Primal Shift: Volume 1 (A Post Apocalyptic Thriller) Read online

  He slid the revolver and the bullets into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and headed for the door, cutting a wide swath around the pile of debris that had once been the head of his Legal Department, Sam Huff.

  “Sam, you sly bastard. You always did find a loophole when your ass was in a sling.”

  Larry left his office and paused at his secretary’s desk. She was nowhere to be found. But that wasn’t why he’d stopped. Something outside the window behind her desk had caught his eye. Strange colors in the sky, a lot like those northern lights people sometimes saw up in Alaska. Pulsating and changing shapes and colors. Green, pink, blue. Larry blinked hard and then opened his eyes. From here it almost looked like those strange colors in the sky had formed into a face, and he coulda sworn it was watching him.

  Finn

  Time: Unknown

  Location: Unknown

  Finn and the guy draped in the bloody lab coat stared at one another, both men breathing heavily.

  Whether he was nervous or hurt or just had scrambled eggs for brains, Finn wasn’t sure.

  He slid the pipe out of sight behind his back and spoke:

  “I won’t hurt you. I just wanna know where I am.”

  The man’s head tilted like a dog, listening to its master.

  “Do you speak English?”

  Nothing.

  Finn stepped forward, and the man with the bloody fingers took a single step back. Another step, and the man turned and ran, a series of strange throaty sounds trailing behind him as he fled.

  What the hell is going on here?

  He wasn't crazy about heading in the same direction as someone who had clearly taken a shot to the skull and lost his marbles. People under enormous stress would sometimes do strange things. He wasn't sure exactly how he knew this, but the idea had occurred to him as a fully formed piece of life experience. Except in Finn's case, he didn’t have a clue what those experiences might be.

  Still clad in his sopping underwear, Finn was doing his best to avoid the bits of rock and shards of glass on the floor. Even so, his feet were hurting terribly. He needed shoes and clothes and judging by the pain stabbing in his belly, something to eat and drink.

  Up ahead and to the right was a sign that read Lunch Room. Finn entered it and found vending machines lined against the opposite wall. In front of them was a dead guy in coveralls. Beside him was a piece of concrete that must have come loose from the ceiling during the quake. A patch on his coveralls revealed the man's name.

  JP

  Nearby was his yellow hard hat. It had a whopper of a dent in it. No doubt, JP must have been trying to decide which sandwich to have for lunch when all hell had broken loose. Once the ceiling had opened up and dumped a load on his head, there wasn't much even his hard hat could do to save him.

  Finn kneeled down and ran his fingers over the back of JP's neck.

  Broken in three places. But how do I know that?

  Finn stripped JP's boots and coveralls off and was stepping into them when the rumbling started again. He jumped away from the hole in the ceiling and braced himself for more debris from above, but nothing came. Concrete dust hung in the air like a fine mist. He had been lucky this time, and now that Finn had boots and something to wear, he needed to hightail it out of there as soon as he could.

  He caught his reflection in the glass from one of the intact vending machines. The sight startled him at first, unable to recognize the face looking back at him. Strong jaw and narrow eyes. Hair kept short in a brush cut.

  Was I in the Army or the loony bin?

  Finn’s mouth was bone dry. His knees were wobbly, too. He needed water and something to eat before he left, just in case the world outside was in a worse state than it was in here. No doubt EMT workers would be responding soon, treating the wounded, removing the dead. They’d almost certainly set up some kind of triage tent nearby, if space would allow. Maybe even a place with a warm meal and a nice cold beer. The thought was so delicious it was almost painful. But who the hell was he kidding? This was the government he was talking about. Those things would happen, minus the beer, but it might take days, or weeks. In the meantime, Finn was going to do what JP never got the chance to do: grab something to eat.

  With the lead pipe, Finn smashed his reflection on the Great Snacks! vending machine and plucked out three sandwiches. After that he kicked in an Aquafina machine and grabbed a bottle, twisting off the cap and taking a long swig. The water was still cold, and he could feel it trickling down his throat and into his empty stomach, his dehydrated cells rejoicing with every drop. He snatched up as many water bottles as he could carry.

  JP was wearing a white undershirt and Finn peeled it from his pasty skin and used it to wrap the sandwiches and water in an improvised carrying sack.

  Hefting the makeshift sack over his shoulder, he made his way back down the corridor. Glass and bits of rock crunched under the soles of his new boots. There was no sign of the man in the lab coat with the bloody fingers. In fact, there was no sign of anyone, and Finn was beginning to wonder if he had the frightening distinction of being the last man on Earth.

  Up ahead was an elevator, and he ducked under dangling electrical wires as he approached it. On the ground nearby was a thin metal bar, and he used it to pry the elevator doors apart. The elevator car wasn't there, but an emergency light on the wall lit the shaft enough for him to see it several floors below. The siren continued to pierce his eardrums.

  Jesus, how big is this place?

  The empty shaft above him seemed to stretch on forever. At the top was a shaft of light. Below him was darkness. He figured up had to equal out. He had to slap a hand against the inside elevator shaft wall several times before he found the crude metal ladder he somehow knew would be there. Grabbing the shirt with the food and water, along with his lead pipe, Finn tucked it all into his overalls and began climbing.

  If another earthquake hit now, Finn was sure he'd fall to his death and join JP and everyone else in this place who’d rolled the dice and come up shit out of luck. But that didn't happen, and 20 minutes later, tired and even thirstier, Finn finally reached the top. The elevator door was open enough for him to slide a hand in and yank the doors farther apart, all the while doing his best not to look down as he struggled out.

  He found himself in a small dark room. On his left was a desk beneath a pile of rubble, where a security guard might have sat. He quickly searched the desk without finding anything useful. The only way out led to a room with a single set of double doors. Finn opened them and stepped out into blinding light.

  Intense heat was the second thing that assaulted him. As though a hot, wet blanket had been suddenly tossed over him.

  Finn took in his bizarre surroundings.

  It didn’t take him long to realize that he was in the desert. He could tell that much from the barren landscape and scalding heat. But the sky. All kinds of pastels cascading into one another. Like some kind of fireworks display.

  Was it caused by the same earthquake that had done a number on the complex below?

  Stranger still, around him were hundreds of giant mirrors, all of them pointed toward the sun. Several of the mirrors lay shattered on the desert floor. In fact, now that he took a closer look, even the main building he’d just come out of was leaning to one side. A plume of smoke rose into the air from something just beyond view. The earthquake had really done a number on the plant.

  Plant.

  Yeah, that’s what it was. A solar plant.

  Was he a worker here? Maybe he’d been hurt in some kind of accident and they’d thrown him into the pink vat of goo to heal his wounds?

  None of this was making any sense.

  Finn spotted a desert camo Land Rover SUV parked beside a beige shipping container that looked to have been converted into a building. He went inside the container, looking for someone, anyone who might be able to explain what the hell was going on.

  “Hello, anybody in here?”

  No reply.
>
  Dust motes floated through stale, dead air.

  It looked like an office. Yellow hardhats, like the one that had failed to protect JP, hung from hooks on the wall. Some had fallen to the ground during the earthquake.

  Next to that was a clock; the time read 3:37. Finn removed it from the wall, held it next to his ear and found that it was still ticking, which meant it was probably battery powered and most likely accurate. Below where the clock had been hanging was a calendar. Pictures of Caesar’s Palace, the Bellagio, the MGM Grand. Another clue, telling him that he was probably in Nevada.

  Then he saw the date.

  It was 2017.

  Seeing the year should have jogged something in his memory, at least he hoped it would, but nothing came. Whenever he tried to think back to a time before the oversized coffin that had barfed him out onto the floor, all he could come up with was the field of tall grass and the sun warming his skin.

  He studied the calendar. It seemed like he should be able to piece together the date by studying the notes left on each day of the calendar. They stopped abruptly on Tuesday, July 4th. July 5th onwards was blank. Finn flipped back through the calendar. Not a single day went by where someone hadn’t made some kind of note.

  May 7, 2017

  Lost 10 more solar

  collectors last night.

  Mr. Thomson wants

  them replaced ASAP!

  June 23, 2017

  Power requirements

  from the LHC is putting

  too much strain on the

  heat exchanger.

  July 1, 2017

  Now the cooling tower’s

  on the fritz!

  Most of this went clear over Finn’s head. Solar collectors, LHCs, cooling towers. Sounded like Chinese to him; but then again, so did his own name.

  On the desk, next to an ashtray littered with a half dozen butts was another clue. A piece of paper with a name.

  Tevatron.

  Looked like an internal company memo of some kind, but that wasn’t what had made the smile form over Finn’s rugged features. The memo had a letterhead and right underneath that was an address for Tevatron’s regional office in Las Vegas.

  It read 950 Owens Avenue, Las Vegas, NV

  Finn was on his way out of the office when he spotted some keys dangling from a magnetic strip on the wall. More than likely, they were the keys for the Land Rover parked outside. Finn stuck his head out into the desert heat and punched a button on the key ring. The soft sound of car doors unlocking came back in answer. Now he had wheels.

  Something strange struck him. Earthquake or not, there hadn’t been a single sign of any first responders, and Finn wasn’t exactly sure why. Was it because the plant was way out in the middle of nowhere? Had the quake been a local, isolated event? He guessed he was about to find out. He finished loading up the truck with the food and water he’d been carrying around, wishing suddenly he’d brought a whole lot more up with him.

  He returned to the shipping container at least two more times, scouring the place for anything useful. In one corner, behind a filing cabinet was a five-gallon water cooler that had fallen on its side. The jug still contained about a half gallon. He took that, shoving it in upright behind the driver’s seat, so it wouldn’t fall over and spill. In one of the drawers was a map of Nevada – bingo! – along with a compass and a screw driver. Those he threw onto the passenger seat, deciding that he would take his chances by heading south. With any luck he’d hit Las Vegas before he ran out of gas.

  Dana Hatfield

  3:30 p.m. (PST), July 4th, 2017

  Coast Guard Station Golden Gate, Fort Baker, CA

  Dana nosed the 47-MLB parallel to the dock and killed the throttle. Almost too late came the realization that she was coming in faster than she should have been. She’d been in such a rush to race back to base that the idea of stopping honestly hadn’t occurred to her. The ground came racing toward her, and she jerked the throttle into reverse. Her body thrust forward as the powerful twin 435-horsepower motors spun in the other direction, churning up frothy water behind the boat.

  Before her was Fort Baker; or what was left of it. Originally an Army base, it was officially handed over to the Coast Guard in 1990. Several large beige buildings ringed the shore, and at least one of those was on fire. From here it looked as though it might be the mess hall.

  There were 43 other sailors and one officer stationed at Fort Baker, and Dana wasn’t sure how she was going to explain how two of their own, Stratton and Stokes, had gone overboard and she hadn’t done a thing to save them. The truth was that they sank like stones. Then the bodies had started falling around her like human meat bombs. The horrible remains of one of them was still painted all over the bow.

  Dana slid down the ladder and hopped onto the dock to tie the cleat.

  Coons was still on deck, curled into a ball, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, his eyes wide and darting as though he’d just found himself on the surface of an alien planet.

  In front of him was the man they’d retrieved from the Bay. He wasn’t moving anymore. She climbed back on board and felt for a pulse.

  Dead.

  Must have happened on the way back to the station.

  Dana looked up and held out a hand to Coons.

  “Let’s go, it’s gonna be all right.”

  There was blood on Dana’s hand, and when Coons saw it, he hid his face.

  This wasn’t making any sense. Not under any circumstance had she ever known Coons to be a pussy. Nor had she known Stratton and Stokes to ever fight or forget how to swim. They hadn’t been wearing their life vests. Nothing was adding up.

  Dana turned her attention back to Coons. If he was too shell-shocked to function, there wasn’t much she could do for him right now. She had to see if anyone else was hurt.

  Jumping from the boat, she became aware of the stillness around her. She hadn’t processed the strangeness of the scene as she motored back to base, on account of all the puzzling questions jumbling her mind. Why was the sky lit up like a Christmas tree? Why had dozens of people suddenly decided to take their own lives by jumping from the bridge? And what had happened to her crewmates? She’d expected to arrive back to Fort Baker to find men in blue uniforms rushing around, getting a handle on the situation, and yet the station looked like a ghost town.

  Her pulse pounding in her neck, she rushed across the grounds and headed into the station headquarters.

  The emergency lights were on, which meant the main power was offline and the generators had engaged.

  Before her, the reception window was empty, along with a mass of tangled desks and chairs behind it. This was where they filled out reports and took care of the far less glamorous side of Coast Guard rescue work. One of the thick wooden beams from the ceiling had dislodged during the earthquake and crushed a row of desks.

  She spotted a shape toward the back of the room that looked out of place, rounded and soft in a sea of hard edges. It looked to her like the top of someone’s head.

  “Anyone in here?” she called out.

  The shape stirred, but didn’t get up.

  She made her way toward it and discovered a man, who rose as she approached, wedging his body into a corner. His eyes danced around nervously, as though searching for an escape. He wore the same expression she’d seen on Coons aboard the MLB.

  Dana recognized who he was, even before she saw the sailor’s name stitched into his shredded uniform.

  “Hodge, where the hell is everyone?”

  Hodge watched her without blinking. A bloody knot sat on the side of his head.

  “Hodge,” she said again, stepping toward him, and that’s when Hodge bared his teeth.

  Dana stepped back.

  Everyone’s lost their fucking minds. That’s it, isn’t it? Everyone’s bonkers, except for me.

  A shattered desk stopped Dana from retreating anymore.

  The space gave Hodge an opening, and he bolted from the room, teari
ng off down the hallway that led to the barracks.

  Dana sank into the pile of rubble and fought back tears. The feeling of utter helplessness was truly overwhelming. She’d lived in a structured world where every word and action was scrutinized for so long. For some people, that kind of rigid control would probably have driven them crazy, but for Dana, a life without a proper command structure was hard to fathom. She buried her head into the palms of her hands and began sobbing. Crying wasn’t her thing, especially not in front of the other sailors. She’d made that mistake once before, during basic training, and the other cadets had labeled her a marshmallow, the term they used for sailors who were too soft and gooey to hack it. But at the time, it hadn’t been the difficulty of the drills or the training that had gotten her down. It was the death of her mother. It had come not long after her brother’s suicide, a wound that was still raw and festering. Their class was learning how to tie a bowline knot when a cadet had arrived to deliver the bad news. For nearly 10 agonizing hours Dana had choked back the tears with stoic determination. If her brother had been her best friend, then her mother had been her Gibraltar, the family’s CO, and her loss left a space within Dana that had never been filled. Her father had been crushed and now spent most of his time sitting at the family home in Bernal Hill, drinking straight vodka and watching CNN.

  “It’s Hatfield, sir. Looks like she’s gone, too.”

  Dana lifted her head and dried her eyes with the sleeve of her uniform. Standing before her was Alvarez, a former boatswain, and Keiths, the station’s commanding officer.

  Dana snapped to attention.

  “I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t think anyone was left,” she said, cringing inside at how weak she must look.

  Alvarez shook his head with disdain. Even during an emergency such as this, he couldn’t bother to hide his hatred for her. Unbelievable, especially considering her only crime was that she stood nearly a foot taller than him and could do nearly twice as many pushups.

  “Sitting there with the snot running down your face,” Alvarez spat, “you looked like one of them.”