Broad America: A Post-Apocalyptic Adventure (End Days Book 3)

by E. E. Isherwood

  Just let me find a time machine, then sure, he thought.

  He pretended to consider it before replying. “My dad is pretty clever. He’s traveled all over the United States. If there is one person on Earth who knows how to get you back home, I’d be willing to bet on my dad.”

  West Wendover, Nevada

  Buck called the members of his convoy together and had them meet in front of his truck. While he waited for everyone to arrive, he checked again to make sure there was no damage from hitting Connie’s VW bug yesterday. On the front, there were deep scratches and streaks of yellow paint, but nothing serious. He made his way underneath.

  “Looks like you had an incident,” Sparky suggested when he walked up and saw Buck lying halfway under the frame.

  “You wouldn’t believe me,” he called back out. “Yesterday was the most stressful day of driving I’ve ever done.”

  “Me, too,” Sparky responded.

  Buck was about to slide out when someone walked over his stomach.

  “Son of a...” he bellowed, almost banging his head as he lurched upright.

  The culprit had four legs.

  “Mac! Come on!”

  “Sorry,” Connie laughed. “I gave him too much leash.”

  He slid out to her smiling face and immediately realized she’d found it hilarious.

  “Uh huh,” he said dryly while brushing himself off.

  “We’re all here,” Eve interjected with mirth in her voice.

  Buck stood and looked over the loose collaboration they’d put together. Sparky and Eve were nearest. Monsignor and Beans stood behind them. Mac sat next to Connie with what he imagined was a shit-eating grin.

  He took it all in stride because it was funny—after the fact.

  “Cool shirt,” Sparky added politely.

  “Thanks, guys. The news is consumed with that place in Colorado, but we don’t have to worry about it because we aren’t going to touch that state.”

  “Out here, we only have to worry about escaped prisoners and flooding,” Monsignor replied.

  “They didn’t catch them yet?” Eve shuddered.

  “Even if they didn’t,” Buck replied, “the point of being in a convoy is that we don’t have to be frightened by one or two bad guys. I promise you, if anyone has thoughts about attacking one of us, they are going to run for the hills when they see five of us in a line. Convoys work, people.”

  “And the flooding?” Beans asked.

  All eyes went to Monsignor because he’d brought it up.

  “Well, they said Salt Lake has been filling with water due to heavier than normal rainstorms the past couple of days. I guess it can become a hazard to driving, because the highway planners never anticipated the lake would add water again. It has been drying up for thousands of years.”

  Buck was impressed.

  Monsignor went on, “That’s what they said on the telly. I’m just repeating what they said.”

  “But the highway is open?” Buck asked.

  “They never said anything about the interstate,” Monsignor answered.

  “Good,” Buck said with relief. “Then let’s get the hell out of here. If things go well and none of you need anything, I don’t plan on stopping until Little America, Wyoming. I’ll fuel up when we get there, but we also need to go in and buy some supplies.” He pointed at Connie.

  Eve interrupted before they could break away and go to their trucks. “Hey, before we go... Does anyone know what that red light was last night? They weren’t giving any answers on the television.”

  She looked squarely at Buck, and the mantle of leadership hung heavy on his shoulders. Keeping his people informed about what was happening fell to him, although he had the same amount of information access as everyone else.

  “I don’t know,” he began, “but I can tell you almost for certain what the blue light did. It affected the sky, so storms got worse and weather became unpredictable. It brought things back from the past, like missing planes and stuff like that. It also brought people forward in time, like my friend Connie here. She is from seventeen years in our past, but I’ve seen even older things, like a Model-T Ford I’m pretty sure was mint. The weird light broke time, if you ask me.”

  He had her attention.

  “It is too early to say what’s going on with the red blast last night,” he went on. “I’m cautiously optimistic that it rolled back the effects of the blue light. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  Eve flashed a frail smile. Her questions suggested she wasn’t convinced about being in his convoy and pressing forward with her delivery. He’d have to treat her delicately to keep her from taking off.

  “We’ll follow you, boss,” Sparky chimed in.

  He stood there for a moment, appreciative of his good fortune in having found them. “Guys, you don’t know how much it means to have you watch my back. I feel like we can do anything with the right people guarding our six, you know?”

  “We feel the same way,” Eve replied. “I’m happy you know what you’re doing.”

  He laughed because he didn’t know anything, not really. There was no way to know how to act during a time-crashing emergency like this one. He fumbled through it as best he could like everyone else. The only difference between him and them was that he knew he had no idea what was going on. They thought that because he was in charge, he had the answers.

  I guess it’s always been that way.

  “Nice and easy, guys. We get on the 80, cross the salt flats, go past the lake, punch through Salt Lake City, and then we’re in the mountains again. Once we pass the city, we should be clear of the threats created by people. That’s when we have to really pay attention.”

  He didn’t want to frighten them any more than necessary, but he didn’t want them to blindly follow him without also paying attention to their own safety.

  Buck turned to Connie, who still appeared happy to be there. He spoke to everyone, but mostly to her. “And we stick together. That’s the best way to get through any crisis.”

  After nods and grunts of agreement, the group broke up.

  “Let’s go see what the highway holds for us,” Connie declared as she helped Mac into the cabin.

  “Charlie Mike,” Buck replied automatically.

  “Continue with mission,” she answered, nailing the military jargon.

  CHAPTER 4

  Search for Nuclear, Astrophysical, and Kronometric Extremes (SNAKE). Red Mesa, Colorado

  “Ladies and gentlemen, for your own safety, please vacate all offices and conference rooms at the front of the building.” The military police officials arrived a couple of minutes after the protester threw his rocks.

  “Kicked out again,” she mumbled. Her whole management of the SNAKE facility had been upended by General Smith and his men.

  “I’m going to see if we’re in any danger,” she said to her team as they cleared out. “We’ll reconvene in one of the interior conference rooms in thirty minutes. Bob, you pick. I’ll bring Donald if he’s up to it.”

  She hurried down the hallway to her old office. The door was ajar, so she knocked.

  “Enter,” the general called.

  “It doesn’t look like you’re evacuating, Obadias,” she said in a slightly accusatory tone. After watching the red light blast out from SNAKE last night with him, she and the general were on more familiar terms. She wasn’t afraid to express her real emotions or use his given name when it was only the two of them.

  “Hiya, Doctor Sinc…uh, Faith. Please come in.”

  “Aren’t you afraid someone will throw a rock through those?” She pointed to the bank of windows behind him. The view of the Dakota Hogback and high plains had once belonged to her.

  “My men reacted with valor and took the scumbag down. We won’t see any more rocks come through the glass. Trust me.”

  We’ll see.

  “Does it mean we’re safe to go back to the front offices? They just told us to leave.”

  “No, let’s ke
ep them empty. We don’t want to give anyone a target.”

  She tried to keep her jaw from hitting the floor. “Wouldn’t a general be a pretty big freakin’ target?” she exclaimed.

  He stood up. “My dear doctor, I’m touched.”

  “You know what I meant.” She backpedaled to avoid ceding the point to him. “I’m worried about my window, not you.”

  He laughed a bit. “I’m sure. Rock-tossers don’t scare me. I saw some grim scenes back in the Gulf War. Warheads on foreheads and all that comes with it. I’m not going to cower on account of a rock. It’s not my style.”

  “But it’s our style?” she parried.

  “You aren’t in my chain of command. If one of you got hurt, it would reflect poorly on me. Whether or not you believe it, I am sworn to protect the people of this great country. Better to keep the chance of you or your people getting hurt as close to zero as possible.”

  She shrugged. The whole facility was hers to have meetings wherever she pleased, and she would never tell this to the general, but the windows kept the walls from feeling like they wanted to smother her. Being inside the tunnels for days on end tended to make people go a little nuts.

  He peered directly at her. “Your friend was right, it turns out. There was a military component to this experiment, but it wasn’t easy to find. I had to report my suspicions directly to the President, and he had to knock over some huts to smoke out the department responsible. I got the call this morning.”

  “Who are they? What do they know?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t know,” he said cryptically. “But I did find out where they were. We grabbed them overnight, and should have them here in the next six to eight hours, depending.”

  “Depending on what?”

  General Smith tapped his desk. “It depends on whether the highways are safe to travel. Planes aren’t moving, and trains don’t run where I need them. The FBI went in and grabbed ‘em, but now we have to see if the Bureau is similarly skilled at driving.”

  “This is a real mess,” she said sympathetically.

  He gestured outside the windows. “You have no idea, and you’d probably prefer it that way, wouldn’t you?”

  “No, general, I would not. If there’s a threat to my people, I want to know about it. I mean, let’s start right here. What’s going on outside? Why are you shooting protesters instead of arresting them?”

  “Deterrence, plain and simple. Your SNAKE is all over the news, and every one of those news reports paints your team as the villain. They’re blaming the weather on you. They’re blaming missing persons on you. Hell, probably the only people on Earth who like you are the passengers on that missing Malaysian airliner.” He chuckled, but not for long.

  “But, General,” she countered, “we’re the only ones who can make things right.”

  The man’s eyes were sympathetic. “I know it. You know it. Everyone here knows it. But we can’t go on the news and explain what’s really happening.”

  “Why not? Isn’t the press the best way to get our message out?”

  He pretended to hold a microphone. “Yes, hello, I’m Dr. Faith Sinclair, and I run this facility. Well, I sort of do. The experiment that screwed you all was not my fault. I didn’t even know it was running, in fact, but I’m sure I’m the one who can fix it, even though I have no idea what ‘it’ is.”

  The brutal truth pierced her soul.

  “It won’t sound that bad,” she said without convincing herself.

  “I take no pleasure in saying it, Doctor, but you were never going to win against the military. Your leadership was doomed as soon as the military work order was signed. I’m glad I followed my instincts and didn’t sack you when I walked in. This was too complex an operation to blame on any one person.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “My instincts in keeping you around paid dividends, too. If you hadn’t fought me, I would have turned off all four of the CERN beams, as you call them, and we’d likely all be dead right now.” He took a short pause as if to chew on his words. “None of this can be said on TV, either. They would crucify us both.”

  “So, what do we do?”

  “All the scientists I brought in are at your disposal. Put them to work. Make them take out the trash if you need to keep them busy, but use them however you see fit. My job is going to shift toward getting better security for your property. That man should never have crossed the parking lot and gotten within throwing distance of a window. If he’d had a gun… Well, let’s just say he might have found a juicier target.”

  She noticeably gulped.

  “But to shoot them? Is it the right thing to do?”

  General Smith smiled. “The more distraction we can sow among the television-watching public, the better. By shooting the rock-chucker, we’ve tossed down the gauntlet for all to see. It will be the only thing they talk about on the news today. As an afterthought, they’ll be theorizing what you do here. It should buy us the time we need.”

  “Time for what?”

  “For me,” the general answered, “I’ve got more troops coming in to keep the peace on this property. I’ve got to stretch what’s here until relief arrives.”

  “And for me?”

  “You need to give me the answer to the only question that matters: how do we shut this merry-go-round down once and for all?”

  She smirked. “And I thought you were going to ask something hard.”

  Ramstein Air Base, Germany

  “How the hell did I get here?” Lieutenant Phil Stanwick demanded of anyone who would listen.

  He wasn’t in his command post. There were no explosions. No Phalanx auto-cannons. No soldiers screaming.

  A man standing at the adjacent bed turned to him. “They said you were medevacked from Bagram. Said it was a nightmare op. I heard them talking.”

  Phil concentrated on the man’s insignia. It was the same silver oak leaf as his own.

  “Thanks, Colonel,” Phil replied. Then, realizing the surroundings, he took stock of his condition. “I’m not injured?”

  “Well, I’m no doctor, but it seems to me that if you have to ask the question, you must be doing pretty well.”

  It didn’t make Phil feel any better. “My men. I should be back there.”

  “Battle is over. Hell, the whole war is over. You were one of the last ones who caught a plane out of there, if what I’m hearing is true.” He looked around at other beds in the ward. Some had men in them, but most were empty.

  “That’s impossible,” Phil insisted. “We had thousands of men.”

  “Some went to Kabul, some were stuffed on other planes.” The guy spoke in a quieter voice. “Some died.”

  “But the whole airbase? Why?”

  “Didn’t you hear? The Army is going back to the States. Our mission has changed.”

  Phil sat up and slid to the edge of the bed. “Colonel, you have to tell me what’s going on. How the fuck did I get put in this bed? I’m fine.”

  “Have you looked at yourself?”

  That caught him by surprise. “No.”

  His arms were bruised and covered in dried blood, but they otherwise felt fine. He got on his feet with no problem. “I feel a little beat up, for sure, but I’m fit for duty. I was pulled out by mistake.”

  “Maybe,” the other man answered in an odd tone. “Or maybe fate brought you here for a different reason.”

  He didn’t care about anything but finding a mirror. One hung on the wall a couple of beds down the row. Phil passed his fellow officer and noticed the wounded soldier in the next bed. “And sorry about your man.”

  “Thanks.”

  Phil walked in his socks. The floor was cold under his feet, almost like a morgue. That gave him a moment of panic, and for a couple of footfalls he imagined the other Lieutenant Colonel as Death come to collect him, but his doubt went away when he looked in the mirror.

  “Fucking hell,” he said when he saw himself.

  He wasn’t de
ad, but his face was bruised and swollen, as if a honey badger had taken out a lifetime of anger on him. The sides of his neck were blanketed with dried blood, and his uniform above the waistline was bathed in it. He patted around for tender injuries but came up with nothing. The blood wasn’t his.

  The image in the mirror jogged his memory, and he pieced together what must have happened.

  “We were surrounded by Soviet, British, and mixed Afghan units. Our command post collapsed on us when a bomb struck. I did black out for a time. Medics must have thrown me on the plane with the others. Probably thought I was just as bad as them.”

  “Sounds like a one-in-a-million injury.”

  He didn’t see it that way. “I have to get back in the fight.”

  “I told you, the fight’s over.”

  Bonneville Salt Flats, I-80

  Buck had driven I-80 numerous times in the past. He could compute how many times per year he went up and down the highway, and from there, come to an approximation of how many times he’d been over this particular stretch. Probably hundreds, at least.

  And never in all those journeys had he seen a drop of water on the Bonneville Salt Flats.

  “What’s wrong?” Connie asked.

  Buck wasn’t driving at the speed limit, which raised red flags for his navigator. However, he had every reason to drive slowly and observe the new threat.

  “You see the water too?” he asked, as if testing his sanity.

  “Yeah, it’s the Great Salt Lake, right?”

  “No,” he replied. “That’s still up ahead. We’re seventy-five miles from it, at least. This has always been a salt flat. It is fifty miles across, and I don’t know how many miles it goes away from the highway.”

  The two strips of interstate were separated by a shallow median, creating parallel lines from his position to a tiny dot on the horizon. Instead of the packed white salt on both sides of the highway that should have been there, everything was now covered by water.

  “It’s like driving on the ocean,” she remarked.

  “Yeah, but why?”