SHATTER: Epoch’s End Book 2: (A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Series) (Epoch's End)

by Mike Kraus

  “Wait here, guys!”

  Tom looked up to see his daughter ditching her backpacks on the side of the road and picking her way down the sunken shoulder toward a large fishing boat that sat in six inches of water. The hull bore a gaping, jagged hole, and seawater poured out as it tilted to port.

  “Wait, wha-what are you doing?” Tom called out, too tired to physically stop her. "Be careful!"

  Leaning in, hands on the edges, Sam peered into the broken hull before sticking one foot in, sidestepping, and vanishing from sight. Panic surged through Tom’s body and he nearly dropped Jerry on the road in lieu of slogging down and dragging her back out. “Okay, Sam! Get back here, now!”

  The girl emerged from the busted hull, obeying her father but not without her prize: in her hand was a yellow, heavy-grade parka, still freshly vacuum-sealed in spite of the boat's condition. Smiling, Sam removed it from its plastic packaging and draped garment over her Tom and Jerry’s shoulders, the thick, water resistant material settling on them to keep them dry and, hopefully, slightly warmer.

  "How'd you know that would be in there?" Tom asked.

  "Standard emergency gear. I saw spots for more and some discarded packaging, but no more parkas. I'm good though," she replied with a wink, adjusting the backpacks as she put them back on. "These things trap a lot of heat."

  "Nicely done. Remind me to not curb your TV watching time in the future." Tom gave Sam a thankful nod, and they trudged on.

  “How long until we reach your neighborhood?” he asked as Jerry gazed ahead at the distant lights flickering through the grayness, eyes moving left and then right as if looking for landmarks to identify.

  “I don’t know,” he shook his head. “Everything is messed up. I don’t recognize anything around here.”

  “How will you know when to turn into your neighborhood?”

  “I guess I just will,” Jerry shrugged his good shoulder sheepishly. When Tom leveled a hard stare at him, the young man answered more directly. “Seriously, I’ll know when we get there. I really will.”

  Tom stymied his doubts, raised his chin, and kept going.

  *

  “Dad, is that what I think it is?”

  They’d been walking for forty-five minutes when her excited tone drew his attention. Lifting his head, he saw his daughter standing near the right side of the road, looking toward the flooded beachfront homes as the water gently lapped at her shoes.

  “What is what?”

  Sam pointed her flashlight. “Over there.”

  Tom squinted and directed his own light after hers, seeing only washed-out yards and foaming ocean. “Sorry, Sam. You’ll have to--” Tom stopped as he saw its eyes in the reflection of her flashlight pointed into the shadows under a large, bending tree. The middle house sitting beneath the bowed branches was a gray beach home with most of its roof missing. On a small section of the remaining shingles crouched an orange tabby cat, its fur wet and sticking out in all directions, tucked into a recess, presumably to protect itself from the rain and cold. It had wrapped its tail tightly around its body and was staring down at the gently sloshing waves with wide, frightened eyes.

  “See it now, Dad?”

  “Yeah, I see the cat.” A frown creased his features. “But we need to keep going, Sam.”

  “Seriously?” The girl stared back at him. “We can’t just leave it there.”

  “C’mon, Sam. We’ve got more to worry about than a cat. The water will probably recede, and it’ll jump down and be fine.”

  “Probably?” Sam started walking out toward the edge of the road. “What if the house washes out, or the waves keep rising?”

  “Believe me, honey.” Tom shook his head. “Cats can survive almost anything. I’m sure the critter will be fine.”

  “Just a quick minute, okay, Dad? I can just prop up a board up there for it to climb down on!” Without waiting for his go-ahead, Sam ran off of the road through the sand and water, heading for the house.

  “Sam! Hey!” Tom shouted and clenched his jaw in frustration. He started to release Jerry but realized as soon as he did, the young man would collapse to the pavement. Tom took a deep breath to calm himself before quickly scanned around. When he found what he was looking for, he turned to Jerry.

  “Can you stand for a second?”

  “Yeah. I’m good.”

  Tom got out from beneath the young man’s arm and held him in place for a moment to make sure he didn’t topple over. He ran a dozen yards to a crumpled lawn chair, snatched it up, and brought it back. The furniture was mostly intact except for a twist in the frame that made it sit lopsided. Tom straightened it as best he could before helping Jerry sit down on it and, once he got him settled, Tom looked him in the eye. “You good?”

  “Oh, yeah. This is actually nice.” The young man settled back and pulled the parka to his chin as rain beat against the plastic, chuckling as he watched Sam. “I’m fine sitting right here. You guys save the poor kitty cat.”

  “Right.” Tom rolled his eyes, nodded and jogged over to Sam where she walked back and forth along the shoreline. The house with the cat stood forty yards away in the middle of a seawater lake, the waves rolling in and swirling together to foam up to their boots.

  “How deep do you think it is by the house?” Sam asked.

  “Judging by where the water is rising, probably eight or ten feet at most.”

  “So, four to six feet when it’s out?”

  “Sounds about right.” Tom pointed to the turbulent swirling. “We can’t just wade out there because we don’t know what the cross currents are like. They might not look strong from here, but they could easily drag us under.”

  “What can we do?”

  “Look for something we can float out to it.”

  “Like a raft?”

  “Yeah.”

  They walked up and down the shoreline, searching for something they could ride. Tons of floating debris had washed up on shore, but nothing that could hold either of them and the wooden fishing boat they found wrecked in the yard was far too large and damaged to maneuver into the water. Tom spotted a telescoping pool skimmer, picked it up, and tossed it over near the road.

  “Pile up anything useful there.”

  “Okay.”

  Sam threw herself into the work, dashing for objects, gathering everything she could find. Tom’s weariness kicked in, and he was still somewhat upset with her, but one of Samantha’s soft spots included animals, and taking a short break from their perilous journey to indulge her wouldn’t hurt. Ten minutes later, Tom stood in front of the pile of rescue items with his hands on his hips.

  “All we have is this super long heavy-duty pool skimmer, two cushions, and a bunch of junk,” Sam said, blowing a gust of air that was swallowed up by the wind.

  “And none of it is stable enough to float us to the cat.” Tom glanced over his shoulder at the animal still hunkered at the corner, staring at them with big, yellow eyes. He sorted through the pile of stuff and held up a small plastic bin without holes in it, one cushion and the pool skimmer. “Hey, I think I have an idea.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  Tom slipped off his backpack and placed it on the side of the road, digging out some rope, tape, and a small serrated knife from the RV’s kitchen. He flipped the bin over and rested the pool skimmer’s end on the bottom. With thick layers of duct tape, he firmly affixed the two pieces together so the bin rested on the skimmer like a basket, bringing the tape high up on the bin’s sides. He turned it over and set it down near the shoreline before removing the cushion cover and holding up a soggy slab of foam. Squeezing the seawater out, he cut it to fit the bin and pressed it down inside to act as a landing pad for the animal - if it would jump. Tom took off his jacket, shirt, socks and shoes, and pants, handing them to Sam to keep as dry as possible and leaving him in just his boxer briefs.

  “Dad, are you going to be okay?” Sam sounded worried and slightly regretful that she’d put her father down this path. “Yo
u don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I understand we can’t save every animal.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Tom shivered. “It’ll be cold for a minute, but I’ll get over it. Not sure if you’ll get over seeing your old man in his skivvies, though.” Rope looped around his waist, he tied it tight and handed the other end to Sam.

  “I see what you’re doing,” she said, taking the end and wrapping it around her arm to get a good grip.

  “I’ll walk out until the water is past my knees,” Tom explained, “then I’ll and push the bin out to the cat. If he jumps in, great. If not...”

  Sam nodded.

  “Just make sure to pull me back if a wave snags me.”

  Sam wasn’t likely to have the strength to haul a full-grown man from an ocean current if it caught him, but it was better than nothing. Grabbing up the pole, Tom took a deep breath and pushed the bin into the water with the handle. It floated on its own, so he waded out toward the house, pushing it ahead of him.

  “Keep your flashlight trained on the cat please.”

  The beam glinted off the water as Sam switched it to her right hand before settling on the wet, scrawny animal on the edge of the roof. The waves were tame at first, surging past his shins and throwing him slightly off balance as debris swirled around his legs, banging into him but not threateningly. As the waves receded, though, they pulled hard, forcing him to brace himself on the sandy bottom with each step.

  A cresting wave hit his knees and rolled past, and Tom stopped to check on the cat. It gazed at him, wet and miserable, but with a hint of curiosity and hope. With a shake of his head, Tom held the pole against his side and loosened the extender part of the handle until it stretched almost twenty feet. He locked them in place, and pushed the bin toward the cat once again. The house stood in the middle of the water, the only solid object between himself and limitless ocean. If a cross current grabbed him, and Sam couldn’t hold on, there would be nothing to keep him from being dragged out to sea.

  The small waves were astonishingly strong, and he fought to balance in the push and pull, positioning the bin as close as possible, still ten feet too short. Cursing silently, he edged out farther into the waves, wincing as the water rode up his thighs to wet his boxers. Legs spread, Tom pushed the bin closer to the half-submerged structure, reaching and stretching, hanging on to the very end of the pole with his fingertips, but still three or four feet short. Inch-by-inch he scooted out farther, pushing the bin out, stepping on debris beneath the water, something sharp pricking his heel, but he ignored it and shifted his foot to the side. Eventually the bin floated and bobbed just three feet below the house’s eaves, close enough that the feline could easily leap into it.

  “Come on, buddy,” Tom called to the cat. “Hop in!”

  The cat stared down at the bin and then lifted its head, blinking at Tom slowly, and not even kissing noises or shaking the bin slightly got the animal to jump in. Tom’s legs had been cold for several minutes, but the chill had climbed up his spine and caused his teeth to chatter. Still, he remained focused, edging out another half foot until the water ran straight up his thighs and into his groin.

  “Come on, little guy!” he called through clenched teeth over the crashing ocean waves and tight, swirling winds. “Don’t just sit there. I’m trying to save your butt.”

  Suddenly, the cat raised from its crouch and crawled to the roof’s very edge, staring intently down at the bin.

  “That’s it, buddy,” Tom said in a gentle tone. “Come on, now. Hop on it there.”

  The cat glanced at him and then at the bin again as Tom tried to hold it steady. The animal’s backside shifted, and it seemed to tense itself to leap. Then it settled back into a laying position once more, licking its front paws. Tom shook his head, blowing air, feeling his frustration rise.

  “Don’t be afraid.” Tom tried to sound soothing through frustration and clenched teeth, barely holding the handle with his fingertips. “Just jump on down. Don’t make me swim out there to get you.”

  At first, he thought the cat would stay put, but at the last second it tensed and leaned forward, its head tilted as it looked between the person and strange object in front of it. Finally, the cat leapt forward, landing softly and silently in the bin. A moment later, two paws clutched the bin’s edge, and the cat’s face peered over at him, meowing loudly before lowering itself out of sight.

  “Good kitty,” Tom whispered. “Good, good cat.”

  He started to draw the animal to him when a receding wave yanked the pool skimmer from his grip. The handle smacked the brine, and the entire thing began drifting away. Tom lunged forward, reaching and grasping for the handle, but it had already strayed several feet, the waves dragging it inexorably out to sea, taking the cat with it. Gritting his teeth, Tom bit down against the inevitable cold and leapt fully into the water. The chilly brine clapped against the sides of his head, filling his ears with noise as the sand beneath his feet suddenly dropped out.

  With clenched, shivering jaws, he surged forward, taking two full strokes before snagging the pole handle. Sam call out to him, but her voice was distant and Tom tried to lunge backward, but his toes barely skimmed the sand. Swinging his feet beneath him, he kicked himself backward, dragging the bin toward shore the rope growing taut around his waist as Sam added her strength to the rescue.

  A wave swept up and smacked him in the face, saltwater rushing into his mouth. Tom sputtered and spit it out, feeling the burn in his throat as the ocean suddenly did him a favor and shoved him toward the road. Tom’s feet touched the sand, and he gained traction. Leaning backwards, dragging the handle backward and the cat and basket with it, he kicked himself away from the gray house and the limitless sea. Back straining, teeth chattering, he fought the waves until the water only reached his thighs.

  “Hang tight, kitty,” he growled as he surged backwards, exiting the dangerous waves into the lazy, shin-deep wash. Tossing the handle behind him, he splashed forward and reached into the bin, scooped out the animal, clutching it to his chest before turning and trudging the rest of the way to shore, dripping and cold as the wind whipped against him.

  Once on dry ground, the cat squirmed and twisted in his arms until Tom let it go, the animal hitting the sand on all four paws before sprinting away with its tail straight up.

  “That’s gratitude for you,” Tom gasped as he stood in the wind and rain, dripping and cold. His numb fingers plucked at the rope around his waist until his daughter leaned in and loosened the knot.

  “Sorry, Dad,” Sam apologized as she coiled the rope. “I didn’t want you to do all that. I… I shouldn’t have guilted you into it.”

  “It’s okay,” Tom sighed. “I think the kitty will be fine now. No more animal rescuing until we’re safe though, okay?” Sam nodded wordlessly, her face still ashen from her father’s close call. Tom turned and picked up his clothes, marching back to Jerry with his arms hanging wide, water still dripping off him.

  “We need to get you warm,” Sam said, following behind him.

  “That’s probably a good idea,” Tom agreed through chattering teeth, his breath coming in ragged puffs of air. He looked around for shelter from the wind and sprinkling rain, but the landscape offered nothing.

  “I have some extra things in the backpack,” he said, already pulling out towels they’d brought from the RV. After drying himself as best as he could in the rain, he stood behind Jerry and Sam, stripped off his soaking boxers and pulled on his dry jeans and shirt. When he was done, Samantha helped Jerry out of the lawn chair and onto the ground, and Tom plopped into it with a shivering sigh, examining his right heel. The cut was sharp and appeared fairly deep, and when he wiped it clean, his hand came back bloody.

  “Oh, no,” Sam exclaimed, already reaching for the first aid kit in his backpack. “That looks nasty. Stay there. Raise your foot. I’ve got this.”

  With no choice, Tom leaned back and allowed her to work. Sam knelt on one knee and lifted his injured foot t
o rest on her leg. She cleaned the area with an alcohol swab, applied an overly generous amount of antibacterial ointment, and covered the wound with a bandage. Once patched up, she grabbed his socks and pulled them on, following with his boots. Tom closed his eyes as heat slowly returned to his body. All laced up, Tom stood and applied some pressure to his right foot. The bandage was squishy from the ointment, but otherwise gave him very little pain.

  “Good work,” he said with a nod, then Sam stepped in front of him and clutched his arm.

  “Thanks for saving the cat, Dad.” She nuzzled her forehead against him before turning to help pick Jerry up.

  With a chattering grin, Tom stepped over to the young man’s good side and bent to let him latch on, blown slightly sideways by a gust of wind. Together, he and his daughter lifted Jerry to his feet with Sam slinging his backpack over her shoulder. They rejoined the road and continued walking north, hobbling toward the distant lights shining through the stormy night. While they didn’t have much to show for saving the cat, Tom’s heart was light. It was one small life spared, and his daughter both appreciated him for it and – hopefully – had some newfound respect for the hazards they would soon be facing.

  Chapter 5

  President John Zimmerman

  Military Central Command

  Undisclosed Location

  Staffers surge through the conference room double doors and into the hallway beyond, carrying white boxes filled with notebooks and documents as a young man staggers by with his arms around the pair of coffee urns they’d been swilling from the past several days in their caffeine-fueled meetings. A woman in jeans and a tucked-in shirt stacks the last of the staff laptops into a secure bin, slams the top closed, and locks it. With the help of another IT staffer, she lifts it onto a cart and wheels it away toward the entrance doors which form a choke point where clusters of workers bang past each other with terse apologies at first and then soon just silence.