Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
About the Author
A Ripple of Fear
First book of The Fears of Dakota Series
J.M. Northup
Copyright (C) 2014 J.M. Northup
Layout Copyright (C) 2014 by Creativia
Published 2014 by Creativia
eBook design by Creativia (www.creativia.org)
Cover art by http://www.thecovercollection.com/
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.
For EMILY & JO ANN
Thank you for wanting more
Acknowledgements
I always say that a writer can only exist because of their readers. Therefore, I want to thank all my readers for their unfailing support. Thank you for reading my books because they are written for you!
I want to thank my amazing publishing team at Creativia. They are incredibly talented people whose vision gives me the opportunities to meet my full potential as an author.
I especially want to say thank you to Miika Hannila for the amazing work he does. Your friendship is a blessing!
I also want to thank my husband, Dustin and my daughters, McKayla and Katerina for their endless support and love. I would not be the person I am today without you.
Prologue
“Just as ripples spread out when a single pebble is dropped into water, the actions of individuals can have far-reaching effects.”
-Dalai Lama
Chapter One
The ground shook and grumbled, sending a ripple trembling through me as the airplane thundered overhead. The grass was soft beneath my body and the sun warm upon my skin. Though fall was truly my favorite time of year, late spring as it transitioned into early summer was a close second. Just as I loved the brilliant colors and falling leaves in the autumn, I loved the bloom and growth afford by the rebirth of the natural world around me. What grew scarce at the decline of the harvest was once again plentiful at its dawning.
As I ran a few blades of grass between my fingers, enjoying the breeze as it caressed my face, I contemplated the cycle of life. As this year would host the long anticipated arrival of the Mayan Doomsday, marking the end of their long count calendar, I wasn't alone in my ponderings. The whole world was focused on the potential that we would be the last generation; the witnesses of the world's end.
Being I was a history buff, I didn't fear interpretations of what might come. I understood that the Mayans believed that time was cyclical, not linear. Bearing that in mind, I saw no benefit in worrying about it. Zombie apocalypses, alien invasions, or Hopi “blue star” prophesies made for great storytelling, but only caused stress in reality; stress I wasn't inclined to endure. I preferred spending my time enjoying the joys in life.
As another airplane passing by on take-off sent vibrations shuttering through my form to the core of my being, I sighed lightly. I felt content and as I rolled off my back into a prone position, I smiled as the soft grass tickled my skin with my movement. The promise of summer made me joyful with anticipation and the songs of the birds, heard between storming aircraft, was enchanting.
Minnesota suffered long, cold winters, which could sometimes carry through spring and even delay the arrival of summer. I remember having snow storms in June, so the ability to enjoy lying in the grass with only minimal clothing on was a gift. It was a blessing I enjoyed completely. The air traffic passing close above me was another aspect of my life that I enjoyed as well.
My family lived next to the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. It was an old neighborhood that was tucked away near the Federal Aviation Administration building and the Metropolitan Airport Commission building. Our home wasn't far from the historic terminal and original air traffic control tower that sat beside the modern one. Our yard flowed right into the airfield property, having only a simple chain linked fence and a small alley marking the border.
Our family residence had been constructed as a lovely ranch style home with a 3-car detached garage. However, my parents added a second floor bedroom that included a walk-out patio shortly after they purchased the property. Since our house was also located under a flight path, the patio allowed us to view both arrivals and departures, depending on the wind direction. Some people in the area complained about the noise, but I found it comforting and watching air traffic was a favorite pastime of mine.
I had always loved aviation and being the daughter of an Air Force S.E.R.E. instructor only encouraged that love. Though my sisters, Georgia and Carolina remembered living on actual Air Force bases, I was too little to have memories from that time. I had only been four years old when my dad separated from active military service and relocated us to Minnesota.
Minneapolis was the only home I knew and our current house was the only one I could remember. Its close proximity to the International Airport was a natural part of my world. I was familiar with the traffic patterns, the airport equipment, and the pulse of activities that made the airport buzz with life. Its sights, sounds, and smells were as much a part of my home as the cream colored siding with white trim and grey shutters were.
The hot gusts of Jet-A laden air was like a perfume to me. I always joked that the scent of jet fuel was my welcoming version of “cinnamon and sugar cookies” that fragranced other people's homes. The constant passing of aircraft created a soothing rhythm and calming background noise for me. Its presence signified stability and gave me a sense of security. I loved how it could wash away the other sounds of the metropolis that surrounded me.
Our neighborhood was already in a secluded area that was already somewhat separated from the rest of the world, so the blanket the airport covered the city with only added to that sense of detachment. We lived on a corner lot next to a dead end road where East 59th Street intersected South 28th Avenue. Our location made me feel cocooned from the large city that existed around me, though all the amenities were still readily available.
Highway 62, also known as Crosstown Highway in Hennepin County, was only a few houses away from our residence. It quickly connected us to all major roadways and interstates in the Twin Cities metro area. Even in rush hour traffic it didn't take long to get where one needed to go. Our location was conveniently located between Interest 35, just north from where it split into east and west.
I-35 was one of the essential arteries of Minneapolis. It divided into west and east bound in the southern suburb of Burnsville and didn't reconnect on the northern side of the Twin Cities until Columbus, Minnesota, which was just south of Forest Lake. Contrary to what the names suggest, Interstate 35 ran north-south directionally, but the name indicated what end of town you'd traverse through. I-35W took you on the west side through Minneapolis while I-35E brought you through Saint Paul.
Bossen Park was on the other side of the highway, within walking distance from our house. The ball fields were quite active in t
he warm season, so it was an eventful place to be, if you were interest in being on a softball team or enjoyed watch the sport being played. It was also a nice place for families to bring their children. It had a free public pool opened in the summer months and an entertaining playground was available year round.
Lake Nokomis was only a mile away, so my sisters and I would frequently go to the beach there. Generations of young people “cruised” the roadway around the lake, seeing and being seen by the crowds of people enjoying the ability to expose skin. It was a great place to enjoy outdoor sports and it was a common place to find people playing Frisbee, biking, walking, or roller blading.
The city's trail system that wove between the chain of lakes was one reason so many people were drawn to the area. The extensive hiking and biking trails granted unlimited access to all the wonders of the area with ease. The trails gave a safe and well-groomed pedestrian roadway that linked Minnehaha Falls, Fort Snelling, and Black Dog Reserve.
My family often took family bike rides together. We could jump on the trails by our house then ride over to where the Mississippi and Minnesota Rivers converged just to the east of our home, near Historic Fort Snelling. We'd follow the intricate system up the east side of the Mississippi River into downtown Saint Paul and then ride the west side through Minneapolis back home.
I loved my home. I loved that I could have access to my whole world even without a car. I could walk or bike the trails until I reached the light rail then I could ride that if I wanted to. If I wanted to go to the Mall of America, the light rail was usually my means of transportation. Just like our house, the light rail was ideally located next to where our parents worked.
Minneapolis didn't have a real Air Force Base to boast about; actually none existed in Minnesota. However, there were guard and reserve bases, like the Minneapolis-St. Paul Air Reserve Station that my father was assigned to. Our dad, John was a full-time reservist with the 934th Airlift Wing. Our mother, Virginia was a civilian, but she also worked for the military as a Medical Support Assistant for the Department of Veterans Affairs.
The Air Reserve Station was on the airport grounds about a mile further up the highway from our house. Mother worked at the Minneapolis VA Medical Center, which was a little further up the highway in the same direction. The VAMC was also positioned across from the Air Reserve Station, to the north side of Crosstown. We had the ideal setup and I felt very blessed with the life I had been given.
My neighborhood was older, but I loved it. I loved the people, I loved biking around Lake Nokomis, and I loved hiking the trails along the Mississippi and Minnesota Rivers. The fact that the Mall of America was only a few miles from my back door helped too. I felt satisfied that my life was well-rounded and fulfilling.
I enjoyed my life; it was rich and interesting. Most of my friends thought my family was a bit weird, but I loved them. I thought we were quirky, but “weird” seemed too harsh by my estimations. I got that my friends didn't have to partake in survival skills 101 like I did, so it was odd to them, but I didn't really think it was all that strange. My friends didn't have fathers who were Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape specialists for the military; I did.
My dad wasn't just a S.E.R.E. specialist, but he was a S.E.R.E. instructor. His job was about teaching the art of survival to soldiers, so it made perfect sense that he'd pass that same information onto my sisters and me. I thought it cool that we played “war games” with our parents and I liked that we did so many things together as a family unit.
I considered my mother to be a hobbyist. She was really into crafts and encouraged my sisters and me to be as well. If we weren't out weapons training with dad, we were learning to weave baskets or cure hides with mom. Though sometimes I resented not being able to go to the movies or mall as much as I preferred, I enjoyed the quality time I had with my parents and the stuff we did was actually kind of fun… most of the time.
“I can't believe how warm it is today,” Carolina was saying. She was helping our mom in our garden.
“Right,” I said, looking around me at the expanse of sky above. “Don't you just love the smell of fresh cut grass?”
My mom breathed the scent in deeply as Carolina smiled brightly and said, “Totally!”
Just then, Georgia came bounding out of the house to announce, “Dad said we're leaving in ten minutes.”
“Ugh,” I groaned, dropping my head so it was hanging lose at my neck, hovering about my arms as they propped up my upper torso.
Carolina's reaction was no better. She tsked loudly and looked at our mom in annoyance. “Do we really have to go?”
“Yes, you really have to go,” Georgia exclaimed in irritation. She tossed the big ruck full of hunting crap into the back of our Honda Ridgeline.
“I wasn't asking you, Georgia,” Carolina snapped at her.
“I don't care who you were asking,” Georgia barked back. “You're going.”
“Stop fighting,” I bellowed as Carolina simultaneously called out to our mom for assistance by saying, “Mother!”
Our mom sighed deeply, got to her feet and halted all conversation with the simple words, “Girls, please.”
All three of us froze in silence and stared at our mother expectantly. Mom looked tired and annoyed, but she was used to us making a scene about our hunting excursions. How we felt was never going to change, so I didn't know why my parents continued to insist of involvement in the whole garish thing.
Carolina and I didn't mind weapons training, especially when it pertained to archery, but hunting was always a problem for us. Dad was so crazy about it all and Georgia was his loyal follower. Carolina and I hated to go hunting with them and it was always a struggle to get us going each and every time. Perhaps I should have felt badly about it, but I didn't.
“Carolina,” our mother started, “you have to go. You know this.”
Mother looked tenderly towards Carolina and Georgia looked smug, crossing her arms across her chest and looking at Carolina in a way that clearly said “I told you so.”
Carolina pouted openly and stamped her foot in frustration, “But I'm a grown woman.”
“Yeah, we could tell by the way you stamped your foot just then,” Georgia badgered her.
Carolina was nineteen years old and already married. She had married her high school sweetheart, Roger when they graduated from high school. Georgia was twenty-one and about to graduate from college. Both of my sisters still lived at home in order to save money. The situation also granted Carolina support since her husband had joined the military and was sent over to Afghanistan for a long eighteen month tour. I was only seventeen so, of course, I was still living at home.
“Georgia,” our mother, Virginia said as she placed a calming hand on Carolina's forearm, stopping her from whatever she'd been about to say. “Please go help your father and tell John that the girls will be ready.”
“Yes, mother,” Georgia said obediently and then slipped sullenly into the house.
Mother gestured for me to join her, and then she turned her attention to Carolina. Our mom just looked at Carolina for a moment in patience silence. I knew she was waiting for Carolina to acknowledge the inevitable, but I also knew that Carolina wanted to be stubborn; I wanted to be stubborn. Hunting with dad and Georgia sucked ass.
Eventually, Carolina slouched a bit in defeat, saying, “I hate hunting.”
“I know, dear, but you must.”
“Why?” I asked in a somewhat whiny voice.
Mom smiled at me then looked back at Carolina. Carolina sighed deeply and answered my question with the over-used response, “Because a woman should always know how to provide for herself and that means she needs to know how survive off the land.”
Mother smiled warmly and said, “That's right.”
“That's dumb,” I complained, “That's what a grocery store is for.”
“Dakota,” my mother was getting exasperated now.
I instantly responded to mom's countenance. U
nlike my dad and Georgia, my mom was always very calm and gentle. Where my father was blunt and gruff, she was tender and soothing. They were polar opposites in a lot of ways, but with a balance that was perfection.
“Sorry,” I replied, “I'm going.”
With that, I clambered into the back seat of the Ridgeline. Carolina followed suit, showing even less joy than I was able to muster. We understood our parents and more so, we respected them, so we'd do as they asked. However, we'd do it with utter dislike and notable protests.
Carolina and I has different reasons for objecting to hunting. I had to admit that Carolina's reasons were more legitimate than my own, but still, my complaints were valid. Our mother sympathized with each of us for our various plights, but in the end, she always stood beside our father. In the end, we always ended up hunting.
Carolina was a nurturing and loving soul. She was compassionate and empathetic, so killing another creature was very painful for her. Hunting was very stressful because she didn't feel like we had a need to do it when we had food readily available at the store. Logically, she understood that you had to practice skills required for hunting so she tried to use that to justify the deaths. It wasn't an easy thing for her to do and she often cried.
I felt badly for killing another living being as well, but that wasn't my main objection. I had more issue with my dad and Georgia than anything else. They were so “ate-up” over it all and so serious about everything. I was a city girl and I didn't want to have to dress out and process an animal I killed. It was gross and worse, dad made us go to the bathroom in the woods! I was all about indoor plumbing and the idea of digging a hole so I could take a shit was too much! It was ridiculous and I wanted everybody to know how I felt about it.
Dad came out of the house with Georgia and after loading more gear into the back of the truck, he went to hug and kiss our mom. I had a brief moment of jealousy as I acknowledge that mom wasn't going hunting with us. I felt a pang of anger for the injustice, but it passed quickly when my mother smiled at me through the open window. I immediately felt guilty for being so selfish and I was thankful that my mother couldn't read minds.
A Ripple of Fear (Fear of Dakota #1) Page 1
