Yellowstone: Fallout: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (The Yellowstone Series Book 3)

by Bobby Akart

  The shouting died down as the sheriff’s deputy began to leave. Several residents followed him out, led by Joe Barnett. Jake was curious, so he continued the conversation although in his mind, it was a minor issue compared to what was coming.

  “Have you contacted the water district to get an explanation?” he asked.

  Bennita let out a hardy laugh. “Are you kidding me? There’s no answer at the county level, or the state. Government employees have stopped reporting to work. And, I might add, that includes law enforcement.”

  Jake looked around and saw much of the crowd had dispersed, taking their anger outside. Ashby slipped in the front door and took up a place at one of the dining tables. She sent Bennita a friendly wave.

  “She’s a lovely girl, Jake.”

  “Yes, and very smart, too. That’s why I’m here, Bennita. I have something to tell you, but I wonder if we should wait for Joe to return inside.”

  “That’s not necessary. Joe learned long ago there can only be one ruler of the roost, and I’m the head rooster. Let’s go into the kitchen where we can have some privacy. I have a peanut butter pie you might want to taste.”

  Jake waved to Ashby and followed Bennita into the kitchen. They spoke for ten minutes as Jake relayed Ashby’s findings to the woman most capable of convincing her friends and neighbors that evacuation might be their only option.

  When the two emerged from the kitchen, Bennita hollered for her son to fill up the motorhome with farm diesel and top off the water reservoirs with their well water. Then she turned to hug Jake.

  “Thank you for letting us know. Joe and I need to have a very difficult conversation. We are self-sustainable here. But, if we can’t grow crops, we’ll be in trouble in a year. It will be a difficult decision to leave, and it’s one that cannot be put off.”

  Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of hundred-dollar bills. “Please, let me pay for you the diesel.”

  Bennita held her hands up and refused. “Young man, you’ve brought me information that might save the lives of my family. By the time the media accurately reports what you’ve just told me, it’ll be too late to get on the road. As I see it, we only have a couple of days to head south. Would you agree?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Ashby and I will be leaving tomorrow morning at dawn. I’m still leery about driving unknown roads in the dark under these circumstances. I liked to see what’s in store for me around the bend, you know what I mean?”

  “I do,” replied Bennita. “Joe’s coming back in. This has been our home for forty years. It will be hard to leave but our lives are more important that what we’ve built. We’ll take our memories, and our family, and find a safer place.”

  “It was an honor to meet you and your husband. Please be careful on the road.”

  “We will. Let me say goodbye to your darling friend. Godspeed to you both, Jake.”

  Jake gave her another hug and watched the tears well up in Bennita’s eyes. She said goodbye to Ashby and then took Joe by the hand. “Honey, we have to talk.”

  Chapter 10

  The Mad House

  Near Maple Springs, California

  It was moving day at the Mad House. Jake had overcome his rebellious feelings toward his family and returned to the one bright spot of his teenage years. This was to be his home. His haven. A place he could spend the rest of his life with Ashby. They had fresh water. An abundance of fish and game to hunt. The ground was fertile for growing a garden and, it was secluded. Far away from the madness which had infiltrated the coastal cities of Portland, San Francisco and San Jose. Once again, Yellowstone had chased them. Neither he nor Ashby could seem to get away from the far-reaching tentacles of the Earth’s greatest killer.

  “Sometimes when you think your place on this planet is at a low, you always have the news to remind you that it could be worse. Right?” Ashby commented on the news stories from around the United States that she and Jake watched mindlessly while they debated their next move.

  Jake pointed to the stories of mass migrations of American citizens toward the southernmost points of the nation. The news feeds bounced between a graphic showing the rising levels of ash fallout as the jet stream began to carry gases and debris across the planet. St. Louis, Memphis, Little Rock, and Louisville were experiencing ever-increasing levels of ash.

  Hospitals were stuffed with patients dying of respiratory illness. Images of crops withering under the weight of the ash and the darkening skies during the height of growing season drove home the point that food shortages existed around the country. Livestock corpses, surrounded by the buzzards that picked at their carcasses until they too succumbed to the fallout, were prevalent across the Midwest.

  What the ash didn’t kill, the famine and dehydration did. Water supplies were contaminated. As citizens desperately searched for hydration, they took risks and contracted dysentery or drank water polluted by the sulfuric acid.

  A cloud of sulfur dioxide had circled the planet, crossing the equator courtesy of the jet stream, and wound its away around the northern hemisphere to Japan. Within days, the fallout will have circumnavigated the Earth, reaching the Pacific Coast of North America where it would rejoin the continually erupting Yellowstone Supervolcano.

  It was a never-ending cycle of environmental destruction that would continue for several more weeks, resulting in temperatures dropping and the onset of volcanic winter.

  The media tried to focus on the good, too. Stories of heroic rescues and unselfish acts were offered to viewers in an effort to lift spirits. However, as was true in all news reporting, if it bleeds, it leads.

  Society had collapsed.

  The first signs came with the breakdown of the nation’s transportation system. America never gave the trucking industry the respect it deserved. Eighteen-wheel rigs were nothing more than large vehicles that blocked the path of their SUV crossovers and sports cars as they scurried from one important place to another.

  As the ash fallout infected combustion engines, the trucks stopped running because of engine failure, or as a result of their independent operators not wanting to lose their single biggest business investment.

  Food wasn’t transported and neither was fuel to operate vehicles and small engines. A nation of three-hundred-and-twenty-million people soon found themselves stuck in their tracks. Some attempted to venture south, away from the coming storm, only to find themselves stranded on highways with no fuel and no room at the inn.

  Desperation gave way to anger as many immediately blamed their government for lack of a plan to take care of them. When the desperate came upon those who appeared better off than themselves, they asked for help. When help was refused. They demanded it. If there was pushback, then violence ensued.

  To be sure, the number of people who died in the first few days of Yellowstone’s wrath numbered in the millions. After the caldera collapsed, and the last parts of the planet’s surface was swallowed into the Earth, the next greatest killer in the history of the planet reared its ugly head—our fellow man.

  It was unfair to point fingers of blame. Law enforcement and first responders did their best to maintain order, but they were simply outnumbered. One report surfaced of a father and son who’d devoted their lives to law enforcement from Memphis. While they were doing their best to protect the St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital which had agreed to take in young patients stricken with respiratory problems, looters attacked the officer’s home and viciously slaughtered their entire family. Word of this tragedy quickly hit the news wires and as a result, law enforcement personnel were forced to make a decision—protect my town or protect my own. Many chose to protect their families.

  The final nail in society’s coffin came as utilities around the country began to shut down their power grid. Local government officials began to focus their attention on the future rebuilding effort. As scientists began to warn Washington of the long-term impact of Yellowstone’s eruption, most municipalities chose to protect their critical
infrastructure from catastrophic failure.

  County administrators stockpiled fuel. They moved to protect their water reservoirs by cutting off supplies to avoid depletion. They ordered the shutdown of utilities. Word of these common-sense efforts spread and soon a cascade of unplugging, as one news commentator referred to it, occurred. Government officials waited to the last minute in many cases, but at the first signs of ash fallout, emergency plans were instituted.

  It was only a matter of time that the greatest nation in the history of mankind, replete with technological and natural resources, was thrust back into a life reminiscent of the nineteenth century.

  Jake and Ashby both sensed that the clock was ticking as they scrambled around the Mad House, picking and choosing what to pack in the motorhome, and what to leave behind. What they did not sense were the eyes watching them.

  Chapter 11

  The Mad House

  Near Maple Creek, California

  Anthony Davenport and his sons weren’t desperate like so many others across the country. They weren’t worried about where their next meal would come from, or the safety of their large family which resided three miles away just south of Riverside, California. Ordinarily, they were law-abiding Americans who made a living working at a nearby sawmill in Korbel. After the Yellowstone eruption, they became foragers, the more acceptable term for those who break and enter into abandoned homes looking for supplies.

  The sons, both in their early twenties, knew the forest along the Mad River just as Jake did when he was young. They hunted, fished, and explored, learning survival skills. They followed in their father’s footsteps, adopting a self-reliant lifestyle in the event it was necessary to survive after the end of the world as they knew it.

  The Davenports, however, took advantage of a lawless society, one in which many were vulnerable and left unprotected by the increasingly diminished law enforcement presence. When Yellowstone erupted, they didn’t hesitate to gather their family and friends to the compound which they’d begun building since 1999 the Y2K bug dominated the news.

  The computer crisis came to the attention of the world in early 1999 as computer programmers began to warn of impending doom as the year 2000 neared. Issues were anticipated because many software programs represented four-digit years with only the final two digits, making the year 2000 indistinguishable from the year 1900.

  Conspiracy theorists immediately seized on the potential technological crisis to provide a form of evidence for their respective end-of-the-world scenarios. Interest in survivalism peaked to a level unseen since the 1960’s when nuclear Armageddon hung over the world like a mighty sword.

  The new millennium came and went. Banks remained open and stock markets didn’t crash. The Davenports, however, didn’t stop their preparedness activities. For two decades, with savings from their meager incomes, they managed to purchase a tract of land along the Mad River and began building a compound to house their family in the event of a catastrophe. They were as ready as anyone for the apocalypse, but like so many others, the magnitude of the Yellowstone supereruption caught them off guard.

  Tony Davenport studied the fallout predictions and came to the conclusion that his family would have to survive five to six years without having the ability to grow crops in their expansive gardens. Their greenhouses, while equipped with artificial lighting, required solar energy to operate their generators, although gasoline power was an option. The volcanic winter which was coming took away the light necessary to operate their grow lamps. Gas would be even more scarce.

  Water was going to be a challenge for them as well. When the flow of the Mad River stopped the day before, he and his sons set out on foot to investigate. As they moved up river toward Maple Creek, they decided to investigate the weekend homes that dotted the landscape built by Silicon Valley executives.

  They were empty and easy marks for the Davenports who created a supply chain of sorts. Tony and the boys would break into the homes to check for occupants. Once the home was cleared, they summoned other family members to enter and clean out the contents. They placed their emphasis on food supplies, guns and ammunition, followed by medical supplies.

  The Davenports did not consider themselves to be thieves. They didn’t destroy the interiors of the properties they entered. They simply took what they needed and moved on.

  On this evening, it had just turned dark when they came upon the Mad House. Davenport’s first inclination was to move on. They were not killers nor did he want to put his sons at risk of being shot by a frightened homeowner wielding a shotgun.

  He took the time to surveil his surroundings. He saw continuous movement from the building to a motorhome. From the river’s edge, he couldn’t discern if the people were bringing supplies in or taking them out.

  Using the cover of darkness, his curiosity encouraged him to approach the house to get a better look. He ordered his sons to fan out around the desolate property. His oldest was instructed to investigate the garage and the back house. His youngest was ordered to gain a better vantage point near the motorhome and determine what was being unpacked, or packed, as the case may be.

  As the boys hustled to their appointed posts, Davenport weighed the possibilities. These people were loading a motorhome filled with supplies. Supplies which could stock his family for several months. He then wrestled with the ultimate question—What am I willing to do to take what they have?

  Chapter 12

  The Mad House

  Near Maple Creek, California

  “The Bounder is starting to look like the back of a Budget Truck on the first of the month,” said Ashby with a laugh. “You’d think we’re moving from one apartment to the next.”

  “Yeah, I guess some of the things were taking aren’t necessary considering what my parents’ house has to offer,” added Jake. “I just don’t know what to expect when we get there. Those news reports have me spooked. What if someone has broken in and cleaned their place out? We should take more than we need from here because one thing is certain, we’re not coming back to the Mad House for many years, if ever.”

  “Never say never, Jake. I love it here. It’s not an option for us until years from now.”

  Jake was dejected but now he was on a mission to get packed and put the Mad House behind him. He and Ashby discussed their travel plans earlier and both agreed that leaving in the middle of the night was too dangerous because of the lack of law enforcement. Driving from Idaho during the daylight hours had served them well. With a full tank of fuel, and barring unforeseen traffic delays, they’d make it to Saratoga, the location of Jake’s childhood home, in a day.

  Jake dropped two duffle bags by the front door. “This is the last of the clothing and the medical supplies. I think I’m going to load the weapons and ammo in the morning before we pull out.”

  Ashby exhaled and wiped the sweat from her brow. She had been making continuous trips back and forth to the motorhome carrying canned goods. She lamented more than once that she had gotten soft and out of shape.

  “I’ll get them. What about the fishing gear, or anything else of use in the garage?” asked Ashby.

  “Crap, I forgot,” replied Jake. “I suppose there’s the possibility of fishing in the parks south of the Bay Area. I’m not really geared up for saltwater fishing in the ocean.”

  “You wanna just leave it? You know, for when we come back?”

  “No, I’ll get it. I wanna grab our tool bags anyway. Here’s the thing. At this point, Walmart and Dick’s Sporting Goods have probably been cleaned out by shoppers or looters. Everything related to survival has a greater value now. If we can’t use it, we might use it to barter for something we need.”

  Ashby slung one duffle over her shoulders and her knees buckled slightly. “Jeez, what’s in here?”

  “Books. Survival guides mainly. Some of my favorite survivalist authors like Cody Lundin and Creek Stewart inspired me to learn more about bushcraft. Do you want me to get that one?”

  Ash
by grunted as she knelt down to pick up the other duffle. “Nah, I’ve got it. Let’s finish up, okay? I’m fading fast.”

  “On my way,” replied Jake as he quickly moved through the kitchen and out the back door toward the dimly lit open garage. He’d almost reached the garage when he heard Ashby shriek.

  Jake reacted so quickly that he slipped on the forest floor, dropping to a knee before he regained his footing. Just as he was about to shout out to Ashby, he heard the distinctive sound of the bolt action of a hunting rifle.

  “No rush, mister. You need to move real slow-like. Got it?”

  Dread washed over Jake. He allowed the importance of security to be cast aside in favor of moving their gear out of the house. Now, Ashby was in trouble and he had a rifle pointed at his back. He turned his body to the left and slowly rose, sliding his right hand up his leg as he did. With one fluid motion, he pulled his Morakniv hunting knife out of its sheath and gripped it tight so that the blade was tucked against the underside of his forearm.

  He began talking to create a diversion. “Okay. You’re the man. We don’t want any trouble.”

  “Jaaake!”

  “Stop squirming, lady!” A young man ordered.

  Jake grew agitated. Ashby was in trouble, but he’d be dead in seconds if he made a sudden move toward the front yard. He had to wait for his chance.

  “Go on, buddy,” the young voice demanded. “Let’s go join your friend.”

  Jake tensed when the barrel of the rifle jammed into his back. He was glad it wasn’t a shotgun or a pistol which was far better suited for holding someone hostage at this close proximity. Hunting rifles were not designed for covering prisoners.

  Jake had another advantage. He knew his way around the exterior of their house. He’d become reacquainted with the terrain over the past several days. He knew where the footing was precarious due to the massive root systems which surround the home. He intentionally gave the home a wide berth as his captor continued to push the rifle against his back, hoping for a misstep on the man’s part.