Geostorm The Collapse: A Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The Geostorm Series Book 3)

by Bobby Akart

  The day was getting away from them, and Tommy was genuinely concerned about the slow pace of their exit. “I don’t know what else to do except keep pushing forward. I really don’t want to get stuck in the city when it turns dark, but at this pace, we may not have a choice.”

  “I’m sorry, Tommy,” said Kristi as her chin dropped to her chest.

  He reached over and squeezed her hand. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. In fact, there’s no tellin’ what Housley and her bunch would come up with next. Gasoline confiscation? Hell, they might take everybody’s car or exact some ridiculous toll to exit. Nothing would surprise me. We got out of there just in time.”

  Kristi leaned over to look at the fuel gauge. “We’re burning through gas, aren’t we?”

  Tommy grimaced. “Yeah. Between the stop-and-go traffic, and me zigzagging toward the outskirts of the city, we’re pushing farther west and not south like we need to. If we can catch a break and get out of this stuff, we’ve still got a chance to make it on one tank.”

  Kristi thought for a moment as Tommy took another right turn and headed toward Chicago Midway airport on West Garfield Boulevard. Once one of the city’s most traveled streets, as Southwest Airlines’ hub located at Midway attracted millions of airline passengers, it now looked like a deserted war zone. He drove under the CSX railroad tracks, which held two stalled trains stretching to and from the Fifty-Ninth Street Yard.

  “I have a crazy idea, but it would give us an opportunity to regroup and get a fresh start.”

  “What is it?” he asked as he studied a group of teens standing on the overpass. He physically crossed his fingers, hoping they wouldn’t hurl a cinderblock through his windshield.

  “Let’s go back to the zoo.”

  “Seriously?” he asked, leaning forward to press his face near the windshield. His eyes slowly looked upward as he passed under the bridge.

  “No, I mean yes. Just hear me out. First of all, the place will be a ghost town. You know all the maintenance people are gone, and security will be nonexistent since the animals were released. The cops will be too busy dealing with active shootings and such to guard the zoo premises. We can stay there, rest up, and head out after midnight when the traffic probably thins out.”

  Tommy stuck out his lower lip and nodded. “I can siphon gas out of the maintenance carts and probably find a gas can or two in the storage sheds.”

  “There’s another reason I wouldn’t mind going back,” began Kristi. She adjusted Brooke on her lap. “I want to walk the primate habitat with this little one. I want to gauge her familiarity with the surroundings.”

  “Are you thinking she’s not one of ours?”

  “I don’t know. Things don’t add up, and at least, after an hour of observation, I can rule it in or out, one way or the other.”

  “I say we go for it.” Tommy glanced over his shoulder and turned north on Pulaski Road, ten blocks before the airport. The bulk of the traffic was headed south, so he was actually able to drive thirty miles an hour, pausing at the intersections, where the streetlights weren’t functioning. It took forty-five minutes, but they arrived at the east maintenance gate off First Avenue before dark.

  “Look, it’s open. That could be both good and bad.”

  Tommy eased onto the zoo property and pointed toward the glove box. “You might wanna get ready, gunslinger.”

  “Shut up,” Kristi responded playfully. “By the way, where’s your gun?”

  Tommy reached under the seat and retrieved his matching nine-millimeter pistol. He rested it against his right thigh. “Let’s be real careful. I don’t know why anyone would bother looting a zoo, but you never know.”

  Tommy slowly drove down the grassy path through the woods and emerged at the softball field adjacent to the parking lot. He cut across the empty lot and drove through the grass near the administration building and onto the sidewalk. After a minute, they were inside the zoo complex and driving toward the Roosevelt Fountain, which had stopped working.

  “There’s nobody here,” said Kristi with a sense of relief.

  Tommy hesitated. “That we can see, anyway. Where to? Your office?”

  “No sense in it. I cleaned it out before we left. Let’s head back toward The Living Coast. There was always a full-time zoologist assigned to watch the water temps on the aquariums. They probably have a cot or something to sleep on, if you need it.”

  Tommy drove slowly through the tree canopy on the same sidewalk where they’d encountered the anarchists just days earlier. As he passed Tropic World, Kristi repositioned Brooke so she could see the building’s entrance.

  She lifted the chimp’s hand and placed it on the passenger window. With her cheek touching Brooke’s, she whispered, “Honey, does this look familiar?”

  The chimp slid forward on Kristi’s lap and touched the passenger window with her other hand. Her eyes studied the façade and then the roof, but she never provided any kind of reaction.

  “I guess not,” concluded Tommy. “We’ll take her inside the habitat after we secure the car and find a place to rest. While you guys look around there, I’ll look for gasoline and anything else that could help us.”

  Kristi looked around the zoo that had been her home for the better part of a decade. It looked different, yet the same. She’d never seen it so deserted. So empty. Even the night the anarchists had wreaked havoc, at least there was still evidence of life. A wave of sadness came over her as she spoke. “Let’s stick together. It’s safer that way.”

  “Deal.”

  Chapter 32

  Brookfield Zoo

  Chicago, Illinois

  Tommy pulled the Mustang between two dumpsters located at the side of The Living Coast complex and immediately piled empty boxes in front of and behind it to obscure it from view. They’d only be there for seven or eight hours, but he hoped to avoid damage or looting to their ride out of the city.

  “Okay, family,” he began with a grin. He tucked his firearm in his belt to match Kristi’s. “Let’s go to the zoo.”

  The trio was quite a sight as they strolled down the sidewalk toward Tropic World. Brooke proudly held her arms up to allow her new parents to walk her toward the habitat. As a sign of the times, Kristi’s and Tommy’s weapons were ready to be grasped at the first sign of a threat. They approached the entrance to the primate habitat, discussing various scenarios if they were surprised or challenged by anyone, or any animal.

  Kristi knelt down to Brooke’s level. The chimp seemed disinterested but was certainly enjoying the human interaction. She was very much at ease with the humans she’d met only a few days prior.

  They entered through the turnstiles, and Kristi held back, allowing Brooke to lead the way. “I wanna see how familiar she is with the habitat. If she was part of the primate population here, she’ll exhibit recognition when we arrive at the chimps’ section.”

  Brooke took the lead, slowly knuckle-walking along the concrete path, pushing her nose into the air to take in the aroma of where the primates once lived. The first stop was the South American habitat, where spider monkeys and tamarins had spent their days playing. At one point, she jumped onto the fence overlooking the grounds and studied the interior, but then she jumped back to the sidewalk and continued on.

  She passed the smaller Asia habitat, home to the orangutans and white-cheeked gibbons, without giving it a second glance. However, at the last stop, the man-made tropical forest of Habitat Africa, she became more animated. After pointing toward the cage, she let out a series of excited yells.

  “EEE-EEE-EEE! Ooo-oo-oo!”

  “Here, Tommy. Look, she recognizes it.”

  Brooke began to bang on the chain-link fencing that surrounded the enclosure.

  “This must be her—” Tommy began to agree when he suddenly stopped his sentence just as Brooke became quiet as well.

  Out of the shadows of a large faux-boulder formation, movement caught Tommy’s eye. He slowly pulled his weapon and dropped to a knee,
grabbing Kristi’s arm as he did. She joined him and pulled her weapon, slowly moving the barrel from side to side in search of a target.

  Then they saw what had grabbed Brooke’s attention. One by one, three western lowland gorillas emerged from the rocks and made their way toward the deep ditch that separated them from the fence. Without concern for the humans who watched them, the three picked a grassy spot and immediately sat down to stare back.

  Kristi stifled a nervous laugh. She whispered, “They came home.”

  Tommy shook his head in disbelief. “They sure did. This is the only home they remember. It’s where they were fed and felt safe.”

  Kristi leaned back and looked toward the security gate to Habitat Africa. Its supports had been sawed off by the anarchists and hung onto the posts by a single shackle.

  “They could leave if they want to, but this is where they want to be.”

  “Amazing,” said Tommy. “Brooke didn’t have this reaction to what should have been her habitat. She came to this one because she sensed there were other primates here.”

  “I think you’re right,” said Kristi. She wiped a tear from her eyes. “I want to help them. Feed them. Make sure they’re all right, but we can’t. It’s too dangerous.”

  “You know, I think they’re doin’ just fine. Let’s leave them alone.”

  Tommy slowly stood so he didn’t create the impression he was a threat or a challenge to the mighty apes. The gate to the habitat stood between them and the exit to Tropic World. Any one of these three incredible animals could beat them to death with their powerful fists.

  Kristi also backed away and took Brooke by the hand. As they walked out, Brooke looked over her shoulder at the great apes until they were out of view.

  The three walked in silence, approaching the lower portion of the Salt Creek Nature Trail around Swan Lake as daylight turned to night. Recalling the events of the other night, Kristi shook her head in disgust. The tactics of the Animal Liberation Front, especially the senseless murdering of the zoo employees, were criminal, inhumane, and ultimately, a disservice to the animals.

  She also subconsciously held the grip of her pistol as they walked along the trail and into the woods. She’d shot a man for the first time that night, and while she didn’t kill him, that was certainly her intent. She acted in self-defense and anger, an emotion that didn’t mix well with loaded firearms.

  Suddenly, Brook pulled away from her arm and knuckle-ran down the path into the trees. She was excited and very vocal. Almost happy.

  “What’s this all about?” asked Tommy.

  Kristi didn’t answer but, instead, raced ahead in pursuit of the young chimp.

  “Brooke! Brooke!” she shouted to the chimp. “Come back here!”

  The chimpanzee hadn’t been trained by her and most likely didn’t understand any of these verbal commands, but it was natural for Kristi to try. Tommy ran after them and caught up when Kristi stood still on the sidewalk. She pointed up to the tree canopy.

  Brooke was swinging from tree to tree, happily chattering and moving effortlessly. She finally dropped to the ground and waved her arms overhead, shouting to her companions, “Ooo-oo-oo. EEE-EEE-EEE!”

  Kristi and Tommy walked briskly toward her, not wanting to run for fear of frightening her off. Just as they arrived, Brooke darted off into the woods once again and raced up a tree until she reached two large branches that formed a V against the trunk. There were several limbs draped between the two branches as well as bundles of dried grasses.

  Tommy was the first to speak. “Well, I’ll be damned. Is this really possible?”

  “It’s the only explanation. She lives here. Along Salt Creek, in this desolate part of the zoo that is rarely visited.”

  The sun lowered on the horizon until it peeked through the tree canopy, illuminating Brooke against the trunk of the tree. Kristi stood with her hands on her hips and looked up. Then her eyes filled with tears, which began to run down her cheeks.

  Brooke had brought her fingers and thumb together on her right hand and touched her cheek near the side of her mouth. Then she moved her hand an inch or two toward her ear and touched her cheek again.

  Home.

  Kristi couldn’t control her emotions as she began to sob. She mimicked the chimp’s hand gesture and smiled.

  “She’s home. Tommy, this is her home.”

  Chapter 33

  Roosevelt Room

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  Hourly, President Houston was briefed on every aspect of the catastrophic results of the pole shift and the reversal of the Earth’s magnetic field. A president’s normal schedule was carefully controlled by his chief of staff, and the Houston administration was no different. The day would start with breakfast and exercise. Then the national security team would descend upon the White House for the daily briefing.

  The daily activities varied, especially when a crisis was at hand. Otherwise, short, twenty-minute meetings were the norm, and interspersed throughout the day were a variety of functions ranging from meetings with dignitaries to photo-op sessions to commemorate special events.

  Of past presidents, President George W. Bush was considered the most structured, as his schedule was regimented and planned months in advance. President Bill Clinton was considered the most undisciplined. His deputy chief of staff, Erskine Bowles, once commented that President Clinton’s daily routine was viewed in the West Wing as a study in time and motion as staffers tried to predict what the president would do next, and how long it would take him to do it.

  President Houston was disciplined, but not by choice. Angela O’Donnell made sure he stayed on schedule. Now, with all public events cancelled, Congress in forced recess, and no political events to attend, the president had nothing to do except micromanage the crisis and wander the West Wing, seeking new information.

  His constant trips to the Press Room, which had become the temporary base of operations for NASA, NOAA, and SWPC personnel, had become a distraction. O’Donnell had to rein him in before he drove the scientists crazy. To compromise, he was promised hourly briefings, with each agency given their own time slot. That kept the president out of their hair, and as they relayed to O’Donnell, there wasn’t always much to report as often as the president hoped.

  NASA’s Nola Taylor seemed to enjoy her constant meetings with the president of the United States. When she was tasked with bringing a team to the White House to be at the president’s every beck and call during the crisis, she handpicked scientists from Houston and the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena to assist her. They all jumped at the opportunity to be down the hallway from the leader of the free world and in the heart of the nerve center advising the president. Taylor was honored as well, so she took her job very seriously.

  She was meeting with the president in the Roosevelt Room and addressed his concerns regarding the nation’s military readiness. “Mr. President, we are dealing with unprecedented navigation fixes that apply to both domestic and military aircraft. Low-Earth orbit satellites are also impacted.”

  He interrupted her presentation with a question. “How is our level of cooperation with foreign space agencies and the people who monitor the poles?”

  “Quite remarkable, actually,” she replied. “Truthfully, sir, under normal conditions, there is a certain amount of competitiveness between the world’s space agencies. Scientists are always vying for recognition and funding. As a result, information is withheld until they can take credit for the discovery.”

  “Are you saying that has changed?”

  “Yes, sir, absolutely. Everyone is concerned about what the Sun might bring toward our planet. Also, they are keenly watching your approach. Not every country has the capability to initiate a black start plan like we do, but they are considering protecting what they can in the same manner.”

  The president nodded his approval. “Well, you let me know if I need to talk with anyone, okay? Now, how about our satellites?”
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  “Sir, the poles are shifting so quickly that our navigational fixes can’t keep pace. With respect to air traffic, grounding the planes was very important. At any given moment, there are about five thousand commercial airplanes in the sky over the continental U.S. There are more than double the number of private aircraft. With the skies cleared, we’ve worked closely with the Pentagon to provide their air patrols with the best available GPS information.”

  “How about the satellites?” he asked.

  Taylor took a deep breath and exhaled. “As the Earth’s magnetic field continues to weaken, it will eventually fail, and so will our satellites. At this point, we’re not there yet. It could take weeks or months, depending on how quickly the poles wander.”

  “And there’s no way to definitively predict this process, right?”

  “That’s right, sir. First, our communications satellites in the highest orbits will fail to transmit. Next, the low-Earth orbit satellites will fail. Mr. President, I don’t want to downplay the ramifications of losing this technology. To be sure, it will have a profound impact on our future. But nothing compares to the risk to all of humanity as cosmic rays began to infiltrate our atmosphere.”

  The president sighed. “I’ve been so focused on the power grid and the impact on the technology, I really haven’t considered the direct effect on people.”

  “You see, sir, it’s more than the sun. Cosmic rays, high-energy particles from elsewhere in the universe, will collide with atoms such as oxygen and nitrogen in our atmosphere. Without getting into the weeds here, the result of these collisions will be chemical reactions that send cosmogenic isotopes like carbon-14 and beryllium-10 to the planet’s surface. While the beta radiation of carbon-14 is not an external radiation hazard, ingestion and inhalation is. Inhalation of beryllium can cause damage to the lungs and pneumonia.”

  “Dammit, Taylor! How are we supposed to warn people? And when?”