by Lopez, Rob
“Oh, they’re at the other end of the building. They’re okay. Saved April’s life, by the way.”
The two dashed past him.
“Hurt my ankle, too,” he called out.
There was no sign they’d heard him.
“Sure, don’t mind me,” he added. “It’s not like I did anything special, you know?”
*
Axel crept through the foyer. The flames had died down, the gasoline nearly expended, and only the sandbag covers smoldered where they’d burned away, spilling sand on the fire. He’d witnessed the last of his men being gunned down outside, and hid when he realized he was alone. He couldn’t begin to fathom where it all went wrong, but it certainly had.
Without a doubt.
Taking advantage of the lull in the action, he tiptoed toward the blown doors.
The racking of a shotgun made him freeze.
Daring to turn his head, he saw Harvey standing amid the sandbags.
“You were dead,” Axel said, aghast.
Harvey touched the dried blood on the side of his head and tapped a finger where a bullet had grazed his scalp. “Got an angel looking out for me,” he said. “She gave me a thick skull.”
Axel whirled, bringing his weapon up, but Harvey was already aimed. The shotgun boomed and Axel’s head flicked back as the tightly grouped buckshot took his face off.
“Forgive me once again, Lord,” said Harvey, “but I don’t mind if you take your sweet time doing the same for him.”
*
Boss stood outside the front of the Walmart in the early hours of the morning. He listened to the sound of the attack going in, the distant cracks of gunfire punctuating the night. When the shooting ceased, he waited for word that the attack had succeeded.
Dawn came, and he was still waiting.
An hour later, a solitary raider returned, looking despondent.
“How’d it go?” asked Boss anxiously.
“It was a massacre,” said the raider.
“Okay, but when are the others coming back?”
“No, Boss, it was them that did the massacring. I’m the only one left.”
“How the hell did that happen?”
“There was an army there. All military guys. They were everywhere. We didn’t stand a chance.”
Boss clenched his fists, face flushed with anger. “You wait here,” he ordered.
Boss strode through the store, past the toppled shelves and the torn packaging. Dee sat alone by a checkout, breast feeding her baby.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” shrieked Boss.
Dee was spaced out, like she no longer cared. “Tell you what?” she asked.
“That there were soldiers in there,” he bawled. “You knew! You kept that information from me.”
“Figured you’d find out sooner or later,” she said casually.
Boss backhanded her, sending her sprawling on the floor. The baby cried.
Dee pulled Jacob to her chest, absently stroking his head. “I don’t mind anymore,” she said. “I’m done with all this. You do what you want.”
“Do? What the hell can I do? You’ve robbed me. I could have carved out whatever I wanted. I could have been so successful, people would have goddamn worshiped me!” Boss paced up and down. “I’m going to kill you. I’m going to strangle you and that goddamn baby. I’m going to rip him apart in front of your eyes!”
Dee gave him a scornful look. “I thought you had Axel do them things for you. You don’t have the balls to get your hands dirty.”
Boss looked fit to explode. He took a step toward her, then a step back. He looked around for something to throw at her. He stabbed a finger at her and yelled obscenities. He paused when he heard footsteps crunching through the packaging.
The footsteps were slow and purposeful. Boss turned and saw Rick walking down an aisle, pistol in one hand, knife in the other.
“Who are you?” stammered Boss.
Rick kept walking.
“Guard,” shouted Boss. “Guard!”
“He won’t hear you,” said Rick. He tossed the knife forward, the bloodied blade skimming around.
Boss swallowed, awkwardly straightening himself up.
“I see,” he said.
Rick halted a few yards away. He looked weary. “I take it you’re the one who calls himself Boss?”
“That’s what people call me.”
“That’s what they did call you. Won’t be anyone calling you that now.”
Boss raised his hands and licked his dry lips. “I’m unarmed,” he said.
Rick didn’t respond.
“You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man, would you? There’s rules. You’re a soldier.”
Rick sighed. Like Dee, he looked like he’d had enough. He wore the face of a man who’d already seen too much. “No,” he said. “I won’t. He will, though,” he added, nodding toward Scott, who’d come in the back way.
Boss turned to watch Scott approach, pistol aimed. “Wait …” he began.
Scott didn’t let him finish. With three loud bangs he put two bullets in Boss’s chest and one in his head.
Rick waited for the echoes to subside. “I’ve come to take you home, Dee,” he said.
43
They dragged the raider bodies and dumped them on the far side of the golf course for the dogs to eat. The numerous fallen weapons were collected up and stored in the clubhouse. Graves were dug for Reginald, Martha, Jake, Vivian, Janice and Bella, and Harvey presided over the service for their interment. Packy was uncharacteristically subdued. In just one day he’d lost everyone, and while nobody could figure out the strange relationship he had with his own parents, he wasn’t really the same for a while.
Dee also took time to adjust. Unused to living indoors with her own space, she was protective both of her own food and of her baby. Nobody else was allowed to hold him, and at night she woke screaming from nightmares that someone was taking him away. When Rick noticed that somebody was pilfering their food supplies, he had to have a long talk with her, which resulted in her running away for a day. When she returned, she found it hard to fit back into clubhouse life, as nobody really trusted her anymore. Rick was convinced she would run away again, but she stayed, and gradually she opened up a little more, helped by the fact that Jacob appeared to thrive in the improved conditions.
Chuck was sick for a while, causing everyone the most concern. According to Sally, he’d only sustained a flesh wound, the bullet passing straight through his shoulder without impacting a bone. He couldn’t move his arm, though, and weakened by a protracted period of mourning, his wound got infected. He was given some of the scarce antibiotics, but for a time it looked like he’d lost the will to continue. It took a month before Sally could announce with any confidence that he was on the mend.
Winter dragged itself out, never seeming to end, and food supplies got low. The refugees on the roads petered out, and it seemed for a while they were the only ones left. By the end of February, the nights were getting visibly shorter and the temperatures were rising. Small game began appearing again in the woods and on the tree-lined boulevards.
For the first time in weeks, Rick was alerted by the rattling of cans in the clubhouse. He made his way up to the OP where Josh was on duty.
“Horses,” said Josh, pointing.
Rick gazed through his binoculars. Four riders on horseback rode slowly across the greens. The riders were armed and appeared to be soldiers. They halted, pointing at the clubhouse, and began observing it through binoculars. The riders then steered their horses toward the clubhouse and rode closer.
“Stay here, and keep your head down,” said Rick.
Going back down, he bumped into Harvey.
“Trouble?” asked Harvey.
“Visitors,” said Rick.
Rick walked out onto the raised pool terrace, looking down on the greens. Harvey followed him out. The four riders approached the barbed wire and stopped, looking up.
“Howdy,” said th
e lead rider. He looked a little older than his three companions. In fact, he was exactly the same age as Rick. And the three other men were all special forces soldiers. He knew this because he recognized them all.
“Major Connors,” nodded Rick curtly.
Connors did a double take, peering closely at Rick. “My God,” he said. “Sergeant Nolan.” He chuckled to himself. “Well, I guess we’ve all changed a little.”
“I guess,” said Rick, maintaining his stance. He made no effort to open the barbed wire. He also made no attempt to salute.
Connors studied him shrewdly. “Heard a rumor that some of our guys got back from Syria. Thought it was just scuttlebutt. Should have guessed it would be you.”
Rick gazed blankly at him.
“You didn’t report in,” said Connors.
“No,” stated Rick.
“Mmm. I guess it don’t matter now.”
“No.”
Connors looked away. “I was wrong. Looks like you haven’t changed one bit. Still the most stubborn and insubordinate non-com I ever had under me.”
Rick didn’t reply.
“Can’t expect saints under arms, though, can we?” continued Connors. “And you always knew how to stray close to the line without crossing it.”
Rick waited patiently for him to get to the point of his visit.
“Been tracking a large band of marauders. Caused a lot of destruction all the way from Fayetteville. Heard tell they were headed this way some months back. Know anything about that?”
“Nope.”
Connors cast an eye over the clubhouse, seeing the bullet holes. “Well, if you do hear anything, you can let us know, because we’re in the area now.”
“Uh huh.”
“It’s time to start rebuilding, Sergeant. It’s been rough, I’ll grant you that. I really couldn’t say how many people have died in this state alone, but I’d be surprised if it wasn’t in the millions. We’ve had no directions from D.C., either. Place was an utter hellhole, by all accounts. Still, we’ve established a couple of regional commands now, and we’re hoping to get some supplies moving. Should be able to start linking up communities like yours. I guess we’re lucky we’ve got the right man in the right place, don’t you think?”
Connors turned to him, looking for an answer, but Rick stayed silent.
The two stared at each other for several seconds.
Connors broke it off and turned his horse. “It was good seeing you, Nolan. Might drop by again sometime.”
Rick watched them ride away.
“What was that about?” asked Harvey.
“Behold, four horsemen,” murmured Rick.
Harvey gave him a puzzled look. “You expecting trouble?” he asked.
Rick didn’t respond. With a look of foreboding, he gazed into the middle distance, thinking hard.
Real hard.
End
Book 3
Solar Dawn
The storm has ended, winter is over and a new dawn will rise in American history. It may not be the bright future many hoped for.
Rick’s family and friends have survived the predations of raiders and the ravages of winter. Now they have to leave the radioactive city of Charlotte, striking out for the mountains. Following in the wake of previous refugees, they encounter a land picked clean of resources, with embattled settlements hostile to strangers and gangs dominating the areas in between.
Rick finds that safe havens are hard to come by, and his military experience might not be enough to keep his family safe. New forces are rising that could spell doom for them all.
1
If the walls of the Myers Park clubhouse had ears, they would have heard many things: From the jubilation of the wealthy members at the building of the clubhouse in 1921, to the dismay of the same members as their stock values crashed during the Great Depression that followed soon after. From the upsurging economy during the Second World War, to the whispered worries about sons or grandsons leading companies and battalions in Europe and the Pacific. Thoughts about America’s position as a global power would have been tempered with gossip about colleagues with communist leanings, the stubbornness of workers’ unions and their mob affiliations, and the blatant lack of patriotism among the Vietnam War protesters. Business deals would have been hashed out over a bottle of Chateau La Legune in the restaurant, political deals and requests for funding over bourbon in the bar, and advice about offshore accounts and tax loopholes by the ninth hole. The resignation of Nixon would have been quietly celebrated, Carter commiserated and Clinton generously indulged. The rise of the financial industry in Charlotte would have brought in a new breed of member, and the second financial crash in 2007 would have had them pursing their lips in despair. The devastating solar flare of 2017 would have been met with silence in the empty corridors as the lights went out, and the building’s last memory would have been the crashes of the gunfire, the whimpers of the dying and the tears of those who survived.
Lauren, stalking the corridors of the clubhouse with an old M16 rifle, had zero knowledge of what might have preoccupied the minds of former members, but she retained a vivid recollection of the latter event. The blood spilled in the boardroom and the scorches from the gas-bomb fire still stained the floor boards. Such things had passed to the back of her mind in the immediate aftermath, with everyone focused on the day-to-day work of survival, but now that they were planning to leave, she couldn’t help but think about such things, adding her memories to whatever secrets the old building might have retained.
Perhaps someone else would move into the building after they left and wonder at the bullet holes on the walls, the chain-link on the windows and the grave markers out on the golf green. Lauren felt the urge to carve her name into a door, simply to mark her passing and show she once existed. If she had the talent, she would have painted a mural depicting the last battle and everyone who took part in it, and in that way nobody would be forgotten. She should have commissioned her daughter Lizzy to begin the work, but it was too late now, and Lizzy was too obedient a child to have considered drawing on the walls by herself. Lauren knew that her son Josh had already carved his initials into a windowsill, which was to be expected, but he’d also carved the name: Skye. When asked why, he’d just said it was someone he once knew, but she couldn’t get any more information out of him than that. He’d been quiet since the battle, but she couldn’t tell whether it was because he was depressed or simply re-evaluating his life. He’d been forced to grow up fast and she was barely keeping up with the changes.
Passing Packy’s room, she saw that he hadn’t been shy about scrawling on the walls. He had more graffiti than the average prison cell, with gems like, You DO have to be crazy to work here, to the more cryptic: They lied. Dream all you want. In among his meandering thoughts, there was also the more heartfelt, Mom. Simply that. It was a brief clue to some of the deeper churnings of Packy’s unpredictable mind, and about the only thing that made sense, given the recent loss of his parents in this very building, but it remained hard to tell what his feelings were, given he still acted like a goofball. In his own way, he was as opaque as Josh. While Josh was clearly growing up, Packy seemed to have ditched that concept in favor of his own unique and unfathomable path.
In the grand ballroom, the others had gathered their remaining supplies, ready for transportation to the promised land – or at least someplace else that hadn’t been affected by the radioactive cloud that covered Charlotte after the McGuire nuclear plant blew. They’d waited out the winter for want of a better place to hole up, but now the weather was improving, it was time to get moving again. April was three months pregnant, and the safe development of the fetus was foremost in her mind. She didn’t go outdoors anymore, but considering they all drank water from Briar Creek, which flowed from the north, it wasn’t enough to just stay inside. They needed somewhere clean where they could grow food without thinking of the long-term effects.
Chuck brought in another tray of seedlings
from the greenhouse, adding them to the trays laid out in the ballroom. He carried them in his left hand as his right arm was still weak from the shoulder wound he’d sustained. At his age, Lauren suspected the arm would never heal right.
“Lizzy, give Chuck a hand bringing the plants in.”
Lizzy and Daniel should have both been helping, but they were distracted by a kid who was even younger than they were: Baby Jacob. Sally was giving him his daily examination, trying to keep the stethoscope on the baby’s chest, but Jacob was more interested in rolling over to dash across the floor.
“He’s fine,” said Sally, letting him go.
Sensing freedom, Jacob sped off, his little limbs pumping the floor at a fast crawl, his bare butt wiggling. Lizzy and Daniel both giggled as Jacob tore a determined path to the plants.
Lauren snapped her fingers to attract Lizzy and Daniel’s attention. “Hey, there’s work to do.”
Jacob paused, wobbling as he stared up at Lauren, then resumed his journey with renewed gusto. His mother, Dee, scooped him up before he reached the plants and laid him on a table to put his cloth diaper back on.
“I’ll give Chuck a hand,” said Sally, closing her medical bag.
“I’m good,” said Chuck. “You worry about the little feller there. He’s so full of beans, there’s no telling what he might try to do. I say we hitch a trailer to him. He can bring in everything in one shot.”
“You won’t be laying a finger on him,” said Dee without looking up.
April sat on a chair, stroking her belly. She was barely showing, even at three months, but she did that every time she was close to Jacob. “He was joking, Dee,” she said gently.
Dee acted like she hadn’t heard, focusing totally on Jacob. Apart from allowing Sally to examine him, she remained aloof from everyone in the clubhouse. Lauren noted that April spent a lot more time trying to ingratiate herself with Dee, softening her demeanor in an attempt to connect with the young mother, perhaps identifying a common bond now that she was pregnant. Dee simply ignored her the same as she did everyone else. To Lauren, April’s efforts were painful to watch. It was like seeing a school-kid trying desperately to make friends with the snobby bitch from the in-group. Whether that was down to April’s hormones or not was hard to say, but the regression was embarrassing.