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

by Walker, Robert J.

  “What the—”

  “RPG, get the hell out of the Humvee!”

  Both men flung open the doors and dove out of the Humvee just as Jackson fired the RPG. The rocket streaked through the air and slammed into the front of the Humvee in a massive explosion, the force of which hurled Wyatt and Phil through the air. The Humvee’s armor was strong, but not strong enough to resist an RPG, and the bonnet and motor—the area that took a direct hit—were destroyed, incapacitating the vehicle.

  The explosion left Wyatt and Phil stunned and feeling concussed, and their ears rang with a shrill, monotonous whine, but neither of them sustained any serious injuries. Phil’s machine-gunning of the stables had killed all the attackers in the roof there, so, sheltered from Jackson and his men by the burning hulk of the Humvee, they had a clear path of cover to get back to the rear of the farmhouse, half of which was now on fire.

  “Come on, get up!” Phil yelled, struggling to his feet through the disorientation he felt. He grabbed Wyatt’s collar and tried to pull him up. If Jackson and his men charged now, they would easily be able to take out Phil and Wyatt, who were caught out in the open.

  “That son of a bitch,” Wyatt groaned. He’d taken more of an impact from the RPG blast than Phil had, and he felt like he’d been hit by a wrecking ball. A deep pain throbbed through his entire right torso, and he suspected he’d broken a few ribs. Despite his pain, he understood the danger he was in and forced himself to get to his feet.

  Phil wrapped his arm around Wyatt and gave him some support, and they hurried across the gap between the Humvee and the house, while Fred and Eddie used their last few bullets to provide cover fire for them and temporarily pin Jackson down.

  “Through the house!” Phil yelled at Eddie and Fred. “Go through the house, meet us out back! The stables have been cleared out. You can move!”

  “We’re out of ammo!” Eddie yelled.

  “It doesn’t matter, just go, go now!” Phil yelled back.

  He and Wyatt got around the rear of the house, where they were protected from gunfire, and a few seconds later, Fred and Eddie burst out of the back door, coughing and gasping, their faces blackened from smoke.

  “The whole place is going up in flames!” Fred gasped.

  It was devastating to see his home being consumed by fire, but Phil knew he simply had to ignore it; they had to get to the barn to make a last stand and give everyone a chance to escape before Jackson and his remaining goons overran them.

  “Leave it!” Phil said. “Come on, to the barn! Wyatt, give Eddie your AR!”

  Wyatt was too badly injured to fire a rifle now, and he handed Eddie his AR-15. “It’s got one full clip left,” he groaned. “Use it well, Eddie.”

  “You two go first,” Phil instructed. “Move between sandbags and get to the barn. We’ll give you cover fire until you get to the first set of sandbags, then you do the same for us while we move, got it?”

  “Got it, Phil,” Eddie said. “Come on, Fred, let’s move!”

  The two of them raced across the open ground to the first set of sandbags, while Phil laid down some cover fire. He had to pick his shots carefully because he only had two clips left for his AR-15. Once the two of them reached the sandbags, they exchanged fire with Jackson and his troops, some of whom had raced across the open ground and taken cover by the burning porch. Phil focused his attention on these men and managed to take out two of them with accurate shots to their torsos.

  After a hair-raising set of sprints between sandbag piles, with bullets whizzing all around them and thudding into the sandbags, Phil, Wyatt, Eddie, and Fred got to the barn. This was it; this was where the last of the defenders were holed up.

  “Dad!” David yelled from the roof of the barn, where he was firing at the invaders from behind a pile of sandbags. “We’re running real low on ammo here!”

  “How many of them are left out there?” Phil asked.

  “I can’t really tell!” David yelled back. “But at least a dozen, I think! And…oh shit!”

  “What’s wrong?!” Phil yelled.

  “The big guy, he’s loading up his RPG again!”

  “Take him out!”

  “I can’t!” David yelled. “I can’t get a clear shot at him! Oh no, I think he’s gonna shoot it at the barn!”

  “Get out of the roof, everyone!” Phil yelled. “Jump! Get out now!”

  David, Alice, and a few other women who’d been shooting from the roof section jumped down into the piles of hay below, and just as David and the last of the defenders in the roof jumped, a tremendous explosion blew the entire roof section to pieces in a billowing fireball of flying debris.

  Phil knew now that the battle was lost; they’d fought hard, and their strategy and expert marksmanship had almost overcome the enemy, but in the end, Jackson’s superior numbers had simply overwhelmed them. If his people were to survive the rest of the night, they had to leave now. From outside came the sound of roars of triumph at the sight of the top of the barn being blown apart. Jackson’s men had been filled with a fresh burst of courage and confidence, and they would surely charge the barn now in their final assault.

  “Everyone, go!” Phil roared, his voice hard with authority. “It’s over! Get out of here!”

  “Lead the way, Phil!” Eddie said. “I’ll take up the rear and hold ‘em off as best I can!”

  “No,” Phil said grimly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  38

  “Phil, I know you said you were going to fight until the end,” Alice said, her teary eyes pleading, “but it’s one thing to say it to inspire people, but it’s another thing altogether to—”

  “I’m staying, no matter what,” Phil said to her. The hard, stubborn look he fired into her eyes told her that he wouldn’t be budging from this position.

  She knew that look well and understood that this was something he had made his mind up about and would not be shifted from.

  “Wyatt, lead the way,” he added, shooting Wyatt a somber glance.

  Wyatt, having grown up with Phil, also knew this look well, and knew that there would be no arguing with him on this. “I’ll see you at sunrise tomorrow on the island,” Wyatt said, giving Phil one last respectful nod before turning around and hobbling down the stairs into the cellar, where the tunnel was.

  “What are the rest of you waiting for?” Phil yelled, tears rimming his eyes. “Follow Wyatt, go on, get out of here! That’s an order!”

  “Goodbye, Dad,” David said, tears running down his cheeks.

  “Come on, kid,” Fred said, putting an arm around David’s shoulder and gently leading him away. “You’ll see your dad tomorrow.” Fred, however, also had tears in his eyes, and there was no conviction in his words.

  “I’m staying too,” Alice sobbed, weeping. “I’m not leaving you here to die alone, Phillip McCabe!”

  “I’ll be fine, Alice,” Phil said, his voice cracking. “But you need to go. Now.”

  He made eye contact with Eddie, and the big man knew what Phil wanted him to do. Eddie walked over to Alice and picked her up, slinging her over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. She screamed and struggled, but the huge man was far too powerful for her to fight, so after a few seconds of struggling, she gave in, and her body went limp, and she sobbed and wept as Eddie carried her down the stairs.

  “I love you, Alice!” Phil called out after them. “Always remember that, baby. I love you so very, very much!”

  Eddie and Alice disappeared down the stairs, and then Phil was alone. He didn’t have too much time to sit and reflect on this, though, because a Molotov cocktail smashed through one of the windows and exploded in a whooshing fireball a few yards from Phil. He just avoided being splattered with burning gasoline, but some of the flaming liquid landed on a hay bale, which quickly went up in flames. It only took a few seconds for the fire to jump to more hay bales, and soon the wooden walls of the barn were on fire too.

  Phil looked around him, rapidly assessing the sit
uation and trying to figure out a plan. The main doors of the barn were blocked shut from the inside, and Jackson and his remaining men would have to ram through them with a large vehicle, which they didn’t have. Of course, they might be waiting for the barn to burn down with him inside it, but he didn’t think Jackson was the kind of man who was patient enough to just wait out a slow victory like that. No, Jackson was a vengeful man who wanted to look into his enemy’s eyes before he died, and Phil was sure he would be coming into the barn to deal with him personally. The only way to do that was through the back door, where everyone had come in from the farmhouse. That, or climbing up the hay bales outside to drop through the roof. Given that Jackson and his men had just blown the roof off, and the structures up there had doubtless been weakened—not to mention the threat of the flames creeping up the walls—Phil was almost certain that his men would come through the rear door.

  “Well, Jackson, I’ve got a few little surprises in store for you and your buddies,” Phil growled, a fresh sense of determination flowing through his veins. He hastily checked his ammunition. He had a few rounds left in his AR, and just one clip in his .45. It wasn’t much, but it was enough, he hoped. After that, if it came down to hand-to-hand combat, he had a bowie knife strapped to his left calf, and there were a few axes in the barn too.

  One of the defenders had also left behind a double-barreled shotgun. Phil had some duct tape and fishing line in his utility belt, and he hurriedly duct-taped the shotgun to some agricultural machinery near the back door, with the muzzles aimed in the direction of the door, and covered it up with a rag, then quickly tied the fishing gut to the triggers and ran it behind the pile of sandbags where he’d make his final stand.

  Another Molotov cocktail came flying through one of the windows at the far end of the barn, and exploded into a huge fireball, spreading more flames through the already-burning barn. A strange instinct screamed silently in Phil’s mind for him to get down, and just as he dived to the floor behind the sandbags, a deep drumming resounded through the barn as someone outside it started pumping machine gun fire through it. Jackson had taken the M-60 out of the damaged Humvee, loaded up another belt of ammo, and was spraying the whole barn with bullets.

  Phil lay flat on the ground, listening to the sound of bullets thumping into the sandbags and whizzing through the air over his head. He waited for a few seconds after the M-60 had stopped and then yelled out, “I’m still in here, Jackson! If you want to take me out, you’re gonna have to come in and get me!”

  “My pleasure, cowboy!” Jackson roared from outside the barn.

  Phil laid his .45 on top of the sandbags, ready to fire, and then took aim at the door with his AR-15. Two men charged in through the door, guns blazing, but Phil cut them down with his last few AR rounds. He tossed the empty rifle aside and snatched up the .45, but just then, there was a massive explosion that covered him in a cloud of debris and left his ears ringing; Jackson had just fired the RPG into the main barn doors, blowing them wide open.

  Phil barely had time to even think before five men came charging through the main doors, while two more came through the rear door. Phil fired the .45 from his right hand, gripping the fishing line in his left, and managed to kill two of the attackers with headshots, and then yanked the fishing line as the first of the men came in through the rear door. The shotgun blast took half the first attacker’s head off, and then when the next one came in after him, Phil pulled on the second fishing line, firing the other barrel, which took the man square in the chest.

  Bullets thumped into the sandbags from the remaining attackers, but Phil returned fire, taking the three of them out when they tried to rush his sandbags. His heart was hammering, and adrenalin was surging through his veins. A strange silence settled over the barn, aside from the roaring of the spreading flames. Had he done it? Was this it?

  Then, through the billowing smoke strode a tall, powerful figure, gripping an AK-47 in one hand and a saber in the other. “You still in here, cowboy?” Jackson asked, grinning.

  Phil stood up and pointed his .45 at Jackson. “It’s just you and me now, asshole,” he growled. “So come on, let’s finish this.”

  Jackson raised his AK, and Phil squeezed the trigger of his .45, but there was no bang; he was out of bullets. Jackson’s AK clicked impotently, too; he was also out of ammo. He dropped the empty rifle and switched to the cavalry saber to his right hand, while Phil tossed his .45 aside and drew his bowie knife, holding it in his right hand, and took an ax off the nearby wall, which he held in his left hand.

  “I’m gonna enjoy this,” Jackson snarled, grinning savagely as he twirled the saber around in his hand.

  Without another word, the men charged at each other. Phil swung his ax at Jackson’s head, but the big man was surprisingly agile, and he ducked rapidly under the attack, spun on his heel, and whipped the saber around in a backhand slash. Phil screamed as the razor-sharp steel sheared through his wrist, and stumbled backward, staring in disbelief and shock at the blood-spurting stump where his left hand used to be.

  “That’s one hand gone,” Jackson growled. “And I’m gonna take the other off next, cowboy…piece by piece, you’re mine…” He advanced on Phil, chuckling darkly, ready to end the fight and claim victory.

  39

  The lake was eerily calm and quiet, and the silence was even more of a physical presence in light of the fact that everyone in the two rowing boats had just come from a battlefield, and the sounds of gunfire and explosions had left their ears ringing with a shrill whine.

  Down here, miles from the ranch, there were no lights of fires and muzzles flares, and no sound but the gentle, rhythmic dipping of oars into the black water. It took fifteen minutes of rowing for the fugitives to reach the small island in the center of the lake. Here, they’d be safe from pursuit, if Jackson and his men even decided they were going to come after them, anyway.

  They reached the shore, and Eddie and Fred helped everyone out of the boats. While the others went to set up tents in the trees, Wyatt, Alice, and David stood on the shore, staring in the direction of the ranch. The sky above the ranch was orange; the whole place seemed to be on fire now. Alice was still weeping softly, and David had tears in his eyes too.

  “Do you think Dad is…” David murmured.

  “He’ll be okay,” Wyatt said stoically. He tried to bolster his words with faith, but he wasn’t sure that he would ever see Phil alive again.

  “It’s all gone,” Alice sobbed. “Everything we worked so hard for…all gone. And my husband is…he’s…”

  Wyatt put his arms around her and hugged her.

  “He’s gonna be okay,” he said to Alice. “He’s gonna be okay.” But for the first time in many years, there were tears in Wyatt’s eyes too.

  The three of them eventually made camp on the other side of the island, where they couldn’t see the orange glow on the skyline and thus be reminded of the tragedy that had befallen them. Even so, it was difficult for them to not think about the destruction of the ranch and the fact that their friend, husband, and father was likely dead by now.

  None of them had a very restful night, and sleep came to the three of them only in short, fitful intervals. Alice, in particular, didn’t sleep a wink, and instead spent most of the night tossing and turning in her sleeping bag. Sometimes she would get up and walk down to the water’s edge and simply weep.

  They were all up well before dawn. Everyone’s minds were on one thing: would Phil appear on the distant shore at sunrise, like he’d promised? Or would he fail to show up, never to be seen again?

  Alice decided to distract herself and try to keep herself busy by making food. As the darkening sky was growing grey with the coming dawn, she made a fire, opened up a few cans of food, and started making breakfast for everyone.

  Soon enough, everyone was up, and the small band of survivors gathered together on the shore to eat breakfast while the sun rose.

  “Where do we go after this if Phil…you kno
w…doesn’t…” Fred asked.

  “We head west,” Wyatt answered. “If the invaders have taken the ranch, things won’t be safe in this area for many miles. We keep going west until we’ve crossed the mountains. Maybe with the range between them and us as a buffer, we’ll be safe for a while. Maybe.”

  Everyone ate in glum silence after this. The prospect of having to trek for many days, weeks even, and cross harsh mountain terrain was daunting, as was the prospect of trying to find somewhere to start from scratch again in these difficult times.

  In the east, the red sun was already cresting the mountains. Sunrise had come, but there was still no sign of Phil. With every passing minute, Alice and David’s hearts sank deeper, and a heavy, intense feeling of despair felt as if it was slowly suffocating each of them. Everyone finished their food and went about packing up the camp in silence, preparing to move on.

  The sun was getting higher in the sky now, and it had become clear that Phil was not going to be arriving. After everyone had packed everything up, they gathered together by the water’s edge.

  “I’m sorry, Alice,” Fred said, “but I don’t think we should stay here any longer.”

  “I agree,” Eddie said, his face crumpled with sadness. “I was praying all night that I’d see Phil across the water when the sun rose…but it’s getting on into the morning now. It’s been hours since sunrise, and…well, I don’t think he’s coming. It’s dangerous for us to stay here too long; they’re gonna track us and figure out we’ve come this way. We have to move.”

  Alice, sobbing, could only nod in response. She knew they were right, but even so, it was difficult to accept the death of her husband.

  “Come on, Alice,” Wyatt said gently. “I’ll help you into the boat.”

  Everyone packed the rowing boats in silence, and once they’d been cast off from the shore, everyone starting rowing in somber silence too. After they’d got a couple of yards away from the island shore, however, this silence was broken by the distant pop and hiss of a flare being fired.