Dark Days of the After (Book 3): Dark Days of the Apostasy

by Schow, Ryan

  “So crack a window,” Clay said.

  “This seat’s as hard as a brick anyway,” Noah complained. “I’d rather sit in the back.”

  “Good freaking God,” Clay grumbled as they played musical chairs.

  When they were finally ready, Boone said, “Anything else?”

  “We’re gonna need to clean up that mess we made if we already haven’t,” Noah said, referring to the war they waged on the Chicoms in the center of town.

  “Yeah, I agree,” Boone said, stepping back from that ledge. He put the Jeep in gear and turned them around. “That’s one of the things we need to get started on sooner rather than later.”

  “We have to shut down the town,” Clay said. “There’s only one way in and one way out for convoys.”

  “You’re talking about dropping rocks in a rushing river trying to stop the flow of water,” Boone said.

  “I know,” Clay replied.

  “The Madigans did some real damage at their property, too,” Boone said, driving the roads a bit too fast for the Jeep. “Took out a few dozen of these crackheads. Some General or something, too. Real important.”

  “Probably self-important,” Noah mumbled.

  “No, I saw his uniform. He was no front-line grunt, which makes me think this is going to blow back on us. And not just today. I think today was the appetizer to the main dish.”

  “If you’re thinking a bloodbath at a high school was an appetizer, then you can pull over and drop me off right now,” Noah said. “I’ll walk home, thank you very much.”

  “Should have brought your tampon,” Clay mumbled.

  From his pocket, Noah pulled a wrapped tampon out and held it for Clay and Boone to see. “Told you,” he grinned. “Good for bullet holes.”

  “You really want to be dropped off?” Boone asked, slowing the Jeep.

  “Put your foot back on the gas,” Clay said. “He’s just pulling your chain. Freaking Army clowns.”

  “Jarhead’s right,” Noah said. “Killing commies is better than smoking cigars and watching gnats hump. When do we start?”

  “Depends on how many fighters we have in town,” Clay said as Boone hit the main road. “If these guys are the same kind of pansy ass snowflakes America started turning out twelve years ago, it’ll just be us.”

  “There’s a couple of softies in town,” Boone said, “but most of us hunt, we live off the land and we do odds and ends type work to keep the creditors away.”

  Clay nodded his head, contemplating the task ahead.

  “So I ask again,” Noah said as they pulled up to the school, “what about that little ingrate we brought along with us last time?”

  “Otto Holbrook,” Boone said, his patience wearing thin. “You already asked about him and I already told you. He’s either asleep or making explosives.”

  This caught Clay’s attention.

  “You have a bomb maker living here?” he asked.

  “He specializes in dynamite and homemade Claymore mines,” Boone said. “It’s a hobby of his.”

  “Keeps his head off his no-good wife,” Noah said. “That and the booze.”

  “What’s his deal?” Clay asked.

  “He sold ordinance on the black market,” Boone said. “And his wife left him for a woman, though you shouldn’t bring that up. He’s still…sensitive. Anyway, we’ll head over and see him after we get things situated over here.”

  “This ought to be the triage center,” Noah said.

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Boone replied. “For now, these people need to understand what we’re up against.”

  “Oh, they understand it now,” Clay said. “Believe me, it’s crystal clear.”

  “What the hell am I walking into?” Noah asked.

  “I told you already,” Boone said.

  “Ten or twelve dead,” Clay said. “Five Falls residents, I mean. A dozen or two of these Chicoms got smoked, too.”

  Noah saw the Jeeps and whistled. “Connor Madigan makes ammo, right?” he asked. Boone nodded in the affirmative. “He’s a good guy. Reliable.”

  “And mean as hell when he needs to be,” Boone added. “But that doesn’t mean he’s gonna share his ammo.”

  “We’re cut from the same cloth,” Noah reasoned.

  “He’s just more personable,” Boone said.

  “Yeah, but only because of that wife of his,” Noah grumbled. “Worst thing that ever happened to him.”

  “You mean Orbey?” Boone asked.

  “Hell yeah, I mean Orbey.”

  “And how’s that?” Boone asked, concealing his surprise.

  “Taught him manners and all that,” Noah grumbled. “Made him soft.”

  Clay laughed, then turned and said, “You’re something else, you know that?”

  “Remind you of someone else we know?” Boone murmured.

  “Yeah, Dad.”

  “I ain’t your daddy,” Noah said. “Least that we know of yet. How’s your mom these days?”

  “Dead,” both Boone and Clay said together.

  “Well isn’t that something,” Noah said, embarrassed.

  “Indeed it is,” Clay replied. Looking in the back seat again, he said, “You ready or what?”

  Frowning, leaning forward in his seat and pinching his features together, he pushed a little squeaker fart loose, then he said, “Now I am. Had that thing in me all mornin’.”

  “Smells like your boyfriend,” Clay grumbled.

  “Felt like a gut punch, you know? Big ol’ air bubble? Stubborn.” He crawled out, stepped wrong on the exit, reached out and Clay grabbed him. “I don’t need your help.”

  “Sure you did,” Clay said.

  “Who you foolin’?” he barked, looking wild at Clay.

  Neither he nor Boone said anything. Clay was thinking the old man was a riot, but maybe they shouldn’t have brought him there.

  Picking up the pieces of the earlier conversation, Clay figured the old man had rained death down on the Chicoms who invaded the town a couple of days back. At least he hoped the old guy was reliable in a fight. He was talking a big game.

  “I pray you can shoot as well as you can run that mouth,” Clay said.

  “You do your job, let me do mine,” Noah grumbled.

  “I will knock your old ass out,” Clay barked back. The two men squared off. Looking down on him, Clay said, “You got that tampon because you gripe like an old biddy all day, not because you’re anything in combat.”

  “You better watch your tongue fore I pull it clean out your month,” Noah said, shaking.

  Clay had his gun out and on the old man in no time flat. He felt Boone’s temperature rise beside him. Already he was trying to talk Clay down, but that thing in Clay he couldn’t control was loose again.

  They called it a condition of persistent warfare.

  Over in the dirt, you’ve got your standard ROE, but guys tend to run hot because any minute might be their last. So they hold it in tight, all that pressure, until it starts to bleed out, and then you get home. There, normal everyday guys can flap their lips and not worry about someone plugging their ass with the right amount of lead to hurt them without killing them. Assault with a deadly weapon isn’t the same as murder one. Guys like Clay were aware of that. Not that it mattered with the EMP laying waste to the social order.

  “You’d better pray to God you’re off your meds because I’m not messing around,” Clay said, eyes as hard as granite.

  He felt his brother’s hands on him, an act that calmed him, the storm dying away in an instant.

  “Respect your elders,” Boone said.

  Looking at Noah, Clay said, “Get your shit together, old man. You were right when you said this was only the beginning. We can’t be at odds here when the fight’s out there.”

  “The jarhead knows I’m just getting warmed up,” he told Boone. “This thing is about spirit, you know? Like, guys who go into battle with their balls up in their tummies and their sphincters clenched tight lik
e a fist”—here he made a fist for good measure—“they’re the first ones to be shot dead. But these guys who walk around like they’re ten feet tall and their corn holes smell like fresh roast coffee, those are the guys who get it done. Me and Mr. Temper Tantrum over here, we’re the kind of guys who get it right. Aren’t we, Jarhead?”

  Clay looked over at him and said, “OOH-RAH.”

  “So let’s get it done.”

  Walking in the gym, it seemed eerily quiet. Clay broke the silence saying, “What’s the story on this Logan guy? He looks plenty roughed up around the edges.”

  “He was Johnny on the spot when we needed him,” Boone said. “He’s in as bad a shape as you, maybe worse, and he got in the Sheriff’s car like it was nothing. He drove three people right into the Chicom nest of vipers and then they laid waste to almost all of them.”

  “Yeah, right,” he chortled.

  “True story.”

  “He was the wheelman?” Clay asked.

  “Decent with a piece, too.”

  “How’s he with a long gun?” Noah asked. “Because I’m gonna need some guys who are surgical from a distance.”

  “He’s a hand-to-hand kind of guy,” Boone said. “At least that’s what he said.”

  “Well I’m gonna need some shooters,” Noah said, walking inside. “I can watch the outer circle if you want to manage the inside.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Boone acknowledged.

  “Is Deputy Don really dead?” Noah asked.

  “Yeah, he is.”

  “What about that other yay-who Deputy?” the old man asked. “Mexican kid I think.”

  “Going home to be with his family,” Boone said.

  “So we got no law here?”

  Boone shook his head, no. Clay had that nagging sense of dread mixed with an excitement that wouldn’t stop building. When they opened the door to the gym, the place was buzzing with activity.

  Clay wasn’t surprised to see this, but he was surprised to see this from civilians right after a mass shooting.

  The bodies had been removed, Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman was at work on Stephani, and there were two other people getting their wounds cleaned and bandaged. He expected half of them to be gone, but he was wrong.

  Logan walked over, gave them the low down. “Thirteen dead on our side, almost twice that on their side. We need to shut that freeway down and now. We can’t just keep getting ambushed like this.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Boone said. “We need to get Otto, find a way to cut off access. This gasbag here is Noah. You remember him, right?”

  The two of them shook hands.

  “Yeah, I remember,” Logan said. He was all business though. He directed his attention back to Boone. “Cutting off the freeways will throw up some major red flags. I’m not saying you’re wrong. I actually think that’s the smart move. But it’s still going to create an issue.”

  “What we did the other day, that’s the issue and it’s already created,” Boone said. “These are just aftershocks. What we need is the big one. The thing that scares the crap out of the Chicoms so badly they don’t want anything to do with Five Falls.”

  “Well, cutting off the roads is a start,” Logan said. “But we need to get everyone out of here that isn’t staying.”

  “Who’s leaving?” Boone asked, surprised by the statement.

  “Heard whispers of people wanting to bug out,” Logan said. “We need to suggest it, maybe even encourage it, otherwise these people will be collateral damage in a fight they can’t handle. Plus, if we can cut down on mouths to feed, it’ll mean a longer fight, better odds for those of us who plan on digging in.”

  “We’re going fully self-sufficient?” Clay asked.

  “We’re almost there anyway,” Logan said. “Some more than others.”

  The four of them said nothing; Boone was first to break the silence. He said, “We need to get to Otto’s place and see what he has for dynamite. The sun’s going down here in the next little bit, and these Chicom fartknockers don’t travel much in the dark.”

  “I can post up on the freeway,” Noah said as they started off. “Maybe grab another guy.”

  “What about New York City?” Boone asked.

  “Who?” Noah growled.

  “Bronx McLaren,” he explained as they walked outside and past half a dozen Chicom Jeeps. “You know, New York City? From The Rusty Rabbit? We all had drinks together last time you were down.”

  “Oh yeah, Bronx. I like him,” Noah said. “He can shoot?”

  “From what I hear,” Boone said, climbing into the Jeep in which they picked up Noah.

  “He former military?” Noah asked.

  “Naw, just raised right,” Boone replied. “We’ll drop by his place after we hit up Otto.”

  At Otto’s place, they found the man sitting out front in his boxers, hair a total mess, cigarette in his hand, half smoked. He looked tired. Like he’d been up for three days on a major bender.

  “What’s up?” he said, not looking long at Clay. Instead he was looking at all the blood on the side of Boone’s face, and the small, drying blood stain on his thigh. “You guys look like hell.”

  “Yet we still look better than you,” Noah said.

  “I wasn’t talking to you, T-Rex.”

  “You slept through the school meeting,” Boone interrupted. “Chicoms shot the place to hell. Killed about a dozen people.”

  This had him sitting up straight.

  “Who died?”

  “No one close to us, but people we know,” Boone said. “We need to know about what explosives you have on hand.”

  “I’m locked, stocked and ready to roll,” he said, taking a last drag, his body still lagging after what he put it through. “What do you need?”

  “Enough bang-bang to cut a line across the highway,” Noah said. “We’re talking two long trenches, one coming, one going.”

  “Deputy Don’s going to take issue with that,” Otto said, dropping the smoked cigarette on the driveway and smashing it under his heel. He stood and finger combed his hair. “I’m familiar enough with a jail cell to know my bed is more comfortable.”

  “Deputy Don is dead,” Boone finally said. “Shot through the head. Almost all this blood on me, that’s his.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” he said.

  “Those explosives,” Clay said.

  Without a word, he waved them inside, walking them through the filthy living room and out back where the yard was more of a mess than the house. “The maid took the year off,” he said, responding to the one thing everyone was thinking.

  “There’s part of your problem,” Noah said. “Thinking your wife was a maid. It’s no wonder she’s gone gay.”

  Otto waved a dismissive hand, didn’t even break stride as he headed to a decent sized wooden shack. He opened the door and stepped aside. Inside it was as clean as a whistle. Pulling back a set of drapes, daylight flooded the space. Looking around, the space was so clean you could eat off any surface. And stacked almost to the ceiling were hundreds of sticks of dynamite.

  “Christ in cashmere, we’re about to have ourselves a proper war,” Noah said, clapping Otto’s back.

  “Oh, so now you’re on my nuts?” Otto said, eyeballing him.

  “I’m looking for the Claymores,” Noah said.

  He motioned to the other side of the rather large shed and said, “Been working on them all night.”

  Clay saw a tall stack of Claymores and knew things were about to get real. As in real bad. With these kinds of explosives, they weren’t defending their town, they were starting World War III.

  “So when do we begin?” Otto asked.

  “We’ll kick things off at first light,” Noah said.

  Chapter Ten

  Long Beach, California. Quan Li watched the huge barge make port. He’d never seen anything so imposing in his life. There was heavy security around the port of entry, especially along the dock where the barge was set to land
, but that was because the South American Army apparently had a jet fighter they weren’t afraid to show off. So far, they’d only done one flyby, but it was a stark reminder that they were at war, and that even the best laid plans had vulnerabilities.

  Quan heard the CSCL Globe Container Ships were ginormous, but he never imagined they would take his breath away to this extent. Reportedly the barge was four football fields long. Technically it measured over thirteen-hundred feet long, almost two-hundred feet wide and could hold nineteen thousand containers. These first barges were carrying not only the generator step-up transformers but the substation transformers as well. They also needed the specialized equipment to move the one hundred and fifty-five ton transformers both through California and Oregon into Washington, and over into Arizona.

  The new transformers—years in the making—solved several of the issues with resettlement of China’s government, but it didn’t deal with deeper matters of the three nuclear power plants hit by the EMP.

  Diablo Canyon Nuclear Power Plant in California was closest to the port. The decommission team was already on site and planning for that long road. This was the easiest of the three power plants to reach.

  Palo Verde Nuclear Generating Station in the Tonopah Desert in Arizona just west of Phoenix was going to be the most difficult to access. With forces from the South American Army marching through Arizona toward the California border, there was bound to be trouble, at least until the ramifications of a nuclear meltdown were explained to the SAA barbarians.

  The third and final nuclear power plant was located near Richland, Washington. Due to the costs and personnel required to run the Colombia Generating Station, the President of China made the decision to decommission it completely. Millions of people would die without power, but if there was anyone who understood the burden of overpopulation, it was the Chinese government.

  With the matter of a nuclear meltdown under control, the Chicoms decided to build their utopia in Washington. Weapons, supplies and food would be shipped into the Port of Tacoma, as would the equipment and personnel required to establish an on-site water treatment facility.