Edge of Disaster: An EMP Post-Apocalyptic Survival Prepper Series (American Fallout Book 2)

by Alex Gunwick

  “Yeah. You can use them as rain gear, for water collection, ground cover, a sun shade, a blanket—”

  “Okay, MacGyver. I get it,” Boyd said.

  “You’ve got to start thinking outside the box. We’re used to having specialized tools and equipment for every possible scenario. But those days will be over soon. When you can’t go to the store to get a lighter, how will you start a fire? When you can’t get new roof tiles for your house, how will you keep rain out?”

  “You’re assuming it’ll rain in Southern California.”

  “The drought’s been bad,” Luke said. “But one day it will end and we might be flooded. All it takes is one El Niño year. Remember ’97 and ’98? Thirty-five counties were declared federal disaster areas. Seventeen people died.”

  “I remember thinking I might need a canoe to get to work.”

  “That was a bad winter.”

  “And you think a few trash bags would make a difference if it happened again?” Boyd asked.

  “Maybe. Maybe not. But I’d rather have extra trash bags just in case.”

  “Do you really think things are going to get that bad?” Boyd asked.

  “I hope they don’t, but if we really did get hit with an EMP, we’re going to be without power for at least a year. Maybe two or more. When I get back to my family, we’re going on a supply run right away. Who knows what we’ll need in the future. I figure we’d better go grab up everything we think we might need.”

  “Smart thinking. I should do that too.”

  “I think things will get much worse before they get better,” Luke said.

  The sound of breaking glass just outside the front door caught their attention. Luke grabbed his gun and jerked his head toward the locker rooms. Boyd shoved the first aid kit into his pack and followed Luke down the hall and into the women’s locker room.

  “Should we go out and confront them?” Boyd whispered.

  “We don’t know how many people are out there. They might be armed.”

  “Good point, but I feel like a sitting duck in here.”

  “We need another way out. There’s got to be an emergency exit.”

  Luke headed farther into the locker room. After checking the shower area, he passed an empty sauna. He pushed through a set of doors. A huge pool filled the room. A quarter of the water had evaporated. A thin, scummy film floated on top. Near the rear of the pool, a faded exit sign signaled their escape route.

  Boyd jogged toward the door.

  “Wait!” Luke ran over to inspect it. “I got caught in a building yesterday and the damn alarm went off when I tried to sneak out the back door.”

  “How’s that possible? The electricity’s out.”

  “Battery backup.”

  “I don’t see anything on the door,” Boyd said. “Usually the ones with an alarm have a huge box attached to it and warning signs all over the place.”

  “It’s probably safe, but just in case, let’s haul ass once I check to make sure it’s clear outside.”

  “You don’t have to ask me twice. I’ll try not to mow you down.”

  “Run me over and I’ll put a bullet in your ass,” Luke said.

  “I was just kidding.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  Luke cracked the door open. When the alarm didn’t sound, he released the breath he’d been holding. He scanned the parking lot behind the gym. A single four-door sedan sat in the center of the lot. After checking for any sign of movement, he raced toward the car. They could use it as cover if necessary.

  Boyd knocked into him as they rounded the back of the car.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  The back door of the gym burst open and three gangbangers spilled out, AKs in hand.

  “Don’t move,” Luke whispered as he ducked behind the car.

  “Enrique, you’re trippin’, homes. There ain’t nobody back here,” one banger said.

  “I saw them, man. That guy from the warehouse. They were inside a minute ago,” Enrique said.

  “I don’t see nothing,” the third guy said. “Let’s go.”

  When they disappeared back into the building, Luke nudged Boyd.

  “Those were the same guys who had me trapped in the warehouse yesterday.”

  “The ones who shot you?”

  “Grazed me,” Luke said.

  “Grazed, shot. Shit’s all the same.”

  “Not even close.”

  “You’ve been shot before?”

  “Yeah, and I’ll tell you all about it after we get the hell out of here.”

  10

  The campfire snapped and hissed as Harvey set another log on the fire. Liz leaned back in the plastic lawn chair and fought against the need to continue to argue her point. So far, no one was interested in pooling resources. She’d tried approaching the issue from every possible angle, to no avail. Half of the group didn’t believe the blackout would last longer than a month or two. The other half didn’t want to redistribute their wealth. She couldn’t blame them; who wanted to face the reality of months, maybe years without power? Still, if they waited too long to come up with a plan, it could be too late.

  “Does anyone else have anything they want to say before we end the meeting?” Harvey asked.

  “I want to address Liz’s point about pooling resources,” Edwin said. “I do think she has a point. Now I know we can’t come to an agreement right now, but I’d like you to consider what she said. We’re stronger together than if we keep everything separate.”

  “Why should we have to share our food?” Irene asked. “I worked hard for months canning everything from my garden.”

  “But do you have enough soap?” Edwin asked.

  “What does soap have to do with anything? You can’t eat soap.”

  “No, but what if you run out of soap and Liz has some?”

  “Then we can trade,” Irene said.

  “That would require negotiation, and the more we have to negotiate with each other, the more issues we’re going to stir up. Wouldn’t it be better if we had a common pool of resources to choose from?” Edwin asked.

  “What would keep Liz from taking all of my tomatoes?” Irene flashed her a perturbed look. “She could get up one day and decide she needs every last jar of strawberry jam.”

  “I don’t like strawberries.” Liz couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. Irene never listened to reason. She seemed determined to fight Liz at every turn. Liz couldn’t understand the other woman’s hostility.

  “Fine, then my blueberry jam. You know what I meant,” Irene said.

  “Why don’t we table this discussion for tomorrow? We’ll give everyone a chance to really consider the long-term impact this decision might have on the group,” Edwin said.

  “Sounds good to me,” Franklin said. “Is the meeting over? I want to get home.”

  “We’re adjourned,” Harvey said.

  Liz stood and waited as the other neighbors filtered out of the circle.

  “Sorry about my wife,” Harvey said softly. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Your solution sounds perfectly reasonable.”

  “We need to think about the future. If this thing ends up lasting through the winter, we’ll be forced to share food whether we like it or not.”

  “I know. Let me talk to her. I’ll see if I can get her to change her mind.”

  “Good luck reasoning with her.”

  “See you tomorrow.” Harvey chuckled and gave Liz a playful pat on the shoulder as he walked past.

  Liz took the long way back to her cabin. After spending the last hour arguing what should have been an obvious solution, she needed to cool off. Fortunately the plummeting temperature helped.

  Eventually the others would understand the need to work together in every way possible. Security encompassed one small aspect of their community, but other, equally important considerations had to be discussed. If they couldn’t agree on what to do about food, winter could be much harder than necessary for some f
amilies. Thank God she had plenty of provisions locked up in the shed. Although she’d turn most of it over to the group as a sign of good faith, she planned on keeping some hidden just in case something went horribly wrong.

  As she approached the cabin, a flicker of light near the shed caught her attention. A thick cloud passed across the moon. Absolute darkness blanketed the forest.

  There. Another flicker. Not a candle…a flashlight? What were the kids doing out in the middle of the night?

  She opened her mouth to call out to them, but hesitated. What if it wasn’t the kids?

  A sliver of dread sliced down her spine. As she slowly crept forward, the moon reappeared. Shadowy figures slinked through the moonlight. One disappeared into the shed before returning with an armful of food. Her food.

  She grabbed the rifle and aimed at a man who stood guard. Without hesitation, she took a shot. The man jerked back, clutching his chest and howling with pain. Two other men rushed to his aid. She aimed at one. As the bullet blasted from the gun, the man took a step to one side. The bullet ripped into a wooden board on the side of the shed.

  One man returned fire, pinning her down behind a tree. When she tried to peek around the corner, a bullet chipped wood off the front of the tree. She ducked and returned to her hiding spot. Several additional shots cut into the oak to her right.

  Unable to move out of position, she waited helplessly while the men dragged a wagon full of food into the woods. Every time she tried to get a shot off in their direction, they fired back. She managed to rush forward two trees before they returned fire. One bullet hissed past her ear. An inch closer and it would have taken off the side of her head.

  She froze behind the tree. Her heart pounded and her chest heaved.

  A hush settled over the forest. Nothing moved, as if the earth itself was afraid to alert the men to her presence.

  She strained to hear anything that would indicate their present location. Were they moving in? Retreating? Did she dare risk another look around the corner? And where were the kids?

  Torn between wanting to check on the kids and wanting to rescue their food supply, Liz hesitated too long. If she didn’t chase the thieves immediately, she’d never get the cans back. Pooling resources with the neighbors would be a moot point. If she didn’t have anything to offer, why would they entertain her idea for a second longer than it took to reject it?

  She stepped out from behind the tree and glanced at the cabin. The windows remained covered, the lights out. As long as they stayed barricaded in the cabin, they’d be safe.

  She trekked through the woods, searching for the thieves. Although she had a damn good idea of where they were headed, she needed to be sure they hadn’t taken a side route.

  After combing through the woods for several minutes, she crossed the stream. Fresh boot prints disturbed the mud. Of course. The preacher’s men. They were headed directly toward the compound. Without backup, she couldn’t confront them without catastrophic risk. Nevertheless, she followed their trail until it terminated at the compound.

  Two men dragged a third man between them. One of the men also pulled a wagon full of food across the road toward the church’s picnic area.

  Damn them.

  Outnumbered and outgunned, she couldn’t charge down to reclaim her property. She’d have to wait for reinforcements. Hopefully once she told the group about the robbery, they’d offer to help get the food back. She couldn’t do it alone. It would be a suicide mission.

  As she backed into the shadows, her spine went rigid. If the preacher wanted war, he’d get it.

  Elijah tapped his fingers against the picnic table where he sat waiting for his men to return. They’d been gone for over three hours, much longer than they should have needed. He’d considered going into the forest to see where they were, but didn’t want to risk being shot by friendly fire.

  A quarter moon hung over the sky, throwing off enough light to outline figures approaching the edge of the forest.

  Elijah’s jaw dropped. Not again.

  Turner half-carried a man onto the road. Ivan trailed behind with a wagon full of food. He held a pistol in his free hand while his head swiveled from side to side.

  “Help me,” Turner said.

  Elijah ran over and hooked Rory’s arm over his shoulder. Rory, one of the younger men in the group, had insisted on helping on this mission. Initially, Elijah had been against it. He only wanted seasoned men on the team, but Turner had insisted on giving the young man a chance.

  “What happened?” Elijah asked.

  “He’s been shot. We need to get him into the house.”

  “Take him to mine.”

  As they approached his house, several yards behind the church, Melinda stepped out of the shadows.

  “What’s going on? Is that blood?” she asked.

  “Either help, or get out of the way,” Elijah snapped.

  Melinda scurried to the front door and opened it. She held it as Elijah and Turner pulled Rory into the room.

  “Shut the door,” Elijah said.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “He was shot,” Turner said.

  “How?”

  “Get him on the kitchen table,” Elijah said.

  “What’s all the commo—” Patrice stopped just outside the threshold to the bedroom. “Is that Rory?”

  “Go get Kat,” Elijah commanded.

  As Patrice ran to get the nurse, Melinda grabbed a pair of scissors from the counter. She quickly cut away his shirt to reveal a gaping wound in the upper left quadrant of his chest.

  Adrenaline spiked through Elijah’s stomach. He pressed his hands against the flow of blood.

  “Get a towel.”

  Melinda grabbed a towel and handed it to him.

  The door opened and Kat rushed into the room.

  “Again?” she said.

  Melinda’s gaze snapped to Kat. “What do you mean again?”

  Elijah shot Kat and Turner a death-glare. If they opened their mouths, he’d be forced to get rid of everyone in the room. He couldn’t allow the congregation to find out two members had died while they were attempting to infiltrate that woman’s property.

  Patrice stood in silent condemnation, judgment smeared across her face. When he glared, she scurried into the bedroom like a field mouse.

  “Get a bowl of hot, clean water,” Kat said, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

  As Melinda headed into the kitchen, Elijah glanced at Turner, who mumbled a prayer under his breath.

  “He’s not going to make it,” Elijah said. “He’s lost too much blood.”

  “I need more light,” Kat said.

  “I found a flashlight on the counter,” Melinda said. “Here’s the water.”

  She set a bowl of steaming water on the table. After clicking on the flashlight, she directed the light into the bullet hole. A dark mass of pulsing flesh spewed blood from its depths.

  “I need to see if the bullet hit an artery,” Kat said as she gently probed the wound. “Shit. Right there.”

  Elijah’s stomach turned. A rush of acid churned up his throat. He quashed it through sheer will.

  “Can you save him?” he asked.

  “Maybe. If I can get him stitched up, he’ll need a massive dose of antibiotics to keep infection out. Do you have any?” Kat asked.

  Elijah cocked his head as if he were thinking. In truth, he’d hidden a full supply in his desk in the church. Another bottle sat in the medical supply bag in storage at the church. If he told them about the antibiotics, he’d appear altruistic, as if he was doing everything in his power to make sure Rory survived. But if he was going to die anyway, then why waste the drugs?

  “I need some tweezers,” Kat said.

  “I’ll get them,” Elijah said.

  As he headed into the bathroom, he weighed his options. Did he really need to appear altruistic? Maybe saving the drugs for someone else would be a better strategy. After all, even if Rory recovered, it would
take weeks, probably even months. He’d be a parasite in an otherwise healthy ecosystem.

  He grabbed the tweezers and returned to the living room.

  “I can’t remember ever seeing any antibiotics lying around,” he said.

  Kat took the tweezers from him.

  “I thought I saw one in storage with the medical kit,” Melinda said.

  “If you’d like to double-check, be my guest,” he said.

  After she left, he turned to Kat and Turner.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to keep this a secret,” he said. “I don’t want to upset the community.”

  “What happened?” Kat asked as she poked around in the wound.

  “Do you remember that woman who made a scene here a few days ago?”

  “Yes, Liz?”

  “Right. Well, the men were out on patrol, making sure no one sneaked onto our territory when they caught her trespassing.” He paused to look at Turner, who glanced at the floor. Even though his jaw twitched, Elijah could trust him to be on board with the lie.

  “That’s terrible,” Kat said. “That’s just like what happened to Paul.”

  “Exactly,” Elijah said. “They’re casualties in a holy war.”

  “He’s not dead yet. Have some faith,” Turner said.

  “Of course,” Elijah said.

  “Shit!” Kat dropped the tweezers. They clattered against the table. An ever-increasing pool of blood dripped over the edge onto the wood floor. “I’m losing him. He’s lost too much blood.”

  Elijah stood back so he wouldn’t get blood on his loafers. He plastered a concerned expression on his face to mask pure rage. She had done this. Liz. She’d cast a dark shadow over his congregation. She’d brought death and discord into his life and if she didn’t stop, he’d have to find a way to get rid of her for good.

  “He’s gone,” Kat said. She stepped back, tears in her eyes. “He was just a kid.”

  “He was twenty-two if I’m not mistaken,” Elijah said.

  “A kid.” She shook her head and turned toward the door.

  “Kat.”

  “What?”

  “Remember what I said about keeping it quiet?”

  “I won’t tell a soul.”