Surrender the Sun: A Post Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller (16 page)

Roman quickly called a meeting of the hotel managers in the largest conference room before Geller had even left. There was little time to prepare. The storm was coming fast. They were waiting for him, seated in soft leather chairs around an enormous oblong table. When Roman walked in, they turned in his direction.

“Get these people out of here!” he yelled to the hotel manager. “All of them if you can.”

“What should I say, sir?”

Roman took a frustrated breath. “Tell them Armageddon is coming. Hell, I don’t care. Tell them there’s a weather emergency and they have a window to get home now or they’re stuck here. That’s the truth.” He leveled a steely gaze at the manager. “Now go!”

Everyone watched as the suit scrambled out the door.

Roman turned his attention to the newspaper. “Andrew, put out all the emergency services’ contact information. Link any information you can find about emergency preparedness. No one goes to work, to school—”

“Sir, it’s up to the superintendent to call off school.”

“Has he?”

“Uh, no. There was a two-hour late start today.”

“Tell that jackass school is out for the foreseeable future. What does he think he’s doing? Kids will freeze to death walking home.” Roman shook his head in disgust. “Schools are shut down
now
! Make sure you stress the seriousness of the weather situation. This is going to be extremely dire. The city needs to shut completely down.”

“Yes, sir,” said the editor and left.

There was always a man at the table the others didn’t know. He never answered when asked what his position was, but he was dressed like them and sat with them anytime a meeting was called. He’d become Roman’s right-hand man, and he was always the last to leave the room.

“I want this city totally halted.”

One manager leaned up in his chair. “What about the mayor, sir? Isn’t he supposed to deal with this kind of thing?”

“Do you see him preparing for anything?”

“Well, no, I…but he’s the mayor. He said it’s going to be a little freak storm. Nothing to worry about—it’ll blow over in a day or two.”

Roman rubbed his chin and said with increasing intensity so that he was nearly spitting on the man who’d asked, “I don’t give a damn what he said. We protect Geller’s interest. That means we shore up this building, the marina, the golf course, the newspaper, and all the other little businesses under Geller’s name. Understand?”

“Yes, sir!” he said and left the room quickly with the others.

The remaining man at the table with Roman leaned back in his leather chair after reaching inside of his jacket and pulling out a cigarette and lighter. He lit up while Roman thumbed through his tablet, began typing for a moment, and then regarded the man.

“How are sales, Frank?”

“Not bad,” he said. Smoke drifted up and around his head. “You really care about the kids?” He chuckled, surprised that Roman took an interest.

“The more people stay home, the more who are off my streets and out of my way.”

Roman leaned back in his chair, matching the relaxed attitude of the other man. “How will the weather affect business?”

Frank smirked. “Depends on how bad things get. We may have to diversify if conditions deteriorate the way you say they will.”

Roman nodded. “They will, Frank. So diversify is what you’ll do. If the cell towers go down, I want you here. We have backup radios, but I may need your expertise. Don’t stray far.”

“Yes, boss.”

Roman returned to his tablet, and Frank stood and walked by. He clapped Roman on the shoulder as he left the room.

Frank was one man he could depend on. He wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, and he handled the underground. That was a side business Geller wasn’t privy to. The underground was Roman’s empire, and he ran that empire like a fine oiled machine with the unwitting assistance of Geller himself.

“This is the safety switch.” Bishop pointed to the lever on the Ruger Mini 14 rifle. “This is why you couldn’t shoot the rifle. When that switch is in place, it doesn’t shoot. That’s why it’s called
safety
. Anytime a rifle isn’t in use, it must be in safety. Got it?”

Ben nodded. Bishop led the young boy through the procedures. The wind picked up again, and snow flurries were coming in sideways—making visibility an issue—but the training had to continue no matter the conditions.

“You never point a gun at anyone you don’t intend to kill. Plain and simple. Don’t play around with guns. You don’t warn someone with a gun, you shoot them with it and you shoot to kill. Understand?”

Ben nodded again. His mother remained in the cabin with Louna. When Bishop left with Ben to teach him a few things she was reluctant, but he made her see things his way with one phrase. “He learns or he dies.”

She’d nodded then, even with tears in her eyes. The world was different, and Bishop knew that if Roger were alive he too would have made sure the young boy knew how to defend himself and his family. It’s what men did in real life. They taught their sons how to survive and to protect those they loved. There were no politics involved; all political correctness was lost when survival was at play. This was the real world. To survive you had to defend yourself and your family or you ceased to exist. It was a cut-and-dried methodology.

“Now, when you shoot, the stock is going to buck at your shoulder. It might hurt. It might leave a bruise later, but you have to ride it out.” He levered the rifle’s barrel on a cold stone boulder and showed the boy how to hold the rifle against his small frame. “You’re not fully grown yet, so you’ll need to improvise because of your small size. Do what you have to do. Now, never put your finger in the trigger guard unless you’re going to fire. No fingers allowed inside that hole, ever, unless you mean business. Now look through the sights. That’s it. Now, sight the can on the rock. See it? Are you going to take the shot?”

Ben nodded.

“Really? What’s on the other side of the can? People?”

“No, just trees.”

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

“What if your mom was taking a walk back there? Would you shoot the bad guy in front of her with your mom behind him?”

“No.”

“That’s right. Even if you’re aiming at someone with others around, you don’t take the shot if you might hit someone else. Never take a shot like that. That’s not a clean shot. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. OK, the shot is
clear
. There’s no one back there. Your enemy is that can. He’s the bad guy. What do you need to do to take the shot?”

“Take it off safety?” Ben asked.

“That’s right. Go ahead.”

Ben’s little fingers worked the safety switch. His thumb could barely push the lever down. Bishop took a deep breath. The boy was so young. He seemed very mature for his age, but his size…he was tiny and not nearly strong enough.

“Good. It’ll get easier with practice, but don’t practice with the rifle inside or when there’s anyone on the other side of that barrel, clear?”

Ben nodded again.

“All right. Take aim. Safety off. Target in sight. Now take in a breath, let it out, and then hold it as you let your finger in the trigger guard and pull.”

Ben did exactly as he was told, and when the rifle went off, the stock rammed into his right shoulder, pushing the boy backward and nearly toppling him over from his seated position.

He jerked and looked up at Bishop in shock.

“Good job, kid,” Bishop said and saw that the can had flown off from the impact. “You hit it.”

Ben rubbed his shoulder a bit but pulled up the corner of his mouth into a smile.

“Really, that was great. I wish we could get more practice in, but we don’t want to draw more attention to our area. What’s the first thing you do when you’re done shooting?”

“Put the safety back on.”

“Exactly. Good boy. You learn fast,” he said and tousled the kid’s hair. It was way too cold to stay outside any longer than necessary, and though it was a short lesson, Bishop brought Ben back inside to his mother.

She stood inside holding Louna. Both of them looked startled from the rifle shot’s blast.

“It’s OK. He did great.”

“I shot the gun, Mom!”

“And more importantly, he hit the can too,” Bishop said as if they were father and son coming home from target practice. What a shame he was teaching the boy to survive during a time of crisis instead of as a life skill that every boy needs to know in ordinary times.

“That’s…good, Ben,” Maeve said reluctantly. She stared straight at Bishop.

“We’ve got to pack now. This rifle is yours, Ben. It’s the lightest one I’ve got, and there’s plenty of ammo. You also have your Ruger,” he reminded Maeve.

She nodded and finished adjusting a spare coat of Bishop’s for Louna to wear for their trip down the mountain. The jacket fell past Louna’s knees, and since the child also wore several layers of Bishop’s thermal shirts she looked like a large roly-poly. Still weak with a cough and a slight fever, Louna wasn’t as ready for the hour-long trip by horseback through a blizzard as Maeve would have liked, but safety first. And Maeve couldn’t imagine staying in the cabin after what had happened last time. Usually independent, she’d never in her life felt as scared and as helpless to defend her child as she had then.

She put Louna down and picked up the bags that Bishop packed. He brought Jake around and attached a sled on the back for the horse to pull. Maeve handed him the things they were taking, and then he put Ben and Louna near the top of the sled, laying layers of blankets over them. He took Maeve around to the side next, motioning for her to get up into the saddle.

“I can walk with you,” she said.

Bishop shook his head no. “If I need you to get out of there in a hurry, Jake has more escape power. It’s a long walk, and you don’t know where to step through the snow. Plus, you’ll be our lookout up there. Keep your eyes open and your gun ready.”

“I don’t think I could shoot anyone,” she whispered out of the kids’ earshot.

Bishop watched her. Her eyes were wild with fear. She was scared through, and there wasn’t much he could do about that. “Maeve, what happened before, those men…you should have shot them as soon as they entered the clearing. Picked them off one by one.”

“I can’t…I’m not like you. I don’t know how to do these things.”

He made his voice calm, knowing if he lowered it she would relax a little. “You want those kids to survive? I know you do. I can’t be everywhere. You can’t let anyone get too close. Shoot before they do.” She continued to shake before him like a leaf. He reached for her and held her in his arms. “Anyone would be afraid, Maeve. I still get afraid. It means you’re human.”

She calmed down with his touch. Her cold hands warmed against his chest. Her stiff back melted against his strong arms. Her breath brushed hot against his neck.

“I’ll try.”

He’d made a plan and was packed and ready to go…but now, though, he only wanted to hold her close to him. The problem was, she was Maeve, Roger’s wife, but no one had made him feel this way before. He stepped away from her gently and looked into her eyes. “Let’s go,” he said and knelt down for her step one foot into his open palms. When she did, she swung her right leg over the saddle. He wrapped another blanket around her and then led Jake down the path, checking over his precious cargo while also constantly scanning the surroundings.

With her scent still lingering on him, he hoped it would remain as a reminder of what was at stake.

A few days later, Roman was never surer of the situation than he was now. Most of the hotel residents left, and he was glad. As long as they were out the door, he didn’t care if they ended up stranded alongside the ice-covered streets—so long as they weren’t staying in his hotel or trying to bum on the streets of Coeur d’Alene.

After three days and nights, the power diminished. The cell phone towers no longer worked, and the police department was utterly useless. That’s when Roman decided it was time. Time for him to take over. Enough was enough.

“What about the grocery stores?” Frank asked. “There are no deliveries being made. The highways are shut down. No one is getting through anywhere in the country, let alone here.”

“No food deliveries? That sucks,” Roman said, “Has the sheriff taken over the grocery stores? I mean, what’s in there now is all we have, right? The hotel only stocks a few days at a time.”

Frank took a puff off of a cigarette, the smoke swirled upward. “The sheriff is over in Rockford Bay on his ranch. Last time anyone heard from him, there wasn’t much he could do. Said the markets were private businesses and he couldn’t dictate that they not sell food. Doesn’t matter anyway; the grocery stores had runs in the beginning days. What they do have left isn’t much. Most of the shelves are bare.”

Roman swung his arm toward the urban sprawl to the east of the building out of his conference room window. “So all the grocery stores are out of food?”

Frank nodded. “Looks that way.”

Roman paced the floor back and forth. “Highways shut down, no food deliveries, no communication, and no end in sight. They’ll all die. Your family…my men. No, this isn’t going to happen. Frank, you have boys, right? You’ve got that team? We’ve used them before.”

“Yeah, sure. There’s a network of preppers who are on the radios too. They keep a lot of stuff. They had encouraged everyone else to horde stuff before it was too late.”

“Before it was too late?” Roman repeated the statement. “It was too late a few days ago. But that’s not how things are going down.” Roman continued pacing. “Starting tonight. Hit these hoarders and take everything they have. Any resistance, and they die. Bring everything here. We’ll put it in storage. They want to eat,
we
will feed them. I’m not going to have hoarders in my town.”

Frank was already up and headed for the door, nearly giddy with anticipation. “Yes, sir.”