Blackout & Burn: A Complete EMP Thriller Series

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Where first?” Masood asks from the back.

  “The petrol station.”

  The lights of the car behind him glare in his mirror. “Stupid, Saleem. Why does he have to drive so close!”

  It was planned this way—they’d set the petrol station alight first then the police station and fire station which were, to his delight, conveniently located opposite each other.

  As they roll into the town and down the hill Salman slows, turns off the road, and parks outside the petrol station. The place is dark and the shop is closed. Good. As he pulls in he notices a clutch of tall red canisters—propane gas—even better. He stops the car and gets out. Saleem and Abde pull their cars up at the side of the road and the men get out and join him on the forecourt. Within minutes the canisters are lined up and the first rag doused in petrol. Crowbar in hand Salman hooks it beneath the metal door of the petrol tank where the vats below the concrete floor of the forecourt sit. It’s tougher than he’d realised to open the lid and he makes a whoop of delight when he does.

  “Light it!” he says to Khalid and points to the petrol-doused rag held in Saleem’s hands.

  The rag bursts into flame. Saleem holds it aloft with a triumphant smile then drops it to the petrol below. Flames shoot out of the hole.

  “Run!” Salman shouts. The flames are far higher than he’d expected.

  The first blast comes as they drive away and the car erupts into screams and whoops of delight.

  “Now the Fire Station.”

  BAM!

  The blast fills Jessie’s ears. “What the hell was that?”

  A thick and angry black cloud churns through the air.

  “Explosion!”

  “At the petrol station!” Alex adds.

  “Back in the car,” Bill commands. “Let’s go and see what’s going on.”

  Flames dance along the roof-line as they take a left at the top of the road. A car pulls out at the junction forcing Bill to slam on the brakes.

  “What the hell!”

  The car swerves, pulls away with a screech of tyres, the driver mouthing silent abuse. Behind him, two more vehicles race across the junction.

  Another blast rocks the car.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “Didn’t Michael say that the terrorists turned up in a red car yesterday?”

  “Yes, he did. An old Ford Cortina”

  “Well, the car that just pulled out in front of us was a red Ford Cortina.”

  “I think they’ve come back to finish off the job,” Jessie says as she looks at the flames leaping from the buildings either side of the road. “They’ve set fire to the Police and the Fire Station this time and, from the look of those flames,” she gestures across the rooftops, “they’ve set fire to the petrol station too.”

  “Petrol station’s the only one that’ll make a difference.”

  “They’re back and they’ve brought friends this time,” Uri stares out of the back window to the convoy of cars that is disappearing down the hill.

  “Let’s follow them.”

  “I’m on it,” Bill replies as he powers the car forward and makes a quick and precise three-point turn.

  “Keep your distance,” Uri urges. “We want to see where they’re going but not let them know we’re on their tail.”

  “Kill the lights,” Alex suggests.

  The road ahead becomes black and the car moves down the road with only the last purple haze of twilight left to guide them.

  “It’s not as dark as you think, is it.”

  “No,” Bill replies without elaboration, his attention focused on the red taillights of the cars ahead.

  Twenty seconds later Bill takes the same left turn. Ahead, the cars have stopped. Bills slows and stops the car and quickly turns off the engine. They sit in silence as the men step out of the cars. Dark figures walk between the open doors.

  “There’s about ten of them.”

  “Hell.”

  “Let’s go!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Jessie, wait,” Bill chides as she reaches for the door’s handle. “We need to have a plan. We can’t go out there gung ho!”

  “We have to stop them. They’re going to burn down those houses. The petrol station, fire station and police station –that’s just a statement. This is the second phase—just like in the city—burn then kill.”

  “I know.”

  “So, let’s go!”

  “Niet! I do not have weapon.”

  “There’s a survival bow in the boot and my crossbow.”

  “I have no skill with bow.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Your gun’s in the boot.”

  “What!”

  “It was the best place to keep it. I thought-”

  “You thought wrong.”

  “Hey, you can argue later,” Alex butts in. “Those men are getting ready to burn this place down.”

  Bill runs his hands through his hair with an anxious stare at Jessie then Uri. “Jessie! There’s no way he can have that.”

  “We’re going to have to trust him ... We need him, Bill. There’s only four of us and ten of them. They’re all armed and about to start petrol-bombing this place.”

  “Sure,” he replies though his voice holds no conviction. “OK, Jessie. Uri gets his gun—just for this. Alex gets the survival bow and you’ve got your crossbow. You any good with a bow Alex?”

  “Yes, not as good as Jessie, but I’m capable.”

  “Good.”

  “What about you, Bill? What weapon do you have?”

  “They’re getting ready to attack!”

  “So are we,” Bill replies. “Uri. You take the right side. Alex you’re with him. Jessie come with me.”

  “What about a weapon—for you?” Jessie repeats.

  He reaches down and, when he pulls back, a blade glints in his hand. “I’ve got this,” he says turning the six-inch blade. “Let’s go. Slowly. We don’t want them to know we’re here.”

  A red light brightens the boot’s interior as Jessie passes Alex the survival bow and reaches for her own crossbow. Reassured, she slings the quiver over her shoulder. At the side of the boot is a small wrapping of fabric. Inside are four knives—sharp and lethal in the right hands.

  “Bill,” she whispers. “I’ve got something for you.”

  Bill slips the knives into his pocket. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” she replies.

  He crouches as he runs, keeping to the shadows.

  Bow loaded, Jessie takes aim. In her sights is a tall man, his thin face half in shadow, as he holds a lighter in one hand. In his other he holds a bottle stuffed with a rag. He touches the flame to the rag.

  “Petrol bombs,” Bill says without emotion. “You might want to take him out about now, Jess.”

  “I certainly do,” Jessie replies tightening her jaw. She raises the crossbow to her shoulder in a fluid, well-practiced arc and draws back the bolt. The flaming rag moves back and the man’s head shifts. Her fingers pull the trigger. The bolt darts through the night just as the thin man twists to lob the bottle.

  The flame judders and lurches in the dark.

  He screams.

  The bolt pierces his shoulder, stabbing deep into his flesh.

  The bottle drops to the floor and smashes. Liquid splashes and sprays across the tarmac, dousing him in petrol. His body slams against a car as flames devour the road.

  The street is alive with shouting men.

  Jessie reloads.

  The man pushes away from the car, patting at his jeans, his top, his arms. Flames dance on the fabric. He screams.

  A shot fires and a dark figure slumps against the wall and falls onto the road. The flames follow the trickles of fuel as it runs down the camber in the road to the kerb.

  More shouts. A body, dark against the flames, jumps across to the burning man. A coat flaps and swings at him. The hems of his jeans are alight. Flames race up each leg.

 
Shouts rise—high-pitched and excited.

  Glass shatters as a bottle arcs through the night and breaks through into the ground floor window of a house.

  A cheer.

  “Did you hear those bastards?”

  The road is alive with men and flames. Dark figures run, flames burning bright in their hands. Jessie holds her position, picks her next target. Sees him.

  Another bottle is held high, its wick of cloth burning bright against the dark of the sky. A curtain twitches in an upstairs room, a girl, no more than fourteen. The man smirks, takes aim and strides forward. Jessie pulls the bow taught. As she releases the bolt he stumbles, his foot catching in a shallow rut in the road. The steel rod misses and clatters onto the road. He recovers and pulls back his arm.

  The girl disappears.

  Jessie reloads.

  He twists his body to throw his deadly bomb.

  Jessie breaks cover.

  Too late!

  The man pulls his arm back to its full extent, twists, and lobs the firebomb. It smashes through the upstairs window just as Jessie pulls the trigger. The bolt hits home and slices straight into his temple. The man drops and his head thuds against the tarmac.

  The girl in the house!

  Scanning the street, Jessie searches for the others. Alex is taking aim and Bill is grappling with a man. Uri is nowhere to be seen. She’ll have to go into the house alone.

  The front door is locked. No time for pleasantries. She kicks at it with force. It judders and the frame splinters. Kicking again it breaks open and she stares into the dark hallway.

  Upstairs!

  Shouting mixes with a child’s cry as she takes the stairs two at a time.

  Screams fill the house as she reaches the landing.

  “Get out or I’ll kill you,” a woman screams.

  “No! I’m here to help,” Jessie reassures. “I saw them throw the petrol bomb through your window. I saw your daughter,” she continues as the teenager comes into view. Three faces, gaunt in the moonlight shining through the landing window, stare at her. A child sobs.

  “Shh! Rachael. It’s going to be alright.” The older woman pulls the child tight to her side, an arm locked around her shoulders.

  “There’s fire in my bedroom. I closed the door.”

  “Smart girl,” Jessie says to the girl. “Now let’s get you out. This way,” she commands.

  “Ava, you go first,” the mother urges scooping the younger child into her arms.

  “It’s too dangerous to go out the front door,” Jessie warns.

  “The street is full of men throwing bottles.”

  “Then what-”

  “We can go into the garden, mum. Come on,” the girl urges.

  Smoke curls up from under the bedroom door and fills the landing as Jessie reaches the bottom.

  The woman disappears down the hallway, curses as she knocks against a table in the dark and then they’re gone. Jessie turns to the front door and spies through the letter box. The street is alive with flames and dark figures running between the cars. She coughs at the smoke filling the hallway.

  Bow reloaded, Jessie throws open the front door. Glass smashes only feet away and she jumps to the right as petrol spatters the wall. Flames burst into life and leap at her side.

  “Jessie!”

  Movement in her peripheral. Metal glints. A man grunts.

  She twists to look. A raised arm, machete in hand. A scowling face, blade held high, charges at her. Another bottle smashes, closer now and she jumps, forced into the path of the machete. She crouches then springs to the left.

  The blade slashes down and catches at her arm. Pain, dull and hard. She staggers back. Hate flickers in his eyes and dances with the flames as he raises the machete again. The fire blocks a retreat. She presses against the ground, hand tight around her bow, and jumps away. He’s quick and mirrors her actions, raising the blade. Jessie slides against the wall, pushing herself away, the flames follow.

  This can’t be how she dies—burning and hacked to death!

  She raises her bow, the last defence as the machete arcs. Excitement fills his eyes and he shouts in triumph.

  This can’t be-

  He wavers, frozen. Eyes widen, brows furrow. His shout becomes a grunt. A rod pierces his chest. His back arches. The sharp tip of the bolt shines bright in the firelight as he staggers then crashes against Jessie. The machete clatters against brick. Head knocked against the wall, she pushes at his shoulders and he falls with a heavy thud across her lap. The tip of the arrow jabs at her thigh.

  “Jessie!” Alex appears from the dark and grabs at the man.

  “Get him off!”

  He grunts. Pain sinks deeper into her thigh and she cries out.

  “The bolt! Pull him up.”

  Alex grunts with effort and pulls at the man. The pain eases. The terrorist lands with a heavy thud on the pavement and Jessie is yanked to her feet then pulled. Her arm screams. She grimaces and hobbles away from the flames. Alex pushes her down behind a car and they squat as the air fills with the stench of singeing flesh. The terrorist’s screams become a gurgle as flames devour his head.

  “He got your arm. Did he get you anywhere else?”

  “No. Just the bolt scraped my leg” she says with a grunt, hand covered in blood as she presses against the pain.

  Bam!

  An explosion blasts in the street. The red car bursts into flames. Screams follow. A figure runs past, flames dance across his back and he drops to his knees. He screams as he burns. Kneeling he sways but stays upright, a living torch of flame as fire engulfs him.

  “Jesus!”

  “Was that a terrorist?”

  “I think so.”

  “Bill? Where’s Bill?”

  “I don’t know. Uri’s on the other side of the street. Some of the men from the houses have come out to help.”

  Another shot rings out as Jessie peers into the burning chaos. Alex squats in front of her, his bow loaded and ready to fire.

  A door opens and slippers are on the step only feet away.

  “Holy Mother of God!” a voice exclaims. “What in the name of Jesus is going on?”

  A woman, red hair shot through with grey, face lined with age, stares at the carnage in the road.

  “Terror attack,” Jessie explains through gritted teeth.

  “Oh!” the woman says looking down at her. “I didn’t see you there. Are you hurt?”

  Alex jumps up, draws his bow and shoots. A body hurtles forwards and knocks into him. He stands his ground and pushes it away. The man, knife in hand staggers back, an arrow pierces his throat. Alex takes a step back and kicks at the man’s groin. Flames lick at his boots and creeps up his legs.

  “Sweet Jesus,” the woman says crossing herself.

  Flames snake their way around his legs and then he’s alight. He clutches at the arrow gasping for breath as he falls into the flames.

  “Somebody help him!” the woman exclaims as she stares at the dying man.

  “It’s too late for him,” Jessie says without emotion. “And don’t waste your breath. He came here to kill you.”

  “Kill me!”

  “Kill us all.”

  “Jessie,” Alex says turning to her. “The fire’s spreading, we need to move back.”

  “Get her in here,” the woman suggests and reaches down. The heavy, musky scent of perfume masks the acrid smoke for just a second as she pushes close to Jessie.

  A hand grasps Jessie’s bicep and she pushes up against the wall.

  “I’m OK,” she insists as the woman heaves. “Please! Go inside. It’s not safe out here.”

  “No, I want to help. You need help”

  “Take her inside,” Alex commands, “and lock the door.”

  “No, Alex. I need to be here.”

  “You’re no use with your arm out of action. If you’re safe I can concentrate on taking out the last of these bastards.”

  Jessie nods and lets the woman guide her.
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  “Come on in,” the woman urges and steps into her hallway. Jessie begins to follow but moving away from the others doesn’t feel right.

  “No! I can’t. I have to stay here,” she says and turns back to the road. “I’ll stay in the doorway. I have to see what’s happening.”

  She turns back to the road ignoring the woman’s plea to come inside and lock the door. She can see neither Bill nor Uri through the flames in the road. Where the hell are they? She peers into the distance, as far as the increasing dark of the road will allow. A body burns in the road. Is it him? No, the boots are different. Aren’t they? She checks again. Bill had leather boots, those are trainers. Relieved, she checks the other side of the road. Illuminated by the burning car she spots him. Knife grasped in his hand, Bill moves about as another man, crowbar in hand, swipes at him. It’s like a dance, mesmerising. Bill darts to the left, takes a step back, moves to the right. The crowbar is relentless. From her vantage point she can take him out.

  The man swings again and clips Bill on the leg. Do something, Jessie! Clutching her cross bow, the pain of her slashed arm seers to her shoulder. She holds the bow against her belly, trapping it with her forearm whilst she reaches for a bolt. Taking a deep breath, she focuses. Bill is still upright, dancing from left to right, lunging with his knife, but she can see that he’s injured. Can’t let him hurt Bill again! Bow lifted, pain runs from her shoulder to her finger tips and she flinches. She takes another breath, loads the bolt and raises it higher. Wincing, she bites down on her lip to blot the pain. The man is captured in her sights. Bill staggers back as the crowbar glides towards his legs. It catches him and he drops to his knees. The crowbar arcs above Bill’s head as he pulls another knife from his pocket. He leaps forward, both arms outstretched, both hands armed, and stabs the man either side of his groin. The blades disappear into his flesh. The man screams, bends and buckles in agony. Jessie releases her bolt. It slams into his arm. He judders and sinks to his knees. Jessie reloads and shoots again. The bolt slips into his neck. The man grasps for the bolt and Jessie watches in horrified fascination as he pulls at it. Blood spurts. A spray, black in the light, covers the pavement. Bill pushes himself back, turns and pushes back to his feet. Dragging one leg, he leans up against the wall and stares across at Jessie.