Zero Hour: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Fiction Series (The Blackout Series Book 2)

by Bobby Akart

  Madison rose from her seat and kissed Colton. During the last two weeks, the two hadn’t shared many tender moments together. It felt good.

  “Hey,” interrupted a sleepy-eyed Alex. “You two need to get a room.”

  Madison and Colton laughed as he replied, “Indeed we do!”

  Chapter 32

  DAY TWELVE

  Predawn, September 20

  HPA Meeting House

  Trimble Rd. & Lynnwood Blvd.

  Belle Meade, Tennessee

  Colton decided it was a risk worth taking. He’d debated the point as he got ready this morning and ultimately decided to carry the Camp Chef cooktop system, the propane, and coffee fixin’s in Mrs. Abercrombie’s wheelbarrow. The gesture was designed to lift the morale and spirits of the neighbors who were going to risk their lives to protect their families and homes. He no longer concerned himself with disclosing his ownership of these valuable items. You had to live to enjoy life.

  Madison didn’t cry when he left this morning. She gave him the support and love he needed to face an evil he knew existed but never imagined he’d have to confront. Undoubtedly, she and Alex would be hand-wringing to an extent. His girls didn’t need this additional stress. Nobody did. However, it was the world they lived in now.

  While Colton brewed the coffee, Wren quickly organized and displayed the entire arsenal retrieved from Holder’s basement. Firearms were separated by handguns, rifles, and shotguns. Ammunition was neatly stacked next to its corresponding weapon. Naturally, Colton did not disclose his acquisition of the two AR-15 rifles. Colton had brought the Taurus nine millimeter in his paddle holster and intended to pick out another weapon to compliment it.

  “Colton,” started Wren, “I’d like you to meet Danielle Faber. Danielle’s recently completed the National Rifle Association’s Certified Coach Program. She’s going to give our people a crash course in firearms training.”

  “Good morning,” said Colton, extending his hand to the woman, who was dressed in black jeans and a loosely fitting black shirt. He wondered if she led a double life as a ninja.

  “My pleasure, Colton,” she replied. “Before the others arrive, why don’t we select weapons for you and Shane first. Have you trained with firearms before?”

  “No,” replied Colton. “What does a certified coach do?”

  “I began in a part-time position at the Nashville Gun Club years ago and had been promoted to a full-time instructor in the five stand competition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Five stand is a cross between skeet, trap, and clay targeting. It’s the closest thing there is to a video game in sporting gun competitions. Targets are flying in all directions, at various speeds, and in unpredictable combinations.”

  “Sounds like you need great reflexes and concentration for that,” said Colton.

  “Exactly,” started Faber. “It’s not unlike what we might experience today.”

  “We?”

  “Of course,” replied Faber. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Now, let’s pick a weapon for you. I see you have a nine-millimeter Taurus tucked away there. Do you have spare magazines?”

  “No.”

  Faber walked toward the end of the tables arranged in the Brileys’ living room and fumbled through a pile of empty magazines. She reached out her hand to Colton.

  “May I?”

  Colton pulled the gun out and handed it to her. Within seconds, she’d dropped the magazine and racked the slide to clear the weapon. It was effortless.

  Several residents began to arrive and helped themselves to the coffee. Colton noticed the difference in their attitudes immediately. A simple gesture of kindness lifted their spirits. The room began to fill with chatter.

  “I found three more mags for you,” said Faber. “Also, here are a hundred rounds of nine millimeter. I have an idea for your complimentary weapon.”

  Colton followed her down the row of tables as a crowd began to gather around. She led him to a rifle that was not that much different in design from the AR-15s.

  “The gentlemen who owned this collection had good taste in weaponry,” started Faber. “Not everyone has one of these.” She handed the folded-up rifle to Colton.

  “It seems compact.”

  “It folds up to a tight sixteen inches for easy storage,” said Faber. “The barrel unfolds and snaps in place, and the stock is adjustable for your particular use and comfort. Go ahead, get her ready.”

  Colton snapped everything into place and loved the slim, lightweight feel of the four-pound carbine. She handed him three more magazines.

  “This is the Kel-Tec Sub 2000 chambered in nine millimeter,” said Faber. “Both of your weapons use the same round, which will help you in a battle situation. Get your spare magazines loaded while I get these other guys outfitted.”

  “Thank you,” said Colton. He was impressed with her knowledge and straightforward approach to gun selection. He was anxious to go through her crash course on gun handling.

  It was after 7:00 a.m. when the entire HPA contingent had arrived and was assigned weapons. Colton counted twenty-one men and two women, plus himself. In addition to Faber, Gene Andrew’s wife, Kayla, was present. This concerned Colton somewhat. If she knew of Gene’s whereabouts the night he was shot, then she would blame Colton for her husband’s death. Colton made a mental note to watch out for friendly fire.

  “Okay, everyone, let’s get started,” said Faber. “Gather around. First, by a show of hands, how many of you have been through an NRA firearms training course?”

  No one.

  “Well, let me ask this. How many of you have used a firearm before?”

  Three hands were raised, but Colton abstained.

  Just wonderful.

  “Then we’ve got some work to do.” Faber laughed. Colton was glad she thought it was funny. He was pleased that all of the HPA army seemed to be focused and intent on learning. He needed this training as well.

  Faber started the ten-minute course. “First, always point the gun in a safe direction. This is the primary rule of gun safety. If your weapon is drawn and ready, keep it pointed at the ground in front of you. Just remember, common sense will dictate the safest direction based on the circumstances.

  “Second, always keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire the weapon. Hold your index finger straight out like this. And rest it on the trigger guard. Again, very important, do not touch the trigger until you are ready to fire.

  “Third, be absolutely sure you’ve identified your target beyond any doubt. Also, be aware of everything that is downrange of your target, which includes your friends. Depending upon the circumstances today, you may catch your adversaries in a cross fire. This will give you the upper hand, but it could also be dangerous. Always think first, shoot second.

  “Fourth, the proper stance should have your feet shoulder-width apart, like this, with your left foot forward, if you’re right-handed. The opposite applies if your left hand is dominant. Don’t lock your knees and make sure you are properly balanced. Let me summarize. Two hands, feet shoulder-width, one foot forward, knees bent, seek balance.

  “Fifth, once the decision to shoot is made, obtain your target in your sights and steady the gun with your other hand. Make sure the gun is level by aligning the top of the rear sight with the top of the front post. Some of you have optics on your rifles, so your job will be much easier.

  “Okay, last step. It’s time to shoot. Control your breathing and relax. This will be hard for all of you to do in the midst of a confrontation. Gently squeeze the trigger and the gun will fire. Some of you will experience more recoil than others, so be sure to reacquire your target before you shoot again. The tendency will be to empty your magazine, hoping for the best. You’re not trained in switching magazines and your ammo levels are low. You need to discipline yourself and strive for quality, not quantity. Above all, breathe and relax throughout the process.”

  Faber replaced her sidearm in
a shoulder holster and slung the AR-15 over her shoulder. She nodded to Colton, indicating she was finished. Colton knew this group should have practiced together like he’d done with Madison and Alex. Even the dry-fire practice sessions would’ve helped, but there wasn’t time. They needed to get in position and discuss strategy. But first, he needed to get them mentally ready. Like Faber, Colton slung his new rifle over his shoulder.

  “In a perfect world, we’d have attended an NRA class and learned these basic firearm rules without the pressure of what we’re going to face later. Today, you’ll learn there are no training courses to teach you how to take another man’s life. Just remember. Self-defense is not just the point where murder ends and defense of your life begins. It’s also a state of mind that begins with the belief that your life is worth defending.”

  The nearly two dozen faces stared back at Colton and nodded. They were scared, just like he was. But the looks of determination told Colton they were ready to survive.

  Chapter 33

  DAY TWELVE

  Noon, September 20

  Sunnybrook Drive

  Belle Meade, Tennessee

  Colton broke up the two dozen members of the HPA squad into twelve groups of two. He paired himself with Wren. Faber was paired with Mrs. Andrews. Hopefully, she would prevent Mrs. Andrews from shooting Colton in the back.

  The COBRA gang was unpredictable. Because of their proximity to the neighborhood and their consistent southern trajectory, the ability to observe their routine was not available. Colton had to space the twelve teams according to his prediction of their next move, with the help of a suggested route.

  Sunnybrook Drive was the next logical stop for the COBRA marauders. Their other option was to come directly down Lynnwood, which would’ve put them at the front door of the HPA meeting house—with the next stop, Harding Place.

  Colton intended to steer the thugs east onto Sunnybrook. There were only a few homes on a fairly short stretch before the road took a sharp right turn toward the south. Faber took three teams to the north side of Sunnybrook to alert the residents to remain in their homes or wait at the HPA meeting house until the conclusion—whatever that looked like.

  Two teams were then sent to the Lynnwood intersection and just below the ninety-degree turn on Sunnybrook. Their jobs were simple. Block the road with any vehicle available. The four members of these teams were able to place cars into neutral and roll them into the middle of the street to resemble an accident or that they’d stalled. Doors were left open, and hoods were raised, leaving the illusion that this was a natural result of the solar flare rather than something staged. To add effect, the teams siphoned antifreeze onto the street. The goal was to force the COBRA vehicles onto Sunnybrook, where they would be surrounded by the HPA neighbors.

  Everyone went about their business diligently. Colton positioned himself in the center of activity. Most of the homes were vacant, and a few residents left for the safety of the HPA meeting house. One couple on the south side of Sunnybrook was armed and joined the fight.

  The homes on Sunnybrook were set back from the road roughly two hundred feet or more. All of the lawns were cleared except for a few dozen mature oaks. There was little cover for the HPA to use when the moment for action came. They would have to hide around the homes and then use the cover of the massive oak tree trunks to advance toward the road. The whole setup was conducive to the neighbors firing wildly without discipline.

  The alternative was not much better. If the COBRA thugs concentrated their efforts on one home at a time, which was their apparent method of operation, the two-man team assigned to that home would be easily overrun. By necessity, COBRA would have to be engaged out in the open. They wouldn’t be able to use their vehicles for protective cover—the cross fire Colton created would take care of that. The lack of experienced shooters, including himself, was the HPA’s greatest weakness.

  Many of these details, and the unforeseen scenarios, had run through Colton’s mind as he tossed and turned last night, getting very little sleep. But the one important issue left unresolved was who would take the first shot. In Colton’s mind, COBRA was the aggressor. They’d proven themselves to be nothing but a loosely organized group of criminals and thugs with a heinous agenda—steal and kill.

  He’d prayed about it with Madison. He asked God to give him the strength to take another man’s life—for the second time. The unresolved issue for Colton was whether taking the first shot today was self-defense or murder. Early this morning, he surmised he’d know when the time came. The sound of the big diesel engine in the M35 signaled the time was now.

  Colton and Wren crouched behind a block and brick wall surrounding the front porch of a ranch-style house, which was slightly elevated above the street. The wall gave Colton some cover and the peace of mind that he would be protected from return fire if it came to that. As the M35 came to a stop in front of his location, he instantly became aware that he would experience more return fire than that night in his backyard.

  As the motor of the big military truck was shut off, the engines of the trailing Cadillac and Buick followed suit. At least two dozen men jumped out of the vehicles, dressed in black cargo pants and tight black tee shirts. Some wore berets and a few wore green, black, and red-striped armbands. Their dark sunglasses and rifles completed a menacing, fear-inspiring look. If their intention was to frighten people into submission, then mission accomplished. Except, not today, thought Colton.

  A large man rose up from the back of the truck bed. His bald head stood out among the others, who all wore some type of hat. He was wearing a tactical vest that included a sidearm. A bandolier of shotgun shells crossed his chest. Colton immediately conjured up an image of a Somalian warlord from the Captain Phillips movie. Except this man was far more threatening.

  He lifted a megaphone and began to speak into it.

  “My name is Viper Rex, and these gentlemen are members of COBRA.” The men dispersed around the vehicles all nodded their heads.

  “We are not here to cause you any harm. We come in peace!”

  All of the men started to laugh and raised their weapons into the air.

  “My message is a simple one. Do not resist, or you will die. This is our time now. You owe us!” As if on cue, the men raised their weapons and began to scan the trees and homes with their sights. Colton immediately looked to make sure his people were well hidden. Either they were, or they’d run off. He hoped it was the former.

  “You will have five minutes to leave your homes and stand in the middle of the street. You will not be harmed unless you resist.” Colton knew he was lying based upon his observations from yesterday. Only the naïve would believe a criminal like this.

  Colton leaned over to Wren and whispered, “You’re a political scientist, what does he mean by you owe us?”

  “COBRA is the acronym for the Coalition of Blacks for Reparations in America. It was founded about the time the New Black Panther Party was organized in the eighties. Outwardly, the two organizations claim there is no legal relationship, but they appear to be part of a black nationalist movement seeking reparations for African descendants residing in the United States.”

  “Reparations for what?” asked Colton as he kept an eye on Viper Rex.

  “Slavery,” replied Wren.

  The megaphone came to life with a blare of its horn. “Time’s up, white people. We are here for an apology that is long overdue. If you are unwilling to face us and issue a proper apology, then we will seek atonement from you. Today, we will take a small step toward squaring things for our African brothers!”

  Some of the men began shouting and now, for added terroristic effect, included firing their weapons into the air. Wren and Colton immediately ducked behind the protective wall. Colton was frightened, but they had no choice. They had to fight.

  These people were no different from ideological terrorists like ISIS or the KKK. They were inherently racist and were using the horrific acts of slavery from one hundre
d fifty years ago to justify their criminal activities of today.

  Colton had always wondered why this country couldn’t become color blind. Why must things be couched in terms of race? First black this. Only white that. He’d hoped this catastrophic event might reset that attitude in America. Obviously, he was wrong. Perhaps it was human nature for humans to default into their comfort zones and seek out like-minded individuals in a time of crisis. He doubted that was the case with Viper Rex and his gang of thugs. They were nothing but killers and thieves looking to take advantage of people’s weakened state courtesy of a solar flare.

  Without giving it further thought, Colton rose up over the wall, fired, and immediately killed his first COBRA. His blood was red, just like Colton’s.

  Chapter 34

  DAY TWELVE

  Noon, September 20

  Sunnybrook Drive

  Belle Meade, Tennessee

  Faber knew that, unlike the movies, people didn’t stand out in the open and calmly fire at their enemy. When a person was being shot at, his primary concern was not to die. This was a basic survival instinct held by all human beings who were not suicidal maniacs. It took a real fool or tough guy to ignore bullets flying around their body while trying to return fire.

  In the case of COBRA, there were no other options but to stand and fight. Sometimes, a hero was a coward that had been driven into a corner. COBRA was surrounded. To their credit, it took a great deal of bravery not to cower under their vehicles and beg for mercy. To their detriment, it was foolish to rely solely on the bravado of Viper Rex and not contemplate that someone might fight back at some point.

  Bullets flew in all directions, mostly missing their mark. Going to the range and shooting a firearm in a non-stressed, relaxed atmosphere was far different than an engaged firefight. At the range, you had plenty of time to aim at the target, with a normal heart rate, relaxed mind, and ample time to steady your weapon.