The Killing Days

by Ronald Williams

  The Killing Days

  A Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (The Two Brothers Survival Series Book I)

  Ronald Williams

  © 2018

  Ronald Williams Copyright © 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author. Reviewers may quote brief passages in reviews.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 1

  “Here's your change, ma'am, and don't forget to complete the survey on the back of your receipt for a discount on your next purchase.” Harrison Craft circled a small block of print with a yellow highlighter and handed the slip of receipt paper to the old lady on the other side of the counter.

  The woman – 90 years old if she was a day – scrunched her face into a prune and peered down at the tiny words through pair of thick glasses, then made a gargly “harumph” noise, crammed the receipt unceromoniously into her massive pinstriped shoulder bag, and shuffled toward the door without a word. A small brass bell jingled over the door as she left.

  Harrison sighed and leaned forward on the counter. It was going to be one of those days. He could already tell. He used his sleeve to wipe a run of sweat from his forehead and turned to the small black radio sitting on the counter beside the register. It was on the fritz again, depriving him of the one lubricant that eased the passage of time on those seemingly endless days when it was his turn on register duties – those smooth rock n' roll oldies.

  Harrison reached under the counter and pulled out a small set of multi-use jeweler's screwdrivers, selected a thin phillip's head, and began unscrewing the plastic plate on the back of the radio.

  It was the heat that was bumming him out, he knew. He liked coming in to the store. He liked working with his brother and co-owner, Jason. Hell, he even liked running the register now and then. But the heat was a steady weight grinding him into the floor, and he felt like his bones were turning to glass under the pressure. They were at the tail end of one of the hottest summers on record, and the thermometer still showed no signs of dipping.

  The bell over the door jingled again, but Harrison barely registered it. He had half the radio spread in pieces over the counter, and he knew he was getting close. There, that loose wire had to be the problem. If he could just pry it out...

  “Harrison, could you—”

  The tiny screwdriver slipped through Harrison's sweaty fingers and clattered to the floor. He swore loudly. The lone customer browsing the tool aisle looked up briefly, then resumed shopping. Jason strode over to the counter with a clipboard in his hand, the door to the storage room in back swinging softly behind him.

  “Before you say anything, I'm sorry,” Harrison said. Jason cocked an eyebrow at his younger brother and grinned.

  “Heat, isn't it? It's getting to me, too. Got the overhead AC on the 'South Pole' setting and it's still ninety degrees in here.”

  Jason was older than Harrison by two years and technically the lawful owner of Craft General Store, but when their father had finally been ready to hand over the store, Jason had insisted that Harrison get fifty percent of the ownership. It was just like him to do that – loyal to a fault, openhearted, with just a smidge of personal interest. In this case, that personal interest was simple: he didn't want the store at all, and he wanted it even less if he had to run it without Harrison. But that was Jason. He freely gave people what they deserved, but he wouldn't hesitate to make sure he got something he wanted in the bargain, if he could.

  In addition to being two years older, Jason was also about sixty pounds heavier, most of it muscle. To look at them side by side, you'd barely be able to tell they were brothers. Harrison was six-foot-one and all of a hundred and fifty-five pounds. His frame was wiry, even scrawny by some standards, with a thin, intelligent face and long fingers that never seemed to stop fidgeting.

  Jason was a full inch and a half shorter, but the extra pounds gave the impression that he was a giant. He wasn't fat, or even portly – he was just a big guy, capable and strong, with a slight limp in his right leg that came and went depending on the weather.

  Even their hair was different. Harrison's hair was a shaggy clump of dark auburn, while Jason had a perfectly combed head of light summer straw.

  In fact, the only way a stranger would look at Harrison and Jason together and see the familial resemblance would be to look in their eyes. Both had intensely green eyes with the same slightly furrowed browline.

  Right now, Jason's brow was furrowed more than usual. He was breathing heavily and sweating rivers that stained the armpits of his pale Craft General polo shirt a dark, storm-cloud gray. Harrison didn't like the way it looked. He didn't like it one bit.

  “You been regular with your meds, J-bird?” he asked. Jason looked up from the clipboard and nodded.

  “Yeah, yeah, you know I have. Listen, what's this order you put in for two hundred...I can't even tell what this is...W-R-L-S PH? What is that, Harrison?”

  “Wireless headphones,” Harrison said, scanning the floor for his dropped screwdriver. “Bose. Top of the line.” He spied the screwdriver halfway under the display case that held the kitchen knives and ammunition behind the register. He bent to grab it, and when he stood back up, Jason was giving him one of his looks.

  “What?
” Harrison said.

  “You know we aren't going to move two hundred sets of headphones at this price. Not in this neighborhood.”

  “Sure we are. Here, lemme see that.” Harrison snagged the clipboard from Jason's hands and scribbled a few numbers on the order form, then handed it back to his brother. “See, I got those for nine per, that's wholesale price on factory returns, barely used. Across town, those are selling for fifty-five. Top of the line, like I told you. We put 'em on the shelves for forty-nine ninety-nine, with a sale price sticker right on top for thirty-nine. Kids'll come all the way across town for a sixteen dollar bargain, while we're pulling in thirty dollars on each sale. Check the numbers, that's a five-thousand dollar profit on that order.”

  “Yeah, I can do the math. What I'm saying is, how are those customers across town going to know we're selling them?”

  Harrison grinned. “Because I already advertised them on Facebook and Craigslist. And in the paper.” He reached across the counter and pulled a Gazette from the newspaper rack and dropped it onto Jason's clipboard. “For the old people, you know. No offense, sir.” His eyes had shifted behind Jason to the man who'd been browsing. “Find everything alright?”

  “Do you guys sell toilet paper?” the man asked in a monotone.

  “Third aisle on the right,” Jason said cheerfully, giving the man a toothy smile. “At Craft General, if you can't find it, we'll get it.”

  As the man walked off again, Jason turned back to Harrison and dropped his chipper sales tone. “Alright. But in the future, let's actually...you know, discuss new inventory purchases.”

  “Like partners,” Harrison said.

  “Like partners. And speaking of which, it's your turn to hose down the loading bay. We had some lettuce sitting there in a crate last night that had some soft rot. Leaked all over the floor.

  Harrison groaned. “When are you going to stop with this aww shucks mom and pop crap? We shouldn't even be selling fresh produce here. It's a terrible return on investment.”

  “Murph and Pam Ingalls have supplied this store for thirty years, Harr. You know that. And they're getting on in years. They were good to Dad. We owe it to them to return the favor.”

  “Dad's fourteen blocks away,” Harrison protested, “with nothing to do but lie in that big hospital bed and watch old Dukes reruns. Why can't he return the...oh, forget it. You're right, like usual. Now get out of the way so I can ring this gentleman up. You find everything you need, sir?”

  Jason stepped aside and began walking around the store, checking off inventory on his clipboard. The man walked up to the register and laid down a small garden spade with a bright green handle. He had to perch it on the edge of the counter, because the dismembered radio still covered most of the surface. Harrison glanced at the spade.

  “Were you able to find the toilet paper?” he asked.

  “I changed my mind about the toilet paper,” the man answered in a flat voice.

  Harrison sighed inwardly and took the money out of the man's outstretched hand. These people could be so strange. He was just putting in the total on the register's touch keypad when the screen flickered and went blank.

  “What the...” he began. Before he could finish, the overhead lights gave a loud pop and died.

  Chapter 2

  The sudden dimness in the store was disorienting, but it was the silence that hit Harrison the most. The air conditioner had gone off with the lights. He was still holding the man's crumpled stack of dollar bills in his hand, still poking the dark touch screen with one finger of the other hand, and for a moment nobody in the store moved. Jason was the first to break the spell.

  “Power outage?” he said hesitantly. “In this weather?”

  “Maybe the breaker tripped,” Harrison suggested.

  “The generator should have kicked on, if that's the case. It's wired into the trip relay.”

  Harrison pondered this, while the man with the garden spade cleared his throat and droned, “Could I have my change back?”

  “Huh? Oh, you'll have to give us a second, sir. I can't open the register without...” he trailed off as movement outside the large display window at the front of the store caught his eye. Silent as the grave, a white Chevrolet sedan sped by on the street outside. It disappeared from view, and a second later, a deep bass rumble shook the store, rattling the windows. The radio pieces on the counter skittered across the surface like waterbugs on a pond.

  “I'll check the breaker box,” said Jason, setting his clipboard on a shelf and walking toward the back room. Harrison was still craning his neck to look out the window.

  The man spoke again: “Can I have my change back?”

  “Will you hold on?” Harrison made an effort not to shout. “Without power, I can't open the register. If I can't open the register, I can't give you any change.”

  The man blinked slowly, like a fish. Jason stepped out of the back room and crossed the store to the customer entrance without a word. The bell jingled as he stepped outside. Harrison watched him go. Something didn't feel right about this. He dug his phone out of his pocket and swiped the screen. Nothing happened, and he got the same response when he held down the power button on the side.

  Ouside, Jason turned and walked down the street in the same direction that the white Chevrolet had so eerily drifted past.

  Another rumble shook the store, this one accompanied by a muffled pop, like the sound the lights had made but louder. Harrison shook his head. He had to get out there and see what was happening. He thrust the money in his hand back at the customer. “No sale, sorry.” The man stared at the bills like Harrison had just offered him a dead squirrel.

  “I want to buy this shovel.”

  “You can't. Here's your money. Please leave.”

  “But I want–“

  “Can't you see the power's out?” Harrison said, irate. “Store's closed.”

  “Can I just take the shovel?”

  Harrison stared at the man, uncomprehending. Why didn't he just leave. Something was wrong – he could feel it – and this guy was fixated on this little garden spade. Hadn't he wanted toilet paper anyway?

  Jason's bulk filled the doorway and he stepped back inside. His face was grim.

  “What's happening?” Harrison asked.

  “Can I buy the shovel or not?”

  “Will you forget about the shovel?” Harrison finally shouted. “Jason, what's going on out there?”

  “There's no power anywhere on the block, as far as I can tell,” Jason said. He stepped behind the counter. “There's a wreck up the street, on the other side of Main.” He slammed a heavy fist down on the metal cash register, popping the cash drawer open. Harrison jumped at the noise, but Jason just took the man's money from his hand, counted out a few dollars, and handed it to the man. “We're closed,” he said.

  The man picked up the little spade by its green handle and for a terrifying moment Harrison thought he was going to ask to buy something else, but then he turned and slowly walked out the door. The last thing Harrison heard him say was a muttered, toneless, “You can expect a Yelp review, yes you can.”

  “Jesus, what's with these people?” Harrison sputtered. Jason had trailed the man to the front door, and now he locked it.

  “My phone's dead,” Harrison said.

  “Mine too. None of the breakers tripped, but we aren't getting any juice, and the gas generator never even tried to start. I hand cranked it and got it to turn over, but it's not putting anything out, like the alternator's fried or something.”

  “I'll find the warranty and order a replacement. That generator's brand new.”

  “Don't I know it,” said Jason wryly. “I signed the check for it, if you remember.”

  “What's going on outside?”

  “Like I said...power's out on the street. Fender bender. Nothing crazy. It's just...a little bizarre, I guess.”

  “I'm going to look,” Harrison said. Jason nodded, and they both went to the front door. Jason u
nlocked it and stepped outside, followed by Harrison.

  Craft General Store was a low, squarish brick-and-mortar building on a relatively quiet intersection near the outer edge of the city. To the left, Burke Street curved down a gradual hill, with small businesses lining the sidewalk. Farther down, the businesses grudgingly gave up the street to a residential area, first condos and then family homes. Immediately to the right of the store, Burke crossed Main Street at a stoplight and continued into the city.

  The first thing Harrison noticed was that the stoplight had gone dark, just like the store. That would account for the accident on the other side of the intersection. The white Chevrolet had apparently run right through the intersection and rear-ended a parked Jeep. Beside the fender-bender, a middle-aged woman in an orange dress walked in small circles on the sidewalk, holding her phone in the air like she was trying to get a signal.

  The next thing Harrison noticed was a thin line of smoke rising into the air from somewhere farther down Burke, where it disappeared into the city. He sniffed and caught a sharp whiff of ozone. Directly across the street, a young couple walked out of Double Donuts – its interior also dark – and climbed into a silver Maza parked at the curb. Then...nothing. They just sat inside the vehicle, as far as Harrison could tell.

  At his side, Jason said softly, “Hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Nothing,” Jason said. “Nothing at all. No police sirens, no alarm from that Jeep, no cars. I can't even hear the transformers on the power line.” He pointed at the gray metal cylinders at the top of a nearby electrical pole.

  He was right; the block was eerily silent. A car door thumped across the street and the young man who'd gotten into the silver Mazda was standing on the sidewalk, waving at them.