Tempest

by Kenny Soward

  “Great idea on the fire, Mom,” Todd said, leaning forward and taking a sip of his coffee.

  “Thanks. There’s not much dry firewood left in the generator shed, so we’ll have to get chopping soon. It’ll be a month before the stuff out there dries up enough for us to use, and that’s if the sun ever comes out again.”

  “You think we’ll be here more than a week?” Jake asked, seeming surprised at his own question.

  “I guess I just assumed…” Sara’s words trailed off. What, exactly, had she assumed? Did she expect Jake to come walking through the door so they could finish up their vacation without a care in the world? No, the world had changed. People had died out there in those storms, and it might just be the start of something much bigger based on what Mike had said. She fixed her eyes on her son and decided to be truthful. “I know we haven’t talked about it yet, so consider this the first of many meaningful discussions on the matter.”

  Todd nodded, his face somber and alert.

  “We’re not leaving after this week,” Sara said, then she scoffed. “Even if the storms break here, we’re not going home without your father. I can’t even imagine driving south without him.”

  “I feel the same way, Mom,” Todd agreed. “We don’t have school for another month. We can stay here as long as we need to.”

  “It’s not just getting back in time for school,” Sara said with dawning realization. “Or even getting back to any sort of normal routine.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’re in survival mode, son,” Sara admitted with a shrug. “I mean, I know I’m always on you guys about survival preparedness, but that’s just always been something we did as a family. It’s the real deal now, although we shouldn’t be so surprised.

  “It’s hard to finally admit no matter how much we prepared,” Todd said in a thoughtful way, then he shook his head. “We’ll need to start rationing our food and water, right?”

  “Yeah, I think so,” Sara said. “And I need you and your sister fully on board with me. We need to limit our hot water use, at least until we get the solar panels up, and start prepping for a longer stay. It might only be a month, or it could easily turn into more.” Sara didn’t want to tell Todd everything she suspected after hearing the Mike Report, but she had to convince him she was serious.

  “Firewood, scouting, and maybe even some hunting,” Todd said as his eyes fell to the floor in thought.

  “All of that.” Sara stood up and moved toward the kitchen. “Let’s start with the window.”

  They donned their rain ponchos and boots and went out into the rain. Todd got a saw, hammer, and nails out of the generator shed while Sara measured the window and marked the measurements on a piece of wood from the destroyed tool shed. They found a log and leaned the piece of wood on it. Sara held it in place while Todd sawed the shape out of it, a task that took thirty minutes due to the annoying rain and slippery weather conditions.

  Once they had the board cut to fit, Sara used a small stepladder to hold the wood in place while Todd nailed it across the bottom. Then he worked his way up the sides until Sara didn’t need to hold it any longer, and they switched places so Todd could finish nailing around the top.

  Sara inspected their new boarded-up window and was quite satisfied with their work. While they were out there, they found a handful of loose pieces of siding lying around the yard and nailed them back, keeping one back to use as a template to shape some new ones later.

  “Looks good,” Sara said to Todd after they’d done all they could and the rain had soaked through their clothes despite the protection of their plastic ponchos.

  They went back inside and performed the usual routine of taking off their socks and shoes and setting them on towels Sara had put down earlier. It seemed like every article of clothing they owned was wet, and she would need to use some generator power just to get their jeans sufficiently dry.

  “Okay, you’re free until your sister wakes up,” Sara said to Todd. “Then we’ll take some inventory and talk to Zoe about rationing.”

  Todd went up to his room while Sara poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and opened up her laptop at the kitchen table. She was running on battery power, so she would try to be as efficient as she could. Sara checked her email, but there were no new messages, so she went out to the main Sevierville, Tennessee news site to get a general idea of what was going on around her. Weather reports confirmed what she already knew, that the rain would continue to fall throughout the week. There was already massive flooding at the Old Mill and River Walk in Pigeon Forge, and local authorities were working to evacuate a campground next to the Pigeon Forge High School. Relief efforts were hampered by the lack of skilled staff, considering hundreds had gone east to help with hurricane relief.

  Sara switched to national news and checked on the rescue efforts going on in the northeast. Cindy Shroke was reporting from a different tent city on the outskirts of Boston once again. The tents behind her fluttered and bent beneath the fierce winds, and the caption on the bottom of the screen read, “Newton Highlands, Maine.”

  “This is Cindy Shroke reporting from Newton Highlands, Maine.” The reporter practically shouted the words as she leaned into the wind. “Behind me, you can see all the white FEMA tents set up for people fleeing the storm, and they’re packed full. Twelve thousand survivors at last count, and those numbers continue to grow. The President has given his second speech since the storm, reiterating that this is a national emergency, and he expects the citizens of the country to pull together in this great time of need. He’s already gotten approval from Congress for several billion dollars of emergency aid to be immediately applied to the affected areas, but many are wondering if that will be enough.”

  Sara tuned out the report, her eyes searching the background for any sign of her husband. Shadows of people walked around beneath the dark skies, their identities impossible to discern in the dim light. When the live news feed cut to a commercial break, Sara changed to another popular news channel where a news anchor moderated a discussion between a smart-looking man and woman while the “Breaking News” ticker flashed across the bottom of the screen. The faces of the three were placed into three separate squares with the host in the middle square.

  A number in bold red font hovered at the top of the screen above the host’s head like a dark harbinger.

  “Oh, my,” Sara said with dismay. The number in bold red was the Dow Jones Industrial average, and it looked low. Jake and Sara didn’t have a lot of stocks, though they’d invested enough to know what the numbers meant. You could always count on the Dow Jones Industrial Average to swing up or down on any given day, but to slip this low was unheard of.

  Sara leaned forward and listened to the discussion.

  “What we’re seeing here, this drastic two-thousand-point drop,” the male panelist said, “is only going to get worse. The events happening along our Eastern Seaboard are going to have devastating effects on the economy.”

  “I have to agree with Jim on that point,” the woman said, “but I think the economy is resilient enough to fight back.”

  “It was weak to begin with, Tricia.” The man named Jim shook his head. “And the President will need to look beyond Congress for help.”

  “He’s doing just that,” Tricia argued, looking into the camera with a hard, passionate stare. “We’ve got help from our friendly neighbors to the north. Tons of supplies are coming to us now. I’m telling you, Jim, our people will pull together, and this economy will hold.”

  “What’s going to happen when the banks fail?” Jim countered with fervent pessimism. “Insurance companies and lenders won’t be able to survive this storm, Tricia. This is going to be a bad one, and American businesses need to brace themselves.”

  “American businesses don’t need fear-mongering right now,” Tricia replied in a fiery tone.

  “Now, settle down, you tigers,” the news anchorman said with a dark chuckle.

  Sara turned d
own the volume, shaking her head at the “experts” as they continued to argue. “People have died out there, and you’re worried about the insurance companies and banks?”

  Sara immediately regretted letting the news put her in a negative mood, and she flipped over to the Mike Report website to see if Mike had posted anything new. He’d just posted a new video that morning, and Sara quickly clicked on it to see what he had to say.

  The standard banjo introduction played through, then Mike’s familiar face appeared in frame, blue hat perched on his head and a pensive grin on his face. The fact that Mike didn’t look distressed in any way was immediately comforting to Sara. If there were problems to worry about, Mike would know what those were, and he’d have suggestions. That’s what Sara needed, positive solutions from someone who had faith in the goodness of people, not talking heads arguing about pointless things.

  “Hello, everyone, I’m Mike, and this is the Mike Report,” Mike said with a nod to the camera. “We’ve got a lot to cover today, so let’s get right to it. I’m sure you’ve already seen the news reports about the tent cities outside of Boston and Charleston, and the heavy rains and flooding going on throughout the Appalachian and Smoky Mountain regions. It might seem like an unfortunate series of natural events. Trust me, there’s more to this than meets the eye.”

  Sara took a deep breath and then let it out.

  “We’ve got confirmed reports of at least two acts of terrorism in the heart of our great country,” Mike went on, “and you’d never know it because the major news outlets are fighting for ratings, not truth. They should be looking at the storms, sure, but they’re missing something.” Mike paused to take a drink of water, then he fixed his dark eyes on Sara and continued. “For example, in Maryville, Tennessee, eleven law enforcement officers fell victim to coordinated ambushes carried out by unknown assailants. Some are saying these heinous acts were perpetrated by street gangs from Memphis or Knoxville, despite having no real evidence to support that. Others say it could be some sort of foreign incursion. No one’s sure what exactly happened in Maryville, but we’ve got people on the ground investigating now.

  “Something else that’s not being reported. All Florida airports were shut down after a jet exploded at Jacksonville International just as it lifted off, killing ninety-seven people. Witnesses who have access to the flight records say there might have been an unchecked bag aboard the plane when it exploded. And no one’s talking about it.”

  “You’re right,” Sara said, dropping her hands into her lap. “I hadn’t heard a single thing about that until now.”

  “Now, you’re probably asking yourself what you can do to help.” Mike said, and Sara leaned forward intently as he went on. “While it may be your first instinct to hunker down, I’d encourage you to get out there and help people wherever you can, as long as it doesn’t put you or your family at risk. This may be it, folks. The thing we’ve been talking about all these years. The final battle. Can we weather this storm together?”

  “We can, Mike,” Sara said with firm resolution, more to encourage herself than as a response to Mike. “We can, and we will.”

  Chapter 23

  Jake, Boston, Massachusetts | 1:35 p.m., Monday

  The latch swung up and the door slid open, a sound that was starting to grate on Jake’s nerves. He could never be sure what the guards wanted when they came. They might grab Henry to do some electrical work, or Suarez to do maintenance on the forklifts. They might open the door to give people a restroom break, or breakfast. Or maybe it was to drag someone outside for some “medical attention,” just like they’d done to Blake.

  Jake wouldn’t let himself go out that way, and he wouldn’t let them take Marcy, either. Every time the guards opened the door, Jake stood and clenched his hands at his sides, tense with the possibility of a fight. He did the same thing now, standing up and getting ready for whatever might happen. Marcy stood with him as did a few other people in the cell.

  Luis, the hefty guard, poked his head inside and looked around. His eyes fell on Jake, and his expression turned dark. “You two,” Luis said, nodding at Jake and Marcy. “Let’s go. Out of the cell.”

  “Where to?” Jake asked with a growl in his voice.

  “Relax, man,” Luis said. “Tre wants to see you.”

  Jake’s hands relaxed at his sides, and he looked down at Marcy. “Okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said with a weak smile.

  The woman looked haggard but nourished after being fed a couple sticks of beef jerky, a half-can of beef stew, and a bottled water. Jake had given her a small portion of his own stew, and despite protesting at first, Marcy gladly accepted the extra couple spoonfuls.

  “Let’s go,” Luis repeated himself, and this time he jerked the end of his rifle at them. “It’s best not to keep Tre waiting.”

  Jake nodded to Marcy and then walked across the cell. Luis stepped aside so Jake and Marcy could exit the cell, and Jake looked around to see some dim light coming in through the open warehouse doors. It was still dark and stormy outside, and the wind whipped through the openings with whistling sounds. There were even more pallets of goods than before, and Jake even recognized some of the boxes from the tuna warehouse.

  “Hold out your hands,” Luis said, and Jake reluctantly did so. The second guard came over and put zip cuffs on Jake’s wrists, tightening them without cutting off his circulation.

  He looked around and saw they hadn’t put a pair on Marcy, so they must not be too worried about her running. She was a slight woman, and probably didn’t seem like much of a threat to anyone, especially since there were armed guards everywhere.

  “This way,” Luis said, stepping back into the warehouse and gesturing with the end of his rifle for them to move further down the wall.

  Jake and Marcy complied, walking ahead of the big guard until they came to a large alcove which held an old, metal service elevator. A set of wide, deep stairs wrapped upward around the elevator, and an armed guard stood in front of the mesh gate along with Hawk and Raven.

  “There they are,” Hawk said, sneering where he stood next to the guard. “The little tourists.”

  “The little murderers,” Jake fired back, unable to help himself. “I wonder how many years you’ll get for kidnapping and murder?”

  A look of fear flashed over the guards’ faces, especially Luis’s. The hefty kid was tough, but he didn’t have that cold-blooded look in his eyes that Hawk and Raven had.

  “They act like they own the place, don’t they?” Hawk murmured to the guards while keeping his eyes on Jake. “You don’t have to worry about the police, fellas. It’s a new age now, and Tre is the king.”

  Luis’s fearful expression hardened, and he made a scoffing sound as he looked at Jake with pity.

  “Unfortunately, we haven’t worked all the kinks out yet,” Hawk continued, “and the elevator is broken. We’ll need to take the stairs.”

  Luis groaned in protest, then he poked Jake in the back with his rifle to indicate Jake should move toward the stairs. Jake complied, going up the wide stairwell with Marcy at his side and Luis, Hawk, and Raven coming behind. Their footsteps echoed inside the open brick and cement stairwell, and Jake’s stomach tightened in anticipation of meeting the man behind X-Gang.

  They reached the third-floor landing, and Hawk told Jake to stop at the top step. Hawk stepped past Jake to the landing, coming up to a door. He leaned in and gave the door a knock, waiting for it to open before he had a discussion with one of the guards inside. Jake looked over his shoulder to see Raven staring back at him with a cold look. Luis stood behind her, three steps down the stairwell with his rifle pointed at the ceiling. He was breathing hard after just going up a couple of flights of stairs.

  Jake turned his attention back to the open door as Hawk motioned him through. They stepped into a wide hallway covered in old tile and lined with doors placed every twenty feet or so. Men and women of X-Gang bustled in and out of the rooms, carrying small cases of go
ods which Jake suspected were especially valuable pieces of property. Possibly drugs, weapons, or money.

  “This way,” Hawk said, leading them to the right and down the hall with a swagger in his gait.

  Jake followed close behind, with his eyes on the man’s back. Three doors down, Hawk stopped at a metal door set into a metal frame like the entrance to a bank vault. It had a big latch and a combination lock dial instead of a regular doorknob, and the thing looked impenetrable. Hawk grinned at Jake and then knocked on the door, the sound echoing down the hall.

  The door came open with a creaking sound, and Hawk had a brief discussion with someone inside before the door swung out wider. Hawk stepped aside and gestured for Jake and Marcy to go in. Jake stepped into a long room with brick walls and bass-heavy music playing at a low volume. A handful of X-Gang members stood at tables around the room, sorting through piles of cash and jewelry.

  A man Jake presumed was Tre stood on the opposite side of the room, studying something on a clipboard as two burly bodyguards stood nearby. The bodyguards held AR-15 rifles with handguns in holsters strapped on their belts. They stared at Jake and Marcy intensely, measuring them up as potential threats.

  Tre was an average-sized man wearing a Red Sox baseball cap and a team jersey, not the brutish man Jake had expected to see. The gang leader’s eyes were hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, and Jake noticed a string of teardrops tattooed down his right cheek.

  “This used to be an old wreath-making factory,” Tre said without looking up. His voice was smooth, and he sounded like he was in complete control of the situation. “Can you believe that? Christmas wreaths.”

  “And now look at the operation you’ve got going on here,” Jake said, looking all around. “I’m impressed.”