Riker's Apocalypse (Book 1): The Promise

by Chesser, Shawn

  With the memory of their escape from Shenandoah High fresh on his mind, Riker took his hand off the microphone. “Clark,” he blurted. “Can you put us down anywhere but an airport? Like maybe a high school field or abandoned lot?”

  Clark was quiet for a moment as he navigated the busy airspace. Once he had the Dauphin running back up the Hudson, he let Riker know he had just the place in mind.

  “Where?” asked Riker.

  “Your turn to be in the dark,” said Clark cryptically. “And there’s no need for any of you to worry. I can land this old girl on a pinhead in the dark of night. Stow your tray tables in the upright position and gather your gear. We’ll be wheels down in five.”

  Chapter 67

  Trying to purge the memory of the tower sliding toward the ground, Riker focused on the Statue of Liberty filling up the port-side windows. From up close her copper skin looked to have grown a sheen of mold. And Lady Liberty surely wasn’t as attractive at eye level and from a hundred feet distant as she was on currency.

  Tara zipped her coat to her neck. “Where do we go after Clark drops us off?”

  Riker shrugged. “We have money. Lots of it, too. I say we get some new wheels and get the hell out of Dodge.” He looked to Steve-O. “Any ideas, pal?”

  “Somewhere warm.” Taking a cue from Tara, he zipped his coat to his neck.

  “Almost there,” said Clark. “When I set down, Riker’s in charge of the door. Get out quick and move away with your heads down. And remember to hold onto your hats.”

  “Thanks for the lift,” said Riker. “Be sure to tack on an extra thirty percent as a thank you from all of us.”

  “That’s damn near six grand,” replied Clark. “You sure about that?”

  Tara broke in. “It’s my brother’s money we’re spending. I’m cool with it.”

  Riker said nothing. He motioned for the others to remove their headsets.

  “Feet dry,” said Clark as the river was replaced by an area of New Jersey home to wharfs and piers. The boardwalk was deserted and nearly all of the slips empty.

  Seeing Tara and Steve-O stowing their headsets, Riker said, “Worth every penny, Clark. I have your card. We may be repeat customers.”

  Clark flashed a thumbs up and said, “Two minutes out.”

  Riker shed his headset and put it away in its cubby. Looking out the window, he was surprised to learn they were coming in fast and low over a boulevard lined with strip malls and crisscrossed by arterial streets bustling with traffic.

  It wasn’t until a stand of mature trees flashed underneath the bird that he saw the fairway and sand traps and he knew what Clark had in mind.

  The landing was nothing like the takeoff from Milton Barre in Scranton. Clark brought the Dauphin in fast and steep, flaring and deploying the gear just feet over an immense and seemingly flat green.

  Outside Riker’s window, the herald on the flagstick was whipped hard by the rotor down-blast. Bag in hand, he threw open the door. Only when Tara and Steve-O were out the door and hustling away from the helicopter with heads down and hair whipping did Riker slide the door shut and tap twice on the fuselage.

  Before he could take a step toward the far edge of the green where the others were already waiting, the turbines howled and the Dauphin launched skyward.

  By the time Riker turned and waved at the ascending chopper, the air around him was calming and he could hear traffic sounds from the nearby boulevard.

  Epilogue

  Bell Ford was basically a trio of gleaming glass cubes built side by side with the cube in the center dwarfing the pair bookending it.

  A phalanx of shiny new Fords with window stickers and dealer promo plates stood between the grass strip bordering the boulevard and Bell Ford’s geometrically inspired front elevation.

  When Riker set foot inside the showroom, there was still mud on his boots from the trek through the greenspace separating the golf course from the dealership’s side lot.

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” said Tara. “All that flowing water at the Falls started it. Damn near pissed myself when the building came down.”

  “Go ahead,” said Riker. “I’m going to start the process.”

  “I have to go, too,” said Steve-O.

  Tara paused mid-step. “Good,” she said. “You can help me find them.”

  “I’m a human compass,” said Steve-O with a smile. His boots clomped on the tiles and mud calved from them as he hustled to catch up.

  Riker watched the two wend between a pair of new electric econoboxes parked grill to grill near a partition fronting what he guessed to be the sales managers’ domain. Seeing streaks of brown and bits of mud and grass they were leaving in their wake, he thought to himself: They’re going to have no problem finding their way back.

  Riker stood there for a short while surveying the place. The air in here smelled of floor wax and new tire rubber. To his left, past the pair of hybrid cars and sales managers’ area, was a customer waiting area comprised of an assortment of stuffed leather chairs and sofas. Stationed here and there were a handful of metal and glass end tables all home to magazines and customers’ soda cans and paper coffee cups.

  Everything was arranged in a U-shape. At the open end of the U was a television that had to be eighty-inches diagonal if it was a foot. It was huge. And had a vivid screen showing the news of the day. Which wasn’t good by any stretch.

  There wasn’t a soul utilizing the plush furnishings inside the U. They were all standing in a rough semicircle before the humongous flat screen television.

  There was maybe a dozen people of varying ages and genders crowded real close to the television. Riker had them pegged as customers waiting for oil to be changed or scheduled maintenance to be concluded.

  Another dozen people stood off to the side at an oblique angle to the screen. Not quite in the waiting area. But not quite disassociated from it either. A good mix of men and women. Some wore shirts and ties. Others wore slick-looking gray jackets emblazoned with the blue Ford oval. Riker guessed they were employees not selling cars or trucks at the moment.

  Everyone was watching the demise of 4WTC being replayed by a local channel.

  A salesman dressed in shirt and tie and nearly a head taller than the others looked away from the television.

  Riker waved and caught his eye.

  The man stood his ground but regarded Riker for a long three-count.

  Riker got the impression the salesman was sizing him up. Some kind of a decision was being made. The correct decision was going to result in a commission going in the human string bean’s pocket. The incorrect would see Riker strolling over there and calling him out in front of the sales managers currently standing around inside their glassed-in area, no doubt watching a television exclusive to them.

  The tall salesman’s decision favored Riker. He threaded his way through his fellows, walked in front of the television, then parted the customers and approached Riker.

  From a dozen feet away Riker caught the man looking down at the mud streaked across the floor. At six feet out the salesman’s gaze dropped to Riker’s muddy boots, hung there for a beat, then flicked up and leveled on his face. At arm’s length the salesman’s right hand shot out and he was smiling big and introducing himself as “Chad” and apologizing for the lack of help on the floor.

  “Name’s Lee,” said Riker. “No worries. I’ve got nothing but time on my hands.”

  “Did you know Building Four just fell?”

  Jaw going rigid, Riker nodded. “I watched it from a thousand feet over the Hudson.”

  Chad did a double take.

  “In the air?”

  “No,” said Riker. “In a helicopter. Pilot just let us out on the golf course beside your place.”

  Dumbfounded, Chad craned and looked in the general direction Riker and the others had come in from. “Colonia? The country club?”

  Riker nodded. “How my boots got muddy.”

  Chad shook his head slowly side
to side.

  Riker figured the man thought he was being put on. Like one of those gotcha-style hidden video shows.

  “What are you looking to get into?” asked Chad, his gaze settling momentarily on the distant television.

  “I want a truck. F-150, preferably. That’s what I had before.”

  Chad’s smile drooped a little. “New or pre-owned?”

  “New,” said Riker.

  Chad’s smile was back full force and cheesy as ever.

  Riker was expecting the old What’s your price range? query. Instead, Chad asked what he needed in his truck.

  Ticking the items off on his fingers, Riker said, “Moonroof, four doors, four-wheel-drive, big engine, and automatic transmission … ‘cause clutches and me don’t get along.”

  “Premium stereo?”

  “Radio in my last truck didn’t work.”

  Chad’s smile was back to half-staff. “Do you want to lease or finance your new truck?”

  “Paying in full. You take a debit card?”

  Now Chad’s mouth didn’t appear to know what to do. His lips were pressed into a thin white line as he mulled over Riker’s question.

  “We can call your bank and work out a money transfer.”

  “Whatever works,” said Riker. “What do you have on the lot in the way of F-150s?” Before Chad answered, Riker looked past his head and saw Tara and Steve-O emerge from behind the television viewing area.

  “Our base F-150 is—”

  Riker interrupted Chad by stabbing a thumb toward the ceiling.

  “Next model up is the—”

  Again, Riker did the thing with the thumb.

  “There’s the Platinum, but it’s nearly the same price as the Raptor. Now that’s a beast of a truck. Five hundred plus horses. It’ll go anywhere.”

  “What color do you have in stock?”

  Chad seemed to deflate. He began worrying his tie. “We’re between model years on the Raptor. They’re bringing an all-new one out next year. Aluminum body. Twin turbo V6.”

  “Riker frowned. “V6? Do you have anything similar to the V8 Raptor on the lot?”

  Chad’s eyes went wide and swiveled to the left. “We do. Follow me, Lee.”

  Tara and Steve-O showed up next to the customer waiting area, totally blocking Chad’s path in the process.

  “What’s up, Bro?”

  “Chad’s going to show me …” He looked to Chad. “What’s it called?”

  “Shelby Baja 700,” said Chad. “It’ll blow the doors off the Raptor Lee came looking for.”

  Tara shot Riker a look of approval.

  Riker said, “Where is she?”

  “Right this way.” Chad was smiling coyly at his coworkers as he led Riker, Tara, and Steve-O past the television where they took a left.

  After filing into a smaller cube-shaped building, they came upon a raised platform textured to resemble a gently sloped field of rock or maybe scree, which one Riker couldn’t decide. Parked on the platform at an angle so as to partially show off the undercarriage was a cobalt-blue pickup standing tall on big tires and lifted by factory off-road suspension.

  At once Riker was smitten.

  Steve-O said, “Wow,” and began to circle the display like a shark would an injured seal pup.

  Tara stared for a long three-count, after which she said, “You need it, Lee. I love the white stripes. And those light bars up front. Wow!”

  Not one to let a golden opportunity go to waste, Chad opened the door and ushered Riker behind the wheel.

  Staring down from the driver’s seat and basking in the rich smell of new leather, Riker said, “It’s damn comfortable. And roomy.” He was subconsciously massaging the leather-wrapped steering wheel.

  “Pop the hood,” said Chad. “It’s got the big V8 with a Whipple supercharger. She’s pushing over seven-hundred horsepower.”

  Riker said, “No need,” and climbed down from the big truck. “You had me at seven-hundred horsepower. Let’s get ‘er done.”

  Pausing with one hand still on the door, Chad leaned in close and said, “She’s one of fifty made. We just got her in. The owner insisted we put a big premium on her. Always does that to see if he can get a whale to bite.”

  Tara said, “A whale?”

  “Someone in Vegas with money to burn,” answered Steve-O. “Learned that from the Kardashians.”

  Riker said, “Never say that name in my presence again, Steve-O. Guilt by association and all that.” He turned back to Chad. Speaking slowly, not that it really mattered to him, he asked, “How much is she?”

  “A hundred and fifty thousand.”

  “I’ll take it with one condition, Chad.”

  Chad was already looking toward the sales managers’ office. He swiveled his head back around. Regarded Riker and swallowed hard. Dry lips making a strange sound when they parted, he asked, “What is it?”

  Riker looked to his boots, then pointed at Tara and Steve-O’s boots. “Throw in some all-weather floor mats.”

  “And free undercoating,” added Tara.

  Not wanting to be left out, Steve-O said, “And a pine tree for the mirror.”

  Chad said, “Done” and took Riker’s driver’s license and bank card. Then, as Riker recited them from memory, Chad wrote down the routing number to his Chase checking account.

  Riker scooped up the NRA bag and led Tara and Steve-O to a nearby table to wait.

  ***

  Chad was back in twenty minutes with a folder clamped under one arm, the keys to the Shelby Baja in one hand, and a large plastic sack stuffed to brimming with the set of black all-weather floor mats, complete with the white Ford Shelby logo.

  Riker said, “Bank didn’t hassle you?”

  “On the contrary,” said Chad. “They bent over backwards to make the deal happen. All you have to do is sign and drive.”

  As Riker added his John Hancock to what seemed like half a ream of paper, Chad went over the truck’s various safety features. He also presented the owner’s manual and mentioned that all routine service was on Bell Ford for the first two years.

  “Don’t think I’ll be back this way,” said Riker.

  “Where are you headed?” asked Chad.

  “I’m not sure.” He looked to Tara, then Steve-O. Both were wearing toothy grins. Which seemed strange considering the things over at Battery Park and the stuff still playing out on the television behind them.

  “What?” said Riker.

  “You’ll see,” said Tara.

  “We already booked the place,” added Steve-O.

  Riker’s brow furrowed. “A hotel?”

  “No, a mansion. It’s an Airbnb,” said Tara.

  “Air what?”

  “Never mind,” she said with a sly grin. “Me and Steve-O are the cruise directors on this one.”

  “Tell me,” insisted Riker. “Someplace warm and zombie free, I trust.”

  Chad pushed the keys across the table to Riker. “Did you say zombie free?”

  “Inside joke,” said Tara.

  “Come on, Sis.”

  Tara rose from her seat. “Karma is a bitch,” she said, shouldering the duffel containing the urn and shotgun. “Take the keys. Let’s go.”

  ###

  The Riker siblings and Steve-O will be back in Book 2 of Riker’s Apocalypse in late 2018.

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  Also by Shawn Chesser

  Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse

  TRUDGE

  SOLDIER ON

  IN HARM’S WAY

  A POUND OF FLESH

  ALLEGIANCE

  MORTAL

  WARPATH

  GHOSTS

  FRAYED

  DRAWL: DUNCAN’S STORY

  DISTRICT

  ABYSS

  The Promise