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

by Adam Drake

  “Fuck you and your brother,” Martin said and fired again.

  This bullet hit Orson in the forehead and the big man fell backwards on the ground, dead.

  Martin ran over to Nate. “You okay, boss?”

  Nate blinked at the pain that shot through his face. “Yeah, I'll live. Thanks.”

  As Martin tried to help him up, Nate waved him away. “There's still one guy left. Watch that door!”

  Martin nodded and ran back to the corner. The moment he peered around it he raised his pistol and fired again, shouting in surprise.

  A scream of pain was followed by a burst of gunfire. Martin ducked back behind the building as bullets tore through the brickwork.

  Nate pushed himself up to his feet, shotgun still in hand. He looked at Martin with concern. “You okay?”

  Martin blinked in amazement and looked his body over. “Yeah! Not a scratch.”

  The screaming continued then died down.

  “I'm gonna finish this,” Martin said and Nate didn't argue.

  With another quick look, Martin could see that the other man was dying on the ground, and no longer a threat. He calmly raised his pistol, aimed and fired.

  “That's that,” Martin said as Nate hobbled over.

  “That was all of them,” Nate said and tried to grin, but the pain of his face made him wince.

  Martin cringed when he looked at him. “Damn, boss. Looks like your face is messed up.”

  “At least it's not my pride,” Nate said. He looked down the front of the building.

  Two more bodies had been added to the carnage. One at the front door, the other about half way down the building. Nate shook his head. Imagine that. Martin pulled his weight and then some. Now he was glad he didn't kill him earlier. Without him this show would have ended a lot differently.

  Smoke started to froth out of the front doors of the bar.

  “It's burning,” Martins said.

  Nate said, “That's Spectacular.” He winced as he tried to laugh at his own stupid joke. “Come on, let's grab as much of their stuff as we can carry.”

  “And then what?” Martin asked, eagerness on his face.

  “Then we start to build an empire.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Wyatt

  There were no more trees, just towering buildings, dark and cold. Had they even been there?

  Did he just run through a forest, bullets flying all around? He couldn't remember.

  The sound of rushing water roared in his ears.

  He was on the side of a river bank which snaked its way through the city. The rumbling waters vanished into the black maw of a tunnel a short distance from where he was. Hard concrete pressed against his body, not the soft wet dirt of a forest. His clothes were soaked through, but he didn't mind.

  I escaped, he thought.

  Looking to his right he could see the dark outline of the river curving around a bend, the direction he must have come from. This was not a natural river, but one guided by the hand of man.

  He peered up and found himself breathless at the sight of so many stars. The sky was stunningly clear.

  Another memory tried to bubble up from the depths of his mind, but he forced it down. Enough of that.

  He tried to stand up only to realize his hands were still bound behind his back. The cold water had frozen him so thoroughly he couldn't feel them anymore. Dead weight. Just like him.

  With sluggish effort he shook his head and blinked his eyes. Water sprayed from his beard. He had to get up, get moving. Sitting here will only complicate things, give his enemies time to catch up.

  But who were they?

  “Smarten up!” Wyatt said, his voice fighting to be heard over the river's frothy roar. His eyes drooped. What was wrong with him?

  He needed to stand up. Now.

  Slipping one foot beneath his butt, he tried to stand. Half way to his goal he lost all balance and fell over on his side.

  He coughed and wretched, water spraying from his mouth. He must have swallowed half the river.

  For a few moments he lay there, watching the river pass by. The sounds of its passage echoing loudly from the tunnel.

  “Where's the pick up?” he asked. He almost expected to hear a static filled answer in his ear, but none came.

  An image of the security guard stalking up behind him made Wyatt suddenly roll over. This time he felt his arms and the plastic restrainers which cut into them. No guard was there. He was further up the river.

  Wyatt looked up the concrete embankment which extended to a chain-link fence. Behind the fence was a dumpster, its rectangular form nearly blending into the night.

  “Huh,” Wyatt said. “Maybe I'll find some cans.” But he didn't try to get up again. In fact, he didn't want to get up any more. He decided he'd done enough movement for one day. Why do more? What was it good for?

  Today he watched his friend die after trying for hours to find him help. What a waste.

  He'd killed two people. Feral Kids, sure. But still people.

  No, he thought. Not people, a start. Didn't he say that to the security guard?

  Wyatt realized that something was wrong with him. Really wrong. Not a passing phase or a late mid-life crisis or any of that nonsense. Something was rotten in Denmark.

  Another memory tried to peek around the corner of his mind, but he swatted it away. None of that now.

  He'd just rest here a while and watch the waters stream by.

  Stream by. Ha ha. Ethan would like that one.

  As his eyes began to close a light appeared from somewhere. From his position on the ground he titled his head back to look in the direction of the tunnel.

  A light was in there, deep inside. Small, but bright against the eternal blackness.

  As Wyatt watched, the light moved, bobbing and weaving in a little dance.

  His mind was empty of thought, only the light mattered. Its approach was calming, soothing.

  Soon the light breached the mouth of the tunnel and Wyatt saw that it was a man carrying a lantern.

  The man paused and looked around, holding the lantern up in front of him.

  Wyatt thought he recognized him.

  “Ethan?” he said, unsure, and suddenly coughed up more water. When his spasm had passed, he discovered the man standing above him, smiling down.

  “What's up, ol'buddy?” Ethan said with a wide grin. “Took a spill into the drink, did you?”

  Wyatt glared angrily up at him. “You know I did. It was your idea!”

  “Was it? I dunno about that,” Ethan said as he bent over and helped Wyatt sit up.

  The movement made Wyatt dizzy. “Why did you slam that door?”

  “What door?” Ethan asked. He settled down next to Wyatt and placed the lantern between them. It was an old kerosene lamp.

  “You know what I mean. I was almost scott-free, but you had to go and ruin it.”

  Ethan shook his head, an expression of pity on his face. “Wyatt, I didn't slam any door.”

  “Yeah, you did,” Wyatt said and spit out some more river water. “I was following your little escape plan and then you went and made things...”

  “What?”

  “Complicated!”

  Ethan chuckled. “Well, what happened in the past, stays in the past. Right? What matters is you're here now. Safe.” He gave Wyatt a friendly nudge. “Don't be angry. You know it doesn't suit you.”

  “Suits me just fine,” Wyatt said. He felt that syrupy feeling creeping up on him again. Threatening to make him talk funny. He tried to shake it away. “I'm a little messed up, Ethan.” The admission made him feel a little better. Less weight on his mind.

  Ethan nodded. “I am well aware. But you're going to be even more messed up if we don't find a way to get those restraints off you. Can't do your new job all trussed up like a Sunday ham.”

  “Saving people?” Wyatt said.

  His dead friend only shrugged. “Something like that. Like I said. I only have questions or answe
rs, not both.” He pushed himself up to his feet and grabbed the lantern. “You coming?”

  “Coming where?” Wyatt said with suspicion.

  Ethan pointed to the tunnel. “In there, stupid.”

  Wyatt arched a brow. “I don't like the dark.”

  “That's what makes you perfect for your new job, then.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you will do all you can to find the light,” Ethan said and motioned for Wyatt to stand. “Come on, get up. The future has already started and you're going to miss out.”

  That syrupy feeling edged over Wyatt's shoulders, up his neck and across his scalp. “Yeah, maybe.” He tried to stand again using his legs, but couldn't do it.

  “Mind helping me out a little?” Wyatt said.

  Ethan's smile was wide and for the briefest of moments he looked just like Santa Claus. He stuck a hand under Wyatt's arm. “No, Wyatt. I don't mind one bit.”

  Finally standing, Wyatt rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet, trying to get the circulation back in his legs. It was damned cold out.

  “Okay, now where?” Wyatt said, eyeing the tunnel.

  “We go to the end of that,” Ethan said, nodding toward the opening. He starting guiding Wyatt forward.

  “And what's down in there?”

  “Answers, maybe.”

  “In a tunnel?”

  Ethan laughed. “Hey, don't knock it until you've reached the end.”

  As they crossed over the entrance Wyatt peered ahead with suspicion. “I'm not sure about this, Ethan.”

  Ethan shrugged, the light from the lantern seemed to be absorbed into his white beard. “To be honest, I'm not sure about this, either.”

  They walked further along, the river roiling in the dark beyond the edge of the lantern's light.

  Wyatt eyed Ethan then asked, “What sort of answers will I find down there?”

  Ethan smiled and his teeth practically twinkled like the stars outside. “I think the first answer will be the most important and I believe we'll find it soon it enough.”

  “Wait,” Wyatt said with unabashed confusion. “What the hell is the question?”

  “How do we begin to save the world?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Nate

  “Go ahead and dump those prawns out,” Nate said.

  Martin grinned. “With pleasure.” He hefted the wheel-barrel and the plastic bags slid onto the ground in a pile.

  “See,” Nate said with a smile. “Hauling that crap all the way here paid off, but not how you expected.”

  “Yup,” Martin said. “I gotta be honest, this day hasn't shaped up the way I thought it would.”

  Both of them laughed.

  The fire inside the bar was in full force, with flames consuming everything inside. Thick smoke billowed out from the doors.

  They backed up several paces then took a few minutes to watch the bar burn.

  “So much for sticking it out here,” Martin said. He was still jacked up on adrenaline from the fight. Nate knew it could be hours before he came down from that wonderful high.

  “That is a problem,” Nate said. “I know our friends here will have more coming at some point. Whether tonight or in the morning is anyone's guess.”

  “Orson had a big crew,” Martin said and coughed a little from the smoke. “At least thirty guys or so.”

  Nate had never encountered Orson before tonight, much to Orson's demise. He'd heard of the big bastard many times. Just as mean and cruel as his brother. But he was a part of the organization, too. At some point, they will come around to check in. The best thing to do is leave. Now.

  “I don't know about you, but I've had enough gun-play for one night.”

  Martin laughed. “I dunno. I think I can take out a few more for you if you wanted.”

  Nate smiled. Yeah, this one is a keeper, that's for sure. “We best put some distance between us and this little mess we created. Grab all these guns and whatever else might be useful. I'll go back and get Orson's and the other weapons.”

  After a few minutes they collected seven guns and four pistols along with lots of extra ammo. Nate made a point of taking the money out of all their wallets, too. You never know.

  Martin looked down at all the weaponry in the wheel-barrel. “Think this will help with our empire?”

  Our empire? Nate thought. He let it slide. “Not even close. Not without trusted hands that can hold them. What's that?” He nodded to a small satchel at Martin's feet.

  “This here was under that first guy you blew away,” Martin said as he opened it. It was full of torches.

  “Nice,” Nate said. “These guys got their shit together fast. Made these torches when they realized there are no other means of light.”

  “And now they're ours,” Martin said as he placed the satchel into the wheel-barrel. Then he picked the wheel-barrel up by its handles. “Where to, boss?”

  Nate picked up the lantern which Martin had refilled from a small canister. He had decided to carry the AK-47 Orson had tried to kill him with and slung the shotgun under his jacket. “We need to find a place to hang out for a while, until morning. Maybe longer. Do you know this area at all?”

  “Nope, I just come here to make deliveries. Or I used to. No more of that crap.”

  Nate let him revel in his perceived freedom. “Let's walk and see what we can see. Maybe an opportunity will present itself.”

  They crossed the parking lot and away from the burning bar.

  “I saw a bicycle back there. That yours?” Martin asked as he huffed along.

  “It was a gift from a stranger.”

  “You could ride it,” Martin said. “I don't mind.”

  Nate nearly laughed out loud at that. Instead he said, “Nah, no more bikes for me.” Soon, if I wanted to go somewhere I'll have someone carry me, he thought with a smile.

  They left Spectacular's parking lot and moved into the street. On a whim, Nate turned them northward, and they kept walking. This led them past the front of the burning apartment building. Some people were here, clustered on the opposite side of the road, staring mournfully at their burning homes. When they saw Nate and Martin coming most backed away or simply turned and fled.

  “Our fireworks got them spooked,” Martin said.

  As they walked by, Nate felt that invigorating surge return. Here he was walking down the street armed to the teeth and not giving a damn what anyone thought. What could they do?

  Martin must have felt something too because he stuck out his chest and sneered at anyone they passed.

  “This is definitely a new era we are entering into, boss,” Martin said after several streets. There were stranded cars everywhere, but none had any drivers anymore. They must have decided to trek home before dark.

  “Yup,” Nate said. “I'm liking how it's starting out so far.”

  They laughed.

  “Hey, what's that?” Martin said, nodding his head further down the street.

  A strange light was bobbing along on the sidewalk in their direction.

  “I have no idea,” Nate said. They stopped and waited to see what the deal was.

  As the strange light got closer, they could see it was two young women walking toward them. In their hands they each clutched a large batch of glow-sticks which gave off just enough illumination to see where they were going.

  The two girls noticed the weaponry in the wheel-barrel and the AK Nate carried. They stopped, stunned.

  “Hello, ladies,” Nate said as he approached them. Martin put down his burden and followed.

  “Hello,” one of the women said, a blonde.

  “Whatcha got there?” Nate asked about the sticks.

  “These are party sticks. We use them at clubs, but realized they'd do well at night since everything doesn't work anymore.”

  Nate chuckled. “Well, isn't that clever,” he said inspecting the sticks closely. There were several colors and gave off a dreamy neon glow. “Better than nothing, huh?”
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  The other girl, a brunette, giggled nervously. She was also carrying a paper bag full of groceries.

  “Whatcha got there?”