SHATTER: Epoch’s End Book 2: (A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Series) (Epoch's End)

by Mike Kraus

  “Where to now?” the woman asked.

  Tom angled them across a soggy grass field toward a row of apartments. Beyond them was the edge of the camp, a motor pool off to the left with massive ATVs and other light armored vehicles and Humvees. “Well, I guess we’re going to keep heading west. Maybe if we hang out along I-264 long enough, we’ll find a ride. There must be thousands of people leaving. You’re more than welcome to--”

  “Sir! Mr. McKnight!”

  The sound of bootsteps thundered behind them, and Tom turned as the soldier who’d checked them in sprinted along the embankment and into the grassy field where they were milling about. Tom shot Sam and Jerry a doubtful glance as he eyed the approaching uniformed man.

  “Sir, wait!” He rushed up and skidded to a halt, almost slipping and falling as he sprayed water everywhere.

  “What is it?”

  “Are you the same Tom McKnight who works for Maniford Aquatics Engineering?” The words came out in gasps as the man caught his breath after his run.

  With narrowed eyes, Tom responded. “That’s me.”

  “I need you to come with me, sir.”

  Tom’s eyebrows pinched together. “Why?”

  “The Navy has been looking for you.” The soldier pointed his stylus at his tablet. “You’re on their watch list.”

  “The only thing I want from the Navy is a ride home,” he replied. “Is that what they’re offering?”

  “I don’t know what their business is with you, sir. Your name came up on this list here. Anyone on the list is considered top priority. I’m supposed to keep the top people on site until they can be picked up.”

  “Well, I’m trying to get home,” Tom replied. “That’s my top priority.”

  “Sir, I’ve got my orders.” He shrugged sympathetically. “If you don’t come follow me right now, though...” The man left the implications hang.

  Tom balked at the hard-edged display, Sam tugging at his jacket.

  “We’re not going with him, are we?” she asked. “I thought we were going home. Plus, they made us get on the Marin, too. Remember what happened there.”

  Tom nodded and turned back to the soldier. “Sorry, but my daughter’s right. We already put in our time with the Navy boys, and it nearly got us killed. And we’re stuck here because of that.”

  “So, you’re not coming with me?”

  “Affirmative,” Tom nodded.

  The soldier plucked a radio off his belt and raised it. “This is Private Packar. I need a pair of MPs out near the south side of camp.”

  “Roger that, Packar,” another voice replied. “I’ve got a couple heading your way. Is it an emergency?”

  The soldier leveled his gaze at Tom. “Is going to turn into an emergency, sir?”

  Tom glanced up and spotted two big MPs making their way through the camp. They weren’t running or tensed for a fight, but one was on his radio, his eyes scanning across the grounds until they found the soldier Tom was talking to. With a nod, the pair picked up their pace, weaving toward them.

  “Nope.” He sighed and half turned, adjusting his pack on his shoulder. “Okay, guys. Looks like we’re going with the nice soldier.”

  “Just you, sir.” Packar held his tablet at his waist and stood firmly with his boots spread apart.

  Tom crossed his arms and matched his hard expression. “No, it’s your turn to listen. This is my daughter, and these are my friends. If you think I’m going to leave them behind while the Navy takes me off on some grand adventure, you’d better think again. I will fight you on that. And after the shit day I’ve had, you don’t want to make that happen.”

  Tom stared him down for ten seconds until the soldier finally relented. “We can… keep them in a side tent while you speak with the Lieutenant Colonel.”

  “All right,” Tom gestured. “Good enough. Lead the way, Private Packar.”

  Chapter 18

  The Thibedeau Family, Baffin Bay, Greenland

  The Ocean Explorer is smaller than most cruise liners, only one hundred meters long with enough cabin space for just over a hundred and thirty-two guests. Designed for smaller, more intimate ocean adventures, he current course has her motoring south along the magnificent Greenland Coast, carving a path close enough to land for her passengers to see every feature in detail.

  Her amenities are modest, with sixty-five exterior cabins, five decks, window dining, a library, bar, an exercise room, massage therapy salon, and gift shop. Her hull is specially strengthened to break through ice – a necessity given her usual routes – though her captain is experienced enough to avoid the worst patches, preferring to avoid alarming the guests if at all possible.

  Nathan Thibedeau leans over the observation deck rail, taking in the beautiful sights as the coast slips by off the port bow. He gazes across the turbulent waters as a handful of kittiwakes and other seabirds soar south, diving below the surface, looking for fish, bursting upward again with morsels in their mouths. The birds skim from island to island, alighting upon the barren fjords cutting deep gashes into the crust.

  Walls of snow pack the coastline, jagged and cracked, restless as they shift with a sound that resembles sleeping thunder. Sometimes a section breaks off and slides into the sea, moving as if in slow motion, sending up a plume of seawater. Beyond the fjords, crooked mountain ranges stretch far inland, appearing endless, their far reaches and corners disappearing in a blanket of mist that lays over the land, hugging the rugged, snow-covered landscape.

  “It’s so cold.” Nathan’s wife, Joan, slides in beside him and hands him a hot cup of cocoa as he stands, mouth agape at the majestic wonder and natural beauty. He accepts the cup and slips his right arm around her waist, drawing her closer.

  “Not cold,” he counters. “Cozy.”

  “Cold,” she insists, but snuggles against him anyway.

  “Well, didn’t you say you wanted something different? You know, something besides margaritas on the beach? You said, and I quote, ‘We do the same thing every year. Can’t we be a little more creative?’”

  She smirks. “I didn’t know you’d take me so seriously.”

  He chuckles and plants a kiss on her forehead. “It’s a breath of fresh air compared to those massive cruise trips we went on the past few years. We’re on a great boat with just a hundred other people, not a thousand. A cozy environment with a wild world all around us the likes of which we’ve never seen before. I tell you, babe. It doesn’t get much better than this.”

  “I will admit, the bar is quaint.” Joan smiles pleasantly and takes a sip of her cocoa.

  “And everyone is so friendly.”

  “Except the captain,” she quips. “He’s got a hard edge to him.”

  “I think he’s awesome,” Nathan laughs. “Right out of a movie. You know, the grizzled, hardened seaman?”

  “I guess so.”

  They watch the land slip slowly by in a mash of gray and white snow, foamy seawaters breaking against rocky beaches. Lines of jagged peaks colored a hundred shades of brown stand stiffly, their serrated ridges cutting against the sky. The pair hold each other like they haven’t in years, transfixed by the sight.

  “Those inlets are called fjords, right?” Joan says.

  “That’s right?”

  “They’re amazing. It’s like someone just carved up the land. Makes me wonder how they even got there.”

  “Greenland is mostly a massive ice shelf. Ice covers almost eighty-five percent of the country, so parts of it are constantly shifting and changing.”

  “Wow.”

  “When parts of it melt, icebergs break off and cut out those fjords. Over thousands of years, of course.”

  Joan gives him another impressed look. “Seems like you’ve been studying up on things.”

  “Well, I wanted to know what we were getting into.” Nathan hides a smug smile, trying not to sound overly confident. He nods out toward the water. “Speaking of icebergs.”

  As they watch, two massive wed
ges of ice bob in the distance, their dark white tips knifing into both water and sky.

  “It’s so beautiful.” The tone of her voice says she’s very happy, and that’s all he needs.

  “Mom, Dad!” A young girl’s voice carries across the cold air like a dancing snowflake, and he turns to see his nine-year-old daughter, Adda, stroll up wearing a big coat with the strings pulled so tight only her face shows, green eyes above rosy cheeks and button nose, thick mittens adorning her hands as she places them on the rail.

  “The princess has awakened,” Nathan quips.

  “I’m not a princess,” she complains. “I’m an explorer.”

  “Well, no kidding. That’s why I brought you here.”

  The girl stares out at the wondrous scenery spread before her.

  “What do you think? Pretty amazing, huh?”

  His daughter makes a noncommittal noise as her eyes trace over the icebergs and fjords and mountains, more like her mother than she’ll ever want to admit. The sound of approaching feet draws his attention, and Nathan turns to see his fourteen-year-old son, Logan, walk up with two steaming cups of his own.

  “Here’s your cocoa, doofus,” the dark-haired boy extends a cup to his sister.

  “Thanks, doofus supreme.” Adda takes the beverage and lifts it to her lips for a tentative sip from the steaming surface.

  “Easy on the doofus stuff,” Joan warns them, but she doesn’t take her eyes off the scenery.

  Logan joins them at the rail, and they all stand there, watching the wide-open landscape, the ship’s twin diesel engines chugging along, the smokestack leaving behind a wisp of steam. More families come up from below, bundled against the cold with warm beverages in their hands. While the sea is rough, it’s not pitching and tossing them half as badly as Nathan expected, and he looks for things to point out to the kids.

  “It’s totally boring,” Logan says, though his voice holds a slight hint of awe. The boy had a major growth spurt over the summer, and he stands almost a foot taller than his sister with his cocoa sitting on the rail.

  “There are some birds right there,” Nathan points out.

  “Okay, a few cheesy birds, but no polar bears or anything like that.”

  “It’s not all about the vicious hunters. Can’t you see how beautiful it is?” Nathan pulls out his phone to check the GPS. “There should be some cities around here somewhere.” When nothing comes up, though, he shakes the device in frustration.

  “I’ve been trying to get on the internet all morning,” the boy scoffs, “the ship’s wireless sucks. Someone said we’re connected on a ship-to-shore satellite link. We won’t be streaming any movies, that’s for sure.”

  “I’d be happy to just get the GPS u—ah! There it is!”

  The app loads to show him a detailed image of the fjords and nearby cities and Nathan straightens, pointing to the east. “You can’t see it but the small town of Sisimiut is right over there.”

  “Whoop-dee-doo.” Logan rolls his eyes.

  For the first time on the trip, his son’s pessimism starts to get to him. “Maybe you should learn to appreciate nature a little more. Look at that wall of ice, man. That’s insane.” He points to a tall ice barrier on the coastline coming up on their right. Its surface appears flat but patchy, a piece of drywall smothered with plaster, not yet finished by its installers. Its top edge is tinted a deep blue-white color, blueberries and cream, and its core cracks like thunder beneath its own weight.

  “That’s pretty, Daddy,” Adda agrees.

  “It’s incredibly beautiful,” he agrees, latching on to the girl’s enthusiasm. “Look, down to the right. There’s an ice cave.”

  Along the sheet’s bottom edge yawns an opening that cuts deep inside, wormed through with smaller passages that branch in every direction.

  “Can we ask the captain if we can take a boat in there?” His daughter looks up at him hopefully.

  Nathan tries not to laugh, not wanting to discourage her curiosity. “The captain would never let us. Those caves could collapse at any moment, and we’d be trapped forever in the cold. Brrrrr!”

  He can almost feel his son about to say something smart, when a low crack shakes the air and a huge slab of the top portion suddenly drops free. Tons of ice plunge slowly, precariously into the water, throwing off powder-white snow and mist. It takes the cave with it as it throws up a splash that flattens in a lazy wave.

  “Whoa!” Adda cries. “You’re right, Dad. We would have been smashed.”

  “Breathtaking,” his wife whispers.

  “Okay, that was pretty cool,” Logan admits.

  In another stroke of luck, Nathan spots something just off one of the inlets. He lifts a pair of binoculars to his eyes and, sure enough, there’s a pack of long-toothed walruses lounging on a strip of land, the massive creatures watching idly as the ship motors by.

  “Look at that.” He points. “Oh, wow!”

  Adda grabs at the binoculars. “Oh, I wanna see. I wanna see.”

  He hands the lenses to her, and she lifts them to her eyes, fiddling with the focus knob before oohing and ahhing at the animals.

  “It’s a whole family,” she says, excitedly.

  “I think it’s technically called a herd,” Nathan corrects her. “Can you see their tusks?”

  “Oh, yeah! They look mean.”

  “They can be.”

  “They’ll tear your head off if you go out there,” Logan warns in a creepy tone.

  Adda smirks. “Shut up, doofus.”

  “Your brother’s right,” Nathan says. “They could really come after you. And the big males weigh about two thousand pounds.”

  “Wow.”

  “My turn,” Logan reaches for the binoculars, but Adda jerks them away.

  “Let your brother have a try,” Joan gently chides her daughter.

  The girl snorts but gives up the lenses. Logan lowers the strap over his head and walks off, peering through them at more than just the bulky animals sunbathing on the rocks.

  A gruff voice pipes through the speakers at the top of the masts, interrupting the family’s nature-watching. “Attention. This is your captain speaking. Breakfast is now being served in the dining area. Please make your way down at your convenience.”

  “Anyone hungry?” Nathan asks, though he already knows the answer as the entire family throws up their hands enthusiastically.

  ***

  Nathan saws at his sausage and drags the piece through his egg yolk before stuffing it in his mouth. The family sits around the table, jackets thrown over chairs as they wolf down their food. The selection is mostly that of a standard Canadian breakfast except for the American sausage gravy and fluffy biscuits. Logan and Adda happily scarf down their food while Nathan and Joan sit in the chairs closest to the windows, watching out at the scenery as they eat.

  “I love this dining room,” his wife says, shrugging her shoulders cozily, grinning at him, eyes flickering with a hint of romance. She’s finished her breakfast and holds a cup of hot tea between her hands, her eyes roaming over the wood paneling and old nautical decorations. A ship’s wheels, black and white fishing pictures, anchors and bookshelves with seashell bookends trapping old books adorn the floor and walls, giving the modern vessel the look of an ancient sea-faring ship.

  “Me, too,” Nathan nods. “It’s like something out of Jules Verne.”

  “I was just thinking that.” Joan smiles fondly and wistfully. “I have to admit, Nathan Thibedeau, you did a great job on this vacation.”

  “Wait till we land in Kangerlussuaq. We can get out and do some shopping before we fly back to Ottawa.”

  “Maybe take a walk through town?”

  “Absolutely,” Nathan grins.

  “Attention folks. This is your captain again. Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but we’ve spotted some whales off the starboard side you may want to have a gander at.”

  “Hey, we’re on the starboard side,” Nathan says, and he turns to peer thro
ugh the wide window at the sea.

  His eyes scan the horizon as a massive gray hump curves and rolls forward before sliding back below the surface. A smaller one, and then another, breaks through the waves. Adda leaps from her seat and slams her palms against the window to look out, then she immediately jerks her hands back.

  “Whoa, that’s cold!”

  “It’s below freezing out there, honey,” Nathan reminds her, his eyes still fixed on the pod of whales.

  “What kind are those, Dad?”

  He narrows his eyes at the gray backs with the single small dorsal. “Humpback, I think.”

  “Those are humpback whales,” comes a gruff voice, “or I’ll die lying.”

  Nathan turns to see a man standing at the end of the table with his hands on his hips. He wears dark slacks and a white turtleneck over his skinny shoulders, and carries with him an air of intensity that Nathan has rarely seen before.

  “Morning, Captain,” Nathan gives the man a respectful nod.

  Captain Mains is a tall, rangy man with a thick tuft of dark hair shocked through with gray. His eyes are grey, his gaze steely and stoic, with a hint of sadness and loss hidden behind the rough exterior.

  “Morning folks,” he says gruffly. His shoulders are slightly stooped as he lifts a hand and rubs his clean-shaven chin. His eyes drift past Nathan and narrow at the whales, as if troubled by something. “You can see them better from the observation deck. I was about to head up myself.”

  “Oh, we’re going up right now,” he assures him with a glance at his wife.

  “That’s right, sir,” Joan nods. “We’ll be up there in a few minutes.”

  “You folks dress warm, now,” Mains reminds them. His gaze ticks across the ocean, seeming more distracted than the last few times Nathan’s interacted with him. “The temperature’s been dropping to abnormal levels.”