The Road to Survival : A Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Novel

by Ryan Walker

“What am I, your slave now?” Randall asked, looking around and looking for a possible escape route.

  “You could think of it that way,” said Joe with a shrug.

  Randall looked at the other members of the gang. In addition to Duncan and Joe, there was one man in his late 20s with numerous tattoos on his neck, face, and arms, and then there were a man and a woman in their early 30s who looked to be a couple. All of them were as tough looking as Joe, except for Duncan, who just stood meekly off to the side.

  “Here’s how it’s gonna work,” Joe went on. “You will do anything and everything we tell you to. You will collect firewood for us. You will fish for us. You will grow seeds for us. You will clean our clothes for us. You will cook our meals for us and gather our water for us. Whatever we tell you to do, you will do it…for us.”

  Joe paced around Randall on the ground, while the others remained standing still and watching.

  “But it’s not all bad for you,” said Joe. “Because if you do each and every thing we tell you to do, guess what? You can eat…a little. You can have water…a little. And you can sleep…also a little. So really, this isn’t that bad of a deal for you, because we’re letting you stay alive when we could just as easily put a bullet in your head. If that’s not generous, I don’t know what is.”

  Joe stopped pacing.

  “But before we put you to work, introductions would be good,” said Joe, suddenly assuming a friendly tone. “As you know I’m Joe, and you’ve already met Duncan obviously.”

  Joe pointed to the man with all the tattoos.

  “This here is Spence,” Joe said, and then he pointed to the couple. “And these two love birds here are Greg and Sara. Hopefully you’ll remember everybody’s names. And I’m in charge, alright? This is my group. I’m the one who brought us together and provided most of our resources, so I have the final say in everything, alright?”

  “Alright,” Randall replied, deliberately using as few words as possible.

  Randall couldn’t help but notice how proud Joe felt of his little group and his four tent encampment. It must have made him feel like a ruler or a king of an entire country.

  “Now, I’m sure you’re only thinking of one thing now,” Joe continued with his little speech. “And that of course is escape. I get it. We don’t exactly have a dungeon to lock you in here, and there’s only five of us. I’m sure you’ve already thought of at least fifty different scenarios where you could try and get away, right?”

  Randall said nothing. He figured that under the present conditions, staying quiet was the only thing he could do to show he wasn’t weak.

  “Well obviously, you trying to escape is not something we are willing to tolerate, just like we won’t tolerate you trying to fight back,” Joe went on. “So if you ever resist, and if you ever try to escape and we catch you, you lose a finger. It’s as simple as that. Non-negotiable. No questions asked. And once you lose all your fingers, we move onto your toes. And once you lose all of those, you can figure out where we’ll go on from there. Comprende amigo?”

  Randall simply nodded his head.

  “Good,” said Joe.

  Joe walked into one of the tents and came back out with a shovel. He threw it down next to Randall.

  With an evil grin, he said, “Now get to work. We got a lot of stuff for you to do.”

  * * *

  It was daylight when Barry had brought the Hi-Lux to a stop at a crossroads and the rest of the Williamss emptied out.

  Marcus and Bruce had both been hit, in the shoulder and calf respectively, and had their wounds covered up with torn clothes acting as bandages and tourniquets. But it was only a temporary solution, and they all knew they would need professional medical help quickly, or else dangerous infections could set in that would be life threatening.

  The entire family was sad and downtrodden at the death of Robert, especially Bruce, Angela, Claire, and Jane. None of them had said a word about it since parking the vehicle and tending to the wounds of Marcus and Bruce.

  It was Thomas who broke the silence about it first.

  “Robert’s death was not in vain,” he said. “If he hadn’t held them off for as long as he did, we may all be dead. He saved our lives.”

  Claire was already in tears and Thomas’ words made her break down sobbing.

  Thomas set a hand on her shoulder and then said, “he’s a hero and always will be remembered as one.”

  The family gathered in a circle and Barry, struggling to hold back tears himself, spoke a thoughtful prayer for Robert. It was the closest thing to a funeral they could do.

  Once the prayer was over, Marcus, his wounded arm in a crudely made sling, turned to Jane.

  “Jane, where’s Randall?”

  Marcus’ voice was firm and unyielding because he was afraid the same thing had happened to his son that had happened to Robert.

  “I don’t know,” Jane said meekly.

  “What do you mean you don’t know?” Marcus raised his voice.

  “Marcus, calm down, she just lost her brother…” Susan started to say.

  “I want to know what happened to our son!” Marcus exclaimed.

  “I don’t know!” Jane said again.

  “Tell us what happened!” Marcus rose his voice yet again.

  Jane took a moment before explaining in a wavering voice: “Robert, Randall, and I took a dirt road to Coeur d’Alene for the supply run. We were stopped by a gang in the woods led by a man named Joe. After we told him what we were doing, he demanded half the supplies we would collect in exchange for our lives and the truck. I was forced to stay with the gang while two of their members went with Rand and Rob to Coeur d’Alene. At night they returned but one of the gang members didn’t come back. They said she got killed because she was crazy and tried to kill them. Joe got angry and wouldn’t accept it. Then Randall…he…we were outnumbered more than two to one…”

  “What happened?” Thomas asked, fearing the worst for his older brother. “It’s okay, just tell us the truth.”

  “Randall surrendered himself,” said Jane. “They were going to kill us all but Randall offered himself peacefully in addition to the supplies so Robert and I could get away with our lives. Joe accepted it and I got in the truck with Robert and we drove away. It was around thirty minutes after that on our way back was when we encountered Butler…”

  “So you really don’t know what happened to Randall then?” Thomas asked.

  “No,” Jane wept, tears now streaming down her cheeks. “Maybe he’s alive, maybe they killed him, I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  Thomas turned to the rest of the family.

  “If I know my brother well enough, and I’m sure I do, then he’s alive,” he said resolutely. “Randall wouldn’t just hand himself over like that if he thought they were going to kill him. He’s smarter than that.”

  “Why wouldn’t they kill him?” Marcus asked, wincing in pain from the wound in his arm.

  “I don’t know,” Thomas said. “Maybe they would want him alive for some other purpose.”

  “We have to rescue him,” said Jane.

  Barry shook his head.

  “Not with Butler and his army between us and him,” he said. “It would be a suicide mission.”

  “Then we’re just supposed to let Randall die?!” Thomas asked, shocked at his grandfather’s suggestion.

  “Hold on Thomas, I didn’t say that,” said Barry. “What I am saying is that if we head back the way we came, Butler will be waiting for us. And even if only a couple of us tried to sneak back that way, splitting up is the last thing we should be doing now. We need to stick together as a family.”

  “Marcus and Bruce both need medical attention,” said Christine, a retired nurse herself. “And they need it quickly.”

  “And where are we supposed to get that exactly?” Bruce asked, on the ground and clutching his calf. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of the woods.”

  Bruce had kept h
is head low the whole time because of his heartache for his son’s death, but now that the conversation had switched back to survival mode, he was eager to find solutions. Both he and Angela were on the ground and holding one another in comfort.

  “There’s a few small towns to the north of us,” said Barry. “There may be people there who can help us. And hopefully medical resources.”

  Barry laid out a map of the area on the hood of the Hi-Lux. It was old and wrinkled, but still readable.

  Thomas stepped over to look it over with him, running his finger along the paper to find where they were.

  “Looks like the nearest town is Garden City, eight miles north of here,” said Thomas.

  “Garden City?” Marcus asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “City is hardly the appropriate word for it,” said Barry. “It has maybe two hundred people at the most, at least before all this. But it’s our best shot for food and supplies and getting you and Bruce patched up.”

  “How are we doing on fuel?” Thomas asked.

  “Just under half a tank left,” Barry responded.

  “That’s more than enough,” said Thomas. “Hopefully the town will have more left over that I can use afterward too.”

  “What do you mean ‘I’?” Susan asked.

  “Because after we get everybody there and replenished, I’m going to go back and save my brother,” Thomas replied resolutely to his mother.

  Chapter Twenty One

  The Cabin

  The Williams cabin, now conquered and controlled by Butler and his forces, resembled more of a makeshift hospital than the nice vacation getaway it once was.

  Wounded militia members were sprawled out along the floor and on the couches and bed, lying in agonizing pain. The floor and walls had become stained with their blood.

  Most of the militia members who were not injured were tending to the wounded, while the remaining were on patrol around the property per Butler’s orders. They were ready for any kind of a counter attack by the Williamss.

  There was only a limited number of medical supplies in the cabin, RV, and shed, and all of it had already been used on those in the most critical of condition. Mitchum’s reinforcements and resupply was being anxiously awaited as a result.

  Butler had his shoulder bandaged and his arm in a sling, and though his shoulder was in a world of hurt, he ignored it as best he could. He was very adept at resisting physical pain, but this gunshot wound was challenging him.

  Butler was sitting on the front porch of the cabin and drinking water from the kitchen to hydrate himself when he saw Mitchum return with the four vehicles at around midday.

  In addition to thirty extra militia members who he had brought as reinforcements, he also brought all four of the Compound’s medical professionals, each carrying containers filled to the brink with bandages and medical supplies. They immediately began working on treating the wounded men and women in the cabin.

  Also among Mitchum’s reinforcements was George.

  “Dad!” the nineteen year old exited one of the vehicles and ran up to the cabin.

  Butler stepped up to greet him.

  “I told you to stay back and run the Compound,” Butler said.

  “I know, but Mitchum told me you had been shot, so I got over here as soon as I could,” George responded. “And don’t worry, I left it in good hands.”

  Butler put a hand on his son’s shoulder. He was appreciative of his concern. Gale was there too and gave his brother a hug, both glad the other was alive and safe.

  “How many of our number are dead?” George asked. “Mitchum said it was at least two dozen, is that really true?”

  “It is, son,” said Butler. “That damned family gave us a fight for our lives. Many more are wounded as you can tell. We’ll need to patch them up as best we can and then begin transporting them back to the Compound for additional medical help.”

  “He also said they got away,” George said.

  “We killed one and wounded two at least,” Gale spoke up. “We’ll launch a pursuit soon. They can’t have gone far. And they’re critically low on resources, there’s hardly any food or medical stuff left in this cabin of theirs.”

  “This is our cabin now,” remarked Butler. “It will serve as a good outpost for us later on once we get this situation taken care of.”

  “You mean after we eliminate the rest of the Williams family,” George said.

  “That’s right,” said Butler with a grin, glad to see his youngest son was equally eager to see the Williams’s finished off.

  “So, where do we go from here?” Gale asked. “What’s our strategy?”

  Butler rubbed his shoulder and sat down back on the chair on the front porch of the cabin. He indicated for Gale and George to sit next to him.

  Before they sat down, George noticed that Gale was now wearing a black leather gun belt with a Colt 1911 .45, KA-BAR knife, and a few spare magazines. Little did he know, it had all belonged to Randall.

  “Nice gun and belt, where’d you get it?” George asked.

  “One of the guys found it in one of the trucks the Williamss stole from us,” Gale beamed proudly as he drew the 1911 from its holster and looked it over, admiring the high quality craftsmanship that had gone into it. “Must have been one of theirs. But it’s mine now.”

  “Nice find,” George remarked, jealously.

  “Mitchum, bring a map over here!” Butler called out.

  Mitchum pulled a map out of one of the vehicles and stepped over to the three on the deck, which he sprawled out on the table.

  “My guess is the Williamss are going to retreat to a small town of some kind in the north,” Butler said, looking over the map. “Hope, Garden City, and Featherville are all within twenty miles.”

  “That makes sense,” Gale nodded. “They’ll want to replenish themselves and find other people to help them if they can.”

  “So we need to catch up to them before they reach a town then?” George asked.

  “They could have already reached a town at this point,” Mitchum pointed out.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Butler, reclining back in his chair. “If we could find them the first time, we’ll find them again. And when we do find them again, that will be the end of it.”

  Butler turned to Mitchum, and asked, “Mitchum, how many reinforcements did you bring?”

  “Thirty exactly,” replied Mitchum. “Plus four doctors and all the medical stuff we could bring. But the more seriously wounded will still need to be taken back to the Compound for further treatment.”

  “That’s fine,” Butler said. “We can spare two vehicles for that purpose.”

  “And there’s one more thing,” Mitchum said after a brief hesitation.

  The tone of Mitchum’s voice caught Butler’s attention.

  “What?” Butler asked after a moment.

  “It’s Dale.”

  “Dale?”

  “You remember after the attack by the Williamss on the Compound? When we had the big debate outside about what we were going to do about them, he was the most vocal about us letting them go. Remember?”

  Butler frowned. He remembered full well.

  “Where is he now?” Butler asked.

  “In one of the vehicles,” Mitchum pointed to the convoy of trucks and SUVs.

  Butler, Gale, George, and Mitchum walked over to the vehicles where Butler indicated for Dale to step out.

  He did and walked straight up to Butler. Though he was a short and wiry man, Dale didn’t lead Butler’s tall and powerful frame deter him?

  “What is this, Butler?” Dale asked. “Twenty four dead? Twice as many wounded?”

  “Calm down, Dale,” Butler tried to ease him down. “I understand your frustration.”

  “Frustration is hardly the right word!” Dale exclaimed. “This is an unacceptable tragedy! Do you realize that each and every one of those men and women who have been killed and who are lying wounded now have families of thei
r own! This is exactly why I said this whole thing was a bad idea!”

  Dale had raised his voice enough to the point that it began to attract the attention of the other militia members. They began to gather around, forming a circle with Dale on one side and Butler, George, Gale, and Mitchum on the other.

  “We were ambushed, Dale,” said Butler. “That’s what happened. We were ambushed and one man pinned us down on the road, picked us off like flies. We managed to get him but by then the element of surprise was lost. The Williamss were already fleeing and they gunned down more of us before they got away.”