by Bobby Akart
“Then where’s the dang mushroom cloud, huh?”
Tyler pulled Kaycee a little closer and picked up the pace.
Once they were clear of the scientist wannabes, Kaycee looked up to him and asked about what she’d heard. “Dad, are we in a war?”
“Honey, I don’t know and neither do those morons. They’re all just guessing.”
J.C. chimed in, a good sign. “I hope they didn’t hit Washington.” He sincerely wanted to see the sights, although Tyler knew that was impossible under the circumstances.
“Son, the good news is Washington didn’t lose power, or at least that’s what the police officer told me back there. But places like Philadelphia and Baltimore and, of course, New Jersey did. That makes me think it could be just one big power outage.”
They continued to walk in silence as Tyler tried to remember how to get to the car without the benefit of lighting to see the lot signage. They approached another group commiserating over the circumstances.
“New York, too. Did you hear? Just as the ball was about to drop, explosions went off everywhere. People freaked out.”
“Did they lose power like us?”
“No, but folks were trampled to death and poisoned, too.”
“Poison?”
“Yeah, that’s what I heard.”
Tyler put his right hand over Kaycee’s ear and pulled her head next to his side. Angela noticed and did the same to J.C. The group continued to speculate, but eventually the Rankins were out of earshot.
“I think we’re down this row, Ty,” said Angela as she took the lead.
“You’re right, Mom,” said J.C., who had suddenly perked up. “Come on, I’ll race you. I can beat you with one shoe on!”
J.C. took off, sporting just one sneaker, and the rest of the family chased behind.
“Good grief,” said Angela with a huff in her voice. Then Dr. Mom hollered at him, “Joseph Charles Rankin, slow down! You’re supposed to be traumatized, remember?”
“Not anymore,” he yelled back over his shoulder. “Now I’m a survivor like Peanut!”
Within a minute, they were huddled around the orange-and-white Ford Bronco, waiting for Tyler to open the door. Kaycee encouraged her dad to pick up the pace.
“Come on, Dad. We’re freezing.”
Tyler retrieved the keys from his jeans pocket and was about to unlock the door when he suddenly stopped. He stood up and looked around. There were no lights on anywhere. Including vehicles. No interior lights. No headlights. No engines could be heard.
Nothing except the slight hint of dawn beginning to arrive on a new year.
“Kids, stay here. I need to talk to your mom.”
“Tyler, what’s wrong?” asked Angela.
He held his index finger to his lips and motioned for her to follow him to the back of the truck. He looked around nervously and, satisfied they weren’t being watched, dropped to the ground and crawled under the truck.
Angela walked around his legs and looked in all directions until Tyler rose off the ground holding a black hard-plastic gun case.
“Do you think we need that?” she asked.
“Yeah, maybe. I had to keep it hidden in the chassis because New York and Jersey frown upon the larger-capacity magazines I have.”
“Tyler, we don’t know anything about what’s happened for sure. After we hit the ground, the firefighters got tight-lipped and the EMTs focused on their jobs. All we’ve heard is from those idiots back there.”
“I know, Angela, but think about it for a minute. We’ve got a widespread power outage, which included killing our phones. We’ve talked about this. It has to be some kind of EMP.”
“A solar flare? Or a nuke?”
“Same result, mostly. All I know is that this place isn’t safe, nor will our trip home be. The minute I fire up this truck, they’ll be all over us, looking for a ride or trying to steal it.”
He held out the gun case to remind her of its contents.
“Do you think we’re gonna have to shoot our way out of here?”
“I hope not. But I’m sure going to be ready.”
Angela ran her fingers through her hair and walked a few paces away. She looked around the parking lot and then toward the east, where the sun began to peek over the horizon. She returned to Tyler’s side. “Tyler, you know what we have to do.”
“Babe, I may be wrong about this. What if there’s nothing wrong?”
“If you thought nothing was wrong, why did you crawl under the truck and get this.” She reached forward and rapped the case twice with her knuckles.
“Well, um, I’m just—”
Angela cut her husband off. “Listen, why take chances? If we’re wrong, we can always drive back home. But if we sit around Richmond, waiting on the news to tell us what’s happening, it could be too late.”
Tyler nodded. “It may be too late already, depending on what caused this.”
“So do you agree?” she asked.
“Agreed. We have to get to the Haven.”
Chapter 57
I-26 North of Spartanburg, South Carolina
Will fought sleep as he drove past the Landrum, South Carolina, exit. He glanced down at his fuel gauge. He had a quarter tank left in the truck and quickly did some mental calculations. He’d have to stop in an hour, but he wanted to get away from the interstate before he did. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and sat taller in his seat, adjusting himself as he’d done frequently since he had hastily loaded the kids back into his truck along with a dozen duffle bags stored in his pantry closet.
He stared down at the text message he’d received for what was probably the fortieth time since it came through right before he turned in several hours ago. The words were simple but meant so much.
Time to come home. H.
The decision to leave Atlanta behind was not difficult. His original choice to run away from Philadelphia was, on the surface, for the good of his children, but in reality was for Will to keep his own feeling of self-worth. He was a good man, a loving father, and, he thought, a considerate husband. Every aspect of his life was under attack and he simply needed to escape. Atlanta was the solution, and it served its purpose, until tonight. Now he’d been summoned home.
He’d resisted the urge to turn on the satellite radio and pick up the news from the cable news networks. The kids were confused enough already, but they were too tired to protest when he woke them after they’d been asleep for less than an hour.
Will glanced into the rearview mirror and saw each of them leaning against opposite sides of the truck, propped against pillows and covered with the comforters off their beds. To be sure, they were zonked out, but Will didn’t want them to hear what was going on around them.
Hungry for information, he scrolled through his Google news feed and frequently monitored the online news sources he frequented. The events of the evening astonished him, but in a way, he’d expected them to occur at some point.
It was a matter of time.
Will drove for another hour and stopped for fuel. The sun was just beginning to rise, and he picked up two large cups of black coffee as well as some breakfast sandwiches and orange juice for all of them. It wasn’t until he fired up his diesel Chevy Silverado that Ethan stirred in the back seat.
“Where are we?” he asked sleepily as he sat up in the back seat. He glanced toward the convenience store. “Hey, I really need to pee.”
Will thought about the television playing inside and the chatter among the attendant and some of the locals. “Um, it’s out of order. We have to rough it.”
He pulled around the side of the station and allowed Ethan to jump out to relieve himself. Will checked on Skylar, who was still asleep. A moment later, Ethan piled back into the truck. Will offered him a sandwich and Ethan declined, opting instead to sleep some more.
That was fine by Will. It was not the time for explanations.
He drove another hour and a half along Old Highway 64, running
parallel to the South Mountains of North Carolina, until he picked up Interstate 40. A light dusting of snow had fallen New Year’s Eve, but the roads remained clear. As the sun was shining brightly, Will smiled as he admired the North Carolina landscape. It was incredibly beautiful, especially under the circumstances.
He pulled off the interstate and made his way along narrow, two-lane country roads toward his destination. The kids had awakened, and after a brief pit stop for Skylar, during which she thoroughly enjoyed making yellow snow, they arrived at the end of their journey.
Will slowed the truck and approached the entrance slowly. Stone and brick columns flanked two wrought-iron steel gates. In the center of the gates, the letter H stood out prominently. Will stopped the truck and lowered the window as two armed men approached.
“Dad, where are we?” asked Ethan.
Will ignored his son for now.
The man dressed in khakis and a black hooded sweatshirt leaned into the window and spoke to Will.
“Welcome home, Delta.”
Chapter 58
Monocacy Farm
South of Frederick, Maryland
New Year’s Eve
Once again, they convened. They’d come from Langley and Fort Meade, Washington and Arlington. They weren’t politicians or elected officials. They were spooks, spies, and soldiers. Government officials and bureaucrats—accountable to no one but themselves.
As before, their host greeted them at the front door, braving the cold wind, which swept across the snow-covered grounds, land that had witnessed one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War—the Battle of Monocacy. As he waited for his compatriots to arrive, he recalled the history of Monocacy Farm.
In 1864, with General Robert E. Lee’s army under siege at Petersburg, Virginia, to the south, Confederate forces led by General Jubal Early conducted raids into Frederick, Maryland and the Monocacy River area. The forces of Union General Lew Wallace were overwhelmed by the Confederates and beat a hasty retreat to Baltimore.
Emboldened by their successes, General Early rallied his troops and advanced to the outskirts of Washington, a surprise move that threatened to end the war with a decisive victory by the South.
Fortunately for the Union, General Wallace was able to delay the Confederate’s advance long enough to allow General Ulysses S. Grant to send a portion of his Sixth Corps to defend Washington. The veteran soldiers, rested and more capable than the tired Confederates, successfully repelled the advance and saved Washington from the clutches of the Southerners. From that point forward, the Battle of Monocacy became known as the Battle that Saved Washington.
Now there was a different battle occurring in Washington. One that involved high stakes for both sides and threatened to tear the nation apart much like it did in the 1860s. The men and women arriving at Monocacy Farm on New Year’s Eve were very much aware of the consequences of the fuse that had been lit. But they considered it necessary to save a nation they believed was founded on their ideals and principles.
As the evening wore on, they weren’t celebrating, although they were sharing a traditional glass of champagne. As the clock ticked closer to midnight and the new year was upon them, solemn demeanors filled the grand ballroom.
Conversations were had in the simplest terms, and some were more philosophical.
“Newton’s Law of Motion posited that all forces occur in pairs such that if one object exerts a force on another object, then the second object exerts an equal and opposite reactive force on the first.” One young man with a British accent could be heard speaking above the others.
An older woman responded, summarizing the theory, “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.”
“Exactly,” replied the Brit. “That is why this evening’s events will be met with resistance, but not necessarily from Washington’s reaction. There will necessarily be a force that rises in opposition to us, one that is formidable in ideology, if not will.”
Their host interrupted the conversation and now had the attention of everyone in the room. A hush came over the gathering as he spoke. A ray of daylight began to peek through the heavy velour drapes.
Comfortable with his command over his peers, he raised his voice so all could hear him. “The dawn of a New Year has arrived; let me be the first to propose a toast. As our friend just said, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. That’s to be expected. Well, the same theory applies to the concept of luck.
“One man’s luck is often generated by another man’s misfortunes. I, for one, believe that we can make our own luck. It will be necessary to achieve our goals as laid out in our carefully crafted plans.
“With this New Year’s toast, I urge all of you to trust the plan. Know that a storm is coming. It will be a storm upon which the blood of patriots and tyrants will spill.”
He raised his champagne glass into the air, and everyone in the room followed suit.
“Godspeed, Patriots!”
And so it began …
THANK YOU FOR READING DOOMSDAY: APOCALYPSE!
If you enjoyed it, I’d be grateful if you’d take a moment to write a short review (just a few words are needed) and post it on Amazon. Amazon uses complicated algorithms to determine what books are recommended to readers. Sales are, of course, a factor, but so are the quantities of reviews my books get. By taking a few seconds to leave a review, you help me out and also help new readers learn about my work.
And before you go …
SIGN UP for Bobby Akart’s mailing list to receive special offers, bonus content, and you’ll be the first to receive news about new releases in the Doomsday series.
VISIT Amazon.com/BobbyAkart for more information on the Doomsday series, the Yellowstone series, the Lone Star series, the Pandemic series, the Blackout series, the Boston Brahmin series and the Prepping for Tomorrow series totaling thirty-plus novels, including over twenty Amazon #1 Bestsellers in forty-plus fiction and nonfiction genres. Visit Bobby Akart’s website for informative blog entries on preparedness, writing, and a behind-the-scenes look into his novels.
www.BobbyAkart.com
READ ON FOR AN EXCERPT from DOOMSDAY: HAVEN, the next installment in the Doomsday series.
Excerpt from
DOOMSDAY: HAVEN
Prologue
October 2018
Orlando, Florida
Ryan Smart crouched down next to his bed and listened. At night, in the darkness, his home was eerily quiet, but he sensed a presence in the living room. He turned to the two sets of eyes that he could barely make out in the ambient light. They eagerly awaited his instructions.
He put his arms on their shoulders and whispered. “Girls, we have to make a break for the front door. You have to run as fast as you can to keep up with your daddy. Can you do that?”
Unable to fully comprehend the situation, they didn’t respond but Ryan sensed they would follow his lead. He slowly rose up from his crouch and steadied his nerves.
“Run, girls! Run!”
He bolted out of the bedroom and raced down the long hallway toward the front door. Behind him, the sounds of the girls’ feet digging at the floor in an effort to keep up grabbed the attention of the figure lurking in the dark.
“Hey!” the voice shouted as Ryan raced by.
Now the girls had a new sense of urgency as they ran to keep up. His oldest twin, by all of a minute, was quickly by his side while his other girl, who was slightly overweight, lagged behind like the chubby kid in the horror flicks who always got caught by the ghoul or the demon.
“This way girls!”
Ryan rounded the banister of the stairwell and darted into the library with his girls hot on his heels. They circled the antler chandelier that hung from the ceiling, its candelabra bulbs dimmed to a low, orangish glow.
The trio had eluded the ghostly aberration that had appeared out of nowhere, and now they had run full circle through the house until they reached the family room.
That’s w
hen Ryan collided head-on with the dark figure dressed in a black cloak and a matching, pointed hat.
The Blair Witch.
“Gotcha!” she exclaimed, the word coming out with a gravelly, evil hiss.
Ryan tried to dodge the witch and rolled over the back of the L-shaped sectional sofa until he was tangled up with half a dozen pillows. Within seconds, the girls leapt on top of his back, doing a victory dance as they panted for air.
“Hide girls! She’ll put us in her cauldron and boil us for supper!”
“I’ve got you now, my pretties!” The Blair Witch swung her cape and cackled.
Blair Smart, his wife, dressed as a ghoulish witch, circled the end of the sectional and piled on Ryan, too. The Smart family, Ryan, Blair and their two English Bulldogs, Chubby and The Roo, had become a tangled pile of people and pup.
“Get off me, you monsters!”
The Roo barked several times and then smothered her daddy with wet, sloppy bulldog kisses. Chubby, whose name was appropriately bestowed upon her from the day she was born, was the first to leave the scrum and plop on the cold tile floor of the kitchen, panting for air.
“Ouch!” exclaimed Ryan as he rolled over in pain. The Roo had spun around and pushed off his nether regions in order to join her sister on the floor. Using his best English accent, he complained, “You guys gotta stop crackin’ me clackers. I might need them someday.”
Blair swatted at him and kissed him on the cheek. “No, sir. You won’t.”
Ryan pushed himself up on the sofa and pulled the witch close to him. “Hey, baby. You wanna get ghoulish with me?”
“You’re weird,” she replied with a laugh. “No, we need to feed the girls. The cats are probably staring in the windows looking for yummies. And I have no idea what we’re gonna eat for dinner.”
Ryan pouted and held her hand as she rose to go into the kitchen. He stretched behind the sofa and reached for the remote to turn on the television. Orlando’s local news channel filled the screen and he turned down the volume.