World on Edge: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (World on Edge Book 1)

by Chris Pike

  “Mom, let’s get out of here and walk home.” Rising from his seat, Tyler placed his hand under his mom’s elbow to help her up.

  “Tyler, I can’t walk,” Becca protested, shooting him an angry expression. “My leg is nearly useless.”

  “I’ll stay with you,” Kinsey said. “You should too, Tyler.”

  Tyler kicked a seat, angry at the situation. “I’m not leaving you either, Mom, and I’m sure not going to let Mr. Pilot dictate our every move.”

  “I’m not here to tell you what to do,” Ethan cut in. “I’m only advising you. There’s nothing keeping me here other than my offer to help, so if you want me to leave, I will. It’s your mom’s decision.”

  Becca put her hand on Ethan’s arm. “We would like it very much if you stayed to help us. I know my children feel the same.” Becca paused. “Right, Tyler?”

  “Right,” Tyler mumbled. He plopped down in his seat and crossed his arms.

  “Ethan,” Kinsey said, “I’ll help you find the items you need.”

  Before Ethan could reply, Tyler said sharply, “I’ll help him, Kins. You stay here with Mom.”

  Ethan knew he was treading on Tyler’s place in the family, especially since the teen was full of too much teen anger and not enough adult reasoning. “Tyler, you need to stay with your mom to protect her. You’re big for your age and look older than you are. It would be safer if Kinsey came with me and you stayed here.”

  Becca nodded her approval. “Kins, go with Ethan. Tyler will stay here with me.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Ethan and Kinsey left the area to make the rounds searching for the items they needed.

  “What should we look for first?” Kinsey asked.

  “Doesn’t matter. We need whiskey, a pair of pliers, and bandages. Also, any type of over-the-counter pain reliever. It’ll help with pain and fever.”

  They walked past a row of corpses someone had placed along a wall. The crash and the resulting explosion and fire didn’t discriminate regarding who it killed when parts of the compromised stadium crumbled, burying the stunned fans in rubble or fatally injuring them with falling debris. Young and old, men, women and children all had breathed their last breath, and were now beginning to bloat. A swam of flies covered the bodies, and a feral cat nibbling on an exposed body part scurried away at the sight of living humans.

  “What’s going to happen to these people?” Kinsey asked.

  “The dead don’t have anything to worry about.” Ethan sighed. “Their troubles are over. At some point, possibly months or years from now, and if the electrical grid comes back on, what’s left of these people will be buried in a mass grave, probably in a nearby field. By then, only bones will be left. Anything organic will have been ravaged by feral dogs and cats. Rats too.”

  Kinsey shuddered at the thought. “That’s awful.”

  “That’s reality,” Ethan said.

  For the next thirty minutes, Kinsey and Ethan gathered the items they needed, plus some. The bottle of whiskey had been found at a local chain restaurant, the pliers found in a utility room, and bandages in a first aid kit. Kinsey pocketed non-perishable food like chocolate bars with almonds, crackers, an apple, and several bottles of water. Ethan found a hammer he planned on using as a weapon if needed. He secured it on a belt loop, then fluffed his shirt over his pants.

  “Time to go,” he said. “We don’t want to be gone longer than necessary.”

  “I need to use the restroom and wash my face,” Kinsey said. “The women’s restroom is up ahead.”

  “I’ll stand guard while you go.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Yes I do. I’ll stand right inside the entrance while you do your business.”

  “Umm, well, I plan to wash too. I feel gross,” Kinsey said.

  “You have five minutes to get everything done. Don’t make any noise, don’t talk, don’t sing, and don’t bother flushing the toilet. On the slim chance it works, it’ll make too much noise, and noise is something we don’t want to make. The survivors are starting to clear out, meaning the bad guys have fewer targets. Understand?”

  “Yes. I’ll be quick. Don’t look, okay?”

  “I won’t. I promise,” Ethan said.

  ~ ~ ~

  Getting antsy regarding how long it took Kinsey to do her business, Ethan peeked around the corner into the room where the stalls were located. “Kinsey?” he whispered. “Time to go.”

  “Coming,” Kinsey whispered back. She quietly opened the door to the stall, careful not to let it bang against the metal partition. She washed her hands, then met Ethan at the front.

  Ethan heaved a backpack onto his back. “Since we’re on the opposite side of where your mom and brother are, let’s take the other way around.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Walking in silence along the concourse, Kinsey finally asked, “Why are you helping us?”

  “Because you need help,” Ethan replied.

  “So do a lot of other people. Why us?”

  “Quite simple. You showed tremendous courage and tenacity when you looked for help for your brother. When we found your mom, you didn’t become hysterical. You kept a level head, and did what was necessary. I’ve seen too much regarding the outcomes of when someone loses their cool. People can die.”

  “You sound like you have firsthand experience with that.” Kinsey glanced at Ethan, waiting for his reply.

  “I do, unfortunately.”

  “You can talk to me about it.”

  “It won’t bring back my—”

  Kinsey and Ethan saw them at the same time. A group of three teens had spotted them and were walking briskly towards them. Their cocky swagger indicated they thought highly of themselves, invincible in fact.

  “Hey, old man!” the oldest teen yelled. “Waz up?” His baggy jeans were ragged at the bottom from scraping the ground. Dark thread trailed behind him.

  It took Ethan a long second to size up the young man. He had a thin mustache, dark unkempt hair that probably hadn’t been touched by a real barber in a year. He wore a fake gold necklace around his neck, but the gold Guido ring studded with diamonds appeared real, no doubt stolen from someone who’d earned the right to buy it instead of stealing it.

  “Hey! I’m talkin’ to you, bro.”

  Ethan said nothing, keeping his eyes trained on the guy doing the talking. The two who flanked him were his minions and probably would get on all fours and bark if their leader ordered them to.

  “Stay behind me,” Ethan said through tight lips. He purposely refrained from using Kinsey’s name.

  Kinsey stepped behind him.

  “Whoa, pretty lady. No need to hide behind your old man.” His tone was mocking.

  “You don’t want to do this,” Ethan said in an even voice.

  “Do what? I’m tryin’ to be friendly. Yo, Tomas,” the leader said, addressing one of his gang. “I’m a friendly guy, don’t you think so?”

  “Yeah, you’re friendly, Miguel, especially with the ladies.”

  Miguel cracked a thin smile, showing a crooked set of tobacco-stained teeth. “Especially the hot chick over there.”

  A shiver shot up through Kinsey starting at her arms, through her midsection, shoulders, then out through the top of her head. She hunched over, taking cover behind Ethan.

  Miguel stepped closer to Ethan, who mirrored the move.

  “Don’t even think it,” Ethan growled.

  Miguel sneered, “Or what?”

  “I’ll make you wish you hadn’t.”

  Ethan’s last statement gave Miguel pause. Perhaps he had misjudged the “old man.” However, if he backed down now he’d lose respect he had weaseled his way into, and no way would he let this gringo take away his respect.

  Without warning or indication, Miguel struck at Ethan, who blocked the swing. Ethan pivoted and swung his fist up toward the guy’s chin, making a solid strike. The leader’s head snapped back and he stumbled. Gaining traction, he lowered
his head and charged Ethan like a bull would a red cape. Ethan looped his arm around the guy’s neck and held him in a choke hold, reminiscent of when a famous aging and future Hall of Famer National Baseball League pitcher put a much younger opponent in a headlock, punching his head, proving age was only a number.

  The other two rushed Ethan.

  Ethan took one of them down with a well-placed kick to the stomach. The guy grunted and fell to the floor. He clutched his stomach and writhed around, his legs flailing and kicking air.

  The third guy stopped in his tracks and swiveled his eyes from Miguel to Tomas. His mind worked quickly to assess the situation, and didn’t take him long to make a decision. “I’m outta here.” Like a coward, he took off running in the other direction.

  Bent at the waist and struggling against the headlock Ethan had on him, Miguel reached into his back pocket. He withdrew a switchblade and flicked it open.

  “Watch out!” Kinsey screamed. “He has a knife!”

  Ethan was angry that he did not have his knife. Under normal conditions, each pilot would have a survival kit that included a knife and a PDW (Personal Defense Weapon) in case the pilot had to eject in hostile territory. Since today’s “mission” was public relations, the higher ups decided that all weaponry would be removed from the aircraft to protect the civilians and the reporters running around the area.

  Lacking an alternative, Ethan flung Miguel away from him, and the smaller man lost his balance, hit the floor, and rolled once.

  Ethan readied himself for a knife attack and swung his backpack in front of him.

  With the insanity of a madman and with his chest heaving, Miguel held the switchblade in front of him, tossing it from hand to hand for show. “I’m gonna cut you.”

  Ethan’s training kicked in and he took the stance of a fighter. Ethan could hear his SERE (Survival Evasion Resistance Escape) trainer’s voice telling him, “You’re going to get cut in a knife fight. Expect it, so relax and focus on the location of the blade. You can be hurt by a kick or a punch, but a knife blade in the right place can take you completely out of the fight. Make sure the blade does not reach a vital spot, even if you have to sacrifice a limb.” Those abstract concepts were now becoming very real to Ethan.

  Before Miguel could charge him, Ethan swung his backpack around his shoulder and thrust his left arm deep into the center interior of the pack, grabbing the interior’s bottom tightly with his fist. His left forearm was now surrounded by 360 degrees of 1000 denier Cordura nylon fabric that would help reduce the effect of any slashing technique. Straight in thrusts could penetrate Ethan’s backpack/shield, so he would have to stay alert and be ready to parry any stabbing attacks.

  Miguel opened with a slash to the left and a backslash to the right, hitting Ethan’s left forearm with both strokes. Frustrated by the lack of anguish on Ethan’s face, Miguel thrust full speed toward Ethan’s middle with a series of stabs, looking very much like a sewing machine creating a buttonhole.

  Ethan was a bit slow and felt two of the stabs penetrate into his left forearm. He cursed himself for slowing down with age, gritted his teeth, and pushed Miguel’s knife hand downward with his right arm. He threw a haymaker punch with his heavy backpack encased arm right at Miguel’s head. The full strength punch made an audible sound as it impacted Miguel’s cheekbone.

  Either Miguel was on drugs or his adrenaline had redlined to the point he didn’t feel any pain because the heavy blow didn’t faze him. Anger flashed in Miguel’s eyes and he thrust the switchblade towards Ethan’s stomach.

  Ethan curled inward and jumped back as the switchblade sliced through the air, missing his belly by millimeters.

  Seeing his chance, he went on the offensive and rushed Miguel, who was off balance after the full extension knife thrust. Ethan trapped Miguel’s knife hand by looping his left arm around Miguel’s right arm, setting off a vicious ground fight. Both men struggled. Both men’s faces were bloody in seconds.

  Beads of sweat trickled down Ethan’s forehead, onto his brows, then dripped through his eyelashes, momentarily stinging his eyes.

  Rolling left, then right, back and forth, each man tried to pin the other in preparation for the finishing blow. The men were facing each other when Miguel looped his foot around Ethan’s ankle and anchored Ethan beneath him. Miguel struggled to free his knife hand as he used the other to strangle Ethan. Ethan could feel himself weakening from the lack of oxygen.

  Kinsey screamed, frantically searching for a weapon. Anything to help Ethan.

  The hammer! He must have forgotten about it.

  As Ethan struggled with Miguel on the floor, Kinsey waited for her chance. When the men stopped swaying for a moment of rest, Kinsey reached in to remove the hammer from Ethan’s belt. She held the hammer high over her head, gripping it tightly in her right hand. Using all her strength she swung the hammer down on Miguel’s head like she was swinging an axe on a log.

  The blow stunned Miguel, yet was not enough to get him to release the switchblade.

  Kinsey struck him again, again, and again, until Miguel’s hands fell to the side. His body spasmed, his legs stiffened, his hands twitched, and he slid to the ground. He took a hard breath, exhaled, and moved no more.

  Ethan rocketed up and took control of the switchblade, wiping the blood splatter off her face. “Kinsey, are you okay?”

  She didn’t respond. She was breathing hard; her eyes were wide. A trail of blood oozed out of Miguel’s head, forming a crimson river, slowly flowing towards Kinsey’s feet. She stepped out of the way of the blood, and it was then the magnitude of her actions sunk in. She began trembling so hard her teeth chattered.

  Ethan opened the backpack and retrieved a bottle of whiskey, thankfully still intact. He unscrewed the top. “Kinsey, take a sip of this.”

  She shakily turned her head to face him. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

  Ethan gently placed her hand on the bottle and brought it up to her mouth. “Take a sip. It’ll help.”

  “I’m not old enough.”

  “You are now.”

  Kinsey took a sip then another, swallowed, and coughed. The shock of the whiskey burning her throat knocked her out of her trance. Her arms and face were dotted with blood spatter. Her shirt had streaks of blood on it. “I think I’m going to vomit.”

  “You’ll be okay,” Ethan said. “Can you concentrate on your breathing?”

  Kinsey nodded her head.

  “Kinsey, look at me.” Ethan put his hands on her shoulder. “You saved my life. You saved your life. Don’t forget you did what you had to do.”

  “I don’t know what came over me. I only wanted to stun him. I don’t know why I kept hitting him.” Kinsey pleaded with her eyes for Ethan to provide her some wisdom.

  “If you hadn’t intervened, we’d both be dead. This is a glimpse of what I warned you and your family about. You understand now, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “Good. We need to get back to your mom. Are you alright to walk?”

  “Yes. I’d like to wash the blood off my face and arms though. If my mom sees me like this she’ll freak out.”

  “Be quick about it. I’ll wait right here.”

  Chapter 15

  “Becca, this is going to sting.”

  Ethan had instructed Kinsey and Tyler to hold their mom’s leg steady. Once he started pulling on the shrapnel, Becca would be lucky if she didn’t pass out because he doubted she’d ever experienced pain like this before in her life.

  Becca was on the floor lying on her back. Kinsey had rolled a discarded jacket into a makeshift pillow and placed it behind her head.

  “You ready?”

  “Just do it,” Becca said.

  “Here, Mom,” Kinsey said. “Take a few sips of this. It’ll help. I know.”

  “You still haven’t told me why your shirt has blood on it.” Becca unscrewed the top and sniffed the whiskey, letting the aroma steady her nerves. She gulped a big swallow, shu
ddered, then handed the bottle to Ethan. “That’ll take the edge off anything.” Becca addressed her daughter. “Kins, I haven’t forgotten. You’ll need to tell me what happened.”

  “Once we get the shrapnel out of you and get you bandaged, I’ll tell you.”

  “Pinky promise?” Becca asked.

  “Pinky promise,” Kinsey agreed.

  “Get ready,” Ethan said.

  Ethan used bottled water and a handful of foaming soap from the bathroom to clean the wound. His training indicated whiskey should be the last resort in cleaning wounds due to the propensity of damaging exposed tissue and hindering the healing process.

  “You holding up, Becca?” he asked.

  “Good enough. I’ve been through childbirth. Twice. I can do this.”

  Ethan kept his thoughts to himself. Jerking out shrapnel from flesh was unnatural compared to nature’s way of propagating a species. Regardless of the painful childbirth Becca had experienced, what he was about to do would be torture.

  “Tyler, hold her feet. Becca, you hold you mom’s leg above the knee. I’m going to be as quick as possible.”

  Ethan poured whiskey on the pliers to disinfect it, slinging off the excess liquid. “Becca, tell me something about your life while I get ready.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Anything. Tell me about your parents. Where did they meet?”

  “Oh, it’s a funny story. My mom was a librarian working for a big oil company in Houston. This was a while ago, when libraries existed,” Becca explained. “My dad used to go to the library to check out books even though he wasn’t a big reader, just so he could talk to my mom.”

  While Becca chatted about her parents, Ethan nodded to Kinsey and Tyler, motioning for them to get ready. Becca hadn’t noticed the silent communication. Ethan placed his hand near the wound, clamped the pliers down hard on the shrapnel, and jerked it out in one smooth movement. He immediately placed a clean bandage on it.

  “Oh my God!” Becca spat, her chest heaving. She pounded her fist on her thigh in an effort to distract herself from the pain. The instantaneous pain caused her eyes to water and for the pain receptacles in her body to explode like the apex of a firework’s display. Stars appeared before her eyes and the world around her became fuzzy.