Dark New World (Book 4): EMP Backdraft

by Henry G. Foster

  The Clan quieted down, and Cassy swept her gaze over the assembled people. The Clan now numbered some seventy adults, and half as many children, but it was a testament to the respect the people gave Cassy that they quieted down so quickly. Rather impressive…

  “Merry Christmas,” Cassy said, and smiled.

  Frank looked around and saw a sea of faces smiling back at her. Thank God he’d stepped down to let Cassy be the Clan leader. No way he could have managed that job, or not as well as Cassy did. Of course, she had her Councilors to help. Frank, Michael, Ethan, Choony, and Grandma Mandy, plus Joe Ellings who joined them from the White Stag people. With all of them on board, Cassy had a much easier time getting things done. Frank and the others were all well liked and respected.

  Cassy continued, “So now that I’ve got you all here and we’re having our Christmas dinner, with the amazing cider—thanks to Dean Jepson, who has a knack for it—it’s time to remember where we came from and give thanks for where we are today. So many out there, outside our farm, are hungry and cold tonight, but we aren’t. The Clan is warm and fed, and I see a few of us got into the hard cider a bit too early.”

  Polite chuckles and a lot of pats on the back for Dean, the cranky old farmer who could “redneck engineer” just about anything, from anything. Due to some old bad blood, he and his politician wife didn’t much care for Cassy when she brought them into the Clan, but that fell away quickly in this new world. Dean was as prickly as ever, but most Clanners now took it as just part of his crabby charm.

  “It’s been three months since we all overthrew Peter the Dictator,” she continued. “We lost a lot of good people taking our freedom back, and gained some good new friends. Not all the White Stag people were evil, and the ones we didn’t hang or exile are those who helped us while we had the yoke of Peter around our necks.” People looked down, or toward friends for support, because even now the memory of that dark time haunted so many of the Clan.

  “But the good news is that our way of farming, the way I’ve been teaching all of you, is spreading. There’s other survivors out there making new lives just as we have, and we’ve been able to swap our knowledge for some pretty great trade deals with them. We have cows now, and we have replaced our other livestock. Goats, chickens, even a couple sheep. And these trade deals have led to some pretty good feelings between us and them. That’s a good thing, because we learn most of what we know about the outside world from these friendly survivors. And we got all these apples from them! Let’s get some food and celebrate!”

  The crowd yelled in agreement and milled over to the serving tables, where Frank and Michael already had gotten their plates. Frank turned to Michael, who was nodding at what Cassy had said. “Michael, what’s the latest on the alliances we’re trying to forge?”

  Michael glanced to Frank and then looked back to Cassy, and said, “Ephrata’s on board. They have the same problems with those bastards in Adamstown that we do. Glorified raiders, and I hope we get to kill a lot of them come April.” The scurvy survivors of Adamstown kept trying to hunt out everything in the woods that lay between them and the Clan, and they liked to raid at a distance by riding bikes down the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

  The Clan had set a full-time watch out there with an irreplaceable hand radio, to give the Clan early warning of any raids. There hadn’t been one in a while, on account of the Clan being ready for them every time they dropped by since setting up the scout outpost after their first attempt, which failed badly when the Clan’s policy of never straying far from defensive arms proved effective. The Clan had gained a few usable bicycles from that encounter.

  “What about Manheim and Lititz?” Frank asked. Those were a few miles south of Clanholme, and there was some tension between them going all the way back to the first refugee flood from Lancaster after the invaders gassed it.

  “Working on it. They’re leaning toward half-assed mutual defense agreements, I think. Manheim especially is getting pressure from Elizabethtown’s survivors and wants us to broker a deal before they’ll think about a real alliance.”

  “We have as much sway in Liz Town as we do Ephrata, right? So it shouldn’t be too hard.”

  “We’re working on it. Shush, Cassy’s done kissing babies and whatnot.”

  Frank looked back to Cassy and saw that she was about to speak again. He let his conversation with Michael drop for the moment.

  Cassy said, “As a special Christmas gift, I’m happy to say that we’ve almost got our own Constitution worked out. If America ever gets back on its feet, ours is clear that we will put it aside in favor of rejoining, but for now it spells out how we’re going to do things around here. We’ll let you know when we finish the draft and then everyone can have some input.”

  Someone in the crowd shouted, “What about capital punishment?” That had been a hot-button topic since Cassy had the worst of the White Stag goons strung up.

  “War is war, friend. But we won’t be killing our own. Clanners who get too far out of line will get exiled, not executed. Let’s talk about happier things. It’s Christmas!”

  Cassy droned on for a while, covering all the bases. She talked about local issues, the growth of regional interfarm politics, the Clan’s new alliances, and the need to stay vigilant. But mostly, she talked about the great things that had happened in the last hundred days. The Clan had come together and was quickly developing its own culture and traditions, many of which started accidentally with things Cassy did. It was the “Founder’s Principle,” a term Frank recalled from his conversations with Ethan, the Clan’s skilled hacker. It was the tendency of an organization to adopt and reflect its founders’ ideas and ideals.

  When Cassy wound down, the Clan finished eating and happily broke up to enjoy pies and more cider—always more cider, they had barrels of the stuff—and talked about spring planting, sick chickens, and all the other things farmers talk about. Frank loved listening to the hum of happy people talking and socializing. Before the EMPs, most people didn’t even know their neighbors’ names, but without TV or smart phones, face-to-face socializing was again becoming the norm. If you didn’t know your neighbor’s name, you couldn’t very well expect him or her to help you when you needed it.

  * * *

  Cassy sat with Grandma Mandy by the tables where the children were eating dessert. Brianna and Aidan sat on the log next to her on the other side. Dessert was a fruit-laden fruitcake slice, and half the kids were now bouncing off the walls and each other from the sugar. These days, no one ate sugary foods. There usually weren’t any to be found, but one of the scouts had come back with a five pound bag of sugar and a huge grin, and the Clan had settled on making Christmas cheesecake and fruitcake. It wasn’t like the stuff she used to buy in the store, but she hardly remembered anymore how all the chemically processed foods had tasted before the EMPs. She no longer missed them much, except for chocolate. She sometimes woke up in the middle of the night craving a certain candy bar that really satisfied. It was depressing to think she’d probably never get to eat chocolate again, at least not for years to come.

  Aidan, her nine-year-old son, interrupted her thoughts. “Mom, why do I have to feed the hogs? Why can’t Mr. Jepson’s kid do it? The pigs smell bad, and after all, I’m your son. The Clan leader’s son shouldn’t have to slop pigs. Maybe I could feed the chickens.”

  Grandma Mandy smiled and answered for Cassy. “Feeding chickens is for the little kids, sweetie. You know that. You aren’t special, kiddo. Everyone works, and there’s more work than hands to do it. That’s why you get to slop the hogs. If they smell bad, why don’t you take a day off from playing in the woods and clean their pen?”

  Cassy fought a smirk. “Grandma’s right, son. I think that’s going to be your chore for tomorrow.” Aidan frowned but didn’t say anything more. Whatever he said now would only bring more “unfair” chores. Cassy nodded thanks at Grandma Mandy, satisfied. It would be a few days at least before her awesome and rotten little genius tried to
figure out another way to get out of his chores.

  Brianna snorted with laughter, and Aidan stomped away. Then Brianna said, “Speaking of getting out of chores, I traded with Michael’s kid.”

  Cassy fought the urge to smile. “Well, I give you an A for effort. Nick’s only six, so no, he isn’t going to muck out horse stalls while you feed chickens. Sorry, Brianna.”

  Brianna didn’t even frown, so Cassy decided she’d only been kidding—not that her daughter would have complained if her mom had allowed it. Cassy watched as Brianna walked away toward the other teens.

  As Cassy looked around the area she took mental notes of who sat together, which couples weren’t as close together as usual, all the things a leader must notice about her people to head off potential problems.

  Then she saw Nestor, the new arrival, and just watched him a moment. Nestor looked tense. As he chatted with those around him, his smile was genuine enough but he shifted in his seat almost continually. Leaning back, leaning forward, crossing and uncrossing his legs. She supposed that was only to be expected from a guy who hadn’t seen another friendly person in months and was still new to the group. Cassy mulled those thoughts over as she contemplated whether to let him stay after today or to kick him out in the morning like she’d said originally.

  Then Nestor seemed to lock his gaze onto something. His jaw clenched, and his knuckles grew white clutching at the log on which he sat. Cassy followed his gaze. He was looking at one of the older women, originally from White Stag. Older in this case meant about forty, as few people older than that had survived, at least not that Cassy had seen. Not out here in the rural areas.

  Mandy snapped in a hushed tone, “Cassy! You stop that right now.”

  Cassy turned to look at her mother in confusion. “What?

  “I see you squinting your eyes at him, with that look you have when you get upset. You leave that nice man alone. He saved your daughter’s life, for Pete’s sake.”

  Cassy felt trapped, like a tiger in a cage, restless and prowling. She had to move, to walk, to get out of there. What had come over her? Whatever the reason, Nestor had set off her alarms. These days they were fine-tuned and she listened to them. They’d been right far more often than not. Cassy stood, forced her face into an easy smile, made her excuses, and got the hell out of Dodge. Time for a walk. Time to loosen up her taut nerves.

  A few minutes later, as she walked with head down and hands in her pockets, she heard the distinct creaking noise that Frank’s crutches made, close behind her. She turned her head to see him. Frank wore his worry on his sleeve, plain as day to Cassy. Just great.

  “This isn’t the time, Frank. I need some alone time out here.”

  Frank shrugged. “Don’t snap at me, Cassy. I came out because I’m worried about you, so don’t grump at me. What’s going on with you? I saw how you were looking at the new guy. So spill it.”

  “I know that look. You aren’t leaving until we hash this out, are you? Fine. It’s just that the guy sets off my red flags. Jimbo set them off and I ignored them, and then he tried to rape me. That was day one of darkness. Happened again with Peter when I first spoke to him, trying to negotiate Jaz’s release after he’d caught her. I should have listened to my gut and just killed him, even if it had cost Jaz her life. I love that girl like a little sister now, but how many people died because of that choice I made?”

  “Look, you’re the Clan leader and all, but maybe take some advice… I feel like you’re being overly cautious. You have to admit that your instincts are a bit on the razor’s edge since the White Stag thing. You’re learning to listen to your gut, and that’s fantastic in a leader, but maybe you—we all, really—have a touch of P.T.S.D. from all of this. What’s he done, besides save Brianna and Kaitlyn’s lives when he didn’t have to?”

  “Frank, I get what you’re saying, but how he’s looking at some of us creeps me out. His vibe sets me on edge, dammit. He’s too white-knuckled, like he’s just about to snap. And my gut hasn’t been wrong yet, if only I’d listened before.”

  Frank chuckled, but stopped when he saw the angry look on Cassy’s face. “Sorry. I was just remembering a similar conversation about Choony when he first arrived. You’d have sworn up and down he was a villain and a varmint. Now look at him—he’s one of us, and even on the Council. Yeah, you were wrong about him. Maybe you’re wrong about this Nestor guy, too.”

  “True, I was wrong about Choony. He’s a good friend, and part of the Clan’s core. God, I’m confused now, Frank.”

  “I hate to bring it up, but you know, we aren’t finding as many people out there as we used to. Not too many people survived on their own. People in a group survived maybe, but not the people out there alone. So are you going to have a funny feeling about the next guy? Or how about the woman after that? At this rate we’ll never let anyone new in. And being exclusive isn’t what the Clan is about, is it? Nor can you say we can’t feed more people. Between the way we farm and the now-vacant land all around us, we have more room than people.”

  Cassy furrowed her eyebrows, and pinched the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger. She let out a long breath. Frank was right, of course. Keeping everyone out was never the Clan’s way. No, the Clan found people and then found a way to make them useful, to fit in. And Nestor hadn’t done anything specific to earn mistrust.

  “Okay, Frank. We’ll let him stay. But you keep a close eye on him. Tell Michael, too. I want this guy watched without souring everyone against him, or souring him against us. Keep it discreet. Time will tell, but if he turns out to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, I want to be able to deal with it before our little flock is hurt again.”

  Frank nodded in approval, and shifted his weight on his crutches. “Sounds good, Cassy. I’ll let Michael know. Hey Cassy? This crap is why I never wanted to be the Clan leader.”

  “I know. Thanks for sticking me with the damn job. I hate you forever.”

  “Love you too, boss. Let’s go get some more of that ham they cooked up.”

  * * *

  0400 HOURS - ZERO DAY +144

  Ethan screamed and sat bolt upright. The sweat that drenched him was suddenly cold, and he shivered, looking around in confusion, until he remembered where he was. Slowly, the walls of his newest underground bunker receded to their usual position as his vision cleared. Only a nightmare.

  Beside him, Amber stirred. She reached up and put her hand on his arm. “Another nightmare, babe? More zombies?”

  “Yeah,” Ethan croaked, throat tight. He reached to the end table and took a sip from the glass of water there. “Same old stuff. I don’t think I’m going back to sleep soon. I’m going to get up for a while, so you can go back to sleep.”

  Amber murmured her thanks and was quickly making her “baby grizzly” snore. Adorable. He smiled and spared a moment to watch her sleep, thinking back on all the challenges they’d faced to be together. First the inconvenience of her marriage to Jed, who was all wrong for her but a great guy. He’d died before they ever got to this farm with Cassy. The Clan had made it clear they weren’t ready to see him with Amber just yet, so they’d had to sneak around for a while. It was only after the revolt against Peter and his White Stag army—while he and Amber had been stuck down in the bunker together—that the Clan had a change of heart.

  She’d been worth waiting for.

  Still smiling, Ethan got up and walked to the command center, with its computers, radios, maps… He stopped in front of the big laminated U.S. map and looked it over, as though anything had changed since yesterday. San Diego and the Marines at Camp Pendleton still had power—the only civilized place in the entire world, for all he knew, since Operation Backdraft had unleashed EMPs around the globe. That had put a kink in the invader’s abilities, but hadn’t stopped them. It had, however, consigned billions to die around the world. And he had been instrumental in making that happen. Ethan suppressed a shudder, and shoved that thought into the dark, black hole inside of his soul, where al
l the terrible things he’d seen and done were locked away.

  The Mountain—NORAD outside of Colorado Springs—had power, but they were self-sufficient. The people in the area now controlled by General Houle, leader of the U.S., went without power. Houle was also the head of the 20s, that secretive group that had done its best to prepare for the original EMP attacks against the U.S., but Ethan knew they also had a terrible agenda. And the map proved it. Much of the central U.S. was outlined in green, Ethan’s color for Houle-controlled territory. It stretched far, and there were enclaves of his forces throughout Texas and Louisiana. Those were really modern-day castles, fortresses from which Houle projected power over a region he lacked the strength to conquer. Lacked it so far, at least.

  Most of Florida was outlined in gray, now, and Ethan smiled. The 20s hadn’t planned on that, the bastards. Florida was almost entirely free, except for the Invader enclave in Orlando. Someday they’d all have to go head-to-head with General Houle for control of the future. But not yet.

  Virginia through New Jersey was a hodgepodge of Invader enclaves, 20s loyalists, and militia groups. Bloody ground, with constant guerrilla warfare between all three factions. General Ree, the North Korean advisor to the Islamic coalition that invaded the Eastern Seaboard, had risen from mere advisor to outright dictator. His own little North Korea, paying lip service to the Great Leader back home. Ree controlled most of New York City and its surrounding cities, where independent militias and outlaw gangs raided and he really had his hands full.

  Ethan grinned widely at that thought. He’d become rather chummy with the man who kept Ree’s hands full of the most trouble. Major Taggart. His efforts had kept Ree from shifting the balance in favor of the Invaders throughout the entire region, and he had no loyalty to the 20s. Naturally, the 20s distrusted him despite the great work he did, but they didn’t dare challenge him. Not yet anyway. And Taggart had his own loyalists. He’d earned their loyalty the hard way, Ethan knew from various independent reports, by giving his own loyalty back to those in his command and their allies. He’d like to meet the man in person.