EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem

by Russell, Mark J.

Out from the crowd, a rail-thin man who couldn’t have been a hair over thirty approached them. He wore black-rimmed glasses and a polo shirt tucked into a pair of khaki pants. His face was populated with stubble, though it didn’t give off the vibe that he wasn’t able to bathe; the mere fact that his hair wasn’t greasy told Gary everything he needed to know about their water situation here. Perhaps they had some gravity-feed system in place.

  The man flashed a smile and shook Gary’s hand, then Black’s. “Welcome to Clarks Crossing. My name’s Danny. As you can see, we run a small trading post here. And if you play nice and pull your weight around here, I’m sure Wyatt will approve your eligibility to earn work chits.”

  Gary’s eyebrows rose. So, this town had set up some kind of economic system, rather than strictly sticking to barter. He wondered if the work chits were simply US dollars, or another form of value voucher. The ironic part was, if they were using paper money of some kind, their supply was now finite, as the printing presses had come to a grinding halt.

  Danny led them down the street, waving at a few of the merchants. On the tables were a multitude of supplies, mostly necessities. Beyond the foldout tables and tents, he spotted an operating grocery store, pharmacy, and bar, all heavily guarded.

  Black nudged Gary. “Can you believe this?”

  “I wonder how many other towns have set up something similar.” He couldn’t imagine very many towns were set up the same way as Clarks Crossing, with its natural deterrents and unusually competent leadership.

  “Not many, from what I’ve heard on the ham radio,” Danny said.

  “You hearing much on there?” Black asked.

  “I try to monitor the traffic every day, but now my responsibilities here have grown, so I don’t get on as often.”

  “What do you do here?”

  “Town treasurer. I was an accountant before everything went all haywire, and now I’m in charge of resource allocation. I knew Wyatt and his family before all of this, and he needed someone he could trust who could keep the credits and debits lined up right. Wyatt’s a wiz at trading with other survivors, which is something we all definitely needed, so I was happy to help. Actually, he’s going on another trade run soon.”

  Putting a bean counter in charge of resource allocation made sense. Perhaps this man had helped set up the work chit system and whatever other systems were in place to facilitate trade. Either way, whoever helped put this all in place had done a decent enough job. The smiles of those who carried small bags of supplies told Gary all he needed to know about how much they valued living here. Hell, if he didn’t have a compound to take back, he might have been inclined to eventually call this place his home. It would be interesting to see what the man thought Wyatt traded for the stuff he brought back, but it seemed like a bad idea to ask.

  “Hey, D-Dog!” called a man outside the bar.

  Danny waved to him, then smiled at Gary. “Maybe later, I’ll buy you two a beer. It’s warm beer, but beer nonetheless.”

  Black chuckled. “Gary, I think we just found our new best friend.”

  14

  The road had begun to pound nails into Abram’s feet with every step, or so it felt, and Frank kept pressing to get off the road anyway. Abram had at first said no, because road marching was far less strenuous than walking on even grass or hard dirt, and the forest was thick enough that they weren’t exposed for any great distance to either side. Now, though, he veered right, onto the shoulder, which basically meant they would be walking through the forest, parallel to the road.

  Frank, behind him, said, “Now we’re talking. Fifty yards is far enough to get sniped, damn roads.”

  Owen grunted, but clearly seemed to disagree. Nonetheless, Abram shortly heard two sets of boots tramping through the leaves and debris, which had formed a carpet on the forest floor, as both his companions followed his lead.

  As a bonus, Abram realized, the sun had stopped beating right down on top of him. It wasn’t a hot day, but after an hour of hard marching, it felt uncomfortably warm regardless. Only five or six more of those hours and they’d have their “T-stat,” and they could look forward to marching back the same way they’d come.

  Oh, joy.

  A few minutes later, they came across their first challenge, the stream Owen had mentioned. They had to go up a fairly steep embankment, crossing fifty yards to get back up to the road.

  At the top, panting, Abram said, “Frank, take us across that road. We follow your lead.”

  The man nodded once, his lips flattened, and he motioned them to stay put. Once he got answering nods, he crept ahead, into the brush and out of sight.

  Ten minutes later, he returned. “Seems clear. Let’s go,” he said simply.

  Abram gave him a bemused smile. Frank was a no-nonsense guy, for sure. Then, Abram and Owen followed him to the bridge, more of an overpass really, crossed it at a jog, and then had to go back down a less severe embankment on the far side to get back under the cover of trees.

  Once there, Frank nodded curtly and, looking at Abram, extended his hand to offer the lead position once again.

  Onward they marched, all three sweating and no one wishing to be the first to say they should take a rest stop. Abram swore that he certainly wouldn’t be the one…

  Smoke. Abram smelled it before he could see it, but as they crested a low hill, the valley before them opened up. Or it would have, had it not been enveloped in a heavy bank of roiling black smoke that sat in the valley like rotten split-pea soup. Even in the light of day, the inferno of yellow and orange blossoms that covered nearly every tree and brush were blinding.

  The forest is ablaze.

  Abram had a split-second thought of seeking out the firemen fighting it for a path across, but of course, there would be none. That civilization was dead and gone, the one that could afford to move people and materiel across a hundred or a thousand miles to fight a blaze that threatened none of them personally.

  No, that fire was going to burn until it hit the riverbanks, Abram realized as he physically recoiled in horror, and the wind, created by the fire itself, was driving it up the hill. It was only made worse by the fact that, on a hill, everything above the fire was at the perfect angle to catch.

  “Well,” Owen said, but never finished his sentence.

  “Well,” Frank agreed, nodding slowly, his lips pushed out like a duck’s bill.

  Abram turned around and headed down the hill’s reverse side, putting both distance and bad angles for fire spread between them and the blaze. Only when he felt safe enough to spare a moment did he turn to face his companions and ask, “Okay, thoughts? Hit me.”

  Frank shrugged. “I say we turn around. Getting that jackass to do the right thing is a sucker’s bet, anyway.”

  Abram eyed the man. Frank certainly thought ill of his son-in-law, but though he no doubt had his reasons for that, those reasons weren’t relevant at the moment. Far more relevant was the threat of organized bandits murdering them and taking their homes and land and goods.

  More than anything, Abram wanted to just agree with Frank and go home. Drink tea, take care of his wounded wife, spend time tending the land he was a part of. Maybe the fire burning some nameless hamlet below was a sign that he should turn back, or maybe it wasn’t, but it was most definitely a sign they’d find no T-stat part down there.

  Emma’s voice, as she begged-without-begging for him to continue onward, played through his mind. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Fine. He turned to Owen. “And you. Ideas?”

  “My idea is that we don’t just go home and pray we never get hit. Again. My idea is that we find a T-stat and go take care of business, even if it’s personally awkward business.” Owen eyed Frank as he said the last.

  “Enough.” Abram stepped between the two men before Frank had even finished blinking rapidly, startled at the realization that had been aimed at him. “We’re carrying on, because we have no choice, even if we have no ideas on how at the moment. Owen, you have
the map. Where are we going next? We can’t go forward through the fire, and we can’t afford to backtrack. The wind will carry it fast to the east, so that leaves us one choice.”

  “West.” Owen frowned.

  “Seems so. But any town will probably have an auto-parts store, and very few of those will be looted. You can’t eat manifold covers, and there’s not exactly a lot of traffic these days.”

  Frank met his gaze for a few seconds, but he nodded slowly.

  Moving suddenly, Owen unslung his pack and rummaged through its front pouch until he found what he was looking for, then withdrew a simple roadmap. This, he unfolded once in one direction and twice in another, then spun it a couple times to change its facing.

  At last, his face lit up. “Here we go. I think it’s about…ten miles away?”

  “Is that a question?” Abram frowned. There was no time for banter.

  Owen’s cheeks flushed. He looked down at the map and shook his head. “I guess not. Ten miles or so, there’s a small town that looks pretty small, but compact. Like, it has a definite downtown area, Main Street, whatever you want to call it. Almost guaranteed to have either a car-parts store or a well-stocked service station there. But given the time, I think we’ll end up camping out for the night before we get there. Best not to surprise them by showing up in the middle of the night.”

  Abram nodded, decision made. “That would be fine, I guess. Okay, we go there tomorrow. What’s it called?”

  “Nettletown,” Owen said, smiling. “And if the terrain works in our favor, we could even get there well before noon tomorrow.”

  Palmer rose before the sun, Gary rustling in the cot beside him. Nearby, uniforms had been laid out, and Palmer put his on—black camo pants and shirt.

  Outside their room, boot steps echoed. They were in a heavily guarded boarding house on the edge of town, and they’d had people patrolling the hallway all night, watching after him and Gary. He wasn’t sure of the technology they had salvaged, but he wouldn’t have been surprised to find out they were using cameras to watch their every move. Though he and Gary had met Wyatt, the leader of Clarks Crossing, they were still looked at with suspicion. Shrewd.

  The door to their Spartan room opened, and a man carrying a tray cleared his throat. “Eat up, boys. Long morning ahead of you.”

  Long morning, indeed. They were set to join Wyatt and his most trusted people on a raiding mission to Nettletown, a small community northwest of Clarks Crossing. Apparently, there were ample supplies stored there, and Palmer’s fib about hearing of those supplies and the town’s lack of defenses must have had some merit. It had only been several long weeks since the lights had gone out, and this far away from Vermont’s bigger cities, there were still communities that hadn’t been targeted by bandits and raiders.

  But with each day that passed, more and more towns would be overrun. Nettletown would be the latest victim. Wyatt had said he intended to give them a choice, but Palmer would have to be on the lookout for some opportunity to tip over that apple cart. Leaving them alive would only mean creating enemies, and even the smaller force in Nettletown could wipe out Clarks Crossing if they caught the town unawares. Palmer had no intention of letting that happen, because this town was a godsend, if he could just somehow take advantage of it.

  He peered down at the food on the tray. The bowl of oatmeal was still piping hot. Perhaps they had prepared it over an open fire, or had used a rocket stove. Regardless, he grabbed the bowl and ladled the breakfast into his mouth in heaping spoonfuls. Next to him, Gary began doing the same. Any outside observer might have said the two hadn’t eaten in a while, but that wasn’t entirely true. Palmer ate in haste—a habit he’d always had—and Gary seemed to have the same habit.

  Get it while the getting’s good.

  Their server left the room when they were already halfway done, and in less than a minute, they both set their empty bowls on the nearby table.

  Gary wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “This should be interesting today.”

  “Indeed.” Palmer knew it would be interesting in more ways than one—he had been brewing a plan in his mind, and now was the time to take that plan to fruition. Again, he intended to get it while the getting was good.

  A guard approached the door and motioned for them to follow him out. Outside, the full moon lit the street as he led Palmer and Gary toward the northern part of town.

  Palmer took a deep breath of the fresh morning air and glanced up at the sky, noting that it was still littered with stars. Even in cities that had once been plagued by light pollution, this scene could now be witnessed—if any living souls remained, of course, and most who had lived through the chaos had more to worry about than stargazing.

  In the northern part of town, a crowd had formed, men and women all wearing the same uniform as him. All-black camo.

  A man shoved a rifle into Palmer’s hand, as well as a couple magazines. He and Gary had been to the town’s firing range the previous day, after meeting Danny, and their skills had been put to the test. Clearly, they were both good enough shots that the people here still figured them to be assets on this upcoming mission.

  Palmer gripped the rifle and checked the chamber, finding it empty and safe. “Where’s my knife?”

  The man nodded. “Do you have your voucher?”

  Palmer fished into his pockets to retrieve the ticket—it was the type that was used in nearly every raffle he’d ever attended. He handed it to the man, who rushed off.

  As other men and women assembled around, the man returned with Palmer’s Ka-Bar in its sheath.

  “Thanks, friend.”

  The man nodded, then scanned around. “Here comes Wyatt.”

  Everyone seemed to hush at once upon hearing that. What kind of hold did Wyatt have on these people? They certainly seemed to respect him. Did they really believe his chivalry nonsense? Palmer paused to consider the possibility that he’d been wrong about Wyatt. Maybe he was hard enough to do what was needed, but maybe they weren’t kindred spirits after all. No matter, though. The ending would be the same—Palmer would make sure of it.

  A pair of men carried a platform, and placed it in front of the group, and then Wyatt strode out, stepping up onto it.

  He paused to let attention shift to him, and for the murmured conversations to die away, before he said, “Today, we will gain a bounty we can use to feed our families, our loved ones. In these new times, it is survival of the fittest, and we will survive because we do what is necessary. And when they see our resolve, they’ll see the wisdom of what we’ve offered them. They’ll see that they’d better either let us both get what we need, or we will be the only ones doing so.”

  A few members of the crowd nodded in agreement.

  Wyatt scanned the crowd. “We attempted to reach out to the people of Nettletown, to work out an arrangement, providing protection they need in exchange for resources we need. But they turned down our help—not willing to meet us halfway. If we walk away, bandits will get those resources, and none of us can afford that. It is they who are responsible for their own demise. Their only course of action is surrender, though let’s not count on them to lay down their arms. They could fight us, and the end would be the same—just, the cost would be greater. So, today, we’re not going to ask nicely. Today, we hit them while they are unprepared, before they do that to us and come here to wipe us off the map. We’re the bigger kid on the block, so we’re going to bloody their nose a bit while we take their lunch money—and at the same time, show them that they really do need us to protect them. Even if it’s only from us.”

  He paused, letting that point simmer with the audience. There were a couple chuckles, but mostly a tense silence.

  Palmer peered around, noting the somber looks on these people’s faces. Did they feel justified in doing what they were about to do? And then Palmer thought of what he’d overheard from some of the regular townsfolk. They’d used the terms “salvaging” and “resourcing missions” when referrin
g to the means by which they gained their resources. “Salvaging” implied taking what had been left behind—this mission was anything but, and Palmer couldn’t help but think of the uprising that could ensue if the citizens of Clarks Crossing found out where their precious resources came from.

  It certainly explained why Wyatt was only bringing those he trusted implicitly on this mission—along with two strangers he could use, and whom he didn’t have to worry about telling everyone.

  “Remember,” came Wyatt’s booming voice, “our duty is to ensure our families’ survival, and in the process, we will do our part to burn the deadwood. Cull the weak, the stupid.” Wyatt puffed his chest out. “From their ashes, we will prevail, and through this, we create a more peaceful world for our children. Now, let’s show the people of Nettletown what we are made of, and knock their egos down a peg or two!”

  The crowd cheered his name, many of them raising their weapons as they whooped and hollered their support for this charismatic leader. Part of Palmer truly hoped he could find a way to control Wyatt, rather than taking him out of the picture permanently. The man could be a valuable resource, and Palmer didn’t want to squander that if it could be avoided.

  Only five minutes later, they headed as a group toward the northern bridge out of town. Palmer couldn’t wait to get this show on the road.

  15

  Gary’s eyebrows rose as the town appeared off in the distance. Atop a bluff, Wyatt motioned to the village below.

  “As you can see, they have little in terms of defenses. If our envoys come back empty-handed, remember our plan, everyone. Get into your assigned teams. Any questions?”

  Nobody spoke up. They’d gone over the plan a few times, ironing out the details, and now it appeared that everyone was on board and ready, assigned to their particular teams.

  Gary and Palmer had been assigned to a team with two other men, both in their twenties. One had red hair and freckles, and the other’s head was shaved completely, revealing a tanned scalp.