by Ison, S. A.
EMP
ANTEDILUVIAN PURGE
BOOK ONE
S.A. ISON
EMP Antediluvian Purge
Copyright © 2018 by S.A. Ison All rights reserved.
Book Design by Elizabeth Mackey
Book Edited by Laurel C. Kriegler of Kriegler
Editing services
All rights reserved. Except as under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a data base or retrieval system, without prior written permission of S.A. Ison.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the production of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons – living or dead – is entirely coincidental.
OTHER BOOKS BY S.A. ISON
BLACK SOUL RISING
INOCULATION ZERO WELCOME TO THE STONE AGE - BOOK ONE
INOCULATION ZERO WELCOME TO THE AGE OF
WAR - BOOK TWO
FUTURE RELEASES
EMP ANTIDELUVIAN FEAR - BOOK TWO
POSEIDON RUSSIAN DOOMSDAY - BOOK ONE
POSEIDON RUBBLE AND ASH - BOOK TWO
THE HIVE
SMOKEHOUSE SMILES
Other books by S.A. Ison under the name: Stefany White
Dragon’s Fortune
Alaskan Heat
Future Releases
The Butler Did it
Little White Lies
FOR MY MOTHER AND FATHER
You taught me many things in my life; one of the most important was how to be color blind. Thank you.
♥
FOR MY GRANDPARENTS ON BOTH SIDES
They were true Kentuckians
CHAPTER ONE
Hieronymus Banks pulled into the big box store, watching out for the elderly customers that seemed to inhabit the place. His Peapot Harry, or grandfather, had sent him on several errands. He’d only been home a week, on terminal leave from the army, and had come to Beattyville, Kentucky, a small coal mining town nestled in the foothills and mountains near the Daniel Boone National Forest. It was still rural, but had crept into the new millennium over the last twenty years.
His twin sister, Willene, had urged him to take his terminal leave there. She’d said their grandfather was very ill. Harry had planned to spend most of his leave in Baden-Württemberg in Germany, where he’d been stationed for the last two years at Stuttgart Army Airfield. He’d wanted to spend his time with his girlfriend, Franziska Gnodtke, a nurse he’d met on base. They’d dated now for well over a year, and Harry was sure she was the one.
So, at his sister’s insistence, he’d flown home, and Franziska had promised to follow as soon as her visa was updated. This gave Harry a little time to look for a ring. When she arrived, he would propose. He hadn’t told Willene, but he was sure his sister would like Franziska. Willene was a nurse too, and he knew the pair would have a lot in common.
Willene had teased him mercilessly about his girl friends when they were younger. Beattyville was a small town, but spread out into the mountains, boasting a population nearing two thousand. Those in the mountains refused to answer the census, so there could be a few more hidden among the hills.
Harry pushed the wide cart down the extensive aisles, looking for the fifty-pound bags of rice. His grandfather had given him a list. He shook his head as he reread the list; it just didn’t make any sense. His grandfather had gone on and on about Dr. Peter Pry, the Executive Director of the Task Force on National and Homeland Security.
“I’ve been readin’ a lot ’bout Dr. Pry, and it’s passable interestin’, Dr. Pry was also Director of the U.S. Nuclear Strategy Forum, both Congressional Advisory Boards, and he served on the Congressional EMP Commission. Reckon that’s what’s ’portant har,” Peapot had said.
His grandfather had then given him an extensive list. He’d complained, but Willene had told him to just get what Peapot wanted and not argue. Their eighty-seven-year-old grandfather had congestive heart failure and wasn’t expected to live long. Hospice had started coming to help with his care. Willene did a lot of the care herself, but she had to work too. So, when Harry had come home on leave, he had taken over.
Spotting the rice, he easily hefted two large sacks of rice. Once more, he shook his head. He wondered if his grandfather was in the beginning grips of dementia. But, when sitting with the old man, he seemed reasonably sane and cognizant of his surroundings.
“People are surely undoubtedly ignert and Dr. Pry been warnin’ the governmen’ bout EMPs an our country’s failin’ and fragile infrastructure. Congress taint listenin’, but I am.” His grandfather had then giggled like a little boy caught at some mischief, his eyes disappearing into deep creases.
Harry had laughed at his grandfather, who’d always had a mischievous side to him. Willene also seemed to demonstrate that trait. She had played practical jokes on him when they were kids.
The store had aisles of dried food stuff, boxed foods, and supplies. It was almost like culture shock, seeing all this. In Germany, as in many other countries, they didn’t have these kinds of stores. It constantly left him kind of off balance when he came home from overseas; he had to get used to new things.
Looking down, he saw that he needed four twenty pounds of flour, two twenty pounds of sugar and three twenty-five-pound bags of steel cut oats. There was also coffee on the list, and a couple books by Dr. Pry. Electric Armageddon: Civil-Military preparedness for an Electromagnetic Pulse Catastrophe and Apocalypse Unknown: The Struggle to Protect America From an Electromagnetic Pulse Catastrophe.
He’d gone through the book section twice but couldn’t find either of them. He’d go online later and maybe try to find the books. He wondered what had gotten into his grandfather. Had he been watching too many reality shows? Or had he been on the computer looking up things, maybe scaring himself? He just didn’t know. His grandfather seemed preoccupied with Dr. Peter Pry and this EMP business.
Harry knew about EMPs and the possible danger from nuclear weapons detonating in the upper atmosphere, causing catastrophic loss of anything not shielded or hardened against an EMP. The army had educated its people, so Harry was familiar with the basics. He wondered what had spooked his grandfather. Or was this some kind of dementia or brain damage from his health issues?
Harry shook his head. He’d need to swing by the feed store after this stop. Peapot had insisted on two hundred pounds of scratch grain for the chickens. When he’d tried to argue that the ten chickens they had didn’t warrant that much, his sister had punched him on the arm and shaken her head, her eyes narrowing into deep brown slits.
“For the Lord in heaven’s sakes, just get what he’s hankerin’ for Harry. You’re upsettin’ him when you fuss,” she had said.
“But he is wasting money, and what the hell are we going to do with all this stuff? We couldn’t eat that much in years,” Harry had argued, but took the list and the money, rubbing his arm. His sister had a mean right hook.
“Look, iffn Peapot wants to buy a pony, we’ll get it for him, I don’t care. He doesn’t have much time left and I don’t want him to fuss with anyone ’bout his whims,” she’d said, her mouth set at the same mulish tilt as his own.
It had broken his heart to see Peapot so weak and so unbelievably frail. It’d been over three years since he’d seen him last. Back then, he’d been robust and healthy, going on long walks around their property. Now, he was shrunken and pale gray.
Their family lineage in these mountains was long, laced with Cherokee and Creek, as well as Scots Irish. His great-great-grandfather and great-grandfather had both l
ived to be well over one hundred years old. He took after the Scots Irish with a hint of native American, while Willene took on more of the Cherokee and Creek connection. Her skin was darker, as were her deep brown eyes.
Harry had been told by his grandfather that their unique eye colors were due to dual spirits. Their eye colors went back generations, and he and Peapot sported the brown and hazel eye colors. Now, his grandfather’s rheumy eyes were faded, and he was deteriorating fast. He was glad Willy had insisted he come home.
Pulling down the tailgate of the old 1978 Dodge pickup, Harry tossed the sacks of rice, oats and other purchases onto the rusted bed. Peapot had owned the old truck for as long as Harry could remember. He shook his head in wonderment that the damn thing still ran.
Peapot had taught Harry how to fix the truck, and they’d spent hours in old junk yards searching for old truck parts when he was a teen. Harry suspected that the activity had largely kept him out of trouble and where his grandfather could keep an eye on him.
In the old barn, back up a ways from the house, were shelves that lined the far wall. Neatly kept, they were stacked with old truck parts. Harry wondered if his grandfather had become a hoarder, but the neatness of it all made him doubt it.
After stopping by the feed store, he swung over to a local beer hall, The Lazy J, on Broadway to get a drink. It was hot and getting late in the day. When he got home, Willene would have him out in the garden picking weeds, so he wanted something refreshing before he headed home to do that.
When he was a kid, he’d hated it; a tedious task for a busy kid. But now, it left him tranquil. He enjoyed the quiet, and the soft clucking of the chickens nearby. He’d made a stool just for that purpose: to sit and pull the many weeds that seemed to spring up overnight.
He went up to the bar counter, looking around. He groaned internally when he saw Earl Bayheart. He and Earl had grown up together and had even been friends. But when they’d gotten to high school, their friendship had cooled, so much so that there had been several fist fights between them. Nothing serious, just boys letting off steam over a girl.
When Harry had signed up for the army, he’d tried to talk Earl into going with him on the buddy system. Earl had laughed and said he’d not be a slave in the U.S. military. Everybody knew that soldiers ended up as cannon fodder. He was going to work in the mines like his daddy and his granddaddy.
That life had taken its toll on Earl. The man looked ten years older than Harry and was missing a leg. Harry had heard years ago that it had been in a mining accident. Coal mines were dangerous places, almost as dangerous as Fallujah or Afghanistan.
In Beattyville, there wasn’t much in the way of job opportunities; you were either a farmer, coal miner, logger, or military. There was also moonshine, and that too was dangerous, and now also Harry had heard about meth labs in the mountains.
Harry had wanted to see the world, and he had, in his twenty years of service. But he’d spent too many years in Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria and other hotspots. He’d seen too much death and evil to want to stay longer. He considered himself lucky not to have been shot or blown up. Younger men were taking his place. For now, he was looking forward to a quiet beer.
It was not to be. Earl sauntered over to him, a cigarette hanging with irreverent neglect off his lip. Every time Harry came back, it was the same ritual. He should have known. It’d been three years, and still things hadn’t changed.
He supposed that he’d changed over the years. It wouldn’t have been so bad, but Earl seemed like he hadn’t grown up. Especially after the accident in the mine that took his leg. Earl had been more easygoing than he had, when they were kids. He sipped his beer, waiting for Earl’s first volley.
“Whar you’uns been, Banks? Back from war? You’uns a sight fer sore eyes.” Earl sniggered, scratching at his brown patchy beard, his homely face grinning.
“Hmm,” Harry replied noncommittally.
“That all you’uns got fer a frien’? I taint seen you’uns inna coon’s age. What in the sam’ hill you been up to?” Earl continued, settling into his rhythm of good-natured harassment. “Why, I’s even gonna share some chaw with ya or maybe a snort.” He grinned, showing stained teeth and several missing upper and lower incisors.
Harry took another sip of his beer and turned and smiled at Earl, his own teeth brilliant white and straight, and more importantly, all there. His eyes, one brown and one hazel, crinkled into mischievous triangles of humor. He noted that Earl’s smile slowly left his face as his upper lip curled over the stained teeth, as though trying to hide them from sight. Harry knew it was mean-natured, but both men always tried to dig into each other. Harry guessed it was a guy thing.
“I reckon that’s mighty nice, but I’m afeared I don’t chaw. Nothin agin’ ya. Reckon I’d better be scootin’ on home. Willy will be wonderin’ after me,” he said in the heavy Appalachian speak. He’d lost most of his accent when he’d gone into the army. But when home, he fell back into its habit from time to time, like now, either on purpose or unintended.
He got up and started for the door. He could hear Earl’s uneven footsteps behind and knew the man was following him out the building. He hoped Earl wasn’t brewing for a long conversation, as he really did need to get home. There were always things to do when he was home, and sometimes he wondered how his sister and his grandfather ever got things accomplished.
Getting into the old Dodge truck, Harry turned the ignition, the engine rumbling to life. He adjusted himself in the cracked leather seats and pulled the old seatbelt across, clicking it.
“Harry? How many folks you’uns kill?” Earl asked somberly.
Harry didn’t look at him, looking instead out the windshield. Then he spoke softly. “Too many, Earl.” He lifted his hand slightly in farewell and drove away, not looking back.
Ӝ
Earl watched Harry pull away, his hand idly scratching at his skin. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, spat, and took a long puff. He couldn’t figure Harry out. Life had been so much easier when they’d been kids and had played in the creek and fished and chased lightening bugs. But all that had changed as they’d gotten older.
Earl had envied Harry. Harry had a sister, and a mother, grandfather and grandmother that had loved him, though Harry’s mom and grandmother had died too young. Earl’s father had been a lazy drunk, like his grandfather. He hadn’t understood when he was a young’un, but as he grew older he began to realize how different their families were. As a teen, he was embarrassed by his family, and shame seemed to follow him.
Life had been hard in his home, and as Earl had grown older, more and more responsibilities had been heaped on his shoulders. He’d wanted to go with Harry into the army but had been afraid. Afraid to leave the mountains and all he knew. Afraid to leave his drunk of a father. Afraid to know a world different from his own. And so over the years, he’d watched and listened to Harry as he came home and told of different places, and people and customs.
It all seemed like a fairytale, but Earl knew it was all true. He did, after all, watch TV. And as he and his friends grew older, they drank together and worked in the coal mine. Many of his friends had become ill from the coal dust and deplorable working conditions; Harry came home, strong, tall, and fit. It was as though living here in the mountains had sucked away Earl’s life.
Though he’d quit the mine after the accident, and become a mechanic, the damage had been done. Earl puffed once more on the cigarette and tossed it to the gutter, then walked back into the bar for another beer. He liked Harry and Willene; they were two of the best people he knew. He just wished he’d gone with Harry that day, into the army.
Ӝ
Harry sat hunched over the bed, holding his grandfather’s hand. He was sitting in a hard-oak chair, with a cushion his mother had made years before. He held nail clippers and clipped gently away at the thick horny nails. He could feel his grandfather’s eyes on him.
“What is it, Peapot? Am I hurting your hand?” H
arry asked gently, squeezing the old hand tenderly.
“Naw, was justa thinkin’,” the old man said, his voice sounding thin and weak.
“’Bout what?” Harry asked, clipping a little more, his eyes looking up to his grandfather from time to time.
“’Bout the cave. You been down there lately?” he asked.
“No sir, not for some years. You shouldn’t be going down there anymore. Willy told me that you been sneakin’ down there. She said that is what set you off this time,” Harry chided gently.
The cave, located on their property was a place of wonder and security. It had been a secret of their family for many generations. During the world wars, during the depression, during strife, it had been a place to go. It had also been one of the greatest playgrounds a child could have.
“You an’ yore sissy should go down fer a visit. Make her go; she won’t go with me,” the old man grouched.
“Peapot, you know girls don’t like to go into dark old caves when they get to be women. Just boys like us.” Harry grinned and squeezed the hand he was holding. He paused and looked down at the old hand, so fragile, the veins blue and roping along the knuckles and large dark freckles and age spots.
When had the skin gotten so thin and papery? When had his strong grandfather gotten so old? Harry swallowed and kept his eyes down, blinking away the sheen of tears. The memories of his strong, robust grandfather had been replaced by this feeble, shrunken man.
“It’s near time. You need ta go to that thar cave,” the old man insisted, his body restless and fidgeting.
“What’s near time, Peapot? And why do we need to go to the cave?” Harry asked, wondering why the old man was so adamant about him taking Willene down to the cave. His heart fluttered with the fear, knowing that his grandfather was so weak and may be dying right before him.
