Darkness Rises: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (After the EMP Book 3)

by Harley Tate

  “We’ll be there.”

  She headed back into the house and set the sugar on the counter before straining the pasta. A jar of spaghetti sauce on top and they had dinner. It was a far cry from what she usually made before the grid failed, but they were running low on food in the house. Soon they would either have to find another home to pillage or dip into the supplies they brought with them from Sacramento.

  Part of her still hated rummaging through other people’s things. What if they made it home and found their pantry empty? It could mean the difference between survival and starvation. But Tracy didn’t know what else to do. If they decided to stay in Truckee, they could start a farm. Raise some animals and grow some crops.

  They could become self-sufficient and no longer rely on the stores of others to keep going. Even if they didn’t stay with Brianna’s family forever, their food would last longer with two fewer mouths to feed.

  It wasn’t a happy thought. Tracy wished Tucker still sat next to her at the dining room table, joking with Madison about wacky science theories and explaining everything from radio waves to the earth’s gravitational pull.

  Even Drew had grown on her. In the moments when they were alone, he talked about his fiancée and how she loved to take walks through their downtown neighborhood and take photos of interesting architecture and street signs.

  The more he shared memories of Anne, the more Tracy regretted not knowing her. From Drew’s telling, she had a kind heart and an open mind. Her death was a preventable tragedy.

  Tracy shoved the thoughts aside. Dwelling on their absence wouldn’t help the current mission.

  Everyone filed into the room right on time; the smell of dinner called them like kids to an ice cream truck. Tracy scooped heaping servings of dinner onto five plates and handed them out one by one.

  Brianna took hers with a nod. The poor girl hadn’t spoken a word all day, content to sit at the table and listen to Walter come up with a plan while she loaded the precious remaining ammunition into their available firearms.

  Thanks to the shootout, they were down to the bare minimum. There would be no guns blazing and lighting up the night sky tonight.

  Every bullet had to count.

  After Tracy passed out all the plates, she sat down and picked up her glass. “To those of us who are no longer with us. Tonight we fight in their honor.”

  Everyone raised their glass, including Brianna, who snuffed back a wave of tears before taking a sip. They ate in silence, each one of them thinking over the events to come.

  Someone would be hurt, no doubt. Tracy couldn’t fathom going up against six armed men without some casualties. Her only hope was that at the end of it, the five of them would still be alive. She glanced at her husband. He seemed so strong and confident, but she saw the lines of pain etched across his forehead and the dark circles beneath his eyes.

  As the sun set, Walter pushed back his chair. “Is everyone comfortable with the plan?”

  Each person at the table nodded.

  “Good. Then we leave in half an hour. Everyone take a few minutes to prepare. This won’t be easy.”

  Tracy cleared the plates, focusing on the mundane task she could control, while Peyton ran quick warm-up sprints in the backyard. She watched him run up and down the driveway, jumping up at the end of each pass, his twenty-year-old energy limitless in comparison to her own.

  Brianna slipped out the back and from Tracy’s vantage point, she caught sight of her bent head at Tucker’s grave. At some point, Brianna would need to take time to grieve. But Tracy understood the need to push on and the need to fight.

  Walking away after Wanda died was understandable. They didn’t know who attacked the house that night. It could have been Bill like the man they captured claimed, some other member of the neighborhood seeking to hide his identity, or a stranger. But this time was different. They knew who killed Tucker and Drew and had a plan to stop them from ever hurting someone again.

  Tracy picked up the last glass and held it, emotions running strong inside her. Madison and her friends were so young. It pained Tracy to watch the last vestiges of their innocence die so quickly. She placed the glass on the counter and turned to face her husband. Walter sat at the table, wincing as he moved his wounded leg.

  The man could barely stand, but he insisted on coming tonight. He’d taken so many pain pills, Tracy wasn’t sure he’d even feel his wound opening back up. But if it got him through tonight, then so be it. They needed him.

  I need him.

  Tracy walked over and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Don’t you die on me tonight, old man.”

  Walter chuckled and patted her on the hand. “Likewise.” He twisted in his chair to face her. “I love you, Tracy.”

  “I love you, too, Walter.” Tracy bent to kiss her husband and lingered, her lips pressed against his until a throat clearing made her pull away.

  Peyton stood in the dining room, awkward and scratching his head. “Everything’s good to go.”

  Tracy smiled. “Thanks, Peyton.”

  “Want to help an old guy up?”

  Peyton came over and helped Walter to stand. “You can sit this one out, Mr. Sloane, really you can.”

  “No. My actions were as much to blame for Tucker and Drew’s death as anyone’s. I need to be there.”

  “I understand.” Peyton stepped back as Walter found his balance. He’d taken to using a cut down tree branch as a makeshift cane, propping himself up and taking the weight off his wounded leg. It didn’t leave him open to shoot, but once Walter got in position, he could fire a rifle.

  At least that was the plan.

  Tracy laced up her tennis shoes and checked the shotgun one more time. They would be approaching in two waves, Brianna and Madison in the lead with small caliber-handguns. Not the most lethal of weapons, but the quietest in their arsenal.

  Walter hoped with the hum of the generator, they could pick off any outside sentries before anyone inside even knew. The longer they could stay a secret, the better. Tracy and Peyton would follow with shotguns from the front. It was as good a plan as any, but still fraught with peril.

  With one final check of gear and weapons, everyone piled into the windshield-less Jetta. Although Brianna’s Jeep had four-wheel drive, hiding a canary-yellow vehicle wasn’t the easiest feat. They needed stealth over maneuverability.

  Peyton started the car and eased down the driveway, lights off. In the glow of the moon he could see just far enough to not hit anything major. As he coasted at five miles an hour, Tracy’s heart tried to keep up, pounding the rhythm to the tires as they rolled over the asphalt.

  Every block closer, her fear intensified, thrumming in her veins and jumping her fingers across the stock of her gun. She reminded herself why they were there in that moment: Tucker and Drew and the truck.

  Those were obvious. But then there were the unknowns: a weapons cache and another vehicle. Any animals still left at the farm. Food. Supplies. All the things stolen and looted by the men they aimed to kill.

  Peyton coasted the car into a driveway one block southwest from the house. He turned it off and turned in the seat. “Everyone ready?”

  “As ready as we’ll ever be.” Madison put her hand out in the middle and waited for everyone to add their own on top. “To Tucker and Drew.”

  Tracy waited for her daughter to exit the vehicle before following behind. Even with Walter’s slow gait, they closed the distance between the car and the house in minutes. Whatever happened next would mean the difference between life and death.

  She took up position behind the corner of a house two away. Madison and Brianna crept forward. Tracy prayed.

  When the first shot rang out, she sucked in a breath and advanced.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  MADISON

  316 Rosemont Avenue, Chico, CA

  8:00 p.m.

  Brianna took out the first guard with a single shot to the head. He crumpled like a stretched-out Slinky, each sec
tion of his body collapsing in on itself. Another guard rushed from the front, alerted by the sound.

  Brianna fired again. It hit him square in the chest but didn’t take him down. She fired again and he sagged to his knees. He opened his mouth, trying to shout and Madison took aim.

  He fell face-first into the dead grass before she got off a shot.

  Three bullets down. Not enough to go.

  Brianna motioned for her to come forward and Madison closed the distance between them. “I don’t think they heard from inside or they would be rushing out here.”

  “Let’s kill the generator and flush them out.”

  Brianna nodded and took up position beside the house, easing closer and closer to the portable generator sitting five feet from the back porch. As she bent to flip the switch, the back door swung open.

  “Hey! What the hell do you think…wait a minute! Boss!” Madison fired. The shot went wide, lodging into the siding behind his head. She cursed and fired again as he staggered back.

  The shot went high.

  With a half-full magazine to begin with, Madison only had five rounds left.

  As she took a deep breath and aimed again, a shot blasted out from the edge of the house behind her and the man fell to the ground. Madison turned. Her father leaned against the corner, rifle scope up to his eye.

  He waved her back.

  Madison fell into the shadows as another man appeared on the porch. Her father took him out with two shots to the chest.

  Four men dead on the ground around her. Two still inside.

  She knew it couldn’t be this easy.

  A volley of gunfire erupted from the window on the side of the first floor, shattering the glass in a million pieces and forcing Madison to fall to ground. She cowered in the weeds beside the house while her father returned fire.

  She wished he would conserve his ammunition. If he ran out, he would be unprotected and they would all be exposed.

  While she low-crawled for the safety of the neighbor’s porch, Peyton and her mom advanced from the front yard. Both held shotguns up and ready.

  As soon as her mother spotted her, she called out. “Are you all right?”

  Madison nodded. “There’s two men left. I think they’ve barricaded themselves in the house.”

  Her mother turned to the window. “Then we’ll have to flush them out.”

  Peyton stepped back to take cover and set his shotgun on the ground before pulling two orange blobs from his pockets. He lit a lighter and held it to two paper wicks. Before Madison could ask what on earth he was doing, Peyton lobbed the little rocks into the open window.

  In an instant, the room filled with smoke.

  She stared at him in shock. “You made smoke bombs?”

  He nodded. “Your dad and I did. Here,” he handed two more to Madison and the lighter. “Light them and throw them in from the other side. This should flush them out.”

  Madison did as he asked, lighting both wicks before sending the bombs flying into the house. They both landed with little thuds and even more smoke filled the first floor. It swept up the staircase, billowed around the ceiling and flooded the kitchen.

  In no time, they heard shouts and coughing.

  “Is it lethal?”

  Peyton shook his head. “No. But it can make your throat burn and your eyes water. I just hope they think the house is on fire and come running out.”

  Madison hoped the same, but as the minutes ticked by, her optimism faded. The men weren’t coming out.

  Her mother took a deep breath and let it out through her mouth. “Looks like we’ll have to go in after them.”

  She turned to Madison. “I love you, honey.”

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  Madison watched her mom climb in through the broken window with Peyton on her heels. Brianna followed behind him. From the distance, she couldn’t see her father, but she knew he would keep watch from his perch, ready to shoot anyone who came outside.

  With a deep breath, Madison eased her leg over the window sill and stepped into the house. Smoke still clouded the air, but with every second more and more dissipated into nothing.

  The house was one of those newer, long and narrow types, with a craftsman front and two floors. The kitchen opened to the living and dining rooms and Madison’s mother eased past the couch, gun trained on the space behind.

  She shook her head. Empty.

  In seconds they cleared the first floor. That left the upstairs. If it was anything like the house next door, Madison knew four bedrooms and just as many bathrooms waited. Without smoke to shield their entrance, clearing it would be difficult.

  Add in the low ammunition and Madison had to force her feet forward. Peyton and her mom took the lead, climbing the stairs one after the other, pausing at every opportunity. As soon as they reached the top landing, Peyton motioned Brianna and Madison forward.

  He took up position at the corner of the hall to act as sentry and last line of defense. If anyone tried to escape, Peyton would shoot them.

  Madison glanced up at Peyton as she passed. They had been through so much together in such a short time. She was thankful he came with her to Sacramento and now Chico and beyond. It would be lonely in this new world without him.

  The light from the moon outside barely made it into the hall and Madison squinted to see. Ten steps ahead, her mother twisted the door handle on the first room. She pushed the door open, using it as a shield as she held her shotgun at the ready. Brianna followed right behind.

  Madison headed toward the open master bedroom. It was her room to clear. With the light from the wide-open windows, she could see enough to tackle this room on her own. That had been the plan from the beginning. But it still shot a bolt of fear through her heart.

  She could turn back and wait, but what if someone in there was hatching a plan? What if they made it past her and down the hall? Her mother and Brianna would be exposed and it would be her fault. No, Madison chose this part of the mission. She would see it through.

  As she crept inside, she eased around a queen bed. It sat up high and memories of horror movies with the bad guy hiding underneath filled her mind. Madison kept to the shadows.

  Her heart thudded, loud and fast, and her ears rang in the stillness. Where are they? She couldn’t believe they would hide like rats and not come out and face them. After their big show at the farm and the attitude she witnessed the day before, they should be chomping at the bit to come do her in.

  She raised her gun and advanced.

  The second she stepped past the bed, she realized her mistake. The open double door didn’t hit the wall as she’d assumed, but blocked the entrance to the bathroom instead. Plenty of space for someone to hide.

  She spun around too late. The man hit her in the shoulder in an attempt to knock her gun free, but Madison had pulled it in tight to her chest as she entered the room. Her father had taught that a few days before. Always keep hold of your weapon.

  He came at her again, fists flailing, and Madison backed up. Her breath came in jagged gasps and she fired, not really aiming, just pointing and shooting and trying not to panic. The shot went wide.

  The man came at her again and she stumbled into the bed, banging her hip against the carved-wood footboard. A fist landed square on her midsection, knuckles slamming into her muscles and cracking ribs. All the air whooshed from her lungs.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  The gun wobbled in her shaky hands as she pointed and fired again. The man stumbled, the white of his shirt blooming where the bullet hit his shoulder. Madison fired again.

  He fell to his knees. Madison thought about Tucker and Drew and Wanda. When that first man broke into their house, she couldn’t kill him. That was the job for police and judges and juries. The justice system.

  Not a nineteen-year-old with a gun in her hand.

  But standing there, watching this stranger grip his chest as blood pumped from his heart to coat his fingers, she understood. Her fa
ther was right. She was the same girl as two weeks ago. She still believed in right and wrong. Service and humility. Perseverance and courage.

  But now there were no police. No lawyers. No jails.

  Bad people didn’t get locked up and fed three meals a day with enough free time to learn a foreign language and get a degree. The people who killed Mandy at the radio station and Wanda back home and this man who caused the deaths of Tucker and Drew…

  They couldn’t be the leaders of this new American frontier.

  A series of shots rang out from down the hall as the man in front of her slumped to the ground, his face landing hard on the beige carpet. A trickle of blood seeped from his lips, staining the twisted fibers beneath him, and Madison stared at him as his eyes turned vacant and hollow.

  She watched him die.

  At last, she turned away and searched the rest of the room, confirming that it stood empty. As she stood in front of the dead man thinking it all over, Peyton busted into the room.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, eyes never leaving the man in front of her. “You?”

  “Yes. Your mom and Brianna took care of the other man. The house is clear.”

  “Good.” Madison reached out and fished through the man’s pockets, searching for anything of value. A pair of keys, a lighter, and a small silver horseshoe. She ran her fingers over the horseshoe’s edges as she stood up. Luck might have served the man well before the power grid failed, but now, no amount of luck would see someone through.

  Peyton reached for her, wrapping his arms around her until she winced.

  “Watch the ribs.”

  “Sorry.” He reached up and stroked her hair, starting at the top of her head and easing down to her shoulders before starting over. “When that shot went off, I thought maybe…”

  Madison pulled back and searched Peyton’s face. The sound of fear in his voice brought doubt crashing in. “We did the right thing, didn’t we? Coming here and killing these men?”

  His eyebrows dipped low, but Peyton nodded. “They took our truck and all of our gas. They killed two of our own. If we didn’t stop them, they would do it to someone else. Besides, now we can go back to the farm and see if we can track down any animals.”