No Shelter: Book 3 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (Zero Hour - Book 3)

by Justin Bell

  She suddenly thought of her parents, alone at home, likely wondering where she was. The town had seemed unusually empty, and while Harris had insinuated that something larger was going on, something he felt he needed to protect Aldrich from, she’d been sequestered from any news or information about the world at large and had no idea what was going on. Nobody around her was talking, especially in this small room. A second holding cell sat across the room from hers with a desk sitting by the front door which currently sat ajar, looking out upon an empty hallway.

  Lisa stood, stretching her arms as she moved toward the wall, leaning to glance out the small window where the first signs of early morning glowed in through a haze of pink and orange. She could almost see Main Street from this angle, a simple two-lane road passing between rows of shops and businesses. The movie theater was visible from where she was, as was the library. Sandwiched between the two was the small Krav Maga dojo, a martial arts studio where she and Jackson had spent so many hours. He’d proposed to her right after their simultaneous black belt testing and the memory brought a smile to her face and a swift stab of pain to her heart. Over the past month or so, she and Jackson had drifted apart, that had been inarguable. When her mother got sick and she had to leave Boston, she could tell she’d broken his heart. Not because she chose her mother over him—her mother was on the verge of death and needed her far more than he did—but because he could tell it wasn’t just about her mother. There were other things buried under the surface. Other issues neither one of them had wanted to address.

  Jackson was upwardly mobile, craving the big city spotlight, wanting to become a corporate bigwig while Lisa remained a farm girl at heart, happy working for the local technology provider, happy to live on her quiet farm, helping her parents live their lives. She had been content in ways that he had never been.

  But then she’d seen the city of Boston in flames, and her first instinct was to make sure he was okay.

  Now, it had been three days since he’d called her, three long days since she’d spoken with him, and while she knew things were going on in the world, she couldn’t fathom why it would take so long for him to arrive. Boston wasn’t that far away, after all.

  As she fell into her dazed memory, the rattling rumble of diesel engines snapped her free and she saw a Humvee roll slowly down Main Street, a sight that she would have a hard time getting used to. A few men with weapons stepped out of the vehicle, talking amongst themselves in voices too low for her to hear. Other men emerged from alleys and behind buildings, more men in military fatigues carrying rifles and her town was looking less and less like a town and more like a stronghold.

  Lisa felt suddenly unsafe. She felt like at any time someone could walk into the room, lift a weapon and gun her down with impunity. This was no longer the Aldrich, no longer the Connecticut, no longer the America that she remembered. Something had definitely happened over the past three days… something dramatic. Something horrific.

  She pulled away from the window, no longer wanting to see the men with guns, no longer wanting to be reminded of the environment she now lived in, just wanting to go back to her farm and be with her parents. Sitting on the cot, she could feel the dull weight of exhaustion settling upon her tired shoulders, sagging them, dragging her down, her back slumping. Trying to fight the battle against sleep, she could feel herself already failing, already being pulled down into the swampy depths of slumber, whether she liked it or not.

  Her last thought before darkness consumed her was of her parents. The farm where her mother and father still lived and whether this tragedy that had befallen the entire world had also befallen them. A pinprick of worry stabbed her deep inside, but then she fell back into a deep, dark sleep.

  Chapter 3

  The broad, four-lane highway left plenty of room for the tightly clutched motorcycles to roar along, even with the dozens of other mostly abandoned vehicles scattered about the shoulder and sides of the road. They’d left Boston only a few hours previously, but already the Scavengers had picked up two more willing participants and their crew was nearing a full dozen. Dull, echoing roars resonated from the metal hides of the surrounding vehicles, blasting through the relative silence of the open road, an alarmingly peaceful existence, all told.

  A bystander might be conflicted upon looking at this stretch of interstate, leading north to south from Massachusetts down through Rhode Island and beyond. Vehicles were strewn everywhere in a demolition derby appearance, some collided together, some went nose-first into ditches while others simply coasted off the road and stopped. If someone looked upon this, they would think chaos and destruction was afoot, but the wrecked vehicles were consumed and surrounded by an abject silence, complete and utter quiet, a total lack of extraneous motor vehicles, voices, or anything else. A truly bizarre image to behold, like watching a car crash on mute.

  The rising sun glinted off the curved metal surface of the motorcycles as they crested a gentle hill, screaming down the multi-lane highway. The grouped collection of vehicles was comprised of oddly shaped panels, manufactured and mounted to the bike fronts and bodies like makeshift armor, turning the two wheeled bikes into miniature tanks.

  Vasily “Scarface” Roserov led the charge, seated back on a low-riding black Harley with gold trim, wide, angled metal panels mounted to the front of the bike in a strange trapezoid of layered steel armor. His legs slipped down into brushed metal, oblong rectangles of bolted steel plate protecting his lower body. Javitz’s bike was a similar contraption, the men from the steel union using their skills in an unusual fashion to manufacture plate armor for their motorcycles as protection in the event that they ran into trouble.

  Scarface felt that running into trouble was inevitable. That was the world they lived in, so better to be prepared for it. Along with the thickly armored motorcycles, each man had some kind of firearm, either one of the stolen M4 carbines from the Humvee that he ambushed, pistols, or shotguns that the men already had in their possession. At the lead of the pack, Scarface didn’t wear a helmet or goggles, he rode with a side smile splitting the scarring visage of his ruined face, as if feeling the wind was somehow cooling his perpetually burnt flesh.

  As they moved between the abandoned vehicles, buildings rose above them on each side, seeming to emerge out of nowhere, the skyline of one of the smaller southern New England cities demonstrating that they were still squarely in the middle of civilization. Thin contrails of light smoke rose from various buildings throughout the scattered horizon that they could see from the highway, though no obvious damage was visible as they rode through. The road curved through an overpass and a truck was smashed through the guardrail above them, hanging out in thin air, looking like it might topple at any moment. Javitz slowed, guiding his motorcycle left, away from the potential path of impact, most of the bikes behind following his lead. Scarface continued right on through, completely ignoring the precariously balanced box truck, as if he didn’t even notice its presence.

  Javitz pulled up next to the Russian and waved his hand, asking for him to pull over. Roserov threw him an irritated look, but nodded and eased his bike to the side of the road, the rest of the motorcycles collecting around them.

  “Scarface, my man,” Javitz said, stepping off of his roadster, the engines still echoing in the quiet morning. “We been riding for a while. What’s the plan? Where we goin’ exactly?”

  “I thought I explain this, Javitz,” he replied in his accented English. “Those yellow soldiers. They have answers to this. Men like them try to arrest me. We take the fight to them. Show them what their stupidity will cost.”

  “Look,” Javitz said, “I thought we were just gonna cruise around a little, you know? Bust up some stuff… cause some havoc. Maybe find a few girls still alive and kicking? You know, just have some fun.”

  “Fun? This. This is fun,” Scarface replied, smiling. “Surprising the Army will be fun.”

  “Going up against the United States Army, man? That’s no joke, bud
dy. We all just survived the apocalypse, brother, I’m not really into throwing my life away.”

  “We will win,” Roserov proclaimed, smiling and slamming his closed fist against his chest. “You are all under my protection now. Together, we are unkillable. Unstoppable.”

  Javitz looked at him curiously, wondering, not for the first time, if this was really where he wanted to be.

  “In the past three days alone, I survived a plane crash and this Armageddon you speak of. I fought against a Humvee and three American soldiers. Fought again against other soldiers and their attack helicopter. Still I’m here. Still I’m living. I’m protected by Koschei, Russian God of Immortality. He guides me on this path toward vengeance. Either you join me or you’re in my way. Doesn’t matter to me which it is.”

  Javitz felt the color drain from his face. His eyes scanned around at the ten other motorcycles surrounding him and Vasily and took a moment to consider his next steps. Scarface was on the verge of losing his mind, that much seemed clear, but on the flip side, he’d gotten them guns and he had a point… the man had a knack for survival. There could be worse people leading this charge.

  “So where were the yellow people from?” Javitz asked.

  Scarface grinned widely, the blackened crust of his skin pulling into tight V’s on each side of his mouth. “I hear them talking,” he said. “A place called Detrick,” he replied. “It is in Maryland. South.” He pointed his finger down the highway as if Maryland might be right around the corner.

  Javitz looked around the group of Scavengers again, searching the eyes that he could see, the ones not concealed by sunglasses or helmet visors. None of them wavered. All of them were one hundred percent on board, and he feared that if he stood in their way, they’d simply gun him down, run him over and head south anyway.

  He shrugged. “All right,” he said. “Have it your way. South it is.”

  Scarface laughed and nodded, reaching over and slapping Javitz hard on the shoulder. “Right choice, Javitz! Do not fear, I’m sure we’ll find many things to break on the way down. Many people to kill. Maybe even some of these girls you talk of, huh?” Scarface broke out into a cackling laugh, his mouth twisting so hard, it threatened to crack open the hardened skin coating his jaws. He was still laughing as he torqued his wrists, gunning the engine of his Harley, and sending himself shooting forward, back down the Interstate, south toward Maryland.

  ***

  “C’mon, Crossfit, don’t get all angsty on us.” Clark was looking at Jackson as he drove the truck, glancing over to the passenger seat briefly where the other man sat, staring aimlessly out the window into the encroaching brightness of morning. He turned his eyes back toward the road, the two narrow lanes stretched out before them, reaching into the depths of trees ahead.

  “Don’t worry about me, Jarhead,” Jackson replied, still looking out the passenger window. “Maybe the two of you have some experience throwing lead at bad guys, but that cabin was the first time I’ve ever really killed anyone, you know? I’m not just going to get over it. It’s not part of my life.”

  Clark shrugged as much as he could with his hands on the wheel. “I was a Marine for a long time, Jack,” he said quietly. “Doesn’t mean killing people is ‘part of my life,’ okay? That’s not how this works.”

  Jackson peeled his gaze away and looked toward the driver, his expression softening. “I shouldn’t have said that, Clark, sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

  Clark looked over toward him, smirking slightly. “It’s cool. I get it.”

  “I mean, is that the world we live in now?” Jackson asked, looking back out the window. “A world in which shooting people dead so we can steal clothes and food becomes a normal thing?”

  Broderick leaned forward from a narrow seat between the driver’s seats and the bed in the rear of the truck. “Sure looks that way,” he said, keeping his voice even. “All I’ve seen since the first plane crashes happened was death and dying. I’m about sick of it and we’re only three days into this thing.”

  “So you’re saying I just need to toughen up?” Jackson asked. “Get used to it? Doesn’t feel like I should have to get used to killing people.”

  “I didn’t say it was a good thing,” Broderick said, “but it is reality.”

  They drove in silence for a few moments, the two-lane road blurring into smears of color and lights. They passed a few scattered street signs, though they didn’t stop to take a close look.

  “You still sure this is what you want?” Clark asked, glancing at Jackson again.

  “What? Going to Aldrich? Yeah, it’s what I want.”

  Clark flexed his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment. “I think… I think the rest of us are going to Fort Detrick. That feels like the priority.”

  Jackson nodded, but didn’t reply.

  “Are you good with that?”

  “Yeah,” Jackson whispered.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Clark asked. “We just drop you at the town line or what?”

  “Lisa’s family farm is on the outskirts. It’s not real easy to get there from the main road, but if you drop me off just east of the town line, I can walk the half-mile through the woods. You guys continue on into downtown, you can get back on the highway and continue on your way.”

  “So, just leave you there?” Clark asked. “By the trees? In the middle of nowhere?”

  “It’s not the middle of nowhere,” Jackson replied. “I know this area like the back of my hand. I could walk to Lisa’s farm blindfolded from out here.”

  “All right,” Clark replied. “We’ll drop you off outside of town and continue on from there.”

  Trees on either side of the road continued on past them, moving in straight streaks, the brightening sky mixing with pale clouds up above. Clark glanced up into the rearview mirror, looking out through the rear window of the cab at the group of people in the bed of the truck. He could see Priscilla on her knees next to who he knew was Javier with Melinda kneeling on the other side of him, clutching his hand between both of hers.

  As their ride began, Pris had been frantically searching Javier’s back and shoulders, scrambling to find all the scattered buckshot, but as time had gone on, she settled into a more normal rhythm, slowly examining him. She’d actually been able to take a nap somewhere in the middle there, though her sleep had been fitful based on what Clark had seen in the mirror. Now, looking at her facial expressions, it certainly seemed as if she wasn’t all that concerned about what she was finding. The fiberglass cap over the bed cast a dark shadow over everyone in the rear of the truck, but he could still make out the movements of the people back there.

  “Does this little town of yours have a hospital?” Clark asked.

  Jackson chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah. Closest true hospital is probably about thirty minutes away. Yale isn’t much farther than that. Bristol and Waterbury are both probably the closest. There are a couple of doctors’ offices near town, but no full-fledged hospitals.”

  “I’m amazed you survived,” Clark said, laughing. “This place is sounding more and more one-horse every minute.”

  “Hey, at least it’s not on fire,” Jackson replied.

  “That you know of. Are you even sure your girl is still all right?”

  Jackson didn’t reply immediately, seeming to think about an appropriate response. “She’s worked on a farm since she was six years old. I asked her to marry me during our black belt testing at the local martial arts studio. She can hold her own.”

  Clark laughed. “Guess so.” He looked back out at the road ahead of him. “I’m still following this, right?”

  Jackson nodded.

  Broderick moved over to the right, glaring out through his small triangular window in the narrow third seat.

  “See something?” Clark asked.

  “I thought I saw some movement over there,” he said.

  Jackson squinted out through the sunlight at the access road off to their right. “There’s a r
oad on the other side of the trees there for emergency vehicles, but it’s not for regular travel. I wouldn’t think anyone would be out there this time of morning.”

  Broderick looked to his left, his eyes landing on the canvas bag on the seat next to him full of weapons and supplies.

  Clark pressed gently on the brakes, easing the vehicle left toward the shoulder as Jackson had indicated. They pulled over and cut the engine, and looking in the rearview mirror, he could see the folks in the back of the truck looking up in a mixture of confusion and concern.

  Opening the passenger door, Jackson swung his legs out and dropped down into the road, walking slowly toward the back of the truck. Javier remained laying down inside, but both Priscilla and Mel came to the tailgate and slipped out to join him.

  “We’re really leaving you here?” Priscilla asked, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

  “Yeah,” Jackson said. “Broderick and Clark are right. You guys need to get to Fort Detrick. Tell them what Broderick knows. Let them take a look at Melinda. But Aldrich is my home; it’s where I belong. Where my fiancée is.”

  “I get it,” Priscilla replied. “I think.”

  “You guys will be fine. You’re in capable hands.”

  Priscilla laughed. “I’m more worried about you not being in capable hands.”

  Melinda said nothing, she just suddenly charged forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Jackson’s waist and legs, so hard that he stumbled slightly and almost went over.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Jackson said softly, lowering himself to her level so he could give her a proper hug back. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he said. “You’ve got Priscilla and Javier. And Clark and Broderick. Everything is going to be all right, you understand me?”

  Melinda sniffled hard, but nodded softly, her eyes wet with unspent tears. They embraced one last time, a long and rough hug and Jackson patted her lightly on the back.

  “Take care of these guys, okay, Mel?” he asked. “I’m trusting you.”