Apollo Project

by Brittany E Brinegar

  Reagan touched the Stetson which incredibly stayed on her head. “What was that?”

  “Wind was close to seventy miles an hour,” Travis Wayne said.

  “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.” Scotty unfolded his cap from his jacket and placed it on top of his leaf-covered hair.

  “I almost pulled a Mary Poppins,” Reagan said.

  Travis Wayne knocked his head against the door. “Something isn’t right.”

  Chapter 15 – Abandoned

  Tom

  The gunfire tapered to once every fifteen minutes or when they attempted to improve their pinned position. Tom bellycrawled around the sedan until he reached a fence, where the posts offered limited cover. He scrambled toward a tree and scruffy bushes. Robin collapsed with intense stomach pain as Tom checked the gunman. The agent said the fugitive may have found the car and stole a rifle. Did her partner go mad? Or worse Andy stumbled from the beach and found the car and rifle.

  “Nobody move.” Tom circled the vehicle, checking for tracks in the high grass. He remained low and searched in a grid pattern until he located an abandoned sniper’s nest with a dozen empty rifle shells. After checking the area, he called the ‘all clear’ to the crew. Dixie reached his side first and Tom held his hand to stop her. “Don’t disturb anything. I’m studying.”

  Agent Robin Sherwood arrived with the rest of the crew, held her side, and her face pained as sweat dripped. She shucked the ATF windbreaker and cinched it around her waist. Her white blouse soaked with perspiration. The wetness from Tom’s shirt and shorts weighed like an anchor. Uncomfortable flapping and fidgeting from the others communicated the growing irritation.

  “Your partner a smoker?” Tom pointed to the three butts among the discarded shells.

  “No, he isn’t.” Robin crouched on a tree with a crook three feet off the ground and rubbed her side. “Neither is, uh, Smithson.”

  “The fugitive? You called for Whitehead earlier.”

  “Right, my head isn’t exactly right. We have Smithson’s bio. He’s some environmental nut and into clean living.”

  “The tracks show the gunman evacuating the area. I spotted a chimney before we reached your car. Best we head that way for now. We’ll deal with the shooter when we have a better position.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Robin answered as she peered to the dark Ford. “We sped through a little bitty town with a train station and a few buildings and by a road with a cul-de-sac. It had a dozen houses maybe.”

  “We can go to town for water and food. Hopefully, we can find a doctor and send help to Andy.” Barb held her hand for Robin. “We can help you get there if we have to.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Robin holstered her Glock and half stumbled toward the road.

  “Stick with her, Dixie. Keep her on her feet. I’ll lead the way and keep an eye out for this gunman.” Tom motioned to Davidson and Hibbert. “How about the two of you take the rear and make sure no one approaches.”

  “You think this maniac is coming towards us?” Hibbert’s voice rose an octave or two.

  “Don’t worry, Cassidy. I got the six. Let Hibbs hide with the women and children.” Davidson contorted his face. “Wish I had my Sig. I’d feel much better.”

  The march progressed, though paranoia filled the air and made them all jumpy. Dixie dragged Robin along the path. “Hey, how about some help dragging the ATF agent?” Dixie engaged Robin, grilling her about a possible career with the FBI.

  Tom motioned Barb closer. “Around this next corner and up the hill, we’ll see houses. This is almost over but remain alert. And careful. I’m gonna leave the shotgun with you.”

  Dixie abandoned Robin to Hibbert’s care and claimed the shotgun. “Mom isn’t good with a gun. I’ve shot plenty. And by the way, if you see zombies, remember you have to stab ‘em in the brain. If they bite you, you’ll turn to one of them. Remember, go for the kill to the brain.”

  Hibbert squirmed. “Heavens, I wish I had not watched all those werewolf programs.”

  Squeezing her hand, Tom answered with a laugh. “I’ll keep it in mind, Lefty.”

  Tom and his new partner Davidson stalked a manicured hill entering a development area with ten houses. The sign read ‘Morning Acres. Homes from the $300,000s’.

  “I count only three finished houses.” Davidson hesitated. “I wish you would have brought along the 12-gauge shotgun. We might find ourselves needing it and wishing we had it.”

  “Nah, this is better. We have two finished houses and a model home. We try the model home first.” A gust of chilled wind smacked Tom. An unnatural cold cut into him; the soaked to the bone clothes added to his misery.

  Davidson battled with the gust, chasing his Aussie hat a few feet downhill. Tom caught him and the duo made their way, through the gusts to the model home. Licking chapped lips, Davidson spoke in as close to a whisper as he could manage. “I hope we can at least get a drink of water.”

  A metallic taste formed in his dry mouth and Tom signaled Davidson thumbs-up. “We’re all dehydrated from the heat and the hike.” He knocked on the door and after thirty seconds, shoved inside. “Not locked.”

  With a slap on the wall, Davidson cursed. “No lights.”

  “No power at all,” Tom responded. The place had a landline phone plugged in, but he didn’t get a dial tone. After shaking his head at Davidson, he trotted toward the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, noting the lack of cold air. He snagged a bottle of water and tossed another to Davidson. “Hits the spot.”

  After downing a full bottle, they checked all rooms and upstairs before trekking to the first occupied house. Or not occupied. “Looks like they left in a hurry, Cassidy.”

  Once again, the pair found no electricity or phone. A cell phone on the bar between the kitchen and living room did not power on. Noting the food on the table, the flies buzzing, and the messy dishes in the sink, Tom scrunched his nose to cover the stench. “Same thing happened here as on our boat.”

  “How do you know?” Davidson scowled.

  “The smell. The burning.” He pointed to the chairs. “And I’d say the remains of two or maybe three people.”

  “If this thing burned them, it didn’t leave much.”

  “Like with our boat crew.”

  “How did we survive this?” Davidson’s confident baritone betrayed him as he collapsed into the kitchen counter. “The world’s gone crazy. Mad.”

  Taking the two sets of car keys from a peg near the kitchen, Tom and Davidson roamed from the backdoor to the garage. A dark-gray Honda Accord, maybe three years old sat inside.

  Tom opened the garage door, but the car didn’t start. The half-decade old Chevy truck in the driveway didn’t start either. “We’ll check the last house before we go any further. I don’t expect to find anything, but we can’t have our people start ransacking these houses before we clear them. We can try to start those cars too.”

  A stronger smell of burned death assaulted their senses in the third house. Davidson hunkered on a sofa and removed his hat as Tom checked lights, appliances, and phone lines. The water sputtered, drenching shiny marble counters, and dripped from black cabinets. From the cabinet, he noted a few bags of chips, some crackers and several varieties of breakfast bars.

  Bounding the stairs, he froze. A man of sixty brandished a rifle. He raised it to his shoulder and Tom dove from the doorway into Davidson on the staircase, who bellowed, “What the hell?”

  “A survivor.”

  “Don’t move a muscle,” the gruff voice commanded.

  Tom raised his arms. “Take it easy there, Champ; we’re not moving.” Tom kicked himself for his complacency in the third house.

  The man at the top of the staircase kept the gun at his shoulder and his thick salt and pepper mustache bobbed as he talked. “You sound like a Yankee.” The man’s slow Louisiana drawl, unmistakable.

  “We have a group of eight not far from here,” Tom said. “We’re trying to get to a phone or a car to contact
the authorities.”

  “Were you out there shooting at us?” Davidson asked as he half-stepped toward the front door.

  “I said not to move.” The man’s albino-like eyes narrowed and his hand gripping the rifle tremored. “I’ll plug you right now, you big old ape.”

  “Easy now, we unarmed. We’re lost and have injured people with our party.” Tom held his hands out. “We were at sea, then trudged through a swamp, and evaded a forest fire. You’re not in any danger, my man.”

  “Seems it’s a dangerous world out there nowadays, Yank.” The Winchester 30-30, lever-action rifle in the man’s hands was fifty years old or more and contained scratches, smears, smudges, and wear. “I lost my whole family,” the man continued with downcast eyes. “I tried to drive for help, but none of our cars start. We moved in here about six months ago. Me, my daughter, her husband, and two kids. We have one neighbor.” His voice choked. “They’re gone too. This thing took all them, except me.”

  “What thing?” Tom asked.

  Davidson fired a question. “What’s the meaning of you firing at a group of strangers without provocation?”

  The old man rubbed his bald head, leaving a bright red mark. He wiped his hands on faded Wranglers. “Son, I didn’t shoot at you. I hit where I aim.”

  “Somebody shot at us five or six miles from here.” Tom dropped his hands to his hips. “Tell us what happened to your family and neighbors.”

  “I can’t explain. I suspect you wouldn’t believe me anyhow.”

  “We’ve seen crazy things in the last few days. I doubt your story is any weirder than ours.” Staring at the gun, Tom motioned with his chin. “At least lower the rifle and fill us in on what happened here.”

  The man relaxed the rifle but aimed in their general direction. “I went fishing on a little pond about two miles out into those woods.” He motioned his thumb. “This was on Tuesday – two days ago. Some crazy clouds blew in and not a drop of rain fell, but we had wind blowing and what-not for a few hours. And lightning like I’ve never seen.” The Cajun accent flowed but the man spoke educated English. “When I got back home, I found all this.” He swallowed and shook his head.

  “We were on a boat in the Gulf.” Tom ambled closer to the man. “I’m Tom Cassidy. A group of us were deep-sea fishing when the storm hit. We left near Mobile, Alabama. Our boat exploded as we disembarked.”

  “We drifted onshore maybe ten or fifteen miles west of here,” Davidson said. “Did you watch the news or get a report from your phone?”

  “There was no power when I got here. Plus, my stupid smartphone went out. Like the storm fried it or something. The truth is, after I couldn’t call out or find a neighbor home, and tried all of our cars, I sat here and balled for about a day. Then I roamed on over to the model house at the end and tried to set off the fancy alarm.”

  “What’s your plan, Mister?”

  “Name is Emerson McLennan. I deliver for Amazon four days a week. I was hoping since I didn’t show up today, they’d send somebody out.”

  Tom wiped the sweat from his forehead. The temperature inside the house dropped. It felt better than outside, but it hovered near the century mark, even away from the baking greenhouse effect. “Where exactly are we?”

  Emerson kneaded his forehead. “Little south of the Sabine National Wildlife Refuge. The Sabine Lake is to our west on the Texas border. Lamar is maybe thirty, forty miles away. Me and the family wanted some isolation after living over by New Iberia for my whole life.” He sighed. “Now I regret wanting the isolation.”

  “Seems we’ve got a common goal, Mr. McLennan. To get to civilization. You can guide us?”

  Emerson stroked the 30-30. “I suppose, though I don’t like the idea of somebody shooting at you.”

  “Do you have any more weapons?” Davidson asked. When Emerson studied him, Davidson offered a handshake. “I’m William Davidson, CEO of Davidson Communications by way of Mobile, Alabama. We’ve got my wife and daughter, one of my employees, my ex-wife, uh this one’s girlfriend, and some teenage kid with us.”

  Tom added, “And we recently ran across an ATF agent in a car. All disoriented and sick.”

  “Government agent?” Emerson shook Davidson’s hand and huffed. “I reckon the government did something out here. Some sort of test. They’re up to no good, I tell you. I wouldn’t trust the government man. I bet my last dollar whatever this is has something to do with the joint military exercise with NATO. Probably connected to the New World Order conference. There was a secret meeting in the spring in Paris. Probably connected to some new computer technology. They might test it out here on a bunch of Cajuns nobody would miss.”

  “Maybe,” Tom answered as he recognized the gleam in the man’s eyes. He knew guys like this in the Navy. Smart men who let their minds twist crazy conspiracy theories. He sighed, aware some of the paranoid conspiracy types had a point.

  Emerson volleyed his eyes to Davidson. “To answer your question, I don’t have any other weapons. I’m a good shot with my old 30-30 and I like to hunt deer. The rest of the family are libs who hate guns. I had to argue for months with my daughter to keep this old thing. She made me get rid of my handguns.”

  “How about we go get our people? Maybe you have something we can eat?” Tom cut his eyes to the kitchen, where the metallic smell lingered. “I saw a grill on your deck.”

  Emerson’s eyes glowed. “I can grill the meat in our freezer. It’s bound to spoil anyway with the power out. We’ll have ourselves a cookout before we move on.” He pointed with his thumb again. “There’s a little store, a bait and tackle shop, about three or four miles. And a rock quarry with a train station a little further down the road. We might find somebody.”

  “Or something,” Davidson mumbled.

  Chapter 16 – Live Together...

  Reagan

  A fire roared inside the ranger station casting the occupants in half shadows. The lights flickered for serval hours before abandoning the group in darkness. Reagan, Travis Wayne, and Scotty got their bearings as they escaped the windstorm. From the lodge entryway, Reagan pieced together a conversation.

  “All I said was, finding your recreational vehicle may not be in our best interest.” Granddad rapped his cane on the hardwood floor. “Phones, radios, iPods, nothing works. What makes you think the RV will?”

  Jasper shoved a meaty finger at Granddad. “I said the RV was working fine this morning, old man.”

  Kelly slapped Jasper’s hand. “Don’t touch him.”

  Jasper sucked in a breath through his nose, jutted his chin, and stretched his spine. “Stay out of this, Missy.” He pivoted to Granddad. “Listen, we don’t need your people to find the RV. We want some of the supplies you’re hoarding.”

  “I’m sorry your family wasn’t as prepared,” Granddad said. “But I can’t start handing over our supplies.”

  Annabeth held Mickey closer. “Can’t we wait until Reagan comes back to have this argument? I'm sure we can work something out.”

  “There’s no reasoning with you people. All we want is to get back to the RV and get out of here.” Jasper crossed his arms over his round belly.

  “With all our gear,” Granddad said.

  Annabeth placed a soft hand on Jon’s arm. “Shouldn’t you do something?”

  Jon shrugged. “Those two can work it out.”

  Jasper shoved Granddad into the wall. His cane clattered to the floor. “Who’s gonna stop us from just taking what we need?”

  Kelly’s jaw twitched and her right hand balled into a fist. She couldn’t control her anger any longer. She barreled into Jasper and sent a short right to his jaw followed by two lefts and another right. Bewilderment swept across Jasper’s face as five-foot-nothing Kelly attacked. The onslaught of punches continued until Travis Wayne charged through the door, wrapped an arm around Kelly’s waist, and hauled her off.

  “What’s going on in here?” Reagan asked from the doorway.

  Jasper hobbled to his fe
et, woozy. “She’s crazy.”

  Kelly’s feet kicked as Travis Wayne carried her away. “He was threatening Tucker. He thought because you all were gone he could steal from us.”

  “She’s a liar,” Junior said pulling his hoodie over his head. “You people have more than enough to share.”

  “Why don’t we take a minute to calm down?” Reagan evaluated each person. The von Reichenaus huddled near the fire, embarrassed by Jasper’s antics. Olivia helped her husband to his feet and calmed her son. Jon sat at the ranger’s desk, the shotgun at his feet. Reagan inched further into the room. “Something isn’t right. The weather is crazy and we’re isolated in these mountains. I don’t know where the ranger is or if he’s planning to return. But what I do know, is we can’t stay here and wait. A few minutes ago, Travis Wayne, Scotty and I were caught in a crazy windstorm. We worked together and made it to safety. Whatever this fog or haze is, it’s worse at night. You can’t see the person next to you and navigation is impossible. Tomorrow morning, we will all hike to the RV and go from there.”

  “What if it doesn’t work?” Annabeth asked.

  “It’ll work. I guarantee it,” Jasper barked. “And when it does work, only my people are driving off in it.”

  Reagan attempted to diffuse the tense situation. “Jasper, I'm sure things were said while I was gone, but please don’t make any rash decisions. Whether the RV works or not, I would like our groups to stay together.”

  Kelly motioned for Travis Wayne to let her go. “Live together, die alone and all.”

  “You just want us for the RV,” Jasper said.

  “And you won’t make it down this mountain without us,” Reagan clarified.

  “I doubt that.” Jasper’s lips snarled.

  “Travis Wayne knows these mountains better than most. If anyone can navigate through this haze, it’s him,” Reagan said. “He got you to the ranger station, didn’t he?”