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

by Mike Kraus

  Tom gave her a quizzical expression. “How’d you end up here?”

  “The feds came around and ordered us out.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yep.” The woman nodded and had a sip of her coffee, her lips twisting slightly in disgust. “They sent trucks and vans around, making people pack up their things and go south in droves.”

  “You refused, I assume.”

  “Well, Daddy did.”

  The old man raised in his seat, expression filled with indignation. “I’ve been on that farm my whole life. It was my own father’s. The government comes along and acts like we don’t have rights! Maybe we never had ‘em.”

  Tom’s jaw dropped, a deeper sense of foreboding growing in his gut, thoughts of Barbara, Jack, Linda and the farm surfacing. “They physically forced you to leave?”

  “A fed pulled up in a van and told us we had to go.” Timothy glared with disgust at a pair of guards patrolling the fence line. “I left ten head of cattle, three horses, and a pen full of pigs.”

  The sick feeling grew in his intestines, twisting them, turning them to water. “How did they justify leaving your animals to fend for themselves?”

  “They didn’t say a damn word,” Timothy spat. “They just forced us into the van. At gunpoint, mind you!”

  “I’ll bet they want to take the animals for themselves.” Jerry spoke up for the first time. “I mean, that would be the easiest way to do it, right? Tell people they have to evacuate because of the flooding, then sweep in and take all their crops and cattle.”

  Betty’s father turned his glare on the young man, eyes narrowed, lips quivering in fury as the realization struck true. “I’ll bet that’s exactly what they did. Thieving bastards.”

  Jerry turned to Tom. “That makes sense, right? I mean, if it’s going to get as cold as they say, the value of livestock is going to skyrocket. Meat will be worth more than gold. They’d need to have some control over that on a massive scale.”

  “But they said we could go back, eventually.” Betty’s looked between Tom and her father. “They can’t keep us here forever, can they?”

  Tom shrugged, a ball of tar rising in his chest. “The officer we dealt with mentioned the president was going to declare martial law. I think they think that they can do whatever they want.”

  “I told you they were up to no good.” Timothy turned his wrinkled gaze on his daughter, the lines in his face chiseled from decades of hard work, worry and tobacco.

  “What about the rest of your family?” Tom asked. “Do you have a husband or children anywhere?”

  “I’ve got two kids who are grown up,” Betty explained. “One lives in Tennessee and the other in Phoenix.”

  “They should be okay,” Tom’s expression lifted. “I don’t think people in the interior of the country are feeling the effects like we are just yet.”

  Betty nodded and gave a weak shrug. “I spoke to my kids just before the storm hit. They were fine then, but I haven’t been able to reach them since. Seems like the entire east coast is in a blackout.”

  Tom took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to loosen his rising tension before raising his eyebrows. “You two seem like nice folks. Do you care if I leave my friend and daughter while I walk around and talk to some people?”

  “Not at all,” Betty replied with enthusiasm. “We could use the company.”

  “Thanks,” Tom said. “What about you two? Are you okay with me having a look around?”

  “Sure, Dad,” Samantha replied. “We’ll hang tight.”

  “No problem,” Jerry agreed.

  Tom glanced at Betty. “What kind of facilities do they have? I noticed some larger buildings on the other side of the lot.”

  “They’ve got portable toilets in the back corner,” she replied. “Mess tent is in the near one.”

  “Only good thing they have is coffee.” Timothy held out his empty foam cup. “And it’s not Morning Rise, I’ll tell you that.”

  “I’ll see if I can score some for you while I’m over there,” Tom grinned.

  The older man nodded his deference, gruff face softening slightly. “Much appreciated.”

  Tom turned in a half circle before strolling across the lot, hands in his pockets as he searched for more friendly faces. Most folks seemed on the up-and-up while a few sat in furtive groups, scoping the other refugees while occasionally glancing back at the guard patrols, looking about as trustworthy as Jerry’s loan shark friends.

  With a hunched and protective posture, he lapped the enclosure, checking out the restroom facilities. They were a better-than-standard portable kind found at festivals or county fairs, the structure looking more like a trailer, divided for men and woman, with fully heated stalls and basins. The mess hall was in the left-hand corner of the place, like Betty had said, and Tom poked his head inside and saw it was a large, rectangular tent with tables, a buffet line, and boxes of snacks and bottled waters. The buffet promised hot meals, though it had no food at the moment, and the coffee machine had an “Out of Order” sign hanging from it with camo-colored duct tape.

  “Looking for someone?”

  Tom turned to see a pair of men in their mid-twenties stroll up. They were both short, not particularly athletic but with a certain street toughness about them. The first man had a row of light, spiked hair, wearing a thick jacket while the other had short, tight curls and wore a Tennessee Titan’s jersey with layers of long johns beneath them. The pair looked like they hadn’t suffered at all during the storm, their clothes clean and dry, and they didn’t look tired or beaten down like most everyone else. The only signs that life might had changed for them were the patches of facial hair on their chins and cheeks and slight bags under their eyes.

  Tom shrugged. “I’m just looking around.”

  “I get it,” the one with spiked hair said. “You’re new to the camp, and you want to get the lay of the land.”

  “Something like that,” Tom agreed. “Just looking for information. Where you guys from?”

  “We’re from Richmond,” the other one replied.

  “How’d you guys get here?”

  “We were in the middle of a video game tournament when they started evacuating our town.”

  Tom’s jaw fell open slightly, clashing with his lowered brows. “A video game tournament? In the middle of a hurricane? Are you serious?”

  “The hurricane barely touched us,” the second man snorted, “and we don’t watch the news, so we had no idea about the anomaly thing until later.”

  The one with spiked hair jumped in excitedly. “Anyway, that’s what we were doing when the feds started going door-to-door at our apartment complex. Had my headphones on the entire time. When they stormed in, I freaked out and drew my gun on them. Didn’t fire though.”

  “Lucky you,” Tom said with a dry grimace. “Could have gotten yourself killed.”

  “Hey, they busted down my door,” he gaped. “And I own my gun legally. I’ve even got my concealed carry.”

  “Okay, I believe you.” Tom pulled his hands out of his pockets.

  The one in the jersey glanced around and leaned in with a whisper. “We just wanted you to know that we’ve got things to trade if you need anything.”

  Tom gave him a bewildered look. “Why are you whispering? There’s not a guard within twenty-five yards of us.”

  “We just like to keep things on the down low, you know?” he replied. “We aren’t doing anything illegal, but you never know when Sergeant Landry will get a stick up his ass and give this place an enema.”

  Tom folded his arms across his chest. “And what, exactly, is the racket?”

  “Not a racket.” The first one ran his fingers through his spiked hair, giving an offended scoff. “We’re taking rations as trade for other things folks might want.”

  Tom gave a doubtful laugh. “You’re in a military prison camp. What could you possibly have to trade?”

  “They’re not searching everyone,�
� Spike Hair said. “Some people got in with bags and suitcases. Where do you think we got these clothes?”

  “How long have you been here?” Tom’s eyes moved between the two.

  “Three days,” Titan Jersey replied. “We’ve got clothes, food, and even information if you’re willing to give up your meal rations.”

  With a sense of foreboding, Tom nodded and started to back away. “I’ll keep that in mind if I need anything. Hopefully, we’ll be out of here and back on the road soon.”

  Titan Jersey chuckled. “Shoot, you’re not going anywhere. None of us are.”

  Tom stopped. “What do you mean? How long do they usually hold people here?”

  The two shared a look before the first one shook his head like Tom was fresh off the boat. “Word is, they’re taking us to a FEMA camp tomorrow or the next day.”

  “Where?”

  “Who knows.” The young man shrugged. “Wherever they want, I guess.”

  Tom took a deep breath, his jaw working back and forth as he stewed over the idea of being relocated. “Thanks guys,” he said, turning toward a small hut where FEMA workers were handing out coffee in paper cups.

  “That bit of information was free,” Ryan said, coolly. “Next one will cost you a meal ticket.”

  “Yeah, yeah. See you around.” Tom waved them off and they disappeared around a corner, leaving him in peace. After standing in line and listening to the quiet murmurs of people all around him, he got a tray of four coffees from the sour-faced worker and returned to their picnic bench with worry gnawing at his gut. Jerry, Sam, Betty, and even Timothy had grown more talkative, chattering away happily as Tom returned with the warm beverages.

  “Hey, guys,” he nodded to Sam and Jerry. “Can I talk to you two for a minute? Over here.”

  Casting side glances at each other, excusing themselves from the table, the pair reluctantly got up from their warm spots and followed Tom to an unoccupied burn barrel nearby, flames licking upward to toast their cheeks.

  “What is it, Dad?” Samantha asked, concern etched in her face.

  “Yeah, we were just getting comfortable.” Jerry, holding the warm paper cup with one hand, took a sip from his cup and immediately pulled a face at its bitterness. “Timothy and Betty are pretty cool. We could have made worse friends.”

  “No kidding,” Tom nodded. “I just met a couple questionable dudes over by the coffee hut. Among other things, they were talking about the military moving this camp in a few days.”

  Sam’s jaw dropped in alarm. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where would they take us?”

  Tom looked between the two, his breaths coming shallow, heart thudding as he imagined them falling into a bottomless pit of military control, stuck in guarded camp after guarded camp as the world crumbled around them. “No idea. Could be anywhere. I’d have to guess someplace south. Away from home, for sure.”

  Sam’s eyes widened and darted toward the gate and guards standing with their rifles and thick winter fatigues, her voice rising in a muted squeal. “Crap, Dad. We have to do something. We have to get out of here!”

  “Yeah, I know.” His brief nod triggered a sharp intake of breath. He looked around the camp once more, the bleakness of the place hammering home, the realization of how utterly trapped they were finally sinking in. Helplessness, resignation, and fear swirled around them like the cold air itself, erupting off the prisoners in the camp, permeating the air like a physical fog, sinking into their flesh and bones. Tom shook his head at the thought, shaking off the mental despair, hardening his gaze and focusing on the task at hand.

  “We’re getting out of here, guys, one way or another. There’s no choice.”

  “We’re with you, dad.” Samantha slid her arm around his waist, giving him a squeeze.

  “All the way, Mr. McKnight.” Jerry straightened up, giving Tom a hard smile.

  “Then it’s settled. We’re getting out of here, and fast.”

  “Without getting captured.” Sam replied.

  “Without getting captured, yes.” Tom smirked.

  “Or shot,” Jerry added.

  “Or shot,” Tom gave the young man a wry smile, then put his arms around both Samantha and Jerry, pulling them close around the burn barrel, mind already racing with possibilities.

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