End Days Series Box Set [Books 1-4]

by Isherwood, E. E.

  She meandered across the open grassland until she started to climb a slight slope. After another kilometer or two, the slope led her to a thin line of trees running along a small creek. She drove slowly along the edge of the tree-covered hillock looking for an area well-suited for wallowing beasts.

  This is the place. Destiny shut down the vehicle and breathed deeply of the air. She closed her eyes and felt the flora around her.

  She carried her rifle to a small, mud-rimmed pool of water and took a seat in some brush. Cattle had come through the creek numerous times; hoof prints and piles of dried dung were everywhere.

  Time got away from her as she sat in the morning sun and excitement turned to boredom. Mostly, she daydreamed about the long line of dead Tasmanian Tigers, and how there must be more of them around, too. She saw nothing in her spot, however, and as the hours went by, she began to think about moving. The hunters could have bagged a dozen Demon Ducks in the time she’d been gone.

  She wasn’t one to give up so easily, however, and after waiting another thirty minutes, a throaty warble got her attention. A couple of other animals replied to the first, and, judging by the volume, they were in the tree cover not far away.

  They sounded birdlike.

  She waited to see if the creatures making the sounds would come to her, but they remained where they were: close, but not close enough.

  Destiny picked up the rifle and made sure it was ready to fire. With as much stealth as was possible with her heavy boots, she got to her feet and tip-toed her way through the bushes down the creek bed.

  When she arrived at another pool of water, she held her breath as she watched. A few giant, feathery creatures splashed in the swimming hole. At first, she was going to write them off as mundane emus because they didn’t seem large enough to be “special,” but as she peered through the leafy undergrowth, she knew that wasn’t what they were. Their warbles were distinctive and unlike anything she’d ever heard before.

  “Come on, girl,” Destiny whispered. “Get a little closer.”

  She managed to take a few steps in relative silence, allowing her to get an unobstructed view of the beautiful light-feathered birds, but then she pushed her luck. With a final footstep, she crushed a small stick.

  Two of the man-sized beasts sprinted down the shallow creek out of sight, but one remained where it was. From her new position, she got a much better view of the magnificent find. Destiny calmed herself and froze in place, remaining absolutely silent. She wanted to convince the animal not to leave through force of will alone.

  Her eyes drifted to the bushes on the far side of the creek, behind the remaining beast. A familiar shape poked his head up and locked eyes with her, the blue steel barrel of his gun barely visible through the leaves.

  The man froze in place, much as she had.

  “Oi,” she mumbled.

  She wasn’t the only hunter at the watering hole.

  Highway 395, California

  As the morning continued, Buck and the trucker known as Sparky followed the snowy highway over a few high hills on the outskirts of the mountain range until they came to a final ridge that took them toward a broad, flat plain ahead.

  The snow started to taper off, which gave him confidence that he wouldn’t need chains even though the temperature remained below freezing. His dashboard said it was twenty-eight outside. Along the way, he had Connie put a square of duct tape over the inch-wide bullet hole in his windshield to stop the wind noise and bitter chill.

  “Weird weather we’re having,” Connie said like it was small talk.

  “Yeah, no kidding. Yesterday I saw the worst thunderstorm of my life, but I think heavy snow scares me even more. I’ve heard of snow in June up in the higher elevations of the Rockies, but not down here. If it snows too much in one of these passes, it might be weeks before we could drive out.”

  “If my dates are all screwed up, maybe the weather is messed up, too.”

  Connie’s statement surprised him by bringing the obvious into the open. It hadn’t been obvious unless one was thinking outside of the calendar’s constraints. “Yeah, that makes perfect sense. It would explain the surprise storm yesterday and the hurricane heading for New York City. Those things don’t come out of nowhere, right?”

  She shrugged. “I’m from New Mexico, where the weather is boring. I have no idea about hurricanes.”

  The CB chirped. “Buck, come back.”

  He keyed the mic. “This is Buck, go ahead.”

  “Tahoe is just up there,” Sparky replied. “Are you planning to gas up or stop?”

  Buck looked at Connie. “Need anything? A supertanker soda, perhaps?” He had no idea if she’d know about the 128-ounce monstrosities they sold at truck stops. “Or, better yet, I’m sure we can get you a nice John Deere hat at a gas-n-go. Might look nice on you.”

  She faced him with what could only be described as a pouty face. “If you are going to slather me up with your asphalt aphrodisiac and dress me up like one of your trucker lot lizards, maybe you should have left me back in that town.”

  Buck was stunned. His mouth fell open, amazed that he had missed saying something so rude to her.

  Connie held stern for only a couple of seconds, then burst out in laughter.

  “This is going to be fun.” She giggled. “For the record, I could down a supertanker drink like nobody’s business, but this redhead only wears cowboy hats.”

  All he could do was laugh with her. “What did you say you did for a living? Kick smartass truckers right in the ghoulies with your cowboy boots?”

  “A writer,” she answered. “It usually takes me ten minutes to think of the right thing to say, but with you, it comes easy.”

  “Glad I could be of help,” he said with good-natured sarcasm. Then, he spoke into the CB microphone to answer Sparky’s question. “We’re going to keep on. I’ve got enough fuel in the tanks to go another 1500 miles, but I think Salt Lake is our next planned stop.”

  Salt Lake City was across Nevada and most of Utah, but once they got on I-80, it would go fast. He would have been there last night if yesterday had gone as planned. It was already late morning and he still wasn’t on the interstate.

  “I’ll have to pay the water bill before SLC, but I’ll do my best,” the other trucker answered back.

  “Water bill?” Connie asked.

  Buck glanced over with a smile. “Stop and pee.”

  “Duh,” she said while slapping her forehead. “I knew that.”

  “Of course,” he said with mirth, “we can make better time if we use the old trucker trick of filling up Gatorade bottles. Then we wouldn’t have to stop at all.”

  He waited for the snarky response, but she simply turned her head away from him. A few seconds later she seemed to think of a reply.

  “I won’t put that detail in my books.”

  Buck stifled a laugh as he spoke into the mic. “Keep your ear out for other haulers. Maybe we can find some friends going east and link up for safety.” He’d never been in a real convoy. Sometimes he joined up with another truck or two, such as when he’d have to cross long boring states like Nebraska or Texas, but those broke up fast. Most truckers were independent and liked to be on their own schedule.

  However, the bikers had him worried that unforeseen dangers were out there. Just like he’d joined up with Connie for self-preservation, he figured the same principle applied out on the road. They had always traveled in convoys back in Iraq, so he tried to transfer the thought-process to the homeland.

  “Roger that,” Sparky replied.

  He checked his side mirrors. The sky was dark and cranky behind him. The snowstorm continued to work over the road in the foothills, but the wind and blowing snow suggested it was drifting to the northeast. His brain tried to draw I-80 in Nevada on his mental map, but he was at a loss.

  “Connie, would you mind looking at the atlas for me? I’m curious if we’ll run into that storm again.”

  He was on the lookout
for trouble on the highway, but he also kept watch for the next zinger from his new passenger.

  Nineteen

  Somewhere in New Jersey

  Garth popped open the trunk and ran to the back of the taxi. All his gear was stacked neatly in the trunk. He’d jammed the tent way in the back, and a pair of sleeping bags were on top of it. Numerous other pieces of his dad’s survival kit surrounded the tent and gun cases. Making it fit was a testament to his packing skills, but now he was in danger of losing it all.

  “Take the irreplaceable stuff,” he told himself.

  The taxi had ended up in the ditch facing the way he’d been driving, so the lurking car was in front of him. However, the other person must have been scared off when Garth got out, because the car now sped away to get on the highway.

  After accidentally shooting the gun inside his car, his body had shaken for a long time, like he was shivering from cold. He had thought it might have been because he was wet with the rain, but now his body shivered like before. It wasn’t the cold at all.

  “Holy shit, that was close.”

  For the moment, Garth was alone. He held open the trunk lid as he tried to calm his wild nerves and think about his next course of action. The pitter-patter of rain falling on the metal suggested he better hurry, because he didn’t want to soak the gear.

  Stay or go?

  He couldn’t push the taxi out of the ditch on his own, and it didn’t seem like a good idea to sit inside the car and hope good people came to his rescue. That wasn’t how Dad would do it.

  Garth grabbed the bug-out backpack, which had some of the bare essentials for living in the woods: a tarp, a knife, fire starter, flashlight, and similar small items. Once it was over his shoulder, he grabbed one of the rifle cases, slid it out of the car, and set it on the grass. He did the same for the second one. There was no way to bring the cases of ammo because they weighed a ton. It would require a small wagon to lug those around.

  Garth slammed the trunk shut and picked up both cases before checking for cars. For the moment, the highway and the on-ramp were empty, so he trotted into the woods with the heavy load. As long as no one saw him, there was no need to go far.

  A dense clump of underbrush about twenty-five yards in provided the perfect hiding spot, and he shoved both rifle cases deep into the greenery. Once they were stashed, he pulled out his pistol and stood there for a few seconds just in case. The pine trees and other evergreens made it hard to see anything beyond twenty feet.

  “Steady.” Garth took a moment to savor the scent of the hardwoods, which reminded him of Christmastime. He also commanded his hands to stop shaking. Stress. And shock.

  You’re fine. Relax.

  No one came storming into his hiding spot. He felt safe for the moment, but he needed a plan.

  Rain steadily beat down on the trees around him. The hurricane was close, but his dread came from the other storm—the cloud of radiation heading east toward New York City and the surrounding countryside. He was still well inside the red bubble of danger he’d seen on the television.

  “Find help,” he muttered. “Free the car. Drive to safety.”

  It would be a simple plan if he could find anyone who wouldn’t screw him over. His first thought was to flag down vehicles on the Garden State Parkway, but when the first car had pulled over after he crashed, it had put the fear of God in him. Leaving the woods and waving at drivers reminded him of all the people he’d passed back on Staten Island. He didn’t want to be one of those guys.

  Dad had often told him that if you looked and acted like a victim, you were more likely to become one, and he practiced it by always acknowledging strangers while he was out in public rather than keeping his head down and staring at the ground. He said criminals look for people lost in their own thoughts. Garth was a master of being distracted, but he tried to kick the habit when he traveled with Dad.

  He was on his own. He had a car and supplies, but he needed a hand.

  He didn’t know if help was on the other side of the overpass; the raised highway blocked his view, and the trees didn’t help. But experience had taught him businesses gathered at intersections, so there was a decent chance something was close.

  What are the odds of finding a tow truck?

  Garth pulled out his phone and bent over to keep it out of the rain. After a long, defeated sigh, he typed a short message to Dad.

  ‘Sorry, dad. Took cab out of city. In New Jersey. Ran into ditch. Getting help.’ He hit Send but realized he’d forgotten the most important piece of information his dad would ask. ‘I’m fine.’

  He added a smiley face in the belief it would prevent Dad from blowing a gasket. Telling him he had wrecked a car was not a smiling matter for either of them, but he was already disappointed in himself. He didn’t need Dad to feel bad.

  If only he’d paid more attention, he’d be on the highway to the south tip of New Jersey and safety. Instead, he threw the phone in one pocket and the pistol in the other. He was now dependent on someone else to get him out of his jam.

  Usually, that was what he did for Sam.

  Before he got too far, he turned around and looked at the terrain.

  He didn’t want to forget where he’d stashed four AR-15s.

  Search for Nuclear, Astrophysical, and Kronometric Extremes (SNAKE). Red Mesa, Colorado

  Faith carried Benny’s phone into another of the unfurnished offices. She didn’t pull it out of her pocket until she was out of sight of any nosey staffers.

  His lock screen was activated but his news feed sat above it, so she was able to scroll through it. She read through a few innocuous items until she came to one that suggested a time distortion. “South Pole ice sheet adds ten feet overnight. Ocean level drops half-inch.”

  No amount of clicking made the story open up for her.

  “Dammit!” she hissed.

  The next story was also one she would have liked to read. “Statue of Liberty only half-finished.”

  Two financial headlines came up next.

  “Market falls two thousand points in one day. Shuts down.”

  The next one explained how several old companies had tried to put themselves back on the New York Stock Exchange.

  “There goes my 401(k),” she said sadly.

  Finally, she saw a story about the missing GPS satellites General Smith had mentioned. The headline gave no details, however, so she didn’t learn anything beyond what he’d already told her.

  She searched for the timestamps on the stories, but Benny’s phone only put them in order. It didn’t show the time they were published.

  I need my phone back.

  After scrolling through ten more stories, each more unbelievable than the last, she’d seen enough.

  Faith already knew SNAKE was responsible for causing the blue light, and the NORAD guys had made things worse by putting that piece of lead into the beam. What she needed to know was whether things would get better if she managed to turn the beam off completely, or if the world would continue to get worse no matter what she did.

  At least you’re safe at SNAKE, she thought before taking a moment to consider it.

  The blue beam had shot outward from her Red Mesa headquarters. No one reported any of the time weirdness inside the collider ring, so for a fleeting second, she wondered if it was safer to be where she was. She needed more data to build a more complete picture of the cause and effects.

  She had to go face the general.

  Carson City, Nevada

  The snowstorm turned into whiteout conditions as Buck drove through Carson City.

  “Hey, I didn’t realize we were already in Nevada,” Connie joked.

  “The welcome sign was probably covered in snow back up in the hills,” Buck replied. He tried to look at Fred the GPS to see if the California-Nevada border was on the screen, but the device interface was blank.

  “Oh, no, we lost the signal,” he said as he tapped the unit on the dashboard. “Lucky for us, we only take one h
ighway to get to New York. We’ll catch I-80 up in Reno and take it the rest of the way.”

  “Wow. That’s lucky, since it looks like your technology is caput.”

  “Nah. If the power goes down on my digital version, I also have the book.” He pointed to the tattered copy of the United States road atlas. “I like to be prepared.”

  “Boy Scouts?” Connie asked with interest.

  “Yep. Eagle Scout and everything.” The Boy Scout motto was “Be prepared,” and it was one of the most important directives of his life. His troop leader would be proud to see him carrying guns and ammo in hidden compartments in his truck. Buck remembered him as a hard-nosed man who had spent a career in law enforcement, but he stressed self-reliance in the boys and made no secret of the fact that he wanted to move to the mountains and live off the land when he retired. Buck hoped he had made it, if only as a reward for teaching the boys what was important.

  The Scouts were a big part of his prepper attitude and can-do spirit.

  “My son was an Eagle Scout, too. Got it when he was sixteen.”

  “Before the fumes caught him,” Buck said sensibly.

  “Fumes?” she asked.

  “Girls’ perfume and the high-octane fumes of cars. It derails many a Boy Scout on their quest to get Eagle before their eighteenth birthday.”

  She laughed. “He was a lady’s man, that’s for sure.” She stopped, then sounded concerned. “Not was. Is. Wherever he is today, I’m sure he found his filly and settled down.”

  Buck didn’t know how to answer. He knew in his heart Garth was still at home boarding up windows and filling the tubs with drinking water, but he didn’t know if he would sense if something happened to him.

  However, he was less certain about Connie’s son. The war against Saddam had been won in the first few months, but the War on Terror had dragged on for almost two decades. Who knew what her son did after that first attack? Garth was miles away, at the end of the road that was just up ahead; her son was removed by seventeen years. It made his challenge seem small.