“My God…” Peter said as he approached Rob.
Over twenty people lay scattered among the trees, booby traps, and dozens of breached trip wires. But it was just a glimpse of the aftermath. They hadn’t even circled the entire area yet. Peter held a rag to his face as they moved along the damp ground of leaves, pebbles, and round casings. The noxious smell of gunfire was inescapable in the cool air.
Rob was no less shaken. He knew that if they were going to have any chance of rescuing the children, he had to think fast, but he wasn’t sure where they could even start.
Peter regained his footing. Rob kept a hand on his shoulder. With tears in his eyes, Peter took a deep breath and tried to focus. “I don’t understand how something like this is possible. Nyack is a nice town. A nice community. Things like this just don’t happen here.” Peter began babbling and stared off into nothing.
Rob shook him to snap him out of his daze. “Peter. Listen. I think it’s time you headed back. Go see Krystal. Make sure everything’s okay.”
Of the five cabins, all had been raided to some degree, but Peter and Krystal’s had seen the worst of it. An especially determined mob of townspeople had stormed inside and ransacked the place. What they found inside was more important than any stash of supplies: eight children taking refuge in a room, with two women protecting them.
Rob had anticipated trouble from Arthur and his men, ever since their location in the mountains had become known. He and his group had built up their defenses and were prepared for a possible attack. But nothing could have prepared them for an overwhelming number of townspeople charging the camp. Rob had estimated their numbers at close to a hundred against nine—Rob and Mila, Peter and Krystal Dunne, Carlos and Mayra Santos, Brad and Ashlee Atkins, and their seasoned residents Elliot and Reba Perry.
The loss of necessities—power, fuel, food, water, communications, mobility—had totally transformed their quaint hometown. And from what Rob had heard from the semi-weekly emergency radio broadcasts, their circumstances matched those in cities and towns all over the nation. There had to be something to hold onto, some hope of normality on the horizon.
“I’ve got to go find Krystal,” Peter said with his voice trailing off. Rob watched him walk off without saying a word. Everyone was struggling. Not just Peter. It was the most difficult time they had faced since fleeing to their cabins in hopes of finding safety in an increasingly dangerous world.
Rob took the binos dangling from his neck and looked out. In the forest ahead, a deer ran by. He put aside his urge to shoot it and instead just watched. The sharp pain in his chest reminded him that time was of the essence. The shot from Arthur’s .357 cannon during their standoff had sent Rob to the ground, puncturing his bulletproof vest. No real damage, though. Without it, he’d be as dead as all the other unfortunates. Rob believed his survival was a sign to fight with every last bit of strength and heart to save his town and its people.
The camp was split. They had to get their children. That much was clear. The question was how to do it. Rob showed up just in time to see Mila leaving Brad and Ashlee’s cabin with her medical bag in hand. Her eyes were still glazed with shock. She had bruises and smudges on her face. Her long-sleeved shirt, vest, and blue jeans were torn, her black hair a tangle of sweat and dust. But she trudged on. Brad stood close by the door, the essence of vigilance. He kept his rifle close to his chest and a careful eye on anyone approaching.
Carlos and Mayra walked out of their cabin carrying bags and headed to their bug-out station wagon—hidden with the other vehicles under a camouflaged net. Elliot and Reba, a retired couple and oldest of the group, were nowhere to be seen. Peter and Krystal were busy surveying the damage to their cabin. The bodies of the townspeople had been moved outside and covered under blankets, but large red spots seeped through. The sky turned an opaque gray, almost comforting.
“We’re going to get them back,” Rob said to Mila.
She looked at him, weary and tired. “I know that. Ashlee is going to be okay.”
Brad stepped away from the door he’d been guarding and turned to her. His plaid shirt was covered in blood. “What’s her condition?”
Rob put his arm around Mila as she did her best to explain. “She’s resting right now. I don’t see any signs of concussion.”
Brad nodded. “Good.”
“Nothing broken, either. She just needs to take it easy.”
“I’ll see to it,” Brad said. He stopped halfway before entering the cabin and turned to Mila. “What happened in there? How did they get the children?”
Mila took a deep breath as Rob comforted her. “We heard them kick open the front door. We huddled in the corner behind the tables. Ashlee and I squatted down and aimed at the door. There was multiple footsteps coming down the hall like a stampede. I told Ashlee to be ready. Then they busted into the room. We fired. The kids screamed. The rest… is a blur.”
Rob took her hand in his and squeezed. “It’s okay. We understand,” he said.
“I know it’s not easy,” Brad said. “You guys did all you could.” He then looked at Rob. “What are we going to do? Where do we even start?”
“We call a meeting. Get everyone on board.”
Carlos and Mayra hurried with their bags. Their intentions seemed clear. The routine of their daily bug-out life—hunting, gardening, guarding, and preserving—was over. There was a new priority.
“Carlos, wait,” Rob said, running off after him.
Rob caught up and slowed his pace, walking next to them. “What are you guys doing?”
Raising a duffel bag he was carrying, Carlos glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “What’s it look like?”
Rob moved in front of them in an attempt to block their path. “Come on now. We need to stick together. Now more than ever.”
Carlos stopped and tossed the duffel onto the ground.
“Calm down,” Mayra said to him. Her face was red and puffy, covered in dried tears.
Carlos turned to Rob with one finger in the air. “We’re going into town to get our children. Then we’re leaving for good.”
Rob took a step closer, pleading with Carlos. “Do you really think it’s going to be that easy? Arthur is toying with us. Don’t you see that? We have to strategize. It’s the only chance we have of getting them back.”
Carlos crossed his arms and shook his head. “No more. We’re done. I’ll shoot that son of a bitch myself and be done with it.”
Mayra seemed more hesitant to go through with the plan. She set her bags down and approached Carlos with a calm voice. “Rob’s right, honey. We can’t do this alone.”
Carlos bit his lower lip and glanced at them both. His face was flushed with anger. He took a step back and kicked the duffel bag with his thick, black mountain boot. The bag went tumbling down a slope toward the vehicles.
Mayra gripped his arm and pulled him to her. “Stop this nonsense,” she said.
Her touch seemed to do the trick. Carlos simmered down with a look of defeat. “We’re stuck. Our children taken from us, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“Let’s work together. We can help you,” Rob said.
Carlos raised his head. His eyes were red and watery. His shoulders dropped, and the creases in his forehead went away. “What’s the plan?” he asked.
“We get everyone together. Plan and execute just like last time,” Rob said, patting Carlos on the shoulder.
Under the cool, gray sky, the group assembled at their meeting place. Mila sat down next to Brad just as Carlos and Mayra arrived. Peter and Krystal walked up, still visibly shaken, with Elliot and Reba at their side. Rob took his place in front to address them. The despondent faces before him were less encouraging. There was no skirting around the issue at hand. Arthur was holding the cards. They were low on ammo. Their defenses—booby traps and trip wires—had been breached, the cabins ransacked, and the stench of death permeated the camp. They needed a plan.
Rob was certa
in that Arthur was going to move against them fast. “We’re angry and fed up. We’re scared and desperate,” he said. “We want our sons and daughters back, and we want vengeance.”
Carlos held Mayra, who looked close to weeping. Brad and Mila sat huddled together. He put his arm around her and gave her a reassuring squeeze. A tear streamed down her cheek.
Rob paced the small platform and continued. “For the past two months, we’ve been asking the same questions. Who launched the EMP? How long will it take to get the power grids back online? Where are our government officials? Where are the police and military? But right now, the only question we should be asking is how we’re going to rescue the children.”
Peter rose from the bench in a timid manner. “Excuse me, Rob. Before you go any further, I think it would be fair to let you know that Krystal and I are leaving. We care about you guys, but we’re not fighters. It’s not safe here.”
From in front of Peter, Carlos turned slightly. “Mayra and I were planning on doing the same thing. But there has to be another way.”
Brad stood up. “Agreed. My wife is in no condition to go anywhere.”
Carlos jumped in. “We need to take action. Mayra and I can’t spend a single night here with our children out there.”
“Listen,” Rob said in an attempt to redirect the conversation. “This is the plan. The safety of our children depends on how prepared we are to deal with this threat. Arthur wants us to come into town. He’s counting on it. And he’s counting on it because he knows we’re a small group. We’re outnumbered.” He glanced at Mila. Her gray eyes looked fierce with conviction. “Mila and I agree that the best course of action is to find others.”
He let the words sink in as Carlos asked, “Others? Other what?”
“People like us,” Rob answered. “We’re not the only ones staying out of sight. South of Rockland Lake, there’s a town. Small town, just like Nyack. We need to check it out and see if we can find people to help us.”
Carlos shifted in his seat. “Why would they help us?”
“Exactly,” Peter said.
“We trade. We barter. We do what we have to,” Rob said.
“If you really believe it will work, I’m with you,” Carlos said.
Rob took a step back and examined the group, feeling more confident. “Each step will be crucial, from now until we get into town.” He looked around. “But we can do this. They’re counting on us.”
There was no cheering—only apprehensive quiet. However, the group was still seated. No one had left yet, and that was a good sign.
A Proposition
For Josh and the others, complete darkness made captivity even more frightening. The cold cement offered no comfort. Their footsteps and voices echoed in the cramped and foreboding space. Josh felt around and nearly tripped over some mattresses on the floor in the corner of the room.
“Where are you guys?” Gabrielle said. “Who’s all there?”
“Take my hand,” Antonio said, reaching out.
Josh couldn’t see beyond faint shapes, and panic was growing within their claustrophobic surroundings.
Mark called out to his brothers. “Where are you guys? Where’s Allison?”
“Right here,” she said.
Carlos, Gabrielle, and Kelly plopped down next to him on the single mattress. It provided some relief from the hard floor but reeked of mildew and dankness.
He heard Mark, Luke, and Jeremiah make their way to the mattress near him. Then Allison unexpectedly tripped and fell right next to Josh. He caught her before her face hit the ground.
“Oh. Sorry,” she said.
Josh held her for a brief moment. Even with her long-sleeved shirt, she was cold and shaking.
“That’s okay,” Josh said.
“Who is that?” she demanded, moving away.
Josh let her go as she stood up.
“It’s me, Josh.”
“Oh,” she said. “Mind if I sit?”
“Not at all.”
For a moment, everyone just sat with little to say. The realization of being prisoners was just beginning to sink in. The room was stuffy and without any ventilation, and they could hear little from outside.
Frustrated, Antonio spoke up. “So how are we getting out of here? Josh? Anyone?”
“I’m thinking,” Josh said.
“Our parents will come for us,” Mark said.
“You sure about that?” Jeremiah asked.
“Why wouldn’t they?” Luke added.
They were getting nowhere fast. Josh stood up and felt along the cement walls as the group talked over one another.
“What are you doing?” Antonio asked.
“Looking for a way out,” Josh answered.
“Good luck with that,” Mark said.
Josh turned to the group, ready to start using his head. “The mayor says they need us for collateral, but that may change.”
Kelly gasped. “Why would they hurt us? We’re only kids.”
“Because they’re bad people,” Josh answered. “We need to escape as soon as we can.”
“What’s the grand plan?” Antonio asked.
“You still have your knife, right?” Josh asked.
“Yeah,” Antonio said. “And they have rifles. What’s your point?”
The locks clicked, and the door creaked open. Josh froze and went silent. No one said a thing. A large bearded man with an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder entered the room holding a kerosene lamp.
“What’s all this chatter in here? You kids plottin’?” He spoke in a scraggly voice as he held the light out, illuminating the room.
Josh inched back toward the bed. He could see the cracked, stained walls and barren floors. He saw Antonio reach into his pocket and touched his shoulder.
“Not now,” he whispered.
The guard took notice and approached, zeroing in on Josh. “You say something there, partner?”
Kelly spoke up, albeit in a naïve way. “Please, sir. We don’t belong here. We didn’t do anything wrong… Can you let us go?”
The man threw his head back and laughed. They could smell booze on his breath as he inched closer. “Little lady, it’s not up to me. That would be the mayor’s call. He asked me to leave this lamp being how kids are scared of the dark and everything.” He bent down and placed it inches from Josh’s sneakers.
Antonio pulled out his knife as the guard rose back up, grunting from the effort.
Josh grabbed his arm.
“What?” Antonio whispered.
“Not now!” Josh said with clinched teeth.
“Goodnight, you little shits,” the guard said, stretching. He walked to the door, laughing under his breath.
“I need to use the bathroom!” Gabrielle said.
The guard stopped with his back turned. “I’ll grab you a bucket.” He said no more as he left, slamming the metal door shut and locking it.
Antonio yanked his arm away from Josh. “What’s your problem, man? That was our chance!”
“No,” Josh said. “You could get us all killed going at him like that.”
Antonio stared ahead and said nothing as he folded the knife and put it back in his pocket.
“We’ll think of something soon. Trust me,” Josh said.
Their eyes drifted down to the kerosene lamp, watching it flicker, with nothing left to do but wait.
***
Reverend Phelps’s faith had never been stronger. Even though he and the remaining members of his parish had been captured walking through town as “intruders” and placed in captivity for the past two weeks, he looked to divine power for guidance. The mayor had taken keen interest in him since day one. When first captured, the congregants were taken into a warehouse, lined up against a wall, and shot at. It was a traumatic experience—a sadistic game—but no one was hit. It was meant to send the fear of God to them. The town needed people, prisoners or not.
At first, Phelps believed spiritual intervention had saved the
m. But the mayor had no intention of killing them. In the time he had been held in confinement, Phelps had only seen his parish of seven one time. Harvey and Beatrice Wilson, an old-fashioned couple in their fifties, were locked up in one room, while Zach and Erin Brantley were locked up in another with their two young children, Tyler and Sloane. He friend, Dale Ripken, a Long Island landscaper, had been placed on the wall and forced to work.
Arthur, the mayor, had a sizeable team working to construct a cement wall around the entire town. For something so ludicrous, Phelps was surprised to see how close the mayor was getting. He woke up that morning with a single ray of light from a small window high above. In his constant confinement, he had begun to lose track of the days. He stopped to work it out in his head. It was Wednesday, November 23: seventy-three days after the EMP.
Absent his Bible, he prepared his own lesson and prayers for the day. Breakfast would come soon—usually gathered bits from MRE packages with portions getting smaller each day. He took a swig of a nearly empty water bottle and stretched.
A knock came at his door. No one had bothered to knock before, and Phelps didn’t know what to say, if anything. He rubbed the stubble on his face, where a large bruise was still visible. The pistol-whipping he had received upon meeting the mayor was still vivid in his mind. The doorknob unlocked as the door opened, revealing the mayor himself. His had a haircut and a fresh shave. He wore a crisp white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and ironed black slacks. He held a pair of tan boots and dropped them on the ground.
Phelps’s dirty and tattered appearance was quite the contrast. He was barefoot and wearing the torn long-sleeved shirt and jeans he’d had on the day of his capture.
“You know, Rev, you really look like shit,” Arthur pointed out.
Phelps looked away saying nothing.
Arthur laughed. “Relax. That’s why I came here. It’s time you took a shower and got into some fresh clothes.”
No Power: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction Thriller Super Boxset Page 89
