Breathless - Swarm Book 2: (An Epic Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller), page 13
“Miss Keiko! Come on!”
Netsy’s voice snapped Keiko into coherence and she sprinted across the street to where Netsy led Maiko toward the path. She looked back at her home one last time, then noticed hers wasn’t the only pyre. There were pyres all over. The sky glowed orange in every direction. Boulder was burning. The rioters, the looters, and the haters…they were in charge now.
The fog gradually cleared and Keiko led Netsy and Maiko along a convoluted series of streets, alleys, sidewalks, and bike paths—all of which took them far from the most direct route between the lab and the house—what used to be a house—and by the time they reached the unmarked lab half an hour after leaving, her numbness had transitioned to rage.
“What in the hell… ignorant, stupid, racist…” Keiko jabbed her nine-digit alphanumeric code into the touchscreen fixed to the wall beside the door. After what felt like an age, the security system flashed an authorization. A green light illuminated above the optical scanner placed above the keypad. “Where the hell does anyone get the idea to burn my house? Anyone’s house? What gives them the right?” She rose up onto her toes then spun around.
Netsy spun too. “What?”
“I heard something.”
“Let’s get inside the building. Hurry!”
Keiko pressed her right eye against the eyecup affixed to the eye scanner. She stood motionless while the machine scanned her retina. “Come on come on come on.”
“How long does that thing take?”
A green light flashed inside the scanner. Keiko dropped to her normal height and looked hard at the babysitter. “Netsanet, if I could murder them, I would.”
Netsy touched the tip of her bandaged ear and flinched. “You already tried that, Miss Keiko.”
Keiko fumbled for her keycard. “I should have shot them both when I had the chance. They took everything, Netsy. Everything except Maiko and you and the energy bars in this stupid knapsack.” She took a tissue from her pocket and blew her nose. She held up the crumpled tissue and managed a weak smile. “Don’t leave home without one.”
Netsy looked back over her shoulder. “Um, can we discuss this later? I hear a car.”
Keiko swiped her badge through the card reader. The reader buzzed and the metal door clicked. She pushed the door open, slid the knapsack off her front, and pulled her cardigan tight over her T-shirt against the chilled air-conditioned air. Netsy rushed in behind with Maiko and yanked the door shut.
Chapter 13
ÉMILE HARRIS. PORT OF REDWOOD CITY, CALIFORNIA
The thunder clouds looming off the coast rolled into the bay faster than Émile expected. A dark wall of water dropped from underneath them like a smeared charcoal drawing, erasing the landscape from view. Another brilliant flash of light flooded the skyline and he blinked against the black spots floating around his vision as another peal of thunder rocked the sides of the warehouse.
Torrents of rain and hail pounded the port, battering the steel roofs with merciless ferocity as Émile leaned against the doorjamb. Only three people had passed through since he’d made his call earlier in the day, and the weather wasn’t helping. It was important to stay positive in the face of despair. There had to be more survivors. The wind gusted, slamming the side door against the warehouse, waking those who’d drifted off. He grabbed the crash bar and hauled the steel door back into place and wedged it open on both sides. With the brief jolt of energy from the sound of crashing metal, he walked to the center of the building and cupped his hands around his mouth to project his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, with the events of today and the storm that is now upon us, we’ll be staying here overnight and possibly another day.”
A crew member at the far end of the container waved a hand in recognition that they’d heard. There were only a few groans to protest the decision. Most rolled over and continued their conversations or lay down. He resumed his post at the door.
Shaking the weariness from his fogged brain, he ground the sleep from his eyes with his fists, determined to be the one who welcomed newcomers into the fold. He paced the width of the door in a military style drill, hoping the action would keep him alert. The harsh thudding on the roof eased into the softer pounding of heavy rain. He paused long enough to poke his head out the door. Several dark figures were clumped together, their distance making it impossible to distinguish how many or who was coming. He willed the travelers to hurry.
Thunder boomed overhead. Émile started as a hand clapped his shoulder. David joined him at the door. “Sorry to startle you, but you weren’t responding.”
Émile swiped at the water on his face and ran his fingers through his hair, a few strands still finding their way into his eyes. “It’s alright. There’s a group of survivors headed our way.” He nodded to the parking lot.
David squinted. “You mean the parked cars?”
Émile pointed at the people. They’d paused, but he had no idea why.
David pulled his arm inside. “You need to get some rest. Those are barrels marking the parking spots. See how evenly spaced they are?”
“Impossible. They were moving.”
“Émile, the barrels are only three feet tall, give or take a couple of inches. They’d be little people. Be reasonable now…” David dropped his arm, and blinked. “Something just moved, and it wasn’t the barrels.”
“I told you.”
Two people ran for the entrance. One leaned through the door like a marathon runner, slipping on the threshold and tumbled face first to the cement. David reached down to pick the person up when Émile stopped him. “Put some gloves on, and make sure their clothing gets put in the bucket before they join the crew.”
Another bright light flashed in a forked ray. It touched down, striking the second person. The force of the blast sent them flying. Émile reeled at the concussive blast and covered his ears. When he could see again, he ran for the injured person. He tossed the unconscious man over his shoulders in a fireman's carry and hustled him out of the storm. Five feet inside the door Émile collapsed under the dead weight. Wriggling to remove his upper body from the unconscious man, he rolled the victim over to check for breath. The man’s clothing was charred and singed. Lichtenberg figures spread out over the entire left side of his body in angry red marks resembling evergreen branches. “Towel! Get me a clean towel, now!” Someone handed him a towel. He lay it over the man’s chest and pumped thirty times. Everyone remained quiet. The only sound was the rain pelting the building. A gasp of breath came from the unconscious man, raising a cheer from the crew. Another peal of thunder boomed, shaking the warehouse with a rumbling bass.
David clapped Émile on the back and motioned for Larry. “Find someone to help and move this man to the medical tent near the break room.”
Seconds later Mary ran out of the tent, following Larry to the side door. With a blanket substituting for a stretcher, they rolled the man and drug him away. Spiderweb lightning cut across the sky and another man collapsed just before the door and struggled to get his feet underneath himself. It was the mechanic. Émile and David splashed through the downpour and hooked their arms underneath the flailing man’s armpits, hoisting him until his toes drug across the ground. Once in the warehouse, they propped him up against a support beam.
Émile, gloves still tucked into his shirt-cuffs, pulled off the mechanic’s wet shoes. “Aiden, right? David, grab a blanket.”
Aiden sat still, head leaned back against the wall. He had to have been outside longer than was good for him.
“You’re safe now. Did you see any more people on your way here?”
Aiden didn’t open his eyes.
David returned with a packing blanket and slipped it behind Aiden’s stiff shoulders. “Want some hot tea?”
Aiden opened his eyes, stared at him without blinking for several seconds, and shut them again.
Émile pulled David to the side. “Make the tea, but use the tap water. I want to save the bottled. Something hot may revive him.”
David turned to go, and a black insect pelted him between the shoulder blades. “What…”
He spun around, fist raised, and stopped when he spotted the winged insect on the floor, floundering. It flicked its wings, spraying drops of rain across the concrete, and wiggled its body until it was on its creepy crawling legs. It chirped once before turning into a green silver dollar sized splat of goo underneath the shoe that Émile used as a hammer.
“Was that what I think it was?” David ran to the door. In the shadowy darkness, another group of dock workers ran for the warehouse. The chirp of cicadas could be heard over the pounding rain. A quick blip of lighting lit up the swarm. The insects chased the men and women, rising up behind them, a lethal tidal wave about to crash down. David waved his arms in circles, urging them forward.
Émile scrounged around the shelving by the door and grabbed a greasy length of chain. He yanked David inside, kicked the wedges free of the door, and slammed it closed. Before he could wrap the steel links around the crash bar David grabbed him and threw him to the floor.
David opened the door, yelling to the harried crew outside. “Hurry!”
Émile tumbled across the concrete, finishing the roll on his stomach. He brought his fist down on David’s neck, just past the shoulder blade. David dropped, stunned.
Émile slammed the door shut, wrapped the chain around the crash bar, and then to the support beam. He pinned the two ends together with a screwdriver.
Pulling out of his daze, David sat up. His arm hung limp from what Émile assumed was an overloaded nerve. “We need to let the survivors in.”
Émile dug a lock from a lower shelf and clicked it shut between two links. It wasn’t moving unless someone had a key. “What we need to do is to keep everyone inside safe, which means keeping the insects out.”
Fists pounded on the door from outside. “Please let us in, the bugs, they’re everywhere.” The occasional scream was punctuated with more pleading.
David tested the lock by pulling on the case. “But…”
Émile balled up his fists, ready to strike again. “No buts! I thought we lost you and Mary this afternoon...” He trailed off as the scuffling and yelling from outside increased, fists pounding against the door. “They’re all over us!” Gurgling and wheezing came from the other side of the wall.
Fire burned in David’s eyes as he stood toe to toe with Émile. Then he turned and marched toward the medical tent.
Émile knew that look, and it meant trouble. He scanned the small groups scattered here and there. If David was willing to defy orders, someone else might try a stupid stunt and get them all killed. He rummaged through the shelves until he found two more chains and padlocks. Every door needed to be locked.
Passing through the small clumps of people he waved at Brandy. She was curled up against the first crate where he’d left her. Her body was relaxed, but her eyes held the dread from the afternoon’s fight and eventual deaths. Émile squatted down so he was at her level and touched her hand. A glimmer of life flickered for a second and died. The poor woman was still in shock. He needed to remember to check on her later. He headed for the north door and chained it shut, then locked the remaining door.
Most of the workers had divided themselves up by jobs, with the team that unloaded the ship creating the largest group by far. They took over the open space alongside the stored crates in the center of the warehouse. One of them had figured out how to make hammocks out of the shipping blankets by wedging the cloth between two sets of stacked crates.
An engineer, a railway operator, and a mechanic comprised the smallest group and the trio had set up shop next to a train generator that needed repair. They’d just removed what looked like a large magnet and were placing it on a bench.
The office workers were the sorriest lot. The white collars of the workforce had set themselves up around the only table available in the storage space, an upturned train axle that had a couple of rail wheels welded on either end. Paper towels covered crates and barrels creating makeshift chairs. Their dour expressions flickered in the face of a single birthday candle flame.
After countless laps around the perimeter, listening in on conversations while looking busy, the butterflies in Émile’s stomach set him on edge. He continued to pull on the locks to be sure they still held fast, but it wasn’t the doors that had him worried. He’d built a picture of what the various factions thought about their situation and his leadership. From what he could hear, it wasn’t good. He only caught snippets; talk falling off to whispers as he drew near, but “keys” had come up more than once. And—though he wasn’t one-hundred percent he’d heard it right—“coup.”
His eyes stopped on an impromptu den. It resembled an enormous bird’s nest, with packing material from several of the crates strewn around the concrete to pad the shipping blankets that lay on top. Four men stretched out over the twelve-foot area and in the center of them was a stack of playing cards. They were playing Texas Hold ’Em. They glanced up at him and returned to their game.
The rain tapered off enough to catch Émile off guard. He glanced at the windows perched near the ceiling. It was dark out. Would you look at that. Thunderstorms were supposed to last well into the morning. Good, the fear of being struck by lightning should keep the employees from trying to escape through the locked doors.
He made for the makeshift medical tent. It never failed to amaze him how well humans adapted to disaster. They’d been under lockdown for a few scant hours, but already they had organized themselves, not only into grumbling factions, but teams of workers who were dedicated to helping anyone who needed assistance. There was hope for them, as a species, yet. As he lifted the flap, David came out, blocking the way.
“How are they doing?”
David stepped into the break room and waited for Émile to enter before closing the door in silence.
“Aiden wouldn’t stop babbling about the amount of cicadas. He’s with Kevin now. You’d think a man of steel could handle an event like this, with all the crap he’s been through.”
“You never know what will make someone snap. War is a dirty thing, but its man against man. This was nature’s doing, random and unfeeling.” Émile opened the cupboards. “And how’s Electro?”
“If you’re referring to the lighting strike victim, he’s alive and stable as far as Mary or I can tell, but we aren’t doctors. That much voltage running through someone, there’s no telling what damage it has done internally without professional help. If he survives, the mark on his skin will most likely be there forever.”
Émile grabbed a jar of peanut butter from a cupboard and unscrewed the lid. “So, if I understand you correctly. You don’t know if he’ll make it through the night.” He tilted the half-empty jar toward David. “Is this all there is?”
David dug in the refrigerator and pulled out a family size, all natural peanut butter. “That’s about the size of it. Speaking of food, it’s about time the crew eats. It’s been hours since anyone had a meal and who knows how long we’ll be in this mess.”
“I’m aware of time, trust me.” Émile pulled his phone out to display the timer he set when work started that morning. He flashed it at David and stuffed it back in his pocket. “I’ll do an inventory and then we can dole out food at regular intervals.”
David shut the fridge door, crossed his arms, and stared at Émile. “We should divide the food up among the groups and let them decide when and how much they want to eat. It’s only fair that they get to decide their own fates since you locked them in here.”
Émile couldn’t believe it. David was trying to employ the used car salesman technique to pressure him into doing what he wanted. “I did what I had to do to keep everyone alive.” Émile cracked the break room door open enough to count bodies.
While the aura wasn’t sad, there was no telling when the mood might switch. He shut the door and placed his forehead against it. He was in control, and needed to act like it. In slow, clipped tones he addressed David. “I counted twenty-eight. Is that right?”
“I believe so, unless there are others outside who survive the storm and those bugs. Listen, we need to hand out what food we have to keep them happy. You’ve crowned yourself king, so do something about it. Otherwise we’ll have a revolt on our hands, and guess whose head’s going on the chopping block first?”
Émile whipped around and slammed his hands on the break table. “You don’t have to tell me what a precarious position we’re in. But since I’m the manager in charge of the port while I’m on duty, I’ll decide what’s the best course of action. If I determine we all need to fast in order to conserve what food we have, then we fast. If I say we lock the doors to keep everyone safe, lock the damn doors. The responsibility has been laid on my shoulders, no one else. It would do you good to remember that Mr. Sackman.”
The two contenders faced off, both livid and ready to swing.
A knock on the door deflated the tension. Mary poked her head in. “It would be best if you two were done. Voices carry through thin walls, and you’re attracting too much attention.”
David scratched his head and slid his hand down the back of his neck, visibly relaxing. He walked to her side and took her hand. “Sorry, love.” After kissing her, he made eye contact with Émile. The hardness had vanished. “Kings come and go, friend. Don’t screw it up.”
The Sackmans exited the break room. Émile reopened the cupboards and started organizing the staples. Peanut butter goes with the bread. Honey and tea. Crackers… they can go with the few cans of soup. Hot sauce! Nobody in their right mind would use hot sauce on any of this stuff. The sorting soothed him, just as it always had. A place for everything and everything in its place. He moved the microwave off the rolling cart and to the counter, while putting the bread on the cart. He wheeled dinner into the main room and set it next to the tent.
