The Alt Apocalypse {Book 3): Torrent by Abrahams Tom

Author:Abrahams, Tom [Abrahams, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Dystopian
Publisher: Piton Press LLC
Published: 2018-09-05T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

April 5, 2026

New Orleans, Louisiana

The phone rang in Doc Konkoly’s room, its red message light flickering in the relative darkness. It startled Konkoly awake and, for several seconds, he lay there staring at the popcorn ceiling trying to remember where he was.

The stiff aroma of commercial detergent on the sheet pulled up to his neck reminded him he was in a hotel room in New Orleans. He had no concept of time, other than that the large rain-speckled window revealed it was still dark outside.

The phone stopped ringing before he rolled onto his side to grab the receiver, and Doc lay there on his back thinking about his night. He remembered drinking at the bar, remembered the loquacious, tip-seeking bartender. And he remembered the news anchor from home.

Then the phone rang again and he remembered the storm. He rolled onto his side, reached across his body, heavy with sleep, and drew the receiver to his ear.

“Hello?” he answered with a groggy voice that he didn’t recognize as his own.

“Dr. Konkoly,” replied the woman’s voice on the other end. She was pleasant sounding despite the urgency with which she said his name. “This is Shonda at the front desk. I apologize for calling your room at such an inconvenient hour.”

He cleared his throat. “That’s fine.”

“We have a somewhat urgent situation developing here on the property,” said Shonda. “Floodwater is threatening our lower levels. I know you are on a higher floor. You aren’t in any immediate danger, but—”

He leaned up on an elbow. “Immediate…danger?”

“You’re not in any danger right now, Dr. Konkoly,” she said. “You may notice, however, a loss of power, low water pressure in the bathroom, and—”

Shonda stopped talking.

“And what?” asked Doc. He was now sitting up in bed, his back resting on the wall-mounted faux-leather headboard.

Shonda didn’t respond.

“Hello?” He pulled the phone from his ear and looked at it briefly before holding it again in the crook of his neck. “Hello?”

The line was dead. He reached over to flip on the bedside table lamp, testing it as much as seeking light. It turned on, casting a dim yellow glow in the room. He found his eyeglasses and focused them on the remote, which was beside the phone. He punched the large power button at the top of it and moved his glasses up on his nose.

The flat-panel television opposite the foot of his king-sized bed chimed and powered up. The screen illuminated the hotel’s default channel, offering world-class spa treatments and the best jambalaya in the French Quarter. He doubted either claim was true and surfed the channels until he found the same weather report he’d been watching in the bar earlier in the evening.

The screen was split. Half of it displayed the rainbow-infused map of the central Gulf Coast and the relentless bands of severe storms that marched onward; the other half showed live video of flooding streets, of desperate people wading through the water with their children on their shoulders or in their arms, of emergency responders plowing through high water in trucks and boats.

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