Primal Shift: Episode 2 (4 page)

She’s trying to puff out her chest. Make herself look threatening. Running on instinct, that was what it looked like.

Finn held up his left hand, palm flat to show he wasn’t going to hurt her. His other hand, the one with the pipe he slid behind his back.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The noises emanating from the back of her throat were guttural and reminded Finn of how the man in the white lab jacket had behaved when the two came face to face in that narrow underground corridor.

“Do you know your name?”

She glared at him without blinking.

“Did you work here?”

Her eyes darted around the room, like a rat, searching frantically for a way out of a steel cage.

“You were trying to be quiet weren’t you?” Finn said. “Listen, I need to ask you some things.”

Then that little internal voice again:
You’re wasting your time, Finn. Right now she’s got less sense than the lid of a garbage can.

Without thinking, he used the hand holding the pipe to roll back the sleeve of his coverall to show her the tattoo. He was going to ask her if she knew what the numbers meant, but the moment her eyes saw the lead pipe she charged and ploughed right into him.

Finn stumbled backwards.

But tearing him to pieces wasn’t what the woman in the skirt and blouse was after. She was simply trying to get away, like any feral creature that felt trapped and threatened.

She burst through the front door. It swung wide, smacking the metal cage that covered the outside windows and then slowed on its way back as the hydraulic door closer eased it shut.

That was when Finn saw the piece of paper that was taped against the inside of the door, flapping in the soft breeze as it closed. A note he had missed in his excitement to get the answers he so desperately needed.

He snatched it off the door and read it.

Heading for survivor rallying point Uintah, North of Salt Lake City. Get the hell out of Las Vegas as soon as you can.

The name Bob was scrawled below it. Bob had probably written the note so that his fellow co-workers would know where to go once they snapped out of whatever was wrong with them. Clearly that hadn’t happened. But Bob worked for Tevatron and that meant he might have answers. Finn folded the paper and slid it into his pocket, wondering where in the hell Uintah was anyway. More importantly, he was wondering how long it would take him to get there.

Dana Hatfield

San Francisco

A marina next to Pier 42 offered a safe place for Dana to dock the MLB while she headed inland to find her father. Even as she sped through the bay, it was hard not to stare at the black smoke that hung over the city like a death shroud. One more sobering piece of evidence that first responders and perhaps even the National Guard were nowhere to be found.

The AT&T ballpark sat empty at the end of the pier. In the distance, the slight rise of Bernal Heights was barely visible through the smoke.

The straps from the pack she was carrying cut into her shoulders. The weight from the SIG on her hip wasn’t helping either, but both items weren’t luxuries, at least if the chaos she had seen already was anything to go by. Dana double timed it up the boardwalk.

It was only when she reached King Street that the full extent of the damage became apparent. Many of the buildings had sandwiched during the earthquake, compressing what had once been three floors into one. Some of the steel structure of the AT&T stadium had collapsed and crushed a handful of people and vehicles unlucky enough to be passing beneath it when the shit had hit the fan. Corpses lay scattered in every direction and Dana felt her hand cover her mouth, more in an act of shock than a need to block out the smell of death. The toll of human life in the city was staggering and the realization opened a stark window into her greatest fear. Her father was all she had left now. If she lost him, she would truly be alone. Tears streaked down her cheeks and she wiped them away.

Keep it together, Hatfield.
This time it was Keiths’ voice she heard.

Once you find your dad, then you can deal with that low life Alvarez.

Roger that.

Something else she hadn’t quite counted on was the number of derelict cars. The engines of at least half of them were still purring softly, as though the drivers had double parked to pop into a store. A Nissan Cube caught her eye and she’d already made up her mind to hop in, when she spotted the face watching her through the windshield of a Volvo station wagon. It was a woman, her hands pressed up against the glass, which fogged with each breath. She looked like a mime, trapped in an invisible glass box.

Dana approached her and the woman dropped down.

Peekaboo.

There was something almost infantile about the woman’s actions. Incessant staring that had morphed into fear of being seen. Something a child would do and the thought struck a cord with her. In a way, Coons had acted the same way, cowering in the corner when the lights in the sky had filled the air around them with death and destruction.

Dana reached the car, pulled at the handle and found it locked. She tapped on the glass, but the woman inside wouldn’t look up at her.

If I can’t see you, then you can’t see me.

Dana knocked again.

“Lady, I can’t help you unless you unlock the door.”

Something tugged at her peripheral vision. Dana glanced over and saw a man, standing in the middle of the street, staring. Inside the car, the woman skittered to the far side and curled into a tight ball. Now only a single eyeball glared back at her from between strands of stringy doll’s hair.

Dana glanced over again and suddenly buddy standing in the street wasn’t alone. Now there were two of them. The second man had an object in his hand, a stick or a metal rod and he banged it three times on the hood of a car. The noise echoed up and down the street, reverberating off the surrounding buildings.

They were dressed in casual clothes, jeans and t-shirts, which wasn’t surprising given that the world had gone haywire on Independence Day. For all she knew, a few hours ago they were playing catch in the park with their kids, or grilling hamburgers and hotdogs. Now they were standing in the middle of the street, getting ready to do something very stupid. Dana’s heart was skipping wildly in her chest as her hand fell to the SIG at her hip. But feeling it against her palm didn’t offer her as much comfort as she’d hoped it would. Did these men mean to attack her? And if so, what did she have that they could possibly want? Heart hammering in her chest, Dana decided she wasn’t going to wait around to find out.

By the time she made it back across the street to the Nissan, the group of three had swelled to over twenty. They were beating on the roofs and hoods of the cars around them as they began heading in her direction. From where Dana was standing, no one appeared to be in charge. They were just a motley group of men with something in common.

Hunger? Desperation? Rage?

She thought of Nash and how Alvarez swore the sailor had gone wild and killed Keiths.

Dana was about to hop into the Cube and tear off when she locked eyes with the woman in the Volvo across the street. She must have seen the men too because she was banging on the window desperate to get out.

Maybe I don’t look so scary after all, do I?

She slid the pack off her shoulders and threw it onto the passenger seat. The keys were in the ignition and the gas warning light was on but thankfully the ugly little car still had a few gallons in her. More than enough to get her to Bernal Hill and then back to Pier 42.

The men were about fifty yards out and Dana dashed to the Volvo. She yanked on the handle and swore.

“How the hell can I help you if you can’t open the door?”

A quick glance over her shoulder sent shockwaves of fear through her body. Some of the men had broken into a run. She would need to move swiftly or risk being surrounded. Dana removed the SIG and waved the woman back.

“I’m gonna shoot the window, get back.”

But the woman continued pounding her fists. She was oblivious to even the simplest of hand signals.

The men were fifty feet and Dana knew now she wasn’t going to make it, not unless she left right away. A white guy with a dirty crew cut and a wife beater was running her way, the metal rod in his hand cocked like a Samurai going in for the kill.

Dana started inching away with almost painful reluctance. “Damn you, lady.” Then she broke into a run, both hands clutching the SIG. Samurai Guy was closing fast. He was a good fifteen feet ahead of the pack and if she didn’t do something quick she might not make it. She drew to a stop, planted her feet, steadied her breathing and then squeezed off two quick shots. The first struck him in the shoulder, spinning him around, the second entered through his neck and the sickening sound of his skull hitting the pavement made her wince.

She stood for a second, staring. Then that voice from inside. 

Move your ass girl!

She listened. The Nissan was wedged between a Buick and a Smart Car. She threw it into reverse and hit the gas. Tires screeched as she rocked back and forth to give herself the room she needed to escape. The front of the Cube scraped the Buick’s rear bumper as it tore free and no sooner was it out than she came face to face with the mob. She punched the accelerator as far as it would go, causing the car to nearly fishtail out of control. One of the men raised the metal pole in his hands, preparing to smash her windshield, when the Cube plowed right into him. His eyes grew wide before the rest of him disappeared beneath the car. Two tiny bumps gave only the slightest hint that her tires had just crushed him into the ground.

Dana was crying as she drove away. Crying for leaving the woman all alone. Crying for the two men she had been forced to kill. But most of all, she was crying for what her beloved city had become.

Carole Cartright

Salt Lake City Airport

The crackly message on the ham radio continued to repeat over and over again.

“Destruction is worldwide. Safety and a fresh start awaits you. 41 degrees, 14 minutes, 42 seconds north... 111 degrees, 93 minutes, 0 seconds west.”

“I don’t understand,” Nikki said, raising her voice in frustration.

“Maybe they’re the coordinates to a FEMA camp,” Alice said.

Carole stood. “This soon? We haven’t seen a single sign of any government agency even attempting to lend a hand and you’re saying FEMA’s already got a camp up and running.”

“Don’t yell at Alice, Mom,” Aiden said, raising his own voice. “This isn’t her fault. Maybe they haven’t been able to.” He looked down thoughtfully. “Maybe whatever happened to the people around the airport also took out the police and ambulance workers.”

Alice was still fiddling with the knob, trying to clean up the signal. “Thank you, Aiden. Your mother is frustrated. We’re all frustrated. But I can tell you all one thing about this message. It’s being broadcast on a loop, so I can’t very well call in and ask who’s sending it.”

Carole rubbed her eyes with the tips of her finger. “I’m sorry Alice, I didn’t mean to shoot the messenger; I’m only trying to avoid a major let down.”

“No need to explain yourself to me. If it wasn’t for you, who knows what would have happened to us yesterday. I’m deeply thankful.” Alice turned to Nikki, who was wringing her hands. “There’s a map book in the desk drawer up front. I think one of the guards must have been planning a trip. Nikki, can you run and grab it for me?”

Nikki nodded and sprinted from the room. Carole watched her go, conscious of how different this new Nikki was from the daughter she’d watched transform over the last few years from a little princess, to an angry young woman. Amazing how in a flash, all that angst had evaporated like a shallow pool of water in the desert.

A minute later Nikki returned with the book. Alice took it from her and flipped through it while Aiden held the light.

The message on the ham radio continued to play. “a fresh start awaits you. 41 degrees, 14 minutes, 42 seconds north... 111 degrees, 93 minutes, 0 seconds west... Destruction is worldwide...”

“I don’t get it,” Aiden said, his face scrunched up like a confused schoolboy.

Alice’s finger traced along a map of the United States. Horizontal and vertical lines divided the map into tiny boxes. “Latitude and longitude,” Alice said, tapping her finger on a point roughly in the middle of the map. “Degrees, minutes and seconds are how they divide every square inch of the earth into a series of points. Goes back more than two thousand years to a Greek named Hipparchus.”

Nikki was regarding Alice with awe. “How do you know all this?”

“I was a geography nerd in school,” she said, grinning.

“So where is it?” Carole asked impatiently. “Is it close?”

Alice traced a line with her finger. “Very.” Alice said, holding a spot with the tip of her finger.

Aiden leaned in for a closer look. “Where’s youwinta?”

Carole hit him playfully. “Uintah is north of Salt Lake City.” And as she said the words, hope began to surge through her tired body.

Even Alice was smiling. “Most of that area is farm land that runs along the Green River. Won’t take us long to get there by car.”

Tension creased Carole’s brow. “Might not take long, but who knows how long we’re gonna be there. We should swing by the house and get some of our things.”

“But I live on the other side of town,” Alice said.

“I don’t know if we’ll have time to do both. If things inside the airport are anything to go by, there’s no telling what conditions are like on the outside. I think we’ll be lucky to make a single stop.”

The smile on Alice’s face wasn’t nearly as bright as it had been a minute ago.

“I know we’ll be able to find things at our place you can use.”

Alice was shaking her head. “I don’t care about my things. It’s hard to wrap your head around the idea that home is only a few miles away and I may never get to see it again.”

“Of course you will,” Carole’s hand found Alice’s back and rubbed it in a slow circle. “I know it’ll only be a question of time before everything goes back to the way it was. Trust me.”