Ragnarok Rising: The Awakening (Book One of The Ragnarok Rising Saga)

by D. A. Roberts

  We were pretty sure that society was collapsing. Some thought it was biblical and others claimed it was some secret government program that got out of control. Still others blamed it on the 2012, end of the world Mayan thing. I was hoping that it wasn’t Ragnarok. The only thing I knew for certain was that once rioting got going in a city, we lost all contact with it. No television, no radio, no internet, no nothing. Once contact was lost, the Government quarantined the area. Nothing was supposed to go in or out of there. CNN was using phrases like the “California Containment Zone” and the “New Mexico Buffer Zone.”

  To me, that truly was the end of the world. When our own government was sealing off parts of our country, it was the stuff of nightmares. Part of me wanted to go home, load up the family and head off into the woods. I knew I could feed my family off of what we could hunt and grow. The problem was where could we go that would be far enough away not to be found? If these things were truly what we were beginning to suspect, nothing would stop them. They would just keep coming until there was nothing left.

  Chapter Three

  Rude Awakening

  “Out of every one hundred men, ten shouldn't even be there,

  eighty are just targets, nine are the real fighters,

  and we are lucky to have them, for they make the battle.

  Ah, but the one, one is a warrior, and he will bring the others back.”

  - Heraclitus

  03 April

  I awoke to the sound of my phone ringing beside me. I glanced at the clock and grumbled about it only being 0300 hours and thought that it better damn well be important. Turns out, it was. The caller ID said “County Government”, so I knew it had to be someone from the department. They don’t call at three a.m. to ask me how I’m doing.

  “Mmmm, hello?” I managed to croak, barely managing to hold the phone to my ear.

  “Grant?” said a familiar voice on the line.

  It took a second or two for me to remember that was actually my name and another second or so for me to recognize the voice of Sergeant Connors from C-Shift. I sat up and turned on the lamp on my bedside table.

  “Yeah, Sarge,” I replied, yawning and blinking the sleep from my eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “The Sheriff wants everyone here and in uniform by 0600.”

  “Why? We’re not due in for briefing until 0645.”

  “It’s not just your shift he’s calling in, Grant. It’s everyone. It’s all four shifts.”

  That thought struck me like a mallet. I’d never seen that happen in all the time I’d been with the department. Not even when tornadoes ripped a big chunk out of the county a few years back. This was big. The implications were not good, if they were calling all of us in at the same time.

  “It’s the riots. Isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure it ain’t a social call. We’ve lost contact with St. Louis and Kansas City. There’ve been riots reported as close as Rolla and Joplin. SPD is already responding to calls of looting on the north side of town.”

  “Oh, shit,” I groaned, rubbing the bridge of my nose.

  “Honey,” my wife said, sitting up in bed, “what’s going on?”

  “I gotta go, Sarge. I’ll see you at 0600.”

  Hanging up the phone, I turned to my wife and shook my head, not knowing what to say to her.

  “Better put on some coffee, babe,” I said. “I gotta go in early.”

  “What for?” she asked, tossing back the covers.

  “I don’t know for sure, but I think it has something to do with the riots.”

  She headed for the kitchen and I hit the shower. By the time I emerged from the bathroom with face and head freshly shaved, the coffee was ready and waiting for me. I was still buckling on my duty belt and fastening my belt-keepers as I slid into a chair. Then I slipped my Thor’s Hammer around my neck and tucked it beneath my shirt.

  While my wife poured the coffee, I closed my eyes and silently prayed a short prayer for the coming day. I knew from the early call that it couldn’t be good. So, I prayed the soldier’s prayer.

  “I am going to war, leaving loved ones behind. I am leaving what is precious, but I´m not going alone. The Gods are with me, in all the dark places.”

  I opened my eyes as she was returning to the table. Then I gratefully took a cup from her and began to sip. My wife makes the best coffee. She poured herself a cup and we sat in silence for a few minutes, savoring the flavor. Well, I savored the flavor. She ruined hers with milk and sugar.

  “I think you should take the kids and go to your sister’s place at the lake,” I said, frowning.

  “What about school?” she asked, scowling at me.

  “The boys never miss school. It’ll be fine to take them out for a couple of days.”

  “But why go to my sister’s place?”

  “It’s in the middle of nowhere, babe. If the riots start here, you’ll be safer there. I’d feel better if you guys were away from here.”

  “What if they come there? You said it’s happening everywhere.”

  “Good point,” I said. “Go to the lake and load up the boat. Take it out to deep water and drop the anchor. You should have enough supplies to last a week or more. Longer if the boys catch any fish. I’ll come for you as soon as I get off work.”

  She thought about that for a moment before agreeing, frowning.

  “Alright,” she said, giving me the look. “But I hope all this isn’t really necessary.”

  “I do too, babe,” I said, softly.

  I helped her get the kids up and dressed. Then I loaded all the camping gear and most of the food we had in the cabinets into the back of the Blazer. We even loaded up our two dogs, Odin and Thor. I kissed them all and told them that I’d see them soon. The two youngest boys went right back to sleep. Erik was my middle son and Evan was my youngest. My oldest was Elliott, and he just sat there with a worried look on his face.

  “What’s going on, Dad?” asked Elliot.

  “Hopefully, nothing,” I said, but he could see right through me.

  “The riots.”

  I noted it wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah, son, I’m pretty sure it is.”

  “You’re afraid they’ll get us,” he said, his eyes locked on mine.

  “Yes, I am. I’m worried about you guys. That’s my job.”

  There was no sense lying to him. He was smarter than me and very mature for his age. Sometimes it felt like he was fifteen going on thirty. He could carry on very mature conversations on a variety of complex subjects. Other times, he was very much a teenaged kid. Like when he fought with his brothers or got excited about a video game.

  “Hang on a sec,” I said, and ran back into the house.

  I came out with my Mossberg 12 gauge shotgun with the Mossy Oak camo pattern and my 9mm Taurus. I handed the pistol to my wife and the shotgun to my son. Then I handed him a large duffle bag.

  “That’s all the ammo I have for both of those. The nine is loaded with hollow points and the twelve is loaded with buckshot.”

  Before my wife could argue, I shook my head.

  “I know, honey,” I said. “Gods know, I hope I’m wrong. He’s as good a shot as I am with the shotgun and you’re pretty damned good with the 9mm. That leaves me the .45. My deer rifle’s in the bag, too. It’s loaded.”

  “But, hon…”

  “I know, babe,” I interrupted. “Just go to the lake and take the boat out. Let the boys catch fish. If this all turns out to be nothing, you can be mad at me later.”

  We kissed and said our see-you-laters. I refuse to say “good bye” to the people I care about. Those were the last words I said to my mother before she died, and it still haunts me. Then I watched them drive away. I had a sick feeling in my stomach that I should be going with them, but I couldn’t think about that. I had a job to do. Like it or not, my duty was clear. With my family heading for safety, it was time to suit up and get to work.

  I went back inside long eno
ugh to grab my bug-out-bag. It was a backpack that held extra ammunition and gear, as well as emergency supplies I might need. Checking to be certain that a round was in the chamber, I slid my .45 into its holster and headed out the. I stopped at the front door and glanced around the living room before I shut off the light. I let the image sink into my brain because I had the feeling I might not be seeing it again, any time soon. Then I locked the door and walked away.

  I climbed into my old beat-up Ford pick-up truck and headed for work. I stopped only long enough to fill up the gas tank and hit a fast food drive-thru. It was odd, but I couldn’t find any of my usual radio stations on the air. There was nothing but static on everything in the FM band. I could only find a couple low-power AM stations still broadcasting. It took the entire drive into work just to find something on the air.

  It was 0503 hours when I pulled into the parking lot and saw all the cars. I saw people in uniform from every shift heading inside. There were quite a few faces that I didn’t know. The parking lot was more crowded than I had ever seen it. I almost never found a parking spot. Grabbing my bug-out-bag, I slung it across my shoulder and downed the last of my drive-thru coffee. As I got out of the truck Kris Newberry came up to me, looking worried. Kris was a single mom with a teenage daughter.

  “Hey Kris,” I said, trying to sound cheerful. “Are you ready for another great day at the Justice Center?”

  I thought she was going to break down right then. Her eyes welled up with tears and she stifled a sob. Quickly, I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder.

  “Hey. It’s ok, Kris,” I said. “This’ll all work out.”

  “I’m worried about Amanda,” she said, nearly sobbing. “If this gets bad, I’ll be stuck here and can’t get to her. She’ll have nowhere to go.”

  “I sent Karen and the boys to the lake. Want me to call her and have her pick Amanda up on the way?”

  Kris looked up at me and smiled with a sudden look of elation on her face, “Yeah, if that isn’t a problem. That would be great!”

  “No, it’s not a problem at all. You call Amanda and tell her to get ready. I’ll call Karen and have her swing by and pick her up. She can stay with Karen and the boys until this all blows over.”

  I quickly called my wife while Kris called her daughter and set the plan in motion. With all of that settled, Kris looked a little more calm and collected. When Marty Cooper joined us, we all headed inside and went to our lockers to store our pistols, bags and jackets. Once we arrived in the briefing room, we saw the note on the dry erase board that said to meet in Booking. Booking had two large sunken areas called “pits” where people waiting to be booked were seated. It was the largest area for a meeting in the jail.

  It was 0515 hours when we cleared the main sliders and headed for Booking. Both pits had been emptied and there were black and gray uniforms everywhere. Even the Sheriff, both Majors and all four Captains were already there. I noted that they were all in uniform. That was rare for the Majors and the Sheriff. Mostly, they wore civilian clothes with their badge and gun on their belts. If they were in uniform, they were expecting trouble.

  I wandered over and got a cup of the dark black sludge that passed for coffee in Booking. It was always a toss-up whether or not you drank it or if it marched down your throat under its own power. It was so thick you could stand a spoon up in it. It wasn’t coffee, so much as hot black caffeinated pudding. You could measure the age of it by how long it took to eat through the Styrofoam cup. No amount of sugar could cut the bitterness.

  I looked over at Marty and Kris, then held up a cup and wiggled it from side to side, silently asking if they wanted one. Kris reluctantly nodded affirmative and Marty flipped me off with a disgusted look on his face, rapidly shaking his head no. I poured a cup for Kris and brought it to her. She made a sour face when she tasted it, but took another sip anyway. Then we all headed over to where the crew of eight-balls from my shift was grouping together.

  All four Jail Shift Lieutenants were there, counting heads and checking off names on their clipboards. By 0530 hours, everyone that they could reach was there. The place was so full you could barely walk. Between Corrections Staff, Patrol Staff, Detectives, Civil and support staff, there were nearly 300 of us there. It was standing room only, with many officers lined up down the hall towards the elevators.

  Major Wilson called us all to order and told everyone to quiet down. We barely heard him over the crowd. The murmuring of that many of us in such a small area was really loud and the noise didn’t immediately subside. When he bellowed out “Quiet Down,” we quickly fell silent. Major Wilson wasn’t very intimidating, but his temper was legendary. He was almost six feet tall and weighed about one sixty five, in body armor. He was in his mid forties, but looked ten years younger.

  Then the sheriff took over. Sheriff Rick Hawkins wasn’t a large man. He was in his early forties and stood about five feet eight in boots. He had thinning dark hair that he kept closely cut. But he could command a room with the sound of his voice. He was a good cop, but a consummate politician. His eyes are what really caught your attention. They were almost the exact same color as gun-metal and could stab into you like ice-picks.

  “I want to thank everyone for coming in on such short notice,” he began. “I wish it were better circumstances that brought us all together, but the situation is as bad as it gets. As you all know there’ve been riots going on for the past few weeks. Reports have been coming in from all over the place. Most recently, we’ve had reports from St. Louis, Kansas City and Chicago. There have even been unconfirmed reports of rioting in London, Moscow, Berlin, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Johannesburg, Dubai and Sydney.”

  That was new to us. We had no idea that this could be going on everywhere.

  “Its gone pandemic,” whispered Lieutenant Murdock, standing a few feet to my left.

  “No one seems to know exactly where it all started,” he continued, “but its spread to just about everywhere, now. What you all may not know is that the Federal Government has tried everything to contain these riots, including military force. There have even been unconfirmed rumors about them using sub-tactical nukes in really bad areas. Nothing seems to be working. They’ve managed to slow it down, but it’s still spreading rapidly. Now they’re saying that these people aren’t really rioters at all, but carrying some sort of virus. This virus is spreading like wildfire. If you’re bitten by one of them, you will get this virus. There’s no known way to prevent or cure it. The Center for Disease Control in Atlanta has dubbed it the Reaper Virus and they have no idea what it is or how to stop it. Since the first reports that we know of came in from Mexico, the CDC thinks that it came into the U.S. from there. In order to protect people who aren’t infected, we’ve been ordered to stop an infected individual at any cost. I know this is hard to accept folks, but once someone is infected they become, a mindless…”

  His voice trailed off at this, leaving a perplexed look on his face as he struggled for the right word to use.

  “Zombie,” someone in the back finished for him.

  I’m pretty sure it came from one of the patrol guys at the back of the room. I might have thought it, but there was no way I was saying it.

  “This is not some cheap-assed movie,” growled the Sheriff, anger rising in his tone. “There’s no such thing as a zombie, and I do NOT want to hear any of you use that word again. Clear?”

  No one dared to argue the point, but “zombie” was the word in everyone’s mind. Probably even the Sheriff’s. I know that’s what I was already thinking.

  “In the event that full-scale rioting should break out here, the CDC and the Red Cross have opened an Evac-center out at the airport. For now, it’s providing information and emergency services to refugees from other areas. Let’s all hope and pray that’s all they need to supply. Should rioting begin here, you are to direct any and all civilian personnel to the Evac-center for evaluation, evacuation or quarantine if they’re a carrier. The National Guard and elements
of this department will be providing security.”