Survival EMP Box Set | Books 1-4

by Lopez, Rob

  High up on the side of the valley, Connors sat upon the remnants of the shattered bunker, biting on a piece of wood as Taft attended to a wound on his shoulder.

  “You’re lucky,” said Taft. “Two inches to the right and you’d have been dead.”

  Connors removed the wood from his mouth. “Would that be your way of saying I was a damn fool for standing in the open like that?”

  Taft said nothing, and Connors sighed. “Ahh, you’re probably right.” He threw down the piece of wood. “It was a stupid thing to do.”

  Fick came up the trail from the valley. He had a fresh bandage wrapped around a forearm.

  “What happened to you?” asked Connors.

  Fick dismissed the inquiry. “A .22 mosquito bite. It’s nothing.”

  “I’m assuming from the look on your face that you didn’t get Nolan?”

  “He’s not among the dead. I think he got away.”

  “Any resistance left down there?”

  Fick shook his head. “They’ve escaped into the mountains.”

  “Sent a squad to track them?”

  “Tried, but they’re afraid to go too far in. They’re useless.”

  Connors rolled his eyes. “Militia,” he muttered.

  “It’s worse than that. We’ve got less men than we started with, and it’s not because they’re dead. They’re just gone.”

  “Deserters?”

  “I think so. Remember the unit we sent to attack from the south? I found the commander dead in a car. The idiot drove straight into the barricade. The other vehicles are gone, so I figured everyone else bailed. If they’d done their job right, we could have cut off Nolan’s retreat.”

  “That sucks, but we’ll keep it to ourselves. To anyone who asks, we won a decisive battle here. We’ll put the word out. It’ll make other settlements think twice before trying to confront us.”

  Taft tied off the bandage, tight enough to make Connors wince. “You’re done for now,” said Taft. “We need to get you back and have someone take the bullet out.”

  “Hopefully someone with a better bedside manner,” said Connors wistfully. “Gentlemen, I think we’re done here. Burn the cabins and pull everyone out. We’ll reorganize them and train them a little more. They can give a better account of themselves, then. Today was a mess.”

  “We leaving Nolan be?” asked Fick.

  Connors looked at him. “I’m getting tired of your attitude, Sergeant.”

  “That don’t change nothing. He’s still out there.”

  “Indeed he is. But get this into that thick skull of yours: I’m in charge, and if you don’t like my methods, you can quit and join the hobos.” Connors paused for a second to calm himself down. “Don’t underestimate me. I’m building an enterprise here and I can cut you out of the proceeds any time.”

  Fick was unimpressed. “You still haven’t said what you’re going to do about Nolan.”

  Connors jabbed a finger at Fick. “I’ll tell you what I’m not going to do. I’m not going to waste time chasing him around the mountains and lose men in doing it. I’m going to wait. We’ve got his wife. He’s got to come to us.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Then she’ll hang.”

  Fick studied Connors for a while. “You really think he’s going to give himself up?”

  “He doesn’t have many other options.”

  “He can try and spring her.”

  A gratifying smile spread slowly across Connors’ face, as if his sergeant had finally seen the light. “I sincerely hope he tries,” he said. “Because we’ll be ready, and I’ll finally have him right where I want him.”

  *

  As far as Josh was concerned, the situation was beyond despair. As the survivors made their way over the mountain with the intention of hiking it to Camp Grier with the wounded, Josh remained behind, watching his father.

  Rick sat by the trail, staring into the trees. He hadn’t moved a muscle for at least twenty minutes, and was as immobile as a statue. The only activity he showed were the tears that cut through the dirt on his cheeks. Josh had never seen his father cry before, and in other circumstances he might have felt closer to him as he himself wept. Maybe even embraced.

  But not now. An aura of smoldering rage surrounded Rick that kept everyone away. Even Red and the other two guys who were watching the trail maintained their distance from him. As Rick’s burning eyes glared into some other dimension, they stayed quiet lest they trigger a reaction.

  Josh stayed until he could stand it no more. Wiping his eyes, he stormed up the slope. Red followed him. Some way up the trail he caught up with him and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “Don’t go too far,” he said gently.

  Josh’s shoulders shook. “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he said tearfully.

  “Me neither, kid.”

  Josh turned on him. “Why doesn’t he do something? Why’s he just sitting there?”

  “Takes a while to come to terms with stuff, sometimes.”

  “But it’s useless. Mom’s gone and Scott’s dying and he’s doing nothing. What’s the point?”

  Josh wept harder and Red took him in one arm. Josh reciprocated with a fierce embrace, sobbing tears into Red’s shirt.

  “Your mom’s not gone, kid. All we know is that she’s been taken.”

  “I’m never going to see her again,” burbled Josh.

  “Hey, that ain’t right.”

  “It’s true.”

  “You don’t know that.” Red held Josh out and looked down at him. “You gotta quit feeling sorry for yourself. Now ain’t the time.”

  “Well, when is?”

  “I don’t know.” Red scratched his head. “Look, if it helps, try feeling sorry for someone else.”

  “Like who?”

  Red turned to look at the brooding figure of Rick. Even from here he could feel the anger pulsing from him. “You can start by feeling sorry for the fellas who took your mom,” said Red darkly. “I think they’re gonna find they made the biggest mistake of their lives.”

  End

  Book 4

  Solar Rising

  In their darkest hour, the survivors must rally if they’re to get their freedom back.

  Outsmarted and outgunned, Rick Nolan has reached his lowest point. His wife has been taken prisoner by the new Asheville regime, his best friend is dying and his people are scattered and in hiding. His arch-nemesis, Major Connors, is about to consolidate his tyrannical grip on the region.

  Branded an outlaw and forced into the mountains, Rick has to do more than just survive. He has to fight back, but the odds are against him. Torn between saving his wife and protecting his children, Rick is under pressure, and Connors isn’t done with him yet.

  In a deadly cat and mouse game, Rick will need every ounce of ingenuity to stay ahead of his foe, and the stakes have never been higher. One mistake and he will lose everything, and everyone, he loves.

  1

  Jim Fairbanks locked the main door of the Black Mountain firehouse, picked up his lantern, checked his shotgun and turned east along State Street for his long walk home. A chill in the night air aggravated an old knee injury he’d sustained in a motorcycle accident, and he stretched his legs to ease the twinges. The old Toyota sedan he’d been using had been taken from him, and he made a mental note to acquire a bicycle from Emily Lucas. She’d taken to repairing them and was now one of the town’s main suppliers. A few shotgun shells would be enough to barter for a basic model with patched tires. It had been a while since he’d ridden one, and the ride up the hill to his house would be tough at first, but at least he’d be able to coast into town easily in the morning.

  Approaching the checkpoint close to I-40, he turned off and took the street that wound up to the substation. A battle had taken place here only the day before, and the Asheville militia who’d taken over the checkpoint were jumpy at the best of times. They were liable to shoot him first before checking whether he
was friend or foe, and in the current atmosphere, he wasn’t sure how he’d be classed anyway. It was better not to take chances with the new authority that ran the town.

  Crossing the bluff where the substation sat, he took a dirt path up onto the old toll road where he began his ascent, his knee aching. It was with relief that he reached his property, set back from the road and nestled among the trees. The light from the swinging lantern showed up the graves at the side of the drive, and while he’d gotten used to seeing them, he didn’t want to dwell on the names inscribed on the wooden markers. His wife, his mother-in-law and his son represented three generations that had been wiped out in a single winter, and the event was too recent to take lightly. Indeed, unlocking the front door of his empty house was enough to bring painful reminders of what he’d lost. Standing in the hall and listening to the silence was difficult to bear, and while he’d resisted all attempts to rehouse him closer to town, he still delayed coming home, so that each day his journey got later and later. In time, when his heart was less heavy, he might appreciate the precious memories that resided there. He certainly didn’t want to forget. But for now it was just too much to take, and he needed to stay busy, returning home only when he was tired enough to guarantee instant sleep.

  Setting his lantern on the kitchen table, he reached up to open a closet. He’d opened a can of tuna in the morning and he figured it was better to finish it off before it attracted mice. There were some cans of meat, vegetables and peaches, but no sign of the tuna.

  He must have eaten it all and forgotten. He forgot a lot of stuff these days, his weary mind simply refusing to retain information. Deciding against opening another can, he took his lantern and headed for bed. His hunger could wait till the morning.

  Entering the cold bedroom, he put the lamp on the dresser, propped up his shotgun and removed his coat. As he half turned to drape it on a chair, he froze, catching his breath.

  A stranger sat on his bed, pointing a pistol at him. The empty can of tuna sat on the nightstand.

  Jim stared down the barrel of the gun. He considered turning quickly to snatch up the shotgun, but the hand that held the pistol was rock steady, and the barrel never wavered. He recognized it as a Glock, and the finger was on the trigger, already depressing the safety lever. One twitch, and Jim would end up with a hole in his chest before he’d even dropped the coat.

  The stranger was dressed in army camo with an armored vest. His breathing was silent and his posture was easy, like turning up in people’s bedrooms was something he did all the time.

  Jim swallowed and ventured to break the silence.

  “How did you get in?” he asked.

  The dark eyes in the stranger’s unshaven face never blinked, and Jim’s fear intensified at the menace they radiated.

  “What do you want?” Jim said, his shaky voice sounding higher than he would have liked. He didn’t want to show this stranger that he was afraid, but his vocal chords betrayed him. “If it’s just the food …”

  “Shut up,” said the stranger, his voice leaden.

  Jim bit his tongue.

  “You’re the mayor,” continued the stranger.

  It came across as an accusation.

  “No,” said Jim.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No,” interjected Jim hastily. “Not anymore.”

  This seemed to pique the stranger’s interest, and he waited for Jim to continue.

  “I’ve been replaced. I’m not the mayor anymore. They, uh, they’re sending another guy to replace me. From Asheville.”

  The stranger took this information in. “Move across to the middle of the room, away from the shotgun,” he said calmly.

  Jim shuffled across, still holding his coat.

  “Now sit on the floor and cross your legs.”

  Jim did as he was told, his knee twinging as he forced his legs into position. He was now at eye level with the Glock, which wasn’t a position he relished, and any attempt to lunge for his shotgun from here was fraught with risk. On the other hand, he was closer to the nightstand. In the small drawer, he had his .38 revolver, and he was at the right height to reach across and draw it if the opportunity arose.

  The stranger’s eyes missed nothing, catching Jim’s guarded glance to the nightstand. Keeping the Glock immobile, he reached behind him with his other hand and held up the revolver. Jim’s heart sank, and any hope he had for getting out of this situation alive evaporated.

  “Tell me about Asheville,” said the stranger.

  “If you shoot me, there’s militia nearby that will surround this house in an instant.”

  “I said, tell me about Asheville.”

  “Well … what the hell do you want me to say?”

  “Who’s in charge?”

  “I don’t know. Some goddamn senator and a two-bit general.”

  “How many troops?”

  “I don’t rightly know. The military guy …”

  “Connors.”

  “… that’s the one. Well, he said he had four platoons around Black Mountain. And they sent fifty of our militia to Biltmore for training. And maybe there’s more. Wait … you know this guy?”

  The stranger said nothing, and something dawned on Jim: “You’re the guy they were after. You attacked the town!”

  The stranger’s silence neither confirmed nor denied the deed.

  “You’re the raider from Round Knob,” added Jim.

  The stranger took offense to this and leaned forward ever so slightly, an action magnified by the undercurrent of anger in his voice. “I’m not a raider,” he said.

  “I didn’t mean that,” stuttered Jim, even though he had. He thought hard, trying to figure out what this stranger could possibly want with him. “I had nothing to do with the attack on your camp, okay? I didn’t order that. My people were not involved.”

  The stranger’s eyes bored into him. “A woman was detained here yesterday. Where is she now?”

  “A woman?” Jim’s feverish mind sorted through the jumble of memories. “A woman. Sure. They took her to Asheville. They say she’s going to be tried for murder. She’s going to be hanged.”

  The stranger’s hand tightened on the grip of the pistol. “When?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not in charge anymore. They don’t give me that information. They’re still holding some of our people in Asheville. Kids, mainly. I don’t like this any more than you do. We didn’t ask for this.”

  The stranger looked at him for a while, and Jim wondered if he was weighing up whether to kill him or not. He thought about his own shotgun, though he was careful not to look at it this time. If this was truly the end, it would be worth lunging for it. The gaping barrel of the Glock, however, suggested otherwise, and Jim knew he wouldn’t make it.

  As if reading his mind, the stranger stood, and, with the pistol still aimed, strode to the shotgun. Holding the pump-action grip, he jerked the weapon up and down, ejecting cartridges onto the floor until it was empty. Then he tossed the shotgun onto the bed, causing the unloaded loose rounds of the revolver to jump in the air, chinking together as they landed. Jim could see there was nothing worth reaching for now.

  “Get up,” said the stranger, “and put your hands behind your head.”

  Jim had developed cramp in his legs and he had difficulty standing. As he straightened up, he considered a last act of resistance. He was under no illusion as to the likely outcome, however, and it would be an undignified end in his own family home. Wearily, he lifted his head.

  “If you’re going to kill me,” he said, “let me die by the graves of my wife and child.”

  The stranger acted like he hadn’t heard. Taking the lantern, he said, “Move. Toward the back door.”

  Followed by the stranger, and with his own shadow preceding him as he walked through his home, he unlocked the back door and stepped into the yard.

  “Keep going,” came the stranger’s voice.

  Jim walked stiffly across his overgrown lawn, opened
the gate and continued walking into the woods. Without his coat, the cold seeped quickly into his clothing. He shivered once, but it wasn’t because of the temperature. His shambling shadow foretold a fate he hadn’t imagined for this night. In the recent past, while mourning the deaths in his family, his thoughts had touched on the possibility that he didn’t want to be around anymore, that maybe it would be better if he could join them so he wouldn’t have to endure the pain he felt every day. Now, however, with a gun at his back and low branches brushing past his face, the very idea of his demise filled him with sadness. The times he had walked with his wife through these very woods, the moments of seeing his boy grow up, all those memories were suddenly vivid and raw, and the thought of having them snuffed out in a moment nearly dropped him to his knees. To lose such things seemed like the greatest injustice in the world.

  “Stop right there,” said the stranger.

  Jim halted, swaying. Breathing hard, he tried to think of a prayer to recite, but he’d never been much of a church-going man, and various phrases tumbled through his mind, each failing to connect. As he tried to find something to mentally grasp, the seconds crawled by until he could stand it no more.

  “Shoot, damn it,” he said. “If you’re going to do it, do it now or go to hell.”

  He received no reply.

  A breeze sighed in the branches. Jim’s fear and anger boiled over and he turned to confront his antagonist.

  But he wasn’t there. Only the lantern that had been placed on the ground.

  Jim looked around, thinking the stranger was still nearby, staying in the shadows and toying with him like a cat with a mouse, offering him the illusion of freedom. Nothing moved, however, and he couldn’t hear a thing. Tentatively, he moved toward the lantern, hands still clasped behind his head. When nothing happened, he slowly lowered them and picked up the lantern, holding it before him. The sweat that he hadn’t even been aware of trickled cold down his face, and his eyes darted left and right.

  It didn’t matter how long he waited, though. The woods stayed silent, and it was like the stranger had never even been there.