The Off Grid Survivor: An EMP Survival Story

by Mccoy, Connor

  After successfully unlocking the door, stepping into the next room, and then relocking the door, Marco heard a female voice from an open doorway, followed by somebody he knew very well—Jack Sorenson.

  He stuck his head in the doorway, confirming his suspicions. Jack was eyeing a fairly pretty blonde woman, mid-twenties no doubt, clad in one hell of a tight dress. Jack sure picked a grade-A specimen for the dress. Marco took his sweet time eyeing her hips, ass, and cleavage as she turned around.

  “Now that is grade-A quality,” Jack said.

  The woman looked down at her body. “It’s a little hard to move in this.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that.” Jack circled her, something he could do quickly as the man was as thin as a pencil. Marco liked to joke that Jack’s tall hair was thicker than Jack’s balls. “It’s not like you have to do a forty-yard dash in it.” Jack then brushed his hand across her upper back.

  “So, I—” The woman quaked a little. “I get a bigger meal, every night, for wearing this?”

  Jack grinned. “I’ll see to it they slaughter the largest cows to get you the biggest steaks.”

  Marco suddenly realized why Jack was such an appropriate name for Sorenson. It fits with jack shit, he thought.

  Jack’s lady then turned and spotted Marco, letting out a small gasp. Jack turned and rolled his eyes. “I didn’t realize you had so much time on your hands, Jack,” Marco said. “In case you forgot, we’re also in charge of making sure the assholes in the barracks get their assignments for tonight.”

  “Marco, buddy, nothing’s changed,” Jack said with that ingratiating smile Marco hated so much. “Maggiano gave the instructions to me, I passed them along to Bruce, and there you go.”

  “Bruce,” Marco laughed.

  Bruce was one of the ‘supervisors’ who kept watch over the men when they went out on Maggiano’s orders. But as far as Marco was concerned, Bruce was a thick-headed brute who would do or say anything for a fancy meal, and Jack was particularly good at bribery.

  “Yeah, you just push it all off on him. For your sake, I hope he doesn’t screw up or it’s going to be your ass.”

  “Oh, shut it, Marco. You pass along shit you don’t want to do to others all the time. That’s how you ran your goddamn restaurant chain for the past few years. You’re just lucky Maggiano didn’t buy you outright and leave you with pennies.”

  Marco was about to verbally slap Jack upside his skinny head, but he something much more pleasant caught his interest. As Jack stepped in the room’s back corner to pick up the empty box the dress came in, Marco walked up to Jack’s lady and seized her by her right shoulder. A jolt ran through her body. But she didn’t resist. No question she was trained to know her place.

  Marco then grasped the back zipper of the dress and pulled it down, reaching all the way to the top of her buttocks. She quivered a little, with an accompanying gasp. She wanted to protest, but couldn’t.

  Marco released the zipper. He had opened the back of her dress to reveal a bra strap and expensive beige panties printed with white flowers across the fabric. Just as he thought. Jack really knew how to doll up a girl.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jack rushed up to him and stuck his face between the girl and Marco. “You know what Maggiano says about how to treat the women.”

  Marco would have belted Jack if it wouldn’t have gotten him into trouble later. As far as Marco was concerned, Jack was no tough guy. He just acted the part. Hell, Jack never even had laid a finger on Marco, even after Marco’s many provocations.

  “Maggiano didn’t say anything about not admiring them.” Marco tilted his head to see the woman’s exposed back.

  Jack stepped right behind the lady. “You’re a real piece of work, Marco.” He zipped the woman back up. “We all know your admiration doesn’t end with your eyeballs.” Jack then shoved a pair of red heels into the woman’s hands, then ordered, “Get back to your room.”

  The woman nodded and rushed out the door, but not without Marco getting a handful of her posterior as she hurried past. Marco smiled. That would do for now. “So, where’d you get the expensive clothes? Your chain?”

  “Nothing but the best. Asked the guys to clean out my outlet in town and bring the goods over here. Maggiano likes his ladies with a little class.” He snickered. “Probably why I’m his favorite. By the way, he was asking about some fresh wine from his ‘reliable supplier.’”

  Jack grinned, while Marco’s skin grew cold, not an easy feat in a building with no working air conditioner.

  “I’m sure he was,” Marco said. He turned to the open doorway, but then stopped and regained some of his smug façade. “By the way, I thought I’d let you know that Maggiano caught Anthony stealing from him. Anthony raped and beat one of the girls last night. You know that policewoman we nabbed at the clinic? Turns out she wasn’t very accommodating to Anthony.”

  Jack frowned. “What are you talking about? How is that stealing?”

  “Why, Jack, you just said it a moment ago.” Marco smiled. “All these women belong to Maggiano. The prettier they are, the more valuable they are. You beat one of their faces in, you lower the real estate value.”

  A beat of sweat dropped down Jack’s face. “What’s Maggiano decided to do with him?” he asked.

  Marco backed out of the door. “Come outside and check it out.”

  Ordinarily, there weren’t many people, if any, outside of Maggiano’s vast warehouse during the daytime. The men typically were used to enforce Maggiano’s iron will at night, although he had various operations such as his cleanup crew that still worked during the day. But today was different.

  Marco and Jack had stepped outside to join a rabble of about thirty men, all sitting or standing on the concrete near the end of the street running past Maggiano’s warehouse. It wasn’t surprising. With television and the Internet gone, men had to make their own forms of entertainment. Anthony was tied with heavy ropes to a wooden power pole on the other side of the street. The men anticipated a great show, but it was incidental that they were there. In reality, the show to come was just for one man, seated in a posh chair with an umbrella over his head.

  And Marcellus Maggiano was determined to have a little fun, especially after what Anthony had done to one of his ladies.

  Anthony was bound so tightly that the only part of his body he could move was his neck. “Hey!” he cried out, “Please, let me out of this! Look, I promise, I won’t even touch one of the women again!”

  Maggiano lifted himself out of his seat. All the chatter quickly died down. When Maggiano stood up, he was about to speak. Anyone who spoke while Maggiano was talking would get an instant bullet in the head.

  “Anthony,” Maggiano called in a diluted Italian accent, the residual evidence of his upbringing by his parents who had emigrated from Italy. “It’s real simple. If you make me laugh, I let you go.”

  “Laugh?” Anthony’s mouth dropped open. “Wha-what the hell does that mean? Am I supposed to tell a joke or something?”

  “I don’t give a shit how you do it, but if you want to go, you’ll do it.” Maggiano then wagged his finger. “And you better hurry.”

  One of the men near the end of the crowd shouted, “Let it go!”

  Anthony turned his head back and forth. “Hey! What does that mean? What are you letting go?”

  Maggiano pointed to his left. There was a semi-truck on the left side of the warehouse. A couple of men just had hopped out of the driver’s cab. The truck then started rolling. Anthony realized what everyone else had known—the concrete leading to the street was at a slight incline, and the men had taken off the parking brake. Although the truck’s electronics were fried, rendering the truck’s engine useless, the truck’s mass now was carrying it down the incline, toward the street. The momentum easily would carry the truck across the street—and right smack into Anthony.

  Anthony screamed. The crowd started hollering and cheering as the truck pic
ked up speed. “Go! Go!” some of them shouted.

  “Okay, okay!” Anthony stammered as he tried to think of something funny. “Um, what do you call a smartass who can’t tell his ass from a hole in the ground? A dumbass! No, let me try this. How many Italians does it take to screw in a light bulb? Oh shit, no that’s not what I meant! Um, who can shave all day and still keep a moustache? A barber, yeah that’s it!”

  Maggiano remained stone-faced. As far as Marco and Jack were concerned, Anthony probably had dug his grave with that Italian crack. The truck was now near the curb of the street.

  Anthony’s gasping quickened. “Uh, what do you call an asshole who can’t sing? Full of shit!”

  Now the truck’s front wheel touched down on the street’s asphalt. The semi now was overshadowing Anthony.

  “I don’t want to be flattened!” Anthony suddenly cried out. Whether it was a joke or an honest plea, nobody would ever know, for that was the last thing he said just before the semi slammed into him.

  The force of the truck’s impact was enough to tear the post Anthony was bound to out of the ground. As the semi kept rolling, it pushed the post down to the ground with Anthony on it, tearing down the nearby power lines with it. The truck then rolled right over Anthony and the wood as it kept going.

  Maggiano’s men laughed, cheered and pounded the concrete with their shoes. Some even doused each other with beer. As for the truck, it kept going and going until it slammed into the side of an office building.

  Then, Maggiano laughed.

  After enjoying a minute of laughter, the man wagged his finger. “Let him go,” he said.

  The men looked across the street. Anthony lay on the ground just behind the halted semi, still bound to the post. It was pointless to untie him now, but orders were orders. A few of them hurried to release the lifeless husk that had been Anthony Rossi.

  Marco looked at Jack with a crooked grin. “Nice, huh?” He then turned and started walking back to the warehouse.

  “Hey!” Jack called. “I still remember Maggiano talking about getting some wine. I’m sure he’d love a good drink after the show, right?”

  Marco stopped. He wanted to throw another jab back at Jack, but unfortunately, the pissant had a point. He’d have to check his wine supply, and quickly.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The street sign above their heads read Veterans Blvd. After waiting for Tom to dismount off Conrad’s back, Conrad climbed off his bike and took a good look at the road ahead of them. Liam came to a stop, and then both Liam and Carla got off. There was no doubt about it. According to their map, this provided the straightest route toward the city limits. A short hike should get them back on the state road toward Conrad’s homestead.

  That is, if the streets ahead of them weren’t flooded.

  As the four of them had approached the intersection, they felt the pavement beneath them suddenly slope downward. Then, as they had made a turn to the left onto Veterans, they discovered the boulevard ahead of them submerged in water. The deluge ran over the sidewalks and into nearby parking lots, even brushing up against the fronts of buildings.

  “Unbelievable,” Tom said, “Veterans has never been this badly flooded, even when we had that horrible flood about four years ago.”

  “Really?” Carla shook her head. “Anybody got a boat handy?”

  “Guess that’s what happens when the drainage systems don’t work any more,” Conrad said as he studied the road in front of him, looking for a way around the water.

  Liam pointed to a human arm drifting across the water. A torso then bobbed up. “Holy shit,” he whispered.

  “God, it smells like there’s a bunch of dead people around here.” Carla grabbed her nose and pinched her nostrils shut.

  “Animals, too,” Conrad said, “There’s no way we can wade through this. This water’s filled with disease, chemicals, and God knows what else.”

  “The land is supposed to level off after a few blocks,” Tom said, “There’s no way it can be that flooded near the edge of the city.”

  “Then if we go around the flood, Veterans can take us the rest of the way.” Liam glanced at Tom with a healthy amount of suspicion. “Right?”

  “Hey, I’d be happy to accompany you if you think I’m bullshitting you,” Tom said.

  Conrad then stepped behind Tom and grabbed the man by the shoulder—hard. “Well, I’m afraid my boy and his lady are going to have to find out by themselves.” He released Tom and reached for Carla’ backpack. “Let’s see if we can find us a route around that flood.”

  As Conrad studied the map from Carla’s sack, Liam looked at the sky. It had been mostly clear when they first had set out from the monument building, but as the morning progressed, the clouds had re-gathered. Now a layer of thick clouds cut across the sky, but not enough to fully coat it. It still was enough to make Liam nervous.

  “Found it! Travor Lane. It’s just a block away. We’ll see if it’s dry enough to get you going,” Conrad said.

  The distance was short enough that riding the bikes was unnecessary. A good walk would get them to Travor Lane in about ten minutes. Besides, Conrad was eager to chat with Liam, plus he disliked ferrying Tom around on his bike. His opinion of the man had plummeted, and he wasn’t eager to spend much time with him. To his great displeasure, once Liam and Carla headed for his homestead, he’d be stuck with Tom until he found Sarah.

  So, Conrad walked his bike as he strolled close by Liam, who also walked his ride. Carla walked beside Liam, but not too close. Tom continued to bring up the rear. Conrad quietly whispered to Carla to keep an eye on Tom, both because he didn’t want Tom to slip away, and so he could have some quality time with his son.

  Sadly, there was a real chance this could be the last time he spoke to his boy. Liam looked tense, even a little distraught. Conrad couldn’t blame him. The past twenty-four hours had thrown his entire quest for his missing mother into a tailspin. Liam knew enough to believe that his mother might still be alive, but he also knew she was in horrible danger. Worse, it was thanks to the help of the man whom she currently loved, who just had tossed her to the wolves.

  Conrad had to find the right words to encourage his son. He thought back to Liam’s argument with Tom. “You had some quick drawing action with that gun,” he said softly. “Not too bad for someone who’s a greenhorn.”

  Liam huffed. “Yeah.” The young man looked away from his father. “But you’re probably not thrilled I drew it on Tom.”

  “I understand how you felt,” Conrad said, “but word to the wise. Drawing a weapon always should be the last resort. The moment you take a life, you own it for the rest of your Earthly existence. You don’t want to go to your grave wishing you could take that moment back.”

  Liam turned his head toward his father. “I never thought I’d have to. I mean, everything was great. Well, great except for not seeing you. There was school, college, and someday I’d have my own place, a wife. I never dreamed someday I might have to kill somebody.”

  “I think unless you’re a soldier or a cop, you never do. And when you’re faced with that moment, it’s like you’re ready to puke all over the ground. It can be one of the most terrifying moments of your life.”

  Liam quickened his pace. “Have you ever gone through with it?”

  Conrad clenched his jaw. “No.”

  Liam’s eyes widened a little. “Wow. And you still came out here.”

  “She’s your mom,” Conrad said. “That’ll never change. Maybe it’d be torture to kill somebody, but failing you would be even worse. That’s something I can’t live with.”

  Liam nodded. “Thanks, Dad. I thought this would be hard on you, but I guess I didn’t know how much.”

  Conrad slowed his pace. A street sign marked with “Travor Lane” approached. “Thanks, Liam.” He then flashed a glance at Carla, who was watching Tom like a hawk. Conrad smiled. “But you know, this was all worth it.”

  By now they had reached the intersection of
Travor Lane. Conrad had walked his bike far enough. He popped out the kickstand and parked it. Liam did the same for his. To their great relief, Travor Lane was merely damp with several shallow puddles. Getting down there would not be a problem.

  Conrad looked at his son. This parting was proving to be harder than he expected. Having reunited with his boy made it all the harder to separate from him again. “Well, this is as far as I take you.”

  Liam gripped his bicycle’s right handle. “You sure this road is safe enough? I mean, we might need another man in the party, just to be safe.”

  “No, you’ll be fine. It’s been quiet this whole way. Looks like everyone’s tucked in for the day. By the time this city comes alive, you’ll be out of danger. Just a straight shot back home.”

  The tension in Liam’s face told Conrad that the young man loathed the idea of splitting up as much as Conrad did.

  “Dad, you know you’re going up against an army here,” Liam said.

  “And do you think it’s going to be easier with my son, his girl and my grandkid in the thick of it?”

  “I wanted to do this. This was my mission.”

  “You got a greater mission now.” Conrad walked around so he was facing his son. “Liam, millions of people have died in a very short time. The people who are left have got to carry our ideals to the future. If the wrong folks get in charge, they’ll turn our country, probably most of the land on God’s Earth, into a hellhole. Carla’s carrying the future. Right now, this city is no place for the future.”

  Liam’s lip tightened. “But if you don’t make it, and Mom doesn’t…”

  “Hey, I’m not giving up on us.” Conrad let out a slow breath. “But I can’t think of just us anymore. I built my house thinking I could hunker down and enjoy a long life and a peaceful death. Can’t be that way anymore. It’s there for you, my grandkids.” Conrad narrowed his eye. “And I do mean grandkids with an ‘s.’ You’re going to crank out a few more, right?”