End of Days | Book 5 | Beyond Alpha

by Isherwood, E. E.

  I can work with someone like her.

  Someone who wasn’t a fan of the general.

  Same as him.

  Location Unknown, Pacific Ocean

  Destiny had volunteered to go ashore with a small party, including her father’s friend Zandre, who now looked out for her. When the sun came up and the captain of the Majestic saw what was on the landmass blocking them from going north, he ordered some of his people ashore to look around.

  “Where the bloody hell are we?” she blurted.

  The little inflatable boat bounced on the waves, much as they would under any other circumstance on the ocean. However, the land ahead of them was anything but natural or typical of a landfall.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Zandre added.

  The black sandy beach was almost normal for the first fifty yards out of the water, but soon the sand was covered by what could only be described as the world’s biggest pile of trash. When they got close, she was able to make out speedboats, automobiles, airplanes, and about a million of those green trash bins commonly found at the end of residential driveways.

  “I bet it’s every bit of thirty meters tall in some points,” Zandre estimated.

  It was also miles long. Fog blocked the beach a couple of miles to their right, but she could see to the horizon the other way. The long pile of garbage ran as far as her eyes could follow.

  “What could cause such a thing?” she asked.

  “Going ashore,” Captain Barlow announced. Soon, he hopped out into the surf, his long white beard soaking up frothy seawater as he dragged the boat onto the sand.

  A second sailor from the ship, Tim, jumped over the other side to help the captain. He was assisted by an Asian crewman whose name she didn’t know.

  “Should we get out to help?” she asked.

  “No, we got you,” Barlow assured her as he and the other two men dragged the boat clear of the surf.

  They walked to the wall of trash.

  “I think there’s an entire passenger train down that way.” She gestured to her left. At least a dozen train cars poked out of the pile, including a bright blue carriage from the TrainLink system of Australia. Others she didn’t recognize.

  “How did they get here?” she asked, voicing the question that had to be on all their minds.

  “It looks like a tsunami scoured Sydney and chucked it all on this patch of land. I dunno, maybe we got turned around, and this is Queensland after all. Maybe we’re back home.”

  “No way, mate,” she replied. “This seems like a lot more than Aussie stuff. Look at this.” Dez picked her way around a freestanding mound of wooden furniture until she was next to the front half of a lorry. The dented license plate had survived, but the color, shape, and numbers weren’t local.

  “Where do you think it’s from?” the captain pressed.

  “It’s British,” Zandre answered. “I’ve had rich bastards fly their own trucks from Great Britain so they can hunt on my preserve. I’d recognize them anywhere.”

  “Then maybe they came from your place?” Barlow suggested.

  “I doubt it. Haven’t seen one recently.”

  “There are dozens,” Destiny interrupted. “And look. Have you ever seen one of those red double-decker buses on your typical street in Sydney? How about ten of them?”

  She found one bus in a pile to her right, and two others were half-submerged in the sand in front of the main garbage heap. There was no doubt in her mind more of the buses were somewhere in the pile. Like everything else, they were dented and warped, but their origin was unmistakable.

  “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” she said as she kicked a six-foot-tall stuffed animal that might have been a teddy bear. “How did it all get here.”

  “And is more coming,” the captain finished.

  They turned around. The Majestic idled in the shallow waters about five hundred meters out. Barlow had told her there were five men staffing the engines and the pilothouse, as well as fifteen VIPs from the Sidney Harbor Foundation living inside. Those people would die before her if a wave big enough to carry buses and airplanes happened along. She was concerned for their fate and for her own, but luckily, there was nothing but flat ocean beyond the ship.

  “Anyone have any ideas on what we should do?” Captain Barlow asked.

  The answer seemed obvious to someone who’d spent her life in the endless expanse of wilderness that was the Australian Outback.

  “We have to get a look over the top of this wall,” she suggested.

  The four men looked at her like she was crazy.

  Five

  Buck’s Rock

  Buck woke up for the second time that day. This go-round, someone was kissing him.

  “Connie, not in front of the boy,” he said, half-awake.

  “It’s not me.” His girlfriend laughed.

  It was enough to yank him to full alert.

  “Oh, man!” It was Big Mac slobbering over his face. “What’s the emergency?”

  The Golden Retriever’s tail wagged with so much force that the dog’s entire body wagged with it. Once Buck’s eyes were open and Mac was sure he was up, he ran backward as if to coax him off the ground. Buck spotted a yellow tennis ball in the grass.

  “I’m awake,” he assured the pup.

  “Someone brought a tennis ball for your doggo,” Connie reported. “I told them to set it down, but Mac is smart. Once he noticed it, he knew who he needed to awaken to get some playtime.”

  “Well, I’m not going to refuse his effort.” Buck got to his feet. “A dog that smart needs to be rewarded, right, Big Mac?”

  As planned, the excitable dog barked at hearing his name.

  “How long was I out?” he asked Connie. The sun was low over the mountains at their backs, which meant he’d likely been down since about lunchtime.

  “All afternoon,” she replied. “I drifted off a few times too, though I’m not nearly as tired as you must be.”

  He stretched. “I’m feeling a lot better actually, thanks.”

  “Just play with your puppy,” Connie advised. “I’ve tossed the ball a hundred times for him, but I guess I don’t do it the same as how you do it.”

  The grassy area around Buck’s Rock was crowded with parked vehicles and waiting people, but there was enough room for him to throw the ball forty or fifty feet and not have it bother anyone. It gave him and Mac the necessary room to play fetch.

  Throwing the ball and waiting for Mac to bring it back gave Buck time to think.

  Garth was still gone, which was his primary concern, but an almost equal amount of brain matter was devoted to what he saw on the fields surrounding his namesake rock. People had spread out, finding every shady tree, tall rock, or vehicle to protect them from the sun during the afternoon heat, although it was slightly cooler in the evening.

  He wiped sweat off his forehead.

  “Bring it here, boy,” he coaxed. Seeing Big Mac trot made him think back to when the wild storm had almost caught them back in California, and when he looked at the six-month-old Golden, still a puppy, he saw the dog had grown a lot since that day. Maybe dogs had to mature faster during calamities, exactly like teenagers.

  Mac brought the ball to him but did not drop it. Instead, true to form, the young dog tried to hold onto the ball and make Buck take it.

  “When are you going to learn to drop it?” he asked.

  Mac dropped the ball, causing it to bounce a time or two until it settled in the grass. For ten or fifteen seconds, they both stood there looking at it. Eventually, Buck bent down and picked it up.

  “I see how you are.” Buck chuckled. “I’m supposed to be the one making work for you, not the other way around.”

  Mac was tense, waiting for the next toss.

  “Go get it!” Buck said happily and lobbed the ball on a high arc toward the end of their open space.

  Mac ran off.

  Buck turned around when someone coughed to get his attention.

  “Missy?” h
e asked with surprise.

  “And my boss.” Missy pointed at the short-haired blonde woman he’d seen earlier. She was now dressed in dark slacks and a light-colored blouse instead of the lab coat she’d had on before. “Doctor Faith Sinclair.”

  “Do you have the people organized?” the serious woman asked.

  “Organized?” He cracked up. “I think you have me mistaken for someone else. I’m just a truck driver, remember? That’s what I told General Strauss.”

  Faith stepped close to Buck as Mac arrived. “That’s what you said, but that’s not the whole story.”

  “Wait a second, Mac,” he said, though he grabbed the offered ball and threw it.

  “Mr. Meadows, I’m sorry. I thought you spoke for everyone since you were the only one who addressed the general. The only one with the wherewithal to see what was going on as well as what is needed for these people. We do have some responsibility for them.”

  “I was just opening my big mouth to learn what the hell was going on. I wasn’t leading anything.”

  “I understood what you were saying about the need to move the people inside,” Faith continued, “and even if the general didn’t seem interested, I can assure you there are plenty who are. All these people need to be organized so we know their backgrounds, medical histories, and what they have with them. Then, in a perfect world, we’d take them into our facility.”

  “We don’t exactly live in a perfect world, but what do you mean by that? Is my son safe in there?”

  She scooted in until she was uncomfortably close.

  “I came down here because Strauss said all these people are my responsibility. At first, I thought she was tapping my experience as a leader, even if I no longer have much to do in our lab. But I’ve had all afternoon to think about what took place this morning. Who Strauss is. Why she came here. What she’s planning to do. And then I met someone on the inside who gave me all that information.”

  Buck’s eyes lit up. “And what exactly is she planning?”

  Mac nudged the side of his knee, but Buck refused to look away from the lady.

  “I don’t think any of us were in her plan,” she whispered.

  “What plan?” he replied.

  “I believe she’s only focused on those she brought with her and are inside the complex, not the people out here.”

  “I’ll ask you again. Is my son safe? He went off with his friend as part of the general’s interview process. I expect he’s being treated properly?”

  Still whispering, she added, “Mr. Meadows—”

  “Buck,” he insisted with impatience.

  “Well, Buck, I’m sorry to say I have no idea where your son might have gone, but I get the sense he’s in a much safer spot than you are.” She looked around. “All these people are expendable to Strauss and her team. You guys weren’t supposed to be here.”

  Buck knew that. The military, or whatever force Strauss was leading, had tried to park everyone on the wrong side of the fence. His intervention had put an end to it, though not everyone had made it. Not by a long shot.

  “Well, what the hell are we supposed to do about it? We can’t exactly hop on the highway and go find another city to live in, can we?”

  As he spoke, his eyes were drawn to the two-lane highway running out of Sedalia. The road ended not far north of the little town, with nothing but ocean where Denver used to be. To his surprise, a pair of red lights shone brightly as a blue car drove in the other direction, south along the shore of the new ocean.

  “Buck, I think you are more of a leader than you let on. How about instead of driving the people up to our facility, where they will be at odds with the bastards who took over the facility, you take them along that road?”

  The red lights winked out of sight as the vehicle traveled too far to be seen. Those occupants likely had no idea they were trailblazing a path for him.

  Mac pawed at his jeans, making him look down. The big brown eyes looked up at him, perhaps warning him not to be rash.

  “Well, for starters,” he said, “we have no idea where that road goes. We have no idea what’s on it or what’s at the end of it. We have no clue if we’re dealing with an empty world out there or if we’ll have mixed-up people from every timeline imaginable like we saw on the drive in. Hell, standing here in a safe field, I’m not even sure it’s a good idea to poke around out there.”

  “Well, we might not have a choice,” the doctor said in a dry voice.

  He faced Faith. “I’m completely sympathetic to what you’re saying, and I’d love to be the one to charge out there and scout down a place to live, but as I keep saying, I’m not setting foot beyond that fence until I know my boy is safe.”

  Above Alpha Site

  Garth and Lydia had walked for most of the afternoon. To his surprise, they hadn’t been taken inside the fancy building with the broken windows, though they did walk close by. The guards led them up the steep hillside surrounding the facility, then they entered a pleasant pine forest while continuing to follow the rise in elevation. When they finally reached a broad flat area, the guards let them stop.

  “Where do you think they’re taking us?” Lydia asked.

  “I have no idea,” he answered.

  He was tempted to ask some of the others in their group, but it was the only topic of the afternoon, so he’d heard the question asked over and over. None of the guards would talk to them, which made it frustrating to listen to gross speculation from his fellow travelers.

  The truth was, no one knew.

  Even the guesses were bad, he judged. Some thought they were about to be picked up by aliens since that wouldn’t be any stranger than seeing America be erased from the planet. Others believed the military was getting them somewhere safe from another shift in time. A few thought they were being marched into the woods to be shot, though they were unable to back up their claims.

  “Maybe they know something.” Lydia pointed at a small group that had pulled away from the main body of people.

  Garth became uneasy. They were in the middle of a forest and were supposed to be asked a few questions and then released, so the idea of breaking into groups was outside of what they’d been told. Not unless the rumors were true and they had been rounded up for a malicious reason.

  “I don’t know. We have to listen to what those guards are saying. The ones coming closer.” He noticed how two guards interacted with some of the people in the main crowd, asking questions of them before pulling one or two for inclusion in the side group.

  They strained to hear what was being said.

  “Hello, sir,” a guard said to an elderly man. “What year are you from?”

  The man wore a black suit, black shoes, and a tall black cap. Garth imagined he was Abraham Lincoln, but the illusion was broken when the man spoke up with a thick New York accent.

  “Hello to you,” the old guy replied. “Where are you from, son? I can tell you are from far away by your accent. It’s not Bulgaria, by chance?”

  “No,” he said, showing he didn’t want to talk about it. “Just tell me where you are from and what year you live in.”

  “Fair enough.” The man sighed. “I’m Moshe Alderan. I live in a flat at 1961 7th Avenue, New York City. The year is 1939, thank you very much, though I have no idea what kind of weapons those might be. Did the Germans invade while I was asleep? This is all very meshuga.”

  Garth recognized the Jewish word, having grown up around all kinds of people in New York City.

  “Stay right here, please,” the soldier said to the man.

  “If it means I get to take a break, I’m all for it.”

  “And what about you?” another soldier asked the next-closest person, who looked like a modern farmer with his overalls and green ball cap. “What year is it for you?”

  “2004, of course. I don’t know how you got all these freaks together, but I want to get the hell out of here and back to my farm in Saskatchewan.”

  A Canadian.

&nb
sp; “How did you come to be here?” the soldier asked while writing on a clipboard.

  “I was minding my own business planting my crops when I woke up in a wheat field in Kansas. I got picked up by a group of cars who refused to stop or let me out. We skidded into this place on fumes this morning. Am I finally getting my phone call?”

  The soldier looked at him with curiosity.

  “We’re prisoners, buddy, aren’t we?” the farmer asked.

  “Relax, you are only being detained temporarily for your own protection,” the young military man said in a dismissive tone, gesturing indiscriminately. “You get to go with that group.”

  There had to be logic to who they were sending away, but it wasn’t immediately obvious to Garth.

  The soldier made a direct path to Lydia. “I do not even have to ask with you, do I? You are from way back in the past, right?”

  Lydia took a moment to turn to Garth, perhaps seeking guidance. For his part, there was no way to encourage her to lie, especially if there were people who got to leave. He wanted to be in that group.

  He shrugged.

  “I’m from 1849, sir,” she admitted.

  “No shit,” he razzed her with his strong accent. “You stay here.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied dutifully.

  “And I can guess where you are from,” the same soldier said, looking at Garth’s outfit, which was highlighted by his faded orange t-shirt with a birthday cake imprinted on the front. “Just go over there.” He pointed at the smaller group.

  “No, wait,” Garth shot back. “I am from a long time ago, same as her. I found these clothes because I fell in a pond. My Pa would be so angry.” He did his best to sound like Lydia with her simple manner of speech. “You never want to make Pa angry.”

  The soldier gave Garth a long stare but broke away before it went on for too long.

  “I could care less,” the guy said, walking away. “Stick with her for now.”

  “He meant he couldn’t care less,” Garth said in a hushed voice. “My real pa always corrected me when I said it wrong, but I’m not going to correct that guy’s grammar like my dad did to me. These guys don’t look like they could take the criticism.”