Braving the Storms: Strengthen What Remains, #3

By Kyle Pratt

A deadly flu epidemic sweeps across the stricken nation

Braving the Storms, is the third book of the Strengthen What Remains series. 

In the first book, Through Many Fires, nuclear terrorism strikes the nation's capital and six other American cities. In the second book, A Time to Endure, society continues to unravel, and civil war threatens the divided and economically-crippled land.

Now a new and even more lethal problem emerges. A swift and deadly flu epidemic sweeps out of overcrowded FEMA camps and strikes the nation with horrific results. Caden Westmore struggles to keep his family and community safe, while others use the plague to advance their own military and political agendas. Caden must succeed, but how can he, when both the epidemic and chaos attack his hometown and family?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Camden Cascade Publishing
• Release date: Dec 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9780996941204

Kyle Pratt

Kyle Pratt is the bestselling author of speculative fiction. His latest novel, A Time to Endure is the second book in the Strengthen What Remains series after the bestseller Through Many Fires. Through Many Fires is the first book in a post-apocalyptic series released in paperback, Kindle and on Audible in August 2013. Within two weeks the novel appeared on the Kindle Science Fiction Post-Apocalyptic list, reaching #10, and reached #1 on the list on December 2, 2014. Through Many Fires has earned its way to the #1 spot on the Kindle Dystopian and Military list, and #39 on the Mystery, Thriller and Suspense list. Kyle grew up in the mountains of Colorado and earned an Associate in Arts degree from Mesa State College in Grand Junction.  When money for college ran low he enlisted in the United States Navy as a Cryptologic Technician. "I thought I would do four years and then use my veteran's benefits to go back to college," he once said. His first assignment was with a U.S. Navy unit at the Royal Air Force base in Edzell, Scotland. While on leave in Israel he met Lorraine from Plymouth, Devon, England and married her the next year.  Together they spent the remainder of his twenty year naval career traveling across the United States from Virginia to Hawaii and on to Guam, Japan and beyond. Even before he retired from the service he wrote short stories. In July of 2012 his debut novel, Titan Encounter, a science fiction space adventure, came out on Kindle and later in paperback. His second book, Final Duty - The Speculative Fiction Anthology, was released in January of 2013.  The anthology is regularly updated with new short stories and samples. Today, Kyle and Lorraine live on a small farm in Western Washington State.  Kyle believes the future of publishing is digital.  You can easily find and follow him online.

Book preview

Chapter One

Rural Lewis County, Washington state, Sunday, September 20th

First Sergeant Fletcher spread the map on the hood of the Humvee and wondered where the gang might be headed.

The screen door of the nearby log home squeaked as Deputy Philip exited. He was only twenty-four years old and, Fletcher was sure, had not seen many murders. The door creaked again as Private Spencer, his skin deathly pale, followed the deputy out of the house.

Anybody alive? Fletcher asked.

Philip shook his head, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. An older man and woman are inside, both dead. The gun safe is open, but empty, except for this logbook. It lists eight rifles and three pistols by make, model and serial number. It looks like the gang tortured the husband, probably to get the combination of the gun safe, and then killed them both.

How long have they been dead?

Two days, maybe three. The gang could be anywhere by now.

The corporal walked up. There’s no gas in the car or tractor. The gas caps are off so, I’d guess the gang siphoned it.

How much fuel do we have? Fletcher asked.

The gas cans are empty and none of the tanks are full. We have enough for today, but we’ll need more soon.

Fletcher didn’t want to turn back. They’re animals. I don’t think they know we’re hunting them, but if we don’t find them quickly, they’ll figure it out. He drew a circle with his finger. All the attacks have been in this area. We’ve been checking homes, farms, motels and such, but they could be camping somewhere.

They would need shelter, water and a place off the road where they can hide, Philip said.

There’s a hunting lodge here. The pale private indicated a location on the map. It was owned by a rich guy, but since he was from Los Angeles….

Fletcher nodded. Los Angeles was nuked by the terrorists on the second day of attacks. The owner of the lodge was probably still in the city when it was destroyed. He looked at the deputy. I think we should check it out.

It’s the best idea I’ve heard today.

Private, round up the rest of the men and let’s move out.

While the squad of soldiers returned to the two Humvees, Deputy Philip tried to radio in the murders, but heard only static. We’re out of range.

Fletcher looked south. The direction we’re going will keep us out of radio range. Do you want to head back to Hansen and report or—

No, the deputy said. I’ll drive to here. He pointed to a small town on the map. I know that’s in radio range. I’ll report in, get more gas and meet you at the lodge.

Fletcher nodded and turned to the soldiers nearby. Okay. Let’s saddle up.

Two Humvees headed into the mountains south of Randle, while the deputy drove north toward the highway.

Since Private Spencer knew the location of the lodge, Fletcher had him drive the lead vehicle while he sat next to him with the map. Trees lined both sides of the road as they climbed into the Cascade foothills. Some of the land was national forest, some was owned by timber companies. Occasionally a house came in view. As they passed a meadow the first sergeant spotted a man, woman and several children baling hay and loading it on a horse drawn wagon. Perhaps they moved here thinking this was a safe place to raise a family. It probably is safer than most cities. He chuckled inwardly. We used to think the world wasn’t safe. We had no idea just how unsafe it could get. He sighed and studied the map.

A few minutes later Spencer said, That’s the turn off. It’s about two miles up the gravel road near the top of the hill.

Stop here. Fletcher had the drivers block the narrow road with the Humvees. The two squads hiked on either side of the private lane through a forest of mammoth trees. The sun was low by the time they approached the lodge. Just out of sight of the building, Fletcher took one squad and circled toward the back.

Using binoculars he observed the large two-story log structure with a wrap-around covered porch. Ancient fir and cedar trees surrounded the building, some less than a yard from it. Two pickup trucks and a Mustang were in a gravel parking lot on the south side. The only sound was the occasional chirp of a bird and the rumble of a small engine. He assumed it was a generator. Using the binoculars, Fletcher checked every door and window in view, but detected no movement.

When the soldiers were in place, covering all sides and avenues of escape, Fletcher shouted. You’re surrounded by the military. Under the Martial Law decree, I’m ordering you to come out with your hands up.

Only the rumble of the engine could be heard in reply.

Come out now or we will use force to enter.

The engine putted along without concern.

Crouching along the tree line the first sergeant moved and checked the last few windows. No one looked back at him. As he continued toward the backdoor the sound of the engine grew louder. Clearing a line of trees he spotted the generator under a carport-like structure. Next to it was a propane tank.

Looking at one of the soldiers he said, Shut the propane off. Kill the generator. I’m going through the back. He pointed to Spencer. Have you been in the building before?

Once, years ago.

Congratulations, you’re our expert. Is there cover inside that backdoor?

Ah, there was a bar at the back. You know, where they served alcohol, but I was young and didn’t spend much time there. I think it was near the door.

Fletcher frowned at the lack of intel. Okay, you follow me. Everyone else keep watch. If anyone shoots at us, shoot back. Then he sprinted to the back steps like an Olympian. As he put his weight on the first step it creaked and he cringed.

The generator, stuttered, backfired and died.

Silence reigned. Fletcher glanced at the rear windows, but saw no movement. Perhaps those inside didn’t hear him over the generator. You’re surrounded by the military. Come out with your hands up. That’s an order under the Martial Law decree.

Nothing moved.

He inched up the groaning steps toward the back door. Reaching the porch, he smelled death and worried that this wasn’t the hideout of the gang, but more victims.

Behind him the steps creaked again. He glanced sideways as Spencer crept up behind. Pointing he indicated the private should cover the door. Fletcher turned the knob. I wish I had a stun grenade. He threw the door open and darted behind the bar.

Spencer followed.

All Fletcher could hear was his own breathing and flies buzzing. Slowly he looked over the top of the bar.

The smell of death filled his nostrils.

He scanned the room. An oversized couch was against one wall. A large rug filled the center of the room. Pictures of hunters with deer, elk and bear dotted the walls. Several stuffed game trophies hung on the far wall on either side of a large stone fireplace, but nothing threatened or even moved. Have the soldiers out back come in this way, he said to Spencer. Let’s clear the building.

With his gun at the ready, Fletcher checked a door behind the bar. It led to a short hallway.

Spencer shouted from the porch, Guys, in through this door on the double. He stepped back in.

Check out this hall. Fletcher nodded his head in the direction.

The private coughed and spit and then disappeared through the door.

The first sergeant continued out around the bar, deeper into the room.

Four soldiers ran in, one after another. Several gagged and scrunched their faces as they entered.

Spencer joined them from the rooms behind the bar. There’s an office and storeroom. It looks like a lot of booze is gone. The safe is open and empty, but no people.

Fletcher directed the four who had entered to check out the east end of the building in pairs. I’ll stay with Spencer and clear out the west side. He then continued to the far end of the bar. As he moved away from the windows the room was darker. He thought about having someone restart the generator, but rejected it.

The smell of death and decay was stronger now. An alcove was off to his left. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Fletcher detected a shape.

Snapping his gun in that direction, the first sergeant shouted. Hands up! Come into the light. Now!

Nothing moved.

Spencer stood a few feet away with his weapon pointed into the darkness.

Carefully Fletcher paced forward. With each step his view became better. A man sat in the corner.

Chapter Two

Library Park, Hansen, Sunday, September 20th

Major Caden Westmore sat on the tailgate of the pickup as he read the last paragraph of the report. It’s coming and there’s no way to stop it. He slapped the folder down beside him and pressed his hand on the cover as if to hold the danger within. He was glad he was healthy and maintained the youthful assurance that he would remain so, but reason told him the future was uncertain. Millions would die in the coming months if the data in the report was correct. He wished Dr. Scott had waited to tell him until after the Harvest Festival.

The year had proved a hard one: Six cities obliterated by nuclear terrorism; the Chinese claimed they came to help, but it was a power and resource grab; amidst the turmoil the dollar collapsed; hunger and civil unrest grew. He spent much of the year battling gangs, terrorists and other Americans.

The cold winter gave way to a hungry spring, and then the long summer of work and waiting until the harvest. Thank God it has been a good one. There was hope that those who remained would survive the coming winter.

Music, smoke and the smell of barbeque drifted over the parking lot. His stomach growled. He inhaled deeply and smiled. More than one fatted calf had been sacrificed for this celebration.

Loudspeakers boomed the voices of children singing.

"Over the river and through the wood,

To Grandmother's house we go.

The horse knows the way

To carry the sleigh

Through white and drifted snow."

Like the smoke that wafted to and fro, his thoughts now floated back to the Nebraska Medical Center report. It contained many medical terms that he was unfamiliar with, but when she handed him the report, Dr. Scott summarized it in two words: It’s spreading.

Caden looked across the parking lot toward Library Park. He’d come to know many of the people who lived in and around the town of Hansen over the last year. Together they had struggled through fear and tragedy to this day of hope.

Dr. Scott was still nearby, talking with his sister-in-law, Sue, as both women admired the baby.

You want a beer? Lieutenant Brooks, his XO, shouted from a nearby stall as he held up a bottle of homemade brew.

Maybe later, Caden replied.

Brooks took Lisa by the hand and the two disappeared into the crowd.

The grins that everyone displayed hid a multitude of tragedy. Brooks had been shot and nearly died. Caden’s brother, Peter, did die from radiation sickness after the Seattle blast, leaving Sue a widow.

Zach and Vicki Brennon, the auburn-haired brother and sister, crossed the parking lot smiling and holding plates of food. Six months ago their mother tried to kill herself … did kill herself, but it was a slow, lingering death.

"Over the river and through the wood

To have a first-rate play.

Hear the bells ring,

Ting-a-ling-ling!

Hurrah for Thanksgiving Day!"

It was only September, but it was a day of thanksgiving. The crops were in and food stocks were the best they had been since the panic of the attacks. Caden struggled to smile.

Maria walked up and looked at the folder. What’s that?

Not wanting to spread the depressing news from Dr. Scott sooner than he must, he answered, Just a report Dr. Scott received on upcoming medical issues. That’s all. True, but vague enough to hide the facts.

She sat beside him and, for a moment, he enjoyed her company in silence.

Maria leaned against him. Remember when I said I didn’t want to marry you because I had to?

Caden nodded wondering where this might go. Yes. You said you wanted to know you didn’t have to marry me…that you could walk away.

Right…ah…well, I think this is that day.

Are you saying you’ll marry me or you’re leaving?

She shoved his shoulder. Don’t be silly. I’m saying, if you still want to, I’ll set the date and we can get married.

Caden glanced at the folder beside him. Perhaps it was best to enjoy life to the fullest. Then if the pandemic predicted in the doctor’s report did devastate the region, or some other tragedy occurred, he had lived life and there would be no regrets. He leaned over and kissed her. When is our big day?

The children’s voices drifted toward them once again.

"Come to the feast,

There is room at the table,

Come let us meet in this place."

* * *

Sheriff’s Office, Hansen, Sunday, September 20th

Are you kidding me? Sheriff Hoover snarled the words. After everything else, now we have a pandemic?

It’s a natural consequence. Dr. Scott sat in the chair beside Caden.

Natural? Hoover walked over to the window. There’s nothing natural about this.

With hundreds of thousands of people still in FEMA camps, refugees living rough where they can, malnutrition, latrines and poor hygiene…we’ve already seen dysentery in the local camps and Hepatitis E in southern California and Arizona. The CDC reported new strains of influenza earlier this year. Under those conditions, it was only a matter of time before a pandemic strain of flu emerged.

Caden rubbed his chin. What we really need to discuss is how to deal with it if it hits us.

Hoover looked at the doctor expectantly.

It is spreading. It’s only a matter of time before it gets here.

I have lots of threats that are already here, Caden said. Tell me what I need to do if this threat materializes.

The doctor sighed. Normally the CDC would be working on a vaccine. But Atlanta….

Was nuked by the terrorists. I know. Thoughts of his then fiancée, Becky, shot though his mind. She had been outside of Atlanta when the attack came, but now she worked for Durant.

Well, the University of Washington had a good medical center, but Seattle…. The doctor shook her head. Well, you see the problem. The Nebraska Center is trying to organize a study—.

"What can we do?" Caden asked.

Dr. Scott shrugged. Avoid contact with infected people, wash your hands with soap and water, avoid touching your eyes, nose and mouth.

I’ve been hearing that advice for years, the sheriff said with a shake of his head. It never stopped the flu before.

And it won’t stop this one, Dr. Scott said. But you asked what we could do.

Don’t touch my nose? Hoover frowned. Wash my hands? That’s what I can do?

Caden rubbed his chin. Suddenly conscious of how close his hand was to his mouth he dropped it to his side.

What about antibacterial soaps… will they help? Hoover asked.

Those soaps kill bacteria, but they don’t kill viruses like the flu.

Caden snapped his fingers. I’ve heard of medications that help when you have the flu. What about those?

Yeah. No dice. I’ve had the antiviral medications on my requisition list for months. She frowned at Caden. You’ve never been able to get them from the supply depot.

They may not have them the next time either, but I’ll keep checking. Give me a list of those medicines. I’ll see what I can do.

* * *

Westmore Farm, Rural Lewis County, Sunday, September 20th

Caden stepped into the house more concerned about the possible pandemic than he cared to admit.

Good, you’re here. Maria crossed the living room and kissed him. Still face-to-face she said, Did you have your phone off?

He fumbled in his pocket. Ah…yes…I guess so.

She shook her head. Are you trying to avoid finalizing the date? She grinned.

For the wedding? No…no, just busy.

His mother, Sarah, walked down the stairs. Oh, good you’re home. We’ve got to go.

Go? Caden asked. Where?

The children are singing at the church.

Of course the children were singing. The Harvest Festival was going on all weekend and all over town. The newspaper printed the schedule of events, the radio station blared the news, and every church in the county probably had it front and center in their bulletins. This was to be the happiest time since before the first attack. He looked at Maria. It was the happiest time, but that joyfulness now mixed with the knowledge of what would come. Caden forced a smile. Let’s go.

His father stayed behind to work on the tractor, and keep watch on the farm, but the rest of the family surrounded the SUV.

Maria strapped Adam into their only car seat as his mother, sister Lisa, and Sue, with baby Peter, entered through other doors.

With his mind on gangs, lawlessness, war, hunger and a possible pandemic, Caden drove toward the church.

From the front passenger seat Maria looked over her shoulder at Sue. We need to get another car seat.

I know. I’ve been looking, but there haven’t been any in the stores since the attack.

I haven’t seen any in the library market either, Sarah added.

No. Maria shook her head. Not since Caden got the one for Adam.

Huh? Caden glanced at Maria. What?

Nothing, dear.

I think families are holding on to them, Sue said, looking at baby Peter in her arms. Who knows when you’ll be able to buy something like that, or how much it will cost.

Caden drove on while the women chattered about many things. Minutes later he wound past groves of old apple trees, toward the white, wood-frame church that sat atop the hill.

Many families walked on the warm autumn day. Others rode horses and arrived in wagons. Someone installed hitching posts along one side of the parking lot, but several horses were on long leads tied to nearby trees.

Caden glanced at a field to the east of the church as he drove into the parking lot. The area was surrounded by a ten-foot chain-link fence. Inside were two large Quonset hut greenhouses, along with several backyard versions, and dozens of raised beds. All had been harvested and the earth tilled, ready for winter crops.

As usual, few cars were in the parking lot. Gasoline was expensive, and sometimes unavailable. Although Caden’s position as area military commander provided greater access to fuel, it was limited. Still it allowed him to provide some transportation for his family. Caden turned the corner, cut diagonally across the lot, and parked in his favorite spot near the west side door of the church.

The Westmore clan strolled into the sanctuary as others flowed in filling it to capacity. After some announcements the children gathered on the platform.

"We plough the fields and scatter

the good seed on the land,

but it is fed and watered

by God's almighty hand."

Caden found it impossible to enjoy the music. Every cough, every sneeze, reminded him of the doctor’s words. It’s coming and there’s no way to stop it.

Chapter Three

Rural Lewis County, Sunday, September 20th

Hands up! First Sergeant Fletcher stepped forward. His eyes fixed on the shadowy outline of a man in the dark corner of the alcove.

The shadow gave no response.

Private Spencer stepped backward.

Did you hear me? Fletcher inched closer. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Fletcher realized the man in the corner heard nothing. No life radiated from the open eyes. His mouth hung oddly slack, and his head leaned awkwardly against the wall. On the table before him were bottles of pills and booze. His right hand still clutched a glass resting on the table.

The first sergeant poked the lifeless man with the end of his M4.

The body fell rigid to the side.

What happened here?

Mouth agape, Private Spencer shook his head. I have no idea.

The question had been rhetorical, but Spencer’s answer reflected the first sergeant’s own confusion. He grabbed his flashlight, but the beam quickly faded. Dead, like this guy. Do you have one? He asked waving his.

The young man approached with eyes fixed on the body. Yeah. Here. He held out the light and advanced no farther.

Fletcher took it, knelt by the body, and poked and pulled at his shirt looking for fatal injuries.

Spencer stepped closer and placed a hand over his mouth and nose. I don’t see any wounds, he mumbled. It looks like he just died. He pointed to the bottles. Did he commit suicide?

Fletcher picked up the empty container. It’s some sort of medication, but I’m not sure what. He looked at the body. I’ve heard the suicide rate is up, but why come all the way out here to kill yourself. He might have just been sick. Leaning a hand on the table, he stood.

A door swung open behind them, and both spun around, weapons ready.

Just me, First Sergeant. Corporal Franklin said. We found two bodies. No gunshot or stab wounds. They’re just dead.

How well did you check them? Fletcher asked.

We lifted one—with a broom, and checked under. No blood.

How did they die? A suicide pact? Spencer asked.

Fletcher doubted it, but had no answers. "Corporal, get the others from out in front. Station someone at every exit and on all four sides of the building. The rest of you come with me, we’re going to finish searching this place. And maybe find some answers.

The first sergeant marched down the hallway with Spencer behind. The stench of death grew with each step. Coming to a door, Fletcher turned the knob and threw it open. He entered, leading with his rifle. A bed stood in the room without sheets, two chairs and a dusty dresser alongside it. Everything appeared undisturbed.

The room across the hall was much the same.

Farther along the smell of death hung heavy in the air.

Bursting into the third room, Fletcher nearly puked due to the stench that grated his nose and tongue.

Spencer stepped in, gagged, then stumbled back out, coughing and choking as he did.

The bodies of a man and woman lay side-by-side on the bed. A cloud of buzzing flies circled like a sky full of vultures. The nearest body had long dark hair and was curled into a fetal position. Her eyes were closed. It was hard to tell now, but she appeared to