End Days Series Box Set [Books 1-4]

by Isherwood, E. E.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Buck said in growing frustration. Fred was on the gravel in front of another motorcycle that was part of the gang behind his truck. The biker had either hit Fred with his front tire or knocked him on his ass with his hand. Fred was shaking and had turned pasty white.

  “Stop asking me that!” the biker seethed, rolling away from Fred. As he approached his gang friends, the guy gunned his engine like a lion’s victory roar.

  Buck ran over to help the motel owner despite his misgivings about their ongoing dispute. He held out a hand. “You okay?”

  Fred looked up with dusty tears on his cheeks but didn’t respond.

  Buck shouted over the continued grumble of engine sounds, “Come on, man, you look fine.”

  Fred shook his head but grabbed a hand. “I’m not. Not at all. I’ve asked everyone. Everyone!” Once on his feet, he pulled Buck closer. “It isn’t 1990.”

  “I know. That’s what I’ve been trying to say. It’s 2020.”

  Fred recoiled. “No. No, it isn’t. It is 1982. It is 2015. It is 2001. Everyone tells me a different date.” He shook with fright as he pointed around the parking lot, settling on the bikers. “All these people think they are from different times.”

  “Hey!” a biker shouted. “You got a problem with us?”

  Buck ignored the biker, although his heart rate quickened as his sense of dread increased. How could every car be from some other time? What if that were true? He attempted to look at things with a new perspective.

  An old Volvo drove between him and the bikers, on its way to a parking space. It stood out because the young couple inside were dressed in coats, and they had several pairs of skis secured on a roof rack.

  Different times.

  When the Volvo passed, two of the bikers strode away from their bunch and made for Buck and Fred. Buck immediately recognized the danger because the pair had no fear of the law. They didn’t even bother to hide their joints.

  “I don’t suppose you have a gun?” he quietly asked the motel proprietor.

  Five

  Staten Island, NY

  For the next half-hour, Garth was in heaven. He had full access to his dad’s gun stash and all the camping and outdoor equipment he could ever use. He picked up each of the guns and carefully inspected them, as his dad had instructed. It was tempting to take them apart and clean and oil them, but he’d only learned how to do that with his .22 caliber rifle.

  If the internet had been working he could have watched videos on how to clean them, but he decided they already looked ready for battle.

  Oddly, Dad’s biggest warning hadn’t been to be on the lookout for criminals. He wanted him to watch out for the police. New York frowned on gun owners, and they wouldn’t be pleased to see his stash, nor would they be happy to see how many thirty-round mags he kept hidden in the basement. Those were illegal in the state.

  A text from Sam came in while he loaded cartridges into the first mag.

  ‘Made it to the bus station fine. Only saw one weird thing. A free elephant walking down the street. I shit you not!’

  ‘Free? Did you buy it?’ he texted back.

  ‘I should have!’

  Garth laughed. Sam found excitement everywhere he went. ‘All good here. I have things ready for your glorious return.’

  He looked at the pile, which contained at least thirty mags. It made an impressive stack, but Dad had instructed him to load every single one in an emergency. If he didn’t need them, it would be a snap to pull the cartridges back out of the magazines and put them away. However, if trouble did find him, Dad said, you would never complain about being too prepared.

  “Dad, you crazy old dude! We’ll never run out of ammo.” His dad had many 500-round boxes of the stuff jammed behind retired holiday decorations and bags of musty old clothes that had never made it to the donation pile. Garth excitedly placed the unopened boxes together, expecting it to make an awesome pyramid, but he was disappointed to see twenty of them only took up about as much space as a small trunk.

  “Were you expecting a war, Dad? ‘Cause it looks like you were.”

  He was back to loading the magazines when the floor rattled under his feet.

  Earthquake?

  His heart rate jumped past full speed, and he stood absolutely still. For ten or fifteen seconds he leaned toward the stairs, intending to get clear of the basement, but there was no more shaking.

  “Maybe I should take care of the upstairs,” he suggested to himself in a reasonable voice.

  He grabbed one rifle and a loaded magazine and shut the rest in the safe.

  “I guess I’m now on guard duty,” he said aloud to bolster his spirits as he returned to the main floor. It felt better to be out of the basement so he couldn’t be buried in an earthquake, but it felt weird to carry a rifle indoors.

  If you are going to shoot, then shoot to kill, his dad had told him. That rule applied anywhere, but especially inside your own home. If anyone broke into the house, he couldn’t hesitate for a second.

  Garth’s body shook involuntarily as he considered the gravity of what he was doing. Being the man of the house was more responsibility than he had expected it would be. Defending the house wasn’t as simple as calling 9-1-1 anymore, nor could he call out for Dad.

  There was more to home defense than guns, however.

  The other part of Dad’s instructions was to board the windows with plywood. His dad had explained that he’d cut all the wood for the ground floor windows when he’d wanted to be prepared for Hurricane Sandy back in the day. All Garth had to do was get the planks out of the garage, screw them into the frames, and cut narrow slats for peepholes. The only difference from a hurricane, he’d said, was that he should place them on the inside of the house rather than the outside. That would keep intruders from taking them off and keep the average passerby from seeing that the home was boarded up.

  He wrestled with how to get to the garage with his rifle. Dad hadn’t given him instructions on that. If a cop drove by and saw him walking around with a gun, it could get him into trouble. On the flip side, if a bad guy came up to him and saw he was unarmed, it could lead to other kinds of trouble. It really came down to which threat was more likely.

  The backyard looked normal. No criminals lurking around, at least. He cracked up at his own paranoia.

  Does having this gun make me more paranoid?

  The semi-automatic rifle hung on a sling over his shoulder, and he patted the leather strap as if to comfort it. “We’re not paranoid, are we? It’s called being security-minded.”

  What would dad do?

  He had no idea.

  To counter both threats, he placed the gun inside the back door of the house where he could easily get to it. It remained hidden from anyone who happened to walk around the house to where he’d be carrying the wood.

  Garth was quite proud of himself, and was just about to walk outside to start his project when the hallway phone rang.

  Dad?

  Their old agreement was to call the hallway landline if they ever got in trouble and the cell phones were down. However, he’d already talked to Dad earlier in the morning. Everything had been fine then.

  He ran to the phone and checked the caller ID to confirm it wasn’t his dad’s cell number. The safe play was to screen the call, so he let it go to voicemail.

  “Hello,” a computer voice began. “This is the New York City Emergency Alert System. Your area, the borough of Staten Island, is under a voluntary evacuation notice. Summer Storm Audrey is now Hurricane Audrey, with sustained winds in excess of seventy-five miles per hour. Projections show your area is within the expected path of the hurricane. All residents are advised to travel outside the path—”

  The machine beeped and turned off.

  Garth leaned over the answering system to confirm the screen showed full. Someone had called and filled up the voicemail.

  “Damn! Now what?”

  He walked to the back do
or, passing the gun. He ran into the yard, somehow expecting to see a hurricane on the horizon, but all he saw were fluffy white clouds high in the sky to the south. He didn’t see anything alarming.

  For a moment, he considered ignoring the message, but the drone of a distant tornado siren caught his attention. Once he made out what it was, a second siren started up closer to home.

  What would Dad do?

  It occurred to him that even with every advantage in guns, ammo, food, and a place to stay, he had very little idea what to do if natural disasters threatened the house. If he ran, where would he go? Sam wasn’t home. He could take the car and join the flood of people trying to get off the island. He could stay and ride it out, but what if a tidal wave washed ashore? He’d seen too many movies.

  Think, dude.

  The siren on the next block kicked on. Its wail rose and fell like air raid sirens.

  He had to make a decision.

  Pole Line Motel, Mono Lake, CA

  Buck sized up the situation and concluded his only chance was to talk his way out of the encounter. The two men walking his way might be assholes, but they hadn’t yet broken any major laws. His personal rule was to only reveal his pistol if he intended to use it. The 9mm Beretta Storm remained under the hem of his Hawaiian shirt, ready for duty.

  “You got something to say to me?” The biker pointed at Fred, who had somehow shrunk.

  “N-no, sir. I’m—”

  “You point to one Trash Panda, you point to all of us.”

  The two guys were a few feet away and Buck still hadn’t done anything, so he held up his hands as if to request them to halt. “Hey, guys, this has all been a misunderstanding.”

  Both bikers sized him up like he was their dinner, and the leader stole a glance around to see who might be watching. Buck’s heartrate broke into a gallop, and he took a deep breath. He wasn’t one to back down from a good brawl—he was a Marine, after all—but the pair had blood in their eyes and five allies backing them up. Buck’s partner was a skinny motel operator on the verge of running away.

  I’m going to have to shoot him.

  Using his weapon was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. Each of the bikers was likely packing, and a gunfight would get someone killed.

  Time seemed to slow down as the confrontation escalated. Buck had moved his hand to the holster but froze in place when the first biker grabbed his partner and stopped him. The two men looked to the front of the lot at the yellow VW.

  Buck figured the police had arrived, but that notion was quickly scuttled when he saw what had caught their attention.

  His neighbor, the redheaded cowgirl, stood at the yellow car’s trunk. Since the car was parked so close to his front bumper, she had to lean over from the side to get her bag into the back. Her long dress and tall boots didn’t expose much of the back of her legs, but she was shapely enough to get noticed. The pair of bikers saw her do that and changed their game plan.

  The lead guy smacked his pal on the chest and pushed him away from Buck and Fred.

  Buck eased off his holster as the men walked the length of his tractor-trailer toward the woman.

  “Well, I’m glad we didn’t tangle with those guys, but that woman may need our help, don’t you—”

  Fred was gone. Buck spun around to find the man talking to a yuppy-looking couple standing by the gray ski-carrying Volvo. He shot a quick look over his shoulder at the woman but hastened to Fred because he needed the owner to do something.

  “This is 1999,” the yuppy woman said to Fred. “What are you talking about?” Her chirpy voice was instantly grating, but Buck had to hear more.

  “Everyone is telling me something different,” Fred replied in exasperation.

  “Excuse me,” Buck interrupted, “but why are you saying it is 1999? It’s June of 2020.”

  “No,” the yuppy guy replied as he shed his coat. “This is December of 1999. We’re on our way to Squaw Valley up at Lake Tahoe. We pulled in here because I got dizzy behind the wheel. I think I’ve had too much coffee.”

  Fred leaned over to Buck but made no effort to speak quietly. “See, I told you. Everyone is mad. It isn’t me. You are, too, with your hundred-dollar bill trick.”

  Buck didn’t know what to make of things, but the woman at the yellow VW was now in real trouble. The two bikers were there, and her body language was a cry for help.

  “Fred, this is great and all, but you have to deal with the bikers.” Buck pulled at Fred’s arm, so he was turned toward the redhead in distress. “See? They are going to hurt her if we don’t do something.”

  There was no question in his mind that the bikers hadn’t gone over to the redhead for a friendly chat. She looked furtively in all directions until she caught Buck’s eye.

  I have to help her.

  He gave the cowgirl the sign for okay and gave Fred one last try.

  “Fred, go call the police. There’s going to be trouble if you don’t help that woman.” Buck pointed her way, so Fred had no excuse not to see her. She leaned against the door of her car, but the guys didn’t give her enough room to open it.

  “I’ll give her a hand,” Buck added with determination. “You can either stand there lost in a time that’s past or do something in this one. Come on, man, there’s a woman in need on your fucking parking lot!”

  He left Fred and walked with purpose to his cab.

  Once he climbed up and opened his door, he halted and hung there. “Hey, guys, I’m going to need you to move. I’m leaving.”

  The two guys wheeled around, and the leader recognized Buck. “You again? Can’t you see we’re busy?”

  He locked eyes with the pretty redhead and gave her a small nod. She was terrified.

  He climbed inside and got into his captain’s chair.

  Buck fired up the motor, then let loose with his air horns.

  “And the crowd goes wild!” He gritted his teeth and prepared for battle. Enemy in front of him and enemy behind, but the law of gross tonnage was on his side. Motorcycles or human bodies never fared well against an eighteen-wheeler driven by an angry Marine father desperate to get home to his son.

  Six

  Sydney to Canberra train, New South Wales, Australia

  Destiny ran inside with all the other people who had been let off at the entrance to Central Station. Whatever had spooked the crowd, it reminded her of a herd of herbivores catching the scent of predators. She was almost crushed going through the doors, and the growing mass of humanity practically carried her to the ticket counters.

  Central Station was a giant rectangular building with the ticket area on the long front side and platforms on the long back wall. A giant skylight ran along the top of the rounded, vaulted ceiling from one end to the other.

  However, she scrambled away from the crowd because she had bought her ticket with her phone. Destiny knew exactly where to go. She moved through the people to where the trains loaded and unloaded, but she shrieked a little because hers was already in motion.

  “Shit!”

  She shoved aside a few lost-looking travelers and broke into a sprint.

  There were about eight platforms, although only four had trains boarding. Hers, the short three-car one to Canberra, was the only one moving.

  Destiny didn’t bother calling out because that never worked. Instead, she pulled her duffel off her shoulder and held it with both hands so she could run faster.

  “Excuse me!” she shouted at a group of elderly hogging the entire platform. “Sorry!” she added after nearly bowling a woman over.

  Two people ahead of her jumped onto the train, giving her an example of how she’d need to do it.

  Run, girl!

  The train horn sounded ahead.

  Her lungs were mostly back to normal after the fire, but they weren’t quite one hundred percent. Running at top speed for a hundred meters sapped her, but she closed the distance to the rear car.

  A woman in a navy-blue uniform stood in the side doo
r of the last car, waving her on. “You can do it!”

  She began to doubt it. Her lungs burned, and her legs were sore from climbing yesterday. Still, she didn’t want to miss her big opportunity to find a new animal, so she spent all she had left.

  It might have been easier if she’d worn proper trainers rather than her heavy hiking boots, but she finally got close.

  First, she tossed the bag to the woman, who caught it easily.

  Unencumbered by luggage, she gained a few steps on the rolling train. The end of the platform was ten meters away when she tossed herself toward the moving steps.

  “Bloody hell!”

  The conductor grabbed her arm in support, and they cleared the platform a second later. She was in an awkward position in the doorway, but she was safe.

  “Welcome aboard,” the woman said to her like it was an everyday occurrence.

  “Thanks. You left a little early.” Destiny straightened and looked behind her. A dozen people had been following her to catch the train, but they stopped running once it left the station. She felt sorry for them, but there would be other trains later in the day.

  “Yeah,” the conductor said in a reflective voice, “but TrainLink must have had a pretty good reason. Come on, let’s get inside. I have to secure this door.”

  “My name is Kristie,” the rail worker said once they were inside. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

  “How long until Canberra?”

  “On a normal schedule, it would be four hours and eight minutes, but we’re skipping most stations today. VIPs are on board. It will only take about three.”

  Finally, some good luck.

  The conductor continued, “If the train holds together.”

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

  Faith was a woman of action. The second the general insisted SNAKE was still running an experiment in the collider ring, she invited him to accompany her on a tour. She figured there was no better way to prove to him that everything was offline than by giving him a walk through the equipment.