Dark New World (Book 3): EMP Deadfall

by J. J. Holden

  Mandy, who had been stirring the almost-completed stew for lunch, turned on Cassy now, arms akimbo, fists planted on both hips. “Cassandra Elenore Shores, what is this I’m hearing? Are you really trying to rationalize torture? I can’t believe my ears, Lord help me. So a threat is coming our way. Threats haven’t stopped coming our way since the EMPs. And yet God has brought us through each and every time, always against the odds. You can’t honestly believe all the times we survived was due to dumb luck. From the beginning to the end, God has protected you, me, and the kids every step of the way on our journey here, and watches over us still.” Mandy was trembling with anger. “Have faith, and keep your humanity. Keep your soul, sweetie! Turn away from such worldly evil, and find a way to atone for what you’ve done.”

  Cassy snapped back, voice ragged. “No, Mother. No! This is the end of the world as we know it. You and Jaz both better get used to the damn reality of our situation. We’re outnumbered and outgunned. We’re committed to staying here—to staying in one place—where they can find us. They can attack when they choose. They can snipe at us, ambush us, pick us off one by one.”

  Cassy turned back to Jaz and said, “The only reason we have a chance in hell of surviving is because Michael did what was necessary, not what was easy. Now put on your damn big girl panties, and get on board this boat we’re all in. Because the alternative is to die here, watch our loved ones die here, and let the new world start the way the old world ended—with evil people doing evil things to good people who didn’t know any goddamn better.”

  Jaz began to reply, but Cassy spun on her heels and stormed out of the kitchen. The self-righteous woman had an answer for everything, but not this time—Jaz knew it was totally bullshit. Cassy was just making herself feel better for becoming the monster the whole Clan was trying to get away from. All the chaos and torture and murder and pointless death out there, out in the wasteland of so-called civilization among the hungry and desperate. Bringing it here was just wrong.

  Jaz turned to Mandy. No way Grandma Mandy would side with Cassy on this one. Jaz wished she knew another word besides “monstrous” for what Michael did, but that was the only word she could think of, and it echoed in her mind.

  Mandy said, “Jaz, I understand your feelings. I share them. But don’t be too hard on Cassy. She bears the weight of all our safety, and she didn’t find out about it until after Michael had done the thing, and she couldn’t stop it. Look at it from her point of view. She can call Michael out for his crime, but evil people are still coming to kill us all. Michael will be needed more than we need justice, at least for now. We’ll have to come to terms with what he did after we defeat Satan’s minions—if we even survive it. And we need Michael for that.”

  Jaz paused, taking in what Mandy said. She was smart, and Jaz trusted her judgment, but then, trusting other people wasn’t going so well for her lately. Jed’s death and now this… Hope was in short supply. Jaz decided she needed to go for a long walk and figure out how to handle this pile of crap on her plate. She nodded absently at Mandy and walked off, head down, utterly absorbed in her own thoughts.

  * * *

  Cassy clenched and unclenched her fists as she stormed from one end of the barn to the other and back again for perhaps the twentieth time, railing at the walls. “Damn Jaz, who does she think she is? I didn’t ask to be in charge, and I sure as hell didn’t ask Michael to do what he did. But if he hadn’t, we might all be dead in a couple days. He did what was needed, right? Hell yes, he did. And sure as shit we’ll all be grateful to him when we survive Peter and his army.”

  A voice spoke from out of the shadows—Choony’s voice, she realized. “Convincing Jaz, or convincing yourself? I don’t see Jaz here.”

  Cassy spun toward the voice, fists clenched, and found Choony sitting atop a bale of hay set back on top of other bales. She grit her teeth and growled, and struggled not to lash out at him. It was a losing battle. “And who are you to judge me, Choony? You won’t even pick up a rock to defend yourself, much less any of us. You have no voice in this. And that makes you lucky.”

  Choony shrugged. “I did not judge you. I asked a question. You’re in turmoil, Cassy, and it doesn’t come from the situation. You resist the judgment of others because what you did violates who you think you are, and it threatens your role as leader. You don’t want to be leader, but you do want the best possible chance for your kids to survive, and someone has to be in charge. A challenge to your leadership is a threat to your kids’ lives, your inside self believes. Please, don’t turn your anger onto me. I am not the one you want to snarl at, am I?”

  Cassy stopped mid-stride and froze in place. She looked down at her feet and took several deep breaths. Choony was right, dammit. And he didn’t even have the decency to be smug so she could hit him, so she could rage and rain down fury on him. She was spinning, she needed to let some of that fury out. The rage was overwhelming. But not Choony’s fault. Not Choony’s fault. She repeated that a few more times like a mantra and felt her wrath begin to subside, if only a little.

  “No, you aren’t the one I should have said that to. Thank you for calling me on it and not taking it personally. I still want to smash your face in though.”

  Choony chuckled. He was safely out of her reach, she noted, unless she intended to climb up a tower of loose hay bales, which would make her look more foolish than frightening.

  Choony replied, “You’re welcome. But you should know, I think you’re a good leader in a really bad world. Keep it up, but be true to you. If you can do that, you’ll truly earn the respect the others already give you. You can’t force respect, Cassy.”

  “So, in all your wisdom, what would you do?” Cassy asked.

  “To start, I would go see Jaz and apologize for whatever words were said. She may not apologize back—she seems like she has a personal history of some sort, involving torture. Obviously, she is shaken. But you’ll feel better for apologizing for your own temper. Most importantly, she’ll respect you for it, even if she’s not ready to accept an apology just yet.”

  Cassy nodded. Choony was right again, of course. What, did he make a study of the people he was around? Anyway, it seemed he wasn’t the complete tool she had figured him for. Without a reply, she brushed the bits of hay off her pant legs, nodded to Choony, turned and walked out of the barn to find Jaz.

  Twenty minutes later, she still hadn’t found Jaz and felt her self-control again being chipped away. Well, crap. She had other things to take care of too—not just babysitting a know-it-all angsty teenager. Screw it, Jaz could wait. She’d surely be at dinner, and Cassy could waylay her for a conversation then. Seething, she turned back to her rounds, seeking Dean Jepson to talk about the homestead’s defenses.

  Cassy found Dean talking to two Clanners about how to lay out sandbags around a couple foxholes they’d dug between the Jungle and the living areas. “Heya, Dean. Can I get a minute?”

  Dean broke away from the two workers, and Cassy led him out of earshot of the others. She said, “Let me get an update on the defenses Michael tasked you to get built. We ready yet for Peter’s army?”

  Dean let out a long breath and ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Well, like I told you before, we got more work than hands. I reckon it’ll take about a week to get this sorted out to my likin’, unless you want to take everyone off harvesting.”

  “Dammit, Dean! I know I told you we need to be ready when they get here. How the hell am I supposed to protect my family and the whole Clan if we’re wide open to them?”

  “Now, Cassy, I got a feelin’ you were a mite upset before you came to talk to me, so let’s just settle that out right now. Deal with one thing at a time, girl.” Cassy felt her rage rising again and tried to control it; she knew it was affecting her judgment. Dean continued, “Half-assed defenses won’t stop a cow, much less an army. We gotta get it right, or it won’t do us no good. I appreciate you’re anxious, but you have to see that.”

  “My kids
, Dean. They don’t care about next week, and neither do I. We won’t be here in a week unless we get our shit together before they get here.”

  Dean frowned. “Don’t go swearin’ at me. Your name ain’t on my paychecks, and I don’t have to take it from you. But you listen here, doing things your way put me in a mess of hurt once before, you recall. I almost lost my house over that pointless squabble between you ’n Monique, from the backlash of people who stopped shoppin’ at my store for a while over it. Well, I ain’t about to let you do that to me again, especially when the kitty on the table is my life, not just some mortgage.”

  Cassy felt like she was about to burst like an overinflated balloon. Too much hot air, most of it her own, was going to make her explode if she didn’t get away. “I know you’re doing your best,” Cassy said. “We need the defenses to be as complete as possible when Peter and his army attack you, your wife, and everybody else in two days. I do appreciate you—I hope you know that. And I apologize for the language; you’re right—I was worked up before I got here. It was nothing you did.”

  Jepson nodded in acknowledgement, but Cassy hadn’t waited for a reply. She had already turned to walk away, her whole body feeling stiff, rigid. Like every damn cell in her body wanted to blow up. But that wouldn’t help her kids nor the Clan, and dinner was about ready. She needed to clear her head before she brought this crap, this venom, to the table with her children. They deserved better than to see her like this. Heck, so did everyone else. Cassy headed slowly back toward the barn, half hoping and half dreading to see Choony there again. He was infuriating, but somehow he knew how to help.

  * * *

  Frank had eaten dinner with people leading various projects around the farm to get an informal update over food. Shared meals tended to lessen tension and stress, in his experience. Things stood more or less as he expected, which was to say, a day late and a dollar short all over the place. The fencing for the cows they wanted to bring up wasn’t halfway done because he had to divert people to drilling a second well—Cassy’s original well just didn’t cut it with all the new people. It had already been strained taking care of Cassy’s family and the bit of farming she’d done, even before the EMP hit. Now it was totally inadequate. He would’ve been glad to have a dozen more hands, but then he’d have to feed, water and house them, too. It was a damn vicious cycle. Thankfully, Cassy was ultimately in charge, so he didn’t have to make the hard decisions anymore.

  He was deep in those thoughts when a shadow fell across him, and he looked up to see one of the recent joiners sit down across from him. Frank couldn’t remember the man’s name but saw that he looked troubled. “Hey, how’s it goin’? Got something on your mind?”

  The other man smiled, but Frank thought it looked forced. Just polite, then. “I’m Gary, remember? From the tribunal? I’m still new, and I hate to bother you at chow, but I overheard something I figure you should know about. I’m told you were the leader of the Clan on the journey here, so you probably still have some weight. I think you should talk to Dean and Cassy.”

  Frank narrowed his eyes. He’d be damned if he was going to let people put leadership on him again, not when Cassy was doing just fine, thank you. “Maybe you should talk to Cassy then. No offense, but I don’t make the decisions around here anymore, and that’s kind of the way I like it.”

  “So I’ve heard. But this is something I can’t talk to her about. I don’t have the standing, yet, especially after what happened with my wife’s wrist. Cassy would never listen to me. I’m hoping maybe you can actually do something. I overheard Dean and Cassy arguing about the defenses. It seems she wants them done before Peter arrives—and don’t get me wrong, I’m here for that fight, this is my home now—and Dean basically told her to screw herself. He said it wouldn’t be done in time no matter what she said, and he wouldn’t ‘half-ass’ it just for her. I really thought she was going to flip her lid and eat his face right then and there, but she just got all stiff and walked away. Now, I don’t know where she went or what’s the history with those two, but they have some obvious bad blood between them. Either way, it’s a hurdle we don’t need right now.”

  Frank closed his eyes for a moment, let out a deep breath, and said, “That was worth bringing up. Thanks. I don’t know what I can do about it, but I’ll look into it, Gary. Go enjoy your meal, and thanks for looking out for the Clan.”

  After Gary left, Frank got up and sought out Michael, who was still out in the Jungle laying out traps more lethal than the alarms they’d originally set up. He greeted Michael with a smile and a wave.

  “Hey, old friend. Listen, there’s some discussion about whether we ought to half-ass the defenses to get them in place before Peter arrives, or do it right even if it means we won’t be complete by then. You’re our military guy, bro. I need to hear your thoughts before I jump into the middle, maybe chew the wrong asses. I’d better at least know whose ass to chew.”

  Michael threw his head back and laughed. It was flippin’ amazing that the guy could find humor even with what qualified for an army these days bearing down on them. Frank raised his eyebrows expectantly.

  “Frank, I’ll tell you, I’d rather have something than nothing between me and Peter’s bullets when he engages us. We have tons of concealment but precious little cover, if you know the difference.”

  Frank nodded, and Michael continued, “They can’t shoot through the earthbags, so the kids and old folk will be safe at first. But we only have a day, maybe two, before it gets nasty around here. That’s enough time to fortify a few entrenchments along their likely avenues of attack—and we can stretch barbed wire to try to funnel them into kill zones between our positions. We can set up a few sniper posts to triangulate fire on whatever leadership or other targets of opportunity present themselves during the fight. I wish I had some claymores, but we don’t. We’ll just have to adapt and improvise. So, I’m setting up makeshift explosives out here that will wreck a lot of growing food, but also a lot of the OpFor. We don’t have to kill them all, just neutralize as many as possible. If we can give him enough casualties, he won’t be able to penetrate our inner defenses. He’ll have to call it off or lose everything, if he’s even sane enough to care.”

  Damn, Michael was good to have with them. Frank once again had cause to be thankful he’d befriended his new neighbor two years ago, and it was a stroke of luck that their wives got along so well. “Okay, Michael. So I’ll have Dean focus on the foxholes and sniper posts. Where do you want them?”

  They spent the better part of twenty minutes going over where to put everything. Frank had a gut-churning feeling that whatever they did, it would be too little, too late.

  * * *

  0800 HOURS - ZERO DAY +24

  In groups of two or three, the Clan filtered into the outdoor kitchen area for breakfast, coming in from whatever work they’d been doing for the first couple hours of the day. Cassy greeted them individually as they came in, following Frank’s idea of greeting people personally and eating last. It had a great effect on morale—a fine thing, considering the psycho messiah who was bearing down on them all. Once again, she found herself wishing Frank had put his own steady hand to being the Clan’s leader, though she understood why he declined it, given the situation. Her farm, her rules, and that trumped everything. But she still wished she could just hand it over to Frank.

  This morning, she had another purpose in mind besides raising morale. Once she was sure everyone other than sentries on duty had come to the table, she strode to the head of the long, improvised seating area and raised her hands.

  “Your attention please, Clanners,” she began, and waited for the hum of conversation to stop. She looked from person to person, hoping this would make each of them hear her next words as though she spoke to them personally.

  “You already know we will soon face off against the greatest threat so far, and we had some doozies during the trek here. This ‘Peter’ fellow and his people are coming, and if they can, t
hey will take what is ours for themselves. But we’re going to make sure he has a surprise waiting. Peter is about to find out that in this new world, not all people are content to sit back and watch or be victims. We are the Clan, and together we’ve beat every challenge to come our way. The ’vaders couldn’t stop us from getting here, they couldn’t stop us from settling here. The Red Locusts tried to take us as their next meal, and failed. Starvation, which has claimed so many lives outside the Clan, has been defeated here, by us, as well.

  “I’ve heard some of you comment, half-jokingly, that you wish we could just call 9-1-1 like in the old days. But what do we need old-world police for? To protect us? Pah. Together we have more courage, more grit than any stranger in a blue uniform. It’s our fight, not theirs, and we’re not helpless. The way I see it, we don’t need protection from Peter and his kind. No, they need protection from us if they are stupid enough to come to the party we have planned for them.”

  Cassy looked over the crowd of Clanners and hoped her pride showed. She saw little fear among them but lots of smiles and nodding heads, even a few cheers. Where there could have been fear, she saw instead an iron determination. They would defend the farm, its resources, and the Clan to the last man, woman, and child.

  Having set the stage, it was time to reveal the true purpose of her stumping this morning.

  “So every one of us can defend ourselves, our farm, and our families, I am going to ask Michael to train all of you with our firearms, our stockpile of M4s. That means everyone, right down to kids old enough to hold and use a weapon. In groups of ten, he’ll cycle everyone over the age of ten through a simple shooting drill. Those who excel will partner up with those with less experience or skill shooting, so that all of us are ready when the time comes. Peter wants to take our land? Well, we need to make sure we take his life, instead. Are there any questions?”