The Geostorm Series (Book 1): Geostorm [The Shift]

by Akart, Bobby

  Up ahead, two boats flanked the buoy marker designating the halfway point of the race. He dipped his paddles into the water and steered his kayak in their direction. They were floating listlessly about a hundred feet apart and less than a quarter mile ahead.

  Suddenly, the people on the boat stood and began to frantically wave their arms over their heads. He was puzzled, but mainly annoyed at the distraction.

  “I can see you, you idiots!” he shouted back, although he knew they couldn’t hear him. He dug his paddles in and continued to push forward, when he noticed a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. This was not a challenger coming up on his right. It was something much larger.

  He continued to paddle, but he was inexplicably slowing down. His muscular arms began to show signs of strain. It was if someone had tied a massive anchor to the back of his kayak in an attempt to halt his progress.

  Then the boats fired their engines and began to race toward shore. He stopped paddling, completely confused as to why they would be leaving so abruptly.

  The cessation of effort was all it took for his kayak to be lifted into the air by the approaching waterspout. At first, the tail lifted, prompting him to spin his head around to see if a wake from an approaching ship was overtaking him.

  That was when he saw the vortex of the waterspout. Twisting, grinding its way through the water, throwing out a wake like a freighter.

  He was mesmerized by its appearance. He’d seen YouTube videos of waterspouts in the Florida Keys and other tropical locations, but never in person. This one was somehow different. He wiped the salt water out of his eyes and focused. The noise was deafening, adding to the distraction. His ballcap flew off his head, allowing him to see the massive tornado headed towards him.

  And then he pinpointed what was puzzling his mind. Dozens of kayaks were spinning around the vortex as the hundred-mile-an-hour winds sucked everything in its path into the sky. Some were still manned with their riders. Others were emptied, their riders thrown free, and could be seen flailing in the sky before they crashed into the water.

  He desperately tried to free himself from the kayak. He was a manly man and didn’t believe in the need for a life vest. He was capable of swimming the eight-mile distance between the waterfront and Bainbridge Island if he had to.

  But he couldn’t fly.

  The waterspout picked him up into the air, sucking him skyward at least a hundred feet. He dropped his paddles and let out a primal scream in utter fear. Then he began to spin. Around and around until he vomited. For two to three minutes, he somersaulted and spun until he blacked out, never aware that his death came when he was crushed against the façade of the Seattle Aquarium.

  Chapter 14

  Seattle-Bainbridge Ferry

  Elliott Bay

  Seattle, Washington

  For Jeanette Harbaugh, it all happened so fast. She was leaning against the rail on the top deck of the ferry, her mind focused on her Facebook page as she scrolled her timeline. She’d just announced her excitement regarding her new job, and she was glowing in the positive comments she was receiving from her friends.

  When the skies darkened and the wind began to whip up, she recalled the days when she lived there before. The feeling was familiar, almost comforting. Yet another reminder that she was home, where she belonged. As a result, she disregarded the obvious warnings that a storm was brewing.

  Even the low rumble of thunder off in the distance couldn’t break her out of the trance associated with her Facebook page. She was sucked in, enjoying the moment and forgetting about the potential for severe weather. After all, she hadn’t felt any rain, and moreover, having lived in Seattle before, she knew the worst case was the ever-present mist. She had her umbrella, a constant companion when you lived there.

  It was the loudest clap of thunder caused by a nearby lightning strike that dragged her out of her oblivious state. She turned around and faced north toward the source of the noise. That was when she saw the second sister, the slightly smaller of the two waterspouts, form about two hundred yards from the ferry.

  It was spectacular. The captivating vortex spun down from the clouds to the bay, its ephemeral beauty drawing her in. She moved closer to the rail and created a live video post on her Facebook page. The danger was ignored. The rain that had begun to fall was a minor inconvenience. She was in the moment, and she wanted to share it with her friends.

  She gripped her phone using the PopSocket to enhance her grip, and began to record the event for all to see. The tornadic watersport remained stationary at first, but then it began to shift. As it turned toward Seattle, the captain of the ferry boat took an evasive maneuver that caught Jeanette off guard.

  He pulled back on the throttle and brought the engines to an idle. The stoppage of momentum caused Jeanette to slip and lose her balance. She grabbed the safety rail with her left arm, but when the ferry’s captain turned the vessel hard to starboard, she lost her footing and fell to the deck.

  “Help!” she screamed, hoping that another of the passengers would come to the rescue. Slipping as she tried to get up, she looked around the top deck of the ferry, but everyone else had already taken cover.

  She scrambled to her feet and fought the wind to make her way inside the stairwell that led to the main deck. Then she stopped. She’d dropped her phone and hustled back to get it.

  That was when the ferry captain gave the massive engines their full throttle in an attempt to avoid the oncoming waterspout. Once again, Jeanette was thrown to the deck, hitting her head hard on the fiberglass floor.

  Stunned and dazed, she struggled to climb to her feet. She managed to crawl on all fours until she reached her phone. Then a sense of relief washed over her. It was as if two strong, manly hands that she’d always relied upon had come to pick her up and help her inside.

  Only it wasn’t a man, nor were they hands.

  The feeling was surreal. At first, she thought maybe she was dead. She was floating gently upward, lifted high above the ferry. Then, without warning, she was whipped to the left into the counterclockwise winds. She was in the powerful vortex of the tornadic waterspout.

  She was spun around and around. Her neck whipped back and forth, threatening to snap. She closed her eyes, thinking this was all a bad dream. She imagined a rag doll being swung back and forth, bashed against a wall until it hit the floor with a thud.

  As she was whipped in circles by the waterspout, she wondered if this was punishment for her past misdeeds. The ones that only she and one other person knew about. The ones that tormented her and were always in the back of her mind.

  Then she saw it—the wheelhouse of the Seattle-Bainbridge ferry. She whizzed by it on two consecutive rotations, dangerously close to making contact both times. She began to swing her arms and kick her legs in a swimming motion, hoping to avoid contact.

  It didn’t work. The last thing Jeanette Harbaugh saw was the solid wall of the ferry, which she hit at nearly fifty miles an hour, much like a young rag doll she once knew.

  Chapter 15

  Seattle Great Wheel

  Pier 57

  Seattle, Washington

  “What’s happening, Dad? We only went around two revolutions.”

  Marco Esposito had seen the flashes of lightning on the first trip of their gondola around the massive Ferris wheel. He didn’t want to alarm his family, who remained focused on the Seattle skyline and the activity along the waterfront. When he first noticed the flashes of white light among the clouds, he suspected their ride would be cut short.

  What he didn’t take into consideration was the loading and unloading process. Stopping the Great Wheel in the middle of its three-revolution circuit was one thing. Unloading the hundreds of passengers from the gondolas was another. The process involved a series of stops, careful departures from the enclosures, and then starting the ride up again. During this time, the waterspouts that were forming weren’t interested in waiting for people to get to safety.

 
“It’s just the lightning, son. If it’s within a mile, they have to stop the ride.”

  “We’re gonna get screwed out of our third trip, aren’t we?” asked the youngest.

  “Watch your language, young man,” admonished Aurora. As a mom, she tried to instill manners and decorum into her sons. Somehow, along the way, the phrases I’m screwed and this sucks became commonplace in the English vernacular despite their vulgar meanings. In Italy, if she used these peculiarly American idioms, she would’ve drawn a strong rebuke from her parents.

  Marco tried to remain upbeat. “Maybe so, son. But it’s for our safety. Let’s focus on the city. Can you guys see Pike’s Market? I think we should go there next and see what’s going on.”

  He was trying to divert their attention away from what he’d just noticed—a waterspout forming in the middle of Elliott Bay. Marco glanced at his watch and timed how long it took for the cars to unload. He craned his neck, looking out the rear and side windows in an effort to count the number of gondolas. Based upon their positioning near the top of the ride, it could take eight to ten minutes to be freed from the gondola.

  He took a moment to point out places of interest as the Ferris wheel started again and moved a short distance in its revolution before stopping to unload more passengers. Periodically, he’d nonchalantly glance to the west to check the location of the two waterspouts, which were now twisting across the water in all of their devastating glory.

  Marco gasped and quickly covered the sound he made by feigning a cough. He’d just seen the kayakers lifted off the surface of the bay, higher and higher into the sky, until the bodies fell to the water over a hundred feet below. It was then that he fully grasped the threat his family was facing.

  They were now at the apex of the Great Wheel, nearly two hundred feet off the water’s surface. The entire waterspout stretched that high, and some of the empty kayaks were twirling rapidly at roughly one hundred fifty feet above the bay.

  The waterspout was getting closer, and he debated whether he should alert his wife. Then his secret was exposed.

  “Whoa!” shouted his oldest son. “Was that a—?” Before he finished, another kayak careened off the structure of the Ferris wheel, splintering into dozens of pieces.

  Now the entire family had turned to observe the Carnage on the Bay, as the Seattle Times’ headline read the next day. Aurora stifled a scream while the two young boys marveled at the sight. At first, they were focused on the kayaks spinning before being violently ejected by the vortex. But when the first body could be seen flying through the air to a watery grave, panic ensued.

  The oldest child tried to open the door to the gondola. Fortunately, safety controls kept the doors locked shut, so only the ride’s operators could open them. His youngest boy began to cry, as did his mother.

  Marco tried to reassure them. “Everyone, please get on the floor and curl up in a ball with your hands over your heads. Okay? They’re working to empty the ride now.”

  “When?” shouted the oldest son. “How long, Dad?”

  Marco inched toward the see-through door and tried to gauge their progress. The wheel had only moved one more time since they’d reached the top. He didn’t know how long it took to empty the forty-two gondolas, but surely, he thought, they could do it faster than this in an emergency.

  The Ferris wheel jolted to a start, causing everyone to scream. “It’s okay. We’re getting closer.” Marco tried to be calm as he watched the waterspout approaching them. His mind raced as he wondered if the steel structure could withstand the winds and energy packed inside the tightly wound vortex.

  “Why is this taking so long?” asked Aurora, who was barely containing her emotions.

  “I don’t know, but we are making prog—”

  “Ahhh!” screamed Aurora as the body of a kayaker was wrapped around a steel support holding the gondola above them to the structure. The impact didn’t shake the Ferris wheel, but the increased winds from the approaching waterspout was causing their gondola to sway.

  Then it suddenly dropped to the next stage, ever closer to the pier and their escape from the approaching beast. Blood was dripping onto the top of their gondola and over all the windows like liquified caramel being poured over a tart Granny Smith apple. The red streaks horrified the family, who began to pray.

  Chapter 16

  Seattle Great Wheel

  Pier 57

  Seattle, Washington

  Chapman tossed the cordless microphone to the shocked producer and bolted down Pier 56 toward the sidewalk. The cameraman lumbered behind him, allowing the camera to continue filming, wholly unaware that they were still live on The Weather Channel broadcast.

  The two raced through the throngs of people running in all directions along the sidewalk, and turned into the walkway running adjacent to Miner’s Landing and the Crab Pot restaurant. The blue-and-red umbrellas, together with the plastic tables and chairs, had been either toppled over by panicked patrons or strewn about by the wind, which had picked up to fifty miles an hour, by Chapman’s estimation.

  He pushed and shoved his way through panicked hordes trying to get off Pier 57. He didn’t care as he saw the slow method by which the operators of the Great Wheel were removing their passengers. If they didn’t hurry, the larger of the two waterspouts that had chewed up and spit out kayaks and kayakers alike would be on top of them in mere minutes.

  He flung open the short iron gate separating the dining areas of the Crab Pot and Elliott’s Oyster House. He was now encountering fewer people, but more rain. As he made his way onto the inlaid brick observation deck that marked the end of Pier 57, he slipped and crashed into the statue of Orca overlooking the water. Besides skinning up his elbows, the hard fall forced him to catch his breath and gather his wits.

  He looked onto the water and saw the second sister battering the ferry. The first and stronger of the two tornadic waterspouts continued its march toward the waterfront, ejecting kayaks and people as it approached.

  He pushed through a few hapless fools who were recording the oncoming waterspout on their cell phone cameras. He screamed at them as he ran past, “Take cover! Now! It’s coming!”

  They turned to look at him but continued to film nonetheless. Chapman shook his head as he scaled the steel fence barriers and ducked under the rope line designed to guide passengers to the loading platform.

  “You people have got to hurry!” he yelled at the ride’s operators.

  An older employee turned and held his hands up, signaling Chapman to stop. “Sir, we are disembarking passengers in an orderly manner. Please get behind the barrier and don’t interfere.”

  “You gotta speed it up! You don’t have time to be polite.”

  Chapman didn’t consider the ramifications of what he did next, he only knew it was the right thing to do. He pushed his way past the man and started pulling people out of the gondolas. When it was empty, he’d slam the door shut and then turn to the mechanical operator and demand they start the wheel again.

  Twice, employees tried to physically remove Chapman from the loading platform, and both times they were greeted with the response of a madman.

  “Call the police!” shouted one of the guests.

  “He’s crazy!” added an employee.

  Chapman didn’t care. The skies grew darker and the effects of the dangerous winds of the waterspout were being felt.

  “Get out! Hurry!” he shouted as he grabbed a woman and her daughter, flinging them out of the gondola and onto the decking. He turned to the operator and whipped his right hand in a frenzied circle. “Go! Go! Go!”

  The Ferris wheel started again, and Chapman repeated the process. He didn’t give a damn if a kid left their teddy bear inside, or a woman forgot her handbag, or if Dad couldn’t find his camera.

  “Get out!” he’d shout, and if they hesitated, he dragged them out.

  The next car was covered with blood, and he glanced up to see the mangled remains of a kayaker without a shirt on. The
man’s muscular body had been battered by the vortex and then slammed against the Ferris wheel for good measure.

  Chapman opened the door and the Esposito family quickly exited the gondola. And then in a moment of clarity, Marco stopped and said thank you.

  Of all the people Chapman helped to safety that day, saving their lives as the massive waterspout bore down on them, only one person said thank you. But that one was enough.

  People found their way into the restaurants and shops along Pier 57. Chapman, and his production crew, huddled inside the operator’s booth with two frightened employees of the Great Wheel as the waterspout hit them.

  The Ferris wheel began to turn itself, slowly at first, as the high winds met the resistance of the gondolas. For nearly thirty seconds, the power of the tornadic winds spun the ride like a bicycle wheel. And then, just like that, it was over.

  The flow of warm air into the vortex weakened, the waterspout collapsed, and the carnage came to an end.

  Chapman leaned back against the inside wall of the operator’s booth and closed his eyes. His body ached, his elbows bled, and his mind raced back to a time when he’d chased storms for fun, and then profit. Storm chasing had its high points, like today, when he was able to save lives.

  It also had its low point, like the day, not unlike this one, when he pressed a little too hard. When the risks taken were a little too great. And a best friend was lost. Forever.

  Chapter 17

  Riverfront Farms

  Southeast Indiana

  Squire Boone gripped the remote in one hand and his cell phone in the other. He nervously kept his eyes glued to the television and only occasionally glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen to keep an eye out for Sarah.