Darkness Grows: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (After the EMP Book 2)

by Harley Tate

  At last, Madison lifted her head and met Peyton’s troubled stare. “Find some tape and bind his arms and legs. We need to keep this contained.”

  Chapter Ten

  WALTER

  Cabin in Northern California

  8:00 p.m.

  Walter turned around, a dust-covered tin in each hand. “Tell me you like sardines.”

  Drew sat up just enough on the couch to scope out the stash. “Aw man, seriously? A whole cabinet full of sardines? Gross.”

  “Don’t knock ’em ’til you try them.” Walter tossed a tin at Drew and the man managed to catch it, only half-falling off the couch in the process.

  “You’re serious?”

  “Indeed, I am. There have to be fifty tins up here, all a few years old. We can eat a couple and if the owner of the cabin shows up, he or she won’t even miss them.”

  “You seriously still care about the owner of this place? Look around. Every surface is covered in an inch of dust. Whoever owns it hasn’t been here in years. We don’t need to worry about eating an expired stash of sardines.”

  Walter exhaled. “Humor me, okay?”

  “Fine.” Drew stood up and made a show of hobbling over.

  As he sat down at the table, Walter motioned to his feet. “How are the blisters?”

  “Terrible. I don’t know how I’m going to hike out of here tomorrow.”

  “Duct tape.” Walter popped the top on the can and the pungent odor of the fish hit his nostrils. He scooped an oil-coated fillet out with his finger and popped it in his mouth. “There’s got to be some around this place.”

  Drew watched him eat like he’d just chomped down on someone’s eyeball, the horror of it contorting his mouth with every chew. “How is tape going to help? I don’t have a hole in my shoes or socks.”

  Walter swallowed down the tasty morsel before scooping out another. “Simple. We duct tape your feet. The blisters will stop hurting then.”

  “But what happens to them? If my feet are all covered in tape, how will they get better?”

  “They won’t. But you want to get home, right? Sometimes life is crap. You have to suck it up.” Walter slurped down the rest of the tin, dripping every last bit of oil into his mouth, before leaning back. “I love a good sardine.”

  Drew shook his head. “I knew you were crazy, but I had no idea how deep the psychosis went.”

  Walter laughed—a true, belly-shaking, wrinkle-generating, laugh. Something he hadn’t done since the power went out. “So tell me about you, Drew. We’ve been co-pilots off and on for years, but I don’t know much more than you wear prissy shoes and don’t like the best fish to come out of a can.”

  Drew laughed and shook his head. “Not much to tell. I wanted to be a pilot since forever, so as soon as I graduated, I started saving up. Worked everything from bus boy to lawn mower and put myself through flight school.”

  “No debt?”

  “Some that I’m still paying off. Or, was, anyway.” Drew glanced down at his hands. “I met this amazing girl last year. Anne.” Drew smiled, but Walter could see the fear in his eyes. “We were supposed to get married next month. At a golf course up in Granite Bay.”

  Walter nodded. The more he could open Drew up about his past and the woman he loved, the more Drew would see the importance of their current mission.

  Getting home could be the only objective. Not rest or recovery. Not camping out in the forests of Northern California like a pair of overgrown Boy Scouts while the world fell down around them. Home mattered. Family mattered.

  He motioned at Drew’s unopened can. “You should eat.”

  Drew glanced down at it, hesitating. “I’m not a big seafood fan.”

  “You need the calories. Believe me, there’s a whole hell of a lot worse stuff you could be eating.”

  “I take it you know from experience.”

  Memories of SERE school filled his mind, but Walter just smiled. “Yep. So open that damn can and eat some fish.”

  Drew frowned, but did as Walter asked, peeling back the lid of the tin before digging out a fillet. “You really just pop the whole thing in your mouth?

  Walter nodded.

  Drew scowled as he opened his mouth, the tendons in his neck popping out as he braved a bite. You’d think the man was about to swallow a live scorpion.

  As Drew chewed, Walter brought the conversation back around. “So how did you and Anne meet?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

  “Try me.”

  Drew managed to swallow down another fish before leaning back in his chair. “She ran into me.”

  Walter raised an eyebrow. “What’s so special about that? It happens everyday.”

  “While carrying a three-layer chocolate cake. She was the catering assistant for my best friend’s wedding.” Drew grinned. “His bride still won’t forgive me for smashing a thousand-dollar wedding cake.”

  “But it was an accident.”

  “Try explaining that to a woman wearing forty pounds of hand-beaded silk while you’re wiping frosting off your eyelashes and picking bits of cake out of a hot chick’s hair.”

  “Anne?”

  “The one and only.” Drew sat up. “Even covered in white frosting and chocolate cream filling she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I asked her out right then, and the rest is history.”

  As soon as the words slipped out, Drew frowned. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, as he worked his jaw back and forth. At last, he glanced up. “Do you think she’s all right?”

  Walter wanted more than anything to tell the man sitting across from him, yes, your fiancée is fine. But he couldn’t lie. “There’s not a minute that goes by that I’m not thinking about my wife and daughter and whether they are okay. Madison is in college at UC Davis and Tracy works close to downtown at a small library.”

  He swallowed hard. “For all I know my daughter never made it out of school and is stuck on campus with no power, no running water, nothing but her wits and a ten by ten doom room to survive in.”

  “And your wife?”

  “I have to believe she’s still alive. I think she knew about the potential for this sort of thing. The only text she sent me that went through told me to come home. That things could be worse than I thought.”

  Walter balled his hand into a fist. He was so full of regret over his choices the day the grid failed. He should have gone with his gut and feigned an illness, refused to fly, walked out of the airport, and gone straight home.

  Instead he sat in the captain’s chair and flew a plane into the great unknown and watched as the lights blinked out for as far as he could see. “If I don’t have faith and hope, then what do I have?”

  Drew nodded slowly. “Anne works all over the city. She drives a delivery van from Rocklin to Elk Grove. If the power went out when she was on a job…” His voice cracked and Drew paused to run a hand through his hair. “She could be anywhere. She could be hurt, hungry, afraid, and I’m not there to protect her. I’m not there to—”

  Walter reached out and put a hand on Drew’s arm. “All we can do is work to get home as quickly as possible. If Anne isn’t home when you get there, you can start a search. Go to her work, break in if you have to. Find her schedule, track her down. Cars still work. You can do what we talked about earlier and siphon gas if you have to.”

  With every word of encouragement Walter uttered a little life came back into Drew’s eyes. “You’re right. I can’t give up.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Walter didn’t tell Drew all the other thoughts inside his head. The bad ones. The horror of the future without electricity that he saw every time he closed his eyes.

  Over the past twenty years family farms vanished like smoke up and down the Central Valley. Giant, corporate behemoths bought the land and converted self-sustaining operations into one-crop mega-farms built on the back of irrigation and fertilizer and chemicals.

  He didn’t begrudge them. Profitable busin
esses meant jobs and food and security when times were good. But without power, those farms couldn’t survive. Without factories making the fertilizer and power running the massive irrigation systems, the crops would wither in a matter of days.

  Every time Madison came home from college on break she talked about the advances in farming and how it had become as tech-savvy an enterprise as mobile phones and computers and cars.

  People didn’t get their fresh vegetables and meat from their backyard or even the farmer’s market anymore. They got it from a shelf in the nearest grocery store. When those shelves didn’t refill themselves, what would all the people do?

  Rural communities might band together, he supposed. But a place as large as Sacramento with half a million people in the city itself and another two million clustered around the outside?

  No one stood a chance. He pushed back his chair and sighed. “We need to get home. The faster we get there, the sooner we can pack up and leave.”

  Drew looked like he’d just swallowed a lemon. “Leave? Why?”

  “Safety. Lack of resources. A million other reasons. It won’t be safe there. We’ll have to move out, find somewhere secluded, and start over.”

  Drew shook his head. “Sometimes I don’t know who the hell you are.”

  Walter shrugged. “I’m the same man I’ve always been. Only now, the stakes have changed.”

  Drew opened his mouth to say something when a noise startled them both. Walter rushed to the lantern and turned it off.

  “Did you hear that?”

  Walter hushed Drew and ran to his bag. “Grab your things. If that’s what I think it is, we’ll need to make a run for it.”

  Chapter Eleven

  WALTER

  Cabin in Northern California

  9:00 p.m.

  “What’s going on? Is someone out there?”

  For once, Walter wished Drew would just take his advice. “Shut up. Do you want them to hear us?” He slung his bag over his shoulder and crept toward the front door. “We’ll try and go out the front first. If they’re far enough away, they won’t see us.”

  “And if they do?” Drew’s voice came out muffled as he worked on securing his things.

  “Run like hell.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  Walter moved toward the front door, hoping Drew could see him in the dark. He held up his fist to halt. “If they start shooting, just run. Try to head south, but if you get confused, it’s okay. What’s important is that you don’t get shot.”

  The ragged exhale of the air in Drew’s lungs was the only reply. Better than nothing. Walter paused beneath the front window, rising up until his eyes cleared the sill. Somewhere out there at least two, if not more, men were approaching. It didn’t take years of training and experience to hear the sounds of laughter and raucous carrying on, but Walter was thankful for his background all the same.

  If only he had the appropriate gear.

  From his vantage point, he could barely make out the hood of a car—late model, four-door sedan of some sort—with the trunk up. A light beam bounced around behind it, intermittently darting in the cabin’s direction and then back to the trunk. If he slowed his breathing, he could hear voices, but couldn’t make out the words.

  As Walter tried to count the number of intruders, the trunk slammed and the flashlight beam lit up the car. Oh, shit.

  “We need to go out the back. We can crawl through the window.”

  “What’s wrong? How many are there?”

  “Too many. Let’s go.”

  Walter counted five men. All solid, with beer guts and thick necks and at least two shotguns slung over shoulders. One retired lieutenant colonel and a civilian pilot were no match for a car full of hunters in the forest.

  He eased the lock shut on the front door and motioned for Drew to head toward the back. They needed to get the hell out of there before those guys got inside.

  “What happened to tough guy Walt who punches first?”

  “This isn’t one I can win. Get moving. We don’t have much time.”

  As they neared the window, the voices out front picked up.

  “I mean it, Travis. This is the end of the whole goddamn world. It’s gonna be just like them TV shows I keep tellin’ you ’bout. Just wait.”

  Drew shoved his bag through the window and lifted one foot.

  Walter stared at the man’s sock in disbelief. “Where are your shoes?”

  “In my bag. I can’t put them on. We didn’t find the duct tape, remember?”

  Lord have mercy, this man is going to get me killed. Walter practically shoved Drew through the window after that, following up with his bag before Drew even cleared out of the way.

  As he lifted himself up to ease through the frame, the front door handle jiggled. He slipped through just as the door swung open.

  “Welcome to it, boys. It’s the Shangri-La of Six Rivers forest.”

  “It’s a dump.”

  “Watch it now, or you’re gonna find yourself strung up outside by your toes. I paint your face in honey and I bet all the bears’ll come after you.”

  “Shut up, Billy. I ain’t lettin’ nobody do nothin’ like that.”

  “You ain’t the one with the shotgun now, are ya?”

  Walter pushed Drew toward the rail as the men inside carried on. They needed to get as far away from the cabin as possible before anyone noticed they had been there. After slinging his bag back over his shoulder, he jumped the rail and landed with a thud on the ground. Drew followed, wincing as he landed in shoeless feet.

  “Hey! Hold up. What’s all this shit? I thought you told me this place was empty?”

  Oh, no. Walter pointed. “Run, Drew. Get at least a hundred yards into the trees before you turn south.”

  “Which way is south?”

  The voices from inside turned to shouts. “Someone’s been in here!”

  “Get me that damn lantern.”

  “Billy! Get the gun, boy!”

  “Run!” Walter took off, dragging Drew a few steps until the man got it together enough to move on his own. Thank goodness Walter’s change of clothes included a dark shirt, otherwise he would be as easy to spot as a white rabbit in the forest.

  Every step got them farther away from the bad end of a pair of shotguns and the crazy fools now occupying the cabin. Walter couldn’t take on five guys with weapons, even if he’d been twenty years younger and well-rested. The only thing to do was run and hope like hell those overweight guys back there couldn’t keep up or aim well enough to make it not matter.

  “Where are we going?” Drew huffed out the question between haggard breaths. “I can’t see anything. I’m going to hit a tree.”

  “Just keep going. We’ve got to get far enough away that we aren’t worth the chase. A mile at least.”

  “You’re serious?” Drew groaned and slipped back half a step. “I can’t go that far, man. My feet are torn to shreds.”

  “You’d rather be shot?”

  “No.”

  “Then run faster.” Walter grabbed Drew by the arm and forced him to keep up the grueling pace. Sweat slicked his back, dripped off his nose, and stung his eyes with every step, but Walter wasn’t stopping.

  His wife and daughter needed him home alive. Getting shot a three-hour drive from home wasn’t how he was going to end it all.

  Sounds of voices could still be heard behind them, but the shouts grew fainter the farther they ran. The thought they might escape made him push harder, run faster.

  As they ducked around a large pine, Walter’s foot caught on a hidden root and he stumbled. His hands shot out on instinct, bracing for a fall, but he managed to keep himself upright. Drew wasn’t so lucky.

  The man fell, landing hard on the ground as his bag flew over top of him and into a pile a leaves.

  “Drew! Are you okay? Drew!” Walter crouched beside him, running his hands over his back, feeling for lacerations.

  Drew groaned and rolled
onto his side. “I think I chipped a tooth.” His former co-pilot sat up, feeling around his face for cuts. “Help me up, would you? We should keep going.”

  Walter stood and held out his arm. As Drew stood, he cried out and lifted his left foot. “Damn it. I did something, Walt. I don’t know if it’s broken or sprained, but my ankle is messed up.”

  “Can you walk?”

  Drew tried to put some weight on his foot, but he shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  Walter bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t carry Drew and they weren’t far enough away from the cabin to be safe. They needed to keep moving.

  What on earth were they going to do? Walter helped Drew ease back down onto the ground. “Rest your foot up on the log. You need to elevate it to keep the swelling down.”

  Drew did as he was told. “What are we going to do?”

  Walter wiped the sweat and grime from his brow. “I don’t have a clue. We need to keep moving to be safe. Maybe I can find a fallen limb you can use as a cane or a crutch. With enough time, I could make a litter and drag you.”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “Any ideas Mr. Two Left Feet?”

  “Hey! It was an accident!”

  Walter held up his hands in apology as light caught his eye. It blinked out as quickly as it appeared.

  “What was that?” Drew shifted, trying to spot it again. “There! Look! I think it’s headlights!”

  Drew was right. A car was working its way up the hill toward the cabin. It had to be a ways off, but it would pass them soon. Walter turned to Drew. “Stay here. I’m going to flag that vehicle down.”

  “What if it’s the guys from the cabin?”

  “It’s a risk I have to take. You need medical attention and I can’t get us out of here on my own. Stay put.”

  “What if you don’t come back?”