The Last War Box Set 1 : A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survivor Thriller

by Ryan Schow

  Smiling, he says, “One day you’ll thank me.”

  “Probably. But maybe not.”

  Rider pulls me aside, leans in and very quietly says, “Before I moved her, I gave her the once over, just to make sure I wasn’t compounding any permanent problems.”

  “And?”

  “No broken bones, and no internal bleeding, but there’s lots of bruising. She’s banged up pretty badly, and the ride over here wasn’t easy. We had to walk the last half mile because, well, we lost the Jeep and got a motorcycle in return.”

  “She walked?” I ask, tempering my voice more than normal.

  “Slowly, but yeah. Couldn’t stand being on the back of the bike. This one’s got iron in her veins though, if you know what I mean.”

  “We’re going to need that,” I say.

  “I’m telling you this so you can prioritize. Macy needs you more than she does right now, and if you’re going to give blood—which I’m assuming you are—then you’ve got to begin donations immediately. This will take your strength, but it might save Macy.”

  “I know,” I say. Then: “I’m just glad someone else knows, too. Thanks for being here.”

  Rider furrows his brow, steps back, then says, “Hagan and Ballard, your mom needs to rest and Mrs. McNamara here has to tend to her daughter.” To Lenna, he says, “There’s a house across the way, right next to Cincinnati’s home. If you’re okay with that, I’d like to get you guys set up there for the night. There are comfortable beds and several jugs of water.”

  She reaches out for Rider; he takes her hand. Either they bonded on this journey, or she’s not as emotionally strong as Rider let on and is looking to him as her anchor.

  “Thank you for coming for me,” she says, “for watching after my family.”

  Rider gives her hand a light squeeze and says, “I’m happy I could help.”

  Frowning, I’m realizing I was wrong. Lenna Justus is just a grateful woman who needed help looking after her and her boys. It’s the same look in Margot. And surely the same look in my own eyes as I wonder if Macy will survive the transfusion without complications.

  My mind does a quick inventory, same as it used to do when I was in the ER stacking patients. There’s Rider, Lenna, Ballard and Hagan; there’s Indigo and Margaret; there’s my family of four. We started out as three. Now we total ten.

  I try to wrap my head around this—around the idea that we’re no longer just a family, but the start of a community all focused on the same thing: surviving.

  A warm smile forms on my lips, but then fades quickly as Ballard brings me the box of medical equipment and supplies he and Rider took from the hospital.

  I see the blood transfusion bags, the saline solution, the packaged tubing and needles, and the other miscellaneous items. My eyes return to the clear bags. How am I supposed to fill that thing with my own blood and not pass out, especially when I’m the only person who can really do the transfer?

  “Rider?” I ask.

  He comes over and says, “Yes?”

  “Have you ever done a blood transfusion?” I ask. He tilts his head ever so slightly, makes that face, then says, “I’m better with field dressings and tourniquets.”

  “You get the idea though, right?” He gives a wordless nod. “Good, because I need you to help me if I give too much blood.”

  “How much has she lost?” he asks, referring to Macy.

  “It’s not just that,” I say. “It’s her platelets. She’s clotting too slowly. If I can get enough of my blood in her, perhaps this will help with the clotting.”

  Margot is suddenly here. I didn’t hear her come up behind me, but when she says, “How can I help?” I sort of jump a little.

  My eyes meet hers, and honestly I’m grateful for the extra people. “I need something to hang a blood bag and a plasma bag on,” I tell her. “It needs to be elevated over Macy and it needs to be relatively sturdy.”

  “I haven’t lived here in a couple of years,” Margot replies, “but let me see if I can find something in the garage, or the kitchen.”

  Upstairs, Stanton sits on the bed with Macy. When Rider and I get up there, he’s holding Macy’s hand. She looks wan next to him: fingers not curled, skin a little pale, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. I walk in with the box of medical supplies, begin mentally preparing for the donation.

  “Where do you want me for this?” Stanton asks, his eyes dancing from me to Rider.

  “Rider’s got some experience in the field. I guess he was ex-military or something. I’m going to keep him here just in case I draw too much blood and need a steady hand, so I was wondering how you’d feel about getting the boys set up at the house next to ours. Not Indigo’s friend’s house. The other one.”

  “I kind of want to be here with Macy,” he says, more weight than I’d like to admit in his words.

  “I know. I just need everyone who doesn’t have to be here out of here. I’m feeling pretty overwhelmed at this point and I still have to give blood.”

  “So am I on that list? Do you want me out, too?” he asks, his eyes apprehensive, like he’s wondering if his feelings should be hurt.

  “No,” I say, going over to where he’s at on the bed. “When you get Lenna and her family settled, I want you back here. With me. With Macy.” I pull him into a hug, kiss the top of his head, then lean down and kiss him on the mouth. “I want you as close to me as you can be as often as you can be. You’re my rock.”

  “Lately I don’t feel like anyone’s rock,” he admits, but not loud enough for Rider to hear.

  “None of us do, but we’ve made it this far. We’ve survived some things most people haven’t, so I’d say we’re doing alright.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “I guess.”

  “How are you doing? Physically I mean?”

  “Better. A lot better.”

  Rider clears his throat and says, “I’ll be out in the hallway when you’re ready.”

  “Okay,” I say, not taking my eyes off my husband. To Stanton I say, “You want to run with the boys, don’t you? Rex and Rider?”

  A genial smile creeps onto his face. Hmmm. Rex and Rider are civilized brutes, warriors meant for a world like this, soldiers who aren’t afraid to look at another human being with a gun in their hand and pull the trigger. That’s not Stanton and that’s not me, even though I know it’s going to have to be.

  To their credit, guys like these protect people like us through intimidation and death. They did it for a living, overseas, and for the military. Well, Rex anyway. And I’m sure Rider has seen combat before. Judging by the way he moves, by that steely look in his eyes, the idea of war is not a foreign one. He might even like it. People like Rider and Rex, they somehow found a way to live with the past, in spite of the horrors it may have wielded upon them. They endured their former lives while looking forward to a future that may or may not mirror the horrors of the days, weeks and months before. But not Stanton.

  Her husband was just a pencil-pushing suit (his words, not mine).

  It used to be that men like Stanton ruled the world while men like Rex and Rider were measured by their calm in the midst of a violent storm rather than their ability to read markets and spot solid investment opportunities. The world was on its backside now.

  Welcome to opposite land, girl.

  Looking at Stanton I’m seeing what he must be going through, how he’s feeling. Men with the occupational genius of Stanton went from being a commodity to a liability. His exact value was squat if he couldn’t hold his own in a fight. Stanton was good at adapting, and not afraid to defend his family, but he also knew when he was around the company of more capable men. More dangerous men. Just knowing him, he yearned to do what they did, move like they moved, survive without having to suffer the consequences of his actions.

  How long would it be? Would he die trying to prove himself to me? To them? To Macy?

  Guys like Rider probably slept well at night while pencil pushers like Stanton tossed and
turned, and sometimes cried out in their sleep. My husband is a businessman, not a death dealer. He’d never be like Rex or Rider. He’d never be a stone cold killer.

  But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

  “You ready?” a voice from behind jolts me from my reverie, causing me to jump for the second time in twenty minutes.

  “I am,” I say, looking at Rider, my heart clamoring wildly in my chest.

  I’m still holding Stanton’s free hand, unwilling to let go, wanting to protect him from his insecurities. I need him to know he’s loved not for what he can do, but for who he is.

  “We shouldn’t wait much longer,” Rider says.

  “I know, it’s just, I know what she needs, and I know what it’s going to do to me and I’m not exactly looking forward to it,” I say, realizing more of the ringing has left my ear.

  Reaching up, I pull off the bandage and let it breathe. It feels better already. Flexing open my jaw, plugging my nose and squeezing out an internal push, I pop my ears one last time. They don’t pop back in and I damn near drop to my knees and praise Jesus.

  “I don’t think there’s a whole lot any of us have looked forward to lately, maybe just sleep and a break from all this,” Rider replies.

  Stanton stands and says, “I’ll take the boys over to the house. Get ‘em set up. What do you want me to do about Lenna?”

  “Ask if she wants to go or stay,” I say. “If she wants to go, just make sure she’s comfortable and when I can, I’ll get to her.”

  “What if something’s wrong?” he asks.

  “I already looked her over,” Rider answers. “She’s battle tested and ready for transport.”

  “Well in that case…” Stanton says, not finishing the sentence.

  “Be careful,” I tell him and he gives me a frown, like I just said he’s breakable or something. I add: “There’s some real nut jobs out there, and I’m not just talking about Rex.”

  Both Stanton and Rider break into a humored grin, but then Stanton’s gone downstairs and it’s just me, Rider and Macy, and I’m about to lose a lot of blood.

  I’ve got most of what I need. The medical supplies box has packaged needles and syringes; it’s got single-serving alcohol prep pads in little foil packets; there are also three viaflex IV bags and the tubing for the transfer, which are exactly what I need for a saline drip.

  “How’d I do?” Rider asks.

  At the bottom of the box I find two blood transfusion bags and my heart settles. There are the two spike points and the hanger, so yes, I’ve got what I need.

  “I’m all set,” I say, looking up at him. “How are you at drawing blood?”

  “Pretty good, if you’re talking about a using bullets. When it comes to this kind of thing though, I’m good at following instructions, not so good at knowing risks and probabilities.”

  “Just follow my lead and you’ll be fine. I probably won’t even need you. It’s just the idea of having a reasonably resourceful backup that keeps me calm.”

  “Reasonably resourceful?” he asks with a cocked brow and a smirk.

  “You know what I mean.”

  A few minutes later, Margot hauls in an old steamer stand and says, “Will this work?”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “What else can I do?” she asks.

  “Maybe help Stanton get Lenna and the boys set up across the way?” I say.

  Already my little jealous tendencies are flaring. It’s because she’s really pretty and I’m fairly plain. My husband has never had a wandering eye, but with Margot, I’m not sure if I’m being stupid and unreasonable, or simply cautious.

  When she leaves, Rider says, “You ready?”

  I clear my head, then swab the injection point and slide the needle into my arm. The pinch has me setting my jaw and biting back the pain. Blood fills the tube. I sit back and do my very best to relax.

  “Everything okay?” Rider asks.

  “Splendid.”

  As I’m watching the blood fill the bag, I’m thinking, I can do a little more. Just in case. Then a little more after that as I look at my daughter and pray she’ll be okay.

  “That’s enough, I think,” Rider says. “You’re losing color.”

  I pull out the needle, holding a small strip of gauze over the injection point, then give the donation bag and the needle to Rider who lifts the tubing over the top of the bag to stem the backflow of blood. I place the folded square of gauze and hold it there.

  “Medical tape?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. We had tape at the school, but in the midst of everything, I’m not exactly sure where it’s at. Unbelievable. Then I remember the bandage on my ear. There was medical tape on that, holding it in place. On the nightstand nearby, the bandage sits belly up, the tape looking useable. I stand and head across the room, woozy, grab it and see if there’s enough to hold the gauze in place. For a second, my vision tunnels inward and I almost fall down. A hand takes my good arm, steadies me.

  “You need to slow down,” Rider says.

  “I know,” I say, lightly shaking his hand off my arm.

  With a little work, I get the gauze halfway fixed on my arm. Rider and I then work together to get the IV drip bag hanging in place, right alongside the hanging blood donation bag. I’ve lost too much blood. I feel it in my face, how weak I feel. And cold. Not that I’m going to say anything with my daughter lying there shot twice and looking every bit as peaked as me.

  When the bags are side by side, the tubing is prepared and the saline drip is working alongside the blood drip, I swab Macy’s arm. This rouses her a bit. Her eyelids flutter open, but she goes back to sleep. When I insert the needle, her eyes snap open but I’m holding her down so she doesn’t kick the needle loose.

  “Open that valve,” I tell Rider. He does. To Macy I say, “We’re getting you some blood, sweetheart.”

  She starts to cry from the pain. “Whose blood is that?” she asks, weary, exhausted.

  “Mine.”

  “We match?” she asks.

  “We match,” I say, noticing how shaky my hands have become.

  She seems to settle back down. Her eyelids bob open then close once or twice, and then they stay shut and the tension leaves her body as she’s back to sleep.

  “You need to sit down,” Rider tells me.

  He’s right.

  “Could I have a glass of water, please?”

  “Sure, anything else?”

  “A big juicy steak,” I joke, feeling a little lightheaded. “Or maybe a can of beans.”

  “I can’t do the steak, but let me see about the beans. Unless you’re joking.”

  “Sadly,” I say, “I’m not. Which sucks because I can’t stand canned beans.”

  By the time he gets back upstairs, I’m already feeling myself drifting off. I drink the water, eat from an open can of kidney beans he brought up, try not to gag.

  “Watch Macy for signs of trouble, please.”

  “Like what?”

  I give him the rundown of potential reactions, and he says he’ll stand vigil until Stanton returns.

  After that, for me, it’s lights out.

  “The way things are going,” Rider says, “staying here might be a death sentence.”

  Everyone at Indigo’s kitchen table shifts uncomfortably, myself included. The last thing you want to hear when you’ve just settled into a new home is that you’re going to have to leave it. I don’t think I can move again. Plus, my energy is beyond low, and I still feel tired, even after a nap, some fluids and half a can of beans.

  “Aside from that little ball of positivity,” Stanton says, “Lenna seems to be feeling better and the boys brought their mattresses into the master bedroom to be with their mom.”

  “Are they coming over for dinner?” Margot asks.

  At this point, I’m out of the loop, and still a bit disoriented. Outside, the sun is sinking low into the horizon. It’s still daylight, but in less than an hour, sunset will swallow t
he light and the heat of the day and plunge us into another freezing cold night. It would be awesome if I could actually get some sleep for a change. It would be even more amazing if this damn ringing in my ear would stop.

  “First off,” Indigo tells Rider, seeing what his proclamation did to all of us, “you can’t just go around say things like that.”

  “I’m sorry, “ Rider says, “but you can’t think of this place as a permanent destination.”

  “If you have to be someplace, then go,” Indigo says, her words curt, her eyes zeroed in on the man.

  Everyone blanches as the temperature climbs a degree. Indigo is glaring at Rider and Rider is looking right back at her without an ounce of intimidation.

  “You missing something at home?” Rex asks, not in a rude way, but because he senses the same thing we all sense: Rider’s increasing anxiousness.

  “He’s in love with the doctor,” Margot says, taking a sip of water and eating the last of her stewed tomatoes.

  “What’s his name?” Rex asks, looking at Rider and giving the man a wink.

  Rider frowns and says, “Sarah.”

  “Cute as a button that one,” Margot adds. “Plus, she’s got the most adorable accent ever. Trust me, you’ll love her.”

  Eyes back on Indigo, Rider says, “Can I take the couch?” to which she answers, “You can take any couch you want, just not mine.”

  “Really?”

  Margot looks at her daughter and says, “It’s better that he’s here.”

  “I don’t know him, Mom.”

  “Well I do, and I vouch for him. Besides, it’ll only be for a night.”

  Indigo never takes her eyes off him. The staring contest resumes and she says, “Thank you for everything, but find another house.”

  He nods and says, “Sure, no problem.”

  “Three doors down, there’s an empty home with a king sized bed with plenty of blankets. You’ll be warm and I’m sure you’ll appreciate the privacy.”

  “Thank you,” he says, while Margot gives her daughter the eye.