Final Days

by Jasper T. Scott

  “You have no wheels.” Roland scolded himself for leaving his truck at the motel. “Why are you so stupid?” Then he remembered the white van, but Andrew had shot out the tire. What about the FBI woman’s car? She’d said it was damaged, but to what extent?

  First things first. He hobbled through the maze of rooms and doorways until he returned to the surveillance room where his laptop was chugging away, his screen full of flashing images, the program searching for coordinates.

  It gave him a countdown, saying there was only ten minutes left. So far there was nothing popping up for his parameters. Roland heard a crunching noise as the earth trembled again, and he ducked low, remaining under the desk. He doubted it would do much to combat the force of nature, but it was better than sitting out in the open.

  He pressed his body against the wall as he curled into a ball, his head between his legs. His hands shook, and he tried to convince himself to be strong, that they needed him, and eventually the shaking and terrifying sounds of shifting metal beams and the breaking coastline ceased.

  Roland waited another two minutes before poking his head up to find the room was still intact. Lewis Hound would have made this place far above code, and it had stayed in one piece so far. Roland doubted it would when the force of the coming tsunami hit. He had to be fast.

  The laptop chimed, showing him the result of his program searching Hound’s cleared-out systems.

  “Holy crap, Rollie. You did it, man!” His fingers flew over the keys once again, and the numbers appeared on the screen in black text over the blue backdrop. They were coordinates, all right. He keyed them in and saw an empty spot in the Pacific Ocean. “Gotcha.”

  He slipped his phone out and texted the numbers to Kendra.

  Before he put it away, he sent one more message. Need to leave the coast. Tsunami going to hit. Where are you?

  He didn’t wait for a reply. He tossed the laptop into his backpack, slung it over his shoulders, and moved for the door. Two men stood in the warehouse, wearing black vests and holding guns at hip level. They had respirators strapped to their faces.

  “Roland Martin?” one of them asked, his voice garbled behind the mask.

  Roland thought about pretending to be someone else, but they already knew it was him. He nodded slowly.

  “You’re coming with us,” the same man said as he lifted his gun in the air, aiming straight for Roland.

  He had a decision to make, and not much time. His pistol sat in the bag. He could try for it by pretending to put the bag on the floor, but these two were big guys, clearly trained where he wasn’t. He’d lose the shootout, and then he’d never know the outcome of this whole adventure. He’d never find out if Earth was lost, or what Hound had been up to. His curiosity almost outweighed his own self-preservation at this point.

  The second man walked toward him, gun raised. He was an ox of a man, half as wide as he was tall. Roland felt a sinking feeling in his guts. They weren’t going to let him live.

  “Give me your computer,” the man said, his voice deep and menacing.

  Roland held his pack out and stuck his hand inside, contemplating grabbing the gun.

  “Slowly,” the man warned.

  Roland’s fingers grasped the edge of the computer, and he slid it out. The man took it in his big hands before it was all the way free, and he tossed it to the ground in anger. He stomped on it one, twice, three times, spreading out the pieces. Roland would miss that laptop. He’d built it himself, a sort of Frankenstein’s monster of computers, and now it was gone. He’d have time to grieve later—if he wasn’t mourning his own death.

  “Phone.”

  “What?” Roland asked.

  “Phone.”

  “I don’t have your number,” Roland said without a hint of a smirk.

  The fist flew at his gut so quickly he didn’t have time to clench. He doubled over, falling to the ground. The first man was there in a hurry, lifting Roland up. He fumbled in Roland’s pockets and found it, dropping the thin hacker to the floor.

  The armed man opened the phone, about to search it, when the tremors hit again. This time it happened with a bang. The warehouse base shifted hard, and Roland was lifted away from the two men as the wall holding the bay doors crashed open, tearing apart at the seams.

  He took his chance and ran for the opening. His leg still ached where he’d fallen on his knee, and his breaths were forced and shallow after having the air knocked from his lungs, but he pushed on.

  With a quick glance behind him, he saw the shorter man climb up the fissure and give chase. Roland really wished he had a car parked nearby, and scanned the area, searching for the vehicle these two guards had arrived in. There wasn’t one, and it hit him. They’d come from the ocean.

  They might be his only way out here. They had his phone, so he couldn’t contact his allies to pick him up even if he did escape, and Roland had absolutely no clue where to acquire a boat, or what to do if he found one. He was desperate.

  He stopped suddenly, and heard a bullet hit the ground beside his feet. He lifted his arms in the air and turned to the gun-wielding men.

  “You can tell Hound you found me!” he shouted. “I surrender!” He hoped using the billionaire’s name would spark some hesitation to kill him. It worked like a charm. Even from this distance, Roland saw the effect at his casual use of the name.

  The aftershocks hit as the men arrived at his side, but they all managed to stay on their feet.

  “Keep moving, kid,” the huge guy said through his respirator.

  Roland pulled his mask over his own face, and they didn’t stop him. The fog wasn’t as thick at the moment, but he instantly felt better for the filtration. He had no way to calculate the Richter scale and the distance out it would have come from but assumed they had only minutes before the wave came.

  “Get in the boat,” the other said, shoving him forward onto the pier toward a thirty-foot cabin cruiser.

  “Are you sure that’s such a great idea, fellas?” Roland asked them as he pointed to the choppy water on the horizon.

  “Shut up and do as we say,” the ox of a man said.

  Roland didn’t know what kind of boat it was, but he doubted it would be able to withstand the treacherous waters coming their way. He’d been seasick the few times he’d ever been on the water, and dreaded the idea of going on the ocean. This whole time he hadn’t let himself consider the actual journey from the coast to the hideout, but now that it was at hand, his ears started to ring, and he became lightheaded.

  They removed the rope from the dock, and the smaller guard moved the ship out. Already the water felt different to Roland: more energized, even nervous.

  Roland said a silent prayer to a god he wasn’t sure existed. A mile ahead of them, the wall of water was growing closer to their boat with each tortuous breath.

  Twenty-Eight

  Kendra

  3 Days Left…

  One second Andrew was right behind her; the next he was torn from the bannister, flying across the stairwell.

  “Keep moving!” Kendra shouted to the small crowd above her. A man shoved his daughter forward, and Kendra scanned the area, searching for Andrew as the water continued to rise in the open space.

  The water was cold, and her legs were instantly numb. She saw his limp body floating along the edge of the concrete wall and didn’t hesitate. Kendra pushed off from the stairs, cutting through the murky salt water like a dolphin, and reached his side quickly.

  “Andrew!” She tried to shake him awake, but he was out like a light.

  “Bring him here!” The last man of the group had stayed behind, and Kendra feared they’d soon be under water. The level was lifting them toward the ceiling, and she treaded water, the salt burning her eyes as she dipped below the surface. With one hand clasped around Andrew’s wrist, the other stroked vigorously through the water, pulling her slowly toward the steps.

  By the time she arrived, the level was higher, pulling her and the uncon
scious Marine under. She felt the tug from the man on the stairwell, and she was lifted free. She panted, spitting out ocean, and the two of them heaved Andrew up.

  He was heavy, limp like a soaked ragdoll, but they managed to heft him to the top of the second floor. “It’s still coming!” the man shouted over the cacophony of sounds echoing throughout the three-story vestibule.

  He was right. Water continued up, licking Kendra’s feet even on the second floor. She knew that outside would be worse, and she only hoped they could reach high enough to avoid drowning from it.

  She looped one arm under Andrew’s armpit, and the stranger did the same. Together they kept moving, and eventually the others met them on the stairs to help. Everything happened so quickly, and soon they were pressing through the top-floor doors. She slammed the eight-foot steel door shut, twisting the deadbolt, as if the floodwater had the ability to twist the lever.

  She fell to the floor beside Andrew, fully winded.

  “What are we going to do?” a woman asked. Her heavy mascara dripped in dark lines onto her ample cheeks.

  Kendra sat up, trying to assess the situation. There were eight people with them: three women, three men, a girl maybe eight years old, and a teenage boy. One of the women was on the floor, gripping her left ankle.

  She rushed to Andrew’s side and checked his pulse. Just as she was about to tilt his head up and start CPR, he spat out a lungful of dirty water and blinked his eyes open. He tried to sit up in a panic, but Kendra rested a hand on his chest.

  “We made it,” she told him calmly.

  Andrew glanced around, and she noticed him checking to see if his gun was still on him. It was, and so was hers, still seated in the holster.

  “Is there another floor? One for staff, perhaps?” Kendra asked, finding the strength to stand. Her thighs shook as she arrived on her feet, and she peered through the rectangular glass on the door leading to the stairwell. The water continued to climb, but slower now.

  “It’s the top. Who are you, and what are you doing in my Eureka?” a man asked. Kendra didn’t like the way his eye twitched when he gave the town a possessive ‘my’. He was older, white with receding gray hair. His moustache was droopy, and he wore a short-sleeved yellow dress shirt with a black tie. It was a look everyone in the Bureau used to wear… twenty years ago.

  “I could ask you the same question, Mr. ...?” She lifted an eyebrow, waiting for a name.

  “This is Jack Pennycoat, Eureka’s mayor,” an older woman said from behind the rest of the group. She leaned against the reception station, appearing far more composed than the others. They were in a pulmonary ward: images of lungs with medical jargon hung on the walls; yellow, green, and blue lines ran along the floors, parallel before breaking apart in separate directions at a fork in the corridor.

  “Why didn’t you all evacuate?” Kendra asked.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of a captain going down with his ship?” Andrew asked, finally sitting up. His lips peeled out into a strange smile.

  Pennycoat scowled at the Marine. “Nothing of the sort. This is all a bunch of hooey, if you ask me.”

  Kendra instantly wished the mayor was on the other side of this door. She could sense a troublemaker when she saw one. They needed to keep moving and leave this group behind. Her gaze drifted to the small girl clutching her father’s arm. He watched Kendra with worried eyes.

  “What’s a bunch of hooey?” Kendra asked Pennycoat.

  “The world ending, that’s what.”

  “What do you think just happened? That’s not a rainstorm out there,” Kendra told him.

  “That’s it. The water will recede, and we’ll rebuild. It’s what a good city does.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and Kendra saw the older man near the vending machine shake his head.

  “I should never have listened to you, Jack,” the older man said.

  “You didn’t have to. I didn’t force anyone to stay,” Jack told him.

  “Everyone shut up.” Andrew was on his feet. He moved to the injured woman’s side and lowered his voice. His hand moved to her ankle. “Are you okay? What is it?”

  “It hurts. I think it’s broken.” The woman was strong, but tears flooded her face.

  “Is anyone else hurt?” Kendra asked, and they all assessed one another.

  Finally Jack Pennycoat spoke up. “I stubbed my toe.”

  Andrew carried the woman toward one of the patient rooms, and Kendra followed. “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice much smoother than Kendra recalled.

  “Laurie,” she told him. She was in her thirties, her hair cut in a short brown bob. She was wearing blue-framed glasses, and they were smudged, one of the lenses cracked along the middle.

  “I’m Andrew, and this is Kendra, and we’re going to treat your leg.” Andrew pushed by Kendra, and motioned for her to follow. They moved past a half-dozen empty spaces, each room number progressively larger as they went. It still smelled like a hospital to Kendra, a mixture of sterile chemicals and sickness.

  “How’s your head?” she asked him as they wound their way through the dark halls. He tried a couple of doors, but kept moving.

  “It’s… I’ll be fine,” Andrew said, not sounding so sure. His speech was slightly slurred, and Kendra worried he had a concussion.

  Kendra’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out, amazed the waterproof model had actually stood up to the claim. Her eyes went wide. “We have the coordinates.” She looked around, checking if anyone was watching her.

  “Lot of good that does us now,” Andrew said.

  “We can still make it. We have three days,” Kendra said. She held out her arms while Andrew stacked medical supplies in them. Kendra saw a pack at the side of the room, and used her phone’s light to illuminate the storage closet. She started throwing provisions together, and Andrew muttered before helping her.

  “How are we going to get there?” he asked.

  “We’re going to find your daughter, Andrew. I know it. We’re so close,” she said, stuffing tensors, anesthetics, antibiotics, and other miscellaneous medical supplies into the pack. “The water will recede.”

  “But the boats might be in the center of the city by then, and we might not have time to wait for the water to go down. Plus, this might only be the beginning. More disasters will be coming,” he said, stopping in the middle of the storage closet.

  Her hands rested on his forearms, and Kendra stared him in the eyes. She needed him on her side. There was no breaking this team up, not so late in the game. “Andrew, listen to me. We’ll figure this out.”

  He nodded and glanced at her hands. She lifted them off, as if only now noticing she was touching him. They filled the bags and rushed toward the injured woman.

  The other seven were anxiously huddled in the waiting room, the teenager the only one sitting. He was holding his phone in the air, as if trying to access reception. Kendra was amazed Roland’s message had come through at all. It appeared to have been sent roughly a half hour ago, by the time stamp. By this point her phone was dead, no bars to be seen, so she couldn’t talk to Roland.

  “I hope the kid is okay,” Andrew said, reading her mind.

  “So do I,” she agreed. Andrew headed into the patient room and began talking to Laurie, while Kendra strode over to the group standing in a circle.

  “…no other choice. This will subside, and we’ll be fine,” Jack was saying.

  “If everyone is done standing around, we need to accomplish some tasks,” Kendra told them. Pennycoat bristled at this, but she didn’t care. She pointed at the teenager. “You, what’s your name?”

  He brushed his long hair from his face and glanced at her with dark brown eyes. “Tony,” he said.

  “Tony, go find a radio. Try the AM channels. We need to hear what’s going on out there.” To her surprise, he did what she asked, standing up to begin his search.

  “You, what’s your name?” she asked the woman with running make-up.


  “I’m Calista.”

  “Calista, can you find food? We’re going to need to eat. See if there’s a staff kitchen on this level, or else we’ll be breaking into the vending machine there,” Kendra told her.

  “See here, we can’t go vandalizing things, Miss…”

  Kendra had hoped the man would play along. She pulled her badge out and shoved it toward him. “Kendra Baker. Special Agent Kendra Baker with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. And if I say we break into the vending machine, that’s what we’re going to do. Understood?” She was already tiring of Jack Pennycoat.

  He mumbled and crossed his arms again in defiance.

  Kendra glanced to the girl. Her hair was in a wet ponytail, and she was shivering at her dad’s side. “What are your names?”

  “Bert. This is Diane.” He smiled at her, and Kendra noticed how different they were. She was suddenly not so sure it was his daughter.

  “Is she yours?” she asked hesitantly.

  He shook his head and took Kendra’s arm, leading her away from the group. “I don’t know what happened to her parents. She was out there alone, and I took her in two days ago. Contrary to what Jack here thinks, Eureka was as bad as anywhere. People were killing each other in the streets during the evacuation. Can you believe it?” His eyes darted around, and Kendra nodded.

  “Is he really the mayor?” she asked.

  “Yep. Must not have had much competition.”

  “Or any.” Kendra went over to the group, and nodded to Bert and Diane. “You two, arrange enough sleeping setups for ten of us. Blankets, pillows, et cetera.”

  “I’m Hank. I’m going to search for anything useful. Flashlights. Batteries,” the older man said. He was wearing a dirty black tracksuit, and had to be at least seventy-five, but he moved like a man ten years younger.

  “Thank you, Hank,” Kendra said.