Defending Hope: An EMP Survival Story (Surviving The Shock Book 1)

by Connor Mccoy

  “It’s only going to get worse,” Stone told Criver and Cheryl. “There will be a lot more coming down here. We’re just the tip of the iceberg. People are looking for warmer weather.” He swallowed a piece of chicken before continuing. “And a good place to hide.” Unfortunately, the chaos of the North also was spawning warlords such as The Coach, but Stone knew little more.

  Cheryl just had finished her portion of the meal when someone caught her eye and she leaned backward to get a better look. A dark-skinned boy just had turned his face to the side, allowing Cheryl to see his profile. She jumped out of her seat. “Amir!”

  “Amir?” Criver broke away from his conversation with a survivor and joined Cheryl. “He’s here?” How was that possible? Had he actually escaped from The Coach and been picked up by Stone?

  She hurried to the child, but as she got closer, she slowed. It wasn’t Amir. He was a black child with skin darker than Amir’s, though he was probably about Amir’s age. He wore new clothes taken from a nearby store, though they didn’t fit him right, hanging limp off his thin frame.

  The boy didn’t even look at her. He seemed withdrawn, his brown eyes fixed ahead at nothing in particular.

  Criver’s spirits fell. Of course, it would have been too good to be true just to find Amir out here without facing the challenge of The Coach.

  Ramirez walked over. “That’s Hakeem,” he said.

  “Sorry.” Criver sat down in an empty chair next to the child. “I thought he was our boy.” He shared a pained look with Cheryl.

  “We actually found him up ahead, near Westown.” Ramirez picked up a seat, flipped it around so the back faced the boy, then squatted down onto the chair and continued.

  “He was lying on the side of the road, about half-dead. We got some food in him. He gradually perked up, but he still doesn’t walk much. We must carry him. Hopefully, his strength will come back.”

  “How awful.” Cheryl’s bottom lip hung open. “What happened?”

  Ramirez grimaced. “He ran into the same Diablo that you’re chasing.”

  “The Coach,” Criver said.

  Hakeem then turned his head. He knew that name. Even Ramirez looked startled. “He almost never comes to life like that.”

  The boy looked into Criver’s eyes. “Hey, little man.” Criver sat opposite him. “You got away from him, didn’t you?” Hakeem nodded.

  “I’m sure you don’t want to even think about him anymore, but we need to find him. He’s kidnapped our boy, and he has other kids, too. Do you remember where he is?”

  For a moment, Hakeem just sat there. Criver thought he might not know or had repressed the information. But then the boy said one word, “Walk-er.”

  Criver leaned closer to him, not sure he heard Hakeem right. “Walker,” the boy repeated, a little more clearly.

  “Walker? Who’s that?” Criver asked gently.

  “Walker’s,” Hakeem now said.

  “Walker’s. Walker’s.” Criver frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “Easy, Tom,” Cheryl said, “He’s trying. Give him a moment.”

  “Could be a place,” Ramirez said, “Perhaps in Westown.”

  “Or a street,” Cheryl added.

  “Walker’s.” Criver frowned. “If it’s a place, maybe he saw it on the side of a building. If our phones were working, I could just shove the word in a search engine and get it.” Dammit. “How did we look up things before the internet?”

  “The phone book?” Ramirez asked, as if it was obvious.

  Criver suddenly laughed. “Can’t believe I forgot that.” It was hilarious. How long had it been since he actually picked up an honest-to-God printed book to look up a phone number?

  “We’re close to Westown. There has to be a phone book around here.” The idea of looters looking for phone books seemed absolutely ludicrous. Surely there was a store that still had one.

  Luck was definitely on their side, as they found a phone book lying on a shelf inside the pharmacy manager’s office. Criver slammed the large book onto the table and flipped the pages frantically.

  “Walker…Walker…” Criver found the “W” page and pushed his finger down the page. “Walker’s Mental Hospital.” The listing also included a small advertisement, complete with a small map pinpointing its location.

  Cheryl and Ramirez looked over his shoulder. “That sounds like a mental health facility.”

  “You mean an insane asylum,” Criver added.

  “Well, that’s probably the non-PC term.” Cheryl smirked. “But, yeah. That almost sounds perfect for The Coach’s hideout.”

  Criver turned to Hakeem. The boy still was seated in his chair. “Walker’s Behavioral Health Center,” Criver repeated. “Does that sound right?”

  Hakeem turned and looked at him. The boy nodded in the affirmative. “We got it,” Criver whispered. He knelt close to the child. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to us.”

  He then rose and rejoined Cheryl, who mouthed a “thank you” to Hakeem. The pair turned back to the phone book and Ramirez. But then the sound of Hakeem rising to his feet stopped them.

  The boy peeled off his shirt and let it fall to the ground. Cheryl’s eyes widened. Criver thought he’d be sick. The boy had a thin frame, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Three long scars cut across his back, with additional smaller cuts that hadn’t healed properly. All of these cuts, never having been properly medicated and stitched up, would mark this boy for the rest of his life.

  Then, Hakeem spoke. At the same time, a fire burned in his brown eyes that reminded Criver of a savage animal looking to find and tear apart its prey.

  “If you find The Coach, please, kill him.” He paused and then finished his sentence in a cruel tone that sent shivers down Criver’s back. “Slowly.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Pat! Pat! Pat!

  Cheryl’s precision gunshots shot off all the door hinges. Then, a mighty kick from Criver’s boot sent the door plunging to the dirty brown floor.

  “Go! Go!” the sergeant shouted.

  Criver dashed through the narrow hall, sandwiched by rusty, brown metal cells. Loose chains hung from the insides of the cells like dungeon manacles. The place was hot--steaming hot. Wails and screams echoed off the walls, yet Cheryl and Criver never spotted a single prisoner behind the bars.

  They didn’t get too far before a bald man with rippling muscles charged at them with a baton. Cheryl fired her pistol past Criver and nailed the attacker in the head, who then promptly fell backward and landed on the floor with a thud.

  Criver and Cheryl then jumped over him. Nothing would stop them rescuing their child. Nothing.

  “Amir!” Criver called, “We’re here!” Dammit, there were nothing but cells on either side of them. The cell block seemed to stretch to infinity.

  “Over here! I think I see him!” Cheryl ran past Criver to a cell door that was open. Without hesitation, Criver followed his warrior companion right into it.

  But to their shock, there was no cell at all. Instead, they had been deposited inside a large enclosed arena, like something out of a gladiator movie. Several muscle-bound goons, some resembling the guys who originally had chased Amir into that computer building days ago, suddenly assaulted them from multiple sides.

  Criver and Cheryl responded with rapid kicks and punches that sent them all crashing to the floor. They were strong, yes. Skilled, no. Again, nothing would stop them from finding Amir.

  “He’s got to be here. Where is he?” Criver shouted.

  “There!” Cheryl pointed to a boxing ring in the middle of the arena. Amir hung from the ceiling by chains.

  Criver and Cheryl sprinted over to the ring and then jumped over the ropes to get inside. Amir’s shirt was torn open in back, with bloody cuts laced across his back. He looked completely out of it, but alive.

  Cheryl found a lock on one of the chains. She jammed in a pick and turned. “Please, please…yes!” The lock snapped loose. Amir suddenly slid
down to the floor.

  Criver knelt down. “I’ll carry him!”

  He was about to pick up Amir when a dark shadow covered him. The Coach had arrived.

  Criver spun around. “You bastard. You’ll pay for this!” He turned and emptied his entire magazine into The Coach’s chest. But not a single bullet so much as penetrated The Coach’s skin. It was like he had a chest of titanium.

  “Pitiful,” he said.

  “Criver!” called a familiar voice. Criver turned. Stone and Ramirez were at the hallway, guns aimed at The Coach. “Run, Squirrel!” Stone yelled. “We’ll cover you!”

  Criver hoisted Amir over his shoulder. The two men fired. Most of their shots struck The Coach, but not a one of them so much as scratched him. Instead, The Coach simply looked at them blandly.

  Click. Click. Their guns were empty. “He is truly El Diablo,” Ramirez said with fear in his voice.

  The Coach then drew two small knives and flung them. They flew so swiftly that no one could see them until they were impaled in the chests of Obadiah Stone and Hernando Ramirez. The two men collapsed flat on their backs.

  Criver and Cheryl’s boots pounded the floor as they fled from the ring to an open exit door. But as soon as they got there, The Coach suddenly emerged from the shadow of the wall by the doorway, blocking their passage.

  Criver and Cheryl backed up. This was unreal. How did The Coach get over here? There was no way he could have beat them to this door. “This is insane. You’re just a man!” Criver cried out.

  “And you are nothing,” The Coach retorted.

  Behind Criver and Cheryl, the ground suddenly caved in. Below was a large cavern with roaring flames. In the light of the orange fire, Criver could make out horns on The Coach’s head. Fangs now appeared in the brute’s mouth. His hands were twisted like talons.

  “What’s wrong?” The Coach asked, now with a deep, demonic tone.

  “Daddy!” Amir suddenly shouted.

  “First, the woman!” The Coach then seized Cheryl and thrust her into the flaming pit.

  “No! Cheryl!” Criver turned but, clutching Amir, he couldn’t catch her.

  “Now, the boy.”

  The Coach reached over and effortlessly pried Amir off Criver’s back. He kept shouting “Daddy! Daddy! Save me!”

  “Give me my boy, you bastard!” Criver leaped onto The Coach’s arm, which now was bigger and more muscular than ever. The Coach was unperturbed. He flung Amir into the chasm.

  Criver screamed in horror. But his yell was cut off when The Coach grabbed him by the shirt and hoisted him over the chasm, now so large Criver couldn’t see anything else.

  “And now, you.” The Coach’s skin was now reptilian, his horns large and curved. “The man who couldn’t save his family.”

  Then he released Criver into the inferno.

  With a loud yell, Criver woke up. He rolled around across the floor, flailing about. The fire. Where was the fire? Amir? Cheryl? The Coach? No, he was gone. Criver was back in the small office of the clothing store, where he had been sleeping.

  “Dammit! Dammit!” He muttered it repeatedly. He was so frantic he raced out of the office and into the store, all the way to the front, by the large picture windows. Exhausted and emotionally battered, he then fell to his knees.

  “Tom!” Cheryl raced out of the nearby office where she had been sleeping and dashed up to him. “Are you alright?”

  “No.” Criver coughed. “Dammit, I’m screwed up.”

  She knelt down. “What happened?”

  He wiped his eyes. “Another of those damn dreams. This one was ten times worse.” He let his hands fall.

  “Dreams? What are you talking about?”

  Criver finally spilled it, telling her of his many nights where he had dreamed of Jessica and Michael, along with the horrid dream he just had had now.

  Cheryl ran a hand through Criver’s dark hair. “My God. Why didn’t you say something?”

  Criver, sitting on the floor, stared blankly through the windows. “I guess we’re both not used to spilling our guts.” He clutched his face with his right hand. “Cheryl, I don’t know if I can save him. The Coach is like a monster. I failed Michael, I failed my boy the first time. What if I fail again?”

  Cheryl wrapped her arm around Criver’s shoulder. “Tom, The Coach is just like any human being. He’s not ‘the devil.’” Then she kissed his right cheek. “And you’re not a failure.”

  The two briefly sat with each other before Cheryl spoke again. “There’s not a sane person on this planet who would blame you for your son dying. Sometimes there’s just nothing we can do.” She chuckled through closed lips. “Yeah, hear me saying that. I still have a hard time getting that.”

  Criver raised his head to meet Cheryl’s glance. Her voice was both soothing and firm. The horrors of his dream seemed to fade.

  She then smiled. “Remember. It doesn’t matter how big and strong The Coach is.” She formed a pistol with her forefinger and thumb and imitated it firing. “If you shoot him in the balls, he’ll cry like a baby.”

  Criver chuckled. “Just speaking as a man, that’s terrible to think about.”

  She kissed his neck. “Well, between you and me, I’d never shoot yours.”

  Criver felt brave enough to ask a question. “What would you do?” he asked quietly.

  Smiling impishly, Cheryl reached around and whispered her answer.

  Criver drew back. “Wow. That’s--that’s a little rough.”

  “I’m just kidding.” Cheryl laughed. “I spent years around a lot of male soldiers, and heard a lot of locker room talk. Not much shocks me.”

  Criver stiffened his lip. “Same here.”

  Cheryl playfully pushed on his shoulder. “Sure.”

  The pair once again fell silent. Soon, Cheryl just braced his face with both hands and held it facing hers. Criver didn’t say anything, just took in her warm smile. There was no doubt now that the pair was a family.

  How do you know when you’re finally together? Criver thought. When you say “I love you” or swap dirty sex talk? He almost laughed. Maybe it’s when two people fight and bleed for each other…and then hold each other afterward.

  He pulled her a little closer. She reciprocated and held him tighter. The two held each other until the first rays of the sun peaked through the store window.

  Armed with the definite location of The Coach, Criver and Cheryl started out from the strip mall, having already bid their farewells to Stone and Ramirez.

  “I wish I could help you, but you understand we need to protect our own,” Stone had said.

  “I’d never ask anybody to stick their neck out for us,” Criver had told him, “This is our fight.”

  “Just the same, Squirrel, you’re the bravest son of a bitch I’ve met. If you ever catch up with us, you’re welcome to be part of our tribe.”

  “I may just take you up on that,” Criver had responded.

  The early morning hours were uneventful, but as the sun rose higher, their packs felt heavier than usual. Sweat dripped down Criver’s and Cheryl’s bodies. The sun was particularly merciless today, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky to offer the slightest reprieve from its rays. What’s worse, they no longer were in a wooded area with tall trees to block some of the sun. The path down the highway was open, with short grassy hills on both sides. And it didn’t appear as if the landscape was going to change any time soon.

  The heat continued increasing. Criver slowed his pace as he began unhitching his pack. “We have to cover our heads.” He pulled out a new shirt and tied it around his head. Cheryl dug out a red bandana and did the same.

  “Keep hydrated,” Cheryl said. “Don’t worry about the water. The brook is just a short hike away if we have an emergency. The only thing we have to focus on is making good time.”

  Right. Amir was close, and getting closer with every step they took. Criver couldn’t let the heat sap his stamina. He wouldn’t let the boy down.

&n
bsp; So, Criver and Cheryl drank deeply from their bottles and canteens. When Criver felt a little nauseous anyway, Cheryl warned they had to put some solid food in their stomachs. They rested only briefly, allowing themselves the luxury of some of Cheryl’s MREs, but not bothering to stop and cook anything. Cooking took time they couldn’t afford to waste.

  They plunged forward. Pain soon became a companion for both of them. Criver and Cheryl clutched their stomachs. Walking at such a pace tightened their abdomens and, even for their trim physiques, it was producing some aches. Their feet soon began protesting. Criver could feel the soreness on the bottom of his toes. Even though Cheryl had provided him with good hiking boots, they still were rather new and not broken in yet. Plus, Criver had no experience hiking for so long, and at the fast pace he was going.

  And they still encountered no shelters, rest stops, restaurants, gas stations, anything. It was just one long highway that stretched on and on. The only manmade thing they found was a roadside assistance phone which, of course, did not work.

  Criver couldn’t believe it. How the hell could there be so much nothing out here? Of course, before the pulse blasted the country, you would just drive in a nice, air-conditioned vehicle across this land, and it wouldn’t take more than, what, twenty minutes? You never took the time to notice just how much land you were passing. Now they had to traverse the whole damn distance on foot!

  It was actually pretty funny.

  A shadow crossed overhead. Criver looked up. A crow? No, that was a vulture. Come to think of it, he had seen one or two of those pass by just a few minutes ago.

  He soon learned why. A limp arm lay draped onto the cement. It looked small, small enough to be a child’s. Panic soon filled his body. That couldn’t be him, could it?

  He quickened his pace, but it took a while to get to the still form off the side of the road. A swarm of flies orbited the corpse. No, this wasn’t Amir. The body was too decomposed, and he seemed the size of a young man. So much of him had been picked clean by the vultures that he just seemed like he could be a child.