EMPulse Read online

  EMPulse

  By Deborah D. Moore

  A PERMUTED PRESS BOOK

  ISBN: 978-1-68261-200-2

  ISBN (eBook): 978-1-68261-201-9

  EMPulse

  © 2016 by Deborah D. Moore

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover art by Christian Bentulan

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  Permuted Press, LLC

  permutedpress.com

  Published in the United States of America

  DEDICATION

  To Preppers everywhere

  Is it that you think of me so little,

  Or that you think so little of me?

  D.D. Moore

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  About The Author

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Sometimes it’s easy to say thank you and sometimes not. I wrote this book with very few knowing what I was doing and how it was progressing until I was done. My two beta readers, Sherry F. and Tom M. were stunned that I was done so quickly, and that they had so little to suggest, but what they did helped a great deal. They were both delighted I tried something new.

  I could never have gotten this far without the encouragement of my family: my sons Eric and Jason, my siblings Tom, Pam, and Jan, and my friends who listened to me babble on and on about plot lines. So thank you. Also to my internet friends who unknowingly added fodder to the story when I asked innocent questions about EMPs.

  The final, warmest thank you goes to my editor Felicia A. Sullivan for tweaking the manuscript, and to Michael Wilson at Permuted Press for his faith in me, and to the awesome staff at Permuted Press for all their hard work and diligence to make my books the best they can be. In a world where visual effects are what captures the attention, the Permuted Press art department that develops the covers – totally rock!

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Kyle, listen to me,” Adele Michaels said to her ex-husband through the plate glass window. “I’m not going to put up bail for you again. Last time was the last time, I told you that! Plus, this is not a place you can get bailed out of anyway.”

  If it were, his corporate lawyers would have him out already. What he really needed her to do was drop the charges. Her acute peripheral vision took in the institutional pale green walls and bolted-down furniture. Those vivid blue eyes didn’t miss anything.

  “But, babe, you can’t leave me in here,” Kyle Polez pleaded.

  “Yes I can, Kyle,” she said calmly. “Besides, you need the full course of the anger management program that’s available here.”

  That program involved drugs, and for all his faults Kyle was very anti-drug use of any nature, even helpful ones. He did not believe he was bi-polar, or psychotic or violent, he only ‘got a little upset occasionally.’ Therefore, he didn’t need any personality changing drugs.

  Yeah, right.

  His nostrils flared, and the anger flashed through his pale blue eyes and was gone just as quickly. He ran his fingers through the buzz-cut hairstyle forced on him. “If I finish that program, will you take me back?” he asked hopefully, knowing what her answer was already.

  “No, Kyle, I will not. We’ve been divorced for six months and I will not go through that again,” Adele stated emphatically.

  “I don’t recognize that divorce. You are still my wife!” he screamed at her, pounding his fist on the chipped and scarred Formica table. The guard at the door took a step forward.

  “I’m leaving now, and I’m not coming back. Is there anything you need that they will let you have?”

  He gave her a forced sweet smile. “Gum.” She reached into her shoulder bag that she was also using as a sling, brought out a large pack of Juicy Fruit, Kyle’s favorite, and handed it to the guard.

  ***

  Adele held her head high as she walked from the mental hospital to her car through the oppressive October heat of West Texas, her high heels clicking on the pavement. Once inside the tinted windows of her powder blue Lexus, she slouched and rested her damp forehead against the leather steering wheel while the air conditioning pumped the cool air into her face.

  Her fractured arm ached from the makeshift sling and she rested it on her lap. There was no way she was going to let that violent and vile man see her in the pain he’d caused.

  ***

  They’d had a fairytale wedding. Kyle Polez, millionaire many times over, had rented an entire castle in Switzerland. The guests were treated to every extravagance possible for an entire week, and Kyle showered Adele with unforgettable and expensive gifts. It was a magical time.

  It hadn’t even been a month after their wedding, and he was smacking her around. Then it was his fists. The last time he pushed her down the stairs. That was when she filed for an annulment. Kyle fought that, and she filed for a divorce. He fought that too, only she won because she didn’t want anything from him, not a dime. Anthony Evers, Adele’s high-priced lawyer, pushed her to take the million dollars Kyle offered. She did, under duress, and it still sat in the bank, untouched. She didn’t want it and didn’t need it. The name Adele Michaels was well known and her art kept her very comfortable. No, she didn’t want his money, and she certainly didn’t want him.

  After reviewing her doctor’s records, her lawyer also advised Adele to get a restraining order on Kyle, which she did. It enraged him even more. He stalked her to the point she was afraid to leave her penthouse apartment. When he caught her waiting at the curb for a taxi, he tried pulling her into his car, twisting her arm to the point of breaking it. The intervention of the hotel security saved her, and put Kyle in jail. He was soon transferred to the posh mental hospital.

  ***

  Adele put the sleek car in gear. It was one of those expensive gifts Kyle had given her the week of their wedding. She was going to miss the smooth, quiet ride. She also knew Kyle had a tracking device installed in it, someplace her mechanic couldn’t find.

  With the title in hand, she left the car at t
he Lexus dealer on consignment and took a taxi to the Chevy dealer to pick up her new Tahoe.

  ***

  “This is a real beauty, Miss Michaels,” the salesman said, handing her the keys, delighted that she was writing a check, no financing, no hassles, no questions.

  Adele walked around the deep maroon vehicle, studying the lines. “I’m assuming for the price it has all the bells and whistles?”

  “Yes, ma’am! Built in Wi-Fi; touch start, programmed to your fingerprint; computer screens on the backs of the front seats; back-up camera; automatic fold-down rear seats for extra storage space; foot activated rear hatch. It also has the larger engine you requested and the extra gas tank,” he assured her.

  “Four wheel drive, right?”

  “All wheel on demand, yes.”

  “Great.” Adele handed him the cashier’s check. “I do appreciate how quickly my requests were dealt with, Mr. Jones.” She handed him several folded bills, five one-hundred dollar bills to be exact. “I was never here.” He smiled and nodded, putting the bills in his pocket without looking.

  Adele drove out of the parking lot and headed toward the storage locker she had rented where most of her things were. All she was interested in were her painting supplies and some of her clothes. All of her beautiful gowns and expensive shoes she left behind. She wouldn’t need them where she was going. Her fine jewelry was locked away in a safe in her attorney’s office, with the exception of a few pieces she’d bought herself. The ring Kyle had given her, twenty-one perfect marquis-cut diamonds set in platinum, had been returned to him through their lawyers. She hated the gaudy ring and would have preferred a simple gold band. Her fingers were now bare.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Adele drove for hours, stopping only to gas up and to use a restroom. She wanted to put as much distance between her and Kyle as possible. Kyle was not only insanely jealous, but insane, and he scared the hell out of her. She was hoping that the months he would spend in that institution, with its keyless locks and fenced in manicured grounds, would dim his obsession of her and she would be free of him.

  Until that happened, Adele was going into hiding. No one, not even her own mother knew where she would be.

  Nestled in the Rocky Mountains, the Geo Dome Resort was a series of monolithic domes partially buried in the rocky soil, and claimed to have lots of privacy with limited amenities. There was the usual skiing and snowshoeing in the winter, and hiking, mountain biking, fishing, and horseback riding in the warmer months, plus a restaurant and lounge was available, mostly for the weekend guests. Adele wasn’t a weekend guest; she had leased one of the more secluded domes for a year: A year to heal her broken arm and her broken spirit. The arm was nearly there; her spirit would take longer.

  ***

  Adele pulled into the parking lot of a bulk food store in Butte, Montana. There were no quick-marts where she was going. In fact, there were barely any roads. She needed food and supplies for at least six months of seclusion. In the spring, she could come back and restock.

  She filled the back of the Tahoe with boxes stacked to the ceiling: Boxes filled with pasta and rice; dried herbs and spices; canned fish and meat; juice and sauces and soups; cases of wine and good liquor. Adele filled coolers with fine cheeses, fresh meat, and poultry. Another box of condiments, olives for her martinis and pickled asparagus for the occasional bloody Mary. There was no reason to not indulge her expensive tastes. The boxes nearly obscured her rear view and she was thankful for that backing-up camera.

  Before leaving Texas, Adele had made lists and more lists of things she would need. Things she remembered her mother always having on hand. Her mother was a prepper, and was often scorned for her way of life, but Adele fondly remembered that they never ran out of anything during those long, snowy months in northern Michigan.

  ***

  “Can you tell me how to get to Johnson Lane?” Adele asked the clerk at the Taylor Mayde gas station, paying cash for her fill up. “For some reason my GPS can’t find it.”

  “Oh, that’s because it was renamed a few months back. It used to be Hog Back Road,” the young girl answered. “Not much up that way. Where ya going?”

  “I’ll try that, thanks,” Adele replied, avoiding the girl’s question. As far as she was concerned, it was nobody’s business where she was headed.

  She entered the old name and the GPS immediately found the route. Breathing a sigh of relief, she put the car in gear and left.

  ***

  The Geo Dome Resort was even more impressive than the website pictures. Built into the side of a mountain, there were at least a dozen domes of varying sizes, some clustered and some separate. Adele pulled into the parking area of a small dome that was placed at the front, presumably the office. Behind it was another larger dome that appeared to be attached to the office. Adele found the concept intriguing.

  “Welcome, Miss Michaels,” the young man behind the counter greeted her. “Your dome is on the outer perimeter, as you requested. It has a private parking area as well. The boxes you shipped are already inside,” he said, handing her a set of keys and a large packet of information.

  She silently studied him: close to her age of thirty-eight, maybe a little younger; perhaps six foot tall; muscular like he worked out regularly; hazel eyes; and collar length sandy brown hair. Nice looking, too. Her artist’s eye took in the details quickly. She glanced at his name tag, which read: Jeffery Atkins, General Manager.

  “Keys?” she asked, amused.

  “Yes. Here we make our own power, which is a lot more reliable than the grid. That being said, we still can go down on occasion. Keys assure you can always get in your unit. Keycards could get tricky.” He smiled warmly at her. “Do you need any assistance with your luggage?” His eyes wanted to roam her lithe body. He willed them to stay fixed on her face, which wasn’t that hard; it was a beautiful face: deep blue eyes, short blonde hair, high cheekbones.

  “As a matter of fact—” She was interrupted when a young teen ran up to the counter.

  “Hey, Jeff, you got anything I can do for a few bucks? Mom won’t give me any more money for the game room. I know we’re leaving tomorrow, but I’m bored out of my skull.” The boy leaned on the desk, oblivious to Adele.

  Adele immediately took advantage of the intrusion, and the fact that the boy was leaving soon made it perfect. “Say, how would you like twenty dollars for helping me unload my car?”

  “Awesome, lady, thanks!”

  Adele glanced at the general manager, who gave a slight nod, letting her know the kid was okay.

  ***

  “That’s a lot of boxes,” Tony said, staring in the back of the Tahoe.

  “That’s why I need help,” she said pleasantly. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your time. All you need to do is get them in kitchen; I’ll do the rest.”

  Adele carried her suitcase in and set it in the private bedroom, admiring the simple lines and the soft colors of the condo unit. Tony set two boxes in the kitchen and went back for more. It took her three trips to bring in her art supplies and the rest of her personal items.

  Seeing the boy struggle with one of the coolers, she grabbed one of the handles and helped him. Together they unloaded the SUV of everything.

  “Is there something wrong with your arm, ma’am?” Tony asked tentatively.

  “Yes, Tony, it was broken a few months ago and is still kind of sore, which is the reason I needed help,” Adele told the boy.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with?” Tony asked sheepishly.

  “I think I can handle things from here on, but thank you for asking.” She got her wallet and took out two twenties. “I really appreciate the help. Go have some fun.” His eyes glowed at the extra twenty and he ran out.

  With the boy gone, Adele looked at the stacks and stacks of boxes, thankful no one else would know how much she ha
d unloaded. Not that it mattered; it was that she was a private person and didn’t like answering questions. Questions led to more questions, like why she didn’t want to go out to eat, why was she hiding, and who was she hiding from? No, questions were not good because the answers led back to Kyle, and the name “Kyle Polez” was extremely well known in the computer world.

  She dragged the two heavy coolers over to the side-by-side refrigerator. The meat and chicken had already been packaged for the freezer so it was quick to fill that side, leaving out one steak for her dinner later. Her cheeses took an entire shelf in the refrigerator and she found spaces for her fruit, eggs, fresh vegetables, and lettuces.

  Her arm began to ache from the activity, which told her it was time to take a break. She put her laptop on the desk next to the front door and plugged everything in. While the computer booted up and charged, Adele wandered around the dome. It was roomy, though not huge. At least it was furnished. A large flat-screen TV, sectional couch, reading lamp, coffee table arranged to effectively divide the room in half, and a small dining table off to the side. It was sparse but comfortable and spoke of efficiency. The woodstove in the corner was a model with glass doors to view the fire; much more practical than a fireplace, she thought. There wasn’t any furniture blocking the large picture window, which was good, since that’s where her art table needed to go.

  The bedroom was a separate, smaller dome, attached like the check-in office to whatever was behind it. It was adequate, with a queen sized bed, a dresser done in polished oak and walnut, a walk-in closet with sliding mirrored doors and an attached bath with a garden spa tub, and laundry. She hung a few things in the closet and the rest went into the dresser. She also carefully put her 9mm handgun in the nightstand, close to the bed. Her toiletries she set on the marble sink in the bathroom. She smiled with approval at the garden tub and separate shower stall. Towels and linens were also furnished; not what she was accustomed to but they would do until she could replace them. She fully intended to replace them if she was going to stay as long as she planned. For the last several years, Adele had lived a life of luxury, one she had earned through hard work, and it had been easy to get accustomed to it. She saw no reason not to indulge herself now that she could afford it.