SURVIVE AND ESCAPE: A Post Apocalyptic EMP Thriller (The Blue Lives Apocalypse Series Book 1)

by Lee West

  “Hands where I can see them!” shouted Charlie.

  The surprised man instantly complied, placing his hands on the dash. Jane quickly opened the passenger door, inspecting for weapons.

  “Clear!” she shouted.

  “Get out of the car and lie flat on the ground,” ordered Charlie.

  The man started to follow his directions, but before he fully exited the car, Charlie placed the end of the suppressor against the side of the man’s head and pulled the trigger. The man dropped to the sun-scorched pavement with a heavy thud. A thick line of blood flowed quickly from his still head. He hadn’t intended to execute the guy a moment ago. It had been a last millisecond decision. One he didn’t regret.

  “Charlie! What the hell?” yelled Jane.

  “They found my house, Jane. Came in guns blazing. New Order is onto us, and they won’t hesitate to kill us. That guy back there was about to shoot Mike’s little girl. The rules have changed. We can’t take any chances with people like this. Right now, we need to get this car off the road fast before they see it and send more men to hunt us down,” said Charlie. “They’ll find the horse trail and send ATVs after us.”

  “Shit. Alright. We can drive it over in that direction and hide it in the woods. Looks like we can push it far enough off the side to keep casual observers from spotting it. Unless you think we can drive out of here?” asked Jane, hopeful for the ride.

  “I thought of that, but we’re way safer in the woods. The road leaves us no way to hide, and the only vehicles on the road belong to the New Order. It’s only a matter of time before we’re spotted in the car. We can keep the keys for later and return for the car when possible. I’ll ask Sam to set a waypoint on his handheld GPS so we can find the car later,” said Charlie.

  “What do you want to do with him?” asked Jane.

  “Let’s get him into the woods and cover him up. By the time the animals start pulling him apart, we’ll be long gone.”

  “Okay. I’ll grab his feet,” Jane said urgently.

  They carried the man about fifteen yards along the side of the road and hid him deep in the forest, where they heaved him into a tangle of bushes and saplings. When they got back to the car, Charlie pointed at the blood.

  “We need to clean that up,” said Charlie.

  Jane searched the car, producing a dirty pair of jeans. “This’ll have to do.”

  After she wiped up the blood, they dumped a few handfuls of dirt from the shoulder of the road on the stain, spreading it around with their boots to absorb the remaining blood. Charlie examined their handiwork. It would pass muster from a moving car.

  “Good enough,” he said.

  She nodded, throwing the blood-soaked jeans into the thick brush.

  “Doesn’t look like the past two weeks have caused these guys to lose weight,” commented Jane.

  “Yeah, well, these guys stole the entire town’s food and basically gorged on it like there was no tomorrow while the rest of us starved.”

  “Assholes,” said Jane as they moved back to the car.

  “You put it in neutral and I’ll push,” said Charlie.

  A few minutes later, with the car nestled between two trees and covered with broken branches, they headed back to the group.

  “Did you find anything?” asked Mike.

  “Yes, but it’s no longer a threat. Ever,” said Charlie, in a tone that did not invite questions.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The small group regained their momentum on the trail after the near disaster, walking swiftly in the direction of the safe house. Sam and Jane tried to walk hand in hand, but most of the trail was too narrow for two people to pass shoulder to shoulder. Instead, the occasional touch sufficed. Jane needed to recalibrate. She also needed a moment in Sam’s arms to forget what she’d just seen and to somehow feel safe again. It frustrated her not to be able to talk freely with Sam. However, she knew that Jenny had been through enough, and talking about what just happened would not do anything to help Jenny’s situation. They’d have time to talk as adults when they reached the safe house.

  “How are you holding up?” she asked Sam.

  “Shaken—not stirred,” said Sam, eliciting a quick chuckle.

  “He just came out of nowhere. We were totally unprepared. Just sitting there drinking water like a bunch of day hikers,” she said.

  “We got lucky again, thanks to Charlie,” said Sam.

  “I know. Next time, it might not work out in our favor.”

  “There won’t be a next time. We get Lea and get out. Simple enough,” said Sam, always the optimist.

  “Yeah, simple enough.”

  “I’m going to check on Charlie,” said Sam.

  Leading the group, Jane tried her best to keep them moving while being mindful of Jenny’s size and ability to travel.

  ~ ~ ~

  Sam walked near the end of the line just in front of Charlie, who brought up the rear. While working as an emergency medical responder, Sam had seen his share of men die as a result of violence. Fortunately, he never actually saw the violence that caused the dying. Thoughts of Lea raced through his mind, intermixed with the memory of the man’s death song. The thud as the man hit the ground and the deep gurgling and whistling sounds that escaped the man’s lungs as he struggled for his last breaths. He’d unceremoniously died moments after Jane and Charlie left to search for the rest of the New Order crew. The sight of it haunted him.

  Charlie looked just as shaken. Sam read Charlie as the kind of guy who was everyone’s friend, a serious but kind man. Although Sam didn’t see what had happened when Charlie and Jane found the other New Order man, he did see the blood splatter on Charlie’s shoes. Sam was relieved to have Charlie traveling with the group, even if it meant the New Order might be trailing them. The police officer understood what needed to be done and appeared to have what it took to do it without hesitation.

  “You doing okay?” Sam asked over his shoulder to Charlie.

  “I’ve been better. You?” responded Charlie.

  “About the same. Do you think that was the last of them?”

  “It’s hard to know. Either those two were a search party looking for us, or they just stumbled on us,” said Charlie.

  “I guess we’ll never know. Too bad we couldn’t have taken their car. A ride would have been great right about now. Air-conditioning wouldn’t hurt either,” said Sam, wiping the sweat off his brow.

  “No kidding. My sweat is sweating. I’m concerned about those two,” Charlie said in a low whisper.

  Sam glanced down the trail toward Mike and Jenny. Jenny looked like she was in shock. Her face was a clammy white mask of fear, and her eyes were wide open, staring blankly ahead as her little feet plodded along. She hadn’t spoken since she’d stopped screaming. Mike half dragged, half carried her. Both looked exhausted and dehydrated.

  “Me too. Not much we can do for them. At this point, giving them an easier pace isn’t even an option. What happened back there? At your house?” asked Sam.

  “New Order basically trashed the place. There was nothing left except the guns in my gun safes. They couldn’t get into those. I figured it was just a matter of time before they came back with tools for the job. So I bolted as quickly as possible and basically sprinted to your location.”

  “Sorry about your house. That was probably tough to see. Who knows what we’re walking into when we get back to Evansville. Do you think they were looking for you specifically or just going through houses?”

  “I’ve been wondering that myself. I’m guessing they were looking for me. Otherwise, Johnny wouldn’t have tried to send me a message. I think he tried to warn me that they were coming. It would have been extremely dangerous for him to send that message during the morning hours. He risked everything for me, for us. I hope he didn’t get…” Charlie trailed off midsentence.

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  Sam and Charlie continued walking in silence. The sound of their footfalls rang in S
am’s ears as a heavy mood blanketed him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Doris Venture sat contently in her oversized white wicker chair, looking out over her land. Not much had changed since the lights went out for her, except helping the runners. One day, shortly after everything stopped working, a man named Charlie Stout came to her house and told her about the events in Porter. Before Charlie came, Doris thought only her power was out, until she realized her truck also failed to operate. Doris was glad she never made that trip into town. According to Charlie, the New Order men were a nasty bunch. If her car had been working, she would have driven right into the thick of things without even knowing it.

  Sitting alone and waiting for more runners every afternoon and evening became her ritual. She was never certain when or if they would come, only that they would be coming. Charlie told her to place a plant on the deck rail if everything was as it should be. Otherwise, the runners would just keep running. Today, the geranium pot sat on the rail of her large Southern-style verandah—a beacon of hope for anyone on the run.

  Despite the fact that she’d gotten along by herself for close to a decade, the visitors comforted Doris. She’d forgotten what it was like to have company. Loneliness had become her only companion after Travis, her only child, left for the Marine Corps. She’d sent him to fight for freedom in Iraq ten years ago, and he came home from Iraq a hero—in a closed casket.

  His staff sergeant said he died fighting to save his squad during a vicious ambush. He’d rushed off to cover one of their exposed flanks, whatever that meant, and disappeared in a massive explosion. She didn’t doubt the story. Her son was always a brave and principled boy, even as a child. He was everything her ex-husband was not. The Marine Corps had been perfect for him, even if it ended the way it did. She was very proud of him.

  Charlie told her to hide Travis’s picture—something about being safe and the New Order. Doris could not bring herself to remove Travis’s picture from the mantel, right next to his framed Bronze Star medal and service ribbons. It was all she had left of her boy.

  Doris figured there would be a runner or two anytime now. She was ready with food, fresh water and a comfortable place to sleep for each person that came through. Her extensive garden served her well during this crisis. She had all she needed. The garden produced far more than she could ever eat. Normally she would preserve the remaining harvest, but using her limited fuel to run the generator for canning just didn’t seem right. Instead, she dried or pickled much of the produce or gave it to the runners. She had so much food she even gave away the peaches right off the trees from her vast orchard. For the winter, she would eat from her extensive stores of canned food. She often chuckled when people talked about “prepping for survival.” Prepping? Try living on a self-sustaining farm. She even had a hand pump water well. It provided all the fresh water she could ever need.

  Doris would be just fine as far as food and water were concerned, but providing assistance to the men and women of the Porter Police Department was extremely risky. Charlie had warned her that the New Order men were all convicted felons, who would think nothing of killing her if they found out what she was doing. She didn’t care. Travis wouldn’t have hesitated to help the men and women in blue. He’d always talked about applying for a job with one of the local police departments if he didn’t make the Marine Corps a career. She’d honor his legacy by helping the runners, no matter what the outcome.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Brown sat in the communications room of the former Porter Police Department, scanning the airwaves. As a former Navy radioman, Brown knew how to make the lifeless machine sing for him. He knew that by channel skipping, he would eventually pick up a transmission that would tell him what the cops were doing. The Boss was right, they were up to something, and Brown intended to figure out what they were planning before anyone else did. He’d learned the hard way that information is power, and being the first to know something provided the most power.

  That skinny sneak Johnny was also up to something. Brown had caught him communicating with someone—he just could not figure out what Johnny was saying or whom he talked with, if he even made contact. Eventually, everything would come to light. Mistakes would be made, and when they were, Brown would be ready.

  After a while, Brown’s hands became weary and his eyes tired from sitting at the communications desk. Turning the frequencies and hearing nothing but static began to wear on him. Channel fifty-two, static. Frequency level C, channel forty-one, had nothing but static. Every channel and frequency he tried, he found static. Then a voice rang out:

  “…Marta…come in…”

  Mary? Marty? What is she saying? Every time the person repeated the name through the emptiness of static and space, Brown became more furious at his inability to get a clear signal.

  “Charlie, this is Marta. Copy?”

  Finally, loud and clear.

  Marta! Brown froze. He knew that name. Where did he see that name? Was it here or on the inside? It was definitely here, at the Porter PD headquarters. Brown recalled seeing a mug with the name Marta written on it in the break room. She’d probably used a Sharpie black marker in an attempt to ward off her coworkers from using her favorite “Shut Up and Stand in Line” mug. This was the break he needed! She must be part of the PD.

  “Charlie, you copy? This is Marta. We have one more delivery. Are you ready?” Marta said daringly.

  “Charlie? Are you there?” the voice repeated.

  Charlie did not reply to Marta’s calls.

  Brown quickly pieced the puzzle together. The Boss had ordered a raid on the home of a man named Charlie Stout. Turned out he was likely a copper. Although there were no uniforms or other cop paraphernalia, there was a large communications setup in the basement and two large gun lockers. The guys were still trying to get into the lockers.

  Those sneaky bastards! thought Brown. They were moving their people out, one at a time, right under our noses. Smiling, Brown realized he had discovered very valuable information. Only one question remained. Who would be the best customer for his information?

  ~ ~ ~

  Marta Rhodes sat in her sweltering attic, trying desperately to contact Charlie. He always gave her several “squawkers” right after successfully launching runners on the trail to the first safe house. A “squawker” consisted of three fast on and off babbles, which sounded like someone trying to talk over static. Charlie had failed to do this after taking delivery of Mike Sparr and his daughter this morning. Then she’d seen the New Order truck headed in the direction of Charlie’s house. The truck moved fast, like they had a purpose—which was not a common occurrence for these parasitic thugs.

  The sight of them speeding away worried her. They were so close to getting all of the remaining police officers out of Porter. They just needed to get Gayle Jones out. Then Charlie would leave too. She did not look forward to being the only remaining set of eyes in Porter, but someone had to do it. Besides, no one would suspect that “little old Marta” was up to anything. She didn’t look like a cop, and as part of the administrative department, she was not listed on the duty roster in the same way. They might find her name somewhere, but so far, she hadn’t heard of any serious incidents involving the administrative staff. A few houses had been searched, but that was it. She felt safe, sort of.

  She would make one more desperate attempt to contact Charlie, then wait until tomorrow to try again. If she didn’t hear from him tomorrow night, she had to assume he was dead, and they’d have to come up with a different plan to smuggle Gayle Jones out of Porter.

  “Charlie, you copy? This is Marta. We have one more delivery. Are you ready?” she said into the air.

  She knew saying both of their names was prohibited under their rules of communication. However, on occasion she had inadvertently slipped a name or two in without consequence. Those times emboldened her now in her desperation.

  Her frantic calls were returned by cold, bare static. Looking out her
attic window, Marta suddenly felt very alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Damn it!” muttered Jane as she swatted another feasting mosquito. “At this point, I think more surface area of my skin is covered with bug bites than not.”

  “Me too,” said Sam, scratching his neck. “Next time we go on a backcountry hike, we bring triple the amount of bug spray.”

  “If there is a next time. I get the feeling we’re on a permanent camping trip from this point forward,” said Jane.

  “How much further, Daddy?” whined Jenny.

  Looking at his watch, Mike said, “Not too much longer, honey.”

  “We’re almost there. In fact, I think it would be best if the four of you settle here. Take a break while I run ahead. Doris and I worked out a signaling system to alert runners if it was safe to approach her house. I don’t want to walk into a trap,” said Charlie.

  “You mentioned that we need to look for the flowerpot before coming out of the forest. I’ll go with you,” offered Jane.

  “Okay, let’s leave the heavy gear behind so we can travel light and fast,” said Charlie.

  “We got this covered,” said Sam, patting Mike on the shoulder.

  “Be back in a few,” said Jane. “Stay off the trail while we’re gone.”

  They dropped their packs and jogged down the horse trail due north. When Jane looked back, her husband melted into the forest, dragging the two packs with him.

  “Doris’s house is just beyond that rise,” said Charlie, pointing down the trail. “Let’s make our way around those rocks and have a look.”

  The house sat still in the middle of a vast clearing. A luscious vegetable garden and a barn flanked the serene white farmhouse. Green grass and a peach orchard covered the expanse of the space behind the house. A flowering pink geranium in a cobalt blue pot sat on the porch rail.