Getting Home: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The EMP Book 7)

by Ryan Westfield

  People were laying on the wooden pallets just before. Some were curled up. Many lay on their backs, spread-eagle, with their mouths open and their eyes glazed over.

  There was a young man with long hair on one of the pallets who looked dazed. Next to him, there was a small bag of white powder lying on the ground. A needle and syringe lay next to it.

  “So this is what they were giving them, you think?” said Mandy, bending down to examine the baggie more closely. “What do you think it is?”

  “Careful,” said Max. “Don’t touch it.”

  “Why not?” said Mandy, her hand mere inches away from the bag.

  “Before the EMP, I read news stories of heroin laced with a drug called Fentanyl. It’s a synthetic opiate that’s many times more potent than anything else, active in the micrograph range and very deadly. Even just touching it can lead to fatalities.”

  “Oh,” said Mandy in surprise, pulling her hand away. “But it wouldn’t kill me, would it?” She looked worried, and wiped her hand on her pant leg. “I mean, if he injected it…”

  “Probably has a high tolerance,” said Max, peering at the man. “Whatever that stuff is, it sure seems like the men who were here were dropping off drugs. Everyone’s more out of it than before they arrived.”

  “They really are,” said Mandy, casting her eyes around the room at the other half-awake figures. “But why would someone come here and give drugs to a bunch of these employees? It’s really weird.”

  Max nodded. “It’s weird, yeah,” he said, his eyes falling on Jones, who was off in a new corner, curled up in the fetal position. “Let’s see if our friend Jones has anything to say about it.”

  They walked over, and Max nudged Jones with the toe of his boot. “What’s this all about, Jones? Who were those people?”

  “They’re helping us,” muttered Jones, his voice slurred.

  “Helping you how? By bringing you drugs?”

  Jones nodded sleepily.

  “That’s not going to help you,” said Mandy, sounding angry.

  “Why are they doing this?” said Max.

  Jones didn’t answer.

  “What are they getting out of it? Are they taking something from you? What are you giving them?”

  Jones looked up at Max with half-opened eyes. “They take us sometimes.”

  “They take you sometimes?” said Mandy. “What the hell are you talking about? He’s just talking gibberish. Come on, Max. Let’s get out of here.”

  “No,” said Max. “I think he’s trying to say something. You’re saying they’re taking some of you away?”

  Jones nodded.

  “Like one at a time? They take one of you each time they come?”

  Jones nodded and then he closed his eyes, going back into his sleepy trance state.

  “What the hell?” muttered Mandy. “They’re keeping them all here, and taking them away one by one? What in the world would be the goal in something like that? Whatever it is, it’s sick.”

  “Yeah,” said Max. “I can’t figure it out either.” His eyes kept moving around the room, studying it. “What it means to me is that people are starting to get organized.”

  “Organized?”

  “Yeah. There’s some group out there that has the basics of survival already covered. They’ve got resources and the time to come here and do whatever it is they’re doing. They’ve got access to not only food but drugs, and they have some strange and probably twisted goal in mind. Groups like the militia in the suburbs, and the compound, they’re all going to start growing in power. Some will take over others, consuming them and growing bigger and more powerful.”

  “Doesn’t sound good.”

  “No,” said Max. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “I wish we could have gotten farther away from the East Coast,” said Mandy. “I wish we could have made it far out to some rural area in the middle of the country, like your original plan.”

  “Well,” said Max. “We might end up doing that someday. But for now, it seems like our camp is our best option. We can hide out there while whatever it is here goes on.”

  “We just have to get back there.”

  Max nodded. “Do you think we should try to help them? These people here?”

  Max didn’t say anything for a moment. “They’re too far gone,” he said. “And it’s not like they didn’t have a choice.”

  Mandy nodded stiffly. “Well then, let’s get out of here. I don’t like the idea of being stuck in here again if those people come back.”

  “We’ll go out the way we came in,” said Max.

  14

  Janet

  Somehow Janet had gotten away from the house. Somehow she hadn’t run into any more of the militia members. Somehow, she was still alive.

  It didn’t make sense. She should be dead. She knew it intellectually, and she knew it in her body, deep in her bones that felt cold.

  Her muscles ached and her head pounded with the worst headache she’d ever had. Her skin was covered in a cold sweat and her heart pounded in staccato intervals.

  She should have lost hope, hope of killing Sarge. She should have taken this as an opportunity to just get away. She could start over somewhere new. She could get out into the woods and live by herself. She could hunt and gather, like her ancient ancestors.

  No one got away from the militia. Not former members, at least. She was beyond lucky, and she should have taken the opportunity and run with it.

  But she wasn’t going to do that.

  She was going to find Sarge if it was the last thing she did.

  She was sitting next to a small creek. The water flowed slowly around the rocks and pebbles.

  It wasn’t yet dark out. She’d spent the day hiding in the reeds at the edge of a park, and when the sun had started to fall in the sky, she’d woken up and crawled to this creek not far away.

  It might have been around four o’clock. But it was hard to tell without a watch.

  Why hadn’t they found her as she slept?

  Maybe it was just luck. Maybe she’d gotten far enough out of their way.

  Or maybe they’d stopped looking for her. Maybe something else had come up.

  A manhunt, after all, took a lot of resources. The militia was large, but not infinite.

  She had no food with her. No supplies other than her weapons.

  She had her knife, a long fixed-blade, her shotgun, and a handgun.

  The shotgun lay beside her. It was fully loaded. Three shells. She picked it up and checked it again, just to make sure.

  She had more shells with her. But for the handgun, she had nothing more than what was in it.

  Her stomach was empty. But hunger wasn’t on her mind. It was just revenge. And nothing more.

  She tried to slow her breathing in an attempt to clear her mind. She needed to think clearly if she was going to accomplish what she wanted to.

  She needed a plan.

  The way she saw it, she had two options. She’d get to Sarge and finish him. Right away.

  If she waited around, if she delayed any longer, the hunger and fatigue would soon overcome her. She’d be too weak to continue fighting. If she took that route, she’d have to hole up somewhere for a few days and get some food, make preparations, make more elaborate plans.

  What she wanted to do was simply rush off and fight. Right now. No more waiting. No more hesitating.

  But she knew that wouldn’t work as well as a real plan. Rushing off now meant rushing off to die.

  The fights from yesterday were still fresh in her mind. The dead men’s eyes were still fresh in her memory. The sounds they’d made when dying were still fresh in her ears.

  Something’d been different about those kills. She wasn’t going to overanalyze it.

  But she knew that the memories were going to continue to haunt her. They’d distract her. If she found some basement or home to hide out in, some food to eat, she’d have to deal with those thoughts and memories for the next few da
ys.

  She’d be all alone. Nothing but her own mind and her painful memories to torment her.

  She knew she couldn’t deal with it.

  She knew that going to find Sarge now would end in quick death. She knew that she’d never get anywhere near Sarge. She knew it was hopeless.

  But she was going to do it anyway.

  Most likely, she’d be gunned down by the nearest militia soldier on patrol. Most likely, a description of her had been passed around to all members. They’d had plenty of time to do it.

  It was the easiest way out. A sort of suicide. An end to everything. Going out in a blaze, not of glory but of something else entirely, would be the easier approach.

  And she wanted easy. Everything had been too hard. Far too hard.

  Janet stood up. Her boots sunk a little into the wet dirt by the creek. She walked over to the creek, bent down, and splashed some of the cool, almost icy, water onto her face. She took more of it in her cupped hands and dumped it on her hair, over her head. She stood there with water running down around her ears, over her nose. She stuck out her tongue and tasted some of it.

  Janet had no compass or maps. But she didn’t need any. She knew this area as well as any of the other militia members.

  Taking in a deep breath, she walked straight across the little creek. It didn’t matter if her boots got a little wet.

  She crossed through the reeds on the edge of the park and started walking straight across the field.

  There was a baseball field. The grass was overgrown.

  She was out in the open. She wasn’t trying to hide herself. She wasn’t trying to sneak around.

  It’d be easier this way.

  It didn’t take long for her to be spotted. After all, there were patrols everywhere.

  On the road that ran parallel to the far side of the park, an old Jeep rumbled along slowly.

  Janet glanced at it and kept walking.

  She had her shotgun in both hands. Her grip was tight. Her finger was on the trigger.

  She kept walking, knowing that they’d seen her. There was no way they couldn’t have. She was a solitary figure walking alone with a gun. No one else dared to go outside in this area. No one but the militia.

  She heard the Jeep’s engine. Louder now. Getting closer.

  Her eyes darted off to the side. She didn’t turn her head.

  The Jeep took a sharp turn, heading right towards the curb. It jumped the curb, bouncing violently.

  The engine was louder. The Jeep was coming at her, driving across the field.

  She kept walking, picking up her pace. It wasn’t like there was anywhere to hide. Nothing to duck behind. Nowhere to take shelter.

  She didn’t bother thinking about how she’d thought she’d have gotten further. She’d thought she’d have gotten a little closer to Sarge. Not all the way there, obviously. But she’d never have suspected they’d have spotted her so quickly.

  What she thought about instead was her chances.

  She’d taken many of them out already.

  What were two more?

  She could do it.

  But she couldn’t ignore the issue any longer. Even if she broke into an all-out sprint, there was no chance she could get off the field and to some kind of shelter before the Jeep reached her.

  She stopped and turned towards the Jeep.

  It was headed right at her.

  She could see two men in it. She could see their faces. They wore the blank expressions so common to those in the militia. They’d disassociated themselves from everything they’d felt.

  How else could they survive doing what they were doing, experiencing what they were experiencing?

  She didn’t have much time. The Jeep was going fast. Maybe forty or fifty miles per hour.

  She didn’t have many options. If she let it get too close, it’d be too late to jump to the side. She’d think she could make it, and then it would crash right into her, mowing her down.

  Janet leveled the shotgun, pumped it, took aim, and pulled the trigger.

  Her aim was good. The gun kicked. Her ears rang. The windshield shattered.

  Aiming for a tire would have been useless. They would have just kept driving. It would have hardly slowed them down. It wasn’t like in the movies, where shooting out a tire would make the Jeep suddenly flip over and explode. At least, not usually.

  The Jeep was still racing towards her.

  She dove to the side at the last moment. Hopefully the limited visibility of the driver would be to her advantage.

  Sure enough, the Jeep didn’t swerve to hit her.

  She’d hit the ground hard. The shotgun had somehow fallen from her hands. She reached for it, took it in her hands, and pumped it. The empty shell popped out, landing on the overgrown grass.

  The Jeep slammed to a stop not far from her.

  Both doors opened.

  This was it.

  She was on her back, aiming up with the shotgun.

  A man she didn’t recognize was coming at her, an AR-15 in his hands. His partner, the driver, was still on the other side of the stopped Jeep.

  As he raised his weapon, Janet squeezed the trigger. The kick from the shotgun was harsh, her shoulder slamming back into the ground.

  The AR-15 clattered to the ground. The soldier fell. Her shot might have caught him in the chest. She didn’t know. There wasn’t time to look.

  Before she could pump the shotgun, a bullet slammed into her left shoulder. The feeling surprised her more than scared her. It felt more like a brick slamming into her than a small projectile piercing her flesh.

  She tried to move her arm, but it wouldn’t work properly. Her left hand felt weak.

  The shotgun slipped out of her left hand. She couldn’t maintain her grip.

  She tried lifting the shotgun with her right hand, but the gun was long and heavy and her strength suddenly seemed to be sapped. The barrel of the gun hung loosely as she struggled to raise it, pointing into the ground. Useless.

  A tall man strode towards her across the grass. He glanced casually at his companion, who lay there moaning.

  He held a large caliber pistol. His arm was level and he pointed it at her.

  Janet let the shotgun go. It rolled off her and fell onto the grass. She struggled to her feet, reaching for her handgun.

  Her left arm hung uselessly at her side. The pain roared through her.

  Her right hand found her handgun’s handle. But before she could draw it, another shot slammed into her. This time it hit her knee.

  Janet collapsed before she registered the pain.

  She managed to stick out her arm to keep her head from slamming into the ground.

  It was hard not to let go of the handgun. As the pain hit her, all she wanted to do was reach out and grab her knee.

  It was the worst pain she’d ever felt. Like the physical expression of a nightmare, like a monster devouring her from the inside.

  The tall soldier continued with long strides to close the gap. He walked at a steady pace. His face was emotionless.

  The sun was setting now. Darkness was growing around them.

  The baseball field, with its overgrown grass, remained impassive to what was happening. Just a short while ago, it had hosted baseball games and get-togethers. There’d been teenagers there sneaking off to smoke cigarettes and make out. There’d been people who’d stopped there on their lunch breaks and cried into their steering wheels in the parking lot.

  All sorts of things had happened there. But nothing like this. A gunfight? Life had been difficult before the EMP. It’d been fraught with problems, personal and otherwise. But the intensity had been dialed up.

  Janet managed to get her handgun up. She aimed it, holding her breath and trying not to let the pain distract her.

  She pulled the trigger.

  The gun kicked.

  The shot rang out.

  But nothing happened.

  She’d missed.

  The soldier kept
striding towards her. He hadn’t reacted to the shot.

  Maybe she’d been so far off he hadn’t needed to. Or maybe he had a death wish himself and simply didn’t care if he got shot.

  Janet was getting weaker. Her right arm felt weak now, as if it was filled with lead. She couldn’t hold the gun up anymore. Slowly, she felt her arm falling down until it rested on her torso and leg. She couldn’t raise it again no matter how much she struggled.

  The pain was intense. She closed her eyes for just a moment.

  When she opened them again, the tall soldier stood before her. He looked down at her. His eyes had a glazed, distant look to them. His lips, tightly closed, barely moved. There wasn’t the twitch of a smile or frown forming at the corner of his lips. There wasn’t a look of sadness around his eyes.

  There was just nothing.

  His gun was pointed right at her head. His arm was stretched out, angling downward towards the ground.

  She didn’t see him pull the trigger. She didn’t even hear the shot.

  But she knew that was it.

  Finally.

  15

  Dan

  “Come on, kid, don’t worry so much about it all. What happens, happens.”

  “I don’t know,” said Dan. “I think one of us needs to be awake.”

  Rob sighed and gently pushed some of the food away from him on the table. “Yeah, you’re right,” he finally said. “I’ll take the first shift.”

  “It’s OK,” said Dan. “I’ll do it. You get some rest.”

  “You sure?”

  Dan nodded.

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re mature for your age?”

  “Yeah,” said Dan. “But that was before the EMP. I bet everyone my age is mature now.”

  Rob said nothing. “OK,” he said. “I’m off to bed. Yell if you need me. Although if something happens, I’m sure I’ll hear it.”

  “Where you going to sleep?”

  Rob had initially been saying that they didn’t need to keep watch, that they should both just try to get some rest. He’d said they’d hear it if someone broke in.

  Dan was still a little worried about Rob’s seemingly cavalier approach to safety. Would Rob want to go up to one of the bedrooms so he could rest comfortably? It would mean he’d be farther away if something happened, possibly out of earshot.