Survival EMP Box Set | Books 1-4

by Lopez, Rob

  Until the tracks were cleared, however, nothing could move. It could take days. Maybe weeks.

  Lauren still didn’t want to believe what was happening.

  It just wasn’t possible.

  Like a person in catatonic shock, she wandered aimlessly up the street, data switching back and forth in her mind. Reaching a small cafe on a corner, she opened the door and entered.

  It was dim inside, and a buxom black woman behind the counter turned to her. “We’re not open yet. Sorry.”

  Lauren staggered to a booth and sat herself down. “I just need to rest for a moment,” she said.

  “Honey, we got no power. I can’t serve you nothing.”

  “It’s okay,” said Lauren quietly, putting her head in her hands.

  “Might be to you. Ain’t to me.” The woman came out from behind the counter and locked the door. “People see you in here, they’ll all be coming in. Then what am I going to do?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  The woman gave her a pitying look. “What’s your name, honey?”

  “Lauren.”

  “Well, Lauren. My name’s Patty, and today ain’t a good day. No sir. Ain’t had no deliveries and all I got is bread and water. Just another day in the corps.”

  Lauren looked up, noticing for the first time the pictures on the wall of a fit young woman in uniform, standing with a squad in front of a defaced statue of Saddam Hussein. “You were in the Marines?” she asked.

  “Oh yeah,” said Patty with undisguised pride as she sauntered back to the counter. “Did a tour in Baghdad, ran convoys to Fallujah and lived to tell the tale.”

  “Fallujah was a clusterfuck,” said Lauren, falling easily back into military coarseness.

  “Sure was. Were you there?”

  Lauren shook her head. “Baghdad, Mosul and inbetween.”

  “What was your unit, honey?”

  “101st.”

  “Screaming Eagles, huh? Well, in that case, I got soda and Danish, 'cept the Danish is from yesterday, so at your own risk.”

  “I’m fine,” said Lauren, though in truth she felt the hunger pangs churn. She’d been running on empty all morning.

  “Don’t go getting all polite southern gal on me,” said Patty, grabbing two colas from the fridge. “I can hear your stomach from here.”

  Bringing a plate of dull looking pastries to the table, Patty eased her ample frame onto a seat.

  “Quite a mess out there,” she said, looking out at the stranded vehicles. “How far from home are you?”

  “Charlotte, North Carolina,” said Lauren, cracking open a bottle.

  Patty grimaced. “Honey, that is bad luck. Your family there?”

  Lauren nodded heavily. “My children. With my grandparents. My husband is... overseas. On operations.”

  Patty looked at her with pity. “I guess you don’t need me to tell you this is no temporary thing.”

  Lauren sighed. “I’ve been trying to tell myself this isn’t so bad, but...”

  Patty leaned back. “This is an EMP. You know how bad that is. I don’t think most people out there know, but they will soon enough. Then they’re going to be pretty pissed.”

  Lauren stared at her bottle. “I remember the looting in Baghdad after we liberated it. Some liberation that was. We had to stand there and watch as people tore their own city apart, looting the stores, the museum, even the hospital. I saw them take CT scanners out in carts.”

  Patty nodded at the memory. “Here, it’ll be Nike Jordans and TV screens. Until people realize the power ain’t coming back and they’re getting hungry.”

  “What will you do?” asked Lauren.

  “I got stock still sitting in my garage. I only came to check on the shop and see what I could salvage before I shuttered it up. I put five hard years into this.” Patty looked wistfully around, then glanced at Lauren. “How you going to get home, girl?”

  Lauren laughed bitterly. “Patty, that’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about, and it scares me that I’ve got no answers.”

  A man in a suit, with a coat over one arm and a briefcase in the other, came to stand at the cafe window, looking in. Seeing the two women he tried the door, then tapped on the glass.

  Patty didn’t even turn his way. “We’re closed!”

  The man tried again, banging more forcefully, then gave up and walked away.

  “Some people,” said Patty.

  She fell silent, and the two sat quietly, staring at the table.

  “You know? Back in our great, great grandparents’ day, if folk wanted to get about, they walked.”

  Lauren thought about the distance and shuddered. “They had trains then. And horses. And stagecoaches.”

  “For them’s that could afford it, yeah. But the rest? They only had the feet that God gave them. If they wanted to get anywhere, they took the slow road.” Patty thought for a moment. “Course, my great, great grandpappy was probably a slave, and he weren’t allowed to go nowhere. But free folks had to get about. And we still got horses.”

  “Gone left mine in the saloon,” drawled Lauren sardonically. “Sorry, don’t mean to be churlish, but...” She put her head in her hands again. “It’s going to take me weeks.”

  Patty gave her a hard look. “How old are your kids?”

  “Josh is twelve, Lizzy’s seven.”

  “Okay. Then you gotta get creative. No good sitting here, wishing things were different, or you’ll end up like that guy in the suit, thinking he’s still got to turn up for work. There’s going to be a lot of people who try to keep to their routine. They don’t know no better. Don’t be that guy.”

  Lauren thought that was a bit harsh, seeing as they had no idea what the man was thinking or planning to do. But Patty was right. Every moment spent sitting in shock was a moment wasted. She opened her bag and pulled out her skirt and shoes. They were just taking up space now. “Do you want these?”

  Patty laughed. “Have you seen my hips? I ain’t going to get into those. Put them in the trash. Do you want these pastries? I can wrap 'em for you.”

  Lauren took stock of her inventory. “Thank you, I think I will. Do you have some bottles of water I can buy? I’ll pay you for all this.”

  Patty waved her off. “Don’t worry about that. You just make sure you take care of yourself.” She put her hand on Lauren’s. “And good luck.”

  11

  Josh sat cross-legged in the shower, shivering. When he’d first turned it on, he got a blast of cold water, forgetting that, without power, it wouldn’t be hot. The pressure had quickly dropped, however, and now it was just a dribble. Washing his feet, he picked out stones from his soles, watching the fresh blood swirl in the drain hole. The cuts weren’t deep, and the bleeding soon slowed, but he remained where he was.

  He didn’t really want to get out to face the world.

  Through the thin panel door, he could hear Grandma, Elena and Max discussing what to do about Grandpa’s body.

  Nobody seemed to believe him when he’d said there were no ambulances running. Grandma’s grief gripped the house, and Josh felt sidelined. Max had gone out to the hospital himself, returning a long time later with the same news Josh had already told them. If they wanted to get Grandpa to the morgue, they’d have to move him there themselves. The Medical Examiner was currently unavailable, and until then, no death certificate would be issued. Legally, therefore, Grandpa was still alive, because they couldn’t get anyone to admit he wasn’t.

  The conversation got heated at that point. Max suggested taking the body in a wheelbarrow. Grandma physically threatened Max. Elena calmed Grandma down and called Max an idiot.

  Josh and Lizzy were left to their own devices, excluded from the adult talk.

  Josh turned the water off and toweled himself dry, leaving red stains on the fabric. From the drug cabinet, he applied band-aids until they covered the soles of his feet, then gingerly pulled fresh socks over them. Getting dressed, he left the bathroom.

  Lizz
y sat alone on the bed, curled up against the wall, hugging one of Mom’s teddy bears. Lizzy normally wasn’t into teddies. Everybody remembered the time, two years ago, when one of Dad’s army friends gave her one as a gift, and she’d archly replied that she was too old for cuddly toys. She was such a serious little girl that everyone figured she was either going to be a great artist or a fearsome lawyer.

  Josh sat on the bed and she curled up against him. Outside the house, it was eerily silent. No lawn mowers, no traffic. The voices in the house were clearly audible as a result.

  “He’s going to decompose, dammit,” said Max quietly, thinking he couldn’t be heard.

  “Max!”

  “What? I’m just saying the truth.”

  Playing on his games, Josh was normally able to filter out the sounds of his surroundings. Now there was no escape.

  “Why won’t the ambulance come?” whimpered Lizzy.

  “They’re not working,” said Josh.

  “Why not?”

  Josh wasn’t sure why not. He’d never encountered anything like this. It was like a big hand had come down and just stopped everything, as if somehow none of it was real to begin with. Someone had flipped the switch and everything had ground to a halt. He watched a lot of sci-fi and dystopian fiction, but even in the Walking Dead, the vehicles still worked.

  “Stuff will get fixed, I’m sure,” said Josh.

  “What about Mom?” said Lizzy.

  “I don’t know. Maybe the planes are still working?”

  “What if they’re not?”

  Josh felt his heart beating rapidly. First his dad had been removed from his world, and now his mom. He felt utterly abandoned. It was fine being moody when he knew everything was okay, but his teenage urge to sulk evaporated in the face of this void he felt. What if neither Mom nor Dad ever came home again?

  He took a deep breath. “Look, it’s just a power cut, right? I’m sure they’ve got people fixing it. And they can repair cars in a garage, and... get more stuff from factories, I don’t know.”

  Yeah, but garages and factories need power too, he thought.

  The cuts on his feet started to itch, but he resisted the urge to scratch.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  Lizzy nodded.

  “You want cookies and milk?”

  Lizzy nodded again.

  “Okay, I’ll get it for you.”

  The milk wouldn’t be cold, and Josh decided it might be better to use a fresh carton.

  And they weren’t short of cookies.

  *

  Rick sipped some water from a hydration backpack tube. It was warm, and not exactly refreshing, but it was enough to keep his mouth from drying up. A strange haze in the sky diffused the sun, which made the heat a little more bearable, but there was no breeze. It was like the electromagnetic storm had put the weather in stasis.

  Flynn, Scott and Jamie piled rocks for an all around defense while Leroy set up the M249. They’d only halted for a rest, but it was standard procedure never to be caught resting out of cover. If they couldn’t find it, they made it. In the distance, telegraph poles shimmered above an empty road. Rick scanned the horizon with binoculars, confident the jihadists had given up their pursuit. Walt and Kowalski lay prostrate on the ground. The pilot, in his flight suit and soft boots, was not used to walking so far at such a pace. Rick expected that, and goaded the pilot to keep up. He didn’t have time to be gentle with him, nor even introduce him properly to the team. Having escaped capture by ISIS, the pilot probably thought he’d been taken by a group that was just as bad, force-marching him to his doom. No matter. If they lived through this, there’d be plenty of time to explain.

  Walt was the real concern, weakened by his wound, and it was because of him that Rick called for a rest stop. Kneeling down next to him, Rick proffered his water tube. “Take a couple of sips, bro.”

  Walt weakly lifted his head to suck on the tube. Rick peeled back the bloody bandage. The wound was clotting well, but Rick was concerned by how dirty it was. The bullet had passed straight through, and Walt must have been stretched over for the shot to have hit him beneath his body armor. He was unlucky. One inch to the left, and the bullet would have missed him completely. As it happened, Rick wasn’t sure whether it had passed through any vital organs. The exit wound was pretty close to his kidney. Opening his own first aid kit, Rick pulled on some surgical gloves, then took an antiseptic wipe to the wound. Walt didn’t flinch, which wasn’t a good sign. Cleaning all around the wound, he swabbed up the blood on the stomach and chest and applied a fresh hemostatic gauze dressing.

  “Scott, I need your plasma bag.”

  Scott brought it over, and Rick uncoiled its catheter tube and stuck the needle in Walt’s forearm, taping it on. He then taped the bag to Walt’s upper arm. “I’m going to need you to sit up, bro,” he said to Walt.

  Together with Scott, he helped Walt sit up against the piled rocks, and slipped a Dexedrine tablet between his pale lips.

  Satisfied he’d done what he could, Rick took out his map. His compass seemed to be working properly now, but Rick guessed, from the route they’d taken, that he’d come farther south than he wanted. He had no idea whose territory he was in right now.

  “So what’s the game plan?” asked Flynn.

  Rick thought about his options. “From what we saw, I think they’ve taken Ain Issa. Looks like they’re pushing north. Without air strikes, I don’t think there’s anything stopping them from carrying on. I think we’re better off headed west.” He consulted the map. “If we can get to the Tishrin Dam, we can swing north to Manbij. There’s another team stationed there.”

  The Tishrin Dam was the only crossing of the Assad and Euphrates Lakes that cut across their path. Kurdish forces were supposed to be holding the dam. Rick hoped they were still there.

  Scott looked thoughtful for a moment. “What if this isn’t local?”

  “What do you mean?” said Rick.

  “The storm. What if the effects go farther than we think?”

  Rick removed his helmet to scratch his head. “I think you need to be a bit clearer in what you’re talking about, Pappy.”

  Scott leaned forward. “You said last night this was bigger than a nuclear strike. I agree. So who else is affected besides us? The whole of Syria? Middle East? Europe? How far?”

  Scott paused to let that sink in.

  “What if it’s everywhere?” he added. “There goes our air support, our resupply, our links to everyone.” He looked at each man in turn. “How do we get home?”

  Rick put his helmet back on. “We don’t need talk like that right now.”

  “It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  “No. Here’s the truth. Our comms are out, and we’ve got a wounded man who needs medical attention, pronto. That’s our problem right now. I don’t need to hear speculation about what might come after unless it affects our current tactical situation, do you hear me?”

  Scott leaned back, studying Rick. “But you’ve been thinking about that, haven’t you?”

  Rick didn’t want to discuss that either. He stood up. “Break time’s over. I want to hit that dam before nightfall.”

  “You think Walt might need a little longer to catch his breath?”

  Walt seemed to have perked up a little with the Dexedrine, but he still looked beat.

  “We can’t wait. If we need to, we’ll carry him.”

  Walt put up a hand. “I don’t need carrying yet. Could do with something to eat, though.”

  “We’ll eat on the move,” said Rick. “Let’s get going.”

  Kowalski groaned as everyone stood up around him. “You want to carry someone? You can carry me.”

  Rick gave him a stony look. “Quit whining and get moving.”

  12

  Outside Newark’s downtown area, people opened their stores, placing Cash Only signs on their windows. Customers lined up, bags ready, awareness slowly dawning that the power could be out for a whil
e.

  It hadn’t dawned on everybody, though. Lauren saw a line of hopefuls waiting outside a closed cell phone shop, somehow thinking that all they needed was a repair or a replacement. There was a line outside the bank, too, but that wasn’t open either. Lauren wondered how long people would patiently wait before taking matters into their own hands. Especially if they were used to getting what they wanted.

  Hastening down a side street, she saw her first body. The electricity lines were all down, the insulators a molten mass, and the body had been covered with a blanket. She guessed the person had been electrocuted when a cable came down on them. Or maybe they just got a shock from standing too close to the wires.

  Lauren didn’t stick around. She’d gotten directions to a bicycle store, and was relieved to see it was open.

  The store owner wasn’t overjoyed to see her, though.

  “I won’t be open long,” he said. A lean, middle aged athletic type with a goatee, he was in the back room, adjusting the gears on a bike. Lauren noticed he’d put heavy security chains on the bikes in the front of the store, and a backpack by his feet was filled with smaller stock from his shelves. He looked to be in the process of locking up and bugging out.

  “I need a bike,” said Lauren.

  “The card machine isn’t working, and I don’t do credit.”

  Lauren had the princely sum of fifty dollars in her purse. She’d hoped to elicit some sympathy for her plight – maybe add a few tears in order to get a major discount on the cheapest thing available – but she had a feeling it wouldn’t work with this guy. She tried another angle.

  “I see you’re getting ready for the mob that’s going to come breaking into your store. Smart move. Got anybody to move these bikes for you before it happens?”

  The owner threw her an annoyed glance, then returned to his work. “They’ll be fine.”

  “You think? Won’t take long for them to get through those chains if they’ve got a mind to. I don’t think they’re going to be worrying about the cops disturbing them, if you know what I mean.”