Raging Inferno: A Post-Apocalyptic/Dystopian Adventure (Children of the Elements Book 3)

by Alexa Dare

  Her upper body jerked. She toppled on to her side. Hand sliding across her abdomen, she reached along the floor, until her arm extended. As if her lower arm weighed twenty pounds, she lifted and swung her fist at her upper left chest.

  The hit seemed to even out the erratic pace of her heart.

  Two handedly, she punched her ribcage, beating, until she was finally able to inhale, and her arms lay weak and trembling. Once on her belly, she used her forearm and elbows to drag herself toward a wall to edge around to the door.

  From the hallway, a light shone and Vincent called out, “Nora? Mother?”

  “Here.” She shoved on to all fours.

  At the doorway, Vincent held a lantern.

  Using the doorframe, she tugged upright.

  “What occurred?” In the light’s glow, his pale face set ghostly. “Are you well?”

  “Yes. I suspect some sort of EMF blast. In any case, we need to find the children.”

  “But the powers of the Children of the Elements are no more. As of present, I can draw anything I want and nothing bad shall happen.”

  “What are you talking about?” Nora rose to her knees.

  With a quick grab, Vincent lifted her arm and placed her bare palm against his cheek. “See.”

  Swaying, she winced, pulled away, yet her child, unharmed by touching her, moved with her, bringing the warmth of his caress.

  Hand unsteady and eyes tearing, she stared at the blur that was her son and cupped his hand with hers. Head tilted and palm pressed, she hugged her son’s hand.

  Nora closed her eyes, and tears spilled. “Oh, Vincent. I’ve waited so long to be able to touch you.”

  For the first time, since just after he was an infant, all baby-powdered and wrapped in soured formula scent, when she had no grasp of her power and had come dangerously close to killing her baby, Nora enfolded the sixteen-year-old in her arms. Her tears soaked the spikes of his hair. “My son. My precious baby boy.”

  Nora shifted to touch his blond hair, his face, to feel the warm slick of his tears on the tips of her fingers.

  “Don’t be afraid. All will return to normal soon,” Nora, her voice tight, said. “I’m so grateful for this time.”

  Vincent pulled back. “What do you mean?”

  “In due time, our brainwaves should return to their usual levels, but I am so honored to have been able to hold you. Vinny, you are so precious to me.”

  “Is this what a normal teen might feel? Are you saying our current state will not last?”

  “Probably not, but we’re so blessed to have had this moment.”

  Vincent, in need of a shower and a soapy scrubbing, slumped. The harsh hacks of his sobs wrung her heart.

  “I know you’re overcome. We have to move quickly.” Nora held him by his upper arms. So proud, she stepped back to admire his face. “We will use the locals and the militia to blockade the region, to keep the rest of mankind out.”

  Vincent back stepped. “You may not be able to kill with your touch any longer, but you have not changed. You never will.” He spun around and ran. The sound of his tennis shoe soles slapped into the distance and faded.

  “Vincent. Where are you going? Wait!”

  “Help us, please. Who’s there? We’re trapped. What’s going on?” Voices from down the hallway yelled.

  In the light of Vincent’s forgotten lantern, she stepped over fallen zombie corpses. Using the wall until her partial upright state brought on a bout of dizziness so severe she sat with a thump on floor.

  “Whoever you are, please help us,” shouted a man.

  “They’ve been feeding us to those…those monsters.” A woman cried in hacking sobs. “Please.”

  “I’m injured, but on my way.” Nora leaned back and rested to catch her breath and get her thoughts in line.

  Given time, Vincent would return to his splendid self.

  When he did, he would take his rightful place at her side to mass the children into a ruthless force to carve the local region into their own private refuge. With the military and other outside meddling out of the way, they could live their lives free making the best of and basking in the power forced upon them.

  After all they suffered, did they not deserve to live carefree? Their powers combined, there was no stopping the spread of simple living within the area. Although, sadly, to reach her goals, she needed help from other less suitable minions, but a girl made do.

  Nora lifted the kerosene lantern. In unsteady steps, she headed for the voices.

  “Nora, you found us.” The stocky woman from the militia clasped at the sliding door’s edge. Through a slit of an opening, the woman peered out. “He’s been taking us out one at a time. One by one, using us as zombie fodder. They’re dead for real, right?”

  “They seem to be,” Nora said, “yes.”

  Below them, a shift deep inside the earth creaked as if sighing. In groans, the tunnel floor pitched and dipped.

  “Not much time. Even if the tremors are only aftershocks we can’t stay in the caves” Stance set wide, Nora rode the dips and waves. “If the seal on the fault line has failed…”

  Gravel and silt rained down from the ceiling.

  A dozen hands, then a half dozen more, gripped the edge of the door. With mighty grunts, they pulled, then pushed, the sliding panel open.

  With groans of rocks and rumbling all around them, another stronger quake shook Briar Patch. Rocks fell onto the concrete. The stones hit in quick, sharp smacks. A tiny flint of rock shot out.

  Nora jerked to the side, yet the stone sliced her cheek.

  “We’ll get you out safe,” yelled Ponytail.

  Before Nora could swipe away the blood, two or three of them that wore gloves grabbed her. With quick steps, they dragged her along the hallway. As the ground shook, they charged, crawled, and fought their way out of the ruins.

  Mere minutes, passing like hours, later, and Nora climbed out of a passage to the surface.

  With the group, she stood in a changed world.

  As if the earth belched, decomp fumed from the tunnel behind them into the smoke-heavy day.

  Above, coal-black, solidly packed clouds slicked the sky to the horizons. The clouds rolled in place. Among the black, orange sparks dotted the thick layers that never seemed to end their upward reach.

  “Glory,” a camo draped fellow said. “What is it?”

  Over the town, narrow clusters of the orange bursts blinked in a sky darker than any night.

  “Like no storm I’ve ever seen.” In the dimness that should have been a bright day, the big-boned woman’s tail of her tied up hair swayed as she shook her head.

  “End of times is upon us,” an older man fell to his knees.

  Right below the skyline, white zagging bolts zapped upward into the clouds.

  “Geomagnetic storm.” Oh, yes, such tremendous power. Nora swept her hand skyward. “Fellow survivors, you bear witness to the end of the world as we have known it.”

  The group of three dozen or so gazed, mouths open, at the sky. With their simple vacant faces, they sought someone to lead them.

  Just as she and her son were destined to do.

  A breeze built to a frenzy around them, and the earth rumbled beneath her feet.

  Nora raised both of her arms higher to greet the new regime.

  A home base was needed. Some place with elevation where they might set up camp. A solid place, above the flood- and fire-line. Nora’s gaze sought out nearby peaks before settling on Rocky Top.

  A smile, as genuine and as sweet as Mama’s peach preserves, eased along her lips. “As one, we shall prevail.”

  Chapter 23

  Sometime during the afternoon, a gasping whoop of an inhale brought Brody awake.

  Right above where he lay, black clouds cloaked the blue sky like a black velvet cape.

  Sucking smoke-tinged, ash-gritty breaths, he grinned. Yeah, he had a way with words all right. If he boosted the battery life in a foraged laptop, he’d wr
ite a book. Nah, not a stand-alone book. A series about the special Children of the Elements.

  Above the roof, orange globes pulsed in an inky black cloud cover.

  Rad, but odd.

  He poked his upper left ribcage. A likely heart attack, yet his pulse beat as if extra healthy.

  On his back, he lay on a rooftop.

  What was going on?

  Oh, heck.

  The blast…

  He shoved ashy, acrid dust from his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Abe, man?”

  Rotten decomp stink burned his nose.

  His belly lurched, and he turned his head to the side.

  The unmoving rotting body of a uniformed man, a rent-a-cop or security guard, lay a few feet away. Dressed all in browns and flesh turned a bluish gray, the man stared with white-filed eyes to the side.

  A freaking zombie, up close and personal.

  Brody sat up. Dizzy pulses of light swooped behind his eyes. Gasping , he inhaled shallow breaths.

  Dead body odor was the worse.

  How had Cantrell survived such horrors of war?

  Cantrell.

  The last time he’d seen his brother was at the Inn.

  Nah, he dreamed of Cantrell then.

  Rolling over, Brody dragged his kitten-weak legs beneath him. Using a railing, he swayed to his knees. Once on his feet, he lifted his awed gaze to the ominous sky.

  Abe’s extra power surge sent the magnetic levels off the charts.

  The strange storm was the result.

  Where as in time, modern devices might recover from an EMP, an endless magnetic storm foiled any chance of recovery. No more internet. No gadgets or whiz-bang devices. Smarter than smart phones would remain forever silent under the storm.

  If Brody wanted to write, he’d have to do so with pencil or pen and paper. “By flipping candle light.”

  Obscure clouds spread to the horizons and beyond, with no end of a break in the storm in sight. Near the rocky ledge of the overlook, a shape lay on the ledge.

  Wrapped in shadows upon shadows, the lump didn’t move.

  “Abe, man, is that you?” Brody called out, “Are you hurt?”

  The form didn’t move.

  Another re-dead guy, like the guard?

  He peered into the strange darkness.

  The flashes put off a dulled red glow, making it almost dusk out because of the thick cloud cover.

  “Where’s a light when you need one.” He felt along his brow. The headlamp banded his head. He clicked the button. Off, on. Nothing.

  Right.

  The magnetic shift would have taken out all battery and electric power.

  For how long?

  With the level of EMP Abe sent out, no telling.

  Not with a storm like this one raging.

  Brody found an access ladder attached to the building’s side. As he climbed down, he never took his eye off the lump. “I should have made things clearer to Abe, about how the blast needed to work. Just because I see it in my head, doesn’t mean other people get what I’m thinking.”

  A low roll of thunder boomed so long and deep that the sound vibrated Brody’s molars.

  Abe meant well, he had only been trying to help.

  What a flipping mess.

  On the ground, Brody edged toward the shape.

  A body, too broad to be Abe lay face down.

  Decomp fumes filled the cliff side area.

  “Another dead repeat.” He turned away.

  Wait.

  His steps faltered. Where the dead guy's legs should have been, strings of muscle and sinewy trailed.

  “No. Can’t be.”

  His brother’s body had floated away in the river, and the visit in his bedroom at the Inn had been an outright creepy dream.

  Two more steps and his feet stopped as if stuck in mud bog.

  His panting joined the slapping rush of the breeze.

  Legs weighed down with terror , he returned to stand over the stinking body.

  The digital camo, though gore smeared, of the man’s clothes, were actual military issue, brought clarity and horror.

  “Not a chance.”

  The deep orange glow of the blips showed close-shaved reddish hair, but after the guy having walked dead all this time, Brody couldn’t tell.

  “Aw, shoot.” He rushed forward, scooped his hands beneath the dead man’s shoulder, and rolled him over.

  The dim daylight illuminated the slack grayish features of his long dead brother. Cantrell’s open-eyed, white-slicked, glazed gaze set in an eternal stare.

  “Oh, man.”

  Was not for real. Not going down. Freaking Chaos.

  Did a part in Brody’s mind just stretch too tight?

  With a shake of his head, gentle-like, Brody poked the body with the toe of his boot to confirm that his undead brother was dead. Again.

  When his zombie-brother didn’t respond, Brody knelt.

  The stink and nasty state of the carcass didn’t matter.

  “Cantrell. I did this to you.” He patted the chest of the camo jacket. “I’m sorry man. So, so sorry.” Tears, hot and scalding, plopped on his brother’s chest. “Were they only magic tears to bring you back to life.”

  He gulped the sob shoving from his throat. An empty place, worse than any injury, lodged in his heart. “Please know when you went over the deep end. I didn’t have a choice.”

  He hung his head, then he lifted his face to the oil slick of a sky. In long yells, he let out his grief until the wind carried away his roars of agony. Chest burning, he cupped his hands before his mouth. “Abe?”

  His voice echoed toward town.

  “Where are you?” he called out toward the building.

  Only the low roar of thunder rolled above and the treetops slashing in the rising wind.

  Heavy hearted, he dragged what was left of his brother across the parking lot to a copse of pines. “May you find the peace in death you never found in life, bro.”

  Way into the morning, he carried fist-sized rock after rock until a mound of stone covered and guarded his brother’s corpse. “Wish you were here, alive and well, man.”

  Pure white lightning bolts zapped sideways within the clouds.

  “The world will never be the same, so, yeah, I want you with me, but I’m glad you’re not. Rest in peace.” A shift along the back of his neck raised hairs on his nape.

  Things not there, or—

  The bland ashy taste slashed sharp like a blade.

  He hefted a rock and spun.

  “Such a sincere goodbye.” Nora stood, leaning on a cut sapling for a staff, with dozens of local men and women behind her.

  “Sorry for your loss, kid,” a tall, stocky woman said, “but we’re taking over your hidey-hole.”

  At his side, Brody gripped the rock tight.

  “Are you here alone?” Nora, dressed in dirty military garb, asked. An inch-long cut on her face drew, like a claw mark, raw and bloody along her cheek.

  “Just a rotting and reeking dead staff guy on the roof and me.” Brody hitched a thumb toward the pile of rocks. “And, uh, him.”

  “We’ll clear the place,” said a bearded dude.

  “Brody and I will visit a bit.” Nora no longer wore gloves. The tips of her hair, pulled high atop her head, wagged in the breeze. “You caused this?”

  Brody regarded her with what he hoped looked more of a sidelong teen’s gaze, rather than a gonna-wet-his-pants glare.

  “I’ll examine your device and figure it out myself.” Nora tilted her chin aside and up, like a preening blue jay. “Should you choose to share, you will save us both time and effort.”

  “I set up for an EMP blast, but things went wrong.” Brody lifted and dropped a shoulder.”

  “Wrong? No, the creation of a magnetic storm is superb. I applaud your efforts.”

  “Nothing good can come of this. No contact with the outside. No cars. This could affect people mentally, alter DNA, cause birth defects. No electronics
or computers. How is there anything positive about this?” Brody dropped his shoulders and hung his head over the crude grave.

  “While I realize you have worked yourself out of a job,” she said, “You’ll find your place in a simpler world.”

  “Doing what?”

  “First you will assist me in finding the children.” Nora sidled near the pile of rocks.

  In short steps, he angled in front of her to shield his brother’s resting place. His nails ached from his grip on the stone. “A repeat of bad doings. You’re like a snapping turtle in a thunderstorm. You can’t let it go, can you?”

  “Secondly, you are going to help them regain their abilities.”

  “What are you talking about? With the magnetic storm, the effects might magnify to epic, out-of-control levels. They were close to that already.”

  A noise, sweet and melodic, lifted through the trees.

  The one and only time he had peace in all this mess was when he listened to Irene.

  “What the heck?” The blond woman, leading with her chin, crouched and turned in search of the noise. “Somebody’s singing.”

  “I’ll scout.” One of the men raced across the rocks as if the slope were a running track.

  What was Irene up to?

  Brody placed his legs in a push-off stance and prepared to book. His heart raced—no great pain—and an eager thrill filled his chest.

  The song, filled with sad drawn out tones and a tale of long-lost love, rose to the swell of the clouds and back in a sweet surge. The echo of Irene’s singing traveled from hill to hill and through valley below.

  A vision of a buffet spread out on a long banquet table wavered right before the trees. Not real. Yet the apples and oranges piled high in a shiny metal fruit bowl shone bright polished red and orange even in the day-gone-to-night dimness. Roasted chicken. Brown Gravy. Yeast rolls.

  Brody swiped at the chilling drool on his chin.

  In a frantic rush, a chalk-faced scout returned. “A mob of stoners, with some woman singing, headed this way.”

  “Stoners?” asked Brody.

  “Get inside,” Nora ordered. “Ready your weapons.”

  “The singing woman has bright red hair.” Tears shone on the man’s ruddy cheeks. “Most beauteous sound I’ve ever heard.”

  “What about the children?” Nora asked.