The Geostorm Series (Book 4): Geostorm [The Flood]

by Akart, Bobby

  What they didn’t realize at the time was the profound changes taking place under the Earth’s surface as a result of the drastic climate change above. As temperatures in the Arctic and Greenland rose due to the pole shift, glacial meltwater flooded into the oceans. Accordingly, global sea levels began to slowly but steadily rise.

  The distribution of weight on the Earth’s crust shifted from land to sea. This shift in weight distribution caused the tectonic plates to adjust, which in turn significantly altered the planet’s volcanic plumbing.

  It had happened before and was happening again. Geologists had confirmed that during periods of rapid climate change over the last million years, the rapid melting of continental glaciers and the resulting sea level increases resulted exponentially increased volcanic eruptions.

  Their studies were contra to conventional wisdom, which stated that volcanic activity had a direct effect on climate change. Their findings were just the opposite. Drastic climate change triggered volcanic activity.

  As the polar ice caps began to melt due to the pole shift, the seas had begun to steadily rise. As the governments scrambled to protect their electric grids and provide for their citizens, the focus on matters of magma temperatures and sea levels were cast aside.

  What would happen caught virtually everyone off guard.

  The melting glaciers coupled with the extraordinary rainfall that inundated North America resulted in an inordinate amount of groundwater to seep into the Earth’s crust. This destabilized the region around Mount Ascutney, which immediately began to feel a series of tremors. Shallow quakes ranging from 2.2 magnitude to 2.8 magnitude had been felt in White River Junction, Vermont, and through the White Mountains to Sanbornton, New Hampshire, just north of Concord.

  Then, as the rainfall increased substantially on this day, a much larger 4.3 magnitude quake struck Woodstock, Vermont, the charming town known for its quaint shops and year-round Christmas-like atmosphere.

  The tremor shook buildings for more than a minute, leaving the town in shock as historic structures were knocked off their foundations. The townsfolk were caught completely unprepared, as there were no known active fault lines in Vermont.

  However, the planet was changing beneath their feet, and the 4.3 quake was just a precursor of things to come—cataclysmic events that made this tremor feel like a slight breeze on a spring day.

  Chapter 20

  Western Harrison County

  Southeast Indiana

  The Blue River is a fifty-seven-mile-long river that rolls through Harrison County along the western boundary through the heart of what’s known as cave country. Following the days when Indians inhabited the watershed, man has been drawn to the beauty of the natural landscape, which had been spared overdevelopment.

  Indianans who were fortunate to live along the water embraced river life, and many catered to those who sought recreation and solitude. Milltown was one such community, and it represented the epicenter of Blue River recreational activity.

  After the power grid was shut down, tourism dried up, much like the river had over the summer. The barren red-clay banks were showing until the day the rains came. The deluge of water that had started sixteen hours earlier shocked residents as Mother Nature took no prisoners. The Blue River quickly swelled, leaving highways and other roads closed to traffic.

  Milltown’s close proximity to the Blue River made it prime for flooding. The few vehicles that were out in those early morning hours unexpectedly found themselves swept up in the high waters.

  The deluge turned yards into swamps and flooded ditches, carrying debris and lawn furniture into the roadways. The dark conditions resulting from the low cloud cover became an extra hazard, as it was too bright for a vehicle’s headlights to be effective but too dark to adequately assess road conditions.

  Kentucky resident Tammy Holiday found this out, unfortunately, as she tried to make her way home to Louisville from a stay with her boyfriend in Indianapolis. She and her seven-year-old daughter had left the abusive man in the middle of the night after he threatened her. Leaving her belongings behind, she loaded her ten-year-old Mitsubishi Mirage with their clothes and took off.

  Despite the rain, she’d made decent time traversing the back roads. The Mitsubishi, which weighed less than two thousand pounds, coupled with her somewhat bald tires, was especially susceptible to hydroplaning.

  Tammy was traveling almost forty miles an hour when she saw several plastic roofing panels that had floated onto the road in front of her. They’d been carried away from nearby Collins Roofing as the rainwaters flooded Whiskey Run creek and swallowed up their farm.

  Instinctively, Tammy swerved to miss the panels in the road, causing her vehicle to hydroplane. Desperate to gain control, she slammed on the brakes to stop. The mistake revealed itself immediately. The rear tires locked, causing the back of the Mitsubishi to spin to the side. Tammy panicked and screamed, causing her daughter to wake up in the back seat.

  Soon, her car was spinning around and around, completely out of control as it approached the overpass at the Blue River. It slid onto the shoulder before crashing through the guardrail, down the rain-soaked embankment, and then hopped into the air slightly before it landed on top of the water.

  The airbag deployed, smashing Tammy in the face and burning her skin. The chemicals released from the deployment filled the car, irritating her eyes and throat.

  “Momma, I can’t breathe!”

  Tammy was barely conscious and tried to make sense of her predicament. Her car bobbed up and down and sideways as the rapidly flowing floodwaters swept it away. Like riding an inner tube on river rapids, the Mitsubishi bounced through the waves of water and made a turn around the bend, where it smashed into a fallen tree.

  A large branch smashed into her window, causing glass to shatter throughout the front seat, but giving them welcome relief from the chemical odor. Helpless and at the mercy of the raging river, their car made another swoop downward through some rapids and back toward the highway in a rush.

  In the nominal light, Tammy could see the concrete supports of a bridge up ahead. She tried to focus through her watery eyes and the driving rain that soaked the inside of her car. Under the bridge, there was something else. It was large, cylindrical in shape, and shiny like galvanized aluminum.

  It grew larger in her field of vision as her car was forced downstream toward the obstruction. That was when it came clearly into view. It was a thousand-gallon propane tank, which had washed off its mounts and was now directly in front of her car.

  The water propelled her car forward, and a collision with the propane tank rolling in the current was certain. She gathered herself and reached into the back seat to pull her child forward with her. Her daughter resisted, pointing toward the bridge abutment and the propane tank.

  The front of the car made contact with the steel tank. The forceful water of the Blue River crammed her front end downward, under the propane tank, until it was standing the vehicle on its end.

  Tammy scrambled through the bucket seats to join her daughter in the back. The cold, black, putrid water began to rise within their car’s interior, forcing its way throughout the front seat as the hood of the vehicle was bashed against the propane tank. The moving water, and its incredible force, was too much for the lightweight Mitsubishi to withstand. Pummeled by the roiling waves, the vehicle started to sink. Panicked, Tammy and her child desperately tried to kick the back and side windows out in an effort to swim to safety.

  Until something large crashed into their undercarriage and struck the gas tank.

  *****

  Chapman was tired but not too exhausted to drive. It had been a long journey since they’d cleared the city limits of Fort Wayne, not in terms of distance but, rather, in terms of time. As the heavy rain continued to fall, visibility became increasingly difficult. Eventually, they made their way past Indianapolis and took a chance driving southbound on Interstate 65. That was when their troubles began.

&
nbsp; Traffic was heavy as refugees abandoned their goals of reaching Fort Wayne or South Bend, two cities that had power, at least for a while. When word spread that the grid had been shut down again, drivers crossed the median or used the paved portions of underpasses to make a U-turn in order to return to Louisville and points beyond.

  In the heavy rain and darkness, this resulted in a fifty-car pileup just north of the Seymour, Indiana, exit. Cars skidded on the wet pavement and crashed into one another, sending some vehicles across the median into the path of oncoming traffic.

  Levi was driving when the massive crash occurred, deftly maneuvering their truck through the spinning and out-of-control vehicles without making contact. However, they ran over a piece of steel, which punctured their right front tire.

  He was able to limp the vehicle to a stop near a cloverleaf exit at Little Acre. It took an hour and required relocating Squire’s body to the back seat temporarily while they retrieved the jack, but eventually the tire was changed, and the trio was on the road again.

  This time Chapman took the wheel, allowing Levi to sleep for a while. Isabella occupied the passenger seat, making small talk and helping him navigate the back roads during the torrential rains.

  She helped point out debris in the road and possible high-water areas that were easily missed in the darkness. The heavy SUV was not susceptible to hydroplaning like most passenger cars, but it was also more difficult to stop in the event the road was blocked. For that reason, Chapman was driving fairly slowly when he crossed the first overpass at the Blue River, approaching Milltown.

  Isabella twisted in her seat as they went by, tilting her head, and casually pointed at the cold, wet window. Something had caught her eye. The grass and underbrush had been disturbed. She turned back toward the front and focused on helping Chapman, as he had to constantly slow the vehicle to drive through large puddles of water accumulating on the roadway.

  As they approached the next overpass, the truck’s headlights caught the reflection of something large in the river beneath the bridge. Chapman slowed to a stop, allowing the lights to illuminate the turbulent waters.

  “Oh my!” exclaimed Isabella.

  “Shit!” Chapman hollered. He reached back and slapped his brother’s legs. “Come on, Levi! Hurry!”

  Before Levi could completely stir awake, Chapman had exited the truck and raced through the rain-soaked field for the water’s edge.

  Chapter 21

  Riverfront Farms

  Southeast Indiana

  Sarah and Carly covered their faces from the pelting rain as they sloshed along the muddy trail connecting the barns and vegetable gardens with the main house. They were covered in mud, soaked to the core, and shivering due to the drop in temperatures as nightfall came. Just as they emerged into the clearing, they saw Sheriff Randy Clark’s pickup truck pulling to the front of the house. It was sitting in the rain, windshield wipers on high speed, with its headlights washing the porch with light.

  “Now what?” asked Carly, raising her voice to be heard over the downpour.

  “I hope it’s not about Squire,” replied Sarah, a logical concern considering his illness. She thought that word of his condition was being relayed via the sheriff’s office. But then she immediately dismissed the thought. The callous, heartless Clarks would never accommodate their family with news of her husband’s recovery. Unless…

  She pressed down on the gas pedal, causing the utility vehicle to spin the tires and fishtail slightly as it rounded the barn. She reached the front of the house just as Kristi and Tommy emerged onto the front porch.

  Randy must’ve caught a glimpse of Sarah’s approach because his head snapped in her direction as she exited the four-wheeler. He turned to his deputy and motioned for him to get out of the sheriff’s truck. Covered in rain gear, the young man circled the front of the vehicle with a white Tyvek envelope in his hand.

  “What do you want?” Sarah demanded.

  “Ma’am, are you Sarah Chapman Boone, wife of Mr. Squire Boone?”

  Sarah got closer to where she could see the deputy’s face. “You know I am. What—? Hey, I don’t know you.” The sheriff’s department was a stable place to work, and in the small county, the Boones had encountered almost all of the deputies. But not this one.

  The deputy interrupted her by stepping forward. His abrupt approach startled Sarah, who instinctively moved backwards, causing her to slip slightly in the mud.

  Carly came to her mother-in-law’s aid. “Hey! Back off, asshole!”

  “Stay back, ma’am!” the deputy shouted at Carly as she moved in between him and Sarah. “This is a legal matter, and you’re interfering with my duties as a law enforcement officer.”

  Carly wiped the rain out of her eyes. She studied the deputy’s face. “Wait a minute! I know you. You ain’t no deputy. You’re a damn meth-head. Aren’t you Walter Pincher’s little brother, Henry?”

  “Deputy Pincher, ma’am.”

  Carly found this extremely amusing and broke out in uproarious laughter. “What the hell’s goin’ on in Corydon? Did the inmates take over the asylum? Last I heard, your meth-head ass was in jail.”

  Sarah might’ve been taken aback by Carly’s salty language except for the fact the situation warranted it. Normally, Carly minded her tongue out of respect for Sarah, unless she was truly riled up, like now.

  Pincher pulled his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. “Listen, I’m here to serve this paper on Mrs. Boone. You’re interfering with the lawful duties of a lawman.”

  This caused Carly to lose it. “Lawman? This ain’t the Wild, Wild West, you idiot. Get off our property now!”

  Apparently, the sheriff was growing impatient with the exchange and decided to change the dynamic. He turned on his emergency lights and gave his siren horn a brief blast to get their attention.

  Randy picked up his microphone and shouted, “All right, that’s enough! Deputy, hand the damned papers to Mrs. Boone and let’s go.”

  The newly deputized meth-head flung the envelope toward Sarah like a Frisbee and retreated to the sheriff’s truck. Sarah caught it just before it landed in the mud puddles near her feet. She pulled open the unsealed flap and removed the document. It was a simple, one-page letter.

  It took her about ten seconds to grasp its purpose—Bully Billy and his bank had declared them in default for some reason or another, and they wanted their money. All of it. In ten days.

  Now, most people, when faced with the prospect of losing their home—or, in this case, property that had been in the family for hundreds of years—would break down sobbing or sink into a state of depression.

  Not Sarah Boone. She did something that shocked everyone who watched for her reaction. She started laughing. Then she made a gesture. It was one not frowned upon in the Bible, which she revered and tried to live by. Perhaps it hadn’t been used in biblical times. However, it was effective in conveying her anger toward Sheriff Randy Clark and, by extension, the entire Clark family.

  She set her jaw, dropped the letter in the mud and stomped it, and then shot him the bird, with both hands.

  Randy glared at her through the windshield, disappointed by the fact she didn’t break down in despair. He was further insulted by her lack of respect for his authority as sheriff of Harrison County by flipping him off. The deputy settled into his seat and pulled the door shut.

  Sarah and Carly, who joined in with her own two-handed flip-off gesture, were standing in front of his truck—unafraid and rebellious.

  Anger boiled up inside Randy. He placed the truck in neutral and revved the engine as if he intended to run them over. Then his eyes caught movement behind the Boone women. Kristi and Tommy stepped into the rain to flank them. They each racked a shell into their shotguns and raised them slightly.

  It was a clear message. A line in the sand had been drawn.

  Randy cursed and rammed the gearshift into reverse. He spun the tires, slinging mud across the yard and all over his truck. Seconds
later, he was roaring down the driveway, sliding back and forth as he tried to regain control in the gravel driveway, which looked like a swiftly moving shallow creek.

  Once the red glow of his taillights was gone, Sarah exhaled and looked into the rainy sky. “Squire, where are you?”

  Chapter 22

  County Road 64

  The Blue River

  Near Milltown, Indiana

  Chapman plunged into the murky water first, breaking through the turbulence created by the river crashing against the propane tank and the trapped Mitsubishi.

  “Chapman! Wait!” shouted Levi as he ran down the embankment before slipping and crashing against a tree stump.

  Isabella rushed to his side and dropped to her knees. “Are you okay?”

  Levi gasped for air, stretching the words out in between breaths. “Can’t breathe. Just knocked the wind out.”

  “Stay here,” instructed Isabella. “I am a very good swimmer.”

  She patted him on the shoulder and jumped into the water. She glanced to her right, where she saw a twenty-foot-long pontoon boat heading toward the bridge. She skillfully began swimming through the current to catch up with Chapman, using years of training as a child as her guide. The Mitsubishi was beginning to capsize, prompting Isabella to swim as fast as she could in the choppy, roiling waters.

  Dropping beneath the surface, she was blinded but encountered less resistance than above her. She cupped her hands and extended her arms in front of her, swimming farther below the surface. Her lungs burned as she forced her way through the water, bumping into debris—tree limbs, clothing, and other objects she couldn’t identify.