After the EMP- The Darkness Trilogy

by Harley Tate

  No one was getting to Madison. No one would hurt his family.

  He backed into the room, sweeping it with his flashlight. A conference table sat in the middle, eight or ten chairs grouped around. No one was inside. He clicked the flashlight off and reached for Peyton, dragging his limp body into the room and clear of the door.

  Walter didn’t breathe until the door was shut and locked and they were secure. Only then did he suck in a lungful of air and drop to check Peyton’s vitals.

  Still alive.

  He gave the kid’s face a quick smack. No response.

  Blood matted around Peyton’s ear, sticky and thick as it globbed in his hair. Walter pushed Peyton’s hair aside, searching for the wound. When he found it, he exhaled in relief.

  Although at least two inches long and still open, it was superficial at best. Peyton wouldn’t bleed to death. Worse case, he had brain damage and internal hemorrhaging. Best case, a minor concussion and hope for a full recovery.

  Either way, he wasn’t any good to Walter for the rest of the mission. After tucking his arms under Peyton’s armpits, Walter dragged him over to the door-side wall. If anyone managed to get inside the room, Peyton would be shielded behind the door when it opened.

  It wasn’t the best hiding place, but it was better than nothing. Walter stood and made his way back to the door. As he opened it, the stench of fresh blood crinkled his nose. Peyton’s assailant sprawled across the hall, face mashed into the linoleum, blood seeping around his T-shirt.

  Walter toed the man’s head, lifting the dead weight up with his shoe before turning it over to get a look at his face. His flashlight beam lingered on smooth skin pocked by acne.

  In death, the kid’s youth eclipsed all else. Without the heft of a weapon straining his muscles and adrenaline contorting his features, he was no older than Madison. Practically a child.

  A pang of regret shot through Walter, but he forced it down. Plenty of nineteen-year-olds were deadly. He knew that firsthand. The kid might have been a college student, but that didn’t mean he deserved to keep breathing. Not after almost cracking Peyton’s skull without warning.

  Walter stepped over the body and flashed the light down both sides of the hall. No sign of the other assailant. Walter frowned. His shot hit the target, so where was the guy? Even in the chaos of the moment, Walter, didn’t miss.

  There should be a trail of blood or a body or something. Some evidence of the second attacker. Damn it. While he’d been tending to Peyton and letting curiosity get the best of him, a knife-wielding threat disappeared. Walter ground his teeth together. He would find him. And this time, he wouldn’t let him get away.

  Five feet down the hall, the next door stood partially ajar. Walter kicked it open. Screw flicking the flashlight on and off or not broadcasting his position. He was done hiding. He shone the beam in every corner and crevice of what appeared to be a waiting room. Nothing.

  Turning back around, he hurried to the dead man in the hall and grabbed him by the ankle. He hauled him into the room, leaving a smear of tacky blood in his wake. As soon as the guy’s head cleared the door, Walter dropped his legs and stepped over the body and back out into the hall.

  He shut the door and exhaled. Hiding all the blood wasn’t possible, but at least he could keep the sight of a dead man from his daughter. She didn’t need to see what he had done. She didn’t need to know how far he would go to protect her. Not yet.

  With the gun and flashlight back in position, Walter made his way down the hall, clearing every room Madison and Brianna should have been inside by now. If they had been captured or taken hostage…

  Walter’s grip on the gun tightened, the checkering digging into the skin of his palm. Inhaling, he forced his body to relax. Getting choked up now wouldn’t do any good. At the next door, he read the sign. Suite 107. The pharmacy had to be close.

  He tried the handle. Locked. The first locked door on the inside of the building. Walter bounced the beam of light up and down the hall before flicking it off. It could be a supply closet or doctor’s office or any number of things. Or it could be where the wounded knife-man was hiding.

  If he ignored it and went on, he’d be leaving a potential threat behind. If he took the time to pick the lock, he’d be risking Madison and Brianna’s life. They could be in the pharmacy right now or already trapped. He hated to leave the room unchecked, but he needed to clear the rest of the floor.

  Against his instincts, Walter kept walking.

  Suite 108. The pharmacy.

  Unlike the other doors, this one had a window in the middle, although it did little good in the dark. He eased the door open, flashing the light once again like a firefly, on and off in quick, disparate bursts.

  A large waiting room, a counter with three separate areas divided by partitions to counsel customers, and rows upon rows of undisturbed medicine beyond.

  Walter strode toward the counter, intermittently flashing the light held just below the gun, scouting for the man he’d shot but not killed. So far, so good. He hopped the desk and landed on the other side.

  Madison was right about the difference between college hospitals and health centers. For a campus facility, the pharmacy was small. No more than fifteen rows of shelves, each about ten feet deep. Walter scanned the first aisle with his flashlight. Sudafed of every variety, epipens, a billion different boxes of birth control.

  Walter shook his head. College today.

  He eased into the next aisle when the sound of pill bottles clattering to the floor made him freeze. He wasn’t alone.

  Walter clicked off the flashlight and backed up out of the aisle until his backside brushed the cabinets on the far wall. The noise came from his left, toward the front of the pharmacy. He wished he had some night vision goggles or a red cover for the flashlight. Anything to preserve his night vision.

  But he didn’t. Without using the white light of the flashlight, he was blind. Walter clicked it on again, flicking it around to hopefully catch a glimpse of something. No such luck.

  He’d have to ferret the person out. Rolling his feet as he walked to minimize the sound, Walter eased toward the source of the noise. His heart picked up, once again drumming in time with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

  After flicking his light on and off and glancing down a few empty aisles, Walter paused. He would never find a person this way. He sucked in a deep breath before calling out. “Is anyone here?”

  No response.

  “I won’t shoot if you’re unarmed.” He walked closer to the end of the pharmacy. “Identify yourself.”

  At last, a labored voice called out. “I don’t have a weapon. Please don’t shoot.”

  Walter turned the flashlight back on, clearing every aisle until he reached the last one. A college kid sat on the floor, one hand pressing a wadded up fistful of gauze into his bicep.

  Guess my aim wasn’t perfect that time.

  Walter looked him over. “Where’s your knife?”

  The kid couldn’t have been older than twenty, the gunshot screwing up his boyish looks into a mask of pain. “I-I don’t know. I must have dropped it.”

  “Is there anyone else in the building?”

  “Just Trip, and you shot him already!”

  Walter had the feeling the kid was telling the truth, but he couldn’t be sure. Now, he could never be sure about anything. Another ten guys could be hiding around the corner. They could have his daughter already. They could be…

  He shook off the spiraling fears and stepped closer. “Are you sure there’s no one else here?”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “How do I know that? You attacked us for no reason.”

  The kid’s mouth screwed up into a tight, little pucker. “This is our place. We were here first.”

  Walter lifted his gun and the light, blinding the kid with the beam as he stepped closer.

  With the toe of his shoe, Walter kicked the kid’s hand out of the way before finding the entry p
oint of the bullet. A through-and-through. He’d live. Even after a little coercion.

  Walter shoved the toe of his shoe into the wound and the kid screamed. “Tell me the truth. Is there anyone else in here?”

  “No!”

  Walter pressed harder. Tears leaked out of the corners of the kid’s eyes and he shook his head back and forth.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes! I’m sure! It’s just us! Ahhh, that hurts!”

  “What’s your name?”

  “R-Robert.”

  “Your full name.”

  “Robert… ungh… Robert Duncan Jackson.”

  “Where do your parents live, Robert?”

  The kid hesitated and Walter dug his toe in a bit deeper.

  “At 837 Linecaster Road. Modesto.”

  As Walter kept the pressure on, the kid devolved into whimpering and sobbing. If the college student been lying, he would have owned up to it by now. At last, Walter eased back and the kid rolled onto his side, clutching his wounded arm and groaning.

  “If you ever attempt to come after me or my family, I’ll hunt down your parents and kill them. Slowly. Do you understand?”

  Robert nodded. “Y-Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” Walter shifted the grip on the handgun and leaned over the kid. “Now go to sleep.”

  As the butt of the gun made contact with Robert’s head, a voice he recognized called out.

  “Dad? Dad are you in here?”

  DAY NINE

  Chapter Eight

  MADISON

  863 Dewberry Lane, Chico, CA

  8:00 a.m.

  The flashlight beam bounced across the rear wall and Madison froze. Her father leaned over a heap of a person on the floor, hand pulled back, gun drawn. His jaw ticked and Madison let out a shout. “Dad, no!”

  Madison landed hard on the wood floor, sliding right off the dining room chair as she jolted herself awake. Every time she fell asleep, the same dream replayed in her head: her father taking the student health center by storm.

  As soon as they heard the first gunshot, Brianna jumped over the railing, grabbed a rock, and smashed the side window. But even then, they had taken too long.

  Madison glanced over the back of the couch at Peyton, still groggy and discombobulated in a living room chair. The side of his head swelled like a lumpy pumpkin left too long on one side. But despite the nasty bruise and clotting wound, he was lucky. Had the impact been to his temple and not a few inches higher, he would be lying on the floor of the student health center, cold and dead.

  Somewhere inside, she knew her father did what he thought was necessary, but she still wondered. If they hadn’t walked into the pharmacy right then, would he have killed that kid?

  The sound of stairs creaking caught her ear and Madison turned to see her mom round the corner with a tired smile. “Good morning, honey. Did you sleep all right?”

  Madison nodded and tried to shake off her concerns. “I took the early morning shift so Brianna could sleep. She’s in the back bedroom.”

  Much larger than her parents’ bungalow, the house they temporarily called camp held a living room and dining room open to the kitchen, and a study, bedroom, and bathroom on the first floor. With four more bedrooms upstairs it was a veritable mansion.

  Her mom pulled out a dining room chair and sat down across from Madison. She motioned to Drew and Peyton. “How did they do in the night?”

  “Fine. Drew seems a bit better. That IV is working.”

  Her mom leaned over to catch a glance. “Still not empty?”

  “This one is just fluid. He took the antibiotic hours ago.”

  “What about Peyton?”

  “His wound looks good. I don’t think he needs stitches.” Madison pulled a leg up and tucked it underneath her as she thought about the night before. “How’s your hand?”

  “Better. The burn ointment you found is helping and the antibiotics already seem to be working. The worst area is oozing less this morning.”

  Madison glanced at the stacks of medicine lined up on the counter. “How did Dad know what types of medicine to grab?”

  Her mom shrugged. “We’ve both taken some advanced CPR and first aid classes over the years. When we were backpacking a lot, he even took some wilderness EMT courses.” She moved to the end of the table and picked up the first box. “This is Moxifloxacin, it’s a good all-around antibacterial agent. It’s effective against everything from Staph to pneumonia to tuberculosis. It might even work against MRSA.”

  Madison shook her head. “I’ve never even heard of it. How do you know so much about it?”

  Her mom smiled. “I have a lot of free time at the library.”

  “So you read medical guides?”

  “Sort of. When we took that week-long trip to Alaska, I read up on everything from bear safety to emergency medicine. I wanted to take a solid emergency medical kit with us, since we were airlifted in all by ourselves. A lot can happen in the two days it could have taken a ranger to find us.”

  Madison exhaled. She felt like such a novice compared to everyone around her. Brianna knew her way around weapons like they were place settings, and Tucker could explain everything from solar weather to how the internet might come back soon. Her dad could fly and shoot anything. And her mom was a walking repository of key information.

  What could she possibly hope to contribute to their new way of life? When it came down to it, she couldn’t even make the hard choices.

  “What is it, honey?”

  She glanced up at her mom. Even with greasy hair and no makeup, her mom was so beautiful. Pale skin, blue eyes, hair only a little bit gray. Every wrinkle was a reminder of all her mom’s life experience. All of her skills and knowledge.

  Madison glanced down at the table and ran her fingers over the grain in the wood. “I feel so unprepared for all of this. Like I’ve been living in some fantasy land my whole life and I’ve just woken up.”

  A knot in the table top caught her fingernail and Madison traced its warbled circle around and around until she hit the center. “I should have done more. Learned more. Instead I goofed off and had fun.” Her eyebrows tucked in as she shoved her nail into the wood. “I’m weak.”

  Her mom’s good hand landed on top of her own, the hardened bumps of new calluses pressing into her skin. “You are no such thing. Look at all that you’ve accomplished in such a short time. You made it all the way from school to home. You helped us save as much as we could from the house.”

  With a squeeze of her hand, her mom paused. “Most importantly, you’re alive. That’s what matters the most. We’ve all come from different places and seen and experienced different things.”

  Madison sniffed. “I could have tried harder.”

  “Think about all the things you do know. Eventually all the running will stop. We’ll find a place to settle down and thanks to you and Peyton, we’ll be able to grow vegetables and fruit, and maybe even raise some animals.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Right now is just a time of transition. At some point, everything will stabilize. It has to.”

  Madison swallowed. “What if it doesn’t? What if this right here is as good as it gets?”

  Her mom pulled back, her fingers trailing across the wood like a receding tide of warmth and hope. “Then we fight. We’re not giving up, Madison. No matter how hard it gets, we’re going to make it.”

  Madison leaned back and pulled her limp, grimy hair off her face. It had been so long since she’d washed it; she’d become accustomed to the thick texture of dirt and oil all mixed together.

  She thought about all the things she took for granted before and now lived without: showers, hot food, a bed, a home. Stability and safety. The genuine goodness of her fellow man.

  “Do you think there are other people like us out there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Madison tried to put her swirling thoughts into words. “Normal people. Not the ones who instantly
think about robbing and stealing or the ones sitting on their hands waiting for someone else to help them. But people like us, trying to survive the best way we can.”

  “Yes.” Her mom’s eyes lit with an intensity when she spoke that Madison couldn’t help but believe her. “I do. Of course when times get tough, some people revert to their baser instincts and some just give up. But there are plenty of good people out there in this country who see the loss of power as a temporary hardship. People who will survive without losing sight of what makes us human.”

  Her mom reached back out and patted Madison’s hand. “People just like us.”

  Madison stared at their hands, one wrinkled but strong, the other smooth and unsure. “What if people like us don’t make it? What do we do then?”

  “We make the best of it.” Her mom pushed back her chair and motioned toward the kitchen. “I checked last night and the gas is still running for the stove. How about we find the pantry and see if we can’t make some drop biscuits? I could go for some fresh-cooked food.”

  Madison glanced around her. “We’re already using the house. You don’t feel bad about eating the food?”

  “The couple who lives here is in New York. I found their itinerary in the study. I don’t think they’ll be making it back here, honey.”

  Madison thought about all of her friends who were trapped in the same situation. How many were in Mexico right now on a beach with no means to connect to back home? Did they even know about the blackout? Had the EMP hit Cancun as hard as it hit the United States?

  She shook her head to clear it. Wondering about the what-ifs would get her nowhere. They detoured to Chico for a reason. She glanced up at her mom. “What about the girl at the radio station?”

  “If she’s stuck inside that building, she’ll still be there in a few hours. But we need to eat, rest, and come up with a plan of attack. We need to do this smart, not fast.”