Affliction Z: Abandoned Hope (Post Apocalyptic Thriller) (2 page)

Kathy Ryder swiped her finger across her cell phone’s screen
and clicked on the smiley face icon. She scrolled through the contact list
until she reached her husband’s name.

Sean.

She pressed the green phone icon and held the phone to her
ear. She received the same results she had a few minutes prior, a fast-busy
signal. Once had frustrated her. Twice had left her annoyed. But this was the
tenth time her call had failed to complete.

It was luck that she had seen the report since she normally
did not watch morning programming. The bathroom in her hotel room had a
flat-panel TV built into the mirror. She had flipped it on while brushing her
teeth, and had left it tuned to a local station while she put on her makeup.
She didn’t pay all that much attention to the broadcast. It was background
noise.

After she’d finished applying her makeup, she switched off
the lights and left the bathroom. She had nearly left her hotel room when she
remembered the TV. As she reached for the power button, the breaking news
banner flashed on the screen. The shaky reporter caught her attention. The
disturbing images caught her off guard. She turned and vomited into the toilet.
She figured most people had a similar reaction.

The report shocked her to her core. The things that she had
heard her husband muttering in his sleep over the past eight years now played
out before her. She tried calling him the first time after the report. She
could deal with not reaching him as long as she could leave a message. But not
being able to get the phone to ring at all left her feeling harried.

Instead of going to the conference, she left the hotel and
raced to the airport. She tried to convince her companions to return with her,
but they all refused. She couldn’t go into detail about what she had seen on
the television. The words weren’t there. This left her wracked with guilt as
she navigated through the loose traffic heading toward the airport.

From all appearances, she’d beaten the rush. She tried to
book a flight at traffic lights, but her phone could not access the internet.
She figured it had to be related to the inability to make a call out.

After she reached the airport, there was no wait to turn in
her rental car. The man at the counter told her there would be a shuttle by in
a few minutes. Kathy declined and decided to walk to the terminal. It wasn’t
far, maybe an eighth of a mile. Traffic outside of the airport seemed normal,
although she didn’t spend enough time in Seattle to tell with certainty.

Why weren’t people panicking? Why was there no mad rush at
the airport? Where were the people who needed to get back home to their
families?

The only thing she could figure was that perhaps the radio
stations hadn’t picked up the news yet. In her haste to get here, she hadn’t
bothered to turn the car’s radio on, so she couldn’t verify that.

Inside, she found no wait at the Delta ticketing counter. A
cheerful blond woman greeted her and asked how she could help. Did she not know
about the events that had transpired earlier halfway around the world? It
looked like everyone in the place remained blissfully unaware. Kathy faced a
moral dilemma. Say something and she might not get home. Say nothing and she
would condemn anyone she came into contact with. For the time being, she had to
choose the latter.

There was no easy route back to Roanoke, Virginia, it
seemed. They had flown non-stop to Seattle, but only because she and her
companions had driven to Washington, D.C. for their flight. To get closer to
home, her itinerary required two layovers. The first would be in Chicago for an
hour, and the second in Cincinnati for close to two. From there, she’d take a
commuter flight to Roanoke, placing her fifteen miles from her doorstep. The
trip was scheduled to last eight hours. She glanced at her watch and performed
the time conversion in her head. It would be dark by the time she opened her
front door.

The wait at the security checkpoint was minimal. Kathy
passed through without incident. Ten minutes later she found her gate and took
a seat in an empty row next to a huge window overlooking a runway. One by one,
planes took off with no more than a thirty-second delay. In forty-five minutes,
her plane would lift off and begin its journey to Chicago.

It had to, she told herself.

Even if she couldn’t continue on from there, Illinois was a
hell of a lot closer to home than Washington state.

Slowly, the seats around her were filled by other travelers.
Some were dressed in suits, perhaps setting off for a day of negotiations and
meetings and conferences. Others were dressed more casually, maybe making a
trip to visit family, or to return home, or for any myriad of reasons.

Would any of them make it to their destinations? And if so,
what waited for them there?

She pulled out her cell phone and tried to place a call.
Again, she received a fast busy tone. When would they get the lines fixed?

She glanced around, noticing that nobody held a phone to
their heads. Nor were people slouched over, tapping away at their screens.
Everyone was affected by the same issue. Judging by the looks on their faces,
only a few seemed to know why. Kathy figured that was because most people got
their news from their phones these days, not the TV or the radio. The majority
of them would have listened to music from their personal library stored in
their cell phone’s memory, or their MP3 player on the way to the airport.

Who wanted to deal with commercials?

She looked up at the four flat screen televisions mounted to
the thick columns close to the middle aisle. Two of them were off. The other
two were tuned to a closed loop broadcast. They displayed threat assessment
information, and then travel tips.

She wondered if whoever ran the airport knew about the
reports. They purposefully weren’t showing the information because they didn’t
want pandemonium to break out in the terminal. Under normal circumstances,
Kathy would brush such thoughts aside and label them as conspiracy theories.
But the images from earlier lingered. She could not shake free of them. She
assumed that most who saw them felt the same way.

She tried to call Sean one more time, figuring it would be
her last attempt before landing in Chicago. To her surprise, the phone rang
twice, but then cut off. She pressed the green phone icon again, hoping to hear
the line ring. It didn’t, though. Instead, fast busy tones greeted her.

Kathy moved quickly to get to the front of the line when it
came time to board. Everyone appeared calm. Sooner or later that would change.
Once news spread, the panic would begin. She knew that could happen at any
moment, and in no way, shape, or form would she allow herself to be thwarted by
it.

She sat down in her seat as if she were staking a claim
along a river known for strong gold flows. Half the people who passed by made
eye contact with her. Half of those people actually smiled or nodded. One
particularly obese man stopped in the aisle in front of her. Dread filled her
as she prepared for the man to take a seat next to her. He coughed, craned his
head, and then moved one row further back and squeezed in behind her. Her seat
pushed forward, and then fell back.

As she clutched her carry-on bag, she realized that she had
left her luggage at the hotel. A panicked chill passed through her body. She
resolved herself that there was nothing she could do about it. When she landed,
she’d try one of her co-workers and ask them to retrieve her bag for her when
they left the hotel.

If they left.

She pushed the thought from her mind.

Kathy and the other passengers settled in for takeoff as the
plane began to taxi. They came to a stop and the captain spoke.

“Folks, this is Captain Steinberger. It looks like our
takeoff is going to be delayed.”

That was it. He gave no estimated time limit. He offered no
apology.

A new form of panic set in as Kathy’s worst fears took root.
Things had escalated further and faster than they had mentioned on television.
Now, she and a hundred or so other souls were trapped inside a
seven-forty-seven, bound for Chicago, now on a one-way trip to hell. She
clutched her bag tight to her chest. The seats to her right and left were both
empty. She found herself wishing someone had sat next to her. At least then she
would have some emotional support.

Captain Steinberger continued, “We were supposed to be next
in line, but we’ve just been informed that there are ten planes in front of us.
So sit tight for another ten minutes and then we’ll be on our way to Chicago.”

Kathy exhaled a ragged breath as the sweat that covered her
forehead felt like it turned to ice.

Just get me home,
she thought.
Please, get me back
to Sean and Emma.

Sean reached down and ensured that his pistol remained
secure under his seat. Emma seemed to be shaken, and he feared that if she saw
his handgun, she’d grow more distraught. He knew that she was aware he had the
M9, a relic from his days as an Air Force PJ. And his hunting rifles were in
plain view, albeit locked up. But if she saw the weapon now, in the midst of
this crisis, she might realize how grave of a situation they faced.

“What’s going on, Dad?” she asked a second time.

He didn’t respond.

Cars formed an intricate puzzle around them. He had to find
a way out since someone had blocked off his escape route.

“Dad? People were saying there’s a nuclear attack
happening.”

Sean shook his head.

“David said he heard that an EMP had been detonated over
Chicago. Do you know what that means?”

He did, but he decided against telling her.

“He told me that means everything will stop working. Planes,
cars, even electricity.”

“Only some cars,” he said. “Older cars, ones without fancy
electronic controlled engines, will work fine.”

“So that’s what it is then? An EMP?”

Sean ignored the question. He saw an opening wide enough for
his truck, and he took it. A white mini-van backed into his rear passenger
fender, causing his vehicle to jerk to the right. He kept going, managing to
narrowly avoid hitting a woman carrying a baby.

“And I heard someone say the Canadians are invading.”

Sean turned to his daughter, laughing at the absurdity of
her statement. “Canadians? Canada? Are you hearing yourself, Emma?”

She shrugged. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

“You heard me when we got in the car, right?”

She nodded.

His mouth opened to repeat the phrase,
The Apocalypse
,
but stopped himself. Perhaps she had blocked what he’d said for a reason. If
so, he didn’t want to upset her any further. They had a twenty minute drive
ahead of them if the traffic remained light. Judging by the insane scene at the
school, the chances of that were small.

The roads were thick with cars and trucks and SUVs. Sean
figured that I-64 was packed, which resulted in a surge of drivers exiting and
taking the highway instead. Every couple of minutes he honked the horn or
slammed his open hand against the steering wheel out of frustration. And panic.
They weren’t safe out in the open.

“Calm down,” Emma said, following it up with something her
mother always said to Sean. “You’ll give yourself a stroke.”

He leaned his head back and filled his lungs with
exhaust-filled air. Gesturing toward his cell phone, he said, “Give your mom a
call. See if you can get through.”

Emma reached into the center console and retrieved the
phone. She swiped through a few screens, and then lifted the phone to her ear.
A moment later, she shook her head.

“What?” Sean asked.

“It’s busy,” she said.

“Let me see.” He held out his hand and waited for her to
hand him the phone. After she did, he brought it up to the side of his head. A
fast busy signal greeted him. “Circuits are overloaded.”

“Huh?”

“The switching equipment that routes the calls, it must be
down or overloaded.”

“Or destroyed by an EMP?” More than a little panic colored
her voice.

“No, Emma, not an EMP. I’ll explain more once we get home.
Okay?”

She exhaled heavily, and said, “Why can’t you tell me now?”

A car jerked in front of their truck. Sean laid on the horn
and extended the middle finger of his right hand. “That’s why, Em. Assholes
like that out on the road.”

Immediately, he regretted his outburst. The stress of
wondering whether Kathy had received his message and acted on it started to
combine with the feeling of dread rising within him. Pressure overload. The
event was coming, no doubt about it. He’d resigned himself to that already.
What concerned him most was the fact that it was just after noon, and already
the roads were packed. Driving to Charleston, South Carolina to meet Turk might
not be a possibility.

After forty minutes on the road, Sean turned into his
driveway, driving the length of it at no more than ten miles per hour. The
truck dipped and bounced in the usual spots. The driveway changed yearly,
depending on how rough the winter and summer were. The past nine months had
been wetter than usual, resulting in plenty of new potholes that he hadn’t
filled in yet.

He scanned the front of the house. In his haste, he’d left
the front door open. At least, he hoped it had been him. It swung forward and
back in the breeze. The wind carried the scent of freshly cut grass. He turned
his head left and glanced down at his yard. The lawn service had been over
while he was out.

Were they oblivious to what was occurring in the world
today?

The tall golden grass in the pasture to the right of his
house swayed side-to-side, like gentle waves on a lake reflecting the sunlight.
They hid a secret that only three people knew about. Sean’s bunker, twelve
hundred square feet of space, lay under part of the field.

He stopped the truck in front of the garage door, reached up
and pressed the casing that housed the door opener. He didn’t drive inside,
though. Instead, he shifted the vehicle out of gear and engaged the emergency
brake while still on the driveway. Neither Sean nor Emma moved for close to two
minutes. Their rapid breathing filed the cab.

The phone buzzed in his hand.

“Go stand next to the garage,” he told Emma.

She nodded, opened her door and stepped down. Once she was
far enough away, he reached under his seat and retrieved his pistol, answering
the phone at the same time.

“How secure is that bunker of yours, Ryder?” Turk asked.

“It’s good. Thirty feet underground and stocked for months.
Two hidden, separated points for ingress and egress. Camera security system
installed so I can monitor outside. Wires are in thick conduit and eight feet
deep until they need to run up. The whole setup, the bunker, security, is
completely solar.”

“All right, good,” Turk said. “You’re gonna need it.”

Sean opened the door and slid out of the truck, letting his
good foot hit the ground first. “Why’s that?”

“I’ve got a network built up across the east coast, and the
reports I’m getting back from them ain’t good. Every major highway and
interstate is packed. People are panicking, and it’s only going to get worse
once they realize that this shit is already here.”

“It is?”

“Yeah, it is.”

Sean walked into the garage, past Emma, and up to the door
that led to the kitchen. He placed his ear against the door and listened for a
minute.

“You there?” Turk asked.

“Yeah, I’m here. Give me a second.” He stuck the phone in
his pocket and opened the door a crack. It led into a hall that connected to
the kitchen. With his sidearm drawn and held out in front of him to hide it
from Emma, he entered the house. He walked the length of the hallway slowly and
cautiously. The house remained silent aside from the cracks and pops he’d grown
accustom to. He cleared the downstairs, then upstairs.

“Sorry about that, Turk. The front door was open and I was
worried someone had gotten inside the house.”

“No problem.”

“What about Kathy?”

“What about her?”

“I left her a message and told her to head to Charleston.”

Turk remained silent for a beat. “That’s still on then. I
got enough guys here for a small team. We’ll head out there tonight. I may or
may not have a few others coming in by air anyway. Just let me know otherwise.”

“Will do.”

“All right. One more thing. You got a pen handy?”

Sean looked around and spotted a pen and pad on the computer
desk. “Yeah.”

“Okay, look. Phone service is getting real spotty. By
tonight, it might be gone completely. Definitely in a couple days. People
aren’t going to man the systems much longer. I’m assuming you’ve got some kind
of satellite hookup for your internet in that bunker. Is that correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect. Here, jot this information down.” Turk proceeded
to provide Sean with connection information to a private server he had in his
bunker. “Theoretically, we should be able to stay in touch that way. For a
while, at least.”

The two men wasted no more time, ending the call.

Sean instructed Emma to pack a bag with five changes of warm
clothes, and five changes of cool clothes. While the bunker was climate
controlled, they’d have to leave sooner or later. And October and November in
Virginia, and North and South Carolina were anything but predictable. He did
the same for himself. He also grabbed his running prosthetic, as well as his
backup. It wasn’t as good as his primary, but should something happen, he’d be
dead without it.

He headed back downstairs. The microwave beeped, and as he
entered the kitchen, he could smell sourdough bread. Emma pulled the roll out
and took a bite.

“I’m hungry,” she said.

He nodded, grateful that she could eat during a time like
this, and walked past her and into the living room. He unlocked his gun cabinet
and removed the three rifles it held. He also scooped all the ammunition into
his bag. He wasn’t taking them because he needed them. There were plenty of
firearms in the bunker. Sean was thinking ahead. Someone or a group of people
could be out scavenging and raid the house.

Emma waited for him by the door to the garage. He nodded.
She opened it and stepped through, waiting for him at the top of the steps. As
Sean passed her, he hit the button on the wall with his elbow. The garage door
lowered on its tracks, eventually closing and blocking out the sunlight. Sean
knew that might be the last time they ever saw the outside with their own eyes.

“What are we doing?” Emma asked.

He set his things down on the floor and walked over to the
workbench on the back wall. He reached down and flipped all the latches that
held the wheels in a locked position. “Just wait there.”

He pushed the workbench away from the wall. A half-door with
a latch for a knob stood in front of them. He then traced his hand along the
wall next to the door until he located the crease. He lifted the small
rectangular panel, revealing a keypad. He entered the combination, something he
had changed bi-annually since installing the system. There was an audible click
as the door unlocked. He pushed it open, placed his hand on Emma’s shoulder and
ushered her through. Then Sean went into the dark hallway. He turned around,
reached back into the garage and closed and sealed the panel on the wall. Next,
he pulled the workbench back toward the wall. Finally, he shut the door.

It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dull red
glow of the emergency lights that lined the passage. He instructed Emma to stay
close behind him as he led her through the twisting hallway.

“Careful here,” he said. In front of them was a fifteen foot
drop off. “I’m going to go first. When I’m at the bottom, I want you to toss
your bag to me. After that, I’m going to climb up half-way, and at that time I
want you to start down. Okay?”

She nodded.

“You okay with that ladder?”

“I’ve been on the roof,” she said. “I can handle this.”

Sean descended into the darkened passage. When he reached
the bottom, he dropped his things and said, “Toss your bag.” It was hard to
make out the dark shadow plummeting toward him, but he managed to catch it
before it hit him in the face. He placed it on top of his belongings, and then
ascended the ladder until he was half-way to the top.

Emma turned and kicked one leg over the edge. When she was a
few feet away, Sean began climbing down again. Once Emma had safely reached the
ground, Sean pulled out a flashlight and searched the wall for another panel.
This one allowed him to seal off the tunnel above with a door. The move was
risky. If his power system failed, there would be no way to lower it again. The
only reason he engaged the door was because of the second tunnel that led to
the barn, a hundred yards to the north.

Sean switched off the flashlight. The tunnel went dark. His
eyes adjusted to the red glow from the emergency lights. He picked up his bag
and the rifles. “Grab your bag and follow me, Em.”

“Why’d you turn off your light?” she asked.

“’Cause I’m paranoid.”

She said nothing. He waited until she had her bag, then he
began walking. The red lights barely provided enough illumination to see ten
feet ahead. In Sean’s mind, this provided him with the upper hand should
someone be waiting for him. Any other logical person would probably disagree,
as their movements inside the tunnel were sure to alert anyone hiding inside.
Not that anyone would be in there.

A few minutes later, they reached the entrance to the
bunker. Sean opened the hidden panel and engaged the security system. There
were three things he had to do to open the door. First was a simple pin number,
followed by a twenty-digit alphanumeric pass phrase. Lastly, the system
performed a retinal scan. Risky should he lose an eye. And for that reason, the
system was capable of scanning and matching his left eye as well. Once inside,
the process for entering and exiting was simpler. All he had to do was pull on
the handle.

The door opened. Stale, disinfected air met them. He caught
a hint of lemon, which he preferred over pine trees.

The main room took up approximately half of the total space.
It had a flat-panel TV against one wall and a couch against the other. An
angled computer desk took up one corner of the room, on the same side as the
couch and nearer to the door. On one side of the TV there was a refrigerator
and small cook top, microwave and coffee maker. On the other was what looked
like a wardrobe. Inside of it were medical supplies and firearms. There were
three doors at the far end. Two led to bedrooms, and the third, placed between
the bedrooms, led to a shared bathroom equipped with a shower, toilet and sink.
In the middle of the room, covered by a rug, was a hatch. Below the bunker was
a storeroom. It had been stocked with enough provisions to last Sean, Kathy and
Emma several months.