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

by Mike Kraus

  “Leave your shit and get out of the car!” the man shouted, clobbering the hood again.

  Tom looked around for something to defend themselves with, but he only had his titanium pen and his bare fists. Another slam to the doorframe shook off the last of his momentary confusion, and he realized with a start that, in spite of a collision that should have automatically cut the engine off, the Toyota was still idling.

  Eyes wide with hope, he grabbed the gear shift and tugged it to the drive position, then slammed his foot on the gas, sending the engine into a rattling uproar. The wheels spun on the slick grass, spitting up grass and mud from the Toyota’s rear, the vibrations causing the vehicle to slip down off the tree, the tires biting deeper and deeper.

  The rear end swerved, the wheels grabbing earth, propelling the truck forward in a surge. The front bumper clipped the man, spinning him to the ground, a pained wail exploding from his mouth as the Toyota slammed over him. The woman gave them a parting shot as they passed by, her bat harmlessly smacking the frame, flying out of her hand to the wet ground.

  Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Tom tried to straighten the vehicle, but only ended up fishtailing, swerving through the wet grass. He glanced back to see if Sam was okay before Jerry gave a warning grunt and pointed with his good arm.

  Tom jerked his attention forward, lowering his head enough to see through a small patch of solidified glass. The Toyota curved to the right and was careening down a shallow slope, picking up a dangerous amount of speed. Before he could stop them, they hit the sidewalk and bounced into the street in a squeal of tires, the wheel jerking from his hands as they skidded and raced toward a small row of shops. Grabbing at the wheel, Tom tried to get control of the truck, but it was like trying to wrestle a wild animal that bucked and twisted beneath his grip, the storefronts rushing at them at breakneck speed, the writing on the windows exploding in size.

  The Toyota jumped the opposite curb with a violent shudder, completely out of control as it plowed through a storefront in a storm of shattering glass. The front bumper drove deep into the store, smashing product displays and boxes, sliding across the carpeted showroom before hitting the checkout counter with a jarring shudder before the engine coughed, choked and finally, inevitably, died.

  Tom shook his head, blinking in the swirling dust. The windshield had burst completely, revealing a sign on the wall that read Adonis Mobile. Lowering his eyes, he saw his lap filled with pieces of safety glass atop the deflated airbag, and through the haze and confusion, a warning tapped at the back of his brain.

  Get moving. Someone is still after you.

  He grabbed his door handle and popped it open, shoving it outward with a rough squeal and the grind of bent metal on metal. Tom swung his legs out of the truck and stood, holding his head as he swooned. With the airbags already burst from the first crash, they’d not been as protected on the second. Head ringing with pain, he shuffled through the debris and whipped open the rear door, reaching in to snatch his pack from the floorboard before his dizzy head caught up with him and he Sam lying slumped to the side, hands out on the seat as she stared dazedly up at her father.

  “Are you okay?” he grunted fumbling to unsnap her seatbelt.

  She shook her head. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Sam. Help me get you out.”

  She came to her senses, unbuckled herself, and started to climb out, dragging her own pack behind her when the shouts of the woman echoed down the hill, the man they’d run over still screaming to high Heaven. Tom’s eyes lighted on a door in the back of the store and he gripped Sam’s upper right arm and guided her around the debris until she saw it.

  “Go there.”

  Samantha slung her pack onto her shoulder and shuffled over towards the door, legs wobbly and uncertain while Tom turned back for Jerry, the young man sitting dumbfounded in the passenger seat, shoulders slumped, blood trickling from his nose and lips. There was no room for Tom to circle the front of the Toyota so he climbed onto the hood and slid to the other side, settling on wobbly feet, turning, shuffling, pulling the passenger door open.

  “Come on, Jerry,” he leaned in, reaching to unbuckle the seatbelt. When Jerry didn’t move or make any attempt to exit the vehicle, Tom leaned in and gave him a hard slap on the cheek. “I said come on, man. We need to go.”

  “Hey, Rick!” the woman shouted from outside. “They’re over here! They smashed into the store!”

  Tom glanced up to see a trio of shadows crossing the street with the outlines of weapons in their hand. One appeared to be limping, but he didn’t wait to find out how badly the person was injured.

  He gave Jerry’s cheek another hard slap and hissed, “Hear that? They’re right outside the store. Let’s go.”

  Jerry pushed Tom’s hands away, his eyes glazed over, his words barely audible as he slurred them out. “Just leave me here. I’ll only get you hurt.”

  “No way.” Tom snatched the Jerry’s forearm and pulled him half out of the seat. “You can either come willingly, or I can drag you.” He tugged again, rolling Jerry onto his injured arm, causing him to jerk straight, sucking air with a grimace as the pain spurred him on to action.

  “Okay. Jeez! I’m coming.”

  Half-dragging him out of the seat, Tom roughly guided him toward the hood and helped him slide to the other side before jumping on and scooting across, more gracefully than before. Feet down, he pushed Jerry toward the back door where Sam held it open, the trio entering a stockroom full cell phone boxes, display signs, and a pair of stepladders.

  “I think this is the way out,” Sam said in a strained whisper, pointing to another door on the opposite side.

  Tom nodded and kept his hand on Jerry’s back, shutting the door to the sales floor behind him as he guided the still-dazed Jerry through. Sam unbolted the other door’s locks, pushed it open, and stepped outside, Tom shoving Jerry behind her. When they exited the back of the building, they found themselves standing in the strip mall’s dirty back ally. Garbage cans lined the passage, and soggy trash, cardboard boxes and pieces of debris lined the ground. Tom checked inside the nearest trashcan, a big plastic one with the lid thrown back and three-quarters filled with water. Gripping the handle, he leaned back and dragged it over to the door , parking it against it the metal as a makeshift barricade.

  “Where to now?” Sam asked, her head swiveling in both directions.

  “There.” Tom pointed right to the end of the row where another door stood open.

  Sam turned and guided the Jerry down the ally’s length with Tom skittering behind them. Something slammed the door behind them, and he shot a glance back to see the door being shoved against the heavy garbage can. They hit it again and the can began to budge, sliding outward a full inch. The door handle was on the other side, so their pursuers couldn’t simply peer through the crack to see them, but once they spread it a foot, they could easily slide through.

  “Hurry, guys,” Tom said, urging them forward. “I don’t know why these a-holes want us so badly, but we need to hustle! Just slip inside that there, and we’ll lock it behind us!”

  Fists pounded on the door behind them followed by curses and shouts of rage as Sam strode on Jerry’s left, holding his arm and half-pulling him toward the open door. Jerry picked up the pace, shuffling faster until he staggered through the entrance, then Sam went next and Tom followed right behind them. Once in, he turned and grabbed the doorknob, swinging the door shut as quietly as possible, then locked the knob and deadbolt. As he did so, he heard the heavy garbage can skid across the concrete and out in the alley.

  Taking Jerry from Sam, Tom raised a finger to his lips, then held the young man with one arm while pulling out his flashlight with the other, flipping it on, looking around at a rectangular storage room with shelving that stretched end-to-end. Spotting a shadowy area, he guided them toward it.

  “Sit down,” he whispered, snapping off his light.

  The trio sunk to the floor
behind a shelf, Tom leaning forward, ears perked up and listening for the sounds coming from the ally. A thin sliver of light leaked in beneath the door, shadows snaking past as sneakers shuffled and shouts rang out, their pursuers making their way down the ally, thumping on every door and testing to see which were locked. Someone stopped just outside theirs and beat on the metal, throwing a shoulder against it several times before finally giving up with a curse, then the footsteps and shadows moved off to the next target.

  With a slow sigh of relief, he snapped on his flashlight and pointed it at the floor. Jerry sat beside him, shoulders slumped forward, head hanging low with Sam sitting cross-legged next to him, rubbing her hand up and down his back.

  “He’s cold,” she whispered, eyes leveled at her father. “But at least it’s warmer in here.”

  A rich scent filled Tom’s nostrils, tweaking it in a Pavlovian response and he raised the flashlight beam at the metal shelves across from him, seeing boxes of roasted coffee everywhere. After days of travel across the open ocean, decimated waterfronts and being assaulted, the sight and smell of so much coffee was a welcome distraction.

  “It’s a Coffee Town.” Tom gave a faint smile as he whispered the familiar jingle. “It ain’t coff-ee, unless it’s Coffee Town coff-ee...”

  Sam joined in with him on the last two words, helping him finish the popular song. “Best coffee in the world,” she added.

  Tom grinned as he followed the shelves with his beam, leaning forward so he could see to the end. Old brewing machines sat side by side along with cleaning equipment and bottles of descaling agent. There were brushes, filters, and deliming springs and at the far end of the storeroom, separate from everything else, sat boxes of pastries and other confectionaries.

  “You… guys should… just… leave me.” Jerry’s words were slurred and weary. “I’m sorry, I… should have… recognized the car.”

  Tom exchanged a confused look with his daughter. She shrugged, so he turned back to the pastry boxes and squinted to read what was printed on the sides, his stomach rumbling, helpfully reminding him that they hadn’t eaten much of anything since leaving the tunnel.

  “You guys are… just going to get… hurt around me.” Jerry shook his head and gave a shaky sigh, convulsing slightly with a full-body shiver. “I did… best I could. Worked sixty…hour weeks...”

  Tom glanced back, eying Jerry carefully, the young man’s face a picture of disappointment and sadness.

  “Does he have a concussion, Dad?”

  “I’m not sure,” he replied.

  “Here, have a drink of water.” Sam produced a bottled water, unscrewed the cap, and stuck it in front of his face.

  “Oh, thanks.” Jerry allowed her to put it against his lips and tilt it up. He took two swallows before jerking away and spilling some down his chin. “Ouch, my lip.”

  “Oh, that does look bad.” Sam leaned closer, removing a piece of cloth from her pack before tipping the bottle to wet the rag and dabbing lightly at the blood beneath Jerry’s nose and lips.

  “Is it broken?” He raised his chin and winced slightly at her touch, his head shaky, eyes seemingly unable to focus on her face.

  “I don’t think so,” the girl said, craning her neck to get a straight-ahead view. “It doesn’t look crooked or anything.”

  Jerry deflated once more, his speech growing slightly less slurred. “I guess it doesn’t matter. If it isn’t busted now, it will be soon. And you guys will be, too.”

  Tom narrowed his eyes and shined his light at the young man’s chest. “What are you talking about, son?”

  “I can’t let that happen,” Jerry mumbled, delirious as he shook his head. “Not… not after you helped me.”

  Tom leaned over, gripped Jerry’s jaw, and lifted his face. “Hey, buddy. It’s me. Do you know those people who attacked us?”

  Jerry pulled out of Tom’s grasp, face twisted in disgust. “Just a couple of lowlifes who I… I had to borrow some money from a few months back.”

  “You borrowed money from them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But they’re not your friends?”

  “Hell no.”

  “So, they’re loan sharks?”

  The young man drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, trapped beneath Tom’s stern gaze. “Sort of. Well, not exactly.” He winced and tried to bury his face.

  “Are you kidding me right now?!” Tom’s face turned red, his voice still low, but filled with anger. “Spill it, Jerry. Are they loan sharks?”

  Jerry raised his head, eyes filled with pain. “Yes, they’re loan sharks, more or less. My mom was… in pretty deep debt after my dad died. And I needed a ride to keep working. You know, to help my mom out. I borrowed the money to buy my motorcycle from them. I had bad credit and couldn’t get it any other way. When I missed a payment, they started harassing me. I’ve been avoiding them for weeks, but they must’ve recognized me in my mom’s car today.” He looked Tom in the eye, body shrunken, voice timid. “Now, I guess you’re on their shit list, too.”

  Tom’s feelings of growing discomfort grew until he exploded, grabbing Jerry by the front of his coat, jerking him closer, hissing through clenched teeth.

  “Did you seriously just get my daughter and I targeted by an organized gang? What the hell were you thinking?!”

  Chapter 12

  Tom, Virginia Beach, Virginia

  “I can’t believe you.” Tom paced back and forth along the shelf of French Roast and Columbian blends, hands on his hips, staring holes in Jerry as he muttered under his breath, still aware enough of their situation to not completely give their location away to anyone passing by outside. “You got us injured. You got my daughter injured. Could have gotten us killed. Now we’re being hunted by people we don’t even know.”

  Tom’s right fist clenched and unclenched as thoughts of Sam bouncing around in the backseat of the wrecked Toyota played on repeat.

  “I’m so sorry, Tom.” Jerry’s head practically vibrated on his shoulders. Half-sobbing, half-terrified, he shook it back and forth, eyes lifted imploringly, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  “If you’d just told us that when we first saw them,” Tom seethed, “we could have driven right past Sentara-Virginia Hospital and went on to Sentara-Leigh.”

  “I know.” Jerry’s pitch raised, vocal cords stretched tight. He tried to stand, hand out and explaining, but he lost his balance and fell back against the wall, Sam catching him, putting her hand on his good shoulder, glancing between him and her father.

  “Why didn’t you tell us until now?” Tom came to stand directly in front of him, planting his feet apart with his fists resting on his hips. “All you had to do was be honest with us when you realized what was going on. We trusted you.”

  “I… I don’t know,” Jerry smashed his hand against his forehead, pinching his skin between his palm and fingers. “I just didn’t think of it. My brain was all mixed up. I still can’t think straight.”

  “Dad, c’mon.” Sam’s voice was quiet, her eyes lifted imploringly.

  “We could have been killed back there.” Tom pointed in the general direction of the hospital. “We almost got our heads bashed in. Don’t you see it?”

  “I do see it. I do.” She nodded and stood, shifting between him and Jerry, her face falling slack in a firm but neutral expression - not that of the child he’d raised for years, but of a young woman who recognized on her own the mature thing to do. What she had been taught to do.

  “It’s okay, dad. We’re here. Maybe a little beat up, but we’re safe. All of us.”

  Tom’s anger deflated in an instant, rushing out of him with the breath he’d been holding onto. His chest shrunk down, his shoulders sagged and he leaned back against the wall, all the fight and bluster gone as quickly as it had come.

  “He’s knocked his head about three times in the past day. And...” Samantha hesitated, glancing down at Jerry, motioning at him to her father, mouthing the wor
ds his mom.

  Tom took a deep breath and relaxed. “You’re right,” he nodded. “You’re absolutely right. We’ve all taken some hard knocks over the past couple of days.” Easing himself down, he sat next to Jerry, patting the young man’s good arm. “Hey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have flown off the handle like that. You didn’t do anything wrong, and definitely nothing intentional toward us.”

  Jerry sniffed and looked up. “S... Seriously? You forgive me.”

  Tom sighed. “There’s nothing to forgive, son. You just made a mistake. You’ve been in and out of it since we picked you up off that beach and even if you’d thought to warn us about these a-holes when we first saw them, you couldn’t have known they’d follow us all the way to the hospital. I should be getting us out of here instead of berating you. It’s me who needs the forgiving. I apologize, Jerry. Can you forgive me?”

  Tom held out his hand and Jerry’s lips widened into a half smile, taking the proffered hand. “I appreciate that. I promise, I don’t have any other weird secrets or anything. That’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever--”

  Shouts from outside the back of the shop jolted Tom, his head jerking up as footsteps thundered down the alley, stopping at the coffee house door. A fist pounded heavily and repeatedly against it, rattling it in its frame.

  “I told you I heard them in there!” a woman called out, cackling with demented delight. Raising her voice, she called out in a singsong rhythm. “Heeeyyy, Jerrrryyy, you in there, little buddddyyy?” The door shuddered under a fresh barrage of pounding, the steel and wood groaning but refusing to budge.

  “We should break it down,” another voice said.

  “You two find our people and circle to the front.” Tom recognized the gruff voice of the man with the injured foot, his words filled with pain and frustration. “I’ll stay here. I can barely friggin’ walk anyway.”

  The voices mumbled and feet ran away down the alley, though the man outside the door continued hitting it, the long barred handle rattling with every impact.