The Dying Time (Book 1): Impact Page 19

  There were thousands, of survivors combing the wreckage of their world, searching for missing loved ones, or just looking for food and shelter, but in Denver, only the furtive still ran loose.

  The dozen left in Chad’s group were singles with no local family, no close attachments; the kind who gravitated toward the graveyard shift. Most of them had been his friends at work. Now they all looked to him to keep them alive. It wasn’t fair!

  “Think they’ll come this way?” Josh wouldn’t leave it alone.

  “No, Josh. I’m psychic. They won’t come here and they weren’t shooting at any of our colleagues. Okay?”

  Josh’s face crumpled.

  Bloody hell! He hadn’t meant to explode. It just happened. Liverpool dockside upbringing leaping to the fore again.

  “Sorry,” they both said at the same time. Both grinned and shook their heads, like mirror images.

  “I believe we need to foray at night,” Chad offered. “And we need to find guns as well as food.” He’d never fired a gun in his life but he’d be damned if he’d be shot at without returning in kind.

  *

  Edwards

  “God, it’s good to be back,” Carl said. He swung his arms around and rubbed his hands together for warmth.

  General Roland Mabry agreed. Compared to what they had seen fleeing the fires and enduring the snow, this burned out shell of a building was paradise. “Okay men, let’s get to work. We need the holes patched, the wiring repaired, and the generators reinstalled. After that I want the computers hooked up.”

  Soon, the place looked like a beehive stirred up by a bear. Raoul and Ariel supervised installation of the most sensitive equipment. Sara, having long since taken over as the units doctor, treated injuries ranging from burns and broken bones to frostbite.

  Two weeks after they started, the building was a haven of warmth and security in a cold, dangerous world--a world where the sharp, ugly edges of a broken and ruined civilization hid under a soft white blanket of fresh snow.

  *

  Beverly Hills

  “Father?”

  King Joseph Scarlatti closed “Power Plant Systems” and set it down. His tastes in reading material still ran to the classics but practicality prevailed. “Come in,” he said.

  “I’ve found it!” Anthony announced with glittering eyes.

  Joey bolted to his feet. “Where!”

  “You’re going to love this, Father dear.” He paused just for an instant, enjoying his triumph over his twin brother John. “Edwards.”

  A puzzled expression crossed Joey’s face. “I thought that was one of the first places we checked?”

  “It was one of the places John checked, Father.” Anthony didn’t add anything more. He didn’t have to. Joseph was aware of the competition between his sons and encouraged it. The fact that John had fouled up on something this important was the icing on Anthony’s cake.

  “Very good, Tony,” Joseph said with a broad smile. He bestowed compliments less often than he spared his enemies, so Tony basked in the moment before adding, “There’s more.”

  “Go on.”

  “The launch facility is guarded by at least a battalion of regular army troops and they’re well armed and dug in.”

  “Shit!” Joseph swore. He’d been looking for the Sunflower control facility ever since Carswell told him about it, but of the likely candidates the Jet Propulsion Lab was gone, destroyed by an earthquake and a tsunami. Lawrence Livermore had burned to a cinder. And every military base from Coronado to Vandenburg, except Pendleton, now lay in abandoned ruins.

  Anthony showed Joseph some Polaroids taken by their scouts. He was right. This had to be the place. Nothing else he could think of could possibly be important enough to keep a battalion of troops together through times like these. And even if this wasn’t Sunflower, it was obviously something important, something he needed to control.

  “Get John, Jamal and Carswell in here immediately. We need to plan our attack.”

  As Anthony showed himself out Joey paced the room like a caged tiger. Twenty-thousand men in his army and it was likely that not one of them knew computers well enough to control a space-based weapon. Damn! Have to be careful how we take it. With that laser he could rule the Earth.

  He looked again at a photograph of the launch control building. This had to be the place. It had to be.

  He pulled aside a curtain and stared out at the blowing snow. Not even this miserable damned weather would keep him from taking that place.

  *

  Lola MaDonna shivered in the shelter of a small abandoned house. The cold prompted her to draw her mink coat tighter around her. She wanted a fire, but she was afraid. She’d lived in fear, mind-numbing fear, ever since the night shoot.

  Gangs of hoodlums and thugs roamed the city. Everyone but her was armed and more than ready to shoot on sight. What had happened to people? Had they no decency? They’re starving and empty bellies trump decency, she answered herself.

  She hadn’t eaten in two days, not since Will Benton and his wife, Clarissa left to hunt food. Maybe they had found some and decided to ditch her, decided not to share. No! What was wrong with her? Their daughter, Patricia, or Trish as she preferred to be called, was around somewhere. She’d promised to look after Trish. Have to find her.

  Lola pushed herself up and started for the door but before she got there it banged open, nearly stopping her heart, and Trish ran in. The girl’s eyes were bright as she closed the door, then edged over to the broken window and peeked out the blinds.

  “It’s okay,” she announced. “I lost them.”

  “Lost who?” Lola was almost afraid to ask.

  “The soldiers, or gang-bangers, whoever,” she shrugged.

  “And why were they chasing you?”

  “Are you kidding? Miss MaDonna you need to get a grip. There’s people eatin’ people out there. Yesterday I saw a guy shot and gutted less than a mile from here. The one’s killed him didn’t even wait to build a fire!”

  “You mean the thugs chasing you would have eaten you if they caught you?”

  “Well, not right at first. I’m young and pretty, you know? Besides,” Trish opened her coat and drew out a two-pound bag of rice. “I found this in their camp.”

  Lola paled. “Girl, your father would kill me if anything happened to you. He left you in my care.”

  Trish laughed. “Yeah, right. What could you do, Miss MaDonna?” The girl’s tone set Lola back. “I mean, bein’ honest, you haven’t done much to help the last few months. And for the record, they left you in my care.”

  Lola gasped as the spear of honesty pierced her shell. It was true she suddenly realized. She had allowed herself to be looked after, to be waited on. God! Suddenly she wanted to crawl under something. Being helpless wasn’t like her. Self-disgust fueled a sudden flame within her. All right. Maybe she wasn’t tough. The world was a new and horrible place. But she was an actress, so dammit she could act tough. She knew from experience if she did it long enough the role would grow on her. Fake it ‘til you make it.

  She gathered up kindling and old newspapers and built a small flame in the fireplace. The wood was dry and smokeless. A pot from the kitchen and some snow to melt would make a good start.

  Trish gaped at her. “What are you doing? You start a fire and they’ll come check it out.”

  “That’s rice isn’t it?”

  Trish nodded.

  “You planning to eat it raw?”

  The girl grinned. She opened the door and slid outside, calling back over her shoulder. “I’ll keep watch just in case. Call me when it’s done.”

  As the water boiled she thought about the steps she should take to get control of her life. One of the first things she decided was she needed a gun. The city was too deadly to be without one. People eating each other! She shuddered.

  Outside, Trish found a deep doorway with a clear view up and down the street.

  But other eyes were watching. Hunter’s eye
s.

  *

  The months dragged on and the snow kept falling. All over America and all over the world people and animals froze to death. Deep within their dens hibernating mammals from bears to woodchucks sensed the difference in this winter and slowed their metabolisms accordingly. Among bears, pregnant females spontaneously aborted. Even so, few survived the long winter.

  Cold gripped the world in an icy fist, and for the first time in recorded history it was winter in both the northern and southern hemispheres simultaneously, though the extremes were greater in the North. Fierce storms raged on land and sea. Tornadoes, spawned over warmer waters intruded onto the land. Hypercanes made landfall and plowed to the centers of continents. Misery became a lifestyle in even the richest nations.

  Food supplies failed and there were no crops to replace them. Communities starved. The search for food became more and more desperate until finally many were eating their dead. A few developed a taste for it. A very few developed an addiction.

  *

  Beverly Hills

  Anthony gulped at the screams coming from his father’s suite and stopped shy of the door. John sneered at his brother’s weakness, but also decided not to intrude upon his father’s private pleasures. The King’s short fuse was even shorter at times like this.

  Jamal Rashid and Nicolo Bonetti had stopped far short of the twins. It was their report that had triggered the excitement, suddenly put on hold.

  The childlike shrieks were weakening. Nicolo turned green. He glanced sideways at Jamal but the scarecrow’s face remained impassive.

  The men and their troops had mapped several settlements on their way to Lawrence Livermore and back, settlements full of prospective slaves, food, and goods. There was a treasure trove waiting to be plucked. But there were also strong enemies appearing.

  A National Guard unit, well equipped and well trained had attacked them. The Hispanic and Black gangs were growing restless. Plans for handling these problems had to be drawn up and refined.

  Jamal reviewed the other details he needed to bring to Joseph’s attention. The slave gangs clearing and rebuilding roads were growing weaker by the day. Soon those who died wouldn’t have enough meat on their bones to feed their guards and overseers. Slaves were so desperate for food many were rebelling, forcing their guards to shoot them down. Two skilled workers, in charge of restoring a coal fired PG&E power plant had been killed in one such an outbreak.

  All things considered, the situation was damn grim and getting worse.

  *

  Trish awoke with a start. There it was again. A very soft scratching at the back door. Where was Lola? The ex-movie star lay belly down, a .38 pointed at the kitchen door. Trish crawled toward the door and got her own gun out.

  Slowly the deadbolt turned.

  Trish’s heart slammed into her ribs so loud she was afraid it would wake the neighborhood.

  The knob rotated and the door eased open. Her father’s face appeared and she whispered urgently, “Lola, don’t shoot!”

  Will Benton slid into the room.

  “Are you trying to scare us to death?” Lola’s tone suggested peeved.

  “Where’s mom?” Trish asked at the same time.

  Will raised a finger against his lips. Silence. He pulled both their heads close and whispered very softly. “Your mother’s fine. There are armed men taking up positions all around this house. They know you’re here. We have to get out right now.”

  Two minutes later they were drifting through the darkness. Lola wondered at how Will and Clarissa always got them out of trouble. How could she ever repay them?

  *

  The ISS

  “Commander?” Alice Anderson waived him over. “Look at this. I think the cloud cover is thinning.”

  Clark Kent looked out the port at the blinding white ball that was Earth and at what was possibly a small patch of open ocean. “I think you’re right, Ma’am.” A toothy smile spread across his face and he added, “We should tell the others.” After more than a year observing nothing but clouds and monstrous storms a glimpse of the surface would boost morale.

  They had other problems to consider as well. While their supplies of food and water would last for several more months, thanks to the greenhouse and farm modules, they weren’t infinite. They’d already discussed and discarded several alternate plans for long-term survival. Most desperately desired a return to Earth, while a few, himself chief among them, wanted to develop a permanent lunar colony.

  Alice, noting the small frown on Clark’s face said, “You’re wondering if clearing skies means we Earthers will press even harder for going home?”

  His lips twitched at hearing her refer to those who insisted Earth was the only rational choice as Earthers. “No,” he replied. “I think if the skies clear it will show you how hopeless the situation is down there. I mean, the last signal we got was from Adelaide about that hideous plague and that was--”

  “Fourteen months ago,” Alice finished for him. “You think no one down there made it?”

  He shrugged. “Most likely there are survivors, but I doubt any of the technology we need to save them from that asteroid still exists.”

  “Which is why you Loonies want to go to the moon?” she asked. “You think the supplies the Russians and everybody put in orbit there will be enough to establish a permanent colony?”

  He nodded. “It doesn’t make sense to put all our eggs in one basket again,” he said. “Once we’re there we can excavate farm caverns, get the robotic factories set up and start producing the food and solar panels we need to support a growing population. Besides, we need gravity. Maintaining muscle tone on exercise equipment doesn’t cut it in the long run. What was it Doctor Vindushanti said about the rate our bones were thinning?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Snap like matchsticks in Earth’s gravity if we stay up here much longer. But--”

  “And we’re agreed we can’t go back until the skies clear and we know what we’d be heading into? And we don’t have a clue how long that will take?” He knew he was pushing it now, but he needed to convince her the moon was their best option.

  Tears glistened in her eyes as she nodded and pointed at the small blue patch on the Earth and said, “But it’s home.”

  Chapter 22: Starvation

  The Freeholds

  Ellen looked away from the table where the rest of the council was seated. Her eyes reluctantly drawn to the remains of the community larder. The pile was too small, way too small.

  They couldn’t cut rations again. Everyone in the Freeholds was already on a starvation diet.

  A blast of wind shook the building. She pulled her coat closer about her and shivered. It was cold in the barn. The single small wood stove kept things from freezing: just.

  A horse stamped and snorted from its stall. The pregnant mare, Ellen thought. If we don’t find more food soon we’ll have to eat the horses. Then when spring comes and the snow melts we’ll be stuck scavenging on foot. We need the horses.

  She turned back to them, noting their eyes too were on the larder.

  “Glad you could all make it,” she began. She looked at Mariko, who seemed delicate, even in an oversized down coat and asked, “What about the greenhouses?”

  Mariko McKinley brushed her long, jet-black hair back behind her ear and said, “We’re getting lettuce, radish and Japanese turnip crop rotations every three to four weeks. Snow peas, kale and broccoli about every two months. Cauliflower and cabbage are about ready, but we lost the potato beds to the cold. Our limitation is the amount of space we can keep planted, lighted and heated. With more room we could have fresh crops every week.”

  Ellen sighed silently. Virtually the same report she’d heard last week and the week before. The problem with growing fresh vegetables in greenhouses was that they just weren’t big enough to produce food for thousands of people. Better than nothing, enough to ward off scurvy, not enough to fill bellies.

  “We’re doing a lot better on sprout prod
uction now that every home has a sprout rack,” Mariko continued. “But we’re running short on seeds. Also, we only have three weeks worth of fuel left for the generators, so we have to address that problem soon. And we need more firewood for the burners.”

  The difficulty with greenhouse food production in this land of dark and snow was that grow lights needed electricity and the temperature inside the buildings had to be maintained at no less than fifty degrees for cold weather crops which meant gasoline and firewood, and both were getting harder and harder to find under the ever-deepening blanket of snow.

  The biggest problem was lack of protein. Their aquaponics system had failed months ago because they couldn’t keep the water warm enough for the tilapia--and the trout in the other tanks simply never bred. They’d finished off the rabbits several months ago.

  “What about the chickens, Jack?”

  Jack Quist had a ranch at the North end of the valley. It had been about a month ago that he’d hauled in the last of the frozen steer carcasses he could find. His knowledge of livestock, large and small, made him and his wife Anna naturals for looking after the flock. “Don’t know if it’s the stress, lack of feed or sunlight but, even with the light bulbs extending their daylight, they’ve quit laying. We can cull them some but…” he shrugged.

  “Yeah, I know, Jack. There’s no guarantee we can ever get more.”

  Leona Perry, too used to school house discipline, raised her hand.

  “Yes, Leona?”

  “Wayne Anderson brought in a case of peanut butter he found in Breckenridge. It’s not much, but at least it’s protein.” She ducked her head. “I kept a jar for the kids.”

  Ellen thanked her and moved to the next subject. “Any word on the methane digesters?” With thousands of people in the valley and virtually everyone’s septic system wrecked by the quakes the human waste disposal problem had soon become a priority.

  The solution came in two parts. Part one--compost piles large enough to generate warmth through bacterial decomposition. Several maintained internal temperatures of more than one hundred degrees. Water pipes plumbed through them carried off some of that heat for the greenhouses.