Wipeout | Book 3 | Empty Vault

by Richards, E. S.

  “Yes sir.”

  Walter grabbed the ammunition belt that sat on his desk, quickly attached it around his waist and ran to the door. This was exactly what they had worried about happening. The engineering team they had assembled had been working tirelessly under the protection of Philip McManaman, former army sergeant, but he was only one man. Walter hadn’t dared say it to his face, but the engineers needed more security. They were the city’s biggest asset as they tried to restore power to survive and carry out the remainder of their plan. It had quickly been pushed to the top of their priority list. More engineers and electricians were recruited with the promise that they’d be rewarded if they were successful.

  With that, came a grave vulnerability. Gangs throughout the city were dangerously aware that power would not be restored to the areas they had cordoned off as their own, the police making it clear that if they weren’t going to be functioning members of society, they wouldn’t be granted the luxuries others were. They had set up a system much quicker than anyone else across New York and were functioning well in the underbelly of society. They’d gathered supplies and set up vibrant black markets in a record time, cornering the market on the city’s medication and controlling a large chunk of what people regarded as luxury items. However, if they were blackened out of the city as power returned to every other street, they wouldn’t be able to continue in the same way and they were very aware of that. They were doing what they could to stop the restoration of power.

  Stepping outside, Walter took in a deep breath of fresh air and ran around the back to the parking lot. There was a line of motorbikes, their smaller tanks easier to manage and keep full and a lot easier to navigate through the streets. Just as he swung a leg over one of them and sat down, Huxley came around the corner followed by Olly and Wayne. He had recruited his two young apprentices himself and was working closely with them. Olly had been in the police academy while Wayne had been a security guard in the mayor’s office. Two impressive young men who were an asset to the precinct.

  “Do we know how many hostiles we’re dealing with?” Walter shouted as he started up his engine, creating another noise to compete with his heart pounding in his chest and his eardrums thumping.

  Olly shook his head, “I just received reports of gunfire, sir. Can’t say for certain.”

  “Okay,” Walter came up with a plan quickly. “The substations are all on the train lines, so our guys are going to be pretty exposed. I imagine McManaman has got them into cover, but eventually he’s going to run out of ammo and they’ll just be sitting ducks.” Huxley and the others nodded and listened as they got their bikes ready, the four of them ready to go.

  “We need to find our marks and pick them off without raising alarm bells if possible. Stealth and surprise will win us points here boys, so don’t go in heavy, take it easy and pick your battles one by one. Got it? Good. Let’s ride.”

  Flicking up the kickstand with his foot, Walter revved the engine of his bike and sped out of the parking lot in a cloud of dust and gravel. Huxley and the others were hot on his tail. Once they neared the site of the gunfight, they would split up to approach from different angles. It was more dangerous, but it gave them more chance of success. Walter was treating this like a hostage situation, the only difference being he doubted whether the shooters cared if the hostages lived or died.

  Leaning forward on the bike he zoomed through the city, their work on the roads over the past few days already making his journey easier. There were fewer obstructions to navigate around and the people he passed leapt out of the way and didn’t try to stop him, most now a part of the restoration initiative.

  The gunfire that Olly had identified pierced his ears before long, Walter driving the shortest distance to where he knew McManaman’s team was working and shutting off his bike. He had driven onto one of the bridges overlooking the tracks below and paused to survey them quickly, trying to identify where his allies were hidden.

  Almost as soon as he was in place the firing started up again. Bullets pinged off a metal door on the ground, Walter ducked for cover at the sound. He reached for his gun and held it tightly in his hands. Slowing his breathing he tried to remain calm, remembering his training and assessing the situation.

  McManaman and his team were trapped. They had been underground dealing with the electrics when the firing started, rendering them compromised and disadvantaged. Peering up over the ledge he hid behind, Walter scanned the surroundings for the source of the gunfire.

  Bullets whizzed through the air and exploded out of weapons loudly. The air was alive, hairs on the back of Walter’s neck standing up as he experienced it. His heart hammered in his chest as his finger rested on the trigger of his weapon, the pounding rhythm juxtaposed with his movements as he slowly searched for the enemy.

  Bang. Bang. Bang. Finally, he found his target and fired off three quick rounds. The bullets left his gun quicker than air left his lungs as Walter fired and then dropped down behind the ledge again, hiding himself immediately. The sound of bullets slamming into the concrete on the other side filled his ears, returning fire coming straight back at him and kicking dust and tiny specs of rock up into the air.

  Shuffling along the bridge on his hands and knees, Walter changed position. He moved to a different vantage point and stole a glance down at the metal door on the ground, seeing one side of it raised as a pistol poked out and fired. Incredible. Even when he was trapped below ground with no idea how many men surrounded him, Philip McManaman still fired on the enemy, determined to protect the people he was trapped with and succeed in their mission. Inspired by McManaman’s resolve, Walter sighted on the attackers once more and opened fire.

  Now that he had a more direct line of sight, Walter was ruthless in his attack. As a police officer, he had been trained to always subdue rather than cause fatal injury or harm. The rule was that you should always bring a perp in for questioning and fair trial if possible, rather than subject them to your own mercy. While there were a number of his brothers in blue who had faltered with this rule over his years of service, Walter had always tried to do the right thing and let the courts decide who was guilty. He had never been trained to make that decision and so he believed that it should remain out of his hands.

  But now things had changed. He squeezed the trigger and peppered bullets at the targets, picking them off one by one. His eyes narrowed on one man running for cover and he breathed out, steadying himself before firing. The man fell to the ground motionless. Walter paused for maybe half a second before re-sighting and searching for whoever was next. This wasn’t any time to feel sorry for what he had done, he was doing his job and these people had already made their choice.

  Bullets flew through the air from all angles now. Walter ducked and repositioned again, gradually moving himself closer to where McManaman and the others were trapped. He skidded down onto the tracks and fell to his stomach, flattening himself and hiding as best he could. They were nearly all gone, the battle was almost won.

  As the last gangster that Walter could see fell to the ground, he kept his weapon firmly in his hands and scanned their surroundings. Dust had been kicked up into the air which gradually started to settle, the ringing in his ears subsiding as it quickly became apparent they had won. Either all of the attackers had been silenced, or they had retreated back to their territory, realizing it was a fight that they could no longer win.

  Huxley was the first to break rank and step out into the open, making the riskiest move of all as he identified himself and waited to see if he would be gunned down. There was always the possibility that the enemy remained and the ceasefire was just a ruse to lure them out; but as Huxley walked toward where McManaman and the others hid, it was obvious they had won.

  “Is everyone alright?” Walter asked as he made it down to the group, McManaman and the others stood out in broad daylight again. “Anyone hurt?”

  “All healthy and happy,” Philip McManaman replied with a smile. “Got here just
in time. Thank you.”

  “Just doing our job,” Huxley replied. “Anyone need a ride back to base?”

  “We might as well carry on now,” one of the engineers spoke up, brushing some dust off of his pants. “I doubt they’ll be back here in a hurry. We should get these substations ticked off and ready to fire up while we can.”

  “How’s it going?” Walter asked McManaman in a lower voice. Some of the engineers were visibly more shaken than others, but the man did have a point. They had the perfect opportunity to finish their work undisturbed.

  “Good,” McManaman replied, “aside from the obvious, I think the work is almost finished.”

  “Really?” Walter couldn’t help but hide his surprise; he had always believed it was possible to restore power to the city, but he didn’t think it could be done so quickly. “At what capacity?”

  “About twenty-five per cent. It’s got some teething issues, but once we sort them out, we should be good to flick the switch. I think by the end of the week we’ll be having hot showers and oven-cooked meals again.”

  Walter watched McManaman’s face carefully to try and determine if the man was pranking him or not. But the sergeant didn’t budge; there was no indication that he was trying to fool Walter or being generous with the truth at all. He couldn’t wait to tell the others back at the precinct, including Samantha. Everything they were working toward was falling into place so simply that it seemed almost too good to be true.

  Was it really possible? Could New York City be returned to its former glory? Filled with adrenaline, Walter let himself believe that it was happening. Piece by piece his city was being returned to him and Walter was almost giddy with the hope that he might succeed.

  Chapter 18

  Sitting back in his chair, Dante looked at his torn and bleeding hands and shook his head. This wasn’t the work he was cut out for. He was a nurse by trade and his instinct was to help and heal people, not shut them out or cause harm. Like all the other able-bodied men and women in Poughkeepsie, he had spent the day constructing fences and barricades to stop anyone from the outside world entering their city. His knuckles had been scraped raw and his palms were calloused and blistered. One of his fingernails was nearly torn off after he caught it on a protruding nail. Another man simply laughed at the incident and declared that the nail would be an extra hazard any new arrivals for Poughkeepsie would have to deal with.

  Dante was supposed to be going to another evening poker session with Jeff and his friends later that night, but after the day he’d just had, Dante doubted whether he could face it. He knew he needed to continue attending such things and showing up to work in order to secure his place in Poughkeepsie. But it was slowly eating away at his soul. All Dante wanted was to see his husband again and to get away from the horrible place the city was turning into. He’d heard stories about the rest of the country, but he was beginning to wonder if it was really as bad as being trapped in a city of whacked out preppers.

  “Dad!” Bowie squealed in delight and ran toward him when he saw Dante sitting in the armchair. “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too, kiddo,” Dante smiled as he helped Bowie clamber up onto his knees and tried not to wince at the pain it caused his hands. “Have you had a good day with grandma? What’ve you been up to?”

  As his son started to talk about his day, Dante heard two conflicting voices in his head. He reminded himself that this was what he was fighting for. Everything he did was for Bowie and to keep him safe. But as he listened to his son’s story about the games he had played that day and the lessons he had learned, Dante also realized that he was missing out on that part of his son’s life. It was one thing working to protect his little boy, but if he missed out on spending time with him, was it really worth it? It was a question Dante and Austin had asked themselves many times when it came to their son and his upbringing. Only now that the world had changed and their lives were entirely different, it held a new magnitude for Dante. Time together was much more precious and he needed to remember that.

  “Are you staying in tonight, Dad?” Bowie asked, bouncing around on Dante’s knee. “Can we play?”

  “I can’t tonight, little man,” Dante replied sadly, shaking his head. “Tomorrow night, I’ll be here with you, I promise.”

  “Again? Don’t you spend enough time with those men these days?”

  Dante looked up and saw his mother standing in the doorway, looking down at her son and grandson. Dante helped the little boy down from his knee and sent him off to play in another room and told him that he’d come and say goodbye before he had to leave. Bowie left sadly, his feet dragging across the carpet as he walked away.

  “Why do you have to go out again?” Meghan asked as Bowie left the two of them alone, glancing after her grandson and shaking her head in pity. “It’s bad enough he’s already lost one father. Now he hardly sees you either.”

  “Hey,” Dante jumped to his feet, offended by his mother’s words. “He hasn’t lost a father. Austin is coming for us. You’ll see.”

  Meghan shook her head. “I didn’t mean that,” she sighed. “You know I hope Austin is alright and that we’ll see him again soon. I just don’t know how, with everything that’s going on. I feel like while it’s just the three of us, you should make the most of the time you do have with Bowie.”

  “I know,” Dante nodded, “but Jeff was acting like he had some big news to share tonight or something. You know I don’t like spending all my time with those brutes. I need to in order to keep us safe. I won’t stay late tonight, once I find out what the news is, I’ll make an excuse and come home. I promise.”

  “I just worry about you,” Meghan sighed again. “I feel like you’re pushing yourself too hard. You can’t do everything, Dante. You can’t be two parents at once.”

  Dante inhaled slowly. He understood what his mother was saying but only felt more pressure added to his shoulders. He knew how easy it would be to let the stress catch up with him. He also knew how easy it would then be to slip up and put his loved ones in danger. As much as it pained him to do so, Dante knew he had to keep up the façade and continue acting like he was a part of the closed-off community that had taken over Poughkeepsie. In the back of his mind he always carried the faith that Austin would get back to them soon. But Dante knew he had to be realistic in the meantime.

  “I know mom,” he put his arms around his mother and hugged her against his chest. “It won’t be for much longer. We’ll find a way to get through this and make things better, okay? I promise.”

  “You don’t have to try and make me feel better,” Meghan whispered in her son’s ear as they hugged. “You don’t always have to be strong, Dante. You can talk to me. You can let your guard down.”

  Holding his mother, Dante felt his strong front begin to falter and struggled to hold himself together. He knew if he said another word then he would risk breaking down and if he was going to spend another evening with Jeff and his friends, he needed to maintain his macho disguise for as long as possible. Squeezing his mother’s arms and hoping to put across the affection he felt toward her, Dante slid past her. He walked into the kitchen and exited into the cool, evening air before he cracked further. Jeff apparently had big news for the poker game tonight and Dante wanted to make sure he was there for it. How he came across to those men was important. He knew how much their say affected his future.

  Ten minutes later, Dante breathed in a deep breath and knocked on Jeff’s front door.

  “Where’ve you been dude?” A gust of stale cigar smoke and ale accosted Dante as the front door flew open, revealing Jeff and a familiar hazy cloud behind him. “We were just about to start the first game. Come on, get in here and I’ll have Lionel deal you in. He’s here guys,” Jeff shouted back over his shoulder as Dante entered and closed the door behind him. “You want a beer?”

  “Yeah sure.”

  “Grab me one, too. I’ll get you a chair.”

  Peeling off from Jeff to walk i
nto the kitchen and grab a couple of beers from the bucket of ice, Dante gave himself the usual pep talk, as he always did. He recited it to himself on the walk over, but once inside Jeff’s house it always helped to repeat just once more.

  “You’re here for your family,” he muttered to himself under his breath. “You just need to get through tonight and make them believe that you’re on their side. This doesn’t change who you are. This doesn’t change what you stand for.”

  “Hurry up, Dante! We’d like to get started before the next apocalypse comes around!”

  Reels of laughter erupted from the next room and Dante scolded himself for hanging back even longer. Picking up the two beers, he forced a smile onto his face and exited the kitchen, walked through the screen of cigar smoke into the lounge turned poker room and took his place at the table.

  “Sorry guys,” he apologized. “Let’s play.”

  Two hours later, Dante was glad for a break in the game. He had always been fairly decent at poker, but Jeff’s friends were on another level and he had already lost a day’s food rations and his wind-up radio. Despite his age, Dante was still worried what his mother would say if he returned home with even more debt to pay to the poker group. Thankfully Jeff called things to a pause as they ran out of beer, a couple of the men exiting to grab another case from one of their houses. That just left Jeff, Dante and two more sitting outside in the tranquil, nighttime air. The big news was yet to be revealed, much to Dante’s disappointment. Gradually though, he plucked up enough courage to ask about it himself, curious what Jeff could possibly be hiding.

  “Oh, what was it you were talking about earlier, Jeff?” Dante asked. “You mentioned something happened over by the bridge?”

  Jeff’s face transformed into a grin immediately. “Ah yeah, big news! We spotted a couple of people trying to make it out over the water to us. They were trying to wade across the river,” he laughed, “even after we’d blown the bridge!”