Righteous Gathering: Book 1 of the Righteous Survival EMP Saga

by Timothy Van Sickel

  They begin the task of cutting down the large trees that span the roads, trees with twenty- four inch trunks rising fifty feet tall. Some fall on cars or get hung up on other trees. Some take out power lines and utility poles. More people join in to help, mainly to pull the felled trees away. Houses and other property are damaged in the effort. Some men from the fire department walk in with hoses and chain saws, and start to help out.

  They spend the next four chaotic hours cutting and moving trees. The fire is contained, if a hundred houses burning to the ground can be considered contained. Herc did not even see his own home burn down, too busy trying to save his neighbors' homes.

  Herc is back at his Mom's house that afternoon, trying to assess the situation, trying to figure out what they need to do to survive. He has heard gunshots, and has heard that some of the drug dealers are causing problems, as well as the drug addicts looking to take advantage of the situation, to rob and steal to support their habit. Herc is armed and alert, watching over his family.

  With the power out, the freezer is off. Good meat will go to waste so Herc's mom decides to grill some steaks in the backyard. Better to eat it than lose it. Herc is in the house when he hears a commotion outside. He doesn't think much of it at first as there has been a lot of commotion all day. Then he hears two guns shots, close, not far away like before. He jumps from the couch, and races outside. Before he even opens the back door he hears several more gunshots, loud, in his back yard.

  Gun drawn, he steps around the doorway to see his mom lying on the ground next to the grill, bleeding. His stepdad lays motionless on the steps. His brother's eyes are glazing over as his 12 gauge pump drops from his hands. He sees one guy, motionless on the street, and two more guys going after the food on the grill. Without thinking, without saying a word, he shoots both gangsters from twenty feet away. Double squeeze, center mass. A few thousand rounds down range make the motion automatic.

  Leesa is screaming behind him, as is John Jr. Herc is in a rage. His momma is dead. He races to the street, and sees two people he knows are drug punks running away, turning the corner onto Cypress Street. His adrenaline kicks in, and he chases after them, turning the corner only ten yards behind them. He unloads the last dozen rounds left in his clip, and both thugs fall to the ground.

  He runs up on them, rage boiling as he envisions his mom's lifeless body lying in the yard. He kicks the dead body heavily in the side, screaming at the lifeless form for being so stupid. The other would-be meat thief groans, attracting Herc's attention. He turns and kicks him in his bloody gut. "You stupid son of a bitch! You killed my momma for some food!" He screams at the prone young man. "She'd a given you food, you dumb ass! You stupid son of a bitch!" Herc kicks him even harder several times in the body and head. The groaning stops, completely. A crowd has gathered by this time, mostly known neighbors, but a few strangers too, unfriendly faces.

  Herc turns to them all. Realization of what he has just done, what has just happened, starting to sink in. He drops to his knees and starts to cry. "They killed my momma," he exclaims. His emotions turn hard again. "No one messes with me and mine without paying a price. Y'all stay away from me and mine! Ya hear! Don't mess with me!" He starts sobbing again. Leesa has come up to him at this point, and starts to lead him back to the house. Many follow to comfort him, some slink away to report what they have seen.

  Chapter 20 Wagerly's Compound, Day 2, September 12, 2018

  He rolls over and checks the alarm clock as the sun seeps in around the pulled down curtains. The clock is blank. He smiles, the electricity is still out. His head is pounding slightly from the wine he drank the night before. "Which chick is it that likes the wine?" he asks out loud, "I got to get rid of her, I don’t get no headaches from whiskey." He looks over at the two female forms in the bed next to him. He gives a strong kick to the closest one. "Which of you two bitches had me drinkin’ wine! Get out! It don’t matter, the powers still out, and I got things to do." He lets off in a string of curses as he chases the two women from his room. He needs some time to think. This is the opportunity of a lifetime.

  Frank Wagerly is a hard man who has spent time in jail. He has a leadership quality that other men and women of bad character will follow. He is mean, but decisive, smart and commanding. He doesn't do the drugs he sells. He had tried the meth that he and his boys made, but realized how poisonous it was. But that didn’t stop him from making and selling it. More recently he had gotten into the opiate trade, everything from over the counter drugs to heroin. He quickly realized that an opioid-addicted man would soon become a heroin addict, and a constant stream of cash to him and his crew.

  Frank had felt something like this power outage would happen; and now is his chance to become a king. He knows he needs to act now, to inflict terror, and establish himself as the top dog in the violent world that he will help create.

  When the power had not come back on by sunset the day before, he sent a crew to Hooversville, and they had come back with booze from the bars and drugs from the pharmacy. He had sent another group out to loot people on Route 30, and grab what women they could find. His small group of about twenty people in his compound had already grown to thirty. As he is splashing water on his face to wipe away some of the grime, he hears a few more bikes and a truck come rumbling in. Today is going to be a good day.

  The newly arrived group tells of power out everywhere, of panic, and looting, fires burning, and no one responding. People are starting to walk the streets, trying to get home, looking for family or just looking for food and water. Frank licks his lips, and smiles at the news of chaos starting.

  He had noticed that the helicopter flights in and out of Flight 93 had stopped, so he knew the army was done in the area. Those people at the Memorial were now his cattle, no one was coming to help them. He needs to send out raiders to shut down anyone on the roads. He needs to make sure the local roads get shut down so he can raid the farms freely. That will leave people confined to the few small towns and unable to communicate with each other. Then he can dominate the area, controlling the roads and controlling the farms, then controlling the towns.

  He has the most firepower, the most people, and he will be ruthless. He will control the area then expand from there. Maybe go down to Somerset and bust out his friends at the state prison, then move on and take control of the whole two counties. He thinks of Johnstown, but dismisses it. If he can control the countryside he would control the food, then he could command anything he wanted from the city folk, even the gang bangers.

  He doesn’t expect much opposition to his grand scheme. Maybe a farmer and his boys with a couple of hunting rifles making a stand someplace. But he has mean and hardened people who want drugs and booze. So long as he has drugs and booze to feed them, they will do his bidding.

  They have four working trucks, several working bikes, a few quads, and an old Ford Torino. They need to get out and start implementing his vision of terror. He stumbles to the main living area of his compound. Some people are up and moving while others are curled up in blankets or sleeping bags. A bright-eyed skinny girl is making coffee in a percolator. She is scratching at her tiny arms as she puffs on a cigarette.

  Frank starts rousting the motley crew from their booze and drug-induced haze. His haphazard crew gets coffee and food. Some get a fix, some get a drink. There are cheers about the successful raid on the Hooversville bars and pharmacy. Frank hears about the gunfire and that some townsfolk got killed. Outwardly he boasts that the cowards will now cower at their approach. But he has a nagging feeling that they may have wakened a sleeping dog, that the next time they approach the town, it won’t be so easy.

  He sends out three groups. One of bikers that are to run the back roads, keep people from roaming, from talking to each other. One is to run along Route 30 and past Flight 93 again; kill anyone they want, there is no law. Take anything of value. Keep people off the roads. If you find a woman you like, have her, bring her back if you want, but only if she will
be useful. He sends another truck to do the same on the smaller state routes. They'll have the whole area bottled up before the locals even know what's happened.

  By late morning word gets back to Frank that they killed a lot of people on Route 30, people who were at the Memorial ceremony. What's left of those folk are terrified and bottled up on the Memorial grounds. Meanwhile a few more people have arrived by bike, old trucks, and a couple vintage cars. A few are bikers that have been to his compound before. They came all the way from Pittsburgh, not druggy types, but hard core convicts, organized bike gang members. They tell him more are on the way, as soon as they can get their bikes running and a convoy organized. The scenes they describe, from the outskirts of Pittsburgh, are joy to his ears. Rioting, looting, shops burning. Cops are unable to respond, and those that do are being shot. They tell of a few areas where the locals have banded together to form posses, roadblocks, but mayhem and anarchy seem to have set in.

  By mid-afternoon, the Route 30 truck has come back, and a new crew has been sent out, same with the biker crew that was roaming the back roads. But nothing has been heard from the other truck that was on the smaller state roads. That truck had two of his sons with them. As a few more hours tick by he gets furious that they have not returned. Finally, late that day, word gets back to him. One of his users gets out of Hooversville, and reports to him that some vigilante types had ambushed his boys on Route 403. They had killed them all in cold blood. All but one, and that was his nephew. He got executed in town, the addict tells him. The addict spins a story, making Frank's boys out to be heroes, and describes the ambushers in detail, what they were driving, what they looked like, where they were heading. The addict is expecting a reward for his courage in coming there, a fix to his addiction. The fix is fast and permanent as Frank puts a bullet through his head.

  "I want these sons-a-bitches dead! Not now, not tomorrow, yesterday! You let these townsfolk know, this man, and his family of Jesus-loving religious bastards, this vigilante group, they killed my boys. They are dead. We will find them, and we will kill them, all of them!"

  A few men nudge at a larger man, who has been leading the bikers on the back roads. He speaks up. "Frank, the towns are setting up roadblocks."

  Frank blows up. "Country pipsqueaks putting out a few barriers! Hairy, you tellin' me you can't run a roadblock set up by some local yocals? Get out there and give them some terror. You scared of a few fat old men and a couple of pimply-faced teenagers behind a few lawn chairs! Don’t give me this shit, Hairy, we are going to own those towns! You get out there, and tell me what we need to run over these backwards Bible thumpers. We got the fire power, we'll use it if we need to."

  "I left a couple guys to watch 'em, Frank. They're moving cars and trucks into the roadblocks. One of my guys says there's someone stops by every now and then, and gives them directions. Each time this guy stops by, he sees new stuff going on, better placement of cars and people, better rotation of folks. It ain't no fat men with shotguns, they're getting serious, Frank. Shooting up their town last night got them moving."

  "We can take care of that, we'll blow those roadblocks up!" Frank replies vehemently. "Now let’s get some defense set up here, in case these bastards get ambitious." He goes off on a cussing tirade that puts people in gear getting a defense set up. He heads back to the main camp, slaps the closest woman and grabs her by the arm. He heads back to his private lair.

  Chapter 21 Moxham, Night 2, Herc's Story, September 12, 2018

  Leesa gets Herc back to his mom's house. His mom, brother and stepdad are dead. He and two close friends console each other as they dig three graves in his backyard, Herc knows there will be no coroner, no police investigation, no mortician.

  He is a religious man, but he does not have the words. He bows his head with Leesa, John Jr., and a larger gathering of friends, who have heard what happened. "God loves you, Momma. I know you are with him now." He starts to sob, but he cannot continue. One of Herc's aunts speaks up, and continues a prayer for the deceased. Once again, it is all too surreal, a backyard burial, as people stream by in distress. The neighborhood is falling apart around them, as they honor three lives cut short by violence.

  Just as the funeral gathering begins to somberly break up, a semi-druggie friend rushes up and grabs Herc by the arm. "Dude, you gotta git outta here. Big Paulie has it in for you. One of those dudes you gunned down was his brother. They're gonna come for ya." In broken sentences, he tells Herc what he's heard.

  The guy is a social security drug addict dependent who Herc has done a few favors for. Herc finds out that Big Paulie, a New Jersey import and major drug dealer, has declared Moxham his turf, and sent out his soldiers to claim what they wanted. Herc was the first to stand against him, and now he is pissed that someone would fight back. He is even more pissed that his brother got killed. The dependent drug addict tells Herc that he heard Big Paulie was sending a crew out to get him that night.

  "Yeah, that ain't gonna happen." Herc responds darkly.

  After the informant leaves, Herc checks over his arsenal. He arms several of his neighbors as needed. Several other neighbors already have long guns and side arms. Herc is not a strategist nor a strong leader, but some plan is better than no plan. "If those assholes roll up here you clock ‘em. Okay?" is all the direction anyone gets. They all nod.

  As dusk turns to darkness, an uncle and nephew state they are going to stay there. Their home has burned down, they have nowhere to go and they can help keep a watch out. Herc accepts their help with a big smile, and hugs all around. They set up a loose shift schedule to sit on the back porch and keep an eye out.

  ===============================================================

  A bit after midnight Big Paulie, and part of his Jersey crew walks up the street, four of them, and Big Paulie. Two semi-automatic weapons, a sawed-off shogun, and four side arms. Herc and all of his neighbors are awakened by the boom of the 9mm that kills Herc's dozing cousin. Herc rolls out of a light sleep, and grabs his 30/30 lever action with a powerful Mag-light that he had strapped on earlier that night. As he steps to the second floor window he snaps on the powerful light, and immediately blinds the ambushers. His first shot puts down the guy that shot his cousin. He starts shooting at other targets in the street, the other would-be ambushers. His uncle opens up from the front porch with the 12 gauge pump. Three of the ambushers manage to duck behind the cover of cars and neighbors’ houses. Random shots are fired in his direction. Many come straight through the window Herc is shooting from. He feels the sting as a bullet creases his shoulder. Dropping to the ground, he realizes his powerful light that at first helped him, now is drawing fire. He clicks it off, and moves to the next bedroom, to find a new firing position.

  The gunfire springs his neighbors into action. Within minutes, gunfire from all directions is coming down on the three remaining New Jersey hoodlums trapped on the street. Two more street thugs end up dead. Big Paulie manages to drag himself off the street and heads back to his lair.

  As the shooting dies down, shouts ring out. Herc's neighbors and friends are hollering to figure out if any thugs are still out there, if any of their friends need help. A few minutes later the neighbors meet in the street. Herc is on his porch and beckons them all over. "You don’t want to be on the street like that, all in a big group. That ain’t good." He chides them. "We all gotta be smart. This shit is gonna get worse. They'll be back, and ya'll be dead unless ya'll get organized and fight back." He leaves them standing in his yard as he goes into his momma's house to calm a stoic Leesa.

  "We ain't stayin here, Herc," Leesa states.

  "Ain't nowhere to go," says Herc.

  'Ain't nowhere to stay either, genius! That bastard, Paulie, I know'd him, before I met you, I used to go with his brother, the one you killed tonight. We can't stay here, he came here heavy, we got lucky, we gotta go. He'll come back, and he'll burn us out. I know'd them, Herc, they is meaner than a rattlesnake!"

  Moxham had
never been kind to Herc. He had tried to make it his home but he has constantly been confronted with drug addicts, bigoted cops, and other troubles. His home of five years has burned down, his momma and brother are dead. He has many cousins, uncles and aunts in the area, but with the new troubles now, he instinctively knows he needs to leave. The question is how? And where to?

  Chapter 22 3rd Morning, Farmstead, September 13, 2018

  The sun rises about 6:30 in early fall in the mountains of western Pennsylvania. Which means the critters and birds and other mountain noises let you know the day has started at about 5:30. But we get woken before all that by the front porch bell ringing loudly.

  The distinctive clanging wakes both me and Becca instantly. "Oh crap," I say as I leap out of bed, pulling on a pair of old shorts and a sweatshirt. My mind races. It has to be stragglers, can’t be bandits, not yet. I would have heard shots by now if it were bandits. Ken would have let loose on anyone threatening us. But the bell continues to clang. I need to get to the old farmhouse asap! "Becca, something's happening. Get up, be alert, wake up Linc and Kim. I'm heading up to the front gate." She looks a little panicked, but throws on a pair of jeans and a shirt.