EMP Retaliation (Dark New World, Book 6) - An EMP Survival Story

by J. J. Holden

  He had no idea how long it took, but eventually, the blackness over his face moved out of the way, and he could see faces. Happy faces.

  One shouted, “Survivor! Medic!” then looked at Choony again in the faint light of dawning day. “Are you hurt? We’ll have you free in a minute. Damn, you’re one lucky S-O-B.”

  Choony didn’t have a chance to reply before even more of the rubble was removed, and he could feel the weight on his chest lift. His heart soared.

  Two rescuers threw aside final bits of debris and then pulled him up by his arms, patting him on the shoulder and grinning like mad. “Thank God you’re okay, man,” said one, as the others moved off to continue the search for survivors. He pointed east. “There’s an aid station set up half a block that way. Can you make it?”

  Choony paused for a moment and tried to feel any terrible pain that might show injuries. He couldn’t see out of his right eye, he realized. “My eye?”

  The man said, “Dried blood. Maybe a scalp cut.”

  “I can make it,” Choony said, shook the man’s hand, and staggered east. It didn’t take long to find the aid station. It consisted of a few pavilion tents and a lot of beds lined up on the sidewalk, no doubt taken from the nearby houses and rubble. It was overloaded with wounded. Just farther east, a small pile of person-sized black bags was stacked.

  “Jaz…” he said, his voice choking. Where was Jaz? She would have looked for him. A growing sense of dread nestled in his chest, and he walked up to the nearest nurse. He was about to say something, when she spotted him.

  Her jaw dropped. “Sir, come with me,” the nurse said and grabbed his arm lightly, pulling him toward a tent.

  “What of other survivors,” Choony said, and heard the desperation in his own voice. “Did you treat a woman named Jasmine?”

  The nurse shook her head. “I don’t know, we’re seeing too many to keep track of.”

  She led him into the tent and toward a vacant chair, one of the hard plastic kinds found in school rooms, and asked him to sit. She methodically took his vitals, the whole time asking questions about broken bones, nausea, difficulty breathing.

  She waved at a man in scrubs, and he came over. “Probable scalp laceration, no known broken bones or internal injuries. Possible concussion, but vitals are steady.” And then she was gone, off to the next patient.

  The man nodded in greeting. “I’m Nurse Powers,” he said. Choony could see one heck of a bruise covering half his face. “Let’s see what we have here.”

  Choony sat patiently as the nurse used a squirt bottle to clean off masses of blood, the water running down his face onto his gray, dusty shirt and turning it pink. Then he felt a sharp pain as the suturing began. The nurse kept up a steady monologue, ignoring Choony’s questions about other survivors. Choony counted twelve stitches running from his hairline toward the back of his head.

  Finally, the nurse said, “All done. Stop by the table out front for antibiotics. And there’s a station posting names of survivors who have been rescued from the rubble, another block east from here.”

  Choony thanked him, but Powers had already turned away for the next patient. Total time elapsed: ten minutes, Choony figured. He made his way out of the tent, got a bottle of antibiotics from the front table, then headed east again. He practically ran the whole way, two blocks, ignoring the pounding headache that struck with every jarring step.

  There was a small mob arrayed in front of the one table. To either side of it, sturdy room dividers of the sort found in schools had been lined up, with handwritten pages posted haphazardly on them.

  Choony let out a frustrated sigh, then strode toward the crowd, intent on sliding through the mob to get to those pages of hope—

  “Choony! Oh thank God,” a woman’s voice shouted from off to his right. Jaz’s voice!

  His head whipped around to find her, but when he stopped moving his head the view seemed to continue shifting to the right, and he staggered. Through double vision, he saw the most beautiful sight in the world rushing toward him.

  Jaz grabbed him by his arms and steadied him, then wrapped her arms around him in a crushing hug. She buried her face in his neck, and he enveloped her in his arms, his cheek welded to her hair.

  “Don’t you ever scare me like that again, Choony,” she said, and he heard her voice crack with emotion. She grabbed fistfuls of the back of his shirt, as though he might be whisked away at any moment.

  Choony felt tears come to his eyes, but didn’t bother to hide it or wipe them away. “I thought I’d lost you,” he said, and had to sniff hard as his eyes welled over. “What happened to you?”

  Still clinging to him, she didn’t answer for a long moment. At last, she took one step back and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “I was thrown clear in the blast.” Then her expression grew angry. “I couldn’t find you,” she said. “I just prayed and prayed that you were okay. I’ve never been so helpless.” Then Jaz charged into him again, another desperate hug.

  Choony took a deep breath, eyes closed, and simply kissed her hair. For once, he had no words of wisdom, no Buddhist sayings to make the moment easier. He just clung to her like a drowning man grabbing a thrown life preserver. Without her, in truth, he knew that he would drown in a way.

  At last they separated, from one person again into two.

  Jaz said, “I got us a couple horses. Let’s get the hell out of this place. And Choony? Don’t you ever leave me like that again, okay? Promise me.”

  Choony smiled down at her. As long as he lived, he decided, that would never be a problem. “I promise.”

  * * *

  0600 HOURS - ZERO DAY +417

  Cassy yawned, squinting tired eyes. The dawning light revealed the carnage that had occurred overnight in the battle against General Houle’s forces. Harrisburg was in tatters everywhere, with several fires still raging out of control. The wall between town and bridge had been reduced to piles of rubble and craters.

  “The bridgehead on both sides, and the bridge itself, looks like a carpet of bodies,” she said to Frank. His battlecar had been destroyed a few hours ago, but he had not been injured and another car had driven him to Harrisburg. She had been with him since.

  “Look how it seethes,” he said, shaking his head. “Lots of wounded crawling around.”

  Cassy shrugged. Honestly, who gave a rat’s ass? Frank, maybe. She did not. “Let them suffer or put them out of their misery. I don’t care either way, but fortunately, that’s Carl’s problem, not ours.”

  “Where is Carl?”

  “I think Carl’s wandering Harrisburg looking for his friend, Sunshine.”

  “I haven’t seen him since Houle’s last assaults collapsed.”

  “Once their trucks and planes went down, they sure went banzai, didn’t they?” Cassy wondered if her admiration for their bravery showed in her voice. It was the only thing she admired about them, but she’d never make the mistake of underestimating such an enemy.

  “Yes, but what else could they do? Without a supply chain, their situation became win-or-die.”

  Cassy took a deep breath and let the rising sunlight wash over her upturned face, heedless of the dirt and blood that covered her. Eyes closed, she said, “So what do you think happens now?”

  Frank put his arm around Cassy’s shoulders as they stared out at the carnage together. “The Free Republic wants to join the Confederation. Didn’t you say you’d grant them no vote until they’ve gotten themselves stable and have spent a year or two learning permaculture and so on?”

  “Yeah, but I still need to think on it. They’re more devastated than we are, so we may not want to take on that burden just yet. We’ll see what they bring to the table, I guess. Even if we don’t let them join, I think we’ll do what we can to help them. They’ll be good allies.”

  Frank only nodded. Cassy rather liked the feel of his arm around her, though, and she was content to just stand with him for a few minutes. God only knew how many sleepless nights she
now faced as the Confederation recovered from this latest war.

  Eventually, Frank said, “Not looking forward to all the work there is to do.”

  Cassy rested her head on his shoulder and felt her exhaustion grow. It was comfortable, standing together like that. Her vision swam. “Yeah. I’ll be riding home soon with the wounded who can be moved. I can’t wait to get back home.”

  Frank rested his cheek on her head for a moment. “Me too.”

  * * *

  0900 HOURS - ZERO DAY +417

  Frank took his aviator goggles from the rearview mirror and put them on, adjusting the bungee strap so it didn’t press so much against his ears. He glanced to his passenger and said, “Ready to go home?”

  “Yeah,” Ethan said. “This place is a total dump.”

  Frank nodded. He figured Ethan regretted his decision to volunteer driving one of the cargo trucks out to Harrisburg, though he could tell he was grateful for the ride back.

  The battlecar started up with a cough, but then the engine caught and it rumbled nicely. Frank threw the column shifter into Drive. A little pressure on the gas pedal and the beast crept forward. He increased the gas as the car gained momentum, and soon they were going a respectable twenty miles per hour while off-roading. They’d be home quickly enough at that rate, and the slower speed conserved wood.

  Besides, as much as he needed a shower and sleep, he needed to decompress from the battle and its aftermath before the inevitable hyperactive love-fest from his son, Hunter, when he got home. He looked forward to that with all his heart, but dreaded it as well. A leisurely drive would clear his head from all the chaos and killing.

  After a few minutes of silence, Frank began to feel better, his mind less jumbled. Finally, he said, “You and Amber seem to be doing great. When are you going to make an honest woman of her?”

  Ethan laughed and said, “We don’t need a contract for that. But the truth is, we’ve been talking about it. I think she’s leaning toward a Winter Solstice wedding.”

  “I think it’s been long enough,” Frank said. “I miss Jed still, but he’d want her to be happy.”

  Ethan nodded but remained silent, obviously lost in thought.

  Frank veered the battlecar around a depression that appeared suddenly before them. The car handled the turn fine, but did kick up a bunch of dirt that make them both cough for a moment.

  “Listen, if Amber and I do get married on the solstice, how would you feel about being my best man? You’re my best friend in the Clan, you know? It’d mean a lot.”

  Frank answered without hesitating, “I’d be honored.”

  The rest of the drive home, Frank thought about all the changes and challenges they had gone through since the EMPs first hit, and he realized with total clarity that it was Cassy’s insistence on making friends with everyone they could that had kept them alive. She fed people he would have turned away, and for that she got Taj Mahal. She negotiated trade with Brickerville when conflict was just as easy an outcome, and earned their loyalty. She sent supplies to Liz Town to help them fight off Harrisburg and Hershey, making diehard friends out of the most combative of their close neighbors.

  Step after step, when Frank would have hunkered down and circled the wagons, she opened them to help others, but she did it wisely. Never when she thought it would cost more than it was worth, never when the other side wasn’t going to be useful in return. She said it was all in keeping with her “permaculture principles.” He had learned a lot from her example that he went ahead and applied to managing the Clanholds, and they were working out great.

  And all their many blessings, even his and his family’s survival, happened because he had been nice to Cassy when she had just been a strange woman who came across them in a bad situation. His wife, Mary—God rest her soul—would have turned Cassy away simply out of fear. There had been plenty of fear in those early days, and plenty since.

  He smiled, wondering what the old Marketing Executive Cassy would have thought of this new version of herself.

  * * *

  Cassy finished rubbing down her horse and giving her water, then led her into the lower stables. Once her mount was taken care of and secured after the long journey home, munching happily on hay, Cassy walked outside.

  Tiffany came around the bend from the guard tower and waved her down. She smiled wanly, and when she got close, said, “Cassy, have you been to your house yet?”

  “No. What’s going on?”

  Tiffany wouldn’t meet her eyes, and looked down at the ground, at the stable, anywhere but at Cassy. “It’s your mom. We’ve been up with her all night. She’s waiting for you.”

  Cassy didn’t ask another question. Instead, she sprinted home. The front door was ajar, as though the house itself had been waiting for her. Bright sunlight outside made the interior look pitch black on the inside, or what she could see of it through the doorway. She came to a stop at the door and took a deep breath, then opened it all the way and stepped inside.

  On her living room couch, her mom lay with a pillow under her head on the armrest and a blanket draped over her. Frank and Ethan stood nearby, and looked up when Cassy entered. Their expressions were grim.

  Cassy said, “Whats going on?” and could hear her voice rise in pitch.

  Frank held his palm up to her, the motion for “stop,” and started to hobble toward her, but she darted around him to get to her mom. She knelt beside the couch. “Mom?”

  Mandy was ashen, her skin gray and moist from sweat, her eyes red-rimmed and only half open. When she saw Cassy, she smiled weakly. Cassy noticed a sick, sweet smell that was almost like when people were drunk, but Mandy didn’t drink.

  Mandy reached for Cassy’s hand with her own, and it trembled. She looked almost too weak to do even that, and Cassy noticed how sunken Mandy’s cheeks and eyes appeared. She looked as though a vacuum cleaner had sucked away half of her life, leaving only a baggy, sallow skin behind.

  “Oh, sweetie, you’re home,” Mandy said. “I’m so glad to see you’re okay.”

  “Why didn’t you say something, Mom?”

  Mandy patted her hand gently. “I stopped taking my insulin about a week ago. I didn’t say anything because you were going into battle, and I didn’t want you distracted.”

  “How could you do that? You should have told me. I’ll just go get more—”

  Mandy coughed, then tried to cry out her daughter’s name, but she was already out the door, sprinting.

  Cassy headed to the far bunker entry. She wanted to be alone and if she’d used the stairwell entry, that would defeat the purpose. She reached the shrub, saw no one around, and slid it aside. She punched in the mechanical lock code and was quickly down in the long tunnel that led to the bunker’s escape hatch. Once inside, she headed for the storage segment. The lone small refrigerator sat there, taunting her, running merrily. Inside it lay life for her mom. Insulin.

  Cassy reached for the refrigerator, when she heard scuffing noises behind her. Dammit, someone was there. She looked back and saw Frank. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? In her head, she screamed, and tears continued running their trail down her cheeks. Instead of screaming, she spun to face him. “How could you not tell me?” she shouted, face turning red.

  Frank didn’t flinch. “Your mother is sick, Cassy. She won’t live much longer. They don’t make insulin anymore, and we have young people who need it. When I talked to Grandma Mandy about the situation, she was the one who—”

  “This was your idea, Frank? Goddammit, how could you do this?” she screamed. Now her eyelid began to twitch with anger.

  Frank glowered at her, but his voice was even and calm as he replied, “This has to be done, Cassy. For the Clan.”

  Cassy’s tears fell freely, now. “But that’s my mother.” In the next moment, she collapsed onto the concrete floor, feeling its coolness beneath her hot flesh.

  “Can’t you see, Cassy?” Frank said, his voice softer. “We lost so many people in this las
t battle. We only have so much insulin. There won’t ever be more, not in your mother’s lifetime. And if we take that away from the people we have left, they won’t live to see that day, either. Every dose your mother takes is a chunk of life off someone else’s tally.”

  Cassy stared up at him, sucking back tears, and the silence hung heavy between them.

  “Your mother is doing a noble thing, Cassy. She’s giving life. She’s giving us a better chance to thrive. You have to know this isn’t about you. I never wanted to hurt you, but this is important. It’s how it has to be. And it’s her choice.”

  Cassy felt the rage slowly draining from her, leaving only… defeat? Sorrow, maybe. She was too jumbled and confused to know what she felt. His gaze met hers again, and after three heartbeats, she looked down at the ground and simply nodded. Even she had to realize the truth, when it struck her in the face like that. Her tears still fell, but she felt her heartbeat slow. She saw Frank relax his guard a bit.

  “Come on,” Frank said. “Mandy deserves to see her daughter before it’s too late. And I’ll go get Bri and Aidan.”

  He helped her up and wrapped one arm around her shoulders. They walked back to the tunnel that way, and she led him up the ladder to the house.

  When she finally climbed up, she sat beside her mother, holding her hand. Mandy said weakly, “I’m glad you finally understand, honey. I knew you would.”

  Cassy nodded, forcing a smile with trembling lips.

  Mandy patted her hand lightly. “There’s never a good time to decide to die, my precious girl. But I lived long enough to see you rise to this challenge, and I know you and my grandkids will be all right, now. It’s a good time for me to say goodbye.”

  Cassy struggled not to beg her mother to reconsider. She knew her mom of all people wouldn’t change her mind, not about this. After a long moment, she whispered, “I’ve been able to spend more time with you since the war than in the ten years before that, Mom. I’m glad I got the chance to really know you. I love you.”