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

by Lee West

  “That’ll work. What does the headquarters consist of?” asked Mike.

  “Our chief took over a kids camp on the border between Clark and Grant,” said Charlie.

  “Sounds decent enough,” said Mike.

  “It’s the safest place around right now. All of the Evansville police and their families are there, along with the officers we got out of Porter. It won’t be long until more police departments join the fun. Things are really shaping up to be as comfortable as possible up there until this all blows over,” said Charlie.

  Finishing his dinner, Sam turned to Mike and said, “How about if you and Jane haul water and clean up while Charlie and I check on the radio?”

  “That’ll work. Jenny can help with the dishes,” said Mike.

  “Okay,” said a tired Jenny, with a slight yawn.

  Leaning toward Mike, Jane said, “I’ll be surprised if she makes it up the stairs before falling asleep.”

  “I won’t be far behind her.” Mike winked.

  ~ ~ ~

  An old wooden shed sat a few hundred yards from the main house. Sam hadn’t noticed it when they’d first walked up to Doris’s home or while sitting around the campfire. He stepped inside and turned on the flashlight he’d carried with him for the past two weeks while out camping. The bright LED light illuminated the entire room, exposing its contents.

  Doris stored a few riding-type mowers and a surprising number of tools, old and new, in the shed. The tools were neatly arranged on wooden, handmade pegs attached to the inside walls of the building. A heavy wooden potter’s table sat against the wall under a row of windows, providing the perfect location for sprouting seeds in the spring to get a jump on the growing season. Doris really did have everything she needed here. Sam admired her preparedness, even if it was accomplished through casual lifestyle choices and not by design.

  He found a door leading to another room in the shed. The name “Travis” had been whittled at chest level, indicating that Doris’s son had probably carved it as a child. Examining the letters, Sam was sad for Doris. She probably felt the same way every time she saw it, remembering her son as a spirited young child. He pushed open the unlocked door, taking a step inside. Charlie followed closely behind.

  “Wow, look at all this stuff.” Charlie whistled.

  “Yeah, I guess Travis liked his radio,” said Sam, taking in the set.

  An assortment of electronic parts were strewn across a roughhewn table in front of a CB radio set. At least it looked like it was a CB radio. No telling, since it appeared to be built from scratch. Sam was impressed.

  “Looks like the kid built this one, nice job too from the looks of it. No telling if it will work until we get some juice going to it,” said Sam. “Looks like he was searching for a part, so I’m guessing I have some work ahead of me.”

  Sam picked up one of the electronics pieces, blowing a thick layer of dust into the light.

  “Looks like it’s been a while since anyone has been in here,” said Charlie.

  “Yeah. Did you see the generator anywhere?” asked Sam.

  “No, I’ll check the other side of the shed,” said Charlie, moving out of the room.

  Charlie stepped into the doorway and scanned his flashlight into the main area of the shed. “I’ve got it. It’s under a tarp. Give me a hand. We need to move it outside.”

  “Okay, I’ll grab a cord and be right with you.”

  Mercifully, the generator was one of those portable types built into a frame with two wheels on one side. They muscled the heavy generator over uneven terrain to the outside corner of the building near Travis’s section of the shed and snaked the cord into the shed through a small window.

  “Okay, let’s see if this baby works,” said Charlie, checking the gas and oil levels.

  “I’ll go back and see if I can hook up the CB to the generator outlet,” said Sam, walking back toward the shed.

  Sam moved quickly back into the shed, the light of his flashlight illuminating his path. The fine layer of dust on everything in the small room didn’t give him a lot of hope. The radio hadn’t been used since Travis was still alive, and based on the Bronze Star citation sitting on Doris’s mantel, that meant it hadn’t been powered for close to ten years. He had his doubts whether the parts would still function. The weather hadn’t invaded the room, but electronics were not meant to sit unused for extended periods of time. However, looking around the shed’s ample supply of electronics parts and specialized tools, Sam felt confident that he could fix any problems caused by time. If Travis was able to build the radio from the supplies in this shed, Sam could fix it.

  The loud rumble of the generator broke the quiet, drowning out nature’s forest symphony with a harsh reminder of the world they once lived in. Although Sam would have preferred that none of this had happened, he had to admit that living without the noise and distractions of the modern world felt kind of nice. Nice in a way that made him imagine living a self-reliant life with Jane and Lea on a rustic farm like this one. Doris didn’t seem bothered at all by the current circumstances. There was something to be said about that.

  “How is it looking in there?” said Charlie through the window.

  “Hold on,” said Sam, plugging the power cord directly into an inverter hardwired to the radio.

  Sam imagined that Travis had done this before. Probably during a power outage caused by a storm. Sam flipped a switch, powering the radio set. He depressed the transmission button on the handset, but couldn’t hear much over the generator. Turning the volume higher didn’t seem to help the situation.

  “Charlie! Move it back!” shouted Sam.

  “Move what back?”

  “The generator. Take it around the corner, as far from the window as possible.”

  Charlie ran from the window and slowly pulled the generator around the side of the shed until the cord pulled taut. The extra distance and redirection of sound away from the window decreased the noise level enough for Sam to hear himself think again.

  “How’s that?” asked Charlie, walking into the small room.

  “Better. The set seems fine, but without anyone signaling, it’s hard to know if the unit can send and receive. All I hear right now is static,” said Sam.

  “Alright. Let’s turn everything off and wait another couple of hours until after midnight. Then I can signal Marta. We should be able to figure out if it’s working pretty fast,” said Charlie.

  “I would think so. Given the size of the antenna Travis installed onto the side of the shed, if this thing is working, we should be able to contact Mars.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Doris and Jenny stood side by side in front of the large farmhouse kitchen sink. Even though Doris didn’t need the help, she loved being in the kitchen with another person by her side. The rhythm of household chores served as a medium for unspoken communication between the two of them.

  “If you yawn again, I think you might fall asleep while you’re washing,” said Doris.

  “I’m tired and Daddy said that tomorrow we have to walk out of here to another house. Can’t I just stay here?” asked Jenny, sponging off a glass.

  Glancing at Mike, Doris said, “I would love it if you could, but this time, you need to keep walking to the next house. It will be fine. Besides, you can always come back to see me. You’re welcome anytime, my dear.”

  “Okay, Daddy, can we come back? I really like it here,” said Jenny.

  “Sure, honey. After we get settled, we’ll come back to visit Ms. Doris. But for now, I think I need to get you to bed. We have an early start tomorrow. Doris, I’m going to get this zombie child to bed and then I can help you finish.”

  “No need at all. Jenny and I were able to wash everything. I’m just putting a few things away. You get yourself some rest too. You’ll need it for tomorrow. Here, take this flashlight so you can find your way around,” said Doris.

  “You don’t have to ask twice. I could use some shut-eye. Come on, chicken,” said Mike, gr
abbing Jenny’s still-damp hand.

  The floor creaked in the still farmhouse as Mike and Jenny made their way to their cozy room for the night.

  Chapter Thirty

  Freddie Jackson, now known respectfully as the “Boss,” sat on the front porch of his new house, pumping weights. The house was a “gift” from a Porter family to honor his reign. Not that they had a choice. The Boss and his guys walked into any house they wanted and ordered the people out, and out they went. Those who didn’t immediately comply were dealt with harshly, setting an example for the community. It didn’t take more than a few examples for people to get the message. He was surprised by just how easy it was to take over the town. The people in Porter never knew what hit them.

  The way he saw it, Porter was his reward for the years spent cooped up in that PrisCorp shithole. Not that life had been too bad in prison. Serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole gave a man perspective. The key to serving a life sentence was making a new life on the inside. The Boss managed to reconstruct his “business network” in PrisCorp. Underpaid guards and fellow inmates were more than willing to fill the ranks of his new army. Before he knew it, Freddie Jackson was on top again. The cash and drugs surged through the facility, followed by the perks. The Boss had his own room, willing ladies brought in for visits as much as he requested, and plenty of take-out food. The only thing he lacked was his freedom, which was a big fucking thing.

  When the power failed and his door unlocked, he’d sprinted like a fool with the rest of them until he was well clear of the prison. When he realized the lights were out for good, the Boss knew an opportunity had fallen right into his lap. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to emerge as a legitimate power, out of the shadows. The days of running a covert network of drug dealers and petty thieves—always looking over his shoulder—was finished. With the army he’d built in the prison, he’d do what all of the great leaders in the past had done. Invade and occupy.

  Porter, the closest town, had proven too easy. The cops and locals were too busy trying to figure out what had happened to the lights to fight back. Once they’d captured the police station, the town basically gave up. Still, he didn’t need any resistance fighters giving him trouble. He’d read about the resistance groups in World War II, always fucking with the Germans wherever they went. Hunting down all the cops and veterans was the only way to fully establish his new turf. So far, no hero cops had come out of the woodwork to give him trouble. They got the message, along with everyone else.

  The rumble of a lone vehicle interrupted his thoughts. A pickup truck pulled into the driveway and four of his “officers” climbed out of the truck.

  “Hey, Boss, we’ve got some bad news,” yelled the guy they called Trasher.

  “Tell me,” the Boss said in a stern voice. He put down the free weights and walked toward the edge of the porch.

  “Fucking dude must’ve come back while we looked for tools, man. Both lockers were open and stripped clean,” said Trasher.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me. How the fuck did you idiots allow that to happen? Let me guess, all four of you morons went looking for shit to open the lockers, and none of you geniuses stayed behind at the house in case he came back! Am I right?”

  All of the men avoided his gaze. The Boss shone the flashlight on each one of them, scrutinizing their every move.

  “Or did something else happen? Did one of you shit bags decide he was gonna get that treasure and cut the rest of us out of that shit? Seems too easy that there was nothing there. I think one of you is a liar,” said the Boss.

  He stepped down off the porch, quickly closing the distance between himself and the men.

  “Really, Boss, we were all together looking for tools. None of us could have gone back to take anything,” said Frankie, a slight tremble in his voice.

  “No? Then you had help. Either way, one of you shits ripped me off,” said the Boss.

  Ortiz, a short Hispanic man with bad teeth and a lazy eye, started to say something, but Freddie wasn’t in the mood for any more excuses. He pulled out the Glock he had stuffed in his waistband and pushed it into the side of Ortiz’s head.

  “Unless you gonna tell me what happened to the cop booty, I suggest you keep your piehole shut. You hear me, guaco?” said the Boss, shoving the gun into Ortiz’s head so hard that the man stumbled backward.

  “So if none of you dumb asses stole my stash, then where is it?”

  “The dude who lives there, Charlie something or other, must have taken it. He probably showed up when we left. Maybe was even watching the joint while we were there doing our thing—you know all sneaky and cop like,” said Trasher.

  “So now I have two problems. No booty and a cop on the run.”

  “Yeah, Boss. Some sneaky shit he pulled on us. Must’ve really wanted whatever was in those lockers,” Trasher offered hesitantly.

  “You think? Here’s what we’re gonna do. Starting tomorrow, you boys are going to turn this entire town upside down. I don’t care how many men it takes. I want every inch of this place turned over. And I mean every inch—and don’t get lazy, include the attics and basements. This Charlie dude is either hiding in Porter or he ran. If he ran, I want to know where he ran to and who helped him,” said the Boss. “He wasn’t the only pig to skip town.”

  “You got it, Boss. We’ll start on it first thing in the morning,” said Trasher, signaling to the rest of the men to get moving.

  The Boss watched the men climb back into the truck and drive off. Those four idiots represented the best men he could find in that PrisCorp hellhole. They weren’t the brightest, but they were loyal to him, at least for now. The Boss knew that if something better came along, those loyalties would quickly shift.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Brown sat in the dark communications room of the Porter Police Department. The room was sweltering hot and the candle he used for light wasn’t helping matters. In fact, it barely provided enough illumination for him to work the dials on the radio. Turning on the lights was not an option. He didn’t want to draw anyone’s attention to him. Brown knew the cops would talk again; at least he hoped they would. One way or the other, he needed to figure out their plan. He wanted to get ahead of this. If the cops were planning something against their Boss, he had to piece it together before it happened. If they were just sneaking cops out of town, with no other agenda, that could be useful information, too, especially if he could figure out where they were hiding. Several cops had escaped, posing a threat to the Boss.

  Sitting in the dark quiet room, Brown began to think about the life he had before his life went south. His mind flashed to the look on his momma’s face the first time she saw him in uniform. She’d looked at him like he was made of pure gold. Not the troubled shit he had been as a teenager and became once again after coming home. For once, his momma had been proud. He wished there was some way to go back to that time. Maybe there was. Stretching his back and yawning, Brown looked at his watch, 12:40 a.m. He’d give it another hour before turning in for the night.

  ~ ~ ~

  Charlie and Sam sat in front of the homemade radio. Charlie allowed Sam to fumble with the dials while he waited until Sam felt confident that their channel was dialed in as tightly as possible.

  “Okay. Give it a try,” said Sam.

  “Marta, it’s Charlie. You there?”

  Static.

  “Marta, you there?” repeated Charlie.

  Static.

  “Marta, come in. It’s Charlie. Over,” repeated Charlie.

  Static.

  “Maybe we’re not broadcasting? We have power, but perhaps the antenna isn’t working?” asked Charlie.

  “It should be. I checked everything before we started. It all looks fine. Keep trying,” suggested Sam.

  “Marta, come in. It’s Charlie. Over.”

  “Charlie? Is that you?” said Marta, her voice a faint echo through the static.

  “Yes. It’s me. I had to get out quickl
y this morning. I’m moving to HQ. I’ll be in touch when we return. Tell the last one to sit tight. Over,” said Charlie, chancing more than usual in their brief conversation.

  “Will do. It sure is nice to hear your voice. Been worried over here. Over.”

  “Me too. Just sit tight. I’ll be in touch when I have more info. Might be a few days.”

  “Okay, be careful out there.”

  “You too. Out.”

  Charlie put the speaker back on its cradle and rubbed his tired eyes.

  ~ ~ ~

  Shit, here they go. It’s that lady Marta again, thought Brown as he listened intently. He furiously moved the dials to enhance the sound quality, to no avail. There was more static than sound; however he heard enough to get the general gist of what they said.

  After the conversation ended, Brown shut off the radio and closed up for the night. In the reflection of a dead computer monitor, he saw the door behind him to the communications room slowly open and then shut quickly. It was as though the person wanted to come in, but changed his mind once he saw Brown. He almost missed it.

  Brown quickly and quietly blew out the candle and left the room. The station was deserted except for him and whoever had snuck in to use the radio. He had a strong suspicion he knew who had opened the door, but he wanted to confirm it without tipping his hand. Keeping a low profile while moving through the station, he glanced out the front windows. Brown saw Johnny walking quickly toward town. Yep. That’s what I thought. He waited by the front door to the station until Johnny turned onto South Street and vanished. He opened the door as quietly as possible and sprinted toward the corner of Main and South. Tailing Johnny could be the key to everything.

  Staying hidden behind bushes and trees, Brown was able to follow Johnny for several blocks. Finally, Johnny turned off the sidewalk onto a small walkway and disappeared behind a thick stand of bushes that blocked his view of a small covered porch. He heard a soft knocking from the porch and walked quietly through the adjacent yard to arrive next to massive bushes. Johnny knocked again and nothing happened. Brown waited impatiently, starting to wonder whether he was wasting his time. Johnny could be out doing any of a number of things.