The Recovery - Solar Crash Book 4: (A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Series) Page 2

  “There’s no way of knowing that, Len.” Harrison tried to calm his friend, noticing the small hitch of panic in Len’s voice. “Amy sounds like she knows what she’s doing. They’ve lasted this long on their own. If we’re going to find them, we need to make sure we’re rested and as capable as possible.”

  “We?”

  “We.” Harrison nodded. “I’m still coming with you. Grand Haven is north and that’s where I want to go. I said I’d help you find your family and I meant it.”

  Len felt his heart swell inside him. He had thought a lot about what would happen when they reached South Haven. Whether Amy and James had been at home or not, he hadn’t been sure if Harrison would stay with him or continue north toward Canada. He couldn’t deny the gratitude and comfort he felt by Harrison saying he would stay with him; Len knew it was his companionship that had gotten him this far.

  “Thank you,” Len breathed, true gratitude seeping out in his words. “Thank you Harrison.”

  “Honestly Len,” Harrison smiled, “how many times do I have to tell you not to thank me? Why don’t we see how Justin and the kids are getting on upstairs? We should get a wash ourselves and then try to scrape together some food, all right?”

  “Yeah,” Len nodded, sliding off the stool he’d been sitting on and leaving the letter on the counter. “Yeah, good idea.”

  Walking out of the kitchen, Len felt confident about his future. He had to believe Harrison was right and that Amy and James had already made it safely to the lake house. They would be with Ellen and Maria now, making tea and waiting for him to arrive. James would be safe, and he would be with him again soon. His journey may have extended slightly, but the end goal was still the same. He was still going to find his son.

  “Ah, Len,” Justin’s voice came from the top of the stairs as Len started climbing. “How’s it going?”

  Looking up, Len saw Justin above him, with Max and Aubrey just behind. They all looked much cleaner, the two children wearing different clothes that Len assumed had been taken from James’s room. They were a tight fit on Max and slightly too big on Aubrey, but they looked fresh and clean nonetheless.

  “Good,” Len replied. “You guys all washed up?”

  “Yeah, all clean.” Justin smiled, “I can’t lie, it feels great to get a wash. There’s still some water left. You going in now?”

  Len nodded.

  “Harrison still downstairs?”

  Turning around Len realized his friend hadn’t followed him and must still be in the kitchen. He shrugged and nodded again, walking up the last few stairs to stand on the landing beside Justin and the children.

  “All right then,” Justin continued, “we’ll see you down there.”

  Len moved to the side and let the three of them move past him and down the stairs, offering Aubrey a smile as she passed. Would they come with him and Harrison on their journey towards Grand Haven? He desperately wanted each of them to be safe, especially Aubrey now that she had lost all her family, and he couldn’t deny it was probably better for them to stay behind. The decision wasn’t up to him though. Len was going and if they wanted to join him, he’d be more than happy for it. Turning on the landing, he cracked his neck and started walking toward the bathroom.

  Three steps later, Len froze. Directly on his left was his son’s bedroom. The walls were painted a pale blue to match the space scene that covered his bedspread. The carpet was soft beneath his feet, Len’s walking boots having been discarded by the door once the five of them had properly entered the house. His breath hitched in his throat as Len saw the pile of toys littering the carpet beneath the window. How many times had he and James played with them together, making up stories and adventures for each character to act out? Suddenly his eyes felt wet and a single tear slid down his cheek. James was such an incredible boy; he couldn’t wait to be reunited with him again.

  Stepping further into his son’s room, Len turned and saw the pictures stuck up on the wall. James had always loved drawing, frantically scribbling away with crayons from a young age. Len walked forward, taking in each of the pictures in detail. There were several of the lake—people playing in front of it or paddling in the water on surfboards. There was a space ship, soaring through the stars with an astronaut waving from the window. Neither of those were what made Len freeze though, his mouth drying out as he took in one particular drawing.

  As carefully as possible Len unstuck it from the wall and stepped backwards, sitting down on James’s bed. Held in his hands was a carefully drawn picture, only the best colors used to make the image pop. It was the inside of James’s tree house; the one Len had built him in the garden in Chicago. He could still remember that weekend like it was yesterday. The weather had been horrible but he had promised James he would build the tree house and so he spent hours outside in the pouring rain, hammering boards of wood together until his fingers hurt.

  It was all worth it though, to see the smile on his son’s face when he saw the finished product. All three of them had climbed inside, sheltering from the rain with hot cocoa and cookies to keep them warm. That was the scene that Len stared at in the drawing: he, James, and Amy sat drinking cocoa inside the tree house. Len couldn’t help it now and his tears began to fall freely, splattering onto the page.

  They had all been so happy that day. Despite the rain and the wind and whatever else might have been troubling them. As Len stared at the drawing he felt his troubles somehow fade away then as well, leaving him with a feeling of happiness. The memory of his son smiling up at him was so clear he couldn’t help but smile himself.

  As carefully as he had removed it, Len stuck the picture back up on James’s bedroom wall and walked out of his son’s room, pulling the door closed behind him. He was now more determined than ever to reach his son and as he stepped into the bathroom to wash, he wiped the tears from his face and smiled. South Haven may not have been the end he had been hoping for, but it was another new beginning and one he wasn’t going to waste.

  The feeling of water running over his skin was blissful. It wasn’t warm and it wasn’t particularly clean after Justin, Max, and Aubrey had all used it, but it was still a euphoric sensation. Len scrubbed at his skin for what felt like hours, removing layers and layers of dirt and—in some places—blood. Harrison had brought some clean clothes up from his rucksack while Len was in the bathroom and pulling them on made Len feel like a new man.

  “All yours,” Len smiled at Harrison as he exited the bathroom, his companion waiting patiently at the top of the stairs. “I think I’ve left plenty of water.”

  “Brought some more just in case,” Harrison smiled back, holding up his canteen of water, which he could add to the sink. “Justin and the others are downstairs. We’ve found a bit of food, so we’re going to try and make some dinner.”

  “Sound good,” Len nodded, “I’ll see you in a minute.”

  Making his way along the corridor, Len paused for a moment and this time looked toward Amy’s room. The door was wide open, as James’s had been, but unlike before, Len didn’t step inside. Instead he reached out and pulled the door closed, sealing Amy’s secrets inside. Later he would look, but at that moment in time Len couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Aubrey wrapped her arms around Len as he walked into the kitchen, his eyes quickly glancing out through the double doors and noticing the body had been moved. It must have been Harrison and once again Len felt gratitude wash over him for everything that man had done for him.

  “Hey there,” he smiled at Aubrey, “how’re we getting on?”

  “Good,” Aubrey grinned, taking Len’s hand and dragging him around the kitchen island where Justin and Max were crouched over a portable stove. “We’re making pasta.”

  “Pasta?” Len exclaimed, humoring the young girl and leaving his mouth open in mock shock. “My favorite!”

  Aubrey giggled and let go of Len’s hand, allowing him to move closer to Justin and Max and see what they were making.

  �
��Looks good,” he nodded. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Um, bowls?” Justin suggested. “I think this should be ready for when Harrison comes down.”

  “Bowls,” Len nodded and moved toward the cupboard where he thought they were. Once Harrison was downstairs, Justin filled each of the five bowls up equally and everyone crowded around the kitchen island. They kept up casual conversation as they ate, the food working wonders on morale and encouraging Len even further that South Haven was good for them, despite Amy and James not being there.

  After they’d eaten, they divided up and found places to sleep. Max and Aubrey settled in James’s bedroom, Max allowing Aubrey the bed while he curled up on the floor. Justin made himself comfortable on the couch, somehow ignoring the bloodstains that decorated the carpet.

  “You can sleep in here too if you want,” Len offered, waiting outside of Amy’s bedroom door as Harrison exited the bathroom.

  “Don’t be silly,” the older man shook his head, “I’ll be fine downstairs. Goodnight, Len.”

  With that, Harrison was down the stairs and out of sight before Len could argue any further, leaving him with the one task he had failed to complete earlier. Now he didn’t have a choice. With a deep breath, Len pushed open the door to Amy’s bedroom and stepped inside, the room instantly overwhelming him with so many emotions he couldn’t even name.

  Chapter 3

  Creeping silently along the corridor, Dixon used hand signals to communicate with the three other soldiers following him. He was unsure if they would be able to see what he was signaling in the darkness, but he had quickly reverted back to his military training, and using hand signals was what he had been taught. It felt natural, the one thing that was keeping him grounded amongst all the chaos.

  His mind tumbled through all the possibilities that could be happening. The sound of gunfire continued to echo down the corridor, gradually getting louder as Dixon and his comrades stalked their prey. A terrorist attack was a rather farfetched and sudden occurrence, but Dixon couldn’t deny it made sense. During his time in the Army he’d learned how to think like the enemy, whether that was on the front in a foreign country or behind a computer screen in his own city. Bad people didn’t distinguish between locations or landmarks; they were in every country, living in every town, with a house on every street. And they always knew when to strike.

  While serving in the Middle East, Dixon had encountered terrorism on a whole new level. He’d grown up hearing stories about the Twin Towers or the massive subway bomb strike that happened just months after he was born, but terrorism now was taking a whole new path. Across the world the power of electricity was being harnessed to take control of drones and launch remote strikes, a number of which he’d dealt with head-on while on his second tour. Now this had expanded even further with the continuing powers of the Internet, as cyberterrorism was growing tenfold across the United States. Several small groups of extremely intelligent individuals were popping up, using their hacking skills to access confidential files and then threatening to expose the secrets to the world. War had advanced countless miles since how it once was. There was still a great demand for military men like Dixon, but even he knew the vast majority of the world’s problems could now be fought and solved from behind a screen.

  That couldn’t be what was happening now though. If even somewhere as protected as the White House had lost all its power, there was no chance a terrorist group could get around it. This wasn’t a technological thing but a natural disaster, and no one could solve that issue overnight, despite how hard the White House engineers were trying. It would take many nights for Dixon to forget the fear he had felt as the Osprey he’d been riding in no more than a few hours earlier had plummeted to the ground. If a vehicle like that could have its engines wiped out, surely nothing could still be functioning.

  In Dixon’s head that meant only one thing: if he was indeed about to face down a terrorist assault, it was going to be old school. Even in his situation, Dixon couldn’t help the smile that crept across his lips. Old school was more his style. He loved being in the action, on the front lines with a weapon in his hand and a clearly defined enemy in front of him. That was the kind of battle Dixon lived for and, if he had to find anything when he turned the next corner, that was what he was hoping for.

  He crouched down low as he reached the final corner of the corridor, the other three soldiers still with him. The sound of gunfire had stopped now and Dixon worried they were too late. There weren’t many men left within the White House since General Shepherd had sent teams out into the city. Hopefully those who had remained had done their job.

  Looking at his companions, Dixon offered a few more hand signals, explaining what their plan of action would be once they rounded the corner. Thankfully there was some natural light seeping into the corridor now and Dixon could make out each of their faces, although nighttime would quickly be upon them and without electricity, things would become even more complicated. But now wasn’t the time to worry about power, light, or electricity. There was a threat to White House; the place Dixon had sworn to protect. It was his duty to eliminate it.

  Spinning around the corner and through the double doors that were at the end of the corridor, Dixon immediately dove for cover in case of incoming fire. Checking his sights, he did a full scope of the room, taking in the paintings that had been knocked from the walls and the overturned desks that had littered papers everywhere. They were in one of the offices; normally locked by a key-padded door, this one had clearly been open at the time the power failed. Dixon recognized it slightly, his time running reports back and forth to Mr. Wilson serving him well in memorizing the building’s floor plan. If he wasn’t mistaken, this was where several of the president’s lawyers tended to set up camp. Dixon could only imagine what could be found on the files within this room and his belief that this was the work of a terrorist cell continued to grow. Mr. Wilson had been right to activate the protocol. Now Dixon just had to hunt down the people who had done this.

  “Over here!” A voice from one of the other soldiers cried out, beckoning with his arm for Dixon to join him in the corner of the room. “We’ve got casualties.”

  The word sent a chill down Dixon’s spine and he was beside the soldier—Miller as his nametag said now that there was enough light to read it—in a matter of seconds. The sight before his eyes only confirmed Dixon’s suspicions further. This was definitely a terrorist act and he had to find whoever was responsible, and fast. Four men all dressed in sharp black suits lay in a heap on the carpet in front of him. Each of them had been shot point-blank in the head, with no evidence of a struggle or argument. Dixon recognized one of them; one of the president’s lawyers, as he had suspected. He’d never spoken to the man directly himself but had seen him from time to time. Dixon was certain he didn’t deserve to die.

  “What about the gunfire?” Another of the soldiers spoke up from behind Dixon, asking the question that had just entered his own head. “It sounded like there was a shootout. Which,” he paused, “doesn’t look like it happened here.”

  Dixon knew the other solider, Mathers, was right. As cruel-hearted as it may seem, there was nothing any of them could do for the dead men in that room. But there was something they could still do for those still alive in the White House. A shootout had definitely occurred and it was their duty to find the culprits.

  “Through there,” Miller spoke in reply, gesturing to a door on the opposite side of the room. “It has to be.”

  “Right,” Dixon nodded, already striding towards the door. “Everyone ready?”

  The other three soldiers all nodded in return and tightened the grips they held on their pistols. Dixon waited a second longer before throwing open the door, the sight on the other side of it completely knocking the breath out of him. His 9mm dropped to his side in his hand as he walked through, his mouth hanging slightly open at the sight in front of him. Roughly fifteen men and women, all in matching uniforms to his, lay d
ead on the once-pristine carpet.

  “Angela!”

  Miller cried out as he caught sight of a particular girl on the floor, running forward against his better nature and dropping to his knees beside her. Despite the carnage in the room they had entered, Dixon had already done a quick scope and ascertained that there was no one alive within it. Whoever had passed through had made short work of those left to defend the White House, the soldiers who responded first paying with their lives.

  Dixon moved slowly around the room, checking each body for any sign of life. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Miller, the young man weeping for the dead girl. Instantly it made Dixon think of Mary and what she was doing at that moment in time. For the thousandth time he prayed that she had been safely at home, kept innocent and naïve to everything going on around her. He desperately wanted to find her but the battle inside him between his love and his loyalty to his oath was an ever-raging one. He couldn’t abandon his post now but soon he wouldn’t be able to bear not knowing about her any longer.

  “Any survivors?” Dixon was forced to ask as he reached the last person on his walk, already certain of the answer.