Defending What's Ours: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The EMP Bug Out Series Book 2)

by Nick Randall

  Defending What’s Ours

  A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The EMP Bug Out Series Book 2)

  Nick Randall

  © 2018

  Nick Randall Copyright © 2018

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 (Matthew)

  Chapter 2 (Holly)

  Chapter 3 (Matthew)

  Chapter 4 (

  Chapter 5 (

  Chapter 6 (

  Chapter 1 (Matthew)

  The night around me was peaceful, the stars blinked in and out behind shifting clouds.

  The woods were comfortably noisy, crickets singing, the low echo of an owl in the distance, the faint sounds of leaves in the soft wind . . . and the steady breathing of the men sleeping in the woods a couple of feet from me.

  I lay on the hard ground, the zip ties around my wrists and ankles cutting into me, my feet and hands swollen from the restraints.

  It was our second night on the mountain. Steve took first watch. I could see him leaning up against a tree, his shadow shifting to drink from his water bottle once in a while.

  I turned away from him and faced the dense copse of trees opposite, dreading morning and the intense scrutiny I would get from Steve as I took them further around the mountain.

  “We’ve been here already,” Steve had grunted earlier that same afternoon. “That’s the same rock outcropping we passed about an hour ago.”

  His eyes bored into me, his gaze searching for any sign of treachery. I held his gaze, and he finally turned away.

  “I’m trying to follow the map in my head. I remember bits and pieces, but I will get us there. I want to make sure you keep your word,” I replied.

  “If you can’t get us there, I’ll just track her down myself. It may take longer without your help, but I know how to find people. Don’t underestimate me. So, figure it out, or your end of the bargain is void.” He spoke matter-of-factly, short and to the point.

  Steve and I had made a deal when they first captured me.

  He would let Holly go if I got them to the cabin and traded my life for hers. Steve was militaristic, calculated, and single-minded.

  Retribution had to be paid for the death of his nephew.

  The problem was that Holly had shown me a map with supply stops and different routes up to the mountain. She never told me the exact location of the cabin.

  Steve didn’t know that, though. Our little party had been across parts of the mountain, roving around all day now.

  Just before she and I were separated, Holly had said it wasn’t more than a day’s walk to the cabin. I hoped she’d had enough time to find her way there and hunker down.

  Initially, I thought the run-around would make Steve give up, head back to town, and find another place. I was wrong, though.

  I turned to watch him now as he scanned the trees periodically, his wiry muscles pulsing underneath the tight, black, lycra sports shirt as he peeled an apple with his large hunting knife.

  His adept fingers sliding expertly around the blade. He had a long, ragged scar, white with age, curling behind his ear and running down the back of his neck.

  On our long hike that day, I had walked behind him, watched him swipe at the sweat on his neck, and wondered what had made him such a hard man.

  Steve wore a mask of cool patience, but the rage simmered just below the surface. I had yet to see him allow emotion to disrupt him. He halved the apple and walked towards the hammock to hand it to the girl.

  That first night after I had turned myself in, and Steve and I had made our pact, I saw someone lurking in the trees behind the men. The shadow was small and slight. Steve had seen me staring hard at the trees.

  “The sister.” He said, and that was all the explanation I needed.

  The young girl Holly had desperately attempted to rescue had survived. She stood apart from the men, but stayed close.

  Steve allowed her to linger on the periphery when we would make camp. Her eyes wide and frightened, but her voice mute. The death of her sister seemed to have broken her.

  Her arms and legs were thin from pre-teen awkwardness and hunger. The scrapes covering her feet and knees reminded me of the pain she carried with her, scars that would never leave someone so young.

  Steve’s glaring look of warning to the men if they glanced in her direction left room for no guesswork. He was fiercely protective, his lip turning into a snarl, his eyes darkening.

  The men quickly learned to avert their eyes as much as possible. Steve was a wolf, a pack leader, and we all knew he could be brutal and unforgiving if pushed. But I know we all wondered why he cared? It didn’t match his M.O.

  Hiking the Appalachian Trail on a fall day in Georgia could have been magical, but it was brutal for me. My thigh had started twitching halfway into that day’s hike.

  Steve made us hike at a quick pace, expecting to cover at least 4 to five miles an hour on the steep slope.

  By the end of that day, the gash where the bullet had grazed my leg was bleeding through the bandage, dark blue bruises had sprouted underneath three of my toenails, and my feet were weeping with broken blisters.

  Surprisingly, the girl stepped over roots and climbed up large rocks with ease. She was a scrappy girl, and she seemed built for the wildness of the mountains.


  I had spent hours and hours on the hike thinking about how to slow us down. My mind bounced from one idea to another.

  My desperation came to a head at the end of the first day hiking. I couldn’t think of anything but the pain in my leg. I could feel the blood pulsing with every heartbeat.

  That’s it. I suddenly realized. If I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t lead, and the group couldn’t carry on. I could make my leg worse. I could make sure the wound would get infected. Steve would have to take precious time to treat me.

  That night, they tied me up with zip ties, hands in front so I could use the restroom.

  After we made camp, I waited for Steve’s watch to end before using my swollen fingers to grasp my pant leg, pulling the fabric up inch by inch.

  Once the bandage was exposed, I rolled it down slowly and turned on my side, grabbing as much dirt as I could in my fingers and pressing it into the gash, stifling gasps of pain.

  Then, I pushed my pant leg down as much as possible with my hands. I repeated it hour after hour.

  The second day of hiking had been more excruciating than the first. I could feel the itch and tingling of infection starting to take route.

  Within the first hour, heat was radiating off the gash, my pant leg slowly darkening above my wound. I could feel liquid trickling down my skin underneath.

  Now, I lay in the grass the next night after reapplying dirt to the wound again and hoping and praying for the infection to worsen. Every minute I could slow us down, I would buy Holly more time.

  I looked towards the woods and saw the grey outline of the young girl. Had she seen me? I wasn’t sure. She walked towards me carefully, tip-toeing through the trees.

  I twisted my head back as far as I could, spying the man on watch several yards from me. He’d fallen asleep against a tree.

  His head lolled against the base of the trunk and his rifle loosely hanging from his shoulder. I turned back to see the girl a foot away from me, scooting forward on her hands and knees, and eyeing me curiously.

  “Hi, “ I whispered. “Are you okay?

  She nodded up and down, her stringy, dirty hair falling forward and covering her shoulders and arms.

  “Do you want to get away from these men?”

  Another nod. Yes.

  “If you cut me free, we can go together. You just have to slip one of the knives away from the men while they are sleeping.”

  Nod again. Yes.

  “Okay, tomorrow night. We will get out as soon as you cut me free. Deal?”

  “Yes.”

  I was startled by the word. It had come out raspy and hoarse from misuse. A small whisper that took all of her breath away.

  “What’s your name?” I pushed her a little further, hoping not to scare her.

  “My sister’s name was Sarah,” she breathed raggedly, her head hung low and her body shook up and down.

  She was crying. The one word seemed to break open the flood gates. She whimpered softly as her shoulders shook with the heaviness of raw emotion. From behind me, I heard the rustling of boots on dead leaves. Steve appeared instantly by her side, lifting her gingerly into his arms, and carrying her to the hammock he hung among the trees for her each night.

  I closed my eyes and exhaled, hoping our conversation wasn’t overheard. A while later, the quiet patter of footsteps roused me out of that dreamy place just before sleep.

  I reluctantly opened my eyes to see a face nose to nose with mine. I yelped and wriggled back in the grass. Steve locked eyes with me as he sat back against a nearby tree.

  “She’s just a child,” his eyes seemed to glaze over with reminiscence. “I don’t believe in hurting children. They need to have a chance to find themselves, choose their own path, without being tarnished by pain and loss. I didn’t know Joseph had those two girls until he had them at gunpoint in the middle of the street. I would have killed him myself if I had reached him first. I didn’t know. I didn’t know . . .”

  He rested his head in his hands and his shoulders sagged. The still water finally disturbed. Abruptly, he stiffened and straightened, lifting his eyes towards mine and whipping out his knife.

  “If you get close to her again, I will gut you. Understand?” he growled.

  “Y-yes,” I replied, my throat tight with fear.

  He got up and walked away, but just before rousing the guard, he turned and looked towards me, his eyes ominous as he lodged the knife deep into a tree before walking away.

  Chapter 2 (Holly)

  It had been a full night and day, and all I could think about now was Matthew.

  I had forgotten about him in the chaos. Norman stood in the cabin, raking through the supplies the squatters had used up.

  Gordon stood next to him, an old, retired park ranger friend who had helped him with the cabin. Gordon stood short and wide, a broad man with hammers for hands.

  He reminded me of a people-sized dwarf, the tough built and rugged muscles and blocky build. His square jaw worked back and forth, teeth grinding as he peered out of intense deep-set eyes. T

  hey seemed to grow darker as he pulled at his thick white hair.

  “How the hell could those idiots blow through two boxes of our supplies in two days?” he pounded his fist on the table, shaking the floor of the cabin.

  “I don’t know, Gordon. We will be okay, though. We’ve got the aquaponics for vegetables and fish, and all of the solar panels are intact. The generator is working, too. A couple boxes of food won’t do us in.”

  Norman clapped him on the back before making his way into the kitchen to retrieve the broom.

  The cabin was a mess. They had upended the furniture to barricade the doors, not realizing that the cellar below the cabin had its own entrance and tunnel that stretched half a mile into the woods.

  Norman had hidden it well in the cellar, a stocked shelf in front of the false wall that opened to expose a sliding door leading to the tunnel.

  I hadn’t thought about entering through the hidden tunnel entrance in my frantic hike to the cabin.

  Gordon had caught me right before I stepped onto the path leading up to the front door. His hand clamped over my mouth, his arms pinning mine to my side.

  I was frightened as hell and slammed my head back, cracking his nose instantly. I wriggled free and rounded on him.

  My fear turned to concern as I ran over to him and placed my jacket under his nose.

  Blood poured out into both of our hands. We looked up when we heard the muffled laughter coming from the shadow standing over us.

  “Gordon, you need some help with that? Don’t you know better than to sneak up on Holly?” His blue eyes twinkled with mischief but quickly faded to an intense focus.

  “Alright, we need to get further away from the road and make a plan. Holly, what took so long? We left the cabin to scout for you, and just came back to find it overrun with a group of squatters. Been watching them the past couple of hours and trying to figure out how to handle this. Let’s go before they realize we are close.”

  Norm turned and headed deeper into the woods.

  Now that my adrenaline had drained from me, I felt disappointment take root.

  I’d wanted so much to be able to fall into Norm’s safe and capable arms, concoct a plan to save Matthew, and follow through by killing those men.

  Every. Single. One. This would only slow us down, and Matthew might not survive if we waited too long.

  Norm stopped short behind several large boulders jutting out of the uneven forest floor.

  He grabbed me and hugged me a little too tightly, the buttons of his flannel shirt gouging into my cheek.

  I squeezed him back just as hard as tears welled up in my eyes. They slipped down my cheeks. I wanted Norm to see how strong I had been, but the tears spilled out and betrayed me.

  “Holly, I’m here for you. We are going to get the cabin back, and then, you will tell us what happened. Okay?”

  I nodded.

  “The priority right now is
to get rid of these people, so we have a long-term viable survival plan. We need the cabin. So . . . we know there are at least five of them. All male. Probably between the ages of 25 to 50. They seem pretty clueless about situations like this, but we have seen at least two pistols and one rifle. Gordon and I have pistols and one rifle between the two of us. Extra ammo, too. We only took a couple days worth of food because we were just scouting the local area to find you.”

  He squeezed my shoulder.

  “So . . . we need to figure out what these people really want, and try to find a good solution to the conflict.” Norm took a breath to continue, but Gordon interrupted him.

  “We can’t just let them go free. They know where the cabin is. They might go tell other people and come back with reinforcements.” Gordon’s voice was muffled as he held my jacket to his nose.

  “We don’t want to kill people who are just trying to survive, Gordon. What if that were Wendy or Sarah?”

  Gordon grunted in acknowledgement.

  “Okay . . . I think I have a plan. I can just pretend to be alone and approach them. Men trust a woman. In situations like this, they assume women are vulnerable and need a man’s help. It’s not foolproof, but it will give us a chance to figure out where they stand.”

  I looked hopefully from Gordon to Norm. Their faces were filled with doubt.

  “Holly. I’m not putting you in that position. If I lost you because we allowed this, I would never forgive myself.” Norm’s arm curled around my shoulder protectively.

  Gordon nodded in agreement.

  “What if we lure one of them away from the camp somehow? We know the cabin well. We can cut off the water, cut the line to the generator, or something like that. Make them have to send someone out to fix it. Norm, you know how to fix the cord to the generator?” Gordon looked at Norm.