Texas Strong_Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction

by Bobby Akart

  “What do they want me to do? I can’t feed my own, much less all of those people who didn’t prepare for something like this. And where did international reporters come from, Kregg? This is the last thing we need.”

  “I’m sorry, Madam President,” said Deur as his chin hit his chest.

  “No apologies. Fix it. Find them! Arrest them! Deport them! Do it now!”

  Chapter 28

  January 4

  The Armstrong Ranch

  Borden County, Texas

  “The radio stations are getting better about reporting what’s happening around Texas,” said Lucy as she poured Major a mug of coffee. As she reached over his shoulder to set it on the kitchen table, he grabbed her around the waist and stole a kiss. “Get your hands off me, you grubby cowboy.”

  “You like it.” Major laughed as he refused to let go of her. “Let’s fool around before the children wake up, you wanna?”

  Lucy smacked him upside the head. “They’re not young’uns anymore and neither are you, mister man. Besides, I was about to tell you about the weather so you could get a move on.”

  “What about it? Happens every day. Nothin’ I can do about it,” said Major dryly as he took his first sip of morning brew.

  “They have a forecast now. International news networks are providing information to the Texas AM radio stations, including the weather forecast. Listen to this. Temperatures in Houston hit minus five last night, a new record.”

  “So much for global warming,” muttered Major. “Is snow coming?”

  “They said this is a dry front, but as temperatures warm in a couple of days, the wet stuff will begin falling,” replied Lucy.

  Their conversation sounded like any pre-collapse discussion over morning coffee, until Lucy updated him on the latest news.

  “There’s more in the news, though,” she continued. “The foreign media got cameras inside Texas and began broadcasting from the border west of Lubbock. Major, they said women and children are freezing to death, literally. There are bodies being dragged through the crowd to the rear so more refugees can cram themselves up against the fences. The reporter said those fences may get knocked down any day.”

  Major sat up in his chair and calculated the distance from Hobbs, New Mexico, to the ranch. It was right at a hundred miles.

  “Did they estimate how many people were out there?” he asked.

  “Tens of thousands, maybe more,” Lucy replied as she finally sat down after shuffling through the kitchen to prep for a breakfast of oatmeal and canned fruit.

  Major was about to tell Lucy of his plans to fortify their perimeter security using the backhoe to dig trenches and create mounds of dirt to use as barricades when Duncan arrived in the kitchen.

  “Mornin’,” he mumbled as he kissed his mother on the cheek. He fixed an insulated tumbler with coffee and flopped in a chair at the head of the table.

  “Good morning, son,” said Major, puzzled by Duncan’s solemn mood. He wasn’t his usual chipper self. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, Daddy. Woke up with the wrong things on my mind, that’s all. What’s goin’ on?”

  “Your momma and I were discussin’ the news. I guess the local radio stations tapped into the international news feeds.”

  Duncan nodded and sipped his coffee. Major decided to let it go until later.

  “There’s one more thing that is important,” continued Lucy. “Marion has modified the martial law declaration.”

  “Great,” said Major sarcastically. “What now?”

  Lucy hesitated, glanced at Duncan, and then turned her attention back to Major. She gripped her coffee with both hands and explained, “The food situation is reportedly dire around Texas. After six weeks of being cut off from the outside world, those who didn’t prepare are out of food. The government supplements they were receiving have dried up.”

  “No surprise there,” said Major. “We knew this would happen. The only reason it was delayed a month is because the power is still on in Texas. Had it not been for that, people would be dying of starvation all over the place.”

  “What about the deals they announced with foreign nations and the United Nations to bring in food?” asked Duncan.

  “It won’t be enough, son,” replied Major. “You can’t ship in enough food to feed twenty-some million Texans. You sure as heck can’t feed all of those refugees surrounding us either. I hate to tell folks I told you so, but there’s a reason we’ve prepped for a situation like this.”

  Duncan turned his attention to his mother. “How did she amend the declaration, Momma? You seem like you don’t wanna say it.”

  “Turn off your secret-agent senses, please,” said Lucy with a nervous chuckle.

  “Spill it,” was Duncan’s reply.

  “Marion amended the martial law declaration to allow confiscation of the livestock from the twenty largest ranches in the state, um, country.”

  “What!” Major exclaimed. “She thinks she’s gonna take our cattle?”

  “Not for free,” replied Lucy. “The government will issue treasury bonds equal to the value of the livestock they take based upon the last auction values. It’ll be like an IOU, except backed by the Texas gold repository.”

  “That’s a load of crap,” said Major as he slammed his empty coffee mug on the kitchen table. “Those steers are worth ten times what they were before the EMP. And that’s cash value. You can’t put a price tag on their worth as a food source to everyone on this ranch. If we run out of food because we sold the cattle to the government for a fistful of papers, a lot of good their dang gold will do us.”

  “I agree, Major, but I don’t know what we can do about it,” said Lucy.

  “We refuse, that’s what we’ll do,” said Duncan. “Do you really think the president is gonna enforce that order against you guys? What’s she gonna do, send in a battalion from Fort Bliss to take them?”

  “Maybe, maybe not, son,” said Major, who’d calmed down somewhat after running several options through his head. “Here’s why I call BS. They won’t be lining up at the Four Sixes Ranch herdin’ Marion’s horses into a trailer for slaughter unless folks are ready to eat chewy horse meat.”

  “Double standard, I know,” said Lucy. “I wonder if the order applies to the Slaughters’ dairy cows? They produce multiple foods that we can use. An IOU doesn’t feed the families on this ranch.”

  The trio sat in silence for a moment while they processed the ramifications of the president’s order.

  Finally, as the sounds of the rest of the family heading downstairs could be heard, Major spoke up. “I’m not gonna wait ’til they’re knockin’ on our front door. There’s a snowstorm comin’, and we don’t have time to sit around hand-wringing about it. I’m gonna get Preacher and head into Lubbock. Let’s see what the slaughterhouses can do for us.”

  “Yeah, they can’t confiscate our food,” said Lucy. “I like the plan. Let me get some breakfast goin’.”

  Major pushed away from the table and stood. “I’ve lost my appetite, Miss Lucy. I’m gonna go find Preacher.”

  “Me too, Momma,” added Duncan. “Can I ride with y’all? You might need an extra rifle.”

  “Yup, come on,” replied Major.

  The two men gave Lucy a kiss on the cheek and headed out the door as the rest of the family arrived in the kitchen. Duncan paused to hug Sook and kiss her on the cheek. He whispered in her ear, and she replied by saying, “Be careful.” Like Miss Lucy, Sook was growing accustomed to her man bolting out the door, on a mission, with a rifle in his hand.

  Chapter 29

  January 4

  Lubbock, Texas

  Major explained to Preacher the need for urgency as he drove northward toward Lubbock. Preacher was skeptical as to whether President Burnett would actually enforce the order against the Armstrong Ranch, but he also saw signs of desperation in issuing the modified declaration in the first place. Preacher also was curious to see how Lubbock was faring under the circumstances.
The city had already been descending into societal collapse a few weeks ago, especially on the west side of the metro area.

  If their regular slaughterhouse, Plains Meat Company, which was located in the heart of downtown, was too dangerous to approach, they’d opt for the next best option, which was a small retail butchering operation known as Five Star Quality Meats. The company had taken over the operation from a company called Klemke’s Sausage Haus years ago. Located southwest of Lubbock in a community known as Wolfforth, the area would be safer, but Preacher doubted they could handle more than half a dozen or so steers at a time. They decided to try Plains Meat Company first.

  As they approached Gail, Major told Duncan about what he and Preacher had discovered on their prior trip this way. Duncan took in the information and readied his rifle, just in case.

  The drive through the small town was surreal, as Gail had become a ghost town. Whether it was the weather or fear, nobody could be seen outside. The businesses had been boarded up, as had the government buildings. The sheriff’s office and the county jail were also boarded up and covered with no-trespassing signs. The apocalypse had claimed another victim.

  The remainder of the ride was uneventful as Preacher picked up speed and sailed along the desolate county roads. The scene resembled a Mad Max movie as he dodged abandoned, fuel-starved vehicles and the occasional tumbleweed sent flying by as the winds swooped across the high plains at gusts approaching thirty miles an hour.

  Every once in a while, the four-door Ford SUV would shake, causing its passengers to sit a little straighter in their seats. All of the men were on edge as they approached Lubbock.

  Unlike before, when local law enforcement had manned checkpoints at major highways entering town, the roads were abandoned except for the occasional vehicle moving from point to point. The weather had become the group’s ally, as folks remained inside to avoid the wind chill, which sent temperatures to just above zero.

  “Major, looks like I-27 is open again,” said Preacher as he pointed toward the on-ramp. I don’t see any National Guard trucks blocking the way, do you?”

  “Nope. I say go for it. Take the Broadway exit, and we’ll circle under the highway. It’ll make it less likely we’ll encounter trouble that way.”

  Preacher slowed as he entered the on-ramp to avoid more stalled cars and the concrete barriers left behind by the Guard. Thus far, they hadn’t encountered another moving vehicle. As they took the elevated exit, the Fairgrounds came into view.

  Major pointed straight ahead. “Preach, look up ahead. It’s empty.”

  “What’s empty?” asked Duncan.

  “Son, not long ago, after the EMP, the Fairgrounds were overflowing with National Guardsmen and active-duty military,” replied Major. “The interstate was closed to civilian traffic, and this whole downtown area was used as a staging area. They’ve apparently pulled out.”

  “I’m guessin’ they put them all on the border,” added Preacher.

  Lubbock was Major’s old stomping grounds. Driving past the deserted government buildings he used to frequent saddened him. One of his favorite restaurants, Triple J’s Chop House, had burned to the ground. Nearby, vandals had spray painted the bronze, lifelike statue of Lubbock native, musician Buddy Holly.

  Major hummed one of Holly’s songs as they passed the still-smoldering restaurant, mouthing the lyrics to That’ll Be The Day.

  Preacher made a few turns to wind his way around the Lubbock County Jail complex. As he turned onto Main Street, he slammed on the brakes, bringing the truck to an abrupt halt. There was a large crowd gathered around the entrance to the jail.

  “Whoa! We don’t want any part of that,” hollered Preacher as they observed the angry mob attempting to enter the jail.

  “Preach, slowly back up and keep goin’ up Buddy Holly Avenue,” instructed Major. “I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but I see people with baseball bats, knives, and huntin’ rifles. Somethin’ has happened in Lubbock to piss all of those people off.”

  “No doubt,” muttered Duncan from the backseat as he pulled the charging handle on the AR-15 he’d chosen for the day. “Should’ve brought the Barrett.”

  “Take the second right by the body shop,” instructed Major, who remained focused on the crowd until Preacher cleared the intersection. “We’ll park on the back side and sneak around the sidewalk.”

  “Daddy, we’re not gonna be able to sneak a cattle truck past a mob like that. Seriously, we’ll have to kill them all, and the ones we don’t take out will come back to the slaughterhouse later and steal our meat.”

  “We may have to post guards until they’re done,” said Major.

  Preacher began to laugh.

  “He’s not kidding,” added Duncan.

  “Oh, I know,” said Preacher defensively. “I was just thinkin’ about how we’ve gotta pack heat in order to pack meat.”

  The guys got a chuckle out of Preacher’s ditty. He found a place to park, and the men exited the truck. Duncan insisted upon approaching the slaughterhouse first, instructing his father and Preacher to wait behind.

  He quickly moved around the corner and worked his way toward the entrance, using telephone poles and parked vehicles as cover to shield him from the mob just two and a half blocks away.

  Major crouched down and leaned around the corner of the building to follow Duncan’s approach. Preacher covered their backs.

  Major knew it was a no-go when Duncan entered the slaughterhouse from street level rather than taking the short flight of concrete steps to the front door. That meant the roll-up door had been breached or left open.

  A few minutes later, Duncan came running back toward them, crouched down to lower his profile. He shook his head as he locked eyes with his father.

  “Completely destroyed inside,” he announced as he slipped around the corner of the storage company building on the corner. “Looters took what they wanted and destroyed the rest of the place.”

  “Plan B,” said Preacher as he tapped Major on the shoulder. Without another word, the men loaded up and began the more treacherous drive across Lubbock to the area supposedly ravaged by refugees and residents alike.

  Preacher followed Major’s directions and made his way onto the Marsha Sharp Freeway. At one point, they were fairly high above the city on an overpass when Major asked that Preacher pull over. Ordinarily, pre-collapse, parking on the side of the freeway carried a death wish with it. Traffic was always busy as commuters headed out of downtown Lubbock to the jam-packed bedroom communities of Coronado, Bowie, and Wester. They stopped and exited the truck to take in their surroundings.

  Their observations shocked them. Smoke billowed from buildings in all directions as fires burned out of control. Even with basic governmental services available, albeit on a reduced basis, police and fire units could never keep up with the demand. The sustained winds didn’t help either.

  “Unbelievable,” said Major as he looked toward Texas Tech University. Several high-rise buildings had been burned out. “I don’t understand what could’ve caused all these fires other than looters.”

  “Carelessness, too,” added Preacher. “The power is on, but that doesn’t stop folks from doing stupid stuff to keep warm.”

  “I hear gunfire, too,” said Duncan. “I bet most folks are armed in Lubbock. They’re either defendin’ or takin’, but one thing’s for certain, bullets are involved either way.”

  “Let’s go,” said Major as he kicked at a side-view mirror that had been knocked off someone’s vehicle. “I’ve seen enough of what used to be Lubbock.”

  “Daddy, hold on a minute,” said Duncan as he laid his rifle in the backseat and retrieved the binoculars. He returned to the concrete guardrail and looked to Levelland, which was located due west of Lubbock. “Look at all those people walking this way.”

  Major took the glasses, studied Route 114 for a moment, and then passed them to Preacher.

  “There are thousands of them,” muttered Preacher as he took a l
ong look before lowering the binoculars. “There aren’t that many folks living in those little towns. Gotta be refugees.”

  Major shook his head and began walking back to the truck. “Why is Marion letting that many folks into Texas? Look around us. Lubbock can’t satisfy and sustain its own population.”

  “I don’t know, boss, but we gotta get goin’,” said Preacher as snow flurries fluttered in the air. “If we’re gonna slaughter any steers, we’ve gotta git ’er done soon.”

  Chapter 30

  January 4

  The Armstrong Ranch

  Borden County, Texas

  Major brushed off the cold and entered the ranch house after their day trip to Lubbock. The warm fire caused his face to tingle as he greeted his wife, who was monitoring the news. They had the AM radio stations reporting, and Riley showed them the shortwave frequency bands that produced the most conversation. Not all of them were part of the militia groups. Many were preppers from around America passing along both observations and rumors.

  She stood and gave him a kiss before leading him to the hearth in front of the fire. He declined a cup of coffee, instead choosing to unwind and relay the day’s events to Lucy.

  “This smaller slaughterhouse is not the greatest option, but we’ve made a deal with them,” he began. “They can handle eight of our big boys per day. We’ll truck them up there, have our hands wait until they’re butchered and processed, and then drive home the same day.”

  “What’s it gonna cost us?” asked Lucy.

  “We offered up a dairy cow for each trip,” replied Major.

  “Will the Slaughters be okay with that?”

  “Yeah, if he wants to eat our beef. I’ll need one of his men each day, and two of ours will accompany Antonio. Preacher will make the first run tomorrow to make sure the deal is kept.”