A Powerless World | Book 1 | Escape The Breakdown

by Hunt, Jack

  End of the world sex was surprisingly good. There was something about the urgency, of “anything can happen at any moment” that just made it sweeter.

  Manny zipped up his pants and strolled over to the liquor cabinet to pour himself three fingers of bourbon. The bottle was hovering over the glass when he changed his mind. “Ah, what the heck.” He lifted it to his lips and gulped a few mouthfuls before wiping his mouth with a weathered arm. At the ripe age of sixty-seven, he was beginning to show signs of slowing. His kids had told him he should have retired by now and joined his over-the-hill war buddies who were spending their days sunning by the pool or hosting BBQs but where was the excitement in that?

  No, he lived for the thrill of the chase or at least paying others to do it for him.

  At least that’s what he told them.

  The reality was after three failed marriages, he couldn’t afford to stop working. He didn’t have a nest egg or a good woman to come home to at the end of a long workday. His evenings were spent alone, listening to the radio or watching a few hours of mindless TV. He looked forward to his days, barking orders at bounty hunters, putting criminals away, and acting as if his life wasn’t shallow.

  But it was.

  Nothing more than a recycling of the same old shit.

  He strolled over to the glass window in the corner office that loomed over the heart of the Financial District. Pockets of fire illuminated the night. It was complete pandemonium out there. It wasn’t just gang-bangers smashing windows and hauling away property, it was disgruntled employees, stay-at-home moms, and teens caught up in the recklessness of it all.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d seen this behavior. A Vietnam veteran, he’d witnessed brutality, destruction, and death at a level that no civilian would ever see. Then again, if this continued, maybe they would. It seemed like a fitting end to his career. If it wasn’t for the EMP, they might have had to wheel him out of here in a body bag.

  Rita Jenkins rolled off his mahogany desk and shimmied her pencil skirt down over her knees. Five years younger than him, she had been through her own roller coaster of divorce and marriage. The chemistry had been there since he’d hired her back in the ’80s after he got out of the military and opened up Sure-Fire Bail Bonds. But the timing had never been right. Either she was in a relationship or he was.

  Now neither of them were.

  “You know, Rita. I was nineteen when they sent me overseas. Seems like a lifetime ago. Where do the years go but better question, why did we wait so long?”

  “Kids, life,” she said, running a hand through her thinning brunette hair.

  They’d worked together, helped each other through the ups and downs of life, always aware of their attraction but neither one willing to make the first move. He didn’t want to screw up her life, nor did he want to be that guy — pining for something he couldn’t have. It was easier to just be co-workers, friends. The word niggled him to no end. Every day he’d passed her in the office, breathed in that perfume. It was nearly as intoxicating as that smile.

  “But it was good though, right?” he said, unsure.

  He’d often wondered what it would be like to be with her.

  “Better than I thought.” She smiled. “So are you heading home?”

  “No, I think I’ll stick around a little longer. You might want to do the same.” He raised a finger. He had an idea. “You know there’s that café on the main floor. We could break-in, steal a few of those muffins that you like.”

  She laughed, placing a hand on his chest. “You rebel.”

  He pulled her in close and was about to plant a kiss on her lips when he heard gunfire. Manny looked over her shoulder toward the door. Sure-fire Bail Bonds office space was divided into two areas, a place where Rita sat upfront and then his office in the back.

  “What was that?”

  “Hold on a second.” He went over to the door and opened it and looked out into the main foyer where Rita’s office was. He saw several figures behind the smoky opaque glass, heading toward the office. He locked his door and shut off the hand-crank lantern.

  “Get behind the desk.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it,” he said as he made his way over to the safe, turned the dial a few times, and opened it. Inside were stacks of money collected from jobs over the past week. He reached in and pulled out a .44 Remington Magnum and a large box of jacketed hollow points. As he was doing that, he heard the handle to the main office door jiggle. A moment later, glass shattered and footsteps drew closer. As soon as he had the gun, he got down beside Rita and began loading it.

  “Who is it?”

  “No idea but if they come through that door… Stay low.”

  The desk was solid, a work of art that he’d bought overseas and had shipped to him. High-end mahogany. All hand-crafted.

  The door handle on his office rattled just as he slipped the sixth bullet into the cylinder. Dropping down to his stomach he rolled out, cocked the hammer, and lifted the handgun at the door, just waiting for it to swing open. Someone kicked the other side several times before it burst open.

  A second or two to register that it wasn’t someone he knew and he squeezed the trigger. The gun exploded with such fury it was deafening, blowing the individual back. The door swung back into place and that’s when he realized his mistake.

  “Manny Rodriguez.”

  The voice. It was unmistakable.

  A face flashed in his mind.

  His memory returned to the first time he’d heard it. The moment they’d shown up here demanding protection money. He’d laughed in the guy’s face, figured it was a practical joke. It wasn’t and he had one finger less on his left hand as a reminder of that.

  “You just killed one of my guys.”

  In days gone by, when law and order was in place, when he couldn’t just shoot people for the heck of it, he might have been scared but not now, not with a belly full of liquor, and not with a .44 in hand.

  “Send in another. I’ll be glad to do it again.”

  “Where is she?”

  “I assume you are referring to Alicia. I figured you would have her by now.”

  “We would have if it wasn’t for that guy.”

  “Oh, Colby.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I told you, an employee.”

  “No, I mean before he worked for you?”

  “A cop.”

  “And the other?”

  Manny chuckled thinking of Daisy. She was a fiery one, all spit and vinegar but with the tools to back it up. “A woman you don’t want to cross.”

  “A little too late for that.”

  Manny could see light beneath the door, and shadows, the silhouettes of figures moving. “Well, you listen to me and listen good. I want Alicia’s address.”

  “Don’t have it.”

  “Then Colby and Daisy.”

  “Sorry, can’t do that. Employee confidentiality and all.”

  He heard him swear, and say something in Russian. Manny took another swig from the bottle and handed it to Rita. She guzzled it as if it could save her. Her hand shook as she lifted it to her lips. Manny placed his hand on top of hers and shook his head. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered. He looked back at the door, just waiting for it to open. He was in the mood for cutting down a few Russians. Payback for his finger. Payback for them breaking the glass in his office. Payback for the blackout. Payback for the Cold War.

  “I see Mother Russia got what they want.”

  “This is just the beginning,” Viktor replied.

  “Don’t you mean the end?” Manny asked, being glib.

  The door burst open but instead of someone rushing in, all guns and fury, it was a chair tossed inside. He didn’t know until he’d squeezed off a round.

  “Is that the .44?”

  “That it is. Come take a closer look. You piece of shit.”

  He heard Viktor chuckle.

  Viktor had seen it in his open safe th
e day he’d first shown up. He'd commented on it. Picked it up and manhandled it, even put a bullet inside and had him play Russian roulette. Unbeknownst to Manny, that filthy Russian bastard had palmed the bullet and there was nothing in the cylinder. It was just a show, a way to get him to piss his pants so Viktor and his muscle could laugh and humiliate him.

  The next time the door opened, something hit the ground and rolled. He opened fire again. A second later, hissing then smoke started to fill the inside of his office. Both of them began coughing. Manny fired a few more times as the door opened and someone darted past the door, causing him to fire again. The tactics ramped up, one after the other. Another chair, another smoke grenade, and then it happened.

  Click.

  Shit. He fumbled with the box and the bullets went everywhere. Just as he was loading one in, he felt a gun press against the top of his head. Manny froze. His eyes lifted to see a mammoth of a man grinning at him with a Beretta in hand.

  Tutting followed. A figure appeared in the doorway, hand waving in front of his face. “Oh, this smoke is terrible. Open a window.” Someone fired a gun several times at the glass behind them and it cascaded down behind them like a waterfall. A huge gust of wind blew in, sucking out the smoke until within seconds it cleared. Viktor’s face was illuminated as he lit a cigarette. “Manny.” He came around the desk and looked down. “And who do we have here?” he said, crouching and running his hand over Rita’s face.

  “Get your filthy hands off me,” she said, slapping his hand away.

  Viktor smiled and looked at Manny and then without a second of hesitation, he grabbed Rita by the hair, dragged her to the open window, and tossed her out. Her scream cut into the night. Then a metallic thud as her body hit the top of a car. Viktor looked back at him.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, was that a friend of yours?”

  Manny tried to get up but was held in place by a meaty paw. “You bastard.”

  Viktor reached for the bottle of bourbon and scooped it up. He took a swig then spat it out. “Shit American booze. You like this?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Bring him up.”

  The tattooed freak of a man hoisted Manny up like he weighed a buck ten. His body was slammed on the desk and held there, fingers sinking into his throat while Viktor leaned over and poured bourbon over his face. “Come. Drink. You’ll enjoy.”

  They laughed hard as he choked on the flow.

  When he was done, Viktor asked him again. “I don’t want to hurt you, old man. Now give me what I want.”

  With a mouthful of bourbon, Manny spat it in his face. “I’d rather die.”

  “That can be arranged. But it won’t be fast like your friend.”

  As Viktor wiped his face, he gave a nudge with his hand and the guy holding his throat dragged him over the table and threw his body so hard against the thin wooden partition that he went through it. Coughing hard, he blinked blood. Manny managed to catch his breath for a second when he was mauled again. This time, he felt the butt of guns smashing his ribs. He had a flashback to Vietnam, to a time when he was a prisoner of war. The beatings, the torture, the days that never seemed to end. He thought his mind was hardened to the pain. It wasn’t.

  When the long assault stopped, he was dragged back into his office and laid out on the desk like a slab of tenderized meat. Viktor was sitting in his chair with his feet up on the desk, smoking a cigarette. “So… Manny. Where do we go from here?”

  “You can go to hell.”

  “What was that?”

  “You heard.”

  Viktor swung his legs off the desk and leaned over him, blowing smoke in his face. “I thought you and I had come to an understanding.”

  “Oh, I understand.”

  “You do?”

  “That you’re an asshole.”

  Viktor laughed, bringing his cigarette down and touching the hot tip against his cheek. Manny gritted his teeth. He refused to give him the satisfaction. It was painful but nothing compared to what they’d already done to him. “You are what they call… American made. That’s it.” He laughed. “Strong. Like eagle.”

  They all laughed.

  “Come on, Manny, we can end this now. Look outside. It’s already over. What does it matter? A woman, a man, a dog. Thousands are already dead, and many more will die.”

  “Yeah, like you,” Manny snarled.

  “Huh?”

  Manny frowned. “Why not forget her?”

  Viktor sneered. “I’m losing my patience old man.”

  “What did she do? Huh? Humiliate you?”

  There was a flash of anger in his eyes.

  Manny smiled. “That’s it, isn’t it? She humiliated you.” Manny laughed until it hurt.

  Viktor grabbed him by the throat and dragged him to the edge of the window.

  “Go on. Push me off. I don’t care. Do it!”

  He knew that was the easy way out. No, this was him taunting, showing him Rita’s lifeless body. Letting him feel humiliation, loss, grief, all of it before he finished what he’d come to do. Viktor held him as if he was about to drop him, then pulled him back in and handed him over to the two thugs. “Continue.”

  “I don’t know her address. Colby never gave it to me, but I know his, and Daisy’s.” He rolled off the addresses, no longer able to take any more beatings. The pain was too bad. His groin felt like it was on fire. He wished they’d just shoot him.

  “That’s too bad.”

  Manny’s brow furrowed. “What?”

  Viktor nudged for the two men to take him out again.

  “But I gave you what you wanted.”

  What came next was far worse.

  FIFTEEN

  DAN WILDER

  Eureka, Humboldt County

  Twenty-nine days as sheriff and he was already regretting it.

  Humboldt County Sheriff’s Office was responsible for overseeing one correctional facility and serving over sixty-seven thousand residents out of the main patrol station in Eureka and three sub-stations based in Garberville, McKinleyville, and Trinity River. Each one served multiple communities in the county, dealing with corrections, criminal investigation, court services, animal control, dispatch, and a drug task force.

  Tasks that were challenging at the best of times.

  But these weren’t ordinary times.

  He’d known the job wouldn’t be a walk in the park especially since he’d entered office at the time of a global pandemic, but now this — a blackout? It was like his worst nightmares had come to life and he couldn’t escape. All eyes were on him. As the designated director of emergency services for the cities, towns, and special districts, his task was to govern the OES, formally known as the County Office of Emergency Services.

  That meant coordinating, participating in, and executing all emergency planning, response, and recovery for the area. He’d figured it would be easy. Power outages were normal, wildfires common, and floods expected, but an EMP? They might as well have told him to bend over and lube up as there were no damn guidelines in the emergency planning for this.

  No, he was winging it. Acting as if he knew what the hell to do while behind closed doors he was having a nervous breakdown. In any other common disaster, cell phones still would have been working, allowing residents to find all the up-to-date information on emergency warnings, road closures, resources, and evacuation orders. Heck, they could have downloaded the plan in PDF while he was sipping a latte.

  But oh no, that would have been too easy.

  No, he needed a few more gray hairs.

  With communication gone and the internet down, several residents had already shown up outside the building in Eureka, bellyaching for answers. And that was all within the span of the first twelve hours, he couldn’t imagine what was to come if this lasted more than seventy-two.

  Unfortunately, he had nothing to offer other than a thinly veiled lie. We have it under control. The smart ones knew he didn’t.

  Go home. Shelter in place. We
will update you once we know more. Update? What update could he provide? Even under the operations plan which conformed to SEMS and NIMS, the basic tenets of emergency preparedness were self-help and mutual aid. The heart of their plan was shrouded in endless policy, principles, concepts, and jargon that no one gave a rat’s ass about. It existed for the organization, so they could put on a brave front and hopefully be prepared when confronted with a disaster.

  It was to give the illusion that they had everything under control.

  But under these conditions, control was an illusion.

  Disaster didn’t abide by rules in a four hundred page PDF.

  Nor did society who were oblivious.

  Still, it was up to him to figure out the way forward so he was flipping his way through the hard copy, trying to get up to speed so he didn’t look like a complete idiot. No one had given him this when he was hired. They didn’t teach you this at police college.

  The terminology was over his head, the reading as dry as could be. The pages an endless barrage of blah, blah, blah.

  So, to avoid a breakdown in the community while he tried to get a handle on what the State of California had in place, Dan had been in touch with the chief of the Eureka Police Department to make sure his officers were out patrolling on bicycles. He’d posted multiple of his own deputies at entry points around the building given them the responsibility of holding the tide at bay while a small team of dimwits were huddled in the Humboldt County Courthouse basement trying to not look as if they were losing their shit.

  The truth was despite phones, computers, and vehicles not working — at least those that weren’t older models — his team was currently treating this event like any other electrical and transportation emergency. How could they not? He’d already spoken in person with the manager of PG&E at the Humboldt Bay Power Plant. They said they were working on it but it was clear they were as baffled as everyone else.

  The term EMP only came to light when Hank showed up.

  He’d arrived at the worst possible time. Dan sat at his desk, alone, scanning chunks of text, sipping on his fourth cup of coffee. He was hoping his heart would give out before he had to address the powers that be.