The Storm Before the Storm

by Joe Russell

  As he pulled out of his parking spot, he thought about what route he should use to take home. One good thing about a motorcycle was it could maneuver around stalled traffic in the road, but with all the people, that would be a challenge. He would be an easy target for a desperate stranded motorist, especially in thick crowds and tight spaces. Route 7, the main highway between Leesburg and the Shenandoah Valley to the west where he lived, was out of the question. One thing he had thought of a while ago, while brainstorming about this sort of incident, was using the W & OD Bike trail. It was an old railroad converted to a bicycle path that started closer east, toward DC, passed through Leesburg only two blocks from where he worked, and continued west until Purcellville, more than halfway to his house. It was a narrow, paved trail that was only open to cyclists and walkers, and might make the perfect escape route for him. He didn’t expect the trail to be empty of people, but it should be free of stalled cars or anything else that would stop his progress. He would need to be careful, of course, because there would likely still be desperate people, but it seemed to be the safest route that his motorcycle could navigate without going too far out of the way.

  He awkwardly pulled out onto the road, narrow as downtown roads typically are and full of cars stalled, and many of their drivers standing around like they were tailgating before a football game. Whether it was because they were envious of his working ride, or just that in the relative stillness and silence he was hard to miss, the people in the street and on the sidewalk all seemed to be watching him, and he carefully navigated through the clogged street. He was wary of them, but no one made any aggressive moves; the people that were in his path in the street moving as he slowly made his way south through the heart of the old downtown. Perhaps they were just a little surprised to see that his motorcycle worked, or perhaps the slung bullpup shotgun resting on his lap as he rode gave any would-be motorcycle-jackers something to think twice about. Either way, he was pleased and relieved when he had made the short but slow and stressful trip a few blocks to the closest access point of the bike trail. It was asphalt and about five feet wide. He made a right turn from the street and onto the trail where it intersected the road, which it did a lot going through the center of town. Having been a converted railroad grade, it was fairly straight, and the relatively flat terrain of this part of the county made it easy for him to see at least half of a mile to the west, the direction he needed to go. Strangely, there was no one to be seen on the trail. He guessed it wasn’t surprising. Although there were plenty of cyclists that used the trail for training and longer rides, most of the people he seemed to see there were like him, white-collar workers who used the trail to escape their offices during lunch or other short breaks during the work day. There were also dog walkers, or others that were on the trail by recreational choice, and had probably left to return to their lives when the power to the whole town had been shut off, which at this point, had been about half an hour.

  Will turned his big motorcycle onto the bike trail, feeling out of place, but more so relieved to not be on the crowded street full of stalled-out cars and stalled-out people. With the trail being straight and empty, it was tempting to let the old bike open up and make some time, but he was wary of potential dangers that could be lurking around corners or behind trees. The trail itself was open and straight, but there were plenty of places where patches of woods were only ten feet or so off to the side, and it would be easy for someone to jump out at the last minute and try to take his bike from him. He didn’t like the thought of people getting crazy already, and figured that most people wouldn’t be. But he also knew there would be those who would either be panicked at the realization that they were stuck without transportation, or worst of all, those who were not ignorant to the possibility of something like this happening, but whose survival strategy all along was to prey on those who were prepared. People like him. Because of this, he kept his speed to fifteen or twenty miles per hour, fast enough to make reasonable distance and get out of town fairly quickly, but slow enough to hopefully have time to react and not die in a crash if something were to jump out at him.

  Despite his caution, he was able to move through and out of town with no trouble. He did encounter people, some who looked a little desperate, and one cyclist who he believed yelled at him, probably for riding on the bike trail, but nothing too hostile or dangerous. West of Leesburg, the bike trail wound through western Loudoun County, passing through rolling hills and patches of woods with an occasional farm, but mostly costly McMansions on large lots. Still, there were people out here and there, but no one gave him any trouble. He figured that the riskiest part of his trip, at least during the half that he was planning on using the bike trail, was at Clark’s Gap a few miles northwest of Leesburg where State Route 7 crested a small ridge and intersected with Route 9. Near the intersection, the bike trail crossed under a back road, through a short tunnel, under the Route 9 bridge at the south abutment where the road crossed over 7, around a loop, and across the Route 9 bridge to the north side of 7 where it continued west to Purcellville. The problem was that not only were there lots of choke points, but he would be passing through an area with lots of stranded travelers that he couldn’t really avoid, unless he stayed on the southside of Route 7. He figured he could try and take back roads, but they would still contain stalled cars and people, and he thought it would be best to risk one dangerous crossing, in order to be able to stay on the bike trail for another five or ten miles. Then, when the bike trail ended at Purcellville, he would have to take the back roads.

  ✽ ✽ ✽

  Route 7 and Route 9 crossing. West of Leesburg, Virginia. Present Day.

  Vick sat in his truck with Abby and Josh, about to explode. He had just gotten his truck back from the shop and had been charged way too much for it to be broken-down already. Then again, there were a few other vehicles in front of him and behind him that also seemed to have stopped, which didn’t make any sense. He had gotten out to pop the hood and look for anything obvious that would make the truck stall out. It was less than a year old, and the mechanical and electrical configuration in the engine compartment was so complicated, he had a hard time identifying most of the components, much less troubleshooting what might be ailing them. Frustrated, he gave up on trying to fix the truck. He grabbed a beer from a half-empty case in the back of the cab and returned to his seat to pass the time. He usually didn’t drink in the truck when he drove, but kept a few around for times like this. Both of their cell phones seemed to be dead as well, so he couldn’t call for a tow truck. Of course, Abby’s phone was dead, he thought. That dumb bitch was always on her phone texting her stupid friends, and probably forgot to charge it. As the thought crossed his mind, he looked sideways at Abby in the seat beside him. She was wearing her big, dark sunglasses again, but she appeared to be looking straight ahead and not at him. Good, he thought. He didn’t feel like putting up with her shit right now.

  “Daddy?” Josh’s small voice came from the back of the cab.

  “What?” Vick snapped.

  “Nothing,” the boy responded, obviously hurt by the tone of his father’s voice. Then, after a moment, asked, “are we going to go home?”

  “Of course we are, as soon as we can get the truck to start. Just…” his voice trailed off angrily. He knew he was usually good about controlling his temper when Abby or Josh asked stupid questions or made stupid comments, but he was having a hard time dealing with them right now. He drained the last sip from his can of beer, then reached around for another. He opened the door and got out. He needed some fresh air and some space from his family. They had been in Leesburg for the morning, shopping at the outlets in town, and were on the roundabout on the south end of the bridge where Route 9 crossed over Route 7 heading home when their truck had just turned off with no explanation. That was almost half an hour ago or so, and he was beginning to wonder if something big was going on here. He had watched a show about preppers a few times. He mostly thought they were weird
os who didn’t know how to spend their money, but had heard a little about different doomsday scenarios, and he vaguely recalled one episode where they’d talked about something where a nuclear bomb could make all the cars stop. It sounded pretty far-fetched to him, but what if that was what was happening now? After all, it was strange that all these cars seemed to break down at once. If that was the case, he needed a plan. He needed to get home, and if his truck wouldn’t run, he didn’t know how he would do that. He sure as hell wasn’t going to walk twenty miles with that pussy kid of his, and although he knew Abby could make it, he didn’t feel like hearing her gripe for so long without being able to go somewhere else. No, he had been thinking for a while now that they had worn out their welcome in his life, and it was about time to bid them farewell and move on. He wasn’t necessarily planning on making that happen today, but given the circumstance, this was probably a convenient time.

  He finished his second beer, staring down the road to the north and contemplating his next move. He had no idea how he was going to get home if his truck didn’t start, and he didn’t want to walk if he didn’t have to. He was about to get another beer to help him think a little more clearly when a distant sound registered in his ear. It took him a second to realize it, because only half an hour ago he wouldn’t have even noticed it amongst all the other sounds of everyday life. Now, however, in the quiet day with no cars running, it stood out. It was a motorcycle, and it was coming his way. He turned to try and pinpoint the sound, and figured it was coming from out of sight, somewhere to the southeast. It wasn’t on the road, and as it got closer and more distinct, he realized it must be coming from the bike trail that joined with Route 9 to cross over Route 7 on the bridge.

  Thinking fast, he moved back to the truck and opened one of the rear doors of the cab and fished out the utility kit that was stored under the back seat. He noticed that Josh was watching him curiously and Abby was trying to watch him without him knowing she was watching him, but he was too smart for her. He glared at her for a moment as he worked, daring her to say something, but she didn’t. She returned her gaze forward again, and he smiled to himself. He unzipped a nylon bag, and found what he was looking for. He grabbed the tire iron, the large, cold steel shaft feeling good in his hands. This would be perfect, he thought. Without another look at his wife or son, he shut the door, and quickly moved to take his position where the bike path made a relatively blind turn to come up and join the road.

  A Note From The Author

  Thank you for reading my debut novel, The Storm Before the Storm. I hope it has been a worthwhile experience, both as entertainment and maybe something deeper. For those of you who have read other novels in the post-apocalyptic genre, especially those dealing with an EMP scenario, I imagine that you have some idea or expectation of what awaits Dave, Will, and their companions. It was from these books that I became interested in the genre myself, having read dozens of them over the last decade. I became interested in preparing for uncertain times long before I ever even considered the notion of writing about the subject, and I hope that my passion for it is evident in my writing. Like any responsible patriot, I am in no way hoping that any of the apocalyptic events that take place in this book (or in future books to follow) ever come to pass. However, I know that whether they do or not is beyond my control, and to prepare for the possibility of an unknown future is always better than to do nothing with the false sense of security that something can’t happen just because it hasn’t happened yet.

  I was raised and currently reside in the beautiful Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, near where this book takes place. In my spare time I enjoy spending time with my family, hiking, camping, shooting, and just about anything else outside.

  If you found this book enjoyable, please leave an Amazon rating and review on the product page to help spread the word. With your support, I hope to continue this series, bringing Dave and his friends and family through the trials that await them, as they attempt to reconnect in a quickly changing world. To stay connected and be the first to know about promotions and news, like my Facebook page, Author Joe Russell. Also, you can email me at joerussellauthor@gmail.com.