Abandoned Desolation Read online

  Abandoned

  Desolation

  Brittany E. Brinegar

  J.E. Brinegar

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  BRITT LIZZ PUBLISHING COMPANY

  Copyright © 2020 Brittany E. Brinegar

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Book 1 | Abandoned World Series

  Iteration One | Green Skies

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 – When the Sky Turned Green | Tom

  Chapter 2 – Big Sky Camping | Reagan

  Chapter 3 – Overboard | Tom

  Chapter 4 – When the Sky Turned Green (Again) | Reagan

  Chapter 5 – Lifeboat | Tom

  Chapter 6 – The Birds | Reagan

  Book 1

  Abandoned World Series

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  Iteration One

  Green Skies

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  Prologue

  Fog drifted, covering the outskirts of the woods concealing the road. Darkness plunged from above though he traveled in the middle of the day. A summer afternoon. With the roof down on his Jeep Wrangler two-door, Nate’s heart raced. An elongated trail of clouds lowered from the sky spewing sparks. He reached for the button to raise the top. Too late. Massive raindrops pelted the interior as the roof jammed halfway. Windshield wipers scraped on and smeared mud on the glass.

  The tempo, the struggle of the wipers, taunted him. He dropped his cellphone as his ex-wife’s picture illuminated the screen. Secured in the cupholder, he tapped the speaker button. Her voice soothed him until he realized he reached her voicemail. He debated on the message. Years in the field of fringe science didn’t prepare him for this moment. But she had to know, in case something happened...

  Gravel crunched as the vehicle slipped to the shoulder. Tires spun. He overcorrected and fishtailed across the opposite lane into a ditch. He unfolded his legs from the cab and smacked a hand into the balking roof. Groaning and protesting, it closed.

  Smoke. Not from the car. Nate jerked his head in each direction in search of the source. Scorched metal like a welding shop. Burnt rubber - old tires smoldering in a junkyard.

  “This isn’t fog,” he mumbled. “Something else.”

  A menacing presence raised the hairs on his arms. Sporadic oversized drops pelted his wide-brimmed park ranger hat reminding him of the new job he cherished. The one he skipped out on to chase a ghost of his past.

  Scorching metal lingered on the back of his tongue as he scrambled inside the vehicle and secured the top, twisting the handle. The shock absorbers of the Jeep bounced as he scraped the bottom navigating from the ditch. The clouds spit sparks. Lightning flashed, artificial and not occurring in nature. A phenomenon he witnessed a decade and a half before.

  The incident.

  The triggering point which ultimately led him to leave life in the scientific world. His world spiraled downward for many years. The job, the wife, the colleagues, and the lost friendships.

  He crested a hill as the engine hummed. The wipers smoothed but the tapping on the edges continued. The lab loomed in the valley three miles away.

  Brakes screeched as an electrical charge cracked a tree and crashed debris into the road. He jerked the wheel but the reaction didn’t come quick enough to avoid smashing through branches. For the second time, he headed to a ditch. He navigated the four-wheel-drive vehicle through a muddy trench and urged into a 180-degree spin. Mud slung through the open window.

  He checked the time on the dash, wondering if the delay would cost him his chance. The blinking 12:00 did not help. The cracked spiderwebbed screen of his FitBit knockoff didn’t function. As he gunned the accelerator, he risked a glance at his iPhone.

  The digital readout of his clock app gathered momentum like a speedometer, minutes flashing by in seconds. His eyes returned to the road and a tunnel of wind. The clock cranked faster as his Jeep lifted into the air. The column coughed and spit the Wrangler crashing to the ground. The left front tire hissed and the right front exploded. The cloth roof ripped open and air escaped Nate’s lungs. A tornado?

  The iPhone floated in the air. He snatched the weightless device and the displayed time of day jarred him. Three hours since he swerved from the road. Four messages danced on the telephone icon.

  He blinked and the phone vanished. The Jeep was no longer underneath him. The tornado disappeared. The mountain terrain framing the horizon faded into the abyss.

  Instead, he stared into the vast blue-green ocean. A peaceful, serene vista. Waves crashed, licking the bottoms of his boots before bubbling back into the sea. His hands sifted through the rocky sand and seaweed twisted across his pant leg.

  Behind him, a fire burned in treetops, tarnishing the salty air. Intense heat glowed across his face. His eyes closed, blinded from the flames.

  Greenery surrounded him. Evergreen trees and strong oaks pierced the sky. Forest as far as he could see. His eyes landed on a seat belt, still engaged. His park ranger hat hung on for dear life as he dangled upside down in the vehicle. The iPhone buzzed from the middle console, dangling by a charger. He stretched across the restraint and played the voicemail.

  His ex-wife’s sweet voice. “Nate. Nathanial. Why do you call and three minutes later, you don’t answer? My dear, you are infuriating. My sister is asking about Becca...”

  He lurched against the belt and cringed at the pain in his ribs. He exhaled and everything vanished yet again. He punched a fist into the sand. An explosion dotted the horizon.

  He labored to his feet and the pain on his side intensified. He approached the water and cupped his hands. Salty. It tasted real. He splashed his face.

  The seatbelt disengaged and he sailed through the hole in his roof. The iPhone crashed into the rocks, splintering into useless pieces. The Jeep rocked from the road with a rumble of the wind. A gale-force rolled the vehicle three times. Sparks zapped from the sky discharging nearby. Near where the white muddy car wrecked and a circle of unnatural green belched from within the clouds.

  Nate screamed. An echo hollered from somewhere else.

  He glanced heavenward into the gooey green sky and wondered if an old friend listened. “You maniac. You actually did it. Why couldn’t you leave it alone? Are you trying to break the world?”

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  Chapter 1 – When the Sky Turned Green

  Tom

  Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.

  Red sky in morning, sailor's warning.

  The handy poem was a rule of thumb used by sailors since the dawn of time. But what if the sky was green?

  Choppy waters tossed the fishing boat, threatening to pitch the ragtag passengers overboard. Waves crashed and lightning struck the radio antenna. The hum of electricity was palpable. The boat captain paced the deck, eyes heavenward as if challenging the storm.

  “We’ve got ourselves a mean one, boys.” He looped an arm through the staircase railing as ocean water splashed his face. His boat crew huddled in the control room, fearing the beast. “Sailors? You bunch of sissies. This is a sight you won’t soon forget.”

  Captain Scarborough charged to the top deck as the storm intensified. Clouds concealed the sky and reflected the sea-green waters. Balancing atop the boat like a paddleboarder, the capta
in acted as a lightning rod.

  “Get inside, you’re gonna get yourself killed,” Tom Cassidy warned. He ducked below deck with his fellow passengers, hoping the captain and crew heeded his warning.

  The waves sloshed onto his face, waking Tom from a forced slumber. The boat pitched one last time before rocking to a stop like a sudden jolt from a locked seatbelt. The absence of midday light worried the retired Navy man. Muted sunshine filtered with the silence. He found himself alone on the deck. Cobwebs clouded his memory.

  Residual lightning buzzed the sky, zapping in the distance. A green sky? He blinked and rubbed the fog from his vision. The lime-colored vista remained. The artificial tint was like nothing he ever experienced. His stomach churned, not seasickness. Decades in the Navy granted immunity from such ailments.

  A nauseating stench replaced the salty ocean aroma. His nose twitched with recognition. A mixture of autoshop and burned pork chops. Neither occurred in nature.

  Paralyzed, Tom pieced together his missing time. Day turned to night when the angry sea reared a storm of epic proportions. He and the passengers sought shelter below while the maniac captain challenged the beast. What happened after locking the hatch? How did Tom find himself on deck?

  Wobbling along the railing, static electricity hummed through his fingers. He recoiled at the spark and searched for the crew. Scarborough and two others. Tom ran his hands through his thick silver hair and held his gut as a wave knocked him to his knees. Murmurs below deck reminded him of the others. Why did his brain continue to malfunction? Unable to shake the haze, he rolled and studied the sea. An unnatural gleam spat toward him, shimmering in the greenish hew. Though the storm stopped, the danger was far from over.

  An ear piercing, horror movie scream pulsed fear through his veins. The distress broke his trance and engaged his training. The crew, the storm, the questions could wait. Safety took priority. The chartered fishing boat featured all the latest accommodations but squeezing nine people below deck in the storm was unnerving. As a natural leader, the group counted on Tom for guidance. The freak of nature event knocked him for a loop, but he kept it inside and presented a calm exterior. He navigated below deck. “What happened? Everyone okay?”

  “Tom, where is my wife? Is she with you?”

  “I didn’t see her, Coach. The scream cut my search short. Anyone injured down here?”

  “I don’t know.” The rotund high school football coach maneuvered around him to the steps. He careened from one wall to the other and managed to blurt his wife’s name. “Mandy.”

  Tom checked the pulse of his girlfriend, Barb. She planned the summer fishing trip as a bonding exercise with her teenage daughter. A vacation her ex-husband muscled his way into. Confirming a strong pulse, Tom brushed her brunette hair from her face.

  She stirred. “Wh...What happened?”

  “Massive storm. You’re fine. I’ll see about the others.”

  “Dixie...” Barb stirred to a sitting position.

  “I got her.” Tom took the groggy girl’s hand and reunited her with her mother.

  He scanned the cabin, taking stock of the remaining passengers. They drifted in and out of consciousness.

  The coach’s kid curled arms around his knees. “Where’s my mom and dad?”

  Tom bopped the floppy fishing hat. “Your dad’s uptop. Stay tight.” The absence of Mandy and the crew concerned him but he couldn’t insight a panic. He gripped the British meteorologist by a skinny arm and shook him awake. “Doc? I could use a hand.”

  The scientist, Hibbert, shook the cobwebs. “Heavens, how long did the storm last? My neck hurts.” His head swiveled. “I smell smoke.”

  “I’ll check it out. The rest of you get in touch with the Coastguard.”

  A plume of black soot oozed from the engine room. A sputtering, clanking accompanied the smoke. Tom wafted through, not noticing any flames. On the surface of the water, dead fish floated. The stench traveled through the air. The breeze intensified and flapped Tom’s khaki shorts. He retrieved his flip phone from the deep pocket. No signal. No power.

  He paced the boat and scanned the sea for signs of life. Floating among the dead fish, a bloody dolphin smacked the side of the boat. Waves churned, lurching the vessel to and fro. Staggering, Tom grasped the handrail and made his way toward the elevated cabin. The metallic stench again assaulted.

  Andy barged from inside, tears clouding his eyes. “I can’t find Mandy.” He wiped his face with the Crimson Tide ball cap. “Did she fall overboard?”

  “Gus is scared. He needs you. I’ll get the crew to start search and rescue.”

  “There’s no crew. I didn’t find them.”

  The billowing smoke from the engine coughed and sputtered. “The lifeboat is still here.” Tom shielded his eyes and scanned the Gulf of Mexico in each direction. He made his way to the radio, preparing a distress call. He tapped the receiver. Nothing. He spun the knobs, changing channels. Not even static. No dice - the electronics were fried.

  With each new problem, their options dwindled. No engine. No radio. No cell service. They couldn’t aimlessly drift and hope for the best. But if the captain radioed the boat’s location, bailing to shore blew their chance at rescue.

  Tom returned below deck.

  The scientist, Dr. Jeremey Hibbert, sloshed on the steps, shaking his watch. “Odd.” He produced a hanky to cover his nose and mouth as he checked his phone. “Both my Apple watch and the synced iPhone are not working.”

  Barb stroked her daughter’s hair and elevated a cellphone. “No one can get a signal, Tom. Or power for that matter.”

  “Doc, use your meteorologist skills for us. Can an electrical storm knock out computers and cellphones?”

  “This is a strange, electrical anomaly-type event. I hesitate to postulate.” He stretched to rub his neck. “This irritation is quite painful.”

  “Does anyone remember where they were when the storm hit?” Barb asked. “I recall Captain Scarborough at the stern of the boat.”

  With a queasy stomach, Tom screwed his face. “Something knocked us unconscious. Makes no sense. A chemical leak maybe. Not natural.” He bound to the topside, several of the others following.

  Searching, he pointed to the engine room. “Smells like a welding shop. It shouldn’t.”

  The barrel-chested man in Clark Kent glasses spoke for the first time since waking. Likely the longest quiet period of the man’s life. William Davidson squared his body. “Cassidy, what kind of mess did this low-rent crew you hired get us into?”

  “I’m getting my bearings.”

  Barb’s ex-husband folded his arms as he sniffed the air. “You’re a Navy man. A fellow with a few decades on the high seas. Can you get this boat moving?”

  “I fly helicopters and let mechanics get them in the air.” Despite the words, he loped to the smoldering engine hatch. The overbearing odor accosted his olfactory senses. “Everything is fried.” He steadied himself on the doorframe of the hatch as his stomach recoiled. “Uh, turn around. You don’t want to see this.”

  Davidson pounded onward before he spun, burying his nose in his arm. “Is the pile of ash one of the members of the boat crew?”

  “Hard to say.” The sputtering of the engine increased, a clanking metal tearing. Sparks flew into the air. “Get back.” He steadied both Davidson and Hibbert and pointed them to the orange liferaft. “Untie the dingy and get everyone ready.”

  Adrenaline kicked in and he ignored the stomach cramps and the foggy mind. “Andy,” he ordered. “Help the others. This fishing boat isn’t going to last. Bail out time. We’ll search for your wife.” When the rotund coach didn’t budge, Tom spun his shoulders. “Think about your boy.”

  “What happened to the crew people?” Dixie skidded on sandals and her long stride reached the railing. “I don’t see any sign of them in the water. Yikes. Who killed Free Willy?”

  “Be careful, Lefty,” Tom said. “We’ve still got waves kicking us around.” He tagged he
r with the nickname after watching her play centerfield in a select league.

  “Check out those clouds.” She motioned in a wild manner, flapping her arms.

  To the south, the clouds drifted. Flashes static electricity glowed like moss growing on a damp tree trunk. The fishing boat rocked as waves collided against the hull. Another wave, bigger than the previous one, tossed the boat, before dissipating into the water.

  “We have to figure out what’s happening? Is it safer here or onshore?” Barb asked.

  Davidson’s voice rumbled. “This bailout to the lifeboat is not the play, folks. We’re only five or ten miles from shore. Somebody will see us. I’m sure the Coast Guard is patrolling after the storm and the rough waters.”

  “Dad, dissent is a moot point.” Dixie pointed. “Guys, the engine room is flaming. And unless this ship is older than it looks and burns coal, it can’t be by design.”

  “Good heavens, we’re on fire!” Hibbert’s British accent already carried an effeminate tone and the squeak didn’t help.

  Tom motioned to the rising waves and the mesmerizing soundtrack slapping on the hull. “The outflow from the clouds is drifting away from us, but as it does, the waves are bigger.” As he finished the statement, another crashing wave hurled the boat. “It’s imperative we get the lifeboat into the water.”

  An explosion staggered him. He stumbled into Barb. Screams and curses erupted on deck. Surviving was paramount as the safety of the fishing boat threatened to ignite into a tinderbox.

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  Chapter 2 – Big Sky Camping

  Reagan

  Bacon crackled on the cast-iron skillet as the cook flipped an omelet with skill. Grabbing the battered dishtowel from her left shoulder, she removed homemade biscuits from the oven. She fanned the steam and admired the flaky, golden brown treats. She glided to the kitchen table, placing apple butter and a glass of orange juice in the center of the large oak surface. She returned to the stove in time to flip the maple-smoked bacon.