Geostorm The Shift: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The Geostorm Series Book 1)

by Bobby Akart

  The day of the conference, Chapman woke up refreshed, but sore from head to toe. Wrestling a polar bear on a sheet of ice will do that to you. After showering, he redressed the wound on his leg and then ironed his pinpoint oxford dress shirt. In order to comply with the conference’s dress code, he couldn’t wear his customary khaki pants and Land’s End ensemble. He put on a light gray suit, but no tie, and made his way outside.

  Like the night before, he was greeted with a slight chill in the air. It was totally opposite of what he expected, and what he was tasked with reporting on. But the events of the last week had resulted in a dramatic shift in his journalist mindset. There was a bigger story to report besides heavy rain in Seattle, ice melting in Greenland, or excessive heat in Paris.

  The story was not what was happening. It was why.

  The crisp air invigorated him, but he still took a moment to duck into a pharmacy across from the hotel to purchase some Advil and antibiotics. France had followed the Swiss Net Care system that gave pharmacists some latitude in providing certain prescription medications after a brief interview of the patient. Antibiotics for simple infections was one of the medications that French doctors and pharmacists agreed upon for nonprescription dispersal.

  Armed with the pain-numbing Advil and his amoxicillin, Chapman joined dozens of other well-dressed attendees of the conference walking down the sidewalk to the Paris Le Bourget conference center.

  This venue had hosted another important conference in 2015. The United Nations hosted its annual climate-change conference here that was attended by representatives of every country in the world. According to the organizing committee of COP 21, an acronym for Conference of the Parties, 21st yearly session, the goal of the session was to reach an agreement to limit global warming to below preindustrialization levels. This was an ambitious target requiring the agreeing parties to limit the temperature increases in such a drastic fashion that a zero emissions level would be necessary between 2030 and 2050.

  Signed by 186 nations on Earth Day in 2016, the Paris Agreement was criticized as being overbearing by those who objected to it, and ineffective due to the lack of a binding enforcement mechanism by those who supported it. In fact, James Hansen, the former NASA scientist who’d raised awareness on the issue of global warming before Congress, was angry that the Paris Agreement was full of empty promises and not firm commitments.

  In 2017, the United States withdrew from the Paris Agreement, stating that it put the nation at a distinct, permanent economic disadvantage.

  Against that backdrop, Chapman entered the conference center knowing that these events were often highly politicized and full of disagreements. Even among scientists who advocated reducing greenhouse gas emissions, there were arguments about how much was required, and by when.

  Unlike most of his colleagues, Chapman had no interest in the politics of the environment. He’d always focused his efforts on the planet itself. He was fascinated by how the Earth was formed, how it had evolved over time, and in the present, how its weather impacted everyday lives.

  Once he cleared security and obtained his attendee badge, he took a moment to take in the massive complex. The Paris Le Bourget had been built on land belonging to the Paris Airport Authority. The site’s design had been inspired by airplane hangars, hence the vast interior spaces with soaring ceilings and polished concrete floors.

  The conference center had six multifaceted exhibition halls. Each had a different purpose. One was designed for vendors who pushed alternative energy sources. Another was set up strictly for specialized agencies of the United Nations, including the UN Environment Program, the UN Human Settlements Program, UNICEF, and the International Monetary Fund.

  A third hall was divided up into private conference rooms, and a fourth was set up for small presentation rooms in which attendees could listen to lectures on particular subjects of interest.

  Finally, the large exhibition halls were saved for the most noteworthy presenters, those who were considered highly respected by their peers in the climatology realm.

  Chapman looked through his packet of material and studied the schedule to make sure it hadn’t changed from when he’d preregistered for the conference. To fulfill his obligations to the network, he planned on listening to a lecture that was to occur that afternoon on the recent heat wave in Europe and the melting of Arctic ice caps.

  He spent the day wandering through the various halls, listening in on a variety of topics and making notes to prepare for his several live broadcasts set for the next day. The day passed quickly and he made his way to Hall 6, the largest exhibition space in the complex.

  It was standing room only, and Chapman, whose leg was starting to cause him some discomfort, instantly wished he’d arrived early to get a seat. He also wished he’d grabbed the popcorn because he was about to witness a bare-knuckle brawl.

  Chapter 35

  Brookfield Zoo

  Chicago, Illinois

  Tropic World at the Brookfield Zoo was bustling with activity—sans humans. It was three in the morning when the chimpanzees and capuchin monkeys gathered around the locked chain-link gate that was the primary entrance for the zookeepers to come and go into the primate habitat. There were other exits, but they led directly into cages at the rear of the enclosure. These primates had no interest in going back there, as they’d witnessed too many of their kind leave that way and never return.

  This gate was different. This was the gate that Kristi and Knight used, that uppity chimp who thought he was smarter than they, the ordinary monkeys of Tropic World, were. The so-called commoners. Only this group was smart, and observant, too.

  Over time, they’d adopted their own form of sign language in order to communicate beyond the usual combination of gesturing and vocalizations. They studied the interaction, and subsequent reactions, between Kristi and Knight. They could now both give and take orders from one another.

  And when the confusion began to well up inside them, a feeling that none of them could comprehend or begin to understand, they became determined to do something to change their surroundings.

  The chimps determined that the key to exiting the primate enclosure was to open the padlock that was affixed to the gate’s U-shaped handle. Through careful manipulation, one of the nimble-fingered capuchin monkeys, who had once been an organ-grinder in the circus, moved the padlock between the galvanized steel poles to the inside of the enclosure.

  Then the largest of the chimps, an older male that had resided at Tropic World the longest, found the perfect piece of chiseled granite that had been partially buried in the soil as backfill for a retaining wall. Working together, half a dozen chimps excavated around the hundred-pound rock until it was freed.

  This male, whose arms resembled those of his gorilla cousins, hoisted the rock high above his head and slammed it hard against the padlock. The two dozen or so chimps and capuchin monkeys roared their disapproval when the rock crashed against the lock but didn’t break it open.

  After some back-and-forth, the old male was encouraged to try it again.

  And again. And again.

  For twenty minutes, he pounded away at the keyed Master lock, taking care to hit it just right where the shackle entered the lock’s body, its point of weakness. He’d seen it separate with the turn of a key.

  He was persistent in his efforts, never seeming to tire or grow bored with the plan. Then, finally, after half an hour, the lock succumbed to the brutal beatdown.

  When it flung open, the previously vocal chimpanzees grew suddenly quiet. It was if reality had set in. They were a few steps away from freedom. None of them had entered through this gate, so they didn’t really know what to expect on the other side. All they knew was they’d seen Knight return from the outside with apples, bananas, and juicy starfruit. They wanted a taste of what Knight tasted.

  The old male sauntered up to the gate, grabbed the lock, and nonchalantly dropped it to the ground. With one final look at the enclosure, which had
held him for nearly all his life, he gently pushed the gate open and walked upright, like Knight, onto the asphalt walkway. He thought he was free.

  He dropped to his knuckles and ran to the right, the same way that Knight always returned from his outings. Followed by most of his fellow chimps, he raced through a tunnel while the capuchins and several chimps took to the trees and overgrowth to sail over the short enclosure.

  The group met up on the other side, where they found themselves stymied once again by another locked gate. This time, however, there was no padlock but rather an integrated locking system that was impervious to their lock-picking techniques using the granite.

  Angered by the turn of events, the old male chimp rattled the gate and let out a series of hoots that echoed throughout the Tropic World exhibit. It was so loud that the gorillas joined in. Off in the distance, elephants heard his primal fits of frustration, and soon the Brookfield Zoo sounded like the Congo.

  The ruckus stirred all the animals, including Knight, who was asleep in his cage located in Kristi’s office. He slapped his head several times as if to force himself awake. In reality, he was trying to fight the demons that had been plaguing him for weeks. When Kristi was around, he could block out the confusion that he was experiencing. But tonight, the sounds of the jungle animals housed at Brookfield Zoo prompted him to pursue one thought—escape.

  While Knight considered his options, the old male rallied his troops. They followed him as he knuckle-walked along the eight-foot-tall brick and mortar enclosure wall that surrounded the Tropic World exhibit. The designers of the zoo had been careful to keep landscape material away from the wall, and maintenance workers kept a constant vigil to ensure no overhanging branches found their way toward the twelve-inch-wide concrete cap at the top.

  Certainly, nobody at Brookfield Zoo ever expected a jailbreak of the primate population, but it was obviously on somebody’s mind when the perimeter was designed this way. It would’ve been physically impossible, not to mention aesthetically displeasing, to cover the entire exhibit with netting or fencing.

  The old male chimp lumbered around the perimeter for several hundred feet, looking for a means of escape. He stopped at one point, looked up at the top of the wall, and let out a woot. Then he suddenly plopped down in the middle of the mulch-covered path.

  The entire troop of chimpanzees and their friends, the capuchins, gathered around him. They conversed with one another in hushed tones, being respectful of their leader as he sought a solution.

  He studied the oak trees that were predominant throughout the enclosure. The prolonged drought and abundant sunlight had sucked the chlorophyll out of the leaves, resulting in several of them dropping before they changed into their normally brilliant fall color.

  Most humans don’t understand how temperature, sunlight, and soil moisture play a role in how leaves look in the fall. Chimpanzees, like the old male, were one with nature. They understood the relationships between weather and plant life. The old male sensed that some of these oak trees might be weak as a result of the drought.

  He jumped onto all fours and took off into the woods surrounding the primate enclosure. The other monkeys, unsure of his intentions, were relegated to playing follow the leader. They chased after him, using ground and limbs, to travel quickly through the wooded area until suddenly they found the old male standing alone under a tree that had already begun to shed its leaves.

  The scene was surreal as he used his analytic capabilities to assess the tree’s structure and viability for what he had in mind. He calmly turned to his troop and motioned for them to sit, using the sign language they’d all learned from watching Kristi interact with Knight.

  He deftly scurried up the tree and gingerly, at first, climbed out onto a ten-foot-long tree limb. Then he tested its strength by bouncing on it. Slowly at first, and then, using his powerful leg muscles, he jumped a little harder until the branch began to bounce up and down.

  The other chimps became excited, thinking it was some kind of new game to play. The old male had other ideas. He motioned for them to join him, and a dozen raced up the tree and out onto the limb. Some stood on their legs, others swung by their arms, but all worked in unison to move the tree limb up and down like a popsicle stick being thrummed up and down in a six-year-old’s mouth.

  CRACK!

  The limb split from its trunk and several of the monkeys fell to the ground, adeptly rolling into a tumbling position and landing on their feet unharmed. The rest let out hoots and hollers, excited about the damage they’d caused.

  The old male encouraged them to continue until finally, with one last powerful thrust of his legs, the limb ripped from the tree trunk and all of the chimps sailed downward.

  After a moment of celebrating their accomplishment despite not knowing what they had in fact accomplished, the old male chimp enlisted the taller, stronger members of his troop to pull the tree limb loose from its trunk.

  Then, without assistance, he dragged the limb out of the woodsy area and over to the perimeter wall. The upper branches still had leaves on it, so he began to tear them off. The rest joined in the fun until the branches were bare.

  Monkey see, monkey do.

  It was time for him to test his newly created, ingenious tool. Again with the help of the stronger males, he stood the broken limb against the wall to create a ladder. Then he motioned for the smaller capuchin monkeys to climb up the branches to the top.

  At first, they didn’t understand, so the old male showed them. With trepidation at first, and then with more confidence, he scaled the wall and made his way to the top, where he waved his arms over his head triumphantly.

  Monkey see, monkey do.

  The rest of the troop and the capuchin monkeys followed suit, and within a matter of minutes, more than two dozen imprisoned primates escaped from Tropic World of the Brookfield Zoo into Chicago.

  Chapter 36

  Lou’s Late Night Mixup Lounge

  La Grange Park, Illinois

  A heavyset Hispanic man in rumpled, grease-stained janitor overalls wandered out of Lou’s Late Night Mixup Lounge on Thirty-First Street in La Grange Park, just west of the Brookfield Zoo. He was employed in the bowels of a local funeral home, working the graveyard shift, literally speaking. His job was quite simple. Clean up the mess left by the embalmers. It wasn’t clean work, nor was it pleasing, but it paid the bills and kept his fridge stocked with beer.

  Every evening for eight years since he took the job, the janitor stopped by Lou’s for a nightcap. He’d enjoy a few beers, share a few stories about the dead with others seated at the bar, and then order a roadie—a twenty-four-ounce, oil-can-sized Modelo Especial.

  He always timed his departure from Lou’s to coincide with the hourly Chicago Transit Authority bus that would carry him to Pilsen on Chicago’s southwest side.

  He settled onto the bench at the bus stop and pulled his Cubs hat down over his eyes to block the annoying streetlamp overhead. He checked his watch. The bus would arrive in ten minutes. He checked his beer by giving the can a shake. Yep, ten minutes’ worth of beer left. The timing was perfect, as it was on most nights.

  The man settled in and began to whistle his own special version of “La Bamba” as the additional beer moved him into a euphoric state of inebriation.

  His eyes were still closed when he heard a clamor on the thin metal roof of the bus stop lean-to. He glanced upward, but his view was obscured by the bill of his Cubs hat.

  Curious, he began to rise to his feet when suddenly a chimpanzee jumped off the roof and landed at his feet. It was the old male, the de facto leader of the troop.

  “Hyeeeaagh! Hyeeeaagh!” the chimp yelled at him.

  The old man’s response was not unexpected from someone who was three sheets to the wind. He laughed at the chimp. Then he tried to talk with him.

  “Hola, mono. Del zoologico?” Hello, monkey. From the zoo?

  The old male chimp scurried around the bus stop enclosure, hairy limbs
, feet, and fingers working in concert to propel him faster than the Hispanic man’s head could turn to follow. He spun around and peered around the corner of the bus stop.

  “Dónde estás?” Where are you?

  He didn’t get an answer, so he walked around to the back of the bus stop and was greeted by the old male chimp and some of his friends.

  Fear immediately came over the man. He contemplated taking another swig of the beer, but then he thought maybe his drunken state was causing him to hallucinate. He knew he shouldn’t have been sniffing the sweet, but sickly smell of the cavity fluid to get that extra-special kind of high.

  He raised the can to his mouth, but before he could take a swig, another chimp jumped off the bus stop roof and knocked it out of his hand. Then another one clapped both of the man’s ears with his hands, knocking his Cubs hat to the ground.

  The man reached down to pick up the hat, but the old male chimp snatched it away. They began to play a mean-spirited game of keep-away, commonly known as Monkey in the Middle.

  He grabbed for his hat, but the old male chimp threw it past him to another male chimp.

  “Estúpido!” shouted the Hispanic man, cursing the not-so-playful chimps.

  The game went on for a minute as more of the chimps joined in the activity. The Hispanic man, still drunk and now angry, was determined to get his beloved Cubs hat back. He was now in the middle of a box set up by four chimps, each tossing the hat to the other to the point where the man was beginning to stumble.

  Around and around and around he spun in pursuit of his hat, in a game of Monkey in the Middle in which he was clearly the amateur.

  Then, with one final toss of the hat, the old male chimp heaved the hat into the middle of Thirty-First Street, where the drunken man chased after it—just as the PACE Suburban Bus roared by and crushed him under its twenty tons of weight.