Blackout & Burn: A Complete EMP Thriller Series

by Rebecca Fernfield

  The dark car shoots forward with Bill at its tail, filling the car with light. Jabbering and pointing at her, the passenger stares with wild, hate-filled eyes. Spittle sprays against the glass. Bloody animals!

  Thunder rolls through the dark sky.

  Bill speeds up, rams into the dark car’s side, and knocks the scowling passenger towards the driver. The dark car shoves back. Jessie rides the verge like a mountain goat clinging to its sides. A tree looms. She returns to the road, dropping behind Bill. In the near distance headlights shine from the slip road where the exit is blocked then disappear. Sparks fly in the night as Bill forces the car away from the exit. Its side scrapes along the steel barrier of the central reservation. Engines roar and light fills the road behind as the other terrorists keep pace. Behind them all, keeping their distance, and filling the width of the dual carriageway, are the two lorries.

  Sparking metal embers fly as the terrorist’s car scrapes against the barrier then swerves across the road. Cutting across Bill, it heads towards the slip road that takes them off the dual carriageway and into town. As it veers to the left, headlights flood the road. Blinded, it swerves back to the carriageway. The road blocked, the car slows. She has to goad them further—can’t allow them to turn back.

  Jessie draws level with the dark car. The driver scowls as she sits by his side, eyes widening as she points an imaginary gun. Gripping the wheel, he draws his lips back over his teeth, a trapped rat, baring its incisors. She mouths the word ‘wanker’ as she pulls at an imaginary phallus from her forehead. He snarls at her, screaming insults from behind the glass. Shouting ‘wanker’ once more she throttles forward, passes beneath the flyover and rides to the bridge. Now let them see exactly what they’re dealing with.

  The terrorist’s car is close as she rides up the incline where the road leaves the ground and becomes the bridge proper. Climbing higher, the land below gives way to mudflats then the river. If he sideswipes her here, she could crash into the railings then plummet one hundred feet to the water below. One hundred feet to what might as well be a concrete slab. There’s no way she’d survive.

  The road ahead is dark, her only guidance the cats’ eyes highlighted by the bike’s headlights. She peers into the cone of light, watching for the first pillars of the suspension bridge. As a massively broad column of concrete looms from the right, she slows to a stop and swerves to face the oncoming convoy. Lights from behind flood the space. The terrorist’s car screeches to a stop. Bill brings his car to a stop inches from the barricade of vehicles lined up across both lanes, does a quick three-point turn, and draws up beside her. Behind them the other two lorries fill the road.

  Doors open, feet thud to the road, and a bank of people stand behind the barricade; Sam’s Protectors ready to do battle. Each man and woman is armed. Each protected by leathers and bike helmets.

  The terrorists attempt to pull forward and turn. The sound of crunching metal fills the air as cars reverse and ram each other in the chaos like clowns in the spotlight of a big top.

  The bike moved to the side and behind the barricade, Jessie dismounts, rests the bike on its stand and joins the Protectors with crossbow loaded. Uri stands beside her as Bill steps out, the stolen rifle trained on the terrorists.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Bill looks out across the scene, welcoming the cool air blowing around him; the evening is close and he is already sweating inside the leathers. This high up the wind blows cold and strong although in the distance the lightning flash of a summer storm stabs across the sky. He counts: one, two, three ... seven. Thunder rumbles.

  The terrorists’ cars turning and reversing is the only movement on the bridge.

  Finally, a semblance of order is achieved and a car rolls forward. Another joins it and then a third. Across the two lanes of the bridge’s northbound road the cars sit and their passengers glower, their engines thrumming as the drivers rev their engines.

  “Somebody’s watched ‘Fast and Furious’ too many times,” a Protector, voice muffled and face squashed by his helmet, comments.

  Another laughs, axe resting on his shoulder. Jessie takes a defiant step between the cars and the barrier. Let them try to intimidate her. She raises her crossbow, bolt ready.

  “Careful, Jessie,” Bill chides as engines rev in a fierce and hysterical rage. Alert, Jessie watches for movement, her focus undaunted by the noise. The muzzle of a rifle appears through an open window.

  “Passenger side, front. Last car to the left.” Bill shouts his warning.

  Jessie’s bolt flies through the air and straight to the man’s forearm. The rifle drops with a clatter to the tarmac.

  A door slams open, smashing against its neighbour and a man jumps out. He screams, teeth bared, his words taken by the wind, and points the muzzle of his rifle at the barricade, the passenger door his shield.

  “Get down!” Bill shouts as he takes aim.

  Gunshot sprays into the cars. Glass breaks. Bullets slice through metal.

  A single shot fires. A perfect hole through the passenger door’s window. The glass spatters with blood and the rifle clats as it hits the floor. Jessie waits. Engines thrum and the wind howls. Lightning brightens the sky to purple and thunder rumbles.

  A stand-off.

  No one moves.

  A shot pierces the air and a Protector thuds against the car then slumps next to Jessie. The leather of his jacket ripped at the shoulder, he groans as he leans against a tyre. Jessie tracks the trajectory of the bullet. The car at the end. Door open, a face peers through the window. The door slams shut. The engine revs. With a squeal of tyres, the car speeds forward.

  “Get back!” Bill shouts as another car joins the first. Within a second, all five cars are heading for the barricade. Leather clad figures jump back and run between the gap made by the two lorries, others run down each side.

  Slam!

  The air reverberates with the sound of crunching metal as the cars slam into the barricade. A Ford Capri, its gleaming paintwork shining in the light, shunts towards the lorry’s grille as its side buckles beneath the impact. The cars reverse. Again they rev their engines and steam forward with a screech of tyres. Again the bank of cars shunts closer to the lorries.

  “What now?” Jessie asks as she watches the cars ram the barricade.

  Horns blast. Bill nods at the trucks parked behind the cars. “That,” he replies as they roll forward closing the gap, shortening the space the cars have, stopping only a few feet behind the terrorists. As they come to a halt Jessie notices figures fill the gaps between the trucks and the sides of the carriageway—more of Sam’s men.

  Trapped, the terrorists have no room to manoeuvre or escape. Jessie marvels at the Protectors’ courage as they stand next to the lorries. It was one thing to go into a fight trained, armed and ready, it was quite another to face an enemy full of hate with only fear to motivate you and improvised weapons to defend yourself with.

  A Protector moves from the back, a wooden bat in hand. Another steps forward with a thick chain. A car door slams open and a terrorist jumps out, long blade in hand. Two more appear, both are armed with knives, whilst another holds a baseball bat covered in barbed wire.

  Bill shouts from behind his visor, his voice drowned out by the roll of thunder roaring across the sky.

  “What?” Jessie shouts back lifting her visor. Bill follows suit. “That bloke—he thinks it’s a zombie apocalypse.”

  Jessie can’t help a chuckle at his reference as the man jumps to the car’s bonnet baseball bat held high.

  “It’s an apocalypse alright,” Baz shouts above the crashing thunder, a long-handled lump hammer grasped in his hand. “But we’ll be the survivors, not them.”

  Another door slams shut and suddenly the road is filled with men, silhouettes in the headlights as the storm reaches the bridge and rain spatters down.

  Tang! Tang! Tang!

  The sound reverberates as a crowbar knocks against a lorry’s wheel. Behind Jessie, Baz taps h
is crowbar against a car’s wheel and the air fills with the drumbeats of battle.

  Tang! Tang! Tang!

  Bill catches Jessie’s eyes and mutual understanding passes between them; the terrorists are about to get a kicking they won’t forget.

  Tang! Tang! Tang!

  A door slams into the neighbouring car and another man steps out. The ones left inside quickly push down the locks. Cowards!

  The tension is unbearable as Jessie watches the men group together, their weapons held high. Behind her Bill shouts instructions; the terrorists inside the cars are to be forced to stay there. As for the rest—no mercy.

  The call to battle thuds rhythmically in the night as rain begins to pour in earnest. Lightning flashes. Jessie counts: one ... Thunder roars.

  “Allahuakbar!” the man with the zombie apocalypse bat screams into the storm and runs down the windshield of the car.

  “Here they go again, bothering him upstairs!”

  Sam’s protectors step out of the shadows as lightening breaks across the sky, jagged bolts of brightest white jump in a jagged spectacle, zig-zagging across purpled skies.

  As the man lands on the tarmac, a flash of white breaks overhead and a bolt catches the weapon. He stands frozen to the spot, jerking as the lightning rips through bone and muscle. In the next second he falls to the ground. Smoke rises in a twirl from his jacket then disappears as the rain damps it down and spatters against his face.

  Stepping over the twitching body, Jessie strides forward with Bill and the others, closing in around the terrorists. The rhythmic thud of weapons striking metal, beats with primal tension.

  Chaos erupts as the terrorists lose their composure and run, swinging their weapons wildly at the Protectors. A machete bears down on Jessie as she pulls for another bolt. Her arm where the stitches hold the gash together aches, but she grits her teeth and angles the bolt towards the terrorist. He’s too close! The rain bounces from cars to tarmac, and splashes against her jeans. Driven by the wind, it blows in her face, obscuring her vision, and the bolt slips from her fingers. Pain sears along her arm as she grabs for the steel rod. The machete runs at her, teeth bared in animalistic fury. Jessie springs up but there’s no time to load the bow. She lunges to the left as the blade slices towards her and then he’s gone; the massive frame of Uri stands in the terrorist’s place. With the full force of Uri’s weight against his body, the man is thrown to the railings. His arms flail and then he topples over and disappears to the path below. In one smooth movement, Uri vaults down after him.

  The rain pelts down, blown at an angle by the wind, and lightning brightens the sky, highlighting the huge concrete pillars holding the massive cables of the suspension bridge.

  Thunder roars.

  A terrorist springs up from behind a car, knife in hand, and rushes at a Protector. As he lurches forward, another Protector rises to his left. He turns and stabs at the man’s leather jacket. The blade pierces the leather but is stopped by the protective armour. He pulls the knife back and stabs at the Protector again, aiming at his visor. Jessie loads the slippery bolt as the pointed blade catches the helmet. With the terrorist in her sights, she aims and fires. Staying true, the bolt pierces the terrorist’s neck, puncturing his jugular. He staggers and drops to the floor. His knife clatters and bounces to the edge of the road then drops through the barrier and slides down to the pedestrian walkway.

  Movement catches Jessie’s attention and, as she reaches for the bolt, a blade arcs overhead. As its metal glints in the lorry’s lights, an iron bar swipes in from the side and smashes against the terrorist’s head. He staggers then falls to the tarmac, blood gleaming against his skin, pooling in the new depression at his temple. Uri steps next to her.

  “Forget the bolts, Jessie. Get them afterwards,” he berates. “You are not invincible.”

  Although irked at his reprimand, she knows he’s right. From her crouched position, she takes stock of the battle. A Protector, broad shoulders filling his black leather jacket, sidesteps the arcing machete of a terrorist. As the machete misses its mark, the Protector twists and swings his lump hammer. It catches the terrorist in the back of the head. He jerks forward, his arms flailing as he catches against the barrier. His body bounces, appears to fall forward, then slides to the road. Another Protector runs to the body, pushing a pronged and long-handled garden fork onto his chest, the pointed tines sink into his flesh.

  Crouching next to a car, Jessie tries again to load her crossbow. As she picks up the bolt from the tarmac, a dull ache passes through her arm, and her fingers slip. Come on, Jessie! She grips the bolt in her hand and loads it just as a terrorist bears down on another Protector. A long blade stabs down at the woman’s back. Jessie takes aim. Another Protector runs behind the pair. If she shoots now he could end up with the bolt instead of the terrorist. She waits for a second then squeezes at the trigger. Bill strides out into the road. She eases the trigger as he swings the stolen rifle at the terrorist and cracks it against the back of his head. Staggering, the man twists to face Bill, and stabs his knife at him. Jessie releases the bolt. It shoots straight and pierces his temple.

  The bridge fills with the rumble of thunder and screams of rage.

  A terrorist, machete held high disappears as an arm locks around his neck and pulls him down into the dark.

  A Protector, her blonde hair bright against her jacket as it protrudes beneath her helmet, jumps on a terrorist’s back. Her fingers clenched through his hair, he turns left, right, screams at the pain and bats at her. He staggers backwards, pinning her against a lorry. A fist punches his jaw, spattering blood against the white metal of the cab’s bonnet.

  As the minutes pass the noise becomes less and movement on the bridge slows until a ring of men and women surround the remaining terrorists. They stand as a shambling mass spitting their hate and jostling one another like cornered rats. Bodies lay bloodied across the tarmac. Jessie counts two of theirs on the ground. Neither move.

  Uri steps forward and aims his gun at the men. It’s a gamble. Jessie knows the gun isn’t working.

  “Drop your weapons.”

  A shuffle. Men shout. A body writhes on the road, blood spreading from its belly.

  “I said drop your weapons,” Uri repeats.

  “Drop yours first,” a voice, thick with anger, shouts back.

  The group shifts and from the centre a man, eyes scowling as he stares at Uri, appears. In front of him he holds a figure, one of Sam’s Protectors. Smaller than the man, leather jacket filled at the chest, and long hair hanging below the helmet it’s obviously a woman. The terrorist holds a knife to her throat and, as he pushes her forward, pulls down the zipper of her jacket.

  “Let us see what we have,” he shouts.

  A muffled shout sounds as she struggles against the terrorist and rises to a scream of pain as he pushes the knife’s point into her jugular. She quiets and stands still. Another man grabs the helmet and tugs. It remains stuck on her head. He fumbles beneath her chin, undoes the clasp, then yanks. The helmet clatters to the tarmac and bounces on the road as the muffled scream of anger grows loud and clear.

  “Martha!” Sam hisses as he steps next to Jessie.

  “Shut it!” the terrorists spits and pulls at her hair. Head yanked back Jessie watches as Martha’s face contorts to a grimace of pain.

  “Don’t let them know you care,” Jessie hisses at Sam.

  “I thought she was back at the pub.”

  “Oh, hell!” Bill grunts.

  Uri takes a step forward.

  “Put down your weapons,” the terrorist shouts. “Or I rip out her guts.” A hand tugs at her protective leather jacket, pulling it off.

  Sam lurches, his back knocking against the car.

  “I deal with this,” Uri says taking another step forward.

  “What the hell is he doing?”

  “Uri, get-”

  Uri, his broad shoulders squared, head held high, takes another step forward. Martha screams as th
e blade is raised, ready to plunge into her belly.

  “Get back or I gut this bitch.”

  Uri slips his hand into his pocket.

  The terrorists crowd behind the leader and Martha, her hair running wet with rain, flinches as her captor shouts. “You have three seconds. Three ...”

  Uri takes another step forward.

  “Two ...”

  Martha’s head is yanked back to expose the soft flesh of her neck, and the knife is poised ready to slice.

  The terrorist opens his mouth to count ‘one’ and Uri’s blade pierces the back of his throat. Without breaking his stride, and as Jessie’s bolt spears the breast bone of the man still holding her arm, Uri grabs Martha, pulls her back, then pushes her towards Sam.

  “I said drop your weapons,” Uri repeats as Sam takes Martha. Both move back to the protective barrier of cars.

  Metal clanks against tarmac.

  “Hands up!”

  A ring of leather-clad men and women tightens around the terrorists, and two Protectors reappear, coils of thick rope hooked onto their arms.

  “We’re going to tie them up?” Bill asks. Jessie senses the disappointment in his voice.

  “No! Hang them,” the taller of the two men replies.

  “Throw them off the bridge!” one of the women shouts.

  “These people are bloodthirsty,” Jessie exclaims as Bill steps beside her.

  “Can you blame them?”