The EMP Survivor Series (Book 2): Uncertain World

by Chris Pike

  “He told me to keep an eye on old man Reynolds’ place. He said if I saw anybody over there to let him know ‘cause there’d be a big reward.”

  “Those people never get any visitors and they don’t do nuthin’.”

  “I know. That’s why when I saw a couple out on the lawn, I remembered what Cole told me. I’ve got to let him know they’re here.”

  “It’s late. Wait till in the morning,” his wife said, stifling a yawn.

  “No. I need to tell him now. What I need is a bike. Is there still one in the garage?”

  “Yeah, but the tires are flat. You’ll need to pump them up.”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later Elmer was peddling to the sheriff’s office as fast as his fat legs would go. He hadn’t ridden a bike since he was a teenager, and the damn seat was making his butt hurt, not to mention his thighs felt like they were on fire. He was breathing hard and sweat was pouring off of his face. By the time he rode up to the office, his shirt was soaked and sticking to him as if it had been glued.

  Throwing the bike down in the grass, he waddled up the sidewalk. When he came to front door, he drew a hairy arm across his forehead, mopping up sweat, trying to make himself presentable. He straightened his wet collar, hitched up his pants, and put his greasy nose to the window. He peered in.

  The place was empty and dark. A desk where the receptionist usually sat was empty, some papers scattered around. A few wooden chairs were lined against the wall. File cabinets were still in place. The mayor’s picture hung on the wall along with recent awards given to long-standing employees.

  Elmer took a glance around. The buildings on the town square loomed dark and quiet, patrol cars sat idle, and the lack of activity gave him the creeps.

  The possibility of money increased his bravado, so he gathered up his courage to check if the door was unlocked. When it creaked open, Elmer’s heart pounded at a machine gun rapid pace which caused him to sweat even more.

  Shit.

  He was hoping it had been locked.

  The place reeked of stale body odor, like there were people in here that needed a bath. He put a finger under his nose. Searching for anything to prop open the door to let some air in, Elmer found a trashcan. There, that was better.

  When Elmer turned around Cole Cassel was standing behind him with a shotgun leveled at his chest.

  “What do you want?” Cole asked, his voice menacing.

  “Uh…uh…” Elmer stuttered. His eyes dropped to the double-barreled shotgun. “I uh…there’s this uh—”

  “Stop jabbering. What do you want?” Cole lowered the shotgun.

  “There’s uh…uh…” Elmer swallowed, took a deep breath, trying not to hyperventilate. “There’s two people at the house across the street.” Elmer bent over and put his hands on his thighs.

  “What house?”

  “The one you wanted me to keep an eye on.”

  “The Reynolds’ place?”

  Elmer nodded.

  “What kind of people?” Cole asked.

  “A young man and woman.”

  “How old?”

  “I don’t know. It was dark and I couldn’t exactly tell.”

  “Think harder.”

  Elmer stood there like he was the third grade dunce the teacher had told to go stand in the corner.

  “Okay,” Cole said, “let’s play a little game. I ask you questions and you answer yes or no. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. Question one: Was the man over fifty?”

  “No.”

  “Was the man older than twenty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was the man older than thirty?”

  Elmer didn’t answer immediately. He tried to visually remember the couple. The guy had an athletic quality about him, something about how he stood and held himself. He had a full head of hair, something Elmer hadn’t had since he was about twenty. The hair was dark so he had to be fairly young.

  “I think he was younger than thirty.”

  “Good, we’re getting somewhere. Did he have dark hair?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tall?”

  “Yes.”

  “Courteous?”

  “Yeah,” Elmer said. “He asked me if he could help me. How did you guess? It’s like you already know who I saw.”

  “You’re not as dumb as people think you are,” Cole said. He walked over to the front door, held it open and said, “Run on home now.”

  “Oh, okay,” Elmer said. He stopped at the door. His mouth was dry and he licked his parched lips, unsure if he should ask for money. When he tried to talk, the stuttering started again. “Uh…I…uh…you…uh…”

  “I’m a busy man, Elmer. Spit it out.”

  “Y-you said you’d pay me.” Elmer put a hand to his mouth. He couldn’t believe he said that out loud. Nobody ever questioned the boss. Ever. Elmer’s shoulders shrunk down and he waited for what was sure to come. He’d seen the wrath of Cole before and it wasn’t pretty.

  “I did. Didn’t I?”

  Cole put an arm around Elmer, like they were long lost buddies then gave him a hearty slap on the back. Elmer lurched forward and eyed him suspiciously.

  “I pride myself as a man of my word,” Cole said, pulling out his wallet. Opening it, he took out a couple of Benjamins and handed them to Elmer.

  “Thanks,” Elmer said. He took the hundreds and stuffed the bills in his back pocket. “It’ll help me and the missus out.”

  Elmer backed away as he mumbled. If Cole was going to shoot him, he’d have to look him straight in the eye. Not that it would stop Cole. By the time Elmer had exited the building and the bolt had been locked, he was only a few steps away. He stood there until Cole disappeared into the dark building.

  Elmer picked up the bike, hopped on it, and started peddling away. A couple of hundreds wasn’t exactly what he was hoping for, and it sure wouldn’t make him rich, but it was nice what Cole had said, giving Elmer a compliment.

  You’re not as dumb as people think you are.

  Remembering that, Elmer felt invigorated and he was overcome with a burst of pride. With that newfound sense of self, Elmer hunkered down on his bike and peddled home with gusto.

  Chapter 26

  “Come on, boys!” Cole barked, raking a baton over the jail cell bars. “Time to get up,” he said, pacing the length of the cell. He gave the iron bars another good rake. It might as well been a locomotive in the room because the noise was deafening in the cramped space.

  “Huh,” Jed said, covering his ringing ears. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes, compliments from the bender of only a few hours ago. He had been sleeping soundly on one of the prisoner’s bottom bunks while Cleve slept on the top bunk.

  In the days following when Cole had taken over the sheriff’s office, Jed had become Cole’s right hand man, and if he had been a dog, he would have jumped through hoops at the promise of a biscuit. Jed wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he could follow directions as long as a reward was at the end of the stick. And as long as Cole gave him step by step instructions, Jed was on it like a flea on a dog.

  Decision making and critical thinking were not skills in Jed’s limited repertoire, and neither was practicing at the gun range. As a deputy in the sheriff’s office, he had always been told he had a better chance of being struck by lightning than drawing his service revolver. Keeping his marksmanship training up to par had slid to the end of the to-do list.

  “Okay, I’m getting up,” Jed growled.

  “We leave in five minutes,” Cole said. “You and Cleve be ready.”

  Jed swung his legs off the cot, and when he stood, a massive headache assaulted him. He put his hand to his head, praying he wouldn’t heave right there.

  What he needed was a quick remedy.

  Glancing round the darkened room, he spied the whiskey bottle in the corner. He took a step forward, the room started spinning, so he grabbed hold of the bunk bed frame to steady hims
elf. It took a second or two for the queasiness to subside. Deciding four legs were better than two, he lowered himself to the floor and crawled on his hands and knees to where the bottle was. He popped off the top and took a swig, feeling the burn of the whiskey.

  He shook off the burn and after a few moments he took another swig, letting the hair of the dog soothe his throbbing headache. Soon, he was to the point he was steady enough on two feet. His bravado increased, so without wasting anymore time, Jed grabbed his pants, pulled them up, scratched his butt, then yanked the covers off of Cleve sleeping in the top bunk snoring like a freight train. He marveled that guy could sleep through a hurricane.

  “Cole wants us ready in five minutes.”

  When there was no answer, Jed shoved him good and hard.

  “Huh? What’s going on?” Cleve mumbled.

  “Gotta go. Now! Boss wants us.”

  What for?” Cleve asked. He sat up, cleared his throat, and hocked a slimy brown phlegm-filled loogie halfway across the cell. It landed with a splat.

  Jed grimaced in disgust. “I don’t know and didn’t ask. All I know is we better be at the front ready to go in five minutes, or else.” Jed let his tongue explore the soft gummy spot where a tooth used to be. He’d be damned if he was going to lose another tooth for tardiness. Jed learned really quickly Cole wasn’t merciful in dishing out discipline.

  * * *

  Five minutes later Cole and his two henchmen were on their way. The old truck which Cole stole on his way out of Houston had been converted to the official sheriff’s truck. They rigged flashing police car lights to the top of the roof and duct-taped the county logo on the side. It might have been odd, but it achieved its purpose, which was to show who was in charge.

  Cole had learned a long time ago to watch his back, and tonight paranoia got the best of him, so he took a circuitous route to their destination. A dictator in power could never be too careful.

  The city was as dark and quiet.

  The truck rumbled down the deserted roads, headlights illuminating the empty streets with vehicles pushed to the side, waiting to be reclaimed. Flashing red and blue lights on top of the truck announced their approach.

  A black cat scurried to the middle of the road and stopped, its eyes glowing yellow in the headlights. As the truck came closer, the cat bolted across the road and disappeared in a thick hedge lining a house.

  Houses sat dark, their occupants sleeping. Windows were open, letting in whatever breeze came through. The peculiar scent of charcoal wafted in the still air; the smell of meat cooking tantalizing at the midnight hour.

  Cole stopped the truck several houses away from the Reynolds’ house. He switched off the lights and cut the engine. “Jed, all I need for you and Cleve to do is back me up. Do not under any circumstance fire your gun. In fact,” Cole said, “empty the rounds in your guns and put the bullets in your pocket. Make sure there aren’t any bullets in the chamber. Is that understood?”

  Cleve looked shocked. “You want us to go in there unarmed?”

  “Right.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s not your concern. Let me do all the shooting. You’re there for backup. I don’t want anyone to get hurt by accident. Got it?”

  Jed and Cleve nodded their understanding.

  “Good. Empty them now.”

  Chapter 27

  “Ryan?” Cassie whispered. “Are you awake?” She nudged his arm. “Ryan?” He was snoring softly.

  She woke to unfamiliar surroundings and the rapid pace of Buster’s nails clicking on the hardwood floor. The mattress of the double sized bed with barely enough room to accommodate two people squeaked when she rolled over. A dark mahogany dresser circa1940s sat in the corner, a matching nightstand on one side of the bed. She reached to switch on the lamp then remembered there was no electricity.

  “What’ya say?” Ryan mumbled.

  “I need to let Buster out. He’s been pacing, which means he needs to go out. I’m going to put him in the backyard for a few minutes.”

  “Okay,” Ryan said sleepily. “I’ll be here when you get back.” Ryan rolled over onto his stomach and mashed his face into the downy pillow.

  Still wearing her jeans and shirt, Cassie threw off the covers and swung her legs off the bed. “Come on, Buster. Wanna go outside?”

  Buster thumped his tail, knowing what the word ‘outside’ meant.

  Cassie opened the bedroom door, left it ajar, and tiptoed down the hallway leading to the kitchen then to the back door. Unlocking the door, she instructed Buster to go outside. Knowing it would take him a few minutes to do his business, she shut the door and went to the kitchen to get a drink of water. Out of habit, she turned the faucet to the on position, but only a few drops of water came out.

  Hmm, right, she thought.

  “Of course,” she said, shaking her head. No electricity to pump water, which meant no water pressure.

  Cassie checked the pantry, found a bottle of water, opened it and took a long drink.

  It was dark in the house, and she let her thoughts go to her dad. Where could he be? She and Ryan had found Buster on the other side of the bridge, so her dad had to be close by, but why? What would he possibly be doing here? She racked her brain trying to think of reasons he’d be in this particular county, or maybe it had something to do with the city? Was there something she had missed? Surely he hadn’t followed Cole here. She knew her parents had planned to retire to a country home, but they had always mentioned the Hill Country. The clear sandy-bottomed rivers, rolling hills and granite outcroppings, oaks that went on for miles, fertile soil, not to mention the proximity to major cities for shopping or medical care. The Hill Country definitely had all the amenities needed for country living.

  After Cassie’s upcoming graduation, which now was on hold, she had planned to move to wherever her parents went. While not exactly a country girl, she appreciated the lifestyle and reasons people wanted to get away from the fast pace of city life. After her mom died, her dad had lost his dream of retiring and Cassie had tried to talk him into following his dream, but his heart wasn’t into it.

  If only Cassie hadn’t taken the flight to New Orleans, all this would not have happened. During her conversation with her dad right as the plane lost power, she told him they were descending and that they had passed the Sabine River. He had complimented her about knowing where they were, despite being at cruising altitude.

  “That’s it,” Cassie whispered. “He was coming to find me.”

  Knowing how meticulous her dad was at solving problems, he must have estimated a probable location where the plane would have crashed. She put the water bottle on the counter and was bursting at the seams to tell Ryan the good news. In her excitement, she completely forgot about Buster. Coming to the bedroom door, she reached to open it—

  The front door burst open!

  The force of the door hit the wall and rattled it. The flimsy frame broke and wood splintered in all directions. A loose-hanging picture fell to the floor, shattering the glass into shards.

  Bright beams of light blinded Cassie. She hadn’t seen artificial light in a week and she put a hand in front of her face. She squinted her eyes shut at the blinding light.

  A tall man wearing all black charged Cassie, and before she had time to react two other men burst in. She was immediately hit with an adrenaline dump. She turned to run, only to be jerked back when one of them grabbed her arm. The man slammed her into the wall, twisting her right arm and forcing it upwards. Her heart was beating at breakneck speed and she didn’t feel the pain of her arm being twisted.

  The taller of the men kicked open the bedroom door where Ryan was sleeping, flooding the room with a bright light.

  Ryan scrambled out of bed and lunged for his Glock he had placed under the bed.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot!” the man ordered.

  Lying sideways on the floor, Ryan deftly drew the Glock out of the holster, swiveled the 9 mm, and was about to sight it when th
e man rushed him and kicked him hard.

  Ryan’s hands were forced up, the gun discharged into the ceiling blowing a hole in it. A fine mist of white plaster rained down on Ryan, momentarily blinding him. He lost his grip on the Glock, yet he refused to relinquish the 9 mm.

  Cassie screamed so shrilly, so viscerally frightened, it made the hair on the back of Ryan’s neck stand up.

  Pushing up off the floor, Ryan scrambled to his knees. It was the last thing he remembered before the brutal kick to the head.

  He wobbled on rubbery legs, his brain rattling around like a shaken jar of marbles. Time and sounds slowed down to a din of garbled light and images. His eyes rolled upward, his eyelids fluttered, and he fell listlessly to the floor.

  Cole Cassel knelt and rolled Ryan over on his stomach. Pulling a zip tie out of his pocket, he crossed Ryan’s hands behind his back and pulled tight on the zip tie. Standing, he ordered, “Bring her in here.”

  Cleve and Jed forcibly shoved Cassie into the bedroom. They stood on both sides of her, holding her arms.

  Her eyes zeroed in on Ryan and a worried frown wrinkled her otherwise young features. She instinctively tried to go to Ryan to help him, but was held back.

  “Who are you?” Cole asked.

  Cassie said nothing. She dropped her gaze to Ryan lying prone on the floor. He was still breathing, and the knowledge he was still alive provided her hope.

  Cole put the spotlight on the bed positioning it so the beam shined at the ceiling. It lit up the room as if a light had been flicked on. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

  Cassie struggled to be free of the grip the two guys had on her.

  “Let her go,” Cole said to Jed and Cleve.

  Cassie wrenched her arms away and rubbed the sore spots where indented red marks were left. She defiantly stared at Cole.

  “You his girlfriend?” Cole asked.

  Cassie said nothing.

  “At least tell me your name.” Cole stepped closer to Cassie. “Your boyfriend is okay. He’ll have a headache in the morning, but that’s all. If I had meant to kill him I would have, so tell me your name.”