Aftershock_the Thrilling Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series

by Justin Bell

  Karl Green. The one who fired two grenades straight into the parking garage at her family, including her twelve-year-old brother. Karl Green, the guy who helped coordinate a massive and consolidated nuclear attack designed to decimate most of the United States.

  Yeah, she was sure compassion for a single fifteen-year-old girl wasn’t in Green’s wheelhouse.

  “Do whatever you want,” Winnie said. “Pretty sure you’re going to, anyway.”

  The bearded man snarled and bent toward her, his hands reaching for her arm, and Winnie braced herself.

  She lurched forward as she felt pressure on the fence behind her, a ragged scramble of chain link rattling all up and down, thrusting her forward and pushing her down toward the ground. Her head whipped around at the sudden, unexpected noise and the bearded commando stumbled backwards, lifting his weapon. Winnie’s shoulder slammed down onto the pavement, pain lancing her back and running down into her bent legs and, as she rolled through a shallow puddle, she looked up the height of the chain link fence.

  In her mind’s eye she saw Tamar on top of the fence, crouched low on top, his fingers hooked around links, his feet arced around the bent metal top of the barricade. His weight threatened to buckle the chain link, but he hovered up there for a moment, somewhere between ground and air.

  When he spoke, she realized it wasn’t her mind’s eye. He was there. Right in front of her.

  “ORPHANS!” he screamed, “ATTACK!”

  Tamar launched himself from the top of the fence, arcing through the air, coming down toward the four Ironclad gunmen. A pair of loud shouts echoed in the alley and one of the operatives stumbled backward even as Tamar landed on two others, his knees tucked into his chest, curled into a tight ball. Winnie whipped her pistol up and around, bearing down on a second operative, and squeezed the trigger three times, dropping the gunman to the pavement. Tamar landed just as his two targets struck the ground back first, legs sweeping up into the air, one weapon scattering across the rough pavement. The young man lashed out with a swift, round sweep, slamming one of the gunmen in the temple with the top of his foot, whipping his head around. Continuing the momentum of the swept strike, Tamar swung into a tight twirl, lashing out with his other leg, smashing aside the last gunman’s weapon as it fired loudly. The chain link fencing clattered as a dozen shadowed forms scrambled up the barrier and leapt off the top, a wave of young boys and girls vaulting over the top and swarming what remained of the quartet of Ironclad operatives.

  It took seconds, the alley suddenly wall-to-wall with teenagers, some of them carrying weapons, some of them not, all of them in low crouches, pushing through the alley. Two of them broke away, running toward the end of the passage, clinging to the wall corners, peering around the edges to make sure nobody else was around. Winnie heard one more thrash against the metal fence and turned just in time to see a larger boy, clearly an adult, carrying his legs over, gracefully clearing the top of the fence and then landing on the pavement in a practiced crouch.

  “Nicely done, Orphans,” Lonzo Velez whispered, holding up a high five which Tamar slapped eagerly.

  “You came back!” Winnie shouted, charging forward and wrapping her arms around Tamar’s neck. She wasn’t sure if it was the escalating thrill of her life being saved or something else, but the embrace felt necessary.

  “C’mon, lovebirds,” Lonzo sneered as he stepped toward them. “Fighting first, huggies later.”

  Winnie pulled herself away and Tamar shot him a look that would have cut glass.

  “Take it easy, Jarhead,” Tamar muttered.

  “I’ll take it easy once we’re done with this fool’s errand. I don’t take kindly to you barging in the school and barking orders, kid.”

  Tamar’s eyes dropped for a moment, but righted themselves. “I won’t apologize, man. We got people in trouble.”

  “I get it,” Lonzo replied. “We came, didn’t we? But we haven’t lived this long by sticking our necks out. You and me, we’ve got to set the stage, the rest of these kids? They’re barely old enough to shave, right?” Lonzo gestured around them with a sweep of his head, and Winnie followed the motion, understanding for the first time just how young the surrounding crowd was. A scattering of fresh faced boys and girls of various ages and ethnicities, all united in the bond of their dead families. It was all at once sad, yet hopeful of a unified world being born out of brutal destruction.

  “Tamar,” Winnie pleaded, her voice finally cracking. “My mom and dad are in there. And Max. Our whole group! There were men with machine guns and a grenade launcher, I think they might be—”

  “Whoa, whoa, calm down, okay?” Lonzo whispered, taking a step toward Winnie. Tamar had brought himself closer to her again, locking his palms on her arms, but he broke away so she could speak with the boss.

  “Can you give us a lowdown?” Lonzo asked.

  Winnie nodded, signaling him to follow her, and she walked toward the mouth of the alley, a parade of child soldiers following along behind, Tamar and Lonzo at the head. From where they stood in the alley, they could see the east wall of the parking garage, separated from where they were by a two-lane road. Just around the front corner, the blunt, black nose of one of the vans was visible, and a vague fog of smoke lingered in the air all around the multi-level parking structure. From this distance, they could see a couple of the dark uniformed Ironclad operatives milling around, though felt like they were far enough to not be seen. A thick stretch of grass lawn went along the eastern and northern sides of the structure, small trees scattered along the grass at the north.

  “They have three vans just like that one,” Winnie whispered, pointing to the nose of the vehicle. “I never got a good count of the soldiers, but I’m sure there’s over a dozen, if not two dozen. They all wear black, many of them have tactical vests, they’re all carrying military issue M4 Carbines and AR-15’s.”

  “You say the nicest things,” Tamar joked, and Winnie’s cheeks flushed.

  “One of them had a grenade launcher,” Winnie continued. “I think it was one of those with the big round cylinder, and they fired at least two rounds.”

  “Good observations, kid,” Lonzo said, patting her on the shoulder.

  She looked up at him. “Brad and I barely escaped… wait… Brad,” she whispered, thinking of the boy who had shouted at her to run away. He was around here somewhere, and if he was, so were the Ironclad men who had been pursuing him.

  “Where is Brad?” asked Tamar. “Is he in there?”

  Winnie shook her head. “No, he ran off with me, but right before you guys showed up, he was shouting at me to run away, and it sounded like he might have gotten nabbed.”

  “No sounding about it,” whispered Lonzo, tapping Winnie and pointing out toward the visible van. “Is that your friend?”

  Winnie followed his extended finger and saw two Ironclad gunmen half shoving, half dragging Brad across the street, over toward the parking garage. She nodded. Yes, she truly was alone.

  “So at least a dozen automatic weapons,” Lonzo whispered. “And we’ve got what? Eight pistols, tops?”

  “We didn’t grab any of the AR’s or AK’s?” Tamar said, with an accusatory tone.

  “I had no idea what we were getting into, man,” Lonzo replied, “and asking these kids to lug those things around is asking for trouble. We did bring that Miller Precision .300 caliber bolt action. Thousand-yard range on that one.”

  Tamar looked over toward the garage, shaking his head slowly. Pale gray smoke still leaked out through the narrow openings between level one and level two, and chunks of smashed concrete littered some sidewalk at the corner.

  Lonzo looked at him and Winnie. “Your family needs help,” he said, “I get that. But I don’t know if I can risk these kids against two dozen Ironclad gunmen. Those guys will chew us up and spit us out. I can’t in good conscience send these kids out to that carnage. They wouldn’t last five minutes.”

  “Don’t underestimate my mom and Rebecca,
” Winnie replied. “They’re in the garage. If we can make them a hole, they’ll find a way to drive through.”

  “If they’re alive.”

  “They’re alive.” Winnie didn’t know. In fact, she’d had one dreadful moment as she ran from the garage, one moment where she’d had a distinct certainty they had not survived, but she’d pressed that down deep and would never admit it to anyone here.

  “So what’s our plan?” Tamar asked, looking at Lonzo, who crouched low on bent knees and glared out toward the scene ahead, trying to calculate the best chance of success.

  “Our plan is this,” Lonzo said, turning to face the rest of the Orphans. “Amy, I want you on the roof with the bolt action. You’re our best shot.”

  A young girl with dirty blonde hair pulled tight into a razor sharp ponytail nodded enthusiastically, snapped up the rifle, and turned away, heading off to a nearby alley.

  “The rest of you, stay back. That is an order. I’ll take Tamar and the girl, but none of you should be getting mixed up in this, do you understand me?”

  There was a chorus of nods around the group. Lonzo drew in a breath as he considered what he was about to do. Given a choice, he'd take the kids and just go back home, but he'd spent enough time running away from problems. Here was his chance to take a stand and fight for what was right. Possibly save some lives.

  “Hold your ground here, protect Amy from any ground patrols, but stay back. Got it?”

  The rest of the kids nodded more enthusiastically this time, happy to be given specific responsibility, even if it meant not getting in the middle of the action.

  “Hey! Don’t move!” hushed voices barked from their left and by reflex, Lonzo pulled his weapon and swung it around, stepping back behind the wall for cover. Two of his young teens had their own weapons drawn on a shambling figure approaching them, a tall and broad-shouldered man with what looked to be a weapon slung up on his shoulder.

  “The kids said don’t move,” Lonzo whispered, his eyes darting toward the van, desperately hoping that no one there heard the commotion.

  “You guys need help. If I’m gonna help, I gotta move. No other way about it.”

  Winnie’s eyes widened as she pushed past Tamar to get a better look.

  “Angel!” she half-shouted in her own hoarse gasp.

  Angel Menendez stood on the sidewalk, the M-249 Squad Automatic Weapon up on his shoulder, a smile creasing his dirt and sweat soaked face.

  “Hey, chica,” he said. “Time to go get the family, huh?”

  ***

  “Karl, c’mon, man, don’t do it!” shouted one of the black clad operatives as they came within view of the parking garage. He and his partner each had hold of one of Brad’s arms and were encouraging him to move along toward the garage. As they came around the front, he saw Green holding the barrel of his pistol to Rhonda’s head, pressing down.

  Green glanced back with a sneer. “You gonna tell me what to do now, Stout?”

  As Green’s second in command, Stout often did make casual suggestions about alternate plans of action, but he’d never seen Karl like this before. Some more subtle tact would have to be taken. “Nah, I’m not doing that, you know me, Karl. You’re the boss. But if she ends up dead and the Kruellers find out it wasn’t an accident? They won’t just come after you. They’ll come after all of us.”

  The other Ironclad gunmen around them heard this, and some shifted uncomfortably.

  “She pissed you off, I get it,” Buckner said. “Hell, that chick got three of my buddies killed back at the mall, right? Still, the Kruellers want her alive. She’s blood.”

  Green glared at him, then looked back at Rhonda. His weapon lowered as he breathed heavily through his nose in reluctant acceptance. The pungent scent of smoke and charred grenade shrapnel still stung his nostrils and pinched at the corners of his eyes. A thin strand of thick red blood hung for a moment, then broke away from Rhonda’s mouth and spattered on the concrete floor, blooming like a dark, wet flower.

  “All right, fine,” Green muttered, turning from where Rhonda was being held. He looked over at Brad, hanging by his arms, interlocked with the arms from an Ironclad commando. Taking two steps toward Brad, he lowered down into a crouch, and pressed the barrel of the pistol against Brad’s chin, lifting his head.

  Brad’s eyes were vacant, clouded by whatever force had been used to bring him in, and Karl glared back at Rhonda.

  “This kid’s important to you, I wager,” he said.

  Rhonda lifted her head and glared, her eyes burning the air between her and him.

  Green adjusted the pistol, so it was upturned, the barrel driving into the soft flesh beneath Brad’s chin. His eyes didn’t change, they remained open, his mouth a twisting sneer. There was no fear in his face, only a continued rigid set to his jaw, his teeth clenched beneath narrow lips.

  “Don’t do this,” Rhonda muttered. “Please.”

  Green shrugged. “Look, I can’t kill you, but punishment is required. What else am I supposed to do?” He stood, removing the pistol and letting Brad’s head sag, took one step toward Rhonda and aimed the pistol directly at Brad’s head. “This is your fault. You did this.”

  “Don’t try to pin this on me,” Rhonda growled. “As you stand there and consider murdering an eleven-year-old boy. That is not on me.”

  Green lowered his weapon, smirking. “After everything that’s happened… after everything that’s been done for the glory of this country, do you really think I’d balk at shooting this one kid?” He looked back at him, then back at Rhonda. “This kid means nothing to me. Zero. Less than zero. Not even a speed bump in this race to a new world order, so take the guilt trip and shove it up your—”

  The flat clap of an echoing rifle shot rolled over the stale, grenade smoked air. With a grunt, the gunman holding Brad stumbled away, his arms flying up toward his head.

  “Sniper!” shouted Karl Green, ducking and turning toward the sound of the shot. “Converge on the Northwest side!”

  A clattering of lifting assault rifles and stomping feet resonated from within the garage as the remaining Ironclad operatives charged out to the other side of the garage structure, trying to find positions of fire. A second echoing slap of .300 caliber rolled through the sky and another gunman sprawled backwards, his AR-15 cartwheeling from his splayed fingers.

  ***

  Clancy Greer heard the commotion. His face pressed tight into the grass, he felt the pressure slacken when the man on top of him drew back to see what the racket was about. Glancing up from where he lay, he saw the man lifting his weapon, and Greer acted, throwing out his leg and collapsing the man’s right knee in the opposite direction. His leg snapped, and he stumbled forward, the weapon tumbling from his hands. Clancy snagged it from the ground with his right arm and tucked it in his opposite armpit, then lumbered to his feet, his head rushing. The man on the ground groaned and started to crawl up into a standing position, but Greer cocked his arm back and swung a tight, low arc, blistering his temple with the stock of the weapon.

  “Dang, man, and here I thought I was gonna have to bail your butt out.”

  Greer whipped around, lifting the AR-15 in a Rambo pose, but paused when he saw it was Angel coming around the corner, holding up a pistol in mock surrender.

  “Geez, I almost put a hole in you, Menendez,” Clancy said.

  “Save that for the bad guys,” Angel said. “Things are about to get crazy.”

  “Already heard the gunshots,” Greer said turning back toward the front corner of the garage.

  “Then quit yapping and follow me.”

  Angel moved toward the door they’d exited from, clasping his fingers around the handle and yanking hard, the metal door clanging, but not moving. He grabbed and pulled again, but the door wouldn’t budge.

  “They locked us out,” Angel hissed, looking to his left, trying to find an alternate route. Gunfire echoed in the distance, and their options seemed to be dwindling by the second.

/>   ***

  “I don’t like this Tamar, not one bit!” Lonzo shouted as he dashed across the street, keeping his head low, heading straight for a parked four-door sitting slanted by the far sidewalk. Chunks of pavement spewed up as gunfire rattled toward him, rapid staccato flashes exploding from the gap in the parking garage wall, more smoke mixing with the remnants of the grenade blasts.

  Tamar kept right on his heels, angling to his right and passing him, skidding to a halt behind the car, and they were greeted by the rapid whack whack whack of slugs striking vehicle doors.

  “Too much empty space between the alleys and the parking garage, man,” Lonzo breathed hard, looking back from where they’d run from.

  “We’ve got Amy on the roof with the .300; she should be safe up there,” Tamar breathed. Behind him, Winnie came scrambling to a halt behind the car, her head down and Beretta clenched in her hands. Several more sparks danced along the curved edge of the car roof and one of the driver’s side windows exploded in a shower of glass. Winnie swung up and leveled her arms on the squat, sloped roof of the car, squinting along the barrel at the parking garage, which sat around 100 yards away. She squeezed off three swift shots, then flung herself back down as return fire seared overhead.

  Another sniper shot rebounded from behind them and punched into the gap between the first and second floors of the parking garage, though nobody behind the car could tell if anyone in the garage had been hit. Automatic weapons fire exploded back again, peppering the car, chunking up the sidewalk and blasting grass in front of the vehicle up into the air.

  “Now what?” Lonzo asked. “We’re still a good hundred yards from the guys with the guns and we got nothing with enough range to do squat!”

  “We need to get to one of those vans and get outta Dodge,” said Tamar, peering out from around the car.