Arthur turned back to him and spoke with a strained, hoarse voice. “What difference does it make at this point? Just leave me alone.”
Arthur placed his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Nope. Sorry, Rev. Not biting today. We’re not going to argue.” He approached the bed and spoke quietly. “Now, look. I know you still think I’m sore about you letting me down the other day, but I’ve moved on. I promise.”
Phelps stared ahead blankly and scoffed. “I don’t care what you think, frankly.”
“Come on, now,” Arthur said in a congenial tone. “I’m sure you don’t want to spend the entire day locked up in here, am I right?”
Phelps shook his head and stood up. The hard cement floor was cold under his feet. He couldn’t remember what had happened to his shoes. The day of their capture was still a blur—some parts more vivid than others. “What do you want?” he asked.
“Some respect, for starters,” Arthur snapped back. “I’ve let you have this room all to yourself. You know, we got some rooms where there’s four to five people packed in there.”
“I never asked for this, so don’t act as though you’re doing me any favors,” Phelps said.
Arthur took a step back and scratched his chin. “Things can get a whole lot worse, trust me.”
“I’m counting on it,” Phelps said, staring him down.
“Okay, Reverend. Have it your way,” Arthur said with a smile. “You’ll come around soon enough. Now, come on. I’m not letting you sit here and stink up this cell all day.” He pointed to the boots by the door. “You should be a what? Size ten?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Put ’em on. We’re going for a walk.”
Phelps felt he had no choice but to comply. He didn’t want to stay in that barren room another minute. The urge to leave, combined with Arthur’s insistence, won him over.
“I want to see my people. They should all have the opportunity to shower and change into new clothes if I can.”
“In time,” Arthur said, leading him out of the room. “All good things come to those who wait.”
Harvey and Beatrice’s room was at the end of the ten-room hall. The walls were made of thick concrete, and the hall was covered with drywall to conceal it. Phelps had no idea what the rooms had been originally used for, but escape would be difficult, if not impossible. Arthur led him toward the warehouse floor and past what he understood to be Zach and Erin’s room with their two children. The accommodations, he supposed, were as limited as his own: bed, waste bucket, and sometimes, food.
Phelps followed Arthur out a door at the end of the hall, where dozens of freemen were congregated on the warehouse floor. There were unidentified boxes and crates everywhere. A large green military cargo truck was parked inside as well, taking up half the warehouse. The men looked to be preparing for something. They were all wearing tan military tactical clothes and vests. Many of the boxes were open, and Phelps could see more clothing sticking out.
“How do you like our big score?” Arthur boasted.
Phelps looked around. Arthur’s men studied him suspiciously. “What is all this?”
“Intercepted a shipment,” Arthur said. “Got a few scout teams positioned a few miles outside of town. They ambushed a truck, killed the soldiers, and took everything in it. Even the truck.”
Phelps stopped dead in his tracks and turned to Arthur. “Why are you telling me this? Are you proud of yourselves, murdering innocent people?”
“I tell you this so that you have a clear understanding of the situation.”
“What situation?” Phelps asked.
“Follow me.”
They walked to the double-door exit past a group of men digging through one of the boxes as though it were Christmas morning. Arthur pushed open the doors. The bright sunlight made Phelps squint. He hadn’t been outside in over two weeks. The fresh air was startling, and his lungs felt different with each breath. The grass under his feet was a big change as well. He wandered for a moment in a daze while holding his hand up to block the sun. Arthur put on a pair of sunglasses and motioned him alongside the building.
“Where are we going?” Phelps asked.
“Follow the dirt road,” Arthur said. “I wanna show you something first.”
They left the warehouse in the distance and walked about a mile and a half down a dirt road, kicking up dust with each step. Arthur seemed to be in conversation mode, although talking mainly with himself.
“I’ll tell you, Reverend. Just the other day I was ready for the snow to come falling down. Now look at it. It’s a bright sunny day.”
Phelps said nothing but was curious himself to see such spring-like weather so close to winter. It would have been a perfect day for a stroll through town under other circumstances. As they hit a rural stretch of paved road, they continued their journey. Arthur kept talking to him, but he said little in return. It didn’t matter. He believed Arthur just liked to hear himself talk. Given the opportunity, however, Phelps finally decided to ask some questions.
“Who are you?”
Arthur glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “What do you mean?”
“You weren’t always like this, I imagine. Who were you before all this happened?”
“I’m the mayor. Who else would I be?”
“You weren’t always the mayor. You were a man. Someone normal, I imagine. And if you think back to who that person was, there’s a chance you can save yourself.”
“The hell are you babbling about?” Arthur asked.
“It’s never too late to fall under the grace of God.”
They passed a sign for the interstate as the road wound to the right. There in front of them was a sight that nearly made Phelps sink to his knees. There was a wall. Tall and threatening. Going both ways as far as Phelps could see, and blocking both the interstate exit and the entrance into town.
The concrete wall looked to be at least fifteen feet high. Too high to see over. A group of men at the base was working diligently to trowel wet cement from a wheelbarrow over the joints between the cinder blocks. Each man wore an orange shirt, as though they were prisoners on some kind of work release program. Two armed freemen sat in folding chairs under the shade of a maple tree, with their rifles in their laps.
Phelps stood motionless and in complete awe of the project before him. Arthur approached and stood next to him, proudly surveying the culmination of his vision.
“What do you think?” he asked.
Phelps squinted and looked ahead. He recognized one of the workers. Wearing an orange shirt one size too big was Dale Ripken. He was bent over the handles of a wheelbarrow, slowly pushing it along the wall. He seemed to have lost a lot of weight and was dirty and unshaven.
“Dale!” Phelps shouted and walked toward the workers.
Dale slowly turned when he heard his name. Phelps ran toward him. “Dale! What have they done to you?”
Phelps felt a hand grab onto his shoulder and stop him. He turned to see Arthur staring him in the face. “Not so fast, Rev. Don’t bother my men when they’re working.”
Phelps pushed Arthur’s hand away in anger. “They’re not your men. Dale is a personal friend of mine, not some slave you can make perform forced labor.”
Arthur belted out a laugh that garnered the attention of his two armed guards. “None of these men are forced to do anything. They volunteered.”
Phelps tilted his head and smirked. “Now why would anyone do that?”
Arthur held out his hand and began counting on each finger. “Well, there’s the perks. They can leave their rooms, get some fresh air, and reap the rewards.”
“What rewards?” Phelps asked.
“Some of them just want some booze.” He stopped, dug into his pocket, and pulled out a prescription bottle, rattling it. “Others are fine with a few of these. Chases the blues away real quick.”
Phelps cut Arthur off. “This is barbaric. You can’t treat people in this manner. This is a crime again
st God’s law.”
“Really?” Arthur said keenly. He dug the tip of his boot into the ground and kicked up some dirt. “Well, I’ve been on both sides of the fence, and I can tell you that I understand the criminal justice system a little better now. The key is to protect the law-abiding from those who break the law. All of those men committed crimes and are now facing the consequences.”
“What crime did Dale commit? What about me?”
Arthur looked at him with a matter-of-fact expression, almost as though the answer were obvious. “Trespassing. Of course.”
“That’s preposterous,” Phelps responded. His voice, although hoarse, was getting loud enough to gain the attention of the workers.
“Come here,” Arthur said, leading him to the shade of a nearby tree and out of earshot of the workers.
Phelps reluctantly followed. He was about to plead his case, when Arthur spun around in full command mode. “It’s over,” he began.
“What are you talking about?” Phelps said, incredulous.
“I’m talking about the world we know. Now, listen to this.” Without saying another word, Arthur reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small radio, the size of his palm. “Found this beauty during one of our raids. I haven’t been able to figure out why some things still work and why other things don’t, but for the past week they’ve been talking about an EMP. Do you know what an EMP is?”
Phelps thought to himself. “Yes. A missile designed to take down the power grids.”
“Exactly. Well, someone attacked us and meant to do us grave damage. Iran. Russia. North Korea. Take your pick. If you had told me a month ago that the power would still be out and everything that followed would still be the same, I wouldn’t have believed you.” Arthur paused and took a deep breath. “But here we are. Now, I want you to listen to something.” He turned the radio on and scrolled through the channels with his thumb pressed on a knob. Nothing but static could be heard. “You hear that?” he asked.
Phelps leaned in closer. “What, the static?”
“Yes. That’s all there is now. No broadcasts, no emergency messages, nothing.” He turned the radio off and put it back in his pocket. “It’s over, Rev. We’re not going back to the way things were. This is the way things are. So you’re going to have to think real good and real hard about what you’re going to do from here on out.”
Phelps turned and looked at the wall. He would need an extension ladder to get over it at the very least. He couldn’t believe that Arthur had actually built the thing.
“It’s almost done too,” Arthur said, enjoying the look of disbelief on Phelps’s face. “Pretty soon there’ll be no way into town and no way out.”
Phelps swung his head in Arthur’s direction and pleaded. “Please let them go. I implore you to search your soul for mercy. Join me on the path toward righteousness and save your soul before it’s too late!”
Arthur cupped his chin with one hand and nodded, as if considering it. Phelps didn’t know if his words would make a bit of difference. He was confident, however, that if Arthur opened his eyes to God, no matter how far he had strayed, there was a good chance they could all be saved. The entire town could be.
“I’ll let your friends go,” Arthur said in a hushed tone.
Phelps froze. Arthur’s words took him completely by surprise. “I’m sorry? You’ll…”
“Let your friends go. All of them. On one condition, of course.”
He didn’t want to hear it, but he asked, “Which is?” The catch came as predictably as Phelps had imagined.
“After so many casualties the other day, there’s an undeniable sense of demoralization around town. And once people realize that things are going to stay like this, it’s going to get worse. My methods can only go so far in keeping this town in order. The people need something. They need something to believe in.”
Phelps nodded. “Faith is the cornerstone of a healthy existence.”
“I agree, and that’s why I want you to talk to our townspeople and spread your message.”
Perplexed, Phelps leaned in closer. “You want me to…”
“Preach the gospel,” Arthur said. “Deliver the word unto the people and convince them of my own divinity as a leader.”
Phelps blinked rapidly and thought to himself as Arthur continued. “Here’s the deal. You convince the people of my divine power as a messenger of God, and I’ll free your friends.”
“I can’t do that,” Phelps said. “That goes against the entirety of what I believe, and I will lose the grace of God with such blasphemy.”
Arthur smiled. “I knew you’d resist. After all, you failed to convince your followers to fight with me at the camp, and I’m sure you’d fail at this as well, if I allowed it.” Arthur leaned in closely and spoke with menace in his voice. “But fail me this time, and things are going to get a whole lot worse for you and your people. That much, I guarantee.”
***
Twenty-four hours had passed, and the children still hadn’t seen the light of day. When pressed about using the restrooms, the guards tossed a bucket into the room. “Enjoy!” one of them had said. They’d been provided little—some gruel, hardened bread, and a single water bottle to share between the eight of them. Confined in a dank cell with just a kerosene lamp to illuminate the darkness was bad enough, but not knowing their fate was even worse. There was nothing to do but wait.
Wait for word from their captors. Wait to be rescued. Or simply wait for whatever was in store for them. Antonio wasn’t one for waiting around, and after long hours of agonizing uncertainty, he had had enough.
“We’re getting out of here tonight,” he announced to the room. The others lay about on the mattresses, exhausted by sheer boredom but too unnerved to sleep. Nobody said anything. Antonio paced the limited confines of the room, walking in circles, his knife in hand.
Josh sat up and rubbed his eyes. “How do you plan to do that?”
“We call the guard, get him in here, and I’ll take care of the rest,” he answered.
The Atkins boys looked at Antonio with skepticism.
“Too risky,” his sister, Gabrielle, said.
“I’m trying to save us here,” he said back.
Kelly and Allison were quiet. They didn’t seem to want to get involved. Or maybe they didn’t know what to say. Josh stood up and stretched. He could sense Antonio’s increasing agitation and restlessness. True, none of them wanted to be there, but what measures could they possibly take?
Antonio pointed at Josh. “You know how to shoot a gun, right?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
Antonio pointed to the Atkins boys. “How about you three?”
Mark nodded, but Jeremiah and Luke said they had never fired a gun before.
“Hold on,” Josh said. “Let’s not get carried away.”
Frustrated, Antonio stepped forward and got in his face. “You’ve been telling me to hold on since we first got here, and now look at us. Caged like animals in here.” He drew his leg back and kicked a plastic waste bucket across the room, startling everyone. Fortunately, it was empty.
“Calm down!” Gabrielle snapped.
“Listen to me,” Josh said. “You’re right. We do need to get out of here, but it has to be done right.”
“I’m all ears,” Antonio said, placing his hands on his hips, waiting.
Mark looked at his brothers and then stood up, surprising Josh, who seemed lost in thought.
“All we can do is wait,” Mark said. “They can’t hold us here forever.”
Antonio groaned. “How do you know? They can do anything they want. There are no cops. No government. No army. This is it, man. We have to make a move. Longer we stay, the less chance we’ll have to escape.”
Josh chimed in. “There has to be some good people left in town. People who can help us.”
Antonio spun around to face him. “Yeah, and they’re probably locked up just like us.”
“Here’s an idea,”
Josh continued. “We call the guard and ask to speak to that mayor guy. Tell him… I don’t know, that we have information about our parents or something.”
Antonio seemed intrigued, hanging onto what Josh was saying. “I like it. What else?” he said.
“Then, when they take us to see the mayor, we make a run for it.”
“All of us?” Antonio asked.
“No. Like, just a few. We go get help to free the others.”
Kelly spoke up. “That’s a dumb plan.”
“Agreed,” Gabrielle added.
Antonio took immediate offense. “What do you two know? Nothing. If you’re not going to help, keep your mouths shut.”
“No need for that, Antonio,” Josh said.
“You two are gonna get yourselves killed,” Gabrielle said.
“Shut up, Gabby!” Antonio yelled.
An abrupt banging on the steel door from outside scared everyone. “Knock it off in there!” a gruff voice demanded.
They froze in place as the room went quiet. Antonio stared at Josh with wide-eyed urgency as if saying, now is the time. Josh shrugged and turned away. Frustrated, Antonio moved to the door himself and pounded on its heavy metal surface.
“Hey, man. Hey, we need to talk to you!”
Josh ran over to the door and spoke in a hushed tone. “What are you doing?”
Antonio flashed a determined look. “Your plan, that’s what. It’s the only chance we have.”
Josh grabbed his arm. “Have you ever stabbed anyone before?” He seethed.
“No,” Antonio said sheepishly. “But there’s a first time for everything.” He raised his fist and pounded on the door again. “We got an emergency here!”
There was no stopping Antonio. Josh knew as much. The rest of the group stayed in the back, sitting on the mattresses, seeming afraid to speak up.
“What the hell are you hollering about in there?” the voice outside asked.
“We need to talk to you,” Antonio said. “It’s important.”
Josh released Antonio’s arm and looked back at the group and then to Antonio, sensing a point of no return. He had no idea what they would say to the mayor if they were taken to him. Everything was moving too fast. Josh hoped that the guard would ignore them and move on. Josh wasn’t ready.
No Power: EMP Post Apocalyptic Fiction Thriller Super Boxset Page 90
