The Doomsday Series Box Set | Books 1-5

by Akart, Bobby

  Tom walked to the window to look down at the chaotic scene. A gust of cold wind rattled the window, some of which penetrated the window jamb to blow the sheer curtain panel to his right. Alarmed, he grabbed the plastic rods and hurriedly closed the sheers and the heavy drapes. Then he leaned over and turned off the ventilation to the room.

  “Tom?”

  “I’m sorry,” he replied. “Just a precaution.”

  He sighed and sat on the bed next to her, staring at the television monitor mounted on the wall above the dresser. He’d hesitated to turn it on. In a way, he wanted them to decompress for a minute before taking on any more bad news. Tom chuckled to himself as he wondered if sometimes the ostrich’s head in the sand concept was a good one.

  Donna persisted. “Tell me what you think, honey.”

  He was about to answer when he heard his iPhone vibrate on the round table sitting in a corner near the window. With a slight grunt, Tom lifted himself off the sofa and retrieved his phone. He stared down at the display, using his thumb to scroll through several messages he’d received from their daughters. But those were not the text messages that grabbed his attention.

  Tom read it to himself. It wasn’t designated eyes only, a phrase he’d grown accustomed to seeing while at Joint Base Charleston. This came from another source, one that he’d avoided contact with for years.

  The real danger on the ocean, as well as the land, is people.

  Fare thee well and Godspeed, Patriot!

  MM

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  USA Health University Trauma Center

  “What do we have?” asked a male surgeon as he pushed through the curtain in the emergency room at the USA Health University Trauma Center in downtown Mobile.

  The trauma nurse was quick to reply, “Doctor, we’ve cleared the airway and the patient is experiencing mildly labored breathing. We’ve trialed him with oxygen by face mask at a rate of fifteen liters of oh-two per minute. Initially, our goal of SaPO2 will be ninety-two to ninety-six percent.” Monitoring the SaPO2 levels allowed trauma personnel to check a drowning patient’s pulmonary functions and blood-oxygen saturation levels.

  “Has he regained consciousness?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Okay, continue monitoring him. If you detect a decline in his ventilatory status or SaPO2, find me stat. We’ll move on to endotracheal intubation if necessary.”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  “Oh, one more thing. If he comes to and is able to increase his breathing efforts without requiring extraordinary support, we’ll need to move him out of the ER. We are seeing patients on gurneys in the waiting room.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cort was alive, but unconscious. He was unable to breathe without the assistance of the face mask and mechanical ventilator. Oblivious to what was going on around him, he lay in the emergency room for more than an hour on the respirator. And nobody knew his identity.

  When he first regained consciousness, he had been moved to a recovery room on the second floor. Although he was still breathing through a face mask, he had awakened long enough for the trauma team to determine that he was going to fully recover.

  He recalled nothing of what had happened after he’d blacked out somewhere near the sunken aircraft. Sore and exhausted, Cort tried to open his eyes to observe his surroundings. He couldn’t.

  He tried to raise his arm and then he attempted to wiggle his feet. Although he had feelings in his extremities, he felt like he was wrapped in a cocoon.

  Cort’s conscious mind was returning. He recalled the plane crash and being underwater. He’d swum for an eternity until he couldn’t. He couldn’t remember if he gave up or if he was helped. It was all pushed to a dark corner in the back of his brain.

  He heard voices and tried to open his eyes again. Suddenly, his eyelid was opened and a flashlight rudely blasted his retina. The sudden intrusion of light triggered nerve impulses that passed through the optic nerve to his brain, resulting in a knee-jerk reaction.

  Cort simply squirmed. But that was all it took to bring smiles to the three health care providers huddled around his bed.

  “Well, sir, welcome back to the land of the living. I am Dr. Kenny Wayne.”

  Cort tried to talk, but his throat hurt. He subconsciously tried to reach for his throat and relieve the pain, but couldn’t.

  “Hang on, sir. Let us help you. Nurse, go ahead and remove his face mask.”

  Cort’s eyes were fully open, and he glanced around the room, searching for his wife and daughter. He mouthed the word wife. Enough air passed over his larynx that one of the nurse’s smiled and nodded her head.

  “Wife?” she asked.

  Cort nodded.

  She continued. “Sir, do you also have a lovely daughter? Around eleven or twelve years old.”

  Cort managed a smile and nodded. Tears began to flow from his eyes. He blinked rapidly as the salty fluid flooded his eye sockets. He’d had enough salt water for one day. Or a lifetime, for that matter.

  The nurse took a tissue off the table next to Cort’s bed and dabbed his eyes. Cort smiled and nodded in appreciation.

  “Are you Michael?”

  He nodded again.

  She dabbed his eyes again and whispered to him, “I know exactly where to find them. Now, you listen to the doctor while I go downstairs and fetch them for you.”

  For the next five minutes, the doctor explained the ins and outs of Cort’s near-drowning experience. He was told about how he had popped up out of the water unexpectedly near the life raft full of people. Nobody knew how to perform CPR, but the rescue boats from both Mobile and Pensacola had surrounded the area within minutes of the airplane crashing into the water. Cort was lucky. It was not his time.

  “Of course, we’ll keep you overnight for observation to see how you do now that you’ve been removed from oxygen. If your vitals continue to stabilize, your lungs hold up as they appear to be, and your mentation remains normal, we should be able to get you out of here tomorrow.”

  He tried to focus on the doctor’s words and instructions regarding his care, but his mind was elsewhere. His eyes kept darting toward the door, hoping that each set of footsteps he heard were Meredith and Hannah.

  The doctor sensed that Cort wasn’t paying attention and finally congratulated him on surviving. He promised to check back in on him, and Cort smiled and mouthed the words thank you.

  The room was empty again, and Cort became somewhat depressed, as the nurse had not yet returned with his family. Cort wiggled around under the blanket and pulled his arms loose. He hated being confined, and his body was nice and toasty, too much so, in fact.

  He reached around the side of the bed until he found the wired remote, which allowed him to adjust his bed positioning and operate the television mounted in the corner of the room. Cort pushed the button that raised him up to a more seated position. Then he turned on the television.

  CNN filled the screen, and images of emergency rescue vehicles with their lights on and first responders scrambling about depicted a chaotic event. Cort expected to see the plane crash on the news. Instead, the scene was in New York’s Times Square.

  The chyron read Dirty bomb attacks in NYC.

  Then the screen switched to Atlanta. The scene there was similar. Possible terrorist attack at Atlanta concert.

  A split screen then appeared showing Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, in complete darkness without power. Cort turned up the volume.

  “As midnight approached, residents along the New Jersey and Pennsylvania border reported seeing a bright streak of light followed by the power grid collapsing. Local and state authorities have not issued any formal statements although we’ve learned through the Department of Homeland Security that this collapse of the grid was caused by some type of electromagnetic pulse.”

  Cort heard footsteps running down the hallway, and he quickly turned down the volume. He focused his attention on the doorway. Hannah rushed through first and raced to his be
dside. Her smile stretched across her face and drew his attention away from her red, bloodshot eyes caused by her crying. He hugged her and then looked over her shoulder to his darling wife.

  Meredith stood in the doorway with one arm folded in front of her, and the other dabbing at her wet eyes. She looked down shyly and then the waterworks opened up. She couldn’t contain her exuberance as she rushed to Cort’s side.

  The three of them held each other, transferring their love to one another without speaking.

  After a moment, Hannah broke their embrace and spoke first. “Happy New Year’s, Daddy. I brought you some champagne gummy bears. Mom said they were your favorite.”

  Cort grinned and looked at Meredith. He motioned for Hannah to come closer to him so he could whisper, “Mom was fibbin’. Those are her favorites.”

  Hannah bent over and kissed her father on the cheek. “I know, Daddy. I knew it would make her smile if I said that. She was very worried. I wasn’t. I knew God would protect you.”

  Cort touched her sweet cheek and smiled. He then motioned for Hannah to lean over and speak to him. As she came closer, he took another glance at the television, which showed cameras and reporters gathering in the White House briefing room.

  Meredith followed his eyes and then frowned at him. “You shouldn’t be seeing this, Cort. Let’s turn it off.”

  Cort shook his head side to side. He motioned her closer and whispered, “New York, Philly, Atlanta.”

  Meredith closed her eyes and sighed. “Can’t we talk about this—”

  Cort squeezed her hand and pulled her closer. “No. What happened?”

  “It’s much worse, Cort. DC got hit. Detroit. Chicago. LA.”

  Cort raised his eyebrows. “Who?” he asked in a barely audible whisper.

  “They don’t know. It’s obviously coordinated,” she replied.

  Cort leaned back on the bed and closed his eyes. He thought about the timing of his flight and the limited information he had from the newscast. The total power loss on an aircraft, completely obliterating all backup systems, was unprecedented in his recollection. He immediately wondered if there was a connection to these other events.

  His mind wandered to Congressman Pratt. A powerful, influential leader in Congress, now dead from some unexplainable airline catastrophe. Then he thought of himself. He had almost been killed too.

  Cort’s eyes grew wide and he glanced around the room before looking at the television coverage again. He didn’t believe in coincidences.

  Meredith noticed that he was becoming agitated. “Cort, please calm down. You have to get your rest. Please.”

  Cort grimaced and pulled her close to his face. He whispered again so only she could hear him.

  “I have to tell you about the Haven.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Six Flags Great Adventure

  Jackson, New Jersey

  It took another hour to get the family out of the coaster and down to safety. Medical personnel were on the ground to check on J.C.’s injuries and also counsel the family on the emotional trauma he might sustain. Angela, being polite, allowed the local EMTs to advise them, rather than disclose that she was fully capable of helping her son through this. Nonetheless, it did help to have J.C.’s bruises checked out by other experienced medical personnel.

  The next challenge the family faced was finding their car. The only lighting in the theme park was held by park security in the form of a flashlight. They were guiding visitors to the exits and onward to their vehicles. As they walked through Six Flags, there was evidence of looting within the park.

  Stores and restaurants had been trashed. J.C. picked up a Superman cape, and Kaycee found a miniature basketball with the Batman logo on it.

  “Look at this place,” whispered Angela. “It looks like Hurricane Michael blew through here.”

  Two teenage girls rushed past them, holding bundles of tee shirts under their arms. One of the security personnel flashed his light on them and began blowing a whistle, but they took off undeterred.

  “Looters already,” added Tyler. “You’d think people would have more important things to be concerned with.”

  They made their way around the turnstiles at the front and continued to walk toward the parking lot. Tyler held Kaycee’s hand, and Angela kept her arm draped around J.C.’s shoulder as they walked.

  As they pushed through a crowd of people standing in front of them, they overheard some of the conversation.

  “One dude said we were attacked with missiles.”

  “Yeah, I heard the same thing.”

  “Nah, man, that’s stupid. Ain’t nobody gonna take on the good ole U.S. of A. I think it was one of them solar flares.”

  “No, dude. It wasn’t a solar flare. If it was, the sky would’ve gotten really bright. I think it was a nuke.”

  “Then where’s the dang mushroom cloud, huh?”

  Tyler pulled Kaycee a little closer and picked up the pace.

  Once they were clear of the scientist wannabes, Kaycee looked up to him and asked about what she’d heard. “Dad, are we in a war?”

  “Honey, I don’t know and neither do those morons. They’re all just guessing.”

  J.C. chimed in, a good sign. “I hope they didn’t hit Washington.” He sincerely wanted to see the sights, although Tyler knew that was impossible under the circumstances.

  “Son, the good news is Washington didn’t lose power, or at least that’s what the police officer told me back there. But places like Philadelphia and Baltimore and, of course, New Jersey did. That makes me think it could be just one big power outage.”

  They continued to walk in silence as Tyler tried to remember how to get to the car without the benefit of lighting to see the lot signage. They approached another group commiserating over the circumstances.

  “New York, too. Did you hear? Just as the ball was about to drop, explosions went off everywhere. People freaked out.”

  “Did they lose power like us?”

  “No, but folks were trampled to death and poisoned, too.”

  “Poison?”

  “Yeah, that’s what I heard.”

  Tyler put his right hand over Kaycee’s ear and pulled her head next to his side. Angela noticed and did the same to J.C. The group continued to speculate, but eventually the Rankins were out of earshot.

  “I think we’re down this row, Ty,” said Angela as she took the lead.

  “You’re right, Mom,” said J.C., who had suddenly perked up. “Come on, I’ll race you. I can beat you with one shoe on!”

  J.C. took off, sporting just one sneaker, and the rest of the family chased behind.

  “Good grief,” said Angela with a huff in her voice. Then Dr. Mom hollered at him, “Joseph Charles Rankin, slow down! You’re supposed to be traumatized, remember?”

  “Not anymore,” he yelled back over his shoulder. “Now I’m a survivor like Peanut!”

  Within a minute, they were huddled around the orange-and-white Ford Bronco, waiting for Tyler to open the door. Kaycee encouraged her dad to pick up the pace.

  “Come on, Dad. We’re freezing.”

  Tyler retrieved the keys from his jeans pocket and was about to unlock the door when he suddenly stopped. He stood up and looked around. There were no lights on anywhere. Including vehicles. No interior lights. No headlights. No engines could be heard.

  Nothing except the slight hint of dawn beginning to arrive on a new year.

  “Kids, stay here. I need to talk to your mom.”

  “Tyler, what’s wrong?” asked Angela.

  He held his index finger to his lips and motioned for her to follow him to the back of the truck. He looked around nervously and, satisfied they weren’t being watched, dropped to the ground and crawled under the truck.

  Angela walked around his legs and looked in all directions until Tyler rose off the ground holding a black hard-plastic gun case.

  “Do you think we need that?” she asked.

  “Yeah, maybe
. I had to keep it hidden in the chassis because New York and Jersey frown upon the larger-capacity magazines I have.”

  “Tyler, we don’t know anything about what’s happened for sure. After we hit the ground, the firefighters got tight-lipped and the EMTs focused on their jobs. All we’ve heard is from those idiots back there.”

  “I know, Angela, but think about it for a minute. We’ve got a widespread power outage, which included killing our phones. We’ve talked about this. It has to be some kind of EMP.”

  “A solar flare? Or a nuke?”

  “Same result, mostly. All I know is that this place isn’t safe, nor will our trip home be. The minute I fire up this truck, they’ll be all over us, looking for a ride or trying to steal it.”

  He held out the gun case to remind her of its contents.

  “Do you think we’re gonna have to shoot our way out of here?”

  “I hope not. But I’m sure going to be ready.”

  Angela ran her fingers through her hair and walked a few paces away. She looked around the parking lot and then toward the east, where the sun began to peek over the horizon. She returned to Tyler’s side. “Tyler, you know what we have to do.”

  “Babe, I may be wrong about this. What if there’s nothing wrong?”

  “If you thought nothing was wrong, why did you crawl under the truck and get this.” She reached forward and rapped the case twice with her knuckles.

  “Well, um, I’m just—”

  Angela cut her husband off. “Listen, why take chances? If we’re wrong, we can always drive back home. But if we sit around Richmond, waiting on the news to tell us what’s happening, it could be too late.”

  Tyler nodded. “It may be too late already, depending on what caused this.”

  “So do you agree?” she asked.

  “Agreed. We have to get to the Haven.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  I-26 North of Spartanburg, South Carolina

  Will fought sleep as he drove past the Landrum, South Carolina, exit. He glanced down at his fuel gauge. He had a quarter tank left in the truck and quickly did some mental calculations. He’d have to stop in an hour, but he wanted to get away from the interstate before he did. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and sat taller in his seat, adjusting himself as he’d done frequently since he had hastily loaded the kids back into his truck along with a dozen duffle bags stored in his pantry closet.