Endurance: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller (Highway Book 2) Page 2

  “Sorry if I don’t take your words to heart. After all, you’re practically disabled and a senior citizen.”

  It was Travis who now laughed from behind both of them, sunning himself on an Adirondack chair in the grass. It was also the first time either of them had heard him laugh in a while.

  But both of them were focused on the task at hand.

  One thing Frank learned in the Army was that you never heckled the drill sergeant. Never! And Lexi needed to learn the basics, including his role in this process. “You’ve got an evil wit about you, I’ll say that. All right, we’re done for today’s hand-to-hand—”

  “What, you getting tired?” she mocked.

  Never heckle the drill sergeant. She was about to learn another lesson.

  “We’ll see who’s tired. Now, you’re going to run that way”—he thrust his forefinger north, toward the front of the property—“and you’re going to keep on running for one hour. I don’t want you to stop even for a break. So you’ll need to pace yourself. Based on your height, weight, and physical fitness, you should have no problem making it to a sign at mile marker 23, less than four miles north of here. Memorize what that sign says and only then you can return. If you don’t stop, you’ll be back here in”—he checked his chronograph—“sixty minutes. Go!”

  He clicked the first of the three buttons on the watch’s side, starting its stopwatch second hand, and glared at her again with a look that said “What the hell are you waiting for?”

  Lexi stared at him as if he had given her instructions in a foreign language. “How could you possibly know what it says on a sign four miles from here? You’ve never been here before either.”

  “We passed it last night. Being always aware of what’s around you is one more thing you’ll need to learn.” He glanced at his watch. “You’ve got only fifty-nine minutes now.”

  “Shouldn’t I take water?” She still hesitated, unsure. She swung her head in each direction, her eyes finding Travis for some encouragement.

  “No! Only your gun and your knife. Do not talk to anyone on the road, just run around them.”

  “And what if they stop me?”

  “Shoot ’em!”

  “Geez, some patriot you are. It might be an old person like you needing help.”

  “You’re wasting time. Fifty-eight minutes.”

  “All right, all right,” she huffed, shuffling toward the side of the house.

  Lexi jogged from the rear of the house to the front driveway and followed the meandering private road through the thick growth that seemed even denser than it had last night when they arrived, if that was possible. She reached for and then glanced down at her holstered .357 Rossi silver revolver and tried to adjust it, fearful the gun would fall out during her jog.

  Apparently her father had kept a holster for this very weapon; Frank had found it in a workshop off the garage. Moving was much easier with the gun holstered rather than stashed in her back pocket or tucked in the waistband of her pants at the small of her back. Of course, the FBI running shorts she’d borrowed from her daddy’s wardrobe didn’t have pockets, and the holster was held to her waist by a man’s belt, also her father’s. Frank had punched extra holes in it to accommodate her much smaller waist.

  She felt silly wearing the damn belt and holster, as it didn’t exactly look flattering on her. Not that flattering was as important as safe. After the past crazy five days, safety was far more essential than style. And Frank insisted that she wear the thing everywhere she went, even around the house. He said she needed to become intimately familiar with the gun and its feel and to always have it available. That way, if anything arose, she’d be able to respond. He constantly reminded her, “A loaded gun is worthless if it’s not with you.” It was hard to argue with that logic.

  She burst out of their driveway and onto a road, which was barely wider, and then finally onto the highway north. The same highway they had come down last night.

  It felt good to be running, with her thoughts as her only company. In the five days since terrorists attacked her country, she had almost never been alone: always looking after her brother or, worse, in the company of the lawless or of Abdul and his band of terrorists. She shivered just a little at this. Thankfully, the sun filled her with warmth again.

  The Florida humidity hung on her like her already wet oversized clothes. Frank promised they would go into town in a day or two and trade for a few things more her size.

  This struck her as funny, and then sad. She wasn’t sure when or even if there would be a time when they would be able to go to stores and buy—using money, rather than bartering with other things considered valuable such as ammunition—frivolous items such as pretty clothes and makeup. Frank had said he thought the grid might be down for good. That even if they no longer had to worry about Islamist invaders, it would take many years to rebuild what had been damaged by the EMPs.

  Their lives had changed so quickly. Only five days ago, she was worried about only herself. And she was filled with hatred for so many.

  These concerns seemed trivial now. She just felt glad to be alive, to be rid of her Uncle Abdul, to have her brother, and to have her godfather, Frank, looking after them. She felt “blessed,” as Frank would say.

  Before she knew it, having gotten lost in the thoughts churning around in her head, she was standing before the sign. It was right after mile marker 23, just like Frank had said it would be. She shook her head in disbelief, amazed that he remembered this. She swore that she’d pay better attention to everything around her from now on—to be “aware,” as Frank told her.

  The green sign said “Endurance 5,” as in it was five miles to Endurance, Florida. That was all. No expected secret message or trite saying like “Buckle Up” or “Bicycle Crossing.” Just “Endurance 5.”

  She had not realized—until now—that Endurance was the name of the town they now lived in, or rather lived closest to.

  Pivoting on her heels, her mission complete and yearning to get back before her hour had expired, she jogged back the way she had come. She felt pretty good, although she also felt like … what did Travis call it? That’s right, “a big sweat-ball.”

  When she found their private road again, the sign announcing Sunbay Cove, she felt like she had time to spare. So, she slowed her pace. With her gait at a trot, her holster started to move funny, and the heavy gun nested inside began rubbing her thigh raw.

  While she bobbed up and down with each stride, while trying to avoid the many tree branches that threatened to tear at her skin and the potholes that worked at sucking her down to her ankles, she monkeyed with the gun and the oversized belt.

  At what she remembered was the first zig in their narrow driveway, the damned revolver popped out of the holster. Maybe if I hadn’t fiddled with it so much …

  She lunged for the airborne gun, intending to catch it in midair and fearful she’d damage this gift from her dead father. As her hands grasped for it, instead she batted the gun away—the soft tissue of her already sore wrist and the back of her hand connecting hard—sending it sailing into the bushes. It spiraled away rapidly; little glints of sunlight sparkled off the chromed finish. Then it was consumed by a mass of green. A single thud told her it came to rest on the mossy floor inside the tropical barrier.

  “Shit!” she grumbled, clutching her hand, now bleeding from where it had connected with the gun. It throbbed painfully.

  I’m such a klutz.

  Lexi ducked under a clog of branches and stepped into the thicket, hoping her weapon hadn’t landed too far away. Only a couple of steps inside the thick mass of trees, bushes, and vines, it opened up some. A burst of light worked its way through the denseness. She pushed her head out through the mass, into the small clearing, and saw something odd.

  She expected to see a shiny gun, but instead there were two dirty tennis shoes facing her.

  She followed the shoes up. They were connected to dirty ankles, which were bound to dirty legs, which we
re joined to filthy shorts …

  “Ya looking for dis?” said a high-pitched voice in the distinct twang of a man who lived his whole life in this backwater. She shot a hurried glance up at the young man and saw he had her revolver.

  It was pointed at her.

  ~~~

  Frank

  “Where the hell have you been?” demanded a joyous Grimes. His voice crackled from radio interference.

  Frank’s face exploded into a giant smile. “Oh man, I cannot tell you how great it is to hear your voice.”

  “We can talk about that later. First, are you both all right? The gas hasn’t gotten to you?”

  “Gas? What gas?” Frank played with the knobs of the transceiver, afraid the atmosphere would muddle Grimes’s words.

  “Oh shit, you may not know this. The enemy is gassing military bases with what we believe is sarin gas. It started this morning, with drones and some say jets.”

  “We saw a couple of planes in the sky last night …” Frank recalled when he and Lexi were sharing beers by the dock, maybe a couple of hours after they’d arrived, and she had pointed out the two streaks in the sky from jets. But they had thought this was the sign of something good. Maybe it was just another phase of the enemy’s attack.

  Frank’s heart skipped a beat as he considered if this was the Phase Two they worried about.

  “Well then, count yourself lucky for not being by a military base.” Even over the radio’s static, he could hear Grimes sounded relieved. But Frank became more anxious as he chewed on this new information.

  “Uncle Frank?” Travis’s small voice blew in through the back door, left open but screened. He had been listening while Travis had been playing outside so that he could hear Lexi’s return from her run, which should be soon.

  Frank cocked his head out to better peer through the doorway of the radio and food storage room. He peered through the living area of the house and out the screened door. Only a few feet away, Travis was hovering over something on the ground. But otherwise he seemed fine.

  “Wait, what did you say?” Frank focused once more on what his friend was telling him over the radio. “Only military bases are being hit?”

  “It appears so. We’ve had reports from ham operators and a few bases we’ve been able to connect with that there were multiple strikes—”

  Ding!

  The cheap kitchen timer’s bell ratcheted up his anxiety, already heightened from what Grimes was telling him.

  The timer was set to ten minutes. That way they’d spend only that long on their preselected frequency. He heard a similar chime on Grimes’s side of their radio conversation. Without saying a word, Frank rapidly twirled the circular dial to the next frequency. “—ya got your ears on?” It was Grimes, already there—no doubt he had a newer-model digital transceiver, with programmed presets.

  “I’m here,” Frank replied. He felt his heart racing. He wanted to get to the logical conclusion of this conversation, yet he feared what that might mean for them, and then for the rest of his country.

  There was a thump on the roof. He suspected it was a heavy cat pouncing on something; maybe it was hunting. Frank had seen a couple of feral cats already, so he dismissed the sound and turned his attention back to the radio.

  “Uncle Frank?” Travis called out, a little louder than before.

  Frank moved his rolling chair sideways this time, craning his neck out farther, stretching the microphone’s cord. He was closer to the radio room’s doorway, getting an even better view. Travis was still outside, though he had moved closer. Once again, he was bent over examining something on the ground.

  “I was saying,” Grimes continued, “I heard from several military bases and a few ham radio operators reporting the same thing. One base reported that their people were fine one minute and then the next they were clawing at their skin, followed by convulsions and then death. The attacks seem mostly concentrated around military bases, but some of the surrounding populations are getting hit with this too.”

  Two more thuds on the roof. Three cats all hunting at the same time?

  “It appears to be sarin gas. Anyway, I’m glad you’re not next to a military base; otherwise you might have been affected.”

  “So this has already happened? I mean it’s over?” Frank asked as he hurriedly pulled back to the desk where the radio sat and examined a topo map of the area. He had pulled it out earlier this morning from one of Stanley’s many bookshelves in this radio area. His finger searched its surfaces.

  “No, it’s still ongoing. We just got a report from Tyndall Air Force Base in Panama City that—”

  “Uncle Frank?” Travis’s voice, now much louder, had taken on a tone of panic.

  Frank’s finger landed on a spot on the map. It was not a publicly known military base, but Frank recognized the boundary markers as Army. Hard to tell on a civilian map what it was, other than military and off-limits. More disturbing, it was only a couple of fingernails away from the house: at the most, a few miles.

  Two more thumps: one on the roof and the other outside in the yard.

  These weren’t the practiced sounds of predators. These were the sounds of nonliving things dropping from great distances.

  “Uncle Frank!” screeched Travis.

  Frank bounded up and saw Travis backing into the house. The door was propped open, but he was still facing outside, as if he was drawn to an accident occurring right before him.

  Frank dashed to the door, pulling Travis in, but from what he didn’t yet know.

  There were a couple of flopping dark masses on the ground, and then a splash out in the bay.

  They were birds.

  He watched two more tumble to the earth and crash, dead or dying.

  The sarin gas!

  “Travis!” Frank hollered, pulling him from the doorway and scooting him back toward the radio room. “Get inside there and close the door. Do not come out until after I return,” he demanded.

  Frank grabbed two gas masks from a table in the living room and two blanket throws on the couch and bounded out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

  He had to get to Lexi before the gas got to her.

  Chapter 3

  Off the Coast of Florida

  “Dammit, Sarge, my throat feels like the inside of a roasted pepper,” PFC O’Malley huffed while treading water.

  “Beats the shit out of the alternative,” Sergeant Reynolds stated matter-of-factly while scanning the skies, as if talking to himself. He wasn’t worried about O’Malley; he’d survive. They both would if they could get to the antidote quick enough. He was sick about the rest of his Bravo squad and all the men and women on their base. But as a soldier, he was most concerned about his country. This war had just been escalated, and they’d just lost a battle.

  “They’re all dead, aren’t they?” O’Malley said, gazing at the shoreline where they had jumped into the water.

  “Yeah.”

  “What was it?”

  “Sarin.”

  “You mean like the sarin gas terrorists used in train stations or Bashir used on his own Syrian people?”

  “The same.”

  They treaded water for a while, not saying anything much, both lost in their thoughts and sorrows.

  O’Malley had known he’d see death, being part of this special unit. He expected to witness it firsthand. He also knew that death would probably find some of his band of brothers and sisters when they took up the fight against their attackers. He’d just never expected this. Everyone he had trained with was gone. And they didn’t even get a chance to kill even one of their enemy. It felt like some giant weight pressing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe.

  Reynolds had larger concerns. He knew he couldn’t do anything more for the dead; his concern was for the living. He started to wade toward the shore.

  O’Malley followed. “What now?” he asked quietly, keeping his splashing down so that he could hear.

  “We need to get you an anti
dote, but first we need supplies.”

  “Wait, what antidote?” he asked immediately, not wanting to hear the sergeant’s answer. Involuntarily, he found it even harder to breathe.

  “Sarin is a nerve agent. Once you come in contact with it, in a large enough dose, you have to get a counteragent in your system within twenty-four hours, or you’re dead. Sooner is better. The only source I know for the antidote is on base, which won’t be clear for a couple of days. So we need hazmat suits. I can think of only one place close to here that has at least two of them. I’m hoping it hasn’t been saturated in sarin too.”

  Reynolds pulled himself out of the water and stood up on shore, adjusting his brown-green briefs. He was thankful for being stationed at a base off the Florida Gulf, with its warm waters, rather than someplace on the freezing Atlantic.

  “Do you need help, Private?” Reynolds sounded empathetic, but his hands on his hips spoke of impatience.

  “Sorry, Sarge. But … I’m naked; you told me to take my clothes off. I thought you meant everything,” he said sheepishly.

  “This is no time to be embarrassed about your privates, Private. Get out of the water!” Reynolds watched briefly as the embarrassed private trudged out of the water, coughing. Reynolds hadn’t noticed till now, but O’Malley’s face and forearms were an angry shade of red. They needed to get moving.

  Reynolds turned and quickly paced along a northwesterly trail that hugged the coastline, on the other side of the base’s boundary fence. He listened to confirm O’Malley was following, and he was. He could also hear the private’s labored breathing.

  It didn’t take long for them to reach the fenced rear yard of a small cottage, the home of the base commander and his wife.

  After passing through a small unlocked gate, they walked side by side up the stepping-stones, leading toward the house’s back patio, where they both stopped abruptly.

  Locked in mid-step, both were dumbstruck by what they saw.

  O’Malley spoke first. “Uhm. Sorry to bother you, ma’am.” His palms quickly converged over his crotch. The situation painted his face an extra shade of crimson.