Salt of Gomorrah (Silvers Invasion Book 1)

by Alex Mersey

  “I’d rather you didn’t broadcast the fact,” Williams called after her.

  “I won’t,” she promised, hurrying past them into the hallway. “But this is Frank.”

  Williams slapped the bag of melted broccoli on the table and stood, too fast. He winced, cradling his side as he walked to the window to spy on them.

  Chris grabbed a second sandwich. “We’ve already invaded their home, Williams. Maybe give them some privacy?”

  “The truck’s a Ford,” Williams said by way of answer. “A good model, late eighties, rusted to hell, but seems to be running okay.”

  “Don’t get any ideas,” groaned Chris.

  Williams brought his eyes inside, rested a hip against the counter while he did up the buttons of his shirt. “This is a different world now, Chris. The old rules don’t apply anymore. They can’t. Do you understand me?”

  “Haven’t we already had this conversation? And didn’t I win?”

  Williams sighed. “I’m not going to take their damn truck. But everyone we run into is going to have their own sob story and I’ll have to make the choice. Us or them. I’m getting you to Colorado, safely, whatever it takes.”

  “Why?” Chris tossed the half-eaten sandwich back onto the plate, his appetite soured. “Why am I so more important than anyone else’s sob story? I got all that security threat crap before, I was a chip that could be used to bargain, to destroy, but now…?”

  “Nothing has changed.”

  “Everything has changed! You said so yourself. This is a different world, different rules. We’re beyond terrorists and extremist agendas. I’m just a kid who doesn’t know what he wants to do after finishing at Jordan. Hell, who probably won’t even get to graduate now, along with every other clueless kid who somehow manages to survive.”

  “You are still my responsibility, my duty,” Williams said. “Your father is still my president, and he issued a direct order I intend to carry out.”

  “Okay, and sure, I want to get to Colorado, too, or any place that my dad knows where to find me.” Chris shoved a hand through his hair, kept it there as he looked Williams in the eye. “But not at any cost. Do you understand?”

  The grim determination set in Williams’ jaw slipped a fraction. “Chris, you don’t honestly believe I’d hurt innocent folk just because they’re in my way?”

  “Not in your way, personally, but in the way of your duty?” Chris gave a slow nod. “Yes, you would, and that includes yourself. You’re not a machine, Williams. At some point you’re going to fall down and not be able to pick yourself up again.”

  If Williams had anything to say to that, it was stopped by the voices in the hallway and, a moment later, the entry of their hosts.

  Frank was a pleasant enough—if somewhat gruff—man with snow white hair and a genuine Santa beard. His mind, however, had been made up before he stepped inside the house. Getting to his daughter took precedence over the president’s son and any sympathy to their cause.

  “Marty filled my tank up to quarter, that’s all he could spare,” Frank said outright. “We’ll be arriving at Little Falls on a whiff of fumes as it is. You’re welcome to ride along, but I’m done messing around and I’m not taking any detours.”

  “They’re coming,” June decided on their behalf. “Little Falls has a fine doctor,” she added to Williams. “He delivered our granddaughter last summer when Rose went into premature labor.”

  “It’s a two hour drive in the wrong direction,” Williams said, flat refusal hunkered on his brow.

  “We’re going,” Chris said, ready to get stubborn about it.

  He didn’t need to.

  Williams gave him a long, searching look, then turned to Frank. “We’d appreciate the ride, thanks.”

  Chris helped June carry the camping stove, an extra kerosene cylinder and a cooler box out to the truck while Frank fetched two bulging suitcases from the bedroom. Within minutes, Frank had locked up the house and they were on their way, Chris and Williams seated in the back of the truck’s double cab.

  Once they were on the road, Frank dialed back that tightly-wound urgency. He settled lower behind the wheel and stretched an arm along the seat behind June. “Leesburg’s gone.”

  “Gone?” June sighed. “We thought as much.”

  “All the surroundings, too. The office parks. The strip mall at the crossroads.” Frank sent her a quick glance. “Marty heard something interesting on the HAM radio, before it gave up the ghost. Someone saw one of those battlecruiser ships fly over Culpeper. Swore the damn thing swept low enough to peek inside the bedroom windows, and then flew right off without touching the town.”

  Chris remembered what his dad had said, although he didn’t give up the source. “We heard they’re mainly targeting the cities and larger towns.”

  “I pray to the dear Lord that’s true,” June said wistfully. “Little Falls could fit into Culpeper ten times over.”

  “It won’t be true for long,” Williams said bluntly. “They’ll wipe out everything in the second wave.”

  Chris looked at him. “What’s the second wave?”

  “More of the same.” Williams turned his gaze out the window. “It’s standard war strategy. Eliminate the obvious threat first, then take out the irritants in a clean-up operation.”

  “Jeez, don’t get carried away with all that optimism.”

  “I’m being realistic, Chris.”

  “What if they don’t want to destroy the entire planet? Maybe they just want to weaken our ability to put up a fight.”

  Frank met his eye in the rearview mirror. “I reckon we won’t know the answer to that until they want us to, son, but like my Pa always said, it ain’t over until we give up hope.”

  Williams held his tongue, just kept staring out the window, but the more Chris mulled it over, the more he convinced himself. The alien invaders had already mastered what the brightest human minds could still only dream about. It didn’t make sense, that an advanced, enlightened species would blaze a trail through the galaxy just to shoot up everything.

  - 13 -

  Beth

  Hour on hour, mile on mile, following the sun west through the wastelands of Jersey City, the wastelands of Newark, the wastelands of whatever place came after that. Mounds of powdered buildings, mountains of rubble, every now and then something that resembled an actual ruin. The total obliteration went beyond anything Beth could wrap her mind around, so she just walked.

  Another mile.

  Fussing over her sister until Alli screamed. Literally. Nothing’s changed in the last minute, Beth! Just let it go, will you? I’m fine.

  Another mile.

  Wondering how she was going to get them home, across the Atlantic, when they’d barely got themselves across the Hudson.

  Another mile.

  Crossing two further rivers, one on a narrow bend, neither half as wide or harrowing as the Hudson, thank God. Lynn had said Alli needed stitches, but they’d had to make do with gauze and medical tape. Even so, the first bandage had quickly soaked through with Alli’s blood. The second change, however, seemed to be holding, even after that last swim in the Passaic.

  Another mile.

  The sun baked down relentlessly, crisping their skin, drying their clothes to a salty crust. Beth’s inner thighs were chafed raw. The soles of her bare feet were tender, braised from the heat absorbed into the ground, scraped and cut from the rubbish they had to walk over.

  Another mile.

  Sweating out of every pour, her skin drenched in moisture while on the inside she felt like a shriveled prune. How long could one survive without water? Three days…or was that food? Something about three days, and seven days, but she couldn’t remember which was what. Didn’t matter. I’d sell my soul for a sip of water right here, right now.

  Another mile.

  Mostly in silence. Who’s around to listen to our moans? Except for the kid, grumbling about being shifted between Sean and Lynn’s back, asking awkward question
s.

  “When’s daddy coming home?”

  “Soon, baby.”

  That’s a lie. From some of their earlier chatter, Beth had surmised that Lynn’s husband was abroad, Japan or China or someplace like that, she couldn’t remember. Wherever he was, he wasn’t coming or going anywhere soon.

  “But how will he know where to find us?” Johnnie persisted, his lower lip pushed out in a sulk. “We’re lost.”

  “We’re not lost,” Sean said.

  “Then where are we going?”

  No reply.

  “It doesn’t matter where we’re going,” Lynn said finally. “Daddy will find us.”

  “How?”

  “We’ll tell him, Johnnie.” She didn’t snap, not exactly, but their sad conditions were clearly wearing her patience thin.

  “How?”

  “On the phone, when he calls.”

  “Your phone is broken.”

  “It just needs to be charged, Johnnie.”

  Another lie. Water had seeped into the zip lock plastic bag. Both phones were damp and surely beyond repair.

  Thankfully—or not—Johnnie’s brain skipped along. He squirmed on Sean’s back. “I can walk.”

  “You need to keep the weight off that ankle, Johnnie, just one more day, okay? Tomorrow it will be strong enough for you to walk.”

  “But we have to walk today, not tomorrow.”

  She didn’t refute that statement.

  Another sort of lie. Beth glanced around them, at the vast, desolate, nothingness. It felt like they’d be walking for days, weeks, before they reached anything resembling civilization.

  “I’m hungry,” Johnnie whined.

  Lynn sighed and her tone softened. “I know, baby.”

  Another mile.

  Storm clouds gathered toward the south, amassing depth and darkening as they inched closer, not nearly fast enough. Beth fantasized about the heavens open up above them, holding her mouth open to the pelting rain.

  Another mile.

  Another mile.

  Then they saw it.

  The jagged edges where these Godforsaken wastelands met tentative hope.

  ∞∞∞

  The dark clouds pulled closer and closer overhead as they hobbled, bare feet struggling with the bulkier chunks of cement and rebar, brick and chipped steel as the mounds of ash gave way to proper ruins, the wrecks of crumbled homes silhouetted against the white-dusted forest. Not much left of what looked to have been a leafy suburb, but it was a hell of lot more promising than the terrain at their backs.

  Sean led them to the right, around a partially standing house, cracked down the middle and peeled open for them to grab glimpses of the collapsed, crumbled interior.

  “Maybe we can find something underneath.” Beth waved a hand weakly over the caved-in structure. “Can we dig through it?” Would anything be left beneath that wasn’t crushed beyond consumption?

  “Maybe, but I thought I saw something…” Sean kept walking, and they followed.

  Beth’s gaze skimmed the dense forest beyond the ravaged front line that looked like it had butted heads with a hurricane. Bits of greenery peeked through the ash-laden foliage and she was just wondering if they should go deeper, that there might be a lake, bushes with berries or something edible, when Sean called out and pointed.

  The forest gave way to sprawling lawn, the greens, bunkers and fairways all coated in ash, but there was no doubting the layout of a golf course.

  Sunlight struck off something glass or metal and glinted through a clump of trees near a circular, flattened green.

  “That’s what I saw,” Sean said. “Come on.”

  A wall of glass.

  The clubhouse, a low-lying structure of wood and glass, blended into the sheltered grove of ancient hardwoods that nestled it.

  “Oh, my God,” Alli breathed out with shaky relief. “Don’t blink, it might disappear.”

  Beth’s toes curled into what had once been a velvety lawn as she walked, her scraped and battered feet savoring the crushed softness beneath the dusting of ash.

  A raised terrace with a slatted wooden railing wound around the side they approached, the wall of glass that probably looked out from the club lounge. There weren’t steps to climb, but the terrace wasn’t that high off the ground, about three of four feet. And the slats in the railing would give them something to grab onto.

  A little scouting, however, revealed an easier way inside. The main club entrance, a double set of sturdy oak doors, was firmly locked, but the service door around the other side had a gaping hole where the lock should be.

  Sean pushed and the door swung open into what was clearly the club restaurant kitchen. Stainless steel worktops, an extended gas range and grille, industrial-sized ovens, all pristinely scrubbed and devoid of clutter, as if the chef had already cleaned up for the night. Or perhaps between lunch and supper shifts.

  Days ago, Beth amended as the sour taste hit the back of her throat. The odor seemed to thicken the longer they stood there.

  Alli pulled a face. “What died in here?”

  “It must be the fridges,” Sean said as he slid Johnnie from his back onto the stainless steel counter.

  Lynn flipped a switch on the wall and watched nothing happen with the light. “Power’s out.”

  They were too desperate to explore further, despite the rancid smell.

  Beth pulled open a fridge door, gagged on the intensified blast of rotted meats and sour milk. She couldn’t slam it shut quick enough. “Sorry, wrong door.”

  Alli was at the scullery sink. She turned the spigot and water gushed out.

  “Pressure’s still okay,” Sean said.

  “That may not be safe to drink,” Lynn said sharply when Alli bent to suck on the spigot.

  “Tell that to my shriveled organs,” Alli retorted.

  “Wait.” Sean was at the other fridge.

  No rotted air smell when he opened it, which was a good sign.

  He ducked low and came out with a bag of water. “Melted ice cubes.”

  They found a utility scissors to cut a corner, glasses from a wall-to-ceiling rack, and no one said another word until they’d quenched their thirst. Taking her second glass with her, Beth poked around the kitchen cabinets and drawers. Condiments. Tooth picks. Sweeteners. Silverware. Flatware. Expresso shot mugs. Another cupboard held small bags of spices, all pegged tightly closed to hold the flavor.

  “Where’s the good stuff?”

  “Here!” Alli turned from the freezer with what looked like a soggy carton of ice cream. She winked at Johnnie. “Chocolate fudge milkshakes?”

  He grinned at his new best friend and nodded.

  “Make sure it hasn’t gone off in this heat,” Lynn said.

  “It’s still slightly chilled,” Allie said, but she gave it a good sniff before pouring the melted ice cream into two glasses, handing one to the kid. “Anyone else? There’s about a dozen tubs in there, any flavor you want.”

  “Vanilla?” Lynn moved to help herself from the freezer.

  Sean opened a tall, narrow door and stepped inside. “Storeroom.”

  Beth hurried over. Usually she was partial to ice cream in any form, but her stomach protested for something more substantial. She peered inside, watching Sean examine the caterer-size sacks that sat on the lower shelf.

  “Potatoes, salt, sugar, rice, brown grain…”

  “Anything edible?”

  He threw her a look over his shoulder.

  “I mean instant edible,” she groused, scanning the empty upper shelves with a sinking heart. “Trust us to pick a kitchen where the chef’s some organic idealist. There’s nothing canned, bottled or pickled.”

  Sean nudged her out the way so he could lug the sacks of potatoes and rice out. “Fresh is better.”

  “Seriously?”

  He straightened with a grimace. “Sorry, weak joke.”

  Lynn leant a hip against the counter beside Johnnie, sipping on her vanilla ice cream.
“How are we going to cook it? Power’s out, remember?”

  “The gas should still work.” Sean went over to fiddle with the hobs. The flint clicked, a spark caught, spluttered, then went out. He kept trying, getting no more sparks. He stood back, looked at them a moment, obviously choosing his words with care. “The gas pipe connection must be damaged.”

  If Lynn’s raised brow was anything to go by, she didn’t buy that explanation. But she glanced at Johnnie and clamped her lips.

  Beth didn’t quite buy it either. The club house and immediate surroundings were untouched. The connection should be just fine, and surely the gas pipe networks were buried deep? More likely, it was the operational center that controlled the flow of gas that was damaged…razed to the ground, or reduced to a mound of dust and blowing in the wind.

  On any normal day, a chill would have iced Beth to the bone. But this wasn’t a normal day. It was going to be a long, miserable road before they came across another normal day and right now she was tired, starving and thoroughly irritable.

  Sean rubbed his brow. “I could build a fire.”

  As if on cue, thunder rumbled from outside. The sun blinked out, taking with it the meager sunlight beaming through the high slit windows.

  “Great…” Beth wandered over to the freezer and snatched a tub of rippled strawberry. “If no one minds, I’m taking my dinner somewhere less smelly.”

  “God, yes.” Alli rushed off ahead of her, already pushed through the heavy swing doors while Beth stopped to collect a spoon. “Um, guys…?”

  Her muffled voice sent Sean striding across the kitchen.

  Beth dropped the spoon and the soggy tub on the table, heart racing as she turned. “Alli?”

  “It’s okay.” Sean held the door open for her to pass through, into a spacious dining area with two long tables and a host of other, smaller arrangements.

  Even though the sky had darkened, a bank of windows let in plenty of daylight and Beth didn’t fail to notice the empty packets, opened cans, cutlery and some dirty dishes left on a couple of the smaller tables.

  She couldn’t care less. The food stacked at the end of one of the long tables drew her like a moth to a flame. Tins of peaches, fruit cocktail, pear slices. Boxes of gourmet crackers, small tins of pate, a crate of bottled water, a large box of individually wrapped coffee biscuits...