by Joe Nobody
Apocalypse Trails
Episode 5
By
Joe Nobody
and
Joe Nobody, Sr
Copyright © 2017
Kemah Bay Marketing, LLC
All rights reserved.
Edited by:
E. T. Ivester
www.joenobodybooks.com
This is a work of fiction. Characters and events are products of the author’s imagination, and no relationship to any living person is implied. The locations, facilities, and geographical references are set in a fictional environment.
Other Books by Joe Nobody:
Apocalypse Trails: Episode 1
Apocalypse Trails: Episode 2
Apocalypse Trails: Episode 3
Apocalypse Trails: Episode 4
Secession: The Storm
Secession II: The Flood
Secession III: The Surge
The Archangel Drones
Holding Your Ground: Preparing for Defense if it All Falls Apart
The TEOTWAWKI Tuxedo: Formal Survival Attire
Without Rule of Law: Advanced Skills to Help You Survive
Holding Their Own: A Story of Survival
Holding Their Own II: The Independents
Holding Their Own III: Pedestals of Ash
Holding Their Own IV: The Ascent
Holding Their Own V: The Alpha Chronicles
Holding Their Own VI: Bishop’s Song
Holding Their Own VII: Phoenix Star
Holding Their Own VII: The Directives
Holding Their Own IX: The Salt War
Holding Their Own X: The Toymaker
Holding Their Own XI: Hearts and Minds
Holding Their Own XII: Copperheads
Holding Their Own XIII: Renegade
The Home Schooled Shootist: Training to Fight with a Carbine
Apocalypse Drift
The Little River Otter
The Olympus Device: Book One
The Olympus Device: Book Two
The Olympus Device: Book Three
The Ebola Wall
From the Author
Like many fathers and sons, my dad and I share political dissuasion, an entrepreneurial flair, and a are ferocious competitors. Each of us can deal with immense amounts of pressure, drama, danger, and physical exertion and barely blink an eye. Yet idleness, or a lack of stimulation, is intolerable, insufferable … the fate worse than death to either of us. Torture. Pure Hell.
Knowing my intolerance for boredom, my father taught me one of his survival secrets. Tedium can always be alleviated by a good read, whether I chose to escape to a world of carefree adventure or to embark on a voyage of scientific discovery. I learned early on that cracking open a good book was a sure-fire cure for the many mindless exercises that comprise my existence. During long flights, in the days before smartphones and laptop computers, immersing myself in a thick plot was the only way I could endure what would otherwise be a mind and butt numbing journey. I’ve always left room for a paperback in my pack, and I can’t tell you the number of times it has mentally bailed me out.
Dad has always been a voracious reader. I can scarce remember a time when there wasn’t a book in his hand or on the end table. These days, many of our conversations include something along the line of, “I’m reading the latest so-and-so novel. It’s worth your time. You should pick it up.”
So, when I began writing a few years ago, I didn’t really know what to expect from the old man. Would he be my biggest fan or my staunchest critic? Would he even read my stuff?
The answer to all those questions is yes. He is my biggest fan, yet doesn’t hesitate to tell me when my work doesn’t meet with his literary tastes or standards. And yes, he has read every word of fiction I’ve published.
A few months ago, he made the comment to me, “You know, son, you’ve got the best job in the world. I would love to be an author.”
“Why don’t you write a book?” I responded. “I can show you the ropes, and I know a few folks in the industry. In fact, why don’t we write one together?”
He accepted my offer, and what follows is our combined work.
It took us several weeks to pen this episode of Apocalypse Trails, and it was one of the most enjoyable experiences I’ve ever shared with my father. He earned having his “name” on the cover, and I hope our story will resonate with you.
Joe
Prologue
The day of the eruption …
Keith watched his employee shoulder the rifle. Following the barrel’s trajectory with his eye, he could barely identify the prey, so effective was the wild animal’s natural camouflage. An impressive thick and tangled chestnut brown coat covered the hefty figure, blending it with the surrounding terrain. It was the cocky, black eyes framed by the oversized, curled horns that betrayed the quarry’s position as they arrogantly returned the hunter’s gaze from nearly 400 yards away. Certain that the rookie’s bullet would miss the ram, Keith braced for the shot and the spirited mocking that would surely result.
Before for the thunderous muzzle blast had finished rolling through the New Mexico valley, the remaining three men in their party were already snickering.
As expected, the prey bolted rather than slumping to the ground, its snow-white tail bobbing up the steep hillside as it bounded for salvation.
“Glad I am safely behind you, man. You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with both hands,” one of the seasoned sportsmen chuckled.
“Don’t pay any attention to him, dude,” another began, “at least that bullet dropped close enough that you scared him away.”
“An improvement for sure,” the third spectator feigned encouragement. “That first buck this morning just sneered at us and continued to graze before stomping off.”
Feeling sorry for his employee, Keith stepped to the shooter and patted him on the back. “It’s okay, Joe. You’re the best hang and tape drywall man this side of Scottsdale and the scariest dude with a blade I’ve ever seen. No one should expect you to be able to shoot too.”
Following the boss’s lead, three of the other members of Meyers’s Construction Inc. stepped forward and expressed their condolences as well. “You almost had ’em,” one commiserated, followed by, “Better luck next time, man.”
Keith caught a quick glance of the face of his watch, and the boss’s focus immediately shifted, much to the relief of Joe the shooter. “We need to get going back to the job site anyway, guys. We’ll come back tomorrow and get that big buck.”
Ten minutes later, the hunting party had returned to their pickup; the conversation now centered on the hotel renovation that was their real reason for being in Southeastern New Mexico. “How much longer you think we’re going to be on this job, boss?”
“At least another three weeks. The manager has even asked me to quote remodeling the lobby. Sounds like we’ve got a satisfied customer on our hands,” Keith beamed.
Just like that, the men had unloaded their hunting rifles and were piling into the company truck. No one seemed to notice the fiery, red line that was the sunrise to the east.
As they bounced toward Carlsbad, Keith felt a wave of satisfaction concerning his investment in the hunting lease. It was good for the guys to reestablish old bonds, to rebuild the comradery that had seen them through tough times. If he could keep this crew together for another six months, it would establish a foundation that would take his fledgling company to the next level.
Less than a mile toward the job site, a pair of headlights brought Keith back to the here and now, the bright beams combining with the sun to nearly blind him.
Braking and swerving with the same reaction, one of the men in the backseat barked,
“Shit!” right as the Chevy’s rear wheels careened off the pavement and began slipping across the sandy, New Mexico desert.
Keith’s brawny arms fought the wheel as a stream of curses exploded from his throat. Finally, after a nearly 360-degree slide, the pickup came to a rocking stop.
“What the hell was that idiot thinking?” the boss snapped, reaching for the door handle. “That asshole is probably drunk or was texting or some shit.”
A quick glance in the mirror showed the offending vehicle skidded to a stop less than 100 feet away.
“Go kick his ass, boss,” encouraged another shaken member of the construction team.
In a flash, Keith was out of his truck and stomping toward the reckless driver, working up a full head of steam as his size 14 boots kicked up puffs of grit. The first thing he noticed was the park ranger emblem on the side of the government-issued pickup; the object of his second observation was a guy equal to his height and weight moving out the driver’s side door.
“You okay?” a voice boomed from behind the uniform.
“Well, we’re alive, if that’s what you mean, but no thanks to you,” Keith snapped. Then offering his best Yogi the Bear imitation, he continued mockingly, “Let me guess? Some emergency at Jellystone Park? You missing a pic-a-nic basket, Mr. Park Ranger, sir?”
The ranger frowned, but he ignored the verbal jab, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Sorry about the mishap. My name is Norval Pickett. I oversee the park at Carlsbad Caverns, and like everyone else, I am seeking shelter from this oncoming shit storm.” Keith’s questioning glare let the park official know that his adversary was unaware of the larger issue at hand, so he continued, “Haven’t you heard about what’s going on?”
Keith could tell the man was flustered by far more than their near collision and seemed to be privy to information that he needed. “Heard what? We’ve been up in the mountains hunting this morning. What could possibly be going on here in Bumfuck, New Mexico that could justify driving like your ass is on fire?”
“I thought everyone knew by now. It’s been all over the radio this morning – Yellowstone has exploded, and I was hurrying into town to see if I could catch a television broadscast.”
“What? Are you sure? I don’t know a thing about that. We were just heading back to our job site. My crew and I are removing the asbestos from the old Simpson hotel and haven’t been had much time for the boob tube.”
Norval nodded, “So you are the guys doing that renovation. I am just on my way there, as a matter of fact. I heard old man Simpson bought one of those top of the line, fancy-schmansy, oversized, flat screen TVs for the lobby. Ordinarily, we don’t have much use for such extravagances at the park office, but today, I want to get the best possible information about this eruption. Anyway, if you men are all okay, I need to get going. From what I heard on the radio broadcast, this is serious stuff, and I have to see the news reports on this blast for myself. Guess I’ll see you gents later.”
Then, without another word, the ranger pivoted and made for his own truck, leaving Keith standing beside the road with nothing more than an open mouth. In his haste, the government honcho spun his wheels on the asphalt, leaving a fresh, black rubber mark as evidence of his hurried departure.
Processing the information shared with him, Keith slowly turned toward his own truck, his neurons firing in rapid succession as they assimilated the ranger’s demeanor and words. Could all the doomsday predictions about Yellowstone’s caldera have been set in motion while he and the boys had been blowing off a little steam? Keith’s brain swirled with best and worst case scenarios. How is all of this going to affect us and when? Do we need to shelter in place or head for home? Still mentally running his options, the boss glanced up at the men who trusted him for their livelihoods. Would they once again be trusting him with their lives like they had in the Army so many years before?
The business owner’s somber mood was immediately interrupted by the comical scene before him. “Damn! Looks like I’m watching The Three Stooges Head West, he snorted. Disenchanted by the obvious de-escalation of events, and still hyped up from the adrenaline dump of the near collision, his own crew was clearly engrossed in a verbal altercation. Brimming with bloodlust, the co-workers were quarrelling among themselves, each man with his own theory why the jackass who had run them off the road wasn’t writhing on the ground with a busted nose and swollen lips.
“That was the head ranger over at the caverns,” the construction manager explained. “He’s all in a huff… something about Yellowstone blowing its top this morning.”
“Yellowstone? You mean that super volcano finally is letting loose?” Joe asked, his normally lighthearted expression now veiled with worry.
Keith opened the driver’s door and climbed inside the cab. “Yeah,” he sighed, “that’s what the man said.”
Joe let out a low wolf whistle before commenting on the turn of events. “That can be some serious shit. I saw one of those TV documentaries a while back. They said there is enough lava under that park to bury half of the good ol’ USA.”
“Really?” asked another of the men. “There’s a volcano at Yellowstone? I never heard of such a thing.”
“Really,” Joe confirmed. “We’d better find out what’s going on too, boss. If that lava dome has cut loose and is really kicking ass, we might all want to think about getting home to our families.”
“Okay, let’s follow the ranger and get the skinny,” Keith agreed, apparently considering Joe’s words seriously. A few seconds later, they were racing off to catch up with Pickett.
Ten minutes of well-over-the-limit driving brought the Meyer crew rolling up beside the same pickup that had threatened their lives before.
The men piled out of the pickup and poured into the lobby. Clearly mesmerized by the 70-inch screen, Ranger Pickett stood alongside the hotel clerk and a handful of guests, each one rivetted by the reporter’s words and silently gawking at the television. Before Keith ever viewed the first images of the disaster, he knew the news was going to be bad from the expression of horror fixed on every face.
“Reports are coming in of poisonous gas in the northern suburbs of Denver,” the announcer stated. “Colorado State Police are ordering an immediate evacuation of all citizens residing north of Interstate 70.”
“That must be at least two million people,” someone in the lobby hissed. “Where in the hell are they supposed to go?”
“Not our problem,” the head ranger muttered.
Next, the reports buzzed with recounts of earthquakes and a tsunami along the Western Seaboard. Another journalist, broadcasting live from Seattle, simply vanished mid-sentence.
“Like I said,” Joe chimed in. “That volcano is a monster. We better start making some plans, boss.”
“What sort of plans are you talking about?” demanded Keith. “Hell, how to you plan for something like this?”
“We can expect very drastic weather changes from now on,” Joe began explaining. “The atmosphere is going to be filled with dust and dirt. Breathing will become decidedly unhealthy. Locating drinkable water will probably be a problem. Hell, if this goes on long enough, food sources will dry up. If even half of what that documentary predicted happens, we are in serious trouble.”
Stressful situations weren’t anything new to Keith and his team. In fact, he and his current employees had initially met years ago, all members of the 82nd Airborne Division that parachuted into Panama. Pulling a friend’s gonads out of the fire had been all in a day’s work to them.
They all knew that Joe was about as far from a “Chicken Little and the Falling Sky” guy as they got. While there wasn’t a wild animal within miles that feared the man’s shooting skills, Joe did command the respect of his buddies when it came to logic and common sense. He was a man known for his integrity, who cut to the chase and didn’t fall prey to exaggeration.
The developing occurrence raised a hundred critical issues in Keith’s mind, each demanding immediate
attention. How long before the dust turns the fresh breeze into poison? How much time before airborne venom reaches us? Can we outrun this catastrophe? If escape isn’t in the cards, where is the best haven to ride out Armageddon itself?
Fortunately, his questions ran parallel to the cable company’s news coverage.
For hours, the construction crew stood with the locals … all equally awed by the disaster unfolding on the television. Experts, scientists, government officials, and academics were paraded in front of the cameras, all of them touting the same underlying message that Joe’s documentary had predicted. Carlsbad, New Mexico, the United States, and the world were in serious trouble.
It was Norval who offered the first positive idea as the drama played on. “I’m going to close the park,” the head ranger mumbled. “I’m going to have my people bring their families inside.”
“What good would that do?” Keith asked.
“There are hundreds of tons of fresh water inside the caves,” Pickett stated with confidence. “The air inside should remain ash free, and we have several weeks’ worth of food stored for the park’s restaurants. There are plenty of recourses there for us to keep our people alive.”
Something in the government official’s tone rubbed Keith the wrong way. “And what about the people stuck outside?” he asked. “What about the hundreds of vacationers trapped at all of these hotels?”
Pickett merely shrugged, “They had better be heading home, I suppose.”
Chapter 24
Jack couldn’t make spit, and yet somehow found his parched state amusing. “I’m so thirsty, even my sense of humor is dry,” he croaked to the empty New Mexico desert, trying to work up a mouthful of moisture.
The effort led to more distress, the commander’s lips cracked and charred under the ever-present mask. “Got to find water. Should be just over this ridge.”
“It’s been two days since you’ve had a drink,” he reminded himself. And then shaking his head to clear the mental cobwebs, he asked himself, “Or is today the third day?”
