Lines in the Sand_Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction

by Bobby Akart

  He stopped a thousand yards short of the house. Riley and Cooper grabbed their rifles and approached the house on foot, spreading out on both sides of the driveway so as to allow plenty of space between them. Palmer took the wheel and waited with the motor running in case she had to move in to pull her brothers out of harm’s way.

  It took the guys five minutes to clear the house and the barn. They emerged from the side of the barn, waving Palmer forward with smiles and a thumbs-up. They’d found fuel.

  Riley pulled Red Rover around the back side of the barn and squeezed every drop of red diesel into the apple red Landy he could. Inside the barn were three yellow five-gallon fuel cans, which were filled, and he secured them to another find—a steel cargo carrier they attached to their hitch. The attachment was strong enough to hold the diesel and some tools they found in the barn. A silver/brown tarp and bungee cords were used to conceal the contents of the crate.

  Their spirits were high when they began to look through the kitchen for food. The house, which appeared to be a hundred years old or more, creaked and cracked as they walked across the old wood floors. Whoever had arrived before them had cleaned out the cupboards of anything edible, including spices. Nary a crumb was left behind for man or mouse.

  But that was okay for the Rodeo Kids, as they still had leftovers provided by Fiorella for the road. They built a fire in the woodstove, which occupied a corner of the open floor plan in which kitchen, dining, and family room were all one room.

  Two back bedrooms provided comfortable king-sized beds with ample covers in the form of goose-down-filled duvets and feather pillows. Cooper joked the accommodations were like a five-star hotel.

  After they ate and agreed upon their sleeping and security routine for the night, they settled into the family room and turned on the shortwave radio given to them by Fiorella. Riley, who had mastered the operation of the device, quickly found the broadcast channel used by the Three Percenter Montana militia.

  “This is a call to arms, fellow patriots,” the broadcast began. “Our great nation faces an existential threat from beyond our borders, as well as within them.”

  “Existential?” asked Riley with a laugh. “That’s a fifty-dollar word.”

  “Eighteen points on the Scrabble board,” quipped Palmer, who enjoyed playing the famous board game but could rarely find any takers in the family because she always won. Perhaps it was because she could calculate the word value in just seconds.

  The man continued. “This president has declared war on our freedoms. At a time when she should be calling on us to help her defeat the enemy from Korea, instead she is using her military resources to take up arms against law-abiding citizens in violation of our Second Amendment rights.”

  “Sounds like the same old, same old,” said Palmer.

  “I’m calling on my fellow Three Percenters who can hear my voice to join me as we free those of us who have been unlawfully detained by the FEMA thugs who’ve descended upon a free Montana and Wyoming. Our part of this great country is not in turmoil. We are not killing one another in the streets. We continued to adhere to the rule of law and the principles of God.”

  Riley turned down the volume slightly. “What do you think they’re talking about, Coop?”

  “Sounds like martial law is being enforced around here. You know, I’ve always wondered if society would collapse like you see in the movies. People freak out over nothing nowadays. Imagine what it’s like in the big cities.”

  “Remember, Fiorella said Great Falls was dangerous,” added Palmer. “That’s not exactly a big city.”

  “Heck, the small towns ain’t exactly friendly,” Riley said with a chuckle as he stuffed a pinch of Skoal between his cheek and gum. The unopened can of tobacco had been left behind by the looters. “They were shooting at us on day three.”

  Cooper smiled as he reached out for the tobacco. He stuffed it in his pocket before admonishing his younger brother. “You’re not starting up on this stuff again. Momma will shoot at you too. One dip, and only because you’re takin’ first shift tonight. You can spit that stuff outside.”

  “Whatever, Coop,” said Riley with a frown. “So what’s the militia up to?”

  “It sounds like FEMA is rounding up the militia,” he replied. “You gotta wonder why they’d bother with folks up here. Denver area got nuked. You’d think they’d focus on saving folks rather than round up the militia.”

  “I don’t care,” said Palmer. “As long as they stay out of our way, we’ll stay out of theirs. Let’s take a look at the map and plan out our day tomorrow. I, for one, want to get in that comfy bed back there.”

  They opened up the map and spread it on the table. The candles they’d found in the kitchen pantry provided more than ample light to view their route options. Palmer quickly found their location just south of Bridger, Montana. She retrieved a lighter from her pocket and set it upright to represent where they were.

  Cooper studied the map and used his index finger to gauge the distance against the map’s legend. “It looks like we could pick up Route 310 again and head into Wyoming. It’s only about fifteen miles or so.”

  “Hopefully, there’s not a border crossing at the Wyoming line,” added Riley.

  “Riley, we’ve all got pieces of crazy in us, but yours are bigger than others,” said Palmer with a laugh. “They’re not gonna have border crossings goin’ from one state to another. That’s nonsense.”

  “You never know, sis,” he responded defensively. “Things are weird with what’s goin’ on.”

  Cooper sensed another row brewing between his siblings, so he stepped in quickly to bring them back to focusing on the plan for tomorrow. Besides, he was ready to hit the sack too. “C’mon, y’all. Focus. We’ve traveled two hundred fifty miles these first two days. Now we have a full tank of gas and enough to refill a second time. That’s pert near five hundred miles of fuel. That’ll get us into Colorado unless we have a problem.”

  “All right, Coop,” said Palmer. “What’s the plan?”

  Cooper pulled the candle closer to the map and ran his finger along the route. “We pick up US 310 through Lovell, down to Greybull, here, and beyond toward Worland. At that point, we’ll get a lay of the land and see if Worland will have roadblocks and such. Okay?”

  “Sounds good,” said Riley as he got up from the table in search of a spit cup for his chew. “I’ll patrol the outside. It’s not that cold tonight, thankfully, but I’ll keep the fire goin’ in the stove. Coop, you’ll be up next in three hours.”

  After Riley went outside, Cooper asked Palmer to help him with something.

  “Palmer, I’m not saying every farmhouse in Montana should have a gun rack, but it kinda surprises me that they don’t have one.”

  “What are you sayin’?” she asked.

  “Well, it seems these folks are kinda conspiratorial up here, you know? If they’re like that fella on the radio broadcast, chances are they hide their weapons, keeping them out of plain sight from FEMA goons, or whatever.”

  After the two shared a hearty laugh at Cooper’s characterization, Palmer stood up and reached for the small flashlight in her pocket. She powered it up and began to scan the walls and cabinets in the kitchen. As she slowly walked around, her feet caused the pine board floors to squeak. It drew her attention downward.

  “Coop, you might be right,” said Palmer. “If you were gonna hide guns and ammo, where would you do it?”

  “Better question is where would I start lookin’? The logical place for most is to look for a secret panel in the walls, probably behind a heavy piece of furniture. From what I’ve seen, there are only a few parts of the house where that would make sense.”

  “Good thought, but if these people truly believe in using their guns for defending their homes, or fighting the guvment,” started Palmer, purposefully mocking the way some are portrayed on television shows when they say government, “they would want quick, easy access to their weapons. They wouldn’t store th
em behind heavy furniture. Let’s think outside the box.”

  “Gawd,” Cooper moaned. “I hate that phrase.”

  “Okay, Coop. How’s this? Don’t think like the guvment. Think like Momma and Daddy. Have you noticed the floors?”

  “Yeah, they squeak everywhere. Did they not nail ’em down good?”

  Palmer laughed. “Or maybe they did it on purpose. They’re like that throughout the house, which means they wouldn’t necessarily stand out as unusual.”

  “I get it. Let’s try the floor first, probably in the bedrooms.”

  “Yup, under an area rug or a chair.”

  Palmer found the utensil drawer and pulled out two butter knives. She gave one to Coop. “If we work together, we can check each room faster. It’s just a hunch, but I’ll give up an hour of sleep to find some more guns, how about you?”

  Cooper took the knife and high-fived his little sister. He was impressed with the mindset and thought processes she’d adopted after the collapse. Palmer was a survivor.

  It took them only five minutes to find their first hidden treasure. Near the nightstand of the master bedroom, there was a small bistro chair that the homeowners probably used to remove their shoes and socks at night. They moved the chair aside and noticed a finger-sized knothole in the pine flooring.

  First, Palmer shined her light into the hole to make sure a mouse wasn’t peering back, then she stuck her pinky finger in and pulled upward.

  She was rewarded with two Smith & Wesson nine-millimeter handguns and three hundred rounds of ammunition. They quickly retrieved their treasure and ran the loot into the kitchen to be laid out on the table. Energized by their success, the two began tearing the floor up, not bothering to place the boards back where they belonged in some cases.

  Two Remington shotguns were discovered under a cocktail table and a Southwestern-style jute rug in the family room. Two hundred forty double-ought buck shells were nestled between the floor joists next to them.

  But the big prize was discovered last in an unexpected location. They’d just about called off their search when Cooper suggested the bathroom. He’d noticed earlier that the bathroom had been renovated to cover the pine floors with tile throughout. The threshold transition from the hallway to the bath had caused him to stumble slightly when he and Riley were clearing the home. This meant the tile was installed over the wood flooring.

  He shined the light onto the floor and saw hairline cracks in the twelve-inch tile, meaning the tile hadn’t been set properly. He crawled on his hands and knees to the claw-foot tub, which sat under a small window. With the knife, he tapped on the tiles under the tub and found them to be loose. Excited, he quickly pried the tiles up and set them out of the way.

  Then he tapped on the pine boards underneath. They were loose as well and easily removed. Lying flat on his stomach, Cooper stretched his arm under the tub and reached into the void between the floor joists. He began laughing when his hands found the grand prize.

  “Coop, what?” asked Palmer, anxious to see what had her brother giddy with delight.

  He slid the AR-15 from under the tub, and Palmer quickly grabbed it.

  “Wait, there’s more,” said Cooper as he strained to reach around the space. He began sliding box after box after box of NATO 5.56 rounds. When he was satisfied he’d found everything, he pushed himself out from under the tub and sat with his back leaning against the wall.

  “This is unbelievable,” started Palmer. “An AR-15, four extra magazines, and twenty-five boxes of ammo with twenty rounds each. Five hundred rounds total. Coop, we could start our own army!”

  Cooper stood and took the rifle from his sister. He noticed the switch on the left side. It had fully automatic firing capability. He felt the weight in his hands and smiled. They now had the most efficient weapon made at their disposal. Somehow, Cooper knew they might need it.

  Chapter 28

  December 4

  The Governor’s Mansion

  Austin, Texas

  Montgomery Gregg walked into the governor’s mansion as a man without a title for the first time in his adult life. Like the mansion in which he now stood, his existence had undergone a tremendous upheaval. The Texas Governor’s Mansion was no longer the home of the governor of Texas, but rather, the President of the Republic of Texas. If Monty Gregg were making a media appearance, he’d be referred to as General Gregg, or former Secretary of Defense Gregg. Although those former titles were still a part of his history on this planet, this was his day to solidify his role within the new nation and earn a new title within the Texas power structure.

  He wore a dark gray, pin-striped suit, typical for his former days within the Billings-Harman cabinet. His former military uniforms now hung proudly in a closet within his study at home, a reminder of his ascension to the highest level of the U.S. armed forces.

  When acting-President Burnett summoned him to Austin for a private meeting, he sensed an opportunity. Much had happened following the EMP and the secession of Texas from the United States. The nuclear attack provided Gregg an opportunity to advise Marion on several matters, both as it related to the defense of Texas and international relations, as odd as that might sound, with the United States.

  He had not been provided the details of the teleconference between the two presidents, but he assumed they had taken place, as he’d been asked to deploy troops to the Shreveport area to assist in the medical treatment of victims of the nuclear attack.

  With an apprehension he hadn’t experienced since he was awarded the Medal of Honor, he followed his escort into President Burnett’s office. She was finishing up her conversation with her ever-present chief of staff, who was more executive assistant than she was an advisor to a new president.

  “Good morning, Monty,” greeted President Burnett, who immediately stood and the two shook hands. She picked up her Texas Rangers coffee mug and walked over to a buffet, which held a tray of coffee. “Please, sit down. Would you like some coffee?”

  “No, thank you, Madam President.”

  President Burnett’s chief of staff exited and closed the door behind her. As the president stirred in cream and sugar, she laughed. She held up her mug and studied it.

  “W gave this to me nearly twenty years ago,” she began. “I was labeled a rising star in the Texas legislature at the time because, believe it or not, I was quite a looker back in the day. My appearance got me noticed, but I wanna believe it was what I said on the floor of the State House that earned me respect. You know, Monty, I’ve never wavered on my core principles since I entered public life. The people of Texas always know what to expect from Marion Burnett.”

  Gregg adjusted his posture and crossed his legs. He was trying to read the president, hoping to get a sense of where she was headed with the conversation.

  President Burnett continued after she sat in her dark leather chair. She casually swiveled from side to side as she spoke. “I rode the coattails of the Bush political dynasty like many others attempted to do, but like a determined race car driver, I took a chance to pass them by on the last lap. Folks thought I was el loco to challenge George P. in the Republican primary for governor. But I saw an opening after Jeb’s drubbin’ in his attempt to be president. George P. thought he could run around Texas, speaking Spanish, and cater to the Hispanic vote. All he did was alienate the core conservatives, which turned out heavily in my favor.”

  Gregg interrupted. “Madam President, you did an excellent job of reading the political tea leaves and ignoring the media pundits.”

  The president laughed. “Thank you, Monty, but please, when we’re in private like this, call me Marion. We are old friends, right?”

  “Yes, of course, Marion. I’m a military man who has the concept of protocol and respect embedded in my brain. Formality is what I know best.”

  “Well, those are admirable qualities, but I’ve asked you to visit with me about our relationship going forward.”

  Uh-oh. Sounds ominous.

  �
�I’m available to help in any way that I can,” said Gregg.

  “Monty, you were spot-on with your advice on how to deal with Alani,” the president began. “You anticipated exactly how she would react, and what she’d be looking for in return. You mentioned political tea leaves. You have experience in the swamp of DC that I don’t have.”

  Gregg laughed. “I’m battle tested, to be sure.”

  “No doubt, navigating those shark-infested waters requires many talents,” added President Burnett. She took another sip of coffee and moved her mug in a circular motion, momentarily mesmerized by the swirls created by the creamer. “Amidst all of this chaos, the likes of which modern man has never witnessed, we have the monumental task of forming a government and establishing a new nation. I need someone who can perform many functions, wear many hats.”

  Gregg’s heart leapt with excitement. He was about to be offered something—official. He was no longer in limbo as to what the remainder of his storied career would look like.

  “How can I help, Marion?”

  “Through my negotiations with President Harman, and after following your suggestion, Texas now has a standing army. We will be retaining Fort Bliss and Fort Hood, as well as Lackland and other military bases within our borders. In exchange, we will immediately enter into a mutual protection treaty, much like the ones between the U.S. and Canada. If North America is attacked by a foreign enemy, we will work together to repel the threat.”

  “Similar to NATO,” suggested Gregg.

  “Exactly, but not one-sided,” said the president with a nod of approval. “I expect Mexico and Canada to join us and contribute in a meaningful way. I need someone like you to establish this relationship between our countries to get it started on the right footing.”