EMP Resurgence (Dark New World, Book 7) - An EMP Survival Story

by J. J. Holden

  In the distance, he heard the first shots being fired. Two of his sub-commanders were running interference, engaging the town’s defenders and trying to hold them in place or push them back. The third commander and his unit would raid the warehouse itself and escape on foot to the wagon train parked nearby. For this mission, he was using fully half of his total troop strength and all of his wagons and mules. Most of those had only just been taken from the North Koreans when they left the city.

  It had been a grueling fast-march from Philadelphia, and his troops were still tired. They would soon be even more tired, because after the battle, they would have to fast-march back home using a roundabout route to complete the deception.

  His was a simple plan, and with any luck, the defenders would blame the ’vaders. Everyone knew the Koreans were pressing Americans into service down in Maryland, so even if they saw a few of his American soldiers, the ruse should still hold.

  Nate’s heart beat a little faster as he thought of all the food they would seize, enough to keep his troops fed until the fall harvest. A few people from the Confederation might end up starving, but Nate was a realist. Right now, Philly had more people than food. He could either let his own people starve or take it from those better able to absorb the losses. It had been an easy decision.

  One of his flag messengers ran into his HQ and saluted him. He said, “Commanders One and Two are in place and report they’re ready to begin the operation. Commander Three can now move in.”

  Nate patted the man on the shoulder with enthusiasm. “Excellent. Go flag the third commander and advise him to begin. Tonight, we all eat well.”

  As the messenger ran out, Nate turned back to his maps. They were being continually updated by his staff, who based changes on reports from messengers and scouts with binoculars. It was slow and tedious, but these days, it was the best he could do. He was fairly certain his preparations and troops would be enough.

  He grinned. He, Nate Runke, was now supreme commander of the Philadelphia Free City, and he was about to lead his people into having enough food for the summer.

  As he looked at the map, Nate’s mind danced with visions of new ranks, new uniforms, new ways of running the government. He decided that not everything about this post-war world was a bad thing.

  * * *

  1400 HOURS - ZERO DAY +628

  Mark Bates swiped his key card and entered his suite, and was immediately bombarded by his seven-year-old son, Junior. He gave the boy a big hug and ruffled his hair, smiling.

  Lucy came out of the kitchen, and on seeing him, her expression changed from one of wariness to one of joy. Mark never came home early, his days were too busy for that, so he had surprised his family.

  Lucy said, “You scared me half to death. What are you doing home so early?” She walked up and wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning her head against his chest.

  Mark rested his cheek on her head, enjoying the way her hair smelled. For some reason, it had been one of the things he liked most about her since they had first met. “I had a department meeting today, but it fell through. I decided to bring my work home, so I could see you guys. Besides, if anyone needs me, I’ve got my cell phone.”

  Lucy disentangled herself from her husband and took a step back to look at him. “We had lunch a while ago, but I can make you something.”

  Mark nodded and smiled at his wife. “That would be fantastic. I didn’t get a chance to grab lunch today.” He didn’t tell her that he missed lunch because he had been busy finding alternate copies of the report Janice had given him days ago.

  As Lucy wandered back into the kitchen and Junior went back to playing video games on the suite’s single TV, Mark sat down on the couch and set his briefcase on the coffee table. He popped it open and pulled out a single manila envelope. For a moment, he eyed it warily. Three copies of the report, all from different sources within the chain, meant for different divisions. He hadn’t examined them yet, and he had actually been putting it off. He was a little afraid of what he might find.

  Lucy came back out carrying a plate and a glass of juice, which she set down on the coffee table. “I’ve got to go to the PX and run a few more errands. Could you watch Junior while I’m out?”

  Mark nodded. Of course he would. He didn’t get enough time with the boy as it was. A few minutes later, Lucy left to run her errands, leaving Mark alone with Junior. He opened his envelope and pulled out the three sheets of paper. At first glance, the other two copies were the same as the one Janice had given him. He went carefully, line by line, first checking the headers and footers before moving on to the main body.

  Mark read through each copy carefully, circling any subtle variations on his original with different colored pens.

  Twenty minutes later, when he was finished, he looked at the original report, now littered with blue, red, and black marks. None of the circles overlapped. This clearly ruled out a simple typo. No, he now had clear confirmation that the Intel spooks had laid out a honey trap.

  Which meant that if he had sent Janice’s report out and any were discovered by the counterintel people, he would have revealed that there was a leak. After that, they would have gone through the chain of possession, starting at the top and working their way down. Eventually, they would have found the leak. If that happened, the best possible outcome would be that he lost a valuable source. Far more likely, Mark’s asset would have given up his name under “questioning,” and then he and the asset would both be dead.

  His mind raced, trying to decide whether they suspected him or one of his assets, or whether they were just casting out a counterintelligence net simply to see if they caught anything.

  Either way, there was a crucial piece of the puzzle he was missing and only one person who knew it—Janice.

  Taking a deep breath, he slid the papers back into the envelope, then secured it in his briefcase. All he could do now while he waited for Lucy to return was finish his lunch, spend time with his son, and forget about all the ways this could go wrong.

  * * *

  The market area was a chaotic maze of stalls and wagons, pavilions and simple tables, all set up to display people’s wares. The Hoboken security forces kept a broad stretch open in a single line running from one end of the market to the other, wide enough for four wagons, but other than that, it was left up to the merchants to arrange themselves.

  The result reminded Jaz of something out of an Arabian Nights movie. There were merchants selling all kinds of food on the main drag, but it was often overpriced. They had to pay more for those spaces, and they passed that on to their customers. It was sort of like a convenience tax. Jaz wanted the fresher stuff, at a better price, but it took a lot of time to wander through the maze to find those.

  She carried a basket on her left arm, keeping her right hand free in case she needed to reach for her weapon. After all, Hoboken was a bit like a frontier town, still. Wild and woolly.

  After winding her way through ever-narrower ad hoc alleys, she found a covered wagon way in the back that had a pull-out table built on the side, on which were arranged all sorts of kimchi jars. Different sizes, different vegetables, and it looked like some were made with vinegar and others the old-fashioned way with just salt and spices.

  Choony could never get enough kimchi, and Jaz too became addicted to the stuff. Something about the way it was fermented always made her feel better after eating it for a few days, so when she found it, she always bought it. She stepped up to the table and began looking through the jars.

  The merchant was a heavyset older woman, though she looked Hispanic, not Asian. She said, “I see you have an eye for quality. You’ll find nothing but the best, here. Can I help you find something in particular?”

  Jaz smiled and said, “Yes, my… boyfriend, I guess, grew up eating kimchi, and now I love it too. He likes the stuff that’s made the old-fashioned way, and I want to surprise him for dinner. What would you recommend?” She knew she was inviting the merchant to off
er her most expensive wares, but she had learned that these were often the best-tasting ones. Also, with some haggling, these more distant merchants would usually throw in some of the smaller jars of stuff that wasn’t selling well. They certainly made a nice snack.

  The woman smiled, the many creases that formed around her eyes suggesting she did so often. It was a warm and friendly smile. “You know, the ones they put out on display are mostly for the locals, most of whom don’t really know good kimchi. The best stuff is in the back. Give me a moment while I pull some out for you.” Jaz nodded, and the merchant went to the back of her wagon and climbed inside.

  Jaz could hear her rummaging around. She occupied herself by examining the many smaller bottles on the table as the woman rummaged about when something hard jammed into her ribs and her head spun around by reflex. She found that there was a man standing next to her, and he looked familiar. It took a moment, but then she recognized his scheming blue eyes and the baby face that was nothing more than a facade. A wave of fear washed over her as her subconscious alerted her to danger. It was Jack, the creep from the party at Clanholme before the war against the Mountain.

  As Jaz’s eyes grew wide, Jack grinned. “I see you remember me, but of course, how could you forget?”

  She felt a flash of rage and turned to face him, the better to yell at him. Then she felt something hard against her abdomen. She looked down to find that Jack held a pistol to her. Her jaw dropped.

  Jack said, “That’s right, I’m in charge here. You and I need to have a talk. Let’s walk—go that way,” he said and pointed to his left, toward the market maze’s farthest edge. Beyond that lay a deserted part of the city, not yet reclaimed.

  When Jaz didn’t move, his eyes narrowed and he pushed the barrel into her belly even harder. “If you don’t want to die right here in the street, I’d suggest you get moving.”

  Jaz had been momentarily paralyzed with fear, but now her mind began to race. There was no one around except a few merchants, and none of them were looking at Jack and her. The nearest merchant was still inside her covered wagon. Jaz could scream, but she felt pretty confident Jack would kill her if she did. Not only that, he might also shoot whoever came to help her. She couldn’t have that on her conscience, but this guy was weak. She could deal with him later, when there weren’t any other potential victims around. She nodded once curtly, then headed toward the edge of the market.

  A couple of minutes later, they were out of the market and well into the deserted part of town. It had been mostly small warehouses and light construction before the war, and most of those buildings still stood.

  They reached an intersection and Jack said, “Turn left.”

  Silently, she obeyed. They walked many blocks before he told her to stop. He pointed toward a door that had been left slightly ajar.

  “Go in there,” he said, “and keep walking until you’re in the center of the room.”

  Stiff-legged with fear, she walked through the dark portal and knew she was making a bad decision. But what else could she do with a gun pointed at her? She couldn’t spin around and kill him. She couldn’t go for her gun. If she tried to do either, he’d just pull the trigger. She figured it’d be best to bide her time until the asshole slipped up.

  When she got through the doorway, she saw that the warehouse had been arranged like a large studio apartment. On the far wall was a California King bed set, and all the other features of a real house spread out from there. To the bed’s right, in the back corner, Jack had used room dividers to set up a separate area. From the disgusting odor, which she could smell even from the middle of the room, that would be the bathroom. Probably using a bucket toilet, and not even smart enough to add sawdust. Super.

  She heard the door close behind them and the distinctive click of the lock being secured.

  Jack said, “Home sweet home, darling.”

  She was really getting tired of men calling her “darling.”

  Jack motioned to the dirty mattress that was supported by a sturdy-looking frame, maybe solid steel, and was bolted to the cement floor. “Do me a favor and move over to the bed.”

  She didn’t want to go near the disgusting thing, but she didn’t want to die either. She stood frozen, unable to make herself walk to the bed.

  “Jaz, I really don’t want to hurt you. I really want us to get along, so it would be a shame if I had to mess you up. Now be a good girl and go to the bed. Lie down on your belly and put your hands behind your back.”

  Oh, hell no. She tried to think of something fast, but nothing was coming to her.

  “I’ll count to three, and if you’re not on that bed, I’m going to shoot you in the knee.”

  Stiffly, she nodded and walked slowly toward the bed. Her eyes darted all about the room looking for something to save her, some way of getting out of this situation. Maybe she’d be able to shoot him when he wasn’t looking. Did he know she had a gun? He hadn’t looked, yet. She reached the bed and stood at the end, staring at it. Then she felt a rough shove from behind, and when her knees hit the bed, she toppled onto the mattress face first. Gross.

  Jaz felt Jack’s weight on top of her as he wrenched her arms behind her, one at a time, and she let out a grunt. When both arms were behind her back, she felt cold metal on her left wrist and the ratchet of handcuffs closing, followed quickly by the same on her right. Now she was cuffed with her hands behind her back, almost completely helpless. She said, “Despite what you may think, chicks totally don’t dig this sort of thing. You want me to like you, don’t you?”

  He laughed aloud, still sitting on top of her and said, “You don’t like me? That’s a shame because I know what you want. Little skanks like you, always asking for the ‘Big D’ and then acting all surprised when dudes want to give it to you.” Jack brought his lips close to her ear and whispered, “I’ve been watching you. Last week, in the market, you dressed the same way you did back at Clanholme. You obviously need a real man. We both know your gook boyfriend can’t get the job done. That’s what ol’ Jack here is for.”

  “You do know that only lonely, pathetic freaks refer to themselves in the third person, right?” Jaz said. She shouldn’t be surprised, having dealt with men like him before—they always blamed their insecurities on how she chose to dress. Only this time, she wasn’t going to put up with it. Not without a fight.

  Jack sat up, moving away from her ear and clicking his tongue. “So unfortunate, Jaz, that even in the new world people still stereotype others.”

  Jack moved to the head of the bed, his gun never wavering as he pointed it at her. From behind the headboard, he reached down to grab something. She heard the distinctive clink, clink of a chain rubbing against metal.

  Sure as hell, when Jack stood up straight again, she saw he held a chain in his hand. “But I won’t hold it against you, darling. Since you are a guest in my house, I suppose my job, as a host, should be to show you a good time.” With a pistol in one hand and chain in the other, Jack moved until he stood directly next to her as she lay cuffed on top of the bed. He pointed the gun at her temple, “So, let’s try to play nice, shall we?”

  Then he climbed onto the bed and sat on her back. She felt her shoulders strain as his weight pushed her down into the mattress, and she bit her lip to fight from crying out. She was totally not giving the guy the satisfaction.

  He moved the chain over the back of her neck, then brought it around the front. As he reached under her neck, she had the brief urge to bite down on his arm. Maybe she could tear a chunk out of him. But of course, if she did that, he would just pull the trigger and she would be dead.

  She felt the chain being wrapped around her neck and heard the metallic sound of a padlock being secured.

  Jack climbed off her back, and she breathed deeply to catch her breath again. Then she felt a tug at her hip—Jack took her pistol. He must have felt it while he was straddling her. Then he undid the handcuffs around her wrists. “Sit up. Hold your hands out in front of yo
u, wrists together.”

  Jaz did as she was told. She soon found her wrists cuffed again, but this pair of cuffs had a much longer chain connecting the two sides. Jack then padlocked that chain to the first one. In effect, Jaz could use her hands, but not very well.

  He grinned at her and said, “There. Now, I suggest you behave yourself, and this will go a lot easier for you.”

  She resisted the urge to spit on him. Her mind reeled, not quite believing this was actually happening to her. Jack had to leave sometime, if only to get food, and maybe she could scream then… draw some attention, get rescued. Of course, this was an abandoned part of town and the building had once been a warehouse. She could see the distinct pattern of brickwork all throughout the walls, meaning they were thick and solid. They were made of cinder block and would be all but soundproof from the outside.

  She looked at Jack and saw him looking back. His expression was one she had seen many times before, when she was younger. It was a look that promised bad things to come.

  Well, she had learned how to survive all those other times, and she could survive this.

  Eventually, she would have her opportunity. And when she did, Jack would die.

  * * *

  In her office building, just outside of Clanholme, Cassy sat in her swivel chair at the desk, looking at her monitor. Six other faces stared back at her, members of the Confederation. Over the last few months, Ethan had managed to set up a haphazard videoconferencing system, but it only worked at a certain time every day—after lunch and before dinner—because it relied on satellite uplinks. Apparently, the “bird” was only overhead at that time.