The Last Mile Trilogy

  Last Mile Series

  The Trilogy

  By

  Jacqueline Druga

  Last Mile Series Trilogy

  Books, Path to Utopia, Nova, Earth Abounds

  By Jacqueline Druga

  Copyright 2011, 2012, 2013 by Jacqueline Druga

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Thank you so very much to Denise, Rita, and Sonia for all your help with this book.

  Cover art - © Kerri McClellan - Fotolia.com

  A Path to Utopia

  Book One

  CHAPTER ONE

  April 7th

  Buffalo, New York

  “Dude, you suck.”

  Not exactly the phrasing one would expect to hear from a successful, twenty-nine year old pharmaceutical salesman. But Bishop Dean wasn’t selling at that moment … at least not pharmaceuticals.

  Bishop’s dark hair was messy, tossed about. All because the manager of Casey’s Sports bar made him remove his baseball cap. Bishop didn’t mind if he looked out of order. He wasn’t at Casey’s to meet women. It was the guys’ Thursday night out. Beer, baseball on the big screens and all you could play video games until ten P.M.

  Casey’s had two main rooms—the arcade and the restaurant. He was floating between them to keep up with the action in both.

  But at this particular moment, Bishop was planted firmly behind the player of the new video game Green Berets. One arm crossed over his small frame body, he was chuckling and taunting all the while keeping his eye on the high score to beat—his own.

  “Aw, man, how’d you miss him?” Bishop taunted with a laugh and took a swig of his beer. “Whoops. Missed him, too. Ha. Ha.”

  His friend Dirk Reynolds inched up to him and whispered, “How’s it going?”

  Bishop gave him a ‘who knows’ head shake before he replied, keeping his voice low, “He may do it. I’m telling you, this is the guy who knocked out my high score last week.”

  “He’s good,” Dirk said.

  “Yeah, I know. But …” Bishop pointed to his temple as he nodded once at the player, “I’m on him.” He winked at Dirk. “I’ve got my score covered this time.”

  Dirk chuckled and swatted Bishop on the back. “Keep it up. I’m gonna be with Leo on Alien Rush. You checked the baseball score lately?”

  “No …” Bishop jolted and winced as he watched his adversary move to the next level before continuing. “Not yet, soon. I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks. We’re over there.”

  “Yeah.” Bishop nodded, not paying attention to Dirk’s departure. Nervously, he brought his beer to his lips, and then clenched his fist with a mighty ‘yes!’ when the player messed up. “Dude, man, you really … suck.”

  The player huffed. “Ok. Enough.” The boy no older than ten looked up at Bishop. “Mister, can I just play the game?”

  “You are,” Bishop replied.

  “Yeah, but you’re bothering me,” the boy said.

  “If you can’t take the pressure…” Bishop shrugged.

  Sighing, the boy continued to play.

  “Ha!” Bishop jeered. “Too bad. You should have seen that one coming.”

  The boy’s hand slammed on the flat edge of the game. “Mom! Mom! Some man is bothering me.”

  “Shh!” Hunching with a wince, Bishop held up his hands, shifted his eyes and then hurriedly backed away. He thought about watching Dirk and Leo, but then opted for checking out the game. After all, it was the opener and Bishop had money on it.

  Casey’s was packed, as it always seemed to be on Thursday ‘free play’ night. The eruption of cheers told Bishop the home team had done something. He stepped further into the room, moving closer to the television so he could see and hear what was happening.

  A family was nearby. They were somewhat of a distraction since they were preparing to sing happy birthday to someone.

  “What’s the score? What’s the score?” Bishop mumbled, and then caught it on the screen. “Yes!” He grinned to himself. Bottom of the ninth, the home team was down by one. It didn’t look good for the home team, for Bishop it did … financially.

  “Green on second. One out. O’Connell is up at bat …”

  “Come on,” Bishop pleaded quietly, “just strike out.”

  “He swings … it’s high, far …”

  “Shit!” Bishop winced.

  “Caught by Rodriquez and Green advances to third. We have Helms at the plate.”

  “Happy Birthday to you …” The family sang loudly and in unison.

  Bishop nodded, trying to block out the family, as he whispered, “Helms sucks. Helms sucks.”

  “Happy Birthday to you …”

  “Helms at bat, he’s 0 for three tonight. Here’s the wind up…”

  “Happy Birthday, Dear Amanda …”

  “… the pitch … Helms swings …”

  “Happy Birthday to …”

  “Holy cow, talk about connection, that ball is …”

  Static.

  A rush of static and all of the television screens turned to snow. A wave of brief, very brief, disappointed moans swept through the room. Then there was nothing but the hissing of the televisions.

  “What the hell?” Bishop commented and then the eerie silence was broken by a loud sound.

  Thump!

  Thinking that something had fallen on the table, Bishop turned to look just as the sound came again.

  ‘Thump!

  A second later there was another, accompanied by the rattling of breaking glass. Before Bishop could comprehend what was happening, the few ‘thumps’ and rattles, had grown into multitudes, coming fast and furiously, one right after another.

  The beer bottle dropped from Bishop’s hand as he stared in horror at the scene transpiring around him.

  People were just dropping to the floor.

  Men. Women. Children.

  Those seated were falling forward, head first into their plates of food. “Oh my God!” Bishop shouted and ran toward the arcade. “Dirk!”

  The games still sang out their bleeps and buzzes—the only sounds of life in a dead room.

  “Dirk, Le …” Bishop shrieked. Dirk and Leo overlapped each other on the floor by the Alien game. A quick shift of his eyes and Bishop saw the ten-year-old boy slumped over the Green Berets game, his arm still holding on to the controls.

  Panicked, Bishop pivoted right and bolted. Only three steps into his run, he tripped over a body. He careened nose first toward the floor, falling face to face with a woman. Her eyes were wide, face white; a small dribble of blood came from her mouth. Bishop screamed again, a rush of horror motivating him to his feet.

  Was it a gas leak? A chemical weapon attack? Bishop thought, and then realized it didn’t really matter. All he knew was that he remained the only one standing. Mortified, he ran as fast as he could from Casey’s.

  Breathing heavily, he reached the silent outdoors. “Help!” he cried out. “Somebody, anybody!” “Help!”

  He didn’t take in anything around him, any sights or sounds; his vision was focused only on the grocery store located in the same shopping complex.

  In the quiet night, Bishop’s feet smacked, echoing against the pavement. Four stores down, that’s all it was. The automatic doors opened, and Bishop ran in.

  He knew the second he stepped inside that getting help was useless. Like Casey’s, everyone in that store, checkers and shoppers, they were all … dead.

  Mt. Lebanon, PA

  Roberta Pierce, or ‘Robi’ as everyone c
alled her, preferred the night shift. Being a trauma unit nurse at an inner city hospital kept her on her toes. Plus, working the nightshift afforded her the luxury of not having to deal with the bureaucrats.

  The car radio played as she drove down the four-lane road decorated with houses and businesses.

  “Believe it is some sort of satellite disruption,” the disc jockey said, “some interference, a glitch. That’s what they’re saying. So if you’re trying to reach overseas, it may take a while before everything is up. Communications cut ...”

  A hiss emerged from her radio.

  “Oh, ha. Really funny,” Robi shook her head at the radio. “I get it. No communications.” She switched to another station.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  Robi pressed button after button. “What the fuck?” she said as she glanced down to make sure her radio dial was lit. When she raised her eyes, she was nearly blinded as the bright, large, and very close head lights a truck careening toward her filled the rear view mirror.

  Quickly, she jerked the wheel to the right and hit the gas, aiming for a yard, but she wasn’t fast enough. The truck slammed into the rear of her car, sending her in a spin to her left.

  Gripping the wheel, Robi tried to stop the car. She managed to finally come to a stop on the other side of the road. Heart racing, she looked in the rearview mirror to see if anything else was coming and then looked back straight ahead and saw yet another car veer from the opposite side of the road. It sped in an angle toward her. Knowing she couldn’t go forward, she slammed the car in reverse, hit the gas and sped backward ramming into a large hedge. The car inched by her, plowing into the same property hedge a few feet away. It hung up there, the wheels spinning.

  Robi could barely breathe. She was fine although badly shaken. She could see the truck that had hit her; it had demolished the front of a house. Robi stepped from her car.

  No sirens. No other sounds. Only the spinning tires of the car stuck in the hedge.

  She began to trot to the hedge entangled car to see if the driver needed help. Even in the dark, she could see the driver had slumped over the wheel. Just as she neared the car, she heard it.

  Jet engines that was what it sounded like. Fast, whistling, close. Louder, louder …

  She raised her head to the sky. With a warm rush of blasting air, her hair blew back as the belly of a plane seemed close enough to touch as it sailed by at a tilt and disappeared from view.

  “Shit, it’s going down.” Robi turned and started to run the opposite way. She lost her balance and tumbled to the ground when an explosion rocked the earth. Covering her head, her body rolled a few feet before stopping. Robi looked up to see a huge fireball in the distance.

  Every ounce of air escaped her; she couldn’t move. “Oh, my God,” she whispered in shock, “what’s happening?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Buffalo, New York

  There was absolutely nothing on the radio. Bishop checked. No movement on the street.

  Nothing.

  He found his car in the parking lot and fled for home to search out his parents. Fleming Drive, the main road that ran in front of the shopping complex was congested with cars smashed into one another. Flames burned out of control between a few of them, and, as if it were a video game, Bishop weaved with precision in and out.

  After the automobile junkyard that had formed on Fleming, Bishop picked up speed and took the back roads home. Not that he expected traffic. In fact, Bishop had it in his mindset that he wouldn’t see another car. He drove carelessly and fast, cruising through traffic lights, and blowing off stop signs. If by chance a cop did pull him over, at least he would find out what had happened.

  Six blocks from his parents’ home, Bishop made a wide right turn, missing yet another stop sign. No sooner did he turn than his car jolted with a crash and careened violently to the right. Out of control, his car bumped over the curb, and headed straight across a well maintained yard. Bishop slammed both feet to the brakes and came to a stop before hitting the porch of a house.

  Still holding on to the steering wheel for dear life, Bishop’s chest heaved as he panted, struggling for breath.

  He shrieked when his car door opened.

  “You all right?” a man asked shining a flashlight into the car. “Son?”

  Bishop blinked. He shielded his eyes and nodded.

  “Let’s get you out of there.” The man reached in and took hold of Bishop’s arm.

  Bishop followed the lead, shaken.

  “Son?” the man shook him gently.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Bishop stuttered. “Did I hit you or did you hit me?”

  “Does it matter?” the man asked. He was older, maybe sixty. He looked at Bishop’s car. “You can probably still drive this.”

  “I … I watched about two hundred people drop dead,” Bishop blurted out. “Tell me it was a dream.”

  The man shook his head. “I wish I could tell you that. I was at the Walmart and everyone just …”

  “Dropped?”

  The man nodded. “I was hurrying home to check on my wife. I didn’t see any cars on the way here. Of course, I took the back roads after I saw all the cars crashed on the main road.”

  “Me too,” Bishop said. “Cars everywhere. I’m going to my parents.”

  “Well, maybe we should part ways. I really want to check on my wife.”

  “I understand.”

  “You’re fine,” the man asked as he backed up. “Right? You’re not hurt.”

  Bishop shook his head. “No, go on. I’m fine.”

  “Good luck finding your family.”

  Before Bishop could say anything else, the man was gone. Alone, grabbing his bearings, Bishop prepared to go to his parents’ home a bit more carefully.

  In his determination to find his family, confusion over the accident and excitement of all that occurred, Bishop never thought twice about the man he just met. It didn’t dawn on him to join forces, to make plans to meet up. That would be making Bishop think too far ahead, and for Bishop, the furthest he wanted to think was getting to his parents.

  Mt. Lebanon, PA

  Halfway between her home and the hospital everything went awry for Robi. The medical professional in her contemplated continuing to the hospital.

  Two planes and a helicopter.

  Within five minutes, Robi witnessed two planes and a helicopter go down. Common sense steered her into realizing medically, it was probably too big for her to handle, and then the mother in her guided her home.

  Aware, alert and on the defensive, Robi hightailed it to her home not two miles from where she wrecked in that hedge.

  She saw not a single soul or car. Her hand constantly pressed the tuner on the radio, but received no signal.

  It was just a little after ten PM; she hadn’t been gone from home more than forty-five minutes.

  It couldn’t be everywhere, she thought. It had to be just that area. Maybe she had survived a terrorist attack. All she wanted was to rush home to tell her husband and children she was fine. They were probably worried, watching the news, trying her cell phone, which she’d lost in the crash, and wondering if Mommy was OK.

  No sooner did Robi pull into her little neighborhood, than she knew it spread further out. On Main Street, cars lay strewn in the street, crashed and burning. A telephone pole blocked the road with dancing electrical wires.

  She had to back up and go down a one-way street to get to her home. A sense of ‘eerie’ hit her as she pulled into her parking spot. Not that anything looked that different on her quiet street, it was more an internal sense that something was wrong.

  Car door left open, Robi raced to the front steps of her home. The sound of a smoke alarm flowed from her house and this fueled her to move even faster.

  The second she opened the door, smoke billowed out. The annoying alarm squealed loudly. The smoke was thick, making it nearly impossible for her to see. It carried a smell of food, and that told Ro
bi where to find its source.

  She remembered her husband James was getting ready to fry burgers when she left. The lights of the house illuminated the smoke, but Robi had to rely on knowledge of the floor plan and extended hands to make her way to the kitchen.

  The stove was immediately to her right as she entered her kitchen, and she saw the amber glow of the flaming pan. Grabbing a towel that hung from the oven door, she turned off the burner, removed the pan, and smothered the flames with the towel.

  The smoke alarm still rang out.

  “James!” Robi called. “James! Maggie! Linda! Nick!”

  Had they left in a hurry?

  Robi grabbed a broom and without caring if she destroyed the alarm, hit it.

  One silenced.

  She moved to the living room and to the alarm located in the stairwell.

  After silencing that one as well, the volume level in the house decreased. The alarm from the second floor still rang and the television was on. Part of her heard the broken voices mixed with static, but Robi didn’t pay any attention. She called out again for her family.

  “James! Girls!”

  They had to have heard her by now. Thinking, maybe they had warning and went to the basement, Robi headed back to the kitchen.

  Even though the smoke had started to clear a little, it was still thick enough to hinder her vision. Focused on the finding the door, Robi edged past the stove.

  ‘Thud’

  Her foot hit something.

  She closed her eyes and her heart sunk. She was afraid to look. Slowly she lowered herself to the floor somehow knowing what she would find there.

  James.

  Extending her hand, she felt for a pulse. The moment she felt nothing, her head cocked and she sprang to her feet.

  “Oh, my God, my kids.”

  When Robi had left, the girls were in bed, and her seventeen-year-old son Nick was still not home. She raced from the kitchen, across the living room and up to the second floor as fast as she could go.