Aftermath: A Post-Apocalyptic Disaster Thriller, page 1
AFTERMATH
A POST-APOCALYPTIC DISASTER THRILLER
FAULT LINES
BOOK 3
HARLEY TATE
Copyright © 2023 by Harley Tate. Cover and internal design © by Harley Tate. Cover image copyright © Deposit Photos, 2023.
All rights reserved.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The use of stock photo images in this e-book in no way imply that the models depicted personally endorse, condone, or engage in the fictional conduct depicted herein, expressly or by implication. The person(s) depicted are models and are used for illustrative purposes only.
CONTENTS
1. 144 Hours Post-Quake
2. Mika
3. Daphne
4. Clint
5. Daphne
6. Mika
7. Clint
8. Mika
9. Daphne
10. Clint
11. Clint
12. Daphne
13. Daphne
14. Clint
15. Daphne
16. 192 Hours Post Quake
17. Clint
18. Daphne
19. Daphne
20. Clint
21. Mika
22. Daphne
23. 200 Hours Post-Quake
24. Mika
25. Daphne
26. 216 Hours Post-Quake
27. Daphne
28. Clint
Epilogue
Also by Harley Tate
Acknowledgments
About Harley Tate
CHAPTER ONE
144 HOURS POST-QUAKE
Cherise McNeil sucked in a deep breath and smoothed down her hair while waiting for the online meeting to begin. The past five days blurred together in her mind—a turbulent sea of crises and panic and devastation. If it weren’t for these daily update calls, she wouldn’t have a clue how long they’d been working around the clock to dig out from this unimaginable disaster.
The screen turned black for a moment before splitting into four videos. The White House occupied the upper left with Michael Urston, the head of FEMA, grimacing for the camera. “Good morning, everyone. Let’s get started.”
He quickly ran through the agenda before turning his attention to Cherise. “Ms. McNeil, you’re the closest resource on the ground. Give us an update on the water levels. We know the National Weather Service is anticipating flood waters to recede to a manageable level within the next two days, but what are your people seeing on the ground?”
She cleared her throat. “NWS is correct. Places that were underwater as early as yesterday are now mostly dry. We anticipate the ability to send relief crews into the hardest hit areas of Seattle by tomorrow. However—” She pressed her hands together in front of her, almost in prayer. “We have bigger issues at the present time.”
“Such as?” Urston flipped a page on his clipboard, searching for some written explanation for her departure from the agenda.
Cherise pressed on. “The level of lawlessness in the major metro areas. It’s greater than anticipated.”
“She’s right.” Governor Peters from Washington state interrupted, his blotchy, bloated face looming on the screen. “The cell phone companies have done amazing work in such a limited period of time, activating cell towers, bringing connectivity back to the region.” He glanced away from the camera for a moment to something off-screen. “But it’s come with an unexpected cost.”
“Such as?” The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff spoke for the first time.
“It seems people are using social media to, well, tip people off, essentially.”
“I don’t follow.”
Cherise chimed in. “There have been multiple instances of people shooting video at relief tents, showing the blankets and cases of food and water, and explaining where they’re located. They might be doing it for the right reasons, but others—”
Peters filled the brief silence. “Are using it as a guide. We’ve had reports of looting and vandalism, volunteers held up at gunpoint for supplies.”
“According to my notes,” Cherise flipped a page, “four tents have been raided, all overnight when we’re operating on a skeleton crew.”
“Any casualties?”
“Not at the tents. I’ve instructed my people to stand down if they are attacked. But the buses are another story.”
“Busses?”
She nodded. “There’s a lot of chatter on social media that the buses we use to transport refugees to our more robust shelters, that they’re actually supply buses, full of food and water. That we aren’t giving those supplies to the people on the ground, the ones who need it most. Several have been attacked—usually with rocks and bricks thrown through at the windows. But one—”
She sucked in a deep breath. “One was shot at. The driver swerved to avoid the gunfire and the bus crashed, splitting in two before exploding into flames.”
Someone at the White House swore.
“At the present time we can only account for twenty-one of the fifty-two people on the bus. Many died. A few were seriously injured but survived.”
The Chairman spoke again. “Governor Peters, what’s the response been from local law enforcement? Is there any capacity to provide assistance?”
“According to the local governments my office has contacted, police departments are overwhelmed with call volume and only a quarter of the officers are showing up for duty. Our National Guard is stretched too thin to provide much support.”
“Stretched too thin? Why? What are we talking about, exactly?” The President leaned forward, forearms splayed across the conference table. “Lawlessness? Anarchy?”
“Not large-scale, but in pockets, yes.” Peters stared directly at the screen. “That's why I asked about Martial Law a few days ago, sir. We need the military on the ground. We need to keep the people safe.”
“What about Oregon? Are you seeing the same things, Governor?”
The Governor of Oregon smoothed his wrinkled tie. “I can confirm we’ve had some issues with looting, yes. But I’m sure once the aid rolls out more comprehensively, the situation will calm.”
The President leaned over and spoke to the Chairman too quietly for Cherise to hear. After a few back-and-forths, he turned again to the camera. “Troops are already on the ground at Sea-Tac attempting to bring the airport back online as quickly as possible. Another group is set to mobilize this week. Instead of sending them into the cities to begin recovery efforts, we can reroute several to assist with security.”
“Thank you, sir.” Peters leaned back in his chair.
“Anything else, Cherise?”
She was happy to have the additional troops, but she wondered how long it would take for them to arrive. Longer than they wanted, of that she was sure. She shoved the pessimism down. It would help no one. She glanced at the bullet points on the paper in front of her. “The major relief facility in Ellensburg, Washington, is up and running. As of this morning, over thirty thousand people have been processed through the facility.”
“What’s the capacity?”
“We have beds for five thousand, five hundred for medical.”
“And the excess is where?”
“Once people have been checked in, they have forty-eight hours to regroup and seek assistance from our charity and local government partners before being asked to move on.”
“Peters?” Urston waited for the governor to respond.
The Governor nodded. “For Washington state residents, all persons without a place to live are given vouchers for hotel lodging in nearby areas. As you can imagine, it’s a large influx of people, and many small towns are already overwhelmed. My office estimates we’ll need to expand beyond our borders with relocation assistance within the week.”
“FEMA is working with the federal government to establish some sort of federal assistance program for the affected individuals. It will take time to implement. Have you reached out to your neighbors?”
“Idaho and Montana are willing to accept our vouchers and are also mobilizing their National Guard troops to provide assistance on the ground.”
“Excellent.” Urston ran his finger down the page. “Governor Griffin, any updates on your end?”
“We also have a voucher system.” He nodded at the screen. “Governor Peters was gracious enough to share his plan. It’s streamlined our interactions with other states. Although Oregonians are a resourceful people, we are grateful for the assistance from both the federal government and our neighboring states. It’ll be a long road to recovery, but we’re confident we’ll get there.”
“Any update to your initial casualty estimates?”
The Governor’s face fell. “Not at the present time.”
“Rough guess.”
“Higher than anticipated. Due to the volume of tourists on the beaches when the quake hit, we’ve revised the numbers upward. When I have more concrete information, I’ll share.”
“All right.” Urston ran through the remaining items on the agenda, everything from status updates on the hospital systems, to bridges and roads, to the upcoming weather forecast. At some point, Cherise stopped listening. As the main point of contact on the ground for FEMA in the region, she understood the necessity of her presence on these morning
At last, the men in the White House conference room wrapped up and she left the meeting. The second she closed her computer, a queue of FEMA employees hustled up to her makeshift desk, papers and notes and questions in hand.
She sucked in a deep breath and managed to smile through the fatigue at the man standing first in line. “Hi, Derek.”
“Ma’am.” The Assistant Director had aged ten years in five days. He leaned over the desk and spread a wrinkled map with hand-drawn notations across the surface. “Here’s the updated list of operational relief tents. Green means they’ve suffered no issues, yellow is minor skirmishes, red is, well—”
“Compromised?”
“Yes.”
Cherise exhaled. Only a few green dots remained this morning. Most were yellow. A significant number were red. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. By the time FEMA was no longer needed, her mouth would look like ground-up hamburger.
“As you can see, the attacks have only increased.”
“Any additional incidents with buses?”
“Not yet. We’ve slowed down our transport times, waiting until multiple buses are full before heading to facilities in a convoy. Several Washington National Guard units are now accompanying these convoys to dissuade any attacks.”
“Good.” Cherise rubbed a thick knot taking up residence in her right shoulder muscle. “Unfortunately, that’s probably the best we’ll get for the foreseeable future. It doesn’t appear additional security will be arriving anytime soon.”
“What about the Marine Corps or the Army? I thought—”
“You know how slow they are to mobilize. The Chairman offered to reroute troops from the airport, but none that are already there. Only future mobilizations. He wouldn’t give a timeline.”
Maybe she should have pushed harder for something concrete, but she was a small fish in a big pond. There were only so many bites at the apple for her. If she used all her capital now, she might miss out when they really needed it.
“Anything else?”
Derek glanced behind him. “Nothing that can’t wait for an hour.” He nodded at her empty coffee cup. “Need a refill?”
“That would be amazing.”
He plucked her cup off the table and flashed a tight smile before heading toward their makeshift canteen. It wasn’t much—mostly coffee and water and packaged snacks—but it was better than most of the residents of Seattle and Portland had on offer. The odds of anyone still trapped being alive dwindled every hour at this point. Soon, all their efforts would shift away from rescue and onto recovery.
It would be a long road, but she would see it through. They all would. She managed to brighten as a young woman stepped up to the desk.
The woman pushed her glasses up her nose. “Hi, Ms. McNeil.”
“What do you have for me?”
CHAPTER TWO
MIKA
“Got you a Snickers, kiddo.” Mika’s dad slid the candy bar across the grooves of the picnic table. Early morning sun forced him to squint as he eased onto the bench with a smile.
“Thanks, Dad.” She plucked the candy bar off the worn and faded table and peeled down the wrapper before taking a bite, savoring the morsels of chocolate and peanuts. When was the last time she’d eaten more than a snack? The breakfast sandwich before they loaded the helicopter?
It felt like a year ago, not yesterday.
It was hard to focus on anything. She’d thought after a solid night’s sleep tucked against her father’s large frame on the bus, that she would be fine. But she wasn’t.
“Sorry it’s not something more substantial.” Her father’s face creased with worry as he frowned.
She tried to perk up. “It’s delicious.” Mika made a show of chomping on another bite. Every time she brought her jaw together, the pain radiating through her head intensified and the ringing in her ears increased.
Her dad had asked her repeatedly if she was okay and she’d agreed, brushing off his concerns. Maybe she should have told the truth—that her eyes unfocused every few minutes, that she barely remembered anything that happened yesterday, that her hands trembled if she didn’t work to hold them still.
A combination of adrenaline and shock had propelled her through yesterday, out of the little cubby in the destroyed cafe and back to the relief tent and the bus that would take them to her mom. But when they’d been delayed…
Mika shoved down her spiraling thoughts as a woman approached wearing navy scrubs under a pale gray cardigan. She wrapped the sweater snugly around her chest and crossed her arms. “It’s freezing out here.” She smiled at Mika and her dad. “Hi, I’m Bridget.”
Mika tried to concentrate on the stranger. “I’m Mika.”
Her dad nudged his chin in acknowledgement as he cracked open a can of soda. “Clint.”
Bridget yawned. “Nice to meet you guys. Do you know why we’ve been here all night?”
Mika’s dad nodded. “Bus driver came over the speaker and said he’d been radioed to stop at the first safe place to rest that he came across and to wait for further instruction. Something about a convoy. Didn’t say much more.”
“Oh.” Bridget frowned, rocking on her heels as she stood beside the picnic table. “Must have been asleep when he said that.” She glanced around. “Where are we?”
“On I-90 headed toward Ellensburg. Before Snoqualmie Pass, I think.”
“I can’t believe we had to stay here overnight.” A lanky, clean-shaven man eased onto a picnic table bench one over. He lifted his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I’d kill for a cup of coffee.”
“No kidding.” Bridget hugged her sweater a bit closer around her. “At least there are working bathrooms and stocked vending machines.”
“True.” The man on the bench ripped open the wrapper of a honey bun and wrinkled his nose as he gave the pastry a sniff and introduced himself as Tom. “So, where you guys from?”
“Outskirts of Seattle,” Bridget volunteered. “Lucky to be alive. I was heading for my shift at the hospital when the quake hit. Made it out before the water, thank goodness. How about you?”
“Bellevue. I was at work. Mid-rise on the edge of the financial district. Building was newer so it didn’t collapse.” He took a tentative bite of the pastry and shoved it in his cheek as he kept talking. “A boat came by after a couple of days. Plucked me off the roof.”
They both turned to Mika and her father.
“Clint and Mika,” her father offered, pointing at them each in turn. “From Port Angeles.”
Bridget sucked in a sharp breath. “How’d it fare?”
“Not well.” Her dad sobered and focused on the table.
Mika managed to shove the last bit of the candy bar into her mouth and chew. With her mouth full, she didn’t have to answer any questions.
“I can imagine,” Bridget said in an empathetic voice.
I severely doubt that. Mika swallowed and leaned forward, cradling her head in her hands. Why did everything have to hurt so badly? Her limbs, her head, even her heart. As soon as she woke up that morning, she knew something was wrong. She didn’t feel like herself. It was as if she was wrapped in a ball of cotton wool, separated from the world by a foot of fuzz.
The conversation continued around her, adults sharing war stories about what they saw, felt, endured. She couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t keep a hold of any of their words or any consistent train of thought. It was as if everything in her brain had jumbled up together.
Bridget tilted her head to the side and gazed down at Mika. “You feeling okay, hon?”
