Endless Night: Book 4 of the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (The Long Fall - Book 4)

by Logan Keys

  Colton caught up to the dog, and Rex paused here and there to give him a chance to keep pace, sometimes running frantic circles around him as if to say, Hurry! This way! Colton ran as fast as he could, feeling like he was in a dream. That this couldn’t actually be happening. A madman had not taken his friend, and he was not rushing to save her from a crazy prisoner loose while Armageddon was occurring all around them. It seemed impossible… but it was happening. And like with a dream, he felt as if he was running in place. Like his legs were stuck in molasses and he just knew he’d be too late.

  Rex got more excited, putting his nose to the dirt before barking, and they started in that direction. “The highway,” Colton huffed when he saw headlights in the distance. “Oh, please, still be there.”

  Lanes going in this direction towards the city were bare, but occasionally a car passed in the opposite direction, leaving. The headlights showed his worst fear as they ran closer. No one was there. It was nothing but a dirt-filled field.

  Rex walked over to a spot and sat down. Colton caught up, having to brace on his knees to catch his breath. He then went over to where the dog was, and he saw that Rex wasn’t moving from a specific spot. This had to have been where she was last standing. And a car must have come… Rick had probably hijacked a ride. Colton ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Damn,” he shouted, spinning around to make sure they were alone. “That son of a bitch!”

  Rex whined, and Colton leaned down. “Not you. Good boy,” he said giving the dog some jerky and checking his wounds. “I promise you right now, Rex, when I find Rick, I’m gonna kill him.”

  He started walking in the direction he hoped that Rick and Brittany had gone. “If I was a psycho where would I go? I think Chicago is a good place to start. He was headed there. Or so he said. It’s not far, right boy?” Colton sighed, trying to avoid dark thoughts about what might be happening to Brittany at this moment. If he thought about it too long, he might be overcome and break down.

  He looked in the direction of Chicago. It was going to be a long walk. Colton forced down the growing fear that he was going to be too late and started up the road. Whenever a car passed by, he put out a thumb, guessing it couldn’t hurt. Even knowing that most likely, no one would be picking up hitchhikers like him with what was going on. He would be leery of any strangers too, but then again they’d let Rick in, hadn’t they?

  He was about to give up on that idea, when, as if by magic, a truck pulled over to the side of the road. “You okay, son?” a man with a thick handlebar mustache asked from inside the older dually. It was a beat up truck that had obviously been used for hard labor. Colton stared at him without answering, too stunned to remember that he was supposed to speak. “Do you need a ride?”

  “Uh, yes sir,” Colton said, finally finding his voice.

  “Gun in the back, if you don’t mind,” the man said like it was totally normal to come across someone late at night with a rifle.

  Colton climbed into the passenger seat and the man looked at him expectantly. “That your dog?”

  Colton twisted around to see Rex had come over and was on his hind legs, face peering into the window, puffing fog onto the glass.

  “Oh! Yes, sir.” Colton got out. “Come here, Rex.” He’d almost forgotten the poor pooch because he was so surprised someone had stopped.

  “In the front or back?” Colton asked.

  “Too cold back there.” The man patted the seat between them and Rex happily leapt inside. “You headed to Chicago?”

  “Yes sir, I am.”

  “I’m headed there now. Name’s Rufus.” He shook Colton’s hand, before pulling back onto the highway. “You two look like you’ve had it rough.”

  “Very,” Colton answered. “We were lucky you came by. I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth, but do you mind me asking why you did stop?”

  Rufus shrugged. “Figured you were military. You hold your gun like you’re on a march. That type of walking isn’t for a civilian.”

  “You served?”

  Rufus lifted his sleeve to show a tattoo with two guns crossed over a flag. “Been retired thirty years now. But…” he winked. “I still walk just like you do. Can’t change a man who’s been trained to ruck twenty miles with a heavy pack.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your dog okay? I see he’s got something that looks like blood on his coat.”

  “I think so.” Colton checked him out again, but Rex was a tough one. He was all scuffed up but still working. Colton sighed and petted his head.

  “Someone do that to him?”

  Colton nodded. “Yeah. That’s who I’m lookin’ for.”

  “I see. Well. When you find him. You make sure you do what you’re trained to do, son.”

  Colton gritted his jaw. “Sir, yes, sir.”

  Chapter Five

  Wellington, New Zealand

  Holtz approached Luckman carefully. Luckman thought it was extremely interesting to watch German’s interaction with the other scientist. And if German only knew that Holtz had revealed his true colors when the ship had gone down, stealing Luckman’s life preserver, he wondered if German would be as forgiving as he automatically was.

  He noticed that about himself, but he never paid it much attention. Luckman could be a pushover and that just wouldn’t do at times like these. But then again, so what if he wasn’t a big tough guy with swagger? He’d survived right? He’d still managed to help other people. And when the going got tough, he didn’t steal someone else’s life jacket.

  “Holtz, German. German, Holtz.” Holtz nodded but skirted a hand shake. “Whew,” he said nervously. “It almost got us.”

  German rocked back on his heels with squinted eyes as Holtz began to yammer on about how they were almost goners. “Hey, look man, no hard feelings, right?” Holtz said to Luckman, rubbing the back of his head.

  Luckman gave a noncommittal shrug and Holtz rushed on. “They’re bringing us to Wellington. It’s warmer on that side of the channel. What do you think, Luckman?” His gazed turned serious. “Is it gonna stay banked out here or follow us to land?”

  “I’m not sure,” Luckman said. “But being on solid ground sounds good to me.”

  German agreed, “I’d like to get off the boat myself.”

  Luckman nodded. “They’ll probably stay in port until they can get in touch with the Ocean Giant. I’m not sure what my next move will be, but I really don’t want to have to take a ship anywhere ever again.”

  “You’re in luck. They have an airport.”

  Luckman’s throat tightened at the thought of flying, but it made sense to do that. If they were letting flights out, that is.

  Holtz reminded Luckman, “My friend will put us up. It’s Thanksgiving what, tomorrow? Hey,” he said to a midshipman. “What day is it?”

  “Uh, it’s Wednesday, sir.”

  “So, tomorrow,” Holtz said to them with a greasy smile.

  German frowned. “They don’t celebrate that holiday here.”

  Holtz waved that away and German’s eyes followed the hand with a tick at his jaw. “My friend’s an expat. He’ll have something, even with this mess. I know how he rolls. Good food. Even better beer. What do you say?”

  Luckman and German shared a look and German said, “Will your friend have something to drink besides beer?”

  Hotlz grinned, no doubt happy Luckman was not going to call him out for his actions before. “Anything you want.”

  **

  When they arrived at Wellington, on the other side of the channel, the weather was slightly warmer. There was snow, and it was still cold, but it wasn’t deadly. Luckman glanced back, he couldn’t even see the fog anymore, but he knew it was out there…waiting. The water could only slow down the killing cold…but for how long?

  Family and friends arrived at the docks to find out who was among the survivors. Many held up recent photos and shouted the names of loved ones repeatedly until most succumbed to fearful wails as the last
passengers exited. When the final few disembarked with Luckman and German, they shared a sad glance to hear the terrible sounds of anguish from the people who’d waited in vain.

  An official-looking man stood nearby, and Luckman asked him, “Have you heard anything from the other side of the channel? Did anyone else make it?” Luckman was thinking of the woman police officer.

  The man shook his head with sad eyes. “Not a thing.”

  So that whole side of the island was just gone? Luckman slanted a look at German; he knew that they would be chased by the killing cold across the world, it seemed. He was glad, if he had to keep on going right ahead of it, that German was with him again. The two men followed as Holtz lead the way, and Holtz yammered on about New Zealand, and how it was built on active volcanoes, but Luckman was deep in thought. “What’s in your head?” German asked between Holtz’s breaths.

  Luckman shrugged. “I think that the two poles likely are converging from bottom up and top down. To meet in the middle and…”

  “That would be bad,” German finished.

  “Yeah.”

  When Holtz stepped ahead to hire a van to drive them to his friend’s house, German muttered under his breath, “How about we don’t think on that, and eat all this schlub’s turkey, eh? Is that a word? Schlub.”

  Luckman smiled. “Yes. Quite accurate.”

  “It’s fitting, eh?”

  Luckman snorted and then cut himself off as Holtz came over to get them. He’d managed to get them a ride, even though the man behind the wheel looked spooked. The driver was obviously terrified the freeze was going to find its way to this side of the water, and probably questioned why money mattered—why his job mattered anymore.

  Holtz kept giving him wads of cash anyway and that calmed him enough to drive through the throng of people who seemed lost in the snow outside. The port was dusted in white, and as they drove up the hill, thicker drifts filled each side of the street. They could still see the ocean from the higher place. The capped waves looked angry. Crazy weather patterns made for giant swells that rushed towards the docks in sets, and the wind, too, had picked up.

  The houses weren’t unfamiliar, but they sat neatly punched into the side of the slope. A trick the states would never have been able to perform without mud sliding entire rows to their destruction. Snow decorated the walkways making everything look clean, but there wasn’t any ice just yet. Luckman imagined this was all still strange to the New Zealanders, because they’d said this part was near tropical in its temperatures and of course, the fact that this was summer probably felt completely off to the locals. To Luckman, he almost felt warm for the first time in so long.

  A man came outside one of the homes to greet them. He was tucked inside a big jacket but was also wearing shorts with house shoes. He grinned, waving, before he rubbed his hands together. When Luckman exited the van, the man shook his hand eagerly. “I’m Greg,” he said and Holtz and him jokingly sparred, sharing fake punches. “Come on with me,” Greg said to Luckman and German. “I know you must be freezing.”

  Luckman had spent time trying to get completely warm and his temperature was still all over the place. The ship’s doctor had warned him to stay as bundled up as possible. His ability to control his temp was out of whack, which happened sometimes, when someone was nearly frozen to death several times. But here, it was already a higher temperature than anywhere he’d been in the last year. Holtz, too, remained a tint of pale blue since the incident. It was like the cold had changed them from the inside out. Maybe once touched by it you’d never be the same.

  They followed Greg and Holtz inside. Greg was a bachelor, that was obvious. He lived in a house that was furnished to show it in every way. Surprisingly, he had guests. Three women sat on his couch with serious expressions. Holtz, Luckman, and German were introduced to them and he was also surprised to find that they were American. They appeared somber, no doubt hearing about the earthquakes in the states, Luckman guessed. Holtz opened his mouth and Luckman thought he was about to ask just that question, but instead, he asked where the restroom was and took off.

  “How is it back home?” Luckman asked when the four people turned to quietly stare at each other and the floor.

  “Terrible.”

  “It just keeps getting worse.”

  The third woman laughed a sad sound. “Sorry. We tend to talk over one another.”

  “Sisters?” German asked.

  “Yes,” the one named Terry answered. The other two Luckman mixed up already as Jean and Danielle.

  That question got them talking. About home and their families. How they wish they’d never come to visit Greg, their brother. Not that visiting him was bad, they’d assured Luckman and German when Greg had scoffed, but two of the women had families who they couldn’t get ahold of now. They hoped to get a flight out right after eating Thanksgiving dinner. Apparently the one young woman had a private jet that they would be taking to California as soon as the weather permitted.

  German and Luckman raised eyebrows at one another.

  “You guys trying to get back to the states,” Greg asked.

  “Yes,” Luckman answered. “But uh…do you know if the airport is running?”

  Greg shook his head. “No. It’s not. And flying out of here is almost impossible without connections. Isn’t that right, Terry?”

  She smiled a thin smile. “My husband, you see…”

  Luckman understood what she was saying. She must have been someone important. He couldn’t place her, but then again, how long had it been since he’d even been in America?

  Greg handed him and German a beer and the big Russian stifled a sigh and thanked him. He drank it but had a bitter beer face afterwards that made Luckman bite back a smile. Luckman took his drink eagerly. It was smooth and foreign, he loved that type.

  Jean or Danielle gave a too happy grin at Luckman. “Do you guys want a seat?”

  Luckman choked on a sip. Wiped his mouth as German slammed his back until he rolled his eyes and said, “I’m good. Thanks.” He nodded at the woman. “Yes, we would very much like a seat.”

  Terry gave her sister a knowing look. “I think that would be all right,” she said with a privileged shrug. As if offering seats on her private jet meant nothing.

  Greg pointed his beer at his sister. “Holtz might want one.”

  Terry rolled her eyes. “Okay. But that’s it. If word gets out, it will be crazy. Keep it corked, Danielle,” she said to the one who’d offered in the first place, and Luckman took her name down in memory this time.

  Danielle was busy looking Luckman up and down with a smile. He guessed she was the one of the three who didn’t have a family back home. She also looked like she was a good time—another time. When she winked at him, Luckman stared at an empty space on the wall just beside her head as if he didn’t notice, out of practice with flirting, and unsure of how his host would take to one of his sisters being hit on by a perfect stranger.

  Luckily Holtz exited the bathroom and made a loud entrance claiming that he couldn’t wait to get some turkey in his belly. That lightened the room up instantly with talk of Thanksgiving dinner. Apparently, they’d all been working on preparations and were eager to share. Greg had been brining a turkey and he said it was more than enough to feed an army, so now it wouldn’t go to waste.

  Lots of side conversations broke out. Mostly the group pretended that America wasn’t on the verge of collapsing in on itself or that half of the New Zealand population hadn’t frozen to death just across the channel. They drank beers until trouble seemed a bit hazy and distant, and even a few laughs could be heard as Greg shared his extensive collection of records. He was a real connoisseur, and Luckman wanted to like the guy no matter the company he kept. They even sang a few songs that seemed to fit, like, “Black bird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly, all your life.”

  German even knew that one and he clinked his beer to Luckman’s afterward. “It’s nice
to be thinking of something else besides saving your ass and ice,” German said.

  “Say that five times fast.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” Luckman nearly spit out his drink while laughing. “And what do you mean saving my ass? This last haul I saved my own bottom, thank you very much. And if they hadn’t blown that horn on the ship, it would be you still out there in the fog.”

  “Yeah.” German’s gaze turned serious, if not a little buzzed. Now the beer had soaked into the Russian like a sponge, and he was wavering on his feet when he said, “It’s like it follows you around though, Lucky. You notice that?”

  German closed one eye to focus, no doubt seeing double.

  “Ah. The superstitious Russian returns!”

  German put the back of three fingers to Luckman’s shoulder, while the other two fingers necked his bottle. “I’m being serious, man. You bring it wherever you go. You have to agree.”

  “Hey,” Luckman said, slowly moving German’s hand away, irritated. “How drunk are you? You’ve had maybe—maybe—six beers. When I arrived on the island, it was already here, remember? The killing cold had already run its course.”

  “That may be, but you have to admit it’s got an uncandy way of keeping right alongside you.” He moved his hand around with a whistle noise. “Just right on your heels.”

  “Uncanny,” Luckman corrected.

  “That’s what I said. Uncandy.”

  “Uncanny.” Luckman chuckled when German gave him a blank stare. “Uncanny,” he tried again putting emphasis on the “n’s”. Still, German blinked at him like a sleepy owl. “I’m trying to stay ahead of it. That’s by design. The plan, remember? That’s all. I don’t bring it, and it doesn’t follow me. It’s just weather okay? We have to stop making it more than that. We’re scientists for crying out loud.”

  “Who is crying?”

  “It’s an expression.”

  “That someone is crying? Stupid expression.” German smiled, and Luckman relaxed, rubbing his forehead, realizing that he’d been had. German poked him in the shoulder. “Fine. And your new friend, Holtz. He has an …uncanny way of avoiding my eye whenever I look at him. What happened there? He as shady as he seems?”