Survival EMP Box Set | Books 1-4

by Lopez, Rob

  “Okay, people,” said Lauren, “it’s time to get everything squared away. The guys should be back this afternoon and we need to be ready to go.”

  Chuck shrugged as he turned away. Overhead, the alarm-cans jangled on the pulled wire. Lauren shouldered past Chuck and ran along the corridor to the service ladder that led to the OP on the roof. Josh waited, crouched behind the sandbags, sighting along his rifle at some distant target.

  “Group of people coming this way,” he murmured, keeping his head low.

  Lauren slid down next to him and took out her binoculars. A small procession of people were coming across the golf greens. Lauren focused, counting eight of them. They weren’t moving tactically, and Lauren couldn’t see any weapons. They appeared to be wandering refugees, but they were headed straight for the clubhouse.

  “Should I fire a warning shot?” asked Josh.

  Lauren glanced at him. He’d learned a lot from this winter’s encounters, especially from his father. It was comforting to know she could count on him right now, even though he wasn’t old enough to shave.

  “No, but keep your sights on whoever might be the leader. I’ll go down and see what they want.”

  Sliding back down the ladder, she called out: “We’ve got company! April, you watch the children. Sally, you back me up.”

  Unlocking the side door by the kitchen, she went out onto the pool terrace. There were two pools and a Jacuzzi, all filled with stagnant water. The burned-out apartment block next door loomed over the fence – another reminder of the fierce fight during the winter. Checking that she had a round in the chamber, Lauren slipped the safety catch off and took position behind a semi-circle of sandbags. The group of refugees kept coming. Looking up, they saw her, and began walking past the raised terrace, up the slope toward the barbed wire.

  “That’s far enough,” called Lauren, aiming her rifle.

  There were five men and three women, all in their thirties or forties, though with the straggly beards, dirty faces and unkempt clothing, they could have just appeared older than they actually were. After the harsh winter, everybody looked older.

  “Hey there,” said the leading man, halting. He had a pinched face and he squinted up at Lauren, studying her. The whole group did, assessing her without a trace of emotion on their faces. Having survived this long, they probably weren’t impressed by much anymore.

  “What do you want?” said Lauren.

  “Major Connors sent us,” said the man. “Told us you had supplies and you would help us out.”

  “And why would he tell you that?”

  Sally came out onto the terrace, toting a shotgun.

  “Because it’s true,” said the man, his gaze switching from Lauren to Sally, then back again. “Major Connors is in charge of this district now and said you had an obligation to help. Said that you were soldiers and these were his orders. Wrote it down on this piece of paper, he did.”

  The man reached to his pocket and Lauren called out, “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  The man held his hands out, eyeing Lauren. Behind him, the others were unmoved. “Can’t really show you your orders if you don’t let me get them out,” said the man.

  “We don’t take orders,” said Lauren, “and I don’t know where the Major got the idea that we would, but he’s mistaken. We don’t have a lot of supplies and we can’t help you.”

  A thin smile spread across the man’s face. “He said you’d be awkward about it.”

  “Awkward’s got nothing to do with it. We’ve only got enough to feed ourselves. I suggest you go back to him and let him know this isn’t a military outpost and we’re not under his command.”

  “You want to keep it all for yourselves, is that it?”

  “There is no 'all’.”

  “Prove it to us. Let us in to take a look. If what you say is true, you’ve no reason to object to that.”

  Lauren couldn’t understand why he was so insistent. “Turn around and go back the way you came. There’s nothing here for you.”

  The man turned around to address the others. “See? She wants us to starve. Doesn’t care whether we live or die.”

  One of the women screwed up her face in disgust. “You’s lying,” she said to Lauren. “You got a basement full of food that you’s meant to be giving out. You a liar.”

  Lauren scanned the group, looking for signs that someone might be reaching for a weapon while she was distracted, but all she saw were eight pairs of feral eyes glaring back at her. Whatever these people were like before the storm, the months of hardship and starvation had changed them. The hatred was palpable.

  “You’ve got the wrong idea,” she said, taking up the slack on the trigger.

  “No, you’ve got the wrong idea,” said the man. “I’ve got a signed statement here that says I have the right to shelter here, and you got the responsibility to take us in on behalf of the state of North Carolina. That’s the law.”

  He reached toward his pocket again.

  “You keep your hands clear,” ordered Lauren. She ran hastily through her options. Who the hell were these people with their strange demands? She could see Sally from the corner of her eye, no doubt waiting on her cue, but Lauren wasn’t sure how to defuse the situation.

  Dee came out onto the terrace, hugging her baby and gazing impassively at the group.

  The man’s smile broadened as he looked at Dee, his hand still moving toward his pocket. “Well,” he said. “It’s just a few women here, that’s all.”

  2

  The U.S. Army Reserve center in Charlotte was no longer the pristine place it had been. Lawns once mowed to within an inch of their life were now overgrown and wild. The baseball field was a sea of long grass and weeds waving in the breeze, and the tennis courts were covered in brown leaves. A space that would once have echoed with the grunts of part-time soldiers doing their PT on a weekend was now silent. The buildings had been ransacked and the armories emptied, but the parking lot remained full of Humvees and trucks lined nose to bumper, their starter motors burned out and their electronic fuel injection rendered useless by the solar storm. Packy, however, had faith that he could get one particular vehicle to run.

  “It’s about compatibility,” said Packy, twirling a wrench in his hand and deftly sliding under the Humvee parked in the corner of the maintenance shed.

  Rick studied the vehicle. It was an old M998 cargo-carrying Humvee. Unarmored, its four doors missing and with a canvas roof – the kind of vehicle that unlucky soldiers in logistics had to drive in Iraq, with a short pickup bed at the back and poor life expectancy. If Rick had been given one in the field, he’d have sent it back. It was likely kept on the base to haul trailers around the yard. The only reason it hadn’t been stripped down for parts was that there was nothing worth taking from it. Apart from the doors.

  Harvey lifted the hood and pulled the hinged radiator forward to look at the engine. “This ain’t no good,” he said. “Computer controlled injection.”

  “So remove it,” said Packy from underneath the vehicle.

  “And then what?”

  Packy slid back out. “Do I have to explain everything? This is a Detroit Diesel 62L, same as the Suburban and the Blazer there. I’ve got a mechanical rotary fuel pump from another 62 that’ll fit. Just get rid of the electronic conversion and fit the original pump. I thought you knew about engines?”

  “Engines, yeah, but this is stone-age. You got holes in the floor to push the vehicle while driving?”

  Packy pondered that. “That’s a good one. I liked the Flintstones too. The classics are always the best.”

  Parked outside were the aforementioned SUVs, both models from the eighties. The long wheel-based Suburban looked like it had been used for roosting chickens on a farm, but the Blazer was in good condition – all white with a blue stripe down the side, and only a few rust bubbles on the paintwork. How Packy found them was anyone’s guess, but he seemed to have a knack for unearthing the strangest item
s. Seeing as he had a thing for classic cars, Rick assumed Packy had probably mapped every likely candidate in the county. Maybe he was a member of a classic automobile club.

  Though Packy didn’t strike him as a club-type.

  “The way I see it, we don’t have a lot of choices,” said Scott. He had a map spread out on the hood of the Suburban. “If we want to get out of the fifty-mile radiation zone, we have to go as far as Spartanburg.”

  “I don’t want to go to Spartanburg,” said Rick.

  The previous fall, they’d seen the refugees pushing in that direction. Added to the population of Spartanburg and the neighboring city of Greenville, that made for a congested, not to mention contested, area. Even if many hadn’t made it through the winter.

  “Don’t get picky with me,” said Scott. “South’s out of the question because it takes us to Columbia, and there’s another nuclear power station there, so I don’t imagine it’ll be any different.”

  “And that will push more people toward Spartanburg.”

  “Enough about Spartanburg. If we go north, we end up in Virginia, which is kind of okay, but more of the same, and it’s just a longer route to the mountains. If we head west, we get to Asheville. Or we can head east.”

  “No,” said Rick emphatically to that last suggestion.

  Scott leaned on the hood and gave him a look. “You realize the odds of running into Connors by accident are slim, right?”

  “I don’t believe in leaving it to chance. I know he won’t.”

  “He’s going to be too busy to worry about this feud between you. He’s a son of a bitch, but he ain’t crazy.”

  “No,” said Rick. “He’s not crazy. It’d be easier if he was.”

  “Don’t worry about him. We got bigger issues to be looking at – like where we’re headed.”

  Harvey came out to the Blazer, looking for a fuel pump. “Are you talking about that guy we saw on horseback?” he said.

  “That’s the one,” murmured Rick.

  “Can’t say I noticed anything strange about him, except that you didn’t like him much.”

  “No,” said Rick grimly.

  “Rick and Major Connors go back a long way,” explained Scott, “and, well, they’ve got some kind of long-running feud that I don’t even pretend to understand. Can’t see that it matters now.”

  “You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who holds a grudge,” said Harvey. He took one look at Rick’s brooding face, however, and added: “I take that back. Maybe you are. What did this guy do to get under your skin?”

  “He won’t tell you,” said Scott. “One thing you gotta understand about Rick is that ninety percent of what he thinks is classified.”

  Rick cast an annoyed glance at Scott.

  “Scratch that,” said Scott. “make it ninety nine percent.” He added a smile, just to drive it home.

  “When you guys are done bonding,” called Packy, “I could use a hand here.”

  A shot rang out in the distance.

  Rick cocked his ear just long enough to note it came from due south. “Let’s go. Packy, the keys!”

  He ran to the Blazer and released the parking brake. Packy knocked his head on the underside of the Humvee as he rolled out. Scott and Harvey took up position behind the Blazer, ready to push.

  “Come on,” roared Rick impatiently.

  Packy staggered out of the shed. “Okay, okay,” he said, rubbing his head.

  Fishing out his keys he slid into the driver’s seat. “Awww, my hands are all dirty. Give me a minute.”

  “Turn the ignition on,” snapped Rick.

  Scott and Harvey were already pushing the vehicle.

  “Have you got a cloth?” inquired Packy.

  Rick heaved against the door pillar until the vehicle was rolling.

  “Guys, this is a mint interior,” complained Packy. “Do you really want me to lose market value on this with grease stains?”

  Tires grated on grit as the SUV picked up its pace across the lot. Seeing as no one was even slightly concerned about the hygiene of his car, Packy inserted the key, dropped the clutch and engaged gear.

  “If this doesn’t clean off, you guys owe me,” grumbled Packy.

  The engine was still warm. As soon as he lifted the clutch, the V8 growled into life.

  “Go, go, go,” said Rick as he jumped into the passenger seat. The rear doors opened and shut as Scott and Harvey dived in. Packy floored the gas and spun the wheel. His Mac-10 submachine gun slid along the dash until Rick caught it. With the tires squealing, the Blazer shot out of the reserve center and sped down the road.

  For all that he loved his cars, Packy drove like a maniac, swerving around abandoned cars and drifting into the corners. Hitting seventy on the highway that cut through the Myers Park subdivision, he threw the vehicle into the clubhouse parking lot, yanking on the parking brake to do a one-eighty. The vehicle jerked to a halt, rocking on its suspension. “That’ll be four dollars and fifty cents,” said Packy.

  Rick leaped out of the vehicle and dashed to the clubhouse. Sally and Dee stood by the pool. Running over to them, he looked down and saw Lauren examining a body. Sliding down the terrace, he landed alongside her. Lauren sat back on her haunches, anxiously rubbing her forehead.

  “I don’t believe it,” she said.

  “Was he alone?” said Rick brusquely.

  Lauren shook her head. “It was a group, but the others ran. I thought he was reaching for a weapon.”

  Scott appeared on the terrace and Rick waved him onward to secure the area. He turned the body over, checking for a pulse. He needn’t have bothered. The single shot had gone straight into his chest, stopping the heart.

  “I really thought he had a gun,” said Lauren plaintively. “If he’d have listened to me, he would have been okay.”

  Sticking out of the back pocket of the corpse was a slip of paper. Rick pulled it out. After reading it, he angrily scrunched it up.

  3

  “Who is this Major Connors?” said Harvey.

  “Depends on who you ask,” replied Scott. “Officially, he’s a decorated war hero. Served in every major conflict, and a dozen smaller ones you never heard about. Led an A-Team on horseback against the Taliban. Went to the Philippines to train their Special Forces against the Muslim insurgents, ran operations in Columbia, then ran teams in Iraq hunting Baathists, going on to become General Petraeus’ point man in arming the Sunni militias against the Shiite insurgents. When he returned to Fort Bragg, they gave him the Distinguished Service Medal and put him behind a desk while he waited to make Colonel.”

  “And unofficially?”

  “The most corrupt son of a bitch you ever met. According to the rumors, he sold confiscated cocaine in Columbia, ran whorehouses in the Philippines and smuggled weapons out of Iraq. Allegedly. They say the only reason he was put behind a desk was to keep him out of trouble and there was no way in hell he was ever going to make Colonel.”

  “If the second version is true, how come he was never court-martialed?”

  “Lack of evidence,” said Rick.

  They were gathered for the evening meal in the boardroom, flames flickering in the candle stubs. Packy had completed the necessary work on the Humvee and the three vehicles sat outside the clubhouse, ready for them to leave next morning.

  “Seems like a lot of evidence to hide,” remarked Sally.

  “Not if you know the right people.”

  “Yeah, like a certain high-profile general who can pull strings to arrange certain compromise deals,” added Scott.

  “I don’t get how this connects to you,” said Harvey to Rick.

  Lauren looked at her husband with interest. “Yes, darling. How exactly does this involve you?”

  “Doesn’t matter now,” murmured Rick, unwilling to open up.

  “Except it does,” said Scott. “When he was stationed in Khost, he seemed awful keen to make sure you got the toughest assignments.”

  “I had the most expe
rienced team,” said Rick.

  “And he tried to file charges of insubordination against you after you aborted two of his missions. For a while, it looked like a mutiny.”

  Rick glared an instruction to Scott: Drop it.

  Scott shrugged. “I’m just saying. You two have a history. And here he is, knocking on our door. Seems kinda pertinent, if you ask me.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Sounds to me,” mused Packy, “like this guy’s got frustrated ambitions. I like him.”

  The others all stared at Packy, and he stared back.

  “What? He’s an entrepreneur, just like me. He sees opportunities.”

  “I don’t like him,” stated Dee suddenly.

  “Me neither,” chimed in April.

  “None of that matters,” snapped Rick. “Come morning, we’ll be gone and we’ll need to find somewhere else. Focus on that!”

  *

  “We need to have a talk,” said Lauren as she lay on the mattress. Both it and the blankets reeked of mildew from the winter. She wasn’t sorry to be leaving that behind, for sure. The grand old building had lost its allure. With its stale rot and echoing corridors, it had come to resemble a tomb.

  “What about?” murmured Rick, curled up next to her, facing away.

  “To start with, your mood. You’ve been as testy as hell for the past few days.”

  “Got a lot on my mind.”

  “That’s nothing new, but this is different. What’s going on, Rick? You haven’t been the same since Connors showed up, and now he sends people over with the expectation that you’ll take care of them. No, wait, he expected you to be, 'awkward’.”

  Rick rolled toward her. “He’s trying to provoke a response.”

  “Why? Apart from being your old boss, what’s your relationship with him?”