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

by Mike Kraus

  “You in there, Jerry?” he shouted. “You might as well come out! All this chasing is just pissing us off more, plus we want to meet these new friends of yours!”

  Tom raised Jerry from the floor, rotating his body toward the rattling door with a grim expression as he aimed his flashlight beam into every corner of the room in search of a weapon. There were a mop and bucket tucked behind the ice cooler and hundreds of pounds’ worth of coffee beans, but nothing that would stand up to baseball bats.

  “I’m sorry for putting you guys in danger,” Jerry’s voice fell to a pained whisper. “Turn me over to them. If you do that, they’ll let you walk out of here. They don’t want you... Just me.”

  Tom opened his mouth to answer when the shop’s front door banged open with a ringing of bells and shuffling of feet, causing his stomach to sink. He looked over at Samantha standing next to Jerry, a pained expression on his face as he considered their options. Sam started to say something, but he cut her off with a raised finger. Turning to the shelves, he grabbed an aerosol can and placed it in her hand. From his pocket, he produced one of the lighters they’d found in the camper, handing it over along with the can and a whisper. “Remember what happened in the barn when you were eight?”

  She stared at the can and lighter, shaking her head slightly. “I’m not—”

  “Think back. Do what we did then, okay?” Tom turned to address Jerry next.

  “Let’s get this over with.” He put his hand on Jerry’s neck, forcing him through the kitchen-style doors and into the café. They entered the service area where fancy coffee brewers squatted on the counters and Tom tucked his hand behind the young man’s back as if hiding a weapon, shoving Jerry around the massive cappuccino machine, facing the group who’d come in together.

  The woman from before stood in the middle of the room, her dark hair swept to one side over her forehead, though she’d removed her jacket, leaving her in a dirty white tank top and jeans. In her hands she held the same wooden baseball bat that had smashed up Jerry’s mother’s truck, gently raising and lowering the fat end in one hand, a devilish grin on her face. Fog gusted from her breath as her eyes dropped warily to Tom’s waist, her smile sinking when she noticed that looked like he clutched a weapon to the young man’s back.

  One thick, burly man stood off to the left, edging around toward the counter, a long tire iron dangling from his hand, its sharp end brushing the floor. Four others were spread out behind the lead pair, each holding some type of blunt weapon, smiling when they saw Jerry sniveling in Tom’s grasp with his arm in a sling.

  “I’m going to give you what you want,” Tom said, keeping his voice calm. “But you have to let me and my daughter go. Okay?”

  “No way,” the woman snickered, head shaking, voice raspy from yelling. “You hurt one of our people.”

  “You could have asked for Jerry nicely instead of destroying the car,” Tom’s voice remained cool even though his heart felt like it might break a rib if it beat any harder.

  “It doesn’t matter,” the circling man snarled. “You screwed up. You pay the tab. Jerry understands that, don’t you Jerry?”

  Tom glanced back, spotting a shadow of Sam’s face in the swinging doors’ square window as he silently prayed that she had figured out what his cryptic message meant.

  “Look, my daughter and I are just trying to get home. We’ve got nothing valuable on us. You don’t need to hurt us, right?” He tilted his head, trying to sound reasonable. “I can just give you Jerry, without a fight, as a show of good faith. You take him and do whatever you want with him and let us go so we can get home. Deal?” Tom felt Jerry’s body sag at his words, a soft whimper escaping his lips as the two leaders exchanged an amused glance.

  The man scoffed. “He thinks this is an episode of CSI or something. Next thing you know, he’ll be asking for a bag full of money.”

  The woman clicked her tongue, the bemused grin spreading once again. “No deal. This is what’s going to happen. You’ll give us that shit-heel. Then you and your little girl will stay put while we decide what to do with you.”

  “That doesn’t sound fair,” Tom shook his head, drawing it out. “It’s not like I’m asking for much here--”

  The man jumped onto the counter and slid across to the other side, landing deftly on his feet. Tom jerked Jerry back to the storeroom door, turning his body left and right, threatening with his supposed hidden weapon.

  “You don’t have anything in your hand, do you?” The woman stepped to where Tom had been standing a second before and shook her head.

  “I’ll slice his spine and he won’t be worth a damned thing to you, so help me!” He growled the words so convincingly it gave the pair a pause.

  “Let’s see it,” the woman jerked her chin up, though she stayed put, the man at her side, both of them considering whether his threat was real.

  Rapidly running out of options, Tom began thinking up another bluster when he heard someone stirring behind the storeroom door and the clink of metal against aluminum. He grinned and retreated another foot, pulling the sniffling Jerry along with him. Glancing back, he saw Sam’s curly head blending with the shadows in the smallish window. The door edged open six inches, and he saw her standing just inside the entryway, holding the aerosol and lighter up, finger resting on the nozzle, the whites of her eyes glinting with fear and determination in the darkness. Exactly the look he wanted to see.

  The man behind the counter stepped toward them, coming within a few feet, feigning a swing of his tire iron.

  “You’re right,” Tom quickly shifted his position and his words rushed out. “I’m asking way too much. But this little ass has been nothing but trouble for us, too. I mean, just look at him.” Tom scoffed, manhandling Jerry again, who merely went limp in response, all sense of hope gone from him. “He’s pathetic. Just take him and let us go, alright? We never wanted to step into this business between you and him.”

  The woman considered Tom’s words for a long moment, holding up a hand to stop her companion from advancing any farther. “Alright, man. We can do that. We’re bored with you, anyway.” Her gaze slid to Jerry, a grin stretching her lips wide. “Time to pay the piper, shit-heel. I’m sure we’ll find some way for you to work off your debt. Plenty of stores to loot thanks to the storm.”

  Tom shifted his feet, putting his back foot against the storeroom door frame as a defeated whine grew in Jerry’s chest, edging up to his throat. Tom cringed, leaning forward, whispering quietly in Jerry’s ear. “Sorry for this, man. But I have to do it. Just try to keep your body loose, okay?”

  Tom gripped Jerry’s neck tight and held it tight, then, throwing his whole body into the motion, he shoved off against the door frame, launching Jerry at the woman like a battering ram. With a strangled cry, the young man bowled into the woman, knocking her over a table, her legs flying up as she toppled off to crash on the floor. Tom kept moving, driving Jerry like he was steering a wild animal, using their combined weight to overwhelm their attackers. One of the men swung a bat at them, but by the time he managed to even start pulling back on the weapon Tom had already steered Jerry into man’s body, plowing him over, sending the bat sailing across the room. Just as quickly as he had pushed forward, Tom yanked Jerry backwards, dragging him in a staggering retreat toward the storeroom.

  “Do it!” Tom yelled as they tripped and staggered backward, tumbling to the floor in a heap.

  Sam pushed through the swinging doors, stepping over Tom and Jerry as she pressed the aerosol nozzle down, spraying flammable chemicals at the lighter. The emerging spray blossomed with heat and flame, coating the air with a choking chemical smell as a roiling, living flame emerged. She turned the makeshift flamethrower on the flanking man, setting him on fire before shifting toward the others, forcing them to scatter back as Sam rushed forward, sending a gout of fire in every direction.

  The leader had just gotten to her feet when her dark locks caught fire and went up in a roar. Screaming, eyes
slammed shut, she shook her head like a wet dog, tossing soot and flames off her, the scent of burning hair, scorched flesh and smoke mingled with the rich bean flavor of the room, causing Tom’s stomach to wretch.

  Sam feigned left and right, chased the woman toward the door before making a huge sweep to the left that caught two more members on fire. They stomped and danced and flung their arms wide, screams winding upward into wails of agony as they tried to extinguish themselves but only ended up fanning the inferno.

  The men launched themselves past Sam to get to the door and she retreated, but still delivered another burst of flame as they flew by, lighting their clothes on fire, sending them rolling and crashing out of the shop. Turning, guiding the hellish geyser in every direction, Sam spotted a woman hiding behind a table and bore down on her with the nozzle pressed. The woman’s eyes shot wide as she crawled and scrambled to the entrance, staggering outside with Sam hot on her heels.

  “Sam!” Tom shouted after her, worried that her youthful exuberance would lead to missteps and overextending.

  His daughter heard him and backed through the door, letting her finger off the nozzle as the flame died, shaking her hot left hand, though still not giving up her responsibility as she stayed near the door, can and lighter poised for further use.

  “Are you two okay?” Sam glanced back at Jerry and her father as the two slowly began to sit up.

  “I think so,” Tom forced a thin smile through his pain. “Nice work. Jerry, you okay?”

  Like Tom, the young man had fallen as well, though he had gone face down and was just starting to sit up, holding his injured arm with his head down. Tom pivoted on his backside and rose to his knees, circling to look him over.

  “Sorry about using you as a battering ram,” he apologized, hesitating to touch the sling-bound arm. “Did you land on it?”

  “Yeah, but it’s okay.” Jerry sucked air through his teeth, face twisted in a dazed grimace. “Just give me a minute.”

  Tom mirrored his expression. “I should have at least warned you. We were kind of running out of time and I had to come up with something to stall them.”

  Jerry was already shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it. I’m always up for new experiences.” A chuckle escaped him as he released a gasp of pain and sucked it back in. “I’m grateful you drove them off. Thank you so much. I--”

  “I couldn’t give you over to them.” Tom patted Jerry’s good shoulder and gave him a coy wink. “Much as I might have wanted to.” After helping Jerry to his feet, Tom joined his daughter peering through the front glass of the store. The gang had scattered and Samantha handed him the lighter and can and he examined the faint soot marks on the lighter hood and her hand. “Seriously. Nice work.”

  “Thanks,” she grinned, putting her finger in her mouth.

  “Where’d you get that idea?” Jerry got slowly to his feet, still holding his shoulder but no longer wincing in pain.

  “I watched a little too much TV once when I was a kid.”

  “’When I was a kid’” Tom rolled his eyes. “You’re still a kid, kiddo.”

  Samantha laughed, “Yeah, well, anyway, I saw a movie where someone used a can and a lighter and I tried it out in the barn and… yeah. Good thing Dad smelled the smoke, otherwise the place would have gone up.”

  “Smart thinking. Dangerous, though.” Jerry replied.

  Sam shrugged. “Remember what we were talking about, about being ready to survive? You gotta do whatever you gotta do. This was… well, is one of those situations.”

  “I guess so.”

  “I don’t think the owner is going to appreciate the damage.” Tom looked over the flipped tables and chairs that lay broken around them. Sam’s fireball had scorched three of the walls, curling the paint and leaving a sooty circle over a set of booths, and the smell of burning chemicals hung heavy in the air.

  “Hopefully they have insurance.” Jerry said, then he gestured toward the street. “But the fire damage is probably the least of their worries.”

  Tom and Sam followed where Jerry was pointing to the front of the hospital where it appeared an all-out fight was taking place. Far across the street to their right, another row of shops was in the process of being ravaged, people lugging goods out in armfuls, dropping stolen items as they carried them to waiting car trunks. Two women fought in front of a beauty store, locked in a hair-gripping brawl that left them swinging in circles, a few people cheering them on while others carried off food with furtive glances at the fight. At least a half dozen other altercations had broken out on the sidewalk and in the streets, with swinging fists and shouted curses appearing to become the norm rather than the exception.

  Groups of hoodie-wearing bike riders roved the edges of the crowds, watching the rising chaos like a flock of so many vultures. A car tried to drive through the crowd, apparently heading for the hospital and a group of the bikers immediately surrounded the vehicle, bats and crowbars smashing the glass and denting the doors. Someone threw themselves on the hood and splayed out, blocking the driver’s view of the road, causing them to slam on their brakes and jerk to a halt.

  “No, no no… don’t stop,” Tom murmured. “Do not stop.”

  The crowd swarmed the vehicle, one person slamming their hands on the driver’s side glass, ripping open the door and reaching in, grasping the man from behind the wheel. The pair fought for a moment before someone else shoved their boot in and kicked the driver in the side of the face, causing him to go limp.

  “Oh, no.” Sam slapped her hand to her mouth as the crowd pulled the driver out and dragged him into the hungry crowd where he disappeared in a sea of swinging arms and legs.

  Tom gently took Sam’s arm and guided her away from the window, motioning for Jerry to follow. A group of five sprinted by outside the coffee shop, carrying bags bearing the label from the cellphone store they had crashed into. At the same time, a man and woman in two separate vehicles drove up, colliding with each other on the opposite curb, and judging by their wild gestures and aggressive positions, they were in the middle of an argument that was about to turn very ugly.

  “I think it’s time to go,” Tom said, continuing to guide Samantha and Jerry toward the back of the shop. “Let’s grab our backpacks and bug out.”

  Chapter 13

  Barbara, Wyndale, Virginia

  A thousand thrumming fingertips pounded against the siding, driven by the wind in a furious, desperate gust, water gushing from the corner spouts into their drainage system along the sides of the house. The storm had been losing steam over the past forty-eight hours, burning itself out like a child trying hard not to fall to sleep, but still packing enough of a punch to wake the dead. Continued, repeated gusts struck the sliding glass door, but each was weaker than the previous ones, the child slowly succumbing to the inevitable.

  “The storm is dying down,” Linda licked her lips as she finished the last few bites of her green pepper soup. It was one of her favorites, with stewed tomatoes, rice, chopped steak, and big chunks of green peppers and onions tossed in. Barbara had served it with pieces of butter bread and milk, and the kids were devouring it, some part of their hunger no doubt driven by the ferocity of the storm outside.

  Barbara got up from the table and walked to the sliding glass door, gazing out at the pole lights, raising her eyes to the dark clouds above their heads. The sky hung above them in a shade of deep gray, its edges pale and bright as the fading sun threatened to break the morosity of the storm.

  “It’s a lot weaker now.” Barbara agreed. “Hopefully we’ll see sunshine again tomorrow.”

  She placed her fingers against the glass, feeling the tendrils of cold seeping through. “Is it me, or is it getting colder out?”

  “I was hot carrying in groceries,” Linda pointed out with a shrug.

  Barbara slid open the glass door and put her hand out, the light rain kissing her skin followed by the gusty breeze. “It definitely feels colder.” She stepped onto the patio and gazed t
oward the big thermometer on the chicken coop. The light barely reached it, and she had to squint to read the number. With a frown, she returned to the kitchen and shut the door behind her. “I think it says forty-nine degrees.”

  The girl stopped eating, tilting her head up with a questioning expression. “It was sixty-seven when we got back from the store.”

  “It’s nighttime now,” she countered, lip caught between her teeth. “It’s always a little cooler at night.”

  “True,” Linda said.

  Barbara returned to her seat to finish her soup.

  “Do you think Dad and Sam will have a hard time getting through town?” Linda asked, her voice chipper, though her skittish glances betrayed the doubts clouding her mind.

  “I think your father is smart enough not to go directly through crowded places.” Barbara shook her head. “He’ll know people are dangerous.”

  “I hope they get here soon.”

  “They will. I’m sure of it.” Like her daughter, Barbara sought to keep her words and attitude positive, though her inner thoughts were as dark and gloomy as the storm outside.

  “Can I play games after dinner tonight?” Jack’s expression lifted as he tilted up his bowl to show he’d finished.

  “I’m thinking we should go downstairs and put away the food we canned. We’ve got to rotate the inventory, so we eat the oldest stuff first.”

  “We need to build more shelves,” Linda said, taking two big gulps of her milk. She set her glass on the table, leaving a line of white liquid on her upper lip.

  “You’ve got a mustache,” Jack laughed and pointed.

  “Big deal.” The girl licked off the milk and made a face at him.

  Barbara smiled, her thoughts turning to her daughter’s earlier comment. It was true that they had an overabundance of canned goods and even some fresh vegetables. “You’ve got a good point, Linda. We should have more shelving materials out in the old barn. Your father and I put them away after we set up the basement.”