Blackout Series Books 1-2 (A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller)

by Adam Drake

  “I dunno. It's possible this could be fixed real soon.”

  “Yeah, but does your phone work?”

  Martin fished out a little phone from his back pocket and tossed on the table. “Dead. Like everyone else's I've run into. Yours?”

  “Very dead. Just like the cars and smoke detectors and planes, everything is dead that isn't even hooked up to the power grid. I haven't seen one electronic device of any kind working since this morning. Have you?”

  Martin shook his head. “No, not a spark of life from anything electrical. The roads are complete chaos. People hollering and screaming. Pandemonium.”

  Nate chuckled. “Pandemonium. Good word. I like that. Covers exactly what's going on. No power of any kind anywhere has led to complete pandemonium. So do you really believe that this can be fixed overnight?”

  “No way.”

  “Right. This is the ultimate dick-punch. A dick-punch to society as a whole. Maybe even the world.”

  “That's a pretty big dick-punch.”

  “And I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that, even if they somehow manage to reverse this colossal dick-punch, things will not return to the way people are used to.”

  Martin nodded. “Too much damage has been done.”

  “And many scores being settled. There is a purge occurring out there tonight, and will continue to happen for days and weeks if not longer. How can a civilized society recover from that? I mean, really?”

  Martin thought on this for a few moments. Nate drank his beer and watched him.

  Martin said, “I think you're right.”

  “About?”

  “About getting prepared. We need to protect ourselves. Get supplies and stuff.”

  Nate nodded. “We can't just sit around and wait for the government to come in and save our asses, now can we?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “They're too busy saving their own butts right now, mark my words.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So I think the best thing we could do is just as you said, get supplies and stuff. And by stuff I mean weapons.”

  “I have a pistol back at the warehouse which is also full of canned crap we could use.”

  Nate smiled. “I like that, Marty. A man after my own heart.”

  Martin's eyes lit up, and he stood. “Hey, don't those guys out there have guns?”

  “Yeah,” Nate said.

  “Uh, want me to go get 'em?”

  Nate shook his head. “No need, I stashed them already.” It was the first thing he did after plugging Morse. Can't have any guns laying about that weren't in his control so he stuffed them under Unger's desk for the moment.

  “Oh, okay,” Martin said and sat back down. He took a sip of his beer.

  Nate wasn't quite ready to give this guy a weapon, but what choice did he have? Things were spiraling out of control and having him armed would be helpful. Could he trust him?

  After some thought Nate reached into his jacket's deep pocket and pulled out his pistol. “Here, take this for now.”

  Martin's eyes went wide and took the proffered weapon. “Wow, thanks!” He held it gently in his hand, inspecting it under the lantern's fading light.

  “You've used one before?”

  “No, never.”

  Nate tapped the barrel of the pistol with a finger. “You point that at who I tell you to, okay?”

  Martin barked a nervous laugh. “Yeah, okay.” He squinted at it. “Is the safety on or off?”

  Nate sighed. “Off. Just don't shoot yourself with it.” You wouldn't be much use to me if you did, he thought.

  “Okay,” Martin said and slid the pistol in the waistband of his pants. His soft fat rolls nearly enveloped it. He may not be much of a gunman, but he was the only one Nate had at the moment.

  “I think it would be best if we stuck it out here until morning,” Nate said while Martin nodded in agreement. “Armed or not, it's too crazy out there to go traipsing around. And your lantern would draw too much attention to us especially if someone wanted to take it.”

  “We got guns,” Martin said, flush with his new responsibility. “They could try.”

  “Hopefully that stupid apartment building doesn't take this place down with it.”

  “I don't think so. It's pretty far over there.”

  They both sipped their beers. Nate considered practicing his new managerial style and brooch the subject of Martin's sob story. He'd learn more about his underling and maybe get a better angle on how to keep him under control.

  And if he didn't like what he heard he could always shoot him.

  “How did you get tangled up with the bear?” Nate asked.

  “The bear? Oh, Unger. Yeah, that there was a real piece of work. And it actually wasn't me that got tangled.”

  “It wasn't?”

  “No, it was my brother. He became an associate to that Morse guy and started to run errands for him.”

  “Poor bastard,” Nate said. He couldn't imagine having that screw-up as a boss.

  Martin nodded. “Had him running packets all over the city and into some really bad areas, too. Then after a while it progressed to stealing cars. My brother had a knack for that.”

  “Yeah? He jack a lot of good stuff?”

  “Uh-huh, you name it he could steal it. Alarms meant nothing to him. But it was when he stole a mercedes that something went wrong.”

  An alarm bell rang off in Nate's head. There was something familiar about this. “What happened? He get caught?”

  “No,” Martin said, his face grim. “He stole a mercedes that was the wrong color Unger wanted. Black instead of gray.”

  Now those alarm bells had turned into a full on klaxon. Nate swallowed his beer and waited for what he knew Martin would say next.

  “Anyways, he brought this black mercedes into one of Unger's shops and when Unger found out the color, he went ballistic. Hated it and was crazy mad over the fact it wasn't gray. Unger actually made him take it back.”

  “Take the car back? From where he stole it?”

  “Yeah, and it was there he was pinched by the cops. Kid had no choice but to take it back or he might get clipped from not following an order. So the kid gets thrown in jail, waiting to go to trial. While he was in there, Unger roped him into the drug market he was trying to start up. The kid tried to do it for a while but it's rough in there and he couldn't keep up with the other dealers.”

  Martin went silent and Nate didn't pry. He knew this tale by heart.

  After another sip, Martin said, “So he received a small shipment of crap from the outside, stuffed up a visitor's asshole. But before he could hide it, one of the other dealer's robbed him. Beat him up really good, too.”

  “And then your brother owed Unger for the missing drugs,” Nate stated matter-of-factly. It wasn't that he knew the details, it was just the natural progression of events in any criminal organization. You lose something the boss owns, you got to pay him back.

  Martin nodded. “But before he could even start to try and pay Unger back, he got into a fight and was shanked. Bled out before anyone could help him. After that Unger said the debt was transferred to me. So he got me working for him for free, basically.”

  Nate gave him a few moments before asking, “What was your brother's name?”

  “Ernie. Ernie Anway.”

  Well, this is awkward, Nate thought. He knew about Ernie Anway's death intimately, because he was the one who'd arranged it. Unger hated being owed by anyone, and if you took too long to pay, he had you eliminated as an example. Nate was under orders to have the guy killed, so he'd used his connections and got the job done.

  Now he's sharing a beer with the dead man's brother. Nate took a sip to hide the smile that threatened to cross his face. This was just too funny. Now I got this guy on a leash and he's completely unaware.

  To keep from laughing, he decided to get Martin out of the room. He pointed at the lantern which was dimming more by the minute. “You wouldn't happen to
have more juice for this thing?”

  Martin nodded, his face somber. “Sure. Brought a canister with me. Just a sec.”

  Nate watched the fat man walk outside and dig into the wheel-barrel. Now he was conflicted. It was obvious Martin didn't know of Nate's connection to Ernie's death, but that could change if he happened to talk to the wrong people. Then things would go from funny to fatal. Nate's first instinct was survival, which meant eliminating Martin here and now.

  Ah, too bad, Nate thought as he stood, taking a final sip from his beer. When Martin came back, he'd shoot him. After he filled the lantern, of course.

  “Uh, boss?” Martin said from outside.

  Nate looked over at him. Martin stared off into the darkness then gave a worried glance over his shoulder to Nate.

  Nate grabbed the lantern and hustled to the front door, the shotgun in his free hand.

  Once outside, Martin pointed. “Someone is coming.”

  Sure enough, several figures were walking across the parking lot toward the bar. Nate could see them because each one carried a flaming torch. As they got closer, he could also see they were armed, some with shotguns, others with automatic weapons.

  Oh shit, Nate thought. It was too late to run and too late to draw on them. He'd have to wait it out and see what the deal was.

  Martin gave Nate a terrified look. “Do you recognize them?”

  Nate looked at the approaching men. He could make out details, but he didn't know any of them. “No, do you?”

  “Yeah,” Martin said, nervous. “The big one there with the beard.”

  “Yeah, what about him?”

  “That's Orson.”

  “So?”

  Martin was trembling as he said, “Orson is Unger's little brother.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Wyatt

  “Save them?” Wyatt said. The words hung between he and Ethan like wet laundry. “That can't be it. How can I save anyone if I can't do the same for myself?”

  Ethan shrugged. “Well, that is a good question. And one I hope will be answered soon.”

  “You don't have the answer? You're the asshole who said I had a job to do.” As much as Wyatt wanted to to doubt what Ethan was spewing, he felt deep down inside that his dead friend was right. That syrupy feeling returned.

  “Hey, I'm just like anyone else, full of questions in search of answers. I can't hold both ends of the rope.”

  “What does that even mean?” Wyatt asked.

  Ethan shook his head. “Look, Wyatt ol'buddy. I'd love to sit and chat with you some more but you need to keep your head in the game. Sitting here in this truck will not bring you the answers you're looking for.”

  “Then where should I be?”

  Ethan laughed. “Certainly not waiting for that security guard to figure out the police won't be coming to pick you up any time soon. They have their own problems, and besides, noone's told them what happened yet.”

  Wyatt looked at the guard who was busy arguing with the man who pushed the woman. Ethan was right. No one knew what he'd done here. If he got away, maybe they would never know. How would they even identify him? Without power, any cameras that might have been able to record what happened didn't work anymore. And good luck getting someone to identify him in all this craziness. He could always shave his beard off, too.

  “Don't do that,” Ethan said.

  Wyatt blinked at his friend. “Do what?”

  “Shave your beard off. It gives you a noble visage.”

  “How did you know what I was thinking?” Wyatt said with alarm.

  Again, Ethan shrugged and Wyatt found the gesture annoying. “I don't have an answer for you on that, either,” Ethan said. “But, hey, don't worry about me right now. You're going to miss your chance.”

  “Chance to what?”

  “Escape,” Ethan nodded to the guard.

  Wyatt looked to see the large guard wrestling around the ground with the man he'd been arguing with. And then the woman who'd been pushed jumped on the both of them. People shifted along the sidewalk trying to get out of the way.

  “Time is wasting, buddy,” Ethan said. “Can't let chance do all the work for ya.”

  Wyatt frowned at his dead friend's obtuse words then shifted around. With an effort, he turned his body and fell back onto the seat. He placed both of his frayed runners against the passenger side window.

  “What are you doing?” Ethan said, curious.

  “I'm breaking out!” Wyatt said and kicked at the window. Nothing happened so he did it again with both feet. The window held fast so he kept hammering at it.

  Ethan sighed. “Did you check to see if the door was locked?”

  Wyatt paused in his assault. “Uh...” He shifted back up into a sitting position and glanced at the guard. The big man was still rolling around the sidewalk with both assailants, giving him a challenge.

  Wyatt checked the door. It was unlocked. “Huh,” he said as he moved around so his hands could reach the door latch. “Why'd he do that?”

  “You told him he'd let you go. Maybe that's why.”

  Wyatt eyed Ethan with suspicion. Ol'Eth was really full of it today, but he wouldn't argue with him. Whether intentional or not, the door was unlocked.

  Carefully, he pulled at the latch and the door popped open. Wyatt held on tight so it wouldn't swing out and hit the car next to them.

  The doctor came out of the clinic and started yelling at the guard. The guard paid him no mind and managed to get the woman pinned to the ground so he could put a set of plastic restraints on her. The other man sat propped up against the window, panting heavily, clutching his chest.

  “Give it three seconds,” Ethan said.

  With the guard ignoring him, the doctor turned his attention to the truck and looked at Wyatt.

  Wyatt froze and offered a dead eyed glare in return. He hoped the doctor didn't notice the door ajar in the growing darkness.

  The doctor opened his mouth and pointed in Wyatt's direction.

  Suddenly the man clutching his chest cried out.

  The doctor quickly turned his attention to the man and knelt next to him. He shouted for the nurse.

  “Now would be good,” Ethan said with a wide smile.

  Wyatt eased the door open behind him and slowly slid out, keeping an eye on the confusion at the front of the truck. The truck's overhead light didn't turn on, for which he was grateful.

  Placing one foot at a time onto the asphalt, Wyatt stood. The guard's back was turned, hunched over his new prisoner. The doctor and nurse performed CPR on the ailing man.

  Concerned that trying to close the door would draw attention, Wyatt walked slowly backwards down the length of the truck. In seconds he'd be out of sight and on his way.

  Suddenly, Ethan leaned out of the open door and grinned at Wyatt. “Everything can't be easy!” He grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut.

  The guard, who had stood up, whirled around. “Hey! Stop!”

  Wyatt spun around and ran out past the truck and turned right. He raced down the length of the parking lot hoping the cluster of people and cars would slow any pursuers.

  His heart thudded in his chest and the restraints pinched deeper into his flesh with his frantic movements. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed the guard in hot pursuit. For such a big man, he was fast.

  But Wyatt had the advantage. The sun had finally vanished behind the dark buildings. No street lights were turned on. In fact, there were no lights whatsoever. If it wasn't for the bright rash of stars across the sky, Wyatt wouldn't have been able to see a thing.

  There was shouting behind him, but he didn't look. His concentration was fully on navigating the encroaching blackness. He swung around the strip mall, past more parked cars and along the side of the building. There were no lights here either.

  Wyatt slowed, unable to make out many details and not wanting to fall. His eyes needed to get used to the night.

  A huffing and puffing made him look back.
/>   The guard rounded the corner of the building. His large form was bulbous in the dark.

  “Stop!” the big man shouted.

  Wyatt had to give him credit, but increased his speed. He couldn't be caught. The guard would make sure another escape didn't happen. Besides, Wyatt had a mysterious job to do which probably did not entail being imprisoned.