Through the Storm (The Solar Storms Saga Book 1)

by Kyle Pratt

  A man walked up to Pastor Wayne and the two discussed poles, cement, and other fence matters. Drake ambled away, watched the bulldozers for a few minutes, and then returned home. Finding no one in the house, he walked out back. Beside the greenhouse door, Gruff raised his head and wagged his tail.

  “Ashley?” Drake called.

  She stepped from the greenhouse, trowel in one hand, shotgun in the other. “So, what’s all that noise?”

  Drake explained about the dozers as he walked across the yard. “What are you doing?”

  “Planting a garden.” She pointed to a row of pots. “Your father has lots of seeds in that room off of his office. I thought I’d start the plants in here.”

  “Isn’t it late in the year for that?”

  “For a lot of plants, yes, but hopefully we’ll have enough warm days for a fall garden. We need to start growing food if we’re going to live. I was reading.” She held up a worn hardcover book. “It was with the seeds. It says you can grow things like broccoli, kale, chard, and carrots this time of year.”

  Drake shook his head. “I hate broccoli, don’t know what chard or kale is, and carrots are just okay.”

  “We can eat them if we’re hungry or trade them for things we need.”

  Of course, she was right. They would need to grow whatever food they could, both for eating and trade. Once again, Drake felt stupid for not realizing their value earlier. For the next couple of hours, the dozers rumbled in the background while Drake worked alongside Ashley to plant seeds.

  Out in the garden area beside the greenhouse, Ashley wiped sweat from her forehead. “Are the bulldozers getting closer?”

  “They might be.” Drake pushed his shovel into the soft ground. “They’re going to run the security fence along the back of our property.”

  Ashley grinned at Drake but said nothing.

  Drake’s face burned as he thought about what he had said. Had he implied a relationship? He wanted her as a girlfriend and more, but they were just fifteen. Did their age even matter anymore? Was this their place now? Would he and Ashley just continue on until—?

  Gruff barked.

  “Hi, Pastor Wayne!” Ashley waved as the preacher strode across the orchard. “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is as good as it can be.” The pastor looked at Drake. “The fence crew is near the back of your property. Would you like to join us?”

  “Yes, I would.” Drake turned to Ashley. “If you’ll be okay?”

  She nodded. “I’ve got Gruff and the shotgun.”

  As Drake gathered a posthole digger, shovels, and fence tools into a wheelbarrow, he repeatedly peeked at Ashley. Probably they had both lost family, but having her here gave him a sense of comfort. He grinned and hoped she also felt comforted.

  “Ready to go?” Pastor Wayne asked.

  “Oh … yeah.” Drake nodded.

  As they crossed the orchard out of earshot from Ashley, Drake turned to him. “This morning just before I talked with you, another guy came up and … what did he mean when he said, ‘They’re dead. Both of them’?”

  Pastor Wayne drew in a deep breath.

  Drake maneuvered the wheelbarrow along the path behind the preacher. “So, who died?”

  The two walked along in silence for a moment. “Have you wondered why you haven’t been scheduled for sentry duty?”

  “No.” Drake shook his head. “I figured you just hadn’t gotten to me yet.”

  “I took your name off the list.”

  “Why?”

  “The sentries have been attacked a couple of times.” Pastor Wayne opened a gate to a field of cornstalks. “I didn’t want to put you in danger.”

  Drake followed him through and closed the gate. “Are you saying that two of the sentries were killed?”

  “Yes.” The pastor sighed. “A couple that lived down the road from your friend Ashley. They didn’t check in this morning. We found their bodies along the north side path.”

  “You might have taken my name off a list, but I think I’m still in danger. We all are.”

  Pastor Wayne nodded and pointed to the men building the fence a hundred yards ahead. “Hopefully, this will help.”

  “How much of the fence has been finished?”

  “Less than half.”

  Day Eight

  Clark County, Washington, Sunday, September 11th

  Grateful for the gray sky and cool breeze, Neal pulled the gloves from his sore hands and popped blisters with a pocketknife. Rarely had he thought about the difficulties of digging a grave with just a pick-and-shovel. The effort had proven to be especially hard in this clay soil. They were always six-feet deep in the movies, but he had dug maybe four and his hands were stiff and ached.

  Ginger lay on the grass nearby and watched.

  Never had he thought of digging a grave in a backyard. The idea of burying Josh in the shallow, oblong hole that he had managed to dig seemed so disrespectful. He slammed the pick into the hard ground and pain radiated once again from a half dozen blisters. The compromise came at five-feet, a depth that showed respect but would leave Neal with enough strength to carry Josh to it and cover him with the earth.

  Neal struggled to lift himself from the hole with heavy arms and weak hands. After several tries, he rolled onto the grass. For a moment, he lay there staring up at dark clouds.

  Ginger licked his face.

  “Stop it.” Neal rolled to a sitting position and scratched Ginger’s neck and ears.

  Claire stepped out the back door. “I wrapped Dad in a sheet as best I could.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” He stood and rubbed his arms.

  After water and rest, Neal hoisted the dead weight of his friend and, with stumbles and sways, managed to carry Josh’s body to the graveside.

  Claire sobbed as Neal slid into the hole with her shrouded father. Then, with an awkward thud, Neal laid his friend to rest.

  Neal climbed out and stood. “Fair winds and following seas, my friend. I believe you’re in a better place.”

  “Dad is in the best place.” Claire closed her eyes. “Lord, You tell us that neither death nor life, angels, demons, powers, height or depth … that nothing can separate us from Your love. I know that You prepared a place for my dad and that he is with You now, so I’m not going to let my heart be troubled. Thank You, Lord, for such a good father. Please bring Rob back to me.” She stood in silence for several moments. “Goodbye, Dad.” With her head down, she retreated to the porch and sat.

  Neal pushed the shovel into the piled earth and covered Josh. As he finished, the sky opened up with rain. “Come.” He called to Ginger and then walked past Claire on the porch. “I’m done and going inside.”

  Claire followed.

  In the living room, Neal pulled dry but dirty clothes from his pack and sniffed them. “These smell bad. I wish I could wash them—and bathe.”

  “We have cold water. Dad collected rainwater from the roof into barrels for his garden.” Claire looked out the window toward the grave in the back. “But, I wouldn’t wash your clothes. It’s raining.”

  Neal raised a confused eyebrow.

  “Your clothes won’t dry overnight in this humidity.” She turned her gaze to the stairs. “But, you could use some of the water for a bath and I can find you some of Dad’s clothes.”

  “That would be nice.”

  Neal carried two buckets of cold rainwater to the bathtub. Standing in the tub, he closed the drain and poured one bucket over his head. After a gasp and shiver, he soaped himself down and poured the second bucket over his head. Then he used the water in the tub to scrub the dirty or soapy spots he had missed.

  Neal stepped from the tub of gray water. He shivered again as he toweled off. Painful hands moved him to check the medicine cabinet for a first-aid kit. Finding one, he used the topical antibiotic on the multiple blisters that dotted his hands. Then he wrapped them both in bandages.

  Downstairs, Ginger gave him an odd look. Neal wo
ndered if he smelled different. Walking into the dining room, he found Claire rubbing her hair with a towel. “Using some of that rainwater to wash your hair?”

  “I might as well.” She shrugged. “The barrels are full and it’s still raining.”

  “I think we should rest tonight.” Neal sat across the table from her. “Then, if it isn’t raining in the morning, we should go.”

  “Go?”

  “To my farm outside of Riverbank. It’s the safest place I know.”

  “I’m staying here until my husband returns.”

  “You heard your father. He wants you in a safe place. Here, alone, with a baby coming, that’s not safe.”

  “You said Rob would figure it out and come here and I’m going to wait until he does.”

  “And what if he’s ….”

  Neal silenced himself, but Claire’s angry eyes revealed that she knew his meaning.

  “Dead? Then this is my home.”

  “I’m not staying here and your father asked me to take you to a safe place. Do you want to have the baby all alone?”

  “No, but women have had babies alone before.”

  “And many have died alone.” Neal shook his head. “You need to come with me. Riverbank is at least closer to your home and I know people there who can help deliver the baby.”

  Her angry expression softened. “It is closer to our home in Everett. You know a midwife?”

  Neal didn’t know a midwife or anyone else with real experience in delivering babies, but he needed to persuade her to accompany him. “Yes. Police and firefighters. I know several.” Well, I handle their taxes and investments.

  “But what if Rob comes here?”

  “Hopefully we could leave word for him either when he reached Riverbank or before, but if he did get here, we could paint a message for him on a wall. Do you know your neighbors?”

  “A few. Why?”

  “We’ll tell them also.”

  Claire nodded.

  “Then we agree? We’ll leave for Riverbank in the morning, right?”

  “How soon could we get there?”

  “Let’s see … tomorrow is Monday. If we start early, we could reach Riverbank by Tuesday evening.”

  Claire stared out a window at the grave of her father and then nodded slowly.

  * * *

  King County, Washington, Sunday, September 11th

  “Stay back.” Afraid that the stench drifted from her dead parents, Conner didn’t want Madison to see. He also didn’t want to smell it and tried not to breathe as he inched deeper into the house with his rifle ready.

  The smell grew stronger as he crossed the house. “What rooms are ahead?” He glanced back over his shoulder.

  Still by the front door, Madison looked ready to cry. “The kitchen and dining room.”

  Conner edged forward and turned to his left at the next entryway. He gasped at the sight of a dead man on the dining room floor, surrounded by dark dry blood.

  “What!” Madison ran forward.

  Conner tried to stop her, but she struggled past him.

  She gasped then looked again. “Who’s that?”

  “I thought it might be your father.”

  “No.” She turned away. “He is … was too young and I think he … ah, was Hispanic.”

  Conner coughed. “We can figure this out in the fresh air.” He turned to leave.

  A man with a baseball bat stood just inside the door. Most of his face was covered by a scarf.

  Madison gasped. “Mr. Winters … Arnold … is that you?”

  He pulled down the scarf, revealing several days’ growth of a gray stubble beard. “Madison?”

  Before he could say another word, she asked, “Where are Mom and Dad?”

  He shook his head and pointed toward the room with the body. “Your dad said that guy broke in, acting all crazy. Tom fought with him—”

  “Who’s Tom?” Conner asked.

  “Who are you?” Winters asked.

  “Stop it!” Madison shouted. “Tom is my father; Maria is my mother’s name.” She focused on Winters. “Where are Mom and Dad?”

  “That’s what I was saying. The crazy guy and your dad fought and while they struggled Roxie bit him … the dead guy … and must have cut an artery. He died in no time.”

  Conner figured Roxie was a dog but decided not to ask.

  Madison’s jaw clenched for a moment. “Where’s Dad? Is he okay? Where’s Mom?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He nodded. “Your dad’s okay. A little bruised and shook up.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He went with your mom to the hospital.”

  “Why?”

  “After all the commotion, fighting, and dying, your mom collapsed … couldn’t talk right and had trouble seeing.”

  “What?”

  “Your dad borrowed my bike and cart to take her there.” He shook his head. “That was three days ago. He hasn’t come back with my bike.”

  “Next time, if there is a next time, start with that.” Madison ran toward the door.

  “About my bike?”

  “Where are you going?” Conner dashed to catch up with her.

  “The hospital,” she said without pausing. “It’s only a mile away.”

  She grabbed her bike and darted toward her destination.

  Conner followed, trying to keep up. Within a few minutes, he spotted the eleven-story main building. Conner slowed to a stop as he stared at the modern structure surrounded by large cedar trees. This was the place they had all hurried to that horrible night someone mugged and knifed his mother.

  They had arrived too late. She was gone.

  “Come on!” Madison pointed. “That’s the hospital. We’re almost there.”

  Conner forced himself to pedal onward as memories of his mother, and the days of tears that followed her death, surged from the dark recesses of his mind.

  “I’ll need to take your rifle.”

  “Huh?” Conner asked the soldier in front of him.

  “You’ll get it back when you leave,” a sentry said flatly. “But no weapons are allowed inside the perimeter. What’s your full name?”

  “Conner … Conner Evans.” As he spoke, he became aware of several nearby tents with soldiers and doctors hurrying about. Madison stood next to a big Red Cross sign, talking to a woman. Several large generators roared at the far end of the parking lot. A line of green army trucks spewed diesel fumes as they left through a gate just feet away.

  The sentry wrote Conner’s name on a tag and handed the rifle to another soldier. “Do you have any other weapons?”

  Conner handed him the pistol and then pushed on with his bike toward Madison.

  She waved him onward. “The Red Cross is helping families find each other.” Madison pointed to a nearby table. “We can check for admissions and discharges there.” She took a clipboard labeled, “Admissions.”

  “Ah, Croft is your last name, right?”

  Without looking up from the papers, Madison nodded.

  Conner grabbed the discharge list and scanned the pages until he spotted both.

  Tom Croft, deceased.

  Maria Croft, deceased.

  He stared at the page. How had both her parents died? How would he tell Madison?

  She flipped to another page and leaned close. “Both of them were admitted to the hospital.” She looked to Conner. “Why would both be admitted?”

  “Ah … I ….” What could he say to make this easier for her?”

  “What?” Her mouth hung open. She stared and slowly held out her hand.

  Perhaps it was best for her to read the words herself. He passed the clipboard.

  She scanned the page. “No!” She sank to her knees “Why? How?”

  Conner knelt, hugged her, and eased her back to her feet as the Red Cross woman ran over.

  Between tears, Madison repeated various combinations of how, why, and pointed to the clipboard.

  Conner explained the situation to the wom
an.

  “I’ll find out what I can.” The woman hurried to the tent.

  After a few minutes, Conner led Madison to the shade of a nearby tree. Through teary eyes, Madison kept watch for the woman as, over the next hour, her tears subsided to sniffles.

  After more minutes of sad silence, the woman left the tent. Carrying a clipboard and plastic bag, she walked toward them. Conner stood. Madison did the same and clutched Conner’s hand.

  “I don’t have much information. Everyone is just trying to keep things going until the electricity is back on. Ah … your father was admitted at the same time as your mother.” She glanced at the papers in her hand. “He had symptoms of a heart attack and passed away about an hour after admission.”

  Madison bit her lip and seemed ready to cry again.

  “Your mother had repeated strokes and passed away the next morning. I’m very sorry.”

  “No. I don’t believe it.” Madison shook her head. “How could two healthy people just die like that?”

  “Sometimes these things happen.”

  “I need to bury them.”

  The woman cringed. “I’m really very sorry, but any unclaimed bodies are buried in a mass grave within twenty-four hours. I am so sorry.” She held out the plastic bag. Madison took it and the woman hurried away.

  “Their wedding rings.” Madison said, looking through the bag. “My dad’s wallet.” She slid to the ground in tears.

  Conner sat beside her. He let her cry and held back tears of his own. When she gulped in deep breaths, he realized she had stopped weeping. Then he retrieved his weapons and they left on their bikes.

  Just outside the perimeter fence, Madison stopped. “Where am I going?”

  Conner felt thoroughly confused. “Home.”

  “My parent’s home? Is it home now with both of them dead and a body in the dining room? How could I live there ever again? Where will I go? Back to college? Is it even open?”

  Conner stared at her, searching for an answer to at least one of her questions, but he had none. Until this day, his goal had been much the same as Madison’s—get home. He had no idea what he would do if he arrived at the farm and found Drake dead. He hadn’t wanted to spend the weekend babysitting his little brother, but he should have been there. Guilt surged within him. Had his father made it home? Would Madison go to the farm with him? Should he even ask her?