Constant Danger (Book 2): Defeat The Anarchy

by Westfield, Ryan

  “No word from them. Two days. This isn’t right.”

  “We’ve got to wait one more day.”

  “In this cold? Like this? With all the EMP shit? Or whatever it is.”

  “There’s no way I’m leaving. I need the money. Did you forget about that?”

  “I didn’t forget about it. No way. But we can’t use the money if we’re dead or in jail. And that’s where we’re going to end up.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “We’re going. That’s the end of it.”

  “No way!”

  Jimmy’s hand was already going for his gun.

  But Hank was too fast for him.

  Hank’s hand formed a hard fist. Extending his arm rapidly at the elbow, throwing his body into it, he flung his arm out, his fist slamming into Jimmy’s face.

  “Shit!” cried out Jimmy, his mouth full of blood, his words coming out weird. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m leaving. You can either get out of the car now and stay, or you can come with me.”

  “Shit, you’re crazy!”

  “Not crazy enough,” muttered Hank, cranking the engine.

  “Hey!”

  “I’m not falling for that.”

  “No, look! Seriously.”

  Just as Hank was about to put the car into drive, he saw another vehicle approaching down the deserted row, driving slowly through the snow.

  It was a big SUV. Black. Maybe an Escalade.

  “Finally, they’re here!”

  “That’s not them,” muttered Hank, reaching for his Ruger.

  “How do you know?”

  “Have they ever come in something like that? Something that fancy? Get your gun out. And get ready to use it on them. Not me.”

  Jimmy fell silent as the big black SUV drove toward them.

  It was right in their lane, although with all the snow on the ground, it was hard to tell where the road ended and the unpaved ground began.

  “Are they going to stop?”

  “If they hit us, we shoot.”

  “What? Through the windshield?”

  Hank didn’t answer. Truth was, he didn’t know the answer.

  Thankfully, the SUV slowed to a complete stop, its front bumper not more than a few inches from Hank and Jimmy’s vehicle.

  “What do we do?” said Jimmy, looking over at him.

  “Whatever it takes.”

  “You’re old-school, right?”

  What that question meant, coming from Jimmy, was that he was wondering whether Hank would have the guts to do what it took, to take what was theirs, to fight rather than back down.

  “Are you serious, asshole?”

  Hank slammed his fist against Jimmy’s stomach, eliciting a small high-pitched yelp of pain.

  “What was that for?”

  “Don’t ask me if I’m old-school.”

  “Fine.”

  Three men had gotten out of the SUV. There were no weapons in sight. But certainly they were packing.

  “Follow my lead,” said Hank, opening the door and stepping out of the car.

  The man closest to him acknowledged him with a nod.

  “Where are the regular guys?” said Hank.

  “They took the day off,” said one of the guys, the other two laughing.

  Hank shrugged. What was it to him if different guys did the transport?

  “Where’s the stuff?” he said.

  “In the back.”

  Hank let his eyes wander briefly across the SUV, trying to see if he could spot who was in the vehicle through the tinted windows. But he couldn’t. So he had no idea how many there were. But he did know that there were just two in his party, himself and Jimmy. They were already outnumbered against the three. And that was just what they could see.

  Not that this would necessarily go down in a fight.

  Hank didn’t like to fight.

  He just liked to say alive. And he liked money.

  He’d do what he had to do. He always had and he always would.

  He was hardened. He’d been in and out of federal prison at least a dozen times. That was where he’d learned to do what he did so well. It was where he’d learned to fight.

  But at this point in his life, he wasn’t going back inside. No way.

  The only way he’d step out of the game was with a bullet in his chest or head. That was how he was going down. He’d realized it long ago. Live by the gun, die by the gun, or something like that. He wasn’t big on phrases or expressions. He knew what he had to do and he did it. That was just how his mind worked.

  “Well,” said Hank. “Get it out.”

  “And the money?”

  Hank looked over at Jimmy and nodded.

  Jimmy briefly opened his unzipped jacket, showing a great quantity of dollar bills, taped in neat stacks, pinned to the lining.

  The man nodded curtly and one of them went around to the back of the SUV, opening it up.

  About half a minute passed.

  Hank knew that they hadn’t just stashed the drugs in the trunk where they could be seen. They’d been hidden in some fashion. If they were smart, it’d take a while to get them out. If they were dumb, the drugs were probably where the spare tire should have been, underneath the carpeted flooring.

  Another half a minute passed. Then the guy returned.

  Not too dumb. But not that smart either.

  The stuff was in a large shopping bag from the mall. Not a terrible way to conceal it.

  He handed it over. Hank took it.

  “Feels light,” he said, jostling the bag a little to feel its weight again. “Feels real light.”

  “There was a problem.”

  “What problem?”

  “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but the whole world’s gone to shit. Half the cars don’t work. Nothing electronic works…”

  “We’re not blind,” interrupted Hank.

  “Then it should be obvious why the shipment’s light.”

  “What happened?”

  “What do you mean what happened? I just told you.”

  “Hey, guys,” said Jimmy, interrupting. “Let’s take it easy, all right?”

  It happened in a flash. One of them pulled a sidearm. Something fairly big, but Hank couldn’t immediately identify it.

  Before they knew it, the gun was trained on Jimmy. And not far away from Hank, either.

  Hank’s own gun was in his hand a split second later.

  “Let’s take it easy, fellows…” muttered Hank, his voice a low growl.

  “No need to go to extremes,” said Jimmy, who didn’t dare reach for his gun. His hands were just where he’d left them, as if he’d gotten frozen in place.

  Hank’s mind was running a mile a minute. Strategizing.

  This wasn’t a good situation. Sure, he’d been in bad situations before. But, despite how the movies made it look, these sorts of standoff situations didn’t happen that often. Most of Hank’s job consisted of driving long distances and being reliable. He’d fought and killed when it was needed, but the idea of constant fighting was just something that sold movie tickets. The job, in reality, was much more boring.

  Of course, things were changing. It wasn’t every day that no electronics worked. It wasn’t every day that half the cars didn’t run.

  So this wasn’t a normal day.

  And maybe it wouldn’t have a normal outcome.

  Whatever the case, Hank knew that this was up to him to fix. Jimmy wasn’t going to do it. And, if he’d learned anything, it was that once guns were drawn, all bets were off. People went nuts. People got greedy. People saw stars and dollar signs and did what they’d never normally do.

  “Look,” said Hank, his finger pressing ever so slightly against the trigger. “You brought half the stuff. We give you half the money. We make the exchange as normal. Then we put the guns away and drive away. Sound good?”

  He was eyeing the leader, a man with a movie-star jaw and a thick coat of five o’clo
ck stubble. He was muscular and mean, with narrow, evil eyes.

  The next thing happened fast as well.

  Hank pulled the trigger right after he saw the movement. A good pull. Fast, keeping the gun steady. He knew his stuff, even if he’d learned it through unconventional means.

  The gun kicked. He held it steady.

  4

  Brandon

  “You sure you should go today?” said his wife, after giving him a kiss on the cheek.

  “I’ve got to. They need me.”

  “I need you here, though.”

  He shrugged. “I can’t be in two places at once.”

  “What will I do here?”

  “Keep the door locked. Keep the gun with you at all times. Don’t answer the door for anyone. I have a key.”

  “Is it safe here alone?”

  “It’ll have to be. It’s the best option we have.”

  “I wish you’d stay. What if something happens to little Danny?”

  Danny was Brandon’s eight week-old son.

  He hated to leave him. And he hated to leave his wife here. He knew it wasn’t safe. But Brandon also knew that it wasn’t safe anywhere. Better here than somewhere else.

  “I’ve got to go.”

  Better to get it over with as fast as possible. He turned away and moments later, he was out the door and in his squad car, the door locked behind him.

  Hopefully, she’d be okay. He found himself staring longingly at the closed door to their squat little house as he cranked the engine.

  Minutes later, Brandon was on his way into town.

  He’d lived here all his life, becoming a cop only in the last year. He was still young, and his wife was too. They’d wanted kids badly, and hadn’t wanted to wait.

  So he was the rookie. And a new father. And a new husband.

  Brandon had always been a good guy. He’d always done the right thing. Joining the force was a natural extension of his desire to help others, to keep the order, to do what had to be done.

  He’d always known, all through his training, that a day like this might come. He’d always known that he might need to face the most difficult choice, which in his mind was between serving his community and serving his family.

  What good did it do his family if he got killed in the line of duty?

  Not much.

  They’d have some money. A pension.

  But would that matter now?

  It seemed as if the whole world were crashing around them.

  Brandon didn’t even know if he’d be able to feed himself and his family, and that was if he managed to live another day.

  They had food at home. Brandon had been smart in that way, storing bags of rice and canned food, not to mention gallons and gallons of water, just because it was something that he thought made sense to do.

  But after the first couple weeks were up, provided he lived that long, what would he do then?

  Brandon rubbed his eyes as he drove, heading down winding snow-covered roads toward the station. He was exhausted. Yesterday had been impossibly long, partnered with another rookie, doing the best they could do to keep the peace.

  People hadn’t started looting yet. At least not in North Adams, which was a small city or a large town, depending on how you looked at it. A lot of the stores were still family owned, and a lot of people knew the owners of the stores. So there was a little bit of hesitation, even in the face of the unknown, which was a post-EMP world

  But people had been freaking out. People had been losing their cool. Fights were already breaking out everywhere, just from the stress. Soon, fights would break out for other reasons. Soon, people would be shooting each other for food and water.

  Brandon knew all this. He knew it in his bones. To him, it was just common sense. But he’d always been a sensible person, despite being young. The force didn’t attract a lot of people who liked to keep their heads in the sand. In fact, everyone Brandon knew on the force understood well what this meant for the community, what it meant for the country at large. Like Brandon, they were all good guys, who had joined the force because they wanted to help people.

  And now with the chaos that was about to boil over, things were really coming to a head. The chance to help people was about to rear its ugly head.

  Brandon had only gotten a few hours’ sleep last night. And they hadn’t been restful hours. He’d been haunted by nightmares that had woken him up, drenched in cold sweat.

  Brandon may have been relatively new, but his short time on the force had already shown him the ugly side of humanity. It had already exposed him to the violence that common men were capable of, given the right pressures and circumstances. When people were desperate, they would do unthinkable things.

  Brandon, unlike most modern Americans, knew what a dead body looked like. He knew what a gunshot would do to a body. He knew what a knife wound looked like. He knew things others didn’t.

  As a consequence, his dreams had been terrible, full of images of apocalyptic scenarios, images of skulls on fire, images of men, women and children on spit roasts, being cooked over campfires for food by tribe-like Americans who had become nothing more than savage cannibals. People who were just barely more than animals, people who’d do whatever it took to keep themselves alive, at whatever cost.

  Without a working radio, cell phone, or any communication device, Brandon had no way of knowing what was going on with the rest of the force, let alone the town at large.

  He had his window cracked slightly as he drove, hoping that the freezing air would wake him up a little.

  From somewhere not that far away, he heard the popping sound of a handgun discharging.

  That was the wake-up he’d needed but hadn’t wanted. His heart immediately started pounding wildly in his chest.

  Without missing a beat, he pulled hard on the wheel, swinging the vehicle around into a u-turn.

  He wouldn’t even make it into the station today before making his first call.

  He just hoped it’d go well.

  Feeling for his sidearm in its holder at his side, he felt a bit of reassurance. Hopefully, those hours at the range would mean something.

  Brandon couldn’t help it. His reflexes made him pick up his radio and hit the button before realizing that it wasn’t operational.

  His foot pushed down further on the gas pedal. His hands were steady on the wheel.

  No new shots could be heard.

  But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to follow protocol and investigate.

  Brandon didn’t care if the world was crashing down around him. He’d follow protocol to the end. He’d follow protocol until he couldn’t any longer.

  Maybe someone saner would have just ignored the shots and driven to the station.

  After all, what were the chances he’d survive a few days of investigating gunshot after gunshot? Up close in person, he was vulnerable. He had no tactical vest. He had no riot gear. He had no backup.

  He wanted to see his wife and son more than anything in this world.

  But he also wanted to do what was right.

  His gaze was steely and his heart was pounding as he drove toward the source of the gunshot.

  5

  James

  “You think we can really trust her?” whispered James.

  Meg shrugged, which was hard to see through her bulky jacket. “I think so. She doesn’t seem like a bad person.”

  “Maybe not,” whispered James. “But that doesn’t mean…”

  He stopped, because in front of them by several paces, Barb had stopped, putting up her hand.

  They’d been trudging through the thick snow, following Barb to what she said was her little cabin.

  After a few tense moments in which it seemed as if Meg might have shot the stranger, things had managed to calm down. The three of them had gotten to talking, and James and Meg realized that Barb seemed much more like a potential ally than an enemy. Barb was savvy in many ways that they weren’t, but also ignorant
in ways they weren’t. Barb, for instance, had no idea that an EMP had really happened. In fact, she had no idea what had happened outside of her little patch of vacation land. They’d quickly explained to her the basics of what they knew, giving her a lay of the land, so to speak.

  She’d insisted that they return with her to her cabin. She’d said they could stay with her until things calmed down. They’d explained that things might never calm down, and she’d shrugged and said she’d been in plenty of bad situations before that had seemed as if they’d never end, but somehow they always had.

  “What is it?” said Meg.

  “I thought I heard something up ahead.”

  “I didn’t hear anything. What did it sound like?”

  “I don’t know. Metal on metal. Some kind of scraping, maybe.”

  “You have any neighbors?”

  “Not really.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “There used to be an old guy who’d sometimes head over to his land and putter around doing things in the snow. He lived in town, about half an hour away… I haven’t seen him this season at all, though.”

  “Maybe someone else came out here. Decided they’d like to get their hands on something while society is in chaos.”

  “There’s not a whole lot out here to take,” said Barb. “Just the basics, really.”

  “No houses?”

  “Just mine. And it’s not really much of a house, as you’ll see.”

  They waited in silence for several minutes, but the noise didn’t come back, so they started walking again.

  It took a few minutes for James to start to warm up again on the walk. Standing still for just those few minutes had been torture, even worse than lying in the shed. At least in the shed there’d been shelter from the wind. But now, out in the open, with the snow blowing at them from seemingly all directions, the wind cut right through the jacket he wore, and his thick shirt as well.

  “This sure ain’t Florida,” he muttered to himself, thinking of how he’d wanted to drive down to the Sunshine State.

  But it was probably a good thing that his professor had driven off with his truck, since the more James had time to think about it, the less likely he thought it was that he’d have made it down to Florida.