Return (End Times Alaska Book 3)

by Craig Martelle

  The rest of us weaved through the debris toward the vehicles and the area where the smoke was heavier. We walked in a crouch to stay close to better air. Shane waved us far to the side. He noticed something overhead that he didn’t like. We followed him. We came to the lead vehicle and found nothing. We worked our way carefully down the line of trucks until we came to an arm sticking out from under one of them. Jo checked the pulse and nodded. We pulled out a young woman. She didn’t appear to be injured, but was unconscious. Two other people were under there as well, both alive.

  I told Jo and Lucas to stay with them. Lucas shook his head and pointed forward. I tried to take a breath, but the smoke was starting to get to me. I waved Lucas ahead and I stayed behind with Jo. We started dragging the survivors toward the front of the convoy, having to stop often to rest. Jo looked at me, then told me to stay as she went back for the third person. I saw Jo stop ahead and look forward. The others appeared out of the smoke and crawled the last few feet to her. She dragged the last survivor to me. I stood the smaller woman against the fender of the last truck, then let her drop over my shoulder so I could carry her. Lucas and Shane each took a survivor. Jo led us out, avoiding the area that Shane had pointed to earlier. Tanya stayed behind Shane, holding his shirt and making sure no one was left behind.

  When we got outside, we put the three people on the ground as we all gasped for air. It took ten minutes before we could carry the Russians to Colleen’s triage area.

  Ben and Terri were already there. They’d found seven people, but only two were alive.

  While we were inside, Sergei succumbed to smoke inhalation. He stopped breathing and died right where I had put him down. In total, twenty-five Russians were still alive. Colleen needed more oxygen. She pleaded with me. I looked at Lucas, then Madison.

  “Go. If anyone can find some, it’s you two,” she said softly and turned back to the patients.

  We bolted for the truck, Lucas faster than me having already recovered his breath from our foray into the hangar. He jumped in the driver seat. We rolled down the taxiway to the other side of the terminal. The first hangar we came to had a rack of green cylinders just outside the door. Lucas screeched to a halt. The tanks didn’t say empty so I assumed they were still full, or at least they were full when stored here long ago. We muscled the tanks one by one into the truck bed, piling them like cordwood. In a different world, that might have been considered unsafe.

  “Do not wreck us on the way back!” I stated, emphasizing each word. Lucas nodded, eyes wide as he took a painfully slow turn and accelerated deliberately. We followed the taxiway to the end and turned toward our truck and fifth wheel. We pulled close and parked.

  People lined up behind the truck as we dropped the gate and carefully pulled the tanks out. I looked at Lucas. We didn’t have any hoses to connect to the tanks. “Wait!” I yelled. “Lay the people with their heads together in a circle, and make a mini oxygen tent. Crack the valve, but don’t point it at anyone. It’s too high pressure. You’ll get a lot of oxygen. If you can sit people up, back to back, the oxygen will concentrate around their heads. The carbon dioxide will sink lower. Got it? Go!” We continued to hand out the tanks. We had more than we needed as these were the two-hundred-fifty-pound versions.

  The helpers set people up in ten pairs. Colleen must have been with the other five in the fifth-wheel trailer. We’d try to wrestle a bottle inside if she wanted it. Chris took a bottle by himself and carried it to the furthest pair of victims. They used coats, blankets, and even a small tarp to set up the oxygen tents around the people.

  After that, we waited. Chris went to the trailer, then came back to pick up another oxygen bottle. Lucas helped him carry it inside. Then they came back for a second. I was sharing the biggest oxygen tent as I’d gotten light-headed after putting the bottles in the truck. I wasn’t quite recovered from the trip into the hangar. I was out of the game for a while.

  An hour passed. The Russians started standing and offering to help their friends. Two more Russians passed away in that time.

  Ten were back on their feet, and eight were coherent and would soon join them. Five more were still being treated. Two of the survivors had been hit by shrapnel when the generator exploded and caught fire. Three were injured by falling debris. The rest of the survivors suffered from smoke inhalation. They’d lost their leader, half their people, and all their food.

  As soon as Colleen had the most severely injured stabilized, we loaded everyone into the fifth wheel and the trucks. We slowly started the long drive back to the school. What took an hour to get there took two going home. I had oxygen bottles in the back of my truck. I was happy that we’d decided to replace the windshield on it after we returned from Healy, but we didn’t do a very good job and it leaked when I splashed through the bigger puddles.

  Maybe later we could find caulking and fix it the rest of the way. The old beater truck had become my stalwart companion. I kept my thoughts on the trivial things that made me happy because when thinking about the extra people, the only conclusion I could come to was that we would run out of food very soon.

  JUST ONE MORE DAY

  We set the Russians up in the gym. The best we could do were blankets on the ground. If we went back to the hangar, we could probably recover most of the cots, but they’d smell like smoke.

  Becca and Darren were successful in bagging a moose although they had to bring it home in two trips because of the mud. We’d eat more meat and less of everything else until something changed.

  The first thing to change was the weather. It turned markedly colder after a healthy snow fall. We took dog teams along the river bank where the shallow water had refrozen. Once they were sure we had solid ice, I took my snow machine, hooked up a sleigh behind it and returned to the hangar. The fire had burned itself out. With the roof caved in and the doors hanging crooked, there was enough air flow to clear out the remaining smoke.

  We recovered ten cots with sleeping bags on our first trip. I made it there and back in thirty minutes. Chris made a trip, then Lucas. We rotated until we recovered as much as we could. We had cots for everyone and smoky sleeping bags. Lucas found some food and filled the sleigh. I didn’t ask how he got it. I didn’t want anyone to take unnecessary risks, but the food was sorely needed. Any food.

  When the snow melted, we made a scavenging run to Salcha, outside the Air Force Base. We broke into every single home. I made a note that in case of the apocalypse, leave your door unlocked. No one is going to take your pictures of Aunt Margaret. All they want is food and anything to help them survive.

  Salcha wasn’t a big town, but it was big enough and the people were typical Alaskans, well-stocked with canned food.

  Just like when the Community returned from the scavenging run to Fred Meyer all those years ago, we pulled in, honking the big truck’s horn as I hadn’t bothered to fix mine. Everyone stood and cheered. Our Russian additions insisted on unloading the trailer we’d gotten from Tanya’s dad. They weren’t afraid of hard work and did everything they could to fit in.

  No one could say they weren’t appreciative. Even Terri grudgingly admitted that this group was made up of good people. Unfortunately, the Russian accents still caused many of the women to wince and cower. There was nothing we could do except keep them apart. Forcing the former victims to integrate would be too traumatic. Terri spent time with them. None of us were psychologists or had any idea how to deal with Post-Traumatic Stress. We did our best to reduce the triggers and then to show them a different side to the new people.

  When we were comfortable that we finally had enough food thanks to a hunting frenzy by Ben, Darren, Becca, and Maggie, there was more than enough meat for all, including the dogs in the kennel and their new puppies, which we gave to the Russians.

  They finally got the dogs they’d longed for, and they were happy. Abigail and Phillip mentored them in training dog teams. It would
be a long road, but they’d get there. Most importantly, they loved the dogs.

  I knew that I had to call the general, but I was dreading it. The weather had broken again and this time, we thought it was for real. Spring was on its way.

  I went outside wearing a light jacket and walked around until I couldn’t avoid it any longer. I dialed the number and the general answered on the first ring.

  “I wondered when you were going to call. Satellites showed something very interesting. Was that your handiwork?” he asked.

  “If you’re talking about the rescue of twenty-three Russians, yes, I’ll claim some credit. Their generator exploded. It brought the house down around them. We didn’t get there for a long time, but when we did, we only managed to save just over half of them. We have their survivors here with us.” I waited for the inevitable tirade.

  The general surprised me, although his position was self-serving. “I expect you had no choice and it was the right thing to do. As far as the UN, I think you’ve made it clear who should lead the resettlement efforts. Well done!” I didn’t answer for so long that the general asked if I was still there.

  “You’re trying to trick me,” I finally said. “You’re never happy and you never give compliments.”

  “Don’t be the nut job that everyone else here thinks you are. Of course I’m happy. Your group is now around one hundred people and the Russians are at zero. We win!”

  I win, is what you really mean, I thought. It was clear to me why he was happy. I was here and he’d take all the credit, probably earning another star. But that wasn’t my world. Everything around me now constituted the sum total of all that we were.

  A Community where you could be yourself and where you could help others, not because you had to, but because you wanted to.

  Madison stood in the doorway and watched me, knowing that I was checking in with Washington, D.C. She was always there to support me, knowing how these calls upset me. I smiled at her and gave her the thumbs up. She nodded and continued to watch. She would wait for me to hang up to be sure that I was okay. The twins burst out the door with Phyllis and Husky close behind. They waved as they ran past, heading toward the kennels.

  And the general confirmed that we were staying. I breathed deeply, taking in the cool air of the Alaskan spring. The sky was clear, and the ground was drying out.

  We’d won and I didn’t know how to feel. I turned slowly, looking at a broken-down city with people breathing new life into it. It was going to be a good year.

  End of Book 3

  DEDICATION

  For Wendy Whitehead.

  This book shows what my wife taught me about life.

  Please enjoy the story.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost, I’d like to thank my wife Wendy for continuing her work as a University Professor without pause, which allowed me to delve into writing. My mother-in-law Mary Whitehead has been very supportive. She’s always a good one to call and talk with.

  My best friend Bill Rough and his better half Linda were stalwart through many phases of my life and were the first ones to read this book and provide feedback. I’m honored to call them friends.

  Monique Happy became the editor for this series through a serendipitous online author/editor exchange. She helped breathe new life into the book that used to be It’s Not Enough To Just Exist – my first book. I added some 70,000 words to that story and then we broke it into a trilogy. I am quite pleased with the end result. My readers of It’s Not Enough were begging for a sequel – they now have that. And those who’ve chanced to read this are asking for another sequel. We shall see…

  I want to thank some readers by name as they are the ones who we look to when we’re feeling a little down. Diane Velasquez and her sister Dorene Johnson are powerhouse readers, ready for anything I throw at them and always willing to give feedback. Norman Meredith is a new addition to the team and has provided valuable input to me and my process. They have also been very kind with their comments. Chris Rolfe, Cathy Cauthan Northrup, Monique Lewis Happy (also one of my editors), Joyce Stokley, and so many more. You great people help make every day that much sunnier.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Craig is a successful author, on track to publish ten books in 2016. He’s taken his more than twenty years of experience in the Marine Corps, his legal education, and his business consulting career to write believable characters living in a real world.

  Although Craig has written in multiple genres, what he believes most compelling are in-depth characters dealing with real-world issues. Just like Star Trek, the original series used a backdrop of space, the themes related to modern day America. Life lessons of a great story can be applied now or fifty years in the future. Some things are universal.

  Craig believes that evil exists. Some people are driven differently and cannot be allowed access to our world. Good people will rise to the occasion. Good will always challenge evil, sometimes before a crisis, many times after, but will good triumph?

  Some writers who’ve influenced Craig? Robert E. Howard (the original Conan), JRR Tolkien, Andre Norton, Robert Heinlein, Lin Carter, Brian Aldiss, Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman, Anne McCaffrey, and of late, James Axler, Raymond Weil, Jonathan Brazee, Mark E. Cooper, and David Weber. Craig learned something from each of these authors, story line, compelling issue, characters that you can relate to, the beauty of the prose, unique tendrils weaving through the book’s theme. Craig’s writing has been compared to that of Andre Norton and Craig’s Free Trader characters to those of McCaffrey’s Dragonriders, the Rick Banik Thrillers to the works of Robert Ludlum.

  Through a bizarre series of events, Craig ended up in Fairbanks, Alaska. They love it there. It is off the beaten path. He and his wife watch the northern lights from their driveway. Temperatures can reach forty below zero. They have from three and a half hours of daylight in the winter to twenty-four hours in the summer.

  It’s all part of the give and take of life. If they didn’t have those extremes, then everyone would live there.

  Website: http://www.craigmartelle.com/

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorCraigMartelle/

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/rick_banik

  Other Books by Craig Martelle

  Free Trader Series:

  Free Trader Series Book 1 – The Free Trader of Warren Deep

  Free Trader Series Book 2 – The Free Trader of Planet Vii

  Free Trader Series Book 3 – Adventures on RV Traveler

  Free Trader Series Book 4 – The Battle for the Amazon (est. Aug 2016)

  Rick Banik Thrillers:

  People Raged and the Sky Was on Fire

  OTHER WINLOCK BOOKS YOU’LL LOVE

  Winlock Press has a stunning range of post-apocalyptic adventures. Be sure to click on the links below and enter the worlds of …

  The Winchester Undead Series, beginning with

  Winchester: Over

  Dave Lund

  Presenting: A survivalist vision of the zombie apocalypse: real weapons, real warfare, real strategy and tactics against the worst nightmare you can imagine.

  The nuclear missiles killed millions. The chemtrails brought them back to life.

  When the end came, it was swift and brutal. The EMP from atmospheric detonations occurred just before Christmas. Chinese bombs spreading poison on major metropolitan centers followed, only hours later. Then the dead began to walk… and to kill with terrifying speed.

  The government, from the President to the foot soldier, fell in three days. Nine out of ten – maybe more – were dead before Valentine’s Day. Only a hardy few, those who had prepared for the worst, lived long enough to see what happened next.

  Winchester: Over tells the stories of the many who fell and the handful who survived. It follows former motor-cop Bexar Reed and his family, along with their
lifelong friends and fellow preppers, as they fight their way to relative safety in rural Texas… and the story of a highly trained government agent who has to fight his own way out of an infected airport, to the last barely functioning military installation, hidden beneath the ground at Area 51.

  They are stories of courage and combat, guns and battle tech, the secret history of humanity, ancient artifacts and the Nazi occult, and always, always, the ravenous walking dead, as the last brave humans teeter on the edge of extinction.

  “If you shook this book, gunpowder and testosterone would fall out.”

  -Chris Philbrook, Author of Adrian’s Undead Diary

  * * * * *

  The Ultimate Prepper’s Adventure begins here!

  Dark Titan Journey: Sanctioned Catastrophe

  Thomas A. Watson

  Nathan Owens was just topping up his tank when the gas pump stopped working. So did the radio. And the lights. Then planes starting falling out of the sky, and plutonium-powered satellites began to explode.

  A massive solar storm – the Coronal Mass Event that had been predicted for years – finally hit Earth, and the electromagnetic pulse it created instantaneously threw the world back to the Bronze Age. Soon the radioactive fallout from space would spread death and disease across the globe.

  Owens and his friends had been preparing for something like this for years, and now it had finally happened. But when it came, it came at the worst possible time. He was a thousand miles away from his family and his redoubt – and his only chance to survive the dark days ahead. If he ever hoped to escape, he would have to draw together a team of survivalists to save those nearby before he could even begin the last, most important journey of his life. And there was one thing he hadn’t counted on at all: the EOTWAWKI wasn’t just a natural disaster. There was a sinister, almost omnipotent human force behind it...and it wanted him dead.