EMP Survival In A Powerless World | Book 19 | EMP Ranch

by Walker, Robert J.

  David smiled. “I’ll do that, Dad. I just need a couple of hours of sleep first.”

  “You sure do. I’ll see you later this evening, okay?”

  “See you then, Dad…and good luck.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Phil said, even though he wasn’t entirely certain of this. “We’ll be back in no time.”

  He gave David a tight hug and then left, heading straight for the stables. Wyatt had two of the best horses saddled up and ready to go. Phil put on a bulletproof vest and a backpack, slung an AR-15 over his shoulder, and then climbed onto his favorite chestnut stallion. Wyatt, meanwhile, was mounted on his own favorite horse, a somewhat cantankerous dun mare.

  “We’ll go out the main gate,” Phil said to Wyatt, “and head along the road for a mile, then head into the woods from there.”

  “Sounds good,” Wyatt said.

  When they got within sight of the main gate, however, Phil saw a group of people gathered outside it. “Shit,” he muttered. “I hope this isn’t trouble. Hold up, brother.” Phil raised his AR-15 to his shoulder and peered through the telescopic sight. He was then able to see the faces of the people at the gate clearly, and when he did, he breathed out a sigh of relief.

  “Who are they?” Wyatt asked.

  “More of our workers and their families,” Phil said, lowering the rifle and breathing out a sigh of relief. “I’m not surprised to see ‘em, but I am a little surprised that they’re coming back to the ranch so soon, though.”

  “Guess they got nothing at home,” Wyatt said. “Most people didn’t have a goddamn clue what was about to hit ‘em.”

  “Come on, let’s go. I’ll talk to ‘em when we pass ‘em.”

  Wyatt and Phil rode up the long drive, and the crowd of people let themselves in. They saw Phil and Wyatt coming, so they kept the gate open for them. Phil stopped and spoke to them; he was not surprised to find out that their homes had quickly run out of the water, and that rumors of violence and looting in the nearby towns—not to mention the ominous glow and blackened skies of the burning city on the horizon—had prompted them to flee. Phil told them they were welcome on the ranch, and that he’d address everyone properly when he got back. In the meantime, they were to do their usual jobs, where possible without electricity, of course.

  Once the two of them were out, Wyatt locked the gate behind them. The gates were heavy, wrought-iron items over ten feet tall, and the chain that kept them locked was thick and impossible to cut with bolt-cutters. The weak link, though, was the lock. If the combination got out, anyone could get in. Phil made a mental note to change the lock to one with a key once all the workers had come to the ranch.

  The road that ran past the ranch was dead quiet, but there was nothing unusual about that; there was barely any traffic here on a normal day. Phil wondered if there would ever be any traffic here again. Even though there was no traffic, Phil didn’t want to be on the road for any longer than absolutely necessary. He spurred his horse into a run, and Wyatt followed him. They raced down the side of the road at speed, covering a mile quickly. After that, Phil reined in his horse and led the stallion down a winding footpath into the woods.

  A sense of relief settled over Phil once he was in the woods. Among the trees, with birdsong and the sounds of nature all around him, it was almost possible to believe that nothing had happened and that everything in the world was fine. The birds and insects here certainly didn’t realize that the world of human beings had been flipped on its head. These little creatures simply carried on with their lives, the way they had for millions of years.

  Phil and Wyatt rode through the woods for around two hours before reaching the hill that overlooked the first of the two towns, the one they’d sped through in the truck the previous day. When they got to the top of the hill, they were able to get a good look at the town. Phil needed a clearer look that that his rifle scope could give him, so he took out a pair of binoculars and surveyed the town.

  From what he could see, most places had been boarded up. The streets looked eerily like those of the city; plenty of abandoned vehicles, trash, and debris were strewn about. The only difference was that no bombs seemed to have gone off here. At least two buildings were on fire, though, which hadn’t been the case when they’d driven through this town the previous day.

  As for people, the streets seemed eerily deserted. It was hard to tell for sure, though, because only a few streets and buildings were visible from this vantage point. Since it was late in the afternoon, though, Phil guessed that most people would have retreated to their homes by this time. Even so, he planned to be extremely cautious when entering the town; there was no telling who was roaming the empty streets, nor how many dangers were lurking there in wait for unsuspecting victims.

  “What do you see?” Wyatt asked.

  “The place looks deserted, mostly,” Phil said. “There are signs of looting, though; be on your guard and keep your eyes and ears open.”

  “Will do. Should we head down?”

  Phil drew in a deep breath before replying. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

  27

  Phil and Wyatt tethered their horses and went the rest of the way on foot. The sun was low in the sky, and the shadows were long, and the chill of the evening air was settling in among the trees. When they reached the houses that bordered the woods, they faced a somewhat difficult choice. They could take a direct route by cutting across a few people’s backyards, or they could go all the way around and get onto the main road that ran through the town.

  “What do you think, Phil?” Wyatt asked, whispering; in the eerie silence close to the houses, his normal speaking voice sounded alarmingly loud. “I know it’s a lot quicker to cut across these yards, but we don’t know who’s camping out behind these drapes and shutters in the windows with rifles in their hands.”

  “You’re right,” Phil whispered back. “It’ll save us a lot of time, but we do run a real risk of having someone take potshots at us.”

  “Then again,” Wyatt whispered, “if we go strolling into town on the main road, we might be setting ourselves up to get ambushed by whatever criminal scum shot Debbie.”

  “That’s true as well,” Phil said. “Given the risks of both scenarios, I think we go through the yards.”

  “You sure? I’m willing to bet there are some eagle-eyed marksmen sitting in their windows with itchy trigger finger, just waiting for someone to dare trespass on their properties.”

  “That’s why we use the element of distraction,” Phil whispered with a smile. “I knew these smoke grenades would come in handy.”

  “Are you sure a smoke grenade will provide enough of a distraction?” Wyatt asked.

  “Not just a smoke grenade, brother,” Phil said, his smile broadening and taking on the quality of a boyish grin. He took his backpack off, opened one of the side compartments, and took out an M-80 firework.

  Wyatt chuckled. “Illegal fireworks, huh?”

  “You and I have both got good arms,” Phil said. “We toss the M-80 and the smoke bomb right over this house into the front yard, and the bang and the smoke will get whoever’s inside this place and all the neighboring houses to go check it out. We’ll be able to move through their backyards without ‘em noticing.”

  Wyatt flashed Phil a rare, impish grin. “I think this is just crazy enough that it might work. Here, I’ll toss the smoke grenade. I always did have a good arm when it came to slinging footballs.”

  “Once these things go off, we have to move fast,” Phil said. “Rifle in your hands and keep your head low.”

  “Just like they taught us in the army,” Wyatt said. “Hand me that grenade, and let’s hit it.”

  Both men leaned their rifles against the wooden fence and got ready to throw their respective projectiles. Phil got his Zippo out and flicked it on. The instant the flame touched the M-80’s wick the fuse hissed to life, spitting out sparks. Wyatt saw this and pulled the pin of the smoke grenade, and then hurled it as long and
far as he could. It sailed over the roof of the house and was followed by the hissing M-80, which Phil had flung in the same direction. Both men snatched up their rifles and tensed their muscles, ready to go.

  There were a few moments of tense silence, but then a tremendous boom ripped through the neighborhood, startling flocks of birds, that all flew out of the nearby trees in a panic. Soon afterward, plumes of smoke from the smoke grenade could be seen billowing across the front yard of the house.

  “Go, hurry!” Phil urged, hopping over the fence. He and Wyatt raced across the backyard, then clambered over the next wooden fence and sprinted across the next yard, keeping their heads low. They jumped one more fence, ran down a drive, and then found themselves on the street. They hastily scanned the street, making sure they were alone, and then jogged down it. They rounded the corner and found themselves on the edge of the town.

  “Made it,” Wyatt said, breathing hard.

  “It’ll be dark by the time we come back this way,” Phil said, also panting from the exertion of the sprint, “so we won’t need to do anything like that again. Come on, let’s get to the drugstore.”

  The red sun was touching the tops of the distant mountains now; the town would be shrouded in complete darkness soon. The men moved swiftly through the streets, using abandoned cars for cover, darting from vehicle to vehicle, and stopping at each one to carefully survey their surroundings and make sure they weren’t being watched or stalked.

  They got to within a block of the drugstore when they heard an ominous and familiar sound in the distance—a large number of two-stroke dirt bikes. Phil and Wyatt glanced at each other with looks of concern writ plain across their faces, and the unspoken question on each man’s lips was the same. Were these the same violent raiders who had chased them down in the city the previous night?

  “Sounds like they’re heading toward the town,” Wyatt growled, gripping his AR-15 tightly.

  “I’m sure they are,” Phil said. “And I doubt their intentions are friendly. We have to try to get in and out of the drugstore before they get here.”

  “Agreed. Let’s hustle.”

  The men ran to the drugstore. It was on the main strip, and it was inevitable that the bikers would at least pass by the drugstore. A roll-down steel grille had been used to protect the large, vulnerable storefront window of the drugstore from looters, but because of how dark it was inside the store, the men would have to use their lights, which would be seen clearly by anyone outside in the street through the gaps in the security grille. It was a risk they would have to take, though; without the insulin, Debbie was as good as dead.

  “No surprise that this place is locked up tight,” Wyatt remarked, looking up and down the main strip, which was strewn with abandoned vehicles but seemingly deserted.

  The steel grille was badly dented in many places, evidence that people had been trying to break in, but nobody had succeeded thus far, it seemed—at least not via the front of the store.

  “Let’s check around the side,” Phil said, pointing to a small alley on the side of the drugstore.

  They headed into the alley and saw that there was a side door that had previously been boarded up, but someone had smashed off all the boards. They walked up to the door and saw that the heavy security gate in front of it had been attacked and dented, but not yet defeated.

  “Looks like someone tried taking an ax to this security gate,” Wyatt said.

  “And the lock,” Phil said. Securing the gate was an extremely hefty padlock, which had been battered by hammers and axes, but which was still holding strong.

  “What are you gonna do?” Wyatt asked.

  Phil rummaged around in his backpack. “Use science against this thing,” he said. “I figured we might have to defeat a lock or two, so I came prepared. He handed Wyatt a portable propane torch, and a secure bottle of liquid nitrogen. “I’m gonna heat this thing up until it’s red-hot,” he said, “then I’m gonna give it a dose of liquid nitrogen. The rapid changes in temperature should make it brittle enough to shatter.”

  “All right,” Wyatt said. “I’ll watch the alley while you take care of that.”

  The sounds of the motorcycles were getting closer, and both men were aware of the immense danger they represented. Breaking the lock, though, was a task that couldn’t be rushed. Phil got busy with it right away while Wyatt stood sentry. Phil slipped on a pair of safety goggles and ignited the propane torch. Then he blasted the lock with the flame for a good minute or so until the whole lock started to glow bright red. He ditched the torch and then started pouring liquid nitrogen all over the glowing lock, which hissed and crackled. After dumping all of the liquid nitrogen onto the lock, Phil took out a hatchet and whacked the lock with the back of it. The shackle snapped, and the broken lock fell to the ground, and Phil breathed out a sigh of relief.

  “Come on, let’s get in and out of this place as fast as we can!” Phil urged, yanking open the security gate. Beyond it was a locked door, but with a few powerful kicks, they were able to kick it open.

  The sun was gone, and the alley and the street beyond were gloomy with thick shadows, and the inside of the drugstore was pitch-black. The men had no choice but to use their headlamps, even though they could hear that the bikers were getting dangerously close. Phil flicked his headlamp on, ripped Doc Robertson’s list of medication in half, and handed half of it to Wyatt. “You get what’s on this section of the list. I’ll find the stuff on mine,” he said. “Hurry!”

  The men split up and dashed through the drugstore, racing against time to try to grab what they could from Doc Robertson’s list. Phil made a beeline for the insulin and diabetic supplies; if they only got this and nothing else, then at least he would be able to save Debbie’s life. He was relieved to find a large store of insulin in one of the back rooms of the drugstore, and he took as much of it as he could safely carry. After that, he got busy grabbing what he could of the other items Doc Robertson had written down.

  He’d gotten about half of what was on the list when he heard the dreaded sound of dirt bikes rolling down the street; the bikers had arrived. He ran out to the front section of the drugstore, where Wyatt was still gathering supplies. “Time’s up, brother, let’s get the hell out of here!” he yelled.

  “Dammit!” Wyatt yelled. “I’ve only got half the stuff on the list!”

  “It doesn’t matter. They’re outside. We gotta go!”

  “Shit,” Wyatt growled, stuffing the last few items he’d grabbed into his backpack before pulling it over his shoulders. “Okay, let’s go!”

  As they bolted for the rear door, though, they heard boots running up the alley, along with shouts of aggression and wild, almost maniacal whoops. The bikers had moved faster than they’d thought, and now there was only one way out of the drugstore…and that was through the bikers.

  28

  There was no time to argue or debate or try to figure out a way to escape. They were trapped in the drugstore, and the only way out was through the rear door to the alley—the same door the bikers would be charging through in seconds.

  “Shut off your headlamp!” Phil instructed urgently.

  “Take cover behind that shelf,” Wyatt responded, after turning his headlamp off. “That way we’re covering the door from two wide angles.”

  Phil scrambled to get down behind the shelf, then kneeling, he aimed his AR-15 at the door, resting his finger lightly against the trigger. He had a clear shot at anyone who tried to come into the door from here.

  “Yo, whoever the fuck is inside the drugstore, drop your weapons and come out now with your hands up!” a voice from just outside the door roared. It was a strangely familiar voice, one Phil was sure he’d heard before. He couldn’t quite place it, though.

  “We’ll come out,” Phil yelled back, “but you allow us to leave on our terms, with our rifles in our hands!”

  “Fuck that! You get the fuck out right now, hands empty and above your heads, or you don’t come out alive, moth
erfucker!”

  Phil knew he’d heard this man’s voice somewhere before, but he couldn’t work out where. It didn’t really matter, though; it was clear that they wouldn’t be leaving the drugstore without a fight.

  “No deal!” Phil yelled.

  There was no response from the alley. Instead, a hard, round object was hurled through the door into the drugstore. From the sound it made when it bounced, Wyatt knew exactly what it was. “Grenade!” he roared, diving for cover.

  Phil couldn’t see where the grenade had landed, but he could hear it had bounced somewhere alarmingly close to him. He dropped his rifle and desperately dived over the nearby counter, only just clearing it before a deafening explosion ripped through the drugstore. Wyatt yelped with pain, and from outside came furious howls of aggression. Through the billowing clouds of smoke and debris that were making the already dark interior even darker, Phil, whose ears were ringing with a shrill whine, saw shadowy figures wearing headlamps come charging through the door. While he no longer had his rifle, he did have his .45 in a holster on his hip, and he whipped out the pistol and started firing at the intruders.

  From the other side of the drugstore came a burst of AR-15 fire; Phil knew that Wyatt was still alive and kicking. Two of the invaders dropped dead, while another howled with pain and careened into a shelf when one of Phil’s .45 rounds caught him in the leg.

  Someone outside the door pointed an AK-47 in and blindly unleashed spray of automatic fire in an arc across the store, and Phil barely managed to duck under the counter before two of the AK rounds smashed into the cash register, in front of which his head had just been. With the man firing the AK-47 covering them, two more invaders scurried into the store, these two armed with shotguns. They fired a couple of shots in Phil’s direction, keeping him pinned down and took cover behind a few shelves.