Antediluvian Purge (Book 1): EMP

by Ison, S. A.

  It was dim, and Clay looked around for a telephone. There was a single stubby Christmas candle on the kitchen table and he walked toward it. His eyes scanned the rooms around him. He noted the ceramic knickknacks and figurines. They were a woman’s choice, and he wondered where this man’s missus was. Most likely passed away.

  “The telephone’s in thar, the kitchen, on the wall,” the old man said, lifting his arthritic knobby hand up toward the phone.

  “Thank you again, mister??” he prompted.

  “Juss calls me Pops.” Another gummy grin and disappearing eyes.

  Clay smiled and picked up the phone; it was dead. He hit the receiver several times, clicking it, hoping to prompt a signal. Nothing.

  “Your phone’s out, Pops. How long has your electricity been out?” Clay asked the elderly gentleman.

  “Been out since this afternoon, I ’spect. Might as be back tamar. Say, it’s gettin' dark, young man, would you’uns care ta stay the night? Surely undoubtedly, it’ll be dark soon. You’ll get stove-up out thar in the dark night,” Pops suggested.

  “Pops, that’s very kind of you, thank you sir, I would be glad to stay. Brian, my dog, thanks you as well.” Clay grinned as he looked at his dog, who was smiling.

  Earl came to relieve Harry near 2 a.m., but Harry wasn’t tired. He went upstairs and set up the rifle on its tripod near the window, then pulled up a chair and looked out. His rifle would remain on the tripod for defense from upstairs. He then took out his cleaning kit and began to clean his Glock. Once that was done, he went to the end of the bed and sat, looking out the window into the night beyond. He felt wired and couldn’t seem to bring himself down.

  The window was open to let a breeze in. The night was pitch black except for a few fires still raging in the distance. The popping sounds of gunfire had stopped. He would go down to the basement in the morning, take stock of all ammo and weapons in the gun safe, and clean them as well if they needed it.

  It had been years since he’d been hunting, but he knew his grandfather took good care of all the rifles and guns stored in the safe. There was a lot to do and it was nearly overwhelming. He took in a deep breath. He wondered if Franziska was safe. He hoped she had enough food and a way to get food. Perhaps it was only America that had been hit.

  He tried not to think of Fran; it made him melancholy and tore at his heart. There was nothing he could do about it, no way he could help her. He had to let her go and let his love for her go as well. Easier said than done.

  His eyes began to fill and the room became blurry. He wiped absently at them. A breath shuddered from him. He hoped once more that she was safe. He lay his long frame on the bed, closed his eyes, and softly said goodbye to her.

  Ӝ

  Hobart Holt, or Hobo, sat in the doorway of Earl’s trailer. He’d caught Earl on his way out and Earl had seemed in a hurry. He’d come to have a few beers and maybe head out to a bar. His car had broken down about a mile from Earl’s and so he’d figured he’d just stop by and relax. Then maybe call a tow truck.

  Earl had been throwing a bunch of shit into the back of his truck, and when he’d arrived at the trailer he’d asked him what the hell he was doing.

  Earl had mumbled something about relocating. “I gotta new place ta go, but I might could be back later to pick up the rest of my junk.”

  “Well, hell’s bells, Earl, I’s kinda hopin’ we could kick back an’ drink a few beers. Alrat, I reckon I’s kin wait. You got any shine?”

  “Hobo, I taint got no shine. Place is your’uns, thar is beer in the fridge an’ I’ll be back later,” he’d said, and jumped in his truck and sped out of there.

  Hobo had been disturbed by Earl’s eyes on an unconscious level. There was something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Then his friend Robby Rob stopped by, and Earl was forgotten. The two opened the beers and sat back to wait for Earl. That had been many hours ago, and many beers and a fifth of Wild Turkey. Robby Rob had brought some crack and they’d smoked it; it was shitty, but it did the trick.

  Now it was somewhere in the middle of the night. Earl hadn’t come home and Robby Rob had stumbled out of the trailer at some point and was passed out on the ground, lying in vomit. Hobo looked around and listened to the insects calling out from the high grass that was around the trailer.

  Though his head was fuddled, Hobo knew something was different. At first, he’d thought that Earl just hadn’t paid the electrical, but then others around him in the trailer park had gathered and he’d heard snippets of grumbling during the afternoon and evening about the power and their smart phones. He’d pulled his phone out and looked down at it, but the screen was blank. He’d figured it had run out of charge until he remembered later that he’d charged it that morning.

  He’d gotten hungry at some point and went rifling through Earl’s cupboards, but found nothing. Then he’d remembered the look in Earl’s eyes once more, and the fact that the man had been frantically throwing things into the bed of the truck. Why had he taken all the food? Why hadn’t he come back, and where the hell did he go? A worm of unease began to wiggle and squirm in his muddled brain. He just wished he could put the pieces together.

  Ӝ

  Harry sat with a small warm bowl of mashed potatoes and scrambled eggs in his hand as he spooned a small bit for his grandfather to eat. His grandfather’s teeth were sitting in a glass with blue cleaning liquid on the nightstand. He rarely wore them anymore, Willene had said. His grandfather looked even smaller this morning, as though he were shrinking away.

  “Just one more bite, Peapot. You need your strength,” Harry urged gently, lifting the spoon to his grandfather’s mouth.

  “You know, your’un momma said she’s real proud of you,” the old man said, a gummy smile lighting his face, his faded hazel and brown eyes sparkling in the morning light coming through the window by the bed.

  Harry’s dark brow raised in query. “She did, did she?” His mother had been dead for over twenty-five years, and his grandfather had raised himself and his twin. He worried that his grandfather was growing more confused.

  “Sure did, and she said not to worry about Fran, that she’ll be fine.” He laughed and took a bite of the mashed potatoes and egg mixture.

  The hair stood up all over Harry’s body as though he’d been touched by an electric cord. He’d never spoken of Fran to neither his grandfather nor Willy. He could feel the uncomfortable prickle on his head.

  “What do you mean, Peapot?” Harry asked, his mouth dry. He tried to swallow. He placed the spoon in the bowl and looked down at his grandfather, his body now motionless.

  “Like I tell’ed ya, you’un momma said that your’un Franziska will be just fine. Thangs were spose ta be how they is. I toll you it’s ’bout time. Everythang is quiet now. The sun took care of that.” The old man laughed softly.

  Harry was stunned. He stared at his grandfather, unable to believe his ears. He closed his mouth; it had been hanging open in stunned surprise.

  “You’uns gonna have sommet hard times ahead. But me an’ your’un momma will watch out fir you an’ your’un sister,” he continued, his wrinkled parchment face twisted into a sweet smile.

  “You knew this EMP was going to happen? How?” Harry asked, dumbfounded by the revelation and unsure he believed it. But that mention of his Fran…

  “Oh shor-nuf, your momma told me in my dreams. You’un eber aheared of Carrington Event? The sun did the same thang here. It took everthang down. Your’un momma tolt me over a year ago, but said it was a secret. Tolt me I’d better get busy. So I did.” He giggled like a naughty little boy, his eyes crinkling until they disappeared into the folds of his face.

  “Get busy doing what?” Harry asked softly, and the quote from Shakespeare’s play, Hamlet, ran through his mind: “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreams of your philosophy.” So apparently there was, for nothing in his life had ever prepared him for his grandfather’s words.

  “Get bu
sy getting’ ready. I tolt you’uns ta look in the cave. I’m sore tuckered out now and I don’t want no more ta eat,” his grandfather reproached him, yawning widely. His eyes were heavy and blinking rapidly.

  Harry picked up the napkin that was lying across his knee and cleaned his grandfather’s mouth gently. Harry then pulled the covers up around his grandfather’s narrow shoulders and left the room quietly, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.

  His tread on the floorboards was quiet, as Earl was still asleep. Willy and Marilyn were downstairs in the kitchen, working on an inventory of their food supply. Monroe was with them, eating breakfast. Boggy was on the porch keeping watch and eating breakfast as well.

  He walked into the kitchen and Willy looked up, smiling. When she saw his face, her smile disappeared.

  “Is Peapot okay?” she asked, setting down the pad and note tablet she’d been writing on.

  “He’s fine, just put him to sleep. He wasn’t all that hungry,” he said, and handed her the nearly full bowl. Willene looked down at the bowl and gave it back to him, indicating he should eat it. Harry knew there could be no wasting food now.

  “I’ll go check on him,” Marilyn said. She got up, walked over to Monroe and kissed the child on his head, then left the kitchen. Harry walked over to Monroe and placed his large hand on the child’s head and squeezed, causing Monroe to giggle. Harry grinned, then grabbed the pot of coffee and poured a cup. He sat down at the table beside Monroe with his bowl of mashed potatoes and egg.

  “Can I go play wiff Charley?” Monroe asked, his sweet face shining with anticipation.

  Willy walked over and kissed the top of his head. “Just stay in the front or the back yard. Don’t go near the trees and stay where we can see you,” she said as she wiped the food off his face.

  He got down from the chair. “Okay!” he yelled as he ran from the kitchen and out the front door. They heard the screen door slam.

  “So what’s goin’ on?” Willene asked her brother, his face still a mask of worry. She sat down in Monroe’s empty chair and cradled her coffee cup in her hand.

  “When was the last time you went to the cave?” Harry asked.

  Willene cocked her head to the side, her dark hair shifting and falling over her shoulder. “I’ve not been in that nasty cave for over ten years. Oft times I kept finding Peapot there when he’d go missin’ around the house.”

  She took a sip of her coffee and her dark eyes clouding a bit in memory, “I had to put a stop to it a couple months ago. I found him sitting outside the cave, breathing heavily. I took him to the hospital and that is when I found out he was in congestive heart failure. I’ve kept him close to home ever since.”

  “Do you know what he was doing at the cave?” Harry asked, beginning to eat the potatoes and eggs his grandfather had refused. He took a sip of his coffee; he was going to miss coffee when they ran out. He was going to miss a lot of things. He shied away from thoughts of Fran.

  “God no. He was all secretive and acted like a kid, giggling when I asked him. Besides, I had a lot of shift work, so he was on his own until two months ago.” She reached over and took a bite of his potatoes and eggs and grinned. Willene had always stolen food from his plate, even when they were children.

  “And let me tell you, it has been hard as hell keeping him around the house. I had to hire a sitter until he took to his bed two weeks ago,” Willene said, a frown puckering her tapered brow.

  “Okay. I’m going to go and take a look and see what he’s been up to,” Harry said, going to the junk draw, filled with all kinds of odds and ends. He located a small LED flashlight.

  “What is going on, Harry? What has he said?”

  “He said Mom told him this was coming, and he has been busy,” Harry said, and he saw the soft hair raise on his sister’s forearm.

  “He said what?” Willene whispered, her dark brown eyes widening.

  “He said Mom had told him the sun was going to do this and that he should get busy getting ready,” Harry’s voice came out as a croak, the hair rising on his own arms at the telling.

  Willene sat down heavily in the chair and placed her hands flat on the table. Harry watched as her fingers opened and closed over the red-and-white checkered table cloth.

  She finally looked up at him, fear and awe on her face. “Go look, Harry,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Harry left the house a few minutes later. As he walked away from the house, he took note of the well, its rock facing solid and sturdy. The well had been hand dug over one hundred years previously. He could not imagine the amount of work it had taken to dig it.

  Back then, most everything was done by hand and took many man-hours to complete. He knew also digging the pit for the outhouse had taken a lot of time and been back-breaking work. His grandfather had hired someone to dig the hole and they had used modern machinery, taking a fraction of the time to complete.

  He passed the chicken lot; the creatures were out in the chicken yard scratching away. There wasn’t any vegetation; they had eaten that long ago. They threw scraps into the yard from time to time, and the hens descended on it like locusts.

  He grinned as they ran over to the fence, hoping for a hand out. “Not right now, you fat fluffy hussies. Maybe Willy will bring you something later.”

  He laughed when they cocked their collective heads, their bead-bright eyes watching him with gluttony; they always acted as though they’d never been fed.

  He headed into the woods behind. The property extended well over one hundred acres and had a vast dense forest, several small ponds, and a creek that ran through and down across the road from their home. There were many hardwoods in the forest, their canopies blotting out the sky as he entered.

  There were stands of beech, poplar, walnut, red oak, sweet birch, red maple, and sugar maple. The ground was still damp, and his footfalls quiet on the moist ground. Morning birdsong filled the air. He smelled ozone in the air: more rain was coming.

  Three acres had been cleared for the garden and chicken lot. There had been more land cleared once, but over the decades the trees had grown back and encroached on the homestead. His mother had planted a couple of pear trees and three lush peach trees, all of which were loaded with green fruit. He knew his sister would can most of it. He envisioned peach cobbler and smacked his lips for future delights.

  The woods around the cave were filled with pines and a few pecan trees, planted long ago by industrial squirrels. He and Willy would climb into the trees and crack the nuts to eat. The squirrels had never been happy with their presence.

  That would be something to keep in mind this fall; he and Monroe could come out here with a few buckets and pick up the pecans. They were a good source of protein, and maybe, with the black walnuts, they could make a kind of nut flour. He knew their ancestors had done it, so it would bear looking into. Especially when their own flour ran out.

  Harry kept looking around him, stopping and listening. He heard the call of a whippoorwill and the coo of mourning doves. Then the staccato beat of a woodpecker echoed through the woods. It was cool in the dim woods, redolent of earth and green things.

  It was still early morning and some of the tree frogs still sang, unwilling to end their courtship. The terrain slopped upwards and Harry slowed his step. He wondered at his grandfather’s stamina. It was a wonder that he hadn’t died outright of a massive heart attack.

  Kentucky was made up of numerous caves, one of the most famous being Mammoth Cave National Park. The hilly, mountainous terrain of Kentucky hid a wealth of yet-to-be-found caves, Harry was sure. He’d even heard about people living in them full time. He wasn’t sure he’d want to do that.

  His great-great-grandfather had bought the land, and through the years his ancestors had kept the location of the cave secret. It was a fair distance from the house and deep within the woods on the property. There were numerous rock formations jutting out of the land. The whole property was peppered w
ith natural rock formations. Harry was sure there were other caves aplenty on the property, just waiting to be found.

  Though he knew where the cave was, it took a bit of time locating the entrance, overgrown as it was with white ash, flowering dogwood, arrowwood viburnum and various other flora. It had been quite a few years since he’d been to the cave. The landscape had changed only a little, but the overgrowth didn’t help matters.

  He walked slowly around, and then came across an old rusted wagon; his grandfather must have used it. He didn’t recognize it. He finally found the entrance, which was invisible until you were a foot away.

  He pushed aside the scrub and turned on his flashlight, stepping carefully down onto the flat entryway. He ducked his head, as the opening was narrow and low.

  Immediately he could smell the coolness of something prehistoric, of an antediluvian era. It was dark inside and Harry pointed the flashlight to the ground, though he knew the way by heart. He and Willy had played in the cave for years — it had been like having a secret funhouse.

  He carefully made his way down a carved stairway his great-great-grandfather had hewn out of the rock, making the passage through the entrance safer and more comfortable. Within four feet, the ceiling of the entry rose and Harry could stand up straight.

  He followed the steps deeper, the air cooling around him. The sounds of the outside faded away. It was like stepping back in time: he could no longer hear the buzz of insects nor the chittering of birds.

  When he got down to the lower level, roughly twenty feet down, and shone the flashlight around the walls, the sound of his footsteps echoed softly around the cave. The lower walls of the cave had been white-washed years ago, and he remembered he and Willy had also taken to painting the walls. It had helped keep the vaulted rooms from closing in on them, making the rooms light and airy. The air in the cave was dry, neither musty nor dank.