by Harley Tate
Guess my aim wasn’t perfect that time.
Walter looked him over. “Where’s your knife?”
The kid couldn’t have been older than twenty, the gunshot screwing up his boyish looks into a mask of pain. “I-I don’t know. I must have dropped it.”
“Is there anyone else in the building?”
“Just Trip, and you shot him already!”
Walter had the feeling the kid was telling the truth, but he couldn’t be sure. Now, he could never be sure about anything. Another ten guys could be hiding around the corner. They could have his daughter already. They could be…
He shook off the spiraling fears and stepped closer. “Are you sure there’s no one else here?”
“I’m not lying.”
“How do I know that? You attacked us for no reason.”
The kid’s mouth screwed up into a tight, little pucker. “This is our place. We were here first.”
Walter lifted his gun and the light, blinding the kid with the beam as he stepped closer.
With the toe of his shoe, Walter kicked the kid’s hand out of the way before finding the entry point of the bullet. A through-and-through. He’d live. Even after a little coercion.
Walter shoved the toe of his shoe into the wound and the kid screamed. “Tell me the truth. Is there anyone else in here?”
“No!”
Walter pressed harder. Tears leaked out of the corners of the kid’s eyes and he shook his head back and forth.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! I’m sure! It’s just us! Ahhh, that hurts!”
“What’s your name?”
“R-Robert.”
“Your full name.”
“Robert… ungh… Robert Duncan Jackson.”
“Where do your parents live, Robert?”
The kid hesitated and Walter dug his toe in a bit deeper.
“At 837 Linecaster Road. Modesto.”
As Walter kept the pressure on, the kid devolved into whimpering and sobbing. If the college student been lying, he would have owned up to it by now. At last, Walter eased back and the kid rolled onto his side, clutching his wounded arm and groaning.
“If you ever attempt to come after me or my family, I’ll hunt down your parents and kill them. Slowly. Do you understand?”
Robert nodded. “Y-Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Walter shifted the grip on the handgun and leaned over the kid. “Now go to sleep.”
As the butt of the gun made contact with Robert’s head, a voice he recognized called out.
“Dad? Dad are you in here?”
DAY NINE
CHAPTER EIGHT
MADISON
863 Dewberry Lane, Chico, CA
8:00 a.m.
The flashlight beam bounced across the rear wall and Madison froze. Her father leaned over a heap of a person on the floor, hand pulled back, gun drawn. His jaw ticked and Madison let out a shout. “Dad, no!”
Madison landed hard on the wood floor, sliding right off the dining room chair as she jolted herself awake. Every time she fell asleep, the same dream replayed in her head: her father taking the student health center by storm.
As soon as they heard the first gunshot, Brianna jumped over the railing, grabbed a rock, and smashed the side window. But even then, they had taken too long.
Madison glanced over the back of the couch at Peyton, still groggy and discombobulated in a living room chair. The side of his head swelled like a lumpy pumpkin left too long on one side. But despite the nasty bruise and clotting wound, he was lucky. Had the impact been to his temple and not a few inches higher, he would be lying on the floor of the student health center, cold and dead.
Somewhere inside, she knew her father did what he thought was necessary, but she still wondered. If they hadn’t walked into the pharmacy right then, would he have killed that kid?
The sound of stairs creaking caught her ear and Madison turned to see her mom round the corner with a tired smile. “Good morning, honey. Did you sleep all right?”
Madison nodded and tried to shake off her concerns. “I took the early morning shift so Brianna could sleep. She’s in the back bedroom.”
Much larger than her parents’ bungalow, the house they temporarily called camp held a living room and dining room open to the kitchen, and a study, bedroom, and bathroom on the first floor. With four more bedrooms upstairs it was a veritable mansion.
Her mom pulled out a dining room chair and sat down across from Madison. She motioned to Drew and Peyton. “How did they do in the night?”
“Fine. Drew seems a bit better. That IV is working.”
Her mom leaned over to catch a glance. “Still not empty?”
“This one is just fluid. He took the antibiotic hours ago.”
“What about Peyton?”
“His wound looks good. I don’t think he needs stitches.” Madison pulled a leg up and tucked it underneath her as she thought about the night before. “How’s your hand?”
“Better. The burn ointment you found is helping and the antibiotics already seem to be working. The worst area is oozing less this morning.”
Madison glanced at the stacks of medicine lined up on the counter. “How did Dad know what types of medicine to grab?”
Her mom shrugged. “We’ve both taken some advanced CPR and first aid classes over the years. When we were backpacking a lot, he even took some wilderness EMT courses.” She moved to the end of the table and picked up the first box. “This is Moxifloxacin, it’s a good all-around antibacterial agent. It’s effective against everything from Staph to pneumonia to tuberculosis. It might even work against MRSA.”
Madison shook her head. “I’ve never even heard of it. How do you know so much about it?”
Her mom smiled. “I have a lot of free time at the library.”
“So you read medical guides?”
“Sort of. When we took that week-long trip to Alaska, I read up on everything from bear safety to emergency medicine. I wanted to take a solid emergency medical kit with us, since we were airlifted in all by ourselves. A lot can happen in the two days it could have taken a ranger to find us.”
Madison exhaled. She felt like such a novice compared to everyone around her. Brianna knew her way around weapons like they were place settings, and Tucker could explain everything from solar weather to how the internet might come back soon. Her dad could fly and shoot anything. And her mom was a walking repository of key information.
What could she possibly hope to contribute to their new way of life? When it came down to it, she couldn’t even make the hard choices.
“What is it, honey?”
She glanced up at her mom. Even with greasy hair and no makeup, her mom was so beautiful. Pale skin, blue eyes, hair only a little bit gray. Every wrinkle was a reminder of all her mom’s life experience. All of her skills and knowledge.
Madison glanced down at the table and ran her fingers over the grain in the wood. “I feel so unprepared for all of this. Like I’ve been living in some fantasy land my whole life and I’ve just woken up.”
A knot in the table top caught her fingernail and Madison traced its warbled circle around and around until she hit the center. “I should have done more. Learned more. Instead I goofed off and had fun.” Her eyebrows tucked in as she shoved her nail into the wood. “I’m weak.”
Her mom’s good hand landed on top of her own, the hardened bumps of new calluses pressing into her skin. “You are no such thing. Look at all that you’ve accomplished in such a short time. You made it all the way from school to home. You helped us save as much as we could from the house.”
With a squeeze of her hand, her mom paused. “Most importantly, you’re alive. That’s what matters the most. We’ve all come from different places and seen and experienced different things.”
Madison sniffed. “I could have tried harder.”
“Think about all the things you do know. Eventually all the running will stop. We’ll find a place to settle down
and thanks to you and Peyton, we’ll be able to grow vegetables and fruit, and maybe even raise some animals.”
“You really think so?”
“Right now is just a time of transition. At some point, everything will stabilize. It has to.”
Madison swallowed. “What if it doesn’t? What if this right here is as good as it gets?”
Her mom pulled back, her fingers trailing across the wood like a receding tide of warmth and hope. “Then we fight. We’re not giving up, Madison. No matter how hard it gets, we’re going to make it.”
Madison leaned back and pulled her limp, grimy hair off her face. It had been so long since she’d washed it; she’d become accustomed to the thick texture of dirt and oil all mixed together.
She thought about all the things she took for granted before and now lived without: showers, hot food, a bed, a home. Stability and safety. The genuine goodness of her fellow man.
“Do you think there are other people like us out there?”
“What do you mean?”
Madison tried to put her swirling thoughts into words. “Normal people. Not the ones who instantly think about robbing and stealing or the ones sitting on their hands waiting for someone else to help them. But people like us, trying to survive the best way we can.”
“Yes.” Her mom’s eyes lit with an intensity when she spoke that Madison couldn’t help but believe her. “I do. Of course when times get tough, some people revert to their baser instincts and some just give up. But there are plenty of good people out there in this country who see the loss of power as a temporary hardship. People who will survive without losing sight of what makes us human.”
Her mom reached back out and patted Madison’s hand. “People just like us.”
Madison stared at their hands, one wrinkled but strong, the other smooth and unsure. “What if people like us don’t make it? What do we do then?”
“We make the best of it.” Her mom pushed back her chair and motioned toward the kitchen. “I checked last night and the gas is still running for the stove. How about we find the pantry and see if we can’t make some drop biscuits? I could go for some fresh-cooked food.”
Madison glanced around her. “We’re already using the house. You don’t feel bad about eating the food?”
“The couple who lives here is in New York. I found their itinerary in the study. I don’t think they’ll be making it back here, honey.”
Madison thought about all of her friends who were trapped in the same situation. How many were in Mexico right now on a beach with no means to connect to back home? Did they even know about the blackout? Had the EMP hit Cancun as hard as it hit the United States?
She shook her head to clear it. Wondering about the what-ifs would get her nowhere. They detoured to Chico for a reason. She glanced up at her mom. “What about the girl at the radio station?”
“If she’s stuck inside that building, she’ll still be there in a few hours. But we need to eat, rest, and come up with a plan of attack. We need to do this smart, not fast.”
Madison pressed her lips together to keep from frowning. Part of her wanted to rush over there and break the doors down without wasting another minute, but one glance at Peyton and Drew and she knew her mother was right. They needed to be strong. Ready.
She stood up and followed her mother into the kitchen. If they could feed everyone and come up with a better plan than the one from the night before, maybe her father wouldn’t have to shoulder the heaviest load.
Her mom opened the cabinet doors and let out a little yelp of satisfaction. An unopened jug of Shake ’n Pour Bisquick sat on the shelf next to the salt and baking soda. She held it up with a triumphant smile. “Forget biscuits. We’re having pancakes.”
“Do you think we can spare the water?”
Her mother nodded. “There’s a fifty-gallon water heater in the utility closet. I’m pretty sure the people who live here left for spring break before the grid failed. If so, that means it’s probably full.”
Her mom’s blue eyes sparkled in the morning light. “We have enough water for pancakes, coffee, and if we can fill the bathtub—”
Madison’s heart almost skipped a beat. “We can get clean?”
“And if we’re lucky, use the gray water to wash some clothes.”
Madison opened up the next cabinet and pulled down a glass bowl. Her mother was right. Pancakes, a bath, and clean clothes would do more to improve their moods than any rushed plan of attack. They could take a few hours to rest and recover and monitor Drew and Peyton. The radio station wasn’t going anywhere.
She set the bowl on the counter with a smile. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get cooking.”
CHAPTER NINE
TRACY
863 Dewberry Lane, Chico, CA
12:00 p.m.
The sound of laughter brought a stillness to Tracy’s insides. A certain calm came from a morning spent in normalcy—washing clothes, cooking breakfast, enjoying good company. It was fleeting. The sun would advance across the sky, the evening would come on, and darkness would descend like a thick wool blanket.
Gone were the streaks of green and blue that lit up the night for the first few days after the solar storm. In their place, darkness reigned.
In the abstract, she could handle the lack of power. They had camped in remote enough places that the absence of artificial light didn’t bother her. But nothing could prepare them for the threat the darkness brought.
Fear. Dread. A sweat-slicked anticipation that someone out there in the night wanted to do them harm. After the fire, Tracy wasn’t sure she would ever sleep soundly again.
“Had I known how many beans we’d eat after the apocalypse, I would have spent some more time learning how to cook them.” Madison sighed as she held up two cans. “Green beans or peas?”
Brianna groaned. “Have you ever smelled a canned pea? It’s like a combination of vomit and rotting garden.”
“Well now that you’ve won me over, peas it is!” Tucker snatched the can of peas from Madison’s hand and tossed it back and forth as he walked over to the kitchen counter.
“I’m warning you Tucker, your breakfast will come right back up if you open that.” Brianna stood in the door of the pantry, hands on her hips as she stared at her boyfriend.
Tracy held in her laugh. Watching Tucker and Brianna give each other grief reminded her of the past, when Walter was a young college student out to win her over, and she was too focused on learning to give him the time of day.
She smiled and caught her husband’s eye. “Do you remember that time you tried to cook me dinner?”
His eyes lit up. “Which one?”
“You know. In Albuquerque.”
Walter held up his hands. “In my defense, I had no idea bell peppers were hollow.”
“You’re joking.” Madison turned to her parents and looked first at her dad and then Tracy. “Right, Mom?”
Tracy let a small laugh escape. “Not a chance. Before he met me, your father wasn’t much for cooking.” She walked over and slipped an arm around his middle. “But he still makes a mean PB&J, all these years later.”
He leaned in and kissed Tracy’s temple. “It’s the cinnamon raisin bread. That’s the secret.”
“Aww, man. People really eat these?” A can clattered onto the counter and Tucker staggered back, clutching his midsection and his nose at the same time.
Brianna smiled in triumph. “Told you so.”
“Hey, don’t knock the canned peas. If we don’t find a place to settle down and start a homestead, that might be the closest thing to a vegetable we’re going to get.” Walter stepped forward and grabbed the can, inhaling deep as he stuck his nose into the open top. “Not as bad as tray-rat sausage. You want to smell foul? That would be it.”
“The more you talk about the Marine Corps, Mr. Sloane, the happier I am I never enlisted.”
Walter shrugged. “It wasn’t all bad. I can fly a Hornet at Mach 1.8.” His smile fell and
he sagged a bit against the counter. “At least I could before.”
A hush fell over everyone as the reminder of their future killed the good mood. Tracy held her hand out for the can. “There’s a couple cans of tuna and some mayo in the pantry. You’ll never taste the peas when I mix it all up.”
Her husband nodded. “Madison, can you check the garage for any more supplies? Sometimes people store their extra shelf-stable stuff out there. Brianna, there’s a half a case of bottled water in the pantry. We can drink it. Tucker, can you search for a portable radio? If there’s one around here somewhere, we can check on the girl broadcasting and see if she’s still there.”
Everyone dispersed and Walter smiled at his wife. “How are you?”
“Better. The medicine you found is working. My hand only hurts once in a while now.”
“Good.” He stepped closer and dropped his voice. “If we go after that girl, you’ll have to stay here, you know that, right?”
Tracy hesitated. Deep down, she did, but it still stung. “Someone has to watch Peyton and Drew, and I suppose it should be me.”
“You’re the only one who can’t use both her hands.” Walter took her injured hand in his and turned it palm up. The worst of the wounds stopped weeping that morning, but the skin still refused to scab. “It will be dangerous. Worse than the student health center.”
“About that—” Tracy still hadn’t convinced Walter to open up about what happened there. From the blood on his clothes and the haunted look in his eye, she guessed he’d made some tough choices.
“We can talk about it later. Suffice it to say, we’re lucky no one died.”
“You mean not one of us.” Brianna strode back into the room, an open case of water in her hands.
Her husband didn’t answer and Tracy’s eyes went wide. “Is she right, Walt? Did you have to kill someone?”
He glanced at Brianna. “How did you know?”
