SODIUM Trilogy Part One Read online

  SODIUM

  (Vols. 1-3)

  Trilogy Part One

  By: Stephen Arseneault

  Freedom is every man's right. Freedom is every man's responsibility. What's the use of living if you can't live free? What's the use in dying if you can't die trying!

  S.A.

  Dedicated to my three diamonds. Lori, Caitlyn and Ashley!

  View the author's website at www.arsenex.com

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  Read Stephen's bio here

  Ask a question or leave a comment at [email protected]

  Copyright 2012-2018 Stephen Arseneault, All Rights Reserved

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  SODIUM Harbinger (Vol. 1)

  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

  SODIUM Apocalypse (Vol. 2)

  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

  SODIUM Fusion (Vol. 3)

  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 What's Next?

  Books

  SODIUM

  (Vol. 1)

  Harbinger

  Chapter 1

  * * *

  I was sometimes an obsessive-compulsive when challenged. That personality trait could be a blessing or a curse depending on the circumstance. The circumstance I was about to face would drastically change the course of my life, and possibly the fate of the world...

  It was early June of the summer of 1957. An adventure getaway with family and friends had just begun. The adventure was to the wilds of Yosemite National Forest in California. We were exploring the viability of setting up a ten day hike for my friend's outfitting business. If our own undertaking went well, he would offer the same hike as a guided wilderness tour to his clients. Hiking the Yosemite back-country was supposed to offer some of the best scenery nature could provide.

  I wasn't an avid outdoorsman, so my contribution to the excursion was to gauge the terrain's difficulty for the common man. Coming in at only five-foot-six, my short legs would be in for a real workout. While being middle-aged I was not feeble, but neither was I overly fit.

  My torso had been rocking back and forth in the rear seat of a jeep for several hours as we bounced our way along an old Indian trail. I was riding in the back of the second vehicle in our group and had been holding on for dear life to a leather hand strap that was bolted to the side of the seat frame. It was the only thing that had kept me in the constantly bucking and jerking metal contraption. We were heading to our first night's camp.

  My four companions always had great stories to tell whenever they returned from an adventure. I was looking forward to finally taking part in one. Little did I know it would be a story I could never tell. It was a story no one would believe unless they had been there and experienced it for themselves. The danger that lay ahead would call on me to summon a level of courage that at the time I did not have; self-confidence and bravery were not my stronger traits.

  We were riding along a high trail that offered a steep incline on one side and a sixty-foot cliff that dropped into a ravine on the other. My earlier enjoyment of the awe-inspiring trip and the perfect weather was turning into apprehension and adventure fatigue. I had no doubt the expression of wonder that had once covered my face was now more of a scowl. Looking to my left, down over the edge, only caused my apprehension to grow.

  As we came around a bend, the jeep bounced heavily and came to an abrupt stop. With that bounce I went up in the air, coming down hard on the back left side of the vehicle, my ribs scraping along the hard edge. Intense pain was now visible on my face.

  The fall had bruised my ribs and knocked the breath out of me. The trail side had given way, probably due to erosion from the winter snow-melt. The jeep now tilted heavily over the cliff's edge.

  In my shock and confusion, I began to helplessly roll off the left side. Through my squinted eyes, my brain panicked as I was faced with a long fall into the craggy, rock-infested ravine below. As I left the jeep's edge, my friend reached out from the driver's seat, making a lucky grab of my right arm; it was nearly pulled from its socket.

  For several seconds I dangled over the ravine as Bruce, we called him Bull, held strong. His grip on the steering wheel kept him in place as he steadied himself. With a long, loud grunt, my friend since junior high pulled me with one arm up and over himself and into the now-vacant passenger seat of the precariously positioned vehicle.

  Allie, Bull's wife, had sprung into action from that same seat, reeling out the cable from the jeep's winch. As I lay upside down, moaning, another pair of hands grabbed under my arms and pulled me out onto the safety of firm ground. It was Kyle, my soon-to-be brother-in-law.

  Bull followed me out of the passenger side, moving carefully as not to send the vehicle over the edge before his escape. Meanwhile, Allie had found a tree and secured the cable. Just as Bull's first foot hit the ground, the cable tightened and held fast, stopping the jeep just as it began what would have been its death roll.

  As fast as the cable pulled tight, Allie was back at the ratcheting winch pumping away. She worked the three-foot-long lever handle with her strong back and athletic legs, grunting with every pull. Inch by inch, she slowly moved the vehicle back to secure ground. Except for the pain I was now feeling, the whole episode seemed to be over almost before it had begun. We took a ten-minute break to rest and regain our composure.

  Allie was not afraid of a little "heavy work," as she called it. For 1957, she was not your typical woman. At five-foot-eleven, she towered over most of the women of that day. She had an athletic build that was also feminine and very well proportioned. She often prided herself at sometimes being compared to Annie Oakley, only she would say she was much taller.

  In the face of danger, Allie seemed fearless and quick minded. Those traits had saved her and Bull from a bear attack some years earlier, when she distracted the bear with a series of shouts just as it was about to maul her husband. It was a story Bull loved to retell whenever they made a new acquaintance.

  Bull was a big ole country boy. At six-foot-five and 260 pounds, if riled, he could be an intimidating fella. And most of his weight was muscle. He had a quick wit and a big, toothy grin that somehow made everyone around him smile. Everybody liked Bull. If you met him under normal circumstance, he had a manner about him that quickly put you at ease.

  Bull owned five sports-outfitting stores that se
rved Atlanta and North Georgia. In the 1950s, Big Al's, named after his father, was the place to go for outdoor sports in the area. Through contact with an outfitter in Sacramento, arrangements for transfers from the airport and rental of the jeeps and gear were made. The vehicles had been towed and delivered to a trail head at Buck Meadow, along with most of the camping supplies. We were dropped off from separate vehicles shortly after.

  The venture was to offer an outing into the wilds of America, where the first ten miles would be on wheels with the remaining eighty-seven on foot with backpacks. The Yosemite Sportsman Adventure Package was to be a two-week excursion when counting a flight from Atlanta, Georgia, to Sacramento, California, and back.

  For me, the trip was to be a much needed break from the monotony of my daily life. I sold insurance—homeowner’s, life, business, you name it— and I was good at it. My clientele were some of the wealthiest families and individuals in Atlanta. To me, selling wasn't particularly fun or exciting, but I was willing to work at it to bring home a good paycheck. Enough good that at one point I had managed to attract a stunningly beautiful wife.

  I considered myself a decent-looking guy, and I was sensible, responsible, and had a good sense of humor. But my short stature, and the social situations of my job, had worked against me. Only months before the trip, my wife had left me for a much taller gentleman, one of my wealthy clients. It hadn't helped that my personality was a bit obtuse and self-centered; which was great for sales, but not so great on the romantic front. Her departure had left me in a funk, a funk I hoped the hike would alleviate.

  After arriving at the base camp in the jeeps, my hero, Bull, got to work unpacking a tent. I took a seat on a nearby rock, looking around at the beauty of the early summer setting. My sister strode into view. She was a looker and smart, but she was also a big spender. To fund her habits, she kept Kyle busy selling autos down at the local dealership. Kyle had managed to make himself the lead salesman for 1955 and 1956. And with Susi's spending habits, he knew he would have to keep it up for each coming year.

  Susi was my younger sister by six years. She taught history at a Junior High, and her students loved her. She had a degree in Education from the University of Georgia where she and Allie had been classmates, and had soon became fast friends. They were a strange pair, as they were complete opposites when apart. That would all change when they came together, with each one taking on certain characteristics of the other.

  Allie was woodsy and athletic, while Susi was a bit prissy and much more typical of an upper-middle-class woman of that day. She had coiffed hair, pressed, conservative outfits, and horned-rim glasses with fake lenses to give her a more studious look while at work. Alone, Susi wouldn't get her hands dirty for any reason. But when her and Allie came together, the two suddenly became twins. Susi would go into the woods for a hike or shoot skeet, and Allie would dress to the nines and do a mean dinner party. None of us understood it, but we all respected it, and never questioned why.

  Within an hour the tents were set up, a campfire was spitting flames, and the supplies had been unpacked. I felt like a heel as I sat by myself on a rock as the others made camp. With my bruised ribs, my usefulness was limited, and they were insistent on my resting. So, I watched as the four people who made up my little world moved about preparing for the day’s end.

  Once the camp was settled, several trout were fished from a nearby stream. They were cooked over a fire along with a package of salted beef the Sacramento outfitter had left in the jeeps as a gift. Surprisingly, the taste of the meal was something I would have expected to find in a high-end restaurant back in Atlanta. Filling our bellies was followed by an evening of camaraderie around the fire. My level of enjoyment over the trip was beginning to return.

  Just after sunset, Bull started the evening with a tale told to him by the Sacramento outfitter. Several hikers had reported strange lights in the area. One had reported being watched by a demon, it's red eyes piercing the darkness of the night. I shook my head, knowing it was nothing more than an attempt at a scary campfire tale. The others laughed it off as well. Bull shrugged and insisted it was what he had been told.

  The plan for the next day was to break camp early. We would be packing up unused supplies that would then be bound and hoisted up into the trees to keep it away from bears. We had arranged for the Sacramento outfitter to collect the jeeps and leftover supplies after our departure. Once out of base camp, we would have no contact with the civilized world until we reached the trail end at the town of Lundy. We had ten days of hiking ahead.

  For protection, Bull carried a .45-caliber Colt M1911A1, while Kyle and Allie had Browning 9 mm HPs. Susi had a new Hi Standard .22. Bull also carried a 1956 Kodiak bear bow. It pulled fifty-seven pounds, making him the only one of us able to use it. His quiver only held four arrows, so he mentioned he had no plans of actually making use of the bow, unless an emergency should arise.

  I was not a firearms enthusiast, having accidentally shot and injured my dog as a kid. I instead chose to carry the hickory Hillerich & Bradsby S44 baseball bat I'd had since my high school baseball days. It was the same bat Pat Ankenman had used when he played for the Brooklyn Dodgers during WWII. For being in the big leagues and weighing in at only 125 pounds, he was a remarkable player. In my younger days, his achievements had given me confidence I could overcome any physical hardships that came about because of my height. Handguns made me nervous, while my bat was an old friend.

  Bull and Kyle shook their heads in disbelief when I had refused a more formidable weapon. I had repeatedly been told I would want more than three feet of wood between myself and a grizzly, should we have such an unfortunate encounter. I had countered more than once that my bat never needed reloading. For the trip, my protection would be limited to a circle with a five-foot radius.

  After packing up, we began our eighty-seven-mile trek through the wilderness. I had a nervous energy about me. On one hand, I was excited to get going. On the other, I was dreading the physical pounding I was certain to be enduring. I forced myself to reason that if my sister could do it, well then... so could I.

  Bull had flown out to Sacramento a month earlier to set up the trip. He was amazed and delighted at some of the new backpacking gear coming out of the area. We packed two ten-by-fifteen polyethylene tarps to share as shelter. They weighed almost nothing and rolled up nicely on top of my new lightweight aluminum pack frame. We had two hundred feet of nylon rope, which also provided a weight reduction. We also carried some of the first available nylon sleeping bags, which came in at less than six pounds each. The fifty-pound pack for a week in the wilderness was assuredly becoming a thing of the past.

  The weight savings in the gear meant there was room for extra food or other nice-to-haves. I scowled as I pulled my pack on, at twenty-eight pounds it matched that of my sister, the lightest packs of our group. I was told the getup would lose weight as we went.

  I returned a nod as I secured it with a front strap, wondering if I was being deceived. I gazed at the trail ahead as the others readied themselves. As we made our way out of base camp, I looked back fondly at the jeeps, resisting the urge to run back to the civilized world where beds, showers, and electricity were available to most all.

  Had I known what was coming, I never would have left the safety and security of Atlanta. There is something to be said about the bliss of not knowing everything, especially if you are the only one who wants to talk about it. Sometimes you have to accept whatever it is life throws at you, just putting down one foot in front of another. I expected to be doing exactly that for the next 87 miles.

  Chapter 2

  * * *

  The trail out of base camp took us through a deep ravine and into a heavily wooded valley. We were headed for Lake Eleanor and did not expect to make it there before sunset. I had found the uneven ground to be tough on the ankles. The others had each been out training for months, whenever they had the chance. I had only done the minimum... for which I knew I was abo
ut to pay.

  Once well into the ravine, we were completely cut off from the outside world for the next ten days. The surroundings were beautiful no matter which direction you looked. The clear, cool mountain air moved effortlessly through the evergreens. Our footsteps were the only sounds, except for the occasional bird chirping a warning to others.

  The further we moved into the back-country, the more snowbanks we saw. In early June there were still snow pockets to be found in the shady areas of the high elevations. The bright white of the pockets stood in stark contrast to the multitudes of dull-gray boulders and dark-green trees. The very ground itself was an immense mountain of granite.

  The time passed quickly as we made our way up a valley along the Tuolumne River. Each of us had smiles on our faces, and we each were pointing and gawking at every little interesting view that nature had to offer. Everything around us was pure in color and natural in design.

  Susi had been using her camera at every opportunity. Before the trip’s end, she planned to have rolls of pictures for Bull and Allie to choose from for promoting the adventure package. Almost every shot she took would look like what you would see on a postcard. The back-country of Yosemite National Forest was a wild and beautiful place.

  A slight breeze blew into our faces as we walked. We startled numerous deer and spooked a number of jackrabbits. As the valley narrowed a bit, we came upon a black bear. It was huge.

  I had never seen one up close and I found I had no desire to now. Bull and Allie advised we stay well clear of it, as bears would sometimes charge if they felt threatened. I had no desire to fend off a bear with my bat, so I stayed in the back of our small group of adventurers, just following the pack.

  We soon made our way safely around the bear and continued on along the river's edge. We had been making good time, so we stopped for a break. I flipped off my pack and sat down immediately on a large rock beside the water.