by E. E. Borton
WITHOUT
A Novel By
E.E. Borton
Story Concept by
Sean Chase and Keith Foster
© 2012 E.E. Borton Entertainment Group, Inc
Kindle Edition
© 2012 E.E. Borton Entertainment Group, Inc. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
First Published by E.E. Borton Entertainment Group, Inc. 7/22/2012
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this book are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Other Books by E.E. Borton
Abomination
Suffer
“I love getting feedback, suggestions, and ideas from fans. Visit my website at eeborton.com for book news and events. You can also contact me at [email protected]. Enjoy WITHOUT and I look forward to hearing from you!”
E.E.
Table of Contents
Greatest Show on Earth
Forty-Five
Steak Night
‘Til Death Do They Part
Three Seconds
Whisper
Tiny Bubbles
Goodnight, Sweet Girl
Par 5
The Reckoning
Silent Night
Double Up
Crossroads
Miss Sassy
Combat Rock
My Brother’s Keeper
Marlboro Man
Buck
The Good Guys
Paparazzi
Signs
Little Debbie
Groundhog Day
North
Freedom
King Alex
Flies
Homecoming
Photographs
Epiphany
Blood of a Father
The Dance
Boy Bands and Starlets
Earth, Wind, and Fire
The Island
Blood, Mud, and Bacon
First Date
Falling Up
Seven
Iron Horses and Secondhand Lions
Gasoline
Six-Pack
Waterfall
Fastball
Hyde
Showtime
Number One
Demon
King of Cowards
Something Wicked
Green Sun
Fade to Black
Day 70
Acknowledgments
Bringing a world to life in a novel is considered a solitary endeavor. In this case, nothing could be further from the truth. A collaboration among friends created this book, and it would’ve been a more difficult road if not for a special group of people along the way.
Sean and Keith, thank you for trusting me with your vision and allowing me the creative freedom to move in any direction our characters took us.
Gordon, Natalie, and Jennifer, you three are the foundation on which dreams are built.
There are many others who played an important role in motivating and inspiring me to create the work you’re holding in your hand or reading on your screen. Thank you for staying the course and keeping me on it.
Credits
Jennifer Ziegenfuss – Editor
Gordon Wulff – Business Development
Natalie Elzinga – Cover Graphics
Eric Wilson – Cover Model
Maureen Ratteree – Photographer
For Gordon, Yara, Janet, and Rodney
Chapter 1
(Day 1)
Greatest Show on Earth
She died at 8:13 in the morning. I’ll never forget the time because my watch died as well. I don’t know why, but I still wear it. Maybe it’s because they all died at 8:13. Maybe it’s because I’m hoping one day to look down and see that it’s 8:14. Whatever the reason, I can’t seem to take it off.
I was lucky to be sitting in gridlock a mile outside of downtown Atlanta when it happened. The poor bastards driving at seventy miles per hour down the other side of the highway weren’t as lucky. There were a few moments of absolute silence before all hell broke loose. Some of them hit their brakes when they lost power; most didn’t.
It started with a few piercing jolts of sound when they collided. Then, as if I were watching a movie through my windshield, several cars tumbled through the air. Everything inside them started spilling out, including her.
They were flying in every direction like they’d been shot out of a cannon at the circus, but my eyes locked onto a yellow sundress. The minivan was fifteen feet in the air when the young girl flew out. There was nothing I could do except tighten my grip on the steering wheel as I watched her come down.
I saw her face on the last cartwheel; her eyes were shut tight and all her teeth were exposed in a horrific grin. It sounded like somebody fired a shotgun in my ear when she hit the hood of the car beside me. Most of her bounced off and streaked across mine.
It was over in thirty seconds. The sound of the carnage was replaced with the sound of my heart beating out of my chest when all of the cars had landed. The only things left in the air were sheets of paper ejected from briefcases and bags that belonged to the dying acrobats.
My fingernails were cutting into the foam wrapped around my steering wheel when the silence was broken again. As if on cue, the screaming, moaning, and yelling began. I looked to my right to see a woman crying while she stared into her crushed hood. To my left, a man was staring at me with no expression. All I could do was turn away and face forward, watching as the blood streamed off the wax I applied the day before.
I don’t know how long I sat there. Like I said, my watch stopped. The first thought I do remember was of the yellow sundress, lying out of sight two feet away from me. I took a deep breath and opened my door. It was hard enough keeping my breakfast down, and taking in a lungful of gasoline vapors didn’t help. I held onto the door as I stood, feeling my legs wobble. I looked down to see half of her sticking out from underneath the car beside me. The feet were pointing in the wrong direction. That’s when my brain decided it was a good time to get rid of that breakfast.
There was no need to check for a pulse. When I dropped down on my hands and knees to look under, the face I saw a few moments before was gone. I stayed down until the second wave of nausea passed. When it did, the screaming and crying around me intensified. I stood to see every set of eyes turned upward.
When I looked into the clear morning sky, I saw a burst of sunlight reflect off a metallic, silver wing. The screams of the onlookers began to mix with the whine of the dying engines. The large passenger jet was in a flat spin as it rotated toward downtown. We all stood helpless with wide open mouths, and wider eyes, as the jet disappeared behind the skyline. A moment later, the ground shook when its flight ended, along with the lives of everyone onboard.
I turned my gaze to see a few faces buried in the chests of their significant others. Their arms held each other tight as if it were a safe place to be. People who were alone – like me – started scanning over their heads while a fireball crowned the city.
I was on the nor
th side of Atlanta. The busiest airport on the planet was ten miles away to the south. For several minutes we all stood motionless as we listened to the aircraft hitting the ground, bursting like popcorn.
“Is she dead?” asked the man to my left, oblivious to everything else going on around him.
I nodded.
“What’s happening?” asked the woman to my right, as if I had an answer.
Imminent danger seemed to pass with the same blinding speed as its arrival. It allowed me the first chance to take in everything. As far as I could see in any direction, most people were standing by their cars, paralyzed. There were a few huddles of good Samaritans around the injured doing whatever they could, but it wasn’t much. Fingers of black smoke slithered up from the burning cars. The smell of gas and burning rubber was getting thick enough to taste. The violent screams subsided and were replaced with murmurs and moans.
My brain started the impossible task of trying to process the reason for the chaos. The instant explanation was that anything powered by an engine died at the same time. That theory was challenged seconds later when I grabbed my cell phone; dead. I reached into my glove compartment for my iPod; dead. I hit the button on a flashlight I kept under my seat; dead. I looked at my watch; dead. Everything I owned – powered by electricity or a battery – was dead.
In a futile attempt I tried to restart my car. I pressed the power button on my phone several more times with no success. I looked at my watch. It was still 8:13.
My first decision to take control happened when I popped the trunk. I needed to get my bag. I needed to get home.
Chapter 2
Forty-Five
Three years ago, Mother Nature started kicking our asses. Everyone began to pay attention when hurricane season introduced us to her new attitude. Africa was cranking them out like a Gatling gun, shooting them across the Atlantic. The second storm of the season made the meteorologists look like idiots. Their initial predictions were that it was going to make landfall near the Outer Banks as a Category 3. I was glued to my TV when the Category 5 storm swung north and erased Cape Cod off the map. It drowned Nova Scotia before changing course again.
The damn thing crossed back over the Atlantic and took aim at Europe. For the first time in recorded history, a Category 4 hurricane slammed into the Emerald Isle. The death toll in Ireland reached 1,800 before it stalled and weakened over the U.K. In all, the storm killed 2,900 people.
Hurricanes weren’t the only muscle she flexed; earthquakes, tsunamis, tornados, ice storms, volcanic eruptions, and floods were on the news every few weeks. (I woke up last Christmas to four feet of snow.) But what scared me the most was the increasing frequency of blackouts.
It was no surprise that the northeastern US was without power for days after the big storm. It was a surprise when the metro-Atlanta area went dark two months later in the middle of August. Georgia Power estimated that three million people were affected. I was one of them.
I was heating up leftovers in the microwave when it – and everything else that was plugged in – shut off. My immediate thought was of how unprepared I was. Fumbling in the dark I found a flashlight I kept in a kitchen drawer. It gave me thirty seconds of dim light before it was dark again. All I could do was stand there and wait for my eyes to adjust.
A full moon and clear evening helped me get my bearings. Shafts of eerie blue light beamed through my apartment windows, allowing me to find my keys and navigate into the hall. The building maintenance staff was just as unprepared. Every emergency light attached to a battery pack was emitting less light than a tiny candle. When I made it to the windowless parking deck, it was pitch black.
I flipped open my archaic cell phone. The green hue was bright enough for me to see large objects in front of me, but it shut off every ten seconds. By the time I reached my car, it was alerting me that the battery was low. Feeling more secure in the driver’s seat, I backed out of my spot and headed down the ramp. It was a short trip.
Flooded with bright light from the line of cars in front of the unyielding access gate, I sat shaking my head. How could they be that stupid? We were all trapped by the metal bars designed to protect us. Nobody was willing to break through and possibly damage their vehicle. That would change by the time I came back later in the night.
To avoid getting pinned by the next car that was trying to escape, I parked in the first open space near the exit to the street. My journey to the pub – four blocks away – would have to be made on foot. I reached under my seat for the only other flashlight I owned. After smacking it several times, I threw it to the side and started walking.
Pushing open the thick metal door separating the garage from the sidewalk, my stomach sank as it slammed shut behind me. How could I be that stupid? Every access point to my building was secured by an electric lock. The handle on the garage side allowed anyone to exit; there was no handle on the street side. The keypad by the door was laughing at me as I pressed the unlit buttons, hoping they had been smart enough to connect the system to a back-up power source. They had not.
My stomach sank further when I turned to face the street. Looking in both directions I realized the power was out as far as I could see. With an anxious stride I walked uphill to the intersection of my block in Midtown. From there I’d be able to see the skyscrapers of Downtown Atlanta three miles away. I took a deep breath when I got to the corner. The entire city was blacked out.
If I would’ve known at the time what was coming, I would’ve ripped the rolling gate off the rail. But at that point it seemed a little premature to panic. I decided to stick to my original plan of walking to the pub and waiting this thing out. I had no doubt I’d run into a few of the regulars, and I knew most of the bar staff. Even if they were closed to the public, I was confident they’d let me in.
My walk to the pub was uneventful. The way was brightly lit by cars reduced to a crawl from the disabled traffic signals. The mood from the people I came across along the route was unimposing and even comforting. Most were huddled on stoops and porches around candles or lanterns, in good spirits with eruptions of laughter. A few of the groups offered me a cold drink in the stifling heat of a breezeless Dixie summer evening. The initial worry I experienced looking at the dark city was replaced with a sense of brotherhood with strangers. We were all in this together, and for the most part, we were all doing okay.
All my worries disappeared when I walked up the steps of my pub to find the door wide open and the bar full of friends. I was welcomed with handshakes, hugs, and a cold pint. Of the eleven people I knew there, two of them would be dead by midnight.
Knocking back one after the other, the first couple of hours we were all in high spirits and enjoying the strange new environment. We were drinking by candlelight, discussing the crazy weather and the second massive tsunami that hit Japan the day before. We all blamed air conditioners and poor city management for the blackout that brought us together for the memorable evening. The festivities stopped when they came in the bar.
The young one was helping the old one walk. Even in the dim light we could see the blood pouring out of the old woman’s face. She was beaten, robbed, and left for dead on the corner, a hundred feet away from our laughter.
The young woman explained how she witnessed the attack by the crazed group. Tears were streaming down her face while she apologized over and over about being unable to stop them. Several customers dialed the three useless numbers on their cells, trying to summon help for the old woman. The one person who did get through to 911 stared at his phone as the recording played on the speaker. We didn’t know at the time that every first responder in the city was on their way downtown to fight the fires and stop the looting.
When the mood changed so did everyone’s priorities. All the customers – most without saying a word – left the pub. I imagine they were concerned about their own families and felt an overpowering urgency to put their eyes on them. I’m an only child who buried his parents years ago; I’ve never been ma
rried and don’t have any kids. The only person I was concerned about was standing ten feet away from me.
Her name was Samantha, but we all called her Sam. She was divorced for a year when she started working at the pub, trying to start a new life in a new city. Neither one of us was looking for a serious relationship. We had been quietly dating for a year before the power outage.
Sam was a knockout, bringing in a steady stream of guys who thought they had a chance. They were all trying to impress her by leaving big tips, coming back night after night. We kept our status a secret to encourage their behavior. (I found out later that the only people who thought it was a secret were Sam and I; everyone knew.) It didn’t take long before we found ourselves in that serious relationship.
Thinking we were doing a good job of keeping the secret, we spent our time together either at my apartment or far from her job. Sam loved the outdoors, always wanting to find new places to hike or spend the weekend at a cozy cabin in the mountains. I didn’t care where we went or how we used our time. I only cared that she was with me. I only cared that she stayed with me for the rest of my life.
A week before the blackout I bought her the perfect ring. My plan was to put it on her finger when we arrived in Key West for our vacation. We were leaving in nine days. I think she knew.
When the old woman was brought inside broken and bleeding, I turned to see Sam spring into action. She gently wiped the blood out of the woman’s eyes, putting pressure on the deep cuts on her face. She reassured the younger woman who had brought her in that none of it was her fault. Sam was an independent, confident, and strong woman. The old lady couldn’t have been in better hands.
Sam lived two miles from her job and didn’t own a car; she took the subway wherever she needed to go. Knowing the victim had multiple serious injuries, she asked me to get mine so we could take her to a hospital outside of the disabled city. Sam was just built that way; she’d help anyone who needed it. If I would’ve known it was the last time I would see her alive, I would’ve told her that I loved her. Not because it would’ve been our final words, it was because I did.
