"Chain Reaction" Power Failure Book I

by Andrew Draper

Aaron watched the sun climb over the horizon as he stared out the window into the wrecking yard beyond. For more than an hour he’d admired the sharply contrasting beauty of the sun’s reflection off the snow-covered, rusting hulks on the other side of the glass.

  After prowling the floor at Ed’s for the remainder of his sleepless night, Aaron scratched his unshaven face and poured his third cup of coffee. He crossed the room and rousted his friend, kicking the chair Ed slept in. The ex-sailor snapped awake and instantly alert, a menacing black automatic appeared, as if by magic, in his hand. “What’s up? We got company?”

  With his head throbbing from blood loss and the over-indulgence in Glasgow’s finest, Aaron answered the other man. “No. We’re secure. But it’s time Jenny and I left. It’s too dangerous for us to be here.”

  Ed rubbed his eyes. “Okay. I won’t ask where you’re headed, because we both know that Fed will probably be back and I can’t spill what I don’t know.”

  “Thanks. We’re going to need a car.” Aaron said. “We can’t take that truck I ‘borrowed’. It’s full of bullet holes.”

  Thinking for a moment, Ed smiled. “I think I can manage that.”

  “And I need to raid your private armory.”

  “Cool with me.” Ed said as he stood and stretched. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a set of keys, tossing then to Aaron. “You know where it is. Take what you need.”

  After waking Jenny, Aaron waited for her to get into the shower before he went to finish packing a few last necessities.

  Aaron gently tapped his fingertips along the tongue and groove paneling in Ed’s workshop, running his palms along the smooth, richly-oiled planks. He located the loose knot in the wall and removed it, revealing a keyhole underneath. He unlocked the hidden door and looked down a short flight of stone steps leading into the darkness.

  Aaron descended the stairs and came to the armory’s steel security door. With the turn of the key, it opened silently on heavy, well-oiled hinges as he pushed it out of the way. He reached into the dark room and felt along the left side wall for the light switch. Finding it, he threw the room into bright illumination.

  The stark concrete walls reflected the harsh fluorescent light. He took in the rows of firearms and various other weapons stored in racks and on shelves along all four walls. Stepping into the center of a gun freak’s wet dream, he pulled a G.I. rucksack of olive-drab canvas from the shelf to his right and began to make his selections.

  He started with a pair of K-bar double-edged knives, one going into a sheath he strapped to his left forearm, the other on his right calf. Then he pulled a matched pair of Colt model 1911 45 cal. automatic pistols out of a wooden crate. Hefting one of the guns, he tested the action, feeling the reassuring weight in his hand before placing it inside the bag with its partner. Next on the list was a black Smith and Wesson 25 cal. automatic. For the good doctor, he mused. Extra ammunition and magazines for each completed the small arms acquisitions, then it was on to the heavy artillery.

  He moved past the shelves to a row of free-standing gun racks and an 8mm Mauser bolt-action rifle with a long-range scope joined the handguns, making the ensemble complete.

  That ought to do. He thought, flipping off the lights and ascending the stairs back to the workshop.

  Half an hour later Aaron and Jenny were packed up and ready to leave. She hadn’t spoken to him since waking. However, he did notice she was no longer glaring daggers at him.

  Aaron felt a small vibration come through the soles of his shoes, climbing his body as it gained in strength and intensity. Just when he thought he’d imagined the sensation, Jenny looked at him with concern on her face. “What’s that?” she asked, as the feeling became a sound, the small rumble growing in volume.

  He returned Jenny’s quizzical look when mechanical thunder began coming from outside the shop’s roll-up door. The automatic opener groaned in protest and the building shook with the increasing roar of an engine as the massive door to the bay retraced slowly, letting in a blast of frozen air.

  With the din becoming deafening, Aaron’s eyes opened wide in surprise as Ed backed a giant SUV into the empty space. He let out a small chuckle when the massive tires and never-ending fenders came into view. When the cab windows appeared, Aaron cupped hands to his mouth and yelled up to driver’s seat. “Hey Ed, Mad Max called! He said he wants his truck back!”

  Ed looked down at Aaron, smiled broadly and flipped him off.

  Ed turned the key and the engine died instantly, the sudden silence almost a physical blow. He stuck his head out the window. “I think you’ll like this one.”

  Opening the huge door, he jumped down and continued talking. “I nicknamed it The Warthog. It’s a 1966 International Travel-All,” he said. “She may not be pretty, but she has it where it counts. 550 horsepower big-block, 36-inch tires, two 40 gallon tanks, SatNav, the works.”

  Following Ed to the front of the truck, Aaron took in the extra rows of headlights resting on stalks protruding from the front bumper. He also saw the bright yellow plow blade, 10 feet of solid steel, hanging from its hydraulic controls. He gave a low whistle of appreciation.

  Ed continued his dissertation with the adoration of a proud parent, thumping his hand on the vehicle’s massive fender. “It’s the closest thing I have to an armored car right now. I built it to plow lanes for emergency vehicles. You’ll need it if you’re going where I think you’re going.”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny that,” Aaron said with a sly grin.

  “I thought so.”

  Ed reached inside the cab and pulled a lever, lowering the plow to the floor with a loud, metallic clang. “Let’s get this off. It’ll just get in the way.”

  As the two men pulled clevis pins from the plow’s mounting brackets, Ed spoke. “About last night, what I said about you hiding…”

  Aaron interrupted him in mid-sentence, giving his friend a dismissive wave. “Forget it.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t want you to forget it. I want you to think about it. I know it’s hard to swallow, but Heather’s gone and you’re still here. You have to figure out a way to live with that…for your own sanity.”