by Hunt, Jack
SIX
Colby
Gustine, California
Colby crouched on top of the elementary school and observed the city of Gustine through high-powered binoculars. He was close to Meredith Avenue and Grove Avenue, an intersection south of the city. Like many communities devastated by the EMP, it showed signs of destruction with some properties burned to the ground, others freshly smoldering.
With Colby demanding answers, Jeb felt it was better seen than explained.
“It’s in a bad state, I’ll give you that, but it looks far from having been overtaken,” Colby told him. “No community bends the knee eleven days into a disaster.”
“It doesn’t have to, the people simply need to do nothing and eventually it will fall as others take the reins. What you are looking at is the beginning of the downfall. Remember, I told you that the local police department had only eleven employees. Well, when the power grid went down those were the first to be targeted.”
“By your son?”
Jeb nodded. “And others released from the Merced prison.”
“And does this son of yours have a name?”
“Bill. Though he goes by the nickname Spider.”
“Because of the tattoo.”
“No, because of the way he pulls people into a web of lies then uses them.”
Colby glanced at him, confused. Jeb sighed and looked away from the intersection. He stared up to the blue sky for a second then ran a hand over his bolt-action rifle. “Before the blackout, my son was involved in all manner of illegal activity. One involved trafficking women.”
Colby offered an incredulous look. Here were two God-fearing parents, good people that had pulled him back from the brink of death, and the man responsible for his undoing was their son. “Bill and a group targeted vulnerable women who needed money. They would pull them away from whatever life they were in and confine them.”
“You knew this?”
“Of course. I tried to reach out to him but he cut off all communication.” He paused. “My relationship with him has been a contentious one for a long time. You have to understand, he wasn’t always like that. At one time he was a good kid, he had his eyes set on taking over the farm once I was too old.”
“So what happened?”
He blew out his cheeks. “I wish I knew for sure. He would say it’s because of the way I treated my other son — Riley. But I don’t see that.”
“Explain.”
“Riley was my eldest. After graduating he took off to San Francisco to make his mark. He blew through the money we gave him. I sent him more then he vanished. A few years later, he contacts us, apologizing for going radio silent. He was all excited about some new venture he had stumbled across, and he just needed money to invest. I was hesitant but gave it to him and that was it. He stopped calling, wouldn’t answer his phone. I traveled to the address he’d given—you know, to surprise him and catch up. I never found him. He wasn’t there. A year after our last conversation, he phoned and told me that he’d been living on the streets. A drug addict. He apologized, cried on the phone. He felt so ashamed. I told him he could come home if he was willing to go into treatment.”
“And he bailed on it, right?” Colby said.
“No. He went through and completed it. He looked completely different. It was good to have him back. However, Bill didn’t like it. He felt that Riley had taken advantage of us. He resented him and our decision to let him return. He said he’d squandered most of our retirement money on his next big idea. He felt he didn’t deserve to be back. Bill also felt he should have been treated better than Riley because he’d done everything we’d asked.”
“So he was jealous.”
“Something like that.” Jeb expelled a large lungful of air. “Anyway, things were good for a time until I had to draw up my will. Bill found out that I’d included Riley in it, and that half of the farm would go to him. After, he blew his top. He got really angry. Confronted me and told me that it wasn’t fair. If I recall, he said it wasn’t right that Riley could go off and do whatever he liked and be welcomed back and still given half of the farm. When I told him that he should be happy his brother wasn’t dead from an overdose, he didn’t see it that way. Bill took off. Collected all his belongings and left the house.” He lowered his head. “A week later, Riley was found dead with a needle in his arm. An overdose.”
There was silence.
“And you think it was Bill.”
“I can’t be sure but after the funeral, someone spray-painted his gravestone with the words ‘I told you so.’”
Colby squeezed the bridge of his nose. “That’s messed up.”
Jeb shrugged. “Anyway, he cut off all communication, fell in with the wrong crowd, and spent some time in and out of jail for misdemeanors before I got word of what he’d got tangled up in.”
“Trafficking women. So, how did you find out?”
“Because one managed to escape. Our church ran a pregnancy crisis center. It took a while to get the girl to open up as she was scared. She said she’d escaped and when she described who was running the show, I knew it was him. She didn’t need to say his name.” Jeb dropped his chin again. “So I did what any parent might do in my position, I went to see him. Told him to hand himself in to the police, told him that if he didn’t I would tell them.”
“What did he say?”
He laughed. “He threatened me. Told me that he would make my life a misery. And he has.” He turned to Colby. “Leaving you in that field was just his way of getting back at me. It was his way of sending a message. Then those men showing up demanding to take what they wanted. I’m afraid this is just the beginning. It will get worse.”
Colby lifted the binoculars to his eyes. “So why hasn’t he taken this town?”
“Besides the obvious? Like you said, people don’t roll over that easy.”
“Then how does he intend to do it?”
“With firepower, additional muscle. I’m not entirely sure. What I have been able to glean from those in town is that he’s focused on a gun store.” He pointed. “You won’t be able to see it from here. There’s an intersection at 5th Avenue and 5th Street. There is a gun store on the corner of the intersection. I know the owners. If he gets his hands on that supply there will be no stopping them.”
Colby brought the binoculars down. “Where is your son now?”
“I don’t know exactly. I know where he was staying before the blackout but I haven’t seen him since.” He sighed. “Look, I know you want answers but maybe it’s just best to count your blessings, and move on. When he finds out his three friends haven’t returned he’ll send others and I want to make sure you’re not around.”
“And what about you, Carol and Jenna?”
“I’ll make arrangements for Jenna. I have friends in town. I’m too old to run and he won’t harm me.”
“You sure about that, Jeb? If he killed his brother and he thinks you killed those men — there’s no telling what he will do.”
“But that’s not your problem, now is it?”
Colby stared back. “You helped me.”
“That we did but there were no strings attached. Look, I don’t know what your name is, but, understand we’re not the killing type. Carol abhors it. God forbids it. If my son shows up, I will deal with him. But now we should get going before you’re spotted.”
Colby followed him down off the roof and back to the horses that were tied nearby. As he mounted his horse, Colby held a tight grip on the reins and turned to him. “Jeb, I need to know what happened to me. I need to know why.”
“You crossed the wrong person. That’s why. It’s as simple as that.”
“And if I wasn’t alone?”
“Then whoever was traveling with you is dead. Listen to me. Consider this a second chance at life. Don’t play with fate,” Jeb said. “It might not be so forgiving next time.”
Jeb jerked the reins on his horse and began to leave. Colby remained, causing him to
look back over his shoulder. “Are you coming or not?”
“You don’t want me to kill him, do you? That’s why you want me to leave.”
Jeb pulled his horse around and made his way back. “I brought that boy into this world, and if anyone is taking him out, it’s me. Not you. Now if you want to repay me for helping you. Leave. Leave town. Get far away from here. I’ll give you supplies for your journey… but leave.”
“I wish I could do that, but I’m not leaving until I know for sure what happened, and who else was with me. So you might as well tell me where he is.”
Jeb stared him square in the eye. “Whoever you were before this, you are one stubborn son of a gun.” He nodded. “Okay. I’ll take you as far as the outskirts but that’s it. You’re on your own from there. I won’t go in.”
“To where?”
“Santa Nella. It’s twelve miles south of here.”
Colby squeezed his eyes shut. The name sounded familiar. It was like trying to recall a dream, it was nothing but a vague memory.
They stayed off the main roads, crossing farmland and flat plains. Along the way, Jeb told him that Santa Nella was smaller than Gustine, with just over two thousand residents. It was located off Interstate 5, a major through road for those coming from the north or south.
He brought him up to speed on what he’d seen after the blackout.
“When the lights went out, most expected it to come back on within the first week. Once reports began spreading of an attack on America, that’s when it got chaotic. People hit the stores. Paying customers, I mean. They were still accepting cash but as you can expect, when you get two people fighting over products on Black Friday, how much more would they do it when they know that food on the shelf is the last they’ll be getting? Even with police and security, they couldn’t stop fights breaking out. It happened quickly. Of course, eventually, things took a turn for the worse, and people who didn’t have cash ran out of the stores with hands full of bread and flour, and carts full of water. Most taking more than they should.”
“And yourselves? Did you manage to get supplies?”
“We had most of what we needed on the farm — milk, chickens, cows, vegetables, in many ways we were positioned for this event. That’s why Bill sent those men. He’s not stupid. I’m not the first to get hit either. Several farm owners I know had home invasions in the second week. It wasn’t just Bill. Others were out there willing to do whatever was needed. You got to remember, people strike fast before others realize how dire the situation is. With no cameras, no phones, crime just became too easy.”
They rode side by side, the horses trotting along at a steady clip.
“It must burn you to know what he’s done.”
“It does. But God still loves him.”
“You have a strong faith.”
He nodded.
“You know he’ll take everything.”
“He can try.”
“Come on, Jeb. You weren’t going to stop those men, and you won’t stop those who come after them. He told you he would make your life a misery. He would have taken Jenna.”
“I’ll speak with him. This has to be a misunderstanding. He’ll listen to me.”
Colby scoffed. “And if he doesn’t?”
“Then I will take him out myself,” he said without looking at him.
“Really?” Colby was skeptical. “Your faith teaches you not to kill.”
He didn’t reply. It was clear he was lost in thought, thinking about how he would handle his son. Some men didn’t understand communication, all they knew was force. They rode in silence, taking in the sight of empty roads, a few cars stalled and abandoned, doors open, windows smashed.
Colby racked his brain trying to remember where he was when the lights went out but it wasn’t there. None of it was. Jeb said that the previous gash to the back of his head had probably played a role. The beating had just pushed him over the edge, contributed to the amnesia. “Any of this familiar to you?” Jeb asked, pointing to the way ahead.
“No.”
They approached the small town from the east, nearing a bridge that would take him over a river and down into town. Once they got to the start of the bridge, Jeb stopped. “This is as far as I go. Bill lived in an RV just west of McDonald’s. Again, though, I wish you would listen to me. All you’ll find in that town is trouble. It’s dangerous. I mean it.”
Colby reached out and shook his head. “I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
He patted his horse and the horse trotted forward.
Jeb watched as he crossed over the bridge. Colby looked off to the south and a series of memories hit him. It now looked familiar. The interstate. A vehicle. He was driving a truck. An old truck. Colby stopped the horse.
“You okay?” Jeb called out. Colby didn’t even realize he was still there. He gave him a reassuring wave and continued. The road took him by a huge Spanish-looking hotel on the left, an In-N-Out Burger place on the right, and a McDonald’s to the left. There was no blockade. No one waiting to stop him from entering. In many ways, the town seemed barren, empty of residents. Where had they all gone? Surely they wouldn’t have upped and left unless there was a FEMA camp nearby.
The only sound came from hooves clopping against the hard asphalt as he rode down the middle of the street, his eyes ticking the landscape. The outskirts of the town had nothing but buildings given to fast food. Once he reached Santa Nella Boulevard, the main artery that cuts through the heart of the town, he saw a green sign for the RV park. Colby cast a glance over his shoulder to make sure the way behind him was clear before crossing the intersection. As he was about to ride down the winding driveway that led into the RV park, he noticed a single-story home off to the right.
He recognized it.
A memory hit him hard and furious, causing him to stop.
Two people. Early sixties. A door slammed. Someone spoke to him. Stay the night. We can offer a cooked breakfast in the morning. Allow us to repay the favor.
Then the memory faded.
He turned away from the RV park and rode down the driveway.
There was an old beat-up blue truck out front and smoke rising from behind the home. It smelled like someone was having a BBQ. As he got closer, he expected someone to notice and come out armed. Nope. He brought the horse over to a grove of trees and tied off the reins to a branch before pulling an AR-15 around and approaching the house. He kept the rifle low and skirted around the L-shaped abode, keeping his back to the stucco wall. Colby stepped over plant pots and listened intently.
He could hear conversation. Low.
Laughter followed. At the corner of the house, he sliced-the-pie, moving his head from 12 to 3 to get a better look. That’s when he saw them. The same couple from the flashback. The older guy was jabbing at meat on a BBQ while the woman was laid out on a pool chair, sipping on a cocktail with a book in hand.
Colby stepped out, coming around the corner, barrel pointing at the man. A glance, and he dropped the metal spatula. “Easy does it,” Colby said. The woman removed her sunglasses and looked at him. Her eyes bulged, her mouth widened.
“You!” she said.
SEVEN
Merced County
“You know me?” Colby asked as he approached, his gaze bouncing between them.
The fear in their eyes was palpable.
The woman’s hands were trembling. Her partner cautiously moved across to her and took her hand. They both looked like typical retirees, sensible clothing, comfortable. He was large, well-built, wearing cream-colored pants and a dark shirt with boating shoes, and she wore a colorful blouse with shorts and flip flops. “It’s all right, Delores. Please, you’re scaring my wife.”
“I said, do you know me?!” He raised his voice.
“Of course.”
“How?”
They gave each other a confused look. “You don’t remember?”
He shook his head. “Just tell me what you know,” he replied. He heard mov
ement off to his left, and Colby turned the rifle toward the open door only to see an older girl come out. Red hair, late teens, dressed in dark clothes. Almost goth in appearance. She looked familiar too.
“Don’t shoot her. Please. She’s our granddaughter.”
“That true?” he asked.
Her eyes darted then she nodded.
“Get over there with them. Anyone else inside?”
“No.”
He slid the door to the house closed and then told them to take a seat. His heart was thumping, his gaze searching for threats. “How do you know me?”
“Four days ago, you arrived here. We helped you,” the man said.
His eyes bounced between them. “Help? What do you mean?”
“Please, would you just lower the weapon?” the man said. Colby hesitated, then lowered the barrel but was ready to lift it again if they tried anything.
“I happened to be driving by when you were walking toward the town.”
“Was I alone?”
“Yes. You had a gas canister in hand. You had broken down a few miles south of here. I offered you a ride, told you that gas stations were still offering gas at a crazy price in canisters, but it was better than nothing.”
“Then what?”
“I brought you back to our home for a meal. I said you could stay for the night.”
That flashback, that memory confirmed he was at least telling the truth.
“Did I stay?”
“No, you said you needed to get back to your truck. I offered you a ride, but you opted to walk. That was the last we saw of you.”
He couldn’t remember any truck or arriving at this town, but he remembered their faces. It all seemed like a blur.
“Did I get gas?”
“Yes. You griped about the price. Then again, so did I, but we were lucky to get any. The owner used some contraption to hand-pump it all out. Kind of clever. Not that money is of much use now.”
“Did I say where I was heading?”