Stars exploded in her vision, pain shot through the back of her head.
Click.
The button popped out on the dashboard, and Amy picked the red-hot cigarette lighter from the dashboard and pressed it hard against the man's hand.
He let out a scream of agony and released the grip he had on her hair.
Amy hit the gas and threw the steering wheel hard to the right, sending the truck into a U turn.
The man thumped against the inside of the truck bed, and then went flying over the side of the truck onto the street.
She saw him slowly got to his feet as she looked in the rearview mirror and sped down the road.
"Bad ass, mom," Kenny said.
Adrenaline pumped in her veins, her heart pounding. How could she drive to the Lamberti's house if the highway was blocked and the side streets were packed with dead vehicles and desperate people?
"Language, Kenny," she said.
There had to be a way around, she would find it.
Chapter 7
The people chattering away in the VFW hall became muted and distant as Jack's mind went to his wife and boys in Baltimore. Where was Amy when it hit? Surely she and the boys were at home when it happened? But was she safe? Were the boys safe? Not knowing was killing him.
She would be safe for the next few weeks, at least until people starting running out of food and became desperate. Then... then all he could was hope that his darkest fears wouldn't come true.
Stay positive. That's what he had to do. That's all he could do, really. Amy and the boys had everything they needed at their disposal in the house. There were well-stocked shelves in the basement with medical supplies and plenty of bottled water. It was enough to ride out the storm as people ran out of food and fled the city en masse after their meager rations ran out.
There was also the Silverado in the garage, but would she would she try to start it? He knew it should start, but Amy didn't. Prepping had never interested her in the slightest. She listened to him politely, but changed the topic when she could. He couldn't blame her. He knew he sounded like Chicken Little or The Boy Who Cried Wolf talking about disasters and preparedness all the time.
And what about his boys? Were Kenny and Danny safe? Tears welled up in his eyes. They were impossibly far away. He was cut off, with no way to talk to them, to really know if they were safe or in danger. As far as they were concerned, he was completely out of the picture. If they needed him, there was nothing he could do about it.
How in the hell was he ever going to get home? It was over a thousand miles from here to Baltimore. He might as well be on another planet right now. A three-day car ride from Missouri to Maryland had turned into a several month journey on foot overnight. From jet planes back to the Stone Age.
George Cooper hailed him as he walked towards the table with the sheriff in tow. The sheriff sat down across the table from Jack, setting his hat on the table.
"Jack Miller? I'm the county Sheriff, John Boone. I heard about your car accident, and I'm sorry to hear about your friend. I'll send a deputy and a couple local boys down to take an accident report and bury your friend. You understand we won't be able to send his body back to Maryland with the lack of resources right now? Can you tell me what happened?"
Jack retold the story of the car accident, the blinding flash of light, the darkness following the flash, the crash, and then waking up to find Tom in the passenger seat next to him, dead.
It filled him with sadness, bringing him right back to the scene of the accident.
"It wasn't your fault Jack. There is nothing you could have done differently," the Sheriff said.
Jack leaned back in the chair, hands covering his face. His lower back and hips throbbed with pain from the excruciating long walk. He couldn't sit still in the chair for much longer.
"What are you going to do now? George told me you were from Baltimore. That's a long way to go with no vehicle. If you'd like, I can ask around and see if someone can put you up until this all blows over and you can catch a ride home," Sheriff Boone said.
This wasn't going to blow over. That was wishful thinking. It would take a long, long time to rebuild the infrastructure needed to bring power back to big cities. Small towns like this would be far down the list of places to get up and running. Almost all of the vehicles in existence were a complete write off. Most of them had ten chips or more onboard computer chips, and without those, the motor wouldn't turn over. If the highways ever filled with cars again, they wouldn't be the ones sitting out there on the highways right now.
"I don't know. I guess I'll try for Kansas City, and find a way to call home. Your brother mentioned a Federal communication network... I've never heard of it, but it makes sense. The military has to have some kind of hardened communication network, something EMP resistant, right? If anybody has a way for me to talk to my family, I'll find it in one of the larger cities. Otherwise, its a long walk home," Jack said.
"I can't imagine what it feels like to be in your shoes right now. I don't envy you one bit. My entire family lives within twenty minutes of here. Sheriff, if you don't mind, would you say a few words to the town and ask everybody to pitch in with something to help this young man along his way? He'll never make a hike to Kansas City with just the clothes on his back," George said.
The Sheriff pushed away from the table and set his hat on his head, cocking it slightly at an angle. "I was thinking the same thing myself. Kansas City is a good eight day walk from here, you're not going to make it without a few basics."
"I... I would greatly appreciate that. Thank you," Jack said.
This was unexpected. They wanted to help him. After years of reading survivalist forums, his view of what a disaster aftermath would look like was grim. Their reaction came as a startling surprise. Didn't they know what was coming down the pike? There would be food shortages, looting, and lawlessness. Charity is the last thing he expected to receive, especially since they all knew that giving him food meant they were taking food out of their own mouths.
Maybe he'd misjudged human nature... things wouldn't just turn on a dime. He didn't think bullets would start flying a few minutes after a disaster, as some people did, but he never expected this hospitality and empathy toward a stranger. As long as there were people like George Cooper and Sheriff Boone around, things would never fall apart so quickly. Things would have to get a lot worse before that happened, at least in his neck of the woods, anyway.
The sheriff stood in front of the assembly and asked the people in the hall if they could pitch in something to help Jack on his journey to Kansas City. Within half an hour, Jack had more gear and food than he could possibly carry, along with well wishes, handshakes, and promises of prayer on his behalf from everyone in the room.
Jack looked over the pile of gear and food, wondering what he should bring with him. A week-long walk was no joke, the day long hike here had left him sunburnt and exhausted. At least he wouldn't have to worry about food or shelter. He made a small pile of his selections; a sleeping bag, a small pop up tent, frame pack, tarp, and some other basics along with all the food and water he could carry.
He took the last bits of his bug out bag from the car and stuffed them into the backpack, remarking to himself that the snares and fishing line had been completely useless. It was an important lesson he wouldn't forget. Civilization would not fall to chaos overnight, and he wouldn't have to fend for himself as long as he was willing to reach out and ask for help. Their kindness would get him to Kansas City, not his prepping and gear.
Lifting the stuffed frame pack onto his shoulders, he adjusted the pack until the weight settled into place. This was the painful takeaway, the most obvious lesson to date in disaster preparedness. Working a desk job and getting no exercise were a sure fire way to be unprepared for anything. His feet were a blistered mess, and his legs cramped, unused to the physical activity. He felt like hell, not like starting an eight-day forced march to Kansas City. How would he feel once he got th
ere?
He tightened the straps and waved goodbye to the people standing outside the VFW hall. Cigarette smoke hung in the air as people talked by the light of kerosene lanterns. He had a long walk ahead of him, and he wanted to get a few more hours under his belt before finding a place to camp. The white lines marking the side of the rural highway barely visible in the deepening darkness, Jack set out for Kansas City to find a way to call home.
Chapter 8
Amy pulled the truck off the main road and turned behind a large warehouse, pulling it behind a large green dumpster that kept the truck hidden from the road. She turned the engine off and rested her head against the steering wheel and closed her eyes. People were going berserk, between the storekeeper who shot the looter and the man in the suit who had assaulted her over the truck.
"Mom, what's the matter," Kenny asked.
"I just need a minute," she said.
She felt the back of her head, unsurprised to find blood on her fingers from where the man had yanked at her hair. What was the matter with him? Was he crazy?
Images of the shooting played in a loop in her mind, watching the liquor storeowner shooting the looter as he ran away with the cart of stolen liquor. The liquor store owner, his face a mask of indignation and rage. A series of sharp cracks as the pistol fired, the looter falling to the ground.
How could someone kill another human being over a shopping cart of liquor? Why were people even willing to risk their lives over something so trivial as a thirty-dollar bottle of whisky? Three hours ago, the thief would have been surrounded by police cars and arrested, and the shopkeeper thrown in jail for shooting the thief in the back. Amy couldn't recall seeing a single officer since leaving her home. What else were people capable of if there were no consequences for their actions?
A shudder ran through her body. She knew perfectly well what people were capable of. Rob Moore's arrogant smirk, smiling at her from the defendant's bench came to mind. Evil people were out there, and had no care what the consequences were for themselves or others. Even if they were caught, they would try to weasel their way out of justice. She pushed the thought of Rob away t0 deal with more immediate matters.
How was she going to get to Danny, let alone get him home safe? All of the main highways were packed with dead cars and people making their way home on foot. Would it be better to just go home and wait for things to calm down?
Danny was probably all right at his friend's house. Was she was worrying about nothing? Maybe the police would have restored order by tomorrow and the highways would be cleared.
Her heart told her that she needed to get to her son quickly. There was no way of knowing whether he was safe or not. Everything was happening so fast, and unexpectedly, just like Jack had said it would happen. Looting, people taking what they wanted, society was falling apart at the seams... it was too much to process all at once.
She remembered something Jack said over dinner that had struck her as callous. "In a way the people that die immediately after a catastrophic event are the lucky ones. They won't have to live through the terrible experiences facing the survivors. The dead will remain the same; civilized humans of a forgotten golden era, people who never had to go to whatever lengths they needed to in order to protect their families, to survive."
Amy struggled to change her point of view. Waiting around for things to get better and hope Danny was all right wasn't going to cut it. Maybe Jack was right, she needed to get 'hard' and help her family get through. How would that help her right now though? She just needed to get to her son.
She could take the back roads and pick her way around stalled vehicles and pedestrians, but it would take hours at the current snails pace. Each time someone stepped out in front of the truck she had to stop and wait for the person to move.
"How are we going to get to Danny? We've got a running vehicle, but it's not helping much. We can't get through on the highway, and we can't take the side streets because of all the people in the road. They won't get out of the way," she said.
Kenny gave her a strange look. "Yes they will."
"What am I supposed to do Kenny, just run them over?"
"Yeah, run them over. I know it sounds mean mom, but you can't stop to help everybody. You need to harden the f... You need to harden up," Kenny said.
Harden up the f up? Her own son was telling her to harden up? He was Jack's son all right.
"Where do you hear these phrases Kenny? Do I look like a hard person?"
"No mom, you don't. That's the problem. That's why people won't get out of the way. Step on the gas, rev the motor up, and just keep going. They'll move," he said.
She angled the rearview mirror to look at herself. He was right about one thing. She didn't look like a 'hard' person, because she wasn't one. Not a single traffic ticket on her record, and Kenny wanted her to play chicken with pedestrians?
If she drove like a madwoman, would anyone be crazy enough to step out in front of the truck? Would the street clear in front of her, people jumping out of the way? Or would she plow into someone as they stood their ground, refusing to believe that the apologetic looking little brunette in a pink shirt and a beat up old truck would keep coming?
Amy started the truck and revved the motor, listening to the aggressive sound of the old engine growl. She could put on a game face, right? She had to get Danny home. Jack had been right so far. She'd seen a man killed in the street and looting already. If Jack continued to be correct, things were going to get worse. Much worse, and they wouldn't take long to get there.
She put the gearshift into drive and stepped on the gas pedal, tires squealing as the truck came barreling out of the alley into the parking lot in front of the warehouse.
A man with long hair and a leather jacket stepped out of a broken window in the warehouse. A bottle of whiskey in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other, he raised his arm and waved at her.
She steered the truck right at him and stomped on the gas, ready to find out if she had the nerves it took to 'get hard'. Her foot trembled on the gas pedal, but she kept it pinned to the floor as the truck roared down the road towards the man.
He was close enough that she could see the fear in his eyes as he dropped the whisky bottle and leaped out of the way.
"Hell yeah mom! Hard core," Kenny said.
A wave of adrenaline coursed through her body, her heart pounding as she rounded the corner of the parking lot and pulled onto the main street.
She couldn't believe what she'd just done. Kenny was right though. He moved. He wasn't her problem, and she couldn't risk stopping the truck to find out what people's intentions were from now on. She needed to be more aggressive and focus on her family and their safety, not the well being of strangers.
Satisfied that people would get out of her way if she drove aggressively enough, Amy sped down the road, determined to do whatever it took to get Danny home.
Chapter 9
Four long days of walking northwest along a crisscrossed network of rural highways, and Jack was finally at Kansas City. Hopefully the city would have a functioning communication system, some way for people stranded in the city like he was to contact loved ones and let them know they were safe. Once Amy and the boys knew he was safe, he could rest, and then figure out what to do next.
The journey from Clinton had not been an easy one. It seemed simple enough at the outset, walk throughout the day and camp at night, keep going until he arrived in Kansas City. He had food, a sleeping bag, a tent, and water. How difficult could it be?
How naive he had been. Starting a long hike with feet that were already blistered feet had been idiotic. His feet were beyond blistered. Swollen and raw, each time he took his shoes off, he had to cram them back inside. Every time he stopped for a rest for more than fifteen minutes, his calves and quads cramped badly, leaving him hobbling around until he could stretch the knots out and warm the muscles up again.
Sleeping on the ground at night was no picnic either. He could sleep for t
wenty minutes on one side before his hip would ache, or his back wound scream in pain, tossing and turning on the rough ground. Going from zero exercise to walking seven hours a day was no joke. Add camping to the mixture, and he was miserable.
It was pretty stupid, in hindsight. All this prepping knowledge was useless. Stocking up supplies he'd need to survive after a catastrophic event was all well and good, but he should have kept his body in shape. He wasn't cut out for this.
He kept picturing the treadmill in the corner of his basement, laughing at him.
At least he hadn't gone hungry, though the food supplied by the generous people of Clinton was almost gone. A couple of tomatoes, two biscuits, and a small wedge of cheese were all that remained. Water hadn't been a problem either initially. He filled his bottle at faucets from roadside homes, though for the last day none of the faucets he tried produced any water. The city water reserves must have dried up after the pumps stopped working.
EMP Aftermath Series (Book 1): The Journey Home Page 5
