Geostorm The Collapse: A Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The Geostorm Series Book 3)

by Bobby Akart

  “We’ve got a key, so you might as well open up!”

  Kristi backed away from the door and chambered a round into her handgun. She studied the lockset to determine if there was a way to block their entry. It was a standard Kwikset, and she imagined the building maintenance superintendent would have a master key to enter any unit in the event of an emergency.

  She considered warning them off, but she doubted that would deter them based upon the looks on their faces. Then she thought of Tommy entering the hallway from the stairwell, unaware of their presence. Four on one wasn’t good odds for an unarmed man. She decided to call their bluff.

  “Leave me alone! He said I could stay here.” Kristi used her best I-am-weak-and-easy-prey voice. In fact, she was just the opposite. She wanted to lure them inside.

  She backed into the middle of the room so the sofa was between her and the front door. When the lock snapped and the door handle turned, she slid her hands behind her back to conceal her weapon.

  The men slowly poured into the room, eyes darting about as they assessed the situation. “Where’s Bannon?”

  “I told you, he left. Get out or I’ll call the police!”

  The men began to laugh. One of them, the leader who had engaged Tommy the day before, spoke first. “Yeah, sure you will. The way I see it, you’re trespassing because you’re not on the approved list.” He raised a clipboard and rapped his knuckles on the back of it.

  “Tommy said I could stay here for a while.”

  “Well, lady, he’s wrong about that. Where’s the monkey?”

  “What?” Kristi became apprehensive as she realized she’d put Brooke at risk by drawing the men inside.

  “We heard a monkey,” said another man as he fanned out from the group. Another of the four men took his cue and began to circle around the kitchen island.

  “Get out!” Kristi shouted as she revealed the gun. Using perfect form, she gripped the pistol with both hands and steadily aimed it at each of the men, who immediately froze in their tracks. “I mean it, you broke in here, and I’ll shoot you if you come a step closer.”

  The faces of three of the men turned ashen, but not the leader. He began to laugh uproariously. “Well, well. Aren’t you the badass? This ain’t some TV show, lady. Now give me the gun.” He took a step forward.

  “Get out!” Kristi repeated her demand as she pointed the gun at the man’s chest. The other two, emboldened by their leader, began to close on her. This was not going as planned and was about to become more complicated.

  Suddenly, the door handle to the bedroom snapped open, and Brooke raced out, knuckle-running toward the man in the kitchen. She was different from the gentle chimp Kristi had come to love.

  Waving her arms high over her head, she shrieked, “Heeaagh!”

  It was an angry, protective squall. One that she repeated as she approached the man closest to Kristi.

  “Heeaagh! Heeaagh! Heeaagh!”

  “There it is!” shouted the leader. “Grab the damn thing!”

  The man moved to tackle Brooke, but Kristi reacted. She swung her body to the right and shot the man through the shoulder, sending him spinning around and crashing into the kitchen sink.

  “What the hell?” one of the men shouted.

  Kristi wasn’t done yet. She turned toward the leader, who stood with his mouth agape and eyes wide. She trained the weapon on his chest and then deftly pointed it toward his clipboard before pulling the trigger.

  The loud report, like the first gunshot, reverberated off the concrete floors and ceiling. The bullet blasted a hole through the man’s clipboard and sent it flying toward the entry door.

  “Get out or I’ll shoot every last one of you!”

  Kristi was incensed. Brooke had jumped on top of the kitchen island and taunted the man who’d been shot and was now slumped over the kitchen counter, holding his shoulder.

  “Kristi! Kristi!” Tommy’s voice came from the hallway. He burst into his condo and found Kristi holding the men at gunpoint.

  “Are we ready?” Kristi asked.

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Carry Brooke. I’ve got this.” She moved around the room slowly, pointing her weapon in rapid, but fluid succession. Every one of the men stood in a state of frozen animation, except for the man she’d shot, who was doubled over in pain.

  Tommy wrapped Brooke up in his arms and held her tight against his chest. He walked slowly toward the door, keeping his eyes on the two men who stood only a few feet away. He turned to Kristi and nodded once he was in the hallway.

  “Now, all of you, outside!”

  “Where?” asked one of the men, genuinely confused.

  “You heard me, asshole! Outside, on the patio. You too, jerkoff!”

  She pointed her gun at each of the men and used it as a pointer to herd them toward the outer balcony. She glanced over at Tommy, who was now standing in the midst of a small crowd of residents who lived on his floor.

  “Move it!” Kristi shouted again. The men opened the sliding door and moved out to the balcony. With her gun pointed at them, Kristi quickly pulled the door shut behind them and locked it. She’d wondered why the developers of the building found it necessary to put locks on doors ten stories aboveground. Now she knew of at least one good reason.

  Kristi was beginning to shake as the confrontation began to affect her. She lowered her gun and joined Tommy in the hallway. As she approached, the looky-loo neighbors hightailed it back to their units. Kristi slammed the door shut and tried the handle to confirm it was locked.

  Tommy reached out and touched her arm. “Hey, look at me. Are you okay?”

  Kristi nodded but didn’t respond. She reached out to pet Brooke, and then she stood on her toes to kiss Tommy on the cheek. It was a simple gesture. A human touch to reaffirm to them both that she wasn’t a sadistic killer, but rather more like a mama grizzly.

  Chapter 15

  Riverfront Farms

  Southeast Indiana

  “Grandpa! There’s a man on a horse coming down the driveway, going really fast!” Eight-year-old Jesse had volunteered to sit on the front porch and surveil the long driveway that led to the Boones’ farmhouse. He’d retrieved Levi’s binoculars from the closet, as well as his own .22-caliber rifle, so he could look official, as he put it.

  That morning, Squire had had another fit of pain in his bowels, and the diarrhea had continued to plague him. He outwardly blamed it on drinking water from one of the wells out by the apple orchards, but the ongoing bouts of diarrhea mixed with blood had become a part of his daily routine.

  It was when his abdomen began to swell uncontrollably that he became concerned about his health. In order to hide the protruding stomach, he began wearing overalls with loose-fitting tee shirts. He subtly hid his body from Sarah when he dressed and undressed each day. Thus far, in light of everything that had been going on, Squire was successful in protecting her from worry. He chose to carry the burden by himself.

  “I’m comin’, Jesse!” he shouted in return as he hustled out of the downstairs guest bathroom and buckled his overalls up. He grabbed his shotgun, which was now constantly leaning against the front doorjamb. By the time he emerged on the porch, the rider was closer, and Squire became concerned that it was just him and Jesse at the house at the time.

  “What do you want me to do, Grandpa?” the young boy asked.

  Squire started to kneel down to the boy’s level, but a stabbing pain shot through his abdomen, literally taking his breath away. Gasping for breath, he grimaced and stood up again. “Go upstairs, but stay out of sight. Just lay your rifle barrel on the windowsill, but don’t let them see you. Okay?”

  “Yessir!”

  Jesse took off inside, and Squire could hear the young man chasing up the oak treads in a hurry.

  The horse and rider approached, and Squire readied the shotgun. He wished he had his rifle, as the shotgun’s range was not quite as good. One thing the old Remington could do was get someone’s atten
tion. Squire held the gun high to his side and racked a round where his actions could easily be seen by the rider. Then he hollered, “That’s close enough, friend! State your business!”

  The rider pulled back on the reins and brought the horse to an abrupt stop. “Mr. Boone? Squire Boone?”

  “Maybe!”

  “Sir, I’m Pete Harrison from over at Horseshoe Bend Ranch.”

  Squire lowered his weapon. “Yeah, Pete. I know you. It’s been a long time.” The Harrisons had been around Southeast Indiana nearly as long as the Boones had.

  The young man dismounted and walked his horse closer to the house. Squire cradled the shotgun in his arms and met him halfway.

  “Yes, sir. I was a couple of years behind Levi in school.”

  “I remember. How’s your pa? I haven’t seen him around much this year.”

  “He’s doin’ fine, but he ain’t the one who sent me. The mayor told me to ride out here. There’s been an in-ci-dent.” Young Harrison stretched out the word, allowing his country accent to take over its pronunciation.

  Squire noticed that the young man was sweating and out of breath. He turned to the window and shouted for his grandson. “Jesse! It’s fine. Bring this young man a glass of water.”

  The rifle barrel disappeared and Squire turned back to the visitor. He took the horse’s reins and pulled him toward the porch. A water trough that was usually kept full by rain runoff was bone dry.

  Jesse emerged from the house with a bottle of water and handed it to Harrison. Instead of drinking it, Harrison cupped his hand and poured water into it so his horse could lap it up. He continued until the horse was more or less satisfied.

  “Okay, Pete. What’s happened?”

  He gulped down the last of the water and began. “Early this morning, a mess of people comin’ out of Kentucky pulled off the interstate up at Lanesville. They broke into some houses and killed an old couple. Supposedly, there were five cars in this bunch, and they were lookin’ to steal from folks. Around sunrise, they hit New Middleton and broke into the Marathon station. They turned the pumps on, took every last bit of gasoline and all their tools, too.”

  “Did someone go after the sheriff?”

  “Yessir. The minister at Bethany United Methodist tried. He took his car up to the jail, and Clark’s men said they weren’t authorized to leave town without the sheriff’s approval.”

  “Did they try to find Randy?” he asked, referring to Randy Clark, the sheriff of Harrison County.

  “No, sir.”

  Squire exhaled and wandered around the horse, gently patting the animal on the rear as he did. “Okay, Pete, is there any reason to believe these people are still around?”

  “That’s just it, Mr. Boone. Nobody knows for certain, and that’s why the mayor sent me out here. He’s pretty pissed off that the deputies wouldn’t help. He said to spread the word that he wanted to meet at the town hall at four this afternoon.”

  “Okay. Go back and tell him we’ll be there at four.”

  Harrison hesitated and looked around before speaking. “Well, I’m supposed to ride north up to Lickford Bridge Road and let those folks know. Then I’ll circle back to the house.”

  “Son, you have a fine horse, but you’ve worn him out. I’m gonna get you some more water for him, and then I want you to head back to New Amsterdam. I’ll have my people head up past Wolfpen Ridge and let those residents know what’s happening.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am. Now, you’ve done good. Get on back and tell the mayor we’ll be there, okay?”

  “Yessir.”

  Pete Harrison waited for Jesse to bring another bottle of water, which he immediately shared with his horse. A minute later, the young man left, albeit at a fast trot as opposed to training for a race at Churchill Downs.

  Squire wandered onto the parched lawn in front of the house, mumbling to himself, “Dammit, Randy Clark. Are you just gonna sit by while people rob and kill our neighbors?”

  Chapter 16

  Ontario Province

  Canada

  Levi slept throughout the night without incident. No animals nipping at his heels, whether real or dreamt. Sasquatch didn’t appear suddenly out of the woods, nor did a Jason Voorhees-type character complete with a mask and a chainsaw. It was uneventful except for the cramped conditions inside the IT.

  He didn’t voice any complaints. He found his last CLIF energy bar in his backpack, took the medications given to him by the paramedics, and hit the road again. The sun quickly warmed his body, and the additional rest provided his leg a respite. It was full steam ahead as far as Levi was concerned.

  He continued his trek southward, periodically peeling off layers of clothing to avoid overheating. He was concerned that he hadn’t come across a stream or lake to rehydrate his body. As the day wore on, he became less concerned about transportation and more focused on the loss of fluids.

  Levi entered a stretch of slightly charred and barren land. A wildfire had destroyed the pine trees in years past, and the earth was healing itself with fresh growth and fast-growing pine saplings. There were still remnants of tree trunks reaching into the sky, armless and without foliage, a reminder of how death can leave the body stripped of its soul.

  For the first time, he came across a side road that formed a T-intersection at the highway. After thirty feet of pavement, the road immediately turned into a narrow, rut-filled gravel road, which wound its way through the sparse undergrowth.

  A sign was erected at the entrance to this narrow drive, mounted on pressure-treated four-by-fours.

  TIMBERDOODLE LODGE

  Welcomes you!

  The sign was flanked by a painted image of a bear on the left and a turkey on the right. An arrow pointed down the gravel road, as if any visitor to Timberdoodle Lodge wouldn’t know that already.

  Levi shrugged and read the sign again. “Welcomes you, huh. We’ll see about that.”

  Now carrying his hickory stick instead of using it as a crutch, he was full of curiosity as he made his way up the gravel road. It was impossible for him to tell whether the road was used frequently, although the ruts were an indication that it was poorly maintained. Either way, it was the first sign of civilization in the fifty-some miles he’d traveled in the last two days and worth a look.

  Levi estimated he’d walked a mile down the winding gravel road before it expanded into a clearing overlooking a lake of crystal-blue water. Within the clearing overlooking the lake were five modular homes about the size of a midsize Jim Walter rancher.

  He stopped before entering the clearing to study his surroundings. Like Hearst, there were no signs of life at the Timberdoodle except for the geese swimming in the lake and a turkey scampering between two of the buildings.

  Levi took a chance and approached the first building. He politely knocked on the door, trying not to appear hostile.

  “Hello! Is anybody home?”

  There was no response. In case he was being watched, he resisted the urge to try the door handle. Plus, you never knew if a shotgun was pointing at you on the other side.

  He approached each of the homes and repeated his attempt to reach one of the residents. He was unsuccessful. Frustrated, he walked into the middle of the clearing and looked around with his hands on his hips. He focused on the windows, trying to catch someone peering at him from behind the curtains.

  He shouted this time. “Hello! Is anybody here? Anybody?”

  Were they hiding? Did they all go home? Or simply disappear?

  Nothing would surprise Levi at this point. He went back to the second building and pounded on the door this time. There was a Can-Am Commander all-terrain vehicle parked adjacent to it, so he presumed this building was most likely to be occupied.

  After he didn’t receive an answer, he stepped to the side of the door. With an outstretched arm, he tried the door handle. It was locked.

  He knocked again, even harder this time.

  With no response, Levi decided
to add to his criminal-history résumé by breaking into a dwelling. He dropped his gear, walked to a burned-out campfire, and pulled a thirty-pound rock from the ring encircling the spent coals. He carried the rock against his chest until he reached the door and then lifted it over his head. He thrust it downward and smashed off the door handle, sending the rock between his legs and the door flying open.

  “Sorry!” he yelled apologetically to no one. In recent days, he found talking out loud to an empty void seemed saner than talking to himself. “I didn’t want to do that! I just need some fresh water and something to eat. Is anybody home?”

  He shouted his question and then mumbled, “Or whatever.” He wasn’t sure what to make of the Timberdoodle Lodge complex, but after busting open the door, he was confident that it was uninhabited.

  What Levi did next was purely out of necessity and a desire to survive. After finding the keys to the Can-Am four-wheeler and two five-gallon cans of fuel behind the house, he broke into each of the modular homes, one by one, stripping them of anything that he could use to get home.

  He heartily ate any unspoiled, nonperishable foods he could find and gathered the rest in rucksacks. He filled water bottles in the lake and then took a very chilly bath. For a moment, he considered shaving, but after washing his hair and beard with a mini bottle of Prell shampoo, he decided to keep the look of wilderness traveler. He did, however, apply deodorant. Levi had his limits.

  Refreshed, equipped with a map and a hunting rifle with ammunition, which one of the owners had kept hidden under a sofa, Levi fired up the Can-Am and headed south toward the U.S. border. He had no idea what was awaiting him down the road, but for now, he could click off the miles without taxing his leg. The wind blew through his hair and a big smile came across his face as he visualized himself riding the four-wheeler right up the driveway to his loving wife’s arms.

  Chapter 17