The Geostorm Series (Book 5): Geostorm [The Tempest]

by Akart, Bobby

  Ramirez grappled for the controls, letting go of the steering mechanism to reach for the emergency shutoff switches. He found the emergency brake first and yanked it upward.

  Nothing changed.

  He grabbed the gear lever, downshifted, and slammed the machine into reverse—but the mini-Bee didn’t respond.

  Ramirez began to panic, trying the brakes and gears again, forcing the levers backward and forward, using anything to overcome the machine’s malfunction.

  It continued to dig, fighting its way through rock that shouldn’t have been there. The geology had been surveyed in great detail. There wasn’t supposed to be any bedrock between his position and the creek bordering the Duke Energy Power Plant. Regardless, the survey was very, very wrong, and the surprise layer of rock couldn’t have come at a worse time.

  The mini-Bee was fighting through like it was possessed.

  The right side of the machine smashed against jagged rock formations, throwing him sideways until his shoulder crashed into the door. His handheld radio flew out of its holster and smashed against the steel enclosure, breaking into several pieces.

  He was suspended in the harness for a moment, tensing his body for the possibility the mini-Bee might lose its traction and fall sixteen stories to the main tunnel below. The mini-Bee continued to turn onto its side, almost pulling him out of his seat.

  Rocks pounded the glass as the cutter continued to whirl. White shatter marks began to appear, and then cracks started to form. Ramirez’s eyes grew wide as he thought of being battered by the debris if the glass gave way. But as the digging continued and the machine slowly righted itself, he thanked God for the protective glass.

  And then a piece of rigid steel broke off the cutter wheel and shot toward the cabin’s window like a spear. The glass, compromised by the incessant pelting of rocks and debris, was no match for the steel, which cut through it like it was paper. It ripped into the cabin and imbedded in the back of the bucket seat, narrowly missing Ramirez.

  Ramirez threw up from fright just as a crunching sound came from the axle area. The cutter began to groan, and the entire machine came to a jolting halt. The deafening roar of the machine fighting through the bedrock was replaced with a deathly silence, with only a few stones dropping onto the mini-Bee to break the quiet.

  Ramirez gathered himself and frantically wiped the vomit off his clothes. In the dark, his hand grasped for the still-swinging emergency cord. He found it and forcefully pulled it down, emitting a blast from the air horn, alerting the workers below of his trouble.

  Within thirty minutes, members of the construction crew were surrounding the mini-Bee to assist Ramirez to safety. His ribs and shoulder hurt, as did his pride. He questioned his decision to push the machine to its limits. Why would I risk my life for people who don’t know my name?

  When he reached the bottom, supervisors and engineers awaited to quiz him on what had happened. He decided to be truthful because, in his opinion, the geological survey was inaccurate. Ramirez laid out the facts, and based upon the engineer’s tracking of his mini-Bee, he was closer to the surface and Fall Run Creek than he realized.

  While he was being treated by medics, he overheard the higher-ups discuss the situation with the engineers. They agreed the bedrock seam had been breached and the lateral line was close to completion.

  Their biggest concern was for the mini-Bee, which was hanging precariously in the nearly completed shaft. It needed to be removed as soon as possible and the drilling completed before circumstances above ground changed—namely heavy rain or flooding near Fall Run Creek. The suggestion of an unexpected rain event caused them all to laugh out loud because, after all, it hadn’t rained in the region in months.

  The mini-Bee was never removed.

  The next day, the president issued his announcement that the power grid would be shut down. All nonessential government functions and related projects were halted. Phase II of the Waterway Protection Tunnel was stopped, and the construction site was secured. The mini-Bee would have to be dealt with another day, as that was the least of the contractor’s concerns.

  It would soon become the concern of others.

  Chapter 14

  The Tunnel

  Louisville, Kentucky

  This time, Tommy took Carly in the passenger seat as he eased the second wagon down the slope into the depths of the tunnel. He didn’t voice his concerns about the increased muddy water flowing from the outside, opting instead to get their transportation to the bottom without delay. Kristi and Sarah led two more horses. If all was well at the bottom, the next trip would include the children, to be with their parents, and Brooke who was treated like one of the kids.

  Just as before, the initial descent into the tunnel went smoothly, as the slope wasn’t taxing on the Mustang’s ability to hold onto the wagon attached to its front end. This time, rather than being caught off guard by the sudden drop and steep decline, he eased up to it.

  “Why are you stopping?” asked Carly.

  “Not stopping, really,” replied Tommy. “I just wanna slow our momentum. Watch.”

  He inched forward and the wagon began to tilt downward. Tommy kept his foot mashed down on the brake pedal, slowly lifting it to allow the wagon to pull them forward. He was feeling more confident this time as the front wheels of the car met the slight transition between the steeper slope and the entrance.

  Carly slid forward in her seat and slapped both hands on the dashboard to brace herself. The car was moving faster. Her voice was full of nervous excitement. “Are you doing that? Speeding up?”

  “No. Just hold on.” Tommy glanced over at Carly and immediately missed the calming influence Kristi had on him.

  The rear wheels made it over the crest and Tommy gripped the wheel. He immediately realized the conditions of the tunnel had changed.

  Despite his best efforts to use the brakes to slow their descent, it wasn’t working. “Hold on, Carly,” he cautioned, not realizing she had a death grip on the dashboard.

  The wagon was picking up speed, and the Mustang was not able to hold it. Tommy was fighting the steering wheel, turning it back and forth to keep the wagon pointing directly down the hill. The rear wheels were locked as the tires slid on the muddy water seeping into the tunnel.

  “Can’t you slow it down! You have to do something!”

  Tommy ignored her frantic pleas. He gripped the wheel harder. Using feel and instinct, he turned it back and forth, no more than a couple of inches at a time. However, even the slightest adjustment had an exponential effect on the wagon.

  His speed was approaching twenty miles an hour. He began to honk the horn repeatedly to warn Levi of trouble. Carly hung her head out the window and began screaming at her husband to get out of the way.

  The wagon was swerving more, and Tommy was afraid it would jackknife. Then he tried something he hadn’t thought of before. It was risky because the wagon would pick up speed before he could slow it again.

  With his left foot, he quickly pushed in the clutch and forced the gearshift into first gear. He popped the clutch to allow the transmission to engage, and then he held his breath, hoping the engine didn’t stall.

  The car’s speed picked up and the wagon began to pull the front end back and forth. Then, as the transmission engaged, it was if a parachute had deployed from the trunk lid. Their speed slowed, and Tommy gently used the brake to gain control. He silently cursed himself for not considering this technique before.

  When they arrived at the bottom of the tunnel, Carly erupted into spontaneous laughter and applauded. “You did it, Tommy. But, hey, let’s not do that again, okay?”

  “No problem. The rest should be easier. Going uphill on the other side will be a piece of cake compared to this.”

  Levi ran toward them, and Carly quickly exited the car and hugged him. He slapped the hood of the Mustang and gave Tommy a thumbs-up. While they were unhitching the wagon from the car, Kristi showed up with the wagon’s two horses. They now
had both wagons and their horse teams ready to travel.

  While they talked, Tommy noticed the water was higher on his legs than before. He asked Levi, “Is this water coming from our side of the tunnel?”

  Levi lifted his lantern. “Yeah, I noticed it rising, too. I asked some of these kids about the other end. They said it was dry because the tunnel opens up into a large wastewater treatment building. It’s metal and not a temporary tent like the Indiana side.”

  “I can’t imagine this much water accumulated in the time I went up and back,” said Tommy with his hands on his hips. He kicked at the water as if it might provide some answers.

  “Well, I did walk a little deeper into the tunnel. There are a couple of, um, chutes, I guess. They’re on the wall and appear to lead up and away from the main tunnel.”

  “Stormwater drains, maybe?” added Kristi.

  “Makes sense,” replied Levi. “The closest one has a little water running through it. That may account for the increase on this end. I will say, on the other side of the opening toward the Kentucky side, the water isn’t as deep.”

  Tommy walked a little way into the tunnel and then turned around. “The next few loads will be easy. How do you feel about bringing the kids and Brooke down? Is it, um, okay down here?”

  The four of them gathered in the headlights of the Mustang as Kristi put the harnesses around the horses. Levi helped her hitch them to the wagons.

  “They’re just curious. They asked a bunch of questions, got bored, and returned to Louisville.”

  “Are they homeless?” asked Carly.

  “No. Well, sort of. They’re like the others in the tent. Displaced. They’re just kids, you know. They’re poor, so most of their homes are in flood zones. They’ve got no place to go, so they decided to hang out here until it passes.”

  Kristi finished up and interrupted. “How are they eating?”

  Levi shrugged. “I don’t know. I can only assume they’re stealing what they can to survive. I do know they respect this.” He patted his rifle.

  “Hon, should they send the kids down?” asked Carly.

  “Yeah, I don’t see why not.”

  Tommy kicked at the calf-deep water. “Did you say its shallower a little deeper into the tunnel?”

  “A few hundred yards from here, well past the chute tunnel, or whatever you wanna call it, it’s only ankle deep.”

  Tommy shook his head. “That’s where this was when I was here before.”

  “Carly and I will move the wagons and horses farther into the tunnel. It’s just as dark there as it is here. At least it’s only ankle deep, and that’ll make it easier to empty the car on your next trip.”

  “Please bring the kids, okay?” asked Carly as she showed her first signs of feeling vulnerable. She talked tough, but deep inside, she worried about her children, like most mothers.

  Tommy smiled and reassured her. “I will, no problem.”

  They said their goodbyes before racing up the increasingly slick and muddy incline to the tent. When they pulled up to where the group waited, they noticed a number of the refugees had left the sides of the vinyl structure nearest the upslope.

  Chapman waved at Tommy and sloshed through the water toward the car as it slowly approached.

  Tommy stuck his head out the window. “Everything all right?” he asked as Chapman arrived.

  “Do you remember that giant mound of mud and rock up the hill?”

  “Yeah.”

  Chapman knelt down and picked up a piece of limestone covered in mud. He held it near the window for Tommy and Carly to see. Then he sighed before he spoke.

  “It’s breaking up and falling downhill a little bit at a time.”

  Chapter 15

  The Tunnel

  Louisville, Kentucky

  With a renewed sense of urgency, they loaded Sarah, the kids and Brooke into the car with every spare inch filled with supplies. Without leading the wagons downhill, Tommy made this trip quickly. After they unloaded his passengers and cargo, Levi agreed to move the wagons even deeper into the tunnel. The water was pouring out of the lateral line at a faster pace, bringing mud and small rocks with it.

  Tommy maneuvered the car around and spun the tires in the water, which was now nearing the undercarriage. As he drove up, with the rising water levels, he knew he’d have to make the trips much quicker, or the car would be at risk of stalling or becoming buoyant.

  He made several more trips in order to move all of the supplies offloaded from the much larger wagon. It seemed the water rose an inch with each load.

  The roar of the Mustang’s exhaust reflected the power of its engine. The steam generated by the hot exhaust reminded him of the increasing volume of water on the tunnel floor. He headed up for his last load; the sound of the motor reverberated off the walls of the tunnel at a deafening pitch. Tommy gripped the wheel, feeling the muscle car forcing him upward. When he crested the rise at the top, he was shocked to see the mayhem.

  People were panicked. They were running away from the entrances to the tent and huddled against the other side. Some were crawling on their bellies in an attempt to shimmy out of the massive enclosure.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chapman race away from the vehicle entrance and toward the mass of panicked humanity. Kristi and Isabella fought to hold onto the horses as the pandemonium spooked them.

  Tommy skidded to a stop and jumped out of the car. “What’s happening?”

  Kristi wrestled with the reins of two horses. “That hill is collapsing. Rocks and mud began to slide toward the tent. People are hurt.”

  Tommy took a few steps toward the caved-in tent sides, where people were crying for help and others were shouting instructions. He looked at the last of their supplies and at the frightened horses.

  He had heard about Chapman’s exploits in Seattle during the waterspout episode. He felt Chapman could hold his own, so he hustled to load the last of their supplies into the Mustang. He approached Kristi, who was successfully calming the horses down. Isabella was whispering to hers to get it under control, and the donkey was stoic as usual.

  “I’ve gotta get Chapman. The water is rising in the tunnel, and if the rest of the mound of dirt gives way …” His voice trailed off as several softball-sized stones rolled under the roll-up door until they came to a rest at their feet.

  “Should we go ahead?” asked Kristi.

  Tommy glanced at Isabella and whispered to Kristi in response, “Can she handle the horse? I mean, if it gets startled on the way down, you just gotta let them go.”

  “I know and, yeah, she’ll be fine. It takes a long time to make it down. When you guys pass us, go slow.”

  “No problem.” He kissed her on the cheek and took off toward the pedestrian entrance to the tent, which had been unzipped while panicked refugees spilled out.

  “Fire!”

  Tommy jerked his head to the right, which caused him to lose his balance on the slippery ground. His legs flew out from under him and he landed hard on his back. He groaned as he tried to recover from the spill.

  “Run!” another refugee shouted as a ball of flames shot into the air.

  The horses began to snort and squeal. He glanced back toward the car, where Kristi and Isabella tugged at the reins.

  He scrambled to his feet and ran toward the tent wall. “Chapman! Chapman!”

  “Over here!”

  Tommy raced toward his voice, which boomed over the screams and shouts of the others. Chapman was hunched over an elderly woman whose leg was caught under a chunk of granite.

  Tommy slid to his knees on the other side of the rock. “Let me help.”

  “We can’t drop it on her,” instructed Chapman.

  Tommy noticed the woman’s eyes were closed. “Is she—?”

  “No. Fainted,” replied Chapman. “On three.”

  Tommy tensed his muscles and gripped his end of the granite boulder.

  Chapman counted them down. “One. Two. Three.”
>
  With both men grunting, they lifted the heavy rock off her knee, setting it off to the side with a thud on the wet soil.

  “Jeez,” commented Chapman as he used the daylight provided by the torn tent to view the injury.

  “It’s crushed,” commented Tommy as he gently examined her knee.

  “What can we do?” asked Chapman.

  Tommy looked around and sighed. He scrambled on all fours to find a long-sleeve shirt that had been left by a refugee. He tore at the sleeve until it separated from the rest of the shirt.

  “All we can do is stop the bleeding. She needs a hospital.”

  Chapman leaned back on his heels and ran his fingers through his hair. “Everybody left her. We could carry her on horseback across the bridge.”

  Tommy finished creating the makeshift tourniquet and slowly stood, rubbing his back to alleviate the pain from his fall. He shook his head side to side as he spoke. “We can’t do anything else for her. This tourniquet won’t keep her from bleeding out. We could try to brace and stabilize the knee, but …” His voice trailed off before he continued. “Chapman, we don’t have time for this. Water and debris are coming through the truck entrance now. We’ve gotta catch up with the others.”

  Another woman moaned for help and Chapman instinctively jumped up to walk in the direction of her cries for assistance.

  Tommy grabbed him by the arm. “Chapman, we can’t,” he insisted. “I’m telling you, there’s no time.”

  The ground started to vibrate and a faint rumbling sound was noticeable. Mud began to slide under the tent, and rocks were pelting the side.

  “It’s coming!” shouted Chapman as he pointed toward the car and ran. Tommy hustled to catch up, running through the muck and hurdling over small boulders as they rolled under the bottom of the tent walls.

  “There’s not much time!” he shouted as the sound of rocks knocking together could be heard. The tent’s roof supports were shaking as the mudslide grew larger and began to crash into the structure.