Chaos Evolves: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller (After the EMP Book 6)

by Harley Tate

  “You don’t know that.” Gloria smoothed back her gray hair. “Look at what they did to you, Melody. That room with the beds and the gaudy clothes and the line of men outside the door…” Gloria shuddered. “They were going to use you no matter what.” She shook her head. “All the people like me with nothing to offer—those are ones I worry about. How long will they live under Jarvis’s control? How long will he let them drain his resources before he puts a bullet in their heads?”

  Melody jerked away. Gloria was right. Jarvis didn’t care about a single resident of Eugene. She remembered how Lucas’s blood splattered the walls when Jarvis shot him in the head. Angela’s face, contorted in terror before Jarvis’s minions killed her.

  Still, Melody couldn’t help but mourn. They had spent five days scrubbing and cleaning and organizing the top-floor apartment she now sat in, but it wasn’t home. Jarvis burned their houses to the ground. Every memento. Every treasure she kept from her parents, gone up in smoke and ash. Her family home, destroyed because of what?

  Because the power went out?

  It didn’t seem real. If it weren’t for the bruises and cuts all over her body, she would be tempted to call it all a dream. Some twisted nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. But the wounds were real. Melody pushed up the sleeve of her shirt and stared at the finger marks now yellowing across her arm.

  When they weren’t cleaning the apartment, they had worked countless hours clearing and fortifying the building. Between the barricades in the front and the boobytraps in the back, she felt secure from a thief or an enterprising addict. But not the militia. Not after she’d seen what they could do.

  She spoke the thoughts forcing their way to the surface. “If our experience is anything to go by, Jarvis won’t hesitate to eliminate the dead weight.”

  “Who are you calling dead weight?”

  Major James Larkin’s jubilant voice filled the apartment and Melody glanced up. He lumbered out to the patio, arms laden with plastic grocery bags.

  “Busy morning shopping?”

  He set the bags on the coffee table and fluffed one open. “Straight from the finest gourmet market in the Pacific Northwest. I present, breakfast!” His hands emerged with a crushed box of Pop Tarts and a partial six-pack of Mountain Dew.

  “Oh, my, what rare and exotic delicacies.” Melody snorted, but her mood lightened. “Where on earth did you find them?”

  Larkin fell onto the seat next to her with a sigh. “Top-floor apartment three blocks over. It’s getting harder and harder to scavenge, that’s for sure.”

  Melody took the box and tugged it open. Two wrapped packages still inside. She handed one to him. “Here, you should eat.”

  He shook his head. “Ladies first, I insist.”

  Melody frowned, but handed it over to Gloria all the same. “I should go next time. It’s not fair that you and Colt are doing most of the work.”

  “You’re injured. You need time to rest.”

  “It’s been five days. I can help.”

  “Tell that to Colt. If he had his way, you’d be locked up here permanently.”

  Melody pulled a Mountain Dew free from the plastic holding the cans together. “He doesn’t get to make that decision.” She popped the top of the can and took a sip. “Ugh. This stuff still takes like pee.”

  “You do know that’s why it’s yellow, right?” Melody’s brother Doug laughed as he walked out to join them on the patio. He shook hands with Larkin and sat down. “That joke never gets old.”

  Melody rolled her eyes. “It does when you’ve heard it for almost twenty years.”

  “Ouch. I think she just called you old.” Larkin pulled a soda off the plastic and handed it to Doug. “Is she always so mean?”

  Doug grinned. “Only to her brother.”

  She pouted. “I didn’t drink Mountain Dew for years because of you. And I still can’t get over the taste.”

  She still remembered the day Doug poured the contents of a can on the sidewalk and let his sister in on the secret. He’d leaned over, his twelve-year-old frame still lanky with youth, and whispered about how a guy peed into every can.

  Melody barked out a laugh, her vocal cords unused to the effort. She stroked her throat. Had it been that long since she’d relaxed?

  Gloria handed over a Pop Tart and Melody took it with a grateful smile. Doug and Larkin split the other package. The four of them chomped and slurped like a group of college kids on break between classes. They had done an amazing job turning the abandoned apartment into a place eight people and a little dog could call home, but she knew they couldn’t stay.

  As soon as everyone healed enough to hit the road, they would drive out of Eugene and never look back. The more miles they put between themselves, Colonel Jarvis, and the militia he controlled, the better. Part of her wished they could launch an attack and kill the man, but that was the stuff of movies. No more real than an action-hero film.

  She scooped Lottie up into her arms and broke off a piece of the pastry. Lottie nibbled on it and relaxed into Melody’s lap. Maybe Colt and Dani would have more success scavenging. At some point their luck had to change.

  Chapter Three

  COLT

  672 Bellwether Street

  Eugene, Oregon

  9:00 a.m.

  Colt eased into the living room with his Sig Sauer level and ready. Greasy rivulets of rain and grime obscured the morning sun through the window. He clicked on a flashlight and panned the space. Empty.

  The stink of decaying garbage hit his nose and he snorted. No one cleaned up around here. He cleared the room before ducking into the hall and surveying the bathroom and bedroom. No one stuck around, either. As he holstered his weapon, Colt took stock.

  Another abandoned apartment on the wrong side of town, another sad sack of existence wiped out because an EMP fried the grid. Power kept so many people hanging on by a thread. Wreck it and they flat out couldn’t make it.

  Clothes littered the bedroom floor, cast-off jeans and shirts discarded like so many others. He sidestepped the largest piles and stopped in front of a dresser.

  A single photo frame sat on top. Cheap metal, plastic instead of glass. A kid smiling with a mouth full of holes instead of teeth, ratty hair yanked back in a ponytail, faded clothes, and bare feet. Big, brown eyes still full of hope. He glanced around.

  Not a single toy or stuffed animal. The kid couldn’t live there. He tugged open the top drawer of the dresser: men’s underwear and mismatched socks. A bachelor pad.

  Colt rooted through the drawers and pulled out a pair of jeans and a few T-shirts. They would fit Will or Harvey without a doubt.

  He slipped a backpack off his shoulders and stuffed the clothes inside before heading to the bathroom. With a quick unzip, Colt added his own piss to the moldy mess inside the toilet bowl. He’d taken to using whatever abandoned space suited him best. One less worry to deal with back at the apartment.

  It had been five days since they escaped the patrolled areas of the city and Jarvis’s control. Five days since the lights of the University lit up and turned everyone’s attention straight to campus.

  Since then, the streets emptied. Even in the fringes where they now lived, almost everyone was gone. Barely any dealers. Only a handful of strung-out addicts hanging on thanks to pills or booze. The glow of the lights attracted everyone else like insects to a nighttime barbecue.

  He hit the kitchen and opened the cabinets one at a time, looking for anything they could use. The doors squeaked in protest and Colt came up empty. Nothing but dishes and dust.

  They didn’t need glassware. They needed food.

  Colt thought about Colonel Jarvis and the men under his command. From everything they had seen and the stories Larkin told, the National Guardsmen who stayed loyal to Jarvis were a full-blown militia. A thousand men, at least, with a psychopath in command. Thanks to their systematic inspections, the militia controlled not just the University of Oregon, but most of Eugene. Only the bad par
ts of town had been left to rot.

  He closed his eyes and relived the moment when he had Jarvis in his sights. A single shot and the militia would have dissolved into chaos. One bullet and they wouldn’t be rooting through forgotten apartments for supplies. The Harpers and Wilkinses would be safe. Secure.

  But he didn’t take the shot. Colt made the choice to save Dani instead. Now they were barely hanging on while Jarvis lived it up on the University campus with electricity and water and food. Every night he dreamt about sneaking back to campus and finishing the job. But he didn’t stand a chance against a thousand soldiers with orders to kill on sight. Walking away from Jarvis would be the hardest thing Colt had ever done.

  Harder than leaving a mission unfinished. Harder than following orders to stand down when he could take the shot. As a SEAL, he didn’t have a choice. He followed orders, no matter his opinion. Hell, he worked at not having an opinion most of the time.

  But this was different. The choice to walk away was all his and he couldn’t change it now. No Blackhawks would swoop in and bend the grass as troops jumped out. No backup forces would come along behind and clear the college. Colt was on his own. To survive, he would have to let Jarvis own Eugene.

  Colt shook off the spiraling thoughts and crouched in front of the sink cabinet. As he tugged open the doors, a roach scurried past his foot. Colt ignored it and poked around, hoping for something more than disappointment.

  A half-empty jug of bleach was the only reward. Better than nothing. He shoved it in his backpack and stood up. So far, he’d cleared five of the twelve apartments in the building and all he had to show for it was a handful of clothes and a bottle of bleach.

  He eased back to the front door and tugged it open. And froze. Was that the door or something else? He swore the hinges opened without a squeak the first time. Colt eased the door shut. Silence.

  Definitely not the door. He spun in a slow arc, checking for hostiles inside the apartment. No flutter of fabric or creak of floor. No flash of hair or glimpse of skin behind the couch.

  He pulled his gun and held it pointed at the floor. The warped linoleum groaned as he passed the kitchen, and Colt paused at the edge of the living room. A voice in his head whispered to leave. Just forget whoever was hiding in that godforsaken slum and move on. But a threat was a threat.

  Where hadn’t he checked? He crouched to peer beneath the couch. Nothing but roach carcasses and dirt. He glanced in the tight space behind the massive tube TV. Empty.

  Colt eased into the bedroom once again. The mattress sagged on the floor, dingy sheets piled in a mess on top. The dresser hugged the wall. He approached the closet. Gun drawn, ready. The door protested and Colt jerked, hard.

  Brought his gun up, pointed it into the dark. Nothing visible. He flicked on his flashlight. The space went back farther than it seemed. A walk-in. He panned the light.

  Hanging racks that should have held shoes or blankets obscured his view. They hung in tatters, holes on the bottom, frayed edges. A balled-up towel gave substance to one sagging shelf.

  Colt reached for the closest one and caught a glimpse of movement.

  “Out!” He pulled back and brought up his Sig, aiming at the space behind the fabric shelves. “Out or I’ll shoot.”

  A keening wail sounded from the darkness, high-pitched and wild. Was it an animal? A stray dog or cat? Hungry pets could turn deadly. He reached out and gripped the fabric in his fist. Yanked it clean off the rod.

  The creature scrunching into the corner wasn’t a dog or a cat. At one point, it had been a child. Hair hung in matted clumps around her face. A fairy peeked out from behind a layer of dirt and stains on her nightgown. Bruises covered her visible skin.

  She blinked and squirmed under the harsh flashlight beam, holding her hands out in front of her to block the light. Her fingernails were ripped and torn, crusted with blood and dirt.

  Colt eased the circle of light closer to the floor. The child lowered her hands and opened her eyes. Big, brown eyes. The girl from the photo.

  He lowered the gun. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

  She squeaked out a whimper.

  “Are you here alone?” Colt eased down into a crouch, remembering from somewhere that kids felt less threatened when grown-ups came down to their level.

  The child nodded. Shit. Had she been here for the entire month? That explained the complete lack of food and general filth. But how had she managed to get by? If she lived there with her father, where was he? Colt glanced behind him. From everything he’d seen, no adult still lived there.

  There would be some evidence surely; a cigarette, food wrappers, empty beer bottles or cans. Something.

  He glanced back at the girl. She still crouched in the corner with her knees pinned to her chest, willing her body to disappear. For once in his life, Colt didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t leave her there, filthy and starving. Someone without a conscience could find the girl next. But he couldn’t bring her back to the apartment, either. They already had too many mouths to feed and she didn’t look willing.

  Colt dug into his pocket and pulled out half a piece of beef jerky. The last of his breakfast. He held it out. The child’s eyes went wide. Her tiny nostrils flared.

  She leaned forward and dropped her knees to the side. Her mouth opened, words tumbled out in a whisper. Colt leaned forward. “What was that? I can’t hear you.”

  Again she mumbled, too quiet and indistinct to understand. Colt thrust the hunk of dried meat toward her. She grabbed it with a grubby hand and shoved the whole thing in her mouth.

  “Sorry.”

  The second Colt processed the single, distorted word, he spun away from the closet. It was too late. Wood grain flooded his vision and the crack of a bat against his skull knocked him to the floor.

  Chapter Four

  COLT

  672 Bellwether Street

  Eugene, Oregon

  11:00 a.m.

  The pain woke him up. A constant thumping walloped his head as if a jackhammer splintered his skull. He reached for his head, but his hands didn’t make it more than an inch. Something tacky and thick pulled at his skin and arm hair.

  “Grrrnn.” The sound rumbling up from his chest was half word, half grunt. His tongue took up his entire mouth and his spit stuck like hardening cement. Maybe the jackhammer was drilling in the wrong place.

  He blinked, but the world refused to cooperate. Splashes of white and blue rushed by like the scenery on a carnival ride. Christ. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  The tilt-a-whirl of his brain slowed. The nausea threatening to heave up his paltry breakfast receded. What the hell happened to me?

  Colt opened his eyes and the room didn’t spin.

  Now he knew why all he could smell was piss. He sat on a toilet, hands duct taped to the seat. A sink clung to the wall opposite his face. He leaned forward and his forehead melted against the cool porcelain. The throbbing eased and he took stock.

  A tub caked in dirt sagged on his left. No shower curtain. Nowhere to hide.

  The window above the tub showed promise. Two by two with frosted glass that looked too old to be double-paned. If he knocked out all the glass, he might fit. He thought it over. Fifty-fifty odds. Might get stuck halfway.

  He swiveled his head to the right, forehead pressed against the sink. The door to the room was wedged tight into the frame a few feet away.

  He gave his hands a tug. They didn’t budge.

  Colt closed his eyes and tried to remember. How did I get here? He thought back through the morning. Leaving for a scavenging mission, hitting apartment building after apartment building and coming up empty. The kid in the closet.

  His eyes popped open. She’d been bait. Plain and simple.

  And I fell for it. Colt cursed himself and yanked on the tape. I’ve gone soft. A few days with normal people who didn’t understand the current state of affairs and look what happened. When he walked
out of the University of Oregon, he’d been a free man on his own. No one to hold him back. No one to affect his decisions.

  Then he rescued Dani. Every decision after that point had been with her in mind. He didn’t leave. He didn’t disappear into the wilderness like he’d planned. No. He’d gone and made himself a family.

  Was she a burden? Yes and no. She understood the way the world worked now, maybe more than anyone. And Colt cared for her. She’d become the closest thing to a daughter he’d ever get. If he’d stuck with just her… If they’d left town at the first opportunity…

  Harvey and Gloria and Will would have a home. Melody wouldn’t have suffered at the hands of Jarvis and his men. Hell, Larkin would still be following orders. All because Colt didn’t follow his gut and leave.

  He tugged again on the tape and it rolled against his skin, tightening its grip. Rocking back and forth, he tried to loosen the glue, but it held fast, ripping out the hair around his wrist, but not yielding an inch.

  Colt thought about everything his new companions suffered because of him: the fire that destroyed the Wilkins and Harper homes, Gloria and Melody’s kidnapping, their abuse at the hands of Jarvis and his men. For all that he wanted to take Dani and run, he couldn’t. He owed these people a safe place. He couldn’t leave them until they were secure and capable of fending for themselves.

  They saved his life. Dani’s too. Colt couldn’t turn his back on them. Not now.

  He sat up and braced his feet on the floor. With a deep breath, he rose up, straining against the tape and the toilet. The seat wobbled. He pulled harder, grimacing against the tension in his arms and the heat and pain surrounding his wrists.

  Nothing.

  Sagging back against the toilet, he sucked in a frustrated breath. With a grunt against the discomfort, Colt twisted his upper body and inspected the tape. It wrapped around each of his wrists at least three times, around the toilet seat, and then all the way down to the base of the toilet. Whoever secured him took their time.