ENDURE: Epoch’s End Book 1 : (A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Series) (Epoch's End) Page 3

  The mower trundled past the pond and nursery into the side yard where the scents of hay and barnyard animals filled the air. The manure was especially pungent, tweaking her nose, its rich scent reminding her of all the life thriving on their small farm.

  She turned off the mower, met Linda and Jack at the back of the wagon, grabbed a five-gallon bucket of feed, and stepped toward an approaching herd of animals. Ducks, yard chickens, and sheep pressed toward them, their anxious bleating rising as they anticipated feeding time.

  The kids headed north to the chicken coops where they kept a variety of fowl including pure bred brown, orpington, and barnvelder chickens. A single emden goose, spitting mean when he wanted to be, acted as a guard dog for the birds – and an excellent one he was at that.

  Barbara had trained the kids how on to feed and water the chickens while checking for abandoned nests and eggs. They’d sort through the lot, place any unattended eggs in another nest, the incubator, or in a basket for eating later. On the days when they weren’t goofing around, they did it well.

  Barbara faced the approaching beasts as they bleated, clucked, and quacked excitedly, accompanied by their rooster’s rousing crow. With a soft, widening smile, she reached into her bucket, grabbed a handful of dry feed, and tossed it in all directions, the flock spinning away to follow the food. Off to the side, their German Shepherd, Smooch, eyed the proceedings with a watchful eye from the edge of the yard, her tail wagging slowly in the dirt.

  Barbara kept tossing feed until the kids were done in the chicken pen. Placing the empty feed bucket back on the trailer, grabbing a small bale of hay, they moved to the rabbit pens right next door. The 10-by-15 structure was enclosed by mesh buried a couple feet down into the ground to discourage predators that managed to make it past Smooch into the main yard. Inside, they kept a mix of Netherlands dwarf rabbits and cute mini-rexes for a variety of uses.

  “Come on, kids. Make it snappy.” Barbara opened the outside pen door and stepped in, checking the mesh for breaks while the kids entered the hutch and checked the feeders, scooping out any dirt the rabbits had thrown inside from their incessant digging.

  Barbara’s phone buzzed in her pocket, and she fished it out, hoping to see Tom’s name on the caller ID. She hadn’t heard from him all morning, and she wondered what he and Sam planned for the day’s activities. Instead, Marie Everett’s name showed on the display. Marie and her husband Darren owned a piece of land down the road, a modest twenty acres and a medium-sized lake. The pair had helped Barbara and Tom get off to a great start when they’d started their farm years ago, alternating between giving them animals and selling them at steep discounts.

  Barbara put the phone to her ear. “Morning, Marie.”

  “Top of the mornin’ to ya,” the woman replied in a terrible imitation of an Irish accent. “How’s it going over there?”

  “Oh, you know,” Barbara chuckled, shaking her head as the kids’ laughter rang out from the hutch, not sounding like they were getting much done at all. “Just behind on chores, as usual.”

  “We just finished with ours and were about to have lunch.” Marie’s tone dropped an octave, sobering from her friendly disposition. “Have you seen the news?”

  “I haven’t had a chance,” Barbara replied, watching the kids as they ran outside to grab more hay and ducked back in, making some game of it. With a glance up at the clouds, she asked, “Is it the weather? Storms coming in?”

  “Just get inside and see for yourself.”

  “Can it wait thirty minutes?”

  “I don’t think so,” Marie’s voice darkened further. “Just go look.”

  “Okay, Marie. Give me a few, and I’ll call you back.” Barbara frowned, hanging up the phone and stuffing it back into her pocket. Marie’s tone wasn’t one she was used to hearing, and something shivered deep in her gut. “Okay, kids. Chores are on hold. Back in the wagon!”

  Without question, the pair slammed the hutch door shut and sprinted from the pen, leaping into the trailer in a fit of laughter. Shaking her head, Barbara hopped in the driver’s seat, started the mower, and circled around to the house.

  At their concrete patio, she killed the mower and got out, dusting her hands off as she unlaced her boots. The kids got their shoes off and beat her to the sliding glass door, pushing their way inside.

  “Put on some dry clothes,” Barbara called after them, stepping into the kitchen in her socks, padding across the tiles to the living room carpet. “I have to check something out, then we’re going right back out to finish our chores!”

  The pair grumbled but ran upstairs to get changed as Barbara found the TV remote in the bundle of covers she’d fallen asleep under the previous evening. She turned on the television where it rested on a stand in the room’s corner, the screen snapping to life before she switched to the network news channel.

  The normal afternoon anchor, Chris Penn, sat behind the news desk, wearing a crisp white shirt and a blue tie, his thick brown hair wavy where he’d combed it back.

  “… for those just tuning in, we have a natural disaster developing in the North Atlantic off the coast of New England. The ocean conservation group Ocean Watch just reported an abrupt migration of whales, dolphins, mackerel, and bluefish tuna away from their natural feeding grounds, accompanied by a shift in ocean temperatures. Local fisherman have voiced concerns over their empty nets, dropping from several tons of fish a day to almost nothing overnight. Let’s go to Tanya Mocahbee for the latest.”

  The broadcast changed to a lady reporter standing on a fishing dock somewhere in the North East United States. Dressed in a windbreaker with the CNF logo on the left breast, she nodded as she took the hand off. The wind blew her hair around her shoulders, and she tucked a lock if it behind her ear as she gave the camera a serious look.

  “Thanks Chris. I’m here at Max’s Fishery on the coast of Rhode Island, and I’ve been watching some of the trawlers come in. It’s disturbing to see dozens of boats docking with nothing in their nets. Fishermen are all telling me the same thing. There’s just nothing out there.”

  The camera switched to a man standing on the edge of his docked boat with one foot up on the side, his yellow parka and hood contrasting with the dismal, grey day.

  Tanya lowered a microphone to his lips.

  “We brought up our nets this morning, and they were empty,” the man said as the camera focused in on his wrinkled, salt-burned face. The man gestured to the deck of his boat, and the camera followed to show a slick wooden deck covered with empty nets, white buoys, and smears of scales and blood. Only a handful of fish floundered around when he should have been ankle deep in squirming bodies.

  “What about the other fisherman?” Tanya asked. “How are they doing?”

  “It’s the same for everyone.” The man’s head shook with disgust. “They’re not bringing in anything. No cod, mackerel, or tuna. Nothing.”

  “What do you think caused it?”

  The man gave a tired and confused shrug. “I couldn’t tell you that, ma’am. I’m as baffled as the next person. One thing I can tell you is that this will ruin a lot of people if something doesn’t change, and everyone who depends on these fish to survive will have empty freezers this winter unless we can shift our boats south. But the cost of fuel is high these days, so that’ll be a tough proposition.”

  Barbara crossed her arms, watching the report with a twist of her lips, thinking about their own food stores. They purchased fish at a local market and kept it frozen for the long-term, though just in time supply chains meant any sort of disruption could be felt sooner than expected.

  Tanya pulled the microphone up and turned to the camera. “You heard it right from the source, Chris. It’ll be a rough winter unless the authorities can come up with some answers.”

  “Thanks, Tanya,” Chris said as the broadcast returned to the anchor desk. Chris fixing the camera with a hard look. “While fishermen struggle along the American East Coast, we’re receiving new inf
ormation from Ocean Watch and NOAA Fisheries that suggests a possible clue as to why this is happening. Satellite images show a potential rift along the North Atlantic shelf, deep beneath the waters, possibly contributing to the disruption. While it isn’t clear how, we learned the Navy is sending their North Atlantic Task Force to the area to investigate. Stay tuned. We’ll keep you posted when we know more.”

  The news cut to a commercial, and Barbara bit her lower lip with concern. It didn’t seem like any of the news would affect her family, though one could never be certain with the world constantly in flux. Her thoughts once again turned to Tom and Sam in Portland, the news report momentarily forgotten. As if by magic, her phone buzzed again, the image on the screen causing a grin to spread across her face as she swiped on the green bubble.

  A loud blast of static greeted her, garbled voices and a high-pitched hum cutting through in the background.

  “Hi, honey,” Barbara said, wincing. “Is that you, Tom?”

  “It’s me,” Tom replied, his voice popping through the static. “Can you hear me okay?”

  “I can hear you, honey.” Barbara switched the phone to her other ear and walked toward the sliding glass door, staring out toward the woods. “We miss you guys. Having fun?”

  “We were, yes. But we, uh… we just finished up at the convention hall.”

  “What?” Barbara glanced up at the clock. “It’s not even noon on Saturday, and you’ve got a whole day left tomorrow.”

  “We have to cut the trip short,” Tom said, voice raised over the high hum. “Ray called.”

  She frowned at the mention of Ray’s name. While she liked and respected Tom’s boss, and certainly appreciated that her husband was gainfully employed, she didn’t like the late-night calls and constant overtime. She’d never gotten used to Ray sending her husband on lengthy trips to naval testing sights all across the world.

  Barbara frowned at the mention of Ray’s name. While she respected Tom’s boss – and appreciated the generous benefits that came with his employment – the late night calls and constant overtime were a constant irritation. Plus, seeing Tom sent off on lengthy trips to naval testing sites around the globe had never been her favorite pasttime.

  Tom’s line cut out again and came back with the high-pitched whine in the background, along with a steady thumping. “I take it you aren’t in Maine anymore. He got you in a helicopter again?.”

  “Good assumption,” Tom said in agreement, his voice loud, almost a shout. “We’re on our way to the Marin which is stationed a little off the coast from our location. Sam is with me, enjoying a helicopter ride.”

  Barbara closed her eyes, and her stomach turned at the thought of her daughter sitting in the back of a helicopter as it soared hundreds of feet above the ocean.

  “I’m not going to lie, Tom. That makes me a little nervous. You’ve never taken the kids with you before.”

  “Don’t be. This is a Navy Seahawk, and these pilots are top notch. Ray’s promised it’s a quick checkup of a system, and the bonus’ll be more than worth it. And Sam’s having a blast, trust me!”

  Barbara nodded, though her stomach remained clenched tight, nauseous and heavy. “That’s good. I’m glad she’s safe and having fun. So, tell me what you’re doing out there.” Barbara turned back to the television, eyes flashing to the television screen where the story about the fisheries continued to run. “Does it have something to do with investigating that rift on the seafloor?”

  Tom paused for a long second.. “How did you know?”

  “CNF is running a story on it,” Barbara replied stiffly. “They’re talking about the mass migration of animals and some other things. I’m not sure I know—"

  Tom’s static-filled words cut her off, though she couldn’t make out what he’d said.

  “I’m sorry, honey.” She turned and stepped toward the door glass as if that would help the signal. “I’m losing you.”

  Tom raised his voice as he struggled to project through the bad connection. “We’re getting close…ing…stead but…and we’ll call…ter we land, okay?”

  Barbara raised her own voice. “Okay! Please be careful!”

  “We will! Love you.”

  “Love you, too.” The connection died, leaving Barbara standing in the quiet living room with her phone held against her chest, tapping it lightly against her breastbone.

  “Who were you yelling at?”

  Barbara turned to see her two youngest standing there in a fresh change of clothes, ready to continue their chores.

  “Oh, that was your father. He called to say he and Sam were having a great time.” It wasn't a lie, but telling them that their big sister was getting to ride in a helicopter would invariably lead to distractions that would keep them from getting their work done.

  Linda smiled. “I’ll bet Sam is geeking out.”

  “I’m sure she is,” Barbara agreed, gesturing to the door. “Okay. Let’s get back to it. We’ll finish the rabbit hutch first then move on to the greenhouse. We’re going to be getting our hands dirty today.”

  Chapter 3

  Tom McKnight

  Research Vessel Marin

  US Navy Task Force, North Atlantic

  Under blue skies, the Seahawk swept toward the massive aircraft carrier. Its bulky hull was balanced perfectly in the turbulent waters, displacing the lead-gray swells as though it were an immovable object – which it very nearly was. Planes lined the flight deck edge near the catapult lines, wings folded and cables holding them in place. The control towers jutted up with antennae, communications disks sprouting from the framework.

  Sam plastered her face and hands to the window, her jaw hanging open in sheer awe of the sight. “That’s an aircraft carrier, Dad,” she said in a breathless voice. “It’s absolutely huge. Look at the planes!”

  “She’s the USS George Washington.” Tom grinned at his daughter’s excitement. Sam had only seen such magnificent vessel in movies or on television shows and seeing it up close was an entirely different experience. Tom had worked on an aircraft carrier a time or two during his career, so to see his daughter’s exuberance was like going back in time.

  The helicopter banked to the left, bending them in their seats, swinging around to approach a spot on the flight deck where a Navy crewman wearing an orange vest waited. Tom’s stomach flipped as the chopper’s sleek body nosed-up and levelled out to land. In spite of all of his flights, his stomach still couldn’t get used to sudden aerial maneuvers.

  Sam squeaked as the Seahawk’s wheels touched down and their accompanying crewman took the McKnight’s headsets before running up and throwing open the door on Sam’s side, letting in an explosion of sea wind and engine noise. After getting an all-clear signal from the deckhand, the crewman unbuckled Sam and helped her out of the helicopter before reaching in for Tom. Already unbuckled, Tom waved the man off and jumped down, placing his hand on his daughter’s back to make sure she stayed low. The girl’s head turned back and forth, hair whipping around like a horse’s tail, eyes taking in the sleek-looking jets stretched out around her against the endless blue sky.

  The deckhand guided them to another, smaller helicopter with its blades already running. The Sea Ranger bore Navy markings but was brightly colored in red and white instead of the dull grey of the Seahawk. The side door hung open, and he helped his daughter inside before sliding in next to her. Seatbelts snapped and the crackle of the pilot’s voice popped into their new headsets.

  “Welcome, Tom and Sam McKnight,” the pilot said. “I’ll be taking you to the research vessel Marin, about fifty miles farther out, near the shelf. It won’t be too long a ride. Everyone comfortable?”

  Tom and Sam both nodded, though he took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “You okay?”

  “Are you kidding?” She flashed him a glance, her jade green eyes wide with wonder. “This is amazing! Those are real jets. I wonder where the pilots stay?” She pulled her hand away and shifted to the window, nose pressed against the
glass once again.

  “They quarter the pilots below decks and…” Tom’s words trailed off as the smaller chopper lifted off the deck with a sudden blender-like whine. The aircraft teetered a moment before raising higher, bending forward toward the north. They slipped over the carrier’s flight deck to careen over the frothing ocean in a tilting sweep, bending Tom’s stomach as they left what remained of safety behind.

  Letting out a deep, slow breath, he wondered if he should have pushed back on Ray a little harder. While he didn’t doubt the pilot’s skill, their ride on the smaller aircraft was noticeably rougher. The wind slapped at them like a toy, the craft shaking and shuddering in the turbulence, and he swallowed hard and gripped the arms of his chair.

  In spite of her greenness, the jarring trip didn’t seem to phase Sam one bit. She sat twisted to her left, leaning out as far as she could to peer down at the agitated sea as it made foam kisses beneath them. Her side profile reminded Tom of her mother, with her long, straight nose and full lips, green eyes gleaming like gems. But their personalities couldn’t have been more opposite. Sam thought more like Tom, more interested in data, analytics, results and the abject beauty of natural sciences. Barbara had a mind for the practical side of things, with an eye toward organization and hands-on work, and she loved managing their small farm with help from Tom and the kids.

  Soon, they spotted a white speck on the horizon which grew into a roughly oblong-shaped object. It was a ship not even a sixth the length of the aircraft carrier, but still impressive in its own right. The Marin boasted a heavy front end with three decks with a command center on top surrounded by glass windows angling outward, its top deck filled with communications antennas and circular dishes. The rear of the ship sat flat compared to the rest, with three big submersibles nestled into the deck and a massive crane perched near the rail.

  A dozen smaller research ships and trawlers rocked around the larger ship, each arrayed with similar types of antennae, cranes, submersibles, and deep-sea research equipment. As the pilot curved around toward the big ship’s landing deck, its bold white color stood out against the water with Marin painted in a curvy blue font across the bow.