After the Shift: The Complete Series

by Grace Hamilton

  “The crust shifted? Is that even possible?” Nathan asked once he’d torn his eyes away from Cyndi’s.

  Randal shook his head. “We thought not. But we just don’t know. Crazy guy back in the 50s, Hapgood, wrote a book about his Crustal Displacement Theory…”

  David interrupted, “Well, really, the theory was from the 1850s, when another crazy guy called Adhemar…”

  Randal rolled his eyes. “Anyway, however you slice it, they were both crazy. Their theories stated that too much ice building up at the poles could cause the crust to shift—to literally slide around the mantle, the layer beneath the crust—and cause the Polar Regions to shift. It’s garbage because, a) The ice is reducing, not increasing because of global warming, and b) plate tectonics just don’t work like that.”

  Tony’s face was a picture of incredulity; all it would take now would be for a dinosaur to stick its head through the window and he’d be in kid heaven. Nathan picked up and cuddled his son, who wriggled in his lap to make sure both ears were on the pair of scientists.

  David took up the explanations. “But here’s the thing. Few years back, NASA discovered that the tilt of the Earth is affected by how much water there is in the deep aquifers along the 44th parallel. They found there was less water there than they expected—maybe due to global warming, they’re not sure—but maybe, and this is pure speculation, there’s been another huge loss of water. That destabilized the crust and caused it to slip and slide to a new position. Took about eight years, but here we are. It would explain the earthquakes, volcanoes, and the Atlantic freezing as far down as Florida.”

  “It sounds utterly insane,” Nathan said, shaking his head.

  “Tell us about it,” said Randal. “We’re the poor suckers who are going to have to write about it one day. In a hundred years, there will be two scientists sitting in a trailer telling everyone that our theories are just as crazy as Hapgood’s.”

  “Can it go back? Back to how it was?” Lucy’s face was full of genuine concern. She leaned forward on the edge of the bed where Freeson lay. Her eyes seemingly pleading with Randal and David to tell her everything was going to be okay.

  “We really can’t say. Now we’re out of the loop, we don’t know what the current theories are. We were in Anchorage arranging tests, but the earthquakes and new volcanoes made it impossible to stay. Everyone headed south. Last we heard, they were evacuating everyone from Alaska into Canada, or across the sea to Russia and China.”

  The Airstream fell silent, except for Lucy’s gentle crying. “This isn’t going to get back to normality any time soon, is it?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with tears.

  “Tell them,” Steven commanded quietly.

  David and Randal exchanged glances again, as if neither of them wanted to say it. So, sighing, the older man began. “Okay,” said Steven, “before the government had to give up on research up in Alaska, and the northern Canadian wilderness, they had enough modeling to suggest this is the big one.”

  “The Big Winter?” Nathan asked after a moment, concerned that he’d missed something important.

  “No. Not the Big Winter,” Steven corrected him tiredly. “That’s just a symptom, not the disease. The illness… well… the feeling is that it’s terminal. This might lead towards the end of everything. This might be the extinction event.”

  12

  “Who left you guys in charge of optimism?”

  Everyone looked at Freeson, who had lifted his head off the bed and was comforting the gently sobbing Lucy, their roles reversed. The irony of the behavior wasn’t lost on Nathan, who clamped his mouth shut.

  Steven gave a bitter smile. “We’re only telling you what the government isn’t, guys. We’re telling as many people as we meet. We’re heading south. Once we get out of the U.S., and across Mexico, we’re thinking Brazil might give us a few years’ grace. But we just don’t know.”

  “We’re heading to Detroit, on the word of a friend who’s there,” Nathan said, hoping for some affirmation from Steven.

  “We don’t know anything about Detroit. We’ve been avoiding cities since leaving Toronto. Most of them are burning and empty now. We’re staying away from the obvious routes, too. Especially after our run-in with the Seven-Ones.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Nathan saw Syd stiffen and her eyes bulge.

  She’d be a terrible poker player.

  “The who?” asked Cyndi.

  “A gang,” Beryl said. “We only just made it through Niagara. They ride fast and hard on Ski-Doos. They catch you, they…”

  She broke off, eyeing Tony, who was still on Nathan’s lap. Nathan caught the idea that she was about to say some stuff that might not be good for him. Nathan lifted the boy back onto his feet, and said, “Hey, why don’t you and Mom go take Saber out to do her business, and I can fill Mom in on all this boring adult stuff when you get back?”

  Tony nodded vigorously. “Okay, Dad.”

  Cyndi started putting on her jacket and passed Tony his coat and scarf to wrap around his throat and mouth. “Good plan, Nate,” she said, and smiled. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes for the adult stuff, and then we’ll be back, okay?”

  Beryl nodded and gave a half-smile.

  Cyndi, Tony, and Saber jumped down from the Airstream’s open door and Beryl continued as it was pushed closed. “The Seven-Ones. They catch you, they… kill you, take your stuff, and…” the words died in her throat again. Now it seemed they’d trailed off because of the distressing thoughts Nathan saw backing up behind her eyes. It wasn’t just Tony’s sensitive ears that had obstructed her recounting the things they’d been through.

  “They carve Seven-One in the foreheads of those they’ve killed; it’s a kind of sick calling card,” Mary said, disgust running through her words like infected veins of sickness. “We’ve found three burned out settlements already, and a road train like yours attacked, looted, with everyone murdered. That’s why we’re staying off the roads, traveling light on skis cross-country. It’s why we didn’t come out on you straight away from the woods. Wanted to make sure you weren’t a honey trap.”

  Nathan took this in and it opened up a well of fear in him. The news they were more vulnerable to attack on the road was a hard notion to fit into his head. “We’ve had three run-ins with Ski-Doo gangs already. Managed to get away.” He reached for a positive, but it came out unconvincingly weak. “I don’t think they’ve been tracking us.”

  “There hasn’t been a pattern to what we’ve seen,” Steven said, draining his coffee, “and other than Niagara, when we tried to stop them ransacking homes and killing folks, we haven’t run into them again. We lost them in the forest. Best to stay in places where the Ski-Doos can’t travel easily, and they don’t like to travel without them. I guess they’re not really country folk. City kids who’ve learned to ride Ski-Doos but don’t know much else, I reckon. But they’re out there. If you’re already on the lookout for them, you can defend yourself; at least forewarned is forearmed.”

  The Reynolds slept the night in the Airstream with Lucy and Freeson while Nathan and the others got snug in the crew cab of the Dodge.

  Nathan checked the Toyota over before the night settled in, thinking hard about what Steven had said. The vehicle was beat up underneath, but it was serviceable, and started the first time Nathan tried it. The tire pressures were good and the supplies of fuel under the plastic sheeting in the back had been well strapped down by Freeson, so that they hadn’t shifted.

  The Reynolds’ news—both about the global situation and the particular news about the Seven-One gang—was difficult to process. How could Nathan be expected to save his family from the gangs on their Ski-Doos while at the same time just keeping them alive long enough to experience whatever this was, even if it was the end of the world?

  What was the point of anything? This dark dose of ennui and nihilism dropped away into his internal abyss like the Land Cruiser had tried heading into the hole in the bridge.

 
What pipes and broken concrete in his soul were holding up Nathan, though? Who would winch him out of this hole?

  While the others slept, Nathan spent much of the night awake as his family, Syd, and Saber snuggled around him. Sleep finally caught up with him in the small hours of the morning, but he dreamed of avalanches, falling trees, and cherry-red erupting volcanoes.

  He woke up mostly unrested. Cyndi had already let herself out of the crew cab to go to the Airstream for ablutions. Syd and Tony were stirring, but not yet fully awake.

  Nathan hauled himself out of the truck, the cold air cutting through him but freshening him fully awake. The Reynolds were already lining up outside the Airstream, zipping up their camouflage jackets, putting their guns over their shoulders, and pulling on their balaclavas.

  “Thank you for your hospitality, Nate. Sorry we couldn’t bring you better news,” Steven said, holding out his hand. Nathan shook it, for a moment not knowing how to respond.

  In the end, he just shrugged and said, “It’s better that we know instead of not knowing. And you’re welcome. I guess you guys are heading south now?”

  Steven nodded his head. “We have to go collect our skis and other equipment from up there where we left them in the woods, but yes, we’ll be on our way. If I might offer you some advice?”

  “Shoot.”

  “We think the Seven-Ones are going for the low-hanging fruit: settlements that are staying put but poorly defended and the like. We think they’re patrolling the highways where they can, figuring that’s where people are mostly likely to travel.”

  That made sense—it’s where they’d attacked Lucy and her limo.

  “We suggest you stay off the highway as best you can if you’re still intent on traveling to Detroit. Take the road least traveled. It might keep you off their radar.”

  “Thanks,” he answered. “Sounds like good advice.”

  The Reynolds made their goodbyes with hugs and handshakes, and then Nathan watched as they trudged back into the trees to get their equipment.

  Cyndi turned to Nathan immediately. “We’ve got more of a chance getting to Detroit more quickly than we have getting to Mexico.”

  “I’m not thinking of going to Mexico. Or Brazil or anywhere else but Detroit. It’s okay.”

  Cyndi put her hands on Nathan’s shoulders and looked hard into his eyes. “You forget I know you, Nathan. I know that look on your face. They’ve rattled you. And me, I admit. But I want that hospital, and I want that school. Beryl gave me an exam this morning when I told her I was pregnant, and she said everything’s fine. But the longer we’re on the road with the stress that can cause, the more chance I have of the pre-eclampsia returning. I want to be in Detroit if that happens. In a few weeks, Nate, I’m gonna be four months pregnant. I want to be in a warm house, knowing Tony’s being educated and you’re learning to grow vegetables.”

  “Okay…” Nathan shuffled his feet and tried to articulate the fear he was feeling, his worries about their future. But there were no good words for him to use. Cyndi was the articulate and pragmatic one, so he just boiled it down to as few words as he could. “It’s just… the gang…”

  “Hold on; you’re wavering on Detroit again?” There was a mixture of irritation and frustration in her voice.

  “No. No, it’s… now we know more about the gang, and we know they’re working out here… I’m just…”

  “The gang hasn’t been on our trail; you know that. We were two days at Marty’s and we saw no one. Everyone is going south. We’re going west. I figure the Seven-Ones are trying to catch up with those folks, moving on commonly traveled lines. They won’t be bothered with outliers like us.”

  Nathan knew her logic was sound. He hated himself for vacillating and wavering. If Dad were here, he’d have given me a good shake, and I deserve it.

  Cyndi rubbed at his cheek with her hand, softening. “Look at you. No coat again. Your cheeks are blue, you’ve got frost in your eyebrows, and your nipples are sticking out like rivets!” As if to underline the statement, Cyndi reached up and twisted Nathan’s left nipple hard.

  “Owww!”

  “Get back to the wrecker and get your coat! That’s an order, soldier.”

  Rubbing the sore nub of flesh on his chest and scowling back over his shoulder at Cyndi, Nathan crunched back towards the Dodge.

  As he approached, he saw that the passenger side door was slightly ajar and heated voices were coming from within. Syd and Tony were having a low-voiced argument.

  “But I don’t want you to go!” Tony was saying, the whine in his voice familiar—it was Tony’s emotional blackmail tone. “You’re my only friend!”

  Nathan could tell his son was on the verge of tears, and he had to check the paternal instinct to throw open the cab door and barrel in to protect his son. Nevertheless, Syd’s reply stilled his hand. He threw a look back to Cyndi to see if she was watching his progress on getting his coat. She’d already gone back into the trailer. Nathan pretended to be looking into one of the day provision rucksacks, but bent his ear closer to the door. Syd was trying to placate Tony now. “I’m not going unless I have to. But if the Seven-Ones turn up, I’m going to have to go, and I’m not going to be able to take Saber with me. I need you to promise that you’ll look after her. Tony, I’m depending on you.”

  “I’m gonna tell my dad on you!”

  “Please, Tony, don’t. I don’t want your parents to know this. You’ve got to help me, Tony! Dude, I’m giving you my dog, and it’s only if I have to get out of here in an instant. If I stay here, and the Seven-Ones come, you and your family are in much more danger than you would be if I wasn’t here. Believe me!”

  Saber barked like she was trying to persuade Tony, too. “You think I wanna leave my dog behind?” Syd added.

  “No.”

  “There ya go then. It’s because I trust you to look after her that I will.”

  “Okay,” Tony answered quietly.

  “So, you’ll do it?”

  There was a silent pause, and Nathan could almost hear the cogs whirring in his son’s mind. And then the boy said, “Yes.”

  “And you won’t tell your dad or your mom that the Seven-Ones are after me? Because if you do, I’ll have to go right now. Right this second. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Spit.”

  Nathan heard them both spitting into their palms, and the wet slap as their palms met.

  He waited another thirty seconds before he opened the door to ensure that they didn’t think he’d overheard them. If he just blundered in, then Syd would be gone in a flash and his son would be bereft, losing the bond that he’d made with the wayward wild child.

  With that thought, Nathan had to admit to himself that he didn’t want to lose her, either.

  The Toyota slowed, and Nathan did the same as he followed behind in the wrecker, gently applying the brakes. Cyndi was driving the Land Cruiser and Nathan wished there was a CB in it, too, so that he could see what had caused her to roll to a stop.

  They’d just passed a track going off at right angles to the one-lane rural road they’d been traveling on. For the last three hours, since turning around and heading away from the broken bridge, they’d taken Steven’s advice to ride non-highways. At least until they were near enough to Detroit, that’s how it would be until they could make a break for it and roll in as fast as they could over the snow.

  They were in a region of Pennsylvania, south of Lake Erie, that was deeply wooded. The towns like Olean and Salamanca, as well as many farmsteads they passed, had been dark, burned out, and dead. The only evidence of another vehicle they’d seen all day had been the high contrail of a jet flying through the ash gray sky. It must have been a military jet, as commercial jets that flew that high had all been grounded since the plumes of volcanic ash had been pumped into the sky from the west of the country. The ash would clog any engines that hadn’t been properly converted and shielded. Small prop planes could still fly if they stayed low, bu
t the ice storms moving with savage regularity across the sky had put an end to any regular services.

  Cyndi got out of the Land Cruiser and pointed down the spur that they were just about to pass.

  From behind Nathan in the crew cab, Freeson lifted his horrifically bruised forehead and asked, “Everything okay?”

  Lucy, in whose lap that purple, yellow, overripe head had been resting until the Dodge had jounced to a halt, soothed Freeson’s hair and told him to rest. Syd followed Nathan out of the truck, jumping down into the crisp, undisturbed snow and taking the safety off her Glock as she did so.

  Nathan looked to where Cyndi pointed; maybe a hundred yards down the spur road, which was dark from tree branches meeting overhead, was the unmistakable, chunky blue and gold form of the latest model Ford Police Utility Interceptor. It was parked diagonally across the road, its back end pointing towards them, with the nose, and more importantly, driver’s seats too far around to see into.

  Nathan hadn’t seen a police car in a long while. “What do you think?” he asked Cyndi.

  “Leave them,” answered Syd.

  Nathan and Cyndi both narrowed their eyes at Syd and she shrugged. “Just offering an opinion, guys. If it walks like a trap, barks like a trap, and craps like a trap… it’s a trap.”

  “She might have a point,” Nathan conceded.

  “And they might have news about Seven-One activity in the area. They might be able to tell us the best routes through here to Detroit. They might have set up a roadblock because of the Seven-Ones, Nathan. Or they might be in trouble. Any of the above tells me we should go take a look.”

  “Okay,” Nathan said, “I’ll go and check the lay of the land.”

  “Oh no you won’t,” Cyndi said, handing him an AR-15 from the Land Cruiser. “You shoot like a bitch, honey. I’m coming with you.”

  Cyndi was right, and Nathan knew it. Shooting was not his forte at the best of times, and she was a great shot. His AR-15 would just be for show, while hers would be the one that made a difference.