Coldfall Read online

  COLDFALL

  DIRK PATTON

  Text Copyright © 2017 by Dirk Patton

  Copyright © 2017 by Dirk Patton

  All Rights Reserved

  This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright holder or publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a critical book review.

  Published by Voodoo Dog Publishing, LLC

  2824 N Power Road

  Suite #113-256

  Mesa, AZ 85215

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2017

  ISBN-13: 978-1977712899

  ISBN-10: 1977712894

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, brands, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Dirk Patton

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Epilogue

  Also by Dirk Patton

  The V Plague Series

  Unleashed: V Plague Book 1

  Crucifixion: V Plague Book 2

  Rolling Thunder: V Plague Book 3

  Red Hammer: V Plague Book 4

  Transmission: V Plague Book 5

  Rules Of Engagement: A John Chase Short Story

  Days Of Perdition: V Plague Book 6

  Indestructible: V Plague Book 7

  Recovery: V Plague Book 8

  Precipice: V Plague Book 9

  Anvil: V Plague Book 10

  Merciless: V Plague Book 11

  Fulcrum: V Plague Book 12

  Hunter’s Rain: A John Chase Novella

  Exodus: V Plague Book 13

  Scourge: V Plague Book 14

  Fractured: V Plague Book 15

  Brimstone: V Plague Book 16

  The 36 Series

  36: A Novel

  The Void: A 36 Novel

  Other Titles

  Coldfall

  Author’s Note

  On October 1, 2017, the worst mass shooting in US history occurred in Las Vegas. As of this writing, the information coming out from investigators is often incomplete and at times contradictory. As a result, conspiracy theories are popping up to fill the void even faster than lawyers began contacting the victims.

  We may never know the shooter’s motive. Without that knowledge, this may well become one of history’s horrific events that lives on in infamy, continually being re-imagined, not unlike the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Hopefully, that will not be the case and we can trust that our local, state and federal law enforcement agencies are well on the way to answering the questions the public are asking.

  I find it necessary to talk about this as Coldfall deals with a violent conspiracy at the very highest levels of American government and society. And I would also like to note that it was written long before a madman rented a hotel suite and proceeded to murder innocent people. That said, for readers who found themselves having a difficult time dealing with the tragic events in Nevada, you may want to set this novel aside for a time in the future.

  For those who turn the page, enjoy Coldfall.

  Dirk Patton

  October 2017

  Chapter 1

  There was nothing special about that day. It started out like any other. Mom waking me three times, telling me to get my butt up and ready for school. As usual, I ignored her, not wanting to haul myself out of bed and go take the history test I hadn’t studied for.

  After all, what the hell did I need a history class for? To learn about a bunch of dead guys that did things that didn’t matter anymore? What a waste of time! At least, so I thought.

  But things were different, then. Not good, at least according to Dad, but he was old and usually in a bad mood. Always saying the world had lost its mind. Mom wasn’t any better, but I suppose when you’ve spent your life on a ranch in the middle of Nowhere, down the road from Hickville, you’ve got a pretty sour outlook on life. At least, that’s how it seemed to me.

  Sure, Dad had seen some of the world when he was a Marine. He’d spent a few years in Iraq and Afghanistan, or the “goddamn sandbox” as he referred to it after his third beer. But as soon as he’d done his time, he’d come right back. Back to the house he’d grown up in and the land his grandfather had homesteaded, whatever the hell that means. Guess he just decided it was his.

  Poking my head from beneath the covers, I checked the clock. Three minutes since the last time Mom had busted in and yelled at me. I knew what was coming next. She’d send in the big gun. Dad. And God help me if my ass was still in bed when he walked in!

  Throwing the covers aside, I jumped up and immediately began making my bed. In my father’s house, the only sin greater than lying was an unmade bed. I’m sure there was a whole list of other things that could have gotten me in even more trouble, but I hadn’t discovered them. Yet.

  Right on schedule, I heard his heavy boots on the stairs and stepped up my efforts to get the bed in proper shape. When he burst through my bedroom door, without knocking I might add, I was applying the finishing touches by adjusting the crease in the blanket where it folded beneath my pillow.

  Dad stood in the doorway, eyes narrowed as he surveyed the results of my efforts from beneath the brim of a sweat- and work-stained straw Stetson. He was a big man, with a presence about him. Tall, broad through the chest and shoulders and narrow across the hips. I always thought he kind of looked like that old-time movie star, Clint Eastwood. I’d never told him, but I was glad I was growing up to look just like him.

  “ ‘Spose that’ll do,” he grumbled, turning his gaze onto me. “Ma’s got your breakfast on the table. Better git your ass downstairs ‘fore she starts yellin’ at me ag’in.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, waiting for him to leave so I could get dressed.

  Dad held my eyes with his for a long moment, then turned and left without another word. I watched the top of his hat disappear down the stairs then, with a sigh, slowly started pulling the day’s clothes out of my dresser.

  “Joseph Jeremiah, git your ass down here ‘fore you miss the bus!”

  Mom! And she had invoked my middle name! Time to move before I wound up on her bad side. Dad might be the big gun of the house, but Mom… well, she was little, especially compared to him. But she was a devil wrapped in a whirlwind wh
en she got mad.

  Afraid of nothing and no one, I’d seen her whittle Dad down to size a few times, not to mention the ranch hands who came and went with the seasons. She was a force of nature and I’d been on the receiving end of her fury a few times. That wasn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy.

  Dressing in record time, I dashed to the single bathroom we all shared, shoved Mary’s crap out of my way and brushed my teeth in ten seconds flat. Still running, I pounded down the stairs, three at a time, leaping the final four and coming to a stop in front of my mother.

  She stood glaring at me, hands on her hips with an expression that told me I was two seconds away from total disaster. Mary stood behind her, a smirk of anticipation on her face. She was rooting for Mom, just waiting to see me on the receiving end of the full fury of Elizabeth Tread.

  “You got no time to eat,” she said, surprising me when she didn’t launch into a recitation of my shortcomings. “Git movin’! You can just make it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, relieved to be getting out of the house with my ass intact.

  Leaning forward, I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek then blasted through the screen door. Mary followed, disappointed there hadn’t been a show to start her day. I ignored her, running to an ancient quad that was parked in the dirt at the end of the porch.

  Jumping on, I started the motor and looked around for Mary. She was walking slow, dragging her feet, seemingly absorbed by the tracks she was leaving. Nothing new. If we didn’t make it to the road in time to catch the bus and Mom had to make the forty-mile drive into town to drop us off, I’d be the one that would pay the price. Mary knew that and would delight in my punishment.

  “Hurry up!” I called to her.

  She ignored me and kept making long drag marks with her feet. I gritted my teeth in frustration, but there wasn’t a thing I could do. If I yelled for Mom’s help, she’d just point out that I was the reason we were running late. At that age, it had never occurred to me that she would have been right.

  I was about to get off and go grab my little sister by the arm to hurry her up when there was the squeak of the screen door. The instant it sounded, Mary broke into a sprint, raced up and jumped onto the seat behind me. As soon as I felt her small arms around my waist, I hit the throttle and raced across the yard, hardly slowing to make the turn onto the dirt road that led across our land to the closest pavement.

  The drive to the bus stop was long, taking nearly twenty minutes before I caught a glimpse of the gate in our fence. It was a heavy, iron thing with the family name artfully writ in scroll. On the distant horizon to my right, I could see the big yellow bus slowing. Twisting the throttle harder, I leaned over the quad’s handlebars, hoping for even another mile per hour out of the battered old machine.

  The bus driver was Mrs. Jenkins. She was old, cranky and impatient. If we weren’t standing outside the gate on the gravel shoulder when she arrived, she’d keep going. It didn’t matter if she could see us coming and God knows there was no way she could miss the trail of dust we were throwing into the air. Again, it would be my fault.

  “We’re gonna miss her!” Mary shouted in my ear.

  I ignored her and kept the speed on, hammering over the ruts left by the big trucks that came and went, taking our cattle to market. A couple of times, I nearly lost control and Mary squealed in fright, squeezing me tight enough to hurt. But I kept it together and slid to a stop in a big cloud of dust on the inside of the gate.

  Mary, hurrying now, jumped off and ran to unlatch the gate as I pocketed the Quad’s key and ran a chain through the two rear wheels. Sure, we were in the middle of nowhere, but ranch equipment has a way of disappearing if it isn’t locked up. Snapping a padlock in place, I ran to the gate Mary had released and pulled it open far enough for us to slip through. She dashed forward to the edge of the pavement as the bus squealed to a stop.

  Chapter 2

  Fourth period was history. Mrs. Wayne. It was probably the right subject for her as she looked like she’d lived through most of the events she delighted in talking about. And today was test day.

  Mrs. Wayne wasn’t cool like most of my other teachers. No multiple-choice tests with at least one possible answer that was so ridiculous even Mary could have spotted it. She liked written answers to her questions. Who, what, when, where and why was her mantra. If you didn’t include each of those factors in your answer, it was wrong.

  We’d been studying the American Revolution for the past month and today’s test was the moment of truth. But what was so important about knowing this crap? We’d kicked the Britt’s asses. Threw them out and became the United States. That was like a thousand years ago, so what did it matter now?

  Sighing, I walked into the classroom and dropped into my assigned desk. Oh, yeah, that was the other thing about Mrs. Wayne. She made us sit where she wanted, not where we did. So, instead of Sarah, my girlfriend, next to me, I had to rub elbows with Tanya Meadows.

  Not that Tanya wasn’t hot. She was, in her own way. Long dark hair and big blue eyes. Nearly as tall as me and I had to admit she could definitely fill out a pair of jeans. But she was a bit different, too. Intense would be the adult word, but most of the boys just called her a bitch. Or worse.

  She didn’t seem to care, though. All that apparently mattered was that she did well in school. I knew she was a straight A student and never failed to have the right answer in any class we shared.

  She was already at her desk when I sat down. The surface was empty except for two, perfectly sharpened pencils aligned with the front edge. Glancing over, I saw that she was sitting with her spine straight, not even touching the chair back. Her hands were folded in her lap and her eyes were closed.

  “Freak,” I mumbled under my breath as I slumped down until my ass was nearly hanging off the front edge of the seat.

  She opened her eyes and turned to look at me.

  “What?” I asked innocently.

  “I’m glad your father is helping,” she said.

  I frowned, then shook my head.

  “What are you talking about?”

  She was from a ranching family, just like me. Their place was on the opposite end of the valley from ours and nearly as large as our six-thousand acres. But much of it was rocky, unlike ours, and her dad had to rely on grazing leases with the BLM to feed his herds.

  The Bureau of Land Management. I’d heard about it since I was old enough to understand words. Controlling federal land that just sat empty, they charged a hefty price for ranchers to have the right to turn their cattle out to graze. To eat grass that would grow back for free. They were probably the only federal agency that was less popular than the IRS.

  “The BLM is coming out today to cut off access for grazing. Didn’t you hear?”

  “No,” I said, wondering what this had to do with my dad. We didn’t graze on any land other than ours. “What’s the big deal?”

  She frowned and turned in her seat, staring at me with her intense eyes.

  “The big deal is that’s land my family has been grazing since the early eighteen-hundreds. Long before it was government land and they’ve got no right to stop us! A bunch of ranchers are coming over today to support my dad.”

  “So, they’re protesting?” I asked in surprise.

  “I don’t know. Dad’s been really upset the past few weeks and been talking to a lot of people. Your dad’s been over a lot.”

  I stared at her in surprise.

  “You didn’t know?”

  I shook my head and looked away in thought. As far as I knew, Dad didn’t particularly like Mark Meadows, Tanya’s father. Not that there was anything bad between them, they just weren’t buddies.

  “I wonder where Mrs. Wayne is,” Tanya said.

  I looked at the large clock on the wall at the front of the room. It was almost ten minutes past the hour and our teacher wasn’t here. That never happened with Mrs. Wayne. She was as punctual as my dad, which was saying a lot. I don’t think he
’d ever been late for anything in his life.

  With the absence of adult supervision, the volume of conversation and laughter in the room was approaching a dull roar. Kids were getting up from their assigned desks, moving to mingle with their friends. The occasional balled up piece of paper was sailing across the room, almost exclusively targeting the unpopular kids.

  I saw Sarah stand up on the far side and head toward me. She was a willowy blonde girl that looked great in the denim shorts and T-shirt she was wearing with a pair of bright red boots. Coming to stand next to my desk, she put her hands on her hips and stared directly at Tanya.

  “What are you talking to him about?” she demanded.

  Sarah was a town girl. Her dad managed the larger of the two banks and lived in a big house that overlooked the river. She was spoiled and not too bright, but she was the hottest girl in school. And she liked to drink and go skinny dipping in the river when her parents weren’t around. All things considered, I counted myself pretty lucky to be with her.

  Tanya made a sound and looked away, ignoring Sarah. I turned my head back and forth between them, but wasn’t about to get involved in whatever this was.

  “I asked you a question, bitch!” Sarah said, her voice going loud on the last word.

  The room went silent as every pair of eyes swiveled to watch. Tanya ignored the taunt, retrieving a book from her backpack. Sarah leaned across me, reaching to snatch it from Tanya’s hand.

  Without even thinking, I grabbed her wrist, stopping her. Her eyes snapped onto me and she jerked away, opening her mouth to rip me a new one.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, in your seats, please!”

  Mrs. Wayne had entered, unnoticed. Sarah pinned me with her eyes for a moment, then leaned down and hissed at Tanya.

  “I’ll see you after school, bitch!”

  She spun on a boot heel and stomped away. Mrs. Wayne, standing in front of her desk, watched Sarah until she was seated, then turned back to the class.