Supernova EMP Series (Book 3): Bitter End

by Hamilton, Grace

  They’d left the basement an hour after midnight and made their way back to where the attack had happened. The dead Defenders, not including Keysell, numbered four, which meant that four more had either been captured or had escaped into the city like Henry and Tally.

  Keysell had taken a long time to die, though—they could see that much. There was a sticky trail of blood behind him, where he’d dragged himself from the road onto the sidewalk. He’d had the presence of mind to find a pen and paper in his tunic, and write a short message on the pad for his men to find.

  “Not gonna make it. They’ve taken them to the school. Get Larry out of there. Tell Monica I love her.”

  Tally folded the note and put it inside her jacket. She didn’t know the location of the hospital or who Monica was, but she was going to keep the note until she’d ticked off both requests.

  They pulled the bodies from the street and placed them in a line on the sidewalk. Henry went into one of the burned-out houses and brought out a couple of blankets which they then used to cover the bodies, holding the corners down with stones. It wasn’t much of a burial, but it had a lot more dignity than leaving the bodies in the road.

  “How’s your arm?”

  Tally stroked the torn material of her jacket. “Painful, but I’ll cope.”

  “I’m out of pain meds. We need to find some more, and we need someplace to stay for the night,” Henry said, looking around the dark buildings. In the distance, light from fires flickered orange, illuminating the base of the smoking clouds rising over them.

  “I’m guessing those are the fires of people who don’t care if they’re found. So, I’m guessing they’re the Red Guys. We should find somewhere in the opposite direction.”

  “We need to get to the school. My mom and Storm are there.”

  Henry shook his head. “Not yet. All in good time. We need to get some supplies and you need to rest that arm.” He hefted his pack back onto his shoulder, and Tally knew the look that would brook no argument. “Let’s go.”

  Tally acquiesced, even though she was trembling at the thought of what might be happening at the school. Ten-Foot’s violence and naturally bad attitude had been priced in before the supernova. On the Sea-Hawk, he had been affected by the disaster in a strange way compared to many of the other victims Tally had encountered. Ten-Foot had been overly aggressive, of course, and he had raged and been quick to violence, but he’d also been calculating and manipulative. He’d held the other probationers in his thrall precisely because he had changed, for sure, but his transformation hadn’t been chaotic, like some. He’d seemed to be able to harness the change inside him and turn it to his advantage. An advantage that had gotten him a credible position of power in the army which had invaded Cumberland.

  And that thought burned inside Tally more than the pain in her arm. She knew Ten-Foot had proven himself capable of great evil, and now he had the support to achieve even worse.

  They walked silently through the deserted streets.

  Wherever the population of Cumberland was, they were not staying in the ruins. Perhaps those who were still sane had already left the city to find safety in smaller, more easily defensible places. Maybe others had been enticed by the Defenders taking on General Carron and defeating him, and had traveled to the center of town to look for relief and community. Tally imagined that the red-uniformed interlopers may have crushed all resistance with their ferocity and greater number, and wondered what further atrocities had been visited on the people of Cumberland—and what that might mean for her mom and brother.

  Henry motioned Tally down onto her knees beside a low wall. She was about to ask him what he had seen, but his hand went over her mouth. He pointed to the other side of the intersection to a row of half-derelict stores, overturned cars, and strewn garbage. Moving towards the intersection were a group of red-uniformed soldiers. There were five of them that Tally could see. They were moving slowly and didn’t seem to be on high alert. Just a routine patrol of the area.

  Tally hunkered down a little more. If she and Henry stayed where they were, they’d be able to be seen by the patrol as they crossed the street in thirty seconds or so, but if they moved back the way they’d come, there was an area of exposed cover where a wall had collapsed that would surely make them visible anyway.

  Henry unslung his MP5 and cocked it as quietly as he dared. The city was virtually silent—the usual city sounds were long gone, and all that could be heard now were the footsteps of the patrol and a low murmur of their voices as they chatted softly. Tally drew her SIG and racked it inside her jacket to muffle the noise, but it still sounded like a dry twig snapping under the boot of someone trying to walk silently.

  The sound didn’t appear to have carried to the patrol, though. They carried on walking as Tally risked another glimpse over the wall.

  Henry held up his hand to Tally. Three fingers extended. Tally nodded.

  Two fingers.

  One.

  Tally began to push up with her legs as Henry rose, but before either of them could fire, the air was lit up with white muzzle flashes, the guttural stutter of automatic gunfire, and an explosion that rattled Tally’s teeth all the way back.

  Bullets were tearing into the concrete around the patrol that was now diving for cover. Two were already down, wounded from the explosion—which Tally took to have come from a grenade—that had torn shrapnel through them like thread through the eyes of needles.

  The patrol returned fire as Tally and Henry hit the sidewalk. Chips of concrete flew around them. Bullets tinged and twanged off metal or crunched into stone. Tally’s shoulder ached and felt too tight as she pressed herself into the ground.

  After one prolonged burst, and two other short clusters of fire, the silence returned to the street—all save the sound of jogging boots and the rustle of clothes.

  “You’re not painted red, so I’m assuming you’re the good guys,” a voice said from behind them. It was male, light and breezy as if it was coming from a mouth that enjoyed what it was saying, “but put your weapons down for the moment, and that will save me shooting you before I’ve had a chance to introduce myself.”

  Tally put the SIG down, and Henry did the same with the MP5.

  “That’s excellent. Now, up you get. We need to get out of here. They may have been the only patrol in the area, but we’ve drawn attention to ourselves. Let’s go.”

  “Who are…?” Tally began, but her injured shoulder was hit by the flat of someone’s hand. The burst of pain took her breath away and silenced anything she would have said next.

  “Be quiet. Keep moving. No time for small talk.”

  Soft metallic scrapes from the sidewalk told her that their weapons were being retrieved, and then other hands from unseen people pushed Tally and Henry again until their feet started moving into a steady jog.

  The remains of the patrol came quickly into view—bodies strewn on the pavement, blood pooling, sightless eyes staring up at the night sky. Bodies in black moved among them, salvaging weapons, ammunition, and packs.

  “Collins, we’re good,” said one of the shadows.

  From behind them, the voice which had spoken to Tally and Henry replied, “Excellent. Let’s get out of here.”

  Another thud in Tally’s back came to encourage her on. “Keep going. Follow the guys up ahead. Come on. Feet up!” said Collins.

  Tally moved forward. She was still a little weak from the injury, but moved as fast as she could—getting harsh prods in her back for her troubles.

  “Hey! That’s…!”

  “I said, shut up!” Collins hissed in her ear. “Let’s not get off on the wrong foot, eh?”

  As they ran on, with indistinct shadow fighters ahead and Collins sporadically pushing them in the back, telling them to move and not speak until they had reached their destination, Tally couldn’t help feeling they’d dropped out of one frying pan and found the fire.

  15

  The crowd began to gather a little after sev
en thirty p.m. It seemed that the residents of Pickford had been ordered to attend the execution whether they wanted to or not. Josh noticed that a few of the townsfolk looked decidedly reluctant to be there—their faces pained, their eyes downcast.

  Alongside the assembling crowd, he’d watched as a horse-drawn farm wagon pulled into town to rest up not far from where he’d met with Karel to discuss their problem, as she’d called it.

  In the wagon had been a number of people who looked for all the world like out-of-towners. Josh, sitting on a bench in the town square, had watched as Randy had come out of the bar to greet them. There’d been six people up in the open farm wagon. Their expressions grave, their demeanors nervous. Four men and two women, hands tightly locked together in their laps as if they were trying to stop them from shaking out of pure fear, their eyes unsure and darting as they descended from the wagon to be taken by Randy Hart up the steps of the town hall and inside. The door had closed behind them with a thump of finality.

  Josh guessed these had been the local farmers who were going to be given an instructive lesson this evening in power and control. Like the townsfolk of Pickford, they would be forced to watch as one of their number—Donald, a man they all must know well—was to be put to death.

  Josh looked back over his shoulder to the police department building, behind which, that short hour before, he’d met Karel in the shadow of a litter-strewn alley. The air had been smoky with the approaching evening, fires smoking up from chimneys as residents in the homes still inhabited were lit for cooking and warmth. The rain may have stopped, but the day’s temperature hadn’t improved.

  Karel had hung back, eyeing where the alley opened onto the town square and the gallows beyond. Josh had looked into the back rooms of the police building. There’d been no oil lamps lit, and the offices had again seemed deserted.

  “What’s happened?” Josh had whispered.

  Karel had stuffed her hands into her pockets and blown out her cheeks. “Gerry escaped. I went back to check on him and give him some water, but he got out of the ties, somehow.”

  “Damn. Has he made it back to town?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve been looking as discreetly as possible, but as you can imagine, it’s not easy. Seeing as no one has come to get you, perhaps not. But it’s only a matter of time.”

  Josh had bitten at his thumbnail, thinking. “Then we only have one chance to get this done. Where’s the gear?”

  “I’ve stowed it in a burned-out house off the main street. No one’s around it.”

  “Then let’s do it. Right now.”

  “We can’t.”

  Josh hadn’t liked the sound of caution in her voice. “Why not? We can’t just wait––they are going to hang Donald tonight.”

  “We have to wait until they bring him out from the cells. I’ve checked the building. There’s no outside wall we can blow with the plastics that will lead down there to where he’s being kept. We could attack the building, but if they go into lockdown, down there, we won’t have the time to get through the doors and extract him before Creggan’s men come in all mob-handed.”

  She’d been right. Their only chance was to do it on the way to the gallows.

  Karel had blown on her hands to warm them. “But I’ve got an idea. It’s just going to take time to put into action, and you’re going to have to keep an eye out for Gerry. If he comes into town and gets to Creggan or anyone else, we’re blown.”

  “Maybe he’s already here and they’re waiting for us to make our move.” Josh had felt like the Pickford paranoia was invading its way into his own thinking.

  “It’s possible, but they haven’t shown they’re capable of that subtlety before, right?”

  “True.”

  “Then they would have come looking for you already.”

  Josh hadn’t been able to argue with that.

  Karel had then explained to Josh what she was going to do, and, more precisely, what she wanted him to do. Josh had nodded grimly. “Okay, I’ll go back to the town square. See what’s going on down there.”

  Karel had reached under her coat, pulled out a Glock, and pressed it into Josh’s hand. He’d put it between his belt and the small of his back, and she’d next given him two magazines and a grenade, which he’d put into the pockets of his parka where they weighed it down comfortingly.

  Walking around Pickford unarmed during the day had not been a restful experience, and it was agreeable to at least have the means to defend himself again.

  Karel had then disappeared behind the police department after wishing him good luck, and Josh had gone back to the town square.

  Now, there didn’t appear to be any unusual activity from the town hall that he could see as he waited for the crowds to gather. The gallows were ready, and a couple of Creggan’s men were making sure the trapdoors were working.

  Randy came back out of the town hall with the reluctant visitors. If anything, they looked more unsure and nervous. They were led to the front of the crowd of around one hundred Pickfordians so that they could get the best view of the proceedings. They looked like they’d rather be anywhere but there––worried that the fate of Donald Jefferson might be visited upon all of them, clearly. Braziers were lit to provide warmth and light to the area for when full dark descended.

  The mood among those gathered was somber. No voices were raised. There was a respectful mumble of conversation from some quarters, but many of the townsfolk stood in silence. On the bench, Josh felt like an outlier, and so he went over to join everyone else, scanning faces as he did so.

  No one spoke to him. If Josh had noticed nothing else about the people of Pickford while he’d been in town, it was that they weren’t ones for small talk or making eye contact. Living under Creggan’s regime had made all of them wary––the ones who weren’t part of Creggan’s setup, at least. They had, in a short time, learned not to question anything or anyone. That was their route to survival, doing as they were told, and working for Creggan seemed like the best way to stay alive in this town.

  Maybe many of them could not be sure Josh wasn’t a plant who’d been sent to spy on them and find out what they were really thinking—real old, East Germany tactics. Or maybe they just weren’t demonstrable West Virginians. Either way, Josh wasn’t going to get tangled in any awkward conversations, and was glad enough to be left alone to survey the area without distraction.

  A light burning in an office on the second floor of the town hall would, Josh guessed, signal Creggan’s office if his stab at recreating the internal layout of the building was correct. Occasionally, he saw a shadow moving over the window as if someone was up there keeping an eye on things, looking over his kingdom and enjoying the fear and paranoia he’d engineered.

  A gasp from the crowd turned heads in a wave, and Josh followed the eyes to the front of the police department building. His heart sank at what he saw, and not just because Donald was being led out of the building. His back was stiff, his stride steady, but his face displayed a patchwork of scabs and bruises. He was handcuffed in front to a chain around his waist, and his ankles were haltered with another chain.

  Behind Donald, who Josh had of course been expecting to emerge at some point, were two more chained and cuffed people who he’d definitely not imagined to be seeing in this context. The dark-haired, terrified woman was Martha—the wife of the man Josh had seen executed upon his entrance into the town. She was chained at the ankles and feet, too, and she shuffled along while being pushed by a hard-faced deputy. Her eyes were puffy with tears, a string of snot swinging from the end of her nose as her shoulders shook like someone in the Arctic without a coat.

  Behind Martha was a figure that, if anything, affected Josh even more.

  Filly, the barman. His foul-up had come home to roost hard. It seemed that Filly had not gotten away after all.

  Filly, the man he’d goaded into violence in order to convince the men in the bar that he ‘had the disease’ and cause a distraction for Josh. Fill
y had been caught at some point by Randy and his men, taken to the police department, and prepared for execution. Josh looked on as a rush of cold guilt splashed through him. It was his fault Filly was there. It was his actions that had led to him being put in this position. Yes, the guy was a pure a-hole, but that didn’t mean he deserved this.

  What made it all the more chilling was that Filly had needed to be prepared in a way that was pure theater, just to back up Creggan’s propaganda about his nonexistent disease. Thick polythene bags had been placed around Filly’s feet, and a huge square of plastic sheeting had had a hole cut in the middle of it so that it could be draped around his shoulders like a smock. His hands and arms had been pushed through other slits in the material and handcuffed in front of him. But most shockingly of all, Hauser walked behind Filly holding a dogcatcher’s metal pole and neck ring.

  Hauser was guiding Filly forward with the pole, and as they got closer, Josh could see that the ring of flexible steel was biting into Filly’s neck and causing his face to grimace with the pain—even around the duct tape that was sealing his mouth.

  The crowd began to part as the three condemned individuals reached them. Not just out of deference, but because no one wanted to be close enough to Filly to catch what he was carrying. Josh could see the fear and apprehension in their eyes—Creggan had them completely in hand.

  “Ready for the show?”

  Josh started as Creggan’s voice dropped unexpectedly into his ear. He turned, and saw that Creggan stood beside him, a grin on his chops that would have lit up a coal mine.

  “Public executions are not my idea of entertainment, but whatever floats your boat.” Josh’s throat was thick with disgust, but he’d tried to keep as much of it out of his voice as he could.

  “A man has to take his pleasure where he finds it these days, Mr. Rennie,” Creggan said, the smile switching off like its power had been cut. “I hope you’ll appreciate what we’re trying to build here, and when you’ve kept up your end of the bargain, I’m sure we’ll be able to fully accommodate you in that endeavor.”