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  AMSTERDAM APOCALYPSE

  Text Copyright © 2018 by Matt Grimm and Kirkgrim Books.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted without the prior permission of the author.

  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 actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America By:

  Kirkgrim Books

  PO Box 511

  Cloverdale, Va 24077

  Chapter One

  Amsterdam, Virginia

  12:16 a.m. – Mid August

  Event -04:44 Hours

  Reverend Jacob Craft carried the last of the choir chairs from the stage and placed it in a stack near the back of the sanctuary. Turning around and resting against the chairs, he watched a bluish streak cross the nighttime sky through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the stage. Two smaller streaks followed in quick succession and Jacob marveled as he made his way to the base of the windows and stood beneath the wooden cross that hung suspended from the ceiling behind his pulpit.

  Saint Nicolas United Methodist Church had been uniquely positioned by a former congregation decades earlier to overlook the vast ranges of the Blue Ridge Mountains that surrounded the valley in which its congregation lived. Tonight, during the tail end of the Perseid Meteor Shower caused by the passing of the Swift-Tuttle Comet, that position was akin to ringside seating at a sporting event years in the making.

  Jacob watched a moment longer, transfixed by the millions of stars in the inky sky. He took a deep breath and lowered his eyes, the array of foldout camping chairs amassed on the front lawn of the church catching his eye. In them darkened shapes sizes large and small moved about, their necks craned upward in hopes of catching another striking Perseid.

  Jacob turned away, willfully ignoring the pointing fingers of fathers and mothers as they attempted to direct the swiftly fleeting eyes of their children to the wonders of the sky. Tonight, the church was hosting the last of its summertime lock-ins for the youth and the Perseids had drawn a larger crowd of chaperones than usual. And like every family-oriented event the church had hosted over the last few years, it served as a reminder to Jacob of the family he’d lost six years earlier when the population of the area had been decimated by the rapid spread of the H16N1 influenza strain and the accompanying fear and desperation that came with it.

  He walked to the pulpit and stood looking out over the red carpeted sanctuary and its wooden pews, envisioning the dearly departed who’d once sat and listened on Sunday mornings. One by one, their images faded and were replaced by rolled sleeping bags and backpacks stuffed with overnight preparations. He dismissed the vision before his eyes arrived at the front pew where his wife and son had once sat. Theirs was an image that would never fade.

  A loud thunk and creaking hinges signaled the opening of the sanctuary’s mahogany doors and the end of his solitude. He looked up as a slender silhouette appeared in the doorway against the well-lit narthex area beyond.

  “There you are,” a female voice said. “We’ve been looking for you.”

  Jacob knew the voice well. In the years since the pandemic and the end of her marriage, Leah Huff had become almost as much of a staple on the church property as he was. If the doors were open, and they pretty much always were for one reason or another, she and her teenaged sons, Sean and Aidan, were there.

  “Just making a few last-minute changes,” he said, stepping out from behind the pulpit and descending the few steps that ran across the front of the stage.

  “They’re going to love it.” Leah stepped into the sanctuary and allowed the door to close behind her. “I love it.”

  Even in the darkened room he could see her delicate features, blonde hair, and the white of her teeth as she smiled broadly. She walked down the center aisle and stood awkwardly in front of him, her slender torso hidden in the folds of a maroon Virginia Tech sweatshirt. Jacob resisted the urge to let his eyes wander further.

  “I have no idea whose is whose,” he said with a nervous laugh, looking at the sleeping bags. “I guess they’ll have to fight it out over who sleeps on the stage and who gets the aisles.”

  Leah laughed.

  Lock-ins were normally held in the older areas of the church where the youth ministries were centered, but tonight, with the presence of the meteor shower, the floor-to-ceiling windows of the sanctuary would provide a miraculous backdrop. And if he was being entirely honest with himself, the work done to prepare the area was as much for him as for his guests—a stubborn attempt to avoid the disturbing memories of the family who could no longer join him for such events.

  “I’ll stake my claim not too far from yours in case one of those things decides to get a closer look at earth,” Leah said.

  Jacob smiled. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. It happens all the time without any major consequences. And I’m a creature of habit.”

  “You’re sleeping in the parsonage,” she said with a frown.

  He confirmed her statement with a small nod. “I’ll be here to unlock the doors bright and early—if the church is still standing.”

  “Stop it!” She hit him playfully on the shoulder and he feigned injury as they walked down the aisle and into the narthex.

  Like a mortician, humor had become his way of publicly dealing with both his own inner turmoil and the deluge of personal pain that was brought to him on a weekly and sometimes daily basis. The deaths of twenty-eight million Americans was a hard thing to get past. Nearly every household had been touched by loss of some kind and as the leader of a facility that had become a central part of life in the area, he was expected to care for them all with words of comfort and encouragement. It was a duty he did without complaint to anyone but a God whose existence he’d questioned on more than one occasion since residents of several east Asian countries had fled their homes and brought with them a plague.

  “Hi. Good evening,” he said a few minutes later with a smile and a nod as two parishioners passed him at the front door, their male child walking between them toward the sanctuary. He repeated the process again and again as the people from outside stowed their camping chairs next to the door and entered for the night, smiling and laughing with one another as they prepared for what would likely be a mostly sleepless night filled with pizza, popcorn, and oohs and ahhs.

  On the opposite side of the entrance and likely aware of the subliminal signals she was sending, Leah greeted people as well, just as Jacob’s wife had once done. Jacob smiled. What else could he do? She didn’t mean any harm. Her attraction to him was well known, and on more than one occasion by more than one well-meaning parishioner he’d been encouraged to make good on it. But he wasn’t ready yet. And he didn’t know if he ever would be.

  The pandemic and its aftermath had changed much of American society and Jacob’s role had become far more than he’d ever imagined. Not only was he responsible for the normal duties of a pastor to his congregation, he was responsible for the very form of government that now held the entire area in a fragile but realized state of peace.

  When the pandemic had finally subsided in the winter months of 2014, many people had tried to simply move on, but life was far from the normal they sought. Local leaders had long since perished after barricading themselves into their well-stocked, palatial homes in an effort to avoid contracting the illness, once friendly neighbors looked on each other with suspicion and distrust, and all forms of government—local, state, and federal—had become eerily silent.

  With resources scarce and law enforcement nonexistent, the normally decent citizens of the well-to-do suburban county once known as Botetourt turned on each other, becoming roving scavengers who would fight for the simplest of creature comforts and hoard life-saving items while others died of need in the streets.

  Then the militias arrived—men who had once been looked on as “kooks” and outsiders, but who now had the military resources to dominate large swaths of the area farming infrastructure and claim it as their own. And with their ranks swollen by the desperate, they didn’t stop there. Sitting high on a knoll at the southernmost tip of Botetourt County, Saint Nicolas United Methodist Church was chosen as an important and easily defensible position in the militias’ plan to control the area. But with everything he’d come to love about life dying around him, Jacob had refused to surrender the property—God’s property.

  In response, the militias attacked, burning homes and killing people, but Jacob stood fast using the skills he’d learned fighting a similar force in the United States’ war on terrorism in Afghanistan. And slowly, what remained of the citizenry joined him—a man they once knew as a high school football hero and had come to re-know as a trusted friend and spiritual adviser. Together, they drove back the invaders, formed a new system of local government under the leadership of five elected directors, and gave birth to The Amsterdam Directorate—a forty-seven square mile self-sustaining suburbia complete with its own food producing farms and small but effective security force.

  But like any experiment there were still rough spots to iron out. Many of the militiamen had only accepted their terms begrudgingly after losing an intense battle and Jacob feared what would happen if and when another emergency came to pass and the fragile peace was tested. Would the militias break the agreement and attempt to take control of the are
a again?

  He jarred his mind back to the present and reached for the handle on one of the double doors leading out of the church as the last of the lock-in guests passed through. For a moment his hand touched Leah’s as she did the same. He drew back as though the metal handle had been hot to the touch. “Sorry.”

  She smiled. “Why?”

  “I—uhh—well—I don’t know.”

  She laughed quietly as he pulled a set of keys from his pocket and prepared to lock the doors. In total, twenty-six teenagers and children accompanied by fourteen adults had entered.

  “Wait,” Leah said, stopping him. “Did you see Sean or Aidan?”

  Jacob thought back over those who had entered. “No.”

  “I left them with the Mundy boys. They were playing by the sign.”

  Her smile faded in an instant and Jacob knew she was thinking about the steep slope and the four-lane highway at its bottom not far from the illuminated sign identifying the property and its purpose. Though her sons were nearly teenagers, the oldest, Aidan, had a moderate case of autism that meant his mind functioned on the level of someone half his age.

  “I’m sure he’s fine. The Mundy’s didn’t come through either. Sean’s with him and Del and Zac are good boys. They wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

  He could tell by her facial expression that his words were of little comfort to the worried mind of a mother. And if he was being honest, Sean’s reputation for getting his older brother into trouble was indeed a reason for concern. He pulled open the door he’d just closed and gave her a reassuring smile before stepping out, intent on heading for the front yard.

  “Hey now!” someone said as Jacob turned, his face meeting a pair of camouflage overalls and the broad chest wearing them.

  “You weren’t about to close up shop without us, were you?” a deep, country voice said.

  Jacob looked up, stunned.

  Mace Mundy, a seemingly gentle giant of a farmer, grinned down at him.

  Jacob frowned. “I thought we’d avoided the antics of the three stooges tonight.”

  “Takes one to know one,” Mundy said dryly, moving past him and into the church. Behind him, four boys made their way causally into the church, the last one, Leah’s oldest son, Aidan, smiled broadly as he sailed a toy plane through the air.

  Jacob chuckled. Mace Mundy was like a brother in many ways. They couldn’t be more different in terms of looks and interests, but they bantered back and forth like they’d grown up on the farm together. And in some ways they had. Mundy was his chief deputy in the Directorate and though they rarely spoke of it, they’d both survived the H16N1 outbreak and the ensuing militia wars in no small part because of each other. But many of their friends and family members hadn’t been so fortunate.

  “Hey, Captain,” Jacob said, clapping Aidan on the back as he entered. “What’s that one?”

  Aidan beamed, his eyes moving between Jacob and the model plane. “Cessna Citation 560XL!”

  “Awesome.”

  “Are you sure you won’t spend the night in here with the rest of us?” Leah said, placing an arm around Aidan and guiding the boy away.

  Mace Mundy chuckled and raised an eyebrow, giving Jacob a sideways glance.

  Jacob shrugged and cocked his head a bit.

  “I know,” Leah said. “You’re a creature of habit.”

  Jacob smiled and watched as they made their way into the sanctuary before he pushed the doors closed. Turning toward the path to the two-bedroom brick ranch the church provided for him, he passed an eye over the church’s quiet backyard and parking lot. Tall pines formed a natural boundary around the dozen or so vehicles parked there and the nearly full moon created a ghostly bluish glow.

  He placed his hands in his pockets and looked into the sky as he walked the well-worn fifty-yard path. A faint red light from a high-altitude aircraft caught his eye among the myriad of stars, but was quickly eclipsed as three Perseids shot across the sky like tracer rounds. The world was in for a show tonight.

  Chapter Two

  4:59 a.m.

  Event -00:01 Hours

  Jacob caressed his wife’s cheek. It felt good to see her, even if it was only for a few minutes. Somehow, he knew he was asleep and that this was a dream, but it didn’t matter. He watched his son, Samuel, bounce playfully through the wheat field sweeping the tops of the stalks with his outstretched hands. Sarah smiled, but said nothing. She never did. Neither of them did when he saw them like this. But they didn’t have to.

  Sarah stood from the spot they’d chosen on the hill overlooking the field.

  “Wait,” he said, grabbing for her hand, but missing it. “Don’t go.”

  But she was gone. Standing next to Samuel a hundred yards away in an instant and holding her hand out for the boy to follow her down the gravel road that ran between the fields.

  Jacob sat up, pining for more. Just a minute longer. A few seconds to say goodbye. But it wasn’t to be. The two walked toward the rising sun, their shapes becoming hazy in the bright light.

  His eyes flew open, expecting a darkened bedroom, but the light lingered. He closed them and rubbed his face, trying to clear his head. Opening his eyes again and sitting up in the bed, he could still see the light though it was fading rapidly. A moment later it was gone. He ran a hand through his hair and swung his legs off the bed, reaching for the cell phone on his bedside table to check the time. He pressed a button to light the LED, but nothing happened. That was odd. He felt sure he’d charged it, but maybe he’d forgotten. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  He cleared his throat and stood, yawning. How long had he slept? This night hadn’t been any different than the many others of recent years. He’d struggled to fall asleep, his body desperate for rest, but his mind refusing. The last time he remembered looking the clock on the phone had read 2:07 a.m. Had he fallen asleep right after that or had it been sometime later? It didn’t matter. He knew he’d slept because he remembered dreaming. How long was irrelevant.

  He walked across the aged shag carpeting and left the bedroom, his feet feeling the cold linoleum of the kitchen. He plucked a cup from the drying tray in the sink and pushed the faucet lever up. A steady stream of clear water fell into the cup. At the halfway mark, the flow slowed to a trickle and then stopped completely. Jacob pushed the faucet lever up and down trying to restart the flow, getting only a few drops and a loud burst of air.

  What was going on? Was the power out? Obviously it was because the well pump had stopped. He left the faucet in the on position so he’d know when it came back on. Tilting his head back as he drank from the cup, he noticed a reddish glow from behind the curtains. Was the sun rising? He looked at the battery-operated clock on the wall above his kitchen table. It was only a minute or two after five. The rising sun shouldn’t be visible for another hour at least.

  Realizing the ground beneath his feet was actually shaking, Jacob dove to the floor and crawled under the kitchen table as dishes fell from the hutch shelves, pots and pans hanging above the stove vibrated loose and clanged across the floor, pictures slid from the walls, and the chandelier came crashing onto the table, sending fragments of crystal colored glass in all directions. From outside he could hear a car horn beeping as he held tight to the table to keep it from vibrating away from him.

  Then it was over. As suddenly as it had begun shaking, the earth stilled and became quiet. Jacob sat under the table looking around the few parts of his house that were visible in the dark. An earthquake in southwest Virginia? While it wasn’t entirely unheard of, it was rare to say the least. He looked at the eerie red glow through the kitchen window again. What was it? Were the two events connected?

  Doing his best to calm himself, he reached out from under the table and took his tennis shoes from beside the back door. Making sure there was no glass in them, he slid them on and left his cover. He opened the back door and looked out into the side yard of the church to see the swings on the children’s play set moving back and forth as if they’d just been used. Everything else was still. The normal sounds of night had returned with the exception of the systematic beeping of a single car horn.