Yellowstone: Fallout: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (The Yellowstone Series Book 3) Read online

  He glanced back and saw the rear guard begin to nod off. Escaping the shackles that wrapped around his waist before tying his arms and feet together was impossible. His focus was on a better possibility. That brief moment when they were offloaded at the Solano intake area and the chains were removed in order to be placed back on the Blue Bird bus for the next transfer.

  Perez leaned forward to whisper to his friend who’d helped in the disembowelment of his old cellmate. Perez had a personal grudge against the dead man—he talked too much about his girl. His friend, however, assisted in the kill for the pure thrill it gave him.

  The whispering went unnoticed by the sleeping guard and for three hours, the two men concocted a plan which was quickly relayed to the others within the bus. They all realized that only a few of them would have the opportunity to escape. But they were part of a brethren in which one would celebrate in the freedom of another, just as if they, themselves got through that fence.

  Plus, they had nothing to lose because their next stop was likely San Quentin, and death row.

  Chapter 14

  Maple Creek, California

  Jake and Ashby weren’t at the Mad House long enough to grow attached in order to call it home. It was a place to rest, regroup, and set their sights on their next destination. The biggest plus to the location, besides the now dried-up river, was its seclusion and perceived safety. That illusion was dashed the night before when they were held at gunpoint. The decision to leave was difficult for Jake, but the events gave him a new outlook.

  They listened to several AM radio stations and studied a map before they set out on the four-hundred-mile journey to the Fruitvale West neighborhood in Saratoga, California, a bedroom community located just south of San Jose and part of the larger San Francisco Bay area.

  Famed U.S. Highway 101, also known as El Camino Real, which stretched from San Diego to near the Canadian border at Puget Sound, was the most logical route and the shortest distance. But even with limited fuel availability, residents of the Pacific Northwest were finding a way to evacuate the coming ash fallout. The highway was described by all the radio stations as a parking lot, and by some as a graveyard.

  Vehicles which had been exposed to the ash in Oregon were stalling and breaking down. Some cars ran out of gas. Stranded motorists began to walk. One eye-in-the-sky chopper pilot described the scene as thousands of cars leaving the Rose Bowl after a USC game, dodging fans and disabled cars alike.

  Jake immediately searched for back road alternatives which provided them a longer route, but one which also alleviated the necessity of driving through the heart of San Francisco. If they made decent time, they’d arrive at his parents’ house near dusk at eight o’clock that night anyway. The prospect of being delayed or getting stuck in downtown Oakland or San Francisco in the dark didn’t appeal to either one of them. By taking the longer route, they’d have opportunities to pull over for the evening.

  “Hey, check this out,” said Jake as the motorhome rounded the curve near the entrance to Barnett’s Bed & Breakfast. “Looks like we’re not the only ones bugging out today.”

  “I guess they are all leaving together,” commented Ashby. “This really was a close-knit community. They could’ve done well under the circumstances, but it’s near impossible to survive when the soil and air is poisons the surroundings.”

  Jake honked and waved as they passed. Mayor Bunny Barnett put on her best small-town politician smile and waved back. Ashby noticed the look on her face, however.

  “I didn’t spend as much time with her as you did, but I can tell from here that she’s distraught. Her body language speaks volumes.”

  Jake continued very slowly across the narrow, one-lane bridge and picked up speed as he passed the elementary school. The winding road would lead them through the mountains until they picked up Interstate 5 southbound. This first leg of the trip was expected to be the slowest, although the lack of traffic allowed them to maintain thirty miles an hour.

  The two of them debated, yet again, whether to continue towing the sandrail behind the motorhome. They hadn’t used it, and Jake was unsure whether they’d need it once they arrived at Saratoga. Thus far, it hadn’t hindered their travels and because of its unique design, they both agreed it was a survival asset worth keeping.

  The back of the motorhome was stacked with boxes and containers of anything considered of value. Jake assumed that stores would be closed or emptied out for a long time. Whatever was at the Mad House could be used at the Fruitvale West home as a backup. If a can opener broke, he’d have an extra. The same was true for many other household items that they took for granted.

  Ashby impressed upon Jake the importance of hygiene. As the noxious cloud began to arrive on the West Coast, they would be carrying the poison in and out of the house on their clothing. It was critical that they keep their kitchen counters wiped clean and disinfected. Continuous exposure to the sulfuric acid would make them seriously ill.

  For the next three hours, Jake relayed to Ashby everything he remembered about San Jose, Mountain View, and Palo Alto. Naturally, his father wanted him to attend nearby Stanford and follow in his footsteps. His family had the means to give him the best education and the contacts to secure a highly-placed position with any high-tech firm. Companies based in the area ranged from the aerospace defense industries, like Lockheed Martin and L3 Technologies, to internet giants like Apple, Google, and Facebook.

  Jake simply wasn’t interested. As a young boy, he’d wander into the nearby parks and then eventually joined clubs in grade school which included overnight camping trips to Henry Coe State Park. Then, his father purchased the Mad House and his life’s path was set.

  As they drove and found things to talk about, Jake realized that Ashby had only opened up on a couple of occasions regarding her life. When they entered the on-ramp to Interstate 5, he visibly frowned and shook his head, but not because of the bumper-to-bumper traffic. He realized that he’d been somewhat self-absorbed in his own past as he dealt with the drama associated with his family and the memories of the death of his girlfriend, Julie.

  “Hey, are you okay?” questioned Ashby when she noticed Jake’s facial expression. “We knew traffic would be bad, but it is moving steadily. Plus, I just saw two CHiPs cruise by. It’s nice to see the cops are around.”

  “No. Um, sorry. It wasn’t that. I feel terrible that I go on and on about my life and we never get to talk about you. It’s like that Toby Keith song, except in reverse.”

  Ashby laughed. “I think I’ve heard it before, but I’ve never been a big fan of country music.”

  “See, that’s what I’m talking about. I don’t know what your favorite music. What’s your favorite color? Favorite flower? You know. Just who the hell are you, Ashby Donovan? Is that your real name?”

  Jake was laughing now, but he quickly flinched for cover as Ashby unbuckled her seatbelt and began to pummel him with playful punches.

  “I’m an ax-murderer! And a vampire!” She tried to bite at this neck.

  “Okay! Okay! I’ve gotta drive, monster!”

  She started laughing and smacked him up side of the head before she sat down.

  “Fine. I get it. It’s my turn. Jake, there really isn’t much to tell.”

  “There’s lots to tell,” he shot back. “You may not think it’s interesting, but I will. I want to know everything about you, the good and the bad.”

  Ashby buckled up and took a drink of water. She adopted a sarcastic tone to begin.

  “I love tulips and I hate daisies. I hate walking on the beach at sunset. I’d rather sit on the deck and thumb through geology magazines while drinking a beer. I am not a hopeless romantic and until I met you, sex was few and far between. I’ve dated three men, all older, and all wanted to marry me. So, I ran. I guess you could say I have commitment issues.”

  “Wow,” said Jake with a chuckle. “That’s a whole lot more than I expected with the first round of interrogation. I thought I’d ha
ve to pull it out of you.”

  “Shut up and be nice or I’ll clam up again.”

  “Okay. Let’s talk about the men in your life.”

  “No. Next question.”

  Jake abruptly applied the brakes as traffic up ahead slowed. He had to constantly remind himself he wasn’t driving his Ford Expedition, but rather, a forty-foot-long house with a vehicle behind it. It wasn’t how fast you could go under adverse traffic conditions, it was how fast you can stop.

  “Sorry about that,” said Jake, apologizing for giving them both a jolt. He reached his hand across the open space and Ashby took it, providing him a smile in addition. They were officially a couple.

  “Do you wanna talk about last night?’ he asked. After the Davenport’s left their property, Jake and Ashby were on edge. Neither could sleep for fear the group might return. Eventually Ashby dozed off and Jake took watch until three in the morning when Ashby took her turn monitoring their perimeter.

  “I guess,” she replied. “There’s nothing to say, really. I was mad that the kid got the jump on me. Then, he was politely holding a gun at my back. I mean, he wasn’t a badass like those guys in Oregon. He was a teenager.”

  “Were you ready to kill them all?”

  “Yeah, in the heat of the moment, I guess I was. Jake, here’s the way I look at it. As each day passes, the rules no longer apply. If you live by the rules, you starve or get killed. Plain and simple.”

  Jake glanced over at Ashby. She was beautiful and strong. He’d never met a woman like her and so this budding relationship was going to require an understanding between them. She was right. Rules and boundaries would become blurred or obliterated altogether.

  “Every book I’ve studied stresses the importance of foraging,” Jake began. “It applied to cavemen and now it applies to us. We have to decide, however, where to draw the line between foraging and looting.”

  “It’s semantics, Jake. The country is descending into lawlessness. Every day the news reports indicate society is collapsing. Let’s look at an example. Take this freeway. We have two southbound lanes moving at a snail’s pace. Now, look at the northbound lane. Nothing. Seriously, when was the last time you saw a car heading north?”

  “I can’t say that I have.”

  “Now, I’m sure the other travelers have noticed the same thing. How long do you think it will take for one motorist to cross the median and decide to drive down the wrong side of the road?”

  “We’ve seen CHiPs today,” countered Jake. “They’ll get a ticket, or hauled in.”

  “Pshaw,” said Ashby with a giggle. “If they even bother, who cares if you get a ticket? Points on your license? Higher insurance? They sure aren’t going to arrest them. For Pete’s sake, they’re giving hardened criminals get out of jail free cards.”

  “Good point,” interjected Jake.

  “So, soon our fellow southbound travelers will see that it’s working in the other lanes and several more will follow. Monkey see, monkey do, right?”

  “Right. I might even consider it if I could drag this beast across the grass.”

  “Exactly my point,” said Ashby. “People will start to disobey laws in order to hasten their exodus from the fallout. Imagine what they’ll do to survive? Last night, that family was not made up of killers. They were foragers, looters, thieves, or opportunists. Whatever label you choose. They were not killers.”

  “If I follow your logic, then everything is fair game until you have to kill to take what you need.”

  Ashby nodded. She furrowed her brow and said, “I’ve drawn a line in the sand that I refuse to cross and that is murdering for gain. Even if it is required for survival. I’ll look for another way before I kill someone simply to stock my pantry.”

  Jake absorbed Ashby’s world view, at least as it applied to the apocalypse. It was the same as his, although he wasn’t sure what the future had in store.

  “I agree. Sometimes, however, we won’t have to time to think. We’ll have to react.”

  Ashby tucked her feet up under her thighs and sat a little taller in the seat. “If I have the slightest inkling that our lives are in danger, like at the farmhouse, then I’ll shoot and still sleep at night. The situation yesterday evening was different. I was on the cusp of killing out of anger. I’m glad you were there to calm me down. I don’t know if I could’ve lived with that guilt.”

  Jake nodded and pointed to his left. “Check it out. I guess they heard you.”

  Several vehicles were darting across the median on a paved crossover marked emergency vehicles only. After the first few started down the wrong side of Interstate 5, several more followed and shortly thereafter, the southbound lane began to move more briskly.

  Lawlessness had its advantages.

  Chapter 15

  North of Vacaville, California

  “Hey, I’ve got an AM station,” said Ashby who quickly turned up the volume. The news reporter was finishing up a story about a riot in Berkley at a Costco warehouse in which several bystanders were killed by armed men who attacked security guards in an attempt to gain entrance. Compounding problems in the area was a wrecked tanker truck transporting gasoline at Cordelia Junction where Interstates 80 and 680 merged. Clean-up was expected to take hours leaving the southbound lanes toward San Jose closed.

  Ashby studied an old map she found at the Mad House and compared it to the GPS-suggested routes around the highway blockage. She turned the radio to tell Jake his options.

  “The good news is that we’re only a hundred miles out,” she began. Then she looked at the clock on the dashboard and up to the sky. “However, it’s after seven and daylight is disappearing fast. Look at the sky. I think the fallout is working its way inland already.”

  “If we were closer to the coast, I’d say sea spray or fog might be the cause,” added Jake. “What’s our best route?”

  “We have to go west before we can head south again unless you wanna take a tour of Napa and Sonoma. The wine country is romantic.”

  “Said the girl who claimed she isn’t romantic,” said Jake with a laugh.

  Ashby wasn’t laughing and continued. “Or, for the man-jerk without a sense of adventure, the more direct route would be through Rio Vista, and a series of side roads until we pick up six-eighty near Fremont.”

  “Tonight, it’ll have to be Rio Vista. Tomorrow night, we’ll talk romance,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

  Ashby casually flipped her middle finger in Jake’s direction, and then managed a smile. “Take the Travis Air Force Base exit and then we’ll work our way south to Highway 12.”

  Ashby folded the map and laid it on the dashboard. She reached for the volume on the radio and turned it back up.

  “… and we’ll have more information on that prison break at the top of the hour. For now, we’re going to join our CNN news affiliate at WABC in New York to bring you a statement from the President of the United States.”

  “Would you mind turning it up?”

  Ashby leaned forward and turned up the knob. As she did, she looked past Jake through his side window. Off in the distance she could see dozens of police cars parked along Alamo Drive with their emergency lights on.

  “I wonder what that’s all —.” Before she could finish her sentence, she was interrupted by the President. She truly liked him and appreciated the fact that he seemed to trust her judgment. In hindsight he could’ve easily dismissed her theories about the imminent eruption of Yellowstone and the correlation to Project Hydro, but he didn’t. He was a businessman and took a more analytical approach to governance than most politicians whose only goal is reelection.

  The president made a few introductory remarks regarding the status of the supereruption and the threat the ash fallout had on air quality. He repeated the phrase environmental disaster multiple times. It was.

  He then turned his attention to the options available to Americans.

  “In April of 2014, our government successfully negotiated a mult
i-year plan with the governments of Brazil, Argentina, and Australia to accept into their countries any American citizens who may become displaced as a result of a natural disaster like the one we face today.

  “These countries in the Southern Hemisphere were considered to be ideally suited for this plan of relocation. When the agreement was reached, the U.S. Treasury became obligated to fund one hundred billion dollars to each of the nations for infrastructure upgrades, housing allowance, and security.

  “Despite the fact a dollar sum was agreed upon, both Argentina and Brazil have demanded more from us. They have asked for a forgiveness of all indebtedness owed by their governments to the United States and the World Bank. Under the circumstances, we have no choice but to allow this forced renegotiation and grant their request.

  “Australia, to their credit, has agreed to take their share of American refugees, but the issue of logistics still needs to be addressed. As for refugees traveling to South America, the Department of Transportation and the State Department are formulating a plan to be on my desk in thirty-six hours.

  “In the meantime, we are in the process of negotiating a similar agreement with the African National Congress and several Central American countries. I will provide you additional information on our efforts in the coming days.”

  Ashby turned down the radio again as the president signed off and the CNN talking heads took over. She pointed toward the Travis AFB exit.

  “This is our exit. Take a left on Air Force Parkway. After that, we’re looking for a major intersection called Walters. That’ll take us down to Highway 12.”

  “That’s ironic, isn’t it?” asked Jake as he eased the Bounder off the interstate toward a flashing red light at the end of the exit ramp.

  “What? The South American deal? I thought so, too.”

  Jake checked his mirrors before he eased onto the parkway. Traffic was heavy heading away from the base. He continued.

  “Think about it, we’ve been stopping migrants and refugees from crossing our southern border for years and now we’re going the other direction.”