Aftershock: Book 4 in the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series: (Darkness Rising - Book 4)

by Justin Bell

  “Yes, okay. That’s good. We know where it is.”

  “Is it close? Close to here?”

  Daisuke nodded. “Maybe thirty miles away? Close by car, not by foot. You have cars?” he asked with a strange sense of wonder in his voice, as if a car was some kind of mythical creation, a dragon or unicorn, not just pressed metal and plastic.

  Fields nodded. “We have a few. Though fuel is a commodity. It’s not so easy finding gas to siphon off the beaten path up here.”

  The Japanese man nodded as if he followed her though Rhonda was sure he wasn’t quite keeping up with the multi-syllable words. And she knew that Kaida wasn’t.

  “Daisuke?” Rhonda asked, and the man turned to look at her. “Your niece. Is she… deaf?”

  His eyes darted toward his brother uncomfortably, who looked back at him, somewhat confused. Daisuke said something in a quiet voice and Jiro nodded as if admitting to some embarrassing birthmark.

  “She is, hai,” Daisuke said. “It’s something that makes Jiro uncomfortable. She loves baseball, that is why we went to the game. He does things for her… things to make her forget her deficiencies.”

  Rhonda smiled. “It’s not a deficiency,” she whispered. “She’s a beautiful young girl.”

  Jiro nodded again, seeming to understand what Rhonda was saying and Daisuke’s smile returned, broad and honest.

  “So neither of you has ever been into the Consolidated corporate offices or anything?” Rhonda asked.

  Daisuke shook his head. “No. Oh no. I’m sure Jiro has not either. Lots of security. At least there used to be.”

  “What are you getting at, Rebecca?” Rhonda asked, looking at the former FBI agent.

  “I’m thinking there might be some answers there. That’s one thing that Orosco told me early on in this process. The whole reason Brandon came out here was to check out Consolidated Tool & Die. Seems like a waste to be this close and not at least take a peek.”

  Rhonda nodded her agreement, yet doubt grabbed her by the throat, a jagged nugget of doubt sat deep and hard in her gut.

  “We cannot help with that,” Daisuke said, shaking his head.

  Fields looked at him. “But say we get you in there,” she started, “if they have a computer system of some kind, could you get access to any of the data or files?”

  Daisuke’s face twisted. “Oh, no. I am a software developer. I am not a hacker. I don’t know anything about brute force attacks or password breaking. Besides,” he continued, “there is no power. How would we get access without power?”

  Fields nodded, acknowledging the various truths to his statement. Rhonda watched the exchange, and she could sense the invisible calculations Fields was making, the wheels turning inside her head, telling her whether or not this family’s presence would be of any value. And if not, what then?

  “Thanks for the info,” Rebecca said, nodding to the three. Daisuke nodded deeply and spoke with the other two, and the three of them walked away, heading back toward the pretzel shop.

  “Are you sure this is the right idea?” Rhonda asked once they were out of earshot. “Do we really want to poke this bear? We’ve got something good here. Or at least something better than we’ve had.”

  “And how long do you think that lasts?” Fields replied. “The barricades are down, how long until some rogue group rolls up on this mall and isn’t scared by a non-functional helicopter taking up space in the parking lot?”

  “We can defend ourselves against a rogue group,” Rhonda said. “But against this entire company? A company that's aligned with some massive security force?”

  Fields placed her hands on her hips and turned away for a moment, standing in silence. She was struggling with something, of that Rhonda was certain.

  A few heartbeats later, she turned back around. “I don’t have my badge, anymore,” Fields said. “I don’t have the FBI. My teammates. My calling. It’s all gone.”

  “Rebecca, I’m sorry—”

  “It’s not about that,” she interjected. “It’s not about blame and it’s not about fault. It is what it is. I spent half of my life and my entire career preparing to be an FBI agent, preparing my mind and body to serve and protect this country. My badge and uniform may have been torn from me with the events of the past eight weeks, but dammit, I’m still that person, and whether you help me or not, I’m going to sort this out.”

  Rhonda felt a strange swell of unexplained pride rise in her chest at Fields’ defiant words. Even though the former agent was speaking against her opinions, and was suggesting something that Rhonda did not agree with, she couldn’t help but admire her spirit, her drive, and her determination. No doubt she was a heck of an agent, and she would have been even better in another life.

  Maybe it was up to them to give her that chance.

  Rhonda nodded. “All right,” she said quietly. “All right, I get it. We’ll walk down that path and see where it leads. Fair enough?”

  Fields smiled, a genuine, wide, thankful smile. “Fair enough,” she said.

  ***

  Winnie turned from her post and looked out toward the access road surrounding the mall. Her fingers closed tight around the Beretta nine millimeter, its balance feeling like a natural extension of her arm, a part of her body moving with her movements, completely under her control.

  At the end of the day, she had Agent Fields to thank. Rebecca Fields. Technically she wasn't an agent, not anymore, but she was a tough law enforcement officer who proved to Winnie that no matter your gender or build, you could kick some butt right alongside the guys.

  Winnie had been through some rudimentary weapons training with Greer, and even with her mom, but somehow Rebecca was different. She'd spent her life sharpening her body and mind. She hadn't tried to turn her back on her skills like Winnie’s mom; she'd embraced them and used them and loved them. That was the biggest difference, Winnie decided. Her mom was almost ashamed of her skills, not wanting her kids to use them. Fields on the other hand, knew their value and fully endorsed them with the understanding that she could trust the kids to do it right. That’s when everything started to click for Winnie. That’s when she felt like the weapon was an instrument for defense and a part of her, not just some tool for killing she never wanted to use.

  She curled her fingers around the contoured grip, feeling the weight of the weapon balance nimbly between her fingers. Closing her fist, she shook her hand back and forth, checking the weight of the weapon as her arm moved one way, then the other. Lifting the Beretta she popped the magazine, caught it seamlessly, checked its load and slipped it back home with a clack, everything moving in unison, a flesh on gun metal ballet.

  Once again she heard a faint noise and turned toward the access road, but saw nothing. She hadn’t talked to any of the new folks who had shown up herself, but she’d heard about what they’d said. About the barricades going down, and her senses were on full alert tonight.

  “Looking good with that thing,” a voice whispered from behind her. She turned as Phil emerged from the shadows into the moonlight, a rifle strapped across the back of his shoulders.

  “Hey, Dad,” Winnie whispered. “You said you’d let me take watch tonight. You need sleep.”

  “Slept a few hours,” Phil replied. “I’m good. You don’t think I’d let you stand out here all night by yourself, do you?”

  “I can pull my weight, Dad.”

  “No question in my mind,” Phil replied. “Especially since you’ve been getting those crash courses from Rebecca. I bet you can shoot better than me now.” He said it in jest, but Phil thought there was truth to that. At this point he was definitely the low man on the totem pole when it came to marksmanship and weapons skills. He tried not to let it bother him, but he mostly failed. When his fifteen-year-old daughter started putting holes in a bull’s eye at sixty meters, he couldn’t help but take it a little personally.

  “Don’t be a jerk, Dad,” Winnie said, chuckling.

  “So, you need a reprieve?�
��

  “I told you, I’m fine. I can handle this.”

  “Do you know what your mom would do to me if I let you stand out here by yourself half the night?”

  “Ah, so that’s what’s going on here,” Winnie replied. “Truth comes out.”

  “Hey, what can I say?”

  “Mom worries too much. Like, way, way too much.”

  “Uh, in case you weren’t aware, Winnie, there are people running around shooting each other. We are in the middle of a nuclear holocaust here.”

  “Yeah, and she still worries too much.”

  Phil put a hand on her shoulder, sensing some legitimate angst. “If she didn’t worry so much, we might not have even made it out of Brisbee, okay? You can cut her a little slack.”

  “She needs to cut me some first.”

  Phil removed his hand and let it hang by his side, knowing there was no winning this particular conversation.

  “Did you hear that?” Winnie asked, turning her ear toward the access road again. “I keep on hearing something.”

  “There,” Phil said, pointing a finger toward the circling street around the mall. A single headlight warbled in their direction, hovering about the surface of the road, moving forward at a sluggish, jerking pace.

  “Uh oh,” Winnie said, wrapping a second hand around the handle of her weapon. Phil removed the rifle from his back, the M4 dangling a leather strap like a leash.

  “Take it easy,” he said. “Max, Angel, and Brad haven’t come back yet.”

  “Didn’t their car have two headlights?”

  Phil didn’t answer, he lowered into a soft walk and crept across the pavement, bringing his M4 up into his shoulder, tracing the movement of the shadowed car with the barrel of his weapon. A thick, bushy tree grew from a patch of grass surrounded by the sidewalk and Phil made his way there, pushing himself inside, trying not to be seen. Winnie drew back, pressing her spine against the corner of Lakeview Mall, keeping her weapon in a two-handed grip, pointing toward the ground, one hand cradling the other.

  The car made a lazy left-hand turn, its engine rattling and clunking as it approached, and Winnie recognized that as the noise she had heard, even from far away. It looped around the parked helicopter and jerked into a parking space, the engine mercifully cutting, leaving only the slow tick tick tick of the cooling exhaust system.

  Winnie narrowed her eyes at the car as it sat there in silence, cloaked in too much shadow for the passengers to be visible. The door closest to her squeaked open and a young man stepped out.

  A man she didn’t recognize.

  “Don’t move!” she shouted, stepping from the corner, out into moonlight, the Beretta clutched tight and lifted at chest level. The barrel hovered, pointing straight at the newcomer who threw his hands up and took a nervous step backwards.

  “Whoa, girl! Whoa!”

  “Winnie! He’s a friend!”

  Winnie recognized Max’s voice, her nine millimeter wavering. “Max?”

  “Yeah! We’re back. We brought a buncha chow.” He stepped out of the back seat, holding his hands up, with Brad emerging from around the other side of the car. The driver’s side door opened and Angel stepped free, cocking a wave to the young girl.

  “It’s just us, okay? Nothing to worry about.”

  Winnie let out a long sigh and lowered the weapon, but kept her eyes firmly on Tamar.

  “Tamar, this is my sister Winnie. She’s a little high strung.”

  Winnie darted a narrowed glare at her brother.

  “What up, Win-dawg?” Tamar asked, nodding toward her. “You can handle yourself with that thing. I’m impressed, lady.”

  “Just be glad I didn’t shoot first and ask questions later,” Winnie replied, turning toward her brother. “So what did you find?”

  Max was already meeting Brad around the rear of the car and popping the trunk.

  “Man, we stumbled upon a loaded grocery store. Filled up the trunk with stuff. We’re going to need help.”

  “I’ve got two free hands,” Phil stepped out from the trees, his rifle slung over his shoulder again.

  “Dad? What were you doing in there?” Max asked.

  “Making sure you were friendly.”

  “Friendly might be stretchin’ it, boss,” Tamar joked.

  “How you doing, Tamar? I’m Phil. Max’s dad.”

  “Pleasure, Phil,” Tamar replied, shaking his hand.

  “This boy, he saved Max’s butt back in the city,” Angel said, coming around to the trunk himself. “Max says he knows some kung fu or something.”

  “Tae Kwon-Do,” Tamar interjected. "Studied it for eight years before everything went sideways. Never thought I’d be using it.”

  “Shoulda seen it, Dad,” Max said. “He was whipping kicks left and right, busted a dude’s knee. Craaaazy.”

  Tamar scoffed. “Ain’t nothing compared to you with that six shooter. Dang, I ain’t seen guys firing a Glock better than that.”

  “What’s going on out here? Is that you, Max?” Rhonda stepped out from the door to the mall, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “We wake you?” Phil asked.

  “Little bit,” she replied. “I wasn’t sleeping real deep. I wanted to be awake for when Maxie got back.”

  Tamar chuckled. “Oh, Maxie’s back. Maxie’s way back.”

  Max shot him a look while Rhonda stepped over to peer in the trunk. “Wow, nice haul, gentlemen. Let’s get that inside. Good job.”

  Everyone started grabbing armfuls of boxed and canned goods and making their way to the mall entrance. Tamar stepped toward the trunk, but Rhonda broke in between him and the goods.

  “So, remind me… what’s your name?”

  “Tamar, ma’am,” he replied. “Tamar Davis.”

  “And you helped Max?”

  “We kinda helped each other.”

  Rhonda nodded. “So where are you from, Tamar?”

  “Chicago of course,” he replied. “Born and raised. I was pretty sure I’d die there, too, but ran into the right people at the right time.”

  She let him pass and pick up some items from the trunk, then grabbed some stuff herself, trailing him back to the mall entrance.

  “So where are your parents?” she asked.

  Tamar shrugged as much as he could with his arms full. “Dead I think. Chicago is a for real war zone. Like, you can’t set foot outside unless you’re carrying. Pretty sure my moms and my fam probably found that out a little too late.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Tamar,” Rhonda said as they wormed their way into the mall and set their pile down with a bunch of other stuff.

  “It’s all good,” Tamar replied. “That’s life, right?”

  “So you’re living on the streets?”

  “Nah. Bro scooped me up and saved my life. Dude named Lonzo. Ex-Marine, he’s got a whole school full of kids back there. Call themselves The Orphans.”

  Rhonda drew back. “That sounds… morbid.”

  Tamar shrugged. “We all thought it was a pretty cool name, actually.”

  “Wow, good haul!” Rhonda turned as Rebecca Fields made her way out of one of the shops running alongside the central aisle of the mall. “Man, you guys found the mother lode.”

  “Yeah, we did all right,” Max replied. “Had to fight for it, but we came out on top.”

  “Barely,” Angel said. He and Rebecca shot each other a friendly look, but her mouth narrowed and she turned away, leaving his look shifting into question.

  “And who is this?” asked Fields as she approached Rhonda and Tamar.

  “Name’s Tamar,” he said. “I was just giving the rundown to this lady.” He jerked his head toward Rhonda.

  “You can call me Rhonda,” she said.

  “I’m Rebecca,” Fields said.

  “He was just telling me about a group of kids in Chicago… call themselves The Orphans. Tells me there’s a bunch of them there.”

  “Used to be more,” Tamar said, “until tho
se Ironclad jerks showed up.”

  “Ironclad?” Fields asked, a twitch firing off a synapse in her brain.

  “Yeah, Ironclad. Security contractors. Buncha government stooges. We were doing alright for ourselves and then they come shambling in a couple of months back and start popping caps. Killed at least two of ours. Nasty guys.”

  “What beef did they have with you?” Rebecca asked.

  Tamar shrugged. “I got no idea, lady. None of us ever heard of ‘em until we ran into them one night trying to farm for some supplies. Apparently they took offense to that and decided to start a little turf war. We ran into some of their goons tonight.” He turned toward Rhonda. “Your boy Max is a cowboy, lady. Hooo doggie.”

  Rhonda didn’t look amused. “These security guys,” she said. “You ever hear them talking about anything? Anyone?”

  “Nah, not really. They’re more a shoot first ask questions later kinda group.”

  “What do they look like?” Rebecca asked.

  “Eh, you know. Thirty-year-old white guys. Bunch of ‘em have shaved heads. They wear this crazy S.W.A.T. gear, though, I’ll tell you that much.”

  Rhonda and Rebecca looked at each other, then back at Tamar. “You said they showed up about two months ago?”

  “Yep. They’re an international company, but they got offices in Chicago. Showed up one day and took their building back over. Didn’t much like us hanging around.”

  “Have you ever heard them mention the name Karl Green?” asked Rebecca.

  “Karl?” Tamar said, over-emphasizing the ‘r’ sound. “Nah, never heard of ‘im.”

  “Still,” Rhonda said, looking at Fields again. “Sounds like they could be our guys.”

  “Your guys?” Tamar asked. “Whatcha mean ‘your guys’?”

  Rhonda turned back toward the young man. “Well, we didn’t just waltz into this mall. We kind of had to take it by force. I think it might have been some of those Ironclad guys who were holding it before we came along. That was about two months back.”

  Tamar nodded. “You use that nasty helicopter out front to take it?”

  Rebecca smirked and nodded.

  “Dang. Wish I coulda seen that.”