After the EMP- The Darkness Trilogy

by Harley Tate

  An empty bottle of nitroglycerin tablets stood beside a water glass, and a piece of paper sat beneath them. Tracy blinked. It couldn’t be.

  She pulled the piece of paper out from beneath the glass and bottle and gasped. It was a letter addressed to her.

  Dear Tracy,

  I hope this letter finds you well. If you are standing beside my bed reading this, then take comfort in the fact that you have survived. From the moment I met you four years ago, I knew you were one of the good ones.

  A person with more kindness in her than fear. A woman with an open heart and a backbone of steel.

  When the power grid failed, I knew my time had come to an end. An old man who can’t walk more than a quarter mile without a rest can’t survive in a world without electricity. Instead of leaving at the wrong end of a gun or after days of no food and water, I’ve chosen the quick and painless way out.

  Before you leave, please take the food I’ve stacked in the kitchen. There are also a handful of supplies in the office, along with a twelve-gauge shotgun and a box of shells. She hasn’t been fired in years, but she’s a dependable old gal, so you can rely on her.

  The coming days and weeks will test you like you’ve never been tested, but you will find a way. You are a survivor. Remember that.

  Take care of your daughter. She’ll need you to show her the way.

  Until we meet again,

  Joe Travers

  P.S. Ignore that science fiction book sitting on my desk. I’ll always be a thriller fan at heart.

  Tracy wiped at her eyes before her tears ruined the last words from Joe she would ever read. What a good man. He had not only warned her of what was coming, but he made sure her trip to his house wasn’t in vain.

  She looked down at his peaceful form. How she wished she could bury him. But they didn’t have the time. It would take hours to dig a deep enough grave. If someone caught them…

  No. Joe wouldn’t want her to risk it. As much as she hated it, Joe was in his final resting place. She leaned over and placed a kiss on his cold, wrinkled hand.

  Thank you for everything.

  Half an hour later, she unlocked the back door and walked out with a shotgun hanging off a strap on her shoulder and a cardboard box full of food in her arms.

  Brianna stood up, brushing off the dust and dirt from the concrete patio. Her eyes bounced between the gun, the box, and Tracy’s puffy face. “Is he—”

  Tracy nodded. “Took his own life.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sloane.”

  “So am I.” She hoisted the box a bit higher and motioned toward the front yard. “Let’s get on the road. I’m done here.”

  Following Brianna back out to the driveway, Tracy said a final goodbye to Joe. She needed to put this morning behind her. They were on a mission.

  Chapter Six

  TRACY

  Walmart, Sacramento, CA

  1:00 p.m.

  Seven. They had only passed seven working cars during the entire drive across town to Walmart and four times as many abandoned on the side of the road. Tracy didn’t know what it meant. Was everyone else still stuck on the highways? Had most cars run out of gas already? Were most people staying home?

  She pulled into the parking lot of the super center, wary and on edge. If the place had already been ransacked, who knew what unsavory types still lurked inside. On the other hand, if no one had broken in, would their attempts trigger a backup alarm? Would the police show up?

  Tracy hadn’t seen a single police officer since the power went out, but Madison had relayed their run-in with a local cop. They couldn’t be arrested. Madison and the others needed them.

  “I don’t see any activity.” Tucker sat twisted in the back seat, scanning the lot and building. “We should go around back.”

  “Why?” Brianna frowned at her boyfriend. “The front doors aren’t locked down. The metal grate is wide open. I say we just ram a cart through them and go on in.”

  “Tucker’s right. We need to keep a low profile. If anyone’s in there, breaking through the front doors is a surefire way to let them know we’re here.”

  Brianna crossed her arms. “The back door won’t be any better. Aren’t they usually metal?”

  Tucker leaned forward, arms braced on the front seats. “I worked the stockroom last summer at the one in Davis. The loading dock will be the best place to break in. Half the time the rolling garage doors aren’t even locked.”

  “Really?” Tracy found such a lack of security surprising.

  “Most of the big Walmarts accept deliveries twenty-four hours a day. Why pay for a lock when the loading door is always open?”

  If anyone knew about saving money, it was Walmart. Tracy followed Tucker’s suggestion and drove around the warehouse to the loading docks. She backed the Leaf into the bay against the far wall and shut it off.

  “All right. We need a plan.” She turned to face the two college students. They were so young. Part of her hated putting them in danger. But she didn’t have a choice. She needed more eyes and ears and hands than her own.

  “I say we split up. We’ll cover more aisles and be able to grab more supplies.”

  Brianna glanced at the loading bay door. “That’s assuming we can even get in.”

  Tracy nodded. “First, we check the doors. If there’s one that’s open, we go in, shut it behind us. We can spend the next few minutes scoping out the store. If it’s secure, we can split up. I’ll take camping and automotive. Brianna, you head for guns and ammo. Tucker, can you handle food and water?”

  “You betcha.” Tucker rubbed his palms together. “If we run into trouble, what should we do?”

  Tracy managed a small smile. “Scream as loud as you can and run like hell.”

  Brianna let out a short laugh. “I like your style, Mrs. Sloane.”

  “Call me Tracy, please.”

  Brianna’s eyes lit up. “Okay, Tracy. After you.”

  Tracy opened the driver’s side door and stepped out. Brianna and Tucker followed a moment later. They climbed up onto the loading bay and Tucker reached for the handle.

  “Here goes nothing.” He tugged and tugged and tugged. “Guess this one’s locked. I’ll try another.”

  On the sixth door he let out a whoop. “It’s open! Come on.” Tucker pulled the rolling bay door up just enough for them to duck underneath. As soon as they are inside, he slid it shut. They were cocooned in darkness.

  Tracy stood still, listening. “Do you all hear anything?”

  “No. And I can’t even see my fingers.”

  Tucker flicked on a small flashlight. “The whole place is gonna be pretty dark. We’ll have to use flashlights.”

  Tracy nodded. She didn’t like the idea of broadcasting their locations to anyone else in the store, but what choice did they have? She clicked hers on. “You two stay here while I go check out the warehouse floor. Don’t move unless you hear me shout.”

  Before either one could argue, Tracy set off, flashlight beam bouncing across the linoleum as she made her way to the main floor entrance. She flicked the light off as she neared the door.

  Please let no one be here. Please.

  After a deep breath, Tracy inched the door open.

  No noise. No light. Thank goodness.

  She scanned the warehouse three times before turning and calling for Brianna and Tucker. “It’s clear. Let’s go.”

  Two flashlight beams appeared and in moments, the kids were by her side.

  “There should be carts just outside the door. I say we each grab one and load it up.”

  “Good idea.” Tracy led the way and sure enough, Tucker was right about the carts. She pulled three out of the stacked line. “All right. We meet back here in thirty minutes.”

  Tracy watched the light beams of Brianna and Tucker’s flashlights disappear in different directions before heading for the far corner of the store. The front left cart wheel wobbled on every revolution, causing the cart to shimmy for a moment. Tracy co
ncentrated on keeping it headed straight as she walked down the dark aisles.

  With every step, she passed another example of American consumerism. Comforters. Dishes. Kids’ ride-on toys. Microwaves. Tracy snorted at that one. Half the store would be worthless now: all the electronics that would never turn on, movies that would never be watched, CDs never to be listened to again.

  A display of car windshield wipers caught her eye and Tracy turned the cart down the aisle. Halfway down, she found what she was looking for. Gas cans. Bright red plastic cans sat one after another in neat rows, biggest on the bottom, smallest on the top. Tracy grabbed two large and two medium and placed them in her cart.

  To the left hung siphon pumps and spigots and Tracy grabbed one of each. Without working gas pumps, they would need to siphon gas soon. On down the aisle and Tracy piled the cart full of cans of instant fix-a-flat, a rooftop cargo carrier, and other random car supplies.

  In the next aisle, she paused, eyes wide as she stared at the racks stuffed with car batteries. For the first time since leaving the house she thought of Walter. Her husband would know which batteries went with which type of car and whether they could use them for anything else.

  She thought back to her physics classes so many years ago. A battery could light a fire, power small electrics…hell if it could start a car, it could do a million other things. Without another delay, Tracy loaded the bottom of the cart with as many batteries as would fit. They might not get a chance to come back.

  After exhausting automotive, Tracy hit the fishing section, grabbing poles and tackle boxes and an assortment of bait and lures. They could drive to Folsom Lake and fish if they had to. She’d taken Madison there as a kid. It wouldn’t be fished clean for a while.

  Then there was the tiny survival section with everything from commando saws to paracord bundles to stormproof matches and water filtration. Tracy piled it all in the cart until small items were tumbling off the sides.

  A week ago and Tracy would have been shocked at her own behavior. This was theft, plain and simple. But what did it matter? Four days without power and not a word from the government. Not a single broadcast over the radio or knock on her front door.

  Joe was right: life as they knew it was over. No one would be coming to help. Tracy shined the flashlight down the aisle before turning the cart around. Like a lumbering beast with too heavy of a load, it groaned beneath the weight of supplies.

  As she gave it another push, Tracy cocked her head. What was that? A wave of apprehension shivered through her. Was that a voice?

  Tracy clicked off her flashlight and snuck behind the end cap, leaving her cart in the middle of the aisle. She couldn’t be more than five aisles from Brianna, sporting goods the only category between camping and ammunition.

  Creeping on silent feet, Tracy worked that way, feeling with her hands in front of her for the next end cap. She strained to listen past the quiet and hear once more the noise that raised the hair on her arms.

  There.

  A voice. She was certain. Man or woman, she couldn’t tell. They were either all the way across the store or whispering nearby.

  Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

  Counting backward did little to stem the rising thud of her heart inside her chest. The terror, now too familiar, of strangers. Visions of the burglars from Wanda’s apartment complex filled her mind. She still doubted her decision.

  Pulling the trigger—killing those men—seemed like the only way out. But what if she was wrong? What if she had acted too fast and taken a life too soon? Was her humanity already hanging by a thread?

  Would the thin line connecting Tracy to her old life snap in the middle of a dark Walmart, her cart full of stolen goods stashed a few aisles back?

  With shaky fingers, Tracy wiped a grimy sheen of sweat off her brow before forcing her lungs to fill with air. The shotgun from Joe’s apartment suddenly felt like a lead weight slung over her shoulder, a grim reminder of the future and her part in it.

  She wouldn’t become someone else. Not today. They had enough supplies back home to last a while. Finding Brianna and Tucker and getting out before anyone spotted them was key. The stuff she had collected could stay behind.

  Tracy eased around the corner, the faint light from the front of the store filtering in a straight shot down the next aisle, lighting up the silhouettes of two people fifty feet away. One look at the wide stance and broad shoulders of each person and Tracy knew she had found a pair of strangers.

  She just hoped they made it out before the interlopers found them.

  Chapter Seven

  WALTER

  Forest of Northern California

  7:00 p.m.

  The sun set too damn fast around here. With the tree cover, Walter couldn’t see more than five feet in front of his face. It seemed every step he took, the trees crept closer, obscuring his sight and forcing him and Drew too close to the clearing.

  He eased beyond the last layer of trees and held up his hand in a fist. He didn’t know if Drew could even see him at this point, but he had to try. If anyone was going to brave walking up to a cabin weaponless and exposed, it would be him. Drew would get himself shot before he took five steps.

  With night coming on fast, Walter didn’t waste time assessing the perimeter or watching from a safe distance away. He guessed the useable light, or what passed for it at the moment, would only last another few minutes.

  Standing with the forest to his back he made the only sensible choice. He strode toward the cabin, head held high, body relaxed. In eight paces he reached the front steps, planting his feet one after another until he stood in front of the door.

  His heavy knock echoed through the woods.

  “What are you doing?” Drew’s hissed question came from the dark just beyond the porch.

  “What does it look like?” Walter knocked again. “I’m seeing if anyone is home.”

  Drew’s head appeared around the side of the building, a darker round mass barely distinguishable from the emptiness beyond. “Whoever’s inside could shoot you.”

  “If they wanted to, I’d be dead already. We both would be.” Walter took a step back and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hello? Is anyone home? We’re stranded and need some help. Hello?”

  “I thought we were supposed to be all stealthy and crap. Not barge right up and shout.” Drew climbed the stairs at last, stopping beside Walter. “Why teach me hand signals if we’re just going to knock on the front door?”

  Walter exhaled. “I didn’t realize how dark it would get, or how quickly. It’s been a while since I’ve been out in the woods.” He moved toward the window beside the door, stopping when his forehead almost brushed the glass. “We lost any ability to scope the place out when we lost the light. Walking up to the front door was the only other option.”

  They weren’t on a covert mission with night vision goggles and flak jackets and M-16s with ACOG scopes. For all the training Walter possessed, he was also a middle-aged man with tired feet, aching muscles, and the need for a night’s rest. Not that he would tell Drew any of that.

  His co-pilot fidgeted beside him, bouncing back and forth on his feet as he glanced at the dark surrounding them and then back at the cabin. “I don’t think anyone’s home.”

  Walter crouched down in front of the mat. “Probably not.” He ran his fingers under the edge, searching. When he came up empty, he stood and did the same with the top of the door frame and the windows, but still nothing. He frowned. There had to be a spare key somewhere.

  “Can you walk up the driveway to grab our stuff? I’ll find a way in.”

  “Why don’t you just break the window?”

  “Have a little respect, man. Someone owns this place.”

  Drew scoffed. “You didn’t care about the rental car. You stripped that thing to the metal rivets holding it all together. Why the sudden conscience?”

  Walter turned to face Drew. He couldn’t see more than his shadow in the dark. “My conscie
nce has been here the whole time. The rental car ran out of gas. It’s no good to anyone in the middle of nowhere with no gas in it. The rental car company is never going to be in business again.”

  Drew began to interrupt, but Walter spoke over him. “This place is someone’s home. It might be a vacation spot or a survival cabin or the main place someone lives. But regardless, it might be the only thing standing between the owner and death. I’m not going to ruin that.”

  “Seems to me survival is an all or nothing enterprise, Walt. Either we are or we aren’t. Picking and choosing who we steal from and who we hurt doesn’t make much sense.”

  Walter ran his hand down his face. “I haven’t abandoned my moral compass because the power is out, Drew. I still give a damn about my fellow man.”

  His co-pilot snorted. “Tell that to the thugs we left behind in Eugene.”

  “They were trying to steal from us!”

  “How are we any different?” Drew turned, a shadow blending into the night, and walked down the porch steps. “I’ll go get the bags, but if you haven’t found a way in by the time I get back, I’m breaking a window.”

  Walter stood there, staring as Drew walked up the middle of the dirt and gravel driveway, his receding figure a contrast to the pale ground beneath his feet. Was Drew right? Were they no better than those two men who demanded everything they had?

  No. They weren’t the same. Walter had defended himself from an obvious predator then. He wasn’t the aggressor in that situation; it was the man whose windpipe he crushed who attacked first.

  Walter only had better skills and a hard punch.

  He shook off his doubt. The world was changing from civilized to wild. When he attacked those men in Eugene, he knew they wouldn’t give up without a show of force. But the cabin he stood in front of wasn’t a man out to rob him. It was shelter and rest. Recovery and a chance to plan.