Shiloh Ranch: A Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction Series (The Blackout Series Book 4)

by Bobby Akart

  “Have we had any defections?” she asked in an expressionless, raspy voice.

  “Not really,” replied Cherry. “Some of the boys got rough with one of the girls at the Walnut House, but we fixed her up at the hospital. She slipped out one night and we haven’t found her. Other than that, the guys that matter have stuck around.”

  “How’s the quarry production since the heavy rains?” she asked.

  “Fine, except for the accident. We sent the new men to shore up a wall that was compromised by the flooding. A mudslide triggered a rockslide, and seven of them died.”

  Creak—creak—creak.

  Ma remained impassive, unemotional. “That’s a cost of doing business.”

  Creak—creak—creak.

  Cherry nodded and lit a cigarette. Normally, he wouldn’t smoke around Ma, especially inside. He stepped into the yard, where the smoke wouldn’t pass near her, and continued. “I need to talk with you about Junior and his obsession with this family that tore up the town a couple of weeks ago,” said Cherry.

  “What about it?” Ma bristled. Cherry wasn’t family and she didn’t care for his tone.

  “Junior is expending a considerable amount of time and resources searching for this Dalton fella, his wife, and daughter in the western part of the county.”

  “Is it slowing down our operation any?” asked Ma.

  “Well, no,” replied Cherry. “It’s just that he’s taking our best men and—”

  “Does Junior think those people are still around?”

  “Yes. He’s taking a contingent up toward Saltillo in a couple of days. He found an old man near Clifton who remembered the family. He thinks they may have taken the ferry across the river.”

  “Percy’s? Is that old man still alive?”

  “Maybe. Junior is gonna have a word with him as well. I’m just sayin’ this is a lot of galavantin’ around chasing ghosts.”

  Ma stopped rocking. “Look here, Bill. These folks made Junior and you look bad. You should’ve taken their guns when ya stopped them at the checkpoint. Heck, you shoulda just cuffed ’em and thrown them in the back of a truck from the git-go. I hear the women were real lookers. They’re in short supply around here.”

  “I know, but they said they were headed toward Memphis and—” started Cherry before being interrupted again.

  “That’s a load of crap,” said Ma. “They wouldn’t run away from Nashville just to head to Memphis. Junior’s got a hunch and he’s followin’ it. That’s what a good law enforcement officer does. We can’t look weak to these people in Savannah. That family got away, which might have given some folks around here the same idea. No, that Dalton fella and his women need to be brought to justice. So you leave Junior be and focus on your own stuff.”

  Neither spoke for a moment and only the sounds of a flock of birds headed south could be heard.

  Creak—creak—creak.

  Ma started up the Brumby again.

  “Have you made a decision about expansion?” asked Cherry, quickly changing the subject after the stinging rebuke.

  “The east side of the county has been exhausted. You’ve pushed as far as Waynesboro and collected everything there is to collect. How about towards the dam?”

  “It’s a real mess down there,” replied Cherry. “The Corps can’t control the river levels. They say the problems started upriver from Muscle Shoals to Decatur and then all the way up to Chattanooga. A lot of the riverfront homes are destroyed, leaving only trailer parks. They don’t have anything worth pursuin’. As the rainy season hits us in November, there’ll be more flooding.”

  “Going across the bridge into the west part of Hardin County will pose risks for us,” Ma began. “For one thing, those ranchers don’t like me. They didn’t vote for me and don’t consider me, as mayor of Savannah, to have any authority over them. Secondly, the good people of Adamsville and Selmer remember the Pusser legacy. They will stand up to us.”

  Cherry took another draw on his Marlboro and allowed a deep exhale of smoke. “Junior thinks the ranchers may be binding together. He was looking for the family that tore up the town and questioned several of the folks down in Shiloh. He was greeted with a lot of men with rifles.”

  “Well, you can’t blame them for protecting their farms,” said Ma. She waved her hand past her nose twice, indicating to Cherry that his smoke break was over.

  “We can outgun them if we’re strategic about it,” said Cherry as he ground his cigarette into the lawn. “It won’t be like the eastern half of the county, where we’d roll up with a couple of trucks and eight heavily armed men. These farms are large and they’re fenced. I think we should avoid them and move directly into Adamsville and Selmer.”

  Ma contemplated this for a moment. The ranches offered so much in the way of food resources. Plus, she’d like nothing more than to knock those high-and-mighty rich folks off their perches. But there’d be time for that. She had some scores to settle in McNairy County first.

  A chill swept over her as the sun began to set across the river. She stared at the part of her life that had passed many years ago. She remembered the rotten eggs breaking on her children’s heads as the good people of Adamsville screamed for her to get out of their town. That was a lot of years ago, yet it was just the other day.

  “Then it’s settled,” said Ma. “Get with Junior and come up with a plan. I want to send a sizable force into Adamsville and clean it out like a swarm of locusts. We’re gonna send a message.”

  “Will do, Ma.”

  “Bill, when you’re done, I want you to burn it down.”

  “Which part?”

  “I don’t care, just send a message that’s loud and clear!”

  Chapter 22

  9:00 a.m., October 17

  Tennessee River

  Shiloh

  It had been nearly three weeks since his family had arrived at the front gate of Shiloh Ranch, full of hope and excitement, only to face the guns and spotlights of their greeters. Over time, Colton and the girls had assimilated into the everyday activities of the ranch easily. Life was much safer than what they’d experienced in Nashville and along the Natchez Trace.

  The solar storm and the loss of power set America back two centuries into a world where the basic necessities of water, food, and shelter were important. Colton laughed when he thought about the important headlines prior to the collapse: Group Demands Removal of Nativity Scene from Courthouse—Colorado rejects Prayer in School—49ers Quarterback Shuns National Anthem, Then Given Spirit and Inspiration Award.

  The average American didn’t know what life without luxuries entailed. A world without power brought reality to everyone’s doorstep, including the Rymans. Before the collapse of the grid, the question of the day was where are we going to dinner tonight? After the solar flare brought America to her knees, the question became are we going to eat tonight?

  Stubby added four more ranch hands that approached the front gate yesterday. These men had worked for the Allens three years ago when they built the pavilion and other outbuildings designed by Stubby. They were part of a Mennonite community in Whiteville, which was sixty miles west of Shiloh. Their entire community had been overrun by gangs working their way out of Memphis. All of the small towns along Highway 64 were being looted and the residents—either murdered or disappeared.

  The men brought their wives and children as well. The debate yesterday between Javy, Stubby, and Jake was not argumentative, but the conversation was mostly out of frustration. Taking in the families meant more mouths to feed, fifteen to be exact. Shiloh Ranch could use the help for security, food preparation, and maintenance of the livestock.

  One of the biggest points of contention was the Mennonites’ refusal to take up arms. They simply could not use firearms as part of their contribution to Shiloh Ranch. Javy pointed out that their ability to tend to the horses, the gardens, and construction of barriers would free up all of the existing ranch hands to perform security functions. In essence, the r
anch could double up their security.

  The next problem was where to house them. The main residence was overflowing and the ranch hands occupied the modest guest cabins. It was decided that Javy’s men and their families would move into abandoned homes on the perimeter of Shiloh where the road blockades had been established. They would be closer to their security posts and the Mennonite families would be near the confines of the main house and the barns.

  “I think we made a good decision,” said Jake as he handed out fishing gear to Colton, Alex and Chase. “Stubby will get them settled today and assign responsibilities. These folks are trustworthy and hard workers.”

  “I agree,” said Colton. “Plus, they brought us some valuable information as well. They’re coming from the cities at a faster rate than we initially thought. I expected a few stragglers here and there, but the stories they told yesterday were about groups of nearly a hundred at a time.”

  The four fishermen spread out along the western shore of the river. Bank fishing was popular in Tennessee and an effective means of catching fish without a boat. Shiloh Ranch had a canoe and an aluminum skiff that was only stable for two. Chase and Alex said they’d go upriver toward Rock Pile and look for abandoned fishing boats. Several might have broken free during the flooding.

  They spread out along the shoreline, utilizing unique features like fallen trees, rocks jutting out of the shallow water, or stumps, which might be interesting to the fish.

  “Stay back from the shoreline, Alex,” said Jake. “Fish are very sensitive to sounds and shadows. When you cast, start close to the bank and then work your way out toward deeper water. This part of the river is full of catfish, so you’ll wanna keep your bait toward the bottom.”

  The group began to cast and initially didn’t get any bites. Then Chase reeled in the first channel cat of the day. Jake followed with a black crappie. Soon, their five-gallon Lowe’s buckets were filling up with dinner.

  “Daddy, will these people from Memphis come down our way?” asked Alex.

  “I don’t know, Allie-Cat. They might decide to move into a town and stay there.”

  “That’s right, Alex,” interjected Jake. “There are several places for them to get settled like Bolivar, Selmer, and Adamsville. At some point, I’d think they’d stop traveling east.”

  “Or they might look at Savannah as the big prize,” added Colton. “It’s the biggest city in the area except for Jackson, and it’s on the river.”

  “I seriously doubt that Ma and Junior will let ’em in,” said Chase.

  “That’s the problem,” said Colton. “When they’re turned away at the bridge, what will they do?”

  “Maybe they’ll go back toward Memphis?” said Alex inquisitively.

  “Or they’ll fan out along the west banks of the river,” replied Jake.

  “That might push them our way,” said Alex.

  “Yup,” grunted Chase. “What if we join up with Junior to fight them when they get here?”

  Jake removed another large catfish from his hook and dropped it into a bucket of its own. “Out of the question,” he replied to his son. “I wouldn’t trust Junior to even approach him on the subject. Listen, the Durhams are crazy. They have a small army across the way. They may fight these hordes, or they may make a deal with them and point the masses in our direction.”

  “I’m just sayin’ it might be worth a try,” insisted Chase. “What other options do we have?”

  “Not many,” replied Colton.

  Chapter 23

  7:00 a.m., October 24

  Adamsville, Tennessee

  The 1968 Cadillac Coupe de Ville roared along Highway 64 towards Adamsville. The four-hundred-seventy-two-cubic-inch engine pushed this two-ton Tessie at a steady clip, forcing its driver, the town’s psychologist, to slow at times for the rest of the caravan to catch up.

  When Junior discussed his plan with Cherry and his ma, the consensus was that there was no real plan. Phrases like shock and awe, pillage and burn, and take no prisoners constituted the plan.

  Junior’s men were hungry for a fight and were getting bored. Ma had admonished him for allowing the guys to get rough with the women. Raiding Adamsville served a number of purposes. It would allow the guys to blow off some steam, have their way with the ladies without fear of reprisals, and get even in a way he and his brother, Rollie, could only dream about in those years after being run across the bridge into Savannah. He wished Rollie were there to join in the festivities.

  “Doc, what do you make of these refugees streaming out of Memphis?” asked Junior as he lit up another smoke. “I mean, I’m sure the city sucks right about now. But these folks walked nearly a hundred miles. What exactly are they looking for?”

  “I tell ya, Junior, when I was getting my doctorate at Memphis State years ago, we studied human migration throughout history,” replied the psychologist. “The nomads of many years ago traveled from place to place with a plan to settle in a new locale.”

  “What if they have no place to go?” asked Junior.

  “Migration is very different,” the psychologist replied. “Humans are creatures of habit and will only move if something forces them to. Sometimes migration is voluntary, but most often it’s not. Throughout history, people have fled their homes because of natural disasters, political conflict or economic disaster. In the case of a catastrophic event like this one, the city has probably descended into anarchy. I suspect they are roaming in many directions, including toward Savannah, the next largest town.”

  “Doc, I know you’re on board with our little program,” started Junior as they roared past two elderly men walking in the opposite direction. “It’s just business, you know, with what we do. What makes those two old men think that we’d welcome them with open arms?”

  “They’ve probably experienced the dangerous conditions and competition for resources like food and water. In the populated areas, their options are few. They roam into the countryside based upon the false hope that they’ll be taken in by a farmer or a smaller town. Unfortunately, false hope is a very dangerous emotion that rarely offers a reward—not immediately, nor with the passage of time.”

  Junior tapped the dashboard and pointed toward the sign that read Welcome to Adamsville, Home of Sheriff Buford Pusser.

  “Well, ain’t that sumptin’,” sneered Junior. “They run his only kin out of town, but they’re proud to have a sign with his name all over it. My grandpa would roll over in his grave if he knew how we were treated. I also think he’d be proud of how I plan on cleaning out these vermin.”

  Junior gestured toward the AmeriGas parking lot. The dozen cars behind them pulled in as well as fifty men, who climbed out, all carrying battle rifles. They all gathered around Junior and the Caddy.

  “Listen up, y’all!” shouted Junior. “We’ve set this up for a few days now. We’ve watched their routines, which ain’t much. They’ve put all of their efforts on the west side of town, turning away refugees. Today is no different.”

  Junior started walking through the crowd, looked each man in the eye, and patted his newly created deputies on the chest or back. Over the past several weeks, he’d earned the respect of his men and bonded with each of them. People’s opinions of Junior changed dramatically after the solar storm. Now, they were prepared to fight for him. He continued.

  “The east side of town will have very little resistance. Just mow through them. By the time the rest of their defenses learn we’re there, it’ll be too late.”

  “We’re ready, Junior,” shouted one of the men.

  “Yeah, let’s do this!”

  More shouts of encouragement surrounded Junior as the men raised their weapons into the air and worked themselves into a frenzy.

  “All right!” exclaimed their sheriff. “You all know your assignments. Remember, you take out every threat, which means any man capable of killing you. No need to ask permission, just do it. Second, we gather things of value—guns, cars, and gasoline, in that order. Af
ter the town is secured, we’ll have a little party with the rest, if you know what I mean. Now, let’s get down to bidness!”

  The roar of the vehicles and the men shouting obscenities while firing their weapons into the townspeople of Adamsville was a scene straight out of a Mad Max movie. The massacre rivaled any known heinous event in American history.

  The shock and awe approach that Junior employed worked. The citizens of Adamsville were not prepared for the depravity of Junior’s men. By the early afternoon, hundreds of men, boys, and elderly residents were murdered. Homes were burned and women were brutalized.

  Junior only lost one man—the psychologist, who was accidentally shot by friendly fire. Junior didn’t consider the doc’s death much of a loss. In his opinion, Savannah wasn’t much in need of a psychologist anymore.

  Chapter 24

  2:00 p.m., October 27

  Cherry Mansion

  Savannah

  “What are you gonna do with all of these people,” asked Ma. A hundred people had gathered on both sides of the Harrison-McGarity Bridge crossing the Tennessee River into Savannah. “Where the heck did they come from, Adamsville?”

  The Durhams’ destruction had unexpected consequences for Savannah. Residents from the surrounding neighborhoods, who relied upon the slight semblance of order provided by Adamsville’s leaders, were looking for a new source of security. Refugees fleeing Memphis now continued eastward on Highway 64 to the next largest town after Adamsville—Savannah.