She grabbed both and found a chair in front of a mirror. Carefully pulling off and tossing aside the monster boots—for good, she hoped—she slipped on each hiking boot. They felt the correct size, and she knew instantly that this was an improvement. After lacing them up and tying them snugly, she walked around, exaggerating each step to fully test them. Perfect.
“Hey, I found my size!” she bellowed in joy. Her feet were still sore, but they felt great in these things.
Before she took a step, she glanced at Travis and the old man, just outside the store. Both were animated, and both were rubbernecking toward the highway.
A loud rumble roared up to the door. A large truck squealed to a stop right in front of the old man, its doors already opening. Lexi stepped closer, stumbling over boxes and furniture, her anxiety building up again. She recognized the truck instantly, having seen it multiple times. She chomped at the air, wanting to yell something to her brother, but nothing came out. It was too late.
A man walked around from the driver's side of the truck, his face obscured by the old man, but she knew instantly who it was. Then, the man walked around the old man and Travis, and stood glaring over his bandaged nose right at Lexi.
It couldn’t be!
The old man stepped in front of him, yelling and shaking his finger at him vigorously, and then holding his other arm out to block entry to Broken Nose and another man beside them. The old man shot a glance to the back of the store. It was a helpless face, full of fear. But it wasn’t fear for himself, it was for Lexi and Travis.
The old man turned back to Broken Nose just as several thunder claps exploded.
The old man collapsed in the doorway.
Lexi screamed. She didn't want to, but she did anyway, unmoving.
Travis dashed to the old man, bawling, “Noooo!”
The old man, breathing heavily, held out his hand. Travis grabbed it, his eyes filling, dreading the inevitability of another death.
Broken Nose pointed into the store, right at Lexi, who was petrified to find that she hadn't moved the whole time. She was literally paralyzed with fear. She should run, but where? Her brother was caught. She couldn't leave him. The other man ran directly at her. She felt different than yesterday when she was angry and able to react. Now, she felt helpless. And just like that, all her energy left her. She toppled over to her knees, onto a tumble of boxes, only a few feet from the door. Her plummet continued, helped along by her heavy pack. She landed on her belly just as the man reached for her, roughly clawing at one of her arms, pulling her back up.
“Look what I found, boss,” said the man, practically carrying her.
Broken Nose smiled broadly, watching her approach.
“We've been searching for you all night. Clyde’s got some great things planned for you, and so do I.”
Her gaze drifted down first to her brother, then the old man, his eyes weakly fluttering, perhaps for the last time. His chest was a bloody soup.
“What about the kid?” the man dragging her asked plaintively.
“Leave ’im. We have what we came for,” answered Broken Nose.
“Lex,” her brother wailed.
The old man gasped, “Ma will take care of him.”
It was as if their lives had just been decided for them: she would go away for good and Travis was to spend his days at some strange old lady's house. It wasn't right.
Tossed into the front of the truck like a bag of feed, her right arm snapped back, nearly dislocating it from her shoulder; her wrist was handcuffed to the roll bar above the door. “Zach don’t trust you,” said the thug who manhandled her, before slamming the door.
Broken Nose Zach entered the other side. “You’re pretty, just like I thought.” He punched her in the face with a grunt, spinning her head around till she was facing the store again.
Lexi watched the periphery of her vision fade. Like darkness consuming the daylight at dusk, blackness spread across everything; a shrinking black picture frame, with her brother’s portrait in the middle, standing over the dead old man, alone and crying, watching her sister being taken away.
They weren’t going to make it to Abe’s.
They weren’t going to make it home.
Then there was only blackness.
Chapter 16
Abe
“CQ CQ, this is WB9-Zulu-Mike-Oscar calling from the Chicago hot zone. I’m looking to talk to any survivors out there,” pleaded a gruff voice laced with cigarettes and desperation.
“WB9ZMO, this is W4AAM, in Miami. Whoa, surprised, but thankful to hear anyone is alive in Second City.”
“Hey Chicago and Miami, this is Jonathan in New York. I’m northwest of the Manhattan blast. Just glad to talk to someone.”
“Hey Jonathan. You can call me Walter,” said the gruff voice, becoming a little more animated. “What about you, Miami?”
“Hello guys, this is Cindy. How are ya doing? Are ya able to stay out of the radiation?”
“Hey Cindy … Ah, not so good here … this is Jonathan in New York. This is … was my son’s radio. He talked on the damn thing all the time. He went on a science field trip to Manhattan with classmates, when the bomb hit …”
Cindy’s mic was obviously clicked on, but she was quiet for a long pause. “What about you, WB9 in Chicago?”
“It’s Walter. I’m in a western suburb of Chicago, so we were outside of the blast area, mostly. The local emergency station told us to stay inside and to protect against radiation. I’ve taped up all the windows and have enough food or water for a while. But I don’t think I did so good. I have a Geiger counter too, and it's already in the red. I guess I’ll probably be dead in a few days. I’ll take a bullet of course, rather than puking blood from radiation; I hear that’s pretty unbearable.”
It seemed as if no one was going to say anything more.
“So tell me, Cindy or Jonathan. Before I leave this earth, I just want to know, have you heard if we’ve started taking it to the bastards who did this to us?”
“Umm …” It was Cindy answering. There was a sound of a nose being blown in the background. “I think the country’s too in shock right now to take action. I mean they leveled DC too. The good news, if there can be any in this darkness, is that I’ve heard talk of only a few of our bases getting hit, but nowhere else. I’ve only been able to confirm that Jacksonville was destroyed. And a neighbor-friend of mine, who is a scientist, tells me that the radiation is blowing east, so …”
Cindy paused again. She had mentally concluded that the radiation from the Chicago blast would eventually hit Jonathan in New York, but she probably didn’t want to say it.
“I’m sure that once we get on our feet again after we figure out how to bring back the power, we’ll find out who these terrorists are and we’ll send them back to hell, where they belong.”
There was another long pause as Abe considered her words, his fingers poised over his radio’s controls. Like everyone so far, they attributed these blasts to mere terrorists.
Cindy continued, “I’ll pray for you both” (she blew her nose again) “but I have to go now; my battery is running low and I need to keep a charge for emergencies. God bless you both. K4AAM out.”
Abe switched off the radio. He had heard enough. The smattering of reports from ham radio operators—those whose units were protected against the EMPs, who were always ready for emergencies—reported the same thing all over the country: power down, most vehicles didn’t work, some electronics burned out, those that worked had no Internet or network service, and few had supplies of food. They had no idea what was coming; hunger, disease, and death awaited most Americans in the weeks and months that lay ahead.
It wouldn’t be this way for him. He was prepared for this. He had lots of supplies. He lived away from the radiation, so his water was fresh and plentiful. He had solar power. He even had a plot of vegetables, so he and his family and others living on his property ate fresh produce daily.
There was a knock on
his door, and it cracked open to reveal a man whose dark skin and clothing stood in stark silhouette to the brightness outside.
“Excuse me,” the young man announced, his eyes cast downward out of respect. “Sorry to interrupt, but I hear a truck coming down da drive.”
“Thanks, Leo. I may need your help with this.”
He closed his door to his radio shack—that’s what ham operators called it, but it was hardly a shack—behind them. Before walking between it and the next building to meet the vehicle in the drive, he glanced at the river dock and the cigarette boat tied to one of its posts. His mind wandered just a little bit, in spite of the urgency of their guest’s arrival. Had he been born into a different world, he would have enjoyed spending his days on this river, fishing and trapping wild game, or reading his books in the sunshine. It was a splendid place, full of natural beauty everywhere. But his life was different. He had responsibilities. He had men and women who depended on him. And he had a mission to fulfill.
He turned back to the driveway, the noise of the oncoming truck already drowning out the river’s soft lapping sounds and the constant banter of the tropical wildlife it supported.
He reluctantly walked to the drive, away from the river and the life he’d like to have led.
A war was coming, and he had limited control over what happened next. He could only do his job and react to his environment. In the weeks and months that would come, this world would change, regardless of all the planning he’d done; he could only use his skills to react to what came at him next.
The truck pulled up to him, a small plume of dust arriving a few seconds later. The door groaned open and a dark-skinned man hopped out, and smiles of familiarity lit both their faces.
“Good morning,” he said, welcoming the driver.
“Yes, it is.”
~~~
The potholes jostled Lexi awake, although it was more like a familiar nudge as she could have been back in Tucson, where the city’s or county’s roads were always blanketed with broken asphalt. Her uncle constantly cursed the “monkeys in government” for not fixing the endless potholes, allowing some to grow so big they threatened to eat whole vehicles. The jarring of her arm and the stabbing pain in her wrist and her nose reminded her that she was not in Tucson any more. She flicked her right eye open, careful to not flutter the left one or move any other muscles in case he was watching her for a sign of consciousness. As best as she could see and feel, she was still handcuffed to the truck, and they were still moving, now on a dirt road in a forest, or perhaps a jungle. Every so often, the cover of green would open only a few feet and reveal a river, several yards beyond. Then just as quickly, the leaves would close in again.
They slowed and turned around in the driveway of somebody’s property. There were multiple houses and men waiting for them. She closed her eye again lightly and continued to pretend that she was unconscious, hoping to learn something more about her captivity and her captors.
That image of Travis flashed into her mind. He was standing over the body of the elderly man who was nice to them. Travis’s eyes were swollen with sadness, his shoulders heavy with grief, and he reached out for his sister. Her brother needed her and she had treated him like a non-entity. Pangs of guilt tore at her already shaky gut as she remembered the years of indifference she had for him.
How could she be so heartless? She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t.
The truck’s stop pulled her off the seat so that she was somewhat cantilevered over it. The driver’s side door quickly squeaked open, the truck jostled, and then the door slammed shut indicating the driver had gotten out. What was his name? Zach! The man whose nose she broke. It felt like he returned the favor as her nose throbbed in pain, and she felt dried blood caked on her lips and chin.
“Hey brother,” a muffled voice sang outside the window. “What ya bring me besides your busted nose?”
She desperately wanted to open her eyes, but she didn’t dare.
“Yah, that’s another story. But the boys scored, Clyde. We raided a neighborhood a few miles from here and grabbed a lot of food.”
“Great work, Zach.” She heard some footsteps coming closer. “Who’s that?”
The hairs on back of Lexi’s neck stood up as she could feel them both looking at her.
“Oh, that’s the reason for my busted nose. Bitch broke my nose with a door, right after she bashed in Rodie’s head with a baseball bat.
“That little thing done all dat?”
“Yup. We’ve been searching for her all night. Found her this morning in Greensville. I brought her here for you. And if you don’t like her, maybe a public hanging; you know, something for the men to enjoy?”
“Not a bad idear. But I didn’t care for Rodie. He was careless and obviously paid for it. She looks like she was pretty before you busted her up. No, I’m thinkin we just give her to the boys. Let them have fun with her.”
She felt her face flush and her nausea return.
Clyde whistled, like he was hailing a New York cabbie. “Hey boys, before you unload, put this one in my house. Lock her up to a table or something.”
Her door squeaked open and she felt the warm, wet breezes work at her hair.
Someone—she didn’t dare open her eyes to see who—released her wrist and she let her arm fall into her lap. Without the door to hold her in, her meager weight poured out the door. She was toppling into the air—hope the bastard catches me—when she hit something soft and pungent.
“Damn boss, you musta hit her hard. She’s still out,” a deep voice said much too loud beside her ear.
Strong arms hoisted her up, without effort, and yet they seemed to regard her with care, as if she might break. She so wanted to look and see where she was and who carried her. Her head was cradled in his arms, softening every footstep.
“I got her,” said her carrier, his arms squeezing tight, almost protectively.
“Why does Big Mike gets to play with her before all of us?” said a new voice.
“No one gets to play, yet,” answered Clyde. “You lock er up in da house and come right back, ya hear?”
Lexi felt the arms release somewhat, and heard his feet grinding over a gravelly surface. After a short time, she felt him move her weight higher onto his biceps, while his arm reached out. A door’s hinges squealed for maintenance. She instantly knew they were inside and she carefully squinted her right eyelid once more, to let in the light and get her first view of the man. He was black as night and he had a hangdog face—that’s what her Aunt Sara would have called it—that was naturally sad. His eyes flitted down and then back to where he was going and she shut her eyes, hoping he hadn’t seen she was awake.
The inside was almost comfortable, the air not as heavy as outside. A loud fan in the background must have been the reason for the breeze she felt against her skin.
She almost flinched as he laid her on a cool tile floor. Then she felt her left arm being pulled gently to one side, the sharp circular metal of a handcuff clicked snugly around her wrist. At least it wasn’t the other one, which ached.
“Sorry little missy, gotta do this.” His voice was wet with tenderness. Not what she expected.
She listened to the heavy ramble of his steps behind her, the door’s hinges crying out again before it slammed. She listened for any other sounds and heard none. When she was sure she was alone, she opened her eyes to see she was attached to a heavy-looking wood chair, pushed under a table. Moving herself around, she could see this was a small house, and she was in the middle of a big room that held the dining, living, and kitchen areas. It looked old and in dire need of maintenance, but it was mostly tidy, and appeared clean.
To this point she had been somewhat calm, although she didn’t know why. Maybe she was too busy assessing her surroundings to focus on her future. But now, locked up in a house surrounded by bad guys, not knowing where she was or where her brother was, and knowing what Clyde intended for his men to do to her; she was starting dow
n the path of full-out panic.
Calm down, Lexi. You’ll find a way out of this.
It felt like her father talking to her. But it wasn’t, it was from the pages of the Prepper Brothers book, which said to relax and to think logically when in a life or death situation, because there are always options.
She did start to calm down, as she considered her options for escape. And as she looked around, a plan started to take shape when the door screeched opened once again.
Chapter 17
One Day Earlier
Ft. Rucker, Alabama
Five olive-colored trucks with US Army markings on their sides approached the gate. As the lead vehicle slowed to a stop, the others followed suit.
Private Shields bounded out of the command unit, excited to see more soldiers had arrived. After the attack, the base commander said that more troops would come eventually and in the meantime to be vigilant on watch. More than reinforcements, which they didn’t really need for a base that mostly serviced and flew drones, Shields was anxious about getting information. When the public grid their base shared with Enterprise Alabama went down, so did their power. And other than the single radio broadcast they’d received from a base in Georgia after starting one of their gennies, and the constant feed from the BBC, they’d had no other information. There was so much they wanted to know: Who did this? Why? When was the US going to strike back?
Shields was so excited about the convoy’s arrival, in fact, that he didn’t even notice that the trucks were over twenty years old and had been out of Army service for at least the last ten years. These were the kind of details he was supposed to be aware of. He only knew that they must be carrying troops and they must have information from the outside world.
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