Riker's Apocalypse (Book 3): The Precipice

by Chesser, Shawn

The map was actually a blueprint. A little more scrutiny told Tara she was looking at plans for a subterranean structure. There were eight sheets in total. Each sheet was labeled LAZARUS at the top and roughly the size of the desktop—maybe three feet by five. Underneath the stack of plans, she found a pair of topographical maps. A to-scale overhead of Trinity House was located centrally on the first map. The circular patch of ground Tara had been working on getting cleared was also depicted. And once again Lee had been right: The crisply drawn circle sprouting well-defined paths to the southwest and northeast was labeled HELIPAD.

  She said, “The agent didn’t mention any of this, either,” then moved the top page aside. The second topo-map was of the land behind Trinity House. When both topo-maps were aligned, the path shot northeast from Trinity House, then followed a perfect diagonal tack that took it through the helipad and all the way to a to-scale overhead shot of the bunker on the blueprints.

  Holy shit, thought Tara, I hope these plans are more than someone’s pipe dream. Then her stomach churned at the notion that a former owner of Trinity House may now be calling this Lazarus place home.

  Rose had been powering on the monitors. Displayed on the slightly rounded screens were color images piped in from the perimeter cameras. Turning to Tara, she said, “Check this out. These are showing the same camera views as the monitors upstairs. There’s a bank of radios, too.” In her hand was one of the books taken from the shelf. “Ever heard of Jerry Ahern?”

  Tara took the book from Rose. “The Survivalist,” she said, turning it over in her hand. “Now we know where Mr. Nuclear Bomb got his inspiration.” She tapped a finger on the plans. “I think this little hideout of his is just the tip of the iceberg. If this Lazarus place is real, our man was keeping some mighty big secrets from his next of kin who inherited the place.”

  Chapter 31

  The Lins’ home was a two-story McMansion positioned at the end of the cul-de-sac. It was the largest of the four homes crowding the turnaround. The main body of the house was a vibrant shade of orange. The trim and shutters were mustard-yellow. Capping it all off was a multi-pitched red-tile roof. Riker got the notion the person who’d chosen the color scheme was a fan of desert sunsets.

  A long run of stairs led to the wide front porch. The porch was cluttered with bagged copies of the Santa Fe New Mexican and, like Lia’s tiny porch, bore the same thin layer of dust.

  Standing before the oak front door, Lia lifted the lid to the mailbox. “There’s nothing to bring in,” she declared. “What now?”

  Riker and Benny were to the right of the door and searching for a seam in the shades behind the huge picture window.

  Benny said, “I got nothing. Curtains are drawn tight.”

  Riker approached Lia. “You think they keep guns?”

  Lia said, “How would I know?”

  Riker said, “The Lins are Asian, right?”

  She nodded. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  Ignoring the question, he said, “And you said they’re Mormon.”

  Lia planted her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  Benny said, “What are you getting at, Lee?”

  Riker asked, “Are they well off financially?”

  Lia shook her head, slowly, side to side. Her high ponytail kept pace, nearly whipping Benny in the face. After giving the last question some thought, she said, “I don’t know. Never really gave it any thought. They do own a couple of restaurants as well as a small bubble-tea shop.” She made a sweeping gesture with both arms. “Look at the house. The Mercedes SUV. Eve’s Jaguar. Plus, the oldest son drives a nearly new Audi.” She nodded, exclaiming: “They’re rich.”

  Riker said, “They have guns. Key please,” and made a gimme motion with one hand. Clutched in his other hand was the Sig Legion. Just in case someone was home and willing to defend their castle, he had the pistol pressed tight to his right leg. If that came to pass, better to talk their way off the porch than the alternative.

  Lia took a step back from the door. “Isn’t this considered breaking and entering?”

  Flashing a pained smile, Riker said, “When’s the last time you saw a cop?”

  She said, “You have a point.”

  Benny asked, “Do they have any pets?”

  Lia nodded. “As far as I know, just fish. Since I wasn’t coming back before they left town, a neighbor kid was supposed to be feeding them.”

  “If a cop comes,” Riker said, “we are conducting a welfare check.” He regarded Lia. “You were given a key, right?”

  Lia shot him a You think I’m stupid, don’t you? look. She said, “Don’t you think we should at least knock? Make sure nobody is home before we go snooping around inside their house?”

  Riker flashed her a thumbs-up. “Great minds. That was my next move.” For good measure, given the picture window to his right, he hid the hand holding the pistol behind his back. Putting on a fake smile, he pounded on the door with a closed fist.

  Nothing.

  Staring at one another, they stood back from the door and listened hard for a long five-count.

  “One more time,” Lia insisted.

  Riker shrugged, then knocked again.

  Another five seconds passed.

  Still nothing.

  After stowing Lia’s bags and rifle case in the Shelby, Riker had driven the truck down the block, swung a wide three-sixty in the cul-de-sac, and parked it in the narrowest spot in the road, leaving its grille facing the EarthRoamer, which was still parked on the corner a block distant.

  Lifting the radio to his mouth, Riker said, “Shorty, Steve-O … whatcha got?”

  “This is Shorty. Just a couple of nosy biters coming at us from the north. Nothing we can’t handle.”

  “Copy,” Riker said. “We’re conducting a … a welfare check on one of Lia’s neighbors.”

  Shorty chuckled at that. He said, “Yeah, that’s the ticket. Have you met my wife, Morgan Fairchild?”

  Lia said, “Old Saturday Night Live. Jon Levitz, I think.”

  Oh yeah, Riker thought, you and Tara are going to get along just fine. Speaking into the radio, he said, “We’re going in. Watch our backs.” Before signing off, he told Shorty to roll the radio to the next agreed-upon channel, then did the same with his radio.

  Lia said, “Why do that?”

  Benny said, “He’s paranoid. Thinks someone could be listening.”

  Shooting Benny an icy look, Riker said, “It’s a brave new world, my friend.”

  Lia said, “Aldous Huxley.” When Riker didn’t respond, she handed him the key. “How is your sister going to get in touch with you if the radios are on different channels?”

  Riker turned the key in the lock. Success. Half expecting an alarm to begin wailing somewhere inside the house, he nudged the door open with his toe.

  When no noise erupted from within, he said, “We’re still out of range. I’ll roll it back when we get closer to Trinity.” Leaning in close, he whispered, “Your voice is familiar. Best if you do the talking.”

  The tiled foyer had a sunburst motif. An empty coat tree stood in the corner on the right. A pair of Spiderman galoshes sat on the floor under the coat tree. A stairway on the left went up to a landing, then curled to the right.

  Glock in hand, Benny squeezed past Riker and Lia and took up station at the base of the stairs.

  One foot in the door, Lia called, “Eve, Jim. It’s Amelia. Hellooo … anybody home?” She looked to Riker for a prompt.

  “Call for the kids.”

  Benny sniffed the air in the stairwell. “Anyone else smell that?”

  While Lia called out the kids’ names, Riker edged closer to Benny.

  “Damn it,” whispered Riker. “Something died in here.”

  Benny said, “Think it’s the fish?”

  Riker shrugged. Starting up the stairs, he said, “Let’s find out.” Turning back to Lia, he added, “Close the door and lock it. We’ll stick together.”

  Bars
of afternoon sun lanced through a square window high up on the wall. It illuminated the stairs all the way to the second story.

  The run came to a T at a hall whose walls were adorned with photos of the Lin family. There were vacation pictures, formal school portraits, shots of Jim and Eve’s wedding, and what appeared to be their honeymoon in a tropical locale.

  Benny pointed to his left. At the end of the hall was a door plastered with pictures of Disney princesses. The stench was coming from that room.

  Leveling the Sig at the distant door, Riker said, “I hate it when kids turn zombie.”

  Benny said, “I hate to be a grammar Nazi, but shouldn’t it be … I hate it when kids turn into zombies?”

  Lia hissed, “Who gives a shit? I want to get out of here.”

  Riker said, “Screw it,” and walked down the hall, the stink growing stronger with each footstep. Along the way, he bypassed three other doors, all closed, and a hall that branched off toward the other side of the house, where he guessed the master suite was located.

  At the end of the long hall, Riker planted his left hand on Cinderella’s face and nudged the door open. After a quick turkey-peek around the door’s edge, he retreated back down the hall.

  Lia called, “It’s Mary, isn’t it?”

  Benny said, “Please tell me it’s only the fish.”

  “Neither,” said Riker. “Mary had a couple of guinea pigs. That’s what we’re smelling.”

  “Good thing they had someone else feeding them,” stated Lia. “I can’t stand rodents.”

  Riker said, “Well, they dropped the ball. Poor things.”

  They banged on the other doors and listened hard before entering. The first two rooms were filled with boys’ stuff: video game systems hooked to big-screen televisions. Both had a desk on which sat an Apple laptop and printer. The oldest boy’s wall was home to posters of teen divas. Shelves lined every wall in the youngest boy’s room. On the shelves were all kinds of figurines: Star Wars characters, Marvel superheroes, Funko bobbleheads, and a couple of hundred Pokémon miniatures.

  The beds in the rooms were made up.

  The lack of cold-weather clothes in the closets and drawers led Riker to believe the family had indeed packed for a trip to Chicago. Whether they actually made it to the airport was a separate unanswered question.

  Behind door number three was a home office. The only thing in there on Riker’s list was a couple of Costco-sized packages of batteries. On the wall, above framed certificates of learning, was a beautiful Katana sword.

  Benny had taken the sword and scabbard off the wall and was inspecting them when Lia said, “We’re here for food. And guns, I guess. We take only the things the Lins can replace if they ever come back from Chicago.”

  Benny put the sword and scabbard back where he found them. Finished, he said, “Fine. But I don’t think they’re ever coming home.”

  Riker said, “I think he’s right. Shorty couldn’t get anywhere near downtown when he went looking for his boy, Matt.”

  “Still,” Lia said. “The Lins were real nice people. We take what we need. Leave the rest.”

  “She’s right,” Riker said. “If they have guns, we’ll find them in the master or in the garage.”

  The master bedroom was meticulous, the bedding taut across the king bed.

  They found a gun safe in the master walk-in closet.

  Riker marveled at the square footage set aside for clothes and shoes. The walk-in eclipsed any bedroom he had ever called his own—at least up until he and Tara had moved into Trinity.

  The safe wasn’t one of the high-dollar items that weighed several hundred pounds and could survive anything you threw at it. It was the kind with an extremely low fire rating, likely secured to the joists with lag bolts. He guessed the safe’s main purpose was to keep the guns out of the kids’ hands.

  Wishing he had also grabbed the firefighting tool when he took the Jaws of Life from the engine, Riker led the others downstairs to find the pantry and to check the garage for a crowbar or another tool suitable for breaching the safe.

  They found the aquarium in the kitchen. It was a saltwater item, the heaters and pumps no longer doing their thing. The tropical fish were now a technicolor mess, rotting away at the bottom of the tank amongst a forest of stark white coral.

  The pantry was off the kitchen. It held what looked like a year’s worth of food. While Benny and Lia transferred everything into two-ply garbage bags, Riker ventured into the garage.

  The garage was stuffed with toys. There was a Harley Davidson Electra Glide in the far stall—all black, the chrome gleaming even in the garage’s gloomy interior. A Mercedes AMG roadster took up the near stall. Its top had been left in the down position, which put the red leather interior on full display. It must have been brand new because the instant Riker had opened the door to the garage the new-car-smell hit him full in the face.

  Bikes hung from the ceiling above the Harley. Behind the big touring motorcycle was a workbench and a pair of rolling toolboxes. A quick search produced the tools Riker was looking for.

  Entering the kitchen, crowbar, flat-blade screwdriver, and ten-pound sledgehammer in hand, he said, “Put the food in the Shelby and wait for me.” He tossed the key fob at the pair, then hustled down the hall toward the stairway. Pausing at the front door, he stole a peek at the cul-de-sac through the peephole.

  Nothing had changed. The Shelby was parked at the mouth of the turnaround. Beyond the Shelby, kitty-corner from Lia’s house, the EarthRoamer threw a long shadow up the street.

  One minute after entering the walk-in closet, parting the curtain of Adidas tracksuits, and slipping the flat edge of the crowbar behind the wall-mounted gun safe, Riker had it off the wall and in the center of the bedroom, where he was going to town on it with all the fervor of a fat kid trying to crack a piñata.

  A sheen of sweat was beading on Riker’s forehead and all of the muscles in his hands and arms were burning when a seam finally appeared between the safe’s door and its main body. He worked the crowbar deeper into the narrow opening and put his right knee on the door a foot below the seam. He strained, throwing all his weight on the crowbar, and something finally gave.

  There was a loud groan as the seam opened up another inch. Deciding to give it one more try, he adjusted his grip on the tool and repeated the process, this time bouncing up and down, all of his weight on the very end of the crowbar.

  The sound of metal properties being irrevocably altered was followed by a loud pop as one of the two internal latches gave way. Now that several inches of the door had separated from the inside channel, he could see some of the contents. There were a couple of rifles in the shadowy interior. Above the rifles was a shelf containing a pair of pistols, a half-dozen different-sized magazines, and several boxes of ammunition whose calibers he couldn’t discern.

  With the hole opened up wide enough to accept his arm all the way to the elbow, he reached inside and removed everything from the shelf. Finished stuffing the items into an Adidas gym bag he’d found in the closet, he tilted the safe up on one end and shook it until the rifle muzzles appeared in the opening.

  Threading the shotgun and AR-15 through the opening was an exercise in patience.

  By the time Riker was leaving the home with the weighted-down bag in one hand and the shotgun and AR slung over one shoulder, Benny and Lia were waiting inside the Shelby and less than ten minutes had elapsed.

  As Riker was stashing the Adidas bag and weapons in the bed alongside the bulging trash bags, Steve-O delivered an ominous message over the radio.

  Chapter 32

  The moment Riker heard Steve-O say, “The kids are back and they brought friends,” his gut clenched. Not because he was scared, though; it was the block of separation between his position and Shorty’s EarthRoamer that troubled him.

  As he dragged the liberated AR back out into the light, he was already thumbing the Talk button. “Can you guys close the distance to us?”


  Steve-O said, “Shorty says he’s on it. He also said this time we are going to have to shoot first and ask questions later. Is that true, Lee Riker?”

  “I’m afraid Shorty is right, Steve-O. You keep your head down. You hear?”

  Steve-O said, “Yeppers,” then added, “sure wish I had the Mosquito.”

  “Just listen to Shorty. Do what he says.” Riker banged on the tonneau, shouted, “Get out and gun up!” and dropped the radio into his pocket. Looking toward the main road, he saw that Shorty had already performed a J-turn. The EarthRoamer’s brake lights flared red for a second, then went dim when the white backup lights snapped on.

  Doors opened and closed and the others joined Riker at the Shelby’s open tailgate. While the slab-sided pickup offered both concealment and cover, if the kids and their friends were armed for bear—as Riker feared they were—it wouldn’t provide the three of them nearly enough of the latter.

  A play-by-play of what was happening down the street emanated from the radio in Riker’s pocket. Steve-O said, “They are shooting at us.” There was a break in the transmission. A tick later, when the connection was re-established, engine noise and Shorty cussing at the shooters came out of the speaker. In the next beat, a pair of loud booms overrode everything.

  Seeing the Glock in Benny’s fist, Riker instructed him to go back into the cab and fetch for him the F4 Defense Small Frame AR-10 he’d purchased at the gun store in Florida. The Leupold scope atop the carbine was already zeroed in. And while Riker had been doing his best to conserve ammo, he’d practiced with the rifle enough to know that, if push came to shove, he could put on target most, if not all thirty of the .308 Win rounds in the F4’s magazine.

  Riker looked up long enough to see that Shorty had stopped the EarthRoamer a few yards from the T with its wide rear end facing the cul-de-sac. The driver-side door was open. Shorty had one foot on the running board and a knee planted on the door’s elbow rest. His upper body was in the pinch point between the door and A-pillar, with the Shockwave horizontal to the hood and belching fire at something up the street.