Through the Storm (The Solar Storms Saga Book 1)

by Kyle Pratt

  He dressed in haste, found the key hanging with others near the front door, ran along the driveway, and locked the gate.

  Then he returned to the office and continued reading by flashlight.

  If power is out for a prolonged period, the generator is available. It can handle the normal household load, but more gas is used as the load increases. Use the generator to power the pump and fill water containers, charge radios and batteries, and keep the freezer cold. Accomplishing these tasks should take only a couple of hours of power per day.

  “Keeping the freezer cold!” How much food had spoiled because he’d been too lazy and stupid to start the generator? He vowed to start it at dawn. A lump of sadness grew within as he continued to read.

  During a prolonged electrical outage, don’t use the generator at night or display electric lights after dark. Doing so shows you have a generator, gas, and probably other supplies. It makes you a target.

  “Me, a target?” He gripped the rifle and read on.

  If there is a chance of civil unrest, someone should be awake and on guard at all times.

  “Well, that’s not possible with just me here.”

  As the crisis continues, looting and violence will grow. Unlock the supply closet and select a gun you’re familiar with. Keep it near you at all times. If you’re on guard duty, keep it loaded and in your hands.

  “People robbing and looting?” Drake slumped in the chair as he thought of all the food and supplies on the farm. How could he protect it? He looked across the office to the closet, or at least that’s what it appeared to be. Eight years ago, his dad had remodeled the house, adding, among other things, the office where Drake sat. The door he now stared at was usually referred to as the supply closet. It occupied the space of a large walk-in closet or a very small bedroom. Except to prepare for an occasional fishing and camping trips or target shooting, Drake never entered.

  The door was always locked, but a couple of years back, his father had shown him the location of the key—inside the cutout pages of a paperback book behind the office desk. Moments later, in the supply closet, Drake stared at ten rifles and nearly as many pistols.

  He selected a Winchester thirty-thirty lever action rifle that his father had given him. He had shot cans, targets, and a few watermelons with the rifle. It felt natural in his hands.

  He grabbed a box of ammo from the nearby shelf and then cast the beam of the flashlight around the room. There were more weapons—a bow with arrows, knives, several hatchets—and nearby shelves held packages of dehydrated food, camping gear, radios, and much more. Since the room had no window, he planned to return in the morning after starting the generator. Then he would have a good look at the available supplies.

  Drake entered the living room and sat on the couch. He remembered more than once rolling his eyes at his father’s preparations. Thanks, Dad, for all you did, but please come home.

  With the rifle across his lap, he continued to read the orange binder until his eyes drooped and the paragraphs blurred into incomprehensible lines. The folder dropped to his lap.

  He rested his eyes and pondered a thousand questions. Would his dad and brother ever return? How could he guard the farm alone? How much food did he have?

  The tick of a nearby clock faded into dreams of family and friends together during better times.

  In the dream, Gruff growled.

  Drake struggled to open heavy eyes.

  Gruff edged toward the front window. The hair on the back of his neck rose and he growled low.

  Clutching the rifle, Drake jumped to his feet.

  Day Three

  Lebanon, Oregon, Tuesday, September 6th

  Clutching his pistol, Neal struggled to see in the predawn twilight. Ginger strained against her paracord leash, pulling the thin strand along his hand. Neal gripped with both hands to stop the dog, which continued to bark in the direction of the rapid gunfire. Neal scurried to a nearby tree, pulling the dog along behind him.

  After a few minutes of rapid-fire shooting, silence returned to the darkness.

  Neal waited in the trees for greater visibility that arrived with the morning, gray and silent, like death itself.

  A dozen bloodstained bodies marred the green of the meadow. Neal scanned the tree line for the attackers and noticed a lone woman with brunette hair creep into the open. She took a few cautious steps then ran to a body.

  “No!” She cradled the body. “Don’t be dead!”

  Caught up in the tragedy, Neal watched for several moments. “Come on, Ginger, it’s time to leave.” He slid the shotgun over his shoulder and grabbed his backpack. Before leaving, he decided to do a quick check for wounded and then hurry north. He jogged out of the trees in the direction of the nearest body.

  Ten yards away the woman continued to sob.

  Ginger sniffed at the corpse, but Neal didn’t require a close examination. Several crimson stains marred the chest, and a nasty gash tore into the skull. Neal barely slowed before moving on. Next, he came upon a blonde woman with a single wound. He checked for a pulse but found none.

  Altogether, Neal examined two men, the woman, and a boy younger than his son Drake. All were dead. None had weapons.

  Neal walked to the weeping woman. Her long brunette hair hung half over her face and blood stained her clothes where she cradled the man. “Can I help?” Neal asked.

  She rocked back and forth, crying softly.

  Because of the closeness in age, he guessed the man was her husband. Having lost his own wife to violence, Neal understood this kind of hurt. His gut twisted in empathy. Resolving to check on her again before he left the area, Neal walked a few yards away to the cluster of corpses. Eight bodies formed a rough circle near the smoldering remains of a campfire. Ginger sniffed each body as they walked around the group. These were the leather-jacketed bikers who had strolled into the camp last night and here, in this haphazard circle, they made their last stand.

  Earlier, he had noticed several with weapons, but now there were none. The speed and apparent surprise suggested a coordinated attack. The hair stood on the back of Neal’s neck. The five scattered bodies were noncombatants caught in the crossfire. The gang probably had been sitting together around the fire when the attack began. They would have tried to defend themselves but barely had a chance to move before being mowed down. Who had mounted such a quick, effective attack? Neal didn’t want to find out.

  He jogged to the woman, still cradling the body. “I’m sorry about what happened to him, but I really think you should leave before whoever did it comes back.”

  For several moments she continued rocking, but then her face twisted into a wild grin. She looked toward Neal with blank, expressionless eyes and laughed, long and low.

  Neal pulled on Ginger’s leash and silently backed away. Had grief led to insanity or was her mind already rattled? He pulled again on the leash, turned, and jogged north toward the forest edge. There he stopped when he heard a now unusual noise—vehicles.

  Several military trucks, pickups, and vans rolled to a sudden stop along two sides of the area. Men, most in uniform but some without, poured into the meadow.

  “Halt! Put your hands up!”

  * * *

  Chelan County, Washington, Tuesday, September 6th

  “You want the bike, you can have it.” Conner eased away from the man.

  “Oh, I want it. That backpack looks nice, too, and your jacket. Ease that rifle off your shoulder and lower it to the ground. Then take off your jacket and step away.”

  Still trying to decide what to do, Conner raised one hand toward the rifle and took another step back.

  “If you don’t do nothing stupid, you might live.” The man waved the pistol. “Come on, hurry up. I don’t have all day.” His eyes focused on something near Conner. “Is that another bike? Is there someone else?” He glanced from side-to-side.

  “No, I’m the only one here.” Conner hoped Madison wouldn’t return.

  “You’re ly
ing.”

  Madison rose from the grass behind the thief and wound her arm like a windmill.

  He shook the pistol at Conner. “I should kill—”

  Thud.

  Something bounced off the back of the man’s head and he dropped to the ground.

  Conner rushed to him and grabbed the pistol. Beside the man was a bloodstained rock.

  Backing away, Conner stared at Madison.

  “Did I kill him?” She stepped forward. When she got close enough to see the man, she gasped. “I didn’t mean to kill him.”

  Using two fingers, Conner pressed against the man’s carotid artery. He moved his fingers a couple times but found no pulse. Looking up to Madison, he smiled. “There it is. He’ll have a really bad headache when he wakes up.” He told her what she needed to hear. “We’ve got to go. He may have friends nearby.”

  She nodded but continued to stare.

  He took her hand. “We really need to leave.”

  She nodded again and hurried to the campsite. They packed in haste and pedaled away fast. Conner pointed to an onramp and they continued south, weaving among abandoned cars until they left Wenatchee. Only then, when his legs demanded rest, did he ask Madison to stop.

  Conner pointed to three vehicles. “It looks like the van slammed into the car and pushed it into the SUV.”

  She cast him a questioning look.

  “I know my last hiding spot didn’t work out so well, but the crash site provides good cover.”

  “Cover?” Madison followed him toward the wreck. “You sound like some military guy.”

  “I wanted to join the marines.” He stopped and sighed. “Anyway, that was my plan before things fell apart. I’ll check the vehicles and make sure they’re empty.”

  Rifle ready, Conner walked around the cars, peering in the windows, and then checked the van. On the far side, he found the sliding door ajar. He yanked it open with a bang.

  “Are you okay?” Madison called.

  “Yeah, everything is good. Come on over.”

  The two sat in the entryway of the van eating their energy bar breakfast and drinking water.

  “I’m lost.” Madison looked down the highway. “Do you know the way back over the mountains to Olympia?”

  “Sure. Well, sort of. I can get to Olympia and from there I’ll need you to guide me to your house.” Conner had more of a vague idea than a route traced in his mind. Go south to I-90, cross the mountains and then head south on I-5. He wished he had taken the maps in the glovebox of his truck with him, but he hadn’t expected to travel across the state.

  He walked to the nearest car to check for maps and anything else that might prove useful. The doors were locked. He could break the windows but decided to move on to the next vehicle. It took only a few minutes to find an unlocked car with maps. He returned to Madison and traced out the route they would take. “We’ll be traveling south most of the day to Ellensburg. Then tomorrow we’ll follow the freeway into the mountains.”

  Conner stuffed the maps and remaining food into his pack but then stopped. “When I woke this morning you were gone.”

  “I had to pee.”

  “Oh.” He chuckled. “Well, thanks for taking out that guy. If you hadn’t thrown that rock I might be dead now.” He mimicked her toss. “Where did you learn to throw like that?”

  Her face paled.

  He regretted the question. “Sorry, but thank you. I mean it.” He continued to pack.

  After several moments, Madison stowed her few things. “Softball. I learned to throw as a pitcher for my high school team.”

  Conner nodded but said nothing. The two mounted their bikes and continued south toward Ellensburg and the mountains beyond.

  * * *

  Rural Lewis County, Washington, Tuesday, September 6th

  Gruff growled low with his nose next to the front window.

  Fear boiled within Drake. Early morning light poured through the front window. He should have closed the curtains. Again he berated himself for being stupid. He considered closing them now, but that would expose him to whatever, whoever, prowled outside. Gruff sniffed, growled, and barked as he stared out the window.

  From his position near the couch, Drake couldn’t see anything out of the norm.

  Gruff barked wildly.

  A dark figure dashed across the lawn.

  Drake held his breath as he tried to figure out what to do. A knock at the door startled him and he fumbled with the rifle, nearly dropping it.

  Gruff ran to the door barking and then wagged his tail.

  Drake crept to the peephole and looked outside. “Ashley?”

  “Let me in!”

  He grabbed the key for the deadbolt and dropped it.

  “Hurry, please!”

  He searched for the key in the dark entryway. Finally, he clutched it and opened the door.

  Ashley pushed her way inside, leaned against the wall, and slid down. “Shut the door.” She breathed deeply. “Lock it.”

  * * *

  Lebanon, Oregon, Tuesday, September 6th

  Neal turned to run.

  Three soldiers in camo uniforms, two privates and a major, left the cover of trees with rifles pointed at him.

  Neal raised his arms.

  Ginger pulled on her leash and barked wildly.

  One of the privates aimed his rifle at Ginger.

  “No!” Neal dropped the hand holding the leash and pulled the dog close. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Hand over the shotgun and tie the dog to the tree,” the major ordered.

  Neal passed the gun to one of the soldiers and secured Ginger to a tree. Then, one of the privates frisked him and found the pistol in his jacket.

  “Well, aren’t you well-armed?” The major examined the pistol. “Did you kill these people?”

  “No!” Neal shook his head. “Of course not. I’m just trying to get home, Major.”

  “Sure looked like you were trying to get away.” The major waved his hand. “Come with us.”

  Neal fixed his gaze on the officer. “Am I under arrest?”

  The major stepped close. “No, but the state is under martial law so not doing what I say could get you arrested, or shot.”

  As they walked away, Ginger whimpered.

  “What about my dog?”

  “I guess freedom for both of you depends upon your answers,” the major said flatly. “Were you in the service?”

  “Yes. Four years enlisted in the navy.” Neal glanced at his sad dog tied to the tree. “How did you know?”

  “You got my rank right.”

  Two soldiers led the hysterical brunette in the same direction. “No!” she shouted, looking back over her shoulder at the body of the man. She pushed one soldier and bit the other.

  They threw her to the ground with a thud, yanked her wrists to her back and zip-tied them.

  If the soldiers had wanted to kill him, Ginger, or the woman, they could have easily done so. While they were rough, and didn’t tolerate noncompliance, Neal decided that, at least for the moment, cooperation was his best choice.

  The soldiers pulled the woman to her feet. Blood flowed from her nose and lip.

  As he walked toward the vehicles, he held his arms away from his body. “What do you need to know?”

  The major ignored the question and turned to a nearby private. “If he tries to escape, stop him but try not to kill him. I want answers.”

  “Yes, sir.” The private saluted.

  The major walked toward a couple of police officers.

  The soldiers took Neal to the convoy. From inside the nearest truck, he heard the crazy woman laugh.

  * * *

  Kittitas County, Washington, Tuesday, September 6th

  Conner and Madison biked south along a state highway that followed the Columbia River. After several hours, they lost sight of the water as the road climbed into nearby hills.

  When they stopped for a rest in the early afternoon, Conner checked
the map. “We’re heading southwest. I think we can be in Ellensburg by this evening.”

  Madison grinned and then twitched her nose. “Is that smoke I smell?”

  Conner sniffed and searched the sky. “Yeah, but I can’t tell where it’s coming from.”

  They continued south and west until clouds of dark smoke hung heavy in the air, stinging Conner’s nostrils and leaving an acrid taste in his mouth. Madison led by several hundred yards, but he wished she would slow down. Clearly they were traveling toward the fire. He wanted to find another route, and his legs throbbed from pedaling.

  Wondering if it might be time for a break, Conner glanced at his wrist and then remembered that he had bartered his watch with Randolph in return for the bike pump. Clouds, ranging from black and smoky to white and billowy, made it difficult to gauge time by the sun.

  Ahead, Madison had stopped and dismounted in the middle of the road. That wasn’t the best place to rest, but he’d take any break available. Winds buffeted Conner as he climbed the hill to her side. Smoke brought tears to his eyes, making it difficult to see and more difficult to comprehend the sight. A towering wall of orange and red flame burned from the farmlands in the south toward them. Two dust devils of fire danced across the hills between them and the blazing wall.

  Rabbits, deer, elk, foxes and coyotes raced from the dust and smoke past Conner and Madison.

  “This way!” Conner pointed to a side road heading north.

  She nodded and then pedaled off into the rolling clouds of smoke.

  Despite the aching in his legs, Conner pedaled fast, trying to catch up with Madison. With each turn of the pedals, he fought to breathe the smoke-filled air into his lungs.

  When the winds shifted, Conner caught an occasional glimpse of Madison. Each time she was farther ahead and the glimpse more fleeting. Once he thought he spotted her looking back at him but then lost sight of her in the smoke and dust.

  Afraid he might be lost, Conner paused and looked at his map. The road ran straight for two miles, but then they needed to turn west. He had no way to tell Madison.

  He pedaled hard and called her name. The smoke grated like sand within him. A gulp of water from his canteen cleansed his throat and he continued to pedal and shout for Madison. After a few minutes, he stopped by a road sign, pulled a t-shirt from his pack, dampened it with water, and tied it around his face. Then he gazed at the map, trying to determine his location.