Through the Storm (The Solar Storms Saga Book 1)

by Kyle Pratt

  “That’s the bike!” Madison ran to a man standing beside a “For Trade” sign. Around him were a couple of bicycles, wagons, assorted MREs, and canned goods in cardboard boxes. “That’s my friend’s bike. You stole it!” Madison thrust her finger in the direction of a newer bike with a four-foot trailer.

  “I didn’t steal nothing.” The man jumped between her and the bike.

  Madison edged closer. “Yes, you did!”

  Conner shook his head in disbelief. Why did she care so much about this?

  Madison grabbed at the bike.

  The man pushed her away.

  Afraid that she would start a fight, or worse, get herself killed, Conner spoke. “I’ll trade you for it.”

  “What’ya got?”

  Conner pulled his backpack off and opened it. He didn’t have much, a tarp, sleeping bag, a canteen and some matches. Then he pulled the pistol from his pocket. “This for the bicycle and the trailer.”

  The man smiled. “Good trade. I’ll swap you another bike for that rifle on your shoulder.”

  “No.” Conner handed him the pistol and, with a bike on either side of him, walked to Madison. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  Glad that Madison had calmed down, Conner put his bike in the trailer of Arnold’s and the two biked toward her home. “You can go faster. Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “There’s no hurry. There’s no place I need to be.”

  Tears occasionally rolled down Madison’s cheeks, but no words passed her lips until they neared her parent’s home. “You traded for the bike, but can I give it back to Arnold?”

  “Sure.”

  She sped past her house, climbed the steps to Arnold’s porch, and banged on his door.

  Arnold opened it with a smile. “You brought my bike back!” Still staring at the bike, he asked, “Is your mom okay? Is your dad here?”

  “No!” Madison shouted. Tears erupted and she ran into her parents’ house, slamming the front door behind her.

  Conner turned to Arnold. “Her mom and dad are dead, but she wanted you to have the bike back. I’m not really sure why.”

  Conner left Arnold’s bike and trailer and joined Madison, who had exited her parents’ home and sat on the front porch. He sat with her in silence, unsure of what to do or say.

  Madison turned to him with a weak smile. “Thank you for helping me get home.”

  “I wish it had been a happier homecoming.”

  She stared at the house over her shoulder. “There’s nothing left for me here.”

  More silence passed between them as Conner mustered his courage. “Earlier you were wondering where home is. You’re welcome to come with me to the farm. I’ve really gotten to like you. I’m not saying we have to—”

  “Yes.”

  The word had been a whisper. Had he really heard it? He stared at her for confirmation.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  * * *

  Rural Lewis County, Washington, Sunday, September 11th

  Drake watched as Pastor Wayne pulled the ancient rope to ring the bell high in the steeple of the old brick church. Drake sat in the front pew and stared at his sore and blistered hands. Over the weekend, he had worked with neighbors to extend the fence past his property. He hoped that it helped, but the fence ended a hundred yards beyond his place. The bad guys could just walk around it.

  Pastor Wayne and Michael, the ornery old farmer he had met four days ago, walked to the front of the sanctuary, talking about harvesting food from nearby fields.

  “Anyway, that was a good service this morning,” Michael said.

  “You should come more often.”

  Michael laughed. “Maybe I should.” Then he walked away.

  Dozens soon arrived for the community meeting. Drake lost count and restarted at the back with a slow walk forward toward Pastor Wayne.

  “You’re doing Sunday services?” Gail rocked the baby in her arms.

  “I never stopped. Nine every Sunday morning.” Pastor Wayne smiled at the baby. “How are—”

  Sixty-eight. “You should ring the bell for services, like in the old days,” Drake said.

  Pastor Wayne rubbed his chin. “I should.” He looked around. “Where did Gail go?”

  Drake looked for the woman with the baby. The sanctuary was fuller than he had ever seen it. He shrugged. “I don’t see her or the crazy guy she lives with.”

  Max, the beekeeper, stepped over to the preacher. “We’re ready to start.”

  Pastor Wayne nodded and stepped onto the podium. “Good evening, everyone. We wanted to talk about how the fence project is going and about the food and water problems.”

  “The fence stops hundreds of yards before my place,” a man in the back yelled. “It isn’t going to keep anyone out.”

  “Where can we get water?” a woman shouted. “I’ve been using a stream.”

  Pastor Wayne held up a hand. “We can figure it out if we work together.”

  Outside the church, an engine rumbled.

  Silence fell on those inside. Drake and several others ran out to investigate.

  A Humvee pulled into the church parking lot and parked. Deputy Campbell stepped from the vehicle. “I heard the bell and figured you were having another meeting.”

  “Do you have news?” a man asked.

  Campbell sighed. “Yeah, I’ve got some.”

  The group surrounded the deputy and ushered him to the front of the church.

  Pastor Wayne shook Campbell’s hand and then stepped aside.

  “Well, I’m afraid this is a good news, bad news day,” the deputy started.

  Calls for the good news mixed with an audible groan that swept the sanctuary.

  “You people on Fremont Hill have done well in getting organized. Reports of gang activity here and in Riverbank are down.”

  “I’m guessing that’s the good news,” someone shouted. “What’s the bad?”

  “The gangs seem to be gaining members and growing bolder. Don’t travel outside of the Riverbank and Fremont Hill areas. They have roadblocks along the freeway and state highway both to the north and south.”

  Day Nine

  Clark County, Washington, Monday, September 12th

  While he waited for Claire to catch up, Neal leaned against an abandoned red Corvette. He pulled on the door handle, but it didn’t open and no keys were in the ignition. A low grumble of irritation escaped from him. With this car he could have been home in less than an hour. Neal pulled his shoe off a sore and blistered foot.

  Ginger sniffed the shoe but turned her nose away and pawed at Neal’s backpack.

  “I’ll feed you later.” Neal took several gulps of water and then squirted some into his hand for Ginger.

  As the dog lapped at the water, Neal watched Claire shuffle closer. At this rate, her husband might reach Riverbank before we do.

  He shook his head. Don’t be mean.

  Neal mustered his patience and fixed a smile on his face.

  Despite being fifteen or so years younger, pregnancy slowed Claire more than age and blisters slowed him. Well, the backpack and sleeping bag she carried reduced her pace, but what could he do? She had insisted on carrying them.

  That morning, before they departed, Claire had visited several neighbors and told them where she would be. Neal painted a similar message, including his address, on the living room wall. If Claire’s husband searched, he would know where to go.

  He envied the love she had for her husband and the new life she would soon bring into the world. Neal once had that with Beth—years ago.

  The conference in Vegas had been an escape. A means of avoiding painful memories. A reprieve from his teenage sons.

  But now, reaching home filled his waking moments. Please God, let them be okay.

  He hated his irritation with Claire’s ponderous pace. He understood that pregnancy caused it, but he was so close to home. Even at this slow rate, they might reach Riv
erbank by tomorrow evening, but each mile closer made him more eager to complete the journey.

  Claire ambled to the Corvette, leaned against it, and drank some water. “Are we still on schedule?”

  No! Neal continued to smile. “Sure, we’ll reach it tomorrow sometime.”

  “You know, the constant smile on your face is a little creepy.”

  “Oh, sorry.” The grin faded as Neal felt his face flush and turned away.

  “Am I slowing you down?”

  Neal sighed and looked back at Claire. “I don’t know but not that much. It’s really about me.” He explained both his guilt at leaving for the conference and his wish now to return home to his sons.

  “I’ll pray for all of you.” She stepped forward. “Come on, Ginger, let’s lead the way.”

  They continued north along the freeway. Claire led for a mile, then Neal overtook her, but he slowed down and walked beside her for the rest of the day.

  Hours later, when they reached Longview, sunlight cast long shadows over an otherwise dark town.

  “Do you want to camp for the night?” Claire asked.

  Neal didn’t want to stop, but he perched on the freeway’s center divider. “Sure, let’s find a place to camp.”

  Claire pointed to a small park beside the freeway where clusters of tents stood and several campfires glowed.

  “I haven’t had the best of luck with other people.” He looked for another option. “I prefer to be alone.”

  “Being alone isn’t an option anymore.” Claire trudged toward the off ramp. “You’ve got me with you now and I can’t walk much farther.”

  “Females,” Neal muttered and stared at Ginger. He recalled how the dog had insisted on coming with him. “Claire’s made up her mind so we better get moving.”

  Neal and Ginger followed her into the camp.

  Several dozen tents and campfires marked the site that spread along the east bank of the Cowlitz River. No one seemed to pay much attention to Neal, Claire, or Ginger as they strolled along, looking for a place to sleep.

  “There.” Neal pointed to a large evergreen tree with two waist-high boulders to one side. “It’ll give us some protection if it rains and the nearby rocks will provide cover in case of gunfire.”

  Claire stared at him for a moment. “Has anyone ever called you paranoid?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, just checking. Let’s sleep there.” Claire helped him spread the tarps and sleeping bags on the ground between the rocks and trees.

  Neal fed Ginger the last of the dog food while Claire ate soup from home. Together they shared an MRE.

  “That’s the last of the food.” Neal handed Claire a packet of crackers.

  “We’ll reach your farm sometime tomorrow, right?”

  “Yes.” Neal licked his fingers. “I’d guess in the late afternoon if all goes well.”

  As darkness filled the air, Neal lay on the ground, trying to sleep. Ginger slept nearby, exhaling dog breath across his face. Thoughts of home mixed with food. He tossed and turned on his side.

  A few feet away, Claire shifted and started snoring.

  He sat up, wishing he had a good book or newspaper to read. Nearby, five men gathered around a fire pit. They seemed like average guys. Two were overweight. All were a bit flabby. None appeared to be armed. Neal walked over and joined them.

  A man in his thirties nodded as he approached. “As I was saying, I was in Salem when the sun storm happened.” He shook his head. “I almost got killed going through Portland. People are desperate for food.” He knelt and held his hands close to the fire.

  Neal squatted and warmed his hands.

  “I’m trying to reach my family in Seattle,” the man continued. “But the way is blocked.”

  Neal looked to the man. “Blocked? What do you mean?”

  “You haven’t heard?” He shook his head. “Bandits are killing and looting between here and Riverbank.”

  * * *

  Olympia, Washington, Monday, September 12th

  Conner plopped a cardboard box into the trailer behind Arnold’s bike. “Any more stuff?” he called to Madison.

  “Just this suitcase.” Madison stepped from the front door and stared at the house. “How did you get Arnold to give you the bike and trailer?” She set the case in the trailer.

  Fearing that she might not appreciate what he had done, Conner hesitated to explain. “Well … you said you were taking everything you wanted, right?”

  She nodded.

  “First, I offered him my bike for his, but that wasn’t enough to convince him, so I said he could have any pieces of furniture in the house that he wanted.”

  “We’re leaving. In a few minutes, he could take anything he wants.”

  “Yeah, but he won’t know that we’ve left until he gets dressed and walks over here.”

  With sad eyes, she stared at the house for several moments, and then she turned to Conner. “We’d better go.”

  Conner imagined the feelings that must be stabbing her heart. Both parents were dead and this would never be her home again. In one week, the foundations of her world had crumbled.

  He thought of his father and brother. He hoped that any change in his future wouldn’t be as drastic or sudden as the trauma she had suffered.

  As the sun rose, warming the day, they biked south along the freeway. All the vehicles had been pushed to the side of the highway, clearing the center for easy travel.

  Madison led the way with her long, brunette hair flowing in the breeze. Riding the trailer bike, Conner pushed to keep within shouting distance.

  Near noon, Madison rolled down a small hill and stopped.

  Conner wiped perspiration from his forehead as he stopped alongside her. “Are you tired?”

  “No. Do you want me to ride the trailer bike for a while?”

  “I’m fine.” He struggled to breathe, slow and even.

  “When do you think we’ll reach Riverbank?”

  “We’re making good time.” Conner shrugged. “Maybe two more hours.”

  They continued over the next hill and down a flat area of fields and farms. Conner paused by a stream and splashed water on his face.

  Madison continued up the forested slope. Near the top, she stopped and dismounted her bike.

  Did she have a flat or did the bike break down?

  She stood beside the bike and stared at the gravel edge of the road.

  Pedaling hard, Conner neared her in seconds. “Is something wrong?”

  Madison pointed to a man sprawled facedown beside the road.

  The sound of distant voices carried on the wind.

  Conner dismounted, ran over, and gently shook the man’s arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Is he dead?” Madison whispered.

  “I don’t know yet.” Conner pulled back the collar and pressed two fingers against his neck. The skin felt warm, but he found no pulse. He rolled the body over. Red blood stained the front of the shirt around a single bullet wound. “Yeah, I think he’s dead.”

  Madison walked a few yards toward the top of the hill. She stopped near the crest, bent low, and peered over.

  “What are you doing?” Conner asked.

  She scurried back to him and in a voice laced with fear whispered, “Guys with guns are coming.”

  Conner heard men talking. He grabbed his bike and motioned for Madison to follow him into the forest.

  Conner found a gully where a creek flowed and motioned for Madison to stay there with the bikes. Then he moved to the side and found a spot where he could watch the road.

  “There’s the guy I shot.” A tall man with shaggy brown hair strode along the freeway. “See, I told you he wouldn’t get far.”

  Behind shrubs and trees, Conner held his breath.

  A second man with short black hair and a goatee stepped close to the corpse. “Shoot better next time.” He looked around. “I thought I heard someone talking.”

  “Probably just him dying,” Shaggy
said.

  “Maybe.” Goatee continued to look around. “Hide the body in the forest so it doesn’t warn the next traveler, and then hightail it back to camp.” He turned and strode away.

  “How come I always get this kind of job?” Shaggy stared down for a moment then grabbed each arm of the body and pulled it off the road, across the drainage ditch, and into the woods nearby.

  Conner barely breathed as he inched around a large evergreen tree to conceal himself.

  Shaggy dragged the body inches from the tree.

  When he had passed, Conner crept back to the creek where Madison hid with the bikes. He kept low and pointed his rifle in the direction of Shaggy’s noisy trek. Conner caught glimpses as the man left the body and strolled from the forest to the asphalt highway and disappeared.

  “I think we’re okay now.” Conner took a deep breath. “I’m glad you spotted those guys.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “I’m sure we can get around them, but before we go anywhere, I want to know exactly where they are.”

  “No, let’s just go back to Olympia.”

  The words hit Conner like a slap in the face. He didn’t want to lose her. “If you want to, you can but … I’ve got to find out if my brother and father are okay.”

  Madison stared at the ground for several moments. “I understand. I’ll stay with you, but I don’t want … I couldn’t take it if you died or were killed like that poor man beside the road.”

  Conner hugged her. “I’ll be careful.”

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulder and neck. “You better.” She kissed him.

  He squeezed her tighter and for a moment the horrid events of the last few days faded. He kissed her back.

  * * *

  From his vantage point atop a nearby hill, Conner watched as bikers on two black motorcycles led three 1950s-era pickups up to a home near the freeway ramp. Conner didn’t know much about motorcycles, but the style of these two looked as old as the trucks.

  The newer, two-story white house appeared to serve as the gang’s headquarters. Earlier he had spotted both Goatee and Shaggy, along with about ten other men and three women. More were probably inside. In the quiet that had become normal, he had heard some of their words but learned nothing useful.