Redfall: Freedom Fighters (American Prepper Series Book 2)

by Falconer, Jay J.

  Slayer looked at Wicks. “Remember those microwave emitters G found that had been shipped to the cell towers?”

  She nodded through her look of confusion.

  “They lit up the sky like Vegas. We think they supercharged the atmosphere and set off a bunch of EMPs.”

  “What?” she asked, trying to understand. She looked at Simon. “Is that true?”

  “We think so. It looks like all the equipment in the area was affected. At least the stuff we checked,” Simon said.

  “And probably across the globe,” Slayer blurted out. “Go ahead, Red. Tell them the cool part!”

  “Tell us what?” Wicks asked, swinging her head to Simon.

  Slayer answered instead. “Everything started floating in the air. Even us. It was totally unbelievable!”

  “So, it wasn’t just me?” she mumbled in a low voice, remembering what happened after she entered the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry, what was that?” Slayer asked, leaning forward with an ear turned at her.

  “Never mind . . . So what does all this mean?”

  “It means, we’re walking. Old school like,” Slayer told her, looking at Simon. “Nothing is gonna work, right Simon? No power. No cars. No computers. No nothing.”

  “That would be my guess.”

  “EMPs? Seriously?” Wyatt asked, his voice a little weaker than before.

  “I’m afraid so,” Simon answered.

  “Damn it! I knew it!” Wyatt said, breathing heavier than before. “I knew they were up to something. They wanted this. This was their plan the whole time.”

  “Who’s they?” Slayer asked.

  “The government. Those cock-sucking liars in Washington.”

  “Let’s slow down a minute. We really don’t know who caused this,” Simon said in a calm, even voice. “I think it’s better if we not jump to conclusions.”

  “So what do we do now?” Wicks asked, making eye contact with everyone.

  “Now we head east to my neighbor’s farm,” Wyatt answered.

  Simon nodded. “I saw it on the way in. One of the Amish farms, am I right?”

  “Yep, the Fishers,” Wyatt answered.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. If they’re like my Amish neighbors, they won’t want outsiders on their property,” Wicks said.

  “Mine will. We made friends with their order last year when TJ and I helped find one of their toddlers who wandered off in the middle of the night. If we hadn’t found her when we did, she would’ve died of exposure.”

  “So what are you thinking? Horse and buggy?” Slayer asked him.

  “Yeah, they owe me. Big time. Plus one of them is a country doctor. We met him when me and TJ found the little girl.”

  “Even if you’re friends, I’m guessing they won’t want us showing up armed,” Simon said.

  “No, you’re right. We can dump the weapons in the woods just beyond their property line. It starts on the other side of Big Bug Creek. We’ll need to speak with Brother Isaac. He’s the senior elder of the Fisher family, though I heard a rumor he had a nasty stroke recently. It was his granddaughter, Emma, who wandered off and nearly froze to death.”

  Wicks kept her arms on Wyatt as he moved, preparing to argue with him. But before she could get the words out, his body went limp. She couldn’t keep him upright, falling to her knees in the mud with Wyatt hanging in her arms.

  His head fell back against her shoulder, showing her a pair of eyes full of white, with no pupils.

  “Somebody help me!” she screamed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Director Wiggins rolled herself over and stood up in the control room of Site R, fighting through the pain in her lower back. The lightning storm was finally over, but she couldn’t see much else other than flames burning at some of the stations.

  The power was out and men were down everywhere after taking strikes of energy to their chests and heads. The technician in front of her was stirring but had a scorch mark across his back—the same acne-covered young officer who’d saved her life a few minutes earlier.

  She grabbed the woozy kid by the shirt collar and pulled him to his feet. Her back pain was worse than it had been in weeks, obviously tweaked when the kid yanked her to the ground. But she needed to press on and ignore it.

  Smoke was filling the room and she knew it wouldn’t be long before the oxygen was depleted. She planned to get the injured tech out first, then come back and see who else was alive and drag them to safety, too.

  “Come on, we need to get you out of here,” she told the kid, using the ambient light from the fires to locate a path to the exit door. She wrapped her arm around the young man and escorted him forward.

  The room was littered with injured men; some slumped over in their chairs, while others were lying in a heap on the floor. From what she could see, each had a wicked burn mark where the lightning struck.

  Another pair of hands and feet came from the right. “Here, let me help you,” a man’s voice said.

  Wiggins felt the injured kid’s arm lift and his weight decrease as another person joined the rescue effort.

  Wiggins coughed from the smoke burning her lungs, then leaned forward to look across the body of the wounded man, hoping to get a look at the helper. He was tall and wearing a uniform, but other than that, she couldn’t see a face.

  The trek continued until they made it to the exit door—a red-colored metal door with a heavy steel knob. She twisted it and yanked, pulling the door open.

  The helper let go of the injured man, allowing her to turn sideways and usher the kid outside. She put him on the ground, with his back against the wall.

  His eyes looked up at her, his voice slow and shaky. “Thanks, Director. I owe you one.”

  She nodded. “I be back in flash. Got to see if anyone else is alive.”

  When she turned for the door, her face ran smack into the chest of the tall helper. His hands were out, keeping her from moving.

  “I got it from here, Director,” he said, looking at her with deep blue eyes and a strong chin.

  She recognized the officer. It was the same man who’d given her the nasty look earlier when he sped by on the way to his station—ID badge 3309. His uniform was clean and there wasn’t a mark on him. Lucky bastard.

  * * *

  Zeke Olsen walked alongside Indigo Tech’s lead attorney, Calder Stanton, as they made their way from the central bank of elevators in the secret location known as Root Cellar One. They’d been walking for at least fifteen minutes and passed through a number of long corridors, leaving him impressed with the size and scope of the complex. However, thus far he hadn’t seen a single person other than Stanton and the armed guards outside his stateroom.

  On the right were a series of open areas, some with brightly-colored couches and chairs—all of them empty. Other areas contained what looked like single-person sleeping pods with thick mattress pads and futuristic-looking domes hanging over top. He visually checked their interiors, but didn’t see any arms or legs sticking out at the ends. They, too, were empty.

  On his left was a never-ending series of closed doors, each with an Indigo Tech logo near the top and some symbol-based stenciling he did not recognize.

  Each symbol had a matrix-style set of dots underneath it, like what was used in Braille writing. Above the dots was an unusual symbol, reminding him of Japanese cuneiform. However, the symbol wasn’t a symmetry of wedged-shaped black lines showing a pictogram. No, these looked more like an array of directional arrows crisscrossing each other at random angles.

  Each one he passed looked unique from the others, leading him to believe they were some type of company alphabet that he wasn’t familiar with, at least not yet.

  Zeke added another item to his mental to-do list—learn door symbol markers. A growing to-do list he planned to tackle as soon as he felt confident that he was fully in charge of all things Indigo Technologies and respected by the staff—a heartbroken staff who’d just lost their
amazing leader in a horrible plane crash. Zeke wanted to give everyone a chance to get over their loss and feel comfortable with him as the new CEO before he started barking orders.

  “Did Shelby help you get settled?” Calder asked, pushing open a door that led to yet another connecting hallway.

  “Yeah. Nice young gal. A little quiet and a bit on the skinny side, but her hands were magic if you know what I mean.”

  Calder turned his head as he walked, showing an upturned lip along the side of his mouth. “Yes, I hear she is, though she’s never been assigned to me, so I can’t speak from personal experience.”

  “I’m curious, Stanton, did she provide the same personal services for Vito when he was alive?”

  “I can’t speak to that. But let me say you’re not the first person to take up residence in that suite over the years.”

  Zeke nodded, feeling a stir in his loins. He wondered what other services Shelby might be able to help him with. He knew her hands were gifted, but what about the rest of the cute, attentive woman?

  He smiled, feeling like a dirty old man, but he didn’t care. It seemed appropriate somehow, now that he was CEO and majority stockholder of the massively profitable technology giant.

  There were bound to be plenty of perks for the richest man in the world, and he figured Shelby was the first of many.

  He put another item on the to-do list—a personal item this time. It involved Shelby, a bottle of wine, and a little reciprocal servicing behind closed doors.

  His eyes found Calder’s. “Now that I’m the owner, do I have access to everything across the board?”

  Calder didn’t answer, though his eyes did narrow a bit.

  Zeke took the look to mean that the man wanted him to clarify. “What I mean is, do I have access to all areas of the company and this complex? And do I get to make all the final decisions, or am I simply a figurehead around here?”

  “Interesting questions, sir. May I ask why you feel the need to ask them? After all, you are the new CEO and majority stockholder.”

  “Well, that may be true on paper, but so far I feel like a pampered prisoner.”

  “That’s a curious term.”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure how else to put it. Your armed men show up unannounced, have me sign papers, then bring me here in a vehicle with its windows blacked out. Right now, I have no idea where I am and it seems as though I’m not allowed to ask. But it doesn’t stop there. As soon as I arrive, you whisk me away and dump me in a huge presidential suite with a couple of armed no-necks outside. Then, to my complete shock and amazement, you send in hired help to . . . how do I put this? . . . to give me a rub and a tug. Granted, it did relax me quite nicely, but that’s really not my point here. What I want to say is that now you’re leading me around this Root Cellar, like a rat in a maze. A giant, empty maze with no one else around. Almost like you’re intentionally trying to get me lost for some reason.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Olsen. But let me assure you, we take your personal security very seriously and will work tirelessly to make sure your time here is comfortable and expeditious.”

  “Okay, I’m not sure what all that means, but thanks?” Zeke said with a quick tongue and a roll of the eyes.

  “That’s what I’m here for, Mr. Olsen. Up ahead is the data center. Would you like to see it?”

  “Sure, why not?” Zeke said, throwing up his arms. He had to give the man credit, Stanton was smooth. The lawyer avoided every question like a pro and then changed the subject without missing a beat. Zeke wasn’t sure what was going on, but it was clear he was being manipulated, to what end he didn’t know.

  He put a few more items went on the to-do list. Items he planned to knock off in private when he was away from the prying eyes of the staff.

  The door to the data center swung open under the power of Calder’s right hand.

  Zeke stepped in front and went inside, his feet landing on the metal grate of a catwalk located high in the corner of an open room. His jaw dropped when his vision fed his brain a sweeping view of the area before him.

  The room was massive—at least the size of ten Super Wal-Marts sitting side by side—all under one roof. He looked but didn’t see a single support column, anywhere. An amazing piece of engineering.

  The expanse seemed to stretch on for at least a mile, with row after row of hardware racks brimming with blinking equipment. The sound of the humming equipment was nearly deafening, echoing off the walls of the enormous data center.

  “Welcome to Root Cellar One!” the attorney yelled after leaning in close to Zeke’s ear. “This is the central core of the Internet. From here, we can monitor, store and process every shred of information across the planet.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “How’s Wyatt doing?” Simon asked Wicks when she looked his way.

  “His breathing is okay, but the fever seems to be getting worse,” she said, wiping a damp cloth on her brother’s forehead. “Plus, I think the wound is starting to bleed again.”

  “Try to keep pressure on it,” Simon told her.

  “Okay, but you guys really need to hurry.”

  “We’re working as fast as we can,” Slayer said, working on the construction of the pull-behind cargo sled. He tied a length of paracord around a sawed-off two-by-four, then looped the lashing under and around, before double-wrapping it again. He cinched it tightly to the second of the two poles that would establish the primary support frame for the triangle-shaped travois.

  The travois hadn’t been difficult to build with the scrap materials they’d found on Wyatt’s property. They’d started with two wooden fence rails and used a quick whittle of Slayer’s knife and a few swipes of 60-grit sandpaper to carve out usable hand holds. Then they added a trio of two-by-fours for cross supports. All that was left to add was the canvas tarp to the center of the triangle-shaped frame.

  They’d chosen to attach all the pieces with paracord instead of nails or screws for two reasons: speed and safety. Using cordage as lashing material meant faster assembly and eliminated sharp objects that could potentially tear open Wyatt’s skin or rip a hole in the canvas. The neighbor’s farm was a good distance away and they’d be traveling on foot over uneven ground, magnifying the impact of sharp objects.

  Slayer looked at Simon. “Do you think we need another cross piece? I’m not sure this will be strong enough to support his weight.”

  “No, we don’t need it. I’ve built several of these before and what we have should be plenty. It’s all about the physics of weight distribution across an inclined plane,” Simon said, pointing. “Let’s get that canvas sized and attached.”

  Slayer used a razor knife he found in the barn to slice up the tarp and size it to the same dimensions as the travois. Then he grabbed a leather punch he’d scavenged from the tool bench in the corner and knocked out a dozen or so tie-down holes along the perimeter of the material, reinforcing each with duct tape.

  Simon held the tarp in place while Slayer’s fingers made quick work of attaching it to the frame. It only took a couple of minutes.

  Slayer pointed to a rusty lawnmower sitting in the corner. “What if we used those wheels? Wouldn’t it be easier to roll it?”

  “Not with all the mud after the rain. They’ll sink in and be useless. There’s a reason these are designed with poles and not wheels, especially when the trip is cross-country.”

  “Yeah, but most people use a plow horse. This is gonna suck.”

  “We’ll take turns,” Simon said, knowing that they couldn’t stick around Jericho much longer. The men who attacked the compound might return and Wyatt’s condition was deteriorating. For both reasons, there wasn’t time to go to the Amish and borrow a horse and wagon. They needed to leave, now.

  The three of them worked together to lift Wyatt onto the makeshift cargo pull, putting his head nearest to the front, at the high point of the canvas deck. His feet would dangle to the rear.

  “Okay, who’s first?
” Slayer asked.

  “I nominate you,” Wicks said.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, brawn before beauty,” she said.

  “No, I’ll start,” Simon said, grabbing Slayer’s arm to stop him. Simon stepped in front of the travois, grabbing the tapered ends of the crisscrossed poles and lifting it from the ground. “You relieve me when we get to the creek.”

  “But you don’t even know how far it is,” Slayer said.

  “That’s where you’re wrong. It’s roughly a mile. You would’ve known that, too, if you were paying attention on the way in. We’re gonna have to work on your situational awareness skills.”

  “Okay, sure. Whatever you say, Red. I’ll add it to the list,” the kid said with a smirk.

  The first part of the trip went smoothly, thanks to mostly level ground until they reached the wooded area on the far side of Wyatt’s property. Then the travel slowed until they made it through the forest and came upon the Big Bug Creek, where Simon stopped to catch his breath.

  The travois had worked, carrying Wyatt safely but leaving two heavy drag marks in the muddy soil along the way. If Simon had to do it over again, and if he had the extra time to build it, he would’ve added additional wood under the ends of the poles to act as skids. Then the poles wouldn’t have dug into the mud and would have been easier to pull behind.

  “So now what?” Slayer asked, looking at the rushing water in the creek. The white caps were pronounced and the boulders plenty.

  “Now we check the bank and look for the narrowest point to cross. You head downstream and I’ll check upstream. Meet back here.”

  “Do we really have time for this?” Wicks asked, looking down at her brother with worried eyes.

  “We don’t have a choice,” Simon said. “We can’t cross here.”

  “I’m guessing you want me to stay and keep an eye on Wyatt,” Wicks said.

  “Yes, keep him comfortable as best you can,” Simon said, handing Wicks a pistol.

  She took it and held it flat in her hand, shooting a look of confusion his way. “What’s this for?”