Broken Arrow: A Post-Apocalyptic Adventure (End Days Book 2) Read online

  Broken Arrow

  End Days

  Book 2

  Fighting to Get Home

  E.E. Isherwood & Craig Martelle

  Connect With Craig Martelle

  Website & Newsletter: http://www.craigmartelle.com

  BookBub – https://www.bookbub.com/authors/craig-martelle

  Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/AuthorCraigMartelle/

  Connect With E.E. Isherwood

  Website & Newsletter: http://www.sincethesirens.com

  Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/SinceTheSirens/

  Copyright © 2019 by E.E. Isherwood & Craig Martelle

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN 13:

  ASIN:

  Cover Illustration by Heather Hamilton-Senter

  Editing services provided by Lynne Stiegler

  Formatting by James Osiris Baldwin – jamesosiris.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  We couldn’t do what we do without the support of great people around us. We thank our spouses and our families for giving us time alone to think, write, and review. We thank our editor (Lynne), cover artist (Heather), and insider team of beta readers (Micky Cocker, Kelly O’Donnell, Dr. James Caplan, and John Ashmore). It’s not who we are as authors, but who we are surrounded by that makes this all happen. Enjoy the story.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  Author Notes – E.E. Isherwood

  Author Notes - Craig Martelle

  CHAPTER 1

  Pole Line Motel, Mono Lake, CA

  Buck woke to big brown eyes and a lolling tongue. The handsome young Golden Retriever gently pawed at him, anxious for his human to open his eyes.

  “You’re up early,” he said through a yawn. “Let me guess; you need to go outside?”

  Big Mac’s ears perked up.

  “I know you too well,” Buck added. “Okay, let me get dressed, and we’ll go mess up Fred’s lawn.” He snickered at the immature notion of sticking it to the motel proprietor, but it was how he felt after the previous day’s hassle for supposedly passing counterfeit money.

  The dog hopped off the bed and scratched at the door as if Buck was going to forget.

  He grabbed his phone and peeked through the drapes. Last night he had woken up several times when loud vehicles pulled into the motel. He wondered who the new neighbors were.

  “Wow, the place is popular.” The motel lot was almost full. “I can’t imagine Fred’s dumpy motel does a lot of business, but maybe there’s more to do around here than I can see.” Mono Lake was beautiful in the midst of the stark desert surrounding it, but there wasn’t much in the way of towns, parks, or anything remotely recreational. The motel, gas station, and a few wind-blown mobile homes were the only civilization for as far as he could see.

  Buck attached his brand-new black leash to Mac’s collar. He trusted him not to run away under normal circumstances, as a hundred stops over the past two weeks attested, but any number of dogs could be lurking in other rooms, and he didn’t trust those owners.

  “Let’s go, buddy. We’ll get you to the side yard.”

  The L-shaped motel had a back lot big enough for him to park his tractor-trailer. He often walked around his truck and inspected it while Mac did his thing, so that was where he went first.

  Once at the back of the motel and clear of other guests, he took off the leash. “Go make!” Buck said excitedly.

  Mac found a scrubby little bush in the dry terrain and got right to it.

  “Good pup!”

  He stood at the back of his trailer and admired the early morning scenery. The air was fresh and cool, which was a godsend after a night in the stuffy motel room. Mono Lake reflected the brightness of the sun as it peeked over the distant hills of Nevada—a new day to appreciate waking up on the right side of the dirt.

  “Let’s see how Garth is doing, shall we?”

  He found his son in the frequently-dialed numbers, but the phone didn’t make any sound to indicate it had gone through. Cell service had been unreliable ever since the blue burst of light in the sky yesterday, so he had expected the failure. After hitting redial a number of times, he decided to try texting.

  ‘Morning. You OK?’ It was nine o’clock on the East Coast. He was sure his boy was awake, and if he wasn’t, then he was willing to wake him.

  He looked up to check on Mac while waiting for the reply. The dog sniffed some more of the green scraps of the arid land, intent on finding previous canine calling cards. The flat, dry terrain was perfect for throwing the tennis ball for exercise, but it was in the cab. He was going to go get it, but Garth’s reply stopped him.

  ‘Hey, dad. Yes. Good. Waking up. Going to your locker next.’

  Buck’s locker was his gun safe. During their previous phone call, he’d given Garth instructions to protect himself. Part of him hated to dump all that on his son; he was only fifteen, but no one was too young to get attacked if the civilized world collapsed. After the near-riot he had seen yesterday in Walmart, he was willing to bet things were going to keep getting worse. Modern society wasn’t built to endure simultaneous problems, and the news yesterday had listed more than a few. All of them had been bad.

  He typed back, ‘Sounds good. Be careful.’

  I’m sure he wouldn’t if I didn’t say it.

  At least he couldn’t be accused of being a helicopter parent. His son was twenty-seven hundred miles away.

  It was hard to sound nonchalant in a text, but he did his best. ‘So, are you going out with Sam today?’

  Buck had lost sleep thinking about Garth going into the city with his friend Sam. It helped to know the boys had made it home safely from the airport yesterday, but there was no need to tempt fate and go back out. He figured Sam’s parents would be fine if they took a cab home by themselves. They didn’t require their son to meet them at the gate.

  But Buck tried not to press the issue too hard, for fear Garth would do it just to piss him off. Their last meeting before he had gone on the road wasn’t going to win him any parent-of-the-year t-shirts, although a lot of that had been smoothed over last night when they chatted. However, it was always best to play it safe when dealing with a moody teenager.

  ‘I’m staying home, but I haven’t told him. Need to get organized. Be ready for trouble.’

  “Yes!” Buck said to himself. His son was doing the right thing.

  Engine noises in the main parking lot of the motel caught Buck’s attention, so he walked to the front of his black Peterbilt sleeper cab. A new-ish yellow Volkswagen Beetle had been parked ri
ght in front of his bumper, like the owner wanted to be first off the lot. He continued alongside the German car to get a look at the action in front of the place.

  He texted. ‘Got to go son. All good. Be home soon. Bye.’

  ‘Bye Dad. Can’t wait.’

  Buck closed his phone and shoved it in his pocket.

  “Come on, pup. We’re going back to the room.” It seemed prudent to brush his teeth and be on his way.

  When he walked to the front of the motel, several cars sat at the gas station, but they were just the beginning of the procession. The T junction at the base of the road from Yosemite was already clogged with cars, but many more lined up behind them as if someone had led a parade over the pass.

  Buck reached down and re-attached Mac’s leash.

  “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Staten Island, NY

  ‘Bye dad. Can’t wait.’ Garth’s final message was heartfelt. He turned off his phone and laid in bed for a minute to think about what to do next. After telling Dad he wasn’t going with Sam, he had to figure out how he was going to break the news to his best bud.

  Garth had spent the night at Sam’s house, as he normally did when his dad was on the road, although now he was anxious to get home. When he was ready, he rolled out of bed and got dressed in a hurry, but when he made it downstairs to the kitchen, he found Sam sitting in front of a big pile of pancakes like it was just any other day.

  Sam smiled mischievously when he saw him. “Eat up. You can microwave a ton more if you want some.”

  “Can I have some of yours? You’ve got at least ten there.”

  “No way, dude. I made them for me. Get your own.” Sam pointed to the mudroom, which contained the giant freezer. The appliance was a treasure trove of frozen junk food and bad breakfasts, including frozen waffles and pancakes, as well as several gallons of ice cream.

  “Asshole,” Garth said without malice.

  “Good morning to you, too,” Sam replied.

  Garth got out the pancakes and had just put them in the microwave when someone banged on the front door. Sam dropped his fork on the table. They looked at each other through several seconds of startled silence, but then the person hammered on the door a few more times.

  “Open up!” the man shouted from outside.

  Sam sprang from the table to a pile of junk on a countertop next to the refrigerator. He shoved aside some papers and pulled out a tablet.

  “We have a doorbell camera,” Sam said as it turned on.

  “Really? You never told me about it.”

  Sam laughed quietly. “Yeah, I like to watch you pick your nose before I open the door for you.”

  “Bullshit!” Garth hissed. “I don’t pick my nose.”

  “Sure, you don’t,” Sam said distractedly. He pointed at the screen. The image was a little distorted—it was almost like looking through a fish-eye lens—but the man was easily identified. He was middle-aged and wore a loose-fitting business suit with his top button undone and no tie.

  “What do you think he wants?” Garth asked.

  “No idea,” Sam replied. “But I think I better answer.”

  Garth wanted to argue, but the guy’s banging hadn’t let up, and it now bordered on violent.

  They both ran to the front door and looked out the small glass window centered on the heavy wooden entry. The man stopped knocking the second he saw them.

  “I need a ride!” the guy shouted.

  “What the fuck?” Sam replied to Garth. “A ride?”

  The man’s patience lasted about five seconds, then he leaned in and cupped his hands over the window so he could see the boys. “Come on, get the cabbie! I need a ride.”

  “Oh, shit,” Garth replied quietly. “You have a cab parked in your backyard.”

  Sam’s garage sat behind the house, and Garth had parked the cab on the driveway leading up to the outbuilding. It never occurred to him to put it inside.

  Sam’s eyes were wide with indecision.

  Garth faced the door. “The cab is out of service. Our dad is a driver, but he got sick last night. Puking. Diarrhea. All of it.”

  The man jumped away from the door. “He’s sick? Does he have Ebola? Fuck me!” He backed up, then tumbled down the front steps of the porch. The man got back to his feet and ran out to the street like he was being chased.

  “Release the hounds,” Sam said happily. “Welp, back to pancakes.”

  The man’s question had left Garth confused. “Why would he think someone had Ebola? We don’t look sick, do we?”

  “Me? No. I have that suave Italian skin.”

  “Dude, your family is from Poland.” Garth chuckled.

  Sam shuffled into his seat and pointed at Garth. “Don’t ruin it. You look like an Icelander.”

  Sam was right, to a degree. Neither of them spent much time out in the sunshine, despite Sam’s mom’s best efforts at keeping them out of the house on nice summer days. Thus, they both looked like they spent all their time playing video games in someone’s basement.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Garth replied. Then, forgetting all his carefully laid plans to ease into the topic, he added: “I’ve got to get over to my house.”

  Sam looked up, his mouth stuffed with pancakes. “Are you coming back?”

  Garth shook his head.

  “You aren’t going with me?” Sam asked. “The airlines aren’t flying, but they put them on a bus overnight. They’ll be at Grand Central Station in a couple of hours.”

  It was the moment he’d been dreading. He really wanted to go with his buddy, but his dad had warned him in a not-so-subtle way things were getting more dangerous outside. Dad brought up the fight in Walmart and end-of-the-world predictions, but it was Garth’s own encounters with strange events yesterday that made him believe Dad knew what he was talking about.

  “I’m going to stay here and load up on guns and ammo, so I can be ready for anything. It’s what my dad recommended we both do.”

  “Dude, I don’t have any guns. My parents don’t believe in them. You know that.”

  Garth nodded. “You can come over to my house. My dad said I could share a gun with you, although he did say to give you the one with training wheels.” He smiled.

  Sam laughed. “I’d probably need them, at least until the sick people come over. I’m a great shot against the undead. I’m an expert at World of Zombies, as you know better than anyone.”

  He was hopeful his friend was going to see it his way, but then Sam dug back into the pancakes. “I’ll get my parents without you, dude, then I’ll be over later to play with your guns.”

  “You shouldn’t go out,” Garth replied seriously.

  “Bah. I’ll be fine. Yesterday was a fluke. I’ll take the ferry and be back with the parental units in two hours.”

  It felt unnatural to not go with Sam, but he had a point. It wouldn’t take long to use the ferry and subway to get to the airport, and it wouldn’t be nearly as complicated as the day before if he only went there and back. Maybe not going with Sam would keep him focused on his parents rather than cheap cologne gags.

  “I’m going over to my house. I’ll be there when you get back.” Garth choked down his pancakes, gave Sam the finger, and dashed out the front door, stopping to pick his nose in front of the door’s camera. He smiled and waved one last time before jogging away from Sam’s house. Garth didn’t have far to go, but the unease from yesterday’s trials and the man banging on the door wanting a cab made him leery.

  He didn’t care. He needed to get home and break out the guns and ammunition.

  Better to not need them and have them than need them and not have them.

  CHAPTER 2

  Search for Nuclear, Astrophysical, and Kronometric Extremes (SNAKE). Red Mesa, Colorado

  “Thank you for seeing me, General Smith.” Faith stood outside her own office, which had been taken from her.

  “Come in,” the general replied.

  After her press conference t
he previous evening, the military sent the reporters away with lightning speed but kept her people locked inside SNAKE “for their own protection.” She’d spent an uncomfortable night in the auditorium with everyone else, but this morning she was hot to get some answers.

  Faith went in firing both barrels. “There are tanks in my parking lot, general. Tanks!”

  “Dr. Sinclair, thank you for coming. Please sit down. Relax.”

  Her office was the largest and carried the most authority, so it had naturally been the one he commandeered. She stood in front of her own messy desk. “I can’t sit down, not while this injustice continues.”

  The general leaned back in the swivel chair as if to decide if she was serious, then got up, walked around her, and shut the door.

  “Please, I need to talk to you. Things on the outside have gotten worse overnight, and I need to know how the hell your supercollider did all of it.”

  The fact that she thought he could be right took all the wind out of her sails. She sighed, hung her head, and sat in the plastic seat in front of her own desk as if the Inquisition had started and she was the only one on trial.

  General Smith didn’t go to the desk again, but instead grabbed the other plastic chair and sat close to her.

  He chuckled then spoke quietly. “Those aren’t tanks, Dr. Sinclair. They are unarmed Humvees. It’s how we drove here.”

  “Fine—it’s all semantics. It doesn’t change the fact that you locked my people inside this vault, took away our phones, and shut off all other forms of communication with the outside. Our families are going to wonder…”

  “I have a whole nation to protect, but as of this moment, I have no idea how to do that. Changes are happening in military equipment that leaves us vulnerable to attack. You don’t have sufficient clearance for me to explain about those issues, but turn on any news channel, and you’ll get a pretty big clue what’s wrong with the rest of the world.”

  “There’s a time distortion,” she said in a businesslike voice. She had slept for about fifteen minutes overnight and used the rest of the time to have her team work through the math and science of what they saw on cable news. Skylab had returned from 1979. The lost Malaysian Airlines flight 370 had arrived safely from 2014. Flight 586 had crashed in New York City; a ticket found in the debris said the flight had taken off two weeks ago. The only answer that made any sense was that they’d somehow broken time.