Scorch Road (Scorch Series Romance Thriller Book 1) Read online

  “Damn it. Should have brought the rifle.” JT snapped his fingers to the dog. “We’re just going for a swim, boy.” Pinocchio whined with disappointment, but fell in beside his master.

  They reached the farm pond. Stocked with bass, JT enjoyed fishing for dinner now and again, and the pond provided a reservoir for his livestock and the fields. Right now, it was a great spot to cool off.

  JT stripped out of his jeans and boxers, and climbed the ladder of the steel tower used to provide a source of gravity-fed water. The pump filling it ran on power from a solar panel on the roof of the tower. The sound of its energetic gurgle reached JT as he climbed the ladder to the narrow ledge circling the huge tank.

  Wind drafted up his naked body as JT surveyed the land for the threat he knew was coming, but as usual he saw nothing but waving corn, velvety alfalfa, grazing pigs in their fenced pen, and the wind-ruffled leaves of soybeans and potato fields, picturesque in late summer glory.

  JT had a powerful intuition, a sense of coming things. Mama called it the Sight and told him he’d inherited it from his deceased grandmother, rumored to be una strega, a witch.

  “You’re a canary in a coal mine,” she had said, pulling him in for a hug after he’d told her to get her car fixed, that there was something wrong with it. The mechanic discovered a broken brake line that might have killed her. “You’ve been given the Sight. Be sure to use it for good, caro Jacobino.”

  JT had tried to use that sense, along with an environmental biology degree, for good. But no one ever listened to his warnings, even those backed up by science. He’d got so tired of watching disaster strike again and again, waves on a seashore, that he’d left the EPA for this, his own place, where he could prepare.

  Away from other people, JT was able to screen the stress of the Sight out better, but so close to water, he felt it acutely: the tremor of a shadow moving across the land.

  A sickness was coming.

  His family—five brothers, his mom, and his precious little sister—were all still out there, ignoring his warnings and invitations to the Haven. It hurt like a bruise that would never heal, a bruise that kept him up at night.

  JT duckwalked around the metal platform’s edge, pleasure in the day evaporated—he was just hot, tired, and very alone. He arrowed into the pond in a swan dive. At the cool weedy bottom, he paused, his eyes shut. His mysterious sense was buffered, and yet amplified, by the water.

  The scorching of the earth was coming here—right to his doorstep—into his fields.

  The knowledge chilled JT more than the cold green water at the bottom of the pond. He shot for the sunlight, gasping for breath.

  Chapter Two

  Elizabeth

  Elizabeth settled into the black town car outside her apartment building. Ensconced in its luxury and security, the cryocase resting on her lap, she tapped her fingernails against it, anxiety playing out a rhythm on the metal frame.

  She’d called her parents’ house as she’d raced home to pack. “Johnson residence.” Their housekeeper’s voice was cool and formal.

  “It’s Elizabeth. Is my father up?”

  “Of course. I’ll get him for you.”

  Soon she heard her father’s deep voice. “Lizzie. Is everything okay?”

  “Dad. I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take that flight to DC.”

  “Good, honey. That makes me very happy. Your mother and I are worried about you.”

  Elizabeth had power walked through the deserted streets, practically running to her apartment. “Dr. Fellerman was able to isolate the virus and I’m bringing it with me. I need to get to the CDC.”

  “Sure, honey, sure. I’ll send a car to your apartment. Anything to get you home.”

  Home. Elizabeth shuddered. She hated it there. Her family’s townhouse was haunted by memories that ached like deep bruises—the kind that didn’t show for days, invisible and painful.

  “Thank you, Dad. This is really important.”

  Elizabeth had packed quickly, throwing in a few pairs of clean underwear and her favorite pieces of clothing. She’d only lived in the apartment for eight months but it held a host of happy memories—it was the first time in her life that she’d lived alone. But she didn’t waste time grieving for her abandoned belongings. Elizabeth had a job to do.

  She could not fail.

  As the town car carried her to the Air Force base for her flight, Elizabeth looked out the tinted glass windows. They were driving along Puget Sound, and a fog bank blotted out the horizon, rolling slowly toward them.

  Sparse traffic reminded Elizabeth of what she already knew: she was lucky to be healthy, and more than that, she was lucky to be leaving. Her father was powerful enough to move her around like a pawn on a chessboard. She should be grateful.

  Elizabeth’s phone rang. The screen showed a photo of her friend, Melody. In the image Melody’s long, black hair was blowing forward in a breeze coming off the ocean visible behind her. She was grinning, her green eyes sparkling and tan shoulders bare. Elizabeth’s heart lifted looking at Melody’s face. Melody understood Elizabeth the way nobody else did.

  “Oh my god! You should see this set. It’s outrageous.” Melody was whisper-yelling. “I even have my own trailer. I’m in it right now!”

  “That’s great,” Elizabeth’s voice sounded hollow.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Elizabeth briefly explained the situation.

  “Isn’t that an overreaction? I mean, come on, how bad can this flu be? I haven’t even heard anything about it on the news.”

  Elizabeth didn’t bother to point out that Melody didn’t watch or read the news. Her time was spent studying her craft, doing yoga, and taking care of the animals she fostered, “keeping her mind clear” for her work. “I think they’re minimizing it in the news to keep down panic. It’s bad, Mel. Really bad.”

  “Oh.” Melody sounded scared and Elizabeth hated that she was the one who gave her that fear—but there was nothing to be done. This flu was dangerous and everybody needed to understand that.

  The car pulled up to the entrance of the Air Force base. “I have to go. Congratulations on the commercial. I know you’re going to kill it today.”

  “You think so?” A quiver of insecurity in Melody’s husky voice.

  “Of course! You’re the most talented, beautiful woman in Hollywood.” The gate opened and the town car pulled through, navigating to the tarmac. “Just stay away from anyone coughing. The virus is airborne and stays alive on surfaces. I’m telling you, it’s bad.”

  “Will do. Be safe, okay, E?”

  “I will.” She ended the call. Elizabeth would be safe—and that felt all kinds of wrong.

  A soldier opened her door and helped her out, carrying her bag and the cryocase. Troops moved purposefully all around them. Massive transport planes were lined up, their matte green paint absorbing the morning sun. Soldiers in full kit moved synchronously to load supplies into the belly of the cargo planes. Elizabeth was escorted to and boarded a smaller plane, narrow and elegant, with two jet engines and a sharp nose.

  The pilot and copilot were already in the cockpit, ready to go.

  The small jet seated eight, with two chairs on either side of a central aisle, and she was the only passenger. Elizabeth settled into a middle row and buckled the CryoFreeze container in the seat next to her. The door closed and the engines whined as they accelerated.

  “Welcome aboard, Dr. Johnson.” A voice from the cockpit spoke through the PA system. “We’ve got a flight time of about six hours to DC today. Sit back and make yourself comfortable.”

  Dr. Johnson. She technically hadn’t earned her degree yet, but there was no point in correcting them. Her stomach plummeted as she stared out the window. Dr. Fellerman was dying—her advisor and mentor—the man who’d helped her more than anyone else toward that degree. Her eyes filled with tears again as the plane taxied for takeoff.

  The peachy orange of the sunrise gave way to the brilliant yellow of
the day as the plane rocketed east. Soon they were over the Rocky Mountains. The snow-topped peaks were only a few thousand feet below them when a bird slammed into Elizabeth’s window.

  She screamed involuntarily, grabbing at the cryocase as the plane jerked. The engine spit out a wad of feathers, followed by bursts of discordant sound.

  “We’ve had a bird strike. We’re going to put her down as soon as we can find an open area. Assume the position for an emergency landing.”

  Elizabeth’s breath heaved and her gaze was riveted to the mountains below them as they drew nearer every second. They were going down, and fast.

  Chapter Three

  JT

  Early morning had warmed into another glorious summer day, and JT was finally done with the daily round of chores that brought him out of bed before the sun rose. A quick breakfast shake of protein powder, raw eggs, and goat’s milk had worn off long before he returned to the house, sweat and grass clinging to his bare shoulders. He’d cut alfalfa for his milk goats and the horse he kept for transportation in case of an EMP disaster or catastrophic fuel loss.

  The Sight had continued to plague him ever since his swim the day before. Watching the news hadn’t helped any. “Scorch Flu” was spreading, and it wasn’t going to stop.

  He wished more than ever that he could bring Mama and his siblings out here where they’d be safe—but Mama’d never leave her house filled with memories of Pops. His brothers were way too stubborn to listen to him, and forget telling sassy Lucy anything. If the sky was blue she’d argue that it was green just for the hell of it. Good thing she was going into law.

  JT’s stomach gave a loud rumble as he opened the refrigerator door. Pinocchio, beside him, peered inside hopefully at the pile of potatoes, vegetables from the garden, and half a chicken left over from the other night: poor Bessie, too old to lay. He’d dispatched her quickly, but looking at her remains was sad.

  “It’s just a damned chicken.” He took out the lidded metal pot he’d baked her in.

  No matter how hard he tried, JT couldn’t help getting attached to the animals, even the ones that were there as food. He whacked the rest of the chicken into chunks, piling some on a plate with vine-ripened tomatoes and putting the rest in a pot to boil down for soup.

  A stab of loneliness hit him in the gut, so he reached into his pocket to rub the rings. Pinocchio whined, looking hopefully at the chicken scraps.

  “No. Chicken bones are bad for you.” JT turned on the two-way radio. The usual burr of static, interspersed with colorful commentary, kept him feeling connected.

  “Mayday, mayday! This is RT 371 calling air traffic control! We are in the mountains near the border of Montana, an hour outside of Jackson. We are going down in an emergency landing. Calling for assistance on all channels!”

  JT frowned—the nearest town was an hour outside of Jackson, Wyoming, by plane to the north. Still, it might be worth checking out—maybe he could help.

  He picked up the radio. “RT 371, this is Stone Bear out of North Fork. There are empty fields and a pretty straight stretch of highway here, you might be able to bring her down safely if you’re in our area.”

  “We’re near North Fork.” The pilot confirmed. JT’s heart leaped into overdrive. “Equipment is failing—we had a bird strike and now have an electrical fire on board.”

  Jackson’s air traffic control cut in and took over.

  JT threw the remains of his meal into the metal compost bucket under the sink and grabbed the pair of high-powered binoculars off their peg on the wall. He ran for the spiral staircase which wound from the safe room in the middle of the house, with its reinforced steel interior walls and sealed entrance to the bomb shelter below, up through the attic to the crow’s nest on the roof. Most of the time he used the tiny deck to stargaze. Today there was finally a need for it.

  JT clattered up the corkscrew of metal stairs to the trap door in the roof, pushing it open. Up in the crow’s nest sniper tower, painted the same color as the roof and unmarked by anything but its low steel parapet with notches for a rifle, JT had an unprecedented view of the surrounding area. The Haven, on its knoll, sat in a wide, flat valley, and other than being at the top of one of the surrounding mountains, there was no better vantage point.

  JT swung the binoculars, scanning in three hundred and sixty degrees and spotted something, a metallic streak of movement. He tracked a small, sleek plane entering the valley at a steep angle. Smoke trailed from an engine. They were coming in fast and hot, headed right for his potato field.

  “Shit!” JT spun and clattered back down the stairs.

  Pinocchio barked at JT’s agitation as he raced into his room, grabbing a shirt and hauling it on, then running to the pantry. He grabbed his Glock out of the closed gun cabinet on the back wall, and slid it into the belt holster at his waist, then bent and grabbed the large metal first aid kit. He pulled his handheld radio off the charger and, pausing to thrust his feet into boots, ran out the front door.

  Pinocchio at his side, JT headed for the metal storage shed and jumped on the ATV he kept parked there, turning the key. The four-wheeler was equipped with a carrying area on the back made of sturdy wire mesh, and Pinocchio hopped up into it.

  JT revved the engine and hurtled down the driveway to the gate of his compound. He hit the button to retract the gate, and squeezed the ATV through the opening as soon as it was wide enough, punching the accelerator and roaring down the road toward the potato field.

  Elizabeth

  Elizabeth’s seat belt cut into her hips as the plane tilted wildly. Her glasses slid, so she tucked them into her pocket. The window was filled with the craggy dips and valleys of tree-robed, rocky mountains.

  The plane straightened out, engines screaming as smoke filled the cabin. The small craft shuddered and bumped like it was being dragged over a washboard.

  The plane tipped again and Elizabeth’s body was flung against the window. She stole a glance; they were over a patchwork of fields.

  Her heart raced as adrenaline pumped through her. Elizabeth struggled to breathe deep and slow. She was too tight and her body was trembling with incipient panic, which was dangerous. Brittle things broke.

  The plane bounced up and down, rattling her, and Elizabeth put her hand on the cryocase in the seat next to her, making sure it didn’t wriggle out of the seat belt securing it. She bent over her knees, closing her eyes and willing herself to go limp. She resisted the urge to grab her ankles and dig her nails into her skin. She had to stay relaxed, alert, and ready to help herself the minute she had a chance.

  Elizabeth had learned that lesson the hard way.

  The thunder of air rushing over the small craft blocked out the sound of the engines.

  No, the engines had stopped.

  It was impossible that they could fall for much longer, they must be getting close to the ground.

  Another breath. In and out. Go limp, go limp, go limp.

  Impact jarred through the whole aircraft with a scream of metal. Something hard hit Elizabeth’s head and bounced off, leaving burning pain in its wake.

  They slid along the ground, bumping as the sharp sound of tearing metal and incredible heat filled the cabin. Elizabeth kept her eyes screwed shut as her mind made up the carnage around her in flashing images: broken bodies, flying debris, blood, death, the cryocase bursting open, and the web of lives that would end.

  She squinted as the headlong skid slowed. Smoke filled her lungs on the next inhale and she coughed, eyes streaming. Clumps of dirt hit her through the now-missing cockpit—it must have torn off.

  I won’t die right now! Elizabeth screamed inside her head as her body was flung around, lurching forward as her bank of seats bucked, loosening from the floor. I refuse to die! I have a job to do!

  Chapter Four

  JT

  JT barreled down the dirt road outside the main wall, a twelve-foot cinderblock monolithic eyesore topped with razor wire left over from the military. He felt the v
ibration of the plane’s impact even as he heard the shriek of rending metal above the noise of the quad.

  The plane plowed a trail of carnage and destruction as it tore through his potato field, trailing the shrapnel of a broken wing, losing its tail section, and scattering debris everywhere. The plane’s nose dug deeply into the soil of the field, buckling forward on itself, ripping off, and gouging a four-foot bank of dirt on either side before it stopped, just before hitting the fifty-foot structure of his wind generator.

  As he drove the quad into the tangling potato vines toward the crash site, the engine on the remaining wing burst into flame. JT leaped off the quad, Pinocchio at his side.

  Two bodies, still strapped to their seats, mutilated beyond recognition, had been ejected from the cockpit. He checked them quickly for signs of life, pressing his fingers to the men’s throats. His fingers came back sticky with burned flesh. They were gone.

  He moved on, reaching the bent, twisted, burning fuselage. “Hello? Anyone in there?” he yelled into the torn metal opening of the broken body of the plane.

  “Help!” a woman’s voice, almost smothered by the crackle of flames.

  Smoke and heat blinded JT as he looked into the opening. He glanced around frantically for anything he could use to shield himself, and grabbed a blue airline blanket, wrapping it around his head and arms.

  Pinocchio tried to follow.

  “Find!” JT yelled, and pointed to the surrounding area. Pinocchio, trained to hunt, would look for survivors on the ground. Sucking in a last breath of fresh air, JT dove into the hot mouth of hell.

  The plane’s interior smelled horrific, of melted plastics and hot metal, smoke thick in his nostrils. A woman was curled in her seat with the hood of her sweatshirt over her head, coughing. He reached her, squatting beside her to look for the seat belt buckle. Every breath tore the tissues of his lungs as he sucked the burning air, so he didn’t speak, just fumbled at her waist until he found it.