Dark New World (Book 1): Dark New World

by Henry G. Foster

  “Oh, well, come on and sit down, dearie! Of course you can swap with us. I’m sure you’re tired of rabbit by now, and we got a mess of fresh fish and turkey. You just come sit by me and Mary over there, okay?” She turned to Tiffany and continued, “Be a dear and get the pan, and a couple of fish, would you please? I’ll wash your dishes tonight.”

  Tiffany smiled, her round cheeks flushing, and she went off toward the supplies. The other adults moved their rifles out of the way and leaned them against the nearest tent, then sat around the fire, and everyone began talking at once. Jaz worked to win over the women, while the wives surrounded her so the men couldn’t be near her. Frank watched the display with a wry smile.

  Of course, no one knew anything solid about what caused the grid to collapse, and the conversation fell to speculation. This went on all through the light meal of fish and rabbit. Sometime during the conversation, Michael’s five-year-old son, Nick, crawled into Jaz’s lap and began to doze. Abruptly, Jaz’s smile was gone and she snapped her mouth closed so hard they could hear it.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?” asked Amber warily.

  Jaz looked about ready to cry. “Nothing... It’s just that you guys have such nice kids, and you know, you’re all being so nice to me. I’m not used to that. I grew up on my own, and y’know, peeps just aren’t that nice to each other where I’m from.”

  Frank’s scalp tickled, and his mind raced. What did she just say? Then it clicked in his mind. “Jaz, I thought you were going to Philly to get to your dad.”

  “Oh hush, Frank,” said his wife, Mary. “Not everyone has a great home life like we did, but that doesn’t mean she has no father. Right, sweetie?” Although she sounded innocent as pie, Frank caught the note of alarm in his wife’s voice. He’d known her long enough to know when her intuition was telling her something she didn’t want to hear. He glanced at the rifles, and saw Jed doing the same.

  * * *

  Jaz wouldn’t look them in the eyes. Of course she had lied to them, but then she had gone and let her guard down. They were nice people, but it was still a mistake. She opened her mouth to lie, smiling, but then thought better of it. This wasn’t a time to smile. Right-O, time to cowboy up.

  “Listen, peeps, I really am going to Philly, but my dad’s not there. I don’t have a dad anymore. Most people look at you funny if you say that, so I lied. But the truth is worse. I got snatched up by some hickerbillies and they want your stuff. They sent me in here to get you to trust me. Tonight I was supposed to signal them, and they’d sneak in and take your stuff.”

  Amber growled at her, interrupting, “You did what? You little bitch, I’ll-“

  Jaz cut her off, raising her voice over Amber’s low growl. “Listen to me. I can’t do it. I don’t want anything to happen to your kids, or you peeps. There’s only three of ‘em, and there’s six of you. You got guns, too. Maybe we can, I don’t know, trick them somehow?” It felt good doing the right thing, and Jaz smiled brightly for once, eager at the thought of turning it around on those stupid rednecks. “Yeah, and maybe I can join you guys? We can take their stuff, for once, and then just bounce out. Please,” she begged.

  Amber paused, and then she grinned, too, and for the first time in years Jaz saw light at the end of the tunnel.

  * * *

  Frank froze, and a shiver ran from the base of his spine up to his scalp. This girl had come to harm his family, but then warned them. Obviously she couldn’t be trusted, yet she was the only one who knew where the three gunmen were and what their plan was. He frowned as he realized his options were limited. “Okay, then. How were you to signal them, and what was their plan? Time for straight talk, girl. You’re in it with us now, so lay it out.”

  Jaz nodded. “Well, after everyone went to sleep I was to come back out and get the fire going. If anyone asked, I was to say I couldn’t sleep. They will come creeping after they see the fire, and blast everyone in the tents while they slept.”

  “And if we hadn’t let you in, what would have happened then?”

  “Plan B. They circle the camp and snipe the men first, then the women.”

  Frank saw Mary’s face scrunch up in a frown. He hated it when his wife made that face—her plump, rosy cheeks were made for smiling. “Not to worry, then. We’ll go along with the plan. You’ll light the fire, Jaz, but when they come into the tents they’ll find three of us armed and waiting in each tent, rather than the sleeping sheep they were looking for. It’s the best I can come up with.”

  Michael nodded slowly. “Yeah... It’ll work. Has to work. One change, though. These guys are POGs—they have no experience that I can see. Their plan is wonky and lazy. So, I’ll go outside the wire and wait for ‘em. When they creep in I’ll hit any targets of opportunity I see, and take out any runners. With any luck they’ll be FUGAZI in seconds.”

  “Fugazee?” repeated Frank questioningly.

  “Yeah, fucked up, got ambushed, zipped in. Dead.”

  Frank shook his head with a grin. “Michael, you don’t say a lot, but when you do talk you still don’t say a lot. Too many tours, friend. So in English, you’ll sneak out Ranger-style and shoot the bastards from another direction. Yes?”

  Michael smirked. “More or less.”

  “Okay then. Michael, get us set up in the tents, and assign some guns. Don’t worry about who owns what—we’ll worry about that in the morning.” He stood, stretched, and they set about getting ready for an eventful night.

  * * *

  SSgt Taggart watched as the lead vehicles darted in and out of the dead cars along Goshen Road north of Edgemont, PA. He hated taking these side roads, but the Lt. had decided it best not to go through West Chester, so they bypassed it and were now heading east along a rural road toward Highway 252, then to the 30, then north on I476. Bah.

  The soldier next to him who was driving said, “I sure hope the Lt. knows what he’s doing, taking us on these middle of nowhere roads.”

  Taggart inwardly grinned, but forced his face into a mask of displeasure. “Lock it up, Spec. If he says we take these roads, we do it. And make no mistake, Lt. Dunham is no 90-day-wonder fresh from whatever petri dish breeds Butter Bars. He did a tour you don’t have ribbon for, and has the salad to prove it.”

  In fact, Taggart thought, Dunham had lots of “salad”, or ribbons and medals, and he was smart. Smart enough to query Taggart on a lot of things, yet tough enough to make his own decisions afterward. That being the case, Taggart was content to follow orders, not that he would ever refuse ‘em.

  He made a mental note to do the rounds among the men that night—the soldiers, he corrected himself—to bolster morale, or at least to enforce a bit of respect for the rank structure around here. A public chat with the Lt. about his tour in the Sandbox ought to do just fine.

  SSgt Taggart’s thoughts were interrupted when the vehicle in front of them slammed on its brakes, forcing his Hummer to an abrupt halt, as well. Even before they came to a full stop, he jumped out of the vehicle with his rifle and raced ahead, followed by every man and woman in the unit. He looked around as he went to make sure the soldiers fanned out and moved by pairs, just like they’d trained, but he needn’t have worried.

  He brought his attention back to the scene ahead as he ran between cars and stopped Hummers, until he reached the lead vehicle. Just ahead of that, he saw soldiers standing over a woman lying on the roadway, pointing their rifles at her and commanding her to roll over. He let them get her into a safe position out of the roadway and on her belly, arms out with palms up, before inserting himself into the scene.

  “What’s the SITREP?” he barked as he walked casually up to the soldiers.

  “Single civilian female nearly got her ticket punched by a Hummer, Sarge. She was walking in the middle of the road as we came barreling through. No collision, she jumped out of the way in time.”

  Taggart looked more closely at the civilian. She was in her early 30s, brunette with shoulder-length hair in a ponytail. She w
as attractive enough, average height, and looked more fit than most civilians. She wore loose-fitting brown canvas pants, hiking boots, a black tee shirt under an unbuttoned blue flannel, with a gray a zip-up hoodie tied around her waist. Utterly sensible.

  He spent about half a minute patting her down, and easily found her revolver and knife, which he handed to a soldier. Then, “Alright, Ma’am. You can get up now. Are you injured?”

  The woman stood, looking a bit shaky, and dusted herself off. “Thank you, sir. I’m not injured, just embarrassed. What the hell are you guys doing out here? I could have been killed,” she demanded, face carefully blank.

  “I’m SSgt. Taggart, Ma’am. I’m glad you’re okay. You shouldn’t be out here alone. Things are getting... dicey out there, already.” Turning to a solder, he said, “Get the lady some coffee and a bite.”

  “I’m Cassandra,” she replied. “Thanks, I could use a cup ‘o Joe. And things being dicey is the reason I’m out here, instead of on the main roads. I’m headed to Chesterbrook to get my kids and my mom, then heading out towards Lancaster. I have property north of there.” She grinned, and said, “Satisfied?”

  Taggart nodded. “ Soldier, spread the word—chow time.” He turned back to Cassy. “Cassandra, let’s get some real food in you and talk about what’s out there.” Because he’d be damned if he’d pass up a chance for some intel about what they were headed toward.

  * * *

  Cassy was more than happy to tell them everything she knew. She even pointed out on the map everything she could think of, and though most of it had to be useless to the soldiers, their sergeant nodded at each thing she said and took careful notes. After a half hour she’d told them all she knew, between bites of MREs. Then she said, “So, your turn. What the hell is going on out there?”

  SSgt. Taggart frowned at her. “A lot I can’t tell you, and a lot we don’t know. The short version of what we do know and can share is this: One or more EMPs fried everything electronic in North America, and New York City is going to be attacked, if it hasn’t been already. We had a handful of Humvees that are older, and had been shielded against EMPs, and our orders are to get to New York ASAP. Small units are Sneaky Pete into the city from all over the East Coast region. We have some shielded radios, but the range is short so we are out of touch until we get closer. Meaning, I don’t have a lot of actual knowledge about the country’s SITREP.”

  Which also meant, Cassy noted to herself, that these soldiers got orders to move out before the lights went out... Interesting, and scary. She fought to keep her face expressionless.

  “Anyway,” Taggart continued, “Lancaster’s FUBAR. Avoid it if you can, when you get your family. But Ma’am, there’s the same situation in every city we’ve been through. I don’t feel right about leaving you out here. There might be a refugee camp between here and New York, if you want to come with us. Get a ride, get to safety. They might even be able to send someone out to get your family.”

  Cassy didn’t think that was very likely. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m getting to my family first, then we’ll decide what to do, together.”

  Taggart shrugged. “Can’t say I blame you. But help a poor soldier sleep at night, and promise me you’ll stay off the damn roads from now on. Even if you don’t get run over, there’s a lot of people wandering around following these roads, hoping one place is better than the last. They’re hungry, and desperate. Get me?”

  She did, and finished eating while the sergeant got his soldiers ready. Ten minutes later, the unit of soldiers was prepared to move on. Cassy thanked them for the four MREs and two full canteens they’d given her along with her pistol back, and waved as they left. She watched them go, and wondered if she’d made the right decision. Could she actually get to her family? Would they all then get to her homestead in time, even if she did find them in all this mess? No right answers, only decisions. She sighed, and shrugged her shoulders as she turned to continue on in the opposite direction as the soldiers.

  But then she froze. There was a faint roar that she could barely make out. As she paused to listen, however, the roaring got louder and it dawned on her that what she heard was a jet engine. She looked up hoping to see an airliner, but then realized the long odds on that happening. A thrill went up her spine as she realized it had to be military aircraft. Yeah, now Uncle Sam had some tools to throw at the Big Apple, she thought excitedly.

  Three jets, clearly fighter craft, streaked overhead at a pretty good height, but were going fairly slowly following a course roughly parallel to the roadway. Two of the jets continued onward, but one banked steeply to the right. Following it with her eyes, Cass caught sight of the soldiers. They frantically drove the Humvees right into the road’s shoulders, and she could see even from that distance that they scrambled out of the vehicles and to scatter along the sides of the road in the foliage. In seconds she could not see one soldier. It occurred to her that she ought to follow their lead, and sprinted off the road, sliding into cover behind a thick bush. But why would they hide from their own planes?

  The question was quickly answered. As the lone jet turned around she could see that it looked nothing like any American fighter she had seen. The angles were wrong, the coloration was wrong. She couldn’t see the “logo” on it, but it was definitely not the American star.

  Cassy watched with horror as the fighter screamed inbound, low and menacing, and she heard a distinct buzzing noise. Several of the dead cars on the road, along with two Hummers, exploded into bright balls of fire rising into the air, and she realized the fighter had used its guns to strafe the roadway. Once it flew past the carnage it banked steeply, and in moments it faded into the distance, no doubt on its way to catch up to the other two.

  As the soldiers arose from their hiding places, she heard faint shouting, and the soldiers were a hornet’s nest of activity. Unsure whether the plane would return, and with no skills to help the soldiers, Cassy decided it was time to get the hell out of there. And, by God, she would stay off the damned roads.

  - 17 -

  1200 HOURS - ZERO DAY +3

  MANDY STOOD IN the kitchen with her grandchildren, Brianna and Aidan, staring at the pantry. All that remained were three cans of chili, a can of corn, and two English muffins. Once those were gone they would all be down to flour, cornmeal and vinegar. She fought back tears, and muttered, “I should have gone shopping before you got here. I knew I shouldn’t have waited until tomorrow. There was no tomorrow...”

  “Yeah, probably should have,” said Brianna, a frown etched on her face. “I don’t want chili, grandma.”

  Aidan slipped his arm around Mandy’s hip, as high as he could comfortably reach, Mandy knew. “It’s okay, Grandma. You aren’t psychotic.”

  “Psychic, dear. I’m not psychic.”

  “Oh yeah,” said Aidan. “Well, you’re not psychotic either.”

  Brianna let out a heavy sigh. “Shut up, butthead.”

  Mandy had to chuckle despite herself. “You two kids, what will I do with you,” she grinned.

  Then she, too, let out a sigh as she looked at the cans of chili. She was with Brianna on this one—chili was not her favorite. She mostly bought it for Aidan, who could eat the stuff twice a day and three times on Sunday. She suspected he just wanted gas, to bother Brianna. Those two kids...

  “Well, lunch today is whole-kernel golden corn in a Roux reduction plated over Muffin du English,” Mandy said, and the kids groaned.

  “God, Grandma,” said Brianna as she rolled her eyes, “don’t try to French it up, it’s corn and flour over stale muffins.”

  Aidan said in a breathless whisper, “I wish mom was here.”

  And Mandy could only agree, though she didn’t respond. Instead, she reached for the flour.

  After lunch, Mandy was still hungry. She knew the grandkids had to be hungry as well, but there was nothing for it. They had to make it last until Cassy got there, and that was that. Hungry times were ahead for everyone, she knew.


  She looked around the table at the kids. Brianna had her elbows on the table—and Mandy let it slide—with her face in her hands, and none of her usual banter. Aidan, hands in his lap, slouched over the table, plate inches from his face. Altogether, Mandy thought, it was a melancholy scene.

  Aidan finally spoke. “Grandma, are we gonna starve? I don’t want to starve. I’ve never been sooo hungry.” He hadn’t moved from his perch over his plate.

  Brianna let out a quiet sob, and Mandy realized her granddaughter was crying into her hands, trying to hide her tears. God be merciful, but it was time to buck up, Mandy decided. Fake it til you make it, her daughter would say, and she could almost hear Cassy’s voice as the thought went through her mind.

  “That’s it. Stop this, kids. We are not going to die. Your mom is on her way, and you both know she can find food enough for everyone. We may be hungry, and we may hate what little we do eat, but we aren’t going to starve. In fact, Aidan—I want you to go up to the attic and look for anything useful. Wire, fishing line, anything. Check every box. We’re going to do this ourselves, until your mother gets here.”

  Mandy said it with gusto, resounding with confidence. But it was confidence she didn’t feel. It would just give the boy something to do to feel useful, to feel like they were doing something about the situation. Brianna needed that too, she knew. So she continued, “Bri, I have a special task for you. I want you to go into the yard, and get out to the shed. Find hammers, hatchets, knives. There’s a tent out there, and sleeping bags; get those, too. And fetch the tackle box out of there.”

  Brianna lifted her head at last, and put on a half-hearted smile. “Okay, grandma. Got a plan?”

  “I sure do, kids. It may not be a great plan, but it’s something, at least. Now get going, and accomplish the mission!”