A Sample from Jubilee Year: A Technothriller (The Erelong Trilogy Book I)
CHAPTER 42
SKY PRESSURE
Storm shouldered the sports bags and walked up the path to the entrance to the surgery. He kept his head down to avoid seeing the sky because it was giving him the creeps in a bad way. It looked worse than the flame-reddened haze he was more used to seeing when the area was hit by bushfires.
He tapped the digits into the keypad. It hardly mattered if the alarm went off. Alarms were doing that all over town. What was one more among a hundred? Still, it did feel like he was breaking-in to the clinic. The lights flashed to verify the correct sequence and the lock mechanism disengaged. He turned the key and sprang through the door, quickly pulling it closed behind him.
The storage room was right where Franchette said it would be. He dropped the bags on the floor. This wasn't going to take so long after all. That was his first thought. But, his heart sank when he gazed at the shelves filled with neatly arranged boxes bearing multiples of scrawled labels; long words he didn't recognize, and each box differentiated by type and measure. There were too many boxes on too many shelves. Finding everything on the list was going to be much more difficult than he had imagined.
He told himself the less time he spent in town, the sooner everyone would be safe in a shelter, and that he would do his best. He decided to start with the largest items. At least the oxygen tanks were easy to find. It took longer to find the regulators, the masks, and hoses and carry holsters. Once he filled the sports bag with the heavy breathing equipment, he dragged it into the reception. Back in the storage room he looked at the rest of his list and groaned. He was only getting started.
More than three hours had passed by the time he decided he was done. He saw that he had crossed off almost everything on the piece of paper Franchette had given him. He gazed down the list of pills, potions, lotions, vials, bandages, syringes, and scalpels. Good enough, he thought. It was not everything she requested, but he had given up on finding any more. It was going to have to do.
He stood beside the cash register and stared at the phone; surprised at the courage it was going to take. Perspiration dripped from the tip of his nose onto the Formica counter. He could see the droplets quiver on the polished surface.
Outside, the sound of rumbling was building in intensity. It was the noise made by a hundred jumbo-sized flaming arrow traveling overhead. Sonic booms shook the lightly built clinic and rattled the glass in the window frames.
He picked up the receiver and heard a dial tone. With electricity and phones still available the situation could not be as bad as it seemed. He took a deep breath and told himself to calm down. It took only a single ring before he heard the voice he recognized instantly. Only it wasn't quite the same as the last time he heard him speak.
"Mr. Boas?"
"Hello again, Storm."
There was no longer a familiar local twang to the voice. It sounded remarkably free of an accent of any kind. It sounded as the creature looked—colorless.
"I need to ask you a question," Storm said.
"Go ahead," Martyn replied.
"Is that the plasma you were talking about that's lighting the sky today? Because it doesn't look right."
The telephone line crackled, and he thought for a terrible moment he had lost the connection.
"I have already told you everything you need to know," Martyn said.
Outside, the air was reverberating to the sound of loud booms. Each arblast came in quick succession. Another meteor shower, only louder than Storm had heard them before. These were much bigger than the bolloid that stopped Shane’s car dead in the center of the road.
"You are wasting time," Martyn told him.
“Tell me what's happening."
"You would like me to say everything is going to return to normal. Once they turn off the sound and light show. Isn't that so?"
"You didn't tell me the end of the world would start the day I left Canberra!"
“Earth’s defenses have weakened. The planet’s electromagnetic shield has greatly diminished,” Martyn said.
"We aren't ready! I'm not…” Storm let a sob escape. It startled him. Even though he was scared, like he had never been before in his life. He bit his lip until he could taste the copper of his own blood.
Martyn’s voice came as if from a great distance. The words muffled. The sentences incomplete.
Storm pressed the receiver into his ear. "I—I can’t hear you."
"You need to drink something," Martyn repeated.
"Okay," Storm said, struggling to hold himself together.
"Switch on the intercom system and leave the receiver next to the microphone," Martyn told him. “And breathe normally."
Storm stepped back from the counter and spotted the small console beside the cash register. He flicked the switch on and heard the speakers crackle into life in the corridor that led to the doctors' rooms'. Somewhere in the circuit was a loose electrical connection. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered to him except getting out of the building and out of Coona.
He saw that the office opened into a small kitchen. In a corner, a single sink stood against the wall. He turned the taps as far as they would go. They sputtered and coughed. He looked back at the waiting room and saw there was a water dispenser.
The large upended blue flask was empty but when he rocked it to and fro he heard liquid sloshing about inside the container. He held a paper cup beneath the tap and pulled the machine twenty degrees. There was enough water trickling out to fill his cup to the brim.
Martyn's voice came over the speaker. "It's time to leave!"
The first gulp went the wrong way, and he coughed until he cleared his windpipe. The remaining water in the cup spilled over his chest. He pulled on the machine again. This time he was only able to half fill the cup, but he was able to swallow the contents.
“You haven’t told me yet what comes next," Storm said.
"I have told you all you need to know."
"Tell me again!"
"I expected too much of you—“
Martyn’s voice dropped away. And for a while Storm thought he had lost him "Hello-hello? Mr. Boas? Martyn?"
"I'm here, Storm!"
"All right,” Storm shouted. “So, I'm slow. I didn't get that you explained everything.”
"I don't have exact times. I know the orbit of objects within the system is at this time taking them closer to Earth. You know enough to save yourself and your group. Each hour you spend on the surface lowers your chance of survival You have two days to find shelter. One more sunrise. The next few days is a practice run for the main event. If you survive them.”
Storm took a deep breath and steadied himself. "One more thing."
"Why not?"
"Davenport was going to make sure I told no one anything, wasn't he? That was the plan, wasn't it?"
"No."
"You planned to have me killed before I talked to anyone. Like what happened to the others in the observatory. That's right, isn't it?"
"You're smart. You have gifts—your talents. And now you show me you are as stupid as the rest of them—Davenport is dedicated and as such he is useful. No, he was not planning to hurt you, and I never told him to do that. Do you really think I would expend all this energy on you only to have you killed on the way back home? Davenport's time here is almost over. Yours is not. You and I may meet again. But if we do—no—when we do, we will both be nearing the end of our allocated time. Until then, Storm."
Storm gathered the backpacks. The bloody oxygen tanks were as heavy as hell! Shouldering the bags, he launched himself through the open door. The orange light reflected off the sheen of sweat on his arms, just as it did off of the white paint on the walls of the clinic. He dared not look up as he stumbled, half dragging the bags toward the car.
A droning noise was building to an incredible pitch. The sound was similar to one he had heard months ago. The whole region heard it. Some said it sounded like a stick run around the rim of a large bronze bell. Others said it was more like a colossal Tibetan singing bowl. It was loud. Loud enough it must have been amplified by the firmament itself.
His legs were shaking when he reached the car. Martyn's final words were echoing in his head. “Keep moving. Make haste to your sanctuary."
The awful grinding ceased as suddenly as it began. He let the bags down gently to the ground, not wanting to break the vials he had collected, and fumbled with the keys. There was the rumble of another meteor passing over the town. He lifted the bags onto the back seat and closed the door.
Champ was missing.
The mutt must have slipped out when he arrived. He slammed the door shut and jabbed the key into the ignition, but he paused when he heard a wet slopping sound near his feet. He looked at the floor in front of the passenger seat, and there under the dash with its nose pressed against the firewall was Champ.
The dog rolled its eyes in fear. It licked the saliva running from its jowls and gave one long, pitiful howl.
"Hey, mate. We are going to make it out of here, I promise."
Storm knew he was speaking to himself as much as to Champ. He nodded his head to confirm as much.
Pink light seeped through the lurid cloud mass that tumbled and twisted into lengths like coils of intestine. It was darker now. As if something huge was passing above the soup of moisture and compounds between the planet and the Sun. The yellow star was struggling. Its electrical energy, the lifeblood, absorbed in ever increasing amounts by the Dark Star. Like a bizarre form of parasite twin it gained strength from its sibling, the closer it came. Now, it was closing on Earth’s orbit.
Earth's electrical field reacted too in unpredictable ways. Energy waves swept both inwards and outwards. Had Storm dared to look up once more, even with the plasma screen back in place, he would have seen small waves peel across the entire breadth of the gray mass. A rhythmic pattern resembling the pulsing underside of a living creature.
CHAPTER 43
THE RECLUSIVE ORDERLY
The meteor shower had ceased for the time being. Storm no longer felt the apocalypse was upon him. The sky had returned to a familiar steel gray, but the rippling across the cloud base remained. The vast belly of a ginormous fish floated above the town. It was bearable only if he did not look up at it. That he had a target on the ground to focus on made it easier.
Black smoke scudded over the town, driven by wind bursts that made it resemble meteor trails. Most of the house fires began in the bush. The result of meteor strikes and lightning. The wind carried the embers under the eaves of the older houses, where the dry wood shouldered until it ignited. Since there was no fire service, and no neighbors to come running with buckets and hoses the flames had taken hold in some parts.
It seemed to Storm like the town was doomed to burn. His plan was to start with the outer ring road and work his way back toward Main Street. He could see the flames did not appear to lap the better-heeled section of Coona. He might yet find a good set of wheels. A late model four-wheel drive with a full tank of gas was waiting for him in one of those richer streets.
He pulled up next to the curb outside a cottage on a tidy corner section. The place was well kept. He could see the lawn had been mowed only days before, and the gardens were well tended. At the end of a driveway stood a freshly painted garage with double doors that he guessed would be locked. The place looked promising.
Natural caution and simple politeness made him press the electric bell of the front door twice. He strained to hear a chime, but the house was silent. He waited a short while, but he heard no sound from inside. From where he stood on the front porch, he could see the garage had a small side window set in a side door.
He walked down the path and peered through the glass. The interior was too dark to see all that much but he could only just make out the shape of a vehicle. He decided it was the right size to be a four-wheeler and he would take it, that is, if he could find the car keys inside the house and if it had gas in the tank. First, he was going to need to take a closer look.
Storm kicked the door several times before he dropped his shoulder and braced himself to take a run at it.
The voice in his ear was soft. "Are you after my car?"
He spun around to face a large stocky man in his twenties and dressed like he was on his way to the beach. The stranger stood barefoot in a T-shirt and board shorts. Yet it seemed to Storm the man did not look like someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. The short-cropped black hair, dark stubble, and purple rings under his eyes made the pale complexion even more so. He was a gamer. He looked like one.
"You want to steal my car?" The man asked again. He waved his hand in the direction of the garage. He didn't look angry though. Just plain tired.
"I was hoping to find a spare can of petrol," Storm lied. "I thought the house was empty."
The pale man eyed him up and down with an intensity that put Storm on guard.
"None of the pumps in town work," Storm added. It wasn't like an explanation was necessary, but he knew if you keep talking people begin to relax. They think you aren't so smart after all. How the hell had the feller managed to sneak up on him?
The man raised his chin to regard Storm with the kind of haughty look a school teacher might use on an errant student.
"Why do you want to leave the town? It's just the same outside of Coona, isn't it?"
"What is?"
"The tornadoes, the meteors. It's all going on everywhere, right?"
Storm decided it was best to play the fool. "Ah, yeah. I guess so.”
"You guess?" The man asked in surprise.
"Look, I'm sorry for barging onto your property. Okay? I'll try another house."
"I hid in the attic," the man said, ignoring Storm’s apology and his attempt to end the conversation. "They didn't look up there. They probably thought old folk lived here. The hospital is only a block away.” He was speaking quickly like he knew he had little time to say all that was needed.
"Smart thinking!" Storm replied with a nod of acknowledgment.
He was getting the measure of the man. The way he imagined a street fighter might size up an opponent. The man was a little taller than he was, and had long arms. Perhaps he should make a dash for the car. Then again, he doubted he could cover the distance before he was tackled. He gazed into the stranger's face. Mate—your eyes, he thought. Was it fear or craziness he saw in them?
"Yeah, it was too," the pale man said with a look of pride. "All things considered.” The dour expression had brightened. "Hey! You know what? There's a gas burner in the house. I can fix us coffee."
"I better keep moving,” Storm told him. He was still weighing the odds.
“The car in the garage wouldn't be much good. It's been sitting there for six months. The head blew. That means it will need a new engine, you know? About two grand's worth!"
"Sorry to hear it. Well—I gotta go. So—good luck."
The man looked disappointed. He shifted about like he was having problems coming arriving at a decision, or perhaps he too was sizing up his opponent. Looking for Storm’s Achilles heel.
"If you're traveling far, you need something dependable. Something that won't break down. With enough power to pull you out of the rough—if you go off the road."
If the guy was trying to sound like a commercial for a four-wheel drive vehicle, he was convincing. “Yeah," Storm replied. "That's just about what I'm looking to find."
"Something a security patrol might not bother to stop. How about a service vehicle? Like a truck?"
“That would be good—I guess," Storm said.
He had forgotten about the possibility of encountering security patrols on the roads.
"I can get you something like that. If you can take me a little past the hospital, I'll show you.”
"What if you pull a knife on me—then leave me on the side of the road?" Storm asked.
"If I was going to ambush you, I would have done it when you had your back to me," the man told him.
It was difficult to argue with the logic, and so, Storm set his doubts aside and introduced himself.
The man stared at the extended hand with surprise before grasping it in both of his. "I'm Darren Calder. I'm really pleased you turned up."
Darren directed Storm to park in the drive of a two-story brick structure situated at the corner of an intersection. The building was surrounded by neatly mowed lawns. A flagless pole stood at front. He knew he had passed the place many times before without ever knowing what outfit owned it.
He shut the car door quietly and looked up and down the street for a sign of movement. There was none to be seen. Not that he had expected to see anyone. Then again, he wasn’t expecting to run into the hostile cop at the police station, or Darren for that matter.
He studied the metal doors in front of him. Each wide and high enough for a small truck to drive through. Both were locked and he could see no other way inside.
Storm turned to say as much to Darren, but his passenger had vanished. "Shit, this is not good!" Storm muttered under his breath.
It was close to noon and he should have been on the road. Then, he heard the clink of keys and the garage door flipped up with a bang.
Storm leaped back. "You scared the bejeezus out of me!"
Darren had a proud grin on his face as he dangled a large ring of keys from an outstretched hand. "It helps to know where the keys are kept. So what do you think? Will it do?"
The white wagon with its red lettering, iridescent yellow strip above the grill, and checkered stripe running along both sides were all instantly recognizable. It was totally unexpected.
"An ambulance?"
"A Volkswagen T5 Transporter to be exact!” Darren exclaimed. He slapped the hood and grinned at Storm as if he was showing off his brand new Lamborghini.
"Do you think it will do the job? I guarantee it's been well-serviced and has a full tank."
"It'll do," Storm told him.
The ambulance was pretty damn good in fact, but he didn't want to give Darren the idea he was owed anything.
"Good," Darren replied. "Because I can't have slept more than three hours since they cleared the town. You drive the first half. Then I'll take over. Where’re we going?"
"There's two of them," Storm said, pointing to the second ambulance. "You take one and I take the other."
"I'm really tired!" Darren complained.
"Haven't you got somewhere you have to go?" Storm asked.
"No, mate. I could stay here in Coona or I could go with you."
"Well—" Storm began.
"Oh—I get it. You don't trust me, do you?"
"It's not so much that I don't trust you," Storm exclaimed. "I don't even know you!"
"There's a group of you, isn’t there? You don't want to risk bringing a whack job back with you. That would put everyone’s life in danger," Darren said, nodding his head more vigorously than he needed. "I get it."
"Yeah—well," Storm said. He took a step back. He didn't want to fist this out. He was tired too. It would also mean looking for another vehicle. He knew he didn't have time to do that. He was unsure what was going to happen next, but he suddenly felt still inside. He was not leaving without one of the ambulances. "That's how it is. Sorry mate, I can't take you with me."
Darren appeared to be in pain. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, staring beyond the open garage door. Finally, the dark-ringed eyes turned back to Storm.
"I wouldn't bring someone I had just met into my group either. Not the kind of situation we’re in. No way. I would only trust familiar faces.” He gave a heavy sigh. "Look, I work at the hospital—I mean I did work at the hospital. It wasn't a skilled job. I'm not like a nurse or a paramedic. Most of the time I was wheeling people around in their beds. I was an orderly.” He cleared his throat. "But I know a lot of useful stuff—I'm someone worth having at your side. Honest, I am!"
Storm stared at Darren's pale face. He had been wrong about Davenport. Maybe he was wrong now. “If you turn out to be trouble, you're on your own,” he said finally.
Darren grabbed Storm's hand and shook it vigorously all over again. "Thanks! I mean it! I won't be trouble."
The two of them needed each other, Storm told himself. Just the same, he was going to keep an eye on Darren.
*** END OF SAMPLE
SKY PRESSURE
Storm shouldered the sports bags and walked up the path to the entrance to the surgery. He kept his head down to avoid seeing the sky because it was giving him the creeps in a bad way. It looked worse than the flame-reddened haze he was more used to seeing when the area was hit by bushfires.
He tapped the digits into the keypad. It hardly mattered if the alarm went off. Alarms were doing that all over town. What was one more among a hundred? Still, it did feel like he was breaking-in to the clinic. The lights flashed to verify the correct sequence and the lock mechanism disengaged. He turned the key and sprang through the door, quickly pulling it closed behind him.
The storage room was right where Franchette said it would be. He dropped the bags on the floor. This wasn't going to take so long after all. That was his first thought. But, his heart sank when he gazed at the shelves filled with neatly arranged boxes bearing multiples of scrawled labels; long words he didn't recognize, and each box differentiated by type and measure. There were too many boxes on too many shelves. Finding everything on the list was going to be much more difficult than he had imagined.
He told himself the less time he spent in town, the sooner everyone would be safe in a shelter, and that he would do his best. He decided to start with the largest items. At least the oxygen tanks were easy to find. It took longer to find the regulators, the masks, and hoses and carry holsters. Once he filled the sports bag with the heavy breathing equipment, he dragged it into the reception. Back in the storage room he looked at the rest of his list and groaned. He was only getting started.
More than three hours had passed by the time he decided he was done. He saw that he had crossed off almost everything on the piece of paper Franchette had given him. He gazed down the list of pills, potions, lotions, vials, bandages, syringes, and scalpels. Good enough, he thought. It was not everything she requested, but he had given up on finding any more. It was going to have to do.
He stood beside the cash register and stared at the phone; surprised at the courage it was going to take. Perspiration dripped from the tip of his nose onto the Formica counter. He could see the droplets quiver on the polished surface.
Outside, the sound of rumbling was building in intensity. It was the noise made by a hundred jumbo-sized flaming arrow traveling overhead. Sonic booms shook the lightly built clinic and rattled the glass in the window frames.
He picked up the receiver and heard a dial tone. With electricity and phones still available the situation could not be as bad as it seemed. He took a deep breath and told himself to calm down. It took only a single ring before he heard the voice he recognized instantly. Only it wasn't quite the same as the last time he heard him speak.
"Mr. Boas?"
"Hello again, Storm."
There was no longer a familiar local twang to the voice. It sounded remarkably free of an accent of any kind. It sounded as the creature looked—colorless.
"I need to ask you a question," Storm said.
"Go ahead," Martyn replied.
"Is that the plasma you were talking about that's lighting the sky today? Because it doesn't look right."
The telephone line crackled, and he thought for a terrible moment he had lost the connection.
"I have already told you everything you need to know," Martyn said.
Outside, the air was reverberating to the sound of loud booms. Each arblast came in quick succession. Another meteor shower, only louder than Storm had heard them before. These were much bigger than the bolloid that stopped Shane’s car dead in the center of the road.
"You are wasting time," Martyn told him.
“Tell me what's happening."
"You would like me to say everything is going to return to normal. Once they turn off the sound and light show. Isn't that so?"
"You didn't tell me the end of the world would start the day I left Canberra!"
“Earth’s defenses have weakened. The planet’s electromagnetic shield has greatly diminished,” Martyn said.
"We aren't ready! I'm not…” Storm let a sob escape. It startled him. Even though he was scared, like he had never been before in his life. He bit his lip until he could taste the copper of his own blood.
Martyn’s voice came as if from a great distance. The words muffled. The sentences incomplete.
Storm pressed the receiver into his ear. "I—I can’t hear you."
"You need to drink something," Martyn repeated.
"Okay," Storm said, struggling to hold himself together.
"Switch on the intercom system and leave the receiver next to the microphone," Martyn told him. “And breathe normally."
Storm stepped back from the counter and spotted the small console beside the cash register. He flicked the switch on and heard the speakers crackle into life in the corridor that led to the doctors' rooms'. Somewhere in the circuit was a loose electrical connection. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered to him except getting out of the building and out of Coona.
He saw that the office opened into a small kitchen. In a corner, a single sink stood against the wall. He turned the taps as far as they would go. They sputtered and coughed. He looked back at the waiting room and saw there was a water dispenser.
The large upended blue flask was empty but when he rocked it to and fro he heard liquid sloshing about inside the container. He held a paper cup beneath the tap and pulled the machine twenty degrees. There was enough water trickling out to fill his cup to the brim.
Martyn's voice came over the speaker. "It's time to leave!"
The first gulp went the wrong way, and he coughed until he cleared his windpipe. The remaining water in the cup spilled over his chest. He pulled on the machine again. This time he was only able to half fill the cup, but he was able to swallow the contents.
“You haven’t told me yet what comes next," Storm said.
"I have told you all you need to know."
"Tell me again!"
"I expected too much of you—“
Martyn’s voice dropped away. And for a while Storm thought he had lost him "Hello-hello? Mr. Boas? Martyn?"
"I'm here, Storm!"
"All right,” Storm shouted. “So, I'm slow. I didn't get that you explained everything.”
"I don't have exact times. I know the orbit of objects within the system is at this time taking them closer to Earth. You know enough to save yourself and your group. Each hour you spend on the surface lowers your chance of survival You have two days to find shelter. One more sunrise. The next few days is a practice run for the main event. If you survive them.”
Storm took a deep breath and steadied himself. "One more thing."
"Why not?"
"Davenport was going to make sure I told no one anything, wasn't he? That was the plan, wasn't it?"
"No."
"You planned to have me killed before I talked to anyone. Like what happened to the others in the observatory. That's right, isn't it?"
"You're smart. You have gifts—your talents. And now you show me you are as stupid as the rest of them—Davenport is dedicated and as such he is useful. No, he was not planning to hurt you, and I never told him to do that. Do you really think I would expend all this energy on you only to have you killed on the way back home? Davenport's time here is almost over. Yours is not. You and I may meet again. But if we do—no—when we do, we will both be nearing the end of our allocated time. Until then, Storm."
Storm gathered the backpacks. The bloody oxygen tanks were as heavy as hell! Shouldering the bags, he launched himself through the open door. The orange light reflected off the sheen of sweat on his arms, just as it did off of the white paint on the walls of the clinic. He dared not look up as he stumbled, half dragging the bags toward the car.
A droning noise was building to an incredible pitch. The sound was similar to one he had heard months ago. The whole region heard it. Some said it sounded like a stick run around the rim of a large bronze bell. Others said it was more like a colossal Tibetan singing bowl. It was loud. Loud enough it must have been amplified by the firmament itself.
His legs were shaking when he reached the car. Martyn's final words were echoing in his head. “Keep moving. Make haste to your sanctuary."
The awful grinding ceased as suddenly as it began. He let the bags down gently to the ground, not wanting to break the vials he had collected, and fumbled with the keys. There was the rumble of another meteor passing over the town. He lifted the bags onto the back seat and closed the door.
Champ was missing.
The mutt must have slipped out when he arrived. He slammed the door shut and jabbed the key into the ignition, but he paused when he heard a wet slopping sound near his feet. He looked at the floor in front of the passenger seat, and there under the dash with its nose pressed against the firewall was Champ.
The dog rolled its eyes in fear. It licked the saliva running from its jowls and gave one long, pitiful howl.
"Hey, mate. We are going to make it out of here, I promise."
Storm knew he was speaking to himself as much as to Champ. He nodded his head to confirm as much.
Pink light seeped through the lurid cloud mass that tumbled and twisted into lengths like coils of intestine. It was darker now. As if something huge was passing above the soup of moisture and compounds between the planet and the Sun. The yellow star was struggling. Its electrical energy, the lifeblood, absorbed in ever increasing amounts by the Dark Star. Like a bizarre form of parasite twin it gained strength from its sibling, the closer it came. Now, it was closing on Earth’s orbit.
Earth's electrical field reacted too in unpredictable ways. Energy waves swept both inwards and outwards. Had Storm dared to look up once more, even with the plasma screen back in place, he would have seen small waves peel across the entire breadth of the gray mass. A rhythmic pattern resembling the pulsing underside of a living creature.
CHAPTER 43
THE RECLUSIVE ORDERLY
The meteor shower had ceased for the time being. Storm no longer felt the apocalypse was upon him. The sky had returned to a familiar steel gray, but the rippling across the cloud base remained. The vast belly of a ginormous fish floated above the town. It was bearable only if he did not look up at it. That he had a target on the ground to focus on made it easier.
Black smoke scudded over the town, driven by wind bursts that made it resemble meteor trails. Most of the house fires began in the bush. The result of meteor strikes and lightning. The wind carried the embers under the eaves of the older houses, where the dry wood shouldered until it ignited. Since there was no fire service, and no neighbors to come running with buckets and hoses the flames had taken hold in some parts.
It seemed to Storm like the town was doomed to burn. His plan was to start with the outer ring road and work his way back toward Main Street. He could see the flames did not appear to lap the better-heeled section of Coona. He might yet find a good set of wheels. A late model four-wheel drive with a full tank of gas was waiting for him in one of those richer streets.
He pulled up next to the curb outside a cottage on a tidy corner section. The place was well kept. He could see the lawn had been mowed only days before, and the gardens were well tended. At the end of a driveway stood a freshly painted garage with double doors that he guessed would be locked. The place looked promising.
Natural caution and simple politeness made him press the electric bell of the front door twice. He strained to hear a chime, but the house was silent. He waited a short while, but he heard no sound from inside. From where he stood on the front porch, he could see the garage had a small side window set in a side door.
He walked down the path and peered through the glass. The interior was too dark to see all that much but he could only just make out the shape of a vehicle. He decided it was the right size to be a four-wheeler and he would take it, that is, if he could find the car keys inside the house and if it had gas in the tank. First, he was going to need to take a closer look.
Storm kicked the door several times before he dropped his shoulder and braced himself to take a run at it.
The voice in his ear was soft. "Are you after my car?"
He spun around to face a large stocky man in his twenties and dressed like he was on his way to the beach. The stranger stood barefoot in a T-shirt and board shorts. Yet it seemed to Storm the man did not look like someone who spent a lot of time outdoors. The short-cropped black hair, dark stubble, and purple rings under his eyes made the pale complexion even more so. He was a gamer. He looked like one.
"You want to steal my car?" The man asked again. He waved his hand in the direction of the garage. He didn't look angry though. Just plain tired.
"I was hoping to find a spare can of petrol," Storm lied. "I thought the house was empty."
The pale man eyed him up and down with an intensity that put Storm on guard.
"None of the pumps in town work," Storm added. It wasn't like an explanation was necessary, but he knew if you keep talking people begin to relax. They think you aren't so smart after all. How the hell had the feller managed to sneak up on him?
The man raised his chin to regard Storm with the kind of haughty look a school teacher might use on an errant student.
"Why do you want to leave the town? It's just the same outside of Coona, isn't it?"
"What is?"
"The tornadoes, the meteors. It's all going on everywhere, right?"
Storm decided it was best to play the fool. "Ah, yeah. I guess so.”
"You guess?" The man asked in surprise.
"Look, I'm sorry for barging onto your property. Okay? I'll try another house."
"I hid in the attic," the man said, ignoring Storm’s apology and his attempt to end the conversation. "They didn't look up there. They probably thought old folk lived here. The hospital is only a block away.” He was speaking quickly like he knew he had little time to say all that was needed.
"Smart thinking!" Storm replied with a nod of acknowledgment.
He was getting the measure of the man. The way he imagined a street fighter might size up an opponent. The man was a little taller than he was, and had long arms. Perhaps he should make a dash for the car. Then again, he doubted he could cover the distance before he was tackled. He gazed into the stranger's face. Mate—your eyes, he thought. Was it fear or craziness he saw in them?
"Yeah, it was too," the pale man said with a look of pride. "All things considered.” The dour expression had brightened. "Hey! You know what? There's a gas burner in the house. I can fix us coffee."
"I better keep moving,” Storm told him. He was still weighing the odds.
“The car in the garage wouldn't be much good. It's been sitting there for six months. The head blew. That means it will need a new engine, you know? About two grand's worth!"
"Sorry to hear it. Well—I gotta go. So—good luck."
The man looked disappointed. He shifted about like he was having problems coming arriving at a decision, or perhaps he too was sizing up his opponent. Looking for Storm’s Achilles heel.
"If you're traveling far, you need something dependable. Something that won't break down. With enough power to pull you out of the rough—if you go off the road."
If the guy was trying to sound like a commercial for a four-wheel drive vehicle, he was convincing. “Yeah," Storm replied. "That's just about what I'm looking to find."
"Something a security patrol might not bother to stop. How about a service vehicle? Like a truck?"
“That would be good—I guess," Storm said.
He had forgotten about the possibility of encountering security patrols on the roads.
"I can get you something like that. If you can take me a little past the hospital, I'll show you.”
"What if you pull a knife on me—then leave me on the side of the road?" Storm asked.
"If I was going to ambush you, I would have done it when you had your back to me," the man told him.
It was difficult to argue with the logic, and so, Storm set his doubts aside and introduced himself.
The man stared at the extended hand with surprise before grasping it in both of his. "I'm Darren Calder. I'm really pleased you turned up."
Darren directed Storm to park in the drive of a two-story brick structure situated at the corner of an intersection. The building was surrounded by neatly mowed lawns. A flagless pole stood at front. He knew he had passed the place many times before without ever knowing what outfit owned it.
He shut the car door quietly and looked up and down the street for a sign of movement. There was none to be seen. Not that he had expected to see anyone. Then again, he wasn’t expecting to run into the hostile cop at the police station, or Darren for that matter.
He studied the metal doors in front of him. Each wide and high enough for a small truck to drive through. Both were locked and he could see no other way inside.
Storm turned to say as much to Darren, but his passenger had vanished. "Shit, this is not good!" Storm muttered under his breath.
It was close to noon and he should have been on the road. Then, he heard the clink of keys and the garage door flipped up with a bang.
Storm leaped back. "You scared the bejeezus out of me!"
Darren had a proud grin on his face as he dangled a large ring of keys from an outstretched hand. "It helps to know where the keys are kept. So what do you think? Will it do?"
The white wagon with its red lettering, iridescent yellow strip above the grill, and checkered stripe running along both sides were all instantly recognizable. It was totally unexpected.
"An ambulance?"
"A Volkswagen T5 Transporter to be exact!” Darren exclaimed. He slapped the hood and grinned at Storm as if he was showing off his brand new Lamborghini.
"Do you think it will do the job? I guarantee it's been well-serviced and has a full tank."
"It'll do," Storm told him.
The ambulance was pretty damn good in fact, but he didn't want to give Darren the idea he was owed anything.
"Good," Darren replied. "Because I can't have slept more than three hours since they cleared the town. You drive the first half. Then I'll take over. Where’re we going?"
"There's two of them," Storm said, pointing to the second ambulance. "You take one and I take the other."
"I'm really tired!" Darren complained.
"Haven't you got somewhere you have to go?" Storm asked.
"No, mate. I could stay here in Coona or I could go with you."
"Well—" Storm began.
"Oh—I get it. You don't trust me, do you?"
"It's not so much that I don't trust you," Storm exclaimed. "I don't even know you!"
"There's a group of you, isn’t there? You don't want to risk bringing a whack job back with you. That would put everyone’s life in danger," Darren said, nodding his head more vigorously than he needed. "I get it."
"Yeah—well," Storm said. He took a step back. He didn't want to fist this out. He was tired too. It would also mean looking for another vehicle. He knew he didn't have time to do that. He was unsure what was going to happen next, but he suddenly felt still inside. He was not leaving without one of the ambulances. "That's how it is. Sorry mate, I can't take you with me."
Darren appeared to be in pain. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, staring beyond the open garage door. Finally, the dark-ringed eyes turned back to Storm.
"I wouldn't bring someone I had just met into my group either. Not the kind of situation we’re in. No way. I would only trust familiar faces.” He gave a heavy sigh. "Look, I work at the hospital—I mean I did work at the hospital. It wasn't a skilled job. I'm not like a nurse or a paramedic. Most of the time I was wheeling people around in their beds. I was an orderly.” He cleared his throat. "But I know a lot of useful stuff—I'm someone worth having at your side. Honest, I am!"
Storm stared at Darren's pale face. He had been wrong about Davenport. Maybe he was wrong now. “If you turn out to be trouble, you're on your own,” he said finally.
Darren grabbed Storm's hand and shook it vigorously all over again. "Thanks! I mean it! I won't be trouble."
The two of them needed each other, Storm told himself. Just the same, he was going to keep an eye on Darren.
*** END OF SAMPLE
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