Town on Fire: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Series, 25BF Season 2 (25 Bombs Fell)

by A. K. Meek

  He had barely dismounted from Calliope into the Bartel night before a group of townsfolk intercepted him, chattering wildly.

  “Can you believe she did that…”

  “…Where were you?”

  “I’m not going anywhere! No one can make me move!”

  Many angry voices yelled at him. Others milled in the streets, carrying lanterns or crude torches. All were agitated to one degree or another. A couple of fifty-five-gallon drums had been loaded with combustibles and now burned brightly, makeshift streetlights. The scene reminded him of footage of some third world country on the brink of war.

  He wanted to run away, but knew that was impossible. He couldn’t run away from his responsibility.

  “Hold on,” he said, holding up his arms, drawing every last ounce of authority he could muster. “One at a time.” He noticed Councilman Aldrich in the crowd and pushed through to him. “Hey Ted. What’s all this?”

  Aldrich was speaking with a woman holding a baby who shot Kurt an angry glare. She disappeared into the crowd with her child.

  Aldrich sighed, shook his head and shrugged as the distraught woman left. He turned to Kurt. “You missed all the fun. The mayor just invoked her evacuation authority. For the common good, and all that.”

  Kurt shook his head like the councilman was wrong. “There was a vote?” he asked.

  Aldrich frowned. “No vote. She acted unilaterally. I tried to get the council together in time, but couldn’t.”

  Aldrich searched Kurt’s face. When Kurt said nothing else, Aldrich put a hand on his shoulder. “Good luck enforcing martial law. People aren’t happy with this.” His eyes swept the crowd.

  Kurt sighed. The tiredness he had been feeling just multiplied by ten. Twenty. At any moment his town could go off the rails.

  Aubrey just ordered the town inside the wall. And since he was the law arm of the government, it was his job to enforce her obviously unpopular decision.

  Building wall around the town was hard enough. Falling apart twice in the last few hours was worse. Finding out he was the mayor’s strong-arm was the last straw.

  In the humid, hot Georgia night, his shirt clung to him like a soaked trash bag stuck at the bottom of a trash can. Plus, a family of mosquitoes decided to make a home on the back of his neck. Hot emotion overwhelmed him. He needed to find Aubrey, and fast.

  A familiar voice broke through the discord.

  “Kurt!”

  He jerked around, scanning the nighttime turmoil for his brother.

  “Kurt!”

  He spun to his left to see Johnny pass an old man, clipping his arm, almost sending him reeling to the dirt. Johnny’s face looked serious. And drunk.

  Law enforcement taught Kurt many things. Searching people for tells had become second nature to him. But the first tell he ever learned was in eighth grade. He knew when Johnny had been hanging out with the Shelby girls. Their father was careless with his liquor case key, and the girls often had pick of the litter with his whiskey. Johnny learned early where to find the alcohol.

  Kurt could tell when Johnny was lit. Even in this darkness, by barrel fire light, Kurt could see the slightly glazed, frantic darting of Johnny’s eyes. He might as well wear a sign on his forehead saying, “Hello, I’m drunk.”

  Before Johnny could say a word, Kurt grabbed his arm at the shoulder, much the same way he had their whole lives. “You’re drunk!” He hissed through his teeth. He pushed Johnny through the crowd toward his office.

  A woman blocked their path. She looked to be in her mid-forties, a soccer mom—out of place in this crowd. “You’re the sheriff, right?” she said, her hands welded against her hips and one sneaker tapping on asphalt. “I said—”

  “I heard you, ma’am,” Kurt replied, switching from brother to sheriff mode. “I’ll be happy to answer any questions or concerns you have, but there are other matters that need immediate attention. Come by my office in ten minutes.”

  She opened her mouth but before she could give a retort, Kurt cut her off. “Ten minutes,” he repeated. “Okay?”

  She shifted to her other sneaker, weighing his words. Finally, she nodded and stepped aside. “Ten minutes,” she agreed like she had come up with the idea on her own.

  She wanted the last word and Kurt knew it. He’d let her have her little victory. He smiled and tipped his hat, then zipped past her with his brother.

  They made the half block to the sheriff’s office in record time. Kurt ignored the newly deputized workforce that fell silent at his arrival, making a beeline for his office. It wouldn’t provide complete privacy, but was good enough for him.

  He led Johnny inside and closed the door.

  “Kurt, you won’t believe—”

  “How can you be drunk again?” Kurt’s voice was louder than he intended.

  “No, listen, bro.”

  “You promised,” Kurt snapped. Suddenly he felt himself a passenger on a runaway roller coaster. All he could do was hold on tight and hope it didn’t fly off the rails. “How do you find it? Huh? Does the booze fairy visit you every night?”

  “Yeah, I drank, but wait. There’s something—”

  “There’s always something. I get it, you’ve had a crap life ’cause God has personally chosen to kick the crap out of you. I get it.”

  Johnny didn’t try to say any more. He shut up and stood there, used to being on the receiving end of Kurt’s righteous arguments. It was familiar territory for him.

  “What about your girls?”

  Johnny looked surprised. “My girls? What about them?”

  “They’ve been at my house. Marcia’s taking care of them.”

  “She wanted to. She practically begged me to leave them with her. You know she wants girls.”

  “You’re a drunk, Johnny. And you’ll always be a drunk. You drag everyone down with your misery. Me, Marcia, your girls, Lis—” Kurt caught himself before he named Johnny’s dead wife. The roller coaster careened dangerously close to the edge.

  Johnny leaned forward. “What? What did you say? Lisa?” His voice rose in pitch.

  Kurt considered what he wanted to say. He had said it once or twice before. The day, the events leading up to now, wore out his restraint. The roller coaster was about to fly off the tracks. “Yes, Lisa. You remember her, your wife, your girls’ mother. The woman you killed.”

  Johnny swept one arm across the top of Kurt’s desk, slinging loose paperwork and pencils and reading glasses off to crash to the floor. “You’ve always been jealous because she chose me over you!”

  “Jealous? I’m jealous of you?” Kurt swallowed hard. “I felt sorry for her, what you did to her. I hate you because of what you did to her. You and your punk drugs. You killed her! Ruined her!”

  Johnny didn’t speak anymore. He took a clumsy step forward and took an even clumsier swing at his brother.

  Unlike when Kurt was sucker punched on the stairs, he saw this one coming. Instinctively, he sidestepped and he hooked Johnny’s arm with his own. He allowed Johnny’s momentum to continue spinning him around. Once Kurt planted his feet he twisted his body and effortlessly pinned Johnny to the top of the desk.

  “Get off me,” Johnny grunted as he struggled to break from his brother’s hold.

  After several long seconds holding his brother down, Kurt pushed off him and backed away. He raised his arms like he surrendered.

  Johnny didn’t expect Kurt to release him, so it took a few seconds to register. Once he did, though, he sprang from the desk and glared at his brother, his fists clenched for round two.

  Deciding instead he’d be on the bad end of a fist fight, he wiped his mouth, spit on the floor and relaxed his fists. “I’m gone,” he said and left the office.

  “Johnny, hold on,” Kurt said. All the flame and fire of the crashing roller coaster fizzled out as quickly as it started. Tiredness was all that was left.

  Johnny ignored him and weaved through the office, shoving a stool out of his way. It skidded away w
ith a screech.

  Kurt went after his brother. “Hey.”

  A woman, the soccer mom from the crowd, entered the sheriff’s office, and moved with purpose toward him. She stopped in his way, blocking his exit. “You ready to answer my questions?”

  Kurt sighed as he watched his brother leave. Then turning to the impatient lady, said, “Yes, may I help you?”

  Aubrey slumped in her chair in the city chambers meeting room. The stackable chairs in the seating area were in disarray, like a tornado had come through, upturning everything.

  LaTonya and four new deputies herded the last protestor out about fifteen minutes ago. To be safe, Aubrey asked two more to stand outside the council chambers, just in case. Just in case. It sounded so casual. Just in case a mob burst back in, demanding her head on a stick.

  The meeting went pretty much as she expected. Yelling, screaming, crying. She was as up front as she could be about the situation. She thought the citizens would appreciate her honesty and candor. Maybe it didn’t matter what she said. People were looking for a reason to complain.

  Did she blame them?

  She wanted to scream and complain also, but to who?

  The chamber door squeaked open, startling her. She sat upright. Then, realizing it was Kurt, she relaxed and leaned back, embarrassed.

  “Am I disturbing you?” he said, weariness permeating every syllable.

  She pushed away from the table. “No.”

  He scanned the room, the overturned chairs, the sheets of paper and disaster preparedness tri-folds littering the floor. He crossed his arms. “So you went ahead and held a vote.”

  “Not really a vote now, was it?”

  “I was being polite.”

  “I know.” She stretched. It felt like she hadn’t moved her neck in ages.

  Kurt walked to the other side of the table, opposite Aubrey. “You make this decision, then I have to do the dirty work.”

  She studied him for a moment. The tension of the night came back and she felt her blood rise. “What—” she caught herself and measured her words. “Do you really think that? That was my intention?”

  Kurt looked from her to the desk. “Of course not. You know that. I think I’m tired, is all.”

  She nodded. “We’re all tired.”

  “I said some things to Johnny…” his voice trailed off.

  “Yeah? What happened?”

  “Not sure, really.”

  “You know Johnny better than anyone. Once he’s done pouting he’ll come around. He can’t exist without you. Not alone.”

  “I hope so. It’s become a lonely world.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Aubrey said, and for a moment she knew she wasn’t alone with Kurt here. Then she felt a gentle flush of embarrassment across her face as her mind shifted to her husband, long gone. “The days are going to be busy. When was the last time you were home?”

  Kurt considered her words. He couldn’t remember the last time. He had pushed it from his mind as far as he pushed away thoughts of his son. But he knew how well that had worked. He shrugged and shook his head.

  “You should go home, get some rest.” Aubrey stood. She stretched and pulled away her sticky blouse, covered with evening sweat. “Give Marcia a kiss. I’m sure she misses you.”

  Kurt caught himself watching Aubrey longer than he should’ve. To cover his embarrassment, he gave an exaggerated yawn and stretch. He rubbed his eyes. “You’re right. I’m falling asleep standing here,” he offered almost apologetically to excuse his gawking. “You’ll be all right?” he asked before he turned for the door.

  “Of course,” she said. “I’m the mayor. I have to be.”

  Kurt nodded, smiled, and with a tip of his hat, he parted ways with Aubrey. On his way home, about two miles from downtown, Kurt reminisced of past days, of pleasant times in high school, of football games and underdog victories—and old girlfriends. Like Aubrey.

  His home was dark, like all the other houses he’d passed. And as he entered, a wall of unmoving, stagnant air greeted him. He propped the door open and latched the screen closed.

  “Hello?” came a voice from the darkness.

  Hearing his wife of twenty-five years, he smiled even though she couldn’t see, sure she would hear it in his voice. “Hello, hon.”

  And as simply as that he felt ashamed for avoiding his wife for so long. Like he had bottled up all the anger and frustration from all the turmoil and ascribed it to her. She became the scapegoat for his disgust over the past weeks.

  “Glad you’re home. It’s been a while.” She stepped from the kitchen, holding a teacup with a candle melted almost to the point of uselessness. She glanced at the door. “You said to keep the doors locked. Have they found who kidnapped those people?”

  Kurt unbuckled his holster and held up his 9mm. “I’m not too worried about intruders. You shouldn’t be either.” He dropped heavily onto his couch. “How are the girls?”

  Marcia sat next to him and pulled her legs up underneath her. The teacup candle flickered and sputtered. “They’re asleep. They haven’t asked for their daddy once. They seem so sad and lonely.”

  “I’m sure they are,” Kurt replied. He wanted to say more, and his wife seemed to know it. She waited. Finally, he said, “I’ve been thinking about Shiloh.”

  She put her hand on his knee. “Of course. Me too. The girls aren’t the only ones that have been lonely.” She put the teacup on the coffee table and wrapped her arms around her husband. He hugged her back and rested his head on her shoulder. And she sat there in the dark and let him sob quietly, but she didn’t cry because she had already cried all the tears she could for her son.

  Johnny didn’t know much, but he knew where the tripwires were set. He avoided them and easily dodged the roving patrols keeping watch along the wall. After all, they were looking for people trying to sneak into Bartel, not sneak out.

  He skirted the town limits and set out west, toward the purple octopus he’d seen blooming in the sky earlier.

  The moon remained hidden behind clouds, another typical post-apocalyptic night. Even so, there was enough light for him to see the road’s outline. He figured if he stuck to the road he’d be all right.

  So, Johnny set out on his own journey, leaving Bartel behind. About a mile away from town, his daughters passed through his mind. He stopped on the road and considered turning back.

  After a minute of waging an internal battle, his head started banging as the alcohol and the accompanying high fled his body. Fighting with his brother ruined a perfectly good high.

  He promptly forgot about his daughters and continued into the unknown, away from his brother, from the ridicule, from Bartel. It was time to start a new life. Out west, somewhere. Anywhere but Bartel.

  Another couple of miles and he paused to give his feet a rest. He sat down on the road and slid his left Converse off and thumped it against the palm of his hand. Hopefully the pebble that had wedged inside for the purpose of tormenting his big toe would find its way out. Satisfied he got rid of the rock, he started to slip his sweaty foot back into his shoe.

  A peculiar buzzing startled him.

  Instinctively reaching into his jeans pocket, he pulled out his cell phone. It hadn’t worked since the end of the world. He flipped the case to see who was calling. It came up as UNKNOWN.

  As Johnny sat in the middle of the road he looked up to the darkened sky and wondered what was going on.

  03.01

  LONELY ROAD

  “Hello?” Johnny mumbled the greeting into his cell even as his slow mind processed the fact his phone was working again.

  A digitized mechanical voice said: This is the Civil Defense Service. The United States of America is under attack. The government urges all citizens to shelter in place; help will arrive shortly. If you are confronted by hostile forces, take whatever measures necessary to defend yourself and your fellow neighbors. May God bless America!

  The call ended.

  Tha
t was the last thing Johnny needed to hear. He had been living the end of the world for weeks, but for some reason, hearing the government acknowledge it made it so much worse.

  Sitting on this lonely stretch of highway in the dark made him feel absolutely insignificant. Like the whole universe was about to flare up in one giant ball of flame. It wouldn’t even notice if he was gone. No one would. Not even his brother. Or his kids.

  His mind shifted once again from his children to the immediate: there is power. Or at least his phone had power. He looked up into the dark sky, like at any moment he would see a magical generator floating there. But there was none.

  He mashed a button to light his keypad, then searched for a number. The first he came across was Denise’s, his on-again, off-again girlfriend. More of a drinking partner with occasional fringe benefits. He dialed her number and waited.

  After ten rings went unanswered, he closed his cell, ending the call.

  The Georgia night time air felt like he had to swallow large mouthfuls just to catch a good breath. Maybe it was the night, the continual low-hanging clouds that blocked out the sun and moon, or the thought of the world being a big fireball that made it more difficult for him to breathe. Maybe it was all in his head.

  Then he heard a mechanical click somewhere in the dark. He couldn’t count the number of times he had heard that same mechanical click over the past few weeks. A hammer getting cocked.

  Instinctively, he froze. Except for his heart, which beat furiously with fear.

  He strained his ears to pick up any other sounds. Behind him, off to his left, a twig snapped and leaves crunched under foot. His heart skipped and sweat trickled down his forehead. In an act of complete submission, he slowly raised his arms above his head.

  The sensation of someone creeping up behind him set his hair on edge and he wanted to scream and run away.

  “Don’t move!” came a voice from the darkness. A familiar voice.