by Jack Hunt
“You’ve seen it. We can’t survive here any longer. Hell, I don’t think we can make it through another winter. The last one was brutal.”
Elliot stopped filling the bag as he could tell he was serious. That was one thing he knew about Gary — he rarely proposed anything unless he meant it. Maybe that’s why Elliot had accepted his apology six months ago.
Elliot ran a hand over his face and said, “It’s bad. I admit it but we’ve made it this far, Gary.”
“And we’ve drained our resources. There is nothing left in the bunker. We’ve barely managed to scavenge enough cans of food over the past month and hunting… well…” he scoffed. “That’s a joke. No, I can’t keep doing it, Elliot.”
“Is this about Jill? Rayna said she’d voiced her concern.”
He furrowed his brow. “No.” He paused for a second. “Okay, maybe. Look, she has a point, Elliot. I mean, we’ve traveled to nearly every town in Essex County. You’ve seen it yourself. It’s bad. We’re lucky to have made it this long without losing our minds or starving to death.”
“But we’ve planted seeds.”
“And that’s going to take time to grow.”
“So, in the meantime we keep doing what we’ve been doing,” Elliot said turning back to the task at hand. He didn’t want to linger in the store too long. The key was to get in and out fast. Every town was different. Some were barren and deserted — those were the smaller towns that didn’t offer much. As for the rest? Well, they were run by gangs or locals who would fight tooth and nail to hold on to what they had. He couldn’t blame them. They were doing the same. No one wanted to die. People had mouths to feed, kids to clothe. Some towns had reverted back to trading, but that only worked if folks were civil and desperate times didn’t nurture civil behavior.
Gary exhaled hard. “It’s not going to work. Even if we could scrape together enough to ride out another six months, what then? If one of us becomes sick over the winter, how are we going to cope?”
Elliot dropped the bag and stared at his old friend. “It’s not going to be any better out there, Gary. If we’re struggling so is everyone else. The grass is never greener on the other side.”
“I beg to differ. You heard the radio broadcast about FEMA camps.”
Elliot scoffed. “You want to lay down your gun and walk into a prison?”
“Those prisons have food, military, doctors, medicine.”
“And they have people who want to control.”
“It worked before the fall, didn’t it?”
He couldn’t argue with that. Sure, there was a lot that was wrong about society before the EMP but it functioned, even if it infringed on people’s liberties. But that was then, this was now.
Elliot shook his head. “Nah, it’s too big a risk. Who would hold them responsible if they got a god complex?”
“Who holds any of us responsible?” Gary shot back.
“Sure but at least out here we call the shots.”
Gary crushed his cigarette below his boot. “If society managed to crawl its way back to something that resembled what it was before the EMP, you would have to toe the line then. I get a sense this isn’t as much about calling the shots as it is about having others tell you what to do.”
“Is that a bad thing?” Elliot asked.
“You had no problem with it in the military.”
Elliot scoffed then smiled. “You always have an answer for everything, don’t you? C’mon, stop yakking and give me a hand.” He went back to filling the bag. “I hope Damon has managed to find something worthwhile as this won’t fill bellies.”
“Um, this tastes fine,” Damon said smiling from ear to ear as he smacked his lips. “Would you like an extra muffin with that coffee, sir?” Damon said in a posh voice as he tossed Jesse another chocolate chip muffin inside a clear package. The quaint little café called Origin Coffee was located on Main Street. To get inside they climbed a fire escape at the rear of the three-story building and broke a window on the second floor. Once inside the apartment they made their way down a narrow staircase and broke through a flimsy door to gain entry to the cafe. Now they sat in a storage area out back devouring a box full of muffins. They weren’t exactly fresh but damn they tasted good.
Jesse turned the muffin in his hand. “To think they didn’t even make their own.”
“Oh I’m sure they did, but they had to have a backup plan.”
He snorted looking around. “I can’t believe someone hasn’t broken into this place. Coffee’s still in high demand.” He took a sip of a cold brew they’d whipped together using bottled water and ground beans from sealed bags.
“Nah, someone has been in here, they were just clever enough to make it look as if it had already been ransacked.”
Outside the front of the store, coffee makers had been smashed on the ground and a section of the steel shutters had been peeled back to reveal a cracked window. Inside, wooden chairs and round tables were piled against the window, and twisted together to make it virtually impossible for someone to enter. However, someone had entered and was still using the property, as they’d found several boxes of muffins already open.
“You know we should probably save some of these for the others.”
“Probably,” Damon said, his lip curling up as he opened another one. Food was scarce and creature comforts like chocolate were a luxury.
Jesse stopped chewing. “Why didn’t they take the box?”
“What?” Damon replied distracted as he eyed blueberry muffins in another box.
“Well, if someone has been using this place, wouldn’t it make sense to take everything back to your home?”
“Not if this is your home,” he replied pointing up to the apartment above. There were two apartments; one above the café and one more above that, at least they assumed it was another apartment. They’d entered the second one but hadn’t explored the rest. “My guess — they’re out.”
Jesse nodded and grabbed up his Glock and headed toward the door.
Damon frowned. “Where are you going?”
“To check out the other apartment.”
“Hold up.” He scrambled to his feet taking one more bite before tossing the rest back into the box. Jesse had been hesitant to scavenge since his close brush with death two months ago. They’d been doing the exact same thing as they were today, searching for food and supplies and trying to avoid what he felt was the inevitable — death. Two months ago they’d entered Elizabethtown and divided up so they could cover more ground. While they came away from that trip with lots of supplies, it didn’t come without a cost. He’d been ambushed by four guys and beaten within an inch of his life. If Damon hadn’t heard the commotion and shot one of them, he was certain he wouldn’t have survived. To say that it had shaken him would have been an understatement. He was nervous about entering towns and since that day they made a rule to stick together in twos even if it meant they couldn’t cover as much ground. It was safer than going alone.
Jesse raised the Glock as he approached the door to the third-story apartment. He put his ear to the wood and listened for movement inside. Nothing. There was no sound. He put a hand on the knob and gave it a twist but it was locked.
“We can use the fire escape around back,” Damon said trudging back down the steps.
“You think you could make more noise?” Jesse said, noticing how he was dragging his feet. He smiled.
“Relax, there is no one here.”
“Famous last words,” Jesse said, his lip curling up.
They weaved around furniture in the second apartment and climbed back out onto the black fire escape.
“So I notice things are heating up between you and Maggie,” Damon said leading the way.
Jesse raised an eyebrow. “And?”
He shrugged and pulled a face. “Nothing. I’m just making small talk.”
“It wouldn’t be because you’re jealous, would it?”
“Jealous? Of you and Maggie? Please. That ga
l has issues.”
“And you don’t? I’m pretty sure you were the one that did time inside.”
“Not my fault.”
“Isn’t that what they all say?” Jesse shot back. Damon went quiet as they climbed the final flight of steps and reached the window to the next apartment. Damon ran a hand over the pane of glass. A thick layer of dust had gathered.
“So?” Jesse asked.
“Seems like we are in luck.” Damon reared back his elbow and shattered the glass before crawling inside. Glass crunched beneath their boots as they entered the quiet abode. There really wasn’t much to it — a couch, two modern-style armchairs, a brick fireplace with family photos on the mantel, a tiny kitchen and two rooms out back. Damon picked up a photo and glanced at it.
“Now that’s a hot-looking girl,” he said tossing it to Jesse.
He chuckled. “She’s way out of your league.”
“And you would know because?”
“C’mon, look at you, Damon. I’m guessing you dressed and smelled this way before the EMP.”
“I’ll have you know—”
Before he could spit the words out, they heard movement. It was almost inaudible and for a second he wasn’t sure he’d heard anything. Damon eyed Jesse and put a finger up to his lips then pulled his Glock and headed towards the tight corridor that went down to the two other rooms.
Chapter 2
Harlan Jacobs cowered in the corner as militia rifled through their supplies taking whatever they damn well pleased. He wasn’t prepared for this. There was no rule book on how to handle being ambushed. Sure, he’d hired armed personnel and done his homework on what New Hope Springs required in order to satisfy the needs of the desperate, but he didn’t bank on facing these kinds of individuals.
After all, he was just a businessman who had seen an opportunity and taken it. Four years before the EMP he’d heard through the grapevine that a company by the name of Atlas Survival Shelters was making an absolute killing selling corrugated pipe shelters all around the world. They’d gone from selling sixty to a thousand a year and were not only raking in profits but doing a lot of good in the process. Up until that point he’d dabbled in different markets, buying and selling products, and had made a good living from it but it had always left him feeling empty. The fact was for all his efforts he never felt satisfied at the end of the day. Business was just a means to an end — to pay bills, give his family what they wanted — and it allowed him to keep up with the Joneses. If he was honest with himself, he’d have to admit he’d spent the better part of the past thirty years chasing what others had just so he didn’t feel like such a loser.
“Yep, I think we are going to fit in here just nicely,” Frank said while one of his men held a clipboard and took note of every item in storage. He turned his attention to Harlan. “Now I know you’re concerned about your family and you’re probably wondering how this is all going to work but I want to reassure you. You’re in good hands. You did the right thing opening the doors. You see, we would have got in either way.” He smiled and returned to giving out commands to his men.
Harlan eyed his wife, Bridget, from across the room. She had pulled their three children in close to her as one of Shelby’s men kept a Sig Sauer against her rib cage. That was the first thing he’d done once they stepped inside. Shelby wanted to be introduced to his family. He should have known he was planning on using them as leverage to get him to hand over the codes to the vault.
Harlan quietly cursed the day he’d had the idea for New Hope Springs.
He wasn’t even a resident of Texas but he figured that would be the best place to build due to the good weather, water supply, rural farmland and because the cost to build there was a lot cheaper. At first he’d thought of starting a competing business to Atlas Shelters but then he figured it would be more advantageous to take things to the next level and build a community. If the EMP had never occurred, he would have used the place as a resort for preppers. He’d envisioned it being the number one place in the United States for prepper retreats. He would rent out the bunkers at crazy low prices and then market each one like a timeshare. There was no way he could lose. He managed to sell off a number of the bunkers prior to the EMP and he had no doubt in his mind within two to three years he would have been ready to build another community on the West Coast. He had big dreams, and he thought he’d covered every corner but obviously not.
“Get up, Harlan, take me to your office. I think it’s time you and I had a little chat,” Shelby said. He rose from the ground where he’d been after Shelby struck him. His knees ached. He rubbed them and scowled.
“And wipe that scowl off your face. If you want things to go smoothly you and I are going to need to come to an agreement. Now let’s go. Lead the way.”
Harlan led him out of the stockroom and through the maze of underground tunnels that were like laid out like a spider’s web. He brought him to a clubhouse on the north side of the property. It was squeezed between the driving range for golfers, a nine-acre lagoon and the spa. All the generators that distributed power used diesel, but the place also ran in conjunction with solar and wind, which meant it didn’t require running them for more than a couple of hours before the batteries were charged.
They entered his large office that doubled as a library and Shelby looked around as he took off his camouflage helmet and took a seat behind the desk.
“While I have to applaud you, Harlan, you did a great job on this place — but, you made a few big mistakes when you envisioned it. You see, guys like you are always trying to impress. You have to do things on a big scale. I mean, let me guess you said to yourself — go big or go home, right?” He laughed. “But that’s the problem, you didn’t really think about the end game. Now me? When I started my group, we began small and were very picky about who got in. Now I’m guessing you didn’t do any background checks on those guys you had on the wall, am I right?”
“Of course I did.”
“Then you hired wrong. You see, had I been at the helm of this little enterprise I would have made security the first thing on my list, not the last. You see, all these walls you have built around this place are only as good as your ability to protect them from assaults. Now had you been smart you would have brought in trucks and dumped a shitload of soil and raised this whole community up on a hill. I would have also cleared away a hell of a lot more of the forest. That way you would have seen us coming. But that’s neither here nor there,” he said looking around. “You got any alcohol?”
Harlan eyed him with a look of disgust. He motioned with his head to a cabinet on the far side of the wall.
“Well, chop-chop, it’s not going to jump out of the fucking bottle!” Shelby said, putting his dirty boots up on Harlan’s desk and muddying all the paperwork. He reached into his top pocket and pulled out his smokes and lit one. Harlan narrowed his eyes and trudged over to make him a drink. As he pulled the bottle out and turned his back, he thought about the cyanide pills he had in his drawer. He’d bought them for numerous reasons, some of which were self-explanatory. He could slip the contents of one into his drink.
“Harlan, turn this way. I want to see you pouring that drink. I can’t have you slipping anything inside.”
Bastard! The man was one step ahead. Harlan clenched his jaw and finished pouring two fingers before handing him a glass.
“Aren’t you going to join me?” Shelby asked.
“I’d prefer not.”
“Well I would prefer you do.” He cocked his head to one side. Shelby let out a laugh while Harlan poured another. “I know what you’re thinking. How did I arrive at this point? Well it doesn’t matter. All that matters is how you will move forward.” He sniffed hard. “Take a seat,” he said motioning to a chair. Harlan slumped down cupping the glass with both hands and looking despondently into the golden liquid. He swirled it around a few times before Shelby leaned forward. “Cheers,” he said. He waited for Harlan to clink glasses. Reluctantly he did it then
watched as Shelby drained his glass. “Oh that is some good shit! What year was that?”
“2000.”
He smacked his lips. “Um. Superb. Right, let’s get down to business, shall we?”
Shelby took a drag on his cigarette and blew smoke his way.
“Are you going to harm my family?” Harlan asked.
His brow pinched. “Of course not. We’re not animals. We’re not the enemy. Let’s make something clear right now. Your enemies are ours, and ours are yours. The only ones you need to fear are those North Koreans as I’m pretty damn sure they have a second wave planned for America. Which is why it’s important we stick together. I watch your back. You watch mine.”
Harlan said nothing.
Shelby sighed and leaned back in the plush leather chair. “Okay, I know you think that we’re some radical group but you’d be wrong. You see, we aren’t in the business of harming Americans.” He paused. “Tell me, you ever heard of the three percenters?”
Harlan shook his head.
“Are you serious?”
Harlan shrugged so Shelby tried to prompt his memory.
“You don’t recall three percent of the thirteen colonies fighting against Great Britain during the American Revolution?”
“No.”
He tapped the table with his finger and laughed. “Come on, Harlan. Did you not stay abreast of the news?” He paused for effect. “Okay, look. Let’s just say we are kind of like them. We are against attempts at restriction of gun ownership, we believe in our constitutional rights and some might say we consider the government to be… um… tyrannical.”
Harlan gave a confused expression. “But?”
Shelby laughed and wagged his finger. “Nothing gets by you, does it, Harlan? Well, besides armed militia but let’s not rub salt into wounds.” He took another drag of his cigarette and grinned. “I guess what I’m trying to say is we aren’t three percenters, but we believe that eventually a war is coming and I’m not talking about those damn Koreans. I’m speaking about our own government. Mark my words. It may not be today, or next month or even a year from now but they will show up and will demand our weapons and demand that we fall in line.”
