On top of all of this, he couldn’t imagine that the military would home in on this particular neighborhood in the middle of Chicago. There were hundreds of other neighborhoods that were probably worse than this one, and he doubted that there was military personnel in each one.
It seemed irrational, and it sounded completely paranoid. But what had happened to him was not a dream. Blackleaf had really said that they were almost on to him, and that they were going to find him. He had learned about the attack and then the attack happened. He hadn’t been able to tell anybody about it.
Whatever the case, Sam had stayed on his devices too long and the Horsemen had narrowed in on him even through his VPNs and other protections he had set into place. He had completely given himself away when he said he wanted to meet in Chicago because it seemed like a neutral place. Blackleaf, or whoever was monitoring the communication, probably saw right through Sam’s attempts.
They probably had a profile on Sam, too—a twenty-year-old who wouldn’t have enough money to drop everything and travel to the middle of the country.
None of it mattered, however, if he didn’t get past the blockade. He held his jacket tight to his chest and considered wearing his backpack on his chest to keep it close to him and safe. But he decided to keep it on his back so he didn’t look abnormal.
He pulled his hood up and tried to keep his head low. He decided to move south because he hadn’t heard any loudspeakers in that direction yet. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be soldiers, but it could mean there was an opening. And if there was an opening, then he didn’t have much time before it closed. If it closed, he was just going to have to hide like a rat. They would search every nook and cranny of the neighborhood, and they would eventually give up if they couldn’t find him, but he had to think about his health. He had to eat. He had to drink. He had to use the bathroom. They knew he had to come out at some point. They also knew that his window was small and that he had to escape soon or he would be caught.
Sam turned down an alley then onto another street and made a left. He immediately came face-to-face with a group of soldiers who pointed their rifles ahead.
“Get down! Get down! Get down!”
Sam stared at them for only a second before turning on his heels and sprinting in the opposite direction. He cut down a different alley, then made another left and saw another group of soldiers. He turned and dashed across the street and he soon realized he was simply running deeper and deeper into the neighborhood. This was exactly what the Horseman wanted. They had closed in on him, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He looked up the street and saw the hospital a couple of blocks away, but he didn’t think he would be able to get to it before he ran into more soldiers. The hospital would be the perfect place to hide with so much chaos and people running around. He looked around and realized he had lost the soldiers for now, but it was only a matter of time before they saw him. He felt stupid for leaving his apartment, but his gut told him he had no other choice.
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. There was a large piece of wood next to his feet in the alley. Rioters were screaming and yelling about the oppression of the government. They were looking for trouble. And they had amassed a decent-sized crowd. He saw about twenty of them working themselves into a frenzy. In the distance, he could see soldiers moving slowly down the street. They were probably looking to disperse the crowd or at least check them to see if any of them were Sam. If they had figured out who he was, it wouldn’t be impossible for them to have come up with a picture of him.
Sam bent down and picked up the piece of wood. Then he walked out onto the street and picked the storefront closest to the group. As one of the ringleaders was beginning to shout something else, Sam reared back and smashed the front window of the shop. That was all the hyped-up crowd needed. After that, each of them picked up whatever they could and started smashing things into glass storefronts. Then they started jumping into the stores. Within seconds, twenty more people had joined the crowd to partake in the looting.
That was just enough distraction. The soldiers who had been chasing Sam lost sight of him as he ducked his head down and slipped into another alley. He wasn’t going to find a way out of the neighborhood yet, but he could at least lie low. Maybe, just maybe, he would be able to get into the hospital and hide there.
Chapter Eighteen
Sam was sitting at his computer for less than a minute before he heard Scott’s voice ring out from the floor below. He didn’t know Scott was coming home or he might have taken his computer someplace else. He usually tried to avoid Scott, but most of the time that was impossible. He certainly didn’t like putting himself in a position where he was at home alone with Scott.
“Sam!”
It didn’t sound like Scott’s growling voice. Instead, it sounded more like his, “you should have done something but didn’t” voice.
Sam considered not answering him, but that would only make Scott angrier. Making him angrier only lead to violent encounters. Beatings weren’t uncommon, and Sam had a couple of scars from the man.
Sam sighed and shut his laptop. He made his way down the stairs and found Scott in the living room, holding a beer and looking at him with half-open eyes.
“I want you to help me with something in the garage,” Scott said.
Sam didn’t say anything; he stayed at the top of the stairs and folded his arms over his chest.
“It’s the car,” Scott said. “I want you to help me work on it. Your mother says we need to spend more time together.”
Sam couldn’t think of anything he would rather do less.
“I’m not interested in learning how to build a car,” Sam said.
“Well, your mother wants us to spend time together, and that’s what I’m about to do, so get down here.”
Sam didn’t budge.
“Why don’t you come up here and I’ll teach you how to use computers?” It was an empty offer, and one that Sam almost said to make himself laugh. The thought of Scott learning how to do anything on the computer was ridiculous in its own right. Scott knew one electronic, and that was the television remote. Even then, if he hit the wrong button, Sam would have to figure out what he did wrong.
“Don’t get smart with me, kid,” Scott said. “Just get your butt down here. I wanna show you something.”
Sam sighed again and slowly made his way down the stairs. Scott got up from the couch and met Sam at the bottom of the stairs. He grabbed Sam by the shoulders, which Sam figured was meant to be some kind of an affectionate gesture—a good ol’ boy shoulder massage that sent a shockwave into his muscles.
It was less of an affectionate gesture than it was a display of dominance. Sam had come away with bruises from these friendly shoulder grabs.
Scott pushed him toward the garage and then followed closely behind. When Sam opened the door, he saw a half-finished Mustang with the engine fully exposed. The only reason Sam knew it was a 71 Mustang was because Scott had talked about it constantly.
There were a handful of beer cans scattered over the driveway that hadn’t been there yesterday or this morning.
Sam would be surprised if Scott could hold a screwdriver straight. No wonder he wanted him in the garage. He wanted Sam to do the work while he told him what to do because Scott was probably seeing double.
“Today we’re gonna talk about engines,” Scott said.
If Scott were a halfway decent individual, Sam wouldn’t mind talking to him about engines, but as it stood, Sam hated just about everything Scott had to say.
“Do you know how much horsepower this thing has?”
“Three,” Sam said.
Scott’s eyes narrowed. “You think you’re cute, don’t you?”
“I consider myself handsome,” Sam said with a snicker.
“No, you think you’re cute. I don’t know how your mother puts up with you. She always talks about what she sees in you and your stupid brother. I don’t see it.”
>
These kinds of insults didn’t bother Sam. He felt the same way if not worse about Scott, so knowing that the feeling was mutual gave Sam some relief. Relief in the fact that his hatred of Scott was justified.
The man was a complete douche bag with no redeeming qualities. The only thing problematic about this fact was that his mother had married the guy. And on top of that, she seemed to actually love him. It wasn’t one of those relationships where she only married for money and never treated him with respect. At least, that was what she told Sam and Henry. They fought. Sometimes they screamed at each other. Scott had hit her a couple of times, which had sent Henry into the room wailing on him. Sam just wondered when Scott would go too far and do something irreparable. Henry had already considered Scott to be beyond forgiveness. Scott had long overstayed his welcome.
“You know I imagine you’re the reason your daddy up and left,” Scott said with a grin.
A fire lit within Sam, erupting into a teeth-clenching rage. His hands balled into fists, and his arm started to shake. Scott knew what buttons to push. He had done it before, and it sent Sam running away in tears, but he didn’t feel like crying this time. This time he wanted to murder the man.
Their dad, their real dad, meant everything to Sam. And for someone like Scott to come in and even speak about him much less blame Sam for him leaving was too much.
Scott took a step closer to Sam and chugged the rest of his beer, then he tossed the can to the side. He burped and the air washed over Sam’s face.
“You want to hit me, don’t you?”
“No, that’s not what I want to do.”
Scott chuckled. “Oh, I get it. Do you want to kill me?”
Sam didn’t say anything, but he was sure the truth was etched all over his face. He could feel his cheeks burning red and the pressure in his veins building.
“If you did that, then you would go to prison, you know that?” Scott said. “Probably become cellmates with your daddy somewhere.”
Sam reached down for a wrench next to the car and swung it at Scott. Despite the man’s drunkenness, he was quick and dodged the swing. As the wrench soared over Scott’s head, Scott charged forward and tackled Sam to the ground. Scott reared back and punched Sam in the face twice, and Sam felt his nose crunch, then his mouth filled with blood.
“Do you think you can beat me?” Scott spat. “Do you really think you could beat me in a fight?” He slapped Sam across the cheek, then he slapped him with the back of his hand on the other cheek. “You are nothing. You are weak. You’re barely more than a little boy.” Scott shook his head at him then he spat on the ground next to Sam’s head. “I want you to clean up the blood off the floor before your mother gets home. And if she says anything, I want you to tell her that you got in a fight at school.”
“She won’t believe that,” Sam said.
“I don’t care what she believes,” Scott said. He stood over Sam and nudged him with his foot. “Get up. Clean up.”
Sam did what he was told, though he could hardly unclench his fists. He wouldn’t take much more abuse. How could his mother allow such a man in their home?
But Sam wasn’t going to live with this much longer.
Chapter Nineteen
Bill, the mechanic, had another vehicle ready by the time the prison party had their bags packed with food and water. They were only going five miles away, so if the worst-case scenario happened and they lost their vehicle, they would have to walk five miles back.
No, Gwen thought, worst-case scenario is that we all die.
The four of them—Gwen, Alex, Bryson, and Trent—all stood in the mechanic’s shop. Their vehicle was a four-door truck with a large bed in the back—a place for them to load up on food and ammunition. None of them, even Alex, were sure what they would run into once they reached the prison. They might even find that it had already been ransacked, but it was a risk they were willing to take. Like Alex had said, this was something they needed to do. Something that could hold them over until they figured out a more permanent solution. With the winter months quickly approaching, it wasn’t as though they could just start farming in hopes that they would have enough food for the entire community. They would have to rely on what they could scavenge. They would also be relying on hunters and fishermen. There were a handful of lakes and ponds in their area, and there were plenty of people who knew how to ice fish.
None of that helped them with the medical situation, however. There was a doctor in the community and a couple of pharmacists, but there were people who were already getting very sick because they were short on medicine. The pharmacy in town had already doled out whatever medicine that was needed in order to sustain the people who needed it the most, but it wasn’t like they were getting any shipments in soon. Finding medicine in the prison was a stretch, Alex had told them. But they had to try.
Considering the prison was larger than Hope, they knew they would be able to find several medicines they needed, but they were unlikely to find everything the townspeople would require in the coming days. No matter the case, if this power outage was going to be long-term, some people in Hope were going to die—probably within a matter of months. That’s why they were going. They had to delay these deaths as long as possible.
Someone had mentioned moving the entire community to the prison itself. There they could lock themselves in. They would have large food storage and facilities, and places to stay for everyone, all within the safety of secured walls and gates. The idea was quickly dismissed for the simple fact that none of them knew what kind of situation they were actually in. The power had been out for two days, but word had already gotten around of the rumor of an EMP attack. The power outage was certainly unusual. It would be one thing if the lights had gone out and they couldn’t turn on anything in their homes. But it was another thing to not even be able to turn on battery-powered devices. They also couldn’t turn on their cars, but when they looked closely at their electronic devices they would see fried circuits.
Gwen got into the back seat of the truck and shut the door. She had a pistol in a holster on her belt that her father had given her and a couple of extra magazines of ammunition in her bag, too. She hoped she didn’t have to use the gun. She had already killed two people and had slept fitfully the last two nights thinking about it. The first killing had been gruesome, but it truly was self-defense. The man was going to take what he wanted from her, and she had lured him in so she could kill him.
She couldn’t technically claim the second kill. She had shot Savage through the stomach, but her dad had finished the job. Savage was going to kill her, there had been no question of that.
Still, the thought of killing anyone, no matter the reason, made Gwen feel sick. She figured she would have to do the same thing again one day, especially if this situation was going to be long-term. A world like this didn’t live peacefully.
The world that had been so connected in so many ways. Conversations were typed out by thumbs. Meetings with other countries were made on a screen. Now, all of a sudden, people had to be face-to-face with each other, coupled with the desperation for food and other necessities. It was a recipe for disaster. In one night they had been flung two centuries into the past. The only problem was 200 years ago, people knew how to live this way. Now people had become too used to the comforts of modern society.
The backseat door opened, and Trent got into the seat next to her. Alex took the wheel, and Bryson at in the passenger seat. She looked at Trent, who rolled down the window to let his rifle stick out the side, his finger resting near the trigger. Trent seemed more prepared for all this than the rest of them. She didn’t know much about him, but he seemed a little off. She had seen him at the store or at a restaurant every now and then. He was always alone. He was a hunter and lived in a small house outside of town where he often had deer carcasses hanging in his yard just before he dressed them and then cut them up for processing.
Normally, Gwen wouldn’t have considered him strange but
for the way he communicated with people. When he spoke, he didn’t look you in the eye and his eyes seemed to shift back and forth from left to right. The fingers on his left hand would move as though he were tapping them on a desk. She couldn’t tell whether or not he was the kind of person you would want on a trip like this. Looking at how he mounted his rifle through the back window for a five-mile trip, it certainly seemed like he wasn’t taking any chances.
“Do you expect us to run into trouble along the way?” Gwen asked.
Trent looked at her and then immediately looked away. “I fully expect for us to be attacked on the way, and when we get there, and while we are there, and on our way out.” He swallowed, then said, “If you don’t expect these kinds of things, then you are taken off guard. Then you’re dead. And I don’t want to be dead.”
Gwen rolled her eyes. A simple “it’s nice to be prepared” would have sufficed.
Gwen wondered why Trent wanted to go on the trip to the prison with them. It wasn’t as though he seemed to care about this community. He was an outsider. He was the kind of person that, if you saw him at the grocery store and your eyes met, you looked away quickly as though you hadn’t seen each other.
As they rolled away from the town of Hope, Gwen watched the trees rush past. It felt strange to be leaving. So much had happened in the last couple of days, and to be in a moving vehicle after no electricity whatsoever, seemed odd. It was such a short time, yet it felt like forever ago since their encounter with the prisoners. It felt even more surreal to be going to the prison that housed the people who had just tried to take over her town.
Fallen Earth | Book 2 | Aftermath Page 9
