Town on Fire: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Series, 25BF Season 2 (25 Bombs Fell)

by A. K. Meek

  The figure stepped within eyesight—Johnny could make out a rough form in the nighttime. His brain that had been working in low gear finally kicked into high. He knew the voice.

  “Roscoe?” Johnny asked.

  The outline seemed taken aback, like this was the last thing it expected someone to say.

  “Johnny-boy? Is that you?”

  The figure fumbled with something in the night. A small Maglite illuminated, almost like a piece of sun had emerged. Johnny shielded his eyes as the beam played across him.

  Since Johnny last saw Roscoe, he had grown a beard, which made him look ten years older. A rag of a t-shirt hung on his body, which was even thinner than the last time he saw him, they were working at the construction site when the bombs fell.

  “What the—Johnny, it is you.” Recognition painted Roscoe’s voice. “What are you doing here, in the middle of nowhere?” He lowered his pistol somewhat, but didn’t put it away. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Got sick of being in town,” Johnny said in a flat, matter of fact way. “Felt like a rat trapped in a cage.”

  He may have felt that way, but it wasn’t the whole truth. It was a cage, but one he created for himself rather than being forced into it.

  Roscoe nodded in complete sympathy, then lifted his head and stared into night, as if asking the starless sky some vast, philosophical question. He asked, “Wanna go party?”

  Johnny stared at him for a moment, then turned to stare into the same night. If he could, he would’ve also asked the starless sky the same philosophical questions. But reality was he was a little hungry, and a whole lot afraid. Plus, party. Having someone like Roscoe to hang with was ten times better than fighting to survive in this world. He shrugged and said, “Sure. Whatever.”

  Roscoe scratched his butt with his pistol then used it to beckon Johnny. Johnny’s co-worker led him off the main road onto a dirt access road that he hadn’t noticed until he stepped on it. After meandering along the road for about fifteen feet Johnny Roscoe’s pickup emerged from the black, parked just off the shoulder. He didn’t notice the two guys leaning on the truck’s tailgate until he was practically on them.

  “I found an old friend,” Roscoe said. The two guys didn’t seem impressed at all with Roscoe’s find. One spit. “Let’s go back to camp,” Roscoe said with a motion of the pistol which had become his pointer. He opened the driver’s door.

  Johnny maneuvered around the front of the truck to the passenger side while the two other men hopped into the back. He already liked the idea that he wasn’t relegated to the bed of the truck, but was allowed in the cab.

  When he opened the door, he had expected to see Rascal sitting there. The old dog was gone, but in his place was a small briefcase, or metal shoebox, or some other kind of fancy box with smooth, round corners and a tiny handle that looked like polished silver. The box appeared to have been handled pretty roughly, judging by all the scratches.

  “Oh,” Roscoe said quickly, almost surprised. “Give me that.” He stretched across the bench seat and snatched the box before Johnny could lay a finger on it. He slid behind the steering wheel and then used the box as an armrest.

  Johnny shrugged as he slid in the passenger side and closed the door. “I guess you finally got sick of that dog and dropped it off at the pound.”

  Roscoe laughed way more than was appropriate for the statement. Almost to the point of uncomfortableness. Once his laughing tapered to giggling, he said, “Open the window, will you? It’s stuffy in here?”

  Johnny reached behind him and slid the window in the rear open, then rolled down the passenger window. He rested his arm on the window, a guy ready for a night on the town. He perked up. “So where are we going?”

  Firing up his truck and throwing it in gear, Roscoe veered onto the access road, his headlights exploding into the night. Johnny was amazed at the idea of Roscoe having the only working truck in the world. “We’re going to where I crash,” Roscoe said. “It’s not far from here. But you can’t see where we’re going.”

  A bag was thrown over Johnny’s head from behind. He started to struggle, grasping at the thick, scratchy covering. A gun muzzle shoved into his ribs caused him to stop. The bag collapsed and expanded with each panicked breath.

  “Let’s go visit Rascal at the pound,” Roscoe said. “He’ll be happy to see you. Bear with the hood for a few miles. It won’t be long.”

  Kurt didn’t realize the lousy days he’d been living could get any worse. Nothing could top him losing his son but there were many other ways for him to know misery and pain to varying degrees. Having to make his neighbors evacuate their homes was one.

  He and his deputies had been outside of the barrier, the wall, making sure Bartel residents evacuated to within the safety of the wall. It was a hot, tiring, painful task, and his position made it his responsibility.

  He knew what others knew, but didn’t want to mouth; Bartel was no safer with the wall. It was the placebo effect. Times ten. Many of the citizens sought safety within the walls. If they felt safe, then that would diminish the panic waiting to erupt. Kurt would rather have false security than a true riot.

  He and a few of his deputies went from house to house outside the wall. He carried a clipboard with a roll of all taxpayers, compiled from physical records from the courthouse. With the power out, that meant no computer, which also meant many of the up to date town records could no longer be accessed. They had to make do with what they had.

  The next subdivision they arrived at was called Pecan Orchard. This was one of the more affluent communities in Bartel. Three thousand square foot brick houses built throughout an old pecan grove. The old trees dwarfed the two-story houses, twisted branches reaching in every direction. Many retired businessmen sought refuge here, choosing to spend their remaining days hidden far from Atlanta or other cities.

  “Okay, guys, we know what to do,” he said to his team of six deputies and volunteers. “Watch out for anything suspicious.” He pointed to one street where the houses and the road curved left, then right, then disappeared over a gradual slope. “Let’s start here and work our way to the back.”

  Kurt didn’t necessarily agree with all the decisions Aubrey made, but he supported the idea that order needed to be maintained for Bartel to survive. Even though the world had ended, that didn’t mean life was over. That didn’t mean justice and law no longer applied. The growing sentiment Kurt had heard running through the town like a cancer was that rules didn’t apply anymore. Law no longer mattered. This especially troubled him.

  Law is a moral restraint. Without it, man will quickly turn into all the things he wants to be, but doesn’t act upon because of the restraints. Kurt had spent too many years in law enforcement, often dealt with the worst of society to not think this way. People tend to move toward the bad side spectrum when the restraints are off.

  Scanning his papers, one name stuck out. A search of the mailboxes and curb numbers showed him 736 Peach Blossom.

  He walked across the street to the house. At one time the lawn had been immaculate. Grass had been perfectly cut, edges trimmed to near razor line perfection. Pom pom shrubs had been strategically placed in clusters, pine straw forming a bed of nature for each. The lawn had been divided in curving sweeps with xeriscaping adding punch. At one time this would’ve won yard of the month in any community. With the power gone, with no water, the landscaping had turned to rot.

  Kurt knocked on the door.

  He waited for what he thought was a reasonable amount of time.

  He knocked again.

  Councilman Ted Aldrich cracked open the door. His eyes were wide, like an insomniac raccoon. His clothes appeared to have been worn for several weeks without a wash.

  Kurt gave him a smile, nodding. “Hey, how’s it going?” He knew how it was going, but the question came from habit.

  “I know what you’re here for,” Ted responded, his voice already sounding irritated.

  “Yeah,” K
urt said as he wiped his head. “It sure is a muggy day to be doing this.” He had hoped by downplaying the whole thing it would go smoothly.

  He already knew how Councilman Aldrich felt about Aubrey’s decision. He had been one of the more vocal opponents of the idea. Of course, Ted was very vocal about any idea he held.

  He wore passion on his sleeve and every cause he believed in was the only worthy cause to fight. Kurt chalked it up to his years in the Air Force. He was a retired colonel and was used to being heard. And getting his way.

  At the back of Kurt’s mind, he thought maybe the councilman would cause problems when told to move. But he didn’t think Ted would go through with it. He was a councilman after all. A man of order.

  Ted kept the door near closed and stared past Kurt.

  “It’s time to go,” Kurt said.

  Ted shook his head. “We’re not going,” he said.

  Now Kurt shook his head. “Come on, Ted. You know what you have to do. You knew this was coming. You’re a key leader in Bartel.”

  Ted continued shaking his head, each shake refuting Kurt’s words. “I’m not leaving my house, not leaving my community to whoever decides to move in as squatters. I’m not having strangers crapping in my toilet.”

  Kurt rested a hand on the door. “I hear you. I know you’re frustrated. Who isn’t—”

  Ted positioned one of his feet against the back of the door to keep it from opening any more. Kurt realized he was getting in a defensive, fighting posture. He knew Ted had an arsenal in his house. If there was anyone he didn’t want to go toe to toe with in a gun battle, it was Ted.

  He stepped away from the door. Earl stepped onto the porch. “Sheriff, everything alright?” Earl eyed Ted suspiciously.

  “Yeah. Just talking to the councilman.” The last thing Kurt needed was a trigger-happy redneck taking opportunities to flex their muscles. He turned back to Ted. “I have the authority to move all residents into town. There’s still law in this land.”

  Feeling some internal need to validate Kurt’s statement, Earl tightened his grip on his rifle.

  What’s he doing? Kurt thought. Put that away.

  The subtle movement, unnoticeable to most untrained eyes, didn’t escape Ted. His eyes lingered on Earl’s hands and he stepped back inside the doorway, saying, “You’re going to try and force me out?”

  Kurt held up his hands. “I’m not forcing you to do anything, Ted. I’m trying to take care of a town that has had several kidnappings. I’m trying to protect you.”

  “I’m not going to be forced inside the wall like a rat, only to die caged.” His voice had become animated, lively, which wasn’t necessarily good.

  “What about your wife?”

  “Helen? I can take care of her.”

  “Can I talk to her?”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “I’m sorry, Ted, but I have to ask her if she wants to be evacuated.” Kurt’s calm wore thin. “Each person gets to decide whether they’ll evacuate or not.”

  Another deputy, a young woman who Kurt had never seen until two days ago, came up on the porch. Ted’s eyes darted from her, to Earl, to Kurt.

  “You’re not setting foot in this house,” Ted proclaimed.

  Kurt’s warning bells had already started going off, and now they were practically screaming in his ear. What scared him was what Ted had hidden on the other side of the door. He shifted his position to place himself between Ted and the deputies. He knew this wasn’t going to end well.

  “I think you need to leave now,” Ted said. “This is still my property. We’re still living in America.”

  Kurt bit his lower lip. Everything hinged on what he did now.

  But before he could speak, Earl lifted his rifle and drew a bead on Ted. “Step aside!” he yelled. If Kurt didn’t know the gravity of the situation, he would’ve laughed at how high-pitched and childlike the man’s voice sounded.

  The second deputy, following Earl’s lead, whipped her rifle up to her shoulder. “Move out of the way!” she commanded Ted.

  What made Kurt nervous was Ted’s reaction. Normal people would’ve been startled, taken aback when a rifle barrel was pointed at them. Afraid and cringing. Ted was neither. His expression didn’t change. He remained standing at the door, blocking the entrance. If he was scared, he didn’t show it. He was calmly assessing the situation, much like a soldier in battle.

  “I said, stand back,” Earl took another step and attempted to kick at the door. What Earl didn’t know was Ted had braced it with something other than his foot. It didn’t give.

  Earl’s leg buckled against the unexpected resistance. His body spun left. And when he did, his arms flailed wildly and his rifle discharged right next to Ted’s head.

  The sharp crack in the entryway sounded like a massive firecracker going off in a trash can.

  Ted ducked just as another sharp crack indicated another round being fired.

  A portion of the door splintered and Earl screamed as he dropped his rifle. Clutching his hip, he stumbled backward off the steps, landing flat on his back.

  “No!” Kurt yelled he stepped in Ted’s path, not allowing another opportunity for him to shoot. “What did you do?”

  “I defended myself on my own property. I was threatened and protected my home and my family.”

  “You know he wasn’t shooting at you!” Kurt leaped off the stairs to tend to Earl, who sobbed on the sunburned lawn.

  “All I know is he almost planted a hollow point in my skull.”

  “He’s not experienced.”

  “Yet you deputized him and let him become the law.” Ted shook his head in mock disgust.

  “Oh my,” Helen, Ted’s wife, pushed past him from inside the house. The gunfire on the front porch roused her from her midday nap.

  When she saw Earl twisting on the ground, her eyes widened and she raced down the stairs. “What in the world…?” She pushed Kurt aside and kneeled at the injured man’s side. Since Helen was now in her mid-sixties, it took her a moment to get on her knees, but Kurt had never seen her move that fast.

  Formerly employed at Bartel’s regional medical center for years, she had worked as a trauma nurse until her back problems forced her to retire. All that went out the window in an emergency.

  She placed a hand on Earl’s carotid, then looked him over, assessing the situation. Gently she rested hand on his forehead and whispered in his ear. Then she moved to his left thigh, where a splatter of red was spreading on his denim jeans.

  “Get the bag from the hall closet,” she ordered her husband. After another second of gawking he disappeared into the house.

  Helen felt for the gunshot wound as she continued comforting Earl, trying to calm him as much as you can calm someone who’s just been shot.

  Kurt’s posse had found their way to the commotion and stood in stunned silence. They held their rifles nervously as they watched Helen in action.

  Ted emerged from the doorway with a clear plastic box and set it down next to his wife. She tore off the lid and slung various things aside until she found what she was looking for. Compression bandages. “He needs to get to the medical center,” she said.

  Kurt sighed. At little after six a.m., he already felt like he’d lived a day full of anxiety and drama. “Well, that didn’t go according to plan,” he said as he went to grab his horse to carry Earl back to town.

  Helen decided to accompany Earl to the medical center, despite her husband’s protests. She didn’t agree with his assessment of the situation, and when Kurt mentioned there were many injured in town but not enough medical help, that sealed the deal for her. Maybe he was wrong in dangling that carrot in front of her, but Bartel needed all the help they could get. He knew she couldn’t resist the call to serve. The end of the world brought many injuries.

  After a few choice words with her husband inside their house, she packed up a small suitcase and went with the deputies and most of her neighbors, evacuating inside the wall, to Bartel.


  That left Kurt and Ted standing on the steps to his home.

  Should he take Ted to jail? Arrest him? He knew Earl didn’t mean to fire. He also knew Ted shooting Earl in the leg wasn’t accidental. He could’ve placed that bullet anywhere in Earl’s body.

  They both knew that. To be honest, Kurt didn’t want to pursue it. Ted could’ve killed him, but didn’t. Was he right for shooting Earl? No. But how would this play out if he decided to haul him in? It’s not like Ted was a serial killer or a robot on a murderous rampage.

  “You know,” Kurt said, “you can refuse to evacuate into Bartel, but once you refuse, you’ll not be allowed through the wall.”

  Ted stared down, not looking at Kurt or the blood that now stained his walkway. “I know what this means.”

  “Helen will have to stay in. You won’t be able to see her.”

  Ted looked wistful. “I’ve been married to her for thirty years. If we can’t weather this storm then all those years of hardships meant nothing. We’ll get through this. We always do.”

  “Yeah, Ted, I know.”

  “You gonna haul me in? Are we gonna have a shootout?”

  Kurt chuckled. “You know I’d lose.” He looked the councilman square in the eyes. “You were defending yourself, right? You thought he was going to rattle off another wild shot and hit you or Helen, right?”

  Ted shrugged, but held a poker face, a face of stone. “You know how wild people are when they get ahold of a gun. Anything can happen.”

  “Anything.” Kurt checked the brim of his hat in his hands before putting it back on his head. “There’s too much shooting going on around here.” He stepped off the porch. “I’ll report you’ve refused to evacuate. You’ll be banned from entry, according to City Ordinance 887—”

  “I know the ordinance. I voted against it.”

  “Just trying to keep this all official.”

  “I understand, Sheriff. You’ve got a job to do. I’ve got my job to do. That’s defending my home. I didn’t work this long to let it all go so easily.”

  Sheriff Kurt tipped his hat as he departed. “Have a good day, Councilman.” With his clipboard under his arm, he headed down the walkway, shaking his head as he avoided the spatters of blood. Everything was going off the rails.