Inception of Chaos: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Story

by Holden, J. J.

  His mouth ticked upward at the corners. “Just glad to help. Try eating some bread—it might settle your stomach. I’ll go T-C-B, as they say. Taking care of business.”

  Christine smiled and nodded. No one said that, anymore, but she let it go.

  David stepped back up to the front, without so much as a glance at Cobi. “Okay, folks. You, you, and you…”—he pointed at several groups, both to his left and his right—“…come with me. First, we’re going to make sure you folks get a good meal, on the town. Then, we’re going to methodically make sure each and every stockpile point is secure—after I deputize you. Welcome to the Weldona Volunteer Police Department, folks. You all ready to do some ‘protecting and serving’?”

  He wandered into the crowd, gathering up groups seemingly at random, but now that Christine knew his plan, she could see they were anything but random.

  63

  Christine watched as David left with four groups of four. More people had arrived, though, and the crowd that remained milling about was about the size it had been when David calmed things down. Without those angrier people among them, though, the vibe she felt from the crowd was a lot calmer than it had been. All of which begged the question of what they were all still doing there. People greeted the newcomers, and filled them in on what was going on, but they could certainly handle that on their own.

  Christine looked to Mary and shrugged. “Might as well go home. You coming?”

  Before Mary could reply, though, Cobi tapped the podium with the gavel. “Okay, my friends, listen up. Now that I’ve talked David Kelley into staying to help keep us all safe, I have something to announce, and you need to hear this.”

  Oh, for crying out loud. What did that weasel have in mind, now? The fact that he’d waited until David was gone did not escape her notice. She, like the crowd, looked to the podium.

  Cobi’s smile shifted, his lips flatlining, and he shook his head slowly. “I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings…”

  Yeah, right.

  He continued, “It turns out that we’ve had a serial killer among us this whole time, and never knew it.”

  Christine’s stomach threatened to flip once again. What the hell was he talking about?

  “That’s right,” he said. “A killer among us. I’m surprised Officer Kelley didn’t mention it, but I suppose he had…more important things to think about.”

  “Forget that,” a woman said, “what are you talking about?”

  Cobi pursed his lips, nodding slowly. “Earlier today, two of your fellow citizens came to me with the news. They found a fax, dated from the day of the C-M-E event. A serial killer was being transported to Denver for final sentencing, and they were alerting communities along the way. Why they had the fax, and why they didn’t tell me sooner, I can’t say. But that killer…”

  The people in the crowd leaned forward, their earlier calm erased from their expressions. Christine understood that feeling completely, because any sense of calm David had given her was running for the horizon, now.

  A couple people in the crowd even called out for him to tell them, already.

  “The serial killer hiding among us went by the name of Wiley.”

  Heads turned toward Christine, and she had to force herself to stand straight, though she wanted to slink away. But Wiley? No way. “What the hell, Cobi. What are you talking about? He’s not a killer.”

  He shook his head, again pursing his lips. “I’m sorry he misled you, Chrissy. It’s not your fault, of course. But his real name…is William Johnson.”

  She heard herself gasp, along with half the other people in the crowd. The William Johnson? No way. That guy was a freaking animal who tortured and murdered, what was it, half a dozen people? The news had to censor the images they did show, blocking out the horrifying crime scenes but leaving enough showing to make the hardest veteran shudder. She heard herself say, “Prove it. You’re lying.”

  A smile crept onto his face. That vindictive bastard… He was enjoying this, she was certain. She watched, mesmerized, as he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and began to unfold it.

  “I have here the fax those brave men brought to my attention. Unfortunately, the killer caught wind of the meeting. He showed up, armed with a gun. David was there, and Wiley—William Johnson—got the drop on him. There was a scuffle, during which Wiley shot and killed one of those brave messengers, though the man saved Officer Kelley’s life.”

  “Where’s the other man, from the guys who told you this?” Christine frowned. No way Cobi wrestled with a killer, but that didn’t mean he was lying. But she knew Wiley. That didn’t sound like the man she knew.

  “Unfortunately, he went a bit crazy when his friend got murdered. Wiley intended to assassinate the three of us, but didn’t count on David and his partner being there. In the chaos, as we all tried to save the life of Wiley’s latest victim, the killer…escaped.”

  Outraged cries spread through the crowd. Christine heard people asking who would be next? Now that the animal’s cover was blown, no one was safe, they said. And the paper he held up—that was definitely a picture of Wiley. It wasn’t possible… How could she have let a serial killer go fishing with her children? Oh, God… Had he picked her and Mary to be his next victims? Had David, showing up when he did, saved her life? Her children’s lives?

  She gagged, fighting to keep what stomach acid remained in her where it belonged.

  Cobi pounded his palm on the podium and shouted, “But I swear to you, your mayor is on top of this, people. Because while Officer Kelley was busy working on my plan to keep you all safe from the danger out there, I hunted the killer in here. I found William Johnson—”

  “Where is he?” Christine’s head whipped up to stare at Cobi.

  “He’s safely chained up, in a safe place. He can’t escape, and no well-meaning, misguided crusader is going to set him free before justice is done.”

  Cobi looked out over the crowd and continued, “I caught the killer. I put him where we’re safe from him. I could have killed him, but I believe in the rule of law. And the law has sentenced William Johnson to death. Together, we’re going to make sure our families are safe from the enemy among us, because when all this is over, we’re going to carry out his death sentence.”

  Images of Wiley with her kids flashed through her head. She was supposed to keep them safe. She’d failed, and only dumb luck had kept her family from ending up like those poor, sorry bastards they’d shown on the nightly news for weeks during the trial of the decade. But also, images of him smiling. Him saving her from those four refugees. Him grinning as he took her kids out to go fishing. And at last, images swept through her mind of Wiley, no longer grinning, but now grimacing as he swung at the end of a rope, before going limp and letting out his last gasp…

  Christine didn’t hear the rest of Cobi’s ranting, over the sound of her own retching as her stomach rebelled against her.

  64

  David lined up the fourteen men and two women he’d scooped out of the town hall crowd, but as he reached the end of the line, angry voices toward the front drew his attention. He turned in time to see one man, a townie, take a swing at a farmer. The farmer ducked, as David rushed toward them, and then took a shot of his own at the townie. Thankfully, the other man leaned backward, and the farmer’s fist whiffed past his face harmlessly.

  David plowed into the townie, hard enough to send him reeling back a couple steps, and stepped into the newly-formed gap between them. “Stop this, now! You want to watch the battle from chains in a root cellar? Because you all don’t have a jail, so that’s where I’m going to lock you assholes up.”

  The two men glared at each other, panting, but didn’t try to renew the fight.

  “Dammit, you two,” David continued. “We’re on the same side. You can’t protect anyone if you’re locked up for assaulting your damn neighbor. What is confusing about that? You are smart enough to understand me, right?”

  “He
swung at me,” the farmer protested.

  “Well, he cut in front of me in line. He said, ‘farmers before fuckups’ and cut in front. What was I supposed to do? He ought to be at the front of the line to get his family into Weldona, if he was a good father.”

  The farmer stepped toward him, but David shoved him back, then turned his head to glare at the townie. It was a risk, splitting his attention and breaking up a fight by himself, but he had to rely on them hating each other more than him for getting between them, or he had to arrest them both. He took the chance.

  “Enough. The next one of you to say one damn word is off the team, you get me?” He looked back at the farmer, in the eyes. “You. You cut in line, so now, you get to go to the back of it. Move along. I won’t have you two punching each other over a freaking lineup.”

  David was half surprised when the farmer, grumbling, turned and headed to the back, separating the two men with nothing injured but their egos. He was almost as surprised that none of the others had joined in, and he’d even heard a few telling the two men to knock it off. That was a huge improvement over what would have happened if this scuffle occurred a few weeks prior… He was winning them over. That was the silver lining, or at least, that was what he told himself.

  “Okay. Now that that’s settled, let’s get down to what is actually important. Saving this town, and keeping your families safe. Right?”

  He looked around. Some nodded, but no one answered.

  “I said, right?”

  Muttered agreements came from up and down the line.

  “Good. All of you are from Weldona, whether you work in town or whether you work out there, feeding us. You all have roots here, deep ones, and if you want your kids to survive to inherit those roots, we’re all going to have to work together to protect them. The kids, and the roots.”

  He strode up and down the line, looking each man and woman in the eyes in turn. “Now, who here thinks roving watchmen are a bad idea?”

  One of the two women, a middle-aged woman who looked rather fit for someone her age, raised her hand. When David nodded at her, she said, “Hi. Eloise, school teacher. Thanks for having me. I teach history, and well… Are we really so far gone that we need some sort of medieval night watchmen? Aren’t the checkpoints good enough for in town?”

  David favored her with a brief smile. “Eloise, thanks for the question. I’ll answer you with another question. Look around you. Do you see starving children?”

  “Um…no?”

  “Is that a question, or an answer?” David grinned, as she blushed. He continued, “But ‘no’ is the correct answer. Here, in Weldona, the kids aren’t starving. Out there, though, they are—and their parents are going to do what good parents anywhere would do.”

  Eloise frowned and looked down. “Teach them stealing is wrong?”

  David almost let a bark of laughter escape. “Hardly. No, they’re going to make sure their children don’t cry from hunger and slowly wither away, starving, by trading the hungry bellies of their kids for yours. And if we don’t volunteer to starve our kids for theirs, then they’ll pay for our food with our own blood. You’ll kill to protect your families, but so will they.”

  Eloise, still looking down, said, “I’m in. I’ll do the roving watchmen thing you mentioned.”

  “So will I,” a man said, and then another, and another.

  David held up one hand. “Wait. I appreciate your willingness, but I suspect that is going to be something everyone in town takes shifts on doing. It’ll take more than you fine people to keep watch safely, so we’ll get more. And you’ll all need some training before you can do it safely and effectively, though not much training. Part of the problem is that the food is out there, on farms, not here in town. And it can’t be here in town until after it’s ready to harvest, can it?”

  “Not if you wanna be able to eat it,” a farmer replied.

  David nodded. While discussing this earlier, Orien had asked if they should spare their time to train these people, rather than patrolling. He’d thought it might be better for the two of them to take shifts training, until the job was done. But David didn’t agree. Twelve-hour shifts training them, seven days a week, was not sustainable. Plus, it would leave no time for them to patrol and do their actual job there—and he didn’t think they’d have time to train everyone, anyway. Better to have the best eyes in town out there, looking, supported by less-trained but more numerous deputies to respond to whatever he or Orien found.

  One of the townies—Eloise, in fact—broke his train of thought. “I’ve never held a gun. I hate the things.”

  A young man in overalls spat into the dirt. “Is hating ’em going to stop some bandit from using one on your kids, ma’am?”

  Before David could think of something to say to defuse the tension building, an older man of perhaps fifty said, “Just the same, ma’am, it might be prudent to learn to use one safely. You can’t just pick one up for the first time and hit what you’re aiming at. Might even hit one of your own, on accident. I’ll be happy to take the time to teach you how to do it safely. That way, if’n you ever need to, you’ll know how to use it. God willing, you won’t ever have to.”

  She nodded, lips flatlined and eyes downcast. “Better to know how and not need it than to need it and not know how. They’re just such evil things.”

  “They’re just a tool, Eloise,” David said, reaching a hand out to her shoulder. “It’s the people using them who are good or evil. Sometimes, they aren’t even evil—just desperate.”

  Her eyes turned red-rimmed and welled up, but she nodded. “Thanks, mister. I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  Outstanding. The potential conflict had been averted, and better yet, by the citizens themselves. David smiled wanly. In his head, he could practically hear Orien’s voice saying they’d never get out of Weldona, now—not until the town was safe, but would it ever be? This new world was ugly, and getting uglier. Well, he swore to himself, he’d do what he could to save them. They needed saving more than the well-protected people in Denver, that was certain.

  65

  Mary held the door open for her, and Christine smiled wanly as she headed into the house. She was still shaky from retching, right before Cobi broke up the town meeting with a promise to let a mob murder Wiley. A killer, she reminded herself. Was Cobi right to do so? She just couldn’t reconcile the horrid images she recalled from the news channels earlier that year and the man who had saved her life.

  Fran, in the living room, looked up with a smile as they went inside, but her smile vanished. “Oh, sweetie. What’s wrong? Sit down. Do you want water? I can get you some tea. Here, sit in the chair,” she said, motioning to the recliner—her recliner, the one only Bryson had been allowed to sit in.

  Christine sat on the couch.

  She said, “Do you remember that spree killer earlier this year? William Johnson?”

  “Mm-hm. He said he slaughtered a dozen men because the police wouldn’t arrest them for no reason. Right?”

  Christine shook her head. This was the result of all those biased “news” shows her mother watched, and the radical podcasts she had always been listening to before the CME. “No, Fran. He killed four men, and claimed they’d murdered his sister. I heard that when he killed them the way they’d killed his sister, he found profiles they’d put together of other teen girls they were going to go after.”

  “Huh. The news never mentioned that part.”

  Christine shrugged. “You know how courts work. That was ruled inadmissible, so the jury never heard it.”

  Fran frowned. “Because…it was hearsay? Or what?”

  Christine could well imagine her mother’s turmoil. Fran hated the unjust court system that Christine worked so feverishly to support as a paralegal, but she hated murderers more. Usually. That depended on whatever “idiot ruling” she had read about in the courts that day, before the CMEs.

  She shrugged. “No. The judge said it was because that was irrelevant
. Vigilante killing is still Murder-One, not a defense.”

  Fran’s frown deepened. How often had she said communities had a right to defend themselves from predators when the courts sat on their fat asses cashing checks, as she put it? “How… Where did you even hear this?”

  Christine took a deep breath, resting her hands on her knees to keep both from shaking. “Because, Fran, we know William Johnson. To us, his name is…Wiley.”

  Fran’s mouth opened into a big “O” shape, and she gasped, putting one hand over her mouth. “Are you sure? How did you find out?”

  Christine nodded. “Yes, I’m sure. The state justice department put out a safety warning fax to every town along the route to Wiley’s…William’s final sentencing. The C-M-E hit us while he was en route, and in the resulting chaos, he escaped the prison van. But there’s more. Only a day ago, Wiley saved my life from several pissed-off refugees who had come into town looking to kill some of us, for revenge for their buddy—that guy David shot, I think. I don’t know, that’s fuzzy, but Wiley could have left me there. Instead, he fought them alone, and won.”

  “I see.” Fran’s lips flatlined, and Christine couldn’t tell what was going on behind those eyes. “And where is this serial killer, now?”

  Christine felt a spike of anger stab her in the gut. She was a bit surprised at the force of her reaction to what she was about to say. “Cobi caught him trying to run away, after Wiley found out Cobi knew the truth.”

  “Why didn’t he just kill Cobi, then, if he’s such a monster?” Fran asked. Once again, Christine watched as mixed emotions played out across Fran’s face. Of course, her mother would find it impossible to admit she’d let a killer into her house without being able to tell, somehow, magically.

  “David was there. There was a fight with two guys who showed Cobi the fax I mentioned, and one of them for sure is dead, maybe both. It wasn’t clear. But after David cuffed Wiley, the big raid happened—”