Blackout & Burn: A Complete EMP Thriller Series

by Rebecca Fernfield

  Noise, perhaps a shout, and Jessie tenses.

  “What was that?”

  “Shh!” Jessie raises a finger to her lips. She stands in silence and listens for the noise, steeling herself against the horror: she wants to hear Ridley and Briggs calling, but doesn’t want to hear their pain. As the minutes wear on, and the noise doesn’t return, she turns to Alex. “In the morning—we’ll have to look for them in the morning.” Nothing else seems to matter.

  A DARK PATCH ACROSS Jessie’s forehead catches Alex’s attention as she turns to him, her face written with grief.

  “Jessie,” he says resting his hand on her shoulder. “You’re hurt. You should sit down.” He guides her away from the edge of the gorge.

  “I’m OK,” she says though her voice doesn’t carry conviction.

  “No, Jess. You’ve got a head injury. You should let me check it out.”

  She raises her hand to her forehead and presses there. Her fingers come away dark at the tips.

  “See, you’re bleeding.”

  “Yes,” she replies.

  “Do you have a torch in your bag of tricks?”

  “Yeah,” she replies and hands it to him. “It’s in the front pouch—a small metal cylinder.”

  “Good,” he replies, relieved that she’s co-operating, and unzips the bag then pulls out the torch. Despite being battered by the ‘landing’ he’s fine and Clare shows no sign of damage, but Jessie’s head needs attention. He presses the button.

  “Ow!” Jessie complains as a sharp, white light shines into her eyes.

  “Sorry! Well, at least your pupils contract no problem.”

  “Thanks for that!” She screws up her eyes and throws her hand up to the light.

  “Sorry!”

  “It’s OK,” she replies though her face looks pale.

  “Close your eyes and let me have a look.”

  Her eyes close and he shines the torch at her head. Blood is smeared across her forehead and has dripped down her cheek and onto her top, but there’s no sign of a wound there. He trains the light on her head. Blood is caked in her dark, thick hair and there’s a gash across her scalp, exposing the pink flesh. He holds his breath and his comment.

  “And?” she questions.

  “The skin’s broken, and perhaps needs stitches, but it’s not too bad,” he replies, playing down the mess he’s looking at. “Head wounds bleed.”

  “They do.”

  “There’s a fair bit of blood, so I reckon it just looks worse than it is.”

  “Look in my bag. There’s a first aid kit.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “No.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” he laughs.

  “There’s glue in there too.”

  “Oh! Well-”

  “If you clean the wound you can glue it together,” she says.

  “I’m just relieved you said glue and not needle and thread.”

  “Hah!”

  “Eeww!” Clare comments. “That would make me barf!”

  Alex ignores Clare’s disgust. Sewing Jessie back up isn’t something he wants to think about, but he’d do it if he had to. “You sure you want me to? I think it needs it, but-”

  “Yep.”

  “OK, then,” he says and delves back in the bag and pulls out a leather pouch.

  “No, not that one. It’s a small tin.”

  Another search reveals the tin. Passing the torch to Clare, he opens it. “Shine the torch here,” he says as he peers into the open tin. Inside are a few square packets with ‘Antiseptic Wipe’ written in black, along with a small tube of superglue, and some other packets that claim ‘sterile gauze’. Beneath them is a small roll of white tape, presumably for fixing the gauze.

  “Clare, shine the torch around and see if there’s somewhere we can sit.”

  “Sure,” she replies.

  As the light arcs he spots it—a large tree uprooted by the plane. “Over here,” he says with a hand on Jessie’s arm. “Come and sit down so I can fix this.”

  As Jessie sits on the trunk, Clare shines the torch on the wound.

  “Ugh!”

  “Clare! Just shine it on the wound.” Why can’t she keep her comments to herself? He didn’t want Jessie to worry.

  “Alright, no need to snap!”

  “Just let me get on with this,” Alex reprimands as he unfolds the small square of cloth. He wipes it against the wound in Jessie’s hair. It’s deep, the sides are gaping and he hates to think what a mess it would be tomorrow if it wasn’t fixed tonight. She draws a sharp breath.

  “You, OK?”

  “Bit of a tang, but yes!”

  “Right. Hold still. Stiff upper lip!” he says as he wipes the wound again. The slice in her scalp cleaned, he can see the full extent of the damage. The cut runs down her scalp just behind her forehead towards her ear for about six centimetres, but it’s neat without ragged edges.

  Clare shifts next to him. If she makes another comment! He nudges her and gives her a warning glare. She frowns but doesn’t speak.

  “All clean, Jess,” he says with his best reassuring voice. If she didn’t have a headache now, she would in the morning. He hopes she’s got some paracetamol in her bag of tricks! As he opens the tube of glue. A bird calls from the dark of the trees and Clare drops the torch. Alex sighs but waits patiently as she retrieves it.

  “OK, Clare?”

  “Yeah, sorry!”

  “OK, just shine the light on the wound, and keep it still.”

  “Sorry! Butter fingers!”

  “It’s OK.”

  The light trained back on the wound, Alex points the nozzle at the gash and with a gentle squeeze leaves a narrow trail of liquid along its length.

  “Stings!”

  “Just stay still,” he says as he screws the top back on the tube and returns it to the tin. “Now, I’m going to push the wound together Jessie. Don’t move. I don’t fancy having my fingers stuck to your head.”

  Clare snorts with laughter and Jessie tenses.

  “Right, hold still,” Alex repeats as he pushes the two sides of the wound together. “Keep the light on it, Clare.”

  Seconds pass as Alex holds the wound together. When he releases the pressure, the sides are sealed. “Hah! I did it,” he says with triumph.

  “Let me see.”

  “Ooh, yes, very neat. You won’t be able to tell once its healed, Jessie.”

  “Thanks,” Jessie responds.

  “You OK, Jessie? You’re not saying much.”

  “Well, I’ve kind of got a headache and someone just glued my head back together,” she says with a wry laugh.”

  “OK,” he replies with relief.

  “So, you think it’ll heal OK?”

  Alex inspects his handiwork again—the sides are aligned and once it heals, if it heals right, then it shouldn’t leave much more than a narrow scar that will be hidden by her thick hair. “Yes, as long as we keep it clean, it should be fine. And Clare’s right. It’s neat and tidy. Just try not to touch it.”

  Jessie nods under the torchlight.

  “Do you have any painkillers in your bag?”

  “No.”

  “Now I am surprised,” he says with a raise of his brows. “Just let me know if you feel dizzy or confused, or want to puke though, OK?”

  “Sure. Thank you, doctor.”

  “I mean it, Jess,” he says holding her gaze. “If you start feeling bad, you’ve got to tell me OK?”

  “OK!”

  “You’re only human. I know you don’t want to believe that but-”

  “Sure, I know, Alex.”

  “Alex, now that you’ve fixed Jessie, don’t you think ...”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well ... we can’t stay here—not for the night. We don’t have any equipment.”

  “No, we-”

  “We need to get back to base and off this mountain or hill or whatever it is,” she says with a note of anxiety.

  Ale
x sighs and sits next to Jessie on the log. Clare was starting to get on his wick! He grunts as he sits, the muscles wrenched as they crashed now stiffening.

  “You, OK?” Jessie asks.

  “Yeah,” he replies. “Just a bit bruised, that’s all.”

  “Me too,” says Clare as she sits next to him. “So, about getting off this mount-”

  “No!” Jessie says with defiance. “We have to look for Ridley and Briggs.”

  “Sure, but-”

  “We stay here tonight.”

  “But it’s so cold!”

  “It is, but we have to stay.”

  “It’s too dark to try going down anyway,” Alex adds.

  “But we’ll freeze and ... and you’ve got a torch!”

  JESSIE LOOKS AT CLARE’S moonlit face and then to the trees beyond. Even with her father’s influence, how had Clare survived in the Academy this long? Her head aches and all Jessie wants to do is lay down and rest, but she knows that can’t happen—not until they’ve prepared themselves for the hours ahead.

  “Listen, Clare. We’re going to have to wait for dawn. There’s no point trying to make our way through unknown terrain in the dark. Even with a torch it’s too dangerous.”

  “So, what are you suggesting? We just sit here and shiver through the night?” Clare asks with a hint of disdain.

  Surprised at her tone, Jessie bites back. “No, we’re not going to just sit here and shiver! We’re going to make the best shelter we can to keep warm then we’re going to look for Ridley and Briggs at first light.” She looks to the sky. “It must be about ten o’clock by now. This time of year, the sun rises at about four-thirty so we’ve only got six hours in the dark.”

  “Six cold and wet hours!” Clare adds.

  “Hey! You know the drill. We’ve just got through the toughest training of our career. I’m sure even you can sit on this hillside for a few hours without falling apart.”

  “Sure, I know that-”

  “It’s dark but there’s enough light to see at least the outline of things,” Jessie adds. “And there are plenty of ferns around to make a bed with.”

  “Ferns?” Clare asks with scepticism looking around the dark space.

  “Yes, ferns. We’ll have to make do seeing as we haven’t got our kit. That went down with the back of the plane-”

  “We might find that tomorrow!”

  “I hope so,” Jessie agrees. “For now, though, we’re just going to have to improvise with what we can find. I don’t know about you, but I need at least a few hours before we start climbing down that gorge tomorrow. That’s what Ridley would tell us to do—conserve our energy and rest.”

  “No way I’ll sleep!”

  “I don’t suppose I will either, but I’m going to try,” Jessie says. Keeping calm after losing the Captain and Briggs is taking every ounce of her energy.

  “So, ferns?”

  “Yes. Pick as many as you can and bring them back here—we’ll at least have a soft bed to lie on. If you do that I’ll start a fire.”

  “Fire! What with?”

  Jessie reaches for the straps of her backpack and drops it to the floor. She squats and unzips it, pulling out the leather pouch. “With this,” she says holding it up.

  “A bag?”

  “It’s my fire kit.”

  “You’ve got a fire-starting kit?”

  “Uhuh. I always carry it with me. You never know what’s going to happen. I like to be prepared.”

  “Looks like I crashed with the right person.”

  “It was something Ridley told me to do.”

  “Ridley did?”

  “Yes.”

  “How come he didn’t tell me?” Clare asks.

  “Well ... he taught me a lot of stuff that wasn’t part of the Academy’s curriculum.”

  “He was a marine before, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah, he was a marine.”

  “So how come he taught you more than was on the curriculum?”

  “He was my dad’s best friend. They were close.”

  “Oh, I see. So why didn’t your dad teach you this stuff?”

  “He did, or rather he was doing, before he died.”

  “Oh, Jess, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dig away like that,” Clare apologises.

  “No, it’s OK. He died a while ago.”

  “What happened?”

  “The Underground bombings. He was trying to help rescue people when the last bomb detonated.”

  “Oh, Jess. I’m sorry,” Clare repeats.

  “Listen, I’d rather not talk about it. We need to focus on keeping warm and getting some sleep.”

  “Sure,” Alex returns. “I’ll get some wood, Clare, if you’ll get the ferns.”

  “OK,” she replies and walks across the churned-up ground to the bank of ferns greyed out in the moonlight.

  Jessie walks across to the nearest tree and searches in the shadows for twigs and any dry moss she can find.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Uri sits with his daughter, holding her to him in the dark. “Don’t fret, malyshka. It’s just a power cut.” The child leans into him, her thumb firmly stuck into her mouth. “Viktoria, take her for me, darling.” He says as he passes Anna to her mother. The child’s blonde hair gleams in the moonlight as it streams in through the tall window. One advantage of being this high up in the apartment block, they could see the moon easily from the windows once it was risen, and the room had a wonderful view across the city. Tonight, there was nothing to block the sight of the stars apart from the wisps of cloud. His daughter safely in her mother’s arms, he walks to the window. “So beautiful,” he says looking up to the sky.

  “But it’s so dark, Uri,” replies his wife.

  “Da. But the stars ... we should move to the countryside,” he says reaching for his jacket from the chair.

  Walking through to the bedroom he opens the wardrobe and pulls out his workbag.

  “You keep saying that, but when?” Viktoria calls as he takes the keys from their hook on the wardrobe door and unlocks the padlock holding the bag’s zip closed.

  “When we have enough money,” he calls back as he unzips the bag and takes out his gun and holster. He stands, pulls off his jumper then straps the holster across his body. Slipping the gun in place he relocks the bag, puts it back in the wardrobe, hangs up the key and walks back into the living room. The brilliant and dancing lights that had filled it only half an hour before have melted back into the sky and now the room is lit by the silvery shafts of the moon’s light. He stands in the doorway for a moment, pulling on his jacket and taking in the scene, or rather Viktoria. He loves to watch her when she’s unaware of him, taking in the beauty of her curves, the rise of her breasts, the slender waist. He wants to reach out and stroke her hair, let it curl through his fingers, see her eyes smile at him as he bends to kiss her. He was a lucky man. After this job is complete, he’ll take her in his arms, caress her naked body and thru-

  “Do you really think Bolstovsky will let you?” she asks as he steps into the room.

  “Huh?”

  “Leave—so that we can get out of the city?”

  Forced back to the present, her question makes him tense and he’s silent as he zips his jacket, quickly hiding the gun strapped against his ribs. No! Never. “Yes, of course he will,” he replies though his voice doesn’t carry conviction.

  “Sure,” she replies. “Look at it—even now, when there’s a blackout across the city, you go because they call.”

  “Viktoria—you know how it is.”

  “Sure,” she replies with a tone of resentment. “But you should be with us.”

  “Listen! I got the call before the power went off, and anyway, it’ll be back on soon,” he replies leaning in to kiss her.

  “Be careful,” she chides.

  “Papa!”

  “Anna, be good for Mumiya,” he tells his daughter as he strokes the child’s head; her hair is like silk through his fingers.

  H
e hated to leave them, but work was work and, in his line, when a job came in, family had to come second. He has the address and his orders: get the evidence and then the woman. He sighs—at least the blackout would help cover his tracks—no CCTV to worry about tonight. “I’ll be back soon,” he says. “Don’t wait up.”

  “Pah!” his wife returns and his belly clenches at her anger. He’ll make it up to her tomorrow—once the job was done.

  “Lock the door after me.”

  Uri takes the last steps down into the gated carpark of the apartment block, pulls out his key and points it in the direction of his car. The light from the moon is enough for him to see his way through the parked cars. He presses at the button to unlock the doors. Nothing. With a frown he steps up to the driver’s door. It’s definitely his car; Anna’s stuffed elephant sits in the booster seat. He smirks. The pink and flowery seat and the velvet plushie aren’t doing much for his ruthless gangster persona. He’ll put them in the boot before he leaves the carpark. He presses at the fob again. Nothing. No clicks. No flashing lights.

  “Huh!” he grumbles and pulls at the door’s handle. It pulls to him but doesn’t open the door. He tries the fob again. The car remains locked. “Did you do this?” he asks looking up to the sky and remembering the glorious colours that shifted across it earlier. The story had been all over social media yesterday, how there would be a rare and spectacular aurora tonight. He’d stood and watched it dance across the sky, Viktoria at his side, Anna in his arms. There had been mention of it perhaps effecting radio signals or something. For a moment he stares at his unresponsive car. All the electrics were out in the apartment, his mobile had died, and now he couldn’t even get his car to unlock. He hadn’t connected the brilliant display of the aurora with the blackout until now. Lights flicker in some of the rooms of the surrounding tower blocks, not the bright light that would come from bulbs, but a softer glow—probably from candles or maybe the torches of people savvy enough to have them ready ‘just in case’.

  He stuffs the keys back in his pocket. He’d have to walk to the job, unless he can get a taxi. Perhaps other cars were still running? He walks back through to the front of the apartment block and steps out onto the streets. The car that had crashed as the blackout struck still sits skewed across the kerb. He pulls out his torch and shines it into the driver’s seat. It’s empty and there’s no sign of the driver, so no harm done, but the car was a write-off. With his torch lighting the way, he steps onto the road and around the car that blocks his path. Ahead, the road is littered with more cars, some appear to have come to a graceful stop whilst others sit at skewed angles blocking the road. People mill among them and there’s a low chatter in the air.