One of the particle physicists on her team piped up, “The beams were co-opted by the new form of energy, almost like tapping into oil deep in the shale with a drill.”
“Drill, baby, drill,” someone said from the back.
“Exactly,” Faith replied. “It jibes with what the computer guys and gals have found. There isn’t enough energy in the entire Front Range power grid to produce the scale of energy bursts we’ve seen go out from our collider. It is being amplified in some way.”
Another physicist joined in. “Without being able to observe and quantify dark energy or dark matter, we can only guess at their properties. We’ve had teams look at the remaining three beams, but we can’t isolate their constituent parts.”
“So,” she began, “we know the beams go into the ground and travel to CERN under the curvature of the mantle, but we have no way of knowing what we’ve tapped into.”
Bob broke in, “We’d have to dig a tunnel hundreds of kilometers deep to see what’s down there.”
“Well, that ain’t gonna happen,” she said in frustration. “We need to beat this thing. Keep working at it. Before those people get too feisty.” Faith pointed outside, but then got up and went to the window again.
Protesters held signs at the front gate. They were still hundreds of yards away, but she saw a giant sign held high above the others.
“End Days,” she read aloud.
Motion caught her eye on the parking lot two stories below. A man came out from behind one of the numerous school buses and threw something. She saw him plain as day.
The glass shattered a few feet to her left, and a small hole appeared.
“Shit!” she screamed as she jumped back. “The bastard threw a rock at me!”
She realized the sun on her blouse had probably made her a bright target for the guy.
A second rock glanced off a window farther down the row but didn’t have enough force to crack the glass.
The rock-thrower sprinted for the edge of the lot. Guards came out of the front doors to chase him down, but in the few seconds she watched, it didn’t look like they were going to catch him.
She was going to write it off as bad luck and resolve never to stand by the windows again, but some loud cracks echoed from the lot below.
“Oh, fuck,” she blurted.
Many of the others in the room came up to the windows to see the perpetrator. They reacted in almost the same way as her.
“They shot that guy,” she said with shock.
It was now a spectacle. Her entire team lined up against the glass to watch.
The runner writhed on the pavement about ten feet from the rearmost edge of the paved parking lot.
“Is he dead?” one of the female computer programmers asked without looking up from her seat.
The man clearly wasn’t dead, but he was injured. His arm was bloody, and his shirt looked like someone splashed him with ketchup. The guards dragged him toward the front door of SNAKE.
She realized she had to get involved before things got worse.
“You guys keep working,” she said as she headed out. “And for the love of God, stay away from the windows!”
Canberra, Australian Capital Territory, Australia
Destiny rocked back and forth with the gentle swaying of the train, relieved to be leaving Canberra.
Once she had left Zandre’s property, she’d ridden the four-wheeler until it ran out of gas, then walked the last two miles through the city until she reached the train station. She figured she’d have to spend the night on a hard steel bench, but a late-night train was departing for Sydney and allowed anyone who happened to be there to get on board.
She recognized the well-dressed people from her trip to Canberra earlier that same day. Zandre had said they were politicians. She had no feelings either way for the leaders of Australia’s government, but those assholes seemed to look down on her because she was the only passenger besides them. It might also have been her dusty attire and wind-blown hairdo.
Those blighters can go fuck themselves, she thought.
After almost being shot, and then helping the Duck of Doom escape the hunters, she was in no mood for bullshit from anyone.
She pulled out her phone and sent a text message to Rodney at the Sydney Harbor Foundation.
Hey, Rod, I’m coming home from Canberra. Need a favor. Please message back.
She turned off the screen, figuring he would reply in the morning, but a message came right back.
Is everyone working late tonight?
What do you mean? she sent back.
The phone rang under her fingers.
“Hello?” she said quietly. The politicians were at the other end of the carriage, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
“Hey, Dez. You doing all right? I know the Wollemi fire was a monster, but it seems to have burned itself out already.”
“Yeah, I’m way past the fire. All good on that score. Hey, I wanted to ask. Does SHF still have access to the oceanography lab?” Her employer studied and preserved animals all over the world, but because they were headquartered in Sydney, they brought most of their work back home. They shared time and space on an old freighter that had been retrofitted with research equipment. She’d done a little time on it when they did a company outing at the Great Barrier Reef.
He sounded instantly skeptical. “The Majestic is moored in Sydney, yes. Why?”
Rodney was her equal on the company manifest, but he did most of his work at the main offices, while she was often out in the field. To her, it made it seem like Rod had an air of superiority when talking on the phone, so his manner of questioning tested her patience.
She drew a breath before replying. “Who has time booked? Is it us, or Fujitsu, or whoever?”
“Fujiyama,” he corrected. “And we do. That whole group flew back to Japan a few days ago. They let us know before they left so we could take it out whenever we wanted. Ben Stephens and some of the tropics guys are sailing it up to Queensland starting tomorrow.”
“Rodney, this is very important. I’m coming back from the A-C-T with some important photos. When you and the bosses see them, I guarantee they will want to give me time with the boat, okay?”
“Sure, Dez, whatever you say.” He did not sound convinced, and she couldn’t take the chance he would ignore her.
“Screw it. I’ll text them to you. I have pictures of all kinds of extinct animals that I saw while I was out in the bush. Show them around, then tell me if anyone has a more important role for a naturalist to play than saving these things.”
“I’ll look for them, Dez, but I can’t make any guarantees.”
She sent him a picture of the Demon Duck of Doom.
“Crikey!” he said a few seconds later.
Her ego swelled for a moment when she heard his reaction, but she remembered the photo was necessary as a way to get his attention, not make herself look better. Before she could say anything more, however, the train jerked and began braking. She had to set the phone in her lap and hold onto the armrest to keep from hitting the seat in front of her.
The grind of metal on metal announced their unplanned stop.
“I’ll call you back,” she said to Rodney as she looked outside into the black of night. “Something is wrong.”
West Wendover, Nevada
Buck and Connie listened to the news as they finished getting ready for the day. They tidied up the small amount of gear they had brought in, stowed Mac’s food and travel dish, and moved around each other like a well-oiled machine.
“You would think we clear out of motels all the time,” he said to her after they had most things organized by the door, including the rifle.
She smiled and chuckled but didn’t reply.
“Do you mind if we skip the convenience store? I want to start logging some miles today. We can pick up what you need when we get to the next truck stop. Those places have everything.” He eyed her dress innocently. “Except stylish clothing fo
r women. I’m not sure where you’ll need to go for that, but I do have some shirts you could borrow.” He waggled his eyebrows and pointed at his Hawaiian shirt.
She exaggerated a frown. “I’ll wear the same dress for a week before I wear one of those. I’ll find something better, but,” she paused for effect, “I won’t let it delay us getting back to Garth.”
“I didn’t think you would. But you can’t beat these shirts,” he remarked. “Nice pocket on the chest. Hangs down over your pistol to keep it hidden.” He patted his hip where his PX4 Storm Subcompact was ready for action. There was no way to see its imprint under his gaudy, low-hanging shirt.
“If I get a pistol, I’ll think about it.” She traced a finger over her hip as if to show how her knee-length dress hugged her body. There was no way to conceal a weapon under it. At least, that was the message he took away from the gesture.
“That’ll work,” he replied.
She brightened. “I would like a toothbrush at some point along the way. I used some of your little bottle of mouthwash. I hope you don’t mind?”
The whiteness of her teeth suggested she took care of them.
“What’s mine is yours, as they say, although I’m running light, too. We’ll both need to stock up at the truck stop.”
Connie grabbed the rifle and made as if to put it over her shoulder, but they both turned to the television when someone mentioned an attack.
“Turn it up,” she suggested.
They’d left the TV on while they packed to keep tabs on what was happening, but nothing had caught their ears or eyes until now.
“Reporters on the ground suggest a protester tried to get inside the SNAKE campus. The Air Force shot him for no reason.”
“The military doesn’t do anything for no reason,” Buck commented, standing too close to the screen.
“Your backside makes a delightful wall but a crappy window.”
Buck slid to the left so she had a clear view.
“Tensions are high here in Red Mesa, but no one in the SNAKE facility has come out to comment on the attack, nor have they said a word about any of the other rumors about what they do in there. Some people have said…”
He turned to her, suddenly overburdened by the heavy weight on his heart. “Everything that has happened the last two days has been wildly unpredictable. I hope we’ve seen the worst of it, but I don’t think it’s likely. Did I make a mistake telling Garth to go back home? Would you have told your son to stay at home, or would you want him to come to you? ‘Meet in the middle’ kind of thing.”
“You didn’t make a mistake,” she said right away. “Stay home. Stay safe. That’s good Mama Grizzly advice.”
What if nowhere is safe?
He looked at the screen again, and had a sudden strange feeling that the research facility was filled with evil geniuses trying to destroy his world. Suddenly he understood why the protesters had gone there, although he could never condone going full-on idiot and attacking the place like the terrorist jackass they shot.
“Fair enough,” he said as he clicked off the TV. “Let’s go talk to our convoy friends and then get out of here.”
“And let’s avoid any motorcyclists in the parking lot,” she teased.
“Those guys. If it weren’t for them, we wouldn’t be together, but then again, if we run across them again…” He didn’t finish the thought.
He shared her laughter but checked through the peephole before he went out the door, nonetheless.
It was time to get back into sheepdog mode.
CHAPTER 3
Lewes, Delaware
Garth had no idea how to wake up a girl from 1849. Maybe he needed a rooster or a mooing cow. Both sound files could probably be downloaded to his phone if he cared to dig for them.
“Lydia,” he said in a soft voice, opting to stick with the traditional wake-up method.
“Hi, Garth.” She yawned. “What time is it?” She looked at the darkened shades. “It feels like midnight.”
“It says it right there on the clock.” He pointed to the red digits on the motel’s alarm clock.
She read what she saw. “Nine, zero, nine?”
“Nine minutes after nine,” he said in a helpful voice.
“Wow. Those numbers are so colorful. How do they change?”
He had no idea how to explain the workings of a digital clock.
“I don’t know.” He laughed. “I’ve used this type of clock my whole life, but I’ve never seen inside one.”
“Amazing,” she exclaimed. Lydia strained to see through the drapes, but they were solid save for a thin line of illumination down the middle. “And it is still dark at this hour in your time? I should have been up at sunrise.”
There was no way to resist showing her, so he walked over to the shades and pulled them apart like a circus showman. “I give you…daytime!”
She recoiled at the bright light and shielded her eyes. “Oh, my word!”
“I told you,” he pressed before remembering to be nice. He pulled the drapes almost all the way closed again to give her a chance to build up to it.
“Your world is beyond my wildest dreams. Your car. Your living quarters. Amazing.”
“I wish I could show you my real house. This is just a sleazeball motel, probably not even one-star rated. And the car is nothing, too. You should see some of the hotrods my dad has brought home over the years. My favorite is the Mustang.”
That captured her interest. “You have horses?”
He snickered. “We have Mustangs, Chargers, Broncos, and I think there are cars named after Colts.”
“Wonderful! Horses are important in keeping our wagon train going. I’d see hundreds of them every day.”
He let her off easy. “Well, these aren’t real horses. They’re the names of cars, except ‘Bronco’ is the name of a truck.”
“Truck?”
“You saw lots of them yesterday. They are like cars, but look a little different. You might see them more as wagons because they have open back ends where you can store stuff.” He wasn’t sure if she would catch on, but she didn’t ask for more. It was unclear if that meant she understood what he was saying, or she was too shy to ask for clarification.
She hopped out of bed wearing only her undergarments, but she showed no shame in the act. She boldly walked into the bathroom and shut the door.
Wow. What was that?
She came out a minute later wearing her mud-stained pioneer dress.
“Ready,” she declared.
His shirt and jeans were also stained by the mud from the previous day, so he had no room to complain. “I guess I’m ready, too,” he said. “Let’s go eat, then we’ll leave.”
They had no gear other than the lone rifle case. He had made a big deal of bringing it in after it was dark outside so no one would see what it was. Dad often made a big deal about how it was dangerous to transport firearms in states with strict gun laws. He said crossing from one state to another could make you an instant criminal, depending on the laws of the new state.
However, Garth had no idea if Delaware was better or worse than New York and New Jersey, so he assumed it was worse. That was how Dad would play it.
He left the gun case in the room while he and Lydia went to the motel lobby for breakfast.
“I’m sorry this won’t be very impressive, but it will be enough to fuel us up for the day and get us back to my house. They’ll probably have a few types of cereal and some milk.”
Lydia practically drooled when she saw the spread.
“Bread. Eggs. Bacon? This is just like home.” She pointed at all the foods and beverages. “But we never had this much. We can eat as much as we want?”
He smiled and nodded.
Instead of grabbing a plate and loading up, she walked over to the tray of eggs and used the scooper to serve herself a huge mouthful.
“Whoa!”
He ran over before she managed to stick it back in for a second helping.
/> “You can’t do it that way,” he said in a low voice to keep from being noticed by the smattering of other diners.
“Are you sure?” she asked with surprise. “It seems so simple.”
Garth grabbed the scooper and was going to set it on the counter, but he ended up tossing it in a small sink.
Lydia scowled. “I wasn’t done!”
“No. You aren’t done. I had to do that so no one would eat from it. They’ll get your germs if they put it in their mouth after you’ve used it.”
“Germs?”
“Hmm. That’s going to be a tough one to explain. Remember how I told you yesterday that radiation was like little fires in each drop of water? Well, germs are like tiny crocodiles that swim around in drops of water. They also swim around in our mouths and all over our bodies.”
She spat on the floor. “Eww. Disgusting! In my mouth?”
There were so many things he took on faith, such as germs being bad, but he had little understanding of how they worked. She’d have to take it on faith like he did.
“You’ll have to trust me,” he whispered. “Lydia, let me get your food, okay? We don’t want to cause a scene.” He didn’t think it was too big a risk. There were only a couple other travelers in the eating area, and none of them seemed put out that she’d hocked a loogy onto the tiles. In any other scenario, that lack of concern for hygiene in an eatery would shock him, but not this time. He was glad to be ignored.
By the time he had her in a seat with a big plate of everything the motel kitchen had to offer, she seemed content.
“This is a feast fit for a king,” she commented before praying over her food.
“Amen,” he said when she finished the short verse.
Lydia used her fork to dig into the eggs and bacon, but something else needed to be said. “And I pray we and my dad all make it to our house.”
She stopped eating and looked at him with her sparkly green eyes. “Amen, Garth. When we meet up with your father, do you think he will be able to help me find my way home?”
Broad America: A Post-Apocalyptic Adventure (End Days Book 3) Page 2