Antediluvian Purge (Book 1): EMP

by Ison, S. A.

  “Ya’ll recon we go have a look see whatsa goin’ on out thar tomorra?” Earl asked.

  “I don’t think we should. All the stores will be ransacked if they haven’t been already. People are going to be crazy, and if they see our vehicle, that is asking for trouble. I don’t want to have to kill anyone, especially locals, perhaps people I know,” Harry said.

  “You’d kill someone? You’d kill someone you know?” Marilyn’s voice rose incredulously.

  Harry leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees as he turned his head toward her, though he couldn’t see her clearly. “Our world paradigm has shifted, Marilyn. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but people you’ve called friends or neighbors will more than likely try to kill you for the food you have.” He heard her suck in a breath. “It won’t be because they are bad people, or evil. They will be desperate. Understand, there are no more food deliveries, nothing coming into these mountains. There’s no more water treatment plants, so if people are on town water, then they won’t have water, or at least clean water. Once the pressure is gone, there will be nothing to pull the water to the taps.”

  “I know a lotta folks gots wells, so they’d be okay,” Earl said.

  “True, and there are streams and creeks, but they will have to boil it first. Also, there are no more food-processing plants, the supermarkets and the big box stores only have enough supplies for a couple days, and I don’t think money is worth anything now,” Harry said.

  “I’d say them stores taint gonna have nothin’ thar now,” Boggy put in.

  “I’d say if not now, then soon, they will be empty,” Willene said.

  A staccato of gunfire echoed along the wind. It was far away, but that wouldn’t last. Harry drew on his pipe and the small coal began to glow once more. He shifted in his seat and took a sip of lukewarm sweet tea.

  It had been a long first day and they’d gotten much accomplished. Marilyn had been shocked at his suggestion that he’d have to kill someone to protect their supplies and home. She just didn’t understand the ramifications.

  After a few puffs, he said, “What would you do to feed Monroe? What if you had no more food. What would you do?” Harry asked Marilyn.

  “I. I don’t know. I guess I would try to find food for him,” Marilyn said, upset.

  “What happens if you have food, but someone comes and wants it? And in you losing that food, Monroe will starve to death? How hard will you fight to keep that food so your son doesn’t cry with hunger?” Harry asked, not unkindly.

  “I’d do anything,” Marilyn whispered.

  “Would you kill to save your son? To protect him?” Harry pushed.

  “Yes. Yes I would,” Marilyn whimpered softly.

  “Good, then I will teach you how to use Moses’s gun so you can protect both him and yourself. I can guarantee there will be those out there who will do the same. I don’t want to sound cruel or unfeeling. But our world has changed.”

  Harry got up. He was restless. There was so much to be done and it needed to be done quickly. He continued, “We will be lucky to survive without the infrastructures in place. The fact that we are here and pooling our resources may help keep us all alive. But we are limited, very limited, on what we have. We will have to guard it and be very careful,” Harry said, hating to burst her bubble of the fragility of human nature.

  He’d seen so much evil and desperate poverty in the countries he’d been stationed in. He’d seen people lying dead in the street, starved, people stepping over them like they were trash. Death by starvation in third world countries was prevalent, and would become the norm in the United States.

  “Look. We have gone back in time over one hundred years. Everyday things we take for granted, we no longer have. There will be no replacements for flour, sugar, soaps, toothpaste and so on once they are used up. What we have is what we will ever have unless we find more. If we can’t make it, grow it or hunt it, we won’t have it.”

  “Let the Lord guide us,” Boggy breathed.

  “As you know, living here all your life, that back in the old days people didn’t travel more than twenty miles. The distance a person could walk in a day or two. Once our gas is gone, we can only go as far as we can walk. Leaving here in the near future is risky, and so if we do, it had better be for a good reason,” Harry said.

  “So, we are trapped here?” Marilyn asked, her voice breathless.

  “No, not trapped, but until the world settles out, it is safer here. Many people will die in the coming weeks. Either by starvation, by being killed by someone taking what they have, by disease from unclean water, by undercooked food or badly preserved food. From lack of medical care as well. Again, we’ve gone back in time. No one is uses to it except maybe the old timers,” Harry said, exhaling a long breath.

  “I think I will head to bed. This is just so much to absorb. Thank you again for letting Monroe and I live here. I don’t know what would have happened had we stayed at the apartment,” Marilyn said softly. She rose and went into the house.

  “Might aunten we set up some kinda watch?” Earl asked.

  “I would like to say we have a day or two, but I think it would be best if someone were to stay up and keep watch. I’ll stay up for a while and wake you up in about four hours or so,” Harry told Earl.

  “Okay, and I’ll get Boggy up an’ he kin watch ’til mornin’,” Earl said.

  “I’m good wit’ that,” Boggy said, getting up and stretching.

  Earl got up as both men went out to the back of the house. They had started using the outhouse Harry’s grandfather had built years ago. There had always been an outhouse on the property. The previous one had been old and ramshackle. His grandfather had had a deep hole dug and a two-seater built over it. His grandfather had been the only one who ‘d used it up until now; neither he nor Willene had wanted to use it.

  Now they had no choice, and he and the men went to the woods to urinate and saved the outhouse for more urgent matters. He would have to make up an occupied sign so there were no embarrassing interruptions. Harry knew they could haul water to the bathroom, but with so many people it was a lot of work and also a waste of a precious resource, the well water. The well in the back of the house had been used for over one hundred years; now it would be their primary source of clean drinking water.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Harry got up and went into the kitchen. There was a single candle lit to illuminate the way. He picked up the pot of coffee and swished it around. It was still warm. He poured a cup and went back out to the porch. Willene was still there.

  He sat down beside her on the swing. She placed her hand over his, and jerked when another barrage of gunfire reverberated off the hills.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Harry. I’m especially glad you weren’t in the air when this went down. Do you really think it will get as bad as you think?” Willene asked

  “Willy, I think it will be worse, so much worse. People will lose their minds. They think the government will help, but in a few days, when no one shows up, all hell is going to break loose. If people don’t have food stored away, if they don’t have some kind of backup plan, they are going to hunt down those who do,” Harry said.

  “Christ Almighty, what are we going to do, Harry? How are we going to survive? We have five adults and I don’t know how we are going to make it,” Willene said, worry heavy in her voice.

  “We have an advantage; we have five adults to hunt, raise crops, do chores, and guard the house. It will be tight, but it is early enough to plant more in the garden. We can fortify the house. It will be a challenge, I won’t lie, but if we keep our eyes sharp and we are careful, I think we will be okay,” Harry said.

  “I hope so. I don’t know if I’m ready for the end of the world, Harry. I’m going to bed.” She got up and kissed Harry on the forehead.

  Harry took a deep breath. It had been a long day, and it was only going to get longer. The song from Kansas, “Dust in the Wind”, came to mind. “Nothing lasts f
orever but the earth and sky, it slips away and all your money won’t another minute buy.”

  Life of ease was over.

  Ӝ

  Marilyn held Monroe in her arms, trying to stifle the sobs that were slamming into her chest. She was overwhelmed and horrified at the future she and her son now faced. Her hand gently glided over the sleeping child’s head.

  Monroe was her own heart and she loved him more than life itself. He had been a joy since the day he was born. She kissed the curve of his warm soft cheek. A shudder went through her at the thought of being at her apartment through all of this. That fat man who’d tried to stop them, she’d never come across someone as belligerent as that, and he’d called her a nigger. She’d never been called that in her life.

  The hair rose on her arms at the thought of more men like him. What they would have done to her and her son? She hugged Monroe tighter, and when the child groaned she let go, not wanting to wake him.

  Blinking her eyes, she wiped the tears away. What would she have done without Willene and Harry? Her body shuddered once more. A small part of her hoped that Harry was wrong, that it was just some kind of glitch.

  After all, there’d been no bombs, no explosions. All was normal, except no power or phones. Didn’t they have several army bases in Kentucky? Couldn’t they help everyone? Why did things have to get bad? Couldn’t they keep it under control? They had police. Couldn’t the police keep the peace?

  There weren’t many people in Beattyville, surely it wouldn’t get that bad. She hoped Harry was giving her a worst-case scenario, and maybe things wouldn’t get as bad as he said. At least she and Monroe were safe.

  Marilyn took a deep breath and blew it out softly. She needed to get herself under control for Monroe’s sake. She got up quietly from the bed and went to the window, looking out into the night. A cool breeze was blowing through the window, refreshing her.

  In the far distance, she saw fires, and knew someone’s home was burning; well, a home or building. The echoing gunshots had finally subsided.

  She wasn’t naïve. She knew the world to be in constant turmoil. But something like this should bring people together. They were all they had after all, right? Once more, the fat man who’d stood in their way came to mind. His hatred had been stamped clearly on his face, directed at her for no other reason than the color of her skin.

  She looked over to the bed, at her sleeping child, and hugged herself. Harry had asked her what she would do to protect her son. Deep in her heart, she knew she’d do anything and kill anyone who threatened him. She could feel that monster deep inside her, coiling around and around like a snake, ready to strike.

  She’d never ever been a violent person; quite the opposite. Willene had always defended her in school against bullies and bigger children. They’d walked arm in arm on the school grounds. A soft smile of remembrance curved her lips.

  No, she wasn’t a violent person, but when it came to Monroe, she’d happily and gleefully kill anyone who tried to harm him, even if it meant her dying in the process. He was of utmost importance to her life.

  She caught a movement from the corner of her eye and saw Harry in the darkness, walking across the yard. He stopped for a few moments and looked through something; it almost looked like binoculars, but she knew it wasn’t that. Then he began walking again and disappeared around the house. She knew she was safe, as was her son. Turning away from the window, she crawled back into bed. Soon, she fell asleep.

  Ӝ

  Boggy laid curled on his side in a tight ball, silent tears rolling off his face. He held his Bible to his chest tightly, like a lifeline. He’d never felt so terrified and overwhelmed, and he couldn’t hear God. He tried to keep the sobbing down, as Earl was asleep in the other bed. He and Earl had been given a room with two twin beds, a small dresser and an even smaller closet.

  The house was so much nicer than his trailer, which had been left to him by his grandmother. She’d raised him after his mother had left with a dental hygienist to Lexington fifteen years ago. He barely remembered his mother. His grandmother had said they were both trash and he wasn’t to fret his head over them. He’d never met his father, and his mother wouldn’t say who he was. His grandmother had raised him and had loved him. She’d ensured his spiritual health by taking him to church.

  Boggy wondered if this were end of days, if the world was coming to an end and the Rapture was coming. He’d thought he’d be ready, thought he’d be happy; his granny always was when she spoke of it. But instead, he was petrified. When he’d said his prayers before he lay down, he’d thanked God for delivering him here to these people, though he’d never lived with white folks.

  They were kind, and he felt safe under this roof. He’d known Earl nearly all his life and trusted the man. He was profoundly grateful Earl had come to get him. But all the talk about the hell to come was what really frightened him the most. He’d never had much, never really wanted much, but the thought of everything just stopping? He just couldn’t comprehend the long-term effects.

  He thought back earlier that afternoon, to when Earl had shown up to his trailer. He’d been asleep, as he had the night shift in the mine. Until that moment his world had been safe and predictable. Maybe he was still dreaming. Earl was at his bed; he didn’t remember him even knocking on the door. Earl shook him awake.

  “Boggy, you’uns gotta git evera thang you’d wanna keep an’ come with me. The shit has done did hit the fan brother an’ I mean splatted it from here ta yander,” Earl had said.

  “What? What’s goin on?” Boggy had said, sleep still muddling his mind, as his hand rubbed over his face, his dark eyes feeling bloodshot. His brain felt as though it were wrapped in cotton balls.

  “We done did got hit with some kinda EMP, reckon that means ain’t nothin’ workin’, not electricity, not water, not your’un car, nothin’. And it ain’t gonna work for a long time neither. Now git to gettin you’un shit in a poke or suitcase and don’t lollygag. I’ll get you’un vitals an’ whatever else.”

  It hadn’t taken but twenty minutes: Boggy didn’t own much. He’d gathered some photos and his hunting rifle and ammunition. Earl had cleared out the refrigerator and freezer, though there wasn’t a lot there either.

  They’d then gone to the mine, and it was a buzz of activity, people running all over. It looked like the power outage had affected the extraction of miners. It had been easy for him to slip into the supply shed, which was normally locked up, unnoticed. He’d managed to get a few sticks and caps before he heard someone coming and scrambled out of there. He hadn’t even been sure what he’d gotten until he and Earl were on their way to Harry’s farmhouse.

  His head had been on a swivel as he looked around at the stalled vehicles and people milling around. He’d seen a couple men in a shoving match and people gathered around to watch. It was the unreality of it that was beginning to penetrate the denial.

  Tonight, while they’d sat on the porch, he’d taken note of how dark it was out there. Darker than he’d ever seen it, and quiet too. Unnervingly so. There was no hum that normally accompanied everyday life. Nothing. Just those gunshots. When Harry was talking, he could feel the fear wiggling inside him. It felt as though it was trying to push through his skin.

  He had wanted to throw himself on the ground and roll around screaming. Even now, he kept his hand over his mouth so he wouldn’t scream out his fear. He guessed he’d led a sheltered life. He hoped he was up to the task that was heading their way. At least he was among friends; an old friend and some new friends. He didn’t have a choice now, regardless.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Clay’s feet were killing him, he’d walked seven miles and it was getting dark. He’d seen no other vehicles on the road, which was strange. The silence was making him nervous and apprehensive. From time to time, he heard gunshots echoing in the distance. Brian was walking beside him calmly, his touch lolling out the side of his mouth.

  Clay stopped and looked around and up the hills,
which were green and lush, forested in many places. There was the loud buzz of the insects and, now and then, birds calling from hidden branches. He looked at the sky; it was clear, with thin clouds moving west. There wasn’t much of a breeze and he could feel sweat trickling down his broad back. His tactical vest was heavy and was holding in the heat. He wiped the sweat from his face with his hand and then dried his hand on his pant leg.

  He’d passed several homes and hadn’t thought to stop and use their phone. He would need to now, and when he saw a roof up in the trees about one hundred yards ahead and fifty feet up, he started for it. He picked up his pace and hoped someone was at the house. The pair walked up the long drive. Looking around, he noted that the yard was empty and a little overgrown. Coming to the door, he knocked.

  Waiting, he listened, but heard nothing. He knocked once more, then heard some shuffling, so stepped back and waited. The door creaked open and Clay looked down to see a wizened old man. He had wispy white hair that looked like it had the shock of its life and stood in every direction, and wore a faded blue bathrobe, threadbare in places. He had a dull off-white t-shirt beneath.

  He grinned up at Clay, all gums.

  “Good evening sir, my name is Officer Clay Patterson of the Beattyville police. My vehicle broke down a few miles up the road yonder. Sir, may I use your telephone?”

  “Shor’nuf young man, commin’ on in,” the old man said, his voice wavering with age.

  Clay thanked him and stepped into the house. He turned to Brian and held up a hand for the dog to stay.

  “Oh, don’t weary, your’un dog kin come in, he is welcome too.” The old man gave a gummy grin, his eyes disappearing into tight triangles of good humor.

  Clay smiled and patted his leg, and Brian came in. The house smelled old, musty, with undertones of Bengay ointment. The living room was cluttered with newspapers and old National Geographic magazines. A dirge of dust and sadness permeated the air in the home; the word lonesome came to mind.