Into the Storm: (Post Apocalyptic Fiction) (Collision Course Book 1)

by R. K. Gold

  His skin went numb instantly. The sky pelted him with freezing rain. His clothes stuck to his skin, and he shivered. His throat burned and chaffed. The little air he swallowed burned all the way down and chilled his stomach. He gripped his handles tighter, but his knuckles barely curled.

  He couldn't see anything except the bike and the ground a few inches ahead of him. A flash of lightning circled above him. Lightning didn't move like that. Everything in this storm felt morphed. His engine rumbled. He turned at the last second when he saw the remains of a skyscraper sprawled across the road. The debris curved across the ground. A metal pipe flew inches above Jakobe's head.

  Red Eye controlled the stepping stones, but chances were he defended them in name alone. The stones offered minor pockets of refuge from the storm, but only the eye was calm.

  Jakobe figured he reached the first of the pocket when he could finally see the road again. Though the wind still felt harsh enough to blow him off his bike, he didn't have to squeeze his handles for dear life. He could tell it was a stepping stone because the buildings were intact. Over the years the storm outside the calm circle reduced structures to rubble.

  He drove his bike into the nearest building to find a brief escape from the gusts. Though the walls rattled, his skin regained some sensation. He still struggled to open his hands and dismount his bike, but for a moment he felt normal. For a moment he felt a hope that he could get out of the storm.

  11

  Jakobe's interest in the storm divide started with Clive. "My father operates just beyond the storm. He controls the only path through. He keeps our supply line up, and in return we snuff out every potential threat this side of the storm. One day I'm gonna join him in the west, though. Can you imagine living somewhere with actual cities? Not the shitholes we got here, but a place you can actually start a life? Where the water doesn't have to be treated and livestock isn't mutated? People have lives over there, and they aren't just about what their next meal’s gonna be."

  "So why aren't we riding out that way now?" Jakobe asked over the fire. Even under the night sky, the storm to the west was a special kind of darkness. A black that reminded the night just how dark the sky could be.

  Clive laughed. "There's still much to do over here."

  "Like what?"

  "Like live. I may want a better life, but not at the expense of my own," Clive replied.

  "You just said it yourself, there are stepping stones across the storm. If Red Eye controls them why can't we just take those?"

  "Yeah, there are pockets of calm in the divide, but it's still a dangerous journey. Only the desperate accept the jobs my father offers. And then there's always the chance you'll come across a tribe of Hammers. Our best riders and bravest men have tried. Only five have ever made it; two made it there and back." Clive held up two fingers.

  "Why would any of them come back?"

  "Can you think of a way to gain more favor with my father than to brave the storm twice just to bring back supplies from the west for us?" Clive asked.

  "Then let me go. Let me prove my worth to you. I'll return with weapons, food, whatever you need," Jakobe said.

  Clive laughed. "You're brave, but we have other plans for you. Something much more dire."

  Jakobe didn't have much of a choice. Clive's word was law unless his father said otherwise, and Clive was smart enough to never be close enough to his father to be contradicted. He never told Jakobe what the job was, only that he would be set free the moment it was over because of its utmost importance to his men.

  They rode the next morning toward the storm divide, and for the briefest of moments, Jakobe believed he would finally get his chance to drive through. "I won't let you down," Jakobe said. He was young and naive. He’d barely started puberty and was ready to prove his worth. Clive wasn't much older than him.

  "I know you won't," Clive said and turned off the main road. He went north along the storm divide. Jakobe was confused. If they were going to enter, they had to take the main road. Still, he followed, curious why so many men trailed in Clive's wake. If it was a scouting mission, a large party would draw too much attention.

  He had no reason not to trust Clive. While his old village treated him as nothing but hands for a shovel and a gun, Clive had promised him freedom in return for loyal service. It was something to strive for, an opportunity to one day control his own destiny.

  He didn't know Clive would teach him the most important lesson of survival by accident. Never trust anyone.

  The party stopped just shy of a white line. To the west was the storm, but every other direction were rolling hills. The ground was a pale beige; nothing had grown from it in decades. Jakobe examined the line closely, wondering why it stood out so much from the rest of the dirt. He spotted something unnatural poking out, a sharp tip surrounded by what looked like teeth. Jakobe heard stories of other creatures in the far north. Rumors were that they’d traded what was left of their humanity for survival. If Hammers did come to the east, they made up the tribes in the north. It was a speculation Jakobe was not eager to confirm.

  A small group of creatures emerged over the nearest pale hill and descended toward Clive and Jakobe. All wore matching bone-white cloaks and hoods. Fabric covered their faces entirely, except for their mouths. All their teeth were sharp.

  Though the sight made Jakobe's stomach jump, the first thing he noticed was the smell. They smelled rotten and burned. The air around them felt solid, and Jakobe had this gut feeling they were all watching him. Clive looked back and gave him a reassuring smile. Jakobe reached for his guns, but didn't have to draw. The creatures handed Clive a device he pocketed, then, without a word, he turned around and left.

  "What was all that about?" Jakobe asked.

  "You did great, exactly what we needed from you," Clive replied.

  Back at camp, Jakobe saw Clive operating the portable water purifier. It zapped the life of a C cell with one use, but Clive was able to drink water straight from the northern river after zapping it in the cylinder-shaped machine. Jakobe licked his dry lips. He had his rations for the day, but he wanted more. His throat felt dry, and his skin flaked at his elbows and knees.

  A messenger from Clive's father arrived at camp that evening. He and Clive met privately. Jakobe heard the two talking about a drop off. He tried not to draw too much attention to himself and moved closer to the conversation.

  "More Hammers are moving east. The tribe you met with today is only the beginning. They're being hunted by a new leader in the west who blames your father's tolerance of the Hammers for their rise. Can you believe that?" the messenger asked.

  "I can believe anything. The Hammers will thrive east of the storm once they learn which areas to avoid and where to hunt. We have nothing to fear, though. We'll handle it as my father has. As long as we pay tribute, they will leave us alone."

  "That's exactly the strategy that brought a war to your father's doorstep in the west," the messenger said.

  "We won't survive a war with the Hammers. If they come east in full force, we may be able to defeat them, but the men will be so demoralized and terrified of being eaten, they won't want to fight. The war will be over before the first battle is even fought. If we play our cards right, we won't have to change anything we do except leave a couple survivors with every raid."

  "And what, let them leave?" the messenger asked.

  "Of course not, trade them with the Hammers. They'll leave us alone, and we can continue acquiring supplies from the west through them. They travel more effectively through the storm than my father's smugglers." Clive held up the water purifier. "Nothing else has to change. Even the casualties don't. If we weren't trading with the Hammers, we would've killed the prisoners in the raid anyway."

  "I assume the Hammers you met with today gave you that purifier," the messenger said.

  "First deal goes down two days from now. Don't look at me like that; it's a good deal. It's better this way; no point in taking on a costly fight when th
e price for peace is so cheap," Clive replied.

  "If Hammers keep flooding east, your father may call you west," the messenger said and left Clive.

  Jakobe remained still through the night, waiting for Clive to go to sleep, but he wasn't human. He remained as alert as ever throughout the entire night, patrolling the camp himself from time to time and checking in with his inner circle.

  Jakobe needed to escape and get to the storm as quickly as possible. Clive wouldn't risk following him inside. He needed something fast and made his way toward the bikes. His ride wouldn't do the trick. They gave him one of the oldest motorcycles they had.

  Clive's four wheeler was slow and loud. Jakobe was sure he could outrun it. Still, it could cause a problem. Jakobe pulled his blade from his side and punctured each of the tires. That offense alone could get him killed.

  Tires weren't easy to replace. Not impossible, but not easy. None of the bikes were parked together. Most of the men and women in Clive's crew never left their ride's side. It was their home, the only thing in the world that offered them a sense of security. The ability to outrun or outfight were the two ways to stay alive.

  Keeping his knife out, he knew he would have to separate someone from their bike quietly and would likely have to kill them. Having spent most his life in a hammock, Jakobe could be taken down by even the smallest opponents. His target had to be asleep, or at least unable to fight back. He circled the campground, searching for the perfect mark when he stumbled upon G.

  G was enormous but it was all for show. He was close to seven feet tall with pale skin, dirty blond hair, and an enormous gut. He couldn't fight worth a damn, could barely speak, and was only used when Clive wanted to stand next to a large figure to demonstrate his force. G was easily the largest man Jakobe had ever seen and required one of the most powerful bikes to carry his hefty frame. He snored under his blanket. His hands rested over his stomach.

  He would wake if Jakobe took his bike. Jakobe hovered the knife over the sleeping giant's throat but couldn't bring himself to strike. G was so innocent. He knew it was crazy to have compassion for anyone in the camp. Clive was planning to sell him to Hammers. If he didn't steal the bike, he was as good as dead, and was G's life worth more to him than his own? G, who couldn't speak in full sentences. G, who did nothing but eat and drink water and laugh randomly even when no one spoke.

  It had to be done. He pressed the tip of his blade to G's throat and closed his eyes. Still he couldn't drive it through. Jakobe glanced around. No one saw him hovering over G. No one paid much attention to G at night. He wasn't much of a problem, usually sleeping if he wasn't eating.

  Jakobe knew he could stay there all night trying to convince himself he needed to kill G to survive and would never find the nerve to do it. He pocketed his blade and mounted G's bike. His heart pounded furiously in his chest; it made his sternum ache.

  He could feel his stomach in his throat when he hit the ignition. There was no turning back. The entire camp was on high alert. Jakobe bolted off the site and toward the road.

  12

  On the run from Clive, Jakobe had one chance for safety. He had to reach the storm before Clive or his crew caught him. While Jakobe succeeded in snagging a bike faster than the ones in the camp and capable of outrunning his enemies behind him, he didn't take into account those spread across the east lands.

  When Clive's entire camp pursued him, every other encampment loyal to Clive and his father took notice. There was no outrunning all of them. When a small group came toward Jakobe from the front, he knew he had to change course and headed southeast toward the main dumping grounds. It was the only spot east of the storm Clive neglected. When the cure was first discovered to be toxic, the government had to dispel it.

  The first dumping site was a strategy. Kill a part of the world to save the rest of it. Jakobe knew Clive would never follow him in there. Not even the Hammers risked it. Anything they could find to eat would be contaminated.

  He just reached a back road when something snagged his tire. Jakobe turned around and saw a metal hook attached to a long chain. A car was right on his tail, and a man in a black leather jacket and matching black helmet sat out of the passenger window with a cannon-sized barrel attached to the chain.

  When Jakobe tried to shake them off, the chain snagged and the bike flipped. He felt something crack on impact, and a rush of pain filled his body before the world went dark.

  13

  When he came around, he was alone in a hole with his hands and legs tied and a gag over his mouth. He cried out for anyone to hear him and felt a surge of relief when a face looked down at him. He wasn't left to die in a ditch in the middle of nowhere. Of course, the fear returned when the reality set in that being bound and gagged in the wastelands would be safer than whatever Clive had in store for him.

  The figure who looked down at him ran off, and moments later Clive leaned over the ledge. "Not bad work on such short notice, no? The men whipped it up in an hour. Couldn't have you running off again. Nice touch stabbing my tires. Clearly, you either thought you were gonna get away or really wanted to die. I guess both are an escape, though." He laughed.

  Jakobe groaned, actually putting words together. His throat tightened, trying to vomit the gag out when he attempted speech.

  Clive waved off the gibberish. "Can someone take care of that noise? He's not going anywhere, so just let him speak; it's not as funny now that he's awake."

  The same figure who looked down at Jakobe when he first woke up slid into the ditch and removed the gag. He had dark brown skin, which made the white crescent scar on his shoulder more noticeable. A rope came down over the side, and the man climbed out without a word to Jakobe.

  "That's more like it, right?" Clive asked.

  "I know you're not gonna kill me. I heard your conversation before I ran. You're gonna trade me to the Hammers," Jakobe said.

  "Oh you heard that? Good, it would've been an awful surprise if you hadn't."

  "You're lucky I'm tied up."

  "I'm lucky? You're unarmed, and I could knock you off your feet with a sneeze if you tried to fight me," Clive replied.

  Jakobe clenched his jaw. His cheeks flushed. He hated being taunted. "You better hope I don't get to my guns."

  Before Clive could shoot a retort, a loud explosion caught their attention. Clive stood up and looked back at his camp. His smug look dissolved into shock. His face glowed from the flames, and he ran back. It wasn't some small raid his men could take care of. Whoever went after Clive meant business. "Round them up!" Clive shouted.

  So it was a crew. Who would have the balls to target the son of Red Eye? Clive didn't have the same clout as his old man, but he generated some amount of respect for his relationship to him. Jakobe worked at his binds, trying to loosen them and slip out. The same dark-skinned man from before slid down into the ditch with the rope to climb out. When he removed the bandana over his nose and mouth, Jakobe saw it wasn't a man; it was a teenager maybe a few years older than him.

  The stranger pulled out a knife and sliced Jakobe's binds before he had a moment to fear for his life. He shoved Jakobe to the rope, and the two climbed out. Jakobe saw one of the largest men he'd ever seen fighting off Clive's crew with a spiked baseball bat, and a second pummeled them with brass knuckles.

  The stranger ran away from the camp toward—a ghost? No, not a ghost, but someone as pale as one. Tall, lanky, and bald, the closer Jakobe was to the new man, the more he looked like a skeleton.

  "Ditch 'em," the dark-skinned man said and mounted a bike. The pale one nodded and pulled a rifle from his bike.

  He opened fire away from the crowd, but a large explosion caught onto the ragged tents. He then focused his aim on the vehicles around the camp. It took him a couple tries to hit the distant trucks and bikes. The furthest ones only suffered minor glancing blows.

  "We gotta go; signal 'em back," the dark-skinned man said, and the pale one whistled before firing two more shots. Two more explosive
s went off, and the two larger men ran back toward their bikes.

  "What about him?" the pale one asked and aimed his gun at Jakobe.

  "Ditch him. I just couldn't leave him for the Hammers. Enemy of our enemy isn't our concern," the man replied. The two giants came back; each slung a full sack of goods over their shoulders before mounting their bikes. They rode west, and Jakobe ran back to the camp to find a bike. Clive was nowhere to be seen, and with all the commotion from the fires and the attack, no one paid any attention to him running around. He found a bike the pale gunner only knocked and road south to pursue them.

  14

  The walls of the skyscraper shook with the storm. The walls trembled from rapid gusts of wind blasting against them. Dust blew across the rotted floor and sprinkled from the rafters. The building creaked. It felt like it could tumble over at any second.

  Jakobe cleared a corner of broken glass and sat with his back to the wall. He pulled his knees to his chest and took a deep breath. He shivered and wrapped his arms around his torso, pinning as much body heat to himself as he could. His arms and fingers were numb, so he concentrated on wiggling them until sensation returned.

  For the first time since he laid eyes on the storm divide, he understood its power. He thought the only thing holding people back was their own fear, fear of the storm or fear of Red Eye. What made those who crossed so special? The Hammers were able to navigate the storm with ease, so why not him? But he was wrong.

  He looked up from his lap and out the boarded window. Even in the relative calm of the stepping stones, all he could see was chaos. Winds so powerful they moved the earth left divots large enough to swallow his front tire. Gusts blew violently in all directions, bouncing against the side of the building. Jakobe could see small holes in the wall penetrated by rocks and debris.