Inception of Chaos: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Story

by Holden, J. J.

  “That wasn’t the big one, Chrissy.”

  “Fine, the bigger raid. David and Orien went to deal with that, and Wiley escaped, but Cobi somehow captured him and has him cuffed somewhere he won’t escape from.”

  Fran let out a single bark of laughter. “Cobi captured a serial killer who had just killed one or two men in front of him? I don’t believe that. Where’d you hear this?”

  “Cobi told me. He told everyone, after David left to handle setting up patrols. He says that once the raider threat is dealt with, then they’ll deal with the serial killer threat.”

  Still frowning, Fran closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Cobi told you all this. And you believe him?” She opened her eyes and met Christine’s gaze. “Or is it more likely this is some half-truth, all-bullshit story he’s feeding everyone? Why else wait until David left to mention it to a mob? Let me guess. By ‘deal with,’ he means a lynch mob?”

  Christine felt her eyes brim up. This surprised her to being speechless, but she nodded.

  Fran shook her head, slowly. “Oh, Chrissy. Cobi’s story is baloney. Wiley may be this killer guy, but if Cobi is involved, you can bet the bullcrap is chest-wader high. Anyway, you said David’s off setting up patrols, right?”

  When Christine nodded, Fran continued, “Well, that means there aren’t any at the moment. And who knows the truth about Wiley? Between those two things, I…I’m breaking out the guns, again. You and Mary will carry a holstered pistol at all times, and keep a long-arm weapon in the same room as yourself at all times. And no arguments, but I’m giving Hunter something to protect himself.”

  Christine blinked. “What? No. You can’t give Hunter guns. They’re kids.”

  “They were kids earlier, when we bunkered down here while you ran off and risked your life at the bridge.”

  “That was different. I forbid it.”

  Fran’s eyes sparkled, her mouth rising at the corners. “And yet, I’m going to do it anyway. Unless you feel like taking them somewhere else, of course, which I won’t allow in this danger we’re in, of course. But relax. We go shooting all summer long, every summer since they were seven, and they’ve both been through several firearm safety courses.”

  “You did this without telling me? Fran, those are my kids, not—”

  “Yes, they are. But they’re safer knowing how not to blow their own heads off if they found Bryson’s gun.”

  “He didn’t own a gun.”

  “Yes, he did. He just knew how you felt about them and never told you. With a gun in the house, the kids were safer knowing which end the bullets come out of.”

  “You could have told me. You should have, Fran.” Christine felt a pressure at the top of her head, like a teapot building pressure.

  “Well, I might have, if you ever talked to me about anything but what you need.” Fran got to her feet and walked to the basement door as Christine looked, flabbergasted, after her. She paused at the top of the stairwell, just long enough to turn to her daughter and smile. “Trust your son, Christine. You raised him well. He’s good, and he’s smarter than you think.”

  With that, her mother delved down into the basement, leaving Christine alone with Mary and her own deeply troubled thoughts.

  Mary, sitting beside her, raised her hand to put it on Christine’s shoulder, but before they touched, two gunshots rang in the distance, faint. Those had to be outside of town… Three answering shots echoed, deeper in tone, and then the gunfire faded away.

  Fran ran up from downstairs carrying a laden duffel bag, and handed out guns like candy. “Hurry, close the blinds. Kids are upstairs, in their rooms. We’ll keep watch down here.”

  Christine didn’t argue. She would definitely use the vile hunk of blued metal AR-15 her mother had handed her, or the pistol she’d gotten from Fran previously, to keep her kids safe. Just like the desperate animals howling at their gates. And while David was organizing patrols and the gunfire had petered out, Christine felt pretty certain no one in the house would sleep well, that night.

  They had known trouble was fast approaching, but now, the “little lizard part of her brain” was screaming it at her: A storm was coming, and far too soon.

  66

  Friday, July 10th

  David took a deep breath as he stepped up to the door. Every inch of him felt bone-tired, weary to the bone. His had been a long, sleepless night, but there was no time for sleeping. The wolf packs were closing in all around them, and a sleeping shepherd would lose the whole flock…

  Much of David’s irritation at that was merely his exhaustion affecting him, of course, so he ignored it. When Christine opened the door, he tipped his cap in greeting. “Good morning, Chrissy. May I come in?”

  She had dark circles under her eyes, too, he noted.

  Christine nodded and stepped aside, opening the door wider. “You don’t need to knock anymore. You know that.”

  He grunted. “I felt like not getting shot by a nervous homeowner.” He followed her inside. When she shut the door behind them, he turned to face her. “Long night?”

  She shrugged. “One of many, these days. David…”

  Her voice trailed away.

  “That’s me.” He smiled, though even the corners of his mouth weighed a ton, as tired as he was. “Yes?”

  She gazed directly into his eyes. “Tell me the truth. Did you know Wiley was a serial killer?”

  David blinked, surprised. For a second, he forgot his exhaustion. “What? No, of course not. I found out when the HOA president did, and… Wait, how did you hear about that?”

  Her eyebrows knitted together, her jaw muscles standing out. “Not the way I should have. Freaking Cobi told me about it. Me and a lot of other people, too.”

  He let out another sigh, his weariness returning in spades. “There hasn’t been time, or I would have told you myself. You may have noticed that things are a bit hectic right now.”

  “Of course, but I should have heard it from you, not him. He said Wiley murdered one of the guys who came to warn you and him about Wiley’s real identity, and you and Orien captured him alive, but he escaped while you were dealing with that raid.”

  David shook his head. “No, well, I mean, yes, but—”

  “Cobi spotted him. They fought, and Cobi caught him again. He has Wiley chained up in a root cellar or something—won’t say where.”

  His jaw dropped. He closed it with a snap. Captured? That weasel captured Wiley, how, exactly? He blurted, “He’s not dead, is he?”

  Christine paused long enough to raise one eyebrow, considering him a moment. “No…” she said, slowly, “Not yet, at least. Cobi made it pretty clear the town was going to lynch him when our current existential threat was over with. He said Wiley showed up intent on killing him and the two other men who knew who he was, but you were there. That true?”

  “Partly. It’s Cobi you’re talking about.”

  Her lips flatlined. “He said that, while everyone tried to save the second man’s life, Wiley escaped. The second man had saved your life, first, though.”

  David froze. “What the fu… What? No, that—”

  “He kind of made it sound like you and Orien let him get away, for some reason.”

  That hit far too close to home. He tried hard not to gulp. “And then, what did Cobi say?”

  “He said that lynching Wiley was just carrying out the State’s lawful verdict, or something like that.”

  That was interesting—was that a note of disapproval he’d heard in her tone? He would not be surprised if she didn’t go along with the herd, though. She rarely did. It was one of the things he liked most about her. That thought, too, was surprising…

  He replied, “There’s more to his story than merely being a serial killer. Did you know that the four men he killed were the ones that kidnapped and… Well, his sister died at their hands, and badly.”

  “Why weren’t they in jail, then?”

  “Police weren’t yet able to arrest th
em—we need things like evidence, you know. But he said that the men he killed had compiled files on new victims they were going to target, just like his sister. As a police officer, I can’t condone what he did, but as a human being, I can at least understand his motive and believe he may have saved innocent lives.”

  “I heard about that, but they didn’t say that in the news.” Her eyes narrowed at him. “How do you know this?”

  “For one, I believed him. But for another, cops talk shop, too. I remember hearing about some of that, and I remember when his sister was found. That, at least, really did happen.”

  She didn’t answer, as seconds ticked by.

  David waved his hand in front of her face. “Hello? Anyone home?”

  Her scowl brightened considerably, her mouth turning up at the corners. “Yes, I was just thinking about what you said. What I’d have done in his position. I don’t know, honestly. I have conflicting feelings about it, but it does make me feel better for having allowed a serial killer alone with my kids, before. I can just picture Cobi standing aside, smiling, as the mob he aroused dragged a man out to kill him. Wiley…saved my life, once.”

  “Really?” More surprising news…

  She nodded. “Yeah. He doesn’t deserve what Cobi has planned for him. Anyway, don’t you have to get to the town hall?”

  David’s turn to nod, he said, “Yes. I left Orien there to handle some drills with the new militia, and of course, Cobi will want a tour to throw his weight around.”

  “Pfft. I’m sure he will. Oh, I packed you a lunch—it’ll keep without refrigeration.” Chrissy handed him a brown paper bag, neatly rolled up at the top. “Get going, or you might irritate our glorious leader.”

  David said his goodbyes, then went straight to the town hall. There, to his surprise, a small crowd had again gathered. Ugh, it was too early in the morning, after too long a shift on duty, to deal with whatever bee was in those people’s bonnets now. He walked inside, and unsurprisingly, Cobi was there. Only, instead of official business, he was smiling and joking with someone standing near the podium.

  As he walked in, the conversation hushed, and Cobi looked over, smiling.

  A shiver ran up David’s spine. Cobi’s smiles were either plastic or predatory, it seemed. He wondered which it would be, this morning. “Good morning, all. I hope you all slept well.”

  Not that David had. He’d been up, patrolling, all night. Still, it was better to be professional when talking to a mob with Cobi in the room and—

  Gunshots rang, distant but distinct, three in a row. Then, two more.

  “Dammit,” David muttered. He pulled out his walkie-talkie. “Whiskey-three, this is Whiskey-two.”

  “Go for Whiskey-three.”

  “We heard shots. Is that you training the militia?”

  “Negative. We heard them, too. I’m taking a squad to investigate, and will report back A-S-A-P.”

  “Solid copy. Whiskey-two, out.” David slid the unit back into its holster.

  David turned away, pulling out his walkie-talkie, and willed it to chirp.

  Several minutes went by, and when it did chirp into life, David practically jumped in surprise.

  “Whiskey-two, this is Whiskey-three.”

  “Go ahead with traffic,” David replied.

  “The shots fired came from a farm north of town. No one was home, though—they’re at the town hall, according to a note we found. It was some refugees who got into the farmer’s wine cellar. Had a good old time, shot up a bunch of really good years. We chased them off. No casualties, no subjects known injured, one subject was detained. How copy?”

  David looked around the room, just in time to see a man and woman running hand-in-hand out the front door. The man wore overalls. “Solid copy. File a report on return, and arrange space to question the detained subject. Whiskey-two, out.”

  David bristled. Only sheer dumb luck had prevented that man and his wife from being potential victims in those gunshots they’d heard earlier. “How the hell can I protect our people if they’re out there?”

  Cobi’s voice carried over the murmuring crowd. “Care to share what you found out?”

  David spun around to face them. “You’re damn right, I do. We almost lost two citizens, only minutes ago. If they’d been home, instead of in town, where it’s safe, they’d both likely be dead, and we would have taken a hit to food production.”

  Cobi shrugged. “We have more. But I thought you were against forcing people to relocate?”

  “I am.” David took a deep breath. He wasn’t as certain as he had been, that was for sure. “However, we no longer have the resources, considering the disparity of force between us and the refugees out there, to ensure everyone’s safety. I’m inviting every farmer into town—we’ll reconvert the elementary school into private rooms and barracks. They can commute to tend the farms.”

  “And if they don’t want to come?” Cobi’s mouth turned up at the corners, his eyes shining.

  That jackhole looked awfully damned amused…

  David replied, “Then this town cannot spare the resources required to ensure their safety. We can rebuild a house, but we cannot replace a lifetime of farming experience. I suggest every farmer here think of their lives and their families’ lives, ahead of buildings and your ‘stuff.’ Move into town. If you won’t or can’t, then only travel in armed pairs and bring a walkie-talkie so we can retrieve your corpses when they kill you. That is all.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Christine, who had just entered the building. She strode toward him and asked, “Does that include townies? Traveling in pairs and using radios?”

  “It does.” David spun on his heels, ignoring indignant demands from the audience to explain himself. To look at Cobi’s triumphant smirk for one more second felt like maybe it would give him an aneurysm.

  Head high, eyes locked firmly to the front exit, he strode to the patrol car. There, he slammed his door shut far harder than he ought, and only narrowly resisted the overwhelming desire to stomp the gas pedal. He pulled out slowly, instead, and headed off to where Orien had been training militia.

  67

  As David walked out, looking stiff as a board with every step, Cobi took over the podium.

  “Okay, folks. You heard the man. Spread the word. Now, if you come to the school, here’s what you should expect, and some items you should ensure you bring with you…”

  Christine tuned out most of what he was saying, as it wasn’t relevant to her, and kept just enough of an ear open to make sure he didn’t say something stupid to screw farmers over. Surprisingly, some of the outlying “townies” made it clear they’d be moving to the school, as well, though she could hardly blame them. Those were the houses that would get hit first, after all.

  After the meeting, back at home, she found Fran in the kitchen.

  Walking in, she waved. “Franny. How’s it going, this morning?”

  “Good, I suppose. I’m a bit worried about raiders, though. We’re at the southeast edge of town, here, and it’d take a couple minutes at least for the militia to form up and get here.”

  “That’s pretty fast. I think we’ll be fine.” Christine grabbed a carrot off the counter, ignoring Fran’s scowl, and took a bite.

  As Christine chewed, Fran said, “Two or three minutes is one or two minutes too long, sweetie. But we don’t have enough adults here to keep guard all the time.”

  Christine smirked. “There’s always the school, if you want to move. They’re opening it up to house the farmers, until this blows over.” Yeah, right… Fran would die before she left her farmstead-in-town.

  “That’s a good idea, actually. When did that happen, and when can we all move in?”

  Christine almost choked on her carrot. She coughed, then gasped, “What? Why?”

  “I just told you why. You were joking, but that’s a wise idea. We have to think of the kids, Chrissy.”

  “But, the bunker—”

  “We’
re on the edge of town, so we’ll get hit first. Real looters would find the bunker and blast their way in, eventually. The kids will be safer, there. We’re doing it.”

  “What about the farm, though?” Christine frowned. Farming was how they survived, even there in town—they were ideally situated, as far as she could see.

  “Oh, we’ll come at first light, and leave at dusk. The work will get done. But as to sleeping here… Maybe not. And everyone will have to carry long-arms while they’re working. Pain in the arse, but necessary.”

  Christine set the carrot down, half-eaten. Sort of like her life in Denver, her marriage, her childhood on the farm… And now, her life here on this farm. “I don’t want to go.”

  “Fine, then stay here alone. But I’m taking the kids, and I’m moving into the school. Now, tell me what we’re allowed to bring.”

  Christine began to relay what Cobi had said, but her thoughts were on the notion of staying alone in the house. She could do it…

  Damn. She could not leave her kids behind to be a hermit in some isolated house on the edge of town.

  Crap.

  Well, it looked like she’d be packing her stuff, too, not just the kids’. Damn David for panicking, too, because that’s all it was. One raid, and he was ready to circle the wagons and abandon all those homes and farms…

  Then, she recalled the words and faces of the four who had tried to kill her and Wiley, and shuddered. If those four had found her here, so far from help and alone…

  She went upstairs to pack, and found she couldn’t be so angry at David any longer.

  Wiley scraped his arm against the gurney bed’s railing, over and over. He was weakened by whatever was in the IV drip bag—more Ketamine, perhaps—and the effort made him sweat in the stifling basement air. A bit of light shone down from a tiny window near the ceiling, which was the first story’s floor, actually. So, it was daytime, at least—late evening, it seemed.