Inception of Chaos: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Story

by Holden, J. J.

  The rattle of dice shaking in a cup snapped Wiley out of a momentary vision of his sister’s bloody face superimposed over Darcy’s. Well, things were bad then, but as far as Wiley could tell, things were far worse now, and only going downhill from there. Maybe this one wouldn’t have to die. Maybe he would stick around for a while, just to make sure—or to make things right, if she were killed.

  Wiley wandered to the table and sat in one of the open chairs, while Christine went into the kitchen and began to chat with her friend, quietly. To Hunter, he said, “Yahtzee seems like a very good way of getting your mind off what’s going on around you, yeah?”

  Hunter looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged. “And what might that be? Mom says I’ll be back in school again probably in a week, when this all blows over.”

  Wiley folded his hands on the table in front of him, fingers interlaced, and leaned forward. He kept his voice low, hoping to convey the gravity of the situation by speaking quietly, rather than going the other direction. “And do you really believe this will blow over in a week?”

  Perhaps other people might have asked that as a rhetorical question, or as an opportunity to lecture some ignorant kid, but Wiley knew better. When he was Hunter’s age, and his sister had been about Darcy’s, he had been anything but ignorant; he made sure his expression showed the gravity with which he approached that question.

  After a moment, Hunter glanced over his shoulder at his mother, then looked back. He, too, leaned forward, almost conspiratorially. “Everyone says that, but if that were true, why aren’t we in Denver? Why risk driving all the way out here, even with the radio reporting hooligans running around out here? I don’t know what to think, but I don’t like to think Mom would lie to me.”

  Darcy muttered, “To us, you mean.”

  Wiley found himself nodding agreement. He could understand her kid’s conflict; believing his eyes and common sense meant believing his mom was lying to him, but to believe his mom meant he couldn’t trust his own senses or judgment. At least, that was how Wiley would have looked at it, but maybe he was projecting. Or maybe not…

  Wiley said, “I don’t know, kiddo. What I do know is that I hear zero trucks rolling, and I haven’t heard a train whistle. That’s how they move things around in this country, or any other. If they are moving things around, like replacement transformers for the blown power stations, then I’m not sure how they even could fix it in a week. Even if the trains were rolling, I still wouldn’t be sure about that timeline.”

  Darcy’s eyebrows furrowed, and she put her hands together in her lap under the table, hunching over. “Why would Mom lie to us?”

  Hunter scrunched up one corner of his mouth and regarded his sister. “You know how protective she is. She likes to think she can control everything that goes on around us, but she can’t. Not this. I think she wants to believe this will all be over soon; plus, she probably just wanted us to feel better and not freak out.”

  Wiley flashed a wan smile, but it was short-lived. “That sounds right, to me. I don’t have kids, but I remember when I was a kid. When things were going horribly wrong, my own mother never wanted me to worry about things. She said that was her job, even if she sucked at it.”

  “She did?” Darcy’s eyebrows rose up.

  “She did the best she could with us. I know you guys don’t know this, yet, but kids don’t come with instruction manuals, and they don’t make their parents’ baggage go away when they’re born. Wish they did. So, I figure your mom is doing the best she can, too.”

  Hunter sniffed, his nose rising up a couple inches into the air. “So? They could still be honest.”

  Wiley shrugged. He couldn’t defend lying to them. But personally, he could understand it—and maybe he could help them understand it, too. It wasn’t like they’d said anything on the topic, certainly not to him, but they were smart kids from everything he could see. Smarter than he was, for sure. They’d have to be dumb as rocks not to have a few doubts, some questions they wanted answers to.

  He replied, “I don’t know your mom very well, you know, but it seems to me that she wants you guys to be safe, happy, and successful more than anything else in her world. Maybe she’s scared to admit the truth to herself, because that would make the situation too real—and there’s nothing she alone can do about it.”

  Darcy set her scoring pad down, then put her hands back under the table quickly. “So if that’s true, then Mom’s scared. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her scared, before. I kinda figure she went through a lot when she was younger, but she and Nana don’t ever talk about it. Not when we’re around, anyways.”

  Hunter grimaced, but nodded. “I never thought of Mom being scared, too. Maybe we should, you know, do more to pretend we believe her. Just to make her feel better, you know? She’ll have to face the truth if a week comes and goes and we’re still here, but for right now, she can have one less thing to worry about instead of about us all the time. She does it even when she doesn’t have to.”

  Wiley smiled at the hint of irritation that had crept into Hunter’s voice at the end. “You should both know that I think she raised two very smart, nice kids. Hang on to that, because the world isn’t always nice, but there are people who make it a better place. You two just might be that kind of people. The world needs more of this, trust me. In a week, it may well need that kind of people more than ever before… You know what I mean.”

  Wiley stood up and turned around—and almost walked right into Officer Kelley, just coming into the dining room from the kitchen.

  The officer’s eyes clicked back and forth between Wiley and the kids, then narrowed. “Have a good talk?”

  Darcy said, “Leave him alone. Wiley’s a good guy. He talks to us like adults, and told us what we need to hear. That’s more than our overprotective mother did, and more than you.”

  Wiley’s eyes flared wide for a moment, and he turned to tell her to behave herself talking to a cop.

  Hunter beat him to it, saying, “Watch what you say to him. He’s a cop; he can arrest you. Plus, he did help us get here safe, right? Respect, little sister.”

  Darcy’s angry glare softened, and she looked down at her shoes for a moment.

  It was interesting that the girl listened to her brother more than anyone else, although the others might not have noticed. Sure, they fought like siblings, but she actually listened to him, instead of being a headstrong knucklehead, like she was with most everyone else. He made a mental note of that.

  She replied, “Sorry.”

  The officer, though, never flinched or wavered from her hostile tone. He nodded and said, “Apology accepted. It’s just my job to look out for problems. Why don’t you two kids go see if your nana needs you to do anything for her? I need to have a talk with our friend, here.”

  Wiley stifled a deep sigh for the kids’ benefit. Talking to cops was nerve-racking the best of times, and this was not the best of times. Especially not for a wanted man, no matter the circumstances that created that situation…

  When the kids had filed out, David rounded on him, hooking his thumbs in his duty belt. He cut an imposing figure. He said, “I’ll say it straight. What’s your interest in those kids?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Officer Kelley—David—shook his head and took a half-step forward. “You heard me. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but in my years as a cop, I’ve developed a gut instinct about people, and my gut is telling me there’s something off about you.”

  Wiley glanced after the kids and desperately tried not to shift nervously from foot to foot. Being under constant scrutiny by a cop was the last thing he needed. But despite his nervousness about that, he was more disappointed than nervous—the cop had ruined what was turning into kind of a bonding moment with those kids. From what Wiley could see, they were in desperate need of someone to bond with, any adult. He could use that to get close with them… Watch them… Prepare for what clearly seemed to be coming next�
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  Fighting to keep his expression passive, Wiley shrugged. He’d had a lot of practice lately in looking passive and nonthreatening to cops. Well, the prison guards, at least. “They are good kids. A bit naïve, maybe, but that’s not a bad thing. Depending on how things go in the next week, though, that could become a real liability.”

  “And you thought you’d take advantage of that to warm your way in close to them, is that it?”

  Wiley’s left eyebrow twitched, despite doing his level best to keep up a stony mask. “I’m just trying to get a feel for how they will handle that, mentally. Their grandmother seems prepared, in all kinds of ways, not just with food and whatnot. Chrissy and her kids, not so much.”

  Movement caught his attention. Christine came into the kitchen, and as soon as she looked up, she froze mid-step. “It seems I am missing something,” she said. “A clue. What’s going on in here?”

  David replied, “Your friend, here, and I were just having a little conversation. Getting to know one another. I don’t mean to step on your business, Christine, but I’m surprised to see someone like you be so trusting of a total stranger with your kids.”

  An ember of irritation grew in Wiley’s gut. Still afraid of cops, but this one was making it personal. An image flashed through Wiley’s mind, one of his victims’ bloody, smashed faces superimposed over David’s… He bit the inside of his cheek to snap himself back to reality, back to the moment.

  Wiley kept his voice level and quiet. “Funny, she’s known me longer than she has you. I think I’ve earned the trust needed to talk to a couple kids. You could have done it, but where were you instead?”

  David didn’t flinch. “At the town hall meeting, trying to secure some gasoline to get back to my station.”

  Christine frowned, looking directly at the cop. “And butting into town business, siding with the bad guy, spitting on Fran’s hospitality, and still managing to get on the mayor’s bad side? Because, that’s just what we needed.”

  He shrugged. “I spoke my mind.”

  His ever-present shadow cop buddy, Orien, added, “Cobi must be some new level of insecure to mistrust even those who agree with him. For a politician, he’s not very good at kissing babies and whatnot.”

  Moving to the pantry, Christine replied, “So, you ‘spoke your mind,’ huh? So you mean you meant to shoot yourself in the foot twice with one bullet?”

  Wiley looked at David and raised one eyebrow, desperately fighting the smirk that threatened to take over his face. What on Earth had happened at that meeting? And who was this new Christine he was seeing? There was a side to her, it seemed, that he hadn’t seen before. One with fire in her belly. How interesting…

  When David didn’t answer, Christine spun on him, a jar of pickles in her hand. The jar had no label, Wiley noted. Fran might well have made those pickles. She was turning out to be interesting, too. There seemed to be more than a retired farmer in that one. The family was certainly full of surprises.

  Christine spoke with a gravelly voice, “So, David, are you staying here in town, too? I hope you brought a sleeping bag, after turning on Fran like that.”

  Wiley flinched at her tone. Damn, she did have fire in her belly. The smug cop might have been made of stone—and from his expression, impervious to caring about people or what they thought of him—but at least Wiley could enjoy Christine verbally stabbing him. Even though the stabbing victim seemed too much of a caricature to even notice.

  “What the devil happened at that meeting?” Wiley asked.

  Christine looked over at Wiley for a second, met his eyes, and replied, “You’ll have to ask Fran or David. It’s for them to tell, not me. I’d ask them both, though, because you’re likely to get two very different stories.”

  Fran’s voice came a half-second before she stepped through the doorway into the kitchen. “That’s because different people see things different. They aren’t ‘stories,’ they’re just the way people saw things.”

  David’s shoulders relaxed as he turned and tipped his head in greeting to Fran.

  Wiley said, “What happened?”

  Fran didn’t look his way. She said, “David, I don’t much like what you did, but I don’t figure you were just being contrary.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “You didn’t get your gas, but that doesn’t mean you ought to sleep in your truck when I have extra rooms.”

  David eyed Wiley as he replied, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, ma’am. We can—”

  “You and your partner will stay in my guest room,” Fran interrupted as though David hadn’t been speaking. “It’s at the top of the stairs, second door. There’s two beds in it. It’s cramped, but warm and safe.”

  Christine spun on her mother and put her hands on her hips. “Fran, I’m—”

  Fran silenced Christine with a glare. “This is still my house. It’s not up to you.”

  Wiley watched David intently. Hopefully, the cop would say no…

  David coughed into his hand. “Ah, yes. Well. I actually only came by to check on you and your house, after the rough treatment you got from the HOA president. I hesitate to call him the mayor.” His expression soured.

  Wiley’s mouth turned up at the corners, ever so slightly. What a relief. There had been no way he could stay there if two police officers were there, as well.

  Fran pursed her lips. “No, sirs. If you don’t have gas to get home, you certainly won’t have gas to keep a truck running all night to stay warm—around here, it still gets a bit chilly at night, even this time of year. I’m not saying you can live here forever, but until Cobi lets someone give you gas to leave, you will stay here.”

  She stared at David for several long seconds before the officer gave her one curt, silent nod. Then, she turned and walked out of the kitchen, heading for the stairs.

  Wiley shifted his weight to his other foot. The awkward silence in the kitchen weighed a ton, it seemed, and after a moment, he said, “I should get to bed, too. I imagine she’ll have work for me in the morning.”

  He tried not to look at anyone on his way out, and as he strode away, he imagined the cop staring at him from behind, wondering who he was, racking his brain to place the familiar face.

  As Wiley reached the stairs, he considered whether it was time for him to dip out, time to leave before anyone recognized him.

  But that was a decision he could make when he awoke, because at the moment, exhaustion crashed into him and hard. A bed sounded wonderful.

  When he got to his room, little bigger than a walk-in closet, he packed his bag before sliding into the warm bed. Head full of worries, he drifted into sleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

  25

  Tuesday, June 2nd

  Christine trudged inside through the mud-room entrance that led to the kitchen. She stripped off her muddy work boots and overalls, set down her leather gloves, and took a deep breath before going into the kitchen. She hadn’t missed morning chores, when she’d left home, that was for sure. But the work had to be done, and no one ate for free at Fran’s.

  On the other hand, the workload was a lot lighter than she remembered it being. This was probably due, she realized, to the unique way of farming Fran was using these days. The place may have only been a couple acres at best, but the sheer volume of growing things—bugs, lizards, and birds, in addition to a jungle of foliage—dwarfed anything she’d seen on a normal farm.

  She looked out the screened windows at the fields and raised beds and trees. Harvest time had to be intensive with her new method. Nothing grew all together, but were interspersed and scattered across the whole of the property. It was just bizarre seeing it from the workman’s side of things. This “permaculture” way was far easier to manage on a day-to-day basis, but harder in other ways.

  She let out a sigh. Breakfast ought to be done by then, and her stomach was talking to her, loudly demanding food. She headed inside.

  Darcy was rushing to and fro, a pan in hand, di
shes arrayed across the kitchen island waiting for food.

  The living room was packed with everyone who lived on the farm, including a couple of people Christine didn’t recognize. That was a bit jarring. Workers who lived on the property for crop-sharing reasons, or those who worked on Fran’s other properties, perhaps? Either way, no one she did recognize was paying them any mind, and her anxiety faded.

  Christine said, “Good morning, sweetie. What’s for breakfast? I’m starving.”

  Darcy, without slowing down, said, “Bacon, eggs, hashbrowns, and toast from the bakery this kitchen turned into last night. It was crazy, Mom. And I’m going crazy now, too.”

  Christine shook her head.

  “What?” Darcy stopped to look at her.

  Christine replied, “What do you mean, ‘what’? You’re in the kitchen, cooking and serving, but why do you think Fran has a commercial-sized kitchen, practically? Just for looks?”

  “Not anymore, I don’t.”

  “I love you, sweetie, but kitchen duty is considered a luxury, a cushy job compared to being one of the farmhands.”

  “Have you tried it?” Darcy frowned.

  “Yes, dear, I grew up on a farm.” Christine rolled her eyes, heedless of her daughter seeing it. “Right now, farming is going to keep us all alive and fed, without opening up bags of dog food.”

  Darcy grimaced.

  Christine didn’t pause, but continued right on talking. “And so it’s critically important that the chores around here be handled without excuses, without taking one’s sweet time about it, and without mistakes.”

  Darcy cocked her head, then after a moment, her eyes widened. “Are you saying I’m in here because Nana doesn’t trust me enough to give me farm chores?”

  David’s voice from the living room interrupted the conversation, his tone deep and loud. “Whoa, sir, slow down. What do you expect me to do about it?”

  Christine turned, surprised.

  A voice she didn’t recognize said, “The mayor made you the law in town, didn’t he? Go enforce it. My family didn’t eat yesterday because I can’t get paid, because the banks are down. And anyway, no one would take dollars right now. So make my boss pay me in something they will take. I did the work—I earned food for my kids today, not a promise for some green toilet paper someday.”