Grid Down: A Strike against America - An EMP Survival Story- Book Two

by Roger Hayden

  “Your boy’s here,” Larry said.

  “Splendid, please come in,” Arthur said.

  The guard pushed Rob in past Larry and made it halfway in himself before Arthur stopped him.

  “Go ahead and help with setup, Isaac. Rob will be fine.”

  The guard nodded and left the office. Arthur’s men stared Rob down as he stood in front of the desk, wearing a dark-blue sweater and jeans.

  “You look spiffy, Rob. Glad you got a chance to get cleaned up. I hope the new clothes are a good fit.”

  “It works,” Rob said.

  Arthur’s men kept their eyes locked on both him and Rob, adding to the tension in the air. Arthur had had enough of their suspicions and waved the men away.

  “Give us a minute, will you?”

  Larry, Dwayne, and Jerome looked at each other but didn’t move.

  Arthur’s tone grew sharper. “I don’t need babysitters. Get out of here! I’ll call you when I need you.”

  Dwayne and Jerome reluctantly rose from their chairs and followed Larry outside the office. The door shut as Arthur looked to Rob, waiting a minute before speaking to him.

  “I was told that you’re willing to work with us.”

  “That’s right,” Rob said.

  Arthur stopped and examined him keenly. “Can you tell me what the deciding factor was?”

  Rob shrugged and looked past Arthur, out the window overlooking the town. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

  “Yes. It is.” Arthur spun around and looked at him hard. “But if I know you at all, Rob, you’re looking for an out. And I must say, I don’t blame you. I’ve taken you from your family. I’ve caused you a lot of harm.”

  “I’m not in any kind of position to make demands.”

  Arthur nodded. “I’m glad you can see that. But it doesn’t change the fact that you cannot be fully trusted. At least for a while.”

  As Arthur turned away, with his back turned toward him, Rob stuck his hand in his right pocket and felt the knife.

  “I understand.”

  He carefully pulled out the closed switchblade. He listened for noises out in the hall and signs of any possible intrusions. It was probably the only chance he would have that day to do something. He stopped as Arthur turned to face him.

  “I’m going to introduce you as a reformed man. Or at least a man seeking redemption. The pastor will help with that. You know a lot of people in this town better than I do, I imagine. And they know you. I’m sure you have your share of supporters, despite a majority who hate your guts.”

  “No doubt,” Rob said.

  Arthur turned again to face the window, almost as though giving Rob the signal. Almost as though he wanted to die. Rob pulled the knife out fully, when the door suddenly swung open and a man walked in sounding rushed.

  “Mr. Mayor, just about everyone is out there now.”

  Rob fumbled to conceal the knife, nearly dropping it. Beads of sweat rose on his forehead.

  “Good to hear. Thanks,” Arthur said, turning around.

  Rob slid the knife back in his pocket, trying to remain cool and natural.

  “If you mention food rations, it magically brings the town together,” Arthur said, looking at Rob.

  Rob struggled to crack a smile. “About those prepared food rations…” he began.

  “Yes?” Arthur said, leaning closer.

  “What are they made of?”

  “I don’t know,” Arthur said. “Military-grade stuff in air-tight packages. Got them straight off an army truck we seized.”

  “I see.”

  Arthur smacked his hands together with enthusiasm. “Now let’s go. Your crowd awaits!”

  Rob nodded as Arthur led him out of the office. Below the window of the second-story office, over a hundred people had gathered as mandated, eagerly awaiting their rations. It was another spectacle. But at least it gave them something to do.

  ***

  The crowd was in place as Arthur took the stage amid his men, who were positioned throughout the plaza, providing security. Oddly enough, Arthur had managed to assemble a band of trumpet players in the pews. Their rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner was sloppy but earnest. Makeshift flags displaying a red letter T within an oval streamed from light posts down Main Street: the flag of Tartarus. The ceremony was about to begin.

  Rob was escorted behind the stage without restraints next to two armed guards. He looked over and saw Phelps and Layish standing together talking near the stage. The pastor noticed Rob first and signaled to Layish, who turned and nodded to Rob with an unfriendly expression. Rob shrugged. What did they want him to do, kill Arthur in broad daylight in front of the entire town? He’d be signing his own death warrant.

  “Welcome!” Arthur said to the gathered crowd. They looked worn and apprehensive, there for only one purpose: to get food. Arthur’s men stood guard at positions around the seated audience of over a hundred people and were also scattered throughout Main Street.

  “I’m so glad to see you all, and I’m very excited to bring you news of a new day. We gather here to not only plan our collective future together as a strong community, but also to commemorate our strength and survival against overwhelming odds.” He continued his pep talk for several more minutes, his voice booming above the heads of the gathered crowd below. A giant banner hung overhead, strung from one street post to the next, reading, TARTARUS is the Future. And the Future is NOW.

  “I know it hasn’t been easy. I know that you have families and personal matters to attend to. I know that you have former lives and occupations to think of. I know that many of you are scared for the future. And I also know that many of you just want your food rations. We’ll get to all that shortly, but first I want to officially mark today as the day when Tartarus becomes an independent municipality free from the corruption of the outside world. The wall we have worked so hard on has become a reality. It is because of this wall that we can now live in relative peace and harmony, free from outside threats.”

  Arthur never paused to consider who the real threat to the townspeople was, thought Rob. As far as he was concerned, he was as legitimate a leader as the town had ever had. Most people knew this much, but many were so desperate to live by the scraps thrown to them that they accepted whatever he did and however he did it.

  “I’m going to bring Reverend Phelps up here in a minute, but first, I want to introduce someone many of you are all too familiar with.” He spoke with a hint of irony, and a sly grin lit his face.

  Arthur turned toward the back of the stage, where Rob waited.

  “Help me welcome back our old friend, Rob Parker!”

  Forced applause came from the crowd as the guards pushed him on stage. Rob stumbled, and the crowd gasped, but he steadied himself, scowling at the guard, who smirked and gave him one last shove. They let him be then as he walked to the center of the stage and stood next to Arthur, who placed an arm around him.

  “With minimal motivation, Rob has promised to turn himself around and dedicate his time and efforts to helping us make it through the winter. Many of you might be familiar with his prepper store, which I’m going to allow Rob to reopen.”

  Rob felt inside his pocket again to assure himself that the knife was still there.

  “And he would like to share a few words with you today, assuring each and every one of you how together, we can survive anything.”

  Arthur stepped to the side to let him have the stage. Rob looked out into the crowd, all eyes fixed on him. Their faces—tired and broken—reminded him of how important his task really was. But in helping them, there was only one thing he could really do, and the time wasn’t right to do it. He moved his hands away from his pocket and cleared his throat. His mouth was dry, and the chill in the air had him slightly shaking.

  “I’m… Umm… I’m glad to be back and given the opportunity to make things right again,” Rob began. He figured it was groveling enough to please Arthur. The disapproving crowd looked less than
pleased. He scanned for any familiar faces: Bernie, his neighbor at the thrift store, Carol, the bookstore owner, even his landlord, Mr. Clayton. He couldn’t find them. Maybe they had made it out of town before the madness.

  “I have some knowledge about surviving the elements, skills that may help most of you. I can show you how to trap the heat in your homes with duct tape and blankets. I can teach you about preserving and drying food. Anything you want. How to purify water. Even how to make your own weapons.”

  Arthur cleared his throat with a level of theatrics that warned Rob to kill any talk of weapons.

  “I can show you how to start a fire the good old-fashioned way. How to start what I call a garage greenhouse. This is where you grow your own vegetables in the comfort of your own home with cups of soil. It takes time, but I can offer tips or anything else you want to know.”

  Arthur joined Rob in the center of the stage and turned to address the audience.

  “And what do you think of me, Rob? How I gave you another chance. Would you say I’m a tyrant with an insatiable thirst for power?”

  Rob looked around. Arthur’s men narrowed their eyes at him. “No, of course not. You are a leader.”

  “Is that right?” Arthur asked.

  Rob took a deep breath, hating himself for the words he was about to say. “You’re just the leader this town needs.”

  Arthur held his hands out triumphantly. “There you have it, folks. Straight from the horse’s mouth. Thanks, Rob.”

  A light applause, prompted by the guards, followed as Arthur signaled for Rob to exit the stage. Rob turned and stopped, distracted by the sound of several faint pops in the distance.

  Arthur gripped his arm. “What is that?” he asked, staring ahead in fear.

  His men looked around curiously as the pops got closer and louder.

  “No,” Arthur said, realizing something was terribly wrong. “Not today…”

  The seated people began to turn around with concerned looks on their faces. Arthur’s men readied their rifles. Silence fell, with only the rustling of the wind to be heard.

  Arthur steadied one hand and with the other, reached into his suit jacket breast pocket for his pistol. “Be ready,” he announced to his men.

  Reverend Phelps and Dr. Layish looked at each other with apprehension. Trouble was on the horizon. Everyone could feel it. Suddenly multiple shots were fired onto the town square from above. Three of Arthur’s men near the stage took hits and dropped to the ground like lead weights. The seated crowd screamed in terror and hid under their chairs or started to run as more shots rang out. It was hard to see where they were coming from.

  Panicked, Arthur scanned the building rooftops along Main Street. He could see bright flashes radiating from different locations as each shot was fired.

  “They’re on top of the buildings!” he shouted to his men. “Take positions!”

  The crowd ran in different directions, anywhere away from Town Hall, as several of Arthur’s men laid down suppressing fire at any building in range. Rob couldn’t believe what was happening, but he knew he needed to take cover. He moved to jump off the stage, when Arthur yanked him back by the collar of his sweater.

  “You son of a bitch!” Arthur seethed. “Are these your people? We had a deal!”

  Rob pulled the switchblade from his pocket, and in one quick swoop, he released the blade and jammed it into Arthur’s chest. Arthur screamed out in pain and stumbled backward with the knife still sticking out. His men were too distracted by the gunfire to notice. Rob leapt from the stage, falling into Reverend Phelps, who was desperately trying to find cover.

  “Quick, under the stage!” Dr. Layish said. There was just enough space to crawl under. The three men dropped to their knees and then flat on their stomachs, slipping underneath just as a barrage of men poured onto Main Street like an advancing army. Rob pushed himself farther under the platform as Phelps and Layish followed, grunting and heaving. “I did it,” Rob said. “I stabbed the bastard!”

  Mila was somewhere in the back of the first wave of fifteen men who stormed Main Street, taking position behind trash cans, vehicles, and anything else they could use for cover. Arthur’s men engaged relentlessly, firing at them nonstop. Bullets flew over Mila as she jumped behind a rusty Camry parked on the side street. Carlos and Brad fell in next to her, ready to bring the fight home.

  “Stay here!” Mila said. “We don’t want to be used for target practice.”

  “Damn right,” Brad said, covering his head. Bullets shot through the Toyota window, sending glass bits airborne.

  “Has anyone seen Rob?” she asked between heavy breaths.

  “Looks like they were having an event before we showed up,” Carlos said.

  “A human sacrifice?” Brad asked in jest.

  One of the sheriff’s men ran past them and hit the ground, taking a shot to the head.

  “No!” Mila shouted.

  Carlos got up on one knee, peeked out, and fired his rifle from behind the car. Arthur’s men were everywhere and advancing quickly. Gunfire was heavy in both directions, and from the rooftops. Arthur’s men were falling like rocks all around the stage.

  Mila looked out and saw a man writhing in the center of the stage, in agony. He was on his back, dressed in a suit, and looked familiar. “Oh my God,” she said. “It’s him. It’s the mayor.”

  “Where?” Carlos said, his face burning with rage.

  “On the stage,” Mila answered, pointing.

  He fired but didn’t have an open shot, hitting one of Arthur’s men in the chest and sending him to the ground. The sheriff suddenly jumped behind the car to join them. He had fallen back.

  “There’s a lot of them. We’re trying our best!” he said, holding a pistol and adjusting his crooked sunglasses.

  “I saw Arthur!” Mila said.

  The sheriff’s eyes widened. “Where at?”

  “On the stage!” Carlos answered. A shot rang out from behind them, and they turned in unison to see five men with rifles advancing toward them. They were surrounded.

  They unloaded on Arthur’s men, riddling their bodies with multiple rounds. The blasts, coming from all around, were deafening. The group of five collapsed in bloody heaps, with spent gun shells scattered around them. But the fight was far from over. The sheriff’s men fired repeatedly, hitting Arthur’s team but missing some too, and using up ammo. Any unarmed resident had long since vanished. The once-quaint Main Street had become a war zone.

  “That was a close one,” the sheriff said, clutching his pistols and staring at the bodies before them.

  “Too close,” Mila said. “We have to survive this. It’s our only option,” she said jokingly.

  “You’re telling me,” Brad said. “I’ve got four kids waiting for me back at the camp.”

  Carlos scanned the area ahead, looking toward Town Hall. He could see the man Mila identified as the mayor crawling off the stage toward the ground. Carlos stood up suddenly and charged forward as his boots crunched against glass and shells.

  “Carlos, no!” Mila shouted.

  He was already far ahead and dodging gunfire.

  Mila and Brad aimed their rifles down the road and fired, doing their best to provide suppressing fire after being taken off guard.

  “Watch our backs!” Mila shouted to the sheriff.

  Carlos kept sprinting forward through the hail of bullets, focusing on his target. One of Arthur’s men jumped out from behind a barrel with his rifle aimed. Carlos shot him through the head, and he spun backward, screaming. As he dropped, another shooter came out of nowhere, putting Carlos in his sights. Carlos blew the side of his face off in one shot and kept running.

  The stage was getting closer. He was almost there. The mayor was on his knees under a tree and trying to push himself up. As Carlos advanced, a lanky man with a handlebar mustache ran to the mayor and shielded him. For a moment, he was too distracted to notice Carlos charging toward them, but when their eyes met, he quickly s
wung his rifle around to take fire. A gunshot rang out from atop a nearby building, cracking the man’s head open and throwing him to the ground near Arthur. Surprised, Carlos jumped but kept his pace.

  Arthur had managed to get up on his feet just as Carlos pummeled him like a bull. Arthur gasped and spit blood as the two men flew onto the hard concrete ground. Sporadic gunfire blasted, coming from all sides. Several of Arthur’s men dropped as others quickly realized they were outnumbered. They threw down their weapons and ran, but the Clarkson crew weren’t ones to take prisoners.

  Shot in the back, the fleeing men collapsed next to the bodies of their own, drenched in pools of blood that leaked throughout Main Street.

  “Get off me!” Arthur shouted. Carlos rolled to the side and got on his knees. Before the mayor could say another word, Carlos’s meaty fist pounded his face with lightning-fast punches. He then clutched Arthur’s neck.

  “What did you do to my son?” he asked, squeezing his neck and cutting off his oxygen. “Tell me, you sick fuck!”

  The knife still protruded from his chest. Carlos reached for the handle and yanked it out. Arthur cried out in gasps of pain. “Cat got your tongue? Talk, damn it!”

  “I-I’m sorry,” Arthur wheezed. “It wasn’t me. It was an accident.”

  “The fuck you talking about?” Carlos asked, hunched over him.

  “One of my men took it too far. We buried the boy. Gave him a proper burial just like anyone else!”

  Completely in shock, Carlos loosened his grip. “What? He’s dead?” Tears welled in his rage-filled eyes. “You killed him? You fucking killed my boy?”

  He removed his hand from Arthur’s neck and stared forward in a horrified daze. Sound was fading. Everything was becoming blurry. In Carlos’s moment of crippling astonishment, Arthur reached into his coat, pulled his pistol out, and pushed it against Carlos’s chest. Carlos looked down just as Arthur fired. A stinging pain swept through him, and he fell to his side beside Arthur.

  Rob crawled out from under the stage when he heard the nearby gunshot. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He shouted to Carlos and ran over and kicked the pistol out of Arthur’s hand before he could fire another shot. Carlos lay on his side, shaking and coughing with rapid breaths.