Through the Storm (The Solar Storms Saga Book 1)

by Kyle Pratt

  Minutes later, Neal crested a hill that provided a long view of nearby I-5. Cars and trucks dotted the pavement, but there were no people moving along the freeway. He decided it might be safe to walk it for a while on his journey north.

  He checked vehicles for keys as he hiked into the city. Three hours later, hot and tired, he still slogged along the highway. The few cars he found with keys hadn’t started. He glanced in the direction of the sun, now well past its zenith. Had the storms continued? Were CMEs still hitting the Earth?

  So many questions with so few answers.

  Neal jogged down an off ramp and continued northwest along a wide avenue lined with trees. To the north were homes and apartments; to the south were large gray warehouses.

  The breeze rustled in his ears, interrupted by occasional booms of gunfire. No planes flew overhead, no cars traveled the streets and, at least in this drab part of the city, no people ventured outside. He continued onto a wide, empty avenue toward the area Major Franklin had indicated.

  Seconds later, the rumble of vehicles broke the relative silence. Surprised by the growing racket, Neal pulled Ginger onto the sidewalk as five military vehicles and a police car roared down the road. Several soldiers stared at Neal as they zipped past.

  Diesel fumes hung in the air as Neal stared at his map and gazed in the direction the vehicles had gone. Were the soldiers driving to the base the major had mentioned? Did government and law still exist in the city? Did cars work? Could he get a ride home?

  With Ginger at his side, Neal hurried along the boulevard in the direction the vehicles had traveled. The road twisted and bent with the river but, after nearly thirty minutes, he reached a long, gentle curve. As he rounded it, he spotted a blockade of sandbags and barbed wire.

  Four men with rifles stood guard.

  * * *

  Rural Lewis County, Washington, Thursday, September 8th

  Drake edged along the pastor’s porch and glanced through the living room window. He didn’t see anyone but hoped if they saw him, his look would appear nonchalant and not like someone about to break in. He returned to the door and knocked again. “Hello?”

  No sound came from inside.

  The voice of Pastor Wayne bellowed loud and angry from nearby. “Get out of here!”

  Shaken by the harsh tone of the words that seemed directed at him, Drake stepped off the porch.

  “You heard me!”

  Drake retreated across the lawn but soon realized the pastor’s words came from the backyard. Drake edged along the house in the direction of the voice. Turning the corner, he spotted Skinny with Pastor Wayne nearby.

  Drake brought the rifle to his shoulder.

  Skinny had his back to Drake, but the pastor locked eyes on him. “Don’t shoot, Drake.”

  Skinny turned. “Boy, you seem to like pointing that gun at me. I might have to teach you a lesson.”

  “What are you …” Drake’s voice cracked. He pressed the rifle butt hard against his shoulder and looked down the sight at Skinny’s head.

  Pastor Wayne stepped toward Drake but spoke to Skinny. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  The back door of the house flew open. Dan, Pastor Wayne’s son, hurried out holding a pistol. He wobbled the gun in Drake’s direction and then at Skinny and back toward Drake.

  Pastor Wayne gestured at Skinny. “Dan, aim the gun at this one.”

  Dan did as instructed while his face grew paler with each passing moment. Drake feared he might pass out.

  “Me and my friends, we were just trying to get to know our neighbors.” Skinny shook his head. “But it’s clear you don’t want to be friends. So, sure I’ll go—for now.”

  Just as he had done at Drake’s house, Skinny strolled away.

  Dan slumped onto the back porch. “Criminals trying to break into the house, wandering around the backyard, me waving a gun … I don’t know how to use a gun.” His head sagged between his legs. “I can’t live like this.”

  Drake lowered the rifle and stepped closer to the pastor. “I came to talk with you about Skinny.”

  “Skinny?” Pastor Wayne questioned.

  “That’s what I call that guy.” Drake bit his lip. “He was at my house yesterday—with a friend I nicknamed Fatty. I think they were checking to see who lived there and what we had.”

  “Of course they were.” Still slumped on the back steps, Dan lifted his head and continued. “Someone has tried to break into our home twice. We need to notify the police.”

  “How?” Drake asked.

  Dan groaned. “I guess we need to walk into Riverbank and find the sheriff.”

  Drake gazed in the direction of town. “Do you think he and the deputies are still on duty?”

  Wayne shook his head. “No, and even if they are, how effective could they be without cars, communications, and computers?”

  Drake shrugged. “How effective were sheriffs in the Old West?”

  Wayne shook his head and then stood in silence for a moment. “Skinny mentioned friends just before leaving. I’ve got an idea. Come into the house, and we’ll discuss it.”

  Just inside the door, Wayne and Dan hung their jackets on a rack. An older woman with long, gray hair peeked around the corner.

  “This is my wife, Mary,” Wayne said with a smile. “Mary, this is Drake, Beth’s son.”

  “I’m glad to see you again, Drake.” She stepped close and squeezed his hand. “Your mother was a dear friend. We’ve missed you and the rest of your family. Have you been getting enough food?”

  Drake smiled and nodded.

  The pastor led everyone through the kitchen into a combination living and dining room.

  “Over there with the baby is my daughter, Katy.” Wayne nodded toward a brunette-haired woman breastfeeding an infant under a blue towel. She smiled.

  Drake smiled back but, embarrassed, quickly looked away.

  Wayne pulled a chair out from the dining table. “Sit here, Drake. I’ve got to get some things.” He turned down the hall. “I’ll be right back.

  As he sat at the table, Drake looked around the room. He had always seen neighbors as merely people next door or down the street but now, in a time when his family was gone, these people welcomed him into their home. Pastor Wayne and his wife had shown him kindness. Afraid that tears would roll from his eyes, Drake wiped his face.

  Moments later, Wayne returned with a backpack and he and Dan sat at the table with Drake.

  “What’s your idea, Dad?”

  “I’ll hike down to Riverbank and see if any law enforcement personnel are still on duty. Before we take the law into our own hands, we should check if any still exists. While I’m checking in Riverbank, you and Drake go around the community and tell people that we’ll have a meeting this evening at the church.”

  Dan shook his head. “I should hike into town. You should walk around here with Drake.”

  Wayne raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “I’m younger, I can hike faster, and everyone on Fremont Hill knows you and won’t shoot at you.”

  “Okay.” Pastor Wayne nodded. “Then Drake should go with you to Riverbank.”

  “No.” Dan shook his head.

  Pastor Wayne leaned back in his chair. “Why do you want Drake to go with me?”

  “In case someone does shoot at you.” Dan shook his head. “You have a way of finding trouble, and I’m worried you’ll find it and no friend will be around.”

  For some reason, Drake found that idea amusing and giggled.

  Wayne smiled at his son. “Okay then, we have a plan.”

  Drake remembered leaving Ashley at home. “Uh … what if Skinny and Fatty come back?” He had told her it would be safer at their house, but now fear boiled within him. “Ashley is alone at home, and Skinny knows I’m here.” He stood and moved toward the back door as he spoke. “I’ve got to get home.”

  “I need to discuss security for this house with Mary.” Wayne nodded. “Go. I’ll be just a minute or
two behind you.”

  Drake darted from Pastor Wayne’s house and sprinted toward home. In a car, this part of the road had always seemed short, straight, and level, but since the sun storm, he had noticed how far away his neighbors lived. He also noticed every slope and turn. There were so many places a person could hide. As he neared his home, he slowed to a walk and tried to listen and look for movement.

  Ready to run or fight, he strode around the last bend before his driveway. A hundred yards ahead, a group of six men stood talking. Drake gripped his rifle but continued toward the driveway a few feet away.

  One man turned.

  “Hey, kid, nice to see you again.” Skinny smiled.

  The other five men stared at Drake.

  Fatty grinned. “How’s your sister?”

  Fear, both within himself and for Ashley, propelled Drake down the driveway with the rifle in his hand. Reaching the front door, he twisted the knob, but it didn’t budge. He had told Ashley to lock the doors and hadn’t brought his key.

  Drake pounded on the door, shouted, and then listened as Gruff barked and scurried across the wood floor.

  But no one unlocked the door.

  “Ashley, it’s me!” Drake banged again.

  The deadbolt slid back with a click and the door popped open.

  Drake stumbled into the house and hugged Ashley. Relief at seeing her okay and at being home flowed through him.

  Gruff pushed between him and Ashley.

  “What’s wrong?” Ashley hugged him back. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Drake hoped that Ashley couldn’t hear his heart pounding in his chest. After a deep breath, he released her and locked the door. “I was worried about you.”

  “Why? You’re scaring me. What happened?”

  Ashley’s face paled as Drake described the encounters at Pastor Wayne’s home and on the road coming back to the house.

  Directly behind Drake, someone knocked on the door.

  Ashley gasped.

  Gruff growled.

  Drake spun around and leaned to the peephole. “It’s Pastor Wayne.” Drake let him in.

  “Did you see Skinny and his cohorts?” Pastor Wayne adjusted the rifle slung on his shoulder.

  “Yes.” Drake nodded. “Did they give you any trouble?”

  Gruff sniffed at the pastor’s leg then wagged her tail.

  Ashley clutched Drake’s arm.

  “No.” Wayne shook his head. “They didn’t see me. They’re headed away from our homes.”

  Ashley sagged against the wall.

  Pastor Wayne smiled at Drake. “Perhaps you should stay here with Ashley.”

  Drake’s heart still pounded and his mouth felt dry. He wanted to stay locked in the house, but he didn’t want Pastor Wayne out walking alone. He struggled to find the right thing to do.

  “Pastor, what about your family?” Ashley asked. “Will they be safe?”

  “I’m not sure safe is a word we can use right now. I told Dan to wait about thirty minutes before hiking into Riverbank. I wanted to make sure Skinny and any others were gone. If there was any trouble after that, I told Mary to fire the shotgun out a window and we’d come running.” He shrugged. “That’s about the best we can do right now.”

  Drake shook his head. “We can’t live like this.”

  Ashley stared at Drake for a moment. “I’m not sure I could shoot someone, but show me how to fire the shotgun.” She turned to the pastor. “I’ll use it as a signal like you told Mary.”

  Drake left and returned with a twenty-gauge shotgun. He showed Ashley how to rack the slide and hold the weapon with the butt pressed against her shoulder.

  “The gun is fully loaded, and a shell is in the chamber. The safety is off.” Drake nodded toward a window. “Just point the gun out a window and pull the trigger. We’ll hear it. Skinny and friends will probably scatter before we can run here.”

  Pastor Wayne nodded. “But if they don’t leave, pump and shoot again and, if need be, at them.”

  Ashley stared at the gun but said nothing.

  Seeing her hold the shotgun like it might bite, Drake wanted to stay with her. At the same time, Skinny, Fatty, and the others made him angry. Stay at home and protect the one he loved, or go with Pastor Wayne and help keep everyone safe.

  “Are we ready to go?” Pastor Wayne asked.

  The honest answer was no, but with a lingering gaze at Ashley, Drake followed Pastor Wayne out the door.

  “I told Dan to knock on the doors around our house and others on the way into Riverbank.” Pastor Wayne pointed toward his house. “So, we’ll go in the direction that Skinny and the others went.”

  Drake nodded, but he didn’t want to go that way.

  The first place they reached was the Hamilton property. The fence on one side of the gate had been cut.

  “Nobody was home on Sunday.” Drake explained about the horses breaking out of the pasture and said he had checked the house.

  “Let’s check it again.” Pastor Wayne headed toward the porch.

  The front door had been pried open, leaving bits of the wood frame littered across the entryway.

  “I didn’t do this.” Drake shook his head.

  “I didn’t think you had.” The pastor entered with his rifle ready.

  The living room looked undisturbed, but all the kitchen cabinets and drawers stood open. Several pots, pans, and some broken glass littered the floor. No food remained in the house.

  “Mr. Hamilton used to hunt with Dad, but I’ll bet we don’t find any weapons.”

  Pastor Wayne nodded.

  They did a quick search. The medicine cabinets in the master bedroom stood open, and the contents littered the sink and floor.

  “What are you looking for?”

  Pastor Wayne didn’t answer but continued to check rooms. Several minutes later, he said, “There’s no one here. Let’s move on.”

  The next home, a farmhouse set back off the road behind some trees, couldn’t be seen from the road.

  Together they walked the rutted, dirt driveway. When they rounded a bend, rows of corn, beans, cucumbers, and pumpkins spread out on both sides.

  Drake stopped. Behind a pickup truck, a gray-haired man raised a rifle to his shoulder.

  “Hey, Michael, Pastor Wayne here.” He waved. “Put the gun down.”

  Michael lowered the weapon and plopped a ball cap on his head. He stepped into the clearing. “My eyes must be getting bad, Preacher. Good to see you.” He turned his head. “Annie, Pastor Wayne is here.”

  “Your eyes aren’t bad.” Pastor Wayne smiled. “You’re just getting ornery in your old age.”

  Michael laughed. “Maybe so.”

  With tanned and wrinkled skin, the man seemed to have worked outside all his life. A gray-haired woman hurried from the house. She might have been as old as the man, but her skin had fewer wrinkles.

  Pastor Wayne introduced Drake to the couple and then asked if they had seen any prowlers around their place.

  “Sure have.” Michael shook his head. “Had to shoot at a couple of them.”

  “We’re going to have a meeting at the church this evening at five. I want to set up some sort of neighborhood watch.”

  “Great idea, Preacher. I’ll be there.” Michael grinned. “That’ll give Annie a chance to shoot the prowlers.”

  After contacting several other families, Drake and Pastor Wayne came to a mailbox with a honey bee painted on the side.

  Together they walked along a narrow, dirt driveway lined with six beehives, three on each side of the lane.

  Drake froze at the sight of dozens of bees weaving back and forth over the lane.

  “Max uses them as insect guard dogs. I’ve learned they won’t bother you if you don’t bother them,”

  Drake stayed close to the pastor as he strolled through the buzzing haze.

  As they neared the front door a couple in their thirties stepped out.

  “Hello, Pastor.” The man stepped forward and shoo
k his hand.

  “Hello, Emily, Max. How are your bees doing?” Pastor Wayne gestured toward the hives. “This isn’t all of your bees, is it?”

  Max reached out and the two shook hands. “No, I’ve got more hives in the back. What brings you here today?”

  Four kids, ranging from a boy about five years younger than Drake to a toddler, crowded near the doorway, trying to watch and listen.

  Drake had seen them, even talked with the oldest, but didn’t really know them.

  “Have you seen any prowlers or looters around your place?” Pastor Wayne asked.

  “We’ve seen them.” Max nodded.

  “Yes!” Emily snarled. “One of them, a really large creep, tried to lure Deb.” She pointed to a girl about ten years old.

  “I think they’re picking soft targets to loot now, but food is getting harder to find.” Max frowned. “If things don’t change, they may…I hate to think what might happen. God help us all.”

  “I agree, and God will help us, but while He is doing His part, I’ve called a meeting for this evening.” Pastor Wayne explained about the gathering and Max promised to attend.

  After visiting a dozen fairly typical families, all short of food or out, concerned about prowlers, and hoping things would return to normal, Drake and Pastor Wayne arrived at a rusty, faded blue and dirty white mobile home a few feet off the road. Duct tape held a board over part of one dusty window.

  “Does anyone live here?” Drake asked.

  Pastor Wayne shrugged and then knocked.

  The door flew open.

  Drake stumbled back.

  A man, about thirty years old with messy black hair, stood in the doorway. Arms, dotted with bloody red sores, extended from a threadbare and dirty shirt. “Who are you?” His eyes flared wide.

  “I’m Pastor Wayne and—”

  “Why are you here? To steal?” As he talked, he scratched his arms and face. “Is that why you have a gun? This is my place, my stuff!”

  Drake grasped the sling of his rifle as his heart pounded.

  “No.” Pastor Wayne shook his head. “That’s not why—”