Supernova EMP- The Complete Series

by Grace Hamilton

  “I think I’ll leave you to get some rest. I think Gramps is organizing Henry and Greene downstairs, and if I know Greene, pretty soon I think Gramps is going to want to hang him from the nearest tree.”

  Storm kissed her hand as a wave of pain washed over his face. Tally paused. “You need anything?”

  “Other than a new digestive system? No, I’ve just had more painkillers. Waiting for them to kick in.”

  With a smile that was more to convince herself that everything was going to be okay than transmit that idea to Storm, she went downstairs to the kitchen, where she found Henry with his head in his hands, Donald and Greene already squaring up for an argument, and Maria still smiling and saying “Donald” under her breath at regular intervals. It was like a scene from a really bad play.

  “I’ll thank you not to criticize this country in front of me, young man.”

  “All I’m saying is that the government should have seen this coming; they should have prepared. Have you seen anyone in authority since this all happened? Nope. Neither have I. They’ve let us down.”

  “You think they could have made contingency plans for this? Then you’re more foolish than you look, boy.”

  Henry looked up and mouthed “I’m sorry” as he noticed Tally standing in the doorway.

  “I just think there should be people out there helping us. Helping us get back on our feet.”

  Donald looked pointedly down at Greene’s boots. “You got feet of your own, boy, and it’s about time you learned to stand on them yourself. It’s not the end of the world because the government hasn’t preserved your first amendment right to a mocha latte, a croissant, and free Wi-Fi!”

  “Guys, please. Gramps.” Tally held up her hand. “Let’s not get off on the wrong foot.”

  “He’s the one who brought up feet!” Greene said. Since getting to the M-Bar, Greene’s repentant aspect appeared to have dissipated, and without Tally around to keep him in his place, he’d let his mouth run ahead of his brain. Tally’s experience of Greene––who would probably lead her grandfather to describe him as the slush left over by the snowflake generation––had been mostly bearable. But Gramps was going to be another matter altogether. He was going to walk his snowshoes all over Greene if she didn’t intervene.

  “Greene, while you’re in my grandfather’s house, you will not get into arguments with him. I don’t care how much your sensibilities are provoked, but that’s a clear red line with me. We can easily ask you to leave if that’s how you want it. The deal here is zip it or lose it. Am I clear?”

  Greene’s face reddened behind his beard, but he nodded. Donald put his thumbs in his belt and rocked back on his heels, puffing out his cheeks, but he didn’t continue with the argument.

  He couldn’t anyway because, at that second, there was a furious knocking on the door. Greene, standing next to it, simply just opened it, even though Donald was raising his hands in alarm and hissing, “No…”

  Greene had opened the door on a thick-set guy wearing a white Stetson, with a long rifle over his shoulder on a strap.

  “Mr. Creggan sent me over to see if you folks were okay. One of our spotter teams said you had some visitors from out of the county and…”

  The words dried in his throat as Maria giggled and said, “Donald.”

  “Oh my,” the man in the white hat said, his eyes looking up and down Maria as if he’d seen a ghost.

  The shotgun, which had been on the kitchen countertop just a moment before, was now in Donald’s hands. He pointed it at the man in the doorway’s belly. “Come inside now, Laurent, and shut the door.”

  Tally instinctively went to her grandmother and pulled her back to stand well away from the gun and the man called Laurent it was pointed at.

  Laurent raised his hands and walked in, closing the door behind him.

  “Henry,” Donald said, “take his rifle and that pea-shooter in the holster.”

  Henry got up from the table, unhooked the Winchester from the man’s shoulder, and lifted the Beretta from his side, taking them across the room and putting them on the counter—well out of their owner’s reach.

  “She’s supposed to be dead. That means you lied. That means there’s a good chance you’re all infected, and now I am, too,” Laurent said levelly.

  “The only infection you got, son, is stupidity. Now sit down at the table while I try to work out what to do with you.”

  Bank’s cabin was exactly where Maxine had expected it to be, but what she didn’t expect was to see its front porch full of bullet holes from automatic weapons fire, the door kicked in, and a sixty-five-year-old woman laid out on her back behind it, coughing up blood and vainly pressing her hands down on a bullet wound in her belly.

  Maxine unhooked her pack, put down her shotgun, and knelt by the woman, her nurse training kicking in. “I’m Maxine. I’m a nurse and I’m going to try to help. Can I look at the wound?”

  The woman gave the slightest of nods, and so Maxine gingerly lifted the woman’s fingers from the puddle of dark blood they’d been pressing down on. She moved aside the flowery material of the woman’s dress and looked at the wreckage of skin, muscle, and intestine below. She could immediately see that without access to an emergency room, a gaggle of ER doctors, and the best equipment money could buy, this woman was going to die, and she was going to die soon. Maxine pressed the woman’s hands back down on the wound. “That’s fine, thank you. Try to keep the pressure on it while I make you comfortable.”

  The lies we tell.

  The door to the cabin led into an open-plan living space, with a door through which Maxine could see a kitchen and two further doors which she guessed led off to a bathroom and bedroom. The walls were lined with books; she could see a Grey’s Anatomy and a bunch of other medical textbooks, as well as a whole shelf dedicated to bound copies of The American Journal of Surgery.

  There was a comfortable couch within arm’s reach on which there lay well-plumped cushions. Maxine took one and gently lifted the woman’s head to place it on the cushion. “Are you Mrs. Banks?”

  The woman nodded, and managed to whisper “Cynthia” before a fresh trickle of blood ran down the side of her mouth.

  Maxine pulled tissues from her pack and wiped the side of Cynthia’s face, cleaning away the blood as best she could. Practically, it was all she could do for the woman.

  “You’re Doctor Banks’ wife?”

  Again, the tiniest of nods. Maxine felt terrible trying to get the information she needed out of Cynthia, as the woman was dying, but she needed to know where Lawrence Banks was if she was going to get him back to the M-Bar to help Storm.

  As if sensing the conflict in Maxine, Cynthia said in a gurgling whisper, “You… can… spare me the… platitudes, darling… I’m not… just a surgeon’s wife… I’m a surgeon, too. I’ve known… for some hours… this is my last day on Earth…”

  Maxine lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve… come here for… Lawrence… you’re not the first…”

  Maxine nodded, hoping the next thing Cynthia said wouldn’t confirm that her husband was lying dead in one of the other rooms in the cabin.

  “Lawrence… would… help anyone… anyone…”

  “Is he…?” Maxine pointed to the back of the cabin.

  “No… the general’s men came three days ago… to tell him he was being… requisitioned to… their facility in Cumberland… ha!” Cynthia coughed up more blood, which Maxine mopped up. “As if… anyone… who knew anything about… Lawrence… thought they could… enlist him like that.”

  The thoughts were crashing in Maxine’s mind. Cumberland. General. That could only mean Cynthia was talking about General Carron, whose men were headquartered in the Western Maryland Regional Medical Center. The general who had ordered her execution as a looter without a second thought. Maxine’s heart sank into her boots.

  “Lawrence… told them… where to go… of course… you don’t get to his age… without lea
rning how to deal with… jumped-up tin-pot men who’ve been promoted… to the level… of their own self-importance…”

  “Did they take Lawrence to Cumberland?”

  Cynthia had to cough some more before she could answer, and the pain in her eyes was awful to behold. Maxine wished there was something, anything she could do, but other than hold the woman’s hand, there was nothing. It didn’t help that Cynthia knew she was dying, and the normal nursing platitudes were a waste of both their times, because without those platitudes to hide behind, the whole grinding misery of slow death was exposed and open to scrutiny. No shield to hold up or palliative etiquette to dance around. Maxine had to hold back a small sob as Cynthia continued.

  “Yes… not at first… he sent them away… but they came back… at four this morning… read out some… pointless legal document… they’d made up about emergency… powers. Then they started… firing. Lawrence did… what he could, firing back but… there were too many of them… I was hit… Lawrence stopped firing so he could tend to me… and they just came in… …pulled him off me… left me here… to…”

  Her voice trailed off. She was still conscious, but her breathing was ragged and her face too pale in the bright morning light coming in through the door. Cynthia’s eyes looked dry, and her lips, where they weren’t spotted with blood, were turning blue.

  “I know… there’s… nothing you… can do… but I would like you… to hold my hand… until…”

  Maxine nodded and squeezed the hand she was already holding. The fact that Cynthia didn’t know she had it already showed Maxine how close to the end Cynthia was, so she lifted her hand up a little so that the dying woman could see it.

  Cynthia smiled, and Maxine’s heart broke.

  By the time she got to the outskirts of Cumberland, Maxine had lost the better part of two days.

  Cynthia had died holding Maxine’s hand. Before Maxine had left the cabin, she’d covered Cynthia with a blanket and slopped around the contents of a can of kerosene to set the place on fire.

  She’d urged Tally-Two on as the cabin roof had caught light and the building had been engulfed by flames. The column of smoke that had risen between the spruces had still been visible behind the buggy when she’d stopped to look nearly an hour later.

  Maxine had driven on as fast as she could without exhausting Tally-Two, and had only reluctantly stopped to feed and water the horse as needed. All Maxine could do was drink a little. The idea of eating revolted her. She was too focused on getting to Cumberland, and what she would do then.

  The only thing driving her now was that she knew the set-up as it had been at the medical center, and knew that she had gotten in and out of it with her life once––just, yes––but she’d gotten what she’d come for and gotten away. She didn’t know if any of that knowledge would help her now, but there was one thing she did know. She had to try. To not go in and try to remove Lawrence Banks would probably be condemning her son to a painful death from peritonitis. She had weapons, she had ammunition, and she had the element of surprise on her side.

  Whether any of that mattered, she didn’t know, but right now she was willing to put all of her doubts to one side. Being willing to pay the ultimate sacrifice for your child was something that, under normal circumstances, she knew she would have done without a second thought. In many ways, it was the wedge that had been driven between Maxine and Josh in the middle of their marriage. He’d been willing to put his life on the line for so many others, when the focus should have been on his children and nothing else.

  Maxine jumped down from the buggy, from where she’d stopped it on a dirt road well back from the highway, and tied Tally-Two to a tree with plenty of grass to graze on nearby and, hopefully, no one around to come steal her while Maxine went into Cumberland.

  She stroked the horse and kissed the side of her head before shouldering her rifle, holstering her pistol, and striking out towards the city.

  26

  Josh stared up at the sky. There were clouds scudding across the blue. There was a thumping in his ears that could have been footsteps, gunshots, or his heart.

  There was also a hideous pain in his thigh that felt as if someone was twisting a corkscrew deep into his flesh. The sharpness of that helped him to resolve what was happening in his ears, and he rapidly came to the conclusion that the sound wasn’t running footsteps or the concussion of gunshots or his heart beating hard… it was a combination of all three.

  A shadow fell across his face as Poppet moved into view; her shotgun was at her shoulder, and she was pumping shells over his body.

  The running footsteps had receded into the distance, and as Poppet stopped firing, all that remained was the hammering of his heart and the pain in his leg.

  Poppet knelt down and, without saying anything, pushed at Josh’s pelvis, raising his body to one side so that she could look under his leg. Poppet, for her size, was stronger than she looked, and that was another reason for Josh to admire her; she packed a lot of punch into that small frame.

  “Entry and exit. You’re gonna be okay. But we need to stop the bleeding.”

  Poppet pulled Josh’s belt from his jeans and began threading it around his thigh. “Don’t get the wrong idea, buddy. This doesn’t mean we’re engaged or anything.”

  She pulled the belt tight as a tourniquet and looked around the motel parking lot. “Scumbag got away. Luckily, she didn’t have any more bullets or she’d have taken me out, too. How does it feel?”

  “Like I’ve been shot?”

  “The exit wound isn’t so bad. Do you think you can walk? We need to get off the road and under cover in case she comes back with her bigger, meaner brothers.”

  “You’re the queen of optimism,” Josh said, testing what it was like being up on one elbow. It wasn’t fun, but it was bearable.

  “And you’re my subject, baby, so come on, you can’t lie down there all day. We got work to do.”

  In the trees, well off the road and with the horses tied up, Poppet broke open a wound pad and stitch kit from the pack of medical supplies they’d been gifted by Jayce back at Parkopolis.

  “You know how to stich a wound?”

  “You think Joey’s boys could go to a doctor? Were you the most naïve cop on the force, Josh? Yes. I couldn’t work the rackets, or provide protection, but I could work my way around a gunshot. Occupational hazard in Joey’s line of work. It won’t be tapestry quality, but it’s going to fix the leaking. But one thing you do need to know…”

  “It’s going to hurt?”

  “Yeah. Local anesthetic, we don’t have, and I’m not letting you break into my store of Jim Beam.”

  Poppet unbridled one of the horses and gave Josh a leather strap to bite down on as she cleaned the wound with sterile water, covered her hand in alcohol gel, and put on the gloves provided in the pack. “Okay, I’m going to take down your pants and I want you to turn over. Damn, it’s a long time since I’ve said that to anyone who wasn’t my husband.”

  Josh did as he was told, and Poppet got to work. Fifteen minutes later, she was turning him over again to close the wound on the top of his thigh. Josh had to bite down so hard on the strap that he thought he was going to grind all the way through it. The hot pain from the wound and the sharp points as the needle went in were blinding surges of agony in his head. Once it was over, and Poppet could feed him a handful of painkillers and antibiotics, the hot throb slowly became a dull, continuous ache, and he could stop chomping down on the leather.

  “You’re lucky.”

  “I don’t feel very lucky.”

  “No, you were stupid, not unlucky. You shouldn’t have relaxed your guard on the kid. We should have kept our guns on her. I hope you learn this valuable lesson, Josh, as I really don’t want to hafta look at your grubby underwear more than twice in one lifetime.”

  “So, how am I lucky?”

  “Just a meat wound. In and out clean. You’re lucky she was such a lousy shot. She was aiming at your hear
t.”

  The kid didn’t come back, alone or with anyone else, and because the wound was in his left leg rather than his dominant right, after four hours or so, he was able to climb back on the horse and follow Poppet back out onto the highway, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the motel parking lot—and doing it as quickly as possible.

  With the pain now just a stiff ache, Josh could go on to kicking himself in the backside for being such an idiot. Poppet had been right. He’d treated the kid like this was just a normal day in paradise, not a world turned on its head and kicked in the teeth. A world where it was okay to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, setting aside his own safety and the safety of those around him because making sure the kid was okay was his paramount concern. He had to stop trying to save everybody. His hands weren’t big enough, even if he might have argued in the past that his heart might be.

  As they journeyed towards Pickford County, which sat nestled in the southeast quadrant of the Monongahela National Forest, Josh became stronger, and his leg lost the deep tingle of pain within the muscle. Poppet had done a good job plying him with prophylactic antibiotics to guard against an infection that never came. The painkillers were doing their thing, too, and Poppet was making a fair go at bringing them down dinner from the trees to eat as they went.

  They didn’t have any run-ins with anyone else, and Josh was glad of it. Although he felt he had a better handle on what might have gone wrong with his family, he wanted to get it right in his head how he’d explain and apologize to his kids and his wife––if she still wanted to be his wife that was.

  The road gave Josh the time and the space to think, and so that’s what he did, and as they crested the rise that led down onto the plain where the M-Bar Ranch sat, he felt that at last he could find the words he needed to say to Maxine, and the pain in his leg became the reminder of why he knew he would need to change.