The Final Homestead: EMP Survival In A Powerless World

by Hunt, James

  “You sure you want to go alone?” Luis asked.

  “I’ll be easier to move around with just me,” James answered. “I won’t be long. Just a quick look.”

  Before Luis protested any further, James darted off to the east side of the town, keeping low, moving quickly, eyes peeled for any threat in the darkness.

  Along the way he saw only a few patrols, and James figured that the guards were overly confident about their fortifications. And when he made it to the east side, he saw why.

  A fleet of old Humvees, like the one James arrived in, were parked near the Darvishes’ gas station, along with a big rig and trailer. Two guards were stationed in that area, but James moved closer to get a better look.

  Each of the Humvees was outfitted with a big fifty-caliber gun, and there were boxes of ammunition ready to be loaded should they need to be called into action. James knew that the moment they made any noise they’d immediately be screwed, and those vehicles were all terrain. Their horses were fast, but James wasn’t in the mood to test their speed.

  James stealthily snuck to the back of the gas station, near the old pump that he had Mavis install a few years ago. He paused, looking for a path toward the front, when he heard flies buzzing to his right.

  James glanced over and saw a tarp covering two lumps on the ground, and next to the tarp was a wheelchair and oxygen tank.

  James didn’t need to lift the tarp to find out who lay beneath it. It was clear that it was Larry and Mavis Darvish. The father and son had run the gas station in town for years, and he’d seen both of them alive yesterday.

  Still, knowing what he would find, James couldn’t stop himself from walking over and lifting the tarp to find the dead pair of father and son lying side by side. Mavis was only recognizable by his big body, the bullet that killed him claiming half of his skull. Larry had a bullet wound in the chest, and both bodies were already well into the stages of decomposition. The Texas heat hadn’t been doing them any favors.

  James wondered what had happened, but he knew that Larry’s mouth must have gotten them into trouble. The man never knew when to stay quiet. James covered their bodies with the tarp and then returned to the corner, fueled by a new hate for the people who had killed them.

  James worked his way toward the front of the station, peeking around the corner to find both guards on a smoke break, their weapons propped up against the wall. James considered shooting them. He had a suppressor loaded on his rifle, but he didn’t want to take the unnecessary risk. The best course of action was still evasion.

  Aided by darkness, James slipped into the cluster of Humvees. He removed his blade and punctured the first tire that he came across. The air hissed quietly from the tire, but James waited to see if the guards heard anything.

  Only when James was sure that they hadn’t heard did he slice the next tires, slashing as many as he could without being seen.

  Finished, he hurried back the way he came and into the fields where he found Luis waiting in the same spot as before.

  “Well?” Luis asked.

  “Guards are few and far between,” James answered. “They don’t seem to be too worried about an attack. I found two on a smoke break.” He pointed toward the building. “We’ll head through an alley near the back of the bank. I still think that’s the best place to start looking.”

  “James,” Luis said, clearing his throat. “Did you have to kill anyone when you were coming out of San Antonio?”

  James was caught off guard by the question, and the moonlight revealed the worry on Luis’s face. He cleared his throat and then nodded.

  Luis exhaled and adjusted the grip on his rifle. “Okay then.”

  “Hey.” James placed his hand on Luis’s shoulder. “You can’t hesitate on me.” He pointed to the town. “The people that are doing this to us? They won’t hesitate. Because killing us is their mission. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah.” Luis cleared his throat, looking calmer than he had before. “I won’t let you down.”

  “Good.” James looked to the town ahead, preparing himself mentally. “We keep quiet, stay low, and stay together until we know more about what we’re dealing with.”

  James padded his feet quietly against the dirt and grass as they moved toward the backside of the buildings. Staying downwind, James smelled smoke before he saw the red dot from the cigarette. He quickly dropped, Luis doing the same, and pointed to the dark figure smoking.

  The tall grass from the outside of the building provided enough cover for James and Luis to crawl without being seen, the wind blowing the tips of the grass in all directions, which also helped to mask his movements.

  The tall grass ended fifteen yards from the terrorist, and because of the short distance, James knew it was an easy shot for him to make. But even with the rifle’s suppressor there would be noise, and there wasn’t any telling how many others might be inside that same building on the other side of the wall. Shooting the man now was a risk, but he might not get another chance.

  James quietly and carefully positioned his rifle and peered through the scope as he lay on his stomach at the edge of the tall grass. He brought the man in his crosshairs, choosing to go for the head as he couldn’t tell what kind of body armor the man was wearing.

  And while James had hunted thousands of times before, he knew that this was different. He was about to kill a man, a defenseless man.

  But all James had to do was remember the man who shot his wife, the same people who had destroyed this town, destroyed the city, put his son in danger. These weren’t men. They were rabid animals. And rabid animals needed to be put down.

  James placed his finger on the trigger when a back door flung open and another man stepped outside, calling the man with the cigarette.

  A few brief words were exchanged and then both men returned inside, the smoker flinging the cigarette to the ground and the door slamming shut behind them.

  James slowly exhaled and removed his finger from the trigger. He waited a little longer to make sure no one else was coming out, then emerged from the tall grass and positioned himself by the door that the pair of men had gone through.

  James waved for Luis, and his right-hand man emerged from the tall grass and joined James’s side.

  “What now?” Luis asked.

  James leaned closer to the door of the building and heard the foreigners talking inside. It sounded like there were more than two. “We’ll stay to the back side of the buildings and then creep up to the bank by the alley.”

  James moved first, Luis falling in line behind him. Both were mindful for potential threats, but they reached the alley without incident.

  James held up his hand, holding Luis back. “Stay here. I’ll snake my way up front and then wave you up if it’s clear.”

  “What happens if I spot someone?” Luis asked.

  “You don’t shoot unless it’s absolutely necessary,” James answered.

  Luis nodded and then stood watch as James worked his way up the alley.

  Voices echoed from the street, and James moved methodically toward the road. Slowly, James craned his head from the alley’s exit, glancing in both directions as he hugged the bank’s wall.

  Old kerosene lanterns hung from the rafters and one guard stood watch at the bank’s entrance, armed with an AK-47.

  James shouldered his rifle, checking the streets to ensure the coast was clear, and then unsheathed his hunting blade. And even though James kept a tight grip on the knife’s handle, he couldn’t stop his arm from shaking.

  James lingered at the edge of the alley, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. He knew that he was only going to get one shot at this.

  When the guard walked toward the alley, James ducked behind the wall, his back flat against the worn wood.

  The walkway boards groaned louder with every step the guard took toward James until the noises stopped just short of the alleyway.

  James fought the urge to look and see what the guard was doin
g. Had he been seen? Was the guard waiting for something?

  Another groan sounded, and James watched the shadow of the man turn. Now was his chance.

  James stepped from the cover of the alleyway, the guard with his back to James as he took three silent footsteps and simultaneously placed his hand over the guard’s mouth to muffle the scream and sliced the man’s throat, holding him still until the life and fight drained from his body.

  The blood that poured from the guard’s neck was warm and slick, and blood splattered against the palm of James’s hand as he kept it clamped tightly over the man’s mouth. He wore gloves, but the guard bit through the tough leather.

  Finally, the fight left the man and James gently lowered him to the ground. He stared at the blood on his hands and clothes and then stared at the body.

  The guard gurgled the last few breaths, choking on his own blood. A thin red line marked the cut along his throat. James shut his eyes, but he still saw the man on the ground.

  James placed the knife back in its sheath as he patted the dead man down, choosing not to look at the wound along the guard’s throat. He found the keys in the left pants pocket and then moved to the door.

  James waved Luis down, and with trembling hands, James managed to shove the key into the lock on the third try. He and Luis then carried the dead guard into the bank and shut the door behind them.

  It was dark in the bank, the only light coming from the porch lantern spilling through the front windows, but when James turned to face the darkness, he could make out the shadowy figures huddled in the back.

  James walked toward them, and collectively they drew back, all of them but one, and James was glad to see Nolan still alive, though his clothes had been bloodied.

  “James,” Nolan said, speaking the name with relief, the old man embracing James in a hug. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

  It was James who pulled back, gripping Nolan by the shoulders. “Mary needs help. I have to get you out of here.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “She was shot in the back. No exit wound.”

  “I have some of my old surgery tools back at the office,” Nolan said. “I’ll need them.”

  “Where are they?”

  “The bottom drawer of the filing cabinet in my office. The key to that cabinet is in the middle drawer of my desk.”

  James nodded and then turned to Luis. “Get him to the horses and back to the ranch. If I don’t make it back, then Nolan will just have to help Mary with what we have there—”

  “Hey.” The voice whispered loudly from the darkness, and both James and Nolan turned toward the silhouetted figure. “What about us?” The silhouetted figure walked to the edge of the light. “You have to get us out of here.”

  The man was a few years younger than James, but a little shorter and a little wider around the middle. He wore a business suit, pinstriped, with a white shirt that was stained with sweat. Whatever tie he’d worn had been removed and the top button of the shirt had been opened to allow for better airflow. Though James didn’t understand why the guy didn’t just take off the jacket.

  “Please, I have family at home.” A woman joined the man’s side, her hands clutched together in a pleading gesture. She wore shorts and a faded green t-shirt. She was thin, almost all bones, but she couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. The makeup she’d put on that morning had started to run, making her look like a poorly-drawn clown.

  Slowly, one by one, the faces of the imprisoned emerged, each of them begging for help, each of them with problems that James couldn’t solve.

  “Get home,” James said. “All of you, as fast as you can. Do anything but stay here.”

  Luis came from the window, spinning James around, his eyes wide. “People are coming.”

  James looked to the window and saw the moving lights heading toward their building, and he knew that they had run out of time.

  Still surrounded and being hounded by the people that were trapped, James grabbed hold of Nolan and yanked him toward the door, both he and Luis on either side, guns up. He turned back to the crowd that had grown silent from his hasty movements. “You’re only going to have a small window to escape, so run as fast as you can.” James gripped the handle and then looked to Luis. “You ready?”

  Luis nodded, and Nolan pushed up the glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

  Shouts echoed in the street, and James peered out the window. Other terrorists had noticed the blood, and they had alerted the rest of the town. It was now or never. James flung the door open and opened fire.

  20

  Muzzle flashes brightened the darkness like lightning, quickly followed by the lingering thunder of gunshots. James hunched forward with his own rifle, returning gunfire and forcing the terrorists behind the remnants of the broken-down vehicles.

  “Move!” James shoved Nolan down the alleyway, Luis guiding the old man while James provided as much cover fire for the others that poured out of the bank’s doorway. But as fast and accurate as James’s gunshots were, the enemy just had more bullets.

  Bodies dropped, most of the casualties from the townspeople fleeing the bank, and the sight of the carnage was enough to keep others from trying to escape.

  James held his position, giving Nolan and Luis enough time to get to the horses, and then sprinted down the alley, keeping to the back of the buildings and firing randomly down the alleys he passed in hopes of drawing the bulk of the forces toward him and away from Nolan.

  And it worked.

  By the time that James reached the west side of the town and peered down the street, he saw a dozen soldiers moving toward his position. And with Nolan’s office on the other side of the street and in the middle of town, that presented a problem.

  Four broken-down vehicles were spread out between James and the other side of the street, and while they were few and far between, he could use them as cover the way he did in the city.

  James sprinted toward to the first sedan, his shadowy figure triggering more gunfire and screams just as he reached the hood of the car.

  Bullets struck the vehicle, their vibrations traveling through the metal and against James’s arm. Glass shattered overhead and James kept low, his nerves calm and his body still as he waited for a lull in gunfire.

  When the time came, James emerged from the sedan, planted his elbows on the hood of the car, brought the shadowy figures into his scope, and squeezed the trigger.

  The recoil of the assault rifle struck harshly against James’s shoulder and created a rhythmic beat that began to match the same pounding of James’s heart.

  He provided enough cover fire for himself to sprint to the next car, repeating the process until he reached a truck, where the heavy barrage of bullets shot out the tires and shattered the windows, forcing James down into the protection of the engine block and the tire well where he knew the bullets wouldn’t be able to penetrate.

  By now, every terrorist in the town had been alerted, and a continuous stream of bullets were focused on the truck, tearing it to pieces.

  James reached around to his pack and removed his one ace in the hole. He pulled the grenade’s pin, keeping pressure on the handle. He flung the grenade in a high arc and covered his ears.

  Screams replaced gunfire, but those ended with an explosion, sending shock waves through the ground.

  James sprinted from the truck, stumbling behind the cover of the first building where the hasty momentum caused him to trip and crash face first into the dirt.

  The gritty taste of soil on his lips, James hastily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then sprinted around the back of the buildings once more, the remaining terrorists in pursuit.

  James found Nolan’s building and disappeared inside before the terrorists saw. He caught his breath, and the walls muffled the shouting outside as the enemy continued their search.

  James hurried into the nearest patient room and wheeled the bed out to block and barricade the door, wedg
ing the corners of the bed tight into the walls.

  Disoriented from the fight, James used the wall of the narrow hallway to keep himself upright. The adrenaline had hollowed out his body, and James knew he was running on empty, but he just had to push a little further.

  After locating Nolan’s personal office, James entered to a big mess. The terrorists had ransacked the office, tipping the desk to its side, the contents of the drawers spilled out onto the carpet, the computer that was on the desk smashed into pieces.

  The pictures and frames that hung from the walls holding degrees and photographs of loved ones had been removed and smashed onto the floor. Stationary, papers, all of it covered every square inch of Nolan’s office.

  The file cabinet that Nolan had told him was lying horizontal on the back wall, all of the drawers opened save for the bottom one, which was still locked

  James stepped over files and papers, kicking them aside as he searched for the key, trying the desk first, but the drawer’s contents had already been emptied.

  A heavy pounding sounded from the back door, and James knew his time was running out.

  Unable to find the key, James aimed his rifle at the cabinet’s lock and fired. He opened it and grabbed the black bag inside.

  James emerged from the office, the back door buckling as the terrorists tried to break it down. He took a step toward the front door but stopped when he heard glass shatter and the thunder of boots rush inside.

  James ducked into the nearest patient room and shut the door. With the enemies closing in and nowhere to go, he looked up and saw the old panels in the ceiling. He stepped up onto the cot and shoved one of the ceiling panels aside.

  Voices echoed outside the door, coming from the front and the back. James was too big with the pack on his back, so he ditched it and then pulled himself through the ceiling, quickly replacing the panel as the door was kicked down.

  Carefully and quietly, James stepped along the sturdy support beam, picking up the black medical bag along the way.

  The wood groaned and James froze. He waited, listening to the chatter beneath him, and when the first gunshot was fired, he sprinted across the beam.