by Roger Hayden
“Now we can go,” Larry said.
He grabbed Rob by the arm and pulled him away, leading him out of the room and into the hall. Everything looked blurry to Rob, who was still reeling from the beating. There were two other men in the hall, armed and patiently waiting—one overweight man with a shaved head and tattoos up to his neck, and the other with shaggy hair, a goatee, and a scarred face.
They greeted Rob with the same look of contempt he had received from Larry. It was clear he wasn’t a very popular man about town. The feeling was mutual.
He tried to see how many other rooms, or cells, existed down the hall, but it was so dark, he could only make out a few metal doors with faded red paint chipped away.
“What is this place?” he asked in a tired voice.
“This is where we keep heroes like you,” the large man belted out. “Now move your ass!”
Before Rob could say anything more, a blindfold went down over his face. The black rag covered his eyes and was pulled tight and knotted in back. Larry pushed him forward, and he limped down the hall, disoriented, with only their echoing footsteps to guide him along.
He heard a door open, and they entered a room where many other voices were in conversation. Hammering and sawing rang out. A factory of some kind? The noises continued unabated as Larry gripped his arm again and led him past the noise and to another door, which they opened.
A cold breeze hit him. They were outside. Rob could smell burning wood and could see some light through the blindfold. Pebbles crunched under his shoes as they led him down a curving path. A small hole tripped him, causing him to stumble forward. Larry gripped his arm tighter and pulled him back. “Watch it there, dumbass.”
The thought of killing the men crossed his mind. They had certainly caused him and his family enough grief. But he wasn’t like them. They were murderers and criminals. He was just a man trying to survive. There had to be a difference. Or maybe the EMP had blurred the lines between good and bad, innocent and guilty. Rob thought of Arthur’s men taking residency in his home, raiding his business, and destroying everything he owned. That was the difference, as far as he saw it. Those men were takers, and they’d take all they could until someone put a stop to it.
“Here he is, Mr. Mayor,” Larry said, pulling Rob to a stop.
He could see only a faint outline of someone standing in front of him.
“Excellent. Take his blindfold off.”
Rob heard the snip of a knife cutting the back of the rag as it fell down on his face. Arthur stood there inches away in his tan fatigues and beret. The man was certainly letting the despot image go to his head.
“Nice to see you again, Rob,” he said with a smile.
Rob narrowed his eyes, with his bottom lip pressing against the top in a drooping grimace.
“Not much for hellos. That’s okay,” Arthur said. He then looked at Larry, standing behind Rob. “Go ahead and remove the zip tie.”
Larry hesitated and stepped forward, objecting. “But… he’s our prisoner.”
Arthur pulled him aside. “Just do it. See all the men with guns around here? Where’s he going to go?”
“You don’t know what he’s capable of,” Larry said in protest.
Rob surveyed the scene as the two men bickered. They were on the outskirts of town, surrounded by wilderness, and away from the residential neighborhoods. There was a fire pit ahead, down a dirt trail, where a few logs were burning. A circle of men stood around in jackets and wool caps, drinking from some kind of bottles, maybe beer.
The other two guards kept a careful eye on Rob, their rifles, resting in their gloved hands, pointed at him all the while. The bickering between Larry and Arthur stopped, and Larry walked slowly over to Rob and cut the zip tie.
“If he runs, he’s your problem,” Larry said, pointing his knife toward Arthur.
“That’s fine,” Arthur responded. “I don’t think Rob will be going anywhere anytime soon. Not until we come to an agreement.”
Rob brought his hands around to the front and rubbed his wrists. He quickly observed the pistol at Arthur’s side. He got the point. Arthur was trying to make him feel comfortable. The games never ended, and judging by what kind of person Arthur was, games were all that he had.
“I think we’re going to go for a walk,” Arthur told Larry. “Just Rob and me. Keep an eye on the fort while we’re gone.” He pointed to a dilapidated warehouse—the very place they had escorted Rob from.
Larry appeared incredulous. He stepped close to Arthur but within a faint earshot. “What are you up to?” he whispered. “That man’s a prisoner. I don’t know exactly what use you have for him, but there are plenty of people who want him dead right now.”
“I understand that,” Arthur said. “But I have other ideas.” Turning his back on Larry, he then signaled to Rob. “Please. Follow me.”
Rob looked around cautiously, taking in the expressions of the scowling men surrounding him.
“It’s okay,” Arthur said, striding ahead. “Come.”
Rob walked past Larry’s burning stare and joined Arthur, who was heading toward the fire pit, where a group of ragtag goons seemed to be unwinding and having a good time.
“What do you want with me?” Rob asked.
With his eyes forward and a permanent smile on his face, Arthur responded, “What do you want with me, Mr. Mayor.”
Rob stopped dead in his tracks as Arthur continued on for a few paces then slowly turned around. “Larry has a point, you know,” Arthur said. “The people of this town want your blood, and the one man stopping that from happening stands right before you.” His friendly demeanor dropped as he rushed Rob, stopped inches from him, and put a finger in his face. “So you better get used to showing me a little respect from here on out!”
Rob remained composed, his face showing little emotion. “Why don’t you get to the point, Mr. Mayor? You attacked my camp. You kidnapped my children. Now you have my vehicles. What’s the end game here?”
Arthur tilted his head back and cupped his chin. “I’d like us to come to new terms, Rob. That’s the only reason you’re standing here right now.”
“You humiliated me once before with that bowing-down-before-you charade, and I’m not going to let that happen again.”
Arthur laughed. “That was pretty good, wasn’t it?” He signaled Rob forward and started moving again. “Walk with me. Please.”
Rob sighed and followed. He glanced around and noticed that all the other men nearby seemed distracted. The thought crossed his mind to run, but he knew right away that would be a mistake. Any immediate escape attempt would land him right back in his cell or get him killed.
“Who are you, Rob?” Arthur asked. He was walking with his hands behind his back as though he were strolling through the park on a Sunday afternoon. “I mean, what did you do before all of this?”
“I owned an outdoors shop right here in town. Sold survival gear.”
“Funny,” Arthur said. “I always figured you for ex-military or something.”
“Nope,” Rob said.
“Seems like you missed your calling,” Arthur said.
Rob shrugged. “My calling was to protect my family, and we were doing just fine until you showed up.”
Arthur took no apparent offense. “The funny thing is, I think we’re both similar in many regards.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Rob said.
Arthur laughed lightheartedly. “You run a campground with cabins, quite resourcefully, and I run a town. There’s still a chance we can make things work.”
“Impossible,” Rob said.
Arthur stopped and grabbed the sleeve of Rob’s tattered jacket. “Why not?”
Rob looked him straight in the eye. “Because of who you are.”
A smile came across Arthur’s face. “I assure you, I’m no less sane than anyone around here.”
“That’s what bothers me,” Rob said.
Up ahead, the fire pit crackled as the men
—seven in all—paused in their jovial laughter and beer swigging and turned their attention to the mayor and his prisoner.
“I come from a political background,” Arthur said. “And in politics, you sometimes have to compromise. We see it all the time with foreign policy. We build diplomatic relationships with countries that we don’t agree with all the time. Why? Because there’s no black and white, only gray.”
Rob cut the mayor off. “I’ll ask again. What is it you want, Mr. Mayor?”
Arthur leaned in closer and pointed to the men by the fire as they turned away to avoid being heard. “My men could learn a thing or two about living off the land like your people. This town, your town, isn’t going to last much longer on the limited resources we have. We need your knowledge, your know-how. You were prepared for the EMP, just like a good prepper. You knew exactly what to do.” Arthur placed a gloved hand on Rob’s shoulder. “Show us the way, Rob. Share your tactics with us, and I’ll drop this entire feud.”
Rob thought to himself as Arthur awaited an answer. “Do you expect me to believe that you give a shit about these people or this town? You’ve destroyed it. If I were you, I’d take your gang of criminals with you and leave here before the National Guard shows up.”
Arthur lowered his hand in exaggerated disappointment and turned away. “Come with me.” They walked past the fire pit, farther down the dirt path, to an empty two-lane road. “Look in the distance,” Arthur said, pointing.
The sun was quickly fading behind the thick clouds, making way for evening. Rob could see a long wall on the horizon, stretching endlessly, it seemed, in both directions.
Arthur continued. “Contrary to what you believe, we’ve been working on that wall to keep people out. Those who would do us harm. You’ve heard the reports, as I have. This thing has spread far and wide. Millions of people are without power, just in time for winter. Now there aren’t even reports anymore. Any military have long gone home to their families. No one is coming to save this town.”
“And you’re content with that?” Rob asked.
“No. I’m a man of my environment. I cleared the vehicles off the roads,” Arthur said, jabbing his own finger in his chest. “I made it happen. I restored order in this town. I did it all!” He turned and walked back in the direction of the fire pit as Rob followed.
“Where is your shop located?” Arthur asked.
“Off of Main Street. I’m sure it’s been raided by now.”
“And you have a house in town, I’m sure?”
“Yes. But I don’t hold out much hope for it, either,” Rob said.
“I think you’d be surprised. Much of the town is still intact,” Arthur said.
They came back to the fire pit, where the men were still standing around and warming their hands. It was getting darker by the minute, and the small fire was becoming the only source of remaining light. The smell of burning logs brought Rob back to a place he would rather be—camping at the cabin the winter before. There was nothing to be afraid of then. He had never imagined that things would fall apart so quickly.
Out of the darkness emerged Larry and the big guard with the shaved head and neck tats. Arthur looked at them almost as though he was expecting them. He turned to Rob as the fire gleamed in his eyes.
“You need time to think about everything, I understand. When you’re ready to talk or even consider what I’ve proposed, I’d be happy to continue our conversation.”
He signaled Larry with a wave of his hand. Larry clutched Rob’s arm and pulled him away. “Let’s go.”
“Wait,” Arthur said. The men stopped and turned to face him.
“Your house, your family, your shop. You can have it all back. All you have to do is be willing to compromise.” He paused and adjusted his beret. “You remember Reverend Phelps?”
Rob nodded. “Sure. Why?”
“I want you to have a word with him. He was an against-the-grain kind of guy dedicated to his own people, like you. He came around, and someday you will too.”
Arthur turned and walked over and joined the men at the fire as Larry led Rob away. Lit embers floated in the air, drifting upward on a cool breeze. Rob tried to get his thoughts together. Perhaps he should have run when he had the chance. He wasn’t sure. But then again, Arthur hadn’t killed him yet, or professed any plans to have him killed. Rob could work with that. He could give Arthur what he wanted and more. But giving in too easily would undoubtedly raise suspicion. He would have to play the game smartly.
“Hold up,” Larry said, stopping him. “Hey, Trevor. Lemme have that blindfold.”
“Come on,” Rob said. “There’s nothing to see!”
“Shut up,” Larry said, taking a blue bandana from the large guard. He wrapped it around Rob’s face.
“How many of those things do you plan to go through in one day?” Rob asked.
“Just following protocol,” Larry answered, pulling it tightly in the back and tying it. They pushed him forward, walking him at gunpoint back into the warehouse, where he could hear the same hammering from earlier still ongoing. A door opened, and he could hear the familiar echo of his footsteps as they walked down the hall. The stopped at his cell, opened the door, and pushed him in.
“Take the damn thing off yourself,” Larry said, slamming the door and bolting it shut. Rob stood quietly for a moment as he listened for them walking away. He pulled the bandana off and was met only by the immense darkness of his cell. They hadn’t tied his wrists that time and barely remembered to blindfold him. Their carelessness gave him hope. He could work the situation to his advantage. That much he knew. No one had to die, but that didn’t change the fact that he was willing to kill them all if it meant getting back to Mila and the children.
Unknown Town
It was early afternoon when Mila and Carlos left the camp behind. Josh and Kelly were in Mayra’s care. The rest of the camp was not up for making an excursion into the unknown. Brad and Ashlee were making their plans to leave, along with Peter and Krystal. But they promised that they would be willing to wait at least a couple of days before going, so they didn’t have much time before they had to get Peter’s car back to him. Mila realized that the job of rescuing Rob was largely on her shoulders. Carlos faced the same realization in regard to discovering his son’s fate.
Carlos drove Peter’s 1979 Buick LeSabre—classy, but cosmetics were the least of their concerns. They had two five-gallon jugs of fuel in the trunk and a full tank. Clarkson, the nearest town outside of Nyack, was twenty-five miles north. Mila had their route mapped out, much as she had done with Rob during their travels. The drove up Route 9 West alongside the Hudson River, which was covered in thin sheets of ice. The sky was light gray, and the passing oaks had shed nearly all of their leaves. Their windows were up, and the heater was on—a blessing to have.
A small arsenal rested in the backseat—two AR-15 rifles, two shotguns, and multiple magazines. What they lacked in numbers, they made up in firepower. They also brought what supplies they could—preserved food in tubs, canned foods, and water purification tablets—in hopes of bartering or earning the trust of the people they needed to join them.
They passed a crooked road sign reading: Clarkson ─ 10 Miles. Mila donned a thick green army coat Rob had brought home from the thrift store months prior. A purple wool cap covered her head, and a pair of brown leather gloves rested on her legs under the map. Carlos was decked out in his covert ensemble: black long-sleeved shirt, black jeans, mountain boots, skullcap, ammo vest, hunting knife, and pistol. They were on a mission but, so far, had said very little to each other during the trip. Their minds were elsewhere.
Mila was already five steps ahead of the plan. In her mind, she had already amassed a hundred people to go and take back Nyack and save Rob. Victory was theirs, and everything was back to normal. She snapped out of her daze when Carlos asked her if she was ready.
“Yes, of course,” she said.
“Ten miles out. From what point should we walk?�
� he asked.
“I don’t know. We don’t want to leave the car unattended for too long.”
They had passed many cars dead on the side or middle of the road, and it didn’t really seem to make a difference where they parked. And not everyone was aware that an old car might be a working car. But time was of vital importance, and they could not risk being stranded.
“What’s that?” Carlos said, pointing ahead.
Something was in the middle of the road. A body. A man’s body just lying there, dressed in a yellow jacket and blue jeans. Carlos slowed the car. They looked closely as he carefully maneuvered around him. One side of his face rested against the road. The exposed side was discolored and hollow, as though the body had decomposed.
“Well, that’s not a good sign,” Carlos said.
“Just keep going,” Mila said, shaking her head. “We have to do this.”
“But we also need to consider the signs when we see them, you know?”
“A dead body is one thing. Ten is something else,” Mila said.
Carlos nodded. “Got it. But let’s just be prepared, okay?”
“Sure,” Mila said.
Carlos seemed apprehensive. Fear of the unknown was impossible to deny. “We could be dealing with more than an EMP here,” he continued. “A biological attack. SARS or something. There’s no telling what’s in store for us.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Carlos,” she said. “We have enough to worry about as it is.”
He waved her off. “I know that. My son could be dead. That doesn’t change the fact that we’re in the shit right now, and that this whole bug-out plan hasn’t really worked out so well.”
She said nothing more as they neared a sign reading: Welcome to Clarkson. More vehicles obstructed their path on both sides of the road. The roads had long since become salvage yards. Carlos slowed to a halt as the town came into view.
Village homes, similar to those around Nyack, aligned the streets on both sides. Brown leaves covered everything from cars to homes, as though they had just poured down from the sky. Everything looked abandoned and vacant. They’d seen this picture before. Mila knew that the apparent emptiness of any town could be deceiving.
