EMP Survival In A Powerless World | Book 22 | The Coldest Night

by Walker, Robert J.

  Kenneth’s wife, Elizabeth, burst into tears as her husband said this. She had been married to him for most of her life since they had been high school sweethearts, and she hadn’t imagined that their life together would come to an end in this way. She knew why Kenneth was offering to sacrifice himself, though, and also knew from six decades of living with him just how stubborn he was when it came to things like this. “You’re a true hero, Kenny,” she said tearfully, “and I couldn’t have spent my life with a better man. If you don’t make it out of here … I’ll see you on the other side, soon.”

  “I love you with all my heart and soul, Lizzy,” Kenneth said. “But you already know that, don’t you? Go on, get out of here, all of you! My boy and I will hold the fort down, won’t we, son?”

  Jack nodded. “We sure will, Dad. Kate, you’re in charge from now on. When you hear me and Dad laying down some heavy cover fire, get yourself out of the kitchen door and into the trees. Get up to those boulders on the ridge as quickly as you can and start taking these bastards out with some well-placed sniper shots from up there. With some speed and luck, we can turn the tide of this fight.”

  Another wave of bullets came crashing through the smashed-out windows, and everyone lay flat on the floor, breathing hard. “Everyone safe?” Jack called out.

  Everyone replied that they were safe.

  “All right, everyone, get to the kitchen!” Jack ordered.

  At this point, Nick returned with a bunch of bulletproof vests and hand grenades taken from the cellar. Everyone put a vest on, and Jack and Kenneth took a bunch of grenades, while everyone else took one each.

  “The pussies ain’t fightin’ back!” Mark roared from somewhere outside. He sounded as if he was closer to the cabin now than he had been earlier. “Close in boys, close in! Let’s get ‘em!”

  His battle cry was answered by a roar of enthusiastic, aggressive cheers; from the sound of it, it seemed that there were at least ten to twelve attackers outside the cabin.

  “Nick, Kate, get Arthur down to the cellar, then get out of here!” Jack said. He gave Kate a quick, tight hug and a kiss before she and Nick carried Arthur out of the room. Susan and Elizabeth followed them, leaving Kenneth and Jack alone in the living room.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me now, Dad,” Jack said to Kenneth.

  “Let’s give ‘em hell, son,” Kenneth growled. “These scumbags chased Lizzy and me out of our home, destroyed our town, murdered scores of innocent people, and shot my firstborn boy. Now it’s time for payback.”

  “Before we do, Dad, I need to prepare a quick surprise for ‘em,” Jack said. “You see, I want them to come in here.”

  “You what?”

  Before Jack could answer, another volley of rifle shots crashed through the windows, smashing up more items inside the living room and showering the two men with a cloud of debris and porcelain shards.

  “I’m not going to blindly throw these grenades out there and hope that they hit something,” Jack said, pointing to the pile of hand grenades. “We can use these to take at least half of the bastards out. I just need to mount them all around the living room, then hook up a single strand of fishing line to all the pins, which I’ll pull once they’re in here…”

  Kenneth grinned as he realized what Jack’s plan was, and how devastatingly effective it would be if they could pull it off. “I’ll give ‘em a few shots to keep ‘em occupied and hold ‘em off while you get the grenades set up,” Kenneth said. “Then, we’ll pull back, and let the scumbags walk right into our trap.”

  “First, we need to lay down some cover fire so that the others can escape. I just heard Kate and Nick running up the cellar stairs, so they must have gotten Arthur down there, and they’ll be ready to go. You take the window next to the front door; I’ll take the west window. As soon as the bastards have fired their next volley at us, we pop our heads up and give the sons of bitches hell. Keep firing until your mag is empty.”

  “You don’t need to tell me twice,” Kenneth said, grinning. “I’m ready when you are.”

  “Wait for the shots to come in, then I’ll give the signal,” Jack said.

  Another couple of shots crackled from the woods outside the cabin, punching even more holes through the drapes, which looked like swiss cheese at this point, and then Jack knew it was time. “Go!” he yelled to his father. “Give ‘em hell!”

  40

  Jack popped his head up, ripping the drapes out of the way. Bright morning light came rushing into the gloomy living room, and he saw that Mark’s men had already started advancing across the stretch of open ground. They had grown overconfident, since no resistance had come from the cabin until this point, and there were six of them now caught in the open with no cover.

  His first burst of automatic fire took the closest man in the chest, and before he had even fallen to the ground, limp and dead as a clubbed fish, Jack had swung his rifle on the next target and unleashed another burst of fire. Three rapidly fired bullets punched through the man’s torso, and the fourth snapped the man’s head back, blowing his skull open in a grisly spray of blood.

  On the other side of the room, Kenneth was blazing away with the AK-47, laughing gleefully. He hadn’t felt this alive in years, and with his coke-bottle-thick glasses on, his sight was almost as clear as a much younger man’s, as was his aim. He spat out bullets at a terrifying rate from the AK, firing in fully automatic mode, cutting down two men in quick succession.

  The other two who had been caught out in the open knew that their only hope of surviving was to fight back, so they dropped to the ground and opened fire on the cabin, spraying it with automatic fire from their own AR-15 rifles that they had looted from the dead.

  Jack swung his rifle around, squeezing off several shots in rapid succession, but the targets the two men presented were much smaller now that they were lying down. The bullets he fired kicked up plumes of dirt and chunks of grass around them but did not hit them.

  Also, Mark and the remaining three attackers opened fire from the cover of the trees, with Mark blazing away with the high-powered rifle he’d shot Arthur with: a mean and potent 50-caliber. Kenneth, caught up in the moment, roared out with fury and raised himself to his full height, spitting out the last of his AK-47 bullets. They sprayed across the bodies of the men on the grass, who yelped with brief pain as the bullets tore through their torsos, and then they fell silent, their hands slipping off their rifles as death took them.

  Before either Jack or Kenneth could celebrate this small victory, though, a burst of AR-15 fire from one of the men in the woods sprayed across Kenneth’s torso, and he dropped the AK and staggered back, ripping the drapes from their rails as he fell heavily to the ground. A second later, one of the huge 50-caliber bullets from Mark’s rifle smashed through Jack’s lower left leg, and he stumbled and fell backward to the ground, dropping his gun and gasping as pain tore through his leg.

  “Got you, motherfucker!” Mark shouted from the trees. “The next shot is gonna be through your guts, so you die slowly while you watch me an’ my boys have some good ol’ fun with your bitches!”

  Gasping with pain, Jack pulled himself back into the cabin and closed the door. He could only hope that his and Kenneth’s burst of cover fire had given the others enough time to escape. From the sound of it, it had been successful in that regard. All the enemy fire had been concentrated on this section of the cabin, so Jack could only pray that the rest of his family had escaped.

  He had been so caught up in his own fighting that he hadn’t noticed that Kenneth had been badly hit, but he heard his father’s raspy wheezing soon enough. Groaning, he turned around and crawled over to Kenneth, whose chest was a mess of blood where the bullets had smashed through his torso. The old man was coughing weakly, and blood was frothing at the corners of his mouth. Jack knew right away that he was at death’s door and that his life was beyond saving.

  “I’m here, Dad, I’m here,” Jack said, gripping his father’s hand t
ightly in his own.

  “You … shouldn’t be,” Kenneth wheezed, coughing. Despite the pain he was in, and the fact that he knew he was dying, the old man smiled. “Thank you … for letting … me … die like … a man,” he gasped. “But there’s … one more thing … I gotta do.”

  “What is it, Dad?” Jack asked, his eyes rimmed with tears and his voice hoarse.

  “Get outta here … son,” Kenneth wheezed, the light already fading from his eyes. “But give me … the grenade line … before you go.”

  Now Jack understood what his father wanted. He would hold onto the line that would pull all the grenade pins simultaneously, and yank on it with the last of his strength when the invaders burst in.

  “I love you, Dad,” Jack said, giving his father’s hand a tight squeeze. “Goodbye and thank you for everything … and give ‘em hell.” He pressed the fishing line into Kenneth’s hand and crawled on his hands and knees out of the room, dragging his shattered leg behind him. He heard Mark and his remaining men bellowing out shouts of triumph as they charged forward, thinking that they would no longer meet any resistance in the cabin. Gasping and grunting with pain and exhaustion, he crawled down the stairs to the cellar, where he drew his pistol and waited for the explosion.

  Just as he got halfway down the stairs, he heard the door burst open. He heard the sound of men yelling insults at his dying father, and then a few quick pistol shots. He fought back the tears, knowing that the three loud bangs he had heard had been his father’s death. He only hoped that the old man had managed to yank on the cord before they’d shot him.

  He heard boots stamping excitedly through the living room … and suddenly an enormous explosion, like the sound of the earth itself splitting in half, tore through the cabin, blowing half of it to pieces, along with the men.

  The force of the explosion boomed through the house and was enough to bowl Jack down the rest of the stairs and send the pistol flying out of his hands. He lay on the floor with the wind knocked out of his lungs, groaning. The explosion had been enormous and had to have killed everyone in or close to the living room. Jack listened with bated breath, seeing if he could discern the sound of any living enemies, but all he could hear was a shrill whining in his ears.

  He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, with his destroyed leg throbbing, his strength and life slowly bleeding away, and his ears ringing, but after some time, he heard the sound of footsteps coming through the cabin. Whoever it was limped heavily, gasping and coughing, and sounded as if they were badly injured.

  Jack had a feeling he knew exactly who it was, and, gritting his teeth, he heaved himself up onto his hands and knees, desperately searching for his pistol in the thick gloom of the cellar. And behind him, he heard the footsteps stop and turn, and then they came lumbering down the cellar steps, and the sound of coughing and ragged breathing grew louder and more ominous with every footfall.

  “You thought you could … take ol’ Mark McAllister out … with a cheap trick like that, asshole?” Mark growled, dark blood dripping from his lips and running down his throat, with half of his face ripped off from the force of the blast. In each hand, he held a long hunting knife, and although he was stumbling with every step he took, there was still plenty of strength in his veins. “I’m gon’ skin you … like I did that mountain lion,” Mark growled.

  Jack crawled across the floor, still desperately trying to find the pistol, but as intently as he searched, he just couldn’t find it. His hand finally curled around a cold, solid steel item, but it wasn’t the pistol. It might do, though, he thought grimly, it might just do. Mark staggered across the cellar, laughing darkly … and then he was upon Jack, and the two of them were rolling and roaring and stabbing and slashing at each other in the dark, like two rabid wolves battling in the night forest.

  Epilogue

  “That’s good, Nick. Hold it there while I get these screws in. Hold it steady,” Kate said, directing Nick, who was using all of his strength to prop up a freshly cut pine log. The log would form one of the final supports for the living room ceiling and would bring the repairs to the cabin—largely flattened by the huge explosion—almost to a close. Thus far, the repairs had taken most of the summer, but they were almost finished.

  “It looks good, Mom, almost as good as new!” Susan remarked.

  “I know, right?” Kate said with a smile as she lined up the screws and screwed them into place with her screwdriver. “Who would have known I’d be any good at woodworking, and just with hand tools, too!”

  “The cabin almost looks as good as new,” Susan said. “Almost…”

  “Looks pretty good from where I’m sitting,” Jack said, grinning at the two of them from the balcony, where he was seated.

  “I know you wouldn’t be sitting at all, even with that wooden leg of yours, if I hadn’t expressly ordered you to do exactly that, Jack!” Kate said. “I told you I could handle this on my own!”

  “I know, I know,” Jack said with a laugh. “And I was only pretending to doubt you. I knew you could do it all along, honey.”

  “Hey, pegleg,” Arthur said, walking out of the woods with a pile of firewood on his shoulder. “Having fun sitting around, telling other people what to do? You must be feeling like you’re back at that city slicker office job you used to love so much!” he added with a playful wink.

  Jack could only laugh; he still couldn’t believe Arthur had survived after so much blood loss. His survival had been the result of two miracles: first, the fact that the bullet hadn’t hit any major organs or arteries, and second, the fact that Susan’s blood had been the same as Arthur’s and Jack’s. In the aftermath of the battle, she had saved both of their lives, transfusing a substantial amount of her blood to her uncle and her father.

  Jack itched his wooden leg, feeling a sensation that wasn’t there as phantom limb syndrome struck. The shot that had struck his lower leg had shattered the bone into so many pieces that the only way to save his life had been an amputation … without anesthetic. Nick had taken Jack’s leg off just below the knee with a powerful swing of a wood chopping ax, and Kate had performed the emergency surgery to close up the gaping wound.

  For at least a week, both brothers had hovered between life and death, and it had seemed that neither of them would pull through. Miraculously, though, both men had managed to fight hard enough to get the fire of life back into their hearts. And now, months later, both were almost as right as rain. Jack walked with a limp on his wooden prosthetic leg—which he had designed and made—and Arthur got tired a lot more quickly than he previously would have, but otherwise, both men had made full recoveries.

  Jack itched at his wooden leg again, and a memory of that fateful morning popped into his mind … how he had somehow found the tomahawk on the floor of the cellar in the nick of time, how he and Mark had fought like wild beasts, how he had fended off Mark’s frenzied attacks with the knives, coming away with only a few cuts across his arms, before burying the tomahawk blade deep in Mark’s neck, and finally watching the light fade from his enemy’s eyes.

  He glanced across at his father’s grave, down at the bottom of the yard just where the trees started, and a pang of intense sadness hit him. He missed Kenneth terribly, as did everyone else, especially Elizabeth, who had not fully recovered from his death, and probably never would. Everyone regarded Kenneth as a hero, of course, and everyone took a few moments every day to visit his grave and put fresh flowers on it.

  A sob tightened like a knot in Jack’s throat, and he shuddered as the nightmarish recollection of the battle faded from his mind. The less frequently he remembered that dark episode, the better.

  “It’s done!” Kate announced triumphantly. “That’s the last of the major work finished! Well done, everyone. It’s all gonna be a lot easier from now on.”

  Everyone gave a celebratory cheer.

  “C’mon!” Jack said, heaving himself up from his chair. “There’s still plenty of daylight left, and there are summer berries
to harvest. Let’s get picking!”

  Laughing and joking, they all left the cabin, heading for the places where the berries grew beneath the trees, and above the sky was as clear and richly blue as they had could have wished for, and the bees buzzed, and the birds sang … and all was well in this strange new world.

  THE END

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