Cascade Prequel (Book 1): Encounter Page 4

  “Hello?”

  Hissing came from the speaker. He recognized it meant a recorded message was about to play.

  “Who is it?” said Ben.

  Grant briefly shook his head.

  ‘This is an emergency broadcast to the residents of the city of Los Angeles. For your own safety, please stay in your homes unless you have to leave for medical reasons only. From 7 p.m. tonight there will be a curfew. This means you can be arrested for being more than one hundred meters from your property. If you have seen any strange animals please report them to the following number or call your local police department… This message will replay a further three times. Please stay near your land-connected phone for further updates.’

  The message began again. Grant put the phone down. He looked at Ben. “It’s nothing, you got all the food packed?”

  Luciana peered into the room, eating a piece of pizza. “Found this in your fridge, thought you wouldn’t mind.”

  It had been in his fridge for four days already. He smiled. “Sure.”

  Luciana walked into the living room, picking up the TV remote control and switched it on.

  A reporter's concerned voice filled the room together with a helicopter view of LAX, with smoke billowing upwards. Words streamed across the bottom of the page talking about how many had been killed due to the freak ‘weather’ event.

  Luciana waved her remaining piece of pepperoni pizza in the air. “It weren’t no storm! There were things! They attacked people!” she said to the TV.

  Grant could feel his son’s fear watching the pictures. He placed his hand on his shoulder to get his attention. “I know you got your backpack with your clothes and things in the car, but have a look in your room, see if there’s anything else you want to bring with you. Anything small! I’ve already packed your other present in my suitcase.”

  Ben disappeared into the hallway.

  Grant looked at the body bags being loaded into ambulances, and the wreckage on the runway, then down at the phone still in his hand. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and flicked through his list of contacts until he came to ‘C.’

  Noting the name he wanted, he keyed in the number on the old phone and waited for it to ring but, instead, a recorded message just informed him the number was unavailable.

  *****

  Brad wandered into the ‘Gander Bar and Grill,’ and headed towards his favorite spot. Back right, against the wall, with a view of the entrance and the television above the counter.

  Most were looking up at the screen, including Norah, the middle-aged owner.

  Brad followed everyone’s gaze to what was happening in LA.

  “Darnest thing,” said Gert, the elderly man with a baseball cap, sitting at the bar.

  Norah looked back on hearing a new customer walking past. “Hey, Brad. You see all this?” she said, pointing at the TV.

  “I reckon it’s aliens,” said a sinewy man with glasses.

  Gert frowned at him, then took another sip of his beer.

  Brad had spent the morning at the cemetery, tending to his wife’s plot. His phone had also been switched off. It was the only time it ever was these days. He paused at the bar. “No… what happened?”

  The fans above were doing their best to keep the large room cool, but the eight or so customers kept moving their collars away from their damp necks.

  “Some kind of freak tornado they are saying. Came in from the sea. Seventy-nine people dead, over two hundred injured so far. Governor’s going to evoke martial law so the news people are saying,” said Norah. “Same as usual?”

  Brad nodded and walked the long way around the seating area. He had spotted Jeff Holden sitting with one of his journalists when he entered. The Editor of the Roswell Tribune was not a fan of what had made the town famous and saw Brad as someone perpetuating the myths that his career had tried to remove from the area.

  Brad pulled his phone from his pocket then placed his jacket over the back of the chair. He sat as Margery, Norah’s help, placed a beer on the table with a glass.

  She puffed out her cheeks. “Sure is warm for March!” she said, pulling the top from the beer and pouring some.

  Brad smiled. “Global warming.”

  “Thought you didn’t believe in all that?”

  “Maybe I need to change my mind!”

  She smiled then walked away. “I’ll be out with the fried Catfish in a bit. Harry’s got it on the go as we speak.”

  “Thank you, Marge.”

  Brad looked at his phone, holding the ‘on’ button down. After the logo came and went it sprung to life. Notifications scrolled past quicker than he could read.

  “Hell,” he said under his breath, trying to catch what words he could.

  There were a few text messages from trusted friends from his website, but most were news story alerts from a series of alternative news sources. There were also phone calls. Including one from a landline number he didn’t recognize.

  It was an LA area code. He racked his brain trying to remember who he knew there. He tapped on the number, and instantly his phone battery alarm sounded.

  “Hell…” he held the phone to his ear.

  “Hello? Brad Crenshaw?” said Grant.

  “Err… yeah. This Grant? We haven’t talked in a while. Everything alright there? I saw the report on the news about LAX.”

  “Yeah, it’s me—”

  A woman’s voice could be heard, to which Grant said something briefly.

  “Grant?”

  “I’m here, Brad. Yeah, it's been a strange day. I’ve got my son with me. We tried leaving LA but the army have all of the routes sealed off. Even the ones that most don’t know about.”

  “Good to hear you’re okay…”

  “Wondering why I’m calling?”

  “Yeah…”

  Grant ran Brad through the day’s events, including the number of people that appeared to know something before the ‘event’ occurred.

  “You once told me that if the cell network is turned off, it’s time—”

  “To leave. That’s right…”

  Marge placed the plate with fried catfish, sauce and fries on the table. Brad smiled at her.

  “The internet’s been shut off too, but what’s your take on all this madness? I thought if anyone would know what might be going on, it would be—” The woman talked again. Grant said something, and she stopped. “— You.”

  Brad took a long deep breath.

  “None of your department contacts telling you anything?”

  “I’m not really on the best of terms with most of them, and the others aren’t picking up. My instincts…”

  “Grant?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Just felt a little dizzy. Something big is going down, and the authorities know about it.”

  “There have been a lot of reports of people seeing strange animals around the country. I think you’re right, there is a bigger picture, but I’m not seeing what it is yet… best guess, maybe a biological weapon has been dropped which affects animals and not humans? I’m thinking off the top of my head here Grant, I need to get back to my house, and sift through the reports. See if I can come up with a plausible theory. What you going to do?”

  “Sticking to the same plan. We’re leaving LA. Just need to find a way out.”

  “Well, I wish you and your son well. Is this your home number?”

  “Yeah. I’ll call you before we try leaving again. Maybe once we’re at the outskirts, we’ll have cell connection.”

  “Okay, sounds good. Hopefully, I’ll have some more information for you next time we talk.”

  “Bye for now.”

  The woman could be heard talking as Grant hung up.

  Brad looked across to Marge and waved, she looked in his direction and walked to him.

  “I’m going to need this to go.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Grant cleared more boxes from his shelves in his workshop. The sun was setting, so he pulled on a fr
ayed piece of string and a single bulb came on.

  He pulled the lid off a few boxes until he found what he was looking for. His father’s belongings.

  Sifting through documents, pictures, and his father’s badge, he pulled out ’Dunn’s southern California hiking map’ printed in 1975.

  He unfolded its sixteen panels and laid it as flat as he could. It contained a lot of routes that had long since been forgotten or paved over.

  A noise came from the open door behind him. Luciana appeared, with some tortillas which she was dipping into a small pot of salsa. “Found this in your fridge—”

  “It’s fine,” said Grant, looking at the map. He rubbed his eyes, trying to better focus them in the dim light.

  “How’s this going to help us get out of… oh… no no… I paid you to drive—” she emphasized the word ‘drive’ “— out of LA, and then south. I ain’t no marathon person, or whatever you think I am.” She waved her finger.

  Grant looked at her. “No vehicles are leaving the city. The news people are saying the military have got things blocked off at Irvine to the south, San Bernardino and Riverside to the east, and Burbank to the north. You want to leave LA? Then you are going to have to do it on foot, or at least—” He looked into the shadows at the back of the workshop. “— On one of them.”

  Three bicycles laid up against each other on the far wall.

  She scrunched her face up in frustration and looked away, talking to herself in Spanish. Even though Grant didn’t speak Spanish, he had picked up enough over the years to know that she was more angry at herself than him.

  “Look, no one could have gotten you out of LA. I’ll keep to my word. I will get you out. Once we are outside the cordon, I’ll spend some of that ten K and get us a car to drive the rest of the way. How’s that sound?”

  She looked back at him and nodded, then sat down on one of the boxes, lost in thought. Confusion spread across her face. “There is a curfew, we’ll be spotted on those things?” She nodded towards the back of the room.

  “Something you don’t know about me. I used to be a detective—”

  Her eyes momentarily grew wide. “I thought you was an author?”

  “Now I’m an author. But before… I was a detective.” He sensed her unease but kept on talking. “I know every back alley, every tunnel, and forgotten route across this city. As long as we’re careful, we won’t be spotted.”

  She nodded.

  Grant went back to plotting a route with the map. “How’d you get the black eye?”

  “… A man.”

  He briefly looked back at the woman who, for the first time, looked fragile. “Things must have gotten pretty bad for you to want to leave like you do.”

  “Si.”

  Ben appeared at the door. In his hand was a superhero figurine.

  “Everything alright?” said Grant.

  Ben nodded.

  Luciana smiled and pulled the boy towards her, looking at his multicolored toy. “Ah… which one is this? I get them all mixed up!”

  Ben giggled and set about telling her the strengths of his action figure and the various galactic battles it had already been involved with.

  *****

  Grant closed the gate at the back of his property. Despite it being dark, the air was still warm.

  But what hit him more than the temperature was the complete silence, even the neighbor's dogs had stopped barking.

  LA was never quiet at night. As he stood looking around at the alleyway and the walls which lined the backyards, it felt as if the city had died, and beyond the gates, inside the single-story homes and apartments the dead were waiting.

  He looked at Ben and Luciana, and the bikes everyone was standing beside, all of which were just visible from the street lamps a hundred yards away.

  All three were now wearing jackets and tops with hoods. Grant knew that a man, woman, and child out at night in his neighborhood was going to attract far more attention from any authorities, than three individuals with hoods on. The latter was seen frequently.

  He nodded to his son and Luciana, and they pulled up their hoods. Each also now had a backpack, containing as much food and supplies as they could fit. On Luciana’s feet were a pair of old sneakers.

  In silence they rolled their bikes down the alleyway, keeping to the shadows when possible. Each bike moved silently, after being given a new coat of oil and grease to the gearings, and soon they arrived at the exit to the road.

  Grant peered into the two-lane street. Flat blocklike buildings lined the sidewalk, only broken up by the occasional parking lot and tree.

  He pointed to their right and climbed up onto the bike’s seat. The others did the same.

  Taking a deep breath, he pushed down on the pedal and rolled forward along the sidewalk. He looked over his shoulder, confirming Ben and Luciana were following.

  They quickly made their way past a community center. The inside of which was unusually absent of light.

  The sidewalk was bumpier than the road, but they needed to be able to dart into the shadows if needed.

  They picked up speed and were already approaching the end of the street. Grant led them into a smaller street, past tall trees with only leaves at their very tops, and construction sites for new homes. Grant couldn’t help shake the feeling that the empty shells of walls and roofs might never be finished. Turning south again they moved into another shadow-encrusted alleyway. Their first major shortcut to avoid the wider roads.

  They emerged out into a parking lot, which sat at the rear of a large rectangular building.

  As they crossed the concrete, passing trailers, Grant looked back again. Both of his co-riders seemed to be doing fine, he though was already feeling the burn in his legs. The bikes had belonged to himself, Ben, and Iona. And many a weekend was spent in the hills and further afield. But since his marriage fell apart he hadn’t been back on his. It reminded him too easily of better times.

  He pulled on the brake and they all stopped. Ahead was a seven-lane road, running east to west, and they needed to be on the other side.

  He climbed off his bike and walked it forward to the edge of the sidewalk and looked along the expanse of concrete. In the distance, lights twinkled. Perhaps a roadblock.

  He looked back to Ben and Luciana. “When I go, you follow. Got that?” he whispered. “Don’t hesitate, just keep going until you get to the other side.”

  They nodded.

  He hopped back on his bike, rolled forward a few feet, then on seeing no movement in either direction, pushed down hard on the pedals.

  Pushing his legs as hard as he could he was quickly to the island in the middle of the wide stretch of road, which he moved over, by lifting the front wheel slightly. With a clunk, he landed down on the other side of the green and muddy bank and kept on going across the final two lanes. He was almost to the sidewalk when the air filled with the sound of metal clashing upon concrete.

  He hit the brakes and swung his head around. Ben was lying on the ground, next to his bike. Grant let his own bike drop to the ground and ran back across the road to his son, looking along the street to see if the noise had garnered any attention.

  Ben was slowly getting to his feet, rubbing his elbow pad.

  Grant knelt, placing his hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Yeah… I’m fine.”

  Grant could tell his son was more embarrassed than hurt. He helped lift Ben’s bike back up examining it best he could in the light from around him. Nothing seemed bent or warped.

  Ben climbed back on, when a siren, way off in the distance pierced the silence. Some of the twinkling lights were moving.

  “Come on, quick!” Grant waved Ben and Luciana past him. “Go down that side alley!” he half shouted to them as they rode to the sidewalk.

  He ran after them, jumped on his bike and followed them into the shadows.

  They quickly arrived at the back of another blocklike building and rode around the corner of it to be out
of sight of the road they came from.

  Grant raised his arm and jumped off his bike. The others stopped, and he walked back to the corner and looked along the path back to the street. The sound of an engine rose, and the trees and sidewalk suddenly became tinted with blue and red flickering lights.

  Grant ducked back around the edge of the building and waited for the police car to pass by. Once he was certain they were alone again, he looked at the watch on his wrist. They were still on schedule.

  Before they left, he had taken them through the probable route to the east and the national park. This part of the journey meant hoisting the bikes over a six-foot high wall.

  Grant helped Ben and Luciana over first, then lifted the bikes up and over. His own six-foot frame allowed him to just about see over the other side and help bring the bikes down the other side.

  They quickly moved off, down the suburban road. A narrow bridge was visible in the distance. Grant stopped at a small iron gate, unlatching it as quiet as he could. The triangular roofed homes nearby were lit, but with no sign of movement within them.

  They all passed through the gate and forward a few short yards until the ground fell away. Below them, glistening in the moonlight was a thin strip of waterway. One of many canals that snaked through the city. To each side of it was a narrow concrete path, which headed east. Grant was sure it was their best chance to make it out without being spotted.

  Once the bikes and themselves were dropped down the seven feet to the path, he switched on a single light on the front of his bike, the only illumination he would feel safe to allow. Soon, they were peddling again, passing under the first bridge, then another six minutes later.

  The city, lit, but devoid of obvious life passed by above them. The flowing water smothered any noise their hard work and tires were making and Grant smiled as a breeze cooled him.

  Under one of the larger bridges, they could hear the sound of a police radio above their heads. They hardly slowed and kept heading east.

  Eventually, after twenty minutes, offices, parking lots, and auto mechanics, gave way to factories, with large cylindrical drums lining the canal. That was the signal that they were getting closer to where Grant had planned to rejoin the city. A bridge loomed ahead.