She gripped the jagged metal with a pair of forceps and bit down hard on the washcloth. Then she ripped the shrapnel out of her body. Sharp pain blasted through her midsection, and she shrieked into the rag, her cry muffled. As she’d predicted, a wash of blood gushed out of the now-open wound.
With trembling hands, she held open the wound, inspecting for internal damage. Thankfully, as bloody as it was, it was a flesh wound. The metal hadn’t pierced her deeply, and the stab-proof vest had saved her from catastrophic damage.
Washing the open wound out with surgical alcohol was an experience beyond excruciating; it burned so horrendously she thought her teeth were going to crack from how hard she was biting down on the rag. It had to be done, though. Gasping and shaking from the pain, she forced herself to steady her hands, and then she got busy with stitching the wound closed, which sent more blasts of pain through her midriff.
Finally, however, she got it done and closed the wound. After this, she put a sterile dressing on it and simply lay on the floor, panting and trembling.
“Are you, uh, are you okay in there, Mom?” David asked, his voice muffled through the door.
“I’m…fine,” Alice managed to reply. “Don’t…worry.” After resting for a few moments, she got up, washed her hands and face, and then got changed into clean clothes.
By the time she left the bathroom, David had finished heating up some beans and sausages on the gas stove. “It’s nothing fancy, Mom, but it’s something, at least, right?”
“Thanks, Davey,” she said, easing herself down on the sofa.
“Are you sure you’re okay now?” David asked, still concerned.
“I’m fine now, don’t worry. Dish me up some beans and a couple of sausages, thanks.”
Just as David began ladling beans onto a plate, however, the silence was shattered by thunderous gunfire from right outside in the street. This was followed by the sounds of men shouting, and then the crash of glass shattering.
“Oh no,” Alice groaned.
David ran over to the balcony door to go check what was happening, but Alice yelled at him before he could open it.
“No! Don’t open it! Whoever’s doing that shooting outside might be looking for signs of life in here. Just keep quiet and stay away from the windows.”
Alice got up, got her pistol out of her purse, and tiptoed over to the door, signaling to David that he should draw his weapon too. Before she got to the door, she heard the muffled thumps of someone kicking the downstairs door; people were trying to get in. She pressed her ear against the door to listen more closely. The thumping continued, then stopped. Alice waited with bated breath for a few seconds and then exhaled a long sigh of relief; the thugs had probably given up and moved on to another building.
Suddenly a sharp, booming blast echoed up the stairwell, accompanied by aggressive shouts of triumph from below. The invaders had breached the building, and soon the sounds of their stamping boots could be heard coming up the stairs.
11
“Let me do the shooting if any shooting needs to be done,” Wyatt growled, his eyes darting from side to side as he and Phil moved through the first alley, which they’d entered after crossing a main street near the river. “I know you’ve never killed a man before, Phil. Trust me, it’s something you’d do well to keep off your conscience.”
Phil knew that Wyatt was no stranger to killing; he’d seen his fair share of battle during his service in the Gulf War, and he had the physical, mental, and emotional wounds to show for it. It was true, Phil had never shot a man or even pointed a firearm at anyone in anger, but even so, the thought of anyone attempting to harm his wife and son put enough righteous fire in his blood that he knew that if it came down to it, he wouldn’t hesitate even a second to pull the trigger if it meant saving their lives.
“I appreciate you saying that, Wyatt,” he said, “but if a situation arises in which I need to use my guns, you’ll bet I’m gonna be using ‘em. There won’t be any time to argue about who’s doing the shooting.”
“I’m just warning you that it changes you. It’s not like you see in the movies. Once you’ve put a bullet in a man, you can never go back.”
“And that’s a price I’m willing to pay if it means saving my wife and son…or you, Wyatt.”
Wyatt grunted and nodded, his eagle eyes scanning the urban landscape for dangers, which were abundant. They hadn’t heard any more explosions since getting into the city, but bursts of distant gunfire and the sounds of shouts and screams were still frequent.
Because it had become plainly evident that the streets were rapidly descending into deeper chaos and anarchy, the men carried their guns openly now. Wyatt had his .357 in his right hand, a .45 ready on his hip, and a 9mm tucked into the back of his belt as another backup. Then, in case of a dire emergency, the tiny .32 ACP tucked into his boot. Phil carried one of his .45s in his hand, and the other he kept holstered on his belt. He had spare ammunition for all the firearms in his backpack.
As Phil and Wyatt approached the end of the alley, which opened out onto another main street, a group of masked looters, carrying crowbars and baseball bats and bulging bags full of stolen items, turned into the alley. There were six or seven of them, all with black balaclavas over their faces. They stood and stared menacingly at the two men, but Wyatt didn’t give the looters a moment to even think of trying anything.
He coolly aimed his revolver at the closest man’s chest. “Turn around and keep walking, assholes,” he growled.
The looters didn’t take long to decide that it wasn’t worth messing with two armed men. They turned and took off, flipping off Wyatt and Phil and spitting some curses their way, but not looking back.
“The sight of guns will put them off trying anything with us for now,” Phil said darkly, watching the masked looters as they walked down the street, looking for easier prey. “but as things get more desperate, it’s going to take more than just threats to scare ‘em off.”
“All the more reason to get out of this shithole ASAP,” Wyatt said. He had always hated cities, and the present situation made him loathe them even more.
Phil looked up at the sun. It was edging closer to the western horizon. “We’ve still got two, maybe three hours of daylight left,” he said. “We’d best use it wisely. Things are going to get a lot crazier once darkness falls.”
“It’s going to be the darkest night this hellhole has ever seen,” Wyatt muttered, “in more ways than one.”
“The coast’s clear,” Phil said, now that the looters had moved a suitable distance away. “Let’s move.”
They hurried across the main street, weaving through the jumble of abandoned cars that were completely blocking the entire street as far as the eye could see in both directions, and then they moved swiftly along the sidewalk on the other side for a while, heading to the next alley. The sidewalk was littered with broken glass and other debris from what looked like a bomb that had gone off in one of the stores they passed. Phil paused for a moment and peered inside the wrecked store, from which clouds of smoke were belching. Blood was sprayed across the nearest inner wall, and he saw the gruesome sight of a disembodied human leg lying among the rubble of the half-collapsed interior. He shuddered and moved on.
The looters weren’t the only people they saw. Many more people were drifting aimlessly around, some looking almost like they were in trances. Others were sitting alone on the sidewalk or on the street, in the midst of the jumble of crashed and abandoned vehicles.
Nobody said anything to Phil and Wyatt as they passed, but what was universal among all of them was the expression on every person’s face, in every individual’s eyes: a look of complete and utter fear, blended with deep confusion and immense worry. It had been hours now since the EMP attack and the subsequent terrorist attacks, and people had realized now that rescue was not, as they’d earlier believed, on its way. Most of them, the city dwellers, especially, who rarely if ever left the comfortable bubble of their urban li
ves, didn’t have the mental or emotional resources to deal with a catastrophe of this magnitude. The rug had been yanked with extreme violence from under their feet, and their lives had, in a mere few seconds, been hurled into complete turmoil. They were, understandably, at a complete loss as to what to do or where to go.
Phil’s heart went out to them. He wished there was something he could do for these lost souls, but he knew that bringing even one of these confused, terrified people along with them would completely jeopardize his mission and would put his wife and son at risk.
“Down here, right?” Wyatt’s words jolted Phil from this trance of contemplation.
Phil looked up and saw Wyatt pointing down an alley to their left. “Yeah, that way.”
Thick, black smoke with a pungent chemical stench was pouring out of the alley. Phil took two industrial masks out of his backpack, putting one on himself and handing the other to Wyatt. Once they were protected against the smoke, they headed up the alley.
It was a relief to head into the smoke-choked alley and get away from the despair, hopelessness, and destruction of the larger city streets. Any respite the two men felt, however, was to be short-lived. When they were about halfway up the alley, a piercing scream of terror resounded through it. It was a young woman’s scream, and it was coming from close by. Phil and Wyatt shot each other a glance in the murky gloom, and each gave the other a nod. They raced through the smoke, their firearms pointed ahead of them.
They passed a smashed-open door, which was where the black smoke was belching from, and after a second or two of running cleared the cloud of smoke. They saw that two looters had dragged a young woman into the alley and had pinned her down behind a dumpster and were pawing viciously at her clothes.
“Hey!” Wyatt yelled aggressively, sprinting toward them with his .357 aimed at the closest man’s chest.
They stopped what they were doing and looked up. Phil caught sight of the second man’s hand moving for what could be a gun at his side. He dropped down onto one knee, gripping his .45 with both hands and taking careful aim, and when the man did indeed pull out a gun, he fired.
The bang of the shot crashed through the alley, and the thug yelped in pain, dropping his gun and staggering back. Phil had always been a crack shot, and his perfectly placed bullet had shot the gun out of the looters’ hand and smashed his hand into a mess of ripped-up flesh and shattered bones. The injured man, howling with pain, gripped his wrist and ran away, and the other one, wide-eyed with fear, released the woman and fled after his friend.
The young woman, who was almost delirious with panic and fear, scrambled to her feet, pulled her blouse closed and sprinted down the alley past Phil and Wyatt, screaming and weeping, before they could talk to her or offer any assistance.
Wyatt kicked the gun under the dumpster and then turned to face Phil, giving him an impressed nod.
“Good shooting there, brother,” he said. “I didn’t know whether you had it in you.”
“I said if I came across a situation where I’d have to use a gun in anger, I would,” Phil said, feeling a bit shaken up by the rush of adrenalin that had surged through him. “And I did. And I’ll do it again if I have to.”
Wyatt clapped his hand onto Phil’s shoulder. “I’ve got your back if you do,” he said.
“Come on,” Phil said, not wanting to linger. “We need to keep moving.”
They exited the alley, scanned the street—which, like most, was clogged with abandoned vehicles—for danger, and then moved quickly along the sidewalk. A buzzing crowd of people was gathered up ahead, and a man was standing on top of a car in front of them, yelling something about the government and conspiracies, but Wyatt and Phil hastily crossed the street and gave the crowd and the agitator a wide berth.
It took them around an hour to get to the last alley before Alice’s apartment. During that time, they saw more looting and chaos, more crowds of people gathering and listening to angry rants, and heard more distant explosions and bursts of gunfire coming from all directions.
Phil paused in the alley to talk to Wyatt. “We’re almost there. There’s plenty of food in the apartment, so we’ll sit down and rest and have a good, hearty meal. We need to keep our energy reserves up because we’re gonna be walking until the early hours of the morning to get back to the truck.”
Phil was doing his best to disguise the worry in his eyes, but his old friend could see it clearly. Wyatt knew that anxiety about Alice and David had to be eating Phil up inside at this moment. “I’m sure Alice already has something hot and tasty waiting for us, just like her Sunday roasts on the ranch,” he said, smiling reassuringly at Phil.
“I’m sure she does,” Phil said. “Come on, let’s go.”
Before he could take a step, though, a sudden barrage of nearby gunfire blasted its thunder down the alley. It sounded as if it had come from right outside Alice’s building. Raising their firearms, Wyatt and Phil moved with cautious haste out of the alley, their hearts pounding in their chests and adrenalin stirring in their veins.
When they emerged from the alley, they saw the huge fire billowing out of the smashed-open storefront at the bottom of the apartment building, and they saw a group of armed men by the door in the side alley. They didn’t look like the many opportunistic looters they’d seen up to this point. They were all holding guns, and they had other weaponry on them as well. One of the men blasted the door lock open with his shotgun, and then the rest cheered in triumph. Then the armed men raced into the building.
“Oh no,” Phil murmured, the color draining from his face. “Oh no…”
12
“What’s going on out there, Mom?” David asked, looking worried.
“Shh, quiet,” Alice whispered, pressing her ear up against the door. She couldn’t hear exactly how many men there were, but she was fairly certain that there were four or five of them. She’d heard at least three distinct voices, although what they were saying wasn’t quite discernable yet. They seemed to have stopped on the floor below hers.
“Mom, who is it?” The fear in David’s voice was growing more discernable.
“Get behind the sofa there, and keep your gun aimed at the door. Do it!” Alice’s voice was firm, and this was no request; it was a command.
David was too frightened and worried to argue with her, so he did as she said and knelt down, using the sofa as cover, and aimed his pistol at the side of the door closest to the handle.
From downstairs, they heard two of the men shouting. This was quickly followed by a woman shrieking with terror, but her screaming was cut abruptly and ominously short by the blast of a gunshot. Alice jumped with fright, and David’s already-wide eyes protruded from their sockets even more, and his jaw dropped open with shock.
Harsh laughter echoed up the stairwell, along with the sounds of items being smashed; it seemed that they had forced their way into one of the apartments and murdered whoever was in there.
Alice swallowed slowly. Her mouth was dry with fear, and her pulse was pounding in her temples and ears. She prayed that the invaders would turn around and move on to another building before coming up to her floor. An almost irresistible instinct within her was urging her to run and hide, but she knew that she had to stay strong for David’s sake. She didn’t want to panic and then get him in a panic as well.
She waited, listening through the door, her palms clammy on the pistol. The men kicked open another door, but this time there was no shooting; the place they’d just invaded was unoccupied, she guessed.
“Uh, Mom…”
“Not now, David!” Alice snapped, her nerves on edge. “Keep your damn mouth shut!”
“Mom! Look out the window!”
David’s insistence that she listen to him did not come from any sense of rebelliousness or argumentativeness. Alice could hear the urgency in his tone. She looked behind her at the window looking out onto the balcony and let out a gasp of shock, for she saw thick, black smoke blotting out the sight of the city. She
didn’t need to look at the smoke for longer than a few seconds to ascertain that it was coming from their building. The only question was whether it was the store on the street level that was on fire or one of the apartments below hers.
“Oh shit,” she muttered, torn by a sudden and urgent sense of indecision. To go out into the hallway now, with armed killers roaming through the building, would be suicidal, but if the entire building was on its way to burning down, then it would be just as dangerous to stay put. Would there be enough time to wait for the killers to leave and then escape without being trapped by the growing flames? Or should she risk trying to get out of the building via the fire escapes, and then possibly be spotted by the killers anyway? And then, if the entire building did burn down and they had to flee, how would they find Phil?
“What do we do, Mom? What do we do?!” David asked. His heart was jumping like an out-of-control jackhammer in his chest, and his mouth was dry.
“Just hold on, I’m trying to think. I’m trying to think!”
David got up and scrambled over to the balcony.
“Hey!” Alice yelled. “I told you not to—”
It was too late, though. David had already opened the door and dashed out onto the balcony. He leaned out over the edge and looked down, and through the clouds of dense smoke, he saw that huge flames were devouring the store at the bottom of the building. None of the other apartments were on fire—at least not yet. Coughing and gasping, he staggered back into the apartment and shut the door.
“It’s the store downstairs that’s burning,” he said to Alice, his voice hoarse. “None of the other apartments are burning, but the fire looks bad. I think it’ll spread.”
EMP Survival In A Powerless World | Book 19 | EMP Ranch Page 6