came the phone call; a businessman who had an export business and needed to store excess supplies. The potential lessor had already looked at it from the harbor side, and if the inside was as spacious and well secured as it appeared from the outside, he’d not only take it, he’d sign a three-year lease and prepay the full amount in cash. It was, as he’d learn later, literally a deal too good to be true.

  And still the reels spun.

  As Jonah waited inside the dark warehouse, he grew ever more impatient for the warehouse lights. They were designed to be turned on remotely, but there were still a couple of parts he hadn’t yet spent the money on. So they had to be turned on at the breaker. He’d sent his son Cain to turn them on. Now he wondered if his son could be trusted with such a simple task.

  His eyes impatiently floated upward, attempting to see through the darkness to the roof. Although a large amount of light cascaded through the opening, it wasn’t enough to penetrate the space. Once again, just like he did when he bought the place, Jonah marveled at this grand building he controlled.

  It was the newest of his warehouses, and this one was in the best shape. It was sealed up tight: not a single shaft of daylight pierced its thick shell. So solid, it was designed to withstand the force of a category five hurricane. His other spaces, although close to town, were much older and not nearly as solid.

  He heard the soft engine sounds of a vehicle. And with it, his excitement grew.

  The slot machine’s kickers were clicking into place, slowing the reels, letting him see the images as one by one they stopped spinning.

  Right then, the gigantic space was filled with light. Cain finally found the switch. He admired the space again, now with the benefit of light to reveal its vastness.

  Click.

  The crunch sounds of tires on asphalt told him it was close. Then the car’s brakes softly squealed.

  Click.

  Jonah turned to it, sensing its presence. The silhouette of a man carrying a large case paused at the opening. The man looked around at the space and then walked toward him. He could see the case now. It was large enough to carry three years’ worth of rent, in cash.

  Click. Ding-ding-ding.

  The bells and lights of the slot machine played in his head. He would hit the jackpot.

  “Mr. Price?” the man asked. A thick but pleasant dialect accented his question.

  Jonah thrust out his hand. “Mr. Ramadi. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Chapter 16

  July 10th

  Randall

  Randall White woke to the same heavenly and earthly rumbles that shook the rest of Endurance to consciousness.

  Although daylight was starting to pour through the hallway, his mental cobwebs—mostly remnants of awful nightmares—conspired to keep him from finding the restroom.

  He was familiar enough with the home’s layout, as his wife and son had stayed here a few times even after moving to just south of here in Crystal Waters. He stopped after absently clumping up to the master bedroom, its door slightly ajar. He peeked in to confirm what he already knew. She wasn’t home.

  Then his mind started to clear—a cobweb being knocked down—and he remembered where the guest bathroom was. Now plodding in that direction through the small home’s hallway, he was careful to keep his movements silent, not wanting to make noise and wake his family. He stopped again, this time in front of one of the many pictures seemingly arranged without purpose, a disorganized jumble of family pictures. It was a picture of the team, their team. Emily was there, along with everyone else and the other staff. Randall was not. Having just been added to the team after the season had started, he had missed the preseason portrait. That was his only year with them. No photographic evidence would confirm it.

  Back then, Emily was a young doctor focusing on orthopedic medicine; she received an offer to be the Tampa Bay Devil Rays’ team physician. After the team’s first game, their right fielder fractured his knee in a car accident—the media speculated it was alcohol-related. Randall was acquired through a trade, and boom, he was a Devil Ray, at least until they could develop one of their younger players. He didn’t mind being a fill-in. He was happy just to play. As a new addition, but near retirement age, Randall visited Dr. Scott often to gain her help to get his old muscles through the long season. They became fast friends, and subsequently, Emily fell in love with Randall’s wife, Leticia, and their new son. They often had her over for dinner and considered her part of the family; Randall often referred to her as their adopted daughter.

  A few games into the season, Emily was romantically involved with a teammate and became pregnant. She confessed to Leticia, but Emily kept the pregnancy quiet to the rest of the world until she could tell the father. During an eight-game home stand, she did and was summarily dumped by the ballplayer and the team before they went back on the road. She miscarried the baby a few weeks later.

  Randall didn’t stay on the team much longer, either. He couldn’t recover fast enough from his own injuries. Maybe Emily’s exit had something to do with it. Before the end of their short season—they didn’t make it to the playoffs that year—he was replaced by a teenager from their Triple-A league. And boom, he was out of baseball.

  In spite of the devastating losses, Emily rebounded wonderfully. She found a position at a small clinic in the town of Endurance, Florida. Emily’s little home was only a few steps away from the beach and less than a mile away from where she worked at the health center. Always welcoming, Randall’s family traveled the short distance from Crystal Waters to Endurance numerous times to spend some time at the beach and to visit her. Sometimes, like now, they would arrive while Emily was on shift—she was always working.

  He’d found the key in the same spot she had always left it.

  He was so thankful for the place to stay and was anxious to tell her this. This was not just a weekend stay; they’d need to impose for a lot longer than just a weekend.

  Randall decided then to quickly clean up and get to the clinic to make sure Emily was okay with them staying here indefinitely.

  ~~~

  Jonah

  Jonah Price closed the door behind him on the immigrants.

  He’d housed them in a giant empty warehouse, really the last empty space he had left. He gave them plenty of food and water per his instructions. He was so done being told what to do.

  This warehouse was the worst of all his buildings. It had a leaky roof, no cooling, poor ventilation.

  The door popped open, and a man as dark as night pleaded in broken English the question that maybe a hundred others had asked him this morning. “No!” Jonah barked. There was no bathroom.

  That was another feature absent from this property. Not that it would matter. With the power out, restrooms didn’t work. He told the man to find one of the big holes they’d set up outside in the large walled yard behind them. There were shovels to toss in dirt and lye to stanch the smell.

  As the dark man trotted around back, Jonah reflexively wrinkled his nose at the thought of how smelly it would get in and around this building in a few hours.

  It might have been his worst property. But he’d picked this one up for only a couple thousand dollars by foreclosing on a s
mall carryback note he’d bought. Oddly enough, the previous owner sold reconditioned mattresses. So when Jonah took over the building, he ended up with several thousand of them. He had no idea what he would do with them. They were mostly worthless, having sat in the warehouse for years. But now, like the hazmat suits, they found use once again.

  He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and walked out into the humidity of the new day.

  “Thanks, guys,” he said to the two guards posted in front of the warehouse’s only unlocked entrance.

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Price,” they snapped in unison.

  “Sir?” one of them asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are we here to keep them from leaving or to keep someone from getting in?”

  “Both.” He then repeated the words spoken to him. “Let no one leave the property.”

  The guards nodded obediently, albeit somewhat tentatively.

  He walked away, needing to think and plan his next move. He was having difficulty doing this, feeling the weight of the world bearing down on him. He shook the fatigue out of his head—he hadn’t slept since yesterday. He could sleep tomorrow, if he was given another tomorrow. There was just too much to do between now and then.

  He felt the immense weight of what he knew he’d have to do next. It pressed upon his temples like a vise. But he knew it was what he had to do. Walters was already leading a group of his men to complete the first step of his plan. He really wanted Peter to handle this, but Peter was MIA, and Jonah had started to have some doubts lately about the man’s own motives.

  Jonah wondered what time it was, feeling a niggling need to confirm all was right with Walters. This would be crucial to what he had told Ramadi. Jonah felt his belt and looked around for his radio, but couldn’t find it. “Where the hell did I put the damn thing?”

  Chapter 17

  July 10th

  Frank

  “Damnit!” He pounded the ground. “I was so focused on getting out of the clinic and away from the hordes of immigrants, I didn’t think to grab us some water,” Frank said, wiping his brow as they rested in the shade of a giant willow off the road.

  “Here!” Travis held out a small bottle. Lexi snatched it with a snicker. Travis then reached into his overstuffed backpack and grabbed two more, giving one to Frank and twisting off the cap of his before taking a giant gulp.

  Frank and Lexi exchanged knowing grins as they each sucked down their bottles’ contents in practically one swig.

  “Great job, Travis. Have you been carrying those things around with you in that backpack since we left the house?” Frank asked.

  “No.” He choked a little and then cleared his throat. “I picked up the waters at the clinic. I thought we might need them. I forgot they were in there until you mentioned it.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask”—Lexi held back a belch—“where did you get the backpack?”

  “My room; it has all sorts of cool things in it.” He gleamed, feeling useful and knowing some factoid that they didn’t.

  Lexi grimaced as if some thought had taken possession of her face. Then she pointed at him. “Okay, so how’d Jonah’s men let you take that giant backpack with you?”

  Frank knew where Lexi was going with this, having already heard her complaints about Jonah’s men taking her revolver.

  Travis yanked a clog of weeds by his feet, his shoulders sinking slightly. “Ahh, I put Dad’s medals in that bag.” His head shot up as he spoke quickly. “I didn’t want to lose them, so I put them in the bag by the door—you told us to always be prepared—and when they pulled me out of the radio room, they said I couldn’t take it with me …” He spoke to the dirt, head down while his eyes peeked up at Frank. “I sort of cried.” He then turned to Lexi, his voice lowered. “It seems to work with grown-ups, so I thought …”

  Frank chortled at his godson’s ability to manipulate. “I’m going to keep that in mind for the future.” He winked at Travis. “Can I see the bag?”

  Travis nodded, once again slurping on his water bottle.

  Frank pulled the pack to him. “Damn, your dad sure was a model prepper,” he said, marveling at the well-stocked bag. It had been years since he’d seen Stanley, yet every day he was learning more and more about his friend’s preparations. Stanley sure did a better job than he did with his own preps.

  A thought occurred to him. “Lexi, did you find a similar backpack in your room?” Since Lexi was sleeping in what had been Stanley’s room, Frank wondered if perhaps she’d found that Stanley had stashed one in there, too.

  Lexi looked up toward the sky, an attempt to search her memory. She did remember seeing a similar bag in the closet, but she’d barely had time to get settled in, much less explore the house’s nooks and crannies. “I think so, but I haven’t had a chance to look yet.”

  “Well, it looks like your dad had set up a bug-out bag in each of the rooms. I found one in my room. I’m guessing that one may have been set up for you. This one”—he motioned to Travis’s bag—“has bug-out supplies and a few things geared to Travis. He definitely was planning for this time.”

  They fell quiet for a moment as the sadness of their loss returned, like the pain of an injured muscle that you try to use, reminding you not to go there, not yet. Frank gave the bag back to Travis with a smile. “Thanks,” he mouthed.

  “Look!” Lexi proclaimed. “That house has a water catching system like ours.”

  While already scanning around them for any threats, Frank focused on the small house across the street. He had noticed the house before they stopped for a rest, as it was the only home they’d seen in their walk back from town that had a manicured lawn. The guy might as well have hung a sign out on the front lawn that said “Come here first, bad guys. I’m the one with supplies.”

  Still, he was impressed with the excellent preparations: the southern span of the roof was covered in solar panels, a large propane tank jutted out of the back side of the house, rows of vegetables and other plantings were surrounded by fruit- bearing trees in the backyard, and an excellent system to catch and store water was in place. He thrust out his forefinger to the roof gutters. “You’re right, Lex; it’s a water catchment system exactly like ours. You can see the gutters funnel the water down to a large tank elevated just below the roof, but high enough to produce a strong enough pressure so it will flow into the house without pumps. What you don’t see is the filtering system that likely uses charcoal and sand to naturally filter the water that goes into the large storage tank.”

  “Uncle Frank?” Travis had begun calling him Uncle Frank lately, he said because it was easier than calling him Godfather Frank. “What’s the other larger tank for, the one connected to the catching tank?” Travis asked, trying to suck in knowledge from his godfather, just like his sister.

  Frank followed the pipe jutting out to another larger tank. “That’s extra water storage. In the drier months, if the main tank runs out, they could pump water back int—”

  Frank stopped midsentence, his whole body tense, on alert. He caught movement on the outermost edge of his periphery. He studied the home, now with more diligence. A curtain in the second side window abruptly flew back to reveal a wide-eyed man. He held up a large-caliber pistol for display and glared at them. It was a simple message, easily understood.

  Frank nodded while holding his palm up, as if to say “Message received.”

  “Let’s get moving. It’s not safe out here.”

  When they arrived at their driveway after another hour of walking, exhaustion took over, even though it was still early morning. He could see it on their faces as well.

  It would have been easy to blame the Florida humidity and their five-mile walk for their fatigue. He knew it was the stress of always having to watch out for the next person, around any corner, who intended to kill you. It was one thing dealing with that stress when he was on tour with the Army. But that was a lifetime ago, when he wasn’t injured, he was younger, and didn’t have two young pe
ople to watch over. His world, and theirs, had changed so much.

  And even though he knew he should remain vigilant, he was sapped of energy. So when he saw the house, their pace slowed. It was a mental acknowledgement that they’d made it this far. They would be able to rest again before having to prepare for the next threat to come their way. He relished the feeling, even for just a short bit, as he limped the final few feet. That feeling didn’t last.

  As they approached the home’s rear, Frank noticed the back door was slightly ajar, and he heard a voice coming from inside.

  He froze and held up his fist—it was automatic for him. Lexi and Travis halted, each becoming rigid.

  He then heard a creak, the telltale sign of weight moving along an older home’s wood floors.

  Someone was definitely in their house.

  Chapter 18

  Sunbay Cove, Florida

  Eight Years Earlier

  Stanley Broadmoor

  “So when was the last hurricane that hit this area?” Stanley Broadmoor asked.

  “Because of its northern location, this area hasn’t been hit by a hurricane in decades,” the realtor proudly announced. It was a question out-of-towners often asked. She flashed him a fake grin, a salesperson’s smile. “Let’s walk around back.”

  Stanley followed the portly woman, who wore a bright blue flowered skirt way too short for her weight and age. He hated thinking critically of someone. But it was more than that. He just couldn’t stand realtors, who had little training or knowledge about the biggest investment in a person’s life. Yet they were a necessary evil, as they were the gatekeepers to the home he was looking for.

  Stanley stopped when he noticed the large tank on the side of the house, with tubing running to the gutter. He examined the plumbing and its quality. It was good. About a five-hundred-gallon tank, or more than enough based on the area’s rainfall to service him and his kids.