The EMP Survivor Series (Book 2): Uncertain World

by Chris Pike

  “Hmm…”

  Buzzards only circled in the sky waiting for a meal—a dead meal.

  The sounds of the country magnified as Cole’s imagination ran wild. He jumped at the skittering of a grasshopper, and cursed at a dove cooing. He had become a product of the city and the sounds of the city, the energy and vibe, and he was beginning to bore of this backwoods town he was in.

  What he really wanted at the moment was a good stiff drink, some loud music, and a private lap dance. He forced himself to concentrate on the reason he had ventured to this isolated spot of the river.

  If something had happened, it would have made sense for any conflict to be on the side of the river where he was standing, instructing travelers to pay a toll. It was the side that Frank should have protected if Frank had any sense about him, and at the moment, Cole wasn’t too sure how much gray matter Frank had between his ears. He was a card shy of a full deck. Heck, he was missing several cards.

  When that crazy feeling Cole had experienced earlier waned, he took out a cigarette and a box of matches from his shirt pocket, lit a smoke, and took a deep drag.

  Holly and Dillon should have already been back this way, especially after what Dorothy had told him. Dorothy had been a high school classmate of Cole’s, and seeing how paranoid Cole had become, he had placed spies all around the city. One of them had seen Dillon at her house a couple of weeks ago, which had prompted a visit by Cole. Dorothy swore up and down that Dillon had shown up unexpectedly, only delivering her daughter safe and sound after an unsuccessful trip to the drugstore to find antibiotics.

  Dorothy put up token resistance when Cole started rummaging around the house, and when Cole found a bottle of antibiotics, he ramped up the interrogation. Big time.

  Cole put a knife to her kid’s throat, telling Dorothy that if she didn’t start telling the truth, he’d slice the kid’s throat like it was warm butter, after which she sang like a canary. An unwanted memory flashed in Cole’s mind.

  When he was a kid, his mother liked canaries and had bought one for a pet. She prepared homemade food for the bird, cleaned the cage every day, and talked to it like it was a dog. The bird had even taken a liking to Cole and would perch on his shoulder when he watched TV. One night when Cole was watching TV, his father snatched the bird off of Cole’s shoulder and without warning or provocation, he pulled off the bird’s head and flung the twitching carcass at Cole’s feet. He said he needed to teach Cole a lesson about not doing his chores. Cole’s dad said he’d better clean up the feathers and bloody mess or else he’d get a whipping. The brutal incident traumatized Cole and he had never forgotten it.

  But crying over dead birds was for sissies and Cole was no sissy.

  Dorothy had told him Dillon and Holly were heading to Louisiana to search for Dillon’s daughter, and since there was only one logical route that would take them back this way, it was obvious Dillon must have crossed here not too long ago. Unfortunately, they were now probably safe and snug back at Holly’s ranch.

  Cole prided himself on being able to figure people out, and one thing he never saw coming was Dillon hooking up with Holly. Didn’t that beat all? The DA’s number one man and the defense attorney?

  Dillon had played him, that was for sure, and Cole didn’t like that one bit.

  He cursed himself for not commandeering enough people, but as it was, he couldn’t trust anyone to stay at Holly’s house to wait for them to come back.

  Finishing his cigarette, he tossed it on the ground and stamped it out with the heel of his boot. For some reason, his gaze kept wandering to the debris pile on the sandbar downriver.

  Needing a better look, Cole picked his way through briars and weeds along the riverbank until he came to the sandbar. He gingerly stepped on the water-soaked sand, testing the stability of it, making sure it hadn’t become quicksand. Satisfied the sand could hold his weight, he strolled over to the debris pile full of tree limbs and trash.

  He pulled back a few tree limbs and when he saw the body he stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over his feet.

  “Jesus Christ!” he said, turning his head away in disgust, fighting to keep from throwing up.

  A swarm of flies covered the body that was tangled among the pile of brush and uprooted trees. An arm poked out at an awkward angle and a mangled leg probably broken by the force of being tossed in the water against uprooted trees was also bent unnaturally. The ashen face was distorted and tobacco stained teeth were clenched together in a death grimace. A gaping hole the size of a baseball was visible on the bloodstained shirt.

  Cole took a stick, swallowed hard, and poked the body. A swarm of black flies scattered into a swirling cloud. He stepped back and waved his arm, trying to thwart the flies from landing on him. He didn’t want any of those maggot laying flies touching him, infesting him with God knows what disease.

  He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, wondering who the poor bastard was. It didn’t take him long to figure it out. Although the dead man’s jeans were wet and dirty with mud and the stink of death, Cole only knew one man who wore that brand: Frank.

  Stupid son of a bitch.

  Stepping away from the gruesome sight, Cole climbed back up to the bridge. Nosing around the weeds and briars, he spied empty shell casings. He picked up a couple and inspected them, suspecting they were from Chandler’s high powered rifle. If they were, he sure was a turncoat.

  He hocked a mouthful of angry spit on the ground. And to think he had thought highly of the guy at one time.

  Man, had he been fooled. Twice! Once by Dillon, and now by Chandler.

  Cole took his time searching for any other clues as to what had happened here. He found the IDs for the other two guys Cole had sent with Frank, but didn’t find any shell casings from different guns, so he surmised Chandler had killed the three guys and dumped their bodies in the river, hoping the current would take care of them.

  As he was about to leave, a glint caught his eye. Near a log he found a membership card poking out from a pile of leaves. Picking up the shiny card, he lifted the edge of one side of his mouth, smirking at the thumbnail print of the dark-haired man. His eyes glared at the name on the card.

  Dillon Stockdale.

  Cole had been right all along. That bastard Stockdale had been here, sure enough. And if he had been here, Holly would have been with him.

  It was high time they paid for what they had done.

  Nobody was going to make a fool out of Cole Cassel.

  Nobody.

  On the drive back into town, Cole formulated his plan. He’d get rid of Stockdale once and for all, and if Holly ended up as collateral damage, well so be it.

  Chapter 20

  “Alright,” Garrett said, “this is as far as I can take you.”

  The hour drive from where the shootout happened at the sporting goods store to the Texas/Louisiana border had been silent. Cassie was too shell shocked to talk.

  “The Sabine River is up ahead about a mile or two,” Garrett said. “From there I reckon it’s about fifteen miles straight into Hemphill. I’d get you closer but it’s possible the bridge is being patrolled, and I can’t take a chance this truck could be commandeered, even a jalopy like this. Keep to the road and if you see anyone, be careful and don’t let your guard down. The backpacks you have are valuable and people will kill for them. If you walk at a steady pace and don’t wear yourselves out, you should be able to make it to town by midnight.”

  Garrett pulled the truck to the side of the road, letting it idle. It would be getting dark soon and he was anxious to get back home to his grandson and daughter-in-law.

  “We can’t thank you enough,” Ryan said.

  “Seriously,” Cassie said, “you saved our lives. We are forever indebted to you.”

  Garrett shook his head. “My only payment is for you two to live. So do good by me and that’s all I need. When you see your dad tell him how much I appreciate him taking the case against Cole. My son can rest in peace.”
/>
  “I’ll do that,” Cassie said.

  Exiting the truck, Cassie and Ryan stood in the road. Garrett turned the truck around using a three point turn, and right before he drove off, he leaned out the driver’s side window and said, “Be careful. God be with you. And remember, faith, family, and firearms. You can’t go wrong with that!”

  Cassie and Ryan waved to him until Garrett’s truck disappeared around the tree line.

  It had been comforting listening to the whine of the engine and now that it was gone, an empty feeling washed over Cassie. The vastness of the wilderness was daunting. She was tired and ready to get where they needed to go. Twenty-four hours earlier their situation was so dire that she thought they would die. Fortunately, Garrett had found them, fed them, and equipped them, so with any luck they’d get the help they needed in Hemphill.

  Cassie hitched the backpack high on her back, tugged at the straps, and joined Ryan, who was a few steps ahead of her.

  Trees loomed tall on each side of the two lane road; clouds hung low in the waning light. They walked in silence, their footsteps crunching on loose pebbles, each alone in their thoughts.

  Cassie’s mind wandered to her dad, who must be going out of his mind by now, sitting alone at his house. She couldn’t imagine how lonely he was without her mom. She let out a heavy sigh. It had been two years since her mom had died and although her dad tried to hide his feelings, she knew he was lonely. The older Cassie grew the more wise she became, and she realized her dad should have the freedom to find someone else. It wouldn’t be right of her to discourage him from finding someone with whom he could share the rest of his life.

  He was a good man, had a good marriage, and a lot more life to live, and while another woman would never replace her mother, Cassie was sure her dad would find someone to be his partner. If only she could let her dad know she was okay, and that she was trying to get home. At least he had Buster.

  They walked for a while in silence, Cassie lagging further behind.

  Ryan asked, “Do you need to rest or are you okay to keep walking?”

  “I’ve got something in my boot,” Cassie said. “Maybe my sock is bunched up or something. My foot is starting to hurt.”

  Ryan stopped walking and glanced around to assure himself it was safe. “Come sit over here on this log. I’ll help you with your boot.”

  Cassie went to the log, shrugged off her backpack, and sat down. It hadn’t been the best decision to break in a new pair of boots on a hike and now her feet were paying the price. Ryan set his backpack aside and knelt in front of her. He gently lifted the foot Cassie had been favoring, and put it on his knee, untied her laces, and wiggled the boot off. When he removed the sock, a pebble fell out. He picked it up and held it where Cassie could see it. “This was your problem.”

  “Incredible something so small can cause so much grief.” Cassie reached for her sock.

  “Let’s rest a moment,” Ryan said. “I could use a break too, and I think a foot massage would do you good.”

  Before Cassie could protest, Ryan had already started massaging her foot. It felt weird at first until she closed her eyes, relishing the brief reprieve from their journey. It wasn’t exactly a pedicure, one she needed in the worst way, but for a wilderness pedi by the guy she had grown to like and respect, even the most expensive salon couldn’t hold a candle to this.

  The wind whistled through the leaves and the tangled brush of the East Texas woods. Shadows danced long on the road and a musty coolness left by the thunderstorm lingered in the air.

  Somewhere a bird whistled then another in a distant tree, a woodland melody filling the air.

  * * *

  Buster lay hidden in the thick underbrush, exhausted from running and dodging the lightning and thunder the previous day. He slept fitfully, awakening even at the quiet sound of a twig snapping or the rustles of leaves. Unaccustomed to being alone and to the scurrying of nocturnal animals, a good night’s sleep had escaped him.

  He woke groggily at the sound of footsteps on the road, coming closer. Captivated by the sounds of human voices, Buster cocked his head in the direction of the group. Though he couldn’t discern how many there were, it was obvious there were men, women, and children.

  A child sang a song and skipped; a female voice laughed with mirth, while serious male voices dominated discussions. Intrigued by the group and guided by the empty feeling in his stomach, Buster rose and stepped away from his hiding place.

  As the group passed, Buster lifted his nose taking in the odor of food grilled on an open fire lingering on their clothes. Tentatively, he stepped out of the shadows and followed the group, trotting closer until he was only a few steps behind. When one of the men turned around unexpectedly, Buster stopped, his eyes eager with hope. He thumped his tail in willing anticipation perhaps of a hopeful phrase of “come here” or “good dog,” something he understood, something he craved.

  He wagged his tail, waiting.

  A man shouted harsh words at Buster and he flinched at the startling outburst. Unsure what to do because he had no comprehension of ill treatment, Buster cocked his head and held the intense gaze of the shouting man, who was wildly gesticulating his arms.

  Confused at the odd movements, Buster’s eyes darted from the man to the rest of group, waiting for a hint of what was expected of him.

  A boy picked up a rock and hurled it at Buster, hitting him on his leg.

  Buster yelped at the stinging sensation. His ears flopped down, his tail tucked. The boy threw a bigger rock, hitting Buster in the side. He bolted to the side of the road, away from the harsh words, away from the rocks hurled at him in anger.

  Standing at the side of the road, he waited.

  The man who had yelled charged Buster, running at him full force with footsteps full of anger.

  Buster darted into the thick canopy of trees and vines. He dodged fallen trees and animal dens, unaware of the low branches slapping his face. Further he ran through the woods until he reached his den hidden among the saplings and undergrowth. He crawled in and sat on his haunches, panting, his eyes darting around to see if he had been followed. Trembling, he strained to listen to the sounds of the woods, searching for the harsh words among the woodland sounds.

  After a while, his rapidly beating heart calmed and when it was finally silent he put his head on his paws. His hopefulness gave way to helplessness, and confused about his situation he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  The sun climbed high in the sky and fingers of steam rose from the wet canopy. The sound of woodland birds chirping filled the air and for a moment, Buster listened, his eyes following them flitting from branch to branch.

  When he heard the approaching footsteps of people, he perked up his ears until he remembered the harsh words and rocks hurled at him.

  He lowered his belly to the ground and put his face on his paws, the dappled shade and greenery hiding him. Strangers were to be avoided.

  Laying on the damp ground, Buster listened to the travelers talk in low murmurings of people who were relaxed around each other.

  The two travelers came closer and the voices comforted Buster, warming him, and he recognized the cadence of the female’s voice. There was something definitely familiar about the young woman, but peering through the canopy of saplings and vines, Buster couldn’t see her face clearly.

  He tasted the air for a scent, but the wind had changed direction, brushing him from behind and pushing whatever knowledge he could have gained away from him.

  The two, a man and a woman, stopped not far from Buster’s den, and he eyed them with growing curiosity.

  The woman sat down on a log and the man slid off her boot. Interested in their actions Buster rose and silently observed them.

  For a long while the man massaged the woman’s foot, and Buster noticed her gaze was transfixed on the man.

  Intermittently, the man lifted his head and looked into the woman’s eyes. They held each other’s gaze for a few moments unti
l the man lifted a hand and cradled her face. She took his hand, cupping it and closing her eyes.

  Buster felt the silent connection.

  The silence spoke of clear communication between the two, of the gentle handling the man showed the woman, of their relaxed postures, yet Buster sensed their troubled journey. It must have been long because the woman sat unmoving, her shoulders heavy from the burden she had been carrying.

  It was a burden Buster could relate to, for he sensed the recent hunger and thirst she had experienced. Her face was reddened from exertion. He could sense her relief that the man had reached out to her, to comfort her, just as Buster needed. He needed the touch of a human being, craved it, and he couldn’t understand where his owner was or his owner’s companion.

  There was sadness in the woman’s face and when Buster crept out of his hiding place, a brief flicker of recognition captured him while his mind searched for the meaning.

  With great trepidation Buster put one paw in front of the other, carefully choosing his path. His footfalls on the spongy earth were silent, catlike, and his large form melted into the shadows of the woods.

  He inched closer.

  The wind shifted directions and Buster lifted his nose. The scent came to him full and strong, the scent of his owner’s offspring. She was the one who scratched his belly and lavished praise on him, saying “good dog”; she was the one who snuck table food to him; the one who let him sleep on her bed.

  Cassie was here!

  Buster leapt from the woods, a black form bursting forward in a tangled blur of flapping ears, spindly legs, and whining unbecoming to a dog of his stature.

  Chapter 21

  The commotion of whining and barking racing toward Ryan and Cassie caused them to rocket up and take a defensive posture.

  Ryan swiveled in time to see a black projectile racing toward him with the speed of a greyhound.

  The dog was massive and it was zeroing in on Cassie!