Supernova EMP- The Complete Series

by Grace Hamilton

  They clip-clopped the horses into the yard, and Bobby the Collie ran around excitedly, barking happily and turning circles. “Oh man,” Josh said with a heavy heart as he saw the grave, and with that he dismounted stiffly from the horse.

  “I’m sorry,” Poppet said, jumping down beside him.

  “Leave the horses and come into the house,” a voice said from the ranch. Josh looked at the building. The windows were all closed and it was a hot day. The drapes were also drawn. The only sign of movement was Bobby, and he’d calmed down to the point that he was lying panting on the veranda. “Donald?” Josh called. “Is that you?”

  “Yes,” the voice called. “Just come in slowly. They’re watching us, and we don’t know what they’re going to do next.”

  “Who?”

  “Josh, just come to the door and we’ll let you in! But be prepared for trouble. We can’t come out to you.”

  Poppet looked at Josh. He spun and shielded his eyes against the sun. The plain looked empty, all the way to the foothills. There were no other horses on the road, and they hadn’t seen anyone for a day and a half.

  “Donald, I don’t understand—”

  “For God’s sakes, man, there’s nothing to understand! We can’t come out. They might have a sniper up on the ridge. We can’t come out to you, but you can come in to us. Please. Just get inside. The door is unlocked. Once you’re in, we can tell you what’s what.”

  “Okay,” Josh said, drawing his SIG and racking it just in case. “I’m coming in with my weapon out. Okay?”

  “Yes!” Donald hissed from behind one of the windows.

  “Are you sure about this?” Poppet whispered as she tied the horses to a fence and Josh limped forward.

  “No, I’m anything but sure, but that is Donald. I’ll go in first, but you hang back a couple of steps; if there’s a problem, I’ll say ‘come in, Mrs. Langolini’––you hear that, and you get the hell away from the windows, yeah?”

  Poppet nodded and took her pistol from the saddlebag on the horse.

  Josh limped up the steps to the front door, and Poppet wasn’t yet on the first step when Josh opened the door. It took him a second to make out Tally and Donald, two boys he didn’t know, and a fat man tied to a chair. He walked inside.

  “Tally,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion at the rush of seeing the daughter he’d thought he might never see again.

  Tally came quickly across the room and hugged her father. Poppet came in behind them, and the red-haired boy kicked the door shut behind her.

  “Don’t matter how many people you got now, Jefferson,” the fat man tied to the chair said, “you’ll be dead. Every goddamned one of you.”

  “Well, I dunno about you guys,” Poppet said behind Josh, “but chunky here needs to work on his chat-up lines, because I for one am not going home with that.”

  Josh and Tally stood in Storm’s bedroom as the events they had all lived through were shared. Josh’s heart was full of his children. To see them again, even though Storm was so ill, was the best feeling he could remember––he held Tally, and squeezed Storm’s hand. “Tic-tac,” Josh said, starting their ritual greeting that had grown up because four-year-old Storm couldn’t get the words tic-tac-toe in the correct order. It seemed a billion years since Josh had heard the requisite response––all those months ago out of the Sea-Hawk’s satellite radio apparatus.

  Storm didn’t reply.

  At least Tally had not rejected him––the supernova had wiped some slates clean, it seemed, but not all of them. But maybe Tic-tac wasn’t fully ready to forgive Josh for his part in the Standing family’s difficulties pre-supernova. Or maybe it was just his present condition. Storm was too ill to tell him his inner thoughts, but at least he didn’t stop Josh from holding his hand. Josh knew that both his children had found the difficulties between him and Maxine a challenge––how could they not? Tally had thrown herself into her free-running and climbing, and Storm into his athletics and studies, and then poured all his concentration into fighting his cancer while their parents’ marriage had just gone on disintegrating around them. There was no space in anything right now to fix any of it, especially with Maxine away from the M-Bar. But seeing his kids at last made Josh all the more determined to make the reparations he’d planned with Maxine and his kids once he knew everyone was safe.

  Back downstairs in the living area, the fat guy, Laurent, had been moved to the couch. Tally, who’d stayed a little longer with Storm after Josh had come downstairs, perched on the arm of the couch next to where Josh was sitting. Poppet, Greene, and Henry had turned dining room chairs around and sat on them. Donald thumbed his belt as he paced slowly, and Maria said his name every minute or so, the smile never once leaving her lips. It had been good to know the grave outside was just a decoy, but to find Maxine’s mother so changed and different from how he remembered her was a bitter pill to swallow. But there was no time to dwell on even the wonderful feeling of knowing his two children had managed to stay alive in all the chaos; all emotion was tempered by the fact that they were once again in mortal danger from the men working for Dale Creggan.

  The name was vaguely familiar to Josh, but he couldn’t place it until Donald explained about the bigshot bloodstock agent who was from Pickford. Josh had seen him interviewed a couple of times during coverage of the Kentucky Derby, his once a year chance to watch a horse race and put on a speculative bet. He’d never won, but half the fun came in trying.

  “If we give this guy back to them, you don’t think they’ll leave it at that?” Josh asked Donald.

  “No. They think Maria is infected by a disease, and by association, we are, too. They’ve killed everyone in Pickford who was sent crazy by the supernova, and this jumped-up kangaroo government Creggan has set up already knows about fatso being held here. I guess they’re just biding their time before Creggan gives the go-ahead to come for us.”

  Josh shook his head. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. “And Maxine is two days late already, coming back from fetching the doctor?”

  Donald nodded.

  “This is just perfect,” Josh muttered.

  “I tried to go in her place, Josh, but she wanted to do it for Storm all on her own. You know what she’s like with these kids.”

  “Why do you think they have a sniper up there? What have they shot?”

  “I was out yesterday morning feeding the cattle. They could have taken me easy, but they shot a calf through the head as it ate the grain from my hand. I guess that’s what they call a warning shot.”

  “You think they’re holding off because of this infection they think’s in the air here?”

  “That’s our guess,” Tally said. “Maybe Creggan’s having trouble drumming up enough men to come to the farm and expose themselves to what they think we have.”

  “We believe,” Henry continued, “that what they’d really prefer is for us to make like we’re leaving, pack up and move off… and that…”

  “Will make us easier to kill on the road,” Josh finished.

  Henry and the others nodded.

  Josh turned to Laurent. “So, now you know there’s no infection here, how do you feel about going back to your guys and telling them the truth?”

  Laurent laughed. “Wouldn’t do any good. Your father-in-law overstepped the actual law in these parts. Creggan will not stand for it. You’re all dead, infected or not. The only way to keep order is to ensure all disorder is dealt with fast and hard.”

  Josh had seen this kind of thing before on the outskirts of Savannah with Trace Parker. Rule with an iron fist and brook no dissent. Kill those with a different opinion.

  Was the malignant influence of the Harbormaster, whoever he was, extending this far? Was that mindset spread across America now? The whole world? Could it be that the proponents of it had also had their minds changed by the supernova, in a similar way as those who’d descended into a different kind of madness? Could those with a propensity for sociopathy have had t
he last of their social software reprogramed to act in this way? Not just becoming the killers they’d had the potential to be… but having their hunger for power set to maximum force, as well?

  Had the Barnard’s Star supernova set a fire beneath all forms of mental illness and desire for cruelty?

  Josh shook his head. “Well, there’s one thing we can’t do now…”

  “And that is?” Donald asked.

  “Wait for them to come kill us.”

  27

  It seemed that the people of Cumberland weren’t willing to be taken over by Carron and his men. On approach of the medical center, she saw the smoke billowing from barricades of burned-out cars that had been circled around the hospital to stop Carron and his men from escaping. Shots were being fired to and from the hospital. And she’d heard the shouting and the screams from the battle long before she saw any of the combatants on any side.

  There were fresh bodies bleeding in the street beside the burned-out Denny’s she’d passed on her last trip to the medical center to get drugs for Storm. It had been a fresh skirmish. All the guys who were dead were in uniform. They’d tried to get away from the road, but the small craters in the sidewalk showed that whoever they’d come up against had been armed with grenades and some pretty hefty machine guns. The twelve soldiers had been cut down before the first one had made it across the sidewalk.

  It had been a massacre.

  Before Maxine could survey the scene any further, something smashed into her back and a voice hissed at her as she was propelled forwards, “Do you want to get your head blown off? They’ve got sharp shooters on the roof, and they’re zeroing in on anyone they can pick off!”

  Rough hands pushed her into the wrecked door of the Denny’s. As Maxine turned, she saw a woman in black tactical gear, goggles, and helmet looking around the edge of the wall to scan the road approaching the medical center. “Weren’t you told to hang back until we finished the first assault? Why didn’t you guys come in on our signal and mop up anyone who got through the barricades? Just what we need, another hero who can’t follow orders…”

  The woman had black gloves and an MP5 cocked and ready to go. “I was just coming back to see if that lot over there,” she flicked a thumb towards the massacred troops, “had any more mags. You don’t have any, do you?”

  Maxine shook her head, not yet ready to form any words to find out what the hell was going on.

  “Darn it. I’ll have to get back to Clitheroe and his team; he’s got plenty of ammo to go around.”

  “Are you… are you the government?” Maxine asked, having at last found her voice.

  The woman laughed. “Hardly. Those cowards are all down in their shelters while we have to fend for ourselves… hey, wait, you really don’t know who we are or what we’re doing?”

  Maxine shook her head. “I’m new here myself.”

  “Krzysztof, Karel Krzysztof,” the woman said, holding out her hand. “Third Maryland Defenders. They call me captain—not because it’s my real rank, but because it’s easier to say or spell than Krzysztof.”

  “Defenders?”

  “Yeah. We’re the militia, baby, and we’ve come to liberate your town from the forces of evil.” Her face split in a wide grin. “That might be a bit of the Polish romantic in me, so take it with a pinch of salt, but we are here to liberate the city. Carron and the scum that follow him need to be dealt with. And me and the boys are here to do some dealing. Now, I don’t have all battle to stand here yakking, so either go back to the park where the other civilians are waiting or come with me to Clitheroe. Either way, you can’t stay here without getting full of holes.”

  “I don’t know where the park is, so I guess I’m coming with you.”

  “Suits me, lady. Two targets are more difficult to shoot than one. You just doubled my chances of getting back to the command post alive.”

  The command post was a block away from the hospital, situated in a school. The building was square, concrete, utilitarian… and coming under heavy fire from the roof of the medical center. Through the haze of smoke from the burning cars around the hospital, machine gun fire spat down from on high, chewing up the tarmac, cutting through trees, and slamming into the wall and front windows of the school.

  Karel led Maxine low and fast along a hedge, onto a covered walkway which ran to the back entrance of the Lincoln Memorial Elementary School. The front of the school looked like an amateur sculptor was trying to cut enough of the concrete away to leave a copy of the bust on Mount Rushmore. Whoever was firing wasn’t much of an artist, but he wasn’t letting that stop him.

  They ran along the walkway, heads kept down in case their shadows could be seen through the gray-scarred Plexiglas, and burst through a broken fire escape door that took them inside and down two corridors of students’ lockers to where the main school offices were situated. This far back in the school, all that could be heard was the occasional chatter of machine gun fire, and occasionally chunks of falling masonry.

  Clitheroe was a walrus of a man with a mustache and lamb chops that had fallen through a time warp from the 19th century. His fingers were pudgy as sausages, and his tactical vest was held in place by armored extender-straps. He was studying a schematic. The rest of the people in the room were a motley collection of shapes and sizes, men and women, all in black and armed to the teeth they had left in their head––some of them didn’t have very many. All were hanging on Clitheroe’s word like their lives depended on it. Perhaps they did. The one thing that screamed from the room, as far as Maxine was concerned, was that these guys were part-timers and preppers who’d taken it upon themselves to do something crazy. Take on an army unit holed up in a hospital.

  Clitheroe looked up. “What are you doing here, Captain? You’re supposed to be down on barricade four.”

  Karel held up her gun. “A group of Carron’s men came out of the medical center. Tried to break through. We got them all, but I saw this one.” She pointed at Maxine. “She looked like she was lost, and it turns out she was. I sent the men back to the barricade while I get her to safety.”

  “All very noble, Captain, but safety is the park. Not command and control. Are you sure she’s not a spy?”

  “Well, I’m sure I’m not a spy, Mr. Clitheroe, if that helps.”

  Clitheroe looked hard at Maxine, and after three or four seconds he broke out into a wide smile. “Give this woman a bigger gun. I like the cut of her J-I-B.”

  When Clitheroe had finished briefing his militia, Maxine asked to take him aside for just a moment, promising not to keep him long.

  “The main assault is about to begin, Mrs. Standing, I really don’t have the…”

  “Please. I have to get inside the hospital first…”

  “No.”

  “Please, listen. From what you said in your briefing, your guys are going to go in mob-handed and kill everything that moves… Carron, Jonstone, the lot of them.”

  “Yes, that would be about the size of it. Strength through superior firepower. We think there’s only about thirty or so of the deserters and mutineers in there. Carron is no general in the accepted sense; any army man who would use his own forces to feather his own nest, subjugating the people of Cumberland and stealing the food and medication from their mouths, doesn’t deserve to live in my book. We’re going to take him and his men out in a way that goes beyond extreme prejudice.”

  “Don’t you want to give them a chance to surrender?”

  “You think I haven’t? You think I want to risk my people like this? Of course, I offered them the opportunity to surrender. I could give you a pair of field glasses now and point you to the trees where he hung the bodies of the people I sent in there to broker the deal with him! Every man in there knows that if they come out here, they’re going to face the justice of the people of Cumberland, and that justice is going to be swift and final. And I don’t blame them for that. I didn’t set up and train this militia to sit on our backsides while Carron and his like are
left to do what they want. No, ma’am.”

  Maxine smiled. “I get all that, really I do, but I think there’s at least one person in that hospital who would be glad of a rescue.”

  Clitheroe listened impatiently while Maxine explained the reason for her journey, what had happened to Cynthia Banks, and her knowledge of where Doctor Lawrence Banks might be now.

  When she’d finished, Clitheroe sighed and smoothed both sides of his tobacco-stained mustache with his thumbs.

  He turned to the room. “Okay. Listen up, boys. We got a problem.”

  “I really don’t like the idea of you coming in there with us,” Karel said as they hunkered down fifty yards from the rear service entrance to the medical center.

  “You got any idea what Banks looks like?” Maxine replied.

  “Nope.”

  “Well, I had plenty of time to study a picture of him on the mantle of his cabin while his wife died at my side.”

  “You want to be careful around here, honey. Death is a communicable disease.”

  Karel, fifteen of her men, and Maxine were shielded from the windows at the back of the hospital by a five-foot-high concrete wall which, as the sun went down over Cumberland, provided cover as they approached from between the houses behind it.

  Gunfire could be heard from the front of the hospital as Clitheroe’s forces, instead of mounting a full assault, offered a distraction raid to draw what fire there was from the building. The thinking was that, as darkness fell, if they could make things very interesting at the front of the building, that would give Karel’s team a relatively clear run at the back.

  “I still don’t see why we couldn’t have gone with the original plan.”

  Maxine shook her head. “I’ve seen Carron in action. He’s not a logical actor. If he thinks he’s going to be overrun, surrender isn’t an option–– like your guys found out––he’ll kill Banks and anyone else he can. He won’t want a surgeon as useful as him to fall into your hands. He’ll kill him out of spite. He sentenced me to death for breathing in the wrong direction.”