Survival EMP (Book 3): Solar Dawn

by Lopez, Rob

  It wasn’t enough. A bullet entered her thigh like a red-hot poker, seizing the muscle and collapsing her leg. She went down hard, her chin skidding on the pavement.

  *

  Packy was surprised by the outbreak of shots. He was dumbstruck when he saw Lauren racing up the street against a backdrop of gun flashes. He witnessed her fall, then started toward her when she tried to get up again. Armed figures darted out from behind a house and jumped on her, slamming her down to the ground and pushing a rifle barrel into the back of her head. The guy he’d been negotiating with vanished like he’d never been there, and Packy found himself standing alone as voices yelled at him to stay where he was.

  One glance at Lauren told him what would happen if he did. He turned and bolted to his truck. Bullets kicked up dirt from the embankment as he opened the door, released the parking brake and pushed the vehicle over the edge. Multiple hits pocked the bodywork as the vehicle rolled and Packy jumped into the seat. With shaking fingers he tried to find the ignition with the key. The SUV progressed to the bottom of the slope and onto the road. Turning the ignition and flooring the clutch, he engaged gear as the windshield broke into pieces on his lap. Praying he had enough momentum, he released the clutch. The vehicle stuttered and slowed, the engine turning slowly. It didn’t look as if he had enough impulse for the engine to fire up before it stopped completely, and he got ready to bail out and run for his life.

  The engine coughed, caught and started.

  Packy hit the accelerator and spun the wheel as a machine gun stitched holes along the bodywork and into the backseat, exploding foam pieces into the cab. Driving recklessly through yards and crashing fences, Packy recovered from his shock and wondered what he should do next. His first thought was to get the hell out of Dodge. Then he remembered Dee.

  Yanking the wheel and drifting around a corner, he gunned the V8 until he skidded to a halt outside Sonita’s home. Leaving the engine running, he dashed to the house and powered through the front door without knocking. Dee crouched in front of a seated Sonita, holding her hand as she sobbed.

  “We have to go,” said Packy breathlessly.

  “What are you doing here?” said Dee, annoyed by the interruption.

  Jacob sat on a mat, playing with a plastic toy. Packy scooped him up and ran back toward the door. “They got Lauren. Let’s go.”

  Dee stared at him.

  “Please!” said Packy.

  By the time Dee apologized to Sonita and excused herself, Packy was outside, holding the door open for her. Indignant, Dee took a surprised Jacob back. “What’s going on?” she said.

  “No time,” said Packy as he pushed her inside and slammed the door. Skidding over to the driver’s side, he got in and burned rubber. “Get down as low as you can.”

  The only way out of town that he knew was toward I-40. By the time he saw the barricade in the distance, he was pushing eighty and straining the old engine to its limits. He figured he might stop at the road block to retrieve his weapons, but when he saw the guards pointing guns in his direction, he decided to keep faith with the vehicle’s bullbar instead.

  The guards only fired a few shots before diving out of the way as five thousand pounds of madly-driven vehicle smashed through the barrier and scattered the pieces all along the highway.

  29

  Back in Black Mountain, Fick approached the group, who appeared to be holding a woman down in the middle of the street. He’d been at the edge of town when he heard the shooting and had run all the way. Now he wondered what all the fuss had been about. Considering how many spent cartridges there were on the ground, there seemed to be a remarkable lack of casualties.

  “What’s happening here?” he asked as he flicked the safety on his M4 and shifted it around his back.

  A militiaman stepped up. “It appears we’ve caught someone wanted for murder.”

  “Murder?”

  “That’s what they’re saying.”

  The female captive had fresh blood on her jeans leg, and Barbara knelt on her back, yelling, “Someone get a rope!”

  “Is she armed?” asked Fick.

  “No,” said the militiaman.

  Fick walked over. “Barbara, get off her.”

  “No way,” said Barbara adamantly. “I’m going to make sure she hangs.”

  Fick glanced at all the cut trees. “And what are you going to hang her from?”

  “I’ll find a way. She’ll pay for what she done to Luke.”

  “Get off. Now.”

  Barbara reluctantly did so and Fick pulled the captive’s body over. He had a suspicion about who it might be, and one look at her face confirmed it. “Well, well. If it isn’t Mrs. Nolan.”

  Lauren was pale and in pain. Fick pulled out a knife and slit the jeans open to examine the wound. “Bullet passed right through. It could be worse. You’ll be okay.” He took out a field dressing and began bandaging the leg.

  The first militiaman, a leader from a different squad, filled Fick in on what happened. “There was another guy with her, but he got away in a vehicle. According to a gentleman who was speaking with him prior to the incident, the two came from somewhere called Round Knob. It’s out east, I think.”

  Fick mulled over the details. “Have you still got your truck?”

  “Yeah, it’s around here someplace.”

  “Get in it. Find Major Connors. Tell him we’ve got Rick Nolan’s wife. Emphasize that. And tell him to bring everyone he’s got.” He turned to the other militia members. “Get yourselves over to the east barricade and prepare for an assault. I’ll join you once I’ve finished here.”

  A member of Barbara’s squad stepped up to protest. “We ain’t going until we see the bitch hang.”

  Fick stood up slowly. “There’ll be no hanging today.”

  “The hell there …”

  The proclamation went unfinished as Fick punched him hard in the solar plexus. As the militiaman staggered back struggling to breathe, Fick turned to the others. “Any further objections?”

  Barbara’s group stared sullenly at the special forces operator, but said nothing.

  “Good. Then follow your orders.” He turned to a couple of civilian onlookers gawking from their gardens. “Do you people have a wheelbarrow?” he asked them.

  They nodded.

  “Bring one over. We’re taking this woman to the police station.”

  As Lauren was helped into the makeshift transport, she looked up at Fick. “What do you want with me?”

  “Nothing,” said Fick.

  Lauren gasped as she was lowered down into the wheelbarrow, her wounded leg catching against the rim. “So why are you helping me?”

  “You’re no good to us dead,” murmured Fick.

  “Why not?”

  Fick gave her a sly smile. “Because we need you as bait.”

  *

  Rick was about ready to kill someone. It turned out that John Yorkin had no real objection to a whiskey still, and no marijuana had been planted yet, nor was likely to be. No, his objection was to the Clement brothers themselves, whom he considered to be a pair of no-good, hippy dropouts. And his daughter had taken a liking to the younger brother.

  “Dude, I never laid a finger on your daughter,” called out the younger Clement, who was hiding behind a partly-constructed composting toilet. The two brothers had discovered a half-ruined building in the woods that once belonged to the railroad. They were in the middle of creating a sustainable home out of it, leading to the rumor that they were building a still.

  “I saw you with her,” yelled Yorkin, trying with his shotgun to get a clear shot on the younger Clement.

  “We were talking! That’s all!”

  “You’re crazy,” called out the elder Clement from behind a tree. He had his rifle and had been threatening to shoot Yorkin if he didn’t desist, but to no avail.

  Rick was doing his best to defuse the situation but he was losing patience. He strode over to Yorkin. Farther back, Scott stood ready, h
is rifle aimed.

  “Don’t you come no closer,” said Yorkin to Rick. “This ain’t your business.”

  Rick, his face set, continued his approach. Yorkin swung the shotgun toward him, but stopped short when he saw Scott looking at him over the M4 sights, finger on the trigger.

  “It’s my daughter I’m protecting,” protested Yorkin.

  Rick halted, leaving the way clear for Scott to shoot if necessary.

  “You put that gun down now,” hissed Rick to Yorkin, barely able to contain his temper.

  “You’d do the same if it was your daughter,” said Yorkin, starting to sweat.

  “I told you, I never touched her,” called the younger Clement.

  “You shut your mouth,” retorted Yorkin. “I’ll deal with you later.”

  “I’m giving you till the count of five to drop your weapon,” barked Rick.

  “A man’s got the right to protect what’s his,” retaliated Yorkin, though his voice cracked when he spoke.

  The shotgun was only half-pointed in Rick’s direction, and he took a chance. With two strides he reached Yorkin, grabbed the barrel and punched the man in the face. Yorkin stumbled back.

  “You didn’t count to five,” he complained, holding his bleeding nose.

  Rick still had his grip on the shotgun and, with one wrench, tore it loose. Turning to point to the elder Clement, he called out, “And you drop it, too.”

  The elder Clement seemed reluctant to yield his advantage, but Scott turned to aim his M4 at him. With a scowl, the elder Clement dropped the rifle. He watched as Scott came forward to pick it up.

  “I’ve had it up to here with you people,” bawled Rick. “I’ve seen kids act smarter.”

  “It weren’t my fault,” said the younger Clement.

  “I’ve got a right to protect my daughter from being violated,” said Yorkin.

  “No one’s violating anybody,” said Rick. “We’re in this together, whether you like it or not. Things ain’t so good that we can afford to start fighting each other.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who hit me,” said Yorkin.

  Rick stabbed him in the chest with his finger. “And I’ll hit you again if you don’t shut your mouth.”

  Scott wandered over and interposed himself between Rick and Yorkin.

  “What gives you the right to be giving us orders?” said Yorkin from behind Scott’s back.

  Scott gave Rick a cautionary look, indicating he should back off and cool down. Then he turned to Yorkin. “What’s your daughter got to say about all this?” he asked him.

  “She denies it all,” said Yorkin sullenly, “but she would.”

  “Seems to me like we’re kind of short on evidence,” said Scott.

  “That’s what I was saying,” called the elder Clement.

  “Shut up,” shouted Rick to him.

  “We need a people’s forum,” continued Scott. “Anything that affects us as a community needs to be talked about, because right now we’ve got a lot of misconceptions, and it ain’t good to just leave this be. We need to have it out.”

  There was some grumbling, but no one had any better ideas, so on Scott’s direction, the opposing parties made their way back to camp, eyeing each other warily.

  “People’s forum?” said Rick as they walked on behind.

  Scott shrugged. “Well, it seemed like the kind of thing you would have suggested if you weren’t so riled up.”

  Rick frowned. “I’m not so good at this civic leader shit.”

  “That all it is? Strikes me you’re still a little tetchy about Josh going off with Red.”

  “He never asked me if I wanted to go with him,” sulked Rick.

  Scott chuckled. “He’s growing up. He wants to be independent. And Red knows deer hunting. You don’t.”

  “I don’t need you rubbing it in.”

  “Hey, everyone thinks that just because we were special forces, we know everything. Of all people, I didn’t think you’d fall for that as well.”

  “I don’t. It’s just …”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re his pop and you think he should have waited for you.”

  Rick sighed. “I tried to make up for not being around.”

  “You’re around, now.”

  “Not according to Lauren.”

  “Like I said, you’re not going to be good at everything.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Give it time. Everyone’s got to find their role. I say we make Chuck the elder of the tribe. Everyone trusts him, so he can do the mediating. Let him run a council.”

  “And what do we do?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe our time’s done. Relax and let others run the show.”

  “I hate relaxing.”

  “I can see that. Try running a movie club or something.”

  “Funny.”

  “Not as funny as you sulking when your kid wants to do his own thing.”

  “Did I ever mention you’d make a lousy therapist?”

  “Yeah, but I make a great pain in the ass.”

  Emerging from the woods, they saw Packy’s Blazer driving fast into the camp. That was nothing new, but when Packy leaped out and began yelling frantically to people, Rick and Scott immediately got the sense that something was wrong. Breaking into a run, they saw that the Blazer was riddled like Swiss cheese.

  Dee got out of the vehicle. When Lauren didn’t follow, Rick increased his pace.

  “Aw man, I’m sorry,” said Packy as Rick got close.

  “What happened?” demanded Rick.

  “It’s Lauren, man. They got her.”

  “Who’s got her?”

  “People at Black Mountain. They took her down. I saw her take a hit.”

  Rick grabbed his shoulders. “How bad?”

  “I don’t know. I saw her fall, then I saw her moving. I tried to get to her, but …”

  “But what?”

  “There was too many of them, man.”

  “How many?”

  “Didn’t have time to count, but it might have been around fifteen. They were well armed.”

  Rick released him and turned to Scott, who’d just caught up. “Get everyone assembled, we’re heading out.” Throwing the shotgun back to Yorkin, Rick told him, “You want to fight? Now’s your chance.” Before the surprised man could reply, Rick turned back to Packy. “Get to Camp Grier. Rustle everyone you can and catch up with us. And bring Sally. Tell her to have a medical bag ready.”

  Bewildered settlers ran around, looking for their rifles. “I’m sorry, man,” said Packy. “I feel bad about this.”

  Rick ignored him. Striding through the camp he yelled out, “Start the cars. Mount up!”

  30

  Connors arrived at the Black Mountain police station at the head of a convoy. Fick waited for him outside.

  “Did I hear the news right?” said Connors as he stepped out of his car.

  “You did,” said Fick casually. “She’s inside.”

  “Is she talking?”

  “Nope. But her husband knows she’s here. Or at least he will soon, so you don’t have to worry about finding him. I’ve sent the squads to the east barricade.”

  “Has he got a lot of people with him?”

  “Can’t say, but I heard he wiped out a group of raiders at Round Knob. I think it’s safe to assume he didn’t do it alone.”

  Connors leaned back inside the car. “Get everyone to the east barricade,” he told Leon, who was at the wheel. “Prepare a defense, but hold back a reserve, just in case. We could have a real battle on our hands this time.”

  Leon nodded and pulled out, leading the convoy away. Militiamen packed the vehicles.

  “Let’s see what the good lady has to say for herself,” said Connors as he followed Fick into the police station. “Did she put up much of a fight?”

  “She was unarmed. Took a bullet in the leg. Barbara’s hobos wanted to string her up.”

  Connors chuckled. “I’ll bet they did.”


  A small knot of protesters stood outside the station entrance, some still holding placards, but the sight of the militia subdued them to silence. Three local deputies waited nervously inside. They’d been told they had a killer behind bars, and that a large band of bandits were on their way to secure her release. Connors found Lauren in a cell in the basement.

  “They treating you well?” asked Connors, eyeing her bandaged leg.

  Seated on a bench at the back of the cell, Lauren said nothing, her face set like stone.

  Fick brought Connors a chair, and the major sat to observe Lauren through the bars. “My name is Major Connors, and I believe we’ve met, though I daresay it was a few years ago and, well, I guess we’ve all changed since then. I met a lot of my men’s wives in that time, and they all kind of blend together in my memory. Can I confirm that you are, indeed, Mrs. Nolan, the wife of the man who used to be Sergeant Nolan?”

  Lauren stared at him with contempt, the bloodied scrape on her chin making her appear even more pugnacious.

  “I’ll assume you recognize me,” said Connors, “and that you are indeed who we think you are. Do you understand your predicament?”

  Lauren remained silent.

  “Do you have children, Mrs. Nolan?”

  Lauren’s eyes burned.

  “Well, it pains me to say this, but your husband’s a rogue element. Right now, I would class him as a deserter who needs to be apprehended. We can’t have serving men and women of our military doing their own thing, can we? If you help us to persuade him to give himself up, I can see to it that you get to see your children again. You’re being held on a charge of murder, but with the right representation, we could get that down to imperfect self-defense. Your husband needn’t suffer much. A reprimand and a chance to return to active duty will suffice. A small price to pay to be able to return home, right? And it’s all down to you.”

  Lauren said nothing.

  “Time’s running out, Mrs. Nolan. Your actions this day could mean the difference between life and death. Literally, in your case.”

  Lauren watched him for a while. When she finally spoke, she weighed her words carefully. “If I’m being held for murder, why do you want my husband?”