How We Survive: EMP Survival in a Powerless World

by Stone, William

He turned, watched her face go slack with worry.

  “That’s the reason they wound up here, you know. The weapons.”

  “How so.”

  “Well, he always had a sense that things could go bad, so he planned it out so that if they did, he’d be able to shelter the weapons in our bunker. It wasn’t easy. But the thought of evil, horrible people getting their hands on him made him risk everything to make sure he got them here. A court-martial, a prison term—even his…” She tried to hold back tears but couldn’t stop them in time. “I’m sorry.”

  Hatfield and his wife smothered her in a gentle hug.

  She pulled away and said, “That’s why he didn’t make it back, you know.”

  Meeting her eyes without joining her tears was tough. It seemed like something his father would do. “Jade, your husband was an honorable man. Makes me proud.”

  She nodded and mouthed the words “thank you,” launching into tears a second time. She laughed a little. “But you didn’t know him.”

  A smile found his face as he thought of his father. “Actually, in a way, I did.”

  Saying goodbye to his family wasn’t easy. He didn’t know exactly how long it would take before he’d see each other again. It started with a long hug as both kids didn’t want to let go.

  “Promise we’ll see you again, Dad?” Tami asked.

  “Of course, you will, honey. You all will. All I need from you is—” He looked down at the medicine bottle in his hand, his attention dragged away. He completed the next sentence with his eyes locked on the fine print.

  Jess seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. “Still thinking about using that as a weapon, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe. Just reading the side effects. Causes drowsiness, dizziness.”

  “I’ve told you already why it’s not a good idea.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s scarce. We need it for emergencies.”

  “Imagine I’d done this,” she said, lifting his amputated finger before his eyes. “without any anesthetic.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Very much so. And next time, it might be on somebody’s throat or chest. That’d be even worse.”

  “Okay,” she sighed. “I’ll make sure there’s plenty of this stuff for future needs.”

  “You promise?”

  He lifted two fingers. “Scouts’ honor. I’ll stay alive, and I’ll make sure we have plenty of anesthetics.”

  He surrendered another hug, then took a long look at his family before turning toward the door.

  Jade stopped him. “Actually, do you think you can take a look at the escape hatch before you take off?”

  “Sure!” He headed over and took a look, fumbling with the latch that had been pulled off its hinges. “You just need to get this back in place here,” he said, angling his arm so he could work.

  But his hands didn’t cooperate with the plan. He was too clumsy with his left hand, and his right was hampered both by the missing finger and numbness that lingered after taking the anesthetic. After a frustrated sigh, Hatfield turned and found disappointed eyes. “Sorry, guys. Unless you want me to wait until the numbness goes away, I don’t think I can—”

  “It’s fine,” Jade said. “We’ve made it this long without it functioning, so I guess we’ll be fine.”

  “Yes, you will,” he said. “As long as you don’t open that door for anybody who doesn’t give you our funky little knock. I’ll make sure I teach it to everybody else in case something happens to me and I get—” He didn’t want to say the word. But he didn’t have to. He knew everybody was thinking it anyway. They were now in a world where every day was alive with the threat of more death.

  After another quick hug, he was gone, careful not to look back.

  30

  Slipping back into the compound without getting spotted was a great deal easier for Hatfield than it had been the first time. As expected, the guard was not especially alert—not quite asleep, but drowsy enough to not notice someone climb the tree and hop the fence near the back door.

  But getting back into his family’s bedroom would be a little trickier. He crept into the room and, seconds after entering, found a pistol aimed at his temple.

  A familiar voice followed. “Okay, where are they?”

  He turned, spotted Nathan there, his face stern and heavy. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you helped them leave, didn’t you? They escaped.”

  Hatfield said nothing, the gun pressed hard against his skull, and he thought about confessing.

  “There are only two possible answers to the question. Either you helped them, or you didn’t. Which is it?”

  Still no answer.

  Nathan said, “Damn shame. You already knew you were on strike three with us, and you pull a stunt like this? You must think we’re stupid or something. Now just answer the question, and we can take you out back to take care of this. Did you or didn’t you help them?”

  From the hallway came another voice, this one also young and also familiar. “He didn’t.” This was the bearded gangbanger. He stepped forward, face heavy with sincerity.

  Nathan’s pistol swung to the gangbanger’s face. Once locked on the new target, he spoke again, his voice harsh and angry. “Please don’t tell me you let them go.”

  “Not exactly. A smirk came over his face, like a teenager confessing a misdeed. “Well… you know how long it’s been. I started seeing the lady, and well… let’s just say certain urges came over me.”

  “And?”

  “Well… and things didn’t go as well as planned. The woman wasn’t as cooperative as I hoped she would be. We had a little misunderstanding, and…”

  “And what? You let her escape?”

  “Not exactly. I got a little upset and made a few threats. I was going to kill her kids if she didn’t give me what I wanted, then I was going to kill her.”

  “Then what?”

  He dropped his head in shame, spoke in a low voice. “Well, I just got back inside. I had to do some digging.”

  “You killed all of them?”

  He nodded.

  Nathan scanned both faces before him, eyes narrow as if not sure who or what to believe. After a tense few seconds, he slipped his gun back into the holster. “From now on, no killings happen without my authorization. Do you understand that?”

  The bearded gangbanger nodded.

  “And as for you,” Nathan’s finger found Hatfield’s face. “If I find out you’re playing games with me, you’re finished.” He stormed away.

  The bearded gangbanger waited for his boss to leave before he turned to the man he’d just lied to protect.

  Hatfield studied the man’s face. “That was awfully nice of you. Why’d you do it?”

  The bearded gangbanger laughed. “You don’t think it’s possible that I could have developed a conscience in the last few hours?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You’re right. That act of kindness came with a price tag attached.”

  “Look, I don’t have any money. And even if I did, what good would it do you?”

  “Didn’t say anything about money. Here’s the thing: I know you know something about that bunker.”

  “Bunker?”

  “Don’t play dumb, Hatfield. The bunker that had all those weapons. You know something about it, and that means you have to know something about the weapons in it.”

  “And if I do?”

  He gave his head a hard shake. “No, no. There is no ‘if.’ You know something about those weapons, and that means you know how I can get my hands on them.”

  “Don’t you guys have enough weapons already?”

  “I want them all.”

  “Why?”

  “You let me worry about that. I just want access to them, and if you don’t want me to spill the truth about your family, you’ll tell me what I need to hear.”

  But Hatfield was worried about something else. The gangbanger’s choice of words. “I’m noticing you’re
saying ‘I’ and ‘me’ a lot. Not ‘us’ and ‘we.’”

  “That’s very perceptive of you. I want to build an army for myself. That’s where you come in. You help me; I’ll spare your life.”

  “Only my life?”

  “Yes, only yours. You can join us if you want, or you can roam free. But either way, you get your life spared.”

  The idea didn’t appeal to Hatfield, but this wasn’t the time for complete honesty. He needed to pretend to be striking a deal if he wanted to keep everyone alive. He closed the door and spoke quietly to the man. “Let me see if I understand this clearly. You want the weapons for yourself and nobody else.”

  “I’ll have two guys with me, but that’s it. You let the three of us have access to the weapons and you can have that bunker to yourself. Hell, I’ll even spare the lives of those already in the bunker. And that’s where your family is, isn’t it?”

  Reluctantly, he nodded.

  The bearded guy gestured that he was keeping his lips zipped. “Cool. You let me have the weapons and the Hatfield clan lives happily ever after. You don’t; you die. Simple as that.”

  The wheels in his mind spun into a blur. “Okay, I need you to get rid of those guys for a few hours tomorrow morning. Then we can go over, get the weapons, and let me go back home to my family. Deal?”

  “You got it. Tomorrow morning, we’ve got a few hours alone. You try to get cute and you will pay the highest price you can imagine. And you know good and well that without you, your family can’t survive, either.”

  Hatfield stared at the man, looking for an opening, idea, anything. He sipped from his test tube, giggling to himself. Then he strolled away, whistling like a man about to inherit a throne.

  Hatfield’s dreams were hellish that night, a surreal mixture of danger and puzzling messages. Worst of all was how quickly his dreams ended. He woke up, hands tagged behind his back and gagged on the wooden floor of the hallway. Once his vision snapped into focus, the scenario became more frightening. He saw the hallway’s floor lined with the bodies of homesteaders. Unable to climb to an upright position, he used his feet to push himself over, checking to see what had happened.

  After a quick scan, they all seemed to be alive, but like him, they’d been hogtied and gagged. The door to the next room was open. He tried to slide closer to it to see what—if anything—was happening in there.

  But sliding quietly wasn’t possible. Something in his back pocket was scraping loudly along the floor. He clumsily reached for it and fished it out. Then he twisted himself over to take a look at what it was. It was the medication he’d gotten from Jade’s bunker—the one he promised not to misuse.

  With his pocket now free, he held the medication in his hand and silently slid toward the door, immediately hearing the sound of a baritone humming to himself inside. He looked up and found the bearded gangbanger gazing out of the window and basking in the early morning sunlight as he cleaned his rifle.

  On his bed, leaned against the pillow, he spotted the steaming test tube. An idea hit his head like a bolt from an electric fence. The medication was right there in his grip. Yes, he’d promised to save plenty of the medication for emergency use, but surely there would be plenty remaining after he’d taken care of the bearded gangbanger. There was only one of him, after all.

  Hatfield tried to creep closer to the test tube, but that would be tricky—maybe impossible without his movement being detected.

  But still, he was only roughly six feet away, seven at the most. And he was preoccupied with cleaning his rifle. If only he could have gotten a distraction.

  Without looking up from his gun, the bearded gangbanger yelled, “Say, Mo! You need any more bullets in that thing? I got plenty!”

  The shout brought Hatfield’s heart to a thunderous pound. Not only did it startle him, but it also made it clear that there was at least one other gangbanger around. Worse yet, Hatfield wasn’t sure where he was. So even drugging the bearded guy wouldn’t complete the task.

  Just as his mind raced in search of answers, the other gangbanger answered from outside the hallway. “No, I got plenty myself!” That call seemed to come from the living room.

  Hatfield shifted his eyes, trying to look out of the hallway to get a sense of where he was exactly.

  Just then, the bearded gangbanger called out to somebody else. “How about you, Rick? You doing okay on bullets?”

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” Rick answered. This call seemed to come from the kitchen.

  The bearded gangbanger had more to say. “Hell of a performance by Rick. That jackass Nathan really bought your story about you finding a bunch of junk food lying around somewhere.”

  “Yeah, well,” Rick answered. “I figured everybody would be sick of all this damn rabbit food these homesteaders like to eat all the time. Seemed like a good way to get rid of them.”

  As Hatfield tried to creep closer, the bearded gangbanger went on, his gaze still landing on his rifle. “I just hope these sons-of-bitches bring back some potato chips. I swear on my pet boa if I have to eat one more—”

  Hatfield froze, troubled by the gangbanger’s sudden stop. With his eyes sealed shut, he heard heavy footsteps come closer. Within seconds he heard and felt the guy’s breath on his face. “Is it just me, Rick, or is this dude moving?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I swear I put him down at the other end of the hallway.”

  The bearded gangbanger grabbed Hatfield by the ankles and slid him down the hallway. He did his best to keep his eyes shut and his body limp. Also, he had to make sure he didn’t drop the medication bottle on the floor, so he kept his hands firmly clasped and behind his back.

  From there, he heard the footsteps move away in a slightly different direction, eventually ending with the slam of a creaky door that he recognized as the bathroom door. Knowing he didn’t have much time before he’d be back, Hatfield widened his eyes and gazed into the bedroom, immediately spotting the steaming test tube on the bed and the rifle next to it, chamber open and bullets on the pillow.

  He tilted his head, hoping he could tell by the sounds how much time he had, then pressed his back against the bedroom door in an effort to lift himself off the floor.

  But it didn’t go well. He hit the hardwood with a loud thump. Hatfield froze, more cautious now and tried the same move more slowly. This time he reached his feet and came all the way up, medication bottle still—barely—in his grip.

  From there, he took quiet steps to the bed, trying to lift the top off the bottle. He got halfway there, then desperately tugged at it. But the top was stubborn, not coming up no matter how much effort he’d put into it.

  He tugged harder, yanking with all his might, teeth clenched, forehead creased. When it finally snapped open, a teaspoon or so of it spilled on the floor. He ignored it, charging ahead with his plan as he turned around, tried to angle the bottle toward the test tube and pour just enough to get the job done.

  Craning his neck in agony to see what he was doing, he poured about a tablespoon of it, then he reached down and gave the tube a shake, hoping the medication wouldn’t wind up in one suspicion-raising blob.

  Then came more footsteps, harder and a little faster than before headed directly to the bedroom. Hatfield went to his knees, hitting the floor with as little noise as he could manage, then slid himself to the bedroom door, making extra effort to keep the now-open bottle from spilling.

  From there, he could see he’d forgotten something. The puddle of medication was right there.

  The footsteps got louder and closer. Crawling back to wipe up his spill would take superhuman speed. No choice but to leave it. He pressed his feet against the wall and gave himself a hard shove, sliding down the hallway just seconds before the footsteps reached the hallway.

  He could hear and feel the bearded gangbanger’s steps just miss his body as he went down the hallway. Once there, he seemed to stop. Nearly a minute went by without a sound.

  Hatfield panicked, worr
ied that he was standing at the door, leering down at him. He gave his eyelids a slight lift, seeing nothing at the doorway.

  “Doggone it, Rick!” he called from the bedroom. “You think you could maybe pour this liquor so that you can get as much in the tube as on the floor!”

  “What’s that?” Rick answered from a distant room.

  “Never mind.”

  He could now hear the guy gulping down the mystery liquid, then placing the tube on the windowsill. Seconds later, he heard the metallic clank of the bearded gangbanger lifting his rifle. And the clanks weren’t done. He now heard the chamber being slammed shut and the rifle being cocked.

  As Hatfield waited for the medication to take effect, an eternity seemed to pass. The bearded gangbanger stepped to the door and paused. Several seconds went by, sending panic through Hatfield as he wondered about what he was hearing—and what he was not hearing.

  All at once, the gangbanger’s body landed loudly on the hardwood floor. Hatfield slowly opened his eyes to see him splayed in the doorway, rifle halfway down the hallway.

  “The hell was that?” Rick called from the kitchen.

  Hatfield slipped the medication bottle back into his pocket, then shoved himself to the rifle. A lucky break, although he’d need free hands before he could take advantage of it.

  And a yell from the kitchen hinted that time was running short. “What’s wrong? You had a few too many hits from the homemade hooch?”

  Hatfield turned, angled his roped hands to the gun’s turret, feeling for the sharpest thing he could find. Noticing a sharp edge along the turret, he lowered his hands and brought his wrists to a sawing motion, moving as quickly as he could without making a sound.

  Another call from the kitchen. “You okay in there?”

  More sawing, faster. Hard to do quietly.

  “You okay?” Rick repeated, his voice now closer, footsteps on their way to the hallway.

  No time to keep things quiet. He had to get those hands free and the rifle in his grip. He’d snapped the rope off just as the steps got there.

  A shirtless, leather-vested gangbanger stood before him, gawking. He dove for the rifle, getting there seconds after Hatfield could yank it away from him. The guy landed a haymaker on his opponent’s chin, then reached again for the rifle.