Sunfall (Book 3): Impact

by Gideon, D.

  Impact

  Book 3 of The Sunfall Series

  D. Gideon

  IMPACT

  Book 3 of The Sunfall Series

  D. Gideon

  Copyright © 2019 by D. Gideon

  v. 12.18.19

  Cover Art by Christian Bentulan

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 9781677245543

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  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.

  www.DrewGideon.com

  For my husband, Mike.

  Thank you for sharing our life with all

  the characters living in my head. ;)

  Necessity is the plea for every infringement of human freedom.

  It is the argument of tyrants; it is the creed of slaves.

  ~ William Pitt

  Any excuse will serve a tyrant.

  ~ Aesop

  A patriot must always be ready to defend his country

  against his government.

  ~ Edward Abbey

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Preacher

  2. Preacher

  3. Marco

  4. Marco

  5. Preacher

  6. Preacher

  7. Marco

  8. Dotty

  9. Preacher

  10. Dotty

  11. Preacher

  12. Preacher

  13. Dotty

  14. Preacher

  15. Preacher

  16. Dotty

  17. Simon

  18. Preacher

  19. Dotty

  20. Preacher

  21. Dotty

  22. Preacher

  23. Simon

  24. Bill

  25. Bill

  26. Dotty

  27. Dotty

  28. Preacher

  29. Preacher

  30. Simon

  31. Dotty

  32. Preacher

  33. Dotty

  Epilogue

  Back of the Book Stuff

  About the Author

  Prologue

  On the evening of Labor Day, an incredibly large solar flare caused a CME that impacted the Earth and destroyed the power grid.

  At the University of Maryland, a group of students set off on foot to make it home to Snow Hill, Maryland…130 miles and one Chesapeake Bay away.

  During their trip, they became separated. Corey and Melanie found bicycles to ease their travel, while Ripley and Marco continued on foot.

  Back home in Snow Hill, Ripley’s neighbor and grandmother-by-heart, Dotty Parker, watched her quiet little town be torn apart. Without electricity and running water, desperate residents and stranded tourists turned to riots and vandalism.

  Snow Hill’s Mayor offered to save the day: He’d open the local Recreational Center as a temporary shelter. Residents could find relief and safety there. The Center’s bank of solar panels provided electricity, and the building conveniently gathered the townspeople together in one easily-controlled group.

  The President declared the entire nation to be in a State of Emergency. Martial Law was enacted. The National Guard was called forth to quell the rioting. The Governor of Maryland instituted a dusk to dawn curfew, and with the prisons running out of resources, he pardoned all prisoners within the state’s boundaries.

  With the federal prison warden MIA, former Warden and current Sheriff Simon Kane refused to release violent criminals onto unsuspecting townspeople. With help from some friends and a little creative thinking, he delivered the non-violent criminals in his charge to the Governor’s doorstep in Annapolis. The violent criminals were given a party and set free…into a deep, dark pit from which they’d never rise. He and Father Bill Flannigan, a local pastor and leader of a congregation at the federal prison, chose a handful of deserving inmates to integrate into small-town life, naming it the New Hope program.

  Feeling called to attend the New Hope meeting, Dotty Parker ended up adopting one of those inmates into her makeshift family: a heavily-muscled, heavily-tattooed beast of a man named Preacher.

  On the seventh day after the sun fell down, Corey and Melanie made it home a few hours before Ripley and Marco. While they’d all been through harrowing situations and nearly lost their lives, they’d made it. They were safe now.

  Or so they thought.

  IMPACT starts ten days after the kids made it home.

  Preacher

  The ragtag group pushed a wheelbarrow of weapons down the street, and the MRAP crept along behind them.

  “I wish they’d hurry up and decide what they’re gonna do,” Ripley muttered.

  “Stay cool,” Preacher said. From the corner of his vision, he could see that the ruts in the sidewalk had caused the wheelbarrow’s tarp to jostle out of place. The butt of Ripley’s little rifle and the handle of his axe were showing. Nothing he could do about that; if he stopped to fix it, he’d just draw attention to it.

  A small brown hand wrapped around his forearm and he smirked. To his left, Miss Dotty had stepped in close and taken his arm. It was nothing out of place for an older woman to do on an uneven sidewalk.

  That it obscured the Guard’s view into the wheelbarrow?

  Damn shame, that. Really. Damn shame.

  The MRAP’s driver must have caught sight of the crowd gathering at the end of the street, because the vehicle accelerated past them in a loud rush. Dotty reached down and yanked the tarp back into place.

  “I’m gettin’ mighty tired of that,” she said.

  He nodded in agreement. “I’ll lash it down next time.”

  “Not the tarp,” she said, frowning. She waved a hand, indicating the MRAP at the end of the street. “That.”

  “The military on the street, or the extra scrutiny? Because you’ve got to expect some double-takes when someone like you is walking with someone like him,” Ripley said.

  “It’s rude,” Dotty sniffed.

  “Inside or outside, all guards are the same,” Preacher said.

  Ripley gave him a sharp look. “You saying we’re in a prison?”

  He stared at the MRAP for a moment, then looked back at her, brows raised.

  She sighed and frowned. “Point taken.”

  He caught her sideways glance at his hands; noticed her step further to the right. She was nearly off of the sidewalk now. The girl was a skittish kitten, always making sure she was out of arm’s reach. He didn’t think she even knew she was doing it. He scared her; he knew that. He scared just about everyone. So she’d surprised him this morning when she announced she was coming along. She was probably just doing it to make sure he didn’t hurt Miss Dotty, but that was fine. There were full-grown men that would have refused to go into the woods alone with him, much less allow him to disarm them and hide their weapon out of reach. He’d heard Marco talking to Corey about what had happened to her on the way home. It hadn’t been pretty. But here she was, head up and jaw set. The girl had grit.

  “Looks like trouble,” Dotty said, drawing his attention back to the corner. The members of the Guard were nearly yelling now, and men were climbing down from the top of the MRAP. The members of the group had spread out, giving each other room. The MRAP’s gunner swung his 50-cal around to face the small crowd. One of the civilians stepped in front of the others, his hands doing a “calm down” motion. A Guardsman shouldered his rifle and screamed for the man to get on his knees.

  “Bill,” Dotty gasped, and let go of Preacher’s arm to hurry forward.

  “Shit. Take this,” he said,
dropping the handles of the wheelbarrow.

  “Got it. Go,” Ripley said.

  He passed Dotty in four long strides and spun to block her, holding his arms out. She nearly barreled into him.

  “What-? Move,” she said.

  “No. Stay back here.” He stepped off the curb when she tried to go around him.

  “David, get out of my way. Bill could get hurt-”

  “You could get hurt.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” she started, but jumped as a shrill WOOP WOOP sounded and a big engine accelerated behind them. Sheriff Kane’s squad car went flying past, lights blazing.

  “Warden’s here,” Preacher said, grabbing Dotty’s hand. “He’ll handle it.”

  She huffed in exasperation and shuffled her feet, but stopped trying to get around him.

  “Next time, you’ve got permission to throw her over your shoulder,” Ripley said, pushing the wheelbarrow up next to them. She set it down and came to stand behind Dotty, wrapping her arms around the little woman. Conscious of how close this put the girl to him, Preacher started to step away, but Dotty squeezed his hand and tugged him back. With her free hand, she stroked a small gold cross hanging from her necklace.

  “I’m gettin’ mighty tired of this,” she said again.

  The trio watched as Sheriff Kane exited his car and thrust himself into the mess. His large frame dwarfed that of the soldiers, and holding his arms up, he looked even bigger.

  “Put the guns down!” His voice carried in the town’s quiet stillness, the only other sounds being those of his car and the MRAP’s engine.

  The man who’d been on the top of the MRAP barked a command. Sheriff Kane and the soldier, who Preacher assumed was a Sergeant, exchanged words. They weren’t close enough to hear what was being said, but here and there a sharp word would ring out. Father Bill stepped forward, and Preacher heard the Sergeant’s sharp voice tell him to step back. He thrust a finger in Bill’s direction, and all of the men and women around Bill stiffened.

  “Steady,” Preacher said. “Not yet.”

  “What?” Ripley asked, her gaze snapping to him.

  He gestured to the small crowd. “Prisoners,” he said. “He shouldn’t threaten Father Bill. They won’t like it.”

  “Those people don’t look like convicts,” she said.

  “They are,” Dotty said. “I recognize a few of them.”

  The interaction between the Sheriff and the soldiers lasted another few tense minutes, and then the Sergeant took Bill aside to speak privately. The Sheriff looked back in their direction and nodded at Preacher. He hadn’t forgotten they were there.

  Preacher gave one short nod in return. Warden doesn’t forget anything, he thought. The soldiers loaded themselves back up, hanging off of the sides of the MRAP like monkeys. The big vehicle turned and headed up through the center of town. The Sheriff waved Preacher and the ladies over.

  “It ain’t right,” a tall, broad-shouldered white woman was saying as they joined the group. “The First Amendment says we can talk on this corner all day long if we’re not bothering anyone or obstructing business.”

  “And it’s past the curfew,” said a lean man, a fine fuzz of blond hair beginning to cover his scalp.

  “I know, Trench. Believe me, I know,” Bill said. “But the Mayor and the Governor have given the Guard orders, and their job is to follow orders.”

  “What orders? And what were you doin’ stepping out in front of all those guns? You trying to get yourself shot?” Dotty asked, hands on her hips.

  “The Sergeant said they’re supposed to break up any groups of more than three people,” Bill said, stepping forward and pulling Dotty’s hands free.

  “The Mayor’s calling it riot control,” Sheriff Kane said.

  “It ain’t right, Warden,” the tall woman said.

  “Because of the declaration, it’s a grey area,” the Sheriff said. “I’m working on it.”

  Bill nodded and turned to the group, pulling Dotty to stand beside him. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This-” he stepped a bit to the side and waved his hand in a little flourish, “is Miss Dotty.”

  A hushed sound of wonder came from the assembled crowd, and the large woman stepped forward, hand extended.

  “I am so honored to meet you, Miss Dotty,” she said. “If it wasn’t for those books you sent in each week, I swear I would’ve gone insane. Thank you so much for that.”

  Dotty shook the woman’s hand and shrugged. “Well you’re welcome, but it wasn’t nothin’. They were just a quarter at yard sales-”

  “They were a life saver,” the big woman insisted. “The prison didn’t have anything published after 1980, I swear. I’m Daisy.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Daisy. I’ve got more books at the house, if you want to come by-”

  “I’ll bring them tomorrow,” Preacher said.

  Dotty flashed him a look as Daisy backed up and a stocky, older black man took her place. Preacher raised an eyebrow at the little woman and shrugged. She’d probably get on him about it later, but he didn’t want people just dropping by the house. It was already hard enough keeping track of all the people coming and going there.

  “Miss Dotty I have to thank you,” the stocky man said, taking one of Dotty’s hands in both of his. “Father Bill told us about your trick, um, of putting fish heads in with tomato plants?”

  “He did, did he?” Dotty said.

  “Oh he told us all about your gardening tips,” the man said, smiling broadly. “I used your tomato seeds, and I’ve, uh, been putting fish heads and egg shells from the kitchens in with my tomatoes every season for years now. My plants have the biggest and best-tasting tomatoes in the garden.”

  “Eugene was one of the men permitted to work in the prison garden,” Sheriff Kane supplied.

  Preacher looked around and swore under his breath. Ripley had left and he hadn’t even noticed. He turned slowly, not wanting to worry Dotty, and saw the girl standing across the street. She’d taken her little rifle out of the wheelbarrow and was standing in the shade of a big elm tree close to the hardware store. The rifle was slung and at the ready. His eye caught a flash of metal, and he realized that she’d had her pistol on her the entire time. She’d covered it with a big button-down shirt that must have belonged to her father. She was wearing the shirt open, like an overshirt, and it was just enough to mask the pistol. He’d never have seen it if a breeze hadn’t shifted the shirt to the side. No wonder she’d been okay with giving up her rifle. Clever girl.

  The conversation continued, with more people wanting to meet Dotty, and Preacher stepped back from the crowd. He caught the Sheriff’s eye and nodded towards Ripley. The Sheriff looked in that direction, then turned back and shrugged.

  Preacher crossed the street and leaned against the other side of the tree. He scanned the sidewalks, but there was no one out this early. It was barely past daybreak. Normally, he’d have been in the woods by now. He caught his thoughts and nearly chuckled.

  Guess I’ve got a new definition of normal.

  Before Sunfall, as the townspeople were calling it, normal would’ve seen him running laps around the prison perimeter, outside of the recess yard but still within the fence. He was the only prisoner permitted out there, three times a day, for an hour each time. Warden Kane had extended him that privilege when his laps around the edge of the basketball court had made a deep rut. For some reason that he’d never figured out, the privilege had stuck even after Kane had left to become Sheriff.

  For the past week, though, his routine had been to get up before daybreak, when all the nighttime trouble-makers were heading back to their rat holes, and bring the wheelbarrow down here to the woods. It was a routine he’d taken upon himself; a way to pay for his room and board. He was collecting dead wood out of the trees by the river to beef up Mr. Miller’s woodpile. The family—meaning all nine of them living in the two houses—had decided that once it got cold enough, they’d all mo
ve into the Miller’s house. It had a cast iron stove in the living room, while all the heat in Dotty’s house was electric. But Seth hadn’t had a chance to order another cord of wood for the winter; he’d planned to do it when he came home with the money from his seasonal work at the beach. They’d need more if they were going to make it through the winter without freezing.

  Preacher tightened his fists to crack his knuckles, anxious to get to work. All this standing around, doing nothing, made him uneasy. At least the sky had stopped looking like it was bleeding. That shit had been creepy.

  Ripley finally broke the silence. “You know that woman well? The big one?” she asked.

  “Daisy? No,” he said. “I only see her here, in the mornings.”

  “Yeah, I guess they wouldn’t have let you fraternize with the women. It was a dumb question.” She shuffled her feet and blew out a deep breath. He heard her ring tapping against the wood of her rifle and cocked an eyebrow.

  “Problem?” he asked.

  “She just reminds me of someone,” Ripley said.

  “A friend?”

  “One of the women I killed.”

  He knew better than to say anything else. You didn’t ask people about their kills. She’d talk about it if she wanted to.

  “Why are they all fawning over Grams like that?”