Aftermath (Book 1): Aftermath

by Donovan, J. S.

  Aftermath: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction- Book 1

  J.S Donovan

  Contents

  Prequel- Aftermath Book 0

  1. One Hundred and Fifty Miles

  2. Icy Tombs

  3. The Trade

  4. Gatekeeper

  5. Assignment

  6. Runner

  7. Down Under

  8. Pyre

  9. Tracker

  10. The Bell’s Toll

  11. The Stand

  About the Author

  Copyright 2018 All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means without prior written permission, except for brief excerpts in reviews or analysis.

  Created with Vellum

  Prequel- Aftermath Book 0

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  In a flash, an EMP blast disables North America’s entire east coast. Separated from her husband and daughter, thirty-nine-year-old psychologist Naomi Baxter finds herself trapped on the streets of Philadelphia. The brutal February cold gnaws at her skin as she strives to reunite with her family. Having a keen understanding of the human condition, Naomi knows that she must find her daughter before anarchy consumes the city.

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  1

  One Hundred and Fifty Miles

  ** *The Free prequel is available in the front matter and TOC of this book***

  Eyes bloodshot and heart racing, thirty-nine-year-old psychologist Naomi Baxter drove against torrents of snow. Bullet holes peppered the fender of her husband’s bulky 1983 Land Rover. The diesel engine crackled and popped. Warm air surged from the heater.

  Naomi’s forty-two-year-old husband, Calvin, rode shotgun. His short, usually well-groomed hair was disheveled. A crack ruptured the right frame of his stylish horn-rimmed glasses. He had a black eye, a swollen nose, and a busted lip. Small droplets of blood stained his sweater vest and colorful bowtie. His expression was tense. His glassy eyes were distant.

  In the rearview, beyond the silhouettes of the Ryan family and Naomi’s thirteen-year-old daughter, sporadic fires danced on the buildings of Philadelphia. A little over eighteen hours ago, the city lights could be seen from space. Now, completely devoid of electricity, only dying flames illuminated the desolate skyscrapers.

  With fear-filled determination, Naomi kept her eyes forward. The day’s events bombarded her thoughts. It started in the subway at around 8:40 a.m. The metro train came to a sudden stop, hurling Naomi into a crowd of passengers. Her teeth no longer felt loose, but a purple bruise painted the bottom of her chin. She stepped out of the tunnel and into a world without power. Hours later, an unknown terrorist faction stormed the street, plunging the crippled city further into chaos. Were they responsible for the EMP? Naomi’s survival took priority over such questions. She remembered the faces of those who robbed her, the limp bodies of the men her husband beat to protect the Rover, and the stranger who tried to forced himself on her daughter.

  Naomi’s fingers tightened around steering wheel.

  That’s behind you, she told herself, but every memory she punched down, another stood up.

  The Rover continued down the street littered with abandoned cars.

  “How far?” a baritone Irish voice asked softly from the backseat.

  Calvin replied. “Four hours. Probably longer.”

  The six and half foot Irishman nodded to himself and continued looking out the window. Tall with broad shoulders, a lean waist and a jaw as square as a cinder block, Conner was strong, levelheaded, and born to lead.

  Middle-aged, beautiful, and covered in her husband’s blood, Cathleen Ryan, Conner’s sister-in-law, slouched next to him. Her eyes were hollow and out of tears. Her expression was dead with widow’s grief. Less than an hour ago, she lost her husband to a stray bullet, and she hated Naomi for leaving his corpse behind.

  Seated on one of the bench seats in the far back of the eight-passenger vehicle, Dean Ryan, Conner’s younger brother, stared out the window with his muted grey eyes. His face was gaunt, leathery, and intimidating. His expression boasted a silent hostility gleaned from a hard life.

  Nearby, Fergus Ryan, the crippled old man, coughed violently into his frail, tattooed hand. His inked skin dropped on his bone like a rag snagged on a tree. At eighty-one, he was the oldest of the Ryan clan. Multiple layers of winter clothes swaddled his body. A thick scarf encircled his neck and a lopsided beanie rested on his head of thinning hair. His folded wheelchair rested against his pencil-like legs. His occasional dry cough was the only thing that interrupted the silence.

  Seated on the bench across him were the two girls: sixteen-year-old Becca Ryan and thirteen-year-old Trinity Baxter. Wearing matching Catholic school uniforms with winter jackets and leggings, they leaned against one another. Becca sniffled. Her dangerously beautiful face was puffy from crying. Like her mother, she was still reeling from the loss of her father Sean. Trinity held her hand. She was younger but had an air of maturity about her. Her intellect and work ethic surpassed her peers and probably some adults too. Nevertheless, she wasn’t without her flaws. As all teenagers were, she was still finding her way in the world. As much as she hated to admit it, society’s constructs and quiet need to conform influenced her.

  There were eight riders in total: three Baxters and five Ryans.

  On the state road, Naomi cautiously weaved around disable vehicles. A popped tire or sudden engine failure would be death of all of them. She chewed the inside of her cheek, growing frustrated. She never enjoyed driving. She relied on public transportation to get her to and fro work. It was Calvin who owned their two cars. Their Ford Explorer didn’t stand a chance against the EMP blast. The 1983 Land Rover was a different story. As Calvin’s project car, he’d put countless weekends into restoring the old British machine. Naomi thought it was futile hobby until she learned that vehicle pre-1985 could still function. Now, it was her only ticket to Allen’s house.

  Her brother lived on the outskirts of Grave Mills, Virginia. It had a population of around one hundred and ten people with acres of farmland that merged into the Shenandoah Valley. Allen didn’t choose that blip on the map by accident. As an Ex-Navy Seal with more classified missions under his belt than most soldiers accomplish in three lifetimes, Allen was well versed in the art of survival and had been prepping for a cataclysmic disaster since he retired at age thirty-five, ten years ago.

  The moment one of Naomi’s therapy patients burned down her half a million-dollar house, Allen was her first and only option for survival until the grid came back on. That could take weeks. It could take years. She recalled the eight days it took for power to return to her street back in the harsh Philadelphia winter in 1994. That was back when the power companies didn’t have to worry about disabled equipment. How will the function when the entire East Coast, perhaps the entire nation had been brought down by multiple EMP blasts. Like in ’94, the mid-January winter was brutal. Without heating, it would be deadly.

  Thank God for Allen. By sunrise, Naomi expected to be knocking on his front door.

  One hundred and fifty miles away from her salvation, after they’d refilled the tank with one of Calvin spare gas canisters, the Rover’s engine sputtered and died.

  2

  Icy Tombs

  The Rover rolled to a slow stop amidst the endless sea of abandoned vehicles. It looked like the end of the world. Most drivers had left their dead vehicles to escape the killer cold.

  Naomi pumped the accelerator.

  Nothing.

  She put the car into park, pursed her lips, and turned to Calvin. Lantern in hand, he was already taking off his seatbelt and getting out of the car. A gust of whistlin
g wind caused the door to slam behind him.

  Cathleen came out of her daze and spoke with venom. “Why are we stopping?”

  “Something’s wrong,” Naomi said, scanning the dark road.

  Cathleen’s jaw fell open. After a second, she shut it, clenching it and slightly squinting her eyes. “What did you do?”

  It had been too long of a day to answer such a stupid question.

  Conner got out and joined Calvin by the hood. They popped it open, blocking Naomi’s view of the men. She could hear their muffled voices speaking car jargon she didn’t understand. Calvin was the tech savvy one in the relationship. Naomi handled the social side of things. She decided to give him space. This ugly vehicle was Calvin’s baby. If anyone knew how to fix it, it would be him. Besides, he liked to impress Naomi with his workmanship. After such a long and daunting day, Naomi wanted to give him a confidence booster, not that she could’ve been much of a help.

  Fergus coughed.

  Trinity watched Naomi in the rearview with a distraught look on her face. After a few long moments, Calvin approached the driver-side window. Naomi cranked it down.

  With tired eyes, Calvin looked to the engine and pointed at something Naomi couldn’t see. “We need to take it to a shop.”

  Naomi tried to keep a lid on her hopelessness. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do?”

  Calvin ran a hand up his scalp. “Not without replacement parts. We took a few bullets on the way out of town. Honestly, it’s a surprise that we got this far.”

  A frown sank Naomi’s face.

  Calvin put his hands in his pockets. His breath misted. Snow stuck to his hair. “I saw a sign for a town not too far back.”

  “How far is it?” Naomi asked.

  Calvin hesitated. “Four miles.”

  The air left everyone's lungs.

  “We could make the hike…” Calvin reluctantly suggested.

  Naomi watched the cascading snow.

  “Not in this weather.” Naomi reared her head back to Cathleen and Dean. “Did you guys bring blankets?”

  Dean shrugged. “A few.”

  “Bundle up,” Naomi said. “It’s going to be a cold night.”

  Conner and Calvin closed the hood and reentered the Rover, flushing out much of the warm air. Naomi leaned back in her rock-hard seat. With the Ryans and their two large duffel bags of supplies, finding a comfortable place to lie down wasn’t an option.

  Naomi shut her eyes. The stench of fire, smoke, and sweat hung on her sticky skin. Her jolts ached. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her of the meals she had missed. She never had a chance to pack food before her house was set ablaze. All she owned were a few bottles of antibiotics that were gifted to her by a pharmacist and her wedding ring.

  She rolled to her side, unable to find a comfortable position. Dean fell fast sleep. His grumbly snores were occasionally matched by Fergus’s coughing. The cushions squeaked every time someone moved, and the car reeked of their collective body odor.

  No matter how hard she tried, Naomi’s mind wouldn’t stop racing. She entertained a thousand fears, recalled a hundred memories, and questioned if anything from today was real. A little blood hardened around her fingernails. She remembered cutting off a rapist’s fingers. Even if it wasn’t self-defense, Naomi probably still would’ve tried to kill him for getting so close to her daughter.

  Turning to the window, Calvin shuttered. More cold air slipped in. The Ryans only had enough blankets to suit their own needs.

  Naomi must’ve gotten some sleep because when she opened her eyes there was a dim light glimmered in the darkness outside. She couldn’t tell if a second had passed or hours. Shivering, she made sure her tight-fitted winter coat was zipped. It was. She looked around, realizing that she couldn’t see the outside world. Thick snow covered the windows. She sat up and winced, feeling the crick in her neck. Everyone was still asleep. Naomi was glad for that. They needed their rest.

  A thick sheet of snow slid off the driver side door as Naomi opened it. She slung her feet over the edge and touched down on the three inches of snow. Warming her cupped hands with her breath, she stood outside of the Rover and looked down the highway.

  Like snow-covered coffins, the sea of cars extended as far as the eye could see. The sunlight twinkled on the fluffy snow. A few clouds coasted across the sky.

  It was hard to comprehend that twenty-four hours ago she was getting ready for a normal day at the office. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Her mind went to her clients. As a therapist, she was personally connected into each one of their lives. She wondered what advice she’d tell them now. Perhaps she was the one that needed help.

  Calvin stepped out of the car and stretched.

  Naomi smiled wearily at him. He returned the gesture. Naomi joined him at the front of the hood and held out her hand to her side. Calvin interlocked his fingers with hers. Both of their hands were ice cold independently. After a moment of stillness, they were the warmest part of their entire bodies. They said nothing. Each other’s company was enough.

  A moment later, Conner joined them outside with an unspoken question on his lips.

  The plan was simple: half of the party would stay with the car while the other half went to town to find the engine parts.

  Feeling she might go stir crazy otherwise, Naomi volunteered to go with the part-gathering crew. It included Calvin and the Ryan brothers.

  Cathleen, Trinity, Becca, and Fergus stayed behind.

  By the time Naomi’s crew was leaving, Cathleen and Becca were helping Fergus into his wheelchair so he could use the restroom in the nearby woods.

  Calvin and Dean took the lead while Naomi and Conner followed.

  Conner glanced around at the street line. “I haven’t seen this much snow in years.”

  “It’s really something,” Naomi mused half-heartedly. The winter wonderland put a sour taste in her mouth. “I wonder if the attack was planned around the season.”

  Conner nodded. “No power in the heart of winter is bad for everyone. The cold will do most of the dirty work.”

  They walked silently for a while. Naomi glanced around the sides of the Pennsylvania road.

  They had driven out of Philly from the east, passed by York and a few other cities, and were planning to enter Virginia from the north, namely because the interstate would be too crowded. The malfunctioning engine put a wedge in that plan.

  From the information Naomi gleaned from a HAM radio in Philly, there were multiple EMP detonations. However, it appeared that the military was just as confused by the sudden attack as anyone else. Naomi’s mind went to the terrorist faction. They looked like jihadists, but it was impossible to know if they were local sleeper cells or a rival army that arrived just before the attack. She could think of enough nations that would want to push America down. However, most of them are America’s business partners. No power meant no business, which meant no money. Few would benefit from the EMP blast unless if it were the first step of a takeover or a way to destabilize the world’s power. Either way, if the unknown enemy started depositing troops, Naomi knew pureblooded America would not take an invasion lying down. Nevertheless, the idea of well-organized militiamen seemed unlikely. Protests, rallies, and armies lived and died based on proper channels of communication. More than likely, most gun owners would hunker in their homes and defend their own land.

  She noticed Conner walking with his eyes downcast.

  “I’m sorry about Sean,” Naomi said softly.

  Conner breathed in deeply from his nose. “He was a good man. Different from Dean and I.”

  “How so?” Naomi asked.

  “He was married, he had a kid, made a nice living,” Conner replied.

  Naomi smiled softly at him. The sunlight slashed against her sharp jawline, cheekbones, and golden blonde hair that was in a rough, short ponytail. “Not your cup of tea?”

  “Never said that,” Conner grinned back soberly, showing some teeth. “The American dream is very app
ealing for a simple Irishman like myself. It just wasn’t in the cards. What about you? Life everything you thought it would be?”

  “Far from it. I was raised on small Virginia farm. Until I was eighteen, I was up at the crack of dawn to feed chickens and groom horses. I had this grand dream of a glamorous city life where I’d be engrossed in culture.”

  “Not as pretty now,” Conner said.

  Naomi smirked. “I’m not sure it ever was. No one smiled. Tons of homeless people. Higher crime rate. Higher taxes. Barred windows. Strict police. No 4th of July fireworks.” Naomi sighed. “It took me until my thirties when I finally opened my eyes, but I already bought my house by then. Mom and Dad were right. The country is slow and boring, but it sure is peaceful.”

  “City life can’t be all bad,” Conner said. “You stayed in Philly.”

  “Indeed.” Naomi replied. She looked at Calvin up ahead. He was walking slightly lopsided. Either he’d injured himself, or yesterday’s craziness was taking a toll of his lean muscles. “I met him.”

  “Seems like good man,” Conner replied. “He helped saved me, that’s for sure.”

  Naomi smiled proudly to herself. Before yesterday, Calvin and her had been sleeping in different rooms. Work consumed their lives, and the most intimacy they shared was when one of them would come into the bathroom to relieve him/herself while the other took a shower. As a therapist, it was easy for Naomi to track when the relationship started going downhill. It was much harder to actively try to keep it afloat when both parties had other interests.