Trackers 3: The Storm (A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Thriller)

by Nicholas Sansbury Smith

  “You’re welcome to come with me to the FEMA camp, Mayor Andrews. To see with your own eyes what we’re up against this winter,” Colton said.

  “I’m not sure…” she said.

  “Sleep on it, ma’am,” he said as he continued into the hallway.

  Lindsey and Margaret followed him away from the conference room. Colton handed over his walkie-talkie to Margaret and then stopped outside the door to the police station. She stuck her hands inside her Estes Park Police Department sweatshirt. The hood was over her dark hair, casting a shadow over her features. Colton could see the purple bags under her bloodshot eyes.

  “I’m sorry about Mike,” he said.

  She smiled and pulled the hood down. “I’ll be here throughout the night, monitoring things. Be careful out there, Marcus.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  Colton didn’t like leaving her to pull a night shift, but they needed her now more than ever. Margaret was the only person that could help Colton communicate with his other officers. She had become the heart of the department.

  “Let’s go talk to these people,” Colton said to Lindsey.

  They left town hall and set off across the parking lot to Bond Park, where the refugees sat huddled around two fires burning inside rusted barrels from the junkyard. Colton motioned to the two men guarding them to lower their weapons. He wanted the refugees to feel comfortable while he talked to them. They’d be more likely to tell the truth that way. He was still reeling over the refugee from Laramie that claimed she was a nurse. Turned out she was a receptionist at a car dealership.

  “As many of you know, there was a shooting today about the same time you all rolled into town,” Colton said, not wasting any time. “Now I’d call that one hell of a coincidence.”

  The group’s apparent leader, a tall woman with the build of a long distance runner, took a few steps forward with her hands in her tight fitting jacket. She was about Mayor Andrews’ age, with crow’s feet around her eyes and streaks of gray in her hair.

  “Sir, I can assure you we had nothing to do with the shootings. We came here for help. The FEMA camp is hell, and we heard you had supplies,” she said. “Please, please help us.”

  The desperation in her voice tugged at Colton’s heart, but he’d gotten used to hearing stories like hers from people trying to seek refuge within Estes Park. These people would do almost anything to get in. He’d even had a woman offer her body if Colton would shelter her and her son.

  “What’s your name?” Colton asked.

  “Jennie Song, sir. I’m begging you. Please do not send us away. We will work. We will do whatever’s asked of us. We may not be doctors or engineers, but we can contribute.”

  She took another step forward and pointed to the man on her left. “Wilbur Smith here is an expert locksmith, and his brother Brett Gilmore knows how to can food.”

  Colton raised a hand to stop her, but Jennie kept talking. She pointed to a couple standing behind her. “This is Todd and Susan Sanders. Todd is former military and Susan is a police officer. They can both help protect the town.”

  “I’m a good hunter with a bow and a rifle,” Todd said.

  Susan nodded firmly. “I’ll stand guard all night if I have to. Please, just give us a chance.”

  Colton could feel Lindsey looking at him from the side, but he kept his focus on Jennie. There was something about her that seemed sincere. He felt the same way about Susan and Todd. He could really use the help securing the borders if they were who they said they were, and while his gut told him these people weren’t responsible for the attack, he had no way of being sure. It was too risky.

  “Look, I get that you’re all capable of helping out, but we hardly have enough resources to get through the winter,” Colton said. He pulled his leather gloves out of his pocket and put them on, looking north for a moment at the area the Stanley Hotel had once stood. “I’m sorry, but you can’t stay.”

  A girl no older than ten made her way up next to Jennie. “We can fight,” she said. “We can help you get the bad people that shot your friends today.”

  Jennie put her arm around the young girl, who reminded Colton of his daughter, Risa. Her voice, her innocent yet feisty demeanor, even her frizzled hair in untidy braids under a colorful stocking cap.

  “This is Sarah,” Jennie said. “She’s quite the little firebrand.”

  Sarah smiled at Colton despite the fact he’d just told her they had to leave Estes Park.

  “Her parents were both killed by raiders outside of Loveland. Maybe even the same raiders that killed your folks here,” Jennie continued. “Sir, we didn’t have anything to do with what happened today‌—‌and we can help you stop it from happening again.”

  Colton kept his eyes on Sarah, picturing his daughter standing there instead. Could he really send her back out there to face the same fate as her parents? Jesus, how had it come to this? His position of power frightened the hell out of him. What if Risa were in this girl’s place, and a man like Don stood in Colton’s shoes?

  He let out a long sigh and flexed his fingers in his gloves. “I need to think about this. In the meantime, you can all stay here for the night. We have fires to keep you warm, and I’ll have someone bring you soup.”

  “Thank you,” Jennie said. “You’re a good man, Chief Colton.”

  Colton turned with Lindsey, who greeted his gaze with a smile.

  “There’s nothing to be happy about, kiddo,” he said as they walked away. Pulling out his Colt .45 from the holster, he said, “We have another killer to catch.”

  Raven dreamed of the Cherokee spirit world.

  Six small humanoid nature spirits called the Yunwi Tsunsdi’ danced around him under the glow of the moon. Normally the creatures were invisible, but these had decided to show themselves. They were squawking and clicking their tongues at him. Dressed in colorful outfits with necklaces made from bone and beads, the dwarf-like spirits were trying to tell him something. They shook ceremonial turtle shell rattles, the clicking sound echoing through the quiet night.

  In his dream, he was sitting cross-legged in a field of prairie grass that seemed to go on and on. The blades whipped back and forth in the breeze under a full moon. The heat of a raging fire warmed his face, the crackle of burning wood joining the din.

  Creek sat on his haunches a few feet away, grinning at the Yunwi Tsunsdi’. Willow was there too, but the horse didn’t seem interested in the dancing or the camp fire. She kept her head down, chomping on grass near an oak tree.

  This wasn’t Colorado, but wherever his dream was taking place, he didn’t recognize it.

  “Where am I?” Raven asked. “What do you want?”

  Something furry brushed against Raven’s left hand, and he looked over to see a rabbit looking up at him, an all-too-human grin on its face. Not a real rabbit, then, but the trickster Jistu. Raven jerked his hand away. He looked back to the six humanoids with the bodies of children and the faces of adults, still circling around the campfire with their haunted eyes on Raven.

  Thunder boomed in the distance, and the clear sky transformed as bulging clouds suddenly rolled across the skyline, bellies swollen with lightning and rain. The largest of the masses began to sculpt itself into a towering figure, and Raven’s eyes widened at the sight of a Thunderer, a storm spirit.

  The Yunwi Tsunsdi’ halted and lowered their turtle shell rattles to stare at the sky. The rabbit trickster followed their gazes, grin folding away and leaving behind two buck teeth.

  Raven looked up as the Thunderer took the shape of an ancient Cherokee warrior dressed in a leather loincloth with a plate of bone chainmail over broad chest muscles. Braided hair with feathers intertwined blew in the wind behind the man’s stony face. A quiver of arrows and an intricately decorated bow shaft were slung over his wide, muscular shoulders.

  “Raven,” the warrior boomed, “You must let go of your guilt.”

  Emerald lightning flashed through the clouds, and thunder answered
. A brilliant strike sizzled through the sky and speared into the fields.

  Willow looked up from her meal, and Creek nudged up against Raven.

  The warrior raised the battle-axe in the sky and yelled, “Your guilt consumes you like a snake consumes a mouse. Inevitably, it will swallow you whole. You must move on to have any hope of surviving the coming storm!”

  Apparitions of Billy Franks, Nathan Sardetti, Melissa Stone, Jake Englewood, and the dead officers at the checkpoint near Lake Estes joined the Thunderer in the cloudscape. The raid in North Korea that started it all played out in shades of gray and black, each bullet punctuated by lightning. Raven flinched and looked away, but the faces of the people he’d failed to save still haunted his mind. The warrior in the sky was right‌—‌the guilt was eating him alive.

  “I can’t,” Raven finally said. “I don’t know how.”

  The Thunderer reared back, his long hair flowing behind his head like a waterfall. He let out a bellow that shook the clouds. Rain surged, pounding the earth. Jistu and Creek both huddled next to Raven, and the Yunwi Tsunsdi’ wiped the water from their wrinkled faces.

  “You can’t control the destiny of others,” the warrior said. “It was their time.”

  “Why them?” Raven asked. “Why not me? Why do I always survive when better people die?”

  Another network of lightning surged across the skyline, and the boom of thunder rattled the muddy ground. The chill rain came down in sheets, pecking his skin like tiny ice needles.

  After the thunder faded, the warrior said, “The chain of events on Earth is set in motion by the Creator, and the Creator only. If a life is lost, it is not your fault. If you continue to dwell on the past, you won’t survive the future, and the future needs you like a flower needs water.”

  Raven had learned this lesson long ago, but for some reason it was always hard to accept. He always wanted to control things, to fix them. His blood was a mixture of Sioux and Cherokee, and the Sioux side compelled him to try and change destiny.

  But it was time to start listening to the Cherokee side. It was the only way he was going to survive and keep his family safe.

  “I hear you, Thunderer,” Raven shouted. He pushed himself up, feet squishing in the mud. He looked up and raised his hands into the sky. “The past is the past, and the future is the future. All I can do is continue fighting without guilt, without regret.”

  “There will be things you can’t change, Raven, and before the storm passes you will lose more that you hold dear to your beating heart, but a warrior never gives up fighting. A warrior doesn’t look over their back at the bodies they’ve left behind.”

  The Thunderer suddenly turned away, and the rain ceased. The clouds melted into a clear, jeweled sky. When Raven looked back to the smoldering fire, the Yunwi Tsunsdi’ had vanished. Jistu was gone, too, leaving Raven alone with Creek and Willow.

  A distant voice called out in the quiet night. For a moment Raven thought it was the Thunderer again, but this voice was kind and familiar. A woman, calling his name.

  The fields and sky vanished, replaced by a bright bank of recessed lights in the ceiling. Raven blinked and then reached down to feel his chest. It hurt to breathe, but he couldn’t remember why.

  “You’re okay, Sam,” said the same kind voice.

  He tilted his head and found his sister standing next to him. He focused on Sandra’s freckled nose as she talked. A tear streaked down her face, and she used her shoulder to brush it away.

  “Why do you always have to be so brave?” she asked. “Why do you always have to be the one to get hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” he muttered, trying to look down at his chest.

  “You’re lucky as hell, Sam. The ballistic vest stopped the rounds, but you have a bruised rib, a mild concussion, and you lost a hunk of your ear from the bullet that was meant for your brain.”

  Raven didn’t feel any pain when he touched the bandage covering his right ear. That seemed like a small blessing, given the circumstances.

  “Did Colton find the guy?” he asked, wincing as he tried to sit up. “That hurt.”

  Sandra reached out to stop him from moving. “Sit still. You’re going to be here for a few days while the swelling goes down.”

  “Did you find the shooter?”

  “Not yet.”

  Raven sat up farther, gritting his teeth against the pain. “How long have I been out?”

  “Ten hours, maybe a bit more,” Sandra said.

  Memories continued to flood his mind. He recalled the sting of the bullet, the chase on horseback, and Creek’s frantic barking. His heart kicked. Raven searched the room for Creek, but the Akita was nowhere in sight.

  “Where’s my damn dog?”

  “Creek is with Allie. You need to rest, Sam.” She heaved a long sigh. “You’ve about used up all of your lives, I think. No more adventures for a few days. You need to heal.”

  Raven swung his legs over the side of the bed and ripped the IV catheter out of his arm.

  “Sam, what are you doing?” Sandra shouted.

  “I’ve already wasted enough time. I have to track this son of a bitch down before he can kill anyone else.”

  Sandra grabbed Raven’s arm, but he pulled away. “Sis, you can’t keep trying to turn me into someone I’m not. If there’s a fight out there, I need to help. I can’t rest. I can’t stop.”

  They locked eyes, and Raven saw the sadness in his sister’s gaze. Sandra was a healer at heart, and she didn’t want him to get hurt. But this was the reality of the world they were living in now, and it needed people like him. Fighters. Killers. His dream had shown him the truth, and helped him realize he had to stop harboring the guilt of the past or it would get him killed.

  The Thunderer had also said he would lose another loved one.

  He had to prove the warrior spirit wrong.

  CHARLIZE WATCHED FROM the observation tower as the gates were sealed all around the survival center. The public address system continued playing the message about a food delivery, keeping the masses at bay for now.

  She watched as the final gate was closed three blocks away. A second metal gate was moved into place, creating an additional barrier just in case someone got any bright ideas about driving a pickup truck packed full of explosives forward.

  “It’s done,” Harris said. “Now let’s see if your plan works.”

  They made their way back down into the EOC hangar, where Albert began final preparations for his trip outside the walls. Decked out in matte black body armor, a helmet to match, and night vision goggles, he looked like he was about to raid a terrorist compound. He palmed a magazine into a suppressed M4 and looked through the scope.

  Charlize thought about going out there with him, but Albert would never agree to it. Besides, she had Ty waiting for her back at Constellation. She’d promised her boy she would be back within a day or two, max, and she needed to return to Command to report on the state of SC Charlotte. Her job was to keep SCs like this one running. The future of America depended on places like this.

  Two Army Rangers, outfitted with same armor as Albert plus additional Beretta M9s, joined them, followed shortly by Captain Harris.

  “You ready to rock ’n roll, boss?” one of the men said.

  Albert dipped his helmet politely. “When you are, brother.”

  “Two men isn’t much, but it’s all I can spare,” Harris said. “Make no mistake, though, Corporal Van Dyke and Sergeant Flint are two of my best.”

  “I appreciate their help,” Albert said.

  Charlize took a second to scrutinize both men. They were both in their mid-thirties and muscular. Van Dyke sported a mustache, but Flint was clean shaven. They had the confident, capable look of career soldiers. She hoped they were as good as Harris promised.

  “Captain Harris!” a voice shouted from across the room.

  Lieutenant Washington, the second in command at the SC, hurried over from a table of radio equipment and cleared his throa
t.

  “Tell me you don’t have more bad news,” Harris said.

  Washington stopped and straightened his back. “President Diego is on the horn and wants to speak to Secretary Montgomery.”

  Charlize frowned. She already knew what the president was going to say, and she really didn’t have time for a scolding. A young female officer stood at the radio equipment, holding a receiver. Charlize took it from her and brought it to her lips.

  “Hello, Mr. President, this is Charlize.”

  “I sure hope you have a good explanation for the stunt you pulled this morning. I’m told you created quite the ruckus on your flight in,” Diego said.

  Charlize glanced over at Albert, who was watching her.

  “I’m sorry, sir. We didn’t realize things were so bad here, which is another reason I’m glad I came. You put me in charge of the survival centers, and seeing this one up close and personal has been a very sobering experience. I hope that I can use what I’ve learned here to ensure the other SCs run more smoothly.”

  “Remind me why you’re in North Carolina again? There were other, closer, SCs to tour.” His tone sounded frustrated, and although he didn’t come straight out and say it, Charlize had a feeling Diego knew she had picked Charlotte for another reason.

  Albert continued to hold her gaze. He trusted her, and she wouldn’t throw him under the bus.

  “I wanted to see with my own eyes how the SCs are doing so I can adapt our strategy,” she said firmly. “I heard that Harris was the best, so I came here.”

  If Diego did know about Albert’s sister, he didn’t say anything. He simply let out a sigh and said, “Well, I hope you’ve seen enough, because I need you back at Constellation. We’ve got a situation.”

  Situation, Charlize knew, was a codeword for classified, so she didn’t bother asking for details.

  “I’ll get in the air as soon as it’s safe, sir,” Charlize said.

  The connection severed, and Charlize walked back to Harris and the other men. Although she was anxious to go home to Ty, she really didn’t want to leave Albert behind.