EMP Crisis Series (Book 3): Instant Mayhem

by Russell, Mark J.

  So what, if Frank thought their feud was the reason Kent had avoided him? Nothing Kent could say or do, short of running to beg an audience with the visitors, pretty please massah, would have convinced his father-in-law otherwise, anyway.

  All of that baggage would have been so much easier to deal with if he didn’t admire Frank so much. That man had a work ethic like no one Kent had ever met before, and he was…What was the word? Stalwart. That was it. Frank would have worked two jobs while on chemotherapy and still found time to spend with his wife and daughter, if he’d had to, Kent had zero doubts. And outside of the events surrounding his daughter’s death, Frank had a simple kind of fairness, a sense of justice, that just drew good people to him. And dogs liked him. Kent trusted dogs a lot more than he did people.

  But at the moment, exhaustion was catching up to Kent. He never got much sleep, and there was always more that needed doing than there were hours to do it in. Before he could sleep, he had to get Brooke out of there and calm her down from her horrible news. He definitely was not going to meet Frank while he was exhausted and cranky.

  But tomorrow, perhaps, he would make the time for a long-overdue family reunion. Even if he dreaded it.

  28

  Palmer awoke with a start, and immediately became aware of a light knocking. He never slept soundly, especially not when others were around, such as the pretty young woman sleeping beside him, but he’d been tired out from “celebrating” with her last night. The tribute shipment had cemented his position, as certainly as an army of thugs would have, and he’d indulged in one drink and a lot of dancing with this girl. After he’d finished, he was too tired to bother kicking her out. Besides, she was no threat. Not to him, not now.

  Why he liked these people, he wasn’t certain, but knocking at his door in the middle of the night was not making him like them more, not at all. He called out, “What do you want?”

  “Black,” came Gary’s voice.

  Palmer came fully awake in an instant, his mind racing to figure what could be important enough for his prized henchman to disturb him.

  Gary continued, “We have a problem. I need your okay to chase someone down.”

  Palmer climbed from his bed, ignoring the chilly hardwood floor on his feet, and padded over to the door to unlock it. He opened it far enough to see through without anyone on the other side barging in, but kept his foot firmly planted on the floor against the base of the door, just in case, out of habit.

  Rubbing sleep from his eyes with his free hand, he asked, “What problem, and who shall we hunt?”

  “One of the guys from the truck that got a flat yesterday, returning from gathering our tribute. It never came back. I sent a scout team in a truck to go pick up our guys and the supplies…”

  “One of the guys? So, you sent a team…But?”

  “But…The truck was gone, and the driver was dead. His throat had been cut, his gear stolen, and whoever did it took a kill trophy. One ear. Bandits for sure.”

  Palmer scowled. On one hand, he didn’t much care about the cargo, since they had enough food for the moment, but Danny had been on that truck, and Danny was useful. “Was the dead one Danny?”

  “No, the other guy. Mike, or something. The scouts reported finding no tracks, so whoever did it must have happened to stumble onto them on the road.”

  Palmer opened the door wide enough to step through, did so, then closed it softly behind him to stand in the hallway with Gary. Something wasn’t right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Not yet. Time to ask questions. “Next question. Why did the truck break down?”

  Gary shrugged. “They ran over something. Flat tire. The convoy lead said they had a gash in the sidewall, made sure to tell me he checked it personally. So, maybe a branch.”

  A nagging tickle formed in the back of Palmer’s head, an annoying red flag that refused to go away. “Then why didn’t they just swap it for a spare tire?”

  “Danny’s truck was the only one that didn’t have a spare. The team found a tire that would fit, from one of their trucks, and left it with them to change so the whole group wouldn’t be late. They know how you like them to be on time.”

  “Punctuality is a virtue.” Palmer rubbed his chin, feeling the faint whiskers scratch against his fingers, reminding him he needed to shave in the morning. “And no one else saw this branch they hit, I assume.”

  “No, but I mean, this is Danny we’re talking about. He’s as soft as cheese. No way he would have the guts to do this, much less harvest trophies off a dead guy. Plus, why would he want to leave? He’s got it easy, here.”

  “So, Danny left in a vehicle that had no spare tire, right? They ran over a branch no one else saw. Then, he and his partner were left alone with a spare Danny hadn’t known was available. They never showed up with the truck, afterward. Scouts went to find him, but found only his dead partner.”

  Gary nodded. “That’s about the size of it. Like I said, bandits.”

  “Maybe. One possibility is that someone came upon them and figured a truckload of food was worth killing over. They offed the one man who fought back, and took the other, possibly to interrogate him later.”

  Gary cocked his head. “One possibility? What’s the other?”

  Palmer’s cheek twitched a couple times. “The other is that Danny set this up, but his plans weren’t very well thought out, and things got out of hand. He had to act quickly.”

  “What went wrong?” Gary looked dubious.

  Then again, Palmer wasn’t convinced, either. Danny was pretty soft, after all. But playing Devil’s Advocate, he said, “Maybe his partner figured out what he was up to. Or maybe he wanted to be gone before anyone came looking for him, and didn’t want to bring a partner. A truck full of food would buy him access almost anywhere, these days, but two people would cost him twice as much.”

  Gary shook his head, eyes unfocused. “But…why would he want to leave? I don’t understand. Like I said, he’s got it made here.”

  “True.” An image flashed through Palmer’s mind, Danny’s sour expression when Palmer and Gary had discussed the protection taxes idea with him. Palmer had thought the man was onboard with the plan, if only because he was clearly afraid of Gary and him both. As he should have been. But if he were an idealist…Those idiots could do stupid things in the name of those ideals, even foolish ideals. Especially foolish ones. Had Danny finally found his testicles and manned up? It seemed unlikely.

  And yet, the idea wouldn’t leave Palmer alone. He rubbed his whiskers again, thinking. “Okay…The upside to assuming Danny was captured and a supply truck taken is that we only lost two people and some food we don’t yet desperately need. But if we’re wrong, what’s the downside? How could it come back to bite us in the ass?”

  “Well…” Gary paused. “He could be warning someone we’re coming, I guess. That would probably be why he would take off, if you can believe that mouse of a man killed an armed companion, one who was bigger than him, in cold blood. And that he had the guts to leave his little safe nest in the first place.”

  “Let’s assume, just for the sake of argument, that Danny did all those things. He warns one of the towns—”

  “Probably the next one on our list.”

  Palmer nodded, as that was a reasonable assumption to start from. “Okay, so he warns them we’re coming. He whips them into some delusional frenzy where they think they can actually win a fight against us. Then, the downside for you and me gets a lot steeper, right?”

  It was always good to make a henchman think his opinion mattered. It kept them loyal, in Palmer’s experience. A plan began forming in his mind.

  Gary replied, “They wouldn’t win, though. We’re too strong, especially now that we have two towns’ worth of guns on our side. And our people are strong, well fed, and well rested. We might lose a few, yeah, but the outcome stays the same.”

  “True, perhaps. But, then what? What if the town after that also refused to pay up? Maybe we get around tha
t by making an example of the first town, you know, something really gruesome, but even if it worked, we’d lose their tribute payments forever. And if the next town also resisted, we’d have to make an example of them, too. Eventually, folks would get the idea it’s smart to play ball with us—but would we last that long? How many people can we lose before winning stops being a foregone conclusion?”

  Gary stared at him.

  “It’s not a rhetorical question. What do you think?”

  Gary snarled, started to say something, then stopped. Probably thinking—his strength was not his brilliant thinking, that was for sure. But at last, he said, “We could maybe lose sixty or so, before we had to fill out our raids with weaker people, younger ones, anyone who could shoot. And not all of them have the spine to do it. If we lost a dozen in each town we burned down, we’re only talking like five or six towns, before our strength is spent.”

  Palmer snapped his fingers, nodding. “Precisely. Well done. So, we can’t take the risk of assuming we’re safe. We have to proceed under the assumption that he not only survived, but that he escaped for whatever reason, and we have to track him down. Where would he go, if he wanted to really hurt us? The first target, you said.”

  “The next place in line, I think, is Burnsville. But we don’t need to go raid them for a couple more weeks…boss. That’s your timeline from the briefing Danny was in.”

  Palmer said, “I think you’re right about it being Burnsville. Now, it’s probably nothing. The guy’s probably shitting his pants as some bandits’ prisoner, if they haven’t gotten what info they could from him and gutted him like a fish.”

  Like he had done with Joshua…The memory of that man’s blood over his hands warmed his cold toes.

  He continued, “Gather up a couple squads, enough to fill SUVs. Park them outside Burnsville, where everyone there can see you. That north bridge would do fine. When you talk to them, be intimidating with it, then go up to whoever they sent out, with a couple guys. Show off your swagger and deliver ‘The Speech.’ But—”

  “What’s ‘the speech’?”

  Palmer smiled easily. “Whatever you want it to be, just as long as it convinces them that submitting will make them happy and safe, while refusing will do the opposite. But, while you’re at it, look for Danny, that truck, or any other signs they knew you were coming. Anything that will tell us if Danny escaped and went there.”

  “Too easy. Okay. And if he’s not?”

  “If not, then we can relax and assume he’s some cannibal’s dinner, and we’re fine. Switch up the patrol routes and schedules, in case he spilled the beans on what he knew. But if you do see some indication he’s there, hiding out…”

  “Burn it down?”

  Idiot. Nope, Gary wasn’t a big thinker. He was lucky Palmer had taken a liking to him, frankly. And Palmer was lucky to have him as a loyal wardog. “Then do what you threatened to do. Push harder on the tribute payment. Swagger, throw your weight around, act like an ass, spill some blood. Whatever it takes to get an immediate answer, one way or the other. I don’t want you to leave without an agreement in hand or a solid no.”

  “You got it. Get a yes or a ‘go screw yourselves.’ But if Danny really is there, we can’t let them have time to get organized. I’ll leave at first light.”

  Palmer smiled, the one he practiced often, the one that disarmed his prey every time—except for when he’d met Gary, of course. He put his hand on Gary’s shoulder and peered into his eyes, unwavering. “I have total faith in you. You know what’s at stake, and you know how to do what’s needful, even when it’s not how we’d prefer things happen. And hell, if they give us what we’re after, the tribute, we’ll be in a really good position to think about where else we’d like to take over. Maybe something not on my list. Maybe that big cherry on your list would be a solid choice. I know you have one in mind. So, just make this work.”

  Gary left with an extra spring in his step, and Palmer’s plastic grin turned into a genuine wry smile. Of course the man had a place in mind, and if Gary did his job well tomorrow, maybe he’d even let his favorite pit bull loose to chase whatever piece of land was surely the reason he was always asking for troops. That would forever secure his loyalty—and a steady supply of food, if it was farmland. Gary had never mentioned precisely where he wanted to take those troops he’d been after, but Palmer didn’t need it, whatever it was. He had now moved on from such small ambitions.

  29

  The swish of the opening door woke Abram, and in the dim, pre-dawn light of the barred window, he noted groggily that Frank and Owen, too, were stirring. More interesting was a silhouette padding inside, one he recognized.

  She crept up to him and said in a low voice, but without whispering, “Good morning, old man. I’m sorry to wake you. I figured you farmer types would be up already.”

  “How do you know I’m a farmer?” Abram rubbed his eyes as he talked, feeling his thick tongue resisting his efforts at speech.

  “You’re well-fed and fit. And your truck has that look to it. Just a guess. Can we talk?”

  Abram sat up, setting his back against the wall, and fervently wished for some coffee. “Sure, Miss…”

  “Call me Brooke.”

  “Brooke, when is Kent going to let us out, or come see us?” He tried not to let his irritation show in his voice, but being locked up wasn’t quite the welcome he’d expected, even of an estranged son-in-law like Frank’s.

  Frank growled. “Told you that boy was a poor bet, Abram. This was a waste of time.”

  Owen nudged the grumpy old man in the arm, beginning a whispered argument from their corner of the room.

  Abram ignored them for the moment and focused on Brooke, his eyes adjusting. Now, he could make out facial features more clearly, albeit in black-and-white. “He’s short on manners, but long on truth, ma’am.”

  She looked down briefly, then said, “These bandits you risked your lives to warn us about. You fought them before?”

  “No. We fought a bunch of less organized ones, yes, but these are far more dangerous.”

  “A bunch. How many? And what odds?”

  Abram, still fighting back the cloud of sleep fogging up his thoughts, had to focus to understand what she meant, and blurted, “About forty, maybe four-to-one.”

  Dammit. He had just revealed a rough count of the compound. Kent had thrown them in this glorified jail cell, he was no friend, and here Abram was revealing their numbers to his girlfriend. He cursed himself for a fool but kept his expression blank.

  She nodded. “I figured as much. You fought hard, then. We’re well set up, and Kent has a talent for finding the right people for jobs that need doing. The only bandits we’ve fought were small groups, refugees turned hungry. The numbers made sense to fight them. But a bigger, organized force…”

  As her voice trailed, Abram felt alarm growing in his gut. “You think he might decide the numbers don’t favor fighting back this time?”

  Brooke frowned. “He wants what’s best for the town. But this new leader, he probably killed my daddy. I don’t reckon I can lie down and hand over what’s ours, on top of that. Daddy would never do that, neither. It got him killed. One thing I know about bullies, though. It’s never enough. You give ’em half your lunch money, they want it all. You give ’em all of it, they want your buddy’s, too. By the time you figure on fighting back, you’re too hungry and tired to do much but suffer it.”

  Abram nodded slowly. She was rather country-girl, but she wasn’t wrong. “But what do you want me to do about it? Kent hasn’t even met with his father-in-law, yet, if he ever will.”

  “I got some pull with my ol’ man,” she said.

  Abram caught the subtle difference between how she referred to her father and her boyfriend. Regardless, she was probably correct. A bit of hope found its home in his gut, then. “What can I do?”

  “If Kent thinks it’s best in the long run to roll over for the man who killed Wyatt, he will. But maybe I c
an talk him into letting you all help us get some better protection in place. Some defenses. Just in general, I can make him see it’s good to have that, if only so we can talk to them from a stronger place, you know?”

  Abram smiled. “Negotiate from a position of strength. It’s always wise. But what has that to do with us?”

  “There’s the rub. None of us have done much fighting. A bit, but not like y’all. I figure I can get him to agree to bring you on, you know, like a consultant. Help us fix up our defense. And the better our defense, the more likely he’ll see that saying no is our best bet in the long game. Me, I’m hoping this Black fellow shows up so’s I can kill him myself, but he’s got to worry about more’n just how I feel.”

  Abram looked over to Frank and Owen. Both nodded, and Owen gave him a thumbs-up sign. Abram turned back to Brooke and shrugged. “Sure, if you think it’ll help.”

  Brooke’s expression lit up. “Thank you so much. I’ll go talk to Kent. Then we’ll see about getting you folks out of this here room, and out there doing some good.”

  Before he could reply, she bounded from the room. A moment later, the locks clacked as they were put back into place by whoever Kent had babysitting them on the other side.

  A second passed in silence before Frank said, “That boy never was much of a fighter. I’m not surprised she worries about him rolling over.”

  Owen let out a disgusted sound.

  “What?” Frank asked, turning to face him directly.

  Owen replied, “What I heard her say is that he’d put his personal issues aside for the good of these people. People who, by the way, look to him for leadership. Maybe you’ve misjudged the ‘boy.’ Or maybe he changed, after your squabble. That sort of…tragedy, tends to make people re-evaluate themselves and their life.”