When The Grid Went Down

by Nick Randall

  “Yeah,” said Randall.

  “Well, alright Jack, where you are headed?” Gale asked.

  Randall shrugged. “Wherever there’s food.”

  “You hungry?”

  “Yeah, haven’t eaten anything for over twenty four hours.”

  Randall felt a nauseous sickness in his stomach when he thought of the piece of chewed up and muddy meat that Joe had forced him to eat.

  “Who are you with?” Gale continued his interrogation.

  “I’m alone.”

  “Really? I find that hard to believe. Otherwise why would you still be alive?”

  “The group I was with, they’re all dead.”

  “How did they die?”

  Randall took a breath before responding, wanting his story to sound convincing. “Disease. One guy caught it and died within twenty four hours. The rest all got infected soon afterward. I got out of our camp as quickly as I could so I wouldn’t get it.”

  “What kind of disease was it?”

  “Not sure, I’m no expert. But it was pretty bad. They started coughing and vomiting. Then they’re vomit turned to blood. I’ve never seen people so miserable in my life. Catching it was the last thing I wanted, so like I said I got out of there.”

  “And now you’re looking for food?” Gale rubbed his chin, analyzing Randall’s responses.

  “Yeah, if you have anything that would be great.”

  Gale nodded to one of the men and he tossed Randall a protein bar.

  Randall quickly unwrapped it and gobbled it down in just a couple of bites.

  “Thank you so much,” said Randall with his mouth full. “You have no idea how much this means.”

  “No problem,” Gale responded.

  “So, who are you guys?” Randall asked, even though he had a pretty good guess of who they were. “And what are you all doing?”

  “I’m not sure you’re in the position to be asking questions,” Gale said.

  “Hey, there’s safety in numbers, right?” Randall replied. “You guys got a larger group I can join?”

  Gale took a few seconds before answering.

  “We’re with the Compound, you hear of it?”

  “Yeah, I know all about it. Survivalist community, right?”

  “That’s right. We’re looking for some people.”

  Randall’s heart stopped again. There could be no question about the people they were looking for: him and his family.

  “What people?”

  “The people who killed my brother, and a lot more of us.”

  Randall was steadily realizing that a lot had transpired in his absence. Now he just had to find a way to learn more information without seeming too inquisitive.

  “Well, I haven’t seen anybody, so I’m afraid I can’t help you there. But if you guys need any help, I’m more than willing to lend you my services for food and water.”

  “Alright, my dad will have to determine that,” said Gale. “You got a gun on you?”

  “Yeah, nine-millimeter,” Randall responded, knowing that they were going to search him anyway so there was no use trying to deny it.

  “We’ll take it for now,” said Gale. “Then you can come with us and my dad will decide what to do with you.”

  Chapter Seven

  Randall sat in the back seat of the Bronco as Gale drove up the dirt road heading north.

  He didn’t ask any questions about where they were going, but Randall was very concerned because he could tell they were headed north in the direction of his cabin when the Compound was south of them.

  Randall tried to remain calm as best he could. He was prepared to accept the worst…and he was also prepared for Butler, Gale, and the rest of the Compound to pay for what they had done.

  Just as Randall had feared, Gale pulled the Bronco into the driveway of his family’s cabin.

  Randall was utterly mortified at what he was seeing: the cabin was under complete control of the Compound. A line of around twenty men and women were conducting firing drills under Mitchum’s command in front of a mound of dirt.

  Wounded militia members were being carefully lifted into trucks and SUV’s and being hauled off. Butler himself was sitting on the porch of the cabin overseeing things.

  It was hard for Randall to see his family’s cabin under the Compound’s control. He knew that at least some of his family must be alive, since Gale had said that they were hunting for them.

  But who had been killed? Randall felt his throat tighten at the thought of some of his family being dead. How could have he been so stupid to have turned himself into Joe’s gang? Had he not, would have he been able to help prevent such an attack take place?

  Gale brought the Bronco to a stop and he shut off the engine. Butler rose from his chair on the porch and walked over to greet them.

  Gale, Randall, and the three other men stepped out as well.

  “Find any trace of the Parkers?” Butler asked.

  “None unfortunately,” Gale responded. “We conducted a search in a six mile radius just like you ordered. But we did find this guy.”

  Gale pointed to Randall.

  “Who are you?” Butler asked.

  “My name’s Jack,” said Randall.

  “His group all died of disease, he claimed,” said Gale. “Offered to help us out in exchange for protection and food.”

  “We need all the help we can get,” said Butler, walking up to Randall and extending his hand. “Lewis Butler. I’m the leader of the Compound.”

  Butler gave Randall a firm handshake.

  “So what’s all happened here?” Randall asked. “I’d say you’ve all been in one hell of a fight.”

  “Indeed we were,” said Butler. “You know anything about the Parkers?”

  “Nothing,” Randall said with a shrug. “I don’t even know who they are. But I can help you guys find them if you need me.”

  “That would be much appreciated,” said Butler. “We’ll need every man we can get considering the losses we took.”

  “How many men did you lose exactly?” Randall asked. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Twenty four, no less,” Butler responded after a brief pause. “And with many more wounded.”

  Now it was the moment of truth. Randall gulped as he asked, “and…how many of this Parker family did you kill?”

  “One,” Butler responded.

  Randall took it in. One member of his family had been killed. He had feared that more had been, but one was certainly bad enough.

  Now he only had one question that he knew he couldn’t ask without giving himself away or at least raising suspicions: who had it been.

  “You have a weapon?” Butler asked.

  “He had a pistol,” Gale answered, holding up the Walther.

  “Give it back to him,” Butler ordered, and Gale obeyed.

  With the Walther 9mm returned to his hands, Randall desperately wanted to shoot Butler and then Gale right here and now for what they had done.

  One member of his family was dead, he knew that much, and the rest of them he had no idea where they were.

  “Go over there and find Mitchum,” Butler ordered Randall. “He’ll integrate you into the militia. And find yourself a rifle too. That peashooter there won’t be enough. Gale, come with me into the cabin.”

  Gale followed Butler into the cabin. Randall watched them go before heading over to the firing line where Mitchum was training the militia members how to shoot.

  Randall’s mind raced back and forth. Where were his family? Which one of his family had been killed? How could he find out more information without raising suspicion? Should he sneak away now to find his family? But which direction had they gone?

  Randall finally reached the firing line.

  “Pick your targets carefully!” Mitchum ordered. “Fire!”

  The line of militia members all fired their weapons at the targets on the dirt mound. There was a combination of AR-15s, AK-47s, Mini-14s, Mosin-Nagants, SKSs,
lever action and bolt action rifles, and shotguns.

  “Who the hell are you?” Mitchum asked Randall over the gunfire.

  “I’m the new guy,” Randall said.

  “The new guy?” Mitchum struggled to hear. “Cease firing!”

  The firing line went silent as the militia members quit firing and reloaded their weapons.

  “Yeah, Butler told me to join you,” said Randall. “He also said to give me a rifle, since all I’ve got is a pistol.”

  “Well, alright then, the more the merrier I guess,” shrugged Mitchum. “Step on up to the firing line and we’ll see how good of a shot you are.”

  * * *

  Butler, Gale, and George stood over a map in the dining room of the cabin.

  “Gale conducted a wide search in a six mile radius with no sign of the Parkers,” said Butler.

  “So that must mean they went further north,” said George.

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” said Butler. “Most likely to any one of these three small towns. Garden City I’m thinking is the most likely, since it’s the closest.”

  “Then that’s where we’ll need to go,” said Gale.

  “We’ll hunt them down with the militia first thing tomorrow,” Butler folded his arms. “And once we find them, that will be the end of it once and for all.”

  George picked up a photo album book of the Parker family from a bookshelf and began fanning through it.

  “Based on these photos, I’m thinking there’s ten of them left,” said George. “And a good chunk of them are old or women. So they shouldn’t be too hard to finish off if we can pin them down.”

  “Ten left?” Gale asked. “There should be just nine, since we got one of them already. There was nine who took off in the Hi-Lux.”

  “No, ten,” said George, holding up the photo album.

  “Let me see,” said Gale, snatching the photo album from his brother.

  He looked through it and flipped pages.

  Suddenly, Gale froze.

  “I can’t believe it,” he said.

  “What?” Butler and George asked at the same time.

  “You know that guy, Jack, who we just picked up?”

  “Yeah?” Butler asked.

  Gale set the photo album down and looked up.

  “He’s one of them.”

  Chapter Eight

  Butler stomped over to the window and glared outside at Randall, standing amongst the firing line of militia members as if he had always been one of them.

  “I knew there wasn’t something right about him,” Gale said, coming up behind his father.

  “There was no way you could have known, son,” Butler replied. “But now we got him. One more Parker about to go down.”

  “What do you want to do? Kill him?”

  “Absolutely not. At least not yet. We need him for information.”

  “And leverage,” George piped up in the back of the room.

  “Bring him on in,” Butler folded his arms. “Let’s have a little talk with him.”

  “Why the hell would we do that?” George asked. “The longer he goes without knowing that we know about him, the better.”

  “The longer he goes without supposedly knowing, the more opportunity he has to get away,” Butler responded. “Or worse, cause trouble. Bring him in. We’ll beat what we need out of him the same way we did his brother.”

  * * *

  Randall stood on the firing line among the other militia members. Mitchum had given him a spare AK-47 and two extra loaded magazines, which made him feel at least a little bit safer considering the fact that he was surrounded by hostiles, even if they didn’t know his true identity.

  Mitchum paced behind the firing line like a lion while roaring commands.

  “Pick your targets carefully!”

  Everyone on the firing line raised their weapons, including Randall. In front of them was a dirt mound with spent shotgun shells and paper plates set up as targets.

  “FIRE!”

  The line erupted in gunfire. A hail of bullets struck the mound and the old shells and plates were torn to shreds upon impact.

  Randall fired only five rounds from the AK, enough to get acquainted with the weapon he had little personal experience with while simultaneously not wasting much ammo that he might need later.

  “CEASE FIRE!” Mitchum’s voice boomed over the gunfire.

  A few more shots cracked until the entire line fell silent. Randall instinctively engaged the safety on the AK once the firing had stopped.

  “Good work, ladies and gentleman,” Mitchum nodded with approval. “Much improved.”

  Suddenly, Gale’s voice shouted across the property to end the temporary silence. “Hey Jack!”

  Randall’s heart began to accelerate. He slowly turned around.

  “What’s up?!”

  “Come on inside! Dad wants to talk to you!!”

  Randall stood there, not sure what to do.

  Mitchum turned to Randall. “You heard him.”

  Randall still didn’t move.

  “Are you deaf, boy?” Mitchum asked in disbelief. “He said go on over there. Butler wants to talk to you.”

  Randall knew he had to make a decision right then and there. Questions zoomed through his head: why did Butler want to see him? Had they deduced who he was? Would he be in danger if he went into the cabin? Should he turn and run away as fast and as far as he could?

  Randall knew he couldn’t just stand around and think about what to do much longer, but he also had a very bad gut feeling about what would happen if he walked into that cabin where he would be at Butler’s mercy.

  Based on that feeling, he made a split-second decision.

  He ran.

  * * *

  Gale blinked.

  One moment Randall was standing there at the edge of the firing line indecisively like a dodo bird, and in the next he was bolting for the woods nearby and had disappeared into the tree line.

  “Dammit!” Gale swore and punched the doorway with his fist.

  He took off running towards the firing line.

  “What is it?!” Butler called out from the interior of the cabin.

  “He ran away into the woods!”

  Butler started to follow his son, before turning to see that George was still standing beside the map.

  “Don’t just stand there, son!” Butler vented in frustration.

  George snapped out of whatever train of thought he was in to follow Butler.

  “Hey, get back here!” a heavily confused Mitchum called out after Randall.

  Seeing Gale, Butler, and George running towards the firing line, he jogged over to meet them in the middle.

  “What’s wrong?!” Mitchum asked.

  “Why did you just let him run?!” Gale called out.

  “Who is he?!”

  Gale and Mitchum finally met one another.

  “He’s one of them! He’s one of the Parkers!”

  “You have got to be kidding me! Why the hell didn’t you tell me?!”

  “We literally just found out less than two minutes ago!”

  Butler caught up with them, slowed down by the throbbing pain from the bullet wound in his shoulder and panting heavily as a result.

  “Stop arguing! Split up into three groups! Mitchum and I will lead the first, Gale the second, George the third! Track that bastard down and take him alive!”

  * * *

  Randall darted through the woods, running as fast as he could with his AK in his hands. He could hear Gale, Mitchum, and Butler shouting from the cabin area.

  “He’s one of them! He’s one of the Parkers!” he heard Gale yelling at the top of his lungs.

  “You have got to be kidding me! Why the hell didn’t you tell me?!” he heard Mitchum next.

  The farther Randall ran, the less he could hear the bickering and yelling from the cabin, but soon he did hear Butler yell “split up into three groups” and he immediately picked up the pace.

 
; Without any clear idea of where he was going, Randall had only one objective: to put as much space between him and Butler’s forces as possible. The trees, brush, thickets, and fallen logs of the woods made it so that Randall could not run as fast as he otherwise could have, but he took comfort in knowing that the same would apply to the members of the militia who would be pursuing him if they weren’t already.