Survival EMP Box Set | Books 1-4

by Lopez, Rob

  “That’s an order.”

  “Kiss my ass.”

  Unable to stamp his authority, the leader left the cabin, taking deep breaths outside.

  “If it’s contagious,” he said to Sally, “why the hell are you here? Are you shitting me?”

  “I’m a nurse,” said Sally. “It’s my duty to be here, just as it’s your duty to chase bandits. Harvey and I are immune to the disease, but exposure to it means that we are carriers. That’s why everyone leaves us alone. It’s a very unpleasant disease.”

  The two men covering Harvey quickly took a few steps back. One of the men who’d frisked him checked his own hands, as if expecting a rash to break out on his palms.

  “Well, you go about your business,” said the leader, keeping his distance. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

  “And our shotgun?” asked Sally. “I don’t think they’ll want me to go into town to request it. Unless they want an epidemic, of course.”

  The militia dropped the shotgun like it was a snake, walking briskly back to the vehicles.

  “You should wash your hands now,” called out Sally. “I recommend hand sanitizer. Or bleach.”

  The two vehicles backed out and spun around, kicking up gravel in their desire to get away. Sally walked over to retrieve the shotgun.

  “Contagious?” inquired Harvey, a little bemused. “Carriers?”

  “I had to tell them something to make them go,” said Sally. With a pocket knife, she cut Harvey’s bonds. “Hopefully, they’ll stay away now.”

  “Or they may report us to someone who’s a little more curious, and a little smarter.”

  “It’s possible. Perhaps we can only hope to have bought a small amount of time.”

  She entered the long cabin and walked its full length until she reached a door at the end. She knocked, saying, “It’s me. They’re gone now.”

  A bolt slid back and the door opened, revealing April with a shotgun.

  “Who were they?” said April, a little agitated.

  “Militia,” replied Sally. “Don’t worry, I managed to scare them off.”

  April wasn’t convinced, and kept glancing toward the far door. Sally squeezed in past her to check on Scott.

  He and his bed had been moved from the other building to this old storeroom, and it was a lot smaller. He was unconscious, and even from the door, Sally could feel the heat radiating from his fever. She checked his pulse, and found it was racing. His rate of breathing had increased as well.

  Multiple footsteps on the wooden boards of the cabin triggered April into raising her weapon, but it turned out to be Doug and a couple of armed men from the shacks of Bergen Mountain nearby.

  “We saw the vehicles,” said Doug. “Is everything okay?”

  “For now,” said Sally.

  Doug peered in at Scott. “And how’s he doing?”

  “Not good,” said Sally with a resigned sigh. “He’s entering septic shock.”

  “What does that mean?” demanded April.

  “It means either Rick or Packy need to hurry the hell up, because I’m out of ideas and he’s not going to last long.”

  *

  The Road Runner’s engine growled like a tiger trying to get free of its cage, and Packy made good speed on the interstate, the cabin roar drowning out any of the squeaks and noises from the battered suspension. He was heading for the bridge that crossed the Catawba river, the same bridge that had been blocked by the Dodge Charger. With the Dodge out of the way, he figured they wouldn’t expect him to cross it a second time.

  He figured wrong.

  A pickup with two armed men waited for him.

  Packy considered charging them anyway, but the risk was too great. Vehicles had been shunted across to impede passage and slow him down, and two high powered rifles would have made short work of his car.

  Spinning his tail while he was still some distance away, he burned rubber and drove back the way he came. In his rear view, the two gunmen jumped into the pickup to give chase.

  Packy lost them easily, turning off at the first exit and heading south. Along a minor road with sweeping curves, he gunned the engine, enjoying the ride. His plan was to connect with Highway 70 and cross the river by the other bridge, bringing him past the same spot where the Dodge had come to a bad end.

  He never got that far, however. The other pickup, the one he’d forgotten about, blocked the next bridge.

  “These fellas ain’t as dumb as I thought,” said Packy, reversing hard and pirouetting the vehicle around to run away again. Using the Road Runner’s superior speed, he pulled away from the pursuing vehicle, but as he rounded a bend, he saw the first pickup ahead. He was caught between the two. Between him and the first pickup, however, a small road joined the highway. Yanking the wheel, Packy drifted onto the small road.

  “You don’t catch me that easily, guys,” he said.

  Packy didn’t know where he was, though. Blasting confidently down the road, he passed small homes. Woods at either side gave way to overgrown pastures, and large buildings in the distance seemed to indicate a town.

  It wasn’t until he got closer that he noticed the buildings looked more industrial than residential. The road got narrower and dustier, then ended at a chain-link fence with a gate. On the other side of the fence was a brick plant.

  Packy checked behind him. The pickups were still some distance away, but they were in no hurry to catch up.

  They knew this was literally the end of the road.

  “Brace yourself,” said Packy.

  The Road Runner crashed through the gate and into the compound. Tractor-trailers lined up in a lot, covered in bird droppings. Packy passed beneath gantries and conveyor belt bridges that joined the plant buildings. Pallets full of bricks were piled in high rows that stretched as far as he could see. And ahead, blocking any further progress, was the river.

  Packy slammed on the brakes. At the compound gate, the pickups halted, and armed men casually dismounted.

  “Mmmm,” said Packy pensively. “Not such a good idea.”

  Dee gave him an emotionless look. “What now?” she said.

  Packy declined to answer. Engaging gear, he drove the path around the compound, but only ended up in sight of the vehicles at the gate again. Reversing past the brick piles, he looked for a way out, but saw none. Stopping again, he thought for a moment, then drove in through the open doors of a plant building. It was gloomy inside, the ceiling skylights being high overhead. The throb of the engine filled the big space as he drove slowly past a line of furnaces. Then he killed the engine.

  “We gotta go,” he said, grabbing his shotgun and bag and opening the door.

  Running around to the other side, he helped Dee out and pulled her along to a ladder that led up to a walkway that ran high around the edge of the building. Urging her up, he followed behind, keeping an anxious eye on the main doors. When they reached the top, they moved around to one of the big machines, where a large tube led out to the next building.

  Packy opened the maintenance hatch of the tube and peered inside, seeing a conveyor belt piled with shale.

  “Okay,” he said, “you’d better get inside. If you can get out the other side, find a place to hide, and then when you get the chance, see if you can get out.”

  “Not going,” said Dee flatly.

  Packy gave an exasperated sigh. “Look, there’s a bunch of them, and only two of us, and I ain’t going to ask you to fight. I want you to be safe, so I’ll keep them distracted while you get out, okay?”

  “I said no.”

  “I’d prefer it if you weren’t here, for, like, obvious reasons?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Jeez, do you want me to beg?”

  “No.”

  “Dee, please. I love you and all, and I really, really don’t want you to get hurt. If you don’t want to do it for yourself, at least do it for Jack.”

  “Jacob.”

  “Oh my God, does it matter?”


  “Yes.”

  Lost for words, Packy stroked her face. “Why won’t you go?” he asked.

  “I won’t be able to get away,” said Dee. “They’ll find me and then use me to make you give up. When you do that, they’ll kill you and then rape me before taking me with them forever. I’ll never be free and they’ll let Jacob die because they won’t care.”

  Packy pondered that for a moment. “That’s a pretty compelling case. You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Packy took a deep breath. “Okay. No pressure. I’ve just got to think of something.”

  “Hey,” echoed a voice. “We know you’re in here. I’m here to tell you that you’re going to pay for what you did to Ramos.”

  “That would be the guy in the Dodge,” whispered Packy to Dee.

  “Yeah,” shouted another voice. “And we’re going to pull your guts out for what happened to Andy.”

  “And that would be the other guy,” murmured Packy. “Well, it’s not often you get to put a name to some jerks you managed to kill while trying to stay alive. I count that as a courtesy.”

  Packy peered out from behind the machine. A shadow lurked near his car, but he couldn’t see anyone else. He pulled back.

  “I’ve got an idea,” he said. “How about we both try to get out of here?”

  Opening the tunnel hatch again, he ushered Dee inside then climbed in after her, pulling the hatch quietly shut. Together, they crawled awkwardly along the conveyor belt, the shale sharp under their hands and knees. Making it to the other end, they opened a hatch and emerged into an even larger building, packed with machinery and cranes. Big windows provided more light. One of the windows overlooked the river, and Packy took a look.

  “Well, what do you know?” he said. “There is a way out.”

  Running parallel to the river, almost hidden down a steep bank, was a rail line.

  “Crap,” said Packy. “We could have driven away along that.” He rolled his eyes. “And the car’s in the other building. Why did I listen to me? We’re in the wrong place.”

  Heading back along the walkway, he stopped suddenly. Through another window, he saw the conveyor bridge that came from the other building. Every now and again, dust fell from it.

  “They’re coming after us,” said Packy. “Now’s our chance to get back to the car.”

  Wasting no time, he slid down the ladder to the plant floor. Opening a side door, he glanced out.

  “All clear,” he said to Dee, who, in spite of carrying a sleeping baby, seemed to have no problems keeping up. “You okay to run?”

  Dee deadpanned him.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  They scooted across to the original building. The Road Runner waited for them, and Packy slid across the hood and dug into his pocket for the keys.

  The audible click of a safety catch being released caused him to freeze. A couple of yards away, a man stepped out of the shadows, gun aimed.

  “You make one move, mister, and I’ll drop you.”

  Packy was caught at an awkward angle, the shotgun dangling in his left hand. With a grimace, he slowly raised his hands. “Okay,” he said, “but you let the girl go. It’s me you want, right?”

  “What girl?” said the man.

  A crack of gunfire made Packy flinch, and he shut his eyes, expecting the hammer blow of pain.

  It didn’t come. He opened his eyes again and saw Dee off to one side, the snubnosed revolver in her outstretched hand smoking. The man she’d hit lay on the floor, writhing and clutching a wound to his chest.

  “That girl,” said Packy, recovering himself. “Nice move,” he said to Dee.

  Jacob began to cry, and Packy opened the door for her. “You’d better do the breast thing,” he added, before running back to scoop up the fallen man’s rifle. “I’m sorry,” he said to him, “but I didn’t catch your name. Just so I can add it to the two other losers, you understand.”

  The man let fly a stream of invective, and Packy shrugged and got into the car. The warm engine started right away, and he reversed with a squeal of rubber, bumping out into the compound. A bullet shattered the rear quarter light, and Packy straightened the car and weaved away between the brick piles. When he reached the fence by the river, he pulled a handbrake turn, smashing the fence with the rear of the car. With the chain-link squealing against the car’s body, he backed it through and reversed down the slope to the rail line, destroying his tail pipes as they were crushed against the gravel. Swinging the vehicle around, he took off along the line, the roar from the broken exhaust filling the air like a track day at Indianapolis.

  *

  The guards at Marion heard Packy coming long before they could see him. He knew this because there was a whole bunch of them waiting on the bridge to watch him come in. Judging from the looks on the faces who watched the battered Road Runner burbling its way up the ramp, it was clear they hadn’t expected him to make it back. Packy pulled up outside Lou’s compound and leaped out of the car. A crowd of people were waiting, with Lou and Farah at their head. Packy treated them to a theatrical little bow, expecting a little applause. When none was forthcoming, Packy clapped himself.

  “Yay, me,” he said. “Thank you very much. You’ve been a wonderful audience.”

  Dee came out to stand in solidarity with him, calmly breast-feeding Jacob. Between Packy’s goofy grin, Dee’s breasts and the wreck of the car, people didn’t know where to look.

  “I got you the goods,” said Packy to Lou, adding a little bit of mock signing.

  “Show me,” signed Lou.

  Packy opened the trunk and showed him the rifles and boxes. “See?” he said. “Not a problem.”

  Lou put a finger through the bullet hole in the trunk lid.

  “You don’t want to worry about that,” gestured Packy. “I told you I keep my word, even if I have to go to hell and back, and boy, I’ve got some stories to tell you, if you’re interested.”

  Lou didn’t appear to be so, and he prodded disconsolately at the contents of the trunk.

  “Jeez, cheer up,” said Packy. “It’s not like your dog died or nothing. Hell, you probably ate him anyway.”

  “There’s not a lot to be cheerful about,” said another voice.

  Packy turned to see Rick standing there in full battle gear.

  “Well, if it isn’t Captain America,” said Packy. “And no, you’re right. Having you around will put a downer on anything. Did they ever model an action figure on you? Because that face don’t move much.”

  Rick studied the damage on the Road Runner.

  “This the same car we gave Lou?” he asked.

  “The very one,” said Packy proudly.

  Rick was mildly impressed. “You took a big risk,” he said.

  “All in a day’s work. What brings you here?”

  “Looking for you. I had a feeling this would be your first port of call. Did you get what you were looking for?”

  Packy threw him the bag. Rick pulled out a tub and read the label.

  “Fish antibiotics?” he said.

  “Well, Scotty did look a little green around the gills.”

  Rick gave him a shrewd look. “Funny.”

  “Someone has to be.”

  “Let’s clear out the trunk and get back.”

  The goods were unloaded and Rick shook Lou’s hand, adding a few quiet words. Dee and Packy got back into the car and waited for him. Once he got in, Packy spun the car around and headed back onto the interstate, toward Old Fort.

  “That Lou is such a bundle of joy,” said Packy. “What did you say to make them less cheerful than they already were?”

  “I told them the truth,” said Rick. “I told them Connors was coming, and that they didn’t stand a chance. I told them the best thing for them to do was to hide most of their weapons and not resist.”

  “What did they say?”

  “The usual. How they weren’t going to give in to no
body. How they’d fought off everyone else. Ego stuff. But I think Lou understands. I told him now isn’t the time to fight. We have to get ready. We have to be smart. Smarter than Connors. For all his capabilities, he never understood guerrilla warfare. He never ran an A-Team in the field.”

  “Really? I thought he did.”

  “No, it’s a myth. Like everything else, he manipulated his way into his post. He’s a great organizer, but when it comes to counter-insurgency actions, he doesn’t understand the full picture. He never saw that the enemy had to be beaten.”

  “Isn’t that obvious?”

  “Not to someone like Connors. You see, it’s not enough to defeat the enemy in the field. You have to defeat the insurgency itself, and that means the support for the insurgency among the people. We learned that in Vietnam. But people like Connors didn’t. He never cared about the cause anyway. The FARC or the Taliban, for instance, were just a nuisance that had to be pushed back, giving him the room to do the kind of business he wanted to do. The effects of that business were never an issue to him, only the question of gain. That’s his weakness. I want to exploit it.”

  Packy tried to wrap his head around that. “How?”

  “You’ll see.”

  When they arrived at Camp Grier, Sally and Harvey were waiting outside the long cabin. Packy pulled up alongside them.

  “We thought you were the militia coming back,” said Sally.

  Rick was out of the car in an instant. “What happened?” he said.

  “Nothing. They asked some questions, then left. They didn’t find Scott.”

  “How is he?”

  “Not good. Did you find anything?”

  Packy helped Dee out of the back of the car, then stepped up to Sally with a flourish. “M’lady,” he said solemnly, “I come bearing gifts.”

  He showed her the bag, and Sally pulled out a tub. She looked confused at first, then read the ingredients more closely. “Oh my word,” she exclaimed. “Amoxicillin.” She rooted around some more, and held up another tub. “Doxycycline! Oh, Packy.”

  She threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug.

  “I know, right?” said Packy. “Uh, what does it mean?”

  “It means I can treat Scott. And the Doxy means I can save the other patients. Packy, you’re a genius.”