Enduring Grit: an EMP survival story (The Off Grid Survivor Book 3)

by Connor Mccoy

  Kendall glared at Cal. “If you’d have helped me with Derrick’s firepower, we’d have made a clean haul.”

  “And risk my ass?” Cal chuckled. “This farm’s got enough for me to live on. I don’t need to go out stealing.”

  “Well, if you had given me more of a provision, I wouldn’t have to.” Kendall then cried out in pain. “Son of a bitch!” He clutched his arm. “Damn thing always flares up when I jerk it.”

  Before Cal could retort, or make a comment that would pour more salt in Kendall’s wounds, there was a knock at the front door. “Get that,” Cal said.

  Kendall glared at Cal, but turned and obeyed him, hobbling over to the front door. Then he looked through the keyhole. “Hey. It’s that squirt Lance! Remember him?”

  “Yeah, I do. See what he wants. I could use an extra hand.” Cal looked at the sickly Kendall again and noted to himself that Lance might end up being Kendall’s full replacement. Perhaps Cal was indeed living the good life. Just today, he’d get a healthy ranch hand to replace the one with one foot in the grave. He chuckled to himself.

  Kendall opened the front door, revealing Lance. Then, a second figure stepped into view, pushing Lance out of the way into the living room, walking immediately into Kendall’s face.

  “Sorry, friend,” Blake said. “Hate to be so upfront, but I’m mighty, mighty pissed and I have questions that need answering.”

  Kendall’s eyes widened. “Uh, Cal!” He still didn’t move from in front of this stranger, although his slow legs might have had more to do with that than any bravery he possessed.

  Cal turned around. “What the hell is this?” He gestured toward Blake and said to Lance, “Hey, who’s this?”

  “You talk to me first, kid,” Blake said to Lance, “Who’s the owner of this ranch?”

  Lance shook as he pointed to Cal. “That’s…that’s Cal.”

  “Oh, so you’re Cal.” Blake then shoved Kendall aside. It had taken all of Kendall’s efforts not to trip and fall and ended up slamming into the wall instead. Blake then marched to the center of the living room, with Vander and Juan right behind him.

  “Hate to bother you, sir, but me and my friends here had a run-in with somebody you might know. Conrad Drake. Name ring a bell?”

  Cal backed up toward the hallway. “Conrad Drake? The rancher miles down the road? What about him?”

  “Lance tells us you tried to seize his land and got your ass kicked for your trouble.” Blake turned his head, showing off a red mark on his right cheek. “Well, we share something in common. We want to know who this guy is, how many people he’s got at that ranch. Your old boss, Derrick, he gave you all the info, right?”

  “I don’t know much about him,” Cal said, eyeing the three visitors warily. They looked tough enough, even if they didn’t seem to be carrying weapons.

  “He’s a prepper. You know, those guys who prepare to live off the land in case there’s a war or society goes to shit. I don’t know how many guys he’s got. Maybe two or three people were shooting at us during the fight.”

  “Well, that’s not much to go on.” Blake then glanced at Lance. “This visit had better be worth our trouble, kid.”

  Lance snapped his fingers. “Um, what about guns? Derrick piled up a lot of guns for the ranch battle. He’s got some in here, I’m sure!”

  “What about it, sir?” Blake turned to Cal. “How about joining us and helping us take down Conrad?”

  “Maybe you got some scores to settle?” Vander added.

  “Revenge. A dish best served cold, right?” Juan chuckled.

  Cal backed up a little more into the hall. “Forget it.”

  “What?” Blake advanced two steps on him. “You don’t want to plant that old rancher six feet under? You saw his ranch. Those crops and animals will set you up for life.”

  “I’m already set up for life,” Cal replied. “I was with Derrick for food and shelter and right now I got both. You want to go round two with that lunatic? Go ahead. But me, I want to stay far away from that guy as possible.”

  “Suit yourself,” Juan said with a grin, “But we’re taking the guns.”

  Cal balled up a fist. “That so?”

  Vander placed his right fist in his left palm and loudly cracked his knuckles. “We didn’t come here to hear ‘No’ for an answer, buddy. The guns. Now.”

  CAL KEPT an icy stare on the three men. Meanwhile, Lance slunk along the wall near the living room door. Goosebumps popped up over his arms and legs. This looked like it was going to end ugly, and not just because Blake, Vander and Juan together could overpower Cal. Just before they burst in here, Blake revealed he possessed one last pistol. He had hidden it somewhere under the truck before he and the other men left for Conrad’s ranch, so Conrad’s cohorts had not discovered it. Blake now was concealing it inside his jacket.

  “Alright,” Cal finally said. “The guns are in back. Follow me.”

  Cal backed into the hall. Lance waited to see if Blake or Vander would bark at him to follow. He was nervous enough about such a possibility that he almost took a step to join them.

  But instead, he held his ground.

  Three seconds later, Kendall burst out from a back room, brandishing a firearm. Lance suddenly realized Cal’s companion must have crept out of the room during the conversation.

  “Cal! Get down!” Kendall shouted.

  Cal jumped to the hall floor as Kendall squeezed off a few shots. Lance threw himself flat onto the ground. He heard the bangs, but didn’t see where, or who, they hit.

  With Lance’s face to the floor, he only could hear the commotion to come. Loud, rapid footsteps retreated into the back of the house. There was a lot of shouting. Lance recognized Vander’s and Juan’s voices, but not Blake’s. Nothing hard had hit the floor. Kendall’s shots had not dropped any of Blake’s party.

  The shouts trailed off into the rear section of the house, which quickly gave way to more gunfire, as well as screams and even loud crashes, like furniture being turned over. The fracas didn’t spill back into the front of the house. In fact, Lance realized he had been abandoned.

  He was totally alone.

  And then, in that moment, Lance realized he actually could escape. Yes, he could escape. He could do it. Now.

  It was enough to spur Lance to jump to his feet. Then he pulled open the front door and dashed out onto the walkway that trailed from the ranch toward State Road 22 and beyond. The truck was parked on the road shoulder.

  “The truck.” Lance panted heavily as he dashed for it. He grabbed the driver’s side door handle and pulled on it. The door came open. Blake had not seen fit to lock it. After all, they were in the middle of nowhere. Either that, or he still was fuming too much after his humiliating defeat at Conrad’s ranch to remember to take such precautions. Lance hoped that haze of anger was enough to help him get out of here.

  Now in the driver’s seat, Lance checked the ignition. No key. Of course, Blake would have taken it out and kept it on his person. That habit was too ingrained in almost any driver to forget. But there was a spare around here. He recalled Juan discussing spare keys back at his auto shop. One would be hidden somewhere inside.

  Lance flipped down the sun visor. Nothing. Then he opened the glove compartment. Just the truck’s insurance, which would nowadays be useless, and a small flashlight. Again, no keys.

  “C’mon, c’mon, let me find it. I’m so close,” he quickly said as he felt under the seat. Blake thought to hide a gun under the truck itself. Couldn’t he have found a place for spare keys?

  As he raised his hand back up, one of the front windows of the ranch house suddenly popped. A gunshot must have pierced the glass. The fight inside now was headed toward the front door. Lance’s heart quickened. Blake or Vander or Juan would notice that he had bailed.

  “Dammit!” Lance slapped his face. “Think. Think!” He then looked down at his shoes, spotting a dark foot mat. He reached down and pulled it up.

  Lance cheered. The
spare keys were there. Quickly, he snatched them and jabbed one of them into the ignition.

  “Please, please,” he said.

  He turned it. The truck started!

  But now he had to turn the shift from park to reverse. He fumbled to find the shift lever. He found it. After turning it to reverse, the truck suddenly lurched backward.

  “The brake! The brake!” Lance stomped on it, stopping the truck so suddenly the force slammed him against the seat.

  He turned and looked behind him, not wanting oncoming traffic to strike him. Then he remembered the vast majority of cars had been shut down by the EMP. So why the hell was he checking behind him?

  Cursing himself, Lance let off the brake and turned the wheel, swerving the vehicle onto the road. Each turn of the wheel, each step on the gas, or the brake, jolted the vehicle. He was horribly out of practice with driving, plus he was weak from weight loss, overwork and malnutrition.

  He turned the truck onto the road just as a pane of glass near the front door exploded. Lance screamed. Was Blake or Vander shooting at him?

  Go now!

  He hit the gas. The truck launched forward, speeding up quickly as sheer terror kept Lance’s foot on the gas pedal. Even though he had put miles between himself and Cal’s ranch in a span of minutes, Lance couldn’t bring himself to slow down. Only when he spotted a curve ahead did Lance slam on the brakes. He stopped the truck so fast his chest slammed into the steering wheel.

  He rubbed his chest and stomach. It hurt, but that didn’t matter. He was free! Better yet, he had a working truck. He could go anywhere now. He could put as much distance as he could between himself and Davies.

  Then Lance glanced at the gas gauge. It was down to half. His heart sank a little. True, he could drive this truck, but only until it ran out of gas. Once the tank hit zero, he was stuck.

  So, he’d need to be smart. He could go somewhere else, but it couldn’t be far.

  Lance remembered seeing a town on the map near Cal’s ranch. Hooper City. It was worth a shot.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SARAH YAWNED as she strolled down the hallway. Conrad, already awake as usual, stood at the entrance to the kitchen and watched her approach, still in her night clothes. “Morning,” he said. “Pretty unusual to see the rising sun, huh?”

  Sarah turned, revealing her haggard eyes. “I really want to hurt you right now,” she said.

  Conrad chuckled. “Now, you be careful. You’ll have a sidearm in your hands pretty soon. I don’t want you to take that sentiment to heart.”

  Camilla then approached from behind Sarah, already decked out in her outdoor clothing. “Don’t worry,” she said, “When it comes time, I’ll take any bullets for you, Conrad.”

  Sarah finally smiled a little. “I’d better get some coffee so I actually can be awake when I start shooting.” Her smile widened. “For your sake,” she said as she pointed to Conrad.

  As Sarah shuffled past Conrad on the way to the kitchen, Darber poked his head through the doorway from the living room. “What’s going on? I’m hearing talk about bullets and sidearms?”

  “Oh, that.” Conrad turned to his friend. “Today’s Wednesday. I had scheduled some time at the shooting range outside for all of us. We already had three visitors show up to make trouble, so it’s time we became better shots. I’m sure more unwanted guests are going to come sooner or later. You’re welcome to come with us.”

  “Sure,” Darber said.

  DARBER WINCED as Liam fired off the gun. “Yeah, we’ve been doing these little shooting sessions since the second week of Tom and Sarah’s arrival,” Conrad explained to Darber from behind the range. Sarah, Carla, Liam, Tom and Camilla all leveled firearms at their respective targets. Initially, the group began by cycling magazines in their sidearms. Now Conrad had them shooting off their weapons at stationary targets to get themselves in the right mindset.

  “Have you ever had any problems besides the shootout with Derrick Wellinger?” Darber asked.

  “I’ve had to shoot some critters that came close to my property. But I’ve never had to deal with actual people coming around to start trouble,” Conrad replied.

  “Damn!” Liam suddenly shouted.

  Conrad stepped over to his son. “Easy. Don’t get mad while you got a live weapon in your hand.”

  Liam looked down at his weapon. “That last shot barely got the edge of the target. I don’t why, but aiming is a bit of a bitch this morning.”

  “Relax yourself,” Conrad said calmly, “You’re too tense. Don’t put yourself in a battlefield mentality. Take this time and let the gun become a part of you. You can afford to mess up at this stage. I’m not grading you.”

  Liam nodded. “Thanks, Dad. I’m sorry.”

  Conrad studied his son’s expression. “You still got the shootout with Derrick on the brain.”

  Liam shook his head. “It’s hard not to imagine those guys over there on that target. If I’d had hit one or two more of them, maybe things would have turned out better.” He took a glance to his side where he had taken that shot.

  “Those weasels were hard to hit. You did fine. No one could have expected better for someone with almost no gun experience. Now come on, let’s loosen up. Don’t shoot so quickly. Get your aim down pat.” Conrad then looked past Liam. “I see Carla’s got it.”

  Liam looked at Carla’s target. All but two of her shots had struck the bull’s-eye in the center.

  CARLA TURNED THE KNOB. God, this feels good! Fresh water poured from the showerhead and quickly washed over her body. The solar energy plus the pipes that drew from the cistern that gathered rainwater worked the shower, though Carla would be careful not to use too much water.

  The others didn’t mind, though. Carla needed the shower to wash away any lingering lead that she may have been exposed to. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but it gave her a chance to practice shooting without risking her child to lead poisoning.

  It was the only time when living out here in the countryside had presented much of a burden. But it was a slight one. Otherwise, she had taken well to this new life.

  It really is like a fairy tale, she thought. She recalled her conversation with Conrad the first night she had arrived at the homestead. She had said the ranch seemed like a place out of a storybook.

  Of course, her life as a neglected child also had prepared her for a life of roughing it. She had learned to fend for herself. She had gone through a number of foster homes in which the adults who lived there cared little for her. So, Carla learned to steal for herself. Sometimes it made the difference of not going hungry.

  This ranch is a place for survivors, Carla thought. I was always one, even before all the lights went out all over the world.

  TOM’S HAND slipped as it pushed open the back door. Liam was already on the other side, on the back porch. The younger man pulled the door all the way open, permitting Tom through.

  “Thanks.” Tom staggered toward the chairs lining the back porch. Conrad already was seated in his favorite chair, a rocker situated near an old round table draped with a light blue tablecloth.

  “Heard you groaning from the other side of the ranch,” Conrad said.

  Tom sat down in the wooden chair across from him. “Just getting used to the new normal. It’s the weirdest thing. On Monday I can spring up from bed, ready to go, but by Friday, I’m exhausted. And don’t get me started on Sunday.” Tom wiped his forehead. “And then Monday it all starts back up again.”

  “The human body has its cycles.” Conrad sank his head back against the wooden top board of the chair. “You start figuring out how your body runs after a while.”

  Tom rubbed his head. “Well, I think all that shooting today made my body forget it’s Wednesday and not Sunday.”

  Liam looked around the porch. “Where’s Mom?”

  “She wanted to rest. I guess she hit the end of her cycle, too,” Tom said. “Actually, she got a little dizzy. Being around the hot water from canning this afte
rnoon probably got to her. I told her I’d handle security tonight.”

  “Well, someone’s earned brownie points tonight,” Conrad said.

  Tom chuckled. “And where’s your squeeze gone to?”

  “Camilla? She wanted to take a shower. Seems she’s a bit tired after a long day, too,” Conrad replied. “So, it’s pretty much just the men here. Ron is checking over Carla before he turns in.”

  Liam leaned against one of the back porch’s white support posts. “Does this mean we get to use foul language?”

  “If you hung around Camilla long enough, she could make you blush after a while,” Conrad replied.

  “Really?” Tom chortled.

  Conrad pointed his right forefinger in the air. “You weren’t near the goat pen with her after I came back with Ron after not telling her I was going.”

  Liam took a seat across from Tom and next to his father. “So, she’s really staying for good?”

  Conrad licked his bottom lip. “Could be. I get the feeling she wants to. After all that happened in Redmond, she’s changed a little. Maybe she feels it’s time to stop running around the U.S. of A. and finally settle down somewhere.”

  Tom coughed. “Damn. The air’s pretty dry tonight.”

  “No kidding.” Conrad turned his head to the house. Then, he suddenly rose from his seat. “You two stick around here. I’ll be right back.”

  Conrad quickly left before either Tom or Liam could ask why. With Conrad gone, the pair just sat there and stared up at the night sky. The two men were exhausted after a long day, and with Conrad temporarily removed from their presence, the motivation for conversation seemed to leave with him. He always seemed to draw the energy in a room toward him. Without him, Tom and Liam were free to sit back and actually enjoy the quiet.

  A short moment later, Conrad strolled up to the table separating the two men. Then he put down a large glass bottle with a red wax seal. “How about we enjoy our men’s night with a drink?” He put down three glasses stacked one in each other, then pulled them all apart and placed one near Tom and another by Liam.