Winds of Ares: An Apocalypse Thriller

by Druga, Jacqueline

  Martin did manage to close the hatch, but not before we were covered in a dusting, as an inch of the stuff covered the landing.

  Lane started coughing. He must have wheezed in, bringing some dust into his lungs.

  Martin patted him on the back, as if he were a choking child. Not sure how beating his spine was going to help.

  “Everything alright?” Rosie asked, peeking out the door. “Oh, please don’t tell me that is what is above us.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” Martin told her. “I really do. Can you grab us a bottle of water?”

  “Yes.” Rosie nodded.

  “And tell the kids everything is okay,” I added. “Please.”

  Rosie hurriedly retreated into the safe room and returned with a bottle of water, extending it up to Lane.

  “Thank …” Lane coughed violently. “You.”

  “Take a drink,” Martin instructed.

  “Exactly how is drinking water going to help if he breathed in a big old whiff of dirt?” I asked. “Hitting him on the back made a little more sense.”

  “Do you really want an explanation?”

  “Do you have one?” I shifted my eyes to a coughing Lane who tried to drink water but kept coughing it out of his mouth.

  “More than likely it’s not in his lungs, it’s in his throat,” Martin explained. “The water will sooth it and make it moist.”

  “He inhales dirt, it gets stuck in his throat, he drinks water wouldn't you get ... mud?”

  Lane stopped coughing and exhaled. “Ah, better.”

  “Mud works like a cough suppressant I guess.” Martin nodded with a so there look. “Let’s do this. No breathing in, just in case it comes down at us again.”

  I not only stepped back, I walked down the stairs, to be clear from the platform.

  Martin struggled a little when reopening the hatch. It didn’t fly open as easily as it had prior. Perhaps it did, I wasn’t there when they opened it the first time. But I had watched as Rosie whipped it open pretty easily.

  Martin tried not to show it was heavier and after a good push, it lifted. He had to keep pushing on it for the hatch to open all the way.

  “Oh, boy.” Martin said. He lifted his tee-shirt over the bridge of his nose and climbed the small ladder to the top.

  I grabbed his extended hand once I neared the top and used the leverage to get out of the hatch.

  Martin’s first exclamation of, “Oh boy”, just didn’t seem big enough to describe what I saw.

  How Martin did it, I didn’t know. He barely waivered as he looked around. His shoulders heaved up only once as he took a breath and took in the sight of it all.

  “Lane, tell Rosie,” Martin said calmly. “It’s alright to bring the kids out.”

  Martin’s property was always green. Whenever you looked at it, you just saw green. Beautifully landscaped, dotted with trees, and perfectly positioned fences, the ranch was magazine beautiful. He boasted his home looked like Ronald Reagan’s California ranch. The porch wrapped around a stucco, story and a half home with a red clay roof.

  Now the green was buried beneath a layer of dirt and debris. Trees were split, many uprooted and tossed. A few pieces of fence poked up here and there. The house was the saddest part. The front porch had been ripped off, the roof was three quarters gone, and the house was a mere shell. It looked as if the contents of the house had been sucked up through the hole in the roof, mangled and ripped, then thrown everywhere.

  I didn’t see Martin’s truck, but I saw Lane’s pickup. It was half off the driveway, laying on its side.

  The one thing that surprised me was the barn.

  It was still standing, but the metal structure took a beating. The huge dents and crinkles made me wonder what had slammed into it.

  Martin ran to his barn. I hurried to catch up to him, but he reached there before I did.

  The door was dented and warped, but he was able to open it.

  I watched as he looked inside, then turned to face me.

  “They’re alright!” he yelled. “They’re fine.”

  I exhaled in relief, then thought of the other horses, the ones that had taken off. I prayed they ran and knew the danger, I hoped they got far enough away to be safe.

  I heard a sob and glanced over my shoulder.

  Rosie stammered hopelessly, then dropped to her knees in the dirt.

  The children stood on each side of her, one hand on Rosie, trying to give comfort.

  I couldn’t make out what she was saying, nor Lane, so I walked over.

  A part of me knew what she was crying about. It wasn’t an attachment to the ranch, she cried with worry.

  When I arrived, she was speaking through weeping words, as I suspected, it was about her family.

  I didn’t know what to say or how to console her.

  Martin did. At least he came off that way.

  “Rosie,” he said her name soft and stern. “Listen to me. Never knew of a twister of any sort to go more than fifteen miles. You’re twenty miles out. I’m sure everything is fine. It didn’t start that far away.”

  “We can call.” Carlie lifted her phone. “We can see if they’re okay. Wait. No. I don’t have a signal, Pap.”

  “No. The tower is three miles west. Those funnels came that way,” Martin replied. “We can go check. The horses are fine. Lane? What do you think?”

  Lane sighed out, hands on hips. “It’s dry, Martin. All this dirt. The horses are gonna need water and even at best speed, we’re talking a couple of hours before we can give them any breaks with all this.”

  Reese pointed. ‘What about Lane’s truck? It’s on its side. Can we roll it back?”

  Lane placed his hand on Reese’s head, rubbing his hair as if to thank him for the suggestion, and he walked over to his truck.

  I watched as he examined it, touching it, grabbing things, walking around it and then he returned to us.

  “Well?” Martin asked.

  “I don’t see anything,” Lane answered. “Axle looks good, frame doesn’t seem bent.”

  “Tie rod?”

  “All one piece from what I can gather. I mean, it’s on the passenger side, so we may have some busted windows. Doors may not work. It’s fine right now, I really think. I mean the way it is.”

  Martin nodded. “Until we flip it. It could cause damage.”

  “It could,” Lane agreed. “But it’s worth a shot.”

  “I’m sorry …” I held up my hand. “Don’t trucks weight thousands of pounds? How are you going to turn it?”

  “Horses,” Lane replied. “My truck weighs about five thousand. Each horse can pull three times its weight. Two horses can do it, but if you have the harness, Martin, I’d do three.”

  “I have the harnesses in the barn,” Martin replied. “Let’s get them. Let’s do this.” He then crouched down before Rosie. “We’re going to do this and then we’re going to go make sure that family of yours is fine. I am certain they are.”

  “What about your home?” she asked. “All this?”

  “All this is still going to be here when we get back. Don’t you worry.”

  He stood, signaled Lane and they went to the barn.

  I wasn’t confident in the plan to put the truck right side up. I felt bad for the horses, but Lane assured me they were strong. Still, it was a lot of pressure to put them through. After all, they were traumatized, too. They had to be. I know we all were.

  They harnessed the horses and strategically placed the ropes on the truck.

  Martin and Lane guided the horses and they pulled. I cringed watching the truck rock a couple times before it slammed on its wheels with a bounce.

  It frightened the horses and they bucked. Lane calmed them, then they released the ropes that bound them to the vehicle.

  Before putting them back safely in the barn, in case we needed them, Lane got in his truck and started it.

  The engine turned over without a problem, he drove forward cautiously, then back, making
a few turns around the property before driving back.

  “It’s feels fine,” Lane said. “No knocking or problems. As long as we take it easy, we should be okay.”

  They gathered the horses to take and put them securely in the barn.

  Reese had asked about the others, the ones that ran off.

  Martin boasted confidence they would find their way back.

  Lane’s truck wasn’t new, nor was it one of those obnoxiously big pickup trucks that were nearly luxury vehicles.

  The front seat had a pull down middle that enabled it to seat three people, and the back seat was small and narrow.

  It was decided Reese would sit up front in the middle with Lane and Martin, while Carlie, Rosie and I squeezed in the coffin size back seat.

  I looked at what little seating and breathing room I had. “I can ride in the back,” I said.

  Very seriously Martin looked at me. “When I was seventeen, I was riding in the back of Allister Caplin’s pickup with Mary Ellen Boyle. We weren’t going fast, just down a road. Allister hit a bump and Mary Ellen flew out of the back, like a rock, she just flew. She lived, but she had such a bad head injury she thought she was Groucho Marx for eight months. It’s not safe.”

  “You realize you could have just said no,” I told him. “Right. Just say no, it’s not safe.”

  “Get in the truck, Jana.”

  I relented and got in, squeezing tightly in the back. I couldn’t even put a seatbelt on. I was squashed between Carlie and the tiny back side window.

  Martin instructed Lane to, “Just drive slow, keep your eye peeled for debris. It might be covered. I’ll help you look.”

  “Are you sure?” Rosie asked. “The storm didn't go farther west from here?”

  “I’m not sure,” Martin replied. “But I really don’t think it did. I mean it’s quite a ways. I’m willing to bet it stopped a few miles from here. You’ll see. We’ll see a lot of emergency vehicles. You watch. In fact …” he reached for the radio. “We should be able to pick up an Amarillo station. They’re probably talking about it.” He pressed the button.

  Nothing.

  “Does this work?” Martin asked Lane.

  “It did,” Lane replied. “It might have gotten damaged.”

  Rosie immediately panicked. “Why is there no radio? Why are we not getting anything from Amarillo?”

  “Easy,” Martin said. “The radio got damaged. Rosie, we saw those funnels leave. They were close, they weren’t anywhere near Amarillo.”

  “But what if there were more?” Rosie asked. “What if there was another twister?”

  “No.” Martin shook his head. “That is highly improbable. The chances of it happening are slim to …” He stopped cold, after a second, he cleared his throat. “None.”

  I caught it. Lane looking into the rearview mirror at me.

  “Jana.” Martin turned some and looked at me. “Just, you know, in case you have a point with that weather stuff. You don’t happen to have any information, do you?”

  “Everything.” I replied. “Every note, article post and picture, printed and put nicely in order in a binder.”

  “It wasn’t at the house, was it?” Martin asked.

  “No.” I shook my head. “It’s with Becky.”

  “Good. Good.” Martin faced forward. After a beat, he turned around again. “Who’s Becky?”

  SIX – UNCOVERING BECKY

  The first four miles of the journey took longer than we expected. Lane drove cautiously, the road was hard to see. We didn’t spot any other vehicles on the road at all. At least none that were moving. We saw some that had been thrown in the storm, dropped and smashed on the side of the road.

  As I peered out my tiny window, I could see to my left the wide divot in the field next to the road. The ground was torn up, a huge path was dug into the earth and I could only deduce it was from the funnels.

  The cell tower was twisted and bent, but Skip’s Automotive was untouched.

  There wasn’t much in the small, one stop sign town where I had originally busted a radiator hose.

  Businesses were on both sides of the street.

  Skip’s, the diner and some secondhand store remained standing, even the glass phone booth was undamaged. Yet, the other half of the street had been reduced to rubble and matchsticks.

  “How is this possible?” I asked, stepping from the truck.

  “Oh, it’s very possible,” Martin replied. “I’ve seen it before. One house fine, the one across the street, destroyed.” He looked around.

  I knew what he was looking for … people, some sort of signs of life.

  Were they all still in their storm cellars?

  No emergency workers, sirens or noises of any kind were around.

  It was strange, and I could see on Rosie’s face she was worried, she grew more anxious by the second.

  Lane stepped out of the truck, leaving it running, he reached in and lifted Reese out. He set him down, then helped Carlie out as well. He shut the back door, but not the driver’s door.

  Martin walked around the truck. “We won’t be long. Are you sure?”

  Lane nodded. “We’ll be fine. We’ll be safe here with the kids. You won’t be that long. Maybe we can get some answers.”

  “And that old RV of hers fixed. We’ll need some shelter for the night.”

  Lane looked at me. “What happened to it?”

  “Busted hose,” I answered. “It might be fixed. Skip said he’d have it done today.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Good luck, Martin,” Lane said to him.

  “You, too.” He backed up letting Martin get into the truck.

  I glanced around trying to see someone, trying to remember if there were any houses in the small town or was it just business.

  The wheels of the truck stirred up the dust as Martin drove away. He moved slowly, driving around the debris like some sort of obstacle course.

  A twinge of worry hit my gut, but I kept telling myself, he wouldn’t have to go far before he was out of the disaster area.

  Or so I hoped.

  “Ready?” Lane asked.

  “I am.”

  Lane reached out, placing a hand on Carlie and the other on Reese. Keeping them close to him and within his reach as he led the way to the garage.

  I didn’t need to worry if the door was unlocked, the glass was broken, so we had a way in. But as I was about to climb in, Lane stopped me.

  “Hold on. Before you hurt yourself.” He grabbed the handle and pulled.

  The door opened.

  Carlie giggled.

  I gave a quick scowl to her, then stepped in as Lane held the door.

  “Hello,” I called out, not expecting an answer. It was an old auto shop, in the waiting room was evidence Skip wasn’t really worried about the comfort of those who waited for their vehicles. Four old chairs, metal with vinyl covering. An old desk was there with a black telephone. The desk chair was toppled over.

  I reached for the phone to check for a tone and saw right on the desk were my keys on top of my invoice. “Holy crap. He was charging me six hundred and thirty dollars for a hose. Does that’s sound right?”

  “No,” Lane said as he walked by me with the kids to the back garage.

  I lifted the phone, there was no dial tone.

  “Um, I change my answer,” Lane called out. “That’s a big yes.”

  “For a freaking hose?” I set down the phone and walked to the back.

  “Yeah, Jana, this is a classic. I can’t believe he found a hose. Maybe he fitted one.” He shook his head. “Oh wow, you didn’t tell me you bought Mr. Williams’ 1977 Travco 290. I wondered what happened to it after he died.”

  “I bought it and I don’t think it’s that old.”

  “Yeah, it is. It was his pride and joy.” He ran his hand over the side of the blue and white RV.

  “I know. He was always keeping it pristine,” I said.

  “I can’t believe you bought this. Chuck
Kreeson was making a deal with him over this before Mr. Williams died. He was going to get it for eighteen thousand.”

  I laughed. “Then he was getting ripped off. Mrs. Williams sold it to me for twelve hundred.”

  “No, you got a deal. This is beautiful, why do you call her Becky?’

  “Okay, my mom had this friend, her name was Becky, and she always wore patterns with flowers, saying they would come back. As soon as I saw the upholstery, I thought of Becky.”

  Lane snapped his finger. “Oh, wow, I remember her. She wore that God awful purple, patterned dress to your mom’s funeral.”

  “The only smile I had that day.”

  Lane smiled and then it dropped from his face. “Where’s Reese? Reese!”

  “Reese!” I called as well. “Carlie?”

  “He was just right here. Maybe he went inside.” She grabbed for the door.

  “Guys,” Reese excitedly called, running back into the garage.

  “Buddy,” Lane exhaled. “Where’d you go? You can’t be running off like you’re Carl from the Walking Dead.”

  “Sorry, I heard something,” Reese replied. “I went to peek. Come on, I saw people.” He ran out.

  Of course, we all followed. I did swipe up my keys on the way back out. When I stepped through the door, Reese was stranding there facing the diner.

  “I saw someone walk in there.” He pointed.

  I didn’t see anyone, but it was worth a shot to look. Maybe they knew something. A huge part of me was hoping I wouldn’t hear anything that would confirm what Julius had been saying all long.

  Making sure the kids were close to us, we walked the twenty feet to the diner.

  It was a long rectangular building, not too big. The door led to a small area with a gumball machine. As soon as we entered there, we knew Reese was correct.

  There were people in there.

  From what I could see through the window, it didn’t look like the diner was operational. A man wearing whit with an apron stood behind a table where several people sat.

  I recognized one of them as Skip.

  Pushing open the interior diner door, I stepped in, leading my family.

  I wasn’t sure if they were talking and suddenly shut up when we walked in or if they were sitting silently.