Lines in the Sand_Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction

by Bobby Akart

  “I’m glad to spearhead the effort on behalf of Texas. In what capacity will I be representing us?”

  “We’ll get to that in a moment,” she replied dismissively. “In addition, other agreements will need to be negotiated between Washington and Austin, which necessarily falls under the purview of a Secretary of State, a Secretary of Commerce, and Secretary of Defense. All of these cabinet members will have to be seasoned Washington veterans, well-versed in the ways DC operates.”

  “That’s a lot of hats, Marion. I’m sure there are many Texans who can fill those roles.”

  President Burnett swiveled her chair around to look out the window onto the lawn of the mansion. Another day of protests had begun in earnest as Texans continued to look to her for answers for their ever-increasing food shortage.

  “No one person can fill them all,” she began after turning her attention back to Gregg. “But one man can ensure that the positions are properly filled. Monty, I want you to be my vice president and assist me in transitioning Texas from state to nation-state. Are you up for it?”

  Gregg stood at attention. “It would be my honor, Madam President.”

  President Burnett stood and shook Gregg’s hand. “Then it’s settled. We’ll make the formal announcement today and announce state, um, I mean nationwide elections in the coming days. In the meantime, we’ll continue to operate under the provisional laws established by the Texas legislature in the articles of secession. Monty, we have a lot of work to do, my friend. If you can help our new government get established and find its place within the international community, I will focus on helping Texans survive this extraordinary crisis.”

  Well done, Monty. You got a seat at the head of the table.

  Chapter 29

  December 4

  Lovell, Wyoming

  The Department of the Interior made a push to preserve forestry land in the Western U.S. during the end of the nineteenth century. During the late 1920s, as unemployment became a problem across the country, Forestry was thought to be a solution through various reforestation projects. States like California had already implemented programs to hire unemployed workers for this purpose.

  As part of President Roosevelt’s New Deal designed to bring America out of the Great Depression, the Civilian Conservation Corps was established as a work relief program. Young families in particular benefitted from the employment of the heads of household. As part of their compensation, the families were provided shelter, clothing, and food in newly constructed camps dedicated to reforestation, but also to provide work for those in need.

  Near Lovell, Wyoming, one such camp, known as Civilian Corps Camp BR-7, was constructed. Small towns like Lovell lobbied the Forest Service because communities near the camps benefited economically when the CCC members ventured into town to purchase provisions.

  Over time, the camps were abandoned as America went to war following Pearl Harbor, but the permanent structures remained behind. Owned by the federal government, many of these Civilian Corps Camps became identified by conspiracy theorists as so-called FEMA camps, locations where those who opposed the government in a time of martial law were whisked away, never to be seen again.

  After the EMP struck and martial law was declared by President Harman, FEMA camps were established around the country on federal lands like Camp BR-7. They were not, however, intended to be used as prison camps, but rather as a safe haven for those who couldn’t take care of themselves. They were intended to be places where Americans could voluntarily take refuge.

  Sometimes, things look good on paper, but once implementation is undertaken, potential for abuses can become prevalent. FEMA’s use of their camps was one such example.

  Montana and Wyoming residents of all political affiliations were proud gun owners. Some were more vocal in their support of the Second Amendment than others. Those who let their views be known publicly were the first targets of the military’s gun-confiscation program. Using a combination of gun registries, NRA membership rolls, and social media postings, the FBI database computers—which were located at Quantico, Virginia, and protected from the effects of the EMP—the government quickly compiled a list of gun owners to be targeted under martial law. The National Guard units of both states were supplemented with active-duty military from the region.

  Although the guardsmen had sworn an oath to the Constitution and supported the right to bear arms, they were also being fed and their families kept safe as payment for performing their duties. They didn’t like confiscating weapons from law-abiding citizens, but it was just part of their job.

  In the first hours of the door-to-door confiscations, problems arose for the guardsmen. Gun-owner compliance was near zero. The commanders in the field discussed their options at the end of the first day and elected to distribute flyers warning residents in Southern Montana and Northern Wyoming about the consequences of noncompliance. The threats included, among other things, property confiscations and imprisonment.

  This inflamed the local population, who pushed back with vocal, well-attended demonstrations in the town of Lovell, which was nearest to Camp BR-7. The majority of the population of twenty-four hundred citizens had remained home following the EMP and subsequent nuclear attacks. It was a close-knit community that took care of one another.

  When the FEMA notifications made their way throughout the region, people descended into town and began to hold rallies at the Lovell High School located on the westernmost end of Main Street.

  With each passing day, the guardsmen were stymied in their efforts and began to be greeted with open hostility. One homeowner fired upon the guardsmen as they drove up his driveway.

  The local commander of Camp BR-7 was a hard-nosed combat veteran who refused to allow his troops to be put in danger. He issued orders to search the homes of those who were on the confiscation list but who had denied gun ownership previously. Anyone resisting this directive could be taken into custody and imprisoned at a newly established holding facility within Camp BR-7.

  The day the nuclear attacks stopped, guardsmen conducted surprise raids on known gun owners who also were cross-matched with local militias like the Three Percenters. The commander determined that the militia members were emboldening the local citizens to mount a resistance in the name of the Second Amendment. His assumption was right, and raids conducted on December second and third filled Camp BR-7’s new stockade to capacity.

  On this morning, the few residents that had voluntarily entered Camp BR-7 were transported to another FEMA facility outside Malmstrom Air Force Base in Montana. Security fencing was quickly erected to quadruple the camp’s detention capabilities.

  Just after dawn, armed members of the Three Percenters from Montana and Wyoming descended upon Lovell High School. This time they had no plans for a pro-gun rally. Instead, the school became a rally point for an armed militia operation on Camp BR-7 to free their patriot brothers.

  The commanders at Camp BR-7 got wind of the militia’s intentions. Rather than wait for them to attack the camp, they deployed a convoy of troop transports and Humvees with fifty-caliber machine guns mounted on their turrets. As they drove up Highway 9 toward Foster Gulch, the commander commented that it was time to crush this uprising so the guardsmen could get back to the business of helping people through these difficult times.

  For the militia, they were armed and ready. Spirits were high as they departed Lovell in a variety of old cars and trucks and headed west on US 310, which intersected at Route 9, at Foster Gulch. They thought they had the element of surprise on their side and that they’d roll right into Camp BR-7 as liberators.

  Two armies, hell-bent on destroying the other, were on a collision course, at Foster Gulch.

  Chapter 30

  December 4

  Foster Gulch

  Near Lovell, Wyoming

  “Okay, we’re doin’ pretty good today so far,” said Cooper. The flat terrain agreed with Red Rover, and the forty-year-old truck kept a steady pace down the hig
hway. They hadn’t seen another car since they left the house. “What’s the next town or intersection?”

  Palmer, who didn’t really care for driving Red Rover with its right-hand steering wheel and four-speed manual transmission, nominated herself as the full-time navigator. Besides, the front seat of the truck was too small to squeeze the two guys together.

  “The town of Lovell shouldn’t be that far ahead. Route 14 is the next side road on our right followed by Route 9. Both of those roads lead back to the southwest, so they’re not a great option. Just as we approach town, there are several roads that lead to the south and connect back to US 301 on the other side.”

  “Sounds good. We’ll stay the course,” said Cooper.

  They passed by an auto parts store, which had been looted, and a small diner, Debbie’s Junction, which had been partially burned down at some point.

  Cooper added a little more pressure on the pedal as Red Rover climbed up a slight incline and continued over a bridge that crossed Sage Creek. At the apex of the bridge, all three of them saw oncoming vehicles at the same time.

  “Oh no, Coop!” exclaimed Palmer.

  “We can’t run head-on into that bunch,” said Riley. “There must be a dozen cars coming our way.”

  “What about over there on the left?” asked Cooper.

  “Yeah, it’s a construction trailer, kinda like a mobile home.”

  Cooper pressed down on the gas and raced toward a narrow entrance, which took him into a large gravel parking area. In the middle of the lot stood a twenty-four-foot-long construction trailer.

  As he made the left turn, Red Rover, which was slightly top heavy because of its short wheel base, leaned heavily to the right, forcing Palmer and Riley to slide into him. He lost his grip on the wheel, which jerked the truck back to the right, but Cooper corrected the skid and slid to a stop. He jammed the gear shift into first gear and lurched forward until they were hidden behind the trailer.

  “Now we wait until they pass,” said Cooper after he shut off the motor. “This shouldn’t take long. At least we know they don’t have any vehicles left in town to chase us. That was a heckuva a caravan.”

  “It looked like they were practicing for a parade,” said Riley with a chuckle. “Did you see all those flags flying in the wind?”

  Palmer fidgeted in her seat. “Do you think we can sneak out and stretch our legs? Sitting on the middle gives me a butt cramp.”

  Riley tried to pick at her earlobe. “Aww, don’t get butt hurt over your butt cramp.”

  Cooper and Riley had a good laugh at Palmer’s expense as they opened their doors in unison and exited the truck. They stretched their legs until Cooper stopped to listen.

  “Guys, get down,” he instructed. “They’ve stopped. Listen.”

  Riley dropped to the ground and crawled on his belly under the trailer to get a better look.

  “You’re right, Coop. It looks like they’ve stopped right in the middle—”

  Riley’s words were drowned out by the roar of gunfire. He scrambled in reverse to get out from under the trailer, gashing his head open on the rusty steel frame of the trailer in the process.

  As he emerged, blood was streaming out of his scalp and down his face.

  “My God, were you shot?” asked Palmer as she studied Riley’s face.

  “No, hit it on the trailer. These guys opened fire on something down that way.”

  Riley pointed due south, abandoning any effort to talk due to the noise created by the rapid gunfire. He wiped the blood off his face and onto his jeans. Palmer ran to the truck and retrieved a towel, which she used to apply pressure on his scalp.

  THUMP-THUMP-THUMP!

  “What is that?” yelled Palmer. “A cannon?”

  Screams could be heard from the men in the vehicles barely a hundred yards from them. Suddenly, the heavy-caliber bullets ripped through the flimsy aluminum trailer, leaving gaping holes as they flew over their heads into the creek behind them.

  “Holy crap, get down,” shouted Cooper.

  Riley was slowest to drop to his knees as he began to show signs of blood loss. He managed to ask, “Should we shoot back?”

  “Are you kidding?” responded Cooper. “That must be the military on the other side of that heavy machine gun. This battle is gonna be over soon enough.”

  Cooper crawled under the trailer but used the tires as cover. He peered between the twin axles to get a better view. He was about to crawl back when suddenly Palmer and Riley crawled on both sides of him. The family was gonna stick together on this one.

  “Whadya see, bro?” asked Riley, whose prone position helped him regain his mental acuity.

  “That’s gotta be the militia,” he replied. “This must be the operation they were talking about last night on the shortwave. I’m afraid they’ve bit off more than they can chew. There are dead guys all over the place.”

  Tires began to squeal as two trucks took off over the creek toward Montana. Two more turned into the parking lot where they were hiding.

  “Duck!” shouted Cooper.

  The vehicles did a donut in the gravel, spraying limestone rocks across the front of the trailer before catching the pavement. Screeching the tires, they roared toward town but not before running over the dead bodies of their fellow militia.

  A few more bursts from automatic weapons could be heard from down the road, but eventually it stopped. Still under the trailer, Cooper considered their next move. Just as he was about to suggest they get in Red Rover and get while the gettin’ was good, the sound of heavy-duty trucks and their knobby, off-road tires approached.

  “Crap!” Cooper muttered. “It’s the dang army, and they’re coming this way.”

  “You mean here, to the trailer,” said a panicked Palmer.

  “No. I guess to check out the dead guys. They don’t seem interested in chasing down the others.”

  “Coop, what should we do?” asked Palmer.

  He offered a solid suggestion. “Lie here and pray they ask questions before shooting.”

  Chapter 31

  December 4

  Foster Gulch

  Near Lovell, Wyoming

  The three Armstrong siblings lay completely still, trying not to move as the soldiers poured out of the two-and-a-half-ton transports. Their commander instructed the guardsmen to gather the dead and line them up on the highway for identification. Cooper continued to peer through the trailer’s tires to observe their activities.

  He counted the bodies as they were carried by the arms and legs and dropped brusquely to the pavement. The dead men were soldiers, at least in their minds. Wearing mismatched camo with lace-up boots, they tried to look the part with chest rigs, ammo pouches, and military knives strapped to their legs.

  But as they died, it wasn’t how they were dressed or how well they could hit a target on the gun range, it was a more powerful enemy in the form of two fifty-caliber machine guns, the famous Ma Deuce, that tore their bodies to shreds.

  War is hell, and these men experienced it for less than three minutes before they died.

  A man’s voice said authoritatively, “All right, let’s pull these vehicles off to the side of the road except for the pickup truck. Load the dead in there.”

  “Captain, sir.”

  “What is it, Sergeant?”

  “Are we going to transport these bodies to the camp or return them to the town?”

  “We’ll take them to the town,” the captain replied. “We’ll park the vehicle in plain sight of the high school and leave them to be buried by their families. Idiots. What were they thinking?”

  “What about these vehicles, Captain?”

  “Lock them up and take the keys,” he replied. “We’ll confiscate them under the martial law declaration and take them back to the camp with us. They’ll be useful at some point.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The guardsman scurried about to fulfill their captain’s directives. He was joined by another officer, and the two men
began to stroll toward the trailer.

  Cooper instinctively ducked his head, and Riley began to speak before Cooper cupped his hand over his brother’s mouth. He shook his head quickly back and forth.

  “Captain, this had to be done, sadly.”

  “I know that, Sergeant, but our job just got more difficult. Despite the fact this foolish militia opened fire upon us first, those dead bodies over there will serve as martyrs for the regular civilians who wanted nothing to do with this fight.”

  “Do you think we should continue the gun confiscations?”

  Cooper risked detection and looked up to get a better view of the conversation.

  “Dammit, Sergeant, I don’t know. This has been a complete disaster. You and I know we’re just following orders, but these people up here look at us as the enemy. Heck, they hate us more than the North Koreans right now.”

  Out of frustration, the captain kicked a stone in the direction of the bullet-riddled trailer. The stone ricocheted off the trailer’s wheel, which was inches away from Palmer’s head. She jerked slightly but stifled a scream.

  Cooper smiled and nodded at his sister. He looked toward Riley, who was beginning to sweat profusely, which mixed with the blood and dripped down his face. Cooper couldn’t wait much longer to treat his scalp wound.

  Come on, Captain. Move along!

  Cooper had to check himself to make sure his thoughts didn’t come out as a very vocal demand. He didn’t think the guardsmen would take them into custody, but they might confiscate Red Rover and would certainly confiscate their weapons and ammunition.

  He stared at Riley, who nodded in return. His brother was one tough SOB.

  A voice shouted in their direction. “Ready to go, Captain, on your orders.”

  “Come on, Sergeant. Let’s finish this up and head back to the camp. We’ve earned a cold one, don’t you think?”

  “Thirteen KIA, all on their side? I call that a win, sir.”

  The two men quickly returned to their vehicles, and the trio under the trailer let out a collective sigh of relief.