Fourth Quadrant: The Wyoming Chronicles: Book Two Read online

  FOURTH QUADRANT

  THE WYOMING CHRONICLES: BOOK TWO

  W. MICHAEL GEAR

  Fourth Quadrant:

  The Wyoming Chronicles Book Two

  Kindle Edition

  © Copyright 2022 W. Michael Gear

  Wolfpack Publishing

  5130 S. Fort Apache Road 215-380

  Las Vegas, NV 89148

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, other than brief quotes for reviews.

  eBook ISBN 978-1-63977-295-7

  Paperback ISBN 978-1-63977-103-5

  Hardcover ISBN 978-1-63977-301-5

  CONTENTS

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  The Lizard Brain

  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

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Resolution

  A LOOK AT: Fracture Event

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  FOURTH QUADRANT

  THE LIZARD BRAIN

  There’s part of the brain, the limbic system, that’s old. Said to be reptilian. A relic of hundreds of millions of years of evolution that goes back to the earliest vertebrates. Consisting of the amygdala, hippocampus, and hypothalamus. In vernacular, it’s called the “lizard brain”.

  When I look back at those days after the Collapse, I credit my survival to the lizard brain. That’s what took over. Kept me breathing, fighting, and fleeing danger.

  I did things. Committed acts that would have been so horrible and inconceivable, that the Lauren I was before the Collapse would have believed them to be impossible.

  It’s like I went out of my way to turn the rest of my brain off. If I hadn’t, if I had tried to think rationally, I’d have died in the first days. Instead I have to live with the consequences.

  Whatever nightmares are, I don’t think the lizard brain has them. It just lurks down there on the bottom of the skull, hissing, flicking its tongue out, and demanding that you move on to the next meal.

  - Lauren Davis

  CHAPTER ONE

  DISSOLUTION DAY…

  Colorado Springs, Colorado 10:12 AM

  Mrs. Duffield stood before Lauren Davis’s teller window at Springs Bank with her withdrawal slip in her hand. For the rest of her life, Lauren would remember that the seventy-two-year-old woman wore a white-cotton twill hat, flower-patterned blouse, and comfortable white pants.

  It was the Friday before Memorial Day weekend. The moment Lauren got off work, she and Tyrell were heading to Moab on their motorcycles for some backcountry camping. It would be their first real vacation since moving in together a couple of months back.

  In her teller’s cage, Lauren was surrounded by faux brick and glass. The wooden counter in front of her was so shiny she could see her reflection in it. Her wavy, shoulder-length auburn hair and oval face were only slightly distorted by the unnatural gleam, but her cinnamon-brown eyes looked huge.

  Lauren gave the woman a warm smile. “Good Morning, Mrs. Duffield. How are you today?”

  “I’m doing great.” Duffield’s gray hair had a bluish sheen in the overhead fluorescent lights as she slipped a withdrawal form through the teller’s window. “I need to take out a hundred dollars, please.”

  “Sure.”

  Lauren took the withdrawal form and tapped in the account number. When the data flashed on the screen, she found herself staring at eight million, four-hundred-fifty-three-thousand seventy-four dollars and twenty-seven cents. A considerable amount for a retired school teacher.

  Lauren took a deep breath, having never in her life seen an account balance like this.

  Muttering customers waited at four teller stations down the line. The other tellers seemed to be having problems. Keys clicked as tellers repeatedly entered numbers into their computers, frowned, and reentered them.

  Lauren smiled at Mrs. Duffield and processed the withdrawal. As she handed the elderly woman one hundred dollars, she quietly said, “Mrs. Duffield are you aware that the FDIC doesn’t insure accounts this large?”

  “What?” The retired school teacher blinked up at Lauren through her bifocals. Her wrinkles rearranged into confused lines.

  “I mean, have you thought about consulting our financial services department? They may be able to advise you on safer places to keep your money rather than in a simple savings account.”

  “The FDIC won’t insure a measly thousand dollars?” Mrs. Duffield’s voice tensed.

  Lauren straightened and glanced at the monitor again. She’d just started work here two weeks ago. It was a very good summer job in a field where she hoped to work for the rest of her life: Finance. She didn’t want to take the chance of losing it by angering any of the patrons.

  Quietly, she leaned over the counter to say, “According to the computer, you have over eight million dollars in your savings account. You might want to at least speak with our bank president, he—”

  “Is that a joke?” Mrs. Duffield asked in shock. “You’re awfully young, dear. And new here. Did you input the wrong account number?”

  “If so, I apologize. Let me try again.” Lauren cleared the page and carefully re-typed the account number. She tried to smile at Mrs. Duffield while she waited. “The system’s slow. Must be all the activity before the weekend.”

  The retired school teacher didn’t seem to appreciate it. She gave Lauren a hostile look, probably the same one she’d used on students who’d underperformed in her classes. “Are you old enough to work here? You look sixteen. Maybe you should get someone, shall we say, more seasoned? to double-check your work.”

  “I just finished my freshman year at the university. Three-point-seven GPA.”

  “Studying what?”

  “International finance.”

  “Umm,” said Mrs. Duffield.

  When the same amount, over eight million dollars, appeared on the screen, Lauren grimaced at it, then at Mrs. Duffield. “How much would you estimate your balance to be? Just ballpark?”

  “At least a thousand and twenty-two dollars, dear.” The way she said “dear” reeked of disapproval.

  “Please, excuse me for a minute. I do need to get my supervisor. I’ll be right back.”

  “Good idea.” Mrs. Duffield glared at her over the rims of her glasses.

  Lauren made her way past the whispering tellers and through the door that led to the offices. First on the left was Randy Howman’s office, the assistant bank manager. To her relief, he was sitting behind his desk, staring fixedly at his computer screen. Randy’s blond hair sported a perpetual cowlick that seemed to always stand up no matter how he tried to plaster it down. Tall, and slightly overweight, his best feature consisted of lively blue eyes in a ruddy face. As usual, Randy wore a white shirt, tie, and light-gray dress slacks. His blue suit jacket hung on the back of his chair; a half-empty cup of coffee rested to the right of his keyboard.

  Oblivious to her presence, Randy whispered to the screen, “That can’t be right. Why would the Federal Reserve even consider…”

  Lauren knocked softly on the door frame and leaned in. “Randy? I’m sorry to bother you. I’ve got a problem with an account.”

  He looked up with a panicked expression. “Give me just a minute, Lauren. I’ll be right with you.” He hit several keys and stared harder at the screen.

  Lauren folded her arms across her chest and gazed down the hall and out at the bank lobby.

  Patrons
had gathered in the middle of the lobby to talk in low voices. A mixture of emotions moved across their faces. One man kept glancing angrily at his watch, as though he was in a hurry. A woman paced back and forth with a disgusted expression.

  The hostility was rising.

  “Forgive me,” Randy said, and forced a smile. “What can I do for you?”

  She walked into his office and stood before his neat desk. Through the window, she could see Pike’s Peak rising in snow-capped glory to the west. “I’m not sure. Mrs. Duffield says she has a little over a thousand dollars in her savings account, but our computer insists she has over eight million. I was hoping you could come and—”

  “You’re sure?” Randy’s smile froze. He lowered his voice to just above a whisper: “You double-checked?”

  “Well, yeah, of course.”

  Randy murmured, “Please, God, don’t let this be happening.”

  He shoved to his feet and brushed past her. The muscles knotted in his jaw as he led the way back to her teller position. As they emerged the other tellers started calling, “Mr. Howman? Got a problem here.” “Randy? You’ve gotta see this.”

  “Soon as I’m done with Lauren,” he answered as he hurried down the line.

  “Mrs. Duffield,” Lauren said cheerfully over Randy’s shoulder as he dove for her keyboard, “I’m so sorry for the delay, but Mr. Howman is going to see if it’s a computer problem.”

  The other tellers were crowding in behind her and muttering about their accounts.

  Mrs. Duffield didn’t look appeased, adding, “I’d appreciate it if you’d be quick about it. I have appointments this afternoon.”

  Randy—focused like a laser—didn’t even say hello to the woman. He input his security code, looked at the account number on her withdrawal slip, and began tapping the keys. When Mrs. Duffield’s account came up, he swallowed hard and stared at it. Softly, he asked, “Lauren? This is the amount you saw?”

  Lauren whispered, “It’s gone up by about one hundred thousand.”

  Randy’s voice was shaky. “This can’t be happening.”

  Horrified, Mrs. Duffield asked, “It’s gone up? What does that...? I mean, I’m an honest person. That’s not my money. Why is it in my account? Are you people incompetent, or what?”

  Randy tried to smile. Couldn’t quite do it. “I know you’re honest, Mrs. Duffield. I promise you, we’ll get this straightened out. Computers can be finicky and this—”

  Lisa—the second teller down—called, “Randy? Sorry to interrupt, but I really need you here. Got a second?”

  The bearded man in work boots, with Ray’s Plumbing printed on his blue shirt, looked like he was about to explode.

  Randy clenched his fists, steeled himself, said, “Excuse me, Mrs. Duffield,” and hurried to Lisa’s booth.

  “What’s going on?” Mrs. Duffield shouted. “Come back here and fix my account first!”

  Lauren flinched and turned to watch Randy.

  Lisa quietly told him, “I keep reentering Mr. Krause’s account, and his balance keeps coming up as zero.”

  The plumber, Krause, propped his thick arms on the counter, jaw muscles bunching. “I just deposited my paycheck. There’s over three thousand dollars in that account! If you’ve lost my money, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

  Randy flushed as red as a cherry. “It’s right here in the bank, Mr. Krause. I assure you, everything’s fine. Just a computer hiccup. We’ll get it straightened out.” To Lisa, he said, “Process Mr. Krause’s withdrawal.”

  “Sure. Okay.” Lisa looked confused, but she started counting out twenties, smiling nervously at Mr. Krause as she did so.

  Bank President, Bill Blassen, opened the door to the tellers’ counter, stepped inside, and politely called, “Randy? We need to talk. Now.”

  “Certainly, sir.” Randy walked over. Their backs to the patrons, a hushed conversation ensued. Blassen, from what Lauren could see, looked panicked. Randy kept nodding, going pale as if the blood had drained from his head.

  Mrs. Duffield stood before the teller’s window, arms crossed, looking really pissed. Three people had come to line up behind her.

  Lauren looked up when Lieutenant Tyrell Ramirez, the love of her life, stepped through the bank’s door and headed straight for her. To her surprise, he was in uniform, cover tucked tightly under his arm. Tyrell never wore a uniform when he was off base. With his beard and longer hair, people on the street would never have known he was CAG, that he served with an elite “Delta Force” team.

  Lauren felt that rush of happiness and relief…until she noticed his expression.

  This isn’t good. Her thoughts went immediately to the news that morning. About Taiwan, and the Chinese landing troops there. And the two carrier groups that President Brown had dispatched to the South China Sea.

  Please! Tell me we aren’t going to war with China.

  The way he moved in his ACUs reminded her of a hunting lion as he crossed the lobby. His black hair was sweat-soaked, plastered to his tanned forehead and cheeks.

  “Hey,” Lauren said when he crowded in ahead of Mrs. Duffield. “What are you doing here? Thought you were home packing for our trip to—”

  “Lauren, can you come out for a second?” Tyrell had one of those authoritative voices—his officer’s voice accustomed to giving orders—that spoke volumes even when he kept it low.

  Mrs. Duffield turned to stare at him. “What’s wrong, Lieutenant?”

  Before Tyrell could answer, Lauren said, “Excuse me, Mrs. Duffield.”

  The older woman gave her a disbelieving look and glanced sidelong at Tyrell.

  Lauren walked for the door that secured the tellers’ positions and keyed in her code. The instant she stepped out into the bank lobby, Tyrell took her arm in a hard grip, and dragged her a short distance away.

  “Hey, what are you doing here? And what’s with the ACUs?”

  Gaze taking in the lobby, he softly said, “Listen, we’re activated. I’ve got an hour to get my first-line gear wired before they fly us out. Don’t know when I’ll see you again.”

  “God, tell me this isn’t about Taiwan. I’ve been worried ever since the news—”

  “Lauren, I don’t know. Just got the word from the head shed. My ODD is active.”

  “This is our first three-day weekend. We’ve been planning this...” Words failed her. That’s what living with a Tier One operator was all about.

  Tyrell ran tender fingers down her cheek. “Just listen. And don’t argue with me. I want you to get out of Colorado. But do not, repeat do not, even attempt to get home to your family in Maryland. Joint Base Andrews is locked down. The 316th Wing is on alert. That high school friend you talk about, Breeze Tappan. You said she comes from a backcounty family ranch in Wyoming, right?”

  “Sure, but Breeze and I...” She swallowed hard. “You know about my brother and her."

  “She’s in Denver, right?”

  “Well, yeah. Working for Seakliff Investments. She’s—”

  “You said she rides. I need you to take the KTM, not your Suzuki or car. Get to Denver. Whatever you have to do, make Breeze take you to her family’s ranch.” He smiled weakly. “If you have to get on your knees and beg. As long as—”