After the EMP- The Chaos Trilogy

by Harley Tate

  “I t-told you, I can’t! It…it’s impossible.”

  The boots retreated from Angela’s field of view and she risked a glance in her husband’s direction. Loops of duct tape secured his arms to a chair and bound his legs together. One side of his face swelled with bruises and clotting blood. A tooth dangled at a disgusting angle.

  Angela pleaded with her eyes. Please, John, just tell them you’ll help. Please. He needed to lie. Say anything to keep the fists still and away from her face. A few more kicks and her spleen would rupture or a rib would puncture a lung.

  Her husband shook his head. “The grid is down. Without it, I can’t get the central station online.”

  The head soldier scowled, his pockmarked face contorting in a quiet rage. “That’s not what I’ve been told. It’s a natural gas power station. The gas is still running. There’s a way to do it.”

  “Not without functioning electronics, and the EMP destroyed them all. I’ve told you this a million times. The power station can’t harness the energy from the steam produced unless the electronic components are functioning.”

  “So make them function.”

  “I can’t!” John spat a wad of blood from his mouth and it landed on what used to be a cream carpet. Now blood and dirt and tears streaked the pale fibers in a picture of misery.

  Angela whimpered.

  It was a mistake. The second the little sound squeaked out, the boss man spun around. She cowered, trying in vain to shrink her body down to nothing.

  He walked back over and Angela didn’t dare look his way. Lowering into a crouch, he stopped close enough for her to smell the liquor on his breath. “We’ve been patient, Mr. Clifton. Your poor wife here has been a trouper, but how much more can she take?”

  He nudged her with a finger and Angela shrank back, scrabbling to pull her pajamas down to cover her skin. Don’t touch me, you bastard.

  “At some point, her body’s just going to give out, don’t you think?”

  Angela wondered how long they would keep beating her. At some point, when the fists and boots weren’t enough, would they turn to more drastic measures? Would they all take turns? Eight soldiers hopped up on violence and gore and her broken body as the only release.

  She would never survive. “He’s said he can’t help you. Why won’t you listen?”

  The soldier tilted his head until he could look her in the eye. “Your husband is underestimating his abilities.”

  John shouted at the man. “If I could help you, I would! You think I like being beaten? Or watching you hurt my wife?”

  “You must, otherwise, you’d find a way.” The soldier smiled at her and something inside Angela snapped. She couldn’t lie there and let those men hit and kick her to death. She tried to suck in a breath, but every expansion of her lungs radiated searing pain around her middle.

  Too many broken ribs to breathe.

  She looked up at her husband’s placating face, distorted by another man’s authority. Why wouldn’t he lie or sacrifice himself or try to fight back? Anything but sit there and beg.

  If they didn’t do something, they would die in their own living room. She peered at the soldiers standing guard at the front door and the hallway. While the big guy in charge delivered blow after blow, they just stood there like robots, unseeing, unmoving.

  Did they agree with him? Were they comfortable with this torture? Angela palmed the floor beneath her, digging her fingers into the bloodied carpet. She had to get out. Screw lying there and hoping her husband would come up with a solution.

  Even if he did take them to the power plant, if what he said was true, it would be a fruitless mission. They would kill them both as soon as they realized the truth. Escaping was the only option.

  The front door wasn’t possible. Neither was the back. But the stairs were unguarded. Angela moaned and rolled on the floor until her head pointed toward the stairs.

  Can I get out a second floor window? Would the front porch break my fall?

  A few more broken bones didn’t matter. If she got away, she would still be alive. She relaxed her muscles and let her body fall slack. Eyes closed, mouth half open and drooling.

  The enforcer nudged her with his toe. She rocked like a sack of potatoes.

  “Looks like wifey here gave up. She’s unconscious.” He stepped back. “Johnson, get some water from the kitchen. We need to wake the missus up.”

  As the bastard walked away, Angela inhaled. Adrenaline spiked her blood, accelerated her heart, and gave her courage. She sprang to her feet.

  The stairs were ten steps away. So damn far. She lunged toward them, stumbling and tripping over her own body as she plowed ahead.

  Her fingers wrapped around the railing and she hoisted herself up, ignoring the pain and the fear as she raced for her life.

  Everything behind her devolved to chaos. The guards on the door and hallway shouted. Her husband joined in. The one who beat her barked out orders.

  Angela ignored it all. Thirteen steps, one after the other, up and up and up.

  The landing rose to meet her and she fell against it. Clawing her way back to stand, she staggered down the hall, bumping against the beige walls that she agonized over for six months.

  Oyster or Bisque? Parchment or Pale Plume?

  To think, paint color used to matter.

  She rushed into the closest bedroom with the thunder of boots behind her. The door heaved against her weight. Oh, how she wished it was solid metal with reinforced strike plates instead of the antique wood she insisted on two years before.

  The house had been her pride and joy. The culmination of so many years of planning and hard work.

  Now she would trade all the attention to detail for a shotgun and a box of shells. Angela slammed the door shut and locked it as a pair of fists slammed into it from the other side. No time to waste.

  She backpedaled, falling over the guest bed as boots cracked and splintered the mahogany wood door. Struggling with the window lock, her fingers ached and complained, but she pushed harder, twisting and turning until the stubborn lock popped free.

  Angela tugged on the window pulls. Nothing budged. No! She slammed the frame of the window, shooting pain up her forearms as she beat against the swollen wood. Unstick, damn it!

  The upstairs windows were always a pain. Replacements had been on the list, something she hoped to tackle next year. But she kept putting it off, opting instead for a new carpet or a mailbox. Superficial things that didn’t matter now.

  Angela pounded on the glass, screaming her heart out at the world just beyond her window. Someone, somewhere had to hear her. Someone would help.

  A massive crash brought the door to the bedroom down and bits of wood and drywall pelted her back. She twisted around as two soldiers stormed the room.

  I failed.

  She turned back to the window and led with her shoulder, hoping against all probability to shatter the glass. It reverberated with her might, but didn’t even crack.

  A soldier’s arm wrapped around her waist. She palmed the glass.

  His other hand grabbed her by the hair.

  The last thing she saw was the flutter of a curtain across the street.

  The enforcer from downstairs pressed his nose against her cheek and pulled her back into the bedroom. “I’d so wanted to have some fun, but you’ve forced my hand. I can’t risk an escape.”

  He gripped her face and dug his fingers into her jaw with one hand while he held her shoulder with the other. As he cranked her head savagely to the right, Angela’s world turned black.

  Chapter Thirteen

  COLT

  Harper Residence

  Eugene, Oregon

  6:30 a.m.

  Colt leaned close enough to whisper. “You won’t be any good dead.”

  Melody’s eyes flicked to the left and she sagged in relief. Her chest heaved and he let her go.

  She spun to face Colt. “You scared me half to death.”

  “That was a walk
in the park compared to what’s going on across the street.”

  Her eyes darted back to the neighbor’s window, now motionless and empty but for the curtain. “We have to do something. I saw Angela. She’s all beat up. If they’re holding her hostage or using her to get to John…”

  Melody’s voice grew silent as she brought a hand up to cover her lips. “You don’t think they’re…?” Her voice trailed off, eyes as wide as the front window.

  Colt frowned and glanced at the man standing awkwardly a few feet away. He stuck out his hand. “Lucas, right?”

  Lucas reciprocated. “Yeah. Good to see you, Colt.”

  From the way Lucas barely shook his hand, Colt didn’t think he was too keen on Colt’s presence. Whatever. He wasn’t the issue at the moment. Colt turned back to Melody but was stopped by a paw to his leg. He lowered into a crouch and ruffed up Lottie’s fur. The little thing wiggled and panted and acted like Colt’s awkward scratching was the best thing ever. Dogs.

  He stood up and pointed at the window. “Tell me exactly what you saw.”

  “I was up early and couldn’t go back to sleep so I made myself some coffee.” Melody’s voice trembled, full of bad memories. “I was thinking about Colonel Jarvis and the National Guard and everything that’s happened in the last three weeks. I wasn’t focused on anything outside, just staring aimlessly out the window. That’s probably why I caught it.”

  “What?”

  She jerked her head toward the street. “The light across the street. It looked like a flashlight, searching around. Then Lucas knocked on the door.”

  Colt spun around. “You saw it, too?”

  The other man nodded. “Doug always told me to keep an eye out.”

  Colt raised an eyebrow. “Do you live on the street?”

  “No, over by the college. But I go walking when I can’t sleep.”

  Colt raised an eyebrow. “That hasn’t been a problem with the army?”

  Lucas stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Not yet. After this, I don’t know if I’ll keep it up.”

  Melody interrupted. “After Lucas told me something was happening at the Cliftons’ place, I went back to the window. A soldier appeared in the window and I ducked behind the wall to watch him. A few seconds later, I saw Angela upstairs.” Melody pressed her lips together as if her body didn’t want to give voice to her thoughts. “She looked terrified.”

  Colt exhaled. Melody’s account matched his own. He didn’t know how much to tell her about last night. Glancing at Lucas, he opted to keep the details light. “I left late last night on a reconnaissance mission to scope out the area. I wanted to know how much of a presence Jarvis maintained in the area. I was on the way back when I saw them.”

  “They entered the house this morning?”

  Colt nodded. “Eight soldiers, heavily armed and all on foot. Not a vehicle in sight.”

  Lucas stepped back, eyes wide. “Why would the army do that?”

  “Whatever they’re doing in that house, they don’t want to be seen.” Colt left out the rest of his analysis. Without a vehicle, it also meant the Guard didn’t plan on taking any prisoners.

  Melody shook her head. “But we’ve already seen them. We have to help Angela and John. We can’t leave them in there to be tortured or killed or whatever those barbarians are doing.” Melody bent over and scooped Lottie up into her arms. “They’re our neighbors.”

  Colt understood the desire to help. He’d been in similar situations countless times before. As a SEAL, he spent a lot of time watching and waiting for the right opportunity. Sometimes in the cost-benefit analysis, the costs were heavy. He waited until Melody looked him in the eye. “We can’t go in there, Melody.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s eight of them. Dani and I barely survived a fight against four men and I’m nowhere near one hundred percent. It’s simple math.”

  “But you’ve fought them before and won.”

  “Not like this.” Colt ran his hand through his hair, wincing as pain lanced his wounded bicep. “We’d be exposed. No cover, no backup. We don’t know what they’ve done inside that house to protect themselves. We don’t know how many lookouts they have. Hell, I risked a ton just sneaking into your backyard.”

  “They are good people and they could be killed.”

  Colt’s jaw ticked. “It won’t be the first time.”

  Lucas stood on the edge of the conversation, eyes darting back and forth between Melody and Colt, saying nothing. He didn’t strike Colt as much help. From the flip flops to the worn jeans and the shaggy hair, he screamed soft.

  Weak.

  “What do you think, Lucas?”

  The man ran a hand through his hair and looked around like some other Lucas was standing nearby. “Uh… Me? I don’t know. That’s why I came here. I thought Doug would know what to do.”

  Colt pressed on. “What would you do?”

  Lucas held up his hands. “Against the army? Nothing.”

  Melody opened her mouth in outrage. “How can you say that? How can you both stand there and act like it’s hopeless?”

  “Because it is.” Colt pressed his lips together, trying to come up with a way to make Melody understand. “We have to pick our battles. If we rush into every fight, we’ll never win them all. If you want Jarvis out of Eugene, then we have to lie low on this one.”

  “They are our friends! Angela was beaten, scared out of her mind, she was in the window, practically begging for someone to see her and help. I can’t just leave her there!”

  Colt’s patience frayed. “If you’re so convinced we should go in there, then tell me. What’s your plan? How are you going to actually save them?” His tone harshened despite his attempt to keep it even. “How are you going to actually accomplish what you want?”

  Melody’s stiff back and rigid shoulders sagged inch by inch until she almost dripped onto the floor. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought it out.”

  “Exactly.”

  She rose up a bit. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t the right thing to do!”

  “I’m aware of that.” Colt walked over to the couch and sat down. “But sometimes what’s just is the absolute worst option.”

  “So you’re going to leave them there and do nothing?”

  “You’re damn straight.” He leaned back and propped his wounded leg on the cushion. “I go in there and I’m committing suicide. So are you. All that will happen is Jarvis will have two more prisoners to torture and maim and your friends will still die.”

  Melody paused before she spoke. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Colt.”

  Something in her voice changed and Colt eyed her with suspicion. “Don’t think of playing the hero, Melody. You’ll only get yourself killed.”

  She shook her head, face grim. “Sometimes you have to do what’s right, regardless of the consequences.”

  Shit.

  Colt dragged his sore and damaged body off the couch as Melody spun for the door. He closed the distance between them, his feet pounding the wood floor with every step. As she turned the knob, he grabbed her by the shoulder. “You can’t do this.”

  “Let me go.” She shrugged away from him, but Colt gripped her harder and yanked her back. Melody crashed into him. Her elbow slammed into his bicep and Colt swore. Whipping her around, he took ahold of Melody’s arms, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise.

  “Get some damn sense, woman! You can’t help them!”

  Melody twisted in his grip, struggling to get free. “You’re hurting me! Let me go!”

  “You go over there and those men will hurt you a hell of a lot worse.”

  “Get your hands off my sister.”

  Colt jerked his head toward the voice. Melody’s brother Doug stood at the base of the stairs wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a scowl.

  “No. She’s trying to get herself killed.”

  Doug stepped forward. “Let her go.”

  Colt shook his head. “If I do, she’ll
bolt for the front door and the next time you see your sister, you’ll be scraping her guts off the pavement.”

  Doug hesitated and glanced at his friend.

  Lucas nodded. “Colt’s right. Melody was about to run for the door.”

  “Mel?” Doug turned to his sister.

  “We can’t ignore it!” She tugged against his hands again, but Colt refused to budge.

  Colt steeled himself. “We have to.”

  Her brother stepped forward. “You’re not putting yourself in danger, Melody. Not until we talk about whatever’s going on.”

  “We’re wasting time.”

  Colt turned to Doug. This had to end, now. “Tell your sister that if she doesn’t stop fighting, I’m going to either tie her to a chair or knock her out. Her choice.”

  Lucas looked shocked, but Doug didn’t. He kept most of a smile to himself. “The more I get to know you, the more I like you, Colt.” He turned to his sister. “Colt’s right. We need to talk. Running into something without a plan is how you get yourself killed.” He reached out and pushed her hair away from her face. “Even in a life-or-death situation with a fire, we plan first, Melody.”

  Melody frowned. “Fine. I won’t bolt.”

  Colt loosened his grip. “Promise?”

  She nodded and he let her go.

  Doug motioned toward the back of the house. “How about you all come into the kitchen and tell me what’s going on while I get some coffee? I can’t make a decision without some caffeine.”

  Lucas hung back. “I feel like I’m interrupting. You all can handle this, right?”

  Doug reached for a T-shirt draped over the back of the couch and tugged it on. “You sure? We’ve probably got enough coffee to share.”

  “No, it’s okay. I should probably get back home, anyway.” Lucas managed a tight smile in Colt’s direction. “Good to see you again.”

  Colt lifted his hand, but didn’t reciprocate the smile as Doug escorted Lucas out the back door.

  Lingering in the living room, Colt checked once more for movement in the house across the street. Melody’s insistence on stopping the army got under his skin. He didn’t like it. Feelings weren’t his thing.