Apollo Project

by Brittany E Brinegar

  “I’ve had a run-in or two with grizzlies,” Granddad said.

  “Since when, Barney Fife?” Reagan challenged.

  “Don’t you remember, it’s how he busted his hip,” Kelly teased.

  Granddad patted his shiny head. “Can’t ever get in a decent story with these two. Mostly that one,” he said pointing a finger at Kelly.

  “I’m simply here to interject a few facts into your tall tales.”

  Nate Campbell tugged the sleeve of his uniform. “This is the part I’ve been dreading. The reason I spent time telling you funny stories.” He paused. “What I’m about to tell you will be hard to swallow.”

  Jasper stroked his hair. “Do you know what happened?”

  “Bits and pieces,” Nate Campbell said. “I was listening to a news report before we lost power.” He cast his eyes downward.

  “Oh dear,” Olivia gasped. “I don’t think I want to hear this.”

  “I do. Speak up, Campbell.” Meredith draped a wool blanket over his head, cocooning his body.

  “Don’t push the man,” Jasper said. “What were they saying on the news report, Bud?”

  “Bud?” Scotty snickered.

  Nate Campbell rubbed his smooth chin. When did he find the time to shave? The other men in the room sprouted light stubble. “Four nuclear devices were dropped in the United States – California, New York, Washington State, and Illinois. Those were the confirmed hits. There could have been more.”

  A stunned silence filled the room.

  “A nuclear bomb?” Jasper stuttered after a few moments.

  “Doesn’t seem likely,” Jon said. “We have protocols in place to prevent such things.”

  “I didn’t believe it at first. I thought there must have been a mistake. But then all this weird stuff started happening. It has to be fallout, from Washington.” Nate Campbell leaned his elbow on his knee. “It makes sense when you think about it. The first wave, knock out major cities, and well-populated areas. The second wave disables communication and transportation.”

  “Wave three, invade,” Kelly finished.

  “Or poison our water and food supply, and then invade,” Granddad said. “Weaken those still alive to fight before invading.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Nate Campbell said. “I wish I heard more of the report before it cut out. I don’t know where is safe. I don’t know who’s alive or if the government is still in operation. If we can get to civilization, we can learn more.”

  “Can we contact anyone with your radio?” Junior asked.

  “What radio?” Reagan arched a brow.

  “I don’t have a radio.” Nate Campbell sounded defensive and the edge Reagan caught earlier returned.

  “I saw you fiddling with it,” Junior said. “Why are you trying to hide it from us?”

  “I don’t have a working radio,” Nate Campbell clarified. “As far as I know, nothing has worked since after the lightning storm.”

  “Who nuked us?” Scotty rose and paced.

  Nate Campbell’s shoulders slumped. “People on the radio were speculating – China, Russia, North Korea, all the normal suspects.”

  “How do we know he isn’t a Chinese plant?” Jasper asked with a finger pointed at Travis Wayne.

  Kelly sprung to her feet. “First of all, he’s Korean.”

  “Then a plant for Korea. Same difference,” Jasper said.

  “I was born in Nashville, Arkansas,” Travis Wayne said. “Never left the U.S.”

  “Or it’s just what you want us to think. Your accent’s probably fake.” Jasper dug his hole deeper and no one could stop Kelly’s charge. With one shove, she knocked him to the ground. He would have received his second beating if Travis Wayne didn’t stop her. Jasper fumed as he hobbled to his feet. “You jump me again and I'm not going to hold back, Missy.”

  “Oh, I’m so scared,” Kelly said hovering above the ground as Travis Wayne hauled her to the other corner of the cabin.

  “What do we do next?” The faint question came from Olivia. She huddled on the couch, sandwiched between Dawn and Junior.

  All eyes landed on Reagan, even the Caribou Crew. She pondered the question for a few beats. The idea of a nuclear bomb was devastating but it fit, at least partially with the bizarre events they experienced. She didn’t know much about fallout, but radiation might explain the dead fish, birds, and even the killer bees. The green haze could be a lingering product of the mushroom cloud. But did it explain the lightning storm and blizzard? For now, the nuke theory was just a theory. Until Reagan had proof from someone other than Nate Campbell, she would continue to explore other avenues.

  “I suggest we stay here until rescue comes,” Jasper said filling the silence. “There could be fallout. We shouldn’t gallivant outside.”

  Reagan cleared her throat. “I understand where Jasper is coming from, but we don’t have enough information at this point. We don’t know the extent of the attack or if anyone else will be coming to rescue us. One news report doesn’t make this true or as bad as they claimed.”

  “You saying I'm lying about the report?” Nate Campbell asked.

  Jasper glared at Reagan. “Don’t listen to her, she’s just a kid.”

  Reagan attempted to disguise her angst from the park ranger. “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything, Nate. I want everyone to remain open to other possibilities. Including the possibility, we are on our own for the time being. With that in mind, I suggest we begin hiking toward civilization in the morning. There’s a town called Kalispell about fifty miles from here.”

  “Fifty miles?” Meredith coughed.

  “How do you expect us to make it fifty miles without a car?” Dawn asked.

  “Maybe the radiation poisoning will cause us to sprout wings.” Meredith burrowed from his cocoon to flap his hands like a butterfly.

  “I’m sure she has a plan for transportation? You don’t expect us to walk fifty miles in a blizzard, do you?” A pleased expression crossed Jasper’s face as people questioned Reagan’s judgment. But Meredith and Her Husband would have questioned any plan requiring them to move from the couch.

  “If you haven’t noticed, vehicles are out of commission,” Scotty said. “Unless Meredith or her husband do sprout wings, you’ll be walking with the rest of us.”

  “If we begin at dawn, we can reach the edge of town by night,” Reagan said. “I know it isn’t ideal, but reaching civilization is the best thing for all of us.”

  Chapter 24 – El Dorado

  Tom

  With Davidson’s never-ending monologue about how Tom messed up, the day dragged. The heat swelled before subsiding with a dusting of snow. The snow provided a little liquid to keep the three prisoners from dehydrating. The cold moisture meeting the hot ground created a steam-bath and sweat dripped from the tip of Tom’s nose. Hunter left Tom’s backpack out of reach.

  The blast of hot air assaulted Tom and carried the stench of metal. He sawed his hands against the ground hoping to wear through the nylon rope. The top of the tree serving as their prison smoldered. It flickered but never caught. A strong breeze snuffed it and cooled the air around them. The breeze carried Tom’s USA hat off his head and it tumbled toward his pack.

  “Any bright ideas Hibbs?” Davidson postponed the hammering of Tom for another query to his employee.

  “I’ve been thinking.”

  “That’s what I pay you for. What did you come up with?”

  “I have a lighter – the kind for starting a fire.”

  “It won’t burn nylon,” Tom said.

  “Right you are, Thomas. But it might melt nylon if I can get it substantially hotter.” Hibbert twiddled behind him out of sight. “If you can reach your hat, I can light it on fire and the cotton and polyester blend will burn at a temperature exponentially hotter than the flame alone. The government, of course, puts a limit on how hot the flame from a lighter can burn in an effort to reduce the fire hazard. Oh my, I’m starting to sound like Emerson. But anyway, if I ca
n…”

  The dribble sparked an idea and Tom tuned him out. He planned on retrieving the hat for another purpose. Maneuvering one boot off and struggling, he snagged the sock off as well. As Hibbert rattled, Tom gripped the sock with his toes and whipped it a few times until it landed on the hat. He aimed the hat at the target, losing it twice. When the hat landed closer, he tossed it with his foot to his hands. He ripped the hat into a long cloth and used the sizer as a loop. He tied the sock to the end. He tore half of his fishing shirt and tied it to the sock and the hat with the loop. Tom spent ten minutes throwing the makeshift rope with a hook.

  “How are you coming on getting the hat?” Hibbert asked.

  “Not bad. How about the formula for hotter fire?”

  “Well, while I believe it will work, I’m now theorizing the hat might indeed contain nylon as well and it might not burn at all. Or even at the correct and ideal temperature needed for melting.”

  Tom kicked his leg, trying a side-leg motion – like a shortstop and a sidearm motion. He almost hit the pack. On the second kick, the grapple grazed the pack handle. “I got you now you son-of-a-gun.” On the third sidewinding attempt, it connected and he twisted to snag the handle.

  With the grapple in place, he gripped the nylon between his feet, careful not to lose the connection. He bent his knees easing the pack closer. Sweat dripped onto his face. Dirt clods blocked his path. The grapple slipped to the side and he held his breath, willing it to remain on life support, clinging to the zipper. His thigh muscles burned like a squat day at the gym. The backpack crawled within his reach. The knife was stashed inside the main compartment within a second zipper. Attempting to unzip the bag with his fumbling toes, proved impossible. He contorted his lower body to manipulate the pack toward his bound hands. The expert knot on his hands offered little slack.

  He bent his torso. With crossed hands, unzipping was as difficult as other hurdles. Millimeter by millimeter, inch by inch, as he improved his technique, the mouth of the zipper expanded. He used the mastered technique on the inside zipper. Pay dirt. The knife.

  “Cassidy?” Davidson’s booming voice betrayed him and it came out raspy. “Have you even come close to the hat? Hibbs thinks he has a chance with burning it and putting it over the ropes. The fool might kill himself, but it’s the only shot we have. Cassidy? You dead or something?” The knife cut through the rope as the windbag paused for a refuel.

  “Yeah, something. I’m free.”

  Dehydrated but alive, the trio fought to crest the hill as darkness enveloped the area. Tom secured the knife to his belt and pounded his way toward the store his tattered fishing shirt flapping.

  “What are we going to do when we get there?” Davidson limped on his cane, but once again kept pace.

  “I’m going to go kill Mr. Texas Longhorn Guy.”

  “Assuming he didn’t murder all of our people already.”

  “Right. Now keep quiet as we approach.” Tom crouched and crab-walked to the store. Davidson lowered as far as he could with the cane and Hibbert hung back. Tom peered into the window where a lantern burned. “Barb, Dixie. It’s Tom and the crew. We’re on the porch.”

  In a corner, hogtied, sat Hunter. Emerson perched on a stool with his rifle pointed at the prisoner. “Yank, good to see you. The plane start?”

  “We ran into the fellow you have there. How did you guys capture him?”

  Robin rose from her spot near Hunter. “We spotted him from way off and spread out. He came in blustering about somebody he lost. The old man here got the drop on him from behind.”

  “And I have his Smith and Wesson,” Dixie said.

  Her father snatched it from her hands. “And now I have it.” He hobbled to Hunter and smacked him in the face.

  “Ease up, there,” Robin said.

  Tom signaled the stop sign. “No, this is warranted. The man left the three of us out there to die.”

  “That’s how he got your shotgun,” Emerson said kicking his boot toward the Mossberg leaning on a wall.

  Tom lurched toward Hunter with the knife drawn. He put it at the man’s throat. “I swore I’d kill you if we crossed paths. Give me a reason not to slit your throat right now.”

  Barb gripped Tom’s forearm. “Take a breath, Tom. We were speaking with him about the shotgun and he neglected to mention running into all of you. However, let’s not make an emotionally charged decision.”

  “A bullet to the head is what we’re going to do.” Davidson leveled the .45 at Hunter.

  “Wait a minute, William. You aren’t thinking this through. He may know what’s happening?” Barb pleaded.

  “We can’t kill him in cold blood,” Genevieve shrieked. “Can we?”

  Robin pressed in front of Davidson and Tom. “We might need this guy.”

  “Self-defense,” Davidson growled.

  “I could’ve killed you.” Hunter struggled with the constraint. “I could’ve shot all of you. But I planned to make the phone call.”

  “We need to think this through.” Barb massaged her forehead.

  “We don’t have time to mull it over,” Robin said. “We don’t kill people like this, regardless of what he did. If you shoot him, you’re going to have to shoot me too.”

  “Maybe we should.” Davidson loomed over her. “What do we know about you anyway? Are we sure she isn’t a part of this whole thing? And maybe this one is the partner she talked about. I smell a ruse.”

  Dixie darted into the fray. “We can’t take chances.”

  “I’m in favor of shooting him, but I do admit the Fed has a point about letting ourselves go crazy with street justice.” Emerson hopped from his stool. “Yank, you have the most sway here. I expect the group does what you say.”

  Tom let his anger fizzle and he re-engaged his brain. “Alright, we can’t shoot him. We aren’t coldblooded killers here. Who wants to be his keeper? We can’t let him get the jump on us. I’ve seen him with a gun and believe me, we don’t want him getting one in his hands.”

  Emerson switched guns with Tom, taking the pump-action riot shotgun, and accepted the job of watching Hunter. The old guy relished subtle threats, sounding like the old coot in John Wayne movies like Rio Lobo and Rio Bravo. Tom chuckled, recalling similar movies. His mind drifted to El Dorado, a closer remake to Rio Bravo. Which one had Stumpy, which one had Bull, and which had Phillips? The three of them all reminded him of Emerson, especially when he poked at Hunter with the shotgun.

  Tom accepted the Winchester 30-30 in trade without complaints, figuring the rifle worked better for him and close-quarter guarding worked better with the shotgun. He checked the workings and the ammo, getting familiar with the feel of the weapon. As the heat subsided and bleak darkness tinged with green came on, Tom sat on the porch of the store with Barb drifting in and out playing mother hen. In the valley the tops of several trees caught fire. The pattern of burning interested him and scared him. Keeping a keen eye on the burning, he didn’t budge and didn’t plan to. After an hour, the flame petered out and left only a faint metallic odor, wafting toward the store.

  With a hand clutching her side, Robin hobbled to the porch to a view of the valley. “I watched the burning from the window. And I watched your face. You weren’t afraid.”

  “No, those burning treetops are becoming old hat, Robin. I want to talk to Doc and see if he has any theories.”

  “He’s pretty much turned full-blown chicken with what happened with all of you,” she huffed. “I tried to engage him earlier. No dice.” She leaned on one of the posts bracing the awning.

  Tom gestured to the gun. “How handy are you with that?”

  “The Glock?”

  “Uh-huh. Can you hit a moving mark or do you only shoot targets on a range?”

  “Harsh question there, Tommy. I can shoot alright and I’ve had a few scrapes. My job at ATF led to interactions with unsavory characters. Since Waco, though, they frown on gunplay. My partner and I engaged in some anyway. How about you? Navy pilots
usually don’t get involved in gunplay. You gonna tuck tail and run if we get in a scrape?”

  “Hardly,” Tom answered. “I’m hoping to come face to face with the shooter. If you’re a betting woman, put your money on me.” He couldn’t see her face in the dimness of the night but sensed a smirk and roll of the eyes.

  The electricity to the store flickered on for about a minute while Tom and Robin sat in rocking chairs on the porch. The entire clan jumped for joy. Tom headed for the phone behind the register. A dial tone greeted him and he punched 9-1-1, getting a ring. And another. Three more. A detonation extinguished the lights and the phone shattered and died.

  “Seriously?” Dixie screamed. “We cannot catch a single break. When are we going to break free of the twilight zone?”

  The fireplace glowed and a sliver of light filtered through the windows. Emerson poked the shotgun at his captor, Hunter. “Please finish the little thing you’re trying there, young man. If you do something stupid, I can shoot you and we can all quit worrying about you. Come on, try it.”

  Tom smiled. “Keep it up, Bull. Don’t give him an inch.”

  Emerson smirked at Tom. “I prefer Stumpy.”

  Chapter 25 – Night Watch

  Reagan

  After managing three hours of sleep, Reagan woke for her night shift. The group decided on a system the previous night. Between the shooter, the weather, and Nate Campbell, they chanced nothing. Reagan stretched her stiff back and slipped swollen feet into her boots. She snatched her jacket from the coatrack and tiptoed outside.

  Jon positioned himself in the corner of the porch. His hands wrapped around the shotgun and a blanket spread across his lap. His head tilted in her direction. “Snow stopped.”

  Reagan blew into her gloved hands. “That’s something I guess.”

  “I’ll try to get some shuteye.”

  “Did you see anything?”

  Jon untangled from the blanket. “Not like you can see much through this haze. I probably wouldn’t see someone sneaking up right next to me.”