Begin Again: A Post-Apocalyptic Adventure (End Days Book 4)

by E. E. Isherwood

  “Will do, sir.”

  Ethan went over the plan one last time, then sent them on their way. Phil and Sanchez walked down the wooded pathway rather than zig-zag through the foliage like the rest of the team.

  “So, you guys like working in Colorado?” he asked to spark conversation. It wasn’t just to be polite to his wingman; he also wanted the guards to hear them coming from a hundred yards away.

  “It’s nice for my family. Clean air, and lots of sun. My wife gets a nice tan.”

  “Sounds like heaven,” Phil replied. He didn’t have a wife to watch tan, but he could imagine what it would be like. After so many tours overseas, starting a family sounded right on point at that moment.

  “Peterson is a nice place, too. I—”

  “Halt! By order of the United States military, you are to stop and prepare to be detained!” The guard yelled it with the enthusiasm of a drill sergeant during a shark attack.

  “Stay frosty,” Phil whispered to Sanchez.

  Louder, Phil said, “I’m with the Third Ranger Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, US Army. What unit have I found?”

  There were two guards, each with M4s. One of them was already on a radio, and the other took a few steps toward Phil, weapon drawn.

  He held up his hands. “Easy. We’re friendlies.”

  “Not possible. There are no friendlies out here. You are to stop your fucking walking and wait until I tell you what to do.”

  Phil managed to get within about twenty feet, which was close enough to see the guard’s unit patch, confirm his rank, and ensure he was outfitted in official BDUs. He felt a lot better when he confirmed they weren’t dealing with terrorists or mercenaries. A real US Army sergeant would have to follow protocols, just like him.

  “We just want to go home,” Phil replied in a still-friendly voice. “I’m from New Mexico, in fact. What about you?”

  “Fuck, you don’t get it, guy? Shut your pie-hole!”

  “Well, you didn’t say I needed to be quiet. What’s going on here?”

  Sanchez shifted on his feet, and Phil got the message. His partner was nervous at his bold talk.

  Phil, however, needed to keep pressing.

  “Is there any way you could get us a lemonade while we’re waiting?” he said in a just-off-the-beach way. “I’m really parched.”

  The soldier lined up his rifle and fired a three-round burst into the pine needles at their feet.

  Fear ricocheted through Phil’s middle as if the bullets had entered his body.

  That should be enough.

  Australia

  Zandre and Destiny drove over the sand dunes near the edge of the water as they rushed to get to the Majestic. Zandre had apparently been born behind the wheel of his truck, because he seemed to know how to avoid pits and rocks as they cruised through the night.

  He went faster than she felt was safe, but all she could do was hold onto the door handle to keep from flopping around in her seat. The truck went up the short dunes, then slammed back down the far sides. Somehow the vehicle held together.

  The animals in the back complained about every hit.

  Zandre came over a final sand dune, flew about three meters off the ground, and smashed down onto hard pavement again.

  People and animals shrieked in shock and pain when the truck’s frame struck concrete. It rebounded on its tires and the driver never let off the gas, but he appeared as shaken as she was.

  “Damn, Z, where’d you learn to drive?”

  He laughed like he’d meant to do that, but he got serious when a grinding noise emerged from the engine compartment.

  “We’re well and truly fucked, Dez. This thing has had it.”

  The engine made other noises that sounded like a metal hammer was repeatedly striking an anvil.

  “We threw a rod,” he barked.

  “Are we going to— There! The docks!” She pointed to a well-lit series of boat slips. “You have to make it.” Inside, she was singing praises to the heavens that the boat docks were still in existence. The sand dunes had once been a heavily-populated neighborhood near the waterfront and next to the shipping port. Now it was gone.

  “We’re not stopping now,” he replied.

  He drove the truck across a parking lot, around some shipping containers, and underneath a giant loading crane. By the time he reached the dock’s edge, smoke billowed out from the edges of the hood.

  He parked at the base of a large blue and green ship. “The Majestic, as promised, mate,” Zandre said with celebration in his voice. “Watch your step exiting the vehicle, or you might scratch it.”

  She glared at him like she couldn’t believe he would make a joke at a time like that, but then she hopped out and ran to the back door. Zandre, however, got out and ran toward the walkway to the ship.

  “Wait!” she called out. “We need to unload the animals.”

  “Hold that thought. We want to get ourselves on board first.”

  She didn’t like that idea, since the tigers were making weird sounds in the sealed cages. However, it couldn’t hurt to make it known that they had arrived.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said to the animals inside the truck and trotted up the gangway with Zandre.

  The ship defied description. It was fifty meters long, with an enclosed bridge about ten meters off the main deck. It was shaped a lot like a fishing trawler, with a streamlined front and a low deck in back filled in with several small cranes. The main hull was painted orange, and prominently featured the kangaroo-with-a-Mohawk logo of the foundation.

  The main deck was a disorganized mess of crates, coolers, and cardboard boxes, like a flea market had fallen through a funnel and its contents had dumped everywhere on the ship.

  “What the bloody hell happened here?” she asked rhetorically.

  “Ahoy!” a man shouted from the middle deck, just below the bridge. “You guys want to chuck that latch on the gangplank? Captain says we’re pushing off.”

  Destiny thought she recognized the young man. He’d been one of the students on the recent expedition, but she couldn’t dredge up his name while also worrying about the animals down in the truck.

  “We have animals to rescue,” she replied in a determined voice. “We can unload them in fifteen minutes!”

  Deckhands came out from among the boxes and crates like rats in a garbage dump. They didn’t look at Zandre and Dez but instead got busy tossing off the ropes holding them to the pier.

  Zandre spoke quietly. “It doesn’t look like we’ll need the animals after all. What’s your play?”

  The engines rattled the deck under her feet, and it was obvious the captain wasn’t joking around. They’d made it to the ship with only minutes to spare, which was a miracle she wouldn’t forget. Yet she was also concerned about those being left behind.

  She looked over the side at the smoking truck. There might not be any time to get the animals on board, but it was still possible to jump to the gangplank and go let them out of their cages. Otherwise, they were going to die in there.

  She had only a few seconds to decide…

  Nebraska

  Buck did everything in his power not to shed any tears. It wasn’t so much a macho thing, as he didn’t want to admit his boy was dead. Despite the obvious fact that he’d been talking to a real asshole on Garth’s phone, he couldn’t quite believe anyone would shoot a couple of kids for being “mouthy.”

  He’s not dead. No fucking way.

  Connie, however, had no such qualms. She’d gotten out of her seat, wrapped herself around Buck, and sobbed for the both of them.

  “This is not happening,” he said with calm determination. The anger had burned hot when he had thrown his phone, but it had faded fast once he knew Garth’s phone had been destroyed. He didn’t want to be mad at his two close friends.

  “I’m so sorry, Buck. This isn’t how it should be.”

  He put his arm around her back to console her, but also rubbed against Big Mac. The pup
always knew when important things were afoot in the cabin, as if he could read minds. He’d come out of his sleeping area under Connie’s feet and sat on his haunches between the seats.

  “He can’t be gone,” he replied. “My boy is not fucking dead in this nightmare world.” Buck shook off the notion that maybe Garth would come back, like the religious guy said was happening to the time travelers.

  “I know,” Connie added, with more tears.

  “And neither is your son,” he said, squeezing her hard.

  “I know,” she repeated without conviction.

  Dammit. Pull yourself together, Marine.

  “Fuck!” he screamed to discharge more of his anger and guilt. Gently, he pushed Connie off and over to her seat. “This doesn’t change anything. I’m driving east until I see him alive or I see his...belongings. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked with a sniffle.

  His mission wasn’t going to change simply because some anonymous jagoff had picked up Garth’s phone and made an outrageous claim. But the mental wall holding back his emotions was in mortal danger of crumbling down if he sat and wallowed in self-doubt for another second.

  Buck started the Peterbilt.

  He bit his lips before speaking to Connie. “Let’s keep cranking out the miles.”

  Nine

  Louisville, KY

  Garth and Lydia ran out of the mall but only found more chaos. Since the police and mall watchman had stressed the urgency of the evacuation, people got into their cars and drove like the hounds of hell nipped at their heels. Screams, tire squeals, and the crunch of fenders were everywhere.

  “Where is the tacks-see, Garth?”

  Normally, when his dad took him to the mall, he didn’t pay attention to anything beyond his mobile phone screen, but since he was in charge of their ride, he had noted the name of the store at the edge of the lot so he’d know how to get back to it.

  His guide store was nowhere in sight.

  “I think we have to go to the other side.” He tried to swallow, but his throat was so dry from the rising panic that it refused. “That way,” he croaked.

  Garth jogged toward the left, and Lydia joined him a few seconds later.

  “Garth, why can’t we go back inside? Wouldn’t it be a lot shorter?”

  “Lots,” he said. “But my dad would have a conniption if he knew I went toward the sound of guns. That’s something he drilled into my brain as a way to avoid criminals in New York.” His voice turned deep to mimic his father. “If you hear shooting, run the opposite direction, son.”

  He’d not only heard gunshots but he had seen the body, so he wasn’t going back.

  They ran through an area packed with dumpsters and emerged at the front façade of one of the mall’s anchor department stores. About ten women did their best impression of a ball of yarn as they tumbled and punched each other by the glass doors of the entrance. It looked like they were fighting for their lives.

  Garth hesitated, causing Lydia to brush against his arm.

  “What is it?” she asked. “More trouble?”

  “Yeah. The place is full of it. Let’s go around them.” He directed her off the sidewalk to get them away from the violence.

  As they ran by, he figured out what it was all about. The women were tugging on upscale merchandise that must have come from the adjacent store. Footwear, purses, and whole outfits fell out of the scrum, only to be grabbed by someone else and brought back into the fight. At the same time, they snarled various low-brow obscenities his dad had instructed him never to use in the company of women. It wasn’t a fight for their lives, but they sure acted like it.

  “What is that language they’re speaking? I don’t understand those words.”

  He glanced her way. “Trust me, you don’t need to know them. Do you remember the three numbers? You should only focus on those.”

  She rattled them off to his satisfaction. He replied with his four numbers.

  “Keep running. We aren’t stopping for shit.”

  “You say such disgusting things, Garth,” she said with a labored laugh. “I do not need to use a privy.”

  Her response gave him a moment to appreciate how messed up his life had become. He was with a girl from the mid-1800s. A woman had gotten herself shot in front of him. Others fought over expensive clothing. Hell, a nuclear bomb went off in America.

  “I’ll teach you more about my language when we have the time. For now—"

  A large blue pickup truck with giant mud tires came out of an aisle and turned in front of them, catching him off-guard. Since they were in the middle of the roadway, he had to choose whether to go left or right.

  A man stuck his head out of the passenger side. “Out of the street, dumbshits!”

  He grabbed Lydia’s hand and pulled her to the left, back toward the sidewalk.

  The truck belched out black smoke as it rolled by and the driver laid on the horn, which nearly caused Garth to trip on the curb as he hopped onto the walkway.

  “Don’t run!” the passenger shouted. “No one saw you steal it!” The guy laughed like he enjoyed being in the chaotic scene. A couple of seconds later, Garth heard the man say, “Ladies, ladies, ladies,” as the truck stopped next to the fighting women.

  There was going to be trouble, but he and Lydia kept running back to the car.

  “Why are people so rude in your time?” Lydia inquired from a few paces back.

  Garth slowed down after realizing he’d been sprinting since the truck made them scramble aside. His delay allowed her to catch up.

  “These aren’t normal folk,” he replied.

  What would his dad call them? His father read books about situations exactly like this, but Garth couldn’t remember if they ever spoke about what to call people acting irrationally during a crisis. Dad’s advice usually came down to its most basic: if you get into a disaster situation and people are panicking, don’t panic.

  The people around the mall could use that advice because they were acting like chickens with their heads cut off.

  “They’re terrified,” he finally explained.

  Lydia looked around the parking lot. “But why? There is nothing to be afraid of. No stampeding buffaloes. No bad weather. No river crossing. I don’t get it.”

  “I think it is like an infection. When people get scared, they make other people scared. It spreads to everyone else like a disease. That’s why we have to get out of here to somewhere not tainted by fear.”

  He wondered if there was such a place, but before he could voice the words, he saw a woman sitting on a rock bench at the next corner of the department store.

  “Hey, wait up,” he said to Lydia before slowing to a walk. “I think she’s safe.”

  The woman held a bundle of blankets at her chest in a motherly way.

  “Safe for what?” Lydia asked.

  “You’ll see,” he said with hope.

  They walked for a few paces before the woman noticed them. He held up his hands to show he was unarmed. “We don’t want to cause trouble, but I really need to use a phone.”

  “I’m waiting for my husband. He’s a police officer.” She pointed to the parking lot as if the man had gone to get their car.

  “Excellent!” Garth replied. While he experienced unease around the officers and security guards inside the mall, the parking lot absolutely needed some more law and order.

  Garth was a few yards from her when he stopped. The woman pulled the swaddled bundle onto her bosom as if Garth was going to try to take it.

  “Please. We went into the mall to get my dad’s phone number. I only need to borrow your phone for a minute to tell him I’m okay.”

  Lydia added, “Garth is an honorable man. He and I will watch over you until your husband arrives. Would that be all right?”

  He looked at her, pleased to have her endorsement. The woman, however, didn’t seem sold.

  “My husband is close. He won’t be long.”

&nbs
p; “Can I use your phone until he arrives? Please.” He was a second from getting to his knees.

  “Fine,” the woman said as if he’d worn her down. She pulled out a phone and keyed in the password. “I’m taking it back the second I see my husband.”

  “Deal!” Garth replied.

  He took the phone and repeated those four numbers a few more times, to be sure. After Lydia repeated her three numbers, he had the whole thing.

  “Let’s do this,” he said as he dialed Buck.

  While the phone rang, he barely noticed the tornado sirens in the distance.

  I-80, Nebraska

  Buck was back on the road, but his heart was gone. It had fallen out of the truck and got run over by all eighteen wheels a few miles back. The asshole on Garth’s phone seemed legitimate about killing his son, although he wasn’t going to accept it until he saw his son’s body. However, it took away all his enthusiasm about heading east.

  Connie never took her hand off his thigh. She continued her effort to comfort him. He said nothing, but it meant a lot to experience her caring touch even though he wasn’t in the mood to talk about it.

  Big Mac also sensed his mood, and he sat between the front seats. Every once in a while, he would paw at Buck’s leg as if to mimic the care Connie gave him.

  Eventually, he had to recognize it. “You’re a good boy.”

  Belatedly, Buck looked at Connie. “Thank you for being here for me. I want to say something, but I’m so angry and so sad—I really don’t know what needs to be said.”

  “You don’t have to say anything, darlin’. I feel the pain you’re going through. I’ve been fighting that feeling since I arrived. The worst part is not knowing.”

  Buck attacked the steering wheel like he was choking the life out of it. “I know those bastards were lying! You’ll see.”

  “I know,” she replied softly.

  It was hard to tell if she really believed him, but, to be fair, he couldn’t say for sure he believed himself. The last half-hour had seemed like a living nightmare, and he prayed he would wake up before it got any worse.

  Buck almost snapped his seatbelt when his phone rang again.