Drought Warning: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (The Damaged Climate Series Book 2)

by J. R. Tate

  Breathing was difficult. He tried not to think about it. It was scary how something a person did every day became something he was struggling with. Pulling his shirt over his mouth didn’t help. His clothes were covered in the red dirt. This was what suffocation felt like. He outran the tornadoes and now he was going to die from lack of oxygen down in a ditch between Harper Springs and Fox Lake. How in the world did people in the dust bowl days deal with this? He had heard that it had happened at least once a day.

  The grit was so thick that it was like someone was rubbing sandpaper on his skin. There was nowhere to go or no way to hide from it. The ditch was the best they could do and it really wasn’t doing much to protect them. He had read about cases of Brown Lung Syndrome where people back in the dust bowl days had acquired horrible respiratory issues from breathing in the polluted air. Would one dust storm do the trick? It certainly wasn’t helping their health.

  His body urged him to take a deep breath and he couldn’t fight it. He inhaled and felt the burn deep in his lungs and immediately sneezed several times. He felt his dad’s body beside him and wondered how he was holding up. No one said anything knowing that if they did, they’d get a mouth full of grit, dirt, and dry air. The air was heavy, feeling like it was lying on top of them. He could hear small granules of the dust hitting their skin. His worry was on his father – he had to find a way to help him. When he tried to move, the wind was strong enough to knock him back, like a vacuum was sucking them up. When he tried to look at his father, the visibility was gone and he couldn’t see anything but red dirt flying all around them.

  The dust wall was so dark that he couldn’t see the sun. All he could see was dark red, almost appearing as dark as night as the brunt of the dirt blew. Pieces of debris flew around them. Looking up, Ryan saw a large piece of metal coming their way and double checked to make sure both his father and Doug were still lying flat. Both men were, and he cringed as it neared them. The wind picked it high enough up that it flew right over them and slammed on the ground after clearing the ditch. Ryan buried his head again. The dirt was thick on his skin and in his mouth and he wondered just how big this particular dirt wall was. There had been ones seen from thirty-thousand feet above on people’s flights – people snapped pictures overhead at the incredible sight. This one seemed to be even bigger and now that he was within it, it didn’t seem so beautiful.

  Gaining up enough courage, he opened his eyes again, finding that the dust was settling. Looking toward the east, the dark wall was moving away from them, devouring the next thing in its path.

  Shaking his hair out, the dust fell over his face. His chest hurt and he coughed, the ache deep within his lungs. Darryl and Doug sat up, everyone covered in the dirt, caking against the mud already on their skin. Darryl wheezed and hacked, but it was unproductive and he was unable to cough anything up. Darryl’s usual dark hair was brown and Ryan imagined his looked exactly the same. Standing, he looked toward the horizon. As expected, the horses were nowhere to be found. There went their quick transportation and he couldn’t help but laugh.

  “What the hell is so funny?” Doug asked.

  “The horses. They’re gone. And I was stupid to think we’d get to Fox Lake this afternoon.” The laugh grew louder though Ryan didn’t find it amusing.

  “I still don’t see what’s so funny.”

  “I’m not laughing because it’s funny, Doug. I’m just...” Ryan stopped himself. “I’m sick of this shit.”

  “How far would you say we are from Fox Lake now?” Darryl asked.

  “Fifteen to twenty miles or so, I guess. But I don’t think it matters.”

  Ryan sat down on the edge of the ditch and wiped some of the dirt off of his face. He glanced at his father from the corner of his eye as he watched the dirt wall continue eastward. With the way the tornadoes had shifted, he wanted to make sure it wasn’t going to swing back and hit them again. It’d take a strong force of nature to change the trajectory of a dust storm but after everything Ryan had witnessed, he wasn’t leaving any possibility out.

  “Why doesn’t it matter?”

  “We get there and find her parents and that’ll be great. But then it’s a sixty-mile trek back to Harper Springs. I don’t think it’s doable. Sixty miles on foot is a challenge in normal conditions with a healthy person.”

  Darryl didn’t respond but his eyes said enough. He coughed again and it was dry, his wheezing sounding worse than just a few minutes ago. “Fox Lake might have a way to get us back. They might have a set up like we do back home. We gotta try.”

  “I know we do,” Ryan replied. “We aren’t quite dry enough to have dust storms like that yet.” He stood again and looked toward the mountains. “It must’ve come off the mountain range to the west and from New Mexico.”

  “I’ve already said this before. What the hell is the point? What the tornadoes didn’t destroy whatever the hell that was will take care of the rest!” Doug threw his hands up in the air and groaned. “I just wish you’d go ahead and...”

  “Shoot you,” Ryan finished his sentence, glaring at him. “I’d love to but we might need to use you for a sacrifice later.” He smirked and patted him on the shoulder, hoping the other man would find some humor in it. Judging by Doug’s confused expression, he either didn’t have a sense of humor or it hadn’t hit him yet.

  Picking up his duffel bag, Ryan looked through it. Thankfully, he had a couple of handguns packed inside it. “We lost the shotgun and one of the guns in the saddlebag of my horse but I still have my nine-millimeter and a Glock. How are your supplies looking?” It was never good to lose a gun but all of the ammunition had been stowed away on his belt and in his duffel.

  “I’m good. No food lost,” Darryl replied.

  “Same here,” Doug said, his tone short and flat.

  Ryan slipped his dusty baseball cap over his sand blown hair. “Good. I guess that’s one thing to be positive about.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Steve ate a package of instant oatmeal and drank about two mugs of instant coffee before heading toward the gin and factory that Cecilia had mentioned. He had inquired about it from other men, and the corn factory was used to make masa for Mexican food. If they could get their hands on some of the supplies there it could be a game changer. Like Cecilia had said, corn could be used in many different things.

  Due to continuing rescue efforts, he couldn’t pull together any of the men on the fire department to help. That was fine – the gin wasn’t too far off and they were able to spare him a horse. Even if he came up short, at least he was out doing something. Sitting around at the shelter was driving him crazy.

  “And my knight in shining armor is riding off into the sunset.” Mindy patted the horse as he loaded up the saddlebags.

  “I won’t be gone long. I’m trying to get some crops going and as you can see, we don’t have much to work with.” Steve spread his arms, motioning to all of the piles of debris and ruins along the street. His face heated up at her knight in shining armor comment and he looked away to try and hide it.

  “Can I come with you?”

  “Really? Why?” He figured she would want to rest.

  “I can’t stand to just sit and twiddle my thumbs. Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who thinks the women should hold down the fort while they go off on wild excursions. It’s the twenty-first century, you know. It feels like we’re in a western movie and you’re going off to fight the Indians.”

  Steve laughed and wiped his hands through his hair. It was already drenched in sweat and moist on his fingertips. “My apologies for treating you like a damsel in distress. Kind of hard not to when you call me your knight in shining armor.” He tried to flirt but he wasn’t good at it. This was the first woman who had given him attention since his divorce.

  “So, can I come?” Mindy’s eyes lit up. “I need to get familiar with the area. I’m not from here and I need to familiarize myself with the area.”

  “You and me both, Mindy
.” Steve slid a package of beef jerky into his bag and glanced back at the rescue squad. He didn’t want to ask for another horse. “You can come as long as you’re okay sharing the horse. There aren’t many to spare.”

  “No problem!”

  Steve helped her up and slid in behind her, taking the reins. His arms brushed hers and he tried to ignore the physical attraction he was feeling. Now wasn’t the time for romance. He felt stupid for even going there when they were in full on survival mode.

  “So, where are we going?”

  “Cecilia Gibson mentioned a cotton gin and corn factory southwest of here. I’m hoping to find some cotton burrs and things to help. We can use cotton for clothing and many different things. And corn – you know, we can make bread, tortillas, and lots of other stuff.”

  “And you know how to do all of that?” Mindy asked.

  “I know how to grow it. That’s going to be the biggest challenge right now. If we can actually grow it, then we’ll figure out the rest. It’ll be hard without actual machines but we gotta start somewhere.”

  Neither of them spoke for a bit and Steve felt Mindy lean back against him. It was sweltering and though he was hot, he wasn’t going to ask her to move. He forgot how much he missed the touch of a woman until then, and though he was sweating, he wasn’t going to make her stop.

  “There’s lots of dust in the air. Can you smell it?” Mindy asked.

  “I can. Not good.”

  “Where I come from, we used to get lots of dust off the mountains. And then, traveling through New Mexico it was pretty common. Looks like we’re headed for a drought. Now I see why you’re in a hurry to get things planted.”

  Steve nodded and noticed some grain silos on the horizon. They weren’t in the best shape from the tornadoes – the metal had been bent up much like how a car got smashed in a train wreck. But there was something and it gave him a little shred of hope. They were still about two miles away but he was relieved to know that they were going in the right direction.

  “I’m no stranger to drought but it still doesn’t make life easy. We’ve got the river and the area lakes to work with but if it doesn’t rain soon, our only water sources will be gone. Cotton is drought tolerant. Corn is iffy. Takes a little more water.” He nudged the horse with his boot to pick up the pace. “See the silos? Hopefully, we’ve just hit a gold mine.”

  The cotton gin was right across the highway from the factory, just as Cecilia had said. Steve tied the horse up and checked the gin first. Everything looked like a giant had come through, crushing everything in his path. Metal was twisted and shifted like a toy but he didn’t let that discourage him.

  The yard adjacent to the gin was where they stored the bales, preparing them to be sent off. To his surprise, there were seeds that had collected against a barbed wire fence, the fuzzy remnants of cotton around the seed bunching together against the sharp edges of the barbs. He picked them off and put them in the back pocket of his bag. It wouldn’t make a bumper crop but it would be enough to get several rows planted. He could build off of that. He also plucked some burrs that had bunched with them. It’d serve as good compost.

  He followed the fence up and down, gathering what he could. It seemed desperate but he would take what he could get. He wondered about the integrity of the seed – would they even grow after being out in the weather? The burrs were questionable and he’d have to pull the seed from the cotton fibers. It was worth a shot and better than just leaving everything out there to rot.

  Mindy ran across the highway, waving at him. He didn’t even realize she had gone across to the factory. “Well, what’d you get?”

  “A few things. I don’t know… it seems like a Hail Mary.” He pulled a handful of seeds out into his palm, showing her. “This is how they come in the bags I buy. Maybe it’ll be okay.”

  “Well this might cheer you up. I found a cellar over at the factory. There are several bags of corn seed inside as well as a plow and a few other things you farmers might need.”

  Steve put the seeds back in the pocket and looked toward where she was pointing. “Really? Hell, it’s like Christmas morning!”

  They ran across the highway and when she opened the door to the cellar, Steve could swear he heard angels sing when he saw the bags of seeds in a far corner. The plow was very old and the tire was flat, but it was exactly what he needed to make rows for the crops. There was also a couple of shovels and an old wheelbarrow.

  Walking farther inside, Steve checked the shelves. There was a box of Mason jars for canning. Blowing the dust off of the top, he slid the box down and checked – they were perfect size.

  “Mason jars,” he said, looking up at Mindy. “Now we need a pressure cooker and we’re set to can things.”

  “There’s really nothing left of the factory but judging by your reaction, I don’t think it matters. I think you found what you came for.”

  “Who would’ve thought we’d get so excited over a dusty box of glass jars and a couple bags of seed?”

  “So, mission accomplished?” Mindy smiled and her eyes lit up.

  “It’s a damn good start, Mindy. A damn good start!”

  ***

  It took Ryan a moment to grasp his bearings. The dust wall had passed but there was still lingering dirt in the air. His father was wheezing and Ryan handed him a canteen. Hunched over, eyes closed, his father coughed several times, unable to get the particles from his lungs.

  “Take a drink, Dad.” Too bad they didn’t have inhalers. That was one of the few supplies that the doctor didn’t have to offer, nor did Ryan think about asking for. It never crossed his mind that they would need something like that.

  “Damn Ryan, you’re covered in dirt.” Darryl laughed and took the canteen and he continued to wheeze. It was worrisome and just like Ryan had feared a few minutes ago, this made him think of the Brown Lung Syndrome again. His father already had other respiratory ailments. This was added fuel to the fire.

  “We should probably get back to the river to wash off. We don’t need to be breathing it off of our clothes.”

  “What’s the difference in this and having the mud all over us?” Doug asked.

  “The mud was heavy and we weren’t breathing in the dust.” Ryan still couldn’t believe how much Doug lacked in common sense. “We got off course running from the dust wall. The river is back that way about a quarter of a mile.”

  “In the Middle East, they call a wall like that a Haboob.” Doug slid off of a rock and started walking toward the river. “You should YouTube it sometime. Looks like the apocalypse.”

  “Yeah, let me just pull out my laptop computer and hook it up to electricity and do just that.” Ryan shook his head. “I think going through it in real life is enough for me to not want to ever watch a video of this… Haboob thing you mention.” Ryan motioned his hands in a circle and adjusted his bag.

  “How’s the leg, Ryan?” Darryl asked, and Ryan was grateful for the quick subject change.

  “Fine. I’m more worried about your wheezing.”

  “You both are wheezing too. I’ll be fine. How can someone not wheeze after breathing in that crap?”

  Ryan could tell his father was trying to play it off as nothing to be concerned about. It’s how he always did things, including when Ryan’s mother had gotten sick. Up until the moment she died, his father was downplaying the entire situation and Ryan resented him for it. To that day, up until he showed up at Ryan’s cellar, he never truly got over it. And now, it felt like it was happening again.

  They reached the river and Ryan stripped down to his boxers. Pulling the bandage from his wound, he ignored his worry about getting in the water. Submerging it would probably help clean it and he’d make sure to put extra ointment on it after he was done.

  The water wasn’t as cool as he expected but it still felt good against his dry skin. Diving under, he skimmed the bottom, feeling the squishy mud on his body. For a split second, he imagined he was goofing off at the lake, diving
off of the boat to cool off after an afternoon of fishing with Ty. When he floated back up to the surface, the sight of Doug a few feet away was an instant reminder of the hell on earth they were living.

  “Looks like it’s raining over there.” Doug pointed to the west and the bright sky was clouded by a small gray cloud hovering above the hilltop.

  “It’s a virga shower,” Ryan said, the disappointment thick in his voice.

  “What the hell is a virga shower?” Doug asked as all three men watched.

  “Rain that evaporates before it hits the ground. It’s common during drought times. It’s just another way for Mother Nature to screw with our heads. It isn’t going to do us a bit of good but mask the sun for maybe five minutes.”

  Doug splashed his hand across the surface of the water. “Well look at you, Google. You’re just a never ending supply of facts, aren’t you?”

  Ryan ignored him and walked toward the riverbank. He could hear his father correcting Doug, mentioning the storm spotting classes he had taken with the fire department. It was pointless to justify anything to the thief – he was there solely to be a hitch in Ryan’s side and it was best to take the high road and let him be an asshole.

  He doctored his wound, skimming his index finger over the thread used to sew it up. It looked a little redder than yesterday but still not bad. Dabbing the ointment, Ryan felt a small burn and applied fresh gauze. He still had a good supply of it and getting fresh air on it might have done it some good.

  Grabbing a handful of mud, he dabbed it down his arms, the back of his neck, and his face for a new layer of sunscreen. It was working well and he only had a sunburn in areas where he had missed. He watched his dad and Doug in the river and it was nice to sit back and relax. They didn’t get to do that too often anymore and if they weren’t in such a hurry to get to Fox Lake, he would’ve taken the time to try and catch a couple of fish. He had kept the homemade fishing poles he had constructed from Ms. McElroy’s sewing kit, but they were on one of the horses that had run off.