Turbulent: A Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (Days of Want Series Book 1)

by T. L. Payne

  Harding puffed out his cheeks and let out a lungful of air. Placing his hands in his pockets, he looked down at his shoes. His business casual and tasseled loafers were entirely inappropriate for the apocalypse

  “Sir, you and I both know that there is no recovering from this disaster.”

  Harding held up a hand.

  “We have a plan, Gerry. The plan is a recovery plan. It is not our job to do nation-building. We don’t get to decide what communities live and which ones have to fend for themselves. We live in the United States of America. The United States.”

  Harding's face was hard. This time Harding was the initiator as their eyes locked.

  Aims broke eye contact and looked toward the window. He imagined all the resources that were being wasted at that moment. Poorly protected recovery centers would soon be overrun with people looking for assistance. Resources would soon run out, and those people would not have the skills or ability to care for themselves in the new world.

  “Let’s wait two days,” Harding said. “If we don’t hear back from Indiana or if we hear that D.C. has fallen, we will begin President Rhynard’s continuity plan.”

  Harding closed the binder and placed it back on the shelf.

  “And at what point will you decide that it is time to implement General Garland’s continuity plan?” Aims asked.

  Harding spun around and faced Aims with fury all over his face.

  “Never!” Harding said, veins bulging in his forehead.

  Harding’s eyes were almost black. Aims tilted his head and studied the man’s hard features. He did not doubt that Harding meant what he said. No matter how dire the situation got, Harding would not sacrifice the many to save the few, even if that meant that they all perished.

  In the early days of Rhynard’s presidency, General Garland had laid out the plan to President Rhynard and his cabinet as a remote possibility scenario for planning purposes only. No one in the cabinet had taken it seriously. It had been one of several dozen proposals put forth in the planning stages of the new president’s framework for recovery plan. Aims would likely have never even known about it had he not been sleeping with someone with contacts in the cabinet. She and the others had laughed it off as lunacy. But it made perfect sense to Aims, especially in a scenario like the one playing out in the country at that precise moment.

  Did Harding think the Russians, Chinese and Iranians had launched the attacks only to sideline the United States?

  Aims held eye contact with Harding as he took his seat.

  “I know we discussed his plan in jest. I was just joking—nothing to get so worked up about. We’ve planned for as many scenarios as possible, and we are a resilient nation, after all. I’m sure—with your leadership—region five will not only recover, but it will also thrive,” Aims said, doing his best to wear a genuine smile.

  Harding’s shoulders relaxed. As he took his seat, he drew in a deep breath and let it out, making a braying noise.

  “What I don’t need right now, Aims, is an ass kisser. But in case there is a thread of sincerity in that statement, I thank you.”

  A knock on the door broke the tension of the moment. Harding turned toward the door and said, “Yes, come in.”

  A National Guard soldier poked his head around the door.

  “Administrator Harding, we have cleared the route to Marseille and transport units should be here to move you and your staff later this afternoon.”

  “Excellent. We will be ready.”

  Harding turned to Aims.

  “Make sure everyone is ready. Let me know if anyone gives you any problems. We cannot have staff thinking they are exempt.”

  Aims rose to his feet and walked over to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned back and looked over his shoulder.

  “I don’t think anyone will have a problem loading up for the trip. It is their reactions when they get there that we will have to handle.”

  Harding looked up from the papers on his desk.

  He stared at Aims.

  “Do you anticipate having problems when we get there?” he asked.

  Aims furrowed his brow, unsure what to answer.

  “Well, they likely won’t be happy when they discover that not all their families have been brought there.”

  Harding let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his forehead.

  “I told the director we should have made it clear which essential staff would be allowed accompanied duty and which would not,” Harding confessed. “When we arrive, they will not be told their families cannot join them. They will only be told that they will join them when transportation is available. That should hold them off until the busses start arriving with refugees,” Harding said.

  “Maybe by then it won’t matter. Security will have been established and any personnel issues can be handled by the continuity teams. We will have more staff than we know what to do with at that point. So, if we lose some it won’t really matter,” Aims said.

  “That was what I was thinking as well. Just make sure we don’t lose anyone on your team. They are all vital to what we will need to set up in Marseille.”

  “I’ll take care of that,” Aims said, turning the knob.

  He looked over Harding’s office one last time. He imagined they were all about to have to face the harsh reality of life outside their air-conditioned sixth-floor offices. Closing the door behind him, he inhaled a deep breath.

  I so need a nap or a drink or both.

  Chapter 10

  Morris, Illinois

  Event, + 1 day

  “Where the hell you been, Kelly? I’ve been waiting here for hours,” said Carl.

  “I was looking for you. I hung around Jimmy’s place for a long time. When Jimmy and Pickle left, I went into the garage to find you, and that is how I knew that you had left.”

  “That don’t matter none now. Where’s my shit?”

  Kelly handed Carl the bags and flopped into the ripped upholstered chair by the window of Carl’s motel room.

  “What the hell do you think you are doing? This ain’t no time to sit and chill. We have to get Jimmy his money. That ain’t gonna happen sitting in this shit hole all day. So, get your ass up and let's go.”

  Carl was obscured by an illuminated fog bank of smoke when he opened the door.

  “How we gonna get him money? I went by the pawnshop on Third Street on my way back here, and it was on fire. There was a crowd of people throwing Molotov cocktails in all the windows on that block.”

  Carl stopped in the doorway, turned, and hit the door with his fist.

  He had not considered that pawnshops would be the first places looted. And then, everyone would have shit to sell that would make his shit worthless.

  He shut the door, walked over to the bed, and sat down, placing his head in his hands. The scene at the convenience store played over and over in his mind. He knew there must be something he could boost that would still be worth money, enough money to pay Jimmy back and keep him in dope until this shit passed.

  Think, Carl. Think.

  As he replayed the scene again, he remembered the girl. She was out there, alone — just his for the taking. He knew a guy — someone who dealt in high-end stuff like that. He needed to find him and see what he would pay for something of that quality. He doubted he could find that exact girl again but there would be plenty of other fruit for the picking.

  “Let’s go find Vance Haven,” said Carl, disappearing into whirls of smoke again at the door. He pushed Kelly out with the editing smoke, nearly causing him to trip over his own feet.

  “What the hell do we want with Haven? He’s a scumbag pimp. He ain’t gonna give you no money.”

  Carl knew Kelly hated the man. Haven was the guy who hooked their mom up with the biggest mover of lot lizards in this part of the country. Kelly did not understand what it was like for their mom. She did what she needed to do to survive, just like they did. It was not Haven’s fault—or his mom’s for that matter. It was just the n
ature of the game.

  “Vance has connections, and I need those connections.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “You just leave that to me, little bro. I have a plan. If we play this right, we might just make enough to keep us set for a good while.”

  Carl and Kelly found Vance Haven holed up in a rundown motel room three blocks from downtown. He and his whores were passed out and had no clue the world had gone to shit. At first, he was reluctant to give up any names to Carl. But after a little persuasion in the form of some heroin, Carl had the name he needed. Carl patted a big breasted brunette on her naked ass as he left the room.

  “Tell Vance that I may have some work for him if my little venture pays off,” Carl said to her as he shut the door.

  Vance was a pussy, but he sure could charm the ladies. He might prove useful in the future.

  Terrance Wright was a huge man in both stature and status. His crew was not going to let Carl and Kelly get anywhere near their boss. Carl knew that, so he chatted up one of his low-level street runners named T-Man. He said he had a business deal that might profit the boss and wondered if he might be interested in hearing his proposal.

  “Tell him I will be at Bill Budget Inn if he is interested,” Carl said.

  Two hours later, a short African American man wearing a Cubs baseball hat and jersey knocked on the door to Carl’s room.

  “So, let me get this straight, you think you can keep the boss supplied in girls and find a way to move them up and down the routes?” T-Man asked.

  “I know we can. How much would he be willing to pay per girl?” Carl asked.

  The man hit a blunt, held it, and slowly exhaled. Carl nervously tapped his hands on his knees, trying hard not to scratch at the scabs on his face. The man pointed at Carl’s face.

  “You're a fucking junkie, how you gonna get girls? Look at that damn face all scabbed up and shit.”

  “If I can bring him girls, what will he pay?”

  “Well before the world went to shit it was a G, but if you can guarantee a steady supply, he might be willing to pay a little more. But only if they are quality. No scabbed-up junkies like you, though.

  “What if I can find a way for him to move them too? How much would that bring me?” Carl asked, sweat breaking out on his face. He needed a fix in the worst way, but he needed to finish his business first. He would celebrate big time if he could pull off this deal.

  “How would you do that?”

  “I wouldn’t want to reveal my secrets before I have a deal. Just say I could. What do you think that would be worth to your boss?”

  “I don’t know, couple large maybe. I’d have to run that by the boss and see.”

  “You do that for me, and I will get you something nice to take to him as a show of good faith. Like a sampler. Will that work?” Carl asked, sucking on his lip.

  He was doing everything he could not to scratch at his crawling skin. He wanted to look professional. The boss was known not to deal directly with junkies. Maybe if this deal became as lucrative as he thought, he would kick the shit and become a stand-up businessman. Perhaps a rival to the boss. Hell, he had the smarts to be king around here if he wanted to. He just hadn’t applied himself to it yet. Yet.

  Carl had shot-up and was resting when the door to his motel room crashed open. Kelly ran in, startling him.

  “What the fuck, man? What’s the hurry?”

  “Jimmy,” Kelly huffed, out of breath.

  “Jimmy? What the hell about him?”

  “He is on his way. He has his guys with him. I was over at Jenny’s and overheard her brother talking about it. We have to go.”

  Kelly grabbed Carl’s arm and pulled his brother to his feet. Carl stumbled, nearly falling back onto the bed. Kelly put an arm around Carl’s waist and helped him to the door. As they rounded the side of the motel, Kelly spotted Jimmy’s Mustang coming down the street, weaving in and out of traffic.

  “Shit, shit, shit. We have to hurry, Carl. Here comes Jimmy!”

  Carl heard Kelly talking but could not make out his words.

  Carl woke up with straw poking him in the face. He rolled over, heaved and vomited over the edge of the barn’s loft. Kelly scooted over and handed him the bandana he carried in his pocket. Carl always thought it was odd that his brother carried one, but he was grateful for it at the moment.

  “Where the hell are we?” Carl asked, laying back on his straw bed.

  “Uncle Mark’s barn.”

  “Why did you bring me here? You know that cocksucker hates me. He pulled a shotgun on me the last time I stopped by.”

  “That is why. I thought Jimmy wouldn’t think to look for us here. He knows Mark wouldn’t put you up.”

  “Hell no, he won’t. He’d give me up.”

  Mark was his mother’s brother, but they were never close. He resented her for making his parents raise two boys in their old age. Not that he ever lifted a finger to help them, but that was beside the point.

  He was also a hypocrite. He talked shit about Carl and his mom’s drug habits, but he was a sloppy, fucking, no-good drunk. He slapped his old lady around and lived off her family’s money. No, he was no better than them, but he sure as shit thought he was. Carl would’ve liked to take him down a notch or two, but he didn’t have time for that at the moment. He had girls to find and money to make. Now, he’d need to find a new dealer too. Jimmy wasn’t going to be selling him dope any time soon.

  Carl sat up and tried to steady himself. His head was pounding and his stomach cramped like he was giving birth. He rubbed his stubbled face, lifted his arm over his head, and sniffed his armpits. He shook his head and lowered it.

  “I need a fucking bath. I can’t even remember the last time I had a shower. Days, weeks, I can’t remember. Anyway, we need to stop by and pay Pop a visit.”

  “What the hell for, Carl? You know he ain’t gonna help you any more than Uncle Mark would.”

  “Well, I ain't gonna be the one asking.”

  Kelly looked at him. Carl flashed him a cheesy grin, his yellow rotted teeth on full display.

  Kelly shook his head.

  “Oh no, I’m not going to go up there and ask him to help us. He don’t care for me any more than he does you. He’ll just slam the door in my face like he did the last time I paid him a visit unannounced.”

  “You aren’t going up there to ask him for anything, stupid.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No, you’re going to tell him you were worried about him and came to see if he needed anything. Maybe offer to do some chore for him. Anything that will get us the key to the barn and inside without getting pumped full of lead.”

  “He ain’t gonna fall for that. You know I am a terrible liar.”

  “We’re gonna practice until you get it right, then you’re sure as hell gonna go up there and get me that damn key,” Carl snapped.

  Chapter 11

  San Diego, California

  Event + 1 day

  The sun was shining as usual in San Diego. Beth did not think it should be.

  The nation was in mourning.

  She was in mourning. Her mother, Florence Elizabeth Evans Wilson, had died peacefully in her sleep.

  Beth was relieved that her mother would not have to endure the agonizing pain of cancer without morphine. Beth was grateful that the nurse had left the small bottle of morphine. Her mother had one shot left. It spared her having to watch her mother die an excruciating death. With the shelter-in-place order still in effect, the hospice nurse had not returned. The morphine pump had hung empty for more than twenty-four hours.

  The coroner's office had finally come, and the funeral home had removed the body. Her mother would be cremated. Beth would be allowed to pick up her ashes when the emergency shelter-in-place order was lifted.

  Beth’s step-father, Frank, had retreated to his room upstairs. He had not slept in there since his wife had gone to the hospital the month before. Beth had tried to get him to come
down and eat lunch, but he refused. She could relate to his need to withdraw. She had done the same when her husband had died.

  Sitting in front of the television, Beth listened for any news from Illinois and Missouri. The information coming in was disturbing. The news showed a convoy of military vehicles heading into San Diego. Beth wondered why they were not going to help keep the peace in the affected areas of the country.

  The phone rang, and Beth nearly jumped out of her seat. It had not rung since the EMP had struck. Hurrying across the room, Beth yanked the phone from its charging cradle. She did not even take time to check the caller ID. All she could think was that it could be her kids.

  “Beth, Roger Miller here. I received the message you left last weekend. I’m sorry it took me so long to return your call. I was out of town.”

  Beth thought for a moment. Had she called Roger? Roger and Greg had been roommates when she met them. They had stayed close, even after Greg’s death. She remembered wanting to let him know she and Maddie were in town. They always had dinner together when they came to visit her mother.

  “Roger, hi. It’s okay. Things have been crazy for everyone. I’m surprised to hear from you. Didn’t your unit get deployed to deal with this mess?”

  “No, I got out, remember? I have a job with a contractor as an urban reconnaissance and surveillance instructor.”

  "Oh. I remember you said you had applied. Congratulations. How do you like civilian life?"

  “It was great until the shit hit the fan.”

  Beth fought back tears. The shit had, indeed, hit the fan, and all Greg’s preps were of no use to her and her children now. He would be so disappointed in her. When she booked her and Maddie’s flight to California, it had never even crossed her mind that they would be leaving their get home bags behind. It was her fault that her daughter was defenseless in an airport in Chicago.

  “How’s your mom? You said you and Maddie had come to care for her.”