The Dying Time (Book 1): Impact Page 29

  The light dawned in Anthony’s eyes. His father was always telling him to think outside the box. “So all we’ll have to do is keep the Guard from breaking out to the North when they start getting sick.” He looked at his father with new respect. “It’s brilliant.”

  Joseph wore a twisted smile as the couriers headed for the gangs. It was even better than Anthony realized. His army would have had to eliminate the rowdier blacks and browns anyhow. He’d only managed to control them this long because he’d grabbed the food first, and because his army was stronger.

  Yes sir, every problem presented its own solution. It was all a matter of perspective.

  *

  “No, I can’t stop now,” the tall man mumbled to his image in the broken mirror. “I can’t ever stop.”

  He picked up another faded, water-stained photograph off the mildewed carpet and clasped it against his chest. A pretty woman with black hair and jade green eyes smiled at him from the tattered picture. He knew her from…somewhere. If only he could remember. He carefully placed the photo in a battered blue Samsonite suitcase, the one that held his other almost-memories.

  He heard a noise and froze. Gunmen? He always hid from soldiers. He risked a peek out the window but didn’t see any. Good! Gunmen were bad!

  “Gunmen hurt me,” he whispered to the mirror, running his right hand along the dent in his skull. It was a mercy that, except for the dent, he saw himself like he was before The Dying Time. Now his clothes were frayed layers of filth-encrusted rags. His skin, once fair, was now dark with years of engrained dirt. His thin hair, now white, if grimy, spilled out from under a crumpled fedora.

  He heard the sound again, or thought he did (he could never be too sure anymore), so he hid in the closet among the moth-eaten moldy clothes and abandoned mouse nests. His nose didn’t mind. If it could get used to his smell nothing could bother it.

  The daylight coming in under the closet door faded away, and still he didn’t move. Gunmen were clever. Sometimes they waited a long time.

  The man’s time sense worked about as well as his memory. Why, only yesterday he’d warned the President--a tomcat screamed triumph as a rat died. It was safe to go out now. Cats didn’t hunt when gunmen were around.

  His stomach growled, and he answered its call, leaving the closet, picking up a curtain rod, which he used to drive the black and white cat away from its prey. With practiced ease he skinned and gutted the rat, carefully cleaning his Swiss army knife in the dirt before folding it and returning it to his pocket. He wanted to leave, to get back to--somewhere, somewhere important; but it was dark, and the closet was kind of cozy and his memory-box was there.

  “Can’t stop. Can’t stop,” he muttered as he chewed. But he could sleep. Tomorrow he would go back to the headache place, and continue trying to pick up the pieces of his life.

  *

  In northern New Mexico, Hobbes, scented blood and roared. The puma eating from the freshly killed buck snarled back. Hobbes lunged out of the tall grass and the mountain lion jumped like it had been scalded. Hobbes had notable advantages in strength and size. The lion, possibly quicker, had never seen anything like Hobbes, whose russet orange and black stripes, and great mouth filled with large fangs intimidated the smaller cat into a rapid retreat.

  Hobbes sniffed at his meal, marked the ground around the deer with his scent, placed a huge paw on the carcass and with a mighty wrench of his jaws tore off an entire haunch. With the leg in his mouth he strolled off in search of a place to eat and nap, secure in the belief no animal smarter than a magpie would dare disturb his food.

  Hobbes had journeyed far since Randy Kellogg released him from the Denver Zoo. He had matured and was seeking a mate, and there were intriguing scents around.

  *

  The Guard

  “Sir,” Captain Horvak said. He waited a moment then reached out and touched the General’s shoulder. “Sir!”

  Roland Mabry stirred from an all to brief sleep and wiped a hand across his face.

  “What is it, Captain?

  “That army of traitors we’ve been keeping tabs on seems to be pulling out of Los Angeles. They’re heading north, Sir, but they’ve left a detachment at Chino.”

  “Damn!,” General Mabry exclaimed. “I should have thought of that. We’ve been checking military airbases and finding ruins and I forgot all about the Confederate Air Force at Chino.”

  “There’s more, Sir. Lieutenant Perry’s detachment of scouts reported contacting a large force of Marines and recruits from down Pendleton way. Don’t know yet how they weathered The Dying Time, but their commander is eager to meet with you. He’s on his way here now, Sir.”

  As General Roland Mabry considered this news a fire kindled in his eyes. Finally, he might be able to hit back at that self-styled King.

  “Thank you, Captain. Have my orderly boil me up some of that God-awful brew he calls coffee. Officer’s call in fifteen.”

  As the Captain turned away General Mabry touched his arm, halting him.

  “And Captain,” the General said. “None of us has ‘weathered’ The Dying Time yet.”

  “Yes, Sir,” the Captain said, and ducked out the flap of the command tent.

  *

  Denver

  Michael Whitebear, Jim Cantrell, Chad Baily and Wayne Anderson stepped inside the ruins of the Denver Public Library and paused to survey the mess.

  “Man!” Jim said, staring at the chaos.

  “What you said,” Wayne agreed.

  “Too, right,” Chad’s British accent chimed in. “What wasn’t burnt got properly soaked in the rains.” He sniffed the air and sneezed. “Mildew,” he explained.

  “And rats,” Michael added.

  “Where?” Jim asked, his voice edgy. He hated rats.

  Chad waved his arms around. “Near everywhere, I’d say.”

  Jim’s eyes adjusted to the dim light and he saw what Chad meant. Piles of shredded pages--nests, furtive movements and how could he have missed the distinctive musty and highly unpleasant odor of rat urine. “Damn.”

  “We didn’t come this far to go back empty-handed,” Michael said, hefting his baseball bat. They all carried ball bats Jim had dubbed “Rat Rockers”.

  They had tethered their horses in the woods of Waterton Canyon and entered Denver quietly, following the South Platte River drainage and avoiding Viper’s patrols. Other than weapons and ammo, each man carried a canteen, some jerky, and an empty duffle bag, for books.

  “Well,” Jim said. “Ellen thinks we need these books enough to risk this trip so let’s do it. I think we better stay together.” He eyed a large brown rat nervously. “No shooting.” They didn’t want to bring Viper down on them. “Everyone have their lists?”

  They all nodded.

  “Okay,” he said and started forward. “Remember, anything on military strategy, especially guerrilla warfare takes top priority. Survival guides and How-to’s come next.”

  By nightfall, when they headed back, their duffle bags were stuffed with irreplaceable books on everything from “Special Forces Guerrilla Warfare Manual and “The Improvised Munitions Black Book” to “Survival Nurse”, “Ditch Medicine and The Survival Medicine Book by Doctor Bones and Nurse Amy.” They had also learned the library rats avoided people with the kind of wariness that comes from being hunted for food. And if Viper’s army was hunting rats, their food supply must be all but exhausted.

  *

  The ISS

  “My God, would you look at that?” Mia Torno had been glued to a porthole, taking photos, ever since The Shroud began to lift.

  Suzy Yakamoto’s brows knitted as she took in the view. “Is that North America?” Commander Kent and General Pavel Yurimentov entered what they’d taken to calling the observation lounge and Clark Kent said, “Did I hear someone say North America?”

  “What remains of it,” Mia Torno said, clicking away.

  Clark and Pavel looked out, saw nothing familiar, and Clark asked, “What makes yo
u think so?”

  “Because I’m pretty sure that chain of mountains running down the center is the Rockies,” Mia said.

  “And those mountains farther to the left? I think those might be the Cascades,” Suzy added.

  “But there’s an ocean between them,” Clark said.

  “Technically, I think that would be a gulf,” Mia said.

  “I don’t really care what it’s called, Mia. It means large parts of Arizona, California, Nevada and Utah are under water.”

  “Better than lava,” Pavel said. They’d seen what was left of Russia the day before and most of it was blanketed with ash and molten rock.

  “Six of one, half dozen of the other,” Clark said. They hadn’t picked up any radio chatter or seen any large groupings of lights night side. Hard to believe anyone could survive such devastation.

  “Wow,” Suzy whispered. “I think a big chunk of the Great Plains is under water too.” Through gaps between storm fronts they could see a lot of pale blue water--a greatly expanded Gulf of Mexico.

  “How?” Clark asked. “I mean, even if the polar ice caps melted completely sea levels wouldn’t get that high.”

  “The land subsided,” Mia said. “It’s the only feasible explanation. Magma pumps out of the mantle and the crust sinks.”

  They looked on in silence as their orbit carried them east. The Great Lakes were gone along with most of the Hudson Bay. Of Southern Florida there was no sign.

  “Everything is so different,” Clark said.

  A klaxon alarm sounded and Alice Anderson’s voice came over the ship’s intercom. “Pressure drop in the nursery. I repeat. Pressure drop in the nursery and Li-Ying isn’t responding.” Li was their pediatrician.

  Pavel flew out the hatch with the others close behind. A pressure drop almost always meant they’d been holed by a micro-meteorite and his son was in the nursery.

  *

  A film of red globules drifted around the nursery and Li-Ying Chin’s eyes were glazed in death. Like a cosmic bullet the micro-meteorite that punctured the ship tore through her carotid artery as well. Part of the bloody mist congregated around two tiny holes on opposite walls, making them easy to find. Suzy and Mia slapped patches over the holes while Clark collected Li’s body and Alexi looked his son over for injuries.

  Ludmilla sailed into the room so fast she bounced off the ceiling before regaining control. “Yuri?” she asked frantically.

  “He’s fine,” Pavel said, handing their son to her.

  “What about Angela?” Ludmilla asked.

  “She’s with Christine, nursing,” Clark said. His daughter--the first child born in space, since Yuri was born on the moon--was just over a year old and was almost always with her mother.

  *

  “I’ll miss Li,” Christine said. She and Clark were off duty, tethered to their berth with Angela securely attached to her left breast and sucking greedily. “She was so good with the children.”

  Clark nodded agreement and said, “I’m worried about Kenny Chang. They were close.”

  “Kenny was close to Li because they could speak Mandarin,” Christine said. “And because it gave him a good excuse to hang around the nursery. He’s head over heels for Aeriella and she’s always there.”

  “Really,” Clark said, then, to change the subject asked, “When is Aurora One due back?” Aurora Two was permanently docked at the ISS, serving as their emergency escape vehicle.

  “They’ll dock next watch,” Christine said.

  The space plane, under Captain Mary Adams was ferrying supplies to the moon where the bulk of the ISS crew were tunneling to expand Luna City into a permanent moon base. Their years in zero G had caused irreversible bone density loss and everyone aboard now understood the need for a home with gravity. Otherwise they’d never be able to return to Earth. No one was willing to talk about never being able to do so.

  A distinct odor permeated their quarters and Christine handed Angela to Clark, held her nose, and said, “Your turn.” Diaper duty in zero G was a truly nasty affair and as for potty training, using the facilities was difficult enough for the adults.

  Chapter 29: Surveying

  “I don’t believe this,” Otha straightened up from the transit and did some hurried calculations. “According to this, Pike’s Peak is almost two thousand feet lower than it used to be. I mean we’ve seen some dramatic changes--but man!”

  Di’s horse snorted and she broke out laughing. “I see I’m not the only skeptic. But seriously, after dodging lava flows in Illinois and sailing across most of Kansas I should imagine you would be used to such surprises by now.” She frowned, wrinkling her brow. “Could we be that far off since New York?”

  “Not New York. I took new bearings from sea level in Kansas. Of course, this far away my angle’s probably off. I’ll shoot it again when we get closer.” He slapped himself in the head. “Unless sea level has changed…but of course it has! The heat from those volcanoes and fire falls would have melted at least some of the icepacks at the poles and…”

  She smiled at him.

  Otha grinned up at her. “Okay, okay…more on this topic later.”

  He wrapped the transit in a towel and stuffed it in his mount’s saddlebag. The horse tore another mouthful of reddish-green rye grass from the prairie and sidestepped away as he tried to mount.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Otha said, swinging his leg over and settling into the saddle. He’d been thrown into yucca, Canadian Thistle, and even prickly pear cactus before, and his horsemanship had improved dramatically. The gray stallion bucked twice just to make its point.

  ”I told you we should have caught another mare,” Di chided. “But you had to have a stallion.” They had trapped a small herd of horses in a steep-walled dry wash more than a month ago, picking four of the best to break as saddle and packhorses.

  “I never claimed to have much horse sense,” Glad punned causing her to make a face. “I just know enough to understand that my stallion plus three mares eventually equals a herd of domestic horses.”

  He pointed toward the looming mountains. “Shall we?”

  “How long until we arrive in Colorado Springs?” Di asked.

  “Hard to say.” They were both still getting used to judging the distance they could cover on horseback, and Pike’s Peak still looked a long ways off. He glanced up at the sun. Two p.m. “Probably tomorrow.”

  *

  California

  The Headache-place buildings were ruins, everything broken or burned. Different, but familiar. What kept drawing him back? He pawed through the rubble, searching. His fingernails broke as he moved concrete slabs. His fingers cracked and split and still he dug. His head hurt from trying to remember.

  The muscles in his back were on fire. Days passed. He stopped only to hunt for food, sleep when too exhausted to continue, or to hide from the sound of motors. And then one day he remembered what he was looking for--HOPE!

  “Bad things happened here,” he whispered, removing a skeleton from the hole he was digging. “But hope is near. Hope is near.”

  *

  Paso Robles

  King Joseph Scarlatti clapped his hands together. “I love it when a plan comes together,” he said, quoting from one of his favorite movies. “Tony?”

  Heads turned to the map at the front of the room. Anthony Scarlatti picked up a pointer and tapped the map in the Northridge area. “The plague has done most of our work for us,” he said. “There aren’t enough combat effectives left in that Guard unit to pose a serious threat, but they are still organized enough to make it costly if we attack their line. The pointer scratched a path from Northridge through Santa Monica. Besides, Bonetti says the sickness is still there and if we go back in now we’ll never contain the outbreak.”

  Heads nodded around the table. The exploding population of rats would probably make containing the plague impossible anyhow, but after the massive losses they’d suffered no one wanted to go where they knew it was still active.


  “I know John wants to head east over the San Bernadinos and take over any small communities or towns--consolidate our gains and gather our strength, but I think we should strike North.” The pointer smacked into San Francisco.

  “Gentlemen, we have the seeds of Empire in our grasp. It will be ours if we are bold! We cannot give our future subjects time to organize. We already know of growing communities around Stanford and Berkeley, Oakland and Frisco. If we hesitate, there could easily be more than one Empire in California.”

  He looked to his father, who nodded approval. King Joseph had almost coached Tony on what to say, but now he was glad he hadn’t. Tony thought like he did and that made him proud.

  “We must go north now! We will absorb new troops as we move and train them on the march. If we take San Francisco no one will be able to stand against us. California will be ours--and after that, who knows?”

  The door to the conference room opened and John Scarlatti entered the room like a thundercloud. His fatigues were stained with dirt and blood. His left arm was in a sling and worry lines etched his face.

  The room stilled as everyone turned to look at him.

  “We were attacked and overrun at Chino,” he explained.

  Joseph Scarlatti shot his son a worried look.

  “We got most of the planes out before they broke through and we were able to destroy the ones we couldn’t fly out,” he added.

  “Who did this?” Joseph asked.

  “You know that Guard unit we’ve been fighting the past two months? Well, they linked up with some Marines from Camp Pendleton. I don’t know how many. They chewed us up and spit us out so fast I couldn’t get a count. My point is, if we head north now they’ll be nipping at our heels the whole way. We have to end this threat first.”