The Final Homestead: EMP Survival In A Powerless World

by Hunt, James

  “I love you more than anything,” Mary said, unable to see Jake’s face. “From the moment I felt you growing inside of me, I loved you with all my heart and soul. And I will always love you.” She shut her eyes, and a light vibration struck her cheek. “Jake?”

  Mary lifted her head and saw that Jake was having a seizure, his eyes shut, and his body rigid as his muscles convulsed. She quickly stood and flipped him to his side so he wouldn’t choke on his own spit. She glanced back to Nolan who was still passed out and knew that she was on her own.

  The seizures were due to the pressure growing in his system. The blood was getting backed up in the heart, and now it was affecting his brain functionality. There wasn’t anything that she could do until it passed, but she kept a close eye on him, making sure he was all right.

  He had never gotten this bad before, but between the escape from the city and the work at the ranch, he had pushed his body too far, and Mary kicked herself for letting him do it.

  The seizure finally ended, and Mary rolled Jake onto his back. She brushed the bangs from his face, trying to soothe him, and then she noticed how still he was. Too still. And then his cheeks transformed from a pale white to blue, then purple.

  “Oh my God.” Mary quickly adjusted her son’s mouth and blew air into his lungs. She then checked for a pulse and felt nothing.

  Mary performed CPR, pressing her son’s chest fifteen times, and then puffed air into his lungs. “No, no, no, no.” She repeated the process, and after several rounds, she felt herself growing tired. But she knew that she was his only hope, and that she had to keep him alive until James returned. She just prayed that it would happen sooner rather than later.

  44

  Leading the front, Khan was the first to see the shimmer of the setting sun against the windows on the buildings of Ruckins.

  The line of Khan’s caravan stretched as far as he could see. It was a mixture of old army vehicles, horses, and men who had marched on foot. Men who were loyal to him, and only to him. In this clan, in this army, in this organization, he was the only authority. His word was law.

  By sheer might and determination, Khan had brought together a group of fighters that could rival any army on the planet. But it was here they would be tested, and it was here where they would find their glory, their absolution, the end to the beginning they had started all of those years ago.

  For too long, people with weak minds and wills were fed by the silver spoon while the rest of the world was forced to fight for the scraps that fell from the table they couldn’t reach.

  But while others were squabbling over what couldn’t be theirs, Khan was working on something else, something that would bring them to the source. Because that was the only way that the shift in balance would occur.

  Once in the street, Khan saw the damage done by the fires that had consumed the town, and he stopped the caravan when they reached the pile of ashes where a pyre had been constructed for the burnings.

  Khan stepped out of the vehicle, his boots crunching against the dirt and gravel that had blown onto the asphalt. It had only been a few days, but nature was already starting to reclaim what man had taken from her, and Khan knew that it would only demand more once it had the taste of its property again. Because everything belonged to the earth. It was the only reason any of them were even still here, and Khan knew better than most that when the earth decided it was time to reclaim what it had lost, there was no stopping it. Nature was one of those absolutes. In fact, it might be the only absolute. And that was why Khan respected it so much.

  At the edge of the ash pile, Khan dropped to a knee and dipped his fingertips into the ash that hadn’t been blown away. He rubbed the silky contents between his fingers, closing his eyes as he imagined the slow and agonizing burn of those that were consumed by the flames.

  He wished that people could be touched by the fire for longer, but it only lasted a few seconds. The pain became so overwhelming that they felt nothing. The fire consumed them and then transformed their worthless bodies to fodder for the earth to grow new life. It gave them a purpose, and it was a purpose that Khan would fulfill with everyone who didn’t join his cause, and a few that would require the sacrifice for their mission to be fulfilled.

  Doors opened and shut, and there was a heavy groan as a body was pulled from one of the caravans and was brought to the edge of the burnt circle where Dillon was dropped at Khan’s feet.

  Dillon’s face had been beaten to a pulp, both eyes swollen shut, and his body bruised and covered in dried blood. The burns Khan had inflicted on him were crusted and infected, causing excruciating pain.

  Khan stepped into the circle of burnt ashes. “Where is this ranch?”

  “On the road west,” Dillon said, spitting the words out as if holding them in any longer would make the pain worse. “There is a sign down a dirt road. There were traps last time. He’ll probably have more.”

  Khan smirked. He was beginning to like this Bowers man. It was a shame he would have to kill him. “Bring me Carlos and Samuel.”

  The orders were carried down the line and soon after, a pair of men emerged from the pack. Carlos was short and stout like Khan, his face thick with beard though his head was shaved. His skin was tanned so dark it was nearly black, which only made the green in his eyes more brilliantly sinister. He had been a policeman in a corrupt precinct in Venezuela. He had been one of Khan’s first recruits, and had given his lost soul a purpose.

  Samuel was an American who had heard whisperings of Khan’s group through a few cells planted around the United States. Lost and wandering, and with an ache of violence in his heart, he sold everything he owned and sought out Khan.

  “I want recon on this Bowers man,” Khan said. “Go to the ranch. Tell me what you find.”

  “Should we kill him?” Samuel asked, his voice void of any emotion.

  Carlos smiled. “We’d like to kill him, Khan.”

  Khan felt the pride rush through him as he heard those words. He knew that these men were the best, better than Dillon, because they were the simplest forms of power and focus. They were the sharpened point of a surgical tool, and it was because of men like them that Khan had been able to bring the world to its knees. “Kill everyone but his family, if you can find them. But if the opportunity presents itself, and you’re able to do what an entire platoon of men could not…” He glanced down at Dillon and snarled. “Then yes, I want you to kill them.” He glanced back up at the scouts. “Locate the piece of the bomb and bring it to me. If you can’t find the bomb, then bring me back someone who knows where I can find it. Do not be seen. No failure. Go.”

  Both Carlos and Samuel jogged off into the west, neither wasting the resources of their horses or fuel of their vehicles to track the place down. They didn’t ask how far it was or how long it would take them, and that was the level of loyalty and commitment that Khan required of his soldiers. No questions, only solutions and action.

  Khan returned his attention to Dillon, who still lay on his side next to the pile of ashes. He was such a pitiful sight, fallen so far from the pedestal that he had built for himself. But that was Dillon’s first mistake. His reach had exceeded his grasp. And men like those were always brought down in the end by men like Khan.

  Khan stepped close enough to Dillon that the tips of his boots touched his lower back, and Dillon shuddered, looking up at Khan but unable to see him. “Have you told me everything?”

  Dillon nodded his head quickly. “Yes, I-I have. I swear to you.”

  Khan pressed the heel of his boot into one of the fresh burned marks on Dillon’s back, his heel sliding on top of the loose skin and muscles that had transformed into a scab, causing a green ooze to spill from his side and a blood-curdling scream to jettison from his lips.

  “Are you sure?” Khan asked, applying more pressure.

  But Dillon couldn’t speak, his mind lost in the pain, and Khan was forced to remove his heel and wait for the weakling’s hysteria to end. “I’m
sure.” His voice was small and cold, no longer human. He trembled, dissolved into a shaking pile of muscles. “I’m sure.”

  Khan knew that the man was telling the truth. Because Dillon knew what would happen next, and the man was in so much agonizing pain that he wanted it to end.

  “Dillon,” Khan said. “You will not be granted the freedom of the fire. I will spill your blood and leave your corpse to rot and fester until the earth has decided to slowly reclaim you as its own.” He lifted his eyes to look to the caravan, every man and soldier watching at attention. “There is no greater failure than to waste one’s life! Even in death we can serve a purpose, and no man under my command will ever forget that!”

  A sword was brought to Khan, and Dillon’s head was placed on the chopping block. He raised the blade high, swinging down with all of his strength.

  The head rolled only a few inches as the body slumped and blood spilled from the severed body. Khan watched the blood slowly stain the pavement and then slowly mixed with the ash to form a dark black mud.

  Khan picked up Dillon’s head and held it up for the caravan to see, triggering a unanimous cry of victory. He walked along the caravan, the men still cheering at the sight of death, because it was death that drove them, it was death that made them powerful, and it was in death that they found purpose. It was witnessing the balance of the equation, it was witnessing something perfect.

  Khan was handed a spike, and when he reached the edge of town, he firmly planted the stake in the ground and then stuck the head through the spike.

  The lifeless stump didn’t look like a face anymore. It was as far from a face as anything could be, but he knew that people would understand.

  And as Khan turned to head back to the front of his pack and set up camp for the night, the cheers continued, and he wanted the excitement to linger a little bit longer. He wanted them to feel the power, to feel the rage, because they would need to keep up momentum for the fight to come. Because they had yet to be tested. They had yet to be truly pushed, and what came next would force them to discover more of themselves than they’d ever known.

  But Khan would be sure to set up more spikes. He’d build an entire wall with nothing but spikes and heads. He would layer the foundation of the new world with the bones of the old. And his world would last, because his world would be balanced back to zero.

  45

  The man that Banks had sent with him didn’t say much during the ride, but James didn’t mind the silence. It gave him time to think about how he was going to break the news to his wife about the deal that he’d struck with Banks.

  There wasn’t a fiber in James’s being that didn’t believe she was going to try and stay, but he knew that he would be able to convince her to go. Because if she stayed, then she’d be putting both of their children in danger.

  Both.

  James hadn’t thought about the baby much since he found out. It was hard to think about the life of a child James hadn’t met yet, but he prayed that the child survived. All James had to do was make sure there was still a world for her to grow up in after the baby was born.

  When James saw the west perimeter of the ranch’s fence line, he kicked the horse into a full gallop, speeding across the grass, dirt flying behind him.

  Even when James saw the skeletal remains of the house, he didn’t slow his horse, picking up steam once the beast’s hooves touched the ranch’s familiar soil, the only home it had ever known. And while the sight of both the charred house and the barn were sobering, nothing could erase the sweet moment of happiness of returning home.

  James saw Mick out on patrol, and both men exchanged a quick wave to one another.

  The burned house and ranch were more than just a symbol of the times, they were a reminder that even after something was destroyed, even after it had been burned to the ground, it could still be rebuilt. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, James had no doubt in his mind that they would be able to return the Bowers Ranch to its former glory.

  James’s family had survived other hardships, and they would survive this one. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it wasn’t impossible. Because life was never truly gone. It always existed somewhere, just like how Bernie told him the universe was always expanding. It was an absolute.

  His ranch hands had finished wrangling up what remained of the herd, and James raised a hand as he passed them, which they returned in kind. He counted twenty cattle, more than he expected to find after the massacre. It was something to build upon.

  Nearing the bunker at the property’s center, James frowned when he saw people standing outside, huddled together and chatting. And the moment that all of them turned toward him and he saw their expressions of fear and concern, James knew something had happened.

  As the golden evening light gave way to the fluorescent coloring of the bunker’s lighting, James found Mary over Jake’s body, performing CPR while Nolan was passed out on the cot.

  “He’s getting worse,” Mary said, her voice hysterical. “He stopped breathing a little while ago, and I had to do CPR and—”

  James placed his hand on her shoulders. “You did the right thing.” He hurried past his wife and grabbed the medical kit that had the tools for Jake’s procedure. “Just keep pumping his heart!” He brought the equipment over, trying to keep his hands steady. He searched the first aid bag for the adrenaline and syringes. He found both and quickly filled the syringe, spurting some of the adrenaline out of the needle’s tip to ensure there was no air bubbles.

  “What are you doing?” Mary asked.

  “I can’t perform the procedure if his heart is stopped,” James answered. “The adrenaline should give him a kick start.”

  James felt along the sternum and then walked his fingers to the location over the heart where the doctors had told him to place the needle should he ever need to administer the medicine himself. Because the chambers in Jake’s heart had filled with blood, there wasn’t enough room for more blood to get through, causing it to clog and stop. So far, they’d never had to administer a shot because they’d been able to keep his condition stable through the procedures.

  James waited until he was sure he was over the heart, then drove the needle into the flesh, pressing the syringe down in the same motion.

  Once the syringe was emptied, James removed the needle and waited for the medicine to work, holding his boy while Mary continued to pump air into their son’s lungs.

  Time slowed as James waited. He still had so much to show his son, so much to tell him. He just needed a few more moments, and just when he thought that the hourglass had finally run out, the seconds dripping away like sweat from a hot summer day, James felt a heartbeat. “I have a pulse.”

  Mary kissed Jake’s cheek, which was cold and pale, and she hugged her son, trying not to cry, but the tears coming regardless. She didn’t keep him long, knowing that he needed his rest, and James glanced to Nolan, the old man barely able to keep his eyes open.

  Jake lay still, unconscious but alive. Mary was nearby, and Nolan was fading in and out of consciousness. The instructions for the procedure were laid out on a nearby table, but James had already committed them to memory. He knew them backwards and forwards.

  But the steps to the procedure provided little comfort because up until now, they had all been theoretical.

  James applied the local anesthetic to Jake’s wrist, which he pinched delicately between his fingers. He then cut an incision in the wrist, wiping away the blood that seeped through, and picked up the catheter that held the balloon that would be used to relieve the blockage in Jake’s left heart valve.

  He brought the tip of the catheter to the entry point, but stopped. His hand wouldn’t stop shaking. He closed his eyes and took a breath.

  Mary placed her hand on his shoulder. “You can do this.”

  James nodded, and when he opened his eyes again, his hand was steady. Normally, a doctor would have a team around him and the aid of a camera that helped direct him toward the valve
and let him know when he was close.

  But James would be going in blind, and while inserting through the wrist was less invasive than going through the groin, that didn’t guarantee success. All it took was for the vein to pop, or Jake to suddenly wake and panic during the procedure, or panic and go into shock, or a dozen other worst-case scenarios, and the routine procedure would transform into the untimely death of his only child.

  James double-checked to ensure that the balloon was attached to the catheter securely and then slowly, and carefully, brought the pointed tip to the vein.

  With the tip of the catheter inserted, James carefully navigated into the vein, watching inch after inch of the tubing disappear into his son’s body. More blood welled up from the wound, and James wiped it away quickly.

  Throughout the process, James continued to monitor Jake’s vitals, checking his pulse and making sure he was still breathing. He would check every minute or so, then return to feeding the catheter into the vein.

  When James couldn’t push the catheter any farther, he knew that he had reached the heart chamber that was blocked. With the balloon in place, James inflated, repeating the motion to allow the blocked chamber to open and release the backed up blood creating the pressure.

  Falling into a rhythm, James checked his son’s pulse once more, but while he waited for the bump against his fingers, none came.

  James let go of the catheter. “No.” He checked for a pulse again, pausing, hoping that he was wrong, but there was still nothing. “No, no, no.”

  Mary started to cry, covering her mouth as James placed his hands over his son’s chest, pressing down so hard that he heard the crack of ribs.

  “C’mon, Jake!” James continued the CPR, hoping that he would be able to restart the heart, but after several rounds of pumping and checking for a pulse, there was still nothing. He shut his eyes, whispering a prayer, unsure of what else he could do. “Start his heart again. Don’t let him die here. I’ll do whatever you ask. Just don’t let him die here.” He bit the inside of his cheek, and then he opened his eyes.