White Pickups: The Truckalypse, #1

By Larry Kollar

"Legends are about ordinary people who stepped up and did what had to be done."

At summer's end, mysterious white pickup trucks take to the roads and compel nearly everyone to "drive off." Some of those who remain gather in a suburban Atlanta subdivision, and struggle to cope with a world whose infrastructure is rapidly crumbling. One of the few who are mentally and emotionally prepared for the end of the world is Cody Sifko, a youth who quickly becomes the inspiration for the others. When a strange homeless woman names him "Father of Nations," is she seeing his future or her own delusions? As winter and a hate group try to destroy Laurel Hills, can Cody overcome personal tragedy and seize his destiny?

Love, hate, survival, and an apocalypse like no other—White Pickups is ready to take you on the ride of your life!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Larry Kollar
• Release date: Aug 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476163772

Larry Kollar

Larry Kollar lives in north Georgia, surrounded by kudzu, pines, and in-laws. He writes fantasy, science fiction, and horror, and now leads the #TuesdaySerial project for online serial fiction. You can find news and snippets of his strange fiction at http://www.larrykollar.com/ For Larry's even stranger reality, check out http://farmanor.blogspot.com/ Follow Larry on Twitter at FARfetched58.

Book preview

White Pickups

Book 1 of the Truckalypse

by

Larry Kollar

Copyright © 2012 Larry Kollar/Oje Media. All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For republishing permission, please contact the author at [e-mail].

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Contents

Foreword

Part 1: The Truckalypse

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Part 2: Gathering

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Part 3: Dream Warfare

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Part 4: Winterkill

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Part 5: Water Shed

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Excerpt: Pickups and Pestilence

About the Author

Foreword

First of all, to my knowledge, there’s no such place as Laurel Hills. For those who are familiar with Gwinnett County, Georgia, Laurel Hills would be on Lawrenceville-Suwanee Road, and there’s not even a subdivision at the location. I’ve taken a few liberties with the geography and business locations, too. The important thing is, if you ever find yourself standing somewhere and thinking this is Laurel Hills, I’ve made it real to you. That’s what counts.

The characters aren’t any particular people I know—at most, they’re a mixture of traits from different people I’ve known or met. You know the old disclaimer, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. On the other hand, any books mentioned are real.

Next, thank you for reading. If you like the story, I hope you’ll spread the word—write a review, even two sentences; lend it; tell people about it when they ask what’cha reading? If you don’t like it, let me know what didn’t work. I’m a big boy, and maybe you’ll give me another chance when I write the next one. Even my mom had some constructive criticism during the early going.

Which leads to…

Thanks to everyone who helped. Forget the image of a lone author in a garret. Writing a book requires a team behind you. This team started with my blog readers (too many to name), who encouraged me to keep writing so they’d have a complete story to read. My beta readers: Sylvia Scoble, Icy Sedgwick, Chuck Allen, Mike Starr; they made this a better story. My editor, Mrs. Harris, who was right next to me in the choir when I needed her. My wife Margaret, and my grandson and sanity anchor, Mason. And, of course, the One from Whom all inspiration comes. The power to create new worlds is a mere reflection of the power that created our own world, but it’s a reflection of the Divine. I like to think I’m using my powers for good.

Finally… a word to so-called pirates. If you got this book from a torrent, or a friend emailed it to you, what I really care about is that you read it. I’d need sales north of 5,000 books per month to quit my day job, and I’ll be thrilled to get a tenth that. I’m not expecting to get rich off this. I know the economy sucks, and if you can’t afford to buy my book I’m not going to kill what joy you get from reading it. But I hope you’ll encourage other people to buy it—tell your friends, write reviews on eBook outlets, talk about it in bookstores or libraries. Write some fan fiction, sketch the characters as you envision them, link back to the book on one of the online bookstores. And if you bought the book in the first place, feel free to do the same!

On with the story. Thanks again for reading!

— FAR Manor

August 2012

Part 1: the Truckalypse

As summer ended that year, so did our world.

Chapter 1

The commercial babble on the radio gave way to the traffic jingle, and Tina Ball turned the volume back up. Atlanta traffic’s lookin’ good, the traffic reporter chirped as Tina merged onto I-85. The next part was lost as a blue Expedition roared up on her left and cut in front of her, then braked hard. Tina slammed on her brakes and laid on her horn, sparing just enough attention to look for an escape route. As the car filled with the acrid stench of smoking tires, a white pickup truck to her left braked and opened up enough room for her to swerve over.

—you’re heading home, you’re in great shape. Just a little slowdown through Spaghetti Junction, but nothing serious. For Sky-Eye Traffic, I’m Jean Scott.

Easy for you to say, you’re not out here in it! Tina growled. She kept a close eye on the Expedition; now that she was coming around it, she expected the driver to cut her off again. But the driver stayed in his lane and refused to look at her. Just as well.

Thanks, Jean, said the announcer. Atlanta weather for the last week of summer is lookin’ even better than the traffic! Clouds on and off, but no rain forecast through the weekend. Highs near 80, lows near 60. Enjoy! And enjoy your favorite tunes after this— They cut to commercials again, and Tina switched the radio off.

This afternoon’s forecast: cloudy, with a chance of white pickup trucks, Tina mimicked the male announcer. Brought to you by Generic Motors. She gave a brief wave to the one behind her, who had let her in. At least I don’t have a car that looks like everyone else’s. She gassed her bronze Impreza, new as of April 8th, and glared at the Expedition one more time as she slipped around it. Behind her, the white pickup gave way to a worn-looking Tahoe.

She glanced in her rearview mirror at the grimy behemoth behind her, then turned her attention to the truck in front of her. It had sped up a little to give her some room. The truck was small, clean, and devoid of all markings, badges, or stickers. Tina could often guess the make of a vehicle by looking at it, but this truck defied her. Its windows were tinted, too dark to see through. There were laws about how dark they could be, but enforcement was lax. She saw another white pickup in her side-view mirror. Even the front windows were dark, and that was certainly illegal. The truck was an identical twin to the one in front of her, no markings and showroom-clean. It passed the truck in front of her, then signaled and moved over.

Tina checked her mirror. Her brown hair, page-boy cut for convenience and highlighted to match her hazel eyes, was still in place, but the Tahoe was riding her bumper. Jeez, idiot, the passing lane’s open! she snapped. Just go around me! When the Tahoe refused to pass her or back off, Tina slid over and sped up. To her left was the HOV lane, the only one that didn’t have a white truck in it. Maybe they finally have enough lanes on I-85, she thought, at least for now. Her speedometer crept toward 75, and she eased off the throttle to maintain her speed. The Tahoe zoomed by on her right, trailing blue smoke; it swerved around one of the white pickups and cut back across two lanes, disappearing behind a moving van.

With no sudden slowdowns or stops to contend with, she watched the rest of the traffic as the miles slid by. There seemed to be a lot of white pickups around, passing, being passed, and there was another one just ahead of her on the off-ramp. The things you notice on a Wednesday afternoon, she thought.

Tina’s house was in Laurel Hills, a development between Duluth and Lawrenceville. After the divorce in 2006, she bought the house for its convenience to the freeway, the quality of the high school for Kelly, and its appreciation potential. The recent financial fiasco set her back on that last part, but the market had bottomed out and things were starting to pick up again. Kelly would be in college in two years, and Tina planned to sell the house for a tidy profit and get a small downtown condo, close to work.

The gates slid open as she entered the development, and she wound her way down the streets. She thumbed the garage door remote as she climbed the low driveway, sighed when she saw Kelly’s Civic in its usual spot, then wondered why she was relieved.

Kelly pushed away from the dining room table as Tina came in. Hi Mom, she said, You’re home early!

Traffic was good. Tina patted her shoulder as she went by. What’s up with you?

Just finishing up this homework. Supper’s ready whenever you are. At seventeen, Kelly was mostly a younger version of Tina: hair darker and shoulder length, with a trim figure that didn’t need nearly as much attention as Tina’s to stay that way (yet). She was dressed more casually than her mother, in pre-faded jeans with a strategic rip above one knee and a Hawks t-shirt. Her blue eyes and long nose came from her dad.

Go ahead and finish it. I have my usual first stop to make, Tina grinned and ducked into the guest bathroom. Was school okay today? she called through the door, open a couple inches.

Yeah. Mr. Spencer didn’t come in, though. And there were quite a few kids out, too. Is something going around?

Tina flushed, washed up, and stepped out. I haven’t heard of anything, honey. But now that you mention it, we had some no-shows at the office, too. Maybe you should take the bus to school tomorrow? If you get sick at school, you won’t have to drive home.

Kelly sighed. I guess. I just hate getting up so early. But I’m not working until Saturday anyway, so I can do that.

Good. Anything in the mail?

Mostly junk, Kelly answered. Some bullsh… crap flyer from the HOA about the walk-off houses, bills, the usual.

All right. Well, let’s get supper on the table.

After supper, they took their evening jog through the subdivision. Tina waved at the Guptas, in the driveway of the house across the street from hers. They waved back, looking preoccupied, and bundled their three children into a white pickup truck.

Huh, said Tina. When did they get the truck? They’ve had four-doors as long as they’ve been here!

I dunno, Kelly shrugged as best she could while jogging. I didn’t see it there when I came home from work, just their car. They jogged past and dismissed it.

You going to see your Dad this weekend? Tina asked her.

I don’t think so. He and James are having some problems. I thought it would be best if I stayed out of their hair and let them work it out. That’s why I let them schedule me for Saturday at work.

Tina forced the scowl off her face before Kelly got more than a glimpse. All right then, she said, then managed a smile. That means you’ll be here for part of the ‘Welcome to Autumn’ cookout at the pool! What time are you going into work? Maybe you can help me set up.

Kelly sighed. Yeah. They said one to seven. I guess I can help in the morning and have a burger for lunch.

Sucks, not being able to sleep in on a weekend, huh?

Bigtime!

• • •

Next morning, Tina stopped at the QuickFill near the freeway for gas and doughnuts on the way in. This was an office ritual: she brought doughnuts on Thursdays, and her staff took turns bringing bagels on Friday. It was a left turn in and out, but Kelly worked at this QuickFill so Tina liked to support it.

Merging onto the freeway, she noticed the white pickups right away. If anything, there were even more of them on the road than yesterday. It seemed like every fourth or fifth vehicle was one. Even so, she might have missed them if she hadn’t been looking—they all seemed to be ideal drivers, giving plenty of room, signaling lane changes, and generally being polite. It was always the tailgaters, the rocket sleds, and the weaver-birds that stood out. Then she thought about her QuickFill stop, and couldn’t remember seeing a single white pickup at the pumps. Had any gone by on the street? She couldn’t remember. Hell, there might have been three or four of them, but she’d been preoccupied.

Chirping from her Blackberry interrupted her train of thought. Traffic was moving well, and she had enough room in front of her to risk stealing a glance. Email from a client, not marked urgent, so it could wait until she got in. By this time, she would usually be sitting in stop-and-go traffic where checking her phone risked only the ire from people behind her wanting to get moving again, but—

Some moron in a grey Prius cut in front of her, and then across three lanes, to make the off-ramp. Tina cursed and laid on the horn as she saw the guy yapping at his cellphone all the way across. Two white pickups were between him and the ramp, but one sped up and the other slowed down, giving the idiot room to slip in between and make the exit. Now that’s more like Atlanta traffic, she grumbled as the adrenaline rush subsided, except for the trucks with manners.

The other oddity was pulling into the Maxcom parking deck twenty minutes early. On a whim, she cruised the deck, looking for white pickup trucks. There was only one: it was grimy, identified itself as a Ranger, and sported Braves and Thrashers stickers at either end of the rear bumper. There were plenty of parking spaces, even several near the entrance. She entered the building, dropped her doughnuts on the table outside her office, and got to work.

• • •

Let’s go, son.

The youth looked up from the workbench. He put down the screwdriver and skate truck, and looked at his watch before looking at his father.

Mom said I could take her car to school this morning. I was gonna leave in about twenty minutes.

His father looked surprised. School?

Yeah. It’s Thursday, right?

The man paused for a moment. Just skip school today.

What? The boy wiped his hands on a rag, trying to collect his thoughts. Why? Where are you going?

Out. C’mon. Your mother and sister are waiting. His father looked distracted somehow, not his usual self.

Dad, I have a test today. I can’t skip, as much as I’d like to.

His father walked away. Suit yourself.

That was random, said the youth, turning back to his skateboard. Dad never let an argument drop that easy. He and Mom were always sticklers about planning vacations, too. Just taking off wasn’t like them, especially during the school year. Besides, they’d gone to Pigeon Forge, a.k.a. Hick Central, in July. Maybe Teri could afford to miss school today, but he couldn’t.

On a whim, he slipped through the garage and looked out the door. A white pickup truck rolled into the street and away.

"Huh. When did you get that, Dad? he asked the departing truck. No way I’d have fit in there anyway." Teri had to be in Mom’s lap, and she was kind of big for that; he would have been stuck in the bed. He shrugged and went back to his skateboard rebuild. He’d beat on it pretty hard at the skate park last weekend, and he wanted to finish before he had to leave for school. At least the rest of the week would be easy enough; all the preps and jocks were out sick or something.

Too bad it wouldn’t be permanent. It was going to be a long school year.

• • •

After a couple of hours of answering emails, Tina noticed that things were unusually quiet. Jaya, the contractor, hadn’t been by to get her time sheet signed, and there had been only two interruptions (Frank needed a priority check and Adam was trying to help the Client from Hell). There were still doughnuts on the table, too. They were usually long gone by 9:30, but just past ten there were still four. Walking through the cubes, Chi, Jaya, Sarah, and Thakor appeared to be no-shows; their computers were off or showed a login screen, and no jackets warmed the chairs. None of them had called in or emailed, and they were among her most reliable workers.

She noted the apparent absentees, double-checked her email and voicemail to confirm none of them had called in, then called HR to ask if they knew of a flu bug. No, the admin told her, but something’s going around and it’s got us all worried. We have several people out here as well, and none of them called in. It’s strange, none of them ever stay out without calling in. If it’s like this tomorrow, we’ll probably send everyone home early.

All right. What about job fairs in town? Have you heard anything like that?

No, I don’t think anyone is staffing up yet. There’s talk about it, though. Maybe mid-Spring.

Tina jotted a note. Okay. Is there a problem with me calling their cell numbers? I have them here with me.

No, just pitch it as concern rather than anything else.

I understand. Actually, that’s all it is. It’s been pretty quiet today. But if you’re having the same problems… well, thanks again. Tina thought a moment, then dialed another extension.

Morning, Tina, said Connor. What’s up?

Hey, Connor. Do you have any no-shows in Tech Support today?

Oh, hell yes. I’m guessing about a third of the crew went AWOL on me. Even Kumar’s out, and he never stays out without calling at least twice, emailing once, and offering to help anyway. Is there a virus going around?

I haven’t heard of one. Tina shook her head reflexively. HR hasn’t either. How are your call volumes looking?

Connor laughed. Hell, if anything they’re down even more than my staffing. That’s the only reason I haven’t called you begging for mercenaries already.

I’m missing a bunch of my own staff, and the most reliable ones at that. You don’t think they’ve all bolted for a startup or something, do you? Some worry crept into Tina’s voice.

If there was a startup looking for that many bodies in Atlanta, we’d have both heard about it. Hey, it’s almost 11. Wanna grab an early lunch downstairs?

I’m not that hungry, and I want to call my own AWOLs first, Tina replied, but I could go for a cup of tea. See you at the elevator in about 20 minutes?

Did you get anyone? Connor asked as Tina sat down. Café Eclipse was in the basement, so the owners decided to work with the lack of natural light and decorated the place in an astronomy motif. Stars twinkled in the false ceiling, and a total eclipse replica burned in the corner.

Tina sniffed and shook her head. No. Every single one went to voicemail.

Same with my guys. So… how are things at home?

Pretty good. Kelly’s getting good grades, and she works at the QuickFill a couple days a week. The usual freak-out artists on the HOA are doing their thing over two walk-off houses, but we’ve got a plan to keep them maintained until they sell.

Oh, sure. I meant… You know. Connor worked to not look away.

"Charles? We don’t talk much. He keeps in touch with Kelly, and she spends a weekend with him every month. If he’s available. Charles and his—boyfriend—have been having problems lately, so Kelly’s skipping her visit this weekend. How about you? Still married?"

Yup. Kids are doing well, and Mari and I have managed to work out our differences for now. The counselor hooked us up with a financial advisor, so we can make an honest assessment of our responsibilities. It’s really up to her, now. She still has to go to her meetings, and probably will for life. I go with her for moral support, but I mostly zone out. Those guys have got the fever or something, but I guess it’s better than the addictions they had before.

That’s true. Tina laughed a little. Charles can put the booze away, but I don’t think he lets it control him. Maybe he’s gotten a little better about it since the divorce.

Could be. What about you? You seeing anyone yet?

Tina sighed. I’m kind of demoralized about the whole dating thing. I can’t stop thinking that maybe I made Charles… what he is. I’d be devastated if it happened again.

Don’t think like that, Tina. Connor turned serious. Charles was always gay, he just denied it until he couldn’t deny it any longer. If you want to cast blame, blame Charles for not facing up to himself sooner. Or blame society for making him think he had to hide it. It’s not you. Really.

I suppose. Tina sounded doubtful.

After lunch, Tina checked some news sites; she found a couple of breaking articles about mass absenteeism but no explanations. By three, she sent the rest of the staff home, logged out, and left. There were even more white pickups this afternoon, but she barely noticed. Arriving at Laurel just behind the bus, she followed it to the clubhouse parking lot and waved to Kelly.

Hey, hon, Tina greeted her daughter as she settled into the passenger seat. Feeling OK?

I’m fine, Mom. But almost half the kids were out today, and we had lots of subs. They’ll probably close school tomorrow if the teachers don’t come back. Kelly paused a moment. Mom? Have you noticed anything—weird—on the road?

The white trucks?

"Yeah! You see them too? They’re like, everywhere. One crossed in front of them, going toward the gate. Are they electric? I don’t hear a motor."

Tina sighed. I don’t know. I’m not even sure whether to be relieved that I’m not going crazy, or terrified that the world is.

"It’s spooky, Mom. I don’t think I’m relieved."

• • •

Connor sent his people home around four, making sure Vasily had the pager. He stayed to check his email and news sites one more time before logging out. Even the Internet was quiet; nobody was online. Too weird, he thought, packing his laptop. The cube farm was nearly deserted at four-twenty. Huh, I could light one up right here in the office. He laughed and walked out to his Lexus.

The drive up Highway 400 to Roswell was as fast as Connor had ever seen it, outside late nights. He focused on his driving, hardly noticing the white pickups that seemed to be every other vehicle on the highway. The classic rock station played on, as it always did, without much DJ intervention. As he went through the Cruise Card lane at the toll booths, he thumbed his Blackberry to call home.

After four rings, the answering machine picked up. Hi Mari, it’s Connor, he told it. It was a really slow day at work, so I sent everyone home and I’m on the way myself. Maybe we can take the kids to Pizza Playland tonight, have a little fun, since we’ll have time. He paused. Love you, he added, not sure he really meant it anymore. Back when things were really shaky, when it looked like Mari might choose her drinking and her affair over her family, he and Tina had talked about their problems over drinks. Tina never gave him the sign, but he’d have been glad to share a room at the Westin with her had she shown any interest. If it wasn’t for the kids, he’d have given up and gone for it. But the marriage counselor had said you can die over the might-have-beens, and she was probably right.

Connor’s house was in an upscale neighborhood, just two blocks off the river and close to a river park. It was straight-up five o’clock when he rolled up the driveway, a personal rush hour record of forty minutes. Mari’s Murano was gone, and he left the garage door open for her. Stepping out of the car, he called her cellphone—again, no answer. Hey Mari, we had a slow day at work, so I’m home now, he told her voicemail. I guess you’re getting some groceries? Hope you’re on the way back. I thought we could do something with the kids since I’m home early. Be safe and I’ll see you in a few.

He was so preoccupied with his quest for a Coke that he nearly stumbled over the stack of cartons in the middle of the kitchen floor. He stepped back and felt a chill: three cases of vodka, the same brand she had always bought. A piece of paper lay atop the stack, covered in Mari’s handwriting. He read with growing horror:

Connor, I am so sorry. I never stopped. Any of it. But I can now. They say I can be free of all the addiction and the shame. I don’t know if I can ever come back to you, but know I’ll at least be better. I’ll call you soon so you can come see Kevin and Marianne. Love, Mari

He called her phone again, and again it went to voicemail. Mari! Wherever you are, just stop and call me! Please! I’ll come get the kids if you want. If you really think this—whatever it is you’re joining will help you, I won’t stand in your way. Just let me take the kids so you can focus on getting straightened out! Call me, okay?

You can catch them.

Connor hung up and looked around. He’d experienced something like that before—his thoughts so loud, they seemed to come from outside his head—when he’d smoked weed in college. Back then, it spooked him enough to make him quit. Stress, he said, checking his pulse. Yes, it was racing.

No time to think. Go.

He shook his head, but his feet carried him back to the garage. He looked at the white pickup, standing where he’d parked his Lexus not ten minutes ago. What… he ran a hand along the fender. He felt a pull toward the door, resisted.

Your children. Find them.

That’s what was important, right? He opened the door and climbed in. The truck rolled away.

• • •

The phone rang, waking Tina from a night of unsettling dreams. A moment later, Kelly stuck her head through the bedroom door. They closed school, Mom, she said, and paused a moment. Do you think you could just stay home, too?

I’m the boss. I have to be there, hon. Besides, I have to get groceries, said Tina. We have the cookout tomorrow, remember?

You think we’ll still have a cookout? With everybody just… Kelly hesitated. I don’t know. Disappearing?

Hey, it’s Friday, Tina laughed. They’ll re-appear in time for the weekend. Kelly laughed with her. We’ll probably close at noon, if people aren’t coming in. Just sit tight and I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?

The white pickups were a super-majority this Friday morning. Perhaps every third vehicle was something else. But despite—or because of—the nature of the traffic, things moved along quickly and Tina got to Maxcom in record time. The parking deck was nearly empty, except for a few cars near the building entrance. She parked and crossed the breezeway to the lobby.

There were a dozen people milling around in the lobby, all with Maxcom badges. What’s going on? Tina asked.

We’re locked out, one of them said. Nobody’s inside, as far as we can tell.

Tina thought it over for a moment. Just go home, then. I’ll take the heat for the decision, she said, giving them her name and position. HR told me we might close early today. From the looks of it, we closed before we opened.

She walked back to her car and wound down the ramp, thinking she should have taken Kelly’s advice, just stayed home and not wasted the gas. Something weird was going on, and even the street people were picking up on it. One standing on the sidewalk, across the street from the parking deck, held a sign reading HIDE YOURSELF FROM THE EATER OF SOULS. Tina was certain that the white pickup trucks filling the roads had to be related. On a whim, she called Connor’s cellphone while waiting to pull out. It went straight to voicemail, and she hung up.

She got off at the Pleasant Hill exit, and the red light gave her an opportunity to scan the gas station across the way. There were people getting gas, but not one of the vehicles at the pumps was a white pickup. The few customers watched the pickups, all with tinted windows and no other adornments, go by. Some looked wary. Some just looked scared.

• • •

These came in overnight, the dealer said, waving down the row of white pickup trucks. New model. We haven’t even had time to slap the stickers on ‘em yet!

Yeah, said the prospect. This one was every inch a high school jock. Not long ago, Perry Adams and his staff would not have wasted time on him; he would have wandered the lot unmolested unless a parent was with him. But the staff was gone, and Perry Adams now answered to a power higher than money—a thought he would have laughed at only days ago.

Beauties, ain’t they? he grinned at the kid. You can almost hear ‘em talking to you, can’tcha?

The kid nodded. Uh-huh.

You’re cool. You know it. Let us show everyone how cool you are. Drive with us.

"I do hear ‘em."

Tell you what. Why don’t you just pick one out and take a test drive? The keys are in the ignition. Take your time, really put it through its paces.

No shit? The kid took a step toward the trucks.

No shit. Adams grinned. "You’re