by Sam J Fires
LEVEL SANDS
Crimson Rage Book 2
By Sam J Fires
Copyright 2021 by Samuel Fires Publications. All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or person, whether living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment.
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BAD BOYS MAKE BROKEN MEN
Cole Denvers is a bouncer at the hottest nightclub in town, The Ballroom, when he’s approached by Gino Scanelli, Mob Boss and owner of the club, to be an enforcer for his gang. The big times are calling, and Cole wants to be a part of the big game.
He doesn’t mind hitting people, but it goes against his moral upbringing to kill anyone. He builds a reputation on the streets as being a hard-handed enforcer. But with each beating that he lays down, the voice of his dead brother calls out from the grave, forcing Cole to face his past, and relive the horror of his brother’s death when he was callously run down in the street by a hit-and-run perpetrator.
Sure, everyone has hardships, but as Cole’s about to find out the hard way... On the mean streets of New York City, Bad Boys Make Broken Men.
GET YOUR FREE COPY OF BAD BOYS MAKE BROKEN MEN HERE
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1 - DONNA
CHAPTER 2 - ERIC
CHAPTER 3 - JANE
CHAPTER 4 - DONNA
CHAPTER 5 - JANE
CHAPTER 6 - DONNA
CHAPTER 7 – JANE
CHAPTER 8 - ERIC
CHAPTER 9 - DONNA
CHAPTER 10 - JANE
CHAPTER 11 - ERIC
CHAPTER 12 – SARAH LEE
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CHAPTER 1 - DONNA
In the two months since Donna had stepped into the first sandstorm, she had wondered many times what the world would eventually look like as waves of destruction had continued to blanket the city a hundred times over.
As she walked past a window which displayed a large advertisement for clothing that should have hit the stores that summer, she remembered the last time she saw this display just before the sandstorms had hit. Then, it had been a vibrant colorful affair. Now she was walking level to it, her foot gently sinking an inch into the thick layer of sand.
Eric, on the other hand, was holding up his camera within its protective plastic casing, pointing it in all directions, trying to capture as many different shots as he could.
“Here, we are taking in the view of countless Los Angeles department stores, office blocks, restaurants and bars, now buried by the sandstorms; the remnants of a previously contented world shattered forever,” Eric narrated in a somewhat melodramatic voice.
“Last time I checked, you weren’t asked to be a narrator,” called out Jane, rolling her remaining eye. “Unless you love the sound of your own voice.”
“I’m trying to provide a context for everyone back at the shelter,” Eric replied, suddenly self-conscious.
“And you’re telling me the only way people will be able to comprehend that the world has gone to shit is if they have you droning on in the background?”
“Donna? What are your thoughts?” Eric was hopeful she would take his side.
“Donna, you don’t have to feed his ego,” assured Jane.
“Well, on the one hand, it can’t hurt to have a bit of context…” and just as Eric began to smile, Donna continued, “…on the other hand, just remember this is supposed to be factual footage. You’re not directing the next big blockbuster.”
Eric’s face fell a little. “You got any better ideas? I’d love to hear them.”
Jane held up her hands, a handgun in one of them. “No, thanks, I’m happy with my current job.”
Eric smiles cheekily. “I thought you two were brought on board as my assistants.”
If looks could kill, Eric would have died a thousand times over from the glare Jane shot at him. “Call me an ‘assistant’ again and I may ‘accidentally’ shoot you in the ass.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” retorted Eric, though the uneasiness in his tone made it clear he wasn’t sure if Jane was just joking.
“Nobody would know. ‘Why, last time I saw Eric, he was going into a giant sandcastle. But he died doing what he did best’.” Jane smiled with relish.
“You’ve got a warped imagination, woman.” There was no malice in his voice. From when their paths had crossed during the first sandstorm, they had built up a sense of comradery. Nothing seemed to bring people together like the end of the world.
But since arriving at the shelter, Donna hadn’t seen the other two as much as she would have liked.
Since she’d arrived, Donna had been trying to find a way to fit in with the other survivors. She had made contact with her family. Her mom and her stepdad had survived the first sandstorm and been directed to the shelter. They were some of the lucky ones. There still weren’t any official death toll figures, but it was rumored to be at least in the millions. All contact with the outside world had been lost with much of the technology knocked out by the storm. While the government had been able to rely on a series of backup generators, any attempts to repair the damage, the city was constantly hindered by a slew of fresh storms.
It quickly became apparent that the powers that now be - a new government hurriedly created by the few remaining survivors from the last administration - was hoping to maintain a sense of normality, assigning tasks to people so that everyone would ‘earn their place’. This methodology had been challenged when first announced but considering those in charge had control of the now dangerously limited stocks and the alternative was to take their chances in another sandstorm, the population quickly fell in line, taking tasks assigned and being rewarded with a points system, entitling them to certain privileges.
Donna had used her points to obtain meds. But opportunities to obtain supplies were sporadic and with medication in particularly high demand, she was only able to get her hands on at best a couple of tablets a week. I spend most of my life avoiding pills like the plague, and just when I agree to take them, can’t get any of the little bastards. The irony didn’t escape her.
The city had been rendered uninhabitable and dangerous, but the authorities had still taken to sending groups of people to scavenge for food and equipment. And sometimes, there were more extensive tasks, the kind that couldn’t be wrapped up in a few hours and could require you to devote days of your time. The kind of tasks that would either see you rewarded for your efforts… or dead from a sandstorm.
Donna wasn’t sure how she could contribute to the group endeavor. The best argument she could provide for her presence was safety in numbers. In a way, she was thankful that this was a team effort, and that Eric and Jane were around to provide a buffer.
Donna still thought back to the moment when she had been prepared to die. Every now and then, a part of her chided herself for not following through. And with the outside world offering so many opportunities to die, and the lack of medication, Donna was conscious that her desire could easily overwhelm her once again. Therefore, she figured she would have a better chance of avoiding it if she had Eric and Jane around to keep her grounded.
But even now, she could feel her more manic side trying to erupt, her body
feeling that added sensation of hyperactivity, and suddenly, the protective suit, or ‘casing’ as it had come to be called, felt a lot more restrictive and she felt herself straining to get out of it. Every movement emphasized how confined she was, along with a growing sense of suffocation and claustrophobia.
I wish I could tear this fucking thing off, Donna screamed inside her head. Her fingers flexed into claws, reaching to loosen the neck of the suit, as if gasping for air.
“Donna? You all right?” Jane had noticed Donna’s agitation and moved towards her.
Donna worked to choke back the building anxiety. “Yeah, I’m fine” she reassured.
I just need to last long enough to get my medication.
They had been warned to stay on full alert. But as far as they were aware, another sandstorm wasn’t due for at least another six days.
Though this did make Donna wonder what else could be out there that could require caution.
CHAPTER 2 - ERIC
In a weird, roundabout way, I’m living the dream.
Those words would never be spoken in the light of day if Eric didn’t want to give Jane yet another reason to deride him.
The footage that he’d captured during the first sandstorm had been a major hit. Okay, the quality had been grainy and blurred at times, but considering that the government had been given very little else to go on and was in dire need of information, it was treated as a godsend. The footage had been edited into an explanatory documentary and was regularly screened for the survivors at the shelter on a weekly basis.
But now enough time had passed, and people needed more in the way of an explanation. They needed someone to venture into the eye of the storm. Of course, no one was surprised by the lack of volunteers. But, given Eric had already managed to do stellar work, albeit inadvertently, he had enthusiastically volunteered for the role.
Had Eric journeyed out on his lonesome, chances were he wouldn’t come back. Thankfully, the value of human life hadn’t deteriorated to such an extent that they would send him out on his own. So, they had assigned Jane to accompany him as a security detail. Later, he discovered that Jane had volunteered for the job, along with Donna. He hadn’t yet got round to asking them why they had stuck their necks out to help him. Neither of them had shown any interest in filmmaking so perhaps it was because the first storm had brought them all together. Maybe it was the kinship that had been forged from sharing the life changing experience.
All three had been equipped with protective suits. Having learned from Eric’s footage how glass could attract the sandstorm in clusters, the suits had been fashioned from flexible plastics and the joints of the suit at the knees and elbows had been further reinforced with duct tape. There just weren’t the materials and resources available now for professionally made protective equipment but this was the best that could be done in the circumstances. Given the urgency and the minimal resources available, they had only been able to construct a dozen suits that were only to be taken out for specific missions, such as this one.
Eric knew that when they left the safety of the sanctuary, they would be on their own. There was no way of keeping in contact with the base, no rescue party to come to their aid. They only had each other.
Eric aimed his camera at the wall of a building, focusing on the brickwork. It looked as though some invisible monster had taken thousands of tiny bites out of it. It had decayed away, leaving a crater-sized hole in the side of the building. Eric looked up at the looming building which stood an unnerving forty storeys high. A few more sandstorms eating away at the structure and the whole thing could come tumbling down, adding to the destruction. The only upside was, with everyone safely sheltering, there would be few casualties.
Assuming Leo doesn’t get caught by it. Eric remembered the last time he had seen his long-time friend, trapped in a car, the toxic sand clawing at him. As soon as he had gotten to the shelter, Eric had checked absolutely everywhere, praying that Leo might have made his way to the shelter. But he hadn’t.
Two months had passed now, and it was most likely that anyone who hadn’t turned up in the time since the first storm was likely dead. Eric had consulted with a doctor who had been treating survivors of the storm. When Eric had last been to see her, she was removing specks of sand from a man’s shoulder, giving the skin around it a crimson-scaled look.
“Son,” she had said, in a tone that was showing the early signs of exasperation, like a parent trying to shoo away a needy child. “No one can survive that long out there without adequate protection.” She had lowered her voice so that her patient couldn’t hear her. “If I’m being honest, if your friend has been out there that long, given what this stuff can do to the body… I’m not sure you would want to find him. This storm contradicts every rule of science I’ve ever studied. I’d fill you in on some of the more drastic side effects… but I think you have enough nightmares.”
After that little pep-talk, Eric never mentioned Leo to anyone, he didn’t want to be told what he feared the most, that his friend was dead. Even when he had volunteered for what had become known as ‘the Documentary Mission’, he did not list Leo as a reason for journeying out. And he hadn’t mentioned it to Donna and Jane, knowing they would only tell him he was torturing himself with false hope.
But if there was even a one percent chance of Leo still being alive, Eric had to take it. He owed it to Leo. He would have done the same for Eric had the situation been reversed.
The body wasn’t there, Eric reminded himself, trying to keep the hope alight. Eternally optimistic, he was hoping that at some point on the filming tour, he could convince Donna and Jane to head towards the area where he had last seen Leo.
“What do you think are the chances of running into any people out here?” asked Donna, interrupting Eric’s internal contemplations.
“Not high,” Jane replied bluntly. “You’d have to be fairly adept at covering your ass to last this long.”
Thanks for the vote of confidence. Eric wondered if Jane’s words were in any way directed at him. “It wouldn’t be such a bad thing if we ran into someone.” Noticing Donna and Jane’s quizzical faces, Eric quickly stammered out an excuse. “I mean, we can try and get a look at the long-lasting impact the sand has on the body.”
“Frankly, I don’t need to know that.” Jane instinctively reached up to rub the eyepatch covering her ruined eye, forgetting the presence of her visor.
Eric tried to lighten the mood. “Well, at least we’re in good company.”
“True,” remarked Jane sardonically. “If it weren’t for Donna, I would have definitely shot you by now.”
He had come to enjoy their friendly banter. “Come on, Jane. We’re in the middle of making history here.”
“Yeah, we’ll be history if we’re not careful.”
Before Eric could reply, Donna called out, “Guys?”
Eric and Jane rushed over to her, alarmed by her apprehension. “You all right?” asked Jane.
Donna pointed down to the monitor on her wrist. Her suit had been fitted with a device that was designed to respond to changes in air density.
And it was going off like a klaxon.
“That’s not possible,” said Jane, the color draining from her face. “We’re not supposed to get another sandstorm for another six days.”
“Maybe it’s a glitch,” offered Eric. “You can’t expect such new technology to always be accurate.”
“Oh, so you’re a weather expert now?” scoffed Jane. “And what have you got in the way of evidence?”
Eric pointed ahead. “That.” He gulped loudly.
They all looked. Even though the sky was now always permanently darkened into a crimson dusk, Donna, Eric, and Jane could make out the dark wave getting ready to descend on the city.
Instinctively, Eric lifted his camera and began filming, fighting back the realization that the footage might well be delivered posthumously.
CHAPTER 3 - JANE
This is the moment of
truth, thought Jane. Time to prove you’re still worth a damn.
Ever since they had arrived at the shelter, Jane had felt increasingly adrift, eager to find a role for herself, to prove that she could still be useful in this new world.
She had been treated for her eye injury, which confirmed that it had been ravaged beyond repair, and given an eyepatch.
Considering her experience as a police officer, Jane had hoped that would give her an elevated status. Yet, for some reason, she seemed to find herself frequently stuck with mundane tasks like guarding the food supplies. It was the new law that anyone who dared steal would be expelled from the shelter to face the mercy of the storms. Jane had been unfortunate enough to have already given offenders their marching orders. She had been unhappy about what she’d had to do but had learned to follow the only rule that still seemed to have any bearing in this strange time; always follow orders.
Jane had never spoken in any depth about what her duties required of her with Donna and Eric. She wasn’t too bothered about what Eric thought. He’s probably got his head too far up his ass to care. He reminded her of a director she had previously arrested for drunk and disorderly behavior. Those Hollywood types carried themselves with a boundless sense of self-importance, a law unto themselves.
But Jane hadn’t wanted to alarm Donna. She felt protective towards the younger woman, seeing her as someone who might easily go to pieces with little provocation. She wasn’t an expert in mental health, but she knew vulnerability when she saw it. If she could keep Donna safe, then she was at least doing something worthwhile.
And now she was feeling that uneasy responsibility once again, as another storm was approaching.
The three began running in the opposite direction, hindered by the limited mobility of their suits.
